#these are the lyrics right before the drum

[terraether]

What is this tape? This is my favorite tape // All of this is new to me

Midnights as Melodrama by Lorde

[yes-armageddon-it]

[yanaromanov]

fuck me, i’m famous

｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

paring: rockstar!natasha romanoff x reader

summary: when your boyfriend drags you along to a rock concert of a band you barely know, and then ceremoniously dumps you to go out with his friends after, it feels like your night can’t get any worse. thankfully, the guitarist of the band seems to take a particular interest in you and offers you an alternative offer on how to spend your night that seems just too good to refuse.

warning(s): cheating (r has a bf), but he’s a shitty bf, oc male character, band jargon that may or may not be correct, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of flirting, slight mention of crystals, swearing, many pet names, first time with a woman, smut, fingering, thigh riding, masturbation, scissoring, multiple orgasms, hickeys, natasha talking you through things, lots of praise, slight degradation (?), minors dni.

authors note: okay i feel like this is kinda bad and messy but i also spent too much time on it not to post. i’m still getting used to writing smut and haven’t wrote anything like this before so i hope it’s okay 😭😭 the end is also rushed so plz just ignore that :))

wc: 12.2K words

You've seen enough books and movies to know how things are supposed to go. How that perfect moment comes, when the pieces fall into place and you suddenly realize this is what you're meant to do, what you've always meant to do. But you've also lived a life long enough to know it never actually happens. In truth, it's all a bunch of bullshit.

There's never such thing as love at first sight, no moment where the world freezes on everyone except you and music plays in slow motion in the background, your eyes falling on that one person through the crowd that you just know your heart only beats for. In real life, the cards just don't fall like that. There's too many shitty people and grievous circumstances for the true movie dream to ever be lived, forever just a piece of fiction one can only fantasize of.

You know all this, understand it to be true. And yet, one hot Summer night, it feels like it all melts away and that fairy tale veil falls down right in front of your very own eyes.

It's not slow when it happens, not like in the movies. It's fast and loud and hot and sweaty. The music around you blares into your ears, bodies beside you screaming out lyrics you barely know. In the crowded space, you at least try to have a good time, try to mimic your boyfriend's energy as he dances and sings beside you, but you know its all futile. You want to leave. Truly, never wanted to come in the first place, but had done for him, for all his pleas and begs. You'll love it, I promise. Please come, baby, please.

The lights are hurting your eyes, the fog burning at your irises. Everyone is far too close to you, strangers pressing up against your sides from the front row section your boyfriend, Tyler, had demanded you needed. You don't feel it right all the back there. You need to be close to feel it in your bones. You feel a little sick.

And then that's when it happens. Body jostling against the side of the raised stage, ears ringing from being far too close to the speakers, that's when your own movie moment finally crashes into you. It's quick, so quick you don't even take notice till a few seconds after it happens. As your eyes raise to the band playing in front of you, they graze over each of the members. The brunette hugging the microphone center stage; the other behind hammering into a black drum set; the tall blonde whose fingers dance over the fretboard of a blue bass; and then finally, the woman playing an electric guitar stage right the same color as her fiery red hair. When you meet her eye it's like one of those moments back in high school, when you're accidentally caught making eye contact with someone across the class. But this time, unlike any time with your classmates, the redhead doesn't screw her face up, passing you a dirty look. What the fuck are you looking at? Instead, she winks.

Seconds later her gaze is gone, returned to the vibrating audience, and it takes you just about as much time to even acknowledge what had just happened. It seems fake, like a miscommunication in the space of a blink. Surely you must be imagining things, the heat in the room finally getting to you. But no, you're so sure of it. So set on what you've seen. A few moments later, it's like it's confirmed. The redhead's sights turn back on you, looking down into the pit of bodies where you stand. This time she holds, her eyes trained to yours as she continues to pluck the strings of her guitar. A small smirk stretches across painted lips, teeth plunging down into plump flesh. The music doesn't slow like it does in the movies. In fact, it seems almost louder than ever as you hold contact with the redhead's playful gaze. And when she winks again, chin jutting in your direction, you know it's you she's looking at.

You feel a little too seen, and not so much in a good way. You don't feel that special moment you read about in books, the time you are the chosen one across the sea of other bodies, a spark lighting in your heart at the romanticism of it all. It actually only drives one question in to your head; why the fuck is she looking at me?

You duck your eyes away, looking to the floor and the scuffed boots on your feet. There's a half-full cup of water a few inches in front of you. You watch as dancing feet almost collide with it, surely only seconds a way from being spilled. It holds your attention for a long time, so long your boyfriend is grasping at your cheek to check you're alright. You smile the way you always seem to do. Lips painting a picture of 'yes, I'm fine', while your brain screams out in contradicting protest. How much longer till this thing is done? My fucking head hurts.

When the final song does eventually roll around, you're too lost in your own thoughts to even care. The redhead guitarist has made eye contact with you three more times since you'd first noticed. If there was any doubt you had she wasn't seeking you out, it was surely dissipated now. Each time your eyeline had actually raised to the stage in front of you, it was like the woman's eyes were already waiting for you.

Trying to hold back the dizziness from gazing down at the floor, you had tried to remember the redhead's name. In no offence to the band, or their adoring fans lined up behind you, you actually didn't know of them much at all. Sure, you've heard their songs blasted through your boyfriend's speakers, saw their faces on cassettes and cd's dumped around your apartment, but you've never truly been a follower of the band Crimson Coven. You try to rack your brain of the knowledge you have, of every rant your boyfriend has been on that you so casually zone out from. The lead singer's name is Wanda, you know that much. She seems to be his favourite from the amount of things you've heard him rattle on. She's never even taken singing lessons. She's actually European, isn't that sick? Did you know she has a twin brother? You should do your makeup like her, babe.

The redhead has you thrown for a loop though. There are two names swimming in your head, though you're pretty sure the drummer is the one named Maria and Carol doesn't seem to fit the guitarist stood on the right. For the life of you it seems you can't draw the name from your head. It stays that way until the concert is finishing, stood watching the four women walking off stage, screaming out "thank you's" and collecting thrown objects on to the small stage, all the while you notice a certain member's eyes still trained on you. You simply turn away and grab on to Tyler’s hand, letting him guide you out of the dissipating crowd. God, you can't wait to get home.

The line to the bathroom is a slight roadblock in your plan. It's not torturously long by any means, but it still has you stood outside pressing your thighs together as you try desperately to hold in the three cans of beer you'd drank before the gig had began. You're regretting that decision now as the line filters slowly into the venue's singular women's bathroom. Seriously, what the fuck is up with that? If it weren't for the half hour journey you had back to your place, you would have considered just holding it, but if the pain in your stomach were any indication, you weren't going to make it that far.

When it's finally your turn, you all but run into the cubicle. It's quieter in there, a barricade between the groups of people who’ve chosen to stay to socialize in the venue's lounge and bar area. The stall is not only a relief for your full bladder, but also your pounding head. You stay in there longer than what's needed, most likely angering the girls waiting outside, but you just can't help it. It's cool and quiet and a desperate contrast to the overstimulating room you'd just spent the last two hours in. After washing your hands, you take the time to check up on your makeup, licking the tip of your finger to fix the slightly smudged liner of your eyes. All in all, you're pretty intact considering the circumstances. A pleasing picture that will soon be washed away as you head home for a night of constant reiterations of the concert you'd just experienced.

You're almost rolling your eyes already at the thought, so easily predicting your boyfriend's behavior for the next several hours. It's this state of disapproval that blinds you as you open the door to the bathroom, not noticing the taller woman standing there before she's backing you up into the stall.

You stumble slightly as the presence walks towards you, your eyes adjusting to the other person who has suddenly joined you in the room. For a moment their back is turned, locking the door to the stall before their face is revealed to you. You curse a little under your breath when you recognise the features.

"There you are. God, do you know hard it was to track you down? Slipped right in here before I could get to ya."

The redhead in front of you breathes out her words, smiling down at you in a way that flips your stomach. It's in that moments everything truly comes crashing down. Every doubt you had, every belief that things like this don't happen in real life is swept away as the famous guitarist stands in front of you. It really was you she was looking at from the stage and now she'd tracked you down. Pinned you into a bathroom stall as she looks down on your figure with her eyes wide, almost drunk. "Uhm, hi?" Is all you manage to say, the entirety of the situation still comprehending itself in your mind.

The redhead in front of you smirks widely as she responds. "Hi." It's then that it hits you, the name you couldn't pinpoint earlier. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. Lead guitarist of Crimson Coven. You're trying to remember anything Tyler might have said about her when she takes another step in your direction.

"Wow," she breathes, almost to herself. "You're even prettier up close." Her eyes seem to trace over your whole figure, her tongue playing with the inside of her cheek. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

"Uhm...thank you?" you stutter back, not entirely sure of how you're supposed to act in this situation. You're still trying to get over the shock of her pushing you back into the bathroom before you'd tried to leave. Not sure what else to do, your own eyes trail over the star stood ahead of you. She's still wearing her outfit from her performance; an old looking graphic tee tucked into a pair of black denim shorts. The boots on her feet have silver embellishments that match perfectly with the necklaces around her neck and many rings adorning her fingers. Her lips are painted a shade of faded red that both contrasts and yet somehow works perfectly with her hair, curled and messy around her shoulders. As you look over her, the thought of why your boyfriend may just like her band so much crosses your mind. She really was hot as shit.

But despite her looks, there's still an anxiety bubbling in your chest at this situation. It’s probably not often people could get this close to the star, let alone be held up in a room alone with her. Yet your ears are still ringing and the only true wish crossing your mind's eye is your bed. So, disappointing every girl who'd rather be in your place, you simply clear your throat as you gesture mindlessly to the door behind her. "I think there's people waiting outside to use this cubicle."

The rockstar cocks her head, smirking back. "Oh yeah?" She shrugs, only briefly glancing over her shoulder at the closed bathroom door. "I'm sure they'd be fine waiting. Didn't mind letting me cut through the line." When she smiles back at you, you assume the look in her eye is a mirror of how a predator looks at its prey. You find your lip between your teeth as you look back, very aware of just how much time you'd already spent in this bathroom and how there was a lot of people stood outside who would be becoming increasingly more annoyed at the occupied status, rockstar be damned. Though her attitude remains relaxed, the redhead in front of you seems to pick up on your hesitation because she lets out a low sigh. "Look, if you're really that bothered why don't don't we leave and your pretty ass can join me backstage?"

She takes another step towards you, eyes darkening a they take in your figure. You swallow the saliva in your mouth in an attempt to cool the burn in your stomach. "Sorry-I um-I have a boyfriend," you manage to stutter out, taken aback by her advances. She definitely was hitting on you, that much was clear now, but you knew that Tyler would be waiting for you somewhere, most likely wondering why the fuck you were taking so long to pee.

When your words ring out, its like the redhead's brain short circuits. She almost freezes, only her brows moving to pull into a deep frown. "Shit," she murmurs. "Really?"

You nod in response, fingers playing with the back of your shirt. "Yeah." The redhead looks awfully confused, her gaze trailing over you as if there's something she's missed. When her eyes meet yours once more, its like your answer is a complete mystery to her, like there's something she saw you must have missed in your own reflection. You try to brush it off, not delving into whatever thoughts must be running through the star's head. Instead you just clear your throat again, pointing to the door. "He's um- probably waiting for me."

A tight smile passes across your lips as you slowly move towards the door. The redhead lets you go, ever so slightly brushing past her arm without another word said. You reach for the handle of the door, turning it open before leaving the rockstar behind to wallow in whatever confusion or disappointment runs through her head. You just want to find Tyler and get the hell out of there.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom stall, it feels even warmer than it had before. Though now you're not entirely sure if it's just the air, or also the blood you can feel coursing through your cheeks. You try your best to brush it off, looking around the space to try and locate wherever your boyfriend might have wondered off to. Walking past the line of remaining girls, you have to try ignore their passing stares. Most are likely from your extended use of the bathroom, holding them up even further, but you can't help but feel at least a few are thinking about whatever happened between you and Natasha in that stall and why on earth you had the nerve to leave such an opportunity unfulfilled.

Trying to leave the entire interaction behind, you move to the main area of the venue lounge to try find your boyfriend so you can finally head home. It takes you a good few minutes of searching through the crowds before you spy him across the way, stood talking with all of his friends that he'd brought along to the concert.

"Tyler," you call, passing through bodies to get to him. When he doesn't seem to hear you, you shout again. "Tyler!"

Finally, he turns around, a look of recognition passing over his face as you appear by his side. "Oh there you are, babe," he says. "Where the hell did you go?"

"I was just-I was peeing," you reply, looking around sheepishly at the group of men all staring down at you. It wasn't that you didn't like Tyler's friends per se, it was more so they just weren't your type of people. Most times they’re around, you manage to skilfully skirt around them until a time when they've all gone back home.

Tyler scoffs a little at your comment. "You were gone for like half an hour." He laughs, gesturing to the group as they all join in.

"Yeah. Um-the line was long," you say, trying to avoid the annoyance creeping up your spine as well as skirt around the encounter you'd had just moments ago. Partially because you were still trying to wrap your head around it but also because you didn't want to hear whatever he had to say about what happened. Instead, you just let out a small sigh. "Can we just go home now?"

"Oh actually," Tyler starts. "We were thinking of hitting up a few bars before we went home."

The words hit you like a blast of hot air, unable to deny the feeling of annoyance brewing under your skin. Still, you try to remain sweet in hopes he'll seek pity on you. "Tyler, please," you reply. "I'm tired, can't we just-"

"You don't have to come."

He cuts you off quickly, halting the words in your throat. The attitude you can hear in his voice almost immediately breaks the facade of kindness you were putting on. "Excuse me?"

Tyler shrugs, having the nerve to look annoyed, like you're the one being unreasonable here. "Just call a cab home. You'll be fine." And with that it seems he's had enough of the conversation, turning his shoulders away as he beckons his group to follow.

"No, Tyler wait," you try, but he continues to move away. The only thing you receive is him quickly turning over his shoulder, calling out a goodbye as he promises to see you later.

"Tyler!" You yell but it's futile, the image of your boyfriend already swallowed up by the crowd. "Fuck."

For the second time tonight it feels like you have no idea how to react. You swivel around on the spot, like a lost kid in a grocery store. Some part of you can't believe he would just leave you like that, but then the other part understands it's him all over. Stupid selfish prick.

Far past being annoyed at the night's events, you reach for the phone buried in your jacket pocket, determined to just do as you were told and order a cab home. When the screen returns to you black, the only image your own reflection staring back at you even as you press the power button repeatedly, a long string of curses escape your lips. Stupid fucking phones and their stupid ass batteries. And of course tonight had to be the night you had forgone your charger, leaving you with just a useless weight of metal that you slip back into your pocket. Just my fucking luck.

For a moment, you're stuck on what to do, how to find a way home, but then your eyes fall on the bar across the room. You make your way through the crowd, squeezing past people and mumbling half-assed 'sorry's' and 'excuse me's' until you eventually reach the bar. When you do, the bartender walks over to you, a small smile appearing on his face. "Hi, what can I get for you?"

"Actually, I was just wondering if you could call me a cab?" you reply, raising your voice to be heard over the venue's loud music.

The bartender furrows his brow. "What?"

"A cab," you repeat, leaning in further to his ear. "Can you call me a cab, please? My phone is dead."

"Oh, I can't sorry," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. "Phone is broken."

"What? Can't you use your mobile or-"

"Not while I'm on shift."

He shrugs again. You scoff.

"Please. I really need to get home."

"Sorry," the bartender responds finally, turning away to move towards another customer down the bar.

You watch him go, scowling. When he starts to talk to someone else, asking for their order, another waterfall of curses fall from your tongue. How the fuck were you supposed to get home now?

"Hey gorgeous."

The voice all but pulls you from your thoughts and to the right, dragging you away from the harsh stare you were given the unhelpful bartender. When your eyes fall to the person who had sidled up beside you, a small sigh slips out, your eyes rolling in their sockets.

"Wow," the redhead responds, easily picking up on your bad attitude. She holds her hands up. "Sorry to offend."

You look back at the rockstar, at Natasha. It seems she's found you again in a moment where you want nothing more than to find a way out of there. Though despite your frustration, you know it's not her fault, that she isn't the one controlling the universe so adamant on your downfall tonight. So, you force yourself to soften your expression as you turn back to her. "No. No, I'm sorry," you say, shaking your head slightly. "It's just- I'm trying to get a cab home but apparently their phone is broken." You gesture towards the bar, displaying the utter uselessness of its bartender with the look on your face.

Natasha seems to take a little amusement in your frustration, the faintest of a smile appearing on her face. "You ain't got your own phone to call a cab?" The mobile is received from your pocket, quickly held up by your hand as you flash the dead device to the redhead opposite. She sighs, tilting her head back. "Ah, I see. What about that boyfriend of yours? Couldn't he call you a cab?"

You're a little surprised to hear her mention that piece of information, even if you'd only shared it with her minutes before in the bathroom stall. The mention of his presence is enough to drag the long sigh from your chest as you stare down at the bar. "Not when he's the reason I need one."

"Alright, I'm gonna need you to elaborate on that one."

Her words draw your eyes back to her, briefly grazing over her face before you respond. "He left with his friends. Gone off to some other bar. Told me to phone a cab home."

Natasha lets out a breath of air. "Dickhead." You watch her as she takes a sip from the beer in her hand, trying not to notice the way her lips look pressed against the top of the bottle. "You know, a pretty girl like you shouldn't have to wait around on assholes like that."

And then there's that same heat you felt in the bathroom, creeping up your cheeks unwelcome. You turn away again as you shrug in an attempt to hide it. "He's not that bad-" "Sure," Natasha cuts you off before you can even finish your explanation. In truth, you weren't even sure what else you were going to say, what redeeming qualities you could draw about the boy who'd left you stranded in the city to go get drunk with his friends. Instead you just turn to the woman sat beside you, only shallowly realising how she is in fact a minor celebrity and that a lot of the people around were probably looking over at the pair of you. But when Natasha smiles and leans in, it's like it all disappears. "Alright, lemme tell you this. You let me buy you one drink and I'll phone you a taxi home."

You look back at the rockstar sat across from you, letting her words settle into your mind. This close you can once again tell just how beautiful she is, how any girl in this room would pay good money to be where you are right now. But you don't want to be that kind of girl, the kind that chases after someone just because they have a little bit of fame. Nevertheless, there is something about the redhead that draws you in. Maybe it's the layers of piercings you can see stacking her ears, or the patchwork of tatoos lining her exposed arms. Whatever it is, something about her is making you want to follow whatever she says. Furthermore, her offer is one that is rather too good to refuse. After a moment, you sigh as you nod your head. "Fine. One drink." Natasha Romanoff smirks, calling the bartender over almost immediately with two fingers. It's the same tilted smile you had seen her passing you from across the stage, though now you can take notice of the small dimple that appears on her cheek when those lips pull taught. Everything about this encounter was setting something alight inside you but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

When your drink finally arrives - curtesy of a different bartender - you decidedly join the rockstar on the stools lined up against the bar. The leather is sticky and uncomfortable against the exposed skin under your skirt. Still, you ignore it as you look over at the redhead to your right, slowly taking a sip of the cocktail you'd ordered as you get the opportunity to voice the question that's been on your mind for the last couple hours. "Why were you looking at me on stage?"

"Why'd you think?" Natasha smirks the widest you've seen all night, licking her bottom lip as she turns to you. "I thought maybe you and I could have some fun but…you had to be little miss taken." You try not to react to her words, or moreover the way her eyes drag themselves over your body, particularly your exposed thighs against the red leather of the barstool. "Maybe we could still have some fun yet tho, hm?" Natasha finishes, her eyes returning to yours. Even in the dim light of the bar you can tell they're blown out, pupils wide as they drink you in.

You let out a sigh. "Listen, in the nicest way possible, I don't actually really know who you are and I don't know about this whole thing you're doing, if it's normal but-"

"Wait," Natasha cuts you off. "You were in the front row and don't know who I am?"

You feel a little bashful as you shrug your shoulders. "I mean- I kinda do, I guess. I mean- I've listened to a few of your band's songs but I'm not like- a fan or anything."

"Not a fan?" Natasha breathes, reaching to take another sip of her drink with an amused expression. "So tell me, how does a girl who's not a fan end up hugging the stage all night?"

You take a sip of your own cocktail before you reply. "My boyfriend bought the tickets."

"Ah there it is," Natasha nods. "The boyfriend yet again." She turns in her chair, legs moving to dangle off the side. "You know, he's not really our target demographic."

You know exactly what she's talking about, almost too quickly. It was rather obvious to you that Crimson Coven was not a band trying to attract straight men, even if they did flock to them over their members' good looks. "Yeah, I tried to tell him that," you reply, sipping on your drink.

One of the redhead's brows raises, eyes tracing over your face. "What's that one saying?" she ask, swirling the bottle in her hands. "Takes one to know one?" You feel the saliva pool in your throat as she looks back at you, smirk wider than ever. Swallowing harshly, you take a rather big swig of your drink, trying your best to ignore the way you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Natasha simply breathes out a laugh. "I think you're maybe not as you first seem, little lady." Right then there's a look that passes between you, your eyes wide and questioning, Natasha's dark and hooded. Then her hand is landing on your thigh, just above your knee where the skin is exposed. Her thumb strokes back and forth delicately as she licks her lips. "Why don't you tell me your name?"

There's a strange bubbling inside your stomach, a flutter to your heart. You want to turn and walk right out of there, ditch the rockstar in front of you and try your luck hailing a cab on the street. But part of you notices the shiver her touch sends up your thigh, how her skin is warm against yours in just the right kind of way, how despite your circumstances, just how amazing this moment feels. "Y/N," you reply eventually, swallowing your first instincts to the warm pit of your stomach.

"Y/N," the redhead repeats, rolling the name over her tongue. "I'm-"

"Natasha. I know."

She seems taken aback by your quick answer, cutting off her sentence before she can finish. She frowns slightly back at you. "I thought you said you didn't."

Now it's your turn to raise your brow. "I said I wasn't a fan. Not that I didn't know your name."

"I see," Natasha replies, her voice laced with amusement. She smiles to herself as she sips her beer, turning back with a wide grin. "You know, I've never slept with a Y/N before."

"You sleep with a lot of girls then?"

"I've done the rounds," Natasha shrugs. The nonchalant nature of her reply is enough to have you passing her a displeased look across the bar. She raises her brow, looking back at you. "What? You want me to lie to you? Tell you I'm the virgin mary?"

You want to laugh in response but hold yourself back, entirely aware of the game Natasha is trying to play. "So...what?" you draw out, playing with the rim of your glass. "You want me to be one of your new collectibles?"

"Well maybe if I get lucky."

You turn back to the smirking redhead. "I wouldn't buy a lottery ticket."

And she laughs, like really laughs right into her drink before she takes a sip. When she places it back on the bar, she shakes her head as she turns to look at you with a smirk. "You know most girls flock to my side," she says, raising a brow. "Asking for autographs or pictures."

"I already told you. I don't know that much about your band."

"You're here though, aren't you?" Natasha replies. "You must know some things."

She isn't entirely wrong. Sure, you knew of the things your boyfriend has endlessly droned on about. About Wanda being the one who named the band. Or about Carol and her cat, or Maria and her brief military background. You even knew about Natasha, little sparks in your memory of her coming from Russia or her hair being blonde at some point. It's all stored in the backlog of your brain, hours of knowledge you'd spent years sorting into the dusty compartments of your mind you never cared to look at. Still, there's something now about speaking to Natasha in real time, not hearing about your boyfriend's idealised version of her that feels a little different. Things here feel a little more real.

You don't acknowledge Natasha's question as you take a sip from your drink. "You want me to ask for your autograph?" you ask as you place the glass back down. "Is that it?"

The answer that follows is in such a low register you can barely hear it over the music. "I think we both know what I want."

You look back at Natasha, at her dazzling smirk and messy red hair. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint but I'm not your girl." A tight smile appears on your lips as you gaze out into the sea of bodies across the room. "Why don't you go find someone else?"

"Why would I when you're the prettiest thing in here?" Natasha's response is quick, almost as quick as the way her eyes divert to to rest if your body. "Hell, I'd go as far as to say you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"Listen," you sigh. "I appreciate the flattery but-"

"I ain't fucking around if that's what you think," Natasha says quickly, cutting you off. The look in her eye as she scans your face shows how genuine her words feel. "You caught my eye the second I stepped on stage. You're fucking gorgeous, angel. Forgive me if it's a crime to want to see more."

Despite your better instincts, you let out a laugh into your glass. No one has ever been this forward with you before, never complimented you so much to the point you can feel the heat of their words on your skin. Hell, not even Tyler was ever this keen to get you into bed. And you know you shouldn't like it, shouldn't fall for the rockstar's methods, but you can't help but enjoy the praise just a little bit.

That feeling is soon quashed however when your temple gives a sudden jolt of pain. You wince slightly, reminded of the too-loud atmosphere you'd spent the last few hours in. The alcohol probably wasn't helping much either.

"What's wrong?"

You're a little surprised when Natasha speaks, unaware of her having noticed your small flinch at the pain. You simply shake your head in response, smiling back at her. "Nothing. I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"You know," the rockstar replies quickly. "It's cooler backstage. Quieter too." You must give her a look laced with poison because she holds her hands up in defence once again, though this time smirking back at you. "Hey, Im just saying."

Despite your glare, you're still interested in the redhead sat opposite you. It's like even with her forward approach, you can't help but be drawn to some part of her. You try to avoid the smile that creeps back on to your face as you look back into her eyes. "Does this routine usually work for you?"

Natasha chuckles to herself before leaning in to speak. "Honey, by now I usually have a girl screaming my name as she rides my face."

It's now you're entirely glad of the dimness in the room, hiding the flushed state that rises in your throat and heats up your cheeks. You can feel yourself getting worked up by Natasha's bold statement, unsure of what to do with yourself or how to respond. In doubt of yourself, you simply reach for the cocktail glass in front of you and down the rest of the liquid. It burns a little going down but you find you don't mind it. Anything to take away from the feeling you can recognise brewing in your stomach.

You can just about feel Natasha's smirk as much as you can see it, pressing into the side of your head as she watches you become flustered, clearly enjoying the effect she is having on you. "Here," she says, adjusting herself in the chair. "Let me buy you another one."

You turn to meet her eye, holding it harshly. "I said one drink."

That smirk remains for a long while as Natasha just looks back at you, not answering for a few passing moments. It even stays as she lifts one of her arms, arching it so it comes to rest on the back of your barstool, officially caging in your conversation. "Alright," she drawls, her body leaning in towards yours. "Look at it like this. I can buy you another drink and we can talk some more. Maybe think about heading backstage, get you somewhere quieter. Or..." The redhead licks her licks, pausing as she angles her head. "I can phone you that cab now and you can mope in the backseat till you get home. Then, stumble into your cold apartment alone and just wait for your drunk boyfriend to get home and sidle up next to you in bed."

The blatant look on Natasha's face is a good representation of how you feel about the whole situation she's proposed. The thought of dealing with Tyler later is enough to have you rolling your eyes, already imagining his drunken state reaching out for you and wiping wet kisses along your neck, stinking of booze and the remaining perfume of whatever girl he's been chatting up at the bar. It's almost like a routine you've both fallen into, simply ignoring it every time until without fail, it'll happen again.

And maybe tonight you're done with it. Maybe tonight is the night you don't want to have to deal with him anymore, to hear him talk about himself for hours on end like you don't even exist. It's partially the thought of finally letting that go that pulls you in the direction you choose, but it's also largely down to the way you can feel Natasha pressing in closer, her face moving just inches from yours as her lips press up against your ear. Somehow, it's like you can even feel her smirking as her lips barely graze the skin beside your face. "If you come with me, I promise you won't regret it."

Maybe it is that that finally does it for you, the shiver of goosebumps running down your spine as you still feel the redhead's hand grazing your thigh. Maybe it's that or maybe it's the heat finally getting to you, or the alcohol hitting your head. It could be any of those, or maybe combination of them all. Whatever your brain decides to settle on as a reason, it doesn't really matter because within seconds, you're calling over the bartender for another drink, allowing yourself to fall into whatever rabbit hole Natasha Romanoff is offering you.

"I knew I'd like you, Y/N," the redhead whispers close, grinning widely at your acceptance. You don't say anything in response until the bartender is placing your vodka coke on the bar. And even then, just as you reach for the glass, Natasha is diverging any words you may have spoken as she grabs hold of your hand. "Come on," she calls and it's a challenge not to spill any of the drink as the redhead quickly begins to pull you from the bar.

"Natasha, wait-" you try to respond, not entirely sure of where this might be going, but the star is quickly cutting you off as she presses her lips together.

"Shh," she drags, looking back at you over her shoulder. "It's okay, angel. It's better back here, I promise."

Something in you gives in because you let her drag you through the crowds of the room, trying desperately not to spill the beverage in your hands. You notice on the way a few recognising faces that glance at Natasha, then almost turn a little sour as they fall onto you. You only get the chance to wonder about their jealousy for a few moments before Natasha has pulled you away from everyone entirely, slipping you through a door into a quiet corridor. And then, after turning a few corners and dodging a few stacks of equipment crates, she pulls you through another door into an entirely empty room.

It's only then does the redhead finally release your hand, letting you roam free as she crosses to sit on one of the sofas positioned within the room. Beside them, there's stacks of band equipment, most of which you don't quite recognise. The red guitar on the stand is easy, and the set of drumsticks lying on a table, but the speakers and wires sit in a valley of other items you probably couldn't name if you tried.

There are scatterings of personality throughout the space; a leather jacket thrown over a couch, an ashtray of old cigarettes on a coffee table, some cards laying close beside it. And for a moment you wonder if this is what Natasha Romanoff's life is like. Backrooms full of band equipment, roaring crowds that call out her name. An endless supply of money and booze and cigarettes and girls. It's so so far away from the reality that you live that it can't help but be a little fascinating, this room just a little window into the life of a true rockstar.

The one thing you do very quickly notice however, is the main luxury that the exclusive backstage room seems to have; air conditioning. Beautifully cool air floods your body as soon as the door closes behind you, your headache already cowering back in the quiet atmosphere. You just can't help but let out a long, appreciative sigh at the respite from the hot, humid air outside.

"Told ya." Natasha's voice calls as you see her throw herself down on one of the sofas, so easily slipping into her own space backstage.

You simply roll your eyes as you take a sip of the drink in your hand, surprisingly intact after lugging it across the venue. "So, where are your other friends?" you ask, looking more so at the room full of band things than the member sat on the couch across from you.

Natasha sighs, sitting back as her eyes drag over you. "Probably in rooms close by hoping to get somewhere like me."

"And where exactly is that?" you ask, feet wandering across the opposite side of the room from the redhead. She smirks back at you, watching your every movement.

"Why don't you tell me, gorgeous?"

You can feel yourself smile, finally allowing Natasha's flirting get to you. But instead of replying to her question, you simply run your fingers over the red instrument propped up on the stand beside you. "How long have you played guitar?"

"Fifteen years," Natasha replies quickly, unwavering at your change of topic.

You nod to yourself, looking down at the instrument. "Wow." There isn't anything you've probably committed to for that long, besides maybe school. You take a sip of your drink as you turn to lean on a table against the wall, now facing the still sitting redhead across the way. "How'd you meet the other girls?"

"It's a long story."

You hum in response, waiting just a moment for her to elaborate before you realise she's leaving it up to your own imagination. The two of you hold eye contact as you bring your drink up to your mouth, letting the bubbles pop on your lips as you drink before smoothing it over with your tongue. Theres a specific look in Natasha's eye you can't seem to recognise, almost as if she wants to eat you right where you stand. That smirk widens as you take another sip, your tongue yet again swiping over your lips and the sweet residual soda lingering there. It's then Natasha finally speaks, nodding her head in your direction. "Come here."

And you do. Placing your drink down on the table before pressing yourself up from it, you slowly make your way across the room to where Natasha sits. As you come to stand between her open legs, the rockstar sits up, her body straightening and her hands coming to rest on the sides of your hips. You let them explore a little as Natasha moves, forgoing the layer of your leather jacket and pressing directly beneath the hem on your shirt. Her fingertips feel calloused as they brush the skin beneath it, years of playing guitar coming to create the most amazing sensation as she brushes against your body.

"God, your skin is so soft," Natasha says lowly, almost to herself. It sounds like she's truly mesmerised, her entire being taken over by the feeling of you against her skin. And perhaps some part of you feels it too because without knowing what truly compels you, you find yourself lowering your body down into her lap. Natasha smirks as you come to rest upon her thighs, knees caging either side of her body. She glances down at the way your skirt rides up, only leaving little to the imagination of what lies beneath. Her hands come to rest there, stroking the soft skin of your upper thighs as you lift your arms above her shoulders, letting them fall behind her head as you stare into her eyes. From here, in the new lighting of the backstage room, you can see the sea of green that shrouds her pupils.

For a while you two just drink each other in, your bodies comfortably close as your eyes trace one another. Then, eventually Natasha is talking once more as her fingers reach out towards you. "What's this?"

You follow her eyeline down to your chest, watching the way her fingers have found the crystal hanging around your neck. "Aventurine," your reply.

Natasha smiles as she looks back at your face. "Wanda's the crystal lover so you'll have to enlighten me. What does this one do?"

You shrug a little. "It's brings a few things...Hope, optimism, prosperity. Mostly luck."

The redhead raises a brow as her voice finds that playful tone. "Luck?"

"Mhm," you hum, finding yourself leaning in just slightly closer. "Stone of opportunity."

"So you're telling me it's because of this little rock that I wound up with a pretty girl sat on my lap?"

You hold back a laugh as you search Natasha's smirking face. "Don't call it a rock."

"No?"

You shake your head, humming. "I think it offends them."

The two of you are pressed even closer now, your arms coming crossed behind Natasha's head as she pulls you in. Her voice is almost a whisper when she speaks. "I know some things I could do to offend a lot of people."

The breath you release is shaky as you feel Natasha's hand reach up to cusp your face. She holds your chin, finger so delicate across your skin before she reaches to trace your bottom lip, just momentarily pulling it down with her thumb.

And it's then, with her face pressed so close to yours, green eyes almost black with lust, that you finally let everything go and you lean in. The first kiss is electrifying. Like that first strum of a chord when the guitar kicks in in a song, the bass just rattling your bones and setting your nerves on fire.

Natasha's lips are beautifully soft against yours, a contrast to the harshness of her fingertips you can feel pressing into the side of your face. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and cigarette smoke, sweet but hazy to your senses. The redhead quickly takes a grip of your jaw, angling your head just right so she can drive the kiss deeper. You don't complain as she begins to domineer your mouth, tongue sliding across yours with the skills of a professional.

When you both finally pull back for air, you can only wonder why you forced yourself to wait for this so long. Her touch is like nothing you've ever felt before, your entire body simply set alight with a hunger for her. You look down at the redhead for a moment and Natasha smirks devilishly up at you, eyes blown wide before she's pulling you back in. Your hands hold the back of her neck as your lips collide once more, pulling her in as close to you as you can in a desperate need for more.

Natasha's fingers dance up your arms before you can feel her begin to press the leather jacket away from your shoulders. You move your hands to let her remove it, only hearing it crash to the floor as you try desperately to hold your lips against the rockstar's. A low whine erupts in your throat as you feel her pull away seconds later, your bruised mouth chasing hers.

But Natasha just lets herself grin as her hands caress your body, deft fingers running up and down your sides. Only moments later, she's reaching beneath the material of your shirt to pull it over your head. Her breaths are heavy as her eyes trace your exposed body, almost fixated on the swell of your breasts in the lacy balconette bra cladding your chest.

"Fuck," the redhead says under her breath. Her hands come up to caress your tits, squeezing them tenderly through the material as your own pants flow from your chest. Her lips connect soon after, kissing and nipping at the skin of your cleavage with delicate precision. You let your head fall back as the redhead pays attention to your chest, simultaneously sucking and playing with your tits with her mouth and hands, sending rolls of pleasure flooding down your spine.

When one of her hands slips up the bare skin of your back, her lips disconnect as she meets your eye. Her fingers play with the clasp of your bra as you look down at her. "Can I?" she whispers, face so close to your own.

"Uh huh," you reply, nodding your head quickly. It's only seconds later you can feel the release against your chest, Natasha's skilled hands making quick work of the clasp and tossing your brassiere to the side. Her attention is straight back on you as she reveals your bare chest, kissing the previously hidden skin as she murmurs soft praises into the flesh. "God, you're so beautiful."

Your fingers find a place running through her hair as she continues to play with your tits, red fibres intertwined with your painted nails. A string of softer sounds elicits from your throat as Natasha's fingers find your nipples, pinching and pulling at the hardened buds with just the perfect amount of pressure.

"Natasha," you breath out heavily, holding back a moan as her teeth replace her hands playing with your chest.

"Yeah baby?" the redhead responds, looking up at you but not removing her face from where it rests.

The look on her face only adds to the pool you can feel forming between your legs, all down to her touch and copious amounts of flirting. You want to see more of her, want to run your hands across her body. Not entirely confident enough to word it, you settle for a whine as you tug at her shirt. Thankfully, it seems Natasha is apt at picking up your signals because she smirks widely before reaching to untuck her shirt and pull it over her head.

As the rockstar tosses it somewhere across the room, you can't help but stare at the sight she's unveiled. Her tits sit beautifully in a red bralette, perked perfectly with pink nipples visible through the mesh material. Every part of you feels totally enamoured by her look, eyes unable to peel themselves away from her heavenly cleavage on display.

It's in your admiration, you find yourself distracted, not noticing the way the rockstar's hand has slipped up your skirt until you suddenly feel her touch against your underwear. A gasp escapes you as her fingers graze over your clothed core, most definitely feeling the way her tactics have saturated the material. The redhead makes eye contact with you, pupils dark. "This okay?" she whispers, voice as thick as honey.

It takes all your efforts to breathe out a response, entirely worked up by her touch. "Yeah," you reply, nodding quickly. By this point you would let her do whatever she wanted if it would soothe ache between your legs.

Natasha smiles widely as she hears your response. "Lift your hips for me," she says, playing a chaste kiss to your collar bone. You do ask she asks, rising up to your knees on the sides of the couch. It gives Natasha the room to hook her fingers underneath the sides of your underwear, pulling them down painfully slowly as she looks into your eyes. When she finally manages to slide them over your legs, she tosses them somewhere off to the side before pulling you back down to sit on her lap.

Just then, a sudden thought crosses your mind. "I've-I've never done this before," you stutter out. "With a woman, I mean."

You wonder for a moment if Natasha will be put off by your inexperience, but that thought is quickly extinguished when the redhead only smirks wider. "That's alright," she replies. "Cause I happen to be somewhat of an expert."

You let out the barest of a laugh at her words, letting the anxiety flood out of your mind. Natasha's smirk holds as you feel her hand creep up your skirt again, dancing over the delicate skin of your inner thigh. "Relax, sweetheart," she husks. "I got you now."

Her fingers move to again run over your centre, this time touching your bare skin as you feel her fingers trace your soaked folds. She collects the wetness pooling from your centre before dragging it up to your clit, spreading it as she slowly begins to circle the bud. A moan slips as she presses a little harder, her fingers perfectly pooling pleasure between your legs.

"That's it, baby," Natasha purrs, face close to your ear. "Let me hear all those pretty noises."

You feel your teeth plunge into your bottom lip as another moan slips from your throat. Natasha's touch is so teasingly slow you can't help but buck your hips a little into her hand. "Please-" you whine, desperate for her to do more.

Thankfully, Natasha obliges and another moan drawls from your chest as you feel her middle finger plunge into your core. Your muscles tense around her, pulling her finger in further as your face comes to burrow into the redhead's shoulder.

"Uh uh," Natasha sounds from above you. "Let me see your face, pretty girl." Her finger find your chin, directing your gaze back up until your eyes meet with hers."There you go."

She smiles widely as she leans in for a kiss, once again enveloping your lips in her sweet, sultry taste. The two of you press deeply into another, noses brushing together. You can feel Natasha's finger slowly begin to move inside you, teasing your walls as you whine against her mouth. Your lips only disconnect when you feel Natasha add another finger to the one pumping inside you, your face falling as a gasp sounds from your chest.

She works almost painfully slow, her fingers pulling virtually all the way out before steadily bottoming inside you once again. Each time, her fingertips press against that spot inside you, just softly enough for you to barely feel it. Chasing more of a high, your hips begin to rut against her hand. "Natasha," you whine, voice long and drawn out at her teasing attitude. Some part of you wonders if it's some form of payback for letting it take so long to get you in this position.

The rockstar places a soft kiss to the side of your neck before she's whispering in your ear, hot breath fanning out across the skin. "Shh, just ride my fingers," she says, smiling against you. You feel her free hand come to rest upon your hip, slowly guiding you to rut harder against her hand. Each time you do, you feel her fingers curl into that spot inside you, sending soft sighs of pleasure cascading from your lips.

"'Atta girl," Natasha husks, continuing to guide your movements with her palm. Your hands come to rest upon her shoulders, holding yourself up as you rock back and forth. The redhead's fingers slide in and out of you with each motion, the sounds of the wetness between your legs joined by the moans slipping from your tongue.

Natasha watches with wide eyes as you grind against her hand, fingers gripping into her shoulders as your pleasure grows. She lets her digits curl inside you, releasing sweet, sudden sounds from your lips. Her thumb moves to brush against your clit, the hardened surface sending shocks of pleasure through you each time you rock your hips.

"Fuck baby," Natasha says lowly, watching you practically fuck yourself on her lap. "Are you gonna make a mess?" she drawls. "You gonna make a mess all over my fingers for me?"

"Uh huh," you respond, barely managing to nod your head as you can feel that coil building tighter and tighter in your stomach. Natasha's touch is like electric to your skin, each thrust building to a crescendo at your core.

"Come on, angel," the redhead whispers. "Show me just how pretty you are when you cum."

Her words, alongside one last thrust of your hips is enough to send you toppling over that edge. Your moan is drawn out loudly as you feel yourself come undone, eyes slamming shut as you grip hold of Natasha's shoulders. Your body arches in to her, letting Nat take advantage of your chest with her mouth once more as her fingers ride you through your orgasm.

"Fuck," you breathe, finally starting to come down from your high. You open your eyes once more to see Nat smirking up at you, letting go of your nipple between her teeth as both of her hands now rest on your waist. As your mind clears, you let yourself begin to fall back down on to her lap, but when you accidentally land directly on her thigh, you feel a shock sent through your core. You wince, immediately lifting yourself back up at the sensitivity.

But Natasha seems to have other plans. "Shh, angel. It's okay," she murmurs as her hands grip harsher on to the skin of your waist. She begins to push you back down, eliciting a gasp as your sensitive core connects again with her leg. You squirm a little in the position, fighting ever so slightly against Natasha as she tries to drop your full weight on to her. "Just sit on my thigh," she drawls, hands guiding you down. "Just like that, there you go."

The position hikes your tight skirt all the up to your waist, completely exposing your cunt as it comes to rest against the bare skin of Natasha's thigh. You're pathetically wet against her, cum still dripping out your core from your previous orgasm. But if anything, Natasha only seems to enjoy the way you soak her skin, smirking up at you as her hands begin to direct you once again. Her movements force you to rock back and forth slowly, your slick coating the skin of her leg beneath you. The wave of pleasure that comes from the movement sends a moan tipping out your mouth, your head falling back as your clit throbs with each brush against Natasha's thigh.

"Does that feel good, baby?" the redhead beneath you husks, still guiding your movements. It takes all your focus to nod your head. "Mhm?" Natasha questions, her voice purely laced with amusement. "You're such a good girl. Just keep grinding on me, just like that."

You feel the rockstar's hands disengage from your waist but your movement continues, encouraged by her words and praise. You watch between fluttering eyelashes as Natasha reaches to take off her bra, tossing it aside and revealing her perfect tits to you. Then, you see as her hands moves to undo her shorts, opening each button before her fingers disappear beneath the waistband of the black denim.

You hold back a whine as you see her face contort, only imagining what her fingers may be doing under the material of those shorts. "God, you're making me so wet," the redhead breathes, reaching up to place a kiss on to your pouting lips. You release a whine into her, muffled by her tongue lapping over your own. "Such a pretty girl," Natasha mewls when she pulls away, one hand reaching up to caress your jaw. "So pretty just for me. Wanna see how wet I am for you?"

You feel yourself nodding as you look into her green eyes, turned even more on by the concept of Natasha getting off just by looking at you. The redhead removes her fingers from beneath her shorts before bringing them up to your face, letting you view the soaked digits momentarily before pressing them up to your lips. You take in her fingers welcomely, humming around them as you let the taste of her coat your tongue.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Natasha husks, sounding about as love-drunk as you felt sucking on her fingers. She lets you lap them up a moment longer before pulling them from your lips with a pop. Then, you watch as she dips them back below her shorts, moaning softly at the contact it makes on her hidden centre.

Your eyes feel almost transfixed on the hand concealed beneath the material of Natasha's black shorts. The only true indication of whatever her fingers are doing comes from the delicate hums and sighs that escape the redhead's lips. The sight alone is enough to make you grind your cunt harder against her thigh, desperately trying to ease the heat growing there.

The rockstar notices your attempts becoming more determined, fingers clutching at her shoulders as your own needy mewls drip from your tongue. "Are you gonna cum on my thigh baby?" she asks, smirking widely.

You grind faster against her, trying desperately to chase your high but it feels like it's never coming. "I can't," you whine, hopelessly rutting atop of her.

"You can," Natasha nods.

"Mm-hm," you hum, shaking your head. Your fingers grip harder into her skin, the feeling between your legs never quite reaching that peak you're seeking out.

"You can, baby," Natasha replies quickly, voice assertive. "Look, just like this." You feel her hands come to rest upon your ass, fingers gripping into the soft flesh before she begins to rock you once more. With her guidance, you follow a more structured pattern, your clit brushing perfectly against her thigh with each rock of your hips. "There you go," the redhead hums, watching your face screw up in pleasure at the newfound rhythm. Moans begin to cascade from your lips in desperate tones as each new thrust sends you closer to that edge. The way Natasha guides you sends perfect waves of pleasure through your entire body, your hands pressing into her shoulders to try ground yourself in the high. When you feel her fingers join in on the equation, your cries turn ever more lewd, her hand placed so that your clit brushes directly over her calloused tips each time you rut your hips.

"Come on baby girl," you hear Natasha husk, her face close to yours. "Cum for me. You can do it. Cum all over my thigh."

One more thrust sends you hurtling over the edge, screaming out as you feel a gush of warmth flooding onto Natasha's leg. Your arms wrap around her head, anchoring yourself in as you ride out your high, mewling choked moans into the redhead's ear. Natasha guides you through the orgasm once more, still slowly guiding your hips to an eventual stop. When you finally emerge from the crook of her neck, you're panting.

The rockstar admires the way your chest rises and falls, the green crystal still hanging around your neck, nestled in the valley of your breasts. "God, you're so fucking perfect," she husks, drinking in your figure. "I could get addicted to the way you look falling apart for me."

You don't say anything in response as you still try to calm yourself from the high, head feeling fuzzy as you look back at the redhead. She smirks widely as she watches you, utterly obsessed with the way you look sat on top of her, eyes glazed over in residual pleasure.

A single one of her fingers comes to swipe up some of the cum you've left slathered on her thigh, purposely brushing slightly over the top of your bruised clit just to watch you squirm a little before bringing her hand up to her own mouth. She practically laps up the stickiness coating her finger, humming lowly as your cum trickles down her throat. "God," she breathes, letting her finger fall. "I wish I had my strap so I could fuck that sweet little pussy of yours." You whine on top of her, still too inebriated to form a real response. Natasha only chuckles at your intoxication. "Would you like that, pretty girl? Like me to fuck you till you can't even think anymore?"

"Uh huh," you nod, already fantasying the image inside your head.

Natasha laughs again, tilting her head as she watches your face. "You're so cum-drunk right now I think you're already half way there. Isn't that right?" A low sound in the back of your throat is the only response, heightened when you feel Natasha's lips connect with your neck. She sucks as the soft flesh, glazing over the burn with her tongue. She stays there a moment, clearly leaving a mark on your skin that you have no idea how you'll cover up tomorrow. But quite frankly, you don't even care.

When Natasha pulls away, she notices how that glaze has left your eyes, your consciousness returning finally after your last climax. She smirks, eyeing you with that mischievous look as her face comes to rest near your cleavage, placing a chaste kiss to your sternum before looking back up. "You want me to empty that pretty head of yours some more?"

You're barely able to focus on her words as she lets her tongue circle around your nipple. In the end, you don't answer her question, simply whine as her teeth tease at the hardened bud. "Tasha-"

The nickname slips from your tongue almost too easily, your brain not even recognising it. Natasha, however, does, and she can't believe how amazing it sounds coming from your mouth. "Fuck," she whispers, coming face to face with you again. She looks into your eyes for a long moment before she begins to shift her body, turning yours with it. "Lie down for me, baby," she murmurs, twisting your body to lay down on the couch beneath you. "Just like that."

You let her manoeuvre you to the perfect position, arching slightly as the cold leather of the couch hits your back. Lying back, you watch as Natasha leans over you, placing a few quick kisses to your neck before travelling lower. When she reaches your waistline, her fingers work to unzip the skirt still clinging to your waist. She makes light work of undoing it before beginning to pull it down your legs, placing kisses on your warm flesh as she goes. When the article is tossed aside, the rockstar begins to unfasten the boots still tied to your feet. She removes them quickly, laying them aside and soon letting her own join them.

Then, you watch in awe as the redhead slowly slips her fingers into the waistband of her own shorts, almost making a show out of it as she slips the garment down. Shorts and underwear go at the same time as Natasha strips herself in front of you, smirking as she notices the way you stare. Your eyes never leave her as her body moves back towards the couch, coming to a rest above you as her knees straddle your waist. "You're so hot," you all but mumble, mesmerised by the sight in front of you.

Natasha simply chuckles lowly at your response. "Give me your hand," she says, reaching out towards your wrist. You let her take hold, watching intently as she guides you between her legs. She runs your fingers methodically through her folds, gasping quietly as the touch. She's soaked, slick coating your digits, probably residual from where she had been touching herself earlier. "You feel that? It's all for you, baby." Natasha hums as she guides your hand through her core. You can't help but let your own little noises slip, feeling just how wet she is beneath your touch. Your fingers curl at the ends, dipping into Natasha's centre before you pull them up to rub at her swollen clit. "Ah, fuck," the star moans, pinching her eyes closed. She lets you play with her a bit longer before she eventually pulls your hand away, letting it drop to your side. Instead, she reaches the hand she was using to guide you under your right thigh, squeezing into the flesh gently. "Lift your leg for me," she says, pulling upwards on your thigh.

You let her manoeuvre your leg, holding it up to the side while she adjusts her own body. You watch as one of her legs hooks over your waist, angling herself so that her core is directly above your own. When she sinks down to meet you, a lewd gasp sounds from your mouth, the new sensation electric against your skin. Natasha's cunt is wet against your own, accentuated by the cum that sill coats your sensitive folds.

"Oh my god," you breathe out, entirely in awe at the new feeling of the redhead against you. The star smirks down at you, letting your legs fall back into a relaxed position as she anchors herself to your hips with her hands. When she begins to move against you, the loud moans that escape you coat the entire room.

Her clit brushes beautifully against your own as Natasha rocks her hips back and forth, the noises of your combined wetness thick in the air. "Fuck, you feel so good," the redhead moans out, her own breath becoming shallow as she rolls against you. It doesn't mean that she lets her guard down entirely though, quickly noticing when your head lolls to the side and your eyes squeeze shut. "Eyes on me, beautiful," she directs, reaching out to grasp your face.

You let her turn your chin as you open your eyes back up, drinking in the sight in front of you. Natasha rocks back and forwards against you with a perfect rhythm, her tits bouncing with each new thrust. Natasha sees you watching and reaches for your hands, guiding them up to plump flesh of her chest. You squeeze roughly, savouring the delicate moans that spill from the rockstar's lips.

"God, you're so hot," the redhead murmurs between heavy breaths. "I just can't get enough of you. Maybe I'll just have to bring you along on tour with me, let you be my little groupie."

You moan loudly, not only from the way Natasha's cunt grinds over your swollen clit, but also at the teasing voice and notion of her words. Natasha smirks down at you. "You like that idea, huh?" she husks. "You wanna be my little groupie who I fuck like this after all my shows?"

You don't have the ability to form a response to her, merely putting all of your energy into chasing your combined high. Your back arches off the cold leather of the couch as you try your best to rock your hips against the rockstar's, listening to the sound of your wet cunts grinding desperately against one another. When a particular thrust bumps across your clit, a whine sounds low in the back of your throat. "Tasha-"

The nickname does wonders once again in Natasha's mind, sounding so sweet lacing your tongue. "Fuck," she murmurs, trying to keep up her pace. "I want you to say my name like that when you cum baby, okay?"

You nod weakly, chest heaving. "Good girl." Natasha bucks slightly as your clits brush over one another, her legs twitching by your sides. "Fuck."

The two of you continue to rock against one another, your moans harmonising together as you both climb closer to your climax. Your hands rest upon Natasha's full thighs, gripping for support as the pleasure rolls over you in waves. She clasps at your waist, feeling the thin layer of perspiration coating your skin.

"Fuck," you breathe out. "I think I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me," Natasha finishes, thrusting into you. You do as she says and let that coil loose in your stomach, letting your orgasm shred through you as you all but scream out in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, Tasha."

Her name dripping from your lips sends the redhead over the edge too, rutting against you as she cums hard. "Shit," she mumbles, riding her wave as the combination of your juices blends together and soaks both of your legs.

Both of your bodies tense, movements becoming sloppy as your highs hit. When nearly a minute later, you've both come down from the peak, Natasha slowly untwines your legs from one another. She flops down on the couch beside you, barely enough room for the two of you to lie next to another. For a while you two sit with the combined sounds of your own heavy breaths, both of your bare chests heaving in the warmth of the room.

"Oh my god," you manage to slip out, finally aware of how you've just had the best sex of your life. Nothing could ever compare to what Natasha had just done to you, no other partner ever even coming close to making you cum that hard.

Natasha seeks amusement in your blown out state, clearly enjoying the revelation painted on your face. She rolls her head towards you, her signature smirk making one final appearance. "I told you, you wouldn't regret coming back stage with me."

Your head turns towards her, meeting her widened eyes still dark with lust. You almost want to tell her she's wrong, that all your avoiding earlier had been the right path you go down, but you know it's all bullshit. She was right, there wasn't a single ounce of regret in your bones.

Natasha smiles at your clear agreeance, almost smug in the way she licks her lips. She props herself up on to one arm, leaning over you with those dark emerald eyes. Her fingers come to find the crystal hanging around your neck, rolling the stone between her fingertips as she smiles deeply. Then, she turns back to you, looking as sly as she first had back in that bathroom stall. "Now," she drawls. "About that groupie thing..."

[luvjunie]

— trust who?

pairing: e-42!miles x 1610!fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of death, yandere?miles

summary: you were taken from him a year ago, and now it seems the universe has given him a chance to do things differently— and this time, he’s not letting you go. no matter what. wc: 1,648

a/n: i got a lil carried away w this one won’t lie, lol. i love this song, and i put a little twist on it to match the plot. song lyrics are in small, bold italics

🎧: Not You Too - drake (ft. chris brown)

“trust- trust who? trust me and i can set you free. left your man came straight to me you the real mvp, my love.“

dimmed hues of red lights spotted your vision as you came to, eyelids heavy as they peeled apart to reveal the room you assumed would be the setting of your demise. your head snapped up when you finally regained consciousness completely, fright-riddled eyes darting around to scout out an escape plan. but just as you went to move, you heard chains clink from above as your body swayed, and realized you couldn’t. you looked down to find your legs bound by rope, as well as your hands, as well as the rest of your body to a firm, stuffed sack.

feet dangling from the ground, you let your head fall back against the punching bag, defeated, and settled for your only remaining option. “help!” you yelled, voice rasped and weak. “help!” you tried again.

“don’t bother, can’t hear a thing down here.”

an artificial, robotic voice sounded from above, warranting your eyes to meet a masked man who resided on a high beam, crouched in place, watching you. how long had he been there?

he jumped down, catching himself and effortlessly hanging from one arm before his sneakers met the steel floor. they were untied, you noticed.

fear permeated your entire being as he strolled over to you, a semblance of uneasiness coursing through your veins, pumping into your blood and rendering your spine straight as the ominous figure stopped just in front of you.

“ple—please, i don’t know why i’m here,” the words tumbled out in a broken heap of suffocated, stifled sobs as tears welled in your eyes.

“shh, it’s okay,” he shushed you, a hand reaching out to gently pinch your chin, lifting your head back up after it’d fallen. his touch was delicate, like he was scared he’d break you.

“i’m not gonna hurt you, mi vida. i’d never hurt you… you know that.” the voice distorter cut out, your breath catching in your throat and your eyes fluttering over every inch of this strange mask. it reminded you of a ventilation mask you’d seen in miles’ room once, a mask used to protect your lungs from the fumes of spray paint.

as if your mind were working against you, you found yourself… calmer than you were just a few seconds ago, and even more confused. why did the voice sound so familiar?

something wasn’t right.

“who— who are you?” you gulped.

“you don’t remember me?” the shield over his face pulled back, the quiet sound of mechanical whirring as it revealed his face drowned out by the heavy thrumming of your heart in your ear drums.

here stood your boyfriend in front of you, the same features, but… different. his entire demeanor had shifted since you had last seen him just prior to whatever time it was now, to something sinister. his hair was longer, pulled back and braided. an accent, almost resemblant of his mother’s lingered on the tip of his tongue, dripping within the words he spoke. his face was harder, etched and carved like the weight of the world had chipped at it piece by piece, only to settle on his shoulders, leaving him with no time for himself.

this couldn’t be right.

“miles?” you choked out, mouth gaping to find your voice. “w-why… what am I—you’re, you… but different? what is this? where am i?”

a puff of air shot through his nostrils, his best effort at a laugh as a small, smile lifted the corner of his lips, braids gliding over his shoulders when his head tilted to the side.

“you came back to me, mi amor. and god…you’re even more beautiful than i remembered.” he breathed, eyes flickering with sorrow for just a moment as they studied your face, a moment that was almost too brief for you to catch.

when he’d encountered you and his counterpart on the roof with his uncle, he swore his prayers had been answered. somehow, someway you’d been brought back to him— the pain of witnessing the bullet that pierced through your chest that fateful night just a year ago drifted from his mind, and replaced itself with the all consuming, peaceful, sleeping image of you the minute he’d picked you up and cradled you in his arms. it pained him to inject you with the needle to sedate you, but he had no other choice, he could never truly hurt you. no, he would never do that.

“i missed you so much.”

“first time in a long time hurtin' deeply inside”

the hand sporting his mechanical gauntlet lifted towards you, fingers bending so the claws wouldn’t scrape your skin as he let the cold metal brush against the swell of your cheek. the sound of the steel joints ticking made you flinch, chest stuttering for breaths you couldn’t keep within your overworked lungs as you turned away from him.

you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes, when all he’s ever wanted to do was keep you safe, to protect you, to make you feel comforted and secure. and he failed at that before, he knows that, but he’s ready this time. he’d been given a second chance, and he’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers again.

“it’s me, hermosa… it’s okay, you know me. just trust me, and i can set you free, and then we can be together. just like old times.” his brows furrowed, his tone one of sincerity as he assured you, but it did nothing for your racing heart.

“trust—“ you sputtered, voice wavering when you spoke. “trust who? you? how can i when you have me tied up like this?!” you balked, your bewilderment such a stark contrast from his bleak, seemingly unmoving disposition.

“yeah… i’m real sorry ‘bout that. uncle aaron made me, so i tried not to make ‘em too tight. you know something like this would never, ever be my idea.”

you shook your head, was this some kind of sick joke? why wasn’t he understanding a single word that was coming from your mouth?

you grew frustrated, time was not on your side, and honestly you were getting tired of this game.

“i don’t know anything about you, i don’t even know who you are. you might have his face, and—and his body,” you looked him up and down. “but you… you are not my miles.”

he felt a pang in his chest, the words you uttered, the way you said ‘my miles’, as if he wasn’t right here, as if he wasn’t right in front of you. the version of himself he’d buried in the ground with you just last year wanted to jump out and yell at you, plead with you, anything to make you see he could be just like your miles, because he was your miles.

“oh,” he pulled the skin of his cheek between his teeth as he turned away with an agitated nod, extending his arm out to point towards your miles, who was still unconscious, chin dropped to his chest as he hung from another punching bag.

“him?” his voice raised in volume and broke apart with desperation, a humorless chuckle unintentionally escaping his trembling lips. “what’s the difference? huh? tell me.” he demanded, nostrils flaring as he tried to maintain his composure, staring deep into the eyes of the girl who would’ve burned the whole world down with him if he asked. the girl who was in his grasp, right in this moment, yet still so far from his reach— reserved for the one who had everything that belonged to him.

your head whipped to where he pointed, and the moment your eyes landed on your boyfriend your blood ran cold, a pained gasp rippling your chest. “miles! oh god, please!” you called out for him as you struggled against your restraints, his counterpart interrupting you by blocking your line of your view with his body.

“cálmate,” he hummed, “he’s fine, just unconscious. i’m not cruel. is that how you remember me, mamí?” he questioned, voice bleeding with hurt.

your gaze drifted over to your miles again, hope swelling within you when you heard him groan.

“no, no, princesa. don’t look at him, look at me.” he urged.

he didn’t understand. you always used to say you would love him in every universe, that you’d find him in every lifetime, what happened to that?

“please, we need to get home, if we don’t… he won’t be able to save his father, he—he’ll die. you have to understand.” you pleaded, the tears finally bubbling over your waterline, streamlining down your cheeks.

“you are home! it’s me, mi amor, i’m right here. what about everything we went through?” he asked tenderly, voice full of hurt and eyes still soaking in the slight difference in your features. he was too distracted by the fact that the girl he thought he’d never see again, was right here in front of him to even try and comprehend what you were trying to say. “please, don’t cry. you know i hate seeing you cry.”

nothing else seemed to be working, so you settled for empathizing with him. he was still miles, after all, different universe or not, he was still the same person deep down. and from the way he was looking at you, love flowing from the eyes that held so much anguish within them, you knew some version of you had loved him, too. in the same way you loved your own.

“look, i’m sure i-“ you stopped to correct yourself, “she, loved you, but i’m not her. i’m not from here, and i’m sorry she’s gone, and i’m sorry you have to live with this pain, but, please… you have to let me go.” your tone was forbearing, words teetering off into a hushed plea, your lingering apprehension threatening to tear through the seam of your heartfelt spiel.

“let you go?”

you nodded tentatively.

he moved closer to you, to unbound you from this elevated prison, you assumed. because maybe, just maybe you’d managed to get through to him.

but this wasn’t your universe, and this… this was not your miles.

for the first time in your entirety of knowing miles morales, you felt your heart stop— and not in the way that brought a flurry of warmed, passioned butterflies to flutter within you— but in a way that invited his words to settle like ice in your bones, allowed panic and dread to inhabit your senses, clutching you in a selfish grasp of resentment that had no intentions of letting you go— you realized, as this time, his gloveless hand swiped away yet another tear you hadn’t even noticed you’d shed.

“why would i do that?”

“I've given you enough time. hurtin' deeply inside.“

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

©luvjunie 2023

[jensettermandu]

A.D.I.D.A.S - huh yunjin

(All Day, I Dream About Sex)

genre; smut

pairing; desperate!yunjin x mean!fem reader

content; degrading, humiliation, yunjin being turned on by Y/n being mean, slightly perverted yunjin (lowkey simps for reader and is down bad), some breast play, cunnilingus (giving and receiving reader), fingering, some praising, spitting, choking, breath-play, a bit of thigh slapping, dom!reader/sub!yunjin

synopsis; yunjin's exams are coming up and among spending hours studying, her new neighbor seems to be a noisy metal-head who blasts music from morning to night. whenever she doesn't blast music, she's shredding on the guitar. yunjin is losing her mind after being ridiculed every time she's asked if she can tone it down, the frustrations getting the best of her. although, the guitarist knows just what is needed to help her relax.

wc; 8.8k+

masterlist

She tried to ignore it at first, to just deal with it and pretend that the noise didn’t exist. When that didn’t work she tried to put on headphones and blast her music, but it made it hard to focus. 

Yunjin’s new neighbour had a thing for loud music.

She wouldn’t mind it at all because she loved music, she even played instruments, but this wasn’t her genre of music.

The lyrics were vulgar or dark, straight angst. The sounds were pure noise in her ears and she couldn’t phantom who willingly listened to distorted electric guitar riffs, pounding drums or vigorous vocals.

It was safe to say that Yunjin hadn’t managed to become a fan of nu-metal or any other of the metal subgenres. 

If her neighbour wasn’t blasting music, they were seemingly playing it themselves on an electric guitar. She was starting to wonder if she was the only one bothered by this, but at the same time, she lived on the top floor which was mostly empty.

With exams coming up, the girl was already on the brink of a breakdown and was tense. Now a neighbour she had never seen with her eyes was blasting music every time she tried to study which was all the time. She had opted for libraries and cafés but they didn’t compare to sitting in the comfort of her home. 

Despite it making her feel like a nag and not something she wanted to be she found herself leaving the apartment to finally try and convince her neighbour to agree to tone it down. Just the thoughts were making her skin crawl because she had always been a person who liked music and didn’t get bothered by someone else. She minded her business and lived on with her life.

She closed her door and took what were three steps to reach the door where music was sounding muffled from the other side. With a hand running through her hair, she sighed and knocked at last–

And again.

Once again.

A frustrated sigh left her lips as she wasn’t sure what she had been expecting as the person on the other side didn’t even hear her knocking. This time she banged on the door, it was hurting her knuckles at this point as they were bright red by now.

The music got turned down and she knocked one last time before flailing her hand and dropping it to her side while she waited for the door to open. She was praying for it to be someone kind and not an asshole. The girl had no clue what to expect because she could have a perceived idea about who was on the other side, but she decided against it.

Her heart picked up when the girl who was just an inch taller opened the door. 

It just had to be the campus mean girl she had been avoiding at all costs because despite her slim figure she was sure the girl could swallow her whole. 

Y/n Y/l/n who was the lead guitarist in a band was in a whole different division compared to Yunjin.

“Who are you?”

It made the redhead's lips part as she felt insulted after having most of her classes with the dark-haired girl for the past year.

“Neighbour–I’m your neighbour.” She stated, gathering her words that withered. This had been the closest she’d been to the girl–no, the closest was when she once sat right beside her in English. God, how was she the only one to remember? 

The scent of vanilla was still the same, the girl was dressed in low-waisted jeans, a cropped tight shirt, star tattoos going right beside her hip bones that were protruding, her nose pierced, the same went to her belly button and when she glanced at her lips that moved she could see the silver bell on her tongue.

“Okay?” Y/n asked, somewhere between confused and maybe weirded out over why the girl was knocking on her door.

 Why was she being so rude? That was all Yunjin could think about.

Or maybe Yunjin was being sensitive because her tensed self was on the brink of losing her sanity and now her new neighbour was a metal-blasting asshole. 

She shifted on her feet, the slightly taller girl leaning her weight against the door frame.

“I just wanted to ask if you could maybe–the music, you know.”

“I don’t know,” her tone was bored, monotone and lifeless as her eyes stared at the ginger, slept in eye shadow, dressed in grunge with the same makeup style.

Despite these being waters Yunjin had never tested, the girl was undeniably hot. It was like a morbid curiosity. Yunjin was scared of Y/n but also intrigued and curious about the girl. She wanted to touch but also hide.

“It’s kind of loud and I am trying to study, but the noise makes it hard.”

Y/n held onto the door frame and leaned forward, coming closer to the girl who tried to stand her ground. On the inside, she was shaking with how nervous she was, crumbling under Y/n’s cold stare and resting bitch face.

“I take offence, noise is a genre of its own and not all metal is noise, and not all noise is metal.” Yunjin pursed her lips at the haughty smirk on Y/n’s lips and she had a feeling the girl was only trying to mock her, to get her angry, to just mess with her. 

“Sorry for offending you, but I have exams coming up and I don’t want to listen to someone screaming shove it, or being cut up and then fucked up.” It did work because she felt her temper grow short and all she wanted was to get it over.

“You just went from hot to less hot by not liking Deftones or Slipknot.”

“What–” She was somewhat stunned to hear that the girl found her hot, but she didn’t get to put in another word when the door shut in front of her face. Before she knew it the music started to pound once again.

All the girl could do was complain to her friends over the phone while being on the verge of tears because of the stress and her neighbour being hot, but also mean and it had bruised her ego when she got called less hot for not liking whatever bands she had mentioned. 

Instead of heading home the next day she stayed in the college library to study and would just walk home late. 

It wasn’t long until her peace was disturbed by the loud steps echoing through the library and she looked up from her laptop after hours. Her eyes scanned around her and at last, she spotted none other than Y/n and the band she played in. She averted her gaze back to her things when those intense eyes caught hers staring, but she still did a subtle glance to do damage control and see if she had been caught–

Why was Y/n heading her way? She was growing nervous and anxious once again.

Yunjin tried her best to look as occupied as possible, but it wasn’t long until the lead guitarist pulled out a chair. The chair creaked along the wooden floor and Yunjin winced, looking up at Y/n who sat down in front of her.

“What’re you doing here?” She asked as she slumped back in the chair while crossing her arms. The girl played with her pierced tongue as she raised her eyebrows at the girl across from her.

“I study here.” 

“You do?” Y/n asked, surprise lacing her tone and Yunjin couldn’t determine if she was serious or not when they had so many classes together.

She didn’t get to reply because Y/n was full of herself. “You sure you’re not following me?” 

Her lips pursed into a forced smile at the dark-haired girl who licked her plump lips that were glistening with lip gloss. The ginger cursed God for letting a self-entitled asshole be hot.

“Are you serious?” Yunjin asked in disbelief, heaving a sigh at the annoyance the girl was causing her. Y/n nodded with wide eyes, looking dead serious about the whole thing.

“We have the same classes, you always sit at the back and see everyone–”

“Oh, so…You’re stalking me?” The urge to drill Y/n’s head through each shelf of books was strong.

“I am not.” She hissed, utterly annoyed with how confident Y/n was to even utter those words. The more she would try to explain or defend herself the more like a stalker she would look like.

Y/n rolled her eyes and planted her palms on the wooden table as she stood up. Yunjin quickly averted her eyes away from the girl’s cleavage as she had a spaghetti strap top on. God, Y/n knew what she was doing from how that smirk was right back. The ginger was sure she had caught her looking further down than what her eyes were.

“I’m just kidding, carrot top, no need to get offended, but no I haven’t noticed you before which I guess is somewhat of a bummer.” Now Yunjin was offended, but Y/n was already leaving her behind as she walked through the library. She was offended but was also fighting the way she felt flustered at the somewhat flirty remark from the mean girl. 

She had just been called Carrot Top, BUT Y/n also said that it was a bummer she hadn’t noticed her before.

Yunjin hated Y/n, but she was also so riveting that she found herself thinking about her a bit more that day and the day after.

“Could you please turn it off or at least tone it down for an hour or two, please,” she found herself begging her neighbour. Yunjin wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to see the girl again and maybe receive a backhanded compliment once again or to be able to study. It was probably both as the girl stood leaning towards her as she held herself with both hands on either frame of the door. 

“Look how cute—” Y/n started and Yunjin waited for what she would say next. “You’re pathetically begging me.” She took it as an insult and a compliment because somewhere along those lines she had been called cute in one way or another by one of the hottest and most sought-after girls on college grounds. Y/n was the type to crush a guy’s ego and spirit and make girls flash their breasts at their concerts that were attended by quite a huge crowd at a live club. 

Around 500-700 people which wasn’t bad at all.

Maybe there was something wrong with Yunjin’s ears if there were so many people enjoying metal.

“Y/n—” She cut herself off as the name just slipped her lips even if they hadn’t officially introduced each other.

“Kind of expected my stalker to know my name. Do you even live here? Or do you pretend and are waiting for an opportunity to one day break into my apartment and do whatever pervy things you’ve been imagining?” Yunjin’s ears were burning hot at the girl’s words and now her mind trailed off to those pervy things because they were mentioned, but she quickly got back on track. At least she tried because they were still swimming in her head as she stared at the girl in front of her while being somewhere between drowning and getting out of the imagining. 

“Everyone knows your name.” 

“I know.” It made the girl roll her eyes at how confident she still was. “What’s your name?” It somewhat caught the ginger off guard. It didn’t seem likely for Y/n to ask for her name if she had been nothing but mean. The last thing she seemed to care about would be her name yet she was asking about it.

“What do you need my name for?” She asked with raised eyebrows, but it didn’t make the girl’s confidence falter.

“Well, it’s either you tell it or I call you Carrot Top.”

“Yunjin.” It was an easy choice.

“Nice to meet you Yunjin.” With that the door slammed closed once again and a few seconds after the music started to blast again.

“No, literally turn your music off or…” She trailed off, looking for what she would do if the metalhead wouldn’t turn off the music. Her brain racked for things as she found herself right outside Y/n’s door again. At this point, she just mostly wanted to look at the girl she had unfortunately grown infatuated with despite barely knowing her and only seeing her at college from afar. Y/n barely spared her a glance, but somehow that made it better. It made her feel less guilty for what she had done. Eye contact would have been difficult.

“Or?” Y/n prompted, wanting to know what would happen if she didn’t turn down her music. The only person who had been complaining was Yunjin, but she assumed that it was because the apartment next to hers was empty and the other was occupied by a deaf elderly woman. 

“I don’t know, but just turn it off,” Yunjin exclaimed, the frustrations getting the best of her as she was ready to get into a verbal fight with the girl. There were so many reasons to be frustrated in the end. 

“You’re angry today, aren’t you?” Y/n only questioned, further fueling the girl who looked like she was on the verge of blowing up. She found it amusing, and she was somewhat baffled by how she had missed the girl completely in her classes, but at the same time, the girl was far from the person she was right now in classes. She didn’t seem like the type to knock on doors and lose her shit. 

“Yes, I am and it’s all your fault.” She blamed the girl right away who had been getting on her nerves since she woke up this Saturday because of Y/n playing electric guitar.

“What’s your problem?” 

“You are my problem.”

“Why is that?” Yunjin groaned at the questions she was being asked.

“Because you move in here, blast your music, refuse to tone it down, you call me carrot top, then you give me these backhanded compliments which you shouldn’t because you are too hot to be flirting with just anyone because everyone will hope that you are serious and–”

“I am serious though. You are hot, but you would be even hotter if you liked my favourite bands and were less of a freak.” Y/n didn’t even blink or stutter when she said those words- Yunjin bit her tongue while blinking her eyes and staring at Y/n.

“I’m sorry but I hate your bands, whatever they are.”

“But you like me?” Yunjin’s eyes went wide at the question from the vixen in front of her.

“No, I hate you for being a jerk.” 

“Okay, but you do find me hot, so we have mutual feelings.”

It made her more than flustered as the heat ran to her cheeks. “That’s–” Yunjin wanted to continue and argue about the music as she was frustrated and taking out her frustrations on Y/n seemed like a great option. Y/n had a quicker tongue as she cut her off once again. 

“You know, guitar players are quite good at using their fingers and you look like my newest one, so, would you mind if I played you to find out how good you sound?” The abominable words made Yunjin’s lips part as something still twisted in her stomach and the heat shot south instead of north because the thoughts were stronger than Y/n’s horrible pickup line.

“I hate you.” Y/n leaned closer as she held onto the door frame, this was the closest they had been as their faces were a few mere inches apart. “How about you take it all out in my bed? You can be as loud as you want because my neighbour who complains about noise isn’t home.” It wasn’t hard to figure out that she meant Yunjin when she said those words.

The ginger was fighting all her urges.

The door slammed closed once again and this time it wasn’t in front of Yunjin’s face but behind her as Y/n pushed her into her door. It was followed by a gasp and the vixen’s slender hands with those long fingers found their way to her ass as she gripped it.

At last, she got to taste Y/n’s plump lips after watching those haughty and teasing smiles grace them. It was her first time kissing someone with a pierced tongue and Yunjin found herself eagerly sucking Y/n’s tongue into her mouth. That was enough to draw out a moan from the back of Y/n’s throat, the ring clanking against teeth before she swirled her tongue around it, toying with it.

Y/n chuckled at the eagerness of the ginger, her fingers digging into the flesh of the girl’s ass, squeezing and pushing her more into the door. 

“You’re so needy, aren’t you? Have you been imagining me fucking you?” Y/n’s voice dropped an octave, clouded with lust as she pulled away from Yunjin’s plump lips. A string of saliva followed and the guitarist leaned in and licked it off of her lips. The action made heat shoot through the girl’s body, running straight to her clit. It was making her crumble and slowly lose this composure she had tried to put on to not show how needy she truly was for the girl.

She tangled her fingers in Y/n’s dark hair, her head falling back against the door to give her the space she needed to kiss along her neck. “You’re so fucking full of yourself,” Yunjin grumbled as the guitarist was cocky, but it was doing unimaginable things to her arousal.  

“You’re about to be just as full of me as I am,” Y/n said with a chuckle at the words. The action made Yunjin moan when her ass got smacked and a knee got placed right between her thighs. Y/n pressed into her heated cunt that was throbbing with need and the ginger wanted nothing more than to orgasm and hope for all these frustrations to go away that were caused by her sexy neighbour and godforsaken exams. 

Teeth dug into her juncture, hand running from her ass and up under her oversized shirt–only now realising that she wasn’t exactly dressed in a flattering way. She was in a pair of sweats and a shirt for comfort and she could feel Y/n smirk against her skin as she sucked right at her pulse because she had no bra on either. The girl still had her specs on as she had been in the middle of studying.

Yunjin’s hips started gyrating, grinding herself against the knee between her thighs as she couldn’t control it. The need was overwhelming and her clit was throbbing painfully. Small gasps started falling from her, bliss overtaking as she closed her eyes with her lips parted.

Y/n cupped the breast in her hand, slowly starting to knead it while getting a hold of the stiff bud. It elicited a whiny moan from the ginger when she tugged on it and the vixen pulled away from her neck which was shiny with spit and bite marks. The girl was lost, completely, fucking herself on her knee as Y/n helped guide her hips by her ass where her fingers were digging into the soft flesh. 

“Fuck–I want to come, Y/n.” 

“How bad do you want it?” She asked, pressing harder with her knee and watching the way it made the girl crumble as her hands fell to Y/n’s shirt, gripping it desperately. Her clit rubbed against her through the layers of clothes, the pressure tingling in her body as each second she grew more desperate. It made her humping sloppier, messier and needier to chase her high.

“So bad,” the girl whined out, light moans left her mouth. The heat was building up and the tension in her stomach grew. Y/n watched the frown cover the girl who tensed up, her jaw falling slack. “Oh fuck, so close–” That was all Y/n needed to know. 

“Not bad enough.” She said, clicking her tongue as she pulled her knee away from between the girl’s thighs who let out a cry at the frustrations that got ten times worse now. All that tension went away and the only thing left was that painful pulsating of her clit. 

“What?” Yunjin let out, her voice cracked in the process as it had been in a high pitch just as she was about to reach her peak. The ginger pushed her head up and her eyes were glossed over, looking at Y/n who licked her lips. 

“I said, you don’t seem to want it bad enough.” 

Yunjin looked over Y/n, her eyes trailing the girl’s lanky body with her chest heaving, still leaning against the door with Y/n’s hands not on her body anymore. The vixen ran a hand through her dark hair that was more messy after she had been tugging on it, a glint of mischief in her eyes and Yunjin’s stomach was doing flips because of how needy she was, but also how hot Y/n was. 

She wanted to get fucked.

Not just fucked.

But fucked by Y/n.

Right now. 

“Please,” she pleaded, her eyes going docile to add to it.

“Please?” Y/n questioned.

“Please fuck me, eat me out, or finger me, just please do something. I want you to fuck my pussy until I orgasm.” The words flew out so quickly that she had no clue that they did. There was no shame behind them and the only thing to show that she had some shame left in her was the tint that covered her cheeks.

“That’s pathetic,” Y/n commented and Yunjin was slowly losing it more and more as she couldn’t figure out what the girl wanted her to do anymore. 

Why was getting her pussy eaten out by the lead so difficult?

“I like it,” well…

Maybe it wasn’t that hard.

Boney fingers bunched up her loose t-shirt and Yunjin was being dragged through the apartment she had assumed would look completely different as it was light in the living room and kitchen. Her preconceptions had been off–

That was until she was dragged into the room where the walls were covered in banners of what Yunjin assumed were album covers, bands, and their logos. On the wall were three electric Fender guitars hung up, one black, one white, and one pastel pink (?). 

“Watch the pedals.” She almost tripped but got roughly pulled by her shirt, threads snapping in it to avoid stepping onto the board with pedals. It still left her stumbling over other wires as nothing was put away and it was messy. 

“Jesus,” she complained and was pushed down to sit on the bed. 

“Shut up.” 

“Wha–” The girl was caught off guard, Y/n was already pushing her down on the bed and getting on top of her. Her specs got removed in the process and discarded to the side. Those same slender fingers cupped her jaw and her eyes closed at the lips that came right back onto hers. They tasted like strawberries and she found herself sucking on Y/n’s bottom lip, her hands gripping onto the slim thighs that were on each side of her body. The whole room held the scent of that strong vanilla and she was drowning in the bedsheets. 

She tugged on Y/n’s bottom lip before she let go to catch her breath, panting for air under the girl who removed her shirt, revealing a black lacy bra that wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination. The shirt fell with a thud and Yunjin pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her eyes took in Y/n’s slim body as she couldn’t know if she would ever see it this way again. 

“It’s a shame you don’t come to our concerts, maybe we would’ve done this much sooner.” Y/n slyly said as she grabbed the hem of Yunjin’s loose shirt and helped her pull it over her head. She bit her lower lip at the supple breasts, her two buds stiff.

“I already said that I don’t like—”

“Maybe my tongue can change your mind.” Y/n cut her off while pushing her down by the shoulder. It was mouth-watering and Yunjin craned her neck, biting her lower lip at the way Y/n glanced up at her just a mere inch away from her chest. It shot heat to her clit and her hips bucked, earning a breathless chuckle from Y/n, the air making her whine when it hit her sensitive nipple. 

Her head fell back, hands trying to grip the girl’s low-waisted jeans but they weren’t baggy enough and it only let her nails dig into them. It was electrifying how Y/n toyed with her nipple, pulling it into her mouth, flicking at it and pressing the hard piercing against it before sucking. Small moans and whimpers slipped past her plump and parted lips, Y/n’s tongue warm and slick as she coated her breasts with her saliva, leaving it to get cold when she moved from one spot to another.

Y/n moved to the other breast after wetting the first one, making it easier to tease it with her fingers. The ginger kept pressing her chest into her face, hips bucking into hers and Y/n’s hips moved, pressing her clothed heat against Yunjin’s. 

“Fuck,” she breathed out, getting lost in the bliss Y/n created as she played with her chest. Sucking on the soft flesh, tugging on her nipples, twisting and dragging teeth over them, biting softly and leaving the buds more swollen and her chest glistening. It was hard to focus on anything when Y/n’s jeans were pressing through her sweats and grinding down on her cunt, dragging up and down and pressing into her clit every upstroke. It was making Yunjin’s toes curl and throat run dry. 

Y/n moved down, kissing down her cleavage, sucking the middle and down to her underboob, making sure to suck on the skin there too. She licked a long stripe along the underside of her right boob before sucking on it, simultaneously she flicked at her other nipple and it earned her a high cry of pain with a mix of pleasure. 

“Want me to fuck you with my mouth?” Y/n questioned, mumbling against her stomach as she kissed down the skin while Yunjin was heaving under her. Her nipples aching after the treatment, wanting more of it, but also wanting Y/n’s mouth on her cunt.

Yunjin was almost embarrassed. She wanted nothing more than for Y/n to go down on her because she was leaking wet. She was quite sure it would soon be visible through her grey sweats if the lead wouldn’t remove them and slurp all her juices up. There was tension between her thighs, it had been there for a while and she wanted Y/n to do something about it. 

“I want your mouth to eat me out.”

“Want me to eat you out like you’re a whore or a good girl?” Y/n questioned and Yunjin whimpered at the words that sent heat over her whole body. Her pussy was throbbing uncomfortably and Y/n was kissing just above the hem of her sweats, sitting between her legs that were spread wide for her. The guitarist hummed and cupped the girl’s heat, pressing right where she needed her with the pad of her palm, feeling hips push and subtly hump against her. The girl twisted the sheets in her fingers. “Which one are you for me?” She asked further and watched the shaky sigh that Yunjin released.

“Think you might be a whore the way you begged me to fuck you, how you’ve been coming over complaining all while imaging how it would feel to get fucked by me.” The vixen teased, rubbing the pad of her thumb against the warmth, it was enough to make the thighs quiver. 

“I don’t fantasise about you.” Yunjin defended and Y/n removed her hand from her covered pussy. She sat back on her heels and wrapped her fingers around the hem of her sweats. 

“The walls are thin, cutie.” Y/n teased and caught the way Yunjin’s eyes widened at the words as she had taught that the only reason why she heard Y/n’s music was because she blasted it so loudly. 

“Once.” To her defence, she had been tired and horny and Y/n had just gotten on her nerves by slamming a door in her face while also giving her backhanded compliments. 

Okay, she had started crushing and was desperate despite Y/n being mean to her. It left Y/n running on her mind, her pussy suddenly was wet, and she found herself in her bedroom fucking herself while thinking and “mumbling” about Y/n and what she wanted.

This was far from who the girl was, but somehow she just forgot about dignity around the Y/n.

“Still doing it–” Y/n concluded, tongue out and playing with the corner of her lip as she slowly started to pull the sweats down. The ginger lifted her hips, feeling her underwear slowly peel off of her sticky cunt. Y/n threw them off her bed, letting them fall onto the floor. Her smile wasn’t disappearing as she looked at Yunjin’s wet cunt that was glistening with juices. The vixen leaned forward, seeing how embarrassed the girl looked, her hand fell beside her head, her right coming between the younger’s legs.

The moan came right away when cold fingers ran through her folds, spreading them together with her sticky mess, only making it that much worse. She could feel it run down her ass and onto the sheets. “So desperate, such a fucking perv, fucking yourself, moaning my name and thinking about me. Should I get a restraining order?” Yunjin couldn’t comprehend it, but there was just something so hot about Y/n being so mean to her, humiliating her and degrading her. 

The guitarist was very well aware of it when the girl bucked her hips at the words. Her eyes faded in bliss, losing focus and lids hooded with fingers twisting the duvet. “Come on, tell me how bad of a whore you are. Aren’t you embarrassed?” Y/n ushered, the sounds slowly occupying the room as her middle finger teased the clenching hole, barely dipping it in before she circled the greedy and sopping entrance where everything was leaking out.

“Fuck, I am, but I just want to get fucked by you at least once, Y/n.” She whined, admitting to having the hots for her new neighbour that she had found herself perving over in her head. “I’m sorry, it just happened,” she continued to whine, on the verge of tears at how embarrassing it was for her, but at the same time, it was making her cunt throb more while it was toyed with by the slender fingers she had imagined before this. Yet Y/n wasn’t touching her where she wanted her. 

“You’re not sorry, I just know you will go home and continue fucking yourself while thinking of me. Tell me what you thought about when fucking yourself.” 

“Your fingers deep inside me ‘cause your hands are so fucking–” She choked, two fingers stretching her hole as they slowly pushed in. Y/n watched how her lips parted, tilting her head to admire the girl better. The hands that could shred on a guitar were slender, veiny and had long fingers–she no longer had to imagine what they could reach. Y/n pushed knuckle-deep into the girl and slowly started to pump the clenching hole while curving up and caressing her g-spot. The sopping sounds her pussy was producing was shameful because of how wet Y/n was able to make her with just some words and touching. 

They barely knew each other, but Yunjin was already giving up her dignity for the vixen.

“How you would play with my clit,” her back arched when Y/n pressed the pad of her thumb against her clit, pressing against it, slowly circling it and letting Yunjin fuck herself against her. “I wanted your hands around my neck and your spit in my mouth for being so fucking bad and thinking about fucking you when I barely know you.” Y/n bit her lower lip, her fingers being squeezed as Yunjin was getting turned on by her own words. All those things she had fantasised about came right back to her mind and left her uncontrollably pulsating from the inside.

She sat back on her heels, hand running over the ginger's stomach and between her breasts until she reached her slim neck. Yunjin moaned louder at how perfectly they wrapped around her throat, slowly stopping the air that was flowing to her head. Her hands quickly grasped at Y/n’s wrist, unable to stop the grinding of her hips, the squelching sounds filled the room, and her moans grew strained as there was only a small amount of oxygen getting to her.

“Y/n…” She strained out, nails digging into the wrist as her eyes rolled back. The sounds muffled. 

“Open your mouth wide if you want to take a breath, needy slut.” Y/n ordered and the girl gasped as she opened her mouth. The band member leaned over, fingers speeding up in her cunt and making Yunjin plant her feet down and raise her knees to press more into her. Despite barely being able to see, all the pleasure, it was overwhelmingly good while also barely being able to comprehend what was going on. Y/n fucking her like a toy with her fingers, choking her, ordering her, and spitting in her mouth while her pussy was letting out sopping sounds just how she had wanted it to look. 

Her tongue stuck out, and the spit landed right on it, warm and spreading over it. The hand on her throat let go and she barely managed to take a breath when Y/n used her hand to force her mouth closed. “Fucking swallow before you try anything else.” And she did just that, swallowing the spit that had lingered on her tongue, it felt like a reward to have Y/n spit in her mouth. 

“Good, live your dream.” Y/n teased and ran her thumb over Yunjin’s wet lips, and tugged down on her plump bottom lip. She gestured with her head to the girl who was barely present as she was moaning and squirming under her, but she got the memo. Yunjin sucked the thumb into her mouth as Y/n pushed until she reached her knuckle, it was close to making her gag and Y/n started to pull out. Her cheeks hollowed and let go with a pop before another whimper left her. 

“Please, make me come, I want it so much, please.” She begged and Y/n pulled her fingers out of her sopping hole that had a warm and snug grip on her. Yunjin wanted to whine and complain but stopped when Y/n moved down and got on her stomach. 

She did not wait as she had come face to face with the pink and wet pussy. The girl held her legs spread wide, pulling them even further apart and inviting Y/n to start eating her out. Her raised to watch when she would do it, wanting to see her pussy get eaten. To see the look on Y/n’s face of how big of a mess she made her because she had been thinking about this.

Her tongue came out, flat and dragging up her slit, parting the swollen lips of the girl’s puffy pussy. It made her hum at the taste and she went right back down to tease her hole and gather more of the juices onto her tongue.

Her head dropped at the feeling. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Yunjin’s hand flew to Y/n’s hair, eagerly pushing her head into her pussy. The piercing dragged along her slit, adding a new sensation of the barbell that circled her clit and made her hips raise. Y/n wrapped her slim arm around the girl’s thigh, gripping the flesh between her fingers, kneading it while drowning in Yunjin’s sopping pussy.

Those plump lips wrapped around her swollen clit, tugging on it before she suckled. It made Yunjin whimper, her legs quivering around Y/n’s head and she moved her leg over her shoulder, her heel digging into Y/n’s spine as her hips humped at her face. The tongue firmly flicked, pressing the piercing against it before going right back to flicking in a way that was making Yunjin writhe into the sheets. Her moans grew gradually louder, sounding more needy and strained with every hard flick against her swollen slick bud. The pink nerves were sensitive and slowly brought her to the edge because of the muscle that was toying with it.

“Oh God, so good, your tongue is so fucking good.” She whined out a moan.

The lead guitarist nuzzled her face into the girl's cunt, her fingers coming right back to the clasping hole that she pushed into. Y/n pressed them right on her g-spot, applying just the right amount of pressure to make the girl under her spasm. Yunjin was losing her mind over how well Y/n was working on her pussy. The tension was quickly growing in her stomach, pushing it all down and she was right on the edge again. Her breathing grew quicker and deeper, each moan more breathy if not breathless at times.

Y/n grazed her teeth over it and put her tongue flat against it, letting Yunjin fuck herself against her, the piercing moving over the clit. Her hair was being tugged on, the heel digging deeper into her spine from how the girl was pushing her sticky cunt into her face. She sucked the clit back in between her lips, tongue stiff and working hard against the bud, doing quick flicks that Yunjin could feel spread through her whole body as each nerve was being sparked with light.

“I’m gonna come!” She cried out, body tensing up, her back arched off the bed and her vision washed over with black as she lost control over her voice.

Y/n looked up at the girl from between her legs, lips tugging at how loud the girl was who clasped around her fingers, holding them in a chokehold while her walls thudded just like her clit. Her voice strained and her thighs were shaking, making Y/n slap the flesh and grasp at it. It only fueled Yunjin’s orgasm who was fucking Y/n’s mouth herself at this point with the way her hips were stuttering into her mouth. It landed her Y/n’s palm against her thigh once again, much harsher and the pain stung right through it and to her overstimulated bundle of nerves.

Slowly her moans died down and all that was left was the sounds of her trying to catch her breath. Her eyes closed and her hands covered her face at how lost she felt. Her body slowly relaxed into the bed, trying to figure out how she ended up here to begin with all while Y/n was still between her legs. It was making it hard to focus on anything else besides the tongue.

She pulled her lips away from the sensitive bud that was making the girl’s legs spasm every time she touched it. Her fingers slowly pulled out and she leaned down, licking everything up, cleaning the mess she made. It was bringing back the soft whimpers and gasps as her tongue worked at the pussy with kittenish licks. 

“Fuck.” She exclaimed when Y/n slapped her thigh once again with a grumble and she shakily removed her leg that had been wrapped securely around her. Her eyes followed Y/n who sat up, her chin and nose glistening with her wetness and all Yunjin’s shame was gone as the sight made her thighs clench again.

The ginger was about to sit up only to get shoved back down. Y/n gave her that pompous smile as her hands reached behind her back. “Time to pay back for making your perverted fantasies come true. Or is eating me out one of them too?” Her breath hitched when the lacy bra unclasped and Y/n let it fall down her shoulder before throwing it to the side. The vixen revealed her small and perky breasts to Yunjin, her nipples hard and Yunjin was slowly going into overdrive. Her pussy was still going through aftershocks yet her clit was throbbing at the view of Y/n naked and her words.

“Please, ride my face.” Y/n let out a breathless chuckle at the request, running a hand through her dark hair. The naked girl on her bed had lost all shame, begging for her fantasies to come true. 

“Have you imagined me riding your face, using your mouth to get off?” 

“Fuck, yes I have and I just want to taste you, Y/n.” The girl had already imagined what the guitarist would taste like on her tongue while grinding down on her face. She just wanted Y/n right on top of her, using her like the needy whore that she was for being used after imaging it. To just be her fuck toy, to pleasure her and get her pussy fucked until it was raw. 

Her eyes were eager on Y/n who got off of the bed. 

“You can taste me.” She worked her belt, unbuckling it before she unbuttoned the low-waisted jeans.

Yunjin pushed herself further up the bed, eyeing Y/n who removed her bottoms and underwear. Never did she think she would get to see Y/n naked, or even get fucked by her. The vixen did not look like the kind to bring someone like Yunjin to bed, but maybe that was her thing. Coming off as completely riveting to people who were opposites to her.

“You’re going to eat me out like a good little pussy eater because you want me so bad.” Y/n’s voice was humid as she spoke while getting on the bed. Her eyes set on Yunjin who felt like prey and she wanted nothing more than to be one. The vixen’s slim body was like a cat the way she crawled over to her.

“I want to taste you, be good and eat you whenever you want me to.” She licked her lips, and her eyes fell onto Y/n’s heat when the girl straddled her chest and Yunjin grabbed hold of her protruding hips. She looked like she would start shaking if Y/n wouldn’t let her get a taste. Her fingers ran over the tattoos that went along her skin, tracing the stars but her eyes were stuck to the pink pussy that was waiting for her mouth. It made her one hand run down between them, trailing her skin.

“That’s what perverts like you want, you dream about having sex with me all day and get off on these thoughts. Not many have the chance to live through it.” Y/n tangled a hand in the orange hair, threading her fingers through it and Yunjin looked up at her to meet her eyes. It made her thighs clench to see Y/n looking down at her. “Do it well and I will let you eat me out again, might even fuck you more times than just today.” That was more than motivation for Yunjin who used her arm to pull Y/n right over to her mouth.

A light moan fell from Y/n’s lips and Yunjin moaned right after when she ran her tongue over the slit. Her hand was busy between her legs, playing with her clit to the sounds Y/n was making, to her taste, and to having her ride on top of her. It was all turning her on so much more than she already was as she had only been able to imagine what Y/n would sound like in bed. 

Y/n gripped the headboard of the bed, moving her hips into Yunjin’s face who was eating her out like her life depended on it. The moans slipped out of her mouth at how good it felt to have the girl’s slick tongue slide between her folds, teasing her clenching hole and her nose stimulating her clit. All she had to do was slightly move her hips while the girl greedily did the rest, slurping at her like she was starved.

Yunjin moved her hand down from Y/n’s hip and to her plump ass, kneading her cheek in her hand. Her mouth lapped at her pussy, taking in everything she could get while her nose continuously rubbed at the clit. The girl had her eyes on Y/n though who had her head thrown back while arching, unable to look away while she worked with her mouth on her cunt. She continued to fuck herself while doing so, her hips bucking into her fingers as she was sensitive. It was like watching an erotic scene in Yunjin’s eyes who was fucking herself and Y/n as she was unable to not fuck herself at the sight.

“You’re doing so good, fuck you’re a good fucking whore, aren’t you?” Yunjin moaned in response, pressing her nose harder against Y/n’s clit who continued to fuck her face. Her nails digging in the firm flesh of her ass, tongue probing at her hole. The sounds filled the whole room, Yunjin’s tongue lapping at the wet cunt, Y/n moaning and whimpering with each move of her hips that were perfectly grinding against Yunjin’s face. The younger girl was taking it all, letting it smear over her mouth and chin, wanting to be covered in Y/n’s mess.

“I want you to come on my face,” she mumbled as she momentarily pulled away. Her voice quivered as she could feel herself about to orgasm once again.

“It’s all for you, fucking cumdump. All you’re good for is being a freak that eats pussy.” Yunjin cried out at the words that shot right to her poor clit that she had gotten abused by Y/n and couldn’t help but abuse herself too. She was too needy. 

“Call me a perverted freak, Y/n.” She begged, her eyes closed this time.

“You’re nothing but a perverted freak–Oh God, but you eat pussy so well.” Those backhanded compliments sent Yunjin to her edge. 

Y/n’s thighs trembled, her nails digging into the girl’s scalp as she let out a long and light moan as her back arched and her hips stuttered into Yunjin’s face. Her orgasm washed over her while Yunjin was going through her own, her thighs clasped around her hand while Y/n’s were squeezing her head. The pulling on her hair only added to all the pleasure. 

She only stopped toying with her clit when Y/n came down from her peak, slowly stopping the movement of her hips. However, she held the girl in place by holding onto her orange hair. 

“Fuck, clean my mess for me too,” Y/n said and bit her lower lip as she looked down at Yunjin who worked her tongue, her jaw slowly going sore as she did her best to clean up every little trace of the slick left. The vixen looked over her shoulder, catching the hand that snuck out from between Yunjin’s trembling thighs. 

“Did you fuck yourself?”

She hummed and Y/n lifted her hips, looking at Yunjin whose nose, chin, and plump lips were glistening with her slickness. It was photo-worthy as the girl looked like she had been fucked for hours multiple times from how satisfied she was with what she got. It was as if the smallest drop of water would satisfy her thirst and Y/n realised how big of a freak the girl was. It was hot, to say the least.

The guitarist moved off of her and got off the bed while Yunjin was gathering herself. 

Had she just fucked her mean, but hot neighbour? 

Yes.

Did she regret it?

No.

She would gladly go through this again because it was much better than she had imagined. 

Her pussy was still throbbing and her perverted fantasies about her mean neighbour had come true. Whatever judgement she thought she would get, Y/n didn’t give, but instead gave in to Yunjin’s desires for her. 

Her eyes scanned the room one last time, the blinds were down, it was dimly lit and more on the messy side, but not dirty as it smelled of sex and vanilla now. She at last looked at the ceiling after being so lost in the pleasure her eyes squinting as her specs were discarded.

Only now seeing the graffiti on the girl’s ceiling right above the bed in black which read;

“A.D.I.D.A.S?” She confusedly questioned as it seemed random. 

Y/n rolled her eyes while rummaging through her wardrobe. “You’re so lame.”

“What?” Yunjin still had no clue what it meant, however she knew that Y/n found her lame. At least she found her hot and fucked her so it didn’t matter. The more lame Y/n found her, the more Yunjin got off. The ginger quickly got up from the bed after getting back the feeling in her jelly legs. Quickly trying to gather her clothes and put them on all while looking at Y/n who was picking out clothes from her wardrobe, some falling out and landing on the floor in a pile.

“Nothing, I have to get ready for the concert tonight. You could come, bring a friend.” Y/n threw the invite out there while grabbing a towel and covering herself with it as she had to shower before. She at last turned to look at Yunjin who had just pulled her shirt over her head, fumbling with her bottoms.

“None of my friends listen to your band's type of music.” The girl mumbled. However, Y/n’s tongue did make her rethink and want to try and listen to the music.

“Those are my underwear and are you sure?” Y/n pointed out with that almost malicious grin as she bit her lower lip. Her siren-like eyes set on Yunjin who held the black lace in her hand while pulling on her sweats.

“Sorry–” She blushed and was about to put them back as it was genuinely by accident as they had somehow tangled themselves up with her clothes, but she was stopped.

“You can keep them.” Y/n shrugged out, wanting to see if the girl would do it or not. It was hot to see someone be this down for her as it had happened before, but Yunjin was down bad bad.

Yunjin was hesitant as she looked at the lacy pair of used underwear in her hold. It would stay between them in the end. “I’m sure.” She replied, quickly stuffing them in her pocket and reaching for the specs that she put back on. It wouldn’t hurt to maybe get off with them in her hold if Y/n got to find out about her fantasies either way. She cleared her throat, her cheeks burning at the way Y/n was looking at her and she wasn’t sure when she became so thrown off the rails. The vixen stood leaning against the wardrobe, phone in hand.

“So…you’re not friends with Chaewon?” She curiously asked as she had seen the two girls together multiple times, but it looked like they maybe didn’t tell each other everything when Yunjin creased her eyebrows in confusion.

“Chaewon? How do you know Chaewon?”

“You can see yourself out, carrot top,” Y/n replied instead while walking towards the bedroom door to get to the bathroom. She did look back at the girl who seemed baffled, giving her a sly grin and wink before the speakers started to blast more metal and Yunjin was left to see herself out.

[luveline]

hi jadey!! can i request something with steve? maybe where reader used to be in a relationship where the other person made her to do all the work ( put in the groceries, clean the house, etc.) and one day steve is taking care of some of the chores and reader freaks out cause she’s the one supposed to be doing it?? it’s just an idea, no pressure lovely! hope you’re having a good day 🫶🫶

ty gorgeous! fem!reader

Steve hums when he's busy. No pretentiousness, no shame, he sings lyrics, guitar, and occasionally drums, too. You can hear him in the kitchen singing that Van Halen song he loves, his voice twisted tight as he tries to hit a high note. 

"Are you making a sandwich?" you ask hopefully, hanging your coat on the hook as you trudge in from the front door. 

You're in the kitchen before Steve's collected the wits to answer you. Your jaw falls open. 

"Hey, babe," he says. It's difficult to tell if the pet name is joking or serious, Steve in his pyjamas with his sleeves rolled up, his lips quirked into a funny smile as though he's pleased to see you but confused at the same time. "No? Did you want one?" 

"What are you doing?"

Steve holds his games up in surrender, a cloth held in the left. "I'm wiping down the counters?" 

"Why?" 

"I do this every Friday before you get home." 

"What?" 

Steve takes the cloth to the sink to rinse it out. Bleach bubbles squeeze from the fabric. "Am I doing it wrong? This is how I always do it. Wipe the counters, vacuum, mop. Why are you back so early?" 

"Steve, you don't have to clean. I… that's my job." 

"Then what's mine?" he asks, turning off the faucet and dropping the wet cloth at the bottom of the basin. He wipes his hands dry with a hand towel, ushering your forward with a gesture of his index finger. "Come here…" He wraps his arms around you. "All you do lately is work." Steve kisses your cheek three quick times. "Miss you."

You blink a little, overwhelmed, still worried. "Do I not do it right? It's okay if I don't, I can–" 

"Do what? The counters? No. I just figured it's my turn before the weekend starts and you go on your cleaning frenzy. Which isn't your job, by the way. I don't know why you think that." 

He's light-hearted, but your silence spurns him into a more serious tone. Taking your face into one still-damp palm, he narrows his eyes until they're more brown than anything else and says, "Do you really think it's your job?"

"I'm the girl." 

"And I'm so stoked about that, but…" He smiles, pulling your cheek with his thumb to encourage the same. "That's not right. Do you even like cleaning?" 

"I don't have to like it, it's housework." 

Steve can't seem to decide whether this is serious or not. He goes from smiling to frowning to impassive, his fingers rubbing a slovenly path down your cheek. Strands of hair like lace drift into his eyes as he ducks his head, his gaze on your chest. "It's housework for the house we both live in. I know you've been doing more of it since we moved in, and I'm really sorry. I'm lazier than you. I should've asked you about it, but now I've let you do more and you think you need to do all of it. I'm a dick." 

"No, you're not." 

"I'm a total dick. You think you have to clean up after me?" He brings you in for another hug. "Holy fuck, baby. I'm a grown up." 

You bristle at first, but relax the longer he holds you, his words sinking in steady. He's not criticising you; Steve is apologising and self-deprecating. You slide your arms behind his back and breathe in his smell, all things boy but with the sharp smell of bleach lingering. 

"I did it myself. You know, before. So that's why it feels like it's mine to do. Not your fault," you say into his chest. 

Steve pulls away. "Thanks, but I'm a huge dick no matter what." 

He marches you backwards and forces you back into one of the chairs at the dining table. You grab at his arms as he attempts to walk away, lifting your chin to kiss him. It distracts him for a while, the soft, slow press of his lips against yours, your hand in his hair scratching tenderly, but he can't be kept forever. Steve ends your kissing with a peck and beelines for the fridge.

"What are you doing?" you ask. 

"Making you a sandwich. Dinner and a show tonight, did I forget to tell you? You can eat the best BLT in the western hemisphere and I'm gonna vacuum the crumbs from under the toaster. Perfect Friday night, right?" 

[cacoetheswriting]

honesty: the music video

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 2.3k summary: after a long day on set, you can't wait to get it on with your costar.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: mature themes, literally smut with a minor plot, established relationship, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, praise kink, dom-ish eddie, adult language, heavy use of pet names, mentions of aftercare — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

celebrity skin. masterlist <- part of this lil' universe, but can totally be read as a stand-alone. timeline wise, this takes place somewhere after part 3 and before end part 5.

“We want it to be sexy.”

“But not too sexy.”

“Revealing.”

“But not too revealing.”

“Sounds like you guys don’t know what you want,” Eddie chimes in, interrupting the back and forth of your respective teams.

You stifle a giggle.

“That’s ‘cause of the two distinct styles,” someone from your team clarifies, “We wanna be respectful.”

“For sure,” one of the creatives on the Corroded Coffin side agrees. There’s a short pause. “We will have you two kiss at the end, though.”

At that, Eddie smirks. He looks at you from across the table and you could just about melt right there, blood rushing to your face, warming your cheeks.

“That won’t be a problem,” he says confidently and winks.

-

Honesty was a guaranteed hit. Top of the charts. Everybody that’s been so far involved in the project said it. They praised it. From the bass, drums, to the guitar and vocals. The production value was off the scale. A dream arrangement that would stand the test of time.

All the song needed was a music video equally as captivating.

A back and forth discourse began shortly after you first started recording with the band: whose style should the clip resemble more?

Corroded Coffin screamed all things dark, maybe a little gory. Their usual expression featured slightly melancholy undertones and a lot of references to all things Dungeons & Dragons. Imaginative, for sure. An artistry that had rarely been seen in the genre. 

Although it’s been an artistry vastly different from yours. 

The glitter hadn’t necessarily been your idea, but it certainly became a signature of sorts. Anything sparkly, always. And music videos that told a story. Most often one of love since that’s what you idolised ever since you were a kid — it obviously helped that love also sold millions of copies.

Eddie’s team argued that it’s the band’s song and you’re just a feature, therefore the accompanying video should lean into their style. Your management team was hesitant to agree. Calculating risk in case the lines get blurred a little too much and your pristine image shifts to the opposite end of the spectrum. Hours of arguments. Hours of negotiations. None of which you, or the rockstar were even mildly aware of. Too lost in each other's eyes and soft cotton sheets. 

Eventually, a compromise, of sorts, was found.

Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers influenced, in part, a 1946 film noir of the same title, with Ava Gardner and Burt Lancaster taking the lead. The movie, in turn, inspired the black and white music video.

Done up in flair of the characters, Kitty Collins and Ole Anderson (aka Swede), you recreated iconic scenes alongside the brown-eyed rockstar. The rest of the band was also dressed to the nines. Side characters that played their instruments in the background of main shots. They blended in well, while adding a unique spin to the known story. 

Overall, the Honesty shoot quickly became a big spectacle. Bigger than anything Eddie Munson and his band of closest friends has ever been lucky enough to be a part of.

Intricate sets. Glamourous. In front of cameras and bright lights, you and your scene partner, Eddie, mouthed along the lyrics to the song as if they were a script. And with every scene, as if the two of you were the only people actually there, no equipment and no crew, you got lost a tiny bit. Lost in the chocolate of the rockstar’s wide gaze. In the way he smelled. The style of that decade suited the brunette greatly, so you became lost in how he looked in this character. Dapper. Unlike you’ve ever witnessed him before. He committed to the role too. A certain swag in his movements. How he touched you so hesitantly, delicately because that’s what the video required.

By the end of the night, after the director yells, “Cut!” to signalise a wrap, a round of applause for all involved in this project, you’re feeling hot and bothered. Sweaty, though not because you just completed a full day’s work. No. Somehow, you found the Corroded Coffin frontman even more attractive than at the start of that day — something you didn’t think was possible. When you glance in his direction, he’s already staring you down, and you know he feels the same way.

Backstage, inside your trailer, you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch. Fingertips at your lips as you wait for that inevitable knock on your door. You know it’s only a matter of time considering the build up of tension throughout the shoot. From the lingering touches and that kiss the director had you two repeat over and over and over…

Logically, you could wait until the two of you were home. Back at Eddie’s Hidden Hills mansion, away from prying eyes and ears. In a bed that’s become all too familiar. Far from possible interruptions. Logic however, well, right now, logic was taking a back burner ‘cause you needed him now. Desperately. And without a doubt, Eddie needed you too.

A knock. Then again. But the rockstar doesn’t wait for you to answer. He lets himself in. 

“What happened to the wig?” You ask, raising a brow.

“It was itchy,” he replies with a slight laugh, then shakes his head. “I much prefer my natural locks.” 

“That’s too bad,” you say with a slight shrug, “You looked quite smart with that short hair.”

Eddie hangs his head with a smile, though his eyes don’t leave yours. Not even for a second. That’s when you notice the glimmer. That look, the reason he’s here, just like you predicted. So you return the expression. Only yours is a little more sly. Tempting him. Teasing. 

“I had fun today.”.

“Me too.”

There’s a lot that happens in the seconds after you stand up. A lot that happens quickly. 

Eddie reaches for your wrist, pulling you closer before wrapping his, for once, ringless hand around yours completely. He presses it to the middle of his chest, holding it against his heart. You can feel it beating and that’s enough to make you melt ‘cause it’s strong and you swear it skips at the contact. His other hand reaches for the base of your throat. He holds it gently, caressing upwards until he’s gripping your jaw. 

“Kissing you in front of all those other people kinda got me going,” he admits in a low tone.

Naughty, that’s what you want to say, but you don’t get the chance ‘cause his lips crash into yours. Hungry. Desperate. Rough. Heat rushes through your body at the sudden contact, no different than any other time his mouth found yours. You’re at his mercy, always, and he knows it well. 

His tongue glides along your top lip and you part your lips to accept him without hesitation. He wastes no time sliding into your mouth, letting this tongue work in tandem with yours as he tilts his head to further deepen the kiss. The hand holding yours lets go, instead finding home on the small of your back, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible. His other hand lets go of your jaw, albeit not completely. Ghosting along the side of your neck before you feel him wrap it around your throat, squeezing lightly. It’s nothing new for Eddie to be a little rougher with you, but there’s something about this moment, after a full day of moderate teasing and borderline foreplay, that causes a moan to burst through you when he squeezes again, only harder.

The rockstar pulls back, sporting a devilish grin. “Making such pretty noises for me and we haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

“Do your worst, Eds.” It’s a dare. Nothing sweet about it.

He smirks at the challenge and before you can register what exactly is happening, Eddie is lifting you up swiftly, hiking up your dress in the process, only to drop you down onto the sofa with a gentle thud. You’re wide-eyed as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, the other tugging at the pantyhose the wardrobe lady had you wear for the last scene of the video. He partially rips them off of you, then he hikes his index finger along the band of your underwear, eagerly pulling them down your legs until they’re wrapped around your ankles, with the reminisce of your stockings.

“The heels stay on,” the rockstar instructs, pushing your legs apart with force and positioning himself in between. All you can do is nod. Half-naked, half in costume. Same as him.

In the space of a heartbeat, his lips are on yours again. This time they don’t stay for long, instead moving downwards towards your chest. When he squeezes your breast through the silk material of your dress, he compliments how fucking good you looked, “I wanted to ravish you the second I saw you, baby.”

You whimper at his words, and at the fact that his now freed cock is gently brushing against your wet folds. Not quite breaching, just teasing you further. Only adding to the overall stimulation. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot. So fucking pretty. And all mine.” Eddie’s breathing into your bare chest ‘cause somehow in the moment your dress has slipped down ever so slightly and your tits made an appearance. Fingers from one hand are digging into your hip, holding you in place, while the other has you by the ribs. Thumb brushing your soft skin while his hot mouth is sucking on your hardened nipple.

Your eyes are closed. You’re not sure when you closed them. He’s invading your senses all at once. Just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, when you want to whither and plead for him to touch you where you need him most, Eddie plunges himself into you without warning and your eyes snap open. 

“Oh God…” he groans, drawing his hips back only to slam them in again, making your body bounce against him. “Fuck, baby. Jesus.”

You sob in pleasure as Eddie knocks the wind out of you with each relentless thrust, still increasing his speed. Heavy panting and grunting fills the trailer, along with the sounds of where his cock slams against your sweet juices. He’s sitting straight now. Eyes are fixated on the mess you’re both making, where his length disappears in and out of you, while you admire the way his locks fall naturally in place. Although briefly, ‘cause you’re arching your back the next second, rolling your eyes to the back of your head when he hits that sweet spot.

“So. Fucking. Pretty.” He growls. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re all stretched open like this, sweetheart. Your pussy was made for my cock, baby. You take it so well. You take this big dick so well, my good girl. Fucking made for me. Ain’t that right, dollface?”

“Made for you, Eds.” You just about whisper back, nodding your head feverishly.

Slap. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you practically wail. “That’s right,” he praises, “Made for me. So fucking tight for me.” Slap. Slap. Slap. 

Eddie’s cock starts to swell. You can feel it expand inside of you, then again when he thrusts back in. It has you heaving. The speed he’s established is close to becoming a little too much for the two of you and he drops his weight slightly, allowing you to wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his bare back. He can sense that you too are close and he’s trying hard to hold back, make this moment last longer, but his body refuses to slow down. Chasing the way your glistening pussy chokes his length. 

“Where do you want me baby?”

“Inside,” you croak out. “Cum in me, Eddie. Please. I need you to fill me up.”

“M’mph—” He chokes out, movements growing more and more erratic. The whole trailer is shaking at this point, that’s what it feels like to the two of you anyway. “Everybody out there will know what a good little slut you are. Not that innocent. Wanting me to fill you full of my cum, fuck.” 

Slap. Slap. Against your thigh. 

“Please, Eddie.” 

Slap.

“Shh… I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.” He coos, “Gonna pump you full. Gonna make you see stars while my cum drips out of you.”

That’s when you shatter around him, uncontrollable desperate squeals making him groan louder as he continues. It’s sloppy, messy, and once you’ve completely unravelled underneath him, the rockstar can’t contain himself any longer. He lets out a broken moan as ropes and ropes of his warm spend start to throb into your hole.

His body gives up at the last spur and he drops flat on top of you, although not without a loose kiss placed to your jaw. His cock remains inside of your pussy. You can feel it pulsing until, after a few minutes, it no longer matches the beat of your heart.

Eddie lifts himself then. He kisses you softly and you smile against his mouth. When he eventually slips out and stands, he tells you not to move, that he’ll grab a towel from the small trailer bathroom and will help you get cleaned up.

“Wardrobe is going to kill us,” you call after him, balancing on your elbows as you sit up slowly. “Pretty sure these clothes can never be worn again. Purely for the fact that they reek of sex.”

“At least your wig stayed in place,” Eddie points out lightheartedly when he returns, his pants once again buckled, a towel in his hand. “That’s something the hair and makeup team should be proud of.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them,” you say, meaning it as a joke ‘cause there’s no way you would ever admit to what sins the two of you just committed.

Eddie smirks. “Pretty sure they already know,” he says as if it’s no big deal, “We weren’t exactly quiet, sweetheart.”

as always, thank you for reading! pls comment, reblog & support your creators.

celebrity skin. masterlist | the killers (1946) reference

& the celebrity skin. taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills - (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

[slayfics]

Katsuki reaches out to you after ghosting you.

Katsuki rested his head back on the headrest in the car chauffeuring him to his hotel. He had been on this mission for 11 days now on the other side of the country than he was used to. He was thankful this mission had a driver who specifically worked with chauffeuring heroes around. It meant not running into Uber drivers that were fans. Most importantly, the agency that assigned the chauffeur to Katsuki knew to pick out drivers who didn't make small talk.

Katsuki put in his earphones for the drive wanting to drown out the day's events in music. The problem was he had no idea what the hell to listen to. That's when he wondered. Were you awake? Were you listening to something?

Back in U.A., you, Eijiro, and Denki bugged the crap out of him until he agreed to join you all in a dumb-ass video game you three were obsessed with. He hated video games and thought they were a waste of time. But, he gave in just so you all would shut up. He even made a Discord to join in voice chat.

Although, It didn't take long for him to get angry at the game and accidentally explode his computer. He still kept the Discord app, however, and even installed it on his phone. From time to time he looked to see if you all still joined in the same voice chat to play whatever game caught your interest. The times he saw you all talking were few and far between now that everyone was busy with hero work. He had noticed though, that whenever you listened to Spotify it showed on Discord what song you were listening to.

From time to time when he was away on extended missions he'd look to see what you were listening to. It was hard when he was away. He knew he wasn't good at words. Honestly, he'd rather shoot himself than call you and say some dumb mushy shit like he missed you. Sometimes he hated that he was this way. He'd seen Eijiro communicate so easily with Mina every time he was away, why couldn't he be like that? Why was this shit so hard for him?

Katsuki opened his discord and saw you were indeed listening to Spotify. He clicked on your username and it popped up that you were listening to Shirt by SZA. He navigated to his own Spotify to play the same song and read the lyrics along with the song. Some of the lyrics jumped out at him.

Kiss me, dangerous Been so lost without you all around me

In the dark right now Feeling lost, but I like it

Is that how you felt about him? Lost and in the dark? Did his actions when he was with you not carry through the space and time when his hero work kept him away from you?

He knew he should have called you, texted you, or something in the past 11 days he was gone but- You could have called him too. Damn it. Why did you both have to be so fucking stubborn? Katsuki inhaled sharply. He was probably just thinking too much about it. Even though he hadn't listened well to this song before, he knew it was popular at the moment. That was probably the only reason you were listening to it. He was being too egotistical making it about him. Surly you were fine while he was gone.

The song ended and he navigated back to Discord to see what song you were listening to now. That's when his eyes widened, grip tightened on his phone, breath caught in his throat. You were listening to that damn stupid song the class of 1A played at the summer festival. The one he played the drums in all those years ago.

You were thinking about him. Fuck. He ran his hands over his face frustrated with himself. If he were more like Eijiro even that fucking idiot Midoriya, you'd never question how he felt about you because he'd be able to say easily and gracefully. The fact was though, that just wasn't him, and he just couldn't. Simple as that. However, this did give him the slap in the face he needed to reach out to you.

Katsuki opened his messages and scrolled down to his text thread with you to type out a message.

I'll be back next week, what are your days off?

He watched anxiously as three dots appeared while you typed. Would you tell him off for not reaching out to you for almost two weeks? Would you accuse him of not caring?

I have Monday and Tuesday off.

Can I see you Monday?

Your next response left a lump in his throat and mist in his eyes.

You can see me whenever you want Katsuki.

You were too forgiving of him, too patient and he knew he didn't deserve it. You deserved someone who could say all that fucking cheesy shit, someone that didn't ghost you for two weeks because they were afraid of their feelings. But for some reason, you never seemed to mind, and you always welcomed him back in. He tried so fucking hard to show it when he was there, and he hoped that you were seeing it. He was trying. In the best way that he could.

Tags: @unofficialmuilover

[vacayisland]

Could you do a John Dory x Retired Singer/Musician Reader? Pls and thank you

(I loved meet the wifie I fucking cackled at "imma beat his ass!")

@!; Oldies are always better. John Dory / Retired! Reader

"Tag List"! @writergal02 @chamille-trash @valvalentine69 @starzwithapen @ykvlanq @apieceofcathair3 @kitthefanfickat

ꨄ︎. You were a big alt-indie musician, making music that tended to have a little bit of everything; the funk and beat of the funk tribe and the techno tribe, the guitar riffs and drum solos from the rock tribe, some classical instruments as undertones, and pop-like lyrics and beats. All the while you also put your own spin on it. Music had always been an outlet for you, always allowed you to take what was in your head and thread it into sound for everyone to hear. Sometimes it was chaotic, sometimes it was mellow, and it always depended on your mood when writing, composing, and singing. It's usually was drew people to your music. It was down to Earth, yet also complex and simple at the same time. Those who wanted to dive into the meaning of your music and dissect it would find multiple layers, many undertones that all harmonized. Those who just wanted to vibe out to your music could do that as well.

ꨄ︎. When you had left your career behind, it wasn't because of anything bad. You left with one final song in which explained that you were stepping down to let the new generation to find their own flow, to let other people take the stage, to be able to sit back and enjoy everything that will come in the future. You were only around 24 when you put down your guitar for the final time for the public; But you never gave up music for good on your own. While you never published anything anymore, you kept writing and composing for yourself as it was truly your passion.

ꨄ︎. This is when JD found you, playing in a friend's cafe. You had caught his attention right away, so much so he didn't hear the waiter when he had asked for JD's order. He was honestly so captivated by you for a moment he wondered if you were some sort of siren. He soon realized, yeah no you weren't, you just were really, really good. And he needed your number, badly. And that sounded a little creepy, but when you see someone who's not only good looking but knows how to sing and play an instrument all in one? You don't miss that chance to talk them up, and JD was defiantly not missing his chance!

ꨄ︎. JD didn't see a ring on your finger, it was fair game for him. Luckily you hadn't been seeing anyone at the time, but you still gave him a reality check after he approached you as though he was the coolest guy on the planet; Introducing himself before using some sort of cheesy pick up line to get your number. "Hey, babe, my name is John Dory and you seem rather lonely. You know, I can fill that 'me' shaped hole in your heart if you give me your number!" And then he winked!? Your friend was flabbergasted. You thought he was really brave.

ꨄ︎. And you hate to admit that his stupid pick-up line (which didn't even seem like a pick-up line!) actually worked and he got your number. (And he would be so smug and proud about this fact for the rest of his life.)

ꨄ︎. You two talked for a few months before making anything official, and then you waited about a year or two before you two even thought about moving in together. Even so, by 6 months of dating you basically lived in Rhonda; Your stuff littered his home, you had your own set of clothes there, your own toothbrush, and even your own house slippers. Then when you moved in, it felt natural. It felt like this was where you were always meant to end up and somehow the planets aligned. And for some reason JD never noticed the fact you brought in an electric guitar, which also sat in your shared closet. Sometimes you wonder if he's just stupid or a little blind, because he's also seen your play.

ꨄ︎. Either way, one day when he was hoisting his brothers over (after the whole Floyd situation got resolved, and god you were kind of glad you were staying with friends during all of that; not because you didn't like his brothers but because you didn't think you could handle meeting his family during that whole situation.) when they heard you playing your guitar in the bedroom. You weren't doing anything fancy, mostly tuning the guitar and making sure the strings didn't need to be replaced. But, of course, that always had to include one of your most iconic guitar riffs from a song about fighting your crushing mentality during the lowest part of your career. "Holy shit dude, I didn't know your lover listened to (Y/N)!" Branch would be the first to comment, being the most diverse music listener in the family. Floyd, who had been distracted by the riff, perked up at the conversation and nodded in agreement. JD only gave them a confused look, leaning against his kitchen counter, "Dude, my lover is (Y/N)?" And JD wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't all four of his brothers stopping and staring at him completely baffled. Mostly Floyd and Branch, who soon yelled a rather loud, "WHAT?!" "What?!" Which only confused JD more.

ꨄ︎. You hadn't met JD's family before this point, but you've heard all about them; Not only from JD, when he told you about his band days, and when you heard them around the trailer when they would come over. Usually you stayed in the bedroom, not to be rude yet to just let JD have his time with his brothers. Yet, you couldn't understand what all the yelling was about, "Yo, Que te pasa? Why the hell are you guys yelling?" You would ask, poking your head out of the door to the bedroom. Your expression tired, your hair messier, yet you could care less at this moment; You were sure JD's brothers wouldn't mind, they would see you worse later on since you were planning to stay with that big doofus. "Oh my god-" You flinched when Floyd dropped the cup he was holding, his jaw dropping upon seeing you; And honestly, for a second, you forgot you used to be a big artist. "John Dory," You started, startled by the reactions his brothers were giving, "Vas a decirme lo que esta pasando ahora mismo."

ꨄ︎. JD is always a little intimidated when you speak Spanish, mostly because his Grandma used to scold him and his brothers in Spanish. So he only explained (rather quickly) how his brothers had heard you tuning your guitar in the bedroom and how they just got weird. And that's when Branch defended himself, along with Floyd, how JD never told them that you were his lover! "And what's it to you that I love your brother?" You shot back quick and snappy, crossing your arms as you shot a glare their way. You weren't above throwing hands with JD's brothers. Floyd noticed the way JD glanced away, sipping his coffee. He was quick to stand up, placing a hand on Branch's shoulder to calm him, before explaining the whole situation to you better; Saying how Branch and Floyd were just big fans of your music and they didn't realize that you were with JD, because no matter how much JD spoke about you he never told them that you were his lover.

ꨄ︎. "Oh, Mierda lo siento." God, this made things a little awkward, "I thought you were about to be one of those horrible step-siblings that didn't like his brother's lover for some dumb reason like my hair." "What? No!-" "No, yeah, I see that now. My bad, really sorry." You mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck, "JD can be really, really dense sometimes, shut it John Dory!," You pointed a finger at JD before he could make a peep in protest about your slight insult, but it was made out of full love. "Let's start over, hi I'm (Y/n) and it's really nice to meet you."

ꨄ︎. Safe to say, JD forgot to tell his brothers that he was dating an old sensational artist...and kind of forgot you were one and was very shocked to realize this! Furthermore, you were a little flabbergasted when he revealed that some of BroZone's songs were influenced by your music. You would stare at JD after he confessed such a large secret, "Wow... that's a big insult." You mumbled sarcastically under your breath. "EXCUSE ME?!" But you guessed JD missed the sarcasm. "I'm being sarcastic, love. That's kind of sweet." Playfully rolling your eyes, you pressed a kiss into JD's cheek before turning back to his brothers. You crossed your legs, rested your elbow against your knee, and held your face in your hands. "Now about you four, how about we get to actually know each other. I'm planning to remain in this family after all..."

ꨄ︎. Safe to say that JD is wifing/husbanding/etc. you up really quick.

ꨄ︎. He still brags about how he first got your number and how he managed to 'snatch you up' before anyone else could. You told him he's too old to use new lingo and to stop, lovingly of course as you didn't want your 'husband' to embarrass himself. He melted hearing you call him husband before getting a bigger ego boost; And you had fun watching him terrorize his siblings while his ego was so inflated. You even jokingly did the whole 'I'm watching you' eyes to one of his brothers (Clay) as a silent threat that this is how you were always going to hand JD off to them like. He gave you the biggest (playful) stink eye ever. Yeah, you're going to fit right into this family.

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

[anianurst]

Big Brother Knows Best

a little blurb about big brother!sukuna and how his younger brother yuji has a thing for his girlfriend (some sexual things listed below) (college au!)

poor little yuji :( he's crushing so hard on his older brother's girlfriend

you and sukuna meet at a party where your band was playing

There's blinding lights casting different colors all around you. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you swing your hips to the beat of the music playing behind you. Suguru's killing it on the bass to your left while Satoru's playing the guitar on your right, and you feel Shoko's gaze behind you as she pounds away on the drums.

Cheers and yells come from the crowd as a grins plays at your lips. When Satoru first suggested forming a band, you quickly scoffed and laughed at him. But now, as people scream your lyrics and jump up and down, you're glad you joined.

Your gaze sweeps the crowd again as you continue singing. Hips swaying, your hoop earring jiggling, and your low-rise jeans showing off your midriff, you're the picture of sex. Your eyes then meet glowing red ones as you feel a shiver go down your spine.

With a single red cup in hand and crossed arms, Sukuna smirks at you. His tattoos run all over his arm and face, and you wonder if there's more.

it didn't take a genius to know how your night with sukuna ended

the next morning, youre making something to eat in the kitchen (wearing nothing but panties and sukuna's shirt), when yuji walks in

you jolt and quickly say hi

meanwhile, yuji's face turns red at a fast pace. his mind short-circuiting as he takes in your nearly bare figure.

he hears you giggle before his eyes dart back up to your face before stuttering out an apology

waving him off, you serve him breakfast and make small talk with him (he stares at your ass every time you turn around)

it's not long before sukuna walks in, smacking your ass and taking some food straight from your plate

rolling your eyes, you bid goodbye to yuji as sukuna follows behind you. smirking at his younger brother, sukuna makes a display of slapping your ass again as you yelp

after that, yuji starts seeing you around more often

unlike all of sukuna's one-night stands, you become a recurring event, and every time yuji has to fight everything in him to keep his gaze on your eyes and not everywhere else

sukuna makes it so hard though. he purposefully leaves your panties around for yuji to find. always feels you up which has you giggling and pushing him away

and you make it so hard, with your tight tops and low-rise jeans. yuji finds out you have a hip tattoo when you bend over once and your jeans slip down

eventually, yuji decides that he needs to go out so he drags nobara and megumi out to party, not knowing that your band is playing and his older brother is there

yuji finds you even more enticing as he watches you sing and preform

and he curses himself for getting so worked up when he watches you and sukuna make out, pressed up against some wall, bodies pressed together and hands traveling all over

he hates it even more when his older brother peers over your shoulder and sends him an evil smirk

[narcissistshandler]

are you still making hobie fics 🙏

ps omg ur stuff is sooo delicious its crazy

req; please make a fic of hobie squirming from the reader's suggestive teasing/touch in a public place (diner, movie theater, school etc.) thanks so much !!!

𝗔𝗧𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗣𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗔

pairing. hobie brown x gn reader

warnings. dry humping, frottage, cumming in pants, everything happens in public, reader has no gender or genitalia mentioned.

a/n. I don't think you guys have any idea how happy I always am with your compliments, I really hope you like this.

The chaotic, loud and fast symphony reverberated through your ears, the notes that sounded between a mix of rock and hard-hitting singing echoing through the speakers and filling the small local bar that was not much more than a joint where young people gathered to drink, listening to music and criticize the government — everything Hobie liked most, and that's why you had brought him here for a 'date'. Date. This wasn't exactly most people's idea of a date, but seeing the smile that never left Hobie's face as he jumped up and down and sang along to the familiar lyrics of the famous song the band covered, you knew this was exactly the ideal type of date for your boyfriend.

Everything was perfect. The band was a little out of tune, but that was ok, the stage presence made up for it. It was too crowded, and you could barely move without bumping into someone, but people were at least polite. Although, when Hobie was wearing the tightest leather pants, tall boots, and a fishnet top under the jacket that hid absolutely nothing, it was hard to pay much attention to anything else.

You gripped Hobie's hips, fingers against the cold leather hanging right over the protruding bones, tight enough to feel like a second skin. The set of belts purposely left a little loose over his pants and the silver of the thin strap around his neck reflecting under the lights. Hobie's body was warm, sweat running down the back of the neck under the black frizzy curls and you couldn't help but lean in and press your lips there, taking in the cold of the choker and the heat of his dark skin.

It was difficult to talk here and very easy to get lost in the small, lively crowd, which made it convenient for you to stay behind your boyfriend's body, holding him close to prevent you from separating —and from anyone getting the privileged view of Hobie's round ass.

Hobie chuckled, the bass of his laugh vibrating against your chest pressed against his back, otherwise it would have been difficult to notice. "Wanting to mark territory, huh?" he teased, turning his head a little to meet your gaze. The soft lights of the bar reflected in his leering gaze as he continued, "Not that I mind, but we're in public, babe."

You smiled playfully, fingers drawing circles on his hips. "I can't be blamed for wanting to keep the competition at bay. This privileged view is reserved for my eyes only."

Hobie opened his mouth and you leaned in even closer so you could hear what he was saying over the ferocious drums, "Well, in that case, I'm all yours. But let's not make it too obvious, or we might end up stealing the show."

“You’ve never complained about being the star of the show before,” you say, tone heavy with innuendo that precedes your hands inching up the sides of his hips, towards the toned stomach that ripples under your touch.

“Not when you're my only audience,” Hobie says back, but he doesn't pull away when your thumb traces his belly button piercing.

Although it was impossible to ignore the bodies pressing against you from all sides, elbows occasionally finding a target and feet stepping on each other, the atmosphere was dark enough that it was difficult to make out faces and between the euphoria, the alcohol and the music, you knew that something was missing for this date to be the best for Hobie, unforgettable. And he knew it too.

“I’ll still be in the front seat,” you said amused. Your fingers found the hem of his pants and Hobie's body shook, as if an electric shock had coursed through him. "Watching you, adoring you. No one else matters. What if someone sees? I'll still be the only one touching you."

Hobie turned his attention forward, seeming to look to see if anyone was paying attention. “I don’t know,” he said and you almost didn’t hear him, hand already flat against the front of Hobie’s pants. "[name]-" He tensed against you. You felt his erection through the leather, feeling the delicious heat of it radiating through the fabric. The contact made Hobie shudder.

Your lips pressed against his ear, wanting to make sure every word was heard:

"But you're already hard for me. You've been practically since we arrived. Don't think I haven't noticed you rubbing your ass against me."

Despite the stiffness in his shoulders from contact, there was still amusement and pride in his tone when he answered you, "I'm sure I wanted you to notice that last part."

"I'm sure you did, dirty boy."

The music pulses and the bass chords dance at the same time as your fingers run down the front of Hobie's pants, tracing the familiar outline of the member that presses against the leather. It felt like touching bare skin. "[name]," Hobie calls again, you don't hear the sound, you just read his full lips moving.

"Yes?" you ask, giving him a chance to stop you even if you don't stop touching him, rubbing the palm of your hand against him and pinching the tip between two fingers. Your other hand holds his hips, feeling the tension that ripples through the muscles. "Come on, Hobie, you know you want this."

His hips snap at the touch, slamming against your hand, then back against your crotch and back into your hand. There's still tension there though, and maybe it's because of the danger of doing this in public, but his every movement feels restrained and hard, like a poorly oiled gear trying to work.

Hobie is all hot against you, pulse racing beneath your open lips over the salty skin of his slender neck. He turns his head back, almost bumping his head against yours and searches for your mouth. "You're wicked, [name], you know I would never say 'no' to you," he pants, drowning the words against your mouth, forcing you to swallow your own name. He kisses you then, desperately, breathless and completely weak to the pleasure coursing through his veins as you slowly run your thumb along the sensitive tip of his member, matching the rhythm of your tongue sliding into his mouth.

One of your hands slides across the smooth leather, dragging your palm against his cock as you kiss him, the lyrics that sought to remind of all the weight and filth of the society clicking in your ears. Your other hand moves up, running over the bumpy fabric of the fishnet until finds a bulge that presses against your finger. The cold metal slides against your touch, pulling with it the pointy brown nipple peeking out from under his top and Hobie moans against your mouth, asking for 'more'. It was as if today, before leaving home, Hobie had chosen his clothes thinking about how you could touch him without difficulties or real barriers.

You drink in the sounds Hobie makes against your mouth, their volume is lost beneath the music, but the vibration of every moan and every utterance of your name reverberates against your lips, right into your mouth, like a song that only you had access.

Hand wrapped awkwardly around Hobie's dick, fingers practically digging into the sides of it, digging into the leather to get enough precision to pull him hard and fast through each thrust. Hobie writhes against you and melts and it's the most beautiful show. He keeps his mouth against yours even when the kiss ends, humming along to the guitar chords, cursing and following the lyrics of the song. He seems lost in his own head, his brown eyes shining with lust and one hand reached back and gripping your hair, using the support to swivel his hips in a sensual circle, the belts slapping against your arm.

"[name]," he sings through the song's lyrics as he moves against your hand, taking what he needs. "That feels good... you are... I need more... can you...? Fuck."

In the low light you doubted anyone could see the vision of the beautiful man coming apart beneath your fingers to the point where tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. It was a good thing not. You didn't want that in the end — soon — when the night reached its climax and Hobie followed, spilling for you in his pants, anyone else could watch his mouth falling open, hips erratic and his entire body shaking as he became unable to say anything other than your name. The most beautiful spectacle of all and that belonged only to your eyes.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader x Eddie Munson[6.1K] steddie smut, her boys, their girl, it was time to give in.

It had been a long time coming.

Too long, in fact, a couple of years, maybe three. It started at parties, when beer was involved, lukewarm and readily available. Cheap vodka, cheaper weed, lemonade and soda that had lost its fizz, mixed with tequila, the smell of smoke and the heat from dancing bodies.

It started with Steve, a friend who became more but not enough, a boy that you watched grow into a man, all lean muscle, tall frame, wild hair, stubble on his jaw that scratched at you when he pulled you into hugs. Then years ticked over and you broke down the barriers, ripped up the rule book and toed the line between best friends and more.

You looked at the boy for seconds too long, eyes lingering, his gaze fixed on yours, staring right back. You stopped blushing when he caught you, only raising your brows when he grinned, fond, appreciative, knowing.

‘Cause parties happened and you almost always found yourself on his lap, pressed to his side in a kitchen, sharing the same red cup and he let you move up against him when your favourite song came on, hips pushing back into his, his hands close to squeezing at your ass before he caught himself, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded.

It went on like that for a while, late night calls full of whispered secrets and what ifs, an edge of flirting, the promise of something filthy if the other gave in and let it happen. 

And then Eddie arrived, pushed himself into your circle with a dramatic flare, settling down amongst Steve and Robin and Nancy like he’d always been there. 

You liked the way he matched Steve’s height, how they both towered over you when they sandwiched you between them, all warm and solid, boyish teasing, rough hands, flirtatious remarks and kisses goodbye pressed to your cheeks.

And where Steve was soft - gentle with you, deliberate, so aware of how you felt, how you looked at him - Eddie was a little more wild. Messy curls, leather and ripped denim, a smile that told you that he knew how you looked at him, big brown eyes that matched Steves, a carelessness in the way he liked to accidentally brush past you, an arm over your shoulder when the movie started playing.

When Eddie found himself at the same parties as you and Steve, he took to standing with the other boy, their backs against the walls as they watched you move around the crowded living room, hand in Robin’s as you encouraged her to dance. And even when Robin gave up, the two boy’s kept their eyes on you, watched you move to the music with their shoulders pressed together, sharing the same joint that Eddie had rolled earlier. 

Steve and Eddie shared a lot of things, you’d noticed.

Steve’s car when Eddie’s van inevitably broke down, Eddie’s stash of weed, a lighter, sometimes clothes when parties got out of hand and everyone crashed at the Harringtons. They shared cassettes, mixtapes, the key to your back door, the way they looked at you.

Maybe it was the cherry vodka on your tongue that night, maybe it was the way the strangers living room was filled with smoke and the scent of weed and damp skin, the way it was so crowded that you could feel the heat of the other people around you. 

Maybe it was the music, a dirty strum of bass, slow drums, lyrics that made you think things you only thought about in bed, late at night and alone, hands pushed into your pyjama shorts. Maybe it was your short dress, the hem lifting every time you moved, the small strap slipping off one shoulder.

Maybe it was the two boys on the outskirts of the room, Steve sitting on the kitchen counter, a beer in hand, Eddie beside him, his elbow on the other boy's knee as he leaned on him. Maybe it was their eyes on you, roaming, greedy, wanting. Maybe it was the way Steve’s eyes went darker and hooded as he watched you, lips wet when he took a sip of his drink. Maybe it was the way Eddie’s jaw went slack every time you moved your hips a little slower than the time before.

Maybe it was the boys.

Your boys. 

It was unsaid, an unofficial title that no one had been brave enough to say out loud but you were at a party surrounded by drunk, horny strangers and the other boys there were staring, hands twitching, eager to crowd into you and tell you how pretty you looked in that damn dress. But they were all sensible enough to know that wherever you were, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson weren’t far. 

It’s why other girls didn’t get a look in, why the hands on chests, lips pressed to ears and coy smiles went ignored. Your boys were only looking at you, heads tilted towards each other, whispering things you couldn’t hear as they kept their gaze on you, smiles curling into smirks.

It only took you to lift your chin and smile at Eddie for him to come to you, squeezing between the writhing bodies, a ghost in the smoke, the shine of the red and purple glow that flashed from the fairy lights strung up around the room.

He took your hips in his hands, your back to his chest as he guided you against him, moving to the music, the smell of cigarettes and something spicy, Eddie’s cologne lingering on the collar of his shirt. But you were greedy, wanted more, wanted Steve and the other boy was still on the kitchen counter, legs spread, leaning back on his hands as he smirked, watching you both.

He was making you wait for it, an unnecessary unkindness because all three of you knew that Steve couldn’t say no - not to you. Never to you. But he wanted to see you make those eyes at him, all doe like and pleading, bottom lip pushed out into a pout as you let yourself fall back into Eddie, your head against his shoulder. 

It was only when you threatened to turn in Eddie’s arms, to give the longer haired boy every ounce of your attention, that Steve moved. He snuck between the party goers, slipped between grinding bodies to find your own, his hands half covering Eddie’s as he held onto your waist, pressed you between him and the other boy.

It was something new. 

You were well used to dancing with both boy’s, bodies pushed together, toeing that invisible line and pretending you didn’t see the way the other watched from the sidelines, hungry. 

But this? This? 

You were warm all over, the width of your sides covered by the expanse of two pairs of hands. Eddie’s hair was tickling your neck, his head dipped to brush his cheek over your own, your ass pressed into the denim of his jeans and god, he was hard, you could feel it. 

Your own hands went to Steve’s chest, muscles flexing under your touch, a sharp inhale of breath that you could feel under your palms when you smoothed them up and over his shoulders, holding on for dear fucking life. He tucked his own face down to yours, caught your gaze in a silent question, a raise of his brows, one that asked ‘is this okay? Is this what you want?’

You answered by threading your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to you a little tighter and Steve tugged you into him in response, your tits pressed up against him and shit, you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat, if he could feel the way it rattled your fucking bones. 

Eddie’s lips skimmed your shoulder as you stared at Steve, goosebumps rippling across all that bare skin you had on show and Steve dipped his head, let his nose brush against your own, let it nudge at your cheek and Eddie was closer, brushing your hair away from your face so he could watch.

His hand squeezed at you, encouraging, his lips at the shell of your ear, his breath heavy as the three of you moved to the beat together. If people were staring, not one of you noticed.

You didn’t move when Steve crowded you further, pressed you into Eddie until you tipped your head back for him, let it fall back to rest on Eddie’s shoulder, throat exposed for Steve to blow cool air over. The tip of his nose nudged at you again, drew a line up your throat until he hit your jaw and you were fisting your hands in the front of his shirt. Desperate. 

He hadn’t put his mouth on you. Not yet. A line still uncrossed. 

But then Eddie was tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes dark as he looked down at you, ringed fingers catching through your strands, cupping the back of your neck and coaxing you forward. Towards Steve. The bass dropped, the chorus kicked in and Eddie was looking at the other boy expectantly, lips parted, waiting. 

His other hand left your waist, cupped Steve’s jaw instead, a thumb decorated in silver soothing over the line of his cheekbone and he was bringing him forward too. 

‘C’mon,’ his touch said, ‘you know you want to.’

Steve’s forehead touched yours, skin slick, hot to touch and Eddie’s wide hands were back around your waist, hips grinding against your ass, a slow, dangerous burn.

Unholy, you thought.

He took his time, like he always did. Kept you waiting, teasing, needy. Steve held his lips over your own, hovering so you were breathing in what he was breathing out, sharing everything. His hands were still holding your waist, holding you steady for the other boy to move against you, holding you upright so he could wedge a knee between your legs, letting Eddie push you to grind up and down his thigh. 

Then, when you were panting, when he felt your breath hitch, a missed huff of air over his lips, Steve kissed you. 

It was innocent in the most awful way. A slip of his lips between yours, a slide of his top one, the curve of his bottom catching at yours. Teasing, testing, asking. One hand found your jaw, big enough that his palm covered most of your cheek, his thumb pushing at the plush of your cheek until your mouth fell into a pout for him and he could press his own over yours properly. 

Eddie’s chin was hooked over your shoulder, nose pressed to the spot under your ear, watching the way Steve’s tongue licked over your lips, teeth catching. Eddie’s breath hitched when you opened for the other boy, tongues touching, a wet slide over each other, mouths chasing kiss after kiss. It was slow, controlled by Steve’s hand on your jaw, keeping you from taking too much without asking.

Then he was pulling away, nudging your face towards Eddie with his thumb, smiling at you like this was what the three of you did every Saturday, like he was telling you it was okay, that he wanted to share.

The crowd of drunks around you melted into a blur. The lights danced, changed from red and lilac to aqua and lime, a flash of colour of skin. Steve’s fingers hooked into the tiny strap of your dress, his knuckles running over the bare skin underneath. 

You were too warm. 

Where Steve tasted like tequila and beer, honeyed, sweet,  Eddie was all smoke and spiced rum, deep and dark and he was greedier than Steve was, catching your lips with his own the second you leaned back into him. His hand covered Steve’s, both boys holding you as Eddie chased the taste of his friend from your mouth.

If someone had told you that there were other people in the room, you wouldn’t have believed them. 

“Can we take you home?” Steve asked, voice low and soft, Eddie’s lips on your cheek, pushing sweet kisses to it. 

“Wanna come home with us, princess?” The other boy asked, Steve’s hands curling around the dip in your waist, thumbs smoothing over your stomach. 

You nodded. 

It’s how you ended up with Eddie’s leather jacket draped over your shoulders, the hem of it almost as long as your dress. Steve took your hand in his, led you through the crowd with Eddie’s hand on the small of your back and then you were walking home. 

Step by step under the street lights, under the inky night sky, leftover over summer heat and the flirt of a promise in the air. The boys touched you all the way home, nothing too much, just enough to be considered a normal Saturday night. 

Steve kept his hand joined with yours, teasing at how small your fingers were compared to his. He spun you this way and that, let you wander an edge too far before tugging you back to his side, grinning proudly at the way he made you laugh. 

Eddie wasn’t far away, skipping around you both, mumbling a song neither you nor Steve knew but he’d grab at your waist from behind, nose at your neck until you squirmed, humming a beat into your hair as the three of you managed to get yourself back to Steve’s permanently intertwined. 

And when you all reached the empty Harrington household, Steve flicked on the lamp by the sofa and watched you drop yourself onto it, kicking off your shoes and leaning back into the cushions. Eddie mumbled something about something, slipping away into the dark of the kitchen and you wondered if it was deliberate, it this was already planned. 

Because Steve was coming to stand before you, nudging your knees apart with his own so he could drop between them, crouching between your thighs. His hands were hot on your skin, lips still swollen from how he’d kissed you before. 

He looked pretty. Messy in a scandalous way, hair wild from your own hand, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. So, so pretty. 

Your pretty boy. 

“You okay?” he asked, thumbs rubbing circles on the skin just above your knee. “With this?”

You weren’t sure what he was referring to. His touch? What had happened back at the party? What you were sure was about to come?

Either one of those had you nodding your head, brows knitted together because you were so desperate, so pent up, that you thought you might actually cry. But then Steve’s hand was on your jaw, your throat, thumb soothing over your cheek as he let you pull at his shirt , pawing at him. 

“Can I kiss you, sweetheart?” Steve’s voice was honey, sticky sweet with an edge of the same neediness you felt. ‘Cause it had been years of skirting around each other, toeing the line that only Eddie seemed to be able to help you both cross. “Need to kiss you again.”

You pushed your mouth to his without any hesitation. 

The boys hands ran up your thighs, pushed at your dress until his thumbs were pressed to the line between your legs and your underwear, palms curled around you so he could drag you to the edge of the sofa. 

His tongue licked over you, licked into you, a slow, soft burn of a kiss that almost felt lazy. Like he knew he had you now. That there wasn’t any rush. There was no going back from this. 

Eddie’s jacket still hung from your shoulders, a reminder of the boy who was only just coming back from the kitchen now, quietly entering the room to sit on the armchair across from you both. 

He sprawled out, legs spread wide, ringed fingers playing with his bottom lip, like he was trying to feel what you both felt. 

“You both look so pretty like this,” Eddie’s voice was only a whisper, but it cracked through the room, rolled over you like a storm. 

It made you shiver, clench your thighs and drag your mouth from Steve’s. 

You knew what he meant, ‘cause if you looked anything like Steve did - eyes drooping with pleasure, lips slick and glossy from each other, skin flushed and hair a mess - well, what a pretty picture, indeed. 

Your dress was hitched high, splayed around the tops of your thighs with Steve’s hands half hidden underneath, legs spread wide with the boy kneeling between them, your greedy hands curling at the nape of his neck. 

“Is that right?” Steve asked and his voice was just as low and flirtatious as when he spoke to you. 

Eddie smirked and you couldn’t help but ask. 

“Have you and Eddie-” Steve turned back to you, brows lifted, small smile, knowing. “Uh, have you guys done this? Before?”

The boys both grinned and Eddie leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes roamed over the way his jacket was still slung over you, Steve between your thighs. “With each other?”

“Or with another girl?” Steve finished. 

You shrugged, suddenly feeling a white hot burn of jealousy flare in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers turned gentle as they played with the ends of Steve’s hair, his lashes fluttering at your touch. Surely no one else could make Steve feel the way you did? Right?

“Either.”

“Oh pretty girl, Steve cooed, voice fond, “you think we’d do this with someone who wasn’t you?” His mouth found your cheek, sweet kisses pushed to the apple of it, lips trailing to kiss over your lashes, the tip of your nose, your temple. “Don’t you know that we’re yours?”

Yours. Your boys. 

“Both of you?” You felt shy, silly for asking, but Eddie was still out of reach, despite the way he was eyeing you. 

He nodded, “of course, sweetheart.” Eddie meant back in the chair, eyes glittering dark in the low light. “Doesn’t mean we haven’t looked after each other though.”

Heat looked in your stomach, between your legs. You wanted to whine. 

Your nose bumped Steve’s as you turned back to him, lips parted, watching how he smiled. You swallowed hard, chest moving too fast to go unnoticed. 

“Yeah?”

Steve nodded, hands pushing into the dough of your thighs, a soft touch that kept you on edge, kept you grounded and you were waiting for him to talk, to tell you the dirty, pretty things that him and Eddie got up to when you weren’t around. 

“S’real hard sometimes,” Steve murmured, “both of us havin’ to watch you in your pretty little dresses, pretending like you don’t see us staring at you.” A kiss, sweet and quick, on the line of your jaw. 

“When you wanna come sit on my lap and I’ve gotta pretend that I’m not hard as a fuckin’ rock when you wanna cuddle into me.” Steve’s voice was syrupy, warm and sticky. “‘Cause you smell so good and you’re just so sweet, and you look at me with those damn eyes. I can’t ever say no to you.”

“Poor Stevie is wrapped ‘round your little finger, princess,” Eddie crooned from the corner. “You got us both feelin’ like we’re seventeen and ready to make a mess in our pants every time you get too close.”

“So sometimes,” Steve explained, “when you go home and leave us all alone, we gotta help each other out.”

You were panting, eyes fluttering shut as Steve mouthed over your throat, teeth grazing, tongue licking dirty at the line of your jaw. 

“We talk about you,” Eddie continued, “how lucky we are to have you, sweetheart, such a cute little thing. A miracle you like hangin’ out with us so much.”

You whimpered, eyes opening and looking over Steve’s shoulder to see Eddie with his hand on his own thigh, thumb running lines over the outline of his cock.

“Oh yeah,” Steve whispered into your hair. “We talk about you all the time. What we wanna do to you, what we think you’d sound like, what you’d taste like. Bet you’re as sweet as you look, baby.”

Baby. 

“Then we just can’t help ourselves,” Eddie sighed dramatically, grinning at the way you were tilting your head for the other boy, Steve’s mouth sucking a lavender coloured bruise on your throat. “You have us fuckin’ ourselves into each other’s hands just thinking about you.”

Fucking hell. 

You imagined it, the two boys side by side in Steve’s bed, you and your other friends long gone as they got desperate with it, cocks hard, jeans shoved down just enough to wrap a fist around the other. Heads thrown back, lips on throats, jaws slack, pumping the other to the thought of you between them. 

“Do you like the sound of that?” Steve asked, softly. His hand nudged between your thighs, fingers slipping under lace and he swiped a digit through your folds, felt and heard the wet slick there and he groaned into your shoulder. “Oh, fucking hell.” 

He brought his finger back to his lips, sucked it into his mouth and smiled. Behind him, Eddie cursed, gripped his dick through his jeans and lay slack against the armchair cushions.  

“Oh, I think she likes that, Eds,” Steve confirmed, not waiting for you to reply. 

“Dirty girl,” Eddie laughed quietly. 

It was the same teasing they gave you when you got too squeamish over a horror film, when you complained it was too cold just so you could steal Eddie’s hoodie and burrow into Steve’s arms. 

“Does she taste as good as we thought, Harrington?” Eddie was lazing back, all faux calm composure because you could see the way the muscles in his jaw ticked every time you looked at him. 

“Better,” the boy answered, voice wrecked, rough. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

Steve kissed you as Eddie pushed himself from his seat, wandering over to the sofa so he could sprawl on the other end of it, his knee pressed to your hip. Steve’s tongue was curling around your own, making your gasp, little noises falling from your lips that he licked up like they were just for him. 

They were. 

Then his fingers were exploring again, thick and calloused as they nudged at your cunt, thumb spreading you apart a little so he could rub little circles over your entrance, huffing into your kiss as you tried to clench down on him. 

“How long have you thought about this?” Steve asked you, but you could answer because you were too busy staring at how he offered Eddie his fingers, middle and pointer sliding past the other boy's lips. 

Eddie hummed, lashes fluttering, sucking your wetness off of his friends' digits, sucking until Steve pulled them away from his mouth with a dirty ‘pop.’

“Huh, baby?��� He prodded again, Eddie crowding in so he could fit himself into the space behind you, legs caging your hips, your back to his chest once more. “D’you do what we do? D’you touch this pretty little clit at night and think about Eddie and I?” Steve cooed. 

You nodded, keening when Steve pressed his thumb to you, all swollen and slick already. He slid his touch over your clit, soft and constant, staring at you the whole time, smiling at the sounds he was getting from you, the glassy look in your eye as you clung to his shirt. 

Then Eddie was pushing your hair back, hooking his chin over your shoulder to look down at the way Steve had your legs spread, lace underwear hiked to the side. He mouthed at your neck, matching Steve’s gentle pace, nothing too much, not yet. 

You felt like you were already on fire. 

“So pretty,” he gushed, curls falling over your face. He slid his jacket from your shoulders, chucked it to the floor and scattered kisses across your shoulders, using one ringed finger to make your dress straps fall down your arms. “Prettiest little thing, with such a pretty, pretty pussy.”

“Eddie,” you whined, arching into him, hips thrust towards Steve, chasing his fingers. “Fuck.”

“Oh sweetheart,” the boy replied, “what d’you need, huh? Want Stevie to be nice to you?”

“Steve’s always nice to me,” you mumbled, face burning with shyness despite the way your two best friends had you caged between their bodies, cocks hard for you, your underwear pushed to the side so they could see how wet they got you. 

Steve made a soft noise for you, sticky and fond, a tap tap tap at your clit for your sweetness. You wriggled, pushed yourself into Eddie’s lap a little more. 

“Hmm, he is, isn’t he?” Eddie replied, voice low and in your ear. He looked at the boy through his lashes, winked at him when you couldn’t see and said, “I think he could be so much nicer though, princess. ‘Cause I just know he’s fuckin’ dying to get his mouth on you.”

You made a strangled sound, a whine and a moan, maybe there was even a ‘please’ mixed in with it and your hands fell from Steve’s shirt to grab at Eddie’s curls, body stretched out between them both as you braced your arms on either side of his head. 

“Yeah? You’d like that?” Eddie cooed, “s’good, ‘cause I really wanna watch that. Fuck, you gonna let me watch Steve eat you out?”

You nodded furiously, tilting your head to the side for Eddie, his mouth biting down on the same mark that Steve had already left. 

“We wanna hear you,” Steve murmured, bending down over you to press a line of kisses along the tops of your thighs, curling his fingers around the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs. “C’mon, sweetheart, let us hear how pretty you sound.”

“Please,” you were begging, unashamed, eyes fluttering shut at the way the cool air hit your cunt, “please Steve, please Stevie, want you so bad, please.”

They were both smiling when Eddie cupped his palms under your legs, spreading you more, your thighs draped over his knees, creating more space for Steve to settle into. 

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, “let Eddie help you, hmm? There’s a good girl.”

It was an electric buzz, his words, those words, the way they made you feel. And let it be known that your boys always paid attention, ‘cause Eddie was laughing and Steve’s lips were parted into a surprised ‘o.’

“She liked that, didn’t she?” Eddie snorted, hands wide and warm as they held your thighs open. “Felt her twitch, wonder if she got a little wetter, huh?”

Steve dragged his fingers through your folds, slid his fingers up and down a little messily so all three of you could hear the dirty slick of it. Eddie groaned and Steve was looking at you like you were his last meal and he was a man starved. 

“Soaked, baby,” Steve whispered, crowding into you to peck at your lips, leaning past you to give Eddie the same sweet treatment. His lips were at your ear, Eddie’s hands stroking across your ribs, thumb tracing the underside of your breast, nipples peaked for him. “You wanna be my good girl, s’that it?”

He pulled back, watched Eddie drag your dress down until the material was shoved underneath your tits, back arched and chest pushed out for him to play with. 

“Our good girl?”

You whined, nodding, hands pulling at Eddie’s curls before they landed on top of his hand on your legs, needing something to ground you as Steve blew warm air over your cunt. 

“Been thinkin’ about this for so long,” he told you, letting the pout of his lips just graze over your folds. He pushed a soft kiss just above your clit, ran a finger down the seam of you, never pushing any further. “You drive us goddamn crazy, d’you know that?”

“Steve,” you cried out, wiggling in Eddie’s arms, trying your best to push yourself closer to his mouth. 

“Ah, ah, princess,” Eddie scolded, “you gotta be patient. Steve’s gonna make you feel good, s’alright. Aren’t you, Harrington?”

Steve didn’t answer, not with words. He just sighed all dreamily as pushed his tongue out to taste you, flat and soft as he dragged it through your cunt. He groaned when you gasped, breath hitching and Eddie chuckled as he held you down against him, cooing softly in your ear. 

“Oh baby, s’good yeah?” He whispered, wild curls tickling your cheek, your neck. He caught your chin with a finger and thumb, turned you so you were panting against his mouth, his own tongue coming out to lick across your lips. “I know, I know, Stevie’s just so fuckin’ good with that mouth, isn’t he?”

 Steve hummed, thumbs coming up to pull at your folds, helping Eddie spread you out nice for them. He suckled at your clit, dipped the tip of a finger against your entrance and groaned at how wet you were. 

It was almost too much. Almost. 

He kept that up, that soft, slow, wet drag of the flat of his tongue against you, sucking at your clit when you started whining, arching up against Eddie. The other boy laughed, not all that unkindly, petting at you to get you to settle back down for him.

“S’wrong?” He asked, rocking his hips against your ass. Your dress had worked itself into a mess around your waist, chest bare, ass against Eddie’s crotch as he rutted himself into you. “You getting greedy, princess? You want more?”

You nodded, gasped out a ‘yes please,’ and tugged at Steve’s hair, made the boy moan so pretty as his nose bumped against your clit, his tongue dipping inside of you. 

Eddie hummed, ran guitar string scarred fingers over the stiff pebbles of your nipples, trailing a palm down your tummy. “I could just slide my cock inside of you,” he mused, grinning when you whimpered. “Could fuck you nice and deep in my lap whilst Stevie boy keeps eating that pretty little pussy of yours.”

You were seeing white, stars and bright flashes of pleasure behind your closed eyelids, Steve’s tongue doing wonderful things over your clit, that same soft, push of his mouth on you. He sucked, gave you a little kiss and you wanted to cry. 

“You think you’d like that?” Eddie kept talking, running his mouth in the same tone of voice he used for Hellfire, that low, gentle commanding cadence that made your toes curl. “Think you’d like my dick inside of you while our best friend licks at your clit? M’sure he’d let me feel his mouth too, huh? Bet you’d come real fuckin’hard for us, sweetheart, bet you’d look so fuckin’ pretty coming for us.”

You were squirming, both pairs of hands holding you down, holding you open as Steve lapped at you, his own cock hard in his jeans, rutting into the air trying to find some sort of release. He moaned into you, lashes fluttering, lips shiny with you. 

“But you see, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed, talking to you like he was trying to explain why you couldn’t have another piece of candy, like he was taking away your favourite toy. “I can’t do that yet.”

You whimpered, eyes brimming with tears, gathering at your lash line because of how overwhelmed you felt. 

“I can’t do that ‘cause Steve’s gotta feel that sweet, little pussy around his cock first,” Eddie’s voice was like chocolate, smooth and rich against your neck. He kissed the spot under your ear, sugary sweet, so lovely to you. “S’only fair, right? How fucking long you’ve both wanted each other.”

You nodded, jaw slack, eyes rolling ‘cause Steve was getting a little rougher, as if listening to Eddie talk was affecting him as much as it was you. He licked at you a little quicker, pushed his lips to your clit in a dirty kiss, sucking hard. You squealed, fingers yanking at his hair, his eyes wild for you when they flicked up to watch Eddie’s hands cup at your tits, pushing them together all pretty and obscene. 

“S’alright, sweetheart, I know, I know,” he mumbled gently. “You’re Stevie’s girl, you were his first.” 

Steve sucked in a breath, ragged, ruined. His fingers slid into you - two, thick and wide - too easy with how wet you were. He started curling them, a hot drag against you, in and out in and out in and out. 

“M’so fuckin’ lucky he lets me share you, aren’t I?” Eddie leaned over, hooked his chin over your shoulder, smiling at how your head lolled against his own. He let a little line of spit drip from his lips onto your tits, over one nipple so he could get it nice and wet between his fingers. “You’re so good to me, letting me touch your boy, aren’t you? Such a good girl, princess.”

“Oh, fu-uck,” you cried out, skin warm, chest flush, Eddie’s big hands still pushing at your tits, cold rings catching at your nipples. “Steve.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, kissed cutely at your hot cheek and Steve moaned his response, finally bringing his mouth away from you to talk. He looked wrecked, a little wild with it all, lips swollen and glossy and so, fucking pretty. 

“Yeah, baby?” He murmured, voice rough and hitching, his fingers still slipping in and out of you, catching and dragging at all the right spots. “S’good? Like it when Eddie talks to you all sweet, huh?”

You nodded, gasping, legs trying to close themselves around Steve’s hand now that Eddie was preoccupied with touching you elsewhere but Steve tutted, tapped at your knee and hitched a thigh over his shoulder to keep you where he wanted you. 

“Yeah, I like it,” you have told him, and god, you’d never sound so needy in your life. 

“Oh, I know, baby,” Steve cooed, lips pouting for you, smiling when your eyes crinkled, closing in pleasure when he thumbed at your clit again. “Y’gonna put that pretty mouth around Eddie’s cock when I fuck you? Hmm? Think he deserves it, no?”

“Yeahyeahyeah,” you were babbling, hands wandering, one curled around Steve’s jaw as he leaned back into you to press open mouthed kisses along your thigh, the other intertwined with Eddie’s as he dragged his palm and yours over your tits. “He deserves it, Eddie’s so sweet, so pretty.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Steve mused, eyes on the other boy as he smirked, hand ghosting over the hard ridge of Eddie underneath you. Eddie jerked his hips, let out a rough moan at Steve’s touch and hissed when he rocked into his hand and your ass. “Hey Munson, d’you think our girl needs some practice first? Think we should make her feel nice and full?”

It was like he was asking if Eddie wanted to stay for dinner. He said it so casually, so softly, it made your toes curl. 

Eddie didn’t answer, just laughed softly and kissed your neck, let two fingers graze across your bottom lip until he was tugging at it softly, digits slipping into your mouth and settling heavy on your tongue. You whined around them, sucked and flicked your tongue around the silver of his ring.

“Atta’ girl,” Eddie breathed, “so good for us, huh? Y’gonna come for Steve now, yeah?”

Both boys watched your lashes flutter, watched you nod and wrap a small hand around Eddie’s wrist. Steve hummed, dipping his face back down, mouth an onslaught on you, tongue flat and wide as he lapped at you, fingers a punishing pace as he fucked them in and out of you. 

You fell apart in seconds. 

Back bowing, biting down on Eddie as Steve kept his face pressed into you, fingers coaxing white hot pleasure out of you. He licked it all up, kissed your clit so sweetly, murmuring dirty, soft words the whole time.

You slapped at both boys, body pulsing, cunt throbbing, eyes glassy. They both laughed, not all that mean, more fond and Eddie let Steve pull you from his lap, bundling you into his own chest as you curled up there, face pressed to his neck as you panted.

“Y’alright, baby? Hmm?” Steve whispered, “still with us?”

“Yeah,” you gasped, “jus’ need a minute, Stevie.”

He nodded, grinning at Eddie over your head, pressing his lips to your hairline, smoothing soft kisses over you as you came down from your high. Eddie leaned forward, brushed back your hair, scratched nicely at the slope of your bare back. 

“Oh, princess,” Eddie mumbled, “he got you good, huh?”

PART TWO: DIRTY, DIRTY BOYS

[the-writing-pigeon]

Singing In the Shower

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, showering, nudity, Bucky sneaking into the shower, physical touch, pet names (doll), suggestive/slightly dirty talk (if there is anything else let me know!)

A/N: This is something that I came up with, and since I am revamping some of my old stories, there will be some changes. It’s short but sweet, so I hope you like it:) Again, If you recognize some of these stories, I ask that you please do not interact as if I am the same person. I am trying to stay anonymous.

Ever since you were a little girl, you have always loved to sing. You would make a tune or rhythm out of anything. Whistle, drum, hum and most prominently, singing. Your family loved the concerts you would put on, your little plastic microphone in hand. All of those memories come flooding in when you start to hum your favorite childhood song: A teenager in love. 

“One day I feel so happy, The next I feel so sad.” 

You continued the song and smiled when you sang the lyrics that followed. 

“Why must I be a teenager in love?” 

You tried to be as quiet as possible with knowledge that Bucky was sleeping in the room right across the hall. He had a very long mission today, and waking up to a grumpy Bucky was not on your to-do list today. 

Your lips pulled up into a smile once again as you sang the chorus. You couldn’t help being a hopeless romantic, and you were so lucky to have found Bucky. The time you met, was a silly incident on a trip to Romania. 

You thought about the first time the two of you met. It was a silly incident while you were on a trip to Romania; 

You had tripped over your own feet and spilled coffee all over the ground. When you went to get napkins, you turned around and a man had come to help you with the mess. 

You smiled brightly and said, “Oh you don’t have to help me. It’s my own clumsy self coming out.” 

The man shook his head and replied, “It’s alright miss. It’s just some coffee.” 

Let’s just say that you haven’t ordered coffee in public since then. You shook off the funny memory as you rinsed your (length, color, and texture) hair. While humming to yourself, you didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open, your boyfriend entering the steam-filled room. 

The shower curtain barely shuffled open, and you could feel the warm presence of your loving, hunky boyfriend behind you. He had taken his metal arm off before hopping in, making sure the technology didn’t get ruined. His lips pressed soft kisses along your shoulder and up your neck, his right hand resting on your soft tummy. With his skin pressed against yours, everything felt right.

“I didn’t know you could sing doll.” His voice is low and groggy, most likely just from waking up. 

The butterflies in your belly fluttered, and a smile grew on your face. “Only in the shower.” You say, leaning back in his warm embrace. He gives your forehead a gentle kiss, and the two of you sway as you continue to hum your favorite song. 

“You know, I bought this album on vinyl when it first came out, it was my mothers favorite.” Your brows raised, almost forgetting that the man you love was born much earlier than you were. 

“Wow… it must’ve been a hit if it is still popular today, hm?” You turn, looking up at Bucky, his blue eyes crinkling with joy as he smiles. 

“It was,” He pauses and cups your cheek, his thumb grazing over the soft and textured skin of your face. “But I think it sounds better when you sing it.” The burly man leans down, peppering your face with kisses until he finally presses a soft kiss to your lips. Even though you have known him for a while, and you live with him, you still get nervous around Bucky. And every kiss feels like the first; Magical. 

His gentle hand helps you scrub your body, and he helps you condition your hair, turning off the faucet once he finished. He reaches out of the shower and grabs your soft towel, wrapping it around your body with his arm just like a big hug. 

“Do you promise to sing more often, doll?” He asks, smirking as adds, “Maybe on my cock next time?” 

With a gasp and a light slap to his chest, you giggle and press a sloppy kiss to his lips. 

“In your dreams!” You say, laughing with Bucky as you both exit the shower, feeling clean and happy. 

[eff4freddie]

Privates

Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You

Word count: 9k

Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.

Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.

He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.

But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.

He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.

He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.

The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.

He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.

He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.

He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.

He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.

He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.

He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.

--

You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.

He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.

He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.

--

Sunday nights were dead.  Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.

But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.

Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.

You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.

‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’

He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.

‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.

‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.

‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.

‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.

‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.

‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.

‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M’workin’, we’re all workin’.

‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.

‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.

‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.

‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.

‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.

‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.

Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.

‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.

‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.

‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift. 

--

You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.

Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.

He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.

--

Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.

‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.

‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.

‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.

‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.

‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.

‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.  

‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’

‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.

‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.

--

In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.

Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.

He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.

--

He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.

He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.

A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.

Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.

‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.

He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.

Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.

‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.

‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.

‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.

‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.

‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’

‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.

‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.

--

You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.

He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.

They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.

‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.

He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.

‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.

For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.

For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.

--

So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.

The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.

The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.

‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.

Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.

He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.

He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.

He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.

He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.

‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.

‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’

‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.

‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.

‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.

‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.

‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.

‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’

‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’

Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.

‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.

‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’

‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.

‘Each other, I think.’

‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’

‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.

You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.

‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.

He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.

And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.

--

He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.

He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.

And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.

He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.

And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.

His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.

You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.

Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.

Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.

‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.

He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.

‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.

‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.

Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.

‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.

You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.

‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.

He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.

‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.

He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.

But he’s not cruel.

‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.

He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.

‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’

You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.

‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’

You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.

‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’

God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.

Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.

You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.

‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’

And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.

--

There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.

When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.

He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.

He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.

He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.

[mediumgayitalian]

Will wakes up to Pierce the Veil, this morning.

He buries his head in his pillow and screams as loud as he can.

Of course, it does nothing. The music is playing inside his head, because his father is the most annoying being ever to pop into existence. Apollo’s children get whatever song suits their father’s current mood — not a good sign that it’s emo today, fuck — blasted directly into their cranium as the sun crests over the horizon, every single day, just so they know how much their dear papa is thinking of them.

Will, however, is head counsellor. And as head counsellor, he gets his daily brain torture exactly one half hour before the sun rises, because fuck him, apparently.

Has he not been through enough.

He screams again, quieter this time, conscientious of his still-sleeping siblings. The song does not go away. It will not go away until he is on his feet, any chance of unconsciousness having swiftly betrayed him.

The creaky floorboards groan in protest as he slams onto them, not bothering to remove himself from his blankets before rolling onto the floor. He considers remaining there, in the fetal position, strangling himself in his tangled sheets, for twelve point three seconds. Then he remembers he has a stupid shift in the stupid infirmary that he stupid runs, and forces himself to get up.

“Being alive is a prison,” he laments hoarsely. It has, tragically, considerably less effect when there is no one awake to hear his complaints, because it is four forty-two in the godsdamn mcshitting fucking morning.

His father is not getting so much as a grape as an offering today. He’s going to scrape an entire plate for Auntie Artemis.

He takes an extra-long time brushing his teeth, spitefully determined to be two minutes late for his shift. No one will notice, because no one is awake. The thought soothes him.

Nine minutes to his shift, he forces himself out of the bathroom and pads over to his dresser. He has no surgeries planned, today, so he’s not gonna bother with the scrubs, and he’s gotta do inventory, so he needs pockets. He picks out his head medic shirt and his lucky cargo shorts and starts to dress himself, squeezing his eyes shut to try and force his muscles into keeping him awake. He can do this. It’s fine. He’s got training with Nico today, so that’s something he can look forward to. If he can distract Kayla and her teasing mouth with training Gracie, he can ogle all he pleases as the son of Hades attempts, for the ninetieth time, to teach him how to use a sword without beheading himself. It’ll be great.

He barely manages to swallow back a shriek when he misses the leg hole for his shorts and goes sprawling.

Fuck mornings. This is an omen. He should go the fuck back to sleep.

As if hearing his thoughts, the stupid song in his head blasts louder. It’s hard to make out the words with all the screaming and drums and all, but he’s almost certain he hears the lyrics, don’t you dare!

“Al-right,” he snaps, scowling. “I’m going, I’m going. Lemme get my damn shirt on, yeesh.”

It takes him a second to find the head hole in the dark — because the godsdamn sun is not up yet — but after a minute of fumbling he manages.

He realizes, the second he tugs it over his chest, that something is wrong.

“What the —”

Now, Will orders his shirts in bulk. He has to. He’s the only one wearing them, after all, and the sheer amount of times per day that he is covered in bodily fluids is a number he chooses, for sake of his sanity, not to count. He is well used to the process of ordering his shirts along with other linen and infirmary supplies. Every fortnight, without fail, he orders a set of orange Head Medic t-shirts one size too big, because it gives him a little breathing room without being too baggy.

When he pulls on this shirt, however, it practically clings to his skin. He can practically feel the fabric groaning as it stretches over his broad shoulders.

And, worst of all — the hem barely brushes the edge of his ribcage.

“Austin,” he growls, practically lunging for his drawer to inspect the rest of them.

As he suspected, each one of them has shrunk. If it weren’t for the Head Medic decal printed across them in bold, Will would assume his laundry was mixed up with Yan’s.

“Why do I still try to assign him laundry duty,” he hisses, cursing himself for his oversight. He’s been busy lately — he didn’t do a very thorough job writing this week’s chore chart. He must’ve put Austin on laundry, and Austin is never allowed to do laundry, because for whatever reason, no matter what he does, he ruins someone’s clothes.

“Fuck!”

His watch beeps at him, LED display reading five o’clock. His shift has already started. All of his shirts are shrunk, and he’s out of time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He shoves his feet into a pair of flipflops, sprinting for the infirmary. Hopefully, today is on the warmer side, or else he’s going to freeze, on top of looking ridiculous. Fuck.

———

Thankfully, the first couple hours of his shift are blissfully empty and quiet. With no one to distract him, he manages to finish the laundry list of chores he’s been putting off the last week — nectar and ambrosia restock, cabinet reordering, file sorting, et cetera. He has the place spick and span in under ninety minutes.

Unthankfully, he starts to get bored fast.

Feeling an awful lot like his father, which is unfortunate, he begins to slip into what his siblings call “the dramatics” (and what Will calls rational emotional responses, but, take some, lose some). Without his permission, he begins to glance at the door every few minutes, disappointed every time no one is there. He spins around his desk chair, kicking half-heartedly at the desk. He sighs, once or twice, with a tone that he would call tastefully bored and Lou Ellen might label as histrionic. After a half hour, there is on his face, Will cannot deny, a pretty big pout.

In his defense, he can hear the sounds of the rest of the camp waking up through the open windows: laughter, cursing, yawning, Drew chasing her siblings around the camp with her knife, shrieking, promises to return stolen hair straighteners, begging for mercy. Morning sounds. Familiar sounds.

“Ugh,” he mumbles, sinking back into his chair. Then, for good measure, he frowns harder and repeats with more feeling: “Ugh.”

As if summoned by his yearning, disparaging loneliness, the little bell by the door rings as someone stumbles in. Will brightens, jumping to his feet.

“Hi!

“Hey, Will, could I get some ambrosia, Sebastian stole Drew’s straightener and she — woah.” Mitchell freezes. “Um. Woah. Huh?”

Will rushes over to the supply cabinet. “Yeah, of course! I heard the screeching, did she stab him fully or just slash him? Should I come over? Should he come here?”

“Hnngh,” Mitchell says.

Will frowns, hands stilling on the ambrosia. “Mitchell? Are you okay?” He tilts his head. “You’re — really red, dude, maybe you should —”

“I! Hngh! Am fine!” Mitchell shouts, scrambling back from Will’s outstretched hand. He won’t meet Will’s eyes. “Actually, Will, you know what? Sebastian needs to learn, actually, and he’s barely even bleeding, so I’m gonna —” He stumbles backwards, knocking his head into the doorframe. “I’m just going to! You keep that, Will, I’ll chest you — see! I will see you later! Goodbye!”

He turns away and flees, leaving Will alone, again, with a container of ambrosia hanging limply in his fingers.

“That was weird,” he mumbles, and turns to put it back away.

———

Mitchell is far from the first Incident — capitalised, because they are indeed Incidents — of the day.

Maybe a half hour after Mitchell leaves, two more Aphrodite campers walk in. Will smiles, turning to greet them, but before he can even say anything, they shriek in unison and sprint off. As silly as he knows it is, a bubble of hurt begins to bloom in his chest — is everyone actually avoiding him today? Or does it just feel like they are?

(The ADHD makes it hard to tell. He gets his feelings hurt really easily, and constantly has to remind himself what is and isn’t rejection. It doesn’t help that he sometimes feels trapped, as one of the only campers with vitakinesis and therefore constantly in the infirmary. It’s hard not to feel a little isolated. But usually, he’s got his friends and his siblings to remind him he’s not alone. Hopefully, today is just a fluke.)

Nobody else comes into the infirmary during breakfast. Will eats the oatmeal one of the nymphs brings him, smiling at her and thanking her profusely — he hadn’t realized how hungry he was. She leaves pretty quickly, too, but a lot of the nymphs are kinda squeamish around the infirmary, so Will doesn’t think too much of it. In fact, he‘s put most of his shitty morning behind him until Kayla walks in for the start of her shift.

“Huh,” she says, after a solid minute of staring.

Will shifts defensively. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just preparing for our day, brother dear, pay no mind.”

“You are so strange,” he mutters, but he’s long since given up on trying to understand her.

For the next hour, things are almost normal. He and Kayla chat as the freshen up the linen on the cots, treating the odd camper who comes in for lava wall burns or sword scrapes. The infirmary is rarely ever empty once the camp activities start, but in terms of numbers, today’s a pretty slow day. Will starts to feel fidgety pretty quickly.

“Oh, ho ho ho.”

Will grins when he hears his friend’s voice, shoving his clipboard aside and standing to greet them. Lou Ellen and Cecil linger by the door, matching grins on their faces. (Which, usually, would be cause for great alarm, but Will is so bored and so happy to see them that he decides, just this one time, that whomever they’ve just robbed will just have to be an unfortunate victim. Hopefully it wasn’t anything too valuable.)

“Hey, guys! Please tell me you can stay for a bit. I’ve still got a few hours left of my shift and I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Of course we’ll stay, Willy,” Cecil says innocently. “How could we refuse with such a wonderful view?”

Will is too happy to bother correcting him about his name.

There’s not much to do, so the three of them sit by the nurse’s station and chat. If anyone asks, they’re talking strategy for the upcoming capture the flag game, but really, Lou Ellen heard Damien White from Nike and Chiara Benvenuti from Tyche arguing behind the canoe shed again, so they’re talking shit.

“I honestly don’t get what she sees in him,” Lou Ellen whispers, and Will is nodding fervently, “Right? I mean if she’s happy then good for her, obviously, but come on —”

“Hey, Will?”

Will leans around Cecil, looking for who called him. A group of maybe nine campers crowd around the door, all standing behind one of Cecil’s sisters, Julia. Many of them are giggling.

“We, uh, totally need your help.”

“Here we go,” mutters Cecil. Lou Ellen starts snickering.

Will hardly hears them, absentmindedly grabbing his stethoscope and toolkit.

“What happened? Was there a fight, do you need —”

“Rosamie’s leg is, like, super sprained.” Julia gestures to a younger girl behind her. “We got her this far, but she needs you to lift her to a cot so she can rest.”

“Hermes’ fucking wings,” Cecil says under his breath.

“O….kay,” Will says slowly. “Did you…all need to come for that?”

“My heartbeat is all weird,” pipes up a boy from the back. “I need you to look at that.”

“And I need a band-aid!”

“I broke a nail.”

Their voices start clambering over each other, rapidly getting louder. Will holds up a hand, silencing them.

“Okay, okay, I hear you. If you’re fine to walk, head on over to a cot, I’ll be with you in a minute. Julia, can you help Rosamie —”

“Can’t,” blurts Julia quickly. She holds up her arm after a beat if hesitation. “Totally pulled a muscle. You’ll have to carry her.”

Will furrows his brow. It’s Mitchell all over again.

“Okay, I guess.”

Unwilling to have a group of campers loitering by the doorway any longer, Will gets it over with, scooping up Rosamie with a hand under her knees and behind her back and carrying her to the nearest cot. Will knows that everyone experiences pain differently, but she seems awfully giggly for someone whose leg is apparently sprained.

A cacophony of giggles erupt as he sets her down.

“Gods, Will, do you work out?”

Will flushes. “I do the same training as everyone else, I guess.”

“Cool.”

Will looks at them strangely. How is that cool? He glanced back at his friends, eyebrows raised, but they’re hunched over the station, badly biting back laughter.

“Maybe everyone’s got the flu, or something?” he mutters to himself, even though he knows that’s not true.

He makes quick work of healing the group of campers. Most of them are fine — he couldn’t even find a sprain on Rosamie, but wrapped her knee anyway in case there was more pain. They left as quickly as they came, giggling to each other and running down the porch.

Without even a minute between, another group of campers barged in, just as giggly as the first.

The rest of his shift is chaotic. People practically pour into the infirmary, all with minor, barely there injuries — and all of them demand Will’s help.

Will is no stranger to busy days, but this is nothing he’s ever seen.

“I don’t get it,” Will remarks to his sister in a rare minute of calm, totally bewildered. “It’s like everyone’s suddenly got glass bones.”

Kayla blinks at him. He stares back at her, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” she drawls, after a minute. She looks him up and down. “What a deeply confounding mystery this is.”

Twelve campers rush in before he can ask her what she’s talking about.

By the time Will manages to escape, it’s an hour past the end of his shift, and he’s crawling out the window in the back office of the Big House to avoid the crowd of people at the front door.

“Solace? What are you doing?”

Will yelps, losing his delicate balance and falling face first into the flowerbed. Low, raspy laughter curls around the air, and Will goes bright red.

“Just let me pass away,” he mutters, curling around a crushed daisy.

Nico snorts. “You are such a drama queen. Here.”

After another quick second of wallowing, Will takes his offered hand, letting him pull him to his feet. His shorts are smeared in dirt and there are flowers in his hair. Frantically, and uselessly, he tries to brush himself off.

“…Damn,” says Nico slowly. When Will chances a peek, he finds his friend looking him over, slowly dragging his eyes from head to toe. If at all possible, he goes even redder. “So it is true. You are walking around half-naked today.” Nico grins, wide and wolfish and teasing, and Will genuinely has to grab the wall behind him to keep upright. “No wonder the rest of camp has been so empty.”

“Is that what it is?” Will cries. “The infirmary has been — packed! All day! And no one has been hurt! They’ve been — they came for —”

“I think they came to watch the show, Solace.”

Will lets out an agonised wail. Alongside the flush so bright it puts his father’s cows to shame, he feels himself start to glow, like an flaming beacon of idiot.

“They’ve been demanding I carry them around places!” He looks at Nico, aghast. “I’ve been doing it!”

For a moment, Nico tries bravely and valiantly to keep a straight face. But then Will remembers the camper who told him he lost feeling in his hands and asked Will to hold his biceps to try and get them back, and his face must absolutely crumple in mortification, because Nico loses it.

“Zeus, Hera, and Hades,” he gasps, doubled over. “Oh my gods, Will, your face, you —” He cracks up again. Genuine tears pour down his face. Sometimes he manages to calm himself down, but then all he has to do is look at Will’s horrified grimace and he breaks down again, until he is literally writhing on the ground, holding his stomach.

“Oh — oh gods, I’m gonna — I think I’m gonna throw up —”

“I hope you choke on it,” Will says hotly. “I won’t help you. I will let you die. You’re a horrible friend.”

Nico shrieks again. Will has never seen him laugh this hard, ever, which is wildly unfair because he’s been practicing jokes with Piper in an attempt to see him smile more often, and this is what finally gets him?

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t, Solace,” Nico sighs, finally starting to calm down for real. The smile on his face doesn’t go anywhere. “Help me up.”

Will pouts. “Whatever.” He should leave Nico there to rot, but he reluctantly clasps their palms together and yanks him upright. He goes to pull away, but Nico squeezes his wrist, holding fast.

Will stares at him with wide eyes. Slowly, his wide smile thins into a crooked, downright dangerous smirk.

Will goes weak at the knees.

“I know you’re going to go get a bunch of new shirts immediately,” he murmurs, and honestly, who gave him the right to a voice like that? Huh? Who did Will piss off? What does he need to do to make amends? “But, well.” He glances down, then back up, smirk widening. “If you wanted to wear that shirt when you’re ogling at me during training, I wouldn’t mind. Might even the playing field.”

And then, because the gods actually hate him, Nico winks. He lets go of Will’s wrist and saunters off without another word, idly swinging his sword as he whistles.

Will crawls back into the flower bed, face plants in the dirt, and yells for ten whole minutes.

[wonton4rang]

She's got a boyfriend anyways ¡!

pairing: taesan x reader.

warnings: +18, smut, cheating, cursing, unprotected sex (do better 🙏), and i think that's about it.

summary: where your boyfriend is part of a band where taesan is, the boy always making you look twice until you couldn't hold it any longer the moment y'all got alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you always had a thing for band boys, they looked so hot when they were singing their lungs out or playing some instrument or even writing lyrics and letting some sighs out of frustration when they couldn't get that rhyme.

so it wasn't a surprise that your boyfriend was in a band, taking you to practice every Friday afternoon before going out at night. they were five in the band, your boyfriend included, but somehow only four of them went out every Friday night. so that day you got curious about the fifth boy.

"baby, aren't you coming with us?" your boyfriend said while he packed his battery drumsticks in their case, setting it aside and taking his bag to put it over his shoulder.

"i think i'm gonna pass today" you replied, your eyes following the fifth boy's back when he left the garage and went into the house. "i don't feel so good"

"are you sick? do you want me to stay with you?" you just denied with your head and a smile, getting an approving nod from your boyfriend. "if you feel bad, taesan is inside, tell him to call me"

and with that, he left. all of them did. except for taesan who was upstairs. but you already knew that, though.

you've been seeing him for months now, always feeling his gaze in your back but getting nothing but radio silence when you turned around. you could even swear he stares at you when you kiss your boyfriend.

but again, you couldn't confirm anything.

that until today, you hoped so. you went into the house all the boys shared and took a trip upstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible when you finally reached the second floor, looking for taesan's door and finding it when you saw the nirvana poster on it.

you knocked once and didn't get an answer, knocked a second time and your fist was knocking on air when the door was opened to show the boy you were looking for. he looked confused as to why you were there, and why were you knocking on his door.

"hey" you softly said, biting your bottom lip when he just lifted an eyebrow. "i stayed behind today and thought we could be each other's company"

"why?"

"do you mind if i come in?"

taesan wasn't the most talkative or kind person to say the least, so he just moved out the way for you to enter his room beford closing the door behind you two. you whispered a quick "thank you" and he just went to his desk, right beside his bed, and kept writing what it seemed to be lyrics to a song when you got closer.

"this is why you stay behind every Friday?" he immediately closed the notebook and looked up at you.

"that and the fact that i don't like bars"

"why not?"

"they are too noisy and people are just crazy out there" he was honest, and you appreciated that. a quick gaze was provided to you before he said "you can sit down there if you want to"

his head signalled his bed before he stood up and went to his music player, putting on a song you didn't recognize but it was good, some good guitar and drums going on that had you nodding your head to the beat while sitting on his bed.

"you don't talk much, do you?" he laughed and you just couldn't help it but laugh too. "i'm being serious! sometimes i think that you are looking at me and want to talk to you but then i notice you were not"

"i was" taesan lets out and you just slowly stopped laughing to face him. "i am looking at you sometimes"

"you know that's kinda creepy, right?" he just shrugged. "why don't you just talk to me?"

"you are always with him, how could i get close to you?"

"well, he's not here now" was all you answered and you could feel your cheeks burning up when he just stared into your eyes for a few seconds, slowly getting closer and sitting besides you on his bed. "you can talk to me now that he's not here"

"i never said i wanted to talk to you"

and he was right, he never said he only wanted to talk to you. but he understood soon enough that he could do more than that in the moment your right hand went to his thigh, squeezing the flesh under his jeans a little bit while your eyes met his.

"and what do you want to do with me?"

bad question, wrong timing, unfortunate moment. but taesan didn't care how bad of an idea this was when his lips finally crashed against yours. a feeling that he was craving for months finally being a reality.

his hand grabbed your face and his lips moved fast, his tongue immediately trying to enter your mouth and you allowing him. firstly, you thought on pulling out but when he towered you and layed you down on his bed, the thought slipped out your mind like that little moan out your lips that allowed him to explore your mouth.

he placed himself in between your legs and you felt the friction right away due to the fact that you were wearing jeans too and the way he started grinding down made you see stars.

"t-taesan, wait" you stopped him from kissing your lips but he went for your neck, his hands grabbing your thighs and his hips pressing down on you with the perfect strength to make you mewl. "are you going to-"

"would you let me?" was all he replied when he finally left your neck, his lips looking bruised and his cheeks flushed, his black hair making him look very pale yet cute when he asked again "would you let me fuck you?"

"i- i want you to" it was true, every Friday for the last three months you were thinking about him, about his pretty eyes, the way his voice sounded when he sang and the way his fingers played that guitar like it was nothing. you needed him.

"but?"

"i need you to fuck me with your fingers first, please"

taesan's cock twitched inside his jeans at the petition and he just nodded after kissing your lips briefly.

he helped you out of your pants and dropped them somewhere in his bedroom's floor, your panties were next and you could already feel the thrill when his eyes glued to your pussy. it was already glistening because you've been thinking about him this whole afternoon.

how would his fingers feel rubbing your clit, how would they feel inside of your soaked cunt while he fucked them in and out of you, how would he sound when you rode the shit out of him, those were all the things you occupied your mind with today. and you felt kinda guilty about your boyfriend but there wasn't much you could do about it.

if it kept going on like this it would eventually happen anyways.

so when taesan's finger finally brushed against your pussy you twitched, biting your bottom lip and looking for his eyes to beg him to touch you properly. he understood right away because he finally ghosted your entrance, making circles there before quietly asking for your permission to go in.

at first it was just one finger, his middle one, he entered it until his knuckle hit your cunt, removing it slowly so he could thrust it in this time, the wet sound making him leak some pre-cum in his underwear. but it was not until he added a second finger that you opened up your eyes with a satisfied moan, arching your back a little bit when you felt the stretch, you held his wrist and tried to control the pace but he was much stronger than you were so it was useless.

you were with your legs open, taesan on your side while one of his hands fucked you and the other one held your face so he could kiss you. the only problem in that equation was the moment he stopped just fucking his fingers into you and instead starting to curl them up inside your pussy, making you jump when he hit that bulge of nerves.

the way he laughed at you just make you hornier. his pace speeding up after his lips left yours and he just looked at you, looking for anything that signaled him to stop but only finding more reasons to keep doing his best and try to make you come.

"can i eat you out?" he would whisper, not really in his right mind when all he could hear were your pleadings for him to go faster. "please, y/n"

you just nodded as you could, knowing that even if you didn't show restraint or a negative response he wouldn't move an inch without you giving him the permission to do so.

so as soon as he saw the green light he went down on you, immediately wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit while he kept twitching his fingers inside of you.

"taesan, wait" you moaned as you could, trying to stop him before coming undone in his mouth, you didn't want to come like that, not so fast at least. "i'm going to c-cum, stop"

he didn't listen, and you knew you were fucked up (literally) when you tried to close your thighs, wrapping them around the boy's head before he opened your legs again with his free hand. giving you a look of disapproval before making his way up your chest with his free hand, reaching for your mouth and entering his thumb to play with your tongue.

everything was so hot that you couldn't help but humping his face a little bit before coming in his tongue, feeling him thrusting the wet muscle inside your soaked hole before he gave a last long lick and went back to stand on his knees in his own bed.

"that was amazing" you mouthered while you saw him unbuckle his pants. "you did so good"

"if you keep saying those things i won't be able to hold back"

"i don't want you to" was all you answered, your fingers playing with your pussy while you looked at him taking pants off with a confused look. "i want you to be rough, let it all out in me"

"y/n, i-"

"i can take it, please"

"i don't doubt it but are you sure? i don't want to hurt you"

"just do it"

and to be honest he was praying for you to allow him to fuck you up. he was so needy and he was actually surprised that he didn't cum in his pants during the whole eating you out thing.

so when his pants finally fell on his bedroom's floor, he shyly smiled, palming his erection through the fabric of his underwear and backing up a little bit when you tried to touch him too.

"don't" he just said, lowering his underwear and revealing his swollen dick, already dripping pre-cum, making him blush when your eyes got fixed in his cock. "i wanna cum while i fuck you"

and who were you to deny him? so you just opened your legs a little bit more, inviting him to finally mess you up. but he stopped, his eyes looking for something he obviously didn't find when he clicked his tongue and passed a hand through his hair.

"i don't have any condoms, do you?" you nodded and tried looking around too just to remember you left your backpack downstairs.

"it's on my bag, downstairs" your voice went out in a whisper but taesan didn't care, trying to leave his bed to look for them. that until you got up and stopped his moves. "can't we just do it like this?"

"i don't think that's-"

"i really need you, please, i can't wait any longer"

taesan was pretty, smart, he did not have any compulsive thoughts, he was nice and lovely, but he was a man at the end of the day. so he just gave in this time, laying you back in his bed while he kissed you softly and aligned his dick in your entrance.

he pushed a little and weakly moaned at the wet feeling of your slippery cunt, his head going in and stretching you out in a way that made your hips move a little bit, causing him to slip deeper into your cunt.

"fuck, it feels so nice" his hands went to the back of your thighs and he pushed them to fold you a little bit, allowing his dick to go futher inside of you before he trailed it out again. "god, you are so wet and warm"

"do it faster, tae, c'mon"

your hands went up to cup his face when he got closer to yours, kissing his lips almost immediately when he gave you a harsh thrust, followed by another, and a third one.

holy shit.

your pussy felt so sensitive because of your previous orgasm that you felt ashamed about how horny he was making you feel all over again, his thrusts were rough, rougher that you expected, and the way he angled your legs made him fuck you in the right place over and over.

he was driving you crazy.

the way your tongues met and the nasty sound of your soaked cunt and your saliva mixing filled the room alongside the long forgotten music in the background just made your skin get goosebumps. taesan was so hot, so pretty yet so strong and rough that it just made you tremble in his embrace.

his hips went down enough to brush against your clit and you found yourself stopping the kiss to go down his neck instead, holding for dear life to the hair in his nape and tangling your legs around his waist when he placed his arms around your head, looking straight into your eyes while he fucked you senseless.

"i'm gonna cum soon" he warned you when his thrusts became sloppy and his voice became more whiny. everything seemed so personal with his eyes staring deep into yours while he chased his high, bringing you a second one without noticing when he started sweetly moaning your name. you clenched around his cock and he could just press his eyes shut close. "god, y/n, stop doing that"

"you feel so good, pretty, so hard" he wasn't the strongest soldier out there and you knew that, you noticed how he reacted to pet names and compliments before, his cheeks flushing and his lips trembling before he lowered his head. "i can't stop doing that when you make me feel so good"

"i need to cum, oh my god, i'm gonna cum" was the only thing he said when he tried to pull out but your legs didn't let him, your arms pulling him closer to you so you could brush his lips with yours. "y/n, stop, let me o-out"

"please cum inside, i want you to" his dark eyes got watery for a second because he was holding back so bad, his hips still rooting into your abused cunt, mixing his pre-cum leak with your cum like a mad man, you could feel his shoulders tense and his dick twitch inside your throbbing and sensitive pussy. "that's it, so good, tae"

"fuck" he muttered, his eyes falling shut when he finally came inside of you, giving one last deep thrust that made you twitch and let out a high pitched moan right against his lips. "you good?"

"better than ever"

his lips crashed against yours for a while, his arms practically hugging the frame of your head, his weight in top of you while his tongue pushed through, his dick still inside of your pussy while it went soft, making you throbb a little when he pulled out with a soft moan.

"let's clean up" was his first suggestion. "that was amazing, y/n, thank you. for everything"

"always. you know we could-"

"i don't think that's okay, though" he knew what you were going to say. but as much as he liked you, he wanted to think that he still had some conscience left. "i can't be fucking my friend's girlfriend, you know how he'll feel if he ever found out?"

"he doesn't have to"

again. taesan was a man. and as much as he liked his friend, he liked you better. his friend won't make him cum, and if he did, that'd be weird as fuck.

"you promise?" he asked, he did like you but that didn't mean that he wanted to lose his friend or be the friend who fucked their friend's girl.

"i do"

and you could just know that every Friday night you were not going to the bar like before, telling your boyfriend you were on this diet and couldn't drink alcohol. he still tried to take you with the excuse of buying you alcohol free drinks but you denied, explaining how bad you'll feel seeing the alcohol and not being able to drink it.

explaining how this diet was soooo important for you.

yeah, sure. bet.

cause taesan was waiting for you every friday in his room, you guys kissing, fucking and even singing together to some old the carpenters songs he loved, introducing you to some bands you never heard of before.

you guys got along pretty well. and so did him and your ignorant and neglecting boyfriend, laughing and hugging the man that's fucking his girl every Friday night.

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