#Dance Lessons for Writers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

word-wytch · 8 months

Text

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 14

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 14/? 18k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ An invitation to The Hideout answers some long burning questions.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter CW: kissing, heavy petting, jealousy, protective!eddie, drinking, smoking, fluff

Tuesday, December 10th 1985

Winter crept in like a lamb. It nipped at your ankles when you got out of bed, beckoned you to hibernate in the warm cocoon of soft sheets and heavy blankets. The room was a lightless cave, the sky still as dense as midnight. Feet shuffling blindly at the floor to find your slippers, you clicked on the small lamp atop your nightstand to offer some light to your habitat.

Standard routine — making shadows on the wall as you brushed your teeth, emerging out the door to the dark hallway, squinting under the harsh light of your kitchen. Two eggs over easy. Two pieces of toast. One phone that hung to the right of your small kitchen table like an omen as you dipped the crust into the yolks. Looming. Waiting. You swallowed a feeling with your next sip of coffee; flutters that danced down your throat and settled in the pit of your stomach.

By the time you returned to your bedroom, the sky touched your sheer curtains with the palest blue. Your clothing was already laid out neatly on your dresser, poised like soldiers in a row — thick ribbed stockings; plaid wool skirt; stiff white blouse; cream knit sweater.

As you suited up, stripping yourself of warm pajamas to brace the chill of your formal attire, your eyes drifted to an object on your desk. Powder blue and collecting a fair amount of dust; an IBM Selectric II typewriter. It was more or less a decoration now, pushed against the wall to make room for piles of papers in need of grading. Still, you liked the way it looked; cheery against the drab apartment wall, like something a real writer would have.

It was a trusty old thing, still chugging along despite countless college essays hammered into the grey keys. It had been your only company in the wee hours of many mornings such as this one, only then there had not been sleep to separate you from the night before. Sturdy and dependable, it captured your imagination too, letter by black inked letter.

Fastening the buttons of your blouse in a methodical rhythm, you could almost trick yourself into believing it was any other morning, except today there was something else you needed to do before you left, and the clock on your nightstand let you know in glowing red that your window to do so was closing.

Cold linoleum creaked under your stocking feet as you padded into the kitchen, stomach twisting into knots as you approached the phone. If you were going to do this, it had to be now.

Running your finger down the laminated tabs of the well-loved address book on your counter, you flipped to the section labeled “J”. After scanning a dozen hand-written names, you found the one you were looking for. It was a mess of chalky white-out and hasty scribbles. Last name replaced, same with the phone number and address. You weren’t sure why you didn’t just write it all fresh under “P”, perhaps it was something about not wanting to erase the history entirely.

You took a deep breath and snatched the phone off the receiver. Pressing the cold plastic to your ear, you glanced down at the numbers in blue pen and whispered them quietly to yourself as you slowly, hesitantly, clicked them one by one into the cream button pad on the wall.

You stared across the kitchen in sober contemplation of your life choices as the phone rang. Again. And again. And again, until a familiar, groggy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Janet!” you greeted brightly, sounding far too awake for 7:06 AM. In your nervous haste, you almost forgot to tell her who was calling.

“Oh… hey there,” came a hesitant voice on the other line, a sharp squeal cut through the static followed by a hush.

“Hey, um, I know it’s like, super early and totally last minute but I wanted to catch you before I left for work. Listen, I’ve had a hell of a week already and I was wondering—and I totally get it if you can’t, but—well I was wondering if you’d be up for going out tonight. Like say around eight-ish?” You bit your lip and grimaced, twisting the gummy cord around your finger.

The pause was filled with the rattling of tiny fists against plastic. “Oh! Well let’s see,” she said in a voice that was suddenly very awake. “The kids will be asleep by then, or at least they should be,” she chuckled, “and Bob doesn’t go to bed till after eleven anyway, so I’m sure he’ll be fine if I escape for a few hours. I mean I’ll check with him but I really don’t see why not.”

It was equally as promising as it was a relief; the excitement that crept through her voice.

“Great! Yeah, I figured you could probably use a night out.”

“Oh gosh, you don’t even know the half of it,” Janet laughed. “So where were you thinking? You wanna just go to Pal-Joeys again?”

Pacing toward the counter, you braced to offer your suggestion. “Actually, I was thinking we could go to The Hideout, I hear there’s a band playing tonight.”

“The Hideout?” she asked through an incredulous smile.

“I know,” you breathed nervously, “it’s not really our um, regular haunt, but that’s kinda why I want to go, you know? Shake things up a bit. Everything’s just been feeling so… routine lately, you know?”

Janet’s sigh was deep and heavy. “Oh trust me, I know.” A bright coo crackled through the telephone line.

“Like, I kind of want to just…” you coiled your finger deeper into the phone cord, glancing at the glaring red clock above the stove, “I dunno…pretend to be somebody else for a change.”

“You know,” she started, a quiet mischief creeping into her voice, “I could really stand to be somebody else for a night too.”

You paused in your pacing as a smile cracked across your face. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Gosh, do you know your birthday was the last time I went out? Seriously! And before that I don’t even remember. Sometimes I look around and it’s like, man I used to be fun. You remember when I was fun, right?”

You chuckled, drifting back to memories of truths and dares, of creeping down her dark basement steps with freshly painted toes. “You still are fun, Janet.”

“Well maybe you can help remind me because sometimes I look in the mirror and I swear I don’t even recognize myself. Really! I swear I see my mother more and more and that’s what’s really terrifying.”

“You mean you don’t see Bloody Mary anymore?”

Janet’s cackle would have woken the whole house had it not been wide awake and eating Cheerios already. “No that’s just at my parents’ house, remember?”

You snorted, leaning back against the counter. “I think we screamed so loud we woke the neighbors. I swear that bathroom is haunted.”

“That’s what I’ve always said! You feel like you’re being watched, right? My parents still don’t believe me. Oh well, not my problem anymore.”

You laughed, the knot in your belly releasing slightly before you glanced at the clock again, 7:13. “Crap, I’ve gotta get going. So I’ll see you at eight tonight? At The Hideout?”

“Yeah, should be fine. I’ll call you if anything changes. Ah!” she squealed, “I can’t wait.”

“Glad you’re excited,” you chuckled, gripping the smooth plastic. “Ok, see you later.”

“Bye now!”

You hung the phone back on the receiver and stood in the blaring silence of your kitchen, frozen by the impact of your choices. It was real now. In a matter of about thirteen hours you would be getting in your car, driving down a dark road, and parking it at a seedy bar where you would see Eddie for the first time in public. Your feet felt glued to the floor, but as the clock blinked to 7:15, you willed them to move.

Before taking the dark road that led to a seedy bar, you would first need to get in your car and take another road — to work.

You cursed the cold. Cursed it as you hurried across the parking lot to find your car covered in fractals of frost. Cursed it vehemently as you worked the glass with your feeble plastic scraper, shaving holes just big enough to see out of your dashboard and rear window as the clock on your wrist ticked on minute by precious minute. You cursed it audibly when you turned the key and the engine whirred, and whined, and refused to turn over. It must have heard you, because after the fifth time of stomping on the brake and snapping your wrist forward, the engine roared to life.

You rode in on a wave; a daze like the fog that escaped your lungs in shallow breaths. The sun rose above the frozen farmlands, casting its golden-pink light across the empty fields. Out here the roads stretched on for miles. Flat and straight, with little variance in elevation. There was nowhere to look but straight ahead. No curves to surprise you, just you and the rumble of the salt-dusted road, bumping along in silence as an anxious fog rolled across the landscape of your mind.

A sea of students swept you through the front doors of Hawkins High and into the bustling office. Amidst the flurry of ringing phones and voices settling into the cadence of their roles, you grabbed your punch card and stamped the date and time in line with the rest. Pushing the metal handle of the heavy glass door, you exited the humming reprieve of the office and into the din of the main hall. Your boots made hollow clicks against the glossy tile, wind at your face as you marched forward, dodging roughhousing students and hall monitors rushing toward them.

Goodness was a mantle. A strap that dug into your shoulder; heavy with books, and papers, and responsibility. You wedged your thumb beneath it, shrugging it up onto the padded wool collar of your coat as you strode on, vision locked ahead as chaos swirled around you.

Your mug left a ring on the big desk; a remnant from where you’d sloshed it coming down the hall. You’d tried to be careful; slow and deliberate in your pacing when you left the teachers lounge with it, but when a blur of wild curls drew your gaze, your footing faltered. At least you missed your shoes.

Coat hung on its solitary hook and grade book stationed at the center of the desk, you took your place in front of it. Clutching your clipboard, you glanced across the rows of desks, down at the rows of names, beside the rows of boxes that your green pen would fill with neat little P’s and A’s like it did every day. Bell after bell, swipe after swipe of your eraser at the board, the fresh sticks of chalk dwindled to nubs. Question after question, the patience in your voice grew thin.

Between the bells at the top of fourth period, you stood poised like a sentinel outside the door to your classroom. Arms folded across your knit sweater, you sighed, shifting your weight back and forth between your tired feet, offering gentle smiles as your students filed through the threshold of the door. You smelled him before you saw him; the waft of leather and cigarettes with notes of shampoo more prominent than usual.

Against the flow of traffic, Eddie Munson brought his salt-licked combat boots to a halt in front of you. Thumb hooked under the heavy strap of his backpack, he offered you a smile so broad it crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your knees want to give.

You tightened your arms around your sweater, over the hard plastic of your faculty lanyard, and breathed a shy, girlish greeting. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he mimicked, shifting his weight with a less than subtle restlessness as his dark eyes drank you in. They darted back and forth between yours, plush lips parted and primed with words. You felt them brimming impatiently behind his eyes, saw them in the pink flash of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips.

Out here in the bustling hallway, with eyes that watched and voices that echoed off the polished tile, Eddie edged a bold foot closer, dove in, and ghosted the shell of your ear with his burning question.

“Will I see you tonight?”

The words were a low, hot rumble — rippling from your ear down your spine, pooling deep in your belly. His heat thawed your shoulder as he hovered there, lingering for each aching second it took you to eke out your response.

“Yeah,” you whispered into his curls.

Pulling back with a blinding grin, he tipped his head and ducked into the door of your classroom.

The slam of a locker made you jump. Arms crossed to shield your pounding heart, you stood there in the middle of it all, swimming in a sea of passing bodies, struggling to keep your head above the waves. It surged with images of a lighted stage, of bottles, and tables, and a dark corner for both of you to hide in. The bell echoed loudly down the hall, shrill enough to wake you from the dream you were surely having. Donning your mask, you took a deep breath and dove in, shutting the door behind you.

______

Eddie swung open the heavy back doors to his van, piercing the darkness with the dull yellow overhead light. Gravel crunched under his boots as he leaned in to grab the first amp from the stack, like a pile of black Christmas presents awaiting unwrapping. The night air bit at his fingers, stars twinkling in the patches where the clouds gave way above the tree line. Tightening his grip around the thick gummy handle, he hoisted it and followed the pale path the moon offered out of the side parking lot toward the patio behind The Hideout.

It wasn’t much; a stout fence in dire need of a paint job that caged in a few meager picnic tables. They still had umbrellas in the middle, wrapped tightly like mummies for the winter. He knew the back door would be open, it always was. Turning the weathered knob with his free hand, he welcomed the heat that wafted toward him. He could almost say he welcomed the piss smell coming from the bathrooms as his heavy boots thumped down the dark linoleum hallway, but that would be a stretch. Accustomed was a better word. Familiar was a better word.

Stale beer and cigarettes soon drowned it out as he entered the dimly lit bar, stopping to plunk the heavy amp down to his left on the stage, which was little more than a raised platform painted black. The thud drew the attention of the five usual suspects at the bar, and Eddie wondered which one of them was responsible for playing “Free Bird” on the jukebox.

Bill raised his hand, tipping his baseball cap back in a friendly nod as his fingers splayed. “‘Ey, Eddie!”

He returned the gesture of a single raised hand and flashed a smile before turning down the hall again. Eddie took a deep breath at the door to calm his pounding heart before pressing it open. He couldn’t believe he had been crazy enough to suggest something like this. That soon enough, you would be perched atop one of those rickety stools at a tall, sticky table, watching his every move, listening to his every note. The chill of the night air was a welcome thing, sobering and distracting from the heat that was creeping up the collar of his thick, leather coat. As the gravel crunched under his boots again, headlights blinded his vision.

He could hear the bass pounding from the outside of the small sedan as it rolled up beside his van, followed promptly by another. After a moment of squinting, the headlights shut off with the rumble of the engine, leaving him in the darkness once again. Seatbelts clicked and laughter emerged from the open doors as his friends tumbled out into the parking lot.

“What the fuck took you guys so long? We left at the same time,” Eddie groused.

Dave lumbered over and sighed, a smirk playing on his broad features in the moonlight. “Jeff had to take a shit and he parked me in.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, swinging the door shut with a huff as Gareth laughed into the night air.

Eddie sighed, glancing toward the tall stack of amps and drum heads sitting backlit in the rear of his van. “Ok, well we’ve got like forty minutes to get our shit together so start hauling.”

Dave groaned, cracking his back with a twist of his hefty torso. “Ugh, can you at least let me hit this doob before you put me to work?”

On any other night, Eddie would have welcomed the suggestion, but his nerves were traveling to his hands now and he itched to move them. “Dude, it takes us like an hour to set up, we don’t have time right now. We can smoke after we get this shit on stage.”

Jeff quirked his brows suspiciously, “Dude, since when do you care that we’re on time for anything?”

“Yeah seriously, we’re late like every week,” Gareth added.

Eddie balked, searching for the answer in the treeline, one that excluded you. “It just—if we’re ever gonna play anywhere else besides here we’re gonna have to start getting our shit together.”

There was a lukewarm pause as the band considered his answer. By the looks on their faces, Eddie wasn’t entirely sure if they bought it, but it was the best he could come up with and the statement was true. Dave broke the silence with an exasperated sigh. “Come on. I’ve been jonesing since we got to Gareth’s. His mom is so anal we can’t even smoke outside.”

“That’s ‘cause you reek when you come back in,” Gareth defended.

“At least I don’t reek of ass like you,” Dave chortled.

Jeff didn’t miss a beat. “That’s debatable.”

Gareth’s cackle wafted into the frigid air as he pointed a pale finger at Dave.

“You wanna find out the hard way?” Dave’s eyes glimmered wildly as he hooked an arm around Gareth’s shoulders, locking him into a power noogie position.

Gravel shuffled under their stumbling feet. “Let go of me you asshole,” Gareth gritted through a strangled laugh. Jeff only egged them on, howling uproariously like he had tickets to the show.

Eddie dragged his hands down his face with a deep, seething breath as Dave ground his thick knuckles into Gareth’s mop of hair, kicking up rocks and pivoting as Gareth attempted to pry away. This was his circus, his monkeys, and he would have to step up and be the ring leader if they were going to take the stage at all tonight. “CUT IT OUT!” he hollered.

Dave paused, arm still locked around Gareth’s neck. “Come on, we’re just having a little fun. You remember fun, right?”

Gareth groaned weakly, looking up at Eddie with pathetic eyes. “Who’s we?” he choked.

Eddie’s expression didn’t budge from its scowl. With a roll of his eyes and a resigned huff, Dave released his arm and Gareth stumbled backward, gasping. “Fine, captain killjoy.”

A heavy plume of fog left his nostrils as Eddie stormed toward the back of his van, weaving his arm through a thick ring of cables to rest on his shoulder before hoisting another amp from the stack. Gravel shuffled behind him as the others followed suit.

You were risking a lot to come here. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you.

______

The silence gnawed at you, filled you with an itching discomfort as you thumbed your dresser knobs. Staring into your open shirt drawer, you faced off with your biggest decision yet — what to wear tonight.

The chasm of options laid before you in neat, folded rows. An excavation site of cardigans, and turtle necks, and things you hadn’t unearthed in years. You ran your fingers through the layers of folded cotton, peeling them back with deep consideration.

Nagging thoughts crept in like whispers over the softly ticking clock, pinball plunger pulled and ready to fire. With a determined huff, you stepped back from your dresser and padded down the hallway, out into the living room.

Your skirt pooled around your stocking feet as you crouched down in front of the long wooden cabinet that housed your records. Fingers dancing over the worn cardboard spines, you flipped them softly forward as you perused one by one, walking steadily until one of them fell open to a scene; a painting of a man hunched over with sticks tied to his back that hung on a wall of peeling paper. You paused, pulling it out to scan the track list. This would do.

Placing the the record softly on the felt pad, you lowered the needle to the ridges, and with the press of a button, a crackle roused the room.

Hey hey momma said the way you move

Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove

A smile, like a crocus peeking up from the snow, bloomed across your face. You cranked the volume, wrapping yourself in a sound that would carry to your bedroom.

Your fingers found the tiny metal tab behind your waist, and with a downward tug of the zipper, your wool skirt became a puddle on the floor. Peeling back the layers, your tight sweater joined it in a heap, your thick stockings lay deflated on the pile, the buttons of your stiff blouse worked free until it was a crumpled afterthought. The chill that kissed your skin was a welcome thing. Goosebumps raised like the current flowing through you as your near-naked silhouette danced across the wall to approach the open drawer once more.

Emboldened with a curious delight, you began to dig. Past the crust of crisp blouses, beneath the squishy mid-layer of cardigans, down into the sub-layer of camisoles and tees, deeper and deeper until finally your fingers made purchase with a soft treasure.

It fell open as you unearthed it, the solid black gone grey from washing, the white letters and arched angel cracked and faded: Led Zeppelin — United States of America 1977.

It happened on a Sunday in April, which began as most Sundays did, with you hunched over your powder blue typewriter in a race between the clock and the keys. You had it down to a science. At the speed you were typing, a rough draft could be finished by dinner, and the final could be churned out by cutting into a few hours of your sleep. A worthy sacrifice, as your final grade was on the finish line. This, like countless others, was how you planned to spend your day — until your roommate found you.

You remembered the way she leaned against the wooden frame of your bunk bed, amused, watching the paper you hammered with black-inked letters grow longer and longer. Finally she spilled it; as of an hour ago, she was down one boyfriend and up one ticket, and now it had your name on it. When she dangled it between you and the tidy rows of text, your hands froze over the keys.

You eyed the invitation — temptation printed on a neat, orange strip. Free admission, at a price.

The show was sold out. It had been for a long time.

Your class was at 9:00 AM tomorrow. A late paper took twenty percent off your grade.

You loved the band dearly, had a bigger crush on Robert Plant than you’d openly admit to anyone. Fights had broken out over tickets nation wide. You had no idea when they would play the states again.

The clock ticked on beside you, the long hand grazed past three. Maybe you could churn out the rest in the next few hours. Maybe the rough draft would be enough. But the realist in you knew neither would happen if you seized the ticket. Your grade would never recover, your streak of straight As you’d kept since grade school would come to an end. Your GPA would dip for the semester.

On April 17th, 1977, you left your paper sitting unfinished in the typewriter to see Led Zeppelin play Market Square Arena. You didn’t know it then, but it was the last time they ever would.

On April 18th at 9:00 AM, you showed up to class with empty hands and a brand new shirt.

You had altered your souvenir; taken scissors to the collar so that it draped off your shoulder. Time and your washing machine had made Swiss cheese of the bottom hem, so you cropped it. You admired the handiwork as it draped off you now, the way the black strap of your bra peeked out from the slope of your shoulder like a coy secret.

Pulling open the lower drawer—opened far less frequently than you would like—your knuckles grazed the bottom of the smooth wood interior as you peeled back the layers of folded denim. A crease of black jumped out from the sea of blue, and you examined it. It had a nice worn-in fade for only having lived in your dresser a few years, a flatteringly high waist, and most importantly, tapered legs that could easily be tucked into the tall, black boots sitting in the back of your closet. Your bare legs welcomed the barrier against the chill, and you caught a glance at your rear as you hiked them snugly upward. They hugged you in all the right places, as the music electrified the air, you transformed.

A vision of you — sprawled across a blanket on the quad with your face in a book. Making shadows on your dorm room wall while transmuting fantasies to black-inked pages. Strolling down a lamp-lit street, face to the stars, fueling your wild imagination. Here, in your reflection, the ghost of you looked back.

You painted her darker than normal, swapping the usual chapstick for a deep, dusty red exhumed from the bottom of your makeup bag. Eyes smoked and cheeks dusted, you drew out the beauty from angles of your face with every stroke.

Coat donned and purse in hand, you paused at the front door, glancing over your shoulder, down the hallway, toward your coffee table piled with papers. There was another ghost of you here — tucked into her slippers and cozy robe with the voices from the television as her only company, flicking her green grading pen down rows of questions.

On December 10th, 1985, you left the papers sitting on your coffee table to see Corroded Coffin play The Hideout. With a decided twist of the handle, you pushed out into the cold night air.

Light pooled in sparse puddles as your boots echoed off the rough pavement. Stillness whispered on the wind as crisp remnants of fall scuttled across the asphalt. The apartments behind you were a tapestry of glowing squares, pictures of the rest of Hawkins tucking into their slippers and washing their dishes, grabbing their blankets and turning on their televisions.

You grabbed your keys and unlocked your car, and when it roared to life with a swift flick of your wrist, a strange exhilaration coursed through you.

It rose like the moon over the barren fields, thrumming in your chest, spreading to your limbs, alight with something wild and teeming as you drove past rows of lighted windows—vignettes of tired routine—and stopped at the same red sign you did this morning. Your fingers twitched over the turn signal leaver — an impulse to flick up, to turn right, to settle into the familiar rhythm of your muscle memory. This time you pressed down, pressed your foot to the gas, and cranked the wheel left.

Cruising boldly down the straight and narrow road, fields and farmland faded in your rearview mirror and soon there were trees on the horizon; dense and dark. Gripping the wheel as the silhouette closed in, the corners of your mouth drew upward, pulled by a wild, awakened force. Headlights illuminated pale, naked limbs. Eyes beamed back at you from the shadows. You cranked the volume on your stereo, and as you braced for your first bend, something deep within you—dormant and restless—howled.

______

The water was so cold it burned. Eddie cursed the old plumbing, instantly regretting having the decency to wash his hands in the first place. Soap just barely rinsed, he twisted the lime-scaled handles and shut it off. With a trembling hand, he grabbed one of the last paper towels. Gareth’s kick drum echoed down the narrow hallway, thundering just like his chest. He glanced at his watch again. 7:56.

Eddie took a ragged breath, chucking the crumpled paper at the overflowing trash bin in the corner. It bounced dejectedly off the wall and onto the dirty tile. With a deadpan glare, he left it where it lay. Hands barely dry, he felt for the flask in his pocket. Screwing the tiny cap and flicking it open, he tipped it back. Eddie welcomed the burn. It chased down his throat and settled in his stomach with a warmth that radiated, instantly numbing his nerves.

Meeting his own eyes in the tiny, smudged mirror, he gave himself a final glance over. His curls were holding; fresh and clean from this morning, fluffed by the icy wind in the trips from van to stage.

Here, in the dingy confines of The Hideout, words like freak and loser lost their stick. Words he could shake like a dog at the door. He’d fashioned them like armor in the daytime; a shield in hallways and in lunch lines. What was stickier were feelings. The feelings that came with chewed pens and answers left blank. The feeling of lectures slipping like a sieve through his brain. The feeling of stares and stifled laughter, of staring numbly at the board, of filling the silence with bullshit instead of an answer.

Microphone feedback squeaked outside. The dull, heavy walk of a bassline. Laughter. Cymbals. That kick drum again. Eddie took another swig, searing the flutters in his stomach.

He wanted to be good for you. Seen under stage lights instead of fluorescents.

Good like an answer he knew.

You saw the sign first, peeking from behind the trees — simple, effective, and yellowed with time. The Hideout: a hole in the woods. Tucked around the bend you now braced against, it sat like a neon beacon. The chipped, grey exterior faded into the shadows, leaving only the holy glow of Budweiser and Miller Lite signs to guide you to the promised land.

Pulling into a spot along the narrow parking strip, you faced off with your destination. Looming and real. Frozen as reality stared back at you in the glare of your blinding headlights, you gripped the steering wheel and looked around. There were a few other cars beside you, but none of them Janet’s. Around the left of the building there appeared to be more parking, and the stout silhouette of a two-tone van you did know the owner of. Pinballs hammered in your chest.

When you arrange a time to meet someone, you are always punctual. Perhaps a life organized by bells on timers trained you to be this way, but the thought of entering alone filled you with dread, and part of you wondered whether you should wait out here for her. Your hands were starting to shake, and not from the cold.

The list of crazy things you had done in your life was a laughably short one, but this made the top by a long shot. As you turned the radio down and sat in the wake of your rumbling engine, the questions grew louder. Serious questions about where you thought this night would go, about where you wanted it to go and if you would truly go there.

Suddenly your headlights felt too bright, like a beacon drawing eyes from the woods, or even more terrifying, eyes from the building. You promptly flicked them off and waited, staring dead ahead at the chipped grey siding. It was fine. You were fine. At least you could no longer see your breath. You could hide here as long as you wanted.

“Alright man, it’s doob o’clock,” Dave said with a satisfied stretch as he took in the stage setup.

Eddie ripped another frantically scribbled setlist out of his spiral notebook and shoved it at him. “No it’s eight fifteen and we still need to do soundcheck,” Eddie scathed, glancing at the door. “You can start by plugging your mic in, Jesus Christ.”

Dave huffed annoyedly through his nose, squatting down to find the cord with exaggerated difficulty. “Yes sir,” he mocked. Eddie shot back a testing glare. “Dude, what’s up with you tonight? You’ve been on one since Gareth’s.”

“Yeah, you ok man?” asked Jeff.

The knots tightened in his stomach as the attention of all three of them closed in around him. “Just—let’s just get our shit together…please,” he deflected.

Glancing around frantically, you wondered, for the hundredth time, where the hell Janet was. You couldn’t be that surprised that a woman with two small children was late, but your exhaust was making a smokescreen of the parking strip, and you wondered if anyone inside had noticed, if anyone could hear the low rumble of your engine and questioned why this strange woman was idling. With an irritated sigh, you turned the key, leaving you in deafening silence and leeching cold. You could hear your breathing now, your pounding heart, the squeaking of leather as you shifted in your seat. What one of the kids got sick? What if she called after you left?

What if she isn’t coming?

Eddie’s eyes lingered at the door as he clicked the pedals with his feet, plucking a soft, testing melody into the mic. His watch glared under the stage lights, confidence fleeting with every minute that ticked by. Gareth snapped his foot petal with a deep thud. Dave walked out a bassline before squealing feedback made the whole bar flinch.

The strum of a chord made you jump. Booming and electric, you heard it through the walls. They were starting. They were starting and you weren’t there. Gripping the steering wheel, you tossed your head back in an anguished sigh. You sure as hell weren’t going to stand him up. As you glanced around the parking lot one last desperate time, the bitter conclusion rose like bile — you may have to do this alone. Seatbelt clicking under your gloved thumb, you steeled yourself for the cold, for the eyes of strangers in a strange new place. With a decided pull of the handle, the door opened to the frigid night air, and you emerged from the heat into the unknown.

You met your reflection in the glass of the entrance as your hand gripped the weathered knob. Pinballs fired off at lightning speed — a jackpot multi-ball bonanza. Checking your hair one last time with eyes locked on your own, you turned the handle with a determined sigh.

A bell dinged above your head, and winter’s chill gusted in on your heels.

The whole room turned at once — at you. You, from the front of the classroom. You, from behind the big desk. You, in the doorway of The Hideout. Across a dark sea of scattered tables, poised on an altar of sound and light, Eddie Munson smiled at you — brighter than all of it.

The door fell shut behind you. Hot under the gaze of what seemed like the entire bar, it suddenly felt like you were the one on stage. Standing there like a deer in headlights in your long wool coat and clean black boots, you surely must have looked as out of place as you felt. Shoulders rolling back to counter your thrumming nerves, your boots left the rug and found the tacky linoleum as you approached the bar that lined the left wall.

Eddie busied his shaking hands with tapping another test melody into his mic, pausing when he heard a voice over his right shoulder.

“Is that…?” Jeff pointed toward the back of your head.

Gareth’s eyes lit up in recognition. Dave peered over with a shit-eating grin. “Did you invite her?” he mouthed.

Eddie’s face betrayed him, burning like it did under the fluorescents. Burning to greet you at the bar, for the liberty to patronize it, to offer you something more than his aching gaze.

“No,” Eddie lied, “but I may have told her we play here on Tuesdays.” He struck the strings with the weight of his frustration, drowning out any further questions with the opening chords to the first song on the setlist. The others took their cue with chuckles and shaking heads. Heart pounding like the kick drum behind him, Eddie’s fingers found the frets, tugging a muscle memory from deep within as his eyes stayed fixed on you.

There was an older man in a sweatshirt behind the bar. The owner, you figured, by the way he was standing — arms crossed, stance wide, unafraid to take up space. By the way he was looking at you, like he wondered what would drive a new face to his establishment on a random Tuesday night in December. From the glances the others passed between them, the feeling seemed unanimous.

“How can I help you?” he half shouted against the chugging chords, leaning against the bar with a curious smile.

You braced with your brightest grin, placing your gloved hands down flat on the waxy bar. “Hi! Yes—um,” you scanned the selection under the neon lights, the liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes reflected in the dirty mirror behind them. The bar back was tightly cluttered with old stickers and hand-written notes taped behind the cash register, with half-empty bottles of bitters and bobble heads nodding to the palpable vibration. Having no interest in standing there awkwardly while he fixed you a cocktail, you selected a bottle of Coors.

He nodded and ducked to open the steel, magnet-plastered fridge beneath the cash register.

Your gaze, like a magnet, drew back to the stage. It was all you could do just to watch him — the way his curls fell gently at his cheek, the way they bounced with every strum. There was a tension lingering just under the curve of his lashes. The music was fast and loud, purely instrumental. You recognized nothing about it but the genre. Head dipped in concentration as his left hand tapped a frantic melody into the frets, he raised his eyes bravely to meet yours.

He wasn’t the only man staring. It was hard to ignore; the man in the baseball cap to your right as you stared right through his line of sight. You pinched off your gloves and shoved them in your pockets to occupy your hands.

A bottle cap plinked against the bar top. “Two bucks,” the owner stated, slinging a towel over his shoulder.

You fished through your purse, feeling those eyes on you as you opened your wallet, as you slid the bills right under his gaze across the waxy counter. You snatched the cold bottle and raised it to your lips. Turning over your shoulder, your eyes clung to Eddie on stage, to his tendons as they flexed to pick a rhythm at the strings. His was gaze a soft and yearning thing, a contrast to the sharp and punchy chords that left his fingers.

“You know these guys?” the man in the cap asked finally, pointing to the stage. Your eyes shot toward him in surprise, lips still pursed at the bottle. He had that working man sort of look. Average features, subtle crows feet, a whisper of sandy stubble across his strong jaw. His grey-blue eyes were gentle, but brimming with a heated curiosity.

You used the much needed swig to buy yourself a second. Did you? The cold, bready fizz sparkled down your throat. You supposed you didn’t have to specify how you were acquainted. “Yeah,” you answered simply, plugging your mouth with the bottle like a dam.

A bell rattled behind you. Grateful for any disruption, you whipped around quickly to break the connection. Janet lit up as soon as she saw you, a mixture of relief and apology playing out on her face as she strode across the room. Tight blonde curls emerged from her lowering leopard print hood. “Oh my god I’m so sorry,” she lamented, arms opening to embrace you.

Relief washed through you like a warm buzz. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it!” you said as your nose took a dive in her soft, perfumed curls.

“Sarah would not stop crying, it took forever for me to finally get her to sleep. I swear babies have a sixth sense, they always know when you have fun plans,” she said through a laugh. Her lashes were long and thick with mascara, eyeshadow a solid sky blue so vibrant that it popped even in the dim neon glow.

Janet ordered a margarita. There was nothing new to speak of, really, over the electric roar of the band, but you tried to listen. Intently, you tried to listen to the new words her son was saying, to offer some lukewarm update about how work was going, but your eyes had their own agenda.

The rolled cuffs of Eddie’s tight, acid-washed jeans bunched against the pull tabs of his boots as he tapped the rhythm with his heel. There was no jacket for him to strain against, no flannel to constrict him, no sleeves on his T-shirt in December. It was more than you’d seen of him yet. Ink flexed with each generous swell of his bicep, and with every attack, he would flash you his ribs through the hand-hacked holes.

“Mmm,” Janet mumbled, sipping off the top of the very full, salt-rimmed rocks glass. “Come on, let’s get cozy,” she said with a wink and gestured toward the tables. The air was thick with smoke wafting from the bikers at the bar. Eddie tapped out another lick and peered through a few stray curls as you followed her across the room to a high top, back and center.

You wanted to be closer. Close enough to see the umber of his eyes, the ridges of his knuckles as they plucked the strings. There were a few shorter tables down in front, back about five feet from the stage. But as the beams of light bounced off the glossy wood and over the seats in blinding white, you were grateful for the shadows ten feet would afford you.

Janet stripped off her coat to reveal a tight black dress with long sleeves and sequined, padded shoulders. It hugged just above the knees of her sheer hose, punctuated with sharp ankle boots.

“Look at you all dressed up! You look stunning.” You meant it, she really did.

Janet’s smile was a shy deflection, but hiding just beneath it, a glimmer of belief. “Thanks, this thing’s been sitting in my closet for like a year now. Can you believe it? I just felt like, you know, if I’m going out I’m gonna dress up goddamn it,” she laughed, punctuating with a slap against the table. “We coulda gone to Benny’s, I still woulda worn it.”

You laughed, for the first time since you’d talked to her that morning. Unbuttoning your coat, you let it drape over the metal back of the stool behind you.

“You’re not looking too shabby yourself,” Janet said with a wink before taking a sip.

“Honestly I’ll take any excuse I can get to dress down,” you said with a sheepish huff, propping your elbows on the sticky table before bringing the bottle to your lips.

A nervous crackle wound its way through Eddie’s stomach at the vision of you. You, perched on a stool in a dive bar. You, in jeans and a t-shirt. You, arching forward just enough to grace him with a sliver of your back. It was real — you, here. He soured a note, and those words he shook off came creeping back in as he fumbled through the next lick. But you didn’t seem to notice. You propped your cheek against your knuckles and let the warmth of your eyes usher his doubts away.

When the song came to a ringing conclusion, Janet’s cheer was uninhibited, clapping her hands above her head. It drew eyes from the couple seated at one of the lower tables, from the bikers at the bar, from the band. Your applause was more demure, but you couldn’t mask the brilliance of your smile.

“Thank you, thank you,” Eddie said into the microphone. “Looks like we really have a crowd tonight. Seven drunks.”

The room erupted with hollers and cheers.

The bassist muttered something to the other guitarist and the two shared a laugh, casting their eyes towards you. Suddenly your face grew very hot. Of course they recognized you, Jeff was in your second period class. You anticipated this, and yet it was the realness of it all that shook you — the hard stool beneath you, the stares you could feel as your finger idly traced the cold condensation on the glass. Pinballs fired off at rapid speed. You drowned them with a tip of the bottle.

Eddie shifted, clicking the pedals with his foot. “Ok, so this next one is uh, definitely not an original.” He breathed a laugh into the microphone, glancing up at you — at your shoulders, hunched in shy defense, at your worried brow and downcast gaze. He wished he could reach across the room, lift your chin with his words and draw you from your shell. “Anyway, you’ll uh, probably recognize this one,” he said, to you.

Eddie nodded to the band, counting off silently before they struck a chord together — a low, droning thing, gritty and slow as the bass walked steadily over the foundation. Eddie swayed back and forth, rocking in time with the beat like a march, resting his heavy-lidded gaze on you. Across the divide of scattered seats, you — at the small table, saw him — on the big stage. His nimble fingers struck the chords with an ardent conviction, and the ice in you began to thaw.

Suddenly the beat changed pace. Gareth smacked his drum sticks together to count off, and the first two chords sparked instant recognition. A smile rose up in you — a wild and thrumming thing, radiant and rising until it cracked through.

You knew what was coming. Two chords, quiet taps for a count of sixteen, and then those two chords again, like a one-two punch, booming and building with anticipation. Again, and again, as the energy rose in the room. You caught the wicked glint in his eyes as his hands—those hands that fidgeted and fumbled with dog-eared pages and chewed up pens—wielded power. A surge of electricity swirled through your stomach, crackled because you knew what was next.

Eddie took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.

Generals gathered in their masses

Colors. Warm and bright, tingling like a shockwave from your chest down to your seat.

Just like witches at black masses

In your secret daydreams, you often wondered what his voice sounded like in song.

Evil minds that plot destruction

Tried to guess from his deep hums and brilliant laughter.

Sorcerers of death’s construction

Now, it suspended in the air like a battle cry, reaching out across the chasm of tables and chairs.

In the fields the bodies burning

Surging like a wildfire.

As the war machine keeps turning

Swirling through the darkness like a strange magic.

Death and hatred to mankind

Reaching out like it wanted to touch you.

Poisoning their brainwashed minds

And so you let it.

Oh lord, yeah!

The music rocked and swelled. Like a balm reverberating through the air, it softened the hunch of your shoulders. Like an antidote, it dissolved the knot in your stomach. Like an arrow, it pierced the shell of you.

Janet took a generous sip of her margarita and bobbed her head to the rhythm. You caught her gaze from across the table and shared a laugh, a mutual knowing through squinted eyes and shaking heads that this was, in fact, a Tuesday night in December, and the two of you were here.

As the cold drink warmed your limbs, you became acquainted with the hard curve of the stool beneath you, with the of rings left behind on the glossy table, with the crowded ashtray. Acquainted with the smoke that wafted through the air and the darkness that enveloped you like a blanket. The music settled over the room, and as you settled into that heavy buzz, you started to get the feeling you might actually enjoy yourself tonight.

Janet needed no convincing. Her first margarita went down easy, leaving nothing but the ice and her hot pink lipstick on the rim before they finished their fourth song. When she returned from the bar with one in each hand, she placed the extra in front of you. Her treat, convinced they were better than Pal Joey’s, insisting that you try it even with a few sips still lingering in your bottle.

It surprised you — the balance of lime, and liquor, and something else you couldn’t quite place. It surprised you how it easy it melted the tension in your stomach, how it encouraged you to lean in a little more, to let your shoulders drop.

Eddie noticed it, peeking out from under the coyly dipping collar of your shirt; bare and soft as you leaned against the table — your shoulder. He missed a note. Cursing silently, he glanced down at his fingers and tapped into that deep, subconscious part of his brain again where they knew just where to go. But when he closed his eyes to find it, the image remained painted to his lids — a ripened fruit, tempting but too far to taste. Across it, a stripe of black hazard tape, a trail he itched to follow.

There was a hunger in you, stirring more with every song, with every decadent flash of his pale ribs. He was good. Stadium good. Those nimble fingers tapped the frets, making them sing in a way that made you wish you were wire and wood, looking at you in a way that made you think he wished the same. He stroked the neck of his instrument with a reverent touch, attacked the strings with a holy power, like a wingless angel with a spotlight halo. You whispered a silent prayer, venerating him from your faraway pew in the only way you could — with your eyes.

The animal stirred in its icy den, roused by the warmth of his voice as it stretched across the bar. It stirred in that place you rarely acknowledged, rarely indulged as you considered what other talents his hands might have. You considered the shades of those sighs and swallows he took before painting the air, considered what they might sound like if he showed you. It settled and throbbed in that low, blooming place, and you smothered the feeling with a cross of your legs.

Busying yourself with what remained of your beer, you shifted your shoulders to face him directly, leaning your free arm against the metal back of the stool with an ease that Eddie considered looked almost as good on you as the shirt did. Your lips lingered on the rim of the bottle before parting with a soft pop. He swallowed.

There was a gap between you; a sea of scattered tables and wide open ears and eyes amongst them. What could he possibly say from his position? From a microphone on stage? A thousand words ached on the tip of his tongue and he swallowed them with a sloppy chug of water as the applause bought him a moment to consider.

The white lettering across your chest jumped out at him from the shadows like a bright idea. Eddie swiped droplets from his mouth and turned to his bandmates, bringing them into a huddle as the noise drowned out what he was saying. Whatever it was, after some deliberation, they seemed in agreement about it.

You hadn’t seen Janet like this since the summer between your junior and senior year of college. She was always a happy drunk; talkative and bubbly, spilling over with laughter and the sort of wild enthusiasm that a child at a carnival might have.

“I wanna dance,” she said longingly, glancing toward the stage as she slumped in her seat.

“Maybe we can go to a club next time,” you joked as you downed the remainder of your sweating drink.

The band assumed their positions again. Eddie tapped the pedals with his feet and rolled his shoulders back with a deep, collecting breath. His eyes found yours across the room, brimming with such a longing you wondered anyone else could sense it too. After the longest second, he snapped his head over his shoulder with a steely conviction and nodded off a count before making his attack — the opening riff to Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”.

Your hands shot to your face.

Suddenly Janet perked up, inspired by the catchy rhythm and her own suggestion. “We should dance! Will you dance with me?”

You balked, shrinking down. “There’s like… six people here! I don’t think it’s really that kind of—”

“Oh come on, please? What’s there to lose, huh?”

Oh, only my last remaining shred of dignity in front of my students. But you couldn’t say that. “Janet,” you hissed. “We are not—I can’t—”

Her three margaritas had a different opinion. They reached across the table and grabbed your hand. “Come on, live a little! That’s what we came here to do, right?”

You buried your face in your other. The truth was you wanted to. You wanted a closeup of that smart smirk, of the sweat beading down his temple as he strummed the punchy chords he hand-picked just for you. You wanted the fantasy, the memory, the experience. It was convincing — her pouting pink lips and pleading eyes, almost as convincing as the tequila coursing through your veins. The truth was you left your better judgement at home on the coffee table. To her giddy satisfaction, you surrendered. Dragging you from your seat, she led you to the front of the stage.

Eddie’s smile could have blinded you, even through the shy web of your fingers. Cheers erupted from the bar, from the whole band, as Janet shimmied her sequined shoulders to the beat.

Eddie opened his mouth again, this time with an ardor you could feel in your bones.

You need cooling, baby I’m not fooling

He crouched down to level with your eyes. I’m gonna send ya back to schooling

You lowered your hand to mask the girlish grin that cracked across your face.

Way down inside, honey you need it

They were breathtaking up close — his eyes. Sparkling with an energy you’d never seen before. Rich umber alight with something you couldn’t quite place, too mesmerized by the promise his tongue wove through the air.

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you my love… oh!

He straightened with a backward toss of his head, and you found the word you were looking for in the droplets that flung from his curls. Power.

Wanna whole lotta love?

Janet—having an absolute field day over the spectacle—offered you her hand like she wanted to tango. Freeing your face with a brave sigh, you accepted with a slap of your palm in hers. She tugged with a childish delight, and you took your cue — spinning into her waiting arm and shooting back out with a flourish dredged up from some long forgotten place. The room became a blur of sound and light, of cheers from the bar and the stage. You stilled to find your footing, landing on his eyes.

You’ve been learning, and baby I’ve been yearning

He dipped down again. All them good times baby, baby, I’ve been lear-er-nin’, he punctuated with a shake of his head. He could see the whole vision of you, bright and clear under the stage lights. A wildness lingering just behind your eyes, a fragment unseen until now. It pounded at the cage of your chest, rose up in the shallow breaths you caught before Janet snatched you away again. He swore—silently on a deep inhale—that he would do everything in his power to coax it out of you.

Way, way down inside, oh honey you need it

I’m gonna give you my love

You couldn’t remember the last time you really danced. The last time you felt a rhythm with your body and followed its blind inspiration. No rhyme or reason, no plans or choreography. It felt awkward at first, like trying on skin fresh from the wash. Feeling your feet shuffle against the tacky linoleum, finding the rhythm of yourself with a room full of strangers as witness.

Somewhere between the beams of light and the wink of Eddie’s rings beneath them, you found it. Like a memory rising up, sweeping through you like a current. Visions of a stadium, roaring as a lion struts the stage with his golden mane, as he commands a sea of thousands with his voice. There was an animal in you too, wild and careless.

It grew wilder when the music dropped to nothing but percussion. When the room fell away to nothing but the heat from Eddie’s eyes, sparkling with play. It made your hips want to sway a little more, your legs want to dip a little deeper to match his wildness with your own. Imbued with a sudden, potent energy, he struck his wicked instrument as the rhythm and melody unraveled.

Janet took it in stride, leading you in a rocking shimmy as you swayed to the change in tempo. Light danced on her sequined shoulders as she tipped her head back in a blissful cackle. You followed her lead, eyes fixed on her with a surging power in the knowing of whose eyes were fixed on you.

The air was a cool kiss against the sliver of skin where your shirt left off, daring you to show a little more. With a twist of your arms toward the spotlights, you blessed him with the dip of your back — the alluring shadow of your spine that trailed into the high waist of your jeans. He panged with the urge to follow it, fell to his knees and wailed through his fingertips.

You broke from Janet’s pull to face him, eye-to-eye level, watching reverently as the sweat glistened in his clavicles, as his pelvis jutted into his weapon to eke out his solo. Howling for you with each stroke of its neck, each bend in its strings as you matched his rhythm with your hips. A secret world, just you and him, the rest fading out into nothing. He swore, like a spell in each note that he wove through the air, that somehow he would make it last.

From his knees, Eddie grabbed the mic off the stand, and with a wordless nod earned by years of friendship, Jeff took over the melody. To the delight of the crowd, he stripped himself of the weight of his instrument, setting it carefully off to the side.

You’ve been cooling, baby, I’ve been drooling, he crooned as he crawled forward.

All the good times, baby, I’ve been misusing

You played with him there. With your shoulders, with your eyes locked no more than a foot from his. Desperate to touch him, you worshiped every bead of sweat that fell from his temple, every wet curl that strayed from the nape of his neck and hugged the strong angle of his jaw. What left his lips next dripped with such fervent intention you that you couldn’t keep your hand from your face.

Way, way down inside

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you every inch of my love

I’m gonna give you my love

He was pure energy; raw and manic. Free in the way that wild things are. He snatched your breath away, dragged it to his den and had his way with it as he queried the chorus to you. There was wildness all around; in glinting sequins and megawatt smiles. In the flashes of limbs under the lights. In the rhythm you carried with your whole body now, moving in a way that was both so foreign and natural all at once.

You wondered how it looked from the outside; you and him. From the bar it might have looked like drunk spontaneity. From the stage it might have looked like a stint of support for the arts. You wondered, with a twinge of fear, if the others could feel the longing too or if you had masked it well enough as a performance.

The music dropped out to make way for the final lyrics.

Way down inside, he belted into the silence, punctuating with a deep inhale. Woman, he shouted, locking eyes with you for a pregnant second as the world came to a halt, you need… he drew a deep breath in the space the two chords allowed him before wailing the final word at the ceiling — loooooooove!

You felt it with every cell of your body in one suspended moment. Felt—for the first time since you could vividly remember—truly and completely alive. With a crash of cymbals and an electric instrumental boom, the rhythm—and the world—reconstituted around you, swirling with a vibrant energy that swept you away.

His dark eyes opened with a wicked glint, and his next breath left his chest as a command.

Shake for me, girl. I wanna be your backdoor man!

You obeyed with a shimmy of your shoulders and the room went wild.

______

Janet left you with a tight, perfumed hug. A gentle reassurance that yes, she was fine to drive home. She left you in the vacuum of slamming guitar cases and distant voices as the jukebox picked up where the band left off. Left you to sober up to how idle and awkward you felt sitting at the table you once shared with her, picking at the peeling label on the wet, empty bottle.

When you heard footsteps approaching, a part of you was grateful for the prospect of someone—anyone—to talk to, though it wasn’t who you hoped. Instead, it was the man in the cap from the bar.

“Hey, love the shirt,” he remarked, glance lingering a little too long over the text across your chest.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, gaze drifting back to the bottle.

He stepped closer, setting his can on the table. “I take it you went to that concert?”

“I did, it was really last minute actually.” You told him the story. You told him with your words and gestures, twisting in the tall stool to face him, but it was Eddie that drew your eyes. Crouched down with one knee bent beneath him and the other straining against denim slits, he collected his pedals into a tiny, vintage suitcase. There were words coming out of your mouth, but faced with the rigid angles of his thighs, you were helpless but to stumble over some of them.

It was then that you noticed he had already been staring, though not at you, at Bill — with a simmer behind his eyes.

“Man, I woulda killed to go to that show. I was working a double when tickets went on sale and a buddy of mine said he was gonna camp overnight for us. Well, he ended up getting into a fight with his girlfriend and flaked out. ‘Course they were sold out and closed by the time I left work.”

You expressed your genuine sympathy.

“Boy I was pissed at him then, but even more pissed after Bonham died. Like damn, that was my last shot, man!”

“I’m sorry you had to miss it. It was quite the show.” You told him what you could remember. The setlist, the stage, what they wore.

Eddie watched closely, carefully darting between you amidst the gathering of cables and closing of metal latches. He watched your hands come to life like he loved so much, like you always did when you were explaining something with fond enthusiasm. Helplessly, he watched the way Bill leaned closer, the way his hand and forearm made themselves at home on your table. The simmer hissed and bubbled behind his eyes.

“Anyways, it’s good to see such a lovely new face around here. One with great taste, I might add. Made my night.”

The simmer kicked up to a full, licking flame.

“Oh, well thanks. I don’t get out much,” you said with an awkward chuckle.

Bill stepped closer, as if his next point was something he had to lean in for. “By the way, and I hope this isn’t too forward, but… you’re a great dancer.”

Eddie watched your hand dive behind your neck, your face contort into a feeble smile, your shoulders hunch, your eyes glance down. He could hear the distress in your beautiful laugh and he boiled so hot he could have seared a hole into the back of Bill’s head.

He extended his hand. “I’m Bill, by the way.”

Eddie wrapped the cable in hasty circles around his forearm. Heat rose behind behind his tight lips and exited in short fumes.

“Hey man, have you seen the drum key anywhere?” Gareth called from behind him.

It barely registered. The world was a fragment now. A red-hot, narrowing tunnel reduced to a singularity — Bill’s hand.

Bill’s hand; hovering like a salacious invitation, too close to the soft swell of your belly. That open, rugged palm — weathered, experienced, and free. Free to reach into his wallet, to reach across the bar, to hand you a drink, to wander all sorts of places where Eddie could not.

You, ever polite and always accommodating, reached back.

He touched you.

Eddie’s vision narrowed red. Helplessly, he watched Bill’s fingers snake around the back of your hand and squeeze, linger at your palm as they released. A coil wound through his body. It rose up like bile — up through his spine, into his shoulders that rolled forward and back with a deep, seething breath. Up, up, into that primitive space at the base of his skull where words and civil manners had no place.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Eddie dropped the cable.

The world blurred in the wake of his target and in five swift steps he was at your side. “Hey, Bill. Uh—” his senses ebbed back to him with a curious look from the man he’d shared countless drinks with. A man he would call his friend had he not breeched a sacred distance, a contract he knew nothing of. His vision was clouded, the coil tight and hot.

“She’s um,” he continued quietly, a murmur he had to lean in for. An urge seized his hand. The urge to claim, to slip across the divot of your back and pull you close where you belonged, to but the noise from the stage and the eyes that followed forced his hand deep into his pocket. He swallowed his frustration, hoping the simmer in his eyes would be enough to convey what he meant. “She’s with me, man.”

A throb from that low, blooming place, rose up in a full body yes. In the arch of your back, in the dip of your eyes as you caught the desperate heat from his.

Bill blinked in honest surprise. “Wait, you mean,” he pointed between the two of you, eyes darting back and forth with a confusion that only deepened the insecurity of everyone involved, “you’re—”

“Yes,” Eddie hotly interrupted. The coil in him released slightly, a low rumble replaced by a surge that settled in his cheeks at the trembling, nervous laughter in your voice.

Flutters roared through you all at once, spinning the room well beyond the scope of the liquor that lingered in your veins, heightening your senses to the warmth radiating from the aching nearness of his body to yours.

“Well, hey man, we were just talking—”

“Yeah—well,” he glanced at you, an apology playing out in the widening of his eyes as the coil cooled to sobering embarrassment. He wished he could bury himself, open a trapdoor and take you with him. A parade of stomping feet and slamming cases trudged on behind him from the stage. He prayed the din was enough to mask the conversation.

“It’s ok!” you nervously exclaimed to both of them. “Really. Besides, I—I need to sober up anyway before I go home, so… it’s really ok,” you soothed to Eddie specifically.

Eddie’s pulse thrummed in his hears, his body a livewire of stress and embarrassment. “Ok. Well, I just, um… thought I’d let you know,” he concluded to Bill, desperate to string together some semblance of dignity. He dipped his head toward you until his voice hummed lowly in your hear. “It’ll just be a few more minutes. I gotta get the rest of this shit cleaned up, and then we can, um—” his eyes darted back and forth between yours in wordless exasperation.

“Yeah,” your body whispered, overriding any protest of your noble mind. To what you were agreeing to was unimportant. Whatever he wanted.

Eddie nodded and pivoted toward the stage in a swift exit.

In the wake of his absence was an awkward pause, a space Bill was quick to fill with words. “Well, um, it was nice to meet you,” he said with an awkward dip of his head.

“Yeah, you as well,” you said, a feeble anchor to the spinning room. Bill’s gaze hesitated with a flash of disappointment before returning to the bar. It was all you could do to just stand there a moment, heart pounding in stunned realization as the space whirled with the clammer of footsteps, the thud of equipment, the clinking of glasses. Suddenly the weight of your aloneness in the middle of it all was crushing. You retreated to the down the short hallway and ducked into the bathroom.

She’s with me.

In the muffled quiet of the dimly lit reprieve, the words echoed louder than ever. You were almost afraid to check your reflection, to look yourself in the eyes and face the person who ached to hear them repeated, but you did, and she surprised you. Something about the way your lipstick feathered clean in the center from the kiss of the bottle, the way your mascara settled at your lower lashes in the delicate lines beneath. It was oddly flattering, like the shadow of a good time.

You liked who you saw, and perhaps that scared you most.

Jeff’s laughter echoed down the hallway and the pinball trigger snapped again. What the fuck am I doing?

You would ask yourself this question as you pressed the tip of your boot to the dirty toilet handle, as the cold water woke your skin, as it dripped onto the salt-stained tile, as you dropped the soggy remains of the last two paper towels into the overflowing trashcan.

When the clammer of footsteps and slamming of the back door faded to nothing more than distant murmurs from the bar, you slowly cracked the door and peered into the empty hallway. Your boots clicked tentatively against the tacky linoleum, emerging from the shadows as you drew a steady breath. The stage was dark, the men perched on stools had their backs to you, all roaming eyes cast down over drinks — all except one.

Eddie stood in the middle of it all; hands on hips, damp curls clinging to his neck, chest still heaving from movement and stress. He locked eyes with you, and you could feel relief in his sigh from the apron of the hallway.

Your smile was a shy, timid thing, blooming to a helpless grin as the softness of his features heightened into focus with each progressive step. As the distance between you closed to less than a foot.

“Hey,” he breathed like a soft apology.

“Hey,” you answered, like you always did. A nervous crackle of anticipation wound through your gut.

“I um,” Eddie wrung a hand behind his neck, flashing a dark tuft of hair that made the animal in you stir. “I need to cool down,” he admitted with a raw, candid urgency. He patted his pockets. “I’m gonna step out for a cigarette… if you… wanna…” he nodded toward the back hall.

Yes. Anything, the animal growled. You simply nodded and went to grab your coat.

Eddie snatched the heap of leather from the railing by the stage and draped it over his arm. He ushered you forward with a sweep of his palm through the air, catching your eyes with a softness that threatened the strength of your knees. A giggle escaped you — honest, uncontrollable, automatic. Clutching your arm with a coyness that surprised even yourself, you shuffled in front of him, the towering presence of his closeness like a tingle at your back, a safety in the thud of heavy boots behind you.

The night air was a cold refreshment, a sobering reprieve from the hot, smoke-dense air of The Hideout. Your lungs helped themselves, filling to the brim, releasing just a little of the tension that was mounting before you arrived. It left you in a thick fog, drifting out into the empty patio, catching the glow from the singular bulb posted by the door. Eddie pulled it shut with a soft thud and shrugged on his coat in a rattle of zippers and chains.

Silence. A howl of the wind through naked limbs. A sigh that left both of you at once.

Eddie dipped his head in subtle reverence as he crossed in front of you, placing his hands on the short, wooden fence to your right. He paused a second, drawing a deep breath before spinning around to face you, hands splayed in an open plead. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Your mouth hung open. “A-about what?”

He ran a hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. “About Bill, about how I acted, a-about…” he swallowed, “what I said…”

An O trembled on your lips but never made it out. “It’s fine, really—”

“It’s…it’s not. It’s just that,” he huffed, “Bill was hitting on you a-and you just looked so uncomfortable and…” it drove him fucking crazy. It lit his blood on fire. It made him want to grab a man who’d bought him countless drinks by the collar and ram him into the wall.

You stepped closer, close enough to see the whites of his eyes in the darkness, the shadow of his pinching brow. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t stir something in you. Hearing those words. Hearing the ones he said now in profuse apology. “Eddie,” you soothed.

He closed his eyes; a split-second relish of his name on your lips. “It—” he sighed. “It wasn’t cool, to say that…” he shook his head before meeting your eyes in soft earnestness, “in public.”

The breath froze in your lungs. Out here the world fell away to the rustle of trees, to a darkness that cloaked you like a blanket. You were alone. Truly alone. A question tugged at your heart, twinged on the tip of your tongue but felt still too bold to leave it. What would he say, then, in private?

It played out like a tape behind his eyes — the curl of Bill’s fingers around your hand. It was such a simple gesture, benign outside of context. Yet there was something deeper, something that wound like a serpent through his gut. It struck, and stung, that in one fell swoop, Bill had touched as much of you as he had. That Bill could do as much in public as he could only manage beneath a shadow.

“Anyway, now that… that’s out of the way,” Eddie shook his head as he fumbled with the zipper of his pocket, curls feathering his delicate cheekbone, gaze cast down in weakly hidden shame. He procured a box of cigarettes, thumb flipping it open with an ease earned by years of habit. Popping one into his mouth, he paused before snapping it shut. “Y-you want one?” he mumbled. It seemed rude not to ask, but the question felt dumber by the second as it hung in the air. You were good. Good like 6 AM coffee, like the early morning sun. Good like the buttons on a crisp, white blouse. Yet here he stood, hand extended, offering what little he could — an experience.

Goodness was a mantle. A weight that kept your shoulders back, your lips pressed tight, your head cast down, your feet in slippers, your curtains drawn. Eddie Munson stood beside you, rugged and regal like a dark knight, arm outstretched in humble offering. With hesitance, you eyed the invitation.

Out here you could be anything — a vagabond, a runaway, a princess escaped from her castle. A woman who spends Tuesday nights at dive bars and smokes cigarettes with men in leather jackets. Anything you wanted.

You wanted to taste it. You wanted the flame, and the smoke, and the raw, ragged air that wound through your lungs and left like a beacon that soared toward the sky.

You wanted to be bad for him, and so you accepted.

The cigarette almost dropped from Eddie’s mouth in shock. He fumbled another from the box before tucking it into his back pocket. With a flourish, bending in its presentation as if it were a single rose, he offered it to you.

Never in a million years could you have imagined it. You, in a position like this. Him, in a position like that. Least of all that it would be so wildly romantic.

You accepted with the tips of your fingers, your index and middle, brushing ridges of his knuckles with feather-light indulgence. They closed around the offering, pausing for an aching second before drawing away with it.

Eddie closed his eyes, so quickly he could have masked it as a blink, but you caught it. The sigh, the swallow, the batting open with a burning hunger as he relished in the barest fulfillment of what he’d been craving since he saw you this morning — to touch you.

The cold nipped at your knuckles as you took in the foreign sensation between them, admiring it like a sinful adornment under the moonlight.

With a flick of his thumb, the parentheses of his mouth lit up in a warm glow. He took a few quick puffs, smoke billowing from his nose and the corners of his lips before taking a long drag. Satisfaction exited his lungs in a deep sigh, a billow that rose toward the twinkling sky. He turned his attention back to you. “Here,” he offered gently, beckoning you closer with a gentle come hither motion, readying his lighter.

You held your hand out gingerly, willing the trembling of your fingers to cease with little success.

Eddie closed in, bringing a finger to his lips as a gentle suggestion. “Put it in your mouth,” he said, unable to suppress the boyish grin that surfaced from the words.

You did as he told you, held it in your smirk, searched for your next instruction in the depth of his eyes but found only delight. Delight in the whole sight of you; the way it dimpled the swell of your lips, in the attention of those dutiful shoulders, like you wanted to be good at misbehaving. Delight in the fact he was teaching you something.

Eddie leaned closer. “Like this,” he instructed softly, framing his own with his long, ruddy digits before taking a quick drag. Obediently, you mirrored him, like a natural smoker would, like they did in the movies and inside the bar.

The flame ignited between you, flickering in the wild wind. Eddie cupped it with his other hand, forming a shield with the curve of his knuckles — gentle and protective. The fire caught the tip of the slender roll, but his palm was far more captivating. Inches from your face, you could study it closer than ever, plush and glowing — the broad heart line, the soft meat of its heel.

A deep inhale had smoke ghosting over your tongue. Eddie pulled away to reveal the ember and you took your cue. The drag you took, long and determined, left you coughing.

Eddie couldn’t suppress his chuckle, couldn’t mask the crinkle of his eyes as you—from behind the big desk and before the big board—were swallowed in a clumsy cloud of smoke.

“Are you laughing at me?” you asked through a giggle of your own.

Like oxygen to a flame, his laughter only brightened. “I’m sorry, you’re just… so…”

“So…what?” You gave him a look, trying to suck your dignity back through the end of the cigarette.

A million words ached on the tip of his tongue. The wind ripped across the small, frozen field, shyly disappearing in the treeline. Out here there were no bells, no footsteps, no concrete walls to listen. Eddie watched those fingers of yours pull away from your lips, blow a billow toward the open sky, and one in a million came tumbling out.

“Beautiful.”

A puff retreated back through your lips, froze in your lungs. The truth hung like smoke in the cold night air, rolled around in your chest, warmed your body from head to toe. Eddie plugged his mouth with another draw to prevent more from slipping out.

There was space for the truth out here. Space like a vacuum, vast and quiet. A shyly muttered “Thank you,” was all you could manage to fill it with.

Eddie raked his fingers through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, cheeks pinking visibly, even in the dim glow of the single light on the other side of the patio. He leaned against the fence and met your eyes again, nervous breath rolling over his plush lips.

His movement, like a magnet, drew your feet across the pavement. Deeper into the shadows with the gentle pull of his eyes. The tobacco settled in your body with a comfortable heaviness as you drank him in, and you suddenly grasped the appeal.

Out here he seemed even taller, shoulders stacked over slender hips as he leaned into the fence, an ease that washed over him with each generous draw, like the stress was rolling off into the shadows. Out here he took on a different posture, different than the one under fluorescent lights. Different than the one in the small chair next to you, the one with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

You tapped the ash of the cigarette off with your finger, like a natural smoker would. He smirked at the gesture, and you caught the twinge of pride in it this time.

Out here he could be anything. He could be clever and daring; a roguish enchanter. A man who casts spells with his fingers and charms with his words. Anything he wanted.

He wanted to make your eyes light up.

Eddie took another drag, hollowing his cheeks before sending out smoke in deliberate puffs with his tongue. It left his mouth in rings, hovering in the gap between you before drifting across the patio.

He got what he wanted. A gasp left your lips, eyes twinkling brighter than the stars. “What?! I didn’t know people could actually do that!” You exclaimed, delighted like a child on Christmas.

Eddie blew the rest off to the side and returned a blinding smile. It was more satisfying than the cigarette — the fact that he could do it, make your face light up. The fact that he had the power.

“How do you do that?” you asked, ever inquisitive.

His instructions were simple; take a big drag, hollow your cheeks, make the shape with your mouth, and push the smoke out with your tongue. Simple enough, from the sound of it.

Your first attempt failed, miserably. Uproariously.

“The shape is critical,” he reminded through a chuckle, “it’s gotta be like, a perfect O, not an oval.” His eyes lingered over your lips as you tried his suggestion, struggling to will his mind away from the gutter.

Your smile made it hard to maintain. “Wait—wait, hold on I think I got it.” You tried again with great focus, sending out puffs with your tongue that looked nothing like rings. It was worth it though. Worth making a fool of yourself for the amusement that colored his face, for the bright laughter it earned you. “Ok, fine. Maybe not.”

It looked good on him, just like it did on stage. This knowing that drew his shoulders back, made him lean with a powerful ease. The knowing that he was really good at something, that he could show you.

“It’s a bit advanced,” he said with a wink before taking another deep drag. He puffed a ring and cast it forward with a push of his hand, like a spell through the air. It broke on your nose and you relished in the soft sensation of his life-force ghosting over your face.

It was all you could do just to look at him — rugged and regal in the way that only he could be. It was dangerous and thrilling; how alone you were right now. His aura pulled you closer, eyes tugging at those burning questions, serious questions at war with your lingering buzz. You broke the silence with the truth; soft and sincere. “You’re insanely talented, I hope you know that.”

The curve of his lashes dipped shyly with a little puff through his nose. They raised with a sparkle that cut through the darkness. “Thanks, it uh… comes a lot easier to me than chemistry.” He tapped off his ash on the pavement.

You tucked your free hand into your pocket with a bashful shuffle of your feet. “Well, good thing rockstars don’t need to know chemistry then.”

Eddie scoffed and gave his eyes a quick roll, unsuccessful at hiding the brilliance of his smile. Heat crept up his neck, and he soothed it with a wring of his hand.

There was a gap between you; a space you were too scared to breach. The two of you filled it with shy chatter as your cigarettes dwindled to nubs. It was easy, to talk to him. About music, about anything. Easy because you gave each other turns to take it; the space. It almost made it easy to forget who you were to each other before you came out here, who you would go back to being tomorrow.

The cold was wicked and relentless; biting at your knuckles as you tapped the last ash. Even the tobacco’s heavy warmth sinking to your feet couldn’t stave it off. It was a Tuesday night in December, and the wind made sure to remind you.

Eddie followed your eyes toward the door. “It’s ok,” he reassured. “Nobody comes out here. We’re safe.”

His words sparked a tingle in your chest, a pulse of heat; low and thrumming. Neither could halt the shiver that seized your limbs.

“You ok?” he asked gently, stepping close enough to almost feel the heat from him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You blew on your hands, rubbing them together feebly to fight the cold. You were stubborn to surrender, determined not to end your stolen moment by succumbing.

It was all he could do just to look at you. You, shaking like a leaf in the wind. You, with longing eyes and trembling lips. You, with your soft skin and softer soul. His fingers burned, wrestled with the silence, and the distance, and the howl of the wind through the trees. They warred with the ticking clock, with the chill against his precious moment, with the threat of it winning. Suddenly his fingers—bolder than they’ve ever been in his life—twitched to animation. They toyed with the cold metal zipper at his neck, and in one decided tug, he opened up for you. “Here,” he offered.

You froze, more than the cold could ever manage, as you eyed the invitation — the warm leather cave, the exposure of his heaving chest. Your lips parted but words would not come. You wanted it — the heat, the tight embrace, to be wrapped in his aura, to feel his laughter with your palms.

Your noble mind as it cast its disapproval like a shadow toward your heart, but your hands and feet were deaf to it. Boots shuffling boldly against the rough pavement, they filled the gap between his. You accepted with the tips of your fingers, delicate and tentative, like his skin was a hot iron and yours at risk to burn. You watched them disappear into the darkness, felt the soft cotton warmth as it enveloped you. With trembling slowness, you traced the divots of his ribcage, settled into them like grooves, felt him gasp into your palms when the ice that you’d become found the velvet, heated skin under his arms.

“Sorry—”

“Hah—hmm—no-no it’s ok,” he grimaced, pinning your hands beneath his arms to stop your recoil, as if the pain of the freeze hurt less than the pain of its absence. “I—ah—I asked for this.” His chuckle was a warm vibration, a flutter as the cage which housed his heart contracted.

A shiver racked your body as you thawed. Whether it was nerves, or fear, or the chill that had settled deep in your bones long before you stepped foot outside, you were helpless to control it.

“Come ‘ere,” he breathed with equal care and need.

You submitted, tracing his contours as he pulled you closer — head against his solid shoulder, into the soft pillow of his hair, into the source of his scent: leather and tobacco and the sweet, salty musk of his skin. You closed your eyes and basked in it, nose buried in his curls, drawing in deeply to steady your rattling chest.

Broad palms splayed across the fabric of your coat, pulling you deep into the comfort of his heat, tracing your waist to settle in a place they burned to be — your lower back. “It’s ok, you’re ok,” he murmured into your hair, bracing you tightly as your whole body shook.

You could have died here, buried yourself in his arms and made him your tomb. They would find you in the morning; frozen like a sculpture. Left out for all of Hawkins to see, to point and say terrible things. It wouldn’t matter. You would have died happy.

His heart was pounding with disbelief. You, here, in his arms. You could feel it through your coat, hammering against your chest, into your palms at his back. Eddie felt your breathing slow, your body soften and relax. He crooked his forearm firmly to your back, to the place where it belonged, fingers curling like a cage around your waist. Out here he could be anything — strong and stable, a haven for your tired bones to rest. Anything, for you.

In the dark leather cave there was a landscape for your hands to study. The satin liner grazed your knuckles as your hands explored the angles of his shoulder blades with tentative slowness — down along the muscles of his back, the dip of his spine, the birdcage of his ribs; expanding and contracting, deep and steady.

He was real, here, in your arms. Two swelling lungs. One beating heart. Two hands that clutched the wool barrier between you. One solid shield of a chest. One humming column at your cheek. Eddie Munson; wildfire. Close enough to thaw you. Close enough to burn you to the ground.

Your hands settled at the slim taper of his waist. Pliant and yielding under soft cotton, swelling with each ocean breath. His cage around you tightened, and you breathed him in, felt him swallow, felt his hips slot against the groove of yours with sensed belonging.

The animal in you keened with curiosity, emboldened by the dark. Your hands wouldn’t dare beyond the roadblock of his belt, but they would move in slow strokes up and down his back. A gentle comfort, a mask for your indulgence.

A quiet moan rose up in him, one he couldn’t swallow. The best he could do was cloak it in a sigh. It hummed against your ear; your cheek so close to the crook of his neck you could almost taste it. You breathed him in again, lips pressed to his soft curls against tough leather as the smoke, and musk, and crisp night air filled your lungs.

His hands were less patient; dipping toward the slope of your hips, pawing at thick wool, thumbs drawing aching circles there. It earned an arch from your back, a grasp from your hands at the soft cotton barrier.

There was an animal in him too, preening at the cant of your hips, at the rub of your neck against his. With a dip of his chin he could sink his teeth in, but his noble mind willed it away, settled for the scent of you instead — soft like powder, warm and inviting. The heels of your palms drifted toward his belly, and the animal threatened to rear below his belt.

“Ah,” it leapt out his throat.

Hands freezing before reaching the healthy swell, you drew back from his shoulder, checking in. Your lids hung with visible weight, pupils blown by more than just the lack of light, dizzy from his touch. He could do that with his hands, he thought; a split-second revel before concern sobered your features.

His disappointment was palpable, like he’d burst some great bubble. “Mm—no, it’s fine, please—” please don’t stop. His arms around you tightened, eyes pleading with words he wasn’t bold enough to utter, even in the darkness.

A shadow of guilt fell across your face. Guilt for your greedy hands, for your lost control, for your bad behavior. It was a pitiful sight; worse than the one he saw yesterday. Worse because it was here. Worse because he was closer than he’d ever been before.

There was a gap between you; space for the cold to seep between your hearts. Space for the fear that he’d broken the spell. That you didn’t see him anymore, but your student instead.

You thumbed his soft cotton shirt, buried in the shelter of his coat. Eddie Munson — frenetic and compelling. Beautiful in the way that wild things are. Breathing life into your numb hands with each ragged swell. You studied him closely; his soft cupid’s bow, his pink, plush pout, the angles of his worried jaw, the pining in his eyes.

Want. A wild, elusive thing. A summer wind. An admission at a cost. Want didn’t budge. Want looked you dead in the eyes and tightened its grip.

Eddie knew what he wanted, burning like a question on his tongue. He knew he had to be the one to ask. He was terrified — of the question, of the asking, of the fact that he may never get another chance. Your hands grappled with it, clung like they feared he would vanish. He felt the ache in them, the want, the fear, the frustration. It opened up a narrow passage, and he entered with the boldest thing he had ever done.

He asked you with his forehead first. A gentle nod forward; the softest collision. A tickle of curls. A rock back and forth of his strong, sturdy brow. A smile even you couldn’t hide. Your hands released, settled at the dip of his back in quiet permission.

He asked you with the bridge of his nose. A delicate slope. A tender nuzzle. Rigid bone under soft flesh. Cold, round tip. Roaming the map of yours with heated intention as he swayed like a dance in the moonlight. You closed your eyes, surrendered to the fantasy. Felt the heat of his cheek, the pang of his palm at your back as he pulled you closer.

He asked you with a tilt of his chin, and brought time to a halt.

There was a gap between you. A fractional distance bridged by the ghost of his breath. Within it; every party that you never went to, every basement you were never led away from, every page you never shared, every experience you never had. Goodness was a mantle, heavy from a lifetime on your shoulders.

What did freedom taste like? The question brushed across your lips like a warm invitation. You were desperate for the answer. Wanted it more than anything, ever, in your whole entire life. Wanted it for you, for only you. For once.

Eddie asked the question. You closed the gap.

A sigh left both of you at once. One you could taste this time, humming against the plush cradle of his lips. Freedom could have melted you. It threatened the strength of your knees, but his arms were stronger. Locked against each other in the shadows you borrowed, your lips began to explore, to express every secret wish the two of you had dreamt apart.

Freedom tasted tentative at first. A slow drag of his lips, a languid slip that rippled to the dormant parts of you. Catching like tinder as they grazed over yours, hot with an ache you could taste. It was sinfully exquisite; tasting the curve of his smile, the hyper-real rasp of his stubble as those lips—the ones that shot you smirks from down the hall and spilled over with song—found a rhythm with yours. Broad palms clutched the wool at your waist like you’d slip through a crack if he didn’t hold on.

Freedom was slick. It tasted like cigarettes, like a thousand unsaid words ushered past the border of your mouth. You could taste every one on his tongue, soothed them with the slickness of yours. Every aching word, dripping in each soft caress. Diving like a dance, echoed in the soft, wet smacks when you parted. You devoured them like you were starving. Every sigh, every hum, every color that left his lungs slipped eagerly down your throat.

The wool at your back was a nuisance. Eddie pawed at it, desperate to feel the shape of you through the fabric, to store it in the vault of his mind, to play with it later in private. He halted his hands at your hips, willed them decent, rationed with the small working part of his brain that your lips would have to be enough. He relished in the way you accepted him. The way you spread for him, parting eagerly for his tongue. The way your lips closed around him, rocking as he prodded like you’d done it before. Like you wanted to elsewhere.

The spell was broken. The line, miles away. There was a hunger in you, sudden and surprising, roused by the very first taste. Eddie palmed your hips with an urgency that stirred you. Like a bear in the spring, thawed by the heat of his touch, you devoured him. Devoured him with the wholeness of your splayed hands, tracing up his pounding ribs, dragging across the expanse of his broad chest. It heaved under your touch; solid muscle under soft cotton. You devoured his moan; a hot, strangled thing that escaped his plush lips. Like a match to the strip your tongue, you ignited.

His hands lost their patience. Breaking from your waist, they dove behind your ears to cradle your face. Your face. Your jaw, your delicate cheeks he caressed with the rough pads of his thumbs, as if the swell of them—the rigid bones under soft skin, the absolute realness of you in his arms—could wake him from the dream he was surely having. He was tasting you, tasting the want on your tongue. More satisfying than a four course meal, more satisfying than anything he’d ever tasted in his life. You wanted him. More than that, you savored him; the taste of his hot, eager tongue as it slipped against yours.

Freedom was delicious. Bold and complex, acrid and rich. Full bodied. A smooth, sweet finish. You could have drowned in it. Drowned in the angles of his hands, in his tender strokes, in the sopping heat of his mouth. Drowned in his eager sighs, in his scent. Drowned completely if he hadn’t held your head above the surging waves.

Eddie was good like a midnight snack. Good like a wide open road. He was good at this. Good at knowing how to ask and answer. Good at at finding the rhythm of you.

You broke for air, stilling against the bridge of his nose, afraid to look him in the eyes just yet, to break away from the safety his shadow provided. Safe from the world, safe from consequences, safe from the thoughts that battered at the door of your mind. Safety was fragile and fleeting. You knew it, he knew it. Your breath mingled in hot bursts as you steadied your spinning world for a quiet moment together. You felt him smile—heard it—big and bright as it cracked across his face. The air stung your cheeks when he took his hands away. Leaning back against the fence, he tugged you closer, further into the safety of the shadows, enveloping you in the crook of his heat.

It was good like this — the angles of you and the angles of him, fitting like they always belonged. It felt safe to explore them, to paint his pounding chest, down the soft swell of his belly, stopping at his hips. With a thick bob of his Adam’s apple, he closed the gap again. It was chaste this time, peppering your lips with space to breathe between each kiss. They were slow and savory, steady and sure. They lingered long enough for you to get another taste, to capture that plush Cupid’s bow and let it melt across yours, to flick your tongue over his soft bottom lip and taste him there too.

You could taste his need when he greeted your tongue with his own. It was safe to show it here. Safe to let the animal inside him bare its teeth. Safe to let the animal in you do the same. It growled when he nipped at you, hooked its claws through his belt loops and tugged. It was a quick, testing thing, and your sound let him know that he passed. He lapped it up hungrily, soothed it before inflicting another.

It ached in a frightening way, in that deep, low place. Throbbed awake with each delicious bite. It scared you how quickly the path was veering south, but the pooling warmth encouraged his travels, let him go wherever he wanted. When his lips strayed far enough to track your jaw, a shrinking voice shrieked danger, but the rest of you simply submitted.

Claws braced denim and leather, offering yourself with a tip of your head. Reverently, he accepted, setting his pace with a dizzying slowness. He worshiped you with every latch, every press, every lingering smack, darting his tongue out to taste the forbidden angles of your jaw. It was greedy but good. To him, to you. Letting go this much. Letting him go this far. The trail cooled in the night air, and he settled at the precipice of your neck.

His breath alone was enough to melt you; heavy with the weight of his new position. Heavy with desire, with the weight of thousand fantasies he never thought would come to pass. He drank in the cocktail of your scent; concentrated, warm, deliciously real. In the throws of your own heaving chest, sobered just barely by the pregnant pause, you awoke to your position: open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

He tasted your swallow, felt your breath hitch when his warm, wet tongue found your pulse. Lathing there a moment, lingering and slow, he savored you. Savored the ridges of your neck, the way your head lolled to the side, like a feast laid out for him. He stored the image in his mind, packaged it carefully for when he would surely be starving again. His lips soothed where his tongue left off, over and over until your strangled sound stirred a fiending hunger. He bared his teeth, and you shattered.

Freedom was falling apart in his arms. Crumbling into pieces and letting him grapple you whole. Letting him capture you in his maw and lap up your ruin. Letting him, letting him. His teeth dragged dull and slow, tingling every waking cell, turning you to putty completely. He dragged a moan out of you. A full one, loud and clear. He tucked it away, buried it deep alongside your squirms and your touch.

The door opened.

Cold air shocked your lungs. Head snapping over your shoulder, you broke his latch and Eddie hissed a curse at the separation. With daggers, you both assessed the intruder.

The silhouette of his cap gave him away. He might have even kept on walking but the gasps and the shuffling feet made him turn. “Oh shit,” Bill flinched back in surprise. “Sorry man I thought you left.”

Eddie’s arm tightened instinctively, pulling you as close as he wanted to earlier. Reflexively, you pushed away. It was a strange tug of war — his pride and your fear. “Yeah—no we’re still here,” he snapped.

You swallowed your pounding heart, sobering completely under Bill’s gaze. Suddenly your claws retracted, your hands felt wrong where they rested, shame bit at your neck along the cooling trail he left behind.

Even in the backlit glow of the singular light, you saw it painted clearly on his features — the judgement, the disbelief, the questions rising up but not daring to come out. “Well um, sorry to interrupt. Have a good night,” Bill said with an awkward raise of his hand before making quickly for the parking lot.

Footsteps faded over gravel and left a silence in their wake, thicker than the stillness from before.

Eddie breathed a sharp sigh through his nostrils, brows lowered as he seethed toward the parking lot. The cold was setting in again. Your nose, and ears, and fingers stung with it. The rest of you stung worse; chest numbing, caving like a can under the weight of what you’d just done.

When the flick of distant headlights made you brave enough to face him, frustration painted his features. He pawed at your coat, desperate to salvage what he could of his precious moment. “Anyway, where were we?” he muttered, eyeing your neck with a tilt of his head like he was about to dive in again.

Your hand at his chest stopped him, and the look in his eyes was wounding. “Eddie,” you warned softly. A slow, heavy sigh left his nose, one you could feel with your palm. “I need to go.”

Crestfallen after a desperate, hesitant second, his arms went slack. Your hand dropped, leaving a fierce chill behind. One more, his lips begged, but struggled to release. Please.

It hurt, to crumble like this after all you had built. With the roar of Bill’s engine, the fantasy shattered around you. The carriage became a pumpkin, your gown turned into rags. Shrill bells rang out in the distance, coming surely as the sun would rise. Pinballs thundered as that sweet oval face—the one from the back of the room and the chair next to yours—pouted with lips still swollen from where you had broken your contract.

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed.

Gathering himself with a deep breath, he straightened to a dignified height, conviction filling the cracks in his composure. “I’m not.”

It was terrifying — the prospect, the consequences. What it meant for you, for him, for the world you’d have to face tomorrow.

Most terrifying of all was how good it felt to hear him say.

______

A/N: Thank you all for your patience on this one. It took me nearly all summer to finish but I'm really proud of how it turned out. Please let me know what you think! I've missed hearing from and connecting with all of you. Next one won't take nearly as long, I promise. 💕

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @storiesbyrhi @cursedyuta @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @big-ope-vibes @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

______

MASTERLIST ⎮ AO3 ⎮ KO-FI

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #don't stand so close to me

635 notes · View notes

darlingvernon · 1 year

Text

always been you [M] | yoon jeonghan.

Author: darlingvernon

Pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem reader

Genre: royalty au, arranged marriage au, smut

Rating: 18+

Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

Word Count: 10,521

Summary: you promised yourself that you wouldn’t fall in love but jeonghan just had to go ahead and ruin everything

Author’s Note: this is my piece for the @svthub collab: Pink Eros. i’d written it differently to the way i usually write due to the concept and i'm sorry it's so long lol. please make sure you check out the other works in the collab and support my fellow writers as well! please let me know your thoughts and i hope you guys enjoy!

You were six years old when the Duke, your father, told you that you were engaged to the Crown Prince.

Back then, you had no idea what it all meant. But, being the obedient daughter that you were, the words ‘Yes, Father’ came out of your own mouth with no hesitation. That was when your whole life changed.

Almost immediately, your etiquette, history and dancing lessons increased, especially when compared to your older brother Joshua who was also taking advanced lessons as heir to the Kidrey Duchy. On top of that, you also had to learn various other subjects that would shape you to be the Crown Princess and future Empress, the Empire required.

Gone were the days when you sat back and enjoyed being a regular noble six year old and you didn’t even have the time to say goodbye.

A year later, you met Jeonghan.

On your seventh birthday, you and the Duke went on a week-long journey to Lombardi, the Capital of the Attacca Empire. As soon as you arrived, your presence was summoned by the Emperor, who had wished to greet his future daughter-in-law himself.

Your eyes were glued to the floor as you stood beside your father in front of the Emperor. To others, it would’ve seemed that you were greatly intimidated by the presence of His Majesty, which was true to some degree, since you were busy trying to remember whether you should bow, curtsey or do a mixture of both.

However, to the boy who sat next to His Majesty, it appeared that you were far more interested in the tiles that adorned the Great Hall than him. Speaking from experience, the other girls usually stared at him and giggled to themselves, mumbling about how good looking he was. The fact that you were acting differently had his curiosity piqued.

“Lady _____, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” His Majesty greeted and you managed to finally look up at him, thanks to your father’s reassuring hand that was on your back. “Blessings to you on your birthday. As a gift, I’d like to present my son, Crown Prince Jeonghan, who’ll be your playmate and fiancé.”

You finally noticed the boy who was sitting next to the Emperor when he stood. Despite being the same age as you, he was much taller. His jet black hair made his porcelain skin stand out and his clothing made his build deceivingly lean.

When your eyes met, there were no sparks, no butterflies fluttering in your belly like in the novels your nanny used to read to you. Though there was fire in his eyes as he continued to stare, you continued to feel nothing.

That same day, you decided that you would never fall in love with Jeonghan.

Since the Kidrey Duchy was a fair distance away from Lombardi, it was decided by His Majesty that Jeonghan would spend every summer at the Duchy, so that you were both able to fulfill your duties as playmates. Every summer, the only times you ever saw each other were during his arrival and during meal times. Even then, words were barely exchanged between you. Jeonghan spent most of his stay studying and sparring with Joshua and if people didn’t know any better, they would have thought that your brother was His Highness’ playmate instead.

Summer after summer passed by with no incidents and no changes to your relationship, until you turned fifteen and were making preparations to debut into high society.

It was your typical afternoon, nose buried in a book in the library when Tia, your personal maid, came and informed you that Jeonghan had invited you for some tea in the garden. With no good excuse to turn him down, you made your way to join him.

As you walked, you wondered what possessed the Crown Prince to invite you to tea but came to no conclusion. You thought the whole thing was rather strange, especially when he dismissed the guards and maids as soon as they poured your tea.

“Thank you for joining me, _____,” Jeonghan spoke first and the lack of formality took you by surprise, delaying your answer.

“Thank you for inviting me, Your Highness,” you replied after composing yourself.

Jeonghan grimaced, “Please just call me Jeonghan.”

“Your Highness, I could never—”

“At least, while we’re in private. Please,” Jeonghan requested, firmly.

You sat back and took the time to consider his request. Based on the look of determination on his face, it didn’t seem like he would have changed his mind. “I can do that,” you acquiesced, and decided to drop the formality altogether. “So, Jeonghan. Is there a reason we’re having tea at the moment? We haven’t really spoken to each other at all, ever.”

To his credit, Jeonghan didn’t bat an eye. “Father has requested that I escort you to the debutante ball,” he revealed.

With a sigh, you reached for your cup and brought it to your lips. After taking a sip, you realised it was chamomile tea, your favourite. Was this pure coincidence or did he happen to know?

“Of course, he did,” you replied eventually. “I suppose that I don’t have a choice in the matter?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jeonghan answered and you didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed. “Did you have somebody else in mind?”

“Only my brother,” you shrugged. “I didn’t want any unwanted attention or any targets on my back, which is now no longer the case. I didn’t think His Majesty wanted our engagement to be known yet?”

Jeonghan grabbed his fork and stabbed the opera cake in front of him, taking a small piece to taste. “That would be correct,” he confirmed. “The gesture won’t be revealing our engagement or placing a target on your back. You are the only daughter from the Heads of the Founding Families, it’s only right that I escort you.”

You couldn’t argue with that fact. It wasn’t unheard of from any Empire for the Crown Prince to escort a daughter from a Ducal Family. As you thought about the debutante ball, another problem reared its ugly head. “Jeonghan, you leave tomorrow,” you pointed out.

“I do.”

“How long have you known that you were going to be my partner?”

From the look on Jeonghan’s face, he expected this. “Before I left Lombardi,” he answered nonchalantly.

To say you were irritated was an understatement, but due to the fact that you were in front of the Crown Prince, you had no choice but to keep your composure. “But, you only told me today?” You laughed, humourlessly. “For what purpose—”

“I just felt like it.” Jeonghan shrugged and a smirk plastered itself on his beautifully annoying face.

Would you have been hung for treason for socking him right in the mouth even though he was your future husband?

Jeonghan could have sat there and watched you grow indignant all day. It far was better than the usual emotionless face you showed him every day. He knew you would make him pay for it later but he didn’t know how else to approach the fact that neither of you had spoken properly in all those years you had known each other and it was starting to frustrate him.

Negative thoughts and insecurities festered in his head since the day you met and nothing had satisfied his growing curiosity. He was running out of options and he wanted to at least try and get to know you before your impending nuptials. Resigned to the fact that he had to marry somebody who wasn’t of his own choosing, he’d be damned if he had to marry somebody who was a complete stranger to him.

It was impossible to run the Empire efficiently in that sense, let alone growing old together and spending the rest of your lives together.

“I didn’t mean to displease you,” Jeonghan said, and it finally got you out of your head. “Forgive me, I was only trying to knock down two birds with one stone.”

The revelation surprised you once more and you weren’t sure how many more you could have taken that day. “What was the other issue that you were concerned about?” you queried.

Jeonghan leant forward and placed both arms on the table. “We don’t converse with each other much” —he raised a brow when you were about to question him— “or at all for that matter and that is a problem. For our future and for the Empire.”

Whatever retort you had in mind came up short and you gestured for him to continue.

“We can correspond through letters,” he explained. “You can write to me once you’ve chosen your dress so that I can make sure that we match and after that, you can write about whatever you want. I don’t care if you write about every mundane thing you do. You can even write to me all the swear words and curses currently circling in your head.”

The giggle was out of your lips before you could stop it and in return, you received the view of Jeonghan’s bright smile. “I hope you won’t regret that,” you conceded. He brought up great issues to be considered and admittedly, these concerns were not new to you as they plagued you as well. “However, what are we going to do about the first dance?”

“That’s not a problem,” Jeonghan assured you. “I’ve seen you dance after all.”

“I beg your pardon—”

“Besides” —he interrupted and hoped that you’d forget about his slip— “I’m a Prince. I’ll be able to lead perfectly even if you have two left feet.”

“I do not—”

Jeonghan’s laugh echoed in the gardens and it finally dawned on you that he was just teasing. You forgave him only because he allowed you to stomp on his foot once during the dance.

And that was how your friendship blossomed.

You were eighteen when you broke your promise.

It was rather unusual for Jeonghan to be at the Kidrey Duchy during autumn and more so with such a sombre expression on his face as he stood next to you, especially after the way you both grew increasingly close to each other. But, it didn’t compare to how you looked and felt beside him.

It had only been a week since he heard the news of the Duke and Duchess’ passing and he had arrived as soon as possible. So, your hollowed eyes and sunken cheeks were a devastating shock to him. Even your brother fell to his knees and shed tears next to you as they lowered the caskets into the graves but you continued to remain stoic, showing your strength which allowed your brother a moment of weakness.

Jeonghan almost believed that you were coping rather well, but his fears were soon realised when he saw how your hand trembled as you picked up the shovel, dirt spilling from the way you shook and barely made it to the grave. As he waited for you to stand next to him once more, he tried to think of a way that he could have eased your pain.

Once Joshua gathered himself, Jeonghan took his chance and offered you his hand. A look of confusion flashed on your face and when you turned to look at your brother, he nodded in consent. Jeonghan pleaded with you until you finally took his hand and allowed him to lead you away.

You weren’t sure where he was taking you but it seemed to be the left annex of the manor where he usually stayed during his visits. Without question, you followed him until he led you into the drawing room and pulled you in with him.

“Seungcheol and Mingyu, stay out here and stand at least ten metres from this door,” Jeonghan instructed. “You do not hear whatever sound will come from this room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The guards bowed and obeyed his directions.

Jeonghan then led you into the centre of the room and you searched his face for an explanation. He took your hands into his, rubbed his thumb across your skin in a soothing manner and said, “I can’t even begin to understand the pain that you’re going through, but it’s just you and me in this room. It’s just you and me in this building. So, go ahead and release the grief that you’re keeping at bay. No one here will think of you as weak. Cry. Scream. Hit me if it helps. Just… don’t keep it inside you like this.”

At a loss for words, all you did was gaze at your joined hands.

“If it helps, I won’t even look at you,” he implored and closed his eyes. “I can even turn around,” he declared and did as he said. When he still couldn’t feel any movement from you, he grew even more desperate. “Look, I’ll leave. I’ll stand with the guards and let you be if you don’t want to appear weak in front of me. I’ll be on my way.”

Jeonghan barely took a step before you grabbed his wrist with both of your hands like your life depended on it. “Don’t you dare look at me,” you begged, voice filled with agony as tears spilled from the corner of your eyes. There was no stopping now that your grief had breached the surface and you hung tighter onto him as your legs gave way.

“It’s a promise,” he assured you, clutching your hands with his free hand.

“Don’t even bother trying to hear me!” you cried hysterically. Jeonghan repeatedly reassured you as your screams echoed through the room.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but eventually you finally stopped crying. When he turned to face you, his heart broke to see you filled with so much anguish. Jeonghan swore then that he would never allow anything to hurt you like this ever again.

“Jeonghan, I’m tired,” you croaked out. “I want to retire to my room, but I can’t seem to move.”

“Forgive me,” he bowed and gathered you into his arms. “I will take you back.”

“I don’t want anyone to see,” you whined like a child, but that was the least of your worries. You didn’t want to appear weak, especially in front of your brother who needed you the most.

“I understand,” Jeonghan nodded and called for his guards. He instructed them to clear the path and asked them to make sure that your brother would be otherwise preoccupied. “I have handled it. All you need to do is close your eyes and hold on to me.”

Far too tired to argue or come up with a retort, you permitted him to accompany you back to your quarters and thanked him for his efforts.

As the days passed, Jeonghan continued to look after you and in no time at all, the air between you had changed once more. Certainly on your end. Conversations flowed freely, even in person and the fluttering butterflies and sparks that had been lacking previously, suddenly appeared.

It was then that you realised that you had fallen in love with Jeonghan.

At first, you tried to deny it. There was no way your feelings had changed so suddenly. But, had it really been that sudden? It was a fact that you started to see him differently once you started to exchange letters, finding him far more interesting after you took the time to get to know him, and since actions spoke louder than words, it should have been no surprise that he eventually carved his presence into your heart.

After you became aware of your feelings, there was no escaping Jeonghan. His presence plagued you day and night, especially since he decided to stay another month to help prepare for Joshua’s succession to the Dukedom. It was starting to drive you mad, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you made the decision to let Jeonghan know how you felt about him.

That was, until you found out how he felt about you first.

It was the day before Joshua’s succession ceremony and you were on your way to see your brother in his office when you overheard their conversation from outside the door.

“I see you and _____ have become rather close lately,” Joshua stated, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Jeonghan laughed a little.

“Have you grown fond of her?” your brother asked and you knew what he meant by his question. With bated breath and heart beating hard in your chest, you leaned closer to the door to hear Jeonghan’s answer.

“You know that I am bound to her by duty,” Jeonghan sighed and continued to speak some more but you could no longer hear what else he was saying. All you heard and felt was your heart shattering into pieces and you couldn’t stand to be there anymore, running all the way back to your room as tears streamed down your face.

You were such a fool for falling in love with him when it wasn’t love that intertwined him with you. Once you were all cried out, you cast your love for him out of your heart and left it hollow as you pieced its parts back together.

That day, you swore that Jeonghan would never be in your heart ever again.

Jeonghan is no fool.

As Crown Prince, he’s knowledgeable when it comes to all important matters concerning the Empire. But, when it concerns the matters of the heart, it seems that he still has a lot to learn.

This is blatantly obvious when it concerns you.

Jeonghan knows that something has changed in his relationship with you, especially if your one sentence replies to his letters are anything to go by. He could write anything between a page to ten pages long about various subjects, but your reply is always the same.

Everything is going well, Crown Prince Jeonghan.

Based on that sentence alone, Jeonghan comes to two conclusions:

You are a terrible liar

Something is definitely amiss

He sits back on his desk, mountains of paperwork long forgotten as he rubs his temple in frustration. The dread and worry within him continues to grow, not just because of the impending engagement announcement scheduled in a couple of days but more so because of his feelings for you.

Sighing, Jeonghan tries to recall when your attitude and behaviour towards him began to change, deducing that it was the day before your brother Joshua inherited the Dukedom and after the conversation Jeonghan had with him.

“I see you and _____ have become rather close lately,” Joshua stated, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Jeonghan laughed a little.

“Have you grown fond of her?” Joshua asked, seriously this time.

“You know that I am bound to her by duty,” Jeonghan sighed.

“And is it still just duty that binds you to her?”

“You’re insufferable and I would’ve hung you if you weren’t my friend,” Jeonghan replied playfully. “Fine, I admit it. I have grown rather fond of her. It’s not like I could help it. She…”

Suddenly, a memory of the faint smell of your perfume from right outside Joshua’s office comes to the forefront of his mind and everything starts to become clear.

You overheard him.

There is no other explanation that comes close to this. Though he’s found the catalyst for the change, Jeonghan still doesn’t understand why you’re reacting the way that you are. Is it because you only heard part of the conversation and had been upset about it? Or is it because you heard everything he had to say and decided to distance yourself since you didn’t return his feelings?

Whatever the case is, though he hopes it isn’t the latter, he has no time to sit around fiddling his thumbs and wallowing in sorrow. With so little time left before the engagement announcement, Jeonghan needs to make amends and work things through with you, before your relationship becomes broken beyond repair.

With that in mind, he summons his butler and organises some gifts to be sent to the Lombardi Estate where you’re currently staying, even though he knows it will be futile since you are someone who is not so easily swayed by such gestures. But, he hopes to at least get a different reaction than the one you’ve been giving him, preferring your anger over your indifference.

Jeonghan isn’t surprised to see the gifts returned back to the Palace a few hours later. However, he is surprised to see Duke Joshua waiting there for him.

“Did _____ send you to have a word with me?” Jeonghan sighs as he pours a drink for the both of them in the drawing room.

“No, though she did say that she doesn’t require this grand gesture and assured that she’ll be performing her duty well,” Joshua snickers before quickly settling down when Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m here with a solution.”

“Admittedly, I’m willing to try anything at this point,” Jeonghan grumbles.

“Take her out to the Valentine's Festival tomorrow.”

“Will that really work?”

Joshua shrugs, “You know what they say, it’s a magical time and Eros always blesses the celebrants with love.”

Jeonghan doubts his chances. “I don’t know if that’s possible for either of us.”

“What have you got to lose?” Joshua challenges, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I know my sister. Take her to the Festival and it’ll all work out.”

During breakfast the next day, your brother Joshua drops a letter beside you before he excuses himself from the Dining Hall. The Red Imperial Seal on it lets you know that it’s a letter from Jeonghan. Every fibre of your being wants to ignore it and rip it into shreds but you can’t seem to do it.

With only a day left before your engagement announcement at the Imperial Banquet, it could contain something important, so you open it reluctantly.

Dearest _____,

I would be honoured if you would accompany me tonight to experience what the Valentine’s Festival has to offer.

If you are so inclined, I have sent some commoners’ clothing to serve as a disguise and I will be waiting for you at the entrance of your Estate as soon as the sun sets.

Don’t worry, I have permission from the Duke.

Yours, Jeonghan.

With a sigh, you place the letter back on the table and reach for your cup of tea. Placing it on your lips, you take a sip and let the disappointment of the peppermint set in. You haven’t been able to drink chamomile for awhile now as it reminds you of bitter memories with Jeonghan.

As you lower the cup back on the table, you try to come up with a dozen excuses to decline him but find yourself unable to do so. His invitation is far too tempting, especially since you’ve always been curious about the Valentine’s Festival.

The Valentine’s Festival is an annual celebration held for Eros, the God of love, and is one of the most popular and grand events in the Attaca Empire.

Streets in the Capital are lined up with various stalls filled with food, jewellery and other merchandise, and the inns and boutiques are filled to the brim. There are dancers, magicians, actors and singers on almost every corner of the Square and the city is alive for most of the day and well into night. It’s easily the busiest and most profitable event in the Empire, lasting a whole week and ending with a banquet hosted by the Imperial Family.

Nobles and Commoners from all over the Empire converge in Lombardi to see what the Festival has to offer and hope to leave with their hearts full; it is a celebration of love after all.

You’ve never felt that there was a point in you partaking in the festivities and celebrating love since you’ve been betrothed to Jeonghan since before you were even born. Duty is the reason you’re bound to spend the rest of your lives together and not the other four letter word everybody else yearns for. Just like he said all those months ago.

Despite all your efforts, you haven’t been able to forget your feelings for him. Every time you read his letters, your affection for him grows and you can never throw them away, no matter how hard you try. And despite your efforts, Jeonghan refuses to give up, not allowing you to stray far away from him.

Why is he doing this? Is this really all just because of his duty? Is there really no way that his heart beats for you like yours does for him?

He confuses you to no end and you don’t know if this is something you can live with as long as you’re with him. You have to know how Jeonghan really feels and in doing so, you hope that your heart will finally be at peace. Grabbing the pen and paper that Tia had prepared, you write your reply and agree to meet him.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Jeonghan greets you once you’re within his reach.

Dressed in nothing but a pair of black trousers and matching black button down shirt, his top two buttons are undone and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal veins that run from his arm down to his hand. With his hair slicked back, you think it’s rather unfair how dashing he looks in these plain clothes.

Compared to Jeonghan, you’re wearing a red floor length summer dress, short sleeves sitting just below your shoulders and white flowers adorning the whole fabric.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d come,” he says, tearing his gaze away from your exposed collarbone. “Also, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you. Honestly, I didn’t think I would come either,” you admit with a small smile. “But, the offer of seeing the Valentine’s Festival is far too tempting. Is it just us two or will there be guards with us?”

Stepping closer, Jeonghan offers to hoist you up on the horse and he’s thankful that you don’t decline him. “The guards will be watching from afar,” he answers as he settles you on the horse. “They won’t come unless I call them so it will be mostly just us. I didn’t want to attract any attention to us so we can enjoy everything freely.”

“Jeonghan, you could be wearing rags and the people will still recognise the Crown Prince,” you scoff. Only a blind person wouldn’t see and know who he is, with his perfect handsome face.

“That won’t be the case,” he assures you as he mounts the same horse and seats himself behind you. Pointing to the ring on his right pinky finger, he explains further, “Jihoon imbued some magic in here that helps disguise my face. Only you can see me as I am.”

“The Royal Mage?”

“That’s him.”

“Do you think he can give me one as well?” you ask as calmly as you can, considering your proximity as Jeonghan starts the horse on a light trot. He’s sitting so close that you can feel his breath against your hair.

Jeonghan slightly tightens his arms around you, on the guise of making sure you don’t fall off, even though he truly just wants to be closer to you. “I’ve already asked him to put some spells on the engagement ring I’ll be giving to you tomorrow,” he answers, slightly flinching at the word engagement as he doesn’t know of your feelings yet. “I can ask him for something else if you wish?”

“No, the ring is fine,” you reply, trying to hide your hurt from feeling him flinch against you. The night is off to a terrible start but you promised that you would try to enjoy yourself at the very least, so you push yourself to move on. “So, what exactly will we be doing at the Festival?”

With a sigh, Jeonghan collects himself. The night is only beginning and he won’t lose hope just yet. “There’s lots of shows and dances for us to see along with the fireworks,” he reveals. Smiling, he adds, “We’ll also do lots of eating of course.”

You can’t help but laugh then and if you turn your head slightly, you would’ve seen the relief on Jeonghan’s face. “Well, now you’re speaking my language,” you state, covering your mouth with your hand as you giggle. “Let’s get moving then. There’s no time to waste.”

Bending slightly, Jeonghan whispers in your ear, “Yes, dear.”

The term of endearment takes you by surprise and you have to stop yourself from turning to look at him, not wanting to reveal how much it affects you. You need not bother really because Jeonghan clearly sees the way your hands cup your heating cheeks in an attempt to cool them and he has to spend the whole journey to the town square stopping himself from kissing your adorable face.

It isn’t long until you reach the Capital, the trip feeling shorter than you thought due to the conversation freely flowing just like it used to. Laughs and banters were shared and not a hint of awkwardness was found.

Leaving the horse in an alley, Jeonghan takes you by the hand and leads you around the Festival. Like a seasoned veteran, he takes you around from stall to stall, seeing what the merchants have to offer, before finding you both a seat at the small outdoor theatre where a play is about to begin.

“I didn’t think you’d know your way around,” you mention before taking a bite from the skewer he bought. “Am I correct in saying that you’ve done this before?”

Jeonghan swallows his food and answers, “You’d be correct. I’ve been out and about once or twice before.”

Biting your lip, you decide to test the waters. “Accompanying other ladies, I presume?” you ask.

“You are the first,” Jeonghan clarifies quickly. “I haven’t taken anyone else, nor do I plan to take anybody else but you.”

You accept his answer with a small smile and turn your attention to the commencing performance.

Try as he might, Jeonghan cannot look away from you even if he wanted to, finding you far more captivating than the play. He watches the way your eyes sparkle and the way your smile grows in wonder, etching it in his memory in the off chance that the misunderstanding between you doesn’t get resolved.

When the play finishes, you applaud and join the audience in a standing ovation, telling Jeonghan how great the play was and all of your thoughts about it. He doesn’t have a single clue what you’re talking about since he saw none of it but he listens intently, smiling at how passionate you are about it.

Suddenly, a group of musicians make their way onto the stage and the previous performers work to remove the wooden crates that were used as seats, turning a portion of the Square onto a dance floor. Not wanting to waste the opportunity he’s been given, Jeonghan bows in front of you and offers his hand.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

“Jeonghan,” you whisper so that the crowd doesn’t hear. “It isn’t that I don’t want to dance with you, but I don’t know how to do this kind of dance.”

“I don’t see that as a problem since I can lead you,” Jeonghan assures you.

Reluctantly, you give him your hand which he gladly accepts. “I believe you said that you hadn’t taken a lady here before,” you state, pout growing as he snickers at your miniature tantrum. “How is it that you know this dance then?”

Holding your right hand tightly with his left hand, he places your other hand on his shoulder and rests his free hand on your lower back. “I learnt through watching,” Jeonghan smirks and gently ushers you closer to him until there’s no space left between your bodies. “Besides, I’m the Crown Prince, I can do anything.”

“Including making a fool out of me, I bet.”

“Sweetheart, that would be impossible,” Jeonghan utters and just as you open your mouth to try and say something, the music starts and he begins to lead you.

The dance seems simple enough so far, starting off with the basic steps of the waltz which you’re thankful for, as Jeonghan’s close proximity continues to distract you. “Why do you do that?” you query, your burning curiosity getting the better of you.

To your chagrin, Jeonghan feigns innocence. “I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest idea what it is you are referring to, my darling.”

“That! It is exactly that! Why do you use every form of endearment and not call me by name?”

“We agreed to only do so in private,” Jeonghan teasingly reminds you. “On top of that, I quite enjoy” —his hands travel to your waist and lifts you into the air— “seeing the way you look so flustered.”

At this revelation, he gets a perfect view of your gaping mouth before he has to lift you in the air again.

“I knew it,” you scoff upon your soft landing, thanks to Jeonghan’s sturdy hands. “Two can play this game, you know.”

“Oh, you think so?” Jeonghan challenges as he signals that another lift is coming.

“I do, my love,” you reply coyly just as he lifts you again, and you can tell that you’ve caught him off guard from the way his hands slip slightly, almost dropping you. “Honey, you almost dropped me,” you scold, playfully smacking him on the chest once you’re safely back on your own two feet.

“The fault is yours for surprising me,” Jeonghan mutters, biting back the smile threatening to take over his face.

Guiding you to stand beside him and turning you to face the opposite direction he is, Jeonghan places his arm in front of you to hold your hip that’s furthest from him and you mirror his motion, allowing him to turn you both in a circular motion.

“I didn’t think anything could surprise you, dear,” you tease, feeling his hand tighten on your hip.

“Admittedly, I didn’t think so either,” Jeonghan grumbles, slightly pushing at your hip so you can both change the direction you’re facing. “At least until I met you.”

You’re about to respond when Jeonghan turns you again and you find yourself facing another gentleman. It seems the dance includes a change in partner ever so often until you arrive back at your original partner. It’s unfair of him to say such a thing just before he hands you off, further confusing you and igniting the feelings you have for him once more.

Taking a chance to look at him, you find him staring back at you. His new dance partner is speaking with him and he seems to be conversing with her but his gaze on you is unwavering and you are trapped in his spell. Unable to look away even if you wanted to and even if you have to because of the steps of the dance, your eyes find him again and again through the crowd, feeling even closer to him despite the distance.

And when the dance finally comes to a close, you end up back in his arms like you were always meant to be there. Like Jeonghan was always the one meant to hold you.

This feeling of uncertainty is foreign to you. All this time, you thought you knew how he feels about you, but his words and actions beg to differ.

However, it matters not, until you know the exact reasons for the way he’s behaving.

Is he still only motivated by duty? Or did the premise of the Valentine’s Festival finally open up his heart?

Whatever the case may be, it is something you can no longer ignore and your growing feelings for him is something you can no longer deny.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you ask and Jeonghan is taken aback. “Why do you confuse me so?”

Your inner turmoil is written as clear as day on your face and Jeonghan wishes for nothing more than to be able to gather you in his arms and confess his feelings to you. The thought alone scares him half to death but it’s not as frightening as the thought of spending the rest of your lives together with your cold indifference towards him.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Of course, there is a chance that once he finally reveals his true feelings that you may not feel the same way about him. If that is the case, it’s still possible for you to grow to love him, further down the line as you both grow older. But, Jeonghan knows that if he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity he’s been given, your heart may close the door on him forever.

“_____, listen—”

“Jeonghan, I—”

“Everyone, the fireworks will begin in a few minutes!”

Sighing, you lower your head onto Jeonghan’s chest. “I know we need to talk but I also want to see the fireworks,” you whine.

Cupping your face in his hands, Jeonghan raises your head so that you can look at him. “We can watch the fireworks and talk after,” he concedes, but it’s worth it when your eyes light up like Christmas morning. Placing his hands gingerly on your shoulders, he instructs, “Please stay right here and wait for me. I’ll be right back with some refreshments.”

“I’ll wait,” you assure him.

“I’ll only be a minute, please stay right where I can see you.”

Gently squeezing your hand, Jeonghan reluctantly turns away from you and heads to find the nearest pub. Every now and then, he turns to check that you’re still right where he left you. This time, when he turns, his brows furrowed in worry when he no longer sees you in his field of vision as the crowd fills the square.

Drinks forgotten, Jeonghan weaves through the crowd in search of you. He calls for you multiple times to no avail and even as he reaches the spot where he left you, there’s no sign of you anywhere. It’s just his luck that the fireworks then commence and it drowns out his voice as he begins to call for you once more. Cursing, he makes his way through the sea of bodies to continue his search.

The thought of something terrible happening to you fills him with dread, making him sick to his stomach. He pleads with Eros to help him find you and his prayer is answered when a gust of wind carries along petals that land in your vicinity. Bristling, he makes his way over to where you are.

“Oh Jeonghan, there you are,” you greet but your smile fades as soon as you see the expression on his face. It’s one that you’ve never seen on his usually bright face, at least not directed at you. “Is something the matter?”

Jeonghan remains silent as he grabs hold of your wrist and leads you out of the overcrowded square. You didn’t dare to resist when it’s clear that right now, he is not one to be messed with. Soon enough, you reach your destination, finding yourself in a secluded alley in the square away from prying eyes and eager ears.

He all but flings you in the alley and your hands brace themselves on the cool brick wall to stop and steady yourself. “What in the world were you thinking?!” he asks, livid. “Or was it that you weren’t thinking at all?”

“I have no idea what it is you’re referring to—”

“I only asked one thing of you,” he states calmly but you can see how furious he is beneath the surface, his eyes blazing with fire. “One direction that even a child could follow and they would have listened.”

Ah, it’s finally dawned on you what makes him so angry.

“I don’t understand why it’s such an issue—”

“You don’t understand why it’s an issue?!”

“—I only went to a better spot for the fireworks,” you finish explaining despite Jeonghan talking over you. “It’s not like you couldn’t see me—”

Jeonghan laughs out loud but there is no mirth to it. “That is precisely it!” he snarled. “I couldn’t see you anywhere I looked. I called out for you so many times and received no response back. I was so worried and I thought I had lost you—”

“And why does that matter?” you argue and the question renders Jeonghan speechless, but you’re not done yet. “Why does it matter if you lose me? Why do you care?”

At this, Jeonghan could no longer remain silent. “I beg your pardon,” he protests. “Of course, I care about you.”

“But, only because of your duty,” you remind him as you roll your eyes.

“No, it goes far beyond that.”

This is a game that you no longer wish to play.

“That’s not what you said that day,” you reveal, finally admitting that you overheard his conversation with your brother that day. “Don’t even think of lying to me because I heard everything.”

Now that you’ve confirmed his earlier assumption, Jeonghan proceeds, so that he can now get an answer as to how you feel about him. “And, what exactly did you hear?”

“That you’re only bound to me by duty.”

“And?” he prods, impatiently.

“What do you mean, ‘and’?” you ask, confused as to where he’s heading with the conversation.

“I did say that” —he crosses his arms— “but what about the rest of it?”

With a pout, you answer confidently, “You didn’t say anything else.”

“Yes, I did,” he declares with a sadistic calm.

“No, you didn’t.” You stand your ground but that is the last straw for Jeonghan.

“Yes, I did!” he yells in frustration, grabbing at his hair. “I admitted that I had grown fond of you and it was something that had been beyond my control.”

“What?” you wonder, more to yourself than anything.

Already having gone this far, Jeonghan doesn’t hold himself back any longer, baring his heart out after coming close to losing you. “I said that you had me falling in love with you with no hopes of ever getting up, ever since the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

No, there’s not a chance that this is real. You’re sure of it. Yet, you find yourself asking, “You love me?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan vows with no hesitation. “Despite everything, I fall more and more in love with you and right now, as you stand before me, I have never been more in love with you.”

No matter how hard you search, there’s no sign of a lie on his face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Actually, I did.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I truly did,” Jeonghan says, smug. “I wrote them in every letter I sent you since that day I admitted to my own feelings.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’ve never lied—”

“You have, when you lied about being my partner for my debutante ball,” you remind him, brow raised in challenge.

Jeonghan bites his lip and moves closer to you, eliminating the space between your bodies. “I was merely delaying the truth that time,” he jokes. “But, I really did let you know in my last letters. You would’ve known if you had read them.”

“I did—”

Jeonghan interrupts, taking your hands in his as he says, “Enough about the letters. _____, I’ve finally told you how I truly feel about you. Please, stop torturing me and tell me how you feel about me.”

“I—”

“I don’t think it matters how the young lady feels since she’ll be coming with us and you won’t be alive anymore to see her again,” a stranger interrupts and Jeonghan is quick to shield you behind him. More thugs turn up and Jeonhan slowly retreats until you’re squeezed between him and the wall.

Jeonghan doesn’t miss the way you tremble in fear and he knows that he has to deal with them as soon as possible. He almost lost you once today and he’d be damned if he lets it happen a second time. Especially now that he’s confessed his feelings to you.

“Close your eyes and cover your ears,” Jeonghan instructs but you shake your head vehemently. “Please, listen to me just this once. I don’t want you to see this.”

“Call for Seungcheol,” you plead, holding on to his arm. “There’s far too many of them. We can wait until he gets here.”

“It’ll be too late by then,” Jeonghan sighs. “Close your eyes. I promise that no harm will come to you.”

“What about you?” you caution, tears flowing freely down your face. The love of your life has finally confessed that he feels the same about you but why is fate so cruel to put you in this position?

“There’s no need to worry,” he assures you as he draws out his sword. “Now, do as I say. I won’t take long.”

Eventually, you relent and let go of his arm. Taking one final look at him, Jeonghan places a chaste kiss on your forehead, forcing your eyes closed as he moves your hands to cover your ears tight. When you feel him pull away, you almost defy him once more but ultimately know that you’ll only be in his way, increasing his chance of getting hurt.

So, you stay right where you are and do exactly as Jeonghan says, praying to Eros to return the one that you love safely.

You don’t know how much time has passed but you eventually feel Jeonghan’s warm yet wet hands pull your hands away from your ears, letting you know that the ordeal is over. When you open your eyes, you see his shirt drenched in blood despite the colour of the material.

“You’re bleeding,” you cry out, hands reaching out to check on him, but his hands stop you from doing so.

“It’s not all mine,” he assures you only to be met with the roll of your eyes.

“That doesn’t make it any better,” you scold.

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not!” you exclaim through your tears. “You’re hurt and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t wandered off in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this alley and—”

“If you hadn’t wandered off, I wouldn’t have had an opportunity to finally tell you how I feel about you.”

“Is that even important right now?” you sob unceremoniously into your hands. “Now, I know how it feels.”

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan asks.

“I almost lost you and I haven’t even had the chance to tell you how I feel about you.”

Jeonghan’s heart picks up speed and it feels like it’s about to beat right out of his chest. This is the moment he’s been waiting for and he can’t believe you both had to risk your lives in order for it to happen. “And how do you feel about me?”

“Your Highness!” Seungcheol calls from the entrance of the alley before you can answer Jeonghan. “I’ve finally found you both. My apologies for arriving late.”

“Actually, you’re far too early,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes and you have to cover your mouth to hold down your laugh upon seeing Seungcheol’s confused face. “Did you bring my horse?”

The guard nods. “I’ve also brought a carriage for Lady _____,” he adds. “Shall I summon the physician to their Estate?”

“That’s not necessary,” you decline as you are unscathed. “Please summon them to the Palace instead along with the Royal Mage. His Highness may need some healing magic in time for our Engagement Announcement tomorrow.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Seungcheol bows. “Your carriage has arrived and is ready to escort you back.”

Sighing, Jeonghan lowers his head onto your shoulder and your hand reaches out to play with the hair on the nape of his neck. “Won’t you consider coming back to the Palace with me?” he entreats and feels you shake your head to decline him. “We haven’t finished our conversation yet. Must I really wait till the Banquet to hear your answer? Must you really torture me again?”

“Must you be so dramatic?” you tease him and he nips at your shoulder in retaliation. You have to commend him, he’s grown rather bold ever since he confessed his love for you. It seems he no longer wants to waste any time and frankly, since you feel exactly the same towards him, you don’t want to waste another second without him either. “You can always come to see me before tomorrow.”

Jeonghan lifts his ahead, adorable confusion on his face and you can’t help but giggle. “How will I see you before tomorrow?” he asks, tilting his head.

“My balcony faces the Glass House in the Estate,” you whisper in his ear, bidding him farewell with a light kiss on his cheek. “You’re the Crown Prince. Surely you’re smart enough to figure it out?”

He is and he can’t wait.

It’s when you’re brushing your hair by your vanity before retiring for the night when you hear the knock on your bedroom window. Spotting his familiar figure through the mirror, you place the brush on the marble surface and make your way to let him in. Pulse racing as you unlock the window, you don’t dare to look at his face and walk back to the centre of room, only turning towards him once he’s let himself in and closed the window behind him.

Jeonghan takes his time studying you, gaze instantly drawn to the way you stare at the floor once more instead of him, just like you used to. Eyes drifting lower, he spots your slightly parted lips and he has to stop himself from reaching out and running his thumb across your bottom lip. His gaze travels lower once more, breath hitching at the sight of the top of your breasts due to the low neckline of your nightgown. Seeing the way your chest heaves from your erratic breathing makes something inside him snap and he shoves his hands in his pockets, taking big strides until he’s standing right in front of you.

“Such a cruel woman you are.” He breaks the silence, pushing your chin up with his finger so that you finally look at him. “Inviting me here and making me wait for your attention. Do you know how agonising it is when you look as delectable as you do? But, we’re not quite there yet, are we?”

Your attempt to look away from him is thwarted when he grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger and you’re forced to endure the intense regard in which he holds you. “If anyone’s waited long enough, it’s me,” you say in hopes to placate him.

However, it has the opposite effect on Jeonghan. “That’s rich coming from you,” he retorts. “Especially after I professed my love for you today. If I recall correctly, I’m yet to hear about your feelings towards me.”

“I’m afraid,” you say truthfully.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t express myself well with words,” you confess. “I’m afraid my words would be insufficient to describe what it is I truly feel for you.”

Jeonghan shifts impossibly closer to you eliminating the space between you. Cupping your face in his hands, he leans in closer and ghosts your lips with his. “Hm, you always were better with your actions,” he breathes, thumb skimming your bottom lip like he fantasised, smearing your lip tint a little. “Would you prefer to show me instead?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes immediately closing.

Jeonghan’s lips hesitantly touches yours in a feather light kiss and it’s much too soft and quick for your liking. He moves to pull away, testing the waters but he doesn’t get far when you grab hold of his shirt, pulling him towards you so that you can kiss him once more. This time, the kiss you share is more intense, carrying your emotions with it and when they finally reach him, Jeonghan becomes bolder and returns your kiss with the same fervor.

His kisses grow hungrier and more heated each time, almost devouring you whole but you are insatiable. You crave to taste more of him, sliding your hands up and locking your arms behind his neck, pulling him further into you. Wrapping his arms around your middle, he holds you tight and you pull away in a gasp when you feel him, half hard and large against your hip.

Not liking the separation, Jeonghan dives in and takes the chance to shove his tongue in your gaping mouth, intertwining with yours in a perfect dance. His eager hands travel from your hips to your bottom, groping and kneading its cheeks before venturing further south. When they land behind your thighs, he grabs hold and lifts you onto him as he walks towards your bed.

Jeonghan sits down on the edge of your bed with you on top of him and you shift your legs to straddle him comfortably. You kiss him again and again, timing a third kiss with the roll of your hips and you feel his excitement grow against your centre. Impatient, your hands scramble to untuck his shirt from his trousers, pulling it over his head to toss to the other side of the room.

“Oh fuck,” you swear at the sight of his toned abdomen, not caring for how unladylike you are becoming. Biting your lip, your fingertips glide across his skin as you take him in.

This new side to you is enthralling and Jeonghan feels proud knowing that only he is privy to it. That you are here, completely and utterly enamored by him and him alone. Jeonghan leans back on his elbows watching you with eyes full of aroused curiosity. “Your turn.” He nods in your direction and you comply.

If it were anybody else who asked, you know you would have hesitated to no end. But, Jeonghan makes you feel brave. He makes you feel loved. He makes you feel desired. Grabbing the hem of your nightgown, you shimmy out of it at an excruciatingly slow pace, noticing the way Jeonghan eyes you like a man starved, his breath hitching at every inch of skin you reveal.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes out and it diminishes whatever insecurity existed that was begging you to cover yourself up. Sitting up, he kisses you lasciviously, gripping you tight as he pivots and pushes you into the mattress. His fingers make their way between your bodies, toying with the waistband of your underwear, before pulling the lewdly soaked material down your legs. “Move up on the bed, lie down on the pillows and spread your legs. I want to see you.”

Taking a deep breath, you do as he says, watching with interest as he sheds the rest of his clothing. Jeonghan can’t help but stare too long at your inviting pussy and he doesn’t miss the way your legs quiver in anticipation. Like a predator hunting its prey, he gets on the bed and crawls slowly towards you and fits himself between your legs. He lowers his body until your chest to chest and meets your lips again in a fiery kiss.

This time, he doesn’t stay on your lips too long, desperate to touch and feel more of you, kissing along your jaw and down where your neck meets your shoulder. He marks his place on the juncture of your neck, sucking and nipping until a purple bruise is left in its wake. Lifting his head slightly, he marvels at the view of your breasts, eyes rolling back before diving in and taking your right nipple in his mouth.

His tongue darts out to kitten lick at your wetted bud, blowing air on it before sucking it back into his mouth. Being the gentleman that he is, he dares not to neglect your other breast, palming and fondling it before he switches and pays attention to it. Your ragged breaths bounces off the walls in your room and he uses the sounds to spur him on along with how your body twists and squirms beneath him.

“Relax _____,” Jeonghan coos at you. “I’m just as… new to this as you are.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” you murmur. “But, I guess my education on this was limited compared to yours.”

Sitting back on his knees, he grabs hold of his cock, groaning as he strokes himself a few times before he guides himself to slide between your folds. Watching him with keen eyes, you grow more desperate for him, mouth hanging open in a silent plea. Once he’s well lubricated from your juices, he aligns himself by your entrance, preparing himself to enter your glistening trove.

“This is the last chance you have to refuse me,” Jeonghan rasps out. “If you don’t, I’ll be taking away your virtue and will never let you go.”

“No one is taking my virtue away,” you mewled, reaching for his free hand and guiding it up your body to rest on your breast. “I am freely giving it to you, along with my love. So, don’t you dare even consider letting me go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jeonghan grits his teeth as he pushes the head of his cock through your cunt, straining to hold himself back from fully impaling you on his cock to avoid hurting you.

“You can keep going,” you nod, breathing becoming ragged even as you try to calm yourself.

His hands reach for yours and intertwine them together, pinning them on either side of your head as he lowers himself until all of his weight is on you. With a shaky exhale, he sinks in further but still not all the way, peppering your chest with kisses in apology as he waits for you to accommodate him.

Tears pool at the corner of your eyes, sliding down your cheeks and you don’t have the strength to hold them back. Jeonghan whispers words of affirmation onto your skin and your heart swells in your chest. You seek out his lips and he gladly obliges you, kissing languidly until the current stretch is bearable.

“With all that I am, I love you and I’m yours,” you confess, whimpering as Jeonghan pushes deeper as a result.

A moan of your name from deep within his chest slips from his lips and he’s unable to hold himself back even if he wanted to, sheathing himself to the hilt inside you. The burning sensation of the stretch makes you tremble but it’s nothing compared to the feel of fullness inside you.

Releasing one of your hands, Jeonghan cups your cheek and kisses you hard, wanting to alleviate your pain. When you feel his cock throb inside your warm walls, you inadvertently clench around him and the last of his control snaps.

“Love, please tell me I can move,” he growls and you respond by shakily hooking your legs around his waist, taking him even deeper with a roll of your hips.

Jeonghan takes this as his cue, slowly drawing his cock out and harshly slamming back in. Crying out his name in ecstasy, your hands move to rest on his shoulders, nails digging in as his pace increases. An intense heat starts to build inside you, arching your back from the mattress as your hips frantically grind against him to match his rhythm.

“Jeonghan, I…” you sob, the intense heat taking all over your body. “I can… feel something… something is coming.”

“Gods, I feel it too,” he croaks and relentlessly drives himself inside you. Winding his arms around your middle, he holds tight and moves your body the way he wants so that you can both have the release you’re desperately seeking.

It’s when Jeonghan’s lips brushes by your ear, whispering ‘I love you’ with a perfectly timed shift of his hips, that the coil inside you snaps, eyes rolling to the back of your head and body shivering as your orgasm consumes you, a litany of his name echoing in the room.

At the feeling of your pulsating walls around his cock, his movements begin to falter. When you profess your love for him, he careens clean off the edge, hips jerking as he comes and a sigh of your name escaping from his lips as he paints your walls with his hot, white release.

Jeonghan buries his face in the juncture of your neck, hot breath fanning your skin as you rake your fingers through his damp hair. You stay together like this until your breathing evens out, not caring about your sweaty skin or the stickiness between your legs.

Then, he slowly pulls out his softening cock, watching your face for any signs of discomfort along the way. Planting a kiss on your shoulder, Jeonghan leaves the bed for a moment, fetching a towel and basin filled with water from the bath. With utmost care, he wipes the mess clean from your body. Once he’s put the soiled cloth away, he joins you back on the bed, dragging your body until you’re tight against his chest, whispering his love for you repeatedly until slumber comes for you.

When morning comes, it is anything but quiet. It starts off with your maid Tia dramatically dropping a basin upon catching you tangled in bed with the Crown Prince and Jeonghan being caught sneaking out the balcony by Joshua who’s having his morning coffee by the adjacent balcony. Jeonghan avoids being scolded because he pulls rank with the Duke, but you’re not so lucky. He bids you farewell with a kiss before heading back to the Palace to prepare for the Imperial Banquet.

It all happens quickly after that, spending most of the day getting pampered and leaving you with no time to even think about the events of the previous night. Upon your arrival at the Palace, you’re quickly ushered to stand in front of the door to the Great Hall where Jeonghan is already waiting.

Grabbing your hand, he gently kisses the back of it before planting another one on your cheek. Jeonghan stares longingly into your eyes before disrupting the connection by breaking into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“Nothing, I’m just happy,” he beams, bending to rest his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m glad that it’s not just duty that binds us together and that we’re actually fated to each other.”

“As am I,” you assure him, turning to kiss him on the cheek. “My love has always been you and it will always be you.”

“Always,” Jeonghan vows, lifting his head so that you can see his sincerity.

You return the promise with a kiss, along with a silent prayer to Eros in thanks and your hearts have never been fuller.

please do not copy/repost/translate my work without my permission

2K notes · View notes

sunnitheapollokid · 19 hours

Text

🎙️🌸┊ ༉‧₊˚✧ 𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄, 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 ‘𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑!

↳ hoo boys x popstar princess headcanons <3

characters in this thread : percy jackson, leo valdez, jason grace, frank zhang. ೃ࿔₊•

☀️ sunni’s notes : THIS IDEA HAS BEEN ENGRAVED IN MY MIND FOR FOREVA! and i finally get to write about it because my writer’s block is slowly goin’ away 🫶 (barely) i haven’t checked my notifs because i’m tryna do a semi-break right now!! but i wanted to post something for y’all >0< ANYWAYYY obvi it’s sabrina inspired because i love her i’m a true carpenter amen amen. GO STREAM ESPRESSO. happy reading bebis!! sunkisses, — sunni!

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 ♪ ˖ *

୨୧ your biggest supporter!!!

୨୧ has all your merch. the cap? yeah, he’s got it. the shirt. got it. the stickers? jacket? don’t even need to ask him, he’s got it.

୨୧ obviously adores your singing voice, he makes you sing every chance he gets.

୨୧ percy knows how to play the guitar, both electric and acoustic so he usually makes appearances during your shows.

୨୧ YOUR FANBASE LOVES HIM?? like sometimes it seems like they love him more than you do.

୨୧ so many edits, like CRAZY amount of ship edits.

୨୧ he likes to take a peek on what your outfits look like, but you tell him it has to be a surprise!!

୨୧ if you succeed in hiding your fits, his jaw is dropped at the first sight of you on stage.

୨୧ knows all of your songs, plays them in the car, even when you tell him not to.

୨୧ “WHAT’S THIS?? ESPRESSO?? BY WHAT?? WHO’S THIS SINGER?”

୨୧ “oh shut it.”

୨୧ his favorite color’s blue, so sometimes you wear blue accessories on stage.

୨୧ almost signifying that you’re bringing a part of him on stage.

୨୧ you wear blue bows, bracelets, maybe a few rings.

୨୧ percy absolutely melts when you do, because he knows exactly that you’re thinking of him.

୨୧ you even have a seperate blue mic just for him.

୨୧ during tours, he gets busy with college so he can’t really come to every show, but he tries to watch it live even during lessons.

୨୧ “mr. jackson, if you don’t tuck your phone away i’ll make it a point to fail you.”

୨୧ “just mad you don’t have a popstar as a girlfriend.”

୨୧ “what was that?” — “nothing!”

୨୧ and he picks you up from the airport whenever you come back, every. single. time.

୨୧ co-wrote some songs with you, but likes to have you take the credit since you’re the singer anyway.

୨୧ songs include : “miss america & the heartbreak prince.” — “snooze.” — “somebody to you.” — “the only exception.” — “style.”

𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐳 ♪ ˖ *

୨୧ calls you ‘princesa’ and ‘mi párajo cantor’ A LOTTT.

୨୧ and it still makes you flush everytime.

୨୧ leo valdez is the type to how do you say this??

୨୧ totally forget that you’re the ‘princess popstar’ sometimes.

୨୧ there was one time you two were on a date,

୨୧ leo watching you eat then he just goes,

୨୧ “.. YOU’RE A POPSTAR!!”

୨୧ and he shakes your shoulders like the world’s gonna end.

୨୧ “leo! leo! amor! quiet down!”

୨୧ always making sure he goes to ALL YOUR SHOWS.

୨୧ if your guitar / or any instrument ever breaks, he’s already there fixing it for you before you could tell him.

୨୧ likes to plan out your outfits, and almost all the time, THEY EAAAT!!

୨୧ “miss popstar princess!! who styled you today??”

୨୧ “oh! my boyfriend!”

୨୧ too, loves your singing voice. or your voice in general, he’s so whipped when he hears you say his name.

୨୧ WHEN HIS NAME IS IN YOUR SONGS??

୨୧ he’s gonna marry you.

୨୧ he has a t-shirt and in black bold letters it just says, “I LOVE MY POPSTAR GF.”

୨୧ the crowd loves seeing leo in the crowd hanging with your fans.

୨୧ he’s not much of a singer, but he’ll dance his heart out amongst your fans.

୨୧ flying kisses, so many flying kisses.

୨୧ he also likes doing your hair, and again, THEY EAAAT!!

୨୧ makes you think of how much of an amazing girl dad he would be.

୨୧ “guys do you see how cute my hair is?! leo did it!!”

୨୧ you give them a lil twirl, and the crowd goes wild.

୨୧ immedietly peppers you with kisses after a show backstage.

୨୧ he makes all your jewelry for you, since he’s good with metal anyhoo.

୨୧ you have a polaroid of you and him stuck to the back of your guitar.

୨୧ he has a polaroid of you on stage on his drum set.

୨୧ oh yeah, did i mention he’s drummer?

୨୧ some songs of yours don’t usually have drums in them, but when they do, you know who to call!!

୨୧ this man is defo sleep deprived.

୨୧ “mami? can you sing me to sleep?”

୨୧ he falls asleep to your voice in a snap, his arms wrapped around your waist like a glove.

୨୧ songs include : “that boy is mine.” — “this love.” — “espresso.” — “ready or not.” — “lover.” — “our song.”

𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ♪ ˖ *

୨୧ jason loves the idea of you being a popstar!! but makes sure to let you know that even if you weren’t, he’d love you regardless.

୨୧ the man doesn’t dance, but he can sing pretty well.

୨୧ you’ll catch a glimpse of him humming and swaying to your songs in the crowd.

୨୧ OMG OMG. jason loves matching with you!!

୨୧ it’s sort of his way of saying ‘i love you and i’m here to support you all the way.’

୨୧ JSVAHGSBA

୨୧ sorry brain buffered there.

୨୧ his favorite outfits of you two were these blue and light purple coordinated oufits.

୨୧ the fans loved it. it was all over.

୨୧ you guys went trending a ton.

୨୧ #(name)andjason or your guys’ ship name on twitter went viral almost more than twenty times in the span of like— three months.

୨୧ jason doesn’t really care about the fame though.

୨୧ he still likes to go on those corny and normal fun dates with his girl.

୨୧ if the paparazzi comes to harass you, he genuinely but gently threatens them to leave you alone.

୨୧ can i just say,

୨୧ A GOD AT PHOTOGRAPHY.

୨୧ he knows all the good angles and poses.

୨୧ he’s your literal pocket camera.

୨୧ why hire a professional photographer when you had a boyfriend who can do it for you???

୨୧ “on your right baby— yeah, then turn there, that looks good.”

୨୧ “here jace? is my hair flat in the back?”

୨୧ “it’s never flat, you look great honey.”

୨୧ i just brain buffered again.

୨୧ OH OH!! jason plays the bass!! i think it would fit!

୨୧ he doesn’t like going on stage though, he’s super shy. and he has a hint of stage-fright on him.

୨୧ he’ll play some songs for you in private though! and you could hear some bass from him in a few of your songs.

୨୧ songs include : “daylight.” — “soulmate.” — “invisible string.” — “slut!” — “beautiful boy.” — “tattoed heart.”

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐳𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 ♪ ˖ *

୨୧ HE’S SUCH A SWEETHEARTTT.

୨୧ he’s your breath of fresh air when the fame gets too overwhelming.

୨୧ “hard day sweetie?”

୨୧ he gives you the best hugs when you come back from a shooting, a show, whichever.

୨୧ makes sure to stocks up all your snacks backstage for you.

୨୧ he got you a locket for your anniversary, and you wear it on stage.

୨୧ he smiles to himself everytime he catches a glimpse of it around your neck.

୨୧ what’s inside the locket you may ask??

୨୧ literally just him.

୨୧ and amen to that!

୨୧ just like jason, he likes to reassure you that even without the popstar thing— he loves you. body and soul.

୨୧ spoils you!! 100%!!

୨୧ he knows exactly what you want, your eye is caught by something while shopping, he’s hopping his ass inside that store to get it for you.

୨୧ makes the calls for you when you really can’t take it to go do popstar duties.

୨୧ and he makes sure your day off is the best ever, with snuggles and cocoa kisses.

୨୧ but during shows, he’s actually super chill!!

୨୧ except the part where he sings his heart out to every song, because he defo knows ALL YOUR SONGS.

୨୧ the fans are shocked sometimes, but they love him.

୨୧ he’s so friendly to your fans too!! during meet and greets he makes appearances, and he gives them the biggest hug ever.

୨୧ he also thanks them for supporting you, and it makes your heart melt.

୨୧ when you’re on stage, he makes the half of those finger hearts for you to complete— and of course you complete it!!

୨୧ songs include : “pov.” — “you are in love.” — “urs.” — “bewitched.” — “every summertime.” — “like the movies.”

#— sunni hyperfixates on demi-gods ( ੭ ･ᴗ･ )੭ #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus #pjoverse #percy jackson x reader #leo valdez x reader #jason grace x reader #frank zhang x reader #percy jackson headcanons #leo valdez headcanons #jason grace headcanons #frank zhang headcanons

176 notes · View notes

newworldwritings · 2 months

Text

NewWorldWritings Recs! (ATEEZ)

gif by @graphicstorage

these are some writings that i have read that i would love to share with the rest of atiny/readers. some of these quite literally made me cry, laugh, and relate.

let me know if any of the links don’t work!

more will be added too #newworldwritingsreblogs !

some of these do contain smut, dark themes, & lots more. so please remember to read the warnings that each author put in their works.

❕= SMUT/DARKTHEMES

OT8 x reader

❕player 1117 @peachesyeo

(series -> ongoing) obessive!gamecharacters!ateez x villainess!reader

❕morning mist @mint-yooxgi

(series -> ongoing) Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

❕The Library of Illusion @kwanisms

(series -> completed) ateez ot8 × fem!reader

Want You Back @whimsicalwritingsandmore

(series -> ongoing) werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

❕Circus @lani-heart

(series -> ongoing) ateez ot8 x reader

❕trope @bro-atz

(series -> completed) ateez member/gn!reader or ateez member/afab!reader

❕Black Ocean @bvidzsoo

(ongoing) Ateez members x female readers

❕room for three @honeyhotteoks

(56k series -> completed) nonidol!yunho x nonidol!seonghwa x reader

❕splish splash @atozfic

(20k) nonidol!san x nonidol!seonghwa x nonidol!wooyoung x nonidol!yunho x fem!reader

undying bonds @edenesth

(series -> completed) Hongjoong x fem!reader, Seonghwa x fem!reader

❕whichever way @igbylicious

(series -> ongoing) woosan x fem!reader

Hongjoong

you’re hongjoongs bias @jnginlov

(8.6k) idol!hongjoong x idol!reader

captains favorite @edenesth

(1.1k) captain!Hongjoong x doctor!reader

Black and White @atinystraynstay

(2k) Kim Hongjoong x fem!reader

Seonghwa

❕The Way to His Heart @edenesth

(series -> ongoing) general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

Cold Snap @ennysbookstore

(4 part series -> completed) nonidol!Seonghwa x Reader

❕Dancing With the Devil pt.2 @bro-atz

(2 part series -> completed) assassin!seonghwa x afab!reader

❕the trouble with hating you. @baekhvuns

(33k) badboy!seonghwa x reader.

Bingo @gummygowon

(1.8k) single dad!seonghwa x reader

❕you’re the one that i want @ateezmakemeweep

(series -> completed) bad boy!seonghwa x fem!reader

Yunho

❕Guerrilla @sorryimananti-romantic

(27k) serialkiller!dr.yunho x writer!reader

What Builds a Home @cosmicdumpling

(7.2k) husband!yunho x fem!reader

❕Memoir @baekhvuns

(16k) nonidol!yunho x reader

all i want for christmas is you @starrysvn

(11k) yunho x gn!reader

Yeosang

❕lessons in intimacy @honeyhotteoks

(14.5k) camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader

Siren. @sorryimananti-romantic

(27.8k) siren!yeosang x sirenhunter!reader

San

❕ceilings pt.2 @yoongiseesawmp3

(2 part series -> completed) pe teacher!san x single mom!reader

❕The Art of Climbing the Corporate Tower @ennysbookstore

(2 part series -> completed) nonidol!san x reader

Love Poem @frenchkisstheabyss

(3.5k) dad!choi san x pregnant!chubby!fem!reader

❕Crafting Christmas @yoonguurt

(15.2k) single dad!San × reader

destiny @tainsan

(25k) idol!San x nonidol!reader

❕ch_i san @atzfilm (this one made me cry my eyes out)

(19k) android!san × reader

Mingi

❕nightmare, daydream @mingigoo

(11.1k) tutor!femreader x popularboy!Mingi

❕Shower Ecstasy @myhimbomingi

(1.6k) song mingi x afab!reader

❕Grease and oil @bvidzsoo

(5.6k) mechanic!mingi x fem!reader

Wooyoung

instagram @roomsofangel

(series -> ongoing) nonidol!wooyoung x fem!reader

❕Home for the Holidays @highvern

(24k) nonidol!Wooyoung x fem!reader

❕Midnight Kisses @mingigoo

(5 part series -> completed) bff!Wooyoung x single parent!femreader

Still You @edenesth

(15k) exbf!Wooyoung x fem!reader

Change of Heart @hotteoki

(5k) suitor!wooyoung x princess!reader

Jongho

to yours, jongho @halaboyz

(1.8k) busker!jongho x gn! reader

when strangers kiss @starlitmark

(5.4k) nonidol!Jongho x fem!reader

Guarding Hearts @edenesth

(15k) bodyguard!Jongho x actress!reader

#ateez au #ateez fic recs #ateez masterlist #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fake texts #ateez texts #ateez fluff #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez drabbles #ateez dragon au #ateez series

349 notes · View notes

jamilelucato · 8 months

Text

possibility - fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x slytherin!reader

(it can be read as a one-shot) (part 02 here!)

summary: Amidst the boredom, an unexpected connection sparks between (Y/N) and the charismatic mischief-maker, Fred Weasley.

note: They are in their last year at Hogwarts, so, for purposes, they are 18; besides, the whole canon of the book (it would've been Order of the Phoenix) is mostly nonexistent here.

the reader: can be interpreted as someone with ADHD; she loves literature and she has no friends.

words: 7580

Enjoy!

The lesson trudged on, dripping with tedium.

In truth, (y/n) quite liked Professor Flitwick. She had, in fact, eagerly accepted his invitation to become his assistant whenever the First Years graced his class. Being an assistant delighted her to no end. Yet, being a student, well, that was a different cauldron of bubbling potion altogether.

Today, Flitwick's lecture on Spellcasting and its perils was dragging on and on. As a sixth-year student, the curriculum seemed more intent on delving into existing knowledge than offering exciting novelties. While these topics might hold allure for a future Auror or the like, they were a one-way ticket to Boredomville for her.

Ever since (y/n) had decided upon her career path – a decision that seemed to have been brewed in the deepest recesses of her being – most of her classes had metamorphosed into a soporific ordeal. Hogwarts wasn't particularly renowned for its prowess in teaching language and literature, but that was precisely where her ambitions lay. A writer, a wordsmith, perhaps even an editor or a high school pedagogue. Anything that would let her commune with the magic of words, not the sort that burst from wands.

Now, she wasn't a woeful spell caster by any means. Professor Flitwick wouldn't have sought her assistance if she weren't a smart witch. But, her heart preferred the dance of ink on parchment over the intricacies of wand-waving, often rendering her classroom hours relatively inconsequential.

Seeking refuge from this stifling monotony, (y/n) allowed her gaze to wander. And in this sea of faces, her eyes collided with Fred Weasley – the school's most notorious ginger-haired mischief-maker. He was already watching her, a mask of effortless nonchalance draped over his face. He raised his brows at her, noticing she was staring back, and he did not look away. And so, they locked eyes, neither relinquishing the connection. It was not a duel of gazes; it was more like a shared secret, a silent agreement over how tedious the class was.

A minute passed in this silent communion until Fred graced her with a faint smile. The spell was broken, and her attention returned to her empty parchment. A quiet sigh fluttered like a long-forgotten page being turned, but it vanished into the air, unheard by all but her.

With pen in hand, she felt an almost magical compulsion to transcribe Flitwick's words onto her parchment. His voice, though droning before, now seemed less boring.

“To its nature, we shall survive it, but the opponent targetted... not so much,” the professor intoned, the words finally finding their mark within her consciousness. Cruel nature, indeed. “Well,” she mused, her back moulding into her chair as her quill danced across the parchment, “Every spell I remember does possess a hint of danger.”

At long last, her notes held substance, and her enthusiasm, while subdued, had been rekindled. Her gaze again drifted sideways to where Fred Weasley was, only to find he had shifted his focus – to his twin, George.

They sat side by side, mirror images of naughtiness. (y/n) sometimes forgot that they were identical twins because she was so used to having them around that they started to look apart. George's height had a mere smidgen of variance, while Fred's nose was a tad more prominent. Freckles played a symphony across their faces, arranging themselves differently – Fred’s were more concentrated around his forehead. Yet, at that moment, as (y/n) blinked through her confusion, she wondered if she'd mixed up their features. Had she glimpsed George's grin instead?

But then, as if choreographed by fate, Fred resumed his original posture and caught her looking. His lips curled into an unmistakable smirk. “It's certainly Fred, then,” she thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, unwanted. She redirected her attention back to the good Professor Flitwick and his lesson, and weirdly enough, after all that gazing, she had regained her focus and was more ready to be a satisfactory student.

Amidst her studies, (y/n) was ensconced within the library's embrace.

This day bestowed upon the library an uncommon hush, a tranquillity that seemed to defy the norm. The librarian always managed to get the kids quiet, but she couldn't stop them from coming all at once when frenzied by the looming spectre of approaching exams.

However, an anomaly unfolded on that Friday afternoon, bestowing upon (y/n) the most unexpected gift – the library, in all its boundless expanse, was hers to claim. A rarity that, peculiarly, she found herself not enjoying. Amidst the solitude, her focus waned like a candle in a draft, flickering and unstable. Concentration eluded her, much like the fleeting caress of a dream upon waking. Reading, that intimate act of solitary exploration, seemed to have metamorphosed into a daunting endeavour. It was one thing to lose oneself in tales of princesses or the adventures of chiselled, sun-kissed heroes, but an entirely different ordeal to grapple with the intricate world of potion brewing.

For (y/n), the allure of fantasy books or any literary work was nothing short of enchanting, capable of whisking her away on wings of imagination. These volumes, she devoured with unbridled speed. Yet, a profound disinterest surged within her when it came to the theoretical tomes packed with knowledge mirroring the lectures she endured. If she were to be entirely frank, she might even admit a smidgen of disdain for these volumes.

So she would never take them to the dorms with her — she would much rather read them in the library, filled with other students. The presence of others functioned as a gentle but firm tether, binding her to the task at hand – reading, absorbing, and taking notes. The collective energy of focused minds bolstered her resolve.

Alas, a rather desolate air hung over the library's expanse on this day.

Thrice (y/n) had shifted her position, seeking companionship in proximity, only for her hopes to be dashed within thirty minutes. A sigh, tinged with resignation, escaped her lips, and in that crestfallen moment, a shock of crimson manifested in her field of vision. A pair of vibrant red-headed twins strode in. Nestled at the tables near the corridor's entrance, she watched them meander, their steps unhurried, eyes wandering. “Searching," her inner voice concluded. Certainly, the twins held a more potent allure than the secrets of cauldron cleaning or its ilk, a fact her current book seemed intent on imparting.

Though (y/n) watched from her vantage point, removed yet intrigued, the twins' presence would've caught anyone's attention had there been any other student around. As their gaze swept the expanse, (y/n)'s musings dipped into the realm of speculation, imagining the myriad thoughts dancing behind those crimson veils.

In a place where solitude was typically her archenemy, she now sat pondering the enigma of the Weasley twins, the allure of their presence momentarily overshadowing the dusty tomes that lay before her.

Fred and George stood at a distance, too far for (y/n) to gain a comprehensive view. Instead, they ambulated the space with a purpose that eluded onlookers – a relentless quest for something unbeknownst to her. As they wandered, their forms flickered in and out of her view, now one visible, then none, then both, and once more only one boy.

Fixated on the one nearer her, she strained her vision to discern. Could it be Fred? A question played a merry dance in her mind, teasing but refusing to commit to a definitive answer. His profile was turned towards the shelves, a curtain of red hair obscuring details. Besides, distinguishing the twins remained a daunting task without a survey of their noses.

Abruptly, a voice infiltrated her thoughts, causing her to startle in her seat, “You know we saw you, right?”

She swivelled around, only to be met by the missing twin positioned just behind her. Leaning over her chair's backrest, he inclined his head inquisitively, a solitary auburn eyebrow arching with playful curiosity. Witnessing her wide-eyed astonishment, the Weasley released a soft, subdued chuckle, a mischievous symphony woven into the sound. “If you want my brother's number, you can just ask,” he added.

So the one talking to her was Fred. She quickly glanced at his nose bridge, trying to see the intricated details left by a Quidditch match gone wrong, yet his voice functioned as the telltale sign. He audacity to issue such a provocative remark to a girl with whom they held only the most tenuous of connections – that could only be Fred's doing. Moreover, his tone carried a specific timbre distinct from George's. It was, for lack of a better word, smoother to her auditory senses. Not that George's voice was anything less than agreeable, but his was a quieter, more reserved resonance. She mused that her lack of familiarity with George's vocal cadence stemmed from his status as the quieter half of the duo, while Fred's unending stream of chatter had made his vocal imprint indelible in her ears.

A manufactured laugh escaped her lips, a tinkling facade, "Haha, Weasley. I don't want no one's number."

Fred inclined his head, a bemused glint in his eyes as if coaxing her to reveal more.

Nestled more comfortably in her chair, she raised her chin a fraction, a silent assertion that she was unreservedly facing the boy. This small shift seemed to foster a sense of openness between them.

"Studying is boring, so you guys looked like a distraction," she declared with a nonchalant shrug.

His voice dripped with theatrical incredulity, “We? A distraction?” Fred's lips curled into a playful smile, his head tilting as he leaned slightly away. He stood tall, towering over most, a fact he seemingly embraced with ease. Though his height wasn't sufficient to overshadow Ron (a surprise, really), it cast a considerable shadow over (y/n), particularly in her seated state. The disparity in stature unfolded in a tableau that her neck found almost physically taxing to endure.

With the book held closer to her chest, (y/n) drew a deep breath, her response tinged with a touch of exasperation, “Honestly, anything is a preferable pursuit than deciphering 'how to brew... a potion.'” Her fingers clutched the book, the page title a weighty secret she held close, refusing to vocalise it aloud.

An unexpected shift occurred as Fred commandeered the neighbouring chair, situating it with a proximity that nudged their personal space. “And weirdly enough," he said. Lowering himself into the seat, he offered a sly grin, his gaze steady upon her, “You always get good grades at Snape's classes.” A movement almost imperceptible – a twitch of the head, a hint of satisfaction – played upon his features.

(y/n) registered the proximity with an awareness that tickled her senses. The book, her veiled treasure, lay nestled in her grasp, poised for closure to deter prying eyes.

She shrugged, expecting him to forget what she held close, “I'm Slytherin, after all.”

“Ah,” Fred snapped his tongue in the roof of his mouth, a sound almost as if he had drunk something and was now satisfied.

Shifting her gaze quickly at George, she hoped he would come to her rescue and take his twin away.

“Not so fast,” Fred interjected, his large hand sweeping down to rest atop the book's cover. “What secrets are you hiding there?”

Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his hand, a growing wariness churning within her. Her fingers tensed around the book, futilely attempting to shield its contents. But deftly, the book was relinquished from her hold and into his.

His melodious voice breathed life into the words etched on the page, “Let's unravel this mystery... 'How to Brew a Love Potion,'” he read aloud, his playful and teasing tone. Amusement twinkled in his eyes as they danced up to meet hers. “Wow, (y/n), I'd never take you for one who needed a love potion.”

To match his wit, (y/n) maintained her playful gaze, a smirk curving her lips as her retort unfurled, “Oh, I don't know, Fred. Perhaps that's my secret to acing Snape's classes.”

Not even the weight of dark humour could ruffle Fred Weasley's composure. His smirk swelled, infused with a brew of mischief that danced in his eyes. “If that's the case, you're terrible at it. I distinctly recall a certain incident involving Snape's homework, and if memory serves, it nearly rendered you floundering.”

She averted her gaze, her attention shifting to the captured book still cradled within his hands, the prospect of regaining it receding into the distance.

“Thanks for the recall, top-tier student,” she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes. “Now, are you willing to tell me your secrets? What are you doing here, in the library?”

Fred's laughter danced like a secret melody, an intimate note that lingered in the air, his eyes shimmering with a clandestine glimmer. “What's life without a little mystery?” he joked, his voice a velvety caress.

She mirrored his stance, a symmetrical lean that brought them closer, the gap between their faces now an invitation. Their proximity wove a delicate tapestry between their banter and a realm of deeper connection. “Is that so?” she inquired, her words drawn out in a languid purr, the air heavy with a mingling of intrigue and allure.

He matched her pace without the need to ask. The dance of their words had woven a tapestry of amusement, their shared enjoyment eclipsing the pursuit of concrete answers. After all, Fred barely had learned a secret. He was smart enough to know (y/n)'s book had been opened on a random page.

“If I tell you why I'm here,” he mused; his gaze, which had been steadfastly locked onto her eyes, dared trace a path to her lips, “what will you give me in return?”

(y/n) thought herself very wicked when her answer came quickly, “A love potion?” she playfully suggested.

His smile faltered, his breathing taking on a deeper rhythm, a transformation she couldn't help but notice.

“I don't need that,” he purred, voice dipping lower, “however, you...”

An eye-roll framed her response, though she didn't retreat from his proximity.

“Weasley...” her voice began, her tone laden with a mix of exasperation and uncertainty, an attempt to convey a sentiment she was grappling to articulate.

“Fred,” he interjected, the word a soft murmur, his eyes holding hers earnestly. Noticing her bemusement, he continued with a gentle lilt, “Call me Fred.”

She processed his words, pondering the significance of calling him by his name instead of his surname – a departure from the collective label that often accompanied the Weasley clan around Hogwarts.

A nervous throat clearing preceded her tentative utterance, “Fred." She tested the name as if savouring the syllables as if she did not know it before.

Flirting was an uncharted territory for (y/n), a realm she now tiptoed into, fueled by trepidation and exhilaration.

“Lucian Flewchief's book.”

The words hung suspended, (y/n)'s brow furrowing as she sought to decipher their meaning. Was that Fred’s way of flirting back? Suggesting a book? (y/n) was puzzled. That was a new way of flirting she never knew of, but she hoped the book was some young adult fae fantasy.

Fred's perception of her confusion prompted him to lean back slightly, dissipating the cosy bubble they'd woven. He clarified, “That's our objective here – locating Lucian Flewchief's book."

Her understanding unfurled with an "oh" of realisation, the pieces clicking into place.

“We're also the reason behind the library's current solitude,” he continued, an impish glint in his eyes. “George and I orchestrated a bit of a distraction to ensure we could slip away without drawing any undue attention, Godric forbid, with a book in tow!”

So that explained why she was the only one lingering at the library. Though it made sense, it stirred a tinge of melancholy within her.

Curiosity nudged her to question further, her tone now coloured with intrigue. “Who is this guy? Flewchief? And why the necessity for secrecy around his book?” Her queries were genuine and earnest, though sadness crept into her voice as their playful exchange segued into a more sober dialogue.

Fred swayed his head before replying, “He's a master at pranks.”

An eyebrow arched in response, (y/n)'s curiosity unabated. While she may not have been an expert in the art of pranking, one would expect to have heard of such a renowned figure, right?

Observing her perplexity, Fred inhaled deeply before disclosing, his voice lowered almost to a whisper, “He's a muggle author.”

Recognition flashed across (y/n)'s face, though she remained silent. Yet, subtle shifts in her posture – a subtle sag of her shoulders, a slight tightening of her lips – betrayed a sentiment that did not escape Fred's notice. He understood the Slytherin disposition all too well; prejudices were not uncommon.

She unravelled a piece of herself with an unexpected candour, her words confounding Fred's expectations. Instead of disparaging comments or dismissing glances, she offered something else entirely.

“I want to be a writer for muggles,” she confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “I like to write fantasy, you know. But that's not a genre for wizards; our reality often rivals the most fantastical of fiction. So, my focus turns toward the muggle readers.”

Though caught off guard by the revelation, Fred remained silent, feeling a surge of admiration for her. He hadn't anticipated such a response.

“I can help you find Flewchief's book,” she offered, swiftly transitioning past the exposure of her own secret, determined not to let her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I know this library well, particularly the section reserved for muggle authors. I presume you and George have little familiarity with the place.”

A crooked smile curled upon his lips in response. “Indeed,” he admitted with a chuckle, “you could even say 'no familiarity'; it's quite fitting.”

While (y/n) couldn't quite fathom how any student or individual could navigate life without venturing into the depths of a library, she empathized with their unfamiliarity. The muggle literature section was cloaked in segregation as if Hogwarts itself was disconcerted by such volumes.

Rising from her seat, she gathered her assortment of potion books. Truth be told, she harboured no illusions about accomplishing any meaningful research that afternoon. She left only one book behind – the one currently cradled in Fred's grasp.

“Are you coming or…?" Her voice hung in the air, a hint of playful theatricality accompanying her question.

Promptly, Fred sprang from his chair, the solitary book still in his possession. With (y/n) as his guide, they embarked on a journey through the library's labyrinthine aisles. Initially, they returned her stack of books to Madam Irma Pince, whose sole acknowledgement was a fleeting glance, her eyes flitting over the pile as it landed on her counter. Her gaze flickered momentarily as if recognition finally settled in at the sight of the redheaded companion beside (y/n).

“A Weasley," Madam Irma Pince declared, her observation stating the obvious. Fred, however, found himself grappling with an appropriate response. Ultimately, he opted for a shrug, his head tilting in acquiescence.

“I’m Fred,” he offered, his voice laced with a touch of formality. “But, you are absolutely correct, I am a Weasley."

It was abundantly clear that the librarian was well aware of which Weasley he was.

“Don’t tear my books apart,” she cautioned, her voice edged with warning. “And don’t you dare burn this place down.”

Fred's lips pressed into a tight line, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He responded with a curt, “Noted."

(y/n) glanced up at Fred and then to the side, studying his expression. His tone left her somewhat perplexed – she couldn't discern if he was indulging in sarcastic provocation or if he held genuine offence at Madam Irma Pince's admonitions. She reflected that the torrent of criticisms from every adult figure must have been tiring. Yet, the twins hadn't acquired their notoriety by chance; their reputation as school pranksters was well-earned.

The three exchanged furtive glances before Madam Irma Pince averted her gaze to her counter. Her intentions, on the other side, remained veiled to (y/n). Fred possessed the capability to peek, but (y/n) held doubts about him exercising that prerogative.

Clearing her throat, (y/n) eased away from the librarian, and Fred followed suit.

“Take me to George,” she requested. Detecting Fred's immediate confusion, she elaborated, “So both of you can scour the shelves for the books. I can assist, but I'm not quite tall enough to reach all of the shelves.”

“Again," Fred inclined his head toward her, and at that moment, a subtle shift occurred, the playful dance of flirtation vanishing as swiftly as it had emerged, “Thank you for the assistance”. His expression was appreciative, genuine, a quiet acknowledgement of her assistance.

With a soft smile, she replied, “Don't mention it," her voice bearing a hushed quality, her gaze evading direct eye contact. “You’ll just own me one.”

He chuckled, “Uh, the unspoken possibilities.”

Indeed, Fred. Indeed.

It was a rather cold day.

But it was Saturday and Hogsmeade trip day, so (y/n) put on her thickest coat and decided to face the snow.

Her fellow housemates buzzed with excitement, eagerly anticipating the visit. Yet, for (y/n), this outing held a more sombre purpose – a pilgrimage to Honeydukes. While her friends were pursuing quills and ingredients, (y/n) sought only solace in candy. These past few days had been trying, and the kitchen house elves had quietly declared her persona non grata, etching “no longer welcomed" onto their secret walls. So she’d have to buy her own sweets from now on.

“Feeling hot today?” a voice chimed from behind (y/n).

She clutched herself, attempting to stave off the relentless cold. Hogsmeade always exuded a chill, but it seemed that nature was intent on pushing the mercury even lower today. Not even her trusty coat could entirely repel the biting wind.

The voice was familiar; she recognised it as belonging to Fred Weasley.

“Where’s your other half?” she asked, noticing George wasn’t around.

“At the school,” Fred replied, bridging the distance with a few long strides. Given the frigid weather, (y/n) moved slowly, rivalling the old ladies of Diagon Alley. “He's caught the flu.”

A chuckle escaped (y/n), though her amusement was laced with empathy. “After today, I might end up just as sick.”

Fred mirrored her laughter, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle. Then, shifting his gaze towards their right, his expression became more earnest. “Come on, let’s get you something warm. Tea?”

True to his suggestion, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop loomed just a few steps away.

(y/n) scanned her surroundings, from Fred to the inviting facade of the shop, and for a fleeting moment, the idea appealed to her. But then, a mental alarm sounded – this place was renowned for romantic trysts, a haven for couples from their year. For a time, (y/n) had considered herself above such traditions. But as her sixteenth birthday came and went, and she remained unattached, she longed for the experience of a boy inviting her to tea. Now, at eighteen, it seemed more a fanciful dream than a tangible possibility.

So Fred was definitely not suggesting it as a date.

“I actually have to head to Honeydukes,” she replied, her features arranged in a grimace, and she gestured with her body towards the store at the far end of the bustling Hogsmeade street. “That's the only reason I'm still here.”

Fred bit his lip in thought. “How about we grab a tea to go, then?” he proposed, his determination unwavering. He peered down at her, shivering in the cold, taking in her petite frame. “In less than fifteen minutes, you'll be on your way back to Hogwarts.”

The notion of sipping on something piping hot was increasingly appealing.

“Promise?” she asked, her tone a touch childlike.

Fred extended his pinky finger, encased in a slightly faded red glove – likely a Weasley hand-me-down. Not that (y/n) considered herself entitled or wealthy, but it was common knowledge that the Weasleys weren't the richest in monetary terms. Yet, they were undeniably wealthy in children.

Her own pinky fingers remained nestled deep within her pockets, safe from the cold. Fred glanced down and chuckled.

“Come on.”

She sighed, “Fine, Weasley. But you're footing the bill,” and when she noticed he was about to playfully protest, she added, “You were the one who insisted, after all.”

They walked together, resembling a pair of penguins navigating the icy terrain. (y/n)’s hands, nestled within her coat pockets, were shielded from the biting cold, yet their elbows still grazed one another now and then as they strolled leisurely.

Fred gallantly held the door open, allowing her to enter the cosy shop, and she expressed her gratitude in a soft murmur. While he proceeded to the counter to place their order (when queried, (y/n) simply requested, “Any tea will do, as long as it's the hottest available"), she contemplated the peculiar friendship that had taken root between them.

She'd never been an opponent of Fred, or the Weasleys, or anyone within Gryffindor, as one might have assumed. However, their closeness was a relatively recent development. When confronted with one of the twins' pranks, (y/n) was often the first to laugh, captivated by the sheer audacity of their exploits. She believed magic should be harnessed for amusement, not as a weapon; consequently, she found their approach to their magical talents endearing.

Because of her laughter, Fred and George had never targeted her with their pranks. Their mischief was generally directed at Malfoy and his ilk. Occasionally, she'd return to her common room and find something amiss, but she understood it was their way of rebelling against the entirety of Slytherin and its values rather than a personal affront.

By her fifth year, (y/n) considered Fred and George her acquaintances. They exchanged nods in the classrooms and other shared spaces. Being in the same year, she had grown accustomed to their voices and learned to differentiate between them.

Moreover, the Weasley twins had a certain charisma that she couldn't deny. She had met Fred’s older brothers before, so their good looks were no surprise. She realised this charm extended to Fred as he approached with two cups of steaming tea.

His freckles had always been a distinctive feature she admired. Yet now, she also noticed the appeal of his height, his shoulders broad and strong, typical of a Beater. His hair appeared soft and straight, inviting her fingers to run through its fiery strands, although she knew better than to entertain such notions.

Strangely, it was his nose that intrigued her the most. It was the distinguishing feature that allowed her to differentiate between Fred and George. She found it more masculine and captivating than the rest of his features. Not to mention his chest, which had once tantalisingly revealed his abs through a sweaty Quidditch shirt during a match. The sport certainly worked wonders on bodies.

“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip. She freed her hands from her pockets only with the prospect of holding something scolding hot.

Fred observed her closely as she tasted the tea, noticing how her eyes momentarily closed in bliss and how her body seemed to uncoil, the tension in her shoulders dissipating.

“All right, off to Honeydukes I go," she declared, pivoting towards the Tea Shop's exit.

Fred followed her, hastening to hold the door open once more. A subtle blush dusted her cheeks, and she was relieved that the shop was still relatively empty. A couple occupied a dimly lit corner but seemed too concentrated on each other to notice Fred Weasley being nice to a Slytherin girl. So that’s saying a lot about how entertained that random teenage couple was.

As they stepped back into the brisk Hogsmeade air, (y/n) noticed that Fred was still at her side. She didn't voice any complaint, though. Ever since the day he had sought her help at the library, she had resigned herself to the idea that she might never get the opportunity to converse with Fred alone again. George was always around, and if not him, then someone else. And even though, if she tried, (y/n) could engage in conversation with the other twin or with a Gryffindor student, she would rather not.

In fact, it was rare to find someone she would like to engage in conversation with.

Fred was a… welcoming surprise.

“Uh," Fred's voice cut through the silence, which had settled between them as they enjoyed their tea, “can we make a quick stop here?"

They were passing by Zonko's Joke Shop, renowned for its extensive collection of prankster essentials. Of course, the shop would undoubtedly be on Fred's daily checklist. However, his request to pause at the store intrigued (y/n), given that she had never envisioned walking with him that day. Sure, he had treated her to tea, but that hardly counted as an expense, and she had mentioned her eagerness to return to Hogwarts promptly.

“It won't take long, I promise," he assured her, taking note of her delayed response. “Just add five more minutes to your wait. I'll escort you back, no worries."

(y/n) hesitated for a moment. “You really don't have to do that," she replied, taken aback by his gentlemanly offer.

“As if I'd let you make the journey alone."

She gazed at him in the wake of his response. “I'm a witch," she pointed out the obvious. “It's not like I can't handle a few dangers."

Fred cocked his head, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. “Can you defend yourself against the cold?"

She didn't respond; her answer would have been a resounding ‘no.'

“That's what I thought," he declared, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, her free hand resting on her hip, her other still cradling her tea. “And what can you do to protect me from the cold?" she challenged Fred.

His smile grew, and he knew he had the perfect response. “Keep you from slipping on the icy ground."

Annoyed by his accuracy, she sighed loudly as they entered the joke shop.

The shop was bubbling with people: it was a living organism. (y/n) struggled to recall the last time she had set foot in this place. She had certainly visited the joke shop before, back in her third year when students were first allowed to venture into the village. Like her peers, she had eagerly explored every store without exception. However, as time passed, most of the shops had become familiar and somewhat ordinary to her. She only made the trip to Hogsmeade with a purpose now. Coming just for butterbeer seemed pointless, especially when she lacked the company of friends to sit with and share laughter.

So, following Fred Weasley as he browsed around the shop put her in a silent trance of observation and gaping. He moved confidently, searching for items and locating them quickly, with the same precision she'd demonstrated when she'd guided him through the library the other day. (y/n) followed at his heels, like a child following its guardian. In less than three minutes, they were already in line to pay.

“How do you know where everything is?" she asked, enjoying the moment of calm the checkout line offered. “I don't think gathering all that took you more than five minutes."

And it was indeed quite a haul. Fred's two hands cradled dozens of boxes and items like precious cargo in his lap. The teacup he had been carrying was now held securely by (y/n), ensuring that her hands were occupied with warm objects to fend off the cold.

Fred responded with a casual shrug to her question. “How do you know where all the books are in the library?" he countered.

“I don't know," she replied, her response unfiltered. “I guess I've just memorised it over time."

“Me too," he said, his eyes fixed on the shop as if watching his beloved. “Not to give reason to my fame at Hogwarts, but of course, my favourite shop has to be Zonko’s."

The line at the checkout stretched long, leaving (y/n) and Fred standing in contemplative silence, pondering the curious connection that seemed to be budding between them. Amid it all, (y/n)'s thoughts swelled like a bubbling potion. Were they friends now? Could she consider adding him to her list of friends for Christmas shopping? These questions lingered, but she found herself without a clear answer. It felt odd to directly ask such a thing; friends didn’t ask if they were friends. They either were or weren’t, organically becoming over time.

But despite the comfort she felt around Fred, she couldn't quite label it friendship. The issue, she concluded, was her own. She had a deficit of friends and now understood why: she wasn't wired for it. Friendship wasn't part of her programming. Fred, on the other hand, was a different breed. Friendship was his natural state, woven into his very essence. He exuded a friendly aura, even if many Slytherins would vehemently disagree.

She didn't need to wonder whether he considered her a friend. He most likely did. He never targeted her with pranks; he exchanged glances with her in class often and was currently offering to escort her back to school. Fred saw her as a friend.

But did she want that?

“What are you thinking?” he inquired, pulling her out of her contemplative reverie.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “I can see the smoke coming out of your ears like a cauldron.”

She had no clever reply, so she was content with wrinkling her forehead and lying. “I’m thinking about how quickly I will be able to get all the candy I want. Definitely not as quick as you, here.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Why?”

“I love candy and definitely know where everything is at the shop,” she explained, tilting her head unconsciously as she spoke. She explained, unconsciously tilting her head while talking. “But I have to gather enough to last until our next trip to Hogsmeade, and I'm not certain I can calculate that. I love chocolate, so one would assume I'd need to buy a lot to make it last. However, if I get too much, I'll eat more than I should. And trust me, I will eat everything I buy," she concluded with a hint of warning in her tone, as if she were issuing a threat rather than sharing a piece of information.

Fred swallowed hard, trying to wrap his head around her unique thought process. “Are you stockpiling sweets?"

She nodded, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

“Well, if you do end up eating it all, I'll show you where to get more, you know, from the kitchen with the house elves," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up as if he were secretly pleased with himself for sharing this tidbit.

“Oh, Weasley," she shook her head, dramatically feigning pitifulness. “I already know the secret passage to the kitchen. That's precisely why I have to stockpile chocolate in the first place. I've been painted as a criminal there for how many sweets I've pilfered."

He couldn't help but chuckle, though he kept it discreet.

“I can't believe it," Fred said with mock disbelief, then paused as if pondering again. “Well, actually, I can."

With the two cups of tea-to-go in her hands, she raised her shoulders in a half-shrug while raising her hands in tandem.

“So yeah," she concluded, “I have to stock up until the Professors allow us to come here again."

Staring at him, (y/n) couldn't help but think that Fred was on the verge of saying something. However, something must have caused him to change his mind, and he remained uncharacteristically silent. A few seconds later, he was called to the cashier to settle the bill for his items. (y/n) patiently waited behind him, casually sipping her tea.

When Fred returned to her side, the numerous small boxes he'd been clutching had been consolidated into just two cardboard bags, which he effortlessly carried in one hand. The two of them exited the joke shop, savouring the last remnants of their teas. By the time they reached Honeydukes, the cups had already been discreetly disposed of in the nearest bin.

“Have fun," he wished her warmly, courteously holding the door of the candy shop open for her to enter. (y/n) returned his friendly sentiment with a smile—precisely the sort of well-wishing one would expect before embarking on a shopping spree in a candy store.

Fred lingered in a quiet corner of the shop, surreptitiously observing as she gleefully navigated the aisles, carefully selecting her candies and placing them into a plastic basket a diligent store employee offered. She appeared far more animated here than he had ever seen her before—back in the library, she had come across as somewhat bored, and the same was true in their shared classes. While she undeniably held the status of a top student with excellent grades, Fred couldn't help but wonder why she seemed to lack the enthusiasm and focus he might have expected from someone of her academic calibre.

However, gathering her desired assortment of sweets took considerably longer than the five minutes Fred had initially anticipated. When he finally met up with her at the cashier, the man behind the counter handed over not one, not two, but three full bags of assorted candies and confections.

Fred couldn't help but jest, “Wow, someone's clearly outdone me."

“Mine's supposed to last longer," she retorted with a wry smile, determined to maintain her composure.

Fred's grin only broadened. "Will it, though?"

There was no malice behind his teasing; his natural inclination was to engage in playful banter, a habit he would have indulged with George, Ginny, or anyone else. If anything, he found himself enjoying the camaraderie that was forming between them, appreciating the quick-witted exchanges that characterised their interactions. And (y/n)'s response was predictable by now—a blend of half-anger and half-challenge that had come to define her expressions.

They left the candy store, their playful back-and-forth continuing as they walked, with Fred progressively leaning in closer with each exchange.

Fred's next question unintentionally left (y/n) feeling mortified as they approached the Three Broomsticks.

“Are you sure you don’t want a good, old butterbeer?” he asked. “It’s alright if you do. I won’t linger at your friends’ table; I’ll just drop you there and find Oliver Wood or someone else.” He said, using Oliver as an example, for he was the one name he remembered to have seen around the village.

It was weird, now that Fred had come to think of it, how he did not recall seeing one person from Hogwarts around Hogsmeade, even though he knew it was a crowded day there.

She had no friends to meet there or anywhere else. She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact, “I don't have friends in there."

The proximity to the inn allowed them a clear view through the frosty windows, revealing the familiar faces of fellow students enjoying butterbeer.

“Why? Haven't they come to Hogsmeade?" Fred asked in surprise, momentarily distracted by the scene inside. “I swear that's Carmen Highland if my eyes aren't deceiving me," he remarked, gazing at the occupants within.

Lost in the sight of her former friends, Fred hadn't noticed that (y/n) was gradually distancing herself from him. She knew Carmen and recognised the other kids at her table — Andrea, Miniu, and Shenny. But they weren't friends anymore.

At least, not anymore.

“It is Carmen,” she reassured him, in case Fred would start considering he was indeed blind. “We’re just not friends, though.”

Fred finally snapped out of gazing through the cold glass window and returned his gaze to her.

“I distinctly remember all of you being quite lively at dinners and walking around classes," he said, furrowing his brows. “Unless Carmen has look-alikes I'm unaware of, I'm certain it's her. I've seen her during my Quidditch practices, competing for the pitch."

A smile tinged with embarrassment danced on (y/n)'s lips. She smiled not because she was pleased with the memories but because she was trying to conceal her inner gloom. “I used to walk with Carmen, and Miniu, and Andrea and Shenny. But that was way before.”

“No, I…”

“It was, Freddie,” she interrupted before he made her remember another memory. It was only because of her use of his nickname that he understood she wasn’t alright. “We were friends in the first year. Us and a bunch of other kids, so tight together because we were Slytherin, and we had to stick together because then we’d be victims of bullying from other houses.” Fred opened his mouth, but she continued, “Don’t deny it.”

Fred sighed and nodded.

“In our second year, the group started to shrink, and it ended up being just me and that table," she explained, her gaze distant, as if the memories were playing out before her eyes. "But I began to feel like I was there because I forced myself to be. I was being pushy. So when I stopped going, they didn't chase after me. That's when it became clear to me what our relationship was."

“What was it?" Fred inquired, genuinely perplexed, prompting (y/n) to wonder if he had ever experienced the abrupt end of a friendship.

“They weren't my friends," (y/n) stated matter-of-factly. “We didn't have a falling out or anything. I still greet them, and occasionally, we help each other with homework in the common room. But that's about it."

Fred pursed his lips thoughtfully, pondering the right words to respond with.

“Alright," he finally conceded. “I won't pry further," he said, his expression more serious now. “I can't quite fathom how a friendship could simply unravel like that, but it's clear it's not a cheerful matter. However, that doesn't mean you can't be with your other friends."

She rolled her eyes with exasperation and turned away from Fred and the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, her boots crunching softly in the freshly fallen snow.

“I don't have friends," she sighed, her breath visible in the crisp, wintry air. She could hear his footsteps, somehow always close behind.

Fred waited until he was walking right alongside her before he replied; his tone was soft and comforting. “You have me," he said, then hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, you have us. Me and George. I still owe you one from our library escapade."

“Consider it settled," she responded, her voice edged with a hint of exhaustion and her gaze averted. “You gave me a cup of tea, after all."

“That was just courtesy," Fred explained, his lips curving into a friendly smile, thinking their usual playful banter had resumed.

But (y/n) was weary, and it showed in her demeanour.

“Well, you're accompanying me back to the school," she tried again, her tone tinged with finality. “So consider that debt paid."

“Nah," he waved his free hand dismissively. “That's just me being a proper gentleman."

She rolled her eyes once more, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. “Fred..."

“We're friends, alright," he insisted, his tone gentle yet resolute, raising his voice slightly. “You have a friend... in me."

Without warning, (y/n) halted in her tracks, pivoting to face him fully, her expression a mixture of astonishment, incredulity, and a hint of amusement.

“Did you just quote a Muggle movie at me?" she asked, her voice showing disbelief.

“I’m sorry?”

“‘You have a friend in me’,” she repeated his words, this time adding a melody to her tone. “Did you quote the Toy Story song?”

“A toy story? Where is it?” he was genuinely confused, which led (y/n) to drop the subject since it was evident he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Never mind," she sighed, resuming her pace. “It's from a Muggle movie."

“And you've seen it?" Fred's stride matched hers again, his curiosity piqued.

“Unfortunately," she replied, her lips twisting in mild distaste. “I didn't quite enjoy it."

“Oh, why not?" Fred inquired with interest.

“It was... about friendship," she said, taking a moment to complete her sentence.

“I see," Fred mused, nodding thoughtfully as they walked towards the school, the snow beneath their feet offering a soft, comforting crunch with every step. “Perhaps I should watch it.”

“Yeah, why not,” she replied, not really wanting to participate in the conversation.

Fred knew when to shut up when he should, so they remained silent until the school entrance was visible.

“Uh, thank you,” (y/n) told him as they stopped in the middle of Hogwarts’ entrance corridor. It was a relatively empty hallway.

“See you around,” he nodded, and she bit her lip, turning her heels towards her House. “Friend,” Fred added a second later, only to see her turn her gaze over her shoulder.

“Bye, Weasley,” she said with a heavy breath out of resignation.

#fred weasley #fred and george #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x slytherin reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfic

657 notes · View notes

thirdity · 9 months

Quote

Astaire, when he dances, has nothing to do with hard work (although we know, from biographies, that he worked very hard, behind the scenes). He is “poetry in motion.” His movements are so removed from ours that he sets a limit on our own ambitions. Nobody hopes or expects to dance like Astaire, just as nobody really expects to write like Nabokov.

Zadie Smith, "Dance Lessons for Writers"

#dance #art #poetry #expectations #reality #quotes #Smith #Zadie Smith #Dance Lessons for Writers

50 notes · View notes

ox1-lovesick · 9 months

Text

✶ ─── TOMORROW X TOGETHER AND THINGS WITH THEM

🍇 pairing. txt x gn!reader genre. fluff warnings. mentions of food, pda (?), wc. 50-100 each

🍇 type. headcannon , reaction

🍇 a/n. abandoned the tyun and hyuka fic for now 💀 this is like a filler fic or something i have such bad writers block. i know for a fact that soobin crochets

% YEONJUN

late night walks ; gentle kisses to your knuckles ; catching him staring ; errands to the convenience store at 3 in the morning ; holding hands ; sharing earphones ; leaning your head on his shoulder ; sharing lip glosses ; netflix marathons ; fashion shows at 2 am ; spontaneous dance sessions ; late night drives ; candid pictures ; slow dancing ; cooking ; sharing jewellery ; kisses through the phone ; matching jewelry

% SOOBIN

comparing hand sizes ; feeding each other ; interlocking pinkies ; desert before dinner ; baking ; sharing clothes and jewelry ; 1000 piece puzzles ; movie dates ; crocheting together ; croc shopping dates ; clothing hauls ; editing vlogs together ; food fights ; disney dates ; couple cosplays and halloween costumes ; pillow talk about the future ; tying your shoelaces for you ; giving you his jacket when it's cold ; matching socks and bracelets

% BEOMGYU

kisses in the rain ; hand-written love letters ; bouquets of roses ; sleeping in together ; doodling on each others hands ; scented candles ; bickering for fun ; backhugs ; raindrop races ; long bus rides ; sharing earphones ; picnic dates ; photo albums ; half anniversaries ; forehead kisses ; impromptu karaoke nights ; guitar lessons ; secret handshakes ; build-a-bear dates ; feeding each other ; pillow talk ; hiding tomatoes in his food ; painting each other's nails ; holding open the door for you

% TAEHYUN

long and warm hugs ; locking pinkies ; poking his dimples ; falling asleep on his chest ; cheek kisses ; stargazing ; library dates ; cooking for each other ; communicating through morse code ; study dates ; reading together ; sharing cutlery ; pinky promises ; kisses to your knuckles ; post it notes with messages ; holding hands ; feeding each other ; falling asleep on the phone with him ; playlists dedicated to each other ; gentle kisses ; powerpoint nights ; "5 more minutes" mornings ; flowers "just because"

% HUENINGKAI

naming all his plushies ; palm kisses ; zoo dates ; buzzfeed quizzes to see who'd survive the zombie apocalypse ; breakdancing in the dining room ; pokemon impressions ; piano lessons ; holding hands, everywhere ; kisses to the tips of your fingers ; pillow and tickle fights ; sneaking juice boxes and animal biscuits in your lunch

600 notes · View notes

filmcourage · 1 year

Photo

Artists Will Never Reach Their Full Potential While Working A Day Job - Courtney Miller via FilmCourage.com.

#job #career #work #work life #artists #family #dance #performers #filmmaking #artists on wordpress #life lessons #starting over #hollywood #writers on wordpress #life #art

2 notes · View notes

circeyoru · 2 months

Text

{Demonic Companion} Something's wrong with your lover + Angst moments over love

First spin-off! This request can be found in {Demonic Companion _ Part 2}

█ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █

@writer-girl993d

Maybe after reader gets a lover, they’re ranting about the lover to Alastor and realizes something’s wrong. Or before lover boy gets involved and we get the angst over what Alastor “likes” Mimzy over? I have more ideas but I don’t want to flood the comments with them but let me know if you want more?

█ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █ ▬ █

**For the sake of it, I’ll just call the lover as ‘L’ cause I don’t know if you prefer female or male lovers.

What if you realize there’s something wrong with your relationship with L while ranting to Alastor?

The likelihood of you realizing something wrong is slim, but with more obvious hints, you’ll notice. Especially since you’re comparing L with Alastor to prove to yourself that it was a ‘good’ or ‘safe’ choice as you do love Alastor still but gave up since he has crush on a demon that you don’t think you can compare with

To realize something wrong would be something along the lines of L having red flag, being abusive or manipulative or anything like that. How you realize is thanks to Alastor. Before you and the Overlord were all buddy-buddy, he did try to rope you into signing a contract with him and it was your persistence that got him to give up (hence why Alastor wanted you romantically now)

But because Alastor changed for you, you think the same would happen with L. Now a cruical element in that change is whether L is geuninently in love with you. If not, you can bet that you will break things off since you can tell fake from true. If so, you’d be more patient. It wasn’t like Alastor also changed by the next visit

Overall, you’re seeing Alastor in L, that was why L was your crush and lover to begin with. L was your reminder of what would be a happy end for you two if Alastor didn’t express his distance to you and his crush to Mimzy

You would have fought back and tried to win Alastor’s heart, but you weren’t the type of person to selfishly want your own happiness to sacrifice others’. Why did you think your childhood friends didn’t listen to you when they were doing that demon summoning?

Angst Moments Over What Alastor ‘Likes’ About Mimzy

*Fair warning, this would be set before you express your crush and still pursuing Alastor’s heart but he’s in denial and pushing you away strongly. Alastor firmly drawing the line that you two were merely friends and you should be grateful that he didn’t do anything bad to you

“Oh, the gal should can dance! Back in the days, you should have seen her, she can dance throughout the night and until the sun comes up! Ha! No one but I can keep up with her. There were rumours going around that we were an item. Oh, how I wish it so.” Alastor sighed as he played with his cane childishly while his eyes looked so distant

You shouldn’t have asked, you shouldn’t have been curious. They say ignorant is bliss, but now that you know. You can’t forget it. You scrolled on your phone, hugging your soft toy tighter. You could hear your heart shattering with every praise and admiration that rolled off his tongue, you wanted to put in your earplug or tell Alastor off so you could bury your head in your pillow and sob the night away

You can’t help but be smitten with the charming demon, not that he was powerful and handsome and well, charming. But he had been the only one in your life that stayed by your side. Whether it was being brutally honest or poking fun at you to make you stronger. It was always him and he didn’t leave you

Giving him your soul wasn’t the answer because then your life would be cut short and you want your freedom and pride still. As much as you know that was what Alastor want from you

You tried taking dancing lessons, train your public speaking, work part-time at a cafe, all those things Alastor told you about Mimzy. It was out of your comfort zone, but if it gets Alastor to see you as something more than a potential contracted soul or a friend, it was worth it

But you got the worst wake up call

“My dear, are you trying to be like Mimzy?” Alastor’s words taunted you, making you brush in embarrassment for being found out. His condescending laughter didn’t comfort you. “You mortal soul, can never be like Mimzy, you’d never be on your level! No matter how hard you’d try, you can never be like the one I love and care for. So, do give up and save yourself the money, energy, and time spent on these wasteful efforts of yours.”

It was a wonder you didn’t break down on the spot and cry

Unlike Mimzy, you weren’t successful, nor can you dance like crazy. You didn’t know Alastor from his time period, you didn’t bond with him as much. You didn’t know Alastor as much as Mimzy, you’d still fear his demonic form whereas Mimzy cheers him on. You’re not Mimzy. Alastor likes Mimzy

Right, you wake up from then on. Alastor doesn’t love you like he would to Mimzy. You were merely an entertainment on Earth that he graciously gives his time and energy to. How many can say that a demon stayed by their side and not torment them for the rest of their mortal life? You might be the only one

So you smiled, your eyes closed and your lips curved into the widest smile you can manage. You didn’t catch the way Alastor freeze and his smile faltering when you spoke those words that changed everything from then on, “Right, sorry. I thought I could learn a thing or two from Mimzy since you hold her in such high regard. I was silly. Can you please give me some time to think things through? Maybe a week or so. I’ll be back to normal by then.”

Alastor shouldn’t have agreed. He shouldn’t have ignored and brush off the way you were so stiff and in such disbelief of his words. He was harsh, he saw that now. He shouldn’t have given you space. But what was he to do? He didn’t even know why he said and did what he did

The next time Alastor returned to your side, you have already been directing your attention to a crush of yours from school and your intimate care to him was all missing its warmth

Note: The second spin-off for this series is coming soon~ It's a bit of a sample to let you see what the requests would be written as. Obviously it's going to be as long as your and my ideas combined, but not long enough to be a one-shot

Circe Y.

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #Demonic Companion #Circe's requested writings #Circe's Nighty Writings

172 notes · View notes

jazzthatonewriterchick · 9 months

Text

Drunk N Nasty (poly!Pro!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: poly!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you and Mina get tired of your boring ass boyfriends not making time for their girlfriends, so you two decide to hit the club for a night out with every intention of getting under your boyfriends’ skin. Fortunately for you, it works and your men decide to teach you and Mina a lesson about being some disobedient brats.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Aged Up!Bakusquad (they’re all in their late 20s); Black-coded!Reader (but anyone can still read this); Alcohol/Marijuana Consumption; Dubcon; Groping; Thigh Grinding; Dry Humping; Spitting; Girl on Girl; Mutual Oral; Edge Play; Bondage/Tape Play; Shock/Electro Play; Drunk Sex; Daddy Kink; some DDLG; Spanking; Choking; Hair-pulling; Facefucking; UNPROTECTED PIV Sex; Degradation; Multiple Creampies; Facials; Some Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I was DEEP down the Bakusquad hole one night like I was fucking Alice & decided to write this since it’s been at the back of my head for a couple of weeks. This one is NASTY. Enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

***********

“They’ve been starin’ at us all night, ya know.”

Mina sits next to you on the little leather lounge couch situated at the back of the club near the bar which has started to trickle down with activity. You and Mina have been here for over an hour, so the buzz of the night is starting to die down a bit, but the dance floor is packed and the drinks are still flowing.

And the eyes are still staring. A pair of two in particular that you can see piercing at you and your girlfriend from across the way. The two smoldering pairs of eyes belong to two very attractive men dressed in their best designer. They each have features that stand out to you as intriguing: the tallest one sitting on the right has long, black hair you bet is soft to the touch while the one on the left has arms roped in tattoos and lip piercings.

They are both hot. That much is clear. And their alluring, lustful stares are definitely piping you up as you sit nice and pretty with your girlfriend, a second fruity cocktail in your hand that will soon turn into a third. But though they are hot, you know four other men that are way hotter and that you would rather be here with you and Mina tonight.

But noooo, they’re just too damn busy to make time for their pretty girlfriends.

You mean towards Mina, dipping low to speak into her ear over the music blasting from the speakers overhead. “They can stare all they want,” you retort. “I’m way more interested in the four idiots that aren’t here right now.”

Mina scoffs, sipping on her second tequila sunrise of the night. You both love your girly drinks. “Waiting on them to come?” she chuckles, the flashing club lights making her ink-black eyes gleam. You flush in your mini dress, feeling hot despite the AC blasting and the exposed skin your little get-up provides. “You’ll be waiting a loooong time then, baby girl,” Mina scoffs, crossing her smooth, muscular legs over one another. “You know they’re at that meeting tonight discussing business or whatever.”

She rolls her eyes, ever the brat of your relationship. But you’re not exactly the opposite though. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t pissed that your boyfriends aren’t here, buying you and Mina all of the pretty drinks you want, giving you those lustful stares on the dance floor, and hyping you up in your outfits.

You made sure to look hotter than hot tonight. Like hot enough to make a man nut in his pants as soon as he sees you. You had raided your closet and pulled out a short, backless mini dress that made your legs look longer and showed off the curve of your spine sliding down towards your ass where a rhinestone G-string snugly sits below your stomach and in your ass crack.

You love, love, love this dress–how beautiful the pink fabric looks against your skin; how sexy it makes you feel. Not to mention how the hem of it barely covers your ass. If you are to bend over right now, everyone would get a good view of your ass that looks even plumper from the sparkly G-string.

The dress is one of your boys’ favorites. They’ve torn it off of you many, many times before. Combined with your heeled sandals, fresh mani and pedi, the perfume adorning your wrists and the back of your knees, and long braids that caress your back, you feel like a damn vixen.

Mina looks good enough to eat too. She decided on a mesh bodysuit that is skintight against her body and breasts, exposing the black bra she wears underneath, red pumps, and a leather mini skirt that doesn’t do much to cover the bottom of her asscheeks. You’re not sure if she’s wearing any panties, but knowing Mina and her bratty self, she did that for a reason.

She was the one who came up with this little plan to rile your busy pro boyfriends’ up. One hot afternoon while lounging by your pool at your shared condo, you two were more than pissed that your boys were still at work after saying they’d be home by two.

“Sorry, babes,” Denki sighed over speakerphone. “Patrol is takin’ much longer than we thought it would, so we’re still out here in the street. It’s hot as a bitch out here too.” You could hear the frustrations in his usually-upbeat tone as he gave you and Mina the rundown.

“Well, you could just leave early, can’t you?” you ask. “Aren’t there other pros working besides you, Sero, Kiri, and ‘Suki?”

You hear Sero make a “tsk” sound into the phone. “We wish we could, mama,” he sighs. “Almost everybody called out ‘cause of the heat, so we’re pretty much the only ones workin’ still, but we get a fat bonus out of this.”

“We’d better!” Katsuki hollers in the background. “It��s so hot out here, my fuckin’ balls are sweating. You two brats complainin’ aren’t makin’ things better for me either.”

You and Mina stared at each other in your designer sunglasses, mouths agape and offended. “Hey!” Mina scoffed, taking your phone from you. “It’s not our fault we feel neglected! You four have been blowin’ us off for weeks now to do work!”

And she’s right. The usual attention you and Mina get from your adoring, hot boyfriends has since been dwindling down ever since they started taking on more work at their agency. Now it’s all about work.

You try to get one of them to go out with you for a night in the city? “Sorry, babe, but I’ll be in the office late.”

You want to cuddle? “Baby, I can’t; this paperwork ain’t gonna do itself. Maybe later tonight.”

You want one of them to blow your back out and fucking do something about the ache between your legs? “Don’t you got one of your toys? We can do that later, alright?” That response was from Katsuki a week ago stressing over the whereabouts of a villain committing petty theft all over the city.

This dry spell has been happening for weeks now. And when you say a “dry spell”, you mean that shit. Not only have the boys been blowing you and Mina off for time alone, but the bedroom is dryer than the fucking Sahara desert.

While sex isn’t always between the six of you every single time, you miss it being that way––the connection you all have being together, touching and teasing each other; giving each other pleasure. You miss your favorite men aka your daddies domming you and Mina into submission, taking turns on your bodies and poor little pussies until you’re both aching for release. And more than anything, you miss the aftercare. You miss the cuddle piles; the soft kisses from Kiri and the the mindless touches from Sero; the nuzzles from Denki and the soft humming from a very sleepy Katsuki.

Recently, you and Mina have had to spent time with each other in the bedroom by yourselves without your daddies, if not use your toys. Though your rose toy and vibrator get the job done, toys never compare to physical touch. You need your boys. But they’re just too busy.

So Mina came up with the perfect idea after Katsuki told her to “sit her ass down, watch her mouth, and wait for them to get home” before hanging up and proceeding with their patrol. “We should go out,” she said as you began to put sun tan oil on her muscular back. Her eyes were closed and her face was relaxed.

“What, like, tonight?” you asked, rubbing your hands together once more to heat up the oil. Mina softly moaned as your hands knead into her back muscles, the sounds going straight to your clit. “Why not?” she replied. “Or this weekend. Maybe we can go dancing and meet some guys that’ll give us the attention we’re cravin’.”

She giggled at this, but you could tell she was serious. “I don’t know, Mina,” you hesitantly said, rubbing oil into her shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong; I love the idea of goin’ out to shake my ass and look cute, but without the guys? You know how they feel about other guys checkin’ us out.” You stopped rubbing her down and she looked back at you, concerned. “What if they get mad?” you timidly ask.

You’ve seen the boys mad before and didn’t want to face that wrath…or did you? The idea of riling your daddies up so much that they punished you with enough spanks to make your ass sting and filled your throat up to the point your eyes teared appealed to you more than you’d like to admit.

Mina could tell you were thinking it over and turned over, exposing her gorgeous breasts in her gold bikini top to you. “So what if they get mad?” she scoffed. “They’d better put that aggression into fucking us if that happens. We’ve been trying to get their asses to show us a little attention for weeks, but it’s always about work!”

She sat up, taking your hands in hers. “So if they don’t want to pay attention to us, then we’ll make them pay attention––by wearing our hottest shit and spending time with some dudes that would gladly give us what we want.” She smirked at you, mischief in her eyes. “So what do you say, baby girl? This Saturday?”

All you could do was smile back as an excited flutter formed in your tummy. Now here you were one a hot Saturday night, wearing your sluttiest outfits and getting checked out without your boys here to keep an eye on you. Just like you and Mina planned. “You really think they won’t show up?” you ask, slight disappointment blooming in you. “We posted our pics all over IG, so you know they saw.”

“They probably did,” Mina says, wrapping her glossy, sparkly lips around her straw to sip her cocktail. “If they aren’t tied up at work, that is. Can you imagine them walking in here right now? Katsuki would probably have us bent over this couch.”

You laugh along with her, cackling at your boyfriend’s reaction. “Or Sero would tie us up and drag us out of here,” you giggle. Your eyes then glide up and down your girlfriend’s form in her clothes, your mouth suddenly dry. “You know, you really look so good tonight. I almost don’t even want the boys to have you.”

She giggles, pressing a sticky kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, babe,” she purrs into your ear. “You look absolutely delicious.” Her hand glides down to her ass, squeezing it. “Y’know, I bet those guys over there would say the same thing. Don’t wanna waste this little fit, do you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the long-haired hottie take a drag of his blunt that suddenly looks very appealing to you. ‘Fuck it,’ you think. You came here to not only rile up your boys, but to also let loose and have some fun. Why stay back here and act like you aren’t interested in these two?

So you stand and take Mina’s hand in yours. “Let’s go and say hi,” you purr. Mina giggles excitedly from beside you, sipping on her drink like it’s justice as you walk her over to the leering duo. Their stares get even more lustful and lecherous as you get closer to them, their eyes gliding over your legs, hips, thighs, and titties jiggling with every step.

You know what they want and there is no way you’re going to give it up to them. You wouldn’t dare ruin your amazing, romantic, poly relationship with Mina and your boys. But the idea of acting up with them enough to ruffle the feathers of your boyfriends makes your heart skip a beat and your pussy leak. You stop in front of them with Mina, smiling down at them. “Are those seats taken?” you ask, a breathless, sexy tone leaking into your voice. You point one manicured finger at the empty spots beside either one of them.

The duo look at the empty seats then at each other before smirking up at you both. “Not at all,” the tattooed one answers. “Please, join us. We’ve been waitin’ on you two all night.” Mina giggles as she sits down next to him while you take a seat next to the long-haired one. “We can tell; you two have been starin’ at us almost all night.”

The tattooed man laughs, flashing his pearly whites at your girlfriend. “Well, it’s not every day you see a pro hero and her pretty friend walk into a club.” At the mention of “friend”, you look at Mina, trying not to laugh at her wobbling lips as she struggles to keep in her giggles.

“Well, you’re in luck then,” you chuckle. “I’m Y/N and of course, you know Mina aka Pinkie.” The long-haired hottie takes short puff of his blunt, making sure to blow it out of your face. “I’m Aki and this here is Kanaki,” he says in a deep, raspy voice that would make any woman’s pussy wet. His friend, Kanaki, gives you a nod. “We just got done some boxing practice and came here for a night out.”

“Oh, you’re boxers?” Mina asks, interested. Kanaki smiles at her, dimples popping in his cheeks. He’s a panty-dropper too. “Best in the business,” he cockily replies. “We come here often for relaxation, but we’ve never seen you two before.”

“Work unfortunately keeps us busy,” Mina explains, “but tonight was a good night for us. We’re just here for a good time.” Kanaki smirks at Aki before turning back to Mina, his intentions pure to you. “So are we,” he rasps, . “I bet we could all have some fun together.”

Aki nods in agreement, taking another puff of his blunt. He sees you watching him and removes the blunt from his lips, a puff of smoke billowing from between his lips. “Want a hit?” he asks. “You smoke?”

“Not often,” you sheepishly reply, “but I’m here to relax so…if you don’t mind…” Aki passes you the blunt without another word and you take a small hit, coughing a bit as the smoke fills your lungs. When you take another short puff, you already feel the weed take effect on you and let the smoke billow from your parted, glossed lips. Aki watches your mouth, hypnotized.

“You ladies want some drinks?” Kanaki asks, already whipping out his wallet. “We’re buying.” You and Mina share an excited look and look at the drink menu before ordering a round of Patron shots with a side of lemon, lime, and salt. You and Mina finish your cocktails before indulging in the shots with Aki and Kanaki, pretending not to notice them staring at your lips when you suck on the lemon and lime slices.

Suddenly, one shot turns into two. Then three. Then four. And then two puffs of Aki’s joint turn into four.

Before you know it, you are absolutely fucking gone. And before you know it, an hour later after meeting the two, you’re on the dance floor with them and Mina, the weed making you feel relaxed and the alcohol making you feel like you could touch the moon. You feel light as a feather, giggly, and bubbly. The world is spinning and slightly blurry, but it also seems beautiful and nice to you. Everything is good. Everyone is sexy.

Especially your girlfriend. She grinds against you now, her body pressed against yours as you rock against each other to “Body Party” by Ciara which seems to make everyone horny. Your hands are under her skirt, grasping her asscheeks and giving Kanaki a flash of her jiggling, pink cheeks that he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of.

Aki is the same. He stands beside you two in the crowd of grinding bodies under the flashing lights, ogling at your bodies grinding against each other. You giggle with Mina’s arms still snaked around your waist, her hips flush against yours as you pull your phone out of your purse. You fumble to tap in your code and open the camera app, but once you do, you raise your phone up towards your girlfriend and your “friends” for the night. “Smile, y’all!” you drunkenly shout. “Smile for the camera!”

You smile at your phone, big and bright. Mina gives your phone the middle finger and a devious smile while Kanaki and Aki barely look at the phone when the flash goes off. You can’t even put your phone away before Mina is all over you again, tossing her arms around your neck. “Gimme a kiss, Y/N,” she whines, puckering her lips at you. Drunk off of her and everything around you, you grip the back of her head and pull her in close for a sloppy, lustful kiss.

You plunge your fingers through her messy, pink girls while she trails her hands down to your ass, gripping it. You moan into her mouth, giving her the opportunity to slip her tongue into it and swirl it with yours. Soft moans and giggles emit between you, floating in the air and to the ears of Kanaki and Aki that have gotten much closer to you and Mina, watching the scene unfolding before them.

Your phone suddenly vibrates and you pull away from a pouty Mina, a string of saliva connected to your bottom lips. “Hold up, I’m getting a call!” you laugh. “I’ll be right back, babe.”

You give Mina a wink before stumbling off of the dance floor, pulling down your skirt in the back as much as you can. You decide to go to the nearest ladies’ room and lean against the wall where the long line is before answering the call. You look down at the caller ID, grinning when you see one of your boyfriends’ names there. With a drunk giggle, you answer. “Hellooo?” you sing into the phone.

“There the fuck you are!” Katsuki huffs with relief. “Where the fuck are you two? We’ve been calling you two all night! Texting you, blowin’ up your phone!” You scowl confusedly at this newfound information. “You have?” you ask, confused.

Briefly, you pull your phone away from your ear and check your missed calls and texts. Sure enough, Katsuki is right: you have two missed calls Kiri, one from Denki, a text from Sero asking if you’re okay, and three calls and a very angry text from Katsuki asking where the fuck you are. “Oh!” you giggle, continuing the call. “Sorry, my ringer is off.”

As you thought, Katsuki is not happy about that at all. “Why the fuck is your ringer off, Y/N?” he growls. “And where are you? It’s loud as fuck in there. I can’t even hear you.”

You put one foot up on the wall, leaning your back flush against the cool tiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you scoff. Katsuki pauses, obviously not believing you just said that. Do you want to die?

But it isn’t Katsuki who speaks this time––it’s Kiri. “Yes, we do,” he replies in a voice you’ve never heard from him before. It sounds like it’s taking everything in him to not reach through the phone and spank you. “Don’t play with us right now, Y/N. Where are you and Mina?”

Your stomach twirls nervously at the undercurrent of anger in Kiri’s voice, but it also causes heat to pool between your legs. Kiri isn’t the type to get worked up so easily, so to see it now is kind of hot. “Well, for your information, shark boy,” you scoff, “my girlfriend and I are at a nice club havin’ nice drinks with these very nice guys we met since you four are too busy for us.” You take a lock of your braids and twirl it around your finger as more word vomit rises to the surface. “Oh, they bought us shots too. And one said he likes my dress.”

“You’re wearin’ that pink one?” Denki asks, sounding excited. You giggle giddily in response, finding humor in his whine. But Katsuki stomps on that giddiness real quick. “Dammit, why’d you have to pull that one out?!” he snaps.

You take the phone away from your ear for a moment, scowling at it. Who the fuck is he yelling at? “Because you four idiots are too busy to take care of us!” you snap right back. “So we’re out here doin’ it ourselves. We’ve been asking you four to spend time with us for weeks, but it’s always, ‘Noooo, Y/N, we’ve got paperwork to finish’. ‘No sex tonight, Mina; we’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning’.”

You lean your foot back down to the ground and cross your arm over your midsection, suddenly feeling cold and small. “We’re just feelin’ neglected,” you weakly say. “We miss our boys.”

The other side of the phone is silent, the boys obviously dumbfounded at the truth in your and Mina’s horrible decision. “Baby, just come home, okay?” Kiri soothingly says. “We can talk about then.” Sero agrees, taking the phone. “Yeah, mama, just relax and we can discuss it at all in private,” he coos. “Here, let me order you two a Lyft and–“

“I don’t want a Lyft,” you shortly reply. “I wanna dance. I wanna have fun. So I’m gonna go now.”

“Wait, Y/N!” Katsuki shouts, but your finger is already hovering over the button to end the call. “Byeeee!” you shriek into the phone before hanging up. The illusion of pride overflows inside of you as you strut back over to the dance floor. ‘I told them,’ you think proudly with a giggle, not even thinking about how you’re going to get your pussy beaten black and blue later for this little charade.

When you shimmy back onto the dance floor, Mina is twirling her lips like it’s no one’s business and holding a new drink. “Ooooh, what’s that?” you ask, pointing at her glass. It is orange and topped with ice and chopped oranges and strawberries, reminding you of a tequila sunrise but better. Mina gives you a deviously sexy look, her gold eyes shimmering. You know exactly what she wants. “Wanna taste it?” she giggles, and you nod, practically salivating for another taste of her.

You let her yank you over to her before she takes a sip of the drink. Instantly, you open your mouth wide and tilt your head back, allowing her to hover her mouth over yours and spit the alcohol and her saliva right into your mouth. You hum appealingly at the taste of her and the fruity drink, the nasty act making you gush in your thong. Kanaki and Aki are close to falling out from the scene. “Fuck!” Aki groans. “Can you do that to me too please?”

Mina turns to the boys, wagging her finger at them. “Mm-mm, sorry,” she giggles. “That’s reserved for my girl.” She wraps an arm around you, pulling you close into her perfume-soaked neck. “And our daddies,” she whispers. “You think they’re mad at us?”

You know for a fact from the phone call that they are livid, but you can’t bring yourself to care too much. The alcohol, the music, and Mina’s lips don’t allow you to. All you want right now is her. You wordlessly lean in to kiss her again, your lips moving sloppily against each other. You both moan into each other’s mouths as your tongues swirl and flick against one another, too drunk to realize that you two are tongue kissing in public.

“God, you two are so fucking hot,” Aki groans from behind you. “I’d kill to touch either of you.”

Mina pulls away, all of her lipgloss gone and somewhere on your mouth. “We know!” she giggles. “Butcha can’t, can they, Y/N?” She winks playfully at you, wrapping her arms securely around your body. “We already belong to someone…well, somebodies.”

You giddily nod, turning to Aki. He has gotten closer, so close than you can see the bulge that has begun to protrude from his pants. “As sexy as you two are?” he scoffs, leering down at you under the strobe lights. “Of course, but they ain’t here, are they?”

“I wouldn’t put money on that, pal,” Kiri replies from behind him. Wait…Kiri?!

You and Minajump like you see a ghost as soon as you lay eyes on the big and buff redheaded hunk. He stands there behind Aki with his inked, muscled arms crossed over his broad chest covered by a black muscle tee. And he doesn’t look the least bit happy. Aki jumps at the sight of him, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Red Riot?!” he asks you and Mina, shocked. “You’re dating Red Riot?!”

You and Mina don’t answer, too flabbergasted at the presence of your boyfriend standing there, looking very disappointed in both of his girls. “So this is where you two headed off to,” he sighs, shaking his head in disapproval. “I knew Denki would recognize the place from your IG stories.” His red eyes tick between the two of you. “You two are in big trouble, you know that, right?”

You and Mina look at each other, faces pale and fear in your eyes. You two are fucked. “K-Kiri, we…” Your mouth runs dry, your tongue too heavy for words. Kiri’s brows raise expectantly.

“You…what?” he asks. “You decided to be two needy little brats and make us worry over you? You wanted to get a rise out of us?” The corner of his pierced lips curl into a crooked, dry smirk. “Well, baby girls, you did.”

Your body is on fire, but not out of excitement. You know damn well you’re going to get an earful about this from all of them, not just your platinum blonde-haired Chihuahua of a boyfriend. “Kiri, we’re sorry,” Mina weakly says, staring up at the redhead through her lashes. Usually, her soft, puppy-dog eyes work, but not this time. “Oh, it ain’t just me you’re gonna have to apologize to, baby girl,” Kiri chuckles darkly. “You’ve also got these three.”

His eyes tick above your heads. Even without turning around, you can sense the presence of your three other boyfriends standing behind you. When you and Mina slowly turn, you’re met with the very ticked-off Katsuki, Sero, and Denki standing behind you, arms crossed over their buff chests and anger radiating off of them in waves.

Oh, shit.

Your eyes widen as Mina grabs your hand, gripping it tightly. You both know you’re fucked. “What’s up, mamis?” Sero snickers, staring down at you and Mina with a dark look. “You look scared.” Denki grins deviously at you, practically licking his chops. “Both of them do,” he giggles. “Like they’re lookin’ at their death.”

Bakugou barely moves except for the slight twitch by his eye––a sign that he is very, very angry. “Not till we get ‘em home,” he growls.

His eyes then tick up to Aki and Kanaki still standing near you, their eyes wide with shock. “Da fuck are you two still standin’ there for, huh?” Bakugou snarls. “They’re ours. Now back the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.” He raises his hand and the crackle of his sweat glistening in his palm is all it takes to send the two men scrambling off.

You and Mina are practically shivering in your boots as your four boyfriends stand over you, the fear of the unknown taking over your bodies. What’s going to happen when they get you home? Are they going to spank your asses until they’re red? Are they going to edge you until you’re both crying and begging for release? Or, even worse, are they just going to do nothing at all? No touching or teasing? Neither one of their thick cocks filling you up?

Katsuki’s crimson eyes flick around the room, noticing the club-goers watching them in awe.

“Let’s get outta here,” he grumbles lowly. “Too many eyes.” Sero gives a nod before raising his elbows and shooting several yards of sticky tape at you and Mina. You girls shriek as the tape sticks to your wrists and ankles, tying them together so movement is near impossible. Before you can protest, Katsuki is hosting you over his shoulder while Kiri scoops Mina up bridal style, much to her dismay.

“Wait!” you shout, batting your fists against Katsuki’s muscular back. “Put me down!” This only gets you a hard smack on the ass that has you gasping and tears stinging in your eyes. It only gets worse as he travels through the club and you catch the wandering eyes of strangers. Some of their phones out, taking pictures and recording, laughing and gossiping. It’s so humiliating. All you want to do is hide under your covers and never come out again.

You’ve never felt more revealed until you’re outside at the valet, the cool air soothing your clammy, hot skin. When you finally get to the sleek, black Range Rover that the boys each share among each other (you have a white one while Mina’s is pink), Katsuki and Kiri finally lower you and Mina down onto the pavement. You don’t bother pulling down your dress, your dignity already ruined.

Katsuki looks like he’s about to blow a damn fuse judging from the vein pulsing in his neck. “Can’t believe you two did this shit,” he angrily growls. “Had me stressin’ at work, blowin’ up your goddamn phone, wondering if you two were okay…only to see that you two brats were flashin’ your pussies for those two extras in there.” You stare down at your shoes, pissed at your boyfriends’ behavior but also at your own. You just wanted some attention is all.

Mina peers up at Katsuki through her black lashes with her ink-black eyes, her lips smudged of her lipgloss. “Katsuki,” she weakly says. Katsuki’s eyes sharpen at his government name being used. “Who?” he growls, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. You and Mina share the same ‘uh-oh’ look, realizing that your man has now switched into fully Daddy Dom mode. You’re sure the other three have done the same. And that is so, so hot.

Mina nervously licks her lips, squeezing her thighs together. “D-Daddy,” she whimpers. “Please, guys, it was all my idea. I wanted to–“

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki growls. Mina buttons her lip as he opens the door to the backseat, jutting his chin inside the car. “Get your asses in the car, now.” You and Mina have no choice but to climb into the backseat of the car, getting two harsh smacks on the ass in the process. Denki and Sero get in behind you and position themselves in their seats first before having you and Mina sit in their laps.

When Katsuki and Kiri get in the front seats, Katsuki practically jams his key into the ignition and tails out of the valet like a bat out of hell. He has gotten plenty of tickets before for his driving which becomes exceedingly more reckless when he is pissed. Only now now he is pissed and also horny: a dangerous combination. Kiri turns on the stereo and bumps a City Girls song; one that you particularly like and always gets you dancing.

Denki grips your hips from underneath you, nearly digging his nails into your mini dress.

“Oooh, you two are gonna get it at home,” he growls, a devious edge to his voice. You sit rigidly on top of him, legs closed and hands in your lap. “But before that happens…” You feel his warm hand on your cheek, turning you to face him and those electric, golden eyes. “Now show us exactly what you were doin’ with those two in there, princess,” he hums. “It was pretty good music. I bet you were grinding this pussy all over them on that dance floor, weren’t you?”

His hands slide down your sides to your thighs, squeezing them generously, before using one hand to pry your legs open to reveal your glittery thong. You whimper as his fingers begin to slide up and down the tiny cloth covering above your pussy. “Mmm, so wet already,” he coos to you. “Was that because of those guys or ‘cause you knew we’d fuck you up when you finally got home?”

You don’t answer, not sure how to. Plus, Denki’s fingers rubbing circles around your clit is making it hard to think straight. “Katsuki, turn up the music,” he orders. The platinum-blonde glaringly stares at his golden-haired boyfriend through the rearview mirror. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he growls, but does so anyway. The music is soon bumping through the speakers as Katsuki zooms down the highway, swerving lanes like a madman.

Denki begins to swerve and swirl his hips underneath you, bumping his hard-on against your pussy and ass. “Dance for us, princess,” he demands, taking his hand to give your thigh a smack. He turns to Mina who has her skirt up her thighs, Sero’s hands all over her. “That goes for you too, Pinkie. Show us exactly how hard you got those losers in there.”

You press your lips together disapprovingly. “But they weren’t–“ You’re cut off by a sharp hiss from your lips when Denki grabs your hair, yanking on it. “Is that lip?” he asks, a growl in his voice. Heat pools between your thighs at his switch in character. Usually, though mischievous, Denki is very laid-back, so to see him way out of his element and being so dominant with you is a major turn-on for you. You slowly shake your head and he releases your hair though your scalp stings. “That’s what I thought. Now get to it.”

So you and Mina dance for the men sitting underneath you, your asses twirling and grinding into their laps and hardened cocks underneath their pants. You place your hands firmly on Denki’s knees and your feet on the car floor as you toot your ass up and down for him, shaking it as much as you can in the backseat. The more you dance, the more Denki ogles and grabs, the more turned-on he gets.

“Look at this lil’ dress ridin’ up,” he coos, his hands back under your dress. “I bet it was like that on the dance floor, wasn’t it? And what’s this here?” He roughly pulls you back down to sit on his lap and lifts your dress up high to reveal your sparkly thong. “My favorite thong too?” A deep, aroused growl emits from his throat. “I didn't realize you were wearin’ it, babe. You’re just lookin’ to get fucked, aren’t you?”

He begins to rub circles along your clit again, sending sparks of pleasure deep into your core. Before you can say anything to stop him, his fingers are creeping under your thong to move them aside, revealing your aching, puffy, wet pussy to him, Sero, and Kiri and Katsuki who stare in the rearview mirror. “Denki,” you whimper, your thighs quivering as his fingers ghost over your pussy, teasing you even more.

“You’re wearin’ that glittery shit?” Katsuki rumbles, his knuckles turning white from how tight he’s gripping the wheel. “You’re gonna fuckin’ get it later, I hope you know that.”

“This one ain’t no better,” Sero comments along with Mina’s soft whimpers. You turn, finding his fingers under Mina’s dress. “Just look at this shit!” He cackles as he lifts her dress up to reveal her bare, apple-bottomed, pink ass to the whole car. Kiri turns around now, staring into the backseat. “No panties, babe?” he laughs in awe. “Guess you two were desperate for everyone to know how slutty you are.”

You watch as Sero begins to toy with Mina, pressing his mouth on both of her asscheeks to nibble and kiss at them. Mina wantonly moans, her eyes fluttering closed as her boyfriend’s hands move to her sides, his fingers sliding up and down them. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize that Denki has removed his hand from your thong to replace them with his knee. His solid knee feels so good on your throbbing pussy and clit, giving you the relief you need as you begin to grind your cunt against his thigh. “Denki,” you whimper. “Please.”

Denki moves his hand to place on your throat, not squeezing but letting you know it’s there. “Please what, princess?” he hums. “Hm? You wanna stop?” You weakly shake your head, words dying in your throat as whimpers and moans bubble to the surface. Denki chuckles and grips your neck harder now, causing you to gasp. “Of course, you don’t, you little slut,” he whispers into your ear. “Of course you like grinding on my thigh like the desperate cumslut you are.”

“Fuck, Sero!” Mina suddenly squeals from beside you. In the haze of your pleasure, you turn, finding Mina with her legs open wide and Sero’s finger curling into her wet pussy. As he slowly fingerfucks her, you can hear how wet Mina’s pussy is, the lewd sounds making you grind harder against Denki’s thigh.

“Fuck!” Katsuki grunts. “I can hear how wet they are. You two brats are lucky I’m driving.” Kiri is just about dying, ogling at the two of you from the passenger’s seat. “God, that’s so hot,” he groans. “I can't wait to get you two home.”

And only when you two get home. Making that clear, Denki forces you to stop by gripping your waist and Sero pauses his fingerfucking to give you both a firm glare. “Don’t cum,” Katsuki orders, staring sharply at both of you girls in the rearview mirror. “Neither one of you. If you cum now, you won’t be able to cum later, understood?”

Though dizzy with pleasure, you and Mina manage to answer him the way he wants to be answered: “Yes, daddy,” you both weakly say, chests heaving, hearts racing, and pussies wet.

When you finally get in the house fifteen minutes later after flying across the city, you barely have any time to get your shoes off before the boys are hustling you and Mina upstairs. At some point, Katsuki throws you over his shoulder and Kiri hikes Mina up in his arms, running up the steps with you girls as you squeal in protest. When you get to your master bedroom, Katsuki kicks the door open and tosses you onto the bed. You shriek as you go flying before hitting the mattress, bouncing a bit as you do.

Mina goes flying too as Kiri tosses her down beside you. You two them lay on your backs, staring up at your four boyfriends looming over your tinier figures, staring down at you almost predator-like. “What should we do with them first?” Denki excitedly asks, lust in his eyes. Katsuki deviously smirks at you and Mina, filling you with dread. “I’ve got just the thing,” he chuckles before glaring down at you girls. “Get on your knees, hands behind your back.”

Sharing a withering look, you and Mina slowly do as Katsuki says. As you sit with your pretty asses facing them in such a submissive position, the four groan at the sight, making you bite your lip in utter anticipation. The throbbing in your pussy only gets worse when Sero reapplies the tape to your ankles and wrists, making it hard to move or escape. You’ve never been this horny before. What is it about pissing your boyfriends off that makes you so damn wet?

Sero then steps back to admire his handiwork. “Now neither one of you can run from us,” he deviously hums. “We can do whatever the fuck we want with you now.” That turns you on even more: to be so helpless under their touches; to be completely at their mercy. Sero runs a finger down your cheek, his touch making you quiver. ”But you wouldn’t run away even if you didn’t have my tape wrapped around your wrists, would you?”

You know the answer: hell no. And Mina knows it too.

“Bend ‘em over,” Katsuki grunts, foreplay be damned. “I need to teach these two greedy sluts a lesson in obedience.” Sero and Kiri do as they are ordered and position you and Mina so you’re both bent over, knees and the soles of your feet dug into the mattress. “Are we being punished?” Mina asks, her voice slightly muffled from the mattress.

You adjust your head slightly to look behind you, finding Katsuki glaring at her from above. He then yanks her skirt over her pink ass before doing the same to you, leaving the thong on. “What the fuck do you think?” he hisses before his hand is colliding with the meat of her ass. A loud whine leaves Mina’s lips and you flinch at the harsh sound of skin colliding with skin.

You don’t have much time to prepare when Katsuki is giving you the same treatment. His hands are rough from years of pro-hero work, so his slaps hurt like hell. They are rough and sting like fire licking across your skin. You gasp and gnaw harshly on your lip to avoid crying out. He continues to do this to both you and Mina, making your asses jiggle and tears spring into your eyes. “Is this what you wanted?” he grunts. “To get punished like this? Make me lose my mind like this?”

You dig your face into the mattress, muffling your screams of pain at merciless spanks. Finally, Kiri tags in, putting a hand on Katsuki’s chest to stop him. “My turn,” he darkly chuckles. “Brace yourself, ladies. You know my hand is heavy.” And boy, is it. Way more than Katsuki’s because of his quirk. His hands are hard and rough, his palms calloused.

And they hurt even worse when they collide with your ass. Adding new, fresh spanks on top of the ones Katsuki already gave you is the worse pain you’ve ever felt. It’s excruciating. You’re so sure that your ass is red despite your skin tone at this point with how harsh Kiri is being.

“Don’t flinch,” he orders. “You wanted this shit, then you’ve got it. All the attention you could ask for. He gives both you and Mina the same treatment, wailing in on your asses like he's trying to get some gold rings out of you. He babbles about how fat your asses are and how they jiggle whenever he smacks them, obviously enjoying how they move.

Then it’s Denki’s turn. Ever the sadist, when he brings his hand down upon you, he makes sure to slip his quirk in too. As his hand collides with your ass, a tiny spark shoots from his palm to your ass straight through your ass. You quiver and shake at the short electrocution, a gasp leaving your lips. “Oops!” he mockingly says. “Guess I let my quirk slip.” Though you can’t see it with your face still in the mattress, you can hear Mina’s shriek and feel her body shivering when Denki gives her the same treatment.

“Fuck, that shiver was so cute,” Kiri groans. “Do that again, Denks.” Denki does so to both you and Mina, giving you two shock after shock. Each one is more intense than the next, making you feel as if you are repeatedly being poked with an electric rod. Then it’s Sero’s turn and though he gives your asses some wet kisses first to soothe the pain, all of that goes to shit when his hands collide with your asscheeks too.

Minutes feel like hours the more hits you take from them, one after the other. Your and Mina’s cries fill the bedroom, bouncing off of the walls for no one to hear. Your ass begins to ache and sting to the point where you’re crying, the comforter wet beneath you. “Please stop!” you tearfully beg. “It hurts!” Mina sniffles beside you, softly crying at the pain.

Though the spanks luckily stop, you feel two rough, thick fingers peel your soaked thong away from your cunt and playing with your pussy, easing some of the fiery stings along your asscheeks. “Your pussy says something completely different,” Katsuki tsks. “Little slut. You still need to be taught a lesson, don’t you?” You then suddenly feel his thick, wet tongue sliding along your wet folds, sucking on your pussy lips and on the sensitive bud of your clit. Your mouth falls open at the feeling, your ass shamelessly arching into his face. “F-Fuck, ‘Suki!” you moan.

You turn your head to look at Mina, finding Kiri kneeling behind her ass, his hands prying her cheeks apart. “Don’t think you don’t get the same treatment, bratty girl,” he teasingly purrs before his mouth is on Mina’s pretty, pink pussy, devouring every inch of it.

Katsuki isn’t at all slow or loving. He eats every single part of your pussy, sucking harshly on the right places and being more gentle yet merciless with the other, more sensitive parts of you. You even feel his finger sliding against the puckered hole of your asshole, making your body quiver from the sheer among of pleasure you’re feeling. The sounds that leave your lips are loud and lewd, bouncing off of the bedroom walls. From beside you, you can hear the sobbing, wet sounds of Kiri licking Mina’s pussy as she moans and whines, her face buried deep into the bed. Katsuki pulls away from your clit momentarily to bark, “Sero, Denki; plug up those other holes of there’s.”

You weakly look up to find Denki and Sero kneeling in front of you and Mina, looking excited and extremely devilish. “Oooh, I love this part,” Denki happily sighs. “I’ve been wantin’ to fuck their throats all night!” He settles in front of Mina, forcing her to look up at him by gripping her hair and hoisting her up onto her forearms. He then yanks down his pants with one hand, revealing his hardened cock protruding from a patch of golden, trimmed curls.

Sero smirks down at you, his hands working his zipper down. “Guess I get you tonight, mami,” he purrs. “No matter. Both of your pretty little throats make me happy either way.” Then his pants are coming off too, revealing a hard, thick cock jumping against his toned lower stomach, the boubous head bubbling with precum. “Open up,” he growls and you have no choice but to do so when Katsuki plunges his tongue inside of your pussy, tongefucking you without warning. As your mouth opens on a long whine, Sero plunges his cock deep into your mouth.

“That’s it, mama,” he groans as his thick cock stretches out your mouth. “Take me deep. Don’t be distracted.” You whine around his length, nearly choking it from how deep it goes until you nearly feel it touch the back of your throat.

“Fuck!” Sero growls, his hand moving to the back of your head to wind your braids around his fist. It becomes even harder to focus when he begins fucking your face, his stomach pressing against your nose again and again as he plunges his dick in and out of your mouth, emitting gargled gasps and muffled whines from you.

While all you smell and taste is Sero, you don’t just feel his thick cock stretching your jaw. The fact that you feel him and Katsuki both fucking your holes makes it so hard to focus on anything. You feel yourself going slack, your limbs growing tired and your jaw aching from Sero repeatedly fucking your throat. “This is what you wanted, right?” he grunts, the black hairs from his mullet in his face. “You just wanted to get fucked like the sweet lil’ slut you are?”

You gargle in response and he removes his cock, now dripping in your saliva, from your mouth. You are awarded air then and gulp down as much as you can, coughing. Sero grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Sorry, mama; I couldn’t hear you,” he chuckles. “Now say it again. Let the guys hear you.”

You can tell without looking that Katsuki, Kiri, and Denki are listening intently to you, waiting for you to say what they already know. Sero squeezes your cheeks together, making it hard to speak, but you manage to do so, your voice soft and weak from your throat being fucked. “Yes, papi,” you answer, peering up at Sero through your lashes. “Your baby girl just wanted to get fucked. We both did.” Mina wines pitifully beside you, proving your statement.

This makes your boys go completely feral. Sero plugs your mouth back with his cock and fucks it like it’s his last time doing so, Denki following suit with Mina’s throat. Katsuki is having a ball behind you, his hands roughly gripping your ass and his tongue flicking along your clit the way you like. “Slutty lil’ bimbo, makin’ me so worried for you,” he growls into your cunt, the vibrations filling your core with pleasure. “All just ‘cause you wanted some dick.” His tongue then plunges deep into your pussy, making you whine around Sero’s cock.

It doesn’t take long for Sero or Denki to cum. You know Sero is close by how hard he starts gripping your hair, nearly yanking the braids out of your scalp. His thrusts are rougher and harder, his abs slamming against your mouth and his heavy balls swinging against your chin. “Gonna cum,” he growls. “Such a good girl takin’ this dick, baby.”

Denki is whining, overly-dramatic mess. His moans are loud and bounce off the walls as he slams his cock deep into Mina’s throat while Kiri continues to eat her out like she’s his last meal. “Gonna cum!” Denki shouts, his head thrown back in ecstasy. “Gonna cum deep down your slutty throat!” Mina whines is response as Kiri nibbles lightly on her pussy lips with his sharp teeth, chuckling at her reactions.

You get no kind of warning when Sero finally floods your mouth with his cum, swearing in Spanish as he does so. There is so much nut that it spills out of your mouth and dribbles down your chin. “Hold it,” he demands as he slips his semi-hard cock out of your mouth. “Lemme see my cum in your mouth, puta.”

You carefully tilt your chin up to hold his cum in your mouth, showing the creamy substance on your tongue. Sero grins down at you proudly. “Good girl,” he coos, pecking your forward. “Now swallow.”

As soon as Denki and Sero cum in your and Mina’s mouth, you know that you’re deep in for a night of punishment. The rest of the things your men do to you and your girlfriend are one torturous yet pleasurable blur that is only heightened by the weed you smoked and the shots of alcohol you threw back earlier at the club. Katsuki and Kiri don’t let you or Mina cum, pulling away when you’re just about to burst all over their faces. “Not yet,” Katsuki growls. “You two sluts don't get to cum until we say so.”

Before you know what’s happening, Sero is repositioning your tired arms up high over your head and laying you down on your back so you’re side by side with Mina. You stare into her inkwell eyes and at her soft, pink lips when you’re both suddenly filled by Katsuki and Kiri at the same time. Kiri and Katsuki switch between you and Mina’s pussies, taking turns filling you and fucking you dumb into the mattress.

Kiri is more loving and slow with his strokes but still all the more merciless. He slings your leg over his broad shoulder and kisses your foot while his cock fills you, stroking the wet, gummy walls of your pussy. “So good,” he groans, his face as red as his hair. “You feel so good around me, baby girl. Keep grippin’ me just like that.” More praise and sweet nothings leave his lips as he pummels you as hard as you want, relishing the broken moans and whines that leave your lips.

Meanwhile, Katsuki is rough, wild, and feral. He fucks you into the bed in a mating press position, his feet on the bed and his dick pummeling into your pussy over and over again. Squelching sounds emit from down below as your juices and flavored lube slip down your asscrack to the bed, making your walls even slipperier and causing Katsuki to have an easier time fucking you silly. His large hand grips your throat and his nose touches yours, making the sex even more intense with him so close. “You like that, slut?” he snarls in your face. “You like me fucking you dumb?”

All you can do is whine in response. Words are meaningless at this point. Katsuki forces you to open your mouth and spits in it in response before swirling his tongue with yours, tasting himself.

While Sero sits against the headboard, lazily stroking his cock to the sights and sounds of his girls, Denki gets right in the mix. His sneaky fingers tweak and tug on your nipples and play with your clit while Kiri and Katsuki continue to plunge deep into your squelching, sobbing, wet pussies over and over again. Every single touch from Denki is twinged with a zap of electricity that sends you farther over the edge, trying to balance that pain and pleasure.

You don’t even realize that you’re drooling until Denki points it out. “Awww, she’s drooling!” he cackles. He leans in close to you despite Katsuki still pounding you into the bed.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip to catch your saliva and he sucks on his thumb, humming at the taste of you. “Is Bakugou fucking you dumb, slutty girl, hm?” he teasingly asks. "Or am I just fryin’ that pretty brain of yours?” You whine weakly in response, too distracted by Katsuki’s delicious cock bullying your insides.

When Katsuki finally cums inside of you, it’s messy and big. He cums with an uncharacteristic, almost animalistic roar as he spills his nut deep inside of your cunt, his hand still pinning you to the bed. Kiri cums too, a loud moan of Mina’s name leaving his lips as he nuts deep inside of her tight walls. You girls take every ounce of their cum, just as you do when they flip you back over onto your hands and knees.

They don’t allow you to recover or rest. “Sluts don't get to rest,” Katsuki tells you, a dark chuckle in his voice. “They only get what they deserve. And you two bimbos deserve to be fucked until your pussies are mush.”

And he sticks to his word. Each one of them do. When you and Mina are flipped back onto your hands and knees, your men plug up your pretty, wet holes again. Katsuki and Kiri fuck your throats while Denki and Sero kneel behind you, plunging their cocks deep inside of your pussies to fuck you doggystyle.

You get Denki this time and shit, are you in for it. The man makes sure you fuck you stupid, his foot on the bed and hands grappling your tits to zap your poor little nipples. He even dips under your thighs to rub your clit, his fingertips pulsing with electricity. It has you whimpering and shivering as the short currents of electricity course through you.

When he finally cums inside of you, you’re just about done and filled to the brim, but then Kiri takes you. He has you lay down on your stomach and fucks you prone bone style. “Don't do anything, baby,” he coos as his cock strokes your sensitive, gushy walls. “Just lemme do all the work, m’kay? Be a good girl and take me.”

And you do. You don’t have much of a choice. You can only lie there and let Kiri fuck your body like his own personal fleshlight, his thick cock sliding against your G-spot. Your body is tired and your pussy is screaming for release, but Kiri doesn’t let you cum. Neither of them let Mina cum either. She is spread out against the headboard, Denki’s face in her pussy while Katsuki and Sero have their cocks in her face, taking turns sliding them in and out of her wet mouth.

When Kiri cums, it is just as messy and explosive as Katsuki’s nut is. He grips your hips and pins you down to the bed as his big body tenses above you, pleasure coursing through his veins. “Fuck!” he whines, the sound nearly pushing you over the edge. “Such a good girl!” And like a good girl, you take every ounce of his cum pumping inside of you, groaning softly as you feel it slide down your thighs.

“Goddammit, please, daddies!” Mina sobs. “Please just let us cum!” She is only met with callused laughter from the guys, humored at her pain. “You cum when we say so,” Katsuki growls. “Now shut the fuck up and get on your fuckin’ knees for us so you can have your treat.”

Mina does as she is told, sliding onto her knees on the bed in front of you. You barely know what’s happening, too exhausted and dazed to realize it. When you suddenly feel Mina’s tongue sliding against your cum-covered, fucked-silly pussy, her hands prying your legs apart, your soul just about leaves your body. “N-No,” you weakly protest. “No, please…t-too much! Please, daddies, stop!”

Your sobs and pleas of mercy fall on deaf ears as Katsuki, Kiri, and Sero surround you once more, their hard cocks and gorgeous bodies in your face. Denki situates himself behind Mina and slides inside of her as she eats you out. He doesn’t take his time or let her adjust first before fucking deep into her, his stomach slamming against her ass and his fingers tweaking her nipples, emitting screams and wails from her as she greedily eats your cunt.

“Shut up and open your mouth,” Katsuki cooly says. “Or you don’t cum at all tonight. Believe me, baby: you know we’ll do it.”

That threat is worse than death to you at this point, so you open your mouth and let the trio fuck your throat raw and yank on your braids. They start to morph into one the more you endure, each cock becoming more of the same one. You’re losing it, the combination of pain and pleasure fogging your brain and making reality nothing more than an illusion.

“Such a good little toy for us,” Kiri coos, watching you take Katsuki’s cock with awe, his hand pumping his own in time with his boyfriend’s thrusts. Sero does the same, stroking his dick right next to your face. “Does our little girl wanna cum?” he teases. “You wanna cum all over Mina’s face while she creams on Denki’s dick?”

You lazily nod with tears pricking your eyes despite Katsuki’s cock in your throat while Mina eagerly moans in agreement, her tongue slashing your clit again and again. You can feel your body getting closer to that release. You don’t know what you’ll do if they deny your release again.

Fortunately, that doesn’t happen. To your shock and relief, Katsuki pulls his cock out of your mouth and pumps it right in your face, his hand working himself furiously. “Cum for us, slut,” he demands. “Both of you. Do it now before I change my mind.”

‘Finally,’ you think. You sob in delirious happiness while Mina babbles grateful thanks into your cunt. “Thank you, daddies!” she whines as Denki fucks her harder. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You swear that when you cum, it’s an out-of-body experience. Your soul practically leaves you and sees heaven when the pleasure washes over you, plunging you into a sea of bliss. Your orgasm rips through you at the same time as Mina, your moans and screams of release filling the bedroom.

When you burst all over Mina’s face, she eagerly and hungrily cleans you up, sucking on your inner thighs and sliding her tongue down your asscrack to catch the rest of your cum. When she picks up her head to stare at you from between your thighs, her mouth is coated in your juices, making her lips shine with you. “God, that’s so hot!” Denki pitifully whines. “I’m gonna cum so hard!”

“Not inside of her, Denks,” Kiri warns, his teeth gritted as his orgasm begins to rise. “Do it on her face. Come over here and help us coat their pretty faces.” Denki doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides out of Mina and practically tosses her beside you, forcing your faces to tilt up at them.

Just as they like, you stick your tongues out and keep your eyes on them and their cocks, hypnotized at how fast their hands pump their cocks. Just for their girls. Their grunts and moans fill the air, making your sensitive pussies throb despite just cumming, signaling that they’re close. “This is what you get,” Katsuki grunts. “This is what you get for bein’ brats.”

You and Mina get the point when your men finally cum all over you. You get no warning, but even if you did, you would still be surprised at how much there is. Their cum is explosive and messy, coating your faces, lips, tits, and even sliding down your stomaches. Cries and growls of unison fill the air as their nut splashes all over your skin, coating you in their scent and making a very clear statement: ‘You’re ours.’ A delirious laugh bubbles from deep in your chest when their warm cum splashes all over you, the intensity of tonight finally ebbing.

Finally free from the constraints of edge play, you and Mina fall back onto the mattress side by side, exhausted, spent, and still covered in cum. The boys recover above you, breathing raggedly and coated in sweat. “Well,” Sero huffs, “that was something.” Denki laughs from beside him. “I’ll say!”

Kiri tilts his head up to the ceiling, his muscles glistening in perspiration. “I think we’re all in need of a hot bath,” he sighs. “Anybody in for a dip in our whirlpool tub for the night?” The guys hum in agreement. Though you want to agree too, all you can let out is a tiny, weak moan.

“We’re all takin’ a bath,” Katsuki gruffly states, “but before that, I need an answer." You suddenly feel him hover over you, his crimson eyes glaring at you and Mina. “So are you gonna pull that shit again with us?” he asks, his voice dangerously low and daring you to fuck with him.

You and Mina stare at each other, exhaustion written all over your sticky faces. You each turn back to your boyfriends sitting above you and shake your heads. “No, daddies,” you obediently reply. “We promise we won’t.”

The boys grin proudly and each press a wet kiss to your lips in appreciation for your obedience.

But even they know that’s a damn lie, and they look forward to the next time they’ll get to teach you and Mina a lesson.

THE END.

#bnha smut #smutty smut #my works #my fic shit #black writers #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #poly smut #poly bakusquad #bakusquad x black!reader #black reader #18+ one shot #mina x black!reader #mina x fem!reader

792 notes · View notes