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glossdebut · 2 months ago

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Take a Bite Ch. 3

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: yoongi being RICH. also... remember that eventual smut? well it's kind of here! if you wanna skip, stop reading at [Maybe you should fix that.] and then continue at [After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach...]

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi i normally post on wednesdays but we're about to get a HURRICANE where i'm at so i'm posting early lmfao. rating goes up in this chapter whoops! not sure when chapter 4 will be posted but i'll keep you guys updated. thank you all so much for the engagement i've been receiving on this fic!!! it's my first one ever and i never expected to get so many readers so quickly <3 you guys are keeping me writing so please feel free to send me feedback if you like this chapter. i'd love to read it if i have power over the next few days LOL

Chapter 3: I Wanna Fold Clothes For You

So, you and Yoongi are friends.

Of course, seeing him three times within twenty four hours was a fluke, and over the next six days you don’t see him once, not even in passing in your shared hallway. You’re not privy to his work hours, but you know based on what little he’s told you that working as a producer demands more than the normal nine to five, as does your job.

Still, there’s something about coming home every night and knowing that you have a friend right down the hall, if you need one. You haven’t had that in a long time, and you feel so much lighter now that you do have it.

There is, of course, an upside to not being able to see Yoongi often. Given that you’ve only just met him, you don’t have his appearance committed to memory quite yet, and mercifully, you’re beginning to forget why you were so viscerally attracted to him in the first place.

You reason that it must’ve been the alcohol. You were getting drunk when you met him, stupidly drunk when you discovered that you’re neighbors, hungover when you shared a tangerine, and drinking from a bottomless glass of wine (courtesy of Seokjin) when you drooled over his hands for a solid ten minutes. You have yet to interact with Yoongi clear-headed and lucid. Not to mention you’re just a little bit… pent up, recently. Drunk and horny Y/N had the wheel. That has to be it. Nobody is that hot. You’re sure of that. Men ain’t special!

So you go through your week business as usual, but with a slight spring in your step, and it’s lovely. You even venture way further away from the office for your lunch hour on Friday than you normally would to go to a restaurant you’ve been dying to try. You’re usually so tied to the office that the furthest you tend to go is the convenience store down the street for the instant stuff.

And then, since the universe demands correction (or overcorrection where you’re concerned), all of the floaty goodness comes to a screeching halt when you get in your car to head back to the office. Your car which, in the past hour you’ve been blissfully stuffing your face with tteokbokki, has decided it has done its job and is ready to retire.

It just straight up won’t start.

Sitting in the parking lot of the restaurant, you go into crisis management mode.

You’re thankfully not completely clueless where cars are concerned. It comes with the territory of owning a beater. You keep up with your oil changes, you don’t leave the lights on when you get home late. You replaced your battery semi-recently, so that shouldn’t be it. Unfortunately, you don’t have much time to troubleshoot. You need to get back to work. Okay… Damage control, then.

The most obvious solution is to call one of your coworkers to come and rescue you, but your coworkers are just as notorious for being tethered within a one mile radius of the office as you are, so that would more than likely end up being a waste of time. You could find the nearest bus stop, but who knows how long public transportation could take right now? Too unpredictable. You could call your boss and tell him that you’re not going to be back to the office anytime soon (or at all today) and get your car towed and repaired. But then you would suddenly have a reputation of being unreliable, because god forbid you have a human moment. That’s straight up not an option. You’ve been doing so good this week.

You’re sure there are other options. But isn’t this what friends are for?

He answers on the fifth ring, but he answers.

“Y/N?”

“Yoongi.” You feel your shoulders slump in relief. You try your best not to sound as panicked as you feel. “Are you busy?”

“Um. I’m at the studio,” he says, confusion in his voice. “But I have a minute. Is everything okay?” Confusion and concern? That’s nice.

“Everything’s fine!” you blurt out. “Okay, maybe not. My car won’t start! I don’t know why, but it won’t, and I need to get back to work, but you’re at work, too! I don’t even know where you work, but I doubt it’s anywhere near where I am, and even if it is, I don’t want to tear you away from anything important—”

“Y/N.”

“—I know you said you had a minute, but I really don’t want to fuck up your flow. That’s a term, right? You’re a producer, you… flow. Anyway, I just don’t really know anyone here and I didn’t know who to call, and if I don’t get back to work soon my boss is going to kill me—”

“Y/N,” he says, more firmly. Your mouth snaps shut. “Where are you?”

“In my car,” you say dumbly, frazzled.

Yoongi sighs. “Send me your location.”

“For what?”

“I’m gonna send a car to come get you and drive you to your office,” he says, and he sounds just the slightest bit exasperated about needing to explain that to you.

Send a car? What the fuck? You have so many questions, such as: how fucking loaded is the guy who lives two doors down from you in your very shitty apartment building? What label does he even work for? How famous of a producer is he to be able to send a car to you? But your immediate instinct to turn down his help wins out over asking any of them.

“What? Yoongi, no, that’s too much,” you complain. “Don’t do that. I just freaked out a little bit, I can–”

“Y/N,” he interrupts. If you’re not mistaken, it sounds a bit like he’s trying not to laugh at you. Fucker. “Location.”

So you send him your location. What other option do you have?

“You’re not far,” Yoongi says once he receives your text. A few moments pass, and then: “Car will be there in ten.”

“Thank you,” you say. You feel nauseous, like maybe you’re going to cry, but there’s also a good amount of relief there, too. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need,” he says. “I’d come get you myself, but I really can’t get away right now.”

“Still, there’s a comically large bottle of an alcohol of your choosing in your future. Seriously, thank you.”

His responding laugh is enough to settle your stomach just a little. “Seriously, you don’t need to pay me back…” A pause. “But for the record, I like whiskey.”

You wrinkle your nose even though he can’t see it. “Gross.”

“Don’t be a hater.”

“As long as you don’t make me drink it with you, I’ll keep my comments to myself,” you say, finding yourself smiling.

“Oh, you think I share?” Yoongi teases back. He sighs again. “I really have to go.”

“Go, go,” you say. “Thanks for saving me. Even if it’s by proxy.”

“You can always call me if you need shit like this,” he says. You can tell that he means it. “I’m glad you called me. Means I’m doing something right.”

“You are,” you say, your voice soft. Your cheeks feel warm. Probably because you’re sitting in a dead car. “Thanks.”

Yoongi hums in response. “Text me when you get back to the office safe, okay?”

“I will. Bye, Yoongi.”

And that’s that.

★ ★ ★

True to your word, you text Yoongi when the stupidly luxurious car he ordered for you drops you off at your office, only ten minutes later than you’re due back from your lunch break. You’re able to slip in without anyone noticing that you’re late at all, which is great. Crisis partially averted.

He sends back a thumbs up emoji, and then decides to drop the bomb that he intends to pay for your car to be towed.

[1:21] You: YOONGI NO

[1:21] You: you can’t do that!!!!

[1:24] Yoongi: 100% I can and will as soon as I get ten minutes to make a phone call to sort it out.

The audacity of this man.

[1:25] You: seriously i cannot ask you to do that

[1:25] You: i was just going to take the bus back to the restaurant after work and deal with it from there. i’m actively researching towing companies and repair places on company time as we speak

[1:30] Yoongi: You’re not asking me. You’ve got enough to worry about. Let me take care of it. I know the places.

[1:31] You: still, i can’t let you spend money like that on me. i don’t even wanna think about what that car cost you

[1:31] Yoongi: If it helps you sleep at night you can pay me back on your own time. You definitely don’t have to though.

[1:32] Yoongi: That reminds me. You can use that car until yours is taken care of if you need to. I’ll send you the driver’s contact. Don’t take the bus.

You feel like you’re going insane.

[1:33] You: do you have a grammy or something? what do you DO to be able to afford shit like this? why do you live in our building? are you a drug dealer?

[1:37] Yoongi: :]

Of course, he gives you no clues about what exactly he does, but after a bit more back-and-forth, you finally give in and let Yoongi handle everything under the condition that you’re going to pay him back. He doesn’t seem all that worried about it, which infuriates you just a little.

You go through the rest of your day like normal, if not a tad twitchy. Come quitting time, you take advantage of having a driver at your disposal and have him stop a liquor store on your way home.

As you take the elevator up to your floor, comically large whiskey bottle (as promised) in tow, you text Yoongi and ask if he’s home yet. At his responding ‘No, why?’ you cackle to yourself and pocket your phone. The elevator doors slide open. You were hoping that would be the case.

You clocked out at a semi-normal time tonight, a gift to yourself to cope with the stress of the day, and so you take great pleasure in setting the bottle down on Yoongi’s very tasteful cat doormat, flipping it off right back on your way into your own apartment.

You silently pray to whatever god may be listening that the whiskey isn’t swiped by someone before Yoongi gets home. Your cat, Pepper, is blinking at you lazily on the kitchen counter, and you give her a triumphant little scratch on the head before padding to your bedroom to deal with your laundry.

Your move, Min Yoongi.

★ ★ ★

“Do I need to be jealous?”

You take advantage of getting off work early to call your best friend Rina for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s in Paris this month, debuting a play that she’s been working on tirelessly about aliens and drug addiction. You’ve read the script six times over. It’s both campy and gut wrenching all at once, and you’ve cried every time. You picture her with her very chic haircut, sipping from a flute of champagne. The thought of her being jealous of any part of your life is laughable.

“What do you have to be jealous of, exactly?” you snort, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you toss your laundry basket upside down on your bed unceremoniously. Your clothes are covered in a perma-layer of Pepper hair, and you think it’s lucky that Pepper is a black cat and most of your clothes are black. Very enviable.

“Of Yoongi, dipshit,” she coos through the phone. “You’re replacing me.”

“Sure,” you say, like she’s making total sense. You’re lying on top of your laundry now instead of folding it. You put her on speakerphone and rest your phone on your chest. “I’m throwing away ten years of being your best friend for a guy that I met a week ago. I’m glad you figured it out, honestly, because I was dreading telling you. I was going to wait until your matinée, but you don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“Of course. You have to do what’s right for you, I’ve always told you that,” she deadpans back, and you groan. You don’t want to hear it. “No, I just mean… It’s good. That you’re meeting people.”

“We’re neighbors,” you say, flopping over onto your front to rub at your temples. Rina is resting on a pile of your underwear now. “We talk about work. My work, not his, because he thinks it’s funny to act like he’s too cool to tell me about his job. He’s helping me with my car. We’re… neighborly.”

“And you want to fuck him,” she says. Maybe calling Rina was a bad idea. Debriefing over text would have sufficed.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” you say, indignant. “We’re friends. He’s nice. I can have a guy friend.”

“Of course you can,” Rina says, like you’re dumb for even thinking she would imply otherwise. “And you can be friends with him all you want. But you also want to fuck him.”

You groan in protest but she speaks over it.

“Baby, you can pretend, but I know how you talk about people you want to have sex with, even if you don’t say it outright,” she continues. “He may just be feeding you and helping you and talking to you about the weather, but I know you, and I know the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him.”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, letting your face drop into your laundry. It smells good. Small comforts.

“Are you going to let him?”

“No,” you whine, muffled by the cotton. “I don’t need that. There are always strings. I hate strings.”

“You said he’s a super straightforward, honest guy, right?” Rina asks.

“Brutally so,” you grumble.

“So. Maybe he’d be cool with a lack of strings. You won’t know unless you ask, baby.”

You want to tell her that’s easy for her to say, but you don’t want to fight with her when you know you won’t hear from her like this again for a while.

Rina has never compromised for anything. She decided in both of your sophomore year of college, after flirting with both performance and directing, that she wanted to be a playwright, and that was that.

She wrote and wrote and wrote, and after you graduated together, her career blossomed almost instantly because she worked goddamn hard for it. She got opportunities to travel and work with theatre companies around the world, and she took them without giving it a second thought because she knew it was what she wanted. And she’s had a consistent, loyal boyfriend nearly the whole time. He doesn’t always travel with her, but he supports her in everything she does. They’re excruciatingly healthy about it.

When your long-term college boyfriend dumped you unceremoniously two months into your first reporter gig because he felt he came second to your career, Rina was there for you. But you resented her a little bit. There was no way she could understand any of it.

Still, as much as you hate to admit it, she has a point. You could just ask Yoongi if he wants to fool around without it being a thing, and you know he’d give you a straight answer. You’re even pretty confident he wouldn’t make it weird if his answer was no. That’s not the problem. It never is.

“The problem isn’t whether or not I think he’d be cool with it,” you mumble. “The problem is if he is cool with it, and then the strings come anyway. The friendship is nice. I’m attracted to him, yeah, fine. But I can ignore it if it means I get to be his friend.”

Theres a long pause on the line, and then Rina sighs.

“Your life would be a lot easier if you could do one night stands,” she says.

Don’t you know it.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve gotta go, okay? Text me. Keep me updated on life.” You read between the lines. On Yoongi, she means. “I love you.”

“Mmmhh,” you mumble back, still burying your face into your laundry.

When the line disconnects, you feel considerably more twitchy and irritable than you did before talking to Rina.

So, you’re attracted to Yoongi. Or you were, when you were drunk and he was all… hot and considerate. That doesn’t mean you have to act on it! You’re not going to act on it. You’re just pent up, that’s all. It’s been a long time since you’ve had an orgasm, self-inflicted or otherwise, and you can’t think straight.

Maybe you should fix that.

It’s clear you’re giving up on laundry for the night, so you shove the mountain of clothes back into the basket on the floor, sighing as you lay back on your bed.

You feel only slightly ridiculous as you shimmy your sleep shorts down your thighs, your hands sliding up your shirt to cup your breasts, squeezing slightly. Warming yourself up.

You quickly decide to get to the point, though. You’re struggling to immerse yourself in the fantasy that usually does the trick, too wound up and embarrassed (as if it’s not you in here by yourself, as usual) at groping yourself.

Despite the embarrassment, it becomes abundantly clear that you didn’t really need to warm yourself up anyway. Your fingers slide through your folds with ease, drenched like you’ve been that way all fucking day, unbeknownst to you, and a surprised moan falls from your lips. Fuck.

Closing your eyes, you circle two fingers around your clit experimentally, making your hips jerk up under you, sensitive. You do it again, a little firmer, starting a slow rhythm that makes you squirm against your mattress, your bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

It feels good. It usually does—you’ve always been able to make quick work of an orgasm to rid yourself of any lingering jitters before bed. But it feels really good right now, your pussy extra sensitive tonight, and you can’t figure out why. There’s nothing new about what you’re doing.

Rina’s words worm their way into your brain uninvited—the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him—and you’re too turned on to stop that train of thought, flashes of capable hands and pink tongue (tonguetechnologytonguetechnologytonguetechnology) filling your mind, and you’re moaning softly despite yourself as you rub your clit a little faster.

You continue to make soft noises of pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, dry from panting as the barrage of Yoongi-related thoughts keep coming, bringing you closer and closer to your release.

Dark, dark eyes looking down at you. A delicate chain dangling above your face. You whimper, your fingers sliding down from your clit to sink into your pussy, curling up to rub at your inner walls. A thick cock sliding into you, filling you so deliciously.

You pump your fingers fast and desperate as you get closer and closer to that sweet edge. You wonder what Yoongi would sound like if he was the one fucking into you right now. Would he moan in your ear in that gravelly voice of his? He’s a man of few words. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he call you sweet names? Not so sweet? Which ones?

Your walls flutter around your fingers, your hips stuttering up off the mattress as your orgasm crashes over you and you gasp out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You stare up at the ceiling for a minute panting. The high of your release buzzes pleasantly through your body before it starts ebbing away, but the thoughts of Yoongi pervade. Well, fuck.

After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach to grab a towel from your laundry basket and wipe off your fingers, tossing it on the floor. You grab your phone, only to be greeted by a notification from the subject of your masturbation fantasy himself. He sent it about ten minutes ago.

When you tap it open, you’re greeted with a photo (!!!) of Yoongi holding your gift next to his head, the hand wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle almost dwarfed by its sheer size. A testament to the ridiculousness of it, because you’re well aware of how long Yoongi’s fingers are. There’s a lazy smirk on his face, and a mole that you’re just now noticing on his right cheek.

[8:23] Yoongi: Cute.

Yep. Yep. Cool.

You swipe out, tapping on Rina’s contact.

[8:35] You: okay. i want to fuck him.

[8:35] Rina: 🥂🥳🎉

Shit.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

@dollfaceksj @jajabro

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alonetimelover · 1 year ago

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My love, we were in Paris

pairing: Harry Styles x tennis player!reader (fem, she/her)

summary: After winning her third French Open title, YN was excited to call Harry, not knowing he had rather big surprise already waiting for her.

warnings: a few swear words and just fluff!

word count: ~1,7k + a few social media posts!

more of a tennis player!reader here: masterlist ask, come say hi, request!

She won.

For the third time in her life she won the French Open.

After the second set and the first half of the third one, when she was ready to give up. It was all foreshadowing her eventual loss. At least she felt like it. Her serve somehow lost its force, the precision she always praised herself to have got forgotten in the middle of the match. For the audience it must have looked like she was done with it, unbeatable YN YSN finally defeated on her favourite court.

Well, it was all wrong. Not knowing how, the precision she craved, came back. Her serve felt like it doubled in force and the confidence sprung like flowers in the spring. When she defeated the break-point going for 3-5 in games for her opponent, she said to herself ‘you got it’.

And she won.

Now, squatting down on the ground, crying tears of joy she couldn’t believe it. Third time champion in Paris sounded proud and surprisingly good.

Her mind, though, was just made of two things right now: ‘you won’ and ‘call Harry’.

After receiving congratulations from her opponent and speaking to her briefly about the match, she stood in the centre of the court clapping for the crowd. The squeals and whistles were overwhelming, but being there in the middle, acknowledging all of it was the first move to thank all of the people for their support.

Moving swiftly to her bag, she unlocked her phone and chose ‘Harry💜' from her favourite contacts. It was so loud, she knew she wouldn't be able to hear half of the things he was going to say. But she called anyway. She promised him last night, when they were speaking through FaceTime.

“Call me right after the match,” he said, yawning.

“Goodnight, sleepyhead. Right after? So from the court?”

“If you’re allowed to then why not? I want to hear it from you, whatever it’s going to be.”

Harry knew she would win. And at the same time he knew that saying ‘I want to hear it from you “I’m the champion.”’ would put too much pressure on her shoulders. She was stressed enough and what he could provide was his lifelong support.

“I’ll call you. I promise.”

After four long signals, the smile on her face was slowly but gradually diminishing. She quickly remembered that the eyes of all people interested in tennis were on her, and put that smile back on.

In a few hours Harry was playing one of the biggest shows in his life, a concert for 80 000 people to be exact. She shouldn’t be mad and wouldn’t be. Maybe sad, but she would allow it after getting back to her hotel room.

Tossing her phone back to the bag, she ran towards the box where her coach and loved ones were sitting. Getting closer and closer to the stands she finally looked up as to plan her way to her family.

She stopped in her tracks. Right next to her parents was one and only person she was thinking about for the last hours. Person, she was unwillingly (deep down) mad at not picking up her call just a minute ago.

He was here. Harry was here. His beaming smile, brightening her mood in seconds. He was clapping his hands then whistling on his fingers, and repeating the process. The white hat matching hers, and a simple black t-shirt so as to not draw attention towards himself. But she would recognise him anywhere, in the dark, in the place full of people, at the end of it all. She would know him because nobody had his divine smile and kind-hearted eyes.

Eventually, she sprung to jog up the stairs and around a few corners. In what felt like seconds she was at the stands. People were reaching for her, saying and shouting ‘bravo, YN’, ‘you did a good job!’ and all the congratulations. But she couldn’t bring herself to care right this moment. There was only one person’s opinion she cared about.

When only a few steps were between them she jumped into his arms, embracing him, wanting to never pull back.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered into his ear.

“What d’you mean?” Teasing smile was growing on his face. “I came here to watch my girlfriend win her third title in Paris. You know when she’s startin’?”

She pulled back a little to swat his shoulder playfully, “stop it!”

He just smiled, looking at her lovingly. Pride and happiness just swelled in his chest, making him all warm and fulfilled.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She laughed at the absurdity of the situation. In her wildest dreams she wouldn’t have thought about Harry coming to her match just hours before the concert he was playing in another country. “What are you doing here, really? You play in, what, six or seven hours?”

Harry brushed one unruly strand of YN’s hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek.

“You really thought I would miss this match?”

“Yeah. You said it yourself, didn’t you?”

“Well, if I didn't, you wouldn’t be this surprised. Also if you knew I was here, you would think about it too much.”

“Because you’re such a distraction?”

“You said it,” he teased her back.

YN was looking up at him, still trying to comprehend that it was, indeed her Harry embracing her and caressing her cheek and waist. It wasn’t a dream or a fantasy. He actually flew over to Paris to support her.

How could she not love him?

“Thank you,” she said, tears in her eyes, daring to fall down her face.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

They kissed softly. Knowing, in the back of their heads it would draw so much attention, but they couldn’t not do it. It had been a week without seeing each other. They missed it.

“I am so proud of you, lovie. So fucking proud. You’re unmistakingly the best player out there. And don’t argue with me. Take it in. I’m so proud. I love you,” Harry whispered into her ear, squeezing her even closer to him. “Now, go. You have a trophy to accept and a speech to make. Go be the best out there.”

After stealing one more little kiss from Harry and saying ‘I love you’ back, YN hugged every member of her team and her parents. Then she ran back on the court where the podium was placed.

She was going to accept the cup for the third time in her life.

“Woah, thank you so much and sorry for breaking the cup,” She started her speech with a laugh. “Ah, there are so many people that I’d like to thank. My team - my coach, my psychologist, my physiotherapist - without you guys my body wouldn’t be able to pull any championship. To my family, my boyfriend tha-” she needed to stop because of the cheers erupting around her. Yes, people loved Harry everywhere. “Thank you all for believing in me, bringing me joy and so much support, I’ll never be able to pay you back. Thank you! And thank you to all of you here, the fans. For your support and kind words. Thank you! Je t’aime Paris!”

***

It took them two hours to finally get to the hotel. Harry closed the door behind them, placing a card on the table in the corridor.

“When do you have a plane back?” YN asked, while looking for some clean clothes to wear after the shower that was calling her name.

“In about two hours.”

“Fuck, give me 5 minutes to shower and I’ll ride with you to the airport, okay?” She said in a rush to get ready as quickly as possible.

On the way to the bathroom Harry stopped her, gently catching her by hand. “Wait. What if you pack a small bag and come with me?”

“Come where?” YN asked with a laugh.

“Dublin. And then Slane for the concert.”

“Wha- but, well. I have a media day tomorrow from 11 a.m. And a dinner tonight with the sponsors. Harry, I can’t miss it,” YN answered with a frown on her face.

Harry smiled mischievously, “what if I told you I already talked to your coach and team? And they said it was okay for you to go with me as long as you come back for tomorrow's photoshoot?”

“No way.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Harry nodded his head, taking YN’s clothes in his hands and throwing them on the bed.

“Yes way. I’m very convincing when I want to be.”

“Oh, are you really?” YN mirrored Harry’s smirk, placing her hands around his neck.

“Oh really. You are coming with me.”

He pecked her lips.

“I am coming with you to Slane. And then what?”

“Then I’m playing the concert in front of 80 000 people. But-”

“But, what?”

“I think I’m gonna care about only one person there.”

YN shook her head with a smile. She knew him for more than three years now, but he still could make her blush. He was still so smooth with all the flirty comments and compliments. She was sure, she wouldn’t be able to find any other person who was as appreciative and thankful as Harry. Not like she wanted to.

“You wanna know the plan for the next few days?”

“Tell me all about it,” she encouraged him, pulling her hand through his curls.

“Mhmm, we’re flying back here in the morning. You have a photoshoot and a media day. And then in the evening I’m taking you to my favourite restaurant here to celebrate our achievements so far this year. Aaand the day after that we’re going by train to London.”

YN’s eyes lit up at the mention of the train ride. “Did you buy tickets for the train already?”

“Yes, I did. I know how much you wanted to try that route.”

“Do you know you’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask the universe for?”

“You can remind me of that from time to time. Feed my ego,’ he laughed, hugging YN.

“Thank you. I love you, Harry.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” He tightened the embrace. “I love you and I am so proud of what you did today and the days before.”

——————————————————————————————

harryismyfriend

liked by harryfan11, harrysfan202 and 810 others

harryismyfriend I saw Harry in Paris this morning!!!!!

view all 1 021 comments

harryparis I've met his as well and he asked not to upload any pictures! please take it down!

harryupdates he's there to surprise yn, please take this down

hArrysbtch dont spoil the surprise!!!!!

ynupdates delete this, please

harryismyfriend im so sorry, im deleting it right now!

this post has been deleted

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tennisworld

liked by ynupdates, harrystyles and 2 201 830 others

tennisworld You hear it first here! TREBLE French Open Champion - YN YSN! Congratulations!

view all 92 201 comments

ynupdates THEE champion!!!!

harryupdates the best player out there!

ynshands i love this woman

ynsmybestie god is a woman after all

hArrysbtch i don't know her personally but im so proud of her, i wish i could hug her

harrysmoustache did you guys see harry cheering????

⤷ hArrysbtch oh god, yes! he was so cute

⤷ ynsmybestie that man clapped and whistled more than me during his concert

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 58 301 others

harryupdates YN AND HARRY AFTER SHE WON THE THIRD FRENCH OPEN IN HER CAREER!!! It seemed like Harry's presence was a surprise for YN!

view all 9 201 comments

ynupdates i love them

ynupdates and im so proud of yn. she overcame so many obstacles during today's match

ynshands 😭i😭love😭them😭so much😭

hArrysbtch this man is playing the biggest concert in his lifetime in 4 hours and he's not even in the same country right now

⤷ hArrysbtch and before all of you start hating on me: i love that he found time to support yn during one of her most important matches this season

harryandynforever im gonna sleep on a highway tonight

tennisyn THEE couple, ladies and gentlemen

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harrynews

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 23 301 others

harrynews Harry and YN landed in Dublin just two hours before the start of the show in Slane. The ride from Dublin to Slane takes about 40 to 60 minutes. I hope they'll be there on time!

view all 3 201 comments

ynupdates she went with him to Ireland?????

ynsmybestie they are so supportive of each other, I can't

harryupdates this man loves living on the edge

harrysmoustache outfit repeater!!!!!

ynsfan101 so she won't have a media day today? i hoped to meet her 😞

⤷ ynsmybestie i think she'll be back tomorrow. she needs to do a photoshoot in front of the eiffel tower

⤷ ynsfan101 oh, that's reassuring! i hope to get an autograph or even a photo!

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 93 301 others

ynupdates HARRY DANCING FOR YN VIA HER IG STORIES!

view all 18 301 comments

harryupdates i-

harryupdates wow, just wow

ynshands if that was my man, i would post it too 'see, world? and that's all mine!'

ynsmybestie girl..... don't throw it in our faces like that, we know

hArrysbtch 🫠

hArrysbtch what do you mean it's the same harry scared of performing life just few years ago????

harrysmoustache unhinged, both of them

harrysfan82 why is he so hot and cute at the same time

ynupdates can we take a moment to appreciate their support for each other? harry went to Paris event hough he had a show tonight. and yn went to Slane even though she has a busy day tomorrow in Paris. amazing, just amazing how they can cooperate and work with their busy schedules

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, taylorswift, annetwist, ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 4 392 027 others

yourinstagram 🎶my love, we were in Paris🎶 ... and then in Slane and in Paris again. And then no one needs to know where 🗺

view all 72 302 comments

harrystyles we were somewhere else

⤷ yourinstagram 💜

⤷ hArrysbtch not you singing Taylor, Harry!

⤷ ynsmybestie yn turned you to the bright side, i see

⤷ ynshands and he finishes what she sings???? 😭

⤷ harrysmoustache harry is a swiftie, confirmed!!!!

taylorswift Congratulations on your third French Open title, YN! I hope to see you on one of the concerts!

⤷ yourinstagram i'll be there, wherever and whenever it is, i'll be there

⤷ ynupdates talk about being a committed swiftie

ynupdates posting a pic from Harry's concert before hers with a trophy??? medal for the best girlfriend goes to yn

harryupdates enjoy your free time!

wimbledon See you soon, yn!

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles instagram #tennis player!reader

702 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

Note

Request: Steve has a few younger siblings. He is very protective over them (2 brothers & 1 baby sister) his family is very close. But the party meeting his siblings in the hospital post spring break from hell, Steve's little sister screams tearfully until she is put beside her older brother who is in hospital due to severe injuries. His younger brothers (8yrs old & 5 yrs old) demand for their big brother to be left alone by these strangers. The party demanded to know why he kept his siblings from them???? Also Steve just being loved on by his parents & his siblings and of the party.

DARLING IDK HOW YOU COME UP WITH THIS STUFF BUT THANK GOD YA DO!!! Steve having siblings and good parents and STILL choosing to be the best damn babysitter is kind of giving me LIFE. I am forever here for giving Steve all the love he deserves. A little backstory for this in my brain: Steve's parents got married right out of high school at their own parents' insistence, and they loved each other, but wanted to go to college first. Anne got pregnant during their honeymoon and had to put college on hold. The reason there's such a big age gap between Steve and his siblings is because she finished college, started working as a lawyer, and then went into business with Richard. Once they were comfortable in that for a couple years, they decided to have more kids. We love responsible decisions!!! - Mickala ❤️

--------------------------------------------------------

Steve spent 12 hours unconscious, which would be more alarming if he hadn’t had worse before. At least this time he was in a hospital for it.

Or maybe that was worse.

His mom was by his side the moment he woke up, along with a pacing Dustin and half-asleep Robin.

“Mom? Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, honey!” Anne Harrington was a strong woman, a lawyer who didn’t take shit from anyone, only cried when Steve won his basketball championship and graduated high school. But here she was, sobbing against his hand tightly grasped in her own. “He’s with your brothers and sister. I didn’t want them to see you like this, honey. You almost died!”

Maybe that was true. He certainly felt like he almost died.

He felt Robin and Dustin staring at them, realized what his mom had said.

“Brothers?” Dustin asked, barely more than a whisper, from the foot of the hospital bed.

“Sister?” Robin asked, a yawn breaking out before she even finished asking.

There was a commotion outside the door, he could hear his father’s voice trying to stay calm as he spoke, but knew he was frustrated.

Then he heard a loud cry and his heart broke.

“Was that Bethany?” Steve croaked, his eyes watering at the wails his three year old sister was letting out.

Anne looked at the mostly closed door, nodding as she turned back to Steve in the bed.

“They’ve been begging to see you since this morning. They wouldn’t stop begging to come, so your dad compromised and said they could sit in the waiting room until you woke up, but they’ve been sitting there for two hours. You know how they get.”

He did. He knew that any compromise they’d agreed to was going to work to their benefit in the end because they were all much too clever for their ages.

Suddenly, the door shot open and his eight year old brother, James, stood there with wide eyes. His five year old brother, Ryan, stood behind him, bouncing on his feet so he could try to see.

His father appeared behind them, holding Bethany in his arms, and looking like he wished he could be anywhere else.

But that look disappeared when he saw that Steve was awake.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, son,” he said, a choked noise making its way from his throat like he would have sobbed if the kids weren’t there.

He could feel the confusion coming from Robin and Dustin, but now wasn’t the time to explain any of it.

“Hey kiddos. You guys okay?” Steve rasped out, giving a small smile to all his siblings.

James and Ryan ran to his bed, climbing onto it carefully when Anne snapped her fingers at them and told them to go slow so they didn’t hurt their brother.

“Down, daddy! Wanna see Steve!” Bethany was kicking her legs and trying to push away from Richard, who sighed and let her down.

She ran to the bed, ignored the warning to go slow, and piled into Steve’s lap.

It hurt, but she was so small, and Steve could deal with some discomfort if it meant she could see he was okay.

“Steve, you have boo-boos!”

He patted her always messy hair, and gave her the best smile he could muster.

“Just a few. I’m gonna get all better soon, though. The doctors just had to put some bandaids on them.”

“Are they Barbie bandaids?”

“Of course they aren’t, Bethany. They’re big and have to be wrapped,” James said.

Steve gripped James’ hand in his.

James was going through a phase of wanting to seem older than he was, which was normal, but he took a lot of it out on Bethany. Bethany could certainly hold her own, and often did, but they were all emotional and under a lot of stress at this moment, so Steve stepped in.

“Buddy, let’s just take it easy today, okay? It’s okay to be scared, but so is Bethany and she’s little, so we have to be patient. Like we talked about, remember?”

“What is happening right now?” Dustin asked, still standing awkwardly at the end of his bed.

“Um. Dustin, Robin, this is Bethany, James is to my left, and Ryan is to my right. These are my brothers and sister.”

“You have siblings.”

It wasn’t a question, but Steve could hear the disbelief in Dustin’s tone.

“I do.”

“You never mentioned them?” Robin asked as she looked at where Richard and Anne were now whispering in the corner of the room.

“It just never really came up?”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Who are these people?” Ryan asked as he turned his face into Steve’s arm, always more shy than his other siblings.

“That’s my best friend, Robin, and Dustin. I used to babysit him and now he’s like another brother.”

“But we’re your brothers,” James said, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Of course. But there’s plenty of room to have Dustin around, too. He’s awesome. He can teach you D&D!”

Bethany was curling up against his chest, at least being more careful now that she’d seen his injuries up close. Ryan was shuffling closer to his side, burying his head under his arm like he did on their family movie nights when he was getting tired but didn’t want anyone to know. James was still tense, jealous.

“Did he teach you D&D?”

“Nah. I told you it’s too complicated for me.”

“Did I hear someone say D&D?” Eddie peeked his head through the door, grin lighting up the room.

“Eddie!” Dustin exclaimed.

“Looks like Steve’s got a whole party in here! Are we playing or what?”

Eddie walked into the room completely, smiling until he realized that Steve’s parents were here.

They got together during chaos; they didn’t have time to talk about logistics, about what Steve’s parents knew about him, if they would even be okay with him.

He’d briefly mentioned his siblings to Eddie when they were getting weapons ready, but didn’t talk much about anything else.

“Eds, these are my parents, Richard and Anne,” Steve introduced them, winking at his mom when she gave him a questioning look.

He’d been out to his parents for months, accidentally letting slip that he’d gone on a date with a guy on their Christmas vacation. They took it well overall, the shock making it seem like they were upset, but they were just confused about why he’d only ever brought home girls.

“Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes practically bulged out of his head when he realized what Steve was doing.

“Ew, a boyfriend?” James, already back to his previous attitude, curled his lip up in disgust.

He looked so like Steve sometimes, it was alarming. If they were out running errands together, people often assumed he was his son.

“James! Watch your tone!” Anne said as she reached out a hand to shake Eddie’s. “It’s lovely to meet you, Eddie. I assume you’re the one who helped carry Steve to safety?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So polite. Who would’ve thought Steve found someone so nice?” Richard said with a smirk and a wink at Steve.

“Are you in love?” Bethany asked as she watched Eddie from her spot against Steve’s chest.

Steve could feel his face heat up, watched as Eddie’s face went red and he looked down at the floor.

“We care about each other a lot, B,” Steve replied, hoping she would drop it.

“But he saved you! Like a princess!”

Eddie let out a small laugh as he got closer to the bed and sat down on the edge.

“Well, you look like a princess, too. What’s your name?” He asked, glancing up at Steve for a moment to make sure it was okay he sat there. Steve nodded once.

“Beffany.”

“Princess Bethany? Of Loch Nora?”

Bethany looked at Anne to confirm, nodding as soon as her mom gave her a thumbs up.

Eddie stood back up, bowed, and then sat down again.

“It’s an honor to be in your presence, your highness.”

“Are you a knight?” she asked as she scooted away from Steve’s chest and off his lap, climbing her way into Eddie’s.

Ryan was even pulling away slightly to watch what was going on.

“I wish! I haven’t been through all of my training yet. Maybe you could help me?”

“What kinda trainin’?” Bethany started playing with his hair, but Eddie didn’t stop her, wanted her to feel comfortable while Steve recovered.

“I need to learn my royal etiquette. Do you think you can show me?”

“Yes! We have lessons!”

“Great!” Eddie beamed at her. “Maybe you can give me lessons when your brother goes home?”

“Mommy! Can Eddie come play?”

“Of course. But not today. Steve has to keep resting here for a couple days and I think Eddie probably wants to be here for him.”

“Okay. I stay too?”

“No, baby. We have to let Steve rest some more. We can come back to visit tomorrow.”

Steve felt Ryan and James cling to his arms when they realized that meant they were all leaving.

“But Robin and Dustin are staying!” James was jealous. He loved spending time with Steve, thrived on being considered “mature” enough to run errands with him when their parents were busy, helping him with chores because he was the only one big enough.

Dustin was a threat to his time with Steve, even at eight he could tell.

“Actually, I passed Dustin’s mom on the way here and she was coming to get him soon to go home. He hurt his ankle and shouldn’t even be walking around right now,” Eddie said, eyes squinting in Dustin’s direction like they’d already discussed this once.

“And I have to get home to my parents so they don’t worry. Maybe you can walk me to the bus stop and keep me safe?” Robin asked, somewhat awkwardly.

She didn’t know how to talk to kids, but it was a valiant attempt.

And it seemed to work.

James perked up at the thought of helping in a big kid way.

“Oh, darling, we can drop you off at your house on our way home,” Anne said. “I’ll take you and James can walk with us so we aren’t alone. Right, James?”

James nodded vigorously.

“I’ll protect you. And then we can come back tomorrow to see if Steve’s better.”

Steve leaned down and kissed the top of Ryan’s head, smiling when he realized he fell asleep at some point during the conversation.

“He barely slept last night. I’ll carry him. Hopefully now that he’s seen you’re alive and okay he can rest,” Richard said with a sad smile.

“If you bring them all tomorrow morning, I can help them make character sheets for D&D,” Eddie suggested.

“Yes! Please, dad! Can we?” James bounced in the bed, jostling everyone a bit.

Steve hissed in pain, but tried to cover it with a smile when James looked at him with an apologetic look.

“Sure. If you promise to sleep tonight and eat breakfast in the morning, we can come back.”

“I promise!” James poked Ryan. “Ryan! Promise you’ll sleep tonight and have breakfast in the morning so we can come play D&D!”

Ryan blinked a few times, nodded, then snuggled back into Steve’s side.

As Richard and Anne worked on gathering the kids and Robin and Dustin walked out with them, Steve relaxed in the hospital bed, finally feeling most of his injuries.

He knew they would give him more pain meds if he asked, but he wanted a few minutes with Eddie first.

“Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said as he took his hand in his own, gently squeezing as he made himself comfortable on the side of the bed.

“Thanks for being so cool with them,” Steve let his eyes close for a moment as he took in every wound on his body.

He knew this was a close one, could tell by the way Eddie was looking at him a moment ago.

“You never told anyone else about them?”

Steve shook his head.

“Didn’t really need to. I figured they’d all meet eventually. Just never came up before.”

“Want me to get the nurse?” Eddie could tell he didn’t want to talk about it right now, so he changed the subject quickly.

“In a minute. Wanna kiss you.”

“Oh yeah? Come kiss me then.”

Steve opened one eye and started pouting.

“You come kiss me,” Steve said.

“Fine. But only because you’re hurting.”

Eddie leaned down to press his lips against Steve’s softly, a comfort as much as a promise for more when he was better.

“You’ll stay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just gonna get the nurse and grab a snack from the machine down the hall and then I’m all yours for the night.”

“Can’t wait to feel better.”

“I know. Maybe next time you won’t try to be a hero, hm?”

“No, I don’t care about the pain or anything.”

“Then…”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie choked. “Are you always like this or are there still some drugs in your system?”

“Dunno. Never felt like this with anyone else.”

“Stevie…”

“You’re good with them. Especially Bethany. She’s a lot. But you did good. Good for my nuggets.”

Steve was slowly losing consciousness and Eddie couldn’t help the fond smile creeping up on his face.

“They seem like good gremlins. They sure love you a lot,” Eddie whispered.

“Mhm. Love you.”

“Oh. I don’t think they know me well enough to love me yet, sweetheart, but that’s nice of you to say,” Eddie scrambled to get out, his heart flipping over in his chest at the thought that that wasn’t what Steve meant.

“No.” Steve opened his eyes, staring right at Eddie. “I do. I love you.”

It was crazy. Probably a product of his injuries, exhaustion, and drug cocktail in his system. He probably thought he loved him, but they’d only just gotten together officially.

“Eds. It’s okay. I’m just lettin’ you know how I feel. You don’t have to say it back.”

“I just. I. I think I love you too. I just don’t see how you love me.”

“‘S easy.”

Just that easy.

Like Steve would have said it whether he was in the hospital or not.

—------------

The next morning, James, Ryan, and Bethany planted themselves on Steve’s bed while Eddie explained character sheets to them.

Steve watched with a smile as all of his siblings watched Eddie in awe.

His family meant the world to him, and Eddie did too. He wanted things to always be like this.

When Eddie smiled at him over James’ shoulder a while later, he thought that maybe they would be.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington has good parents #steve harrington has siblings #hurt/comfort #this was what sleep deprived me came up with and im keeping it #not steve planning out his six nuggets with eddie the moment he sees him with his siblings #but also yes that

505 notes · View notes

whenthebirdsings · 2 months ago

Text

the stranger in spring [ch. 1 and 2]

| MINORS DNI |

pairing: gojo x reader, gojo x you

tags: dubcon, drug use, stalking, mind control, mindbreak, very kinky and very explicit, dirty talk, degradation, yandere, possessiveness, jealousy, very toxic, god complex. literally, sadomasochism, dom/sub, daddy kink

word count: 12k+ (it won't be this long every chapter, this is just bc i'm combining two in one post.)

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58426777/chapters/148825717

It started, like many things, with a hello.

You’d been on vacation with your friends at the time. Slipping from one bar to another when you caught the blue-eyed stranger sneaking glances at you. His gaze lingering too long on the curve of your hips, hungrily taking in every bit of exposed skin and dipping to places it shouldn’t. A predator eyeing up its prey, waiting to pounce.

It was painfully obvious, but in his defense — you don’t think he was trying to be subtle. The way he’d bat his silver eyelashes at you and flash you a smile from time to time made his intentions more than clear. It didn’t help that he leered at you like he wanted you to make note of him. Brazenly drinking you in up and down, unblinking as his stare never left your lips.

Still, you played it safe. Played it coy. Pretended you didn’t notice him ogling as you engaged in boring conversations with your friends. It was only a month after your break up so admittedly, you were a little lonely — and the man was terribly, terribly attractive — but you didn’t want to make it too easy. Playing a game of push and pull, appraising him when you thought he wouldn’t notice and looking away just at the right time.

But you made sure your eyes stuck to his skin; made sure he felt the heat in them so that he would know. And he did — an eyebrow raised, the curl of his lips amused. The clock ticked close to midnight, and he still hadn’t ordered anything to drink. Seemingly only there to wait it out, to see how long it would take before your friends would depart, one by one.

And then, one by one, they did. Stepping out the door, leaving you to fend for yourself — or, well, maybe that wasn’t fully fair. Considering you were the one who reassured them you’d be fine. They told you to take care and to be careful, but you weren’t really listening. Eyes discerning the stranger’s every movement instead; catching his anticipation, the smile scratching his face when the last of them finally exited the bar.

True enough, he was quick to slip into your booth once he was sure there would be no other interruptions.

“Hi there, stranger,” he said, voice smooth like honey — and you acted like you weren’t expecting him coming as you stared up at him in surprise. “You alone?”

Well, the surprise was half-true.

You knew he was tall, but didn’t notice how tall he was until he was looming over you. Body too big, arms too long. Like this, you felt like a cornered rabbit peering up a hungry wolf. Yet the size difference only made you more excited than put off. A chill down the base of your spine as his gaze brushed past your collarbone.

“You’re not gonna buy me a drink?” you said instead of answering his question. Fingers feathering over your glass — a hint if nothing else. You spared a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the time, the hands landing on twelve. It was midnight, and you had spent the entire night playing cat and mouse that you might as well be direct.

His eyebrows shot up, but it didn’t seem like he was caught off guard. Interested if anything — like he wasn’t already, but now more so. He didn’t say much else, merely called over the bartender with a flick of a wrist. A wave, like he was used to people being at his beck and call.

“So what do you want?” he asked, warm but not overtly friendly. Leaning in but not too close; a distance just right to pull you in but not scare you off. “I recommend their margarita. One of their best, I think.”

“So says the gentleman,” you laughed. You honestly didn’t care much about the choice of drink; you didn’t have any favorites, or anything that tugged at disgust. Alcohol never stood out much to you anyway. But it got you what you wanted, at the right time, the right price. Not that you were usually the one paying. “Margarita it is. On the rocks.”

He nodded — and with another jerk of his wrist, ushered the bartender away.

“Is that just a thing for you?” you quipped, mirth in the crinkle of your eyes as you studied him from behind your glass. “Like, do you just snap your fingers and people bend to your will?”

He didn’t answer at once. There was a roll of his shoulder, a tilt of his head as he looked you over. You felt oddly exposed — walls pried apart and forced down under his gaze as he seemed to look through you instead of at you. Flecks of blue assessing every line of your face; the roundness of your cheeks, the slope of your jaw, your supple lips. Then, back to your eyes. Where he seemed to stare too long, like a hole threatening to swallow you whole.

“That would depend,” he answered, leer lowering to your slender neck now. His fingers twitched, itching to touch, to hold, to choke you out of air. But still, he leaned back. Composed if not smug in the upturn of his chin.

You blinked. “On what?”

“Well.” He paused, let the silence sit seemingly because he liked to keep you waiting — liked you on bated breath, hanging on to his every word. “On whether or not you like men who can snap their fingers and bend people to their will.”

“Very smooth,” you said, dry and sarcastic, though you couldn’t suppress the flush from warming your cheeks.

You didn’t know what it was — if it was the drinks you had prior or the intensity of his stare as he took you in. Like you were precious; gold made to be appreciated, to be beholdened. A toy he could ruin with the tip of his fingers. He reveled in you like he’d known you for eons too long, even when it had only been five minutes.

Either way, red traveled from your face and upwards still to the shell of your ear. Your hand scratching them, nervous and self-conscious as you sounded an exaggerated cough to make yourself seem less fidgety. Not that it helped much, his amusement only intensifying as he broke into a laugh.

“Worth the sarcasm,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes half-heartedly. But then the chuckles died down, leaving in its wake only tense disquietude as the air around you simmered. You squirmed — and pretended not to notice his foot angling close, boot kicking the bone of your ankle. “Seriously though, it’s just because one of my friends owns this bar. So the staff here see me as a familiar face.”

“Ah, so you just have connections,” you sighed, feigned disappointment as a joking lilt lined your voice. Still, there was a tremble — shyness underlying even if you tried to curb it. He seemed to perceive it; lips twitching as though to reign in another laugh. “And here I thought I landed a handsome rich man. Tsk.”

“Well, I am that, too,” he admitted. With his tone, you couldn’t tell if it was arrogance or coy posturing. Or boredom, really, if you listened close enough.

“You’re from this area then, I assume?” you asked, changing the subject as you felt everything around you shift. Awkward, like you’d stepped on a mine you shouldn’t have. “If you are, I’d like a tour. I don’t know the surroundings here very well, and I could use a…” Your eyes raked past his neck to pause at his long fingers. A moment of self-indulgence as you wondered how they would feel on you before you blinked the thought away, “friend. To guide me around.”

Want pooled in your belly, tight and spreading like fire under your skin. He waited for your permission before going for your hand — thumb ghosting over your knuckles, fingers only mildly slipping into empty spaces. It spurred you on; the heat of his palm on your skin. Blood roaring in your ears now as your body shuddered. It’s just the cold, you told yourself. Even though you could feel every fiber of your being teeming with desire from his unwavering stare.

“Not a local,” he replied, a laugh in his tune as he noted the flutter of your eyes. Lashes heavy on flushed cheeks, heady even before your margarita even arrived. “But I do know this place like the back of my hand.” He squeezed yours, as though for emphasis. Nails sending goosebumps up your arms as he grazed them along the length of your fingers. Apperceiving, savouring every callous, every shake — as slight as it were. “So yeah, I guess I could be a friend. To guide you around.”

There was a double meaning in his words, but you didn’t really mind. You knew he caught onto your drift even without a cue. Not that he needed any — you seemed just about ready to climb into his lap even though he hadn’t done much. It was the alcohol. The loneliness you weren’t used to after the break up. You were sure of it.

Or, well, you weren’t, really. Although you had meant to seduce him into bed tonight, you didn’t think you’d be this easy. But he made it easy. Terrifyingly so. A fog in your brain every time his eyes skipped past your face — hungry, hungry and hungry as though you’d been starved and deprived too long.

He snapped his fingers again, and that was when you looked up just in time to see the bartender coming by with your drink.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, thanking the bartender before turning to look at the stranger again. He seemed to watch you with a strange look in his eye; expecting, calculated almost in the way blue glinted in dimmed lighting. But you couldn’t tell because it was brief, gone like it was never there. “So, uh, I guess you’re just visiting your friend. The one who owns this bar?”

“Mm-hmm,” he affirmed. Smile too warm, too friendly. Yet for some reason, it reeled you in instead of pushing you off. “And I guess you’re just visiting too? Or are you here to see a partner or something?”

You almost scoffed at that.

“Me? Partner? Nah,” you said, shrugging him off with a wave. An odd tightness settling in your chest. “I broke up with him, like, a month ago. I’m just here on vacation with friends. They,” you paused, frowning now as confusion snuck into mind. It usually wouldn’t take you this short of a time to warm up to someone, but he made it feel effortless. Comfortable, even though it shouldn’t be, “wanted to help me get over him, I guess. Or whatever, I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted me to have fun instead of sitting around moping in my apartment.”

“Ah,” he sounded, recognition flitting past his features. He was carefully woven by the gods, you remember thinking. Every part of his face perfectly sculpted; lines too immaculate, polished and faultless. Like he was God himself. “Well.” His lips drew into a grin, wolfish and playful. “I guess you wouldn’t be here talking to me if you were already with someone.”

“Exactly,” you snorted. Tense shoulders slouching as he watched you down your glass of margarita in only a few gulps. You didn’t even notice he had ordered another one until he passed you a second glass. Pushing it to your knuckles, smiling as you accepted it. Ever so grateful, ever so obedient. “I mean. I guess open relationships are a thing. Not really my thing though.”

“Understandable.” He nodded, his grin widening behind his hand as he took in the sight of you hurriedly swallowing one glass after another. His eyes flashed, dark and dangerous — but you didn’t notice. Too preoccupied with the brush of his other hand over your wrist. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine either. It’s… annoying. And I’m jealous and possessive.”

“I’m greedy,” you admitted, a little too soon, a little too loud. Your eyes almost slid close as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Very much so.”

“I can tell — hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I think it’s attractive that you know how to drink,” he laughed. Throwing his arms up in defense as you pouted at him in return. Disappointment poured over you at the lost of warmth around your fingers when he pulled away— gaps between them empty again, almost unbearably so. But you ignored it. Maintained eye contact instead as he leaned back into his seat. Sinking into cushion.

“My name is Gojo Satoru,” he supplied, head slanted slightly to the side. “You can call me Satoru. Or, well, you can call me a lot of names, really.”

Your lips pulled into a smile, teasing as you batted your eyelashes at him seductively. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“You’re gonna have to stay around and find out,” the man — no, Satoru answered. His attention briefly gone as he tugged at a loose strand around his sleeve. “What about you? What should I call you?”

You pressed your lips together. Tight and unwilling. The taste of the margarita sat heavy on your tongue, too sweet and too sour all at once.

“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable enough to give out my name yet,” you said. Lied through your teeth. It was odd, how reluctant you were to let slip such a thing when you already told him about your break up and the reason for your visit. But a name had a weight to it, a certain sentiment you weren’t sure was okay for you to just hand out to strangers just like that.

You didn’t think you were going to see him after tonight anyway. But he was fun to be around — and he was good-looking. Too good-looking for his own good actually. You highly doubted a guy like him didn’t have a crowd of people wrapped around his finger. He looked like he was used to drowning in attention, like his daily life consisted of people just falling to their feet for him simply because he breathed in their direction. Not that you blamed them. The man was a sight to gaze at; ethereal beauty personified.

But the thought only served to make you more wary — to be only one of many. You didn’t want to be one of the people grasping for an ounce of his affection, for the briefest of a glance. He looked like he’d brush you off anyway; outside of sex, you’d be nothing but dust. Flakes of dried skin lingering too long on his clothes before he’d shake you off sooner or later. And you’ve gone through enough share of disappointment to know better than to expect anything more.

This was safer, you decided. Gave you more peace of mind. You might get too attached if you weren’t careful enough.

“Fair enough.” He nodded. Fortunately, he didn’t push on. Not that you would have stayed if he did. “As long as you know mine, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I don’t know yours.”

So long as you know what to scream, the mischievous grin on his face seemed to whisper. The words are left unsaid, but you could hear them in the way he crooned, sweet and soft. In the way lust flickered in his gaze, a touch of something feral in blue as he spared himself an indulgent glance at your cleavage. Coming from other men, you would have ran out the door in an instant. Coming from him though — oddly enough, your feet rooted you on the spot even though a sliver of fear caused you to shiver. It was like something had compelled you to stay, and so you did.

Maybe he’s that hot, you laughed at yourself as you shrugged off the feeling. The irony was not lost on you — especially when you remember chastising your friend just an hour ago about not letting attractive men off the hook just because they were attractive. Maybe you weren’t so immune to them, after all. At least not with this one.

“But I am curious,” he said, breaking you out of reverie as you blinked to look up at him. He gently shoved a third glass of margarita into your hands — and your fingers clenched around it so quickly it felt like instinct. Muscle memory. “What do you do for a living? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You grew sheepish. “I work a boring corporate job,” you replied, a sigh in your voice. “It’s nothing interesting. At least not interesting enough that I can just snap my fingers and people will bend to my will.”

A laugh rumbled through his chest. Even so, he made no move to give you any details concerning his work life. You didn’t probe; you suppose it was only fair, seeing as he had already given you his name and you denied him yours.

“I figured as much,” he said, smug confidence in the way he threw his head back. “I like playing this guessing game when I see strangers I’m interested in. You know, like, guess where they’re from, what their line of work is, if they’re single — stuff like that,” he explained when your features drew into bewilderment.

“Oh,” you sounded. Brows furrowing into a deep frown. “Oh my god, do I come across that boring?”

Satoru blinked. “What — oh, god, no.” So he said, but his tone lacked the apologetic trace that usually coupled this line of sentence. Instead, amusement underlaid his tenor; the smallest of a laugh like he found you entertaining. Better than boring, you suppose. “I just meant you look… pent up, is all.”

“Oh! Oh,” you sounded, again, with a tint of embarrassment this time as the emphasis in his words settled in too quickly, too heavily. Already, your cheeks burned with shame, your skin prickling as a breath caught in your throat. “Well, I guess you’re not that far off with that one. Between work and the break up and stuff, I’ve been… tense — to put it in simpler terms anyway.”

“I can help with that,” he laughed, a purr in his offer. Tempting, drawing you in like moth to fire as he leaned in a little too close. In this proximity, you could catch a whiff of his cologne; an echo of vanilla, of something sweet you could almost taste on the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t find it in you to tell him off as he grasped your chin, tilting your head up to meet him in the eye. “Oh, yeah. I can definitely help with that. If you need me to.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. Time seemed to still, your world seeming to stop in its spin. He was so close you only had to move in an inch closer to claim his lips, so close you could see the dip in flesh, the flecks of something sharp in blue.

“Maybe. If you’re lucky,” you said. Tried to come off as coy if not more. Only to fail miserably as you almost stuttered mid-way through, your voice hushed into an entranced whisper, into a gasp too loud. But then he pulled away; a sense of loss along your jawline — and you were relieved and disappointed all at once.

“If I’m lucky,” he echoed. Laughed it out like he already knew he was going to be. Yet he didn’t allow you time to unpack that as he ordered another batch of margarita for you. “Here’s another guess: you like watching romcoms, you spend too much time on shopping apps, and you read a lot of smut online.”

“It’s still literary art,” you argued, defensive, too used to your friends making fun of your taste in fiction. But then it dawned on you that he hit everything on the bullseye — very uncannily so. Like he had been watching you even before tonight, lurking in the shadows, in the crack of your room where you didn’t notice. You frowned, dread creeping into your skin this time. “I — wait, what?”

He was unperturbed; not even a move misplaced.

“It’s just an educated guess,” he reassured you, calm. Too calm even. There was a pause as he waited for your doubt to settle. Sighing then laughing when he realized it wouldn’t. “Relax. I only made that guess because I do the same thing. I mean, I think it’s pretty common. Technically.”

You contemplated that for a moment. A question built at the back of your throat — but then he brushed his fingers together; a snap, and your brain muddled. Mind an empty scape again as you forgot what you were even going to ask.

“Oh,” you said instead. You seemed to be saying that a lot tonight. “I guess that makes sense. There’s stuff like fandoms and all that online, after all.” There was a tentative, thoughtful sip as you brought your glass to your lips. Tilting it a little, margarita sliding down your throat. “Do you… perchance… listen to whimper audios too?”

Embarrassment rushed to your face as he snorted out a laugh.

“No, I don’t,” he managed in between breathless wheezing and loud chuckles, “but I’m not surprised you’re into them. Of course you are.”

You didn’t notice the knowing lilt in his voice. More distracted with your own shame as it burned at your sides.

“Stop,” you whined, a hand rubbing at your face. Like that would erase the flush on your cheeks. “Jesus, you sound like my friends.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he reassured you. Or tried to anyway, because he couldn’t temper his laughter even if he tried. Some of it escaping him regardless, in between words, between syllables too breathy. You realized it wasn’t the right time — but he sounded pretty like that. All breathy, letters chopped between sharp gasps. “I mean, I get the appeal. It’s just that I personally would rather hearing them live, you know?”

His gaze drifted to your lips. You licked at them, wetting them either out of the urge to garner his attention or to alleviate your nerves. Maybe it was both.

The foot around your ankle trailed upwards, kissing your flushed knee now as leather teased sensitive skin. It was warm — too warm. So hot you felt like you were burning from arousal. Slick gathering between your legs as he stopped in between them. Pausing, lingering just a little too close to the hemline of your skirt. He could shove it closer and you wouldn’t complain if he touched want and wetness, if he stroked you too hard, too fast. Made you come all over his shoe.

Your toes curled at the thought — but you wisely kept it to yourself. Clearing your throat again as you reached for another glass. “Right,” you said, soft.

He passed it to you. Fingers feathering over yours, nails a graze on your knuckles. “Right,” he said back, not as soft.

Despite everything — yourself especially — you found that you got along just fine with Satoru. He made it easy; had a witty remark to everything. It helped that he was snarky too, responding in kind when you acted as such. Fire to fire, bite to bite. Looking back, maybe you clicked a little too well even.

Not that you were aware of the fact at the time. Too busy having fun, too immersed in the small talk, in Satoru as he carried himself almost flawlessly every step of the way. Graceful, enticing. Like a siren calling your name as he beckoned you closer. With each second, you found that he bridged the gap between you. Shoulder to shoulder, fingers on fingers. His lips, a breath too close on the shell of your ear.

It was spring when you met Satoru, when you looked too deep into his eyes and it was too late.

“My hotel is to the right,” Satoru said as the red light turned yellow. In a few seconds, it would be green again and you would have to move. “Or we can go straight to your friend’s place. Whichever you choose. I had a great night either way.”

He pointed at the direction in which you had showed him earlier. You eyed him as green clawed at his complexion, as something foreign sat on his face. Your mind addled with lust and a little bit too much of alcohol as he lowered the handbrake and changed gears again.

You didn’t say anything in response. Simply reached over instead to place your hand on a part of the steering wheel that was left untouched. It was almost on purpose, calculated to a fault — but you paid no heed to that thought as you swerved the car to the right. Too quickly, too eagerly. But it was loud enough— your answer: a yes to everything that would come next.

Satoru only smiled at you. Something flashed in his gaze, but it was too dark for you to pinpoint what. “Okay then.” He nodded, pinky finger looping around yours. “As you wish, milady.”

You couldn’t remember the last time Satoru let you breathe.

He didn’t ease up even when you clawed at his shirt, not even when your legs quivered and threatened to give out. Lips capturing yours and tongue dipping in between even before you managed to inhale, even before you could heave out a protest as he pushed you against the door. Caging you in, pinning you between him and wooden surface as he shoved between your legs. The tent in his pants rubbing against the wet patch on your underwear — grinding, hips rolling back and forth in a way that made your knees buckle and clouded your vision in stars.

“Wait —" you panted as he finally let go to grant you a short reprieve. Lips attacking your neck this time as he peppered the skin there with hot, open-mouthed kisses, as he lapped at a bead of sweat down your pulse. It was loud, your heartbeat — fast against the tip of his tongue as he sucked in once unmarred flesh.

“No more waiting,” he huffed, impatient as his hands caressed every nook and cranny, every curve he wanted to taste, to kiss, to mark as his and only his. There was something there in his voice; something poignant and longing, wistful and pained.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on that because Satoru was already dipping his fingers under your skirt. Looking for skin to taint, slick to touch. Desperate in the way he scratched at your inner thighs before hooking around the waistband of your panties. Pulling them up to give you friction and letting go once you cried out, seemingly satisfied before swallowing your whines. You dripped to your knees, and he laughed at you — breath like wispy feathers on your collarbone as his lips mapped a trail lower.

“How do you feel about,” Satoru husked against you as his tongue swirled around your nipple through fabric, “me talking down to you and calling you names? Just asking to make sure.”

You moaned, throwing your head back and slumping against the door as he flicked left and right, then up and down before taking the sensitive nub into his mouth. Sucking, nipping through your dress as you twitched and tugged at his hair to keep yourself anchored. The air felt like ice on your skin as he wrapped your leg around his waist. His other hand sliding to feel for slippery flesh, for your swollen clit as it throbbed under his fingertips.

“I like it,” you managed a laugh in between low mewls and sharp gasps. Heart stuttering in your chest as he snapped his fingers on sensitive bundle of nerves. Pressing firm before pinching hard — an incessant jerk of his wrist as he traced along your entrance and teased at your clit. “But of course you’re into that. Of course you like degrading.”

“Shut up,” he laughed. But then the sound dropped a notch lower; a whisper, a growl low and dangerous as he sunk two fingers into tight warmth. “Sluts don’t talk without permission. You don’t even get to think. Just go dumb for me and moan like a pretty little whore.”

His words sent a renewed rush of heat in your loins. Your brain short-circuiting, a half-whimper caught in your throat as he buried knuckle-deep. Spreading his fingers apart and stretching your walls before curling just right. Angling to stroke at your g-spot, to slam against it mercilessly even as you collapsed to his chest from the wave of pleasure.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he praised as you scratched at the expanse of his back through his shirt. His hand keeping you up and against the door as he gave you one rough thrust after another and you threatened to sink to your knees. “Not so sarcastic now that I’ve got two fingers inside that tight little cunt, huh? You’re so fucking wet — so fucking wet it looks like you’ve been waiting for this. Am I right? Hm? You’ve been waiting, aching for me to finger fuck you like this the whole night. Right? Tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re a fucking slut.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears; your body startling as everything became too much all too soon. But Satoru was relentless, no mercy spared for your sake as he kept rutting into you even when you gushed around him. Turned on instead of deterred from the feeling of you spurting to his wrist. Your protests falling on deaf ears as your walls greedily clamped down on his fingers and sucked them in.

“I don’t hear an answer,” he said, condescendingly sweet as he quickened his pace and kissed your tears away when they finally streamed free. Everything was too loud — the sound of his palm slapping against your pussy, the squelching noises circling in the room. Your own heartbeat; little pitter-patters too quick in your ears. “What, stupid whore brain can’t think of one? Need me to tell you what to say? Really? You’re that hopeless? That useless of a fucktoy?”

You shuddered, the knot in your belly reaching a fevered pitch as your eyes almost fluttered close. But you kept them on him, on his face as he demanded your attention with a cold glare.

“N-no,” you whimpered, melting as his free hand found your clit. Cruel as it fondled sensitive flesh without even a pause, without even loosening up at least a little. Letting you feel the full weight and pressure of his fingers as he stroked too hard, too fast.

He raised an eyebrow at you, almost disappointed. “No?”

“No — I mean, yes. Yes, you’re right,” you sobbed, sweat matting your hair to your forehead as he slanted his lips over yours, “I’m a slut. I’ve been waiting for this the whole night. Been thinking about it — about you the entire car ride.”

“Bitch in heat,” he growled, and you almost came undone right then and there. A bowstring almost pulling taut before keeping it together at the last minute as you gasped, screamed out a pathetic half-attempt of his name into the air. He looked down then — down at the sight of him disappearing into your cunt, at the sight of you leaking to his arm. He stared; reveling in the way you pried open and took him in. “Such a pretty pussy on the filthiest fucking slut. Look at you taking my fingers so well. Spreading your legs so wide for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Satoru, fuck —” you tried, only to break into a string of moans as he stuttered before doubling down. The wet noises rising in tandem with his speeding rhythm and brute force as he threatened to snap you in half.

You didn’t even have time to take in a breath. You had an inkling that he would be intense, but this? This was something else entirely. Satoru worked you to the fullest; playing you like a craft, one calculated, brutal thrust after another. At the same time, he was like a madman — a predator finally coming upon fresh meat as he added another finger. Acting only on the instinct to break and destroy everything he touched as he fucked his fingers into you so hard you felt the air punched out of your lungs. The stretch was a little painful, but the pleasure came quick. Overriding everything else as his scent encompassed your every sense.

“Do you do this a lot?” he suddenly asked, lips slipping past your chin to kiss along the curve of your neck. “Fucking strangers you just met, I mean.”

For a moment, you wondered why he was so curious. But the thought dwindled, fading into nothingness, into euphoria as Satoru rocked against your g-spot especially harsh. Your back arching as your nails clawed at his neck, at his arms, at anything you could grasp for some semblance of solace.

“No,” you managed, trembling violently. “Not often. Just when I’m — ah, stressed. And needing some relief.”

Jealousy seemed to cross his face for a fleeting second before it dissipated again. Leaving you to ponder if it was even there to begin with as your hips shook before going limp. Body flushing, twitching uncontrollably as he placed kisses along your hairline. The sight was forgotten with every brush of his fingers, every feather of his lips over warm skin. You didn’t even notice the possessiveness in the way he dug his teeth into you as he slapped against flesh even harder now. Breakneck speed that rendered you breathless as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“We better make you feel good then,” he rasped, dipping his tongue into your mouth again. “Better make the most of it if you don’t do this that often.”

You couldn’t force out a reply. Not that you needed to because Satoru was quick to lavish your nipple with attention again; tongue circling around before licking fast. Lips wrapping around it — steady suctions and eager kisses as you strained against fabric. He rolled your clit in circles before tugging hard, groaning as you pushed your breasts into his face, as you shivered before bucking your hips.

Everything felt like it was stuttering on its axis as Satoru kissed his way down, past your supple mounds, your stomach as it flexed under his touch. His teeth catching the hemline of your skirt once he reached where you wanted him to be — breath hot, lips even hotter. He leaned in, and everything inside you collapsed. You made a stranged noise, hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in white as his mouth met soft flesh, wet on his tongue.

“Satoru,” you keened, dazed smile on your lips as he gave you a tentative lick before sucking you in. One suck needier than the last as he panted, breathing too loud, too fast against your clit.

You weren’t used to being this sensitive, this receptive. Yet Satoru knew just which spots he had to love to pull it out of you, which cracks he had to pry to force it out of you. So you rode his hand and face with reckless abandon, mouth to clit, tips of his fingers to your g-spot. He pulled away only slightly to hover his tongue over your slit — the only form of attention he was willing to grant you coming in the shape of his saliva dripping down from his tongue and to your entrance. Dirty as it slithered in between your vulva lips and to his fingers, warm as it seeped into your walls.

“Atta girl, that’s it. Such a good fucking slut. Pretty little sex toy.” His eyes fluttered, words slurring and muffled into you as he slurped you up like a man starved and possessed. Chasing after you even when you pushed at his head and flinched away. “Make yourself useful and bounce on my fucking face. Use me to get that pussy off. Make that pussy come for me, I know you can make that pussy come for me —"

You exhaled, the sound loud, hips pausing before setting a swifter pace. Frenzied, drunk in the way you clung to his every word, in the way you squeezed around him like a vice. Satoru made a weird sound against your clit — something akin to a growl and a gasp as you wet his cheeks. It was a mistake to peer down at him because the sight that greeted you was too hot for your already crippling sanity. His cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, hair sticking to various parts of his face as you spurted all over him and dribbled down his chin.

The spring in your belly coiled tightly, threatening to release. Satoru seemed to sense it as he noticed your legs twitching around him before pressing firm and locking him in place. Smothering him under the weight of your hips as you sank down fully on his tongue. Your body stiffening before going still.

“Squirt for me,” he cooed, voice that sweet condescension again. “Be a good bitch and squirt into my mouth. Come down my fucking throat.”

That did it for you. There was one last swipe of his tongue on your clit as he shoved his fingers as hard as he could into your core. You barely caught on to the savage curse he let out as you shattered all over him, climax rushing out of you in powerful bursts as he kept fucking his fingers into your abused hole. Dutifully drinking you up and leaving no drop wasted as he helped you ride out your high.

For a moment, everything slowed. Your mind a puddle as you tried to collect any remnant of reason left behind. If there was even any. But then you felt it — constant friction, full pressure that was never gone. Satoru kept going even after you finished, lapping at sensitive skin even as you slumped around his shoulders, digits pistoning in and out of you still even as your vision cut to black.

“Too much,” you cried, choking on a sob as you tried to wrench yourself free. Yet to no avail as Satoru sucked you in, ruthless as he flicked his tongue on you even while you were still lodged in his mouth.

He let go with a wet pop. “I don’t fucking care,” he growled, eyes glaring at you as they peeked from behind your skirt. Fabric curtaining his cheeks, the slick on flushed skin still visible. “You’re gonna come until I’m done. And I’m not fucking done.”

Not by a long shot, it would appear. Because he forced one orgasm after another out of you even when you begged him not to, even when you threatened to pass out from the overstimulation. But he slapped you awake every time, a sting on your cheek with every smack of his palm across your face, delicious pain that you leaned into as you grew wetter with each strike.

Everything blurred. Blending into a mess too tangled to make sense as you lost count on how many times he pushed you over the edge.

I’m sorry, you whispered at some point.

No, at another.

Stop, and another.

Please, you had even pleaded with him. But you never knew if it was for more or less.

You didn’t even know what it said about you that you enjoyed it so much, that you preened under his attention, keened every time he forced you through a wave of torment. You loved it — basked it in even, in this moment in all its glory as he broke you to pieces and put you back together. Rinse and repeat, until you were spent, until you couldn’t say anything more but a cry of his name. A chant, rippling out of you like an endless prayer. And if Satoru liked it too, he let you know with every laugh, every nasty thing he whispered into the apex of your thighs.

“There you go, press your toes into my back,” he groaned, his face too wet at this point. “Pull at my hair, squeeze your thighs around my head. Show me how good I’m making you feel. How good daddy’s making you feel.”

That made your head spin. Your knees buckling before sinking into his shoulders.

“W-what?” was all you could say, eyes wide as electricity jolted through you and a shiver ran down your spine. You liked that.

“Daddy,” you tried, feeling how it rolled off your tongue. It tasted sweet, tasted perfect. Sinful between your lips. And then:

“Daddy,” you mewled again, louder this time as adrenaline filled every cell. Your body on fire despite the fatigue, pussy swollen and aching for more despite the sweat now drying on your skin. Too much and too little all at once. More and less. “Daddy, please — please. You’re so good, so good. So fucking good —”

“Fuck, that’s it. Sloppy fucking slut. Grind that perfect pretty pussy on my tongue. You’re making daddy so proud. Making me so happy,” he grunted, sounding like he was already fucking you as he bucked his hips into the air. Desperate for any friction, anything to wrap around him and milk him dry as he felt you clench around his fingers, felt you push your cunt lower onto his face. Firm — too firm you would have worried you were suffocating him if not for the way he eagerly met you half-way.

All too soon, you felt another fire pooling low in your abdomen. Your screams chopping in half as you lost every bit of yourself in him.

“C’mon, fucking come for me,” he gasped into you. “I know you’re coming. I can feel it. Come. I’ll take care of you, so just come —"

“Daddy, daddy, daddy — Satoru,” you whispered, in reverence, in dazed worship as your eyes glazed over. Then you dissolved into pleasure, into nothing but Satoru as he held your hand throughout it all. Fingers slipping in between, fitting too right as he filled empty spaces.

One thing led to another and you were on the bed now — kissing, tongues stroking and sharing the same air as Satoru was quick to undress you. Tugging down your dress, the feel of fabric sliding to your ankles sending chills down the base of your spine.

“Satoru,” you whimpered as he latched onto one nipple, grazing the edge of his teeth around it before swirling his tongue on sensitive nerve. Flicking, tasting the sweat down your breast before nipping hard.

“Wrong name,” he growled, cock straining against material. Pushing against you as hard lines met want and wetness, rubbing, grinding firm.

“Daddy,” you tried again, eyes fluttering shut as he dipped down to claim your lips again. His fingers caressed your nipples, kneading supple flesh before pinching down. Yours found his belt, urgent as you hurriedly made to unbuckle it.

“So greedy,” he tutted at you, hair soft against your chin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Sniffing you in, then exhaling a contented sigh. “Have I ever told you that you smell good?” He slapped your hands away, pulling down his zipper and then his pants for you because you were too slow. “For a slut anyway.”

Heart pounding in your ears, your gaze dropped to see what was between his legs before he grasped your chin again. Tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him instead of his cock as you felt it throbbed, felt it push against your knee. Wet at the slit, heavy on your skin.

“Not yet,” he told you, and you wanted to cry.

“You won’t even let me look?”

He sounded a laugh, but didn’t let go of your chin. Keeping you still, keeping you eye-to-eye with him as he pressed your foreheads together. “Not yet,” he repeated, a low pant this time as you hiked your leg around his waist. Let your thigh skim past his length before locking him in place.

“Whore,” he spat at you, and you felt fuzzy. Hot all over as he shot you a glare before kissing his way down from your neck to linger on your cleavage. Tongue raking along before dipping in.

You clenched around nothing, your eyes ablazed and your head blank as you stared down at him. He was beautiful, even more so now that he was wrapping his lips around your breast, sucking your nipple in, circling his tongue around. All the while looking you in the eye, sly smile growing on your skin.

“Please,” you mewled, tired of his torture, of his teasing as he kissed his nails along the smooth expanse of your stomach. Letting his fingers only barely brush over you before retracting his hand. Still, his warmth lingered, a tingle on your flesh, fire in your loins. And he laughed.

“Please what?” he huffed, tongue lapping up a line over your collarbone. “Be a good doll for me and use your words.”

You heaved out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Crying out, choking on a sob when he dug his teeth into your shoulder. The pain was instant, but so was the arousal — a rush of heat down your slit as you gushed, stained the sheets.

“Need you,” you managed, shivering violently as he traced fingers over your inner thighs. Those barely there feathers again, scratching rather than touching you in full. You were still sensitive from before, nerves hyper-alert, but he took his time tormenting you. Reveling in the way you twitched, the way you looked up at him like you were already fucked out. “Need you to use me. Make me your pretty little whore.”

“But you already are,” he laughed, voice crooned, sweet but sarcastic. Your eyes brimmed with tears, vision blurring before you blinked them away. But he understood; catching on to the plea left unsaid, the whisper hushed. “You want more. Even after coming so much? Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

There was slight arrogant posturing there, and normally, you would have scoffed. Rolled your eyes at him even. But right now, you were too dizzy to think, feeling like you were floating, on a constant high as he placed his hand around your neck. Squeezing, applying firm pressure that had you choking, wheezing around his fingers.

“Need your cock,” you shuddered out. Dazed smile playing on your lips as you grew light-headed. Drunk on the lack of air, on Satoru as he took you in with sadistic glee, eyes dark, almost panting a little as he grinned, wide and feral. “Need it in my mouth, in my pussy. In all my holes. Need you to stuff me full. Fill me to the brim with cum.”

“That’s filthy, princess,” he chastised you, mock disappointment as he shook his head. But his fingers dug into your skin, nails pressing down harder — and you knew it was the right answer. “You want that? Want me to be fucking filthy with you?”

“Yes,” you keened, leaning in. Nuzzling your nose against the bone of his wrist as he cupped your cheek in his free hand. Loving, if not for the way he looked down at you like you were nothing but a set of holes — if not for his other one still pushing his palm into your pulse. But you managed, forced out the words if only for that glint of approval in blue gaze, like he was proud, like you were making him proud. “Would that be bad? If I want daddy to be filthy with me?”

“Fucking terrible,” Satoru huffed, but his cock bounced against your stomach. Pre-cum leaking from the tip, hot and sticky as it smeared your skin and dribbled into your navel. “Not that I expected anything less. Ask a bitch slut a question, and of course, she responds like one. Doesn’t matter what you would say. Everything that comes out of that mouth is fucking dirty anyway.”

You whined, growing wetter from his words as your walls pulsed — begging, aching to be stretched out. Your hand reached down to stroke your clit, to feel anything other than the slightest brush of his fingers, the briefest ghost of his lips. But he slapped that away too, clicking his tongue at you as you peered up at him in tears, in impatience as your teeth caught your lower lip in between.

“Please, daddy,” you pleaded again, batting your eyelashes at him this time. He hummed in thought, appraising you, tucking tendrils of your hair behind your ear. Again, loving — if not for the way he laughed at you, cold and cruel.

Even so, he didn’t deny you any longer as he crawled up to your face. Hand letting go of your neck, tracing your lips as you took in greedy inhales of air. His knees sunk into the space around your neck, your moan loud and lewd as he wrapped a hand around his cock. Hovered it over your face. Over your mouth that parted open, your tongue that darted out to taste.

But he pulled away. Laughing as you chased after him only to be deprived again.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, ignoring your whining as he slid his palm up and down his shaft. Pre-cum gathering before glistening on his fingers, your skin prickling as your cheeks caught some of it before he slapped you with his cock. Let it rest like this heavy weight on your lips before wiping slick away. “Yeah, this is what you want, huh. Sloppy little slut,” he husked as your tongue went to lick at his veins. Tears streaming down your face when he drew it back again.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you groaned, accusing as you glared up at him. He lifted an eyebrow at that, smug expression faltering if only for a second as his fingers brushed past his tip. Again and again until he was bucking into his hand, faster and harder until he was breathing too loud into cold air.

“I,” he panted, head thrown back and eyes clamping shut as he rubbed a fist around the head of his cock. Rolling in circles whilst his other hand pumped up and down what was left untouched, “have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

So he claimed, but you knew he knew the effect he had on you as he watched your eyes roll every time he lingered too close. Cock only a hair’s breadth away from your face, tip almost bumping into your nose every time he snapped his hips. Your tongue reached out, but he would always pull it out of touching distance. Out of your grasp — your lips that ached to take him in. You didn’t know how long you could take this before losing your sanity.

“Daddy,” you cried, wanting more but not daring to move as he kept you still with a glare. With a tut every time you even tried. “Pleasepleaseplease let me taste you. Let me suck you off. Let me make you feel good, make you cum in my mouth.” You paused, smiling a little as his eyes glazed over, as his breath hitched in his throat. “Don’t you wanna cum in my mouth? Make me swallow every drop? Fuck my face to completion? Choke me on your cock ‘till I drool all the way down to my chest?”

“Fuck,” Satoru gasped, composure fractured as his pace stuttered before doubling down. “Fucking brat, fucking stupid whore —” The way he quivered was violent then, tension pulling taut in his form before he let go. Dropping his cock on your face again. Once again heavy on your cheeks as he leaned in. Propped himself up by his palms against the headboard.

“Look at you. Look at the fucking spit running down your chin. Look at my cock, resting on your pretty face,” he purred, almost slurring through his words as he slid his tip over the trail of your saliva down the edge of your lips. Ignoring your pleas, your whines for more as the full length of him sat on your nose. Flushing from the way you panted against him, the way you leaned into him like you were intoxicated. “Bet you fucking like this too, huh? Like when I fucking slap my cock on your face? When I stain those cheeks with pre-cum? You like this, don’t you? Don’t you —”

A long, drawn out mewl escaped you. Your mind heady as he pulled away only to drop down on you again. One strike after another hard as you drooled for even the slightest inch of him.

“Please, Satoru, please. Just fuck my mouth. Just —” you sobbed, eyes glossy again as the torment drove your damn near crazy. Pushed so far you almost forgot to address him correctly. An apology at the tip of your tongue when it hit you a moment later.

But it didn’t manage to leave. Muffled into a startled gasp as the only warning Satoru gave you was the briefest brush of his tip between your lips before he shoved himself all the way in. Giving you no time to adjust to the sudden intrusion as he drew almost completely out before rocking forth again. Cock pushing against the back of your throat, forcing you to override your gag reflex. But the surprise lasted only briefly, gone the instant he started to move. Replaced with lust, with your fingers as they drifted lower to massage slippery folds.

Your chest burned, and your mouth felt like it was pried open too big — at least more than you were used to. Still, you accomodated. You sucked him in instead of pushing him off as he used you to get off. His pelvis kissing your nose with each thrust, saliva trickling down your chin as he pushed your head further into the bed.

“That’s it, suck me — suck me off, suck my cock,” he rasped, a wild look flitting past his face as he looked down to see you slobbering all over him, smiling before choking on his length. “This is what you begged for, isn’t it, you dirty little slut? Fucking deepthroat me then. Swallow me so fucking deep. That’s so good, so fucking good.”

Any remnant of self-control frayed into nothing as you hollowed your cheeks, your moans vibrations that sent him spiraling as you pressed your fingers into heat. Hooking for that sensitive spot within, matching his pace as you bucked against your hand. Palm slapping against swollen clit, crying out every time his balls hit your chin. His scent was potent; all-encompassing and sinking down on you like hands on your shoulders as you swallowed around him.

“God, you’re so good with your mouth,” he complimented you, affectionate as he pushed your bangs away. “Yeah, you better be fucking good with your mouth if you’re gonna run it like a little bitch. Like my little bitch.”

Your eyes flit shut. You tried your best to take him — you really did. But still, you struggled, wheezing with every brutal flick of his waist. Gagging as he sat fully on your face; rendering you helpless and at his mercy as he fed you more than you could handle. But it egged you on instead of turning you off. Your fingers burying knuckle-deep each time he knocked the air out of you.

“You’re so dirty,” he laughed at you, at the bubble of spit down your chest. Your tongue swirled around him as he made eye contact, tempo faltering before quickening — spurred on by your reddened lips, by your face as it flushed bright red. Your tears, pretty as they cascaded down your skin.

He wiped them away.

“Look at how fucking sloppy you are,” he cooed, mock pity lilting his voice as he brushed off a lock of hair from your lips. Making sure you weren’t disrupted as he engulfed himself in tight warmth again and again. Fucking into your mouth so hard you could barely even breathe. “Look at how perfect you look swallowing all that dick. Listen to you moan around it, listen to you fucking moan like a whore. You like that, huh? Yeah? Moan for me while you gag on my cock then. Make me feel good, make daddy feel good. Make that cock cum.”

And that was all you needed. All he had to give you before you spilled on your fingers. Before you gave him a few hard suctions, pressure too tight around him — and you felt him go still. His mouth wide open, eyes a haze as he shuddered before ramming his cock against the back of your throat one last time. He released; one spurt of warmth after another filling your mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, sated and soothing as he felt you struggle to gulp him down. Your hands coming to push at his thighs before he pried them away, nail by nail, finger by finger. “Just take all of it like a good girl. Take my fucking cum. Take it and swallow.”

So you obliged, humming in delight once every drop trailed down your throat. He tasted bittersweet, hot and lingering on your tongue even after he pulled out with a wet pop.

“Let me look,” he said once he managed to collect himself. Looking disheveled but not as disheveled as you as he tugged at your chin for added emphasis. You complied, obedient and dutiful as ever as you opened your mouth so quickly it was instinct.

“Good girl,” Satoru purred as he noted that you had indeed swallowed all of him. Pushing you down again when you tried to prop yourself up. Laughing at you as you looked up at him with that glare again, that hint of a fight in one eye despite the tears.

“If you dare tease me again,” you warned. But the edge dulled, and you didn’t seem all that intimidating. Especially when your legs shook, when your toes curled as his hand crept its way down. Nails raking your flesh, leaving angry red imprints on once unmarked space.

“Patience,” he reprimanded you, the sound soft and casual. But you caught the sadistic lilt, the briefest of a chuckle in the way his eyes flashed at you. He positioned himself between your legs again, cock hovering over you before playing with your clit. Flicking left and right, up and down until he had you whining again. Until the fight in you left, stripped away.

“You want this?” he asked, his voice low and choppy as he traced along your entrance. Groaning as he felt you pulse, felt your walls try to pull him in. “Want me to fuck you? Need daddy to fucking pump you full?”

“Yes,” your whimper broke free in an instant. “I want you. Want you to fuck me. To breed me stupid.”

“Look at you being such a good fucktoy,” Satoru keened before sinking into you. Inch by inch — slowly like he wanted you to feel every bit of him sliding in, like he wanted you to appreciate every second of it. And you did, crying out his name, tugging at your own nipples for him as he stretched you out beyond anyone else ever had. “Yeah, you were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be my cute little cocksleeve, to be my precious good girl. Made to be mine.”

You couldn’t help but shiver. There was something in his voice that sounded oddly ominous, dangerously sinister in the way he drawled out his words. He sounded way too possessive for someone who just met you tonight — but that thought immediately faded as he sheathed into you balls-deep. Pushing as far as he could, pressing down on the shape of him peeking through your stomach as you struggled to breathe. Struggled to even form a coherent sentence.

Then there was a brush of his thumb over your clit — and you forgot what you were even worried about.

“Fuck, yes,” you mewled, legs digging into his hips as you pulled him closer. Your hands clawing at his neck, fingers tangling into white hair as his lips mapped yours in a bruising kiss. “You’re so good. You feel so good inside me.”

Another laugh bubbled out of him, but it circled the room in quivers — breathless as he touched your forehead with his. “You know just what to say. You always do, don’t you?”

You didn’t notice the wistful look scratching at his face. Nor did you notice the way he hooked his arms possessively around your waist as he pressed you flushed against him. His full weight sinking down on you as he pulled out almost completely only to slam back in. Pace slow only for a few moments before he grew impatient, sanity crippling at the feel of your walls tightening around him, your clit throbbing under his fingertips as he stroked it again and again.

“Yeah, you like that, huh,” he husked on your tongue before drawing apart to drink in your reactions. Your eyes rolling back, your face flushed and wet from either spit or tears. You didn’t know what he was looking at — but whatever it was did the trick because he was giving you these deep and hard thrusts that were so relentless you felt like you were breaking in half. “You like how I fuck that pussy? Like how I pound you into the fucking bed?”

But you couldn’t form out words. Your lips wide open to let out a string of broken whimpers instead — sharp gasps and quick pants that left you too loud as his balls slapped against your ass. You couldn’t even think, but Satoru didn’t seem to mind. Relishing instead in the way your eyes turned glassy, in the way you smiled and laughed like you were in a trance.

“You fuck me so well,” you managed, in between squelching noises too obscene, in between the sound of skin smacking hard against skin. He laughed, rolling his eyes at you like he expected nothing less.

“You look so fucking good with your legs spread,” he grunted, free hand reaching for her throat again as he wrapped it around her neck. Pushing down, choking you out of air as your breasts bounced in tandem with the snap of his hips. Reckless abandon, constant friction as he fucked you with a vengeance, like he hated you and he couldn’t have this any other way.

His eyes dipped to where you were joined, and you felt him swell inside you as he groaned at the sight. “Look at that stranger cock going inside you. In and out, just like that. Pounding deep inside that sloppy fucking cunt just the way you like it. Just the way cocksluts like you like it.”

You were teetering on another edge, that spring in your belly coiling tightly before threatening to release. Still, he kept going — pistoned into you like a man possessed even as you gushed, even as you squeezed around him so tight. Your hands grabbing at his arms, clinging to any part of him for solace as you tried not to lose yourself.

“Daddy,” you choked on a sob. “I’m gonna come. I’m so close, so fucking close. I’m gonna —"

Satoru didn’t say much. He didn’t say anything at all — only feathered his lips over your hairline, soft. But that did you in, your body twitching before going stiff. Warmth spreading all over before exploding out you in a drawn out high. Satoru fucked you through it, cock railing into your hole in a building rhythm. He fucked you even after; laughed at you and slapped your hands away when you tried to shake him off.

“Can’t,” you cried, yanking too hard at his hair as he planted kisses along the line of your jaw. Lips catching your pulse, tongue licking before teeth quickly dug in. “Too — sensitive! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t —”

“You can,” was all he said before he folded your legs over your chest. Rocking into you deeper now, the force of his thrusts brutal, fast as he kept assaulting your battered slit. His hand loosened its hold around your neck if only to reach for one nipple, brushing soft before pinching and tugging hard. “You take it so fucking deep for me, don’t you? Take my cock so fucking well. You even sound good — moan like such a good slut. So fucking pretty, so fucking stupid all for me.”

It was torturous but also delightful: that drag of his length along your walls as he pounded you to pieces. Pounded you to tears and a drooling mess as you couldn’t make sense of anything anymore; your ecstatic cries of his name cacophonic, adrenaline in your veins as want pooled despite the overstimulation.

“Right there!” you screamed, fingers clawing at his back as he shifted ever so slightly to angle himself at your g-spot. “Please keep fucking me. Keep fucking me, keep fucking me —”

“There you go,” he laughed as he watched you try to suck him in — felt you dig the back of your knees into his shoulders to force him deeper. “See? I knew you had it in you. A cheap whore like you? Bet you can take hours of thorough fucking just because you’re addicted to cum. To stranger cocks destroying that tight little pussy.”

His fingers latched on to your clit again, flicking in sync with the roll of his hips as he impaled you again and again on his cock. He didn’t let you rest; didn’t ease up even as he felt you clench around him before shattering all over. Wetting the sheets, his stomach as you squirted — spurting every time he pulled out only to shove back in.

“Guys back home fuck you like this?” he asked, knowing full well you couldn’t answer as you muffled broken, half-attempt at words into the crook of his neck. His fingers incessant as they traced circles into your clit. “No, I don’t think so. You gotta be a good filthy fucking slut to get fucked like this. To spread your legs for a stranger for him to fuck you like this.”

Shame burned your cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of your ears as the intensity of it all overwhelmed you and you bit back a moan only to babble something incorrigible. Your body lurching, knees buckling before going limp around his head.

“I can’t think,” you cried out, throwing your arms over your face to hide your expressions before he forcefully pried them away. “Don’t look, I — "

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the sound hushed against your lips as he slanted his over them. Nothing else mattered then as you softened — as you felt Satoru slam into you with renewed urgency. Rhythm lost, fevered heat reaching its peak as his stomach flexed and he drew close. Ignoring your sobs, the way your nails dragged painfully across his chest as he chased after his own high. “Just hold out for me a little longer. Just a bit more. I promise, just a bit more —”

Your head lolled into the mattress. “Daddy,” you moaned, tired but terrifyingly sated. Needy to a fault in the way you pulled at white strands. “Come for me, come in me. Please. Want daddy’s cum. Want you to shoot it all the way to the back of my pussy.”

He broke then; a bowstring snapping in half as he collapsed on top of you. Forehead to forehead, lips to lips as he kissed you like you were the air he needed to even breathe.

“Say my name,” he rasped. Eyes fluttering shut. “Say my name over and over again while I come.”

There was a certain weight in his words. A certain emotion you couldn’t understand. But that, too, faded into nothingness. Into Satoru as everything turned to static.

“Satoru,” so you whispered. “Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.” Again and again like it was a prayer. Like he was God, and you were nothing but his devout follower. His body an altar to be kissed as you pressed your lips all over, catching his sweat, his tongue as he shoved it into your mouth.

Satoru let go at the same time you did — warmth flooding your insides and painting them white as you fell off the edge.

“I paid for the room for two days,” Satoru said as you woke up. Sunrise peeking through the blinds and clawing at your face before you groaned, turning to your other side. “You can order room service too if you want. It’s on me.”

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled. One fist rubbing over your eye before you blinked a few times and your vision finally cleared. Satoru slipped out of the bathroom fully dressed, dark sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he looked himself over in the mirror. “Going somewhere?”

Satoru peered at you — or, well, the bite marks around the apex of your thighs first before your face. Features soft before shifting into something unreadable.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, awkward as he scratched the back of his head. “I hate to say it because it makes me sound like an asshole — but, uh, I got stuff to do, so yeah.”

You feigned a gasp, a hand to your chest for added dramatic effect. “So you’re just gonna stick it in then dip? Wow. I really am nothing but a cheap whore for you, huh.”

He squinted at you then. “Aren’t you?” he joked, playing along with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder — only to break character as you threw a pillow at him in retaliation. He dodged it, one step too skilled and graceful. “I’ll still be around town, but I can’t promise I can hang out often. I’m here for work stuff too, so yeah. But I did have fun.”

“Me too,” you said, a smile drawing on your face as he reached over to pat your head. Ruffling your hair before passing you a bottle of water. “You were, uh, scary good.”

Satoru’s response was quick. Coy, smug confidence in the upturn of his chin. “Oh, yeah? Say more.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Refusing to indulge except for a light punch to his shoulder. “Shush, you. I bet you’re used to compliments anyway. Doubt there’s anything I can say that you haven’t heard.”

“Well…” Satoru started, humming as though in agreement. You lifted another pillow in threat, but he pried it out of your grasp, flinging it away before leaning in to kiss you. “Jokes aside though, you were great too. Fucking amazing, in fact.”

“Stop,” you murmured, blushing now as blood rushed to your face. Warmth under your cheeks that he kissed as he brushed his lips over your skin. “You should go. Like, actually. Before I jump you again.”

“Shaking in my boots as we speak, ma’am,” he laughed. Granting you and himself one last press of his lips against yours before sighing, reluctant as he pulled away. “But yeah. I really do have to bounce. You’re fine on your own, right?”

“I’m a big girl,” you answered, mirth in your eyes as you eyed the worry and guilt etched on his face. “And thanks for paying for the room. You didn’t have to, but I could use a break from my friends for a bit. They’ve been kinda… pushy since the break-up.”

“I can imagine,” Satoru chuckled, but didn’t resist as you went to fix his crooked tie. He peppered a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Thanks.”

Then he was gone. Out of your space but not without a fight. Seeming like he was forced to tear himself away from you as he made for the door.

“Take care, Y/N,” he said, sparing you one last glance before clicking the door shut behind him. You didn’t notice what he said until you were gulping down greedy intakes of water. Body sore but sated. One hand to your lips, feeling the warmth left behind from where he lingered.

When did you tell him your name?

But then your hand fell limp. A fog in your brain before that thought, too, was forgotten.

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dance-is-life27 · 6 months ago

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The Bet

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: You make a bet with your boyfriend, Joaquin, that involves cockwarming him for the entirety of a soccer match.

Warnings: Female Reader, 18+, smut, blowjobs, it goes like straight into the smut, very little plot

A/N: This fic was created solely based on the fact that I need to give Danny Ramirez Joaquin Torres head and this post from @tigerlillyyy Also I haven't written smut in like years so if this is bad, I'm sorry. Reblogs are appreciated more than likes!

You let your eyes flutter shut as Joaquin tosses his head back. A breathy groan leaving his lips and the word fuck has never sounded more beautiful falling out of his mouth. Your thighs clench together at the sound.

“Baby, I don't think-, I can't-,” Your eyes reopen to find Joaquin staring at you once more. His pupils blown wide and his curls a mess atop his head. “Baby please, you're killing me here.”

You let out a hum that has Joaquin twitch in your mouth before you pull off of him completely, allowing his teasing to come to an end temporarily.

“What's the score baby?” You ask, your voice raspy, jaw sore, and throat dry, but you'll deal with those things later, you have far more pressing matters at hand. Joaquin breathes heavily over you, his eyes flicking up toward the screen and then back down towards you, twice.

Huh, not very good then. “That bad?” You pout, mock upset filling your voice. Truthfully you don't care about how badly the match is going for your team, at least not right now. Right now your sole focus is on Joaquin and making sure he holds up his end of the bet.

Joaquin lets out a whine as he nods, you've been stroking him this entire time, not giving him a proper break from you. “Please, mi amor, I can't take it. It's too much.” Joaquin shudders out in a whisper and you can't help the smirk that rises on your lips.

“Oh yeah? You wanna call the bet off?” Joaquin’s once half-lidded eyes spring open at your words, “Oh don't act so surprised honey. You had to know that was coming.”

Joaquin whimpers deliciously when you run your thumb over his tip, the motion getting him to buck up into your hand. You switch up the pace on his cock, going back and forth between fast and slow as an idea pops into your head.

“How long until half-time?” You question, slowing your hand once more to allow your boyfriend a moment of breath to be able to answer.

“15, maybe 20 minutes or so left,” Joaquin answers, one of his brows coming up after his gaze turns downwards to you.

“Okay then, here's the new bet. I'm going to keep sucking you off, at my pace at whatever speed I choose until half-time, if you cum at any point before half-time you lose the bet. Deal?”

Joaquin’s nod is immediate as he glances up at the TV quickly, “Yeah I can do that.”

You force yourself to hide your laugh, knowing that your poor boyfriend is already so wound up, you're sure that your victory is just around the corner.

You don't give Joaquin a warning as you take him back into your mouth, he lets out a hiss in response and one of his hands comes up to rest on the back of your head.

You go slow, moving at a snail's pace as you suck from the tip of his cock down to the base of it. You let out a moan each time you bottom out, unable to help the way just having Joaquin’s cock in your mouth affects you. And well, the soft groans the man himself is letting out definitely don’t help.

It doesn't take long for you to increase your speed, allowing your head to bob more fluidly, all the while keeping your cheeks hollow around Joaquin.

“Fuck!”

You can't help but keep your eyes open as you watch all the faces Joaquin makes. All of them are of pure and absolute pleasure. From the furrowed brows and the gritting of his teeth to the slacked jaw, head-thrown-back look, all of them incite you to work him that much faster. The hand at the back of your head tightens its grip slightly as your tongue begins to pay extra special attention to the head of his cock.

“Oh, fuck! Shit, baby-,” Joaquin moans as you keep up your pace. His hips bucking into your mouth on instinct that lets you know that he's absolutely done for. “Yeah baby, your mouth-, oh god!”

Joaquin continues to babble, his vocabulary switching from English to Spanish to absolute gibberish in a way that has your mind near melting and your underwear fucking soaked.

“Oh fuck-, yeah!”

You moan around his cock once more, unable to help yourself from rubbing your clit through the clothes and underwear and Joaquin makes the mistake of looking down, his eyes opening wide to look at you that lets the both of you know that he's done for.

“Oh, fuck I'm cumming!” Joaquin moans out, tossing his head back as his chest all but leaps off the back of the couch. The hand at the back of your head forces you to stay as his cum shoots down your throat. You let yourself still, allowing Joaquin this moment as his salty cum fills your mouth, and you swallow all he has to offer.

You pull back slowly, once Joaquin has stopped pulsing in your mouth and his body slumps back against the couch. Your eyes stay on him as he cools down, and your hands rubbing soothing circles into his thighs, subtly reminding him to breathe. Joaquin is halfway through a deep breath you hear from behind you the announcement that half-time is just about to start and to stay tuned for the rest of the game.

Your lover freezes, all that work to calm him undone in a second. But you still can't help the vindictive smile from appearing on your face.

“Oh honey,” you start, unable to help the teasing in your tone. Joaquin groans in frustration as you move to stand in front of him. “You were so close.”

Your boyfriend gulps before he speaks, “Alright, what's my punishment?”

You start to undress, allowing every inch of your clothing to fall to the floor, reveling in the sight of Joaquin’s mouth practically drooling as he takes in every inch of your body with his eyes. “I'll dish that out later, but for now,” you continue, moving to lay back against the rest of the couch with your legs spread, “how would you like a reward?”

Joaquin smiles at you before he leans in, giving kisses up your inner thighs and the game on your tv screen becomes forgotten about background noise.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres/reader #joaquin torres x f!reader #joaquin torres smut #marvel #mcu #the falcon mcu #marvel the falcon #the falcon marvel #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x reader #danny ramirez/reader #drew writes fics #my writing

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tw1l1te · 9 months ago

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The Final Promise₊˚✩⊹

Chapter 2

Linked Universe x reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, soft and domestic, suggestive themes

Authors note: I was too excited to not post this lmao :3c

Time seemed to stop, and you didn’t mean by the Old Man.

Time literally seemed to halt. You stared at Rusl, trying to find any signs of lying or amusement in his eyes, as if this was some joke. A cruel, twisted joke.

“W-what?” you asked, the only word you could muster. You could feel your fingers shake on the table. You didn’t want to believe what Rusl said, or did you? You weren’t sure.

You weren’t sure if you’d accepted the fact on whether or not you were coming home ever again, but you didn’t think it would happen now, or so soon. Maybe Hylia wanted to see how your head would react. A twisted game for her, like it always is.

“Are you sure that’s what she said? Maybe she meant something else-"I know what she said. I may be old, but I saw what she wrote clear as day. There’s another mirror.”

Before anyone could say anything else, you stormed out of the cottage, the door squeaking on it hinges as you storm out.

“Y/n! Wait!!” Hyrule yells after you.

Before you could stop yourself to calm down, you break into a spring, heading straight towards the forest. You needed to run. Run. RUN.

This couldn’t be happening. You researched and combed through Hyrule Castle’s archives to find any sliver of hope that you’d be able to come home. Even if it said it was impossible, you never found anything to begin with. You had no answers.

You don't know when you stopped running, you panted as you sat up against a tree, silent tears running down your cheeks and down your neck. Breathing was so difficult, you began hiccuping and hyperventilating, gripping onto your hair for any kind of grounding back into reality. That’s when you felt something wet on your forehead.

Looking up, you were relieved for it to just be Wolfie, or Twilight.

“Twilight you shouldn’t have followed me.” you whispered into his fur.

Twilight turned back into his Hylian form, your face still in his pelt.

“I needed to make sure you were okay. Can’t leave you alone, especially in Faron Woods. Who knows what’s still out here,” he murmured into your hair, combing through your sweaty locks. He kissed the top of your forehead, hesitating before pulling back.

“It’s gonna be okay, Y/n. I promise. We’ll be with you, every step of the way, ok? We’re gonna find you a way to go home. Whether it be this lead or if we find something else.”

You sighed. Twilight was always the more outwardly calm person in the chain, alongside Time and Warriors.

“Twilight that’s the thing… I’m not even sure if I want to go home. It’s probably been years back home, hell I don’t even know if I have my apartment or my friends or… But its not like I don’t want you, y’know? I’ve been dreaming of going home since I first came here, I’d been up for nights at a time just researching in the underground library archives. I-I don’t know what to do or think, Twi.” you rambled, voice breaking at the end, letting more tears slip out.

“Although I don’t know exactly what you’re feelin’, I’m here for you, whatever it is that happens. We’re all here for you.”

He takes a breath.

“Speaking of the others, we should head back to the village, the others are probably worried sick about you.”

You nodded without a word, getting up and making back to Ordon Village together, Twilight wrapping his pelt around your shoulders. It smelled like him, you thought.

Twilight never gives anyone his pelt, its the one thing he sees as his. So why’d he give it to you? He has no idea. Instinct, he thinks. It’s cold, you needed it more than him. He looks down at you, your pink cheeks and wet lashes making you look more fragile and doll-like. Your cute nose sniffing every few seconds, breathing in the cold air. Your ears were so small, littered with at least 3 or 4 piercings, one of which was a triforce.

Twilight smiles slightly. He always liked the little pieces of “memorabilia” you had of them. It was incredibly strange and unsettling when they first found out, but he sees it more as like your belonging to them admiration of them.

Twilight’s train of thought stopped for a moment.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

Before he could ruminate on his psyche, he’s shaken out of his thoughts by Wind yelling “Oh thank fucking Hylia!”

You came back into Twilight’s treehouse, heading toward the bathroom to take a warm bath. You noticed that the tub was already filled, hot steam coming off the surface of the water. You’d have to thank whoever drew you the bath.

Stripping your clothes, you set them in a pile near the door. You step into the tub, wincing slightly at the hot water making contact with your skin. It was a bit too hot for you, but you knew the water will cool off fast enough, so you powered through it.

You sighed. This was nice. Even with the chaotic stream of thoughts coursing through your head, the bath seemed to dull it, even for just a moment. You grab your hair and start combing through it, no doubt getting knots from running through the woods earlier. You look at the necklace Four made for you a few months ago. It was to commemorate a year being with the Chain, which in retrospect should’ve made you sad, but it made you extremely happy and grateful for everyone in the group

You knew it was much easier to come across rarer metals and jewels here than back home, but you were still just as in shock when you realized what it was made of. You remember sobbing from joy when you received it, as you never held something so expensive and meaningful in your entire life.

The necklace was made of metal sourced from Death Mountain but you had no clue what the gem in the triangle shaped cavity was. It looked like emerald, but the boys said it wasn’t that, and that they won't tell you. They were so petty at times.

You were startled out of your thoughts when there was a knock at the door.

“I brought you some fresh clothes, Dove.” Ah Sky, honestly you were a little relieved it wasn’t Legend or Wars, knowing they’d say something snarky or suggestive.

“Come in Sky.”

You could hear the cogs turning in his head for a moment before he entered, red in the face. You almost laughed at what you were seeing.

Sky turned his head away from you and covered his eyes, just to spare you some dignity.

“I-uh gave you one of my older shirts since you don’t have any other clean ones and its thicker, so it’ll help keep you warm and it has-”

“Sky, for the love of god you’re making this more awkward than it has to be. You’re sweet for being so thoughtful, but we’re both adults Pumpkin.” you mused, chuckling a bit.

Sky finally made eye contact with you, but still avoided your eyes for the most part.

“Right. Um, well, I’ll just leave these on the chair then.”

Sky then stared at you. Not in a creepy way, just in admiration and awe. Luckily, the rest of your body was hidden under the bubbles of the soap in the water, so its not like he could see anything anyway.

He then walked up to you and sat down outside of the tub, still gazing at you.

“I was so worried about you earlier, Songbird. Are you alright now?” he asked, worry crossing his face.

You sighed. Ever the most thoughtful. Bringing your hands from under the water, you cup his cheeks looking right into his eyes.

“Don’t worry so much about me, Sky. I’m fine now. Twilight calmed me down a bit, but you know how shocking such information can be. I just need a bit to process, y’know? I’ll be fine though.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to read the thoughts behind his eyes. He just kept looking at you. You swear he looked at your lips a few times. Biting his lip, he asked “Can I wash your hair for you? No offense at all, I just wanted to offer because you never know when the next time we’ll get to be clean again.”

You nodded with a smile, sitting back against the porcelain tub, handing Sky the glass bottle of soap. As soon as he lathered his hands, he started massaging your scalp, a feeling you’ve missed so much.

“Fuck, Sky, that feels so good.” you said, not realizing the tone or implication you said it in.

Sky’s breath hitched, but you didn’t catch it, too busy on the sensations on your scalp.

“Yeah?” he whispered, looking at your bare shoulders that were littered with scars from your journey with them, wishing he could wash them away. He felt his ears get hot from your soft sounds, happy that you felt so comfortable and wishing you’d make those sounds more often domestic with him.

Suddenly the movement stops. Opening your eyes, you turn your head over your shoulder, almost jumping at how close his face is. Your gaze flickered to his lips, almost as if it was instinct.

“Sky… I-” “I’ll let you finish up.” And with that, he left, softly shutting the door behind him.

What the HELL is he thinking???

Sky gripped his hair, walking down the hallway, panting slightly.

He was so… close to you. He could smell the soap on your skin. He could see the different colors in your eyes. He felt strange. He knew he liked you… and not just as companions or friends… he wanted more. He felt happier, lighter since you came around. He genuinely laughed for the first time in ages.

It seemed like there was a spark of sorts between the two of you, but he didn’t want to assume or jump into anything… yet, at least. He needed a minute to calm down.

#yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #linked universe au #link x reader

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fizzbot · 5 months ago

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APOLOGY TOUR SPOILERS / HELLUVA BOSS CRITICAL POST

(please just dont read if youre a fan/are gonna be annoying in my tags/replies)

i LOVE verosika. i was super excited to see an episode all about her. she has EVERY right to be mad at blitz, and i do enjoy seeing things from the perspective of his victims. BUT.....i was really disappointed in her portrayal in apology tour. MOSTLY just because i was dissapointed in stolas portrayal in apology tour, and think this ep wouldve been better if it was more about BLITZ instead. rant under the cut

im not gonna give the whole rant about how annoying it is that stolas is constantly woobified, because 100 critical blogs have done it much more gracefully than i ever could. but it is just SO dissapointing to watch a man that couldve been SUCH a compelling villain be the ONLY one who is EVER sympathized with in the show. we are supposed to feel bad for him and believe that both sides are wrong in the stolitz situation, when stolas' crimes are SO MUCH WORSE than all of blitzs bad deeds combined. he co-erced blitz into a sex contract as the only means of doing his job, and then made HIM feel guilty for not falling n love with him during it. the 'both sides are in the wrong' comment gets particularly frustrating when the show has, tme and time again, only let stolas be the one with support. blitz is made to look unreasonable, no matter how right he is. and, in this instance, stolas is the one getting invited to this party to celebrate being ""wronged"" by blitz.

back to verosika. especially now that the episode is out, i am even more firmly on her side. the fact that blitz broke up with HER because things were getting too serious is interesting (albiet not as interesting as i think it couldve been but thats a rant for another post). im not saying she should forgive blitz, but i do struggle to fully agree with her because of how she treated stolas in the episode. she is the first to comfort him, the first to try and encourage him to shit-talk blitz, etc etc and i just dont understand.....why?

ive already had problems with her character since the sexual assault ""joke"" from spring broken, but this also really left a bad taste in my mouth. i totally understand her desire to party and sympathize with other people who were harmed by blitz, but its frustrating that stolas was invited to be among them. stolas, the man who is very much NOT THE VICTIM in his relationship with blitz. this is more the fault of the writers than verosika herself, but it is SO FRUSTRATING that she gave him the spotlight and is trying to help him heal from a situation that is ENTIRELY HIS FAULT. stolas didnt just hurt blitzs feelings, he sexually coerced and abused him. of all people, shouldnt verosika understand how terrible that can be? the kind of hurt that can do to a person? im not saying that this terrible relationship FORGIVES blitz's wrongdoings, but you shouldnt be giving his fucking abuser a stage and a microphone to talk shit about his victim. this becomes so much more insidious to me with the conversation she has with blitz on the balcony, later. this was actually a pretty good scene imo but it could certainly be better.

this is much more opinionated and i wouldnt be surprised if even the critical community isnt with me on this one, but i long for an alternate verson of this episode thats focused on verosika being on blitz's side, instead. its been over 5 years since they dated, and even though she is still allowed to be mad, it would be nice to see that shes moved on. maybe give her a new partner like barbie wire and let her throw these parties just so she can look back and laugh and help blitz's other victims heal in the same way that she has. not to bring up an also not-great show, but in rick and morty, we see a relationship between rick and one of his ex-partners named unity. they were really terrible for each other, enabling bad/unhealthy behaviors, generally being awful. their break-up was messy, but in recent seasons, we see unity coming back, upon hearing that rick was doing something self-destructive. they worried about him, because a part of them still cared, as much as they were hurt by his actions. i would have LOVED to see a similar thing with blitz and verosika, where verosika finds out about the relationship blitz is trapped in/just got out of. i think it would be SO MUCH MORE naratively interesting, for her to be supportive of his little apology tour, and maybe even inviting HIM to the "blitzo sucks" party. not everyone (or anyone) needs to forgive him; in fact, i think coming to this party would give him perspective. his relationship with stolas has hurt him so badly, he can finally step back and understand the harm that he did to all these people. the apologies that he gave, as he admits in the episode, were shallow. but i think framing stolas as the toxic one would be better in helping him realize that he has done wrong more than what the show is currently doing. and maybe some people at the party WILL forgive him. maybe he can apologize on the stage, and some people will empathize with his situation and believe that the apology is genuine, because hes finally had to be on the other end of his own hurt. and maybe THAT would be the first step in helping blitz realize that maybe he isnt completely unlovable, because there are people who cared about him enough to be THIS DEVASTATED upon getting their heart broken by him. a conversation with verosika about what he did to her would hit so much harder after this, imo

anyway. im sorry if this is completely incoherent/a bad point. i was just thinking about it and i am so sick of everyone being a stolas apologist </3

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #anti-vivziepop #anti-helluva boss #hb #critical #hellaverse critical #anti-stolitz #anti-stolas #stolas critical #stolitz critical #anyway. i have more problems with this episode but i didnt outright hate it in the way i did full moon #it was actually kinda fun to watch!!! i hated the MESSAGE of st*las' song but it was pretty and catchy i suppose #ver*sika was absolutely gorgeous as per usual #ALSO STRIKER MENTION RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#id love to hear the critical communities thoughts on this but if youre a fan and are just gonna argue i dont wanna hear it. lol #i will simply block you and delete it

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augustjustice · 6 months ago

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you wanna feel how it feels? (let's exchange the experience), 1/?

AO3 Link

Summary: After the Spring Break from hell, Eddie and Steve become fast friends, with a possible hint towards something more…except they're never quite sure what the other one is actually thinking. But maybe, just maybe, walking a mile in each other's shoes can lend them some much needed insight.

Notes: The long awaited first chapter of bodyswap fic is finally, finally here! This chapter is primarily just set up for the shenanigans yet to come.

I went ahead and added a taglist below for some of the folks who have been following along with the progress of this one. Apologies if I missed anyone, and if you'd like to be added to or removed from the list, please just let me know!

It was a typical Saturday night in late April–at least, typical post-the radical turn of events that had started with Eddie’s own personal nightmare during the Spring Break from hell, that series of dominoes tipping over and taking his life up to where it was now. And where he found himself was at Hawkins’ very own local Dairy Queen with Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and a rabid pack of six hungry teenagers and one formidable preteen who could rule them all with an iron fist if she wanted, following up yet another successful session of Hellfire with some celebratory ice cream.

Being able to hold a meeting of the Hellfire Club at all was cause for celebration in Eddie’s book, especially since the school would no longer allow them to host events on school grounds, despite the fact that all the charges against Eddie that had started the witch hunt in the first place had been dropped. Hawkins wasn’t exactly a forgive-and-forget kind of town, something Eddie had always known and been even more acutely aware of given the even more frequent, vitriolic stares that had been following him around since March.

Still, he was soldiering on for now, at least until graduation–thanks in no small part to the apocalypse stopping crew currently clamoring over each other at the front counter. Despite the school’s best efforts, the club venue had been relocated to the Munsons’ newly minted trailer, courtesy of the government suits. And with the revival of their D&D campaign came the start of this new tradition–begun by none other than Steve himself, who had pulled up to Forest Hills to pick up the kiddos that first night, stuck his floppy-haired head out of his BMW like an overgrown puppy, and offered to meet everyone at the local DQ, his treat. The Corroded Coffin boys had begged off coming that first time–and the week after that, and the week after that–but, still. Standing under the hazy fast food fluorescent lights and with the promise of a chocolate malt ahead, life–for the moment, at least–was as good as Eddie could ask for, all things considered.

“Hey, hey, hey!” With three quick snaps of his fingers, Steve tried to corral the kids into some semblance of order, one hand already settled in its customary position on his hip. “One at a time, you guys. Try to cut, ah…”

“Brandi,” the brunette behind the counter supplied helpfully when she saw Steve squinting at her name tag, face blooming into a bright grin.

Eddie was pretty sure he recognized her from his second senior year math class, and there was a vague memory of seeing someone who sort of looked like her in the cafeteria tickling at the back of his mind, sitting a few tables from the jock zone amongst the lucky hopefuls looking to catch the attention of a baseball or basketball playing potential boyfriend. If so, that definitely explained the big moon eyes she was currently shooting Steve’s way.

But Steve only returned her smile with a harried one of his own, his attention still firmly focused on the demands of his many babysitting charges. Eddie tried to tamp down the sick twist of satisfaction he felt when Brandi deflated slightly.

“Right. Try to cut Brandi here some slack, alright? Believe me, slinging ice cream is plenty of work without having a bunch of little menaces shouting in your ear.”

As the group finally managed to file themselves into something that resembled a line–with plenty of jostling and grumbling along the way–Erica gave Steve’s polo a sharp tug and then jabbed two fingers in his direction.

“Free ice cream. For life,” she emphasized, the same way she did every week, like Steve needed the reminder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waved a dismissive hand in her direction even as he pulled out his wallet, same as he did week in and week out, putting on a show like he didn’t already know he’d be footing the bill for most of the munchkins’ orders.

Robin had explained the situation to Eddie when he’d asked after their first DQ outing, with the same airy tone they all often used to describe the truly mind-boggling shit they had been through over the last few years.

“Oh! It’s a leftover debt, from when we infiltrated the secret Russian base under Starcourt. Free ice cream was Erica’s price for getting involved. Never underestimate her ability to drive a hard bargain.”

Eddie had nodded, trying not to let how gobsmacked he felt about the entire story show. “Yeah, I, uh…wasn’t planning to. Lady Applejack is a force to be reckoned with.”

“You have no idea,” Robin had agreed, looking almost strangely…proud about the fact.

That evening, when Eddie sidled up to join them, leaving Robin in position to guard the three booths sequestered off towards the back they had claimed as their own, he caught the tail end of the sheepies excitedly recounting tonight’s session for Steve.

“And D20 is…good, right?” Steve asked, still watching the register as Brandi passed a vanilla cone with a hefty serving of whipped cream and sprinkles off to El.

“Yes, Steve, it’s only the best roll you can possibly make in the entire game.”

The no duh tone of Dustin’s voice was enough to have Steve raising an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed.

“Like sinking the winning shot after the final buzzer at the championship game kinda good,” Lucas explained, much more helpfully, his grin wide.

“Oh,” Steve nodded, and Eddie couldn't help but get distracted by the way his lips, pink and shining with a hint of chapstick, parted perfectly in understanding.

Eddie seized the opportunity to catch Steve off guard, hooking an arm around his shoulders and tugging him into his side. Delight bubbled in his chest at the way the gesture made Steve let out a loud, startled laugh.

“Should've figured that's all it'd take to rope you into playing sometime, Harrington,” Eddie shook his head solemnly. “Sports metaphors.”

“Always with the sports metaphors,” Dustin echoed.

Steve reached out and swatted the brim of his cap, the force of it just enough to send it slightly askew and trigger a string of cursing from Dustin.

“Hey, I never agreed to that,” he argued, ducking out from under Eddie’s arm in one seamless motion. Jock reflexes, Eddie had decided, were both a blessing and a curse.

He had learned that lesson firsthand in the past few weeks, as Eddie had grown more and more comfortable indulging in a little light rough housing with Steve, despite the fact that he knew there was no way in hell he had any better shot than their gangly freshmen did at not getting his ass handed to him. Eddie was stronger than he looked, sure, but he wasn’t exactly former basketball captain level athletic, not by a long shot.

But was it really losing when he got to be pressed up against the firm planes of Steve’s chest, wrapped up in his strong arms–even if it was in a death lock grip–or occasionally pinned to Eddie’s own bedroom floor by him? Eddie definitely didn’t think so, and part of him was also just happy his recovery was going well enough he could scuffle, again. On his good days, at least. Doing it with his hot friend–and crush–was just an added bonus.

“You know, it’s not my fault Lucas knows how to explain shit to me. I’ll stop talking in basketball when one of you two nerds actually manages to tell me what Mordor is.”

Dustin let out a huff. “If you just read the books–”

Steve cupped a hand around his ear, leaning down towards Dustin and hamming it up for all he was worth. “Huh? What was that? Cuz it didn’t sound like much of an explanation to me, Henderson.”

Eddie tugged a strand of hair across his mouth, trying to hide his grin. “Harrington, trust me when I say–you do not want to open that can of worms. Do you have any idea how long I can go on for once I get started? Hours, man. Days, probably.”

“Can’t be any worse than that time Robin tried to explain, uh…shit, what was it called? German New Wave? Or, no, maybe that was French Expressionism. I don’t know, the point is, it can’t be more boring than that was.”

“It's French New Wave!” Robin called from the back despite the distance, freakily intune with Steve as always. “Or German Expressionism. And sounds like you're due another lesson, Stevie-Evie. Don't worry, I've got a tried and true method to guarantee it all sticks this time.”

Steve groaned, dragging a hand over his face and into his hair–but his apparent grief at the thought of another Buckley-led film history lesson was quickly diverted when he realized it was his turn.

From there, placing the rest of their orders passed by with little fanfare–apart from the brief, minor hiccup that came when Steve tried to pay for Eddie’s treat on top of everybody else’s.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie waved a finger at him, just barely managing to step around Steve and hand his fistful of dollars over to Brandi. “Your money’s no good here, my liege.”

The title was enough to produce a patent Harrington scowl, all drawn eyebrows and pouted lips.

When he opened his mouth to protest, Eddie cut him off again. “Seriously, Steve, I’ve got it. One shake isn’t gonna break the bank, you know?”

“I know that,” Steve huffed. “I just–would it seriously kill you to let me treat you once in a while?”

Steve had done more than enough, and Eddie thought he damn well knew that. Between literally saving Eddie’s life when he’d been about to bleed out in the Upside Down and then sticking around through all of his recovery in the weeks after, the amount he had done was approaching near superheroic levels.

“You know you don’t have to hover, right, Harrington?” Eddie had asked him one day towards the end of his stay in the hospital, gnawing anxiously at his bottom lip, as he watched Steve look up from the Sports Illustrated sprawled across his lap.

The truth was he hadn’t wanted to say anything, too afraid bringing it up would lead to Steve doing just as he was suggesting…finally leaving. But the anxiety humming in his ears that Steve was just here out of pity had finally become worse, forced the words from his mouth.

“You saved Dustin, man,” Steve had replied, expression earnest, “and helped distract the bats from me and Nance and Robin, too. I’m not going anywhere. So, you know…get used to it.”

He had punctuated the last statement by giving Eddie a light, friendly slap on his knee, and Eddie had to bite back the beaming, relieved grin that threatened to split his face.

Steve had stayed pretty much a permanent fixture in Eddie’s day-to-day life after that, proving time and again he was serious about being in it for the long haul. Even through all the embarrassing shit, like Eddie hobbling around on his cane like a baby deer on shaky newborn legs, or needing somebody to help him wash his hair. Not exactly the ideal position to be in with a hopeless high school crush that had come burning back to life with a vengeance, but Steve would hear none of it when Eddie tried to insist he didn’t need to go out of his way like this.

“What, you want Henderson in here instead?” Steve had asked with a snort. “You gotta be kidding, Munson. Like I said, better get used to being stuck with me.”

“Happy to be stuck together with you anytime, big boy,” Eddie had flirted, the shameless bravado in place to cover up the very real fluttering of his heart.

In other words…Eddie had already accrued more life debts to Steve Harrington than he could ever hope to repay. And while Steve might have insisted he was more than happy with nursemaid duty, Eddie really wasn’t looking to turn himself into a charity case. Not if he could help it.

So Eddie let his grin grow, obnoxious and wide enough to show off all his teeth.

“It might,” he quipped. “And how would you feel, Harrington, knowing that this was the thing that finally managed to do me in? I’m just trying to spare you the guilt, man, I know what a complex you’d get.”

“Whatever, Eds,” Steve scoffed, steering him towards the designated babysitter’s club booth with a nudge of his elbow, hands full of his and Robin’s matching strawberry sundaes.

Steve took his customary spot on Robin’s side of the booth, the pair of them, as always, practically glued at the hip. Their friendship, Eddie had learned, was a boundary free zone, one that frequently involved holding hands, devolving into childish slap fights with little warning, and falling asleep sprawled on top of each other while watching bad daytime soaps at the Harrington house. Only their vehement denial and the goo-goo eyes Eddie caught Robin making at the red-haired chick–Vickie, he now knew–from band convinced him Dustin’s loud, frequent, and insistent claims that they were dating were total bullshit.

As he was just about to slide into his own place across from them, a commotion at the table behind them called for Eddie’s attention.

“Eddie, El wants to hear you do the roar again!” Mike requested.

Eddie tilted his head to one side, stroking his chin, as though trying to recall what exactly Mike was speaking of. Biting his lip to keep from smiling, he gave Mike a shrug.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Little Wheel.”

A chorus of cries rang out from both tables the party had overtaken, shrieks of “Eddie!” and “C’mon, man!” reverberating again and again in his ears.

Spinning on his heel as though he was set to ignore them, Eddie answered Steve and Robin’s expectant expressions with a quick, subtle wink.

When he leapt up from the floor and into a crouch on the booth seating, Eddie felt a sharp tug at his sides, his scar tissue very eagerly making itself known. Gritting his teeth, he refused to let the hot flash of pain show on his face as he loomed over Will and El, hands curving into claws as he reached towards their table.

“Kas the Bloody-Handed demands vengeance!” he bellowed, letting his voice drop into a deep, growling register.

His performance was met with what might as well have been a standing ovation, in his book–a series of delighted shouts from the boys, eerily similar head shakes from Max and Erica while they both visibly fought back their smiles, and El letting out a peel of giggles as she hid her face in her brother’s side.

When Hellfire had started back up again, Eddie had considered starting over from scratch, maybe even trying this deep into the game to veer their campaign in a different direction. He didn’t want something that they all loved to become somehow…tainted, by reminders of everything that had happened.

“Nah, man, just leave it like it is,” Steve had suggested, one afternoon when Eddie’s fretting had finally bubbled over to the point he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “It's good for their…trauma processing? Or something. I don’t know, you’d have to ask Owens about it. The point is, they wouldn’t want you to change it. Not unless you want to.”

In the end, Eddie had heeded Steve’s advice, figuring he knew more about the way those little hellions ticked better than probably anybody else, at this point.

Moments like these made him glad he did, proof positive his instincts had been spot on.

Eddie dropped, satisfied, down into the booth, his foot knocking straight into the side of Steve’s under the table. A little spark of pleasure shot through him when Steve simply bumped his Nike sneaker against Eddie’s Reebok in answer and then left it there, pressed close together.

“No wonder you did drama,” Steve observed, twisting a bite around in his mouth as he sucked up the bright red streak of strawberry syrup. “You’re a total natural, man. Kinda, like…hypnotic.”

Eddie tried not to make it too obvious, how closely he was following the way Steve licked up every last morsel.

“Yeah, until he dropped out like a quitter.”

“What can I say, Buckley? Organized–well, anything really–just ain’t for me.”

“Says the guy who literally runs an afterschool club,” she pointed the end of her plastic spoon at him in accusation. “Sounds to me like you’re full of it, Eddie.”

“She’s got you there, man,” Steve agreed with a shrug, a drop from his sundae dribbling onto the table as he swirled it around yet again.

“Oh, napkins!”

Slapping a palm against her forehead, Robin clambered over Steve and out of the booth, not so much as hesitating to give him a chance to stand up.

“You know, if you wanna see more where that came from–my flare for theatrics, that is–you could always, I don’t know. Stick around when you drop off the kiddos next week?” As Eddie posed the question, he wondered if the lilt in his voice sounded too hopeful. “I won’t even make you play. You have my word as a dungeon master and a gentleman.”

“Yeah, uh…fat chance of that happening,” Steve murmured, voice low, almost like he didn’t want Eddie to actually hear him, “your friends fucking hate me, dude.”

“They don't hate you,” Eddie protested automatically, feeling the need to defend them even as his own heart sank in his chest, “they're just…a little skittish, after everything that went down with Jason. You–you get that, right?”

“Sure,” Steve shrugged, looking down as he stirred his spoon through his steadily melting soft serve. When he glanced up at Eddie again, a tenseness crept in around the edges of his smile that Eddie desperately wished he could help wipe away. “I get it.”

Robin returned to the table before either of them got a chance to say anything else, sliding over Steve’s lap with enough clumsy limbed flailing it prompted a, Sheesh, Rob. Watch the elbows, will you? out of Steve.

Seeing an opening, Eddie quickly changed the subject.

“So, speaking of the ins-and-outs of living in the institution that is our organized society–how is Family Video treating my two favorite, upstanding, and gainfully employed Hawkins citizens?”

Robin snorted. “It’s minimum wage, Eddie. How good could it possibly be?”

“Well, I mean–you could trade places with me if you wanted. Be gainfully unemployed with a side hustle that went up in smoke since that whole–you know, accused of being a ritual Satanic murderer thing put the local law enforcement on your tail.”

Both Steve’s eyebrows shot up at that. “The cop’s still giving you trouble?”

“Not in so many words, but, uh–let’s just say they’ve made it pretty clear I’m not exactly their favorite person, right now. So, yeah. Officer Callahan must have circled the trailer park like–three different times, last night.”

“But…you were exonerated,” Robin protested, the force of her distress clear from the way she slapped a palm down flat on top of the table. “That–that’s a total misappropriation of police funds, not to mention harassment of a private citizen.”

“You ever think that maybe they’re just keeping an eye on the place?” Steve suggested hopefully, “You know…after everything that happened.”

“Your adorably positive outlook has been noted, Stevie. Noted, but ultimately dismissed.”

“Want me to talk to Hop for you? Get him to tell them to stand down?”

“Nah, man,” Eddie gave a forceful shake of his head, hair whipping around him in a messy cloud, “I can handle it. I’ve got plenty of experience, evading the Hawkins Police force.”

Rubbing a finger over his sideburn, Steve tilted his head from side-to-side in consideration, before he casually added, “Guess we all do, now.”

“A band of fearsome outlaws, that’s us,” Robin agreed, her nose crinkling as she laughed, loud and bright.

“More like Robin Hood and his merry men.” At Robin’s pointed glance, Eddie was quick to amend, “…And women, of course.”

The conversation flowed along at a rapid fire pace from there, the three of them at first trying to assign different characters from the story to all the members of the party before devolving fast into a debate about which cinematic performance of the lead character was the best–and sexiest, though Eddie didn’t divulge that was most of the metric he was using for his answers–and thus which adaptation came out on top. Robin fell into the same camp as him–Errol Flynn all the way–while Steve was a firm defender of the Disney version because, That little fox guy is cute and charismatic, guys, you can’t even argue with me on this one.

When he had slurped up the last remnants of his malt, Eddie stretched his arms above his head, leaned back against the booth’s cracking red vinyl, and sighed.

“Fancy a smoke break?” he asked, pulling the pack from his pocket and waving it tantalizingly for Steve to see.

Steve laughed with a roll of his eyes.

“You know I quit, dude.”

“And so should you,” Robin added pointedly, an argument she’d made countless times since Eddie got out of the hospital, pretty much every single time she caught him lighting up.

“Cut me some slack, Buckley,” Eddie said, same as he always did. “I’ve been through a traumatic experience. Ciggies are good for the stress, since I can’t exactly smoke weed outside this fine, family friendly establishment.”

“Uh-huh,” Robin replied, deadpan and unconvinced as ever, “we’ve all got our fair share of U.D. related trauma, Eddie. That’s not an excuse to suck on those…little sticks made out of cancer.”

“Alright, well. Fancy a stand-outside-with-me-and-bullshit break, then?” Eddie directed at Steve.

Robin raised an eyebrow at him, and Eddie couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. It seemed…knowing in a way he was too afraid to totally unpack.

She saved him the trouble of having to do so by letting out a put upon sigh, dramatic enough for him or Steve either one when they got going, and a true reflection of the fact she had stuck it out through almost four years of high school theater.

“Stealing away my own best friend to go join your boys’ club, Eddie? Really? And right in front of me, too. You know, this is just like second grade, when Trevor Milligan convinced all the boys in our class girls had cooties, and Bobby B. wouldn’t race me on the monkey bars anymore.”

Laying a hand over his heart, Eddie had to fight down the grin that threatened to split across his face. “I solemnly vow to bring him back all in one piece, Buck. I know who's top dog around here.”

The nod she gave him was swift and authoritative. “And don’t you forget it.”

With a wink and a click of his tongue, he mock saluted her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She turned to Steve, giving his bicep several sharp pokes. “But just because I'm the girl doesn't mean I deserve to get saddled with child-rearing responsibilities, you know!”

“We're not children,” Red interjected with a dry sort of exasperation from the next booth over.

Her point was immediately undermined by Lucas, using the makeshift catapult he'd made from his spoon to fling a maraschino cherry at Dustin. The other boy let out an indignant squawk when it missed his mouth entirely and got caught right in his curly hair.

Even from behind her glasses, it was pretty obvious what sort of look Max was giving her boyfriend.

“Correction…I'm not a child.”

“Sorry.” Lucas's grin was sheepish.

“Rob,” Steve said flatly, ignoring the kids’ antics to instead pin her with his own look, like she was being ridiculous.

Which was…pretty fair, this time, in Eddie's opinion. He wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone with quite the same intense level of tired dad–mom–whatever energy as Steve had, and all before he'd even hit his early twenties. When it came to babysitting duties, he definitely wasn't a slacker.

“I'm just saying, as a feminist, I thought you should know,” Robin waved her spoon at them, managing to pull the move off without so much as a drip of her ice cream plopping onto the table.

“We agreed that you'd be the fun uncle,” Steve argued, the lack of protest from Robin proving that was, in fact, a conversation they'd already had, “so then be the fun uncle while Mom and Dad step outside.”

“Mom and Dad?” Robin echoed, eyebrow raising and face scrunching in transparent disbelief–and Eddie had to admit, he was caught on the exact same thing.

Steve only waved a hand at her, rolling his eyes.

“You know what I mean. Look, it’s only gonna be like fifteen minutes, tops. If you do it I’ll–” Steve spun his hand around in several aimless, pinwheel like motions before finally snapping his fingers in revelation, “I’ll let you put on whatever movie you want at work on Monday!”

Robin stuck her hand out to him. “Make it ten, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Tapping a finger on his top lip, Steve pursed his mouth in thought for a moment.

“...Twelve,” he bartered. “And you can make it a black and white one. With subtitles.”

Robin’s face lit up, teeth glimmering with the sheer force of her glee.

“Look at that. You really do know the way to a girl’s heart, Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbled, giving her hand one firm, business-like shake.

Eddie was already up, having impatiently shimmied several paces away from the booth, by the time Steve stood and fell into step beside him.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Eddie couldn’t resist shouting over his shoulder, “Make sure they eat all their vegetables!”

Steve met Eddie’s shit-eating grin with one of his own before adding, “And no scary movies before bedtime!”

Seven individual hands all popped up, shooting them the bird as one.

By the time they stepped out onto the sidewalk, they were both stumbling into each other’s sides with laughter.

—

Once they were outside and had managed to pull themselves together, Eddie stuck one of the smokes in his mouth and went straight for his lighter, his craving growing palpable. But, as that meant he had to rummage around the tangle of other things jammed inside his pocket, just laying in wait to come spilling out–like a nearly empty pack of Big Red gum, a crumpled receipt, and the spare die Eddie kept on his person in case of D&D-related emergencies–he fumbled it, the BIC hitting the ground with a sad thump.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he complained out of reflex, both from general annoyance and just a tinge of embarrassment, feeling the burn of it with his klutziness deciding to come out around Steve in full force.

Nat 1 on charisma, Munson. Critical failure.

Steve waved a dismissive hand at him. “I got it, man, I got it.”

And before Eddie could protest, he was stooping down beside him to pick the lighter up off the asphalt of the Dairy Queen parking lot, giving it a toss into his hand like the total show off he was.

Eddie was about to make a crack about it, something along the lines of You just gotta demonstrate your athletic prowess in front of us lesser mortals, doncha, Harrington?–except, well. He didn’t get the chance.

Because, one second, Steve was popping up and waving the lighter cockily at him, grin bright on his face, and, the next…

The next, and totally without warning, he was leaning in close, cupping his hand to light the cigarette dangling from Eddie’s lips for him.

Eddie inhaled on instinct, taking a long drag as the cherry glowed to life, a stark red in the fading light of dusk. As for the sudden rush that went to his head–he had little doubt that it was just from the hit of nicotine alone.

And–maybe it was a trick of the low light. But for a long, breathless moment, Steve’s eyes seemed to linger on Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie’s heartbeat kicked up in answer, rabbiting wildly in his throat. The air between them grew thick, heavy-laden with tension that seemed to almost crackle like electricity.

Eddie took the cigarette from his lips slowly, dropping his hand to let it hang at his side. And, still, Steve’s gaze never wavered, eye line still leveled directly at his mouth. If one of them were to just finally cave into the building pressure, sway forward and close that distance between them, maybe they could…

But, then, from one blink to the next, the heated expression on Steve’s face cleared, replaced by a guileless, easy smile.

…Eddie tried to tamp down on the flare of disappointment he felt at the sight of it.

“You know, man–Robin’s totally right about those things.”

Steve dragged a finger across his throat, pretending to choke as he briefly mimed his own dramatic death scene. The Eddie of a year ago wouldn’t have believed it–but the Eddie of now knew better, had been exposed to Steve’s silly antics on more than one occasion. He could be just as big a goofball as Dustin, as any of the kids, as Eddie himself when he wanted to be.

“You really should cut back.”

It was all so…normal. Casual. A light chiding about bad habits in an airy tone, like…

Like everything before hadn’t happened at all.

Eddie stared at Steve for a long moment, trying to read the expression in his wide, hazel eyes. But…they were totally and completely inscrutable to him.

And, look. Eddie was queerer than a three dollar bill–had been since gawky adolescence hit him like a freight train, all too-long limbs and sudden, embarrassingly consistent morning wood. Dudes or chicks, it didn’t matter. Like Bowie, Eddie was an equal opportunist…for all the good it had ever done him, able to count the times he’d made a pass and hadn’t struck out on one hand. Being Hawkins local freak would do that to a guy, and that was before the murder charges and cult-leader accusations.

But the thought that Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington was anything other than stalwartly heterosexual in the most apple-pie, white-picket-fence, boy-next-store way imaginable? The idea should have been laughable. And a year ago, Eddie would have done just that, laughed it off with a no way, man rolling easily off his tongue.

But now…now he wasn’t so sure.

Because there was something electric about the growing familiarity that had popped up between him and Steve the closer they’d gotten since their fateful spring break excursion to the Upside Down. He felt it, when Steve slung his arm over the back of the couch when Eddie sat next to him during movie night, or laid a hand in the small of Eddie’s back, easy as anything, to keep him steady when the kids all jostled ahead of them to get through the door at the arcade.

Maybe it was all just some vestige from Steve’s high school glory days, leftover jock rituals Eddie knew nothing about. Maybe it was total wishful thinking on Eddie’s part, as his crush steadily grew into something gargantuan. Shit, that’s what he tried to tell himself most of the time, if only for his own sanity–but he was still reluctant to say it was all in his head. Especially when moments like this kept cropping up more and more.

…Eddie was too afraid to push it, though. Hardly over a month old, technically–even though some days it felt like a lifetime–the friendship between them was new. Not delicate, not hardly, but still not something Eddie was looking to scare off when it’d only just gotten started.

So as the uncertainty settled over him, Eddie finally ducked his head for an instant, gnawing at his bottom lip. Then he reached over and gave Steve’s temple a teasing tap.

“Sometimes, I just wonder what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours, Stevie.”

The flirtation was thick, sure, but it was easy enough to play it off the same way he always did–just some harmless teasing between two guys, nothing serious. Plus, Eddie figured Steve was more than used to his antics by now. Sometimes, his over-the-top personality really did pay off.

But behind those words was the truth of Eddie’s thoughts, swirling over and over again.

Fuck. If only I could get inside his head. Then, maybe I’d be able to figure out what the hell he’s thinking.

For a split second, he could have sworn Steve’s shoulders stiffened, posture going unexpectedly rigid. But then Steve laughed, brushing the swoop of his hair back, fingers dancing tantalizingly close to Eddie’s own, and Eddie was left to wonder if it was just more of his mind playing tricks on him.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I’m like an open book. Ask anybody around and they’ll tell you–you don’t have to put yourself out to get an answer. It’s pretty much all, like…hair care tips and sports stats, 24/7 up here.”

“Come on, Steve,” Eddie scoffed, “I don’t believe that shit for even a second.”

Steve only shook his head, smile still firmly in place.

“Not sure what to tell you, dude. It’s true. Besides,” the word came out lower, almost as if Steve was talking to himself, “between the two of us, pretty sure you’re more the man of mystery than I am, dude.”

At that, Eddie let out a startled bark of laughter.

“Me?! You cannot be serious with that one, Harrington, no way in hell. Have you seen me? If anybody’s the open book here, it’s me. I’m practically a screaming headline on the late night news. Every single thought and feeling I’ve ever had automatically comes flying,” Eddie pressed his hand against his lips and made a sound like an explosion, splaying his fingers out, “straight out of my mouth. Always has. Just ask my old man, he used to bitch about it all the time. ‘Quit that blubbering and toughen up, Eddie, or life will steamroll right over you.’”

Steve’s lips pursed, the same knowing but insulted look he always wore when the infamous Munson patriarch came up in conversation.

“Your dad sounds like a real jackass, Eds.”

Eddie could only hum his agreement.

Everybody in Hawkins knew Al Munson, low down no-account that he was. His reputation preceded him–and Eddie, more often than not. But Steve had more of the inside scoop than most, Eddie having opened up to both him and Robin about his home life.

Still, he wondered at the vehemence with which Steve defended him, any time the mention of his absentee patriarch came up. By contrast, Eddie didn’t know jackshit about the Harringtons apart from the fact that they were hotshots around town. Steve never mentioned them, not really, and Eddie had never run into them the times he’d been over to Steve’s place. Which was…pretty weird in and of itself, wasn’t it?

Yet another mysterious piece of the puzzle that was Steve Harrington.

“I don’t know, man,” Steve shrugged, voice gone quiet again, tugging Eddie out of his reverie. “I kinda think your book might be in Hobbit, or whatever it’s called from those books you guys love so much, because I don’t really see you that way at all.”

Reaching out, he suddenly caught a strand of Eddie’s hair between two fingers. Eddie sucked in a sharp breath at the gesture, face going hot.

“Besides, haven’t you ever heard of tall, dark, and mysterious? If the hair fits.”

Steve gave the curl a light tug before dropping it. Eddie immediately snatched it back up, tugging it like a curtain across his mouth, desperate to hide the faint color on his cheeks.

“Guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one, dude.”

Steve let out what sounded like an amused huff. “Looks like it.”

When Steve looked down at his watch, Eddie realized, in the time they’d been talking, that he’d smoked his cigarette down to a nub.

“We should probably head back inside,” Steve gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, “before all of Lucas’s toppings somehow end up in Dustin’s hair, and Robin decides to ground them all until they’re twenty-five.”

As he stubbed out the bud with his shoe, Eddie fiddled with his rings, trying to subtly shake off some of the tension that had seemed to build up in the air around their conversation. When he met Steve’s eyes again, he was all cheery smiles, hoping he didn’t look too manic as his cheeks stretched with the force of it.

“Well, now, we couldn’t have that,” Eddie agreed, even as he added, “–Thought she said she wasn’t parenting material, though? Pretty sure fun uncles don’t have to ground people.”

His own uncle was more like a father than anything else, and still he’d never really bothered to try grounding Eddie–his disappointed stare always did more to deter Eddie away from his own stupidity than anything else ever had.

“Sure, she says that, until somebody gets chocolate ice cream on her new favorite button down. Then it’s goddamn,” Steve let out one long, forlorn beep followed by two shorter ones–an unmistakable imitation of Pac-Man’s game over death knell, and proof of just how much time he spent at the arcade with the kids, “over for everybody involved, including me somehow.”

“I mean, you did call us Mom and Dad, man. Guess that makes us responsible whenever the kiddos misbehave.”

Steve sighed, long and loud and clearly just a little exaggerated for Eddie’s benefit, if the way Steve widened his eyes in mock fear was anything to go by.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. Those little shits can stir up all kinds of trouble in ten minutes flat. No telling what the damage is.”

So, with one last jocular pat to Eddie’s back, he began herding him back inside the shop.

And when Eddie’s own traitorous heart gave a twist at such a small, meaningless gesture? All he could do was send a silent curse up to the sky, and do his best to ignore it.

—

That night, Eddie fell through a tangle of twisting, nonsensical dreams.

At first, he was in the stolen RV, relieving a memory. The Upside Down crew–Nancy, Robin, Steve, Dustin–stood all around him, preparing for that fateful last trip to try and stop Vecna. After reciting their orders, his hand clapped down on Dustin’s head in reassurance, a last show of camaraderie before they headed off into battle.

But then, without warning, the ground seemed to shift right beneath his feet.

Coming out of the haze, he found himself staring at a refrigerator, standing in a kitchen he didn’t immediately recognize. On autopilot, with a feeling like his body was being tugged by invisible strings he couldn’t quite control, his hand swung down again, the motion identical as he gave Dustin a fond scuff over his cap. Except…Dustin was shorter, this time, and undeniably younger. And Eddie, well–the Members Only jacket hanging over his shoulders was definitely not his own, though he thought he had spotted one identical to it hanging in the back of Steve’s closet.

He barely had time to register those weird little details before the world was going topsy turvy yet again.

Eddie was on his back, a swirl of bats circling overhead like a storm against the violent red splash of Upside Down sky. As his sides screamed in agony, wooziness clenched down on his mind with a vice grip, not at all helped by the fact that the scene around him kept changing.

One second, he was shirtless, dampness and grime clinging to his chest hair, Nancy Wheeler’s mouth a grim line as she stared down at him with an oar in hand. Then he blinked, and Dustin’s face swam into view above him, fuzzy as Eddie’s own vision blurred around the edges.

Blink. Wheeler and Buckley, fighting off demobats like two warrior women worthy of only the grandest of campaigns.

Blink. Dustin, screaming his name so harshly, his throat had to be raw from it.

Blink. The outline of Eddie himself, shouting up at the sky, demanding they give him all they’d got despite the fucking bone-deep terror he knew he’d been feeling. The out-of-body sensation that slammed into him, existing somehow both inside and outside the moment all at once, was so jarring Eddie’s stomach lurched, like he was going to be sick.

Back and forth, again and again, like the world’s worst, most bizarre merry-go-round…until finally, Dustin solidified, Eddie’s own memory draping over him like a well-worn but ill-fitting shirt. He flinched a little as he felt dampness drip against his cheeks, and a long moment stretched on before Eddie fully realized that it wasn’t rain hitting him in the face, but instead the fat tears currently racing down the bridge of the other boy’s nose.

He knew this moment well, viscerally, a long, hellish stretch that had revisited him night after night the past month–and one he’d do almost anything to forget.

His final goodbyes exchanged, Eddie’s eyes slipped shut of their own accord. It wasn’t peaceful, exactly–some part of Eddie deep down still railed, pissed as hell at what was happening to him–but he was also so fucking tired, after days on the run. Worn out and fed up, and ready to just get some fucking rest.

So, when the blackness swallowed him, he couldn’t help but wonder if this time, it really would be for good.

–And then a faint, familiar voice rang out in the distance.

“Dustin?!” Eddie heard Steve scream, like a tether pulling him back into his own body. “Eddie?! You gotta be fucking kidding me, where the hell are you guys?!”

The heavy thud of footfalls drew closer, and Eddie practically felt the ground shake as another body collapsed beside Dustin.

The world flashed, spun again. Suddenly, Eddie was sliding across the rough terrain of the alternate world on his knees, the sound of Dustin’s soft cries making his heart ache…and his own lifeless body spread out on the ground in front of him.

Large hands fisted in the front of Eddie’s vest, tugging at him urgently.

“Munson! Munson!” Steve’s words spilled from Eddie’s mouth as his grip on the fabric tightened, giving him a hard shake. “Eddie, come on! I told you not to be a hero. Don’t even think about it, dude–you’re not dying on us now!”

Eddie remembered this, too. Steve’s steely, urgent tone, brooking no arguments, like he could actually will Eddie back to life if he wanted to. Except this time–this time Eddie actually felt the terror behind the words, the urgency making Steve’s voice tremble in his throat. Experienced, in real time, the relief hitting like a truck, flooding through his veins, when his own brown eyes slipped open.

“Did-Didn’t realize you were my commanding officer, Harrington,” the Eddie on the ground murmured–more like croaked, the sentence breaking unpleasantly in the middle.

“You’re damn right I am,” Steve answered, jaw clenching, and Eddie could feel his muscle twitching with it, “if that’s what it takes to get you to stick around, man, consider me a five star general.”

He’s alive, he’s alive, the Steve in his head sang, again and again, thank fuck, he’s alive.

Because, there and then, he…was Steve. The twin emotions of Steve’s own swelling hope that Eddie might make it coupled with Eddie’s own real shock from what Steve was feeling at the time warred inside him, threatening to overwhelm him.

Then, like the force of that emotion had thrown him, Eddie landed hard on his back again. Confusion hit him as he glanced down and realized that he was shirtless–Steve was entirely shirtless. Because this had been his memory, before, and now Eddie was back in it.

The revelation had barely settled before agony quickly drowned out anything else, the demo-bats starting to gnaw at his bare sides. One of their tails wrapped tightly around Eddie’s throat, and his hands shot up, uselessly trying to pry it off. He could feel that darkness creeping in again, the familiar sensation of being knocked unconscious rising up to meet him.

Fourth time’s a charm, I guess, the voice inside Eddie’s head was wry, and it still definitely wasn’t his own. You made a good run of it, Harrington, but looks like your luck finally ran out this time.

The resignation of it, the acceptance, was enough to shake Eddie to the bone.

No-no-no, no! Some desperate, deeply buried part of him screamed out. You–You’re the goddamn hero, Stevie. You don’t get to give up.

When the oar slammed down near his head this time, Wheeler calling out a quick Hey, there with Robin and Eddie himself at her sides…Eddie had never been so happy to see someone in his entire fucking life, freaky out-of-body experience be damned.

The vision, memory, whatever it was…it released Eddie, finally.

And then Steve was there, standing before him, clad in nothing but sleep shorts and his gray Hawkins Phys Ed shirt, his hair mussed. Darkness surrounded them on all sides, too fuzzy and dim for Eddie to make anything out apart from the figure facing him.

Steve’s lips moved, the shape of them making out what Eddie thought was his name. Dread dripped down his spine, however, as he realized that no sound–not so much as a peep–followed.

“Stevie?” he answered, the panicked shrillness evident in his own voice even as he couldn’t hear Steve’s own. “I can’t–shit, man, I can’t hear you.”

Steve’s face drew down into a frown, forehead wrinkled, concern and frustration warring on his face. He tried to speak again, but still, Eddie couldn’t hear a thing. Hand flying upwards, Steve gestured to his own ear, finger tapping it once.

Eddie shook his head. “Sorry, dude, I–I’ve got nothing.”

On instinct, he reached out a placating hand. Glancing down to see it extended towards him, Steve did the same. Eddie felt his chest clench a little, finding comfort in the thought that even in a moment like this, when they couldn’t hear what the other was saying, they still managed to broach some common ground.

Their fingertips brushed. A spark ran through Eddie at the touch, seeming almost to infect their surroundings as red lighting suddenly flashed all around them.

Between one blink to the next, Steve disappeared.

Before he had a chance to cry out, Eddie realized, horror steadily climbed up his throat, that the figure now staring back at him was…himself?

And not a memory version this time, either. No, this was a living, breathing double.

His doppelganger’s brow furrowed, head tilting to one side, a bit like a confused puppy.

It was like the sound had been turned on all at once, because when the other Eddie spoke, he could finally hear him.

“Eddie?” his mirror image asked, looking past Eddie, around him, anywhere but directly at him.

If he had ever made it to that shrink Owens recommended, he bet they would have had a field day unpacking whatever this was.

Hands Eddie hadn’t even realized had still been clasped parted, slipping away from each other.

And then, Eddie was sucked back into darkness, feeling adrift as any chance at seeing Steve, his doppelganger, anything and anyone vanished into the distance. He was lost, totally and utterly, and he felt it, every bit of it, the weight crushing in on him as the last dregs of the dream faded away.

—

The next morning, Eddie woke up in Steve Harrington’s bed.

Part 2

Taglist: @highkingpenny @tinytalkingtina @starryeyedjanai @sidekick-hero @thefreakandthehair @lingeringmirth @eriquin @bifuriouswaterbender @fuctacles

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #the party #buckington besties #brotp: babysitter's club #steddie bodyswap au #bodyswap au #my writing #my stuff #my things

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