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klaus-littlestwolf · 2 months

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(The drawings/tattoos that are used to illustrate the tattoos the boys get in this story are in no way mine and I do not take credit for them in any way (there’s a reason I’m a writer, I can’t draw to save my life 🤣). They are only used to show what the boys wanted tattooed on them by their mate. Credit where Credit is due)

Seeing them was odd, it always had been. It was very rare that I was on the boardwalk after the sun went down and when I was I always had someone with me who walked me to my car, and always freshly after sunset. I knew the boardwalk was a dangerous place at night and honestly, I preferred to avoid it, even if the night life is more fun for everyone.

Unfortunately I had to take this shift for a coworker for the rest of the week at least, and was stuck here until the Tattoo shop closed at 2am, and the only reason I’m not complaining is because people seem much more willing to tip better at night. The Lost Boys were a biker gang, and while I couldn’t deny that they are attractive and that they look like a lot of fun, I also knew better. They parked their bikes across from the shop every night, from what I could tell they enjoy pissing off Max, the video store owner, though I don’t know why.

I tried very hard not to make eye contact with any of them, just not looking up at them at all as I finished my tattoo, which was a pinup of a mermaid, and covered it up with plastic wrap, quickly checking the guy out and accepting my 30 dollar tip before shutting the register on my finger which instantly made me yelp in pain and see a trickle of blood coming from my finger. Thankfully it was only a little cut and it wouldn’t hinder my work as I sucked off the blood and quickly disinfected it, wrapping a tight bandaid around it. Just as I moved to my station to clean everything my eyes flickered up as if by instinct and caught all 4 of the boys staring at me intently which startled me but I quickly looked away and tried to calm my racing heart by getting rid of the inky water at my station. Just as I was about to put my ink away and read my book I heard footsteps walk into the front.

‘Hello, welcome to Ink-Well Tattoo Shop, if you’d like to look at my books they’re on the shelf.’ I told them, just turning around as I finished talking and coming face to face with the bleach blond leader that had been staring at me only a moment ago.

‘Ink-Well…is that a reference to an ink container people used to have on their desks or how good you are at your job?’ He asked…softly? I had always imagined their voices to be deep and dark, especially his, but while it was deep it was also gentle, at least while speaking to me right now it was but I could tell that soft voice wasn’t always so soft.

‘I think you’re the first person to prove me wrong, the owner said, “Everyone knows what an inkwell is”…no one knows what it is. And personally, I would describe my abilities much better than “well”. I’m incredible, do you know what you want today, sir?’ I asked, moving around him only to find the dark haired one right behind him and I realized how tall he really is as I almost slammed my face into his naked chest. I looked around, seeing the other two beside my chair and I took a deep breath. ‘Which one of you is getting inked today?’ I asked and the twisted sister look-alike jumped up excitedly.

‘Oh! Me! I want to do it!’ He seemed to be begging which was a strange thought as the leader nodded and he jumped to sit in the chair.

‘Okay, I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you.’ I held out my hand and he took it in his own, pulling me closer before kissing my hand tenderly which made my blood rush to my face. The idea that these boys are soft and sweet and gentle in any way shape or form is really screwing with me. Their presence had always been a tad bit scary with the vibe they gave off, sexy or not (and they definitely are), but for the first time that I’m seeing them it’s like they’re not projecting dangerous vibes and it was a comfort in this situation being alone with all of them.

‘I’m Paul. This is Marko, Dwayne and you met David. Y/n, I like that name.’ He flirted and I rolled my eyes, handing him a book full of images of my work.

‘I’m glad, do you know what you want to get Paul?’ I asked, and he smiled as he looked at my work, all of them now watching as he flipped through the pages.

‘I want a vampire bat on my chest. Are you able to do that?’ He questioned, looking up at me as Marko took the book and I nodded, sitting in my seat beside him.

‘Were you looking for it to be realistic, like a portrait? Because if you want something like that it’s a 6-7 hour minimum piece and I would need you to come back during the day-‘

‘Oh, we can only be here at night, I want something smaller anyway. Not cartoony but-‘

‘You want a badass vampire bat, I get you. I can definitely do that. How big are you looking to get it?’ He jumped to pull off his jacket which jingled with all the stuff he had hanging off of it before stripping off his tank top.

‘Like maybe, this big?’ He showed me the area of his chest he wanted covered and I nodded.

‘Okay, let me draw that up and we’ll see if you like it.’ It was a relatively small tattoo and he watched, leaning over the chair as I sketched it out and he was smiling the whole time, staring at me.

‘You’re really pretty, has anyone told you that?’ He asked and I rolled my eyes.

‘Surf Nazis say shit every day-though they usually go with “hot”, “sexy”, “great rack”. Things like that, pretty is a new one though, thank you.’ I knew my face was red as he watched me draw, Marko suddenly beside me, setting a chair near Paul’s feet.

‘They bother you a lot, Angel?’ He wondered and I shrugged, my face darkening even more as he called me that.

‘All day long, they’re probably the most annoying customers so my boss takes all of them since they started getting a bit too comfortable and handsy with me and the other girl. I have her evening closing shift for the week so, if they show up I get to tell them to “fuck off” which is awesome.’ I joked and they laughed along with me.

‘Well, we’ll need to make sure they don’t bother you anymore, won’t we boys?’ It was the first time David spoke again and I looked up to see him watching me draw over my shoulder.

‘Fuck yeah, no one’s gonna be bothering our Princess.’ Paul cheered and it was weirdly comforting to hear that they wanted to protect me.

‘Please, just leave it alone? They don’t know I’m working nights now so it’s all fine, and I’ll only be doing it for the week. What do you think? Do you think he looks mean enough?’ I asked, showing Paul my drawing.

‘Princess, that’s incredible! It somehow looks cute and vicious…like Marko!’ He teased, getting punched in the chest immediately.

‘Okay, punch each other all you’d like outside, but if you make his skin swell where I need to ink then I’ll hit you myself.’ I told Marko, moving to make a stencil for the tattoo that Paul wanted, nearly running into Dwayne again, who just watched me.

‘Don’t mind him, he’s quiet but honestly, he’s the nicest of all of us…usually.’ David spoke and I smiled, quickly making the stencil.

‘Would you tattoo me tomorrow night?’ A new deep voice asked and I looked up to see it had been Dwayne. I paused to pick my chin up from the floor at the sound of his sexy deep baritone voice before shaking off and answering him.

‘Of course. Do you know what you want done, because I can do anything you want but depending on the style you want I might recommend a coworker. Say you wanted Japanese, I would recommend Kevin, he is fucking killer at that stuff and if you want anything American Traditional he is bomb at it.’ I had said this because of the American Traditional rose tattoo I could see peeking out on his side though he quickly shook his head.

‘I want you. I want something like this.’ he showed me the dreamcatcher piece I had put in my book and I smiled.

‘This is one of the best tattoos I ever did, and it was so much fun! Do you want it that size?’ He nodded his head.

‘Yes, but a bit more along the Native American type style? I’d like it to look like it’s braided together…could you do that?’ He looked unsure but I just kept smiling.

‘Of course I can! Let me draw a couple of things up tonight for you and you can see what you like best tomorrow. I’m sure I can give you something perfect!’ For the first time the corners of his mouth turned up and he smiled down at me-his smile was hot cute.

‘I know you can Babygirl.’ I was startled but after hearing Marko and Paul I realized that they seem to have a thing for nicknames so I ignored it.

‘Alright Paul, stencil is done.’ I spoke, sitting back down beside him. Most of his chest hair was in the center of his chest so I didn’t need to shave where he wanted the tattoo before placing the stencil and squeezing out the inks I would need. ‘Are you ready, rockstar?’ I asked him and he grinned as I called him that.

‘Hell Yeah Princess! Ink me up!’ We chatted as I tattooed him, him and Marko keeping me engaged with the conversation but I noticed David and Dwayne off on their own and speaking seriously for a while. The tattoo took about an hour, maybe a bit more before I was finished, turning off the machine and wiping his chest down.

‘What do you think?’ I waited for his reaction after handing him a mirror to see it more clearly and he turned it away from me instantly, seeming uncomfortable before looking down at his chest instead of at the reflection and grinning at the new ink on his body.

‘Princess! This is amazing!’ He exclaimed, placing the mirror face down and moving to hug me.

‘Ah-Ah! It’s sensitive! Don’t you dare destroy my work!’ I warned, turning to lay some plastic wrap over it and tape it down after David and Dwayne looked at it.

‘You’re really talented. I’m gonna have to go after Dwayne.’ David told me, watching as I cleaned up.

‘You’ll have to go the next night cause Dwayne’s is going to take me until closing at least…what time can you get here tomorrow?’ I asked him.

‘I’ll be here right after the sun goes down, I promise.’

‘Okay, so that’s about 8. I’ll be sure my last client will be done by then. Where do you want it, by the way?’ He opened his jacket, showing me the right side of his chest and making me blush. ‘Got it. I’ll have a few options for you tomorrow. For now, Paul, that’ll be 45.’ I finished putting everything away as it was now 10 minutes after closing time.

‘Here you go Princess, be safe getting home, you hear?’ He warned and I nodded, Paul, Marko and Dwayne walking out and leaving me with David for a moment and I froze under his intense stare.

‘Paul is right you know…you really are beautiful.’ He complimented, his gloved hand holding my chin for a moment before walking out and letting me shut the gate to the front before realizing Paul had given me a 100 dollar bill which is a 55 dollar tip…maybe I can like these boys after all.

What I didn’t know was, as I walked out the back door and locked it once the place was all clean, I was being watched. I made my way down the boardwalk, grabbing a burger and fries, along with a coke, shoving the food in my bag and sipping my soda as I walked off the boardwalk and all the way home.

Unlike every other night I had walked in the dark before, I felt…safe? I wasn’t looking around like a crazy person waiting to get jumped, I just walked home and crashed into bed.

I live in an apartment with a roommate, Justin, who is always out at his girlfriends (whoever that is this week) which left me alone most of the time and I loved it. I put in a video I had rented from the video store next door earlier that day, it was a new horror movie, Hellraiser. Strange premise, awesome movie.

That’s how I fell asleep that night, around 3:30 am, and all the while 4 sets of yellow eyes watched from the trees outside.

I got to work the next night at 6 as my boss left and set my sketchbook on my table, taking 2 quick tattoos before telling the last walk-in that I didn’t have time, knowing as the sun began to set Dwayne would be coming for his tattoo and I was excited to see which one he picked. I had set up everything I would need and just as I was scheduling a tattoo for a coworker to do tomorrow for a walk-in, I heard the rumble of bikes coming down the boardwalk making me smile. ‘Okay, Kevin will take you tomorrow at noon, is that alright?’ I asked the annoyed girl who clearly just wanted her tattoo now.

‘Still don’t get why you can’t just take me now.’ She bitched and I fought to not roll my eyes as 4 sets of heavy boots stomped through the front.

‘I can’t take you now because I’m tattooing him now. Your appointment is for noon tomorrow.’ She turned and as she saw the boys she quickly ran out the front and was gone, startling me. ‘I should employ you as security here from now on.’ I teased, grabbing my book and walking over to my chair.

‘We can do that for you at night.’ Marko agreed, a grin on his face which seemed to always be grinning honestly.

‘Well I’m only working here for the week at nights so you won’t see me after that-‘

‘No! You need to keep working nights Angel, what are we supposed to do without you here?’ Marko complained.

‘Come on, the night life is more fun anyway Princess!’ I rolled my eyes, opening my book.

‘I’ll think about it. Okay, this is the first one I did, I went simple cause I didn’t know how detailed you wanted everything. Usually I put in too much detail and people hate it.’

‘It’s nice, but I was hoping for something more intricate.’ He told me and I smiled.

‘Okay, I went a little bigger with this one, but my personal favorite is this one.’ I showed him the third one and his eyes widened. ‘I researched some Native American dream catchers and tried to make it as real as I could…do you like it?’ He nodded his head slowly and I was worried for a moment.

‘It looks like the one my Ma made me when I was a kid…it’s perfect Babygirl, thank you.’ I was touched by that.

‘This is why I love my job, you can tattoo memories for people that they get to keep for a lifetime. Don’t thank me yet though, not until it’s done, I already made the stencil for it, I just knew you would pick this one! Take off your jacket.’ I told him, grabbing the stencil and looking at Paul. ‘Let me see how it’s healing rockstar.’ He hesitated for a moment before pulling his shirt up and I was stunned. ‘Holy shit!’ I stood, moving to him and touching his chest. ‘You…you heal fast don’t you?’

‘Way fast, it looks great Princess.’ He pecked my cheek before sitting next to Marko and I moved back to my chair, removing my jacket and getting ready to place the stencil. ‘Damn girl! You are tatted up!’ I tried to stop the blush that came in but I couldn’t, smiling as they all inspected my skin which had both of my sleeves done.

‘Yeah, I don’t know any tattooers who don’t have tattoos, and if you find one, don’t go to them.’ I teased, peeling the stencil off and turning on my machine to begin inking the shirtless God.

‘I need food, you guys want anything? Dwayne? Angel?’ Marko offered a little later, just as I was finishing the outlines.

‘I wouldn’t mind a coke.’ I told him and he grinned, jumping to go get food with Paul behind him. ‘How are you feeling Dwayne? Okay?’

‘I’m fine, how are you?’ He countered and I rolled my eyes.

‘I’m trying to make sure you’re not getting dizzy or are gonna pass out on me, you’re still as a statue and barely breathing. Don’t be a smartass.’

‘I’m fine, I promise. You have beautiful eyes…’ he mumbled and I just blushed, beginning to detail the braided base before moving to the feathers.

I finished the tattoo just before 2 and it came out perfectly, prompting me to hand him the mirror which he grabbed as Paul had and turned it away from me though I could swear it looked like he didn’t have any reflection at all. ‘Alright, you’re all finished. Is it what you wanted?’ I asked and he nodded, looking down at his chest.

‘You have no idea how perfect this is. Thank you Babygirl.’ He leaned down and kissed my cheek as I rang him up and I was once again bright red.

‘Look at that cute little blush!’ Marko exclaimed and he and Paul laughed like crazy. ‘Everything you do is just so cute Angel!’ He was teasing me and I wanted to hate it but I didn’t, it filled my stomach with butterflies and I was feeling awful about how badly I wanted to jump all of them.

‘Shut up.’ I grumbled and began closing up, all of them moving to hug me in one way or another.

‘We’ll see you tomorrow night Kitten.’ David told me and it felt almost like a warning, daring me not to be here which made me excited.

For the rest of the week they were there, David and Marko both getting tattoos of their own before Paul decided to get a bigger piece, dedicating a whole sleeve to his rockstar image which I found cute, starting with a killer electric guitar and lyrics from the song Lost in the Shadows. That next night was my last night on the boardwalk, going back to the dayshift the next day which they complained about loudly, insisting I switch my schedule so they could see me.

That night as I started my shift I was immediately bothered by Surf Nazis, a few of the assholes noticing me in the shop alone. I had kicked them out and the security escorted them off the boardwalk (which I knew wouldn’t last long). The boys didn’t show up at 8 like they normally did and I was a bit disappointed but I knew they would find something shiny and new to love eventually, guys like that always do.

Around 10 o’clock the assholes were back, 3 of them now walking around the shop and getting too comfortable.

‘Don’t touch me!’ I snapped as I cleaned my station, deciding to close early tonight and just take the loss if it got them away from me, their hands pinching me now and then before the one with the giant Mohawk pulled me to his chest and pinned me to the counter. ‘Let Me Go!’ I growled, punching at him as hard as I could but not making him budge.

‘Come on sweetheart, just spend the night with us, I promise you’ll have the time of your life.’ He teased just before I brought my knee up and hit him straight in the crotch, a high pitched noise escaping him before he collapsed.

‘Get the fuck out!’ His 2 friends helped him up before practically carrying him out and I pulled the gates at the front shut, locking them and making my way down the boardwalk. Unlike the last 5 nights, I was uneasy and scared again, hating the long walk in the darkness which is what made me hesitate as I got to the parking lot before trying to quickly get to the next street and away from the rowdy people. I wasn’t even halfway through the parking lot when I was grabbed, tight hands clamped around my waist and mouth as I was hauled down the beach no matter how hard I kicked before being dropped by a bonfire.

‘Hi there.’ The asshole from earlier greeted and I rolled my eyes.

‘Get the fuck away from me!’ I snapped, trying to get up only to be shoved back down onto my ass, realizing there were 4 of them now all looking down at me like it was the funniest joke ever told.

‘Oh, come on! We’re gonna have a great time, you just need to relax.’ There were suddenly hands on me from behind pulling at my jacket and I tried to pull my arms back, kicking my legs out and hitting the one in front of me in the stomach before two of them pinned me on my back on the sand.

‘You’re gonna pay for that, bitch.’ He snarled and just as he knelt down over me there was a loud shrieking sound from behind him and they all turned towards their friend that had screamed. I couldn’t sit up to see from where I was but as both men holding me suddenly let me go I knew whatever it was, it wasn’t good. As more screams rang out I rolled over, crawling along the sand and keeping my head down before seeing boots below my face that I recognized instantly.

‘David?’ I questioned, looking up and stiffening as I saw blood covering his mouth and jaw but strangely, I didn’t feel any real fear like I had moments ago.

‘Are you alright Kitten? The one night we’re late.’ He teased, leaning down and lifting me up to my feet. I turned around as the screaming suddenly cut off and saw all 4 Surf Nazi’s dead and covered in blood. I had to swallow to keep from getting sick as I saw several limbs no longer attached to their original bodies, Paul and Dwayne covered in blood much the same as David while Marko held one of the assholes in his grip with his…fangs…in the man’s neck.

‘Holy shit…’ They all looked at me now, their faces distorted but they didn’t look angry like I would expect, more concerned as they all looked at me, Marko dropping the now dead body.

‘Relax Kitten, it’s alright. You’re safe now.’ David told me and I took a deep breath, not feeling scared in the least.

‘Vampires…makes sense…only coming out at night. The mirror thing…that’s why you heal so fast! Totally unfair!’ I whined, realizing why their tattoos healed so quickly as they stepped closer to me, Dwayne having cleaned off his face as best he could before looking me over quickly.

‘Are you hurt? We got here as quickly as we could, we-‘

‘I’m fine! It’s alright…thank you for saving me…I’m going to have to switch to working nights after all, aren’t I?’ I joked making David snort beside me while he lit a cigarette.

‘Or you could quit and just tattoo us exclusively.’ Paul proposed. ‘For the rest of eternity.’

‘W-wait, you mean-‘

‘You think we show just anyone what we really are?’ Marko wondered.

‘You were meant to be one of us Princess-knew you were ours since the moment you sliced your finger and we smelled your blood, no changing that.’ The pothead laughed making me roll my eyes before feeling David’s arm around my waist, covering my neck in blood as he nuzzled me which was a uniquely gross feeling.

‘He’s right Kitten. You ain’t gettin away from us, might as well accept it…you, our little mate, were born to be a vampire.’

Lost Boys Masterlist

Lost Boys x Tattoo Artist Moodboard

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zombieplaygrounds · 4 months

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cw: virgin men, masturbation, sexual fantasies, implied age gaps, implied inexperienced sexual relationships, oral sex, masturbation, whats the thing where you get caught jerkin it? that.

Everyone loves virgin! Simon who's unknowingly a sex god while he bullies a fat cock into your horny cunt. Huffing and puffing in your ear as he asks you how good you feel, accidentally overstimulating you but far too clueless to even consider that your shaking and trembling is related to how dumb he fucked you. 'Course, he was just trying to be sweet to you, maybe get some coffee if you hadn't jumped on him for a good ride on his meat.

Even virgin! König had a considerable amount of attention for his monstrous cock that he'd never be able to fully fill you with. Too much of a jock-ish idiot to even know where to begin with foreplay, just rams his fingers up your cunt until you're sore and bucking your own hips against his palm to help smear your sloppy juices down his wrist. Every single "do you feel good?" is followed by your crying whines for him to shut the fuck up and keep stroking his own cock. Eyes wide watching pearl tears drizzle from the angry tip.

But where do I, the writer, draw the line? Virgin! Price. Old bastard aged like fine wine, his values held to something much more conservative - planned to spend his first time with a beautiful woman he dressed in pretty white silk on her wedding day. Someone who made his heart throb passionately; not with lust and the greedy desire to consume and ravage away her beauty.

Ideally, a woman to grow a family with.

Of course, considering his job, the risks his simple existence poses on any of those close to him - he cowered. Though, Price never really did see a true need to focus on that one, simple wish. He was satisfied with his 141, a group of rebellious young men he considered his own children; he was satisfied with his rare takes of leave, where he spent his time hiking and hunting, occasionally catching up with old friends from his civilian life; most importantly, Price was content.

Was.

A past tense term, considering his "ideals" of what made life so damn tolerable were thrown out the window. Shattered into billions of pieces that painted maps around the single coffee mug that was left on his desk one early morning. A note in your handwriting, with the coffee made just exactly as he liked it, and maybe even a small pastry from the vending machine - a pastry which was his favorite. Usually one that was hard to get because it was so damn good. And the note?

Have a good day, Cap'n! Love ya! btw, this is your favorite, yeah?

Fuck. You were too cruel. You and your pretty handwriting, smudged in blue gel pen ink. It was cute, sweet, endearing from a young thing like you. Made him feel sick and perverse, adjust the tightness that began around his crotch - because it felt so fucking dirty to be some turned on by a kind gesture. Especially a gesture from something as sweet and innocent looking as you.

All of those thoughts in his mind brought to a painful, stirring silence. Price would've almost felt shame for his next actions, the somehow graphic act of taking a huff of the sweetly scented drink made just for himself by you. The smearing of his finger tips against the note and getting a faint whiff of your sweet scented hand cream, the one you keep in the staff fridge, bitching at anyone who touches at it (something he was personally victim to).

The gentle, candied scent was enough to make his cock stir; rub against the rough fabric of his boxers, through his pants, through to his palm that somehow assisted in a slow, grinding motion against his self. His hand tilting backwards, eyes rolling back. Was the door locked? He wondered, not bothering to even give himself a glance at the knob to see if the slit was tilted horizontally or vertically; none of it mattered, too consumed by the peak edge he needed.

Too consumed by filthy, tainted thoughts of you. Your lips smeared in his own milk white sperm, no doubt still virile despite his years of maturity; wondered if his load would take if you just gave him the chance. Wondered if you'd pant, or moan his name. If your cunt dripped or creamed around his throbbing cock; what he'd kill to see your entire body trembling from a few bounces against him. Shove his calloused fingers into that pretty mouth of yours, begging you to be silent, and good.

You would be his first and final; a crossing thought that blurred past his mind. And the thought of putting a pretty jewel on that little ring finger of yours made him audibly gasp, sweat droplets splatter down from his cheek to his chin. And you, you're so young, full of potential. A real energetic pup that would probably eagerly teach him all the ways to make you feel good.

By now, Price was roughly, almost brutishly, fisting his own cock. Panting and hunched over the pretty note made by pretty you. His eyes squeezed shut as he bit into his fist, trembling at the splattering liquid that filled his palm. Droplets hitting the floor beneath him, a mess that would be so fucking frustrating to clean; the last thought on his mind.

Because how could he focus when you stood at the other side of the desk, a palm on either side as you leaned forward. So softly whispering: "Cap'n, did you like the coffee that much?"

Virgin! Price, who gives you the honor of being the first missus to wrap a warm mouth and plump lips against the tip of cock, kitten licks to clean away pearly beads of arousal that dribbled down the shaft. His clean hand rubbing your scalp so gently, humming soft, purring coos; mentally pondering your ring size as you greedily fit him inside your mouth. Whining vibrations fading the thought away once again.

tagging my fwends: @yandere-kokeshi @kettlemouse @babybimbo777

#zombieplayground #zombieplaygrounds #price mw2 #john price #captain price #price #141 #price cod #call of duty #captain john price #john price cod

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word-wytch · 1 year

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 14

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 14/? 18k. Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, December 10th 1985

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will I see you tonight?”

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

“Yeah,” you whispered into his curls.

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

Hey hey momma said the way you move

Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good like an answer he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, you ok man?” asked Jeff.

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

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

What if she isn’t coming?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room erupted with hollers and cheers.

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.

Generals gathered in their masses

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

Just like witches at black masses

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

Evil minds that plot destruction

Tried to guess from his deep hums and brilliant laughter.

Sorcerers of death’s construction

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

In the fields the bodies burning

Surging like a wildfire.

As the war machine keeps turning

Swirling through the darkness like a strange magic.

Death and hatred to mankind

Reaching out like it wanted to touch you.

Poisoning their brainwashed minds

And so you let it.

Oh lord, yeah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hands shot to your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need cooling, baby I’m not fooling

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

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

Way down inside, honey you need it

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

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you my love… oh!

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

Wanna whole lotta love?

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

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

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

Way, way down inside, oh honey you need it

I’m gonna give you my love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Way, way down inside

I’m gonna give you my love

I’m gonna give you every inch of my love

I’m gonna give you my love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You expressed your genuine sympathy.

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

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

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

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

The simmer kicked up to a full, licking flame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, ever polite and always accommodating, reached back.

He touched you.

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

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Eddie dropped the cable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” he breathed like a soft apology.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth hung open. “A-about what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to make your eyes light up.

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

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

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

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

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

Your first attempt failed, miserably. Uproariously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah,” it leapt out his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie asked the question. You closed the gap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door opened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed.

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

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

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

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

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

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MASTERLIST ⎮ AO3 ⎮ KO-FI

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

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harrystylesfan2686 · 3 months

Text

Disappearing Bodies

Pairing: PolyFeysand x Reader

Summary: girls from several war camps have been disappearing, no one know how. So you, your high lord and lady try to investigate the case.

Warnings: dead bodies, murder.

A/N: heyy everyone! I know I haven't posted in forever, thats because I've had my biggest writers block ever. I tried to make this as interesting as possible; please consider leaving a comment and telling me your thoughts on this. Hope you like it!!!

And yes, I will be posting the part 2 in a few days.💕

Thanks for the request @shorttstackk.

Masterlist

○●○●○●○

Your eyes scan over your desk again, trying to find anything that can help you with this case. This new case has you working non stop, racking your brain to think of anything that can help solve this problem.

There have been reports coming in from almost every illyrian camp, complaints of females and young girls going missing without a foot print left behind. Nobody knows what's happening to those girls because none of them have been found yet.

Cassian has had his men search the entire Illyria, along with himself, Nesta and Morrigan to try and find some type of clue or location, but they have all come back with no avail. You and Azriel have been looked in his office, trying to find something in the files but that, too, doesn't help you at all.

Files are sprawled all over your desk. Some stating the names of the victims and some reporting thier last seen location. It's been eight days and twenty six victims, and that's all you know.

You sigh and close your eyes, head hung down as you go over the information you have, again, to just find something, anything that can help you find those innocent girls.

"Here." A thug filles the silence and your eyes open to see Azriel putting down a cup of tea. You straighten up from where you were standing with your arms rested on the edges of your desk.

Whispering a small thank you, you pick up the cup with one hand and stir the spoon with the other. Your eyes again looking at the names scribbled on the paper.

Calantheria

Lyriana

Cirys

"Did you find anything new?" Azriel asks, sipping his from his own cup.

"No. You?" Your eyes look at his.

"None of my spies have picked on anything." His voice is calm, a contrast to the storm swirling in his eyes.

"How can this be possible?" Your eyebrows narrow in anger and frustration. "How can a someone be so clean in abduction that they don't leave a single thread behind?"

He hums, eyes analyzing the files. "Whoever it is, they are too good at covering thier tracks."

Silence fills the room again as the two of you fall quite, drinking the tae and thinking about the same thing again.

You were Azriel's second before finding your mates, the High Lord and Lady of Night Court. It was a surprise to everyone when you found out, considering how rare it is to find one mate, and finding two at that.

Three mates are extremely rare cases, only one out of a thousand pairs can you find a tripple pair. You were invited into the inner circle right away, everyone was kind hearted towards you.

But even though you were practically Azriels equal, you would never admit that. He taught you everything you know about spying and assassin ship. For you he will always be your senior.

The quiet between you was suddenly intrupted when Rhysands voice fills your head and the two of you leave everything and rush out of there as fast as possible.

Come to my office. Cassian found something.

-☆-

The eight of you stand surrounding a table, on which lies a map of the Illyrian Forest.

"A few of my men stumbled upon an underground tunnel. While patrolling, one fell in, not knowing about the cave because it was covered up with branches and leaves." Cassian circles an area with ink. "This is where the cave is. We went in just to make sure it isn't some small hole or anything, and it isn't. The hole stretches out into a gaint cave after entering, big enough for all of us to fit in."

He glances at everyone before continuing, "There were bloody footsteps at the starting of the tunnel. A pair of them, one can be identified as a male and other a female."

The air thickens around the room, all of you worrid and a little relieved to find at least something relating this case.

"I'm not sure what is in it, but I didn't have my men search it, if this isn't the seriel criminal we want, but some entirely different creature , I'm not losing my men for nothing." He finishes and Rhysand hums, silently agreeing.

"Alright then, we will go to see what this is." Rhysand looks up at you all, waiting for you to nod and continues, "Amren will stay at Valaris, guarding while we're gone. Nesta can watch over the War camps, so that if any other kidnapping happens, she can inform us right away."

The both of them nod and even though Nesta looks like she wants to say something, she doesn't dare go against Rhys' orders. Cassian interlaces his fingers with hers, as if to say not to worry.

"I will enter the cave first, Feyre, Y/N, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor will follow after. Cassians soldiers will stay at the cave entrance in case we encounter the very criminal we are looking for." Everyone nods.

"Any questions?" Rhys looks at everyone with raised eyebrow.

When no one comments he stands up straight and extends his arms to you and feyre at each side of him, ready to winnow you out. Azriel mimics him and grabs hold of Cassian. Mor takes Nestas hand to drop her off at the camps first and follow us after.

"Let us go." Rhysands voice echos out as you all fade into darkness.

-☆-

You walk through the woods with the others. Cassian leading your group and the rest of you follow close behind.

The entrance Cass found is surrounded with trees and grass, making it impossible to notice except the way it was found.

You reach there and Cass nods to one of his gaurds stationed near it. He turns to your group as you all stop with him, he points the hole, big only enough for one person to fit through.

Rhysand jumps in first and you all follow one by one. You go after Feyre and step up, looking around. It looks just like a normal Cave. Alighted with fire by cassian's comrades.

"Alright, I did not expect the cave to be this big." Mor's eyes scan over the walls with interest, before she looks at Cassian. "Sure you said it'd be big but I didn't expect this big. I mean you could fit an entire house in here."

Rhysand forms a small flame in his hand and steps forward taking the lead, "Everyone be on your gaurd." He doesn't need to remind you.

You walk between Rhysand and Feyre, her hand held yours in a tight grip, the only sign of her anxiousness. You walk further and further into the dark, the walls only illuminated by Rhys purple fire.

Suddenly you see a flicker of orange ahead, all of you noticing it at the same time as your steps falter for a second before continuing without making a sound. You step closer and finally see the scene ahead of you.

Your breath catches as you realized just what is happening. Candles surround a body of a girl, creating a circle in which the body is kept. She lies there as still as stone, eyes closed and not even breathing. The light from the candles shine against her skin that is now as pale as snow and lips that was probably soft and pink now cracked and blue.

Your hand slips from Feyre's as you step forward enough to see the face clearly. This is one of the girls you were looking for. Her name is Lyriana.

No. Was.

Now she's gone. Dead just as you expected. You still remember how her parents had begged you to find her when she got lost. How they begged you to find her and bring her back alive, offering you anything you wanted in return.

She was one of the firsts that was lost, it had been a week yet her parents never lost hope, knowing that their high lord and spymaster will find her. Well, you guess they did do that part.

"Is that-" Azriel starts but you speak before he could, knowing what he will say.

"Lyriana. Age 16. Single child. 7 days missing. A Valkerie in training. One of the first victims." Your voice sounds bland, void of any emotion and your mates pick up on the ill feelings starting to swirl inside you immediately.

"This isn't good." Mor comments under her breath.

"Oh yeah? What gave it away? The fire or the dead body?" Cassian replies just as slowly, his tone a mixture of sarcasm and anger.

You take another step closer to the body and just as Rhysand is about to warn you not to get too close, a sudden snap sounds and a hand wraps around you foot, the fingers clutching on tight enough to break bones;

And pulls.

You gasp out in pain, not expecting the attack and fall on your back. Your head hitting the hard ground but paying no mind to it, you take out a knife sheathed at your waist and thrust it on the hand with force.

At the same time a blast of purple fire hits the arm holding your foot. The force of your attacks together results in the arm cutting and blasting off into a mush of blood and muscle. An extremely unsettling site.

The blood flies to your body, small droplets smearing onto your leathers as you quickly brush off the remains of the fingers around your ankle and stand up. Soft hands hold you as Feyre forces you to step back with her and Rhysand stands before you, ready for another attack.

Now that out of danger, you see the arm that tried to hold you captive belongs to the very girl you declared dead. She now kneels and stands on her hands and knees, arching her back in an unnatural way. The eyes that were closed and peaceful, now are wide open and frowning at the lot of you with anger. You take in a sharp breath when you realize that her eyes doesn't have irises, they are entirely white white red nerves siding at the edges.

The hand that was blasted off, still driping tons of blood but it is as though she doesn't feel anything because she lets out a low growl before standing and streaking out her next attack.

Everyone is ready this time though, before Rhysand even lifts a finger, shadows cover Lyriana's entire body, slithering around like ropes and contract their hold. Thightly binding her limbs to her body and enabling her to do anything except squirm around on the ground, trying to fight.

Everyone stays silent for a while, only her growling and hissing echoing through the space, widened eyes staring shocked at Lyriana's state. She behaves as though she doesn't know anything but attacking.

Rhysand turns to you and pulls you into his arms, "Are you alright?" His soft voice breaks the dark fog starting in your mind. You nod silently and rest your head against his shoulder. Feyre kneels at your side and gently touches the ankle that now covers a ring of dark red bruises in shape of a hand.

You step back a little to see the wound for yourself, half cresents form where the tip of the fingers were, stretching out into small sharp straches, oozing out little blood that was already starting to heal.

You sigh and step around them as they straighten up, "I'm fine. Let's keep going."

#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #rhysand x reader #feyre x reader #feyre x rhysand #feyre x rhysand x reader #feyre fanfic #rhysand fanfic #acotar angst #acotar action

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amsgrey · 1 year

Text

Domestication

Kia Ora! It's been forever since I posted anything and it feels like forever since I've had the motivation to sit and right, but this came to me all of a sudden and I wrote it in like two hours so it might suck (not that I care) but no more writer's block!! Ka Pai!!!

synopsis: A Typical night with the Bastard of the Barrel. Or, the Bastard of the Barrel behind his locked door.

warnings: major fluff yall, not proofread yet because we all know I suck at that, I can't think of anything else oops

Kaz was almost always reading in his spare time, from ledgers to novels to the latest Ketterdam newspapers on stocks or whatever else the press thought worthy of ink. Every night when you climbed the stairs to his room, you would find him busy reading through one thing or another.

Tonight was no different. When you finally got off your shift in the Crow club, you found Kaz sitting on his bed with a book in hand. You let out a sigh, toeing off your worn boots and walking to the basin to wash your hands and face.

"How's the club?" Kaz asked, not taking his eyes from the page.

You splashed water in your face, "Plenty of Pigeons.”

You dried your face and joined Kaz on his bed, leaning against the headboard, mirroring his own pose.

"How was your day scheming?"

Kaz turned to look at you, entirely unamused by your cheeky smirk.

"It was fine," He replied, slowly.

The two of you sat silently, enjoying the quietness for a while. For the last few weeks, you had been staying in Kaz's room more and more. You had jokingly told him it was because his bed was bigger and more comfortable, but you both knew it was because you enjoyed waking up beside one another.

You noticed Kaz must have cleaned while you were away, tidying off his desk and drawers. Kaz was a stress cleaner, you had learnt. He liked this space to be tidy, everything in its rightful place. You learned rather quickly to keep things where they were meant to be.

"I cleared a drawer," Kaz said suddenly, you turned to look at him with a frown.

"Okay?"

Kaz put his book down on the table beside him, "For you."

It took a moment for his words to register, Kaz watched as your eyes lit up and a grin spread across your face.

"For me?"

He nodded once.

You leaned forward, gently placing your hand in his, "Have I finally succeeded in domesticating the Bastard of the barrel?"

Kaz made a big show of rolling his eyes, "It's one drawer."

You shrugged, cheekily replying, "One more than I had yesterday."

Kaz had been a lot better with touch lately, in the safety of his room, where no one other than you entered. It took months, years, to get to this point. With your hand in his, mindlessly rubbed circles with his thumb, tracing a pattern only he knew.

"What are you reading?"

Kaz had yet to put his book down, holding his page with a finger wedged in the pages. He opened to where he was, displaying the tiny cramped print for you to see.

"A book about stocks," He said.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

You giggled, "Sounds... boring."

Kaz gave you an annoyed side glance and went back to reading. Admitting defeat, you unthreaded your fingers from his and slipped off the bed. You padded over to Kaz's chest of drawers, well aware that he was watching you in between the words on the page. You pulled open the draw, seeing that Kaz had cleared you a space. A smile broke across your face again, pleased at the sight in front of you. Kaz's drawers were heavy and sometimes finicky, much like all the furniture in the Slat. You lifted the draw a little and slid it back into place, making sure it was shut tight like Kaz had it before.

Instead of returning to Kaz, you opened the next drawer down. Sliding it open as carefully as possible, the drawer revealed pristinely folded shirts and tunics. You ran your fingers over the fabric, almost all of Kaz's shirts were soft and clean, he took such care of his clothes and appearance. It was one of the reasons you loved him, his attention to detail and his immense care for the small details. You found the shirt you were after, one that he never wore but kept folded neatly in his drawer for you.

You unbuttoned your own shirt, it smelt of the Crow Club. A strange redolence of beer, jurda and the distinct smell of the wooden tables after years of use. You lay your dirty shirt over the back of Kaz's desk chair, making note to add it to your own washing in the morning. You pulled on Kaz's shirt, immediately greeted by his scent that was woven through the threads. Kaz shirt felt like pure silk after spending the day in your scratchy blouse, the fabric soothing away any irritation left on your skin.

You looked over your shoulder at Kaz for a moment, spying him nose-deep in his book again. You both knew he wasn't actually reading.

You rid yourself of your belt next, one that you had pinched from Nina months ago. You undid the buckle and carefully laid it over the chair, trying to keep your belongings in one space. You did the same with your skirt and tights, leaving you in almost ready to slip into bed.

You rounded back around the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping underneath. This was your nightly routine now, you slipping under the covers before Kaz, promising to stay awake with him and almost always falling asleep anyway. Kaz loved it, you knew. He would pretend to be exasperated, watching you yawn and fade slowly, but after you fell asleep he would put his book away and watch you rest peacefully.

Curled up under the covers, you watched him read. Watching his eyes scan the page and his lips ghost the words as he read. Sometimes, when he got invested, he would make comments to himself out loud. Oftentimes, "Saints Sake," or "Fool," depending on who or what he was reading about. If you were lucky, Kaz would read quietly and the furrow in his brow would ease, smoothed away as he relented to his book. Those were your favourite moments. Watching the Bastard of the Barrel vanish and Kaz Reitveld appear again. Each time, you cherished them like it was the last.

You shifted again, pulling the blanket over your shoulder to keep your warmth trapped. Kaz's eyes shifted over to you, a silent question within them.

"Read to me?" You whispered.

Kaz smiled, a gentle, loving smile that sent butterflies to your stomach and tingles down your spine.

"Of course."

Kaz took one hand from the book, finding your own under the cover.

You didn't care about how boring the current stock market was or whatever it was Kaz was reading, but you loved hearing Kaz read to you. The sound of his voice, calm and patient after a dangerous and tumultuous day. The sound of his fingers drumming on the hardcover, a steady beat. When he turned the page, he would hang on to the last word of the page, so as to not forget what it was.

You loved every part of these nights with every part of your soul.

As you started to relax more, your mind sinking into sleep, you pulled his hand to your chest, pressing your lips to his knuckles and whispering, "I love you, Rietveld."

Kaz placed his book away, blowing out the lantern and joining you under the covers.

"I love you too," He whispered, his lips pressed to your hairline.

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 5 months

Text

Playin’ Games (Choso x Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

Pairing: Choso Kamo x Self-Insert!Reader (Friends to Lovers & Forbidden Love)

Synopsis: In which your brother's best friend calls from his business trip to play a game of truth or dare over a Skype call, but it quickly turns into something else once your brother heads to bed and naughty pics and strip teasing get involved.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; No Curse AU; Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized; Musician!Choso; Truth or Dare; Alcohol Consumption; Lowkey Flirting; Sending Nudes; Sexual Tension; Strip Tease; Fingering; Clit Stimulation; Facefucking; Blood Play; Feral MDom!Choso; fsub!Reader; Almost Caught; Sneaky Sex; Hold The Moan; Cowgirl; Spit Play; Spanking; Unprotected PIV Sex; Creampie; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Thank you again for @curiouscutie143 for asking me to write this for a commission & continuing to trust me to write about her fucking 2D animated characters lmaoo. I hope you enjoy! -Jazz

*******

“I dare you to go to the kitchen without using your feet.” “How in the hell am I supposed to do that?” Choso asks, dumbfounded.

“You’ve got an ass, dontcha?” your brother shoots back from behind his laptop. Choso looks at you and then at your brother, completely done. “What are you, twelve?” he scoffs.

Your brother smirks at the screen while you giggle in the background, busy scrolling on Twitter while you watch this stupid game unfold on Zoom. “Thirteen, actually,” he answers. “Now you finna do it or not?”

Choso sighs, but pushes himself back from his computer desk in his spacious hotel suite and angles the camera to his MacBook Air down so you and your bro can see him. With his back to you, he lowers himself down to the ground and scoots to the kitchenette on his very toned and firm behind like a dog without once ever using his feet.

Your bro laughs wildly at this, slapping his knee. “You look so dumb!” he cackles. You can’t help but giggle too, having watched them play ‘Truth or Dare’ on the app he and Choso are connected on for rounds. Despite being grown-ass adults, they’re still kids at heart.

You can’t help but love their relationship. Despite Choso being larger than life as a musician and the opposite of your brother (stoic and quiet while your bro is wild and a damn near crackhead), he never once treated your bro any differently when he started blowing up. Their decade-old friendship has only grown over time. That includes making calls when Choso is on business trips.

Right now, he is an hour away from where you are for a press conference tour. “It’s for a damn movie cameo,” he sighed when he told you and your bro the news. “It’s only for three days, but trust and believe, I don’t wanna go.” To keep him company, your bro called him in his hotel room and suggested a game to pass the time on a boring Saturday night.

When he gets to the kitchen, Choso gets up and goes into the fridge for some chilled wine. You watch his muscles flex underneath his shirt and his toned ass in his sweats. His black hair is styled in a mullet and hangs slightly in his face, his piercings (one on the eyebrow, the other pierced in his bottom lip) glint at you, and his arms sinewy with muscles and ink always have the girls wet…including you.

He then walks back to his laptop and he sits back down. “Y/N, how do you approve of your brother’s childish behavior?” he sighs as he pops open the wine.

“Because she’s just as childish as me,” your brother chuckles. You smack him on the arm. “Not true, dickhead,” you grumble. “Only because it’s fun watchin’ you do all of these stupid dares…plus I can see that those squats are workin’ for you, Choso.”

Choso gives you an almost bashful smile while your brother gives you a disgusted look. “Ew, Y/N,” he comments. “Stop tryin’ to fuck my friend.” You gape at him, scoffing. “Says the main one who’s been tryin’ to fuck my friends since high school!” you scoff and kick at him. “Slut.”

Choso laughs as your brother tries to hit you back, but knocks his beer over. He swears, jumping off of the couch and under the coffee table to clean it up. “Thank you, Y/N,” Choso says through the screen in that smooth, soft, deep voice you’re so addicted to. “Maybe one day, I’ll invite you to my kickboxing classes, though I think I’d be a better instructor.” You think you imagine it, but you believe you see him wink at you.

“I’m sure you would,” you reply, not meaning it to come off so seductive, but it just does. You see his gorgeous eyes, dark and intoxicating, briefly flit down to your cleavage that has been exposed from under your robe. All you’re wearing underneath it are your sweats and a cami…without a bra. Though it’s your usual sleep attire, Choso’s gaze makes you feel like it’s lingerie.

“Whatcha say, Y/N?” your bro asks. “You made me drop my damn beer!” He shoves you out of the way and you quickly close your robe. “Just about Choso possibly inviting me to a kickboxing class just to show me up.”

Choso raises his hands in mock offense. “Guilty as charged,” he chuckles. “So whose turn is it now?” He jumps right back into the game like he wasn’t just flirting with you and eyeing down his best friend’s sister.

That’s another thing that’s grown over time: your relationship with Choso. You’ve always had a crush on him, but since growing up, that crush has only intensified when you began to see how fine he was. You don’t recall quite when the flirting started, but when it did, neither one of you could stop.

You couldn’t get enough of it: the sly looks at each other over your brother’s shoulder when you go out together or whenever Choso visits; the lowkey, flirtatious compliments you throw at each other; the playful arguments; the small touches on the arm or the back, innocent and comforting but exciting. You feel in your gut that Choso feels the same way you do for him, but you don’t dare bring it up or acknowledge your feelings because of your brother. It would make things too awkward and uncomfortable, you’re sure! So you keep quiet.

You groan, tossing your phone aside once you look at the time: 9:15 PM. “Can y’all stop here for now? Y’all have been playin’ this for over an hour!” Your brother, tipsy, narrows his eyes at you. “Hell no!” he exclaims. “Drunk truth or dare is the best! And you not even playin’, so why are you complainin’ ‘bout it?”

You glare at him and plunk him in the head with your thumb and forefinger. “Because, smartass, I have a meeting tomorrow morning at 8 AM and I need to be up at 7 to get ready.” Choso scowls at the idea of this as he sips his wine. “A work meeting on a Sunday?” he asks. “Where do you work, Y/N? In Hell?”

“Yes,” you joke, earning the sexiest laugh you’ve ever heard from him. “It’s some kind of team meeting my office does every month to check in on everybody and see if we have any issues with the company. It’s fine, just as long as it’s virtual which it always is.”

Choso smiles happily at you, the sight of it almost blinding and tortuous. Why is this man so fine yet so unavailable?! “Congrats again on that promotion! I knew you’d get in eventually. I’m sure it was the pencil skirts instead of your brains.” He smirks teasingly at you. “Oh, yes, definitely,” you giggle. “And the heels.”

That piques Choso’s interest intensely. “Oh, heels, hm?” he thoughtfully hums. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in heels before.”

Your brother rolls his eyes, not at all catching onto what’s happening between you two. “Can y’all stop talkin’ ‘bout shoes and get on with the next game?” he huffs. “It’s my turn!”

Choso’s eyes trail over to you sitting behind your brother, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually…Y/N, you sure you don’t wanna play? We can just do truths with you if you’re not comfortable with dares. I’d feel bad to see you just sittin’ there without playing one round.”

“Uh…” You think about it for a moment. It couldn’t hurt, especially since you don’t go to bed until 10 PM. Plus, the look in Choso’s eyes is getting to you…like he wants you to stay. “Sure, why the hell not?” You shrug, earning a joyous smile. “Truth or dare then?” your brother asks.

You look at Choso, who is already looking at you, on the screen. “Truth.” Your bro presses the button on his phone and laughs at the truth prompt written. “Who was your childhood crush?” he reads. “No celebrities or 2D animated characters allowed. Damn, this app is stirrin’ the pot!”

Your eyes widen, panic striking you. How are you supposed to answer that when the man sitting here on call with you is your childhood crush? Not to mention how awkward the truth would make things. “Uh…” You trail off, the silence thickening as the two wait for your response.

You can almost feel Choso’s eyes burning into you. You look away to your bro instead to avoid breaking out into a sweat. “Don’t laugh,” you begin, “but it was my second-grade bully. I thought about kissing him so many times even though he kept pullin’ my braids in class.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that guy,” your brother responds. “You gave him that anonymous V-Day card you made in art class that one time in third grade, right?” You nod, giggling. “Yeah!” you laugh. “He told me he still had it in eighth grade! By that time, he was sweet.”

“Well, that’s cute,” Choso’s says, sounding odd. You can’t put your finger on why. “I remember I got an anonymous V-Day card in third grade too, but never found out who it was. What a coincidence.” You chew on your bottom lip and your body becomes hot with shame for lying. Choso knows damn well that you a damn lie because you gave that anonymous V-Day card to him all those years ago.

“I-I’m gonna go get a drink,” you weakly say and hurry from the couch to the kitchen. You’re glad to have some privacy and to pour yourself some wine from the fridge. You take three greedy sips, letting it calm your rapidly beating heart. You should’ve never agreed to do this. It’s too awkward. Too tense. Maybe going to bed is a better idea. Maybe–

“Oh, shit!” your overly-dramatic brother yells out. Immediately, you run back into the living room after nearly dropping your glass. “What is it?” you huff. “What happened?” Your bro hands you his phone as he opens his second beer. “Read this dare for Choso!” he guffaws.

You take the phone and read it aloud for Choso to hear: “‘I dare you to take a thirst trap photo and post it on all of your social media accounts.’.” You gape at Choso who looks just as perplexed as you. Why is this game so horny?!

Your bro smirks at Choso on the laptop. “Well, you gon’ do it, Cho?” he cackles. “You’ve gotta do what the app says unless you too pussy.” The black-haired, tatted stud contemplates this as he sips his wine.

“Don’t listen to him, Choso,” you huff, slapping your sibling on the back of the neck. “He’s just bein’ a dick as usual.”

But Choso is already standing up, angling the computer camera up so you can see him. “Nah, I’ll do it. Have you ever known me as someone who backs down from a challenge, Y/N?” He gives you a slight wink that even you almost missed and your mouth goes dry like the Sahara desert when he reaches for his shirt. Before you realize it, you’re watching him lift his shirt over his head and expose his impressive, toned body.

Inked abs. Tatted biceps. Pecs and pierced, pink nipples you want to suck on. Your eyes run greedily down his form as takes his phone and snaps a quick picture, the flash on his phone going off. “There, happy?” he asks. Your brother shakes his head. “Post it or it ain’t happen!” he demands. Choso rolls his eyes but does as he’s told and takes a moment to type some things on his phone.

Minutes later, your and your bro’s phones go off, signaling the arrival of new notifications. Your brother erupts with laughter, throwing his head back. “There it goes!” he laughs. “Damn, Cho, you been workin’ out on your trip?”

You go to IG and sure enough, there it is: the thirst trap that is now making rounds and generating thousands of likes and horny comments below. So many people talking about how they’d let Choso fold them like lawn chairs and use their holes up. You definitely understand and relate, your mind going to crazy places as you stare at his abs and his hair that you want to yank on while he fucks you. “Damn,” you whisper.

“See somethin’ you like, Y/N?” Choso asks, his voice washing you in heat and tingles. You don’t look at him, too afraid that he’ll see you drooling or you may start fucking your brother’s laptop. You have no choice but to keep your thighs clamped shut and your mind straight despite the sips of wine you take as the game rolls on.

At some point, as time goes on, your brother gets tired and drags his drunk ass upstairs, leaving you and Choso alone. You feel like you should hang up the call and go to sleep, but you find yourself staying with your wine glass half empty. “So what are you gonna do now?” Choso asks after a beat of awkward silence. “Go to bed?” At this point, he has put his shirt back on, much to your dismay.

“I’m more interested in talkin’ to you,” you say and then flush at your boldness. Usually, you’re not afraid to shoot your shot first, but to do it to Choso so brazenly makes you feel odd. Or maybe it’s just the wine talking. “I-I mean, it’s been a minute since we’ve seen each other, y’know?”

Choso looks like he’s happy you made the first move regardless. He rests his chin on his knuckles, staring you down from behind the screen. “So what’s this about your childhood crush bein’ your bully?” he asks. You nearly choke as you sip your wine, feeling warmer and bubblier the more you drink. “Damn, you get straight to it.”

Choso flushes, his pale skin turning red. “Sorry, it’s the alcohol. I can stop if you want me to, but it’s kinda buggin’ me, especially since my childhood crush was you for so many years…which I probably wouldn’t have said if it wasn’t for the wine.”

You gape at him, shocked. “Really?” you softly ask. “I…didn’t know that.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “That’s ‘cause I didn’t want anyone to know,” he explains. “But we’re both grown and mature…most of the time, anyway. I think you can handle a little crush from when we were kids, right?”

You go quiet, letting this information wash over you. Despite the flirting you would do behind your brother’s back, it hits different when you now know that without an inch of uncertainty, he’s felt the same way about you that you have always felt about him. “Y/N?” he asks, his soothing voice pulling you back to reality. He’s looking at you with those burning, passionate eyes. “Was that V-Day card I got from you?” Whether it’s the wine or his magnetic pull, you answer him: “Yeah,” you confess.

“So that story of your bully was bullshit,” he chuckles.

“Yeah,” you repeat because what else is there to say? Choso takes a sip of his wine, still staring you down from behind his laptop. “Whatcha wanna do, Y/N?” he asks.

It’s a simple question, but the way he says it–so deep and seductive–makes something come alive inside of you. It makes your stomach flutter and your nipples harden beneath your top. He has put the ball completely in your court to either continue this little game or call it quits. You choose the latter. “I’ve got an hour before my bedtime,” you say, keeping your voice leveled. “How about another game?”

Choso looks worried. “Don’t you have that meeting tomorrow?” he asks. “I wouldn’t want you to miss out on your rest.” You laugh, pouring yourself some more wine…which probably isn’t the best idea. “I once didn’t go to bed until 3 AM because I was binge-watching Korean dramas,” you giggle. “I think I can handle some rounds.”

As soon as you say it, you realize how it sounds. Choso smirks to himself, tapping his finger against his desk. “Oh, can you?” he purrs. “We’ll see. Truth or dare, then?” You choose carefully, weighing your options. “Dare,” you decide.

“I dare you to send me a pic of you in your favorite pumps,” he says without missing a beat. “If you’re comfortable with that. It can be an old pic or a new one. I ain’t picky.” He gives you a warm smile that’s supposed to be unnerving, but it only makes you feel more nervous. You weren’t expecting that dare, but then again, you opened the door to this. “O-Okay,” you stutter.

You proceed to scroll through your phone for the sexiest selfie you can find. You find one of you at a Christmas cocktail party for work in a dress that had heads turning and heels that made you feel like a straight vixen. Without a second thought, you send it over to Choso. There is a ding from his phone and, for a moment, only silence. “Did you get it?” you nervously ask.

Choso is staring at his phone, not moving an inch. “Yeah, I got it,” he answers, his voice light and breathy. “Damn, Y/N, how the fuck are you single?” His question makes butterflies flutter rapidly in your stomach.

You then get a ding from your phone and look down to see the thirst trap photo in your messages. “Oh, you sent me your thirst trap privately, huh?” you chuckle, not looking up, so you don’t see Choso taking another very risque photo of himself. “I feel so special.”

“I sent you somethin’ else too.” The way he says it is like sex to you. Sure enough, a second attachment comes in. You open it and nearly choke on your wine: Choso leaning back against his computer desk, a hand resting on the outline of his very big, very hard, and very obvious bulge beneath his pants. Your lips part in shock, your eyes widening as big as saucers.

“Too much?” he asks, worried that he went too far. As if learning how to function again, you shake your head. “No,” you exhale. “It’s just…big.” You wonder how it’d feel in your hands…or in your mouth…or in another throbbing hole that is bothering you between your thighs. “So I’ve been told,” he sniggers. “I’m guessing it’s up to your liking, then?”

You don’t know why that turns you on–the idea that he’s so interested in whether or not he turns you on–but you find yourself scrolling through your camera roll again and picking one of your faves: a mirror photo of you laid out on your bed on your stomach, your ass tooted up in the air in a thong while the rest of you is naked, your juicy breasts squished against the mattress under you. “Maybe this will tell you so,” you purr and hit send. “I had this saved in my camera ‘cause I looked so hot in it.”

Ding! Choso looks down at his phone and the way he bites his lip makes you drip. “And that you do,” he exhales. “And I’ll ask you again: how the fuck are you single? Shit, princess.”

You bite your own lip, struggling to control yourself. “You’re makin’ me blush,” you giggle. “You know, it looks much better in person.” You pause, scolding yourself and the wine for making you so damn bold.

Choso’s eyes light up with interest. “Oh, yeah?” he asks, practically tossing his phone aside. “I think I should be the judge of that.” He leans into the camera, making your heart pound. “Take that off,” he demands, nodding at your robe. “It’s just me, Y/N.”

Yes, just him. Just your brother’s best friend. Just the man you’ve known since childhood and have been crushing on for years. But something in his eyes makes you realize that you can trust him with anything. So you rise from the couch and slowly slip off your rope in front of the camera. Choso watches, drinking in every move you make. You then turn around and slip off your pants, revealing your panties swallowed by your magnificent ass to him. “Is this okay?” you softly ask.

You turn back to face him and he looks damn pained as he stares at your behind. “Fuck,” he gasps. “It’s more than okay. I’m so tempted to jump in my car and pull up right now.” You scoff with laughter, but at the look in his eyes, you can tell he’s dead-ass.

“Wait, you would?” you gasp. “But…it’s the middle of the night and we’re an hour away!” His eyes flick up to meet yours, firm and not up for the bullshit. “If it’s something you want too, I’d drive to you if you were a week away,” he softly growls, conviction in his words. “I can come over tonight, Y/N, but it’s only if you want me to.”

You gape at him, silenced. You can’t believe this is happening! This is beyond your wildest, wettest dreams! And yet your mind drifts to your brother. If you do this, will it change things? Wouldn’t he hear you? Would he find out? You’d feel so guilty if things were to change between him and Choso because of you. And yet…

“I…I want you to,” you decide. “I really do, but what about my brother?” He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “If he’s wasted, he can sleep through a tornado. Nothing has to happen if you’re nervous about that, but I’d like to see you.”

And those words, sweet and considerate yet honest, are what make you fold. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. Get here in sixty.” Choso nearly knocks over the table as he shoots up from his desk. “Thirty ‘cause I’ll be doing sixty,” he growls. “Don’t move from that spot.” He blows you a kiss and ends the call, leaving you feeling drunk despite not having sipped that much wine.

Already tipsy and feeling the alcohol’s effects on your body (tingly nipples; brief dizziness; horny thoughts), you switch it out with some water and sip on that while you clean up the living room. You busy yourself wiping down the kitchen countertops, straightening up the couch cushions, and cleaning up your slob of a brother’s beer cans. By the time you finish, thirty minutes have passed and anticipation hits you like a truck.

Where is he? He hasn’t called you yet. What if he’s in traffic? What if something happened? What if he changed his mind? What if–

A ding from your phone makes you jump and you race to answer it, seeing a text message waiting for you:

Chosi: Hey, I’m outside

*read at 11:12 PM*

You roughly swallow and close your robe before walking to answer the door. Choso is standing behind it when you open it, dressed in a jacket and jeans that fill him out so well. You both smile at each other, happy to see one another despite the circumstances.

“Uh, c-come in,” you stammer. He thanks you and walks inside, the scent of his cologne making your kitty purr wildly. You shut the door and shuffle behind him as he strips off his jacket. “You want somethin’ to drink?” ” you ask, nervously wringing your hands.

Choso looks back at you as he hangs up his jacket on the coat rack near the door, his arms talking to you. He turns toward you fully, giving you a good look at how tight his top is on his body. “Do you want me to have somethin’ to drink?” he questions.

You bite your lip, the silence mixed with the sexual tension too much. “No,” you breathe. He then saunters up to you, stopping when your nose is nearly brushing his chest. “I’m gonna ask you again if you want this, Y/N,” he whispers. “We can stop here and I can leave.” You look up into his eyes–those firm, beautiful eyes–and trail your hands up his chest. “No, don’t,” you plea. “Don’t leave.”

His hands softly caress your sides, moving across your waist. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs into your ear, his minty breath fanning across your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, his seductive ways finally getting to you. “I want you,” you answer through a dry mouth. “I want this.”

That’s all he needs to hear. His lips are on yours immediately and you nearly melt. His kiss is sweet and soft yet passionate, making you feel like you’re in a Disney movie when the princess finally kisses her prince. His hands move down to your ass, squeezing it, emitting a moan from you. Pulling away, he moves down to your neck and peppers it in kisses, coaxing you to tilt your head back for more.

“You have no fuckin’ right to be this hot,” he growls against your neck. “Makin’ me feel this fuckin’ crazy.”

He pushes against you, insisting that you feel his hard-on in his jeans. “Choso, please,” you mewl. “I need you.” You grip his shirt, imploring him to understand how goddamn horny you are. He pulls away and smirks down at you, chortling. “So impatient. Did those pictures rile you up?” He doesn’t need an answer. Instead, he sits down on the couch with his leg spread, staring up at you in hunger. “Get naked for me.”

Like a puppet on a string, you do as he says and slowly take off your rope. Then it’s your top and bottoms. Then the undies. The more you take off, the harder Choso gets, forming a more obvious bulge in his pants as he stares you down. When you’re finally done and standing naked in front of him, he sits back against the cushions and pats his lap.

You feel somewhat weird about it since Choso is so much smaller than you in terms of size, but the man welcomes all of your rolls, curves, and softness when you sit down in his lap naked while he remains clothed. “Your pictures do not do you any justice, babe,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss, suck, and lap at your nipples. You moan, your hands tangling in his mullet. “So sexy,” he whispers against your nipples. “I’ve wanted to do this for so, so long.”

His fingers toy with your plushy thighs and ass, squeezing the flesh to his liking. “Me too,” you moan. He chuckles against your nipple, nibbling at it with his teeth. “Yeah? You’ve dreamed of me touchin’ you like this?” His hand is suddenly probing your thighs open to toy with your pussy, his fingers gently rubbing your clit.

You gasp, not being able to control your body. You find yourself sitting fully on his lap, your back to his front, with your legs wide open while he toys with your sobbing, wet cunt. You drip all over his jeans the more he rubs you, creating more and more wetness that floods over your pussy lips. “F-Fuck, Choso!” you whine, the pleasure just too much.

“Hush, baby,” he chuckles. “I appreciate you bein’ so responsive, but your brother is right upstairs. You wouldn’t want him to come down to find my fingers stuffed in that pussy, would you?” You’re confused, feeling his fingers still on your clit. “B-But you don’t–”

Your voice is cut off by a moan when he suddenly sticks one finger inside of you, using his palm to rub your needy, throbbing clit as he finger fucks you. “That’s better,” he laughs into your ear. “Oooh, that pussy is so tight for me. Have you been wantin’ me to this to you, baby?” He curls his finger up against your G-spot and you swear you almost cum. “Tell me,” he demands.

“Yes!” you sob. “Yes, Chosi, I wanted this so bad!” Feral, Choso moans into your ear as he feels you squeeze and squelch around his digit. “You’re too fuckin’ cute,” he says, his voice strained and rough. “I wanna see the face you make when you cum. Can you take another finger for me, babe?”

You nod and your pussy flutters around his magical finger, only getting worse when he inserts another one to fuck you silly. You cover your mouth as moans and whimpers escape you, loving how full you feel. You can only imagine how full you’d feel with his cock finally inside of you. The image brings you closer to the edge and Choso can feel it.

“Cum for me, baby, c’mon,” he coos. “Cum on your brother’s best friend’s fingers like a good little girl.” You have to bite your lip to keep from crying out when you explode all over his digits.

Your moans and cries are muffled by your mouth as you cum all over Choso’s fingers, coating him in your cream. He hums appreciatively and kisses your cheek, slowly stroking your walls as you come down from your high. He finally slips his fingers out of you and puts them up to your lips soaked in your cum. “Taste yourself.” You do so, opening your mouth and letting him insert his digits into your mouth where you swirl your tongue around them and suck on your juices.

“Shit,” Choso groans, grinding himself up into you. You gasp, feeling his hardened cock pushing against you. “I can feel that you liked that,” you giggle. He hums in agreement, gripping your hips as he continues to roll himself into you. “Can I…see it?” you carefully ask, teeming with excitement.

He coaxes you to get up off of his lap and face him. “You’ll have to take it out then,” he murmurs, giving you a stare as hot as molten lava in the dimly lit living room. “Take what you want, Y/N.”

With a fire burning inside of you, you take off his pants and boxers while he strips off his shirt, tossing it aside somewhere. When his hard, pulsing cock finally pops up, you have never been more happy to finally see a dick. He’s absolutely beautiful with smooth skin and a toned stomach leading down to that gorgeous cock.

You settle onto your knees, ready to give him head to last him into next winter. “Your knees okay?” he worriedly asks. Before you can answer, he pulls you up and sits you down on the couch. “Here, switch with me. I want you comfortable.” You flush at his sweetness, never having received such care. “Such a gentleman,” you softly laugh.

Choso gives you a sheepish smile. “I try. Now where were we?” he stands over you, appearing like an Adonis statue with tattoos and a thick cock in your face.

You stand up on your knees on the couch, your greedy hands stroking up and down his body. “Your pictures don’t do you justice either,” you purr, running your palms down his toned, well-defined abs. “How you’re single is a mystery to the world, Sho.” You wrap a hand around him, beginning to stroke his cock up and down, up and down.

Choso bites his lip, looking like he’s been waiting for this moment to finally come. “I didn’t want nobody else,” he softly moans. “I’ve always wanted you.” Overjoyed and completely horny, you give his cockhead a peck and then a kitten lick. “Tell me more,” you beg before you envelop him in your mouth. You immediately go to work, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head as you pump him in and out of your mouth.

“Fuck,” he sighs, tossing his head back. “I-I’ve always wanted you, but–oh, God, babe, yes–I never said anything in fear of ruinin’ things with your brother.” You pop off of his cock, spit connecting his head to your lower lip. “Well, he doesn’t have to know,” you whisper. “We can take things slow.” He raises a brow at you. “This is takin’ things slow?” he chuckles.

You giggle, still pumping his cock with your hand. “After this,” you laugh. “I want you too bad to stop.” You lower your mouth on him again, swallowing him whole.

“I guess a date is on the table for us then,” he groans. “Especially when you look that good on your knees.” He watches you continue to swallow his dick whole, flicking your pink tongue along the head and swirling along the throbbing vein trailing from his head to his heavy balls that you fondle.

“Look up at me,” he demands. “Keep lookin’ at me while I fuck pretty face.” You do so and open your throat, allowing him to fuck your face. He grabs the back of your head as he does so, nailing his hips into your face again and again, his balls slapping your chin. He tosses his head back, overwhelmed by the feeling of your magical mouth sucking him dry.

It doesn’t take him long to go faster, gripping your hair to allow him to pump his cock down your throat like it’s his personal toy. You feel your pussy throb at the sound of his soft moans and the gagging coming from your own mouth, wanting desperately for him to cum. “Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You ‘bout to make me cum! I-I’m gonna–”

“Choso?” your brother suddenly calls. Choso freezes and you tear yourself away from him, your stomach flipping in absolute fear. From the steps, you see the hallway light flicker on and your brother’s shadow against the wall. ‘Shit,’ you think. You try to scramble away to hide, but Choso stops you, putting a finger to his lips. “Just keep quiet,” he whispers. “And keep suckin’.”

His dark eyes flash with mischief and lust as his heavy cock bobs in your face. Tentatively, you place your lips around him again and proceed to suck on him. “Yeah, bro?” he calls, keeping his voice impressively normal. “Yeah, it’s me.” His hand once again finds your head, gently pushing you down farther to muffle the sounds of your wet, lewd sucks.

“When the fuck did you get here?” your brother asks. “Why you here?” Choso bites his lip at the sensations you’re giving him, loving how your plump lips look wrapped around his dick. “Uh…just decided to visit ‘cause I was bored in that hotel,” he lies. “Y/N let me in before she went to bed. She let me sleep on the couch after I promised to make you guys pancakes tomorrow morning.”

His hand reaches over to give your ass a quick spank, making you jump, mostly at the possibility of your brother hearing it. He doesn’t. “That’s cool with me,” he replies, sounding excited about the promise of food. “Lemme see you real quick though. I feel like it’s been ages since we–”

“No, no, don’t!” Choso panics, gripping the back of your head to keep you still. “I look real bad, man, and I wouldn’t wanna break your sleep routine. Just go back to bed! I’ll see you in the morning when we both don’t look like shit.” He and you share a wide-eyed look, both scared shitless but also not wanting to stop.

“Alright,” your brother decides. “But I want my pancakes!” You sigh in relief, feeling Choso do the same. “Alright, man, fine. Just go to bed.” You look up the stairs and see the hallway light flicker off. You stop sucking, listening intently to your brother’s footsteps as he shuffles back into his bedroom. Finally, the bedroom door closes and you hear silence. Choso pauses, waiting with bated breath.

You pop him out of your mouth and sit up, spit dribbling from your lips and your hair a mess. “He’s asleep,” you tell him. “I know: he gets real quiet when he’s asleep.” He looks beyond relieved by that, but still appears worried. “Do you wanna keep going?” he asks, wiping some spit from your lower lip. His touch burns your skin.

Your pussy throbs insistently, pushing you to give her what she needs. “Yes,” you whisper. “We just have to keep quiet.” Choso smiles, bringing you close to him. “I know a thing about quiet cumming,” he chuckles. “I don’t wanna do it down your throat though. I need you fuck you, baby…if you want that too.”

You nearly cum right there. “Yes,” you softly moan as he begins to kiss your neck. “Yes, Choso, baby, I want that.” You’ve wanted that for so, so long! So many nights of dreaming about him in your bed have finally led to this. He pulls away, giving you a look dripping with molten lust. “Get on top then,” he whispers. “I wanna see you bounce on my cock.”

You don’t need to be told twice. He lies back on the couch and keeps comfortable before patting his muscular thighs for you. Softly giggling, you get on top and straddle him before wrapping a hand around his cock and slowly guiding him toward your pussy lips. You glide his head against your slit for a moment, teasing him and earning some luscious whimpers. “Please, baby, don’t tease me,” he begs. “Just put it in.”

You shiver, loving the sound of his pathetic begging. You’re half inclined to keep going just to hear him plea and beg for your pussy, but you’re too horny to do so. So instead, you slowly slip him between your wet, slippery folds. You gasp and brace your hands against his chest, feeling him stretch you. He pauses, searching your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. “I’m okay,” you whisper, giving him a wobbly smile.

He takes your hips, holding them securely. “You take the reins then,” he says. “Ride me, baby. I’m yours, so take it like you need it.” And so you do. With his big hands gripping your hips, you begin to rock and grind against his cock while your fingers rub your clit. The sensations are indescribable. You can’t help but moan and sob at the pleasure though you have to keep each sound hushed.

Choso is losing it below you, overwhelmed by the sight of your perfect titties and stomach jiggling with every move you make. “Fuck, baby,” he whispers, his voice strained from the sheer pleasure. “You feel so fuckin’ good on top of me. Does it feel good for you too?”

Vigorously, you nod, biting your lip so hard that you nearly draw blood. “Yes!” you whimper. “You’re so good, Choso! You feel amazing inside me!” The proud smile that stretches across Choso’s face is almost comical, loving that it’s his cock making you feel this good. For so long, he’s wondered how you’d feel and look fucking him. And now that he finally has it, he’s going to make it last.

He sits up and holds you flush against him, your titties squishing against his chest and his cock sinking deeper into you. Your jaw goes slack and you have to cover your mouth to keep from wailing out in pleasure. “Keep it down, baby doll,” he chuckles in your ear. “You wouldn’t want your bro to come downstairs and see you gettin’ that pussy filled by his buddy, would you?”

You don’t answer, too busy riding him like a stolen car and rubbing your clit against his pelvis. He fucks you back, moaning and whimpering into your ear while his cock drives into you again and again, hitting a spot inside of you that turns you into an animal. You grip his shoulders and back, digging your nails into him. Your nails dig into his back so hard that they puncture his skin and leave long, jagged, angry red lines up and down his back muscles.

If Choso is in any pain, he pretends like he isn’t. Instead, he just keeps fucking you, grinding his hips into yours in one passionate, pleasurable, sweaty dance that quickly sends you over the edge.

“Choso,” you whine. “I’m gonna cum! I-I can’t…” Your voice dies, too lost in the blinding ecstasy. “Bite me,” he demands. His dark eyes stare into yours, begging you. “C’mon, baby, it’s okay. I fuckin’ want it.”

Though alarmed, the pleasure begins to reach its peak, especially when Choso tells you to lean back and begins to rub your clit in small, fast circles. “Cum for me, Y/N,” he whispers. “Do it. Give it to me.” To muffle your moans, you do as he says and bite his shoulder, sinking your teeth into the skin so hard that you break skin.

Choso grunts at the pain, but you also feel him throb and grow harder inside you. Could it be possible that he likes that freaky shit? You have no time to wonder as your orgasm washes over you, making you buck and writhe in his arms. He holds you against him, giving you something to grab onto as the mindblowing orgasm finally fades. “Better?” he chuckles.

You blink at him, your vision adjusting, and finally see the bloody bite mark on his shoulder. “No!” you gasp. “Look at your skin! I’m so–”

“Don’t.” Choso shakes his head, firm and dead serious. “I love that shit. Seein’ you like that was so fuckin’ hot.” Once again, you feel his cock throb inside you and shudder. So he is a freak!

“I can feel that,” you purr. “You’ll need help with that, won’t you?”

Choso looks so happy that you even volunteered. “Turn around,” he demands, his voice low and intoxicating. With a soft moan, you slip off of him and twist around so your ass is in his face. He gives you another spank before dipping down to lightly run his teeth against the soft, fleshy globes and nibble on them. Ass bites. How did he know you love ass bites?!

His ministrations get your pussy throbbing again, especially when he holds his cock up for you to settle down on. “Sit on it,” he whispers and you do, both of you gasping as his cock sinks into your pussy that is even wetter from your second orgasm. “I’m gonna cum you till I cum, okay?” he breathlessly asks. “Can you handle that?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, the last word slipping out. That makes Choso go completely feral. He doesn’t talk for a while as he fucks you stupid from the back, but he doesn’t have to. The way he grips your shit and nails his hips into your backside makes your pussy talk to him, your walls squeezing and gushing around his thick cock. You have to bite a cushion to keep from wailing like a banshee at the way he’s fucking you from behind, the soft clapping of your ass against his thighs making you crazy.

He then tugs you toward him so your back is to his front as he continues to fuck you. His lips attach themselves to your neck, sucking harshly at your tender skin. You weakly moan at the feeling, wincing slightly when his teeth bite into your skin a little too hard. You feel a wetness that Choso quickly licks away, peppering you with kisses.

“You’re so perfect,” he groans, his breath tinged with the metallic scent of your blood. “So fuckin’ mine. I wanna cum in this pussy so bad.”

You can feel it. And you want it. “Do it,” you plea. “Please, Choso, cum in me! I’m so close!” Your hand begins to rub your swollen clit once more, desperate to cum with him.

Luckily, it doesn’t take too long and Choso warns you when it happens. He grips you tight to him and ruts into you like an animal, whining as he does. “Gonna cum!” he pants. “Gonna fuckin’ cum in you! Take it all!”

His cum erupts inside of you like a warm river flooding your insides. He muffles his moans by pressing his face into your neck, gripping your body tight to him as if he is afraid you’ll disappear. You cum right after him, triggered by his slutty sounds, and dig your face into the cushion as you moan and sob. Your pussy flutters and squelches around him as you cream around his cock, creating a ring around the base that marks him as yours. Yours. Finally.

Once your orgasms fade, you share a chaste, exhausted kiss and he gently slips out of you, causing all of his cum to drip down your thighs. Quickly, he grabs a few tissues from the kitchen and cleans you up before tossing them in the trash. Once finished, he lies on his side with you facing him, both of you taking up the couch. “Wow,” he pants, his toned body still soaked in sweat.

You slowly nod, the gravity of what you just did sinking in. “Yeah,” you chuckle. “You’ll have to visit more often on business trips.” He chuckles at your little joke, but his smile quickly fades. “So…you’re okay with this?” he carefully asks. “With us?” He looks down at you, worry in his soulful eyes.

You weigh your options for a moment, understanding what is at stake here…but the feeling of his heart pounding against your fingertips sways you to the side of temptation and what could possibly be. “I am if you are,” you murmur, too embarrassed to look up at him. “I mean, of course, we can go slow if you want. I know we just did that, but we were also tipsy and–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips. You look up into his eyes and feel like you’re falling. “I want whatever you want, Y/N, and if you’re okay with us being together despite your brother, then I’m down for it. I’ve been wanting this for so long.” And to hear that makes you realize that you’ve made the right choice. With a happy giggle, you lean up to kiss him before cuddling him tight. “I want that too,” you whisper, snuggling into his chest.

You feel warm, kept, and safe. As he snuggles in close to you, you smile as you drift off to sleep and continue smiling as the night goes on. You stay like that, the two of you, until the morning comes and Choso leaves you to sleep while he gets dressed and goes to the kitchen to whip up the pancakes he promised your brother the night before.

You awaken on the couch, naked with the sun pouring through the blinds. Immediately, you remember: your meeting! You look at the clock, sighing in relief when you find that it’s only 6 AM. You have time. You won’t be fired!

You hear Choso in the kitchen whisking pancake batter and sizzling eggs in a pan. The scent of breakfast cooking coaxes you off of the couch and you grab your rope before slowly walking upstairs. The ache of your body and the muscles that you haven’t used in a minute makes you smile to yourself, loving that this ache is from something other than the gym.

You’re glad you decided to cover yourself up when you run into your brother standing in the bathroom brushing his teeth in his sweats. “Hey, you,” you greet him. “You’re up early? You got a girl comin’ over or somethin’?”

He smirks at you, his mouth coated in foam. “Nah, Choso promised me pancakes.” His eyes flick up and down your form. “Why are you up early?” You tap your wrist where an imaginary watch sits. “Meeting, remember? So hurry up with that so I can brush my teeth.” You turn to walk into your bedroom, needing some deodorant and fresh clothes.

“And cover them hickeys,” your brother adds. You immediately stop, frozen.

“As happy as I am that you finally bit the bullet and got together with Choso after pinin’ after him for so long, I’m sure your boss would ask questions.” You turn and look at him, finding him smiling knowingly at you from the bathroom.

“Breakfast is ready!” Choso calls. “Come down if you wanna eat!”

Your brother laughs at you as he shuts the bathroom door, leaving you standing there in a deer in headlights. Well…at least he isn’t mad.

THE END.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my fic shit #my works #black coded reader #jjk smut #choso x black!reader #choso smut #jjk choso #choso x female reader #choso x chubby reader

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