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~A Turn of Good Luck~

Keith Toshko x f! Reader.

Aka: giving the people what they want. A Keith Toshko x Reader fic where he is not a sinister villain, and he does not in fact die, thank you very much. Getting double booked at an Airbnb with Keith is the perfect unconventional meetcute.

Summary: The moment you lay eyes on him, you know exactly how you want this night to play out. It’s just a matter of figuring out if Keith himself is thinking the same thing, or if this situation is just too bizarre for you both to make the best of it.

This fic contains: NSFW/18+ content, alcohol (they share wine but it’s nothing excessive), no horror subplot, unless you wanna interpret this as a horror setting where Reader and Keith are just not genre aware lmao.

Keith is also flustered asf in a lot of this, so if you didn’t find his awkward demeanor endearing in canon, this fic may not be for you and that’s ok! Still, apologies for any second hand embarrassment that may cause. ;)

Word Count: 10,130 words (whoops)

Author’s note: Y’all I am SO out of practice with writing in the second person, please go easy on me but if there’s typos and/or grammatical errors I somehow missed, you can feel free to let me know 😭 I also tried to keep descriptions minimal for the Reader character in question so it could be more gender neutral, even if they’re afab? But the gender roles in the original plot of the film were really relevant to the dynamic he had with Tess which so many people fell in love with, and told the audience a bit about Keith, so I wanted some of that to translate into fic, to a certain extent :’)

Anyways, I’ve been dying for a genuinely romantic AU ever since I finally watched Barbarian several months ago, because let’s be so for real the first ~20 minutes could’ve been the start a romcom (save for the ominous music). Anyways, here this is! Hope you enjoy it, too! <3

•••

To every rule, there is an exception.

You do not hook up with strangers, as a general rule.

On the rare occasions when you have slept with someone the same night on which you met, you always went through the trouble of asking them the right questions, trying to essentially vet them yourself, somehow, before getting yourself into any potentially perilous situations.

You wouldn’t be caught dead casually leaving the bar with someone and heading back to their place, nor to yours, if you hadn’t at least learned their full legal name first.

Some may call you paranoid, but you think yourself sensible.

The night you met Keith Toshko was an exception to that rule. And only because of the unthinkable, absurd circumstances.

The chain of events which caused your meeting seemed impossibly unlikely, but once you’d come face to face with the man himself, just about the most effortlessly hot son of a bitch you’d ever seen, and you knew that this was the situation, you weren’t about to complain or wish for any of it to change.

It was a rainy enough night, and you’d made a pretty mad dash from your car to the little rental home you had booked weeks earlier, and as you fumbled to get the key out of the lockbox, you were too caught up with the task at hand to notice that a light was already flicking on within the house, a sure sign that the should-be-empty space was, mysteriously, already occupied.

When your hands grabbed at empty air, and you came to realize there was no key to be found inside the box, you angrily punched the wooden surface out of frustration, as if sheer force of will could miraculously get it to open up.

Unbeknownst to you, the stranger already inside the house startled even further upon hearing the slam of your fist against the door. The scuffling of movement as you grasped at nothing within the locked box, the slam of your car door, the headlights that had briefly shone through the windows and down the hallway as you pulled up… that combination of disturbances had been off-putting enough.

But now that the current inhabitant of the rental home knew someone was there, someone who urgently wanted in… what choice did he have?

“Shit,” you were cursing like a sailor under your breath, “damnit, damnit, damnit, god fucking—”

The door suddenly did swing right open.

“Hello?” A somewhat scratchy male voice interrupted your stream of mindless swearing.

“Oh,” your eyes widened upon seeing the stranger before you, “uh, hi? I’m sorry, but…” you trailed off, too busy looking the unfamiliar man up and down— he looked tired, that was for sure, and his hair was a little unruly from sleep, no doubt, but even in this state you were caught off guard by those curious green eyes, and the perfectly outlined shape of his face in the low amber glow from the light inside.

The less than flattering yellow porchlight was no doubt the only thing illuminating you, but fuck. In the half-light shining out from within the house, this complete stranger looked just about angelic.

“But… what?” He prompted you to finish, squinting his eyes and looking more unsure than you felt.

“Shit, I just wasn’t expecting anybody else to— what are you doing here?” You asked instead.

Suddenly you sounded too demanding, you realized— you were by no means trying to antagonize this handsome stranger in front of you. However gorgeous he was, he could still be a threat, for all you knew.

“Am I at the right place? Uh, 476 Barbary?” You tried again.

The stranger blinked.

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

He still sounded so weary.

“You… think so?” You raised your eyebrows quizzically, but you couldn’t keep the slant of a smile from tugging at your mouth. This sleepy stranger was amusing.

“I don’t know, I just woke up,” he explained, “I was asleep less than five minutes ago.”

Evidently, you thought to yourself, but you tried to contain the sass.

“Well I’m sorry to have bothered you, but, I think you might be in the wrong place? Unless you own this place, and you live here…?” You tentatively started.

It hadn’t occurred to you that there could be a host staying there, as the website never mentioned anything about the owner of the house sticking around; there was no indication at all that they would be there at the same time as any renters were staying there.

“What? No, I don’t own this place,” he replied, “I’m just renting it.”

“Wait, wait,” you looked away from the man himself, peering down at your phone to double check the date before your eyes flicked back up to him. “I’m renting it. This is supposed to be my Airbnb, for tonight.”

“You… yours?” The man blinked again, narrowing his eyes at you and looking altogether more alert now.

It probably should have been a cause for concern, but fuck, now things were getting interesting, because he was looking you up and down instead as he assessed the situation. Apparently it was his turn to inspect you, just as you’d done to him, and it sent a not unpleasant thrill running down your back beneath your skin.

“I booked this place on HomeAway,” he insisted.

“Well, maybe you had the wrong date? Look, I have an email I can show you, see?” You instantaneously pulled it up on your phone, shoving it into his fumbling hands.

The unsuspecting stranger took it, squinting again to scrutinize it.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath.

“Yeah,” you laughed sardonically, “fuck.”

“Do you have anywhere else to go for the night?” The stranger asked, and maybe it was wishful thinking on your part, but that seemed like a look of concern on his face.

“No…?” You hesitantly admitted.

Fuck. You didn’t want to burden him, but… it was the middle of the night and it was raining cats and dogs outside, and maybe you were delirious, but it appeared you had the hottest man you’d ever seen staring back at you, and you couldn’t just let him slip through your fingers a minute after meeting him. Right?

Plus, it wasn’t a lie that you didn’t have a back-up plan for sleeping arrangements tonight. This had been the place, and it never occurred to you that the rental people in charge could’ve fucked up this astronomically, so…

“Can I see your confirmation email?” You pried, before crossing over the threshold.

“Well my phone’s inside, but…,” the unfamiliar man eyed you again, a look of pity crossing his face (and maybe clouding his judgment) as he observed you there on the porch, wondering if he was seeing a challenging glint in your eye as you peered up at him, or if it was just imaginary.

He sighed.

“Fuck, where are my manners,” he scolded himself, “why don’t you come inside?”

You smiled, genuinely pleased this time.

“I’d really appreciate that,” you said, adjusting the singular overnight bag you had over your shoulder and stepping into the house when he moved aside for you.

All things considered, you thought, this is infinitely better than staying in an empty place alone on a stormy night.

Now, you figured, you had someone to keep you company. Someone quite attractive.

You made yourself feel right at home, shrugging off your rain jacket and hanging it up by the door. You set your bag down on the smooth wooden floors, not immediately wanting to breach the topic of where you might sleep. For all you knew, this was about to turn into one of those cliche only-one-bed situations, but your stranger seemed skittish enough as it was, and you weren’t trying to scare him away completely.

Before anything else, before making any actual moves, you needed a way to test the waters— make sure he was into it, just in case you were about to make this poor sleep deprived gentleman aggressively uncomfortable otherwise.

“So,” you sighed, slinging the bag over your shoulder again, and carrying it with you to the table, “you said you booked this place on HomeAway? Not Airbnb?”

The kind stranger was seated at the nearest table and looking intently at his phone, apparently digging up the confirmation email for you.

“Yeah,” he assured. “Let me just— here. Here it is,” he said, finally sounding a bit more awake as he passed his phone over to you and watched you expectantly as you slid into the chair opposite him.

Your eyes scanned over the screen, making sure everything looked legit.

Jesus, that was another thing to keep in mind before you started flirting with this complete stranger— to make sure he wasn’t some fucking lunatic serial killer or an utter idiot who can’t read a calendar or got the address wrong.

But no, the details of the email looked professional and proper as ever, and you had no doubt that he was supposed to be here too, apparently. You noticed one other little detail, too.

“Keith…?” You looked up to meet his eyes, smiling a bit at the name you’d read in the email.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he was apologizing all over again, “it’s Keith. Yeah.”

“Well, Mr. Keith Toshko, I suppose you already know my name from looking at my confirmation email,” you briskly carried on, “and now that we’re introduced, I guess I should apologize if my barging in here means we got off on the wrong foot.”

“What? No, no,” Keith shook his head, looking a bit less flustered and more serious, now, “you didn’t barge in, I invited you. And I would’ve been an asshole not to, on a night like tonight,” he nervously laughed a little.

You grinned back at him.

“Hey, it would’ve been fine. I’ve been told I’m overly cautious, so.” You shrugged. “I completely get it.”

“Being cautious doesn’t have to mean letting an innocent stranger stand in the rain all night,” Keith jested. “If the roles were reversed, I’m sure you’d have done the same thing.”

You paused, looking him up and down for at least the second time that evening.

If you were being honest, normally you wouldn’t have. Hell, if the roles were reversed and you’d already been in here before a mysterious man showed up at your doorstep, you’d have slammed the door in his face. But when Keith looked like, well, Keith, you couldn’t imagine slamming a door in his beautiful face.

Speaking of, he looked even more adorable now with that polite little smile on his lips.

“Maybe I would,” you sweetly smiled back, watching as his own expression changed to match yours— the way his eyes seemed to soften, and his pretty mouth curved further up. And yes, pretty was the word coming to mind. The man had better lips than yours, than anyone’s lips you’d seen, as far as you could recall.

“So, Keith,” you pushed the conversation forward, “what brought you here tonight, to rent this specific place?”

You weren’t overly fond of small talk, but this was still a royally fucked situation at the end of the day, and you probably had to get some of the boring stuff out of the way before you could focus in on what you really wanted out of this.

“Well, I’m— I’m in a band,” he blurted, sounding like he was sputtering for a better answer before giving up.

“You’re in a band?” You shifted your chair a little closer, grinning with interest.

“I mean, I’m not in a band, in a band,” Keith struggled to explain, “just, kind of in a band. And they wanted me to scout a location around here, basically, so,” he shrugged, glancing around the understated yet charming scenery of the Airbnb again. “Here I am.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s cool, that’s so cool,” you leaned in, “much better than the reason I’m here!”

“Please,” Keith chuckled a bit, “unless it’s, like, a funeral, I’m sure you have an interesting reason, too.” He smiled. “Oh god, it’s not actually a funeral, is it?” He suddenly raised his eyebrows in alarm when you didn’t immediately respond, cursing his own brain for thinking that was somehow a good slant of humor.

But to his relief, you were lightly laughing along with him.

“No, not a funeral, but I’m visiting family,” you explained. “Not anyone I’m particularly close with, though. It’s… complicated, a pretty long story.”

Keith sat up in his chair.

“Tell me,” he was grinning again.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Keith was shuffling to his feet now.

“I— weren’t you asleep like five minutes ago?” You tried.

“Well, I’m wide awake now,” he began, “so—”

“Shit, I’m so sorry about that,” you offered him a frown, and you were feeling genuine guilt, but you’d be lying if you weren’t intentionally teasing a little bit, with that exaggerated demeanor.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith waved it off, circling around to the little kitchen, “but they left a bottle of wine here, some sort of welcome gesture, I guess,” he explained, picking up the object in question.

And sure enough, when you turned in your chair you could see the bottle that had been sitting on the kitchen counter, topped with a shiny red bow and everything.

“A preemptive apology, for guests who get double booked,” you joked, and Keith huffed with laughter as he tried to pop it open, making sure you were watching him as he did so, just for your own comfort.

The kindness wasn’t lost on you, even when you had already mentally resolved that you would be ending this night closer to Keith Toshko in one way or another.

“Well whatever reason they left it,” he faintly laughed, “it was nice of them.”

Agreeably, you nodded.

“Still doesn’t make up for the dumbasses double-booking us, though,” he hastily added, and you laughed an airy laugh along with him.

Yet privately, you thought this blessing in disguise wasn’t a problem to be fixed or something to be made up for at all. This turn of events was quite fortuitous, really— you couldn’t believe your luck.

“We can try calling them in the morning,” you suggested, “when we’re sure they’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Keith nodded his head, carrying the now open bottle of wine over to the table, “yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“I can play it up, if you want,” you teased, “go full Karen on them, over the phone.”

Keith laughed again, and this time it wasn’t stifled by sleep or nerves or hesitance or anything else. Fuck. What a beautiful sound that made for.

Instead of replying or asking whether or not you were joking, he quickly confirmed,

“You aren’t going to be on the road again tonight, are you?”

“In this?” You raised your eyebrows. “Oh, god no. Definitely won’t be driving in this, if you don’t mind having company for the night,” you quickly added the last bit, just to be courteous.

Keith brushed it off again, setting down a pair of glasses he’d grabbed from the cabinets and momentarily putting the both of them on his side of the table.

He was obviously pouring one for himself and one for you, but—

“Two glasses right off the bat,” you nodded approvingly, “mm, good choice. After tonight, I’ll take two myself, thank you,” you went on, even as Keith slid the second glass over to your end of the surface.

But he was chuckling again at your sarcasm, not just tolerating it like some people did, but apparently actively enjoying it. That was… making you feel an entirely different feeling, something a little deeper than the surface level attraction that had been occupying your brain for the last however-long you’d spent with Keith, but you didn’t have time to unpack that now. You could examine it later, in the morning light, you decided.

“Seriously,” you continued, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Yeah,” Keith had hummed, “this is a fucking… weird situation,” he agreed.

You took your first sip from the glass he’d intended for you, then, hoping it might give you some eventual liquid courage— Keith might have just been way better at playing it cool, either that or he wasn’t picking up on the looks you were giving him, so you’d have to be more forward to see whether or not he was alright with your flirtation. You didn’t want to be too presumptuous, of course.

It occurred to you that he could also be worried about freaking you out, and that might have been why he was so awkward.

“So,” he piped up again, “you were… telling a long story?” He prompted.

You opened your mouth, though no words immediately came out.

I’m totally rushing this, you suddenly realized, I need to get the fuck out of my own head and just enjoy this.

As long as Keith himself was more at ease now, relaxed where he’d settled back into his chair, perhaps you could match his leisurely pace.

After all, you figured, trying to actually get to know people seems like a green flag. And maybe this is his subtle means of flirting.

And so you did. You allowed yourself to let your guard down, talking to Keith about your family, your friends, and all the drama that came with them— and of course, when it was his turn to do the same, you were all too happy to listen.

This wasn’t really the flirty, hot and heavy badinage you’d been imagining, but to be fair, this wasn’t a 1930’s screwball, and this was quite possibly more intimate of a situation now that you were really being honest with each other.

“Hey,” you said after a while, “not that I don’t mind the sound of the rain, but it’s a little quiet in here,” Keith’s eyes followed your movements as you retrieved your phone from your pocket, “do you mind if I put some music on?”

He smiled, brightly as ever.

“Go ahead,” Keith agreeably replied, “whatever you want.”

And you were sure he must’ve had no idea how much that last bit— “whatever you want”— withered away at whatever was left of your self-control.

You opted for something chill, something that wouldn’t be too distracting, just background noise. There was an Italian restaurant playlist of music fit for a lounge which you’d enjoyed before, so you figured that was a good place to start.

And suddenly we’re on a date, you almost burst out laughing in the middle of the conversation when it occurred to you that you practically were— Keith was pouring a second glass of wine for you both, the low selection of lights you’d turned on made for some nice mood lighting, you were sharing a comfortably quaint table without much distance between the two of you, and there was mildly romantic music playing off of your phone, now, where you’d placed it on the side of the little table, midway between him and yourself.

This should’ve been weird, this should’ve been more uncomfortable, but this spontaneous evening was not feeling at all forced or strained. It was easy to make conversation with this particular stranger.

Still, maybe it was just you, but was the atmospheric scene, with its low light from the overhead lamp and the low rhythms of every song, like… sexy? Making an already unexpectedly pleasant experience sexier?

Some were instrumentals while others contained actual lyrics, and some were more mellow than others, but it was all rather calm and smooth. Besides, when Keith’s wide, attentive eyes on you got to be too much, you could distract yourself by flipping over your phone and checking just what was playing.

Jesus, was this even real? Were you dreaming this? This was a ridiculously good turn of events for what could’ve been a stressful and maybe even unsafe night in a rough neighborhood with a complete stranger.

Which, a small part of you tried to remind yourself, Keith Toshko still was. But he didn’t exactly feel like a stranger when you’d been hearing about his band and his family and even the exes he occasionally mentioned for the last hour or so now.

Before you let the time flow on and the minutes blur together anymore, you reached a hand across the table, tentatively placing it over the arm Keith was resting atop the surface.

He tensed up a little, glancing down at the point of contact, but when he heard your voice he looked up at your face instead, not wanting to miss whatever it was you were trying to tell him.

“Keith,” you were saying, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting tired yet,” your fingers tapped along his arm as you continued, “but it’s still getting late. If we’re not going to go to sleep yet, I think we should switch over to water before we finish the whole bottle, yeah?” You gestured towards the open wine that was still on the table.

“Oh,” he breathlessly huffed, faintly laughing again, though his voice was a little strained as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s probably a solid plan,” he hummed, trying not to fixate on you pulling your hand away from him, slowly so that your fingers brushed against his bare skin for a moment.

When he didn’t outwardly acknowledge your attempted flirting, however, you were beginning to doubt whether he had noticed it at all.

Keith pulled himself back up to a standing position once you had returned to your side of the table.

“I think there’s also tea, though, if you want some,” he offered, returning to the other end of the little kitchen, and oh, he was sweet. But sweet, in this context, also apparently meant slow, and that was not what you were looking for tonight.

“I’ll stick with water,” you called.

Fuck it, you had to up the ante.

“Speaking of going to sleep, though,” you purred, “I can’t remember, is there a guest bedroom here?”

You were being coy, of course. You’d thoroughly looked at the place online, going through each and every photo of the interior, and you knew that there was only one real room.

“Uhm,” Keith swallowed, “I don’t think so,” he hummed, fumbling as he tried to make himself tea without the mug slipping from his hands. “But, I can take the couch, I really don’t mind,” he quickly continued, immediately bending to accommodate you.

“Oh, that wouldn’t feel right,” you replied, “not when you were already sleeping in it earlier, right?”

“I’ve slept on worse,” he half-laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, that’s not fair, I can’t kick you out of the only room.”

Keith looked away from the kettle, nervously licking his lips as he watched you set your elbow on the table and rest the side of your face against your hand.

“Maybe we could share it,” you teased, more boldly grinning at him, now, and playfully cocking your head to the side for good measure.

Keith hoarsely laughed again.

“Hah,” he hummed. He couldn’t, for the life of him, tell if you were joking or not.

You tried to mask your disappointment even as your lips pursed together and you dropped the act.

Maybe he really was stupid.

“You sure you don’t want any tea?” He tried to change the subject before putting the rest of it back in the open cupboard.

“I’m fine,” you said, distinctly flat and lacking enthusiasm compared to your last remark. And you weren’t trying to be rude, this was just getting exhausting— if Keith wasn’t liking you the way you were liking him, that was perfectly ok, but could he at least say it out loud? So you didn’t make a fool of yourself?

You were contemplating giving up before Keith was chuckling to himself as he shut the cupboard door.

“Sorry, is it getting hot in here? Or is it just me?” He asked. “I mean, I’m standing right next to the stove,” he was suddenly rambling, “so it might just be me, and I might be too close to it, but y’know, the water’s still heating up, so—”

There was your in.

“No, it’s not just you,” you replied, shrugging off the outer layer you’d still had on over your shirt. Luckily it was warm enough in the Airbnb that you wouldn’t be covered in goosebumps which would give away the fairly blatant lie, and you didn’t mind the temperature change at all.

And really, it was nothing revealing, it was just the physical action of taking off any part of your clothing that you were hoping would catch Keith’s attention and inspire him to do the same with the dark jacket he’d put on.

Sure enough, he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he made a point of not staring, still lingering by the kettle on the stove.

He didn’t properly look over at you until you were directly addressing him again.

“It definitely is hot,” you spoke up again, draping the light jacket over the back of your chair, “you might want to shed a layer, too,” you huffed with laughter, changing course a bit and deciding you’d drive him crazy by being casual again before you went back to openly teasing him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “yeah, maybe that’s a good idea…,” he muttered, trying to shrug his own unbuttoned jacket off, only he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing, and now he was awkwardly trying to shake it off where it got twisted and stuck on one arm.

“Let me help you with that,” you were suddenly standing up, hurrying over to Keith where he still stood in front of the stove.

And before he could protest, you were already right there behind him as he momentarily kept struggling.

He was taller than you, but you had no trouble reaching up to pry the bunched up fabric off of his shoulders, and Keith had gone very tense and stilled upon feeling your hands drag down his back (rather unnecessarily) before you pulled his jacket off.

“There we go,” you brightly mused, and you had a hunch that your theory of playing it cool was right— that being so casually close to him like this, as if it were an accident, was the kind of thing that Keith enjoyed more than over-the-top flirtation, or, god forbid, the pick-up lines you’d been running through in your head before you’d come up with a better course of action. “Trust me, you’ll feel much better now,” you were reassuring him as you went to hang up his jacket yourself.

Keith was a little too flustered to respond for a second, but he quickly got his bearings again and started profusely thanking you.

“Thanks,” he said, “you really didn’t have to, I would’ve gotten out myself, but, you know, thank you for—” he sharply inhaled when you brushed past him on the way to the table again, not because you had to, but because you’d gone out of your way to do so and still make it feel like it was all accidental— “helping,” he croaked, rasping on the last word.

“Pfft,” you shrugged, “no problem.”

You stretched out in your seat, reaching your arms above your head for a moment.

“I think I’ve been in this chair for too long,” you commented, “I’ll be on the couch.”

Languidly, you positioned yourself over it, not trying to take up all the room, but trying to get comfortable. Your legs were crossed even as they were more stretched out, now, you weren’t going to be that tacky and spread them far enough apart so that he wouldn’t be inclined to sit next to you at all.

Keith could easily look over his shoulder from where he still stood in the kitchen and see you, sprawled across it and looking down at your phone as you turned the lounge music up a click.

He appeared to remain focused on his tea.

“Hey,” he spoke up, “how early do you have to be up in the morning?”

You straightened up from your spot on the sofa, now.

“I didn’t really plan to drive into the city at a specific time, so, whenever I want? I guess?” You raised your eyebrows. “Why do you ask?” You let your voice take on a slightly different tone for that last part— still nonchalant, but not trying to disguise your curiosity.

“Well, I was gonna offer you coffee, but I guess it’s not the best idea to have it this late at night.”

You sighed, because once again, there was something not going in the direction you’d thought it would. Maybe this was a deflection tactic, if Keith was still so apprehensive, so indecisive?

“You don’t need to play the host,” you commented.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been on your feet, offering me things all night,” you pointed out. “Just because you were here first doesn’t mean I’m, like, your houseguest,” you chuckled a little bit. “Besides, you don’t need to be so apologetic— it’s not your fault we’re double-booked.”

Slowly, Keith was nodding.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “okay, yeah. Not that being double-booked is… the worst thing,” he tentatively added, his mouth slanting into a smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining either!” You quickly specified. “This has been… really nice. I mean, you’ve been really nice,” you went on, and fuck, was it your turn to be the one rambling, now?

You paused.

You recalled the way he’d reacted when you’d taken off his jacket and hung it up for him, though, and you refocused.

“But you’re allowed to relax, too,” your voice was a little more playful this time, “I don’t know if this is, like, misplaced chivalry, but I can assure you I don’t need to be taken care of.”

Keith sputtered, perhaps trying to backtrack and defend himself for any perceived offense you might’ve taken whilst he’d been trying to be a gentleman— but you kept going.

“You don’t have to do all the work all the time. You’re allowed to be taken care of,” you lazily smiled at him again, as if your heart wasn’t racing as you might have been about to find out once and for all what exactly Keith Toshko thought of you, and whether this attraction you were feeling was a mutual thing or not.

“Of course,” Keith cleared his throat, looking away from you and turning back to the stove.

He turned off the heat before the kettle could start its unpleasant whistle, and he was largely silent for a while as he focused on pouring himself his tea.

Finally he came over to your end of the space again, a mug in one hand and a cup of water for you in the other, but before he set either of them down on another little end table, he stopped.

“I’m sorry, just, when you say that… what did you mean by that?” He tried. “I don’t wanna assume, but, you don’t have to, like, give me anything in return for letting you stay here. I mean, letting, I’m not letting you, we both booked this place, we’re both supposed to be here— you really don’t have to be trying to make it up to me.”

Keith was clearly nervous, and overcompensating for fear that he’d spectacularly failed at making you feel comfortable, even in this exceedingly fucked situation, and making sure you didn’t run off and drive into any actual danger.

And maybe it would’ve been endearing at the very start of the evening, but now, you were at your wit’s end.

“No, that’s not what I—” you openly sighed this time.

Keith put down his tea and the water.

You let Keith take a seat next to you on the sofa before immediately responding with anything else.

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” you gently finished, glancing in his direction.

Keith’s brows were furrowed.

“Then, uhm, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you trying to do?” He pressed, seeming genuinely unsure as he looked back at you.

“Keith,” you took a deep breath. “I like you. I really like you. But…,” you trailed off, looking for the right words.

You didn’t wanna push it? You didn’t want to make him feel like he couldn’t say no, didn’t want to make him uncomfortable?

“But?” He prompted, much as he had earlier that night when you’d met at the door, and you’d been struggling for speech all the same.

This seemed like an interesting pattern— when you were unsure, you got more quiet, gathering your thoughts. When Keith was unsure, he just started talking, rambling.

His eyes had been wide and hopeful for a second, but he quickly reeled himself in.

“Hey,” he started, “it’s ok, I get it. This is a really weird fucking set of circumstances, here. I’m sorry if I was being pushy, or something, I just really—”

“If you were being pushy? No, no,” you quickly interrupted, “not at all! Jesus, Keith, I’ve been checking you out all night and trying to tell if there was any chance you felt the same in the slightest!”

Keith blinked back at you, dumb with disbelief for a moment.

“Oh,” he noted.

“Oh,” you teased him.

You stared at each other for another all too silent moment that had you privately thanking god for the fact that you’d thrown on music so it wasn’t so agonizingly quiet, and for a second there, you wondered if Keith was about to get even more flighty, if he was about to spurn you, or what.

Somehow, the thought of him gently rejecting you was worse, as a tender hand on your shoulder and an apologetic explanation would be more humiliating than if he just scoffed and walked out of the room, and as his eyes softened and he folded his hands in his lap, you were briefly worried that that was exactly what was about to happen.

“I… I didn’t wanna jump to any conclusions,” he started, and for whatever reason, that just made you laugh.

Keith looked away from his folded hands and up towards you, a little startled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you chuckled under your breath, “I’ve just been so in my head about this all night, you know?”

He slowly nodded his head again.

“So you… is that why you wanted to stay?” He inquired.

Shrugging, you turned so that you could properly face him.

“One of the reasons,” you slid even closer to his end of the couch, “is that so wrong?” You drew out the last word, lightly teasing once more as you brushed his knee with your own.

Keith sharply inhaled.

“Of course not,” he breathed, “I just— I wasn’t expecting—“

He cut off with a gasp again when you adjusted your position, crawling closer to him on the sofa.

“You weren’t expecting a random person to show up at your door?” You teased. “That checks out. You don’t seem like the type to order an escort,” you joked.

Laughter seemed to lighten the mood, even as Keith remained jittery and flustered.

He was smiling all the same, though, straightening his back and taking his hands off of his lap to place them by his sides, like he needed balance on the perfectly stable surface of the couch.

Taking that as an opportunity, you brushed your fingers against his where Keith’s hand flinched marginally closer to yours.

“You know I’d hate to surprise you, if that’s not your thing,” you were continuing, “but when you opened up that door, I wasn’t expecting there to be someone this fucking hot looking back at me, so consider me equally surprised, too.”

Keith disarmed a little at that, he was so caught off guard, and you couldn’t miss the way his face was flushed now.

He thoughtlessly parted his legs a bit when you scooted closer, placing both your hands atop his knees.

You could toy with him all night. But you’d rather get on with this.

“I…,” he panted, trying and failing to catch his breath. “I barely remember your name,” Keith commented.

“You don’t need to know my name,” you teased, even if, in the back of your mind, you’d already decided that he would remember your name come morning. By the end of the night, Keith Toshko would remember your name for the rest of his fucking life, if you had anything to say about it.

You grabbed the fabric of his shirt in your hand, giving it a tug. You didn’t force him up, however— instead, you made sure that Keith was the one who had to lean up to close the distance.

And when he finally took the hint and straightened up again from where he’d slouched a bit against the sofa, you were delighted to press your lips to his once you were sure, once the both of you were sure, that this underlying allure you’d been feeling all night hadn’t been in your head. That it had been real, and it was reciprocated in kind.

Now that you were (fucking finally) right up against him, you were grinning into the kiss, as you just couldn’t help yourself. At any rate, it was better than laughing again, because at least smiling wasn’t something else for Keith to accidentally misinterpret.

“I was so worried,” he said between breaths, “that I— that you— ” Keith shuddered a bit when you pressed up against him in order to lean in closer.

“What?” You slid your hand up and over his cheek. “What were you worried about?”

“That you would be… I don’t know,” he murmured, “scared of me?” He tried.

Something in your expression must’ve unconsciously changed, because now Keith was nervously running his mouth again.

“Jesus Christ, why did I say that, that’s the kind of thing that would make someone one hundred times more afraid of you, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

You cut him off, still cupping his face in your hands as you smothered his words with a kiss.

And despite the high, muffled sound of surprise he’d hummed, that did seem to reassure him.

Once you’d begun kissing him again, it was like neither of you knew how to stop, for a minute there. Until you were practically sitting on top of him, grinding your hips down, and Keith was gasping for air.

You pulled away, peering down to regard him.

“Too much too soon?” You asked.

“No,” he cried, voice just about breaking, “keep going.”

So you did. Positioning one hand on his chest and gripping at his shoulder with the other, you rocked your hips up against him, until you were both grinding up against each other blindly, and Keith’s hands were sliding up to your hair like grasping it was the only thing keeping him grounded, whilst your hands slipped into his own hair all the same.

As it would turn out, Keith wasn’t exactly shy, he just wanted you to take the lead.

“How can I prove it?” He suddenly asked, still breathless between kisses and just about dizzy from the friction of your body against his.

“What?”

“That you can trust me—?”

“Keith, I never said—”

But your attempted reassurances apparently weren’t quite enough for him anymore, as he was all of a sudden insistent to prove himself.

You were a little hurt that he still couldn’t see how trustworthy you’d already found him and how clear you’d made yourself about it, hurt to think that he had assumed you were even remotely scared of him.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Keith tried again.

And those words were much more like music to your ears.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you huffed with laughter again, “remember?”

“But I want to.”

That had you pausing, as you almost didn’t know what to do with that.

“Whatever you want, you can come first,” he offered, shifting his hips a little.

And fuck. That was certainly an offer.

“Anything…?” You asked.

“Anything,” he affirmed, his voice nothing but a sigh.

You caught your breath, sliding your hips up against him again. You didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness and completely ignore how obviously hard he was in his pants, but he’d offered— it was too good a temptation to pass up.

“Jesus fuck, Keith,” you muttered as you properly grinded your hips once more, “I’m gonna sit on your face, ok?”

“Yeah,” he groaned desperately below you, “yeah.”

You were nodding, half to yourself, just trying to process what was going on as you were momentarily sliding off of him just to throw off your pants and underwear.

Keith didn’t wait to admire you, instead he was eagerly pulling you back over, and you yourself might not have even been as eager about this as he was.

He laid back on the couch, trying to angle himself just right as you crawled further up him once more.

By the time you were actually seated atop him, Keith did not disappoint. He tried to explore the rest of your body with his hands, but for the most part he’d focused on what he could do with his tongue, and good god, he excelled in that area.

He wasn’t trying to rush through this, but he lapped excitedly, enthusiastically, and that was enough to have you muttering curses over him all the while.

“Fuck,” you hummed, almost in awe at his ability to work that mouth of his.

At some point as he’d been tonguing you, you must’ve grabbed his hair, because you were pulling on it tight enough to make him whimper now as he kept it up.

You tried to hoist yourself up, to give him a break for a second.

“You okay?” You checked in.

“Yeah,” he panted, nodding a little.

“Sorry,” you muttered, loosening your grip on his dark, now tousled hair.

“Don’t be,” Keith urged, “do it, just fuck my face, just do it,” he begged.

And what were you supposed to do? Not grind down against him and fist your hand in his hair again?

His permission, his proper pleading was all you needed to hear— you sped up, not so much so that Keith couldn’t help you along with another lick of his absurdly good tongue within you, or pressure against your clit— and it certainly helped that he was audibly enjoying it all the same.

When he was whining a bit, however, and reaching for your thigh perhaps to get your attention, you stopped again, moving so that he could speak, could breathe.

“Let me finish you off,” he whispered urgently, “let me help, I can do it.”

“I…,” you looked over your shoulder, too close to the end of the couch to get a good look at the rest of Keith, but you were sure he was still hard, and however patiently he was waiting, you wondered if he should at least take off his pants, not let his cock be confined by multiple layers of fabric if you were already going to be essentially ignoring him.

“Please,” he hoarsely whispered, now squirming beneath you.

You let him get out from under you, though it took a lot of strength to not just collapse on the sofa from how lightheaded you felt after the sudden pause in stimulation.

Keith managed to slide off of the couch and onto the smooth wooden floors, getting to his knees and urging you in his direction once you’d stopped holding yourself up.

You couldn’t complain, parting your knees and letting him prop himself up between your legs.

“I insist,” he murmured.

Can’t argue with that, either.

You aggressively nodded, squeezing him between your thighs when he buried his face against you.

Keith was perfectly glad to nuzzle against you from this angle, and when he hummed with pleasure this time, the vibrations over your clit had your mind going blank, and Keith Toshko was the only fucking thing you wanted to look at, to hear, to focus on in the entire world.

As promised, he got to work quickly, and you couldn’t help it, you were rutting your hips at this repositioned angle, too.

It was almost startling how fast Keith got you to come, the force of your orgasm leaving you speechless, scratching your nails against his scalp without warning where you’d buried your hands in his hair yet again.

Luckily, Keith didn’t seem to mind, stilling obediently as you worked your way through it, and he himself was moaning louder than you when you scratched at his scalp.

There you went again with the contrast— your mouth was open, but you’d been largely silent, while Keith was making enough noise to fill the silence for the both of you.

When the sensation ebbed away and you came down from that dizzying high, you did fall back against the sofa this time, letting him go.

Keith was breathing hard, resting his head against one of your knees.

“Amazing,” he hummed, reverently. Apparently he didn’t mind his face being soaking wet by the end of it.

“You,” still trying to catch your breath, you waved a hand in his general direction. “You were amazing.”

Keith’s face was flushing again as he wiped his mouth, but his shoulders were shaking with light laughter before he leaned back against your thigh for support.

You just observed him for another moment, wondering what you had done, what good karma you must’ve earned that turned your night from an uncertain, horror movie situation to this situation.

“And now it’s your turn,” you told him.

Keith looked up at you. He regarded you with wide eyes.

You still sounded so breathless, in spite of how you were mischievously smiling down at him.

“Oh, you don’t have to—,” he caught his breath as you slid your hand over his cheek, “you can wait a second.”

“Nope,” you grinned, “don’t want to. Up,” you encouraged him, straightening up yourself, and slipping your hand down to squeeze at his shoulder.

Keith still looked so surprised, placing his hands on your legs for balance as he tried to sit up.

“You’re sure?”

“You just did me a favor,” you pointed out, “actually, several favors tonight— let me take care of you.”

Keith’s throat went dry, yet the speechlessness wasn’t at all unpleasant.

He swallowed.

“Alright,” he staggered from his knees into a standing position, “okay.”

You beckoned him over, still smiling a little sly.

“Come here,” you scooted to the right, giving him some space on the other side of the couch.

Keith, unsure of just what you were planning to do, laid down on his back again like he had earlier.

That’ll do, you decided.

You climbed over him, diving right down to his lips to kiss him, a momentary distraction as your hands strayed lower, tugging at the hem of his pants.

Keith quite literally whined into the embrace when you slipped past the layers of fabric to take him fully in hand, already wrapping your fingers around his cock and giving him a squeeze.

You pulled away once more, just to be safe.

“This okay?” You asked.

With his breath against your neck, Keith enthusiastically nodded.

“Yes,” his voice was strained, but you couldn’t have missed it when you were so physically close to him now.

Absorbing that, you started pumping him in earnest, slow enough that the both of you could enjoy this, though soon you had Keith involuntarily pressing his hips up into your hand for more.

He panted against your skin when you brushed your thumb over his tip, and you watched his eyes squeeze shut when you jerked him faster with every turn of your wrist.

“Oh,” Keith hummed under his breath, “fuck.”

You were certainly encouraged by every sound he made, grinning even as you breathed a little harder at the exertion of getting him off.

A pitiful moan in your ear was your first indication that he was close.

“Good?” You prompted.

Keith could only whimper.

“Good,” he finally managed, after stammering out a few sighs that weren’t quite words.

You worked your hand harder, stroking up and down his cock as quickly as you could until Keith himself was suddenly crying out again.

“Wait,” he panted, “hang on,” he was struggling underneath you, trying to fully kick off the pants that you had barely lowered.

“What?” You politely inquired, trying to be as courteous to Keith as he had been to you all night and stilling your strokes for a moment.

“These are the only ones I have to sleep in,” he gasped out, and you couldn’t stifle more of your laughter.

“Alright,” you nodded with understanding, helping him remove them before swiftly moving to his boxers as Keith pushed up his shirt.

He didn’t manage to take the thing off, however, because the second you’d slid down his shorts, you were back to jerking his cock in your hand, and he unconsciously arched his back up off the couch cushions, trying to get even nearer to you by some measure.

Keith was sighing with pleasure again, letting you pick up the pace and take care of him with as much haste as you wanted.

He shuddered, no doubt trying to warn you of how much closer you’d pushed him with just a few pumps.

Of course, you didn’t wait— not now.

“Go ahead,” you were whispering, without even thinking about it, “come for me.”

And with a groan, Keith had, grabbing for the fabric of the sofa and fisting some of it in his grip as he came against your hand.

You watched, wide-eyed, as he panted for air, expression contorted with bliss as he sighed, and waited until he was done before brushing a stray piece of hair out of his face.

“Perfect,” you told him, leaning to give him a peck on the cheek.

Tiredly, Keith chuckled in sheer relief.

“I’m gonna go grab some wipes,” you let go of his softening cock, pulling yourself up to stand again.

“Oh, no,” Keith tried to sit up, “I can clean myself up, you don’t—”

“Hey,” you interrupted him, “what did I just say?” You laughed.

Keith opened his mouth to respond, but, no doubt remembering your offer to attend to him instead of leaving Keith himself to take care of everything, he just snickered instead.

“You can just relax,” you’d reassured him, and you had no problem helping Keith after you’d already wiped your own hands.

The two of you were quiet afterwards, as you’d rejoined him on the sofa and Keith simply pulled you into a hug. You yourself weren’t eager to go anywhere, and so you’d settled against his side, reaching up to stroke his hair again.

And once you’d made yourself comfortable, Keith had stayed put for you, no questions asked.

•••

You lost count of the minutes that you remained curled on the couch together, as Keith finished his tea before it could get cold and every now and again you pulled away from him to sip some water.

“… So,” he piped up after a while. “The bedroom.”

You perked up.

“What about it?” You craned your neck so you could properly see him from the odd angle you were on.

“Were you kidding when you mentioned sharing it earlier? Or…?” Keith nervously trailed off. “Because I could totally go to sleep right here right now, on the couch!” He was speedily making reassurances again.

“Oh,” you commented, a little disappointed.

Was it greedy to still want more after all of that?

You had loved every bit of this night so far… but then, maybe that was the exact reason you didn’t want it to be over.

It occurred to you that you might never see this man again, and this might be your last chance.

You slowly nodded.

“We could go share the bedroom, sure,” you shifted to lie on your other side, making actual eye contact with Keith again, “I was just hoping we could do more than sleep,” you slid your hand down to his waist.

Keith inhaled.

“Ah,” he registered what was going on, much faster than he had the first several hundred times you tried to get his attention that night, “ok.”

Your hand drifted lower to caress him, sliding over the front of the boxers that he really hadn’t needed to put back on again. And Keith came to the same conclusion once you were already getting him half-hard again right there on the sofa, shockingly fast.

“Yeah,” Keith smiled dumbly with excitement, taking your hand in his own and pulling you both to your feet, “yeah, we can go do that.”

You were grinning all the same, not caring anymore if you looked stupid at this point in the evening.

It was your turn to stumble over your words as the both of you hurried into the room down the hall, Keith ahead and you trailing behind where you’d stopped to grab your overnight bag.

“Hey,” you called, “did you bring, like, anything for protection?”

When Keith slipped through the door first, he turned around halfway across the room, looking a little startled.

“For… are you asking me if I have a gun?” He asked.

“Fuck, no,” you were too distracted to even stop and laugh at his hilarious misinterpretation.

Maybe he is legitimately too tired for a second round.

You slid your hands over his hips again once you met him where he stood just beside the bed, and gently, you pushed him down onto it.

“Condoms,” you explained.

“Oh,” Keith looked up at you, brows still furrowed, “no?”

“That should be fine,” you said, pulling up your bag.

The last time you’d gone on a trip, you had brought along a variety of small items in a concealed pouch of your overnight bag, including but not limited to contraceptives in case you’d run into a hot stranger, imagine that before tonight (you’d also brought pepper spray too, to be fair). Before Keith, you couldn’t have pictured yourself doing anything quite as spontaneous as this.

You’d felt really stupid about it at the time, but now, you were grateful that you’d never unpacked them from the bag.

Keith used his elbows to prop himself up on the bed, looking in your direction with mild confusion.

“You just stay right there,” you directed, your lips turning up as you put a hand on his chest and pressed him back down.

Keith huffed, staring at the ceiling with a smile as he waited.

“Whatever you say.”

As you undressed, you tried not to think about the fact that this could be your first and last encounter with Keith Toshko.

You sincerely hoped this wasn’t a one night stand as you straddled his hips and slipped a condom over his length, observing the way Keith’s eyes fluttered shut every time you so much as touched him, and taking in every sigh and moan of satisfaction he uttered as you seated yourself atop him and moved— slowly, because you’d done this prepped with nothing but your own arousal— and you tried to memorize every noise.

Groaning, Keith let the back of his head hit a pillow.

He didn’t mind taking it slow— if anything, it was more intoxicating this way, as you seemed to tease him, savoring each and every second of this experience.

When you set your hands on his shoulders for balance, he understood what you needed, and he writhed up off the mattress as you tried to find a rhythm together.

You tightened your grip, still admiring his features in the warm, low light of the room.

Thrusting your own hips now, you angled yourselves so that every pump was perfectly aimed where his cock was pressed up inside you— the sensation had you cursing under your breath again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, “goddamnit, Keith.”

“Am I… am I doing good?” He tried. “Or is ‘goddamnit’ like, a bad thing?”

You broke into laughter again, and that further lightened your spirits (even if you were still intent on savoring this while you could).

“Yes, you are,” you assured, “that was a good ‘goddamnit’,” you informed him.

Keith caught his breath, brightly smiling again.

“Ok, got it,” he agreed, still trying to talk to you like you were having a casual conversation in spite of how breathless he was. “So I guess I shouldn’t stay completely still?”

You looked right down at him, flashing Keith a smile.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, pretty boy.”

That shut him up— well, he didn’t speak to you in words so much immediately after that, but Keith was groaning loud as ever as you worked your hips, fucking him speechless.

Your gaze stayed trained on him. You were still in awe that such a beautiful man was lying beneath you, an eager stranger who you’d only just met tonight.

As he managed to keep giving slight little thrusts up to compliment your own, brushing just right within you, more praise kept him vocal.

“That’s it,” you said to him, “good, good, just like that,” you continued, and Keith audibly moaned as your hips kept insistently pushing up against him as you bounced on him.

Clenching his fists around the bedsheets, Keith repeatedly gasped with each press, each thrust deeper inside the overwhelming warmth of you.

He whimpered as you edged the both of you closer and closer to orgasm, and when you grabbed frantically for his hair again and suddenly, sharply pulled, he knew you were finishing.

“Fuck,” you swore again, “Keith… holy fuck,” you squeezed around him, and the tightening sensation was what pushed Keith himself over the edge, leaving his eyes rolling shut as he gasped an open-mouthed moan.

And for a moment, there, all you could think about was how incredible it was that tonight had happened at all. That, given the less than ideal circumstances you’d been presented with (even if, under the surface, the double booking situation was quite fortunate), this was how things had turned out. You and Keith here, in the same space, and in bed together.

Considering how improbable it was that you two would have ever met at all, you could appreciate the serendipity of the scene before you.

You regarded him briefly before pulling off, but you knew you could admire him some more even if you weren’t completely entwined, and even if he himself looked half asleep already.

Winded by the end of it, Keith laid still, his eyes still closed, and you watched the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

By the time he opened them again, he saw your face inches away from his on the pillow where you’d joined him in the bed, and you were already pulling up a sheet over the both of you.

“Thank you,” he commented. “Was that… good?”

Your mouth curled into another grin.

“Good is an understatement,” you said, “for, you know, all of tonight.”

“Yeah,” Keith was nodding his head, “you were… you were good, too.”

“Why thank you, Keith,” you teased, simply charmed by his clumsy nature as you kissed him atop the nose.

Despite his exhaustion, he was burying faint laughter into the pillow.

“Really,” you said, “I liked it. All of it,” you added, swallowing against the anxiety that showing such vulnerability brought you.

But Keith instantly replied before you had time to second guess yourself.

“Me too.”

Without another thought, you threw your arms around him, burying yourself in the crook of his neck.

“G’night, Keith,” you mumbled, pressing your lips to his skin.

“Yeah,” he echoed, “good night,” he yawned into your hair.

And he mumbled something about “the morning,” but his words were already slurred by sleep, so you didn’t ask him to repeat it.

All you did was hug him closer to you, and listen to Keith happily sigh before he drifted off beside you.

•••

In the morning, you found a note on the table.

The house was quiet, and you’d awoke in bed by yourself, which left you momentarily forgetting about Keith Toshko and the night you’d shared (and by the time you did recall him, half wondering if you’d made it all up in a dream).

But sure enough, there was the little slip of paper:

Hey— I had to run, but thanks for last night! Totally get it if you stay over with your family, but hoping I’ll see you again tonight :)

- K

You smiled.

Maybe it wasn’t just a fleeting one-night encounter.

•••

Tagging: @elyntiasblog , @thedevotchka , @gard4629447 , and also @bottle-conjuror because look bestie I did the thing LMAO

Thank you for reading! 🧡