#three shots of vodka in one drink with no burn

[milo-is-rambling]

I made a drink where it’s impossible to taste the alcohol fuck yes

[watchmegetobsessed]

BEHIND BARS

A/N: this fic is my coping mechanism with my own shit and im more than eager to read your thoughts, because it would help me knowing im not alone with these thoughts. so this one goes out to all the big girlies who struggle with loving themselves!

WORD COUNT: 9k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: You get stood up by your Tinder date, but at the same time you run into a man who works at the bar and seems to be into you. Or that's what you think when you read his message he wrote to your receipt, asking you to return to the bar the next day.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You harbor the delusional thoughts of your date getting caught up in something… anything, just a tad more, just so that the heartache comes a few moments later. It stings, probably more than you’d ever admit to anyone, but you can’t help it. 

Sitting on the barstool in the dimly lit bar you glue your eyes onto your pornstar martini, the second you’ve had since arriving an hour and about five ‘Where are you?’ texts to Brannon before. All of them sit delivered but unread in your messages. You reach for the glass and finish the drink in two big gulps, the alcohol bringing an almost numbing sensation to your closed up throat, but it fades rather fast. 

What hurts the most is that this is not a first date. He met you just three days ago on the coffee date you two arranged once you were over just exchanging messages on that awful dating app you always swear to never download again but end up back on it at one point. It’s not like he would have walked in tonight and could have a shock about your looks, that you do in fact have quite some extra weight, your thighs are thick, curving into your ass that might look good on a better day, but only if it’s covered, because every time you look at it the only thing you see is the stubborn cellulite you can never get rid of. He saw that you’re miles away from having a flat stomach, you weren’t blessed to be the kind of big girl who has a slim waist and beautiful round waist. You often stop in front of the mirror to assess how big your arms look if you wear something sleeveless, how your collarbones only show if you put your hands to your hips and force your shoulders forward to bring them out. 

He saw all of these. Yet he suggested meeting again, pulling you into a ridiculous dream that he might be different and you could finally have the burning, passionate love you’ve always dreamed about.

Now it feels more like a nightmare. 

“Another one?” 

The bartender appears in front of you, one hand on the counter, the other one on his hip as he looks at you with a questioning look. You glance up at him, then at the empty glass and decide to just fuck it and get drunk before going home and raging your fridge for whatever comfort food you can find. 

“Sure. Bring a shot as well.”

“Vodka, tequila, rum or…?”

“Vodka sounds fantastic,” you breathe out as you square your shoulders and run a hand through your hair.

The guy nods and then disappears again. While he is making your drink you decide to have a trip to the bathroom. You wave at the bartender to let him know you’ll be back and when he nods you make your way to the back. 

You chose the bar for tonight, it’s a nice place, feels intimate and… hot, maybe that’s the word you used when you were here with your girlfriends a few weeks ago. It was the perfect spot for a girly night, but the vibe of the place definitely doesn’t limit it to a strictly feminine spot. There were plenty of men around even then and one mysterious man sent over a whole round of drinks, he remained unknown but he was probably enamored by one of your friends.

You were convinced Brannon would like this place and you could see the two of you curled up in a booth, finally overstepping the awkwardness of being around someone you met online. 

Once you’ve done your business you stop in front of the massive mirror next to the sink and have a moment to look at yourself in the overhead lights that bring out everything about your body that you usually fight hard not to think about. You hate it how one inconvenience can make you feel so… ashamed. Hopeless. Worthless. 

Truth is, you’re tired. You’ve had enough of these experiences, though it’s only your second time getting stood up, but it goes under the same cases of going completely unnoticed by men in a social setting, ending up instantly in the friendzone no matter what you do, getting the talk of ‘but I see you as a great friend, I hope we can stay friends’ whenever you dare to come clean about your feelings for someone. It sucks the life out of you and you’re not sure if you have any more left to keep trying. Because the chance of ending up alone anyway has been looming over your head for way too long to ignore it and if it ends up being your reality, you’d rather not waste any more time and energy on trying. 

When the tears start stinging your eyes you turn on your heels and head out, not wanting to have a full blown breakdown in the middle of a bar. Stepping out to the hallway you’re just about to march back to your previous spot to chug down your drinks shamelessly, but you weren’t expecting anyone to be right outside the door, so you collide into someone just as your heels hit the carpeted floor outside the restroom. 

It’s not at all the gracious kind of collision, where the man scoops you into his arms and holds you against his chest to stop you from falling. Out of reflex, your hands do find the guy’s chest, but you push yourself away from him fast and panicked, your back hitting the door that just closed behind you and you’d bet a good amount that your expression reeks of shock and the sadness from previously, which is not a gracious combination. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you exhale sharply as your eyes take in the man in front of you. 

Tall, well-built in a black, fitted suit with a black silky shirt underneath the jacket, the first few buttons are left undone, teasing a glimpse of tattoos and a thin necklace with pendants hidden from your vision. His brown hair is trimmed, but not enough to conceal how the strands curl and swirl. Pink lips curl into a smile and you can’t decide the color of his eyes because it’s too dark here, but they appear to be light, even despite how big his pupils are as he is staring back at you. He is holding up his hands in front of him, as if he is readying himself to catch you if you decide to fall anyway. 

“In a hurry?” he asks and his velvety british accent caresses your ears. You blink at him for a couple of moments dumbly before finding your voice to reply.

“No,” is all you say, to which his smile just widens and you catch his eyes dip down, running along your body before they return to your gaze. 

“Be careful then, Angel.”

“Sorry,” you breathe out, finding your balance again as you’re unable to look away from him. 

He is the kind of man that catches every female’s attention upon walking into a room, who could easily just cherry pick who he wants, because women line up in front of him just to earn a glance from him. He looks elegant and lively at the same time, but you instantly feel a sense of mystery and darkness linger around them even despite his warm smile. He is nothing like the men you ever dealt with and he is… way out of your league. 

Lifting your chin you spare him with one last look before walking away, fighting the urge to look back if he is still there or maybe you just imagined him. 

Your drinks are already waiting for you by your seat and you down the shot before you could climb back to your seat. Given the fact that you came with an empty stomach, the alcohol has started working its wonders on you. You feel a low buzz in your chest, a slight numbness in your head and you know the martini in front of you will be your last drink if you want to make it back to your place. 

Your thoughts are still circling around the man in the hallway when you spot him again from the corner of your eyes. Down at the end of the bar, he is talking to the bartender who’s been serving you. His jacket is gone, so you see the silky shirt hanging elegantly from his frame, the fabric shimmering in the light that comes from behind the bar, illuminating the wall of expensive bottles showcased. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing that his left arm is heavily tattooed, but the other one has something as well, but half of it is hidden underneath the shirt. 

He is helping the bartender unload some bottles into the fridge that’s underneath the counter as the talk. When they are down to the last one he stands up and runs a ring-clad hand through his hair and his eyes move up and catch your gaze before you could look away and pretend like you weren’t ogling him. Your cheeks burn up right away as you snap your eyes back at your drink in front of you. With silent prayers that he won’t come closer, you busy yourself with the only thing you can do: drinking. But just as you lift the glass to your lips you see a black form walk up to where you’re sitting and you can’t stop yourself from looking up at him. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks with a charming smile, his hands planted onto the counter in front of you, giving you the chance to see the veins running underneath his smooth skin and for a split second you can’t help but imagine what it might feel like to be held by those hands. 

“Um, no, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Good,” he repeats, but it drips with something else, something more, something… heavy. “Waiting for someone?”

His question came out of the blue, you weren’t expecting him to strike up a conversation and start it with that. Your muscles tense and suddenly, after being so drawn to keep looking at the man in front of you, it becomes your priority to avoid his gaze at all cost. 

“No,” you say shortly and take a sip, no, a gulp from your drink. 

What you don’t see is how his face darkens. The smile fades and his eyebrows draw together as he lets his hands fall from the counter and move to cross over his chest. 

You expect him to move away from the rather tensed and awkward scene, but he remains standing in the same spot until you notice him turn around, but just to grab two shot glasses, he fills them up with something that could easily be vodka again, but you wouldn’t know because you don’t see the glass he pours from. Then he turns around and places the shots onto the counter, pushing one a little closer to you. When you look up, you see his head a bit tilted, waiting with a questioning look and an unknown sparkle in his eyes that are green, now you’re sure. 

“Oh, I shouldn’t… Um…”

“Just this one. As an apology on behalf of the piece of shit who is too blind and idiotic to see what he missed out on.”

Your breath is caught in your throat as you stare back at him. For a second, you let yourself believe that there’s more behind his words, that there’s attraction, lust and desire. For you.

But then your usual mechanism kicks in and your mind is quick to turn it around and convince you it’s not at all like that. He just feels sorry for you, it’s only pity, because a man like him would never be interested in a woman like you. 

“Sure,” you whisper with a nod and take the shot. He takes his and holds up, waits for you to do the same. 

Then he gives you a nod with a charming, crooked smile and your eyes remain locked on each other as you both take the shots. It’s vodka and it burns, but you don’t even flinch as you put the glass back onto the counter and watch him snatch it away. He is just about to say something when the bartender calls out for him from the end of the bar, but because you weren’t listening, you miss what his name is. He looks back at you once more and then walks away. 

You don’t see him for the rest of the time you spend there. Finishing the drink you ask to close your tab and then you’re getting ready to leave when the bartender slips the receipt over to you. At first you don’t even pay any attention to it, but then you notice something is different about it. You grab it from the counter and then read the words scribbled onto it with a black marker.

Please come back tomorrow.

You feel like an idiot all day. Trying to keep yourself busy by cleaning and cooking, no matter what you do you always find yourself looking at that damn receipt, reading the words over and over again. Since you left the bar yesterday until this moment, you’ve thought of every possible scenario why he would ask you to return. Realistic ones, ridiculous versions, you thought of them all, but somehow you always ended up settling on the same one, even despite the fact your mind has been fighting hard not to let you believe he could want anything from you. 

It grinds your nerves all day until you decide to act on it. You put on a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt with your trusty sneakers, nothing extra, very far from looking fancy and then head back to the bar before you could talk yourself out of it. 

It’s the afternoon on a Sunday, it’s no surprise the place is deserted when you walk in, only a handful of people are lingering around here and there in contrast to the buzz it had yesterday. You try your best to settle the uneasy feeling in your gut as you walk up to the bar. There’s a woman standing behind this time who you didn’t see last night. She’s drying glasses with a cloth since there’s not much to do without anyone sitting on the stools. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” she asks with a bright smile as you walk up to her. 

“Um, I was wondering if the guy who worked last night was working today? Brown hair, tattoos… I don’t… know his name.”

It’s an understatement to say you feel awkward asking around about the guy even though he practically asked you to come back. At least he could have given you his name to avoid appearing like a stalker. 

The woman furrows her eyebrows as she purses her lips, tilting her head.

“I swear I’m not here to make a scene or anything,” you add with a nervous laugh. 

“Ah, I was just thinking. Because I know for a fact that Nico was working last night, but he for sure has no tattoos.”

You swear you saw the tattoos on his chest and arms, you did not just imagine those, but now you’re doubting yourself.

“He, uhh, he wore, like, a black suit and a black, silky shirt… Rings…” This is as far as you can go describing him without adding details you’d rather keep to yourself. Like how his hands looked delicate but rough at the same time, the way his lips curled when he smiled could push all the air out of your lungs and his smooth, velvety voice was like you were wrapped into a warm, soft blanket whenever he talked.

Luckily, you see her face light up at the last few details you just said.

“Oh! You must be…” She doesn’t finish it, just lets her smile stretch wide as she squares her shoulder. “Let me grab him for you,” she then winks and before you could get another word out, she disappears. 

Laying your hands flat on the bar top you start drumming nervously as you wait. A thought flashes through your mind that it was a mistake coming here, trying to convince you to just leave before it’s too late, but you fight it and shove it to the back of your head, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you pull your hands back and start rubbing your palms against your thighs. 

A few seconds later the woman appears from the back with the same wide smile and just when you start to think the man is not here, he follows her out, turning your sanity upside down with just a simple look. 

He is wearing a black t-shirt this time, short sleeved, putting his previously mentioned tattoos on perfect display. The shirt is tucked into a pair of gray dress pants that hug his waist so well, you’re drawn to stare at his body for a few moments as he moves closer behind the bar. 

The bartender woman passes you while the man stops in front of you, a cheeky, but genuine smile tugging on his lips as he leans onto the counter just like how he did yesterday, only this time you see his muscles flex from the movement thanks to the short sleeves. 

“What a pleasure to welcome you back.”

Your knees threaten to give up for a second from hearing his voice again, as if it’s proof that you didn’t just make him up last night, he is not just a mirage. 

Reaching into your purse you pull the receipt out and slide it over to him. 

“You invited me back.”

“I did,” he nods, not even glancing down at the piece of paper, like he doesn’t need to be reminded of what he did. ���But I didn’t know you’d actually return.”

Unsure what to say, you allow yourself to assess him, take in his perfectly carved features, the unruly curls, the rings adorning his inviting hands. If you were on your own, just looking at a picture of him, you’d definitely tell yourself it’s too good to be true that a man like him would ever pay you any attention. But having him standing in front of you, feel his burning gaze on you, this magnetic pull that vibrates from him, you’re battling yourself harder than ever.

“I was curious,” you admit at last. 

“Then I’m happy to satisfy your curiosity. Why don’t we sit down?” he asks, gesturing towards one of the booths by the wall.

“Won’t you get into trouble?” you ask, but he just gives you a toothy smile as he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about that, Angel. Go ahead and sit, I’ll make us a drink.”

Once you’re turned away and walking towards a booth you let out a long, shaky breath. 

“Get a grip,” you tell yourself as you slide into the booth and try to get comfortable. It’s frustrating a man could have an effect this powerful on you after barely even talking to him. What kind of black magic is he practicing?

A few minutes later you see him walking over to you with two drinks in his hands. One is obviously a pornstar martini for you, the other one you don’t know. It’s in a simple, short glass, one big cube of ice, the drink itself is a nice amber color, you spot a curl of orange peel and some fresh rosemary in it. 

He slips into the booth with ease and moves closer to you than you expected as he places the drinks to the table. 

“Might be best if we started with our names,” he suggests. “I’m Harry.” 

His name rolls off his tongue so ravishingly, you have to stop yourself from repeating after him. He holds out a hand for you that you take. Your skin starts tingling the moment it meets with his warm touch.

“Y/N.”

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he nods, giving your hand a squeeze before letting it go. 

While you feel a bit awkward, trying to find a way to sit beside him, it appears he is quick to find his place, crossing one leg over the other, his arm closer to you is stretched over the back of the booth, his hand falling somewhere behind you, but it’s not touching you. His other hand is gently playing with his drink, twirling it between his fingers. 

“I know it’s probably not the best thing to start with, but I just have to ask. Last night, were you stood up?”

All your blood rushes to your head and your palms start sweating as you turn your head away embarrassed. You’ve been so caught up in him that you kind of forgot about what Brannon did. 

“Yes,” you whisper, hands dropping into your lap as you nervously fidget with your fingers.

The hand that’s been behind you moves to the side of your face, his knuckles gently brushing across your cheek, just enough to make you turn your head and look at him. 

“Don’t even think for a moment his behavior lessens your worth.”

“I’m not so sure if there’s any left of that to lessen.”

The words leave your mouth before you could even think them through, surprising you with their bluntness. You’re not one to share such personal thoughts with a stranger, not even your closest friends. 

Harry stares at you with an unreadable expression and you half expect him to just let it slip and not acknowledge what you said. But he sticks to that in a way you never experienced.

“I would give an arm to have the chance to show how much I see just after spending only minutes with you.”

You’re speechless and from the hidden smile you notice in the corners of his mouth you assume he finds it entertaining, witnessing the effect he has on you. He grabs his drink from the table and you watch him lazily take a sip before placing it back and leaning forward, getting closer to you, but still not quite crossing an invisible line between the two of you. 

“Y/N, I know this is very straight-forward and I’m aware that we are very much just strangers at this point, but I’m more than eager to change that.”

“Why?” you hear yourself asking in an airy, weak voice. “Because you’re sorry for me?”

Now it’s his turn to be taken aback. The way he frowns almost makes you want to apologize even for asking. 

“Sorry is the last thing I’m feeling right now. And it wasn’t what I felt when you bumped into me last night or when I wrote that message to your receipt. Or… when I sent over that round of drinks to you and your friends not long ago.”

“You what?”

“You were here, maybe a few weeks ago, with your friends, right?”

“I-I was, but…”

“The round of drinks. I sent it.”

“Why?” you ask again and notice the amusement in his look.

“The same reason I wanted you to return today. Because take my breath away and I never give up on the chance to get to know whoever has that effect on me.”

You stare back at him blankly, a million thoughts racing in your head while also not able to put together a coherent one. It is everything you ever wished to experience, but it also feels incredibly odd and… wrong. 

“What kind of twisted game is it you’re playing?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows slightly.

“None. Why are you questioning my intentions so passionately?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” you say with a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grab your drink and take two gulps, hoping the alcohol might help you untangle the mess in your head. 

“How is my interest in you ridiculous?”

“Because it is. You cannot sell me that you spotted me among my friends last time, that I was the one who caught your attention and that when you saw me last night again you just had to take your chance to lure me here again so you could talk to me. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

He stays silent and you don’t look at him for a bit, trying to calm your rocketing pulse. But his silence starts to drive you mad again, so you turn to face him and see that unreadable expression on his face again. 

“You’re invalidating my attraction just because you haven’t received it before.” 

It’s like he is reading you like you’re an open book, he looks at you and you can feel him raiding through your mind and you can do nothing against it. 

“It’s actually sad but also exciting to be the first one to give it to you.”

“But why me?” you keep pushing.

“Why do you like pornstar martini?” he asks with a cheeky smile and you decide to ignore how erotic that sounded from him. 

“What?”

“You choose it because you like it, yeah? Why?”

“Because… I don’t know, it tastes… good,” you answer, complete confusion taking over you. 

“See, that is why you. I don’t know it just yet, but I just know that…” He doesn’t finish, but you can hear the rest.

I just know you taste good.

The all too familiar pulse between your legs is making you cross your legs underneath the table, but Harry catches the movement and his grin grows wide, but he doesn’t comment on it, just takes a sip of his drink. 

“We took it very intensely quite suddenly. Let’s just talk and we can return to this matter a bit later,” he suggests then softly, losing that tiny cockiness from his voice for now. “What is there to know about you, Y/N?”

You need a bit of time to recover and actually start telling him about yourself. He asks you about your job, your family, your hobbies, what you like and what you hate, all while giving you his full, undivided attention. Even though he has made it clear he is interested in you, somehow you end up taking the situation with even more caution than usually, but slowly and almost unnoticed, it eases from your gut. 

“Now it’s your turn,” you say, once you’ve had enough of talking about yourself. Just as he is about to start talking, the bartender shows up at the table and you’re convinced she’ll ask him to go back to work. 

“Boss, the supplier was on the phone, they need confirmation until tomorrow morning.”

Boss? 

“Thanks Jenny,” Harry smiles up at her warmly. “I’ll take care of it.” The bartender, Jenny as you learned, nods and then disappears. When Harry looks back at you, it’s apparent he was expecting the questioning look from you. 

“Boss? Did I hear that right?”

“Absolutely did,” he chuckles. 

“So you’re…”

“I won this place. Along with another one downtown and two more over on the West coast.”

You click your tongue as you turn away to have a look around, though you’ve examined the place enough before. It’s not the kind that screams ‘this is my first business, it’s doing fairly well’, but rather one that screams wealth and business. The bar itself is definitely high end, but it’s also connected to the hotel above, so it drives in some great traffic from there as well and of course, it’s a five star hotel, so the guests are usually not the kind who shies away from paying for a nice drink. Adding just the thought of three more places similar to this to the picture is just plainly mind-blowing to you.

And yet, just minutes ago you were convinced he’s a bartender here. 

“You knew I thought you were staff when I asked if you’d get into trouble.” Harry nods. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because that would have immensely changed the dynamic.”

“No, I–”

“Yes,” he fights back with a meaningful look. “You had a hard time believing I could be interested in you when you thought I was a bartender here. Had you known I owned this place you would have never let go of the power imbalance that comes with the judgment of my position in my business.”

You want to protest, but you can’t. Because you know it well that he is actually right. 

To ease the sudden change in the mood, Harry starts talking about himself and the business as he can tell you’re curious how he ended up as the boss. He tells you how it all started in college, he and a few of his friends came up with the idea of opening a bar and once they graduated he and the one remaining friend who was still into the idea decided to act on it. Niall, the friend, earned a great amount of money from his trust fund after graduation, which they used to the last cent to open the place ten years ago. Feeling guilty that he couldn’t bring as much money into the business in the beginning, Harry tried to make up for it by working twice as hard. As time passed and they opened the second place three years later, Niall started to wander to different fields and only remained a silent partner in the business, letting Harry take over fully. The expansion on the West coast happened just two years ago, but they are already thinking about the next location.

“Are you still friends?” you ask him.

“With Niall? Yes, absolutely. He has his own company in IT security that he actually started from the money of this business. It’s more his world than this now, but we try to meet at least every month when we are in the same city. And I still need his signature on some stuff,” he adds with a chuckle. 

“That’s great it didn’t ruin your friendship. Working together can be risky.”

“I know. We had our ups and downs for sure, but nothing we couldn’t talk through.”

It was amazing to see him talk about it so profound and passionately. It makes him so… humane. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and when he pulls it out, he sighs quietly. He ignores the call, but when he looks at you again you know he has to go.

“Y/N, we need to revisit what we talked about earlier, because I have to go soon.”

Your cheeks heat up instantly as you roll your lips into your mouth. 

“What about it?”

“Most importantly we need to talk about when we can meet again.”

You look at him from the corner of your eyes and can’t hold back a smile when you see his cheeky grin as he sits turned towards you, his upper body angled to face you completely. 

“The most convenient would be tomorrow,” he adds shamelessly.

“So soon?”

“I wanted to say I would love to see you in about three hours when we close, but I didn’t want to come off as too eager.”

That makes you laugh and Harry gifts you with a proud, crooked smile.

“Are you sick of this place?”

“Why?”

“Because you could come here tomorrow and I could teach you how to make your drink,” he says, nodding towards your now empty glass. You actually love the idea of that, doing something new in a not so new setting. 

“I can be here by seven.”

“I’ll be waiting for you behind the bar.”

You have never been this eager to put down work at five finally. It doesn’t matter that you still have a few unanswered emails in your inbox, you decide they can wait until tomorrow. 

You haven’t stopped thinking about Harry since you left the bar yesterday. You can’t even remember the last time you were like this, probably in high school when you had a crush in junior year. It’s ridiculous, honestly, but it’s also quite exciting. 

You walk into the bar for the third time in the past three days. You would have guessed that a Monday evening would be just as eventful as Sunday, but apparently a lot of people like to go out for drinks on the first day of the week. It’s not like on Saturday, but about half of the tables are taken. Crossing the place you’re heading straight to the bar, searching for one particular tall figure, but you don’t see him. 

Nico, the bartender from Saturday, is on shift again, though as you reach the bar he doesn’t seem to recognize you. 

“Hi, what can I get you?”

You’re just about to ask him to tell Harry that you arrived when the familiar, velvety voice speaks up right behind you. 

“I have the lady covered, thanks Nico.”

Turning around you’re met with Harry’s warm but cheeky smile as he stands just a couple of feet away from you. Today he is wearing a pair of black dress pants with a black long sleeve, but the sleeves are rolled up above his elbows. There’s a light stubble darkening his jawline, he surely skipped shaving this morning, but you’re not mad about it, it adds a bit of roughness to him. 

“Welcome back, Y/N,” he nods at you.

“Hi,” is all you manage to push out of yourself. He is very much aware of your nervousness, but it just widens his smile. 

“Ready to master the pornstar martini?” he asks as he steps closer and places a hand to the small of your back to usher you behind the bar. 

“Absolutely.”

The two of you settle at the end of the bar so you’re not disturbing the actual service with your little scene. Harry hands you a black apron and he puts one on himself as well after helping you tie yours behind your back. Then the learning starts.

Harry is actually a great bartender himself. As he gathers everything you need for the drink, he tells you how he learned to bartend after opening the place. They had a few times when they fell short on staff and he needed to serve, so he figured it’s best if he just learns it fully rather than just clumsily mixing up the drinks whenever help is needed. 

“What’s your favorite to make?” you ask as you’re cutting the passion fruit in two on a cutting board and Harry examines your every move like a good mentor.

“I think it’s Rum Martinez.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s a Japanese cocktail, pretty smoky and kind of complicated to make. I’ve had it twice, it was always served with a cigar. I only made it once though, but it was fun.”

Harry truly meant it when he said you’d learn how to make your drink. He doesn’t touch anything in the mixing process, only instructs you, clear and patiently as you add the right amounts into the shaker. When you put the top of the shaker on however, he moves behind you and as his arms come round you to grab the shaker along with you, for a few seconds you definitely forget to breathe. 

This close you can smell his cologne, the warmth of his body is melting you against him and when you lean back just the slightest bit he pushes forward to tighten the physical connection between the two of you. 

“Alright. Now, this is how you shake it properly,” he murmurs, his face right next to yours as his hands cover yours on the shaker. 

You let him take the lead as he starts shaking, his warm palms holding your hand against the cool shaker, moving it up and down, left and right in a controlled, rhythmic way. He is giving it quite the force, you feel the ice inside tumble harshly as you keep shaking. 

“Okay, now take the cap off.”

He lets go of the shaker, but remains standing behind you as he instructs you. You do as he said and he reaches past you to bring the glass closer for you. 

“Carefully, but with confidence” he murmurs, one hand moving to cover yours when you start pouring, but too slowly, so he helps you to tilt the right amount. The beautiful yellow liqueur fills up the glass with a perfect layer of foam on top. 

“And finally, the passion fruit.”

He points at the fruit on the cutting board and you take one half, gently dropping it into the middle and watch as it stays afloat with pride. 

“There. You just made your first pornstar martini.”

Harry steps away from behind you and you almost protest, eager to feel his warmth behind you as he comes into your view again, watching you bring the drink to your lips. You take a sip and once you taste it, you can’t hold your smile back.

“It’s amazing.”

“All yours,” he dips his head a bit with a bright smile and you can’t look away from his sparkling eyes. 

The foam of the drink sticks to your upper lip so when you put the glass down you run your tongue over, licking it off and you catch him watching your mouth with obvious hunger, as if he is ready to have a taste from the cocktail, but only from your lips. 

The moment burns and you feel it deep in your chest. Almost unnoticed, you both inch closer and you feel an irresistible pull towards him. Your heart is drumming in your throat and the muscles in your torso tense even at just the thought of kissing him. 

But right when you are about to cross the line Nico’s curse pops your bubble and Harry’s head whips around in alert.

“Shit!” you see Nico jump back from the counter, one hand wrapped around the other, a cutting board with lemons and a knife left behind.

“What happened?” Harry asks, grabbing a rag as he steps closer to assess the situation.

“I wasn’t paying attention and cut my finger,” Nico hisses and you step closer just in time to see him showing the cut. It doesn’t look bad, but it’s bleeding quite heavily.

“Go and clean it out. I’ll cover the bar.”

Nico mumbles a quick thanks as he rushes back before he could bleed on anything behind the bar. Just as he exits, two women walk up to Harry, who switches into bartender mode pretty fast. He gives you a quick ‘I’m sorry’ glance as he takes their order and starts mixing up their drinks. You just give him a reassuring smile and focus on your drink, patiently waiting. 

At first you don’t even pay attention to the conversation the two women strike up with him. But as Harry starts serving a man who walked up to the bar after them you notice how they stayed there and it makes you wonder so you turn your attention to their sugar coated voices. 

“Oh, then we feel honored to be served by the big boss,” the blonde one chuckles, leaning forward just enough so that his shirt tugs down, teasing the view of her cleavage. 

“Just… helping in,” Harry gives a tight-lipped smile, barely even glancing at her as he makes the cocktail. 

“See, I told you it'll be worth coming here on a Monday,” the other one giggles as she gently sways to the soft music that’s playing through the speakers. 

It’s a sight that’s an easy trigger for you. They did nothing wrong other than flirting with a man they find attractive. And you know Harry barely even acknowledged their efforts, but still, it was enough to let that evil little voice out of its cage in the back of your mind. 

They are gorgeous and you’re nothing like them. They are thin and looking around you already see a dozen men looking at them. You can never be like them. 

Deep down you know these thoughts are worthless, but once they take over it’s hard to fight them, to see yourself in a better light. Not when you’ve struggled with this for so long and spent long years to convince yourself it’s all that matters. 

There’s nothing left of the free spirit you were just minutes ago. When this happens you simply close off and want to disappear as fast as possible. For a moment you think of just leaving while Harry is not paying attention, but you’d hate to walk out on him like that so you stay there, trying to take up as little space as physically possible as you finish your drink. 

Nico soon comes back, his left ring finger bandaged up, ready to get back to work, which means Harry is free from bar duty again. He doesn’t hesitate to walk away from the two women and return to you, but you’ve let your spiraling thoughts win by now.

He notices something is wrong the moment he sees you avoid looking into his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, dipping his head to try to get you to look at him. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but it’s a weak attempt to mask just how uncomfortable you’re feeling.

“Y/N, I know that’s not true. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you push, then take a deep breath to help you swallow the bitterness in your mouth. 

There’s a few seconds of pause when you’re convinced he’ll say to end the date and then you already see yourself never coming here to avoid ever running into him. The voice in the back of your mind is already working hard to convince you it’s for the best, that it would have never worked, you’re way too different and sooner or later he would see you the way you see yourself. 

But it never happens. Instead, he silently packs away everything you used for the cocktail and when he’s done, he gently takes your hand and starts to pull you towards the door that leads out to the hotel’s lobby. Confused, but curious, you follow him and don’t say a word until the two of you stop at the elevators.

“Harry, where are we going?”

“Up. To my suite.”

“You have a suite here?”

“I do. Comes with the perks of owning the bar that’s part of the hotel.” 

His hand is still holding yours, warm and gentle, but still confident, especially when he tightens his hold as the elevator arrives and he pulls you inside, pushing the button of the 18th floor. He doesn’t let go of you as the elevator starts moving, you just stand there next to each other without a word until it arrives and the doors slide open. 

Harry once again pulls you with him, striding down the carpeted hallway to the door with the number 1804 next to it. He fishes out a card from his pocket and taps it against the lock that clicks silently, letting him open the door and that’s when his hand falls from yours, letting you walk in first as he holds the door open for you. 

You haven’t been to a hotel this elegant, not as a guest at least. You’ve attended a few conferences but you could only see the lobby and the conference rooms during those, not the rooms or in this case, the suites. 

You walk into a spacious living room  with a minibar, dark purple couches facing the TV mounted onto the wall, the floor-to-ceiling windows giving an impeccable view of the city lights. There’s a door on the left and the right, one is probably leading to the bedroom, the other one must be the bathroom and though the doors are closed, you can imagine how good they must be designed.

The suite is definitely not untouched, you see signs of Harry here and there, the envelopes on the coffee table, the single used mug next to them, some sort of hoodie thrown over the back of one of the armchairs and a Macbook lying on the desk next to the TV. 

“It’s permanently reserved for me. I spend so much time at the bar, it’s easier if sometimes I don’t have to drive all the way home and can just stay here,” he explains as you walk further inside, stopping by the window to have a look at the view. 

Slowly, you turn around and look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Why are we here?”

He is standing a few feet away, his hands hidden in his pockets, but his stance feels welcoming and open even despite your closed off behavior. 

“To be alone. I don’t want the circumstances to bother you. I know things can get overwhelming sometimes.”

You remain still, not sure what to say or do. It really has been overwhelming, but only because sometimes your own mind turns against you and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Harry pulls his hands out of his pockets and cautiously takes a few steps closer to you, but still leaves a bit of space between the two of you. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks so softly, it almost makes you want to cry, because he doesn’t feel real, nothing does when it’s about him. You’re so set on how unmatching you feel around him that it’s almost impossible to think otherwise now. 

“I don’t see it,” you reply in a whisper.

“See what?”

“I don’t see what you see in me. I only see my version of myself and it’s… not good.”

The tears are stinging your eyes. You have probably never said these words out loud, but somehow, you feel safe enough with Harry to bring this side of you out, though the fear that he might get fed up with it is still strong in the pit of your stomach. 

You have no idea what kind of reaction you were expecting from him, to be honest you couldn’t imagine a version where he stands his ground and doesn’t agree with all the awful things you harbor about yourself. 

But then he steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face in them as he angles your head so you’re looking up at him, holding you like that, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

“I want to show you. How I see you.”

His hands slide down to your neck, his thumbs are underneath your chin to keep you in place, his gaze dipping down to your lips a couple of times before settling on your eyes, waiting, silently asking for permission and though you don’t say a single word he understands you.

His first kiss is brief, but confident. His lips press against yours and they open slowly, just enough so that his tongue can tease you before he pulls back, though he doesn’t move far, his nose is still brushing against yours. Opening your eyes you find him looking at you, his otherwise light and bright eyes are now several shades darker, lust dripping from the curled up ends of his lashes as he waits for you to make up your mind whether you want to go further or not. Somehow, his black magic must have worked enough on you to mute that evil voice in the back of your head, the absence of it giving you the chance to give yourself into the moment. 

You push up against him this time eagerly, open mouth meeting his and he’s quick to react with just as much passion. 

One of his hands moves down to your waist and when his fingers dig into the soft flesh you can’t hold back a moan that’s immediately swallowed by him. You fist his shirt, desperately trying to pull closer even though he is entirely pressed up against you. 

Blindly he starts moving, pulling you with him, your kiss never breaking as you move around the couch. Then his lips leave yours and you’re forced to open your eyes just as he sits down on the couch, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs as he pulls you between his knees and he kisses your stomach through the fabric of your shirt. Out of reflex you try to pull away or avert him somewhere else, but his hands squeeze your thighs as his eyes snap up to meet your gaze.

“How I see you, remember? Let me show you,” he reminds you and though every inch of you is screaming to pull away, you stay.

Harry pushes your shirt up and unbuttons your pants before his hands grab you by the waist. He twists you around and pulls you down on him, so you end up lying half on top of him with your back pressed against his chest. 

“Harry,” you gasp when his right hand starts to slip into your pants and then under your underwear, but his other hand falls to your heaving chest as if he could calm your jumping pulse with just one touch.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, I don’t want to push anything on you.” His lips are by your ear that brushes against them when you nod and just let him do whatever he wants. 

When two of his fingers slip between your wet folds, your lips part with a sigh, your head rolling back to his shoulder just from his touch. He is gentle but determined, starts off by just moving those two fingers up and down, gently applying some pressure at the perfect spots before keep moving. Then they settle on your clit and start drawing circles in a slow pace, playing with the pressure once again, setting your nerves on fire. 

You keep moaning and gasping as you still lie on top of him, his other hand moves underneath your shirt, but it doesn’t go further up just yet, only remains flat on your skin. You can’t stop your body from falling into a rhythm, hips buckling, spine arching with certain movements, especially when he starts to gradually increase his pace. 

When a tiny shock rides through your body with a rougher movement one of your hands grabs onto his thigh by your side, fingers digging into his muscles, earning a deep grunt from him that rumbles right underneath you. 

Your other hand snaps to his wrist as you completely lose control over yourself and push his hand a bit further, showing him where and how you need him the most and he is quick to pick up on the clues and add to the sensation. 

“Y/N, Angel, let go for me,” he whispers into your ear and while his hand between your legs doesn’t stop for a moment, the other one finally inches up and cups your breast, kneading it sensually. 

“Harry, I–Ah!” You’ve lost your ability to voice a coherent thought. You have none, the feelings Harry is making you feel have taken over you entirely. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs and when you turn your head he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a deep kiss and while you’re eager to return it, you lose control over your movements when you feel your orgasm tipping you over the edge. It stretches and teases and then it washes over you like a tidal wave. 

Gasping for air, your back arches and your nails dig into his wrist and thigh, you hear him say something but his words are tuned out, you hear or see nothing, only feel.

But you feel everything. 

You have no idea how long it takes for you to calm down and come back to real life. When it happens you realize Harry’s hand has moved away from between your legs and both of them are placed on your stomach, his fingers gently brushing against your skin in a slow rhythm. 

When you find your strength you wiggle around until you’re lying on your stomach, facing him. Even though you were the only one who benefited from the scene you just experienced, you see a deep satisfaction etched across his face as his lips break out into a smile. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you chuckle and pushing yourself up you stretch your neck until your lips meet his. This kiss is different, it’s gentle and slow, but just as meaningful as the ones before. 

“So,” he starts as he reaches up, running his fingers down the side of your face. “Did you see what I see?”

“I… felt it,” you say, part of you afraid of his reaction. But as you watch him, all you see is that same sweet, charming smile you’ve seen from him so many times before.

“That’s a start.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m more than happy to work on it until you really see it.”

Staring at him, you search for something. Anything that gives away the slightest sign that gives away that he is not being genuine, but you find none and it feels heavier than if you did. Completely touched by his words the tears start dwelling in your eyes. 

“Where have you been?” you ask in just a whisper.

“Well…” he breathes out, locking you in his arms. “Behind bars the past ten years,” he says and there’s a heartbeat of silence as you both realize what he just said and the duality of it. 

You both burst out in laughter at the same time.

“Not like that!” he shakes his head.

“I guess there are a lot I don’t know about you, that’s fair.”

“And do you want to know more?” He challenges you. Your laughter fades into just a soft smile.

“I do. Do you want to know more about me?”

“Everything. I want to know everything.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[cherryredlove]

☆ eiffel tower ☆

Modern! au Cregan Stark x reader x Jacaerys Velaryon SMUT

Includes Cregan x Jacaerys smut

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • �� •

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Baela and Rhaena always host the hottest parties of the summer. Invitied alongside your best friend Helaena, you meet two handsome men who seem equally interested in you as you are in them.

Word Count: 2.5k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, threesome, p in v, oral, eiffel towering, cum eating, alcohol consumption, cigarettes

also just imagine cregan in the pics has dark hair ahah

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The hot July night is thick with the mingled sounds of the party—a seamless mix of bass-heavy music, laughter, and shouts cutting the air. You feel the vibrations through the floor as you push your way through the crowded living room of Rhaena and Baela’s apartment. They live in a swanky flat in the city centre of King's Landing. It's their birthday, and, as usual, they’ve gone all out. Neon lights bounce off the walls, casting a colourful glow that makes everything feel both surreal and electrifying.

You'd worn your favourite sexy black top and bootcut jeans, making your ass look fantastic, as your flatmate Dyana had so kindly informed you. Bangles jingling, you make your way toward the makeshift bar in the corner, your eyes scanning the throngs of people dancing and talking, searching for a familiar face. Finally, you spot her—Helaena, your best friend, is lounging on a couch, deep in conversation with a couple of guys from her art class, while sipping a bottle of Asshai beer. She waves at you enthusiastically, a smile stretching across her face.

“Hey, you made it!” Helaena shouts over the music, wrapping you in a quick hug. She smells like lavender and vodka, wearing a blue skater dress, a familiar and comforting combination. “I was starting to think you’d bail on me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your voice barely audible over the thumping beats. You lean in closer. “This place is insane.”

Helaena laughs, nodding in agreement. “You should go say hi to Rhaena and Baela later. They’re out on the balcony, holding court as usual.”

As you nod, you can’t help but feel a little out of place, surrounded by people who seem to know exactly where they fit in this chaotic scene. You were a bit of a party animal too with Helaena, but the party here was madness. You grab a drink from the bar—something pink and fruity that burns just enough to remind you of its potency—and take a long sip, letting the alcohol warm you from the inside.

You seek out Baela and Rhaena. Both of them look divine in gold shimmery tops. They scream a little with excitement when you see them and hand some sourz shots for the three of you to do together.

After, you’ve been chatting with Helaena for a while, legs crossing over eachothers as you lounge on some chairs, when your attention is caught by two guys approaching. Even in the dim light, they stand out: one tall and dark-haired with broad shoulders, the other with brown curls, high cheekbones, and a rougish smile. They're both stunning in that unfairly effortlessly cool way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, Hel,” the first one says with an easy smile. His eyes flick to you, holding your gaze a moment longer than polite. “Who’s your friend?”

Helaena grins, ever the mischievous meddler. “This is Y/N,” she says, gesturing toward you. “Y/N, meet Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon. They’re Baela’s best mates from uni. You guys both study politics and history with her, right?"

Cregan gives you a nod, his smile widening into something warmer, while Jacaerys offers you his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, his voice a low, pleasant rumble.

The conversation flows easily, the four of you finding common ground in shared interests and mutual acquaintances. Cregan regales you all about his recent backpacking trip through the Highlands, the beautiful scenery and his close scrapes with the law, while Jacaerys leans closer, drawing you into a discussion about your favorite bars and places in King's Landing. You find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks, the tension you carried into the party slowly melting away.

As the night deepens and Helaena ends up sneaking off with a mysterious girl named Sara who Cregan knows, the three of you drift outside to the balcony, the cool air a welcome relief from the heat inside. You lean against the railing, the city sprawled out before you while Cregan sparks up a cigarette for you. Below, the streetlights flicker like stars, the hum of traffic a distant lullaby.

“So, what do you think of the party?” Cregan asks, his voice low and inviting.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, taking a sip of your drink that Jace had grabbed for you, a Starfall Screwdriver. “You two must be close with Rhaena and Baela.”

“Yeah, we’ve known them forever,” Jacaerys replies, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. His gaze is steady, intent. “They throw the best parties.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of their attention settle over you like a physical presence. There’s something about the way they look at you—like they’re seeing you, really seeing you—and it makes your heart race in a way you can’t quite explain. You aren't blind to their eyes and where they're looking.

“So, Y/N,” Cregan begins, a playful glint in his eye. His arm rests on your shoulder after taking a drag. “What’s your deal? You seeing anyone?”

The question catches you off guard, your mind scrambling for a response. You hesitate, unsure of what to say. The truth is, your love life has been a series of near misses and almosts, leaving you jaded at a young age.

“Not really,” you finally reply, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “I’ve been kind of focused on other things lately.”

Jacaerys leans closer, his expression thoughtful. “Like what?” His hand brushes your thigh, and you clench slightly. Cregan smirks, and Jace takes a long drink of his beer.

“Like work, mostly,” you say with a shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious under their scrutiny. “And, you know, just figuring things out.”

Cregan exchanges a glance with Jacaerys, something unspoken passing between them. You feel a twinge of curiosity, wondering what they’re thinking.

“What about you two?” you ask, shifting the focus away from yourself. “Any girlfriends I should be worried about?”

Jacaerys chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, we’re both single. We're too busy having fun, I guess.”

“Though we do have something in mind tonight,” Cregan adds, his tone teasing, almost conspiratorial.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What’s that?” Jace looks amused at your obliviousness.

Cregan and Jacaerys exchange another look, this one filled with a kind of mischievous energy that makes your skin tingle with anticipation. You have the distinct feeling that whatever they’re about to say will lead to a very interesting night.

“Well,” Jacaerys says slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, “we were actually wondering if you’d be interested in something…a little different tonight.”

Your heart skips a beat, the possibilities flashing through your mind. You find yourself leaning in, caught in their magnetic pull.

“What do you have in mind?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cregan’s smile is all charm and challenge. “A threesome,” he says simply. “You, me, and Jace.”

You blink, your mind momentarily short-circuiting at the proposition. Of all the things you’d imagined, this wasn’t one of them. And yet, the idea sends a thrill coursing through you, igniting something bold and adventurous that you didn’t quite realize was there.

“I—” You start, then pause, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Jacaerys steps closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm, inviting shadow. “No pressure,” he says, his voice gentle but edged with excitement. “But we think you’re amazing. And we’d love to spend the night making you feel that way.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, the heat between you three palpable and undeniable. You consider their offer. They're both hot, both your type, and they both fancy you. The decision weighs on your mind, and yet, somewhere beneath the surface, you know exactly what you want.

Taking a deep breath, you meet their expectant gazes, a slow smile spreading across your lips. You down your drink. “Alright,” you say, your heart racing with anticipation. “Let’s do it.” They both smile, and their grip on you becomes a tad tighter.

“Great,” Cregan says. “How about we head back to ours? We live in a flat just a couple of minutes away.”

You nod, feeling a heady mix of nerves and thrill. As you follow them through the party, weaving through the throngs of people and neon-lit haze, you feel your heart and pussy begin to thrum.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The ride to their apartment is a blur of laughter and anticipation, the city lights streaking past like shooting stars. You sit between them in the backseat of the cab, your legs brushing against theirs, the proximity sending shivers up your spine. Cregan brushes your neck lightly with his knuckles, and you tense when Jace's hands move upwards from your knee to your inner thigh. Feeling both of their mouths so close to you, their hot breath and their longing, heated gazes makes your pussy clench, excited.

When you finally arrive, the apartment is everything you imagined—a stylish blend of modern and cosy, the kind of place that feels lived in and loved. As soon as the door closes behind you, Jacaerys presses you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s all fire and passion. You melt into him, his hands gripping your shoulders tight and keeping you upright.

Cregan’s hands find your waist, pulling you from the wall and sandwiching himself behind you, his touch firm and grounding as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “You alright?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel his hardness press into your ass from behind. You kick off your shoes and let Cregan pull your jeans down.

You nod, your breath hitching as Jacaerys trails kisses down your neck, his hands deftly unzipping his jeans. “More than alright,” you manage to say, the words a breathless promise. Jace rubs your thighs with his heavy hands and Cregan gropes your tits, pulling his shirt over his head.

You each undress, hands reaching out when not removing clothes to grasp at each other and kiss hotly, all tongues. You're not sure who you're kissing or who's kneading your ass when they guide you toward the bedroom.

Pushing you gently onto the bed, Jace turns to Cregan and kisses him, Cregan moaning lightly at the touch. Your pussy explodes ablaze at the sight, whimpering as the pair advance on you like wolves.

Cregan yanks your legs towards him, opening them and sighing at the sight.

"Oh, Jace, look at her," he smirks. "Already soaking wet and we haven't even started."

Jacaerys laughs lightly, kneeling besides your body as Cregan swipes a finger through your pussy slick. That draws a hot moan from your parted lips.

"Will you be good and let Cregan look after you?" Jacaerys asks, your eyes glued to his hardened cock that brushes against your tits as he leans down. You nod, moaning as he kisses you, and places your hand on his cock to stroke it.

Cregan takes his cue and sinks his mouth down onto your heat. You whimper loudly as he softly licks up your slick and begins sucking lightly on your aching clit. Encouraged by your reaction, he eats your pussy more fervently, devouring any juices and engufling your labia in his hot mouth.

Jace moans as you stroke his cock, Cregan watching the sight from between your legs. You reach down with your other hand to grasp Cregan's dark hair, pulling slightly. His eyes roll back and you notice his hand is between his legs, jerking his huge cock at the sight of you and Jace.

It's too much for you. You feel like you'll explode. Jacaerys grabs your tits and tweaks your tender nipples, and you moan, arching your back and feeling the start of an orgasm creep up on you.

"Come on Princess," Jace gasps. "Cum for us." He spills a thick white rope of cum over your tits. Cregan, eyes wide, eats your pussy with such vigour that he yanks an orgasm from you, and you howl as you cum. He jerks himself as he cums on your thighs.

Panting, you watch as Cregan approaches Jace. You would have expected yourself to be satisfied by now, but watching Jace lick the cum off himself and Cregan inflames your pussy once more. You wobble upwards, kneeling on the floor and engulfing Jace's cock with your mouth as you jerk Cregan's cock. The pair moan into eachothers mouths at the touch.

Leaning down, Cregan pulls you gently by the hair onto all fours. Your eyes widen as you realise what he means. Your mouth opens involuntarily as he makes you suck his fingers, chuckling to himself.

"You reckon she's ready?" Jace asks him. Cregan nods, eyes dark and glinting.

"Oh yes, her pussy's a mess. Look at how good she is, sucking my fingers," he removes them, smirking as you whine. "Don't worry girl, you'll be able to suck all you want."

He nudges his cock by your lips, and you swallow it whole. He begins thrusting lightly, moaning heavily at how good your mouth feels wrapped around his cock.

You startle when you feel Jacaerys' hard cock press against your pussy lips, gently easing inside as your eyes roll back. You feel so full as he settles deep inside you.

Jace begins thrusting against you, hitting that sweet spot deep inside that very few can reach whilst Cregan uses your hair to push you deeper onto his cock. Breathing through your nose, you sink down until his cock is deep in your throat, making a strangled moan come from his lips. You can feel the hot licks of pleasure build again inside as Jace rubs your clit as he pummels your pussy and gives you a healthy slap on your ass, watching it shake. His hands grab your hips and squeeze, leaving bruises that will spark some intense memories later.

Cregan huffs and you can tell he's close to finishing, so you swallow hard as his cock hits your throat again. He cries out and you feel ropes of salty cum filling up your mouth and throat.

You climax at the feeling, Jace's fingers carrying you over the edge as he pulls out and cums across your back. Your pussy flutters as you cum hard, collapsing on the floor as the two men pant and join you.

All three of you lie there, softly breathing and exchanging sweet kisses and looks. Cregan stands first, hauling you up to the bathroom to wipe you down whilst Jace grabs you some water each.

Sandwiched between them in bed again, you feel yourself drift off to sleep as Cregan and Jace hold you tight. You can only hope the next time with the pair will be even better.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: hope yall enjoyed that. i definitely prefer writing modern aus for some reason. any requests send them in, lmk if you want more like this!

[orchidyoonkook]

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino  

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word. 

Intimate. That would be a better choice. 

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering. 

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony. 

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy. 

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts. 

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go. 

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between. 

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company. 

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight. 

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off. 

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges. 

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter. 

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot. 

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are. 

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back. 

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses. 

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up. 

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.” 

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty. 

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is. 

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck. 

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself. 

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.” 

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night. 

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung! 

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing. 

You just lost all your tips for the night. 

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it. 

Fuck. 

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet. 

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know. 

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’ 

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it. 

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass. 

No one serves him but you. 

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you. 

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year. 

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath. 

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.  

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,”  he responded. 

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased. 

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you. 

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it. 

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink. 

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself. 

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.” 

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.” 

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” 

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.” 

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation. 

No one calls the Devil by his first name. 

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to. 

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives. 

No one except you. 

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is. 

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that. 

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in. 

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night. 

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker… 

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up. 

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath. 

The King of Hell. 

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end. 

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon. 

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging. 

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers. 

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully. 

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity. 

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive. 

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again. 

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well. 

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while. 

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was. 

And maybe he is. 

But not to you. 

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow. 

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him. 

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world. 

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you. 

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find. 

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos. 

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside. 

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor. 

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding. 

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system. 

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth. 

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing. 

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer. 

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.” 

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target. 

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own. 

Yoongi. 

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself. 

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real. 

And he looks like sin incarnate. 

Fitting. 

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you. 

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on. 

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved. 

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you. 

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises. 

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night. 

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse. 

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him. 

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”  

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” 

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body. 

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.” 

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now. 

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening. 

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you. 

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant. 

Beautiful. 

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says. 

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I���I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you. 

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers. 

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you. 

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring. 

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. 

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait— 

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse. 

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” 

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly. 

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’. 

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him. 

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides. 

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it. 

You’ve decided. 

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power. 

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years. 

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back. 

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club. 

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait. 

And apparently neither does Yoongi. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate. 

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil. 

You trust Yoongi. 

“That's a good girl.” 

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft. 

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people? 

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on. 

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get. 

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight. 

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent. 

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea. 

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh. 

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off. 

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?” 

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs. 

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you. 

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.” 

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. 

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge. 

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look. 

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded. 

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter. 

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip. 

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue. 

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.” 

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?” 

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get. 

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it. 

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt. 

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines. 

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before. 

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip. 

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him. 

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it. 

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.” 

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures. 

You’re the most powerful person here. 

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible. 

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know. 

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact. 

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets. 

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace. 

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them. 

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you. 

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else. 

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal. 

Perfect in every single way. 

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too. 

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back. 

Not yet. 

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling. 

Ever.  

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more. 

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence. 

There was only you. 

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows. 

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming. 

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance. 

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white. 

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. 

It’s yours. 

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze. 

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented. 

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?” 

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?” 

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before. 

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say. 

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.” 

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.” 

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him. 

You just know it. 

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless. 

You never expected anything like that. 

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years. 

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better. 

Because of you.  

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that. 

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly. 

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell. 

He was yours now. 

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.  

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

[mydemimonde]

'Baby Said' — Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

divider is from @plutism

a/n: this idea came up after listening to 'baby said' by maneskin on loop, love them sm and that song too

Summary: After a few stolen glances and a drink, you walk up to the bar counter where the blonde man that caught your attention is sitting, looking for some fun.

Words: 4061

Warnings: +18 (minors dni), female reader, no use y/n nor specific physical description, desperate reader, swearing, dirty talk, a bit of choking, hand kink, praising, spitting, tiddy sucking, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slightly dominant aemond, overstim, riding, holy shit so many warnings let me know if i missed one! no proof reading

Strong hands grip your waist as soon as you step foot into the place, soft lips tracing your neck as you grind your ass against his crotch, earning a deep groan from him. He closes the door with his foot and turns your body around to face him, and before he could say anything, you press your lips against his, your hands running over his clothed chest.

He starts walking, pushing you to the nearest wall as your bodies press together. His lips part slightly, letting you slip your tongue inside, and you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Your hands go all the way up until you get to his broad shoulders, wrapping your arms around him as his hands cupped your ass, making you moan into his mouth.

He pulls away just to attack your neck again, taking his time to kiss, lick and nibble your skin. He pays attention to one particular spot, the one that made you squirm and shiver, something he learned a few moments before. You curse under your breath, and you feel him smirk.

“Eager, are we?” He taunts you, his hand squeezing one of your ass cheeks as you grind against him again, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

“Aemond, please… no more teasing” you sigh, as if you were annoyed. His blue eyes examining your face, relishing your desperate state —heavy breathing, lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed and enticing eyes.

He brings his hand to your cheek to stroke it as the other one caresses your waist, his head tilted to the side as he smirks. “We have the whole night, baby. No need to hurry” he runs his thumb over your lower lip, your tongue darting out just a little. His eyes widen in surprise when your lips close over his finger, closing your eyes as you suck. When you look at him he’s licking his lips, leaning in again to kiss you passionately, slowly, as if your lips were fragile. The same way he kissed you earlier, in the middle of the dance floor.

It was the second mojito you had with your friends, celebrating that you finally graduated from college. Arianne, your friend from work and college, had suggested that you celebrate by going to the famous nightclub Sunfyre, which was located in one of the most expensive districts in King’s Landing.

So there you were, sitting with your friends around a small round table, the neon lights flickering with the rhythm of the music blasting from the speakers. It was Arianne’s turn to buy the drinks, but this time she went for vodka shots.

You cheered with your friends and at the count of three, you all knocked back the liquid, your eyes closing shut at the burning feeling in your throat. All of you clapped and hollered in celebration, unintentionally attracting the attention of some locals around you, but you actually didn’t care. All you wanted was to have a good time with your friends.

As you listened to one of your other friends Lena talking about some anecdote during her summer holidays, you couldn’t shake off the spine-chilling feeling that you were being watched. You pressed your lips together as your eyes scanned the crowded bar, until you found a pair of blue piercing eyes. A playful smirk adorned the man’s face as he looked at you, he was sitting on a stool leaning against the counter, his back turned to the bartender, legs spread. You’ve never thought that manspreading would look so sexy. You gave him a coy smile before turning your attention back to Lena’s story.

The music played loud in the background, people danced and grinded against each other on the dancefloor, your friends were telling funny anecdotes while you were on the fourth drink of the night and you could still feel the man’s piercing gaze on you. Surprisingly for you it wasn’t at all uncomfortable. It was great for your ego that a man like him was looking at you like that, as if he wanted to devour you. Both of you sneaked glances at each other, but neither of you made a move.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you whip your head around, as if you were caught doing something wrong. “What the hell are you looking at, hun?” Asked Arianne, almost screaming in your ear above the music. You pressed your lips as she squinted her eyes and looked around, trying to find what —or who— was stealing your attention from them. She gave you a sly grin, lightly slapping your arm repeatedly. “Hot stuff looking at you like you’re a full course meal. C’mon, go over there and talk to the guy! He looks expensive, he could be your sugar daddy” you giggled as she wiggled her eyebrows, taking a sip from her margarita.

What Arianne said was true, he looked rather expensive. His platinum hair combed to one side, clad in effortless style —a black t-shirt with the first two buttons casually undone, the sleeves rolled up revealing his forearms, a pair of dark jeans and polished shoes. You wanted nothing more but to feel his hands on you. Maybe that was the alcohol talking, maybe not. A long time passed since you’ve been properly fucked —your ex broke up with you two years ago, and after that you only had boring dates and bad hookups, leaving you with no other choice but to use your fingers and toys to get yourself off. You needed to get fucked, and this man looked like a good hookup.

Before you could open your mouth to say something, a waitress came up to you and left a drink on the table. You and your friends looked at one another in confusion. “Uhm, sorry, but we didn’t order this…” you pointed at the drink that was placed right in front of you.

“I know. An admirer sent it to you” the blonde woman winked at you and left, Arianne chuckling and the rest of the girls oohing at you. You shake your head and feel your cheeks burning, knowing exactly who sent it. Him.

“It’s a sex on the beach!” exclaimed Arianne. “He’s begging you, honey, and you haven’t had a good shag in a while” she raised an eyebrow at you. You jokingly rolled your eyes and grabbed the glass, turning your attention to the man at the counter, who was unsurprisingly looking at you. You raised the glass and he did the same, cheering with you in the air and at the distance, as he gave you a slight nod. Both of you took a sip of your respective beverages, keeping eye contact.

You placed the glass back on the table, stirring your drink with the straw as you thought about what to do next, the alcohol making you feel more courageous to do something and Arianne’s words ringing in your head. “Hey, mind if I leave you for a bit? ‘M gonna talk to that guy” you got off the stool and point at the counter with a movement of your head, your friends making high-pitched sounds of victory at your decision.

“Go get that dick!” Whispered-shouted Lena, Arianne hitting the table repeatedly. You blew them a kiss and grabbed your sex on the beach, strutting down to the guy. As soon as he saw you his smirk got wider and he sat straighter, looking at you like you were his prey.

“Hi there” you said as you sat in the stool next to him, the short dress you were wearing hiking up your thigh just a little bit.

“Hey. Enjoying the night?” His voice was deep and smooth, making you feel all sorts of things in your stomach. He moved so that he was facing you, his forearm resting on the counter.

You nodded. “Yeah. Graduation and all, quite the occasion to celebrate.”

He lifted an eyebrow, eyes examining your figure. “Oh? Congratulations, then. Cheers.” He replied and again, raised his cup to toast with you. You smiled at him and your glasses clinked. You drank and then, he brought a hand to his chest, as if he was apologising. “Sorry if I seemed too forward by inviting you for a drink. Didn’t dare to interrupt your conversation with your friends when you were so into it... didn't seem fair to steal you from them.”

Now it was your turn to smile. You turned your body towards him too, resting one arm on the counter and crossing your legs. “It’s okay. I was actually going to talk to you, eventually. My friends were insisting.”

He chuckled in response. “Well, thank your friends for me. I’m Aemond Targaryen.” Targaryen… the surname did ring a bell. You introduced yourself as well, and both began talking, enjoying each other’s company. He was leaning over you more and more with each passing minute, and when his fingers grazed over your arm you felt electric shocks all over your body, his gaze on you was so intense you could barely form any coherent thought. He was so close that you could smell his cologne, something spicy and leathery, utterly intoxicating.

“Would you like to dance?” He suggested, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course” he stood up and offered you his hand, which you gladly took. You noticed how tall he was, towering over you and making you feel small. You led him to the middle of the dance floor, and on the way there, out of the corner of your eye, you saw your friends watching you two, proud smiles on their faces.

When you got there your body started moving to the rhythm of the music, feeling Aemond’s hands on your waist as you danced. Your bodies were pressed together amidst the sea of people, feeling his breath on your neck as he moved with you. Feeling bold you started grinding against his body, bringing one hand up to place it on the nape of his neck, his hands lightly squeezing the flesh of your waist. The place was getting more and more crowded; the lights flickering and the fake smoke coming from the fog machines were making it harder to see clearly.

His eyes lowered to your lips when you turned to face him, he started leaning in slowly until his nose nudged against yours. You closed your eyes as you felt his soft lips moving against yours, tenderly yet passionately. His hands cupped your face as his tongue explored your mouth, cocking his head to the side. No one’s ever kissed you like that, he was such a good kisser.

Your hands found their way around his slim waist, the kiss was getting more and more intense that you had to pull back for a moment to catch your breaths. If it weren’t for that, you would still be kissing him nonstop. Aemond took the opportunity to leave soft pecks along your jaw, going down the side of your neck until he sucked on a particular spot that made you throw your head back and whine. It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by people —they were engrossed in dancing and drinking, it’s not like they were looking at you—. You just wanted him.

As if he could read your mind, he looked at you. “Shall we get out of here?”

And that’s how you ended up in the apartment of this stranger, kissing and fumbling with each other’s clothes, feeling his erection on your thigh as he hiked up your dress to feel your skin. Aemond pulls back just to kiss your neck again, it’s like he’s addicted to that part of your body. He grabs your legs and picks you up so easily, you wrap your legs around his waist as he starts moving to find a more comfortable place.

You finally get to unbutton his shirt, running your hands all over the visible skin. He isn’t ripped like the guys at the gym, but you can tell that he certainly works out. He almost trips on the way to his bed, chuckling at the way your hands shake when you start unbuckling his jeans. “Fuck, you’re really desperate, huh?” He deposits you on the comfortable bed, looking at him as he takes off his shirt, your breathing heavy when he unbuckles his jeans, getting rid of them quickly, his cock straining against his white boxers.

Aemond grabs you by the ankles and drags you towards him, making you yelp. He lifts one of your legs to undo the straps of your stilettos, and as he does the same with the other you prop up on your arms to take a moment to appreciate him. His tousled hair, his knitted brows in concentration, his slightly parted lips, his long, aquiline nose and the small and almost invisible freckles adorning his shoulders.

When he’s done he hovers over you, arms on either side of your body as he leans in for another kiss. He’s positioned in between your legs and brings one hand to your chest, cupping your right breast over the dress. You whine in his mouth and he smirks. “I love those little sound you make for me… makes me wonder how you would sound when I-”

“Aemond, shut up and fuck me already” you interrump him in an irritated and desperate tone, catching him by surprise. He stares at you, mouth agape before grinning.

“Relax baby, I’m gonna do just that, but… you’re too dressed for my liking” his fingers start pulling the straps of your dress down. He lets out a gasp when he sees you naked, except for your lacy black panties. He stares at your tits and bites his lip, fingers pinching your nipples. “You’ve got beautiful tits, baby.” He immediately takes one of them in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the pebbled nipple, making you throw your head back and whine, your fingers tangling in his hair.

You grind your hips against his, trying to get some friction on your aching cunt. You’re sure you’re dripping by now, he’s got you like that since the moment he laid eyes on you. Aemond moves his hand down your body while he continues sucking on your nipple. When he finally gets to the place you needed him most, both of you release a moan.

“Fuck, you’re soaking wet.” Aemond says in a low and raspy voice when his fingertips meet the wet spot in your underwear. He kisses every inch of your skin before getting in between your legs and slides down your panties, pleased with the view of your glistening entrance. He traces two of his fingers along your slit, feeling your arousal coating them. “You’re fucking dripping on my fingers, baby. Hmm, the things I could do to this sweet pussy.”

You moan at his filthy words, breath heavy as you watch him kiss and nibble your inner thighs before giving your pussy a tentative lick, eyes set on you, revelling in the way you writhe and whine. Your hands tug at his hair instinctively as he gently sucks on your clit, then he licks the length of your cunt, his grunts sending vibrations all over you.

“Oh, f-fuck, yes” you squeal, eyes closed shut as he buries his face between your thighs, lapping at you eagerly, his nose rubbing expertly against your bud. He pushes you down with his arm when you start bucking your hips, preventing you from moving as he keeps feasting on your cunt. “Don’t— s-stop!” You gasp, back arching as pleasure invades your senses, the band in your stomach growing tighter.

“Y’ gonna cum, pretty girl?” Aemond murmurs around your clit, a small huff leaving his lips when your thighs wrap around his head, pulling him even closer. “C’mon baby, lemme hear you. Cum all over my mouth” He coaxes before sucking your clit again, swirling his tongue around the bud as you fall apart on his tongue, whines and high-pitched moans spilling past your lips. “Atta girl” he praises you as you try to recover from the mindblowing orgasm he gave you. He doesn’t stop sucking at your folds, the erotic slurping noises of his mouth making you blush, licking every single drop of your arousal. Aemond wipes his chin, coated in your juices, and hovers over you again, covering your face with kisses. “You taste divine, pretty girl. You did so good for me.”

He brings his arm above your head, fingers playing with your hair while his other hand gently squeezes your cheeks. “Open” you do as told and he spits in your mouth, you gladly swallow before he kisses you. You moan into his mouth when you feel his index and middle fingers tease your wet entrance. He pulls back to watch your reactions as he slides them in, gingerly moving them, curling them and reaching the rough patch inside you, making you gasp. He smirks. “That’s the spot, hmm?” Aemond finger fucks you, leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw. You breathe heavily, feeling another orgasm already building. “Fuck, can feel you squeezing my fingers, love. Let go, pretty girl.” His jaw drops open as he watches you come, groaning when he feels your cunt clenching around his fingers. Your lips form a perfect O shape, eyes closed shut and legs trembling. “You look so pretty when you cum, baby.”

When you open your eyes you find Aemond staring at you, a soft smile adorning his face. “There she is,” she caresses your cheek and you chuckle, bringing one of your hands to his boxers. He gulps when you start palming him, feeling how hard he is. He gets rid of his boxers and his cock springs out, the tip already leaking precum. You’ve never seen such a nice cock in your life, all you want to do is put your mouth on it. He reads your mind, once again. “You can suck me another day, all I want now is to bury my cock inside you. Is that okay, pretty girl?” You nod eagerly and sit on the bed, pushing him onto the mattress as you straddle him, taking him by surprise. “Well, well, well.” He chuckles darkly, feeling your hands travel all over his chest and abdomen. He reaches out for a condom in the drawer next to his bed, but you stop him.

“I’m okay without. I’m clean and on the pill, I really want to feel you” you bite your lip, hoping he says yes. Aemond smirks, telling you he’s clean as well, and you lean in for a tender, passionate kiss. You move one hand to grab him, slowly guiding him into your entrance. Both of you let out breathy moans when the tip slides in your wet cunt, stretching you.

“Holy s-shit” Aemond’s head is thrown back, jaw clenched and hands on either side of your hips, his fingers digging in. When you sink down onto him completely, you stay there for a moment, trying to adjust to his size. Your nails rake down his chest and he whines, eyes sweeping over your figure. His hands also travel through your body, up your thighs until he reaches your breasts, gently squeezing them. His hands are big, you noticed.

You start moving up and down his length, moaning and whimpering and head thrown back. “You feel so good, Aemond. Fuck” you murmur, bouncing on his cock. You feel him curse under you, his hips meeting yours in every thrust, filling you to the brim. You let out a particularly high-pitched moan when he brings one hand to your throat.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Aemond rasps, licking his lips before applying more pressure, slightly choking you as you continue moving, increasing your pace. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the feeling of his hands wrapped around your throat, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. “God, you’re squeezing so deliciously, sweet girl. Y’ gonna cum all over my cock, hmm?”

“Oh my God, yes, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You say through strangled moans, cunt clenching around him as you come, collapsing on his chest. He immediately wraps his arms around you as he keeps thrusting up into you, not letting you rest. He flips both of you over, fucking you slowly. You sob when his thumb circles over your sensitive bud, trying to squirm away. “T-too much, please.”

Aemond cocks his head and frowns. “Can’t take another one, huh? I thought you wanted me to fuck you, pretty girl.” He taunts, voice trembling as he ruts into you. You grasp onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and tears welling up in your eyes from the amount of pleasure and overstimulation you were receiving. “You can give me another one, baby, c’mon. I know you can” he coos, kissing and nibbling your neck.

He watches with a wicked grin as your mouth hangs open, whines and moans escaping and eyes fluttering when the head of his cock repeatedly hits your sweet spot. “Fucking come, baby, soak my cock.” Aemond commands. The squelching sounds of your cunt while he fucks you together with his praises and moans are enough to make the knot in your stomach finally snap. You moan his name loudly, your legs shaking around his waist.

In the back of your head, you hear Aemond grunting and growling, the sounds he makes are distant over the blood rushing through your ears; but you notice his thrusts becoming sloppier and his cock twitching inside you. “Fuck, fuck, baby, I’m gonna- fucking gonna cum.” That’s what brings you back to your senses, you open your heavy lidded eyes and watch him come. With a few more thrusts he spills himself inside you, coating your walls in warm spend. You’ve never seen nor heard someone come so beautifully, the sight was enough to make you let out a small moan.

His lips were parted, brows knitted together and body shaking above you. Aemond rests his head in the crook of your neck as you try to come down from your highs, embracing each other. You stay like that for a moment before he moves his head to look at you, small drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. You smile at him and close the distance by placing your lips on his, kissing him sensually.

After the make out session, Aemond pulls out of you slowly, hissing at the loss of contact. You bite your lip when you feel his cum leaking out of your pussy, he gathers it and presses it back slowly before giving a kiss to your centre.

He goes to the bathroom and brings wet cloths to clean you up, being careful not to hurt you. When both of you are done, he hands you your panties. You look too tired to stand up, but you know you have to go. After all, it was just a one night stand, and you have to work tomorrow.

“You can stay the night, if you want” Aemond suggests after putting on his boxers. He can really read your mind, it’s kinda creepy, you think. “I mean, it’s too late to go back to your apartment, plus there’s a storm coming.” He presses his lips, as if telling you that you had no choice but to stay.

After weighing your options, you decide to stay. He grins and hands you one of his t-shirts, so that you don’t have to sleep in your dress —or naked. You put it on, smelling the clean fabric and lie down on the comfy mattress, covering yourself with the soft sheets. Aemond lies next to you, and after wishing each other good night, you drift off to sleep.

The next morning, Aemond wakes up to the sound of his annoying alarm. He runs his hands over his face, and looks around the room when he doesn’t find you. A small yellow post it note on top of his drawer catches his attention. He reads it and smiles. You left your phone number and your name below.

“Thanks for an amazing night. Text me if you want to grab some coffee or if you want to do it again ;)”

taglist: @melsunshine @tsujifreya @fan-goddess

[ironskyfinder]

"Keep up."

“Keep up” he said, blowing out the cloud of smoke into her face and pushing the bong towards her.

She wiped the little bit of vodka that had spilled on her lips away with her hand and pointed to the bottle of soda behind him. “Chaser, please,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse and her throat burning.

“Finish the bowl first,” he held the tool over the bowl

She pressed her lips to the glass and started to pull.  The smoke was thick and starting to yellow when he pulled the bowl and let her try to clear it - but her lungs weren’t big enough and she couldn’t help but cough, and cough, and gasp, and -

He pushed the soda bottle into her hands, and she managed a swallow before she was coughing again, hard, harder than before, seeing spots each time. Trying desperately to catch her breath, or some air, or some relief, until finally she managed a few raw lungfuls and slouched back into the chair. 

“You said you could keep up,” he laughed. 

She made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine. That had been hours ago, at dinner at that upscale steakhouse, and she’d meant it about the moscow mules they’d been drinking - and about the vape pen outside, she had to admit. 

But it was pride that made her say it about the edible in the uber, and about the detour to the dive bar downtown and the three shots there. The ride back was hazy but they’d definitely hit the pen and made the driver mad, she remembered laughing as he drove away. 

They were at his house, and as they were standing at the door she’d kissed him. She remembered being in the kitchen, and him pouring her a mixed drink that tasted like candy and coffee. That she blamed on stubbornness, demanding he pour her just as much, and proving she was tough by hitting his pen. 

But then she’d said - something - and now they were downstairs and she was proving she could go shot for shot and dab for dab and she couldn’t remember if her shirt being off was part of that deal or if she was just hot. How had she ended up sitting in his lap? 

“Do you need a break?” he teased. He sounded like he was teasing. And she did need the break, needed fresh air and water and maybe to lie down for a while in the dark, but she couldn’t stop now. He was teasing her, she had to prove it. 

She looked at him, the words taking too long to form. “Is it a shot or a dab?” she said, avoiding the question.

“You’re way behind, silly,” he chuckled. “There’s no way you catch up now.”

“What?” she twisted to face him. “Why? What am I at?”

He pointed to the table, to the other side, where there was a line of shots laid out. Four. The room was already spinning. There were pennies - nickels? Why were there coins? - between them, and one on each end.  

She must’ve looked extra confused. 

“Six dabs and four shots,”  there was a slur in his voice as they shifted a little in the chair, and she leaned into it, into him. His arm was around her waist, she was so hot and she couldn’t move but that at least felt nice and his chest rumbled when he spoke. “I am, right now, six dabs and four shots ahead of you.”

Her heart was racing, she felt - not tired, but drifty. She tried to stand, he groped her ass at just the perfect time to weaken her knees and she collapsed back onto him. They were both laughing, then he looked down and kissed her, and she was grinding on his thigh as they made out like teenagers. She was reaching back for her bra when he stopped her. 

“You said not until you proved you could keep up - or are you giving up?” he asked.

She remembered it as he said it. They’d been in the kitchen, he’d offered her an energy drink and had said it was ‘pretty intense’ and that he wouldn’t think less of her for not keeping up, and she’d told him that not only could she keep up but that she wouldn’t fuck him until he admitted it. He’d laughed and asked if that included his Friday night ritual, and she’d said it had - why did she keep agreeing to things like that? - and then he’d told her about the dabs downstairs and she’d gotten dizzy with excitement.

Now she was just dizzy. She relaxed into him and he groped her again, and she moaned a little despite herself. Feeling herself start to black out, she was reaching for the shot glasses and the suddenly - 

- they’d moved, she was straddling his knee and he was holding the bong to her mouth, something was different but the only thing she could do was keep inhaling, even if her lungs were almost full. She twisted away from the glass but before she could exhale he clapped a hand on her face, covering her mouth, holding her nose, and she couldn’t do anything but writhe in his lap and struggle for air.

“Seven, six, five, four,” he was counting - why was he counting? She couldn’t breath, her lungs were burning and she felt like her chest would explode.

She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes as everything started to fuzz and dim, trying to hold on -

- and he pulled his hand away just a little, just long enough to blow out the cloud he’d made her hold, but before she could inhale the hand was back and now her starved lungs were screaming for air -

- for some reason, him laughing at her was hotter when she couldn’t breathe. “I like the way you arch your back,” he chuckled into her ear. “Going to show me more of that later?”

She nodded weakly, barely hearing him. 

His hand moved away and she was gasping again, pulling forward as she filled her lungs over and over, desperately. 

She looked up. Three shot glasses and four of the coins, piled over on the side. She couldn’t feel her face but there were only two shots left, she was catching up, and she couldn’t help but smile even as she steadied her breathing.

“What the fuuuck,” she slurred as she finished catching her breath. “What the fuck was that?”

He picked up a shot glass and her mind blanked - how was she supposed to take that shot when the room was moving so fast? - but then he raised it to his own lips and knocked it back.

“Do you not remember? You said if I made you hold it for just as long, it’d have to count for two.”

She shook her head and the room tilted with her. He coughed a little as he set the shot glass down in the pile with a clink, and slid two of the coins over to the pile. She stared at it for a moment before it clicked.

“Wait, what about the shot?” He laughed and she blushed and finished, “aah, what?”

“You really blacked out, huh?”

“Maybe a lil’ - a little bit,” she admitted. “It’s a lot. You’re a lot.”

“You don’t remember arguing about hypnosis?” 

She shook her head. “Hypnosis is fake. And stupid.”

“We already - right. Well, deal was I take your shots for you and you try it. No harm, right?”

She rolled her eyes and reached for the next shot glass, pulling it toward her. He was saying something about it not being a good idea, and it was almost too heavy to lift, but she was determined to - prove him wrong? No - but she was determined to do it, and as soon as the glass hit her lips, even before she tasted the burn, she was gone again.

She opened her eyes, like in a dream. 

He was talking and his words were like velvet in her ears. Convincing words, important words, the words didn’t matter as much as how they sounded, and they sounded like beautiful music, pulling her thoughts down into the melody. 

And she was about to fully fall away when she heard that voice, telling her to keep up. 

Far away, in her body, she felt - so much sensation - and then her body was getting heavier, and heavier, and she started to sway, and drift, and she was nearly falling, so heavy that no part of her could resist.

Then she heard his voice in her ear, and as he said the words it was easy for her to keep up. 

And then his hungry mouth was on hers, but he was exhaling delicious smoke, and she breathed it in and it sent her reeling, she was barely holding on through the dizzy haze. 

As she started to black out again, his voice was in her ear, reminding her she would always find a way to keep up.

[earlysunshines]

clouded

minatozaki sana x fem!reader ; fluff(?)

synopsis: you find yourself with the girl you hate the most, she's drunk, bitchy, yet effortlessly eye-catching even as she insults you. 

warnings: cursing ; alcohol ; not proofread

a/n: hey... hi! surprise!!

the thumping bass of the music downstairs reverberated through the walls, but in the secluded room upstairs, it was muffled, distant. in this quiet corner, away from the chaos of the party, and sana joined you, settling on the floor with a weariness that mirrored your own. 

“you fucking piss me off, you know?” sana scoffs, slurring her words and failing to keep her attention on on place. “you bitch.” 

“oh shut the fuck up, who’s the one calling me fresh meat? easy to bait? and whatever else you’ve said about me.” you retort, holding a cup of water up to her lips. “drink, shouldn’t be hard since it’s the only thing you’ve been doing all fucking night.” 

leaning her head against the doorframe, sana looked tired, her features bathed in the soft glow of the lamp. you could just barely see her flushed cheeks and the bridge of her nose, accentuating the subtle curve of her plump, parted lips. her eyes, heavy-lidded with fatigue, held a strange warmth as they met yours in the soft illumination.  

you hadn’t had anything to drink, so you can’t blame the alcohol for the spike of your heart beat or the sudden warmth in your cheeks. it was probably the adrenaline from the house party, it had to be because the last person that should be holding your attention captive right now is minatozaki sana. you'll blame the adrenaline for your lingering gaze and the way you subtly admire her face. 

sana's expression twisted into a grimace as she lifted the red plastic cup to her lips. with a sloppy motion, she took a slow sip, the liquid inside trickling down her throat. holding the cup in her hands, she seemed almost childlike, as if she had just come back from running all over the playground. something like that. 

“can you just... go. your face pisses me off.” sana mumbles, opening her eyes a little more just to narrow them again at you. “you piss me off.” 

“yeah? i think i got the hint. you've said that like, five times already in the past minute, including when i helped you up the stairs.” 

 sana groans, putting her palm to her head and sighing. she's absolutely wrecked, she has to be after downing three shots of straight vodka and that nasty beer in the cooler. 

none of her friends had helped her out, and even though she had talked shit about you and been a bitch to you for most of the time you’ve known her – you couldn’t just leave her alone while she’s drunk and groggy.  

“i’m taking you home.” 

“says who?” 

“me, so shut up for once or you’ll find yourself awake tomorrow on the floor and hungover in someones house.”  

sana remained silent, her body melting into the material behind her as she found a moment of reprieve. with the cup still cradled delicately in her hands, she brought it to her lips once more, sipping the water with deliberate slowness. as she swallowed, a contented sigh escaped her lips, a small drop of water lingering at the corner of her mouth. 

your eyes darted to the droplet, a curse escaping your lips as you moved instinctively to wipe it away. with a quick motion, your thumb brushed against her skin, capturing the droplet before it could slip further down her chin.  

“you’re a fucking mess.” you groan. 

sana's intense gaze locked onto yours, her eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce through your very soul. the proximity between you felt almost suffocating, with only inches separating your bodies. your hand pulled away as you sensed her closeness, a flush of embarrassment colored your cheeks.  

sana's gaze flickered down to your lips, her jaw tightening imperceptibly before meeting your eyes once more.  

the world seemed to stand still, the only sound that registered in your ears – despite the bass ringing from downstairs – was the thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears.  

“why are you still taking care of me?” sana groans, turning her head so she can push herself into the material behind her even more. “just leave me alone...” 

“your little friend group either found someone to fuck or completely abandoned your ass, and i actually have morals. i couldn’t just... leave you there.” you respond, feeling yourself grow bashful. you sigh, looking at sana’s state before grabbing her cup and helping her up.  

your hand instinctively found its way to sana's waist, providing support to keep her upright as you guided her towards the door. with a gentle touch, you steadied her, feeling the warmth of her body against your palm. as you opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, sana's mumbling reached your ears, the words failed to register in your mind. complete gibberish was being uttered, but it was better than an insult. 

in her drunked state, sana leaned into you, her lips dangerously close to your neck. you could feel the heat of her breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you braced yourself before going down the stairs. with each step, the proximity between you seemed to intensify as she weakly tried to tighten her hold around your neck.  

but even as you focused on maintaining your balance and guiding sana safely downstairs, the proximity between you stirred something puzzling. in that fleeting moment, as you finally reached the main floor of the house, the world around you faded into insignificance.  

"hey, wait... you’re slipping away, y/n, don’t leave," sana's voice pierced through the fog of the party, the unexpected emotion catching you off guard. it was a side of sana you hadn't seen before, vulnerable and raw, and it pulled at your heart strings.  

her words were sincere, devoid of the usual sharpness that characterized her tone. instead, there was a longing in her voice, a desperate plea for your presence that left you feeling disoriented.  

"i’m sorry for saying your face pisses me off, it— it doesn’t, it just, you’re so pretty and— please don’t leave me here, it’s so loud...” 

sana's confession hung in the air, leaving you with a mixture of confusion and warmth. was she being genuine in her apology and compliment, or was it just the alcohol talking? it was hard to decipher, and the uncertainty left you feeling perplexed. 

as you stood there with sana in your arm, you couldn't help but tighten your hold on her, a silent promise that you wouldn't leave her side. 

"sana, hey," you began, your voice soft and gentle. "i'm here, we're just a couple steps from the door. i won't leave you." 

the corners of your lips tugged up, a reassuring smile spreading across your face, genuine and unguarded. it was the first time you had smiled at sana, a rare moment of warmth breaking through the tension between you. for once, she wasn't the insufferable, sharp-tongued prick that she usually was. instead, she was vulnerable, you could get used to this, 

sana paused, her lips parting slightly as she gazed at you, mesmerized by the sight before her. in that moment, her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty, despite this—one thing became clear: she wanted to see that grin of yours again and again. maybe she’d let go of a bitchy facade, it wouldn’t hurt to throw one less insult your way. 

getting out of the house wasn't too difficult, but maneuvering past the couple making out in the doorway was definitely a challenge. sana clung to you tightly as you navigated through the crowded area, murmuring something – what had she been saying? hell, you couldn’t make out any of it – until the two of you had fully made it down to the sidewalk. 

as you reached the car, sana's grip on you tightened, her words a jumble of unintelligible syllables. despite the difficulty in deciphering her drunken words, you managed to open the door to the passenger side, guiding her inside with gentle persistence. 

once seated, sana squirmed in her seat, making it a challenge to fasten her seatbelt. after pushing the seat back for her and earning more space to maneuver, you managed to secure the buckle, before slipping into the driver's seat and starting the engine. 

as you drove, sana watched your every move with a squinty, curious look, her gaze unwavering despite the haze of alcohol clouding her senses. it was as if she was trying to piece together the puzzle of your actions, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fascination and befuddlement. despite the jumbled circumstances, there was a sense of intimacy in the way she observed you. 

“what’s your address?” you ask, turning to her and raising a brow. she stays silent, eyes threatening to close.  

you scoff, shaking your head out of frustration because the lenience towards your daily hassle is starting to run low. swiftly, you grab her face lightly, squishing her cheeks in between your fingers subtly to sober her up the best you can. sana's cheeks flush, and it’s not the alcohol fucking her up that’s making it happen. 

“i hate drunk people like you, so goddamn incompetent.” you sigh, watching her eyes widen slightly. “as if you weren’t already a pain in the ass.” 

sana furrows her brows, pouting and turning away from you before crossing her arms.  

“you’re so mean.” she whines, turning her body towards the window on her side. 

“you’re saying that to me?” you question, raising your brows out of pure disbelief. “i could write a list of shit you’ve had to say—” 

“i say things all the time, just take me home, you talk so fucking much.” sana groans, closing her eyes. “i live in the apartment closest to the shopping center in northside.” 

dealing with this intoxicated version of sana was testing your patience more than her usual, sober self ever did. her pouty and moody demeanor grated on your nerves, pushing you to the brink of simply cursing her out. despite the annoyance, you couldn't deny the inexplicable pull she had on you.  

as you drove, her squirming and murmuring only added to your exasperation, but beneath the surface irritation, there was an undeniable attraction simmering. it was infuriating how her drunken antics somehow made her even cuter, despite your best efforts to resist. her poutiness and moodiness, while frustrating, held a hint of vulnerability that made it easier to tolerate her. as much as you hated to admit it, there was a small part of you that found it endearing, a flicker of affection that you couldn't quite ignore.  

just a little bit cute, that’s all she was right now, even as you fought against the growing attraction. it was a terrible predicament to be in, but as you stole glances at her from the corner of your eye, you couldn't help but feel drawn to her in a way that defied literally everything that you’ve felt about her before. 

(though, you’ve always found her attractive, it’s that personality of hers that made you want to throw something at her.) 

it was terrible, this whole situation. she’s being a prick – nothing new – yet she looks adorable.  

- 

half of the car ride was filled with stupid sighs and incoherent rambles coming from the drowsy, intoxicated woman to your right. ten minutes pass and you’re parked in front of what you think is sana’s apartment complex.  

you help her out and she clings onto you again, temporarily getting rid of your irritation.  

“second floor, 203.” she says, holding you closer than before. 

you've been in this situation countless of times, being friends with touchy, emotional men who find themselves calling you at the ungodly hours of night every weekend with lazy, drunken voices. however, sana makes you laugh with this sudden affection. the only thing your male friends have made you feel is angry and irritated, but you’d rather have those assholes survive the night instead of outside and vulnerable. 

"sana," you mutter, realizing it would be a hassle to walk her all the way to her place, "just... hang on." with a sigh, you gently pry her clinging arms off you, before crouching down slightly. "get on my back, it'll be faster." 

sana hums in confusion, her drunken haze making comprehension a bit slow. but with a tilt of your head and patient urging, she finally gets the message. slowly, she clambers onto your back, wrapping her arms around your neck and resting her head on your shoulder as she piggybacks you. she’s closer than before, close enough that you can smell the mix of alcohol and vanilla coming from her.  

"you're strong," she mumbles, her voice slurred. 

"you're not heavy, sana," you chuckle, surprising yourself with how amused you are by the situation.  

sana really isn’t heavy, making it easier for you to walk up the stairs despite a whole woman being on your back. you reach the second floor and look for her room number, 203, and let out a small breath of relief once you reach it.  

you try to get her off your back, but she simply clings on tighter with each attempt.  

“no, this is fun, i have the code, just press.” sana mutters into your ear, “1019.”  

rolling your eyes at sana's whining, you punch in the code and the door unlocks with a soft click. with a sigh of relief, you turn the knob and let yourselves in, flicking on the lights to illuminate the dimly lit apartment. your gaze immediately falls on the couch across the room, and you guide sana over to it, ignoring her protests. 

once she's settled on the couch – although not without more grumbling – you stride over to the nearby fridge. opening it, you grab a bottle of water. with water in hand, you return to sana's side, gently coaxing her to drink a little more. 

"come on, sana, it'll help you feel better," you urge, holding the bottle to her lips and tipping it slightly. despite her reluctance, you manage to get her to take a few sips. “lightweight.” you say under your breath. 

after you wipe away at the water that managed to spill out the corner of her lips, she groggily says, “i’m so tired.”  

“then sleep, you’re home.” 

“will you leave me if i do?” 

looking at her in surprise, you respond, “what?” 

sana lays down on the couch, her cheek smushed against a pillow, a soft sigh escaping her lips. 

"why don't you stay?" she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. 

you chuckle softly at her suggestion, shaking your head in amusement. "you'd kill me in the morning. i don't know if you're aware of this right now, minatozaki, but you fucking hate my guts." 

with a wistful smile, you glance around the room, your eyes landing on a cozy-looking blanket draped over the back of the couch. without hesitation, you reach for it and gently drape it over sana -- only covered in her cropped, fit tee and jeans -- ensuring she's comfortable before responding, 

"i wish i knew why," you admit, your voice tinged with a hint of dissapointment. 

sana's response catches you off guard, her words slurred with sleepiness. "i don't. you’re just... too pretty to be interacting with someone like miyeon. she's worse than you." 

miyeon? the mention of your ex-friend only adds to the confusion of the evening, and you can't help but dismiss sana's words as nonsense ramblings brought on by alcohol. 

"you're saying stupid shit right now," you tease gently, a fond smile playing on your lips as you look at her tenderly. 

despite the chaos of the night and the annoyance she's caused you, there's something undeniably endearing about sana in this moment. it's hard to hate her when she's like this, vulnerable and unguarded, and you find yourself softening towards her despite your better judgment. 

as sana closes her eyes and falls into a peaceful silence, you take it as your cue to start leaving. with one last glance at her sleeping form, you quietly make your exit, knowing that it's best to give her the rest she needs to recover from the night's festivities. 

you can't help but feel a warmth spreading through your chest, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, dealing with this intoxicated sana isn't so bad after all—maybe even sober sana. you wouldn’t mind taking care of her again, maybe less bickering, though. maybe she’s not so bad, but you’ll come to a final conclusion later.

probably. 

[mrs-saturday]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Only Bought This Dress So You Can Take It Off 

♥ my masterlist!

♥ pairing: george russell x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: george needs it, and he needs it NOW.

♥ warnings: swearing, alcohol, oral (f! receiving) , p in v, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap guys!), sex in public,  breeding kink if you squint, smut with NO plot, public bathroom sex, club sex

♥ a/n: @chilling-seavey pookie this one is for you 🤭

♥ smut under the cut! ♥

If there is one thing you know how to do, it’s rile up George. And better still, rile him up at all the wrong times, like tonight, in that tight little dress that clings to your hips in all the right ways. The blue pearlescent straps of your heels, against the warm tan of your skin, running up your legs towards the matching dress,  are all he has his eyes on while stood with Lando and Alex by the bar of a club in Monte Carlo. 

“George, mate, anyone home?” Lando pushes a jagerbomb towards George, while Alex picks his up off the bar and chimes in “Earth to George, we’re trying to celebrate your win here” . He snaps back to reality, taking the shot off of Lando and smiling “Won’t be the only thing we’re celebrating tonight boys” he smirks, downing the shot alongside the other two Brits. “What do you mean Russell George?” Lando asks, leaning against the bar, ordering himself a vodka lemonade. “I’m making my move on y/n.” He states boldly, and Alex’s eyes roll a little “Really man? How many times have you said this now? Like 8000?”. George laughs a little, ordering himself 2 double rum and cokes, and nods “Tonight’s the night, I can’t keep staring at those legs, those hips, that ars-”, he gets cut off by the clack of your heels, and the soft bounce of your tits, as you come striding towards the three. Alex and Lando exchange glances, give George a pat on the back, and make their exit, as you lean against the bar, smiling innocently at the race winner, unaware of the strain in his dress pants.  

“So, Mr Monaco 25, how’s it feel to win again?” He tried his best to keep his eyes on your face, and ignore the Tiffany pendant resting on your chest. “Good- Good, I mean, always good to have another win under my belt, especially knowing you were there to see it” He smiled, his voice not sounding 100% convinced. “You sound strange, Georgie, too many drinks?” You giggled, looking at the two drinks in his hands, and he pushed a cup your way “One’s for you, actually, I was about to make my way over” He coughed, which sent the tight feeling in his crotch all throughout his body. “Oh really? Ever the gentleman, aren’t you?” Smiling, you took the drink from his hand, your fingers brushing, sending all the blood in your body to your cheeks. Perfect, he thought, this is his in.  “Care to come dance with me? Might sober up a bit with some exercise?” he glanced over at the dancefloor, then back at you. With a nod, you drag him over, the new Charlie XCX album pulsing through the floor as you start dancing, skirt riding, tits bouncing, and George feeling a primal burn in his stomach.

Something about the way your dress highlighted everything about you, your girlish little giggle, and those goddamn tits, sent Russell into overdrive, and his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you close unexpectedly, causing you to look up at the Mercedes driver. “This OK, princess?” he whispered in your ear, low and sultry. All you could do was nod, and deciding to take him by surprise back, pushed your hips into his crotch, feeling the tent that’s been straining there all night.

He groans, grip tightening on your hips, pulling your closer to allow the friction to ease some of his need. “Baby, I’m not gonna be able to hold off much long-” You cut his sentence short by grinding up against him, and pulling his hand closer to your left tit, with a massive smirk plastered across your face, unknowing of what you had just awakened. The taller man groaned a second time, and grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you off the dance floor and towards the bathrooms. “Georg-” you begin, “Keep it down, princess.” George growls, dragging you into the free disabled stall, and locking the door, before pushing you up against the door. His hands roamed all over you, causing you to sigh softly, as he moved up to your face, tilting your chin up with his thumb and index finger.

“You’ve got no clue how fucking hard that dress has been making me Y/N” he whispered, inches away from your lips, and you find yourself frozen, red in the face, and can feel yourself dripping for his tone. “G-George-” you mumbled, and a look of regret flashed across his face, before you grabbed him by the hair and crashed your lips against his. Despite you being the one to make that move, George quickly established his control, prying your mouth open and leaving no corner undiscovered before moving to attacking your neck. “Mine..” he mumbled amidst hickeys “My girl.” You moaned and grabbed his hair, sliding a thigh between his legs, grinding it against his throbbing erection, eliciting a low moan from the man. 

“Nuh-uh, my job to make you moan” he huffed, hands making deft work of your dress straps, revealing the most perfect set of tits George had ever seen. You could have sworn you saw him drool in the split second between him gawking, and his teeth rolling your nipple between them, his other hand, warm and soft, giving your other breast a firm knead. He delighted in watching you throw your head back, mumbling against your skin as he yanked your dress to your ankles, and kissed down your stomach.

“Pretty girl…” he sighs, hands moving to your hips “Been waiting to do this for so long…” his fingers make swift work of the lace panties, and with a chuckle he stuffs them in his jean pocket “Think of it as a trophy. You can just wear something of mine when I bring you home” 

You find yourself going red, about to object, but not before George pressed a warm tongue to your clit, looking straight up into your eyes with a devilish glint. “Taste so good m’ love” he licks again, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him in closer. George felt his eyes roll back as he tongued your entrance gently, not even pulling up for air. It was almost as though he felt no need for oxygen when his mouth was full with you. Rutting your hips against his tongue to chase down relief became your primary focus, but George held you still, moving his mouth to look up at you, face and chin glossy. A small string of your wetness kept George’s lower lip connected to you, and fell as he spoke. 

“Turn around, hands on the sink Y/N” He commanded. You did as he said without question, and feel the sharp sting of a spank as you hear his pants hit the floor. Turning to look at him, your breath hitched as you saw his aching cock against his stomach, dripping with pre-cum, and George with a condom packet between his teeth. “No need” you mustered, smirking at him as he raised a brow “On the pill, and I’m clean.”. It seems he needed no more than that to line up at your entrance, tip teasing your hole. “M’ God- You’re dirty aren’t you princess? Want to take me raw, yeah?” 

“Please, Georgie”you whined, to which he slowly pushed himself into you. You winced, the stretch of the Brit’s cock feeling unfamiliar and he stops with a worried expression plastered all over his face. “Too much princess? We can stop-” you shush him, and push yourself onto him until he’s in to the hilt “Just that you’re fucking massive Georgie.”

The moaning, the nickname, the praise. It all sent George over the edge, and you felt the man thrust in and out of you at immeasurable pace. Your wetness dripped down your thighs, and you cried out for the way he established a steady but quick rhythm. To silence your screams, a veiny hand wrapped it’s way around your throat, squeezing gently as the older brit growled into your ear. “Pussy’s mine, right darling?” he sounded rough, and dark, and the possessiveness elicited another whine as he kept talking “Need to fill you up princess, need you full of me” He kept thrusting, hips snapping back and forth to the sweet sound of your strained cries of pleasure. “Need everyone to know you’re mine. My girl. My princess. My cock-drunk baby” He hissed, finally finding your sweet spot, indicated by the scream of his name, which only served to turn him on more. “There? You like that, huh Y/N?” he tightened his grip, cock twitching at the sight of your undoing in front of him. “Gettin’ close, princess” He grunted, and you nod to signify that the feeling is mutual. 

“Together?” He pants, the knot of an orgasm building in your stomach. “Please, fuck, Georgie, together-” you cried, cut off only by the warm gush of your orgasm and the feeling of George spilling into you, warm and sticky. George stayed put inside you well after he finished, face nuzzled into your neck. “So good for me Y/N…” he sighs, kissing all the purple blooming across your neck “Gonna have to talk about this when we’re sober” You pause, body tensing, and as if George read your mind, he added “T-this wasn't a drunk mistake Y/N, I have serious feelings, feelings that deserve us being sober” You relax back into him, knowing the crush is mutual, and hummed as he pulled out, and you pulled your dress back up.

“So, fancy coming home with me?” He smirks, your panties in his hand, and a twinkle in his eye.

“Thought you’d never ask, Georgie”

[vivwritesfics]

Keep On Rolling - MV1

Chapter Two

Summary: Lando's best friend having feelings for anyone on the grid? Impossible, right? She worked with them, sharing her friendship with the grid with the world via the FormulaY/N youtube channel.

After film a video including... spicy water (alcohol), everything changes between her and a certain world champion. Good thing she hasn't had a crush on him since his F1 debut, right?

Right?

2K words

Series Masterlist

Just like the first video, Paddock Pals was a success. The video went up onto the FormulaY/N on the Monday after the Albert Park race day vlog. It was the second most popular video on her channel, with only the original Paddock Pals ahead of it. F1 Twitter loved it.

Y/N already had her next few videos planned. The next video she had spung on a chosen few drivers and they were only happy to join in. That was how she found herself sitting in her hotel room, Max, Charles, Daniel, Lando, Alex, Oscar and Carlos surrounding her. James was in a chair opposite the group, notebook in his lap and camera in his hands.

“Hello everybody and welcome to the FormulaY/N channel,” said Y/N, holding her microphone up to her face. She sat in her hotel room, surrounded by seven Formula One drivers. She had Lando Norris on one side of her and Charles Leclerc on the other.

In front of them were tiny shot glasses and spirits. But, of course, to make any money on youtube, you couldn’t use the A word. Y/N had opted to call it spicy water to ensure she wouldn’t get demonetized.

“Cameraman James has been working through the night to put together a little game show for us. He’s collected some of your favourite Formula One quotes. All we have to do is guess who says what. You get it right, you get a point. You get it wrong…” Y/N picked up her shot glass. “You do one of these. Pretty much, we’re all going to be on the tipsy side by the time we’re finished.”

James turned the camera round to face him. “This started as a who said what game, but I went down a rabbit hole and its become so much more than that. We’ve got Formula One quiz questions, finish the quote, a sing along and more,” he said, holding his notebook up.

He turned the camera back to Y/N. While James had been explaining, she’d began to fill everybody’s shot glass with the… spicy water (which was really just vodka). “If everybody has their spicy water, we can begin,” she said and looked to James, shot glass in hand.

Clearing his throat, James kept his camera steady and looked at his notebook. “Okay, this first question is a who says what. Y/N and I were going to play the clips, but we decided that would be too easy for you all. So, I’ve got to read them out. Right, who said ‘Lando we can be world champions’?”

“Charles!” Y/N said instantly. Everybody else took a shot.

Charles, Lando and Alex pulled face. Everybody else tried to keep their cool, but it wasn’t going very well.

“Everybody ready for the next one?” Asked James as a shiver went down Oscars spine. “Right, who is the youngest driver on the grid?”

“Logan!” Shouted Oscar and Daniel.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner,” said James. “Or, three winners. Everybody else, drink up.”

Y/N tipped her head back and threw her shot into her mouth. She swallowed, feeling the burn as it went down her throat. “Oh my God,” she cried and coughed.

“Hey, hey, hey! There’s still some in there.” Lando grabbed a hold of Y/N’s shot glass and tipped it to the side, revealing the dregs at the bottom. “Drink up, missy,” he said and passed the glass back to Y/N. Glaring at him, she tipped her head back once more and finished the shop.

“Next, who once said ‘He don’t fok smash my door’ and, for an extra point, who was this person talking about?”

“Guenther about K-Mag?” Asked Alex, sounding unsure.

James nodded his head. Everybody but Alex had their shots. “So, do we have to do a second one now? Or does Alex just get another point?”

Y/N thought for a moment. “How about you take a short or forfeit a point? If you have no points you can minus a point, but the moment you get one that brings you back up to zero,” she suggested.

Three people took the shots, the rest took the points.

The rest of the rounds went by rather quickly. Max got three points and Lando got four, leaving him the most sober out of everybody. Halfway through the video they had to pause. Some drivers went to the toilet, Lando and Max had to reposition things so that Lando was in the middle, hosting and Max was keeping Y/N upright. “Maybe no more for her,” he suggested.

“No! If I lose I have to drink! Those are the rules!” Y/N cried, her speech slurred. She was leaning against Max, her face pressed into his shoulder.

“Do we even keep filming?” Asked James. “It’s not fair to put her on the internet like this.”

Lando thought on it. He knew Y/N better than anybody; it was going to be his call. “She’d kill us if we didn’t get all the footage. When she’s not drunk or hungover she can look through the footage and decide what she wants to keep.”

“You’re the best Landooooooo,” she muttered and sat up straight.

When the game continued, Y/N was barely holding herself up. She had one more shot and that was it, she was finished. When Riccardo got the next question right, she reached for her glass, but Max took it from her before she had the chance.

After that, they cut the camera. Max moved her away from the rest of the group, to sit out of the view of the camera. Lando did her outro for her, but Max stayed sitting with her. He too was drunk, but nowhere near as drunk as Y/N.

After the video was filmed, the other drivers filed out of Y/N’s room. Lando helped put things away so she wouldn’t trip over them in the morning and put a glass of water and a pain killer on the bedside table.

“You coming?” He called to Max as he waited by the door.

Max was still with Y/N. “Uh, no. I’m going to make sure she gets to bed okay,” he said, wobbling ever so slightly on his feet. Lando raised his eyebrows but he took his leave, leaving Y/N in her hotel room with James and Max.

While James put away the camera and stuff (Max wasn’t watching), Max brought Y/N over to the bed. She wasn’t yet in her pyjamas, he realised. Max waited for James to leave the room before helping her into something more comfortable. If he was lucky (and he was always lucky), she wouldn’t remember this the next morning.

Once Max had forced her to have some water and had gotten her under the covers, he began walking towards the door. “Don’t leave me,” he heard her whisper. How could he say no to that? Max let the door close and walked back over to the bed. He sat himself on top of the sheets, a comfortable distance from Y/N. But that gap didn’t last for long. She rolled over in her sleep, rolling closer to Max.

***

"What the hell?" Mumbled a groggy Y/N as she sat up the next morning. Her bed wasn't empty, something she wasn't used to. To make matters worse, her head was pounding.

She looked up at the stranger in her bed and tried to think back to the night before. It could only have been one of the drivers, she realised, and relief flooded her.

And then dread settled in.

The still-sleeping driver rolled over in the bed. "Oh my god," Y/N whispered, trying not to wake him. Nobody quite prepares you on what to do when you wake up in bed with the current world champion.

He was on top of the sheets, at least. As far as Y/N knew, they didn't sleep together. On the table beside Max was an aspirin and water. She needed it, desperately. Her phone was beside it, but not the keycard to her room.

She had to wake him. "Max." She shook his shoulder, waking him up. "Max, where's my keycard?"

Max's eyes fluttered open. He muttered something in Dutch, the same panic washing over his face. He took a moment, just like Y/N had, to check his surroundings. Clothes still on, sleeping on top of the covers. Everything was fine.

He turned around, looking for the keycard. "I left it right here," He said, gesturing to the bedside table. Max passed her the water and aspirin and stood up. He quickly searched for her keycard, placed it back on the bedside table and went to leave the room.

Y/N had to text Lando about this. She'd spent the night sleeping in the same room as Max Verstappen - how could she not tell Lando about this?

No, this was a conversation she was supposed to have in person. She had to find James, go over the footage from the previous night, and then speak to Lando. And maybe apologise to Max for the night before.

Y/N got up from the bed, slowly. She grabbed the water and aspirin from the bedside table and swallowed, willing her pounding headache to go away.

She hadn't been this hungover in a long time. The curtains hadn't been closed the night before and the light was hurting her eyes. She got dressed, put on her sunglasses and left the hotel room.

James’ room was just a few doors down. She walked slowly down the hall and knocked on his door. Leaning her burning forehead against the wall, she waited for James to open the door. When he did, Y/N let out a groan.

“Come on,” James said through a sigh and pulled her into the room. He sat her on the bed and got her another glass of water. “You sober enough to watch the footage from last night?” He asked and Y/N shook her head. But even that hurt. “What do you want then?”

She sucked in a breath. “What happened last night? With Max and I?”

“Oh, nothing,” James answered. “He got a little drunk, you got very drunk so he stayed to help you into bed. I left after that and I was assuming he did too. Now, I’m guessing that’s not the case.”

Y/N shook her head.

“You didn’t…” James touched his thumb to his finger and put another through the hole it created.

Y/N shook her head.

“Good. Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” said James. “If I were you I’d sleep in until the hangover goes and then go out to dinner with my best friend, leaving my cameraman and editor to do his editing,” he said and walked Y/N over to his hotel room door.

Even with her hangover, Y/N didn’t want to go back to her room and do nothing. They were in Miami for the grand prix in a few days; there had to be something more to do than just sitting around.

Y/N aimlessly walked around the hotel. Lando had told her his room number and what floor he was on, but Y/N couldn’t remember. She just had to hope she found someone she recognised. Y/N went from floor to floor and down to the lobby. Nobody, nothing.

In the end she sat opposite the elevator in the plush, comfy lobby chairs. Magazines were beside her, but reading hurt her head.

She was only there for a few minutes before the elevator door opened and out stepped Charles Leclerc.

Taglist (Open): @sticksdoesart @eviethetheatrefreak @eugene-emt-roe @glai1023-blog @mqcherie

[fortunxa]

Just come home

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: In a mix of alcohol and jealousy, heartbreaks can get confusing.

author’s note: Hi!! Firstly, thank you for all the love on my ‘Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights’ one-shot ᥫ᭡ Secondly, it’s not a one-shot anymore—the sequel is officially in the drafts!! Lastly, I just hope you guys enjoy this post as much as you did my first :)

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I stand in the corner of a smoke-filled living room, the smell of cheap alcohol and sweat already buried deep inside my nostrils. The red light illuminating the space makes me feel as though I’ve entered a brothel. I might as well have with the amount of grinding and hooking up going on. Truthfully, I had no business being here other than keeping my word to my friends to join them at the next party. But, as far as I know, they are currently scattered between playing at the beer pong table and blacking out in the garden, leaving me to fend for myself.

None of this matters. My gaze is shamelessly focused on her.

I know knew the taste of her black honey lipstick too well. Her freckled shoulders supported the weight of my legs many, many times, and her fruity scent still lingers on my bedsheets no matter how many times I wash them. I felt each curve of her body and counted each scar. Most importantly, I knew the way her mind worked and knew that her abandonment issues were to blame for our breakup. ‘Leave you before you leave me’ mindset.

Now, I’m forced to watch as she drapes a random girl’s legs over her lap, her slender fingers tracing lazy circles on the stranger’s knee. My grip tightens around the glass of whisky that I’m holding, and I swiftly knock it back. The burning taste makes me grimace, but not as much as the unfolding scene. I make my way into the open kitchen, grabbing a bottle of vodka as I line up three shots. Each has its turn sliding down my esophagus before a feminine voice comes from behind me.

“Look at you! Party animal or rough night?” The redhead approaches me, her shoulder brushing mine as she cocks her head to the side. “If it’s the latter, I could help you with that. My name is–” I stop listening. Her suggestive tone is evident as she smiles at me with hooded eyes, and I give her a once-over. Her green two-piece outfit accentuates her figure, her long legs and abstract flower thigh tattoo on display. She is attractive, don’t get me wrong, but I couldn’t care less. I already know who I want, and her name is Jinx. Powder, if you know her well enough. If there is even the slightest chance that she wants me back, I would never want to feed into her insecurities by pulling a one-night stand; right in front of her, nonetheless. Although her own flirty nature never diluted, I just couldn’t bring myself to act the way she did.

“Not interested,” I reply, indifferent to her attempt at flirting. The nameless girl lets out an exaggerated sigh, tracing her fingers down my forearm.

“I’ll be around if you change your mind.” She sends me a wink, and I nod absentmindedly. My eyes track the red-headed girl to ensure she's gone, and I notice a certain someone doing the same.

Jinx’s jaw is clenched as her gaze hardens. I watch as she unconsciously digs her nails into her plaything’s leg, making her hiss in pain. But, once the blue-haired girl’s angry eyes meet my curious ones for the first time in over a month, her demeanor shifts instantly; she relaxes, turning her attention back to the blonde bombshell. I see them exchange a few words, and my heart drops when Jinx hunches over to place a kiss on the wound. Oh, that was low. I whip around and reach for the bottle of vodka again—time to drink fast until my brain moves slow, and hopefully erases that nauseating scene from my mind. I skip the shot glasses and take two considerable gulps. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look around the kitchen; it’s just me, an abundance of liquor, and a heavy lack of chasers.

I start feeling the needed buzz as my body grows hotter, and I grip the counter with a dumb smile playing on my lips. I decide to get high on my lows and stumble to the dance floor, where other sweaty bodies are already swaying to the sultry song playing from the DJ’s booth—also known as ‘the guy whose phone is currently connected to the speaker’.

I’m dancing like it’s my last night alive, each move bolder than the previous. My hands roam over my body as I let it go free to the music. The atmosphere feels suffocating in the best way possible; it almost makes me forget my heartbreak. Almost. What it is making me forget, though, is the impending hangover. I lose track of time, but my tingling limbs are telling me that the copious amount of alcohol I’ve consumed is still doing its job, and that’s enough for me.

A familiar pair of hands suddenly grabs my hips from behind, and I’m immediately transported to cloud nine. I press my back further into Jinx’s chest as her head dips into the crook of my neck, and I let out a content hum. My eyes flutter shut from the sensation, but once the spinning room feeling intensifies, I’m forced to open them again.

“You’re not pulling away,” she murmurs in my ear, a mix of surprise and relief in her voice as she matches my rhythm.

“Should I?” I ask breathlessly while reaching to place my hand on the back of her head. Her hair is still as soft as I remember.

“How would you know who’s coming up behind you?” Her raspy voice sends shivers down my spine. I let out a brief chuckle and continue swaying my hips.

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t recognize those hands.” She falls silent, and I take the opportunity to rest my head on her shoulder.

“Quite a show you were putting on, trinket,” she speaks up, and her grip on me tightens while my stomach flips at the old pet name. “Thought I’d have to start gouging people’s eyes out.”

“Oh yeah?” She nods. “Surprised you even noticed through blondie’s affection. Wasn’t my leg you were kissing back there, I’ll tell you that much.”

Jinx stiffens but does not dare retort, and I finally decide to turn around. My glossy eyes meet her blue, sad ones; despite it all, a pang of guilt hits me. I snake my arms around her neck as hers move to my waist. Her motions seem much less confident now.

“Hey, you have your flings, and I have my alcohol. We cope how we cope,” I cheer up, or at least try to in my drunken, tactless state. “We’re all good. I never blamed you.”

“But you should,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as her gaze falls to the floor covered in spilled drinks. Her face contorts, and I can practically hear the negative thoughts filling her head. Watching her in this state breaks my heart even more. I use my pointer finger to make her look at me, and I recognize the war in her eyes.

“I still love you, Jinx,” I confess, and her eyebrows knit together at the stray tear rolling down my flushed cheek. She doesn’t hesitate to wipe it off. “Just… Tell me you love me, too.” She’s silent, but not for long.

“Who told you I stopped?”

Her lips crash against mine with passion as her hands cup my face. She still tastes like candy, and she’s still my Jinx. When her tongue asks for entrance, I don’t deny it. Sweet saliva mixes with salty tears, and it takes this one kiss to communicate all of our intense feelings. The sheer intimacy that I had missed so deeply makes me sob into her mouth, and she pulls me closer. I needed more of her, all of her, and I needed it forever. But the need for air becomes too great, and I reluctantly pull away. I rest my forehead against hers, our chests moving up and down rapidly.

“Just come back to me,” I plead as my hand falls to the baby-blue clouds on her bicep. “Come home.”

Her eyes are full of adoration, and she captures my lips again—much gentler this time as if I were precious china, and one wrong move would break me. Although, in her eyes, I very well could be.

“Always.”

[artyandink]

𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 | bartender!dean winchester

Summary: Dean Winchester needs a job after his little brother left for Stanford, and he’s good at mixing drinks. You happen to work at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, which is the place he chose to work at. He finds a family. He finds a new life. But he also finds you. But you have problems of your own.

A/N - My first reader series, do make sure to comment and/or reblog feedback. Set with S1/2 Dean cause I love our baby boy 😁 and pretend group chats exist on old phones lol

SERIES MASTERLIST

one - gin and tonic

Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

It was rather a homely place, with the constant chatter of the different people that stop by for a quick drink, the tunes playing from the jukebox, followed by the clatter of pool cues that ended with the clinking and tappings of glass on glass and glass on table. The place was lit with warm light, bulbs hanging from the ceiling and the distinct musk of whiskey, vodka and tequila that burned people’s throats without the liquid even going down them. It was chaotic.

It was home.

You shared a look with Jo, who was busy serving a passer-by with a cheery smile on her face while Ellen was walking a first-time drinker through the right options, rather than ordering fifty at once and getting so hammered that you three would have to drag them off the floor of the bar and mop up their sick. You sneakily poured a shot for yourself, downing it before anyone but Jo had a chance to see what you were doing and washing out the shot glass. You were a bartendress, you could hold your liquor without a problem.

“Hey.” Jo nudged you after serving a whiskey and nodded to the opposite corner, where a clearly wasted man was trying to grope a poor girl passing by, grabbing her wrist and trying to tug her back with slurred words and bedroom eyes. The sight made your blood boil and your hand itch to reach for the baseball bat that laid behind the counter. “Reckon we should 86 ‘em?”

“I don’t think there should be reckon anything.” You frowned, pursing your lips. “Dude needs to go.” You kept your eyes on the guy, while your co-worker and good friend Benny approached you two with narrowed blue eyes and cap pulled low over his brow.

“Everythin’ alright here, darlings?” He drawled, and his eyes follow the trajectory of yours and Jo’s until he finds the drunk man across the room, a small hum of acknowledgment leaving his mouth. “Y’all can relax. I’ll handle this-”

“Hey, pal?” A hand with a silver ring on it gripped the shoulder of you guys’ target, the voice sounding a bit stern. The hand was connected to a leather jacket-clad arm, which was worn by a man who was about 6’ 1” in height, and rather devastatingly handsome. He had sandy blonde hair and startling green eyes, with pouty pink lips and rather a defined jaw. He was built well, and clearly benched or at least worked out. You found yourself staring at his easy smile that masked some well-controlled anger towards the guy. “The lady doesn’t want you touching her. I’d hate for that handsome face of yours to be ruined.” The sarcasm in the comment got you grinning, and also got Benny over to the scene to roughly take the drunk dude’s hand off the girl, pulling him up and throwing him out while Jo ducked out from the counter to take care of the poor thing and get her a drink.

You found the stranger who helped Benny out at the counter, eyes twinkling as he looked into yours with a grin that twinkled in the light of the flickering bulb above your heads that you quickly twisted and got properly working again. “Harvelle’s Roadhouse, what can I get you today?” You greeted automatically, giving the man a smile that held a hint of gratitude. Gratitude, yes, but your eyes betrayed knowing. You could see the lost look in his eyes, almost searching for a place, and your heart went out to him. You knew all too well how that felt. All too well.

“A job, hopefully.” He answered with a nervous chuckle, looking down and then up at you with his eyes scanning you almost imperceptibly. “Saw the hiring sign outside, thought I might try my hand here.”

“Well, your hand got lucky.” You grinned, tapping the counter twice to get Ellen’s attention while she was serving another customer. “Can I get a name?”

“That’d be helpful.” He smirked, then put out his hand for you to shake. “Dean Winchester.” You shook his hand while giving him your name in return, Ellen stepping to stand beside you.

“We got a new hire, huh?” She chuckled, shaking Dean’s hand. “Hi, I’m Ellen. I run the place.”

“Dean. Winchester.” The name made Ellen’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and yours did too in curiosity. She seemed to know Dean, and that intrigued you.

“You’re one of John Winchester’s boys.” Ellen noted, which made Dean look between you and Ellen, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer.

“You know my old man?” He asked curiously, his emerald eyes almost giving a puppy-dog look as he addressed Ellen, his hands clasped on the counter in front of him.

“John stopped by often, was like family once.” She nodded with a soft smile. “Also knew you through Bobby, also a regular. Said you were a good kid. Well, I guess you’ve met our golden girl.” Ellen gestured to you with a tender hand, patting your shoulder. “She makes the meanest Cosmo around. She’ll show you ‘round, get you acquainted with the rules and regulations and also introduce you to the others working this shift. Take him through it, sweetie.” Ellen moved away to serve more customers, while you lifted up the gate to the counter to allow him inside. Dean stepped in, already looking mesmerised by the atmosphere and simultaneously the large selection of hard liquor to get through. Jo and Benny left their posts, strolling over to join you two.

“A new hire.” Benny held his hand out for Dean to shake. “Benjamin Lafitte, brother, but call me Benny.” Benny took one look at shared a look with you; he saw it too. The need of a metaphorical map in this stranger’s minuscule mannerisms. He was in need of support, and even though you two didn’t know what for, you were happy to give it.

“Benny, got it.” Dean shook Benny’s hand with an easy grin. “Dean Winchester, but call me Dean.” He turned to Jo, his eyes flicking up and down her as he’d done with you, and you noted that it might be a natural thing for him. Checking out pretty ladies. “And who might you be?”

“Jo.” She shook his hand, flicking her blonde hair out of her face.

“Don’t be shy, Joanna Beth.” Benny teased, piquing Dean’s interest.

“Joanna Beth?” He repeated with raised eyebrows and a small smirk.

“It’s just… Jo.” Jo chuckled, swatting Benny’s shoulder. “Ignore him.”

“Duly noted.” Dean nodded, then Benny took his shoulder. Their eyes met, and Benny’s lips twisted into a smirk.

“One question for you, brother.” Benny drawled in his slow accent, his eyebrow raising under the cap. “Can you handle your liquor?”

“I can mix ‘em and drink ‘em, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Dean answered confidently, that devilish grin still on his face.

“Then you’ll fit right in.” You clapped his shoulder- his surprisingly muscular shoulder - and brought him over to show him the ropes. “Initiation’s gonna be fun.”

Later on, when the Roadhouse closed up and all the patrons were out, we gathered around the bar. You introduced Dean to your resident party animal, Ash, who was busy being a genius in his room out back. You all were relaxing with glasses of whiskey, making sure to make Dean feel at home. He fit in well, and had instantly become a popular with the ladies and Benny’s new partner in crime. Jo pulled out ten shot glasses, which made everyone but Dean whoop and clap their hands.

“Time for initiation, young man.” Ellen cackled, taking out a bottle of bourbon, scotch, hard whiskey, vodka and tequila. Dean stared at the five bottles in confusion as they filled up the shot glasses, two shots per bottle in the order described.

“Complete this test and you’re officially one of us.” Jo smiled, pushing all of them forward in a neat line while you prepared a stopwatch. Dean registered all of the five drinks lined up with a small smirk, and then glanced around at the others in the room.

Had everyone done this before?

The prospect was thrilling. Getting to be part of a surrogate family that seemed to be so… happy. Especially since Sammy had left for Stanford and his old man wasn’t the keenest where he was concerned, being a part of this was all he wanted.

“All you have to do is down all ten of these shots within forty five seconds.” You grinned, holding up the stopwatch. “Level one is bourbon. Then scotch. Then you have hard whiskey, but not too strong. After that’s some tangy vodka, and you have the final level. Our strongest tequila.”

“Strong as hell. Beauty’s got a kick.” Benny whistled, then nudged you. “Remember when Bela thought she could handle more of that stuff and was passed out on the pool table five minutes later?”

“Like it was yesterday.” You laughed, then gestured to Dean. “Take your mark, soldier.” Dean stepped up to the counter, assessing the situation with careful, determined green eyes. They always seemed to captivate you. That and his winning smile. He’d taken off his leather jacket, which was over a blue flannel and grey undershirt. He had a boyish charm to him that you couldn’t help but warm up to as well. “Ready?”

“Born ready.” He nodded, mentally preparing himself as he took a deep breath, waiting for his cue. Then when there was the loud shout of ‘go’, he started slamming back the shots, the liquid burning his throat as we went. The bourbon and scotch were easy, the whiskey went down quicker than expected, but he faltered slightly on the vodka, the tang making one of his eyes close instinctively.

It felt like a goddamn barrage of sour candies at once.

However, Dean braved it and threw back the other, picking up the tequila and downing the first one. The burn made him cough and shake his head as the room went off kilter for a moment, but he grabbed the other and took it down in half a second before slamming the glass down on the table. You stopped the timer, and Dean straightened up as he got what felt like a million claps on the back. He met your eyes with a wide grin that matched yours, gratefully downing the glass of water that Ellen gave him before letting out a whoosh of breath.

“You’re one of us, brother.” Benny chuckled deep, gripping his shoulder. Dean couldn’t help but think about how mismatched this little gang was. There was mama bear Ellen, who doted on everyone as well as being a badass in her own right, mother of the sweetly fierce Jo, or Joanna Beth, who could flash a sweet smile at one point but stare daggers the next that can chill bones. Benny, with his distinct cap and fashion sense, paired with the slow drawl of an accent and rough-around-the-edges demeanour.

And then there was you. By what he knew of you, you were a firecracker. Cheeky smiles and a confident way of moving about pairing beautifully with your suave way of handling and mixing drinks. Paired amazingly, like a gin and tonic, or vodka and soda. Beginner’s drinks, but a classic and something he’d walk back to every time. Or maybe you were like whiskey on the tongue. You had an almost irresistible burn to you. Maybe a bourbon, with the hint of sweetness to your demeanour.

Ah, he’d find out someday.

You woke up the next morning, in the bed that was in your room at the Roadhouse to a texts from the group chat you all had, which didn’t include Ellen otherwise she’d chastise you all for the messages you left on there sometimes. You knew that today would be rather an eventful day, since Bela, Meg and Ruby were coming to work on your shift. The trio were alike in every sense of the word, but there was a respective increase in the level of savagery. Bela was smoothly rude, in either a way you couldn’t fault her for or one that you just couldn’t argue back to. Meg could roast you without a second thought but she made it sound like charisma, which it was, rather than outright hatred. If she wanted to, however, she could let you know she hated you. Ruby was just downright honest. Brutally honest in every way possible, but she couldn’t help but be one of your best friends. For all her sharp insults and snarky comments, she just had a wow factor you couldn’t ignore.

Since Dean was in need of a place to stay, Benny graciously offered to let the newcomer stay over. You and Benny had found the Roadhouse together, and you knew a lost soul when you saw one. A kindred spirit. You’d lived at the Roadhouse, courtesy of Ellen and Jo, and even when it wasn’t your shift, you always managed to make it there for a good day of relaxing, laughing and playing pool and maybe poker. Today, since it was a Sunday, the Roadhouse closed early, which meant you all could play random games and jam to karaoke and old songs on the jukebox.

You checked the messages on your phone, snickering at how many there were. But what caught you off guard was the latest one.

Queen B: Alright, what’s the deal with the new guy? Is he hot?

You: Bela, chill. Don’t go hitting on Dean already.

Megolodon: Dean? Even his name sounds sexy as hell

Ruby-gina George: Y’all are desperate

You: Right? Jesus, you haven’t even met the guy yet

Queen B: I call dibs on him 😉 Megolodon: I hope he has a brother, if you know what I mean 😏 older or younger I don’t mind at all, but I prefer younger

Ruby-Gina George: We haven’t even seen him yet

You: Stop thirsting over a guy you haven’t met

Queen B: You’ve seen him- is he hot?

Megolodon: C’mon, spill

Queen B: IS. HE. HOT

You: You two need to STOP

Ruby-Gina George: Touch freakin’ grass

Ben Dover: Leave the poor girl alone, Bela, she needs a breather

You: FINE. He’s attractive, alright

Queen B: HE’S MINE

Megolodon: Dibs on his brother

ScarJo: My god, stop blowing up my phone or mom will see these messages and fire us all

Queen B: Worth it

Megolodon: Yeah, I’m cool with that, just give me the hot bartender’s brother, please and thank you

Casanova: Who are we talking about? I’m confused.

Ben Dover: New hire

Casanova: Ah.

You shook your head, shoving your phone in your pocket as you stood up, heading over to the cupboard. You pulled out a red plaid shirt, taking off your tank and pulling the chosen clothing item on, doing up the buttons before heading to your mirror and trying to tame your hair for the first time in ages. Eventually, you settled on a simple rope braid that still had a few strands coming out of it, taking off your sweatpants and replacing them for jeans. Rolling up your sleeves to your elbows as you went, you zoned out while staring at the silver band on your finger with a snake engraving.

The delicate welts in the ring.

You weren’t married, no, but it was a part of where you came from. You weren’t proud of your history. The one part of it that came out good was your siblingship with Benny.

You met the sunshine streaming through the window, along with the sight of Dean already working at the bar. His flannel’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair was short and spiky and he wore a soft smile on his face that suited him. However, his eyes flickered to a girl at the bar you knew all too well. What with her penchant for the finer things in life, hence the perfectly styled brown hair and clever green eyes, complete with a British accent.

Bela Talbot.

She was giving Dean what looked like bedroom eyes until his eyes flickered over to you, his face lighting up instantly with a chuckle at whatever she was saying. You seemed to pick up your sleepy mood as well, returning the grin. Bela smirked slightly, pumping her eyebrows twice as she took a sip of her wine. Wine in the morning. It made you grin at your friend.

How very Bela.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Dean rumbled, his morning voice sounding deep and rich. “Sleep well?”

“Slept great, thanks.” You replied softly, pouring yourself a glass of water and sipping it. “You settle in ok? At Benny’s?”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah.” He chuckled a bit, looking down with a bashful smile and a bite of his lip. “He’s great. And it’s great at his place.”

“Had I come earlier, I would offer you a bed at my place.” Bela smirked, then winked playfully rather than flirtatiously. “There’s only one, but I wouldn’t mind sharing.” The comment got a laugh out of both Dean and you, knowing it was all in good fun.

“An offer that I probably wouldn’t refuse.” Dean replied with a suave tone that had Bela grinning at you, nudging you before pointing at Dean with a manicured finger.

“I like him. He’s funny.”

“Good to know.”

“Well, you’re quite a handsome one.” Meg swayed up to the counter, dark brown hair swaying as her equally as dark eyes scanned Dean. She delicately put out her hand for him to shake. “Hi. Meg Masters, darling.”

“Dean Winchester.” Dean shook her hand with a sideways look, seeming rather flattered by the attention of so many women. “And thank you.”

“Just for research purposes-”

“Meg, don’t say it.” You whispered, but she waved you off with a sultry chuckle, her eyes focusing on Dean as she stole a bottle of vodka from behind the bar, pouring a shot which she threw back expertly.

“Do you have a brother? Out of curiosity.” She asked blatantly, smiling innocently at Dean, but you knew the smile wasn’t so incredibly innocent. Meg was like a demon; she corrupts easily. But she was a loveable little devil.

“Oh, shut up, we don’t have to be so touchy feely and up close.” Ruby groaned as she walked in, blonde hair swinging. “And get me a shot of tequila, it was a long and insufferable car ride.”

“You must be Ruby.” Dean noted, pointing at Ruby and smirking slightly. “Bela’s given me the rundown on who’s who. And yeah, I do have a younger brother. Sammy. He’s a dork.”

“Even better.” Meg winked as she poured Ruby a shot of tequila and passing it to her. “Where’s Benny at? I need my daily dose of that accent otherwise I might go insane.”

“You’ve already got the image of the newbie’s little brother so far up your ass, I’m surprised you remembered Benny.” Ruby snorted, taking her shot. “He’s out bein’ errand boy with Ellen and Jo. Texted him when I got here.”

“Earning some brownie points, are we?” Bela giggled. “How very like our suave gentleman.”

“Wine before breakfast.” You quipped, sipping your water. “How very like our expensive Brit, hm?” A round of laughter came from everyone around you, including Bela.

“You got me there.” She sighed playfully, sipping her wine. “Damn you.”

“Damn me.” You winked back, and then a nervous chuckle came from Dean.

“Don’t mean to be a downer on the party, ladies, but I’m feelin’ kind of out of place here.” He gave you all a nervous smile, and the lost puppy look was starting to come out again. You laid a comforting hand on his forearm, tilting your head.

“Don’t worry about it.” You smiled softly, letting out a breath through your nose. “We all love you already. Even if these three are too much.”

“Too much looks good on me, biatches.” Ruby added with a drawl, which got a grin out of Dean and you.

“We get it, Ruby.” You giggled, then glanced back at up Dean and his gorgeous green eyes. “You’re doing great, Dean. Don’t sweat it too much.” The comment got a suggestive ‘ooh’ out of the other three girls in the room, which had you and Dean looking to the counter and the floor respectively with dumb grins on your faces.

“BREAKFAST!” Startled all of you when Ellen walked in with Benny and Jo, the women holding two grocery bags while Benny carried four, most likely out of pure gentlemanliness.

You shared a soft look with Dean, followed by a reassuring pat on his forearm before you stood up and moved to help Benny with the bags. He glanced down at his forearm with a slight smile, fighting off a blush as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. His hand rubbed over the spot before he got to unpacking the grocery bags, feeling assured. Feeling safe.

Feeling like he was part of a family.

bDe: so this is the group chat, huh

You: Hey, Dean 👋

bDe: hey, sweetheart ;)

Ruby-gina George: Where did SWEETHEART come from

Queen B: You wish you were someone’s sweetheart, Rubes

Ruby-gina George: In your dreams, Bell-bottoms

Queen B: But you hate bell bottoms

Ruby-gina George: Exactly 😊

bDe: are they always like this

Ben Dover: You get used to it, brother

You: It’s all uphill from here

Casanova: Can someone please tell me the name of the new hire? I need to add him to my contacts.

bDe: dean winchester

Casanova: Thank you. I am Castiel Novak.

ScarJo: Cas, the perfect spelling, punctuation and grammar is NOT necessary

You: Yeah, how can you type that without getting bored

Casanova: How do you type without perfect spelling, punctuation and grammar?

Megolodon: We just type, Cassie baby, it’s not that hard

Queen B: Even I don’t type that fancy, and I’m British

Ruby-gina George: Part fancy Brit, part asshole

Queen B: I hate you

Ruby-gina George: You’re such a flirt

You: Like I said, Dean, uphill from here

ScarJo: Yeah, doesn’t get much worse than this

bDe: nah this right here is gold

Ben Dover: *eats popcorn*

bDe: can I have some

Ben Dover: sure, brother

You: All of you are unhinged- @Casanova are you gonna be there on your shift tomorrow

Casanova: Yes, I am.

Queen B: Our dear Cas, bland texter by day, expert mojito mixer at night

ScarJo: Sounds accurate to me

Casanova: I hate you all.

You : You love us ☺️

Casanova: I suppose that’s true.

After closing, everyone had gone to their respective houses, or so you thought. You were about to change and get into bed after a long day of supervising the bar in case Dean needed help or the girls were being far too flirty for their own good, but then you heard clinking glass from downstairs that piqued your interest. You prepared to grab the baseball bat from the cupboard on the landing as you crept out, but only heard the humming of a low voice you recognised as Dean. You walked into the main bar to find him cleaning the glasses, the clink coming from when he set them down with the others. But he heard you enter, and he looked up with the washcloth still held in his large hand. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dean, what are you…” You quickly moved to his side, ducking under the counter and taking the cloth. “Why are you here so late?”

“Thought I should clear up. It makes a good first impression.” He shrugged, and you got the whiff of ‘I’m lost and just want to fit in’ again. Dean mentioned a brother yesterday, so it had you wondering why he found the Roadhouse in the first place. Everyone was a lost soul who came here to work. Castiel divorced his wife and left his daughter, and needed a job after he was fired. Ruby left her abusive family, and Meg was in a toxic relationship. Bela had been on the run from her family and had become a pocket thief in the process until Ellen gave her a place at the Roadhouse. As for you and Benny, well, that was a topic neither of you were fans of touching that topic.

“You don’t have to work for that, Dean.” You reassured, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re already fitting in. Just don’t change yourself for insecurity’s sake. It’s gonna bite you in the ass later.”

“Good to know.” Dean chuckled, fiddling with the ring on his finger. “And I prefer my ass to be unbitten.”

“Don’t we all.” You joked, then gave him a smile. “C’mon, if you really wanna make a good impression, then get some rest.”

“You sure?” He frowned a little, his hand twitching to take the cloth from your hands, but you moved it further away. “I could help out, y’know.”

“Not that we don’t want you here, it’s just that we value physical well-being. And mental.”

“Gotcha.” He laughed, nodding as he picked his jacket off the coat hook. “Are you absolutely sure?” Dean wore a concerned look on his face, not wanting to leave you alone to do work. “I could save you some time.”

“I’m gonna drag Bela, Meg and Ruby’s asses to do this.” You chuckled, setting the cloth down on the counter. Dean felt comfortable as hell around you. Maybe it was because you were the first one he knew at the Roadhouse. “Go on, get.”

“Alright, alright, Jesus.” He took out his keys, winking smoothly. “Have a nice night, darlin’.”

“You too, Dean.” You waved as he left, a minute later the loud purr of a car, crunching gravel and screeching tyres gracing your ears.

3:00AM

Queen B: Anyone awake, I’m boredddddd

Megolodon: Same girlie

Ruby-gina George: Some people value their sanity you know

Ben Dover: Why are you up at 3am

bDe: so much for being told to get some sleep

You: You two are insufferable

Casanova: We have work tomorrow.

Queen B: Ohh god, I’m so drunnnnkkkkk

ScarJo: How much hard liquor have you had?

Queen B: Mmmmmmmaybe three

Queen B: b9ttles of tequ8la You: Three WHAT

Ruby-gina George: She’s so slammed she’s typing numbers

Megolodon: Awesome

Ben Dover: Bela, darling, where are you

Queen B: in your lap

bDe: damn

NEXT UP:

“So, darlin’, what do you do in your free time?” Dean asked you, cleaning out a glass with a rag and shooting a wink to a couple of giggling girls nearby. You poured a whiskey for a patron, sliding it across the table.

“Well, I’m a big fan of joyrides.” You answered with a goofy grin. “My Mustang’s always fun to take a spin in.” The mention of your Mustang got Dean’s eyebrows up to his hairline as he pointed out of the window.

“That beaut’s yours?” He exclaimed in disbelief, laughing. “Damn. That’s a serious muscle car.”

“Yeah, my Valkyrie. Val’s my sweetheart, always will be.” You looked up wistfully at the mention of your beloved car. “And your Chevy Impala, she’s absolutely gorgeous. I could listen to her purr all day.”

“That’s my Baby.” He bore the same wistful look you did, then nudged you. “We should take ‘em out for spins. Y’know, joyrides.”

“You sure?” You chuckled, looking up at him. “I don’t drive easy.”

“Even better.” He gave you a little wink paired with a click of his tongue. He flipped a bottle in his hand, pouring a whiskey shot expertly and handing it to you. “Ma’am.”

TAGLIST:

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[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x fem! reader [vol i, vol ii, vol iii, vol iv]

⚠️trigger warnings: mentions of a exual assault, accusations, mentions of domestic abuse, teenage drinking, panic attacks etc

w/c: 7.9k

a/n: s/o to all my favorite people helping me continuously with this series! @agentmarvel @sweetsweetjellybean @jo-harrington !! 💋💋💋💋💋

You’re spinning, spinning, spinning. If you couldn’t smell your own hair products on your pillow, you would swear that you were in a dystopian world, twirling like a frisbee through a pink blossomed sky and being caught in a three headed cat's mouth.

It’s true, hangovers get worse with age, but you were only twenty one— and they’re supposed to go up from here? What happened to ‘the best years of your life’? Whoever said that should be shot and killed on site. Stupid bastard.

Opening your eyes seems like the worst idea you could do, so you don’t. You slowly let your other senses bring you back to reality. You recognized that you were in your bed. Something soft is wrapped around you and judging by the feel of the fabric between your fingers it’s your robe.

A pungent smell of sour bile presents on your breath, one whiff of it and it’s instantaneous: vomit.

Fuck, that would explain the burning in your throat and the graveling dry sensation in your mouth

Pieces of the puzzle that was last night start fitting into place in your mind.

The drinks. The shots. The food. The clinking sound of ice in Steve’s Bloody Mary as he tipped it back and the ice swam towards his teeth, is like nails on a chalkboard.

Oh Christ how there had been so many drinks. Damn Robin and her mischievous ideas for wanting to do shots. Memories of the fiery tingle of the top shelf vodka Steve insisted on having, hitting your lips is enough to make you pass out.

The hollow feeling in your stomach gets queasy as you remember the greasy bar food served at Louie’s. Your stomach quenches, clutching around itself, ridding its salmon colored lining of the disastrous evening.

But nothing comes up. Just heaving dryly in your bed as tears escape your eyelids and your feet hit the floor. Throwing your body into a whirlwind of dizzy flips— your brain swimming in a sea of Diet Coke and Malibu, membranes bursting with the carbonated bubbles.

You’ve never needed a toothbrush more than you do right at this very second. You stand and the world feels like its raging war on your head. Pulsing and throbbing, like a concert was playing in your head and the guitar solo never ended.

You open your door and are met with the thought of how the fuck did you get here last night? Fuck it, you’d ask questions later, for now you needed to empty your bladder and brush your teeth.

As soon as you lay a hand on the bathroom door, Eddie emerges from his bedroom. Sweatpants are riding dangerously low on his hips and purpling hickies decorate his neck. He’s rubbing his eyes but when he catches sight of you he smiles lazily.

“Holy hell,” Eddie quips, eyes scanning over your body. You robe is hanging loosely off one shoulder, it’s crooked but the tie is in place covering your lower half. They land on the wild mess of hair atop your head, “normally I’d say good morning but it’s—“ he leans back into his room to look at his alarm clock, chuckling at the realization, “—two in the afternoon.”

You don’t fight Eddie for the shower, too tired and weak to argue. You fumble through the medicine cabinet finding the ibuprofen and the Disney cup with the swirly straw on the sink, filling it and taking the slick coated medicine. Swallowing harshly, your throat still raw and aching.

You settle for brushing your teeth while Eddie is in the shower. He’s singing Teen Spirit and getting louder and louder. The circles of the vigorous brushing of your teeth mixed with Eddie’s singing are making your head pound. A long look in the mirror leaves you suddenly feeling embarrassed, as if you needed to look drop dead gorgeous at every single minute you’re around him.

What the hell is going on?

“Please,” you beg, spitting the last bit of toothpaste into the sink, “for the love of everything holy— stop.”

The screeching noise of the shower curtain rings being pulled back pull your head up as you see Eddie half naked, torso covered in soap and your loofah in his hand, the dripping curls on his head turned to long waves with the weight of the water.

“Don’t act like I don’t sing like an angel, sweetheart,” he says with a wink, “besides, lying is not good for your health.”

The suds are traveling south, further and further and further downward, your eye fixated on one particular bubble as it pops right at his belly button.

You train your eyes on his, your cheeks heat from your staring. You reach up and shut the curtain.

“I wasn’t saying you sound bad—I just feel like my head is going to implode.”

Eddie thinks for a minute, “want me to sing you a lullaby? I’d put your baby ass to sleep just like I did last night.”

A million different scenarios flood your mind of what happened last night.

Did you kiss him? You remembering staring at his lips, the soft pillowy pinks, the way his tongue peak—

Oh fuck.

Are the hickies on his neck from you? His Adam apple bobs as he swallowed.

Shit.

Did you sleep together? Blankets, over your head.

What the fuck?

Where are your pants? You can’t even remember what pants you were wearing.

Where’s your car? Did you drive home?

Did Eddie pick you up from the bar?

Did he see you puke? You faintly remember puking on the floor of the front seat of a vehicle.

Your head continues to spin as you sit on the edge of the closed toilet seat. Suddenly feeling violated and disgusting.

“Tooty?” Eddie’s voice rings out.

This time you’re the one throwing open the curtain. Ignoring him as he shields himself with your loofah and his arm. “Jesus Chr—!“

“How fucking dare you!”

“What?!”

“You fucking pig, how could you do that to me!”

“Do what!” Eddie yells back

Your tossing shampoo bottles and bars of soap at his naked body, he’s surprisingly agile, dodging every one.

“How could you sleep with me when I was that drunk?! Jesus Christ I can’t believe you! Why would you do that to me?!”

Tears well in your eyes, you can’t believe that someone you once trusted, and were getting used to trusting again, after only being able to confide in three people over the last five years, would do something so vile, so fucking awful.

“After everything we’ve been through? I’ve known you since I was a kid Eddie! I get drunk one time and you take it upon yourself to forc— “

“Tooty!” Eddie hollers, turning the water off to the shower and stepping around you out of the way to grab a towel, he wraps it around his waist and turns to face you again.

“I didn’t do anything to you.” His eyes are wild but filled with hurt, he lowers his voice, and backs away from you. “If you don’t believe me, call Harrington. I talked to him after I carried your drunk puking ass to your own bed last night!”

“Then where are my pants?! If you ‘didn’t do anything to me’ where are my pants at?!” Eddie heads into the kitchen and pulls the short overalls you were wearing off the back of a chair, still damp from the wash. He tosses them towards you and they land at your feet.

“I washed them because you barfed all over them and I thought you would appreciate them being cleaned instead of in a vomit covered ball on the bathroom floor!”

Your accusations sting his eyes, and burn his nose.

You blink rapidly and rack your brain, the blurry sight of Steve’s car covered in puke comes into view. You struggling to get your clothes off alone in the bathroom. One? Or maybe two girls yelling at him as his back is turned to you, Eddie’s honey dripped voice talking to you as you throw up into the toilet, cheek nestled against the seat. And finally, the feel of his chest on your cheek as he carries you to your room, arms and hands never touching you inappropriately.

Before you can apologize Eddie is thrusting the cordless phone into your palm, Steve’s voice faintly heard from the speaker. He turns with a huff and not another look towards you as he slams his bedroom door shaking the frame.

-

Shutting your bedroom door, Eddie hangs his head, his forehead and one palm on the door, a small smile gracing his lips. His head is spinning, he’s not drunk, in fact he only had one beer tonight, right before their set started.

What is this feeling inside of him? Butterflies in his stomach? Nah, that shit was juvenile. He could only pray that it was indigestion, nothing a couple gulps from a Pepto Bismol bottle couldn’t fix. But he couldn’t deny it.

The instinctual gut feeling of needing to protect you rang true all day. He was ready to fight everyone and anyone who talked ill of you. He just couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t felt this protective of someone since his own mother. He didn’t even feel this way towards Chrissy, and they dated for almost a year.

He pulls his head from the door, wondering if he should have put you on your side so if you vomited in your sleep you wouldn’t choke. He shakes his head, removing his hand slowly down your door, letting his fingers hang to his side.

What is this? Why is he acting like a parent? He rubs his eyes and turns to go to bed, your wadded up overalls in his peripheral vision. Would it be weird? Him washing your clothes? It’s not like your panties were in here it was just the overalls. He could be a good guy, he could be a decent human being, for you— he’d be it all.

Stomping down the dingy, murky basement steps he quickly throws your overalls into the washing machine, adding way too much powdered Era but figuring it was better than having them stink like puke. Slamming the metal lid closed with a wonky bang, he trots back up the stairs.

Stomach grumbling and realizing the only thing he had to eat all day were the poptarts he packed for work, he opens the fridge. Inside sitting on a shelf is a fading spaghetti stained Tupperware, on the lid is a sticky note, and written in your beautiful loopy handwriting:

“Got off work early and made the Tater tot casserole. Warm it up in the microwave for a minute thirty, hope you had a good show tonight. -T ”

-

You didn’t always love when your clients canceled last minute, it meant money gone from your pocket and an annoying increasing anxiety building in your gut when bills showed up. But today, you could actually enjoy the sun's rays on your shoulders for a bit as you drove down the streets of Hawkins, stopping at Bradleys Big Buys to get a pound of ground beef and a can of cream of mushroom soup.

Pushing the cart through the aisles you found the two items you came for, hoping to make it home early so that you could make the casserole before Eddie played tonight, or maybe he could enjoy it when he got home.

Cooking for someone was a labor of love, the simplest act of kindness anyone could offer. That’s what Karen Wheeler had taught you when she would spend her Saturday’s teaching you and Nancy how to cook good hearty meals that would last a while so you wouldn’t starve in college.

“And someone enjoying the food you cook? Girls, that’s the best feeling in the world.”

She wasn’t lying. Even that first week with the lasagna when Eddie had basically came in his pants with every bite, you felt a skip in your chest.

It was the least you could do after he gave you a sense of calm whenever he was around. You didn’t trust many people. Not after what happened. In fact Nancy, Steve and Robin were the only people you could put any sort of hope in.

After browning the ground beef with an chopped onion and mixing the canned ingredients together, you season the mixture with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. One last wipe around the bowl with your spatula and it was good to go. Spreading the mixture into a greased 9 x 13 inch pan and added shredded cheese, you line the tater tots across in horizontal rows and toss it in the oven, covering the dish with tinfoil.

-

Steve confirms everything that had happened. Even down to the minor details of you calling him ‘Steeb’. You feel stupid. Your stomach sank when he said that Eddie had stayed up all night making sure your overalls were clean and that you weren’t choking on your vomit.

“He’s a good dude, Tooty,” he explains, “he’s a perv and a complete douche most of the time, but he would never in a million years do that to someone, especially you.”

“…I know.”

“But do you?” Steve prods, “you said so yourself that he kinda looked out for you, almost better than your own brother did.”

“He did— but that’s just because I was with Chrissy’s brother and he was dating Chrissy.”

“That doesn’t matter, what does matter is that he’s a good guy— someone trustworthy. Make it right.”

With that Steve hung up.

You sit on the couch, head in your hands, feeling like a big pile of shit for what you did. Eddie wouldn’t understand. How could he? You blatantly accused him of doing something that you know in your heart and in your soul that he never could have done. Tears drop from your eyes and into your palms. You allow yourself to cry, something you hated doing, for a few minutes. Angry with yourself for the wrong that you did, but also hurting from the past. When your eyes were puffy and snot was sliding from your nose, you call it quits. Fanning your face you realize you still haven’t taken a shower yet this morning.

Making your way to the bathroom, you turn your head towards Eddie door, Steve was right, you needed to fix this.

But how?

-

The shower was exactly what you needed. The scald from the water was helping ooze the booze from your pores as your dehydrated body soaked it up. Eddie didn’t deserve your harsh words, your accusatory statements, the way his face fell in horror when you screamed at him was burned into your memories, something you saw whenever your eyes were closed. You sit on the floor of the shower. You couldn’t tell him what was going on, you were stronger than that. You didn’t need his sympathy, his pity parade, you would get through this on your own just like you always had. You may have been wrong and and you should probably apologize but you dismiss the idea. What the hell does Steve Harrington know about it?

Eddie bangs on the door, bringing you back to reality.

“What?” You holler out.

“Hurry up so we can go get your car before you accuse me of stealing that too.” His voice is angry and hurt. Finishing up in the shower you leave the bathroom to see an impatient Eddie huffing around the living room, looking at his empty wrist as if he wore a watch and throwing his hands in the air.

“Christ will you hurry the fuck up? I’ve got places to be.”

“Oh fucking relax,” you pout, slamming your door and toweling off. You settle for a pair of denim shorts and a cotton t-shirt. When you reach for the comb to untangle your hair you hear obnoxious honking.

He wouldn’t.

Eddie is sitting in the van laying on the horn. Grabbing your ratty white keds you fly through the house, grabbing your purse and combing your hair as you fling yourself through the door. The pavement is hot on your feet, an exceptionally warm day for September. The hot sun and humid temperatures are the worst mix for a hangover.

Indian summer in full swing.

“Fuck I’m right here, knock it off!” He’s staring at you with dead eyes, hand planted on the horn until you slide your ass onto the cracked leather seat.

Without another word he throws the van in reverse and reaches a hand over to your headrest twisting his body, the cut off flannel he is wearing isn’t buttoned, the powdery musk of his deodorant burns your nose.

Nothing has changed with the old van, tape decks are still littered across the dash, stumped out in the cup holder are a mountain of cigarettes and joints. Too many pine scented Little Trees hanging from the rearview doing a horrible job of hiding the smell of weed. Judas Priest screams through the speakers. You place a foot on the dash to get your shoe on when suddenly you are lurching forward. Eddie taps the brakes.

“No feet on the dash.”

You set your face in a scowl, words bitter on your tongue, “yeah, cause my shoe is really going to hurt the value of this piece of shit. I’m just putting my fucking shoe on since some asshole with a small dick complex couldn’t wait five minutes.”

A mocking chuckle escapes Eddie’s throat, “you really are such a pleasure to be around, how did I get this lucky?.”

“And you’re such a prick,” you seethe, bending over and tying your shoe, “why did you even answer my ad in the paper? All we do is fight because you fucking hate me.”

He’s had enough, slamming his foot onto the pedal, Eddie turns towards you and spits, “Do you really think of me like that? A predator? Someone who would move in with you just to violate you the second you pass out?”

“No I—“

“All the years you’ve known me, you think I’d just up and turn into a fucking rapist?!”

“Jesus Christ Eddie!“

“No, I wanna know, right now,” he turns to you, eyes angry and filled with hurt, “do you get off on this shit? Treating people like they’re nothing? Automatically assuming the worst about someone because of where they grew up? I’m not like that Tooty, I’m not like my—“ he stops himself, pushing his tongue to his cheek, “you are not the girl I knew. I don’t even fucking recognize you.”

“The girl you knew was fourteen, Eddie! My biggest problem back then was wondering who I could convince to buy Boonesfarm for the weekend rager, shit changed. I changed! I had to adapt to shit that was way out of my control. And you don’t even know half of it!”

“You’re right, I don’t and I bet if I were to ask, you wouldn’t even tell me, so fuck it, where am I going?”

“What?”

“I can’t read your mind, where is your car parked?”

You tell him. And as soon as you pull alongside Louie’s and beside your car, you realize you don’t have the keys.

“Open the door. Get out.” Eddie spits in a condescending tone.

Looking at him and smiling, with an extra side of cunt you sing, “I don’t have my keys.”

“Of fucking course.”

Lighting up a cigarette and cranking the wheel Eddie flies through Hawkins. He misses the turn on Kerley to get back home. “Missed the turn,” you announce, putting your other shoe on.

Eddie takes a deep breath and sighs lips tight in a line and exhaling through his nose. “Groceries.” He says through gritted teeth.

Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, Eddie parks, taking up for spots, a tire in each one, before the van even stops moving he’s already out and slamming the door, flicking his cigarette across the parking lot. The heat of the day already high.

Finishing lacing up your other shoe you run across the parking lot to catch up to him. He already has a cart and is whizzing through the aisles before you finally see him. Reaching into your purse you unfold the list and take a look at it.

Dunakaroos

Twizzlers

Gobstoppers

Spaghetti o’s

Bologna

Mayo— NOT MIRACLE WHIP! And no it’s not for that.

Lotion, yes for that 😉

the soft bread, not the brown one.

Carton of reds

Case of Busch Light.

Sunny D

Red kool aid

Hot dogs

Cocoa Puffs

Sliced cheese

Baby food since you think I’m a child (just kidding, don’t be mad)

whatever chips you got with that salsa the one time

My milk— not that skim shit you drink

Your milk— the skim shit

Mac n Cheese

“What kind of a fucking list is this? Most of this shit is snacks.”

“Oh for fucks sake, what are you pissed about now?” Eddie says, dumping two bags of marshmallows into the cart.

You’ve never met a twenty-six year old that ate like he was dining at Willy Wonka’s Factory every night.

“Not a single fruit or vegetable!” You say, waving the list in his face.

“I smoke green, I don’t eat it. Unless you wanna make some pot brownies, I’d eat the shit out of those.” He throws a box of brownie mix into the cart for good measure.

You yank the cart from his hands and turn around, heading back to the produce aisle. He huffs when you place a paper bag of apples neatly in the cart, whines when the bananas sit by your purse, and almost passed out when the tomatoes and a head of lettuce make their way into the cart.

“You’re such a baby! Literally an overgrown man child in the flesh.” He’s walking in front of you mimicking you and whoops! The cart may have slipped out of your hands and made a fleeting dash towards his Achilles tendon, banging against.

“Ouch, Jesus Christ!” Eddie groans under his breath, holding his leg he glares towards you, shooting daggers.

“It slipped,” you smirk.

He scoffs and turns on his heel walking away. You finish in the produce aisle, looking through the boxes of noodles and calculating what you could make for dinner this week. Eddie comes back arms full, you only see his hair sticking out on each side of the three boxes of cereal, a 10 lb ham and seven tubes of cinnamon rolls. He drops them all into the cart with a heavy thud.

After crossing everything off the list and getting a few more things despite Eddie’s protesting exhales, you have a cart full. He seems to have calmed down by the time you make it to the beer fridge, taking two thirty packs of Busch Light and putting them on the bottom of the cart, he rips the side of one of them open and takes a can out. Cracking it open in the middle of the store, downing it. The light colored lager is spilling down his chin, into the collar of his open shirt. He tosses it into a lady’s cart as she’s walking past, wiping the foam from his lips and belching loudly.

You roll your eyes, “You can’t wait until we’re home?”

“What?” He says, looking at you with a stupid grin, “I’m gonna pay for it.”

Waiting in the checkout aisle he cracks another one as he unloads the groceries onto the conveyor belt with one hand. Tossing most of the items onto the belt and grabbing another beer and chugging it. The checkout lady puts her nose in the air and huffs a disapproving grunt.

“I was thirsty.”

“You’re so imp—” your insult is cut short when your eyes sweep over him.

It had been a full two years since you had seen him last. His blonde hair was combed to the side like it always was. The blue of his icy eyes still burned holes through you like dry ice to the exposed skin. The navy blue suit jacket and white Oxford shirt with a red patterned tie and the tan khakis he was wearing suggested he was coming from a late Sunday brunch after church. Awful crippling memories of spending hours ironing those pants to make sure the creases were perfect cloud your memory, you unconsciously hold the two fingers on your left hand, the ones that held misshaped triangle burn scars.

You don’t realize that Eddie is talking or that you’ve stopped moving until the shape of his curly head shakes in front of you. Your breath is hitched in your chest, you feel small. Physically and mentally.

Two years without seeing the face that was the sole purpose of most of the fear in your life. Two years without seeing the demon grin and crazy twitch in his eye. You were frozen in place and your blood ran cold.

It was evil in its truest form. Standing in the checkout behind you— stood Chad Cunningham.

Eddie couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on. Putting the grocery sacks in the cart, he turns to look in your line of vision. He doesn’t recognize him at first. But the strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes ran in the Cunningham blood. He was with a woman, who was so obviously pregnant she seemed like she was about to burst. Judging from the horrific way your eyes were bulged out of your head and the way your body was almost catatonic, Eddie figured it was time to get the fuck out of here. Reaching in his pocket for his wallet he paid the cashier and impatiently waited for the change, keeping his eyes on you.

You were trembling with fear. Not from the sudden run in with an ex but something much deeper than that. Eddie places his hands on your shoulders and looks into your eyes, “let’s go sweetheart,” he whispers gently, he crowds behind you and puts a small hand on your back, guiding you forward towards the automatic doors. Eddie keeps his head on a swivel for Chad.

The woman who was with him was waddling towards the bathroom, his eyes never leaving your body. As soon as she was out of ear shot, Chad puffed out his chest and said, “Lookin’ good honey bun, I will say though, the downgrade,” he points to Eddie, “..yikes.”

The nickname made your skin crawl. You never liked it, and he knew that. He only said it to get a rise out of you, which was successful. “See you soon,” he gloated, smiling with perfectly straight teeth, eyes never meeting his smile.

You don’t make it five feet outside before the shock wears off and the tears stream down your face in salty waves. Eddie takes control of the cart with his left hand and ushers you forward with his right, minimal pressure on the small of your back as he keeps his head on a swivel, dark curtain of curls crowding his eyes as he moves his head around.

Unlocking the doors he helps you in, buckling your seatbelt and saying he’d be back in thirty seconds. The back doors of the van fly open as Eddie all but tosses the groceries into the back. At thirty seconds exactly, Eddie is back in the van, starting it and roaring out of the parking lot.

He still didn’t know what happened with Chad, but it wouldn’t take an absolute idiot to know that it was bad. Really fucking bad. He looks over to you and your head is stuffed into your shirt, your knees under your chin and you’re rocking back and forth on the seat.

“Five minutes, Tooty— we’ll be home in less than five minutes, okay?” Eddie says, frantically. He’s trying to stay calm. Trying to be the voice of reason, composed and serene. But he is horrified. Scared to death at how you responded to seeing Chad. How your body froze up and your face looked as if you weren’t breathing. Even now, hearing you gasp for air as your body shook and swayed with each turn he made. He slams on the gas, pausing slightly at stop signs and ignoring any yield signs.

He parks in the driveway, coming around to help you out of the van. Just like he did last night, he carries you, only this time you remember it. Your body is shaking violently, chest racked with sobs. His chest is wet with tears from your face being buried into it. He’s whispering to you that everything will be okay. Opening the door he kicks it shut with his boot. He brings you into your room and sits you on your bed, you’re cradled in his lap, like a parent would hold a child. He caresses your head, holding you closer to him. His warm breath in your hair grounds you. You feel him lean forward grabbing on your nightstand for something, the phone.

He dials the number without even thinking. Waiting impatiently on the other end as a familiar voice answers.

“Hello?” Steve breathes boredly into the phone.

Eddie sighs with relief, “Harrington, it’s me.”

“Oh God, listen dude I don’t know what to te—“

“Shut up, Steve.” Eddie interrupts, “listen—something, happened.”

Steve almost chokes on his popcorn, frantically firing off questions. “What? What’s going on? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

“Ye—no, I mean—“ Eddie is stuttering and trying to explain, “we ran into Chad at the gro—“

“I’m on my way!”

The line goes dead and Eddie hears dial tone. He sets the phone back in the holder and wraps a blanket around you. Your heart is racing and you can’t even form words. You haven’t had a panic attack in over a year. It feels like the world is crashing in on you, the walls are tight and shrinking, the whole room feels smaller by the minute. Eddie’s voice is gentle and soothing, like a warm cup of coffee on a cold winter morning.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” He murmurs, “try to match your breathing with mine.” He remembers what he was taught as a kid. His emotions always ran high and Wayne would have to settle him down, get him to take deep breaths.

He’s rubbing soft circles into your back. Rocking you back and forth. You try to speak but all that comes out are gasps and the whirling noise of sharp intake of breath.

Steve and Robin make it to the house in record time, running to your room and taking everything in. Your disheveled appearance brings Steve to his knees in front of Eddie. Grabbing your hand and squeezing letting you know it was going to be okay.

You slide off Eddie’s lap and lay on the bed, curled in a ball. Robin lays beside you. Brushing your hair from your face with her fingers.

Steve pulls Eddie out of your room with great force he didn’t want to leave but he didn’t know how to help.

“I’m sorry— fuck man, I’m sorry for calling you — I just— she just locked up. She couldn’t talk, she couldn’t move!” He runs his hands down his face, trying to will the tears away. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey, give yourself a break, you got her home, she’s safe,” Steve says patting Eddie on the back, “so explain what happened.”

Eddie begins explaining from when you both got to the grocery store. He goes into detail how distraught you seemed, how your body was rigid and full of fear. The burn of tears threatening to spill from his eyes has him blinking quick before they fall. Steve listens intently, face warped with shock and disbelief.

Throwing his head back and running his hands down his face Steve lets out a loud exhale and throws his hands on his hips, “fuck I hate that guy.”

“Yeah he seems like a fucking psycho,” Eddie agrees, “but what the fuck is going on?! I mean yeah they dated but, I don’t stiff up like that when I run into Chrissy or Trish.”

A shiver runs down his spine as he thinks of how upset you were, your body crumbling with fear the minute you made it into the van. Anxiety trickling through your body like electricity to a wire. He hated to admit it but he was scared for you.

Remembering the groceries in the back of the van, the two guys brave the sweltering heat to retrieve them. Eddie starts to put the items away, Steve rolls his eyes watching him put the canned items in the small cabinet designed for spices, the endless snacks he purchased thrown on the counter nestled up against the flour canister and slamming the lettuce into the fridge like a bowling ball.

Eddie could give a rats ass where the things went, he was worried and getting a headache from wondering if you were going to be okay. Half thinking he should find where good ol Chad lived and pay him a nice little visit. Only three tires slashed and the insurance won’t cover it.

Throwing the groceries sacks in the garbage and making his way to the living room, sitting down on the couch, he sits with his elbows on his knees, bouncing them in quick repetitions. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or should I put a paper fortune teller on my fingers and we can decide what’s wrong with Tooty with the help of crayola markers?”

The wailing cries and sobs have dissipated in the last half hour, only Robin’s soothing words can be heard now.

“Dude, it’s not my place to say,” Steve says, “it’s one thing to tell you about her parents and Kevin, but this—“ he takes another deep breath, running his hands through his thick tufts of hair, “this is 100 times worse than that,” Steve explains lowering his head.

“…But you’re right, you’re her roommate and you should know what happened.”

Eddie nods his head slowly, silently agreeing with everything Steve had said. Standing quickly and pacing around the living room, his mind is running a million miles a minute. The fight you two had didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered to him in this moment— the only thing on his mind for the past twelve hours— was you.

Steve stands and runs his fingers through his hair, placing his hands on the waist of the old fading green gym shorts he was wearing. “I’m gonna go talk to her, and when you guys are done, I’m gonna make you guys something to eat. I’m sure you idiots haven’t eaten today given the timing of when shit hit the fan.”

Eddie nods again, biting the fingernails on his right hand until they bled, a habit he hadn’t done since he was a teen, facing possible jail time for destructing private property when he spray painted, “Your mom swallowed EM’s monster cock” on the front doors of Hawkins High. He was pacing, itching for a cigarette. Pulling the pack from his flannel breast pocket he goes outside and sits on the concrete steps, lighting up.

Three squashed cigarette butts sit next to him on the step before Steve finds him. Eddie stands and stubs the cigarette out blowing smoke out of the crooked twist of his lips away from Steve’s face. The nicotine helped take the edge off but he was still anxious, fidgeting his rings.

“H-how is she?” Eddie asks apprehensively, “can I talk to her?”

“She’s better, taking deep breaths and relaxing as best as he can, she’s gonna explain everything, just give her space— let her talk and don’t ask anything until she’s finished.”

“Yeah, ‘f course.”

“Alright. Robin is gonna help me make supper,” Steve says holding opening the front door, face in a grimace he jokes, “wish me luck.”

Eddie was the one who thought he himself needed the luck, he was scared shitless that you were afraid of him.

He walks gently to your room and knocks softly on the door with one knuckle, palm facing him. He remembers just hours ago how he was standing at this very door, and how very different he felt then.

“Come in,” Robin chirps.

Eddie takes a quick breath holding it as he steps foot into your room. You’re sitting on your bed cross legged, blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your eyes are red rimmed and tissues surrounding you, a cemetery of drying tears. You look at him and muster a smile, a twitch of your lips raising at the corners.

“Well, I’m needed as a sous chef in kitchen a la Harrington,” Robin says brightly, standing from the bed and skipping towards the door. When she passes Eddie she touches his arm squeezing and giving him a reassuring nod.

Eddie stands with his hands stuffed in his pockets as the door clicks shut. You both don’t say anything for a while, you’re twirling the end of the pillowcase in your lap and he’s burning holes with his eyes into the carpet.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” you say quietly, “I’m—“ your voice catches in your throat, sore from the the wailing, “I’m hoping that when I’m done telling you, you’ll be able to understand..”

He nods and leans against the wall. Hands wrapped around his triceps.

“Before I explain— I just need you to know that only Robin, Steve, Nancy, and her parents know about this— not my parents, or Kev or anyone else— and now you.

Eddie’s face is full of concern, he whispers an “okay,” and you continue.

“I can’t remember but I’m pretty sure that you and Chrissy started dating around the same time that Chad and I did, and as you remember I’m sure, Chad and I were together almost all the time. When you graduated, and my sophomore year was the year my parents moved away— things changed with him. He was suddenly callous about everything, needing control of who I was with and when. Mostly he was pissed that I was staying with the Wheeler’s. He always thought I was cheating on him with Mike.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, the Mike Wheeler he knew wouldn’t know what to do if a chick laid butt naked in his bed. Probably piss himself.

You work the corner of the pillow case in your fingers as you keep going, “The first time he hit me was on a night that I told him I couldn’t hang out because Mrs. Wheeler wanted everyone home for supper. He called me a slut and told me that I should just go and fuck Mike already even though he knew I wasn’t.”

Eddie’s eyes flicker with anger when you admit that Chad hit you, his fists clenched together tightly. With your head down and looking away from him you continue, your voice wobbly.

“We didn’t even have sex yet, at that time, I wasn’t ready. After he hit me, I thought we should break up. He followed me around, begging me to take him back and like the naive kid that I was, I did. He would be sweet for a few weeks, and then it was like a flip would switch and he’d back hand me for giving Lucas a pencil during History, pulled my hair out in chunks when Mike brought me to school, he even choked me until I passed out when Dustin sat next to me at lunch. He was extremely jealous of everyone around him, and couldn’t handle seeing anyone he didn’t ‘approve of’ be near me. He hated that I worked at Family Video, he would show up almost every shift and wait in the store for me to clock out, even threatening to kick Steve’s ass on more than one occasion. He finally gave up on that when I told him Steve was dating Robin, just so I could go to work in peace.”

Eddie’s gut is rolling, the anger boiling in his blood, his nostrils are flared, it is taking everything in him to not react the way he wants to, a simple trailer park style beating to Chad’s car, his face, whatever would hurt the little prick more. Heads would fucking roll if Eddie ever got ahold of him.

“It didn’t end there. Like I said, we weren’t having sex because I wasn’t ready, I had enough shit going on with my parents up and leaving and buying all the concealer that Melvald’s carried to cover up the bruises.”

You take a shaky breath, fighting back tears for as long as you could. Chewing the inside of your lip and un crossing your legs, bringing your knees to your chest you continue.

“Af—After prom our junior year, we were driving around and he was drinking, I just wanted to go home but he didn’t. He parked way outside of town on the south side, on some dead end road… I mouthed off to him about how cliche it was to lose our virginities on prom night and the next thing I knew,” your voice pitches to a high volume, your lips are tight as you remember the pain you felt in your head from him knocking you out, the way his hands were groping your body, “I was waking up to him on top of me, and inside of me.”

The dam breaks, the tears fall from your eyes like rain in the spring time. You throw your head back against your headboard and sniff loudly, your palms pressed to your eyes.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do, he’s afraid if he tried to comfort you it would only cause you more pain. Against his better judgment he stands and walks towards the bed, scooting across the lavender bedspread he sits across from you, reaching for your ankle and tenderly squeezing it, letting you know that he was there.

“I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life then when I was dating him,” you sniffle and reach for the tissues, blowing your nose loudly, “Eddie, this went on for years, it didn’t fucking stop. After senior year, he didn’t want me to go to college, because I would be too far away from him, and we argued and he kicked me out on the opposite side of town with two swelling black eyes. By the time I made it back to the Wheeler’s, my eyes were almost shut. That night, I told Ted and a very hysterical, Karen everything, and they called the cops. Of course, Tim Cunningham was the state prosecutor at the time, so it didn’t go far— Hop did what he could but there was never any judgment made against Chad, and everything was over after that.”

“I went to beauty school with Nance, and when we moved back home, I was living in the little apartments off of Sawmill Road, he found out where I was and broke in, luckily Steve and Robin were my neighbors so they heard everything and came running before he could hurt me.

“After that.. Ted and Karen bought this place for Nancy and I and last year I saved up enough and bought it from them. Last I heard, Chad had moved to Indianapolis and was working for his uncle at the law firm until he finished school. I haven’t seen him in over two years— anyway,” you finish, wiping your eyes, and blowing your nose once more, “that’s the story.”

Eddie doesn’t know where to begin, he partially is taking the blame for what happened to you, knowing that if he were there, if he had stuck it out with Chrissy maybe he could have seen the signs, maybe he could have stopped it before it ever started, maybe he could have put that little fucker in his place and made him think twice about ever touching you again. He’s full of regret, full of shame and turmoil as he thinks about how you must have been feeling this morning.

“Oh, Tooty.” Eddie starts his eyes glistening with wetness, heart aching for you, “I’m so sorry, Jesus Christ, I— I don’t even… Fuck! I should have been around.”

“There wasn’t anything anyone could have done— he’s a lunatic.” You take a breath and look down at his hand on your ankle, abandoning the thought of reaching for it at the last minute, “I know you would never do something to hurt me, or anyone— I’m sorry about last night Eddie. I just, I don’t ever get drunk enough to not remember what happened. Not after the shit I’ve been through. ” You fold your arms into your self, wrapping around your ribs, in a small voice you whisper, “and today when I couldn’t remember, I was fucking terrified—going right back to how I felt that night when I was sixteen.”

In the van today, he fully intended on chewing you out, making you feel about three inches tall. He had been accused of many different things during his teenage years. Hell he even spent a night or two in jail after fighting a guy in Indianapolis when he threw a beer at Gareth. But one thing Wayne taught him was to respect women. Sure he wasn’t the average guy, his lever leaned a little further towards pervert than most. But he would never hurt a woman. The way you looked right now scared him. Like you were afraid to be near him. Unsure if he would scream at you or worse. And it broke his heart.

“Sweetheart,” he says, leaning forward, finger dipping under your chin and tilting your head up so you were looking right at him. A fresh brim of tears clung to your lashes, “as long as I’m here, being the thorn in your side, pain in the ass, good looking mother fucker that I am— you don’t ever have to be scared again.”

You shutter, body exhausted and giving in, letting the tears fall.

“Promise?”

Your doe eyes are wet and staring into his, the swirling chocolate of his eyes, melted as he looks into your soul. Shedding any walls around his heart, baring himself of his discretions, his eyes are deeper than the galaxy. You swear you’ve never seen anything prettier in your life. You can feel your frigid heart thawing for the first time in years.

“Always.”

You never thought a single word could have so much meaning, a sense of security washed over you with Eddie’s promising word. A silent devotion from his eyes of keeping you safe and out of harm's way. You felt your soul open up to him. A higher power bringing you closer to him. You reach down and grab his hand. Rubbing the rough knuckles and tracing the rings on his fingers. An angel’s smile dances on Eddie’s lips. He decides right there, in that moment, that he would be whatever you needed. For as long as you needed him. Because he needed you.

///

///

SEE YOU IN VOLUME VI

a/n: hope you enjoyed this, it was a little rough but the next chapter is pure fluff 💋

[peachesofteal]

Calculation Theme

Dead Disco masterlist / this can be read as standalone

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Threesome - M/M/F. Explicit sex. Barebacking. Oral sex - fem receiving. Creampie. Come eating. Praise kink. Top Simon Riley. Bottom Johnny MacTavish. Feelings of anxiety, insecurity, complicated emotions. Angst. Alcohol consumption. Darling is her/your own tag/warning. Reference to pre established limits and negotiation. Reader is bad at feelings. No established relationship. The 'first time' in Dead Disco. This is pre relationship, and I think it shows. Little lore note: this is the first time you're called Darling.

Your fingers find the neck of the bottle easily enough, condensation slicking beneath your skin as you lift it your lips.

You wish the beer was a shot. Or an entire bottle of some hard liquor. Something that could stop your brain from spinning eight million miles an hour, something that could turn you off so that you could relax, so you could try to enjoy yourself more.

Your excitement for this evening is being turbulently tossed with anxiety, and it’s making your stomach hurt a little bit.

You curse yourself for not just ordering a shot. A double, even.

“Ye alright, love?” Johnny asks, light and happy but tone pulling with concern. His hand slides across the table. A lifeline. A sweet gesture.

But if you take it, you’ll look too needy. Too clingy. Too… much. 

“Yeah, I’m…” A thought occurs to you in the middle of your assurance, a rash decision that's quite rotten. “I actually have to use the bathroom; I’ll be right back?” Simon still isn’t back from when he went, and you feel bad for leaving Johnny alone at the table, but this is too perfect of an opportunity.

His eyes squint before he nods.

“Alright.”

“Can I get a double vodka please? On the rocks.” You half yell to the bartender, flashing a card. They deposit it in front of you succinctly, and just the sight of the clear liquid draws tension from your shoulders.

This will make it easier. This will keep you from second guessing every word that comes out of your mouth. This will make you more fun. This will make them like you more. 

You need all the help you can get, honestly. You’re… woefully unprepared, too excited, clumsy with your eagerness, too nervous for what was discussed earlier, and the clock ticks closer and closer to the moment when you’ll be leaving the bar as three, to go back to their place.

What if you’re not good? What if you don’t live up to their expectations? What if they don’t like you?

You’ve never done, this. Never had a threesome before. You told them, of course. Confessed it a few days ago when you all met for drinks. When Johnny pressed you against the wall of the dimly lit dive in a heated kiss, and Simon watched. When it became clear where this was all going, when Johnny told you that they’d love to have you in their bed, would love to have an opportunity to get to know you a little better, make you feel good.

You hadn’t bothered to tell them that they should be careful what they wish for. You knew they would find out eventually. It was only a matter of time.

But the alcohol will help with that. Will help with everything. Will help delay the inevitable.

And you can still have some fun, before it all comes crashing down. 

You clutch the glass greedily, lifting it to your lips to knock it down in one go. You can smell the burn of the liquor, the noxious fumes like sour tinged rubbing alcohol filling the air as you tip it back, ice cubes slotting against your lips and-

A hand wraps around your wrist with firm, insistent pressure and pulls the glass away, plucking it from your palm and placing back onto the bar top unceremoniously.

You turn in the same moment, irritated, outraged, until you’re face to chest with Simon, and he’s staring down at you, severe gaze seeking yours above the black cloth mask.

“Uh-“ you squeak. His hand returns to your wrist, and he’s stroking circles into your pulse point. “I was just, gonna have a-“ he shakes his head, releasing you to produce a note that he hands to the bartender.

All while never looking away from you.

It’s like he’s studying you, and you burn with shame, embarrassment heating through your belly and you look away, opting to study the sticky floor instead.

He looks too closely at you, all the time, and it’s unnerving. Two weeks ago, he hardly said ten words to you, but you practically crumbled under the pressure of his gaze all the same. 

The people around you can't help but stare, and you don't blame them, although you're not afraid like some of them seem to be. Your undeniable attraction to him, to Johnny, to both of them together, draws you in like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. Willing, and foolish. Take me. 

There is no fear of them hurting you, doing something wicked or cruel, but of something worse. You’re scared of wanting them more, and more, desiring something that is not even feasible, not within the realm of possibility. You’re afraid every time you catch Simon staring at you that he’s reading your mind, seeing down past everything you display and into the truth of who you are. You’re already afraid of the day it ends, when Johnny will shake his head with a sad smile and tell you they’re no longer interested.

You grit your teeth. You’re getting so far ahead of yourself. 

“You don’t need that.” The way he says it sounds so believable, convincing enough that you nod in stunned agreement. “We’re leaving now.” He directs, and then folds his entire hand over your collarbone to steer you through the crowd back to the little table. Johnny’s expression shifts when he sees you, flickering into curiosity and something else, something you can’t name, before it clears and he smiles at you, beautiful face changing into something brilliant that makes your knees go a little weak.

“Everything alright?” It’s asked so innocently, but he’s not looking at you, the person who’s currently being pivoted around like a doll, instead he’s looking at Simon, who rumbles a yes before jerking his head towards the door.

“Ready?”

“Aye.”

Johnny kisses you in the cab. Your back stays flush with Simon, and his hand has drifted from your shoulder to your waist, easy touch stroking up and down your ribs. Johnny kisses you, just like last time, with gentle passion. It’s soft and incredible, the feel of his mouth on yours, and you could melt into him, disappear inside of him, let him lavish you with sweet affection and dizzying kisses until you ceased to exist.

He kisses you over and over, until the cab is pulling up outside their building.

Until you’re standing on the sidewalk with the two of them, and he’s asking you that fateful question:

“Well, do ye still want to come up?”

Their bed is massive. It’s not surprising, considering their size. Johnny is not slight, and Simon makes him look of average build, so of course, their bed feels like an entire island.

It’s just so big, in this moment, when you’re lying in it alone, on your back, blinking up at the ceiling and trying desperately to not think about the fact that they excused themselves for a moment.

They’re talking about you. 

You know they are. They must be. Even though they told you to stay put, that they were just going to get a few things, you can’t not think about them out there and you in here. Why else would they have stepped out?

You’re not even undressed yet; you could easily slip out. Make a dash for the door. Run while you still can. You could give them an easy out.

You rally yourself, swinging your feet over the edge and sliding on your little ballet flats, your favorite black ones that you wear almost all the time. They feel like a second skin, and it comforts you, to have something so familiar in a moment when you feel so out of sorts.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny asks from where the door has re-opened, and you freeze. Fuck.

“I was just going to go…” you trail off. Simon’s standing behind him with a glass of water and a pitcher of more, a folded bath towel tucked under his arm.

“Ye want to leave?” His face crumples so slightly, a shadow of disappointment appearing and disappearing with a blink. Simon’s body tenses, brow furrowing, watching his partner intently before flicking back to look at you.

“I thought, I-“ you swallow a dry lump that’s building in the back of your throat, and to your horror, a burning sensation starts to tingle in your nose. The precursor to tears. No, no, no. Fuck. “It just seemed like, m-maybe you… you guys changed your mind, and I didn’t- didn’t want to be in the way, here.” You spit the words out and they burn, embarrassment circling back to incinerate your good sense.

Simon’s eyes slide shut, and he takes a deep breath.

“No.” The water and towel are dropped onto the bedside table, and then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, gesturing for you to take the spot beside him.

When you do, he pulls your hands apart, and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“It wasn’t right of us, to leave the room like that.” The bed shifts behind you, Johnny’s chest pressing to your back, his hand squeezing your upper arm sweetly. “One of us should have stayed with you, I’m sorry.” Your eyebrows raise.

“Oh, it’s fine.” You bluster, but deep down you’re surprised. Nearly stunned that they recognize their actions as a mistake.

“It’s not. I should have known it would bother you. I used poor judgement.” What the fuck? You cannot fight the way your spine straightens, muscles solidifying beneath your skin, indignation blooming across your tongue. How would he know? What kind of assumption is that? They don’t even know you; they have no idea how you feel.

It’s a lie, and you know it. They’re both learning you, you’re making it far too easy for them. Simon already watches you like he’s anticipating your movements, your words. Johnny already reaches for you when it seems like he knows you need touch.

But it’s just fun. Just sex. 

You let out a burst of a breath, tension sagging away from your back.  

“Easy.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, warm breath tingling across your skin. He punctuates it with a kiss to your temple, and then to your cheek, and you calm even more, relaxing into him. “We wanted to discuss some things with ye, boundaries, and such.”

Oh. 

“Okay.”

“We know you haven’t done this before.” Simon pulls one of your legs onto the bed and massages your calf, nearly holding its entirety in his hand. “And we want to ensure that we’re all comfortable. Has anything changed since last week? Since we discussed testing and protection?” You shake your head. Your IUD is unchanged as ever, and your STI status being clean is still the same. 

“Nothing has changed for us either.” Johnny chimes, fingers tracing across your clavicle. It tickles, and the flutter of a giggle slips free from your lips. Simon’s eyes crease, lifting at corners, and something flips in your stomach when you realize he’s smiling. “Ticklish, love?” Johnny whispers, mischievous, flirty, and you try to shrug to play it off.

“And your limits?”

“Still the same, yeah.” You lick your lips, eyes darting over to the water. The motion seemingly pushes Simon into action, and he reaches for the glass, pressing it into your hands with a nod. “Are we…” Your face is hot with anticipation, and your question gets lost when you trip over yourself. “Are we- I mean, am I… do you want to-“  

“Not tonight. You’ll need extensive prep for that.” Simon soothes your frayed nerves. “If we all decide to see each other again, if this goes well, and you decide it’s something you want to try, we can discuss it and see how you feel.”

“Oh, okay.” You’re subtly disappointed, even though you know you shouldn’t be. They’re right, of course, and you try not to dwell on all the ‘ifs’ in Simon’s statement, about it going well, about everyone making decisions.

“Anything else?”

“The mask?”

“It stays on, unless the lights are out.” He answers quickly, and you gulp.

Most of your anxiety, your trepidation goes out the window once you get undressed. They both follow suit, and it’s thrilling, standing on the edge of something like this, with them, excitement flooding your veins, making your heartbeat faster.

They take you in slowly, hands roaming over your body, exploring you, feeling the way you curve and dip, touching your scars and marks, laying you on the bed, still clad in your underwear. Simon strokes down the back of your thigh, over your knee, and he murmurs something low, something you cannot quite make out, but whatever it is, it makes Johnny smile so big your chest hurts a little. He presses his mouth to your navel.

“We’re going to make ye feel so good, love.” He moves to drag your thong down, but Simon holds his wrist and pulls it away, shaking his head once. “We’re going to take it all away, all of the worries, everything going on in that pretty head of yours, yeah?” He whispers, and you breathe a whimper of need, of desperation.

“Please.” You’re still spread out for them, and Johnny leans over you, skin against skin. His chest, his entire body, is etched muscle, primed and perfect, and you can’t help but run a hand over his ribs, feeling the way his breath stutters. Beautiful.

His biceps cage you between them, and a sense of security falls over you, relief to be so close to him, to be pressed against him like this. It’s like happiness, but more, more than contentment, more than bliss, more like something you cannot name, and you file away the terror that you feel over it away for when you’re alone.

“So beautiful.” He whispers into your neck. “Have I told ye that yet tonight?”

“Only like ten times.” You quip, and he glides his lips down your chest, tongue swirling around a taut peak, taking one of your nipples in his teeth with a nip that has you gasping out a moan, desire pooling between your legs.

“What’s this?” Simon asks from where he kneels on the bed beside the two of you, tracing a thumb over the slice of a scar that carries over your hip, towards your back. It’s old, but you’ll always carry it, always get this question. Johnny tips over to inspect what’s being referenced, and his brow creases in concern.

“Christ, love. That’s jagged. What happened?” You shake your head.

“It’s nothing. Was in an accident when I was younger. That’s my souvenir.” They glance at one another, and you shrink inward a bit, self-conscious. The truth is too much, too awkward, too telling, to be confessed to these two.

Simon’s thumb is replaced by warm breath, and then Johnny is kissing it, so slowly, so tenderly it makes your heart ache, makes you gasp aloud, momentarily distracted from the drifting of Simon’s hand, fingers that graze down your waist, circling where you’re currently soaking through the cotton. He skims up and down the seam of your cunt, and you moan, hips jerking towards his hand, looking for friction.

When his thumb finds your clit, you squeak, and Johnny chuckles into your skin.

“Eager.” He hums, painting a warm trail towards to your thigh with his tongue.  

“Responsive.” Simon counters, but there’s something in his voice. Something reverent. “Let’s take these off then.” He encourages you to lift your hips with a tap, pulling them free, your last scrap of clothing gone.

Johnny’s freed himself too, and your mouth pools with saliva when you see his cock, length curving outwards, flushed red with want, precome dotted at the fat tip. Your hand reaches subconsciously, and he steps forward just as eager, shuddering when you make contact, fingers curling around the satin skin of him.

“Can I?” Your mouth seeks, and they both give a resounding yes. Your tongue flicks over the head, salt and earth beading across your tastebuds, and you suck and lick in tandem with your fist, clutching him tightly, slicking him with your spit.

“Ach-“ He holds the back of your head, cradles it with gentle touch. He’s not rough with it, or demanding, and you take him as deep as you can, swallowing against where he’s lodged in your throat. You do it again and again, chasing the push of your nose into his curls, salt blurring your vision. “Shite.” He hisses, pulling away, cradling your face in his palms, and takes your mouth with his, guiding you back against the bed again, laying you flat with your legs spread wide, and you float in a hazy heat of warmth as he moves down your body, his mouth leading the way. His breath puffs over your cunt, hopeless need swelling inside of you with wild desire, your eyes round and nearly glassy, close to begging.

He looks to Simon once, and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top.

“Fuck.” You pant, his tongue pressing to your clit, your back arching with pleasure. You jolt under his touch, expert ministrations pulling noises from you that you weren’t even sure you could make. He eats like he’s starved, lavishing attention around your swollen clit, lighting your entire nervous system on fire, building the pleasure inside your body higher and higher. “J-Johnny.” He slides a finger inside of you, crooking upwards into the sweet spot that has you seeing stars, and a strangled moan punches from your chest with his attentions.

You’re floating, coming closer and closer to an orgasm, so buried beneath the mountain of pleasure that he’s giving you, that you’ve lost Simon. You don’t know where he’s gone, where he is in the room, what’s even happening until-

“Bloody hell.” Johnny enunciates into your cunt, the words vibrating against your flesh. Your eyes snap open and you crane your neck, twisting in the sheets.

Simon kneels behind Johnny, working him open slowly, hand moving between him, stretching him wide. It’s beautiful, the way he knows how to please him just right, the way they know each other’s bodies, the way Simon stares down at Johnny like he’s the universe and heaven, all rolled into one. Your breath hitches, and his eyes flick to yours, locking you in under his gaze. He holds you there, tendons in his wrist flexing, muscles in his forearm and bicep pulsing as he makes Johnny groan into you, his tongue nearly too much as you clench around his fingers. It’s so…intimate, an overflow of something settling between the three of you, the ghost of something that waits, so intense and overwhelming that you look away before you break apart.

It's too much. It’s not enough. You want more. Want to feel them both. Want to taste them like they taste each other, want to insert yourself inside their universe, soak them up, crawl inside of them, have them burrowed inside of you. You want them, need them, you-

Your orgasm smacks. It seizes all your muscles, lower belly tensing deliberately as you explode, star lit vision blasting across the backs of your eyelids. You make some sort of noise, you’re sure of it, something loud like a cry, or a scream, erupting from your shaking body, Johnny’s strength pinning your thighs wide, refusing to let your legs close, continuing to lick away at you, pulling zaps of lightning from your overstimulated clit. It’s a mixture of pleasure and more, more of the too much, more of the not enough, and you’re babbling something like ‘please, yes- more- oh god- too much’ when Simon praises you from his vantage point, watching over the breadth of Johnny’s shoulders.

“What a good girl.”

You nod on instinct.

Yes, you are good. Yes, you’ll be good. You’ll be good for them. Just for them. Only for them. 

Your mind is slipping further and further, trying to turn off, trying to slink away and leave you to this bed, to these two men who seem to already know what you need.

The mattress dips, someone shifts, and then the room is dark. There’s a little bit of light that spills from the crack of the door, enough to see some outlines, some shadows. Enough to maneuver in, but not enough to make out anything distinct.

There are no hands on you in this moment, and the room is quiet save for the sound of something- something wet and soft sliding together for a precious second. You hold your breath.

“Right here.” Johnny coos, and then he slips two fingers back inside your cunt, his entry easy, your body weeping with want.

“Alright?” It’s Simon’s voice, close. Close enough that you can hear the pitch of the gravel, the baritone low in his chest.

“Yes.” You make your approval as definite as you can, remembering something he said last week, something about making sure you’re using your words clearly.

A big hand touches your neck, tentatively, searching until his palm is cupping your jaw. The fingers are wide, thicker, and you know it’s Simon. He pets you, strokes your skin while Johnny fucks you open on his own touch, and then you feel the breath on your lips.

The breath of Simon kissing you. The taste of you, of Johnny, the taste of the three of you together. His tongue crowds your mouth, snaking between your teeth, insisting you open, and you do so, eagerly.

He kisses you deep, curling his body over yours, pressing you beneath his shoulders.

He kisses you, until Johnny is moving, until your legs are now bracketing Johnny’s thighs, and the crown of his cock is brushing your cunt. You ache for it, for him, for both, and you spasm around nothing, just the barest touch of heat to your skin. Please, please, please.

“Please.” You whimper.

“Give it to her, Johnny.” Simon urges, even though it takes none, and you wheeze out a bitten off groan when he pushes inside.

“Mmmph,” You cry when he fucks into you, not seeking all the way, taking his time with small thrusts, working deeper and deeper with each plunge. He’s drawing it out, the pleasure, your noises, everything, and Simon drifts down to circle your clit, stroking the desperate nub. You scramble, hands seeking, hips moving with him, in time with both of them, sweat slicking off your skin. Johnny pushes your knees wide, and then stuffs you as full as he can, tongue tracing a bead of salt across your chest. “Fuck, ff- you’re so deep.”

“Ye take me so well, love. So good.” You bloom for him, for his words, and he groans when you clench at the praise, spurred on by Simon pushing you further along to the edge. Johnny picks up his pace, movements more frenzied, more hurried, rutting against you. You buck in response, unable to control it, fire burning in your stomach, your thighs. You’re going to come, again, it’s explosion just on the precipice.

“Oh my god, oh-“

“That’s it.” Your spine curls forward, pushing your face into Simon’s chest and he holds you there, whispering in your ear. “Come all over his cock like a good girl. I know you can, give it to us.”

It’s like a switch. The words, the feeling of Johnny’s cock buried to the hilt, the stroke of Simon’s fingers against your clit. You come violently, breaking apart, muscles pulsing around Johnny, and voice fracturing with pleasure. There are words being said, being exalted, something like “so good, so pretty when you come-“ and “is that little pussy squeezin’ you, sweet boy?” but they all blend together, dizzying and hot, like you’re holding onto a pan straight out of the oven. Johnny sputters, trapping your hips down, fucking you wildly through your orgasm, battering through the tightness of your cunt with stuttered words in a language you don’t know. He doesn’t stop, and you don’t want him too, even when you shiver and tingle with aftershocks. You want to feel him fill you, want to feel the spread of his warmth, the pressure of him coming inside of you.

Two bodies smother you, holding you until you’re not sure who is where, only that there are fingers, and mouths, and tongues, lavishing you and separating your mind from the rest, shoving you into a cloudlike plane of existence, flying you high in the sky somewhere. It’s bliss. It’s nothing you’ve ever had, ever felt. It feels right, feels so safe, so secure that it nearly overwhelms you, happiness and contentment brightening your soul until a warm tear is sliding down your temple.

“Gon’ come.” Johnny rasps out, and Simon says something in response, but you’re gone to the words, lost in the moment. All you can do is hold on, pleading for him to fuck you harder, fill you up, give you his come. Mark you. Possess you. Ruin you for anyone else. Except him, except Simon.

Maybe then they’ll keep you. 

“Please, please- Johnny. Fill me up.” your hips chase his, his mouth pressing against yours. Now he tastes like you, and Simon, and you lap at him eagerly, breathing in his grunts.

“Ah-“ He shouts, and then slams forward, plugging deep, spilling against your cervix in waves.

Your eyes slip closed. Just for a fleeting moment. Floating. Riding high, riding away, melting into nothing. You seek them instinctively, pushing and kneading against their bodies, and they oblige you, holding you close, whispering sweet words in your ear, sweet praise that nukes you.

You’re safe here. It’s okay. 

For once, you don’t snap back at yourself for being stupid. For being a fool. You don’t remind yourself of your flaws, you don’t count down the laundry list of the things that makes others turn away.

You just exist, between them. Happy. Sated. Bones liquid, chest loosening with a huge sigh.

A big hand strokes along your ribcage.

“Good girl.”

You drift for what feels like hours, even though you know, rationally, it’s not.

Slowly, you come back to earth, eased into back into your mind by the feeling of Johnny spreading your legs, opening you wide for him while something else is happening at the same time, the sound of his pleasure and Simon’s grunts, his accent roughening as he fucks his partner, praise flowing from his lips like a river. You stare through the dark at the shadow of Simon feeding his cock into Johnny’s tight ring of muscle, making him keen and wail against you.

“Good boy.” He coos, and Johnny moans, teeth sinking into your thigh. “Gon’ give her another one? Eat your come out of her cunt?” Heat floods through you, pussy clenching around nothing, and you whimper in approval.

“Please.” Your plea is not unheard, and Simon moves with an exceptionally swift thrust, forcing Johnny forward more, until his face is pressed against your leaking hole. He fucks you with his tongue, licking through the mess of wetness, your arousal combined with his seed, a mixture that he consumes like he’s dying, all over again, tongue flicking against your clit with frightening accuracy. He’s a god, a god between your legs, a god making you come for the third time, a god that doesn’t even belong to you, but your fingers grip his shoulders like he’s always been yours. He plucks your pleasure forward so quickly it nearly hurts, and you sob against the pillow, bucking your hips against him, cunt rocking against his face.

He keeps one hand pinned to your thigh, and the other finds yours in the sheets, breaking your grip free to replace the blankets with his grasp, keeping you tied to him, to Simon, dragging you upwards through the burn of your muscles to the cliff of another orgasm.

“Darling.” He hisses, vowels long on his tongue, fingers clutching yours. The cramp of muscles in your lower belly tenses with each stroke of his tongue, your body moving in time with his, his body moving in time with Simon’s. He moans into your cunt, strung out on pleasure, the dip of his spine curving like bridge between the three of you, connecting you, pulling you into the water with them, deeper and deeper until you can’t swim anymore. Until all you can do is cling to them, beg them to give you release, crying out when Simon pounds into him, thrusting into him wildly, forcing his mouth against you harder, matching the pace of your desperate hips. You drown in your orgasm, the same way Simon drowns in his, and Johnny tethers you both, keeping you steady, his body clutching onto the cock that’s buried in him while Simon strokes him to another orgasm, come spurting forward all over your belly, and the three of you collapsing together in a heap.  

“You’re brilliant.” Johnny whispers in the dark, his chest pressed to your shoulder. “So wonderful, darling. Everything we dreamed of.” A warm washcloth sponges across your skin, wiping between your legs and over your stomach, followed by tender kisses.

“You were perfect.” Simon follows up, moving you to your side, pressing his front to your back. Johnny adjusts, and then your face is against his chest, and you’re listening to his heartbeat. “Such a good girl for us. Did so well.” You blink furiously, chasing away the overflow of emotions that are surging inside of you, clamoring to break free. Don’t fucking cry. Only a psycho, unstable nut would be crying right now. Is that who you are? The girl who cries in their bed after they’ve fucked you? No. 

You keep your mouth shut instead, opting to sink back into the affectionate warmth of their bodies, closing your eyes and soaking in their touch. The threat of tears stays constant, lurking, waiting, and you force yourself to take long, deep breaths, that spin into a web of semi-consciousness, lost and floating between two pillars.

You shudder awake when Simon gets up to go to the bathroom, low light flicking on, and you know it’s time.

“I should probably get going.” You whisper. Ask me to stay. Say you want me to stay. Keep me. Johnny blinks owlishly, confusion rippling across his face.

“We’d like it, if ye stayed.” He rubs a palm down your arm, and you smile politely. He’s just saying that. Isn’t he? Tears prick along your waterline. “Hey, look at me.” You turn your head, but close your eyes, avoiding whatever will be staring back at you, hiding your own turmoil. “What’s wrong? Was it not good?” There’s worry in his voice now, anxiety, and guilt thrashes against your heart. Get it together. You’re making him feel bad. 

“It was great. So great, you’re… you’re amazing. Both of you are. I- really enjoyed it.”

“So, stay the night. Stay with us, we can get breakfast in the morning. Ye can be breakfast in the morning.” He raises an eyebrow, and you can’t help the little smile that tugs at your lips. Fuck. God. Why is he so stunning? Why is he doing this? 

The bathroom door clicks closed.

“Si.” Johnny implores, hint of insistence. “Tell her, we want her to stay.”

Simon stands with one knee on the bed, hand cradling Johnny’s thigh possessively. He doesn’t speak right away, just stares at you, watching over the mask.

“Why are you trying to run away?” Jesus christ. What is with these two? How are they so far under your skin already? 

“I’m not. Just…” Lie. Make something up. “Just have a lot to do, in the morning is all. It will be easier if I wake up in my own bed.” Johnny huffs.

“It’s so late, darling. We want ye to stay.” He protests. Simon squeezes his knee, a firm hold, and looks down at him, something echoing across the two of them that you can’t discern.

“Let’s get her a cab.” He murmurs, and you shake your head.

“That’s alright, I can catch-“

“No.” There’s no additional, nothing further to argue. His denial is absolute, and you nod with a small smile.

“Thank you.”

The goodbye happens at the door. You’re dressed, face washed, bathroom needs attended, hair somewhat re assembled although you’ll need to properly deal with it before you fall asleep. You look halfway presentable, although if someone looked too close, they could probably tell you’d just been fucked within an inch of your life.

“Thank you, again. This was a lot of fun.” Johnny holds you in a hug, nosing against your scalp and then down, drawing you in with a languid kiss. It’s sweet, and perfect and you want to fall into him, let him take you back to bed and hold you close until the sun comes up.

“Text when ye get home safe, alright?”

“I promise.” He only releases you when Simon steps forward, and they trade places. He doesn’t say anything, just soothes a wide palm up and down your back.

Cloth covered lips press against your jaw, trailing upwards until they land at your cheekbone and then pull away.

“Call or text us, if you need anything.” He instructs, and the nod comes automatically.

“Okay.” Your fingernails press into your palm with a sting. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, darling.” Johnny rests his head on Simon’s shoulder, the mournful look on his face nearly enough to make you throw everything out the window and crawl back into their gigantic bed.

But you can’t. They’re not for you. They’re for each other. You’re just a passerby.

“Darling.” Simon calls when you get a few meters away, and you turn to look back at the pair, still standing in the doorway, watching you leave. He tilts his head, something serious in eyes, something that scratches beneath the surface. “We’ll see you soon.”

[misseviehyde]

I HAVE NEVER

It was your bullying step-brothers idea to play a game. You just wished you'd never listened...

Jordan was the bane of your life. He was stronger, taller and more attractive than you. He seemed to take a perverse delight in ruining everything in your life and when you finally got a girlfriend you could sense his jealousy.

You weren't worried though. Jenna was sweet, delightful and funny. She hated 'Alpha-Males' like Jordan and was deeply in love with you. She was best-friends with your twin sister Kate as well and the three of you got on so well.

One day the three of you were hanging out when Jordan entered the room carrying a bottle of vodka.

"Hey nerds," he grinned, "wanna play a game with me?"

"Not really Jordan, go away," sighed Kate folding her arms under her small breasts and glaring at him. "You're such a douchebag, we don't want to play anything with you."

"Awwww, what's the matter? Don't wanna have some fun?"

Placing the bottle down, Jordan opened it and grabbed four shot glasses. He poured out the vodka. "Come on losers, I'm bored and this will be fun. I bet you pathetic dweebs have never played 'I have never'."

I didn't want to play anything with Jordan, but strangely I found myself being drawn towards the shot glass the same as my girlfriend and my sister.

"That's it losers - you can't resist playing with me. In fact - you can't resist doing everything I say from now on."

A strange befuddlement seemed to throb through my head as my hand closed on the glass. I could see Jenna breathing heavily and Kate as well as they grabbed their glasses.

"Now then bitches, I'm gonna say something and if you have never done it before, you have to drink and then do the thing I'm saying."

"Th...that's not how... the game... works," groaned Jenna struggling to speak as a strange lethargy swept through her.

"It's how my version works losers - now then. I have never had my tits enhanced."

A strange tingle ran through all three of us and I found the vodka rising to my lips. I drank it and placing it down watched Jordan fill my glass back up.

The fiery vodka burned my throat and then my chest began to ache. I looked down and watched in horror as my t-shirt began to bulge and swell. My nipples were rock hard as my pectoral muscles bulged out and then became soft pliable flesh. Two round, perfect globes swelled out - big fat fake tits causing my t shirt to rip and tear. I could hear female moans next to me and saw that my sister and girlfriend were undergoing a similar transformation.

"H...how?" groaned Kate as she cupped her massive new tits. She had been relatively flat chested before, but now she had a fine pair of teenage milkers and she looked great.

"Just a little magic to spice things up," grinned Jordan. "All three of you look so much better with this big tits. Now then 'I have never shaved my pussy bare."

I felt the vodka rising to my lips again and I drank it. My cock tingled and a delicious feeling of inversion and sucking seemed to happen. My crotch was now flat and smooth - a pretty pink pussy where my cock used to be.

"Haha, this is cool," laughed Jordan. "Now then, I have never worked my booty out to become a PAWG."

All three of us drank again and my whole body ached. I could feel my ass swelling up and my body shrinking. Toned muscles rippled under my skin as my hips cracked out. I looked at Kate and Jenna - they looked like hot little gym bunnies now just like I did.

"Okay sluts - you're looking good, but we can do even better. I have never had hair extensions, fake nails, eyelashes and a tan."

My body ached and as I raised the vodka to my lips again I saw I now had cute white nails and smooth tanned skin. My short hair was now long and blonde, I could feel it tickling my shoulders. Long slutty lashes projected from my eyes and I could taste lipstick on my transformed face.

I had nearly become fully female.

"Yeah, that's it bitches - you look so much better. The bottle is nearly empty. How about one final round? I have never been a horny, popular, bitchy slut who only likes hung Alpha-males."

All three of us drank, the empy glasses tumbling from our hands as we shook and giggled. My pussy throbbed and my brain ached as I felt new urges and desires pulse through me.

I'm a slut... I'm a bitch... I'm popular. I wanna fuck Jordan, I love being a slut for him... ohhh fuck yeah.

My clothing transformed as did Kate and Jenna's. All three of us were now dressed in sexy lingerie. The three of us were mean little size queens now, sluts for bully cock. I felt my pouty pink lips twist into a dumb grin as I played with my hair.

"Like... I am sooooo drunk and I'm fucking horny. Jordan, please will you like let us suck your cock?"

Jordan smiled and unzipping his fly flopped out his big fat cock. Me and my slutty friends sank to our knees, our mouths wet. Mmmmmh, he was so good to us.

"Fuck yes. My step-sis and her slutty friends. This is such a better configuration," he crowed. "Maybe one day I'll turn you back so you can appreciate how much of a slut you were for my cock. Then I'll turn you back into this bitch - she's better than you ever were."

I had no idea what my hot step-brother was going on about. I was too busy sinking my cherry pink lips around his big cock and starting to suck as Jenna began to rim Jordan and Kate kissed and made out with him.

Glug... glug... glug...

THE END

"Mmmmmh, that's it girls - I have never had a threesome before and this is gonna be a blast..."

As I felt Jordan's cock slide deep down my slut throat, I gurgled happily. Mmmmmh, I loved playing games with him...

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Drunken Serenade

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, soft!joel, established relationship, flashback, alcohol consumption, unprotected piv, a lil dirty talk, creampie bc obvi, unedited bc i’m lazy)

word count: 2.5k

joel masterlist | joel playlist

It was no small feat holding the affection of Joel Miller. Though he often grumbled about hating how everyone was always “watchin” him in your small, second-chance town of Jackson, Wyoming, there was no escaping it.

Part of it came from being related to Tommy and Maria, the town’s founders for all intents and purposes. A larger part of it—the part that Joel hated most—no doubt came from his reputation of being ñ prolific at killing. Not many people could say they met someone that managed to survive for as long as Joel had, especially in the brutal conditions he often found himself in. To the people of Jackson, regardless if you were a fighter or a farmer, Joel Miller was a living, breathing legend.

And that’s what he was to you, too, for a while.

But now, in the dim lighting of Joel’s kitchen, Joel’s hands scrubbing the dishes after the two of you shared dinner for the 300-hundredth something time, he was just a man, a man you loved, humming softly to himself.

“Sounds pretty,” you complimented the unidentifiable tune as you slid your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his shoulder blade as he continued to scrub. “Do I know it?”

“No,” he answered with softness, the almost-clean pan in his hand preventing him from turning around and wrapping his arms around you. “Just somethin’ m’workin’ on.”

“Will I get to hear it in full one day?” You let go of him to stand at his side, grabbing the clean dishcloth that draped on the oven handle to dry the clean dishes sitting on the rack.

“Maybe,” he gave you a flicker of a bashful smile, his hip leaning out to bump into yours. “Long as you serenade me back.”

“Oh, you want me to sing for you, huh?” You couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from your lips at the thought of your mediocre-at-best vocal talent gracing his ears again, Joel having heard it for the very first time one year ago at the bar. Your sloppy, drunken rendition of “I Have Nothing” last Valentine’s Day earned you his attention for the very first time, an attention that thankfully never faded.

One Year Ago — February 14th

“Let loose,” your newest (well—only, if you were being honest with yourself) friend in Jackson, Margot urged you on at the bar, sliding one of the shot’s of harsh, unrefined vodka she’d ordered towards you. “You’ve been babysitting that beer for the last hour. Come on.”

“I don’t drink,” you whined, the thought of alcohol alone enough to make you gag.

“Look, you’re single and alone on Valentine’s day in the middle of an apocalypse. There’s no better reason to drink.” You couldn’t argue with her logic, so you pinched your nose and tipped the shot glass back, the cold liquor hitting your uvula nearly forcing it right back up but you championed through it with a wince. “There ya go!”

“Jesus Christ—“ you choked on your beer as you tried to drown out the taste of the vodka still burning your throat. “You’ve had three of those! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m a masochist,” she joked with a chuckle before gasping at the sight of Tommy and Maria finishing setting up the karaoke machine on the tiny stage in the corner of the bar. “I’m signing us up.”

“Absolutely not!” You laughed as she walked up to the esteemed couple on the stage, Tommy handing her the sign-up sheet with a grin before finding you in the crowd and waving you over. You shook your head and tried to hide away, but he seemed determined.

“I can still see you!” he drawled out in his accent, Maria’s whistles finally getting you to make your way to the stage. “Here, have a look at the catalog. I’ll go get you another drink, you look like you might need some liquid courage.”

“Definitely.”

A few shots later, you were well past the point of courage and deep into drunken stupidity, the microphone in your hands as you unabashedly belted out the words to a near-impossible to pull off song, your voice breaking and cracking the entire time. Though crowd in the bar was mostly focused on their own conversations, you couldn’t help but lock eyes with a familiar face, though you’d never so much as spoken to the man before.

After all, what reason would the town’s school teacher have for chatting up the famous Joel Miller?

Clearly too drunk to care about your lack of acquaintance, you pointed at him as you sang, a wide grin on your face as you watched him try to calm the smile that grew on his.

“I have nothing! Nothing! Nothinnnnnnnnnng—“ your cracking voice softened into a mildly enjoyable breathy tone as you sang the last line, stretching your hand out for him as though you were serenading him. “If I don’t have you.”

“Well! That was definitely somethin’,” Tommy helped you off the stage while Maria continued to emcee, holding in her chuckle as you almost took a tumble down the singular step, Tommy quick to catch you. With a singular laugh, Maria ordered her husband to help sober you up a bit. “Get her some coffee.”

“I got it,” Joel stepped in, the deep mess of his southern rasp forcing your glassy eyes up to meet his. “Come on, Miss Houston. Let’s get a cup’a coffee in ya.”

You drunkenly slurred out your actual name as you allowed him to help walk you into the back kitchen, away from the drunken crowd. Joel chuckled and nodded as he got the coffee pot going, his back turned to you as you rested against the fridge.

“I know your name,” he replied, the simple sentence bringing a goofy grin to your face.

“Oh, yeah?” you flirted, biting your lip as you waited for him to turn around and grace you with eye contact. When he finally did, you literally felt your knees buckle, Joel’s eyes turning concerned for a moment until you steadied yourself.

“Lemme get you a chair.” He walked off to the office, returning a moment later with a wooden stool. He set it down by the metal island, ordering you to sit down with a pat onto the wood. “Take it you don’t drink often.”

“Never,” you corrected. “But I’m single and alone on Valentine’s day in the middle of an apocalypse, so…” you repeated Margot’s words from earlier before realizing you hadn’t seen her in at least an hour. “Margot! Have you—“

“She left with her husband ‘bout a half-hour ago,” he informed you before you had a chance to worry too much. “And you ain’t alone.”

“Huh?”

“You said you’re single and alone,” he replied, turning his back to you once more as the coffee pot began to fill the mug. “You ain’t alone.”

“Well, not literally, but—“ you shrugged, gesturing at yourself. “Not going home with anybody.”

“Well, gettin’ yourself drunk maybe put a wrench in that plan,” he chuckled, setting your cup down in front of you before walking to the fridge. “Need creamer?”

“No, I’ll just,” you took a sip of the hot liquid and hummed, enjoying the bitterness more than you did sober. “Pretty good.”

“I do pride myself on my coffee,” he walked off to the office and quickly returned with another chair, pulling it up to the island and sitting down in front of you. “You know how many guys out there would’ve been more than happy to keep you company tonight?”

“Oh, I’m sure there was a line,” you replied, your smirk growing into a smile as you watched Joel roll his eyes. “I don’t like any of the guys in town. They’re all too…brutal.”

Joel’s face fell a bit as he nodded, his knuckles tapping on the metal.

“I didn’t mean you—I just mean they’re all very…I don’t know,” you sighed and rested your forehead on the table.

“It’s alright,” he assured. “My ego ain’t bruised that bad.”

“I really didn’t mean you,” you spoke softly as your eyes met his again. “You’re not—I don’t consider you one of the guys in town. You’re like…untouchable to all of us, you know?”

“What?” He chuckled but his cluelessness was sincere.

“All of us women don’t see you as someone attainable. You’re…Joel. Too good for—“ Joel’s scoff interrupted your sentence before you could finish it, his head shaking.

“I ain’t too good for shit,” he corrected, his hazel eyes softening as he met yours. “And I definitely ain’t too good for you. Ask anyone in their right mind and they’d quickly tell ya it’s the other way around.”

“You trying to flirt with me?” you asked through. drunken grin, tilting your head at him. Joel chuckled and shrugged in response. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Maybe you and I can talk about this when you’re sobered up—breakfast, tomorrow mornin’?” You didn’t try to hide the eagerness in your smile as you accepted his offer with a nod.

“I’d like that.”

After the dishes were finished, the two of you found yourself in the clawfoot bathtub Joel’s renovated house had been lucky to feature. You faced each other, your foot currently being massaged by Joel’s rough but tender hands.

“Your voice ain’t that bad, ya know,” Joel gave you a playful smirk, his eyes so focused on yours you could nearly feel his love for you deep in your soul.

“Well it was enough to get you to notice me,” you agreed with a smirk. Joel shook his head, his smile growing bashful.

“I noticed you way before that, trust me.” There was the tiniest hint of shyness—something boyish in his voice that made your stomach flutter, the look in his eyes just the cherry on top. “Only had the guts to ask you out ‘cause I thought you were too drunk to remember it.”

You gasped a chuckle, shifting over to sit on his lap, placing your hands on either side of his face as his rested on your hips. “You were crazy for ever thinking there was a chance I’d reject you. You’re a hunk, Joel Miller.”

“A hunk, huh?” he teased, bringing his lips to the base of your throat and giving your skin a soft peck.

“Mmhm,” you confirmed in a hum, the best response you could muster. Joel hummed back as his lips sucked tiny marks down the front of your chest until he was slipping your nipple into his mouth, earning the sweet sound of your breathy moans.

You tossed your head back, your hips rolling on their own accord, the slick drag of your cunt along the underside of his cock earning you a muffled growl as he kissed his way over to your other breast.

“Need you,” you whispered as you reached back and gripped his cock, lining him up with your heat before sinking down until you were flush with one another. Joel’s hands squeezed tightly at the sudden sensation of being buried in your heat, his lips pulling away from your nipple with a lewd pop. You grinned as you kept yourself still on his cock, your thumb brushing his cheekbone as you gazed down at him with contentment. “Love you, Miller.”

“Love you too, Miss Houston,” he replied with a matching, cheeky smile, his hands sliding up the curve of your spine and back down, resting on the globes of your ass and squeezing.

You lifted your hips almost completely off of him and locked eyes with him as you sank back down, Joel’s head tipping back against the edge of the tub. He moaned soft and sweet for you, his hands holding your waist as you started to bounce on him, your stare never leaving his as you began to target the head of his cock at your g-spot. He reached one hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb resting on your lip practically begging for you to take it into your mouth, and so you did. With a cheeky grin, you wrapped your lips around it and gave it a suck, humming at the whimper the act caused.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he praised, his eyes then traveling from your face down your torso until he was watching you spear yourself with his cock underneath the surface of the water. “Shit. You should see how pretty your pussy looks takin’ me.”

“Joel,” his words forced you to whine, your eyes squeezing shut as the tingling heat building in your core started to trickle down your thighs and up your spine. “Touch me and make me cum for you.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” His thumb found your clit, stroking imperfect circles over it as you started to bounce on him so hard he half-wondered if he might break you, but judging by your cries of praise, this was exactly how you wanted it. “God damn, darlin. Ridin’ me so good I—fuck—I’m gonna cum inside that pretty pussy.”

His free hand gripped your hip to leverage himself a bit as he met your bounces with sharp thrusts, the water splashing from over the edge of the tub but neither of you could bring yourselves to care about the wet floor with how close you both were to the edge.

“Shit, baby,” he growled, his neck straining as he tried to hold off his release until you hit yours. “Come on, gimme it. Lemme feel you—“

“Fuck!” you screamed as your climax hit you like a brick wall, your body collapsing forward into his arms. Joel held you tight as he pistoned into your still convulsing walls until every nerve in his body buzzed with the familiar feeling of euphoria, his cock pressing in deep as he spilled inside of you. His lips were pressed to your cheek, mumbling praise into your skin as your hearts raced in tandem, his hands stroking up and down the expanse of your back to ground you both.

“I love you, sweet thing,” he mumbled as he kissed his way to your lips, your head turning to meet him for a sweet, unhurried kiss. Joel pulled away with a chuckle, smiling at you before opening his lips to sing to you in his gruff but rich voice, “I have nothing if I don’t have you.”

“Sounds good when you sing it,” you mumbled, sleepy from the hot bath and hotter sex. Joel chuckled and leaned forward, pressing his lips to your temple.

“My favorite version’s always gonna be your drunken performance,” he husked back, bringing a smile to your face. “But I might be a little biased.”

“More than a little.” Joel laughed and nodded, squeezing you tighter.

“Oh well. Don’t care.”

[sscieloz]

Alcohol teacher

Kim Minjeong x Yoo Jimin

Synopsis: “My face immediately turned red, but I wasn’t drunk, though. I also had my first soju with Jimin unnie, my alcohol teacher.” — Kim Minjeong.

Warnings: dom!karina x sub!winter. you know the deal babes, lots of plot with a little smut in it. drinking, nsfw, drunk (public?) sex.

Word count: 2k

Notes: I’ve never had soju in my life. enjoy ˆˆ n gimme feedback we barely talk anymore :(

“You look too skilled doing this.” Minjeong says, watching quietly as Karina pours a small amount of liquid into two shot glasses. It doesn’t seem like much, which leaves Minjeong annoyed. She doesn’t want Karina going easy on her, even if it is indeed her first time drinking.

Her judgmental look is no strange thing to Jimin, who merely shrugs and continues her task. She smiles at Minjeong once she’s done, nose scrunching with how much she’s enjoying the situation. When Winter had gone to her and mentioned she wanted to have a night out for drinks, so she’d try them out for the first time, Karina felt like she was in heaven. The first thing she did once she woke up was to book reservations, so the whole bar would be left alone for them— this way, Minjeong would be the most comfortable to experience the drinks, and no crazy fan would bash them for being grown women drinking.

“So,” She begins her explanation, ignoring the younger girl’s irritated tone. “We’ll start simple. Here, there’s vodka. We’ll drink it all at once: it’s as easy as that.” Bringing her cup near her mouth, Karina gestures for Minjeong to do the same. Which she does, after eyeing the raven-haired girl suspiciously. “On three, ok? One, two…”

Karina’s hands gently hover over Minjeong’s chin, turning the cup upwards so the liquid flows over Winter’s throat. Karina’s fingers linger even after the cup is left empty, her touch igniting the younger girl’s skin.

Vodka burns— it tastes like fire, washing through your cells until it hits your esophagus and threatens to back its way back, clearly not welcomed. It’s an unpleasant sensation, to say the least.

Yet, the only feeling Minjeong’s brain acknowledges are Karina’s delicate hands, now tracing her collarbone. She decides, then, that her bandmate’s touches are worse than a thousand vodka doses.

“So? What’d you think?” Karina asks, eager to know Minjeong’s opinion. She bounces like a puppy, moving as much as the booth they’re seated at allows her to.

Minjeong nods, running her hands through her face to spread the flush that lingers stubbornly on her cheeks. She feels on fire; distracted, which is unlike herself. When asking Karina for guidance on learning how to drink, her intentions were nothing but serious. She has never not been the best at something, so she fully intended to be a great drinker. By that, she intended on inspecting each liquor religiously, taking mental notes and rankings over each one, so she’d know exactly which ones to make conversations about or to order at award-shows and after parties.

Her plan, now, was ruined by a tall, black-haired girl with smokey eyes and bubbly lips.

“It was ok.” Minjeong answers, smiling a little at Jimin. Despite her internal irritation, Jimin was the one to pull her back to reality, making sure she didn’t overwork herself—or just reminding Minjeong to not take things too seriously, overall. She was not entitled to be bratty and corrupt the bubbly girl. She wouldn’t.

“You’re a tough one, Minjeong-ah.” Karina says, placing two soju bottles in front of her, then. “Luckily, that was only our warm-up. The real fun starts now!”

Minjeong stares at the Blueberry and Mango Soju bottles with an uncertain gaze. Karina had let her choose, even though Minjeong could sense her getting impatient every passing second. And, because she loved to tease Karina as much as the girl enjoyed to tease her back, Minjeong picked the blueberry-flavored bottle right before Karina’s quick fingers could reach out for them.

“You’re so mean, Minjeongie.” Karina whines, resting her back in the padded seat. The younger one laughs, then, pleased to have gotten into Karina’s nerves.

“Should we eat?” Minjeong asks, as the food is placed in front of them. Karina only nods, biased as she is, opening both bottles before setting up portions for her and Minjeong.

So they drink, eat, and laugh, talking about idol life and all the gossip they hear or notice around. In a blink, their plates are empty, the soju bottles are nearly dry and their throats, raw from rambling too much. Karina orders more food, and opens new bottles— Minjeong is a strong drinker, she commented. A professional, even though it’s her first time, as it goes with everything the auburn haired girl proposes herself to do.

Minjeong has never felt better in her life. It’s as though she’s walking through clouds, lightheaded and unable to hide her loud, careless laughter. Needles prickle her skin, which makes herself grow restless. It’s the reason she stands, after a while, simply unable to keep in place.

“Minjeong-ah? What are you doing?” Karina asks, confused to see the girl walking the short way towards her seat. Her balance is not at all the resemblance of the Minjeong she usually knows; calm, collected, sweet Minjeong. No, Karina doesn’t know this daring, careless girl who is struggling to walk a straight line and launches herself into the older girl’s lap, red curls tingling in her neck.

She loves it, though.

“I don’t want that seat anymore.” She pouts. Minjeong’s eyes are stargazed, but Karina is surprised to not find them glassy or unfocused, as she stares right into the girl’s dark orbs. If anything, they’re attentive — hungry, even though they had just eaten. “Yours is much more comfortable and cozy… Change seats with me, Jimin unnie.”

Karina’s arms wrap around Minjeong’s petite frame instinctively. Her finger’s tease her collarbone once again, while her other hand scratches the skin showing between the younger girl’s crop top and skirt.

Karina laughs. “You need to get up, then, Minjeongie.”

The girl bluntly ignores her, too deep in her thoughts to listen to her unnie.

“You’re so beautiful, unnie…” Minjeong’s whisper is followed by her hands, both gripping Karina’s face rather delicately. Her touch is tender, much different from the way she squirms, pressing herself against the oldest’s thighs. “I’ve always wondered what your lips tasted like…”

Without a warning, Minjeong presses her lips against Karina’s, not a clear thought going through her head. She’s met with a closed mouth, at first — Karina’s too surprised, frozen in position to do anything, but slowly, the oldest finds herself relaxing against Minjeong’s warmth, pulling her in. Their kiss, ever so sweet, suddenly gets impatient, as they lose themselves in savoring each other.

Minjeong already feels as if she’s going to explode: her insides burn and she feels so needy it hurts. She’s aching, humping Karina’s lap like a dumb puppy. Not only the alcohol, she’s drunk with desire, too, she quickly realizes. Drunk with Karina’s sweet taste, and now so empty— without Karina touching her where she needs it the most.

She’s aching, all hot, bothered, and so impatient. It’s the reason she is so loud— or so she likes to tell herself, as an excuse, allowing Karina to grab her neck and guide her head upwards, sucking and nibbling Minjeong’s skin with her teeth as she pleases.

“You’re such a doll, Minjeongie.” Karina praises, but her words do nothing to please the girl. They only make her even more annoyed, borderline desperate.

“Unnie,” She whines, eyes half closed as her body intensifies every sensation possible, focused on driving her to madness. “Give me, now.”

Karina stops herself, too delighted to have Minjeong so desperate and pliable in her arms. How many times had she gotten herself off with the thought of Minjeong’s moans, and now she had them all for herself? It was a dream come true, and she’d enjoy every moment of it. Her fingers stop toying with the hem of the younger girls’ skirt, now far away from her thighs. It makes Minjeong scoff, annoyed.

“Give you what, Minjeongie?” Karina asks, her tone as innocent as she manages it to be, lying on her seat once again.

Minjeong pouts, now having her movements guided by Karina’s hands, gripping her hips and forcing her to a faster pace.

“W-whatever you want.” She manages to say, breathless, as she humps Karina’s thigh. “Just do it now, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Karina’s eyes never leave Minjeong’s face, with the intent of memorizing the moment forever.

The older girl’s mouth lowers, tracing wet kisses until she reaches for the hems of Minjeong’s top, watching them fall freely until the girl’s pink, rosy nipples are exposed to Jimin. Minjeong recoils, shivering due to the sudden decline of temperature. Before she can cover herself, Jimin’s mouth is on her nipple, suckling and nibbling as she gropes the other one, pinching and twisting. Her tongue traces circles around Minjeong’s skin, and she’s absolutely delighted about how responsive the girl is, squirming and trying to run from Karina’s warm, wet mouth. It makes her leave a trail of saliva down her chest, making a mess of the so-collected Kim Minjeong.

She feels Karina everywhere: from her mouth, so inviting, sure of what she’s doing and aware of how desperate she’s making Minjeong be, to her hands, now pulling Minjeong’s panties aside, so her fingers can finally meet her folds. Minjeong is drenched, Karina feels it as two of her fingers enter her folds, no warnings needed. In response, a loud, needy moan can be heard, and Minjeong lets her head fall back, mouth open and a strong grip on her bandmate’s shoulders. She’s finally full, no longer aching with emptiness or desire. Instead, Minjeong is knocked by the pleasant pleasure building up in her stomach, as Karina keeps fingering her pussy hard.

Satisfied, she stays like that: filling the empty bar with her pornographic moans as she keeps riding Karina’s thigh, thinking about nothing else but the way the friction against the leader’s pants is just perfect, aligned with the stretch on her walls, and the mouth on her breasts. It’s almost too much, but she’s unable to ask for Karina to stop, or to gown any slower. No, Minjeong’s head is filled with the urge to let go and come, nothing else. So she lets herself enjoy whatever Karina is willing to give, mind submissive and pliable.

“Does Minjeongie want to cum? Do you, doll?” Karina asks, tone innocent, even though she’s far from being so. Winter’s cunt throbs, making her gulp. Even though there are a few words being formed in her mind, she’s blank, unable to speak in any coherent sentences.

Minjeong nods, a mess of moans and whimpers, clinging onto Karina as if her life depended on it. Karina’s pace deepens, a third finger adding to the stretch of her pussy.

“Yes, p-please!” She chants, just as Karina’s thumb presses onto her clit, making her nearly cry. She feels her peak approaching her form, the combo of sensations building up to her pleasure.

Karina’s hands clutch on Minjeong’s waist so hard she’s sure it’ll bruise the girl’s skin, but she doesn't seem to care. She makes Minjeong’s pace on her thighs faster, dragging the orgasm out of her. “Do it, baby. Come on my fingers.”

Minjeong lets out a high-pitched moan at the command, feeling her body shaking as the orgasm finally has her spilling her juices in Karina’s hand. She’s breathless, hair disheveled and so sensitive— as Karina doesn’t let her stop her movement’s on the leader’s thigh. She whines, but keeps going, though. Like a doll.

“My little doll.” Karina voices her thoughts out loud, dropping wet kisses on Minjeong’s bare shoulders, waiting for the younger girl to settle down.

After a few minutes, she does, leaving Karina’s lap to sit beside her, inhaling deeply.

It’s Karina, Minjeong realizes, then. Karina is better than Soju, better than Rum, and much better than vodka. Karina is what sets her on fire, what gets her dizzy, drunk with desire. Minjeong wants to drink in all of her.

So she kisses her again, just as hungry as their first time, knowing their night had just started.