SUMMARY, you and your uncle, aerion, are very close, some might even say a bit too close.
╰┈➤ WARNINGS, nsfw, innocent reader, very suggestive, making out, lots of touching, age gap, aerion is in his late 20s/early 30s, targcest, uncle x niece, manipulation, dark themes, just a little short fic before the next episode of akotsk <3
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
⭒ uncle!aerion, whose hand would always linger for far longer than appropriate.
⭒ uncle!aerion, whose eyes would follow you everywhere like a moth drawn to the light.
⭒ uncle!aerion, whose actions would leave you tossing and turning all night, wondering whether or not your close relationship has blossomed into something more… intimate.
You and your uncle have always been awfully close, your bond going beyond what most would consider normal. Despite your family’s warnings to keep your distance from him, claiming he was ‘mad’, you felt he was misunderstood.
At first, Aerion wasn’t particularly pleased about you following him around like a shadow, but when he learned that you, too, were just as interested in dragons as he was, everything changed. Soon enough, the pair of you found comfort in each other. Where he lacked generosity, you lacked the courage to stand up for yourself and so, you made a surprisingly fine match.
Though your father was visibly concerned about your ‘friendship’ with his unstable younger brother, he trusted your empathy and hoped that with age, you would come to realise the kind of man he was. Much to his dismay, you did not. If anything, your infatuation with your uncle had only deepened.
No one could understand what the realm’s delight and it’s mad Targaryen prince shared that made them so fond of each other. You were kind-natured, full of compassion while your uncle was — well, he was the complete opposite.
But opposites attract, right?
Temptation has a way of finding everyone, even the most obedient children have something or someone that draws them toward rebellion and for you, that had always been your uncle. As a child, you often found yourself sneaking off to meet him and the two of you would disappear into your own little world.
Now that you were a woman grown, your outings with your uncle didn’t consist of watching some lifeless play — no, it appeared that the more you matured, the more dangerous the places he took you to spend your time together in became. Aerion would often tell you that he’d ‘put a dragon in you one day’, making you giggle, unaware of the dark meaning behind his words, taking them for nothing more than jests. If only you knew.
“You see my darling niece, the rest of our family isn’t like us.” He explained as the two of you lay cuddled together, hands intertwined, in a tiny room of a brothel. “They aren’t dragons, they wouldn’t understand the bond we share.” He continued in a soft voice, gently tucking your silver hair behind your ear before leaning in to kiss your temple.
It made perfect sense, just like everything that your darling uncle has ever said made sense. Anytime you came to him with any concerns, he knew exactly what to say to ease your nerves and like the young, naive girl you were, you believed every word that came out of his mouth. No matter how bizarre it sounded, you would simply nod, glossy eyes filled with admiration. After all, who were you to question him, the dragon himself?
For now, Aerion’s touches still remained fairly innocent — gentle pecks on the lips from time to time, laying with his head against your plush breasts as you stroked his hair to sleep. That was until one day, everything changed and those small pecks turned into heated make outs with you straddling your uncle’s lap.
Of course, poor, innocent you couldn’t grasp just how intimate your actions were. Over the years, you had grown so accustomed to your uncle’s lingering hands on your body that this seemed like another one of your games. When you were younger, Aerion could suppress his desires for you — but now, that your body had matured into one of a woman, he found himself unable to continue to do so.
“Mhm!” You squealed as you felt something hard press against your lower thigh. Confused, you pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you. When you asked your uncle about what exactly that was, he only chuckled at your innocence, finding it the most adorable thing. Perhaps, if you hadn’t skipped so many lessons with your septa to sneak out with your uncle, you wouldn’t be in this position.
“You’ll learn soon enough, zaldrītsos (little dragon), hm?” He’d say. Despite your eagerness to know, you also knew better than to argue with him. He smiled at your obedience and cupped your rosy-tinted cheek with his large hand. Closed your eyes, you nuzzled into his touch, letting yourself forget about all of your responsibilities as a princess. Here, in your darling uncle’s arms, none of it mattered.
Maybe if Daeron had watched over his first-born daughter more carefully, if he had not been so quick to dismiss your closeness with your uncle, everything might have turned out differently. Maybe if had he paid closer attention, his younger brother would never have gotten his filthy hands on you — would never have groomed you into becoming his perfect little doll. His perfect little princess to carry his heirs.
But that was just a maybe.
Worst of all, you remained completely unaware. As you rested peacefully on your uncle’s bare chest, feeling safe, you were too blinded by your twisted idea of love to realise that safety was the last thing you should have felt.
I have a request of maybe reader in a night out and she is drunk and she calls Eric ( who is her best friend but they won’t admit they want each other) and he comes and picks her up. She is a bit more relaxed and naughtier this time which leads to them…👀
Blurred Lines (Eric Draven x Reader)
Summary: You’re not supposed to get this drunk, and usually you don’t, but your boyfriend dumped you and your friends are bad influences and you can’t get a cab. So you call your best friend to pick you up and you vent about how frustrated you are and then you notice his big, tattooed hands and the broad set of his shoulders and the way he licks his lips when he looks at you, and you decide some friendships might be worth ruining.
You watch in dismay as the taxi glides right on past you, and you fight the urge to flip it the bird as it turns the corner. The club has long since closed, and you’re all alone in a bad part of downtown. You try to swallow against the anxiety clawing up your throat at the thought of how vulnerable you are right now. You’re not supposed to get this drunk. And usually you don’t, but your fucking boyfriend broke up with you yesterday and your girlfriends said the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one. And that sounded like bullshit, you knew that, but you were just so tired of being sad all the time.
The drinks had turned your brain fuzzy in the bad way, and every single guy that approached you exuded the sort of desperate, sleazy vibe that turned you off completely. You’d have been happy to just dance with your friends and call it a night, but they’d all paired off with randoms one by one, leaving you completely alone when the houselights went up. You shuffle from one foot to the other, wincing at the forming blister on the back of your heel. The night had turned out to be a complete and utter disaster. But you’re not going to call him. You’re not going to call him, because he’ll be rightfully, righteously pissed and you aren’t at all in the mood for a lecture. But then there’s a bang that’s probably a car backfiring but it sends your heart into your throat and you press the little green call button because a scolding from your best friend is better than being murdered in an alley, right?
“Lo?” His voice is a throaty rumble of sound, thick with sleep.
“It’s me. I, uh… I need a favour.”
Eric pushes himself up, rubbing sleep from his dry eyes as his hand curls around the phone. “Where are you?”
“Downtown. I went to Pulse with some of the girls but I can’t seem to, uh, like catch a cab?”
He’s more alert with every passing second, throwing his sheets off and getting out of bed. “Drop me a location pin, I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.”
And Eric is fucking exhausted from a long night of his own, but he still stops at the mirror in the hall to smooth the scruffy back of his hair down and rub at the smudge of charcoal on his cheek. His latest work, an enormous charcoal design of a ballet dancer with a face that definitely isn’t his best friends sits on an easel by the balcony, the stark black on white contrast practically glowing in the moonlight. He sighs at it once before reaching for his keys and heading out into the night.
You hear the low rumble of his engine as he idles the car beside you, and shoot him what you hope is a contrite, grateful smile as you wobble around the front of the car to slide into the passenger seat. “You’re a lifesaver, Draven.”
“You’re drunk.” It isn’t really an accusation, but Eric’s mouth twists to the side as he scans over you for signs of distress. Your hair is messy from standing out in the light breeze, and you smell like vodka and stale smoke, but you look okay. You slump back in the seat, your little dress riding up your thighs, and Eric swallows. You look more than okay.
“Men are the fucking worst.”
Eric hums in agreement. “Any man in particular, or?”
“Jack broke up with me.”
Eric’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as he works very hard to keep his face neutral. “Sorry. That sucks.”
“Yeah.” You huff. “His loss, right?”
“Right.” And Eric might sound casual, but he means it with every fibre of his being. “Fuck men.”
You laugh. “Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I still want to fuck men.”
Eric swallows hard. “I’m sure there were… I’m sure you could have found someone to… tonight. Pulse is like, you know.”
You scoff. “The men were creatures. I mean, I’m not desperate.” You drop your head against the headrest, pushing your spine up as you try to get comfortable and giving Eric a distractingly good view of your tits pressing against the front of your dress. His cock stirs to life as he looks and he has to force himself to stare straight ahead at the road and think about anything else to stop himself getting properly hard. Because he’d still been groggy when he threw his clothes on, and the grey sweatpants sat low on his hips will hide nothing.
“I just need,” you sigh, “a good fuck.” You practically moan the last word, and Eric nearly crashes the goddamn car. He does swerve a little as his head shoots to the side to look at you, and his eyes roll back for a moment at how wrecked and delicious you look. Sprawled over his seat, dress hitched so far up your thighs he can almost see your panties. Eyes closed and biting your lip like you’re picturing the good fuck. And he lets his eyes wander over the bare expanses of your skin, even though his cock is genuinely straining against the front of his sweats now. But you have your eyes closed, maybe you’re taking a power nap. And there’s no harm in looking, is there? Call it artistic inspiration, a little gift from the muses.
He’s so busy raking his eyes over you that he doesn’t notice that your own have opened. You watch your best friend watch you and you feel heat curl low in your stomach at the hunger in his gaze. Because Eric is your best friend, but he’s also a hot fucking man. No doubt about it. He hadn’t always been this hot, but the potential had been there for a long time. Pretty green eyes, sharp bone structure and the sexiest full mouth you’d ever seen on a boy. Then he’d had his heart broken at twenty one and had started dying his hair black and getting as many tattoos as he could afford and spending late nights in the gym, and now he was… well. If he hadn’t been your friend, you’d have made him yours in another way a long time ago. It feels strange to be looked at like that by Eric, but the alcohol hums in your blood and your clit throbs under his attention and you picture his inked fingers sliding up your thigh and oh no.
It’s a primal, unconscious decision to invite him in when he pulls up outside your apartment building. “Walk me in.”
Eric chews his bottom lip, shifting in his seat, and your eyes flick down to the little wet patch staining the front of his sweats. “It’s late.”
“Then sleep over. C’mon, I’ll even take the couch.”
Eric scoffs, shaking his head, but there’s a little smile curving on his pretty mouth and you know you’ve won.
Eric drops onto your couch, subtly adjusting himself to shove his still-hard cock to the side where it will hopefully be mostly hidden by the thick fabric of his pocket.
“Want a beer?”
“Water.” Eric calls to you where you stand rummaging through your fridge. “For us both.”
You sigh dramatically as you pull two bottles and toss one to him. “Whatever you say, dad.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Do not call me that again. Ever.”
“Okayyyy,” you tease, stepping in front of him and shoving his knees apart so you can reach forward and tug on a loose lock of his hair. “Daddy.”
Eric’s fist closes around the water bottle with a crackling crunch of plastic as the lid pops under pressure, sloshing icy over Eric’s shirt and your dress. You squeak at the sudden chill, eyes widening in shock as you take a step back. He looks a little murderous even as a blush stains his cheeks, and you can’t deny the thrill it sends through you to have gotten him so worked up so quickly.
“Well now I’m all wet.” You murmur, raising an eyebrow at him. Eric sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and his eyes drop down to the clinging fabric of your dress and the sharp little peaks of your nipples.
“Sorry.” He mumbles, eyes still glued to your tits. You can’t help the smirk that forms on your face as you reach for the hem of your dress and pull it off over your head in one clean motion. And your smirk only widens as Eric’s pretty mouth falls open and his pupils expand, drinking in the damp, bare skin of your breasts where they spill over the cups of your bra. A good day to wear the push up, you think as you reach forward to press your fingers to his chin and tilt his head up.
“Eyes up here, Draven.”
His eyes go wide as he realises he’s been caught staring at you like you’re a piece of meat, and a pink blush tinges his cheeks. “Shit. Sorry.”
You roll your eyes as you release his chin and turn around, crossing to the dresser beside your bed and rummaging for a shirt. You reach around to unhook your bra, sighing with relief as it drops to the floor and you finally feel like you can breathe properly again.
Eric watches your bra drop to the floor and sees the bare curve of your breasts as you lift a shirt over your head, and the mouthful of water he’d just taken sprays out to further soak his shirt as he chokes. You turn your head to look over your shoulder at him. “You okay?”
“Can you… shit.” He clears his throat, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. “Can you put some clothes on?”
You roll your eyes and tug the shirt down, the fabric falling to mercifully cover your torso. “They’re just boobs. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Like it isn’t fucking different that they belong to his best friend. Like his cock isn’t already leaking again at the memory of what they look like. And then Eric realises you’re wearing one of his shirts, and he groans. “That’s not fucking better.”
You roll your eyes as you pad back to the couch, crawling onto the couch beside him before wriggling down to lie across it, your head in his lap. You look up at him, biting your bottom lip into your mouth, and Eric is painfully aware that his cock is maybe an inch away from that mouth. It’s all he can focus on, the arousal mixing with dread at the thought of his cock twitching and you seeing it.
But then you say “I just need a good fuck.” Whilst looking up at him, and Eric’s head drops back against the couch.
“You can’t just fucking say shit like that to me.”
You hum. “It’s not like a big deal, Eric. Just need something to like, purge all this fucking energy.”
Eric’s cock does twitch then, straining against the fabric of his sweats, and he feels the shift as you roll your head to the side and see it. “Shit.” He mumbles, reaching down to shove it to the side again. “Sorry.”
You wriggle closer, and Eric’s head shoots forward to watch as you part your lips and mouth at the rigid length of him through his sweatpants. His fingers prod at your cheek, half-heartedly trying to push you away when all he wants to do is lace them in your hair and fuck your mouth.
You sigh, the wetness of your tongue dampening his crotch. “Would you do it?”
Eric frowns, swallowing a moan as he tries to focus. “Do what?”
“Me. Hah.”
His brain maybe shortcircuits then as he pictures it. Pictures peeling that shirt, his shirt, off your body and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. But there’s a glassiness to your eyes, and he forces himself to remember that he picked you up outside a club. “You’re drunk.”
“No I’m not, not anymore.”
And Eric groans as you press kisses to the stiff length of him where it’s pressed to your cheek, and his other hand drops from the back of the couch to your stomach, fingers trailing lower to the hem of his shirt. “Yeah?”
“Please.”
He pushes your shirt up and drops his fingers to the lace front of your panties, and he moans at how wet you are where you’ve soaked them. “You sure?”
You whimper, your breath catching at the feeling of just the tips of his fingers against you. “Please, Eric.”
Eric switches off the part of his brain that tells him this is a bad idea, and he hums low in his throat as he rubs you through the fabric, relishing in the breathy little sounds you make as you nuzzle against his crotch.
“You want me to touch you?” His voice is wrecked already, and his heart’s beating so fast he thinks he might pass out.
“Yes,” your own voice is a whisper of sound as your hips lift off the couch, chasing friction.
Eric shifts a little, giving himself better access to you and nudging his bulge against your mouth in the process. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and pull his cock out the top, licking at the glistening, sticky head. Your clit throbs and you feel a fresh gush of arousal soak your panties at the musky salt of him, and the rumbling moan that spills from his lips at the light brush of your tongue against his sensitive tip. His fingers scrape at the side of your underwear until he can push underneath the elastic, dipping between your folds to caress against you as he searches upwards for your clit.
At the brush of his calloused fingertips against your clit you whimper, sucking the head of his cock into your mouth and laving your tongue against the vein running along the underside of it. “Fuck.” Eric spits between gritted teeth, letting his fingers drag lower to push just inside you. “You’re fucking soaked.”
You moan around his cock, lifting your head to take more of his length into your mouth, and Eric cradles the back of your neck to provide you some support so you can bob your head back and forth. Eric’s fingers fuck gently into you, shallow at first as he works you open, and his thumb stretches up to rub circles against your clit until you whine.
“More?” He asks on a little huff of an exhale, his hips jerking lightly into your mouth as you try to bear down against the infuriating gentleness of his fingers inside you.
You pull back until his cock pops out of your mouth. “More, Eric. Like you mean it.”
Eric sighs, stilling his hand for a moment before he shoves his fingers into you so hard your whole body moves with the thrust. He curls them against your walls and your vision blurs as your eyes unfocus. “Like I mean it, huh?”
His tone is so smug, and when you finally manage to focus on his face there’s a ridiculously sexy, infuriating smirk on it. And that won’t do at all. You squeeze his cock at the base and bring it back to your mouth, pushing your tongue into the sensitive slit on the head of his cock. The smile drops off his face as his lips part on a groan, and the hand on the back of your head fists your hair and pushes, hard.
Your eyes go wide as his cock slides down the back of your throat, bumping against your tonsils in a way that makes you gag unattractively as he thrusts into your mouth. “Jesus fuck,” he moans, thrusting harder into your throat as his fingers curl and stretch and open you. You can hear how wet you are, the squelching sound of flesh gliding against slick as you leak onto the couch beneath you.
You hum against his length, and Eric makes a strangled whining sound in the back of his throat before tightening his fingers in your hair and tugging your head backwards until you pull off him completely.
“I wanna be inside you,” he mumbles, pulling his fingers out of you to focus all his attention on your clit. “You want that?”
“On the bed,” you whimper as you push up to a seated position. You wince at the empty feeling inside you, at the dull aching of your clit. Eric shoves his sweatpants off and lifts his shirt over his head, and for a moment you can’t do anything but stare at every beautiful exposed inch of him. You’d known about his tattoos. There were plenty you could see, inked over his arms and up the sides of his neck, and you’d seen them revealed in the strip of skin above his waistband when his shirt rode up. But seeing them all, and seeing the ones lower have your mouth falling open.
A pretty blush spreads across Eric’s face as he fidgets under the weight of your stare, but his cock twitches upwards and your eyes are drawn to the thick, beautiful length of him as you press your thighs together. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Eric. You know that?”
Eric scoffs, reaching for your hands and hauling you against his body. You’re shorter than him, most people are, and he wastes no time in hooking his fingers into the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. The shirt drops to the floor at your feet and Eric’s big hands cup your breasts, thumbing over the peaks of your nipples as he dips his head and presses his lips to your own.
You gasp into the kiss, because somehow this, kissing him like this, feels more intimate than having his cock in your mouth. At the parting of your lips Eric slips his tongue against yours in a gentle caress that threatens to buckle your knees, and you moan into his mouth. His hands leave your breasts to rest on your hips as he begins to walk backwards, carefully leading you to the bed. He sinks onto the mattress, pulling you along with him and parting his legs so you can stand between them. Like this you’re almost the same height, and you thread your fingers through his hair and pull as you climb into his lap and grind your soaked underwear against his cock.
“Fuck,” he mumbles against your mouth. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this forever.”
You freeze, pulling away from him. Eric doesn’t notice at first, his mouth dips to your neck to press hot, open mouthed kisses into your flesh as his hands slip round to squeeze your ass, rocking you against him.
“You have?”
He does notice then, notices the waver in your voice, and he licks nervously over his bottom lip as he looks at you. “I mean, yeah.”
“Oh.” You steady yourself against his broad shoulder, pushing your hair out of your face.
“Is that… is it bad?”
“No.” You reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just… I didn’t know.”
“I never wanted you to know.” Eric says quietly, splaying his hands over your ass cheeks and rubbing over the flesh at the base of your spine with his thumbs. “Never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”
“Because we’re friends.” You sigh, tilting your hips just enough to press your clit against his cock, still slick with your saliva. “Best friends.”
Eric hums his agreement, though his cock throbs and twitches against you and his hands are still very much on your ass. “Should we…” You break off, chewing your lip. “Should we not do this?”
Eric swallows hard, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, and you have to fight the urge to lean in and suck his lip into your mouth. “For the sake of our friendship.” He says with a sigh. “Probably a bad idea.”
Reality feels like a punch in the gut as you slide off his lap and scan the floor for your discarded shirt. You crouch to pick it up, dropping it over your head whilst Eric watches from your bed. When you turn around he’s still hard, eyes full of unbridled desire as he rakes his gaze over you.
“You want your sweatpants?” You ask, taking a step backwards, but your eyes remain locked on his.
“No.” His hand wraps around the base of his cock, and he squeezes until his eyes flutter closed.
“What are you…” you break off, your throat closing as blood rushes to your face and your cunt in equal dizzying measure. Because Eric’s fist is jerking up and down his length, his thumb swiping precum from the tip as he drags it down to slick his length. His lips part around a soft moan, and you’re completely frozen in place as you watch your best friend jerk off on your bed like every fantasy you’ve ever had come to life. “Eric,” you whisper.
His eyes open, the green of his irises little more than tiny bands of light around the darkness of his blown pupils. “Shit, please,” he whimpers, hand a blur against his cock. “Say my name again. Please.”
You shouldn’t. You should step into the bathroom and give him some privacy, or throw cold water over yourself to calm down so you can think clearly. But he looks so good as he sinks his teeth into his swollen bottom lip, and there’s a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his face that you want to lick off him.
“Eric,” you murmur, slipping your own fingers up under the hem of your shirt to rub over the front of your panties. “You want to see my pussy?”
Eric can only nod, the lump of shame and desire in his throat is too big to let him do anything else. His cock twitches and thickens in his palm as your underwear slips down your thighs and drops to the floor, and he follows your legs back up to the hem of your shirt as you lift it up, up, up. “Ohhhh,” he chokes out, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he clamps his teeth together and tries to memorise every single perfect part of you. Your arousal glistens on your thighs and practically drips from your folds, and when your fingers slip inside to open you up he can see the swollen bud of your clit. “Touch yourself.” He spits, the words coming out so garbled around a moan that he’s not sure you understand.
But then you hum as you roll your middle finger over your clit in little circles, and Eric feels his release tightening in his stomach as his cock twitches in his palm.
“Like this?” You ask softly, collecting the arousal from your entrance and returning to rub at your clit.
“Fuck yourself on your fingers. Like I did.”
Your eyes open and you pout your bottom lip out in a way that’s somehow cute and hot at the same time. “Doesn’t feel as good as you, Eric. Nothing ever has.”
Eric forces his hand to go slack because he’s about to cum. The filthy words, the filthy images they conjure, and the pretty, doe-eyed look on your face as you touch yourself has sent him hurtling right to the edge, and he’s not at all ready for this to be done.
“Oh fuck this.” He says as he pushes off the bed and crosses the room, hooking an arm around your waist and hoisting you into his arms, bridal style.
You squeak, your wet fingers gripping his shoulder, and Eric turns his head to nuzzle at them, inhaling the scent of your arousal. “Eric!”
“No more talking.” He says, dropping you on the bed and pushing your knees apart.
You press your lips together as he drinks you in, memorizing every inch of your skin so he can draw it later. Looking at you now, Eric knows that he’s doomed. Doomed to draw you every time he opens up his sketch pad, probably forever. Doomed to compare the curves of your body to every single other woman he ever meets for the rest of his life. Doomed to be hopelessly in love with his best friend, even if that meant being just your friend.
“Fuck me, Eric.” You breathe, hooking a leg around the back of his thigh. “I want you to.”
Eric feels an absurd urge to cry as he drops his body over yours and rubs his cock through your slick. You hum, and the hot, silky wetness of your skin against his sensitive tip is almost enough to make him cum. He knows he can’t, knows fucking you badly would be worse than not fucking you at all, but he’s so out of his mind turned on it’s a genuine struggle not to blow his load as he presses the head of his cock inside you.
You suck in a breath, muscles fluttering like you’re trying to drag him deeper, and Eric makes a pretty, broken sobbing sound. “I’m gunna cum too fast.” He grits out.
“I don’t care,” you mumble back, digging your heel into the back of his thigh. “Need you to fill me up.”
Eric couldn’t stop himself if he tried. He thrusts forward, sheathing himself in the tight heat of your cunt until he bottoms out with a low moan. You clench around him immediately, squeezing every pulsing inch of him, and Eric’s eyes roll back at the intense feeling.
He’s been with girls before, obviously. Plenty of girls. But with you it feels like the first time. He feels like a goddamn virgin, because he’s pretty sure nothing in the world could compare to the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him and your hands on his face and your lips parting around his name.
“You can move, Eric.” You whisper. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Eric nods, but he stays right where he is, frozen inside you as you pulse around him. He wants to fuck you so badly but he’s pretty sure that the moment he tries to move, he’ll cum. And then you’ll be disappointed, or embarrassed for him. And he’ll die.
“Fuck this,” you sigh, shoving at his shoulder until he pulls out and rolls off you. Eric feels the blood rushing to flood his face, and that awful prickling is back in his eyes. But then you climb onto his lap and sit down on his cock in one quick motion, and all Eric can do is grab your hips and stare at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw as you start to bounce on his cock.
His fingers dig harshly into your skin as you roll your hips, dragging your clit against his pelvic bone. His hips lift off the bed to meet yours, the harsh sound of flesh slapping against flesh drowning out the little moans spilling from your lips as you feel your orgasm building in your core. “Oh fuck,” Eric groans. “I’m gunna cum.”
You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, riding him hard and clenching around his cock. “Wait for me.”
And Eric wants to. He’d give anything to hold it off, to hold onto this feeling for longer, but he just can’t. His cock twitches once, twice, and he spills inside you, coating your walls with his release as he lets out a low, throaty moan of your name. He pins you against him, his cock grinding lightly inside you as you squeeze around him, milking every last drop of his cum until he’s shuddering. “That was,” he sighs, hands dropping to the mattress. “Holy shit.”
But then you clamp down hard on his cock and roll your hips forward, and Eric’s hands shoot back to your hips as he tries to stop your movement.
“I didn’t cum yet.” You say, leaning forward to press one hand into the mattress beside his head as the other wraps around his throat. “You’re gunna lie there and let me use you until I do.”
This is the meanest, sexiest thing Eric has ever heard. His eyes flutter closed at the pressure against his throat, and his cock twitches with renewed interest as you push up onto your knees and drop back down. You press harder against his throat, crushing the air from his lungs until his face flushes and he gasps. You lean down to connect your mouth to his, desperate to taste the pretty little whines slipping out from his parted lips, and he licks his tongue up into your mouth eagerly. “Please,” he whispers against your lips, and you feel your clit throb as your climax nears.
“Shit, Eric,” you whimper, sucking his bottom lip against your teeth hard enough to leave an imprint against the pillowed flesh. “Gunna cum.”
“Yeah,” he breathes against you, hands squeezing your hips as he helps you to rock back and forth. “Cum on my cock.”
His voice is low and rough and wrecked, and the rumble of sound through his chest combined with the tight drag of his cock against your walls sends you hurtling over the edge. Your body seizes up, your toes curl like a bad romance novel, and you all-but cry his name as you cum, fluttering around him.
Eric grits his teeth against the slight discomfort of overstimulation, focusing on how insanely pretty you look as you fall apart on his cock.
You slump forward, letting his cock slip out of you as you flop deadweight onto his chest, and Eric wraps his arms around you tightly and presses his face to the damp warmth of your hair. He wants to memorise the feel of you too, in case this is all he ever gets.
“Okay,” you hum after a moment. “So, I was half right.”
Eric shifts you to the side and you settle onto the mattress beside him. He’s delighted to find you don’t pull away, curling against his side and trailing one of his tattoos with the tip of your finger.
“Half right?”
“Yeah,” you say. “I did need a good fuck. But not just any fuck. I needed… that. You.”
Eric swallows, feeling his heartrate accelerate dangerously as he tries not to get his hopes up. “Specifically me, huh?”
“Yeah. Like, doing it with a friend is… I don’t know. More intense?”
Eric feels the words like a knife in his stomach. “Right.”
“Don’t you think?” You turn your head, pressing your cheek to his chest as you look up at him.
Eric really, really hopes his face isn’t crumpling the way his insides are. “Uh, I don’t know. I guess so.”
Your shoulders sag and you drop onto your back beside him. “Well, good. So we’re… good.”
You stare up at the ceiling, listening to the in and out of Eric’s breathing beside you and fighting against the sting of tears in your eyes.
You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but by the time you wake there’s a sliver of light cracking through under the curtains and a warm hand on your thigh. You tense as Eric’s fingers flex against your flesh and he stirs. You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the mattress shift beside you and the tickle of his breath against your skin as he rolls onto his side.
“You sleeping?”
You don’t move a muscle, and you pray your eyes aren’t flickering behind your lids, or that he can’t see.
His fingers drag lightly up your thigh, ghosting just barely over your pussy. You feel a jolt of arousal pulse through you at the phantom contact, your clit throbbing with desire as his breath hitches. “Fuck,” he whispers, parting your folds gently and brushing the tip of his index finger against your clit.
You swallow, your pussy clenching around nothing as his finger rubs soft, maddeningly slow circles over your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter as Erics fingers dip lower to collect the arousal slicking through your folds, spreading it over your sensitive bud before he returns to rubbing those same soft circles against the swelling bundle of nerves. “I wish you were awake,” he whispers, and you hear the soft exhale as his lips brush against your shoulder. “I wish you were more than my friend.”
You almost open your eyes, but then he might stop talking, and he might stop touching you. The coil of your orgasm is building deliciously, sensuously slowly, and you think you might cry if he takes his fingers away from you before you get to cum.
“I wish you were mine. Just mine.”
You bite down on the inside of your cheek as a whimper breaks free, and you feel the burn of his eyes on your face. His fingers speed up against you, increasing in pressure until you can hear the wet sounds of your arousal.
“I’d make you cum like this every day,” he whispers, lips directly against your skin. “On my fingers or my tongue or my cock. I’d give you all of it.”
You whimper again, hips lifting to chase the friction as your orgasm nears. You badly want to ask him to fuck you again, to feel the intense, overwhelming sensation of being filled by his cock as you cum, but you’re still so worried he’ll freak out. His thumb takes over on your clit as his fingers brush low, dipping inside you, and you clench around them, letting moans slip from your lips as his fingers fuck up into your g-spot and curl.
And you’re so close, you’re right on the edge when his fingers withdraw and he rolls over with a soft sigh. “I guess not.”
Your eyes open and you huff a curse under your breath as you turn your head to look at him. Your eyes narrow at the smirk on his face as he lifts his wet fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. “Gotcha.”
You swallow, watching the way his tongue curls around his fingers as your clit throbs painfully. “That was mean.”
“Yeah?” He asks softly, bringing his damp fingers to your mouth and tracing the outline of your lips. “You were pretending the whole time.”
“You knew I was awake?” Your lips barely move as you speak, but you feel the rough brush of his calloused fingertips against you and resist the urge to bite his black painted nails.
“Hoped you were.”
And sure, there’s the ruined orgasm to consider. But he’d told you he wanted to be more than friends. And he’d hoped you were listening.
“We can’t go back, you know.” You say carefully, licking the pad of his finger because you genuinely can’t help yourself.
Eric hums, rolling onto his side and cupping your jaw to turn your face to him. “I don’t wanna go back. I want more. I want both. To be your friend, and to be more. Cuz you’re everything to me.”
You swallow hard, ignoring the way your heart thunders in your chest. “What if we fuck it up?”
Eric’s mouth twists into a lopsided smirk as he dips his head to press his lips to yours. “Yeah, but what if we don’t?”
Hiii love, ADORE your writing. Was just wondering since I know you’re married and all, do you think of your husband when writing this? Or is it like you think of Bill and then your husband knowing you’ll do this with him? Lol sorry if it’s too personal. Also does your husband look anything like Bill? And how did u meeet
Ah thank you so much! I'm glad you like my writing :)
OH no, when I'm writing it's PURELY fantasy, so I'm thinking about Bill or whichever character I'm writing about really.
PLUSSSS considering I often write pretty messy/dark stuff I'm definitely not recreating it with my husband hahaha.
I think he looks a bit like Bill, and friends/family have said so as well. We met in a coffee shop when I was trying to enjoy some solo caffeine and he was... persistent (and very cute)
Hiii I wanted to ask if you are open for requests? If yes I have an idea of roman x reader period smut, maybe like reader being uncomfortable and in pain so Roman comes to rescue. You can write it kinkier if you want I’m sure we will love it🥰
Attentive (Roman Godfrey x Reader)
Summary: You’ve been hiding from your boyfriend, feeling gross and not at all up for playing Roman’s usual games. He climbs into your bedroom window when you’re getting ready to go to sleep and helps relieve your cramps.
Warnings: Oral (F!receiving), period sex
Word Count: 2250
MDNI, fic under the cut
I’m coming over. You glance at your phone and roll your eyes, shooting off a reply.
No, you’re not. I’m sick.
I’ll bring you some Tylenol.
You roll your eyes again, reading and rereading the blunt message from your boyfriend. Roman was a lot of things, but caregiver wasn’t one of them. He wanted to come over because you’d been avoiding him for three days and he had blue balls. That was all. And if you had a headache or a cold or something, you’d probably have given in and invited him over. But you were on day three of an absolutely monstrous period and there was no way you were going to endure the look on his face when he realized why you’d closed up shop. Not to mention he’d probably expect a blowjob instead, and you felt icky.
A wave of cramps seize low in your stomach and you groan, rolling onto your side and pressing a pillow firmly against the ache.
Not tonight.
Roman reads your message, the three little dots appear, and then they stop. You sigh, biting your lip. He’ll be sulking now, and you’ll have to make it up to him. When you’re feeling more like a person and less like a bruise.
You manage to fall asleep eventually, the TV blaring a sitcom rerun and casting your room in technicolour shadows. You hear something, a tapping, and a grating sound, but you squeeze your eyes shut. You’re so tired, you’re not gunna spook yourself over the wind and lose out on any more sleep.
“Shit.” Your eyes do open then, at the familiar hiss of Roman’s stage-whisper as he stumbles over your shoes and his knees thud into your bedframe. You roll over, glaring at him in the half-darkness.
“I said not tonight.” You whisper.
“Yeah, and it’s four am. Technically, it’s tomorrow.”
You can feel Roman’s smirk more than you can see it, and you narrow your eyes at him as you reach for the lamp on your bedside table. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, like it always does. His hair is a little messy, his shirt untucked and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Roman,” you sigh, pushing your hand through your hair and shrugging up to sit against your headboard.
“I just missed you is all,” he mumbles, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. You know he’s being performative, that this is a practiced deception, but you roll your eyes and throw your duvet open for him anyway.
“Come here, silly boy.”
He toes his shoes off as he climbs onto your mattress, his body dropping over yours and his hands sliding up under your shirt to press into the flesh of your stomach. You wince, trying to draw your knees up, but Roman’s pressed himself firmly against you, firmly in the way.
“You got a tummy ache?” He coos, a mocking smirk on his face as his fingers press harder against your swollen stomach.
“Roman, please.” You mumble, trying to pull his hand away from you by the wrist.
“I coulda brought you like, a laxative or something. I mean, I’m not a pussy, I could hold your hair back while you puke or whatever.”
The fingers on your stomach begin to wander, exploring your skin as they brush against the waistband of your pyjama pants and you groan.
“It’s not that. I mean, my stomach hurts, but it’s not that. It’s-“
Roman dips his head, his nose brushing against your jaw as he nudges your face up and pecks your lips gently. “What, baby? You got your period or something?”
You freeze, and Roman’s eyes go wide, his pupils expanding like he’s just done a line of something expensive and illegal. “What?”
“You got your period? You’re on your period right now?”
His voice is tighter, his fingers still against you. “I did tell you not to come over.” You mumble, blinking at a point on his sternum and willing the embarrassed tears to remain in your eyes. They don’t.
Roman pulls back when he feels the wetness drop onto his neck, and his brow furrows. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not… it’s not a bad thing.”
You shake your head, pressing your face against him. “Sorry. I’m just all emotional and whatever. I haven’t showered, I feel gross. And I’m bleeding.”
Roman’s breath hitches, his fingers dipping under the waistband of your pyjamas, and you pull your face from his neck to stare at him, wide-eyed. “After what I just said? Did you even hear me say I’m bleeding.”
“Yeah,” Roman’s voice is a strangled moan, and he shifts his hips against you. He’s hard, rock fucking solid. “You have no idea… how much I like that.”
You shift against him, pressing your thigh against the bulge in his pants, and Roman’s eyes flutter closed. “You like… that I’m bleeding?”
He whimpers, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. “Shit. I mean, I don’t like if you’re in pain. Wish you weren’t but fuck yeah I like it. Never wanted to fuck you so badly.”
Arousal begins to throb and tighten in your core, mingling with the pain of your cramps in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant, and you press your thighs together even as Roman’s fingers probe lower, over the front of your panties. There’s a distinctive crinkle sound, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he withdraws his hand. “Pads?”
“When I’m alone.” You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. “It’s more comfortable for sleeping.” Roman’s hand pushes against your hip, rolling you onto your back as he props himself up on one elbow and kicks your duvet off the bed.
“Can I… see?”
Your eyes open to glare at him. “Fuck off.”
He sighs, pressing his palm against your core and grinding the heel of his hand against you. The incriminating crinkle of the pad whispers through the silence again, but this time he ignores it and so do you. “Baby, you’re killing me. Know how hard I am for you?” He reaches for your hand and presses it against his cock. “And besides, sex is good for cramps. That’s science. That’s healthcare.”
You roll your eyes as you squeeze his cock, and his hips chase your hand as you withdraw it. Roman sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and hooks his index fingers into your waistband, yanking your pyjama pants down to your knees and ignoring your squeal of indignation. But removing them does feel good, helps relieve some of the pressure the elastic was putting on your swollen stomach. Roman crawls down the bed and pushes your legs apart, dropping his head forward to nuzzle his nose against the front of your underwear. The metallic scent of your blood mixes with the fresh, rich scent of your arousal and Roman’s eyes roll back in his head. He hooks his fingers into your panties and shimmies them down your legs, eyes flicking back up to your face every few seconds to see if you’re really hating it. He tells himself he’ll stop if you really want him to, and he almost believes it until the sight of the thick, fresh crimson blood glistening against your pussy drives all rational thought from his head.
Roman doesn’t stop to ask, to check before he buries his face in your cunt. He’s gone down on girls like this before, but they all used tampons and Roman had never thought about how different pads would be before now. Theres so much more blood, smeared over your pussy from where you’d tossed and turned in bed. Roman sucks every part of you into his mouth, the slurping, squelching sounds lurid and hot as fuck as his cock is crushed between his thighs and his stomach. He doesn’t care, thinks he’ll probably come like that, without you even touching him. Roman’s fingers push into your slick hole, dragging more fresh blood out of you. He sucks his fingers into his mouth alongside your swollen clit, groaning at the taste, the heat of you as you whimper and writhe beneath him.
You should be embarrassed. You will be, tomorrow. But right now, Roman’s tongue is fucking magic. Your cramps have faded into a barely-noticeable soreness as your muscles relax, all the tension in your body focusing down to one, white-hot point of pleasure as Roman sucks and nudges and laps at you.
You come with a gasp, your hips lifting to mash Roman’s perfect face deeper, messier into your pussy as your body spasms with shocks so intense they border on pain. Roman’s fingers fuck into you again, the veins in his hand bulging under the strain as he draws every last drop of your arousal and your blood out of you, taking advantage of the contractions of your orgasm.
When he’s absolutely sure there’s nothing left, not a single drop of your blood left anywhere, he lifts his head and crawls up your body. You’re boneless beneath him, completely fucked out, but you manage to open your eyes and lift one shaking leg to hook over his ass. “You’re still hard,” you mumble.
Roman rolls his hips down against your bare core, the friction from his pants making you jerk away from the overstimulation. “You gunna let me fuck you, pretty girl?”
You nod, eyes glassy as your leg drops back to the bed and you spread your thighs wider for him.
Roman sits back on his heels and hums in approval at how quickly you bared yourself for him, how easily you gave up on all that ridiculous shame in order to give him what he wanted. He thumbs his pants and boxers down to his knees and drops over you, propping himself up on his palms as his cock slides up through the slickness of your folds. You whine, simultaneously trying to get away from the sensation and push the blunt head of his cock towards your entrance. Roman slides a hand down between your bodies, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit for a moment before gripping the base of his cock and lining himself up with your entrance. He drops his gaze to watch as he pushes his cock inside of you, biting on the inside of his cheek as your walls tighten and flutter around him. “Please,” you sigh, and Roman doesn’t fight the smirk curling on his mouth as he pulls out and pushes back in, hips finding a steady rhythm that edges him towards his orgasm without letting him come too fast. He’s ready to blow, has been since the first taste of you, but you look so good under him, such a pretty mess, and he wants to take his time. Though he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to convince you to do this again, and the thought of having the cocktail of your blood and cum for a week every month has him so close to blowing his load that he has to shut his eyes and think about Pryce’s balls to calm himself down enough to keep fucking you.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He spits through gritted teeth, eyes rolling as you squeeze his cock hard at the praise. “So fuckin tight for me. Letting me eat that little pussy all messy.”
You moan, the heat in your cheeks at his lurid words second only to the heat between your legs as Roman’s hips drive up, changing the angle of his thrusts and dragging the sensitive head of his cock against your g-spot.
“There,” you whisper, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes at the intensity of the feeling. Your cramps really are gone now, replaced with the tight heat of your second orgasm building in your core.
Roman holds his position, pummelling his cock into that sensitive spongey spot inside you until your eyes fly open and your cunt clenches around him erratically. You don’t need to tell him you’re coming, he can feel it, and he gives himself permission to join you, his release painting your insides creamy to mingle with the blood already squeezing its way out of your uterus again.
The sight of the pinkish streaks of blood decorating his cock as he pulls it out of you almost makes him want to push back in and fuck you until he’s hard again, but you drop to the bed like a ragdoll and Roman almost feels bad for taking so much from you. He taps the head of his cock lightly against your clit, enjoying the way you jerk away like he’s shocked you, before pulling his boxers and pants back up. He pulls your underwear back up your legs, but not before ripping the pad out and rolling it up to put in his pocket.
“Will you stay with me?”
You wait for the shrug, the shift, the excuse, but Roman just looks at you. He’s thinking about how quickly you’ll bleed again, how in a few hours he can do all this again. He drops onto his side and presses his lips to your forehead. “Course I’ll stay. You’re my girl.”
You sigh, giddy with relief and excitement as you wriggle against his chest and breathe in the sweat and cologne scent of him. “Thank you, Roman.”
“Nah,” he presses a kiss to your hair, feeling his heart ache just a little bit for how sweet and trusting you are. “Thank you, baby.”
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
Pennywise x Reader. Reader has a pussy but no gendered pronouns are used. It/its pronouns for Pennywise. Just you and Pennywise rubbing your pussies against each other. Reader loves pushing buttons. Pennywise's inflated ego leading it to overstimulation. Pennywise cries. N.SFW. MDNI.
“Fffff—” Pennywise's face is scrunched above you, buck teeth pressed into the plump ruby pillow of its lip. It's only been between your thighs for a minute, but to Pennywise, that minute may as well have been an eternity.
You tilt your hips, letting its slick flesh slide against yours, feeling the heat and the incessant pulse of its too-sensitive sex.
“Fff-uh-ck…” it hisses, clawed hands instinctively darting down to hold your hips in place. “No, no, no…”
“You don't like it?” you tease, but you know it does. It begged to be here. It always does.
Ever since it discovered the pleasure of rubbing itself against the soft, wet heat of your pussy, it has wanted to do little else. Even feeding seems to have lost its appeal– at least a little. These days it seems to spend more time in your bed than its lair.
Pennywise pouts, the bridge of its nose wrinkling as it looks away. “I do like it. Yes I do. I crave it.”
“That's good. Just try to let go. Relax.”
It huffs dismissively, glowering down at you like it's offended at the very idea that it needs your guidance.
But even the slightest movement makes it jolt and squirm, as though it's trying to climb out of its skin. It growls at the sensation of your soft flesh against its own; the primal sound of something powerful beyond comprehension coming apart at the seams.
“Aw, too much?” you ask, your voice saccharine sweet as you slowly grind against it, watching the way its pretty red lip curls into a snarl. Nothing in the universe could be so beautiful. “Want me to slow down for you? It's okay if you can't take it…”
Pennywise grunts, twisting its head to the side as though attempting to dodge your accusation. “I can take it!”
You bite back a grin as you continue to push its buttons, “I can get on top if you're tired?”
“No!” Determination etched on its brow, it defiantly rubs its cunt against yours, arms trembling and teeth gnashing with the effort of holding it together. “I am a god! I can take… it… fffff– oh-hoh!”
A flood of hot, sticky liquid washes over your pussy, accompanied by the bestial growls of the entity writhing in pleasure and agony between your legs.
The fluid tingles, somehow hot and cold on your skin, heightening your sensitivity. You feel the blood rush to your pussy and your clit start to throb, but it's nothing compared to Pennywise's ruin.
Curses spill from its glistening lips, punctuated by gasps and feral growls. Sharp, black claws dig into the flesh of your hips, drawing pinpricks of blood it'll beg to lap up later. And mere inches from your face, rows upon rows of jagged teeth snap defensively at empty air, biting back the cries of ecstasy pride won't allow it to release.
“There,” you whisper through your own staggered breaths, your slick pussy relentlessly kissing its drooling, pulsing slit, “Fuck, Penny, you look so pretty when you come for me.”
It hisses, wounded by your praise, outraged by your claim on it, yet desperately seeking more. It bears down, angling its thrust so it grinds against your clit, frantically trying to drag you over the precipice along with it.
“Come for me,” it echoes, “come, come for me, come with me, come…”
It chants that plea over and over, until fat tears spill over its cheeks and drip down from its chin onto your chest. Ruined by pleasure and by you. Addicted to the torture of ecstasy.
You're close, you feel the telltale heat and pressure building at your core, and surely Pennywise knows it too. Yet it continues begging, sobbing in desperation, its face twisted in sheer torment and bliss.
“Come…” it pants, slick still spitting from its overworked cunt. It shouldn't matter to it whether you do or not, but at that moment there is nothing else it craves more. It begs, whining like it's bargaining a reprieve from torture, “Let go. Hm? Come. With. Me.”
Perhaps it's simply a matter of pride, or perhaps it hopes to make you suffer as it does, to render you just as ruined and incapable of anything else but broken gasps and cries of pleasure.
But whatever the reason it keeps its frantic pace, sloppily pistoning its hips back and forth until at last the tether breaks and you come to the sound of its maniacal, victorious laughter and the sensation of it collapsing onto you, its weight simultaneously overwhelming yet strangely reassuring.
In the silence that follows, it ravenously sniffs the air, greedy for the scent of your blood and arousal and still somewhat curious about its own.
“Ohoho,” it chuckles, the sound muffled against your throat. Tears dampen the skin of your neck, beneath its painted cheek. “We stink of each other. What a pretty smell.”
You sigh beneath the weight of it, fingers lazily stroking the back of its neck as it melts into your embrace. Terrible and beautiful, powerful and completely helpless.
And you give it just a few blissful moments to enjoy the rest before you roll your hips again.
Thank you for reading! Interaction is appreciated 🥰 if you enjoyed this you may also enjoy my other Pennywise stories
I loove when you give usa a view of what’s coming hehe
Could you please share with us what you’re cooking?
Ahhhh, writing these down and posting them basically forces me to actually finish them, so thank you anon! I posted my Roman x Reader WIPs the other day, so here's my other WIPs:
Sacrament Is You (Pennywise x Reader)
Summary: Ducking into the sewer is never a great idea in Derry, but there’s a gang of nasty boys hot on your heels and you decide to take your chances. Running into the monstrous entity that haunts the town is less than ideal, until you discover it’s thirst for flesh mirrors your lust for revenge. If only you can keep it’s appetite from swallowing you whole.
The Shape Of Us (Pennywise x Reader)
Summary: Pennywise has been alone for a very long time, and that’s exactly how it should be. It’s easy to forget the cage when the prey is abundant. Which is why you moving in, with your too-loud vibration and your insatiable appetite pisses Pennywise off. Big time.
The Ties That Bind us (Eric Draven x Reader)
Summary: There’s a protocol to visiting him. Notify Eric that you’re going to enter, wait for him to slip into his restraints, and the light will go green. You’ve followed this protocol every day, multiple times a day, since Eric Draven was caught, tried, and committed to the sanitorium for the criminally insane. Taking care of a serial killer isn’t for the faint of heart, and every day spent looking into his green eyes and listening to the rough silk of his voice has you wondering whether your heart can survive him.
Blurred Lines (Eric Draven x Reader)
Summary: You’re not supposed to get this drunk, and usually you don’t, but your boyfriend dumped you and your friends are bad influences and you can’t get a cab. So you call your best friend to pick you up and you vent about how frustrated you are and then you notice his big, tattooed hands and the broad set of his shoulders and the way he licks his lips when he looks at you, and you decide some friendships might be worth ruining.
Insurance Plan (Eddie Barrish x Reader)
Summary: Eddie knows he’s fucked up when he tries his key in the door and finds the chain is on. He’s desperate to get back inside your apartment and your pussy, and he’s not above manipulating you to get there. When he finds out you’re ovulating, he can’t think about anything but filling you up and making it stick.
Knocked Up, Knock Out (Clark Olofsson x Reader)
Summary: After finally convincing the pretty bank teller to go out with him, Clark finds himself more interested in her wallflower personality than he means to. Which is why you dumping him after he fucks you is a real blow to his ego. Or it would be, if he cared about that sort of thing. When he robs the bank six months later and sees the very obvious swell of your belly, he is, for the first time in his life, speechless.
The Guts Of You (Roman Godfrey x Peter Rumancek)
Summary: Peter’s going to leave. He shoulda left a long time ago, actually. He can feel the call of the open road scratching to get under his skin. The problem is that something’s already burrowed deeper, right into his bones. Peter takes every poisoned drop of devotion Roman pours into him, and he pretends it’s enough until it isn’t.
Satellites (Simon x Reader)
Summary: Eight months into dating your boyfriend Simon, his brother has to go to a friend’s wedding out of town. Simon has never spent a night alone in the apartment, and he doesn’t intend to start now. And although you’ve been sleeping with him for a while, you’re about to learn that sleeping with Simon, in his room, in his bed, is a whole different level of intimacy.
Smarty Pants (Simon x Reader)
Summary: Working on a science project with a partner is not your favourite thing, you prefer solving equations to socializing. But being paired with Simon, possibly the only person in the whole class who likes people less than you, is an exercise in insanity.
Before and After (Willard Russell x Reader)
Summary: He’s your older brothers friend before he goes to war. A little teasing, a lot flirty. And you’re not like.. waiting to him to get back or anything. But you miss him a whole lot when he’s gone and you can’t seem to get yourself going for any other boy that asks you. He comes home different. Quiet, haunted. When you overhear his momma say she’s scared he won’t come through it, you make it your personal mission to bring him back to life by whatever means necessary.
Motivation (Dane x Reader)
Summary: Dane is the public defender on your brother’s case and he’s… less than attentive. So you track him down at a bar after work and make sure he’ll never forget your name or the rewards coming to him if your brother goes free.
Resplendent (Boy x Reader)
Summary: You’ve been going steady with the shaman’s apprentice for three glorious, secret months. Boy can’t see you as often as he’d like, but you’re the brightest light he’s ever known and he’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even if that means staying away from you sometimes. And you know it’s complicated, but you can’t help but feel insecure. When you see him accept a dried flower from another girl at the market, all your frustrations pour out at once and you snap.
The Boy Next Door (Tony Kiritsis x Reader)
Summary: You don’t know much about Tony. You can hear him yelling at the radio sometimes through your shared wall, and he seems friendly enough if you pass him in the lobby. When you wake up tied to a bed in an apartment that mirrors your own, you realize you may have seriously underestimated your mild-mannered neighbour.
You’re Eye-fucking Me, Aren’t You? (Bill Skarsgård x Reader)
Summary: You’re a makeup artist working on The Crow, painstakingly applying Bill Skarsgård’s makeup for hours every day. It would be hard enough to focus just looking at him, but Bill seems determined to make your job a million times harder.
Babysitter (Bill Skarsgård x Reader)
Summary: Bill knows that skipping out of work early to get home when he’s hired a babysitter is kinda not the point. But you’re so pretty, and you’re sweet and you’re interested in him. And after a bad breakup and learning to navigate fatherhood on his own, he just really, really likes your company.
Nothing To Tell (Bill Skarsgård x Reader)
Summary: FINALLY, a part II to The Blueprint. You’re invited to attend Eija’s parent’s anniversary party, and seeing Bill again has you reflecting on your first time.
