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bakubunny · 8 months

Text

a kindhearted hero

mdni: 18+ content. yes, i do check. you will be blocked.

a/n: here’s the full one shot of the opening excerpt i posted recently. special thanks to my lovely mutual, @shinsos-puppet/@arlerts-angel for sparking the idea. i’ve never written eijirou at length in anything, so i really hope i did our sweet, best boy justice. 💜 - bunny

pairing: pro hero!kirishima eijirou x plus size fem!reader

wc: 4.7k

summary: red riot sees you, a civilian, lookin’ cute with your friends and dynamight gets tired of hearing him gush about it. he takes matters into his own hands by being kirishima’s (asshole) wingman. kiri x reader fluff and eventual smut ensues.

tags: pro hero!kirishima; fem!reader; plus size!reader; aged up characters; fluff and smut; mention of alcohol; explicit consent; lots of pet names, pretty girl, baby, babygirl, angel, sweetheart, sweetie, princess, good girl; praise; encouragement; daddy as title (a few lines towards the end); teasing; grinding; nipple play (f receiving); fingering (f receiving); oral sex (f receiving); rough sex; multiple orgasms; pronebone; unprotected sex with a stranger (it’s not even discussed); creampie; kiri is a nervous sweetheart for the first half; kiri is taller now and has bulked tf up; kiri has a huge dick and i’m not sorry; kiri loves soft bodies, i don’t make the rules; kiri gets possessive; strength/muscle kink; manhandling; size kink if you squint a little

excerpt:

Kirishima stopped. He studied your face.

“What?” you asked.

His brow furrowed. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Huh?”

He took your face in his hands. “I’ve been telling you all night how I feel about you, but you don’t believe me.”

You gave a nervous look. He wasn’t wrong.

“Oh, you beautiful girl. I’m gonna fuck that right out of you.”

ok now buckle up buttercup and enjoy the ride. 😘

A scowling blond man walked over from a nook nearby in the club. The closer you looked, it was no less than Dynamight, the number two hero in all of Japan, dressed casually. What the heck was he doing staring you down, a civilian nobody?

“Hey, princess, y’see the guy with the shitty red hair?” he said, pointing in the direction he came from. “‘S Kirishima. He thinks you’re gorgeous, but he’s too much of a wuss to come talk to you. Will you let him buy you a drink so he’ll shut his damn mouth?”

There was only one redhead with “shitty hair” you’d ever heard of in the news in relation to Dynamight, but it couldn’t be that one, right?…

“I-I’m sorry, what?” you said.

You smiled, holding back a look of disbelief, but he must have caught it. He sighed loudly and turned to look the other way. It was dark enough that you couldn’t quite make out the man in the distance.

“Oi! Shitty hair! Get’cher ass over here, she’s not buyin’ it,” he shouted with an irritated look.

A tall, broad-shouldered redhead got up and began moving towards your table, head tucked down and rubbing his neck. He looked up and met your eyes, smiling with cheeks almost as red as his hair. It was that redhead - Red Riot, to be exact. Your eyes went wide and your face flushed.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I think you’re at the wrong table,” you said, flustered.

This has to be a joke, right? He can’t be serious. There’s no way someone like him could be interested in you. You’d heard and seen in interviews that Dynamight wasn’t exactly nice, but he wouldn’t pull some sort of childish stunt like this as an adult, would he? As a pro hero?

“No, I’m not at the wrong fucking table,” he sneered, crossing his arms.

Red Riot approached the both of you. “Sorry about him, he can be a bit of an ass. I don’t-”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m doing you a favor,” Dynamight said, cutting him off. He turned to you. “This is my friend Kirishima, also known as Red Riot. You should give him a chance.”

Dynamight turned back to Kirishima. “You’re fucking welcome. Play nice,” he said, giving him a clap on the shoulder before walking away.

You both froze awkwardly for a moment before breaking into quiet laughter. He looked you in the eye with a smile.

“I uh…. I hope that’s okay, though,” he said nervously. “You’re absolutely stunning. I’d love to buy you a drink.”

You blushed, smiling in return. “I’d like that a lot.”

You glanced to the two friends you came with that night for approval. The look they had was what you’d expected; one that said, “Are you crazy?? Go!” but they grinned nonetheless as you stood from the seat you were at.

******

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the dimness of the atmosphere. Maybe it was the fact that you were falling hard for this guy. But you’d swear Kirishima looked even prettier in real life than anything you’d ever seen or imagined. Shaggy hair, clean and pulled back into a messy bun instead of his signature spiked style, stray pieces falling around his face at the front. Crimson eyes that were bright with joy and crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Slightly tanned skin from spending almost a decade on the field as a pro hero. Laugh lines that had barely begun to settle in from sun exposure and his brilliant, sharp toothed smile that rarely seemed to fade. Though it was only the two of you in your little corner, he had the ability to light up a room just by being there.

And it was hard to believe that he was here, sitting knee to knee with you. Showering you with compliments. Listening intently as he learned the details of your civilian life. Asking questions about your pets, excitedly gushing over pictures, and showing interest in your career. Brushing his thigh against yours. Leaning in to hear what you had to say. Turning faintly pink when you grasped his hand with a laugh before quickly pulling away with a blush of your own. Reaching for your hand and holding it under the table…. Yours was small in his massive hand, and despite being well used and calloused, they were still so soft. (He claimed his friend Ashido once told him he “needed to moisturize his scratchy skin,” and found that it helped him heal, so he stuck with it.)

Kirishima had this innate way of making you feel protected, and you’re pretty sure it had nothing to do with his hero status. All while making the apex of your thighs hot and your cheeks warm.

Okay, so you had to admit, you’d secretly had a little bit of a crush on Red Riot - now Kiri, he’d insisted - before you met him tonight. He was handsome, strong, kind, and humble in any media you’d ever seen him in. Who could blame you for swooning a little inside every time you saw him? (No one. That’s who.) The best part was that none of it was fake. He was honest, sincere, and you could see it in his eyes.

Minutes turned into hours. You’d both switched to drinking water long ago. The number of people in the club had started to dwindle. Yet you were still wrapped up in conversation.

He’d assured your friends that you’d get home safely - a hero’s promise - when they stopped by to say they were heading out. Gave Bakugou (was that what Kiri called him?) a smile and nod of acknowledgement as he and a few other hero faces you recognized from the media moved towards the door. The hero with pink skin and a brightly colored dress gave an excited wave goodbye as they passed. Come to think of it, you were surprised he wasn’t with her, another hero. A pretty hero. But you noticed Bakugou’s hand guiding her by the small of her back, keeping her close as they worked their way through the crowd. You shoved those thoughts down as Kirishima gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Listen, I know it’s getting late, but I don’t want this to end,” Kirishima said. “I promised I would get you home safely, and I’ll do that. Buuuut if you want, we can go back to my place and watch a movie.”

He caught the flicker of hesitation on your face, silently wondering if this had been his goal all along, but not opposed to the idea.

His face grew red, eyes wide at what he might be suggesting. “I did mean just a movie! You’re really beautiful and nice to talk to, that’s all I meant. I’m not looking for a fling. Please, don’t get the wrong impression,” he rambled quickly. “B-but I do want that with you! I want you, I just-”

“Kiri. Slow down. It’s okay.” You gave a reassuring smile.

His shoulders relaxed slightly and he smiled as he tucked his head, rubbing his neck. You noticed the way his nervous habit highlighted his massive bicep and shoulder.

“I think that sounds great. I’d love to spend more time with you… no matter what that looks like,” you said, heat rushing to your face as you caught his glance again.

His eyes held a glimmer of hope as he looked down at you. “Really?”

“As long as you can promise me I’ll get a proper date someday soon,” you replied.

“You got it, pretty girl. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, grinning.

There was a shift in the silence you shared. Kirishima hesitated, a question in his eyes.

“Can I?…”

“Yes.”

His free hand reached for your face and pulled you in eagerly for a kiss, full of heat and tenderness as your lips met. It knocked the air out of you as your fingers tightened around the hand entwined in your own beneath the table. It was gentle, slow, his thumb stroking your cheek for a moment. Heat built rapidly between your legs, almost throbbing at his touch.

When the kiss broke, you stared into those gorgeous red eyes knowing you were absolutely fucked. This man had you, and there was no way you’d let him go.

******

The door closed with a soft click as you slipped off your shoes. You turned to Kirishima and realized that he was bigger than you’d thought in dim lighting. He was taller, broader, bulkier than the image you’d had in your head.

“So,” you said.

“So,” he repeated.

A shared laugh broke the tension. Kirishima reached for your face with both hands and leaned in to kiss you, pulling the breath right out of your chest again. It was all consuming, the way his hands cradled your face, fingers already tangling in the hair around your neck. His kisses were warm and sweet.

“Come here,” he whispered as he lifted you into his arms.

You let out a small yelp as he did, wrapping yourself around him more to keep from falling than anything else. “What are you doing?”

Kirishima flashed a cheeky grin. “Unless you want me to stop, I’m doing what I want,” he replied, leaning in for another kiss.

It was visceral, how quickly embarrassment and fear flooded your face with heat as you reciprocated. “Y-you don’t - I’m too-”

“Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t even say it.” Kirishima had a sharp look in his eyes.

“But-” you protested.

“Baby, I train six days a week. I save people for a living. I can carry you,” he said, unwavering, a soft smile forming across his lips.

A flash of warmth hit your cheeks again. You buried your face in his shoulder as it hit you just how strong he was. Kirishima chuckled and turned to walk towards what you presumed was his bedroom. His lips met your skin, placing kisses along the side of your neck. You whimpered softly as a shiver slipped down your neck.

“C’mon now, don’t get shy on me,” he teased. “Haven’t even started.”

“Shush you,” you replied.

Every bit of you was growing hotter by the second with Kirishima’s hands on your body and his lips, fucking hell, how did you already feel a little weak? He laid you down on his bed as he leaned back onto his knees. Reverent crimson eyes raked over you in a short sundress, barely riding up to reveal the tops of your thighs.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he said quietly.

You blushed and gave him a smile.

There was a twinge in your stomach. A thread of doubt. One that said, “but I still have clothes on.” You pushed it down.

You pulled Kirishima closer as he drew you in with firm kisses and a gentle suck on your bottom lip. With your legs wrapped around his middle, your hands wandering over his back and shoulders, you were still in disbelief that this was happening. His hand ran down your side as he moaned deeply, gripping the soft flesh of your hip. His lips grew needy as they moved down your neck, finding a spot that made you pant as your head spun.

A groan rumbled in his chest, sending chills over your skin as his hips pushed into yours; your eyes snapped open, your throat caught. Kirishima rolled his body into you again and holy fuck he was huge. You let out a high pitched whine rather than the moan you anticipated. There’s no fucking way this man is real, you thought as he continued, pulling soft moans from your lips. You cursed under your breath.

“Hmm?” he said with a tone that suggested he already knew.

“Jus’ feels good,” you replied.

Kirishima kissed his way back to your lips as he pushed harder into you, a louder moan bubbling out of you as your cunt fluttered under the thin panties you wore and the heat of his cock.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Y’so big, Kiri,” you said between kisses.

He paused to look you in the eye. “‘S that okay? Won’t hurt my feelings if you say no, honest. I don’t want you t’be scared.”

“More than okay,” you replied, heat rising to your cheeks. “I like it a lot. ‘S what I was kinda hoping for.”

Kirishima's eyes lit up with a flicker of relief as though you’d sung a tune he’d rarely heard. He kissed you hard. “Fuck, you’re just perfect, aren’t you, angel?”

Another thread tugged at your chest. “He’s saying that to sleep with me.”

You smiled playfully. It didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I dunno about perfect, but that’s very sweet of you.”

Kirishima stopped. He studied your face.

“What?” you asked.

His brow furrowed. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Huh?”

He took your face in his hands. “I’ve been telling you all night how I feel about you, but you don’t believe me.”

You gave a nervous look. He wasn’t wrong.

“Oh, you beautiful girl. I’m gonna fuck that right out of you,” he said.

Kirishima crashed his lips into yours, drawing a whimper from your lips. His mouth didn’t leave you for a second as he picked up where you left off, kissing down over your neck and chest, his hands on your ass. He slid your dress up and groaned at the sight.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking soft,” he said, kisses trailing over your stomach. “So pretty. So perfect.”

The heat of his massive hands washed over you as they wandered your body. Kirishima’s fingers dug gently into your flesh. Clothes rapidly began piling onto the floor; his shirt, your dress, his pants, your bra. His hands immediately went for your chest where he scattered kisses on your skin as he groped, moaning softly when his lips took your nipple into his mouth. Your breath grew heavy. You moaned in return as he sucked and licked the swollen bud. The hot ache between your thighs built as he took his time with each one, only encouraged by your whimpering and the way your hips bucked with need. You felt a rush of sensations as Kirishima began grinding his cock into your leg, an empty flutter and a shiver sliding over you. You reached down to relieve your throbbing clit, but he grabbed your wrist.

“Patient girls get what they want. ‘M not done,” he mumbled.

And fuck if that didn’t just make you ache even more. “Kiri, please.…”

Letting go, his hand slid down over your cunt. He gently rubbed and groaned against your skin when your hips pushed into his hand.

“‘S it, pretty girl, show me what you need,” he said.

And you did, moaning and grinding into him. After making quick work of discarding the last of both your clothes, Kirishima opened your legs and cursed. He ran his hands up your thighs, lips not far behind.

Insecurity began to slip away as you saw Kirishima’s cock twitch as it hung, swollen, hard and red at the sight of you. All of him made you hotter - the look in his eye, broad shoulders and thick arms you had been imagining around your legs all night, strong thighs you wished were caging you at the hips, and a heavy cock that had to be as big as your face, so thick you didn’t think you could wrap your hand around it. He was so kind. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, like you’d hung the stars just for him. And he going to fuck you dumb.

A shiver ran down your spine and you blushed.

“You’re amazing,” Kirishima said.

You thought to respond as his mouth reached your inner thigh and you gasped. He slid a thick finger into your cunt and pumped slowly. Already, you could feel yourself fluttering and weeping around his hand as you moaned. He slipped a second finger in, slightly curled and reaching a tender spot you couldn’t quite get on your own.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, angel. Don’t stop, I wanna hear your pretty voice,” he said.

Heat rolled over your body. Kirishima sloppily kissed his way around your pussy, never settling where you wanted him.

“Kiri… need you.”

“Yeah? Whatcha need?” he replied with a little smirk.

Your head fell back, letting out a small groan in frustration as he teased.

“Eyes on me,” Kirishima said.

Heat rushed to your face. You locked eyes with him and reached for his head with a soft “please,” guiding him to your clit. He kissed and licked gently, taking it into his mouth. It didn’t take long for intense pleasure to fall over your body. You grabbed hold of his free hand resting on your stomach as the tension in your body built, legs starting to shake.

Kirishima hummed with satisfaction. “Such a sweetheart. C’mon babygirl, you can do it. Jus’ let go. ‘M right here.”

The skill of his mouth pushed you over the edge. His lust-hooded eyes stared into yours as your climax broke with a whining moan. You trembled as it washed over you. He carried you through with his tongue, treating your cunt with care until your body calmed.

“Good girl,” he said.

Your eyes went wide briefly and he smirked. “You like hearing that?”

“Didn’t expect it,” you said.

“Not what I asked.” Kirishima took his hand from you and stroked his cock, covering himself in your cum.

You weren’t sure how, but the tables had turned; now you were the one who was easily flustered while he had every ounce of confidence and a twinkle in his eye.

“Maybe I did a little, yeah,” you said.

“Good. Now tell me, pretty girl, how do you like to be fucked?” he said.

You grabbed a pillow and laid on your stomach with it under your hips and gave your ass a little shake, smiling back at him. “Like this. Come get it.”

“You’re not gonna let me stare into those gorgeous eyes of yours?” he said playfully, lining himself up behind you, rubbing the head of his cock along your folds.

“Maybe next time I’ll ride you. How’s that?” you quipped, peeking his face for a moment as he huffed a laugh and turned pink.

“Y’ready baby? Might hurt but I promise I’ll be gentle.” The heat and thickness of his cock head had you pushing into him as he teased.

“Yes. I can take it, please,” you said.

“You sure? You sound so pretty like this…” he purred.

You blushed. The sound of your wet cunt was obscene and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

“We can take it easy… go real slow…” he insisted.

“Kiri I swear if you don’t-ohfuckohfuck”

He was already halfway in, pushing deeper as you panted heavily and groaned. Kirishima looked down at you and saw your eyes roll, face laid into the sheets. He pushed himself in fully and you gasped. The slight sting didn’t matter in comparison to the pleasure, goosebumps covering your body.

“Fucking hell Kiri you’re huge and perfect holyshitfucknnngh.”

“Need me to stop already?” His lightly patronizing tone would have been irksome if it weren’t for the fact that you were split wide open and full to the brim with his cock, your pussy clenching hard as he stayed still.

You whipped your head around as far as you could. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you said. It was meant to sound threatening in the same way he had earlier, but it came out desperate and needy. You swallowed hard. “Please.”

You caught him grinning ear to ear as slowly, gently, he started fucking you in long strokes, your moans quickly filling the room. You grabbed another pillow in a vain attempt to muffle the sound. The intensity of the pleasure was overwhelming as your cunt stretched and the sting subsided into bliss.

Kirishima’s hands ran over your ass and up your body as he fucked you, relishing the way your ass moved with him, the way your cunt drew him all the way in over and over as you got wetter. “Fuck you feel so good, angel. Can’t get enough of you. Love watching you take my cock so well. Such a perfect little pussy.”

“Kiri…” you whined, “‘s so good, so fucking good, ‘s perfect.”

Your thoughts were jumbled with the way he had you unraveling with each tender stroke - just enough to feel his hips kissing yours as he pulled you up and into him slightly. The pressure of each thrust against your cunt made you flutter.

“‘N don’t stop after I cum. I can take it,” you said.

You heard a shy laugh behind you. “You like my cock that much, hm?” Kirishima said, leaning down briefly to kiss across your shoulder.

“I do. Y’so fucking big. Feels so good, Kiri. Need you inside me.” Chills ran through you as he hit that deep, sensitive spot behind your cervix that made your feet tingle and your breath stop, orgasm hanging overhead.

“F-fuck, b-baby, right there, don’t stop,” you said. Your mind fell into an empty haze as your legs began to tremble. “I think ‘m c-close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, princess? Gonna cum on my cock without any help?” he replied.

Your answer was in moans as your back arched and your vision went white. The heat of his hands, his grip tightening on your hips, his encouragement had bliss crashing down over you.

“‘S it, that’s what I like to hear. Let it all out. Cum for me, sweetheart. Make a pretty mess on my cock.” Kirishima moaned as he felt you clench hard around him, watching you come undone for a second time. It was dizzying holding himself back, your cunt like a vice he never wanted to leave. His hips stuttered for a moment, but he continued with a low grunt.

“Such a good girl…” Kirishima said, lacing your skin with kisses as his pace increased.

Your head was spinning with pleasure, sensations radiating up your spine, curling down your legs, trying to process his words fully and failing. “Yes, harder. Fuck me. Please, Kiri… please. Need your cock.”

He groaned. “Y’make it so hard not t’cum with you. Y’know that, angel?” Kirishima grabbed a large fistful of hair at the scalp and pulled gently, lifting your face away from anything that could muffle your moans as his hips collided harder into you, sending electricity over your skin as you panted and let out a cry. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. So soft. So beautiful, every part of you. Y’sound so fucking pretty. Y’feel so damn good, I almost couldn’t stop myself.”

His quiet praise hit you hard and unexpectedly - a wave of heat and tension building in your body, amplified by the grip he had on your hair. The previous one had felt like it hardly passed, but another orgasm was winding itself around your core in anticipation.

“Oh fuck, ‘m sorry, I…mmm.” Your knuckles went white gripping the pillow under your head.

“Hey, hey, no sorry,” he said, his grip falling loose and moving to your side. He could feel how close you were getting with every passing movement, willing his body to hold off once more. “I love it. Y’need to cum again, sweetie?”

“Please,” you replied.

You made movement to reach for your clit a second time, but Kirishima’s hand was quick and found its way there first.

“Nuh uh. ‘M gonna make you cum, baby. You just relax. Can y’do that for me?” he said.

“Mhm.” You nodded dumbly, giving in to his request.

Kirishima’s thick fingertips gently rubbed your swollen clit, a whimper at your throat. Goosebumps trailed across your body as pulled you closer, closer, and over the edge as he fucked you. The lewd sound of your cunt as you came on him drove Kirishima crazy, sweat running down his body. He was drunk on your pussy, fucking you still when sensitivity finally hit.

It was overwhelming but not enough all at once, the feeling of his cock bullying your swollen folds. You reached back to stop him, but he grabbed your wrist, looming over you to put it back where it was.

“Kiri, ‘s too much, please,” you said.

“You can take it, babygirl. Just one more for me, yeah? I know you can do it.” Kirishima’s voice was a mixture of sweet and ragged.

You groaned heavily. “One more,” you repeated. “But c’mere, closer.”

He wrapped himself around you, arms sliding under yours, the burning heat and weight of his body against your back. “Like this?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whined.

You could feel sweat on his chest, the movement of each thrust as he started again, every groan, drunk on the girth and heft of his cock slamming into you, his heavy balls hitting your clit.

Your body began to tremble. “Need t’feel you on me, don’ go, please.”

“Aww, y’really are a little sweetheart, huh?” Kirishima cooed. “Just love bein all wrapped up n safe in my arms while I take care of your pretty pussy.”

“Yes, d-mmmfuck.” You cut yourself off and hid your face.

“‘S okay, angel. You can say it if y’want,” he said gently. “Doesn’ bother me.”

“I can’t,” you said, your cheeks hot.

His voice lowered. “Yes you can. Lemme hear it. Say yes, daddy.”

“Yes, daddy,” you replied weakly.

Kirishima’s thrusts got sloppier as hot, wet kisses hit a tender spot on the crook of your neck. You grabbed and kissed his hand and pushed your hips back to meet his thrusts. He growled into your skin.

“‘S it, baby. That’s my girl. That’s my good fucking girl. My pretty little angel. Take my fucking cock,” he said softly, his breath hot against your ear.

“D-don’ say that,” you slurred, knowing full well that he could hear the way you whimpered and moaned when he did. Knowing he could feel you fluttering erratically around him.

“Why not, hmm?” Kirishima replied. “Y’really think ’m gonna let a pretty little thing like you get away after tonight, lookin’ so perfect, cummin’ all over my cock like this? Beggin’ me not to stop cause y’need more? Bein’ so sweet n lovely that I can’t help but fuck you ‘til you fall apart? ‘Til you know I mean what I say?”

Words failed you as he fucked harder, movements sharper as his orgasm neared. Your head fell forward into the sheets with a loud moan. “N-no.”

“‘S right, princess. ‘M not. ‘M gonna keep you ‘s long ‘s you’ll have me.” Kirishima’s muscles burned from exertion as he spoke, but he didn’t care.

He loved the way your breath went quick and shallow when he found just the right spot that made you tremble, savored the way your moans grew louder and your eyes rolled the harder he went. He got lost in the heat of your breath and the taste of your skin, the perfect way he could rail into you without being gentle or holding back because you needed every bit of him. It made his skin hot, the absolute mess you were making around his cock, fluttering and squeezing him hard enough to lose his damn mind as he moaned into your ear, his grip around your body getting tighter.

“Don’ stop, daddy, please. ‘M close,” you said. It was intoxicating, the way his skin felt against yours, the way each thrust knocked a little bit of the breath out of your lungs as another orgasm drew near. “Cum with me?”

“‘S that what you want, angel? Want me t’cum inside you?” he asked.

“Please, wanna feel you cum,” you said.

Kirishima groaned low in his chest as his need for you took over. His lips and teeth continued to graze your skin with open mouthed kisses as he came, his throbbing cock pushing you over the edge a final time as he fucked you full of cum. You laid together panting until silence took hold.

After a quiet moment, Kirishima pulled out and spread your ass gently, watching his cum trickle down your swollen pussy and thick, soft thighs.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he said. “You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

mdni banner created by the lovely @cafekitsune.

manga color edit is mine @bakubunny.

1K notes · View notes

cybrsan · 3 months

Text

Light It Up! — K.HJ, P.SH

STORY SUMMARY: The year is 2077, and the world is a lawless dystopia where tech giants and major corporations hold all the power. Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa are an infamous criminal duo who have made names for themselves fighting against the "techno brainwashing" of society. Discovering they're on the brink of getting caught, they decide to go out with a bang—and who better to help them than their favorite plaything?

PAIRING: Kim Hongjoong x F!Reader x Park Seonghwa

RATING/GENRE: M ; smut ; criminal / cyberpunk / dystopian AU

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Arson, breaking and entering, clubbing, alcohol + drug use, pet names (doll, precious), rioting, violence

NSFW WARNINGS: Choking, creampie, cum stuffing, cunnilingis, deep throating, exhibitionism, fire play, fingering, free use, hair-pulling, knife play (light), multiple orgasms, play party, public sex, spitroasting, sub drop, threesome, overstimulation

A/N: Don't blame me, blame the MATZ m/v.

LINKS: Masterlist, cross-posted on AO3.

“And… there!”

After days of meticulous planning, organizing, and making shady, back-alley deals, it’s finally done. The last camera is in position—everything is ready for the big event. All that’s left for you to do is step back and admire your work.

Switching on your illegally procured holodeck, you press a few buttons and watch as the space around you completely transforms. What was once an abandoned warehouse is now a club that could rival any in the city center. Neon lights pulse to heavy synth, serving bots whiz from place to place, and the makeshift bar looks inviting enough with rows of expensive bottles on display. Whether or not the liquor in the bottles is worth the price, well… Hopefully people will be too distracted to notice.

The focal point, the one thing you are most proud of, is the transparent stage that extends at least 15 feet above the dance floor. Taking in the grandeur of it all is more than enough to get you excited for what's to come. You're certain that Hongjoong and Seonghwa will put on the performance of the century.

Today is incredibly important for both of them, and the fact that they have trusted you enough to include you more than makes up for the long hours and strenuous work. They’re currently out setting up their "grand finale," which they have been painstakingly cryptic about. You have your suspicions, not that you need or even want to know the specifics.

A low whistle pierces the air. "You really outdid yourself this time, doll."

You turn to look at Seonghwa as he enters, and your heart practically skips a beat when you take in his appearance—he must have changed in preparation for the big event. His hair, pulled away from his face, lets you focus on his features; dark eyes, full lips, all beautifully accented by his smoky makeup. His outfit is one you haven't seen on him before, but it suits him perfectly, from the gold chains hanging around his neck to the deep cut of his silk shirt.

"Thanks, Hwa," you reply bashfully, dusting off your hands on your jeans. "Just trying to do my part."

He approaches you, a smirk tugging at his lips. The way he stares at you, drinks you in… it makes you feel like a prey animal who has found itself in the sights of a predator. You blush and cast your gaze to the floor, suddenly fascinated by the specks of dirt at your feet.

"And you have done it spectacularly." He lifts your chin with his pointer finger, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "I think you deserve a reward."

Seonghwa drops his gaze to your lips for just a moment before he leans in, closing the space between you with an almost agonizing slowness. The kiss is gentle and commanding all at once and you shiver, immediately pulling him closer. The fatigue, the stress—all of it melts away.

His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling on it with just enough force to make you gasp. His tongue slides expertly against yours, the taste of him something sweet and darkly rich, like cherry liquor. It’s addictive. But the moment ends too soon for your liking, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

Seonghwa doesn’t pull away entirely, resting his forehead against yours as he lifts a hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. He lets his touch linger as he traces a path down your neck, lithe fingers playing with the necklace dangling above your chest. Three dainty, silver hearts. One for you, one for Seonghwa, and one for—

The rev of a motorcycle engine cuts through the air, and your head snaps toward the sound just in time to see Hongjoong park his bike at the door. He takes off his helmet and shakes out his hair which you’re surprised to see is freshly dyed. It almost makes you laugh; of course even as he’s out running errands for his coup de grâce, he finds time for fashion.

“Not starting the party without me, I hope?”

Hongjoong’s heeled boots click pleasantly atop the concrete flooring as he walks over to the two of you. His synthetic fur coat is a bright orange, the complete opposite of what one might expect a criminal on the run to wear. But both he and Seonghwa have never been ones for hiding.

“Never,” Seonghwa replies, clapping a hand on the back of the younger’s neck. “Did you get it done?”

Hongjoong scoffs in a teasing manner. “Did you doubt I would?”

“Of course not.” Seonghwa squeezes Hongjoong’s neck once before letting go and clapping his hands together. “Looks like it’s time for the show.”

A few hours later, the party is in full swing. The once-empty warehouse is now filled to the brim with people dressed in cloaks and masks for the sake of anonymity. Some are on the dance floor, grinding against each other, while others have drifted toward the bar, downing shots and laughing.

Toward the back of the room, there's a group huddled around a table, huffing glitter, black lace, and who knows what other kinds of drugs. Meanwhile, others are tangled together on couches, lost in the throes of ecstasy. The air is so thick with the smell of smoke and sweat that it almost makes you dizzy.

A hand wraps around your neck from behind, pulling you against a warm body, and you gasp. “That’ll be us later, precious,” Hongjoong whispers, hot breath fanning against your ear. Your nervousness ebbs away, immediately replaced by eagerness. “Do you like watching them? Or maybe you’d prefer to be the one being watched?”

You lean back against him, the hand around your neck a welcome pressure. “Both,” you breathe.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter. “Good.”

He separates from you, and you turn to face him. He seems so confident, so excited, that it’s hard to believe he and Seonghwa are about to paint targets on both of their backs. Hit by a wave of anxiety, you lean forward and kiss him. He immediately reciprocates, nipping at your bottom lip and eagerly exploring your mouth with his tongue.

Kissing him is always different than kissing Seonghwa. Seonghwa’s kisses are controlled, with a hidden power brewing behind them. There’s always a promise of more, a hint at what is to come when he finally lets go. On the other hand, Hongjoong kisses with reckless abandon. He is uninhibited, always ready to devour you whole. When he pulls back, a string of spit hangs between you before snapping.

“You nervous?” You nod, and he gently tweaks your chin between two fingers. “Don’t be. Those tech bastards have no idea what we have in store.”

“I just want the two of you to be safe.”

“And we will be,” he assures you. "After everything goes up in flames. Trust me, precious. Trust us.”

“I do.” And it’s true. You trust them with everything that you have.

“That’s our girl.” He kisses you again. “It’s time to go live.”

You take out your holodeck, and with the click of a button, all the cameras you set up switch on. You hurriedly switch channels through all the local stations, thrilled to see that it worked and the entire club is being streamed live to every device in the city.

You stop the music and make the lights go out, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. You shine one beam of light directly onto the stage and you watch as Seonghwa steps out to address the throng of people below. He is captivating and has no problem commanding all of the power in the room.

“Welcome one and all,” Seonghwa begins, voice booming over the speakers. “If you’re here, it means you are brave enough to fight against the corporations that enslave our society!”

Hongjoong steps up next to him, and while he’s smaller in stature, he exudes no less power. However, he stays silent as Seonghwa continues, “We will not be silenced any longer. Tonight, we raise our voices in defiance; we will no longer bow down to those who seek to control us!”

The crowd explodes into thunderous applause but immediately falls silent when Hongjoong raises a hand. "But tonight isn’t just about the revolution—it is also a celebration of our freedom, our individuality, and our unity. So let loose because everyone in the city is watching and we all know that, deep down, they wish they were us!”

Cheers and shouts fill the room once again as everyone raises their glasses in solidarity. Your heart swells with pride as you take it all in. You have become a part of something far greater than yourself and, just like your boys, you are willing to do whatever it takes to see it through to victory.

You switch the music and lights back on and the party resumes in full force. People seem to go even harder than they were before, playing up their hedonism for the cameras. Seonghwa and Hongjoong have disappeared into the crowd, likely to mingle and spread their message one-on-one.

Seonghwa favors the dance floor, hypnotizing those around him as he moves. A contented smile tugs at the corner of his lips as his hips sway to the beat, as beautiful as he is provocative. He flits from person to person, holding them close as he whispers into their ears. He occasionally catches you watching him, always making sure to tease you with a wink.

On the other hand, Hongjoong stalks the perimeter of the room, moving from group to group. His skill lies in charming people with his words, and tonight is no different. Everyone who speaks to him smiles and laughs, completely enamored with everything he says. He shakes hands, claps shoulders, and you have no doubt that if people weren’t loyal before, they will be when he’s through.

You stick to one of the quieter corners of the room in order to keep an eye on the cameras. You need to make sure that everything is running smoothly both in and out of the club; the last thing you need is for someone to reveal your location or try to hack into your network and ruin everything. You also keep a close eye on your boys, making sure they stay safe.

It’s past midnight by the time they come and find you. Hongjoong sits on your left, placing a hand on your thigh as he leans toward you and kisses your cheek. His lips linger a moment longer than necessary, and as he pulls back, he purrs, “You should be out there, dancing, having fun.”

“I am having fun,” you say, taking the champagne glass offered to you by Seonghwa.

Seonghwa sits on your right, throwing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his side. “You would be having even more fun if you put down the holodeck.”

“But—”

Hongjoong takes it from you, throwing it haphazardly onto the cushion beside him. “Don’t argue.”

He leans forward again, this time lightly nibbling your earlobe with his teeth. You gasp, knuckles turning white as you tighten your grip on your glass out of instinct. Seonghwa watches the two of you with half-lidded eyes, his hand trailing down your side and slipping underneath the hem of your shirt to trace patterns over your flushed skin.

“It’s a night for celebration, doll,” he murmurs. “You have done your job. The only thing we need from you now is… well, you.” He squeezes your hip and you jump slightly. “The badges will be here in a little over an hour according to one of my sources. While not as long as I’d like, it gives us just enough time to have a celebration of our own.”

Your thighs clench in anticipation—you know exactly what he’s hinting at.

"Lead the way, then," you say, setting your half-empty glass down.

Seonghwa’s gaze meets Hongjoong’s over your head, an unspoken agreement passing between them. They stand up and pull you toward the dance floor, surrounding you, one at your front and one at your back. You sway between them to a slow, seductive rhythm, closing your eyes as you let yourself enjoy their attention.

Seonghwa’s hands rest on your waist, pulling you against him as he starts to move his hips in tandem with yours, grinding against you. Meanwhile, Hongjoong cups your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip. His eyes are dark and intense as he captures your mouth with his own in a searing kiss.

Seonghwa’s grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he watches Hongjoong devour you. He keeps one hand on your hip while the other snakes around to cup the back of Hongjoong’s neck, causing the younger to moan into your mouth at the touch. Now with a possessive grip on you both, Seonghwa gets to work nipping and marking the exposed skin of your shoulder.

The room seems to disappear around you as they continue to explore you, their mouths and hands feeling like they are everywhere at once. It's intoxicating, even more so than the champagne you were drinking earlier. You feel Seonghwa’s hand trail even lower, disappearing under your waistline, snapping the band of your underwear against your skin.

You gasp and Hongjoong laughs against you, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Let’s give them a good show, hm?”

You let the two of them drag you onto the stage, cheeks ablaze as you realize exactly what they’re planning. You’re hyper aware of the fact that you are being watched; even though most of the club-goers are lost in their own pleasure, the viewers that are steaming have nothing better to do than keep their eyes locked on you.

Seonghwa clicks his tongue, squishing your cheeks between his fingers. “Look at our girl, acting so shy.” His fingers find your heart necklace, tugging at it just hard enough to make you gasp. “As if wearing this doesn’t mean we can do whatever we want to you, whenever and wherever we want.”

Hongjoong takes a switchblade out of his pocket, flipping it open with a maniacal grin on his face. He uses it to cut away your clothes, exposing your body for everyone to see. Your knees shake and whether it is out of anxiety or anticipation, you can’t tell.

He traces the tip of it against your skin, the cold metal leaving goosebumps in its wake. “We know you love it, precious,” he says. “Don’t you want everyone to see how good we make you feel? Think of all the viewers out there that will feel oh-so-scandalized but still won’t be able to look away. Not to mention all the greedy whores who will be getting themselves off to us, wishing they were in our places.”

Seonghwa pulls you against him just like he did on the dance floor, once again letting his fingers tease his way down your stomach. But this time, he lets them travel even lower, dipping into your folds.

“Look how wet you are just from this,” he remarks, bringing his fingers back up and spreading them so you can see the evidence of your own desire. He then extends them to Hongjoong who greedily laps at them, sucking them clean.

You whine, trying to keep your legs closed from embarrassment, knowing anyone below the stage can look right up at you and see exactly how aroused you are. But Seonghwa won’t let you, shoving his knee between your thighs. Almost instinctively, you grind down on it, letting another pathetic sound slip past your lips.

Hongjoong’s eyes glint with wicked delight at your reaction, his own hands reaching out to cup your breasts. “Someone’s eager,” he teases, tweaking a nipple between two fingers.

You hear a few wolf whistles from the crowd, a few lewd comments being thrown your way, but they only make you more excited.

“I…” You’re panting heavily, making it hard for you to speak. You have to take a deep breath before trying again. “I want you. Please.”

“Anything for you, doll,” Seonghwa coos, returning his attention to your core. He pushes in one finger all the way to his knuckle with no warning and, if it weren’t for his hold on you, your legs would have buckled.

“Fuck.” The curse slips from your lips, half whimper, half moan, as he continues pumping his finger inside your wet heat.

Hongjoong lowers his head, taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he pinches and tugs at the other. You grip his shoulders for purchase as your head lolls back to rest on Seonghwa’s chest, whining at the onslaught of sensation. The feeling of Seonghwa inside of you while Hongjoong lavishes his attention on your breasts is unlike anything you have ever felt.

As Seonghwa adds another finger, Hongjoong’s lips mark a path from your breasts, to your stomach, and then lower as he sinks to his knees in front of you. He grabs your thighs, fingers digging into your skin, just as his tongue finds your clit. His tongue draws figure eights around it as Seonghwa continues to pump his fingers relentlessly inside of you.

“T-too much…” you gasp. But neither of them slow down—if anything, feeling how close you are makes them double down on their efforts. Hongjoong sucks your clit into his mouth at the same time Seonghwa adds a third finger, curling them inside of you.

Seonghwa kisses the back of your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs.

That small bit of praise is all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge, eyes rolling back as your body goes taut with pleasure. Hongjoong eagerly laps up your release, only prolonging your orgasm. Seonghwa gently removes his fingers from you and you hear rather than see when he brings them to his mouth, tasting yourself on his skin.

Hongjoong pulls back, licking his lips to clean them of your release before his trademark smirk returns. “I think it’s time for you to return the favor, precious. Don’t you think, Hwa?”

Seonghwa trails a hand down your spine, humming. “I don’t know if she can handle it.”

“I can,” you gasp, eager to please them just as they did you. “I can, I promise. Anything you want.”

You almost jump from surprise as some spectators in the crowd start yelling their vulgar suggestions as to how exactly they think you should please your partners. You’re sure if you looked at your holodeck, the live chat would be filled with similar comments as well.

Hongjoong laughs, grabbing your face in his hand. “Don’t worry about them. You can have us however you like.”

Blushing, you say, “You choose.”

His eyes light up and he immediately looks behind you to Seonghwa. Just like earlier, some sort of silent communication passes between them, and then you feel Seonghwa’s hand on the small of your back, urging you to bend over.

“Why don’t you show our Joong what that pretty mouth of yours can do while I fill you up, hm?”

You barely have enough time to nod your agreement before Hongjoong is unbuckling his belt and freeing himself of his constraints. You nearly salivate at the sight of his cock, red and wanting. He grabs your hair and pulls, tugging you forward as much as he can with Seonghwa’s bruising grip on your waist keeping you in place. Tears prick at your eyes but it’s as pleasurable as it is painful, and you take him into your mouth eagerly.

The head of Seonghwa’s cock teases your folds before he finally pushes forward into you. He starts moving at a slow, torturous pace, pulling out of you before slamming right back in. Each thrust propels you forward, forcing you to take Hongjoong deeper into your mouth. You feel so full, so used. It’s incredible.

“Look at her,” Hongjoong coos, staring down at you. “Look at how well she takes us.”

Seonghwa just groans, grinding into you so deeply that you have to choke back a moan around Hongjoong’s cock. He’s gotten quieter, his thrusts sloppier, a telltale sign that he is losing himself in his own pleasure. Meanwhile, Hongjoong’s grip tightens around your hair, guiding your head back and forth on his length. Each thrust cuts off your air supply, making you see stars.

Seonghwa’s hand snakes around to your front, fingers finding your swollen clit. You moan again, and Hongjoong echoes you as the vibrations travel up his cock.

“Shit,” he curses. “So fucking good.”

Seonghwa’s thrusts grow increasingly erratic and you hear his breath hitch; instinctively, you clench around him, and he spills into you. His release sends you spiraling into your second orgasm of the night, walls fluttering around him as you milk his cock of every drop.

Hongjoong pulls out of your mouth not long after, squeezing the base of his shaft to prevent himself from following the two of you over the edge. The second Seonghwa steps away from you, he is taking his place, forcing himself inside of you before any of the elder’s cum can drip out.

“Hongjoong,” you gasp, nearly falling forward from the force of his thrusts. Seonghwa maneuvers himself so that he can support you, holding you in his arms as Hongjoong pounds into you with bruising force.

“Gonna fill you just like Hwa did,” he growls. “Make you mine. Ours. You’re ours.”

“Can’t… can’t…” Words escape you, your mind going blank.

“Yes, you can,” Seonghwa says, stroking your hair. “You can take it. You can come for us one more time.”

His voice is comforting, but you also hear the command in his tone. You choke out a sob, nodding weakly as Hongjoong guides your hips back against him again and again. You can feel another orgasm coming on already, the coil tightening in your stomach. Seonghwa continues to murmur words of praise, stopping only to pepper kisses along your heated skin.

The coil snaps and you cry out as you come undone, Hongjoong’s cock still buried deep inside of you. His hips stutter and he curses, his warm release mixing with Seonghwa’s. He slowly pulls out and you can feel as some of their cum trickle down your thighs. You collapse against Seonghwa completely, no longer able to stand on your own two legs.

You feel light-headed and blood pounds in your ears, muffling the cheers you assume are coming from the crowd. You’re too far gone to be embarrassed, and a lazy smile tugs at your lips—the three of you surely gave them the show of a lifetime.

Suddenly, you feel heat lick at your skin, and you snap back into yourself fully, cringing away from it. Your eyes focus, and you see Hongjoong flicking a lighter open and closed, open and closed.

“There’s our girl,” he remarks. He brings the lighter to your skin again, just close enough for you to feel the heat of it without it burning you. “I think we were a bit rough with you, precious. You were totally out of it, shivering and everything.”

Seonghwa is behind you again, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. You press further against him, squirming as the heat tickles your skin.

“Back with us?” Seonghwa asks.

You nod. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“Okay. Hongjoong—enough.”

Hongjoong stops immediately, flipping the lighter closed with a tsk. “Fine. It’s gonna get hotter in a minute anyway.”

Now that you’re focused, you finally hear the shouting and crashing coming from below. The very people who were just watching you on stage are now rioting, destroying the warehouse and everything in it. The cameras, the bar, all of your hard work—now there is just destruction, everywhere you look.

You shoot up, hurriedly dressing yourself so that you are no longer the only one naked as panic begins to take hold. “What’s going on? Seonghwa, Hongjoong, we need to—”

You waver on your feet, nearly tripping. Luckily, Seonghwa catches you. “Calm down, it’s okay,” he says, hushing you. “This is all part of the plan.”

Hongjoong gestures to the crowd, pointing out some things you missed. “See how some of them are drenching the place with gasoline? We’re gonna light it up.”

Maybe you’re still delirious from your multiple orgasms, but you are having trouble understanding what the two of them mean. “Why? I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“This was all a distraction,” Seonghwa explains. “The club, the livestream, us putting on a show. We did it so that all eyes would be on us, and all the badges would be wasting their resources trying to find our location.”

You nod slowly as the pieces begin to come together. “So, while I was setting all of this up…”

“We were out there. Planting bombs at some of the biggest tech headquarters in the city.” Hongjoong smiles, spreading his arms wide. “Our coup de grâce, just like we’ve been saying.”

Despite all of your suspicions, this is something you never would have been able to guess. Before you can even begin to truly comprehend the magnitude of what they’ve done, sirens pierce the air. Everyone screams and begins to run out of the warehouse. Seonghwa grabs your hand, and nods to Hongjoong. “Now!”

Hongjoong throws his lighter to the ground below and flames erupt instantly, devouring everything in sight. Luckily, most of the crowd has already escaped, and you feel confident no one should get caught in the aftermath. Still, it’s pandemonium, and smoke fills your lungs as Seonghwa pulls you closer, shielding you with his body as he hurries toward the nearest exit.

Hongjoong follows after you, but lags behind as he keeps looking over his shoulder at the fire with a sadistic grin on his face. “That’s how we do it,” he yells, voice barely audible over the blaze.

“Get yourself together,” Seonghwa barks. “We need to get out of here before the cops realize what’s going on and find us.”

Suddenly, Hongjoong trips, his foot catching on some loose debris. Seonghwa reacts instantly, yanking him back to his feet and throwing an arm around his waist. The three of you continue onward as the heat of the fire licks at your back. You crash through one of the exit doors, and stumble away into the night, disappearing into the sea of masked faces.

All across the nation, devices light up with the same headline: “City in Chaos as Blazing Inferno Distracts from Large-Scale Bombing of Tech Giants.”

“Nation-wide manhunt underway. Suspects Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa believed to be connected to an underground criminal group called The Black Pirates…”

NETWORKS: @cromernet @kflixnet @pirateeznet

TAGLIST: @yessa-vie @nebulousbrainsoup @ad0rechuu @sanniesbunnie @seonghwaddict @fruitcakebin @kickti @abby-grace @fireseo @yunhofingers @ohflorah @oiminho @baekbao @byuntrash101 @hyukssunflower @thatnerdytomboy @straykidsholicleigh

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denim-mixtapes · 1 month

Text

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan.

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb.

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least.

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it.

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss.

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!”

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name.

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it.

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor.

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday.

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime.

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar.

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down.

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it.

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.”

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?”

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?”

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.”

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.”

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside.

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?”

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.”

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty.

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?”

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?”

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.”

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.”

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.”

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.”

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls – so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee.

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.”

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.”

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room.

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.”

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.”

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.”

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully.

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–”

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!”

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway.

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks.

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?”

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.”

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.”

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless.

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?”

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes.

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight.

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are.

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests.

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake.

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington reader insert

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songforeddiemunson · 2 months

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Haunting in Blackwood Hollow Part 2

An Eddie Munson x F!Reader Miniseries

Series Summary: It’s the year 1991. Eddie and reader check into a rented house in the Appalachian woods, joined by Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Unfortunately for our gang, things in Blackwood Hollow are never as they appear.

Tropes: established relationship, Jonathan x Nancy, no mention of the events from ST, smut, comedy, fluff, scares, bit of whump (but nothing too crazy)

Series Warnings: Swearing, drinking and weed use, sexual and scary situations, minors please DNI.

Chapter Two: Fool Me Once

Chapter warnings: naughty language, mentions of drinking, weed use. Smut, p in v sex, bit rough (you like it) wrap it before you tap it. Spooky situations

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the smut inspo, @hiscrimsonangel (with this post haha iykyk)

Word Count: ~3K

PART ONE

You stayed up quite late that first night catching up with your old friends, drinking cans of pilsner or oversweet margarita mix from sticky solo cups, laughing your asses off, the ouija board forgotten and back in its box. No longer a big fan of heavy drinking yourself, you cut yourself off after just a few drinks, preferring the more mellow buzz of herb than bubbles.

Jonathan got quite drunk, which was a riot, and his friendly ribbing of Steve always increased in that state, to the delight of everyone in the room. Despite Steve’s history with Nancy (and subsequently Jonathan), the three of them managed to become great friends.

Robin bemoaned what she referred to as her perpetual spinsterhood, making you all laugh; “I don’t think you can legally call yourself a spinster at 23,” Steve said. “Just enjoy not being tied down yet,” he finished, causing the rest of the room to tease him for projecting, considering he couldn’t seem to find his one-and-only either (but he pretended he didn’t mind, fooling nobody).

Steve dated plenty, but Robin struggled with it more than he did for obvious reasons. The two of them were roommates for a time in Indianapolis before going their separate ways. The catalyst; one of Steve’s hookups once implied she would like Robin to join them in the bedroom, which horrified them both so much they ultimately got separate places but still lived on the same block. Robin managed a coffee shop and spoke about her wish to try out for the Indianapolis Philharmonic, which thrilled her but made her so nervous she became nauseated whenever she thought about it for too long. Steve had been employed as a junior high school basketball coach for the past year and decided he would like to go back to school for academic sports; he loved working with the kids.

Nancy filled in the group regarding her grad school studies at Columbia University in New York City for journalism. It was hard work but, true to form, Nancy was excelling, and she had a bright future in print journalism in the city. Jonathan had relocated to be with her and was working as a freelance photographer when he wasn’t working in the kitchen of a popular Brooklyn restaurant. He had ultimately decided not to pursue college and chose to support Nancy instead, thinking that would be the best chance for them as a couple. It caused a lot of friction at first, with Nancy initially pushing Jonathan to go to college, but they were able to work through it and had come out stronger.

After high school Eddie had tried his hand at being a musician, mechanic, bartender and assorted other odd jobs with limited success, and ultimately decided to attend vocational school to become a tattoo artist, which was truly his calling. All the doodles he made for Corroded Coffin and the Hellfire Club paid off, and he was one of the most sought-after ink artists in St. Louis, earning enough for the two of you to live in a nice apartment, despite your modest salary as an administrative assistant for a dentist’s office.

You were all thriving, and it was wonderful to celebrate each other’s successes. The wedding rehearsal was the following evening, and you looked forward to catching up with the younger kids there– “kids” who were all legal adults by this time; a fact that none of you could believe nor enjoyed thinking about. You were all relieved that you weren’t staying with them, despite the less than ideal location in which you found yourselves; those kids were like a pack of ferrets on cocaine, especially when they were all together. It would be too much, so you stuck with your own age bracket.

Finally, around two in the morning, Robin decided to turn in. Nancy and Jonathan followed about fifteen minutes later, leaving you and Eddie alone with Steve.

You stretched and yawned. “I think it’s time for bed. You coming Eddie?”

Eddie waggled his eyebrows at you. “I don’t know, am I?” he asked, his voice dripping with hyperbolic innuendo.

You laughed and gave him a smack on his tightly bedenimed rear end. “Just get moving, Munson.”

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted, while Steve rolled his eyes.

It turns out that mercifully, someone did actually change the sheets.

A blessing, honestly, considering you were currently tangled up in them, with the sharp bones of Eddie’s pelvis almost painfully pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs. The bed, old and squeaky with a metal frame that resembled something out of a cold war era prison, was a loud testament to the rhythm of your sex. You couldn’t be bothered to care much, since it felt incredible. The few cans of PBR you had chugged didn’t hurt either.

Eddie had you pinned to the mattress, caged between his arms as he nuzzled and suckled your neck, punctuating soft kisses with nips that would surely leave a mark. You enjoyed it like this sometimes, when he would manhandle you just a bit, claiming you, marking you, and fucking you roughly into the mattress. Sure, there was a time and place for soft lovemaking, but sometimes, you just wanted to be nailed.

“Feel so good baby,” he murmured into your ear, barely more than an exhalation, most of his efforts being concentrated on slamming his cock into your depths. You could barely do more than wiggle and squeal with the way he had you immobilized, which seemed to heighten every sensation. Even his breathy little grunts and gasps were sending you into the stratosphere. You clawed at his back, and the resulting moan in your ear helped bring on climax number three, and you bit into Eddie’s shoulder to stifle your cries.

Eddie’s pace began to falter, and he grasped your waist roughly with his fingers as he shuddered and thrust to his own completion, ending with a final grind of his hips against your sensitive clit, making you yelp. “Ha,” he burst triumphantly; he could be a cocky shit when it came to the pleasures he could draw out of you. He also wasn’t wrong.

After a tender kiss, Eddie rolled off of you and retrieved his boxers from the floor, sliding them on before fumbling around on the bedside table for his smokes. He lay back down with his back propped up against the pillow, lighting a cigarette and sighing contentedly. He looked at you and grinned.

“You think everyone heard us?”

You chuckled. “I don’t see how they couldn’t,” you said, as you dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. “This bed is so squeaky, it almost wasn’t worth even trying to be quiet.”

Eddie laughed. “You sound so cute though when you try,” he said as he flicked his ash into the ashtray on his nightstand. “All squeaky and whiny,” he finished with a wink.

“How dare you,” you joked. “I’m a vision of propriety.”

“Properly fucked, you mean.”

“Eddie!” you scolded, laughing.

“I’ll take it back when it stops being true darlin.’”

“You’re the worst,” you countered.

“You love me,” he said.

“Dammit, you’re right, I do,” you said. You bent to kiss him, and as you pressed your lips to his, you felt him smile.

“I love you too babe,” he said.

It was incredible, how he could still make your heart beat faster after all this time.

You headed into the ensuite bathroom and started to go through your usual bedtime routine of brushing your teeth and washing your face. You were suddenly struck by how exhausted you were; between traveling, cleaning, drinking (and smoking) and some vigorous sex, you were thoroughly spent. You glimpsed through the open bathroom door that Eddie had picked up his paperback of Needful Things, and was reading it by the light of the table lamp.

You clicked off the bathroom light and were just about to exit when something caught your eye out of the window. You peered closer to the thick glass to get a better look.

There was someone standing below on the lawn.

You couldn’t make out any details, but you had the sudden, hair-raising sense that whoever it was was looking right at you.

You jumped backward in alarm. "Eddie!” you shouted.

He was out of bed and by your side in an instant. “What?! A rat? Why are you standing in the dark, babe?” He peered around the room intently.

“No, down there!” You pointed out the window, down onto the grass, but now the figure was gone. “But…but it was there a second ago…”

Eddie bent to the glass for a closer look, brows furrowed. "I don’t see anything. What was it?“

"A person! They were definitely standing down there. And babe– I swear it was looking at me.”

A look of intense wariness crossed his features, and he straightened, all business. "Are you sure?“

"Yes! It was right there!”

“Stay here.” He was out of the bathroom like a shot. He quickly pulled on his flannel pajama pants and strode from the bedroom. You waited with your heart in your throat as you heard the front door below you creak open. You watched out the window as Eddie came into view on the lawn, carrying a fireplace poker in one hand. He clicked on a flashlight and began to sweep the property with it. It was late, and the shadows from the trees that peppered the property created long ribbons of darkness across the grass that the lights from the house were unable to penetrate. You realized that it must have been difficult for Eddie to see out there, even armed with a flashlight, and you broke into gooseflesh at the thought.

Screw this, I’m not leaving him alone out there, you thought to yourself, and left the bathroom. Eddie hadn’t turned on any of the lights in his wake, and in the darkness the house had taken on an even more sinister quality than when you had arrived. You tried to push it out of your mind, dismissing it as the aftershock from your scare. It permeated regardless, with a nearly palpable weight. You hurried downstairs and toward the front door, clicking on lights as you went. The downstairs area was deserted; everyone else must have also turned in. You quickly scanned the entry area for a weapon, finding only an umbrella. It would have to do.

You stepped outside, eyes sweeping the lawn for Eddie, hearing only crickets as you peered into the trees. In the moments since you had taken your eyes off of him he had disappeared from view. Your heart was pounding and your breath misted around you in the chilly night air. You crept forward slowly, and you found that your eyes were having difficulty adjusting to the darkness. The shadows were too inconsistent. Anyone could be watching me from those trees and I’d never know it, you thought. Dammit babe, where did you go?

“Babe?” you called softly. Silence. “Eddie,” you called again, a little louder this time. Was that a twig snapping?

“What?” said a voice, from directly behind you.

You squeaked with fright and whirled, striking out with the umbrella. "Ow, what the fuck?!“ Eddie bent forward, clutching his head.

"Oh my fucking god Eddie! You scared me!”

He rubbed his head in irritation where you had whacked him, mussing up his curls. “What are you doing out here? I asked you to stay inside!”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t just stand there waiting for you. Are you alright?” you stood on your toes to get a better look at your boyfriend’s scalp, but thankfully there was no blood.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, then sighed resignedly. "I didn’t see anything in front, so I circled round the back to be sure. There’s nothing out here that I can see. Are you sure you saw someone?“

"Positive.”

“Your eyes couldn’t have been playing tricks on you?”

“Edward,” you said, your voice taking on an acerbic tone. “You know I’m not prone to hysterics.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, and hugged you to him. "Maybe it was Steve or something.”

“If it was, where is he now? I didn’t see anyone when I came downstairs.”

Eddie could only shrug at that.

Once back inside, he bolted the front door. "Seems solid,” he said. He went around the house and checked to be sure all the windows and the back door were locked, and when he was satisfied, you went back to the bedroom together. As you passed Jonathan and Nancy’s room, Jonathan opened the door and poked his head out, his hair mussed and sticking up in every direction.

“Someone scream?” he mumbled blearily.

“Eddie saw a spider, go back to bed,” you said. Eddie shot daggers at you with his eyes, but a slight upward curl of his lips belied his irritation. Jonathan only nodded and closed his door.

Back in your own room, you undressed and crawled under the covers, snuggling up to Eddie.

It was quiet for a moment, but the wheels in your mind were still turning. “Maybe it was just a local cutting across the lawn on the way somewhere. They may not be used to the house being occupied,” you offered.

"Maybe,” Eddie replied, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Will the light bother you if I read for a while?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you said. "Going to sleep with the light on will be okay with me tonight.”

The following morning you shuffled downstairs for breakfast, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your housemates warmed up the oatmeal or ate the boxed cereals that Nancy helpfully supplied the previous evening.

“Did anyone see or hear anything strange last night?” you asked the group as you poured yourself a cup of hot coffee.

“I think I did,” Steve began. “Some sort of instrument I think. What was that Robin?”

“Bedsprings,” Robin stated simply as she swallowed a bite of peaches ‘n cream flavored oatmeal, looking the worse for wear.

“Uh, besides that,” you said, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. Eddie laughed.

“Don’t hate,” he said.

“I heard Eddie scream at a spider,” Jonathan said, and this time it was your turn to laugh.

“It was NOT me, and it was not a fucking spider!” Eddie yelled, offended by the notion.

“No,” you said, quelling your giggles. “It was actually me. I– I thought I saw someone outside last night, watching me when I was getting ready for bed.”

Steve sat forward, suddenly wide awake. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Eddie went out to look for whoever it was but he didn’t find anything.”

“Oh shit,” Robin said, “that’s the last thing I needed to hear. Can we go to a hotel now?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Nancy said. “Maybe it was just a local?”

“The nearest neighbors are a quarter mile away,” you said.

“I dunno,” Jonathan chimed in, “you hear stories about cannibals living in the woods in Appalachia…”

“That’s a gross stereotype,” Robin scolded.

“Feel free to ignore him,” Nancy said with a sigh.

“My mom was from Appalachia!” Eddie spat.

“Okay, nevermind,” Jonathan said, as he shrank down in his seat and went back to his oatmeal.

“Well if it wasn’t a local, what could it have been?” Steve asked.

“Maybe messing with the ouija board woke something up,” Robin said, and though you normally didn’t place much stock in those things, you felt something akin to an ice cold finger trail down your spine. You shivered.

Steve chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”

“No really!” Robin cried defensively. “In the movie Witchbo–”

“I am not using a shitty 80s horror film as a guidebook!” Steve shouted.

“Whatever,” Robin said. “If you guys get murdered by an evil axe-wielding ouija spirit, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You laughed it off along with everyone else, yet the idea wouldn’t leave you. It was unsettling, to put it mildly.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was studying your expression. You did always wear your emotions on your sleeve, and he could sense your unease.

“So,” Eddie said. "What’s everyone wearing to the wedding?"

His umber eyes slid over to yours as the conversation devolved into fashion and hairstyling chatter.

Thank you, you mouthed to your boyfriend, and his Mona Lisa smile wordlessly said, I’ve got you. And he did, that much you would never be unsure about. Regardless of what was happening in your life, Eddie Munson would always have your back, which made you feel very lucky indeed.

You didn’t know it yet, but it was a sentiment you would come to rely upon much more in the days to come.

To Be Continued...

More is coming! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of every fic writer!

MASTERLIST

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson series #stranger things fic #stranger things series

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rreskk · 4 months

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FREAKSHOW

Hey guys, excuse any gramma errors or whatever. I’m still sick lol

Summary: You were apart of the goth subculture. There was an open venue for a goths night, including punks as well. It was all going well before you crossed paths with a particular man.

Pairings: goth fem!reader/Trevor Philips

TW: smut

Word count: 4860

New wave. Simultaneously on the spectrum with punk-rock when it came to growing popularity. Once frowned upon, now you are looking around the room, seeing people express that “satanic” ritual of black dresses, corsets, white makeup, dyed black hair. Of course you had the casuals! People who were standing around drinking from the cup of beers, wearing that once relevant band from the 70s, but it was the thought that counted. It was not only new wave for the goths; it was new wave in general, the population intensifies with experimentation and new fashion. You even saw a few mohawks clotting through the endless crowds that surrounded the loud speakers.

You smiled, contently. You were one with the crowd, exchanging knowing glances to other people within your subculture, nodding to appreciate their whole attires and appearance. It was nice like that. Especially in the low-developed areas within the Midwest where things were usually slow, more media-shy. Heavy music was only just celebrated due to the solemn nature of the town you were based in – North Yankton. With all the rapid snow, you would’ve thought it was the hotspot for likeminded people? Surprisingly, no. This club was a few hours aside, still within the area but more in the region of human life. Where you lived, it was in the rural region. Snowy fields, broken-down cars, lost tourists (who went the wrong way), weirdly growing criminality rates?

The criminality has died down a bit but a few weeks ago there was a robbery at the local cash-in. It shocked the neighbours and locals, the community automatically downgraded with trust.

So it was great to hit the clubs again.

It was packed, but you liked that. Finding a drink was hard until some lovely lady, twice your height, handed you a glass of wine. Red. It was typical for the goth agenda and luckily you were in the mood for some classy drinks as the night commended into a phase of adrenaline and spirit!

You sipped the fruity delight and meandered within the crowd, making small-talk with the occasional men who were drunk as a skunk. It was something you couldn’t escape when clubbing. You usually wonder away as they slur out an age that was definitely not theirs… A man full of grey hair with wrinkles of a scaled fish would lie about their age being under the 30s and you immediately slick out of them lies. What could you expect in a room full of misfits. A murderer could be in this room and none of the people here would care. They would, however, riot if something happened to the drinks and music.

“Hey, hey.” You heard someone hush as a hard hand grasped your shoulder. Turning around, your eyes met this largely obtained frame of a man whose face was vaguely covered by the dim lights. You barely made out the hand that pointed towards your drink. With a husky voice, he spoke again. “They got something other than wine?”

Trying to understand him from over the music was hard enough. You shouted out and pointed towards the bar. “They’ll have menus over there or something.”

The man sniffed loudly when you spoke. He shifted forward, the majority of his face revealed. His nostrils were red and his eyes were a bit twitchy, but he was fairly normal looking. Well. For a scene like this. He wore this moustache and shaggy mullet that spiked up in every direction, effortlessly as well.

“Eh. Eh – Atta girl.” He ruffed and sniffed again. You wanted to assume it was the cold weather outside but you knew it was something other. The man released his grip and squeezed past you, his large shoulder accidentally knocking your wine. It fell onto your dark dress and leather corset.

“Fuck…” You murmured but he hadn’t of noticed, only walking further away from the destruction he had caused. There was a temptation to call him out for the clumsiness but it was stupid to blame a man who was high on whatever substances he had snorted in the past hour. It was obvious, you even noticed the powder sit on the skirts of his moustache. White; cocaine.

Watching him from afar, the guy was quite tall. He wore nothing to suggest he willingly came in here. Probably drinks, right? It was an obvious reason, maybe the only reason. He made no attention to the dressed up figures around him. In a room full of liveliness, he sat there on the bar, his green parkers coat and tanned cargos. His posture hunched and you saw him take a swig of a glass that wasn’t even his. The lady beside him grew disgusted and walked off despite paying for the beverage but you couldn’t blame her – he was intimidating.

People automatically avoided him and continued dancing around to the wave of music. However, your eyes struggled to move away from the stranger. As you were patting down the damp fabrics from the accident, you took small steps forward, slowly edging towards the bar. Maybe you could get an apology or something. This corset was expensive and now it had small specs of the wine imprinted.

It took courage. You stood beside him and cleared your throat for the bartender who came to your service. If you weren’t going to face the problem in a confrontational threat, you were going to give passive hints.

“Hey.” You smiled when the bartender stood at your front. “I was wondering if you could refill my wine? Someone knocked it over a few minutes ago.”

“Ahah, accidents like that happen all the time. I’ll get you another glass.” The good worker took your glass and went back to refill.

This left you alone with the stranger who gave you a snarky side-eye. Now you could see it for yourself, he was high. Them eyes were dilated like a UFO and his face was struck with this nasty gaze. You made eye-contact and he held it, making you stiff.

“I found the bar.” Finally, he muttered after taking a sly sip from the stolen drink.

You nodded your head in affirmation and looked away but he said something else, something faint. It took you a couple of seconds to recall the exact wording since his voice matched the heaviness to the music.

“What’s the fuckin’ occasion then? I walked in and everyone is dressing up like some BDSM get-together.”

“BDSM?” You repeated, rather offended. “No. It’s a venue event.”

“Halloween was months ago.”

“Yeah, I know – “

“I saw a random guy over with a leash around his neck.” The man grunted as he raised his hand to the far corner of the club. He then looked at you. “This ain’t some normal venue. You got some kinky shits in here.”

“It’s for the new-wave music. You know, gothic… Metal, punks?” You attempted to explain.

“In North Yankton? This is some Romanian vampire costume party.” He placed the glass back down and returned to his shell, covering his face with his arm and sitting there like a loner.

But you didn’t take this as a sign to stop.

“It’s not all about the clothes. It’s the music.”

With this, he edged his head up and stared through his brows at you. It took him a minute to recollect the energy and straighten his posture. “I always thought goths were to look at.”

You felt a bit disgusted as you knew what he was suggesting.

“Your clothes and all…” His voice drooled and came to a deep conclusion by the pitch of his tongue. “It’s erotic. Sexy.”

“Nice…” You whispered with discomfort. The wine was served and you held it close to your chest, not trusting the guy who was obviously taking an interest at the sight of you standing there.

“Oh, come on… Take it as a compliment. You goths have way more to look at than the strippers I just saw – “

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying… That you look… Nice.” The man gritted with his teeth. The shift in tension between you both grew as annoyance struck. He wanted you to take it as a compliment despite the “compliment” being pervy and disrespectful to the overall scene.

You dragged your drink away the bar and gave him a hefty glare. “Thanks.”

He sniffed up the molecules of coke from his moustache and returned your sarcastic remark. “You’re fuckin’ welcome, sugar.”

You uttered a small “whatever” under your breath before setting some distance between him, but he maintained this steady stare where you felt burdened to break the eye-contact. Whatever this was, it was intense. You returned his stare while taking slow sips of your wine, eyes flickering down towards his tongue that licked the lining of his glass cup. It made you grossed out and you looked away.

The man, with strength, slammed the cup against the table surface and leaned back in his chair, his body slump, his arms falling to his sides, staring – still. This is where you draw the line, finding this behaviour creepy and uncomfortable.

“Stop staring.” You muttered loud enough for him to hear.

His eyebrows raised at the confrontation. “That’s poor mannerism. Where is the magic word?”

The audacity of this guy. To refrain from further exclusions of emotions, you grounded yourself and turned your back. If he wasn’t going to find decency, you may have to ignore him, which is what you are about to do. He watched as you left the bar with the glass of wine idly in your hand.

“I didn’t hear you say the magic word!” The man called out before you could get lost in the crowd.

So turning back, you raised the finger and gave him one last sight to taste. But apparently that was not to his standards. Your eyes widened as he jumped out of his seat, his face full of hatred and feet rapidly following you.

He looked painfully angered yet his words, smooth as butter. You were forced to face him with inches sparing to save room for Jesus. His groin; pressed against yours mercilessly. Whether he meant to, it was warm and it made you shudder in a weirdly excited fright.

“There is no. Need. To. Be. So. Rude… Darling Dragula… You hear me?” Is what he said.

The threat became nothing but sweetness to your ears after the close, heated proximity where you wished it hadn’t of turned you on so much.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“Oh, yeah, you’re sorry,” his voice rapidly tormented. “You can’t expect a man to not stare at the freaks in a freakshow.”

There was zero rationality that made your lip twitched. He needed to be corrected as this was your time to loosen up and have fun, being someone within a community so wronged.

“You willingly stepped into the freakshow. I wouldn’t complain if I were you…” You tried to ease the bitterness but it was prominent.

The guy grinned uneasily at your argument and leaned closer. His horrid breath filled with alcohol, bodily disgust, acidic death; an assassination to intimidate your nostrils and dominate the title of “freak.” Because he was one. You didn’t have to second-guess that.

“I ain’t complaining. The staring said otherwise.” He whispered directly against your ear, his lips grazing your earrings like he wanted to taste the material. The drug was definitely playing a role with his reasonings.

“Sometimes staring can be misunder….” You stopped talking when his nose gently rubbed against yours. You stopped talking at the closeness becoming 10x entrapping. Despite complaining about the staring, the stare he was doing right now was different and vulgar. Your spine shivered as it felt wrong to participate in this weird situation.

“Staring can be what?” He grumbled with a low voice.

“…Staring can be…” His persistent boldness had made you struggle to line up the right words. He had left you speechless which is where he wanted you to be.

The man smirked and leaned away, gifting you with freedom of space before grabbing your wrist and speaking. “What’s your name, sugar?”

You didn’t want to tell him. Whatever happened to the bitter-sweet argument where you wanted to continue your night, solo. But you couldn’t escape this one, not yet anyway.

“[y/n].”

“[y/n]?” He repeated and you nodded. The man inspected your face before nodding. “Your make-up. It’s… Cool.”

“Than – “

“The names Trevor.”

The pace was fast when he proposed his name. You didn’t know how to react. What was there to say? “Nice name…”, “Nice to meet you!”, “How are you, Trevor?”

None suited the present time. Neither was his name nice or was it to meet him. Trevor. It was so ironic. The syllables to his name was something to spit out, an opposite of a lullaby and melody. Trent, Travis, Troy, Trevor. Somehow you imagined people named after a “Tr” approach to be someone like him; a bit edgy and definitely questionable, morally. It’s the aggression and swift movement of the lips and teeth that makes his name unforgettable. It was masculine, indeed.

“Ahh, cool.” You uttered relatively quietly.

Trevor rocked his head back and took a deep breath before them frantic pupils scanned the busy room. He took turns to focus on each individual then returned to you, lips curling up into a snarl. You thought he was going to say something but instead, he just sneezed. You flinched and watched him adjust himself back into the close position.

“Bless me.” Trevor applaud with an overexaggerating tone.

You gave him a nervous smile and leaned away. He noticed the distance multiplying and tugged his cruel fingers around your corset where they felt the strings round back. This was alarming until he used it to pull you closer. Your body instantly went into meltdown as your groins fell in contact again. You could feel him, he was there, and he was hard. It unconsciously rubbed against you through the skirt. You didn’t know if he meant it so you remained silent. Mute.

“Don’t look so scared – I’m trying to be nice.” Seized the taller man as he noticed your discomfort. Them hands gripped harder around you and he looked through his brows with a scolding gaze. “Thought I’d… Endure the atmosphere a bit.”

“The atmosphere?” You spoke.

“Everyone else is enjoying themselves. Why can’t I?”

“You can, I… I didn’t mean – “ The way he phrased things. He seemed so offended all the time! You didn’t want to miscommunicate with him anymore since you could already tell he was a bomb to handle. A ticking time-bomb.

“[y/n], [y/n], [y/n]. Don’t sound so unsure. Try and enjoy your precious goths night, ay?”

You really wanted to say “you make it less enjoyable” as he took every chance to mock the subcultures in the room, but you could identify the slander being a pathetic attempt of teasing, maybe flirting.

“Yeah, my night.”

Trevor grumbled in his voice as your bodies swayed together slightly. He was stuck to you like glue. “My night’s been a shithole. I need a distraction. Lemme dance around with you.”

“You want to dance?”

“Or fuck.”

“What?” You froze.

“What?” He snickered in return, gaslighting.

“You just said you wanted to fu – “

“What shitty, shitty music… Let us dance around with these other morons…” His voice would bewitch and charm, licking up them insults with a flavour of seductiveness; paradox-ing whatever the Hell you were experiencing with this guy who was high as a fucking kite.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but move around with the commandment of his hands that held onto your lower back, pulling you alongside. You looked at Trevor who grinned. God you wanted to go. To escape this. Your feelings were conflicted and you felt like you were going to puke. Your face was full of nervousness and you glanced to your side before his cold thumb grazed a pinch of your upper lip.

It made you jump as you watched his finger pull away, your black lipstick staining the tip of it.

“What?” You confusingly murmured.

Trevor raised an eyebrow and licked the lipstick from his thumb. Pervert.

“It smudged a bit.” Was his excuse.

“Sure… You fixed it?” You’d interrogate sternly, this time.

“No – it’s more smudged now.” Trevor smirked and threatened to touch you with his thumb again. “It looks hot on you though. You know, messy.”

Instantly avoiding his thumb, you broke away from his grip and crossed your arms, creating an invisible barrier between you both where he turned sour again, glaring like you disobeyed a law.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“You’re creeping me out.”

Trevor scoffed. “Oh, get over yourself – “

“I don’t care how lonely or high you are, I really don’t care! Just stop freaking me out with you… Touching me like that. It’s fucking weird.” You stressed.

“Weird, is it?” He took a step forward and grabbed your wrist, your nails automatically digging into his hand as he’d hiss at the pain. You marked his skin great enough to draw blood that trickled down his palm like a piece of artwork. His eyes shifted from your sharp, black nails and to the wound, caused by you, his face itching with disbelief.

This was the opportunity to rush off but then that same hand attacked your face. Your mouth was hit with this iron taste and you were thrown back into his arms, his hand covering your mouth, blood aching on your lips and tongue. Trevor was shaking as he kept you tight and grunted slightly since your warm breath penetrated the fresh wound from your nails.

Your words were muffled and he placed his chin on the top of your head, dragging you away into the furthest corner where the lights barely exposed it’s presence.

“C’mon…” He whispered in your ear and finally released you from his bloodiness, making you gasp for air. Though you were free to speak, his body cornered you against the wall.

However the situation… You were supposed to feel angered and scared. But there was something about it all. His blood marked your lips and you licked around it, the eye-contact between his brown ones and yours strong. You became aroused.

“You made me bleed.” Trevor groused with restless lips that stretched up into a grin.

The connection was shared and now you were both facing the consequences of this unwanted arousal. You were fuelling his fetish for “goths” and you couldn’t care less. Not after this.

“Am I supposed to feel sorry?”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t fuckin’… Ruin the moment…” He hurried, “and don’t threaten me, you cheeky fuck.”

“You threatened me first.”

“You wanna try and threaten me with my cock in your mouth, huh?”

“Now that… Was a threat.” You snickered.

Trevor adjusted his bulge and used his free hand to hold your chin, looking at you with desire. His thumb, stained with blood this time, smudged more of your lipstick before moving closer, searching between your lips and passing your teeth. You took this as a sign and began to sensually suck around his thumb, tasting his blood and your own lipstick.

“Oh…” He seemed more vulnerable watching you. His large frame hid you from the crowded room but that didn’t stop him from paranoidly looking over his shoulder. Possibly the drugs giving him that fear of being watched. He waited until you sucked for an extra second then draped an arm over your shoulder. You were guided by this shaky man as you entered the private bathrooms reserved for the staff.

One of them staggered over after noticing Trevor luring closer. He cried out. “Hey, that’s staff on – “

But in return, he received a massive “FUCK OFF!” that echoed over the music, some of the party-goers turning to gaze over but you were pushed into the private bathroom, the door locking behind you.

Immediately his lips were on yours. Trevor lifted up your hips and held you against the wall as he carelessly aloud your make-up to splutter against his rough skin. You grabbed the back of his neck and gently applied pressure with your nails while he worked labour with his tongue that adventured around your wet mouth, tasting every inch like he was deprived from touch.

He made whining noises throughout the clingy kisses and he couldn’t hold back. You gasped out loud when he ripped off your leather corset, the strings snapped in half and your body becoming free from that tightness. It made you feel naked. You leaned your head back and breathed heavily as he ran his hands down your frame, the dress becoming loose due to this rough nature of his playfulness. It took you a life-time to prepare yourself for the venue today but something about Trevor ripping every layer was more sexier. Soon your back was naked against the wall and he had his hands groping your freed breasts.

You looked at him, his face partially white with the occasional smudges of black. His moustache had white ends from the endless kisses too. He didn’t seem to noticed, you loved it.

“I’m so… God…” Trevor groaned as he zipped off his green coat, throwing his shirt from over the head and easily undressing himself in front of you. His body type had great muscle mass but with the balance of thick and thinness. Your eyes shifted to the hairs leading down to the buckle of his belt, in which you saw his injured hand undo. The buckle came loose and he made sure you watched. Trevor’s other hand grabbed onto your neck as he positioned your head to face the reveal of his cock. He brought it from the briefs and lied it in the palm of his hands, smirking at you. “You like that, [y/n]? You want that?”

The dirty talk edged you closer and you nodded your head, the dyed black strands falling onto your face.

“I bet it fits perfectly in you.” Your body shivered as he held you against the wall, his hand introducing himself with your intimacy. He said this while stroking over your pussy. He gave himself an insight of your shape, feel, touch. Trevor must’ve loved the way you were since he’d let out a soft moan when his finger perfectly moved into you without struggle. The way he came in – you whimpered silently.

Trevor continued to finger you until it was loose enough for his preference. He liked it wet and messy before the deal. You opened yourself to him and felt obliged to the access of his shaggy mullet, dragging your nails down his strands, repeating the cycle from the scalp downwards

He hummed at your affections before lining his cock, with the guidance of his bloodied hand, easily fucking the looseness as it would slide right in. This made you both moan behind the heaviness of music that dominated the atmosphere still. At least no one would hear you. They may suspect, after Trevor’s “kindness” to the worker, but there was no evidence to propose the truth. It was only you and him.

“Yes, yes…” You finally encouraged Trevor through the increased pace. The make-up was damned and ruined, your breasts bouncing at the force of his thrusts. Your back kept on beating the wall behind since the bathroom was too small to execute a full position. The cramp space, however, made it all so better because you two were made into this close proximity. The proceeding sweat from his neck and face would only transfer onto you due to this. It was the definition of “hot and bothered.”

“Oh, my… Oh, ah!” Besides, his noises were pathetic. Before you assumed he was this masculine character, yet the way he sloppily fucked into you with them whiny cries said otherwise. You were allowing this pervert to treat you like so! It was abnormal, amazing even! How the time passes when you are having an awful interaction with this intoxicated man. There were nothing but lust and coke behind his eyes and you showed mercy; resulting in legs spread, cock in, mouth puking out moans. Dirty work. You wondered if the strip-club he allegedly stayed in, before the venue, was at your level of satisfaction. Maybe you were proving him right though…

Goths were so much more than them strippers. You damned that right.

“I fuckin’ love you… Love me!” Trevor angrily sobbed as he pounced in and out aggressively. You’ve had rough sex before but this was another category. You were light-headed at the heaviness of his touch, it was disgustingly attractive.

Your hands clenched onto a handful of his thin, longish hair and you pulled as you as you can, liking the way he responded through snarls and moans. The painful dosage mixed with pleasure. You could’ve sworn his cock had the stains of his blood too, and now it was inside you.

“I… Shit…” You moaned, “I think I’m gonna cum, Trevor… Trev – Fuck!”

He nodded his head rapidly and consistently fucked you. His lips were sucked in and he only made sounds of whimpers and whiny chants. From the hardness and twitchiness though, you knew he was close too.

“Fuck me! You fucking… Freak! Fuck!” This came watering out from your tongue unnaturally. So into the moment, so infused, that the filter was beckoned. Your eyes wondered from realisation but Trevor, dear old Trevor, he nodded his head again.

“Oh, yeah… I’m a freak, baby. I’m all yours. All yours… My cock fits so good, don’t it?” He weakly responded after the intense echoes of your skin slapping together.

“You’re all mine?”

Trevor placed his lips against your forehead and murmured a muffled groan. “All fuckin’ yours…”

What had gotten him so worked up and needy? It was hot. You smirked and took in the scent of his nastiness before the sensation became present again. He cried in frustration and ignored your distressed moans, the climax approaching you both at the same time.

“Trevor… Shit…” Your legs started to shake and you stared upwards, suddenly…

Both finishing. Warmth rinsed out of you, squirting. The noise you made was painfully good. You had arched your back and allowed the cum to drain out as Trevor came onto the softness of your stomach. He rubbed himself to encourage the orgasm that was awakening the sobriety in his mind. Loud wasn’t even the right word for it. He was obnoxious. You breathed heavily after he released a high-pitch pant, the bathroom slowly becoming silent, making you realise just how randomly steamy it had got.

And it smelt of sex, massively.

“Ohhhh, and I hate myself…” You heard him whisper as the rush came to an end. Your pussy though? It stung, in a good way.

You picked up the scattered leftovers of your clothes and decided that after this, you may go home since your attire was… Presumably inappropriate looking. From the way your make-up was running down your face with sweat and the sweat mess of your hair. You didn’t mind, a good nap was what you needed from this anyway.

“Dare I ask for your number, sunshine?” Trevor managed to speak, his coat on but his shirt not. He lazily had his chest out like he couldn’t be bothered.

“Yeah…” You whispered and routed for your phone before realising that it was in the car still. The way you fell in defeat and sighed. “Fuck. I haven’t got it with me.”

He scoffed. “Where am I gonna find a chick like you again, ay? I gotta have something. An address?”

“Woah, too fast. I’ll just tell you where I work… You know, day-time job. In the town still.”

“Strip-club? – “

“The café a few blocks down. You know where that cash-in is? The one that got robbed?”

Trevor fell silent before grinning. He nodded his head and looked at you. “I know that area very well, sugar.”

This didn’t seem to tick any flags in your head as you smiled. “Yeah, I’m there from 9 to 3 usually. Am.”

“Good to know.”

“I’ll see you around, maybe?” You hoped.

“I’ve got a load of business around there… So yeah, you’ll see me around, sugar.” He said with an entertained grin before zipping up your dress and ensuring you looked somewhat presentable.

Well, he didn’t help. You had to persuade him. He did complain but was silenced when you slapped his shoulder.

Then you exited the bathroom. It was awkward and you avoided eye-contact with anyone, especially because he still had his chest on display from under the open coat. He probably forgot about it. His shirt was stuffed in the waistline of his cargos as well, it was pretty obvious.

“Keep them sharp nails to yourself, [y/n].” He said in your ear and wondered off without another word. He left you standing there dazed. With a sore pussy as well.

“Keep them sharp nails to yourself…” You mocked back and walked out of the venue, the freezing air drying up your sweat as you walked back to your car, half-proud, half-ashamed.

#grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #gta v #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5 #trevor gta #grand theft auto v #trevor philips/reader #trevor philips x reader #my fanfic #my fanfic writing #my fanfiction #trevor philips fanfiction #trevor philips headcanons #trevor philips/you #grandtheftauto5

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pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶One missed call. No new messages.✶

NSFW — angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for smut

chapter: 9/15 [wc: 4.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 9: A Slow Rejection

——January 1, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“Hey! It’s getting pretty late, so I thought you’d be back by now.. Call me when you get this, so I know you made it okay.”

——January 3, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“Are you back to working on Fridays? Wayne let me know you made it home safe. Uh.. Miss you and stuff. Call when you can.”

——January 12, 1986——

[Two missed calls. Two new messages.]

“Been missing you, again.. Been so long, I’m starting to forget what your voice sounds like. Ha, I know, I’m being dramatic, but yeah.. It’s really not fair Wayne’s gotten all your calls, while I pick up the ones from bill collectors. I’m sure he’s a real riot, too. Telling the same story about how he tore his thumbnail clean off in that accident at the plant, but need I remind you, I’m the one you’re supposed to be.. Oh, fuck–shit–!”

“Man, sorry about that. You ever manage to burn pasta? Anyway. What was I saying? Right! We should try scheduling calls again, so we stop missing each other. Well, I guess we’d have to talk in the first place, but you know what I mean. Hope to catch you soon, so we can work something out.”

——January 24, 1986——

[Three missed calls. Three new messages.]

“I know you’re out of town for a meet, but Goddamn, I hope you don’t mind me ranting–because–holy shit, I just dropped the biggest plot twist on the club tonight. They totally didn’t see it coming, and shit, I’ve been planning it from the start. I’ve got even more twists later in the campaign, but this one was so good.. Hey, If I fill this whole cassette, I’m sorry, babe, I’m just excited–”

——January 27, 1986——

Every part of you ached. Wincing at the smallest tasks like lacing up your boots, and zipping your winter coat. Lower back pleading with you to stop bending over to pick up your purse. Arms shaking under the strain of textbooks. Eyes burning from lack of sleep. Head spinning. Water. Food. You needed both, had time for neither. Instead, you grabbed your waitress uniform, loaded your other shoulder with your gym bag, and walked the three flights of stairs down to the parking lot.

“God fucking damnit.”

You dragged the door closed from the white abyss, and stomped up three flights of stairs, rage simmering to a boil as you remembered you left the ice scraper and shovel behind.

But as soon as you entered the hallway, you sprinted. You could hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?” you answered, disguising the nauseating hope in your voice under a layer of genuine curiosity at who would be calling at dawn, and a touch of fear in case it was bad news.

It was never bad news when it came to him.

“Hey!” The pure relief in Eddie’s exhale wrapped you in a warm hug, placed a chaste kiss on your chapped cheeks. “I finally caught you.”

Finally. God.. finally you could reconnect with him after he swept you off your feet on New Year’s Eve.

You imbued your gratefulness into your voice, trusting he’d understand the magnitude of comfort he brought you, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school too, Munson?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he promised with that little laugh of his, surely grinning ear to ear, pacing around his kitchen, probably annoying Wayne. “I just had a feeling I should try calling in the morning, and hey, it worked out. Do you have time to talk?” He knew the answer as soon as he asked, hearing the pause.

“I’m sorry.” Another pause. He didn’t interrupt. “My car’s buried under snow, and I’m running late as is.”

“It snowed there?”

“Mhm..” Certainly did, and if you didn’t get a move on, your coach was going to chew you out. But the temptation to keep sharing this blip in time was too enticing. Pretending things were better. “If you were here, would you shovel the snow for me? Scrape the ice off my windows?”

Eddie’s boyish, smitten murmur tingled across your skin. “Of course I would, baby,” he spoke in a lower range, in a whisper from where his heart resided. “Wouldn’t even have to ask. I’d take care of it.”

You knew he would. He was reliable like that.

“I’d have breakfast made, too,” he said. “Probably something frozen, but! Not to brag or anything, I know the exact amount of time to microwave a burrito so the inside is cooked, but the outside isn’t soggy, nor stale.” His warmth coaxed you into joining him in laughing, but it was repressed. Hollow. Delaying the inevitable. You both knew what was coming.

Aware he was burning the spare minutes you could afford, he asked the question you dreaded answering, “Do you have time to talk later?”

Oh, Eddie. Silencing your apology before it upset him more, you explained, “I have work later. What about Wednesday?”

“I have a date booked with Jeff’s mom. They moved into a new house over the weekend, and need help fixing faulty electrical stuff in their bathrooms. His dad is out of town in Indy. How about Thursday?”

“I’m usually in the gym until 11, and I have an exam to study for the next day.. I’m really busy during the Spring semester, with competing and stuff, on top of school bullshit–exams, papers, projects, whatever–and waitressing.”

“Mm..”

“Yeah..”

“Yeah.”

Ugly silence.

He said, “Well, I’ll let you go. We can work something out some other time.”

“Of course,” you promised. “Some other time.”

——February 8, 1986——

[No missed calls. One old message.]

“Uh.. I had to convince your roommate not to answer the phone, so I could leave this, and uh.. Now I feel super cheesy, but I wanted you to have a message waiting for you when you got back from New York–and–here it is, I guess. Jessica, are you listening to this? Whatever, I wanted to say I missed you, and hope you won all golds. I know you did, because you’re the best, but I wanted to wish you all the luck in the world, regardless if you needed it or not. Think of it like you opened a chest and found a Stone of Good Luck. +1 to all your rolls.. or tumbles, I guess.. Jesus Christ, I swear I’m done being weird. Call me when you’re back. Okay, bye.”

——February 9, 1986——

You called. No answer.

——February 10, 1986——

You listened to the fourth ring on the other end, and hung up. Defeat welcomed you like an old friend. Draped its blanket over your shoulders, squeezed you tighter than the lump in your throat, and reminded you to grab your new grips for the uneven bars on your way out of your dorm. It’s not like you had time to talk, anyway. You just wanted to try.

————

Eddie sprinted from his van. He heard it, he heard it, he heard it. Trailer door was locked. Wayne wasn’t home. God. Fucking. Loose doorknob he’d meant to fix yesterday knocking his keys from his shaky hands. Hehearditheheardit. Scraping his nails on the steps. Couldn’t find the right key. No, not the gold one, the bronze. Fucking hell. The ringing stopped. Maybe he could still–

He got the door open and dialed your number faster than his tunnel vision could discern. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

Ringing, ringing.

It rang. It rang.

It clicked over to voicemail.

——February 12, 1986——

You took matters into your own hands.

——February 15, 1986——

“There’s a letter from your girlfriend waiting for you on your nightstand,” Wayne told him.

Eddie reminded him with a dull glare, “Not my girlfriend.” To which his uncle’s grin grew, watching his nephew fidget under the scrutiny of his curious gaze.

“It was delivered yesterday. What exactly do you call someone who sends you a Valentine’s card?”

Paling, then flushing at the suggestion, Eddie’s tongue stumbled over a half-assed response about the date being a coincidence, and disengaged from the odd twinkle in Wayne’s eye, hurrying down the hall to his room. Closing the door behind him, and locking it just in case.

The density of the card was substantial in his palm. He wanted to take his time, but his eagerness got the better of him. He ripped into the envelope and pulled out the thin letter stuffed with goodies. Beige cardstock. Crinkled along the top.

He meant to read the note first, but when he unfolded it, an abundance of riches slid to the floor, onto his dirty Reeboks. “What the..” With shame, he gathered the money first. It was no secret Wayne was throwing away the bills before Eddie could see the bright red stamps of FINAL NOTICE on them. Any time the lights went out, they would share a look from across the trailer, or a sigh if it was at night, until they flickered on due to a random outage. Things were rarely permanently cut, they made sure of that–with longer shifts at the plant, and Eddie selling weed, amps, acts of service, whatever he didn’t need–but there was always the looming threat. A voice in the back of his head when he needed to buy milk, and it had gone up another 4 cents. Morals; that’s what those voices were. Allusions of rules set by the wealthy. He bought the things he cared about, and stole the rest.

But with what you gave him..

“Damn,” he whispered, counting. Recounting. The weight of the money was comfort stacked in his dirty hands. A warm greeting after a long, cold day of working on his pregnant neighbor’s car for next to nothing. Granting him, and Wayne, the luxury of rest. It was enough to pay what they owed. Maybe more.

“Luckiest man on Earth,” he said, in reference to his sweet girl. “And you sent me..” He picked up the Polaroids and matched them to the paragraphs in the letter. One of you on a podium when you won first place overall; the picture was taken from the sidelines, far away. Another one of you competing on beam. Cute. Nice back shot of you in a leotard, too. Then..

You were at the edge of a pier overlooking the Statue of Liberty. Another girl was beside you, arms hooked around each other’s waist, having the other hand raised in the air as if you were holding the torch. The pose helped open your jean jacket, and beneath that, he saw peeking between the buttons, his Hellfire shirt.

“Sweetest girl.” He shook the picture steadily, like a nod. Gradually doing it more vigorously, until he was outright slapping it across his other fingers. “Goddamn, baby. You make me so proud.” Wearing his Dungeons and Dragons shirt out in public.

You would be a keeper, if you were his.

——February 17, 1986——

He meant to write back.

——February 22, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“.. I know it’s been a while, I’m sorry I haven’t called. Things got busy over here. Seems like when one thing goes wrong, more piles on. Did finish my book report for class, though, so you can be proud of me for that.. Yeah, miss you. Hope you’re doing okay. I don’t know if you’ve been calling and we’ve both been missing them, but Wayne hasn’t heard from you, either. You’re competing out of town today, aren’t you? Uhm.. Call when you can. And thank you for sending us money. Bye.”

——February 26, 1986——

You meant to call back.

——March 1, 1986——

Nothing really happened to trigger it, he was just sad.

Eddie sat at the kitchen table. Small and cramped with magazines and mail. He picked at a scab on his knuckle, twisted the black ring around his finger. Was tired, hungry. Quiet, and reserved from his usual personality, using all his energy yesterday to entertain Hellfire. Wayne would be back soon, he knew. The grocery store closed in 30 minutes. He just needed to occupy himself until then, but couldn’t find anything to do. New Metallica album in two days. He could listen to his bootlegs and finesse a song. But.. None of it sounded intriguing right now. Instead, his mind filled in the blanks. What were you doing on a Saturday night? Were you in your dorm? Out with friends? Working? Training? On a date–?

No. He stopped himself from fleshing out that last thought.

Tucking himself into the corner, huddling until his shoulders sagged, and drawing a knee to his chest, he grabbed the phone from above his head and dialed.

It didn’t matter if you couldn’t talk for long, he just wanted to hear your voice. Your voice would make things better. Shake him out of this cycle. These unfair consequences of being the one who could leave remnants of his heart for you to listen to at your leisure, but wasn’t afforded the same luxury. Unless you were both available, he didn’t get to hear you speak. Just ringing, ringing, ringing. Suffering ringing.

Wrapping his arm around his leg in a hug, he rested his temple on the stained wallpaper, and rocked his head back and forth, grinding his forehead into the wall. Ringing. Ringing. The same position he took when he was a boy, on the rare–very rare–occasion his mother called on his birthday, or Christmas. Mostly Christmas, that was easier for her to remember. And he sat in this exact arrangement, curled up as small as he can be, wishing the person on the other end of the line loved him.

“Just thinking of you,” he said, after swallowing the thick spit in his mouth foretelling the water in his eyes. “Miss you. Call me when you get this.” He hung up.

——March 5, 1986——

You wanted to call, but last week’s graded essay was burned onto the back of your eyelids. So much red ink.

Under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the library, you squeezed in the last of your allotted time before they closed, and forced your cramped hand to write, making it to your dorm in time to pass out.

[No missed calls. No new messages.]

——March 8, 1986——

He meant to start his letter to you. Really.

——March 10, 1986——

The quarter-sized blister on your palm you attained due to your own negligence around the flat top griddle at work burst on your fourth pull up. Fluid snaked down your forearm, cutting a stark line through the chalk. Coach would be livid if he knew you had a job. No distractions, he said. Not for champions like you.

[No missed calls. No new messages.]

——March 15, 1986——

Wayne took one look at him and sighed. He pulled Eddie’s wobbly desk chair up beside the bed, and sat facing him, lighting a cigarette. The heavy wooden box beside his nephew’s feet told him everything he needed to know.

Eddie held out his hand for Wayne’s lighter and lit the end of a joint.

“So,” his uncle started, drawing his eyes from the decades of memories stacked neatly in the keepsake box taken from the top shelf of the closet, to the Polaroids tacked onto the wall above his bed, to the worn black journals spread around the boy who laid there with his eyes on the ceiling, moping. “What’s gotten to ya, now?”

“Same old,” Eddie answered. Nonchalant, he took a drag on the joint pinched between his thumb and index, and rested his wrist on his forehead. Wayne waited patiently. And as usual, Eddie caved under the silence. “Unless she’s purposefully calling when we’re busy, she’s just.. not calling at all, and I don’t know what pisses me off more.” He shook his head. Long shakes, rolling cheek to cheek on his limp pillows. Eyes drifting closed. “I think I fucked up.”

Wayne leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, preparing himself for a long conversation. “Why do you think that, son?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at the memory. “I promised her we’d be together forever, and she said ‘okay.’ That’s all. ‘Okay.’” He started to mock himself, “I want to be with you forever,” and shifted his pitch higher, “Okay!” Eddie stopped his theatrics, and sank to his mattress. “Jesus.”

“You seemed really happy the next morning when I came home.. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into her reaction? Maybe she was surprised, is all I’m sayin’.” Eddie didn’t give so much of an eyeroll, as it was him sliding his gaze away from Wayne, disinterested in analyzing what he’d been poring over for the past few months in solitude; as the phone calls decreased, and his loneliness worsened. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you said?”

At an impasse, they inhaled their vices at the same time, and tapped them into the ashtray on Eddie’s nightstand in sync.

“Fine,” Eddie heeded, “But it’s not like I remember it verbatim.” Wayne spun his hand in encouragement to try. “It was something along the lines of.. I don’t know, man. She has these amazing opportunities lined up for her, and I told her after I graduate, I’m gonna work odd jobs, so wherever she goes, I can go with her, so we can.. you know, be together. Forever. I explicitly stated ‘forever.’ I’ll follow her forever, so we never have to be alone.”

Wayne spoke with the cigarette between his lips, “Sounds sorta stalker-like.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m just givin’ ya a hard time,” he said, after a slight laugh, and a coughing fit. His nephew seemed less amused, rubbing the back of his thumb across his forehead in a self-soothing gesture. “Was there anything else?”

Eddie burned through another fraction of his joint as he recalled that night. “She sucks at taking care of herself, so I said she needed her best friend there to look after her. Meaning me, obviously. Y’know, help keep her car functioning, make sure she gets rest so her injuries heal, cook for her because she doesn’t eat when she’s stressed. Stuff like that. I just want to be there for her, and.. Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Cigarette paused half-way to his mouth, Wayne debated with himself over which style of guidance he should take. For as long as he’d known him, Eddie was stubborn. Liked to figure things out for himself. But this? This was a little much for Wayne to sit back and watch.

“You told her that.. platonically?” he asked, a touch of astoundment at his nephew’s stupidity in his inflection.

“Yes.”

Jesus, kid. Get a clue. “And did it ever occur to you..” he drawled, waving his cigarette, “to tell her how you really felt, so you wouldn’t have to go through this? So you’d have a definite answer, whether she rejected you or not, and we could avoid all this back and forth worryin’?”

Eddie begged him to understand, “You know I can’t just.. say that to her. I mean, I said everything but that and all she could say was ‘okay.’ What if I actually told her? Made some grand confession at midnight, and kissed her? Christ, at least she still sort of talks to me.” He cut his arm across his chest. Quick, hard, and final. “No. No way am I doing that.”

Calming himself down, the joint between his fingers burned to a nub, and he spoke through the haze. “We’re finally friends again. I’m not going to jeopardize what we have by talking about my feelings.”

“Well, you’ve already lost her once, and you’re worried it’s happening again.. So, why not risk it?”

“Because now I know what it feels like for her to be a stranger.”

~~~

More words were exchanged, and many of them circled around the same subject without a resolution, but Wayne made sure to end the night on a positive note before he left for work.

He leaned over and dusted the ash from Eddie’s hair, pushing the fringe out of his face for a sincere, long moment of eye contact. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“I hope she calls. I’m sorry, son.”

——March 16, 1986——

The red lights on your alarm clock blared 2:35AM. You rolled over, adjusted the foam cups of your headphones onto your ears, brought the quilt to your chin, and rewound the tape to play it from the beginning.

“Crashed at Rick’s last night.. Sorry if you called.”

Then, a slurred message an hour later. “M-Mm.. Miss you.. I.. Hm? I.. Damn.” A drink spilled. Music played in the background. Something recognizable in the depths of your subconscious, but too quiet to place. Eddie inhaled deep, held his breath, and resumed with a steady cadence, “Wish you were here.”

——March 19, 1986——

Black. Black. Black. Searing white.

You came to holding onto a rope, and someone’s hand gripping your shoulder, acting as your sole buoy in the sea of your dizzy spell.

“Are you okay? Don’t answer that.” Katherine’s voice cut like a snake’s tongue. She lowered you to the spring floor next to the foam pit, and released a string of infuriated whispers about miracles, and you not falling from higher up. They came muffled against the high-pitched whine in your ears, and the pounding heart beats racing blood to your face.

She had a first aid kit with her. “Hello? Do you not feel that?” You looked at your hands. A cold flash of sweat prickled your skin. Nausea rose. The bleeding wasn’t bad, but it did leave a streaking trail on the last few feet of knotted rope dangling beside you.

At least Coach was in his office while the rest of you did your conditioning, so he didn’t see.

You rubbed your knuckles into your brow bone. “I think those caffeine pills caught up with me,” you muttered. Kat sucked her teeth, and handed you what you needed to patch up your torn calluses.

“I wish you’d stop taking those and give yourself a break. Rest isn’t a punishment.”

You may not have known her long, but she was the first friend you made, and her disappointed voice struck you in a way your Coach’s didn’t. Kat understood. She had a similar upbringing to you, and could relate. She also worked at the diner, and you helped cover for each other when other girls asked why you couldn’t make it to their bonding nights out.

And being vulnerable with her meant she knew intimate details of your life no one else did, and you were beginning to regret it.

Not really. But it sucked when she knew she was right.

“I can’t take a break now,” you mumbled, surveying the rest of the gym to make sure your conversation was private. “I’ve gotta study for next week. Gotta go to work. Gotta make money. Gotta–gotta–” You moved your hands erratically, drying the sharp sting of rubbing alcohol on your palms. “Gotta live up to everyone’s expectations.”

“Why not at least cut your hours at work? I know you don’t need the money that bad right now.”

“No.. But he does.”

The exasperated sigh Kat released grazed your cheek. She placed the first aid kit in her lap, and shifted closer to you. The side of her thigh squished against yours, and you wondered if anyone else on Earth would have stopped breathing at the small sign of affection. If anyone else’s eyes welled with tears at what others took for granted.

Kat’s tone went gentle, “You’re killing yourself over a guy who will never commit. You deserve better than that. Why not try going out with Roger again? You already know he likes you.” She bumped your shoulder and tipped her head at the group of sweaty guys standing under the rings. Most notably the stand-out amongst the men’s team jumping and grasping the apparatus, hoisting himself up for minute-long holds in poses that had your abs burning in empathy.

Roger was nice. His smile was nice. His short, sandy blonde hair was nice. Your date with him at the Italian restaurant in town was nice. He paid for the meal, which was nice. His eyes crinkled when he laughed at your bad jokes in a nice way. He made it a point to walk you to your dorm at night, like a nice man. He spoke to you nicely. He hugged you tight, and long. And when you made your intentions clear, he accepted you didn’t want a kiss, and left like a gentleman, without complaint. Nice. He was nice.

“You didn’t hear the way Eddie said–” the most romantic thing anyone had ever promised you.

“He called you his best friend.” She took over bandaging for you, turning her body to block the others from seeing the tears run down your cheeks. “He doesn’t love you like you want, and you’re starting to worry me. Well.. You’ve been worrying me. You need to take care of yourself, first. Coach might turn a blind eye because you’re still able to compete, but I see the way the stress has been eating away at you.” An opportune moment for your stomach to growl. “And I love you, and I want better for you than some guy who’s not into you, taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Eddie’s not like that. He’s different..” you offered meekly. “You don’t know him like I do.”

“Just.. consider going out with Roger again. Pay attention to the date. How he treats you, what he says. Maybe compare him to Eddie, and see what I mean.”

Done patching you up, Kat tossed the first aid kit to the side while you chalked your hands over the bowl, not caring the white powder clung to the wet smears on your face. She opened her mouth when you grabbed the rope again, fists on her hips not unlike a mother who actually cared for her children.

“You’re going to get hurt,” she said.

You put your weight on the rope. Your open flesh wrung against the fiber, padded by a few layers of athletic tape rapidly losing their adhesive from the blooming blood soaking through. The pain stung deep. Not enough for you to quit. You could persevere. Climb up to the rafters of the gym, and back down again without rest two more times, as Coach instructed. You could remain calm. Focus on the task, finish it, and still read your textbook until the crack of dawn, and go in for a quick morning shift at the diner before your afternoon class. You could do it all. You could. You could do it all if it meant securing a future for you, and for Eddie.

You replied, “Maybe I will.. But it’ll be worth it.”

Kat waited until you were half-way up to question, “Will it?”

——March 21, 1986——

If Eddie answered, you wouldn’t go out with Roger. That was the deal.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” you whispered with your head resting against the doorway to the back of the diner. The two line cooks gave you sympathetic looks. “Pick up,” you pleaded with a bite of anger.

You hung up.

Dialed again.

“Come on, Eddie..”

When he didn’t answer, you let Kat embrace you in the walk-in cooler, blotting your tears on her brown uniform shirt, and she listened to you sob about how not only had the phone calls stopped, Eddie had stopped calling you by pet names long before that.

————

Roger was soft. His grin was soft. His hair was soft, brushing across your forehead. The callus on his thumb was smooth, soft as he traced your bottom lip. The back of his fingers were soft as he caressed them over your cheek. His lips were soft, too. Placing them gently on the corner of yours after you turned away at the last second.

His voice was soft. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“I’m sorry..” You struggled to say more. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said, and left. Softly spoken through the rejection, and accepting it like the nice man he was, not coercing you into more.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, long after Roger walked away. You went inside your dorm, and did the thing you always did, pressing the blinking light on your answering machine, noticing the cassette through the plastic window hadn’t moved.

[One missed call. No new messages.]

Oh.

He’d never not left a message before..

——March 22, 1986——

You awoke with a start. “Wha–?” Your bloodshot eyes refused to open under the disturbing amount of daylight streaming through your window. What was that noise? Was the phone ringing?

The phone was most definitely ringing.

Answering under the grog of not knowing when you went to sleep, nor what day it was, you said the first thing that came to mind, “Eddie?” You winced, and jerked the phone away, taking a moment to place the loud, exuberant–panicked–voice on the other side. “..Dustin?”

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baddiewiththebook · 6 months

Text

ONE OF THEM [PART 2]

-> Dating your best friend Eddie Munson might have been pictured differently in your head. Despite a blissful weekend, you’re met with a few bumps in the road; and, your friends slowly figure out that what you're doing in private crosses the boundaries between friend and lover.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, secret relationship, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive scenes [no smut]

[Part 2] [Part 3]

This is a sequel to One of the Boys

-> <-

"Five minutes," Steve counts on his watch. "I swear I'm leaving her."

Adjusting the itchy Family Video vest against his chest, Steve has had enough patience with Robin. He slams his fist into the horn on his car hoping the entire neighborhood wakes up. Maybe they could riot to her front door to get her out of bed.

Steve twists the dial to his radio. Seriously, where is this girl? Every morning at seven o'clock, Steve stops by her house to give her a ride to school. And, every morning the same routine plays like a horribly tuned piano. Well, today's the day, Steve puts his foot to the gas pedal.

"She can walk to school," hand on the gear shift, Steve readies to peel off the curb and zip down the street. But, he doesn't.

No, Steve is far too gentle of a soul to leave his friend out on the edge of a cliff like that. Allowing a puff of hot hair to escape, he rests back in the drivers seat and takes his foot away from the pedal. Maybe knocking some sense into his head would do the trick. He bends forward onto the steering wheel. The horn beeps, and deafens him.

Robin yanks open the car door. "Good morning, sunshine!"

"Next time-" Steve says lifting his head.

"'Next time, I'm leaving you!'" Robin slots into the passenger side, and buckles herself into the car. "Anything new with you?"

Steve doesn't like to believe that he's gotten so predictable. In fact, all driving around Robin to school and the the endless amount of freshman that need rides to go to and from their stupid after school club, Steve contemplates asking for compensation. But, again, he's not that guy.

"What took you so long?" He asks.

Robin scoffs. "I was in the bathroom. What? You want me running out here with my pants down leaving a trail behind me? I don't think so."

"Thank you for that visual, Robin," Steve winces.

Sure, she's running a few fifteen minutes late, but doesn't everyone have at least one bad day - or a week - or month - or year?

Robin sat straight up in her bed that morning with a pile of drool next to her on her pillow. Hair stuck straight out on one side of her head like it was trying to escape her. Yes, she could hear every horn honk that came from Steve Harrington's car, and no she did not make it her mission to torture him every morning by being late.

Her power went out. Or, maybe she slept through her alarm. Potayto; potahto. Either way, she smudges on a bit more blush from her compact in her bag, she's in the car now right?

"Did you eat breakfast?" Steve already know's she'll say 'no.' "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. And, don't you have a test in first period? Shouldn't you be focusing on that instead of . . . what is that pink stuff?”

"It's blush, Steven," She teases. "You sound like my dad."

"Ha ha," he quips back. "Backseat."

Robin stretches around to see a brown paper bag soaking in it's own juices. He's stopped at the diner, before he came to pick her up. Sure that might have been his lunch for later in his shift, but he would rather not have his friend pass out while trying to recite the alphabet or whatever they teach these days.

"Stevie!" Robin pouts her lip.

"Shut up," he jokes.

Their relationship is platonic, although Robin did have to wave off Steve’s crush on her. She’s not into him, nor is she into any other man she’s ever come across. As a friend, however, Steve has turned into one of her closest. She relies on him, especially with him withholding her biggest secret. She’s very gay.

On the way to school, Hawkins is still all the same gray town. Cool weather blows winds through the streets freezing them all like icicles. Snow this year is said to be minimal, but freezing temperatures suggest otherwise.

Pulling into the parking lot of his old high-school, Steve hits his breaks sending Robin sliding forward. She clutches her bag, and adds a screwed look upon her face.

“My bad,” Steve doesn’t sound very apologetic. But, nonetheless, they’re friends and he has to pull her leg when she pulls his.

Robin springs from the car with her backpack in her hand, and her breakfast sack hanging out of her mouth. She muffles something along the lines of ‘thank you’ lost in translation behind the paper bag.

You wouldn’t know from the outside looking in, but Robin is quite apprehensive about school. There’s only so many crowds, and so many people that she can manage at one time. That’s usually why she’s on the hunt for someone she knows so bright and early - to defend her of the rampaging school children.

For example, Jason Carver is one of the biggest a-hole’s in the school. But, people still praise him like a King. That was Steve once, so she tries not to be too harsh when she judges him. But, he’s not making the best case for himself when he’s threatening a freshman boy for flunking Jason's homework. Jason’s minions are given the order to toss him into the dumpster, and Robin has the smarts to look away.

Robin swings open the double doors to be smacked in the face with the thick musk of high school air. She’s a bit late, so she thought that maybe people had begun flocking to class. Wrong. She dodges some kid parading around with an easel with the legs sticking out, so at least no one would bump into him.

There’s a window of opportunity for her to swing into her home room, and chow down on her breakfast before Mrs. Brown doesn’t scold her for not sharing with the rest of the class. She’s got about ten minutes until the bell rings, and Mrs. Brown is no where to be seen. She’s probably got her head over the copier grinding the gears a little too hard to give out weeks worth of homework due tomorrow. That’s her favorite.

As Robin sits in her usual spot, she opens the greasy bag in front of her. Bundled under a pile of trash from Steven’s breakfast burrito, she does find herself a single sandwich. Ham and Swiss cheese with far too many thick slabs of tomato for her liking. She lets the tomato slide off in a pile of sad gooey slime, and then places the bread back on top of the sandwich to complete it.

“I’ll see you later,” the usual conversation between classmates bores Robin, but the sound of your voice piques her interest.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” Eddie’s words draw out low and deep.

You’re giggling now, and Robin tilts her head to the open door. Without checking for other occupants, you swing Eddie into your shared home room to plant a various amount of wet kisses to his lips.

Frozen in time, Robin sits like a statue. She knows she’s not supposed to witness the exchange. Especially by Eddie overlooking his shoulder a number of times, before running off down the other hallway. You chase after him, but only to learn into the hallway to watch him run off.

You’re completely smitten.

Robins never known you to be this unaware. There’s a time and a half that she’s readied you for dates, but she’s never seen that shine in your eye, the flush on your cheeks or the floating just above the ground where the rest of us are.

How she skirted past being caught by you or Eddie is mind blowing. But, you’re in a ‘love bubble’ that’s impenetrable.

Robin grabs a thick needle, and jabs at the edges until the bubble bursts as you sit down. Forgetting the sandwich, and the painful growls from her stomach, Robin now twists in her seat making the chair moan.

“Good morning, Robin,” you’ve got cupids arrow in your ass. “When did you get here?”

“I don’t know,” her sarcasm is drooling from her mouth now. “Sometime before you and Eddie started making out at the door.”

Your stomach flips, and your face drops down back to earth. “Uh, oh.”

Robins bounces. “When did that happen?”

“Last Friday, after school,” you blurt as the bell rings. “Listen Robin, you can’t tell anyone what you saw. Please? We’re just trying to keep a low profile for a while.”

The classroom begins to fill, while you’re still silently begging for your friend to keep her mouth shut for once in her life. Robin’s the worst at keeping secrets!

And, Robin does go through the list of who she’ll blab too first. She could tell Steve because he would just reply ‘Who?’ and get all squinty. Or, she could tell Dustin, who’s really close to Eddie. That’s a fair trade.

That’s when Robin notices the gray plume of smoke floating into the classroom. A haze of green and gold glitter spiral into the archway. Suddenly, the mask drops to the tile floor. And what’s left?

Roxie Martin.

Robin might have a bit of an imagination, but what is very real is the absolute terror stricken fear written across your face. She’s a ball of evil with a bat hidden in her bra - probably.

Yeah, Robin thinks that she’ll keep quiet for a while.

“Good morning, class,” Mrs. Brown zips into the classroom with a years worth of paper stacked in her grip. “Roxie, please find your seat. And, unless you have enough to share with the rest of the class, put away your food, Robin.”

Robin’s stomach growls.

-> <-

tags: @stardustingold @loves0phelia @ogoc-19 @hellfirenacht @blackholegladiator @alligator-person @eggo-segual @rustboxstarr @harmfulb1tch

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie muson preference #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine

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megamindsecretlair · 9 months

Text

Be My Little Darling - Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Pairing: Loki x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Angst/Smut. Unresolved sexual tension. Fingering (fem receiving), spanking (fem receiving) Dom Loki. Mentions of survivor's guilt.

Summary: Loki is the exclusive owner of the hottest club in New Asgard. Dubbed the Nine Realms, each of the nine rooms represent a different realm. You are his second in command, working the floors and ensuring everyone is having fun. When a shipment goes missing, you have a tiny breakdown.

Word Count: 4,206k

Masterlist

A/N: Excuse me while I go cry my eyes out. This was too fun to write! I love, love writing Loki's dialogue. I'm deadass breaking my own heart while I write this! LOL. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @cantstayawaycani @braverthanthenewworld @monaeesstuff @headcannonxgalore @chaos-4baby @dayjlovesromance @theeblackmedusa @soft-persephone

You sat in your office with the door closed for once. Though, office was the nicest way of putting it. It was a glorified broom closet. With the size of the club, you ought to have an office like Loki’s. But the office suited you. It was yours. No one else’s.

The silence of the room should have been annoying, but it was the only bit of peace you got. The guided meditation on your Earth phone told you to breathe. You were already breathing. Your sister had recommended that you use it since you’ve been so “testy” lately.

It wasn’t your fault that she snuck up on you while you were chopping up spinach. She definitely shouldn’t have gotten that close. You didn’t mean to read her the riot act. She was out of her room for once and you yelled until she went right back in.

You scowled at the little device and the soft ocean sounds it played in the background. So far, this thing was only making you more restless and irritated. Something had to give. It was impossible to do anything.

The damn thing told you to pay attention to where you felt your breath. Whatever the hell that meant. You turned it off and rubbed your neck. Tension weaved a knot in your shoulder and you rolled it around trying to get some relief.

Speaking of relief…you felt like you had ants in your veins. On more than one occasion, you had half a mind to march into Loki’s office and demand that he fuck you right then and there. Pride be damned. It had been a few short weeks of torture. Cruel and unusual punishment.

Surely, the god had to have some kind of mercy right? You scoffed. He wouldn’t know mercy if it slapped him in his gorgeous face. Sure, he let you come but you needed more. You needed him inside of you. And that was the scariest thought of all. You didn’t need anyone.

Least of all him. Pride was a poor substitute for warming your bed, but it was easier than relying on someone else to always be there. It was convenient to say that you weren’t like this when you were on Asgard. But you’d always been stubborn and did things in your own time. And nothing short of a miracle would move you.

Once you decided to plant your feet, it would take an act of the All Father to get you to move an inch. And even then…

It was too quiet. You were in your office, alone just like you wanted, and yet all you wanted to do was be surrounded by people. Okay, fine, you wanted to be around him. He made you so angry sometimes but there were rare moments when he made you smile or laugh.

You rubbed your face. You didn’t know what you were going to do about Loki. You didn’t know what you were going to do about your wayward brother. He was disappearing more often and earlier than usual, not returning home until late at night. The last time you had told him about his behavior, he yelled that you weren’t his mom. It took every ounce of willpower not to smack him.

You did everything for that little weasel. You found them a place, you got a job, you put them through school. A little fucking gratitude would be nice.

You blew out a breath and turned the meditation thing back on. Once more, from the top.

A loud knocking on your door caused you to jump. “Go away!” You had a sign up for lunch. For thirty minutes, you didn’t exist. There was no club, no employees, and no responsibilities.

The knocking persisted until you stood up with a growl. You opened the door. “This better be fuckin’--”

“I can’t find the ale for tonight!” Justin, one of the kitchen staff, stood outside your door. He was short, about 5’6, with soft copper skin and dark, curly hair. He wore the white uniform of the kitchen staff, but he had his hat in his hands and wrung it out so badly, it had wrinkles.

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” You asked. You went to your desk and flipped through your calendar. In it, the shipment was scheduled to arrive at 12pm. It gave the crew enough time to stock up before the doors opened. You went to your file cabinet and flipped through the receipts. “I signed for it,” you said.

“I know. I turned for just a second! It’s gone,” Justin said. His voice got smaller the more he talked. Palpable fear sloughed off of him in waves. You were about to ask him what his problem was. But there was only one thing that inspired that much fear.

You walked to the door and pulled him in. You made him sit in the only other chair in the place. Would it have killed Loki to find a better space for you?

“Calm down. Tell me what happened,” you said.

Justin shook as he ran through what happened. He told you how after you left for lunch, he went to the stockroom to check on how much space he had to store the ale. He checked on the bar to check inventory. When he got back, the entire shipment was gone from the back and no one had seen a thing.

You nodded and listened. The ale was not easy to move. You half wondered if it was those guys again. They were big enough to move the ale. But that required a truck and someone seeing them. Justin had only been gone for roughly fifteen minutes. No one could move a shipment like that in fifteen minutes.

“Okay. Okay, we’ll figure this out. I’ll check the security cameras. You check with anyone who was scheduled back there today. Someone saw something, right?” You asked.

Justin looked at you as if you were a frost giant that grew three more heads. His lack of confidence stung a bit, but whatever. You were used to being underestimated. You sent Justin on his way and you went to the security room.

The tips of your ears burned as you thought about the last time you were here, but there was no time for that. With Loki’s extra scrutiny, you were no longer able to move around like a phantom. Sometimes, it seemed like he was there in whatever room you were but you couldn’t see him. He could be in disguise, but you hadn’t been able to see through his illusions. He could be standing right next to you and you’d never know it. Somehow, you were sure he had better things to do than watch you all day.

The guard opened the door after you knocked. You smiled sweetly at him and told him that you needed his help. Ten minutes later, the security footage showed absolutely nothing useful. The shipment was there one minute, gone the next.

You stared at the footage and panic clawed up your throat. No, no, you won’t panic. Clearly, your saboteur was at it again. Stealing a shipment was a little mundane. Especially after the mind control trick. But it was still gone and it was supposed to get you through the week. No ale meant angry customers. Angry customers meant word of mouth would spread. Bad press meant people would stop coming. And if people stopped coming, the club would be deserted. And if the club were deserted, there would be no reason to keep your job.

You took one deep breath in, allowed the panic its moment, and then breathed it all out. There’s a reason for this. The saboteur was fucking with you all, but so far it had been harmless. Okay, Angel going through the floor wasn’t harmless and if those meatheads had been successful, they’d have taken your head off. But you were able to handle it all. You were fine. Absolutely fine.

The guard cast furtive glances your way. You probably looked silly standing there, staring at the paused video. You thanked him and headed out. So far, you haven't run into Loki. But he was out visiting his brother. If you could just solve this quickly, there would be no reason to worry him.

Okay, honesty time. You wanted to be competent. You wanted to be indispensable to him. You wanted him to know that he could leave for the day and he could trust you to run the club. You didn’t know why his approval meant so much to you. And you didn’t want to analyze it.

You searched. You searched everywhere you could think of that a psychopath would hide ale. You searched top to bottom, front to back, but it was gone. Poof. Justin had recruited the other kitchen staff to search around discreetly. The last thing you needed was Honey or Sweetie coming by. They were your biggest gossip. You didn’t need this news reaching Loki. Oh hell, these people had you fearing Loki’s wrath as well.

You went out the back of the club for the hundredth time. Your eyes burned as you adjusted to the brightness of the outside. In a few hours, people would start arriving. Some of them would order ale and what were you going to tell them? Sorry, none tonight. Try back tomorrow!

You rubbed your neck as you stared at the loading bay. The cameras covered everything. Every angle. And the footage showed that the shipment was there one minute, gone the next. You didn’t know what you would find. You had already searched this area.

Tears pricked your eyes. This was so pathetic. How hard was it to find one shipment? You massaged your forehead, willing the tears to go away. Before they had a chance to drop, you swiped them away. You will not break down in front of these people.

The bay was empty. Sunlight beamed down, warming your dark skin. Birds flew overhead and in the distance, there was the cityscape. On the other side of the club, there was the ocean. A faint salty sea breeze blew by every now and then. You were alone. And it was okay to cry.

You faced away from any cameras and allowed a few drops of tears to stream down your face. You didn’t cry often. Certainly not in public. Your mom always told you to never let people see you break down. In the house, you could slump over, fall out, or pass out all you wanted to. But outside, you were to square your shoulders and never give anyone a reason to look at you sideways.

Your heart cracked in two. You missed that stubborn old lady so much, sometimes you couldn’t breathe. She was always snapping at you about something. But you knew it was out of love. And you knew that your dad would come right behind her, kiss her, and tell her to loosen up. You missed your grandparents. Your family was always close.

You missed your cousins. You missed shopping with them or traveling from tavern to tavern drinking more than everyone. You missed being free. You missed Asgard. Gods you missed Asgard.

Tears fell in fat drops from your eyes, down your cheeks, and dripping onto your outfit. You had taken to wearing more skirts. You chuckled as you stood there. As if the skirts were the barrier to Loki fucking you.

Your mind was a mess. It was a beautiful day outside and you were standing there in all black, crying. It was like you were attending a funeral of one. Your own funeral.

You sniffled. Snot leaked out of your nose. You were not an attractive crier. The pressure in your chest eased as you finally allowed yourself this moment of weakness. You knew you needed this. But this should have been done at home.

You conjured a tissue and started to wipe your eyes and blow your nose.

“Darling?”

You gasped and turned to see Loki standing near the back entrance. How scowled as he looked at you. Oh gods. You turned from him and frantically wiped your face. He did not need to see you like this.

“One second!” You said. Your voice warbled and you coughed a few times to cover it up. The more you wiped your nose, the more snot seemed to shoot out. You sniffled, but really it needed to be blown out. And there was no way to blow your nose and hide that you had been crying.

“What’s happened?” He was right beside you. You jumped with a little shriek and moved away from him, keeping him at your back. It was the worst thing to do as a fighter. Never turn your back on someone. Friend or foe. But you’d live with a knife in the back if it meant that Loki didn’t see you fall apart.

Loki grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around. Still, you looked everywhere but at him. He didn’t need to see this. It was so embarrassing.

Loki held your face in his hands and forced your eyes to meet his. You blinked up into his crystal blue eyes. Your tears still fell, over his long fingers and down the sides of his hands and onto your cheeks.

“What happened?” His voice was soft. Too soft. He didn’t do soft. There was nothing soft about Loki. You hated it.

“Nothing. I stubbed my toe,” you said. You tried to jerk from his grasp but his grip was iron tight. He wouldn’t let you budge.

“We don’t lie to each other,” he said.

“Yeah? How was your visit with Thor?” You asked.

Loki reared back and his lips thinned into a near perfect line. “He’s fine.” His voice was clipped. Almost angry.

“We don’t lie to each other,” you said.

“We’re not discussing Thor. We’re talking about you. Who made you cry?”

A bubble of laughter welled up but you held it back. There was nothing funny about your boss finding you crying like a little girl who lost her puppy. You looked skyward, willing the tears away.

“I’m handling it,” you said.

Fury. Loki’s eyes darkened to the color of the sky before a storm. He gripped your arm and pulled you off to the side, where there were a few desks. No one really worked out in the bay, but it was easier to keep a desk there for signing for packages and the like. There was a storage room to the side, locked, for keeping the non-perishable overstock. You liked to be prepared, oh well.

Loki pushed you down onto the desk, bent over and your ass in the air. You tried to stand but he kept a firm hand on your lower back.

“Every time you lie or don’t tell me what I want to hear, I’ll spank you,” he said.

“What?” You tried to stand up again, but you heard the smack before you felt it. In the position that you were in, your skirt didn’t stand a chance. You wore panties, but you were still exposed to him. The sting vibrated and radiated. You were too stunned to do anything but stand there and feel it.

“Why were you crying?” He asked.

“I told you, I’m handling–” You knew the smack was coming and yet you were still surprised by it. You rocked from foot to foot trying to get away. Loki kicked your legs until he spread them. Your pussy clenched around nothing. You were at his mercy and he was spanking you. And you were so turned on, you almost begged him to take you right then and there.

This was it. This was how you finally went insane and buckled under all the pressure you were under.

“Why were you crying, Darling?” He asked.

You licked your lips. You could tell him what was going on with the shipment. But it was too close to feeling like a failure. You haven't failed yet. The shipment was temporarily housed somewhere else.

His next smack was harder, causing you to buck against the desk. The edge dug into your belly but it was nothing in comparison to the heat and pain spreading around your ass cheeks.

“I didn’t say anything!” You yelled.

“I’m aware,” he said.

“I’m allowed to cry, you know!” You said.

Smack. You cried out. But it was also so fucked up and erotic that you found yourself arching your back and silently asking for more. You flopped your forehead onto the desk. It was cool to the touch and helped stamp out the heat rushing over you.

Loki touched your ass and you jerked. You had expected another smack. This was worse. The heat of his palm made the stinging bloom. It made fresh arousal leak out of you and soaked your panties.

“I won’t ask again, Darling.” His voice had gone low, deep, and furious. You wished you could see his face.

“There was a tiny problem with a shipment today. That’s all,” you told him. You expected a smack, tensed for it, but he continued to lightly rub your booty. You slowly relaxed as it was clear he wasn’t going to hit you. More’s the pity.

“What kind of problem?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. Every word was painful. You’d rather stick a hot poker against your skin than admit you couldn’t do something. But you wanted his hands on you so you played along.

“I signed for our shipment of ale. I put the receipt in my office and left the kitchen staff to stock it. It’s missing,” you said. You sounded robotic, even to your own ears.

“What do you mean, missing?” He asked. His hands had stilled and you wiggled, trying to get him to move.

You told him everything, in as little detail as possible. You kept your emotions out of it. It was no big deal. A huge shipment had gone missing and you would find it. It was your specialty. Only, it wasn’t. Hand you a knife, you knew what to do with it. Corralling a bunch of employees was a walk in the park. But how did someone fight an unknowable enemy? You couldn’t see the saboteur. They walked around as if they were invisible. They slipped in and out of the club at whim.

You might as well try to fight a ghost. It’d probably be easier to capture and kill. A hard smack to your ass brought you out of your thoughts. “I told you what happened! What was that for?!”

“Why were you crying about a shipment of ale?” He asked.

You bit your cheek and refused to speak. He didn’t get to have everything. “How is it fair that I can’t have secrets, but you can? You demand that I spill my guts every time we speak. Yet I, merely gum beneath your boot, isn’t fit to know anything about you?”

Loki smacked your ass three times. Hard. You cried after each smack. Yet your ass rose to meet his hand each time.

“Do you not see all of my secrets? Have I not made it clear that you are what consumes me? I have no hobby, save for you. I have no dreams, save to see you smile. I yearn to hear every word from your lips, every sigh from your mouth, and see every scathing look you give me.”

His words shredded you down to your bones. You hated that you couldn’t see his face. You couldn’t read him. You could only go off of your instinct. And it was telling you that he meant every word he said.

He moved your panties to the side and slipped a finger inside of you. You moaned. You were dripping wet and he slid in easily. He sighed. He started to pump his fingers into you.

“You are mine, Darling. I want your every syllable. Every utterance. I want your anger. Your curses. Your laughs. Your pleasure. All of it. Why were you crying?”

You moaned as he added a second finger, stretching you. Your legs shook. Your hands were splayed on the desk. The fake wood under your hand was all you had to anchor yourself. Your breath was shaky and ended on a tiny whine.

“I’m overwhelmed,” you admitted. Loki hummed and continued to fuck you with his fingers.

“I’m so fucking tired all the time. There is always a fire to put out around here. But that’s okay, I’m good at that. I thrive at that. That’s just what I do. But when I go home…the house here is nothing like Asgard. That house is frigid and desolate. I hate climbing the stairs knowing that my family is gone and I don’t know what happened to them. Thanos could have snapped them away. They could be on another planet. They could be here. I just don’t know. And I can’t help my siblings. My sister won’t come out of her room, she’s so depressed. And my brother is so angry all the time. I don’t know what to do anymore,” you choked on your words even as you ground your hips on his fingers.

You were weary. Bone-deep, weary. And there was a part of you that just wanted to lay down and not get back up. You were tired of saving everyone and no one came to save you. There. You said it. You wanted someone to save you. You wanted someone to swoop in, save the day, and give you a break for once.

But you also knew that you wouldn’t trust it. As soon as you relied on someone, they would disappear. Leaving you to pick up the pieces.

“You don’t have to be alone, Darling. I’m right here,” he said softly. He leaned down and kissed both of your ass cheeks. It still stung from his spanking and you hissed as his cool lips touched them. “We’re stronger together. You know it. I know it.”

You were so fucking close, you could taste it. You trembled at his words and with how gentle he was being. In all the years that you’d known him, gentle was not in his vocabulary. But here he was. Not shaming you for your weakness, but offering to help.

He straightened up and removed his fingers. You heard him moan as he presumably sucked on his fingers.

“Hey!” You moved to stand up but he gave another hard smack to your ass. If you thought the previous ones were tough, this one robbed you of all breath. He stepped away, finally letting you straighten up.

He crowded your space, grabbed your face and kissed you. It was consuming and overwhelming. You leaned in for more but he pulled away and kissed your forehead.

“We will find the traitor in our midst. But it must be together. Don’t hide from me,” he said.

You looked at him. Really looked into his mesmerizing eyes. There was a swirl of emotions you couldn’t even try to puzzle out. He was still unknowable to you. And you feared that there was always going to be a part of him you couldn’t touch. A hidden depth that seemed to recognize a kindred spirit in yourself. But your pain was not his. He carried his pain in the set of his jaw, the amused smirk he wore like a mask, and his bright eyes that saw more than anyone in existence. Except for maybe Heimdall.

“It’s not in my nature to open up. But I’ll try,” you said.

He kissed you again. Reverently, softly, like the rainbow kissing the sky after it rained.

“I will have more than that, but that will suffice for now.” He smirked at you.

“Well? You can’t just leave me like this,” you said. You weren’t going to attempt to sit. Just hovering your ass close to the desk made you want to cry. In fact, your skirt was too sensitive right now. The mesh frills rubbed against your butt and you fought tensing up and hissing.

It paled next to your desperate need to cum. It was just out of reach. If he kept going, you were sure it wouldn’t take you any time at all.

Loki smirked. “Consider it your punishment. If spanking only turns you on, then you’ll get no relief from me right now,” he said.

“You’re insane,” you huffed.

“I’ll teach you this lesson a thousand times, my Darling,” he said and nuzzled your cheek, your jaw, and your neck. He licked your neck, right over your pulse point. You whined as a tingle shot through you.

“I’ll do whatever I see fit with you. Now come along. We have a shipment to find and a traitor to punish.”

He withdrew from you and started walking backwards towards the door. You gaped at him. He couldn’t be fucking serious. He grinned as he turned and walked into the club. You contemplated all the ways you could kill him and hide the body as you followed him inside.

Masterlist | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Loki Files #Loki x Black!reader #Loki x Black reader #Loki x Fem!reader #Loki x Fem reader #Loki x reader #Loki x you #Loki imagine #Loki smut #Marvel smut #Loki fanfic #Loki fan fic #Loki fanfiction #Loki fan fiction #fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic

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glacialpacer · 9 months

Text

Can’t We Just Fall? by Bast_Sloan has inspired these photos. It’s an AU story in which Andy, Serena, and an original male character called Cristi are best friends and also European royalty. They take on the moniker “The Riot Club” and they also take NYC by storm. Each of them falls in love with a member of our beloved Runway team and chaos inevitably ensues. Andy and Miranda are originally rivals until their passion for one another becomes explosive. It’s really a rollercoaster of a story but I enjoyed it. One of the best Mirandy smut scenes ever (in my opinion) is also in this story… if that’s your thing 😏

Miranda Priestly & Lady Andrea Sachs

Lady Serena Van Visser & Emily Charlton

The Riot Club

#mirandy #miranda priestly #andy sachs #mirandy manip #andy sachs’ camera roll

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years

Text

The Lamb and the Wolf

Day 7: Costumes (Max Phillips x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW: Non-con/dead dove (Max compels the reader, kinda); Violence (Max then bites the reader); Smut (fingering; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 2417

Halloween, all things considered, is a day for Max Phillips’ kind. It’s a day for vampires and ghouls, and for all other sorts of creatures that typically have to hide in plain sight amongst the humans.

It’s also a great day to hunt. Drunk people pretending to be someone—or something else—make for easy targets.

The club is dark and loud. For humans, it’s probably hard to hear their banal chatter or see each other, but Max has the benefit of his supernatural senses. He can see clearly. He can hear every human heart thumping below the bassline of the loud music, the vitality on display.

His for the taking.

There’s also a million scents curling against his nose: secondhand cigarette smoke, secondhand pot smoke. There’s a riot of perfumes and colognes, and entire bouquet of musk and florals. There’s a chemical scent of the club patrons in body paint or heavy makeup; there’s a scent of their costumes, the cheap latex and leathers and how all the synthetic fabrics make people sweat. He can smell the alcohol—cheap beer, complex liquors, everything in between.

Max has his eye on a pair of women dressed like school girls, but there’s no fun in the hunt. The pair of them eye him up in turn, pout at him playfully, pose to show off their assets. It takes all of the thrill out of it, and he turns away, bored.

He has the idle thought to leave. Maybe it’d be more fun to go out and hunt someone out on the street instead of here in the club. Wild-caught was always better than farm-raised. Here, there’s no challenge, and Max sighs and stands up, gets a few steps towards the exit when he catches the scent of something else.

There’s no good words to describe it. It’s warm and bright, like a thread of gold unfurling under his nostrils. It makes every cell of his unnatural body spark to life, and for the first time since he was turned and got his vampiric hunger under a modicum of control, Max Phillips finds himself salivating.

The scent, like a shimmering filament—Max follows it. He’s powerless to stop: only a moment ago, he was bored and ready to leave, and now his feet pull him towards the source of the scent.

It’s so unlike any human smell, he’s shocked when he’s led to its source. A woman—you—half turned away from him. Hair down, but the strands woven through with gold on the crown of your head to give the impression of a halo. Downy white wings on your back. A white dress that is fairly modest by club standards, especially on Halloween—caps sleeves and a neckline that only shows a hint of cleavage, skirt that hits a tame few inches above your knees.

You’re dressed up as an angel, and something about that makes Max twitch to attention too. As a human, he had a kink around wholesomeness, and his vampiric turn has only intensified that kink.

It’s so good it’s almost a fucking cliché: him the nocturnal killer, you the innocent in pure white. It’d only be better if you were dressed as a lamb and him as a wolf.

-----

If he didn’t have the scent of you in his nose, making him salivate, Max might have been disappointed in how easy it is to compel you, to hypnotize you. Your mind is a pliable, plastic thing, effortlessly bends to his will, and he finds it easy to have his way with you.

Easy to compel you to leave your friends, a pair of sour-faced women dressed up as cats. They try to talk you out of it, but you laugh an airy laugh, give them each a light hug before you step away and allow Max to wrap his arm around your shoulders. He turns you away from them, leads you outside and to the back of the club where it’s dark and deserted.

Easy to compel you for a kiss. You turn your face to him with a smile, eyes with that slightly dazed look that comes with vampiric hypnosis. Some small part of Max must remain human because he always feels a sting of disappointment here: Human Max loved the challenge of seducing women, but Vampire Max barely has to try to succeed.

But the moment he kisses you—his cool lips against your warm ones—the disappointment flees. You taste just as intoxicating, even just to kiss you. That golden thread of heavenly scent sparks against his sense of taste, and it’s somehow just as golden. It warms him. It fills him with light. For a creature that never sees the sun anymore, this is how he remembers how it felt, and part of him idly wonders if you really are an angel.

You remain hypnotized, but the feeling of his cold lips must jolt you out of it a bit. You pull away after a moment and peer at him, your eyes studying him and your mouth curved into a nervous smile that seems to tremble at the corners.

“What are you?” you ask, and yes—there’s a hint of fear in your voice. Max doesn’t smell any fear on you, so it’s just a faint, nascent thing.

“What do you mean?” he replies, playing dumb.

“I mean...” You gesture down your front at your costume. “I’m an angel. What are you?”

Max smirks, brushes a thumb over your collarbone, and his touch is cold too—makes you shiver.

“Guess,” he says.

“A character from a movie?” you try. “Like, someone from ‘Wolf of Wall Street’?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Are you a…businessman? A famous one?”

Another shake of the head, and now his hand shifts lower, ghosts over the curve of your breast, at the nipple pebbled from his cool touches.

You furrow your brow and look at him, but you finally give up with a laugh and a shrug, ask him again what he is.

Another smirk, this time wider. “I’m a vampire, angel.”

It doesn’t scare you—again, no trace of fear in your divine scent. You smile at him, but you bite back a soft moan when he runs his thumb over your nipple, making it harden more.

“I thought vampires wore cloaks,” you try to joke, but there’s a quality of arousal in your voice, and Max can smell that now too, the sharp scent of you reacting to his ministrations, still half-hypnotized.

It only makes your smell that much more intoxicating. That much headier.

“I have the teeth, at least.” He peels back his lips in a wide smile and shows you his two canines, a touch longer than they should be on a regular human. In truth, he’s had them out all night. Not his fully monstrous, craggy vampire face, but enough to pretend that vampire is his costume and not his nature.

“They look really good. Real, you know?” A beat, and you give him a look that’s half-shy, half-coquette. “You going to bite me?”

He cocks his head, fixes his smirk on his face. He stares at you a beat, then lets his gaze drift down your body deliberately. He takes you in with all of his senses, human and vampiric: the scent of you, yes, but also the way you arch into his touches, the way your heart speeds up the longer he studies you.

“Yeah, I’m going to bite you,” he admits. “But I’m going to fuck you first.”

You loose another soft moan, and a third one when his hand finds the edge of your skirt, when it snakes inward and upward until he’s cupping your mound. You’re aroused—he can feel it, he can smell it.

“Didn’t know vampires could do that.” Your voice sounds faint. Max glances up and stares into your eyes for a moment, puts you more fully under his control.

“We can. We do. All the time, angel.”

He slips his hand under the lacy edge of your panties, twists his hand until he’s cupping you again. He slides his fingertips through your slick seam, pushes one inside and you gasp at the sensation: either the feeling of being breached by him, or the feeling of his cool fingers against your feverish flesh.

It’s here that Max starts to feel drunk. The scent of you has been heating his blood, making him hard and straining in his suit pants, but the moment he feels the heat of you, the pulse of your heartbeat in your cunt, he starts to feel his world go off-kilter. Feels that loose-limbed warm feeling he remembers from when he was a human and when he got drunk.

He’s not drunk yet. He’s drunk-adjacent.

“Please, Max,” you whisper, and he’s not drunk, but he’s on his way there…enough that he doesn’t notice you using his name despite never telling you his name….

The scent of you, the heat of you. Max fumbles at his pants one-handed, refuses to pull his other hand from where he’s fingering you, relishing the warm slickness coating his hand.

He manages to free himself. Manages to fumble at your skirt, manages to tear your panties off of you, tossing the scrap of fabric aside with a snarl. Manages to hoist you up, and you help—you hop up, wrap your legs around his waist even though he didn’t tell you to. Didn’t compel you to, and in a hypnotized state, you shouldn’t be so…active.

You should be a still, quiet thing until he gives you an order…

But then he’s sliding into you, you sliding onto him, a swift brutal motion, and Max doesn’t have another cognizant thought because now he’s drunk on you. Surrounded by you, the tight clench of you as he buries his cock in you.

That warm golden scent seems to become a feeling too, and it sparks along the base of him where he’s hilted inside you, sparks along his spine, sparks up to the base of his skull and settles in his head like a million champagne bubbles popping and snapping in his head.

It’s so much feeling it makes him stagger against you. He presses you firmly against the side of the building, presses his forehead against yours, and he sees you peering at him through your lovely eyelashes. Studying him.

So much feeling. Since being turned, Max’s feelings have been animalistic. He doesn’t feel joy or anger or shame; he only feels hunger and lust and thirst. Though there’s a case for him not really feeling much even when he was a human: he had been a bastard even then, a base creature without any real higher emotions to distinguish him from an animal.

Now he feels all of the feelings: everything he pushed away as a human, and everything he’s missed as a vampire. It’s one mega-dose of emotion, that golden light filling him, and Max flails against it, fights it. He gains a modicum of control, fucks up into you, relishes the tight grip you have on him.

“Do it, Max,” you whisper in his ear, low and clear as a bell chiming. “Take me.” And he knows what you’re telling him—what you’re compelling him to do, so he does.

He lets his face transform into the monster his is. He feels his teeth descend fully, and he buries his face in your neck with a snarl. Tears open the soft, warm skin of your throat. Fills his mouth with your blood, swallows it, fills his mouth again…and realizes too late that you’re not what you seem.

You don’t taste like a human. There’s no rich iron tang, nothing laced with hormones or trace medications or recreational drugs. It’s that golden feeling, that liquid sunlight feeling, but now he’s swallowed it down and it fills every cell of him, and even though he feels like he’s dying, he comes too. Comes with a roar, buries his cock in you as he spasms and fills you with his cold release.

And then he’s falling away, staggering away from you. He falls to his knees and he manages to catch a final glimpse of you.

You aren’t under his spell anymore, and you probably never were. He’s been under your spell, and Max realizes too late that he’s an idiot, completely stupid. That every vampiric sense had been trying to warn him, but he’s an infant in vampire-years, only reborn a few years ago, and he was too cocky to stay in Transylvania, to study the lore, to learn how to protect himself.

If he had, he would have learned the first and easiest lesson: the universe abhors imbalance. For every lamb, there’s a wolf, and for every wolf, there’s a hunter.

For every demon, there’s an angel.

Standing over him, Max can see you for what you really are. Like him, you weren’t really hiding it in the club. He let his fangs out a little; you wore your halo and wings. Now, in the dark and deserted alleyway, he can see your real halo—a nimbus of light around your head. And he can see your real wings, gossamer things streaming behind your back.

My god, she’s beautiful, he thinks, and he finds that he’s okay with the prospect of dying. At least he got to see this miracle, and he got to taste paradise—

You tilt your head and smile down at him. You swipe at your neck—already healed, just a smear of blood—and you fold your hands serenely in front of you.

“Don’t be melodramatic, Max Phillips,” you say, your musical voice chiming out like a clear bell. “You aren’t dying. You’re already dead.”

You take a step over to him, then you kneel beside him. You look so composed, as if he didn’t just have you pinned against the wall. As if the cold remains of his spend aren’t trickling out of you as you perch beside him. As if he hadn’t torn your throat open.

You lay a gentle hand on his forehead. “Be still, Max,” you compel him softly. “Sleep now, and when you wake, you’ll feel much better.”

“What—” he manages to croak out, but he can feel your order sweeping him off to sleep.

“Sleep,” you repeat to him, and he feels your hand brush back his hair. “You’re one of ours now, and we have work for you to do.”

#tropes-and-tales #tppkinktober2022 #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips imagine #bloodsucking bastards

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yeolsaintlaurent · 7 months

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Nocturnal Reverie ch.2 [PCY]

pairing - chanyeol x fem reader

genre - mature, smut, angst

themes - power imbalance, romance, crime, justice, class divide, politics, sex

synopsis - In the sprawling, dystopian city of Emberhaven, where power and corruption reign supreme, the lives of two unlikely individuals collide in a tale of passion, intrigue, and moral reckoning. Chanyeol, an enigmatic and wealthy scion of the city's elite, finds himself captivated by the elusive Y/N, a cunning and resourceful thief who navigates the treacherous underworld of Emberhaven. Their first encounter, sparked by a chance meeting in a luxurious club called The Velvet Lounge, sets the stage for a whirlwind romance amidst a backdrop of crime, politics, and danger.

Chapter two: Unveiling Secrets

Chanyeol - 06:00

Chanyeol's morning began with the precision of a well-oiled machine. He awoke to the soft hum of his penthouse's automated blinds, allowing the first slivers of dawn to infiltrate the room. The muted skyline of the city stretched before him, its jagged edges and monolithic structures a stark reminder of the world outside his sanctuary.

The city, with its stark contrast between opulence and despair, unfurled below him like a tattered tapestry. He had once been a part of the elite, born into a family of power and wealth. But now, as he looked down upon the struggling masses, he could not escape the gnawing realization that he was an outsider in his own city.

The divide between the rich elite, like his family had been, and the downtrodden underclass seemed impossible to bridge. The wealthy politicians, ensconced in their lavish mansions, held no sympathy for the plight of the underprivileged. His anger flared as the morning news flashed scenes of a riot unfolding in front of a politician's home.

On the screen, the indifferent politician shrugged off responsibility, blaming the impoverished for their own circumstances. Chanyeol's jaw clenched as he watched, his fingers tightening around the remote control. He wanted to scream at the screen, to make the arrogant politician see the suffering that he and his ilk had wrought upon the city.

But he knew better than to act impulsively. Chanyeol had plans, carefully calculated and patiently waiting for the right moment to unfold. His quest for redemption and justice required patience and precision, and he couldn't afford to tip his hand prematurely.

With a sigh, he turned off the television, his pent-up frustration dissipating into the air. It was still too early, and he had much to do before he could take action. He moved through his morning routine with the discipline of a soldier.

His private gym was his sanctuary within a sanctuary. He worked out with dedication. The weight of his past sins bore down on him with each repetition, pushing him to his limits.

After an intense workout, he headed to the luxurious bathroom, where the steam from a hot shower enveloped him in warmth. His mind wandered back to the events of the previous night, to the fiery-haired thief who had ignited a spark of intrigue within him.

As he dressed in meticulously chosen attire, Chanyeol couldn't shake the memory of their encounter at the Velvet Lounge. Her audacity, her charm, and the air of mystery that surrounded her had left an indelible mark on his thoughts. He wondered if their paths would cross again, and what secrets she held beneath her beguiling exterior.

Breakfast was a solitary affair, a healthy meal that reflected his commitment to taking care of his body. He savored each bite, the flavors a welcome distraction from the weight of his responsibilities. But as he finished eating, the television screen flashed images of the riot once more, and the politician's callous words echoed in his mind.

Chanyeol knew he couldn't remain idle for much longer. The city's wounds ran deep, and he had a role to play in mending them. He had to be patient, but the burning desire for change gnawed at his soul, driving him to the precipice of action.

For now, he would bide his time, honing his skills, and watching the city's plight from his penthouse perch. He couldn't save everyone, but he was determined to make a difference, even if it meant walking the perilous path of redemption alone.

Y/N - 13:00

The same day, in the late afternoon, Y/N stirred from her slumber, her body accustomed to the nocturnal rhythms of her life. She yawned and stretched, the afternoon sunlight casting a warm glow across her modest townhouse. Her late lunch consisted of a slightly overcooked microwaveable pizza, a hasty and unceremonious affair.

Y/N paid little heed to the burnt edges of her meal, devouring it with a sense of indifference. She had never been one to fuss over the finer details of life's comforts. After all, her existence thrived in the shadows, where imperfections were her allies.

Following her meager repast, Y/N retreated to her bedroom, the heart of her secluded haven. She indulged in moments of leisure, playing with her feline companion, Kat, whose sleek black fur seemed to absorb the room's shadows. Netflix offered a temporary escape from the realities of her world, and she basked in the glow of the screen.

As evening descended and the city surrendered to the embrace of darkness, Y/N emerged from her sanctuary, ready for the night's endeavors. Her chosen attire was a testament to practicality and grace, designed to allow her to blend into the shadows or traverse the city's rooftops with agile finesse.

With a satchel bag containing her essential tools, Y/N added a touch of lip gloss and a spritz of Libre by YSL, an olfactory veil as well as her signature scent. It was a ritual of preparation, a transformation that marked the transition from her ordinary existence to the life of a cunning thief.

Tonight's mission had a purpose beyond personal gain. Y/N shared in the city's frustration, the anger at the indifference of the elite. Her target, the Fabergé eggs, was a symbolic choice, a strike at the opulence that seemed oblivious to the suffering below. She was no vigilante, but she knew where to hurt those who believed themselves invincible. She had heard about them a couple days ago at the Velvet Lounge, when she overheard the boastful wife of the same politician going on and on about her husband’s extravagant present. The other affluent womens’ reactions at the table served her vanity, her expressions all haughty.

Silently, she had managed to infiltrate the mansion, her years of experience making her a phantom in the night. Evading security measures and avoiding the occasional wandering resident, she made her way to the opulent lounge where the coveted eggs were displayed. Looking around she couldn't help but let out an airy laugh at the interiors and the decor of this mansion. Her humble abode was a far cry from this disgustingly outrageous place.

With careful precision, Y/N secured four of the five Fabergé eggs, knowing their absence would be a sting felt deeply by the politician and his wife. Her escape had to be timed perfectly. With the last egg clutched in her hand, she smashed it on the floor, creating a cacophonous distraction that would draw attention away from her escape. The last smashed egg also served as a way to twist the wound of the theft deeper; symbolic in a manner.

Bounding onto the balcony, Y/N leaped into the cool night air, executing a flawless roll as she touched down on the ground. She sprinted through the darkness, her movements fluid and calculated.

She soon reached the high street and in her haste, collided with a tall figure, a mere blur amongst the ocean of people walking up and down the street; some shopping for shiny things to fill whatever void the city left within them, the others looking on in envy and self-pity. Without looking back, she yelled an apology and continued her mad dash, weaving through the labyrinthine streets to evade capture.

The tall figure she had bumped into was none other than Chanyeol, en route to meet his longtime friend, Kyungsoo. The unexpected encounter left him momentarily bewildered, his thoughts racing as he watched the fleeting silhouette of the mysterious woman disappear into the night.

Chanyeol's heart raced as he watched the fleeting figure of the fiery-haired thief disappear into the night. He recognized her by the vibrant hue of her hair and the lingering scent of her perfume that hung in the air. It was her, the enigmatic woman who had stolen not just Fabergé eggs but a piece of his thoughts since their encounter at the club.

Unable to contain his curiosity, he quickened his pace, pursuing her shadow through the maze-like streets of the city. But he soon realized that chasing her through the labyrinthine alleys was a fruitless endeavor. Y/N had vanished once more, leaving him with nothing but a sense of intrigue.

Frustrated and determined, Chanyeol decided to abandon his pursuit for now. He couldn't let this mysterious woman consume his every thought, not when he had other matters to attend to. Besides, he felt that destiny had a way of orchestrating encounters when the time was right.

With a sigh, he made his way to the Velvet Lounge, the same place where their paths had first crossed. He felt a strange connection to it now, as if it held the answers to the enigma that was Y/N.

Inside the dimly lit establishment, he spotted his friend Kyungsoo at the bar, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a tight-lipped, smirky smile. The lawyer was a man of unconventional methods, unafraid to throw a punch when he believed it was deserved, even in the pursuit of justice.

Chanyeol slid onto the barstool next to Kyungsoo, offering a nod of greeting. "You always pick the most charming places to meet, Yeol."

Chanyeol chuckled, his eyes twinkling.. "What can I say, Soo? I have a knack for finding the hidden gems."

Chanyeol couldn't contain his excitement. "Bro, you won't believe what happened to me," Chanyeol began, his voice tinged with a sense of exhilaration. "I had an interesting experience right here yesterday. I came here for some drinks, as I always do, and this…very sexy and captivating woman walked up to me, started sweet talking me, and… well you know me… I reciprocated, and just as I thought I could uh, you know, bring her back to mine and show her a good time.. she went ahead and tried to rob me dude!”, he chuckles.

Kyungsoo raised an intrigued eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly smile. "What the fuuuck, the way your telling me this, and your expressions are kinda leading me to believe you actually let her go?? Bro, come on!!” “You should have seen her Soo, you should have spoken to her. Then maybe you’d understand why I actually find this amusing. Also she managed to disappear into thin air it seemed like before I could even stop her.”, Chanyeol replies.

Kyungsoo shakes his head and looks over to the bar, where he sees Suho stationed, and nods at him in a greeting. Suho smiles back before serving the customers seated in front of him. In a way, this got Kyungsoo thinking. He knew his best friend had never been this taken with a girl in just one encounter. And when he was, it wouldn’t usually last past a couple nights, after Chanyeol has had his fun and decides to call it quits. The women couldn’t find themselves angry with him though, even his breakup texts oozed charm. He had a way with words and the ladies.

Chanyeol leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. " I can't get her out of my head, bro. She's like this siren, you know.."

Kyungsoo chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, dude, you've always had a flair for the dramatic. But I can see why this woman has captured your attention. Perhaps she's a riddle worth unraveling."

Their conversation shifted to more serious matters, as they discussed their long-standing plans to bring justice to the city. Chanyeol leaned forward, his eyes filled with determination. "Soo, it's time we take matters into our own hands. The city is drowning in corruption and indifference. We can't just stand idly by any longer."

Kyungsoo nodded, his expression serious. "You're right. I've been working on building a case against some of the politicians, with the help of our local police chief, Kim Minseok. It won't be easy, but we have to start somewhere."

Chanyeol's eyes gleamed with resolve. "I've been preparing too.. My family's past may be tainted, but I want to make amends. I have a plan, and it involves exposing the truth and bringing those responsible to justice."

Kyungsoo raised his glass in a silent toast. "To justice, Yeol, and to the mysteries that bring us together. We'll make this city a better place, one step at a time."

#--yeolsaintlaurent #nocturnal reverie #exo #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo x reader #exo x you #exo smut #chanyeol x you #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol smut #chanyeol #chanyeol x reader #exo chanyeol #park chanyeol #chanyeol fic

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sourcelove · 2 years

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𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ( 7CAD$ ). in the source link , you’ll find one hundred gifs of sam claflin in the riot club . do not use these in hollywood roleplays , smut threads , or taboo plots . note that i do not condone the five year rule . sam claflin was born in 1986 , and was around twenty seven during the filming of the riot club . this is the first part of many .

trigger warnings drinking , violence , drunk behavior , smoking .

#rph #gif pack #sam claflin gif pack #sam claflin gif hunt #sam claflin

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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I��m still here - part i - eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: summer’s over, you’re leaving hawkins to go back to university, and eddie’s got a lot of feelings.

warnings: fluff, smut, it gets a little weepy at the end, unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit folks), cursing, swearing, dirty talk, etc. etc. (pretty on brand for me lbs)

a/n: both eddie and reader are of age just as an fyi. and I regret absolutely nothing. part 1 of 5! this was originally going to be 2 parts but here we are! I have an outline and a series masterlist will be up soon! I enjoyed writing this so much, reblogs and comments are appreciated 💜

| series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 |

“Eds, baby, I gotta go.”

The response is muffled against your neck, mouth attached to your pulse, feeling it riot at his affection. “Nuh-huh,” he grumbles, hands glued to your waist, gripping like a lifeline. Eddie knows just how half-hearted your resistance is, that it’s overlaid with your reluctance to actually go, the chemistry between you something akin to magnets, keeping you pressed together beneath his thin blankets. “You’re staying right here.”

Late-afternoon sun filters through the flimsy curtains, dust motes catching on the beams of light. It’s the end of the summer, the final long weekend before school resumes and fall creeps in. The last two months have been blissful, to say the least, a majority of Eddie’s time spent glued to your side, most of your time spent in his bed. It’s your third summer together; you started hooking up the last few months of senior year when you had graduated and Eddie subsequently had not.

(You’d been his English tutor and he’d spent most of the lessons flirting with you; he ended up with a D instead of a F, which you counted as a win, and you agreed to let him kiss your pretty mouth, which he counted as an absolutely victory. Unfortunately, it didn’t make up for his failing grade in Algebra…)

In two days time, you’ll be back in Chicago, a whole state away to start your sophomore year at the University of Illinois. And Eddie will be…here. In Hawkins. Trying to crawl his way towards graduation for the third time. He’s convinced this’ll be the year, that he’ll walk across that stage this time, flip Higgins the bird, and get the hell out of dodge.

This time next year, he’ll be on his way to Chicago with you, leaving the hellhole that is Hawkins, Indiana behind to see what life has in store for the both of you. Together.

‘86, baby. It’s gonna be his year.

“Eddie,” you nearly whine his name, head tossed back on your shoulders as he slithers his arms around you, pulling you closer into his lap. You’re still in his bed, not even half-dressed, an old Hellfire Club tee that he ripped the sleeves off of covering your torso. The fabric clings to you in some places, leaving little to the imagination, which doesn’t help him much since you’re also sitting on top of him, your knees bracketing his hips, ass resting on his thighs. And you’re not wearing any underwear, which is the reason he’s doubling his efforts to keep you close right now. He can feel how warm you are — how warm you always are — just for him.

“The highway is still gonna be there whether you leave now or in twenty minutes,” he grumbles into your throat. You’re already sinking into him a little more, your hands finding their rightful home in his mop of hair, knees squeezing his hips as he bucks up into you just slightly, experimentally. “Don’t wanna let you go just yet.”

Eddie kisses his way up your neck to your chin, following the curve of your jaw as you grin. “Twenty minutes? That’s all you need, babe?” you ask cheekily, giggling when he growls and tightens his grip on you, hands sliding up to your ribs beneath the shirt, letting the fabric fall over his forearms. He can feel the goosebumps rising on your skin as his thumbs skirt the edge of your breast, just catching the curve while his fingers slot between your ribs.

Your breath hitches, and Eddie pounces. He uses the grip he now has on you to bend you backwards, your back hitting the mattress as you squeal. The shirt rides up, exposing your bare lower half, and Eddie drops his head to your stomach. He peppers the flesh with kisses and love bites, letting his teeth sink in just enough that you make a noise halfway between a moan and a wince, the hands tugging at his hair letting him know it’s more pleasure than pain. It always is, with you and him. Always.

He lets his mouth ride lower, feeling your ankles lock against his lower back as he bends over you, tasting your skin, licking up the sweat and salt and you until his tongue is coated with it. He can feel the heat rising between your legs, gone from a simmering warmth to scorching hot, and the familiar scent of you reaches his nose as he moves lower still, almost right where you need him, but not quite yet.

“Eddie,” you croon, your voice a sing-song as you pull on his hair, try to drag his lips where you want it, but he resists, keeping his mouth tucked against your inner thigh. “C’mon, I gotta—”

“If you say you have to go one more time,” he murmurs into your leg, the words punctuated with a nip to your sensitive skin, “then I’ll stop.”

Your hands leave his hair, and you’re propping yourself up on your elbows a moment later, staring him down. “You’re a menace, Eddie Munson.”

He kisses the bite mark he’s left behind. “Perhaps. But you love me for it.”

Shaking your head, you fall back once more, rolling your eyes towards the ceiling. “I do.”

Eddie waits until your eyes flutter shut, until you’re relaxing under his hands, until your legs widen ever so slightly, and then he dives right in.

Eddie Munson may not be the Prom King or a Mathlete or top of any of his classes, but if there’s one thing he is very good at (besides D&D and shredding guitar), it’s eating pussy. Specifically, eating your pussy.

He was no virgin when you first started hooking up. He’d had his fair share of cheerleaders with coke habits, girls who hung around the other stoners thinking it would make them look cool, even a few band geeks. There may have been a few guys in the mix, drunkenly experimenting at house parties, but nobody went public with shit like that, not in Hawkins.

But, who was he to discriminate? Practice makes perfect, and none of it ever really lasted more than a night or a weekend.

But with you, the rule book went out the window. Every move he knew didn’t seem good enough, the tactics and techniques that had worked before needed something extra he couldn’t put his finger on. Your body was a new thing entirely, a landscape he was desperate to explore, and god damnit, he was determined to learn every inch. And that’s exactly what he did, burying his face between your thighs every chance he got. You joked that if he put as much effort into his studies as he did to eating you out, he’d have a higher GPA than Nancy Wheeler.

Needless to say, Eddie’s learned. He’s learned lots. He knows just where to lick, where to suck, the pace you need to get you right where he wants you. You both get off on teasing each other endlessly, and it’s no different in bed; he’ll put you right up to that peak, mouth around your clit and two fingers just prodding into your entrance, giving you all he’s got until he’s taking it all away, leaving you keening and thrashing in his bed, a death-grip on his hair and thighs locked around his ears. It only makes him harder.

And you give just as good as you take. You may (jokingly) call him a menace, but sometimes, you’re almost worse. You’ve dangled orgasms in front of him like a carrot on a string, and he chases you, every single time, chasing the drug-free high that comes from your body, sometimes perpetuated by alcohol in your veins or weed on your breath, but steals the breath from his lungs all the same.

Eddie’s not addicted to many things, but the sight of you on your knees in front of him, lips spit-slick and swollen, and those big eyes staring up at him? Yeah, he’s addicted to that. The feeling of your nails digging into his thighs, the warm weight of your tongue, and the way your mouth vibrates on his cock when you moan. It’s better than any drug, better than anything he’s ever felt before.

Any other day, he’d keep dragging this out, keep you tucked in his bed until the sun went down and rose again, right where you belong, in his opinion. He’d tease you until you screamed his name loud enough he’d be sure to get a noise complaint from one of the neighbours. But he knows you. He could already feel how antsy you were getting, running nervous hands through your hair and chewing your lip to shreds the moment you woke up. It’s only your second year in Chicago, and you’re nervous. And absolutely fucking adorable at that. Adorable and sexy and everything in between that he doesn’t have a name for, English credits be damned.

“Eddie,” you say again, this time your voice choked high in your throat, head tossed back against the rumpled blankets. His hands span your hips, metal rings creating indents on your skin — reminders for you to look at when you get to your dorm later — as he licks you. Each flick of his tongue is purposeful, tracing out the shape of you and walking the map that leads to your pleasure. He knows it well.

It helps that you taste like heaven. He can’t stop himself from moaning into your pussy, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he drops his jaw and licks from where you’re dripping up to your clit. Your whole body jolts like you’ve been struck by lightning when he closes his lips around the swollen bud and sucks, hands moving straight up your stomach, beneath his shirt, cupping your breasts in his palms and squeezing.

Your hips lift against his face, chasing the feeling, and Eddie slides his legs under himself, adjusting himself on the bed so he can reach more of you. He keeps his mouth on you, tongue dragging through your folds and collecting as much of your wetness as possible, while one ringed hand moves further up your chest, until his fingers are resting at your collar. You moan at the feeling, one hand flying to his wrist and pulling his hand right up your neck. “Eddie, please.”

“Baby likes getting choked, hmm?”

He tightens his grip just slightly, not enough to cut off your air, but just enough, and he can feel the effect it has on you, your legs twitching wider, a fresh wave of wetness coating his tongue when he laves at you again. Your other hand locks in his hair, pulling hard, and Eddie groans into you, grinding his hips into the mattress, cock hard and needy between his legs.

He releases your hip to wrap his hand around himself, stroking in time with his tongue diving into your pussy. You let out a high-pitched noise, shoulders pressed back against the mattress, and Eddie pulls away only to look up at you through his lashes, squeezing your throat lightly. “Need you to cum, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pausing to kiss your thigh between the words. “Please? For me.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, the sound blissed-out already, and all it takes is three more precise licks, his lips closing around your clit as he gathers your wetness on two fingers and buries them in you. You cry his name as you cum, clenching tight as anything around his knuckles, back bowing off the bed. It’s a miracle he doesn’t follow right after you, but before you can even catch your breath, you’re pulling at his shoulders, heaving him up over you.

“Wha—”

Eddie barely has time to react. He watches as you drag the flat of your tongue up your palm, reaching between you to close your fingers around his cock. It steals the breath from his lungs and he drops his hips against yours, planting an elbow beside your head and covering your hand with his own, guiding himself into you. You both moan in tandem, Eddie’s mouth dropping open as he sinks into you fully. He can’t ever get over this feeling, how tightly you squeeze him, how perfect it feels.

“Do you think about this,” you ask as he rolls his hips into yours, your knees lifting to his ribs, “when I’m not here?”

He catches your meaning immediately, and just stares down at you, his perfect girl, mouth still dropped open. “Are you asking me if I jerk off to thought of you?”

Biting your lip, you nod.

By way of answer, he reaches down to wrap his free hand around your thigh. He hikes it high, pulls out of you almost completely, and slams in, wrenching the most beautiful sound from your throat as he presses his face into it, tonguing at your pulse as it starts to rocket again.

“You’re all I think about ever,” he responds after a moment, a slow thrust and then a faster one, hand still locked around your thigh. He’s trying to memorize the way your flesh feels against his palm, the way it spills between his knuckles when he holds tight enough. “Every second you’re gone.”

The truth of it, is that he was worried. After that first blissful summer, when you’d packed most of your life into the back of your mom’s car and left for Illinois. He knew there’d be all kinds of guys chasing you at university, all of them smarter than him and more accomplished and all the bullshit that came with it. It felt like the end, and Eddie had been reluctant to come see you off when you asked, feeling awkward at the thought of meeting your parents and then watching you drive away. But you’d insisted, and he’d agreed.

(He hasn’t been able to say no to you since.)

He’d hiked from the trailer park to your little cul-de-sac in suburbia, hands stuffed in his pockets the whole way. When he arrived, you were kissing your folks goodbye, promising your dad you’d take good care of the car and telling your mom for the millionth time not to worry. You’d spotted him after a moment, over your mom’s shoulder, and waited for your parents to disappear back inside before sprinting across the street and launching yourself into his arms.

Holding you against him, hands gripping your thighs when your legs locked around your waist, he’d walked you back to the car, mouth against the curve of your neck the whole way. He was trying to memorize you then, too; the way you tasted, the way you felt. He put you down reluctantly, putting a hand on the roof of the car as you leaned against the driver’s door. The anxiety of it all had crawled up his throat with every step from the trailer park and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton all of a sudden, the words like static on his tongue.

“So, this is it, I guess,” he’d mumbled, staring down at his sneakers. “I’ll see you at…?”

“Thanksgiving,” you answered when he trailed off. You reached for his hand, taking it between both of yours, rubbing your fingers over his rings and knuckles. “Maybe earlier if I can swing it.”

He’d nodded furiously, now staring at his hand in yours. “Good. That’s good. Yeah, good. Your parents will be…glad, I guess.”

“Maybe they don’t have to know,” you said, your tone dripping with mischief, and he’d finally looked up at you then. “Maybe I could spend a weekend with you, instead.”

His eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

“Of course, I would,” you said, your brow furrowing. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from lifting his hand from the car to swipe his thumb over the line it made in your forehead. “I don’t know how I’m gonna survive without you out there.”

Blushing, he dropped his gaze back to his shoes. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna miss you every day.”

You’d ducked your head, angling your face beneath his and catching his lips on yours. It was a sweet kiss, gentle and soft and passionate. Your hand snaked up the back of his neck, curling in hair at his nape, your other arm sliding around his waist. He’d caught your face in his hands, thumbs swiping your cheeks, and that was when he knew. He knew you’d come back, knew he’d be waiting for you, knew you were it for him, and that kiss gave him the confidence that he was it for you too.

And that’s how you’re kissing him now, one hand tangled in his hair, holding in your fist so it all spills between your knuckles, your other hand gripping his jaw, keeping his mouth on yours as he moves. It’s overwhelming, the feeling, and his brain is going a million miles a minute trying to remember every part of this. Taste, touch, sound, sight, scent. He has to memorize every last bit of you. He has to.

Your ankles lock at his spine, knees nearly at his shoulder blades, and when your tongue slips past his teeth, he loses it. It’s wet and wild and frantic as he cums, his entire body shuddering with the force of it. You croon in his ear as he tries to catch his breath, kissing all over his face, pushing the sweat-slick strands of hair from his forehead. You’re just as hazy as he is, your eyes drooped with exertion.

“How’s that for twenty minutes?”

You bark a laugh. “Menace!”

Another ten minutes later, and you’re both cleaned up and dressed, your bag packed (and filled with more than one stolen t-shirt) and in the trunk of your car. Eddie walks out barefoot, padding through the grass to where your car is parked on the dirt road. He hates this part, when you leave, and tells himself for the millionth time that this will be one of the last times. One more year, and he’ll be going with you, not watching you drive away.

You lean against the driver’s door, like you had the first time you left, and Eddie puts his arms on either side of you, leaning over you and pressing his lips to your forehead. You drape your arms around his waist, eyes slipping shut when he kisses your forehead once, twice, three times. The sigh you let out is more than shaky, and Eddie hugs you close.

“Drive safe, okay?” he murmurs, planting his cheek atop your head. “Call me when you’re there, so I know you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” you whisper back, and Eddie’s heart constricts at the way your voice breaks like a twig on the word.

“Hey, I wanna give you something.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the chain carefully, unravelling it as he presents it to you. Dangling from the chain is one of his rings, specifically the one with the shiny black stone, the metal ornate on either side. Your eyes are wet as you lift your head, and your lip quivers as a tear slips down your cheek. “Hey, baby, don’t cry, c’mon.” He tries to soothe you, curling his fingers around the chain again and pulling you into his chest again, tighter this time. “Just one more year. I’m gonna graduate this time, I promise you, all right? Next year, it’s just you and me and that big ol’ Windy City, okay? One more year, and then I’m all yours forever.”

You hug him tightly, face buried in his neck. “Forever.”

Eddie nods. “Forever.”

It’s another five minutes before you pull away. You take the chain from him, instantly looping it over your head and toying with the ring. It’s your favourite one of his, and he knows it, watching as you press the flat of the stone to your lips. He grabs your face in his hands again, kisses you until he can’t see straight, but then all but forces you into the car. “Go on,” he tells you, “before I beg you to stay.”

“What if I didn’t go?” you ask, halfway into the driver’s seat. “What if we just left together now? Went somewhere else, like California or Colorado or…”

He forces himself to crack a smile. The offer is more than enticing. “Nah, baby, you gotta go back, get your degree, be everything you can be and all that. Don’t worry, all right? I’ll be right here waiting.” He pushes the driver’s door closed, you now tucked inside the car. He bends down to level his face with yours. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving?”

You nod, eyes going wet again, and he kisses you once more. Another one to remember.

Eddie stands there on the grass as you start to drive away. More than once, he catches you looking back, and he waves each time. He waits until your car disappears around the bend before he turns, feet dragging as he heads back into the trailer, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands as he goes.

Just one more year.

—————

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chaashni · 2 years

Text

Dollar, Dollar Bills

Warnings: Sexworker!AU. Smut. Gunplay. Possessiveness. A little unhealthy. Toxic Nick Fowler. Some obsession. Groping. Slapping. Blowjobs. Choking. Hair pulling. Unfair power dynamics. Aggressive sex. All that. And yeah, Printesa.

Hot pink nails curled around your second free drink of the night, you rolled your shoulders, the delicate body chains wrapped all around your body and looped over your bralette sparkling as you sauntered towards the man, his sharp cheekbones and eclectic blue eyes drawing you in closer.

It was easy to forget you were the temptress when it came to Nick Fowler. Beautiful as he was, his words held an engaging darkness, struggling to rip free, crossing you in your own game and luring you in every time he decided to visit you.

"Nick Fowler." You eyed him up and down, eyes lingering at his belt, lingering at the gun he had strapped in there before snapping back to his lustful ones, keening to see that you were the object of his attention. Even now. "What brings you to me, huh?"

His chuckle was dark and expensive, just like everything else about him, the lustrously ardent eyes flickering with darkened flares as he sized you up and down, looping an arm around your bare waist, fingers itching to caress the lace of your bra. "Nothing can ever keep me from you, printesa."

You rolled your eyes, keeping your glass on one of the tables and pressing your palm on his chest, walking away, swaying your hips with grace, just the way you knew he liked. Somewhere behind you, you knew he had a tick in his jaw, his fists clenched. You could almost feel the roll in his eyes as he followed you, eyes trained on your legs. Even in the booming, lush tunes of the strip club, you could hear him thinking of ways to rip off the nylon stockings and stake his claim over your skin, tear down the curvatures of your body with his touch, mark it, brand it.

Of all the things about Nick Fowler, his possessiveness was what you understood.

Possibly because you were always looped in an uncertain web of its existence, the coils which held you hostage loosening and tightening according to <his> convenience, but never really setting you free. Like a trapped butterfly, Nick let you flutter your wings all you want. He'd have no qualms with you dancing the night away, swinging from man to man all through your shift at the club, but the moment you'd get too close- intimately close- his words, not yours, he'd riot.

Your pussy would burn and sting all through the next two weeks if you ever directly indulged another man's advances, especially when you were done with the transactional elements of your job. Ethics, he called it, often using it as his excuse to get away from stuff. Disappearing randomly for months? Work stuff. Classified. Wouldn't disclose because of 'ethics'. Making you slip pills into the drinks of potential targets so he could take them away from getting interrogated? You were helping the country. Ethics.

Ethics was the reasoning he gave when he wanted you to snoop on men who arrived at your club, jokingly calling you his 'asset', all dressed in lace and high boots, ready to kill if he asked you to.

"Where do you think you're going?" He caught your wrist, spinning you around and pulling you flush to his chest before his hands were on your hips, pushing you against one of the booths and pressing his body to yours.

He wasn't mad. Not yet. His pupils blown wide, you could barely discern the cerulean ring cuffing the exterior of the black pits as he hungrily took you in. Holding the same vehemence in those irises when he was buried inside of you, his glare was cutting through your lashes and searing into your brain, leaving you helpless in his hold.

Almost.

"Away from you." You bit back, hands pressing to his chest in an attempt to get away from him, legs sliding between his to aid you in your struggle but Nick just held on tighter, chuckling darkly.

Condescending. Mocking. Lying. It still made your cunt weep, and you would still be furious at yourself for letting him leave traces of himself all over you when you'd wake up in an empty bed.

"That's never going to happen. Not untill you unload a gun in my chest."

You scoffed, glaring at him. "Don't take your chances. I will."

Nick chuckled a little more, looking down at you like the very idea was amusing and childish in the least, still holding you close to him.

"And I wouldn't appreciate you taking the chance to run when I'm not finished talking." His knuckles ran down the apples of your cheek, sliding down to your jaw from where his thumb reached over to your lips, smirking as he smeared some of your lipstick out of the corner, onto your skin.

You rolled your eyes, removing your hands from his chest and backing up against the wall, tilting backward in your heels. "And you think you're the fucking President that I would listen to you?"

He shook his head, clicking his tongue and placing the fault of his palm over your stomach, his nails digging into the skin, leaving tiny crescents in their trail. Marks. He loved placing them on you, from his hands, his teeth, his rings. Sometimes his belt. He had his ways to make you bend, be it the leather flogger you kept in your bedside stand or his thick cock being drilled up your walls.

The choice was always for you to listen, or so he claimed. You didn't believe him.

Nick Fowler was a fucking liar. You told him so, spat it at his face only to be held tighter, like he was apprehensive you would bolt right after, a steelier look in his eyes, assuring you he wouldn't let you get too far.

He had you addicted to his lies. To his touch, more possessive than a wolf's, he trailed you like a predator circling its prey, always out of sight for you to find him, always too close for you to erase him.

"Son of a bitch." You cussed, eyes tracing the hard line of his jaw, the flare of that nerve on his temple, the twitch of his fingers. "Agent or not, I'm not going to help you find dirt on your gangs. Not for that dick of yours."

He claimed he was an agent. Showed you a CIA card too for assurance and somehow sharing the little secret with him caged you in further, like he had set the tracks of his confession to manipulate you to find your way back to him. Wait for him. Stay for him.

Nick cursed, pinning you to the wall of the booth, some giggles from inside letting you know at least someone was having a good time. "You're being a brat."

You rolled your eyes, snorting,the palm of your hands digging to his abs and succeeding in pushing him a few inches away, much to his chagrin. "C'mon Nickey boo. " you taunted, "You handle so much, you've got to work. Disappear for weeks and come back like you own me, which," you raised air quotes, "Newsflash- you don't."

The murder in his eyes, the feral madness which haunted you whenever you were out in the streets and someone got a little too close to you, radiated out of him with such intensity you had to take a moment to shut up, before your eyes were lighting up again, fuelled by the outrage building in his eyes.

"Can't you handle me being a little brat? Think you can't control me?" You contemplated mocking him some more before you shook your head, looking straight into his eyes. "I'm not doing shit for you. Find someone else to do your dirty work."

With that you ducked, attempting to sweep out from under him and go back to the business area, find a potential client to grind on, even take one home because you had already lit the spark, you could as well have some fun before the incoming explosion tore everything down.

Nick had other plans.

A hand clamped around your throat before you could even swoop down, hauling you into the booth and pinning you to the wall behind, his gun pressed under your jaw. Behind his broad frame you saw the group of inebriated friends get up from their happy bubble, confused and frankly scared out of their mind at what they were seeing.

"Leave." You ordered, glaring at them, overall salty at the few couples in there who were all over one another.

They had something you could never.

"The fuck are you waiting for? Out." Nick barked, the barrel of the gun digging into the skin of your exposed waist, his hand tilting your chin up, glaring deep into your soul.

"I know someone who has connections with this guy you're searching for. Seemingly stole a lot of money from him and loves to gloat about it. He can help you. Leave me out of this." Nick had come back for business, hadn't he? If he wasn't getting his dick wet, he was asking you for favours, requesting you to find more about people he was supposed to do whatever with, and you had done it. Out of infatuation, out of the sheer need for the dollar bills he handed you. You were not going to do that again.

"Oh babygirl," Nick chuckled, shaking his head. Your eyes followed the gun as he raised it up, snapping back to his feverishly fanatic ones as he ran it down your face, digging it right under your jaw, using it to angle your face upwards.

"Stop trying to find your way out of this and do as you're told." Voice silky and cuffed with restraint, barely comparable to the unhinged look in his eyes, you felt the heat in them drip right to your core, your anger from being abandoned stemming into arousal with each rough action of his.

You still said nothing, keeping your face on a frustrating neutral, unphased when he brought the gun over to your lips, a soft gasp betraying you when his hands curled around your jugular. "I've been going too easy on you, isn't it?"

"That shouldn't be a surprise when you're never around, dipshit."

"On your knees. Another word and I cut out your tongue." He wheeled you around, away from the wall you were squashed against, slowly reducing the pressure on your jugular, domineering eyes beckoning you to follow his orders and melt under his control like the obedient girl he wanted you to be. Deeply ashamed of yourself for having ruined your panties over this, you lowered yourself down to your knees, your heels clicking against the tiles as you reposition yourself, keeping your thighs spread open the way he liked you.

"I expect to make a whole lot of money out of this, you get it?" You sassed, rolling your eyes at him, ignoring the way you were frothing in the mouth as Nick unbuckled his belt, his hand curling around his semi while he pointed his gun at you, pressing the barell of it to your cheek.

"You'll get it." He slid it down, pushing the barrel past your lips into your mouth, precum dribbling out of his cock. "Just a few dollar bills, a few orgasms and you can do anything I want you to do, isn't it?"

He pushed the gun deeper, watching your lips roll over and then pulling it out, a feral look in his eyes. "You know what to do."

Inching forward, you curled your digits around his cock, stroking the length before spitting on your hand, expertly smearing it all over the length. Nick's hand buried itself into your hair, the body chains sliding along your body and getting entangled with one another as you leaned forward, licking a teasing stipe over his tip, smirking at the hiss above you.

"Your dick's the only good thing about you" you sassed, not waiting for a reaction before slipping him into your mouth, hollowing up your cheeks and stroking your tongue all around him, taking him halfway and bobbing your head. Nick cursed as you broke the line of spit connecting his cock to your lips, his hands digging into your shoulder, past the chains and the lace, marking you up again.

"Being a bitch isn't getting you out of this."

"Oh, I fucking know." And you were deepthroating him again, revelling in the way his hands clung to your shoulder, his gun thrown to the side as he grunted, your tongue and mouth on him. You liked how this was the way you could exercise some control on him, however fleeting and frail. It was satisfying, watching such a man, dangerous and obsessive with having the upper hand crumble right under your mouth, your touch, your lips.

The hand tracing your collar bones curled around your throat, pulling you up and flipping you around in the blink of an eye, your tiny skirt flipped up. Bending you over the very table where the couples had been exchanging filthy love promises. One hand caging your wrists, keeping them pinned behind your back, Nick ripped the nylon off your ass and thighs, his hand striking against the flesh. Hard.

You could almost feel the handprint form on your ass.

Thinking you'd go back home with that, his cum full inside you, possibly plugged up, evidence of him mapped all over your skin, had this intangible thrill burn through you. Only Nick could give you that. That was your twisted reasoning, the lust of that unachievable fire he possessed in his deranged veins, that was exactly what kept you hovering around in his clutches.

"Been too fucking long, isn't it? My beautiful princess needs me to come around more, give her more." He let go of your hands, grabbing fistfulls of your ass with both bands, kneading and rolling them. "Needed my attention so bad didn't ya? Wanted me to come back, toy with you a little and have you crying, bent over something. Isn't that it?"

You gasped, shivering as Nick dropped to his knees, his hands lifting your hips up and placing your dripping cunt right over his face, eager hands ripping off more and more of your stockings, till your calves were exposed and under the mercy of his demanding fingers.

"You were gone. For weeks." Your accusations felt weak when they were melted in a sea of pleasurable moans, his tongue teasing your nub and snaking against your folds with such ease, like he knew exactly what would have you squirming, like Nick had never left.

Buried between your thighs, he groaned, smacking his lips over your clit and sucking it filthily, his moans vibrating over your cunt, your grip on the edge of the table hard, your face pressed against the wood.

"Doesn't take long to get you squirming." Nick spoke right over your pussy, words muffled by your moans as the vibrations rung through you, a sob stretching out of your lips. "Cause you're mine. Your body knows that. Your mind accepts it too."

He landed a smack on your ass, smiling against your dripping lips at your startled gasp, shoving his tongue into your hole. "You think I don't see it? Past that bratty little mouth?" This man, your nemesis, chuckled, tongue lapping up your juices as you squirmed and moaned, "I know how much you want me. Letting me fuck you in a club, where your silly little friends can see you get fucked stupid. Your dipshit customers too"

The hard smack on your pussy had you barrelling forward, and you felt Nick stand behind you, his meaty thighs landing on each side of your hips, hands dancing over your back to the sides of your boobs. "I know you want it. Being claimed by me? You love it. You love how feral I am for you, how much I hate being away from you."

His hands danced over the thin strips of lace holding your bra together, loosening it and sliding under the body chains over to the side of your boobs. "Will be marking them up later. All night long if that's what is needed for you to remember."

As you cursed under your breath, Nick lined his cock against your folds, teasing the tip all the way down your length before sliding an inch into your hole, chuckling darkly when you tried to push your hips back on his cock.

"Fuck me properly, asshole." You seethed, knowing how his expression would go all sinister and mean after this, eyes clouded with the feral unhingedness you seeked in every man you performed for. His hand dug into your hair, pulling the roots harshly, some tears pricking into yours.

"That's what you want, babygirl?" Without another warning, he snapped his hips, drilling his cick inside, the moan dancing at the tip of your tongue knocked out in full force as he began thrusting in hard and fast, leaving you panting and drooly as you tried to match back to his thrusts. Holding your hair still, he chuckled when your boobs slipped out of your loose bra, your curses incoherent in the sea of pleasure. Rolling his hips, Nick slowed down, only to cuff the back of your neck and press his digits into the dip of your collarbones, plunging his cock in, tearing some sobs out of your lips. He chanted his claim away, mouth mapping down your bare back, tongue caressing every dip and freckle of your skin, claiming every spot that made you shiver as his.

Nick filled you up the moment you had stopped convulsing from the effects of your orgasm, mouth latched over your shoulder, your face smeared with tear tracks and mascara lines, perfectly disheveled.

"That a good enough homecoming present for you, Princess?" He asked cockily, taking in your face, scoffing at the smirk you gave him.

Now's your time.

The gun he had thrown carelessly aside now rested in your hands as you managed to slip out and flip around, pointing it at him. Nick looked unphased for the most part, a little impressed at most.

"What do I have to do to get you to stay?" You implored, the gun pressed to his forehead. Nick chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm never gonna leave, babygirl."

"Liar."

"You love the way I lie," he smirked, pulling the gun out of hold easily, one of your boobs exposed. His hands went to your nipple, twisting it darkly, chuckling when you winced.

"And I love it when you stay here and wait for me like a good girl." The gun pressed to your cheek, he toyed with your breasts, tweaking your nipples and swatting them. "You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?"

You nodded. This was a losing game anyway, so you set your sight on the wad of cash he placed next to you, your second best bet.

"Good -fucking- girl."

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