#Pause and turn up and down my volume without needing to open my phone

[streamdotpng]

I LOST MY EARBUDS NOOOOO

[fir3ylolol]

i'll have what she's having

pairing: Johnny Cage x Reader

summary: Johnny has insisted that you match with him at his Halloween party, which you obliged. but he's acting sort of weird? wonder what's up with him...

tw: mentions of drinking

a/n: i was inspired by @sillygooselulu to write a little fluff, and why not make it Halloween-themed! first real attempt at fluff which was kinda fun :) but don't worry, the 100-follower special should be out soon!

word count: 1.21 k

Ao3

You put on the last part of your Halloween costume and look in the mirror. Smoothing your pants, you turn and admire how you look. A pair of brown shoes, high-waisted jeans, a red turtleneck, and a brown blazer. Of course, ever the film nerd, Johnny wanted to go as Harry and Sally. You walk to your bathroom to finish your hair and face, sitting down with a huff. You had no idea where Johnny was, leaving you to get ready by yourself. You curl your hair into loose, tease out 80’s curls, and apply a wine-colored gloss to your lips.

You notice your phone buzzing on the bathroom counter and pick it up quickly. Johnny’s cheesy grin flashes across your screen and you pick up quickly. “Hey, you picked up! Where are you? You on your way yet?” He’s almost yelling in your ear, and you back the phone away from your ear. “I just finished, I’ll be there soon. You feeling good?” you manage to say without a laugh, his volume a clear indication that he’s already started to party. “I feel great! Hurry up and get over here!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave now then.” You grab your large leathery bag, which Johnny insisted on for “accuracy”. “Woohoo! I’ll see you soon!” He cheers, and abruptly hangs up. Sighing lightly, you leave to his place, LA traffic is not any better than usual. It takes about 30 minutes to get there, and when you do, you notice how many cars are in the driveway. There are at least 50, blocking areas and creating a maze. But, ever the gentleman, Johnny runs out, waving his garage controls above his head. He slightly runs into the car and sticks his head through the window. “You’re here! Go ahead, park in the garage. I’ll see you inside, ok? Bye!” He leaves before you can get a word out, leaving you in a stunned state.

You shake out of it, and pull into his garage quickly, walking into the house through that door. It is loud inside, with bass vibrating the floor and shot glasses tipped over on the counter. You shuffle through the crowd in front of you, searching for Johnny. And there he is, sitting on the couch and laughing loudly with more people than you think the furniture can handle. But he sees you and bolts up. In a large, white cable-knit sweater and jeans, he wraps you up in a hug. “Yay! My other half is here, guys!” He turns you towards the crowd, which loudly cheers for him.

He lets go of you and holds one of your hands, smiling widely. “I missed you,” he giggles out. “How much have you had to drink?” You touch a hand to his red cheeks, which he hisses at. “Your hands are too cold. But I’ve only had a little.” You start to drag him towards a balcony, and he follows behind you with shuffling steps. “Come on, you need fresh air,” you open the glass door and get him outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Ugh, fine,” he leans against the waist-height wall and looks out over Malibu. You stand beside him, wrapping an arm around him in a light hug. He turns to look at you, smiling just as wide as before, with slightly less red cheeks. “You know, you’re always so nice. I like having you around,” he says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “I like being around man, it’s fun.” You laugh lightly as your face is shoved into his chest, pushing away a little.

Johnny pauses, face slightly dropping as he looks out again. “Hey, can I tell you something? Like, can you promise you won’t leave after I say it?” He sounds slightly serious, but drops it quickly, “Since people will keep asking why I didn’t dress up.” Taken slightly aback by his words, you try to join him in lightening the mood. “Unless you killed someone, I’m staying right here.” He pauses a little too long, and you panic slightly. “Y-you didn’t kill anyone, right??” He turns to you and laughs hard, leaning forward over the wall. “No! Why would I do that? God, you’re funny.” You breathe out a sigh of relief, you weren’t ready to keep a secret like that.

But he grows serious again, letting out what sounds like a nervous breath. “Well, we’ve been friends for a while, and I really like hanging out with you. You’ve stuck by me, even when my movies weren’t that successful.” He’s trying to lighten the mood again, but it’s not working. He coughs slightly, then continues. “Hold on, I memorized my lines.” Confused, you cock an eyebrow at him, but you’re used to his strange antics. He takes a deep breath and starts talking again. “I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes.” Your face slightly drops, and you recognize what he’s saying. It’s the speech at the end of ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ He continues, “And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's Halloween.”

He grabs both your hands, his grasp tight as he finishes, “I wanted you here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” You’re in shock again, taking a long time to process all of this. But he stands there, uncharacteristically nervous. God, how much did he have to drink tonight? He tends to be a little less careful when he’s stressed, and if his nerves now are indicative, he is close to wasted. You snap out of it, and look into his eyes, finally smiling. “Johnny, you really had to quote a movie to confess?” He lets out a breath, shoulders falling forward. “Don’t tease! You’re just so cool, and attractive, and I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. So I figured I could maybe pass this off as part of my character, and not something I was saying.”

“Wait, is this why you really wanted us to dress up as Harry and Sally?” He wraps his arms around you tight, snuggling into your neck. “Maybe…was it bad?” You hug him back, hands tracing along his back. “Nah, it was cute. Nerdy, but cute.” Huffing, he pulls away, “You could’ve left it at cute.” But he pauses again, searching your face quickly. “So…do you wanna…be with me?” You smile and cup his face in one hand, bringing him in for a kiss. He melts into you, arms wrapping around your waist as yours wrap around his neck. You feel him smile, holding you tight against him. He finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

MORDOR (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: you take a chance, and decide to call mordor.

warnings: fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), mentions of life struggles (reader's turn to go through it), references to previous addition in this series so might be a little harder than normal to read as stand alone! this is really just me projecting on my need for eddie munson to comfort me

wc: 4.8k+

the full menu

You’re late. So, so fucking late. 

It panics Eddie. He sat in his car for that extra hour just waiting for your ridiculously bright yellow Jeep to pull in beside him, and when you still hadn’t by the time Nicole arrived, his chest twisted. When Nicole gets out of her car, and you’re still not there, his stomach churns.

Where are you? Are you okay? 

You hadn’t texted Nicole. You don’t call the store as the two of them flit about and try to manage opening without you. And when the time arrives to unlock the doors for the customers, Nicole finally excused herself to try and call you herself. 

Eddie scorns himself for not having your number. How stupid is it that you two have made a pact to be friends, and yet here he is weeks later, still not having your number.

“Any luck?” he asks, trying to level his tone when Nicole returns and he’s turning on the ovens.

“Nope,” her brows furrowed as she quickly scoots behind him, heading towards the front register, “It went straight to voicemail. Which, I mean… she’s never been late. Not like this.” 

“Should we be worried?” 

It’s a stupid question. He’s already worried. He’s frazzled enough to say fuck it, toss down his apron, and send out a search party for you rather than worrying about the store.

“Maybe,” Nicole shrugs, as if this doesn’t concern her as much as it does Eddie. As if there’s not sirens going off in her head as well. As if your sudden lack of punctuality is something to just shrug off.

As if your absence doesn’t rattle her the way it rattles Eddie. 

An hour passes by. Eddie gets more restless. Constantly looking to the store’s front door, incessantly checking outside the drive thru window for any sign of you or that damn Jeep. Every time the phone rings, Eddie has to curl his hands into fists to let Nicole answer rather than him. Each time, when he looks at her, the subtle shake of her head tells him it’s not you. His tongue nearly bleeds from how he chews on it with his molars to stop from asking her if she had tried to reach you again. He knows she has, notices how she spends extra time in the back, no doubt sending texts and useless calls alike your way.

If it were any other coworker, both Eddie and Nicole would be fuming. Concern would be replaced with irritation

He’s actually reaching to untie his apron and informing her that he’ll start trying to reach you instead when you finally come bursting into the store, a full two hours late to your shift. 

“Fuck,” you whisper-exclaim as you power walk through the lobby, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“You’re here!” he doesn’t bother keeping down his volume at the sight of you, flooded with immediate relief.

You’re okay. 

“I’m so sorry,” the apologies immediately begin to pour from your lips as you nearly trip rounding the corner into the back room, Eddie hot on your trail, “I’m so, so sorry! Shit, I- I just slept through my alarm, and had a late night, and-“ 

You’re digging your apron out of your bag when he finally reaches out to softly grab your arm, squeezing gently in an offer of comfort as you finally pause. 

“It’s fine,” he promises, “Everyone is late every once and a while.” 

Nicole was in the bathroom, but he’s sure that she’d say the same thing. The entire morning, both her and Eddie had been more worried than anything. Not mad, not irritated, but worried. 

And yet, you’re still on the verge of tears as you look up at Eddie, “It’s not fine. You had to open the store all on your own, and I know that’s stressful, and I saw all the missed calls but my phone was on silent. I mean, my shift’s already half over at this point. And I just-“ 

You cut off your rambling with a shaky breath. It breaks his heart to see you so upset, so guilt-ridden over something that happens to the best of you all. 

“It’s okay,” he stresses once more, another squeeze on your arm, “You had a late night? Is everything okay?” 

You open your mouth to answer him, the no already forming on your lips, when Nicole returns from the bathroom.

“Oh my gosh, there you are!” she exclaims.

And just like that, Eddie’s chance to be there for you as you were for him has vanished into thin air.

—

Your shift may have lasted several hours less than it was meant to, but you’re convinced it’s the absolute worst hours of your life. Which is saying a lot given how your life has gone to shit the last two days. 

You were already falling behind on classes, and your bank account was in the negative due to tuition payments. Your mother was calling every day to spend hours on the phone under the guise of catching you up at what you were missing at home, when in all reality it was just her complaining without taking a breath or allowing you to say a single word. You had to take your cat to the emergency vet when he wasn’t eating, only to find out he probably just didn’t like his current food anymore after a series of very expensive tests. Thing after thing, punch after punch, was being thrown your way. It was all just a bit much. 

And then you were late to work. Slept in after forgetting to set an alarm after a late night of staying up and listening to a friend rant over the phone. Burnt your hand not once but twice on the ovens. Spilt an entire cup of hot coffee on yourself. 

Life was out to get you. 

And the only good thing about today was Eddie. 

When the clock finally signals for the two of you to step off the floor, you’re sighing out in relief. You have no idea what the next issue will be waiting for you off the clock, but you’ve accepted that the day couldn’t get worse. And yet, as you go to grab your bag, wrapping your apron by muscle memory as you watch him, your stomach churns at the thought of today’s time being cut so short today. You just like being around him. You like making inside jokes, sharing quick glances, making one another laugh until your stomachs ache over stupid things in the midst of chaos. He’s a guiding light, something to look forward to, a wonderful break from reality that you just… you just cherish.

As you’re tearing up suddenly at the realization along with the heavy weight of your week, you recall that conversation last week. The word you two had assigned for when you needed a break.

Technically, it was probably a joke. Or to be used to ditch work. He probably hadn’t meant it.

But you have to try.

“Hey, uh, Eddie?” you ask nervously, fiddling with the straps of your bag as he’s patting his pockets for all his items.

“Yeah?” he doesn’t look up yet, doesn’t see the forlorn look across your face.

Just say it. If he doesn’t get it – no harm, no foul. If he gets it, and rejects the motion – oh well. The worst he can say is no. 

You have to swallow hard, take a sharp breath, before you can get the single word out. “Mordor.” 

He freezes mid-pat, hands hovering over his front pockets as he slowly looks up. 

“What did you say?”

“Mordor,” you repeat yourself, with a little more confidence to your tone this time. The worst he can say is no. 

For a second, you become convinced he’s forgotten all about that conversation in the parking lot. You really don’t blame him; half the time, you guys discuss anything and everything with minimal importance. Those early and surreal mornings are always more about spending time with one another, with a friend, than it is about actually processing the things said.

But then, two things happen. Firstly, the wrinkles between his brows smooth out. A second passes. And then – they return. 

Sloping ridges and mountains in that small space, each and every bit of them etched with worry. For you. The corners of his mouth deeply downturn and all the white noise of the front of house fades away the longer he looks at you with such care. 

“Mordor?” he echoes, “Like, as in… as in our code word?” 

You feel as if the moment you speak up, all that strength you had mustered throughout the shift will shatter. You’re tired and you’re beaten, you’re desperate and you’re hoping. You don’t even care if he tells you he doesn’t have time to properly sit and unwind with you right now – you’d settle for just a hug. The same arms that bump against yours and that sometimes stretch along your space to grab things from around you, the same arms you’ve seen strain as he insists on carrying heavy kegs for you, the same arms you just want to wrap around you, if even for a second, and squeeze. 

Who knows? Maybe, if he squeezes tight enough, he can put all the broken shards of the week back into place. It’s not his job to fix it, but you’re convinced for a moment, he’s the key to everything just feeling okay for nothing more than a mere second. 

You nod. If you answer him with words, you’re going to cry. The tears are already eagerly burning your corneas. 

He says your name softly, gentle enough that you have to pinch your eyes shut and take a shaky breath to avoid any spillage of your emotions. 

“Are you okay?” 

“No,” you try to make it a laugh, as if this is a joke, “I, uh- not really?” 

“Is it because you were late today?”

Your voice cracks and your eyes squeeze shut tighter for a second as you answer with a weak, “Kind of.” 

You let your eyes snap open again, try and seek out some everpresent warmth in his honey brown ones as your vision blurs a bit with shameful tears. 

You’ve never realized just how many shades resided in those irises, all warm and cool browns alike swirling. They almost match the espresso, you come to realize. And it’s funny, to think about the way all your other coworkers whisper just as scary and grumpy he is the moment he’s out of earshot. It’s funny how customers seem to crumple timidly beneath his disassociating gaze when he finds himself lost in thought on bar or warming. Every single other person who has stepped foot in this store seems to have one impression of Eddie, and it’s not even a proper shadow of the man before you. 

All soft edges. All care and all warmth. He’s not scary, he’s not grumpy; he’s careful and considerate, a little shy at times, a little hesitant at others. And you can only imagine why he’s that way, when you can see someone entirely different reflected in those goddamn honeyed eyes in this moment. 

He takes a step forward. Opens his mouth to speak. Goes as far to even begin to reach out a hand. And then he’s interrupted. 

“Thank you for your patience,” Nicole chirps into her headset as she comes into the back room, turning a corner with determination and snatching a sleeve of cups off the shelves as she continues to speak over the drive thru channel with ease, “Can we get you started with anything to eat today?” 

His mouth closes and his hand drops as you both glance down at the floor, completely silent as you wait for her to finally retreat back out onto the floor without a second glance at the two of you. 

The tears still burn and blur your vision. 

“Okay,” Eddie says the moment the two of you are alone in the back once more, “Okay. Mordor it is. Come with me, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. It rolls off his tongue and it wraps around you before he reaches out and grabs at your hand, only connecting palms and avoiding intertwining fingers before he’s tugging you out the back door. 

Not even through the front. As if he wants to save you the embarrassment of a walk of shame with teary eyes and defeated shoulders.

“We can’t-” you start to protest, but he’s already wrangled the key that is left in the back door – impressively quickly, as even you struggle with that fickle lock at times – before he shoves the door open wordlessly and yanks you out with him wordlessly. 

The door doesn’t even slam shut. It feels like a dramatic moment where it should, but it only closes back with a whisper and soft whoosh of air. 

“They have to do a trash run anyways,” he reassures you when you look back at the unlocked door with worry, referring to the overflowing trash that would soon be taken out to the dumpster in the distance, “It’s fine.” 

The soil crunches beneath both of your sneakers as he makes a beeline to his van. No questions are asked, just as you two had joked about. 

The sun is still favoring the Eastern sky despite growing warmer in the late morning. Eddie’s van is stuffy when he initially unlocks it for both of you to jump into the front, him being sure to open the passenger door for you and only shutting it closed once you’ve securely settled into that seat you’ve spent countless early hours in. 

He starts up the vehicle once he’s in his driver’s seat, but makes no move to drive off as he stares at you. 

“What?” you whisper, voice still strained as you toss your bag down by your feet. 

All he says in return, still gentle and still warm, still glowing brighter than the man everyone seems to think he is, is a reminder of, “Seatbelt.” 

You obey that half-spoken command. You don’t ask where you two are going once he shifts into drive the moment the click sounds in the small space.

—

Eddie drives for a while. He gets onto the freeway in the opposite direction of your way home, and you probably should be worried, but you aren’t. You have no mental capacity for consideration of how you’ll get back to your car, whether your coworkers will worry about it remaining in the parking lot, or whether Eddie even knows where he’s going. Hell, even his slightly erratic driving doesn’t affect you. 

You just stare at the trees as they pass by in a blur. Your mind numbs, smells of a rainstorm in the distance slips into the cabin of the vehicle through the cracks in the back windows, and you just let go. 

If your mother knew what you had done today, you would have absolutely been reamed a new one. 

Eddie slows at an unfamiliar exit, just after the two of you pass a small green sign that reads NOW ENTERING HAWKINS CITY LIMITS. 

“Hawkins?” you murmur your first noise of the entire drive. 

“You ever been?” Eddie asks as if you hadn’t been catatonic the entire way here. 

You prop an elbow up on the door, fist digging into the side of your face as you lean and take in the scenery now passing by a bit slower, “Can’t say I have.” 

“Well, then,” he keeps talking, and it’s sort of comforting after the long silence, “Consider yourself lucky.” 

That gets a snort out of you. One that has his head turning quickly to look at you as he slows at the first redlight after the freeway, a grin twitching on his lips softly as he takes in the sight of you. 

He must think you can’t see him staring, because he continues to do it, until the light has changed green and he’s made no move to press on his gas.

“It’s green.”

“Huh?”

You look over at him, his rosy cheeks and diverted eyes at being caught, and repeat yourself with more emphasis, “The light’s green, idiot.” 

“Oh, shit!” 

Another snort, another rapid (albeit shorter) glance on his part. 

He’s got a nice smile. Even if he might totally be a secret serial killer who was just jumping at the opportunity to murk his unsuspecting and vulnerable coworker in the middle of the woods. He could get away with it with a smile like that. 

It’s only once he’s turned onto a dirt road that leads out into the woods that you really care to finally ask one of the first questions you probably should have asked the moment you got in his van – “Uh, Eddie? Where… Where are you taking me?” 

“Trust me,” he insists, both hands gripping his wheel with care as he navigates the car into thicker foliage, “I promise I’m not going to, like, murder you.” 

“Sounds like something someone who is going to murder me would say,” you put in a little extra effort, offering him the joke and more than a snort this time. 

You don’t miss the swell of pride that lifts him to sit up just a tad bit straighter in his seat. As if your joking, as if your laughing, was something he was proud to elicit from you. 

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out, then.” 

He drives pretty deeply into the woods, until the road turns rougher and the treeline is thick enough you can’t catch clearsight of the main road anymore. You really should be worried, but all you do instead of mustering up any anxiety is roll down the window. It makes him glance at you, but you don’t pay that look any mind. 

The smell of rain is even stronger, heavy as it mingles with the scent of pine and dirt. It somehow dances between something familiar and something new, a distant memory that unlocks and soothes some of that tightness that had been residing in your chest for a week now. It doesn’t smother, but it does gather up in your nose, tickling in the slightest. You swear, if you were to focus hard enough, you’d pick up on the comforting smell of a burning campfire somewhere. It just seemed like the kind of appropriate scent to add to the essence of it all. The strings of light that break through leaves in golden hues, the cloud spitting out of his back tires as he clearly goes just above the recommended speed for this old road, the pleasant chirp of a bird that whistles right past – the essence of pure comfort to someone like you. 

It kind of makes you wish you lived in Hawkins, just as you assumed Eddie did. 

He finally slows the van into a clearing, never once scolding you for rolling the window down. He leaves you as you twist your body in what must be an uncomfortable fashion to rest your chin on the top of the door, cheeks and nose just barely peeking out of the car. Every slap of the breeze on your face feels as though you’re releasing another bit of worry to the wind, your chest continuing to grow lighter and lighter. 

“Alright, Sunshine,” he clears his throat, throwing the van into park. The clearing is very obviously a small campsite – you can make out a fire pit just a few paces away and the perfect space cleared of rocks, “You call the shots. What are we gonna do?”

“What?”

Eddie leans over the center console, getting closer to you as thunder rolls in the distance, “What do you want to do? You called Mordor, so whatever is going to help you, we’ll do.”

You want to tell him that just doing as he has, not saying no and not asking questions as he drove the two of you out into the middle of nowhere, helped. The fact that he hadn’t hesitated when he’d processed that you’d said Mordor was already doing wonders for the storm that had brewed within your chest. You’d managed to snag extra time with the boy who had a way about making everything alright, and that in itself was able to erase some of your week from Hell.

But he’s looking at you, awaiting a real answer, so you say the first thing you can think of, “Do you have your copy of The Hobbit on you, by chance?” 

“Oh, say less, sweetheart,” Quickly, Eddie fumbles with his seatbelt and unbuckles himself, swinging open his door and clambering out onto the soft ground waiting below. He waits for a moment, hands on his hips as he looks at you expectantly, “Well? C’mon. I promise you the back seat is far more comfortable.” 

“Does that line usually work for you?” 

“I don’t mean it like that.” 

“Every fuckboy means it like that, Eds.” 

You don’t know it, but his heart swells a little bit at the nickname. 

“Good thing I’m not a fuck boy then,” he leans back into the van a little, smiling wildly, “Now come and join me in the back of my van in a totally platonic, definitely not suggestive way, Sunshine.” 

He doesn’t have to ask twice; you’re climbing out to follow him to the back of the van, not even flinching as you both slam your doors shut in sync and you giggle the entire way. It’s just his effect. Everything is lighter with him around, and you’re starting to believe he should be the one called Sunshine instead of you. 

“M’lady,” he bows dramatically, swinging open the heavy doors for you. 

The climb in is a bit awkward, but you don’t even think about it as you take in the nest of an arrangement Eddie has set up in the back of his van. There’s an old comforter spread out across the entire floor of it, with several smaller blankets bunched at random with a few pillows. 

“Are you sure you’re not a fuckboy?” you question as you’re careful to not touch the blankets with the sole of your shoes, twisting and beginning to unlace the sneakers that had seen better days. There’s stains of various sauces and syrups from work, and surely milk layering the bottom of them. You’re positive if you investigated close enough, you’d even find coffee grounds lodged between the ridges of the textured sole. 

“Positive,” Eddie follows you in, reaching and shutting the doors carefully behind him. He’s less meticulous about his own boots, hardly undoing the knots and kicking them off into the same corner you’d placed your shoes, “I solemnly swear you are the first to see these freshly cleaned blankets.” 

“What about before you cleaned them?” 

“Sweetheart,” he throws himself down on one of the worn pillows, laying right beside where you have your knees drawn up to your knees. He’s flat on his back, hair flaring out in a halo around his head as he looks up at you with big, brown eyes, “You’re killing me here.” 

You can’t help it. The two of you are probably not nearly close enough for what you impulsively do, but you’ve had a hard week, and his hair looks damn soft. 

Your fingers are reaching out to trace over some of the wild and thrown out strands of curls before you can overthink it. Curling caramel and honey softness, you try to not let your breath catch as your pull up on the strand and let it run between your knuckles rather than just fingertips. 

“Yeah?” you smile gently, watching him melt as you twirl the end of the curl you’d been playing with around the length of your finger, “Any specific requests for your funeral?” 

He plays along, trying to not get too lost up in the barely-there feeling of you playing with his hair, “Your attendance, obviously. And probably some good music. Preferably Metallica – again, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” 

“Actually, d’you think you can get Kirk Hammett himself to attend? That’d be the best outcome. My only request, actually.”

“You’d rather Kirk Hammett attend your funeral than me?”

“I’ve got priorities here, Sunshine.” 

Your fingers have traveled up to his scalp now, scratching gently as you both are consumed in withheld laughter and brilliantly shy smiles, letting go of heavy weeks and succumbing to all of the sunlight crammed into the back of Eddie’s van. 

“Alright,” your fingers pause their scratches, “I believe you were meant to read me a bedtime story, Munson.” 

“Bedtime story? It’s not even afternoon yet,” Eddie scoffs, throwing a hand up as he digs beneath one of the small, fluffy blankets in the corner. When his hand comes back into view, it clutches that same copy of The Hobbit you’ve seen on the back desk at work on multiple occasions, “Alright, well, make yourself comfortable.” 

Eddie shifts to sit up, your hand falling from his scalp as he piles a few of the pillows from beside him to prop him up as you mentally debate your options. 

You could just lay down beside him. Not touching, just listening. The arrangement was comfortable enough and you have no doubt that it would still be exactly as you needed after all the stress. 

Or you could be daring. You could do more than listen; you could lay your head in his lap, or maybe rest your tired temple against his shoulder. Your could press up against him tightly under the excuse that the space back here was limited and you could selfishly indulge in all that he was willing to offer for this afternoon. More than brushing touches, more than playful glances. 

You could feel the skin of his arm against your own bare shoulder and for a moment, you could just pretend. 

Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink this. 

You opt for the lap. It’s more comfortable. Less intimate, you convince yourself. 

When your cheek presses into the rough denim stretching over his thigh, you can feel him tense up momentarily. Everything seemingly stops for just a second – even his breathing. But by the time you notice, it’s already resumed. You start to worry you’ve overstepped boundaries, gone too far for two coworkers playing pretend as ‘friends’. 

This definitely isn’t what he meant. First you played with his hair, now you’re laying your head on his lap. You need to learn personal space, personal boundari-

All thoughts evaporate as Eddie suddenly tugs one of the blankets over you, letting it drape comfortably over your shoulder. 

“Shall we begin?” 

Eddie’s voice was made to narrate Tolkien. It becomes apparent between the way he enunciates each word to paint a beautiful fantasy world, his fluctuation changing for each character without missing a beat. His voice takes on a slightly deeper timber than his normal speaking voice as you listen to the storm that had been teasing the entire drive finally break. Hard winds knock against the sides of the van occasionally, the patter of rain echoing off the metal roof of the van. Thunder becomes more frequent, and you couldn’t be sure, but there must be lightning somewhere above the trees to match it. But it doesn’t reach the two of you, the random bursts of light easily mistaken for swaying shadows through the windshield. 

Here in this van, with just you and Eddie and the adventures of Bilbo Baggins, it feels as if nothing bad can touch either of you. Not long weeks, not irate customers, not pessimistic friends or family – nothing. A certain bubble of safety has been created here, and you revel in it. Preen in the certainty of a few hours rest as Eddie’s fingers begin to tangle in your hair and return the favor of playing with your own strands. A simple pattern; he starts at the scalp, runs the fingers all the way through until they trail down the slope of your neck and curve of your shoulder. On occasion, they even slip to caress the top of your spine through the blanket.

Somewhere between the warmth of the soft blanket enveloping you in the scent of clean laundry and the soothing repetitive motions, you find yourself slipping away into sleep. Well-deserved, very much needed sleep that welcomes you with open arms. It’s not quite the hug you had craved from Eddie back at the store, but it’s a hug all the same, and it does hold you close just tight enough to make you believe the afternoon is capable of pressing all your broken pieces back together. If not forever, then just for now. The comfort of it all only has you nuzzling your cheek deeper into the muscle of his thigh.

The lap, it turns out, was the right choice.

Little did you know how grateful Eddie was for your choice of position. Better for your head to rest on his lap than for your ear to be pressed to his chest and hearing the current thunder of his heart that challenges the storm beginning outside the van, beating far harder for you than a friend’s would.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724 @madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos @dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone @alwayslindie @royale1803 @onegirlmanytales @whyamiheresomeonehelp @mrsjellymunson

join my taglist!

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

    The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

  The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim.  Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet.  Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

  “Evening, sorry to wake you.  This is James, calling from The Royal Oak.  Is there a, uh-”  Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…?  Really, sweetheart?  Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”  

  Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address?  She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her.  But, uh, she-”  James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’?  Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

  There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that…  That does it.  He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

  “Uh…  Yeah, she- she’s ours.  Probably talking about our boss, then.  I’ll, uh…  I’ll go wake him.  I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.”  He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.  

  He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door.  Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead.   There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

  “What?!”  A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

  “Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street?  Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.”  George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.  

  Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm.  He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

  “Can you call me a Night Cab, please?  Offer them double fare to prioritise.”  He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on.  His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

  Anthony is properly worried.     Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant.  They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece.  He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later.  When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room.  None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that.   He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way.     Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

  All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt.  With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it.  The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

  George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

  “Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.”  He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one.  “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate?  Fix it.”  Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag.  It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

  The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes.  The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle.  It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.  

  He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons.  Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up.  And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.  

  She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before.  Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances.   He isn’t the only one noticing her.  There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust.   A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs.  She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care.  Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall.     The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

  Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be.  Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

  Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her.  The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm.  Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack.  When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls.  Hard.     She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

  Huh.  He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

  He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop.  Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip.  The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain.  Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety.  At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.  

  Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table.  Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him.   He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner.  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up.  She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages.  He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

  With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground.  Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support.  She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help.   Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

  “Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?”  He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise.  If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind.     Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch.  Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings.  Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

  The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee.  He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand.  “I take it you must be-”

  “‘That selfish wanker’?  Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.”  He replies, accepting the handshake.  

  The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction.  “James, pleasure to finally meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

  Lockwood winces.  “Not all bad, hopefully.”

  “No, not all bad.”  James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh.  It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

  He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity.  “This is all she brought with her.  You’ve got a safe way home?”

  Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile.  “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around.  I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.”  James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

  The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

  “And that’s my cue.  Pleasure to meet you, James.  And, uh-”  He glances back at her involuntarily.  “Thank you.  For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

  The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look.  “It's what any decent person would do.  Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

  Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time.   She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again.  He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.  

  “Let's get you home, love.”  He murmurs, offering his arm again.  She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit.  Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily.  The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

  The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all.  Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb.   It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat.  She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in.   Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her.  She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her.  He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space.  When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.  

  She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features.  It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing.   He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

  They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer.  The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask;  “What’s going on with you?”

  She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

  “That’s bloody horseshit!”  He scoffs, far too tired to hold back.  “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

  Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.  

  “Like you care.”  She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

  “...What?”  He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern.  “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  She laughs darkly, shaking her head.  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”  He cries in exasperation.

  She whips around to face him.  “You knew I was struggling!  You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!”  Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

  All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence.  He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind.     He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has.  If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

  Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

  “I’m sorry.  I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you.  And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.”  She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on.  “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out.  I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

  They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

  When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car.  “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

  It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back.  “...What?”

  “The last job?  We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t.  It-”  Her voice shakes, then dies.  She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue.  “One of them was a Fetch.”

  Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say.  Is he supposed to say anything at all?  If he interrupts now, will she shut him out?  If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care?     A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.  

  She hesitantly continues.  “It was you.”  

  He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him.  “It wasn’t.”

  She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away.  When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye.  “Right.  It did use your face, though.”

  “Whatever it said, it isn’t true.”  He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says;  “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it.  And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

  Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by.  His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips. 

  “Kiss me.”

  His hand falls from her face.   For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it.  When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter.  There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability.   If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it?  If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about?   On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession.  The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him.  Maybe she feels the same as he does.  Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself.     Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

  Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

  “Ask me in the morning.”  He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth.  She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down.  He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

  “What?”  She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment. 

  Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.” 

  The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

  Once they reach 35 Portland Row,  Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab.  The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance.     He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it.  She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability.  They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

  He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her.  “Goodnight, Songbird.”

  “That’s a stupid nickname.”  She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste.  When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on.  “Goodnight, Anthony.  Sweet dreams.”

  He disagrees completely, of course.  From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard.   Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it.  He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek.  By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

  He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

  When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

  Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought.  When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

  “I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender.  That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.”  She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth.  Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

  Why would he want that?  Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind.  “Please don’t leave.”

  “...What?”  Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him.  As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

  When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language.  Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes.  She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron.  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.   On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis.  His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it.  And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips.     Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?”  He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

  “I said a lot of things.”  She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously.  “Which part?”  

  He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

  Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly.  “Yeah, I did.  Every word.”

  Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up.   She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his.  He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck.  She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips.   He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer.  She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.  

  “Kiss me.”  She breathes.

  He doesn’t need to be told a third time.   He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his.     The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height.  Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story.  He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.  

  As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm.  Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path.  The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie.  Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material.  When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.  

  Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs.  As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other.  Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

  “Please don’t hold back.  I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.”  He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.  She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly.  All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat.  She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

  The front door slams open, startling them apart.  There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

  “OI, MATE!”  George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

  They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other.  A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about.  He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest.  They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his.  Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple.  She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him.  He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

  “Hey, look at me.”  He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.  “What’s on your mind, darling?”  

  “I don’t-”  She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously.  “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

  He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips.  She softens, melting into his touch.

  “Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

  George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs.  They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing.  Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly  She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.  She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random.  She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

  “Good morning!”  Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.  

  “...Morning.”  George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss.  “How’d it go last night?”  

  “Um - fine!  Yeah, just fine.  Perfectly fine.  Everything is… fine.”  She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.  

  Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet.  “Morning, Georgie!”  

  Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

  George inspects her with narrowed eyes.  “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

  She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice.  “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet.  Sorry about that.  It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

  “Why are you in Lockwood’s room?”  His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

  She doesn’t miss a beat.  “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

  Both men fix their eyes on her.  Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed.  The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it.  Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.  

  She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body.  When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

  “What’s wrong?”  She asks, worry laced in every syllable.  

  “I didn’t even think of that!  I could have let you die!”  He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.  

  She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.  

  “I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.”  She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle.  When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.  

  “Call me that again?”  He implores, pulling her against him.

  With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying.  “My love.”

  They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

  George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down.   As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder.  For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed.  Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

  When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips.  “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

  Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Locker Room Conversations II

In which there’s hurt and comfort and a bunch of awkward silences, and the writer satisfies her need for Jamie to be called up for England and for Roy to maybe say something nice to him once in a while.  

“And I’ll se y’all after the break, yeah? Make sure you have some fun. And to Sam, Dani, Colin, Van Damme and Jamie – best of luck out there. Win or lose, I know you’ll make your countries and more importantly yourselves just as proud as we all already are of you.”

It’s a nice little speech, staying remarkably on tangent. Woops and applause follow, and that’s that for the last practice before a week of international break and world cup qualifiers.

“I’m so excited,” Dani exclaims, as if that wasn’t his natural state. “This is your first time too, right, Jamie?”

Jamie’s sprawled on the bench by his locker, too busy showing Cockburn something on his phone to bother getting changed. “Uh, yeah. Did the U-20 when I was nineteen, but nothing after that.”

“How come? I mean, you’re such a great player, you would think they would have called you up sooner!”

There’s a slight hush at that, starting hesitant and quickly edging closer to awkward. Dani’s smiles fades into faint bewilderment as his eyes wander from Jamie to the other players, none of which return his look.

The silence drags on for another moment, and then Roy turns from the board where he’s been writing down instructions (don’t forget cardio, don’t be an idiot, stick to your sleep schedule) for the players having a week off rather than going away to play for their countries.

“He wasn’t called up earlier because he was blacklisted for being a huge fucking prick.”

“… oh.” Dani doesn’t sound too surprised; more than anything he sounds downcast, as if reminded of an unfortunate fact he’d been happy to forget.

 Perhaps it’s that rather than Roy’s pronouncement that has Jamie sit up straight on the bench. “Yeah, I wonder what trusted old England player they got that from.” He’s clearly trying for casual, unbothered, and he’s not entirely succesful.  

Roy crosses his arms. Stares right back at Jamie without blinking. “Not going to fucking apologize for telling people who asked me that you were an absolute fucking nightmare to play with back when you fucking were.”

Jamie’s not good at hiding his emotions, and the full spectrum of them is there to be read on his face now: hurt warring with anger warring with resignation warring with embarrassment. He wants to bite back but struggles not to; knows that there’s truth to Roy’s once-assessment but still  wants to defend himself or press for an admission that it isn’t true anymore. His mouth open, closes; he doesn’t speak but his face speaks volumes.

The room is quiet. Ted looks from Jamie to Roy to Jamie and back to Roy again. When Roy remains silent, remains unmoving, he shakes his head:

“You’re really not gonna tell him how you’ve spent weeks calling up all those same people to make sure they know how great he is now, huh?”

An exhalation at that, travelling through the room as tensions ease and shoulders drop.

Roy turns his head slowly to fix Ted with his coldest glare. “No. I wasn’t.” 

Ted is unflinching. Too used to the Roy Kent Special Stare to be cowed by it now. “Well, you know, sometimes these things are better said out loud.”

Roy’s growl suggests that he absolutely does not fucking agree. He very pointedly does not meet Jaime’s eyes, studiously avoids seeing the grin slowly growing on the younger man’s face. 

There’s only a hint of triumph there; mostly there’s just pleasure tinged with shyness. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Don’t fucking mention it.” As Jamie opens his mouth, Roy quickly raises his hand. “I mean it. Don’t mention it.”

And he stalks towards the door – but then he relents, pausing right next to Jamie, not looking at him as he offers in a voice suggesting he’s about to rip someone’s head off: 

“I wouldn’t still be spending fucking hours of my free time every day training you if I didn’t think it was worth the fucking effort. Of course you should fucking play for England. They’d be idiots not to have you, and you’ll do fucking great.”

And he is gone.

The hush is easier this time, lighter.  

“It’s interesting,” Jan Maas ventures eventually. “Even when he’s paying you a compliment, it sounds like he’s insulting you.”

“Yeah, well, if he had to say it and sound like he meant it, the grumpy old bastard would probably turn to stone or something.”

Jamie’s smile is a thing far too stunned and far too soft for it to seem like he means what he’s saying either.

[thelov3lybookworm]

The Elites

Day 7: free day

Summary: old debts need to be paid.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: mafia lucien is soo 🤤 also, I know this is pretty cliché. So what? Its just a one-shot. All that matters is Lucien is hot 😏

(should i do part 2...?)

@lucienweekofficial

•○🌑○•

Lucien sipped on his coffee as he read through the reports in his hand, the TV in front of him playing some news channel, the volume turned low. Not loud, but audible enough that he could listen to it.

Or his assistant could. At the moment, she was lounging in the chair on the other side of his desk, staring intently at the TV.

Something occurred to Lucien as his attention flitted to the TV for a moment. The man that was currently being interviewed looked familiar.

"Have we yet found the man who stole from my father?" He questioned, setting the reports down on his desk.

His assistant– Alice– glanced at him.

"No." She replied flatly.

Lucien nodded, his eyes not moving from the man. He grabbed the remote without looking and increased the volume, leaning back in his seat and grabbing his coffee again.

"Who is that guy?"

"Some random billionaire. He's recently became very famous. Has four daughters."

Lucien let that information marinate in his mind.

This man definitely looked familiar, and Lucien wasn't going to let that slide.

Could that be him?

"Alice?" He called.

"Hmm?"

"Think you can get me the file my father had on all his business partners? Also the file he kept on who all he had lent money to."

"Sure." She got up, fixing her skirt and shirt, clasping the few top buttons she always had open. Lucien eyed her for a moment before looking away. She always did that when in his presence, opening her shirt buttons until her chest was practically falling out of it.

"Thanks. Please make sure it's recieved by the next hour."

She nodded and left. And then Lucien pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello?"

"Festus. I want you to–"

"You know you can call me Jurian, right? It's my name after all." The voice was cheerful, meant to be deceptive. And it could fool people if they didn't know that he, Jurian Festus, was private investigator for the elite mafia families. Lucien's family was one of those elites.

"Festus. I'm going to need you to get me all the information you can about this new billionaire. Apparently, he's recently become very famous."

"Mr Archeron you mean? Oh yeah I can get you information about him."

Lucien felt his eyes narrow. "How do you already know who I am talking about?"

Jurian laughed. "I was just researching about him for fun because I had nothing else to do. Turns out, he'd been a very wealthy man, trading in jewels and what not. He suddenly went off the radar for some years, almost a decade. He's now back, claiming he'd lost all his wealth due to a shipwreck or something. Apparently, he recently found out the ships never stopped sailing."

Jurian took a pause, then continued. "The youngest of them is married into the Night family. Has beef with the Springwell family. The second oldest is the favourite of Mister Archeron. Doesn't really give a fuck about the oldest and third daughter."

Lucien took all of that information in before responding.

"Get me all the background on him and everyone he associates himself with."

"Sure. Did you try the new drink–"

Lucien hung up before Jurian could agitate him further.

•○🌑○•

"Alice. My office. Now." Lucien spoke into the telephone.

He had recieved the reports on the Archeron father, and turned out the man really was familiar.

"Yes?" Alice pushed open the door, strutting in like she owned the place. Her shirt buttons were again undone almost halfway, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

"Get my car ready. I'm going to meet someone."

She cocked her head. "Who is it that you are going to see?"

Lucien stood, setting the reports aside.

"You are my assistant, Alice, not my mother. I do not need to let you know of anything if it does not concern you. Do not make me repeat myself. Get my car ready."

He could see her fuming, steam practically coming out of her ears. But she nodded and turned away, walking out of his office.

Lucien pulled out his gun, making sure it was loaded before he left his room.

This was going to be a fun trip.

He found his car waiting for him in front of his house. It was a black SUV.

When he went to open the door, a hand shot out to grasp the handle. He slowly turned his head to look at the person, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Alice gave him a charming smile.

"Were you planning on leaving without me?"

Lucien gripped her hands, tightening his hold until fear entered her eyes. "Get out of your limits again, and you'll lose your job."

•○🌑○•

The Archeron home was huge, but it was humble compared to the Cleaver's estate.

It didn't even begin to compare.

Lucien walked upto the door, his group of guards and security right behind him. As soon as he rang the bell, the sound of footsteps greeted him.

The door opened, and he expected a servant to peek out.

But he found himself looking at a woman, barely any older than him. She was beautiful, her eyes captivating as she stared at Lucien.

"How may I help you?" She raised an eyebrow.

Lucien blinked, then cleared his throat. "Uh– yes– I'm here to meet with Mister Archeron."

Her eyes roamed over his security team, incredulity taking over her features. "Alright..." She drew out the word.

"Who is it?" A firm voice asked from behind the lady, and she glanced back.

"I don't know. He says he's here to meet father."

From the slight gap over her head, Lucien could see a similar looking woman, though older, standing there.

"I'll get him. Don't let anyone in."

A few moments passed, and the woman who had opened the door inched it open slowly, leaning against it as she pulled a novel out of nowhere and began reading.

Lucien found himself studying her, and by the time Mister Archeron arrived, Lucien had memorised almost everything on her body. From her features to her clothes to the accessories she wore, everything.

"Who is it?" An irritated voice questioned from inside the house, and Lucien looked to find the man he'd seen on TV that morning walking towards the door.

"Lucien Cleaver." The man paled, and Lucien smiled, ignoring the questioning look the woman sent him. "That last name mean something to you?"

"No. Absolutely not. Y/n, why don't you go read somewhere else? Let me handle this now."

Y/n. A beautiful name. Lucien thought.

As soon as the girl was out of sight, Lucien got to the point.

"I know you know who I am, so let's not pretend. The contract will stands, and according to it, you are obliged to get our money back."

"I don't know what you are talking about. Leave the property before I call the guards."

Lucien smiled slowly. "You don't want to do that."

The man swallowed, realising he could not get out of this one. "I can't return the money. I don't have it right now."

Lucien studied the man. He knew Archeron was lying, but maybe Lucien could get something out of this facade.

"That's okay then."

"Is it?" Archeron looked at Lucien warily. Smart.

Lucien smirked. "You can have all the time you want to return the money, and in the meanwhile, you are supposed to hand over something precious to you."

"What do you want? Jewels?"

"Your daughter."

"No. You will not have any of my daughters."

"I'm not asking for your favourite Elain. I'm good with Y/n too."

The man's eyes turned from wary to contemplative. "I... if I do that, will you leave me alone?"

Lucien shrugged. "You will have her back once you return our money."

Archeron sighed. "Fine. Have her."

It took all Lucien had in him not to shoot him them and there. Lucien hated people who were ready to trade away their kids so they could have some money in their pocket.

But lucien didn't do that, because if this man was ready to let his daughter leave with someone he didn't know, then he didn't deserve to have her.

"I'll get her ready."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

[poorlittlegreenie13]

Scenes From an Italian Restaurant:

WC: 2,000

Syd/Carmy falling in love to the soundtrack of Billy Joel, idk

It's past midnight, but Carmy & Syd still haven't finished closing. It might have something to do with the fact that neither of them can sleep without nightmares at home, and that there's something uniquely comforting about having another person with an equally fucked up sleep schedule to silently work with well into the early hours of the morning. They rarely talk while they're working like this; a blurry, unfocused period somewhere between opening and closing, things that do not strictly need to be done, but that they both take pride in doing anyway. It's their fucking restaurant, they both seem to enjoy treating it like a child they're co-helicopter-parenting.

This particular night, Carmy is in the kitchen doing food prep & Syd is sweeping up the dining area. It's quiet enough to hear herself breathe in, and the silence is getting annoying, so she finds herself sweeping toward the kitchen, peeking through to look at Carmy. As she gets closer to him, she hears him... muttering to himself, maybe? No, that's not it. She walks closer, slipping into the kitchen as quietly as she can, and realizes he's... singing. Carmy Berzatto. Singing. In the kitchen.

Her first impulse is to laugh but she stops herself.

He's kind of... good.

She listens for a little while, mesmerized, trying to make out the lyrics.

A bottle of red, a bottle of white. It all depends on your appetite. I’ll meet you anytime you want, in our Italian restaurant.

She moves slightly and Carmy freezes like a scared deer in the fucking forest, of course. His eyes are so wide and scared, Syd almost feels bad, so she tries to break the tension.

“Didn’t realize you moonlighted as a singer,” she says with an awkward smirk, leaning on her broom. “Did you write that?”

Carmy’s eyes narrow. “Did I— did you just ask me if I wrote that?”

Syd shrugs slightly, sensing she’s made an error.

“It’s Billy Joel,” Carmy says, looking genuinely concerned that she’s lacking this crucial piece of information.

“Okay, sorry, I’m not, like, Italian… and into 70’s music,” Syd says, with a dry, sarcastic smile.

“No, no, but this is a classic song,” Carmy says, “I mean, this is just a good song.”

Sydney just stares at him blankly. “I wouldn’t know,” she says.

“Alright, something’s gotta be done about this,” Carmy says with a disapproving shake of his head, tone as serious as it might be if he was noticing a typo on a menu or a smudge on a plate. He unplugs his headphones from his phone, walking to the restaurant’s sound system and connecting his phone.

A jazzy piano song overtakes the speakers, Carmy pausing to crank up the volume to far above their normal level before turning back to Syd with a smile on his face.

“Cold beer, hot lights, my sweet romantic teenage nights,” the voice of Billy Joel (apparently) sings out over the speakers of their restaurant. Carmy looks at her expectantly. Syd raises an eyebrow.

“It’s… loud,” she says.

“No, no, no,” Carmy says, rolling his eyes, infuriatingly smooth Italian-American vowels softening out as he speaks, an unquantifiable accent that Sydney is pretty sure is going to actually kill her one day. “It tells a story,” Carmy insists, turning back to his prep, chopping vegetables to the beat of the song, talk-singing along with the song, back turned to Sydney. “Brenda and Eddie were still going steady in the summer of ‘75, when they decided the marriage would be at the end of July.”

Sydney can’t help the laugh she lets out. Carmy spins around, an indignant smile on his face.

“Stop looking at me like I’m crazy,” he says, “you’re the one who doesn’t know Billy Joel.”

“I do know some Billy Joel,” Syd says. “Just not this Billy Joel.”

“Well I'm showing you this Billy Joel,” Carmy says. “Listen. Come on, you’re not listening to it. This is good music.”

He sets down his knife, walking over to her, holding out a hand.

Something in the pit of Sydney’s stomach fires off like an over-excited fire-cracker.

“Are you seriously trying to dance with me right now,” she asks flatly, glancing between his face and his extended hand, trying her very best to hold her sarcasm out in front of her like a shield against whatever fuckary this is.

Carmy’s smile fades, just for an instant. Sydney can’t stand it. She rolls her eyes, and takes his hand. Immediately, he grins, spinning her around him. She can’t help but smile. Carmy reaches out for her other hand, pulling her in on one side and pushing her away on the other, awkward high-school-dance moves that a grown man should probably not be pulling on her right now, and should certainly not be working as well as they are.

She meets his eyes, wide grin, slight flush, hair even more disheveled than usual. For a second, she just stares at him, forgetting to dance, forgetting to smile. Carmy, oblivious, is still singing.

“They parted the closest of friends, then the king and the queen went back to the green, but you can never go back there again, no no.”

Fuck.

She shakes her head ruefully, spinning him around to break their eye contact. And okay, maybe she spun him away from her slightly too hard because his hand slips out of hers and he stumbles a few steps away from her, laughing, and then, in a flash of movement, moving back to her, one hand coming to her lower back, the other settling around her shoulders pulling her into his chest, still laughing, still red in the face, breathing slightly heavier than usual, vocalizing Billy fucking Joel right into her ear.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck?

Is she slow dancing with Carmen fucking Berzatto in their kitchen right now?

He’s ridiculously warm in a white tee shirt and jeans, solid and impossibly, weirdly soft, leaning heavily against her, breathing against her neck, smelling like kitchen spices and sweat. This is simply not fair. This is… seriously outside anything normal or manageable. Carmy’s hand on her lower back is keeping her in place against him, stomach to stomach, fingertips splayed out across her back.

She’s stopped moving, she realizes. Carmy stops too after a moment, but he’s still pressed against her, still smiling slightly. Syd lets out a short, nervous laugh.

“Is this weird?” Carmy asks, voice low, unsure, still holding her close—maybe so he doesn’t have to look her in the eye, maybe so he can just rest his chin against her shoulder for a little longer.

Very slowly, Sydney brings a hand to the space between Carmy’s shoulder blades, just resting it there. “Kind of, yeah,” she says. “But not bad weird.”

“Fuck, sometimes… it’s like I forget to be nervous in front of you,” Carmy says—quick, breathless words, slowly pulling back from her, an embarrassed little smile on his face. “And I make a fuckin’ fool of myself before I realize I’m doing it.”

Sydney smirks back at him. “Well it’s kind of too late to fool me into thinking you’re cool,” she says. “Might as well stop being nervous about it. I mean, that ship has sailed.”

Carmy laughs, shaking his head, going a bit redder in the face. “I just really want you to like Billy Joel,” he says.

Syd smiles. “No, I do,” she says. “I totally do like him. I really like him.”

“He has other good songs,” Carmy says. “I always liked this one though. I was like fourteen, thinkin’ I was gonna meet a girl and take her to an Italian restaurant and get… fucking married at twenty. Talk about a ship that’s sailed.”

He goes quiet.

Over the speaker, Billy Joel is still singing.

“A bottle of red, oh a bottle of white, whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight. I’ll meet you anytime you want, in our Italian restaurant.”

“It kind of did work out though,” Sydney says, over the last few chords of the song, “I mean, you do in fact own an Italian restaurant.”

“Yeah,” Carmy says, a boyish smile crossing his face. His expression lingers on her for a long moment.

The song ends, and abruptly, loud guitar chords blare through the kitchen.

“Oh my God,” Carmy says, grinning, the tension of the moment entirely shattered. “Fuckin’ love this one.”

He crosses back to his prep station, picking his knife and returning to his work like nothing happened, bobbing his head and singing, “You had to be a big shot, didn’t you?”

Syd watches him for a little while longer before going back to her sweeping, making a mental note to never think of this night ever again. She’s not sure she could withstand the sheer force of her own stupid fucking yearning. Minutes pass. Half an hour. Carmy cycles through ten odd Billy Joel songs, and then—

“Hey, Syd!” Carmy calls from the kitchen.

Sydney turns, white-knuckling her broom handle, collecting herself for a moment before walking toward the sound of his voice.

When she reaches him, he gives her a crooked, slightly unsure smile.

“If it’s not bad weird," he says, "can we keep doing it?”

Her face burns. She stares at him for a long moment, trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not.

“I mean, can you come here again?” Carmy says, quieter, sounding slightly desperate, while she’s still trying to gauge his sincerity.

Wordlessly she steps toward him, heart pounding. He wraps his arms around her waist, exhaling heavily, chin returning to its place on her shoulder, An Innocent Man playing through the empty restaurant.

“Some people live with the fear of the touch, and the anger of having been a fool.”

Sydney’s not entirely sure how the night ends. It sort of blurs together; Carmy holding her against him, clasped hands, kitchen knives, food prep, sweeping, laughing, blushing, Billy Joel and Carmy’s singing voice. Eventually, Sydney in the doorway, bag slung over one shoulder, Carmy flushed and breathless from laughter, Sydney mentally filing away exactly how it sounds when Carmy says her name, out of breath and slightly desperate.

“I feel like I should apologize to you,” he says, but he's still smiling.

"Yeah you should apologize for not finishing your prep," she says, clinging to the remaining shreds of her self-respect as she stares at him. "Get that done. I need some fucking sleep."

"Yes, chef," Carmy promises softly, with a rueful look on his face. She turns to leave, but he speaks again. "Hey. "Thanks, Syd."

She turns back.

"For what?"

He shrugs, looking down at his feet.

"I just had a nice night."

"Yeah, me too, Bear," Sydney says, and then forces herself to walk away from him, out the door and into the Chicago cold.

Maybe the sleeplessness is making them both crazier than she realized.

Or maybe it's not just the sleeplessness.

Because she's pretty sure she's going to be thinking about exactly how Carmy's arms felt wrapped around her for the rest of her fucking life. And if that's not insanity, she doesn't know what is.

[allswell]

" and what does friendship entail"😒

 * . ✧ THE GILDED WOLVES ✧ . * starters

❛ You are, what they call in the language— ❜ Cecil pauses, inspects the bow beneath his hands, and summarily unties the ribbon before doing it all over again. It was better to make flawless what he could do without defect.

❛ —cocky, yes? ❜

He finishes his ornamentation and leans back to admire his work. Eiden lies face-down on the couch beneath him, dressed in a maid's costume with hands tied behind his back. He's looking at Cecil sideways, face flushed with his cheek pressed against the cushions.

"Yeah well, you're an assho—mmph!" Eiden gets cut off mid-sentence as Cecil gags him with a thick dishcloth between his jaws. His body shudders in response, but it's hard to tell whether he's angry, afraid, or...something else. Wide eyes show that he has plenty to say, but the gag makes it impossible to speak at the moment.

Patting him down from head to toe—occasionally groping out curiosity, when he feels like it—Cecil continues to narrate. ❛ I have more acquaintances than friends, and I tender to my lovers more than either. Gifting him something I wouldn't mind for myself...I suppose that's friendship? ❜

The assassin adjusts the bow of the maid apron one more time before sliding off Eiden's body to straighten out his clothes. The other instantly begins to struggle and scramble off the couch, but Cecil's already tied his ankles together and his body to the sofa so he doesn’t make any progress.

❛ This isn't a kidnapping, ❜ Cecil reassures him. ❛ It won't even be a murder. ❜ He saunters over to an open box filled just for this purpose, and carries it back to Eiden’s side. ❛ I’m just planning a surprise. Fun, no? ❜

Tilting the box over the couch, Cecil pours out a shower of plugs and toys and everything else, chosen by size and color. It’s not roses, but it’d do for the arrangement. They bounce off Eiden’s body and nestle among his skirts, the folds of fabric between his clothes and the cushions, and finally the floor. Cecil bends down to fix the scene so it looks more artistic, dodging Eiden’s attempts to get his attention with more thrashing in his bonds.

❛ Yes, yes, I know you’re impatient too…tsk. ❜ Tutting at that, Cecil strokes Eiden's head before pulling sharply at his hair, causing his captive to make muffled noises of pain before he falls docile. Releasing him then, the marquis reaches into his pocket for his phone and dials a specific number.

❛ Are you there? ❜ he waits for the other end to answer before walking towards the door, casually flipping the “CLOSED” sign back to “OPEN” on the store window. ❛ Well, I’ve prepared the basics. You’ll need to open him up yourself since you’re the one dining in. ❜

❛ ...half an hour? That’s so long. I’ve other appointments to keep tonight, so hurry up if you want him. ❜ Pausing at the entrance, Cecil turns to give Eiden a cutesy wave goodbye. ❛ You see, I’m leaving the door unlocked. He’ll be an open buffet for whoever finds him first. Or perhaps they'll release him so he can run away? ❜

The volume on the other end increases. Cecil laughs, blows the receiver a kiss, and hangs up after wishing the other a very “bon appétit.” Then he steps out of SP*T without a care, the door swinging shut behind him.

Leaving Eiden to struggle alone and unheard on the sofa.

[theonewhopoops]

Quite literally the whole "bring a calm activity to bed" is an underrated key idea.

I discovered this concept when I rearranged my room so that my "desk chair" was my bed. I could watch a movie, draw, play a little game on my phone, read - whatever I was in the mood to do, I could do it IN BED. I even did puzzles occasionally. I fell asleep whenever I got sleepy and didn't have to lay awake stressing, or give up sleep for my fun activity in another area of the house.

During the day, to keep Daytime Activities separate from Sleepytime Activities, I would do things at the kitchen table or a coffee shop or if I couldn't be in the main area of the house I'd set up on my bedroom floor. That way my bed remained Sleepy Zone.

There's also a HUGE difference between watching something on your phone/laptop versus watching something on your TV to fall asleep. The TV is so much brighter and louder even if you turn its brightness and volume down, and it's so many extra steps to turn it off (where's the remote? do you need a separate remote or controller to turn off/pause your media player of choice?) Being able to just click off my phone or close my laptop or put my book down when I can't keep my eyes open anymore makes them so minimally demanding and so minimally stressful.

Additionally, on the subject of "some is better than none" you may also have an ideal sleep timer. For me, it's increments of four hours. If I get four hours of sleep, I'm golden. If I get three, or five, I'm miserable.

My ideal sleep schedule is about 3am to 11:00am. I've proven this time and time again, and regardless what time I go to sleep, I wake up at 11:00am WITHOUT ALARMS, ALMOST COMPLETELY WITHOUT FAIL.

Anyway. This post is validating and wonderful.

I think the eight alarms thing is usually a maladaptation. You've trained your brain to ignore the eight alarms because you kept avoiding the training of willpower following the first alarm would require. I think some sleep therapy might help?

Hey so first of all fuck you, thanks.

Second: I love it when you read literature on sleep disorders, especially if it's on sleep disorders among folks with ADHD, and you see time and time again "when allowed to sleep on their preferred schedule subjects maintained healthy, normal, restorative sleep cycles" and "effects were not lasting without ongoing intervention; resetting the sleep schedule is a permanent effort."

Like, if I sleep *great* from 6am to 2pm and I wake up feeling rested and alert with no special help but I need to turn off the lights in my house and shut down all electronics at 8pm and beam a spotlight into my face starting at 5am to wake up at seven and feel exhausted all day, I think perhaps it is not actually my sleep cycle that is wrong it is perhaps society that is wrong.

BELIEVE ME, when I find the job that pays well and has decent insurance that lets me exist as a cheerful nighttime ghoul I am jumping on that with both feet. But until then I literally feel better getting six hours of sleep and occasionally sleeping so hard that i can't hear my alarms because of chronic sleep deprivation than I do turning off all the lights in my house and ceasing all activity two and a half hours after I get off of work.

Also: the eight alarms aren't all there to wake me up, it's just that sometimes I *also* sleep through the ones that are supposed to remind me to go sit at my desk and start work. One of the first three usually gets me up, but on a day when I sleep through all three of those I will be sleeping through all eight of them and usually a phone call and someone trying to shake me awake to.

ANYWAY after being treated with melatonin and light therapy and staring listlessly at the ceiling in the dark bored out of my skull with racing thoughts for sleep disorders that I didn't have for like twenty years the single most effective intervention that allowed me to get more sleep as someone with both ADHD and DSPD was to start hanging out and being active in places where it would be easy to fall asleep if the sleep caught me there instead of turning my bedroom into a dark, silent shrine of snoozing. Giving myself permission to fall asleep late instead of laying awake chewing myself up with guilt for not being asleep helped too.

Actually here's some tips for the sleepy bitches in the crowd:

1 - If you're laying down and not falling asleep in half an hour, you're not actually sleepy; read something or get up and do something because you're more likely to get sleepy faster that way than you are staring at the clock going "if I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and forty five minutes of rest when I have to go to work; If I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and twenty minutes of sleep when I have to get up, etc. etc."

2 - Allow yourself to be ambushed by sleep. Fall asleep on your cozy couch. Fall asleep in the comfy chair. Let yourself sleep where you fall asleep instead of dragging yourself to where you're 'supposed' to sleep if doing so will wake you up.

3 - The mythbusters thing. If you just lay down and close your eyes and pretend to rest you will feel more rested when you get up than when you laid down. Laying down to rest is better than nothing, it literally causes cognitive improvements similar to sleep in tests, and knowing that can help take off some of the pressure of not being able to fall asleep and can thus help you fall asleep.

4 - It's okay to "hang out" in the area where you're going to sleep. Read in bed. Play games on your cellphone in bed. If you want to go to sleep put on comfy clothes and bring a chill activity and hang out in your bed to do it so that all you have to do when you start getting sleepy is close your eyes.

5 - It's better to get some sleep than no sleep. Sometimes you look at the clock and it's six AM and whoops, fuck it. Okay, time for bed, don't stress that you're only going to get a few hours, a few hours is better than nothing. Lay down to pretend to rest at least and you'll probably feel okay.

6 - This one sounds silly and might not work for a bunch of people for a bunch of reasons but apparently there's some research suggesting that "well-rested" is a state of mind? I've had a reasonable amount of success with just telling myself "Yeah, I actually feel pretty good," and pushing through the day on a couple of hours of sleep. I don't *recommend* that and you should try to get as much sleep as possible, but yeah the next time you're low on sleep see what happens if you just try to decide to not be tired. It sounded like bullshit to me when I first heard it but I've found some success with it.

7 - This shit is cumulative. If you're doing a couple nights a week on low sleep that's not ideal but you're probably going to be pretty functional and you can work on it. If you overbook and overextend yourself for too long - I'm looking at you college students and new parents - it's going to add up. Try as much as possible to at least keep your sleep deficit nights spread out. (This message brought to you by writing 60k words of fiction in october and completely frying my brain because i wasn't getting enough sleep).

[rewirelessify]

How To Use Echo Dot As Bluetooth Speakers?

The Echo Dot is a popular device from Amazon that can do a lot more than just answer your questions or control your smart home devices. Did you know that you can also use it as a Bluetooth speaker? Yes, you read that right! In this article, we'll show you how to use Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speakers. Before we dive into the steps, let's quickly answer the question: how to charge portable wireless speakers? Most portable wireless speakers come with a USB charging cable that you can plug into any USB port or USB wall adapter. Some speakers also come with a charging dock or a built-in battery that you can recharge using a power outlet. Whether you're looking to listen to music, podcasts, or audiobooks, using your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker is a convenient and easy way to enjoy your favourite audio content. So, without further ado, let's get started on how to use Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker and elevate your listening experience.

Setting Up Your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth Speaker

As an avid music listener, I was thrilled to learn that my Echo Dot could double as a Bluetooth speaker. Setting it up was fairly straightforward, and I had no trouble connecting my device to the Echo Dot. Here’s a step-by-step guide on how to set up your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker: Connecting Your Device to the Echo Dot First, you’ll need to make sure that your Echo Dot is plugged in and turned on. Once it’s powered up, open the Alexa app on your device and navigate to the Devices tab. From there, select the Echo Dot you want to use as a Bluetooth speaker and click on Bluetooth Devices. Pairing Your Device with the Echo Dot Next, put your device in pairing mode by opening its Bluetooth settings and selecting the option to pair a new device. Your Echo Dot should show up on the list of available devices – click on it to connect. Once your device is connected to the Echo Dot, you’re ready to start playing music. Troubleshooting Any Connection Issues If you have trouble connecting your device to the Echo Dot, try resetting both devices and starting the process over again. You can also try moving your Echo Dot closer to your device to ensure a stronger Bluetooth connection.

Playing Music Through Your Echo Dot

As a music lover, I was excited to learn that my Echo Dot could double as a Bluetooth speaker. After connecting my device to the Echo Dot and pairing it, I was ready to start playing my favourite tunes. Starting Playback  To start playing music, I simply opened my music app and selected a song. I was then prompted to choose where to play the music, and I selected my Echo Dot. Alternatively, I could have asked Alexa to play a song by saying "Alexa, play from ." Controlling Playback  Once the music was playing, I could use my connected device to control playback or use voice commands with Alexa. I could pause, skip, or replay a song using the buttons on my device or by asking Alexa to do so. I could also adjust the volume by using the buttons on my device or asking Alexa to turn it up or down. Troubleshooting Playback Issues  If I encountered any issues with playback, I could try restarting my device, reconnecting it to the Echo Dot, or checking for any software updates. I could also try adjusting the sound quality settings on my device or the EQ settings on the Echo Dot to improve the sound.

Using Your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth Speaker for Other Audio

As an avid music listener, I have found the Echo Dot to be a great addition to my home. One of the best features of this smart speaker is its ability to act as a Bluetooth speaker. In addition to playing music, the Echo Dot can also be used as a speaker for other types of audio. Streaming Audio from Apps or Websites on Your Device  When using the Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker, you can stream audio from any app or website on your device. This means that you can use your Echo Dot to listen to podcasts, and audiobooks, or even take phone calls. To do this, simply connect your device to the Echo Dot as you would when playing music. Once your device is connected, start playing the audio you want to listen to and it will come through the Echo Dot. Using Your Echo Dot as a Speaker for Video Content  Another great use for the Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker is to use it to listen to video content. When watching videos on your device, simply connect it to the Echo Dot and the audio will play through the speaker. However, it is important to note that there may be a slight delay between the audio and video when using the Echo Dot as a speaker for video content. This is because the audio needs to be transmitted from your device to the Echo Dot, which can take a fraction of a second. Other Ways to Use Your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth Speaker  In addition to music, podcasts, audiobooks, and video content, there are many other types of audio that you can play through your Echo Dot. For example, you can use your Echo Dot to play white noise or nature sounds to help you sleep, or to listen to guided meditations or yoga classes. Overall, the Echo Dot is a versatile device that can be used as a Bluetooth speaker for many different types of audio. Whether you are streaming music, listening to a podcast, or watching a video, the Echo Dot can provide a high-quality listening experience.

Tips and Tricks for Using Your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth Speaker

As someone who has been using an Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker for a while, I have learned some tips and tricks that can make the experience even better. Here are some things to keep in mind: Optimizing Sound Quality Placement: Try to place your Echo Dot on a hard surface like a table or shelf to avoid muffled sound. Avoid placing it in corners or against walls. EQ Settings: You can adjust the bass, midrange, and treble of your Echo Dot by going to the Alexa app on your phone, selecting your Echo Dot, and then going to the Equalizer settings. Volume Control: If you want to raise or lower the volume of your Echo Dot, you can do so with your voice, but it's also helpful to know that you can control the volume by swiping up or down on the top of the device. Maximizing Battery Life Turn Off When Not in Use: If you're not using your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker, it's a good idea to turn it off to conserve battery life. You can do this by saying "Alexa, turn off" or by holding down the action button until the light turns red. Charging: When you do need to charge your Echo Dot, you can use the included micro-USB cable and plug it into a wall adapter or your computer. Other Useful Features and Functions Multi-Room Audio: If you have multiple Echo Dots, you can use them as part of a multi-room audio setup. This allows you to play music in different rooms at the same time. Alexa Commands: You can control playback using Alexa voice commands, such as "pause," "resume," "skip," and "go back." By following these tips and tricks, you can get the most out of your Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker. Whether you're listening to music or streaming other audio, the Echo Dot can be a great way to enhance your listening experience.

Frequently Asked Questions About Using an Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker

Here are some frequently asked questions about using an Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker: How do I connect my device to the Echo Dot?  To connect your device to the Echo Dot, first, turn on your device's Bluetooth and put it in pairing mode. Then, say "Alexa, pair Bluetooth" and follow the instructions. How do I control playback on my Echo Dot?  You can control playback using your connected devices, such as a phone or tablet, or by using Alexa's voice commands. You can say things like "pause," "resume," "skip," and "go back." Can I connect multiple devices to the same Echo Dot?  Yes, you can connect multiple devices to the same Echo Dot. How do I optimize sound quality on my Echo Dot?  To optimize sound quality on your Echo Dot, try placing it on a hard surface, adjusting the EQ settings in the Alexa app, and controlling the volume using the touch controls on the device or with your voice. Can I use my Echo Dot as a speaker for video content?  Yes, you can use your Echo Dot as a speaker for video content, but keep in mind that there may be a slight delay between the video and the audio due to Bluetooth latency. How do I turn off my Echo Dot when I'm not using it?  You can turn off your Echo Dot by saying "Alexa. And turn off" or by holding down the action button until the light turns red. Can I use my Echo Dot as part of a multi-room audio setup?  Yes, if you have multiple Echo Dots, you can use them as part of a multi-room audio setup to play music in different rooms at the same time.

Conclusion

In conclusion, using an Echo Dot as a Bluetooth speaker is a great option for a compact audio solution. With its easy setup process, it's simple to pair your device and start enjoying music, podcasts and more.  I found that the Echo Dot's sound quality was surprisingly good. I appreciated the ability to adjust the equalizer settings to my liking. Additionally, the Echo Dot has a lot of other useful features and functions. Such as voice commands, hands-free calling, and smart home control, which make it a great value for the price.  Overall, I would recommend the Echo Dot to anyone looking for a portable and reliable Bluetooth speaker option.   I hope you all liked the article. For more articles please visit: Rewirelessify Read the full article

[augustinewrites]

— in which a hotel room mishap leads to you and gojo sharing a bed, and shoko regrets not switching her phone to silent. (or, idiots in denial of their obvious feelings for one another bug their friend and share a bed for the first time.)

(cw: minors dni, bonus scene contains some suggestive content)

“So we’re sharing a room this time?” Gojo asks mildly, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders while the two of you stand in the elevator.

“Unfortunately,” you sigh. “Hotels in this district are pricey, but Yaga said there’s two beds.”

Sharing a room wasn’t usually an issue for you, exactly. Back during your school days, you’d shared rooms plenty of times with Shoko.

But Gojo was a different story. You’d never shared a room with him before— at least not without the Shoko and Suguru buffers during impromptu school sleepovers. The two of you were close friends, of course, but Gojo was…

Well, he was Gojo, and there’s always been this unspoken…thing, between the two of you.

“What’s so bad about that?” He asks, quirking a brow at you as the doors slide open and you step into the hall. “Afraid you won’t be able to resist my charms in such close quarters?”

You scoff, checking your room number. “Resist strangling you, you mean?”

“You couldn’t reach my neck, sweets,” he laughs, poking at your cheek. “You’re too short!”

He’s so lucky to be blessed with that infinity barrier.

“I’m of perfectly average height, you know,” you scowl, unlocking the door to your room and shoving the door open with your hip. “You’re just abnormally tall.”

“You better watch it with that mouth,” he chuckles, following you into the room and tossing his bag down as you fumble for a light switch. “I know where you sleep.”

You finally find the switch, slipping off your boots and dropping your bag beside his. Your eyes do a quick sweep of the room. “And you better sleep with one eye open, or else—”

You pause, frowning as Gojo pushes past you, leaping onto and sprawling his annoyingly long limbs out on the only bed situated in the centre of the room. He pats the space beside him, grinning.

“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise? Looks like we’re sharing!”

“Uh, no we’re not,” you immediately refuse. You really thought shit like this only happened in trashy rom-coms. “One of us is sleeping on the floor.”

Gojo slides his shades down to look at you. “You really want to go into the mission tomorrow with a sore back?”

No, you didn’t, but you didn’t want to share a bed with Gojo Satoru either. “Then I’ll sleep on the bed. You sleep on the floor.”

He hardly looks bothered as he flicks the tv on, throwing his hands up behind his head, sinking into the pile of pillows. “No thanks. C’mon, just be an adult and share a bed with me.”

“This is hardly appropriate—”

He turns the volume of the tv up.

“Gojo—”

He turns it up more, and you’re scared you’ll get a noise complaint not five minutes into your stay.

“Fine!” You snap, snatching the remote from his hands and turning the volume down. “I’m gonna go take a shower, but when I get back, I want a wall of pillows dividing the bed.”

You don’t wait for his answer, snatching your bag of toiletries and stepping into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Huffing, you get the shower running, turning the dial all the way up so steam slowly begins to accumulate. Satisfied, you dig your phone out of your pocket and tap Shoko’s contact.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s 11pm,” you answer, your back sliding down the door until you land on the floor. “You’re having a drink before bed, don’t tell me you were asleep.”

“…Whatever. What’s going on? Did Gojo finally annoy you into killing him? Need help disposing of the body?”

“There’s only one bed,” you grit, clutching the phone to your ear. “Shoko, I need to share a bed with him.”

Your friend doesn’t say anything for a second.

Then she chuckles a few times, and you can hear the smug grin on her lips when she says, “That’s not the worst thing, is it?”

“It absolutely is!” You whisper-shout, hoping Gojo can’t hear. “What if— What if I roll over in bed and touch him or something?”

“Well, he’d probably like that.”

Your face turns hot, and it’s not because of the steam. “Shut up!”

“Are you going to wear those little shorts to bed? Because you know those are like catnip for men.”

You were planning on wearing those shorts to bed, but you weren’t too sure anymore. “Shoko, what do I do?”

“Well, it’s either share the bed or sleep on the floor.”

You were not sleeping on the floor.

_____

A hot shower does little to calm your frazzled nerves. Especially when, upon stepping out and towelling yourself dry, you realize that you’ve forgotten to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom.

You curse quietly. What the hell did you do now? You could ask Gojo to bring you a change of--

No, you absolutely did not want to think about Gojo Satoru handling your underwear.

You can’t stay in here all night though (but you were really, really debating it), so you steel yourself like the semi-special grade sorcerer you are, wrapping the towel around yourself as tightly as possible, and stepping out of the bathroom. The lights are all off, so you assume Gojo’s taken off his sunglasses for the night.

“Finally,” you hear him say. “I thought you drowned in there.”

“It’s called hygiene, you should try it sometime,” you retort moodily, ducking down to open your bag. You dig around blindly— why was your underwear suddenly so hard to find?

You hear the rustle of bedsheets behind you, followed by a low wolf whistle that makes your cheeks burn. “If you wanted to seduce me, you didn’t have to try this hard, you know.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grumble, looking over your shoulder to shoot him a glare.

But you immediately turn back around, staring hard at your bag. “Oh my god, Satoru, where is your shirt?”

“I can’t sleep with a shirt on. Guess I just run hot at night.”

Oh god. Of course he sleeps shirtless. He has a great body, of course he would show it off.

Before you can even think twice, you glance over your shoulder again, just for a peek…

Your eyes meet Gojo’s, and the both of you whip your heads in opposite directions. Giving up, you grab your entire bag and rush back into the safety of the bathroom.

_____

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Satoru mutters, rolling off of the bed and onto the floor. He’d just seen you in a towel and nothing else, and his heart was racing as if he’d just run a hundred meter dash.

“Oh my god, do they not have clocks in Sapporo?”

“Shoko, what the hell?” He whispers harshly, peeking over the edge of the bed to make sure the bathroom door is still closed. “Why didn’t you answer right away? What if I was dying?”

“It’s almost midnight, asshole. You better be dying.”

“We’re sharing a bed. What if she accidentally touches me? You know how touch-starved I am, what if I moan? I’ll die of embarrassment. What if she’s wearing those shorts with little candies on them? They turn me on so much.”

Shoko groans, and he can practically hear her roll her eyes through the phone. “Turn the thermostat down, then maybe she’ll wear pants.”

The thermostat, of course! Why didn’t he think of that? “You’re a genius! Now, since you’re a doctor, what should I do if I get morning...you know.”

“...I’m going to hang up now, but Gojo?”

“What?”

“This whole thing would be a lot easier if you two just talked like adults.”

Satoru drops his phone into his lap, rubbing a hand down his face. He was 22 years old and the strongest sorcerer alive, for god’s sake, but he’s been reduced to a red-faced, fumbling mess because he was about to share a bed with you.

He needed someone to tell him he was worrying for nothing. Sharing a bed shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not that different from the times he’s snuck into your room to share mochi at midnight, staying up to play card games or talking about feminism or classism and a bunch of other ism’s that you can only debate about at 3am.

He’s drawn from his thoughts when he hears the doorknob turning, scrambling up from his spot on the floor to smack at the thermostat.

Satoru tries to look casual when you pad into the room, fresh and dewy from your shower. Gojo tries, oh, he tries, but his gaze drifts to your legs and knows that he is so, so fucked.

_____

You choose not to acknowledge the fact that Gojo is staring at your legs.

“Why is it so cold?” You mutter, rubbing at your arms. “Did you turn the thermostat down?”

“I told you, I run hot at night,” he reasons, waving you off with a chuckle. “Well, we should get to bed. Early morning for...whatever you said before. C’mon, under the covers, you.” He herds you towards the bed, yanking the covers back and all but shoving you in and pulling the blankets up to your chin “There we go, legs covered and all.”

You sit up as he watches you, unmoving from his spot by the bed.“Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not being weird. You’re being weird.”

“Then get in bed.”

“I will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!”

He flicks the tv off so you’re both plunged into darkness, but it only heightens the anticipation between the two of you. Once your eyes adjust, you’re quick to shove two pillows down the length of the bed to create a sufficient barrier. It wouldn’t do much, what with his stupidly long limbs and all.

The bed dips as Gojo silently settles into the other side.

You’re doing it. You’re sharing a bed with Gojo, and the world did not implode.

“Do you think pigeons have feelings?”

You roll onto your side, shutting your eyes tightly. “Gojo, please shut up.”

A full minute passes before he answers. His voice is soft, it’s strange. “Why won’t you call me by my first name?”

You shuffle around to face him, his brilliant blue eyes peeking over the pillow wall to watch you intently. “Because it would be weird.”

“Why?” He asks, brows pulled down in confusion. “No matter how much we bicker, you know you’re one of my closest friends. Besides, you did it before.”

“I did?” you blink. “When?”

“When you were shamelessly checking me out,” he snickers. You, scoff, briefly considering kicking him as you roll back around.

Instead, you reach over to blindly smack at his face, pretending not to be surprised when your palm meets his cheek and not his barrier. “I was not checking you out, Gojo.”

He brushes past your lie, sighing. “Hey, I was checking you out too. I mean, how could I not? You’re insanely beautiful.”

Your eyes widen slightly, mouth opening and closing as you try and fail to come up with a response.

He’s never called you that before.

Lips curling slightly, you wait until his breathing starts to even which is when you whisper back,

“Good night, Satoru.”

BONUS

When Satoru wakes up, he immediately regrets listening to Shoko. He should really know better than to listen to a doctor who cheated to get her license.

The room is cold, and naturally, you’d hogged all the blankets. So apparently in his sleep, he’d destroyed your pillow wall and pressed himself against you for warmth.

Which put your back dangerously close to his very unfortunate erection.

He was a relatively young guy, with a better than average sex drive, he reasoned. This was totally normal. All he needed to do was move over, get out of bed, and take care of this in the bathroom without waking you up. Thank god he’d woken up first for once.

But then you moved, your butt gently brushing his dick as you did so, and a strained noise slipped past his lips (totally not a moan). He froze when your quiet snores stopped, and he hoped to god you weren’t still a light sleeper.

“Satoru, is that…?”

Oh fuck.

“No,” he lied, quickly pulling away and yanking a pillow in front of his crotch.

It didn’t take you long to figure it out, and Satoru swore he saw his life flash before his eyes. “Oh my god!” you cried, scrambling off of the bed, suddenly wide awake.

“I’m sorry, it’s morning!” He shouted back, running a hand through his hair. Oh, you were not going to let him live this down.

“Go to the bathroom right now!”

[malibusmoke]

Camboy Kenma × Top Male Reader

note: If Kenma was going to act like a little slut, then you would just have to treat him like one

tw: vouyerism, exhibitionism, dub-con, throat fucking, slight dacryphilia, dirty talk, feminisation, sex toy, NSFW, pet names, Top!Male!Reader, Bottom!Kenma

You were tired, working hard for hours, your body covered in scrapes from practice. You walked towards your flat, stretching lightly. It was evening, just beginning to get dark, and you missed your boyfriend.

You stepped into your apartment and shut the door behind you, opting to phone Kenma straight away. The phone buzzed, once, twice, three times. Strange, you thought to yourself. Kenma always picks up quickly, especially if it’s from you.

You sigh and place it down as it goes to voicemail, walking to your bedroom. You were pent up, and if Kenma wasn’t going to help you, then you’d have to sort it out yourself.

Opening the laptop from your discarded school bag, you flick open to a new tab. Needing to find something quickly you opened up the first website on the search page. Scrolling through the streams you noticed that they were all pretty amatuer; your eyes settled on one in particular, “BBb0y”.

A man, seated on the edge of a bed. A too-large sweatshirt was hanging off his slim frame, showing off both of his collar bones. It wasn't long enough to cover his underwear, lacy pink things that were so small they didn't even bother with a pattern. His legs were completely nude, apart from a pair of thigh highs, leaving a couple inches of his pale, soft-looking legs bare. 

He was pretty, and the viewer count at the bottom of the screen showed he was popular, too. You joined the stream.

His head was cut off from view of the camera, and you couldn’t tell if he was speaking or not. Your eyes flickered to the chat screen. New messages were rolling in every few seconds, most of them were thirsty, some were donating money, some were in languages you couldn't read. You turned up the volume and turned your eyes to the video again.

A thin choker sat around the boy's exposed neck, a small bell sitting between his collar bones. His Adams apple bobbes with every teasing word, “Hmmm, make it a little more. 50 and I'll take off the sweater.” The chat exploded with rushed donations, but there was something about his soft voice that seemed familiar…

The boy hummed in appreciation, and lifted the jumper to expose a soft but toned stomach, and dusty pink nipples. The boy in question had turned his back to the camera, legs spread wide apart to properly show off his ass, bulge barely covered. Your dick twitched in appreciation, It looked so round and firm. Almost like Kenma’s.  

The boy arched his back, rocking down towards the bed with small rolls of his hips. You bit down on your lip, fuck, how good he would look bouncing on your cock right now. The chat exploded as he hooked his thumbs into the top of his panties, slowly pulling them down. 

Lonely_boy69: 100 if you moan my name when you cum🥛

4er0sm1th: I’ll make it 200! (;

ПапаДом: О, черт возьми, повернись и сожги этот член для меня.

His half-hard cock sprung free, bobbing cutely as his pink tip leaked pre-cum. You palm your hardening dick as he let out low, breathy moans, his back arching in pleasure as he began to finger himself.

He paused slightly, wiggling his ass at the camera before slapping one of his cheeks harshly, fuck, you wished it was your handprint there. The boy leaned back and you caught a glimpse of his hair- shoulder length and blonde. Your eyes narrow. No. It couldn’t be. 

“BBb0y” spread his legs wider, bringing a pink dildo to rest against his stretched hole. You’d seen that before somewhere... The head slowly pressed inside without too much resistance, a loud, drawn-out moan falling from his lips at the stretch.

 “Ah, g-give me a minute to adjust,” He whispered, panting loudly. One arm hooked under his knee, bringing it towards his chest, while his other hand slowly worked the toy in deeper. His toes curled as he bottomed out, only the base of the toy sticking out of him now. His lips were open in a silent cry as he brought his legs closer to his chest, showing his ass off properly to the camera. 

Something was off about him, you thought, stroking your dick softly. You hummed and picked up your phone again, and phoned Kenma as you spread pre around your throbbing head. A minute passed as it dialed, and what happened next caused a sick grin to come to your face.

“BBb0y” froze in place, dildo half out of his ass as his phone vibrated in his discarded jumper. He let out a weak chuckle and lent over to turn it off. Your call ended.

Fucking. Slut. If he wanted to be treated like a whore, all he had to do was ask you. But instead, here he was, getting payed to moan *other people's names* as he fucked himself. Did he really think that piece of plastic was better than your dick?

You buttoned up your pants and grabbed your keys. Kenma’s apartment was only a few blocks from here. He needed to be taught a lesson.

_____________________________________________

You had a spare key, and as you pushed his creaky door open, you were met with the sounds of quiet moans. They flowed from his room and as you approached his room, squelching and slick sounds filled your ears.

He hadn’t closed his door and you watched him from the crack- fucking himself with the same pink dildo and fisting his little cock.

“M-make it th-three hundred, hnnng, and i’ll d-do it,” He moaned, and the chat pinged eagerly in response.

You watched in anger as he moaned someone elses name, and pushed open the door. “Heya kenma~!” You say. Your voice was sickly sweet, and Kenma shot up, shocked.

You walked over to him and pushed him back down onto the bed. “So, this is why you weren’t answering my calls, huh?” you tilted the camera angle up to show Kenma’s face, and he turned pale.

“I- i’m sorry, should have told y-” he started

“Yeah. you should have. Too bad all you are is just a. pathetic. little. slut.” You gripped the base of the dildo and pushed it harshly into his puckered ass. He whined at your words. The chat was going haywire, but you ignored it for the time being. “And pathetic little sluts like you  get treated like one.” You pulled the dildo out of his puckered entrance.

“So, get on your knees and suck me slut.” 

Kenma looked up with wide watery eyes, knowing wiser than to argue back. He slowly lowered himself between your legs and turned red as you angled the camera downwards. Making quick work of your belt and trousers, he pulled out your half hard cock.

“Please…” he whispered, staring at his lap. You tutted, pinching his nose. When he opened his mouth to gasp for air you pried his jaw open and thrusted into his hot, wet mouth.

“Oh fuck,” You groaned, bottoming out as Kenma gagged and drooled over your cock, “Youre such a good hole, use that toungue.” Kenma felt your length rising and growing in his throat to hard and leaking and groaned lightly. 

Kenma did as he was told, quivering under your hungry stare as the hand fisted in his hair pushed him back to your base. His efforts to breathe only served as more stimulation for you, and his tongue began to swirl quickly. Teasers pricked his eyes with humiliation with the camera right above.

Slowly you began to thrust, pulling out just enough to chase your orgasm, but never enough to allow Kenma a full breath of air. “That’s it - fuck- little slut,” you grinned, tossing your head back with a sigh. 

Kenma’s mind swirled as you reveled in the heat of his hot mouth, swirling meaningless shapes against your throbbing flesh. The feel of him against your wet muscle set a pulse between your thighs, and you grunted. “Look at the camera, whore. I think they deserve a good show.”

Kenma looked up with tears trailing his soft red cheeks, his own erection throbbing harshly. When you finally pulled out of his throat, he foolishly went to suck in a sharp breath of air, only to have that interrupted by your cock wedging itself there once more and forcing him to audibly choke.

You glanced at the chat screen. They must have thought this was planned. Oh how wrong they were.

MasterGator1: Oh fuck he’s hot! is that his boyfriend?

donaldduckdick: I don’t know who I want to be more….

Lonely_boy69: Yeah fuck that little whore’s throat!

You chuckled and pulled Kenma off your length. “All fours, on the bed.” You trailed his movements with the camera, still talking, “This little slut didn’t tell his daddy what he was doing. Been moaning your guys names with his slutty mouth, pretending this fake piece of shit plastic is better than me.”

You crawled onto the bed and placed the camera facing Kenma before sitting behind him.

“And he’s been making you all pay for it.” The watching count on the video was now in the thousands, “I’ll make sure you get your money for it, won’t I Kenma”

He shivered at your words and nodded weakly. You ground your erection on his plump ass, thrusting it slickly between his lubed cheeks.

“Use your words, bitch.” You growled and teased your flushed tip at his entrance.

“Y-yes!” He sputtered out. “I’m sorry daddy! I’m sorry sir! Y/N!”

You thrusted into his slick entrance feeding him inch after inch as his hole fluttered. You set up a punishing pace, the clap of your hips on his round ass taking up the room.

“I bet you all wish you could stuff his tight little holes.” You grinned, leaning forwards and licking a trip up Kenma’s neck. He mewled, bucking back against you. “How d’ya feel about that Kenma?”

You matched your words with brutal thrusts and your thick cock snapped against his prostate with every movement. Kenma felt his knees go weak at your words and movements, collapsing onto his elbows.

“N-no cock is as -AH!- good as yours sir!” He sobbed at the stimulation.

Your hand fisted his hair and pulled his head up to stare at the camera. His face was flushed and eyes lidded and blown, drool and your precum dripped down his chin and his hair was a mess. You nearly cummed right there as he clenched *hard* around your cock.

“That’s fucking right you slut. Shit- you're so good. My perfect little cocksleeve, baby girl.” 

He looked so beautiful like that, all spread out and moaning your name. Your breathing sped up and you lifted his legs over your shoulders, reaching even deeper into his tight heat.

“I-i’m close Y/N,” Kenma whimpered and reached down to his neglected cock. 

“No way girlie,” you snarled and batted his hand away, thrust knocking the wind out of him. “Cum from my cock, or don’t cum at all.” You knew Kenma hadn’t been able to do that yet so he;d just have to work for it.

朝陽: いっちゃう！

Slutfuck3r: Gonna cum just from his voice!

Kenma whimpered and thrusted himself back against your cock desperate to cum on your long thick cock. You were both brutal, chasing after your orgasm. The bubble of white hot pleasure in your groin was so close to popping. Fuck. 

You thrusted directly into his abused prostate.

Kenma’s eyes rolled back into his head, tongue lolling out and moaning loud, “Hnng ah, ah ah! Y/N!” Kenma painted his stomach and bedsheets white as he came, whole body twitching with overstimulation and clenched tight around you. 

It was almost enough to send you over the edge. You shut your eyes tightly and gave a few hard, shallow thrusts before you came. “Oh Fuck!” You grunted out, your hot sticky seed painting Kenma’s insides. You rode out your orgasm as kenma let out loud moans at each tiny movement. 

You pulled out and let him flop onto the mattress, and picked up the camera once more. You checked the screen and saw the donations number was in the thousands, the people watching doubled since you last checked. You pointed the lense to Kenma’s fluttering hole.

Your pearly cum leaked out and down his pale thighs, staining the garters and stockings. “Look at this little cumslut. What are you Kenma, babygirl?” You grinned, lifting his head up and turning him to face the camera.

He could barely form a sentence in his fucked out state, “a-ah a c-cumslut. Y-your c-cumslut Y/N…” He murmured happily.

You stroked his cheek softly, running a thumb over his bitten lips. “That’s right. Mine.” You reached down and lifted the pink dildo from earlier. You collected the spilt cum on the tip and pushed it back inside with the dildo. 

“Mine, all mine. You’re gonna keep my cum inside of your slutty little fuckhole, you little whore. Oh- and don’t think your punishment is done yet sweetie, we still have plenty more time to entertain your viewers~”

[dokifluffs]

You’re Safe | Sakusa Kiyoomi

Pairing: Kiyoomi X Reader (female) 

Genre: MAFIA!AU, dad and husbando tehe, fluffy, action? thriller??

Author’s Note: mafia 🤝 protective 🤝 domestic father figure 🤝 SAKUSA

Warnings: k*lling, blood, vivid imagery, LONG, language

gif from @rivaillerose​ 🖤

“Y/N,” a husky voice spoke your name, pulling you from your much needed rest as life of being a new mother had been challenging though so far, it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle

“Y/N, darling.”

You groaned in your sleep, not wanting to wake, to leave the warmth that you were so comfortable laying in

The edge of the bed shifted as a weight sat down beside you, making your body move toward the person

You brought yourself to open your eyes as heavy as they were, your vision clearing to find your husband sat beside you, his mask pulled down to his chin

The room was gloomy and gray though the curtains were open, not a bit of sunlight shining through as he looked down to you with gentle eyes

Despite his softer side with you, he was still the head of the clan - and his appearance matched him as well

He donned a black wool overcoat with the same colored turtleneck and mask

“What is it, Omi?” You asked sleepily as he cupped your cheek with his black gloved hand

His black gloves were always an accessory he had on him, whether he was wearing them or not

He had a thing with germs but he also saw no need to get his hands dirty when his men were always there to do the job for him

You nuzzled your face into his touch, very tempted to fall asleep holding him close but as your mind woke up more and more, you remembered what today was

What he had to do, where he had to go

“I’m leaving soon.. I’ll be back in a few days..” he whispered as he moved a strand of your hair from your face

You wanted to pretend you didn’t hear these words, that he never told you he had to leave or when he did

A part of you wished he left without telling you but an even greater part was so grateful that he woke you

“Do you really have to go again?” You squeezed his gloved hand as you sat yourself up straighter

“You know how my father is... He wants to make sure things are... under control.. I promise I’ll be back in two days.”

The way he spoke, the words fell so effortlessly from those lips, his voice low and cutting through the space yet he spoke at a volume as if he was telling you a great secret

“You said that last time and he kept you with him for a couple weeks...” you thought back to that time

You were seven months pregnant, almost eight, at the time and it was like he fell off the face of the earth

You couldn’t go anywhere or do anything but reside in the manor and you couldn’t even talk to him

You were alone again

“Don’t go...”

the nights in bed alone, the cramps, emotional rollercoasters, motion sickness, nausea

You at least wished he could have called you

The nightmares you had, the worst case scenarios playing in your head until you woke up with tears streaming down your face, only for you to cry yourself silently back to sleep as fear pooled and plagued you from within

He could see the sadness in your eyes and he could remember vividly the mental torture he was put under

No communication to you and all he could at most to see you was through the hidden cameras all connected to his phone  

Even checking in on you had to be done in secret, all to make sure that he was strong enough to continue on the family business even if he had to lose you or be away for unpredictable amounts of time

It was unbearable then and it was still unbearable now

He never asked to grow up into the business of the underworld, let alone take it over from his father at the prime age of 20 four years ago

He never wanted your life to be taken away when you two had already been together when he was recruited

“I’m sorry, darling, but you know I have to,” he sighed. “You know how my father is.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your temple then lips before he stood

“Am I going to lose you?” Your voice broke the silence, breaking through the white sound of the downpour outside

But you had stopped your question early

“Am I going to lose you today? Tomorrow? One day?”

He stood frozen in his place before he could reach for the knob

“No, Y/N. You won’t.” His eyes paused for a bit on you as he thought about his response, the fatigue of being a mother was already showing. “I’ll be able to call you this time and I’m the head now. The only title my father has to me now is father.”

“You won’t.” He stepped back over to you leaned down to kiss you again. “Not today at least…”

“I’ll call you at supper time, darling. Have a good day.”

You did your best to hold onto his hand as long as you could, to remember his touch, his voice, his scent, the way he looked before he walked out those doors

Because some days or nights, you never truly know if you would ever see him again

And it terrified you

The sound of the rain only seemed to get more intense now that he was gone and you were here

But now your day was beginning now that you were awake

You slipped out of the king sized bed, leaving the warmth you had slept in as the soft carpet at your feet, your toes sinking into the fibers

Brushing your teeth, showering in the grand bathroom of the manor, it was a life you surely never expected but here you were

Kiyoomi’s father and his entire family had built their name from nothing to the global known corporation that it was today

You dried your body off, finding what to wear today through the walk in closet and once that was found, it was breakfast

“Good morning, madam, shall I bring you your breakfast to the master suite?” Your right hand maid had greeted you as you stepped out as she carried the laundry with her

“Oh, thank you, Olivia, but I’ll head down to the kitchen after waking D/N,” you smiled to the older maid that had worked for the Sakusa family for decades

All the staff that worked and lived in the estates on the property outside of the manor were trained security, men and women, whose jobs were to protect the main family, to serve them, and to keep others who would pose a threat away and out, even if it meant killing them

But you always tried not to think or wonder about how many people these staff have killed or beat up or anything whenever you interacted with them, especially when they greeted you with a smile

They were there to protect you and to make sure that nothing and no would would ever harm your life

You stepped into the nursery, the wide room decorated with warm lights and stuffed animals, some more than twice the size of your daughter

“Hi,” you smiled so brightly seeing your baby’s eyes already open, looking up to you as she sat in her crib, holding onto her blankie. “Good morning precious,” you lowered the front gate of the crib so you could kneel down to her level

Sakusa sat in the limousine as he watched the scene of you and your daughter in the nursery, wishing he could just turn the car around and to stay home

Things were in balance, he knew this already but his father’s orders were orders he still had to respect

He clicked off his phone, tucking the device into his pocket as he was to be in the car for quite a bit of time before he would get to his father’s

The biggest smile spread on her face as she laughed seeing you, her bubbliness seeming to make all the gloominess disappear

“Let’s get you changed~” you chimed as you lifted the baby girl into your arms, getting a whiff of her heavy diaper and finding an outfit for her day 

“Olivia?” You called into the custom intercom by the nursery’s closet, though there was practically one in every room

“Yes, madam?”

“Sorry for troubling you, but could you actually bring breakfast for D/N and I up to the upstairs loft? You could even send it up the dumbwaiter and that’s fine too.”

“Of course, would you like the usual?”

“Yes please, thank you.”

You carried your little girl toward the upstairs loft, one of your favorite areas of the house since it was significantly smaller - well almost - than the living room downstairs

The loft didn’t extend all the way downstairs like how the ground floor’s living room ceiling extended to the second floor

More than ten thousand square feet of property, more rooms in the manor than you knew what to do with them

Four guest bedrooms with full bathrooms, a grand study and two story “little” library, two main bedrooms in addition to the master bedroom and a nursery

So much space, all sorts of technologies, gadgets and gizmos of all sorts in the house

All the systems in the house was made by the Sakusa corporation to ensure security

This even included your and Kiyoomi’s custom made phones

There was also the basement- all sorts of fun activities to be done: a pool, pool table, living room area that opened up to the backyard with the bar and barbecue, the fire pit

and finally, there was the cellar that was the only place Kiyoomi had requested that you never go - and you never did 

You knew that look in his eye, that tone of voice and you knew he had requested this for your best

And most importantly, there were three safe rooms, all three upstairs with hidden entryways to protect you, official guests, and anyone in the family

Before you knew it, Olivia had made her way upstairs with the breakfast as you played with your daughter in the loft, bouncing her on your lap sat on the wide couch

The loft was brightly lit and open, toys of all types for your daughter to play with as the TV played the morning kids show

As filled as the house was with the special staff and things to do, it still felt so lonely and empty as you sat there

You had tried to chat and converse with them but they never loosened up, always keeping all the formalities but it was never any use

The storm outside seemed to be getting worse as your eyes gazed to the horizon, spotting the trees at the edge of the estate where all their branches had been swaying in the wind, the paler, underside of their leaves revealed

Thunder began to rumble in the distance with the occasional flash of lightning but both unbothered your daughter and you as the two of you remained in the loft  

You watched as she rolled about on a blanket, playing with her stuffed animals and the other interactive toys that played music to keep her entertained while you watched the TV, finding nothing remotely as entertaining to watch

But just before you could change the channel to yet another disappointing channel, your attention was pulled to your phone vibrating beside you, your eyes lighting up as you saw the caller ID

“You seem so bored,” Kiyoomi’s deep voice sounded through the phone but he spoke the truth

You were tired and bored but you didn’t want to sleep - it would only make you unable to sleep later tonight anyways

“I am,” you sighed as you muted the TV. “How far out have you gone?”

“Actually, not too far. Only about half an hour since there was a major accident on the highway so we had to take a detour. But traffic is terrible so we were stuck for quite a bit before we could actually exit,” Sakusa almost groaned thinking about the terrible accident

How he was stuck in a single place for practically twenty minutes

“Wow, do you know what happened?”

“Well there was a…” his voice drowned out in your ears as you could hear something that didn’t sound like rain or thunder - they were too distinctly different

Loud bangs echoed in the distance, bringing your attention elsewhere though all you could look was outside the wall window to the dark skies  

But you couldn’t see anything except the normal background of the property but it was just silent again with the white noise of rain washing down the glass, followed by thunder and a flash of lightning as the storm brewed closer and closer

“I’m sorry what? I missed what you said... I think I heard… something weird..” you spoke as you looked outside the windows that looked to the back of the property

You could hear echoes of movement downstairs, the bustling business of the special staff in the house but it sounded standard... or so you thought

“What did you hear?”

“..I don’t know.. maybe it was the storm and I’m just distracted...” you smiled into the phone as you spoke while your daughter happily crawled to you, laying her head on your legs, her puffy cheeks round as ever

“Well, you two were my only source of entertainment so far this trip,” the corner of his lips curled as he picked off small specks off his suit

“That makes one… of us-“ your thought died out in a matter of seconds

You heard louder, clearer bangs while the staff that had been stationed with you just outside the loft talked over their ear coms to another elsewhere

Before you could continue your sentence or call, the bangs only got louder and your body reacted faster than you could say or think

Clear gunshots began firing at the front entrance, echoing off the high walls and ceilings of the manor while the staff worked on securing the doors and all other entrances and possible ones

“Y/N?” Sakusa could only hear the subtle commotion happening but it was clear you weren’t on the phone. “Shit shit shit..” he stayed on the line as he changed to the security cameras he had access to he used to watch you and your guys’ daughter

Looking through the camera surveillance, he caught a glimpse of you disappearing with your phone in hand while your arms carried your daughter as you disappeared toward the bedroom

“Turn back now,” Kiyoomi howled as his driver did just that, not wasting a single second

You ran into the master suite’s walk in closet that led to the entryway of one of the safe rooms, your baby girl in your arms as she held on to you  her whines already beginning before they would turn into cries

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, mama’s gonna protect you,” you smiled, whispering, your voice already shaky, lips trembling as you pressed a little kiss to the top of her head. “Even if it costs my life, precious.”

You moved, leaving the master suite and stayed low as you walked across the “bridge” that connected the loft to the other half of the house

Peeking down, you could hear groans of agony, puddles and splashes of of blood on the floor and walls, empty bullet shells on the ground, shards of glass and broken windows

“Search the house, find that bitch,” a deep voice yelled through the manor as for the first time since the loud bangs happened, it sounded so still, like any normal rainy day

But this was far from normal

You crawled across the marble flooring toward the library

There wasn’t any safe room here but the safe rooms were sure to be where they would look, whoever they were

They were able to get through the security, it seemed like the staff was dead

You silently stood as they scoured the lower levels - you could hear them and all the destruction they were havocking

The cars outside the window blurred into mere colors that passed as the limousine sped through the roads back towards the manor

To save time, they went toward the back roads — it was just the slightest bit longer but time could be shaved down since there were no cars anywhere

“Step on it!” Sakusa commanded as his men readied themselves. “Call in Unit 0,” he demanded as he kept his eyes on the cameras, trying to find you yet he couldn’t see you in the master suite’s safe room

Unit 0 being one of the few very highly trained professional assassins and killers who were at the disposal of the Sakusa family whenever needed

He scoured through the cameras, not even caring about all the destruction being done, all he needed to see was where you and your daughter were

You carefully entered the library, shutting the door behind you as you walked over the wooden floors carefully

Every step made your palms sweaty but your heart stopped after hearing a loud creak in the old floors

The worst part was that there was no way to lock the doors

outside of the door, you couldn’t hear too much but you could still clearly hear the storm as a great big window stretched from the floor to ceiling so all the lighting in here was natural

There was something about the walls surrounding the library that made it sound proof in a sense

You constantly bounced your baby girl in your arms to keep her calm as you tried to get a look outside as you approached one of the corners toward the window

“Search upstairs,” one of the men demanded as a handful of men ran upstairs. “Find her.”

The scoured through all the rooms, flipping every room apart, destroying things, tearing the curtains off, flipping the beds, wrecking the nursery

You peeked out the window that faced the front of the manor yet all you could see were broken things and to your horror, more lifeless bodies of the manor’s staff

But before you could look out any longer, a large rock was launched at the window, breaking the glass, shattering it

Your baby girl let out a loud cry in fear, making your heart drop

“No, D/N, shhhh, please, it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.” You quickly pulled open the latch to the library’s hidden passage where the door was one of the bookcases

As soon as you closed the bookcase, you heard the door to the library burst open

Several men, guns ready

You scanned your finger print for the room to be safely locked however it wouldn’t let you. All you could do to make sure the room was locked was to see your body to keep the door shut and still

They walked through the wide open doorway to the library scanning the two open floors that was connected by two black steel staircases that wound their way up and down, connecting the two floors

“Shh, please,” you whimpered to your daughter as she cried into your chest as you stayed by the passage’s door so you could look out the peephole

They pulled books off the shelves, throwing them from the second level to the first, knocking the paintings off the walls, ripping them by sliding their knives through the canvas’, kicking them, breaking the frames

The ground shook as you heard a a loud boom, making you jump in your spot, the ground rumbling and shaking below where you sat

It sounded like a bomb went off on the lower level but you assumed it was the cars in the garage since you could hear the repeating alarm sounding off

Your daughters cries began to start back up at the loud noise, as you did your best to shush her

“Shhh, it’s okay,” you whispered to her as you wiped her tears, keeping her face to your chest as you stroked your trembling hand down her back as tears trickled down your cheeks and dripped off your chin

The limousine slid on the gravel outside the manor as Sakusa’s men sprang to action from the vehicle

Kiyoomi stayed in his seat, continuously scouring through the cameras but you were yet to be found

He couldn’t find a single trace of you

His men, as well as unit 0, entered through the blown open entrance, broken shards of glass crunching beneath their steps as they surrounded the estate the best they could, splitting up to eliminate the intruders

“Where are you, Y/N?” His heart hammered in his chest as he desperately tried to find you yet nothing

But before he could look any further, his heart dropped seeing the red system failure message. Whoever these people were, they were impressive, but not fast enough

Kiyoomi now meant business now that he had no access to actually see if you were okay

He ran out of the limousine as gunshots could be heard all throughout the house as half his men made their way to the upper level while the other half wiped out the intruders on the lower level

He followed behind unit 0, making their way upstairs

He clung onto his gun tightly in his hand, finger ready on the trigger as he barged into the master suite, firing two bullets into the chest and head of a large man as he was pillaging the closets

All the precious jewelry he bought for you were now stained in the pool of the filthy blood of the man who had the audacity to enter the premises

His heart almost dropped seeing him in the closet in the first place but it didn’t seem like the man noticed the entrance to the safe room behind the clothes on the hangers

As he pushed the luxurious wardrobe aside opening the door and to his fear, you were nowhere to be seen

More gunshots sounded off, echoing through the halls, sounding off the walls

He couldn’t focus, his thoughts incoherent, unfinished sentences running in his head as he just ran, killing those in his way to find you

A gun war was going off throughout the library as Sakusa’s men fired at the intruders on both levels but they had great firepower too

Both sides hid behind the marble pillars, the different bookshelves and furniture in the room as the rain showered in

Your baby girl cried loudly, her shaken cries sounding off throughout the passage

“No, no, no, please, baby.” Your heart raced as you dared to look out the peephole, only for it to drop as you saw a man you didn’t recognize yell something to another man near him

The man he yelled to fired more shots while the other one approached the passage entrance, banging noises coming through the bookshelf

“She’s in here! Hold them off!” The man yelled

“No, no, no.” Tears welled in your eyes as you did your best to keep the door closed but there was no actual way to since this was just a simple passageway

Your daughter cried loudly in your arms while you gave it your all to keep the door closed

Amongst all the shots being fired, Kiyoomi heard the words the man yelled and then it clicked

He knew where you were

“No.” This one word repeated in his head as he pushed through the front, racing past the bullets being shot towards him as he ran on pure adrenaline

“Boss, no!” His men yelled but this only got the intruders to focus on him, giving them the opening to shoot them all

Kiyoomi shot the man closer to him in the legs before letting his body move on pure killer instinct as he grabbed the man who had fallen to his knees by his jaw, snapping his neck

The other man changed his focus to Kiyoomi as he stood to his feet while the other struggled to pull his gun from his holster

Kiyoomi towered over him as his body moved on his own

He kicked the man to the wall, pressing the barrel of his gun to the man’s chin, pulling the trigger without a second thought

You squeeze your eyes shut, facing the other way from the door, bracing yourself

“I love you. Mama loves you, baby,” you whispered as you cried, a loud rumbling filling your ears as you felt the door being forced open

This was it

You were going to die

Your daughter was doing to die

you let out a blood curtling scream feeling the hands of whoever grab onto you, pulling you, kicking your legs to try to fight 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Kiyoomi’s familiar voice sounded louder and louder over the rumbling you heard in your ears from clenching and bracing your body and your daughter’s

“It’s me, It’s just me!” He soothed you as he turned you

You couldn’t explain or even begin to describe the relief you felt wash through your body, your heart racing and slowing down at the same time as you broke down, your cries mixing with your daughter’s

“You’re safe, I’m here,” Kiyoomi pulled you into his arms, your body shaking terribly in his arms as you cried into his chest, all the fear you felt flooding your senses

“I know, I’m sorry this happened, but you’re okay. Everything will be okay,” he whispered as he pulled you into his lap, keeping the passage door somewhat closed

You were already put through enough today and he didn’t need you to see the second degree murder crime scene he had committed right outside

“I’m here, I’m here.” He reached up and pulled his mask off as he kissed the top of your head all over, wiping away your tears with his thumbs but you couldn’t stop crying

But that was entirely fine

“But Y/N,” he held your face in his bare hands, his normal gloves off as he stroked his thumb over your cold, damp cheeks

“Why didn’t you go into the safe rooms, darling?” His own voice was unsteady, his lips quivered, eyes teary. “I looked for you and I couldn’t find you and I thought I lost you..” His voice broke off as he gathered himself the best he could, taking deep breaths

Seeing Kiyoomi like this, it broke your heart even more

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what… I was just scared and- and-“ It hurt you so much

Everything about today did

But just this moment was Kiyoomi, it also touched you

He was such a stoic man, usually one to show a softer, affectionate side with you but this was the first time you saw him shed tears

A man who had taken so many lives was now showing his true emotions for the two lives he would give his own live for a hundred times over if it meant you and your daughter was okay

“I know, I know, but you’re safe,” he let out a deep, relieving breath as he hugged your head closer, your body shaking uncontrollably in his arms

“And hey, shhh, it’s okay baby. Papa’s here.” He stroked your daughter’s head as she sort of calmed down as the two of you sat together, doing your best as parents to shoo away her sadness while his men did their best to first and foremost clear the bodies and blood

You absolutely did not need to see that after today

“You two are both safe.” He breathed as he pulled you two impossibly closer, letting the shakiness of his own heart disperse  

“You’re safe…”

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else! 

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[1994sunflower]

hey! i was wondering if you could write on where they f*ck whilst on a call with the rest of the band and they tease her?

I hope I did this request justice it was sosososo hot to think about.

in which ashton and calum listen

Michael declined the ringing phone for nearly the fifth time in only a span of a few minutes. He did it without thinking about it, frustration more than anything bubbling up as he didn’t even bother looking at who was calling him or wondering why they were doing so so much. It didn’t matter.

Not when you were looking up at him doe-eyed with his cock in your mouth. You had paused, a twinkle of annoyance in your eyes at the disruption. Sucking your boyfriend’s big cock was always enjoyable and always left you dripping wet and moving your hips against the air behind you from how turned on you were, how much more you wanted. But not when you were interrupted every few minutes. You always stopped, just to give him space to answer if he wanted, you always thought of him. But he just pushed your head down to take him further again like he had done all the past times his phone rang.

“Suck.” He commanded you to continue.

Michael’s tattooed hand tangled in your hair and took a hold of it roughly, almost painfully but all you did was let out a moan around him and feel your pussy clench emptily. Your boyfriend bucked his hips almost imperceptibly at the vibration of your sound before he pushed your head down, forcing you to take him completely until you gagged around his length. By the groan and silent fuck, yeah, love your mouth so much he let out as he threw his head back to fall against the wall behind him, you were sure that was his goal.

Michael was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall the head of his bed was on. For once, he was the naked one as his legs spread enough to fit your small body between them. You were still fully clothed but on your knees on his mattress and bent over, ass in the air, to be level with his crotch. Your hand was fisting the part of his cock you couldn’t fit inside your mouth, though not being able to wrap your hand fully around his girth. But somehow, seeing your small hand and mouth failing to be able to take all of him, how big he was in every sense of the word compared to you, just made him twitch in your warm, wet mouth.

You had begun bobbing your mouth up and down along his length again, sucking him eagerly and letting your tongue flatly lick the underside of his shaft and kiss his tip. Your hands twisted around his base as his hand tightened its hold in your hair as you moaned around him. His groans, eyes closed as he focused completely on the pleasure his good little girlfriend was giving him, and sometimes breathy praises keeping you going animately. Until his phone rang again.

You whined as you pulled yourself off of him with a lewd popping sound and a strand of spit connecting your lips to his bulbous tip. And as he stared at that erotic scene in front of him, he wanted to break something for being denied you.

“Who is it?” You pouted, like a child being denied her favorite toy. Your hand, still around him, moved along his dick, jerking him off almost distractedly as you waited just to finally be able to take him in your mouth again like you were practically drooling for.

You already missed his size in your mouth, having to open wide to adjust to it, the feeling of his sensitive skin, twitching and hardened, and the pleasured sounds you could arouse from him.

Michael growled in frustration, his eyes telling you just how angry he was at the disruption to his enjoyment. It was the same cold and angry look many poor souls saw right before getting beat up. For the first time, he picked up the phone that was laid next to him and actually looked at the Caller ID.

“It’s fucking Ashton.” His voice was gruff. He was going to murder his best friend. If it was anyone else he might’ve already started making plans as to how. His finger was already hovering over the decline button, having half a mind to turn it off completely when he tugged you closer to his shaft again. Already missing the warmth of your mouth and the feeling of your breath against his sensitivity. “Just keep-”

“Answer it. Maybe it’s important.” He wasn’t sure how to tell you that there was little much of anything else he considered more important than having his girlfriend suck him off right then and there.

But he only mumbled before swiping to accept the call. If he didn’t, you’d be worried like the sweetheart you were and besides, he never could deny you.

It didn’t mean he’d be happy about it. He put his phone on speaker and held it up just a few inches away from his mouth. “What the fuck do you want? You better have a good fucking reason for calling me right now.”

He saw the way you frowned at his meanness but he ignored your look, he could only be so good before he reached his limit. His mind was still focused on the way you still pumped him; he was still so hard.

“Okay, geez dude. Sorry!” Ashton didn’t sound sorry at all, actually. “Not like we haven’t been waiting for you for the past twenty minutes or anything.”

Michael wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But he did know that if his too-kind girlfriend’s mind started to wonder too, then you’d feel so bad about distracting him from whatever meeting his friends thought they had together that you’d stop completely. And he couldn’t allow that. Not when he hasn’t even cum yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answered, half paying attention as he took a hold of your arm, pulling your body so that you were completely bent over again, your mouth just inches from his tip.

You were gazing at him with uncertainty, no doubt thinking about the fact that he was still talking to Ashton and how impolite it would be to disrupt his conversation with his friends. Especially at how embarrassing it would be should you be caught. But Michael couldn’t give less of a shit, his priorities were set. Whether it was impolite or whether Ashton or Calum would know what was going on or not.

Michael just ran his fingers in your hair, hoping to relax you a little, to silently tell you it was okay and to just continue what Michael so deeply wanted you to. Just like he was weak for you, you were helpless but to do what you both wanted.

Your mouth took him in again, paying special attention to his tip, kissing and licking at it especially before wrapping your tempting lips around him entirely. The pleasure was almost dizzying. So good. He almost felt his hips twitch when you hallowed your cheeks. His eyes closed again involuntarily, so utterly at peace with the feeling of your tongue on him as you did your best to fit most of him in your mouth. Almost forgetting he was on a call. Not really caring once he did remember. His girl was the only thing on his mind.

He almost couldn’t process it when Ashton scoffed, “Bullshit. I reminded you this morning before I left.”

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion before Calum spoke up, voice just as loud as Ashton meaning they were sitting right next to each other. “We were going to pre-game before the party at my frat? Ring a bell? You said you were down.”

There was a vague memory in Michael’s mind of Ashton telling him something about that, about not forgetting, that it was tonight. He remembered nodding dismissively, he wouldn’t forget. But he also remembered how easily that all left his mind the moment you arrived, bouncy and beautiful as always. With a mischievous glint in your eyes that he always felt giddy at seeing because it was so rare for you, knowing what was to come, what you would be whining for. And he was never one to deny you anything.

The slurping and filthy gawking sounds that came each time you sucked and moved up and down on his shaft were growing both in number and volume the more into it you got. Even some of the moans that accidentally escaped you at how much you loved to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.

The sudden silence coming from the other end of the line should have been enough to tell Michael that his activities were being discovered. But either Michael didn’t notice or didn’t care. He never moved to take himself off speaker. But he took notice when you grew alarmed and shy at being caught at something so personal and lewd. His hand went to the top of your head, a silent way to tell you not to stop.

He let out an unashamed groan, “I’m not going. Y/N came over.”

Honestly, with what Calum and Ashton were imagining right then, they couldn’t blame him.

“Fuck dude, are you-?”

As if to answer the unfinished question, Michael thrusted up into your throat enough for the gagging sound to reach the speakers on his phone, enjoying the feeling of you choking around him. But it really wasn’t with that goal in mind. Your newly tentative movements, due to you being very aware of possibly being caught, had slowed you down much more than Michael wanted.

But Michael had no problem taking control when needed. His hand was pulling you up and down onto his length by your hair. Thrusting up into you with the rhythm he put upon you, his head thrown back, eyes closed at the pleasure. Feeling your fingers press against his naked thighs was enough for him to shiver. By the time he had both of his hands in your hair, keeping you still, you were already whimpering against him. Apparently your pretty little mind had glazed over the fact that he was still very much on the call, forgetting the shyness that had taken over you a few second ago. That Calum and Ashton were still very much listening.

“Fuck, that’s it. Just like that.” Michael’s rough voice praised, strained because of the pleasure, made it clear he didn’t care either. It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d heard you two go at it. “That’s my girl, take my fucking cock.”

His hips began to thrust into your small throat, perfectly molded to fit his cock, and only his. He had trained your throat for that. He thrust deep, hearing you gag and feeling your throat close around him with each time his tip reached the back of your throat. He kept himself there, pushing your head down deeper, forcing himself further back in your throat. It was sadistic and he could hear your muffled sounds and the tears prickling your eyes but as you looked up at him through your lashes, holding onto him tighter and your hips swinging behind you, he knew you were just fine to be like that. His toy to fuck.

When he finally relented, letting you pull away enough just to breath, he heard the choking, stuttering breath you took. His cock was dripping with your spit but that didn’t deter you from moaning around him as you savored the taste of him and his pre-cum when you deep throated him again.

It was then that Calum and Ashton seemed to get past the shock and dry throats. It was hot. To imagine you, sweet and gentle you who they knew was too small to take anything of Michael’s easily, doing something so dirty while being treated so roughly had them hard just hearing it. Imagining it.

“Shit, is she sucking you off right now?” Calum’s voice came through the nearly forgotten phone at his side and Michael couldn’t help the pride in his eyes as he looked down at your tiny figure in between his legs doing just that.

He yanked at your hair roughly, pulling you off of him enough for him, and his friends over the phone, to be able to hear you whimper, lips against the head of his cock. You almost looked pathetic. And he felt his almost painful hard-on at the sight.

Michael looked at you when he spoke directly to his friends, “Yeah. She lets me fuck her throat like a fucking slut, too. She’s so good with her mouth.”

“I bet, if it sounded like that” Both Calum and Ashton groaned in unison, they really couldn’t blame Michael for bailing on their plans now.

Somehow, hearing all three of them talk about you like you weren’t even there had your pussy trembling even more than before. Your smile was broken from the rough way he had taken your mouth but you still obeyed him when he tapped your lips with the head of his dick. Opening your mouth and taking him to the hilt, until your nose touched his abdomen before you pulled back and did it all over again.

You barely heard the mumbled good girl from his lip. But it wasn’t until you heard Ashton’s voice that you froze, as if reminded that you were being listened to. All the dirty things you had just done, were done in front of an audience.

“Didn't know your girl was so needy.” His usually friendly and sweet tone suddenly sounded teasing and demeaning. “I probably should’ve though. Always the ones that pretend they’re so innocent that like it rough.”

Michael smirked down at you, his eyes never leaving yours making it known how purposely he chose his words. “You should hear what she’s like when I’m inside her.”

Your entire body burned. You wanted more, needed more. Just like you did when you arrived to his home, horny and needy. When he told you to get on your knees and work for it, though you had already been crawling towards him on the bed.

Now driven by the hitches of breath you hear over the phone, their silent groans. You didn’t care anymore that his friends were listening to how much of a whore you were, listen to each lewd sound of you sucking off your boyfriend or even more. Maybe it was a testament to his corruption of your pure person, to one who cared only about him, and getting fucked by him, to care about modesty - someone who delighted in the thought of others being witness to just how good you were for your boyfriend and just how good he made you feel.

When you released him from your mouth, you were sure your wetness was dripping all over his sheets.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, your soft cheek resting against his hard dick, looking up at him with begging eyes, “please.”

Neither could deny the way their hands went to palm themselves through their pants at the sound of you so softly, high pitched, called your boyfriend such a dominant title. You heard a chuckle from the phone followed by a mocking laugh.

“Aww, she’s begging. How cute.”

“Just fuck her, mate. Put her out of her misery.”

Maybe you should be pouting at their teasing but if it got your boyfriend to stretch you open, you welcomed the sting of humiliation that followed their words. Being seen as nothing but a fucktoy at the moment.

Sharing this intimate moment with you was only because they were his best friends. It was the only reason he’d given them this glimpse that they should be honored to be guests to. But one he was using not so subtly to boast, how lucky he was to have you, how only he could give you pleasure. That you were his, sucking his dick, fucking him. No one else could have you. Even them, no matter how close he let them get. No matter how much they wanted to.

Michael looked almost arrogant when he took you by the back of your thighs, pushing you up until you were stranding up. Enough for your clothed pussy to rub against his cock. The sensation was enough for you to start grinding on him. You’d waited for so long, you couldn’t even remember how long you’d been blowing him before the phone rang. There was still spit on your chin to prove it.

You yelped when you felt him spank you but his eyes showed almost no emotion which caused you to clench your walls. He looked so hot under you, the tattoos on his upper body under your hands and his dick erect for you. “Let them hear how good you can ride me, little one.”

His thick fingers pushed your panties to the side just enough for you to sink down on him. You were so wet, he slid in with ease despite your tight walls. Especially excited at the rare opportunity to ride him. A satisfied moan left you, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head at the feeling of being split open by his thickness. Finally.

Michael stayed laying down, gazing up at his girlfriend, looking so little as she bounced on his lap feverishly. Groans left him as he let you set the pace, pleasuring yourself using him. But despite you being on top, it was very clear who was in charge by the bruising grip he had on your hips as he helped you move up and down his length. You were so small, even the width of your body was only half of his broad one.

The sound of skin slapping echoed throughout the room each time your thighs met when you sheathed him entirely inside of your drooling cunt. Your skirt was pushed up, around your waist worthlessly, giving Michael a clear view of where you were connected.

“So-ngh-so good, Mikey. Feels so good.” You were babbling on him, your back arching. Breaths coming out short. Every once in a while, you ground against him, swiveling your hips. “Y-you fuck me so good. Love your big cock, daddy, feel so full!”

“Fuck, she is a slut.” You weren’t even thinking straight with how dizzy the pleasure made you to recognize who said it. But you weren’t out of it enough not to hear the ‘slicking’ sounds over the phone that made it clear Ashton and Calum had given up modesty with each other and were pumping their cocks to the hot sounds of you getting fucked by their friend. Which just made you move your hips faster.

“Hear that?” Michael grunted out as you kept riding him. “They can hear how much of a fucking cock hungry whore you are.”

You were shaking your head at his words, whining as if to deny them but you kept moaning and riding him faster, clamping down on him with your walls, suffocating him in the best way. You felt each drag of his cock against you. He moved you forward by your hips to heighten the delicious sensation of feeling you against and around him, hissing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

It was only when you leaned down, your face just a few inches away from Michael’s so that your hips were what moved his cock in and out of you that Michael saw the large blush adorning your face.

He sat up without you expecting it. The only reason you didn’t fall was because of his arm that wrapped around your waist. Your small hands landed on his strong, tattooed shoulders instinctively.

Even on his lap, straddling him while still grinding on his cock, Michael was taller than you. It was instinctive when you opened your mouth and let him slowly, sensually, let a glob of his spit drop onto your tongue. You almost moaned when you swallowed it but the gentleness ended when he spit in you again, faster this time and you felt a sharp slap to your cheek following it.

You distinctly heard the curses that left the phone at the visuals they imagined of Michael slapping you around, manhandling you in whichever way he pleases.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy. After showing them how much of a messy cockslut you are. Fucking me during a phone call…dirty fucking girl. Can’t think of anything except daddy’s cock. You like that they’re listening to how good I fuck you, don’t you?” Then his grip on your waist tightened enough for him to start thrusting up into you. Hammering into your poor little cunt at a rough, fast pace - even more so than the one you had set for yourself. He groaned deeply. You cried out, gasping and writhing in his arms as he pounded into you mercilessly. Broken sentences were the only thing that could leave your mouth. You felt him so deep inside you.

You already felt that heat in your belly, the sign of your release keeping up on you as your big boyfriend used your body. It felt so good, the pleasure you had been vying for all day. The way you tightened around him, hips stuttering was enough to tell Michael you had cum, along with how much wetter you’d gotten, your cum mixed in with each thrust as he continued pummeling into you within stopping. It’d been building up for so long, you couldn’t be blamed for cumin so quickly.

The back of your thighs and his were drenched. But your scream was enough to tell Ashton and Calum know how you had creamed all over Michael’s dick. Their hands moved faster as they jerked themselves off, their minds focused on you.

You couldn’t even think coherently, your eyes half closed and mouth open to stream out moans. Let alone being able to wrap your mind around Michael handing you his phone and pushing it up to your ears, off of speaker but loud enough that he, so close to you in position, could still hear the two boys at the other end of the line. His hips still thrusting into you, so deep that he bottomed out into you each time.

“Tell them what I’m doing to you.”

And then it was your moans being filtered directly to them, the distant sound of slapping skin the only other thing Calum and Ashton could hear as you bounced up and down on his fat cock.

It was embarrassing, especially being able to hear Ashton and Calum’s groans, knowing they were witnessing this weak, dirty part of you so different from how they usually saw you. Your breath hitched.

But it was Calum’s sweet voice, drenched in a gravelly arousal, that you heard first, “Go on. Tell us how good you’re getting fucked in front of us.”

You didn’t answer right away - you couldn’t. It was too much. Hearing his voice in that moment, commanding you to follow your boyfriend’s orders. Knowing that you had him weak just with your sounds. It was a thrill. And your face was fucked out at the feeling of the circumstances as you moaning as you were racked by Michael’s rough thrusts. Your submission so cute to watch, and hear, unfold.

Your hand could barely hold onto his phone, fit for his larger hand not your trembling one. “H-He’s fucking m-my pussy so deep. C-Can’t—so rough. Gonna cum again.”

You sounded as fucked out as you looked.

Ashton spoke next, sounding almost amused with your inability to work your brain while being stuffed with your boyfriend’s dick. “Yeah? Feels good?”

Your sounds of agreement were muffled. “S-Sososo good. Mikey’s so big! He’s stretching me open. H-He always makes me feel so good, only he can fuck me. My pussy is his. I’m his. Only a slut for him.”

You were cut off by your own squeals; as if to reward your words that made Michael feel so boastful and powerful, he raised the shirt that was still on your body. Until it uncovered your bra-covered tits to him. Even then he just roughly pulled up your bra, not bothering to even remove it. Just enough to give him access toy our bare chest, jiggling up and down with his sharp thrusts. He all but smothered his face as he encased his mouth around your nipple.

All you could do was arch your back, pushing your tits further into his mouth and his head further into them. One of your hands went to hold the back of his head gently to hold him there as you took pleasure as he sucked your tits while his arm around you pushed you as deeply and closer into him as possible.

“Yes.” You clenched around him at the sensation, as if to force his thick cock to stay inside you, so tightly Michael’s drilling into you grew slower as he fought against your walls. But eventually, he picked up his pace again. Until you could barely breathe with how fast he was fucking up into you, his pace bruising and his cock hitting the spots that had you weak. You barely heard his growl of Mine against your skin. His tongue swirling against your tits, biting at them gently.

It was so hot.

For the second time, you could feel the tension again as your release crawled closer. Your moans were louder than before, this time directly into the phone speaker not that you had any trace of bashfulness anymore.

“Fuck listen to her.” Calum said, you could practically hear the breathy way he talked. His head thrown back as his hips thrusted into his own palm, desperately imagining the way your hips would move, the way your cunt would be soaked. His hand tightened around himself to mimic your tightness. “You sound so fucking hot.”

He was only saying that because Michael couldn’t hear him. He had to make do with teasing you with his words, making you feel exactly what you were doing to him. And that’s just what his words did. You whined, grinding into Michael desperately at the praise.

“Bet you look so pretty like that.” Ashton said as he spit on his palm before returning his hand to his cock, “Riding a cock that’s too big for you. Like letting yourself be used like a fucking toy, don’t you?”

“Michael!” You moaned out his name even as you listened to his friend’s words through the phone. You were so close.

But Ashton wasn’t done. “You’d feel so fucking good, so tight. Michael was right. Such a needy slut, fucking her boyfriend in front of his best friends and liking it. Making him miss his plans.”

“And here we-fuck-thought you were such a good girl, smiling and innocent.” Ashton’s hand moved faster against himself.

You were whimpering at his words, at his teasing. “I’m s—orry. I-I didn’t mean t-to.” You slurred, “Just needed him.”

“Y-Yeah? You didn’t m-mean to?” Calum mocked your stuttering cruelly. Sounding so similar to your mean boyfriend and you felt yourself at once have tears settle in your eyes at the humiliation and get impossibly wetter. The lewd squelching each time Michael moved in and out of you was loud. It was too much. The sensation of Michael driving into you and just how good his friends’ teasing words felt.

“It’s okay, you can’t help yourself.” He continued, cooing at you teasingly. “You’re just a brat who only thinks about cock - bet you even like that we’re getting off on you. Thinking about how good you’d look bouncing on our cocks. We’d fuck you good just how you like it. Too bad Michael never learned to share. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“‘m not! ‘m not a brat ” You moaned, heart thumping rapidly at what he was suggesting. You could almost see their own big cocks in their hands. You licked your lips. Michael really had turned you into a cock-addicted whore. “I’m a good girl. I’m Mikey’s good girl.”

“Hmm…” Ashton grunted, “Prove it. Keep moaning nice and loud. I’m so fucking close. You’re going to cum again aren’t you? So fucking messy.”

“Say our names when you cum.” Calum chuckled and you heard Ashton’s incredulous laugh right beside him as your cheeks burned. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You’d only ever moan Michael’s name, the man who was fucking into you so well like only he would ever be able to do. But the thought of it set a fire in your belly all the same.

And almost as if Michael could hear what he had said, his eyes narrowed in concentration and possessiveness despite everything. “You’re mine.” He grunted out, “All fucking mine. Gonna let them hear how I fuck my cum into you. How you’re built to only take my cock and cum.”

“Yesyesyes, give me your cum, daddy. Please, cum inside me.” The words of all three of them were enough to have you cumming around your boyfriend’s girth almost immediately. Dropping the phone all together and leaving Ashton and Calum to cum into their own hands at your words, imagining it on your skin instead, at the now more echoey sounds of your moans of completion, repeating Michael’s name almost like a mantra in the haze of pleasure.

Even as his hips continued to slam up into yours, despite your overstimulated core. Until he held you still, biting at your skin with a deep groan as he released inside of you. Thick ribbon of cum filled you completely, with pleased sounds leaving your mouth at the sensation.

Only then did he let you fall back on the bed, weak and tired. Finally letting go of your tiny body he had been holding close to him, keeping you on his cock. He had given you exactly what you wanted, what you arrived to his house knowing he could give you. And the experience was so much hotter than you expected, especially with his friends’ teasing and dirty words that showed you just how hot they saw you.

Michael watched as you laid there, legs open with a mixture of both of your cums trickling down your leg. His cum that couldn’t fit inside you, white at your entrance. The sight drove him wild.

But he controlled himself from abusing your sensitive cunt again. He had to handle something first. He picked up the abandoned phone, the one you set aside because you would drop anything and everyone for him. Always.

He didn’t even have to speak when he put his phone up to his ear as you laid there silently, mind fuzzy. Both of you were breathing heavily from the exertion of the rough fuck. Ashton spoke before he had to.

“Don’t brag, dude.” And Michael couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his face. It was exactly what he wanted to do, the feeling of pride swelling inside him. He had just fucked his hot girlfriend, knowing his two friends wanted her, wanted to be him. Claiming her in front of them as she claimed herself as his to them.

“Seriously, it’s bad enough we had to jerk off while you got your dick wet.”

Michael scoffed, “Just be grateful I even let you listen, assholes. Don’t interrupt me next time.” He paused before he decided to rub it in a little more, “At least you could actually make her wet. She felt so good around me.”

“Fuck you, dude. We did a lot more than just make her wet.” Calum said, not unkindly. He was already trying to clean himself off. “Can’t believe she even let you cum inside her."

“Yeah don’t forget she’s mine.” Michael said, the possessiveness back in his tone. They were lucky to even just be given a glimpse of you in that intimate moment. Given to them because Michael trusted his best friends but also just so Michael could show off how lucky he was to have you, how satisfied he was always with you. A reminder of how much you didn't need anyone else with him around. All their fantasies of you were for nothing because it was only ever Michael that could have you whenever and however he wanted, the one who could claim you inside and out.

And while Ashton and Calum dominated you, because of the freedom Michael had allowed them to, they knew better than to push their luck with your boyfriend. They were just happy with themselves for calling at the moment they had, accidentally stumbling into a scene that they refused to leave willingly once they had realized. It was better than any porn they’d ever seen.

Michael’s chuckle caught them off guard, he seemed to be in a good mood after having sex. Not that they could blame him. “Have fun at your party.”

Not that they could. Not after getting such a small taste of you and knowing they wouldn’t be thinking of anything else but how they dreamed of you in that situation, your sounds, what you let them be a witness to and what you let your boyfriend do to you, to claim you in front of them. What it meant that such a sweet, naive looking girl could be tainted to become such a submissive slut, unbeknownst to everyone else. It was hot and they doubted a party could hold their attention or desire at all compared to it.

But Michael knew that. That’s why he was still laughing, tauntingly.

[real-jane]

drifting (2)

[cw!bucky barnes x female!reader]

summary: bucky saves the life of a woman when she’s buried in an avalanche. faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is… or what he’s done.

how long can he hide?

warnings: bucky's tenuous grip on reality

word count: 3k+

series masterlist

***

The man kept true to his word the night before, waking her up hourly to make sure she didn’t suffer a head injury in her crash, but it meant that getting actual rest was difficult.

A little nap after a breakfast of a stale apple is welcome. Bucky is nowhere to be seen when she wakes, but on the coffee table sits a bottle of whiskey, likely the one her savior mentioned finding instead of pain medicine. There’s a note beneath it in nearly unintelligible script:

Out looking for supplies.

Beside the bottle lies the CB radio he gave her to help her calm down (switched to low-volume but still chattering away), a sweatshirt with a hood, a box of crackers (the same ones he provided when her stomach wouldn’t stop growling the night before), and a book. She leans over…

“Oh my god,” she breathes.

It’s a battered copy of a book she hasn’t held in her hands since her father read it to her as a child. Something beloved. A treasure because of the memories which swirled around the recollection of her father’s booming voice turning soft to voice the gray wizard Gandalf–‘Not all powerful men need be frightening,’ he said. Somehow, the story always found its way back when all felt lost. While this wasn’t the most dire position she had ever been in, it still felt miraculous that Bucky Barnes had given her a copy to bide her time. She thumbs through the little thing; it has worn edges, and it is abridged… but on the back page, there are tally marks. Over two hundred, grouped together in fives, some in different colors of pen… a substantial number in pencil, too. Twelve tallies are carved without ink, but there nonetheless.

Her chest aches. Is this a calendar? Or a count of how many times he has read it? God. She runs her thumb over the ridges.

Not all powerful men need be frightening.

He isn’t, she thinks. Not in the way she expected. And this little offering proves that. She has no way of knowing if it’s normal for him to go out for supplies while he’s in hiding, but he hasn’t been complacent with her pain since the moment she regained consciousness. He can hardly look her in the eye, but he isn’t frightening. Frightened, but not frightening. Hypervigilant.

She replaces the sacred book on the table and pulls the quilt off of herself, so she can sit up. At least she’s not shivering so hard, but… she blinks. There’s a reason for that. On the furthest cushion, tucked in the swaddle of a towel beside the pillow on which her splinted leg is balanced, is a cast iron skillet. There’s a shallow pool of water inside, she discovers, once the lid is removed. Still steaming. He must have snuck the pan there while she napped so she’d be alright while he was gone. She stares at it. At every turn, he is so different than what she expected, and starkly different than what Steve described. That he would take so much care for her wellbeing…

She fishes her phone from its hiding place and flicks open the audio recorder. ‘Day two. My tibia is where the break seems to be. I don’t believe it’s anything much worse than a hairline fracture.’ She palpates her leg, above and below where the wrappings begin around the break. ‘The pain is in my shin, but there is no evidence of bone poking the wrong way, thank god. My leg is splinted; the principle’s prior training must have included some emergency medical tactics.’

Oh, shit.

She freezes, and pauses the recording. Last night, she… oh, god. She feels for the pocket of her pants–yep, there it is. A knife.

She groans.

The events of the prior evening roll through her mind–he left to give her a chance to change, she managed to at least put on the shirt he gave her, and she went to the fire to soak up the heat, and… right. His dog tag, or what was left of it, gleamed from the ashes. It was the only thing which definitively identified him, but she hadn’t needed to confirm it. All it did was give her license to use his name like she had been doing with Steve for weeks leading up to her mission, outwardly, without Bucky being suspicious of her knowing it. And then she had told him hers, and he had held her around the waist because she was too woozy to stand up.

Not only that… she asked him to take her pants off, and he did! Where are the–fuck. Her destroyed snow pants lay in a turquoise heap beside the fireplace, because Bucky had to rip them up the seam to get them off of her. Her face burns. She teased him! She thanked him for not joking about getting her out of her pants. It is a miracle a black hole didn’t open up and swallow her.

‘The principle is stable and has been doing his best to help me,’ she says, as she tries to squash overwhelming embarrassment. ‘Uncertain how long we will be at these coordinates. The weather band indicates temperatures will remain below freezing for several days so movement is unlikely.’

She sends the audio message off to her contact, and stares at her little device for a moment. She has to find somewhere to hide the thing other than down her bra. Steve doesn’t reply to the audio file, but the message turns blue to indicate he has seen it. His last message is the only other item in the chat reel, which deletes itself every twelve hours.

Bury him.

Bury him. Bury him. Bury him. Bury, bury. Nonsense, two words with no meaning any more after the way they tumbled through her senses. Steve means hide him, cover his trail, make it so that if he’s leaving a footprint or impact, he won’t be trackable any further than these backwater coordinates, but those two little words hit like a threat.

In some ways… they are.

Barnes has triggers. He’s not someone she should be complacent with. If she fails this mission, the result is catastrophe–not lost tracker data, or intel on sleeper cell locations, or information which might be of scientific value–it’s the stripping of humanity from a person, which could cost his life. Hers. Countless others. There is no option but success, and yet she is shivering on a stiff couch in the middle of nowhere with a fractured tibia. How the hell is she supposed to keep Bucky concealed when she can’t stand up without his help? She found him–who else might have sniffed out his trail?

If she were under Nick Fury’s purview, her mission would be to sneak her knife between cervical bones at the base of Bucky Barnes’ skull, and drop his weapon on Hydra’s doorstep to prove that he is dead.

She isn't answerable to the Director–hasn’t been, since Steve Rogers was given her name by a woman who very much understands the stakes.

She swore Y/n to secrecy over a bottle of duty-free vodka, but… Natalia Alianovna is so smitten with the Captain, she wants to make sure that man’s heart never breaks again. Quickest way to tear him in two is to force him to bury another person he loves. Especially Bucky Barnes. It doesn’t matter what Barnes did, she insisted, after shooting her fifth shot of vodka. Even if he spends his life on the Raft, at least Steve will know he’s okay. And Y/n owes her, anyway, for getting her out when she did; two Widows, with no family but the one she chose. She’d do anything for Natasha Romanoff.

She understands, in no small part, why she must bury him.

Steve warned her of the consequences when everything finally comes to light. It will cost her commission at least, when Fury finds out what she's done behind his back. Could mean her own cell in the great floating prison. And that’s if she helps Bucky stay safe, until Steve can figure out how to help his oldest friend. If anything goes awry, well. There are worse punishments than prison, or losing one’s job–worse people, with vicious plans for Bucky Barnes. She would fare no better if caught with him. Nick Fury’s meager punishment would be welcome by comparison.

For now, hiding is all she can do. Steve can only cover for her for so long before people start asking questions about the missing operative. Then, she’ll become the mission of another agent… and it probably won’t be someone who dotes on her file for weeks, slogging through the messy Russian handwriting for any indication of what she’s up against. Certainly not a person who sees her photo and for the first time in her pitifully short life, desperately wishes time weren’t so incessant in the way it beats away one’s youthful dreams. Not like she did with his file, worrying the edges until Natasha started asking cryptic, leading questions. Keep that up, and I’ll start wondering if you’ve compromised yourself…

He looks so… not himself, in person. As if she knows him. Well. She ought to, given how much she read about this man who has only spoken a handful of words to her. It’s just that–she is familiar with darkness, and Hydra had once had its tentacles wrapped around her throat, too, and… Fuck. She doesn’t know Bucky Barnes, and she has no right to assume how he must be feeling, but maybe he needs a hand reaching out for him which isn’t offering the handle of a weapon.

Nat gave her that much. It made a world of a difference. Choice, not judgment, for how to proceed in her life.

It’s too bad her arrival at the compound caused such a stir. It didn’t help that Natasha found her on the heels of the world meeting another Russian-trained hellhound–the very wolf who sat all night at the end of the couch, watching her try not to freeze to death. But Y/n has very few friends… something Barnes can relate to.

A powerful man, who is no longer just a sweetly smiling Army sergeant in a photograph by her bedside. She… she can’t go back to thinking about him like she did when he was just a confluence of stories and data, because there had been plenty of lonely nights where she had stared at the tiny photograph and yearned for–no. It’s madness. She tucks the phone away in safety, and does her level best to banish the creeping pang of missing a person who doesn’t exist.

Bucky Barnes is real, but he isn’t the man in her file any more than he is the myth of Hydra’s Soldat, and she will do well to remember that. He’s someone she is supposed to protect. No more, no less.

She just needs to get him to trust her.

But without her pack, she has no gun or supplies to do what she’s been trained for. Just a knife, given to her in good faith. For one fleeting second, she dotes on the steel blade he’s entrusted to her. It’s a beautiful thing, if old. Well cared-for. It’s standard-issue, military-grade, worn wooden handle with grooves worn in the shape of his fingers–an Army knife. At the base of the blade, his initials are engraved, with the year beneath them. 1943.

He’s given her a keepsake so special, which men pass down to their grandchildren, without thinking twice about it. She wonders how he’s kept it all these years, and why it came so naturally to give it up.

***

He never ventures this close to a major road, but if he has to spend one more night listening to her quiet whimpers, he’ll lose it. Bucky manages to find a root cellar which is poorly barricaded against the elements–there are a few cans of soup, long-exceeded their expiration dates, and a few jars of peaches in honey, which have frozen (but he takes those anyway), and blessedly… a shotgun. It’s rusty, and it needs some elbow grease to get it working again, but there are several boxes of bullets there, too. Whoever lived here probably never used the gun, hence why it’s abandoned to the cold cellar, but it’s Bucky’s gain. He has someone to protect, now.

The house itself is a bust. Nothing in the way of supplies except cobwebs.

It takes him hours to make his way back up the mountain, but he is grateful for the cloudy skies. It’s easier to think without the sun blaring in his eyes. Dusk has fallen by the time he tamps his freezing feet against the side of the cabin to un-pack the snow from his soles. His boots are ready to give up the ghost… the rubberized outer wall pulls away from the fabric on both shoes, like it's ready to peel off. Bucky sighs. How many more trips through packed snow will it take before he’s screwed?

He doesn’t want to scare her, so he leaves the shotgun behind the wood pile on the side of the house. The bullets stay in the bottom of his backpack.

The cloudiness in his mind returns when he swings open the door of the little cabin he has called home for longer than is safe, and she’s standing in front of the stove. The room is warmer by a notable margin. Bucky looks away as she turns her head to greet him.

“I got hungry,” she says. “Figured you wouldn’t mind. You can have some, if you like. Just tomato, but the crackers will give it something extra. You haven’t been to the store in a while, have you?” She gestures at the cabinet where he keeps his edible findings, so no mice will be drawn to the hoard. She’s so… chipper.

Bucky swallows hard and shakes his head. He reaches into his pack and produces one of the jars with sweetness inside. He sets it on the table, but as he draws near, he realizes she’s propped up by leaning on a branch. Looks like one from the makeshift sled he used to bring her up from her fall. The little Y at the top is propped under her armpit–it’s a bit too tall for her, but it’s doing the job. She struggles to stir the soup with the opposite hand.

“James?”

He blinks. He’s staring at the shape of her profile. “Peaches,” he says softly.

“Oh. That’s a surprise in Winter!” She smiles at him. “You hungry?”

Bucky lets his backpack slump against the table leg and he’s at her side before he can give her any reply. He nods to the table. She holds up her hands in resignation and hobbles over to sit. It’s easier than trying to explain why he has no bowls, or spoons, or why his stomach is suddenly groaning. He doesn’t know the last time he ate. It’s been at least since before he found her, but stress and general… worry has eclipsed any thought of doing so. He’s been so focused on making sure she’s alright, and she clearly is, and–he doesn’t know her, but this concern, if that’s what it is, it’s so unfamiliar. Someone asking if he’s hungry shouldn’t give him such a feeling, but it’s been an awfully long time since anybody did.

Why does that thought make him want to cry?

Touch… at his elbow. Her fingers on his arm. He glances at her. She’s frowning again, but she raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

He clears his throat. His eyes sting. There is no way he can verbally respond without more coming up than he’s willing to share. Is this relief that he won’t have to do anything more desperate to keep her alive? Or… what? Seeing her cognizant of the world (with no more adrenaline coursing through her to cloud her mind) is good, and… she is clear-headed. She’s a person who has been out in the world, and she’s not someone he’s keeping captive, or being kept by the people who kept him. Why isn’t she afraid?

She sits when he nods to the table again, but he feels her gaze on him as he scoops soup out of the pan with the mug he had given her water in the night before. Then, he retrieves the box of crackers. She uses a finger to clean up the side of the mug, where soup has run down it, and sticks it into her mouth with a pleased hum. Bucky doesn’t make another move until her lips touch the rim of the mug.

“There’s something comforting about hot soup, isn’t there?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer, or push him to agree. But he does.

He sips after she sips. One, and then the other. He eats as much as she does, and no more. There’s nearly half the pot left by the time she finishes her mug, and she gestures as if to say the rest is yours, but he drapes a towel over the top and puts the pan outside so the soup won’t spoil. No sense wasting what little food they have.

They.

When he returns, she is waiting beside the couch, but now she’s wearing the hooded sweatshirt he had set out for her that morning. She holds out her hand, with his knife in her fingers.

“Thank you for this,” she says softly. “I appreciate you understanding that I was afraid, and giving me some peace of mind.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Keep it for now.”

“It’s okay. You brought me peaches, so. You’re probably not trying to kill me.”

When she smiles this time, she doesn’t show her teeth; it’s a gentle smile, and it makes his stomach drop. “I don’t need it,” he says. “You can hold onto it.”

She sighs. She doesn’t argue, and he’s grateful. He knows how trust can turn to fear when exhaustion comes into play, and he doesn’t want her ever to look at him in panic again. So. If she has to keep his knife in her pocket, so be it. But he can’t be close to her anymore–he’s… he needs to step away, but he can’t go running out into the snow again, or his boots will perish. How do you hide in a house with three rooms?

Bucky thumbs over his shoulder as she settles on the couch with The Hobbit in her lap, her fingers tucked into the pages over halfway through the book. “‘M gonna clean up, unless you need to.”

She shakes her head. “I’m alright. Thank you. Maybe when you’re done.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t worry about saving any hot water for me,” she says, opening the book and turning her attention to the pages. “You were gone a long time. I bet you’re cold.”

***

He scrubs at his scalp, face-first in the stream of icy water. It means he can’t tell if the stinging behind his eyes is from the cold, or because his body finally gave in and cried, but he’s losing it. Why is it that her kindness is what disturbs him? And why is it that he raises his hand and turns the knob towards the H, letting the small washroom fill with steam?

Permission? Or is it grace?

The clean sensation is more intense with hot water to rinse away his soap. His skin feels like his. He takes her advice and lets the water run until all the warmth is gone.

***

Chapter 3

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[mc-lukanette]

*crawls over completely exhausted* No Canon Lukanette... Need fluff... maybe salt too...

Luka gave Marinette's parents a smile as he waited for Marinette to come downstairs, though to say he was concerned was an understatement. He and Marinette hadn't been dating for long, but he knew something was wrong due to her song singing even more stress-filled notes than usual. He wanted to talk to her about it, but also wanted her to open up to him herself when she was ready.

Wanting to focus on smiling for her when she came down, Luka shook off the thought and stared up at Marinette's trap door. Seeing that she hadn't come down yet - understandable given that she had no idea he was there - he pulled out his phone and navigated to her contact. However, just before he could tap on it, there was an abrupt, loud, and unusual noise coming from Marinette's room, followed by the sound of Marinette yelping and presumably hitting the floor.

Luka gasped. “Marinette!”

Not even thinking, he hurried upstairs, phone clutched tightly in his hand as he pushed the trap door up and let himself in.

Over a dozen tiny kwami were speeding around her room, each with distinct voices and one of whom he recognized as Sass. He'd initially thought that the Liberty was chaos, and it was, but there was something different about fifteen little melodies all moving around simultaneously and wreaking havoc. They hadn't even seemed to notice that he was there.

There was also a ladybug-patterned ellipsoid lying on the table in the middle of it all, though Luka's eyes fixated mostly on Marinette lying there on the floor, now staring at him with wide eyes as he took in the whole situation.

"L-luka!" she greeted, voice forced. "W-what a surprise! I mean, you must be surprised at my toy collection! See, there's—there’s this magnetism thing going on that lets them seem like they're flying and—"

She was cut off as one of the kwami accidentally dropped something to the floor, making her flinch from the loud noise. Even the sound all around the room was overwhelming, the little beings ignoring Marinette’s panic in favor of playing with her things.

That's when the tears started, subtly at first until Marinette let out a whimper.

Ignoring all the revelations he just went through, Luka hurried to Marinette's side, helping her up and checking her for injuries. "Marinette, are you okay—"

"You know!" she cut in, running her fingers anxiously through her hair. "You're not supposed to know!"

He took a breath, recognizing that he was going to have to deal with these revelations now. "It's okay. I promise, I'd never—"

"No, it's not okay!" she argued, throwing her hands out. "I've been guardian for just a few days and this—this isn't—! I already—and now the kwami are out—!" She slumped and dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed. "I'm a bad guardian. I'm a bad girlfriend. I couldn't protect you from knowing!"

"Marinette, you're not a bad girlfriend. You—" He paused, something occurring to him. "Protect me...?"

He hadn't been Viperion for long, but Luka remembered the importance given to secret identities. He understood that it was a form of protecting oneself and one's loved ones, meaning that a permanent hero like Ladybug needed to keep hers a secret the most.

"Is..." His stomach twisted in knots as he remembered all the dates she'd had to either miss or postpone. He bent down, trying to look at her face, and when he still couldn't, he gently cupped her face and encouraged her to make eye contact with him. "Is that why—"

"Yes! That's why I have to keep cutting our dates short, and not being there for you, and not going on patrols with Chat, and why I haven't had time to take those stupid Adrien pictures down! I can't do anything right!"

At some point, the volume of her voice had finally drawn the attention of the kwami, who all stared at her like children watching their parent having a breakdown and feeling awkward about it. Luka paid them no mind, his heart breaking as he processed all the information Marinette was telling him while all he could do was pull her into a hug and just hold her.

"I'm sorry I found out like this," he admitted, running his hand up and down along her back. "I'm glad that I know but I would've wanted you to share that secret with me instead."

"I-I'm sor—"

"Please don't apologize, Marinette," he gently begged. "I hate hearing songs with meanings I don't agree with. You don't have anything to feel sorry for. If I had the ladybug earrings instead, I would've had to do the same thing as you, and you wouldn't have asked me to apologize, would you?"

She looked up at him, expression pained and full of so many burdens that he couldn't believe he hadn't seen before. He brushed her fringe aside and rested his palm against her forehead, concerned about how pale she seemed and worried that she'd stress herself to a cold.

She leaned into his touch, then further until he was forced to move his hand away. She buried her face in his chest, surprising him as she hugged him tightly. Her song turned from the harsh wail of an electric guitar to the mellow tones of an acoustic, and he sighed in a mixture of relief and happiness.

"...Luka," she murmured, lightly clutching whatever fabric she could reach. "The movie. We'll miss it at this rate."

He hummed, half in response to what she said and half in content. "You're so much more important than the movie."

His heart skipped a beat when she actually giggled, her grip on him loosening and the hug turning to something she did because she wanted to, not for comfort. "More important than Jagged Stone?"

He chuckled, burying his face into her hair as he returned the hug. "Always. Even my idol can't compete with my muse."

She leaned further into him, her melody picking up hints off a bell chiming happily. She almost knocked him over from how much of her weight she was putting on him, but he didn't protest and even enjoyed it; it meant she was trusting him with her secrets instead of shouldering the weight herself.

"I know I couldn't have known," he began, "but I'm sorry that our dates took up your time. I never wanted to cause you any stress."

"But I wanted to!" she insisted, jolting up to look at him. "It's just—it's been a lot, and—"

He placed two fingers against her lips before she could start rambling. "Marinette, I don't need to go on normal dates to have fun with you."

She blinked, waiting for him to move his fingers before asking, "Y-you don't?"

He smiled. "Of course not. I can hang out here while you work, while you do important stuff."

With a small, amused snort, she pulled away from him and wiped any stray tears away. "You're 'important stuff.'"

He grinned like the love-struck fool that he was, then shrugged. "Well, I'll still be here anyway then, right?"

"That's true." She paused, glancing off to the side in consideration, then looked back at him as she asked, "in that case... would you help me with something?"

"Anything," he answered immediately.

She pointed, his gaze drawn to her wall full of Adrien pictures. "Like I said, I haven't had the time, and... I've been wanting to remodel forever."

He was more than happy to help, and there was a selfish part of him that considered it far better than any movie they could've seen.

—————

It took a bit more time than either of them anticipated to take down all of the images, but between the two of them, it wasn't a hard job. The biggest time-waster during the whole thing was Marinette's rambling, but Luka welcomed it wholeheartedly.

Due to not watching much TV, he honestly hadn't heard about what'd happened when Jagged Stone had been at the bakery and the camera crew had invaded Marinette's privacy, and he couldn't believe how much mental stress she must've gone through. After all, even though he and Juleka shared a room, there was still a divider for when they needed their privacy, so he wasn't unaware about how personal it was to have one's room recorded without their consent, even if nothing embarrassing got caught on camera.

It seemed cruel to know that Paris' supposedly lucky superhero was perhaps one of the unluckiest people he'd ever known.

Almost on cue, just when the last picture was down and Marinette was debating on what to do with them, her phone went off with a ringtone that sounded very much like danger. Looking over, there was a butterfly symbol flashing on the screen and Marinette's expression faltered at the sight of it.

"Akuma alert," she said flatly, with a pout that would've been cute had he not known what it meant. She hesitated, eyes flicking from him to her phone. "Um... look, I... I have to—"

"Go," he interrupted with a reassuring smile. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'll be here when you're done."

"But—" She frowned and glared at her phone, clearly knowing that she had to leave but not wanting to.

"I mean it, Marinette. It's okay."

She looked at him like she'd never heard those words from anyone else before, eyes vulnerable but fond. She gave him a nod, a brief smile flickering across her face before she turned away and rushed to the stairs. She shouted for her transformation on the way out and Luka watched as her clothes shifted into her ladybug-patterned bodysuit.

When she was completely gone, Luka felt a sudden unsteadiness and leaned against the table for support. It wasn't that he was shocked exactly to hear that Marinette was Ladybug, but he was still overloaded nonetheless.

As his hand rested on the table, he felt the heel of his palm brush something and looked down to see the pile of Adrien pictures next to him. It sent another rush through his body at the reminder that she'd asked him to help her take them down. He was dating her, sure, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that there were no lingering feelings for Adrien. He knew where she stood and he was okay letting her test the waters with him, as she did have feelings for him and who was he to complain if his crush wanted to date him? Besides, he couldn't help wanting to see if maybe it would truly make their bond stronger.

Looking at the wall now, clear of anything but the pink paint, he knew this was real and ended up wishing he'd brought his guitar.

Then, remembering the akuma alert on Marinette's phone, Luka pulled out his own and began to search, eventually finding what she already had: a direct link to watch streams and updates on whatever akuma or sentimonster shenanigans were going on. He knew well enough that he would only give himself anxiety from it, but he wanted to watch his girlfriend in action as a form of support.

Gosh, Ladybug was his girlfriend.

He took a deep breath to steady himself as he watched the footage, his eyes locked to the screen and only shifting when he felt various figures drawing close. He looked up to see that the kwami had all gathered around him, watching the screen closely.

"So..." the pig-looking kwami began, fiddling with their own paws like they knew they were being awkward. "Have you ever wanted to be a hero?"

There was a hiss off to the side, Sass cutting in with, "He already has me."

Luka wasn't feeling up to smile at that, debating with himself before sighing. "Marinette works really hard, and her song is full of sour notes right now," he said. Stepping away and heading for the chaise lounge, he sat down and added, "I hope you can figure out how to rewrite them."

The kwami all exchanged looks, some confused by the metaphor and others who perhaps understood but didn't know how to follow up on it. Luka didn't give them his attention, focusing on the akuma battle playing on his phone.

As he'd expected, it made him a little nervous actually seeing Ladybug in action due to now knowing it was his girlfriend fighting out there. He believed in her abilities and mentally cheered her on, but he just kept remembering all the akuma he'd known about and how stressful it had to have been.

Off to the side, some of the kwami joined forces to help pick up some of the items they'd previously dropped on the floor. It was only after Marinette's room looked as it did before that they properly joined Luka to watch the battle with him.

It was a start.

—————

The battle between Ladybug and the akuma (and Chat Noir was there he supposed) seemed to be getting into its final verse when Luka heard the sound of the trap door being grabbed and clicked open, making him jump. He was only able to whisper a, "Hide," so the kwami could act before Sabine peered inside the room and took a curious look around.

Apparently, they all thought that huddling against his back was a great hiding spot, and he could only smile sheepishly at Sabine while attempting to ignore the weird feeling.

"You're still here?" Sabine asked. "I thought you were going somewhere, and..." She raised a brow, looking around once more. "Where's Marinette?"

"Ah," Luka began, his mind rushing for an excuse, "we actually decided to have our date here instead. Marinette just went up to her balcony to grab something."

It didn't feel good to lie, though he also felt a sense of accomplishment in protecting Marinette's secret. Was this what Marinette dealt with all the time; having to lie to people even if she didn't want to?

Sabine glanced up briefly to where the balcony was, then back to him, slightly confused but rolling with it. "Alright. Do you two need anything?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you though," he replied, hoping it didn't sound forced.

Thankfully, Sabine nodded and left without asking any further questions, the kwami emerging and clinging to Luka while they peered at the now-closed trap door. Luka breathed a sigh of relief, then went back to watching the akuma battle on his phone.

The rest of the fight took a couple minutes, and all that was left to do afterward was wait for Ladybug to return. Once again, Luka wished he had his guitar, making a mental note to get all of his feelings out when he got home, as typical music apps just didn't do anything for him.

An expected "thump" eventually came from the balcony, and the kwami drifting away from Luka as Ladybug descended and landed on her bed. She saw Luka staring at her and initially flinched, but it was clearly a reflex from people seeing her as Ladybug where she shouldn't be, and she hurried down to meet with him afterward. Luka hopped to his feet, not hesitating to meet her halfway and envelop her in a hug, earning a squeak out of her.

"L-luka?"

"Sorry," he murmured. "Just... I got to think about everything you must've gone through without m—" He choked off, suddenly embarrassed, then corrected, "—someone to help you."

She blinked, then giggled and hugged him back. "You're my boyfriend. You're apologizing for hugging me and being worried about sounding selfish?" She nestled her face against his shoulder and he blushed at how warm she was. "Don't. I like it when you're a little selfish, Luka. It grounds me; makes me feel like you're not totally out of my league."

Luka scoffed, nuzzling his head against hers. "You're in a league all your own. I'm literally dating a superhero."

"Trust me, it's not as cool as it sounds."

"I disagree. I think you're really cool."

She blushed profusely. "H-hey..."

He chuckled. "By the way, your mom came to check up on us."

Ladybug gasped, then pulled back, eyes wide and concerned. She was clearly about to apologize, so he cut her off before she could.

"I told her that we were having our date here and that you were getting something from the balcony. Everything's alright."

Her shoulders eased. She let out a sigh of relief as her head fell back against his shoulder. "Thank you."

He hummed contently, resting his hand along her back and keeping it there. Then, realizing when Sabine came up earlier and might do it again, he reminded her, "You're still Ladybug."

"Huh? ...Oh!" she said, though with less panic than normal and unwilling to recoil from the happy spot she was in.

He heard the whisper of her de-transformation phrase and winced as the light engulfed her, slowly turning her back into Marinette. He felt the spandex under his hand turn into fabric and Marinette's breath against his skin as she exhaled.

A kwami that Luka deduced was Marinette's flew a small distance away, eyeing Luka warily and semi-critically. Luka didn't blame her - he wasn't supposed to know - but he also knew that it was far too late to change anything now, and there was no way he was going to abandon Marinette or pretend he knew nothing. He imagined that the kwami knew that too.

"...I'm Tikki," the kwami greeted finally. "It's nice to meet you officially, Luka."

Luka gave her a nod in return, then stiffened somewhat as Marinette squeezed him tighter, burying her face further against him like she truly cherished him.

"It's still a lot," she whispered. "Is it okay if you hug me a little longer?"

"Of course." Though, he paused for a moment before adding, "Would it be more comfortable for you if we move to your chaise?"

"Hm?" She pulled away just enough to look down and realize that they were still awkwardly standing at the bottom of the steps to her bed. "Oh! Yeah, I mean—I didn't even—"

"Hey." He tenderly cupped her cheek, offering a smile. "I didn't complain, did I?"

She looked briefly surprised, making him wonder just how much she'd had to apologize in the past. They slowly made their way over to the chaise lounge, Luka settling down and opening his arms for her so she could settle onto his lap and snuggle against him. He leaned back against the chaise, throwing his legs across the length of it, then wrapped an arm around Marinette to make her feel secure.

"This is nice. It's... um—" She peeked up at him, then grinned shyly. "—melodic? Is that what you'd call it?"

He couldn't stop himself from snorting.

Marinette blushed in embarrassment. "H-hey! I'm trying, okay?"

"I know." He took a strand of her hair in his hand and stroked it. "You always try, and I love that about you."

She let out a series of whines at that, but doesn't protest the compliment either. She nestled against his chest, keeping her face turned away enough to still talk to him without her voice being muffled.

"I just... want to know more about you, Luka," she told him. "You're so sweet and I felt awful having to ditch you. Didn't it bother you?"

He gave a one-armed shrug. "You were busy. I unders—"

"Luka."

He stopped, meeting her firm gaze and knowing that he wasn't getting out of this easily. He sighed, admitting, "...Yeah, it bothered me, but it wasn't because of you or that I didn't trust you. I... see—my dad..." He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing that he'd never told anyone this story before. "I never knew who he was. I asked my mom so many times, but she never gave me an answer. Whenever you had to leave and lie to me, I..."

"Oh." She raised herself up more to meet him closer to eye level. "I'm so sorry—wait—sorry, you told me not to apologize—Sorry! I did it agai—ACK!"

He laughed, feeling warm and delighted by how much she cared about him and wanted him to feel secure in their relationship. He squeezed her shoulder in reassurance, wanting to nuzzle her for how cute she was being and just barely able to hold himself back.

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad you were looking out for me, but you deserve someone to look out for you too."

She pouted a bit at the heartfelt comment, then smiled and raised her hand to settle on his along her shoulder.

He hummed, pausing purposefully for effect before asking, "...So, what does the great guardian Marinette want to do now?"

"Oh my gosh, Luka."

He grinned, happy to compliment her until she was completely red. "How about the brave and heroic Ladybug then?"

"Luka."

He reached up to caress her cheek with his thumb. "But, if you ask me, I like the kind, sincere civilian Marinette best."

"LUKA!"

—————

The rest of their "date" passed by smoothly, Marinette's parents having left them alone so as to not interrupt anything. Marinette had idly brought up the idea that the movie might still be playing - just at a different time than they planned on going - but Luka brushed off the idea and insisted that he was happy there and didn't need to go on a "real" date with her to have fun, opting to leave it up to her.

And... yeah, neither of them were willing to leave their current position and exchange it for having to sit in different seats at a theater with other people around. They opted to just stare at the ceiling and talk, the kwami having respectfully retreated to Marinette's bed to give them privacy.

Talks of their past meetings and when she left to become Ladybug soon turned into a game of finishing Jagged Stone lyrics. Luka, either by being the bigger fan or just having an easier time remembering them, ended up winning in the end, though he couldn't have expected Marinette to follow up by immediately leaving his lap. He'd held back a whine at the sudden lack of warmth and wondered if maybe she'd been teasing him with some sort of punishment by going away.

But then she'd returned with a tiny pink gift box, and inside was a guitar pick necklace signed by Jagged Stone himself.

"He came into the bakery the other day and I had him sign it for you," she explained. Taking it out to fully present it to him, she asked, "Do...do you like it?"

"I love it, Marinette," he replied immediately, reaching out to feel the guitar pick and properly appreciate it. "I can have this?"

She smiled in response, holding the necklace out in a gesture that made his heart skip a beat, realizing that she was offering to put it on him herself. He leaned close, feeling the light brush of her fingers against his neck as she slipped it onto him. He silently hoped that it was durable because he was absolutely never taking it off.

Marinette's hands lingered on the string even when the necklace was fully on, Luka meeting her gaze to see that she was looking at him with all the love he'd ever dreamed of her offering him. He didn't say a word and neither did she, but with a light tug on his necklace, he was pulled towards her into a kiss. It was definitely too deep for their first but also so nice that neither of them cared, and not even the Ladybug revelation could outmatch his surprise at being so readily smooched.

Luka reached for the hand grabbing his necklace, Marinette letting go of it so they could thread their fingers together. His song was going crazy as she leaned forward, clearly wanting more from him and him being wonderfully helpless to resist her. He breathed her in, his other hand finding its place on her side. Her own hand rose up so her fingers could settle against the back of his neck, and he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed by the sound he made when she started playing with his hair.

She didn't even pull away when their kiss broke, merely pressing her forehead to his while they each caught their breath. Despite the boldness she'd just displayed, she somehow couldn't maintain eye contact and ended up looking elsewhere while all he could do was stare at her in a daze.

"S-sor—" She paused, remembering again that he told her not to apologize. "I-I mean, I'm... not sorry? I—ah—remembered you saying that music is simpler than words, so I just—I thought that maybe I shouldn't ask you with words and just... play it instead?" Luka could feel the heat radiating from her blush as she hurriedly added, "Um... is that okay?"

He answered her with another kiss.