#so here he is again neon style | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmouth-richie · 2 months ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)

summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity

warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly

notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)

The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.

College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.

Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky.

You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message :

[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;]

that you knew you had nothing to worry about.

She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma.

It wasn’t your scene.

You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced.

And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way.

“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?”

Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.”

She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie.

“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans.

Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?”

“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?”

—

And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement.

The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples.

Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now.

The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom.

Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.

How can people drink this shit?

Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs.

A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.

Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor.

The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer.

The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust.

You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland.

The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm.

A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.

Watching porn together.

You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity.

The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies.

What the fuck?

How could a frat house not have a bathroom?

Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were.

“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!”

Bingo.

Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!”

Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee.

A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it.

“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”

A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall.

“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.”

But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes.

A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection.

It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already.

His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt.

“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!”

Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here.

His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos.

“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.”

You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.”

Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.

A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door.

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him.

Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture.

He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.

“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.”

His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk.

Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty.

You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?”

You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…

“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”

“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?”

He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”

This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble.

“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?”

Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her.

“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place.

Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.”

He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well.

“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”

You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve.

“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”

He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.”

You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.”

“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out.

“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.”

You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.

“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.”

Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.”

“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief.

“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.”

“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.

“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?”

He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?”

“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”

“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?”

You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to…y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”

“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.”

“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.”

Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?”

His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh.

He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…

“Lead the way.”

—

Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement.

“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!”

Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.

Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?”

Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull.

You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!

And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…

So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse.

“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity.

His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer.

But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house.

Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?”

��

The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”

You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you.

Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored.

Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc.

Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him.

You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did.

Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes.

The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.

Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him.

Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes.

“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?”

Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine.

He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.”

“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.”

His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.

“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers.

“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.”

The music changes and a throwback song

comes on, one you haven’t heard in years.

“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!”

You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids.

“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?”

Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.”

“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him.

It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves.

His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him.

Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.

And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most.

When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.”

He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more.

You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard.

One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle.

Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game.

“Fucking kiss me alrea—”

His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you.

When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat.

Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound.

You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top.

Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’.

Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.

“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.

Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.

And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure.

He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.

“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.

“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.”

Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.”

Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before.

“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.”

That did it for him.

Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick.

Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall”

“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle.

The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened.

The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you.

“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.”

You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals.

“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?”

You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.”

“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.”

Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.”

Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”

“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.”

“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.”

Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”

Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted sugar on Eddie’s tongue.

“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted.

Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier.

His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity.

He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color.

Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples.

You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.

“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.”

Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.”

You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before.

He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips.

“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.”

You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”

“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”

You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”

“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!”

You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake.

Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.

When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs, Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time.

But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most.

Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless.

“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove.

Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his.

“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear.

You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more.

He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.”

And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep.

His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you.

“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!

You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face.

He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.”

His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.”

“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.”

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy.

The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest.

Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that.

He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight. — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July.

Nope.

He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that.

When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught.

Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone.

Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear.

His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?”

#Spotify #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you fanfic #eddie fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you

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passengerprincessblog · 15 days ago

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“Lewis, Next Door”~ pt 1 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: age gap, alcohol?

Summary: Coming home from university, Y/N expects a quiet reunion with family—until she finds herself face-to-face with the enigmatic Lewis Hamilton, her dad’s famous neighbor and friend. What starts as a dull evening soon turns unexpectedly electric when Lewis offers more than just small talk.

I hadn’t been home all semester. Between studying, late-night group projects, and the occasional breakdown, the past few months at uni had been… a lot. I’d pushed through, and even though I’d missed my parents, there was something about finishing this term that made me feel a little invincible. I was finally here, though, bags slung over my shoulder as I hugged my mom in the doorway and let my dad ruffle my hair in that way he always did.

Home sweet home.

After the greetings and settling in, I noticed someone else was around. Our neighbor, Lewis Hamilton, was back too. Usually, he was off racing, so it was a rare sight. I wasn’t someone who followed F1 religiously, but I knew Lewis was a big deal—and the whole “dad’s friend” thing only made it more surreal. The few times we’d run into each other, I’d been struck by how effortlessly confident he was. Attractive? Absolutely. Intimidating? Without a doubt. But, honestly, I’d never thought much beyond that. He was just Lewis, the neighbor.

That night, my dad was throwing a big party to celebrate his latest product launch. Fancy guests, fancy decorations, fancy everything—the whole nine yards. I’d barely unpacked, and here I was, getting ready to play dress-up and smile politely for a parade of strangers. My friends were out clubbing tonight, living it up, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. But I loved my dad, so here I was, hair styled, makeup on point, feeling like I’d stepped into someone else’s life for the night.

As the party got into full swing, I did my best to stay interested, though I kept glancing at my phone, imagining my friends dancing somewhere with loud music and neon lights. Instead, I was here, weaving through clusters of my dad’s colleagues. He was chatting with a group of important-looking men, so I took my chance and approached him, feeling like a little kid again as I asked, “Can I please just have one drink?”

He shot me a disapproving look. “No. You know the answer.”

“Fine,” I muttered, trying not to let my frustration show. I wandered around a bit, catching snippets of adult conversation that were all about business deals and tax write-offs. Glamorous.

Finally, I spotted a lonely champagne glass on a table. I glanced around, and with a little thrill of rebellion, I picked it up, taking a sip. It was cold and crisp, and even though I’d never been a huge fan of champagne, it felt like a tiny slice of freedom. A few more sips, and I was actually starting to relax.

That’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and there he was—Lewis, giving me a knowing smile.

“I see you like my drink?” he teased, eyes glinting with amusement.

My stomach dropped. Oh god, I’d taken his champagne? “Oh my god. I’m so sorry… I didn’t know… I can get you a new one if you want, I just—”

He chuckled, shaking his head. His laugh was low and warm, and something about it made me relax, just a bit. “Nah, I’m messing with you. It’s fine. I don’t even really drink anyways.” He grinned, flashing a glimpse of a gold grill that made him look both mischievous and effortless, a vibe that seemed distinctly Lewis.

I managed a shy nod, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “Oh… good. Thanks.” I couldn’t believe I was so nervous. But he just kept looking at me, his gaze both curious and relaxed.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You bored? I’m so bored. No offense to your dad, of course.”

I let out a laugh, surprised at how blunt he was. “It’s boring,” I admitted, feeling a little guilty, but somehow knowing he understood. He had this whole wild, glamorous life, and a party like this was probably as dull as watching paint dry for him.

“So, what? You’re back from uni, huh? That’s crazy. I remember when you were like, ten,” he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

I feel my cheeks heat up with a pang of embarrassment. Here I was, feeling all cool and grown up, and he still saw me as a kid. Great.

“Yep,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light but failing to hide the faint annoyance.

“Well, you’re better than me,” he shrugs. “I never finished school.” I glance at him, surprised he’s trying to keep this conversation going. Usually, we barely exchanged two words, and now, here we were, alone, talking like… friends? Something more? I didn’t know.

“Well… yeah, but you’re a millionaire,” I say, trying to sound casual, though there’s a little hint of playfulness in my voice. I’m not exactly flirting, but maybe a little. Just testing the waters.

He raises an eyebrow, smiling at me but seeming almost uncomfortable at the mention of his money. He shrugs again. “You’re not exactly struggling either,” he teases back.

Was… that a flirt? Or was I just imagining it? It’s just the way he said it, the way his gaze lingers a moment longer than it should. My pulse quickens, but I try to play it cool.

“No… not exactly,” I say, catching his hint and matching his tone. I glance around, making a point about how dull this party is. “Just right now.”

He chuckles, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe next time, you come to one of my parties,” he says. It sounds more like a command than an invitation, like he’s decided I’ll be there.

I nod softly, trying to hide the thrill in my expression. He’s really inviting me? He seems amused, almost as if my reaction is endearing.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say with a slight shrug, finishing off the champagne. I feel his eyes on me, and when I look up, he’s studying me, like he’s considering something.

Then he breaks into a grin. “I could give you my number,” he says, casual but direct.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to mask the excitement bubbling up. “Oh?”

“So you can tell me next time you’re bored,” he adds, giving me a cheeky wink.

I feel my cheeks flush as I pull out my phone. He takes it from me, putting his number in. My hands are shaking just a bit when he hands it back.

“There,” he says with that familiar grin. “Now you’ll be set.”

“Cool. Thanks,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice steady. Inside, though, I feel my heart racing.

He glances back at the party, then back at me, giving me one last wink. “I should probably go talk to your dad. See you around, Y/N.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me standing there, still holding the empty champagne glass, my mind spinning. His number. His number. A part of me feels like I’m floating.

———————————

Oo La La 🙈

Lmk of you like?!!??

Like and follow 💜

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x you #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fic #age g@p

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circeyoru · 9 months ago

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Unwanted Soul _ Part 3 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 (here) — Part 4 — Part 5

At first you allowed it because you understood Alastor was worried about you, as absurd as it was. Now it was plain annoying. Him requesting, no, that’s not the right word, forcing himself to be in the same bed as you. At first there was the excuse of you recovering and him not wanting you to roll over on you stomach to apply pressure to the wound. Then it was him not used to his new room. Now? He just flops onto the bed and hugs you no matter what you’re doing

“Do I look like a pillow to you???? Or a soft toy??????” “Darling, you are the best cloud ever.”

He doesn’t even mind you slapping the back of his head and snuggles closer to you. You gave up trying to escape his hold and continue with your reading or watching

It went as bad as to you needing a bigger bed since Alastor was always here with you. Alastor got you covered and gave you the best bed you could ever think of. You really just treated Alastor like one of your giant soft toys and slept, you’ll admit, listening to his heartbeat was more lulling than any other sounds. Your warmth and presence had the same effect to him

Oh, right. Alastor filled you in that you were in the hotel and you were occupying a room Alastor took for himself near his bedroom and radio tower. He connected your room with his, evident with the difference in style

You never seen his old room, but he did say he had half of the room as a bayou where he ate his meals. Yeah, he didn’t do that with you, never has he eaten a whole raw meat in front of you. This time though, it was just two different room styles on either way while the wall separating the two was gone. There was an extra door that replaced the window as a dimension to his feeding ground, you just never enter it

It happened out of the blue. When the room door opened and you thinking it was Alastor greeted him without looking. You noticed the lack of static or the obnoxiously loud announcement of his arrival, that’s when you looked up to see who you believe to be Husk from Alastor’s stories and reports

Before Husk knew what hit him, his neon green chains appeared and dragged him into the large room, the door closing and locking behind him. Husk landing on the ground looked up to see Alastor looming over him

You had to wack your memory to recall their relationship. Right, Husk was a former overlord of gambling and he lost his soul to Alastor in a bet to regain power. Poor choice of decision really. Why would you make deals with other Overlords that would want to knock you down? You looked away, thinking that it was none of your business how Alastor treated his souls, as long as he wasn’t like that to you

But your voice snapped Alastor out of whatever he was planning to the former Overlord, “Alastor, I’m craving some steak for tonight. Can you go to Rosie’s and get some nice ones?”

Of course Alastor knew you were giving Husk a save. Yet he can’t deny your request to have his cooking again. (you were binge eating snacks and cup noodles after your wound healed and didn’t want to eat his cooking) So he left into his shadows

Turning back to your laptop, you typed away for another new episode while Husk composed himself. You heard that sigh of relief, you knew Alastor was a cruel demon. You knew because he’d paint the streets red and black whenever sinners and demons alike would glance at you the wrong way, even worse when they said the wrong or vile things to you

“I’m curious, does anyone know I’m here?” “I know now.” “Mhm… You best leave before Alastor’s back and please don’t say anything. Else I’m positive you’d be wishing otherwise.” “Why are you here?” “I wonder too. Because of Alastor?”

You shouldn’t have phased it that way because Husk thought you were an innocent soul that Alastor took as well. That can’t be farther from the truth, but you let him believe as he please. Neither you nor Alastor wanted to disclose your hold over Alastor’s soul to anyone apart from the two of you. Perhaps you could play it like Alastor has your soul, that would make more sense. Maybe

Over dinner, you told Alastor that you’ll be making your appearance as his assistant in the hotel. That way it was reasonable to take the room next to his (that you are currently in) and you’d be always seen around Alastor (more like Alastor could always be near you). Alastor agreed without a second thought

He did added a little detail to your plan. That you two were romantically involved with each other. You shot that idea down immediately. Changing the subject, you told him how Husk thought you were the one that Alastor took the soul of. That gave him a good laugh and you a chuckle. Both of you calmed down, you with your small smirk and Alastor with his wide grin as you two met eye contact, thinking the same: That was such a ridiculous assumption

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet My Dearest Darling.” Alastor’s hand patted your shoulder “Nice to meet you all, Alastor’s told me all about you guys.” You had bowed your head a bit with a smile, appearing as humble as you could. The introductions went without hiccup, was what you would wish for “Pager! My good fellow!” Lucifer came over and wrapped you in a tight hug. “How have you been!?” You missed how Alastor was glaring daggers at Lucifer and the King of Hell was grinning like crazy. “Sire, just fine. Thank you for asking?”

Now it was everyone else’s turn to be shocked and confused. Questions came at you left and right. You didn’t even need to answer because Lucifer had told them you used to work for him. Your room would have been assigned next to Lucifer’s if not for Alastor’s intervention that you were to be ‘put to work’ under him

Well, now that there was something of an intermission for the hotel to bounce back to its former glory (if it had any), things were pretty chill around the hotel. Everyone did their things like usual. Though it was odd that things were unchanged, since you were supposed to be a new staff member. Yet they hardly saw you, nor did Alastor tell you to work on anything

All they knew was you were always in your room, doing whatever behind closed doors. Charlie and Vaggie had asked about you, from Alastor since you were barely out when they were active and the only other contact was through Alastor who was never bothered that you were slacking

Alastor reassured that you were writing scripts for his broadcast and doing your own research on something else, so you wouldn’t be leaving the room for the majority of the time

Everyone would catch Alastor using the kitchen at the oddest time of the day to cook or bake things, then bring it up to his radio tower to eat. When he was confronted on his odd mealtimes, he informs that it was yours. As for why he was the one making, he said it was because he sent you to work overtime and so he compromised

“The poor darling was feeling peckish so I, as the employer in charge, should do my duty, yes?” “Oh ho! No need to fret over my dear Pager upstairs, merely took a longer nap than usual and needed to delay dinner!” “My doe won’t be joining us for breakfast, still sleeping from all that work, you see. I’ll make some food later on.”

All lies. Each and every one of them. All this time, you were eating up on the internet provided by the hotel and doing what you do best. Laze around and chill. There was no work assigned, no script to be written, and certainly no research underway. You were doing what you would back home, now it was just a change in location. Then there’s Alastor joyfully serving you like always without change

But none was the wiser when any of them hardly knew you. Save for Lucifer. He’d pop into your room without Alastor’s notice and give you new books or comics or shows or whatever you please. All while saying they were gifts to you for all you’ve done for him. He was quickly chased out of the room when Alastor sensed another being with you

Now when it came to your break periods, your room wasn’t enough and you wandered around the hotel to stretch and give yourself a change of scenery

This was when everyone else got to talk to you and not through Alastor

Charlie got you to join in her exercises, wanting some feedback from you. You lazily joined, matching Angel’s attitude to it all. You two shared a knowing glance and smirk from time to time. Vaggie groaned and scolded Angel since he was the one that wants to be redeemed, but then turned to you to be more supportive and put heart into it since you were a staff

Alastor immediately poofed out of nowhere, hands on your shoulders while you had a bored look on your face at Vaggie. At the growing static, you sighed, “Please don’t.”

Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel raised a brow at your words. Vaggie wanting to pull you away from Alastor since from their point of view, Alastor was having a scary face again. Husk watched silently from the bar, wondering if you’d be ‘punished’ later behind closed doors for ordering the Radio Demon

But to everyone’s surprise, Alastor reverted back to normal and hummed, offering you his hand to escort you away from the group, “Shall we take a stroll outside the hotel, darling?”

That day, a whole street was painted red. You and Alastor returned late and just went to your room to rest. No one dared to question. They did wonder what would have happened if you said nothing when Alastor appeared behind you. Perhaps Vaggie was lucky she got off with a glare

You wandering the hotel became obvious to the others that you were ‘resting’ from your heavy workload given by Alastor which was rare, they noticed that there was no routine nor a fixed time you’d appear

They held off attacking Alastor about your workload since everytime they see you you weren’t complaining or drained in any way. So they continued as normal, sometimes asking Alastor if he was giving you enough breaks between work or if you were eating. Alastor kept up with appearances and assured them you were well and dandy. You had a good laugh at their concerns

Yeah, neither of you were going to correct it since there was no need

You’ll admit that Alastor was doing a good job at keeping people away from you, just as you like it. Though it could be because of his possessiveness you can tell. Still, it aligns with your wishes, so you leave it be

Once when you were on break and with Charlie and the others for a broad game day, another activity for bonding and the like. Suddenly left mid-game and went to the kitchen to cook, everyone thought Alastor was preparing for everyone’s lunch so no one questioned it. Soon enough you got up

“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, everyone turned to you “Hungry.” It was like you were on autopilot when you turned to walk into the kitchen Everyone else shared a glance, thinking it was time for food anyways. “Let’s eat.”

They weren’t prepared to see you leaning against Alastor with your arms crossed over your chest meanwhile Alastor was having no trouble plating whatever dish was cooked. Another point, you were just causally touching Alastor and he didn’t do anything! He didn’t even make a peep and let you stay there while he worked

No one could touch Alastor unless he does it first. No one touches Alastor especially when he’s in the kitchen cooking!

“Have a seat, darling, food’s ready.” Alastor cooed “Mhm~ Looks nice.” You remarked with contentment as you pushed yourself off of Alastor and sat on one of the high chairs on the island Angel noticed how only you had food and no one else, complaining, “Hey, what about us?” Alastor turned over, shamelessly commenting, “Oh, I finished using the kitchen, you can make your own food now. Sorry for taking so long.” The condescension was gone when he turned his attention back to you, “How’s the food, dear?” “Good as always.” You praised, glancing up at him to know he was overjoyed at your words even with the lack of expression. His eyes narrowing while his grin widened was the hint. “Could use some mini cupcakes when we play the board games later.” “Say no more!” Alastor snapped his fingers, making a bunch of ingredients appear. He turned to the crew, “Apologies, but I’ll be using the kitchen since you’re all merely standing at the entrance!”

Yeah. Everyone came to the conclusion that Alastor was extra weird after you came to the hotel. They’d ask Alastor about it but he would dodge the question all together or he’d just shift the attention elsewhere. They’d love to ask you, since you were somewhat more approachable? But you were just rarely around. When you are around, Alastor was not far from you

Note: Yup. Part 3. Amazing right? I blame the ask and you can thank the ask. The writing mood just hit me like a truck, so here's the result

Guys I'm very tempted to change all the stories in ask to a post format so I can keep track of them! Not sure about this yet, but if I do do it, the stories in ask will be replaced with a link instead and the stories will be readable as a post (maybe with a picture of the ask?). Do I reboot all of them or just start with the next new request?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@nevermore-ramblings

@justboredforreal

@youroneandonlysimp

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

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sencrose · 5 months ago

Text

— COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS, I’LL COUNT MY SINS

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

tags: DUBCON, coercion/heavy manipulation, stalking by proxy, fingering, cunnilingus, breeding, power imbalance, reader can see curses but is not a sorcerer/curse user, one mention of making reader into a mother lol

wc: 4.9k

a/n: idk what to say lol this has been in my drafts for 3 years and i’ve been working on it on and off since ‘21 so if the writing style feels all over the place it’s because it is. ao3 link here

summary: suguru usually doesn't pay any mind non-sorcerers, but when he realizes you can see the cursed spirit wrapped around him, his interest is piqued. he'll bring you to him, using less than savory methods.

To no one’s surprise, Suguru Geto, the most wanted curse user in Jujutsu society, is not a big fan of outings. Especially those in Tokyo. Then again, he promised the girls that he would take them on a day out. Nanako and Mimiko being the trendy teens they are, insisted on a day in the city. So he finds himself in some trendy cafe with overpriced drinks and photogenic food. The girls are excited of course, saying it’s something they’ve been eyeing out on Instagram for the past few months.

As soon as he steps into the cafe, he’s greeted with the sickly-sweet aroma of baked goods wafting through the air. It’s decadent and overwhelming, as if the simple act of inhaling will coat the back of his throat with syrup. It’s safe to say he won’t be ordering anything for himself but a black coffee. The walls are a rosy pink, decorated with frames of dried flowers and neon light fixtures of faux-inspirational quotes. The glass case at the front of the store has various arrays of grandiose drinks and picture-perfect desserts on display.

While the girls are dressed for the occasion, Suguru sticks out like a sore thumb in his casual attire of a loose t-shirt and jeans. He could have dressed up a bit more, but something about matching outfits with a dessert he’s not going to order doesn’t sit right with him. More importantly, the thing that sticks out most about him isn’t his outfit or the lack of photos he’s taking on his phone; it’s the unsightly worm sitting around his shoulder.

It’s for protection. Any regular citizen won’t be able to see it and if he were to be spotted by a sorcerer, it’s good to have a weapon on hand.

As he waits at a table with the girls, he can’t help but notice someone staring at him. Upon another glance, your stare isn’t necessarily aimed at him, but the creature on his shoulder. An alarm in his head is ringing, but he maintains his cool composure, not wanting to worry the girls. He can never be too careful. It may have been nearly a decade since he’s been cast aside by Jujutsu society, but he still has a death warrant above his head.

There are three options. First, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer sent to kill him. You haven’t made a move or shown any signs of calling for help, so he could rule that out. Second, you’re a curse user. Then again, you haven’t hidden your gaze. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. He can feel your eyes burn a hole into his shoulder. Any curse user worth their salt wouldn’t be so obvious. So that leaves the last option: you’re an unfortunate civilian who was born with the ability to see cursed spirits. It may be a curse to some, but to Suguru’s eyes, this was a blessing. An opportunity.

He should be disgusted with this intrigue; you aren’t a sorcerer after all. But this is different.

Your lingering stare has nothing to do with his status as one of the most despicable sorcerers of all time, nor does it have anything to do with the false religion he runs. It has everything to do with the deformed worm wrapped around him. Suguru excuses himself from the table, as he makes his way towards you. His steps are careful, calculated, with his shoes gently tapping against the linoleum floor.

“Is something the matter?” He wears a smile on his face, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, feigning politeness. His sudden question causes you to jump, briefly taking you out of your staring contest with the creature wrapped around him.

“N-no, sorry.” You can’t bear to look him in the eye, your gaze going back and forth between the worm on his shoulder and the half-eaten dessert on your plate.

“Is there something on my shoulder?” He looks past the creature resting so casually on him. You immediately ball your hands into fists, knuckles white with how tight you’re squeezing. Regret blooms in your chest, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. You never should have looked in his direction.

“No, I’m just… just spacing out a little. My bad.” you lie through your teeth, hoping the explanation is enough for him to leave you alone.

“No, my apologies. Enjoy your meal.” he leaves it at that, offering a wave as he walks away.

He walks back to his table with his hands in his pockets, an air of nonchalance to him. He leaves you alone, for now. That doesn’t stop him from stealing a look or two on occasion. He finds it cute, how flustered you get when your eyes match his for a split second. He can see your heart skip a beat when your body jolts a bit out of your seat.

You remind him of a helpless rabbit, the way your hand slightly trembles as you bring up your fork for a bite of your pastry. He ponders the idea of taking you apart, piece by piece, savoring your pleas and cries as if they’re part of a decadent three course meal.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he takes a sip of his black coffee, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

Maybe the girls could use a mother.

—

You’re used to strange sights every now and then. It’s something nobody around you ever seemed to understand, dismissing your long-winded descriptions of horrors as an overactive imagination. You’ve since given up on explaining your visions to others, but they haven’t given up on you.

They sit on people’s shoulders, hover around their heads, and stare into your soul, as if they’re aware that their existence is a dirty little secret kept between the two of you.

Over the years, you’ve learned that the easiest way to deal with them is to treat them like an unsightly drunk: leave them alone and you’ll be left alone. Do not, under any circumstances, make eye contact. Do not acknowledge its existence no matter how scared you are. Of course, you’re not perfect; sometimes you see something so strange you can’t help but look. Especially as of late, it’s been becoming more and more difficult to hold yourself to your self-imposed standards.

It started with a small beige creature, with unsightly bulging eyes and translucent wings. It followed you everywhere, wings humming incessantly in your ear as it hovered around your shoulder. It eventually left after you refused to give it any attention, only to return with a swarm of its friends. Silence was a rarity. The noise only got louder as night approached, depriving you of a good night’s sleep.

It would be one thing if it ended there, but it only seemed to get worse as time passed by. If it wasn’t the constant buzzing, it’d be the strange things you’d find in front of your apartment door. Another deformed and wretched looking creature, sitting innocently on your welcome mat as if it has every right to be there. It burns a hole into your chest with its stare, presenting an toothy grin as it looks up to you.

By the time morning comes, it’s gone, leaving a single note in its place. It’s neatly folded in half, crisp black ink displaying a message that raises more questions than answers.

“Doesn’t it get tiring seeing them all the time? It’s only going to get worse the longer you wait. Why don’t you help me help you?”

Reading the note only adds to your sleep-deprived headache and dwelling on it isn’t going to make it better. Your eyes pass over the neat handwriting a few times before you fold it back up and leave it on your desk.

Truth be told, running on fumes for the last couple of weeks has taken a toll on you. You’ve fumbled simple tasks you’ve never messed up before; dropping items while restocking, giving the wrong amount of change, handing over the wrong pack of smokes. It doesn’t help that your manager is quick to reprimand you, yelling his head off until his face turns red. There’s no use explaining or drawing up excuses. It’s not like he’d understand. It’s not like anyone would understand.

Your walk home is an exhausting one. Your steps and sighs are heavy, unsure how else you’re supposed to get this pressure off your chest. You would close your eyes for some relief if you weren’t convinced you’d fall asleep while walking.

You can’t help but feel like something is watching you, or worse— following you. It’s different from the winged creatures. There’s no noise to accompany its presence but you can feel it in your bones – in the way your breath hitches, the way you're constantly looking over your shoulder for relief, but relief never comes.

A single street light flickers along the otherwise well lit street. It doesn’t feel right. It feels out of place compared to the rest of the road, but it is your normal walk home, and nothing’s ever gone wrong before.

Yet as you approach the light, the flickering becomes more erratic. It buzzes incessantly, growing louder, louder, nearly trembling until the bulb bursts into pieces.

Even with the absence of one streetlight, it shouldn’t be this dark. The road ahead fades into blackness as you walk forward. The darkness swallows everything whole. You try to walk back from where you came but the road you were walking on just seconds ago, is gone. Your hands tremble as you reach for your phone. You turn on the flashlight in an attempt to see anything. It doesn’t do much to help.

Your heart is starting to race now as you try not to let panic set in. In all your days taking this commute, you’ve never experienced something like this before. Your fingers shake as you attempt to go through your contacts and text your coworker. You’re not too far from the store, they’re probably close by. As your finger presses on the arrow to send the message, a red exclamation point pops next to your text. Unable to send.

Was this always a dead zone?

You take a deep breath but it does little to soothe your nerves. You flash your light forward, attempting to continue your walk home, hoping that you can rest in the comfort of your bed soon. With each step you take, the air becomes uncomfortably cold as it fills your lungs. The darkness seems to be everlasting until you can barely make out a figure in the distance.

The sigh of relief seems to leave your body too soon as you start running towards it, desperate for help only for your steps to diminish upon a closer look.

A woman stands in front of you, long black hair obscuring her face with some features peeking out between the strands. Her smile looks inhuman, jagged sharp fangs unnaturally stretching out her mouth with drool leaking out of the corners. She stands disturbingly still in her disheveled white robe, her left hand bandaged and holding a pair of rusty snips.

“Am I beautiful?” she asks.

You open your mouth to attempt to answer, but fear takes over. It’s as if cotton blooms in your throat, choking you out of a proper response. Your hesitation only agitates her, as the grip around her snips tighten. The moment you’re able to blurt out an answer, the blade flies past you, grazing your cheek to draw blood.

Before you can muster a reaction, the street returns as swiftly as it disappeared, the previously flickering street lamp returned to its former glory. The woman is nowhere to be found, but you can feel the burn from the cut she’s left behind on your face.

The silence cradles you, chills you with its embrace. You turn your head, left, right, take a few steps back before looking around again.

Any idea of a calm walk back is quickly thrown out the window. Desperation and dry air rushes into your lungs, harsh tramps slap against the pavement with a twinge of ache in your knees. Your legs burn as you push them to their absolute limit until you make it back to your apartment, clumsily scrambling through your key ring. You shake as you slam the key into the lock and turn.

As soon as you get inside your apartment, you turn the lock with a heavy clack before collapsing onto the floor. You take a moment to recollect yourself, hand on your chest to steady your heaving as you swallow to alleviate the dryness in your throat.

You jolt back into a panic when the sound of footsteps pass by, stopping right in front of your apartment.

Knock.

Your heart stills as you stare at the door. For a moment you swear it stares back.

Knock.

Time stands still as you hold your breath, desperately hoping that whoever’s outside leaves.

A pen scribbles on your door for a moment, before the crisp sound of paper folding flits past your ears. With a gentle glide, a note slides under your door, landing right at your feet.

“That looks like a rough cut. Are you sure you can keep living like this? What if it only gets worse? Help me help you. I can make them all disappear.” On the back is an address, which upon a quick search, leads to a monastery on the outskirts of Tokyo.

You look back at your door, trembling as you contemplate looking through the peephole.

With the gentlest steps you can muster, you approach the door, pressing your hand against it for balance as you look into the peephole.

Nobody’s there. Still, you tremble.

—

You spend hours scouring the web to find anything about the monastery, which ends up with you on some seedy forums. Other users post about their experiences with spirits possessing them, all healed by a monk who goes by Geto-sama.

“I couldn’t get any sleep for months and Geto-sama healed me in a moment’s time!”

“This spirit was following me for weeks and I thought I was losing my mind. Geto-sama’s the only person who believed me and gave me the help I needed.”

“Geto-sama truly is a saint sent from above. He was kind and reassuring throughout the entire spirit removal process, and it was completely painless. I can finally feel like myself again.”

It’s nothing but pages upon pages of reviews saying how this Geto-sama is a miracle worker, nothing short of a God. The more you read, the more uneasy you feel. It seems too good to be true. You do your best to find something, anything resembling a bad or even neutral review, but your search is fruitless.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the burning desire for a day of peace, but after reading countless testimonials you start to believe he can help you.

Maybe you could be convinced.

—

The heel of your shoes clack louder with each step you take up the stairs leading to the monastery. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you stare at the large wooden doors in front of you. It takes a decent amount of effort to push it open, creaking slightly as it reveals a dimly lit room.

You’re not too sure what to expect of this so-called savior. No matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any pictures of the man in question. None of the reviews went much into detail about the process, just that all their problems were solved. He is supposedly kind, but it doesn’t seem to dull your nerves as you stand in the dark room.

You can make out a few things: pale bamboo flooring, intricate latticework windows with dark mahogany accents, and a man wearing a Buddhist robe standing at the back of the room.

He steps towards you, his face becoming clearer as he gets closer.

“What brings you here, little one?”

You know why you’re here, but the words dissipate in your throat as it sinks in that you recognize this man. The memory rushes back into your head; the cafe, the strange worm, his confrontation, the stolen glances.

Your mind races a million miles a minute, your heart beating a little harder, a little faster. Every nerve in your body is telling you to run but fear keeps you frozen. You’re barely able to mutter a weak plea,

“P-please don’t hurt me.”

Gentle fingertips hold your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save you.” His thumb delicately brushes against your bottom lip as he repeats himself. “Now tell me, why are you trembling so much?” Your lip quivers as he tilts your chin to meet his gaze.

“Y-You. You’re the one that sent them after me, aren’t you? You’ve been leaving those notes at my door. I-I don’t know how but-”

He interrupts you with a melodramatic sigh.

“And what if I did?” A ball forms in your throat as you struggle to string your thoughts into cohesive sentences, only able to let out a meek,

“Why?” Your body trembles as you take a step back.

“Why not?” he retorts with a sly smile that sends a chill down your spine.

“W-what do you want?” You take long steps back until your body is pressed against the door. Geto follows, making slow strides until he’s right in front of you. He’s so close you can see the rise and fall of his chest, the individual strands of obsidian that frame his face.

You try to open the door but it’s locked shut. He slowly steps towards you, your back pressing against the door.

His expression shifts, looking displeased as you struggle to escape.

“Are you leaving now?” He asks in a tone that is clearly meant to mock you, pouting his lips to feign concern. He grabs your hand as you continue your failed attempts to pull the door open. “And what are you going to do when you get home?”

He doesn’t need to hear your answer; he can see it written on your face as your eyes shift between him and the grip on your wrist. A mix of uncertainty, fear, and helplessness. He knows he holds all the power. Who’s going to believe you? Who else can you turn to?

“Don’t you want to be saved from these evil spirits?” His hand gently caresses your cheek before sliding carefully down your neck.

“Don’t you want to have a full night’s rest?” His hand continues to wander down, his arm wrapping around your waist. His face gets dangerously close to your face before he whispers, “To not live in fear?”

His gaze holds you still. When you can find it in yourself to look away, his hand holds your chin and forces your eyes to meet his. You shouldn’t be here – a realization you’ve made far too late. Like a snake wrapping around his prey, you’re well into his trap, ripe for the taking. There is no escape. So with a tightness in your chest, and a tremble in your voice, you let out a soft,

“Y-yes.”

“Then help me,” His fingers grab onto the zipper of your skirt before pulling it down, “help you.”

His hand slips into your underwear, slowly stroking your folds before drawing languid circles on your clit.

You try to push him away, grab his arm to move him off of you, which only causes him to tease you more. There’s nowhere to escape with Geto imposing his body onto yours, pushing you further against the wall.

“Just take what I give you and I can make them all go away.” The warmth of his breath lingers by your ear. Tension builds in your chest as you grow unsure of what to do, but there is one thing you are sure of.

You’re tired of fighting, tired of persevering.

Your grip on his arm loosens, which he takes as an answer.

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” He looks pleased with himself, looking through you with heavy lidded eyes.

His hand moves painfully slow, his fingers occasionally slipping into your hole just to slide back out. Your legs squeeze together at the intrusion, your breaths becoming labored the more he plays with your cunt. A soft moan escapes you, and Geto perks up upon hearing.

“Oh?” His lips form a devilish grin before slipping his fingers in all the way. “Let me hear more of you.”

He scissors his fingers inside you, his thumb reaching to play with your clit. The stretch drives you insane as you lean your head back to let out a shaky moan. He slowly starts to pump his fingers inside, lewd sounds of his fingers pumping your wet cunt echoing in the empty room.

You hate how good it feels. His fingers reach places you never could, fill you up more, and hit that special spot that has you seeing stars with startling accuracy. You cover your mouth with your hand, embarrassed at the obscene noises escaping you only for Geto to move it away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I want to hear more of your cute voice.” He looks into your eyes with a piercing gaze before picking up the pace. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but Geto’s hand grips your cheeks before turning your head to face him.

The debauched expression on your face sends blood flowing to his cock. He wants to see more: your face contorting from pleasure, the bounce of your tits as he fucks you, his cum leaking out of your poor quivering hole. Just the thought is enough to drive him crazy. His other hand makes its way to your clit, drawing tight circles. You can’t hold back your moans, the tension in your core building as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

“G-Geto-sama!” Your hands clench into the fabric of his robe, desperate for balance as your orgasm washes over your body.

“That’s more like it.”

Once his fingers are out of you, you slide against the wall before dropping onto the floor. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest; you’re not sure if you can take any more.

“There’s more work to be done.” Geto smirks as he looks at his hands, admiring the way your arousal glistens on his fingers.

He slides the top of his robe off his shoulders, revealing his toned arms and hints of a chiseled body. His hands press on your inner thighs to spread your legs before him. Heat rushes to your face as you try to close them shut, only for him to spread them apart further.

“Don’t be shy.”

With the grace, or lack of, that’s unbecoming of a monk, he buries his face into your cunt. His tongue feels foreign as he licks your folds before making his way to your clit. Unlike the cool and composed air he had when he was fingering you, the way he eats you out is primal. It’s filthy, how he spits on your cunt before going back in with a grin on his face.

Your back arches off the floor as he continues, tension building in your stomach with each passing moment. His hands spread your folds apart as he gets a better look at your cunt before twirling his tongue around your clit.

Your hand hesitantly hovers over his head before his hand grasps yours and presses it against his head.

“Eager now, are we?” He laps at your juices before pressing a finger into your hole, achingly slow.

Your labored breaths become soft moans as he indulges further. His tongue makes lewd noises as he traces your folds before sucking on your clit. Tension builds in your core as he gradually picks up the pace, his fingers going faster and hitting deeper, his tongue drawing tighter circles.

“G-Geto-sama, please I’m getting close!”

He abruptly pulls away, heavy breaths escaping him as he wipes the mixture of your arousal and his spit off his face with his sleeve.

“Then beg.”

“H-huh?” His response sends blood rushing to your face, your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

His fingers tease your hole, shallowly inserting one in before removing it. He’s agonizingly slow and he knows it’s driving you crazy. He takes great pleasure in seeing the embarrassment strung across your face.

“G-Geto-sama… Please, please-”

“Please…?”

“Let me cum.” you whimper pathetically, attempting to rut your hips against his hands for some much needed release.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He takes his hand away from your body, staring you down with a smile.

“P-please let me cum!” The words slide off your tongue with ease this time around, desperation riddling your voice.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The sound of shifting fabric fills your ears as he removes the rest of his garments and tosses them off to the side.

Nothing could have prepared you to see his body in its entirety. His robes did him a disservice, hiding his toned muscles, slightly glistening with a sheen of sweat. Your eyes trail over his stomach, wandering lower until they reach the base of his cock. A chill crawls up your spine, trying to fathom how something so large is going inside of you.

He catches your expression as his hand wraps around his cock, giving it a couple of pumps before lining it up with your hole.

“Don’t be scared, little one. I promise you’ll feel good soon.” It enters you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You’ve never felt this full, there’s no way your toys could ever compare to the real thing. The size, the warmth, the way it throbs inside you.

Geto lets out a breathy groan once he bottoms out. Your walls wrap around him so tightly, as if your body is begging him to cum inside you.

It takes every ounce of self control in his body to not rut into you at a dizzying pace. He wants to savor this, building you up only to have you fall apart in his arms. The desire to ruin you, to keep you wrapped around his finger burns hot in his chest. He steels himself before starting with slow strokes, his breathing labored.

His hands reach for your blouse, ripping the buttons off their threads as they scatter across the floor. Deft fingers make their way to your bra, tugging down to reveal your chest. His hands are warm, almost like they’re melting into your skin as he plays with your breasts, fingers drawing circles around your nipples. Your moans only get louder as he continues to explore your body. His fingers pinch your nipples and an involuntary squeal escapes your lips.

He leans in towards your ear before slyly whispering, “You need to be louder if you wish to be saved.”

You don’t have a chance to respond as he rams his hips into you, striking a spot that has you seeing stars. His pace is relentless, heat building in your stomach with each stroke. It’s hard to form any cohesive thoughts, much less sentences, when you’re chasing a high on his cock.

“Work harder for your salvation, little one.” he teases.

And you do.

You moan his name like a mantra, press your hips harder into him, chasing your own high. You bring him into an embrace, your nails scratching his back as an offering.

“You’re holding me so tight- it’s like you want to bear my child.”

“W-wait-” Panic strikes your chest but Geto strikes his hips harder into you, cutting you off.

“Is that what you want?” he coos, gently tracing your jaw with the back of his hand before tilting your chin to face him. “That’s why you came here, right?”

You want to say no, that you came here to stop being haunted by spirits, but every part of your body is melting in pleasure, screaming yes. It’s impossible to even articulate an answer, your mouth only speaking in slurred moans and pants.

The sound of your moans is music to his ears. His lips press against your neck before biting down, earning a yelp from you in surprise.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want.” he whispers in your ear, his hips striking into you harder.

“W-wait, Geto-sama, please!” you attempt to plead, only to sound more like a sultry moan.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he groans into your ear.

His dizzying pace is hard to resist, as you feel yourself getting close. With a few more thrusts you feel your walls clamp around him, waves of ecstasy washing over your body. Geto follows soon after with a choked moan, warmth filling your insides.

Geto removes himself from you shortly after, admiring the way his seed leaks from your hole.

As he revels in the mess he’s made of you, he’s already conjuring up plans to bring you back to him. How should he torture you next? What pathetic expression will you wear when you seek his help?

You’ll be back soon enough. He’ll make sure of it.

#jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #suguru geto x reader smut #suguru geto smut #geto smut #sen writes #sen fics #s.jjk #cw.dubcon #cw.stalking

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z3nitsusgf · 3 months ago

Text

Megalomaniac

ford/reader: NSFW, oral, fem!reader, manipulation, intoxication, drugging, bill being creepy (normal), ford needs therapy after this

Stanford, in his right normal mind, would never dare to step foot in a place like this. This shitty depraved club, full of young bodies that didn’t have a care in the world other than to blow coke and drink till their livers hurt.

The music, some up-tempo beat that pulses in his ears, has everyone swaying and pressed against one another. Vulgar and unsanitary and so very alluring.

“What even is this shit?”

Ford mutters, Bill laughing and scanning each person under the neon pink and fluorescent blue.

Ford knows, faintly, that this isn’t his style. The back part of his subconscious screaming that this is irrational - a sick demented game that’s spurred on by the demon in his mind.

Cipher is singing in his head, his voice cawing like a bird over the Savanah. He is absorbing everything. Sights, smells, sounds - tastes.

Ford has no clue how long he’s been here. In all honesty, he doesn’t remember walking in or drinking or- his nose burns. When he goes to scratch he feels some powdery substance falling like snow. What in the hell? He blinks rapidly under the pulse of the strobing lights.

“Bill-“

“Lighten up Specs, relax.”

He does it without question. His body almost immediately fell into place without his consent. Bill is a demanding creature; selfish, cruel, and unreasonable. Bill is playing Ford as his own personal marionette. Moving his body through the crowds of hot sticky bodies. Flesh, bone, blood, marrow- Ford’s mouth waters uncontrollably. There is something wrong with him.

“I gotta say, Sixer, this is some hot shit.” Bill coos, piloting Ford’s body through to the bar. A sleek counter made of dark wood, various sticky stains of alcohol line it, and the glow of bottles illuminating behind the barkeep is almost entrancing.

“Cipher… what’s the point of this?”

Ford is growing irritated. He doesn’t understand the need for this… recklessness. He was never meant for this, Stan was more equipped to handle outings like these. Especially with the people that occupy this place. Ford purses his lips, there is a feral gnawing in the back of his throat.

There are women everywhere in tight dresses, too-short skirts, and low-cut bra-less tops that let him see the swell of their breasts. He averts his gaze the best he can without Bill rearing back to stare. Ford has this horrible thought of splitting them apart, he bites at his lip until he tastes the sickly sweet iron that pools on his tongue.

“Well my good friend, you are in desperate need of a break. As much as I hate to say it. You need to let loose, have some fun. Can’t have you croaking and ruining everything.”

So simple when it comes from his mouth.

Ford purses his lips, unsure and weary. Bill hasn’t been wrong yet, and he’s too scattered to even argue.

“Couldn’t I just, I dunno, stay home and read a book or-“

“No! You’ll just end up working again. And besides, you’re a good looking guy, you need some serious lay.”

Bill laughs in his head, he laughs even more when Ford blushes and looks down.

“You know I’m not used to-“

“Come on Sixer, look at that one, she’s exactly your type.”

Bill forces his head up, making Ford look at a gorgeous woman. A gorgeous woman who plops next to him at the bar.

You’re wearing a dress? Or what he assumes is a dress. Is this even clothing? He wonders. The other downside of having Bill in his head is that he can hear the dirty thoughts that filter through Ford’s brain.

“Jesus Christ, look at that hottie. Talk to her Fordsy, or I will.”

Ford grips the glass of liquor in his hand, when did he get that? He can’t even remember ordering. It’s bourbon, he thinks. Or he hopes. He doesn’t know. It burns its way down his trachea, leaving behind the aftertaste of burnt wood and orange peel.

His body is tingling, he wonders if his pupils are blown and if the sweat is really sweat or something else. He trails his eyes over your body, blinking rapidly at the colors spraying new hues with each second. Perhaps he is in the dreamscape, this is all some demented dream crafted by Bill. But that doesn't mean he can't indulge, right?

Your dress is tight, hugging you close and short enough that if you were to bend over, Ford is 100% sure he’d be able to see your panties. The strap of your bra is showing, and the plunging v on your dress shows that it’s lacy. He wonders, faintly, what you would look like inside. Blood, sinew, tissue; red and bleeding and torn into pieces.

God he’s becoming unhinged.

You slink next to him, legs sliding onto the stool and your strappy heels hooking onto the rungs. You have nice legs, pretty and smooth and trailing up to the expanse of your thigh he can see the peeking of tattoos and if you turn he can see your cun- he needs to quit.

You yell to the bartender for another cosmo, chest pushed up onto your forearms. Ford tries not to stare at the way your tits push up and almost out of your dress. You’re about to pay, pulling a wad of cash from your purse.

Make your move Six, I’m about to jump in for you-

“No!” Ford spits, you jump at his voice and Ford internally curses when he realizes he’s said it out loud.

“No?” You tilt your head, confused and a little nervous. Hands playing with your purse as you brace yourself to get up and leave. You have dark polish on your nails, your wrists embraced in golden bangles.

“I mean- fuck, I mean no, I’ll pay.”

You raise an arched brow, fiddling with the glass stem and tapping your fingers on the wooden tabletop.

“Okay… thank you.”

He stares at your face. The wild mused up licks of your hair, the smoky dark smears of makeup under your eyes, the full plushy softness of your parted lips. You’re dewy and sparkly and goddamn you’re gorgeous.

You look at the man in front of you with owlish observation. Looking at the button-up that’s open at the top, the cool slate-colored khaki pants. He’s older, much older than you are. But he’s still very very handsome. Handsome enough that you wouldn’t mind jumping his bones for a night.

He’s a little shy looking, and you find it funny that an older man like him is so nervous to talk to a woman. You give him a sweet saccharine smile, lips all glossy and smooth that Ford wants to lick the sheen right from your mouth.

“You gonna pay or?”

The bartender breaks the ice cold tension between you. And Ford is slapping down a $5 bill and practically shooing the bartender away.

"That’s what I’m talking about you old geezer! Nice. Now take her home and fuck the shit out of her."

Ford's mind can’t keep up. He’s distracted and confused and his head is full of mysterious liquor and drugs and god - he can’t think straight. All he knows is that you’re inching closer and closer to him and you’re so close he can smell the lime and tequila from your mouth.

“Never seen you around before, handsome.”

You graze your nails along his forearm, the hair on his skin raising with goosebumps at the prickle-like sensation. He blinks hard, glasses foggy and his vision bleary. You’re fading in and out of his field of view, he doesn’t mind though. He wants to take a bite out of your neck, imagining how beautiful you'd look. Like a misty mosaic of broken glass turned diamonds, he feels a stab of hunger for you.

“So you’re a Doctor?”

Ford snaps back to reality, has he been having a conversation with you? What have you been talking about? He just nods, “Yes, uh, sort of. I mean, I have a PhD and all that, but it’s more of a research thing-“

You giggle, it’s muted over the bass-blasting music but still, it’s sticky sweet like honey and your skin is so shiny, almost glittery. He wants to lick the perspiration off your neck.

“Wanna go somewhere quieter?” You ask, talking into his ear so he can hear.

“Yes, of course.”

Time doesn’t exist. Ford doesn’t know if it’s his state of mind, or Bill. All he knows is that he blinks and you two are in a private back room. You’re seated next to him on a cherry leather love-seat. Legs dangled over his lap and dress pooling up over the tops of your thighs.

He’s got his hands on your skin, gripping at the meat of your thighs, closing in on your ass. It’s soft, malleable between his palms. It’s weird, he can’t tell if it’s the dreamscape or real or a hallucination or-

You’re kissing the side of his neck, mouthing sloppily at the hot skin and Ford is whining. You're staining his neck in dark pomegranate-colored marks, chewing on him like a dog, like meat left on bones.

“Is this what you want, baby?”

You mumble against his flesh, he swears he can feel the sharp razor edge of your canines in his jugular. He dismisses it. He wants you entirely, forever and ever.

He nods, hands gripping your hips with his head thrown back. The room smells like liquor and cigarettes and something faintly sulphuric. The faintest of alarm bells ring in his brain, he’s too high and far away to care. There is a pang of consumption in his belly, that need.

"Yes," he pants, your tone is velvet and Ford can't resist.

And Bill- Bill is whispering depraved things into the spongy linings of his mind, soaking his brain with thoughts that would have anyone slack-jawed and in awe. He's aware of his... inexperience, it only makes it more tempting to ruin it, smash it apart like how he deserves.

Ford is losing his fucking mind. Time is leaking out of his mind, fading and bursting in maniacal bubbles that have him reeling. Animal-thirst that melts into his spine and he's too far gone to ever argue against it.

He comes to when he feels a jolt of pleasure throughout his body.

You’re devouring him, literally and figuratively. If he focuses too hard on the way you work your mouth on him, he’ll end up cumming.

You’re bent over him like a preying tiger. Back arched in a sinfully beautiful way, the curve of your hips sloping into your ass has him biting his lip. The lacy stripes of your thong are digging into the plushy softness of your skin, that teasing line drawn down to your center.

He fists the cushion, nails sliding across the leather. He can’t quite grasp it, it’s slipping like sifting sand through his fingers. He doesn’t know if he should grip your hair or the armrest or just sit up and fuck your throat. Could he even do that?

“How are you- oh god,”

You’ve got him down to the base, tip hitting the back of your throat. You take it like a grade-A pornstar, not even gagging once. When you pull off, you don’t stop. Moving your hand up and down like you’ve gone mad. A half-hard grip that makes him buck his hips. He had no idea if this was even real, it sure as hell felt like it.

Eerily enough, Bill has gone silent in his mind. Which gives him the faintest of relief that the man demon isn't watching this unfold. This debauched spectacle of depraved carnal lust.

“Jesus, why are you so good at this?” He pants, tongue heavy like lava on his palate.

His vision is blurry, his glasses are foggy and god- you’re like a fucking nymph with the way you suck him off. He thinks you’re perfect. You’re a dreamy watercolor expression that’s painted across his lap like a heaven-sent dove. Sweet and sticky like warm caramel.

You swipe the pad of your thumb along the underside of his cherry-red head, spreading the saliva and pre that’s slicked the thick shaft of his cock.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You purr, humming softly when he whines a soft yes.

You lick a fat stripe from base to tip, tonguing at the thick vein that pulses along the underside. He might just be in love, this intimacy was foreign, and he's going mad with touch.

“Holy shit-“

You giggle, hand working sloppy smooth jerks on his cock. You lower yourself, kissing and sucking at his fat balls, lapping at in a way that has him nearly howling at with the feeling.

His hips buck into your palms, he’s tightroping the line of falling straight into your trap and just taking you for himself. He’s too oblivious to see the flash of yellow in your pupils. He’s not used to this, not at all.

"Don't run from it." You murmur, skimming a free hand up his thigh. Nails dragging across the skin, sharp and unforgiving.

If he were sober, he’d be unable to do this. Unable to handle the attention, the touch. He grabs at your hair, fingers running through the strands and feeling it. Real as he can believe.

“You gonna cum for me?” You murmur, the vibration of your voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through his spine.

He moans, nodding so hard you’d think his head would fall off his shoulders. The back of his skull hitting the headrest of the love seat.

He’s so close, so close that it’s winding up in his stomach and about to explode.

You pull back.

It’s like cold water has been thrown on him. He gasps, fists clenching the seat cushion and hips frantically chasing your hand, your mouth, anything. The moments are slipping, hand in hand like a timetable turned over, desperate.

He tries to zero in on you, you’re blurred. Your eyes are dark, lips curled. He’d be scared if you didn’t look so hot. You sit up from your knees, standing and leaning over him.

“Why?” He gasps, the high fading and he’s tempted to just finish himself when you grab at his wrist.

Unnaturally strong, he thinks.

You tsk and wrap your palms around the thick of his wrist, carpal bones shifting and you maneuver it to the apex of your cunt. Grazing his fingers against the lacy surface of your thong.

“Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?” You purr, voice sultry and so sugary sweet that Ford could get a toothache. He groans, he can’t move away so he flexes his fingers against the sopping wet cover. You’re drenched.

You straddle him, cupping his face and leaning down to his ear. You swipe your tongue along the shell, sucking at the lobe and smirking when he shivers. His palm is flat against your cunt and you grind yourself into it, letting him feel the slickness.

“You wanna fuck me, hm? Wanna feel me?”

Ford nods, humming as he pets your mound. He's stuck, stuck between making himself cum and fucking your mouthwatering cunt.

“You said you were going to leave Gravity Falls, I’d be so sad if you did.” You murmur.

Had he said that? He doesn’t recall ever speaking about that, but then again he doesn’t care right now.

“I wouldn’t want this to be a one time thing, ya know?” Sighing as you go to lift yourself off.

Ford whines, grabbing your hip to keep you centered. Could he truly leave after this? He thinks, as clearly as he can, what would he go back to? Nothing.

“No! I-“ his tongue is sticking to his gums, “I’m not leaving, can’t-“

He doesn’t ever want to go without you. He barely even knows you, but to think you’d do this, indefinitely… he doesn’t see the reason to leave.

Maybe the loneliness would go away and it would be bearable to stay.

"Perfect." You murmur, looking at his glazed eyes and slack-jawed expression. He looks like he wants to eat you alive.

Good job, hon. You’ve got him.

Bill pats your head, circling around you like a hyena. You nod, blowing out a puff of smoke. The demon finally creeps out from the shadows of the room.

Now he won’t ever think of leaving Gravity Falls.

“Damn, he’s out cold.” You nudge him with your foot, and Ford is practically dead to the world.

"A shame, I wanted to keep going." You're pouting, smoking on your cig, and disappointed. Too bad, you'll get more chances later.

Bill chuckles, Maybe I’ll have a little more fun with him.

When Ford wakes up he is sure that he had the most lucid dream in his life. He stretches on his bed, shirtless and… pantless? His body aches something fierce, like he’s ran a triathlon in the desert.

He has cottonmouth, coughing on the sheer dryness on his tongue. He winces when he feels a stinging itch on his lower back, his fingers going to grace over the skin, and he finds an unfamiliar patch that’s risen.

“It cant be another one-“

He gets up, staggering with a blinding headache to the mirror. Turning around to look and he almost dies of embarrassment. There, on the small of his back, the most atrocious tattoo he’s ever seen. Sprawled cursive with fake pink kissy marks that read, ‘Flirty Gal’.

“Oh my god.” He groans, the rising anger for Bill and how his body has been used.

“I think it’s cute.” Ford jumps at your voice, looking up to see you there. You’re in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing nothing but a spare shirt and your underwear. He flushes, so it wasn’t a dream.

“What even happened-“

You frown, a sappy dopey little frown, “You don’t remember?”

You’re sauntering over, Ford gets flashes of intermittent memories. Your lips on his neck, your fingers in his hair, your legs around his waist, your mouth-

He shivers, it's almost haunting.

“Ah,” you drag your finger across his jaw, “you do remember.”

You lean into his ear, “I’m glad.”

"Let's have some breakfast," You mumble, kissing his chest and turning on your heel. He watches you saunter out, a dark fluttering in his gut.

"We have a lot to talk about."

#so maybe im insane so what #bill when i catch you when i catch you bill #oh god ive fallen and i cant get up #ford pines x reader #standford pines x reader #val.writes ❦#ford pines smut

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hana-no-seiiki · 2 years ago

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I saw that you need ideas, so how about a yandere from the Neons? I mean, I would like to see more content from them since they represent the elements in Honkai star rail, by the way, sorry if you don't understand, my English is bad... I leave you a little drawing of a masculine makima (it has nothing to do with it, but as a gift ) xd Also, I don't know if I'm the only one, but Nanook makes me handsome >///<

(Sorry, I had already finished it but the work was stained hahaha and I did it again)

Yus the Aeons are so cool looking!! You really feel like they’re actual gods of the universe, especially since you don’t see them first hand (at least for now). Also Masculine Makima reminds me of Karma Akabane lol. I’ll draw it in my style, and add it here as an extra for you ♥️

Hb we mash those two topics up together actually?

warnings: mild yandere themes. mild spoilers for csm. major canon divergence. reader takes the shape of a masc/amab character but it isnt their original form.

status: unedited. updated art.

YANDERE! AEONS + VARIOUS! HSR x AEON OF FEAR/CONTROL! READER

You have no memory of your conception, only that you started existing for what felt like an eternity.

You represented fear and despair, but unlike IX whose mere presence drove humanity into insanity, or the rest of your fellow aeon’s godlike status amongst the world,

you walked around as a normal, ordinary human being.

As normal as an Aeon can get anyways.

In your current lifetime, you took the shape of Himeko’s “brother”, planting fake memories into her mind and being the one that urged her to travel the stars. While she was the navigator, you took the role of conductor before creating Pompom to supplant you.

Welt always knew you weren’t just a regular person. Your eyes always felt distant, so far off that not even a century’s worth of trail blazing would allow him to come close. As such he mostly kept cordial relations with you.

The youngsters of the bunch on the other hand, never seemed to realize the sheer magnanimity of the danger you held and always hung around you.

Particularly that Caelus. The newest addition to the crew. The stellaron within him always pulsed in some sort of giddiness and excitement whenever you were around. The boy couldn’t help but be a nervous wreck when he was around you. Stuttering and stumbling was a common occurrence whenever you so decide as to just breathe at his direction.

You knew what those Stellarons are, their nature, their purpose, the way they were created. In fact if you wanted to, you could have taken the Astral Express straight to the source of it all, your partner: Nanook.

However that would have ruined the fun of it all. So you chose to let them have their little adventures before the final confrontation.

Also because you signed a contract to not meddle with Nanook’s business in exchange for your freedom. But that was another story to tell.

“Why . . . why do you continue this farce? This utterly worthless play?”

IX’s voice rang within your ears and no one else’s. You were the only being it ever gave the time of day to. You imagine it to be the reason why insanity slowly built itself within the recesses of your head.

“You may see the entire universe as worthless . . . but I,” You breath hitched. You looked around your room. Time was frozen. Everything turned grey. You weren’t afraid of the others in the express hearing you, just that the following words you were about to spout out felt like bile on your mouth. “I suppose I’m still a bit like them in a way. I wish to see the world without its evils.”

“And destroying them. That is my first step.” You summon an orb of golden light. Stellarons. The creation of the very thing that made you loath all evil. Including yourself. You will eradicate these and then Nanook yourself. One day.

“Is that why you send those hunters out?”

“Perhaps.” The orb within your hands get covered in chains, quickly getting crushed within the metal like substance as it soon disappeared.

“Do as you wish. Just do not bother me like that imbecile.”

“I promise. I will be much worse than Yaoshi.”

IX remained silent for several seconds, no doubt regretting its decision of associating with you before adding, “. . . And do not die.”

“That one I cannot guarantee.”

Your room’s color returns, time continues. Signaling the end of two Aeons’ encounter.

Nanook, the Aeon that threatened to eradicate all that you love. All so they could have your soul once more. Within your gilded cage. Within your original body that lied dormant.

The Destruction will no longer be a path. That is a guarantee you write upon the stars when your Trail Blazing lifetime eventually comes to a close.

The stage is set, your actors ready.

All you needed was the cue.

Your gloved hand arose, pointing towards the express’s windows in the shape of a gun.

“Bang.”

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tumblingxelian · 6 months ago

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A Necessary Post - Yang, Taiyang & Seeing Red

I debated this being a message or a note or a reblog, but ultimately this warranted an essay. Because a hatred of nuance is not even remotely the reason why Tai is critiqued as a teacher or father.

With that fact in mind, let's begin:

During RWBY Volume 4, Episode 9: Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back Taiyang has a great deal of critical feedback for Yang regarding her fighting style, personality & Semblance.

The issue is that Tai's words and advice when compared to what we saw on screen before & afterwards demonstrate he does not understand how it works or how she used it.

So here for your reading pleasure if a more or less line by line breakdown of Tai's advice and why I don't feel it holds up & more to the point, why I don't believe Yang utilized it.

Taiyang: Do you realize that you used your Semblance to win every fight after the qualifiers?

Yang rightfully points out that her using Burn is no different than anyone else using their Semblances. I would add that Yang's Semblance only serves to enhance her already present abilities with damage taken in a fight. So her not using it would be stupidly holding back extra energy for no reason.

Tai's critique also fails to register that when using her Semblance to take out FNKI, Yang specifically disrupted the ground so Neon could not skate effectively & used the boost in power to turn Flynt's own weapon against him.

I will be addressing Mercury further down but she used it effectively and intellectually here and to great effect.

What's more, every other fights fighting style, weapons or both were literally built around their Semblances. Yang's threat level remains fairly consistent without her Semblance, all three of these other characters take a huge dip.

Taiyang: Because not everyone else's is basically a temper tantrum.

Ignoring that calling the manifestation of Yang's soul a temper tantrum is another in a long line if dickish things Tai says to Yang. Her Semblance literally does not work that way.

Her anger has jack and shit to do with it, this has been explained & demonstrated time and time again. Yang only gets a power boost when she's been injured, the fact she tends to be angry when using it is because being hurt sucks and she's usually in an intense fight. When the fight is going well and she still gets to use it she's not angry, as seen with a pleased smirk here:

So as before, Tai's critique is bereft of any merit, Yang's Semblance does not work that way.

Taiyang: I'm serious! Once you take damage, you can dish it back twice as hard, but that doesn't make you invincible!

Cite a time Yang thought she was invincible, cite it provably that Yang thought, said or indicated that she felt she was invincible. You can't because Yang never indicated as such this is something Tai is assuming about her at best.

& no her jumping in the Nevermore's mouth is not an example because she was not using her Semblance, did not take damage, it was a very effective strategy & seemingly either part of the plan, or was so easily understood that it could be safely and reliably worked into the plan. She wasn't using her Semblance here but finding evidence of risky behavior was hard, especially with her Semblance, go figure.

In fact every time Yang used her Semblance she did so only because someone landed a blow, which just happens in fights sometimes.

Taiyang: It's great when you're in a bind, but what happens if you miss? What happens if they're stronger? What then? Now you're just weak and tired!

We know what happens when Yang misses, she can swing again!

After the first blow on the Paladin she missed & needed help to catch it, her missing had zero impact on her Semblances.

As to what happens if they are stronger, um, she loses, that sometimes happens in fights. Its not something Yang can do anything about by holding back on extra strength. Not to quote Qrow but sometimes bad things happen. Other characters losing to stronger opponents don't get given this kind of diatribe's because its pointedly obvious that there was nothing to be done about it.

& on the final piece, she was very pointedly not weak and tired after using it. The only times she has been shown to be is when she was extremely low on Aura regardless in which cases not using her Semblance is a death sentence.

So again, we've established Tai's critique comes from nowhere & his understanding of her Semblance is nonexistent.

Taiyang: But you gotta keep your emotions in check. Keep a level head, and think before you act. Your Semblance is a great fallback, but you can't let yourself rely on it.

This is so painfully unfair it hurts.

No other character gets this kind of shit for expressing emotions in combat. In fact we see characters expressing emotions in battle all the time. Nor has she stopped displaying emotions in combat:

I already outlined how in all two of the Yang fights Tai actually witnessed she used strategy and retained excellent combat form. So again, baseless claims from Tai.

What's more, Yang primarily does use her Semblance as a fallback rather than rely on it in these fights. She only whipped it out against Mercury when he'd unleashed his seeming kill move on her and was confident he'd won.

Not using it here would be dumb and make no sense.

Yang doesn't rely on it to save her, she deploys it when it makes sense to & she has the energy or the need. This is more than we see from many characters.

Taiyang: It won't always save you. Obviously.

So now he is critiquing her for a fight he didn't even witness & knows jack shit about. So let's break this down once again:

Yang has spent the last 24 hours questions her sanity.

Yang's new home (Her words) is burning down.

Yang's sister is missing in all this chaos.

Then Yang's partner gets fucking stabbed, and the guy who did it is standing between them with a sword & gun, with fire all over Grimm all around.

Anything Yang can do he can counter, she tries to go around he only has to pivot. If she tries to fire from long range she might hit Blake. She tries an earth shock wave, she launches Blake into the fire.

She quite literally had no others options & zero time to try anything else because he can just shoot or stab Blake whenever he wants.

Taiyang: You definitely have your mom's stubbornness.

This, this right here is where all this is actually coming from. Tai is once again projecting Raven onto Yang despite them frankly having almost nothing in common.

With most of Yang's visible personality tells being inherited from Summer, such as the mother daughter shoulder check of V9. Thanks to chittychittyyangyang for the GIFs

Or as outlined in some songs with Yang's side of the lyrics explicitly citing how she is trying to fill the Summer shaped void in their lives.

Like the smell of a rose on a summer's day, I will be there to take all your fears away.

Taiyang: Your mother was... a complicated woman. Like everybody, she had her faults, but those faults are what tore our team apart. And, it did a real number on our family.

Tai blames Raven for tearing their team apart. Save that by all accounts, barring her absence things seemed to be going fine. Qrow seemed to be present in their lives, Tai looked happy, the girls were happy & Summer at least seemed happy though we know she was covering up a lot of dread.

Keep in mind Tai is projecting Raven, the woman he blames for destroying the team and damaging the family onto his daughter who literally kept the family together after Summer died. Yang's established this, Ruby has established this, its canon.

Yang: I had to pick up the pieces. I had to keep things together. Alone. (pause) Weiss, if you have something to say, then say it. Ruby: If you thought we wouldn’t come for you, then you must’ve forgotten who raised me.

Tai was not the one holding that home or family together. Unless you think the writers are gonna randomly swerve & say both Yang & Ruby are big whiny liars for some utterly nonsensical reasons. So no, I don't take him seriously as a narrator or critique of Yang, I have no reason to.

But let's push on, because I'm not done.

Taiyang: You both act like the easiest way to tackle an obstacle is through it. (pointing at Zwei) That strength is all that matters in a fight.

Ah yes, Raven, the woman famously known for thinking the easiest way to deal with an obstacles is to tackle it head on. That's why she spent years adorning herself in a Grimm helmet that hid her eyes & raised a False Maiden to serve as her body double.

A woman so inclined to rely on her own raw strength that when she was ambushed by Salem's forces she decided to trick them into an ambush.

Then when fighting Cinder and was at a disadvantage she freezes her in place while making Cinder think she is going on the offensive leaving her to be crushed by Stalactites & also utilized mind games to distract her & deal the finishing blow... Cos she only relies on strength.

As to his final piece of advice I already address it up above, there was no way around Adam, the situation was fucked from the start.

Saying it was Yang's fault she was dismembered is no more than victim blaming, I stood by that in Volume 3 to to this day & beyond.

Taiyang: But if you just take a second look, then maybe you see... (walking toward her, stepping around Zwei) there's a way around as well.

But let's actually look at Seeing Red & if Yang listened to Tai's advice or if she not only ignored it but did the opposite of what he ordered.

Let's see she goes in with open aggression & emotions, and also takes many blows rather than going 'around' them somehow.

Yang, as if she were 'indestructible' outright tanks a massively charged up Aura beam for the purpose of increasing her strength.

Then burns through all of her Aura & Semblance energies delivering one direct blow, relying on it to save her & leaving her weak & tired.

Or in other words, she:

Yang didn't miss, but we know that isn't a real issue anyway.

Yang used her Semblance to 'win' the fight & very much did rely on it to save her.

Yang expressed anger & many other emotions in the battle & still continues to does so.

Yang willingly took huge risks that involved her being able to take tons of damage rather than go "Around" the problem.

Yang knew Adam was likely stronger given it was 2 V1 but relied on her Semblance to get her out of that bind and she was in fact left weak and tired.

This is also the first time she has done several of these things, or otherwise demonstrated these traits, such as being left weak and tired or willingly tanking big attacks rather than just being hit by surprise or due to being overwhelmed.

I don't take Tai's advice seriously because none of it was accurate or aligned with the Semblance we saw in action or had described to us.

I don't trust Tai's opinion on Yang because his take on her is explicitly informed by Raven & not the Yang we spent four & then five more volumes getting to know.

I don't take Tai's words over Yang's, Ruby's or what we see on screen because Tai is at best a secondary or minor character & a recurring theme in RWBY is the failure of older generations.

These failures are not just in the past but how they have been consistently failing the next generation as the story is being told. There is zero reason to think Tai is some magic exception to this narrative trend when much more well explored characters like Maria, Qrow, Ozpin, Ironwood, Raven, and hell, Summer Rose are not.

& that is my stance on that, thanks for tuning in!

#RWBY #Yang Xiao Long #tai yang xiao long #Meta #Text Post #Analysis #character analysis #Venting just alittle #Sorry if this was rude but I get quite heated about this #Especially when being directly or indirectly insulted #& framed as though I am watering down the characters or show or otherwise not meditating on the text #Yang has flaws. But her flaws are not Raven's flaws & I am not obliged to take Tai seriously when nothing he says makes sense #Do not clown on this post #Taiyang Xiao Long #Read the whole damn thing or don't respond #I will block people who isolate three words & throw a random pic at me & claim 'Debunked LOL'#Demonstrate you did your research or don't waste my time.

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maukiki1 · 3 months ago

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Ok idk who wants to read a chunk of text before someones art but.

Theres this poorly made metal fusion turkish parody i used to watch religiously as a kid and i got reminded of its existance recently because someone showed it to me and it literally unlocked a core memory and i went to watch it again thinking i wont find it funny anymore because i found it funny when i was like 4 yrs old but. Maybe its the nostalgia but this video is a work of art its so.

The ginga and kyouya wigs being cheap neon colours not even styled to look like the characters hair, the guy playing ginga’s linkin park shirt, the awkward but hilarious acting, the guy playing Ryūga constantly hunching over so the jacket doesn’t fall off his shoulders (it does multiple times) giving him a funny ass posture, the nike logo on the ginga headband, Ryūsei being ginga with a different shirt, the fact that the guy playing daidouji being the shortest one out of the three (yes only 3 people made this i thought there was more somehow) , or literally anything daidouji does ever, the expression ryuga has the entire time, the phoenix costume having a visible star wars shirt making it obvious that its the same guy playing Ryūga, one of the scenes having a visible rope attached to pegasus so its easier to make it look like its flying.. its literally a master its peak youtube ok. I wanted to draw some scenes from it bcs theyre so fucking funny to me. Its peak i fear. I havent posted mfb in a month and this is what im coming back with fuck it we ball

I was gonna draw this one properly but halfway through realized i couldnt capture the expression of the actor perfectly if i did so. Feast ur eyes upon my best work yet

Heres a compilation of clips that give some context to the pictures drawn, except the last one, it doesnt need context hes just standing there funnily

Link to the full parody under cut

Okay so its a turkish parody so ofc its funnier to someone who understands the language but surprisingly there are english subtitles and from what i checked its not translated perfectly some sentences were onviously put through a translator but none of the jokes seem completely lost i mean i made my friend who doesnt know a lick of turkish watch it and we both laughed our asses off so . I think everyone should watch this peak atleast once

youtube

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the-marshals-wife · 10 months ago

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New Horizons (Arthur Curry x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Requested by @dantes-devil-huntress. I can't believe this is my first Aquaman fic! This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Premise: Trying to figure out his place in the world as the newly crowned king of Atlantis, Arthur meets someone who may just help him find the answers he looking for.

Description: Arthur Curry/Aquaman x Fem!Reader (Human), meet-cute fluff! | Warnings: alcohol, mild language | Setting: AU w/o Mera endgame, before The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 3,468

Edit: here's my Orm Marius x Reader fic for my fellow Orm girlies ;)

Gif credit: user jasonmomoaonline

Imagine Arthur giving you shelter when you're stranded in a storm, and discovering his true identity

Getting stood up for your date had been the worst part of the night, until the moment you got into your car. Instead of the engine turning over and sputtering to half-life like usual, it only stalled.

"You have got to be kidding me," you say, gripping the steering wheel and turning the key until you thought it might snap, "Come on, come on, come ON!"

Throwing open your door, you pop the hood and stumble back out into the chilled night. You mutter curses under your breath as you survey the labyrinth of steel and hoses before you.

"At least nothing's on fire this time," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

You step back and stare at the bucket of bolts the salesman had called "like new." Besides coming to this bar, buying this car was quite possibly your biggest regret. It wasn't quite a lemon, but it wasn't a Rolls either. And most of all, it was all you could afford.

You exhale, glaring up at the flickering light of the bar's neon sign. The last thing you wanted to do after waiting nearly two hours alone like a fool was show your face inside again. You retrieve your phone from your back pocket, just to see the blinking bars in the top corner. No service.

"Wonderful," you groan.

Like a bad joke, thunder rolls in the distance. You look up to see the lightning flashing on the horizon across the bay. The brisk, salt air rises up from the water and cuts right through you.

"Could this night get any better?!" you lament, an angry shriek escaping your lips as you kick the front tire.

"Excuse me, Miss?" a voice from behind interjected.

You jump and turn to see a man approaching, nervous smile on his bearded face. You appraise him wearily: tall, dark, and not at all lacking in style, clad in both leather and jewelry. He looked a sight better than the drunken fishermen you'd observed stumble about the bar, which you concluded was about ninety-percent of the clientele. Even from where he stood, he certainly seemed to smell better.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but you sound like you might need some help," he offers hesitantly.

Despite your initial scare, something about him puts you at ease.

"Oh, um...yeah, actually" you smile embarrassed, tucking your hair behind your ear, "My stupid car won't start. Again."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asks, pointing.

"Would you? That would be great, honestly," you say, folding your arms against the cold, "I just had it in the shop last week. I have no idea what's wrong now."

He pats the fender as he circles around to the front, "Let's see what's got you all clammed up here, buddy."

"Your guess is as good as mine," you say exasperated, stepping to stand behind him a ways.

He chuckles and pushes up his sleeves, ducking underneath the hood. You take note of the intricate tattoos, realizing this friendly stranger was becoming more interesting by the minute.

"Hmm, nope. Not that," he says, craning his neck, "Not that either."

You bite your lip and sway on your feet, silently praying he could find the source of the problem. Any easy fix was probably too much to hope for, but your fingers stayed mentally crossed nonetheless.

"Ooh, maybe- no, definitely not," he says, followed by a clinking sound, "That should not be there."

"I really appreciate this," you say after a moment, peering over his shoulder, "I can change the wipers and put on a spare if I have to, but that's about the extent of my car expertise."

"No shame in that," he grunts, his voice strained, "Oof, now that might be a problem."

"Did you find something?" you dare to ask.

"These spark plugs are kaput. Like, 'not even a necromancer can bring them back' kind of kaput."

"The guy said they were fine!" you exclaim, "I knew I shouldn't have gone back to that place. Probably just took my money and laughed."

The man finally stands up and winces.

"And your alternator is on its last leg," he says with a grimace, "Even if you could get it to start, I wouldn't go more than five miles in this thing."

"Great. That's just wonderful," you sigh, shaking your head, "Well, thank you for looking. It'd have taken me forever to figure that out. Google only goes so far."

"No problem, wish I had better news for ya," he says, wiping his grease-tinged hands on his jeans before extending one towards you, "I'm Arthur, by the way."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Nice to meet you too."

Despite your frustration, you couldn't help but grin. As Good Samaritans go, he was quite a handsome one. Something in the back of your mind whispered that you had seen his face before, but you couldn't place when or where.

Before you could speak again, a bolt of lightning strikes just across the harbor, followed swiftly by a crash of thunder.

Arthur looks off to the darkened horizon, his expression souring with concern.

"Storm's coming in fast," he observes, the sea breeze blowing through his long, sun-kissed hair, "Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up?"

He turn back to you, and only now do you notice just how rich and golden eyes his eyes are. For a few dizzied seconds, you forget to answer.

"Uh, not really. I'm pretty new to the area. I don't know very many people," you reply, feeling shy all of a sudden, "I can just call a Uber or something. If my service ever picks up."

"Yeah, definitely," he nods, clearing his throat, "They have a phone inside."

"Thank you again for helping me, Arthur," you say, starting to walk towards the door.

"I didn't really help, though..." he trails off, disappointment in his voice as you step past him.

Your hand is almost on the handle when he pipes up.

"Uh, look I know you don't know me, but my dad's place is just down the road from here. He's the lighthouse keeper. Him and my mom are actually away on little retreat, and I'm watching the place for them," he explains, "It's dry, warm, and definitely has a lot less drunk guys. You could wait there while the storm passes, if you wanted."

You turn back to him, trying to conceal your renewed hope, "I couldn't impose on you like that."

"Oh you wouldn't be. It's just me and the dog. He's probably getting sick of me at this point. He could use a visitor," he chuckles, "But I understand if you'd rather stay here. Strange guy at a bar invites you to a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night. Sounds like a horror movie, I know."

You laugh, and so does he, bringing some much needed levity.

"I'll bring you right back if you change your mind, just say the word," he adds, sounding truly sincere.

Almost everything in you was saying not to trust a man you'd just met, but your gut was telling you otherwise. There was more to the warmth in his eyes than just the color.

"Well, it does sound like the dog could use some company," you say thoughtfully.

Arthur smirks. "Oh yeah. There's been a Hell's Kitchen marathon on for days, and I'm pretty sure he's sick of listening to my Gordon Ramsay impression. I can't resist, love that guy."

"I might have to hear that for myself."

"Let's get you out of this weather, and we'll see what I can do about that, then," he says with a wink, "My ride is just over here."

Not even the chilled wind could overcome the warmth of your cheeks. The excitement in your chest grows with every step as you follow him across the sandy lot. The ride in question, however, soon comes into view, and the knot in your stomach tightens all the more.

"Oh boy," you say, staring at the motorcycle.

"You're not scared of bikes are you?" he questions, stepping alongside it and reaching into the black saddlebag.

"Not exactly," you hesitate, "I've just never been on one before."

He pulls out a red, half helmet and offers it to you.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall off," he replies, amused.

You look between him and the headgear a moment before taking it.

"Besides," he says, swinging his leg over the seat, "All you have to do is hang on."

With no argument to make, and rain drops beginning to sprinkle down, you pull your hair back and fasten the helmet on. You nearly lose your balance trying to throw your leg over, having to grab his shoulder to steady yourself. He didn't seem to mind; you could have sworn you heard him snicker. You settle into the seat, heart racing from being so close to him. More anxious than ever, you lightly place your hands on his back.

"All good back there?" Arthur asks, a smile in his voice.

"All good," you repeat, unconvincingly.

"Alright then," he says, turning the key.

Seconds later, the motorcycle roars to life as he revs the engine. Arthur eases the bike back slowly, pivots out of the lot, and eases it up to the main road. The instant he accelerates, the force kicks you backward. You throw your arms around his torso, pulling yourself against him. Over the noise of the machine, you weren't sure if the rumbling in your ear that followed was thunder or laughter, but you figured was the latter.

With the bar now behind you, and the rain coming down harder with the increasing speed, you bury your face into his back and hold on tightly.

♆

The lighthouse comes into view just as the skies open up. Arthur maneuvers the bike up the slippery, sand driveway and quickly shuts it off. He gives you his hand as you climb off and leads you toward the house.

The helmet offers some protection from the downpour, but the wind blows the spray into your face as you squint to see. Lightning above illuminates the world like daylight as you scramble up onto the porch.

Arthur throws the front door open and lets you in first as you stumble inside the dark house. You take a few blind steps forward as he slams it shut behind him, thunder making the windows rattle.

"Man, someone must have really pissed off Thor," he laughs. His relief, however, is turned to exasperation as you hear a clicking sound followed by a sigh.

"Power's out. Awesome."

Still trying to catch your breath, you pull out your phone, struggling with wet fingers to use touchscreen. Finally the flashlight turns on, and Arthur throws his hand up over his eyes as you accidentally shine it right at his face.

"Sorry," you pant, pointing it down.

"No worries. That's a good idea, actually. I always forget about this thing," he remarks, grabbing his own phone and doing the same, "One second, I think Pops has some candles in the kitchen."

You nod as he disappears into the next room. Now remembering the dripping helmet on your head, you release the strap with your free hand and set it down on the mat beside the door. A shiver goes through you from your soaked clothes. You point your phone about the shadowy room to get your bearings, admiring the otherwise cozy living area. As you sweep the light downward, something large and metallic glints on the coffee table in front of the sofa and catches your eye. You move closer to get a better look, and then your heart drops to your feet. Lying beside a bag of jerky and the TV remote is a massive, gleaming trident of gold. A memory flashes through your mind of an article you'd seen weeks ago, with a fuzzy photo of an alleged aquatic hero holding a weapon just like it. The pieces come together all at once as you realize the identity of your host.

The very next second, you hear Arthur's approach. He returns with a lit candle in each hand and a blanket under his arm, only to find your expression of complete and utter shock.

"You...you're..." you stammer.

"Oof, I knew I forgot to put something away," he cringes, "My bad."

"You're the Aquaman," you gape, finding the words.

"Surprise," he says in a sing-song voice, flashing a nervous smile, "Yeah, I never really know how to bring that up.

You stare at him dumbfounded as he places the candles on the coffee table. "I can't believe it. Aren't you supposed to be like...well, in Atlantis or something?"

"I was, earlier this morning. Just about died of boredom in council meetings," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to talk as if he had a desk job, "I'm kinda part-timing right now, between land and sea. It's complicated. I'm still new to the whole 'king' thing. Don't have all the kinks worked out yet."

"I'd imagine," you breathe, your mind still reeling.

"Here, figured you need this." He holds out the blanket, completely unphased by the previous subject, "Do you drink tea? I can make some for you."

You take the blanket and chuckle in bewilderment. "Um, sure. That would be great," you answer, "Thank you."

"One tea coming up," he smiles, "Uh, just make yourself comfortable, I'll get the fire going here a minute, after I find the dog. Pretty sure he's hiding under Pops' bed upstairs. He's terrified of storms. Ironic right? Lighthouse keeper's dog afraid of a little water."

"I don't blame him this time," you say, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, "I think you were right about Thor."

As if on cue, another boom of thunder shakes the walls. You both burst out laughing.

♆

A few minutes later, you find yourself sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire with a warm mug in your hands, finally beginning to feel dry. Having been unsuccessful in coaxing the dog into joining him downstairs, Arthur settles down beside you crossed-legged, damp hair tied up, trading the tea for a can of Guinness. Your thoughts rage like the storm outside as you stare into the flames, agonizing about what you should say.

Arthur speaks a moment later, saving you the trouble.

"Sorry about the power. I'll call you that cab as soon as it comes back."

"That's okay, I'm not in a hurry," you reply.

You look over at him hopefully, meeting his piercing gaze for as long as you can. Mere seconds pass before you bow your head, heart racing while you repress a smile.

"I'm uh, sure you've got some questions about all this," he ventures, rubbing the back of his head.

"Honestly, with the night I've had, meeting 'Aquaman' is par for the course," you smirk.

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that. I guess you can understand why I don't lead with the whole King of Atlantis thing. Kinda makes it hard to keep a conversation going once people know you 'can talk to fish.' They don't really see you the same after that."

"Yeah, I think I'd probably keep that to myself too," you agree, the awe returning full-force, "Still, it must be amazing. I mean, you're basically ruler of the ocean, right? Or is it just Atlantis?"

"Eh, I mean there's the other kingdoms-"

"There's more?!" you blurt out, wide-eyed.

"Oh yeah. Xebel, the Fishermen, the Brine, a couple of defunct ones no one wants talks about. We got a few."

"And you're the ruler over all of them?"

He shrugs. "More or less. I mean, they each have their own ruler. But then I'm also over them? Kinda? I'm still figuring crap out, they didn't exactly give me a rule book on my first day. Plus I have to answer to this royal council and they've got sticks up their butts about everything I do and say," he groans, rolling his eyes, "I like to consider myself more of a 'protector of the deep' than a ruler. Sounds more cool, and less like an old fart with a crown."

You giggle, hanging on every his every word.

"And with this bad boy right here," he says, reaching behind him and patting the trident, "I command all life in the sea. The animals anyway. Between you and me, that's the best part."

"You definitely have a cooler job than me," you beam.

"It definitely has its perks. But most of the time, I'd rather be here," he sighs, punctuated by a swig of his beer.

A visible sadness washes over him as he looks into the fire.

"You aren't from Atlantis?" you question.

"No, I was raised by my father. My parents met on accident. My mother was queen of Atlantis, and she ran away from her not-so-nice guy fiancé. She got lost in a storm, and my father rescued her. They've always said it was..."

Arthur stops and turns his gaze towards you, realization in his eyes.

Your heart skips as you understand. "Fate?"

He nods thoughtfully. "Something like that."

You blink, letting him go on.

"Anyway, I know I have a calling to the sea, but the land is always going to be a part of me, you know?" His expression softens. "Here, I've always found everything I need."

His words linger in the air between you. You look down at your hands, your chest pounding.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, I know that was a lot of info."

"Just a little bit," you reply teasingly, "But your secret's safe with me, Arthur. I promise. I've got no one to tell anyway."

"Don't worry, I trust you," he says, waving his hand, "It's actually nice to have someone else to share it with."

"I'm honored that you did. I know it's not the same, but I do understand what it's like to feel that you don't belong," you confess, "I didn't fit in my 'kind' either. Moved out here to start over. I guess you could say I'm still trying to figure some crap out too."

He pauses in thought second before responding, "Do you mind if I ask you something, Y/N?"

"After everything I've asked you? I'd say it's definitely your turn," you chuckle, taking a sip of your forgotten tea.

"I saw you at the bar before you went outside. I couldn't help but notice that you were there by yourself..."

"You noticed correctly. I was supposed to meet someone for a date, but after saying he was on his way, he never showed. I tried to text him, but he blocked me. I don't even know why."

"Nothing like being stood up at some backwater bar," he concludes, frowning, "Well, screw that guy. He's a bum."

"Yeah, I figured that out too late," you agree, then give him a knowing look, "The evening wasn't a total loss. I did meet you, after all."

"That's true," he concedes, playfully stroking his beard, "I may be a half-breed rookie king, but I'm not a bum."

You snort and gesture to the television set on your right, "So much for your marathon though, huh?"

"Ah, that's alright. They were all re-runs anyway."

You raise your eyebrow. "Think I could still hear that impression?"

He holds a finger to his chin in mock deliberation, "Hmmm, have I had enough to drink for that?

"I don't know, have you?" You lean in with anticipation.

He flashes a sly grin. "Of course I bloody have," he declares in the most hackneyed attempt at a British accent you'd ever heard, "And you better listen up, because I'm about to tell you everything there is to know about how to cook a bloody good flounder."

Your sides ache with laughter as he continues to go on a tangent about how to properly sauté shallots and season the perfect demi-glace. The voice sounded nothing like the infamously tempermental chef, of course, but you still thought his attempt was cute. By the time he was yelling at his invisible staff for serving him raw fish, the storm outside had passed, and neither of you noticed.

As Arthur went to light the stove to warm up some "gourmet" SpaghettiOs, still boisterously carrying on as Chef Ramsay, your excited thoughts returned to the story about his parents. You couldn't help but wonder about your own stormy night, the man you had met, and how much of a hand fate had played in it. The horizon seemed so much brighter than before, and for the first time ever, you were grateful to have bought that car.

#arthur curry x reader #aquaman x reader #aquaman imagine #arthur curry imagine #aquaman and the lost kingdom #jason momoa #arthur curry #aquaman 2 #aquaman fanfic #my writing #request

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xumuchluv · 3 months ago

Text

⌞Vague Lines & Blurred Loyalties⌝

Genre: Smut (MDNI), angst, romance Pairing: Ex Yeonjun x Fem Reader Warnings: CAR SEX, Swearing, Fighting, Miscommunication (Ig), arguments, crying (everyone lmao), Little dry humping, Oral (both receive it), Jealousy, kissing, they're a bit toxic, Dom Yeonjun, unprotected sex, teasing, fake dating, hickeys, etc.. Settings: Summer (Bar, Apartment, Parking lot, Car..) Song Recommendation: Again - Noah Cyrus & XXXTENTACION Word Count: 14k

In all honesty, you’re not the type of person to do double dates. So, you had no reason to be in this downtown bar on a sweltering summer night. Yet here you are, waiting for the other couple to join you, and it’s already well past the original meeting time.

“How much longer will they take? It’s already 11 pm,” you inquire impatiently, feeling the sweat bead on your forehead. The oppressive heat of this summer night is almost unbearable, the thick air pressing down on you, making the sticky leather of the bar stool even more uncomfortable.

“Only five more minutes, okay? You can wait five more minutes for me, right? You know how important this is to me.” Beomgyu bends down, brushing a stray strand of hair off your damp forehead, then looks at you with those glimmering puppy eyes. Those damn puppy eyes that convinced you to agree to this whole charade in the first place.

You sigh, feeling the warm air from your breath mix with the heat, and look down in defeat. Beomgyu’s smile broadens, knowing he’s won. He glances toward the entrance of the bar, the neon lights casting a colorful glow on his face.

“Oh, they're here!” Beomgyu exclaims. His words fade into the cacophony of music and cheers that envelop the bar as he goes to greet his friends. You don’t bother turning your head to meet them. They’ll come to your table anyway. You lean your head back, closing your eyes, hoping for a moment’s peace before the inevitable small talk begins.

The heat seems to amplify the sounds around you—the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, the distant laughter. Suddenly, you hear approaching voices mingling with Beomgyu’s loud chatter and lift your head, preparing to greet the couple. Out of politeness, you stand up. However, the sight before you shocks you into sitting back down involuntarily.

“Hello! Nice to meet you. I’m Nari. I’m guessing you’re Y/N?” The girl asks, her voice smooth and friendly. She smiles warmly, but your focus is on the man beside her. Yeonjun. He stands there, an imposing figure, his presence commanding the space around him. The soft glow of the bar lights accentuates his sharp features, and there’s an aura about him that makes the stifling heat feel even more intense.

In your head, Yeonjun and you were like what thorns are to roses, Yeonjun adorned you the same way thorns do to roses. He protected you many times, shielded you from even yourself at times. However, he suffocated you, blocking the outside world from your view. And so the rose had to pluck out the thorns; you had to pluck Yeonjun out of your life.

(And when the rose violently snapped off her thorns, once a part of her, her body released a liquid, blood, to try and soothe her pain. Though, now without her thorns, she still feels the emptiness from the gaps of where the thorns used to decorate her body. But the rose would never admit to that.)

It is safe to say that your relationship ended rockily.

"Y/N? Babe?" Beomgyu snaps you out of your trance. "Sorry, I was zoned out a bit." You smile back at him and stand up. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N," you say, fighting the urge to look into Yeonjun’s piercing eyes.

"Beomgyu talks so much about you, I feel like you're my friend as well," Nari says, laughing. She seems so sweet, and you can’t help but examine her. You once used to be as bright as her. You remember when you styled your hair in various ways and wore colourful clothes just like hers. Now, you’re the complete opposite of how you were. All thanks to Yeonjun, and you can’t help but feel bad for her.

“Haha, does he?” You look at Beomgyu as you exclaim that, and he wraps his arm around your neck as he laughs, looking away, supposedly embarrassed. “Well, a friend of Beomgyu is a friend of mine as well,” you giggle.

The group chuckles amongst themselves, but now it’s time for Yeonjun’s introduction. Which Yeonjun seems to lack interest in doing, so Nari kindly chimes in, "Y/N, this is Yeonjun, my boyfriend." You decide to be brave and look him straight in the eyes. He looks just as amazing as you remember. Yeonjun is silent, extending his hand to shake, and utters the quietest “Nice to meet you.” It’s not spewed in a shy tone, but rather an annoyed one. He slightly grits his teeth as he says it. He meets your eyes with ferocity dancing in his eyes, almost matching your own.

His audacity always amused you, so you have no problem reciprocating his manner and shaking his hand. Your lips curl into a slight smile, feeling too natural for your own liking. The handshake is cut short by a subtle yank from your end.

“Nice to meet you too,” you say without faltering your smile.

As the four of you sit down at the table, the feeling of his fingers brushing your palm lingers on your skin. You're reminded of all the other times those fingers touched you, in all kinds of places. You suddenly feel your skin burning with imaginary touches from the man sitting in front of you, and you feel like you need to crawl out of your own skin. Disturbed with yourself for thinking about what you fought so hard to forget.

"Have you guys ever come here before?" Beomgyu asks the couple sitting opposite you. "No, well, Nari and I usually prefer to have dates in more romantic spots. Like the movies or an aquarium, you know?" Yeonjun says rather smugly, lifting his arm to place it around her shoulder.

You chuckle to yourself. Romantic spots? Yeonjun? The same Yeonjun who was always too focused on his games to even take you out? The same Yeonjun who would only take you on unplanned dates, if he took you out at all? Yeah, right.

A scoff escapes your mouth, and you force it into a laugh. “That’s great! Beomgyu and I do the exact same, but we like to experience a different atmosphere once in a while.” You look lovingly into Beomgyu’s eyes. “Right, Gyu?” The nickname rolls off your tongue, and Beomgyu looks a bit taken aback. “Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You smile and lean your head onto his shoulder.

You chatter amongst yourselves for the remainder of the hour, except Yeonjun and you don’t really exchange words—not directly, at least. Instead, you exchange looks. Both of you can’t seem to help your wandering eyes. He looks just as you left him, but even better than you remember. That’s what time does, you suppose. On the contrary, you doubt he recognizes you as the person to wear your current fashion, nor the person to wear such expressions on your face either. But you suppose that’s what time does.

You’ve never been as clingy toward Beomgyu as you currently are. You’re practically sitting on his lap. However, the same can be said about the couple in front of you. Being as touchy as possible, there’s a silent competition occurring, and you and Yeonjun are the competitors.

A specific question arouses your interest compared to the blur of the last few minutes. "How did you and Yeonjun meet?" Beomgyu asks. You lean your head in, awaiting her answer.

"Well, Yeonjun and I used to play games together all the time, and when we found out we lived in the same area, we decided to meet up. That was around two years ago, I think. He actually had a girlfriend when we first met in person, but shortly after we met up, they broke up, and that was my chance, haha."

Oh? Oh. So that's why she's familiar.

You met her once. She was gorgeous, but you also remember the huge fight that happened after the meeting. She was acting extra clingy toward him for just a friend, and you did not feel that was appropriate. And instead of reassuring you, Yeonjun just mocked your emotions. So she must be the reason he was always on that game, chatting with her. Suddenly, her laugh is agitating you.

A sense of betrayal washes over you upon learning this information. Yeonjun had many flaws, which you memorised inside the core of your brain ever since your breakup to convince yourself it was the right choice, but being a cheater was a new addition to the list.

You slowly avert your eyes up to Yeonjun’s. He has his body leaned against the wall behind him, and he looks down, meeting your gaze. "Is that so?" you blurt out, interrupting her not-so-little story. "I wasn't aware you enjoyed games that much, Yeonjun. What games other than video games do you enjoy playing? Perhaps mental games?" you spit out, the sharp edge of your words cutting through the air. Only Yeonjun seems to understand your intent.

He looks to the side and chuckles lowly, as if in disbelief over your words. Then he moves his frame onto the table and leans his head onto his hands, mirroring you. "I prefer physical games, actually," he says, emphasising the word "physical." It shouldn't have affected you as much as it did, but it did. Your flushed cheeks shine with a mix of your makeup, oil, and sweat under the dim lights of the crowded bar. You take his advance towards you as a challenge, maintaining direct eye contact with him, facing each other head-on.

The air between you is thick with unspoken words and lingering tension, the din of the bar fading into the background. You feel your pulse quicken, every heartbeat echoing in your ears. The heat of the summer night seeps into your skin, amplifying the flush on your cheeks.

"Okay.. Well, Y/N, I have to go grab something from your car. Could you come with me to get it?" Beomgyu asks, cutting through the electrified silence.

"Mhm," you say lowly, your voice barely above a whisper as you slowly divert your eyes from Yeonjun, reluctantly breaking the intense gaze to follow Beomgyu's figure. Yeonjun's pupils following you as you leave.

Once you step outside, you exhale deeply, taking in lungfuls of the fresh night air. "Y/N, what's wrong?" Beomgyu grabs you by the shoulders, his eyes searching yours with deep concern.

"I don't know if I can continue this, Gyu. I'm sorry," you reply honestly, your voice trembling slightly.

"You seem bothered by something. You surprisingly seem to enjoy acting as if we are dating..?" He speaks with a confused expression, which soon shifts to a satisfied smirk. "Not that I'm complaining though. Nari clearly seems annoyed by it. I just thought I'd be the one initiating all the romantic stuff, y'know?"

The truth is, you and Beomgyu are just friends. His recent ex, Nari, and he have been playing this game of complete idiocy, in your terms. They pretend they're just friends, when they're not. Once Beomgyu found out she had moved on already, he had to see her with his replacement himself. So, Beomgyu suggested a double date. Unfortunately, you had to partake in all this to support your dear friend. He also asked you to act clingy towards himself to elicit a reaction from Nari.

"Gyu there's something you should know." You explain how Yeonjun is your ex, and how you've been extra clingy to make it seem as if you're dating Beomgyu, because you wanted to make Yeonjun feel as though you had moved on completely. You keep it short, not mentioning how you believe Yeonjun cheated on you with Nari.

"Oh... wow," he blurts out.

"Yeah. Oh." You repeat, feeling a bit exasperated after throwing all your words out.

"So... both of us are trying to make our exes jealous?" he questions. You both look at each other, sharing a single brain cell, you think, and then burst into laughter.

"How did we reach this level of desperation?" you laugh out, wiping your eyes from the tears of laughter.

You and Beomgyu decide this is the perfect opportunity to get revenge on both your exes and annoy them as much as possible. You carry out the initial plan and both of you plot to make it seem as if you were making out. You rub your lips and smudge your lipstick, using some of it to rub onto Beomgyu's lips and neck. You prepare a dazed, off-kilter look.

The bar was a stifling cocoon of heat, the air so thick and heavy it felt like it was pressing down on you. As you and Beomgyu stepped back inside, the warmth wrapped around you, but it was nothing compared to the searing intensity of Yeonjun’s gaze locking onto yours. His eyes, dark and unreadable, bore into you, a silent challenge simmering beneath the surface. His hand gripped Nari’s waist with a possessive force, fingers digging into her skin as his lips moved against hers with a calculated hunger, each movement deliberate, meant to provoke. The sight sent a jolt of something electric through you, something that made the already heavy air feel suffocating.

You don't know why, but the sight made the bottom of your feet itch to run, the blood in your veins pulse faster, and your hands squeeze shut in anger. Your heart pounds in your ears as a cold fury washes over you, feeling as if your assumptions were proven correct. Still grasping Beomgyu's hand, you walk up to them.

"Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you guys came back already," Yeonjun's voice cuts through the air like a knife, thick with a smirk as he slowly pulls away from Nari’s lips. His tone is casual, but the glint in his eyes is anything but. He’s playing a game—one you’re determined not to lose. You scoff, your chest tightening with a mix of irritation and something more dangerous, something that simmers just beneath the surface.

Nari’s face flushes with embarrassment, a slight tinge of pink crawling up her neck. She shifts uncomfortably, caught in the act. But honestly, what did she expect? Making out with him in public was bound to draw attention.

You and Beomgyu take your seat on the bar stools.

You weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you falter. You turned to Beomgyu, who seemed almost frozen beside you, his eyes wide with something between shock, jealousy, and anger. "Oh babe, you have something there," you murmured, your voice laced with deliberate sweetness, as you traced your fingers along the marks you had intentionally left on his neck earlier.

You glanced around for a tissue, a small, almost mocking smile curling at the corners of your lips when you found none. Instead, you leaned in closer to Beomgyu, the warmth of his skin radiating against your own, your breath mingling with his. "Excuse me for this," you whispered, your voice dropping into something almost seductive as you pressed your lips against the spot, the heat of your mouth remaining as you licked off the smeared lipstick.

The contact was more intimate than you’d intended, your lips lingering a moment too long, the taste of his skin mixed with the salt of sweat as the heat in the room seemed to only increase. You felt Beomgyu stiffen under your touch, a sharp intake of breath betraying his surprise, his muscles tensing as your tongue traced the curve of his neck, the suction intensifying as you tried to remove the mark, only to replace it with a darker stain—this time unmistakably a hickey.

When you pulled back, you feigned a look of innocent surprise, eyes wide as if you hadn’t meant to leave such a blatant mark. "Oh, oops," you said, your voice lilting with fake carelessness. You caught the way Beomgyu’s pulse was hammering under his skin, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "We’ll just wipe it off later then," you added with a sly, knowing smile, your gaze sliding back to Yeonjun.

In your peripheral vision, you caught the flash of jealousy in Yeonjun’s eyes, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly, though he tried to mask it with a tight-lipped grin. Nari was no better—her discomfort was written all over her.

The air around the four of you buzzed with unspoken words, each of you caught in this twisted game of one-upmanship, where the lines between past and present, affection and spite, were becoming increasingly blurred. The temperature in the room seemed to rise even higher, the hot air pressing in on all sides as the tension between you all reached a boiling point.

“W-Woahh, uhh, is it just me, or did it suddenly become scorching in here?” Beomgyu’s voice wavers as he fidgets in his seat, tugging at his collar like the air around him had grown suffocating. “Maybe we should ditch this place and head back to my apartment?” he suggests, forcing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Your apartment?” Yeonjun’s tone is laced with suspicion, his eyebrow arching. His gaze flicks between you and Beomgyu, a smirk ghosting his lips as he adds, “Not ‘our’ apartment?” The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Nari, catching onto his tone, chimes in with a voice that mirrors his, a faint hint of accusation, “You two don’t live together?”

“Uhhh…” Beomgyu falters, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on him. “We don’t. I have a place nearby though. We’re working on moving in together,” you interject, the sweetness in your smile sharp enough to cut. The lie rolls off your tongue with practised ease, but the tightness in Yeonjun’s jaw tells you he’s not fooled.

“And you two?” you continue, your voice deceptively light as you aim to strike a nerve. “Living together already?”

Yeonjun’s response is swift, almost too quick. “We do,” he snaps, his hand tightening possessively around Nari’s waist. There’s a sharpness to his tone that only you can decipher, a silent challenge embedded in his words.

“Wow, that’s fast,” you say. “Considering you only started dating.. two years ago?” The question is a bait, the words dripping with insinuation, daring him to reveal the truth you’ve been suspecting.

Yeonjun’s eyes flash, a storm brewing behind them as he bites out, “She just moved in recently.” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, a defensiveness that gives him away.

“Must be nice,” you murmur, your gaze locking with his. The air between you heavy, the tension thickening with every passing second. The couple in front of you might be wrapped up in their own world, but the intensity of your silent exchange overshadows everything else in the room.

Beomgyu, trying to change the subject, forces an awkward laugh, his voice unnaturally loud. “Well! Drinks are on me tonight, so let’s grab our last round before heading back to my place!” His attempt to lighten the mood falls flat, the awkward enthusiasm only highlighting the discomfort simmering beneath the surface. However, the four of you play along.

You decide against drinking. The night is volatile enough, and you need a clear head to navigate whatever’s coming next. A bottle of water will be your only companion on the ride back.

Meanwhile, Beomgyu and Nari down shots like they’re desperate to drown their problems, the alcohol flowing as easily as the lies between you all. That leaves you and Yeonjun, the only two sober minds in a room full of vague lines and blurred loyalties.

The night ahead looms large, it’s going to be a long night.

You step into the bathroom, the cool water splashing onto your face doing little to quell the fire simmering in your chest. Staring at your reflection, you force yourself to take a breath, running your fingers through your hair to smooth it back into place. The moment is brief, but it’s enough to regain your composure—enough to prepare yourself to face Yeonjun once more.

When you emerge, the table is empty, the lively chatter of the bar fading into the background as your eyes land on the closed glass door. Outside, you catch sight of Yeonjun, his hand on Nari’s waist, guiding her into his car with that infuriatingly effortless grace. Beomgyu stumbles along, clearly too far gone to even stand straight. A sigh escapes you. Of course, it’s up to you to settle the bill now.

But as you approach the bartender, he informs you that Yeonjun has already paid. The notion grates on your nerves, a bitter reminder of the man you once knew. Always the gentleman, even when you wish he wasn’t. You grab your belongings, your mind racing with a mix of irritation and something more confusing, something you refuse to name.

As you prepare to leave, your gaze catches a small, familiar object on the edge of Yeonjun’s seat—a Polaroid photo. Curiosity tugs at you, and you pick it up, but before you can even glance at the image, a voice cuts through your thoughts.

“I believe that’s mine.”

You whip around, your heart leaping into your throat as Yeonjun stands there, his eyes locking onto yours. You freeze, the photo still clutched in your hand, as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. The table presses against your back, the wall on the other side boxing you in, trapping you with nowhere to go.

He moves closer still, the space between you shrinking until it’s almost nonexistent. His breath fans across your face, and you can’t help but notice how it quickens in sync with your own. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, each inhale brushing against him, and you know he notices—his eyes flicker down, taking in every detail.

Your heart pounds in your ears, the tension between you taut, electric. Yeonjun leans in, his face mere inches from yours, and for a brief, reckless moment, your mind blanks, lost in the proximity, the heat. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he plucks the photo from your hand, but his gaze never wavers, his dark eyes boring into yours.

The silence stretches, heavy and charged. This close, it’s impossible to ignore the magnetism pulling you towards him, the unresolved emotions crackling like a live wire between you. But this isn’t the Yeonjun you fell for—this is the man who betrayed you.

“I…” Your voice falters, coming out more shaky than you’d like. You try again, mustering a semblance of confidence. “I don’t think Nari would like seeing us this close…”

His eyes flicker to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with something you can’t quite place. “She wouldn’t.”

And just like that, he steps back, the spell broken, leaving you breathless and reeling. He turns on his heel, heading towards the exit, and the moment he’s gone, you feel the air return to your lungs.

You take a few steadying breaths, trying to slow the frantic beating of your heart. The room feels hotter now, the air thick and stifling, every brush of fabric against your skin suddenly unbearable. You close your eyes, grounding yourself before finally following him outside into the cool night air.

You approach Yeonjun’s car, as you approach you catch snippets of the conversation between him and Nari.

“What is he doing in my car?” Yeonjun’s voice is low, tinged with annoyance as he glances at the backseat. You follow his gaze and spot Beomgyu, sprawled out and sound asleep, oblivious to the world. The front passenger seat, littered with Yeonjun’s belongings, leaves no room for anyone else.

Nari, swaying slightly on her feet, slurs her words, “It’s okay, don’t wake him up. I’ll just go to Y/N’s car since there isn’t enough space in yours.” Her eyes notice your figure, and she smiles brightly, pointing at you.

“There she is!” Nari exclaims, her voice overly enthusiastic, and you feel their eyes on you. The intensity of Yeonjun’s gaze is impossible to ignore as it sweeps over your body, staying on you for a little too long.

“Y/N, please drive me to Beomgyu’s place,” Nari says, her words blending together. “I’m sure you know the way, right? If you don’t, I can tell you because I—”

“There isn’t enough space for both Nari and Beomgyu in my car at the moment,” Yeonjun interjects, his tone clipped as he pinches the bridge of his nose, his other hand resting on his hip in a gesture of frustration. “And Nari insists on leaving Beomgyu where he is. So, you’ll have to take her. I’ll follow you.”

“Oh.” You glance at Nari, her expression loose and unconcerned. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

It’s not fine. You do not want to be stuck with the girl your ex cheated on you with.

With that, you help Nari into your car, the weight of Yeonjun’s stare still heavy on your back as you slip into the driver’s seat. As you pull away, you catch sight of Yeonjun in your rearview mirror, his car trailing close behind.

The car ride is a relentless stream of chatter, Nari’s drunken rambling filling the space between you. Her words tumble out in a jumbled mess, but you let her talk, relieved she isn’t the crying type. Yet, something she says snags your attention.

“Yeonjun told me you almost saw that photo,” she giggles, the sound annoying you. “It would’ve been really bad for him if you did.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand, your grip tightening on the steering wheel. But Nari offers no reply. You glance over, only to find her eyes closed, her breathing even.

No. You need answers.

You reach over and shake her shoulder, your voice sharp as you call her name. “What did you mean by that?”

She stirs, blinking groggily. “Huh? Mean by what?”

Frustration coils in your chest. Her drunken haze is a barrier you can’t seem to break through, and the urgency gnaws at you. Up ahead, a traffic light turns yellow, and without thinking, you press down on the gas pedal, speeding through the intersection. In the rearview mirror, you catch a glimpse of Yeonjun’s car, stopped at the red light, his face a mask of confusion.

Your pulse quickens, the unanswered question burning in your mind. What was in that photo? Why did it matter so much to Yeonjun? The road stretches out before you, but the only thing you can focus on is the mystery hanging over you like a storm cloud, dark and heavy.

—

Yeonjun slams on the brakes at the red light, the sudden stop jolting him out of his thoughts. He stares ahead, torn between chasing after you and staying put, uncertainty gnawing at him. A thud from the back seat snaps him back to the present.

“Ah... damn it...” Beomgyu groans, his voice muffled as he peels his face off the car’s floor, where he’s fallen in his drunken state.

Yeonjun mutters a curse under his breath, his knuckles white as they grip the steering wheel. He shoots a glance at Beomgyu through the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his ex’s new boyfriend.

“Blame your girlfriend for that,” Yeonjun mutters, unable to keep the venom from his voice.

Beomgyu sluggishly drags himself back onto the seat, his movements slow and uncoordinated. “My girlfriend...?”

Time seems to stretch as the red light stubbornly refuses to change, each second ticking by with agonizing slowness. The tension in the car is thick, the air almost crackling with it. A notification dings on Yeonjun’s phone, momentarily pulling his attention away from the awkward silence.

It’s a message from Nari, and Yeonjun’s brow furrows as he reads it:

‘Stic to right lane & turn right at honey strt’

Yeonjun exhales sharply, the frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. His fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel, a rapid, nervous rhythm that betrays his inner turmoil. What are you planning?

Beomgyu’s voice, lazy and taunting, cuts through the tense silence. “You know, I’ve only seen Y/N speed through this stop a few times...”

Yeonjun’s gaze shifts to the rearview mirror, locking onto Beomgyu’s reflection. The younger man’s smirk is infuriatingly smug, a glint in his eyes.

“It only happens when she’s in a rush... to get to my apartment.” Beomgyu’s voice drops lower, more suggestive, as he leans back, spreading himself comfortably across the seats. “When she’s in a rush to feel me... on her.” He pauses, watching as Yeonjun’s chest rises and falls with controlled breaths. “...in her.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and provocative. Yeonjun’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking with barely restrained fury. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles almost popping, the pressure enough to shatter it. The intensity in his eyes as they meet Beomgyu’s in the rearview mirror is scorching, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

“If... you know what I mean,” Beomgyu adds, his tone dripping with a taunt that cuts deeper than any blade.

Yeonjun’s eyes burn with an icy fire as he stares Beomgyu down, a challenge hanging between them like a drawn sword. The tension is like a bomb, vibrating with the threat of explosion, each man’s pride and desire for dominance clashing in the confined space of the car.

But then, a sharp honk from the car behind shatters the moment, dragging Yeonjun back to the harsh reality of the situation. He blinks, the connection between them severed, and with a muttered curse, he presses down on the gas pedal, hard, as the light finally turns green.

—

Nari’s voice cuts through the atmosphere in the car, her words slurred but her concern evident. “Woah, Y/N, what the hell?”

"Please text Yeonjun to stick to the right lane throughout the entire road until he reaches 'Honey' street, where he'll need to take a right turn to arrive at Beomgyu's apartment parking." You give her instructions, sounding formal from restraining your true feelings at the moment.

She fumbles with her phone, her drunken fingers struggling to tap out a coherent message.

‘Stic to right lane & turn right at honey strt’, she manages to sent Yeonjun.

Your mind is elsewhere, clouded with doubt and anger. “You mentioned something earlier... about how it would’ve been bad for Yeonjun if I saw that photo. Why?” Your voice is strained, and without thinking, you wrench the steering wheel to the left, taking a detour that gives you more time for your discussion.

Nari yelps, gripping the seatbelt as the car swerves. “Y/N!” Her voice is tinged with fear, but you barely register it. All you can think about is that photo—what it could mean, what it could reveal.

“Nari,” you snap, your voice tight with desperation. “Tell me right now! Is it a photo of you? Of you two while he was still with me? Is that why it would’ve been bad for him? That bastard!” Your voice breaks, tears stinging your eyes, blurring the road ahead. You blink rapidly, trying to focus, but the emotions are overwhelming.

But instead of the answer you dread, Nari’s laughter fills the car, light and almost mocking. “Y/N... I know you and Yeonjun dated,” she says, her tone a strange mix of amusement and sympathy. “But do you really think he cheated on you? With me?” She pauses, letting the question hang in the air. “It’s a photo of you, Y/N. He shouldn’t be carrying around a picture of his ex while he’s dating someone new, right? That’s why it would’ve been bad for him.”

Her words hit you like a truck, leaving you momentarily breathless. You slow the car, the confusion and shock twisting your stomach into knots. What? That was the last thing you expected her to say. You roll down the window, letting the night air wash over you, trying to calm your racing heart. “Nari... I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Nari sighs softly, her gaze distant as she stares out the window. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Just... don’t tell Yeonjun I said anything, okay?”

“Yeah... of course,” you murmur, the words feeling heavy on your tongue.

The rest of the drive is suffocatingly quiet, Nari’s gentle snores the only sound as you’re left alone with your swirling thoughts. The earlier confusion and the anger all blend into a chaotic mess in your mind.

You finally pull into the parking lot, spotting Yeonjun leaning against his car, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He straightens up when he sees you, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You step out of the car, gently helping the now nearly unconscious Nari out as well. There's a silence between you and Yeonjun, as he watches you with an inscrutable gaze.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, his tone laced with irritation. He rolls his eyes, but you don’t rise to the bait, too drained to engage.

“Where’s Beomgyu?” you ask, ignoring his remark.

Yeonjun’s jaw tightens slightly, but he answers, “He went up to his apartment.”

You nod, guiding Nari towards the building, your mind still reeling from everything that’s happened. But one thing is clear—you’re not done with this conversation. Not by a long shot.

Finally, after what feels like an endless climb up the stairs—thanks to the conveniently broken elevator—you reach Beomgyu’s floor. Each step was a reminder of the weight of the night, and you can’t help but let out a breathy, victorious "fucking finally" as you clutch your knees, trying to steady your racing heart. You open Beomgyu’s unlocked door, your hand trembling slightly from the adrenaline over climbing too many steps in a short amount of time.

Yeonjun steps in, carrying Nari effortlessly, with a strong frame. The apartment is cozy, with just enough space for two, yet the intimacy of the setting only adds to the suffocating tension. His eyes sweep over the place, lingering on the personal touches—Beomgyu’s little marks of comfort and style. The kitchen, neat and orderly, the living room inviting with its well-worn sofas surrounding a central table atop a small circular carpet, and finally, his gaze drifts to the door on the right, presumably leading to the bedroom.

You watch him as he gently lays Nari down on the nearest sofa, his movements careful, deliberate. He then returns to the entrance, his hands slowly working on the laces of his shoes, almost like he’s stalling. When he slips off his jockey university sweater, the air seems to thicken, and you can’t help but trace the contours of his body with your eyes, quickly averting them when you feel your cheeks burn with memories better left forgotten.

The room suddenly feels too small, too intimate. Here you are, after everything, sharing the same space as Yeonjun in Beomgyu’s apartment. The thought makes your stomach churn. You shake your head, trying to refocus. Beomgyu—where was he? You need to find him, cling to the present to avoid drowning in the past.

You move towards the bedroom, the light already on, spilling out into the hallway. “Beomgyu? Are you there?” Your voice echoes softly, breaking the stillness.

A response comes from the bathroom, on the right of the room, his voice familiar yet strained, “I’m here…”

Relief washes over you, and you step inside, your earlier tension momentarily forgotten. “You know, it's kind of rude to leave your guests—” The words die in your throat as your gaze lands on Beomgyu, shirtless, hunched over the sink, struggling to apply ointment to a nasty, jagged scratch running down his back.

Your breath hitches as you take in the scene. The sight of him, vulnerable and hurt, ignites a surge of concern that pushes aside everything else. You approach him slowly, your earlier bravado slipping away, replaced by something gentler. “What… happened?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, laced with worry for your friend.

Beomgyu’s reflection in the mirror meets yours, a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. But it’s the pain in his eyes that catches you off guard, making your heart clench.

“Gyu... what the hell happened?” The words slip out in a frantic whisper as you rush over to him, grabbing the ointment from his trembling hands.

“Nothing,” he mutters, a scoff barely masking the pain in his voice. His eyes are downcast, avoiding yours as if hiding something. You gently begin to apply the ointment to his raw, sensitive skin, your hands trembling slightly as you try to be as careful as possible. But Beomgyu doesn’t even flinch, his body numbed either by alcohol or something far deeper.

“This is not nothing, Beomgyu,” you say firmly, your voice stern with concern. The thought of what—or who—could have caused this flashes through your mind, and an image of Yeonjun surfaces, dark and accusing. A surge of anger pulses through you. Could he have done this? You turn, eyes blazing with determination. “Did Yeonjun do this to you?”

Beomgyu’s eyes roll in exasperation, his head tilting back slightly as if he’s exhausted by the question. “I told you, I don’t care about this scratch, okay?” His voice is flat, devoid of its usual spark, as he pushes himself off the sink and saunters towards his closet, passing by you, searching for a shirt.

You follow him, not willing to let it go, your heart pounding in your chest. From the corner of your eye, you catch Yeonjun standing near Nari, as he hands her a drink you can only assume is water to sober her up, removing a bottle of wine from her other hand. You lower your voice, trying to keep the conversation private. “Beomgyu,” you press, your tone urgent and low, “Did Yeonjun do this?”

“Ugh, yeah, he did, but it’s not what you think. I’m not even mad about it—”

“I hate him.” The words spill out before you can stop them, your voice quivering with raw emotion. You turn on your heel, ready to storm out and confront Yeonjun, the adrenaline surging through you like fire. But Beomgyu’s hand catches your arm, his grip firm yet pleading.

“Y/N, stop,” he says, his voice cutting through your anger like a knife. “It was my fault. I riled him up... it’s complicated.” His eyes drop, the weight of whatever he’s holding back pulling him down.

Your anger deflates, replaced by a heavy sadness. You move closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm, your mind racing to piece together what could have driven Beomgyu to such a state. “Is it... Nari? Is that what this is about?”

At the mention of her name, his expression crumbles, the facade he’s been holding up finally breaking. His shoulders slump, and he nods, the pain evident in every line of his face. “I think it’s over... between us. She seems to really have moved on.” His voice is barely a whisper, thick with unshed tears as he clings to your arm.

You remember Nari’s words in the car about Yeonjun keeping a photo of you. The thought of it makes your heart twist in your chest. How could they be in a genuine relationship if Yeonjun hasn't let go of the past? “Don’t be so sure, Gyu,” you murmur softly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you turn to him. There’s a flicker of hope in your chest—hope for Beomgyu and Nari, though you’re unsure what it means for you and Yeonjun.

Beomgyu looks up at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his vulnerability laid bare. “What makes you say that?” he asks, his voice trembling with both fear and hope.

You smile down at him, tenderly wiping away a tear that escapes from the corner of his eye. “Just trust me,” you whisper, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. His eyes flutter closed at the contact, and you pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his head, cradling him like something precious. “You’ll see, Gyu,” you murmur, swaying gently back and forth, trying to soothe the storm inside him.

You hear a cough behind you and turn to find Yeonjun and Nari standing awkwardly in the doorway. Their presence feels like an intrusion, but you quickly move away from Beomgyu, who hastily wipes away any lingering tears, trying to compose himself.

"Um, I kind of made a mess outside and... was wondering if I could use your shower?" Nari asks, her voice small and hesitant as she clutches her soaked shirt. It’s only then that you notice the wine stains covering her clothes. Yeonjun, on the other hand, looks dry, but his eyes are averted, and he huffs before turning and leaving the room without a word.

"Yeah, of course," Beomgyu responds, standing up to lead Nari to the bathroom. You decide to give them some space, hoping that maybe this moment alone is what they need to work things out.

As the door closes behind them, the apartment falls into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant murmur of Beomgyu and Nari’s voices. You turn back to the living room and see Yeonjun bent over, scrubbing a wine stain off the floor. Relief washes over you that the spill didn’t hit the carpet or the couch, but then your eyes land on the table—your paper, drenched in crimson liquid.

“No...” You rush over, your heart sinking as you pick up your soaked assignment, trying to salvage what little remains. The paper disintegrates in your hands, the ink smudging and bleeding until there’s nothing left but a soggy mess between your fingers. The frustration and anger bubble up inside you, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to hold back on your anger.

When you open them, you see Yeonjun, still cleaning, completely ignoring your disaster. You didn’t expect an apology, but his indifference stings more than any words could. And perhaps you mixing your own personal emotions when you said your next words, but they had come out more hurtful than intended.

“Hey, jackass.” The words fly out of your mouth, sharp and biting, aimed at Yeonjun’s turned back. He stops and slowly turns to you, his expression one of mild annoyance. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for you to continue.

“Were you just standing there like a useless idiot when she knocked over the wine?” you snap, your voice dripping with contempt.

Yeonjun scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he straightens up and takes a step towards you, the air between you crackling with unresolved feelings. He doesn’t speak, just watches you, his gaze challenging and unyielding.

“Are you mute as well as useless?” you bite out, your anger flaring as you meet his eyes, refusing to back down. His silence is infuriating, and you can feel the rage boiling over, threatening to spill out in ways you can’t control. In the background, you hear the bathroom shower begin, the sound pulling you back to the present moment, grounding you in the here and now. And right now, you were angry.

“Fuck’s sake!” You slam your hands down on the table, the impact sending droplets of wine splattering across the surface and onto your hands, staining them red. “I’ve been trying so hard to be civil with you, but you don’t even try. You’re just... unbearable.” Your voice cracks with frustration, the words spilling out in a torrent of pent-up emotion.

Yeonjun lifts an eyebrow, a smug expression creeping onto his face, as if he’s amused by your outburst. That look—the one he always gives when he thinks he’s above it all—pushes you over the edge.

“And that!” you hiss, leaning in closer, pointing a trembling finger at him. “That exact face you make when something doesn’t please the almighty Yeonjun. You’re a fucking bastard, Yeonjun. You lie, you fight, you ruin everything good, and you cheat.”

At this, he grabs your hand, his grip firm. “Cheat?” His voice is low, dangerous, his eyes burning into yours with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “For fuck’s sake, Y/N, you broke up with me. Didn’t even have the decency to tell me why. And now you’re here, accusing me of cheating? Is that really why you left me?”

You glare back at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “No, it wasn’t. But I’m sure you did, Yeonjun. With Nari.”

His face falls for a split second, the anger faltering as a flash of hurt crosses his features. He stumbles back slightly, his hands dropping to his sides. “Wow...” he breathes, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “This is just... great.”

He looks at you for a moment longer, before shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, I’m not dealing with this shit.” He grabs his keys and wallet off the table, heading for the door with long, angry strides. The door slams behind him with a force that reverberates through the apartment, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, reeling from what just happened.

“Fuck...” you whisper to yourself, the weight of the argument settling on your shoulders. You know you should just let him go, but something inside you refuses to leave things like this. Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you rush after him, leaving behind your pride. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to hear his side of the story.

As you hurry down the stairs, your footsteps echo in the stairwell, amplifying your growing desperation. You spot Yeonjun far ahead, his figure a shadow in the dimly lit space. “Yeonjun!” Your voice is firm, laced with the urgency of everything unsaid. But he doesn’t respond, his pace steady and unrelenting.

Bursting out of the building, you speed-walk after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeonjun!” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration and anger. He continues to ignore you, his focus entirely on his car as he throws his belongings into the passenger seat with a controlled fury. You scurry over, desperation driving your steps, and grab his arm just as he reaches for the door handle. “Yeonjun…”

He shakes your hand off with a harsh flick, his movements sharp, and slides into the driver’s seat. You move without thinking, planting yourself directly in front of his car, the headlights casting long shadows behind you. The weight of your actions hits you as he honks, the sound jarring in the empty parking lot.

You’re the one who ended it, so why are you here now, standing in his way, demanding answers you thought you never wanted before?

With a final, angry honk, Yeonjun’s patience snaps. He explodes out of the car, slamming the door so hard the sound echos in the parking lot. His eyes blaze with barely contained anger as he strides toward you, his hands gripping your arms with a force that borders on painful.

“YN, seriously. What do you want?” His voice is a low growl, each word dripping with the frustration and pain he’s held back for too long.

“Yeonjun, I just want to hear your side.” Your voice trembles, your previous tone slipping away as the reality of the situation crashes over you.

He pauses, another bitter laugh escaping his lips as he looks down, shaking his head. “My side?” His voice is laced with incredulity. “You’re two years late, YN.”

Desperation claws at you. “Then tell me now—did you cheat on me with Nari?”

His gaze snaps back to you, eyes narrowed. “No. And for fuck’s sake…” He looks away, running a hand through his hair, the movement jerky, frustrated. “We’re not even dating, YN. She’s just a friend. Believe that or don’t—I don’t care anymore.” His voice drips with a mixture of exhaustion and disdain. “Happy now?”

“Yeonjun…” The word is a broken whisper, a mix of confusion and the lingering echoes of mistrust.

He whips his head back towards you, the anger flaring up again. “YN, you don’t get to say my name. Not.. like that. Not anymore.”

“But, Yeonjun—” You’re cut off by the intensity of his gaze as he takes a deep breath, his hands trembling as they reach for your face. He hesitates for a moment before cradling your cheeks gently, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his eyes.

“No, YN, you don’t understand.” His voice cracks, the anger giving way to a raw, vulnerable pain that takes you by surprise. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through these two years? After you?” His words hang in the air, each one weighted with years of buried emotions. “Do you know that after you just deserted me like we were nothing, I locked myself away for weeks? Do you know that, YN?” His voice rises, the tears welling up in his eyes breaking free.

You feel your own tears threatening to spill over as you listen, the weight of his pain crushing you. “Do you?” he presses, his voice dropping to a whisper, as though the admission itself is too much to bear. “Of course you don’t. You blocked me on everything. You erased me from your life as if we never existed.”

A tear slips down his cheek, and he quickly wipes it away, his composure crumbling. “I know I wasn’t perfect. We weren’t perfect. But we were trying, we were learning. And then you just gave up. You gave up on us, on me.”

His breath is warm against your face, contrasting sharply with the cool night air. “I’d like to know your side, YN. Why? What made you break up with me?”

Your eyes blur with tears, each blink sending droplets cascading down your cheeks. His face is so close now, his presence overwhelming. “Hm?” he murmurs, his voice softening as he leans in, his lips brushing the side of your cheek in a featherlight kiss. “Why?”

He moves across your face, leaving a trail of kisses, each one a question, each one a plea. “How?” Another kiss, his breath hot against your skin. “How could you leave me for that kid?”

Your mind races, the past and present colliding in a storm of emotions. You should answer him, give him the closure he deserves, but your voice is trapped in your throat. You realize now that you were wrong—so wrong about Yeonjun.

He pauses, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath mingling with yours. His large hand snakes around your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. He holds you there, his grip firm but gentle, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing you all over again.

Yeonjun’s voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that’s almost heartbreaking. “Tell me, YN,” he pleads, his gaze locked onto yours, desperate and vulnerable. The world around you seems to pause as you both stand there, holding onto each other like lifelines, lost in the moment.

Just as you gather the strength to answer, Yeonjun shakes his head, a pained expression crossing his face. “No... actually. I don’t want to know. I don’t care,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. The abrupt change in his demeanor leaves you confused, your eyebrows knitting together as you try to process his words.

“Just tell me one thing,” he whispers, his breath hitching as he stares at your lips, then flicks his eyes back to yours. “C-can I kiss you?”

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep within you. “Jun…” His name falls from your lips, barely audible, as if you’re testing the sound of it. You clear your throat, trying to steady yourself. “Yeonjun,” you breathe. You look into his eyes, seeing beyond just your reflection and his dark magnetising pupils, and into the raw, unfiltered desperation. Yeonjun truly loves you—there’s no denying it now.

You inhale sharply, the reality of the moment crashing down on you. “Y-yes,” you whisper, the word barely escaping your lips, but it’s enough.

Before you can take another breath, his lips crash into yours, and the world around you disappears. The kiss is urgent, almost frantic, as if he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. There’s no grace in it—only raw emotion, the kind that has been building for years, waiting to burst.

You melt into him, savouring everything about him—the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin, the way his body presses against yours with both tenderness and urgency. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him.

The kiss intensifies, becoming rougher, more desperate, as if the years apart have created a hunger that neither of you can control. His hands move with a purpose, lifting you effortlessly onto the trunk of his car, the cold metal beneath you a stark contrast to the heat of his touch.

Everything is happening so fast, too fast, but your body reacts instinctively, arching into him as he presses against you, his hips grinding into your clothed core. A gasp escapes your lips, breaking the kiss, but he doesn’t stop. His mouth trails down your neck, leaving a burning path of kisses and fresh red marks that make your skin tingle.

“Junnie…” you breathe out, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions—desire, uncertainty, and the lingering fear that this might not be the way to mend what was broken. But Yeonjun is relentless, his focus entirely on you, on this moment, as if nothing else matters.

You’re caught in the whirlwind of his passion, your thoughts spinning as fast as your heart. Is this the right way to rekindle what you once had? The question lingers in the back of your mind, but it’s drowned out by the intensity of Yeonjun’s determination. He’s here, he’s real, and right now, he’s all that you can think about.

Yeonjun’s breath hitches as he presses closer to you, his voice dropping to a low, desperate whisper. “YN, I need you... fuck,” he groans, the hardness beneath his pants pressing against you as his hand slowly slides up your shirt, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His lips pause against your skin, and he murmurs, “Need you to say you need me too.”

Your mind is hazy, drunk on the intoxicating feel of his lips worshipping every inch of you. The words barely escape your mouth, a soft, breathless, “Need you too,” as your fingers tangle in his hair, nails gently raking over his scalp, eliciting a low hum of satisfaction from him.

His grip tightens around your legs, guiding them to wrap around his waist with a possessive urgency. “No need to be so shy,” he whispers, the corner of his mouth curling into a playful smirk that you can feel against your skin as he peppers your face with kisses. In one swift motion, he lifts you effortlessly and opens the back passenger door, the cool night air brushing against your heated skin.

Clinging to him tightly, he gently lays you down on the seat, your back sinking into the plush leather. Your eyes drift over his body, taking in every detail—the veins standing out against his skin from the strain of holding you, the way his hair sticks to the beads of sweat on his forehead. Your hand reaches up, brushing his hair back, leaving it slightly slicked as he kisses his way down to your collarbone, his tongue tracing circles that make you squirm beneath him.

He finally pulls back, his eyes dark and intense as he studies your face, his arms braced on either side of you, framing your face. For a moment, he just watches you, a strand of his hair falling out of place, and it’s the second hottest thing you’ve ever seen. The first is the sight of him as he pulls away, sitting up, leaning back against the window with his legs spread wide, his gaze smouldering as he taps his lap, silently inviting you to crawl over and cradle him.

But you’ve got something better in mind. Words fail you, but your actions won’t. You sit up slowly, turning to face him before lowering your upper body, arching your back and lifting your hips as you move toward his lap.

Yeonjun’s eyebrow arches in surprise, a smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at you. “Wanna make you feel good, Junnie,” you coo, your voice soft and teasing as you gaze up at him through your lashes. The sight of you like this makes his heart race, his pulse quickening as his desire for you intensifies.

You lick your lips, the anticipation building as you balance yourself on his lap, your fingers deftly undoing his belt. Your eyes never leave his, the connection between you electric as you slowly slide his pants down, your gaze locked on his, every movement deliberate and charged with tension.

As you slide his pants off, your eyes widen at the sight of him. His hardness stands tall, pressing against his stomach, a stain of wetness seeping through the fabric of his boxers by his tip. A wicked grin spreads across your face as you reach out, your finger lightly brushing the spot where he’s leaking. He hisses, his eyes locked on yours, watching your every move with an intensity that sends a thrill down your spine.

You trace the outline of his length with your fingernail, feeling the hard, pulsing veins beneath the thin fabric. The sensation drives him wild, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You press down, earning a chorus of hisses and groans that only fuel your desire. Your palm flattens against him, moving slowly over the length of his boxer-clad heat. You can’t help but lick your lips, practically drooling at the thought of having him in your mouth.

Lifting your thumb, you press it against his tip, feeling the warmth and wetness beneath. But before you can go further, his hand snaps to your wrist, gripping it tightly as he lets out a low, guttural groan. “Stop playing,” he growls, the sound rough and commanding, sending a shiver of excitement through you.

You smirk, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Slowly, teasingly, you lower your hands to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down. Your eyes dilate at the sight before you—his full length, hard and ready, standing proud.

Wasting no time, you wrap your hand around him, feeling the weight and heat of him in your grasp. You pump him a few times, eliciting a deep groan from his throat, before you lean in, your tongue darting out to gently flick across his tip like a teasing kitten. The sensation is too much for him to bear, and his hands fly to your hair, tangling in the strands.

When you take him fully into your mouth, enveloping him in your warm, soft lips, he loses control. His grip on your hair tightens as he lets out a strangled gasp. “S-shit,” he stammers, his voice strained with pleasure. “Only I should see you like this, hm?” His hands tug at your hair, lifting your head so he can look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze nearly overwhelming.

You groan deeply, the sound vibrating through your body and into his, drawing a low moan from Yeonjun. Your tongue works expertly around his length, flicking and swirling over the sensitive head, teasing the skin where it meets the shaft. With Yeonjun’s impressive size, you’re able to take him into your mouth while your hand wraps around the base, moving in sync with your mouth in smooth, circular motions. Your wrist twists with each stroke, ensuring he feels every bit of your attention.

The car fills with a symphony of lewd, wet sounds—the slickness of your efforts combined with his, the steady rhythm of sucking, and the occasional slurp as you work him over. It’s a soundscape pulled straight from the most explicit fantasies, made even more intense by his deep, throaty groans and the filth he whispers under his breath. Your own body responds involuntarily, heat pooling between your legs, your core aching with need, practically dripping from the sheer eroticism of the moment.

“Uhhh, fuck… I’m… fucki-ng close,” he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. He squirms slightly, adjusting his position as he grips your head with a possessive intensity. Despite the pressure, the fact that he’s now thrusting into your mouth keeps you steady, your focus entirely on him.

Yeonjun shifts, planting one knee on the leather seat between your legs for balance while the other foot remains on the floor. You instinctively adjust as well, spreading your knees wider, your toes curling as they press into the seat beneath you. Your upper body remains steady as he takes control, thrusting faster and deeper, each movement more urgent than the last.

“Does… he—” He grunts, thrusting sloppily, “Does his cock taste… or feel half as good as mine?” The words are edged with jealousy and possessiveness, but you’re unable to respond, your entire mouth and throat occupied by his cock. Your hands clutch at his bare thighs for support. Your glossy eyes meet his, tears threatening to spill as his length hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag slightly. He looks down, his expression one of dominance, searching your eyes as if expecting an answer, though he knows you can’t give one.

“Thought so,” he murmurs, smirking at his own satisfaction, his voice dripping with self-assurance. A low, breathless laugh escapes him. “Fuuuuck…” The syllables draw out, his head falling back as his movements grow more erratic and sloppy. “Take your shirt off, now,” he demands, his voice rough with need.

Without hesitation, your hands move faster than your thoughts, peeling the fabric from your body. As you lift your shirt over your head, his length slips from your mouth with a distinctive ‘pop,’ leaving you breathless. You toss the shirt aside, quickly unclipping your bra, letting it fall to the floor of the car.

Yeonjun’s eyes are locked onto you, his hand furiously pumping himself, his breathing ragged as he watches. With a few final strokes, he comes undone, his release shooting out in thick, warm spurts onto your bare chest. The force of it has him throwing his head back, a loud, extended “fuck” tearing from his throat as his body shudders with the intensity of his climax.

Visibly spent but far from satisfied, Yeonjun’s dark, lustful gaze locks onto your cum-streaked body, his breath heavy and ragged. You expect him to take a moment to recover, but instead, he commands through his labored breaths, “Undress. All of it.” His voice is low, dripping with desire, sending a shiver down your spine.

Driven by the hunger in his eyes, you quickly discard your pants, leaving only your underwear clinging to your skin. Meanwhile, Yeonjun tears off his shirt, revealing his sculpted, sweat-slicked torso. As you finish, he’s already on you, your bodies colliding, sticky with sweat and remnants of his release. His arms encircle you tightly, his intense gaze boring into yours as he lowers you onto the seat, his body hovering, exuding dominance.

The moment his weight lifts from you, the cum that once joined your bodies drips back onto your chest, and you catch the glint of dark amusement in his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he dips his head, tongue darting out to gather his droplets, then hovers above you. His fingers gently pry your lips open, and he lets the cum drop from his mouth onto your outstretched tongue. “Taste me,” he whispers, the command seeping into your skin as his mouth crashes onto yours, deepening the connection in a slow, fervent kiss.

His hand slides up your body, smearing the evidence of his release over your skin. The warmth of his palm, the deliberate pinch of your nipple, sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, making you arch into his touch. He breaks the kiss, moving his mouth down your chest, his tongue and lips worshipping your flesh, savoring the mixture of sweat and his essence.

Each flick of his tongue over your nipples, each gentle tug, ignites a fire within you, leaving you squirming beneath him. But his firm grip on you ensures your movements are minimal, controlled, just as he likes it. His lips continue their descent, marking your skin with purples and reds, a visual testament to his possession.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the skin just above your underwear, “how much I missed this.” His words, coupled with the sensation of his mouth and hands, make you whimper, your desire pooling between your thighs.

As his face reaches your thighs, he kisses the tender flesh there, his hands caressing you, teasing you. When he finally positions himself over your core, his eyes meet yours with a devilish smile, and without another word, he lowers his mouth to your most sensitive spot.

Yeonjun’s tongue flattens against your soaked underwear, teasing your core with deliberate, languid strokes. His mouth explores every contour of your folds, shaping them with expert precision, each movement sending a ripple of pleasure through your body. A helpless whimper escapes your lips, your breath hitching as his tongue presses firmly against the center of your desire. He pushes against your entrance, the fabric of your underwear creating a tantalising barrier, before he uses the hard edge of his bottom teeth to graze upward along your sensitive flesh, drawing out a sharp gasp from you.

You can’t help but lower your gaze, watching him intently, eyes locked on his every movement. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark with lust, as he takes the waistband of your underwear between his teeth, slowly pulling them down, the fabric dragging across your skin until it’s finally discarded with a flick of his head. The sight of him, smirking with your underwear still between his teeth, sends a shiver down your spine.

Without hesitation, he dives back between your thighs, his tongue finding its way to the inside of your folds, massaging them with a fervor that makes your entire body quake. He licks and flicks at your entrance, his tongue reaching deeper than you thought possible for a tongue, drawing out moans and gasps from you. His rough thumb finds your clit, rubbing it with just enough friction to make you writhe beneath him. The dry texture of his thumb against your sensitive bud amplifies every sensation, and your legs instinctively lift, disrupting his rhythm.

But Yeonjun’s resolve is unwavering. His strong hands grip your thighs, pinning them in place as he growls a warning, “Stay still, sweetie.” His voice is thick with desire, his focus entirely on pleasuring you. “Mhm and how sweet you taste,” he murmurs against your skin, making your face flush with heat. You turn your head to the side, embarrassed by his praise, but unable to suppress the pleasure coursing through you.

His tongue circles your clit with calculated pressure, and you become a moaning mess beneath him. Just when you think you can’t take any more, he slides a finger inside you, his touch skilled and unyielding. “Can’t believe someone else heard these sounds from you,” he mutters, his voice low. The words send a thrill through you, intensifying the ache building inside you.

Yeonjun glances up, admiring the sight before him—your flushed face framed by your heaving chest, the curve of your body leading to the apex of your desire. His own arousal pulses with need, but he stays focused on your pleasure, adding another finger and curling them inside you while his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. His other hand finds your breast, kneading it with just enough pressure to make you arch into his touch.

The sensations are overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge. Your cries grow louder, more desperate, and you call out his name, “J-jun-ie, I’m so close, I—ah!” The words spill from your lips, half-whined, half-sobbed. He seizes the moment, his voice a seductive purr as he asks, “Who do you belong to, YN? Who?” His question is punctuated by deep, consuming kisses, his lips never leaving your body.

“Yeonjun, Yeonjunnn, Yeonjunnnn,” you whimper, his name tumbling from your lips over and over, each repetition more desperate than the last. Your voice quivers, caught between pleasure and urgency, barely coherent as you’re overwhelmed by sensation. Though unsure if you’re truly responding to his question or lost in the throes of ecstasy, he chooses to believe your words are an affirmation, a declaration of belonging that feeds his need to claim you. The satisfaction inside his chest deepens, even as a flicker of uncertainty lingers, making your submission all the more intoxicating.

As the pleasure crests, you come undone around him, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Yeonjun’s jaw never slackens, his tongue and lips working to capture every drop of you, pushing you past the point of overstimulation until your body is trembling from the intensity.

You have to physically push him off you to break the contact with your core. Both of you are gasping, his breaths ragged as though he forgot to breathe while he was lost in you. His lips are red, plump, and swollen from their relentless work.

He sits up, still catching his breath, and swipes his tongue across his lips before wiping away the lingering moisture. “Need you, Yeonjun,” you murmur, thighs pressing together, desperate for some relief. “You think you’re ready?” he teases, his voice laced with playful challenge. “Mhm,” you reply instantly, the desperation clear in your tone.

He chuckles at your eagerness, reclining back into the spot he occupied earlier when you were blowing him, his head resting against the window, his body relaxed. “Then show me how ready you are.” His words fuel your need, and despite the lingering tremors in your legs from your climax, you move to straddle him, your bodies pressing together, warmth meeting warmth. Your core hovers just above his hardness, and as you begin to lower yourself, his hands grip your hips, guiding you to rub against him instead. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and soon you’re grinding against him, your movements instinctive, fueled by need. The air fills with the sound of your shared curses, the intensity of the moment overwhelming.

“Need you so badly, Jun...” you almost beg, your hips moving of their own accord. He meets your pleading gaze and releases his hold on your hips, granting you the freedom you crave. Without hesitation, you lift yourself slightly and take hold of him, aligning his length with your aching core. Your hand finds his shoulder for support as you slowly sink down, enveloping him fully.

The sensation defies description, the delicious stretch of his length inside you making your head fall back, eyes rolling in pure bliss. Instinctively, you lean into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you, hands soothingly caressing your back as he waits for your next move.

“All good, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice soft with concern as his fingers gently brush your hair aside, his eyes searching for yours.

“Mhm, so good...” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. His laughter rumbles through his chest, a sound of satisfaction that makes you feel even more connected to him. Gathering your strength, you begin to ride him, each movement slow and deliberate at first, your focus entirely on the sensation of him filling you. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, muffling your moans as you concentrate on keeping your pace steady.

But Yeonjun isn’t satisfied with silence. He slips a finger between your lips, prying them open. “I want to hear you,” he whispers, his eyes pleading. With your mouth now free, your moans spill out, unrestrained. “Fuck, Yeonjun, so good,” you choke out, your pace quickening, your eyebrows knitting together in pure pleasure. His groans beneath you are a clear sign that he’s just as lost in the sensation.

He pulls you closer, his hand gripping the nape of your neck as he brings your face inches from his, his eyes piercing into yours. “You ride me so well, sweetheart,” he murmurs before pressing a rough kiss to your lips. “Do you ride him like this?” His voice drops lower, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, “Is his cock as good as mine?”

Your rhythm falters as his words sink in, your movements growing more erratic. Noticing your fatigue, Yeonjun takes control, his hands firmly gripping your hips as he lays you back against the leather seat, his cock still buried deep inside you. Your breath comes in short gasps, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer as if you could meld your bodies into one.

His hair falls forward, framing his intense gaze, his lips tugged into a dark, signature smirk. The sight of him, so utterly captivating, makes your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t realised was still there. As he begins to move, his hips driving into you with renewed vigor, your back arches off the seat, your body instinctively responding to the pleasure. “I missed this, Yeon...” you manage to moan out, “Jun...”

He laughs softly, though there’s a bitter edge to it, one you’re too lost in pleasure to notice. His mind drifts, remembering the pain of your separation, the doubts that plagued him. “Does he fuck you like this?” he mutters, though his voice is strained, not truly expecting an answer. “Does he leave marks like these?” His fingers press against the bruises he left earlier, his touch possessive.

“Does he make you moan like this?” His hand wraps around your throat, his grip tightening slightly, the question more of a growl than a whisper, his eyes glossing over with a mix of pain and desire. It’s as if he’s losing himself, too wrapped up in the physical to recognise the emotional turmoil beneath it all.

But you bring him back. Your hands cup his face, pulling him into a kiss that’s both tender and fierce, grounding him in the present. When you pull away, your eyes lock onto his, your fingers brushing away the tear that slips down his cheek, a stark contrast to the rough rhythm of his thrusts.

“No, Yeonjun. No one else,” you say firmly, your voice carrying a truth that he can’t deny. He searches your gaze, looking for any hint of a lie, but all he finds is sincerity. A sigh of relief escapes him, his grip on your throat loosening.

“I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs, his tone filled with regret as he dips his head, his hands moving to cradle your hips. “Let me make it up to you.” His voice is soft, his mind now focused on one thing: making you feel every ounce of love he still holds for you. His thrusts become more deliberate, aiming to hit that perfect spot inside you with each movement, his eyes locked onto your face as your moans create a symphony of pleasure.

The car rocks with the intensity of his movements, the sounds of skin against skin filling the small space. “I’m close, Yeonjun,” you gasp out, your arms clinging to him as if he were your only anchor in a storm of sensations.

He doesn’t relent, his pace constant, his dirty words whispered against your skin sending your mind into a spin. You wrap yourself around him, holding on as you reach your peak, your body trembling with the force of your release. It’s not just the release of tonight’s tension, but of all the pent-up emotions from the years you spent apart.

Yeonjun isn’t far behind, his release coming in powerful waves as he fills you completely. The car falls silent, the only sounds left are your breaths and the gentle hum of the night outside. His arms remain tightly wrapped around you, as if he’s afraid to let go, as if holding you will keep you here, with him.

Slowly, he pulls back, his movements gentle as he slips out of you, your body shuddering at the sudden emptiness. A mix of your juices leaks out, and Yeonjun can’t resist lowering his head to lick at your sensitive core, cleaning up the mess he made. You squirm beneath him, overstimulated, but he’s quick to finish, his lips leaving your skin with a final, tender kiss.

Reaching into the front seat, he grabs a small blanket and drapes it over your bodies. He props your head up on his jacket, fashioned into a makeshift pillow, before lying down beside you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, his body warm against yours as you both settle into the comfortable silence.

Exhausted and sated, neither of you speaks. You just lie there, naked under the blanket, wrapped in each other’s arms. Whatever tomorrow brings, whatever questions about your relationship remain unanswered, they can wait. Tonight, you sleep in the warmth of each other’s embrace, content for the first time in a long while.

The next morning, you’re startled awake by the loud, chirpy voice of Beomgyu, laughing and saying something you’re too tired to comprehend. Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the brightness of the morning. The first thing you see is Beomgyu, snapping pictures of you and Yeonjun, who are tangled up on the cramped seat of Yeonjun’s car. Beside him, Nari is laughing, playfully slapping his arm to make him stop.

Yeonjun stirs beside you, groaning at the noise and the light streaming in. He notices your movement and is greeted with the same sight—Beomgyu dancing around outside the window, grinning like a fool. Yeonjun lets out another groan, clearly unimpressed.

Beomgyu, ever the mischief-maker, pulls Nari close, pressing her against him in a mock imitation of what you two had been doing last night. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore his antics. “Good morning,” you mutter to Yeonjun, deciding to focus on him instead of Beomgyu’s immaturity. From the way Nari and Beomgyu are behaving, you can only assume their night went just as well.

But as you sit up, still wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, you’re hit with a wave of confusion. Were Yeonjun and Nari really just friends then? The thought leaves you unsettled, and Yeonjun’s expression mirrors your confusion. What was actually going on?

You shoo away Beomgyu with a wave of your hand, and Nari drags Beomgyu away with a grin. Yeonjun slowly sits up, reaching for his clothes scattered on the floor. “Morning,” he replies, his voice stiff, as if unsure of what to say.

You both dress in the peaceful silence that falls after Beomgyu’s departure, the morning air now calm. Once fully clothed, Yeonjun opens the car door, letting in a refreshing breeze. He steps out, stretches, and then offers you his hand. You take it, grateful for his support as you struggle to stand upright.

He leads you to the entrance of the apartment, where Beomgyu is waiting with his usual devilish grin. “Don’t worry, lovebirds,” he says, tapping the elevator beside him with a wink. “Elevators are fixed, just for you two.” If you had the energy, you’d probably smack him, but you’re too drained to even try.

The four of you wait for the elevator, and when it arrives, you all step in. The ride up is awkward, the tension of unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. “So…” Nari finally speaks, breaking the silence. She clears her throat, glancing between you and Yeonjun. “Um, just so you know, Yeonjun and I were never really dating. We’re just friends. That kiss at the bar last night? Was the first and last time.”

You turn to look at her, slightly surprised. “Oh… I see.”

“Yeah,” she continues, her voice lightening. “Honestly, I brought Yeonjun to make Beomgyu jealous. That’s all.” She laughs, and you can’t help but join in. After all, Beomgyu basically did the same thing.

“And Beomgyu told me about you guys,” Nari adds, her laughter infectious. Yeonjun, who has been silent until now, finally turns to face her, his interest piqued.

“Oh… Did she not tell you yet?” Beomgyu asks, looking between the two of you, confused. “No?” Yeonjun replies, equally confused.

Just as another question is about to be asked, the elevator doors slide open, and Beomgyu and Nari quickly exit, eager to escape the tension. You and Yeonjun follow, your body leaning against him for support as you’re still feeling the aftereffects of last night.

Inside Beomgyu’s apartment, Yeonjun gently sets you down on the couch and helps you remove your shoes. “We’ll be in the bedroom for, uh, a few seconds,” Beomgyu says with a grin, pointing between himself and Nari.

“Uh-huh,” Yeonjun responds, still perplexed. As the two disappear into the bedroom, you’re left alone with Yeonjun, and now is the perfect time to clear the air.

You turn to face him, gathering your thoughts. “Yeonjun.” He gives you his full attention, his expression serious. “Beomgyu and I were never dating either. He’s actually my friend from kindergarten…”

You pause, watching his reaction. “Beomgyu wanted to see Nari again, and this was his dumb idea to make it happen. He didn’t even know we were exes. It was just a crazy coincidence that we both ended up here.”

“And we’ve never done anything like… that,” you add, your voice softening. He knows exactly what you mean. “Ever since we broke up,” you continue, licking your lips nervously, “I haven’t even taken any interest to another guy. I haven’t moved on. I couldn’t.”

His face remains unreadable, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. “Yeonjun, breaking up with you was my biggest mistake,” you admit, your voice wavering. “I was dealing with so much in my own head, and we were younger, and I didn’t realize how much our relationship meant. I thought it was holding me back, but I was blind to all the good parts.”

He sighs, his chest rising and falling as he processes your words. His eyes drop to the floor, lost in thought. You move closer, gently cupping his cheek with your hand. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your thumb brushing against his skin. “For wasting so much time, for hurting you.”

You hesitate before adding, “I understand if you’re not ready to get back together—”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice firm. He lifts his head, meeting your gaze. “No, I want to get back together. It’s what I’ve needed for the past two years, Y/N.” His words bring a smile to your face, and he takes your hand in his. “And if you’re ready, I’d like to start fresh. Better than before.”

“I’d love that, Yeonjun,” you reply, your heart swelling with relief. He leans in, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, tender kiss. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispers.

“I love you too, Yeonjun,” you respond, and the two of you stay like that for a moment, savoring the closeness.

Suddenly, your moment is interrupted by a loud moan from the bedroom. “Oh, Beomgyu!” The sound is unmistakable, and you and Yeonjun snap your eyes open, exchanging shocked looks before bursting into laughter. Yeonjun’s signature laugh fills the room, his eyes squinting into crescents as his eyebrows shoot up in a mix of shock and amusement.

“Fuckkk,” Beomgyu’s voice echoes through the walls, followed by the undeniable sound of skin slapping against skin. “Oh gosh, let’s get out of here,” you say, scrambling to get off the couch, your face flushed with embarrassment.

Yeonjun agrees, quickly putting on his shoes. “You like that, huh?” Beomgyu’s voice continues, and you and Yeonjun exchange horrified glances as you both rush to leave.

“Yeah, no, we’re leaving,” Yeonjun says, scooping you up into his arms and hurrying you out the door.

“Yeonjun!” you squeal, laughing as he carries you outside. “Where are we even going?”

“My apartment,” he answers with a smile, the two of you leaving Beomgyu’s place behind, a trail of giggles following in your wake.

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

(Author's notes)

Hi this is my first ever Tumblr story that's this long! So, I would appreciate if you comment any feedback or critiques!

I will be making a master-list to organise my work really soon :).

I'm also working on another story currently, that I believe is longer and has a more intense plot. It includes smut but it is more of detective psychological story with plot twists. I still haven't fully decided who to pair it with (I'm open to any group I'm familiar with; BTS, TXT, SVT, ATZ, ENHA, ZB1 etc..), so if you would like a specific member for this story lmk! I'll try to take in your suggestions :D! I will also be posting a prolougue/teaser to it soon.

If you'd like to be in my taglist please reply and lmk.

I take in requests! So, feel free to send any in :)!

So yeah, hope this story was an enjoyable read! Have a great day loves 💕.

66 notes · View notes

jo-harrington · 1 year ago

Text

Promotion (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You take a Tuesday night off to surprise Eddie at a Corroded Coffin show and you both get more than you bargained for.

Previous Part: Team Building

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. (Do I need to say this anymore?) Fluffy, a little angsty, culmination of a lot of big feelings on both Eddie and Readers parts.

Note: I have been working on this part. Since January 15th. This has always been (and if you've read Peak Sales Hours you know) the way they finally reveal their feelings for one another. DAMN TOOK THEM AND ME A REALLY LONG TIME. The idea has evolved a little, but I hope the wait has been worth it. (Really gonna suck when we go back to the 2 parts of the story where they...aren't together yet but I promise both of those parts will be worth it and it's gonna make a few things towards the end of this part make sense...) We're almost at the end.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories and writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

“Nice fake, kid,” the gruff bartender scoffed, taking a quick glance over your ID. “Illinois huh?”

“Yeah, Illinois,” you insisted. “And it’s not a fake.”

“Whatever,” he sighed. “Enough of you kids home from college, I can’t keep up. In for a penny, in for a pound. What can I getcha?”

You ordered then turned to survey the ambience of The Hideout.

Bars weren't typically your scene.

You really didn't have a scene, if you were honest. Work and school had been your life for the longest time. If you had a social life, it was garage beers with your friends back home, or going out with coworkers after a really difficult holiday season or something. Your old Store Manager had certainly forced you to join her at dive bars and parties now and again. And now, you guessed...outings with Eddie and his friends.

When he had first told you about Corroded Coffin and their gigs, he said that the Hideout wasn't typically busy.

"It's like...like Cheers, you know? A place where everyone knows your name," he explained that first night you two had hung out. "Off the highway, used to be the local watering hole for everyone at the plant to wet their whistle after quitting time, according to Wayne. Lately, not as much.

"But the owner lets us play every Tuesday and it's good if we want to make it big someday. Even though right now it's really just...you know, a few regulars who tolerate us and clap if they're sober enough."

This, though, was most certainly not a few regulars.

Just like the bartender had said, there were a lot of kids home from college for Thanksgiving week, looking to get away from their families for a night. They'd already been milling about StarCourt; you'd seen a lot of unfamiliar faces. You wondered if this was just a convenient place to get a drink with friends now that they were back; it wasn't like the bartender was really taking anyone's ID seriously, real or fake.

Everyone was here for a good time, regardless. An old house-turned-bar with a few tables, mostly occupied, and a pool table that a group of guys were crowded around. Only a few open spots at the bar, one of which you had claimed for yourself.

It wasn't a club, it wasn't really even a bar.

It was just...kind of a shithole.

But if you were to remove all the people who were here tonight who didn't seem to fit in anyway, you felt it was the perfect venue for Corroded Coffin.

The stage was small and makeshift and illuminated by the many neon signs on the adjacent walls touting Coors and Old Style and PBR, and even though you were a little ways back you could easily enjoy the show.

You were actually planning to hang back anyhow. You usually closed on Tuesdays so you wanted to surprise Eddie.

He had mentioned, way back during your first Sunday night hangout, that you should come and see the band if you were ever free. You had brought up your schedule to him then, and immediately felt bad when he looked a little disappointed. And even more so the dozen or more times you tried to bring up the topic again, especially as you spent more time with him and his friends. Music was something you two had quickly bonded over, so you were hoping you could come and support him. But he never took the cue and never extended the invitation again.

It took a lot of bribery to get Mindy to take the Tuesday shift, and thankfully with the impending holidays, she had some time-off needs of her own. So a little quid pro quo and you had your night off.

Not to mention a covert trip to Tape World to grab one of the flyers for the show, disguised as a run to the bathroom, when you had lunch together a few weeks ago. Eddie's manager Kyle always let him have his homemade flyers on the counter when he was Manager on Duty, but they always went home with Eddie after his shift was over.

"I just have this bad feeling," he admitted to you once. "That someone would come in just to fuck with them, you know. At least while I'm there, I can...I don't know. Protect them." You understood, having been witness to how shitty some of the people in Hawkins were to him. You had dealt with bullies before, and it had gotten better for Eddie in the past few months but...he was still cautious and you didn't blame him.

So now, sitting here in this crowded bar, sipping kind of bad beer, wearing one of your brother's band tees that must have gotten mixed up with your shit from your last visit home, and waiting for the boys to appear "on stage," you felt happy that you'd be able to show Eddie just how much you cared for him. How much you wanted to be there for him the way he'd been there for you the past 6 months.

How worth...all of it he was.

And the other boys. Of course.

Eddie was the only one you wanted to kiss though.

He was the only one you wanted to do any of those sweet, sickening...ahem...sexy...things with. You really had wanted it all since you met him, and you'd gotten your taste and that was enough to smolder and turn your craving into an actual thirst.

Unfortunately, what you'd hoped was mutual attraction...never went anywhere, so friendship it had stayed.

You could always indulge in your little crush-fueled fantasies after you hung out. As pathetic as that was. Especially when you realized he was a touchy kind of guy. Hugs at the ready whenever you wanted them and even sometimes when you didn't. Hands always grabbing your shoulders to shake you when he was trying to make a point. He'd popped the arm rest up when you went to the movies so you could put your head on his shoulder. And then he would cover your eyes with his hand whenever there was something especially gorey or steamy on the screen.

"Otherwise, I’ll have to wash your eyes out young lady," he mocked with a very stern voice to mock your overprotective father, who Eddie had met once.

And on one of the toughest days of your life when his attention had fully been on you so how he remembered your dad enough to get his voice down like that...

You shook your head to release you from your thoughts as you noticed Gareth and Jeff haul in Gareth's drum kit from some back hallway and onto the ramshackle stage.

It wouldn't do to get lost in your daydreams when they were about to perform. Because yeah, Eddie was always doing things like that-- remembering things you said off-handedly, surprising you with things he thought would make you laugh or smile--and you tried to do the same for him, but coming to see one of his performances was gonna be different.

It meant more than quoting his favorite movie or getting him that snack he liked at the gas station.

This was his dream.

And you wanted to be fully present for it.

A couple people clapped kindly as all four boys took the stage and Eddie said a quick, slightly shy "hey" into the microphone, clearly unused to the crowd. You let out a tenuous whoop, and Eddie squinted in your direction and waved, but with the haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air and the bustle of bodies that swarmed the bar to refresh their drinks, you doubted he could see who it actually came from.

So maybe you would need to worm your way up eventually. Maybe.

Once they started playing, though, you knew you would have to.

They were...

Well...

Ok they were not the best, but they were certainly getting there. They could be something great if they took the time, and you knew that was a high priority for the boys.

You didn't know what you expected though.

Certainly not like something professionally recorded or the one or two concerts you'd been to with friends over the years. Surely something closer to the bands that played during street fairs or the local venues back home.

Corroded Coffin was something in-between. Eddie's proficiency at the guitar and his overly confident stage presence once he got going, paired with Jeff and Dave who matched his energy with their endless strumming and head banging and enthusiastic vocals. And of course Gareth on the drums, who kept them in line as though he was simply amplifying the beating of his heart.

They were...one-of-a-kind.

It was a sight to behold and had you enraptured by their entire performance.

And you were surely not alone, as there was a good bit of applause after every song--none louder than you, you hoped--that caused the boys to preen with the attention. Especially Eddie, who would showboat if more than 5 people clapped.

"And now," he rumbled into the microphone, voice a little croaky, as the others set up a thrum of drumbeats and repetitive notes on their respective instruments. "Lend me your ear as I weave a tale of adventure and destruction."

You shifted on your stool with a grin, excited to see this. He'd explained it to you, how he and Jeff had been working on these little attention grabbers...stage patter...in tandem with his campaigns for Hellfire Club.

"Being a frontman is more than just singing, it's about...captivating the audience."

He told you it would make more sense once they had some more original songs and not just covers. But they were still working on it.

Thus, Eddie began talking about Lord of the Rings, of all things. Of a great journey with perilous consequences if the Fellowship were to fail, of the jaunts through Rivendell and encounters in Khazad-dûm and finally the terrible task on Mount Doom.

"And none of it would be possible without..." he started plucking at his own guitar strings, running his fingers up and down the frets, creating a haunting sound in place of a harmonica. "The Wizard."

You jumped from the stool and let out a whoop, beer sloshing over the rim of your glass and onto your hand. But it didn't matter, because when Eddie's eyes zeroed in on you, he beamed brightly and it was magical.

The moment would be burned into your brain forever, the way his big, void-like eyes got all round and soft and those lips stretched over his teeth to grin, lines carving deeper into his face in a look of sheer joy. And then glanced back down at his Sweetheart as he began to play his best performance of the night.

Or so you thought, but you were a little biased.

You were torn away from the performance as someone took the glass out of your hand and pressed some napkins over your beer-soaked skin.

"Here, watch out, you spilled some on the floor too," a deep, teasing voice said. "Jules, can you grab some more napkins?"

"Yeah. For sure."

"You Corroded Coffin's number one fan or something?" the guy asked as you kept trying to look back at the stage. You looked at him and felt uneasy. He was tall but unremarkable and had a plaid shirt under a denim jacket, a few patches similar to ones you'd seen adorned on Eddie's battle vest. He seemed like someone who might enjoy the music but there was a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his mouth that seemed...off to you.

"First time hearing them," you tried to dismiss. "Thanks for the help."

His friend or...maybe date returned with a stack of napkins and she handed them to you with her own tight smile, latching herself to his side.

"I thought it was music time, not story time," she joked snidely as you dropped the napkins on the floor to clean up the spill. "Are we gonna get out of here soon Mick?"

"Yeah don't worry," he patted her shoulder and then looked back at you. "So, not number their one fan. You dating Munson or something then?"

Jules let out a laugh.

"None of your business, who are you again?" You put on the hard city exterior you grew up with--the one that often clashed with your tight-knit community and customer service exteriors, each an interchangeable mask—and turned away from him, glad to put some distance between you.

You asked the bartender for another beer but there was already a bitter taste in your mouth and you knew you wouldn't enjoy the drink.

Mick and Jules…

---

You were happy when everyone gave them an outstanding applause at the end of the set, but the boys were quick to dismantle the stage after a stern look from the bartender.

Eddie had tried his best to have an encore performance.

"Come on Phil." He batted his eyelashes enticingly. "You know you love us."

"This isn't Madison Square Garden," Phil ran a finger over his throat. "You'll run up my electric bill."

"Make sure you tip your bartender everyone," Eddie quickly announced with a mock salute, then pulled the plug on their equipment and dashed offstage.

Dave, Jeff, and Gareth made their way back in sometime after they broke down their equipment, as some the crowd started to dissipate, and were ecstatic to find you at the bar.

"It's seriously so busy in here," Gareth exclaimed after he chugged his Coke and belched obnoxiously. "I don't think we've played a crowd like this ever."

"I don't think we've seen this many people in the Hideout ever," Dave gave you a hopeful grin and pressed his hands together in prayer. "You sure you don't want to buy us a round of beers to celebrate?" You pushed his shoulder good-naturedly but got them a round of the cheap, watered down stuff nonetheless.

"Ok and listen, I was supposed to do the intro to The Wizard," Jeff started, hand on your shoulder as though he was telling you a secret. "But I chickened out. I don't think I would have been able to do it with all of these people here."

"You would have crushed it," you reassured him. "Next time."

"No, because Eddie destroyed it up there," Jeff hollered. "I almost forgot the chords, he was so good. You seriously need to come to Hellfire one time...or Eddie can have a special session over Christmas break. That was on par with a Munson Death Monologue, if I ever heard one. Right guys?"

"Where is he anyway?" you asked.

Instantly, all three boys got nervous and it had you on edge.

"The bathroom."

"Just having a smoke."

"Had to restring his guitar."

They fumbled over each other with their excuses.

"Don't make me pull the mom card," you crossed your arms over your chest and glared at them. "You know I hate that shit."

"Only the freshman call you mom," Dave attempted to deflect.

You rolled your eyes and simply turned on your heel and exited the bar. You heard the three of them bicker as you walked away.

"Nice cover shithead."

"Me? What about you? Restring his guitar?"

"Fuck off."

When you got out to the parking lot, you heard talking. Bickering, much like the boys had been inside.

"...I'm trying to give you a compliment."

"A backhanded compliment isn't a compliment."

Eddie's voice. And another one.

You didn't want to interfere, but you were from the midwest and as a result, you were nosy.

And Eddie was your friend, if he needed help, you'd be there for him.

You rounded the corner of the building and saw Eddie sitting in the open side door of the van, cigarette smoldering between his fingers as he gestured wildly while talking.

"I don't know why you think you can just show your face here," he told the other guy.

Mick...the guy who'd helped you out inside.

"Come on Ed," he scoffed. "This doesn't have to be painful for either of us. I moved on, so can you."

"That's right Mickey, you moved on," Eddie argued. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it aggressively. "You decided it wasn't worth it to be my friend anymore and you and Jack moved on."

Mickey and Jack. Eddie's old friends, the former members of Corroded Coffin.

He'd told you about them...in passing. You never really got the full story from him, you never wanted to pry. But seeing this guy...now...

"You decided not to be friends anymore, when we wouldn't throw our futures away for a stupid garage band! And look, two years later and you're still here? Heard my mom say you're still at Hawkins High too. Look at you, Ed. A waste of fucking space."

Well you didn't know whether to walk away or butt in and give the guy a piece of your mind.

It was a good thing that Eddie got to his feet and got right into Mickey's smug face.

"Go fuck yourself Mick." His hands planted on Mickey's shoulders and he shoved his old friend a few feet. Not to knock him down, enough to disrupt his balance though.

The aggression left Mickey then, and even from where you stood you could see his eyes go wide.

"Come on Eddie," he whined. "I didn't come out here for this. I've got friends in there and I told them I could get weed. Julie's in there."

"Julie fucking Williams," Eddie rolled his head back and let out a sardonic laugh.

You vaguely realized why Jules had sounded familiar. Jason Carver had mentioned her way back when, when he tried to play the macho protector act.

"He was sniffing around this girl Julie Williams a few years ago too..."

"She still got her claws in you?" Eddie continued. "You here to rub it in my face that you're still with her too? High School Sweethearts and all of that?"

"Stop being an asshole. I made them all come and sit through your stupid show, Eddie. You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" he scoffed. "You...you're just rubbing salt in the wound now Mick. Throwing me a bone thinking I’m hard up for cash. Bringing people along cuz no one would come to our shows way back when, so now I gotta know that the only way they would, is if you bribed them with weed? And Julie? Julie only fooled around with me, dated me, so she could get closer to you and you fell for her like an idiot."

"I don't know why you care Eddie, I saw your girlfriend in there. Besides, you two were never dating. So if anyone is the idiot here, it's you."

"Fuck off, Michael," Eddie muttered, turning his back to his former friend. "If you want weed, go to Rick."

There was a beat and you watched Eddie's still back and Mickey shuffling on the gravel drive, looking simultaneously like he wanted to say something, and regretting that he even said anything in the first place.

Finally, he stalked off, hands shoved in his pockets.

You ducked against the side of the building to avoid being noticed as he passed and headed back into the Hideout.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't...yeah you were nosy, but you knew you should have probably walked away when Eddie told him to go fuck himself the first time.

Still...then no one would have been out here for Eddie now. Even after all these months of getting closer to him, months of friendship and learning more and more about him, all it took was an overheard conversation to make the pieces click. You needed to make sure he was alright because that...that hadn't been good.

He'd already been in some kind of state of constant self-deprecation when you first met him, you didn't want him to fall back into it because of some asshole. You understood now why Jeff had been so protective of him at the start. You were that way now. You wanted your friend to be happy.

To see how much he mattered. That's why you came tonight in the first place.

At the sound of something crashing in the back of the van, you shuffled back around the corner and got closer.

"Fuck," he muttered pathetically. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

There was the twang of a string on one of the guitars snapping, and then Eddie's heaving breath.

"FUCK!" He turned around and kicked at the gravel, and it sprayed across the lot before landing at your feet. He ran his hands through his hair and stopped at the sight of you.

You froze too, unable to stomach the sight of his red, tear-filled eyes and the wetness of his cheeks illuminated by the streetlamp overhead.

"So uh," he sniffed and quickly ran the cuff of his sleeve across his nose. “Dunno if you heard but that was my old friend. Who's dating...well I guess she wasn’t my girlfriend. So she’s not an ex either.”

He rolled his eyes and hung his head pathetically.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered and took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry that they did that to you. Both of them. All of them. You deserve so much more than that.”

“Do I?” He scoffed. “I’m a freak, a loser. Too stupid to finish high school or get out of this town.”

“Stop it!”

"No, Mickey's right. My stupid band, my stupid friends."

"I'm your friend, am I stupid?" you asked. You knew it was a little shifty, trying to turn this onto you, but you needed him to see that he was being...well...

Stupid.

"Maybe," he shrugged.

"And Jeff? And Dave? And Gareth?"

"Maybe."

"Fine," you pointed back at the Hideout. "But those people in there...they couldn't have all been Mickey's friends. They clapped for your stupid band. Are they all idiots too? Freaks. Losers."

"Maybe."

"That was a really good crowd, you were great up there. I was so surprised. So impressed."

"Well you shouldn't be."

"Eddie," you said in a chastising tone.

He mimicked you in a childlike fashion, said your name in the same tone, and then ran his hands over his face and groaned.

"I don't want to let him get to me like that," he shouted into the sky. "I don't...want my stupid, dumb, shithead old best friend to get to me like that. To act like it's some favor he's doing me by rolling back into town and bringing some people to my show. When it still should have been our show. Together.

"I had to very nearly give up on all of my fucking dreams because our friendship wasn't worth it to him. Because he pretended to grow up. He...he barely got accepted into a college. He was going to take classes at Tri County and keep working at Bradley's forever and we were gonna have this band and make it big one day and now..."

He trailed off and heaved.

"And now?" You pressed after a few minutes of silence.

"And now..." He waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know...nothing I guess."

You put your hands on your hips and scowled at him.

"And now you have friends in there that actually support your dream, who actually believe you've got a chance as a band. Jeff's a better best friend than Mickey. And you've got a job at TapeWorld and have Kyle and the guys there. They all believe in you. What did you tell me a couple weeks ago? Kyle wants to see if he can make you an ASM after you graduate?"

"Yeah."

"You've got...a future...and new dreams...just like Mickey does," you tried again. "Losing old friends is hard. It's a hole in your heart that doesn't ever go away.

"My high school best friend moved away and I don't talk to her anymore. We had...maybe one phone call after she went off to some out-of-state school. It hurt when I tried to call her and she never made time for me. But...then I made other friends. It's not the same as her, but sometimes it's better. Because I have Jen, and the girls at the old store and now this store and now I have...now I have you too.

"You're better than my high school best friend ever was. Tell me I'm not a better friend than Mickey...whatever his last name is."

Eddie's face went gaunt then, his eyes evaded yours and immediately went down to his feet, hands wrapped around his stomach defensively, like you wounded him.

You breathed heavily for a few moments and then softened.

Maybe you went a little too hard.

"Eddie, I'm sorry, I..." You backtracked a little. "I know I don't know the whole story. I just...I want you to know how much I value you as my friend."

"Stop saying that!" He shut his eyes and scrunched his face.

"What? You need to hear it! I know it's hard to hear how good you are--"

"No," he opened his eyes and took a step back, holding his hands out beside him, as though he was offering himself up for the slaughter. "Stop saying that you're my friend."

"But I am your friend!"

"But I don't...I don't want you to be."

Your eyes went wide this time and your mind raced.

At first you just...you thought this was him saying he didn't want to be friends anymore. Maybe you'd overstepped boundaries and had gone too far. The little insidious self-conscious voice inside of your head told you that you were dumb and too stupid to realize all the signs of him pushing you away. Overanalyzing every interaction for some indication that he didn't want you there.

But then he kept talking and you realized you were dumb just not dumb in that way.

"I...I have...kind of always thought you were pretty," he let out a dry laugh. "Well...actually I thought you were awful...way, way back...at the beginning before I even knew your name. I thought...wow it's another mean popular pretty girl coming to tease me and make my life hell. Only...you didn’t. You’re not mean and you're not a popular girl."

"And I'm not pretty," you joked.

"But you are," he disagreed. "And you didn’t make my life hell. You're everything I...well...I know this is gonna ruin everything. So fuck it. But I have the biggest, stupidest crush on you and everyone fucking knows about it and won't stop teasing me about it and I thought...after that night at the trailer that maybe...you know, you felt the same way. That we were just two dummies. I got my hopes up. I was coming to ask you out that Friday. I even skipped school."

Your heart skipped a beat, thinking about that night.

About that kiss and about...

"And then your grandpa..." he trailed off. "And how could I bring anything up after that? I just needed to be a good friend. Be there for you, like you're always there for me. Just like you're here for me tonight.

"Sweetheart, do you know how fucking happy I was to see you back there?" he asked, eyes big and round and wet with tears. "Shit you took a Tuesday night off?"

"Of course I did," you laughed. "I told you way back at the beginning I could move things around."

"Yeah but..."

"I get it," you nodded and then felt your heart ache with longing. "Eddie..."

"So no," he continued sadly. "I don't want to be your friend anymore because I just...want you."

He backed away a little, on weak legs as though he had been wounded. Especially when you took too long to process all of your thoughts and he probably took it as rejection. He turned back to the van to try and finish packing everything up.

And your mind finally caught up to your body.

Eddie liked you and he wanted to...not be your friend anymore because he wanted more than friendship.

Right? Was that it?

Fuck, why had you been so...

You walked right up to him and grabbed him by the sleeve and turned him around.

"If you're an idiot," you told him, vulnerably. "Then so am I."

You surged forward and captured his lips with yours.

It was...admittedly not like a John Hughes movie. It was sweet for a second and your heart was soaring and then his nose bonked into yours and you both broke into a little bit of laughter.

"You're not that good at kissing," Eddie teased.

"Me?" you guffawed. "It was your nose."

"Maybe we're just both out of practice," he suggested.

"Yeah." You reached out and shook him by his vest. "One uh...maybe extra high kiss on your couch two months ago is not the warmup we needed."

He smiled at you.

"Hi."

"Are we both just...stupid?"

"Yeah I think so."

"How long has Mindy been mocking you?" he asked.

"Pretty much since Day 1. Kyle?"

"Before Day 1," he ran a hand through his hair and blew a frustrated breath through pursed lips. "He was the one who told me I should go up and ask you out."

"No he didn't!" You slapped a hand against his chest and stared at him incredulously.

"Scouts honor." He crossed over his heart. "So uh...you wanna try again?"

Eddie waited for your little nod before he pressed a kiss to your lips. His hands sought your waist and pulled you closer to him, body flush with his as your hands became trapped on his chest. You grabbed him by the vest and held him to you.

It was sweet exploration at first, lips tentative and pliant. Then tongues got involved, painting your tastes sweetly to the seams of each other's mouth, taking turns until they gained the courage to dance together.

Before long though...you both got a little impatient and you were pressed up against the side of his van, one hand in his hair as he kissed down the side of your throat, fingers plucking at the neckline of your t-shirt to gain more access to skin.

"Didn't know you liked Pantera," he muttered and licked back up the length of your throat then lightly bit the softness of your jaw. "S'this Jimmy's shirt?"

"Please don't say my brother's name right now."

You gently pulled him by the hair and led him right back to your lips to shut him up.

Sweetness turned into impatience, where 6 months of friendship and unrequited feelings were released--for real this time. Eddie's body slotted between your legs, hands roamed, giggles turned into moans, and just as he was about to scoot you into the van for some private time away from the elements of the Hideout Parking lot--

"Whooo..."

"Mom and Dad, sitting in a tree..."

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

--the guys exited the bar and found you in your...compromising position.

Eddie, ever the gentleman, made sure your shirt was on the right way and your hair not...too disheveled before turning to shoot his friends with the most scathing glare.

"Alright you fucking pervs," he shouted. "Nothing to see here."

"Are you kidding?" Dave exclaimed. "This is like...Christmas."

"Yeah, about time Eddie," Jeff clapped a hand on Gareth and Dave's shoulders. "We were about to start a bet to see if it was even gonna happen."

"It was Wheeler's idea," Gareth confessed.

"Of course it was," Eddie rolled his eyes. "Little rat."

"Mike's nice," you poked Eddie in the side and he jumped. "Stop picking on him so much."

The guys all started their whooping and hollering again until you sent your own dead stare their way to shut them up.

Eddie shouted for them all to pile into the van, and once they were all inside he turned to you and awkwardly stuck his hands in his pockets.

"So," he ran his tongue over his lips nervously. "Uh...I mean...that was nice."

"It was," you beamed. "Changed your mind about if I'm a bad kisser?"

"Yeah, oh," he nodded vigorously. "I...yes...I mean, no. You're a really...good kisser."

"Not so bad yourself Casanova."

"So we gonna...do that more often?"

You both burst out laughing and then jumped as someone inside the van honked the horn.

"You wanna come to Benny's with us?" Eddie thumbed over his shoulder. "Post-show patty melts? Kind of a tradition."

"Yeah. I'd love to."

"Kay, we'll see you there then."

"Sure."

He was about to back away and head towards the driver side of the van, and you back to the front lot to get into your car, when he swept in and cupped your face with his hands. Thumbs running gently over cheekbones, lips gently ghosting over yours.

And you couldn't help but think as you covered his hands with yours, this was definitely a perk you were going to take advantage of in this...

Relationship?

...promotion from friend to something more.

---

Next Part: Peak Sales Hours

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson headcanon #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #store manager verse

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lizziespoem · 3 months ago

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let me love you | kento nanami ͏⸺ one shot

͏⸺ nanami had to break this curse, as the cure for all of his ills and for the execution of his nightly prayers, so that the small splinters of musty wood in his sore knees had not been in vain and that all the days that followed after had lost his voice, because his prayers the night before that had swallowed up all of his words, had not cost his silver tongue in vain.

the night was heavy with rain, the kind that fell in relentless torrents, drowning the city in a cold, gray haze, leaving the streets deserted, the usual hum of tokyo silenced by the downpour, leaving only the rhythmic pounding of rain and the occasional flicker of a distant neon sign.

nanami stood at the foot of an apartment building, his breath fogging in the cold air as he stared at the familiar door. his usually impeccable suit was a sodden mess, the crisp lines of his jacket now clinging awkwardly to his body and the pale blue of his shirt had darkened, nearly translucent where it stuck to his skin, while his tie hung loose, the knot unraveled and defeated, much like the man himself. his once polished shoes were soaked through, squelching with every step he had taken to get here, leaving small pools of water beneath him.

his light hair, normally styled with precision, was plastered against his forehead, dripping rivulets of rain down his face and yet it didn’t matter. all that mattered was the door in front of him and what was waiting behind it.

nanami raised his hand, the movement slow and hesitant, as if the weight of his decision was dragging it down. his knuckles rapped against the wood, the sound barely cutting through the steady drumbeat of the rain. he knocked again, harder this time, and waited. his heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the desperate hope that had driven him here.

the apartment door was a little off-center, hanging slightly crooked on its hinges, a detail he hadn’t noticed before and the paint was chipped, revealing layers of color from previous tenants, and a faint crack ran down the middle, splintering near the handle. it was a small, insignificant flaw, but now it seemed like a metaphor for everything that had gone wrong between them.

finally, the door creaked open, revealing you. you stood in the dim light of the narrow hallway, your silhouette framed by the soft glow of a lone, flickering bulb. the hallway of your apartment was cramped, cluttered with old shoes and a slightly tilted shelf burdened with books and magazines that seemed ready to spill onto the floor. the wallpaper, once a bright floral pattern, had faded and peeled at the edges, curling away from the damp corners where the rain had sneaked in over the years.

your expression was unreadable, your eyes scanning him up and down, but your eyes... your eyes still held that same depth, that same intensity that had always left him feeling unmoored.

“Kento?” your voice was soft, a mix of disbelief and something more guarded. he swallowed the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak.

“you've made it clear that you want to break your fixation on love and that you're tired of running everything straight to the ground” he began, his voice rough from the cold and the emotions choking him “but it's not fair of you to tell me I couldn't love you”

the rain seemed to intensify, hammering against the pavement, as if to emphasize the gravity of his words. water dripped from his hair, running down his face in rivulets as his hands trembled slightly before he clenched them into fists at his sides, trying to steady himself.

“I know you pushed me away, and tried not to let me get close to you, but I’m here now, and I’m begging you,...let me in” his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, his throat tight, barely able to force the words out. “let me love you y/n”

the words hung in the air between them, raw and exposed, much like the man standing in front of you. he was already too vulnerable, too exposed. every inch of him screamed to take shelter, to flee from the cold, but his heart anchored him to this spot.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and he could see the conflict in your eyes. a small table near the door was cluttered with unopened mail and a vase with wilting flowers, petals scattered across the wood like forgotten memories. the air smelled faintly of damp, a reminder of the rain that had seeped into the building over the years, leaving its mark on the walls and the souls within.

“kento,” you began, your voice trembling as you spoke his name and his breath hitched, the words he had rehearsed a thousand times suddenly seeming inadequate. “I know I don’t deserve you...”

in that moment, something inside him broke. the fear of losing you, the weight of his love, and the desperation he felt all collided, pushing him to his knees. he dropped down onto the rain-soaked concrete, the cold, hard surface biting into him through his drenched clothes. his hands rested on his thighs, his head bowed, as if he were offering up everything he had, his pride, his heart, his very soul.

“please y/n,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “please, let me love you. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if it’s difficult. I just… I need you to know that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be patient. Just… don’t shut me out.”

the rain continued to pour, the sound of it pounding against the pavement, drowning out the distant hum of the city. he stayed there on his knees, the cold seeping into his bones, his heart pounding in his chest. he could feel the weight of the moment, the gravity of his words hanging in the air between them. The silence stretched on, the tension thick and suffocating.

Finally, you knelt down in front of him, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch his face. your fingers were warm against his cold, wet skin, and the contact sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the rain. you've two stayed there, kneeling in the doorway, the rain falling around you like a curtain, isolating you from the rest of the world and as he held you close, he allowed himself to believe that despite all the uncertainties, despite all the imperfections and fears, you might just find a way to make it work.

authors note; there might come some changes via the masterlist

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sweet-creature101 · 1 year ago

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New York Streets & Dreams

Harry Styles, a classic New York law firm grump meets a wild spirited girl, Y/N when he argues with her on a road intersection.

Grump!harry; a grump x sunshine trope.

warnings: mention of alcohol, swearing. Suggestive language.

The songs playing in your headphones pumped your head with a string of melodies. You hum with a smile on your face, riding your bicycle in the warm sun taking in the city around you. Your paint splattered hands, still a bit wet grip the bicycle handle as you steer it around the city.

You steer around the busy and bustling roads, whisked away in a world of your own. You paid no heed to the rushing cars, staying near the footpath. Many had often told you not to cycle, especially during rush hour since the streets would be jam packed. “Walking, driving or going in a cab isn’t the same as cycling y’know?” You’d always say when the question was risen as to why you cycle.

You were about to turn right when a series of honks stops you right in your path. You yank down your headphones harshly and look around, an annoyed look beginning to form on your face.

“You!”

You whip your head to meet that voice. You see a man, dressed in a blue blazer over a white shirt with trousers step down from his Mercedes, his face morphed into a furious expression.

“What?” You ask harshly, your bicycle still parked right in front of his car.

“Look around woman! I would’ve run you over.” He shouts at you over the loud traffic.

“I was on my side of the lane. You’re the one who decided last minute to take the turn!” You yell back with equal anger as you meet his steel gaze, your own unflinching.

“You had your headphones on! If you would’ve looked around, we wouldn’t be here!” He said, even more annoyed than before now.

“What do you want? You know what, I offer you my sincerest fucking apology! Leave me alone!” You said, your coloured hands flailing in the air.

“An apology? Thats not good enough. You need to be aware of your surroundings.” He countered, his arms crossing over his chest.

“And you need to chill out. It’s just a traffic jam!” You exclaimed, your voice a pitch higher.

“You don’t understand! I almost ran you over!” You were certain that the man in front was giving out literal smoke now.

“Yeah, well I’m still here so calm down.” You said sarcastically. Your hands come down and rest at either side of your hip.

“You’re unbelievable. I can’t do this.” He said, huffing out a breath of disbelief.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” You said shrugging as you sat on your bicycle. And began to cycle.

“Watch where you’re going!” The man yelled for the last time.

Harry checked his watch again and again, contemplating if going out with his friends was a good decision considering how his utter shit his day had been. He had reached his office late because of a mishap that involved him arguing with a pretty girl in between a traffic jam which earned him an earful from his colleagues.

He looked around the neon street, the coloured lights metling into the dark night sky above him. He wondered, when he was the last time he went out with friends. When was the last time he went just as Harry, not as a top shot lawyer? When was the last time he didn’t think about work?

He couldn’t remember.

“Harry! I’m so happy you made it!” Lindsey, smiled and encased him in a hug.

Lindsay had been begging Harry to join her and her friends since the last two months. Harry as always, had politely refused saying that his workload was far too much. However, Lindsey wasn’t short of surprise when Harry called her late this afternoon and said he wanted to join her.

“I’m only here so that I don’t have to deal with you for the next two months.” Harry said rolling his eyes playfully. Lindsey smacked his arm and dragged him in the club.

It was large semi circle couch nestled in the back corner with a mammoth sized round wood table fitted in it like a puzzle piece.

Lindsey dragged Harry all the way to the back of the club where he spotted a few familiar faces. All of them waved to Harry and Harry said to hi them.

“Where’s Y/N?” Lindsey asked as she slid onto the seat.

“In the washroom.” A friend, Niall said before downing a shot in one go earning an impressed looking from Harry in return.

“You’ll love Y/N.” Lindsey said, winking at Harry who was still standing. He only gave her a slight smile.

Harry was about to go to the washroom before a voice boomed, seeming quite familiar.

“You! Oh my God you’re stalking me!” You yelled at him, your face showing how furious you are. Everyone at the table stopped eating and drinking because all their focus was fixated on you.

“What the fuck!” Harry said, his eyes widening at the accusation you hurled at him.

“You try to kill me first and now that I’m alive even after your murder attempt, you decide to do the deed here.” You said, referring to his attempt at ‘mudering’.

“Are you stupid?” Harry asked you in utter disbelief.

“No but I have a gun!” You said, not realising that you hadn’t even brought your purse with you tonight.

“Yeah, well where is it then?” Harry asked you, crossing his arms as he eyed you up and down like a predator assessing his prey.

“It’s none of your business!” You yell at him, realising that he caught you lying red handed. You size him up, your arms crossing over your chest.

“So I guess you two have met already. Harry this is Y/N, Y/N this is Harry.” Lindsey murmured from her side of the table, the overhanging lamp illuminating only a small part of her face.

“For the record, you and I know both know I didn’t try to kill you.” Harry said, his eyebrows raised as a wary look danced in his eyes.

“Fine.” You said.

“Great now that’s over, let’s get this party started!” Niall yelled, with excitement as the whole table broke out in a couple of hoots.

As the night proceeded, you downed drink after drink and danced like there would be no tomorrow. The lights flashing around you merged into your skin. The music blaring around you was pumping life into you.

In the corner of your eye, you see Harry who was leaning against the wall, a drink that he had been drinking for the past half hour still in his hand as he looked around with a bored look etched on his face. You walk toward him, your steps much more confident now because of a few drinks you had.

If your circumstance wasn’t so compelling you might have thought Harry to be quite an attractive man. You could make out the sculpted muscles of his biceps and abdomen through his shirt.

Harry watched you intently, drinking in your frame with every movement of yours. He didn’t fail to notice how wondrous your body looked in that little white dress you paired with a metal chain waist belt which had blue stones engraved on it, resting on the swell of your hips.

“You look as if you’re at a funeral.” You snickered, coming to stand close to him. Your forearms touch and you feel your focus narrow to the sparks of fire you felt coming from there.

Harry let his lips show a sliver of smile, a chuckle coming out of him.

“Ah well I’m not really in the mood to dance or party tonight.” Harry said shrugging slightly.

“What! You’re at a club, with such amazing people. Come on, if you’re not gonna dance on your own then dance with me.” You said smiling at him as your turn your face to look at him, admiring how the dancing lights accentuated his eyes and upraised cheekbones and his plush lips.

“You’re drunk, arent ya?” Harry asked you.

“It takes me more than three sleazy drinks to get drunk.” You said patting his arm.

“Well, I can’t really dance.” Harry said, evidently stalling like a five year old.

“It’s about having fun Harry.”

Those words somehow snapped a leash on Harry which he didn’t know existed. You extended your hand towards him that he gladly took.

Harry never knew he could have that much fun. He danced all night with you, drinking to his hearts content and screaming every song that played, even the ones he swore he’d never listen, ‘stupid pop music’ he called those same songs.

His hands were on your waist now and you broke out in a string of giggles, the alcohol in your system heightening every feeling. Harry looked at you and marvelled at your face, how pretty it looked and smiled at you softly drawing you closer to him.

“If you hadn’t tried mudering me this morning, I would’ve called you handsome y’know.” You said flicking his nose.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to murder you.” Harry said smiling.

“God, you’re so handsome Harry.”

Harry woke up with a groan as he clutched his head. He looked around and found himself in a room he couldn’t recognise. There were sun catchers hanging from the large window which was installed, as large as a wall casting sparkles all over the room. There were plush colourful stuff toys strewn all over the orange couch opposite to the bed he found himself in. He looked over and saw you sleeping.

The sight of you alone nearly knocked out his breath.

You slowly you open your eyes and once the realisation hits, you scramble out of the bed, looking at yourself and then Harry. You were in an oversized tee shirt of yours while Harry was in a pair of boxers.

“Did we?” You ask him, standing barefoot at your wooden floor.

“No, we were too out of it.” Harry said looking at you.

“Oh thank God.” You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “Wait, it’s not like I don’t want to do it with you, seriously don’t take it that way-”

“Hmmm.” Harry hummed, clearly amused with your state of chaos.

“I dont want to do it with you if we’re like.. drunk and all. I’d rather be stone cold sober.” You said.

“I’ll keep that in mind Y/N.” Harry said chuckling.

“Oh my God I’ll just shut up.” You said, covering your face with your hand.

Harry looked at the time and got up, stretching. You avoided the urge to look at his sculpted arms, chest and stomach but you managed to sneak in a few glances.

“I’ve got a case to prepare for. I’ll text you in a few.” Harry said as he buttoned his white shirt.

“You don’t have my number.” You said.

“But Lindsey does.” Harry said shrugging.

He wore his trousers and grabbed his stuff. Before leaving he ran a hand over your hair playfully. He then snaked an arm around your waist and tugged you towards him. You bit down a gasp at the sudden movement and closeness that was now there.

“I’d kiss you if i wasn’t so late for work.” Harry said.

“Are you making excuses Harry?” You said, peering up at him as you rested your hands on his chest.

“I’m waiting for the right moment Love.” He said.

He dipped his head and kissed the corner of your lips. He slowly moved his lips over yours. You could feel them hovering over yours. You could imagine and feel how kissing him would be like, sparks running down your bones and veins.

“I’ll see you.” Harry said, kissing your cheek before leaving for work.

You felt yourself melt into a puddle of emotions and glitter as you sank to the floor with a youthful smile on your face.

Harry, in all his corporate glory was late to pick you up tonight. Meaning, he had no time to change his clothes which is why he stood at your door, in his black trousers and ruffled white shirt, a single rose he plucked from his office garden dangling from his hand.

Harry most positively hated everyone. He hated large crowds. He hated too much colour. He’d rather live life in black and white but you brought about a change. A change dripping with colours and laughter and undiluted joy.

He rang your doorbell which was splattered with coloured fingerprints, probably yours.

“Hi.” You said, emerging out of the apartment which was installed above your art studio where you took classes and painted by yourself.

“You look beautiful.” Harry said, as you dressed up in a short white satin skirt which you paired with a yellow top. Your cowboy boots clicked with every step.

“You look like… you came straight from work.” You said chuckling.

“That’s because I did.” Harry said as he handed you over the single rose, already whitering.

“Cute.” You said.

———————

Harry looked around the restraunt, sitting opposite to you. It hadn’t occurred to him how silent and how much of a grump he had been all evening. You observed him silently, waiting for a sliver of conversation to appear between you two.

“Get up.” You said, breaking Harry out of his daze.

“What?”

“Did I stutter? Here’s my half of the bill, give yours and let’s get the hell out of here.” You said callinh a waiter, giving her half as you waited for Harry. He handed her his half as well and stood up and followed her out.

———————

Harry had no clue you bring him here out of all the places he could think of. You handed over Harry his rollerskates, a devious smile on your face.

“No.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked around the skating rink, purple lights flashing all over his face.

“Come on, don’t be a sour sport.” You said lacing your shoes.

“We could have had a nice dinner-”

“Not with you ignoring me all night Harry.” You shot back before he could finish his sentence. “I don’t know what was bothering you but now we’re here. You’ll only have fun if you let go.” You added gently.

“Fine.” Harry said as he laced his shoes and stepped into a rink.

Harry holds your hand as you guide him, picking up pace gradually. You smile at him as you leave his hand and circle around him, twirling like a small child. You let out a laugh as Harry yanks to his side, almost making you two fall down on the ground.

“Harry!” You squeal as his hand reaches your waist and pulls you towards him.

“What?” He asks, feigning innocence, gliding with you effortlessly. You jab his side causing him to let go. You poke your tongue at him and skate away backwards, your eyes at him.

Harry tries to skate as fast as you but ends up almost tripping. “Come here Y/N!” He says, from one end his face full of joy.

You slowly glide towards him and interlace your hands with his. You pull him towards yourself this time and rest your arms on his neck, a smile on his lips at your movement.

“You look very beautiful tonight Love.” Harry said, an idle coming to rest at the curve of your back.

“You happened to mention it earlier.” You said blushing.

Harry looked at you and realised how much you meant to him. He realised that he in fact didn’t how to have fun or let loose before he met you. Hell, he’s even rollerblading with you. Harry felt free. Harry felt himself. Harry felt at home.

And perhaps that’s why he kissed you.

His hand reached out, cupping your cheek while the other reached the nape of your neck. His touch sent shivers down your spine. And there it was, without a word he kissed.

Harry kissed you and the world slowed down.

In that moment, all colours merged into one. Your focus narrowed down to the entirety of the kiss and how it felt to move your tongue against his, savouring him slowly and sinfully.

Harry pulled away and looked into yours. His being a pool of utter joy and happiness. He picked you up slightly, sounds of laughter of coming out of the two of you.

“It’s the Rollerblading, I tell ya.” Harry said smiling.

You were sitting in your art studio all by yourself when the bell rang. You found it peculiar since you had no classes scheduled today. You wiped your hands off a towel and opened the door to see Harry, dressed in normal clothes for the first time in months.

You and Harry had been meeting on and off for a quite a while now. Kissing him, cuddling him, simply staying with him brought you happiness and same was for harry. You saw him open up to new things like dancing in the rain, going to McDonalds at midnight, screaming songs and appreciate life.

“How can I help you today?” You ask him, your arms coming to rest at either shoulder as he pulled you in and kissed you hard and slow.

He pulled away and shifted on his feet.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him as you sat back on your seat and began finishing your painting.

Harry fished out a piece of paper and started reading, a smile of amusement on your face.

“Y/N, you’re the reason I feel no shame in singing at the top of my lungs or at skinny dipping late night. You make me live. And I know I’m not what you want and I know I’m an arrogant son of a bitch but the minute I saw you at the intersection, I knew was I fucked. So-” Harry stopped mid way, crumbled the letter and looked at you, his gaze unflinching as he asked, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes. A thousand times yes.” You said as you ran over to him, your painted hands grabbing his face as you kissed him with all your might.

Authors note: thank you so much for reading! Interact with me! Let me know if you liked it in the comments, send me asks, send me messages, talk to me! I love you I love you I love you.

#famous!harry #harry fanfic #harry imagine #harry x y/n #harry's house album #harry one direction #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles blog #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #lawyer!harry #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction fanfiction

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