#red leather bar stools | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoseoksluna · 7 months

Text

SOJU | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. hobi)

genre: heavy angst, heavy smut

word count: 10.4k

summary: jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

playlist: soju / pinterest board: wine

warnings: sex flashbacks, alcohol consumption, jungkook is drunk emotional and a mess, jealousy, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), almost heavy dd/lg themes, plushie used during intercourse, inner child healing, use of a sex toy, oral sex (f. receiving), ass play and nipple play, provocation, dirty talk, hair pulling, dry humping, rough sex, overstimulation, pain felt during intercourse, jungkook instructs reader like the teacher he is, pet names and one particular title used, squirting, praise kink, jungkook is mean and cruel and just so horny

note: i will never forget this fic. never. this is the third part of 'wine' and therefore the very end to this adventitious series. even though, this part has a little bit information and quirks in it from the other two fics, it's fine to read as a standalone, but i do recommend reading all three parts as they interlink and you can beautifully see the process and the change of their relationship. i want to thank the lovely soul who asked me to make this a series because writing this made me incredibly happy—and all the themes i used mean the world to me. i also want to thank all of you for reading and for all the love. i hope you like this as much as i do. please, heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that not everyone can be comfortable with. with that being said, enjoy your reading and let me know what you think, let me know your favorite parts. ᡣ𐭩

side note: drunk 3D jungkook being all mean, dominant and daddy is, quite literally, the epitome of my sexuality.

Jungkook will always be a man of his word.

It’s the foundation that keeps his back straight as he leads you through the crowd. The core of the whole promise is the very strength of his fingers as they clasp around your much smaller hand because he notices, under the washed out lights of red and violet, that you’re the center of attention.

He feels as though he’s dragging the hand of a child like a protective father. Except, he has the impulsive need to cover you with his body.

It’s a blasting alarm within the ear splitting chaos of his mind. Louder than the modern music he cares little for; louder than the song of the hard, quickening beats of his heart that he’s unable to ignore. He promised he’d make it up to you about the party because he’d made you drunk with lust. Now that he’s taken you here, he’d much rather be back home with you. Wouldn’t even have the need to seduce you—he just doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want you to be the apple of everyone’s eye.

Sweat glistens on the planes of his forehead.

Jungkook returns every inquisitive look of people he doesn’t know with a stern furrow of his brows. Figures he needs a drink; figures he needs his hyung, at least one familiar face among strangers.

A strong one, to calm the storm within, and a big hug from the host himself.

He hates people.

Leading you to the makeshift bar of spirits in the kitchen, he has a protective hand over the small of your back as you climb on the bar stool. Watches as your ass lifts over the leather and almost jumps out of his own skin when the outsole of your high-heeled shoe slips on the footrest and you fall back onto the chair with a thud. A precious set of treble giggles billow out of your mouth, followed by a reassuring flick of your hand that you’re okay, and Jungkook’s own hand trembles when he lifts it off your back. While you open your purse to reapply your lip gloss, he hides behind his tight, feigned smile the need to run and calm his breathing.

His irises wander over the contents of that purse of yours. Finds a long brown pencil there, your phone, a pack of cigarettes with a purple lighter and a ring of keys adorned with the tiniest Hello Kitty he’s ever seen. No wallet, no cash tucked beneath. A smirk tugs the corner of his mouth, hand acting out of its own will—coming over to your long hair, smoothing it down as you focus on lining your lips with another set of glitter and pinkness. Perhaps the gesture is owed to the proudness he feels due to the fact you’re expecting to be provided for throughout the night, wherever it takes you both after this party. Blurred within is the smugness that he’s the reason you’re dolling yourself up again because he couldn’t help but make a mess of your mouth in the car. It makes his cock grow tight in his pants.

He wears the smugness all over his features. From the gleaming cosmos in his eyes, to the smudged kiss stains of all the roses in the world scattering over his nose and cheeks, down to the deepening smirk. He thinks he’d buy you anything your eyes would linger a heartbeat longer on, with snacks included in case you’d get hungry, as he silently praises you for your good behavior, for that smart brain of yours by the brush of his hand down your hair. A sick part of him wants to even get in debt for you for the pure fun of it—the fun being the primal core of your wishes and needs being gratified, for your satisfaction to shine through the veins on your skin like little sun rays, all while having the time of your life on the night out he promised you.

He’s not afraid to admit he’d do anything for you as long as it stays safely stashed within his system. Can’t risk voicing it out. Can’t risk you knowing. Can’t risk shit.

Studying the shape of your lips as you hold up a small heart-shaped mirror, he twirls the ends of your hair as he waits for you to be done to ask you what you want to drink. Is reminded of the way those pillows wrapped around the straw of the banana milk you brought for him the last time he saw you. Of the way they sucked his fingers when he used them for lubrication to rub your clit while he was fully buried inside your tight, dew-sprinkled cunt. He suddenly feels hot under his collar.

He’s a slave to flashbacks. Always has been.

The celestial concoction of your needy moans and his, kept safe within the confines of his car, loop in his brain. The look of agonized lust when he bit your bottom lip in a heated kiss that he soon alleviated with the swipe of his tongue, with the suction of his lips that begged him to take more of you. Jungkook hears it as if there wasn’t any music at all, as if its thrumming wasn’t enveloping the corridors of his panic-stricken heart. He hears your words, embellished by those giggles of yours, in his ears all over again: “Stop, you’re making me horny. We should go inside.” His own, too: “You dance better for me when your panties are wet. I know you do.” Sees again, as if the moment is happening again and you’re standing in front of him, the way you reacted to his hands warming up your sides in the cold after you stumbled out of his car. Sighing softly, glossy eyes whirling upwards to the drowsy sky full of quivering stars, tipsy on the desire he’s obsessed with awakening in you while being tipsy just the same. The smile rising on your lips when he asked: “Show me how you’re gonna dance for me.” The way you moved your hips in such a silly way that squeezed his heart until it was difficult to breathe.

He’s fucked. Knows he is. Has known it for a while now.

You’re the origin of the chaos within his mind. The body of it itself. He has a teeny-tiny version of you in his mind that lives there, and lives there well because he feeds her, brushes her hair and gives her kisses, despite the storm.

He could never tell you—how much he thinks about you daily.

To a certain extent, he almost did the last time you came around, in a frenzy of sensuality and pent-up desire that consumed him. Prayed you didn’t see it for the way it really was.

It’s not just lust, and it’s more than just a friendship.

He figured as much—doesn’t have any fucking idea what to do with it.

Not a single one. Especially not when you pucker your lips at him and screw the applicator back into the tube.

He doesn’t want to lose you. Doesn’t ever want to lose the sight of that pucker of yours. And he fears that if he tells you of his weakness for you, he might never see it again.

So, he opts to keep things safe, keep things casual. That is until he eventually bursts.

That’s another promise, too.

He pulls on one of your strands. Your head knocks back, eyes wide at the audacity of it all. He laughs at your reaction.

“Can you stop?”

Jungkook does it again just to see the shock written over your face, full on belly laughing.

“What the fuck?” You slap his shoulder, the impact so small he barely feels it. “You want me to pull your hair, too?”

He grabs his stomach. “No, what I want to know is what you wanna drink.”

You purse your lips in feigned anger, fingers outstretched by the back of his head to play-pull his hair or perhaps slap him into oblivion. If you could manage it.

He doesn’t think you could.

He goes around you to sit beside you on the bar stool, studying the bottles of liquor his hyung bought. Is ignorant to the way you’re studying him, to the way the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly at the discovery of the current situation in his intimate parts.

Pulls out one to acknowledge himself with it. Asks you if you wanna drink it.

You don’t say anything.

When Jungkook lifts his eyes to scold you for not paying attention, all the words get hitched in his throat. You’re grinning from ear to ear. All those damned words are forgotten immediately.

“Are you hard?” you whisper, flushed at the face, glossy eyes glimmering, ever so excited about your discovery.

He feels himself twitch. Hides it by cupping himself discreetly.

Averts his eyes. “I’m always hard around you,” he mutters, twisting the bottle open. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

He doesn’t look at you when he pours you a shot, but he focuses on the way your breathing gains speed. Fights the smile threatening his lips caused by how easy it is to provoke you.

“You wanna get out of here?”

You’re hasty as you ask, looking around you, inspecting which room you could use to drag him into and relieve him of his problem, but he assures you it’s no problem at all with a curt shake of his head.

Strangely, he found a way to like the tension in his pants. Thinks it digs deep into the depth of the moment—simply makes it more exciting.

“We just got here,” Jungkook says flatly, screwing the lid back on. “Don’t be rude.”

He filled your shot to the brim not necessarily with the intention to make you drunk as fast as he can, but to watch your eyes widen the way they do so sweetly. And you don’t disappoint him at all when you do just that, the smile on your lips blossoming still. An aura of shyness envelops you in softness due to his disapproving words and Jungkook realizes he grazed your submission by reprimanding you. While it magnifies his smugness, he feels a little bit bad for you. Knows how much it turns you on when his fatherliness looms out, but blames you for it nonetheless. You rouse it in him.

You may have never told him about your father wounds, but his instincts sensed it in you—sought it out like its own child and cradled it in his arms, promising to never let go.

Promise. There it is again.

He wants to spend the rest of his life promising you things. Doesn’t matter what. He just wants the security, the cord of trust, that you’ll be here; that you’ll be here for a long time. It truly doesn’t matter if he promises you things internally or outwardly.

Jungkook cups your chin. Wants to say something. Wants to reassure you that you can take the shot, encourage you a tiny bit. But what you say to him dries up his throat completely.

“You don’t want a blowie?”

Your words were a mere silky noise, but he heard you. Curled his fingers tight into fists in order not to bend you over the bar stool and take you right then and there in front of everyone.

Decides he will provoke you right back.

“You don’t want a lickie?” he murmurs, drawing close to you so you’re the only one who hears him. “You don’t want Daddy’s tongue on your little clit?”

You gasp and grip his knee, your legs intuitively spreading.

Jungkook skims his surroundings to see if anyone’s watching. When the coast is clear—people mindlessly mingling, having conversations—he hovers his lips against your ear, hand coming in between your legs, not to touch you but to cover you. Whispers, “or you don’t want Daddy’s tongue fucking you fast? Licking over your little ass? Hm, you don’t know how good that feels yet, do you?”

You’re holding in a sob—Jungkook sees it in the way your eyes and lips round, brows furrowing. He made you wet. Serves you right.

He pulls away to pour you a chaser. Asks which one you want.

You take a deep breath, flicking your hair back. “Coca cola,” you chirp, despite the deathly grip you have on his knee, perhaps to hold your sanity together, other fingers wrapping around the shot. Small, so fitting for an equally small glass.

Jungkook laughs. Loves it. Loves…

The realization, of what he almost granted access to within his system, strangles his heart. He hears nothing for a moment, not the music, not the tremor of his weak heart. Nothing.

A can of Coke waits for you behind the bar on the kitchen counter and before any thought flicks through his brain, Jungkook stands to his feet to fetch it for you—to get his blood pumping again so he can gain control of his senses. It scares him, the nothingness. Even his eyes fail to focus as he looks for the metallic red can he swore he saw hardly a minute ago. He feels a slap on his back and a familiar face, at last, comes into view.

Hobi.

The first thought that resurfaces is filled with thankfulness enveloping around that name, dispersed with tiny kisses of ‘you saved me, hyung’. Jungkook dives head-first into the offering hug of his savior, his senses returning to him like magnets attaching to metal. He takes in a deep breath as if he was under water and just came up for air.

“So glad to see you,” Hobi says, rubbing his back.

Jungkook squeezes his shoulder. Says something that doesn’t reflect what he truly wants to say, keeps up the small talk while burying under layers upon layers of mud the confession that he almost told himself he loved you.

Which reminds him that he didn’t introduce you.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Jungkook says, grabbing the can of Coke his eyesight is now clear enough to spot and an empty, tall glass for you. Guides his friend to where you’re sitting but what he sees almost makes him jump out of his own skin for the second time in the span of an hour—almost sobs tearfully at the unfortunate discovery.

A mop of dirty blonde curls shaking at the impact of his laughter as he whispers sweet nothing into the shell of your ear. He towers from behind you, compressing you in the muscly width of his half-barren chest. An electricity of anguish spasms down the course of Jungkook’s body, for in a flash he’s reminded of the way you towered above him just the same the last time. His sweat cools as you listen to him, a pang after pang of jealousy stinging him in his abdomen. He’s frozen on the spot—Hobi says something, but Jungkook can’t hear him—that is until you make a face of discomfort.

Jungkook sees red.

His heart slams hard against his chest, but he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel its intention to break his ribcage.

The words unfurl out of his tight mouth before he can think them through. “Can I fucking help you?” he hisses through his teeth, setting the glass and the can down harshly. The noise makes you jump, which instantly drives him to regret his actions—and it puts an end to his rage.

He didn’t mean to scare you. Doesn’t want you to regard him this way.

The sudden softness welcomes his senses back with a gentle beckoning.

Lifting his eyes, the guy ignores the question. Whispers something again that forces you to pierce your stare into the fire that burns within Jungkook’s irises. Not the fire he let you see throughout the trajectory of your casual relationship, the blue, the dreamily sultry one.

The one that licks over his eyes is black. Pitch black. No sign of stars, no dots of reflection of light. Pure pitch black.

But you hold his gaze, unafraid of the darkness.

For a reason unknown to him, it ignites you with strength to shove raggedy Barbie Ken away. Your touch lingers on his chest for a mere second and is not as scorching as the bite of your words: “Yes, I’m here with him and I’m not interested in you. Go away.”

Jungkook doesn’t look at the guy. Doesn’t give two shits about the painful twists of his features as he staggers away. Forgets about Hobi; forgets about the questioning looks of strangers digging into his back. All he sees is you. All he hears is the sigh of relief once he’s gone. And Jungkook is hasty as he reaches for you, relieved himself—relieved that he didn’t have to fight the fucker and alter the trust you have in him—needing you close, needing to gain back his control. He’s almost smiling uncomfortably at the ridiculous twist of events, but then the tug of his mouth stills.

You slip out of his grasp and move past him.

There’s silence within Jungkook’s ribcage. Not one beat or flutter, not one kick.

Nothing.

***

Knocking back shots after shots, Jungkook remains silent. Doesn’t answer any of his hyung’s questions. Doesn’t look at any of the girls who sashay to Hobi’s thigh to chitchat. His gaze merely remains fixed on the empty glass of the chaser he never had the chance to pour you.

Your shot of the dark liquor is also left untouched.

It’s the twinge of pity he feels that gives the order to his feet to rise. Hobi grabs his arm, long fingers digging into the hard leather of his jacket. Jungkook doesn’t reciprocate his stare, despite its heavy energy. Keeps his head low instead.

“Give her more time,” Hobi says, lugging him down to a seated position but Jungkook untangles out of his grip.

Grabs a bottle of soju as he mutters, “half an hour is more than enough.”

He makes a way through the corridor towards the door you slinked into, the translucent bottle swinging by his jean-clothed thigh. Doesn’t knock on the wood, instead walks straight in as if he owned the place.

You’re sitting by the foot of the bed. The yellowness of the subdued bedside lamp drapes your sagged shoulders in gold, filtering through your hair that obscures your face. You had taken off your shoes and they lie crooked and alone by your stocking-clad feet. Jungkook wonders if that’s how you feel.

His weakness caused by the unfortunate events and the sadness engulfing you stops him from moving a step closer to you as he beholds your puny form, but Jungkook fights it—fights for you. He needs to be in control. Of his own body and emotions, no matter how strenuous he finds it. He needs to be strong—and he needs to be strong for you to make things right.

He clicks the door shut behind him. As he walks towards you, he opens the bottle of soju with the firmness of his phone and takes a long sip. Settles in between your legs on the ground, crossing his legs at the ankles. Probs you on the calf to make his presence known to you, cooing your name.

You sniff your nose, gathering your hair to the side, curling the shorter pieces behind your ear. Your face glistens from the rivers of tears he wasn’t there to wipe away, cheeks flushed from all the onrush of emotions that wasn’t of the coy or sensuous kind he likes so much. The hard stone of his heart cracks at your broken countenance and the back and forth swipe of his fingers on the nylon of your stocking grows more tender the more he takes in your sadness. He wishes to inhale it, rid you of it once and for all. Thinks it doesn’t belong to you. Wants to fight the guy, make you laugh—make a fool out of himself—and make love to you. Wants all of those things at the same time, but he realizes he can’t tear himself apart.

He decides being here is enough. He can fix whatever has been broken here in Hobi’s room.

“This is so fucked up, Jungkook.”

You’re the first one to break the silence and it takes a slight weight off of his shoulders. Jungkook hums, prompts you to speak further on what hurts your heart. Wraps his entire hand around the muscle of your calf, thumb tracing figures of eight on your skin.

The warmth helps you look him in the eye, but you don’t say anything else.

Jungkook figures it’s his turn.

“I wouldn’t let him touch you,” he says softly, hand drifting down to cradle the heel of your lifted foot. You’re mine, he doesn’t add.

Your mouth rounds once again in a wave of emotion that clutches you. You don’t let the tears fall, looking up to the ceiling so the little pearls don’t trickle out of your tear ducts. Jungkook notices puffy marks of darkness under your bottom lashes, where he swore he saw thin pathways of glitter, small shooting stars traveling around the globe of your eyes. They’re nowhere to be found now, you’ve rubbed them away.

“I know, it’s not about that.” You sniff, hands hooking under the hem of your skirt just to have something to hold onto, to busy your fingers a little—as if he wasn’t right there. “I think I kinda get you know.”

Jungkook makes a sound that asks you to enlighten him, taking a swig of the sweet liquor to aid him in forgetting what he didn’t say. But the more he drinks, the more he remembers—the more his feelings splutter to life. It’s like he didn’t drink a drop at all.

“I never understood why you need to be in control all the time,” you start, fixing your gaze on his. “But I finally did when that guy had his arms around me and wouldn’t let go. I wished I had even a small bit of control in that moment when I was alone. I hated feeling like I had to endure it when all I wanted to do was run away.” You break apart at your last words and Jungkook’s world crumbles in his hands.

There’s chaos in his mind. A chaos of selfish nature that wants to prove you wrong because no, he doesn’t have any control when it comes to you, when you’re dressed, perfect and broken altogether. He doesn’t have shit—he’s nothing. A complete mess. And perhaps it’s his bruised heart that acts out despite this self-pitying mayhem grappling him, shutting it out into eternal darkness, for Jungkook doesn’t even know how he does it when he pulls you down onto his lap by a careful drag of your legs and encases you within the heated snugness of his arms.

He doesn’t even understand his own words when he says, “You can take all of mine. It’s yours.”

Jungkook doesn’t care about anything at all because when you start to sob into his shoulders, he breaks along with you—bursts at the seams completely.

“I know you were scared, but that won’t happen again. Not when I give you all of my control.” His words are smooth amidst the stream of his liquid emotions and Jungkook is glad for it—glad to be a pillar you can lean on. He imagines transferring all of his being, not just his control, to you like a blanket draping around your shoulders, so the situation never happens again.

His tears soak your hair strands and they carry his sorrowful kiss to the crook of your neck. He doesn’t want to utter a sound, wants to remain strong, but his heavy exhales betray him, wafting against you as he tightens his grip around your violently shuddering body in effort to soothe it. Considers this moment to be yours alone, doesn’t want to be selfish. Wants to be there for you.

“You helped me when I saw you,” you say against his skin, the sound muffled but he hears you—tightens his lips in a firm line in order not to wail. “When I saw that you were there, I was strong enough to push him away. You were my backup, Jungkook.”

He agrees with a soft sound, rocking you back and forth as he cradles you. Leans his head against the side of yours, shielding you from the world and its wickedness.

Your cries quieten. “But I want to be strong even when you’re not there.”

Jungkook strokes your hair, understands you even when it pains him—his attachment to you pulled so taut he fears it’ll break. “You’re strong now. I gave you my control, didn’t I?”

To his surprise, you nod.

After you pull away to breathe and Jungkook sweeps your tears away with his thumb, he’s smothered with the reminder that he made a promise to himself—a promise that is on the brink of being fulfilled.

The walls close in on him, but he doesn’t care. He promised to keep things casual until he bursts. He refuses to go another day pretending you’re just a friend he feels nothing for. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the heavily charged emotions that make the decision for him, but he simply doesn’t care about the outcome anymore. The truth has to come out into the light.

Jungkook calls you by your name. Brushes your hair back so he can look properly in the faded lush of your eyes; cradles your face in his hands like that. You call him by his name as well, whispering it into the shadows of the room. Such a soft, silky sound that puts pink plasters over the cracks in his heart. He says your name in the same intonation just to get a taste of liberty.

“I’m yours,” he confesses, a lump forming in his throat, and he’s too late to blink the tears away. “I’ve been yours since the day I met you; since the moment you laid your hands on me. Yours for the taking. My heart, my control—it’s all yours.”

The bridge constricting his throat collapses when you give him a look of endearment, your features softening, rounding in emotion. Jungkook watches as a tear rolls down your cheek; feels an identical one going down the same path on his own skin, fiery and hot.

“I’m sorry.” He breaks into sobs—and break, break, break is all he does. “I’m sorry if you wanted to stay casual, but I can’t… and-and I can’t let you go. I can’t let anyone else have you.”

You bunch the material of his wife-beater in your fists under his jacket, mewling tender weeping sounds. Jungkook bites his lip to prevent himself from spilling in your hands, needing you to say something, anything, so he can straighten his back and call it a night. You bury your head in his chest and Jungkook lulls you to calmness while needing it himself. He suddenly feels alone. Alone and crooked like your shoes, as if he said the wrong thing, as if he didn’t deserve any reassurement, any love for what he just did—

You mumble something into his skin.

His heart jumps.

“I didn’t catch that, baby.”

You lift your head, clutching the sides of his neck. “I like you, too, Jungkook.”

Your words tell him a lot of things.

He didn’t make a mistake tonight. He didn’t do anything bad, didn’t lose you for the rest of his life. He will see that pucker of yours for the months to come, your glitter and all your shooting stars will be there to guide him home.

And the other thing is—he fell for you first. Because while you like him, he absolutely and irrevocably loves all of who you are.

He smiles at you, though. The bridge takes the heft on his shoulders along with it and disperses into nothingness. He wants to thank you. He wants to thank you for the kindness you expressed towards him, for your hands that hold him. And he does by kissing you, by inhaling you, taking away all your sadness and the bad events that caused it.

“You mean a lot to me,” you say against his lips, pretty wet eyelashes fluttering. Jungkook feels their dewiness; wants to feel yours, too. There’s a pout to his mouth as he listens to you. “You changed my life. You make it better.” He nods at your words, senses them opening a window in his heart to let the fresh air in. “I don’t ever wanna lose you, Gguk. You’re too important.”

He almost says it. Those three words. But he keeps them stored within the now brisk chamber of his heart, full of spring. Flowers grow, in place of the plasters.

Jungkook caresses your cheek. “I want to make you forget.”

You beam at him—and there he feels it, the pulse of his heart, its song and its steady, balmy notes.

“Make me forget about tonight, please.”

He kisses you, adds in a million tiny pecks in between, sliding his tongue inside your mouth in brief greeting. His fingers blindly find the bottle of Soju and when he withdraws with a pop, he presents it to you.

“Look at what I got you,” Jungkook says, chuckling.

You wrap your hand around his on the bottle and he tips it to your mouth, helping you drink it. You widen your eyes at him when he wants you to drink more than you do, and he lowers his hand with a grin. Loves those eyes of yours. Loves your mouth as he wipes it clean with his thumb.

It’s lighthearted, the state of his emotions. He had tasted liberty by fondly mimicking your intonation, but now it courses through his veins, now it’s his. He feels so very glad to be alive at this moment and he wants to celebrate in the only way he knows he can.

“I got you another thing as well, but it’s back home,” Jungkook says. “I can’t drive but we can take an Uber.”

“Let’s go.”

Jungkook straps your heels, fixes your skirt and swipes his thumbs under your eyes to rid you of black mascara stains. Offering you his hand, you take his pinky and ring finger and he leads you out of the room with you following behind. He skims the living room to find Hobi but, again, he’s nowhere in sight until you tap his shoulder and point to the right side of the corridor. Hobi is rising to his feet from sitting on the stairs. The thought of his hyung staying around for him instead of enjoying the party squeezes his heart in gratitude. He hugs him and when it’s your turn to say your goodbye, Hobi pulls you in for a hug as well, rubbing your back as he asks you if you’re okay.

The soju remains in your hand. Sitting on the curb outside, both of you finish it while waiting to be picked up with Jungkook’s hand on your thigh and rough kisses shared in between. The wind doesn’t dare to disturb the intimacy, but watches on with a fond care, the stars hanging low, peeking through to witness at least one good thing of the night.

***

“If this breaks me out, I’m gonna kill you.”

Jungkook is carefully tender as he drags the makeup wipe along the perimeters of your cheeks, scowling at the sun-filled tint coloring the whiteness of the wet cloth. He had spent half an hour choosing the right brand in the drugstore earlier in the morning because he decided you were going to sleep over without telling you, reading each small letter on the packaging, despite the fact he understood shit.

You’re still clothed and so is he, resting in the middle of the comfort of his bed as he hovers above you, knees perched at the foot of the bed. The aching ball of your own foot grazes the bulge in his intimate parts and Jungkook himself is at wonder how he’s able to focus when it stimulates all of his senses, adding heat to his body.

“It’s Korean, it won’t break you out,” he mutters, swiping along the underside of your eye with extra care.

“I once had a toner that—”

Jungkook covers your mouth with his palm. “It’s Korean,” he whispers, furrowing his brows at you.

You giggle and he drops his glower, beaming down at you.

“You know I can do it myself. I’m not that drunk.”

He focuses on your forehead now, cleaning off your foundation and all those sparkles.

“I know you can, but let me.”

You babble on and Jungkook decides he’s had enough of it. He clicks his tongue. “I’m gonna shut you up.”

He dumps the makeup wipe on your face and rummages through his bedside drawer. While you use it to cleanse off your neck, Jungkook spoils your surprise and opens your present. Is discreet as he smuggles it between your legs, pressing it against your clothed clit.

The soft vibrations spread throughout his whole hand. He increases the intensity.

You freeze, flicking your eyes to his, makeup wipe long forgotten. You roll your hips against the toy.

“Oh my god.”

Serves you fucking right.

“Keep talking,” Jungkook mutters. “Hm, keep fucking talking and dare to come.”

It’s maniacal, his laugh, but gentle and amorous in nature because he fucking loves you, loves to tease you, loves to make you feel good—show your body new things that it willingly accepts. You wiggle your hips, chasing the pleasure, mouth fallen open, emitting tiny satiny legato whimpers, which cause his cock to twitch in his pants—so much that he begins to move the purple toy all around your femininity while palming himself. He notices your lack of babbling.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in feigned sympathy. “You suddenly have nothing to say?”

You smile at him, and it stops everything. The roleplay of his mean dominance, the vibrations buzzing his hand. He turns the toy off and is straightforward as he says, “undress.”

Does so himself.

He takes off his leather jacket and unbuttons his pants; watches you as you drag the skirt down those hips he wants nothing more than to kiss and hold in his hands. When it pools around your knees, he chucks the material behind him. You hook your thumbs beneath the waistband of your stockings and Jungkook thinks about how he’d like to tear them apart and make you lose your mind through the hole he’d create as he strokes the outer side of your thigh. He wanted to be gentle with you tonight, but he just can’t help it.

You rouse it him and he just listens.

His hands are quick as they rip a hole above the center of your rosily pink panties. He smirks at your shocked gasp, so short and dry, drawing close to your pussy, kissing her, nuzzling his face in her. The tension in his intimate parts is almost unbearable when you run your hands through his hair and incite him to do more. He licks over the tiny wet spot on the frail material that he’s the artist of, adding to it, and watches the roll of your eyes because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. It’s a dance what your hips do, the most unkind torture and he longs to squeeze them.

He’s a good boy when it comes to listening to his body’s desires.

Making a way through the beige hole, ripping it further in the process, he grabs the supple skin, thumbs fondling over your hip bones. So small, so delicious. Jungkook licks his lips, pushes your underwear to the side to reveal your dewy little seashell—fixes it so it stays put. Looks up at you. “Top off. I wanna see those pretty tits.”

You’re a good girl, too, when it comes to obeying his wishes.

A praiseful coo ripples out of his mouth once you reveal your black padded bra. Jungkook decides he wants it to be in line of his sight, so he lowers the straps down your arms and merely tugs the undergarment below your breasts. The spillage and the ripple of their fullness almost makes him die right then and there. Jungkook bites his bottom lip until he draws blood.

Two hindrances. The silky straps on your arms, the stockings he will soon lower down your thighs. Jungkook curses under his breath; thinks he should’ve gotten the ropes he was eyeing after his drugstore run. Pink and rough, just the kind you would’ve liked.

Perhaps it isn’t needed for the lovemaking he longs for with you. Playtime and lovemaking are two different things, he concludes.

He’s so horny he might lose his mind first. And he does—with nose pressed against your sternum, babbling nonsense while he buries his head in your tits. Inhaling your vanilla and tuberose scent, he kisses the valley leading up to the peak of your stiffened nub, trails it with his tongue, goes the extra mile to suck it into his mouth, hearing its call. He’s just listening—listening to your body language that asks for him. His eyes are blurry when he gazes at you. You’ve fled to the pink planet again, but he wants you here with him. While he flicks your nipple with his nimble tongue, he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks. Would die for your adorableness. Would go to war for it, a thousand times over.

Jungkook sucks the nub to make your travel back to Earth faster and he accomplishes what he wants. With a roll of your body and a moan, you’re back, looking down at him, cradling him, brushing his hair back. He makes sure you see the way he toys with your nipple—keeps his mouth open as he circles it, flicks it before he sucks it back inside.

“Stay here with me,” Jungkook mumbles, switching to the other nipple. “Please.”

You nod, grinding your hips against his stomach. Another call. Your hands slide lower to his neck and Jungkook understands you want more.

“Take control of me, baby,” he says. “Flip me over.”

Your breath is shaky. A light flickers in your eyes, glints like his saliva adorning your nipple in the yellow dimness of the room. You grab a hold of his neck with your one hand like he does to you every time while the other comes around his shoulder and you push him to his back in one swift motion.

Jungkook feels proud. You learn well from him. So studious, so smart, so cute.

You straddle his hips and Jungkook begins to trace your thighs, fingertips gliding back and forth on the nylon, until he grips your hips—and grips them hard. He forces you down on the bulge of his cock, hissing at the pleasure rising up his abdomen. He feels your dewiness against the material of his boxers soaking it through. He guides your hips in a steady but firm rhythm and once you familiarize yourself with it and hump him on your own, he brushes his fingers across your wet nipples. The sensation sends you toppling back, spine arched as you ride him like you rode his Hello Kitty plushie, but Jungkook keeps his fingers on those two little nubs. Your tits bounce and slap against each other and he just follows their movement, squeezing, grazing, leading you to the burst of your climax. When he lets go, you lower your body enough for him to nuzzle his face in them, moving you to the tip of his cock that peeks out of his boxers. The contact of your little soaked clit with his oozing arousal makes Jungkook moan into your skin, and he feels his balls tighten.

He lets you know by squeezing your arm, as if his furrowed brows, flushed face and the planes of his forehead shining in a layer of sweat weren’t indicating the matter enough.

You enjoy every second of the torment you bestow upon him, back upright now, fingertip playing with his navel.

Even more so as you flip around and ride him reverse cowgirl style, the nylon of your stockings stretched taut over your ass. Jungkook feels faint.

You’re wearing a thong that is but a thin fabric and would cover absolutely nothing if it were in its right place. He can see your little puckered hole that he’s very hungry for, starved actually, with each backward movement you make. He yanks his boxers down, granting you access to paint his manhood with the loveliness of your shiny dewiness. Grunts at the sloppiness of your flesh gliding back and forth as you toy with his ballsack. On the top of his cock, your juices mix with his—creating a pretty, pretty palette.

The way your pussy lips barely wrap around his girth, your little breaths and sobs—Jungkook can’t take it. White flashes in his eyesight, the build up of his orgasm nearing the end.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, flicking your hair behind your shoulders as you arch your back, your hair like a waterfall cascading down your spine.

Jungkook pulls on it, halting your torture. “You’re gonna make me come,” he purrs. “What a waste that would be—for me to come all over my pants like a teenager when your cunnie is right here.”

He rips your stocking further to reveal more of your ass. Pushes you towards his face until you’re sitting on it and—

He devours you.

You cry out. The sound propels him to tighten his grip around the small of your back, to quicken the shakes of his head while his tongue stimulates your engorged clit, occasionally flicking against the muscle to hear more of your little noises. Your palm feels up his wet shaft and Jungkook rewards you for being such a good girl that thinks of her Daddy by taking your bundle between his lips and sucking it. Your body quivers, plays tag with his tongue and Jungkook growls, your taste the sweetest thing he’s had all week and he can’t get enough. Needs more, needs…

“Fuck yourself on my tongue.”

He guides you. Spanks you when you find him. And the sobs you let out, interlaced with the naughtiest of whimpers, make him ache. Your walls press against him—stars fill his vision—and he can’t breathe. Needs you to come, needs a release himself, needs to taste your tiny hole that has never been touched before.

His hand extends for the purple toy, keeping it on the low setting. He presses it against your clit and the way you tighten around him lets him know you’re soaring; mere seconds away from ascending fully to the pearly gates.

Jungkook lets you reach your climax on your own, even though his hands itch to grab you and invigorate your thrusts. He wants you to have full control; wants you to get a heady taste of that liberty.

Wants you to get used to it.

You slow down your movement and Jungkook hears your cry first before your body begins to convulse. He holds you through your orgasm whilst he rubs the vibrator all over your clit and is ever so fucking mesmerized when he catches your pussy drooling and clenching.

He aches—aches badly to be inside of you.

Ridding you entirely of the mere cobwebs that your stockings have become, Jungkook holds your panties in place. His tongue darts out to swipe at your trickling hole, drags it past your skin across the other hole he’s yearning for. He feels you clench; he hears the litany of your incoherent words as you take in the new pleasure. He doesn’t touch your clit—he knows how sensitive it is after such an intense orgasm, so he just drags his tongue up and down both of your holes, swirling around the tight entrance.

When he penetrates you there, you scream.

You scream a bunch of yes’ in a row and Jungkook imagines your eyes are rolling back like they always are—imagines a grin on that fucked-out face of yours, eyelashes fluttering and wet with liquid emotions. It drives him to drill his tongue there in faster staccatos, moaning against you; the entirety of his bloodstream flowing to his intimate parts. He’s so hard he might burst, length heavy and solid against his stomach, but it brings him a great deal of pleasure to have you open like this, to taste you in a place no one has ever touched before, to give you a new experience that you’ll remember for a long time and possibly beg him for again.

He sighs against you, drinking you to relax his jaw. Is drunk on the moment, probably enjoys it more than you do.

You begin riding his face and he just offers you his tongue. Lets you do whatever you want.

“Feels so fucking good, Jungkook, oh my god.”

You’re fast now and Jungkook feels proud of you. You’re taking charge, chasing your pleasure. His heart skips a beat when you want him in your ass again, and he willingly obliges, fucking you there until the tremor of your body signals him of the thunder of your approaching orgasm.

You come on his tongue violently. Shuddering, screaming, leaving his neck, mouth, chin and cheeks wet. Dewiness for tears—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Turning around, you don’t let him breathe before you grab his face and kiss him, licking into his mouth, moaning at the taste of your own rich flavor. Jungkook reciprocates all of your kisses and swipes of your tongue, doesn’t try to dominate you but instead revels in the nasty kiss, bucking his hips against your heat. So slippery, so fleshy. He grunts into your mouth.

When Jungkook sees your blissed-out face, he grins at you. Is blissed-out himself. “How’s that?” he asks. “You have all of my control. All of it.”

Your voice is hoarse when you say, “so fucking amazing, thank you,” and grin down at him just the same.

Joy beats through his chest, illuminating him from within as if he had his own tapestry of the whole night sky right there above his heart.

You sink lower down his thighs and pepper kisses along the length of his sticky cock. The gesture moves him and he lets you stay there for a moment while he briefly ponders over how a paralyzing form of pain led him to such a pure, expanding joy that he feels right now.

Tears well up in his eyes.

“Come here,” Jungkook pleads and you lift your head like a puppy.

He decides that he doesn’t want any restrictions on your body anymore. Each move of his hand is calculated as he unclips your bra and tugs your stockings, along with your underwear, down your legs. Even his own clothes come off in a blink of an eye because all he wants is skin to skin contact, to be connected with you on the deepest, most raw level that there is.

There’s a bit of nervousness coating his voice when he asks you to ride him due to his vulnerability. And when he feels the beginning of you, your heat encompassing him like the warm wind he last had grazing his body in his summer childhood days, the tears that loom in his eyes rush out.

It feels like he’s back in those days, but only this time all things are made right. But he can’t lie his head down in that tall grass of his childhood and escape—not when you struggle to take him from the angle you’re not used to.

He doesn’t think he ever let you ride him. Not even once. He apprehends you don’t know how to go about it.

“I know it hurts from this angle, but you can take it,” he says, willing his voice to be smooth as if he wasn’t crying at all—is thankful for the dimness that obscures his vulnerability from you. “You’ve taken me before, you can do it. Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You clench around him, stay frozen on the spot, and Jungkook can’t see. Filmy vision, emotions hurling at him like an incoming surge of waves. But all of that takes a step back when you mewl a pained noise and let yourself fall on his chest, his cock only a quarter of the way in.

“I’m scared. It’s too sensitive, it hurts.”

You shift your hips so he slips out of you. Jungkook kisses your forehead, wraps an arm around you while the other travels further down, below the roundness of your cheeks. Makes sure you look at him as he says, “don’t be scared, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. There’s no rush. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

He looks at you for a long while—recognizes only some of your features in the dark—and so do you whilst he lulls you into a state of serenity by humming a song his mother sang to him during those summer days, by petting your head ever so fondly. He never realized how broken his inner child truly was until you kiss his tears away—see them, alas—and the boy inside him leaps into the sun-breathed air of the past. Grows into a young man with a dream in his heart and pensive thoughts beneath the thick set of black hair. Transforms into an adult man with love for a dream instead, for all that has become of his ambitions is the desire to be loved, to be wanted.

Dream or desire, none of it matters now because all of it, in a strange way that heals him, intermingles with each exhale of your breath against his cheek—and with the inch you think you’re ready to take—all of it is fulfilled.

A dream come true. A desire gratified.

You’re his and he is yours. And he tells you.

You kiss him everywhere. Nose, cheeks, neck. Grab his bunny plushie and tuck him into the crook of his elbow. Jungkook holds onto him as you take another inch, other hand holding his shaft as you sink down little by little, stopping whenever it gets too much.

“You’ve always taken it so well,” he murmurs onto your pained expression, unable to take his eyes off of you. “I was made for you. It’s yours, baby. It’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it.”

You clench at his words and the noise that you squeak makes him grunt onto your lips.

“That’s right, baby. I’m so proud of you for trying to take me so well like this when your little pussy is so sensitive from my tongue. You deserve to be rewarded, don’t you?”

The smile blossoming on your mouth is dangerous with its coyness but confidence at the same time. He falls in love with you all over again, feels the tall grass of his childhood bending over his head, sifting through his hair.

“I’m doing it for you,” you say. “I want to make you feel good.”

A hum of appreciation. A kiss full of tongue. “Throw your hips back a little. Just like when we dance.”

He’s not fully sheathed inside of you, but he feels your gummy walls smothering the half of his length and it’s enough. He doesn’t want to hurt you by filling you to the brim—he’s heedful even as he guides your hips with his hands, rolling them back as if you were grinding against him. Both of you danced like that many times before and because you know the move, you’re comfortable once you latch onto his hands and lift them, intertwining your fingers with his, pinning them down onto the mattress. Your hips gain speed, bouncing on him as your chest lifts a little, hovers above him and the bunny in the middle of his stomach, and Jungkook doesn’t let himself feel pleasure until your eyes lid and turn to the ceiling.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re a fucking”—Jungkook whines at the impact of a distinct hard slam of your hips down on his—“pro. My little fucking pro. Doing so good for me.”

He’s losing it and it’s so quick. The change of energy in the room, the arousal rising like fine dust in the air. All because his words nourished you with confidence that blazes the atmosphere around the bed. It’s just you, him and bunny in this microcosm and Jungkook longs to hold onto the plushie. Feels so much like you when he’s the one in control; feels as though you’ve become one in this emotionally charged act. He can’t differentiate between himself and you anymore.

He’s simply become you because he loves you. Or has been you the whole time due to that very fact. Perhaps loving someone truly means becoming them because what you learn from them, what you mimic from them is perpetually yours.

An awareness of how tired you must be drifts across his mind. He knows that with each excellent performance comes the burning of the muscles so without thinking twice, he maneuvers you to his favorite position—remaining on his lap with your back against his chest and bunny stacked on top of you. He takes the lead but lets you decide the pace. You’re the boss. “Fast or slow?”

“Fast.”

Jungkook hums, raising a brow. “Fast? Cunnie isn’t sensitive anymore?”

You shake your head ‘no’, propping an arm behind his neck. “I want it fast.”

It’s simultaneous—the deed of two hands, yours and his, grabbing a hold of the fluffy belly of the plushie, fingers traveling and interlocking without a thought, without a direction, and yet meeting. Like two shooting stars. Like the ones you wear under your bottom lashes.

One person. One mind, one heart.

Jungkook taps your belly button with the tip of his cock. You laugh softly. He remembers how wide your eyes were in fear when you sat upright on his lower stomach and could clearly see how far he reached inside of you.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He sinks his length into your warmth. The grass, the caress of the summer wind. You’re the personification of his childhood and Jungkook kisses you hard, tells you of it by the press of his lips on yours. Is ruthless as he ruts into you. His free hand clutches the vibrator and finds your clit under the small dangling legs of bunny. The low intensity is but a thrum, though by the gasps you emit, by the moans that rise in echoes within the atmosphere, he deduces it’s good.

Smugness returns, hand in hand with his control. He presses the toy harder against you, rubbing it side to side—and this time he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Vigorous with strength, empowered by the free rein of his emotions that were accepted and loved, he pistons his hard cock into that tightness of yours, regardless whether you can handle it or not. Feels right at home, feels—

“Who’s your Daddy?” he questions without slowing down the rhythm of his brutal pace. “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You hum, licking your lips, and your confidence fucks with him, strips him bare of any sanity he had left. You give him the eyes, flick your tongue against his lips before you tilt your head to kiss him with a brief passion. “You are.”

Butterflies.

Jungkook drops the vibrator on the bed. Has to touch you, has to grip you—and he does. His hand finds your throat and he squeezes, kissing you with the same passion, prolonging it because what you did wasn’t fair. He needs the passion; he needs to swallow it down and feel it course down his body. And when you give him just that, along with your luscious moans, he rewards you.

Gives you all of his cock.

He rams himself into you, balls deep. Repeats it over and over, each thrust harder than the one before. Watches your irises disappear from your eyes, mouth agape, voice gone. Jungkook senses you’re leaving planet Earth again and he stops you.

“Is this Daddy of yours your boyfriend now?”

Like a bell, his heart is clanging and the freedom in that sentence losing its principle of ever being a risk causes his eyes to fill with tears again. He’s a mess. His emotions are a mess. But he’s so happy.

And the smile you give him due to that question—it charges him with the longing power to own it, own you, so he grabs you everywhere. Your chin, your cheeks, your mouth, and you never stop smiling, not even when you say, “he is my boyfriend now, you got a problem with that?”

The chuckle that rumbles out of his chest is a surprise to him because dizziness takes a hold of his entire being. He’s gone—he’s about to die. This is it.

He kisses you and the act of your lips wrapping around his makes this so much more real. He squeezes you and bunny in his arms, hips grinding his circles now. “Does it hurt when I’m this deep?” he murmurs.

“No, feels good.”

“Let me know if it starts hurting, alright?”

You nod, pecking him, gripping his hair.

Jungkook lets go of your hand and slowly lifts you up and down on the hardness of his cock from behind. You’re so light in his hands, like a little angel assigned to his side, just his to play with. You tip your head back, the smile of yours having bloomed into a full grin. Jungkook watches you in awe.

“Look at you riding me. You don’t need any help.”

You giggle. Jungkook feels his cheeks fire up. Thinks the sound is angelic, it must be. Thinks the squelch of your pussy taking him, leaving him dewy, is angelic, too.

It makes him stop playing with you and fuck you properly instead.

He sits up. Angles your head so your lips touch his, but he doesn’t kiss you. He wants you there so you swallow all of the words that will come off his tongue, so you remember them even when the delirium wears off.

He pounds into you.

You’re no longer smiling.

Takes the vibrator again. Provokes you, just because he can’t help it, by turning up the intensity and letting it only float above your clit, never letting it touch you. He’s not fast as he fucks you. On the contrary, his thrusts are hard.

Merciless.

He feels evil when he removes the toy completely, makes sure you watch, and presses it down into the softness between bunny’s legs. He turns your head back to face him and he mimics your moans, scrunches his features in pleasure, giving life to the plushie—acting for her.

But his meanness makes you come and you fall apart in his hands. He feels bad, terribly bad for you, and the feeling begins to consume his insides—so much that he gives you the pleasure he denied you mid climax. He presses the toy against your clit and—

You’re gone.

Your stream of pleasure forces him out of you and it makes him moan loudly. It makes him moan when he rubs the vibrator all over your absolutely drenched cunt and you just keep coming. And it makes him moan when you beg him to keep fucking you.

Who is he to say no to you?

“You just want it bad, don’t you?”

You nod against his head. Gone, gone, gone. He follows you into that rabbit hole, pounding you rough and fast this time, keeping you caged against him, fingers back in an intricate interlock. You smother him with your femininity and Jungkook is perpetually at wonder how you manage to do that, how you manage to never have enough. It makes him lose his fucking mind, lose everything—lose his identity. He just blurs into you. The stars in his chest pour like liquid into your ribcage. He feels them quivering when he touches your breasts all over. Wonders if you’ll come again for him.

“Pussy molded just for me, hm, isn’t it?” he breathes. Hot, sweaty, on the brink of insanity. White flashes. Balls tight. Dizziness stealing his senses. “Good little pussy, always wanting more.”

The air grows dense.

“Mine,” he growls, voice strained—so close, so fucking close. “My pussy. Mine to fuck. Mine to eat. Mine to love—”

His gut tenses. Flames burn it hot. Time stops. Knuckles turn ivory in the feverish grip of your fingers upon bunny’s tummy; your walls, too, splattered in magnificent white. Jungkook fucks his cum into you, once, twice, for the last time—pumping you full. Giving you all that he has.

He falls limp against his pillows. The toy buzzes on upon the comforter, long abandoned.

His exhaustion doesn’t let him open his eyes. Not when his eyes sting with tears once more, not even when your warmth leaves his manhood. He knows you didn’t come this time around, however he doesn’t have the strength to fix it. His vigor oozed out of him and nestled within you—like his control, like his love, like his cum.

He will make it up to you tomorrow morning.

Now he needs sleep. He needs the tears to halt their hurting by leaking out of the inner corners of his eyes. Would prefer if you weren’t the witness to it because with his vigor departing, his vulnerability heightened. He’s ashamed of the sea of his feelings, but there’s nothing he can do to change that. He just loves you.

He’s so happy that he’s yours and he fucked you so good and—

“You tired, baby?”

You sound just like him.

Jungkook suppresses his sob, swallows it right down.

“I’m spent.” Too emotional. “Too spent to wash up.”

He feels a kiss on his nose, the comforter lifting, small warm hands on his body as he’s being tucked into his bed. Jungkook lies on his side. Feels too lonely. As if you had insight into his soul, you settle into the spaces of his form that you know are there for you to hide in.

With a barrier in between.

You push bunny’s back against his chest. Click the lamp off.

In the darkness, Jungkook allows his lungs to expand in their silent weeping. Finds bunny, finds your arm. Moves you closer until the plushie serves like a heart in the middle of your bodies. Fingers petting your hair, he allows another thing—

“I love you.”

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

3K notes · View notes

kjsfandoms · 26 days

Text

Too Good

Eddie Munson x reader

Description: When drunk at a party, the only one Y/N wants right now is her ex-boyfriend, Eddie Munson.

Word count: 2.0k

-----------

This is not how you planned for your night to go. Drunk at a party, you stumble your way through the crowd in search of Robin with another drink in your hand. You knew it was a mistake to drink this much, but these past few weeks have been hell and you just needed the distraction. Why have they been hell you may ask? Eddie Munson, your boyfriend of just over 7 months, dumped you. And why? You don’t even know. So when invited by Steve and Robin to go to a party, who would you be to deny?

Stumbling into the kitchen you lean onto a counter and continue to look around for Robin who has yet been nowhere to be seen. Then your drunken mind remembers you saw Robin staring down Vickie earlier, so you doubt you’d see her anytime soon. But at this point you’re so drunk and can’t even stand properly- swinging side to side as your drink splashes around in your red solo cup. You find a bar stool and sit down and start to stare off into the distance. Your mind starts to wander off to Eddie. Why did he break up with you? Did he even love you? But you came here to forget that, so no more wasting time thinking about him and possibly even missing him. You stood back up and walked back out to the main room to dance with some strangers.

God knows how long you’ve been dancing at this point. Your vision is blurry and your hearing is going in and out. ‘Yup, I’ve had way too much to drink.’ you think to yourself. You don’t feel good at all at this point. You attempt to stumble outside in search for some fresh air but there are just too many people here. As your body is being pushed side to side by the fellow people dancing, you feel a hand on a shoulder. You turn to see that that hand belongs to Gareth. “Holy shit, Y/N, are you okay? You look wrecked.” You mumble out some words in response that you yourself can’t even understand as you let him walk you over to a couch and set you down. “How much have you had to drink?” Looking up at him with drunken eyes, you manage to reply with, “Too much.” “No shit, I can tell.” At this point you’re scared, you can’t see or hear anything and it’s making you panic. You’re out of your right mind and you know it, especially when you mutter out the words, “Where’s Eddie?”. This somewhat shocks Gareth as he knows everything that went down between you two. “Eddie isn’t here Y/N. It’s just me and Jeff.” He says as he holds you up steady by your shoulders. “I want Eddie.” Gareth sighs as he says, “Okay stay here. I’ll call him.”

Under different circumstances Gareth would not be running to the house phone to call Eddie for you. Even though Eddie is his best friend, he is definitely on Y/N’s side of things. But Y/N is clearly out of her senses and surely the friends she came here with are as well, so what choice does he have? He dials Eddie’s number as fast as he can and waits for an answer. On the fourth ring, he hears a “Hello?”.

“Hey, man, it’s Gareth. I’m at that dumb house party me and Jeff went to and, uh, I need you to drive down here.”

“What for?”

“Y/N.”

As soon as Eddie hears that name his heart drops. As much as he hates to admit it, you’re still on his mind. The phone call falls silent for a moment as Eddie falls deep into thought. “Eddie? You still there? I’m serious, dude, she needs you here.” That’s all the words Eddie needs as he quickly puts on his leather jacket and says, “I’m on my way.”

The entire ride there Eddie’s heart is pounding. He hasn’t seen you since the breakup and you made sure of it. You avoided him at all cost and he won’t deny that that did hurt, but he knows it’s deserved. Sweaty hands grip his steering wheel as he pulls up to the party. He gets out and spots Jeff standing outside. “Finally, man, you’re here.” “Why exactly am I here?” “Did Gareth not tell you? Y/N is drunk off her mind. So drunk that she’s been asking for you.” This shocked Eddie to the core. You still thought about him? Enough to ask for him while drunk? He then nervously walks in with Jeff as he leads them to where Gareth and you are sitting.

Jeff and Eddie walk up to the couch where you and Gareth sit. He leans down in front of you and looks you in the eyes for the first time in weeks. “Hey, Y/N. You ready to go home?” Your drunken eyes meet his and you immediately melt. You hate to admit how much you’ve missed him. Seeing those eyes again is enough to make you fall in love all over again. You nod your head in response and let him help you off the couch. He walks you to his van and helps you into the passenger seat. Once he’s in his seat and starts pulling out, you mumble, “Don’t wanna go home.” He looks over at you with confusion and asks, “Well where do you wanna go sweetheart? It’s one in the morning, you’re drunk, and need to lay down.”

“Your place.”

His breath catches in his throat at your response and awkwardly responds, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N.”

“Please, Eds. My mom will kill me.” Your drunk self whines, as you lazily look over at him. Though even while drunk, you notice the way his face reacted to the nickname.

With a deep sigh, “Fine, sweetheart.”

For you, the car ride to his place felt like a few minutes as you were dozed off half the time, but as for Eddie, it felt like an eternity. His eyes wouldn’t stop traveling over to you and how beautiful you looked even while this drunk. It reminded him of why he even dumped you in the first place. You’re too perfect for him. He thought you deserved better, not some third senior-trailer junkie who doesn’t have a real job besides selling drugs to high schoolers. You deserved the world and he just couldn’t give that to you.

Eventually he pulled into the trailer park and parks his car next to his trailer. The slam of his door wakes you up and you notice Eddie walking to the passenger to help you out. He opens the door and helps you stand onto your feet and leads you inside. You immediately plop onto the couch as Eddie takes off his jacket and hangs it onto the arm of the couch. “Let’s get you to bed.” He helps you stand up again and walks you to his bedroom where you go to lay down. He leaves his room to run to his bathroom real quick to grab the makeup remover from his cabinet that you left there months ago. He heads back into his room and sits next to you on the edge of his bed. “Just gonna take your makeup off, love.” Once it’s all off you start to attempt to wiggle yourself out of your black jean shorts. Eddie takes notice and even though you guys are no longer together, he knows how much you hate sleeping in jeans. So with a sigh he helps you undo them and slide them off. “Can I sleep in one of your shirts?” You ask with a pout as you look up at him from your spot on the bed. And how could Eddie ever say no to the girl he loves? “Of course.” He says as he sits up and grabs your favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt of his. You slip out of your shirt but struggle with your bra. Once again, he notices and offers to help. You accept and let him effortlessly unclip it and slide the straps down your arms and then continue to slip the t-shirt over your head.

You let your head hit his pillow and let him pull the blanket over your body. He starts to leave for the couch but you grab his wrist before he even gets the chance. “Stay.” Eddie looks down at you and just stands there for a good few seconds. “Please. I want you here with me.” And those six words were enough to convince him. He slides out of his own jeans and lays in bed beside you. You almost immediately cling to his side to cuddle him. He prays that you can’t hear how hard his heart is beating at the moment. Having you in his bed again felt so surreal. But he tries not to overthink it as he knows once you wake up and become sober you’re gonna realize the drunk mistake you made and immediately leave.

He’s close to falling asleep until he hears you mumble, “I missed you.” into his chest. He didn’t think his heart could beat any faster but here we are. “You’re drunk, Y/N. You don’t mean that. I hurt you.”

“Why did you hurt me? I didn’t do anything.” He can hear that Y/N is close to tears and lets out yet another sigh.

“We’re too different.”

At that, you start to sober up and sit up onto your elbow and look over at him. “What makes you think that?”

He as well sits up and replies, “You’re you, Y/N, and I’m me. You’re so smart and beautiful and I’m just some loser who got lucky and met you. Dumb luck. You’re too good for me. You deserve someone better. Someone who can give you the world.”

“But, Eddie, you are my world. I don’t want or need someone better when I have you in front of me. If I thought you were no good for me I wouldn’t have even started dating you in the first place. I love you for who you are. Sure you have your struggles, but I know one day you’re gonna make it through them. One day you’re gonna make it out of this trailer park. One day you’re gonna be one of the biggest rockstars the world has ever known. And one day you’ll finally have the life you deserve.”

Eddie falls quiet as he looks over at you with watery eyes. He never would’ve believed that someone would ever think that highly of him. His whole life he has been seen as less and even though he has grown to be used to it, there was still always a pit of insecurity hiding there. So hearing the words come from the person he is still in love with, even while they’re drunk, truly opens his mind. Maybe he is worth more than what he thinks he is.

You notice his watery eyes and immediately pull him into your chest to hug him. With his head buried into your chest you hear him whisper, “I missed you too.” At his words, you melt. You start to slowly stroke his hair as small tears roll down his face and onto you. “Wayne misses you too. He was pissed when I told him I dumped you.” You let out a small laugh at his words and kiss the top of his head. “I missed Wayne too, and his dumb movie choices.” Eddie let out a laugh as well as he snuggled deeper into you. “I truly am sorry, Y/N. I thought about you everyday and never once did I stop loving you.”

“Me too, Eddie. Me too.”

Eventually he falls asleep, with you still holding his larger frame. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep as well.

—- As Wayne walks into the trailer after working his night shift, he slips off his shoes and places down his bag beside the couch. There he spots Eddie’s leather jacket hanging loosely on the arm of the couch. “Though I told this boy to stop leaving his stuff around.”, he grumbles. He picks up the jacket and walks down to his nephew's room to hang it up. As he opens the door he stops in his tracks. He looks down at the bed to see Eddie and you. He hangs the jacket up and walks back out with a smile.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things #joeseph quinn

410 notes · View notes

foreingersgod · 3 months

Note

hellooo! i loveddd ur cc country reader fic. do u think u could do one like that but with kate? hope ur doing okay!! <3

If She Ever Leaves Me . KM

pairing: country!kate martin x country wife!reader

synopsis: country kate <3

A/N: this is quite literally my favorite song of all time, lesbian country has a special place in my heart so i’m so excited for you guys to read this one!

word count: 6.2k

I see you watch her from across the room

Dancing her home in your mind

you were from another world, kate was convinced. dolled up in your red gingham sundress, the one lined with ivory lace and a sweet little bow that sat in between your breasts. your cowboy boots clunked rhythmically against the wooden boards on the old bars floor as you danced to the music. you had once had a drink in your hand, a fruity little cocktail because you couldn’t handle the strong stuff like kate did. but the glass was long forgotten when you left your girlfriends company to join in on the line dance.

kate remained seated on the leather bar stool, her own pair of boots propped up on the foot rest. her elbow was leaned up against the varnished bar as she swirled her drink mindlessly. her attention was no longer on the ice that slowly melted within the glass, but on you, in the midst of the friday night bustle. she had brought you to the bar just like she did every weekend, a small tradition you adopted when you first started dating. you had fallen in love with the small little town and the cozy bar within it and found yourself most happy in the musical chaos of it all.

while she loved seeing you out there in your element, she couldn’t help but wish you’d stay right there next to her. her heart turned to mush at the way you would smile, flash your pearly whites as you sung along to the music. she loved how your dress twirled around your calves as you spun around in circles, your voluminous hair bouncing behind you. but she hated how you were so far, wanting to see that charming smile and those gorgeous locks up close for herself. she couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there for all eyes to see. hated how any man or woman could claim you as theirs in their minds.

kate was aware of your immense beauty, knew how especially the men liked to gaze in your direction. you were a sight for sore eyes, not even having to lift a finger to attract the attention of everyone in town. and while kate did get jealous, seeing how the single folk in the bar constantly asked you to dance or buy you a drink, she knew you’d never cave. your love for kate was outstanding and hardly likely to dissipate over a few drinks offered by lonely cowboys. they could continue to stare at you, imagine dancing with you all they wanted. but she knew it was her, at the end of the night, that got to take you home and settle between your thighs.

Well, it takes more than whiskey to make that flower bloom

By the third drink you'll find out she's mine

“good evening, missy” a deep voice slurred from behind you “i saw ya over there dancin’ and was hopin’ i could buy ya a drink?”

you had just returned to your seat next to kate at the bar, almost winded from all the dancing. a small film of sweat lingered on your forehead as you plopped down, adjusting the skirt of your dress. kate’s hand found its way to the divot of your hip without a second thought. she ordered you a brand new drink once she noticed you reaching for hers, letting you finish off her whiskey was a recipe for disaster. the bartender poured your drink as kate leaned in to kiss your blushed cheek, listening to you rave about the excitement on the dance floor. it wasn’t until your drink was passed to you, pausing your conversation, that you were suddenly interrupted.

“oh,” you licked your lips, the salt from the rim of your glass sticking to your upper lip. you turned around to face the stranger to see it was a taller and quite older man. he was muscular and burly, a thick beard embellishing his face. not that it would sway your opinion, but he was no different than the rest of the men who thought they had a chance with you “no thank you”

the man seemed to be taken aback, nose scrunching in disgust. he shook his head and and rolled his eyes, large hands coming up to rub his jaw. he inched closer to you, broad shoulders on the brink of colliding with your back. kate immediately noticed this, tightening her grip on you as she shot a stern glare his way.

“no?” he scoffed “it’s just a drink, lady”

“look i’m just not interested alright?” you sneered, trying not to be too harsh and make a scene in the midst of the busy bar.

“and why’s that, huh? i’m a nice, good lookin guy. what’s your fuckin problem?” he spat at you, near slamming his fist on the bar. this triggered something in kate, causing her to leap from her seat in anger. but you placed your hand on her chest, sending her a look to tell her that you had it under control. she looked back at you, then back at the guy in conflict. kate was more than ready to put that guy in his place, to claim you as hers and teach him a lesson. but she also knew you took satisfaction in telling these men off, ultimately deciding to take a seat and observe.

“i’m happily taken, i’ll have you know” you motioned to kate “i appreciate the offer, but i would appreciate it even more if you apologized and left us alone”

kate smirked, seeing his expression fall. it was always so gratifying to see these people learn that you were in love with someone else, and a woman at that. she tipped the rim of her cowboy hat mockingly at him, her way of making her presence known. the man cleared his throat, now embarrassed as he took his hand away from the bar and took a step back.

“you-uh-you’re right, ma’am” he mumbled, digging his hands into his pockets “m’sorry ladies, have a nice night”

he shuffled away in humiliation, probably on his way to pester some other woman he thought he could seduce. you watched him bump into a few people before he disappeared into the ever growing crowds. you sighed in relief, taking another swig of your drink.

“he not your type?” kate snickered, smirking at you teasingly before finishing off her own drink.

“shut up,” you laughed as you smacked her shoulder lightly. you turned on the stool, rusty metal squeaking loudly as you came to face her. nimble fingers came up to move a strand of hair away from her face “you know i only have eyes for you”

“you’re somethin else, ya know that?” she groaned, noticing the way you bit your lower lip and batted your lashes at her.

“i do,” you leaned in to place a small kiss to her lips “but you love it”

I've loved her in secret

I've loved her out loud

“can we just stay like this forever?” you asked, resting your head against kate’s shoulder as you let your eyes close.

these were your favorites moments. sitting on the porch swing with kate as the sun went down, crisp summer air swooshing past you. the sky glowed pinks and oranges, reflecting onto the home you shared on this secluded farm. the chains of the swing creaked with each push, kate’s bare foot touching the floorboards just enough to rock you back and forth. crickets and other little critters sounded from the fields in front of you as the evening fell upon the town. the grasses and weeds of the crops whistled in the wind, adding to the noise. kate hummed an unknown tune-probably some song she heard on the radio weeks ago-as she draped an old knit blanket across your laps.

“mhm,” her hand wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you closer into her side to keep you warm. her fingers toyed with the fraying ends of your sleeve, an old country singer tee shirt that you stole from her drawer one day “then i’d get to keep ya all to m’self”

“you already got me to yourself, kate” you chuckled softly, nuzzling your nose into her neck.

“yea,” she continued “but here? it’s jus the two of us. no drunks at the bar, no assholes givin us a hard time in town…it’s just you, me, and the farm. everything i’ve ever wanted’s right here”

you smiled against her shoulder, feeling the rough material of her flannel shirt on your lips. kate was the biggest sweetheart, was always vocal on her appreciation for this life. it was true, everything she wanted was right here. she was never set on a busy life at all. as long as she had her woman, her animals, her crops, and most likely her guitar (because how else would she serenade you on quiet nights like these), then she’d never need anything else. you were her entire world, what made her the person she is. she’d do anything to keep this life with you.

“mmm,” you sighed, another breeze lulling you into sleep “i love you s’much, kate”

“i love you too, darlin” she confessed, sensing your drowsiness “more than you know”

The sky hasn't always been blue

It might last forever

Or it might not work out

her back ached, her feet hurt, and her head pounded with the memories of your conversation this morning. kate had never meant to say what she did, and now she beating herself up at the thought of hurting you.

she had woken up at the same time she always did, quietly padding out of bed and into the connected bathroom as to not wake you. you hated early mornings so kate normally let you sleep while she did her morning farm chores. in return, you’d clean the house, run errands, and you often helped kate with anything she was behind on. it was a fair trade off and the routine worked for you, so there were hardly any issues during the countless years you’ve been together.

but for some reason, everything seemed to have gone wrong this morning. kate’s alarm didn’t go off so she was late to milk the cows, causing her to go behind schedule by at least 45 minutes. the water heater apparently stopped working, she ran out of toothpaste, and her favorite work pants had a pretty gnarly hole. then, she accidentally woke you up by knocking down some of her toiletries because she was in a rush. you were shocked to wake up to such chaos, trying to ask her what was wrong and asking if there was anything you could do to help. but rather than answer or kiss you goodbye and tell you she was in a rush, she snapped at you angrily before running out the door.

“can you just leave me alone? fuck” she had said, trying to pull her boot over her left foot “christ, i don’t have time for this, i gotta go”

the comment left you dumbfounded, disgusted by her tone. sure, there were times that kate got a bit angry and said something she didn’t mean, but it was never like this. she never said anything that directly offended you. plus, she always apologized if she hurt your feelings. this time, on the other hand, felt like a personal dig at you.

you laid in bed for a while as you replayed the scenario over and over in your mind. it had made you incredibly upset, knowing that she was somehow mad at you for asking if you could just help. eventually, you decided to just get up and get some work done throughout the house to try and take your mind off of it. but no matter what you did during the day, you couldn’t shake how terribly she made you feel. her words stuck with you like glue as you went about your daily chores.

the dishes were done and the floors were scrubbed spotless by the time dinner rolled around. you made your self busy with prepping the food as you waited for kate’s arrival. she typically finished around 5:30, but with her being in such a hurry, she most likely wouldn’t be back to the house until 6:30. so you focused on cutting the vegetables and marinating the meat until she was home.

kate, meanwhile, was finishing rounding up the horses. she so desperately wanted to go home, eat the delicious dinner you had made, and curl up under the covers with you while you read your book aloud to her. but now, as her hands grasped around the brass door knob of the front door, she realized that that may be harder to achieve than she had thought.

she was instantly met with discomfort the second she set foot in the house. the air felt heavier and the atmosphere was merely dimmer than it should be. the radio would often be playing somewhere in the kitchen, you could never get anything done without your old school tunes. her heart twinged at the loss of your humming, the sweetness of your voice nowhere to be found as she kicked off her boots and set them aside.

her legs dragged her into the kitchen where she spotted you silently chopping away at some peppers (the ones you had insisted you grow yourself, giving yourself yet another thing to tend to). you were still and quiet, not even so much as swaying your hips. she knew that you were upset right away. and you had every right, she admitted internally, her behavior this morning was uncalled for and she didn’t blame you.

“hey, baby” she mumbled, testing the waters. she wandered through the kitchen, making her way to the cabinet to grab a cup for a glass of water.

“hey” you murmured back in response. now it was the tone of your voice that stung kate. you didn’t bother to look at her, keeping your focus on the task at hand. but kate couldn’t bring herself to look away from you, instead she took the time to study the expression on your face and the movement of your body. you seemed stiff, muscles tense with irritation. the features of your face were soft-they always were-but now they were soft with disappointment. you were a headstrong gal, kate knew all too well, and would rather go all night completely mute than pretend like this morning never happened. so she decided to shrug off her guilt and pride and own up to her mistakes.

“darlin’?” she set the glass down on the counter top, no longer worried about the water. she came up behind you as you slowed the movements of your knife.

“hm?”

“m’sorry” she divulged, chest pressing against your back. her arms came to wrap around your torso as she let her head fall. her chin now rested on your shoulder, her nose nudging at the angle of your jaw “for what i said today, that wasn’t fair to ya. you were jus tryin’ to help”

you said nothing, pushing her off your shoulder as you resumed your chopping. the small action made kate’s insides churn. she tried again, this time placing a hand on your lower back and attempting to apologize once more, but she was swiftly shot down.

“thought you wanted me to leave you alone?” you taunted bitterly. you moved over to the stove and slid the diced vegetables into an already simmering pot. she sighed, scratching at the back of her neck.

“baby, i didn’t mean it” she pleaded “i’d never want you t’leave me alone, i was just upset and i lashed out. it was wrong of me”

“yea,” you laughed in disbelief, still moving restlessly around the kitchen to display your anger “it was”

“can you just-” she halted to try and find the right words “can you just stop for a second? please”

you set-more like carelessly tossed-your cutting board and knife back onto the counter. your head whipped in her direction, shooting her a dissatisfied glare. your sun kissed cheeks were down a darkened red and your brows furrowed downwards, your nose scrunched up and your tongue ran along the insides of your cheeks out of annoyance.

“i’m sorry, im so so sorry” kate continued once she realized you were listening “what i did was incredibly shitty and you don’t deserve that. i’m so grateful to have someone who is so willin to help me out and i took that for granted. but i promise i didn’t mean it at all and it won’t happen again”

she pulled her sweet puppy dog eyes on you, beautiful blue irises staring back at you. it genuinely seemed that she felt horrible. you knew kate like the back of your hand, knew that she definitely didn’t mean to say something like that. although, it had cut you deep in the heat of the moment and made you feel awful all day. but seeing her so distraught over this, now practically on her knees to beg for your forgiveness, it had you rethinking the validity of your coldness. you could never stay mad at her for long.

“it’s just-” you groaned, fingers coming up to rub at your temples “it just made me feel so mad and you ran out without even apologizing”

“i know, i know. i shouldn’t have done that” she gulped, hoping that you would come around “but i really don’t think i can stand ya bein’ mad at me any longer, baby. you gotta forgive me”

you chuckled at her urgency. it was true, she always felt lost when you were cross with her. a smile worked its way onto your face as you stepped towards her, throwing your arms around her neck. her arms tugged you in closer as she let out a sigh of relief.

“alright, you’re forgiven” you tilted your head “but, it better not happen again, got it?”

“got it. never again, i swear it”

you got up on your tip toes, your house slippers about to fall off your feet, to kiss her. before you could pull away, though, she had grabbed both sides of your face to kiss you even deeper. you moaned with surprise when her fingers threaded through your hair, tongue slipping into your mouth as she caught you off guard. you indulged in the kiss until you had to pull away for air.

“ok, cowboy” you breathed against her lips “you gotta let me go, dinners gonna burn”

“oh, m’never lettin you go ever again”

If she ever leaves me, it won't be for you

she sat back in her seat, an old wooden rocking chair that matched the one you were in. it was an oddly hot night this june even though the sun had set hours ago and the cold air from the lake was creeping closer. the heat from the bonfire in front of you only added the warmth.

this was one of your favorite things to do, sit outside on the small concrete patio kate had made, roasting marshmallows and taking turns on the guitar as a toasty fire crackled against the humid air. you had the acoustic instrument rested on your knee, a hand woven strap around your shoulder as you lightly plucked the strings rhythmically. you sang quietly along to a song as you looked off across the field and into the mountains, you were in your own world. kate was merely listening, too distracted by your beauty to sing along. the way your lips moved with each lyric, how your nearly manicured nails strummed against the guitar so smoothly.

“what?” she snapped from her trance, eyes blinking when she noticed you. she hadn’t realized you’d stopped singing, fingers no longer on the guitar. kate cleared her throat as she chewed on the insides of her cheek.

“s’nothin” her hair swaying against her shoulders whilst she shook her head “you’re just pretty s’all”

“oh stop” you giggled, the most infectious thing kate had ever heard. when she died, your laugh would be the last thing she’d want to hear “that’s the liquor talkin’, babe”

“definitely not,” she hated how you never believed her compliments, always denying your own beauty. but that just meant she got to compliment you twice as much to get you to buy into it “i could be sober forever and still think you’re the most breathtaking woman to grace the earth”

you had now set the guitar down, propping up against the varnished table between the rocking chairs, pushing yourself back and forth by the heel of your boot. you reached your arm over, fingers outreached to kate. she took your hand without hesitation, giving your hand a loving squeeze. the whites of your teeth shined through the darkening sky as you let yourself smile. you’d never get tired of the affection kate showered you with.

“you’re my everything” she whispered to you, thumb mindlessly stroking the backside of your hand.

“and you’re mine” you replied as you thought your conjoined hands up to your face, kissing her knuckles “my universe”

She loves Wild Horses and Tumbling Dice

She don't have a single tattoo

kate remembers the exact moment she met you. when she wandered into the quaint house of a close friend from college, noticing you right away. her friend, caitlin, was having a fairly large get together for her birthday: poker, beer, and pizza. kate typically hated going out and socializing, but rarely ever was she able to say no to good food and a cold glass of cheap beer. she debated not going for the longest time and instead having caitlin over one night for dinner to make up for her absence, not really wanting to get dolled up and leave the comfort of her home. but she forced herself to go anyways, turning the key in the ignition of her truck and making her way down the road.

boy was she glad she did.

you were like a rainbow in the midst of a storm, a rose among thorns sitting there leaned against the back of your chair. the moment caitlin had let her in the house, guiding her into the kitchen to grab her a drink, her eyes were glued to you. your hair was let down down, a leather cowboy hat resting atop your head with a think pink band wrapping around the base. a flannel that was far too big for you swallowed your upper half, leaving kate to only imagine what laid beneath it. she noticed your muddy jeans, how your velvety skin ran across the stiff denim when you doubled over in laughter. you were absolutely radiant, kate didn’t need much also to fall head over heels for you.

for the most part, she avoided you all night. her nerves were getting to her, not even having to talk to you to become riddled with anxiety. something about you enchanted her, drew her in like a moth to a flame, but she couldn’t bring herself to make an introduction. rather she lingered on the outskirts of the room as she made pointless conversation with mutual friends, eyes wandering just to get a glimpse of you every so often.

then, as kate was talking to small group of people in the living room, caitlin summoned everyone into the kitchen for the poker game. her heart began to race, watching as you followed the crowd of people to the dining room table. kate was the last to funnel through, finding herself straining her neck to find an open seat. and much to her luck, like a sign from the universe, the last open seat was directly next to you. maybe this was meant to be, written in the stars that she’d sit next to you tonight.

“hey,” she swallowed hard when she tapped on your shoulder, choking back a cough of uncertainty “d’ya mind if i sit, ma’am?”

you looked back behind you, eyes wandering up kate’s tall figure. you grinned, pulling out the chair a little more so she could sit down.

“not at all!” she squeezed in between you and the person next to her, arm brushing against yours electrically as she tried to find a comfortable position “i -uh-i don’t think we’ve met?”

“oh! yea no” kate felt like she was about to faint, she barely made it past the initial question and now she was already being forced into an introduction? “i went to college with caitlin, we’re pretty close buds, but um…i don’t go out much so i’m not around”

“really? that’s crazy you’ve known her for so long!” you said. kate would be forever grateful that you disregarded her awkwardness “i met her a while back when i first moved to town, she helped me get settled in and everything”

kate exhaled, the words spewing from your lips hardly retained as she was concentrated on your immense beauty. you voice sounded like honey, everyone else’s words becoming jumbled in the background.

“sorry, i didn’t even tell you my name,” you internally scolded yourself “i’m YN”

“s’nice to meet you, YN” she nodded, offering a calloused hand out to you. you gladly took it, dainty hand fitting perfectly into her much larger one “m’kate”

and just like that, such a simple introduction seemed to entice a years worth of conversation. throughout the entire poker game the two of you couldn’t seem to stop talking. to be truthful, kate threw the entire game in the first hand just so she could get out as soon as possible to talk to you. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t do the same. this didn’t go unnoticed by caitlin (or any of the others for that matter), quickly catching on to how her best friend had stuck like glue to you. whilst the rest of them pushed around chips, threw down hards, and occasionally cussing over a bad hand, you and kate sneaked away to the backyard.

‘we’re just gettin’ some air, we’ll be back b’fore the games over’, she announced when caitlin asked why you both backed away from the table. caitlin nodded innocently, pretending she didn’t know your true intentions. she smiled smugly behind her cards as she watched kate open the back sliding door open for you, placing her hand on your hip to guide you in front of her. suddenly, caitlin felt like a matchmaker.

the air was still, crickets sounding loudly from deep under the trees and bushes of caitlin’s backyard. an owl cooed in the far distance, moonlight beating down onto the lush and green lawn. everything went silent when kate slid the door closed behind you. you were far too scared to say anything, opting to take a seat on the concrete steps and listen to the tranquil sounds of the south. kate plopped down next to you as she let her knee relax just enough to bump into yours. her lips parted, eyes locking with yours, elbows resting on her knees as she fiddled with her fingers in her lap. she wanted to know everything about you, hear every story you had to tell. she had the unexplainable urge for you to consume her every being, needing to know what it was like to love you. she didn’t care you had just met, or that you were merely just talking, something inside her told her this was love at first sight.

she had only muttered something along the lines of ‘i think i could sit here all night with you’ before you were high off chitchatting once again.

maybe an hour passed, maybe 2, you weren’t quite sure. time seemed to stop as you sat there talking to kate, the sky growing darker with the lights inside being your only source of light. your butt stung from the roughness of the concrete, but the discomfort didn’t seem to cross your mind once as you babbled to kate about everything and anything. from childhood stories, to worse first dates, there didn’t seem to be a single topic left out of discussion.

in such a short amount of time, she learned so much about you. how much you adored animals, that you wanted to be a veterinarian when you were little but ultimately not having the money for college. she learned that you loved to bake and that’s why you moved out to town, to take over your great grandmas bakery on the edge of the valley. you told her about how your favorite thing to make was carrot cake and that you’d love to make one for her sometime, really just an excuse to see her again. she learned that you hated needles, that you’d wanted to get a tattoo last year but ended up chickening out before they could even lay down the stencil. even the little details, like your parents divorce or your close relationship with your brother, she came to know it all. and loved every bit of it. she had never felt so connected to a single soul in her entire life.

“wait wait wait,” kate threw her head back, throat bobbing as she laughed “there’s no way you did that!”

“it’s true!” you cackled, hand coming to grasp at your chest as you chuckled “i swear to god it’s true!”

“so you mean to tell me…” she tried to get the story straight, tongue darting out slightly as she processed what you had said “that you got chased down? by a wild horse?”

“yes! my friend bet me 20 bucks to try and get a stupid selfie with it-cause let’s be honest we were 16 and fucking idiots-and i spooked it from behind, and well…it chased me all the way back to my truck!”

“well you’re a hell of a lot braver than me, i woulda been knocked out cold within a second!” you snickered, luring the most mesmerized grin from kate. she looked back out into the yard when she sensed the mingling was dying down, the air going quiet once again. “you know i-um…this has been really nice, sittin here talkin to ya”

“yea,” you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, still looking at kate even though she had turned “it has”

“could be kinda up front with ya?” kate blurted. she had been contemplating it all night, asking you out and overcoming her fears. but the whole night she couldn’t see herself doing it. that was until now, the moment she understood how badly she needed to see you again.

“of course, kate”

“do you think i could get your number?” she might faint on the spot, the sudden sour of confidence could send her into cardiac arrest “i mean you definitely don’t have to give it t’me at all, i don’t know i just thought that-”

“kate,” you laid a hand on her shoulder to get her to ease up, she held her breathe in fear of your possible rejection “i would love to give you my number”

and just like that, the rest was history. she’d remember this moment forever.

She'll drink all the liquor and leave you the ice

kate leaned against the cedar post that held the rickety porch together, weathered and old from so many years of love. her boots, a new pair that you had gotten her for her birthday, left muddy prints on the slats underneath her. she had her arms folded across her chest as her fingers came up to toy with the bolo tie that sat snuggly underneath her collar. it was baby pink, like the band of the hat you were wearing during the night you met. kate was never big on pink, but after meeting you, it became her favorite color.

she was watching you closely, not wanting to miss a single second of the moment. you were out in the front yard near the little flower garden you insisted on starting when you moved in with kate. it stretched along the fence that separated the yard and the plots of land reserved for the rest of the farm. endless species of wildflowers sprouted from the dirt and mulch, other plants you picked from the gardeners market sat freshly planted. you loved that damn garden with everything you had. sometimes kate wondered if you loved your flowers more than her.

dressed in a light green sundress, the one that sat untouched in the back of your closet most days, you stood radiant under the evening sun. there was a cotton apron draped around your waist, you had sewn several pockets into it by hand so that you could carry your supplies in the garden. there wasn’t a shoe, sock, nor sandal on your foot either. you claimed to prefer it that way, wanting to feel the earth and “be one with nature”. it made kate laugh, seeing your toes sink into the soil. you were on your hands and knees trying to pull the freshly grown weeds, hands wrapping around the base and tugging the roots from their clutch in the ground. kate could make out a line of dirt that spread from your temple to your cheek, most likely from wiping your hand across your sweaty skin. with a groan, you sat back on your knees, tossing the last few weeds into the basket next to you and throwing your head back. you sighed from the excessive heat and the gnawing pain in your forearms. but kate couldn’t help but stare at you in awe, whether you were dirty and tired it didn’t matter to her. she watched as the neckline of the dress dipped down, your chest heaving, causing the tops of your breasts spill just a tich. kate gulped deeply in astonishment. your pink lips, now red from the amount of times you’ve licked them, puckered out as you stretched your neck. it took everything in her to not march over to you, lay you out onto your back, and give the neighbors a show they certainly wouldn’t want to see.

“quit starin’ at me you creep!” you hollered across the yard, snapping kate from the trance you had her in. she chuckled under her breath, her arms falling to her sides.

“m’just appreciatin’ the view” she was so good at smooth talking you, always getting you rattled “can’t a woman just admire her gorgeous wife?”

“not when her woman’s knee deep in weeds and is too tired to make it back to the house!” you pouted, balled fists coming to rest on your hips. you were scolding her now?

she made her way down the cobblestone path, tripping on the stone that stuck out more than the rest. you had asked her to put “fixing that stupid fucking stone” on her to-do list earlier in the month, but she had never gotten to it. you’d probably pester her about it again eventually. your mood instantly changed when she stepped foot onto the grass, shaking her head at you jokingly.

“cant believe you’d leave me out here in this blistering heat, makin’ your so called ‘gorgeous wife’ sit out here helplessly” you nudged again, neck craning up see her clearly.

her face was covered in freckles, darkened from a days work on the farm. her hairy was tied into a braid, strangling hairs whisking around ever which way. you noticed the pink tie on her neck, always smiling when she wore it because you knew she bought it because of you.

“well i’m here aren’t i?” she held both of her hands out to you, offering to help you up “i’d be quite the fool to leave ya”

“such a sweetheart” you tutted, letting kate yank you from the ground, grunting from the force. with her bewildering strength, you stumbled into her. your arms gripped onto her biceps and hers found the way to your rear, giving you an inviting squeeze “thank you baby”

she tipped her head to the right, one hand coming up to tangle itself in your hair. her lips met yours momentarily, capturing you in a winded kiss. you squeaked in surprise at her actions, only to accept it immediately after and kissing her back.

“anytime” she smirked, nipping your bottom lip as she pulled away “although you looked like absolute perfection out here…on your knees…that pretty little dress ridin’ up your thighs. gettin’ me all hot and bothered, yet you’re the one doin’ the weeding”

“keep it in your pants, martin” you rolled your eyes, trying suppress the butterflies in your stomach. but you could never trick kate, she knew exactly the things she did to you. you hooked your fingers through her belt loops as you began walking backwards towards the house, taking her with you “now come and help me”

“help you with what? i thought you were done weedin-”

“not with the weeds silly” she looked at you confused. you pursed your lips as you pushed the front door open “with somethin’ else…this dress ain’t gonna take itself off”

she groaned, biting down on her tongue. images of what she’d do to you on a continuous loop in her mind “you tease”

“maybe,” you shrugged, already making your way down the hall and to the stairs, swaying your hips to egg her on. kate had halted at the bottom of the stairwell, unable to form a complete sentence it seemed “are you coming or not?”

“i’m comin’” she said, following you to the bedroom “just you wait, darlin”

…That's too much cologne, she likes perfume

#kate martin #kate martin x reader #kate martin x yn #kate martin oneshot #country kate martin #wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wnba basketball #wlw imagine #wlw #lesbian imagine #lesbian #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #rpf x reader #rpf #foreingersgod

495 notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.

And Steve Harrington was old, old money.

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured.

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you.

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more.

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs.

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask.

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each.

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them.

In cash, of course.

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring.

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands.

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave.

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him.

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends.

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before.

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week.

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes.

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift.

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away.

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had.

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington.

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth.

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink.

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming.

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget.

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter.

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves.

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you.

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner.

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring.

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression.

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug.

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices.

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach.

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard.

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling.

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.”

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier.

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them.

You’d seen it all.

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight.

It didn’t.

You sat down.

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked.

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak.

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here.

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public.

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand.

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon.

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over.

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring.

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job.

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass.

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control.

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice.

“No, thank you,” you murmured.

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either.

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy.

Monaco. France. Spain.

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want.

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this.

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised.

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering.

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go.

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.”

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it.

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned.

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone.

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington.

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners.

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand.

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used.

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone.

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia.

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday.

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country.

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see.

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich.

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water.

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco.

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you.

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green.

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed.

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb.

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t.

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled.

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming.

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had.

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to.

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it.

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing.

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again.

You got in the cart.

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake.

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered.

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really.

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead.

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk.

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say.

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up.

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in.

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin.

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit.

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected.

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered.

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock.

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento.

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too.

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like.

Pointless.

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk.

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer.

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.”

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington.

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth.

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to.

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat.

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good.

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other.

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began.

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand.

A Macallan, no ice.

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner.

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings.

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes.

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve.

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt.

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed.

Home time. Maybe.

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to.

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding.

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready.

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit.

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf.

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse.

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book.

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway.

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first.

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak.

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion.

“Drink?” Steve asked.

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you.

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid.

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet.

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with.

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his.

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp.

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold.

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you.

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss.

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet.

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter.

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed.

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip.

It was obscene.

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked.

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken.

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more.

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight?

You.

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights.

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed.

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers.

A silent, ‘give them to me.’

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you.

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?”

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered.

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch.

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted.

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful.

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry.

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out.

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out.

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered.

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard.

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you.

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear.

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down.

PART TWO

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot

2K notes · View notes

xxbimbobunnyxx · 1 year

Text

Beer and Bunny’s

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Eddie can’t seem to get himself to make a move on the new bartender at the hideout he has a crush on, but one night you decide to take matters into your own hands and he sees something that he just can’t resist. Wk:4.5K

Warnings: 18+MINDI Smut (unprotected P in V), Oral (M & F), Eddie being a lil pervy but reader is into it, kind of inexperienced!Eddie (he’s really nervous and has a lot of self doubt. My head canon for this Eddie is that he’s been with a few girls but none of them were interested in more than a one night stand), no use of Y/N so pet names, and I think that’s it? The smut is kinda soft n sweet, nothing too crazy. Lmk if I missed any!!

A/N: So I was running errands wearing my black mini skirt and my pink bunny panties the other day and this idea came to me. It’s super self indulgent tbh, but in my mind Eddie would lose his shit over something like this and I’ll die on that hill. 🫡 Also I usually read through my shit obsessively but I only read through this once so if you see mistakes, no you didn’t. (Not really tho pls tell me so I can fix them bc typos make me crazy) My Masterlist

Eddie was in a trance, playing his guitar on autopilot as he watched you bus tables, make drinks, and occasionally indulge a customer’s flirting for extra tips. Not that you needed to, that dress and your sweet smile was enough to have any man dumping his wallet out and emptying his bank account for you. Or maybe that was just him.

He knew it wasn’t though, because even though his band was up there putting their hearts into playing for 15 people tops, most of their eyes followed you. Granted it was mostly drunk middle aged men besides Ruth, a 60 something year old woman who was always sitting in the same stool at the bar, drinking the same cheap vodka, with her red lipstick smudged on her teeth. But still, he’s convinced even if the room was filled with a hundred women you’d still be the prettiest one there.

You started working at the hideout a few months ago when you moved to town and ever since then it was like Eddie was possessed by you. He thought about you constantly, the way those cut up band tees always fit so perfectly and how your ass always looked in those tight little skirts has him fisting his cock sometimes twice a night. He wanted to record the way your voice sounded saying his name when you’d bring him his favorite beer after a show without him even asking and play it on a loop over and over again.

But that wasn’t all, he thought about little things like holding your hand, or going to the drive-in and watching horror movies with you. Or just kissing you, god, he wanted to kiss your pretty glossed lips.

The only issue was every time you talked to him it was like his brain turned to mush and everything he had practiced to say disappeared from his mind.

Tonight was different though. After their last song when you came to bring him his beer, you gave him that sweet smile and told him how awesome they did like you always do. But then it happened. You accidentally walked backwards into one of the small amps, tipping it backwards.

“Oh my god! I'm so sorry, shit!” You apologized before turning around to pick it up and when you did Eddie felt like he was about to cum in his pants.

You were wearing this tight little faux leather mini dress with a zipper that went all the way down the middle and these sexy calf high combat boots. But when you bent over he saw you were wearing the cutest pink panties that had little bunnies printed all over them and something about that combination made him absolutely feral.

He heard a whistle behind him and when he snapped his head around to see where it came from he saw one of the guys sitting at the table closest to the stage practically licking his lips while he ogled you. He instantly felt possessive and moved closer so he was standing a few inches behind you, blocking you from everyone else.

You pulled the amp up with a huff before turning around and nearly jumping out of your skin when you realized how close he was.

“Holy shit! You scared me!” You brought your hand to your chest and laughed. “I didn’t know you were so close.”

“Y-yeah I’m sorry, when you bent over, you could uh- see your panties and um… people were looking.” He turned beet red and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh, you’re so sweet Eddie, protecting my modesty.” You placed a hand on his forearm and caressed it with your thumb a few times before you stepped close enough to him to whisper in his ear. “Were you looking too?” You pulled away just enough to look up into his eyes through your lashes.

“I- I mean- fuck.” He sighed and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry… I know I shouldn’t have you were just standing right in front of me and then that guy whistled and-“

“Eddie!!” You squeezed his arm gently to get him to look at you and when he did you just wanted to kiss him. Those big brown eyes all filled with a mixture of lust and guilt were driving you crazy. “It’s okay… I want you to look.”

He’s pretty sure his brain just short circuited, you want him to look? What does that mean?

“I- you want me to- really?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You think I dress like this every time I work? Nope. Only on Tuesdays… just for you, Eds.”

“Shit. Really?” He looked at you in disbelief, he couldn’t believe the girl he’s been dreaming about is really standing here in a sexy little dress telling him that she wore it for him.

“Yeah.” You nodded and bit your lip. “I like how you look at me, it makes me… So. Wet.”

He threw his head back and groaned, he never thought you’d be so forward like this.

But he didn’t know that you had been waiting for him to make a move on you for weeks. You were tired of dancing around your obvious attraction to one another so you decided tonight you were going to take matters into your own hands.

“Shit sweetheart. You can’t just say things like that to me in public. You’re seriously going to make me bust in my pants. ”

“Well… don’t do that.” You giggled. “I know somewhere better that you can cum though…” You ran your hand down his arm and linked your hands together causing him to shiver. God, he was so responsive, you knew he liked you but apparently you didn’t know just how much.

“Fuck. Are you serious?”

“Deadly. You have a van, right? What’s the back like? Maybe you can show me.” You winked at him.

“Shit, yeah, I’d love to. But I have to put all this shit in the back and take it back to Gareth’s garage.” He looked so disappointed you just wanted to kiss his pouty pink lips.

“Hmmm… well, I live down the street. What if you drop off your stuff and meet me at my place after?” You suggested.

“GARETH! Take my van to your house, I’ll come get it later.” He turned to his drummer and threw him his keys.

“Dude. Seriously? You’re just going to leave us to pack up all this shit?”

His other band mate, who you think is named Jeff, looked between you and Eddie and put two and two together pretty quickly.

“We’ve got it man, have fun!” He wiggled his eyebrows at him before going back to packing up their equipment.

“Well, it looks like I’m all yours.” Eddie smiled at you nervously. God, he was just too cute.

“Looks like it, cutie. I’m off now, just gotta clock out. I usually walk so if you just wanna wait outside I’ll be right there.” You got on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek before jumping off the stage and walking toward the back of the bar, making sure to swing your hips extra for him.

•

The walk back to your apartment was filled with easy conversation and stolen glances, hands grazing but not quite grasping onto each other. The air heavy with the tension of what was to come.

“This is me!” You gesture towards the front door of your apartment before unlocking it and letting him inside.

Eddie looked around as you turned on some lights, he saw some cool posters on the walls and a large bookshelf in the corner. But before he could take in too much of your world you walked over to him and put your arms around his neck.

“Hi.” You smiled at him with a glint in your eye.

“Hey.” He returned your smile with a crooked smirk, bringing his hands to rest on your hips.

You brought one of your hands to his jaw, cupping it and running your thumb along his cheek. “I really really want to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t respond, instead he pulled you closer by the hips and smashed his lips against yours. His lips felt just as you imagined, pillowy soft and just the tiniest bit chapped. He tasted like the beer you gave him, the cigarette he smoked on the walk, and something that was just him. You moaned into the kiss, shoving your hands into his hair, tugging slightly. He groaned when you licked along his bottom lip, allowing you access. He kissed you until your knees were weak and you were both breathless.

“You are so beautiful. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m here right now. This feels like a dream.” He ran his hands up your sides over your dress. “Also this fucking dress… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah? You like it? It’s new.” You took a step back so you could do a twirl for him. “I thought about you when I bought it, you know…” you brought your finger to the o-ring at the top of the zipper and tugged on it a little.

“I thought about you dragging me to the dingy bar bathroom, shoving me up against the wall and ripping it off me.”

“Holy. Fuck. You’re naughty, huh?” He chuckled.

“Maybe, wanna find out?” You grab his hand and start walking backwards toward your bedroom, dragging him with you.

You plop down on your bed to take your boots off but before you can reach for the laces Eddie walks forward and takes your foot in his hand, unlacing your shoes for you. Once they’re loose enough he pulls them both off your feet and he’s pretty sure you aren’t real at this point.

Your socks are the same pink as your panties with cute little bunny ears at the top of the ankles. Your socks match your panties.

“Yeah, you like these too?” You wiggled your toes in front of his face and giggled while he looked at you and froze, his face turning bright red.

“Shit. Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did. Wanna know if my bra matches too?” You sit back on your hands and stick your chest out.

“Hell yeah I do.” He nodded dumbly.

“Why don’t you take my dress off and find out then, pretty boy.”

He didn’t hesitate to lean down and slip his finger into the o-ring zipper of your dress, slowly beginning to slide it down. When the tops of your breasts were exposed it became more and more clear that your bra didn’t match your panties because you weren’t fucking wearing one. He pulled the zipper down until it was just under the bottom of your tits and just as he thought, no bra. Your chest was on full display, slightly glistening with sweat from the material of your dress and he wanted to lick it off.

“Fuck, look at you… prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.” Not that he’d seen many but he’s pretty sure these are the best tits in the world regardless.

“You can touch them Eddie, I want you to.” You brought your hands up to squeeze them a few times before grabbing onto your nipples and twisting.

“Hold on, I’m appreciating the art before I destroy it.” He grabbed back onto your zipper and pulled it the rest of the way down so your dress was hanging open. You let the straps fall down your arms, leaving you in just those little panties and socks and he had never seen anything sexier. Your hair was a bit disheveled but still in the style you had done it in before you left for work earlier that night and your slightly smudged dark eye make-up contrasted with the soft pink of your garments. You stand up in front of him and play with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Take this off? I wanna see you too.”

He reaches behind his back to pull his shirt over his head and god damn. He has a few tattoos littered across his pale chest, his skin mostly smooth aside from his happy trail that you wanted to nuzzle your nose into on your way down to his cock.

“Wow. You are so sexy Eds.” You run your nails down his chest and torso, hooking your fingers in his belt loops and pulling his chest against yours. The feeling of your bare nipples pressed up against his warm skin sent shivers down your spine.

“Yeah? You think so? I think you’re the sexiest girl in the world.” He blushed.

“Thank you baby, can I take these off?” You pull on his belt loops with your fingers, running your thumbs along his soft waist.

“Please”

That’s all you needed to hear before you were on your knees in front of him, undoing his pants and pulling them down with his boxers.

“Holy shit Eddie…” Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the sight of him fully bare in front of you. “You have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to taste it.” And you meant it, his cock was fucking huge, the hard tip leaking just for you.

He was speechless, looking down at you on your knees in front of him with wide eyes.

You lean forward and run your tongue along his slit, holding eye contact with him while you take his tip in your mouth, suckling on it a few times before taking him deep in your throat.

“Oh fuuuuckkk holy shit.” He brought his hand to the back of your head and rested it there gently, letting you set your own pace.

But it was too gentle. You didn’t want him to hold back.

“Eddie.” You pulled your mouth off him with a pop and a string of saliva. “Use me, pull my hair, fuck my mouth, don’t be shy.”

“Holy shit. Are you- are you sure?” He was panting, looking down at you like you just told him he won the lottery.

“I’m so fucking sure, so so sure. If I don’t like something I’ll tell you baby. I promise, I like it rough.”

You spit in your hand, grabbing onto his cock and tugging it a few times before looking up at him with your tongue out.

He was still looking down at you with those big shiny doe eyes and you were about to lose it if he didn’t do something. Your other hand grabs onto his, guiding it to your hair and signaling for him to grab onto it. It took his mind a second to catch up but when he did it was like something snapped in him.

He grabbed onto your hair hard and slid his cock along the length of your tongue, hitting the back of your throat.

“Close your mouth- yeah, like that.” Once your lips were wrapped around him he started to slowly rock back and forth in your mouth, testing you by going deeper with each thrust.

After a few times of him hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag he realized you liked it. Your eyes were watery, mascara starting to run down your cheeks, drool was dripping down your chin and you were fucking moaning around him like you were getting as much pleasure out of this as he was.

He was fully fucking your mouth now, pumping his cock down your throat while he cursed and moaned, using you just like you wanted. You reach your hand up to grab onto his drool slick balls and take them in your palm causing him to jerk forward and let out the sexiest moan yet.

“FUCKING SHIT!” He used your hair to pull you off of him and you look up at him with hooded eyes, a mixture of his precum and your drool dripping down your chin and he has to physically will himself not to cum at the sight. “ If you keep that up I’m going to cum in the next thirty seconds and I was really hoping I’d get to fuck you.”

“What? You don’t wanna cum twice? We have all night, unless you’re busy then I guess you can stop.” You said dramatically, in a way that he would’ve stopped to find really cute if he wasn’t so fucking turned on right now.

He practically growled as he grabbed back onto your hair and resumed his assault on your throat. One of your hands finds its way back to his balls while the other snakes around him to grab a handful of his ass for leverage.

“F-fuck this mouth is so fuckin- You’re such a good girl fuckin droolin all over, grabbin my balls while I use your little mouth. Wearing those little fuckin panties and socks. Fuck!” His grip on your hair tightened and his hips sputtered as you felt him explode in your mouth. You swallowed around him, moaning at his taste and taking all that he gave you.

He released his hold on your hair and you pulled your mouth off of him, bringing your pointer finger to the corner of your mouth to swipe the cum that dripped there into your mouth.

“Mmmm, you taste so good Eddie.” You smiled up at him, still on your knees.

“Yeah? I bet you taste even better.”

“Wanna find out?” You smirked at him, getting to your feet and laying back on the bed.

“Fuuuuuck” Eddie groaned at the sight of you laying there for him with your legs spread, a very prominent wet patch in those fucking panties, your hands grabbing on to your tits while your fingers pinch your nipples. You looked like the only meal he wanted to eat for the rest of his life. He got on the bed on his knees between your legs, smashing his lips to yours and kissing you like his life depended on it. He slid his tongue along your bottom lip and you immediately granted him access. He tasted himself on your tongue and it caused him to moan into the kiss.

He kissed down your jaw to your neck, running his tongue along the column of your throat, stopping just behind your ear at your pulse point to suck a mark there. He kissed and licked and sucked all the way down your body, stopping to pay your nipples extra attention.

When he reached the band of your panties he licked across your waist and nipped at your hips causing you to let out breathy little moans. He placed a kiss on each of your hip bones before placing one right on the top of your mound, looking up at you with those fucking eyes.

“Mmm baby, I can smell you.” He groaned as he breathed in your scent, flicking his tongue out to run it along your cloth covered slit, adding extra pressure to your clit. He wraps his lips around your bud, swirling his tongue, and even with the small barrier between you it still makes you see stars. He licks all around your cunt, soaking your already wet underwear as he laps at it. Finally he brings his finger to your panties to move them to the side and you barely even have time to process before he’s shoving his tongue as deep as it can go inside of you. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out.

“Oh f-fuck! Yes Eddie fuck!” Your hands come down and tangle into his hair, tugging it and causing him to groan into your pussy, the vibrations going through you like a shockwave.

His tongue came back up your bud, rotating between rough and soft flicks. His pointer and ring finger circle your hole before he inserts them both fully without resistance. He pumps them in and out of you, the room filled with the sounds of your moans and wetness as he laps at you. He sucks harder on your clit just as he curls his fingers just right and you see stars. Your grip on his hair tightened as your hips rocked against his face, his name on your lips like a prayer, riding out your high until it becomes too much and you’re pushing his head off of you.

He looks up at you with your jucies still running down his chin and fucking smiles.

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

“Yeah? And have you tasted a lot of pussys, Mr. Munson?” You tease.

“I mean-“ Suddenly his face flushes red and that shy nervous boy from earlier was back “Not… that many, a few. I’m no lady killer or anything I mean you know this town is I-“

You grab his face in both of your hands and place a soft kiss on his lips.

“Honey, I was just teasing, I don’t care how many girls you’ve been with, I wouldn't even care if you hadn’t been with any.”

You smiled at him sweetly, pushing his bangs off his forehead and he smiled back, kissing you deeply. There was something so comforting about you to him, he felt like he could truly be himself with you and he’s not sure he’s felt that when he was with a woman ever.

You sit up and push him down by his shoulders, swinging your leg over to straddle him. Your underwear were still pushed to the side, your slick pussy lips were nestled on either side of his shaft as you slid back and forth on him with ease.

“I can’t wait to feel this pretty cock splitting me open.” You leaned forward and slid your fingers in the band of your underwear to take them off but Eddie’s hands came down on yours, stopping you.

“Can you keep them on?” His eyes were pleading, his lips pouty.

“Anything for you, sweet boy. You really like these huh?” You giggled.

“The whole cute pink panties and socks underneath the black leather thing is really doing it for me, if you couldn’t tell.” He bit his lip, running his hands down your sides before bringing them to your tits to squeeze them roughly.

You giggled as you rose up to your knees, taking him in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and sink down on him slowly. Once your hips were flush against his you both moaned loudly.

“Fuck, so big, filling me up so good Eds.” You rocked back and forth slightly, just adjusting to the feeling of him so deep inside you. Once you felt adjusted you rose almost all the way off his cock before slamming back down on it causing him to jerk forward and moan out your name.

“Holy fuckin shit, your pussy is suckin me in so good holy fu-fuck, ridin me s-so good baby.” And you were, you were riding him like your life depended on it. “Bouncin on my cock just like those little bunnies on your panties, is that what you are? A lil bunny?”

That snapped something inside you, it was like he said the magic words and nothing else mattered in that moment besides riding his cock, being his little bunny.

You were on your heels now, using his shoulders for leverage as you bounced on his cock. Rotating and rolling your hips, the patch of curly brown hair at his base rubbing against your clit just right.

Eddie was in Heaven, he wanted to throw his head back and shut his eyes but he couldn’t tear them off of you. You were bouncing on his cock like a rabbit in heat. A layer of sweat glistened on your body, your hair a mess, there was a bit of drool dripping down your chin and your pussy was swallowing him hole over and over again, you were so wet he could see a milky white ring of your cum on his cock. He was going to cum soon but he absolutely needed you to before he did.

His grip on your hips tightened causing your movements to halt, but before you could even protest he was fucking up into you hard and fast.

“Oh fuuuuck yes, just like that baby, right fuckin there don’t fuckin stop I’m so close.” That’s all Eddie needed to hear, he brought one of his thumbs down to your slick clit and started rubbing fast circles on it while he continued to fuck up into you at a brutal pace.

“Shit, me too bunny, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“Inside! Inside please Eddie I want you to fill me up.”

“Oh godddd” He let out a guttural groan, throwing his head back while he pumped his cum deep inside of you. The feeling sent you over the edge, coming undone on his cock while he continued to sloppily fuck you both through your highs.

You sighed, and exhaustedly let your body slump over Eddie’s while you both tried to catch your breath.

“Holy. Shit. That was… wow” he chuckled, running his hands up and down your back.

“Yeah, it really was.” You giggled as you rolled off of him, laying on your side next to him and resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. He was so pretty, his hair disheveled, his skin flushed and decorated in your nail marks, his lips swollen with your kisses. He smiled at you sweetly, shifting around so he could hold you better, he finally got a glimpse of your room.

He didn’t even really look at it when you walked it, he obviously noticed that you had a black open canopy on your four post bed but what he didn’t notice was the cute stuffed animals that were sitting by your black silk pillows, or the cool ass horror movie posters on the walls that contrasted that completely. You noticed him looking around, his eyes filled with awe, like he was genuinely interested in your world and it warmed your heart.

“I like your room, you really have this whole creepy cute thing down to a science don’t you?” He smiled at you, cradling your jaw in his hand and you leaned into it.

“Mhm, I guess I do.” You returned his smile with your own sleepy one, yawning. “You wanna stay the night? You don’t have to if you don’t want to but-“

“I want to.” Eddie cut you off, it was his turn to reassure you. You had seemed so sure of yourself all night but when it came down to if he was going to leave or not he could tell it made you nervous, like maybe people didn’t usually want to stay with you after and that broke him a little. Who wouldn’t want to stay with you? You’re perfect. To him at least. “I want to stay, and I want to take you to breakfast in the morning. I also would really like to take you on a proper date, if that’s something you’d want to do.”

Your heart swelled, because you did want that, more than he knew.

“I’d love that actually.”

“Good.”

You both giggled and kissed each other sweetly, whispering jokes and sweet nothings into each others ears until sleep peacefully took over.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

naffeclipse · 3 months

Text

Speakeasy

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Many thanks to Anonymous for letting me go ham with the mob boss brothers and making them absolutely dastardly! I love the scenario for this one and just how sinister but sweet Sun and Moon can be when they have their favorite little thing sitting in their laps. The boys just love to show off what's theirs.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

You are anxious, to say the least. Two large hands escort you. One rests on your shoulder, the animatronic’s off-white and yellow thumb sliding slightly underneath the neckline of your dress to stroke the bare skin of your shoulder. The other is on your waist, dark blue and silver, keeping you close despite your urge to race straight out of the speakeasy.

The mob bosses smile down at you with the wicked, wide smiles of sharks. In no uncertain terms, they are keeping you with them.

Swallowing your visible nervousness becomes hazardous as you realize that the illegal venue is very much open for business. Instead of a nightlife of posh people prepared to spend exuberant amounts of money on smoking and drinks, then swing away on the dance floor open before a small stage for a band, there are gangsters everywhere. They line the bar stools, sit in the plush, rich leather couches and seats, and musicians play low, soft jazz as if to not disturb the entrance of the crime lords of the Celestial Gang.

Your throat becomes thick as you smell cigarettes and alcohol and sharp, overapplied cologne. Low lights burn yellow and cast thick, clogging shadows around the open room. Several animatronics already flank a center sitting room away from the bar and dance floor. Human men dressed in sleazy suits quickly move towards the mob bosses.

The small swarm settles when Sun and Moon escort you to a fine, black leather couch big enough for just the three of you. You bow your head under the scorching attention, all eyes seemingly upon the outsider their bosses brought along to the business meeting. Your hair falls into your face as a brief curtain to the overwhelming atmosphere.

How did you get here? One moment, you’re researching the famed Celestial Gang for a column in the newspaper which pays you well to find the best, most reliable information, and the next, you were ‘borrowed’ by none other than Sun and Moon. The crime lords have done dark and dirty deeds to keep themselves high in the underground. Why kidnap you for a few days just to put you in a red dress and take you into the heart of their illegal dealings?

“Take a seat, love.” Sun presses close to your ear, warming your face when his faceplate touches the corner of your cheekbone.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Moon’s rough voice touches you. He lifts a hand and removes the shield of your hair and sweeps it behind your face, exposing your freckles and wide, green eyes. “What would you like? A drink, perhaps, my dear?”

You recoil, revealed by force once more to the many eyes, but the real danger is the ones with their hands on you, refusing to allow you to escape. A stutter begins in your throat. Swallowing it down, you force yourself to say in a tiny, demure voice, “No, thank you.”

“Later then.” Sun nods his sharp sun rays towards a man behind the bar. He moves swiftly, his hands flying out of sight.

Sun and Moon promptly set you down on the couch, and you can’t help but wonder if this is what a minnow feels when crowded by two sharks as they take their seats on either side of you. Caging you with their bodies, your eyes widen at how they press their legs against yours.

Sun leans forward in the slightest to take your hand between his own and unfurl the anxious fist you made. Moon leans deeper against the backrest and slides his arm behind you, cradling your waist. Stiffening, you hold as still as a doe deer in the sights of a hunter. All the while, every last goon stares down the three of you but not a word nor electric breath leaves those who await their bosses’ command.

The man behind the bar emerges carrying a silver tray with one lowball glass filled with a rich amber liquid. Close beside it is a dark blue pack of cigarettes.

You shift in your red dress as the bartender approaches. The fabric of your gown is rich and built to flare out when dancing. You didn’t want to put this on—no matter how lovely—but Sun and Moon cowed you with firm reminders. While they’re ‘borrowing’ you, they intend to dress you as they please.

The checkered shrug was all you could manage. It took much to convince them to allow you to wear it but you pleaded, and they seem to enjoy it, much to your embarrassment.

The bartender bows and offers the tray to Sun first. Strangely, the animatronic accepts the glass while containing your hand in his other grasp. The amber liquid swirls between his nimble fingers. The bartender crosses to the other side of the couch. Moon tilts his head. His red eyes glance at the offering in approval before plucking the pack and immediately opening it.

Your mind spins with how they might indulge in the very human vices, but to your amazement, it seems to be a sort of ritual. There’s something ceremonial about the presentation. The enjoyment of something refined and toxic without partaking.

You watch the liquor glimmer in the crystalline cup. Sun pale eyes, sharp and dagger-like, pierce you with a glance.

“It’s bourbon, dollface.” He tips the glass closer, offering it to your lips. “You couldn’t imagine how much blood and money went into acquiring this one small glass. Would you like a taste?”

You flick your gaze up. He leans over you, crowding you, dwarfing you until you’re almost sliding onto Moon’s lap. His brother eagerly keeps you in place as Sun studies you. His smile holds an edge while he squeezes your hand in the slightest.

“I shouldn’t,” you murmur, but you shrink as you speak.

Sun’s eyes flash like the tip of a blade. He lowers the glass closer still to your mouth until a rich aroma spills upward and invades your senses.

“Oh, but I say you should.” His grin bears down upon you. “No one touches my bourbon but I do want to know if it’s as worthwhile as the bottle says. One sip, turtle dove.”

You hold his gaze, almost trembling. It won’t kill you, certainly, but this is more than the pressure of a drink.

“Okay,” you concede meekly.

Sun’s smile is lethal as he presents it to you. Gazing into the amber liquid, you lean forward, unable to even hold the glass as Sun carefully presses it to your mouth and gently tilts it. A sweet spiciness spills over your tongue, reminding you of the solar crime lord. You merely wet your lips before it smoothly slides down your throat before you turn your head away. Sun allows it, satisfied with a sharp electric click of his tongue.

“How does it taste?” he purrs, catching your chin and lifting it higher as he admires you. A flutter overtakes your middle.

“Expensive,” you manage, “and strong.”

Tilting his head, Sun’s grin widens as his voice enters a growl so sweet it matches the bourbon’s flavor, “Good. It’s earned all the blood and money I spent on it.”

A few bodies shift from foot to foot and animatronics blink a few optics. Mercifully, Sun releases your chin. Again, you duck your face to hide as the liquor cools your stomach. Only a few drops and you already feel strange and tiny like a trapped rat.

Moon flicks a lighter. The sharp spark of it catching causes you to jump, and Moon chuckles a dark, rolling sound deep within his chassis.

“Relax, baby.” His red eyes search through the curtain of your hair. “You’re in good hands.”

You take a long strand of hair hanging in your face and begin twirling it around your finger. Twisting and twisting the lock, you watch Moon methodically pick a cigarette from the pack using one hand. Slowly, he slides his arm out from behind you. A dark pulse to his gaze washes down you until he reaches for your face and sweeps back the hair dangling in front of you.

“Look me in the eyes. You’re too pretty to hide from me,” he says in both warning and affection, and it chills you to the bone. “Don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” you breathe. Every function within you shrivels under the intensity of his red eyes holding you captive.

His fingertips slide over your cheekbones, lingering for a moment as if he might count every freckle dusting your skin. You tremble inwardly. Moon shifts the cigarette dexterously to his fingers. Holding it steady, he leans forward.

“Be a doll,” Moon rasps. He’s not asking.

“I—” you take a deep breath, your heart pumping hard. “I don’t smoke.”

“I know, my dear,” Moon chuckles sinisterly. You do not doubt that he does. “You’re going to help me light it, nothing more.”

A part of you writhes but you can do little but part your lips. Your fingers twitch as if you had a hope of taking it yourself, but Sun’s firm grasp on your hand is thick as shackles and Moon is as unyielding as a cold night.

He sets it softly on your lips. Unfamiliar with such a ritual, you freeze as Moon holds out the pale flame. He cups it, looming over you while he sets the end aglow with red-hot heat, and all the while, his eyes are devouring you whole.

“Hold still,” Moon commands.

He lights it, and on instinct, you inhale. A poor choice, considering the flood of smoke that quickly sets fire to your lungs with a singing flavor of anise. A fierce cough overtakes you. Moon takes the cigarette from your lips as Sun tuts his tongue.

“Naughty thing,” Moon chastises as he allows you to finish your fit, but he draws the cigarette away from you, holding it perfectly between his fingers while his other hand roams your back, hitting softly until you, at last, expel the last of the forsaking tobacco now staining you fiercely.

“You need to be good, love,” Sun reminds close to your ear. His digit plays with the dangling jewelry hanging from your earlobe. A shiny, silver sword. “What are we to do with you if you can’t behave?”

You choke but for a far different reason.

“I’ll be good,” you say, unable to get out anything else but whatever might please them.

“That’s all we ask, baby.” Moon’s hand slips under your chin to turn you towards him. Your lips part as he squeezes in the slightest, and you feel like a fish with your lips puffed into a pout. “Business will only take a moment, then we’ll get back to you.”

You bleed a fierce blush at how he holds you, his eyes commanding you without restraint. You utter a pathetic sound of agreement before the crime lords share a look.

They keep you firmly in place all the while they conduct the mafia meeting. Throughout, Sun’s and Moon’s hands are constantly upon you. Sun speaks of numbers, how well the handling of merchandise such as alcohol has transpired and Moon focuses on conflict, the safety of the gang and the casualties suffered, and how to strike back against those who crossed the line against them. You listen, feeling little more than a plaything in their palms. Moon rubs your side gently. Sun traces his thumb over your knuckles. You endure their forced closeness, unable to even hide behind the curtain of your hair as per their warning.

Then, at last, Sun and Moon lean back with a sort of finality. The goons relax in the slightest, able to ease off from their strict attentiveness before a slow murmur of talk stirs the air. The music picks up a touch louder. A slow, smooth sound of jazz that fills you to the brim. You can hardly unclench your jaw before Sun and Moon share a look so devilish, you fear for your soul.

“We worked hard today, Sun,” Moon drawls out sinisterly.

“We have. We need a reward,” Sun hums, pleased and dastardly.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, your heart racing within you.

“A dance, of course, dollface.” Sun takes your hand and lifts it high. Moon captures your other before you register how they lift you from the couch in one swift motion.

You reel as they escort you to the dance floor. One flick of Moon’s hand commands the musicians to turn up the music, and the gangsters’ eyes follow you as you’re pulled onto the last place you want to be. The dance floor.

In one sure motion, Sun begins to remove the shrug from your shoulders. Any resistance you might have made is cut by Moon holding you in place by your chin until Sun carelessly tosses the checkered cloth off to the side.

“Beautiful,” Moon announces. His thumb finds the tattoo of a quill on your right bicep and strokes it adoringly. You shiver under the caress.

You freeze when another presence falls into your shadow.

“Lovely little thing,” Sun says as he traces a finger along the line of your bare shoulder. Another shudder rolls down your spine.

You turn as if you might escape but Sun seizes you by the hip and lifts your arm high, twirling you until the world is a blur of low light and smoky haze, and dips you. You gasp. The same nefarious hands catch you by the waist, bowing so close to your face, the sharp crown framing Sun’s head in sharp, yellow rays takes over your vision. A blush fills you to the brim.

“There’s nothing to fear, love. We’ll lead,” Sun reassures you with a laugh that flips your heart. “Won’t we, Moon?”

“We will.” Moon answers by stealing you away into a swift step that leaves you dizzy and with a head rush. He half drags, half carries you with a tight grip on your hands. You can barely catch up.

You flush, trying to protest that you want to leave, now, and stop being a shining new toy to show off to their underlings, but there’s no denying the crime lords. Moon sweeps your feet off the ground as he grabs your waist and lifts you in a half circle. The red fabric of your dress flares out. Your stomach drops and your heart soars.

Then you’re back on your feet. Breathless, left spinning after Sun’s dip and Moon’s twist, you can hardly register the closeness until both mob bosses are upon you. At your back, Sun clasps your hand, holding it behind your waist as if he intends to pin you against his brother. Moon likewise captures your other hand, holding it shoulder-level. Two palms fall to your hips, and in a strange, electrifying motion, Sun and Moon force you to dance with both of them.

“How do you know how to do this?” is all you can gasp. It’s too perfect. Too prepared. Sun looms over your shoulder with a lethal warmth while you turn your cheek as if you might keep both of them in your vision. Moon presses closer to you, hanging over you like the cool threat of a storm.

“We have thought long and hard about what we might do with a troublemaker like you,” Sun speaks low into your ear. “You’ve been learning too much, turtle dove.”

You stiffen in the slightest. Despite this, your feet are caught in their rhythm, slowly spinning in time to the romantic tune floating in the air.

“What?” you breathe. “How did you—”

“We have our ways,” Moon reminds. He tilts his head, his fedora covering the lowlight and shadowing his face even deeper.

They know. You found out their relation to their elder brother. The police chief.

You also found that they haven’t spoken to each other in years.

Your pulse picks up in horror. This is what this has been about. This whole time, the cat-and-mouse game, is because they’re going to kill you.

“Please,” you say, trembling. Their hands squeeze your own.

“Hm? Speak up, love,” Sun laughs, taunting you. “I can’t hear you.”

“Don’t kill me,” you say it starkly, quietly. Your eyes are wide. There is nowhere to hide while they trap you between their chassis.

Moon stares at you, his red eyes darkening into crimson before he releases your waist and slowly leans down. He captures your face between his palms. With Sun holding you in place, there is nowhere to run. You close your eyes.

A brush of something cool and tasting of anise falls against your lips. You start under the lunar crime lord’s kiss. When you open your eyes, his grin is pleased, wicked. He holds you a moment longer under his sharp teeth.

“That would be a waste, don’t you think?” he rasps.

Sun grunts something before he spins you around by the hips. Moon allows him, and he takes you by the waist to keep you on your feet while Sun looks upon you with desire so fiery, that you fear it will engulf you. His pale eyes gnaw away at your every edge.

“I thought…” you murmur senselessly.

“You thought wrong.” Sun presses a finger to your lips with a wicked grin. “I need to take a bite out of you too.”

This time, your eyes are wide open when he bends down to press his faceplate to your lips, and you gasp underneath his hungry kiss. He pushes and pulls, and you almost sway were it not for the Moon stabilizing you. Sun releases you slowly, greedily.

“That’s right, dollface,” Sun purrs as Moon presses close and kisses the back of your neck. “We have plans for you.”

#naff's writing commissions #syzygy in dedication #mob boss!sun #mob boss!moon #i had so much writing this one augh these boys are dangerous #naff writing

374 notes · View notes

rowretro · 5 months

Note

Yandere!demon! heeseung x human! Reader( Please?)

TOOTHPASTE MOJITO

✧warnings: Yandere/toxic themes, kidnapping, marriage, blood, violence, explicit stuff mentioned, somewhat sexual(?), alcohol consumption

❁synopsis: Heeseung, a demon of many demons that roams earth, bored. His eyes then land on y/n. The girl who was disgusted by her raspberry mojito, and proceeded to order more mojitos. That's when Y/n saw hell....

✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧

Heeseung smirked, his hands stained with blood, as he stared at the limp body before him. Another day another slay, demon edition. He literally slays them. Could you blame him? I mean what did the drunkard expect? trying to steal his wallet. He didn't stand a chance. Heeseung groaned as he went to his mansion, maids slipping off his coat and placing his shoes aside, as he walked in. The man's rich, anything he wants he gets, money, shoes, cars anything.

But he was missing one thing... a wife. Sure he'd sleep with some girls now and then when he's bored, but none of that satisfies his loving for love. True love, the kind of love one'd find in any movie, a shoulder to lie on, a person to turn to and feel comfortable. The man checked himself out in the mirror, a branded leather jacket worn over his black button down shirt, and trousers to match it. He slipped on a Rolex of the many he owned, followed by some jewellery.

The man walked into the party, fitting in as Jay threw an arm over him "Thought you'd never come, I assume you're here for the girls?" Jay asked as Heeseung snickerred "not this time- I got some time off of work so I decided to drop in... where's the bar?" He asked as Jay pointed it out. The man sat down at the stool, beside him, he could see the back of a girl, her dark hair somewhat covering her bare back, she was dressed is a shimmering, short black dress.

So far she seemed like a hottie to him. "Ack- disgusting... It tastes like grass-" she complained turning around to the bartender. Heeseung got a the full view of her face. Fuck was she beautiful. Her eye makeup really did suit her, purple glitter reflecting blue, lips so plump and kissable, her nose slightly big, but really added a stunning touch to her pretty face. "Can I get a mojito with Ice... make it really minty" she said as Heeseung frowned at her.

As the bartender walked off to prepare her drink, Heeseung turned to face her "Minty mojito?... that'd taste like toothpaste in alcohol- its already minty as is why ad more?" He questioned as she giggled "Toothpaste mojito.... not a mint lover huh?" she asked then she froze "Wow... Jay knows so many attractive men but damn." she added quite boldly. "He seems to know very pretty girls... none as pretty as you though, can't believe he gatekept you from me... Heeseung." He introduced himself. "Y/n.... " she said with a smile

If only she knew there and then that he's a goddamn demon. Literally. She thought she was just drunk, one second she was at the party, the next in a luxorious bedroom with a fine man. That morning she realized, the man did the impossible, he literally teleported her. She saw him really murder a man. She looked under the blanket. No sign of pain, hickeys or anything, she smelled nice, dressed in a man's jumper, presumably Heeseungs.

Oh how stupid she felt. Thinking it'd be easy to sneak out of a demon's home without being caught. Acting cool, walking out as the guards assumed she was just some slut he slept with. "Where do you think you're going sweetheart?" he asked, her back against the wall, as his body trapped her. "uh... home? I need to feed my bunny" she excused as he just laughed.

"Oh baby how drunk were you?... you ARE home... and I fed your bunny see? *he said with a smirk pointing at the little white rabbit that rested comfortably in a more spacious cage". It was too much to process. did she move in with him? did something happen? are they in a relationship? "yes, I guess, and Yes.." he answerred without missing a beat, red eyes staring into hers. "Did I say that out loud?..." she asked as he smirked.

"As you can see darling, I'm a demon, I know everything you think about. When I first laid my eyes on you... thought I'd just let you stay in my bed one night.... then you talked to me and fuck." He groaned, holding her heart at his chest "feel that?! Im in fucking love with you baby, I fucking wanted you... no I fucking needed you. so here you are." He said with a smirk "You're crazy. Im not into you Heeseung. You can't just kidnap me, and my bunny and say im you're in love with me. Im leaving." She claimed confidentally

"That's where you're wrong. You're mine, you're not going anywhere and you won't need to, everything you need is in this mansion. If I want something sweetie.. I get it. How about you think twice before your decision, sure you wouldn't want to anger a demon... I KNOW you're smarter than that." He simply said. He's right. Only an idiot would do such a thing, she really had no choice... She was in hell and there's no going back....

✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧

(so sorry to all my readers, Ill try work on the series's too, yes my blog is wet now- its no longer a dry desert)

300 notes · View notes

d1s1ntegrated · 3 months

Note

i’ve been listening to this song on repeat and can’t get shiggy out of my head. can you please write something along these lines, cause oh my god would this be so hot🥵

porn star dancing shigaraki pov x stripper reader

summary: dabi drags shigaraki to a "titty bar" for his 21st birthday, because "being a virgin at 21 is like a dog who's never had a biscuit".

cw: quirkless au! dabi and shiggy are best friends, drinking, strip club setting, shiggy's pov, alt!reader, oral virginity loss, language, nudity, oral (male rec), groping, whining, pining, slightsub!tomura, virgin!tomura, slightlydom!reader, teasing, private lap dance, happy ending lol, handjob, headshoving, dirty talk, basically just shiggy being an epic simp loser. wc: ~4230 words

this is from tomura's pov. i felt it would convey his sluttiness best :)

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

"GET OFF THE GAME, DUMBASS. WE'RE GOING OUT". dabi's voice shouts from down the hall. i sigh and roll my eyes, yanking my headset off my head. usually, i'd ignore him, but i knew he wouldn't leave me alone today. i tried not to make a big deal about it, but he's been making a stink about my birthday for months now, as if drinking legally at a bar would feel any different than drinking illegally in my room. but, hell, if it gets him to shut up, i guess.

i groan and stretch myself out of my gaming chair, giving my prized possession a solemn goodbye, and trod out of my room. dabi is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall. "there you are, freak. you ready to go get wasted with a bunch of topless bitches?" he looks me up and down, smiling sadistically. i shrug, and he pats my shoulder.

"come on, lets get trashed." i know i can't argue with him, so i follow him out the door, thinking about how badly i'd rather go back to my room and play league. whatever.

---------------------------------------------------- the club is sketchy, to say the least. a dark grey exterior with no windows, just one neon sign above that reads "the silk iris" in flashy pink lettering. at least it's not named some weird shit like "vixen den".

i suck air in through my teeth as dabi lights a cigarette next to me. "can we go home?" i say miserably next to him. he chuckles, taking a long drag.

"fuck no, shigs. we're goin' in, and i'm gonna tell those pretty girlies in there that it's your birthday" he flashes his teeth at me and instead of a smile, i see a predator baring its fangs in warning. fuck my life. i try to beg him not to, but he's unreceptive.

"please, dabi, i'll go in, fine, but dont tell them shit, please" i clasp my hands together and shake them at him, as if im praying. but if dabi was a god, he was a cruel and evil one, who doesn't answer prayers.

"fine fine, shigaraki. i'll be nice, i promise." he curls his lips and tosses the finished cigarette to the ground, crushing the filter under his boot. he grabs my shoulder and guides me with an iron grip to the door. "lets go!" he slaps my back hard and i grimace. no going back now.

the door pushes open and immediately, the smell of heavy smoke and cheap cologne rushes my sinuses. theres another door between the club and the entrance, and a part of me wishes i could just sit in the lobby all night. but dabi whips his id out, and i reluctantly follow. we flash them at the bouncer, who nods and grins wide when he sees mine. "happy birthday man. have fun". his voice is gruff and deep, his body towering over mine. i force a slight smile, and nod "thanks" before begrudgingly going through the door.

the lights are low, thank god. deep reds and purples accent the darkly-painted walls, and the carpet is patterned with some vampiric-looking textile, and i study it intently. the music is so loud, the bass shakes my eardrums, and i groan. if i'm gonna be here all night, i'm gonna need a drink. dabi knows this already, and he drags me over to the bar and nods to an empty stool. i slink onto the worn leather and he yanks my hood off my head before he sits next to me. i grumble but he ignores me, and flags down the bartender.

a tall, slender girl in a very tiny bikini top struts over, big pearly smile on her face. her red hair curls gently around her face, and she greets us with a very peppy voice. "hi boys! what can i get for ya?"

dabi eyes the girl up and down and leans back in his seat a bit, giant smirk plastered to his face. his piercings tug at his lips as he answers, "hey doll. it's actually my buddy's birthday today," he claps my shoulder again and i shrink into myself, "what do you recommend?"

the girl claps her hands together and jumps a bit. "happy birthday sweetheart!" those teeth smile at me again, somehow wider than last time. she turns back to dabi and asks, "is this his first time?"

dabi answers with a bellowing laugh, "ohhh yeah. shig's gonna turn into a man tonight" he nudges me and i force out a laugh.

"well, shig," the bartender drags my name out sleazily, "i have just the thing for you." she trots away from us for a few moments, returning with a shot glass full of a bright green substance. "you like fruity drinks?" she asks and nods at me. i shrug and reply "i'm not sure". she lets out a high-pitched giggle and looks to dabi.

"and for you?""whatever's on tap, sweetheart. and a shot of jameson." his voice is low and he's still grinning. she returns half a second later with a tall beer glass, and a little shot of whiskey. she nods at us and says as she tends to another customer now, "ill start a tab for you boys."

i hesitantly pick up the shot glass and dabi picks his up with me. he raises his brows and laughs. "take the shot, pussy". he clinks his glass against mine and i take a deep breath as we take the first shot. it goes down surprisingly easy, much easier than the cheap whiskeys and vodkas i'm used to. its...actually fucking delicious. the bartender notices us and claps. she brings me another one a minute later and i take it fearlessly, the liquid shooting down to my core, warming me up. "thats a green tea shot, love. just in case you wanna order some more" she winks at me as she slides another shot to dabi, "my shift ends in about 5 minutes, so you'll have to order them yourself from now on! happy birthday, sweetie!" i smile at her, feeling my nerves slowly melting away. i thank her and turn to dabi.

"this isn't so bad" i give him a thumbs-up, and he returns it. he picks up the tiny glass and shoots it back, chasing it with the remainder of his beer. he blinks away the burn and shakes his head. "bartender was cute, eh?" he stifles a belch into his fist and claps my back again. "lets go, emo boy." i slide off the stool and follow him.

he leads me to a couple of seats near the stage. i did my best to avoid looking before, but now it was right in front of me. a couple of girls, about six or seven, were twirling around poles, walking up and down the stage, as men greedily shove their hands to touch them, stroke their legs, grab their asses. some shove dollar bills into their waistbands, others hand them bigger bills: tens, twenties, even some fifties. i scoff and take a seat next to dabi, who's already got his wallet out. he hands me a wad of ones, and i sigh.

"i'm not gonna shove my hands into some poor girls panties," i say to him. he glares at me and rolls his eyes. "the more you shove in there, the closer you get to having it, shig. its like buying pussy, bro. come on, just watch." he stands and leans over the stage as a short blonde crawls over, and he beckons her with a finger. he slides his hand over her barely-clothed tits and shoves a couple bills between them. she blows a kiss at him and stands, spinning around a pole and waving at a few of the men before the girls rotate. this goes on for a few minutes, and i feel myself growing uncomfortable with myself.

i grit my teeth and stand next to dabi, and do my best to entice one of the girls over to me. however, once the girl comes over to me, i panic, and end up just handing her a few of the bills in my hand. i wave and immediately smack myself in the face. stupid idiot, what the fuck was that? dabi notices my folly and laughs at me and shakes his head.

"you dumbass, what the hell was THAT?" he raises his voice over the music and i purse my lips.

"i dont know" i say quietly. my head is spinning from the alcohol. i groan and sit back in my seat, afraid to embarrass myself further. suddenly, the music quiets down, and a voice rings through the speaker, announcing a solo act. "please welcome the beautiful, the terrifying, the eat-your-heart-out....calypso!" the group of men cheer as they hear the name. i look confused as the lights switch to a deep sanguine red, and the music switches over from the bass-boosted r&b and rap to metal. a few of the men get up and go to the bar, but watch as they order drinks.

dabi gets up and i call out for him, but he raises a hand and says, "im getting drinks, dude chill! you'll be fine for two minutes!!" the lights brighten again as a girl comes onto the stage. she, like the others, is dressed scantily, but...differently. my eyes widen as she approaches further. she grabs one of the poles and swings her leg around it, and i can't peel my eyes away. her thigh grips the metal, her fishnets so tight against her, i can see the soft skin poking through the holes. the material stretches thin over her ass, which is plump, with only a tiny g-string to cover it. she drops to the floor and lays on her back, her tits spreading in the top as men grab at her, and she slaps them away. they cheer and lay the bills onto the stage, and she gradually grabs the money, shoving it down her top herself.

dabi returns and hands me another shot. i swiftly take it, not taking my eyes off the dancer on the stage. she wraps her hands around another pole and spins a few times before dropping back down, onto her knees this time. i bite my lip and dabi nudges me with his elbow.

"you like that one, shiggy?" he shouts over the heavy guitar solo. i nod slowly and watch her intently. he chuckles beside me and nods. calypso gets to the edge of the stage and i smack the rest of the ones i have in my hand right next to her tall, chunky boots. she notices me and stares down at me and licks her lips, and i feel myself melt. she bends over slowly and grabs the cash, and drags her long fingernail up my neck and jaw. i gulp as she winks at me and whispers something, but i cant hear her over the music.

i feel myself twitch in my pants. i smile weakly up at her and she turns away, collecting the rest of the money on the wooden floor. she then slowly grabs one of the strings of her top and pulls it, slowly unraveling the knot. she spins around as she pulls the top off completely, and tosses it haphazardly in my direction. i scramble up from my seat and grasp at it, unable to control my impulses. i greedily fist it and shove it into my hoodie pocket, hoping she doesn't notice who took it. i fling back in my seat and dabi high fives me.

"WOOOOO! ATTA BOY!" he shouts at me and downs the rest of his glass. i look back up to calypso on the stage, spinning around another pole sleazily. her movements are fluid and flawless, and i swallow the excess drool in my mouth as i watch her. the way her tits look, her supple curves, the jiggle of her ass against the metal and wood as she dances around the stage. none of the other women on the stage before had gotten my attention, but...she did. i cover my lap with my hands and spread my legs to hide the raging hard-on against my tight jeans.

the song ends after an excruciating few minutes and i let out the breath i didnt know i was holding. as she exists the stage, she drags a clawed hand against the mirror wall at the back of the stage. the whole crowd cheers, a few of the men going so far as to shout her name out. the next solo act comes out and i stand up, deciding to hide in the bathroom for a second. fuck, this doesnt look odd or anything.

i tap dabi's shoulder and tell him "i gotta piss, i'll be back" and he just nods as he stares intently at the next dancer.

i rush into the bathroom and slam the door behind me, locking the stall. i sigh and press myself against the shoddy stall door and yank the top i shoved into my pocket out. i press it to my face and inhale. my cock jumps in my pants as i do so, and i stifle a moan. it smells so sweet, and spicy, and just so fucking good. i palm at the front of my jeans as i inhale. fuck, her tits were in here. fuck. i rub my thumb over the soft material, imagining how it rubbed against her nipples, how the strings tugged at the weight of her tits. i shudder and shake my head, shoving the top back into my pocket. not here. i'll have all the time in the world to get off once i'm home, i remind myself. don't be the guy that jerks it in the public bathroom.

i gather myself as best as possible, splashing water on my face before exiting the bathroom. i shiver at the cold on my feverish face and push the heavy door open to see dabi standing outside, grinning maniacally.

"guess what, birthday bitch?" he tilts his head at me and chuckles. i stare with genuine fear as he points to one of the doors across from me.

"you see those doors, buddy?" i nod my head. "you know what's behind those doors?" i shake my head. the third door to the right opens and a man exits, looking absolutely blown away. a girl in a tight white bikini exists after him, looking distracted. fuck.

"dabi, nonononono, i do NOT want a private dance, nonono please" i tug at his jacket and he shakes me off.

"too bad, buddy. you're gettin' one." i whimper out in fear and clench my jaw. "come on, dumbass. youre 21 now. and youre still a virgin. it's kinda sad. at least get the experience of a lap dance, my god."

"dabi, i do not want a lap dance, i want to go-"

"shigaraki, a virgin at 21 is like a puppy who's never had a biscuit before. now go. second door. have fun!" he laughs evilly again and saunters off to the bar again, leaving me to my own devices.

i could run right now, or...

or i could man up and go get a fucking lap dance.

in private.

with a girl.

fuck it, i say to myself and go up to the second door. i take a deep breath and turn the knob, entering slowly. its empty.

what the fuck?

i take a seat on the giant plush....couch? futon? bed thing? i'm not quite sure, but it wraps around the room in a U-shape. the walls are made of all mirrors, with a sound system laid into the wall, and speakers next to the ceiling. i sit in the middle of the leather seats and scratch my neck anxiously. either dabi set me up real good, or...

a knock at the door startles me out of my thought and i look up. the door swings open and swiftly shuts. i recognize the body...the face...calypso walks in and raises her brows at me. every bit of my drunkenness dissipates at the sight.

"you're the birthday boy, huh? that's convenient. can i get my top back?" she says, her voice low and drawn out. she stares down at me and my eyes feel like they're going to fall out of my head. she's wearing something different now: a tight red top with a thong, pulled up around her hips, accentuating her curves. her boots are frighteningly large, thick leather straps and buckles crossing over her calves and thighs.

i fumble over my words as i pull the top out of my pocket, "i, how did you kn- i'm sorry" i wince at my own voice, and she laughs.

"giant mirror. the look on your face. i'm not dumb" she leans in and whispers the last lines into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"oh...okay" i choke out. "sorry" i repeat, and she stands.

"good boy" she nods, and presses a button on the stereo. "porn star dancing" begins to play. i bite my lip and look up at her nervously. she traces my jaw with her nail, just like she did earlier, and climbs into my lap.

"do you want a lap dance, pretty boy?" her voice is sweet and sultry in my ears. i grip her thighs instinctively as she grinds into me slightly and i nod furiously. any intention i had of resisting is gone, as i glance at her ass in the mirror across from us. her thighs are warm and plush, and as she stands back up, i have to stifle my whimper. she turns around and bends over, giving me the perfect view of her ass. i reach out to grab it, and she turns around.

"ah ah, no touching yet, pretty boy." i exhale hard at the way the nickname rolls off her tongue. she continues to bend and sway in front of me, and my desperation grows. my saliva builds rapidly at the sight of her supple body teasing me, and i swallow hard again.

she brings herself back to face me, pushing her soft tits against me. they smell the same as her top, soft and spicy and sweet. i moan and plant a kiss to the flesh and she lets out a soft "hmm". i take this as an okay to touch her, and i bring my hand down hard on her ass, gripping it tightly. she gasps and flashes her wild eyes at me. she sits fully in my lap, grinding her ass against me, bouncing and bending on me.

i cant help but harden back up, my cock beating against it's jean prison again. my breath quickens as she slides off, and suddenly drags a hand to my upper thigh, squeezing it hard. i gasp at the touch and she laughs, a sickeningly seductive smile painting her beautiful face. my eyes roll back as she palms the front of my jeans.

wait.

i look to her now as she licks her lips and bites her lip. she drops down to her knees, her eyes glassy and half-shut as she stares up at me. i look at her in the mirror again, seeing her boots pressing against her plump ass again. i groan and push my hair back, and she fiddles with the front of my pants.

"your friend out there said you were a virgin, is that right?" she draws out, wicked and teasing. i nod and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "you want me to fix that?" she questions nonchalantly as she pops the button of my jeans.

"wait, what?" i stumble, and she chuckles softly.

"i don't do this for everyone, you know." she points a cruel finger at me, "but when i saw how desperate you got out there, i honestly wondered if i could break you. thank god your friend asked me for the dance, otherwise i'd have to come find you myself" she laughs lowly, and i shiver.

i cant find the words, so i just nod furiously. she smiles up at me and unzips the front of my jeans. i help her by pushing down my boxers, letting my cock spring free. she gives a soft surprised look, and i furrow my brows.

"you're much bigger than i expected" she whispers, and wraps a hand lazily around my shaft. if i wasn't so turned on right now, i might take that offensively. but as she wraps her pouty lips around the tip, i throw my head back, ignoring any cues that this might not be a part of the lap dance.

her tongue swirls luridly around my tip, causing me to gasp. i'm already overstimulated, my cock twitching and jumping at her touch. she takes me deeper down her throat until her nose buries into my skin, and she lets out a low hum against the throbbing appendage. as i moan, she wraps her hand back around, sliding it alongside where she sucks me off, the doubled sensation causing my hips to buck up. she giggles around my dick as she sucks it, and i tangle my pale fingers into her hair. its so soft, just like the rest of her. she moans softly at the sensation of me pulling it, and i whimper. she pulls off of me with a gentle "pop" and i groan.

"you sound so fucking pathetic, pretty boy" she whispers.

"t-tomura. call me tomura" i choke out in rushed breath, and she nods.

"tomura. pretty name for a pretty boy" she nods, and i cant help but moan again at how she says my name. she brings my cock back into her mouth and drags her tongue all the way up, wrapping her soft fingers around my balls and squeezing gently. my body feels like its on fire and i start to feel myself breaking.

"ah-ah, ha, fuck" my breaths tangle with the mantra of swears and incoherent noises spilling from my mouth. i make no effort to stifle myself, there's no point. i grip her hair harder and she presses her teeth ever so slightly into the flesh of my cock, and i tremble. the sensations are driving me wild, and i completely lose control. i watch as her mouth slides up and down, her spit dripping down my length, tangling with the mess of precum already spilling from me.

"hnng, fuck, agh, ah ah, ah, i'm gonna" i whimper out, and she only looks up at me, not stopping. her grip on my balls tightens as i twitch inside her warm mouth, and the sight sends me over the edge.

"god, FUCK, fuck, ah, fuck, i'm cumming, oh fuck, i'm cumming" i pant out, and shove her head all the way down as my cock sputters. she chokes slightly around me as i feel the thick ribbons shoot down her tight throat. i whimper and moan out unapologetically, and she keeps sucking even after i finish, sending volts of electricity through my entire body. she pulls off of me sloppily, a string of drool and cum dripping from her lips. i twitch as the aftershock rumbles through me, feeling the alcohol (and blood) rush back to my head. my breathing staggered. she wipes her mouth with the bottom of my hoodie, and stands.

"you did such a good job, tomura" her voice is slightly raspy as she praises me, and strokes my face. i smile weakly up at her.

"th-thank you, calypso" i breathe out, and she returns the soft smile.

"happy birthday, pretty boy" she turns the music down and heads for the door.

"wait" i bleat out, and she turns, "can we...can i see you again?" she laughs with an exhale, and grins.

"come back next weekend." she replies, and my heart seizes. i nod and look at the floor.

"can i have your number?" i ask quietly.

she chuckles and shakes her head no.

"do you want...the top back?" i hand it to her, and she shakes her head.

"consider it your birthday present." and she walks out the door before i can respond. i shove the top back in my pocket and fix my clothes, checking myself in the mirror before exiting a couple minutes after her.

as always, dabi is standing across from the door, unlit cigarette hanging from his lip. "how'd it go, buddy?" he chortles, and i look up at him.

"we're coming back next weekend" i say, and without another word, i head out the front doors. the bouncer nods at us as we exit, and dabi follows behind with a "fuck yes!".

when we return home, i fling myself into my bed and yank the top out of my pocket. i examine every speck of glitter, the tag, everything. i slip the padding out of it, just for shits, and notice in thin black ink:

"your lucky day.

XXX-XXX-XXXX."

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

hope u enjoyed! i finished this at 3:50am and poured my whole ass heart into it. i had a lot of fun writing this :D

lmk if i should write more from shigs pov, or if a reader pov would be better, i tried to be experimental ;-;

thank u for the request as always!!

xoxo

#shigaraki x reader #bnha #my hero academia #mha #tomura shigaraki #mha shigaraki #tenko shimura #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader oneshot #shigaraki oneshot #virgin shigaraki #quirkless shigaraki #myposts #myfics

135 notes · View notes

blueberryarchive · 5 months

Text

The One Were Jungkook;

more slasher!jk

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨; slasher, 80s, psychological horror

𝙩𝙬; heavy non-con, somnophilia, horror, violence, blood

(thank you to @hoseokshobagi for helping me with this big mess, I love u, shut up)

NY, 1985

The little ol' Brew House wasn't like the bar you went to with Jimin. It was so small that you could feel the sweat running down your back, the ghost of a hand or a glance behind you with every step. There was a sour smell of old, dried beer on the rustic green furniture and freshly disinfected vomit in the corner where Jungkook motioned for you to sit.

"Sit down, don't move."

You climbed onto the cracked brown leather stool, your bare thighs sticking to it like Velcro. A band was playing Iron Man on the other side and it was so uncoordinated that it matched the people sitting there: middle-aged men in blue-collar jobs, women in black leather skirts and foreign students with little money, underworld poets and their upper class girlfriends living the fantasy of muses sitting one their boyfriend's thighs while they discussed Bob Dylan and Williams Burroughs. A green and brown amalgam of sweaty skin drinking warm beer and watered down whiskey.

You couldn't help but compare both places.

Sweaty Joe's was a bar just two corners from the university, it was bathed in colored lights and posters as old as the owners of the place themselves. Red leather sofas were distributed in the corners and those, for years, have belonged to the Maroon Knights players.

This is where you met Jimin, it was your first week and you and Bobby Joe decided to have a beer, you two were new, smiled candidly at each gentleman who offered you another drink. You had never done that in the small town where you came from.

Jimin was celebrating his first winter tournament, his crimson cheekbones and his elegant smile conquered your heart, he let you sleep in his room in the trailer where he lived with his four brothers. His hands never took yours without first asking you, never looked away. You fell asleep so quickly in that bed while the little snores of the quaterback kept you stable, safe.

At dawn, you couldn't even see his face, you spent a week avoiding the hallways where he frequented until you did what your mother did to apologize to people: you baked some cookies. Unfortunately, he was on a diet but he still accepted them, his younger brother would eat them all with pleasure, you offered him a kiss and he let himself go.

That afternoon you lost your virginity behind his secong-hand orange Pontiac, white cotton panties crumpled and drooled between your teeth as Jimin held your calves. You cried so much that he forgot to moan, but your boyfriend wiped away each tear with his wet tongue and his thumbs until his cum fell thickly onto your skirt and his uniform.

The second time was different. What you don't know is that you cooking for him lit a spark, a simple breeze in a dry forest and you were the summer sun. You were going to be his wife, he promised you, with drooping eyelids and your pelvis on top of a pillow, his hands guiding your ass until they collided with his waist.

“I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to buy you a house and a huge ring. Fuck—you’re going to have to stop me at some point because I’m going to get you pregnant every time you smile at me, love. Doesn't Ms. Park have a ring to it?" He growled grabbing your hair to pull you closer to his sweaty chest.

“What is that pretty head of yours thinking about, huh?” Jungkook snapped his fingers at you, placing a long mug of beer in front of you. The second cigarette of the afternoon dangled between his fingers as he waited for you to take a drink, his eyes darting from your chest to your hair. “I saw you look at the ring on your finger.”

“My boyfriend gave it to me a month ago.” You said fixing the thin silver ring, a promise desperate to be fulfilled.

“How very” The boy laughed, choking on the smoke, you held the beer and took a long drink.

You realized that men when they exist in a cloud of promises and anonymity are more fuckable, because now seeing the metalhead in front of you, you just wanted to hit him.

“I don't understand why you keep yapping when you're not here to hear me speak.”

“I didn't want us to move on to fucking so quickly, but if you can't wait, then we'll make a little something in the alley.” Seeing your face blush he laughed again. “I'm kidding, doll. Don’t be so rigid.”

With a whistle, Jeon effortlessly caught the eye of a man nearby. His muscles were noticeably defined, and he sported a pair of square glasses that added a touch of charm. Dressed in a casual plaid shirt, his hair styled like a military man. Spotting Jeon, his face lit up with recognition, and he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Kim, I thought you weren't coming to the meeting.” Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the man's slight tensing as his friend spoke, but without skipping a beat, his hand gently landed on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"You literally said-"

"No, I didn't. Gosh, give me a break."

Hoseok looked in your direction with a hint of distrust, the creases on his face sharpening with each step you took. You walked closer, his eyes traced your body from head to toe, his initial skepticism fading away the moment he reached your side. Your little shorts and Wham! t-shirt hugged your curves tightly, clinging to your tits like a sculpture of marble.

"What's this?" Hoseok pointed at you and moved his fingers up and down.

"Come, I want to introduce you to my friend. We met in…" Jungkook's smile widened as he tilted his hand. “Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have to make a place for her in the club, wouldn't you gladly have one of the sweetest pieces of meat of the whole faculty on the team, eh?”

Jungkook looked in your direction again, he knew that the way he spoke caused tremendous disgust in you and he enjoyed it. “This is Hoseok, the president of the archery club. Greet him before he hates you for some reason.”

"Shut up." Hoseok's voice cut through the air as he extended his arm to shake yours, his calloused hand brushing against your skin. His sharp eyes studied your hands intently, examining every detail. "You got weird fingers."

"Is that how you give compliments to pretty girls?"

Hoseok let out a sigh, nonchalantly plucking the cigarette from Jungkook's mouth. With a subtle gesture, he motioned for his friend to approach while bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“If you want to fuck one of the cheerleaders, find another way, I'm not going to put her in the club, dude.” His failed attempt at whispering, which was clearly intentional, didn't escape your ears.

“Do you think I have to fuck one of you to be part of your Disney Heroe theatre team?”

Hoseok's eyebrow arched, while leaning back against the bar stool. With a confident yet subtle sway, he adjusted his posture, his pelvis shifting ever so slightly, but still managing to catch your eye. A mischievous grin formed on one side of his lips, knowing full well of the effect he had on you. “And why the hell are you looking for me if you don't need me, Barbie?"

"I'm here to let you know that I'll be waiting for you in the green area on Monday at 3, expecting you to hand me a bow and arrow," You declared, a sweet smile playing on your lips like a precious jewel shimmering beneath a cloak of innocence as you deftly snatched the cigarette from between his parted lips. "And I hope you show up with a smile that could outshine the sun and a more decent cologne."

Hoseok scoffed with raised eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by your little rebel talk as you took a drag from his stolen cigarette.

"You do realize you'll be the only woman in the group, right? The guys ain't going to like you, they tend to be very…"

"Terrified of women," Jeon chimed in, leaning against your shoulder.

"Exclusive," Hoseok added.

"They'll probably do a jerk-off circle if they see me in a skirt." You quipped, a sly smile playing on your lips.

The three of you looked at the cubicle where the a few memebers sat, all upper class kids who couldn't get into anything in their lives without Mommy opening the door for them first.

“Whatever, you're not even that hot, they'll live.”

You smiled, turning around on your stool to continue drinking your beer. “See you on Monday, four eyes.”

“Bye, Hobi-Bobby.” Jungkook rested his arm on the bar, his eyes positioned on your profile.

“Do you want to fuck now? I love women who know how to silence men, i'm already hard.”

"Why are you so fucking disgusting?"

"You're the one sitting next to me, you can go now." And he waited. You stayed there, speechless and waiting, too.

"Kim?"

"Who?"

“The dickhead called you Kim.”

“I don't know who that is, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You nodded. You weren't too sure now. “Are you sure you're the one I talked to that night?”

"I promise you." Jungkook dragged his stool closer to your ear, the smell of nicotine and shaving cream was pleasant, manly. "Are those sugar tits as sweet as that voice of yours?"

“What time did I call you?” You ignored his nutty breath.

“Are you questioning me now?”

"Yeah."

His jaw tensed, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“I'm going to give you some advice, doll. If you want things to go well today, don't question me.”

You felt a rush cover your back, the beer felt colder on your fingers and you were more aware of his proximity. You were in his territory, you didn't know anyone there, you were screwed.

“Can you answer me just one thing and that's it?”

Jungkook moved closer and nodded, his pupils stabbing at your lips waiting for you to say something out of line so he would have an excuse to destroy you with.

“Why do people think you are weird?”

His sigh collided with your neck, a smile woven little by little; you could see stars in his eyes when he moved back. The raw desire to show you why.

He leaned close to your ear and whispered slowly, the urge to laugh drowned out by his words. Both his hands hiding his lips like a child. You swallowed as you finished listening, a long drink to finish the remaining beer.

He pulled out a new cigarette before your eyes met his again.

“So, in your room or mine?” He mumbled before lightning the tip.

“I'm- I think I'm going home.”

"Isn't your home in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, you silly little bun'?"

The man in front of you pouted, nodding with a dejected face when he saw you stand up, the large mug of beer hitting your trembling anatomy. You wanted to vomit, to shed your own skin to pieces, to vanish, to crawl along the road back home like a mass of nerves and to sleep in your bed until you forgot what this psychopath had just hummed in your ear in the middle of the crowd.

But what did you expect? Wasn't this what you were looking for?

That's why curiosity ends up being the cruelest animal feeling. It takes you to the cheese on top of the trap, it makes you look at the sun and go blind, it makes you run through the grass until you fall at the bottom of nowhere. Voices like Jungkook's end up taking you to a seedy bar, at the mercy of God if he is even allowed in these parts.

“Come on, I'll take the bike down for you, then.”

You grabbed your backpack and walked in front of Jeon, stares like needles digging into your shorts.

Outside, his arms stretched out to take the bicycle, as light as a feather.

“I would've take you to college but-”

“I think this is where our journey ends, Jungkook.” Your voice was firm, elegant. You knew when to say goodbye.

He remained silent, one last smile as a gift. "If you say so." His hands opened dramatically to show you the road.

You raised your leg until you sat down and accelerated down the street, the sun hiding on the horizon. You didn't know if it was the wind hitting your cheeks and eyes, but you felt the cold stream go down to your neck. You wanted the road to get shorter in front of you and suddenly you were crying like a lost child, the sharp exhale stinging your lungs, you took all the alleys you recognized and the ones you didn't and you looked around at the desolate sides of New York.

Hiding from the sun your skin grew cold and the sobs turned to murmurs praying that you would return alive to the arms of Steph or Bobby Joe.

But oh, how angelic you looked with the halo of Jungkook's car headlights on your back. A honk chilled your blood until you couldn't do anything but grip the handlebars until your knuckles turned white.

“I changed my mind, I'll take you.” His breathing was jagged, he was sweating deeply, swallowing hard to hide the psychosis.

“It won't be long now and my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

“Don't worry, just load the bike and I'll drop you off at his house.”

'No' was not an answer and you knew that, no one ever said no to him. And if they did no woman managed to keep her tongue to say it.

"Roger that. Thank you, Jungkook, you are a gentleman.”

“Of course, get off the bike now.” He muttered as he snatched the iron from your hands and threw it behind his vehicle.

The trip was lethargic, the music faltered in the car with each curve until you reached a neighborhood of white houses and yellowish lights, the crickets chirped in the safe silence of a suburb. You thought about getting out when the car stopped and screaming until your lungs vomited.

But of course, when you arrived the garage door was open, the car slid across the smooth concrete without a sound.

“Do you mind if I look for a few things before I take you home?” His voice sounded so carefree that you almost believed you were going back to your dorm room. You shook your head as he went down to close the garage door, the darkness consuming your hope.

Your heart began to beat blood so fast that your hands began to try to open your door, Jungkook tilted his head at the noise until he saw your reflection in the side mirror.

"Why you do that? God, you’re so stupid.” Jungkook took your hair in his hands and without much effort dragged you out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor. His hand covered your mouth, his calloused and sweaty fingers undoing the button on your Levi's until they stuck to your ankles.

“It's only once, you have to reward me for the beer you had, you know?” His voice burned in your ear along with the beating of your heart, a light hum of your soul trying to get away from your dirty body.

“Mm-” You groaned as you felt the fabric of his jeans mold between your ass. Moving was in vain, fighting a mere fantasy.

“Just a quickie and then I'll drop you off, don't be so rigid.”

Your body was puppeteered to the living room with dim lights, curved and modern furniture that someone paid great attention to match with the upholstery and the carpet that decorated the floor.

And your body was thrown to the edge of the pink couch, the metal underneath the cloth digging into your stomach, your ass in the air as you felt cold hands remove your underwear. Why weren't you moving? Why did you let this happen to you? What was your mom doing right now? You thought of her chubby body moving around her room while organizing her dresses, folding the flowery pieces and tucking in it away in her closet. Peacefully humming gospel songs.

Warm spit fell onto your pussy and you closed your eyes, the last tear creating a shadow on the corrugated carpet as Jungkook slid his cock around the entrance to wet the entire area. The phone rang five, six, ten times next to you. Beep.

Hello, you are calling the sweet home of Bee, Dr. Kim and Taehyung. We are on vacation in Florida, but when we arrive we will take your message. Bye bye!

Who were the animated voices humming on the phone and why was Jungkook's voice there? You looked at the stranger loosening his grip on the sudden crackling laughter coming from the small speaker on the phone.

"Fuck." The now stranger mumbled, holding your neck with his forearm.

"You got the wrong kid, callgirl." And your eyes opened like a full moon, you looked at the closed windows of the room. “Taehyung, you have ten to hide.”

"Shit." Taehyung whimpered behind you pushing your body to the ground, instinctively you grabbed his leg causing his body to fall to the ground next to yours.

If you were going to die today, you wouldn't do it alone.

"Five, six…"

“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking whore?! I will die if he finds me.” His reddened face dragged trying to take your sudden weight and strength off of him. It was useless. Black Sabbath began to play above the house, reverberating, like thousands of wasps between the walls. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please. Let me go."

Taehyung's head reached the kitchen when a worn military boot stopped his movements. The muddy sole of the boot collided with Taehyung's head, making it bounce again and again and again against the wood of the kitchen. It was a hollow, wet sound, more forceful with each blow.

You leaned your body back until you collided with the sofa, your nails anchored in the carpet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, ple-” Taehyung tried to speak until the boot took the last hit and his jaw hung from his mouth like a toy. His eyes looked back with mercy. Run, he shouted to you with his bleeding eyes, run until you die but run. A broomstick passed through his mouth until his body bounced once more. And then...

So still.

Drool was falling from the corners from having your mouth open for so long. Why didn't you run? Is it that the boot you were looking for so long? Was the cruelty of being curious true?

An excessively tall figure passed through the kitchen frame, avoiding Taehyung's lifeless body. Black was the first thing you saw: the dirty jeans, the leather jacket tied around his waist, the Motley Crue tank top pressing against his chest and shoulders. Sweat dripped from his mullet to his tattoos.

His face, soft and covered in red. His oval nose and thin lips, eyes like a dead deer. Metal surrounding the room like the choir of fallen angels.

It was him, it was Jungkook.

“Poor little thing.” He licked his lips as he held your chin so you were looking at him. “Look at you, so afraid of that fucking-” he growled under his breath, getting down to your level.

"Please don't kill me." You cried, the air was thick, like sulfur around him.

“I didn't promise you that in the call, baby. Did you forget already?"

His hands were delicate under your armpits until he lifted you up and took your body to the furniture sitting you on top of his wide thighs. Your body looking at the turned off television, the curved reflection showed the difference in size. You were a doll on top of that beast.

“Put your foot up.” He ordered as he grabbed your knee to help you put on your Levi's with the softness of a creature in feather hands. "Stop crying."

“I can't, I'm too scared, I want to go home.”

"Pity." Jungkook sighed, taking your underwear from his jeans, wet with some chemical. His tattooed fingers took the flimsy cotton to your nose. Bitter at first and then it burned in your lungs. “Don't try to fight it, it'll be worse for you, baby. Atta girl, just let go, inhale.” His voice was serious, unharmed, like an anesthetic just like the clorophorm. There was no harm in closing your eyes if you were in the great hands of a beast, a mammoth.

"I like you girls manageable, stupid." Was the last thing you heard, a smile grazing your neck.

Your body rose without permission, abrupt. The pain was immeasurable.

“Jimin, she's up!” You heard a small voice in the corner of a familiar room, the sheets rough and thick.

The silhouette of Jimin's younger brother ran to the kitchen. The other two brothers approached the door, their blond heads peeking out. Jimin pushed them until he reached you.

“Hyung-”

“Shut the door, JP. I’m sick of you, just eat your fucking breakfast and get out of the house.” Jimin shouted, looking at his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

The slow footsteps receded and Jimin turned his attention to you.

“Love, no, don't cry. I'm here.”

His name fell from your lips desperately as you squeezed his face, consuming every detail so your body knew it was real and wouldn't squirm like a worm.

“Breathe with me, come on.”

You closed your eyes hugging your boyfriend's neck.

“Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you in the twins' room.” You shook your head frantically without breaking away. “It's just to get the mud off your body, then we'll go back to bed.”

"Mud?"

“Minjun found you outside this morning, do you know where you were last night, who did this to you?”

You grabbed the sheets and uncovered your body, bruises covering your legs and stomach. The dried mud covering the sheets of Jimin's bed. A scream choked in your throat.

“Its okay, I can change the sheets. Don’t worry about that. Let's go champ, up.” Jimin patted your injured thigh so you would chain your legs around his abdomen. With a grunt, Jimin lifted you up and carried you to a makeshift tub of hot water.

The little beds were together on one side of the small room, a metal tub emanating sweet steam covering the walls of the room in a thin web of drops.

“Raise your arms.” Jimin kissed your neck gently, the nausea returning little by little but you just let your body melt in the arms of the only person who mattered. His eyes shone with the concern of a father, he undressed you as quickly as possible so that the bruises didn't have time to hurt. Reaching your shorts, he knelt in front of you and stared at your tired face.

“I shouldn't have gone to the bar last night.” He wavered his speech for a second as he slowly lowered the zipper.

“Shh.” Your hand fell into his messy hair, he was still wearing his pajamas, what time did Jungkook throw you in front of Jimin's trailer?

The silence became strange, different. You didn't understand Jimin's sudden furrowed eyebrows when he took off your Levi's.

“Minnie?”

“Motherf-” Jimin stood up and hit the wall hard. His body turned around until he was looking at the jeans on the floor again. “That's it, I'm calling Yoongi.”

"What? Yoongi, what for? Minnie, don't leave, please."

"Don't move!"

Your boyfriend disappeared from the room before you asked him what was happening. You sighed with a heavy heart as you walked in pain to the mirror on the wall: a wide, slimy stain extended from front to back of your panties, hickies covered your stomach. The pants fell to the floor and you went to the mirror on the wall.

Your trembling finger curved until you felt the hole between your legs, the whitish and salty cum thread stretched from your entrance to your shocked face.

You don't remember Taehyung penetrating you. Was Jungkook such an animal that he came inside while you were passed out? How could he?

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed silently, the pain was unbearable around your waist and legs, pussy still numb and you could only remember the patterns on the carpet.

Cruel curiosity.

#❗slasher! jk thoughts #bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts dark fic

330 notes · View notes