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batsycline69 · 4 months

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Chapter One: Head Above Ground, Feet in the Grave

Summary: You get a tattoo from Jason and realize your first impression may not have been spot on

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 5,576

Warnings: needles, profanity, canon-typical violence, reader has tattoos but is otherwise not described, jason doesn’t know how to flirt.

SERIES MASTERPOST | NEXT

“So. Whatcha reading?” he asks over the buzz of his needle gun. Your confused look is enough get him talking again. “Saw you with a book out front.”

As soon as he stepped out into the front thirty-five minutes after your appointment was supposed to begin, as peeved as you were, you couldn’t deny he was attractive. One of his broad shoulders leaned into the wall, his thick, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Dark curls with a patch of white at the front.

“Oh, it’s Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier,” you reply, a little surprised the guy built like a brick shithouse was asking about your reading. Then again, he’s probably just trying to make conversation.

Jason just nods.

Maybe he isn’t trying to make conversation.

The bad news is, up close, he’s even more handsome. Now you can see the little scar that angles through his eyebrow and another that curves up along his cheek. His eyes are intense as he works, his absurdly large hand has a firm grip on your forearm, guiding you as he works. He smells like cigarettes, but only just, and what you can assume is the lingering smell of the timeworn leather jacket sprawled across the chair in the corner. And all of this is bad news because this guy is obviously bad news. How can he not be, right?

It’s just this feeling, one that you couldn’t shake as soon as he sauntered towards you, the smell of cigarette smoke lingering on his worn black t-shirt. Like he’s too cool for you. Even as he’s permanently etching a skeletal bird into your arm, there’s this air about him you can’t quite place.

Before he led you back to his station, you were so certain there was going to be some sort of bikini-clad model plastered to the wall. But yet, the space is surprisingly empty. There’s a little corkboard leaning against a small table with old designs thumb-tacked to the board and not much else.

“How long have you been working here?” you ask.

Despite asking, you already kind of know the answer.

You’ve been following the shop’s Instagram for a while now. You remember the post introducing Jason, the carousel of photos demonstrating his work. Not that you’d tell him right now, but you had fallen in love with his style as soon as you saw it. The sure, thick lines. The moody shading. Bones and knives and bugs. He had no Instagram of his own for his work that you could find; only the posts in the shop with the caption ‘by Jay.’

“Couple months,” Jason replies. “I was traveling around for a while before. This is the first steady place I’ve worked.”

“Oh, wow, that’s cool. Where were you before?” you ask. It’s small talk, and you hate it, but the lack of conversation is uncomfortable in a way that usually isn’t the case. Silence doesn’t bother you. His silence does.

You wonder if his home lacks as much personality as his station. You imagine his apartment is the kind with the mattress sitting on the floor, TV on top of a folding table, and a refrigerator full of cheap beer. Something that doesn’t feel completely moved into.

He gives a small shrug of his broad shoulders. “All around,” he replies.

Even small talk seems to be off the table.

You give a curt nod of your head. A couple minutes pass, and you can’t take it anymore. “Sorry, you mind if I grab my book real fast?”

Jason nods in return, pulling the gun away. “Go for it.”

God, you feel him watching you as you slip off the table, heading towards your bag on the little couch in the corner. Why is he watching? Why is this so awkward? Is it you? Is this guy just that standoffish? You pull out your worn bookand get back into position on the table.

“You good?” he asks, his intense eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah, all good,” you say, holding the book open with one hand as the buzzing starts back up again.

This is pathetic.

Jason has spent the last few years spending his time around the worst of the worst. He’s been with assassins, arms dealers, and soldiers so bad, even the U.S. Military didn’t want them, and yet, he’s fumbling just because someone cute is reading classic literature.

Fuck.

He’s supposed to be better than this. Ever since he got back into Gotham two months ago, he’s been making deals with the worst of the worst—as far as drug dealers go—without breaking a sweat, and yet holding a conversation with you turns him into Mr. Darcy. He’s blowing it, and he cares that he’s blowing it.

At least everyone thinks he’s dead. If this had gotten out to anyone, he’d die again.

It’s been five years since he was resurrected. A couple of weeks have passed since he flew back into Gotham with another one of Talia’s connections, this time intending to stay for good. He found a little tattoo shop near Crime Alley. Close enough to keep tabs on everything, but not so close that he’d be crossing paths with Batman regularly. The last thing he needs is to run into Bruce while trying to come up on top of Gotham’s underworld. Not until everything was ready.

That’s his world. Swept off the street and recruited for a war that wasn’t even his, not really. That’s just what he was sold: security to a kid fending for himself.

Bruce may have believed he had something to show Jason about Gotham, but this city raised him more than anything. Without a stable place to call home, the city’s streets were the substitute. What more did Bruce have to teach him when Jason had already huddled for warmth in these alleys? Ran from cops, knew all the hiding spots. What did Bruce have to offer when Jason already saught comfort in a place where comfort died? In a place where hope was trying to grow on salted earth. A place so haunted, it’s more ghost than city.

Jason was made for Gotham.

After he died, Gotham fell to ruins in the greatest earthquake she’s ever seen. An anomaly. The world wanted to watch Gotham burn, abandon the city and everyone remaining inside it. Leave her buried in the fate the world deemed appropriate for a city so infected that everyone around suffered.

He knows what it means to come back again, maybe when staying gone was what should have been done.

While he learned how to kill, he learned how to tattoo. Bruce always went on about the importance of keeping their identities safe; he chose his playboy routine, and Jason chose this.

It started before Bruce even took him in. One of the older kids he used to sell stolen car parts to gave him a stick ‘n poke in the back of his dad’s auto shop. It’d only been a few weeks after his mom died. Bruce saw it within a few days of living at the manor. He didn’t comment, but Jason saw the scowl when Bruce saw the shitty skull on his ankle. He didn’t approve, and that made his chosen path all the sweeter.

In London, the guys he was staying with tattooed each other to pass the time. That’s how it all really started. He watched their hands as they worked, watched the way the ink shot into the skin. He gave his first tattoo in the seedy back room of some haunt for scumbags. He had yet to feel at home within his body again, like it was just on loan. Like his reanimation was contingent on something that could be taken away at any time.

But he kept living. And he picked up tattooing fairly quickly. He gave plenty of shitty tattoos to men whose lives ran off of fucking over innocent people. Some of them wouldn’t even live to regret his uneven lines. A good number of them, Jason watched die.

None of that, however, negates the fact that he still can’t have a conversation with you.

Every so often, he spares a glance at you as you read. You’re holding the book with one hand, awkwardly turning the page with your pinky in a way that he knows won’t last long. He’s trying to rack his brain for something, anything, to talk to you about once you need a break from your position.

When his moment finally comes, he clears his throat.

“You ever read any Virginia Woolf?” he asks.

He’s going to spoil his whole ‘asshole tattoo artist’ persona because he’s not supposed to be reading tragic modernist writers, but he can’t bring himself to fall into his usual routine. He wants to hide behind the metaphorical mask he wears when he’s not wearing his literal mask, but he just fucking can’t with you.

He doesn’t know you. You’re just someone who booked with him a few months ago. You’re a civilian, and he is supposed to be getting ready for his Gotham takeover. Now isn’t the time. He’s got work to do.

Unsurprisingly, you seem caught off guard by his question when you look up from your book. You try to regain your composure. You seem like someone who wants to be polite like that. Jason’s eyes land on your finger as it slips into your book to hold your place.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’ve read a couple of hers.”

Jason gives a single nod of his head. He breathes as if steadying his aim to shoot. “I’m reading Mrs. Dalloway right now,” he says.

If you were someone he had to threaten, it would be going better than this. He could get you to tell him all of your secrets in under a minute no problem. But he doesn’t actually have to know how to do any of this to know that’s the wrong way to go about it. Besides, how could he forgive himself if he brought you into Red Hood’s world? You don’t belong there.

“Are you much of a reader then?” you ask.

Jason recognizes it for what it is. You’re holding out a hand, practically guiding him into a conversation just like you’ve tried so many times. You notice he’s trying too.

His lip quirks up a bit at the corner. “Yeah, I am. But don’t tell anyone. If they figure out I’m not an idiot, they may ask me to help out more.”

You graciously laugh at his joke.

He likes your laugh. It’s soft, like your skin. He’s tried to not think about it, but he has noticed. He knows you’re going to take good care of the bird carcass he’s tattooing.

When you reached out and told him what you wanted, he knew he couldn’t possibly turn the idea down. He did always have a fucked up sense of humor.

You’ll never know what makes this funny. He can’t do that to you. Maybe you can know Jason the tattoo artist, but you can’t know Red Hood.

Jason looks at you with a softness you miss when you glance away for a minute. “I’ve got a Metamorphosis tattoo over here,” he says, briefly raising the arm holding yours down.

You turn your head, trying to get a look of his Kafka tattoo, and Jason feels a little bit of warmth growing in his chest, even if he desperately wishes he didn’t. He’s getting way ahead of himself like a kid. It’s going to hurt that much more when you realize all the reasons you shouldn’t get involved with him. He shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself. He shouldn’t be getting distracted. This job isn’t for him to make connections with avid readers; he’s here to know what’s happening and when.

For all he knows, you could be a spy, aware of the moves he’s trying to make. Could work for the Penguin. But he’s aware that’s a Bruce level paranoid thought, and he’s not proud to admit that. His ties to Bruce are supposed to be severed forever.

Two hours pass far less painfully than you were expecting. Not in the literal sense, because your arm has started to get sore, but in the sense that you and Jason are finally actually talking, more or less. You take a break, trying to get the blood flow back into your arm from being at an angle for so long.

Your stomach started rumbling half an hour ago, and now you’re scrolling through your phone, chatting with Jason on what you should order. He says by the time food would get here, he’d likely be finished up.

Jason’s already told you he doesn’t do a lot of delivery. He says it’s because things are always fresher at the restaurant.

After the last couple of hours spent talking literature, you know your first impression of him was wrong—there’s a joke about books and their covers somewhere in there—but be that as it may, you still haven’t quite figured him as the sort of guy that’s going to be overly snobby about food.

He says he cooks, and you believe him, more because you like to indulge in the thought of him knowing his way around a kitchen. You also just want to believe it for the sake of justifying the crush you feel creeping in every time he shifts your arm.

You’re not going to hold your breath hoping he opens up to you, but you can tell he’s someone with a story. Someone with history. And that’s something you can respect, because you’ve got your own past you’d rather not shell out just because your tattoo artist is hot. That doesn’t stop your mind from wandering though, trying to fill in the blanks.

Maybe he did some sort of stint in the military. That’s your first guess, at least. You didn’t get any more information on the tattoos he’d done ‘all over,’ and he doesn’t talk about it anymore, so you can’t really figure out anything more than that. You also consider the fact that it’s Gotham, and shit just happens. It’s not your right to meddle in whatever tragedy this city has doled out for him.

“One of the apprentices orders delivery here a lot,” Jason says, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s not helpful, nor does it answer my question,” you say. “Even if you don’t get things delivered, you still have to know what’s good around here, right? You’re not bringing a little brown bag lunch to work every day.”

“And what if I do?” Jason asks. His voice is low, almost like he’s daring you. The features on his handsome face are serious, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that hints he’s teasing you. And damn those eyes. You’re thankful he’s been spending the majority of your appointment staring down at your arm, because you’re not sure you’d survive two hours of looking at him, seeing where the thin ring of blue around his iris before it bleeds into vivid green.

You laugh. “Then I’d admire your dedication.”

You think he’s mostly being difficult because you offered to buy him food, a perfectly normal thing to do. But explaining to him that you’ve offered to everyone you’ve gotten a tattoo from doesn’t seem to change his mind. He’s stubborn, that much you can tell.

As you continue to scroll your phone, silence settles between the two of you. The silence doesn’t feel so oppressive this time, not weighted by awkwardness and uncertainty. Now it feels like a surrender. Neither of you bring up the beginning of the appointment. Not how he was late, not the tension that seemed to linger between the two of you, not how convinced you were that he actually hated the fact that you were sitting in his session.

“The fries at Wally’s are the best in Gotham.”

His voice comes from behind you, and you jump, turning over your shoulder quickly. He’s peering over your shoulder, eyes fixed on the screen of your phone. You hadn’t even heard him get up from his stool. Last you’d looked his way, he was sitting across from you.

You spit out a curse. “When did you get back there?” you ask, clutching your chest with overdramatic flair.

“What, you didn’t see me get up?” he asks.

You scoff. “No, I didn’t see you get up. What are you, some kind of fucking ghost?”

And Jason laughs.

At the best of the times, you consider yourself a relatively dignified individual. Maybe it’s a bit of flattery, but regardless, that’s what you’d like to believe. And yet, there’s something so incredibly rare about the sound of Jason’s laughter, something that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. It’s like hearing something long forgotten. Like catching the song of a bird long thought extinct. This isn’t the playful scoff of laughter like when you’d said maybe Northanger Abbey was your favorite Jane Austen book, and he’d said you seemed more like an Elizabeth Bennett than a Catherine Morland; this seems like something secret. Something reserved.

Even if the sound makes your stomach flip, your foul language hardly seems funny enough to warrant such a laugh. Your silly off-handed joke doesn’t seem worthy of the burst of laughter that bubbles up from his wide chest.

“I think the hunger’s getting to you,” Jason replies finally when the laughter settles. He nudges his head back towards your phone to get back on topic. “Wally’s is good.”

You have to yank yourself from your thoughts and will yourself to nod. “Yeah, okay,” you say, feeling like such a loser for the way a single laugh could knock you off your track so quickly. You go back to scrolling through the menu to give yourself something other than gawk at him. “So fries. What else is good?” you ask, not daring to raise your eyes.

Jason crosses back over to his stool and sits. Your face gets hot as you feel self-consciousness creep up thinking maybe you’d been obvious, worried you’ll scare him off. But before you know it, he’s naming off his favorite things. And yeah, maybe you bought more than you alone could eat, and maybe you got the burger he spent a few minutes gushing about. If he doesn’t want it now, he can save it for later.

But nearly an hour later, you have a whole spread of junk food in Jason’s station and a finished bird skeleton plastic wrapped on your arm. Jason rolls his eyes at your generosity, and you threaten to eat everything you bought all by yourself, but he eats the burger and steals the fries you jokingly told him to keep his hands off of.

“So can I ask why you were so late?” you ask.

You’re toeing your boundaries. Maybe you’re intentionally trying to press your luck. Part of you knows you maybe shouldn’t ask. But you do it anyway.

Jason looks up from his burger, wiping a small smear of ketchup off his lip. “You’re gonna think I’m an asshole.” He smirks when he sees you quirk your eyebrow. He was thirty-five minutes late; of course you already think he’s an asshole. At least he’s a good sport about it. “I was out smoking.”

“Mm,” you say with a mockingly serious nod of your head. “Leaning up against a wall, cigarette in one hand, Mrs. Dalloway in the other. I guess you must be so cool I have to immediately forgive you,” you say sarcastically.

“Shut up.”

You smirk and go back to eating your food, unaware of Jason’s subtle gaze your way now that your attention has been diverted.

Jason’s used to a somewhat infrequent eating schedule, otherwise known as he rolls out of bed half an hour before he’s supposed to be at the shop, which doesn’t give him much time to eat. And by the time he’s done with his shift, he’s usually starved. He tries to eat an hour before kicking anyone’s ass so he doesn’t cramp up, so that involves him cramming whatever leftovers he has in the fridge into his mouth the second he gets back to his apartment. Then, he goes back out to work.

He’s become somewhat of a late night chef, putting together whatever he can make as quickly and easily as possible. The sort of skills he’d picked up when he was all on his own, trying to keep himself fed from whatever was available, doing whatever he could to make the best of a bad situation. Shoplifting butter and pasta, crushing up old Corn Flakes in a bag with a hammer to put on top. It was something his mom had done. Something he didn’t want to give up.

For the past two hours, he’s been hoping you’ll say something stupid, like how cool you think Batman is.Instead, he finds you kind in a way he doesn’t really see that often. You tolerate his shit to a certain point, and you push back when he goes too far.

People are scared of Jason, hood on or not. And they should be. They see his scars, his tattoos, his sheer size, and they cross the street. They turn their eyes as he buys bread at the grocery store. They can see him for what he is. But for some reason, you don’t. At least not now.

He’s mapping out his plan of how to take over the city, and you’re giving him shit for being late to an appointment for a job he only has for information. The fact that he met you is just a blip in the greater scheme of things, and yet that’s going to be what he walks away from today thinking about.

A guy came into the shop earlier. A local dealer. Jason played cool, pretended he didn’t have an idea who the guy was. This lowlife didn’t need to know Jason already knew where he picked up his supplies. He’d asked if the guy had any plans for the day, as if Jason didn’t already know about a shipment coming in late tonight. Jason’s plans for the evening had been clear. All he had to do was get through one more appointment.

Except that appointment had been yours.

The shop is closed now. A few stations away, one of Jason’s coworkers is still working. In the lull as you both eat, the faint buzzing of the needle and music playing from the speakers up front. Even if Jason wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s comfortable with you, there’s something of a surrender in the time you spend together.

You don’t know the things he’s going to do once you leave, and you wouldn’t assume them of him. What are you seeing in him because it’s sure as shit not something he’s ever seen himself.

At some point, Jason knows he’s going to fuck it all up. You’ll probably get ready to leave, and he’ll say something as you walk out the door that will make you question all of this. Make you second guess this good opinion of him you’ve managed to come up with. It’ll be for your own good.

His eyes drift over to your arm, your bicep still wrapped up in plastic. He can still feel the warmth of your skin lingering on his palm.

For so long, he’d been used to the dull cold of the apartment he squatted in, frigid air seeping in through neglected walls. As hard as he tries not to, he remembers arriving at Wayne Manor for the first time. He’d forgotten home could be so warm.

The warmth of your arm felt like that.

Since coming back in Gotham, he’d given plenty of tattoos, touched plenty of arms. Body heat is body heat, except when it’s yours.

“Where do you go from here?” Jason asks, looking up from his burger.

You shrug your shoulders. “Home, probably. Gonna get that good post-tattoo sleep.”

It’s cold out. You’re bundled up in your coat, aware of the tenderness of your arm where the fabric brushes up against the flesh.

You’re walking towards your train stop. The sounds of sirens echo somewhere in the distance. Purple light filters out through the blinds of one of the apartments you pass, loud bass temporarily overpowering the distant wail of emergency vehicles for a moment as you walk by, until it fizzles back out into quiet. As the music fades, you hear the sound of a couple arguing from an apartment somewhere up above you.

Across from the stairs up to the station is a bar, patrons hanging around outside smoking cigarettes and laughing. You can feel a huddle of men watching you as you move, but you don’t glance their way, just make your way up the stairs.

Yellow-tinged lights line the station, a lamp every fifteen feet or so. From what you can see in the beams of light weakly dispersing from the streetlamps, you’re alone. You find a spot under a nice shelter, though nice is relative considering the lingering smell of piss and obscene graffiti on the walls, but it’s not out in the open where anyone stumbling onto the stop will find you.

The light above you flickers sporadically. You wish there was somewhere else you could wait.

Jason hadn’t seemed thrilled that you were going out to wait for the train all on your own, but you assured him, somewhat indignant, you could handle yourself.

“You sat really well,” he’d said, and you couldn’t help but entertain the idea of inviting him along on the train with you, but you were not going to stoop to that level.

The sounds of approaching footsteps reminds you to keep your focus. You can kick your feet about Jason once you get back to your apartment.

Three guys stumble up the stairs. And just your fucking luck, you’re pretty sure they’re the guys from outside the bar. They’re laughing, and their voices carry from the opposite side of the tracks. You hope they’re going northbound, that they’ll have no reason to cross the tracks. You keep your eyes fixed away from them, down the tracks, now feeling even more impatient for the arrival your train, hoping somehow it will turn you invisible.

But their boisterous conversation suddenly turns much quieter.

Your shoulders tense, and as subtly as you can, you try to slip your hand into your bag for your pepper spray. Blindly, you feel around, trying to move as little as possible so as to not draw any more attention to yourself, because you have no doubts you’re the reason their conversation has become so hushed. If this doesn’t end horribly, you’ll have to try to remember to clear out all of the junk you have stashed away.

One of the men laughs, and then their conversation stops all together.

Your fingers curl around the tube of spray in your purse.

Without looking, you know they’re moving towards you now. Their shuffled, stumbling footsteps are growing louder. They’re drunk and not looking for their night to be over just yet. Unfortunately, you just happened to be in their way while they were looking for the next phase of the evening.

“Hey!” one yells.

You don’t acknowledge him. Maybe they’ll be drunk enough to think you genuinely can’t hear them and give up. It’s wishful thinking, but what does that matter?

Now you’re regretting pretending you were so tough for Jason because these guys sure as shit wouldn’t even give you a second glance if you were standing next to him.

They’ve crossed the tracks now, and there’s still no sign of train headlights. Your grip on the pepper spray tightens, not wanting it to slip now that your heart is starting to race.

“Hey! You!”

You don’t look.

One of them grabs your arm and tugs you out from the shelter. You wince at the contact against the fresh tattoo. “We’re talking to you,” he laughs.

You’re about to use your pepper spray when it clatters to the ground.

All three men look down at it.

“What’s this?” the second man says, bending down and picking it up.

But before any of them can say anything else, a figure just outside of the ring of light the four of you are standing under. You can’t make out any details about him besides the sheer size of him.

“Walk away while you still can,” he growls. The sound of his voice isn’t quite right. It sounds distorted. Your skin prickles with nerves from the sound of it.

The man who picked up your pepper spray turns it towards the figure, threatening to spray.

The figure just chuckles. It sounds cold, metallic. The sound of a gun cocking follows as the figure steps just into the light. The pepper spray wouldn’t do the man any good.

A man wearing a red helmet walks into sight, gun trained on the man holding my arm, but his grip drops instantaneously as he knocks through his other two friends to run, but the other two follow behind almost immediately.

And that leaves you and the guy in the helmet alone.

Gotham has its fill of guys in mask, and sure, there seems to be a new one popping up all the time, but you don’t know this one.

You look up at him, eyes wide with fright. The second the men are gone, he puts the gun back in one of the holsters on his thick thighs, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has them. You don’t know who this guy is, who he works with, whether he’s any better than that group of men or just more armed.

“You alright?” he asks when you don’t say anything. He has a voice modifier, you realize now, though you piece that together slowly.

After a beat, you nod your head. Your hand curls over your throbbing arm. You don’t like that you can’t see where he’s looking. Just two unblinking white voids where his eyes must be. “Yeah,” you breathe. Your eyes fall on your pepper spray. The man holding it must have dropped it when he ran.

When it’s clear you’re not moving to pick it up, the man bends down and grabs it. He holds out a gloved hand, offering it back to you.

Your trembling hand raises and you take it from him, offering a barely audible thanks as you slip it back into your bag.

He nods.

There’s still no sign of a train, and he’s not moving.

“I can give you a ride someplace. If you want.”

Don’t take rides from strangers. You’d heard it just as much as anyone, and the man standing before you is the definition of a stranger. You can’t even see his face; you have no idea who he is beneath that helmet. The one thing you do know is he has a gun, and he’s built like a fridge.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he adds, but his modulated reassurances don’t ease your concern. He senses your hesitation and takes a step back. “Do you want me to leave?”

A few more seconds pass as you consider the question. What if those guys come back? What if some other group comes along? But is giving your home address to the guy with a gun a better idea? And would him standing beside you as you wait for your train make you feel any safer? Could you so willingly accept he wasn’t going to just wait for the moment your guard is down to do something, just the way this city works?

Finally, you shake your head. Neither decision seems like the right one to make. But he did help you. Now you just have to hope to god he’s not going to take advantage of your vulnerability.

You want to ask if he’s one of Batman’s friends, but you don’t find the words.

Instead, you two fall into a silence. For you, it’s tense. You wonder if he feels the same, or if this is just a regular night for him. He stands near you but keeps his distance, like he’s aware how intimidating he could be.

The train is so late. There must be some hold up. One of Gotham’s usuals causing a delay in public transit. Go fucking figure.

“Are you new?” you ask finally. If the train never comes, you might end up taking him up on his offer for a ride, so you may as well try and figure something out about him. Any sort of indication of if you can trust him or not.

There’s another distorted chuckle, though somehow, this one seems less malicious than earlier when threatened with your pepper spray. “You could say that.”

You have no idea how to respond to that, so you don’t.

Silence settles between you again. You can see the lights of the train in the distance. You’re hoping that nothing happens on the train. All you want is to crash into your bed.

The man in the red helmet stands beside you, not pushing any further to make conversation. He waits with you. As it screeches to a halt in front of you, you turn to thank him, but you notice he’s already gone.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #x reader

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thebearer · 1 year

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fall into me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: part 2 of follow me. your date with carmen.

contains: fluff. anxious carmen. mentions of mikey. but all fluff :)

Carmen was sure he was going to be sick. A new kind of sickness, where his stomach felt like it was going to fall out of his mouth and ass at the same time. He changed his outfit six times, slacks and a tie felt too formal. Jeans felt out of the question, and while the very cool guy on TikTok swore that slacks and t-shirts were in this season… Carmen couldn’t bring himself to wear it.

So he wore his slacks, good shoes he still had from pretentious meetings in the restaurant, and his good button down, a steely type blue- the saleswoman told him it really complimented his eyes, then wrote her number on his receipt. Of course, Carmen didn’t call it. He’d never allow himself the simple pleasures like that.

Carmen smoked the whole way to the restaurant, a bottle of cologne in his pocket, which he doused himself in on the corner, popping a mint. He saw you standing there, awkwardly on your phone by the light pole, head ducked to your screen in your black, silk, cowl neck dress. Carmen could feel his heart jump at the sight of you, cursing while he started to jog in the still new shoes.

“Hey, shit, sorry.” Carmen apologized, his chest tightening and burning as he slowed in front of you. “I-I couldn’t find my phone.” Definitely not because I tried on a million different outfits and had a panic attack.

“Ah, so that’s why you didn’t text me back. Thought you ghosted me at your own restaurant.” You quipped, his heart plummeting, face falling with it. You grinned, shoving your phone in your tiny purse. “‘M fucking with you, Carm. I just got here.”

“Oh,” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, good. That-That’s good. Do you want to go in?”

“Sure.” You giggled. “After you, Chef.”

“C’mon.” Carmen laughed lightly, shaking his head, hoping it would hide his burning cheeks. You were ahead of him, reaching for the door, his heart skipping when he saw it. “I got it!”

You drew your hand back, looking at him carefully. The blush in his cheeks spread down to his neck. “I-I got it, let me get it.” Carmen nodded, pulling the handle. You glided past him, his hand ghosting on the small of your back, leaving you shuddering under his touch. It was casual, you doubted he even knew he did it, just a slight usher while he followed you in.

“It’s so different being here at night.” You whispered to him, your arm brushing his while you walked to the hostess station.

Carmen nodded. “I know, it’s, uh, it’s nice to see it like this, ya know?” He muttered. “See it from a customer’s perspective.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” You asked, your head tilting to the side softly. “Why we’re kinda doing this?”

Carmen’s heart fell, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He could feel his own mind racing. Of course, you didn’t think this was a date. Why would you ever want to be on a date with him?

“I mean, yeah, sorta. Here f’you too. To thank you for everything.” Carmen nodded, eyes cutting to yours. Fuck, he knew he needed to look at you, he wanted to look at you, but it was so fuckin’ hard. When you looked so pretty, so effortlessly calm and cool. It made him fluster.

“C’mon, Carm. You hired me, paid me. And you guys have been so nice. Most places are… horrible. Act like I’m bothering them when they hired me. You’ve got a good place, great staff. I’m glad you wanted me to be a part of it for a while.” You smiled, stepping up to the hostess station.

Carmen could feel his heart squeeze, an uncomfortably tight realization that this would be the last time he saw you. He’d been running numbers all night, seeing where he could take cuts so he could keep you, but even then, you’d be gone for at least another two months since you already took another job. By then, whatever you had here, would be gone.

“Ah, there you are, the VIP customers for the night.” Richie schmoozed, sliding behind the hostess stand.

You grinned, Carmen’s eyes downcast making Richie’s jaw tick. “How are you two this evening?”

“Great.” You beamed. “Excited to try this place. I’ve never been here before. Heard it’s the best in Chicago.” You nudged Carmen playfully with your hip, grinning at him.

He gave you a tight lipped smile, hands by his side, trying to nonchalantly wipe his hands on his slacks. Richie smiled at you, glaring lightly at Carmen. “Well, you heard right, sweetheart. We want your night to be extra special, so we have this booth back here just for the two of you.”

“Hey, Syd,” Tina muttered, looking up from her plating to see your head pass with Carmen’s curly locks. “They’re here.”

“Shit, are they?” Sydney turned, looking through the window. “God, Carmen looks like he’s about to pass out.”

“Fuck, he does, doesn’t he?” Sugar huffed, her hands on her hips.

Richie caught Sugar’s eye through the window, a flickering glance that told her exactly what she needed to know. “So, I will have the focaccia out for the two of you shortly. Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“‘M good.” Carmen muttered, taking the leather bound menu into his hands, knee bouncing under the table.

You looked a little uncomfortable, eyes cutting to Carmen’s before a moment of hesitation flashed over your face. “Uh, I’ll take a glass of whatever you think would pair best with the meal?”

“Perfect. I’ll have that out.” Richie smiled, hoping his silent screams at Carmen would be enough for him to catch on. Fak passed, slipping a piece of paper in Richie’s hand. Richie stepped away, reading Sugar’s scribbled writing: “GET CARMEN BACK HERE NOW!!!!”

“Excuse me, folks,” Richie greeted apologetically, though the two of you weren’t talking. “Carmen, I hate to do this, but I need you just for a second, ok?”

Carmen nodded, sliding out of the booth without so much as looking at you. Richie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’ll just be a second. That focaccia and riesling are on the way.” Richie grinned at you, stepping beside Carmen.

“What’s goin’ on? Did we run out of-”

“-No, you fuckin’ moron.” Richie huffed, letting the door slam shut. “The fuck is your problem, huh? You’re not even- hey, send that to six with the Cakebread white, ok?- You’re not even looking at her, c’mon, Cousin.”

Carmen blushed, running a hand through his hair. “What? I-I’m talkin’ to her-”

“-No, you’re not.” Sugar snapped, rounding the corner. “You look like an ass, Carmy. You’re on a date with her and-”

“-It’s not a date.” Carmen shook his head, brushing it off.

Sugar blinked. “You’re on a date with her,” She repeated, her tone firmer- a mom tone she’d adapted since working here that would help with the baby. “And you’re acting like a total-total…” Sugar waved her hands, stuttering over the word.

“Jagoff.” Neil added, passing through the kitchen for a moment before going out the doors.

“Thank you! Yes! A total jagoff.” Sugar glared at Carmen.

“I-I don’t even think she thinks it’s a date-”

The kitchen erupted in groans, shouting at him irritatedly. “Look at how she’s dressed. If she thought this was a free meal ticket, she wouldn’t wear that. That is a date night dress.”

“That’s true.” Sydney added.

Carmen couldn’t help the way his heart flipped with excitement, looking out the window at you, sitting at the table, nursing your wine slowly- alone.

“Cousin, c’mere,” Richie motioned him, leading him towards the office. “Look, I get you got this whole ‘I deserve nothing good’ doom and gloom attitude, but that right there. That’s good.” Richie jabbed his finger towards the door. “I see you, ok? You guys got that cute little texting thing goin’ on, alright?”

Carmen stilled. He felt like a teenager again, being teased and tormented by Mikey and Richie about a crush he had. How the fuck did he know about your texting? “Look, if you let her go tonight without even trying, you’re gonna regret it. You only got one chance, cousin, do not miss your chance to blow.” Richie said seriously.

“Don’t fuckin’ quote Eminem to me right now-”

“-Alright, alright, but seriously?” Richie nodded into the office, the tiny frame that held Mikey’s note ‘Let it rip!’. Carmen felt his stomach turn, guilt trilling in it. He knew Richie was right and that fact alone made him queasy. “Listen to Mikey, alright? You can have good shit in your life.”

Carmen looked at the photo, taking a grounding breath, Mikey’s voice ringing loud in his ears. “Let it rip.” Carmen muttered, pushing past the double doors back to you.

“Oh, no way!” You laughed. “You don’t have TikTok?”

“No, no. Don’t have time for it.” Carmen shrugged, sipping his water.

“Then how do you watch our videos?” You asked, brow raising in question.

“I click the link you send me and it opens up just on my Google or whatever.” Carmen grinned, shrugging lightly, popping another truffle fry in his mouth. He’d nearly fallen over when you asked for ranch, teasing you lightly. You’d only shrugged, sticking one in your mouth, declaring it would taste better with ranch. You were kidding, of course, it was perfect.

“Wow.” You smirked, finger tracing around the rim. “You’re missing out. It’s addictive.”

“Yeah? It’s weird too.” Carmen snorted lightly.

“Says you! You’re Mr. TikTok Famous and you don’t even know it.” You pushed his arm lightly, trying not to gawk at how firm his biceps were. Sure, you’d definitely seen them while he was working, but… they felt better than they looked. “Should see how you’ve got everyone in a tizzy. Chopping onions and marinating wagyu.”

Carmen laughed, cheeks reddening at the compliment. “Yeah, those comments were…shocking.”

“You think?” You cocked your head to the side. “I thought they were pretty normal.”

“Half of them were asking me to violently punch them.” Carmen laughed, eyes widening at you.

“Well, can you blame them?” You grinned, leaning in closer. “You got nice hands. Of course, they’re going feral. I knew what I was doing with that shot. Giving the people what they want.”

Carmen blushed furiously, hoping you couldn’t see under the low light of the restaurant. “Nah, c’mon.” He looked down at his fingers, etched with tattoos.

“You c’mon.” You grinned, reaching out a little daringly to trace a finger over his veins. You’d blame the wine for your boldness, but Carmen shivered under your touch. “You’ve got hot hands. No wonder they all go so crazy. You’re a pretty chef with good hands.”

Carmen knew you had to see his blush now, sure his body temperature went up ten degrees, heart beating so bad in his chest he was sure he wasn’t going to make it another course. “Uh,” Carmen laughed, running his free hand over his mouth, hoping to hide some of his grin. He didn’t dare move his hand from his. “Well, thanks, I guess. I, um, I wanna say I think the same.”

You lifted a brow, biting back a laugh when he stuttered, his eyes widening. Your giggles were infectious to him, a stream of his own nervous laugh spilling out of his throat. “No, I-I meant- fuck, I meant… I, uh, I think you’re pretty.”

There was a pause, your own teeth pulling in your lip, grinning shyly at him. “Really?” You asked. You felt like you were in junior high again, finding out the boy on the JV team like liked you. It was giddy, the feeling in your chest. Warm, your heart skipping a beat.

“Yeah.” Carmen nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Beautiful, really.”

“Well, thank you.” You grinned, hoping to hide your smile behind your own glass of wine. Fak came by, dropping your next course off, a temporary relief for the moment, letting the two of you get yourselves together.

“You think he’ll do it?” Sugar asked, pretending to roll silverware while Richie handed them to her. A meaningless job that just so happened to be by the window, so they could see the two of you.

“I dunno. Could go either way.” Richie sucked in a breath. “He seems to be close, ya know? Think he has it in him to do it, just… fuck, I hope he does.”

“Me too.” Sugar sighed. “Can you hear what they’re saying? It looks… nice? So that’s gotta be good, right?”

“Yeah, hopefully…” Richie hummed, squinting to try and make out the words you were whispering to each other. The two of you were pressed together, migrated together as the meal went on until you were huddled, like it was the two of you.

“I really don’t want you to leave.” Carmen admitted, body pressed to yours, hand in yours in the dim light of the booth. Everyone had left, all the patrons shuffled out and escorted to their cars. Some of the kitchen staff went home, but some stayed, pretending to be extra tedious with their cleanup so they could see the two of you.

“I know. I’m having such a good time with you.” You agreed, tilting your chin up to look at him, lashes batting, eyes a little glossy from the wine.

“No- I mean, yeah I-I’m having a good time with you, too. But I meant… leave forever.” Carmen admitted, the lump in his throat growing more and more with each word. “I really liked having you here.”

“I liked being here.” You hummed, tongue running over your bottom lip lightly. “It was a lot of fun. I liked spending time with you.”

“Yeah? I liked spending time with you too. A lot.” Carmen admitted. “And I… I want to keep spending time with you?” It came out more as a question, all hopeful eyes and a rounded gaze. “If-If you want to-”

“-Yeah.” You grinned. “I wanna keep spending time with you. I like being with you, Carmen.”

“Yeah? Really?” Camren was half convinced he was hallucinating.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “If you wanna spend some more time with me too. I’d like to get to know you more, and not to just write a staff spotlight on.” You giggled, his lips curling at the sound. “To, like, really get to know you.”

“I would… yeah, I’d like that. Like to get to know you too.” Carmen nodded.

There was a pause, the tension between the two of you was thick. Your eyes darted from his lips back to his eyes, already leaning closer. Carmen could feel his stomach lurch with nerves, Mikey’s voice ringing over and over and over.

Let it fuckin’ rip, Carmen thought before he moved in, lips on yours. His hands were clammy cradling your jaw but you didn’t seem to mind, your own arms snaking their way around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss.

“Holy shit!” Richie gasped, dropping the fork. “Look! Fuckin’ look!”

The staff clambered around to huddle by the window, watching the two of you kiss, pulling apart with small smiles, before going back in. Carmen’s hands sliding down your back, your arms, your waist- fuck, he just loved feeling you like this, and he hadn’t even felt all of you. Yet.

“He fuckin’ did it.” Richie grinned, awing at Carmen. “Hey, Sug, might be a bad time, but I believe I’m owed fifty dollars.”

You pulled apart, grinning at Carmen, still huddled close together, his hands rubbing the silk fabric of your dress, your sliding through the curls on the nape of his neck. Your mind was dizzy, the rush of adrenaline, emotion, and buzzing from the wine.

“What’re you doin’ tomorrow?” Carmen asked.

“Nothing.” You hummed. “Why? You’ve got something in mind?”

“Not-Not right now, actually.” Carmen admitted with a small laugh. “But I’d love to do something with you.”

“Me too.” You smiled.

Carmen looked around, catching his staff standing in the window, rolling his eyes when they darted after he caught them, scampering in different directions. “Um, it’s gettin’ kinda late.” Carmen looked at you, fingers drumming on his thigh- that was still touching yours.

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking at your phone. “I guess I should go, and I’ll, um, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Carmen nodded, sliding out of the booth then offering his hand to help you. “Did you walk here?”

“No, I took the L.” You walked towards the door beside him. It was quiet, the soft hum from the kitchen, the muffled clatters of pots and pans being put away.

“Me too. I’ll ride back with you?” Carmen offered.

“I thought you lived like three blocks away?” You giggled, tilting your head to the side. “And I’m in the opposite direction.”

“Yeah, I-I do.” Carmen nodded. “I just… You shouldn’t ride alone at night, ya know? Shit could happen and… I don’t want it to. To happen to you.”

You could feel the heat flushing through your cheeks, through your chest. You laughed lightly. “Is this your way of trying to come home with me?” You lifted a brow playfully.

“No! No.” Carmen shook his head, flustered, which made you laugh harder.

“I’m kidding, Carm.” You giggle, reassuring him. “But… if you wanted to come stay the night. Since it’s late… and you’re insisting on coming with me on the L.”

“I don’t wanna make-make it weird, or come off like that. I-I really am… I like you.” Carmen stuttered. Fuck, there was nothing more tempting than that invite, but Carmen didn’t want to fuck this up. He really didn’t want to fuck this up.

“I mean, stay over so we can talk more.” You gave him a pointed look. “We were having a good conversation. Weren’t we?”

“Yeah, no, yeah. Yeah, we were.” Carmen stuttered, hand on the door, twisting the lock though his eyes never left yours.

“So… You want to come over then? Finish telling me about Copenhagen? Please?” And how could Carmen say no, his head spinning with excitement when he walked out behind you, letting the door fall shut, your arm looping around his while you walked towards the L.

Richie ran to the front, pushing the door open with Sugar and Tina, watching the two of you walk towards the station. “Good job, Cousin.” Richie muttered.

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xxbimbobunnyxx · 8 months

Text

The First Time I Saw You

Summary: You and your girlfriend have some fun with Eddie in his van after one of Corroded Coffins shows. (This is the prequel to my fic See You Again, it can be read as a standalone and it doesn’t really matter what order you read them in if you do want to read both.)Wk:6.5k

Warnings: M/F/F threesome, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, hand job, like one use of “sir”, a little spanking, reader is in an established queer relationship with my OC, Dom/sub dynamics, switch!eddie, sub!reader, Dom!OC, choking, spit kink, hair pulling, van sex.18+MNDI!!

A/N: Omg okay, I finally finished this. I’ve had it half done for like 5 months and today I got this random spark to get it done!! Thank you to my beloved @babygorewhore @bimbobaggins69 & @reidsbtch for beta reading this baby for me. Divider is @firefly-graphics. Moodboard.

“I’m just going to go ask him if he wants to.” Chloe has a determined look in her eyes as she looks at the metal head across the bar having an after show drink with his friends.

“Chloe! You can’t just walk up to him and ask him if he wants to fool around with us. What if he thinks we’re creepy?”

“Baby…” She grabs your face in her hands, her blue eyes are filled with soft reassurance but also authority. “He is not going to think that. If two hot babes walked up to you and just straight up asked you if you were down to fuck what would you do?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your eyes widen as you imagine yourself in that scenario.

“Damn… I guess you’re right, I’d go crazy if that happened to me…” You bit your lip, your eyes glazing over as you imagined yourself and Chloe with another woman. Or even two.

“I’m always right.” Her voice snapped you out of your slight trance. “I’m going to talk to him, do you want to stay here or do you want to come with me?”

She gave you the option, knowing how nervous you can be sometimes, letting you know without saying it that she understands if you want to wait here for her.

“I feel like it would look kinda weird if I just sat over here… I’ll go with you.” You shrugged, letting her pull you up by your hand and guide you across the bar to the table where he and his friends sat.

When you approached they all stopped talking at once, surprise evident on their faces.

“Hello boys. Eddie, may we have a word?” She barely even spared his bandmates a glance as she stared directly at him.

“Uh- Yeah, totally.” His voice shook a little as he spoke, like he was nervous.

“Cool.” She smiled at him before turning on her heel and walking towards the back door of the bar where they had a small smoking area. Her hand is still in yours, pulling you behind her.

Eddie stares after you in shock for a moment, shaking his head to make sure he isn’t dreaming. He takes a deep breath before getting up from the table to follow you outside.

Chloe leans against the wall, pulling her packs of cigarettes out of her purse and lighting one. Seconds later Eddie comes walking out the door, looking a little flustered.

“Want one?” Chloe shook her pack at him with a smirk.

“Yeah, thanks.” He went to grab one but she pulled it back before he could. Taking one from the pack herself and holding it up to his lips expectantly. He obliges, taking the stick between his lips, shivering at the feeling of her soft fingers against his skin.

She pulls the lighter from her back pocket, holding it up to his cigarette to light it. When he inhales his cheeks hallow a bit and you could just barely make out a dust of pink across them. You wanted to lick his face, if you were being honest with yourself. You couldn’t stop thinking about how good he might taste, probably salty from sweating on stage, the thought made your thighs clench.

Chloe throws her arm around your shoulder, drawing you close to her side with Eddie less than a foot in front of you.

“How did you know my name?” He asked curiously, not necessarily addressing either one of you but looking between you both.

“You only yell it every time you play a show.” Chloe chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes.

“Damn. I guess you’re right. I don’t know your names though…”

“I’m Chloe… and this is my Angel of a girlfriend.” She says your name so sweetly, like you’re her grandest prize.

“I’ve uh- seen you guys around at a few shows, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself and thank you guys for always coming out. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course Eddie, I really do like your guys’ music, I remember the first show I came to a few months back I was blown away by your covers but when you played that first original song? The one with all the D&D references? I was shocked that you weren’t already famous. It was almost like it was a whole campaign worth of story packed into a few minutes.”

You spoke for the first time and Eddie almost pinched himself. You, the girl he’s been trying to find the courage to talk to for weeks are not only talking to him but you’re talking about music. His music and how you understood it. He didn’t even feel bad in that moment for trying to think of any possible way he could steal you from your girlfriend. He was pretty sure he was in love with you now.

“Wow. You really noticed that? I don’t think anyone outside of my friend group has really picked up on that, and if they have, they didn’t say anything. That’s awesome, thank you…” He was fully blushing now and he tried to hide it with a drag off his cigarette.

“She’s very observant, aren’t you baby? Especially if there’s a hot boy involved.”

Eddie stood there trying to formulate a response with eyes the size of saucers.

He looks between you and Chloe, her with a Cheshire Cat grin and you with a giggly nervous one. He was trying to wrap his mind around why you were talking to him, where you fucking with him?

“Don’t look so surprised honey, you’re hot, beautiful even.” Chloe’s voice is saccharine and dripping with lust. The compliment isn’t even directed at you and she still manages to make you feel flustered.

“Me?” He points both pointer fingers towards himself, as if there’s anyone else out there besides the three of you.

“Yeah, you. Who else?” You look at him, biting your lip to hold in a laugh.

“Oh! Well thank you… You’re uh - you’re really beautiful too, both of you.” He takes the final drag of his cigarette with shaky hands, stomping it out with his boot.

“You’re really cute when you’re nervous, did you know that?” Your girlfriend’s icy blue eyes drink Eddie in hungrily, her tongue running along her plush bottom lip.

“I have a question, well, we have a question for you.” Chloe’s boldness has always been a turn on for you, the way she sees something she wants and always gets it, drives you crazy. If it were up to you, you’d both be staring at Eddie from across the bar still. She really does complete you, in every way.

“Yeah you can uh, you can ask me anything.” His voice sounded breathless already and all you’ve done is give him a few base level compliments. You couldn’t believe you built him up to be this untouchable sex god and here he is adorably fumbling over his words.

“You wanna fool around with us? In your van maybe?” She said it like it was the most casual question in the world.

“Wha-? Do I wanna - What? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, sweetie.”

She smirked at him as she approached him, closing the distance between them.

Eddie’s eyes went wide and his breathing picked up. His heart was beating so fast he was scared you could hear it from a few feet away. Chloe brings her hand up to cup his cheek, running her thumb along his bottom lip, spreading the spit around that had collected there from him nervously licking it.

She was pleasantly surprised when he took the digit into his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and swirling his tongue.

“Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.”

•

That’s how you found yourself giggling with your girlfriend and Eddie Munson as you climbed into the back of his 1971 Chevrolet Beauville. It was surprisingly clean, which you assumed was partly due to the fact that all the gear he must normally store back here was all still inside. There were a few pillows and blankets stacked in one corner and he hastily spread them out for you.

As soon as he sat down next to you Chloe was crawling into his lap, straddling him.

“You gonna be a good boy for me? I’ll only let you play with my girl if you’re good.” She snakes both of her hands into his hair and tugs, causing him to let out a groan that went straight between your legs.

“Yeah I’ll uh - I’ll be good, promise.” He nodded the best he could with your girlfriend's hands still tangled in his hair and you felt the wetness in your panties grow as you watched him submit to her so easily.

“Good. Kiss her.” Chloe uses her grip on his hair to turn his head toward you before releasing it.

You turn your head to meet his and eagerly smash your lips together. His lips are soft and he tastes like the cigarette he just smoked and the beer he was drinking earlier but there was something else there that was just him and you wanted more. You turn your body towards him so you can throw your leg over Chloe’s and press your pussy against his thigh. Your hand comes up between them to rest on his chest and you subconsciously start to grind against him. His tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you immediately grant him access, the taste of him enhancing tenfold.

“Baby.” Your girlfriend’s voice causes you to break the kiss and look at her immediately, always eager to please her, always her girl good. “Why don’t you take your panties off and sit on Eddie’s lap?”

Eddie’s eyes roll back and he nearly chokes at the thought of you in his lap. You nod eagerly and Chloe slides off of him so you can switch places with her. You crawl into his lap, your wet pussy pressing directly against his hard cock causing you to let out a breathy moan.

“Hi Eddie.” You look at him almost innocently but your hips grind down on him sinfully and he wants to fucking eat you alive. But he also wants to be respectful of the dynamic you have with your girl. He wanted to be good for her, wanted to hear her say those two words again… good boy. He never thought he would be into something like that but the way Chloe looks at him and talks to him makes him want to do whatever she says.

“Hey princess, you’re so pretty.” He brings his hands up to cup your face, running his thumbs along your cheeks as he looks at you almost lovingly and it makes your head spin.

Before you have time to process his gentleness you feel Chloe’s hand wrap around your throat from behind, pulling your head back towards her.

“Now, I didn’t give you permission to kiss him, did I baby?” Her voice is almost a growl and makes you subconsciously grind down on Eddie again, causing him to throw his head back and moan.

“No - no - you didn’t. I’m sorry.” You whimpered, feeling your head starting to go fuzzy for her already.

“That’s okay, I’ll let it slide just this once, because I know you're excited. Now be a good girl for me and bend over.” She releases your neck, pushing you by your back so your chest is flush against Eddie and your ass is in the air. She lands a harsh smack on your left cheek causing you to jerk forward and yelp.

Her fingers easily sliding through your slick lips and over your already sensitive clit.

“Mmm baby girl, you’re so wet for us already, you’re practically dripping and we’ve barely even started. This slutty little pussy is just so desperate huh?” Without warning she shoves two fingers knuckle deep inside you, they slip in and she hooks her fingers, finding that spot inside you that makes you go crazy with ease.

You push back against her fingers, your bare clit rubbing against the rough material of Eddie’s jeans causing you to let out a moan that makes him feel like he’s going to bust before he even has his cock out.

“Can I kiss Eddie now, please please? I promise I’ll be sooo mmmm - so good. FUCK!” Chloe’s fingers pick up speed, your hips meeting every thrust and your clit dragging deliciously against the metal head underneath you. You feel yourself getting close already, your hips subconsciously grind back, fucking yourself harder against her fingers. You're about to tip over the edge when she pulls her fingers from you, causing you to whine at the loss.

“Don’t be greedy, baby. I’m gonna let you cum. Eventually.” Her hand comes down on your ass again and you full on moan this time, desperate for anything. “Why don’t you scoot down and suck Eddie off while I eat this pretty pussy? Bet you’d like that huh?”

“Uh huh - yes please…” you lift your head from Eddie’s chest so you can look into his big brown eyes. He’s giving you this look like he wants to eat you alive but there’s a hint of nervousness underlying there and you want to wash it away. “Would you like that Eddie? Want me to suck you off?”

“You have no fucking idea how badly I want that, sweetheart…” He bites his lip, his eyes roaming your face, tits, neck. He wants to mark you all over. He wants to bend you over and rail you into the floor of his van but he also wants to be respectful of the dynamic you have with your girlfriend. He’s never done this with two girls before and he really doesn’t want to fuck it up.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere in the van behind you. Eddie’s eyes look like they’re literally going to pop out of his head when he sees that you aren’t wearing a bra, your bare tits now on display. He just wants to latch onto a nipple and never stop sucking.

“Take this stuff off, I wanna see you…” You tug on his jacket and battle vest, then pull on the front of his band tee. A pout set on your lips. You don’t have time to enjoy the show though because you’re being pulled by your ankles down Eddie’s body. Your bare nipples rub against the rough denim of his jeans and you moan at the feeling.Chloe tugs on you until your face level with the metal heads crotch, and then she grabs you by the hips, hiking your ass in the air. You barely have time to process her movements before she licks from your clit and up your slit, slipping her tongue between your wet folds.

“Oh fuuuuck.” You moan as you look up Eddie, his top half is now bare. He has tattoos on his chest, black ink against alabaster skin, his hair is already a slight mess, and he’s panting as he watches your girlfriend devour you from behind. Your fingers reach for his belt buckle, undoing it with ease, then you make quick work of his button and zipper. You tug on his waistband and he helps you pull his pants over his ass by lifting his hips. When his cock springs free it hits his bare stomach and you can’t hold in your gasp at the sight of him.

He’s huge. Thick and long. There’s a bead of precum dripping from his tip and he’s so hard it almost looks painful. You hold eye contact with him while you spit on your hand before taking his shaft in your now slick palm. You stroke him gently a few times before taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The moan that leaves him is one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard and you want to hear him do it again and again so you take more of him in your mouth, still using your hand to stroke what isn’t being devoured by your lips and tongue.

Chloe takes your clit in her mouth and sucks hard, her tongue flicking against the bud. You feel two of her fingers circle your entrance before she’s inserting them back inside you, pulling a loud moan from you. Eddie throws his head back at the feeling of your mouth vibrating around him. You take the rest of him in your mouth, your nose nestled against the patch of coarse hair at the base of his cock.

“Oh fuck - fuck - sweetheart, oh god.” He throws his head back against the back of the driver's seat, exposing the long expanse of his neck. You want to cover him in bruises so he won’t be able to forget about you for weeks.

He glances down at you. Drool is dripping from the sides of your mouth and onto his balls and you’re looking up at him through your lashes. You aren’t moving your head but you’re swirling your tongue around his shaft and he swears If you don’t let him breathe in a second he’s going to bust down your throat. You pull off of him with a pop, much to his relief.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna - fucking cum.” Eddie watches as your eyes roll in the back of your head before your face falls forward onto his bare stomach. Your hands grab onto his sides, your nails digging into his skin deliciously. He looks up at Chloe and she’s already staring at him with a glint in her eyes. Her face is still buried in between your legs and she’s sucking on your clit like her life depends on it. She curls her fingers just right and that’s all it takes. She feels your walls tighten around her digits and a loud moan leaves your lips. You shove your hips against her face as hard as you can, chasing every last second of your high. He’s pretty sure he could cum just fucking watching this.

“Good fucking girl, that’s my good girl.” She sits up, rubbing her hand over the globes of your ass, soothing you as you come back down to earth. She leans over you and brings the fingers that were inside you to Eddie’s lips. “Open up, pretty boy.”

You raise your head just in time to watch him take her fingers into her mouth, his plush pink lips wrapping around her slender slick covered digits. He moans at the taste of you and it causes you to whimper. God they’re both so hot.

You feel her weight lift off of you and raise your head from Eddie’s stomach, looking over your shoulder at her. You watch her crawl forward and snake her fingers into Eddie’s curly mane, pulling his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. You watch the way his thick ringed fingers wrap around her plush hips through her ripped jean shorts and it makes you clench your thighs. She’s wearing too many clothes for your liking. Chloe is always first and foremost a giver, to the point that she often forgets about herself. But you never forget.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can come up behind her and rest your hands on top of Eddie’s. You push her cherry red hair to the side and place sloppy wet kisses along the column of her throat. You hear gaspy little muffled moans leaving her lips as Eddie continues to devour her mouth with his own. You snake your hands around her waist, reaching for her studded belt, you unbuckle it as your kisses start to travel down her tank top strap covered shoulder. You undo her shorts the rest of the way so you can shove your hand down the front of them, your fingers easily finding her slick lips. You gather her wetness before bringing the tips of your digits to her clit, circling it.

“Oh my god, baby girl, yes.” She throws her head back against your shoulder as you insert two fingers inside her, your palm grinding down on her clit as you thrust them inside her.

Eddie pushes her cut up band tee over her chest, revealing her also braless tits. God, you guys were going to fucking kill him. They were so nice it took him a second to do more than stare. You couldn’t blame him, your girlfriend's tits were one of your favorite parts of her. Chloe has big tits, there’s no other way to say it. They’re supple and she has great nipples and you could suck on them for hours. After a second he breaks from his trance, roughly taking them in his large hands. He pinches her already hard nipples between his fingers and it causes her to whine. One of your favorite sounds.

“Spit.” She holds her hand in front of your mouth and you oblige, letting a string of spit fall into her palm. She brings it to Eddie’s cock, immediately jerking him off hard and fast. A loud groan rips through him as he leans forward and takes one of her nipples in his mouth.

You shove her shorts down her hips and she helps you kick them off her boot covered feet. Your hand finds her center again, plunging two fingers deep inside her while your palm continues its assault on her clit. She’s still jerking Eddie off and he’s mouthing all over her tits, leaving them covered in his spit. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. You curl your fingers against her g-spot and bring your lips to suck on that spot on her neck you know drives her crazy.

“Fuck- oh my fucking goddd! Yeah, you guys are so good for me, you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” Chloe pants and her hips start to move in tandem with your hand, the hand she’s jerking Eddie off with is merely holding onto his shaft now and you can feel her walls clench around you.

“Please cum for me, I’ll be so so good for you, I just want you to cum. You’re so pretty when you cum.” You’re pathetically begging for her to fall apart for you but you don’t even care, you just want to make her feel good.

“Ohmyfuckinggod - I’m cumming!!” Her hips pick up speed and her arm shoots out behind her to grab onto your hair, pulling it while her walls spasm around your fingers. You fuck them into her until she grabs your wrist and uses it to pull your fingers from her core. Eddie reaches over to grab your hand, greedily sucking her juices from you. “I think I wanna ride you now, pretty boy. What do you say?”

“Oh god, fucking yes please.” His voice is needy and desperate and you want to bottle it up and listen to it on repeat on a rainy day.

You watch as Chloe throws her leg over his thighs so she can straddle his lap, her bare cunt making contact with his shaft. They both moan in unison at the feeling, her hips move back and forth to glide her slick lips along his cock. You watch as she raises up to her knees, she takes him in her hand and lines him up with her entrance. Chloe isn’t one to be slow, with anything really, so she immediately slams all the way down on his cock. Grinding her hips flush against him.

“Holy fucking shit, oh my god - fuck - you feel so good.” He grabs handfuls of her thick ass as she grinds down on him, her tits swaying deliciously in his face. Then she starts bouncing, hard and fast. You watch the way her pussy sucks him in over and over again, and whimper at the sight. You can see a milky ring of your girlfriend’s arousal around the base of Eddie’s cock and you find yourself wanting to lick it. But his jeans are in the way, so you make quick work of his boots, pulling them off along with his jeans.

“Shit - thank you sweetheart - ohmyfuck!” Eddie lets out a loud moan when you lean forward and lick across his balls. You take one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before repeating the action on the other side. You swirl your tongue along his sack before licking up to where him and Chloe are connected. Both their moans increase when they feel your tongue wrap around the back of Eddie’s shaft, licking at your girlfriend’s milky cum.

“Oh baby girl, fuck that feels so good.” Chloe moans when you slip your tongue inside her along Eddie’s cock, fucking it into her a few times. “Come up here though, wanna see your pretty face when I cum.”

You crawl over to her, sitting on your knees beside her. She takes your face in her hands, kissing you roughly, moaning at the taste of herself on your tongue.

“Give Eddie a kiss too baby.” She grabs the hair at the nape of your neck, using her grip to turn your face toward Eddie. He grabs your face in his hands, slamming his lips against yours. He immediately swipes his tongue against your bottom lip and you intertwine it with yours. Chloe is still riding him like her life depends on it, causing him to moan into your mouth. “You should choke her Eddie, you can be rough with her if you want, that’s okay with me.”

If that wasn’t music to his fucking ears. He’s wanted to just grab you and fucking take you this entire time, your submissive demeanor was driving him insane. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but now that he didn’t have to? Fuck. He was going to wreck you.

“You want that baby? Want me to be rough with you?” He grabs your jaw in his hand, pinching your cheeks together. The look in his eyes was different now, more feral.

“God, yes.” He takes the chance immediately, the hand on your jaw coming down to squeeze your throat just right. “I want you to use me Eddie.”

“That’s so fucking hot.” Chloe moans, picking up the pace of her thrusts on Eddie’s cock.

“I still haven’t gotten my hands on this pussy, take your skirt off for me, princess.” He groans when he feels Chloe’s pussy clench around him, releasing your throat so you can throw off your skirt and shoes. When you return to his side his fingers glide down your body, between your tits, over your mound. He slides them between your legs, gathering your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for us. I wanna make you cum.” He cups your pussy, thrusting his palm against your clit. The tips of his fingers dip into your dripping hole every few thrusts but never go fully inside you. You're so wet his hand is practically gliding against you and it’s making noises you’d be embarrassed of if you weren’t so turned on. “You want my fingers baby?”

“Uh huh - yeah please, sir.” Your eyes are wide and glassy, the name slipping out of you almost subconsciously. Eddie nearly cums at the sound. Chloe is still riding him like it’s her job, one of her hands in his hair, tugging it deliciously. Her other hand reaches out to replace Eddie’s around your throat and your eyes roll back.

“I think you can cum like this though, don’t you? I think I want the next thing inside you to be my cock.” His palm speeds up against your pussy, determined to pull an orgasm from you and Chloe both. He hopes he isn’t talking out of his ass though, because he’s honestly trying so hard not to bust his load right now.

“I think he’s right baby, I think you’re such a desperate little slut you can get off just from grinding on Eddie’s palm.” Chloe uses her grip on your throat to pull your face close to hers, her signature Cheshire grin painted across her lips.

Eddie plants his feet on the floor of the van, using his free hand to grip onto Chloe’s ass as he starts to meet her erratic thrusts. You can tell she’s getting close when her mouth falls open and her eyes roll back. Her grip on her throat tightens and she’s letting out those whiny moans that she only lets slip when she’s about to cum. You bring your hand between their bodies so you can rub circles on her clit. It only takes a few seconds before she’s tipping over the edge. Her walls clench around Eddie’s cock, her hand on your throat still cutting off your air supply in the most perfectly delicious way. Eddie’s using every ounce of strength he has not to cum right now, his hand still thrusting in tandem with your hips. He leans forward and bites into your shoulder and the feeling sends you over the edge. Your whole body tenses, your legs clamping shut on his hand and you reach out to grab onto his forearm so you don’t fall over.

“Oh fuck - I’m gonna-“ Eddie can’t hold it anymore, everything feels so good, you’re both so fucking hot he’s felt like he was going to bust since you first walked up to him in the bar. But then suddenly Chloe is pulling off of him. His cock slips from her warm walls and his release is taken with it.

“Not yet, pretty boy. Don’t you wanna fuck my girls pretty little pussy too? She’s so desperate for it. Look at her.” Chloe grabs your jaw roughly and you whimper, you still have Eddie’s hand clamped between your legs and there’s drool dripping from the side of your mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly and your lips are kiss swollen, your mascara running lightly. Eddie wanted to fucking ruin you.

“Fuck, you know I do. You want that, angel face? Want me to fuck you?” He teases your entrance with his fingers again, dipping his fingertips just barely inside before pulling his hand away entirely.

“Please.” You whimper.

“Be a good girl for us and get on your hands and knees.” Chloe squishes your cheeks together, shaking your head from side to side before releasing you from her grip. Eddie grabs one of the pillows and drops in in front of you, the sweet gesture despite the fact that you know he’s about to fucking rail the shit out of you warms your insides in a different way. You place your knees on the pillow, resting your hands on the blanket underneath you. You arch your back so your ass is in the air and you hear two seperate groans behind you.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.” Eddie growls, coming up behind you on his knees and roughly grabbing your hips in his big hands.

“Baby, come lay in front of me, I wanna taste you.” You whine, patting the space in front of you on the ground. Chloe chuckles at your neediness, coming around to lay on her back in front of you. She spreads her legs and it’s your turn to groan. She’s so wet, the moonlight shining through the dusty van windows makes it glisten. Eddie runs his cock through your folds as you lean down to place wet kisses on her inner thighs. You lay your lower half down flat so you can hook your arms around her legs. You look into her blue eyes as you spit on her pussy, sticking your tongue out to lick a stripe up her slit before swirling it around her clit.

“Fuck yes baby.” She groans, her fingers lace through your hair and tug your face closer to her so she can grind against your outstretched tongue.

Eddie pushes the head of his cock inside of you and pulls it out a few times, teasing you. You push your hips back against him and are met with a harsh smack on your ass. The metal of his rings stings in the best way and you moan into Chloe’s pussy, the vibrations sending her eyes to the back of her head.

“I was trying to take my time a little, but since you wanna be greedy about it…” He shoves his cock all the way inside you in one rough thrust. He grabs onto your ass, grinding his hips against your own while he is nestled deep inside you. The stretch felt so good, you’re so wet and needy it almost felt like your pussy was sucking him in. He pulls out slowly before slamming back into you roughly, and then he does it again, and again, and again. Each thrust nearly knocks the wind out of you, you whimper and moan against your girlfriend’s wet cunt, driving her insane.

“Oh fuuuuuck, your pussy is sucking me in baby girl. You feel so fucking good.” He picks up speed then, his hips smack against yours and your pussy is so wet you can hear his cock slipping in and out of you. It feels so fucking good you can hardly focus on eating Chloe out anymore. Your tongue is hanging from your mouth while she uses your hair as leverage to thrust against it.

“Yeah baby, keep your tongue out for me. Let us use you.” She pulls your hair harder, her hips eagerly rutting against your mouth.

One of Eddie’s hands snakes between your legs to find your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. He’s fucking you so fast and deep, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

“I’m gonna fucking - shit - I’m gonna fucking cum ohmygod.” Chloe’s thrusts against your face become erratic and you know what she needs, even in your fucked our state. You wrap your lips around her clit and suck as she continues to grind against you, it only takes a few seconds for her back to be arching off the ground, her legs clamping shut around your head. She whines as she humps against your face, riding out her high. She pushes your head off of her when it becomes too much. “Okay, fuck sensitive.”

You release her clit from your lips, pushing up on your hands again while Eddie continues to fuck you like a man possessed. He gathers your hair in his hand, turning it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to pull your back flush against his chest.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck, oh god, Eddie! You’re so deep, feels so - so good.” Eddie can tell you’re getting close by the way you’re babbling and your pussy is clenching around him. “Choke me Eddie.”

He releases the grip on your hair to grab onto your throat instead, applying the perfect amount of pressure that has your vision just the right amount of hazy. He’s still fucking you so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if the slapping of your hips was echoing through the entire parking lot.

“You guys look so fucking sexy, damn.” Chloe is propped up on her elbows now, watching as Eddie pushes you closer to the edge on his cock. She comes over to you, taking your face in her hands and kissing you passionately. She kisses down your jaw, stopping to run her tongue along Eddie’s fingers that are around your throat, she kisses all over your tits, licking and sucking your nipples. She continues her descent down your body, before leaning down to take your clit into her mouth. She swirls her tongue at the exact time that Eddie hits that perfect spot inside you and it has you seeing stars.

“I’m cumming! I’m fucking cumming!” Your body shakes in Eddie’s hold and your pussy is gripping him so tight he can’t take it anymore, cumming right along with you. He pumps into you while you both ride out your highs, filling you with his cum.

He pulls out of you slowly, holding onto your hips so you don’t fall forward.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out a deep breath, letting yourself fall onto the blanket on your back.

“Yeah. Holy shit.” Eddie chuckles as he lowers himself down beside you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, holy shit, is right. That was amazing.” Chloe beams, laying down on her side facing you. She cups your jaw in her hand, leaning down to kiss you gently. “You did so good baby, you were such a good girl for us. Was it all you dreamed of?”

“Wait!” Eddie’s head whips towards you, his eyes wide. “You dreamed about this?”

“Oh pretty boy, you have no idea how long we’ve been fantasizing about you. Her longer than me. She’s been rubbing it out to the thought of you since the first time she saw you.” Chloe chuckles and you playfully smack her arm.

“Chloe! Shut up!!!” You feel your insides warm with embarrassment.

“Honestly? That’s so fucking hot, angel face, and pretty funny too. Considering I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you too.” He gives you this goofiest lopsided smile that calms your nerves. “I honestly felt like a little bit of a creep. Especially once you started bringing Chloe around, I felt like a perverted douche thinking about you guys together.”

“Psh!! If you’re a perv then so are we! We’ve literally talked about you while we were fucking, you’re good.” You giggle.

“Yeah, well I guess we are just a bunch of pervs then.” Eddie giggles along with you and Chloe smiles. She thinks you guys are cute, really cute. She kind of wants to keep Eddie around.

“Hey pretty boy, do you think we could see you again sometime?” She smirks at him, hopeful.

“Fuck. You know I’d say yes in an instant… but I’m actually leaving next week, this was our last show before our first tour. We got signed!” Eddie never thought he would be sad about that fact, until this moment.

“Oh Eddie!! That’s so awesome!! I’m so proud of you guys! I knew you could do it!” You give him that sweet smile that melts his heart, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss you. You return it happily.

“That’s fucking dope dude, you guys deserve that shit!” Chloe raises her hand to high five him, he returns it happily before grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it.

“Thanks, pretty girl.” He smirks at her, and she blushes. She tries to cover it up with a scoff and a roll of her eyes, but you saw it.

“Wanna get a celebratory breakfast with us at least? There’s a 24 hour diner around the corner.” You smile at him hopefully.

“I’d love to, my lady.” He smiles at you sweetly, and your heart melts.

The three of you spend hours at the diner, laughing and talking, getting to know each other. It’s almost bittersweet how well you all get along. It makes you wish you had spoken to him sooner. But who knows, maybe one day when Eddie Munson is rich and famous, you’ll see him again.

Tag list: @taintedcigs @nailbatanddungeon @melodymunson @sunnythespookyghost @keeksandgigz @tlclick73 @eddiesxangel @imyourdaninow @gravedigginbbydoll @take-everything-you-can

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!oc #Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie Munson one shot #eddie munson fanfic #Dolly writes

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superblysubpar · 3 months

Text

<- part three | part five -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve drives you to work all week.

the song: Smoke by Caroline Polachek

also for your listening pleasure: Do You Believe In Love by Huey Lewis & The News, We Are the Champions by Queen, and In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

6,475 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / wearing steve’s clothing, but size isn’t mentioned / for the purposes of this fic, you drink coffee and you take it sweet / alcohol mentions/consumption - you are tipsy in this / brief descriptions of car accidents/injury with some blood/ slight descriptions of panic/anxiety happening to Steve | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - Tuesday

You slam the alarm button down when it goes off on Tuesday morning, sitting on your bed, fully dressed, one hour too early.

Your knee bounces up and down, your teeth rip at the skin next to your thumb, and you stare at the clock, counting down, literally, to when your ride will be here.

Steve had offered, when he dropped you off last night, to pick you up all week. It was supposed to rain off and on till Friday, you shouldn’t have to bike so far, it was the least he could do all babbled out of him as you sat in his passenger seat still wearing his clothes.

What was the surprise, to both of you, is that you’d said yes to his offer.

He’d blinked at you, you blinked at him and he nodded, fingers fiddling with the radio dial as he murmured, “Cool, cool.”

You’d sat in his passenger seat in silence, both staring out the windshield at your apartment complex until Steve cleared his throat and looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Oh!” You quickly snapped off the seatbelt and pushed the door open, pausing to look down at the clothes you had on and the wet ones in your hands. “Um, I’ll, I can change quick and-“

“No!”

He snapped his jaw closed and rubbed at his temple, blowing out a breath before he gestured, “I meant, like, don’t go to the trouble. It’s late, and, I’ll see you, and it’s fine, I don’t even wear those pants to sleep in because they’re too hot and-“

“Steve?” You interrupted, lips twitching against a smile.

“Yeah?” He replied limply.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled. You smiled. Something was definitely wrong with your stomach and so, sure you were about to be sick in his car, you mumbled something about seeing him tomorrow and quickly closed the door, then climbed the stairs up to your front door.

Steve waited to back out of his parking spot until you were safely inside where he couldn’t see you fall backwards against the door with an exhale and you couldn’t see him rubbing his face at the exit of the complex mumbling the word ‘idiot’.

Which is what you felt like, when you woke up with the sunrise, still wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes.

And you were still feeling like it after you showered, scrubbing at your skin till it stung because you felt like you needed to wash off any evidence of the smell that clung to your body like it was supposed to. But somehow that didn’t stop you from spending longer on picking out an outfit, or taking more time to get ready. Reasoning with yourself that it was because you didn’t have to bike, that you woke up early, it’s nice to dress up and take care of yourself every once in awhile, it feels good to be put together for no one but yourself.

This is what you’re currently telling your reflection, avoiding eye contact with the sweatshirt as you stomp out of the room towards your kitchen.

But as you move down your hallway, something, or rather someone, outside the window catches your eye and you grab your bag and leave your apartment to figure out what he’s doing.

Steve’s crouched down next to your bike, large fingers working on something with the chain with a furrow between his eyebrows. He doesn’t hear you approaching, which is probably why he shoots up at the sound of your voice, the back of his head smacking right into the metal bike rack.

“Harring-“ his name cut off with a sharp empathetic wince as his eyes shut tight and his jaw pulses after he curses under his breath.

“Sorry,” you rub at your elbow, scuffing a converse on the ground as you squint at him, “Believe it or not, that wasn’t on purpose.”

Steve exhales what you think is supposed to be a laugh, as he blinks at the ground, “Yeah, I…”

His words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth somehow because all he can think now is:

Pretty.

The word makes his tongue feel too big for his mouth, like he needs to say it or it’ll just keep sitting there and he’ll suffocate as it swells. It’s not like he’s not thought that word around you before, he has. But the urge to say it hasn’t ever quite made him feel like this, like he’s gonna die.

“You…?” Your head tilts, eyes squinting to inspect him more, heartbeat thrumming faster as Steve stares at you intensely.

“Don’t,” Steve finishes, standing up slowly, your red helmet swinging in his fingers.

“You don’t?” The two of you blink at each other.

“Believe you,” Steve offers.

“Oh, right.”

You hate that you feel so warm under his stare, hate that you’re wondering if he likes your outfit. You hate-

“I, um,” Steve gestures to the bike, “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes to me driving you. Since you, you know, hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slip off of your tongue so easily, you bite down on it in fear that more lies will fall out.

The words to Steve are, however, exactly what he needed to hear to remember who the hell he is.

Steve grins, two freckles lifting as he asks, softly, fondly, “Yeah?”

“I,” you swallow, wondering if it’s possible that Steve Harrington possesses the power to erase ‘how to speak’ from your list of skills and abilities simply because he’s got nice eyes and smells good.

His grin settles, a smug smirk keeping his lips in a flat line before he whispers, “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes narrow, arms crossing over your Journey t-shirt as you snap, “I don’t hate you. I despise you.”

Steve’s gaze darts over your face, before golden iris’ are settling on yours. He takes a step closer, dangerously closing the gap between your bodies as he whispers, “Yeah? Well I detest you.”

His chest rises and falls, bumping your crossed arms, the toe of his Nike’s touching the tops of your converse. So close you can count freckles on his nose and see green in his eyes.

“Wow,” your words hushed, but dripping in sarcasm, “Another big brain word and it hasn’t even been a week. Would you like a prize?”

Steve’s eyes flash, his lips twist up as he leans in even closer, “Yeah,” murmured as the tip of his nose almost touches yours, mint toothpaste fanning over your lips, “I would.”

Your breath leaves your lungs, held somewhere so it can’t escape as his nose brushes the bridge of yours before it’s suddenly gone.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” spoken over his shoulder with a grin as he heads towards his car.

Steve faces his car again, biting the inside of his lip out of your sight as you close your eyes out of his.

Were you just going to let him kiss you?

Your legs feel wobbly as you make your way across the pavement towards the maroon car, and even more so when, nestled inside and buckled, Steve’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he says, “You look really pretty today, by the way.”

His forearm flexes in the corner of your eye as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the spot, spinning his steering wheel with the other hand effortlessly. The movement and skill makes your legs press together under your skirt, and you bite the inside of your cheek, adamant on ignoring what your body wants to tell you.

Steve fiddles with the radio dial as he comes to a stop sign.

“You know,” you bite, mad at yourself for falling for this, mad at him for starting it, just mad, “I haven’t forgotten that you have five days left to get me, of all people, to sleep with you. And as much as it pains me to say this, we’ve been in each others lives for quite awhile now, and I know you, Harrington. This isn’t working, it’s not going to work, and the fact that you think-“

He says your name roughly, tight, like the word burns his throat to say it. He leans over the console, ducking his head to catch your gaze causing a strand of hair to fall over his forehead.

“Have you ever thought, for one second, that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as much of an asshole as you think, but because I know you hate me, I’ve never even tried to give you a compliment because that’s just not what we do? Tell me, honestly, if I’d have told you that you looked pretty, before today, before this bet, you wouldn’t have bit my head off then too? Or, god forbid, would have believed me?”

His breath is sharp, his gaze pierces into you, making something in your chest spark and sizzle, it’s not unlike the swell of pride you get when you win, and it’s better.

It’s addicting.

A horn honks and Steve blinks, facing the windshield and moving the car forward again.

“I don’t hate you,” the words are a whisper, not as easily said as earlier.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat. He glances over at you with a small smile, then back at the road as he sighs, “Just despise.”

You hum a feeble agreement, and let Huey Lewis & The News fill the silence, asking if you believe in love.

Steve’s fingers tap along to the song, his lips part, every other word softly exhaled as he sings under his breath. Which makes it hard to convince yourself that his words were just words, they meant nothing, and yours weren’t true either.

Steve Harrington doesn’t think you’re pretty and you hate each other.

Despise.

Whatever.

Your hands rest in your lap, thumb catching on a loose thread in your skirt that you are indebted to now.

Not because Steve thinks you look pretty in it.

But, because, if you instead search for where the loose thread begins, that brain space cannot be occupied by trying to figure out other times Steve wanted to call you pretty, or how you would have reacted, or how there’s two coffees in his cupholders next to your elbow. Focusing perhaps on, how the snag happened in your skirt could even make it so you don’t think about how, somehow, the leather of the seats and the coffee in such a tight space only make his normal scent of something minty and woodsy better and-

“Before you ask, no it’s not poisoned, and no, this isn’t me trying to woo you or whatever.” He gestures to the coffee, as if he’s reading your mind, “Could you hand me mine? Think it’s the front one.”

You’re shocked to learn that one of them is for you, and even more so when he grabs the cup from you and sips, grimaces, then coughs.

“Ugh,” he licks his lips and holds it over to you, “That one was yours.”

You hand him the other cup, staring down at the one he handed back to you.

He bought you coffee and seemingly knows how you take it.

As he pulls into the Family Video lot, expertly avoiding the kids skating and running around in front of Palace Arcade already, he sighs.

“You know,” he puts the car in park and looks at you, “I don’t have cooties.”

Haven’t even thought of the fact that if you took a sip, your lips would be where his had been, your body warms at the ‘kiss through contact’ possibility like a thirteen year old girl with a crush, heartbeat erratic still from the gesture of getting you the coffee.

“Actually, I was wondering if you did in fact poison this, because you despise me.”

“Detest,” Steve offers quietly with a smile.

“Detest,” you agree.

“I took a sip of it though. How would it be poisoned?”

“Maybe you’re like Westley and built up some sort of tolerance to this particular poison.”

Steve stares at you, blinking in silence until finally he asks, “What?”

“The Princess Bride?” You unsnap your seatbelt as he starts to get out of the car, talking over the roof of it. “Harrington, you have to have seen The Princess Bride?”

Steve swings his keys on his finger as he follows you to the front door, squinting. Both of you loving to have something to discuss that feels like easily navigated territory again.

“Is that the one with Daisy?”

“Buttercup,” you correct immediately, stopping on the sidewalk to face him, “That’s our first movie today. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Fine,” Steve shrugs, but then nods to the cup in your hand, “If you take a sip and say thank you really sweetly.”

You scoff, “I don’t have to do shit, I’m the manager. And that was an if.”

Steve nods, holding his hand out. “Okay, then give me the coffee.”

“But...” you hesitate, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting up to your nose.

He definitely knows your order.

“Thought you said no ifs, ands, or buts?” Steve grins.

Your lips scowl before you mutter, “Don’t be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” He smiles wider than he has all morning, showing off perfect, dazzling teeth.

You roll your eyes and lift the cup to your lips. His eyes remain on yours, drinking you in just as much as you drink the coffee, gazes unwavering upon each other.

It’s hard to swallow the perfectly made to your specifications coffee when he whispers, “That’a girl. See, was that so hard? Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you,” you grit, but Steve’s hand stops yours from unlocking the door.

“That wasn’t very sweet…” he tsks, sing song lilt to his voice.

With his hand over yours on the handle, you sigh, focusing on getting to watch a favorite movie instead of the way it engulfs yours. Batting your eyelashes, you force out a cheery, “Thank you, Harrington.”

Steve smirks, shakes his head no. He leans in, just like he had at your apartment.

Just like when you almost let him kiss you.

“First name, honey.”

That sparking, sizzling, simmering feeling is happening in your chest again.

Steve’s breath in is yours out as you murmur, “Thank you, Ste-“

“Jesus Christ! Thank fuck you’re alive! I’ve been…”

Eddie’s shout drifts off as he jumps out of his van, his eyes darting between you and Steve who’s starting to stand up straighter, hand dropping from the top of yours.

You clear your throat as Eddie grins at you, then Steve, then you again as he steps closer.

Eddie’s gaze looks over your outfit and your cheeks warm as he hums, raising his eyebrows over bright brown eyes that see right through you.

“Well, don’t you look nice today.”

Hawkins, Indiana - Wednesday

He was already on thin ice, and now, you were planning to fully cut a hole in said ice and let him meet his demise in the cold, dark water beneath it.

Eddie doesn’t seem to care, as he winces with fake sympathy, and tosses an M&M in his mouth as you glare at him with your arms folded over your chest.

“What do you mean, you can’t take me anymore?”

He shrugs, but takes a step away from you, seemingly out of harms way.

Physical harms way at least.

“I have to go back into the shop, Wayne needs me. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you?” He puts on a nice, big, Munson level show - hands folded in prayer, big pouty lips, and blinking sad doe eyes.

You stand in front of the counter, rubbing your temple from the fluorescent that’s been blinking all morning.

“I didn’t eat lunch, I didn’t pack a lunch, because you promised the diner, you made a big deal about tradition,” you start towards him, hangry and looking for vengeance.

Eddie quickly sidesteps around the corner, standing directly across from you as you both go in a circle around the main counter where Robin sits, typing at the computer.

“Beer, on me,” he pleads, quickening his pace, “Tomorrow. A whole pitcher, just for you. I won’t even make fun of you when you get a gutter ball every turn!”

“I don’t want beer, Munson! I want a strawberry shake and a damn cheeseburger!”

“I can take you.”

Steve’s quiet offer makes you freeze, Eddie grins and backs out quickly towards the front door, pointing, “What a wonderful idea Steve! I wish you both a lovely first date!”

“Eddie!” you shriek, stomping towards the door, but he’s gone.

The bell chimes as he dashes through it with a salute, Steve clears his throat while you stand frozen, staring at the closed glass doors.

After Eddie had found you yesterday, and thoroughly bothered you about your outfit, and what he didn’t interrupt, because there was nothing to interrupt, he’d shown up at your apartment with far too many questions and far too much of an opinion on your relationship with Steve Harrington.

Not a relationship. A friendship.

No.

A mutual understanding. A common ground. An agreement of ceasefire of your overt…hatred. A, maybe, slow ascent to friendship, one day, perhaps.

Which seemed to please the idiot who was betting against Steve winning, well into the night. So, he agreed to take you out to lunch the next day, honoring your tradition, yet assuring you that the conversation was in fact, not over.

Robin finally breaks the silence, calling your name, then, “You good?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, crossing your arms, “Just debating sleeping with Harrington so Eddie loses three hundred dollars.”

There’s a choking sound behind you, and you spin to see Steve’s mouth stuffed with Red Vines.

Your Red Vines.

“Are you kidding me? What did I say!”

You stomp towards him and he holds up his hands in surrender, talking around the candy, “Hey, remember me? Steve,” he swallows, backing away and tripping over his heels. “I’m the guy who brought you coffee two mornings in a row and has the ability to bring you to a delicious, cheesy burger, fast?”

You’re inches from him and he yelps, wincing before you even attack, then a shouted, “I’ll pay!”

Stopping in front of him, you snatch up the package of Red Vines and growl, “And a shake.”

Robin gapes at the two of you, then looks at Steve, “You brought her coffee? You never bring me coffee.”

Steve glares at her while he grabs the package of candy back and holds them high above your head, ignoring your protests.

“You can have these back when you learn to say please.”

“Can you pass the salt?” You speak around the fries in your mouth.

Steve sits across from you, eyebrows raised.

“Please,” you grumble.

You shake the salt over the basket sitting between the two of you after he hands it to you. The basket holding the fries he ordered immediately and flashed the waitress a smile and wink for so you got some food fast while you waited for burgers and shakes.

He watches your shoulders relax after a few bites, and decides he can attempt conversation, “Better?”

Your head nods, fingers covering your mouth full of food as you say, “Yeah. Thank you.”

Steve nods too, looking anywhere but you while you lick salt from your thumb or suck on the straw in your glass of coke.

“Glad I could help.” He risks stealing a fry for himself, his stomach grumbling in protest as it watches you eat and it gets nothing.

“Sorry,” you fiddle with the straw wrapper in your hands, shrugging, “I know I much more resembled a ravenous wild animal than a normal human being back there.”

“Glad you said it,” he mutters, ducking when you throw the folded straw wrapper at his face. He catches it, playing with it between his own hands, staring at the table. “You were pretty upset though, what’d you mean about tradition?”

You shove fries in your mouth, buying time to respond, wondering how much you should tell Steve.

“Um,” you cough into your fist, squinting out the window at the sky turning gloomy.

“It’s okay,” Steve waves it off, “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

He shoves fries into his own mouth, right as the waitress brings two burgers over, sliding a strawberry shake onto the sticky tabletop. Steve’s chewing becomes frantic, holding up his hand and you’re saying the words before you can even register what you’re doing.

“Could he get some extra pickles please?”

“Of course, hon,” she sways off, delivering another shake at a different table while Steve blinks at you.

“What?” You avoid his intense gaze, looking at your burger as you lift it to your lips.

“Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to me,” he finally says, smiling at the waitress when she drops off a small container of pickles.

He looks at his burger, not you, so maybe that’s why it’s easier to keep talking about it.

“Kind of make it hard to not pay attention, Harrington.”

The pair of you sit in silence, chewing your burgers as rain starts to tap softly against the window, the red neon sign next to you flickering and making his yellow tshirt orange.

“Wish I knew you were watching sooner,” Steve looks up to find you already staring, “Wouldn’t have acted like such an idiot, maybe this would be a different story.”

Your heart thuds in your ears, too warm under the softness of his eyes.

“Acted?” You manage to push past your lips, tilting your head.

Steve smiles, and grabs for the shake, waiting for you to protest him putting a second straw into it. When you don’t, you surprise yourself by offering up, “It’s from the night we met.”

He blinks at you, wrinkle forming between his brows as he sucks on the straw between his lips. You look away from them as you clarify, “Eddie. The diner. It’s a tradition from the night we met.”

“Oh,” Steve nods, pushing the shake away and returning to his burger, adding another pickle.

“Yeah, I,” you close your eyes, then open them to look down at your food, blurting out, “Met him, after I threw that beer. In Brendan’s face. He took me to the diner, here, for pie, and I sort of spilled my guts to him.”

Steve’s jaw pulses, the furrow of his forehead only deepening as you explain, not lessening. He takes another bite of his burger, ketchup smearing against the side of his mouth, offering you a reprieve from staring at his lips as he speaks around his bite, “Got it. That’s when you guys started dating, right?”

You blink, lips parting but nothing comes out other than a shocked, “Ha!”

Steve looks up at the scoff, taking in your wrinkled nose and how your eyes stare at his lips as you laugh, “Eddie…Ed,” you giggle, “No.”

“You and…never?” Steve sits up straighter, eyes bouncing between your own.

“Not even a little bit,” you laugh, touching your lip, “You’ve got…”

Steve swipes at his lips while he asks, “But you said you spilled your guts, I just assumed after what that asshole said and did that Munson like comforted and you and…”

He trails off as you lean forward, rolling your eyes.

Your thumb swipes over the corner of his lip as you shrug, “Yeah, we bonded over assholes and crushing on people who’d never give us the time of day while sharing cherry pie. Best friends ever since.”

Steve’s heart thrums as your fingers linger on his jaw, before you sit back again.

And then you lick the ketchup off of your thumb.

He finally stumbles over the words, “I love pie.”

“Yeah?” You grin, grabbing the shake.

Steve nods, keeping eye contact as your cheeks hollow around the straw. But then he rolls his shoulders back and grabs the shake out from your lips and back across the table.

“Except cherry. You’re delusional for choosing that over lemon.”

“You’re delusional,” you yank the shake back towards you, “If you think you’re having any more of this.”

Steve leans over the table as you begin to sip the shake again, only to wrap his lips around the second straw, noses bumping as he tries to drink it faster than you at the same time.

Your feet are intertwined under the table as you push at his shoulder and he tugs on the glass, both of you making a slurping noise as you get to the bottom, then grabbing at your temples from brain freezes while laughing.

“I can’t stand you,” you push the glass towards the middle of the table.

“That’s better than detest, I’ll take it.”

Hawkins, Indiana - Thursday

Steve holds out the bag of popcorn to you, and you grin, taking some as you lean into him, a little tipsy, in the backseat of his car.

You, because you were last out to the car, and Steve, because he doesn’t do well in the front seat when Robin is driving.

Which is saying something, because Eddie isn’t doing so hot as it is.

“No, Buckley!”

“Give me a break, Eddie! It is super dark outside, and I’m a new driver, never attempted driving in the rain, and I don’t know wiper speed to rain droplet ratio!”

You snort, nose in the popcorn bag as your shoulders shake.

Steve shushes you, mumbling, “You’re kind of a menace tonight.”

“Eddie’s,” you hiccup, blinking up under heavy eyelashes at Steve’s profile, mesmerized by the freckles that dot it, “Fault. Got me all that beer.”

“No comments-” Robin begins to talk over her shoulder.

“Ba-ah-ah,” Steve points forward, stepping on an invisible brake in the backseat while Eddie grabs her chin and keeps it locked straight ahead.

“From the peanut gallery,” she finishes loudly.

“No peanuts back here,” you throw a piece at Eddie’s ear, “Just popcorn!”

Steve remains facing forward, watching intently as Eddie directs Robin on slick roads towards her house. “You didn’t have to drink it all.”

“Oh,” you sigh, sliding over to the window and pressing your forehead against the cool glass, “But I did, Harrington. For I am the champion of bowling night!”

He opens his mouth, but you sit up straight again, and press your finger to his lips, softly saying (but thinking you’re singing), “No time for losers.”

Steve smiles behind your finger, eyes soft and melting you a little.

Which you almost say out loud, but the song on the radio grabs your attention. You squeal, which makes Robin jump, which makes the car sway and Steve grab your shoulders, pushing you back on the seat as you yell, “Turn it up!”

“You’re such a loser,” Eddie grumbles, but does as you request.

Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes plays a little louder, but no one can tell, because you’re loudly singing over him.

Eddie rolls his eyes at the way Steve watches you, and Robin bites her lip, fighting back laughter as you shout, “You all love this song, don’t lie to me!”

You scream into your fist, dramatically singing, tossing your head, pointing at each of them.

“And all my instincts,” you take a deep breath and whip over to Steve, kneeling on the seat, “They return!”

You shove your fist into Eddie’s face, who pretends to bite it, refusing to sing. But finally melts at your pout, mumbling along with you, “Without my pride.” Robin happily joins in, in a high falsetto, when you whip your fake microphone over to her, “I reach out from the inside.”

As they all join in with you for the chorus, you fall backwards, laughing, catching Steve’s eyes.

You’d like to blame the beer, the cozy dark backseat, the way Steve smells, the rain, the fucking song. And while you can’t blame them for something that was inevitable, you can pretend that without this specific combination you never would have.

If you were sober, and In Your Eyes came on, you never would have touched the two freckles on Steve’s cheek, your fake microphone falling limp, palm flat against his chest.

If it weren’t dark, and he didn’t smell so good, you never would have let those same fingers drag down his jaw, only to linger on his lips.

And if it weren’t raining, and Robin hadn’t taken a second to look back in her mirror and say, “Holy shi-“

It never would have happened.

Eddie shouts, Robin screams, and something heavy and warm is on top of you as the car spins on the water that’s flooded the streets.

Your ears are ringing, muffled words lost in the sound, and you can’t move, something holds you down.

It takes a second to realize the car isn’t moving anymore, and there’s hands on your cheeks. When your eyes blink open, there’s golden hazel ones that remind you of a scared boy looking at you intently.

“Are you okay?” He gasps from on top of you where you’re both horizontal in the backseat now.

“I’m fine,” Robin says sarcastically from the front seat, “Thanks for-“ Eddie shushes her.

“Of course,” you grumble, hands that were clutched in Steve’s shirt loosening and pushing at him.

His hands shake on your cheeks, fingers touching a spot on your forehead that has you wincing and his chest moving up and down faster.

“Harrington,” you push at him more, his hand cups your cheek, eyes turning glassy as you insist, “I’m fine, get off.”

“Hey,” you shake his shoulder as stares at your forehead, breathing harder still, “Harrington, relax. We’re all fine.”

The side of his face flashes with red and blue, his heartbeat thuds against your chest as his breathing continues to ramp up. Your hands cup his jaw, thumbs delicately swiping over his cheeks.

“Steve. Look at me.”

His shoulders shake with a stuttered breath and then his hand quickly reaches forward, gently cupping the back of your head as the door behind you opens.

Someone speaks, but neither of you hear them, eyes remaining on each other as you whisper, “Take a deep breath, Steve. Please?”

You nod as he does, your hands loosening on his cheeks as he starts to let his weight hover over you instead of pushing you down.

A voice from behind you asks Steve to get out first. He’s held back as paramedics help you out of the car and lead you over to the back of the ambulance. Robin stands next to you and you shake your head, the words I’m so sorry easily able to read off of your lips and Robin stops them with her hand up.

Eddie stands next to him, watching, just as intently, and he clears his throat.

“That was…” he starts, looking at Steve, then back at you, now getting your forehead looked at. “Glad you were back there, man.”

Steve nods, numb, as he watches you wince and say, “I’m fine,” to the EMT stitching you up. His fingers graze down the bridge of his nose and his swipes underneath it, nodding when Eddie says he’s gonna go check on Robin.

Everyone is fine, save for your head injury. His car is fine, save for a ding on the back bumper.

Your side.

He saved you.

He protected you.

He was scared for you.

Your heartbeat picks up as your gaze on the wet asphalt beneath your scuffed sneakers catches bright Nike’s approaching.

“How’s the patient?”

Steve’s voice is soft, scared, not a thing like you’ve ever heard before.

Which is maybe why when you look up at him, nothing comes out of your parted lips.

Rain drips from the tip of Steve’s hair, curling around his ears, a droplet caught on his cupid’s bow, darkening the green shirt he wears.

The EMT stares down at you, waiting, then she smiles, staring at your forehead as she offers, “She’ll be okay. No concussion, probably a little sleepy from the pain meds she just took, but overall just a little dinged up. Nothing a little night of tender loving care from her boyfriend can’t fix.”

“Oh, no, I’m-“

“He’s not, we’re not-“

Steve and you talk at the same time, stopping when the other speaks.

“Oh, my mistake,” she hums. She looks down at you as she inspects her last stitch, smiling softly, “Well, maybe some tender loving care from a friend then. Can I count on you handsome? Get her home safely?”

Steve nods, cheeks pink as he waits for you to stand, his hand resting by your elbow just in case, then hovering near your lower back as he walks behind you towards his car.

“Dingus!” Robin shouts from Hopper’s truck.

Steve turns to look at her, and as he holds the door open for you, he leans down and murmurs, “I’ll be right back, you’re…you okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, blinking from the pain of the movement.

Steve doesn’t look like he believes you, but nods, and closes your door softly, running over to the truck, squinting in the rain.

A soft tap hits the glass of your door and you jump, rolling the window down for Eddie, the boys swapping places without you realizing.

“Hey sweetheart, how you doing?” He folds his arms on the frame of the door, bent down to take a closer look at your head.

“I’m fine,” you answer without thinking.

Eddie’s lips twitch, fighting the urge for the joke, “Of course you are. You okay with Harrington taking you back? Hopper always can? Need me to stay over?”

You watch Robin grab Steve’s jaw, pushing and pulling him to inspect him while he rolls his eyes and pushes her off. A much more physical approach, but the same as Eddie’s nonetheless.

When you don’t say anything, he follows your gaze and sighs. “Yeah, you’re okay. Fucking hell, I gotta figure out where I’m getting three hundred dollars from, thanks a lot you Peter Gabriel loving dork.”

“Eddie, I-“ you protest and he waves his hand, smiling.

“Save it, you’re hook line and sunk for him. You have been since the day I met you, fine.”

He kisses your temple, opposite of your cut, and taps the hood of the car before jogging over to the truck, swapping with Steve again. But he pauses in the middle, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and pointing at the car, then pats him and jogs off again.

Once Steve is back in the car, you wait for him to drive, to say something, but he looks at you expectantly and then you realize-

Your seatbelt.

“Sorry,” you murmur, and then it’s silent.

No radio.

No talking.

Just the swish of rain on the pavement under spinning wheels. The rhythmic pit then pat of it hitting his windows, the slosh of the wipers back and forth. Steve’s breathing.

You don’t realize you’ve been soothed to sleep from it all, the combination of alcohol and adrenaline fading, until the car is coming to a complete stop, engine off, and your door is being opened.

Steve leans over you, unbuckling the seatbelt, whispering, “Come on, trouble.”

“Mmm,” you protest, eyelashes fluttering, head hitting the headrest with a frown. “Steve.”

“I know, just a few more minutes then you’ll be in bed, come on.”

His hands slide into yours, gently pulling you from the car, guiding you towards the stairs. Your lead filled eyelids blink with each step, as you mumble, “Keys.”

“I got ‘em, come on,” his hand presses to your lower back, then roams higher, pressing lightly when you sigh from the feeling.

A door opens, a hand wraps around your waist and a shoulder supports your head.

Steve blinks in the low light of your lamp that must be on a timer, taking in your space for the first time. He closes your door, keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you sway while he bends down.

He watches you, as he unties a sneaker, patting your ankle as he quietly says, “Lift your leg up for me, honey.”

You do as you’re told, blinking down at the boy who gently removes your shoe, then the other as you rest your hands on his shoulders for balance.

“Steve,” you gulp around his name, blinking back tears.

He looks up at his name, frowning as he stands, large hands cradling your jaw as he tuts. “Hey, what’s the matter? What’re these for, huh?”

His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, catching big tears that spill over your lashes as you blubber, “I’m so so-sorry. Everyone could have been really hurt. I hate Peter Gabriel. I’ll ne-never listen to hi-him again.”

Steve laughs, and you frown, blinking at him through tears, “It-it’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.”

He clears his throat, nodding, “Right. It’s not funny.”

His lips twitch when you frown more, fingers curling around his wrists that still support your cheeks.

“Bedroom?” He asks softly.

“Harrington,” you sniffle, eyes rolling, “I hardly think this is the time to try to make a move.”

He shakes his head, “I meant so I can set you up before I leave, smartass.”

You point down the hallway, but then sigh, “Can you get me a glass of water.”

He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“Please?” you pout your lips out.

Steve nods towards your bedroom, “Yeah, I can do that.”

He watches you wander down the hallway, and click on a light in your room, before he heads to your kitchen. As he fills the glass up, he takes the opportunity to glance around at pieces of you he’s not normally let in on. Wondering where certain trinkets are from and what they mean to you. He notices the large collection of vinyl. He grins at the stack of Family Video tapes that are clearly over the rental limit, even for employees.

And he’s ready to say something sassy to you about it, when he reaches your room, but you’re already laying in your bed, eyes closed and curled up on your side.

In his sweatshirt.

He sets the glass of water on the nightstand, then lifts your comforter, pulling it over bare legs exposed from small sleep shorts. He leaves a quick note about leaving your front door key in your mailbox.

Steve hesitates before clicking off the light, taking in your slow, even breaths, the shadows on your face, peaceful with sleep.

He kisses your cheek as he turns off the light, lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than he probably should have.

“Goodnight, honey.”

AN: thanks for your patience in this chapter and the next! This chapter is actually what sparked the core of this whole series, and I’m excited to finally share it with you. It was originally being written in the winter, and the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by a moment that happened between my parents before they were married! My dad and mom were in the backseat of a car, an accident happened, and my dad had leaned over to protect my mom, and she says that's when she knew she was in love with him. Take that for this story however you'd like 🤭 So while it’s not exactly what happened anymore, the essence is still there and I hope you love it, it definitely holds a special place in my heart. Also, I simply can’t help myself from including The Princess Bride in all of my series it seems. Thanks for being here!

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wynnyfryd · 10 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 26

part 1 | part 25 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, recreational drug/alcohol use

He’s marching over the grass with a couple of varsity guys; two on his left, two on his right; V-formation like a flock of geese. Jason's at the head of the group, self-assured purpose of a leader, and it’s weird, seeing this little runt all grown up. The kid used to worship Steve; used to follow him around practices like a lost puppy, called him Captain before he’d even earned the role.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Jason asks. His voice is harsh, winded, winding up for a fight. Steve can see it in his stance: the tightening of his jaw, the clench of his friends’ fists. Plant your feet.

Steve’s gotta shut this shit down before it goes where it always does. Smashed plates, broken bones. All pissing contests flow toward the ocean or whatever.

“Nah, man,” he answers, standing up to dust himself off. The coke zips under his skin, makes him jittery and hot. Hard to play it cool. “We’re good. Busted my ass on the rocks; Munson was just helping me up.”

Munson. Like they’re buddies. Like Eddie’s thumb isn’t still damp from Steve’s tongue.

Jason doesn't seem to buy it. Little pastor-cop in training, he narrows his eyes and turns on Eddie. “Were you following him, Freak?”

Eddie's eyes flash in warning, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Steve shifts his weight to stand in front of him, and his fingers twitch around empty air. He wishes he had his nail bat with him; kind of wants to glue the handle to his palm.

Never know when monsters will come crawling out of the woods.

"Well?" Jason barks, "Answer me!"

His lackeys all pipe up then, the guy to his right sneering, "Not so talkative without his lunch table to stand on, is he?"

"Look at him shaking," adds another.

"Think he was trying to do some Satanic ritual shit while no one was looking?"

"I don't know," says the guy on Jason's left. "Looked like they were sucking each other off to me. Hey, maybe Harrington’s turned fag.”

“Andy!” Jason warns, and Steve—

Steve staggers forward with three arrows in his chest. One for every letter of that stupid fucking word that's been haunting him for years; raging fire in a black box in the far reaches of his brain, belching thick, black smoke, singing his fingertips whenever he gets close enough to touch it.

He wonders if Andy can taste the sulfur in it, too.

“No, go on,” he seethes, voice deadly calm when he lays a hand on Andy’s chest. Steeple his fingers, tips his chin. “Say it again; don't think I heard you right.”

Andy swallows hard, grinds his teeth; tenses to square off for the fight, but Jason throws an arm in front of him. "Easy," he says.

Easy. Down boy.

Andy snarls and backs off.

Jason lowers his voice, searching Steve's face. "You sure you're good? Can't be too careful with..."

His gaze slides over Steve's shoulder, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Steve's never wanted to risk a concussion more. "I'm fine," he grits out, balking at the diplomatic bullshit that's about to slither from his mouth. "Really. Thanks, though, man; appreciate you looking out for me."

Jason gives him a serious nod. "Any time."

—

“So, uh…” Eddie squints at Steve once Jason and his goons run along. His arms are hugged tight around his middle, and he's biting his lip; nervous jiggle of his leg. “How, um— How are we playing this, exactly?”

Steve scrubs at his face; swoons where he stands. Feels like all the blood's drained out of him without the adrenaline to prop him up. Goddamn, he's still so drunk. “Playing what?” he asks, confused.

Whatever it is, it’s already been played, hasn’t it?

Fight’s over; Steve’s exhausted. He just wants to go home.

But then Eddie shakes his head and tuts softly at the ground, his expression gone sour and sad, and there it is again. That feeling that Steve’s fucking everything up somehow.

He’s so tired of that feeling.

Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out a hand. Skims Eddie's side; leather jacket, bony hip, and then he hooks his pinky finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Tugs, just a little. Not hard enough to topple him, just—

Enough.

He hopes.

—

part 27

tag lists in separate reblogs with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content, comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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after-witch · 5 months

Text

Surrounded by Hunger [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Surrounded by Hunger [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You're an artist, with no muse. Until Mahito shows up on your back porch.

Word count: 3500ish

notes: yandere, mild body horror, reader is a trans male

“I want you to paint me,” Mahito says, with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. No smile, no leer today. Just a somber frown as he appears from nowhere--as he often does--and sits himself in front of you.

The cool summer evening air would smell as clean as the breeze, but for the cigarette lazily perched in the ashtray on the edge of the porch.

Smoking. Your one vice. Or is it your eighth? You don’t keep much track of your vices, these days. If you did, you might actually try to quit them. But smoking is one of two current addictions that you can’t fathom letting go of right now.

The other one is sitting next to you.

"Like one of my French girls?” you murmur, lips quirking up.

Mahito tilts his head towards you, still frowning. You wonder, idly, if he has an actual brain inside his skull. Do curses have brains? You’re not sure about the technicalities of how they function, but it’s not something you’d really like to ask Mahito, either.

But it’s like you can see his brain working from the minute movements of his body language. The body is one thing you’re usually good at reading, and you ought to be, considering your career. No one wanted paintings from someone who didn’t understand the basics of body movement.

“Ah,” he says, finally, with a small smile. “Titanic. Directed by James Cameron. 1997.” His smile gets a little perkier. On anyone else, that smile might look deranged. But it suits Mahito, you think.

“I liked the sinking part the best. The way they…” He flicks his fingers in the air, and makes an eerily accurate sound reminiscent of bodies banging against metal parts. “And the frozen baby!” He closes his eyes almost all the way, leaving just enough room for you to see his gaze slide over to you. “Humans do love representing their own misery, don’t they?”

Something squeezes in your chest. It might have been a barb about you and your work; and it might not have been. One of the trickiest things about Mahito was that you could never be sure when he was trying to hurt you, and when he wasn’t.

The worst part was, you knew that it didn’t matter either way. It wasn’t like you’d ever ask him to leave. He knew that, too. Maybe that was the actual worst part.

He doesn’t elaborate on his statement. Instead, he leans his head back, looking at the darkening sky; the deep blue of the evening oozing away to make room for the blacker part of the night. His profile like this is fascinating--the way his hair seems to almost shimmer in the fading light, falling back against the side of his neck.

“Well?” He asks.

You couldn’t say no. You were already imagining ways to capture him, like this. In profile, staring up at the sky with eyes that were anything but human. With a brain that was perhaps not a real brain. With a body he could change at will.

Despite all that, here he is, sitting on your porch, breathing in your cigarette smoke and staring up at the ordinary evening sky.

What does he see that you don’t? That no human does? Why does he even come around you, when he could be off trying to--your brain fumbles for snatches of what he’s told you--battling sorcerers?

Maybe you can capture something of the answer in your painting.

“Okay,” you say, lightly, even though the answer is anything but. “But we have to go inside for the sketch. There’s not enough light out here this late.”

Mahito smiles. In profile, you see only the half of it, the edge of his lips curling, a glimpse of his teeth.

You’ll be up all night sketching, trying to capture this expression.

Your first finished painting of Mahito isn’t all that great. The evening skyline was done from memory because the next few days had been cloudy and they stole the sky’s normal colors away. And no amount of mixing could quite give you the right shade for his hair; you put something new on order, a type of shimmer pigment. That might help for future pieces.

The expression, though. There was something in that. Something not quite human that you managed to capture, although if you had to do it over, you’d reconsider taking your drawing from sketch to painting. The sketch had something raw to it, like Mahito might just turn his head and wink at you.

As an artist, you knew that such a subject was rare. It was not always easy to find inspiration that kept you working almost relentlessly, eager and passionate rather than staring at an empty canvas and willing the world to send something to you.

Mahito was a gift, wasn’t he? To an artist. To someone like you, who needed something to make your work stand out. And it does, here. Mahito looks unusual--striking, beautiful, but with something unpleasant itching to get out from underneath his skin.

But still. It’s flawed.

And that’s not the standard artist humble-brag designed to avoid a reputation of pompous pride. Your paintings, as a whole, just aren’t good enough.

It’s why the galleries rejected you. Why what few connections you had with other painters tended to fade away, becoming more and more untethered as they were invited to galas, as they held openings, as their works went to auction, and you…

You sat on your porch smoking and waiting, heart pacing, for a curse to show up on your door.

Mahito stands in front of the revealed piece, quietly observing it. His fingers reach out and skim the canvas, bumping along a few rough areas of paint. His mouth parts a few times, then closes.

You expect him to be blunt with some kind of critique. He’s never been shy with honesty, no matter how hurtful. It was something you hated and loved all with one confusing, awful sameness.

Instead, his gaze flits over every square of the canvas enough times that sweat begins to bead down the back of your neck. Does he hate it? Is he about to tell you that you’d be better off doing something else, something more ordinary, something more mundane?

No.

What he does is turn his head towards you, slowly, something that is not quite a smile on his face. An expression that makes you think of the back porch, sunsets and cigarette smoke.

“Now do it again.”

You should hate this, really. Someone who sticks around and more or less demands that they be your muse. Most artists purge these types of people from their lives, unwanted flypaper hangers-on who pout and demand to be painted.

But Mahito is your muse, and you don’t hate it, and you don’t think he’s clingy or desperate like others who have found themselves on your back porch before.

He’s your muse simply because he exists. You could not fathom knowing Mahito and not committing him to the canvas. The only shock is that it was his idea, not yours; and maybe, deep down, you were too afraid to ever ask him. In case he said no.

So you draw him, and paint him. He drapes himself over your couch wearing nothing, spreads himself on your bed with winter clothes in the summer heat; perches on the end of the kitchen stool and watches gnats circle a bowl of bananas.

The ideas are his, mostly.

And the pieces are interesting. “Intriguing,” your regular art gallery said, when you submitted the one of Mahito sprawled out in a fuzzy scarf and hat and puffy winter coat while sweat clung to his forehead from the summer afternoon sun.

Interesting, intriguing, a striking model… and yet. They’re still not enough--not enough to get paid. Not enough to get noticed.

Not enough to get you out of bed some days, when all you want to do is smoke lying down and hope the smoke alarm in your bedroom still has low batteries.

This is how Mahito finds you this morning. Half-resting on sore elbows while smoke wafts up to your ceiling, imperceptibly adding to the layers of brown and yellow build up.

“Hey.”

He pokes your nose. You blink, slowly turn your gaze towards him. Then close your eyes and let out another puff of smoke.

“You’re being mopey,” he says, flatly. Not teasing or whining, certainly not with sympathy. Just a matter-of-fact.

The options weigh heavy on your shoulders. It’s not like you two don’t talk about serious things. But God, with Mahito, the roles are reversed between artist and muse. You’re the clingy one, the one desperate to keep him around; afraid that the wrong word or gesture might make him blip out of your life as quickly as he came into it.

Who were you, if you didn’t have Mahito? Just another failing artist who could barely afford their cigarette addiction.

But you trust him. Because he’s here. Because he hasn’t left yet. Because when you’re drawing him and you ask him to lift his arm up, he somehow knows the exact angle you mean, every time. So you lick your lips and look up at him with tired, reddened eyes.

“They’re not enough.” A pause. “The paintings, I mean. No one will buy them.” You drop the rest of your cigarette in the ashtray on your night stand. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

You do know, though. Your paintings aren’t interesting enough anymore. What little buzz you’d generated in your first break onto the scene from your fantastical horror work had long since faded, as had your inspiration for such pieces.

It wasn’t enough to play with color and light, to perfectly capture the sun through an opaque curtain playing on Mahito’s hair while black flies buzzed onto overripe fruit. Of course not. People wanted more. You just weren’t more, now. If you were ever that.

Mahito crawls onto your bed, languid; it’s not the first time he’s been so close, so intimate, but it gives you goosebumps nonetheless. He curls himself behind your back and runs a finger down your arm.

“They like your older work,” he muses. You’ve ranted about this, and he apparently listened, which makes you feel at least a little least sour. “So why don’t you paint like that again?”

So much for feeling a little less sour. You curl inwards, eyes fixated on the dimming red glow of your cigarette in its tray.

Mahito pokes your shoulder. Impatience. You can feel it building in him, in the way his arm muscles tense, just a little. When he gets bored, he sometimes leaves.

You don’t want him to leave, so you force the words out, although you’d rather keep them private. Your mouth feels sticky when you talk, but you press on.

“My old stuff was before…” You know he knows, but you’ve never pinned down a single way to explain it to him. “Before I figured myself out. Before a lot of things, I guess.” Mahito’s hand wraps itself around your stomach, and you reach out to intertwine your fingers. To keep him with you, if such a thing were possible.

“I haven’t had the same type of inspiration in a long time,” you admit. “So I don’t know how to just…” Flashes of your old canvases come to mind. Demons and ghosts and landscapes of terrible beauty. “Get back into that head space.”

There is a stretch of silence that begins to worry you. Maybe you are too boring, maybe you’re whining, maybe whatever this is has run its course and he’ll leave and you’ll have nothing to your name but this empty apartment and your empty life.

But then Mahito grips your shoulder and pushes you firmly, swiftly, onto your back. There’s a dull ache where he touches you and you stare up into his eyes, wide and bright even in the darkness. He’s grinning. He’s grinning, and it’s beautiful and ugly--

And on his side, arms sprout out; some with mouths sporting their own grins. Behind him, arms upon arms, hands upon hands. A grotesque vision come to life in your dim apartment bedroom. You can see it now, on canvas. A creature with greedy hands outstretched to the world, taking what it wants, when it wants.

You can see Mahito, posting, while you furiously work at the easel. You know you’ll work until your hands cramp, desperate enough to capture every microexpression in pencil before it fades.

Mahito, the muse, painted again and again. Until your hands cramp, until your eyes are red and burning.

“Does this inspire you?” he says, a bright giddiness in his tone fading into something lower and warmer as he leans down to capture your lips.

You’re not certain which of you tastes the most of ashes.

The paintings are perfectly grotesque. Inspirational. Disturbing.

“And yet,” the director continues, tapping his pen against his chin, “so life-like. You can hardly tell where the real model ends and your imagination begins.”

Because, of course, humans cannot sprout extra limbs from their sides. Humans cannot stretch their tongues to wrap around their body like a rope. Humans cannot pull open the flesh of their stomachs to reveal what’s inside.

Not without dying, anyway.

You’d almost asked Mahito if that was what curses looked like on the inside--if they had organs, like stomachs and lungs--but thought better of it. Knowing would be worse than pretending.

When you pretend, you can ignore the growing sickness in your stomach as the paintings become worse--and better. As Mahito pushes you farther and farther, and you’re not sure if you want to turn back.

When you pretend, life with Mahito doesn’t seem very fucked up at all.

“Keep it up,” the director tells you, thumbing through the wad of ghastly cash he hands over for your latest piece. It’s enough to pay off your rent and bills and cover cigarettes and booze and some new books for Mahito, though you’re sure he just steals them when he’s not with you.

And you do--keep it up.

Because Mahito wants to, and because despite all the disturbing dreams you begin to have after sessions of drawing and painting, your new works really are better. More visceral and alive; galleries want them.

They want you.

You feel seen, finally, for who you are and what your hands can do--

How could you turn that away?

“I don’t know,” you say, slowly, watching the thing Mahito brought with him writhe on the table.

It was soft and gelatinous, like a blob of moving goo. At first, that’s what you thought it was: something he scooped out of a container at a toy store that sold novelty slimes.

But this wasn’t some gob of bright orange or neon blue with a telltale sticky sheen that told parents that yes, mom and dad, this was going to wind up sticking to the carpet by the end of the day.

This was light beige, with two big black spots that looked a bit like eyes. It was larger than you think a toy slime would have been and it--well it moved. Really moved. Not just from a slight breeze drifting in through the window or due to its own gelatinous nature.

It was--whatever it was--alive.

It had eyes, and perhaps that bit of discolored beige was hair, and that was it. Two eyes, slick, shiny skin, and no mouth at all.

“It’s a statement piece,” Mahito says simply, even happily, as he adjusts the blob to his liking on the table. He tries out a series of poses that you direct with hesitation--looking down at it with his chin resting in his elbow, holding it in his arms like some sort of stuffed bear, endless, restless poses, all punctuated by the strange writhing of the thing.

The two of you finally settle for Mahito looking one way, and the blob--were those its eyes?--facing another. A contrast between colors and shapes and Mahito’s lithe form and the writhing blob. But while there is a dim satisfaction in putting Mahito onto the canvas, a sense of self-worth and pride that grows with every stroke, you put off working on the blob until the last possible minute. Your body seems to know why, even if your mind doesn’t.

At the end of the night, you start to ask a question that’s been on your mind the entire evening--

“Mahito?”

But when he turns, a small smile on his face, blob in hand, the words die in your throat.

You say nothing as he leaves. You work a little more on the painting, avoiding half the canvas, not wanting to think about what it was that Mahito brought and why he brought it.

That night, you dream about a garden of squirming, writhing blobs.

Today, Mahito has no mouth.

And today, you’ve decided, that this will be your last Mahito piece. No more. Not a single one. The singular lack of a mouth is not even as horrific as some of the other ways Mahito has posed for you, but somehow, it’s the one that terrifies you the most.

Mahito has no mouth, and you can’t even ask him why.

Mahito has no mouth--

Mahito has no mouth, and he wants you to paint him.

He tells you this, in gestures. Maybe if he was over the top about it--if he was wildly waving his hands, if he made a game of it--then it wouldn’t make you feel so wrong. But he’s slow, methodical. Serious.

It makes your stomach clench on nothing but whisky and overcooked eggs.

But you let him bring out one of your mirrors and set it up in front of a stool so you can paint him, looking at himself in the glass. There’s nothing else you can do but this, you realize; that’s what your life has come to. You are mingling with a curse and he could kill you in a moment if he wanted to--but right now, he wants you to draw him and paint him and put something monumentally distressing on the canvas. And you want to do these things--because he wants you to? Because you know the gallery owner is going to take one look at this last piece and ask you to open your own show? Love or ego or something awful and in-between?

You sketch quickly. It’s the final layers of painting that will take days, you think, if you want this to turn out right. Right now you’re worried about two things: capturing the tones while the light is just right, and how Mahito will react when you tell him you’re done after this.

It’s not like you can tell him now. He can’t even talk.

What is it like, without a mouth? You bring cigarettes to your lips and wonder if he feels jealous of it. Would he get mad, if you told him you needed a drink? A snack? Eating and drinking--curses can do these things, and you’ve seen Mahito do them, but you don’t know how much of it is a want or a need. It’s hard enough to tell the difference with a human.

If you had no mouth, what would you be? Your thoughts flit, briefly and then away again, to the blob. To its eyes. To the way it couldn’t stop moving and Mahito held it like a toy.

You don’t want to think about that.

It would feel wrong to talk while you work on this piece, you decide. Better to save it for when it’s finished. A few days, at most, with Mahito holed up in your bedroom--and no mouth at all.

In these few days, you want to kiss him more than ever. Want to capture the memory of his lips, because surely, he’ll want to leave if you’re done painting him. Done being entertaining.

The thought of kissing the awful, empty space where his mouth should be keeps you from even thinking about it.

It’s your masterpiece. You know this from the moment the last stroke is complete. You’ll never top this work, and some prideful part of you demands that you try, anyway.

Mahito still has no mouth. Even as you pull the drape off the canvas, as he gets close to inspect it.

“Mahito,” you say, suddenly. He doesn’t look at you. That’s better, you think. Makes it easier to stomach what will come next; the inevitable moment where Mahito drops you like an old toy. Usually it’s the other way around, an artist getting bored of its muse and flinging them aside.

But you’re not bored of Mahito. You’re afraid of him. You want him here--but you don’t. It’s a big jumbled mess and maybe it would have been easier if he never showed up on your back porch, if you never saw him at all, if he hadn’t opened up some wound inside you that only he can stitch up.

“Mahito,” you repeat. “I don’t think I can paint you anymore.” Stupid, weasel words. You cringe. “I mean. I don’t want to paint you anymore--after this one.”

Mahito tilts his head, and finally turns his eyes towards you--but still, there’s no mouth, no mouth, no mouth.

After a moment, you continue, mouth dry and sticking. “Did you hear me, I said I--”

Mahito’s hand slaps against your own, hushing you.

“Have you been wondering what it feels like?” It takes a few blearly, confusing moments for you to realize that Mahito is talking not with lips on his face, but on the hand that’s pressed over yours. “To be unable to speak?”

The awful thought hits you. Is your mouth even still there, under Mahito’s hand?

Mahito leans in, and pulls his hand away. Slowly, like he’s revealing a prize .

“I want to paint you now,” he murmurs. He might even be cooing, eyes alight at what he sees as he lifts his hand.

You want to answer him--you want to scream.

But you can’t say a word.

#yandere mahito #mahito x reader #yandere jjk #yandere #afterwitch writes #was the titanic reference necessary? yes. yes it was.

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lovebugism · 11 months

Note

OK the fall prompt "rainy walks" got me thinking like... what if reader got upset about something and went for a walk and got caught in the rain, and ended up running into Steve who is just out walking and loving the fall gloomy vibe

ty for requesting! — steve runs into his ex while trying to escape a bunch of freaks and finds out you're running from something of your own (exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, tw mentions of toxic relationships, 1.9k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Steve doesn’t usually smoke. He dropped that habit when he graduated high school and realized he only needed a cigarette when his group of asshole friends were around. He smoked because it felt cool mostly, but also because it felt good to be distracted from his lingering feelings of non-belonging.

Now he’s got people around him who make him feel like he belongs.

It’s too bad they’re all a bunch of freaks.

After being cooped up in the Munson trailer all day, he thinks he’s developed something short of cabin fever. Desperate to get away, he swiped one of Eddie’s cigs and a forgotten zippo before heading out to smoke on the back porch.

He exhales grey smoke from his pink lips. It leaves in invisible wisps beneath heavy storm clouds. He thinks he hears a voice over the muffled sound of Dustin Henderson’s yelling. “Fucking asshole— who do you think you are?” the voice speaks, familiar in a way that makes his stomach ache. “Like, fuck you, dude. You don’t get to talk to me like that. No fucking way.”

He peeks around the corner, and there he finds you — an old ex from a lifetime ago that he hasn’t quite gotten over yet. His chest starts to tighten. He can’t tell if he’s happy to see you or utterly horrified.

You’re still dressed in your pajamas despite it being early afternoon — if an oversized t-shirt that certainly doesn’t belong to you can be counted as pajamas, anyway. It’s a white and red Metallica tee that falls to your knees, slightly frayed at the hem.

It probably belonged to Billy before it belonged to you. If Steve had to guess, you probably stole it like you did all his shirts. He still isn’t sure what came of his favorite Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt.

You come down the road from the Hargrove-Mayfield trailer, looking like you left in a rush. You’re barely dressed and shivering in the cold, walking fast like you’re angry and desperate to get away.

You and Steve broke up a long time ago, but his heart still swells with the familiar urge to protect you.

“Are you okay?” Steve calls to you as he rounds the corner of the Munson trailer.

The crunchinggravel beneath your feet goes quiet when you still. Your head whips toward the sound of the familiar voice, eyes widening when you find Steve there. Your heart starts to race — not because you’ve just run into your ex, but because you’ve run into your ex who you kinda sorta ditched several months ago.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were okay,” he repeats with a quiet, lopsided grin. He flicks the end of his cigarette with his thumb and tries to meet your gaze. “Sounded like you were giving someone a hell of a talking to.”

Your face flares with embarrassment. You shift your weight on your feet and cross your arms over your chest — partly to shield from the crisp cold but mostly to comfort yourself. “Yeah. I’m just— I was just talking to myself,” you stammer, flashing a wavering smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’m good.”

Steve nods, then squints like he doesn’t believe you. “Okay… Are you sure?”

A laugh tumbles from your mouth. It’s cynical and bitter and utterly forced.

“Yes, Steve. I’m fine,” you assure with a bite to your tone, colder than the grey autumn around you. You smile through it anyway, like you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You’re not my boyfriend.”

Steve knows this. He hasn’t been your boyfriend for a while, but something about the way you say it makes his chest ache. He isn’t sure why.

“No, I know,” he nods quickly, shrugging with his brows pinched. “But I’m never gonna, like, not worry about you, you know?”

The empty feeling in your chest starts to warm. Your nails dig crescent shapes into your arms.

“Why?” you murmur.

“I don’t know. Because you were really important to me, I guess— you are really important to me. And that doesn’t just, like… go away,” Steve rambles, shier than you’ve ever seen him. He swipes an anxious hand through his cinnamon locks. The rouge strands hanging over his forehead fall back into place a second later.

Even though your boyfriend forced you not to talk to any of your friends, he wants to say. Even though you’re not mine anymore.

It’s been so long since someone’s been this soft with you. You’re not used to it anymore. You’d much rather him be mean because at least then you’d have a place to put all your anger.

“That’s… That’s nice,” you mutter under your breath like an idiot because you don’t know what else to say.

Steve takes one last puff of his cigarette, if only to distract himself from the awkward silence. He takes a deep breath in and tosses the stick to the gravel, exhaling the smoke as he snuffs out the ash with his sneaker.

“Where were you, uh— Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere. I was just… on my way back home.”

His brows furrow. He doesn’t bother to hide his concern. “Do you have a car?”

“Nope,” you answer with a sigh. “Still don’t have my license, so…”

“Still?”

You nod, scrunching your nose all sheepish. “I know…”

“We used to practice all the time!”

Steve’s golden laugh makes you smile despite yourself. “Honestly, I’m still a little scarred from when I almost hit that deer.”

He nods at the memory, quietly nostalgic and warm with it.

That was on the way to Deep Green Cove, where the two of you were headed to meet his parents at their over-the-top lake house. He let you drive because he knew you’d been wanting to and thought the vacant countryside road would be easiest for you to practice on.

It hadn’t been.

And you did it all for nothing because his parents didn’t even show.

It was a good weekend, though. He can’t believe he forgot about it until now.

“Yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” Steve shrugs with his head tilted to his shoulder. “It took me three days to get you in the car again.”

“I’m pretty sure I cried, like, all night after that.”

“Yeah, my t-shirt still has tear stains on it, actually,” he teases with a boyish chuckle.

Your own giggle sputters from your mouth. You hide it with your palm — like you feel guilty about it. It feels good to laugh, though. To remember that you used to cry over stupid stuff like that and not shit that actually breaks your heart.

A fat raindrop plops cold on your shoulder. You wince. “Oh, fuck— I gotta go.”

“Let me take you,” Steve offers without thinking twice.

You stumble back when he steps towards you, shaking your head to dismiss him. “No. It’s okay.”

“C’mon. Just let me drive you home—”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not letting you walk in the rain.”

“It’ll be okay—”

“You’ll freeze.”

You scoff a bitter laugh. “It’ll be better than what Billy does to me if he finds out I was alone with Steve The Hair Harrington.”

You say it like it’s a joke, and it isn’t, really, but Steve isn’t laughing anyway. His chiseled features twist in concern, like your words have somehow pained him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you answer, perhaps too quickly, laughing as you shake your head. “It was just— It was a stupid joke. I’m just being dramatic.”

“Are you saying he’ll hit you?” he wonders in a quiet murmur, far too somber than you’d like.

“No— what? No!” you stammer quickly, face as screwed up as his scruffy one. You start to ramble before you realize it. “Billy isn’t like that, okay? He’s just— He’s a fucking baby, and he’s dramatic, and I’d love to go one day without being fucking gaslit. That’s all. I’d rather just freeze on my ten-minute walk back home than have him berate me about hanging out with my ex.”

A few more raindrops fall. Spots of ashy gravel turn to a darker shade of grey.

Steve grows quiet, letting the gentle cadence of water on tin roofs fill the silence. His chest aches all over again. He can’t decide if he’s sad for you or angry at Billy or grieving that he ever let you go in the first place. Maybe a mix of all three.

His hands tremble with the intensity of the swirling emotions, but it’s still in his nature to be soft with you.

“Do you wanna come inside?” he wonders, nodding back towards the trailer.

“To Eddie’s?”

“Yeah.”

“…No,” you answer with the shake of your head, face twisted like the offer offends you. It does, but only because you’re almost sure Eddie hates you now. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. If your best friend chose some asshole over you, you’d hate them too.

“No?”

“I haven’t talked to him in forever— I haven’t talked to any of you in forever.”

“It’s okay,” Steve nods, so gentle it makes you writhe.

“No, it’s not, Steve. I ditched all of you. I was awful to you.”

You don’t want his gentleness. You want him to hate you. You don’t deserve his warmth or the one inside Eddie’s trailer, practically aglow with the laughter of all the friends you left behind. You deserve the isolation. You deserve to stand in the rain and freeze.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, a newfound insistence in his tone like he wants you to really hear him. His bushy brows raise and his honey eyes sparkle, golden even in the grey. “We know why. We know it’s not your fault.”

You falter, swallowing through a closing throat. “You do?”

“Yeah. And we don’t— we don’t blame you for it, okay? For any of it. We miss you, actually.”

The crooked pink grin he flashes should comfort you, but it only makes you shrink inside yourself. “You’re just saying that,” you murmur, disbelieving and dripping with self-loathe.

“Ask Robin if you don’t believe me,” Steve tells you, smiling wider now. “Actually, she was just talking about how making fun of me isn’t as fun without you.”

You don’t want to believe him, but you glow with the faint hope that he’s telling the truth, anyway.

“Really?”

“Really,” the boy nods, then grimaces when the light rain grows suddenly heavier. His brows scrunch as he holds out an arm towards you. “Screw your boyfriend, okay? Just come inside. We can take care of everything else after.”

You want so desperately to take the hand he holds out for you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the longing to hold him, but you don’t let yourself — even though it goes against all your human instincts not to.

You’re made slightly braver than he had said we. “We can take care of that later,” he’d promised, a subtle assurance that you aren’t as alone in all this as you feel. But you often feel like you’re a black hole at times — you don’t want to suck anyone else into the mess you’re in.

“I don’t know…” you waver, teeth threatening to chatter when a breeze makes the rain colder.

“C’mon, before both of us get soaked—” Steve laughs when it starts to rain harder. All the clouds begin to pour at once. You rush to him before you can think twice about it. His palm is warm at the small of your back when he ushers you towards the trailer.

Beneath the high-pitched squeaking of the screen door, you hear Steve mumble behind you. “Dustin’s gonna fucking flip when he sees you.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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roronoaswifey · 1 year

Note

hi could we get some tattoo artist!law nsfw headcanons?? i saw timi’s art work for him and i’ve just got the feeling you’d write him so amazingly!

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓!𝐋𝐀𝐖

pairing. trafalgar law x black!fem!reader

warnings/tags. explicit content, foul language, substance consumption, reader has dermal piercings + other tattoos, pussy eating, cunningulus, overstimulation, implied breeding *not encouraging….maybe*, trafalgar law can’t handle pussy, what else is new

kazu’s note. timi’s work if you haven’t seen it yet 🌚

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓!𝐋𝐀𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐎…

never expected somebody like yourself to be in any way connected to luffy. when the younger boy had messaged law a simple “client on the way! :D”, the tattoo artist had expected the worst of the worst. anybody affiliated to luffy gave him an irritating throb in his temple, and even if he wanted to refuse their requests, his morals as an artist never allowed him. so when the sound of chiming from the front door echoed in the shop, he bit back a groan as he mentally prepared himself for the blunt he’d desperately need afterwards.

for the first time in a cool minute, felt his tongue heavy in his throat at the sight of you. pushing past the door, you stepped inside the shop, curvy body snug in a low rise cargo miniskirt and bikini top, your inked skin shining through the golden rays of the sunset behind you. you looked majestic, knotless braids freshly done and with one push of your hair behind your shoulder, law felt his gut pool with arousal.

is taken aback by your sparky personality. you’re not as reckless or loud and smitten as the rest of luffy’s friends, but instead sport a very bored look. your rest in bitch face oddly sets him at ease, giving him sense of security that he may not indeed need to smoke to settle his nerves (though nothing beats a blunt after a long day of work). “you law?” you greet him after a small ‘hey’ and he nods and pats the lengthy chair, not trusting his unsteady vocal chords as all that runs through his mind is how can you be this pretty?

who takes admittedly longer than required to prep your soft skin for the tattoo. you’d shown him a design of words in arabic that you wanted tatted on your spine, and though he wasn’t the most religious person, law simultaneously thanked yet cursed god that he wouldn’t be facing you because it’s one thing to rejoice that you’d be missing the soft pink blush resting at his cheeks at your very revealing outfit, but it’s another having your plump ass peaking right through the miniskirt. maybe the blunt would be needed after all, he thinks as he cleanses your skin and shaves off body hairs to smoothen the process.

can’t help but grin when you ask him to take a hit of his blunt. he wasn’t sure how you’d feel about an artist smoking during his work hours but when you tilted your head at the sound of his lighter sparking up the blunt, a familiar earthy scent filling your senses, the blunt quickly left his mouth in favour of yours. he watched in a mix of awe and confusion as you inhaled deeply, ghosted the cloud of smoke before puffing it out. “‘for the nerves,” was your excuse, placing the spliff back in his parted lips, and laying back on your chest. law nearly felt himself choke on the smoke at the recoil of your ass beneath your thin bottom, slacks growing suspiciously tight as he mentally cursed his own body for the betrayal. lack of pussy, he figured he could blame it on.

with the course of time, alters between sharing his blunt with you. whenever he finds he could use a hit, you stretch your arm back to pass it back to him, and whenever he’s deemed relax, passes it back to you. small talk grows rapidly, as he does his best to keep it as professional as he can (though the smoking contradicts his point) while attempting to keep you entertained. he isn’t confident he’s doing a good job, but you are luffy’s friend after all, so he isn’t surprised you can hold up his lame attempt at conversing.

who isn’t sure if he’s finally gone mad, or maybe just really fucking high, but his almost positive you keep purposely pushing your ass onto him. he’s finished the design, intentionally making sure to not injure or infect the dermals on the dimples of your lower back, but good heavenly lord, your miniskirt rose up the curves of your ass along the inking process and with the weed infiltrating his system, he’s so fucking horny, wanting nothing more than to lay you down and beat the shit out of your pussy— to which, if were a perverted shit, one good lean back in his seat and the outline of your flesh through your thong would be clear as day.

whose suspicions are finally answered the second he vocally announces he’s finished his job. with wrap surrounding your fresh tattoo, his hands linger a bit longer, relishing in the last bit of an opportunity he’d have to hold you before letting you go for good. to his surprise, you stretch an arm out behind you, tilting your head to the side to catch a glimpse of him through your lash extensions and reddened low-lidded eyes, whispers of pleads for him to touch you a little lower.

doesn’t want to push his luck, so he gulps and lets his calloused thumbs caress your smooth brown skin, trailing from the back of your thighs, shaping at any old ink carved in, at any stretch mark that shaped your body, the the crease beneath the cup of your ass that caused the shelf it did. he’s so tempted to push your miniskirt up and watch what he’d imagine of your glistening pussy through your flimsy thong, the fat flesh poking through the material. the thought alone has him biting back a groan, holding these urges back for his sanity and yours. though, clearly you couldn’t give a fuck less about anyone’s sanity, as you intentionally raise your hips during the trailing of his thumb on your skin, forcing his thumb to slip in the warm crevice between your thighs.

finally lets go and swiftly creases your skirt up to your hips. the recoil of your ass set from the intense impact has him groaning, guts swarming in hot arousal, and not even his wildest dreams would’ve prepared him for the sight of your fat cunt. the pad of your panties drenched in your slick, he sees your pussy clenching at nothing, he hears you moaning softly with a sweet arch to your back, and he wants to feel more of you.

relishes in your pretty moans as you fist and clench at anything within the vicinity of your hands. with your thong lowered to the back of your knees, his mouth latched at your lower lips and licked, sucked, tugged, nibbled with precision, so long as he kept hearing you whine and moan, pushing your cheeks back into his face. he’s probably running short on oxygen, nose stuffed in the crack of your ass but he figures he could die a happy man this way. you taste as good as you smell, possibly even better, that he can’t help the slip of fingers E and A in your cunt, simultaneously working his tongue at your folds while fucking into you with long and thick digits, scissoring you open in hopes to find that gummy spot that’ll have you spraying him in your essence.

who drinks you up quicker than you can finish moaning ‘oh fuck baby’ and wastes no time to fumble with his pants. he’s not sure how he managed to not cum in his briefs at the sight of you alone, but the sheer realization that his bottoms were still on made the possibility likely to happen. he finds himself before you, avoiding to have you do any unnecessary movement, as he pumps his brick hard dick in his tattooed hands, and watches your tired eyes shimmer at the sight of his drooling dick alone.

who groans pathetically at the first slip of his tip in between your plump lips, the warm wetness of your mouth sucking him in for what he’s worth as your tongue swirls around the salty skin of his dick. his hips push in and out your mouth slowly, wanting to ease into this naturally before fucking your mouth senseless, but gods with the way you keep humming around his tip, an guided hand pumping what you couldn’t reach for measure, with a pool of saliva gathering at the base of his cock and beneath your vice claw grip on his dick, he’s holding onto a thin thread of sanity, torn between wanting to respect you and let you take your time or rutting his hips and shoving his tip down the back of your throat, making use of you as he finishes himself off in your mouth. it isn’t long before he’s got a hand at the back of your neck, and the sinful sound of you attempting to keep up with his rapid thrusts in your mouth, the squelches of your plump lips and saliva on his lubed dick echoing in the room, that he releases a guttural moan with a head thrown back, painting your mouth white with him. he taps his dick onto your tongue for good measures, assuring you swallowed every last drop.

whose dick hardens painfully quick as soon as he feels you reaching for the base of his dick, and lining it at your sopping entrance. chest laid flat on the chair with your ass in the air, he eases the process by swiftly pushing his hips into your ass, dick slowly getting engulfed by your tight pussy and not even brent faiyaz’s vocals could outmatch the harmony in both your ranges of moans. your hand left his dick the second he bottomed out, in favour of holding at his hips, pushing and pulling him back in, clearly eager for this as badly as he was. though through gritted teeth, he breathed deeply and intensely as he pulled back out, your pussy lips latching at his tip so desperately, before he slams back down, your body jerking from the forceful impact and you whine, pushing your hips back into him for a better feel. the sex gradually quickens, his tattooed arms caging your head at the sides, fucking you like it’s his last resort for air, hips angling to the side as he pounds into your pussy. your ass jiggles like jello against him, mouth muffled by his thigh fingers as you lay down and take whatever the hell he gives you. your eyes roll back uncontrollably at a certain shift of his hips, and law decides he wants to see you do that again, so he relentlessly ruts into that spot that had you blacking out.

who turns you on your side, still weary about your back but is on the brink of losing it if he holds back any longer, lifts a leg up onto his shoulder, and starts to pound into you with a new angle. this position has him seeing stars, already feeling pussy drunk as your wetness engulfs him whole, sucks him in greedily. you’re not better, laid flat as your boobs move in clockwise rotations from the slamming of his hips into your ass. he’s got a tight grip on your plush thigh, his other hand thumbing at your neglected clit, flicking and playing with the nub in hopes of drawing you in closer to the orgasm he feels himself approach. the leg he holds soon begins to shake, and he knows you’re getting close, your jaw slack and babbles spilling past your lips, the most he’s heard you speak in this entire session. he’s tempted to lean forward and finally catch your lips on his, the one thing he hasn’t managed to do so far, but his mind is soon clouded with other thoughts, such as making sure you get to that desired high around the same time he does. and you both do, your back arching as you clamp impossibly tighter down his cock, milking him dry of every seed left in his heavy balls, shooting his loads in your cunt, spraying your walls in his essence, while you spray his balls and thighs in your sweet liquids yet again.

notices the room has gotten quiet after he’s been sated of the lack of pussy he’s practically self diagnosed himself with. you’re on your stomach, body still shuddering from the intense pleasure that hit you like a wave, and law can’t help the tongue that licks your pussy clean, lapping up any evidence left of what you guys had done in this room. your broken moans sound downright pathetic, shaking in overstimulation as law finds himself back on his knees, thumbs spreading your ass cheeks apart and licking into your pussy yet again. he couldn’t help it, you tasted heavenly and he was a greedy bastard. he ignored your pleads, in favour for the hand tugging at his messy locks, your leg thrown over his shoulder as you watched him from the middle of your thighs ravage you like his last meal. his golden eyes never letting go of eye contact with you, his tongue flicked at your clit, spread your folds and feasted on your spent out cunt. didn’t take as much effort this time to be gifted with his favorite drink, as he greedily moans and gulps down everything you give him.

who, after making sure you’ve been decently wiped and hydrated after having fucked you dumb, finds himself feeling hollow despite having the fuck of his life. had it been your previous conversations? or was it when he had you face down and ass up? what was it that suddenly made him realize he did not want you to walk out that door for good? he doesn’t have much time to think as you limp up to the cashier register and await him there. he then realizes you expect him to charge you for the tattoo, as if your pussy wasn’t worth all the riches in this forsaken world. he grunts a low ‘on the house’, betraying yet again another ethical artist moral, but he soon found himself realizing there’s a lot more of rules he’d bend just for you. you look at him with a smirk, almost having expected that answer. you reach in your mini purse regardless, and pull out a 50$, old receipt and pen. you lay flat all objects on the counter, quickly writing something down on the receipt, before pushing it closer near the register. he’s shocked at the hug you give him afterwards, a strong whiff of your previous activities lingering on your scent glands with a mixture of your own fragrance, and he can’t help the soft inhale he does in the crook of your neck, arms tightening around your waist as he holds you back.

who flushed pink in embarrassment when you pull away from the hug just slightly, now face to face as you glossy lips gently kissing his own ones, mumbling a soft ‘see you soon’ with another soft kiss at the corner of his lips, and he barely registers you left the tattoo parlour, the chimes at the door ringing their melody as the soft thrumming of his heart pounds against his chest, throat dry and now glossy lips tugging into a lovesick smile. though he’s slightly irritated that you still left a tip when he insisted it was free of charge, he picks up the receipt you left, eyes scanning over the message you left: ‘tip for a tip ;) call me back whenever, hot stuff, xoxo y/n <3’ and he’s never ran as fast in his life to his phone plugged into the wall, a chuckle rumbling from his chest, feeling uncharacteristically giddy at the thought that you wanted to see him again too.

i love this man so much it’s insane. also this took much longer than expected, my baddd 🦦

#roronoaswifey.exe #kazuha’s works 📂#‘thinking bout’ series #one piece #one piece smut #trafalgar law x black reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law smut #x reader

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sweetnothingtm · 2 years

Text

WISHFUL THINKING// könig x reader

pairing konig x f!reader

word count +5k

content warnings nsfw! oral (fem receiving), slight praise kink, kinda mellow in comparison to everything else i do

authors note konig! i hope you enjoy - i love him dearly and would not mind writing for him again if you nasties want it too

König thought himself better than this.

He was careful, methodical and cautious. Sometimes a little impulsive, but he liked to think that he was generally a patient man. Despite the blood on his hands, König is no worse than the rest.

Yet here he is, standing outside your door in the dead of night. There’s a soft hum of music, and he hears the distant sound of your voice, soft and melodic behind the door. He glances down to that little slip of paper you left him, biting the inside of his cheek. König releases a sigh of defeat, sending a sharp knock to the door.

Sorry I missed you - I’ll make it up to you, come by later?

König considers himself to be an observer. He’s patient, quiet and reserved, he blends in like a shadow. Always stuck on the outside trying to get in, König is used to the feeling of wishful thinking - but it takes a different meaning when he meets you.

A medic, and a damn good one. You had a clean record, history in the field with a stunning reputation and passed training with flying colors. You're quick and efficient, and he’d come to find out that you had a habit to bring out the worst in him.

You always greeted him with an innocent little smile, cheeks turning a shade darker as his gaze landed on you. He’d catch you in the halls, the alley where he smoked, and most often he’d find you with your legs crossed in the infirmary - staring back at him with a playful look on your face. König had a hundred different scars, but his favorites were the ones that healed with you.

He visits the infirmary when his pathetic loneliness leads him there. Covered in blood (though he isn’t sure whose it is), König would find himself stalking straight towards you. The dark fabric of his mask hid the excited smile that was plastered on his face each time he had an excuse to see you.

He told you his name one day when you found him leaning alone in an alley, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity, eagerly taking a spot next to him and letting his towering frame shadow you.

König was unconsciously flicking the lighter to life, eyes catching on you to watch the spark he felt burn to a flame. You were looking up at him, lip caught between your teeth and holding your breath. You asked for his name, words spoken softly against the cool air. When he told you, you hummed softly to yourself - letting the letters roll off the tip of your tongue until his knees were weak.

“König - I like that.”

He never got over that eager desire he felt each time you said it.

His boots would land heavy on the tile, the smell of chemicals and cleaning supplies leading a trail to your door. He’d stand there a moment, fingers digging into his wound as he stared at the barrier between you two. Heart heavy with that anxious feeling, he would always send a sharp knock on the door - waiting for your voice to ring out like a sweet melody and pull him through.

“König - you know you can just come in, right?”

Days spent with your fingers ghosting over his skin, little stitches and bandages left by your touch. You would tsk softly to yourself, thumb rubbing over the most recent cut and rubbing the blood onto a sterile wipe. He had a habit to stare, watching your every movement with baited breath.

You pulled at the seams of everything he’s kept wrapped up so carefully. You gave him soft laughs and gentle touches, the feeling of you burned into his skin. He got hot-faced at the idea of you, head spinning as he lost his sense of control each day spent thinking of you.

He can’t help but abandon all rationality whenever you lean in as he speaks, hands resting on your legs and eyes sparkling with curiosity - almost like you wanted to hear more. You ask him little things, trying to gather pieces of a puzzle with him as the end game prize.

“Do you ever miss home, König?”

“Not really.”

“What’s your job like, König?”

“…Relaxing.”

He lingers for as long as he can, and you never seemed to mind. Most days are spent in a comfortable silence, your brows pulled together in concentration as he shifts under your prodding touch. König - as much as he hates to admit - has a bad habit to fidget when your fingers are dancing along his skin.

It’s because he’s daydreaming about his head between your thighs.

You’d rest a hand against his knee, glancing to him with an eyebrow raised in challenge. Your lips would pull into a smirk, shaking your head at him in disapproval. He savored those little looks, kept them hidden to himself like a dirty secret.

He spent lonely nights with his hand wrapped around himself, your name at the tip of his tongue as his vision went blurry with the thought of you. König shamefully gave in every time, letting the sweet memories of you coat his senses in a bitter desire.

You were just across the hall, a couple doors down with your head resting against the pillow and eyes squeezing shut - doing almost the exact same thing with him in mind.

You've been pining after him for weeks, lip caught between your teeth every time he slips out the door and through your fingers. There’s days where you’ve got your head resting against your hand, legs crossed and thighs squeezing together as König speaks low and quiet to you with that tang of his accent.

“You know you can kick me out anytime,”

“I really don’t want to be bothered by anyone else, König.”

“How sweet of you.”

You’re swallowing down the bittersweet taste of longing when he glances over to you, eyes heavy and sending a pulse of electricity through you. You get sick off his presence, head spun with all the nights you spent dreaming of him.

His laugh send shivers down your spine, the sound harsh and abrupt as it tangles within you. You want to hear it more, and you try to be on your best behavior just for him. But it’s hard - almost impossible when all he does is get you eager and needy off his presence.

He notices too - biting his tongue to keep from getting hard at the way you rub your fingers along his thigh, blushing scarlet and hesitantly pulling back as he grits his teeth to stop the moan that begs to slip out.

“Everything okay, König?”

“Most of the time, yes.”

“That’s good to hear.”

You start letting your touch linger on him, almost hesitant to pull away after all those nights wishing you could stay. You look at him with little wide eyes, staring at that same piece of cloth which holds your favorite pair of eyes that catch you as you’re falling for him. König would watch as you bit your lip between your teeth, brushing strands of hair from your face and shoving down months of wishful thinking that’s started to burn into reality.

You left him a note one night. He’d stalked through the halls, brushing past other medics and making his way straight to you. It’s been a week that he’s been gone, your absence creating a festering wound in him that needed to be tended to.

He found it lying on your desk, folded up nice and neat with his name scrawled across it in large letters. He could almost hear you say it, sweet voice ringing in his ears as he frowns.

The note sits heavy in the palm of his hand, eyes scanning over your sloppy handwriting and reading the words once, twice, a third time just to make sure he read that right.

König glances to the clock, brows furrowing together. His stomach is churning with anxious thoughts, head cloudy with uncertainty as he looks back to the note and reads it a fourth time.

A gentle invitation, but it hangs heavy on his shoulders like a burden. His feet are planted firmly on the tile, towering frame haunting the room like a phantom as he sighs softly to himself. He shoves the note in his pocket, turning on his heel and aiming himself directly to you.

Diesel is desire - and you’ve just added fuel to the fire.

You never told him where you stay, but he knows the route like the back of his hand. He’s caught you slipping through the halls, dragging a hand across your face to wipe away the exhaustion as you sulk on your walk to the infirmary.

König finds himself standing outside your door in the dead of night. His heart is in his throat, tongue tied as his hand hovers over the barrier between you. He’s done it a hundred times, but never like this. Never so casually, so recklessly as he’s led head first by the pathetic ounce of pleasure he’d gain by getting to see you tonight.

He hears the sound of your voice, soft and melodic as it pulls him closer. His head is spinning, the carefully constructed control that he’s kept slipping from his fingers like an invisible string. He’s caught on you, stuck on the way you whisper his name and keep him around like a stray at your doorstep.

He knocks, waiting a moment before he pushes the door open and is greeted with the familiar face of you - this time he knows he can come in.

König has never been more happy that the dark fabric of his mask is hiding the way he’s practically drooling at the sight of you.

Sitting patient and pretty on your counter, your legs dangle over the side and swing gently as you hum a sweet melody and browse through the channels. Your frame is hidden beneath an oversized shirt, your bare thighs rest against the marble and seem to scream at König to come closer.

Your hair is spilling around your shoulders, an arm braces against the counter to keep you propped up. His heart is slamming against his chest, mouth running dry as he basks in the sight of you. All those nights spent pushing down those stolen memories of you are catching up to him.

He doesn’t have the heart to run away anymore.

You glance up to him, a smile playing at your lips as he stands in your doorway. Your eyes are sparkling with familiar look of curiosity, and you’re patiently waiting for him to make his next move. His hands are clenched at his side, knuckles turning white as he battles every inner demon begging him to stay.

“You didn’t wait this time,” you state, cocking your head to the side. He shifts, glancing around the room until he’s drawn back to you. “Were you not expecting me?” He asks, though it’s not direct or demanding. He’s genuinely curious, as if he’s crossed a boundary he’s desperately trying to reset - but only if you want.

“You’re the only person I expect these days,” you say softly, voice laced with admission as the words hang heavy between you.

König feels himself slipping straight to hell - and there’s nothing he can do but watch as you spread your thighs in just the slightest.

An open invitation.

He’s walking towards you, two blue eyes pinning you to the counter. The gear sits heavy on his frame, towering over you as he stands an arms reach away. He smells of cedar and pine, the familiar scent rolling into you as you release and anxious breath.

“Why am I here?” He asks, voice heavy with desire. You blink up to him, fingers digging into the counter to hold back all those months spent pleading with yourself to get a grip.

You hum softly, savoring the close contact of a ghost you’ve been trying to haunt in your own home.

“I figured you might miss me,” you say teasingly, voice soft and pulling at the seams of König's rationality that he’s about to abandon at your words. A little laugh escapes him, and he’s pushing himself between your legs as his hands come to rest against your knees.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling, his hands cold to the touch and sending a shiver along your spine. You’ve dreamed of this, hands digging into your sheets as the image of him wrestles with your self control. He whispers softly to you-

“I’m always missing you, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat to wait up for him, head spinning in a delicate dance alongside him as he lets his fingers drag along your exposed thighs.

“Prove it.”

It’s blind confidence that makes him dip a hand between your thighs, cursing harshly at the way your panties are already soaked through. König hums, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your clit as an anxious breath leaves you.

His eyes are trained on your face, on the way you’re looking at him with pure desire and adoration - like you’ve been waiting for him to spark since the day you met him.

He’s on fire, skin ablaze with the way your little eyes are looking at him eagerly. König feels that careful control slip and shatter. As he carefully drags down your underwear, he swears that there’s a little devil on his shoulder, pushing him closer to you.

Go on - don’t be a stranger, König.

“Be a good girl for me and close your eyes.”

König would spend an eternity on his knees if it was just for you. His hands are pulling you closer to his face, your head leaning back against the cabinets as a soft moan of defeat escapes your lips. Eyes squeezing shut and legs parting to let his hot breath fan against you, your mind is racing as the knot of pleasure begins to wind itself within you.

He plants soft kisses up and along your thighs, savoring each shaking breath you take as you struggle to beg and plead with him. The tip of his nose rubs against your center, his hands finding their grip on your knees as his tongue darts out and sends a lick up and along you.

König thinks you taste like heaven - a sweet honey that consumes his senses until he’s groaning between you, the sound deep and reverberating against your core. You’re already shaking, nails digging into the counter as his lips press themselves into your clit until you’re seeing stars.

He’s a little hesitant, cautious and patient with your movements - as if he’s waiting for you to push him away. You can tell, lip caught between your teeth as he takes his sweet time. You speak delicately, voice pleading with him.

“König, please.”

He feels like he’s drowning, struggling to catch up with you as you wrap your legs around his shoulders and pull him closer. His tongue presses flat against your clit, and he hums softly as it dances along your hot skin. He’s looking straight at you, your pretty little face scrunched up in all that pleasure he’s gifted you.

Wet and hot kisses are planted on your center, and his tongue is lapping up the sickeningly sweet taste of you as your hand finds its spot around the back of his neck - pushing him closer with a need that he’s been chasing after like a lost dog.

Your hips buck up to the touch of his teeth grazing against your skin, soft and gentle breaths escaping you. König grunts as your heels dig into his back, eyes turning a shade darker at the way you softly moan his name over and over.

“Hngh - gefällt dir das?” He mumbles against your skin, nipping at the flesh until you’re pleading with him, nodding desperately to get him to pick up the pace. “Don’t stop - please. please. please.”

Something in him snaps at the sound of you begging, his mind running blank as he buries his head between your thighs and lets pure euphoria lead him closer to you.

Sitting pretty and patient against the counter, you roll your hips into his touch and grind yourself in his face. He’s eager, tongue pushing between your folds as his hand travels down to the bulge that’s growing in his pants.

Stroking himself softly, König continues to eat you out like he hasn’t had a meal in an eternity. You’re soaked through, his skin slick with your pleasure as you come completely undone just for him. “So fucking wet - scheisse,” he grounds out against you, carefully pulling at the strings of your sanity.

He’s letting pure pleasure guide him through the labyrinth of you. His head is cloudy with the slick feeling of you pressed against his face, his hand tightening its grip against your skin. Harsh curses are escaping his lips, and he’s tugging at the tip of himself to the sound of you crying out in pleasure.

His tip is pressed against his pants, struggling to maintain control as you continue to moan and roll your hips against his lips. His tongue brushes against your core, and you’re pathetically whimpering his name as his fingers dip between your legs and push into you.

His fingers curl inside you, pumping in and out as the wet puddle between your legs starts to spill out against his bare skin. König is drunk off the feeling, his wildest dreams sending him into an unforgiving sense of need.

You keep your eyes closed, as if opening them would wake you up from a fantasy you’ve carefully crafted with him. You’re shaking, mewling out little cries and melting as his fingers drag along the inside of you and pull out all those horrible dirty secrets you’ve kept.

“Such a good girl,” he muses against you, palming himself through his pants as pre-cum slicks his tip. “Let me fuck you, angel - c‘mon,” he states, voice uneven with his heavy breaths as you nod against the cabinet, eager with desire.

“You think I’m a fool? I know that pretty little head of yours has been dreaming about this.”

And you have - lonely nights spent tangled around yourself as you find a sloppy release, head spinning with a crushing disappointment that he’s not the one pulling it from you. You’d find your fingers drifting between your thighs, the sickening memories of König stacking up until you’re sobbing out, nails dragging along the base of his neck.

“König,” you moan out, savoring the way his fingers curl and drag inside of you. “I want you,”

It’s all it takes for him to stand and pull himself out of his pants, the top of him dripping from all those little ways you pull at the seams of him. You keep your eyes closed, as if it’s the only way to keep your sanity intact. It’s dizzying, the way König pulls you to the edge of the counter and rubs his tip softly against you.

He’s got a hand around the back of your neck, his forehead resting in the crook of your shoulder as he slowly pushes himself into you. His mask rubs softly into your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You’re clawing at his waist, head slamming back against the cabinet as his dick sinks in inch by inch.

König can’t help but lose sight of everything that isn’t you. You’re so tight, clenching around him as he digs himself deeper into you and savors the way you’re moaning into his ear like a sweet siren lost at sea.

He stretches every piece of you, making room for himself as his dick slips inside. All those anxious thoughts, longing daydreams and wishful thinking are pushing him to the edge. He can’t think straight, head spun off the way you shimmy your hips to meet him eagerly.

“Du fühlst dich so feucht an-“ he growls, the tip of him brushing against you as you moan out in ecstasy and pull him closer.

When he’s finally sheathed he’s inside you, he takes a moment to bask in the sickening feeling of lust that’s leading him straight to purgatory. His nose nuzzles into your skin, panting and groaning as you squeeze around him. “Tell me you want this, angel. Show me everything I’ve been missing.”

“I- König, please. I need you.”

He sighs into your shoulder, pulling himself out until his tip is brushing against your folds. You wrap your legs around his waist, desperately trying to bring him closer until he slams his hips back into you.

Your head smacks against the wood, a soft cry of pleasure leaving your lips at the way he’s stretching you to fit him perfectly, like a puzzle piece that’s been missing all this time. You finally found it, and that little knot of pleasure is winding up until all you’re thinking about is the way that he fits perfectly.

His hips pick up a steady back, rolling into you with a sense of urgency. You sneak a glance to him, eyes peeling open to watch as he continues to fuck you ruthlessly. He catches your gaze, two blue eyes with a dark wave of pleasure brewing behind them. König let’s put a low chuckle, his hand coming to cover your curious gaze and pinning you against the wall.

“No peaking - I thought you knew better.”

You didn’t - and you never will. If it means you can chase after this high for the rest of your life, you will.

König is usually gentle, hesitant and careful with his approach to you. It’s abandoned at the door when you’re mewling and moaning in pure ecstasy, lips wobbling and fingers coming to scratch at the hand that covers the stunning view of him fucking you.

His anxious pining and careful planning has given him everything he wants - you. König feels himself committing every cardinal sin in his wake, and he’ll pray to god for forgiveness if he has to.

It’s a damn good thing he doesn’t believe in god.

His hips continue to snap into you, dick pressing and pushing against your folds. A thick pleasure is coiling inside you, hands shakily gripping his shoulders as you struggle to take him.

You feel that familiar high start to build, but he suddenly pulls out, his breaths fanning hot against your skin as he curses harshly and holds that distance between you. You whine softly, head shaking against his hand covering your eyes and begging him to keep going.

“König - don’t stop, please. I want-“

He’s already pushing himself back in, a grunt of pleasure ripping itself from his lips as your little cunt squeezes around him again. Broken and strained German is leaving his mouth, the tang of his accent pulling at you. He can’t help himself, a little too greedy now that he has you right where he wants you.

His fingers dip between your thighs and rub quick circles on your clit, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming. You’ll never get used to the feeling of him - so thick and big as he fucks you to oblivion. It feels like heaven, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheeks as you blindly come to wrap your arms around his neck.

König can tell you’re close - the way you squeeze around him and whine softly into his ears. You press your hips into his touch, desperate for contact as he continues to slam himself into you.

Then you’re saying his name over and over. Your voice eager and breathy as it rings in his head. It’s usually spoken gently, almost a little hesitant when he’s standing in your office, trying to keep the stray dog that longs for you at bay. He’s never been so confident in his life, tugging you closer to the edge of the cliff until you’re moaning out his name.

König. König. König.

He grinds his hips into you, the pressure of his hand becoming overbearing as the two of you continue to add fuel to that familiar fire that starts to blaze.

You’ll both go down in flames.

König pushes you to cum first, savoring the way you’re clawing at his neck and shaking underneath him. His pace is starting to become sloppy, breaths hot and uneven as he bucks his hips to meet your eager little moans.

When you’re hanging off of his frame, mumbling soft cries of pleasure and coating his dick in that sweet and slick feeling of you - König can’t help but desperately search for his own release.

He’s slamming into you, your head pinned against the wall and tears traveling down your skin to meet his hand. He’s twitching, groaning against your neck and panting your name out like it was his to begin with.

Then you clench around him, trying to pull him back in. His chest is tightening, stomach churning at the way you continue to pull the worst from him. He seeing stars, pushing your head into the cabinet as he mutters harsh curses and lets himself cum inside you. He would feel a little shameful if it wasn’t for the way you’re crying out in pleasure and begging for him.

A moment passes in a thick and heavy silence as he grows soft inside you. Your breaths are mingling together, tangling in a delicate dance as König drags his hand from your face and pulls you into his chest. It’s gentle, soft and needy. You’re unfamiliar with this, but sink into the touch like it’s something you’ve been craving.

He pulls out of you slowly, savoring the way he drops from your folds and onto the counter top. He’s dizzy with desire, eyes flicking up to meet your little smiling face that sends him straight to hell.

König releases a sigh, chest falling and head heavy with all the ways he’ll pay for this. You bite your lip between your teeth, fingers running along his shoulders.

He grabs a towel, gently rubbing you clean and whispering delicate sweet nothings to you. You’re humming softly, leaning into his touch as he tosses the rag to the side. You pull yourself off the counter, standing with shaking legs as he stares down at you.

You watch as he looks around expectantly, as if treasury has snapped him out of his blissful dreams that you gave him. He looks to the door, almost in hesitancy - as if he isn’t quite sure he can linger any longer.

“König,” you say softly, fingers brushing against his skin as he glances over his shoulder to you. Little wide eyes full of need stare back at him, his skin ablaze with that familiar fire you’ve been sparking within him.

“You know you can stay, right?”

#könig cod #könig x you #könig x reader #könig smut #könig call of duty #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig headcanons #könig imagine #könig fanfiction #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty imagine #call of duty fanfiction #könig

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omgrachwrites · 1 year

Text

The Night We Met (Chapter Two)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Potter!Reader

Summary: Over the summer you connected with the boy who is quite literally your twin's mortal enemy. Things start to fall apart in the darkness of the autumn.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, everyone lives au, takes place in 6th year, James being the best dad ever

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to come out! But thank you all so much for the support for this fic, I love you all! xxx

Chapter Two

The guilt you felt in your stomach was so unbearable that you ended up leaving the pub early, making excuses to your friends and ignoring Harry’s suspicious looks. It wasn’t until much later in the evening that your dad knocked on your door and when you let him in he sat himself on the edge of your bed.

“Y/N, what’s wrong darling?”

You looked at James with tears in your eyes, “dad,” you sniffled, “Mattheo is hurt and it’s all my fault.”

James sighed as he wrapped his arms around you, “it’s not your fault sweetheart. I know that he was here last night, you know, he could have stayed.”

You shook your head as tears fell down your cheeks, “I didn’t want to put him or anyone in any danger, I need to see if he’s okay.”

“I’ll take you.”

You scoffed at your dad’s words and took one look at his face and you realised that he was being deadly serious, he wasn’t joking, “are you insane?! What if he’s there?”

James shrugged, like the notion of his enemy wanting to kill him didn’t phase him at all, “then we’ll be careful, but I am not letting you go alone, not there.”

You let out a watery laugh as you swiped your hand over your eyes, “I love you, dad.”

“I love you too sweetie.”

You were driving through the lower part of the village when James spoke up, “wait, isn’t that him?”

Your eyes followed where your dad was pointing and you felt a jolt, your heart dropped and it wasn’t at the sight of Mattheo’s beautiful broken face, it was the sight of Pansy Parkinson’s hands all over him. You saw her smile as her fingers threaded through his hair and your heart was at the bottom of your stomach when you watched him smile back.

James made to get out of the car but you stopped him with a hand on his wrist, “dad, please don’t.”

James sighed as he glanced back at your face and pressed a kiss against your forehead, “should we just get some ice cream and go home?”

You shook your head, “I’d rather just go home actually, I’m sorry that I made you drive all the way out here for nothing, dad.”

James shook his head, “you didn’t make me do anything, sweetheart. I was happy to do it,” he glanced at Mattheo once more before biting his lip ad starting up the car again, “you know that he’s not good enough for you right?”

You smiled at your dad as he pulled the car away and you took one last look at Mattheo from the window.

When you were upset, James wanted to spend as much time with you as possible but you really just wanted to be alone. It took some convincing but James finally allowed you to take a walk by yourself to clear your head. You knew why he was so protective but it irritated you sometimes, of course you would never tell him that.

You blinked tears out of your eyes as you stared at the little stream that rushed through the clearing in the woods. A twig snapping made you jump and you instinctively clutched at your wand and drew it, ready to defend yourself if it came to that. You relaxed when he came into view, running a hand through his hair.

“Y/N,” Mattheo sighed as he came to sit next to you on the cool grass, “what are you doing here? It’s so late.”

You looked up at the brown eyes that regarded you with so much warmth, he certainly didn’t have his father’s eyes, that was for sure. They were so different to the cold eyes that beheld you at the start of summer.

“I’m so sorry,” you finally whispered, allowing your tears to fall.

Mattheo sighed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head, you could smell cigarette smoke as you clutched at his shirt, “maybe it’s for the best, Y/N.”

You sniffled and pulled back to look at his handsome face, “what do you mean?”

Mattheo scoffed as he took his arm from your shoulders and turned away from you, “don’t play coy with me, it’s insulting. I know whatever is going on between us has an expiry date. I mean it’s obvious, you and your brother are the golden children of Hogwarts, the heroes, there can never be a place for me and you to be truly together. We need to face the facts, Y/N we’re no good. You’re destined to have a great long life and I’m destined for the Dark Arts.”

It hurt you to hear him speak like this, so blatant and cruel, “it doesn’t have to be that way between us.”

“Y/N,” he wiped your tears away with his thumbs, “it was always supposed to be this way, it was fun and it provided us with a good distraction. This was doomed from the start, Y/N.”

Your resolve crumbled as you stared into his eyes and you realised there was no point in fighting for him if he wasn’t going to fight for you, “maybe we shouldn’t have even started this Theo,” you sniffled and pulled away from him.

“Let me walk you back?” he offered.

“No,” you whispered, “no, I actually just want to be left alone.”

As soon as you walked through the front door, James was waiting for you, “it’s over,” you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, “I’m sorry for putting everyone in danger.”

James shook his head and pulled you into a hug, “you’ve got nothing to apologise for, I just want you to be happy.”

You forced a smile at your dad and kissed his cheek, “night, dad.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The last few days of summer went by in a blur and soon you were saying goodbye to your parents as you left for school. You knew that Harry was nervous about going back to Hogwarts after what had happened at the Ministry. You knew he would get through it though, he always did.

“Are you going to be trying out for the Quidditch team this year, Y/N?” Hermione grinned as she looked up at you from the book that she was reading.

You laughed and mockingly glanced over at your brother who was in deep conversation with Ron, “as long as my brother does the right thing and puts me on the team,” you laughed before shaking your head “I would never expect him to just put me on the team, I’m not too sure this year, I was thinking about trying out but maybe I’ll leave it,” you shrugged.

Hermione nodded with a smile before she regarded you with warm brown eyes, “have you been okay? It’s just recently, you’ve seemed a little sad and distracted.”

You bit your lip, Hermione was your best friend but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the full story, not yet anyway, you shrugged and gave her the cliff notes version, “I was seeing someone and it didn’t work out, we were just too different I guess.”

Hermione nodded and didn’t press further, instead she looked over at Harry who was beginning to rise from his seat, “Harry? Where are you going?”

“Um,” he mumbled as he looked at you with wide eyes and you had to hold a laugh in, it looked like he hadn’t bet on getting caught, “I’ve just got to check something,” he quickly stuffed something into his pocket and you narrowed your eyes. He left the compartment before anyone could question him further.

“What’s going on?” you asked Ron, “what is he hiding?”

Ron frowned as he looked over at you, “it’s nothing, you know that he’d never keep anything important from you.”

Did you know that? It seemed as though you weren’t the only one keeping secrets over the summer. By the time the train was pulling into Hogsmeade Station, Harry still wasn’t back and your friends had somehow convinced you to meet up with him back at the castle.

As you were walking up to the carriages that pulled themselves, you heard a voice call out to you, “oi, Potter! Where’s your loony brother?”

You whirled around and found yourself face to face with Mattheo, there was a sly sneer on his face and his eyes were hard and cold, “fuck you, Riddle.” He was going to play this game? Fine. “What the fuck is your problem?” you snarled beneath your breath so the others wouldn’t hear you.

“I- “his eyes darkened and his face hardened. He shook his head and stormed past you, knocking his shoulder against yours as he did so.

“Merlin, he’s a creep,” Ron muttered as he and Hermione caught up with you, “are you okay?”

You smiled up at the tall boy, “yeah Ron, I’m fine. Thank you.” What the hell did you even see in Mattheo?

The sorting ceremony was over and you were enjoying the glorious feast when the doors flew open. Snape stormed in, his cloak billowing behind him, Harry came in after him and your heart jolted as Hermione gasped and Ron muttered something beneath his breath. Your twin’s face was swollen and bloody, you had an idea who had done this to him. You glanced over your shoulder to glare over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy had a sneer on his face as his eyes followed Harry and Mattheo grinned as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

“What happened to your face?” Hermione whispered.

Harry shook his head, aware of all the nosy students staring at him, “not now, later,” he tried to smile, presumably trying not to split his lip open again before he looked at you, “does my face look normal?”

“Hmm,” you squinted at him and tilted your head, “yeah, apart from your massive nose.”

Harry laughed before wincing in pain, “you’re a prick, Y/N.”

You laughed as you drained the rest of your pumpkin juice, you couldn’t wait to get to bed so you were very thankful when Dumbledore dismissed everyone. You couldn’t help but notice Pansy walk off with Malfoy, not even giving Mattheo a backwards glance.

“Scared her off already have you?” you remarked, sidling up to Mattheo.

He frowned at you as he walked up the stairs, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he hissed shaking his head, “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your brother by the way,” he nodded as Harry walked past with his eyes fixed on the marauders map.

You sighed as you folded your arms, glancing up at Mattheo’s fading bruises, “I’m sorry that he hurt you, I didn’t think he actually would.”

Mattheo scoffed, “you knew what would happen, you just didn’t care.”

“Of course I cared.”

Mattheo shook his head, “I honestly can’t be arsed talking about this let’s just treat each other like we usually would, like this summer never happened.”

“What, like we hate each other?”

“No,” he replied, “like we don’t even know each other. Because we don’t, not really, you were just some pretty girl that I enjoyed kissing over the summer, that’s all.”

Your mouth opened but no sound came out as you watched him walk in the direction of the dungeons.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked, making you jump and look at her guiltily.

“Oh you know, just same old shit,” you laughed and Hermione nodded but she didn’t look terribly convinced. You would have to be careful or you would be giving yourself away.

------------

Taglist; @primscat @thelifeofsecretpenguins @ehwhatever26 @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @nevillescomslut @hannahnikohl @5-seconds-of-animals @sanjanapm @abbiesxox @kaverichauhan @cat-loves-music @elijahslover @torresbarnes @ikyourwonderingwhyinameditthis @scream4melove @

#mattheo riddle #au #everyone lives #fluff #angst #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x reader #harry potter #james potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy

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cameronspecial · 7 months

Text

Let Me Eat It, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Summary: Just because Y/N has a cooking fail doesn't mean Rafe won't try it.

A/N: Inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Y/N isn’t the worst at cooking and baking, but it doesn’t mean she is the best either. Like most people, she has her successes and her failures in the kitchen. Today, it appears her the latter is the one in favour. She really didn’t think that leaving the cookies in the oven for five more minutes would leave them this burnt. In hindsight, the burning smell coming from the kitchen should’ve told her to go to the kitchen earlier and as she opens the oven door, smoke rushes up the oven vent. She begins to cough as some of it enters her lungs, fanning the fire alarm so it doesn’t go off. Luckily, she is the only one at the Frat house to witness this disaster. She just jinxes her luck because, with the beeping of the alarm, Rafe comes into the room in a panic. “Angel, are you alright? Are you hurt?” he questions, reaching up to turn the alarm off before rushing to his angel. He takes her into his arms to give her a once over and she nods to reassure him. “I’m okay. Only disappointed. I wanted you and the boys to come home to the smell of freshly baked cookies, not me burning the house down. I mean look at those. They look like coal,” she dismays, gesturing with an open palm to the tray in the oven with black lumps. Rafe sighs, takes out the tray and turns the oven off, “It’s okay. They still look great. I bet it’s just the outside that is burnt and the inside tastes great.” He picks up the cooling burnt cookie, giving it a few blows and bringing it to his mouth. “Rafe, I don’t think you should-” she is interrupted by her boyfriend.

“Let me eat it, Angel,” he insists. He takes a massive bite of baked goods. Immediately, he is overcome by a bitter sensation. His eyes dart to Y/N, who has a hopeful look, and he tries everything in his power to hide his true emotions with a smile. However, she notices the twitch in his right eye. She frowns, “Damn it. Don’t eat it anymore. I don’t want you to get sick or something. I just don’t know what I did wrong.” Rafe tries to hide his happiness of not having to finish it and puts it in the green bin. He places his hands above her elbows. “I’m sure you did everything right. There must be something wrong with the oven. I’ll get it checked out. I bet it’s the oven,” he persists. She nods, “Maybe, Let me look at the recipe again. Maybe I put it in way longer than I should’ve.” Her eyes glance over the recipe and she finds the culprit right away in the form of an F. Realization sets in. “I forgot the oven you guys have is in Celsius because you had it brought over from England, so when I set it to 350 Celsius, I was making way hotter than it was supposed to be,” she explains. Rafe gives her a small smile, “See, it isn’t your fault. It’s the stupid oven. I’ll get rid of it right away and get an American one so it doesn’t make you make that mistake again.” He kicks the oven, cursing up a storm against the inanimate object. She giggles at his actions and pulls him into an embrace. “Thank you for making me feel better, Rafe. You always know what to say.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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rubyreduji · 1 year

Text

of boobs and basses — ljh

summary: jihoon gets to meet his favorite rockstar, things only go up from there

tags: smut (minors dni!), fluff, idol!woozi, rockstar!reader warnings: smoking, explicit sex, multiple smut scenes, multiple orgasms, praise, fingering, biting and marking, oral, cum swallowing, finger sucking, spanking, hair pulling, creampie, crying, choking, squirting, over stimulation wc: 13.3k an: yes the reader and her band are based off of maneskin and vic de angelis. yes there is plot (but also a fair amount of smut ok). yes i love the banner thank you for noticing. here’s the playlist for this fic

Jihoon hates flying. Not because he hates traveling or because he’s afraid of heights, no he just finds it boring. Luckily he has WiFi and he can put his headphones on and sleep through the flight.

He’s sitting next to Seokmin who seems just as restless as Jihoon is, though Jihoon is a bit better at covering it up.

“Hyung, what are you listening to?” Seokmin leans over to try and look at Jihoon’s phone. His phone displays that he’s listening to Backseat Sex by LADYKILLER. “Oh, that’s the band with that girl you’re obsessed with. The one with the boobs.”

The words out of Seokmin’s mouth make Jihoon blush and he snatches his phone away. Seokmin isn't exactly wrong though.

Y/N L/N. Bassist for the rock band LADYKILLER. Jihoon may have a giant crush on you.

You and your band are well known for your ‘edgy’ image and your sexual stage presence. It’s not uncommon to see you on stage sporting nothing but pasties and a fishnet top. Sometimes no pasties at all. It seems these days he can’t even go on Twitter without seeing clips of you performing on stage topless, not that Jihoon minds.

That’s not why Jihoon has a crush on you though. You write most of your band’s songs, and to Jihoon nothing is more attractive than someone who understands music. You also just seem like a cool person, based off of interviews you’ve done and your fan interaction Jihoon has seen on social media. The way you handle fame is very different from how idols do, he likes seeing how free you are with your self expression.

Your music isn’t normally something Jihoon would like, but he saw one of your guys’ performances on Twitter and has been hooked since. Your stage presence is incredible and the chemistry of your group adds to that.

“Hyung this music is really…intense,” Seokmin says to Jihoon. Jihoon isn’t sure how much time has passed since Seokmin last spoke to him but when Jihoon looks over he can see that Seokmin has his earbuds in, listening to one of your songs.

Ex-Fling, off of your Razor Sharp Rampage album. It’s one of Jihoon’s favorite albums.

“You really enjoy this stuff?” Seokmin asks.

Jihoon flushes a bit, “Yeah. Their lyrics are good.”

Seokmin gives him a skeptical look. “If you say so, hyung.”

As soon as the plane lands in New York, the boys are swept away to the Radio City Music Hall. The VMAs aren’t until tomorrow, but Seventeen is scheduled to do their rehearsals today.

“You guys are a bit early, so you can just wait around and we’ll call you when we’re ready,” one of the stage managers tells the group before running off.

The boys break off to go kill some time but Jihoon stays backstage, watching the way everyone runs around getting things ready. Jihoon’s eyes scan the area around him, looking to see who else is performing tomorrow night. He sees mostly backstage hands until his eyes land on one certain person and Jihoon feels his jaw drop a bit.

This cannot be real.

Jihoon feels like he can’t breathe. This has to be some kind of hallucination or something because there is no way this is actually happening to him.

Y/N L/N. Twenty feet away from him. Dressed in cut off shorts and a tank top. Jihoon’s mouth goes dry.

He’s not sure why he’s so surprised. This is one of the biggest music events in America, and you are a popular American musician. Still, even if he was expecting you to be here, he didn’t expect you to be here. In the same vicinity as him. Even thinking about it makes Jihoon’s ears turn red. He feels like a flustered school boy again.

He was just talking about you to Seokmin and now here you are, right in front of him, looking like a dream. Jihoon gets embarrassed just thinking about how many times he’s stared at photos and videos of you.

You turn in the direction Jihoon is standing and your eyes light up when you see him. You start to walk towards him and Jihoon can feel his heart thumping in his skull. Surely you’re not walking over to him.

“Oh my god, you’re Woozi!”

You know who he is. Jihoon wants to pass out.

“I’m a fan of your work. I’m not usually a big K-Pop fan, but I like your stuff. Especially the solo you put out. Ruby? That was sick,” you tell him. “Sorry, I’m Y/N. Bassist for LADYKILLER.”

“I-I know,” Jihoon says. He’s thankful Vernon has been helping him brush up on his English. Too bad Vernon can’t help him with how shaky his voice sounds. “I’m also a fan.”

This seems to shock you a bit and an intrigued look crosses your face. “Oh yeah? That’s cool to hear.”

“Y/N! Come on, we’ve got soundchecks!” Jihoon looks over to see one of your bandmates (Tommy, the drummer) calling for you. A bit of dejection fills Jihoon. He wanted to talk with you more.

“Ah, sorry Woozi. It was nice meeting you. I’ll see you later!” You wave goodbye to the idol before running off towards Tommy. It isn’t until you’re out of sight that Jihoon realizes he didn’t say bye back.

“Jihoon-ah! Where have you been?” His members bombard him when he finds them waiting in a green room.

“I-I think I just met the love of my life,” Jihoon mutters.

Everyone looks at him a bit incredulously. It’s Seungcheol who finally speaks up. “What do you mean Jihoon?”

“She’s here, and I talked to her. Y/N.” Jihoon feels like he’s in a trance.

“Yo, from LADYKILLER? I love that band!” It’s Vernon who says this. Of course Vernon likes the rock band with the hot bassist who’s boobs are always on display. That’s so Vernon.

“The girl who’s always showing off her tits?” Soonyoung asks. They’d get canceled so fast if the Carats heard them talking like this.

“Stop saying that about her!” Jihoon’s face is probably red as a tomato right now.

“Is it…not the truth?”

“What girl is showing off her boobs?”

Jihoon wants to curl up in a ball and die.

“Jihoon-hyung has a crush on the bassist from the rock band LADYKILLER. Y/N L/N. Her band does a lot of nude stuff,” Vernon finally explains. “Their music is sick as fuck, but probably not in any of your guys’ taste.”

“She’s so pretty,” Jihoon mumbles.

“I hope I get to meet them too,” Vernon says. “James is so cool.” James. The guitarist. Jihoon thinks that he would get along well with Vernon.

The other members are all still staring at Jihoon and he wishes they would stop. Yes, he has a crush on a girl who is always topless. Can they please move on.

As if saved by the bell, a voice comes on one of the speakers.

“Seventeen please report to the stage. Seventeen please report to the stage.”

The boys all move to get to the stage, right as your band is finishing up. You wave at Jihoon when you see them approaching and shoot him a wink before following your band off the stage. And yeah, that definitely does things to Jihoon.

For the rest of the day and into the next Jihoon can’t stop thinking about you. He spends his whole night rewatching every one of your music videos, every interview you’ve done, and all the videos Jihoon has saved of your performances from when you were on tour last year. He might have an obsession.

Jihoon would probably have spent the whole morning doing the same too if he wasn’t taken to get ready for the award show. When the group gets to the venue they’re bombarded with cameras but once they get past those they are able to take their seats. Jihoon’s eyes scan the area quickly to see if he can spot your band, but he comes up short.

Soon the actual award show is starting and Jihoon doesn’t pay much attention to most of the awards, other than clapping when he should and noticing a few of his favorite artists when they come up in nominations or when they do their acceptance speeches.

When the time comes Jihoon gets up and goes backstage before their performance. He gets mic'd and then they’re being lined up to go out on stage. As much as Jihoon loves performing, he always finds it a bit strange to perform for people who aren’t Carats.

Jihoon does know that there is one Carat in the audience, so he dedicates his performance to you. The song goes too quickly for Jihoon’s liking and he thinks about how he can’t wait to be on stage with Carats again as soon as he can.

After their performance a few more awards are given, and Seventeen wins the award for the Best K-Pop and Joshua does all of the taking, as per usual.

Jihoon’s focus is lost again, until the announcer says a band name catches his attention.

“Next up to the stage with their hit single ‘Bruised Knees’: LADYKILLER!” The lights on the stage come up to reveal your band standing there.

Jihoon feels like a bit of a pervert from the way his cock twitches in his pants the second he lays eyes on you. You’re dressed in shiny black thigh high boots, a pleated mini skirt with a few chains and belts over it, and a button up shirt that only covers your shoulders and arms. Necklaces adorn your neck and dip down between your breasts that are out in the open. The only thing conserving any of your modesty is the silver star-shaped covers on your nipples.

Attached to your body is your iconic bass guitar. It’s sleek in a dark blue color. The rest of your band gifted it to you right before your first tour. You look good with it. If Jihoon is being honest you look like sex on a stick and he’s doing everything in his power not to pop a boner right now.

You have a smirk on your face and Jihoon swears you’re staring directly at him. You continue to stare at Jihoon throughout the whole song, which is about rough sex and giving head, like most of LADYKILLER’s songs are about. The songs that you write.

The special thing about your song ‘Bruised Knees’ is that it’s sung by your lead singer, Luka, but also you, with you singing the second verse and the bridge and sharing the chorus with Luka. The rasp in your voice goes straight to Jihoon’s cock and he really hopes that you (or anyone else) can’t notice.

You usually do backing vocals on the songs, but it’s rare for you to get your own part of the song and maybe Jihoon is biased but he definitely thinks you should sing more. Or maybe not because it’s really turning Jihoon on and he is in public and has a reputation to upkeep.

When you’re done with your song you wink at Jihoon again and yeah, Jihoon really is screwed because how is it possible someone can look so good.

By the end of the night your band wins both Best Alternative and Group of the Year. During both of your acceptance speeches Jihoon can’t pull his eyes away from you or the grin you have on your face.

When the award ceremony finally ends everyone is left to mingle. Most of Seventeen goes to greet some of the other K-Pop groups in attendance, but before Jihoon can join them, you’re approaching him with James in tow.

“Hey Woozi! Congrats on your award. This is my bandmate, James, he was wondering if he could meet Vernon?”

Before Jihoon can even respond, Vernon pipes up from behind him. “Yo! You’re James from LADYKILLER! Huge fan of your work man!” Vernon and James quickly engage in a conversation and Jihoon thinks it’s a little funny how similar the two are.

“Your performance was very good,” Jihoon tells you.

“Oh, wow, thanks! You guys too! I’ve seen videos of you guys performing, but seeing it live is a whole new experience. You guys are amazing.”

“Says the winner of Group of the Year.”

You scoff a bit embarrassed. You decide to change the topic. “Are you guys going to the after party?”

“After party?”

“Yeah. It’s basically an excuse for a bunch of musicians to get drunk together and do stupid shit. I’m only going because Tommy wanted to, but it would be cool to see you there. Your whole group too. No big deal if you don’t, but it would be nice to talk more.”

“Ah, yeah, maybe,” Jihoon says. He says maybe but he has already made up his mind that he is going to be there, even if he has to drag Vernon to go with him. There is no way he’s going to miss out on a chance to talk to you.

Vernon doesn’t take any dragging as he happily accepts to join, as it’s more chance for him to talk to the rest of your band. Joshua also decides to tag along with the promise to Seungcheol that no one’s going to get into any trouble.

Once inside the building, it’s clear this is a full on party. The air smells like alcohol and a wide variety of celebrities stand around talking to each other or dancing to the music. It doesn’t take long for James to find Jihoon, Vernon, and Joshua.

He shoots a smirk at Jihoon before telling him, “Y/N’s out on the balcony if you want to find her.” With that he leaves with Vernon and Joshua in tow.

Jihoon isn’t sure how to take the interaction and if James is giving him a hint or not. Either way Jihoon slips through all of the bodies in the room before finding his way to the balcony. There are a few people milling around but it isn’t hard to find you.

You’re still in your outfit from earlier and you’re standing talking to another guy who’s very close to you. A cigarette is placed between your fingers and Jihoon stares as you wrap your lips around it to take a drag. The way the smoke leaves your lips and blows into the guy’s face is…quite sexy to Jihoon.

Your eyes flit away from the guy for a second and land on Jihoon. Your face lights up as soon as you see him and you quickly leave the guy to approach Jihoon.

“Woozi! You came!” You smell like cigarette smoke and perfume and Jihoon has never been super into smoking, but the smell is intoxicating coming off of you.

“Jihoon,” Jihoon blurts out.

“What?”

“Call me Jihoon, please.”

You grin. “Okay Jihoon. Are you here alone?”

“Vernon and Joshua are here, but they’re talking to your band.”

“Ah, I see. Well then I guess you’re stuck here with me.” You send him a teasing smirk before taking another drag of your cigarette. The guy you were talking to earlier seems to realize you’re done with him and he shoots a glare at Jihoon before walking back into the building.

You lean against the railing of the balcony and look at Jihoon with a sultry look. You look so damn good right now in your stage outfit with your cigarette placed between your fingers and the moonlight shining down on you. Jihoon is glad he’s outside because he’s already having trouble breathing and he’s sure it would be worse inside.

“So Jihoon,” you reach to grab his wrist and pull him closer, “what’s a big time K-Pop idol like you doing liking a nasty band like mine?” His skin tingles under the touch of your warm hand against his wrist and he wants to remember this feeling forever.

“I uhm…” Jihoon’s face is hot as he tries to figure out what to say to you. “I saw a video of you guys performing and I enjoyed it. I enjoy how you write all of your songs.”

“Oh? What video was it?” There’s a teasing tone to your voice and Jihoon knows what you’re insinuating. Yes, the video he watched did include you topless. But he swears that wasn’t what interested him. Before he can sputter out an answer, you laugh. “I’m teasing you. I’m well aware of the…allure of my band.”

Jihoon wants to tell you that he thinks you’re more than just all of the sex appeal but before he can form the words he gets distracted. You’re staring at him intently, your eyes focused on his face.

“Y/N?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jihoon nods. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I kind of have a crush on you.”

Jihoon freezes. Did he hear that right? You, Y/N L/N, have a crush on Jihoon?

“Ah, I knew that was weird to admit,” you mumble after Jihoon doesn’t respond.

“No, no, I have a crush on you too!” Jihoon blurts out.

“O-oh!”

“I’ve been so nervous every time you’ve talked to me,” Jihoon tells you. He’s still nervous. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest.

“That’s…so flattering, oh my god. You’re just so talented and cool and pretty. You’re so pretty,” you say.

Jihoon grins. “I think you’re prettier.”

“I- I like that,” you whisper. “I’m really only called hot or sexy, so pretty is nice.”

“You’re beautiful to me Y/N.” Jihoon reaches out to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. “I think I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you right now.”

You quickly stub out your cigarette before grabbing Jihoon’s hand. “Not here.”

You pull him back inside and you two weave between people before going deeper into the building, away from the crowd. You and Jihoon find an empty hallway and you stop and face Jihoon. His hand is still clamped together with yours as you two stare at each other.

“You can uh, you can kiss me now,” you tell him in a soft voice.

“Okay.”

Jihoon hesitates, just for a second, before leaning in and capturing your lips with his. Jihoon swears that sparks fly the second your lips touch. The kiss starts out gentle but quickly becomes heated and Jihoon pushes you up against the wall, making you let out a low moan into Jihoon’s mouth.

Your fingers bury into the hair at the nape of Jihoon’s neck and you pull him closer. Your bodies are warm as they’re pressed together and Jihoon’s hands run all over your stomach, relishing in the feeling of your warm skin under his fingertips.

Jihoon swipes his tongue against your lips and you open up, letting Jihoon lick into your mouth. Your fingers tighten around Jihoon’s hair, pulling a bit, as you let out small whines from the back of your throat.

Jihoon isn’t usually one for hook-ups, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely inexperienced. He slots his knee between your legs and you automatically grind down against him. Jihoon can already feel the heat of your cunt against his leg and his cock stirs in his pants.

You two break away the kiss. You’re panting but Jihoon doesn’t take a break, leaning in to kiss at your neck. He sucks at the skin, trailing down your neck until your barrage of necklaces stops him. His hands slide up your torso to your exposed chest and he cups your tits. Jihoon kneads at your chest and you let out a soft sigh.

“How many times have you gotten off to pictures of my tits?”

Jihoon takes a shaky breath, “Too many times to count.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” you mumble. Your hips are still grinding down against his leg and Jihoon is sure his pant leg is wet by now. “Jihoon, I need you.”

Jihoon's cock is hard in his pants and he doesn't think he's ever been so needy before. Just as Jihoon is about to pull his cock out, his phone rings. Jihoon grabs his phone to dismiss the call, but then he sees it's from Joshua, along with about two dozen texts.

Jihoon groans and picks up the call. "What?"

"Where are you? Seungcheol says our manager is looking for us, we gotta get back right now."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Meet us at the front and if you're not there in three minutes I'm hunting you down."

The phone call ends and Jihoon sighs.

"Ah, you have to leave, don't you?" You ask.

"Yeah."

You look sad for a moment before you perk up. "How long are you guys in town?"

"A few more days. This is kind of a vacation for us."

"Great! Here." You grab Jihoon's phone out of his hand and quickly type something. "That's my number. Maybe we can meet up later in the week. Since you're blue balling me right now," you tease.

"Y-yeah, okay."

"See you later Jihoon." You press a quick kiss to his cheek. Jihoon bids you goodbye and makes his way to the front of the building, hoping Joshua and Vernon don’t notice the straining bulge in his pants.

The next day the rest of Seventeen are planning what they want to do, but Jihoon is texting you. He worries that it might be too soon to ask to see you today, since you just saw him yesterday, but you tell Jihoon you’d be more than happy to see him today.

You send Jihoon a text with an address and when Jihoon pulls it up in maps, it comes up with an apartment complex. Your apartment complex. Jihoon suddenly remembers that your band is New York City based.

Jihoon is glad that you two will be out of the public eye, but the idea of being alone with you in your apartment drives Jihoon crazy. He really hopes you two can finish what you started last night. After all, you’re not the only one who got blue balled.

Jihoon ignores the rest of his member’s questions as he slips a cap and a mask on and leaves in one of the SUVs, giving the driver your address. Your apartment is closer to the outskirts of the city, but it’s a nicer building. Jihoon is sure that only people who have a lot of money can afford to live here, which makes Jihoon feel better about privacy concerns.

Jihoon puts in the code you gave him to get into the building and he makes his way to your apartment. When he knocks on the door you open it within a few seconds.

“Jihoon!” You grin wide at him. “Come in!”

Your apartment is nice. It’s large with lots of windows and modern interior design.

“I feel underdressed,” Jihoon mutters. He’s in just sweats and a t-shirt.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m pretty underdressed as well.” You’re in a soft looking skirt and a tank top. You look really good. Jihoon has to look away when he notices you’re not wearing a bra, your nipples pebbling under the cloth of your shirt.

Jihoon knows why he asked you to hang out, but he feels too awkward to jump right into it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you move into the kitchen and grab two cans of coke out of your fridge, handing one to Jihoon. You two move into your living room area to the couch.

You have a few things scattered around and there’s pieces of sheet music all over your coffee table and couch.

“Sorry about that,” you tell him as you pick the papers up before sitting down. “Those are just songs I’m failing to write.”

“Failing?”

“Yeah. I can’t seem to finish them. I get ideas and then get caught up on stupid things,” you say with a shrug.

“I could look at them for you, if you want.” The words leave Jihoon’s mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. “Only if you want me to! I don’t want to overstep or-”

“No, that would be perfect! Could you? Let me get my bass!” You jump up and run into a room before emerging with your signature bass guitar.

It’s even prettier up close and it looks loved but well taken care of. Jihoon’s gaze doesn’t falter as he watches you play. You yourself are lost in the music, focusing on playing and singing the parts of your song you have finished. Your fingers glide up and down the next of your guitar as you tap your foot against the ground to keep beat. With the sun shining through your open windows, you look beautiful like this. Completely in your element.

Jihoon has to remind himself of the task at hand and when he starts to really listen, he realizes it’s very different from the normal stuff your band does. It’s still just as explicit as your normal work, but it feels more raw and visceral. He brings it up when you’re done.

“Oh yeah, this is actually music for a solo project I’m working on,” you tell him. “I’m really not supposed to tell anyone, but I trust you Jihoon.” Yeah, his stomach does flutter a bit. “When I write I can usually just focus on all of the sexual stuff, but I’m trying to add in more emotions with it, but I’m kind of struggling a lot.”

“What you have is good. Let me hear some of the other stuff you’re working on and we can go from there.”

That’s how you and Jihoon end up spending a good part of the day working on music together. Jihoon doesn’t mind though, he loves music and something about writing and composing with you feels right. Both of your minds work in different ways, but combined you are able to piece together the songs until they’re perfect.

It’s comfortable, being in your apartment with you, doing the thing he loves. It feels like you two have known each other a lot longer than two days. You two just…click and it makes Jihoon feel warm when he thinks about it.

“Jihoon, thank you so much for doing this for me,” you tell him after you two finish another song. “I know this probably isn’t what you expected to do today.”

“It’s okay, really. I’m really enjoying myself. I think I’d enjoy doing anything with you.”

“Jihoon,” you say softly. You’re staring at him again, with your alluring eyes that just draw Jihoon in. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Jihoon breathes out and before he can even finish his breath, you’re leaning in.

You cup Jihoon’s face, kissing him fiercely as you do. Jihoon nearly topples off the couch, but he grabs on to you, kissing you back. Your lips clash together as you do your best to taste each other as much as you can. As much as Jihoon loves song writing, he can’t deny that your songs are very sexually charged, and it’s definitely gotten him worked up in the hours he’s been here.

You two pull away panting, and you rest your forehead against Jihoon’s. “Do you want to…”

“Yes,” Jihoon nods, jostling your head as well. You grin and stand up, grabbing Jihoon’s hand to drag him behind you as you make your way to your bedroom, just like how you dragged him into the empty hallway last night. Hopefully today there won’t be any interruptions.

Once in the bedroom Jihoon grabs your waist and pulls you back into him, your lips crashing together. Your lips are so soft and Jihoon wants to kiss you forever. He reaches up to paw at your chest, feeling your pebbled nipple under his palm. He squeezes a bit too hard at one point and you gasp into Jihoon’s mouth and he decides he wants to get you to do that again.

Jihoon pushes you back until you fall onto the bed and he can crawl over you. He helps you tug off your tank top before leaning down to take one of your tits right into his mouth, his tongue and teeth gently playing with your nipple.

You squirm under his ministrations and Jihoon slots his thigh between your legs so you can grind against him like last time. You seem appreciative of the rough feeling of his knee against you as you roll your hips against him.

“J-Jihoon,” you moan.

Your tits are slick with his saliva now and he tugs at your nipple with his teeth before releasing it. When he looks down at you he lets out a soft groan, his heavy cock stirring in his boxers. Your hair is already mussed a bit and your face looks warm as you stare up at him with soft eyes. Your bare chest is littered in forming purple and red marks and Jihoon watches as it rises and falls with your breaths. Jihoon can’t help but revel in the fact this is for him only. No fans or cameras or anything else to see you like this, bare and vulnerable.

Jihoon pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side, and he watches the way your eyes trail down his pale, chiseled torso. Your hands reach up for him and you pull him back down on top of you, his weight settling on your body. Your fingers trail up and down his bare skin, your mouth pressed hot and firm against his.

Your leg is thrown around Jihoon’s waist and he rolls his hips into yours, his hard cock brushing up against your wet core. You mewl into Jihoon’s mouth, your fingers digging into the muscles on his back.

“F-fuck Jihoon, please. Please touch me,” you beg, your voice high pitched and desperate, making it impossible to say no (not that Jihoon would).

Jihoon peels his body away from yours once more before hooking his fingers into your skirt and pulling it down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear. Jihoon nearly starts drooling when he sees the lacy, red panties hugging your hips. His fingers trail up your leg and he rubs a thumb over your hip bone against the rough fabric.

“I thought you said you were underdressed. You wore these just for me?”

You nod. “Thought you’d like them.”

“I do. Though, I think I’d like them better off.” With that he tugs the fabric down your legs as well, discarding them on your floor.

You gasp when Jihoon pushes your legs apart so he can get a better look at what’s between them. Your pussy is already shiny and slick with your arousal, begging to be filled by something. Jihoon reaches out and trails his fingertips against your puffy folds, prodding and rubbing in a way that’s nothing but teasing.

You squirm under Jihoon’s touch, but Jihoon just ignores you, too busy admiring how pretty your pussy looks right now. His fingers slip between your folds and dip down into your opening, only to pull back a second later. When his fingers emerge they’re covered in your arousal and he uses the slick to slide his fingers up your slit, catching on your clit. You intake a sharp breath as your body stiffens.

Jihoon grins and starts to rub your clit in gentle circles. Slow and almost lazily, his fingers go around and around with no real vigor. Jihoon can see the way your pussy is leaking, dripping down onto your bed. You’ve been letting out soft whines as Jihoon touches you, impatient for him to do more.

After what probably feels like an eternity to you, Jihoon finally slips his fingers lower before pushing two right into you. Your cunt is well slicked up and greedily accepts the digits being slipped inside. Your walls are warm and soft around Jihoon’s fingers and he slowly drags his fingers out of you before slamming them back in. He juts his fingers in and out of you as he strokes your walls with his fingertips.

To Jihoon it’s not much different than playing the piano the way his fingers move skillfully in precise ways to hit all the right places. In a way this is also like making music; the sound of your soft moans and pants filling the air, mixing with the slight squeak of your bed frame and the wet slap of his fingers sliding in and out of your cunt. It’s erotic and intimate and beautiful.

Below him, your body is shaking on the bed. Your fingers grasp at the sheets below you as your hips rut up into Jihoon’s palm. Jihoon’s whole hand is drenched now and his wrist is starting to ache, but he doesn’t dare stop.

“Fuck, fuck, Ji,” you mumble as your legs start to buck into the air. Jihoon pushes your hips down with his free hand and you let out a long moan as your walls clench down on Jihoon’s fingers as this thumb rapidly rubs at your clit.

Your hips roll against Jihoon’s hand for a few more seconds before your body relaxes into the bed. Jihoon stares down at you in awe. You grin up at him.

“That was…so good,” you say, still a bit breathless. “But…I think I need more. Fuck me, please?”

There is no way Jihoon is going to say no to a proposal like that. You direct him in the direction of your condom stash and Jihoon quickly shucks off his pants and boxers. He’s about to start rolling on the condom when he hears you gasp.

“You’re huge,” you say. When Jihoon looks up, you’re staring directly at his crotch. Jihoon’s aware is he…well endowed. His cock is about six inches long, but wide in girth. “Shit Jihoon, get in me right now.”

Jihoon chuckles and continues to roll on the condom before climbing back into the bed. He pushes you back against the mattress and leans down to kiss you. While your lips are still locked together he hikes one of your legs around his waist before lining himself up to your entrance. He rubs his head against your folds before finally pushing the tip in.

Jihoon’s mouth breaks off of yours and he trails wet kisses down your neck to your chest where he latches onto one of your breasts. His hips rut into you, slowly shoving his fat cock into your desperate cunt as you dig your fingers into his triceps.

Your walls hug him tightly and it makes his mind a bit fuzzy, his only focus being on you under him. Your scent floods Jihoon’s nose as he buries his face into your tits and he wants nothing more than to eat you whole. He mouths at your peaked nipples, nipping and licking everywhere he can, marking you with his love bites.

Jihoon swears he’s the luckiest man in the world, being able to lay here in your bed, marking up your tits. How many photos has he seen of them? How many people has he seen thirsting over you because of them? And here he is, being able to devour them all for himself.

Inside of you, his cock pounds at your walls, stretching you open. The rhythm Jihoon set is quick, but not brutal, and the drag of his cock in and out of you leaves both of you with a pleasured feeling coursing through your bodies.

“God, you’re so hot,” you moan out. “Used to dream about moments like this. I would watch compilations of you grinding on the floor to the Good to Me choreo.”

The words send a flush to Jihoon’s already warm face. He’s not sure if he should be embarrassed or find that incredibly hot. Maybe a bit of both. All he knows is that he’ll never be able to think of that song the same anymore.

Everything about you is intoxicating to the idol. Particularly in this moment though, the way you keep whimpering his name is driving him mad. Jihoon’s grip on your hips tightens as he rocks into you harder, his cock slamming into your sweet spot, making you cry out even harder.

Jihoon can feel his balls get heavier, ready to cum. He latches his mouth onto your neck and sucks hard as his fingers flit down to rapidly play with your clit. He’s hoping to get you to finish before him, but his orgasm hits him by surprise and his hips are stuttering as he releases his load into the condom. He doesn’t dare stop fucking into you though, even after he’s milked himself dry with your pussy. Jihoon doesn’t let himself rest until your body is shaking under him, your cunt clenching down as your nails dig into Jihoon’s skin.

When you’re finally coming down from your high, Jihoon gently pulls out of you before tying off the condom and throwing it in the trash. He flops down on the bed next to you and you cuddle right into his side, pressing a kiss right to his pec.

He reaches up to rub his hand up and down your back as you two lay there in silence, pressing kisses to each other’s bare skin.

Jihoon isn’t sure how long you two stay like that, until your kisses get a bit more meaningful and suddenly Jihoon is pinning you against the bed. His cock is already half hard again and it doesn’t take much to get it to full mast.

Your second round is softer, but just as intense. There’s a more romantic passion behind Jihoon’s motions as he takes his time getting you both off. Sensual kisses are traded as you and Jihoon whisper praises back and forth.

Halfway through fucking you Jihoon has the fleeting thought that he doesn’t want this to end. You both end up cumming together, your names falling off of each other’s lips with your foreheads pressed together. It’s oddly adorable and it takes Jihoon longer to pull out of you, completely content to keep his cock in you as you two lay cuddled in your bed.

When Jihoon finally does get up to discard the used condom and get something to clean you up, the sun is starting to set and Jihoon curses. When he checks his phone, his predictions are proved right at the sight of the numerous texts from their manager and Seungcheol.

You seem to realize this as well when Jihoon walks back to the bed and starts to get dressed.

“Do you really have to leave?” You look up at Jihoon. You look so cozy, cuddled up in bed, still naked. It really makes Jihoon want to stay and jump back in bed and tangle himself up with you again.

“Yeah, they need me back at the hotel,” he says instead, a bit discouraged as well.

“You’re in town for a few more days right?”

“Yeah, until Sunday.”

You reach out and grab Jihoon’s hand, pulling him to sit on the bed. You sit up as well, curling your bare body around his clothed form. You press a kiss to his ear.

“If you find the time, you should come to my concert on Friday.” Sleep laces your voice as you talk to Jihoon. Your body is warm pressed against him and Jihoon has never been more tempted to ignore his manager in his life. “We’re having a pop up concert to celebrate our fifth anniversary. I can get you seats in our VIP sections so no one would see you. I’ll text you the details but don’t feel pressured to come. Just, if you and your band want to do something fun, I can get the tickets.”

Jihoon nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Jihoon turns to face you and you press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you then. I’d walk you out but…” You gesture to your undressed form and Jihoon laughs.

“See you Friday. Sleep well Y/N.” Jihoon presses one final kiss to your lips before leaving your apartment, already missing you by the time he walks out the door.

The rest of the week Jihoon can’t do anything but wait for Friday, excited for your concert. He can’t wait to hear your band play live again, but mostly he can’t wait to see you again. You’ve been plaguing his mind since he last saw you, and it’s not just the sex. Jihoon can’t deny the pure, unbridled chemistry between you two and it makes his heart thump in his chest.

When Jihoon brings up the idea to his members about going to see your concert they all say it could be fun and Jihoon sends you a text affirming their attendance. Jihoon thinks it’s a little silly, his group of K-Pop idols going to go see your very explicit rock band perform.

When Friday comes Jihoon takes his time dressing up and he tries not to hit Soonyoung when he points it out.

The concert starts at around 8:00pm and doors open an hour earlier than that, but you told Jihoon to arrive a bit earlier so it would be less obvious to spot them going in. When the boys get there a quarter after 6:00, they are ushered in through the back doors.

Backstage hands are bustling around and there are a few people shouting at each other. The venue space is nice, but not too big. From what Jihoon saw online, it’s a pretty exclusive concert to see live, but tickets were sold for online streaming as well.

The boys are shown to their seats in a balcony room with glass covering one of the walls so they can see the stage. It seems to have some kind of film on the other side so they can see out, but nobody can see in.

“Wah, this is nice,” Seokmin says as he looks around the room.

“And for free too, Jihoonie hooked us up well,” Seungcheol adds. “This Y/N girl must like you a lot.”

Jihoon can feel his ears heating up. “Yah, all of you shut up.”

He turns away from his members, too embarrassed to continue the conversation. Jihoon does have to admit, you really are doing a lot giving free tickets to the thirteen men on such a short notice, and to get them into such a nice room.

When the doors open, Jihoon watches as your fans flood into the room. He can hear the chatter of everyone and he smiles at how excited all of your fans are to see you. The whole place packs up soon as everyone waits impatiently for the show to start.

Then the time hits and everyone is screaming as your band walks onto the stage. Jihoon’s eyes automatically fall to your figure and his heart beats against his ribcage. You’ve got a wide smile on your face as you strap your bass onto your body and walk up to your mic.

“Let’s make some noise!” Luka shouts into the mic and everyone erupts into applause. “Welcome to our 5th anniversary pop up concert, we are LADYKILLER, and tonight, we’re gonna have a good time. We’ll be keeping this casual tonight so get comfortable, get hype, and enjoy this first song.”

Jihoon’s eyes trail up and down your figure as your fingers fly over the strings of your bass. You’re dressed in a black leather boots, a short black denim skirt, and a silky white tank top lined with black lace. Your top looks closer to lingerie than an actual shirt and Jihoon can tell once again you’re not wearing a bra underneath.

You didn’t bother covering the hickies Jihoon left all over your chest and Jihoon feels his face heat up. The dark purple marks are scattered all over your bare skin and even though he’s a bit mortified, he’s also a bit proud.

Jihoon’s not the only one who notices the hickeys and he can feel his members send him suggestive looks as they watch the performance. Jihoon does his best to ignore them and focus on the band playing.

Jihoon admires how good you look up on stage. You really know how to work the crowd and you’re nothing short of mesmerizing to Jihoon. Every video he’s seen of you on stage doesn’t nearly do the real thing justice. After the first four songs your band stops the setlist to do some fan interaction.

“Y/N!” Someone calls from the audience. “Who gave you those hickeys!”

Jihoon wants to die as his members start to howl in their booth and Jihoon hopes that it’s sound proof. You just laugh along.

“Ah, these? They’re pretty aren’t they?” You run your fingers over your clavicle. “Now for who gave them to me…it’s not very nice of me to kiss and tell is it? But who knows? Maybe the perpetrator is sitting in this very room right now.” You wink at the audience and everyone goes crazy, screaming at your words.

The concert is fun, with lots of crowd interactions as you guys answer questions and give your own anecdotes from the past five years. You guys even tease your next album, sending the crowd into a frenzy when they see the teaser for one of the music videos.

It isn’t until closer to the end of the concert that Jihoon starts to have a real problem. In one of your most popular songs there’s a wicked bass solo that consists of you playing for two minutes straight and it’s one of the reasons why you are one of the more popular members of your group (on top of well…you know). Normally Jihoon would be entranced by the skillful way you play your instrument, putting your whole heart and soul into your solo, but today he can’t focus on anything other than the way you look.

You look sultry as you smirk out at the audience. At one point your eyes flit up to where Jihoon is sitting and you wink and Jihoon thinks he might pass out from how sexy you look right now. You put your whole body into playing and when you bend over, Jihoon can see your bare tits hanging freely in the air and he has to shift around to adjust his growing hard on. He doesn’t know if he should worship or despise whoever your stylist is.

Behind him, he can hear Jeonghan and Joshua snickering. Jihoon does his best to think about anything that will get his semi-hard cock to go down, but unfortunately for him the last song in your set list is hands down the most sexually charged.

As soon as the opening notes are heard, the whole atmosphere of the room changes. The lights dim as red accent lights bask the stage. Jihoon can’t peel his eyes away from you as you move with the music, your hips swaying along in a hypnotizing way.

He gasps a bit when Luka comes up behind you and grabs your hips, practically grinding on you as he sways with you. His hands travel up your sides and he brushes his fingertips over the upper part of your chest. When his hands move back down, this time they’re pressed to your front, dragging over your tits and down your stomach before he finally pulls away.

The whole time the crowd is hooked, and so is Jihoon. He’s a bit jealous that someone else is touching you in such an intimate way, but he knows it’s nothing but fan service, so he instead focused on how incredibly erotic he finds the moment, imagining he’s the one touching you instead.

After the song is finished your band thanks the audience before exiting the stage. The whole room is still buzzing with energy as they start to exit and Jihoon’s members seem to be hyped up as well.

“I see why you like them Jihoon,” Mingyu says and Jeonghan snorts.

“I can too.”

Jihoon groans but thankfully he’s saved when someone comes to retrieve them and guide them to the backstage area where your band is standing. You’re leaning against an audio case, drinking a bottle of water. Your body is shining with the post concert glow Jihoon is so familiar with. Jihoon is lost staring at you when a voice grabs his attention.

“Hey Y/N, isn’t that your boyfriend?” It’s Tommy who says this as he glances over to where Jihoon and the rest of Seventeen stands. Jihoon tries not to get flustered over his choice of words.

When you look over to where Tommy is motioning, your face instantly lights up at the sight of Jihoon. You stand up and cross the stage quickly before drawing Jihoon into a hug. “Jihoon!”

Jihoon snakes his arms around you and hugs you back. Your body is still warm from performing on stage and you feel nice pressed up against him. “Hi Y/N.”

“I missed you,” you whisper in his ear, just soft enough that only he can hear. His heart flutters at the words.

“Yo!” At the loud shouting you and Jihoon pull apart, just in time to see Vernon and James engage in a bro hug. You giggle at the two boys and Jihoon realizes that your hand has moved to hold onto his tightly.

The rest of your band is walking over and Tommy and Luka greet Vernon and Joshua. While everyone makes conversation you squeeze Jihoon’s hand and pull him away. He follows after, figuring his boys will be occupied with your boys for a while.

You pull Jihoon away from the backstage area and into your dressing room. It’s nice and large with a plush looking couch pushed against one wall. As soon as you close the door of your room you’re pushing Jihoon onto the couch and climbing on top of him, placing a leg on either side of his thick thighs. Automatically Jihoon’s hands fly up to hold your waist.

Your own hands cup Jihoon’s face as you kiss him softly. He kisses you back, soft and sweet. When you pull away from him, you wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling into his body.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

Jihoon is almost relieved to hear those words. The whole week he questioned if he was weird to miss you so much after only meeting twice. He likes knowing you feel the same.

“I’m happy to see you too. You looked great up there.” As he talks to you his hands rub up and down your sides, enjoying the silky feeling of your shirt under his palms.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Really great.” Jihoon shifts under you a bit, hoping you get the message. You obviously do when you giggle and lean down, pressing your mouth to his ear.

“You know Ji, I’m always so horny after performing. Help a girl out?”

Jihoon nods frantically and then before he can even blink your mouth is pressed up against his in a hot, wet kiss. Your fingers grasp the back of his neck, pulling him towards you and he wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you close to him. Jihoon can’t help but love the feeling of being able to have you like this again. You two fit together nicely and Jihoon wants to keep you in his lap forever.

Your thighs are tightly locked around his waist as you grind down on his crotch. Jihoon’s arms tighten around you even more as he bucks up into you. He’s been trying to keep his boner at bay but now that he has you all alone, he can stop caring. He rubs himself up against your warm core, already wet through your panties.

Something about the way you so easily fall apart in Jihoon’s arms drives him particularly mad. The soft whimpers that leave the back of your throat as you grasp at him more and more desperately. When Jihoon pulls away to catch his breath your lips are trailing after his, not quite wanting to let him go soon. Maybe Jihoon likes it because he’s just as obsessed with you as you are with him. He leans down to press open mouthed kisses to your throat and you giggle as he does.

“Didn’t even bother hiding them,” Jihoon mutters, his fingers trailing across the old bruises splayed across your chest.

“I wanted to show them off! You did such a pretty job.” You shake your chest a bit to show them off more, but Jihoon can only focus on the jiggle of your tits in his face. Jihoon dives down, his tongue laving right over them.

He can taste the salt of your sweat on your skin and it’s oddly intoxicating mixed with the scent of your expensive perfume and your weight pressing down on him. His cock is aching in his pants now, begging to find release.

You seem to realize this as you pull away from Jihoon and slip off his lap and onto the floor. The sight of you on your knees in front of Jihoon is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. You look up at him with big pleading eyes and Jihoon forces himself to burn the image into his memory.

“Ji,” you whine, “lemme suck you. Please. You look so good tonight, I need your cock between my lips.”

Jihoon’s in a pair of blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. It’s not much but he’s aware he looks good in the get up. He’s glad you’ve noticed as well. Jihoon internally gloats that while Soonyoung might of made fun of him, he’s the one getting his dick wet right now.

Jihoon shifts his hips a bit to signal you to go ahead and you dive right in, unzipping his pants and taking his cock out. It springs out of its constraints, heavy and hard as you hold it in your grasp. Without breaking eye contact with Jihoon you lean down and wrap your lips around the tip, sucking gently.

Jihoon takes an unsteady breath, not sure how long he’ll be able to hold out. He’s never wanted to cum as badly as he does now, watching the sight of your warm, soft lips on his thick, red cock head. Jihoon feels your tongue press up against his sensitive tip, lapping at where his precum has started to pearl, and he shudders.

He has to stop himself from grabbing your head and shoving it down his length. Instead he digs his fingers into the couch cushions next to him and goes his best not to thrust up into your mouth. You must sense Jihoon’s eagerness though, as you stop your coy act and widen your jaw, taking more of him in you. You bob your head up and down, your lips and tongue dragging against his cock, shooting pleasure through Jihoon’s body.

The sounds your mouth makes are the lewdest noises Jihoon has ever heard and he gets a picture to match it as he stares down at you. Your hands are wrapped around his length where your mouth can’t reach and your eyes are closed, focused on getting Jihoon off.

Your mouth and hands are skilled as you quickly work Jihoon to his high. You suck particularly hard at his tip and without much warning he’s bucking up into your throat, spilling his seed into you. Jihoon almost cums a second time just from watching you swallow down the load he gave you.

When you’re done swallowing, you open your mouth for Jihoon to see you took all of it and Jihoon can’t help himself from grabbing your jaw and running his thumb across your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth. You automatically wrap your lips around it, sucking on it just like you did with his cock a few seconds ago. When you finally pop the digit out of your mouth, Jihoon’s cock is already starting to stir again.

Jihoon is aware you’ve probably done a lot of hooks up before. You’re a rockstar who writes songs about sex, of course you have to get your inspiration from somewhere. Still, the thought makes Jihoon a bit jealous and he has to push it down in turn to watch you start to strip for him.

You start with your top, easily tugging it over your head and tossing it to the side. Your tits are just as perfect as Jihoon remembers them. Jihoon stands up from the couch, his dick still hanging out of his jeans, as he crosses to where you’re standing. Without saying a word he reaches out and gropes your tits in his palms. As his fingers knead at your breasts, he leans in, connecting your lips together.

You let out a hiss that turns into a moan as Jihoon pinches your left nipple hard. Your hands scramble to push Jihoon’s jacket off his shoulders, the article of clothing falling to the ground with your discarded shirt.

His shirt is the next to go and Jihoon lets out a dissatisfied grunt when he has to pull his mouth away from yours. He’s not too upset by it though, because now he gets to feel your tits press up against his own chest. Both of your bodies are on fire and the actual heat of your dressing room isn’t helping either, suffocating his thoughts so the only thing on his mind is you and your pretty little cunt.

Speaking of your pretty little cunt, Jihoon’s fingers work frantically at the buttons of your skirt so he can have better access to it. He pushes your skirt down your hips and grabs one of your thighs, wrapping it around his waist so he can grind his dripping cock against your drenched panties. He groans against your shoulder when he feels the rough fabric of the lace against his tip.

Jihoon steps back from you to take off the rest of his clothes and he gets a good look at you then. Your lips are dark and swollen from how aggressively you two have been kissing and your chest is already starting to sprout new bruises from Jihoon’s relentless attacks on the soft skin. You’ve also shed your last layer and Jihoon gets a good look at your needy pussy.

Jihoon lets out a long exhale, his body screaming at him to fuck you.

He’s about to when he comes to a realization, causing him to curse softly. He doesn’t have a condom. He tells you that.

“Doesn't matter,” you tell him. “I’m on the pill and I’m 100% clean. Condoms were just a secondary precaution, but I need you in me now. Please Jihoon, just fuck me.”

The thought sends Jihoon off. You just gave him permission to fuck you raw. The thought of your warm, wet walls wrapped around Jihoon’s cock without any barriers has Jihoon grabbing you and bending you over right there. You yelp a bit at being thrown around, but it quickly turns into a moan when you feel Jihoon grind up against your exposed folds.

“Ah~ Jihoon, please,” you beg. You sound so needy that Jihoon has no choice but to shove his cock into you. Your walls wrap around him desperately as he pushes into you. The fit is tight and Jihoon has to take a shaky breath before he starts to ram into you.

He can tell his cock is still just a bit too girthy for you from the way you whine every time he re-enters you. He slides his hand up your spine to between your shoulder blades and he presses down, pushing you into the couch cushions.

Jihoon feels like he’s in a porno with the way he’s fucking you. When he glances to where your bodies are connected, a creamy ring has started to form around his base from your pussy. The recoil of your ass as he thrusts into you is hypnotizing and he has to pull his eyes away not to get too distracted. He slides his hand up further and into your hair, pulling back to lift your head off the couch.

Jihoon can’t believe he gets to be here with you like this again, his cock digging deep into your sweet cunt. His fingers tug at your hair a bit harder and your walls clench down around him, sending Jihoon’s brain and dick into a frenzy.

“You like that jagiya?”

“Yes, yes, fuck Jihoon. I love it. Love your big fat cock and your strong hands and your sexy voice,” you ramble on, your voice tense and labored, taking breaks between your words just to catch your breath.

Jihoon’s free hand lifts up off your hip, only to go flying back down against your ass, resounding in a loud slap echoing through the room mixed with your moan. Your ass is red when he pulls his hand back and Jihoon does it twice more before smiling, satisfied with the way it seemed to turn your brain off even more.

You look so pretty under him, sharing your pleasure with Jihoon as he uses your body to get himself off. When Jihoon glances at your face, your eyes are closed shut, tears spilling down your cheeks as a line of drool connects from your mouth to the couch. Jihoon’s stomach tightens as he watches you and he knows he’s close.

“Shit, Y/N,” Jihoon growls out as a warning before he’s pressing his hips flush against your, releasing his load straight into your pussy. At the feeling of his cum shooting into you, you cry out, your walls clenching down on him, pulsating.

Jihoon is panting as he pulls out of you, him cum spilling out along with it. His cum slides to the floor in thick globs and you groan at the feeling of it exiting your pussy. With shaky legs you stand up, clinging to Jihoon for support as you pull him into a kiss. Your mouths and teeth clash together, but it doesn’t matter because your lips are tangling together and Jihoon can taste you against his tongue and for now that subdues the urge to devour you.

Despite both of you just cumming, neither of you give yourselves time to rest. You push Jihoon back onto the couch before climbing into his lap again. Only this time, you line yourself back up with his cock before sinking down on him. His cock is still hard and he’s still terribly turned on so he’s not complaining. He’s grateful for his idol stamina or else he’s not sure he would be able to keep up with your insatiable desires.

“Shit, you’re still so tight,” Jihoon grunts. “Your cunt is perfect for my cock. So good for me.”

His grip on your hips is tight, probably too tight, but he can’t be bothered to care when your head is thrown back and the nastiest sounds are leaving your lips. Your tits bounce freely in his face as you fuck yourself on his lap and Jihoon can’t do anything other than stare in awe at them, enjoying the show.

“God Jihoon, you feel so good in me,” you cry out. Your fingers are perched on his shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscle so you can anchor yourself better.

As you bounce up and down on Jihoon’s cock, more of his cum pushes out of your cunt and drips onto Jihoon’s lap along with all of the slick your pussy is producing. Jihoon wants to cum in you again, already obsessed with filling up your tight cunt with his seed.

His hands travel up your body and he gropes your tits harshly, pinch the nipples and scraping his teeth over your sensitive buds. You look like you’re about to ascend to heaven as you roll your eyes back into your head, moaning like your life depends on it.

It’s enough to get Jihoon desperate to go over the edge and he wraps his arms around your hips before pulling your body against his. You press your weight against his body, your legs giving out on you, as Jihoon starts to buck up into your sweet cunt. He’s sure the pressure is brutal inside of you, leaving you with a bruised cervix for later, but Jihoon only has one focus right now so he can’t bother being nice. He buries his face in your neck, doing everything to reach his high.

You seem to reach yours first, your body trembling in his grip as you trap his cock in a vice grip. This is enough to finally get Jihoon to cum for a third time tonight, spilling it all into your pussy again.

Jihoon’s body is sweaty and hot and he’s exhausted as he slumps back against the couch, out of breath with no thoughts in his mind. You don’t look much better as you drop your body on top of his, your eyes closing as you nuzzle your head against his chest.

Neither of you say anything for a while, just doing your best to regain your bearings and enjoy the feeling of your bodies sandwiched together. At some point Jihoon’s now flaccid cock slips out of you, but you don’t get off his lap yet.

When you two do finally pull apart Jihoon is still feeling a bit light headed but he’s at least back down on Earth as he kisses your tear stained cheeks, rubbing your back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good, very good,” you tell him. “Just…very tired now.”

Jihoon chuckles and stands up to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge sitting to the side of the room. You take it and chug the whole thing down. While you do that Jihoon looks around the room for something to clean you both up with. There’s a box of tissues sitting on your vanity and he grabs that and starts to wipe himself down before doing the same to you. It’s not the best clean up he’s ever done, but it’s the best he can do for now.

Jihoon finds his clothes and puts his boxers back on before crawling back onto the couch next to you. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“You’re cute, you know that?” You mumble into Jihoon’s collarbone. “Right before you were gonna cum, you started mumbling in Korean.”

Jihoon flushes. He didn’t even know he was talking, let alone in Korean.

He settles on saying, “Your moans are cuter though.”

You stay silent for a moment before speaking up again, your voice more somber this time. “You’re leaving soon right?”

“Yeah, Sunday morning, so in two days.”

You snuggle a bit closer into Jihoon. “Would it be ridiculous to say I think I’ve gotten attached to you.”

Jihoon huffs out a laugh. “Not ridiculous, I think I feel the same.”

The truth is, Jihoon has gotten attached to you, even after only two days of interaction. There’s something so alluring about you that draws Jihoon in. Just like a siren calling a fisherman, you’ve drawn him in and it’s only due time before he crashes.

Your presence is comfortable and everything feels natural with you, it feels right. Jihoon doesn’t want it to end. He wants to store you away in his suitcase and bring you back to Korea with him. Everyday he’d get to wake up next to you, your pretty smile being the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. You two would spend your days making music and cuddling on the couch. Then at the end of the day Jihoon would be able to press you into the mattress and have his way with you, enjoying the taste of you lingering in his mouth and soaking up every pretty sound he pulls from your lips.

But, he can’t. He has to leave you here, thousands of miles away from him, with a thirteen hour time difference from New York to Seoul. Not to mention you have your own careers and Jihoon is well aware of the time and effort his own takes. The Carats absolutely wouldn’t have it if it was revealed he has a girlfriend, who he was living with. Especially one with your public image. They would rip you to shred.

But god does Jihoon wish it would work out.

“Hey,” you say softly. Your finger is tracing patterns against his chest. “Would you maybe…want to spend the night at my place?”

Jihoon looks down at you and nods. He doesn’t care if his managers are going to kill him, he’s going to spend as much time with you as he can before he leaves. He shoots a quick message to his members who promise they’ll cover for him and then before he knows it he’s being driven to your apartment.

When you two get into your unit you order food for the two of you and then you fall asleep in Jihoon’s arms when you’re done eating. It’s painfully domestic and Jihoon holds you the whole night, afraid to let you go.

In the morning, when you wake up, Jihoon bombards you with a barrage of kisses and you giggle as you pull Jihoon’s body even closer to yours. It doesn’t take long to get both of you riled up, leading to your clothes strewn on the floor as Jihoon sinks himself into you once more.

That’s how you two spend the rest of your day, limbs tangled together, making love as Jihoon does his best to burn the feeling of your bare body pressing against him into his memory.

His head is currently shoved between your thighs, suffocating in your drenched pussy. You’ve had his thigh, fingers, and cock once but Jihoon is determined to get you off at least five times today. For now he’s taking his time though. His mouth moves slowly, teasing you so you get unbearably needy for Jihoon to give you more.

His tongue drags through your folds, collecting your slick and swallowing it down. Between the taste of your arousal, the sweet smell of your cunt, and the feel of your pussy on his tongue, Jihoon’s mind is muddled with a lust induced haze and Jihoon wonders if this is what it feels like to get high.

Jihoon’s plump lips wrap around your clit and he sucks on it gently, just enough to stimulate you but not enough to actually do anything. You squirm and whine and tug at Jihoon’s hair, but he ignores your attempts to get him to do more, content with driving you crazy for now.

Your legs squeeze tight around Jihoon’s neck, pulling him even further into your cunt. Your thighs are like earmuffs over his ears, cutting off his last sense so there’s nothing but you. Jihoon ruts his hips into the mattress under him, his own cock leaking and hard. He has a bit more resolve than you though, and he clamps his thick hands on your thighs, prying them apart once more.

“Please Jihoon,” you beg. “I need more.”

Jihoon pretends he can’t hear you as drags his lips to kiss over your folds like he’s making out with your pussy. He does this a few more times before moving his mouth off your core completely, turning his head so he can suck marks into your thighs.

“Jihoon,” your voice sounds genuinely desperate, like if Jihoon doesn’t do anything you’ll actually combust. This is what Jihoon has been waiting for and he tightens his grip on you before diving straight into your cunt.

His motions have purpose behind them now as he licks at your sopping cunt. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue flick back and forth over your hole. Your body is now trembling under him as you cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, Jihoon, shit.” The words tumble out of your mouth as your legs shake around his head. He keeps eating your pussy out until your body goes limp.

He’s a bit surprised you came so fast, but he guesses you were pretty worked up from all of the teasing. And the previous orgasms.

Jihoon’s only cum once though, compared to the four times you have, and he’s not going to let you rest until he gets his second in. He picks himself up from between your legs and climbs over your body. He kisses up your torso, stopping at your tits for a moment, before finally making his way to your lips.

He kisses you hard and fierce, too impatient to be soft at the moment. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hips buck up into him when you feel his cock drag over your slit, his precum spreading against your folds. Jihoon is sure he could get off just like this, rubbing your pussy on his cock, and if he was just a tad bit more desperate he would, but he’s still slightly level headed enough to make the decision he wants to cum inside of you.

Jihoon spreads your legs wide before sheathing himself right into you. Your cunt allows him in easily, slick and stretched out from all of Jihoon’s previous efforts. His pubes brush up against your clit as he bottoms out in one go.

You let out a weak moan as Jihoon lets out his own deep sigh. Your walls are warm and soft around his aching dick and Jihoon imagines this is exactly what heaven feels like. As much as Jihoon would like to take his time with you, he’s already done that earlier and while teasing you, he got himself a bit too worked up as well.

Jihoon doesn’t waste time, plunging his cock in and out of your cunt. His cock hits deeper and harder into you each time, slamming into your plush walls. The noises you make make Jihoon want to fuck you even harder and he grabs your legs and pushes them up against your chest, exposing your cunt to him even more. The change in angle has his tip digging into a new place, making you moan even louder.

“Ji, Ji, Ji,” you chant as the man in question continues to slam his hips into yours. Jihoon groans as he looks down at you, his hands pushing down against your legs to keep them in place, folding you in half.

“So pretty,” Jihoon grunts. “My pretty baby feels good from my cock?”

“Yes, yes, so much. Feels soooo good Jihoon.” You’re babbling at this point, barely coherent from the pleasure you feel. The thought makes Jihoon smirk, gaining the urge to drive you completely for the edge.

One of his hands releases your legs and moves up to your neck, clamping around it. His fingers squeeze firmly and you gasp a bit. He feels your cunt tighten around him, causing him to squeeze even harder. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you throw your head back against your pillow.

Your skin is burning under Jihoon’s palm and he can feel the way your neck muscles move under his fingertips from the way you’re doing your best to let out strangled moans. Your body is already spent from the past four orgasms he’s given you, but he’s still not going to go easy on you.

He wants you crying from his cock. Coming undone again and again and again until you can’t remember anything other than Jihoon. Nobody will ever be able to be as good as him and every time you go to write a new song, you think of him and this moment.

Your pussy keeps clenching down around him and Jihoon closes his eyes, trying to drag this out even more. He knows he won’t last much longer though. The warmth of the room combined with the warmth of your body has his own skin heating up, fogging up his brain.

Jihoon feels your hand wrap around his wrist, pulling his fingers off your neck and moving them so they slip into your mouth. You suck on the digits, swirling your tongue around them, your taste buds pressing against his pads and that’s all it takes to send Jihoon over the edge. He cums deep into you, his cum shooting against your cervix.

Jihoon’s hips don’t stop though, pounding brutally into you, milking himself with your cunt. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and slips them between your bodies, flicking and rubbing at your clit furiously. It isn’t until he feels you tense up under him, that he finally pulls his dick out of you. As soon as he does, the flood gates are broken and your cunt is spraying your juices all over the bed and Jihoon.

The idol watches the way your pussy pulsates when you’re done squirting. You look completely wrecked and ready to pass out and Jihoon sees that as a job well done. Your leg keeps twitching every so often and Jihoon reaches over and massages it.

You whine a bit at his touch but don’t pull away. “‘M so sensitive.”

“You did so good for me,” Jihoon coos.

When Jihoon is sure that you’re not going to pass out he gets up and pads into the kitchen to get you a glass of water. When he gets back to the room he finds that you’ve rolled out of the wet spot you made and are now sitting up.

You take the water from him and chug it down before making a feeble attempt to stand up. Your legs shake a bit and Jihoon has to steady you. He helps you to the bathroom where he draws you a bath and moves back to your room to change out the sheets.

When you get out of your bath you crawl back into the freshly changed bed where Jihoon is laying waiting. You don’t hesitate to snuggle down into his arms.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you admit in a small voice.

Jihoon sighs. He doesn’t want to leave either.

“I know that it’s unreasonable to do long distance,” you continue, “and that we both have busy schedules but, I’d really like it if we kept in touch. Then maybe the next time you’re in America, or if I go to Korea, we could meet up again.”

Jihoon kisses the top of your head. “I’d really like that too.”

In reality, Jihoon isn’t sure what’s going to happen. He’d like to think that you guys will keep in touch because he really hopes you do and for once he’s letting himself be an optimist. It’s not exactly like he’ll be able to forget about you anyway, so it’s better to keep a place open for you in his heart.

Jihoon holds you tight until he no longer can and he leaves you once more with nothing but a kiss and a promise to text you. His heart aches in a way he didn’t know was possible as he boards the plane to fly back home to Korea. Just another reason for Jihoon to hate flying.

This time Vernon sits next to him and the younger holds an earbud out to him. Jihoon slips it into his ear and the sound of a familiar bass solo floods his mind. Jihoon sends a grateful look at his dongsaeng, letting your playing soothe his heart.

By the time the song ends Jihoon’s head is filled with ideas for songs about you and his heart is warm with a feeling that everything is going to work out in the end.

"Did you hear who's going to be featured on LADYKILLER's new track?"

"No, who?"

"Woozi and Vernon from Seventeen."

"Damn, I already know it's gonna be good. I mean, Y/N and Woozi? Sounds like a match made in heaven."

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