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luxaofhesperides · 4 months

Note

Can I please have meet cute/weird with mistaken villain! Danny (but really just a engineer and or chem student) and the one being put on investigation cause Danny is a day villain(not really)! Duke

Technically, Danny Fenton is innocent. Technically.

Duke wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he’s having so much trouble finding solid evidence that Danny is stealing from a wide variety of people, but he’s been burned before by trying to see people as better than they were. It doesn’t change the fact that Oracle’s cameras keep spotting Danny right before a building on the street is broken into and something stolen. He’s always just walking down the sidewalk; no one has spotted him entering or exiting a building, but he’s around far too often to be unconnected to these burglaries.

It doesn’t help that strange, petty crimes have been on the rise since Danny first arrived in Gotham.

So.

Danny Fenton is technically innocent.

Duke is trying to prove that he’s not.

Maybe I’m looking too closely, he thinks, going over Danny’s sparse file in the Hatch. Maybe Danny’s only one person in a bigger operation.

He could just be the lookout, the runner, the information gatherer who marks which buildings to hit. He may even be the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb; Danny has no support in Gotham, no family, no job. There would be no one to help him if he got arrested or injured in a fight. He’s a freshman college student from Illinois who should be unprepared for life in Gotham but is somehow managing to survive like a native.

There’s a lot about Danny that doesn’t add up.

Duke has seen plenty of different people since he first went out as the Signal. He’s tried to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, but it leads to his loved ones being put in danger. Some people are truly evil, some working on a malicious agenda, some are misguided in their beliefs, and some are desperate people who see no other way to move forward.

He’s not sure yet which on Danny is, but he’s hoping Danny is just desperate and needs a little help to get out of a life of crime.

Which leads to the next problem: Duke has no idea what Danny is steal, or why. He hits both rich and poor folks, civilians and members of the mob, and once, notably, stole something right out of Cobblepot’s office. Allegedly, at least, since no one saw him enter or exit the office, not even the security cameras.

But added to the whispers going around about a new group in Gotham snatching people up from the streets, and some strange green substances found in warehouses often raided by police for the frequent drug labs that pop up in them…

It doesn’t look good for Danny. Especially when a few of the items he stole were found where people either vanished or where that green substance has been found.

A week of analysis in the Batcave and they still don’t know what it is.

Both Damian and Jason suspected Lazarus water, but the composition was completely different. By the look of the molecular structure, it shouldn’t have been in a liquid form at all.

All these findings lead back to one person who may have answers: Danny Fenton.

According to Tim, who’s already broken into Danny’s dorm room and checked over all the labs he has classes in, Danny has some concerning items in his possession. Various inventions and little metal knick-knacks put together by a practiced hand. He was also the one to find all the information that went into Danny’s file when it was first being made: social media posts, school report cards, news articles about his parents… everything.

And then he had an emergency mission to take with the Titans that swept him out of Gotham leaving Duke to tackle this investigation on his own.

He doesn’t have Tim’s natural skill in stalking and invading privacy. He hates breaking into people’s spaces and following them around, but needs must and he has to force himself to work through the discomfort.

It’s a good thing he did, too. Danny’s leaving his dorm after his last afternoon class, hood up to hide his face and something held in the front pocket of his hoodie. He ducks around people on the sidewalk easily, almost as if he’s gliding through the crowd instead of walking.

Duke follows from above, bending the light around him to hide him from sight.

He walks for some time, weaving through alleys and streets as if he’s been in Gotham his whole life, leaving behind the university campus to head towards Otisberg. There’s something strange about the way Danny walks, as if he’s moving around people who aren’t there, guided by something Duke can’t hear. Even using his meta abilities doesn’t do much beyond show him where Danny’s going to be in the next few seconds.

He continues to follow Danny on the rooftops, walking along the edge to keep him in sight.

Then Danny stops behind an apartment building and tilts his head back to look up at it. He tilts his head to the side, then nods and looks around the empty alley. Duke crouches down, keeping his eyes on Danny in the hopes of catching him in the act—

Danny disappears.

Duke curses under his breath and jumps down from the roof, putting more strength into his abilities as soon as his feet touch the ground.

The space where Danny was has a faint outline, oddly enough. He’s never seen that before. From it is a semi-transparent trail, smoke-like and a pale green leading into the building. It goes straight into a wall, as if Danny walked through it.

He can’t go in and search the entire apartment, but he can grapple up and take a look into the hallways to see where Danny’s heading. If he was looking up, then that’s where he should be heading.

It doesn’t take any effort to scale the building. There are ledges and windowsills and plenty of handholds for him to propel himself off of, and paired with his powers, Duke is able to find the correct floor in just under two minutes.

The green smoke slowly dances through the air of the ninth floor, on the east side of the building. If he’s been counting the rooms correctly, then the target of tonight’s burglary has to be apartment 924.

The curtains are drawn on the window he makes his way over to, and his abilities don’t show him anything helpful for the immediate future. He hates going in blind, especially to a civilian’s home, but capturing Danny takes priority. Duke picks the lock and slides the window up slowly, making sure it stays quiet, then slips into an empty bedroom.

He makes his way out into the hallway on silent feet, keeping a wary eye on the thin smoke strands of green, curling along the walls. The rest of the apartment is empty as well, pale sunlight slanting across the floor through the blinds.

Everything is still and silent. Danny’s nowhere to be found.

Did he miss Danny leaving, somehow? Was this a misdirect to get him out of the way while Danny stole from another location? Did he know Duke was following him?

But no, his ears pick up on the faint sound of clothes rustling.

Cautiously, Duke turns towards the front door, where the door to the coat closet is open. He focuses on what’s going to happen in the next twenty seconds and sees Danny panic, then disappear from sight again, but a transparent outline of his body is visible just enough to show him where he runs to. Best not to spook him; Duke pulls at the light around him and bends it to hide him from sight.

Then he moves along the wall, getting around the open door without bumping into anyone or anything.

A figure in front of the coats, shoving them to the side roughly, flickers in and out of view, almost like a reflection in water, distorted by ripples on the surface.

Danny pops back into visibility suddenly, scowling at the coats. “Are you sure it’s in here?” he asks the empty air.

There is no answer, but Danny acts like there is. He rolls his eyes and says, “It’s a favor. That I’m doing for you. I can literally stop right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” He shoves aside another heavy winter coat, then sighs. “Why don’t you look for it, and then tell me where it is.”

He steps back and bumps into Duke.

Danny whirls around, eyes wide, and blast of green light has Duke crashing back into the wall, trying to blink spots out of his eyes.

“Wait!” he yells, grabbing for Danny before he can run off. “I just wanna talk!”

“Standing right behind me like a serial killer does not make you look like someone who wants to talk!” Danny yells back, slipping through his hands like mist.

“I just have a few questions!”

“Well, I have a question: why?!”

“Will you hold still, we’re being too loud!”

Danny escapes to the other side of the apartment, next to a window looking fully prepared to fling himself out of it. But he does stop yelling, so Duke is counting it as a success.

“Why is the Signal coming after me?” Danny asks, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Dude,” Duke says, “You’ve been seen outside of every single building that’s had a burglary since you first arrived in Gotham. All the Bats are after you, they just sent me because I’m the only one active during the day.”

“All the Bats?” Danny repeats, losing what little color he had in his face.

He looks legitimately scared, pale enough to be concerning, and Duke drops his guard and tries to relax the tension in the apartment. “I’m not gonna turn you into the cops or anything. I just had questions and you seem like the most likely person to have answers. That’s it.”

Danny still looks wary, ready to run at a moment’s notice, but he doesn’t leave when Duke approached casually, leaning his weight against the couch.

“So,” he begins, “What’s the deal with all the thievery? It’s rarely something super rare or expensive.”

There’s a long few minutes where Danny doesn’t answer, looking anywhere but at Duke. Then he twitches a bit and glares off to the side, and says, “I taking items that are contaminated with ectoplasm to help ghosts move through the veil and leave Gotham.”

That tells him nothing! That just gives Duke more questions! But at least it’s an answer, the first one any of them have got.

“I think you’re gonna have to explain a little more.”

“Ghosts are real, alright?”

“Yes.”

Danny stops. Squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”

“Ghosts are real,” Duke repeats, “There are a few who help heroes or are heroes themselves, but that’s more on the magic side of things so I’m not super familiar with it.”

“Magic,” Danny says slowly. “Sure, alright. Um. Yes, ghosts are real. And there are a ton in Gotham who need help moving on, but they’re too weak to get past the veil. Something about Gotham has made the veil super strong, so they need a little boost to get through. Additional ectoplasm bonded helps with that.”

“And that’s why you’re stealing random things?”

“The ghosts I help can kind of sense ectoplasm-infused things, but they need me to grab them since they can’t hold anything without a physical body.”

Duke nods slowly. “Okay, that’s starting to answer some things. We have found those objects in the last places missing people were seen. Any idea what’s going on with that?”

“Yeah, those people were already dead.”

The way Danny says the most concerning answers as if they’re nothing is really throwing Duke off his game. He was expecting to be calm and serious to keep Danny from freaking out too much and look like a legitimate hero. But as soon as Danny started talking, all his nerves fell away and Duke is left grasping for composure.

“They were…”

“They were ghosts, yeah. And they needed to get through the veil. But they were also able to possess their own bodies and didn’t realize they were dead until I had to break the news to them, which is why it looks like living people just up and disappeared.”

“Okay… What about the green stuff we’ve been finding?”

“Ectoplasm.” Danny holds up a hand and a neon green light surrounds it. Except it looks more solid than light, as if it can be touched, and it moves on its own like fire around Danny’s fingers. “It’s what ghosts are made of.”

Oh. If Danny has ectoplasm, does that mean…

“Are you dead?” Duke asks, heart dropping.

Instead of looking upset about the question, or even disturbed by it, Danny just shrugs and waves his hand back and forth. “A little.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Duke says, trying to resist the urge to rub his temples. It’s a habit he didn’t mean to pick up from Batman, and it would just look silly with his helmet in the way. “You’re just doing all this to help ghosts?”

“Yeah. Basically. They asked for help man, of course I was going to help them.”

Danny’s a good person. He’s just a good person to ghosts. But this is good news either way, and he can let the others know that Danny isn’t the next Catwoman and is entirely unconnected from any drug production. Everything that made him look like a criminal is just the fault of ghosts.

“Speaking of,” Danny continues, “Looks like they found what they need, so I’m going to grab that real quick.” He pushes off of the wall and heads for the closet again, moving past Duke without any fear. Duke follows, keeping a few feet of distance between them so Danny doesn’t feel trapped, and watches as he shoves aside the coats again and pulls a shoebox out of the depths of the closet. From it, he takes a single intricate lace headband and holds it up.

It looks normal, if a little old, but when Danny sends ectoplasm through it, the lace lights up and holds the glow.

He pulls some strange contraption out of his pocket and holds it up to the headband. It makes a few beeps, then Danny mutters, “7.4 millisieverts. That’s enough to get you through the veil.”

Another concern Duke can let go of: Danny’s not creating weapons like his parents have, he’s just measuring ectoplasm through his own inventions.

Maybe he could talk to Bruce or Tim about getting Danny an internship at the R&D lab in Wayne Enterprises? That way they could keep a closer eye on him while seeing what he can create in some of the best laboratories in the country.

Well, it might take having them meet Danny before they trust him enough for that, but Duke is sure he can make it happen.

“I better go see this through, then,” Danny says, shoving the contraption back into his hoodie pocket. He gives Duke a small awkward wave, then pops out of visibility. “I’ll see you around, I guess?” he disembodied voice hedges, and Duke smiles.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you again.”

“Cool. I gonna go now!”

He doesn’t see any sign that Danny’s left, but he gets a feeling that he’s alone now, the apartment suddenly emptier than it was before.

As strange and concerning as Danny and all his bizarre actions were, Duke is glad he was able to finally talk to him and get some answers. Knowing how Gotham pulls people him in, it’s only a matter of time before the other Bats are exposed to Danny’s kind of strange. He’s already looking forward to it.

For now, though, he has a file to update in the Hatch; POTENTIAL THREAT will be removed and replaced with GHOST HELPER.

If anyone goes snooping into his files and gets confused, then that’s their problem. Duke’s explained enough. And Danny can take care of the rest, once they go through the effort of tracking him down. Duke's done his part, he's ready for the rest of them to step up to his level.

He can’t wait to see what other kind of trouble Danny can get it into.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #could not do a meet cute/weird in this prompt so i made it a meet disaster lol #heres danny trying to focus on his education!! and then ghosts start popping up asking for help bc gotham wont let them leave #so danny has to make a few contraptions to be able to help them (mostly ecto tracking/measuring/containing) and it looks SOOO sus #the ghosts also have a weak ecto sense which is how they find him bc hes FULL of ecto #and that means hes robbing houses during the day/late evening bc the night is for homework and stress #duke is just... trying his best lol.#sorry if the last part of this is rushed or confusing i am slightly sick and can Not focus #anyways i hope u enjoy!!#thanks for the prompt!!

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mokulule · 8 months

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Take Out for Dummies - part 1

Ship: Dead on Main

“Excuse me?” Jason asked in disbelief.

“How would you describe your ideal date?” the man repeated the question calmly as if he hadn’t snuck up on Red Hood on a rooftop in the middle of the night and didn’t have two guns pointed at him by said surprised vigilante.

Jason had no idea what to think, it was absurd. Only one thing made the smallest bit of sense. After all some reporters would do anything for a story.

“Is this an interview for a gossip magazine?”

The man blinked. “No, this is for personal use only.”

Okay. That was even weirder. With that thought he holstered his guns, grabbed his grapple instead and jumped off the building. He could move his patrol elsewhere for tonight.

Oo o oO

It had been a few days, the strange encounter forgotten about as he’d quickly come across a shipment of unsanctioned drugs entering his territory; Black Mask was making moves towards Crime Alley again. Red Hood had to nip that bullshit in the bud. Just because he was more vigilante than crime lord these days didn’t mean he’d gone soft.

So, Jason had forgotten about the strange man on the rooftop and was wholly unprepared when once again he was standing on a rooftop taking a small break in his patrol and someone spoke:

“So I assume dinner is out what with the whole helmet deal, but what about chocolate?”Jason spun around heart in this throat, guns pointing towards the direction of the voice. It took a moment for him to even find him. This time he was sitting on top on the slanted roof of the stairwell.

“What the-“

“A box of chocolate could be enjoyed later, would that be a suitable gift?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Too many things to remember off the top of my head.” The man jumped down and walked towards Jason, once more showing his absolute disregard for the guns pointing at him.

“Do you have a death wish?”

That for some reason brought a smile to his face.

Somehow, Jason was the one taking a step back despite being the one holding the guns. That at least stopped the man’s advance and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry man, I guess this whole showing up on a rooftop in the dark is kinda creepy.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “It’s just with you being you, I don’t know where else to catch you.”

Jason felt an incoming headache, and he was feeling increasingly silly pointing his guns at the man when he didn’t react to them at all.

“How about you explain who you are and what you want?”

“Oh!” He slapped his forehead as if he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “I’m Danny, and I’ve been hired to take you out.” He smiled brightly.

Jason stared in disbelief. Who in their right mind just announced they’d been hired to kill someone, to the person they intended to-

No…

It couldn’t be…

He’d been asking about dates and chocolate. He couldn’t possibly have misunderstood take out Red Hood as take out Red Hood on a date. Nobody would be that stupid…

“Why would someone hire you to take me out on a date?”

Danny, if that was his real name, shrugged. “Maybe they thought you were stressed and needed a nice evening? I don’t know. I don’t ask questions. I just do odd jobs for money, keeps the lights on, you know?”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t believe this.

“And like this job pays extremely well for some reason, so like I’d like to do a good job of it hence the questions?”

Of course it payed extremely well, it was meant to be a freaking hit! Still could be of course, but then it was the oddest way to go about it that Jason had ever experienced and he’d taken out quite a few would-be assassins in his time.

Danny’s face fell at Jason’s continued non-responsiveness. He sighed. Then brought out a notepad and scribbled something down, before ripping off the paper and holding it out to Jason.

“Look,” he said, when Jason made no move to take the paper and still just kept his guns trained on him, “here’s my number if you change your mind. If you haven’t called back in three days, I’ll return my advance and tell them I can’t do it - no matter how sad I’ll be to see that money go.” He looked pained at the admission, but then looked back up at Red Hood with determination.

“Still please reconsider, Mr Hood, I promise I’ll show you a good time if you agree to a date.”He looked expectantly from his hand with the paper to Jason’s helmet. Jason sighed. Holstering his right hand gun he took the paper. It was indeed a phone number, above the number it said Danny with a little smiley face drawn after the name.

Danny’s face brightened into a smile.

“Have a good night then Mr. Hood, I hope to hear from you.” Danny walked backwards with a wave and promptly tripped on an empty bottle someone had left.

“Woah!” His arms windmilled and he only just saved himself from falling back and hitting his head by sheer luck as he caught himself in the sort of gravity defying pose that would win him most limbo games. He laughed sheepishly as he put a hand down and turned around to push himself back up.

“So that was embarrassing. Should look where I go, huh? Never know when you’ll be assaulted by littering…” his voice trailed off as he walked away. He threw a last wave over his shoulder before jumping onto the fire escape and beginning his climb down.

Jason was left standing on the rooftop, paper clutched in one hand, trying to comprehend the whole baffling conversation. Also there was a distinct curl of embarrassment that he’d actually felt threatened by the guy at one point.

Yeah, he wasn’t gonna unpack that. He put the paper in a pocket of his utility belt and took a running leap to the next rooftop.

Oo o oO

Jason could not believe he was actually doing this.

It was three days later. In the mean time he’d asked around his old enforcers if they heard about a guy named Danny who did “odd jobs” as he’d called it.

As it turned out, there was indeed an odd-job-Danny, sometimes just called odd-Danny, with an increasing reputation on the streets of Gotham for doing all sorts of jobs - everything from helping old ladies carry groceries home for pennies and a pat on the cheek to heavier lifting by the docks. When he asked one of the street kids about him, he was told he also helped look for lost pets for pretty rocks or whatever the kids had in their pockets at the time, and he could fix just about anything - which had to be an exaggeration, but then again the street kids weren’t prone to overly positive opinions about adults, so he’d certainly made quite an impression on them.

Yet despite a lot of people knowing about him, apparently nobody knew a last name or where he lived. It was a mystery.

All that to say that Jason was curious… and apparently doing this.

He looked down at his phone, where he’d already put in the number. His thumb hovered over the call button. He still could not believe he was doing this. If this was a trap he was apparently walking in.

With a sigh he pushed the button.

It rang three times before it connected.

“Hello?” A hesitant voice asked.

“Is this Danny?” “Who’s asking?”

“You ask me on a date and you already forgot, I’m hurt,” Jason deadpanned hoping he would catch on to it not being wise to mention Red Hood’s name on an unencrypted line.

“Oh! So is that a yes?” He piped up excitedly.

Urgh, why was it charming that that he sounded so genuinely excited?

“Yes.”

“Sweet. Did you consider my questions?”

“Nope,” Jason popped the p and found himself smirking, “gonna have to impress me all on your own.”

Danny huffed. “Have it your way. I’ll show you a good time, you’ll see. How does… Sunday afternoon work for you?”

“’s fine.”

“Meet you in front of the building we last met, at 2 pm? Also unless you wanna take the bus, maybe bring your bike? I don’t drive.”

Jason scoffed. Letting some stranger hired to kill him close to him on his bike was a recipe for disaster. Still he found himself answering:

“Sure.”

“Great! I’ll see you Sunday then.”

With those words the call ended.

Jason looked down at his phone. He couldn’t believe it. Jason, no, Red Hood had a date for this Sunday. A giddy feeling bubbled up in his chest and he couldn’t help laughing. Red Hood going on a date. It was fucking ridiculous.

Yet, he was kinda looking forward to it. -

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#take out for dummies #dead on main #dp x dc #this is mostly just silly #but there is also some plot #because it assaulted me in a dark alley #anyways #hope you enjoyed

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myfirstandlast · 2 years

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if i don’t get to kms i really really really really really hope i have a life that doesn’t have to involve my parents

#it seems absolutely impossible and i’m mostly kms bc i’m scared and unprepared to face the world #but if it somehow turns out i think i’d cry myself exhausted being able to look around and see a life worth living where they don’t exist #it’s too terrifying to fathom rn but that’s because i don’t have anything about myself that could stimulate and independent lifestyle #idk how to make myself someone of value plus an income but. maybe one day

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adonis-koo · 6 months

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sweet nothing • 8

| in which you run into an old costumer |

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word count: 3k

Previous | Next

Note: just know that the only reason these updates take so long is because I keep writing plot based chapters and I really just wanna post fluff based chapters 😭

“Thank you for taking me out!” You grinned as you took a large sip of your hot chocolate, it was still definitely not cold enough for it yet but you didn’t care.

Something about hitting your third trimester had you wanting to nest like crazy, it had you going around the estate cleaning and getting guards to help move furniture around.

You really had no right to be doing it but nobody told you otherwise.

Jungkook had come back midday, surprisingly early, he had paused in the entry hall of his home locking eyes with the pregnant menace that had abruptly put herself at the forefront of his life once again.

It was then he realized you definitely needed to get out of the estate.

“If it keeps you from not moving all my stuff around,” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat, eyes flickering from his phone to you.

You frowned, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what possessed me.” You sighed, “Well I do, they say third trimester can make you start nesting.”

“Nesting?”

You glared are the way he snorted as if not believing you, “It’s a fact, you can look it up.”

“The fuck is that even supposed to be? What are you, a bird?”

“It means you just get the innate urge to just…” you puffed your cheeks, ignoring that look he was giving you, “Clean and decorate and just…I don’t know I can’t describe it! Just wish I had my own place to do that with and prepare for the baby.”

Jungkook sighed, his eyes went from looking at you to dropping down to your stomach, it was round when you had first come to the estate, but it was evident six weeks had passed, “Then maybe it’s time we talk about a nursery.”

You paused, getting ready to take another drink from your cup but it never meets to your lips.

Jungkook sighed, “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but finding your brother has quite literally lead me to dead ends I didn’t even think would exist. You’re almost thirty weeks pregnant, that’s less than three months.”

“Okay yeah I can do basic math, but it’s already been almost two months. Surely it won’t take another two months to find him,” You pressed your lips together nervously.

“Would it be so terrible if you gave birth in the estate? It’ll probably be a better experience than the hospital.” Jungkook commented, picking up his coffee as he took a sip.

It wasn’t that you were against giving birth in the estate, professional staff in the comforts of a bed? That was a luxury every woman could only dream of having, it was more the aftermath of it.

The idea of still living at the estate post pregnancy…it was a dangerous thought, it was too close to the life you had once wanted with Jungkook.

You just weren’t sure how to articulate that too him.

Jungkook finally raised a brow at you, noticing your lack of reply.

“I just…don’t want to get too comfortable at the estate.” You finally spoke carefully, “I don't think that's good for anybody involved.”

“I understand but I also don’t like being unprepared- in any aspect concerning me or my estate, and that includes you whether you want it or not.” Jungkook replied, “Just because a nursery is there doesn’t mean it’ll ever be used, it’ll just be there so first of all, you stop moving all my shit and you have a place to do your bird stuff-“

“Nesting.” You glared, lips quirking into a pout as your hands wrapped around your stomach.

Jungkook’s lips curved a little, “Bird stuff. And second, if it does turn out that your stay is extended, it’ll be ready.”

You still weren’t completely sold on the idea, if anything you felt like it would just feed into the delusion even further.

“Why hello there mama.” Another voice suddenly cut in, grabbing a chair from the empty table next to you both and plopping it on the side of your table.

Jungkook immediately straightened up, eyes glaring daggers that could definitely kill, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Yoongi!”

The man brushed his black hair from his eyes a quirky smirk on his face as he shrugged, “Uh I’m just stopping in to say hello to my favorite barista who got put on bed rest early.”

A smile twisted on your lips, you were familiar with his face, he had been a regular for almost two years, the realization however quickly hit that Jungkook was very acquainted with this man.

You felt flabbergasted for a moment, you couldn’t believe you never made the connection that the regular customer Yoongi was also Underboss business partner Yoongi.

“It’s nice to see you again Yoongi! I can't believe I didn’t recognize you as Jungkook’s partner…” You sheepishly smiled.

Jungkook clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, his nostrils flared and he looked ready to maul his partner.

“Nah probably for the best you didn’t realize. You as well, you look only a thousand times prettier, have that pregnancy glow about you.” Yoongi threw your a wink.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what made him more violent, the fact that you both were already well acquainted or Yoongi so casually flirting with you.

It was part of his personality but it still didn’t make any attention he or any other male gave you, any easier for Jungkook to witness.

“If you aren’t here for business, get the fuck away from our table.” Jungkook gritted his teeth, as if it took every fiber of his being to not right hook.

Yoongi didn’t seem phased, “Oh I was just in the area, been coming to Serendipity for a long while now, and then I suddenly see my favorite barista who’s been gone for two months, of course I have have to say hello.”

“Okay well you said hello, now go the fuck away.”

“Jungkook!” You said sternly, “Don’t be so stubborn, Yoongi can sit with us for a few minutes at least.”

His eyes were a raging fire as they burned into you, his chest puffing but he said no more as Yoongi observed you both, a smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair.

“How are you enjoying the estate Y/n?”

You smiled tenderly, “The company makes it honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without Jungkook and Yeonjun.”

“Yeonjun?” Jungkook looked like he sucked on a sour lemon as he spat the name out.

“I still want my apartment back but I’ve made the most of the it. What about you? Why haven’t you come to visit if you knew where I was?” You asked, curious as to what the man had been up too.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to Jungkook, “Well…let’s just say I was asked to not drop by unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“And it isn’t.” Jungkook gritted.

“Okay well first of all this doesn’t count cause we’re not at the estate, second of all you’re not the only one who has relations to Y/n, I mean have you ever had this woman’s chai? Or her baked cinnamon rolls? Talented hands right there.” Yoongi stretched out in his seat, that playful nature about him.

“Oh don’t flatter me.” You shooed his praise.

“No you deserve all the praise in the world, in fact you deserve-“

“We’re going.” Jungkook stood up from his seat, sick of this if he had to hear one more word come out of his stupid partners mouth.

“Jungkook!” You complained, but nevertheless took his hand when he offered it, “Please visit Yoongi, you’re conversation is always welcomed.”

Yoongi only smiled, sunk into his seat as he watched the tall broody figure practically drag you away, it made him laugh in amusement.

Yoongi by no means kept an eye on you the last two years for his own benefit, but he supposed somethings would always remain thankless.

He had accomplished what he wanted though, evidently no matter how much Jungkook talked- and he talked a lot, it was clear he had grown possessive over you in the last few months.

Yoongi shook his head in amusement, watching the viper leave the parking lot through the window, he was happy to see that old spark in his partner return.

“What was that about!” You complained, immediately dialing the heat down to sixty in the car.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” Jungkook grumbled, hands gripping the steer wheel as if he was trying to strangle it, “If you care about your baby’s safety you’ll make an active effort to not talk to him.”

“Hes been one of my regulars for like two years,” you complained, “How was I supposed to know he was your partner? I never even officially met him! What makes him anymore dangerous then you? Hm?”

Jungkook deflated, obviously not having a good reason, “The difference is I’m protecting you.”

“Oh so you’re saying he wouldn’t?”

“The point,” Jungkook gritted his teeth in annoyance, “Is don’t talk to him.”

You frowned as you twisted to fully look at Jungkook, was he…jealous?

“Are you mad that I’m paying attention to someone else?” You asked upfront, you could only be discreet about so many things.

“I’m not mad”.

“No you’re definitely mad.” You replied pointedly.

“I’m annoyed that my business partner is talking to me outside of business.” Jungkook replied.

“But he was talking to me, not you.” You crossed your arms.

“He was doing that on purpose.” Jungkook huffed.

It was silent for a long moment as you folded your hands into your lap.

Of course you didn’t have to point it out, but truthfully it felt too ridiculous to not? “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

There was another pause.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“You tell me,” you replied, a pout on your lips, “You always do this when someone talks to me, men specifically.”

“Do you actually want an honest answer?” Jungkook looked even more annoyed, even so much as throwing you a frosty glance before his eyes returned to the road.

You blinked before a troubled frown slowly curved on your lips, you could think of several ways he’d be honest and none of them you’d be able to fully believe.

“What I want,” you took a breath, “Is to be able to have a conversation without you looking like you’re shooting daggers out of your eyes.”

“I wasn’t shooting daggers out of my eyes.”

You puffed your cheeks, “Well you claim you don’t do a lot of things, that you do in fact, do.”

“How about we just stop talking.” Jungkook replied.

You pouted but spoke no more as you yawned.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You nodded with a small groan, “Yeah, I need to take a nap,” you nodded with another yawn.

Jungkook only nodded in return, eyes occasionally glancing at you, attempting to sleep in the car, when did his life start revolving around you this much?

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #mafia!jungkook

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eldritch-thrumming · 1 year

Text

you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name.

i knew from the first note played i’d be breaking all my rules to see you. you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name. so dim that spotlight, tell me things like “i can’t take my eyes off of you.” i’m no one special, just another wide-eyed girl who’s desperately in love with you. give me a photograph to hang on my wall, superstar.

Eddie has three major rules when it comes to working with celebrities: 1. don’t flirt with the talent; 2. don’t hang out with the talent; 3. don’t, under any circumstances, fuck the talent.

He’s had enough rockstars’ managers kick him out of hotel rooms after waking up to an empty bed with cold sheets to have learned his lesson ten times over by now.

He doesn’t even think of adding a fourth rule: don’t fall in love with the talent. Has never even come close to needing a rule like that. Not until he meets Steve Harrington.

~*~

“Ed, I got a new one for ya, he’ll be here at two,” Eddie’s boss Murray says from the open doorway of Eddie’s office.

“Huh?” Eddie eloquently responds, mouth full of the banana he’d found in the office kitchen for lunch. “What?”

Murray rolls his eyes. He gets endlessly annoyed when it turns out no one can read his mind.

“New singer-songwriter coming in at two, asked for you specifically. Working on his second album, so look alive.” Murray tosses a demo in Eddie’s direction before departing the office and moving down the hallway towards his own. Eddie barely catches it just before the plastic corner gets him right in the eye.

This is the problem with Murray. He gives no details and leaves absolutely no room for follow-up questions. The other problem with Murray is that he waits until the last minute to spring shit on Eddie that he knows Eddie’s not going to like.

Eddie flips the plastic CD case around in his hand so he can read the words written in Sharpie on the front. ‘S. H. - 2’ is all it says, giving him absolutely no information. It’s already ten to two, so Eddie doesn’t even have time to listen to a single song if he wants to make it up the two floors to the conference room where he usually meets with the talent for the first time. Eddie scowls in annoyance; he hates being unprepared and he just knows Murray is conspiring against him somehow.

Eddie pushes up from his desk and leaves his office, heading for the elevator. He pressed the button for the 42nd floor. He likes to play this game where he tries to hold his breath for the duration of the elevator ride. Two floors is easy. The ride up to the 40th floor is a lot harder.

By the time Eddie makes it to the conference room, his appointment’s already in there. As he walks through the glass doors, he realizes that when Murray said “new,” he didn’t actually mean new. He meant, like, new to them.

Because sitting in the conference room at the head of the table is former boy band heartthrob Steve Harrington.

~*~

Eddie had never had Steve’s poster on his wall in high school or anything embarrassing like that, thank god. But he had kept one of the pages he’d ripped out of the library’s copy of Tiger Beat folded under his mattress for early morning daydreaming. And Eddie had certainly never listened to his music when he’d been in Teeny Boppers United or whatever the hell his band of cookie cutter boy-next-door types was called (he definitely knew).

Now, here Harrington is, sitting across the table from him, hair full of blond highlights and cherry lipgloss (Eddie thinks, imagines, hopes) on his lips.

“Um, hi. I’m, uh, Eddie. Munson. Eddie Munson,” Eddie holds out his hand for Steve to shake and Steve does. Eddie tells himself he’s imagining the way Steve’s eyes linger on him and how he takes just a second too long to pull his hand away.

Steve smiles, blinding and perfectly white. “Yeah, man, I know. My friend Robin has worked with you before? She had real great things to say,” Steve tells him and he sounds more sincere than a former-pop star asshole has any right to be.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks surprised, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, she’s been a huge help with my solo stuff. She co-wrote a few of the songs on my first album.” Steve drums his fingertips on the thick wood of the table.

“Huh.” The sound leaves Eddie against his will, as he’s trying to mask his surprise. Robin Buckley was talented and she had a sound that Eddie would never guess Steve Harrington would be into. She was indie, for sure, almost folk, bordering on a breathy country sound that Eddie thinks she’d deny if she heard him describe her like that. “I’m not entirely sure I’m what you’re looking for, to be honest with you.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He has no idea what Harrington’s sound is now that he’s broken free of the teenage bubblegum scene. But he’s always had a self-sabotaging streak a mile wide and he feels both relieved and disappointed to potentially have this out.

Steve frowns slightly, the crease between his eyes deepening. “Did you listen to the demo? I actually have this one song and I’m struggling with the bridge and, you know, not to, like, geek out or fan girl or whatever, but I’m, like, so into your sound and your lyrics and just the way you can construct a metaphor that seems so obvious when you hear it but is still so surprising in the context of the song it’s in and I think it would really complement what I’ve already started and…” Steve’s been gesturing wildly with his hands and must realize he’s rambling, because he trails off, blushing. “I mean. Did you listen?” He asks again.

“Honestly, Murray only just told me about this meeting about ten minutes before it started,” Eddie shrugs, but he feels bad about the way Steve’s shoulders fall.

“Ah, okay,” Steve pushes back from the table. “Yeah, okay. No worries.”

And Eddie feels, like, not great about this. He doesn’t like the disappointment he can see etched across Steve’s handsome features. So he reaches a hand across the vast wooden table, gesturing for Steve to stop.

“Wait,” he says, hand raised between them. “Listen, I’m… skeptical, to say the least. But. I’ll listen to your demo tonight, okay? And I’ll let you know what I think tomorrow. Is that… does that work?”

Steve nods quickly. “Yeah, dude. Yeah, that’s awesome. Thank you. Um. Do you… did Murray give you my number?”

“Here,” Eddie slides his notebook and pen across the table.

Steve picks up the pen, scrawling across the entire notebook page, before sliding it back toward Eddie. “My, uh, personal number.” Steve runs as hand through his highlighted hair. “I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Thanks, Eddie.” He reaches out again to shake Eddie’s hand and this time, Eddie knows he doesn’t imagine the way Steve’s fingers linger on his palm.

Eddie clears his throat. “Talk soon,” he says, smiling, before Steve is turning and leaving the room.

~*~

Eddie had gone to LA with stars in his eyes and big dreams circling his head. He’d had hopes of making it big, of thousands of people screaming his name. It had sounded so good back then, when he'd been trailer trash in the smallest, most close-minded town in the American Midwest. And it had kind of happened. He’d recorded an entire album, had even had a national tour. But he’d realized fairly quickly that it wasn’t what he’d really wanted. Performing was fun, but what he really cared about was the song-writing. The way a perfectly constructed verse could speak to someone, on a deep, intimate, important level. That’s why he cared about music, that’s why it had always been so important to him. It wasn't the performing or the flashing bulbs of cameras or the after parties filled with people who wanted to get close to fame. It was the songs. It was the words and the meanings behind them. It was what it all meant, down to the end of it all.

So Eddie had changed course. He’d begun song-writing instead, freelancing at first, selling a song here and a collab there. Until he’d been approached by Murray Bauman, who’d heard what he’d done on a Taylor Swift track and was impressed. Murray had offered him a job in New York, writing and producing, an office and a salary for the first time in his life. And Eddie loved what he got to do now, loved the tracks he produced for other people to sing. He’d thought it would feel strange, like he was missing out on something, but it didn’t. It just felt good.

That had been five years ago and now here he is, sliding Steve Harrington’s demo into the CD player in his living room. He presses play and crosses the room to grab a beer from his kitchen. Just as he's crossing the threshold between rooms, he hears the first three notes of the song and it stops him in his tracks. He tilts his head back toward the stereo.

Because the song isn't the sound of a boy band lead gone solo, belting out pop lyrics that would guarantee major radio play. This song is soft and melancholy, the poetic lyrics of a chorus crafted with vulnerability, a complicated bridge that ties it all together. The song ends and shifts, the guitar twang taking on a pop rock tempo, more upbeat than the last song. Steve's voice comes out, deep and honey-sweet, different than his boy band days. The lyrics are still sadder than Eddie would have thought and Eddie's impressed by the words juxtaposed with the upbeat instrumentals and the tone of Steve's vocals.

Eddie listens to all four songs standing there in the doorway between his living room and kitchen. Can't bear to tear himself away. And when the fourth and final song is over, Eddie crosses the room to click 'play' all over again.

~*~

Eddie waits to call Steve. He wants to call him immediately after his third listen, but he figures that it would be a bad idea to interrupt a client’s dinner or date or whatever former pop stars do on Thursday nights.

He spends all day at the office the next day listening to Steve’s first album on repeat. He thinks he can tell where Robin had helped with the lyrics, can see the ways the two of them have come together, and he can hear how their voices complement each other on the track she’s featured on. He listens to it on repeat for hours, before swapping it out for the new demo all over again. He thinks he can trace the way Steve’s voice has evolved since the first album, can see the places where his song-writing has matured. He spends the weekend deconstructing each song, finding the spots of vulnerability and the developed self-confidence that allows that vulnerability to take center stage. He feels a little guilty for not calling Steve, but he can’t imagine Steve’s sitting by the phone or anything anyway.

But the end of the weekend, Eddie knows he can’t say no to Steve Harrington. He knows that he has to be a part of this album, no matter what. That this project is going to be something magical, something unimaginable.

First thing Monday morning, Eddie calls Steve and makes a deal.

~*~

“Fuck, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you,” Eddie hears Steve breathe down the phone line. “I’m such a huge fan and hearing what you did with Robin… I was worried you were gonna say no, y’know? When I didn’t hear from you?”

Eddie smiles to himself, small and involuntary. He’d never thought he’d hear Steve Harrington sounding so earnest.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I was just about ready to say no.” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and then shifts his phone from one ear to the other. “But I gave your demo a listen and I revisited your first album and I gotta tell you, I think there’s something really special there. I’m excited to see what we come up with.” He’s downplaying this, he knows it, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager. He doesn’t want Steve to know that he’ll probably die if he doesn’t get to work on this album. That’s probably a little too over dramatic, even for Eddie.

He hears Steve suck in a breath, can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “Dude, thank you. I’m so excited. This means a lot to me. Thanks, man.”

“Alright, well, I’m gonna have my assistant call you in a few days to set up some meetings and get everything worked out, timeline-wise. I’ll be in touch soon.” Eddie has to get off the phone now, before he says something dumb as fuck.

“Awesome. Thanks again, Eddie,” Steve replies, before there’s nothing but a dial tone.

~*~

Eddie has Chrissy set up all the meetings, scheduling studio time and booking out the conference room.

For months, Eddie’s life revolves around Steve Harrington. All he can think about are what chord progressions will have Steve’s voice sounding its best, all heavy and sweet, or what rhyme scheme the chorus should have to enhance its emotional tenor in the way Steve wants.

They record together, Steve in the booth and Eddie at the console. Sometimes Robin joins them, happy to take on second guitar and suggest a new phrasing for a line that’s giving them trouble.

Steve enlists the same band he’d used on his first album and Eddie’s kind of impressed by how well they all seem to get along. How committed they are to helping Steve figure out the vision for this album.

Towards the end of recording—long months spent trying new things, taking out second guitar here, adding a keyboard track in there—Steve convinces Eddie to play lead guitar on one of the tracks they wrote together. It’s one of the unfinished ones from the demo Eddie had been so enchanted by, the one that Steve had said was giving him trouble on the bridge. They’d spent long nights in Eddie’s office ordering late-night pizzas and trying to figure out how to make the song work. Eddie was so frustrated he was about to suggest they just scrap the whole thing until Steve started drumming on one of the discarded pizza boxes, humming along with a switched-up melody, a reversal of what they already had, a dramatic shift from chorus to bridge and back again. Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare and then the words were coming, Steve finishing his sentences when Eddie stumbled searching for the right word. By morning, the song was finished.

Eddie agrees to play, if only because he loves the song so much, so proud of the work they’d put into it. It has nothing to do with the way Steve’s sweet smile spreads over his face or the faint pinkness Eddie can see rising in his cheeks. In the end, Eddie’s even convinced to lend his vocals to the song. He doesn’t let himself think about how good they sound together, Steve’s deep voice belting out the lyrics with Eddie’s softer cadence just underneath.

~*~

Steve goes out on tour almost immediately after they finish recording. The record label says there’s so much buzz around the album, so much anticipation, that they should strike while the iron is hot.

“Don’t forget about me out there on the road,” Eddie jokes, voice light and airy. He and Steve are at his favorite coffee shop, just down the street from his offices.

“Could never,” Steve tells him, smiling, tone just on the wrong side of serious. He takes a sip of his coffee.

They’ve been dancing around each other for months, probably since they’d started recording if Eddie’s really honest with himself. But Eddie has rules and he’s been burned before. So when they’ve finished their coffee, they part ways. Eddie wishes Steve luck on his tour and Steve says he’ll be in touch.

Eddie’s life goes back to normal.

~*~

They text sporadically. Eddie doesn’t mind. He remembers how chaotic and stressful tour had been when he’d done it and he hadn’t been nearly as huge as Steve is now. Eddie knows it’s an endless parade of meet-and-greets and sound checks and dress rehearsals, one day blending into another. He’s surprised Steve even reaches out to him at all.

Steve is set to perform the last show of his tour at Madison Square Garden. Eddie thinks about showing up, grabbing the free tickets he gets as part of the job and surprising Steve. He thinks about it a lot actually, all five months Steve’s gone, fantasizes about how Steve might greet him, how he’d pull him into the green room backstage and…

A week before the show, Steve calls him.

“Hey, man!” Steve sounds winded and breathy. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, y’know, same old same old.” Eddie tries to sound as casual as possible, but he can’t control the grin that spreads across his lips.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, listen, I only have a minute, but I was wondering if you’d be open to, uh. Coming to my show at the Garden?” Eddie thinks he might be imagining the nervous lilt to Steve’s voice, the unsure way he poses the question.

“Yeah, man, of course. I’d love to be there.”

“Great! I’ll text you the details.” Eddie doesn’t even have time to say goodbye before Steve has hung up on him.

~*~

The night of the concert, Eddie shows up backstage, feeling just a little out of place. He’d bypassed the front of house, but he hadn’t missed the line of young women and girls snaking out of the venue doors and onto the streets of Manhattan. He had known Steve was big, but he hadn’t imagined it would be like this.

A woman with short blonde hair leads Eddie into the green room. Steve’s getting his makeup done, but when he sees Eddie in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes light up and he smiles, wide and goofy. He pushes up from his chair and crosses the room, moving to pull Eddie into a hug before Eddie can even say anything, arms looped around Eddie’s neck. Steve is warm against him, his muscles firm and soft—a strange juxtaposition—as Eddie wraps his own arms around Steve’s waist.

“So happy you’re here,” Steve whispers against his ear, breath hot. Eddie can’t even react before Steve’s pulling away, crossing back over to his chair and dropping himself into it. Steve looks at Eddie in the reflection, their eyes meeting. “I have a favor to ask.” Steve suddenly sounds hesitant, fingers fidgeting in his lap.

“Oh, no,” Eddie jokes, winking at Steve in the mirror. “What is it this time?”

Steve blushes. “I know you don’t really perform anymore, but I was hoping you’d help me out with our song? It’s the last song of the show.”

The words our song echo in Eddie’s ears and he can’t help his smile. Sure, he doesn’t really perform anymore, but, he realizes in this moment, he’d do pretty much anything for Steve. The thought should be terrifying, but somehow it isn’t.

“Dude, that’s awesome.” Eddie watches Steve practically sag in relief. “I’d love to.”

Before long, Steve is being rushed around, manhandled on his way to the stage, and Eddie is left to follow behind so he can watch from the wings.

Eddie had thought he’d known Steve. They’d written and recorded together for months, felt every emotion possible in the time it had taken them to complete the album. But watching Steve perform is something else entirely. Steve glows under the harsh stage lights, smiling and charismatic as he jokes with the girls in the front row vying for his attention. It’s magical to watch Steve perform the songs they’d made together, to sing words from Eddie’s own brain. Eddie is transfixed by the way Steve’s lips wrap around each note, like each word that comes out of his mouth is the most important word that’s ever been spoken. Steve is otherworldly on stage.

“For the last song, I have a surprise,” Steve stops in front of the mic stand as someone rushes to bring him his favorite guitar. He pulls the strap over his head. Someone on the side of the stage nudges Eddie, holding out a guitar that Eddie’s never seen before. If he’d known about this, he would have brought his own beloved sweetheart, but he’ll have to make do with what he has. No backing out now. “You’ve probably heard of Eddie Munson.” Steve smiles as the crowd cheers. “Yeah, he’s a huge deal. He’s worked with everyone from Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers to Bruce Springsteen and Metallica.” The crowd cheers again. “I worked really closely with him on this album,” Steve smiles. “And he took something raw and messy and made it so fucking great.” The crowd screams. “I always close the show with my favorite song off the album. It’s the one that took us the longest to write. We were so frustrated, I thought Eddie was gonna tell me to just forget it. We spent so many all-nighters stuffing our faces with pizza and cursing ourselves for ever even thinking we should write this stupid fucking song.” Steve laughs with the crowd. “But then, one night it all clicked. It all came together. It was like magic, sitting there with Eddie on some ugly couch in his office, just about ready to give up. We made magic together.” Steve looks out at the crowd. “So. Eddie’s here to help me share this song with you.” The crowd goes wild as someone pushes Eddie out onto the stage, but Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Steve, who’s smiling at him from under the lights, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Playing the song is easier than Eddie had thought it would be. The notes come to him like muscle memory, like he could play this song in his sleep. He can’t take his attention away from Steve where he sings into the microphone. It’s all too much for his heart to handle. He feels like he might die here, right on the spot.

Just as suddenly as it had started, it’s all over. The crowd is deafening and Eddie’s got a smile on his face so wide his cheeks ache. Steve waves to the crowd before taking Eddie’s hand and leading him off stage.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, pulling Eddie along down the backstage hallways back towards the green room. “That was un-fucking-real.” Steve’s smiling, cheeks red.

Eddie can’t say anything at all. All he can do is follow helplessly behind Steve, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His heartbeat so loud he’s sure Steve can hear it.

They’re back in the green room before Eddie can even blink. Suddenly, his back is pressed up against the closed door, Steve practically plastered to his front. He can barely breathe as Steve’s lips crash into his.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, pulling back slightly. His breath is hot against Eddie’s lips. “Been thinking about you for months.” His voice is soft, barely there.

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie groans, running a hand through Steve’s hair, trying to pull him back in. “It’s so okay, Stevie.”

Steve lets out a groan of his own and then he’s kissing Eddie again, lips parting and tongue curling against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s not sure how long they stand there pressed up against the wall, hands tangled in hair, kissing each other breathless. All too soon a knock comes from the other side of the door and they jump apart.

“Steve?” A muffled voice calls out from the hallway. “You have a meet-and-greet in five.”

Steve looks at Eddie, laughing a little. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot,” he whispers, before raising his voice to respond to whoever’s outside, “Okay, just a minute!” He kisses Eddie one last time, soft and so sweet. “Come with me?” He asks.

Eddie nods and follows after Steve.

~*~

Eddie watches from the sidelines as Steve takes picture after picture. It’s kind of uncanny, the way Steve’s smile seems genuine in every photo he takes, the interest he seems to take in every person who comes to meet him.

The line has dwindled down when the next group of fans catch sight of Eddie in the shadows. “Oh my god!” One of the girls squeals, before turning toward Steve. “Can we get a picture with you and Eddie?”

Steve laughs, already nodding, before turning towards Eddie. “You mind?” He asks, holding his hand out for Eddie. Eddie slides his hand into Steve’s and has his picture taken.

~*~

After, Steve invites Eddie back to his fancy hotel room, but Eddie counters by inviting Steve to his apartment. Steve’s face brightens, clearly excited to see where Eddie lives. Eddie tries to mentally envision how he’d left his apartment, thinks it’s probably safe for world-famous superstars to visit.

They take Steve’s car, his driver dutifully ignoring whatever’s going on in the back seat, and by the time they make it up the six floors to Eddie’s door, they can’t keep their hands off each other. They crash through the front door, attached at the lips. They stumble down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom and Eddie all but tackles Steve down into the sheets.

The next morning, Steve insists on making a homemade breakfast. Eddie rarely cooks, but by some miracle, he’s got eggs and bacon in his fridge. Eddie knows he’s got a dopey look on his face as he sits at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, watching Steve move around his space.

Later, when they’re curled up together on the couch and Steve is dozing against his chest, Eddie scrolls through his Instagram feed. He’s tagged in a ton of photos from the night before, up on stage with Steve, eyes fixed on each other as they play their guitars, crisscrossing beams of light all around them. He scrolls for a few more moments, before he sees the picture they’d taken together at the meet-and-greet, with the three girls who’d asked for a picture with Steve and Eddie. Steve’s blushing, his hand still holding Eddie’s, a wide smile on his face. Eddie’s just as flushed, eyes glassy, but he’s not even looking at the camera, face turned toward Steve instead. He looks lovestruck. It would be embarrassing, but Steve shifts in his arms, letting out a tiny little sound from the back of his throat.

Eddie screenshots the photo and saves it to his camera roll.

~*~

@thecaptainsgingersnap gave me “dealer's choice lyrics from Superstar” :)

This turned out waaaaayyyyyyy longer than I originally planned, so I probably should’ve split it into two posts, but here we are. Hope you enjoy it!!

#in this universe eddie munson co-wrote tolerate it #i know what song they wrote together but I’m keeping it to myself lol #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fluff #steddie fic rec #steve harrington x eddie munson

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notathingjustthere · 13 days

Text

Till Morning

Summary: A small argument escalates. Soft Simon.

Notes: my sister did a dramatic read with this in the background. they apparently had some rich character in mind.

Pairing: Simon x Reader

It was nothing serious at first so you insisted on resolving the issue immediately, and of course, he wanted to be anywhere else but there to talk about it. Neither one of you were in the mood, him more so than you, and though you knew better than to bug him about it you were only worried about calming your anxiety. You were absorbed in apprehension causing your voice to carry, wholly fixed on reconciling yet disregarding Simon’s solace. It was a second too late when you registered the slight rise to his voice, he was now approaching anger at your persistence. You decide to drop it on instinct, but now Simon is riled up matching your initial resolve.

It was your turn to be uncomfortable, unprepared for the vices he spewed, it was nothing cruel, but his tone stirred up a fret. “You wanted to talk, so let’s talk love” he snides. This was not what you wanted, it was much less calm than you hoped, and now you wanted out, having lost direction. If only you had listened. The dread was now up to your chest and everything was beginning to feel muted, you needed fresh air. “No don't walk away now,” he grabs your arm scornfully, preventing you from leaving. “Let fucking go of me.” he easily loosened his grip, realising how much the situation had escalated having never seen such a reaction from you.

It had been a year and a half of knowing each other and another year of living together. Things worked out surprisingly quickly, and Simon had never felt so seen, till he met you. You would have a tiff here and there but now as he watched you relieve the itch from your underarms, he scolded himself for missing how heavy and slow your breathing had gotten. Your palm on your chest, as you concentrate on breathing, was more of an indicator that this had gone beyond a petty quarrel. You felt that you had let your intuition down, somehow not foreseeing the left turn that this took.

The fresh cold air felt nice as it swept across your face, and the backyard provided the console you needed. You were breathing in more air than you could hold in but it slowly cut through the suffocating uneasiness. Simon let you be, keeping an eye on you from the door, you seemed to know how to handle yourself. You felt stupid whenever you attempted to wane yourself from a panicked state with the methods you came across online, but you tried it despite whether they were effective or not. You sit on the staircase in silence once you feel grounded. You can feel Simon’s orbs boring into the back of your head, and you gather your thoughts to say something after a while.

“I’m sorry if you feel like an asshole, I should have listened when you said you didn't wanna talk about it” you admitted.

He gruffed as he moved to sit next to you, saying nothing for a while before deciding to reply. “No, I should be apologising, shouldn’t have raised my voice like that.” He grabs your shoulder to bring you closer, and you turn to him with tears threatening to spill, and he realises he doesn’t remember the last time you cried, at least in front of him. “I just didn't wanna go to bed angry you know?” He nods, rubbing your arm in comfort, agreeing with your sentiment. “I just prefer to talk things out, and you’re leaving tomorrow, so…” you don't finish your thought but he knows you make a good point.

“Does that normally happen when things get too loud?” He asks. You sniffle, wiping away the tears that do escape, taking his question into account. You lay your head on his chest, still in your head.

“I don't know… It's been a while, but I suppose so.” you pause before going on. “ I walk away sometimes too, I guess I’ve never had someone else walk away, so I know how frustrating that feels now ” he chuckles at your resolve. “I get it, you wanted to remove yourself before things escalated.” That was your last thought, and now you could revel in the silence. Simon loved how insightful you could be most times, this moment being no exception.

“How about this, we can agree to never go to bed angry. If either one of us doesn’t wanna talk, we can leave it for the morning.” He breaks his silence, pressing a kiss on your head. You couldn’t agree more, pleased with how it ended.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley fluff #fluff #angst #ghost cod #simon x reader #simon riley fic #simon riley imagine

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oncasette · 8 months

Text

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗦 (𝗦𝗢 𝗗𝗢 𝗜)

KINKTOBER ACT II, eric northman x fem!reader

summary: 2.7k

“You smell fucking amazing,” he groans and his teeth drag against your pulse point. Before you can make any sort of comment on that, you feel his teeth puncture into your skin just as two of his fingers sink into your cunt. His incredibly long and devastatingly thick fingers that are already stretching you out as they slowly thrust in.

or the one where eric has a specific taste for blood. yours.

warnings: not beta’d, smut, significant age gap (eric is like 1000, r is early 20s), dub-con, mind control on the low, blood drinking, high sex (eric's blood/v), smoking

masterlist | taglist | kinktober

When vampires had first come out of the coffin, you’d been barely above the age of seventeen, and their integration into the mainstream had been a whirlwind you’d been utterly unprepared for. Being from the south, your parents had instilled a deep sense of distrust in your fanged counterparts. Or, in your own words, fear.

Your parents had nearly tried to keep you out of college because of it, claiming you’d be much safer here at home, but you’d nipped that in the bud fairly quickly. Still, that didn’t mean you were going to let it slip to them where you were going on your evenings spent at home over the summer. All they needed to know is that you’d be home in the morning.

Your friends had been begging you to go to this bar across town with them for ages. They’d been going for years, but, being the only one in the group not willing to get a fake ID, you’d been left out of all the fun. Now, though, that you were over the legal drinking age, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to check it out seeing as your friends seemed to like it so much. Or, as you came to find out, seeing as they apparently liked the owner so much.

“You’re gonna freak when you see him,” Rachel says, looking over at you from the driver’s seat. You’d been friends with Rachel for forever, longer than you can remember. She’d gone off to school somewhere in the northeast–a liberal arts college with less than two thousand total students–and it’d been ages since you’d last seen her.

“I don’t get what’s so special about him?”

“Are you kidding me?” Rachel squeaks. “About Eric fucking Northman?”

Anyone who’d been west of Baton Rouge knew the name Eric Northman. It was undeniable. Someone could whisper the name in a corner of a packed ballroom, and a hush would fall over the crowd.

And, yet, somehow, despite living in Shreveport since your conception, it hadn’t crossed your path.

“Yeah?” you drawl. “He’s probably just some guy.”

“Some guy,” Gina scoffs.

“He’s quite literally the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen,” she says as she fiddles with her engagement ring. “He’s a fucking god.”

“Sure,” you say, rolling your eyes.

It isn’t much longer before you’re pulling into a shady parking lot behind a vacant liquor store. There’s a couple other cars in the lot, mostly what your father would call shit-boxes that have either been sewn together with duct tape or have bumpers that have been left to drag the ground. Slamming the passenger door shut, you reach into the pocket of your jacket to take out the pack of cigarettes, stamping one on your bottom lip as you dig further in the pocket to find your lighter.

Your friends have already walked across the lot to step into line when you finally get a light, shoving your materials back into your jacket as you jog over to where they are at the back of the, thankfully, fast-moving line.

“Really?” Rachel asks.

“Just be glad I didn’t do it in the car, okay.” You offer a squint of your eyes in a pseudo smile.

“Whatever,” she sighs.

The bouncer lets the three men in biker jackets ahead of you in and stops to examine you. She seems to recognize your friends and nods at them to follow the men, only to stick a manicured hand out in front of your chest as soon as you take a step.

“I’m with them,” you huff, tapping the ashes out of your cigarette.

“Sorry, sweetie. I’m gonna need to see some ID,” she drawls. The sweetie comes out in a sharp bite that has you taking a step away from her outstretched arm. She grabs the butt from between your lips and stamps it out beneath her stiletto’d heel.

“Fine,” you say. Digging in the other pocket of your jacket, you grab your wallet and hand over your driver's license. You’re thankful you’d just recently gotten your ID updated and have the horizontal one now, or you’re sure she would’ve kept you back. Where, you’re also sure, your friends would have left you to sit for the rest of the night.

“Have a good night,” she says, handing it back to you and allowing you to step into the crimson bar. As soon as you’re through the door, you dig your pack out and light a new cigarette. Bitch.

Your eyes gravitate toward the stage. A very large throne sits to the side of it, flanked by two overgrown men with their eyes scanning the small dance floor at the foot of the stage. The man in the throne is bigger. Much bigger. Large to the point that he dwarfs the chair you think would swallow you whole. You watch as he sits up, spine straightening as he looks the crowd over.

You don’t think anything of it until his gaze falls on you. He seems to smile, and it’s then that you see the sharp canines extending out of his gums.

You suppose coming to a vampire bar should’ve made you mentally prepare to come into contact with a vampire or two.

The man on the throne appears before you in an instant, fangs retracted as he gives you a softer smile than he’d had previously. It unnerves you, still, with the way his eyes seem glazed over and his body hovers over yours. You glance back at the stage, eyes flickering nervously back and forth as if it’d just been a trick of the lights and you’d catch him lounging there again if you blinked hard enough.

“You are… a pretty thing, aren’t you,” he says, voice growling in a register lower than you’d been expecting. It sends a shiver down your spine. He’s tall. Frighteningly, inhumanly tall in a way that has you cowering beneath him. Even seeing him on the stage before, it’s much more shocking up close. “It’s a shame you feel the need to taint it with that.”

He gestures to the stick between your lips with a flippant gesture, plucking it from your mouth to stamp it beneath his boot. What’s with everyone stealing your cigarettes tonight?

“Hey-”

“Still,” he leans down until his nose is inches away from your jaw and inhales. You don’t have the time to push him back before he’s returned to his full height.

“Who the fuck are you?” you ask, attempting to take a step back only to bump into one of the bustling–and fairly sweaty–bodies behind you. The man raises his brow in surprise.

“My, my,” he says. “Coming all the way out to my little bar and you treat me this way?”

“Eric,” you exhale. Your friends were right. He’s beautiful.

“And you are?” You give him your name in a huff.

“Follow me,” he says.

“I don’t know-” His fingers come up beneath your chin to tilt your face so that you’re like him in the eye. Something swirls within them, something you can’t place. You do your best to ignore the dull throb emanating beneath your dress.

“Follow me.”

Your legs seem to move of their own accord, hand reaching up to take his as he leads you across the dingy floor towards a door beside the bar. You dodge bodies crumpled together between tables and chairs and slink behind him as he nods at a bouncer guarding the door. Once it’s open, he gestures for you to enter first.

It’s a small office looking room. Various pictures and files line the walls and every surface is drowned in boxes and other small objects. You don’t have the time to get a good look at any of them, though, before Eric is spinning you to face him once again.

You can see the way his lips twitch as you meet his gaze, nostrils flared. His hand lands on your shoulder, dragging down the side of your arm as goosebumps sprout in its wake. You want to blame it on the fact that he’s freezing, on the fact that he’s got fangs. On the fact that he owns this whole bar and now you’re standing in his office with the door locked. Not on the fact that he’s probably got decades of experience. Or, god forbid, centuries.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask. It comes out in a whisper, voice hoarse from swallowing hard. Breath hitching, your knees do their best not to buckle as Eric steps into you, forcing you back until your ass hits the edge of his desk. His leg comes to press between your thighs. With a nudge, his knee would be pressing directly against you, and you’re thankful he gives you the space. You inch up the desk until you’re halfway sitting on it. There’s no reason for you to be as hot as you are right now, and less of a reason for him to know about it so soon. Honestly, he can probably smell it on you.

“Why do you think I brought you back here?” he asks, hands falling against your thighs. There’s no pressure, just their presence.

“I don’t fuck random guys in bars,” you say.

He stalls, hands crawling up to rest on your hips.

“I’m the owner.”

“So I was right,” you say. “You lured me back here just to fuck me.”

He hums. You can’t tell if it's in agreement. His knee presses into you fully and you hope he chooses not to comment on how you’re pulsating against it.

“Would you like that?” he asks. He brings his hands down again, this time to the hem of your dress. He begins to push up. Slowly. Oh, so slow, you barely register it until it’s bunched up at the tops of your thighs. You’re not sure why you nod. You think if asked you at a different time, a second before or after, you would have shaken your head and allowed him to lead you back out to the patrons, to your two friends who would lose their minds if they knew where you were right now.

His mouth finds yours as he pushes your dress the rest of the way up. You can feel the way you’re leaving a damp spot against his pants and try not to whimper as he applies more pressure with his knee. You don’t succeed in that venture. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It’s not nearly as rough as you had expected it to be, but it’s far from soft. His tongue is in your mouth, licking at the flats of your teeth. His fingers dig into your skin as he thumbs at the seam of your panties, pressing it to the side enough to gather the wetness coating your slit and drag it up to your clit. Your hips jump against him.

He disconnects your lips to trail his kisses down the dies of your face and down your neck. Pulling back, he draws your eyes up to look, and the dark swirl from earlier returns. “Don’t scream,” he says. “Unless it’s my name.”

Before he re-attaches himself to your neck, you watch as his fangs click out, and you feel the cold rod of fear as it slides down your spine.

“Eric,” you squeal. You’re already dizzy, his tongue laving at the skin of your neck. Finally, he pulls back and you feel seconds away from passing out. His fingers are still inside of you, massaging your walls. His free hand comes up to his mouth, and you watch as his fangs pierce the skin there and he’s holding his bloody palm up to your mouth.

“Drink,” he says. You oblige and suddenly you’re dizzy in an entirely different way. Every touch feels heightened, every item in the room seems to glow, and Eric truly, honestly, looks like a fucking god. The open wound on your neck stops aching and you swear you feel the holes close up.

“Eric, please,” you whine. He tugs your panties down first, balling them up in his fist and tossing them somewhere behind his desk. Then his belt comes undone and he’s yanking his pants down just enough to pull his cock out of the confines. And if you thought his fingers were big before.

“That’s not gonna fucking fit,” you gasp. He jerks himself until he’s fully hard.

“Trust me, sweetheart. It will,” he says as he notches himself against your entrance.

“No, I swear, you’re gonna rip me in half!” “Trying hard not to do that, already,” he says. He pushes in with one solid thrust. Even only halfway in, you can feel him in your throat. “Feel even better than you taste.”

Your ankles link around his back and your feet dig into his ass in an attempt to get him to move, to push into you until you can feel his pelvis against yours. He does. One thrust, then an agonizing pull back before he slams back in.

Every part of you trembles as his pace picks up.

“Oh my god? Oh my god,” you squeak.

“Just me,” he quips and his head falls back. He’s fucking you at a superhuman speed, hips snapping into yours with so much force you think he’s close to bruising your cervix. And still. It feels good. It feels so fucking good. Every touch leaves you tingling and you think you’re going to explode with his hand finding your clit again. He pushes your legs open wider, allowing him to press into you further.

You’ve never been this wet in your life. Not with your vibrator, not with any of your boyfriends, not even with the one you swore you were in love with when you were a sophomore in college. The squelch of his cock driving into you rings in your ears and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the sound. A coil within you begins to wind tight, your body on the precipice of turning into jelly in Eric’s hold.

“I want you to cum for me, sweetheart,” he growls and it’s enough to send you flying. You clench around him, walls fluttering and throbbing as you feel his dick twitch in you.

As soon as you’ve regained your consciousness enough to offer him a weak smile, he’s pulling out of you and spinning you around so that the front of your hips are against the desk. He thrusts into you swiftly once more, never once faltering from the ruinous pace he’d started up previously. Your back arches into the desk. Your pussy feels raw, overstimulated, melting into the pleasure he’s driving into you. Another orgasm is sure to follow. And quickly.

“You are mine, whether you agree to it or not,” he growls. His thrusts begin to grow sloppy, cock twitching with every pump of his hips. With a final push in, he cums and offers you the first bit of warmth he’s been able to give you all night. You fall down the same rabbit hole moments later. Your entire body twitches as you do and you can barely feel anything as he pulls out of you.

He gives you a minute to catch your breath, to gather yourself and spin around to face him as you tug your dress back down your thighs. You’re panting, still, as he wipes the semi-dried blood off of your neck and brings it up to his lips to lick clean.

“No more cigarettes,” he says. “I can’t wait to see how you taste when you’re… pure.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” you say.

“You will.”

He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be seeing you.”

He’s gone before you can ask what he means by that.

#eric northman #eric northman x reader #eric northman smut #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #true blood #kinktober #kinktober 23

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consultingskeletondetective · 1 month

Text

Potent

You’re the psychiatrist tasked to diagnose Michael Myers after his latest killing spree. He doesn’t appreciate your line of questioning. Michael Myers!Female Reader.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: non con, rough sex, hair pulling, stalking, slasher, knife, injury, overstimulation, unprotected sex, squirting, humiliation, pwp

The room wasn’t pitch black but it was dark, dark enough that Michael appeared as a silhouette to you. He had chains around his arms, and his ankles, fixing him to the wall behind him, his head hanging low, so you could only see the mess of dark curls on his head. You knew he was young, but seeing it in the flesh somehow made him even more menacing.

“Is that legal?” You asked, nodding to the chains.

“It’s the only way to keep him down, ma’am.” The guard grunted at you and you sighed, taking a seat in the only chair in the small room. From this angle, Michael’s tall and muscular form was even more intimidating. They didn’t have prison jumpsuits in his size, apparently, as the fabric threatened to tear around his biceps and his thighs. He wasn’t even flexing.

“Hello, Michael.” You said solemnly. “I’m your state ordered psychiatrist.” He didn’t respond, he didn’t lift his head. You hadn’t expected anything else. You’d read Doctor Loomis’ notes. Michael was selectively mute, and he had been since he was six years old. You didn’t expect one session with you would do anything to change that. Still, you were paid to do a job, so you were prepared to go through the motions.

“I’m here to try and determine why you would commit another murder fifteen years after your first episode.” Nothing. “What made you do it, Michael? Were you jealous? Those young teenagers out living their lives while you’re in confinement?” No response. “It must be hard to socialise in the hospital, there can’t be anyone there your age, certainly no girls.” More silence. “It must be hard to meet girls, right, Michael?” The chains didn’t even rattle. “You killed a lot of girls tonight, Michael. Young, pretty girls. But you didn’t rape any of them. Perhaps it’s your impotence that made you kill them, are you jealous of that?” Michael didn’t say a word, the only thing you could hear was his breathing, even that sounded calm.

You probed him with a few more unanswered questions for the better part of an hour before you finally left, with only a few meagre notes but nothing else.

Your phone vibrated on your drive back but you ignored it until you were opening the door to your office. It was a missed call from the prison and a voicemail. You dumped your bag and Michael’s file on your desk and pressed a button on your phone to listen to it but before you could, your office door banged loudly.

You span around, completely unprepared to see Michael Myers standing in the gaping hole where your door used to be. The prison jumpsuit was gone, and replaced with the dark blue of a mechanic’s boilersuit, undoubtedly that used to belong to a poor, dead mechanic lying between the prison and here. His mask sat menacingly over his curls, giving you that eerie blank gaze as he walked into your office, raising his knife in his right hand.

“M-Michael!” You stuttered, scurrying back and hitting your desk. “What are you doing here? What-” He didn’t stop until he was in front of you, only a few inches of air separating your two bodies. You clutched the edge of your desk as you looked up at him, he was at least two feet taller than you, his mask glanced down and watching you, his chest rising and falling with that calm, calm breath.

“Please don’t do this.” You begged uselessly, paralysed with fear. He raised the knife and you sobbed and closed your eyes. The crack of wood jolted your eyes open. Michael’s blade was embedded in your desk, spearing through his file. The tip penetrating one hastily scribbled word. Impotent.

“What-” You tried, your brain a scrambled mess. Michael, apparently furious by your accusation, gripped you by the elbow and threw you down onto the couch. It was black leather and it hurt when you collided with it. You screamed as Michael fisted your hair and suddenly you were tasting leather, face down on the cushion and ass in the air.

Michael hiked your skirt up over your hips and ripped through your tights and panties with one swift movement. Your heart thudded in your chest. You tried to plead but his cock was already in you, splitting your unprepared cunt open on what you could only imagine was a fucking massive cock. He held you down immobile as he slammed into you. It was a brutal, fast fuck, carving open your insides like a pumpkin, lasting only a minute before he was stilling and cumming up your cunt. You gasped in pain and surprise and then he pulled out, the thick pressure suddenly gone from you, only a gaping hole with Michael’s spunk dripping out remained.

You breathed heavily against the leather. Your cunt felt like it was on fire. Shame and pain washed over you. The hand in your hair was still holding strong but honestly, you were too fucking scared to move. Michael had just raped you, cum inside you. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You sobbed into the couch before you felt Michael’s fingers digging into your sore, empty cunt. They were nearly as big as his cock and you wailed. “Fuck, no, Michael, not again, please!”

He doesn’t listen, fingering you brutally, twisting the thick digits in your cunt and against your sweet spot until you were squirting all over his hand with a cry.

He pulled out suddenly, surprised by the reaction, and all you could do was whimper as he landed a sharp spank on your cunt, your clit, catching all of you in his large hand. The force of it sent tremors through your whole body and you screamed. He did it again, and again, and again, landing firm, sharp spanks over your sensitive slit, your clit trembling desperately against him. You sobbed in pain, begging him to stop, until finally he did, flipping you over on the couch until you were facing him.

You could see your cunt like this, how bright red and swollen it was, you could also see Michael towering over you. His cock was as big as it felt, curved and veined and wet with you, his fingers were too - all four of them - and he curled his hand around your hip to yank you down the couch and sink his cock right back inside you.

You gurgled. Your cunt was so spent and sore and sensitive but you couldn’t even protest as Michael clamped his huge hand around your neck and held you still, pounding you and forcing you to watch it happen. His cock going in and out, in and out, coming out wetter each time, and everytime he filled you, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your toes curled in the small of his back. It felt incredible, and you couldn’t stop yourself cumming and squirting all over both of you.

Michael slowed his thrusts a little when you did, dragging his hand through your folds and gathering the wetness there. You whined when he threw it in your face, breaking down into fresh sobs at the humiliating act.

His cock sped back up again and you were delirious with it, clenching down on him. It felt like he was in your fucking guts but you didn’t want him anywhere else. Your hand migrated down without realising, rubbing your desperate little clit until you came again with a moan.

Michael pulled out of you with enough force to make your head spin, and when you managed to glance down, you saw his cock bobbing wetly at your hole, trying desperately to find your wet opening again, but his hands were on your cunt, pulling your lips apart and inspecting the little nub still trembling from the aftershocks of orgasm.

He took your clit in his fingers and twisted cruelly, forcing your back to arch and a gurgled scream to make its way out of your throat. You were so sensitive and not meant to bend that way but he didn’t care, doing it again and making you screech like a banshee. He shoved back inside you at the same time, fucking you harder and stronger than before as he twisted and rubbed your clit with cruel fingers until it was raw and you were clenching and crying and cumming with a painful intensity you’d never felt before.

“Fuck, Michael, fuck, stop!”

He fucked you with long, brutal strokes for the longest few minutes of your life before he finally stilled, filling up your aching cunt with the second load of the night. It didn’t even drip back out of you with how deep he was. You imagined the white seed was splashing your cervix.

You were shivering in oversensitivity, your entire body a wreck as Michael finally pulled his softening cock out of your wrecked hole and slapped it against your puffy slit a few times, making you jolt.

He zipped up and went back to your desk, retrieving his knife from the cracked wood. His file fluttered to the ground. You expected him to kill you, but he didn’t, he just went back to the ruined door and left. You were sure you imagined him tucking your ripped panties into his pocket on the way out.

#michael myers #halloween #fanfiction #michael myers x you #michael myers x reader

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piratefishmama · 9 months

Text

Finders Givers | Part 3

To call them out of place would be an understatement.

Neither of the two in the lobby looked like they belonged there. Eddie in his ratty, torn at the knee jeans, rings, chains, band tee, and leather jacket, and Chrissy… well, Chrissy could probably look like she belonged if she’d dressed up a little, but she’d pulled her cosiest sweater over her head, a comfortable, cream coloured, crocheted sweater, a house warming gift from Mrs Jablonski next door when they’d moved in during a real cold snap a few winters back, and she’d wiggled her butt into a pair of Eddie’s old jeans.

The ones with the paint on them from when they’d painted Eddie’s room against Carl’s wishes.

Their reasoning was that Carl would never know. No matter how many times his greasy ass hinted at coming in for ‘coffee’, he was never invited in.

Her last pair of jeans were in the dirty laundry pile. She’d been meaning to force Eddie into helping her do laundry that day but alas, they were now not doing that. She didn’t think he knew he’d gotten himself out doing of laundry, but somehow it was still funny that he’d managed it again.

But it didn’t matter, there was nobody really there besides the secretary and she’d offered them coffee and pastries. Rather than looking at them strangely she’d offered hospitality and kindness, so now they had coffee and pastries, because Eddie was not about to turn down fancy free food from a kindly mother type.

It’d been twenty minutes already. Their pastries and coffees were done and gone.

Eddie was about to call it and leave, loud in his objection of being ignored by the high ups, when Chrissy sat up straighter, her eyes zeroing in on what would undoubtedly be a mini-boss in a video game.

Or maybe the ‘sudden Latin choir’ version of the main boss, and she walked through the double doors, both swinging open like Aragon shoving his way through the doors at Helms Deep and Chrissy was so very unprepared to witness her very own Aragon that early after student night shots.

Woman’s cheekbones alone could probably kill them both.

Eddie said nothing, he just gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, he figured she’d appreciate that. She reached up and patted the hand he’d left there in support. She appreciated it.

“Mr and… Mrs—?”

“Ew no.”

And the hand atop his own was gone, pulled away, Chrissy’s awed expression replaced with one that read ‘I’m offended’ better than any angry white suburban mother of four with her minivan, concave cut, and bad dye job could possibly verbalise. “That was quick.”

“I’m gay what do you want from me?” Eddie looked up at the boss lady with what he hoped to be a disarming grin “Eddie Munson, this is Chrissy, Chrissy Cunningham, my single best friend, and platonic life partner.” He slipped that single in there so smoothly, gave himself a mental pat on the back for it, so smooth. He was gonna ignore Chrissy glaring at him. Boss lady just smiled, stormy eyes flicking between them as he introduced her. She seemed nice, a little mysterious. “We’re uhm, we’re here about thee uh—”

Eddie Immediately wanted to turn her into an NPC, or an actual boss. Maybe a powerful, kindly mage. An ancient druid or—

“The apartment block, right? Claudia gave us the heads up. My name is Robin Buckley I’m uh… well… I don’t really have an official title, but you can probably just call me Mr Harrington’s business partner I guess.” It was an apt title, ‘boss man’s best friend’, or ‘partner in crime’ didn’t seem nearly as professional. “Why don’t you both come with me to my office, and I can try and answer any questions you might have.” Professional yet welcoming.

Almost felt like she’d worked in customer service before.

They both rose to their feet and Robin turned back toward the door, nodding in greeting to the secretary as she walked by, both Chrissy and Eddie copying her as they hurried on through after her, through corridor after corridor, then one quick zip up the elevator and they were there, Robin once again opening both doors as she entered her office.

It was clearly a personal preference to be as dramatic as possible, it was working for her.

“Please, take a seat” They both quickly took the only two chairs on the ‘guest’ side of the desk, while Robin rounded it and took the larger chair behind it. The office was. Large. Large and full of knick-knacks. Framed pictures of actual people instead of vague ‘hotel-esque’ art, trophies, several book shelves filled with folders and thick books, a filing cabinet or two, a few plants, and huge floor to ceiling windows behind her that showed pretty much the entire city skyline. So this was how the other half lived. “Okay, I’m sure you have several questions, so… go ahead, I’ll answer what I can.”

Eddie shared a look with Chrissy, silently communicating that they probably should have come prepared with a list of things to ask but honestly neither believed they’d get this far.

They both kind of assumed they’d be told they’ve had all the information they’re getting and to just wait for more. Having a private meeting with… what was essentially the second in command of this entire company well…

“When are these renovations supposed to start and end?” Eddie asked first

“What can we expect from them?” Chrissy added

“And do we really just… not pay rent for the whole period? That’s okay?” Eddie finished. Basics, they had the basics memorized at least. The important questions.

“Ooh-ooh, will rent be the same after the renovations!? Or will this be like, a getting rid of the poor people situation?”

“Good question, Chriss”

“Thank you, I read this thing online the other day about the gentrification of poorer city spaces and—” Chrissy paused, her eyes shooting to Robin’s expectant face and then back to Eddie again “it’s not important.” She finished, she finished before she could start rambling and embarrass herself.

“Oh it’s super important to know about these things” Robin spoke up with a toothy smile, earning both Chrissy’s bashful smile and Eddie’s respect. She was subtly supportive of Chrissy’s rambling. Eddie liked her. “Not many people do, it’s a concept that only gets brought up when it’s happened and not when it’s happening right under your feet, and it’s rare people get the other side of the story, y’know the one from the people who’ve been displaced? That’s not what’s happening here though, I’ve not seen anything that’d suggest Mr Harrington’s intentions are to raise the existing costs.” She’d seen him blatantly say he hadn’t really thought about making them pay again.

“Do you think that could become his intention though?” Eddie pressed

“Nope. He has a personal interest in the building is all, the only thing I know for sure is that we’re looking to remove the negative presence from the building, it doesn’t have the best reputation, we’re aware of at least three drug dealers operating from within it.” Oh nooo, his weed, couldn’t all be sunshine and roses then. “We’re looking to remove them as soon as possible as they have blatantly broken the law and the terms of their rental agreements by engaging in illegal behaviour from within their apartments, so that will free up a few of those apartments for better tenants to move in.”

“Better tenants?”

“Law abiding ones.” Sort of. Argyle would have a cooler tenancy agreement.

“…What about ones that have history with the law?”

“We’re not here to be discriminatory, Mr Munson, this company… we believe in second chances.” Munson… Munson… where did she know that name from? She knew that name, and he did look… familiar. She shook her head, not important. “If you’ve had criminal charges in the past then you’ve had criminal charges in the past, that’s the past, it’s history, it doesn’t affect the now. But to put your mind at ease, you’re not on our list of offenders, or you’d have been served an eviction notice by now.”

Chrissy sat up straighter, as if a lightbulb went off in her head. “Everyone on the second floor is okay, right? We know Mick an Dottie in seven are a little sketchy but—”

“Second floor is okay, we’re not evicting anyone from the second floor, it’s mainly the fourth floor we’re concerned about.” She was so lucky she’d memorized half the shit she’d received that morning. Got just enough in the old brain to appear confident in what she was saying. “As for your other questions, we don’t… actually know when the renovations are due to begin, we’re in negotiations with a few contractors right now to get the work started, once we confirm that, we’ll have a more solid timeline to communicate with you, it’ll be full renovations, kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, electrics, plumbing, the whole shebang. But yeah, no, we don’t expect you to pay any rent for the whole period.”

“…I feel like that’s a trap.” Eddie finally spoke up, a small frown on his face that robin mirrored “shit like that just doesn’t happen, man. It doesn’t. Big companies like this, they don’t just forgive the little guys debts, they hold em over your head until you’re drowning, then they tie cement to your feet to hold you there in the deep end.”

At least she looked sympathetic, her expression softening, she wasn’t taking offense. It almost felt like she understood his hesitation. “I was a little stumped myself, it’s… not the best business decision. I’m gonna be honest with you, I advised against the rent forgiveness, it’s a lot of money to just throw away” And they were just throwing it away “—given we don’t know how long these renovations are going to take, but… it’s the one thing Steve stuck to. Wouldn’t budge on it. Said we were disrupting your lives so you should at least be able to treat yourselves during the chaos” Nancy’s words maybe, but Steve agreed with them “and unfortunately for our bank balance… the decision is ultimately Steve’s to make, his office is above mine.”

She could sass him all she liked, Steve was in charge. If he wanted to make decisions and mistakes based on a depressing wallet and a crush well, that was Steve’s choice, his was the name on the company logo.

“And the rent will stay the same at $595 after the renovations?”

“Ye—”

“Absolutely!” And the doors burst open, startling all three people within the office, revealing probably the most beautiful human being Eddie had ever seen in his life dressed in clothes that'd probably cost more than they'd ever paid in rent combined. Could have sworn he’d seen him before though. One does not just forget a face that pretty.

“Steve, I thought I told you to knock!”

“I own the building, I can do what I want. Hello! I’m—” frozen, he was frozen, eyes wide as they took in the two other occupants in the room. The two guests from the apartment block. It could have been anyone, anyone in that block. “… Steve Harrington.” But it was him. “It’s uhm… it’s nice to meet you” said directly to Eddie, and then as if he remembered Chrissy was there, quickly added “both. Nice to meet you both, hello, hi.” Robin’s palm met her forehead in an echoing splat. “What was I saying?”

Her head met the desk. It all becoming painfully clear. Eddie Munson, Edward Munson, Thee Edward Joseph Munson. Owner of the most depressing wallet in the history of wallets.

Part 5

#PirateWrites #FindersGiversFiclet #Steddie #Mob Boss Steve Harrington #No Upside Down AU #Shady!Steve #CW: light-hearted stalker vibes

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guess-my-next-obsession · 10 months

Text

Real Love, Baby

pairing: frankie morales x plus size!fem!reader

rating: F (talks of body image issues/insecurities/maybe a kiss of inner angst bc i’m self-soothing here, but mostly just Frankie wooing us)

wc: ~1k

frankie masterlist

Growing up curvier than all of your friends had somehow brainwashed you into believing romance had a weight limit on it. Even into adulthood, you found yourself perpetually single, watching and playing wingman to your friends who, by the grace of genetics, seemed to always have a line of suitors waiting for their shot only to be turned down.

While you admired and adored your friends for knowing that their league was far above some random dude in a bar, you couldn’t help the slight twist of jealousy blossom in your stomach every time they shooed another suitor away, simply because you couldn’t even remember the last time a man tried to talk to you in a bar.

It wasn’t the attention you wanted—hell, it wasn’t even the men that you yearned for. You simply longed to feel like all of the other girls, to experience the things they experienced, to be desired by someone without being fetishized. To live the life that every “conventionally” attractive woman got to live, one full of experience and romance and heartbreak.

It wasn’t any surprise that when the day finally came, you were severely unprepared, and truthfully, a little rude.

“Hey,” a voice sounded from behind you as you stood at the bar, watching your friend’s purses as they danced the night away with a man they’d just met that night. Expecting the usual, you sighed and pointed at the seat beside you.

“Look, if you want to talk to one of my friends, you’re gonna have to do that yourself,” you said, hardly even looking at the man who’d found his seat beside you.

“What?” he chuckled, though genuine confusion was thick in his tone.

You brought your eyes to his finally and sighed at how handsome he was. Why is it that you always find yourself attracted to the kind of men that look like they would have bullied you in middle school?

“My friend—“ you started, but the furrow in his brow cut you off. “What?”

“I didn’t come over here to talk to your friend,” he explained with a chuckle. “I came to try and talk to you.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips at his words, but the confusion written all over his face silenced your amusement.

“Sorry, I just—“ You shook your head and looked down at your drink, swirling the black straw inside of it around the glass. “I can’t remember the last time someone tried to talk to me in a bar.”

“Me either,” he said, offering a friendly smile that instantly made you feel safe with him even when you knew nothing about him at all. Holding his hand out to you, he introduced himself. “I’m Frankie.”

You slid your hand into his and shook it, smiling shyly as you gave him your name.

“So, Frankie,” you spoke through your fluster. “What brings you out tonight?”

“My friends,” he replied, swiveling on the barstool to point across the room at a table of muscly, masculine men who began to whistle the minute you turned to look at them. “Sorry about them. They collectively share one brain cell.”

“Ah,” you nodded and smiled again. “What about you?”

“I’ve got at least five, I think,” he said, flashing that winning grin of his. “I don’t wanna sound like a creep or anything—“

“Oh no,” you winced, making him laugh.

“No, nothing too creepy, I promise. I just,” he sucked in a breath of courage and suddenly looked endearingly boyish to you. “I’ve just seen you around a few times before, but I’m not the best at this whole…flirting thing so I never came over.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his admission.

“What finally gave you the courage?” you asked, attempting to play things cool just like your friends always did.

“My friend Pope said that if I didn’t come talk to you, he would,” he said. Turning around again, you smirked as you looked at the men who’d gone back to their conversation.

“Which one’s Pope?” you asked.

“The short one,” he said dryly, earning a laugh.

“Pretty cute,” you teased, smiling as you watched Frankie roll his eyes.

“He’s loud. He snores. He’s got shit grammar—“ Another laugh. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d connected with a stranger like this, so quickly and naturally. “I’m saving you a headache, really.”

“Well, thank you,” you grinned. “I hate loud snorers with shit grammar.”

“Oh yeah? What do you like, then?” He was really going for it now, even pulling out the casual eye drop to your lips tactic that you’d seen so many men pull on your friends before. Only now, it was working.

“I like…” You bit your lip as your eyes bounced across his features. “Brown eyes,” he nodded as though to check it off the list. “A beard,” another nod. “But mostly, I just like a man who can make me laugh.”

“Sounds like you just stumbled upon the man of your dreams,” he grinned.

“You stumbled upon me, dream boy.” Frankie laughed and nodded in agreement.

“Is there any way we can stumble upon each other again?” he asked, that nervous smile finding its way back onto his face. “Maybe for brunch?”

“A man who eats brunch,” you fawned, making a show out of fanning yourself off. “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Hey,” you smiled as you approached the patio table in front of the breakfast spot Frankie had picked out for your brunch date, finding him already seated and nervously bouncing his knee.

“Hey!” he chimed, a wave of relief washing away his nervousness as he stood to hug you and pull out your chair. “Thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“Definitely not,” you chuckled, sitting down and scooting yourself closer to the table as he resumed his seat in front of you. “Just had to give myself a pep talk in the car that forced me to run a little late.”

“Why on earth did you think you needed a pep talk to come and see me? A guy?” he laughed, his brown eyes meeting yours.

“Because you’re a very handsome guy and I’m…” You shrugged, not wanting to voice the insecurities that sat like a weight in the pit of your chest.

“You’re what? Way out of my fucking league?” he asked with a half-smirk.

“I haven’t heard that before,” you replied honestly, lifting your glass of water to take a sip.

“Well, that really fucking sucks, because you are out of my league,” he said sincerely. “Out of every guy’s league.”

“What a line,” you playfully rolled your eyes.

“It’s not a line,” he promised. “I think you’re beautiful, and on top of that, you’re really fucking witty and quick.”

“Thanks,” you blushed and swirled your straw around your cup. “Not used to being complimented this much.”

“Well, if you decide to keep me around, I’d like to try and get you used to that.”

Five Years Later

“Jesus,” you groaned, leaning into Frankie’s side as the two of you walked into that bar where you first met, the room filled with younger people that made you question your spot here. “Are we old?”

“I’ve been old for a while, baby,” he joked, placing his hand on the small of your back as you weaved your way through the crowd to the table where Frankie’s friends sat.

“There they are,” cheered Pope.

“Aw, the newlyweds make an appearance!” Benny added with a teasing smirk.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have,” you quipped, watching Frankie pull your seat out before sitting down. “We need to find a spot to drink with people our own age.”

“Hey,” Benny said. “Just because all of you are old and settled down doesn’t mean I am. I still need to find my princess.”

“You’re going to find your ‘princess’ in a sports bar?” his brother, Will, teased.

“Frankie did,” he argued.

“And to think,” Pope mused, playfully throwing his arm across your shoulder to hug you into his side. “What could have been if Frankie never got the courage to talk to you.”

Frankie, sitting on your other side, swatted his friend’s arm off of you before pulling your chair closer to his.

“Thankfully, we’ll never know,” he said, leaning over to kiss your shoulder. “I’ve got her locked down now.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales triple frontier #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales oneshot #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales

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