#he got a tv in his quarters. good for him.

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

my little voyeur

neighbour!loganxvoyeur!reader

a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox

wc:3.1k

MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE

summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.

"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.

You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa. 

"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.

8:37 PM. 

"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.

The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.

The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths. 

You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.

Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case. 

The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers. 

To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.

"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther. 

His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee. 

From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy.  

The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original."  But you were well used to it by now. 

Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.

 He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodge—the only bar in small-town Burns, Alaska—you had seen him there

You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regular—no need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was built to win.

His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Logan’s eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else saw—rough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.

Was it trauma? 

Regret?

Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?

A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.

Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be. 

The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.

It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. You’d glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, you’d instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.

Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.

There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of him—it was a trigger. 

You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, you’d inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside you—picturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.

Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction. 

"It’s almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.

As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costume—vivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.

The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadn’t seen yet. 

It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldn’t shake.

The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.

You’d dressed the part—skin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. 

You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhere—focused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.

The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.

A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “Just thought I’d switch things up a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It suits you, it's different.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. “I like keeping things interesting,” you replied, matching his playful tone.

The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you're doing a good job of doing that."

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. “It's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?”

His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. “You could say that. But maybe I’m looking for something different tonight.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. “Well, that's hard to imagine. What’s your idea of different?”

 Logan’s eyes dropped to your cleavage. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “How about the upstairs at your place?”

The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.

Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his space—artwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.

“Nice place,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.

Your heart raced at the implication of his question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you replied biting your lip,  voice steady from a boldness surging through you.

Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark. 

“Good. Because I don’t plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.

“I know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,” he murmured, his voice thick and husky.

You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Logan’s intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. “A man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“You’ve been watching me,” he stated, his voice dropping even lower. “Spying on me like some lovesick teenager. It’s cute, but it’s also… a little sick.” The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. “I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. “Don't give me excuses. Tell me why.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.

“I... I just wanted to understand you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. ��

Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?" 

The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second. 

“I’ll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.” He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension. 

“I’m the best at what I do, and I don’t do it very nicely.”

cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.

🏷️: @back2thebasics , @spookyfunhottub, @lanassmarty, @hypermarvellove, @kbear8863

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[funnyjb]

I’ve Got To Be Better

That was it. The quarter ended. The bengals lost 37-17. I could see Joes face from the suite. I could tell he was already beating himself up.

You could hear the whole suite sigh. We were all proud of the team and especially Joe, but seeing another loss was tough.

“How about we start to head down. We will meet joe after his presser.”- Robin

I looked at Robin and nodded

I got my things and cleaned the cups then left.

———————————————————————-

We were waiting outside in the family tent waiting for Joe to be done. He texted me ten minutes ago saying he will be out soon.

Just as I was talking to one of joes cousins I could hear someone shout Joes name. I turned around to see Joe walking up to me. Just as we locked eyes he immediately dropped his bag and put his arms round me. I held him. His body was not as stiff as I saw him when he walked out. He put his hand on my head and gave me a kiss. He pulled away to look into my eyes. I gave him a slight smile. He then retuned the small smile. I then allowed the rest of his family to greet him and tell them how proud they are of him.

“Babe, you should go back home. I have to have a meeting with some coaches I don’t want you to wait for long. My parents will take you home and I will be back home later. I love you.”-Joe

“Joe, it’s ok. I can wait. I’ve been feeling fine and my feet don’t even hurt.”- you

Joe cracked a smile.

“You’re a good liar babe. Ive know you long enough.”- joe

You laugh

“You’re so annoying.”- you

“But you love me and I want you and baby burrow to take a nap.”- he says putting his hand on your growing belly.

“Ok, ok. I love you so much. Text me when you’re on your way home, ok?”- you

“I will. I love you more, y/n.”- joe says kissing your forehead

“Not possible.”- you

You give him one last hug until I let him go. His dad picked up his bag to take back home so we can wash it.

———————————————————————-

I was back at home. Joes parents decided to go for an early dinner but I was too tired so I decided to stay home. I was waiting on the couch till Joe got home. When I got home I showered, changed into comfy clothes, then took a nap. It was only 5:30. The house was quiet. I could only hear the washing machine and the air conditioner. The tv was on low playing The Office. Just as o was about to shut my eyes again I heard the car garage close. Milo our Labrador started barking at the door. I got up to see who it was.

“It’s ok Milo, shhh.”- you

The door connecting the house the garage opened. It was Joe.

“Hey.”- joe

“Hi.”- you

Milo ran up to him and gave him lots of kisses. Joe laughed.

“Ok, buddy.”- joe

He then got up and came towards me.

“Hi.”- you

“Hi.”- joe

I gave him a kiss.

“How are you feeling?”- joe

“I should be asking you that.”- you

Joe gave me a face.

“I’m not the one who’s pregnant.”- joe

I chuckled

“Seriously, Joe. Are you ok? I know that must get annoying after a game but really.”- you

“I’m…fine. It fucking sucks and I’m pissed off, but I’ve Got to be better, I have to be better, for the team and for you. I let everyone down. For the fifth time. I’m sick of it already.”- joe

My heart broke.

“Look at me.”- you smile

“You didn’t let me down. You will never ever let me down. Ever. Yeah, it fucking sucks and I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is happening to you, I’m sorry this is happing to the team. But you’re not the one to blame. You shouldn’t be blaming yourself either. I know you. The whole team could have stepped up more today and if I’m being honest also the coaches but you played like hell out there today. You guys tried to fight till the end. And I’m so very proud. I will always be proud of you, JB. Please don’t beat yourself up too much. You will go in Tuesday all the way through Friday and work hard to get a win on Sunday. Then on Saturday you will focus and spend time with your family until the game. Ok?”- you

“Yeah, thank you, y/n. I don’t know what I do to deserve you. Like actually.”- joe laughs

“Well, you just got very lucky I guess.”- you

“I guess I did, huh.”- joe

I nod

He the pulls me in for a kiss.

“I love you.”- Joe

“Love you too.”- you

We walk into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?”- you

“I’m starving.”- joe

I open the fridge to see what we got.

“Spaghetti and meatballs?” - you

“Yes please.”- joe

I heat up the food and joe pulls up a seat.

The microwave beeps.

“Enjoy!”- you

“Yum, thank you.”- joe

Joe eats as I look online for some baby stuff.

“I like that.”- joe says as he points to the stroller

“Yeah?”- you

“Yeah! Do you?”- joe

“It’s very cute.”- you

“Ok! Let’s get it.”- joe

I click add to cart.

“Done!”- you

Joe finishes his bowl and I was abt to take it to clean.

“I got it babe. Go lay down.”-joe

I smile

“Ok.”- you

I go and lay down on the comfy couch and Joe later then joins me.

I put my head to rest on his shoulder. His hand rubs my bump.

“I can’t wait till she’s here.”- joe

“Me either.”- you

———————————————————————-

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once. 

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way. 

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table. 

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off. 

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place. 

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about. 

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool. 

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym. 

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles. 

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep. 

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips. 

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics. 

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that. 

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too. 

She almost scowls. 

“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses. 

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop. 

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again. 

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void. 

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look. 

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room. 

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too. 

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it. 

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids. 

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams. 

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply. 

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.” 

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay. 

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them. 

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her. 

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips. 

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?” 

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one. 

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

 Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters. 

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.” 

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.” 

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention. 

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it. 

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.” 

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys. 

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened. 

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would. 

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it. 

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense. 

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age. 

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down. 

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question. 

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.” 

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm. 

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself. 

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly. 

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight. 

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.” 

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

[gurugirl]

The Work Trip

Photo is for aesthetics only!

Sugardaddy!harry x yn

Summary: Harry takes Y/n with him on a work trip.

Word Count: 4850

Warning: 18+ only, smut, cheating (technically)

The Arrangement Masterlist

When Harry told Jessica to also book Y/n on the two-night trip she gave him a look that he knew to be scrutiny. He figured there would be questions about why he was taking an intern with him on a business trip but he didn’t care. He could explain it away by saying he’d rather have an intern assist him than have someone else go with him who could be of better use at the office.

“What’s with you and Y/n anyway?” Sean teased as he stopped into Harry’s office.

“Nothing. Just wanted to have someone there to print out decks for us if we need, or executive summaries. Get our coffee. Things like that.”

His best friend nodded with a grin, “Sure. Whatever you say, Har. What about the way you flirt with her? Or the way she locks up and gets all ditzy when you’re around?”

Harry brushed his friend off. He wouldn’t tell Sean what he was doing with his cute little intern. All the disgusting and dirty little things she eagerly allowed him to do to her. That was just for him and Y/n.

No one knew for sure but some were more nosy than others. He’d have to behave himself with Y/n on the trip since Sean would be there as well. He already had a plan in place to make sure no one knew what was going on.

.           .           .

Y/n had her own hotel room. She had a little balcony and the bed was soft and the TV came with unlimited channels. Harry told her he’d give her instructions soon but that she was just to wait for him. She was allowed to order food if she wanted but not to leave the hotel because he would be expecting her to do something for him. She was not quite sure what that entailed just yet.

After ordering French fries and a fruit cup she got his first set of instructions via text.

Take the spare key card I gave you for my room and let yourself in at a quarter to 4. Don’t be late.

It was already 3 pm. Harry and Sean had been at some meeting for the better part of three hours. They’d had an early check-in to their rooms and then immediately left for their first meeting of the trip.

She quickly ate her snack and then used the bathroom before cleaning herself up a touch. If she knew one thing she could probably expect, it would be that he’d have her naked in some capacity and she always preferred at least being fresh for him. He never seemed to mind one way or the other but for her own sake, she liked to keep clean.

When she entered his room she noted it looked an awful lot like hers. But except for two double beds, there was one large king bed in the middle. Just as soft as hers.

At 3:40 she received her second text.

Take all of your clothes off for me. I’ll be there soon.

Her heart pounded as she folded her clothes and sat everything neatly on a chair. She loved not knowing exactly what Harry was going to do to her. Loved the anticipation of being caught off guard. Loved that he did all the thinking for her.

When the hotel room door opened Harry walked into the room like he was on a time crunch (he was) and took his suit jacket off, folding it and draping it on a chair.

He smiled at his pretty naked girl. She had goosebumps and perked nipples and he couldn’t resist touching her neck. “You’re such a good girl for, Daddy. Now climb up onto the bed, hands and knees down.”

She minded him quickly, crawling on all fours to the center of his bed, and turned her head to watch him as he dug into his suitcase.

Rope.

“Did you use the bathroom already? Peed and everything?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” He kneed up to the bed next to her and pulled her arms behind her back, winding the rope around her wrists snugly, and then lifted her hips to have her ass up while her face was down into the soft bedding.

She felt his lips on her bottom before he pressed a kiss to her cunt and then to her anus. She felt the cool wetness of the lube as he smeared it over both her holes, “Gonna plug you up, okay? Relax…” he pressed an anal plug at her back entrance and she did as he said, relaxing her muscles as he pushed it into her small opening, securing it in place with a final little twist once it was inside.

“And before I leave I’m gonna fill you with my come and then I’ll plug your pussy up, make you keep it inside until I return after dinner. Okay?” He checked with her, knowing she’d say yes but still enjoying her little squeaks of compliance.

Harry undid his buckle and quickly pulled his pants down. He didn’t have much time to waste. They were due to meet out front in less than 15 minutes. He stroked himself with the lube and got his cock nice and hard as he enjoyed the site of her spread out for him with her ass in the air.

“Ready for Daddy’s cock, baby?” He pressed his tip to her entrance.

“Yes,” she cooed, “Please Daddy. Use my hole for your come.”

Harry pumped the base of his cock as he pressed in until he had both hands at her hips and he was bottomed out.

“This is gonna be really fast because I’ve got to go, but I need you to stay quiet or else you don’t get to have my come. Understand?” He asked her as he drew his dick out to tip and slowly pressed back in, repeating his strokes so she would open up and begin to wet him naturally. The lube helped, but he loved when she was wet for him.

“Yes. I promise to keep quiet.”

At that Harry began to pound into her quickly, feeling his cock stimulated by the little plug inside of her as he slid into the hilt and backed out, thwacking himself into her harshly.

He had to bite his lip not to moan. She felt so delicious around him and the plug was just intensifying how tight she already was.

She grunted as quietly as possible each time his hips smacked into her. With his long, thick cock moving inside of her, it was nudging into the plug in her ass and it made her clench and get wetter and wetter. It felt so good being fucked in her cunt while her ass was plugged.

But he came so fast. She felt him pulsing and throbbing in her as he quietly groaned and squeezed her hips. She sighed at the feel of his come being stuffed into her. She loved being filled with him.

Harry panted as he rammed himself once more inside of her deeply before giving her a light swat, “There we go. Just needed to get off with my little fuck hole or I was going to explode,” he spoke quietly as he pulled out.

She felt him spread her legs and then press the squishy silicone of the plug to her pussy. It was lightweight and shaped so that it wouldn’t come out easily. Once it was pressed inside and secured Harry lifted her by the back of her neck and kissed her, “Stay right here for me. I’ll be back in less than 3 hours. Take a nap. Here,” he helped her onto her side so she could lie down more comfortably.

She smiled at him and already felt herself getting sleepy. She didn’t get to come but she was satisfied being stuffed with his.

Harry left her locked in his room and feeling lighter after having just orgasmed and he wasn’t even late to meet Sean at the front of the hotel to get their car. And as delicious as the dinner was he couldn’t stop thinking about Y/n waiting for him the whole time. He wondered if she’d sleep or if she’d get thirty (he had left her an open bottle of water with a straw in it on the bedside table. Or if she was getting herself all wound up and desperate for him as the minutes went by.

Once the bill was paid Sean and Harry got into the back of the car to have their driver take them back to the hotel, “Let’s go get a drink somewhere.” Sean suggested.

Harry would have if he didn’t have Y/n with her hands tied behind her back and plugged up, waiting for him, “Not tonight. I’m exhausted with the trip here and everything. Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Really? You don’t want to get a drink with me because you’re exhausted?” He didn’t seem like he was buying Harry’s excuse.

Nodding his head he doubled down, “Really. I’m just ready to call it a night.”

Sean nodded and Harry could see he looked like he wanted to say something but was holding back.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

Sean laughed and grinned, “I don’t know. This doesn’t have anything to do with that cute intern does it?”

“Of course it doesn’t. You know the arrangement I have with Romy. I’m getting what I need within her boundaries and our intern doesn’t have anything to do with that.” He lied.

Sean knew all about the agreement Harry had with his wife. He was his best friend after all. Sure they were work partners too, but it was always friends first so he knew everything about what Harry and Romy were going through.

“Okay. Just asking. I believe you.”

Harry nodded. The guilt he felt about lying was slowly fading away every time he did it. He trusted Sean but he didn’t need to know to know everything.

Y/n was wiggling the slightest when Harry walked back into his room. His pretty girl was facing the door with her arms behind her back. Her pupils were wide and dark over her eyes. He could see she was a bit of a mess.

He sat down next to her and smoothed his palm over her hip, “Are you okay, baby? How are your little holes?”

She let out a little breath, “I need you, Daddy. I want you inside of me. Please.”

His grin was proud. She was plugged in both holes and her hips were swaying gently as she lifted her thigh to show him, “Please, Daddy,” she let out a shattered moan.

“Oh, baby. Look at you,” He moved his fingers to rub at her clit and she closed her eyes and gasped lightly.

“Yesss… thank you…” Her words were breathy.

Her clit was slippery but the plug in her pussy was keeping most of her arousal inside. As well as his come from earlier. He gently manipulated her clit, pressing into it and stroking it back and forth with light pressure as she panted and writhed into his hand, her eyes on him.

“There you go. A little relief for my sweet girl. Feels good doesn’t it?” He took his fingers away and walked to the opposite side of the bed behind her to undo her wrists. He knew they must be sore. She watched him over her shoulder with rounded eyes. Still wanting more.

He laughed when he saw her pained look, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you Daddy’s cock soon. Just need to get you comfy first before I put you in a different position. Okay?”

She grumped with a small pout as she turned away. She knew he would take care of her but she was aching. The pussy plug was smushed into her g-spot and every time she shifted her hips she could feel it pressing into it and it was driving her insane. Not to mention the way the butt plug was filling her anus and making her ass tingle in the best way.

Harry rolled her to her back and grasped her chin, turning her face toward him, “Don’t fuss at me. I’m here to put you out of your misery. Unless you’d rather just suck me off and we’ll be done for the night. You get nothing.”

She shook her head, “No. I need it. I’m so… it hurts, Daddy,” she exaggerated. It didn’t actually hurt. But it was achy and she wanted to come so bad her tummy was twisting and she was trembling.

Harry spread her legs apart and looked at the plugs filling her holes before he stood from the bed to take his belt off, “I don’t believe that it hurts, Y/n. I think you’re being dramatic. Would you like it to hurt?” He asked in that mocking way that made her skin glow hot. “I can make it hurt for you if you want.”

He leaned over her with the belt in his hand as she watched him wrap the leather around his fist, leaving the end to drape over her hip as he dragged it up over her tits.

She was so frustrated. She just wanted relief. Her body was vibrating with need and she was so close she knew she’d come if he just kept his fingers on her clit for one minute. She’d be done for. But he was teasing her instead. She cried in frustration, “Please! I need to come!”

Harry grinned and pushed her to her tummy as he straddled the back of her knees to keep her from wiggling too much.

“I don’t like having you cry at me so loudly. You’re being a bit of a brat for Daddy. If you’d just been sweet I’d have let you come on fingers. I know that felt so good on your aching button, didn’t it?”

She nodded into the comforter and turned her head, “It felt so good. I want it. Please.”

He landed the first strike of his leather belt across her cheeks and she yelped, “And how does it feel to be spanked instead?”

She caught her breath and swallowed, “Hurts.”

He gave her another swat and she groaned and arched her back, trying to move away but she was pinned down. “That’s right. See this hurts,” he did it again, leaving behind a mark from the belt across her skin, “Waiting to have your clit rub doesn’t hurt. Isn’t that right?”

She sucked in a sharp breath, “Sorry. You’re right. Sorry, Daddy.” She rushed her words out.

Harry dropped the belt to the floor and removed his shirt as he kept his eyes on her, standing next to the bed, “Get up. Take my pants off for me.”

She shimmed herself around and tried not to put her bottom onto the comforter where her bum was sore before she stood to her feet and bent to quickly undo his pants at his direction.

She’d gotten really good at removing him from his pants. Far better than Romy had ever been. With his wife, she dawdled too much. Y/n never dawdled. She was eager. Desperate. And that’s exactly what he wanted.

She pulled the fabric of his brushed wool pants down his legs and looked up at him as she placed her fingers into the waistband of his underwear, “Can I take these off too, please?”

He loved when she said please. Loved that she wanted him so badly. It fed his ego to be so desired. But mostly he loved it because he wanted her just as badly. He’d really started feeling like she was more than just an arrangement. Y/n was something very special to him.

With Harry’s nod Y/n quickly pulled his underwear down his legs and helped him step out of them before she sat back onto her haunches in front of him, looking up at him from her position on the floor.

She could tell he was pleased with her. Despite his little correction, she knew he enjoyed it.

“On the bed, spread your legs.” Harry instructed.

Y/n stood up and sat onto the mattress and spread her legs. Harry stepped toward her and grasped the soft underside of her knees and lifted so that her feet were pressed into the mattress. He spread her legs apart more and thumbed at her clit.

Y/n bit her lip and watched Harry’s eyes as he focused on her pussy and his thumb.

“Messy. Does this feel good inside of you, Y/n? Made you all swollen and puffy for me didn’t it?”

She nodded, “Yes, Daddy. But not as good as you feel inside of me.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth to suppress his grin as he looked at his pretty girl, “Is that right? Well I am technically inside of you right now aren’t I?” He teased as he continued to stroke her clit.

She moaned softly and nodded.

“Yes. You’re all full of my come still. And when I take this plug out it’s gonna weep out of your little hole isn’t it?”

Another quick nod of her head as she began to pant. She was going to come. His thumb on her felt too good.

“Daddy…” she whined and pressed her thighs together just enough to indicate what was about to happen, “Can I come, please? Oh!”

Harry chuckled at her desperation as he continued rubbing her, “Go ahead, sweetheart.” He held one of her thighs tight to keep her in place.

Y/n’s eyes rounded out and her mouth dropped open wide as she watched Harry’s face, her orgasm rushing quickly through her veins. With a gently buck of her hips into his hand she gasped and threw her head back.

She knew to keep quiet but it was hard.

Her small squeaks and moans and the view Harry had of her had finished the job of making his cock swell. The toys peeking out from her ass and her pussy were pulsing with her orgasm and somehow she was so wet that she dripped, despite being plugged up.

“Good girl. Being so polite and quiet while you let go with all my come deep inside of you. Feels good to orgasm with my come in there doesn’t it?”

She couldn’t answer him. She was too busy trying to keep her voice down and get through her much-needed orgasm. She clamped around the spongy soft pussy plug and even her anus was quivering.

Harry released her thigh and began to stroke himself as he helped her lie to her back, keeping her bottom close to the edge of the bed as he was still standing.

She was heaving and hot and wiggly as he began to pull at the toy in her pussy. He watched as she stretched around it and her arousal clung to it in strings as it was placed on the bed. He peered down at her pretty hole and thrusted a finger inside then pulling it out to see his come finally run out a little. But he wanted his come to stay inside of her so he grapsed the back of her knees and pressed her thighs to her chest and angled himself above her, his cock pushing into her muscle quickly and deeply.

They both moaned in unison. Harry had needed that. He’d been imagining it all dinner and now he was finally going to have his girl and take his time with her, make her come on his cock like she deserved. Like he deserved.

Harry’s long shaft felt so good moving inside of her. The spongy toy was nice and filling, but it was soft and didn’t move unless she shifted into certain positions. She loved the hardness of him and how deep and heavy it felt. His cockhead stroked her g-spot satisfyingly.

He watched his engorged dick disappear inside of her, coated with her cream and his come. Repeated thrusts punched into her guts made her grunt and groan.

When he pulled out, keeping his dark pink tip pressed to her hole he moaned as he watched more of his come drip out and down to her ass, making a path around the plug and disappearing under her bum as he painted his cock through her sopping crease to collect a little come before plunging himself back in, fucking his own come back into her.

“Stuffed with Daddy’s come and his cock, baby. Feel better now? This what you needed?” He panted his words as he rocked into her in harsh thuds, wet skin colliding.

She grunted a yes and yelped when he ground himself down into her and she felt him in her cervix, nudging in so close to her uterus.

Y/n was spinning and free-falling. Her knees pressed into her chest and Harry’s breathing and the sound of her creamy pussy getting fucked… And the way he felt inside of her… She was in heaven. All she needed was him doing with her what he wanted.

He couldn’t get over how good she always felt. He sometimes wondered if it was just because it was Y/n. Because it was his girl, and that’s why she felt so good around him. Her pussy was always wet for him, always gripped him perfectly, and made his cock feel like it had found its true home. He hated comparing her to Romy but he couldn’t help it. Because he was starting to resent his wife and Y/n was growing more and more important to him. Everything about her was better, he concluded. Not just her pussy and her mouth. But Y/n was better. They fit so well together in every way.

“Gonna take another one of Daddy’s loads, Y/n?”

She breathed a yes and clung to the blankets for leverage as he hammered into her.

“I know you will. But I need you to come first. Give me another,” his balls were already squeezing and cock was throbbing inside of her, precome mixing with his earlier orgasm inside of her.

Y/n wasn’t sure she could come again. She was wiped out. And in that particular position, her clit was neglected completely so it would take a lot longer for her to get close enough.

But of course Harry knew this. Because he’d really gotten to know Y/n’s body over their short time together. They’d done a lot of fucking since he propositioned her so it wasn’t hard to figure out all her little spots and what she needed.

He pulled out and released her legs, “Roll over honey, hands and knees.”

Y/n pushed herself to her side and got up to her hands and knees, ass in the air, the little plug sparkling at Harry.

He smacked her right cheek and then her left before gripping her hips to position her the way he wanted. He kept himself standing as he pulled her cheeks apart and twisted the anal toy, making her jolt slightly.

Harry grinned as he picked his belt up from the ground and returned to his spot. He leaned over her back and wrapped the belt around her neck, looping the end through the buckle for a makeshift leash until it was just tight enough.

He took one of her hands and pulled it up to her core, “Rub your messy pussy while I fuck it.”

His voice was deep and severe. Y/n began to finger at her clit as Harry gripped the belt in his hand and pulled to keep her neck back for him. Carefully, he pushed back into her pussy and hissed. He was sensitive and aching but her warm, slick walls greeted him with relief.

Y/n choked out a moan when she felt Harry begin to glide through her walls and his fingers dug into her hips. The belt around her neck wasn’t as tight as the collar he’d gotten her, but it did squeeze around her neck with a slight pinch that she loved.

When Harry pulled out to grab the belt it gave him a break so he knew he’d be able to last longer until she could finally come. He wanted to feel her pulsating and clenching around him in her orgasm as he came inside of her. There was nothing better in the world than to be in the throws of ecstasy while a warm, wet pussy was fluttering around his cock and milking him of everything.

But his reprieve and the small break did little good. He was on edge nearly immediately upon thrusting into her.

Y/n felt her limbs start to quiver slightly and her pussy just felt so good she could die. That would be the way to go too. With Harry’s dick deep inside of her and drool down her face? Yeah. She’d lived a good life. And that was in part due to the man railing her to death at that moment. Death by cock. Happily.

The belt was pulled back a couple of inches and Y/n’s neck with it. Harry leaned over her back, one fist holding the end of the belt and his other in the mattress right next to your hand, his arm aligned over yours. He pushed in deep and continued to thrust inward, “Hear that, baby?” The slower swing of his hips as his cock inched in and inched back, spreading your dripping cunt apart sounded like an audio porn. You knew you were wet, you always were for Harry, but having him fuck into you not only being aroused and wet but having his last release still inside of you was extra messy. And extra hot so you were both moaning and panting together.

“Yes, Daddy. Sounds like you’re fucking me really good.”

“Yeah? You like getting fucked really good, Y/n?”

“Yes, Daddy!”

Harry stood back up and began to roll his hips into her at a hungrier pace. Y/n was doing everything in her power to keep her volume down as she started to come. With her neck pulled back slightly it felt like she had almost no control. That Harry called the shots. Which had always been the case but the physical act of having his leather belt used to spank her and then wrap around her neck like a leash and collar made her feel unhindered.

When he felt her begin to spasm around him he released the collar and covered her mouth. Her feminine groans were getting louder and louder. He wasn’t sure she even realized it. He gasped at the feeling of being squeezed by her, “So fucking dirty, baby.” Harry’s thrusts became erratic, the jolted motion stunted as he felt the heat of his own end uncoil.

“Fuck, baby…” Harry released into her, his cock throbbing so hard she could feel it inside.

He kept his hips glued to hers as he removed his palm from her mouth and could hear her heavy breaths mixed with his own.

Gently pulling himself out he spread her pussy lips and watched drop after drop gush from her. He kissed her bottom, all the spots where there were small marks from the belt, and then placed a hand on her anal plug, “I’m gonna take this out now, okay?”

Y/n was already melting into the mattress. She was trying her best to stay on her hands and knees but her face and shoulders were already down on the bed, “Okay, Daddy.”

The moment she felt the plug gone she also felt Harry’s absence. She blinked her eyes and lay on her side when heard the tub water running. A few moments after, Harry leaned over her and placed one arm behind the bend of her knees and his other behind her upper back and tilted her into his arms to bring her to the bathroom.

She was used to the routine by now. He’d kiss the bruises or spots where she was spanked and then run her a warm bath. He’d usually give her something to drink and sit behind her in the tub, run his hands over her limbs, and talk about whatever topic felt right in the moment (last time it was about a dog that Harry used to have as a kid) until the water turned tepid and he’d help her out and towel her off and carry her to bed where she’d sleep like a baby.

“Lavender okay?” Harry asked as he lifted up the glass jar of salts after sitting her in the warm tub.

“I love lavender,” Y/n smiled and watched him sprinkle white flakes into the tub before finally climbing in behind her and pulling her back flush against his chest. Y/n leaned her head back into Harry’s clavicle.

“You were so good for me, Y/n. Can you handle another day of that for me tomorrow?”

She nodded with a small smile on her face, eyes closed, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. It’ll be a longer day tomorrow. More meetings. I’ll come back between to see you,” he kissed her temple.”

“Sounds perfect.”

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[mattslolita]

come thru - m. sturniolo

warnings ; fingering , oral ( female receiving ) , slight!dom!matt

"you make wanna come thru, quarter after two, just to put it down on you."

you invited your best friends over for a movie night, like you had done since you guys had been friends since you were all younger — it was a tradition amongst you all, every weekend you guys rotated between yours and the triplets house.

right now, they had just arrived at your house, and you already laid out all the movie options for them. chris immediately made a beeline for your fridge, causing you to shake your head and roll your eyes.

"chris, you realize i'd like to actually have a pepsi for myself for once, right?" you said, turning to follow the boy into the kitchen. "you always raid them all."

"yet you keep buying them for me," chris grinned, and you leaned over the counter and shook your head at him.

you were just in an over sized ransom tee that belonged to matt and some short shorts underneath — it was quite common that you wore these types of clothes around them, so it wasn't unusual. though you had to admit, wearing a borrowed shirt from matt was making you hope he would notice.

you were definitely good at hiding it, but the feelings you've had for matt were growing even more by the day — the way he'd playfully flirt with you sometimes of course was making matters worse, and you wondered if there was a chance matt might have felt the same way as you.

now with all the snacks in tow, everyone went to their designated spots in the living room — chris was in the chair closest to the tv, whilst nick took the loveseat and decided on spreading out all over it. you and matt took the sofa, and he placed his arm behind the chair.

you could feel your cheeks get warm at the action even though he was always doing stuff like this. you tried to play it off by letting a small sigh escape your lips, and bringing your sprite can up to your lips to take a sip.

matt noticed the sigh and turned to you with a raised eyebrow. "you good?" he whispered in your ear as he leaned over.

your breath hitched and you clenched your legs together, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "i'm alright."

thankfully the movie had already started, and you found yourself more interested in it. but as the movie went on, you couldn't help but subtly look over at matt from time to time — his blue eyes were focused on the movie unlike yours currently, and you swore you were about to go crazy at the way one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk when a funny scene came on.

your eyes then roved over his tattooed arm all the way down to his ring clad hands, finding yourself wondering how good they would feel inside you.

and that's where you drew the line.

you stood up quickly, already feeling yourself become hot and bothered, causing all three of the triplets to look up at you in confusion.

"the movie's not even done yet," nick commented, and you shot him a weary smile.

"yeah i know, i'm just...not feeling too good," you lied.

"what's wrong?" matt asked with furrowed eyebrows, and you waved him off.

"oh it's nothing, i'm just kinda tired," you lied again, "i'm just gonna go up to my room and lay down for a bit."

"you want me to come up there with you?" matt asked, beginning to stand up.

"no!" you answered quickly with wide eyes, causing his eyebrows to furrow, "sorry...i'm good, though. y'all finish the movie and just clean up when you're done. you can crash here for the night if you don't feel like driving back home, matt."

chris just shrugged and stuffed his face with some chips whilst nick nodded sympathetically and blew you a friendly good night kiss — matt watched you as you walked upstairs quickly, before he turned his attention back to the movie playing.

once you got into your room, the first thing you did was close your door and let out a big sigh, then you went to dim your lights and turn on some music — the triplets already knew you went to sleep with music for the most part, but sleep wasn't exactly what you needed the music for.

you sat back on your bed as you pulled your shorts off of yourself and slowly ran a hand over your lace underwear, feeling the slight wetness. throwing your head back, you closed your eyes and thought of matt, causing a small moan to slip from your lips.

"fuck..." you sighed, picturing matt as you rubbed circles around your clit, biting your lip to suppress a moan.

you completely ditched your underwear as you continued rubbing circles around your clit, imagining matt's voice in your ear telling you how good of a girl you were being for him.

a slightly louder moan escaped your mouth but you were too caught up in the feeling to care. "fuck, matt..."

"woah."

the sound of matt's voice caused you to gasp loudly as he stood there with his jaw slightly dropped, looking at you in shock and — amusement?

your cheeks burned as you found yourself wanting to fall off the face of the earth. "um...how much of that did you witness?"

"enough, actually," matt said, a slight smirk appearing on his features as he walked into your room and closed the door behind him. "so i'm who you think about when you touch yourself, y/n?"

now your cheeks burned even more as matt watched you with an amused expression, and you found yourself unable to form words. embarrassment filled your body at what just happened. "this is so embarrassing, what the fuck."

you hung your head as you felt the bed dip in front of you — matt lifted your chin with his index finger, prompting you to look up at him. "don't be embarrassed, sweetheart. all you had to do was ask for some help."

a low gasp was about to escape your lips before matt crashed his onto yours, silencing whatever sound was to come out of your mouth next — your tongues battled for dominance but you let matt do all the exploring in your mouth.

as he continued kissing you his tattooed arm went down to race circles on your thighs, causing a small whimper to escape your lips. a smirk resided on matt's features against your lips.

he began tracing circles near your inner thighs, causing you to whimper again at the way he was teasing you — his ring clad hand finally found its way in between your thighs, as he rubbed your folds back and forth.

"matt, please," you begged, "please touch me."

"what's that, baby?" matt whispered in your ear, running a hand ever so teasingly over your folds, "you want me to touch you?"

unable to form words at how crazy he was driving you, you just nodded with a little whimper — without warning, matt shoved one of his ringed fingers inside you, causing you to let out a loud whine.

"oh matt..." you moaned out, as he repeatedly pumped his finger in and out of you, "fuck..."

"look at you, fucking my finger like the needy slut you are," matt whispered into your ear, placing a kiss on your neck, "you like it when i touch you like this, don't you?"

"fuck, i really do matt," you whined, as he added another ringed finger inside of you just then.

the pace of his fingers sped up inside you, repeatedly hitting your g spot as you arched your back to give him more access — moans and whimpers repeatedly escaped your mouth as matt continued working his magic inside you, then you felt that familiar feeling in your stomach.

"matt, i'm close," you whimpered out, as he still left kisses along your neck, "i'm gonna cum."

matt stopped with his fingers inside you and took them out, causing you to look at him with furrowed eyebrows — with a grin he licked your arousal off of his fingers causing you to bite your lip as he spread your thighs and pushed your stomach back.

"i want you to cum all over me, sweetheart."

you felt your pussy pulsate at the way matt looked at you hungrily, as he peppered kisses along your thighs — he left small kisses on your folds causing you to whine out. "matt, don't tease me..."

he smirked up at you then shoved his tongue inside you, nipping and sucking on your clit. you moaned out at the feeling, arching your hips upward as he maintained eye contact with you while lapping up your pussy.

"fuck y/n, you taste so fucking good," matt groaned as he came up momentarily, his lips covered in your juices.

your hand went down to tug at his hair as he continued eating you out, and you felt the feeling in your stomach yet again. "oh my gosh, matt i'm gonna..."

"give it to me, baby," matt breathed, "cum all over me."

you released all over matt's face, a plethora of moans and a string of curses leaving your lips as your grip on his hair tightened slightly — matt lapped up all your juices, coming up from between your legs and grinning down at you, his face coated in your arousal.

"you have no idea how bad i've wanted to do that," matt breathed out, as he fell down on your bed beside you.

you had finally caught your breath from the mind blowing orgasm and upon realizing what he just said, your cheeks heated. "you should've been done that."

matt turned to the side and smirked at you. "so does that mean you'll let me more often?"

"if it's gonna feel that good every time, then hell yeah," you giggled, "let's just hope nick and chris don't freak out."

( i hope you enjoyed this my loves, sorry for not posting the past two days ! i love you all, muah💌 )

[fatkish]

Hello hello

I just read your new Bakugou's oneshot and i was wondering if ypu could do semething similar with dadzawa.

His daughter invited over a friend but he try to force hiself in her and he almost do it but Aizawa arrives from patrolling just in time to stop it.

🧡🩶🖤💜🩵🤍

(This is probably good to be pretty short, sorry it took so long, this actually happened to someone I knew and was close to but no one stepped in and stopped it)

Trigger Warning: contains allusions to rape and drugging someone beneath the cut

Aizawa x Daughter Reader: Bad Friend

You had a guy friend who was seemingly a really good guy. You both got along really well and had a bunch of similar interests. You both had been wanting to see the latest season of your shared favorite tv show, The Dead Walk. However, his tv was broken so he didn’t have anything to watch it on. You decided to sneak and invite him over when Aizawa wasn’t home. Aizawa had a strict rule about no friends over when he isn’t home unless he knows both the friend and the friend’s parents.

Aizawa was on patrol when you snuck your guy friend into your house. You guys were supposed to watch the show, you got popcorn and snacks ready when he brought drinks. Once you guys got comfortable you started the show. You were half way through the third episode when you got up to go to the bathroom. When you got back, you continued the show unaware of your now roofied drink. By the 5th episode, you started to feel dizzy and sluggish. You were going to get up to check yourself in the bathroom when you fell over.

You quickly realized something was wrong. You looked to your friend only to see a smirk on his face. You tried to crawl away from him and reach your phone to text your dad, but your ex friend kicked your phone away. He then started grappling with you, trying to get you undressed and on your back. What you both didn’t know is that during your struggles, Aizawa had texted you he was on his way home. He had gotten off his patrol shift early and wanted to let you know.

When Aizawa unlocked the front door he saw an unknown boy on top of his nearly completely naked daughter. He didn’t take any moment to ask questions. He immediately restrained the boy and punched him hard enough to knock him out. He then grabbed a blanket and threw it over you before calling the police. Once the police were on their way, he walked over to you and scooped you up and helped you into your bedroom to get dressed. While you were getting dressed he talked to you through the door.

He reassured you that you’re not in any trouble because he feels that you don’t need a punishment after this. (This was far more of a punishment in his mind.) Aizawa helped you get yourself together and once the police came he helped them arrest your ex-friend. After you told the police your story, they asked if you wanted to press charges against him and you said yes. When Aizawa wanted you to go to the hospital to get checked you agreed. The doctors told you that it would wear off and they made sure everything was good before letting you go home.

That night Aizawa took you home and cleaned up the the living room. You begged him to stay and sleep in the same room as you to which he agreed. You both decided to camp out in the living room and he let you eat an entire quart sized container of your favorite ice cream. You both watched your favorite movie to which he fell asleep a quarter of the way through. That night you slept well knowing your dad was ready to protect you.

[storiesofsvu]

Five Nights Pt 1

*not my gif* Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: language, smut, masturbation, fingering, dirty talk. This is part one!! There is one or two more parts coming, it's a bit of a 5 + 1 trope/style but was getting too long so I figured I'd split it up. Following parts to come likely later this week!

Night One:

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d pulled the short straw and ended up sharing rooms, but at least it was with the silent stoic that was Hotch. He wouldn’t be rambling on about the case hours after leaving the precinct, he wouldn’t force the television onto some mind numbing trashy reality show and he didn’t snore like Rossi did. The only thing you had to ignore was the fact that you wanted to climb him like a fucking tree and were suddenly in much closer quarters and personal space than being in the field or office together.

The town was small, the hotel was cheap and the case was proving that you’d be stuck there for at least a week. All things considered, you needed some relief, some relaxation and all you could pray was that the sound of the shower would cover up anything else. For extra security you turned on a playlist on your phone, figuring that would be enough before you made sure the water was the perfect temperature and stepped under the stream. You let the water cascade over your skin, rinsing away the dirt and grime of the day as your eyes closed and you relaxed against the shower wall. Your hands began to roam your body, tickling at your skin as you let out little shivers, cupping at your chest you pinched your nipples, unable to hold back a quiet moan, Aaron’s name a whisper on your lips as you fantasized it was his hands sinking lower and lower on your body until you reached out for the small toy.

Out in the room Aaron was sitting on the bed closer to the bathroom, the television playing quietly in the background while he got caught up on paperwork. He could have sworn he heard his name, wondering if you’d forgotten shampoo or something in your go bag he glanced up, muting the tv to see if you’d repeat whatever you’d said. The shower was already running and suddenly he caught himself thinking about you naked and dripping, water trailing down your perfect skin and he couldn’t help the way his dick twitched in his pants. Paperwork tossed aside he was about to try and calm himself down before he got to hot and bothered when he heard it again,

“Oh Aaron…”

It was faint, barely audible over whatever music you had playing but you had very clearly moaned his name. Following that he heard the tell tale sign of a vibrator whirring to life and a small whimper. Not only were you naked and wet on the other side of a very thin wall, you were touching yourself.

Touching yourself while thinking about him.

Pretending that he was in there with you doing all the dirty things he’d been wishing he could do to you since the day you met. He let out a low breath, his ears picking up a breathy sigh from the other side of the wall, his cock now hard in his pants. He knew it was a potentially disastrous idea, but you’d just gotten in the shower, if you’d decided to start with making yourself come, you still had to actually shower afterwards. He had more than enough time to get himself off to the sounds you were making through the wall.

Pulling his cock out of the waistband of his pants his thumb swiped over the tip, smearing the precum down his throbbing length. His eyes fluttered shut as his hand squeezed, stroking up and down, listening for any other sounds coming from the shower. With each little whimper, moan or gasp he could hear he twitched in his hand, doing his best to keep quiet as he groaned. He could picture you perfectly, water tracing down your body, fingers pumping into your tight little pussy as you fluttered around yourself, imagining it was his cock buried deep inside you. He thought of you on your knees for him, cock stuffed down your throat as you drooled around him, taking it like the good girl he just knew you were.

“Oh god Aaron.” The music was between songs, this murmur a little louder than the last one, “yeah… right there.”

He squeezed tighter around his length, his hand starting to move faster as he grunted, the coil tightening in his stomach. He imagined you on all fours for him, ass waggling back toward him as you silently begged for his cock before he was sliding it into your cunt, pushing deeper with each thrust of his hips. How warm and wet you’d feel around him, how tight you’d squeeze him, the noises you’d make even better than the little ones he could hear right now. Pleasure burst through him and he groaned quietly, cum spurting out of the head of his dick and onto his stomach. It was only a moment later he heard a quiet muffled cry from the bathroom followed by silence. He grabbed Kleenex from the nightstand, cleaning himself up and tucking his cock back into his pants, relaxing back onto the bed in the exact position he’d been in when you’d left.

Completely distracted by the images in his head and the sounds he wanted to lock away in his brain forever he didn’t even hear the bathroom door click or realize you were back in the room until you spoke.

“What’re you watching?” You asked, crossing past his bed as you glanced at the tv and he looked up.

“Uh.. it appears Futurama.” His eyes darted between the tv screen and you, noticing how tightly your hand was clenched around the shirt you were holding and his pupils widened, knowing just what you had wrapped up in there.

“Huh.” You buried your items into your go bag before you crossed to the bed, “makes sense, I thought it was Family Guy for a sec.” You buried yourself under the covers, letting out a very satisfied nearly dreamy sigh as you did so.

“That good of a shower in this kind of a place?” He asked with a small tease and you chuckled.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” You rolled away so your back was to him, “night Hotch.”

**

Night two:

The next day was exactly the same, work was work, there was no indication that Hotch heard you masturbating the night prior and there definitely wasn’t even a thought that he’d been touching himself at the same time. Returning to the hotel room you fell into the familiar routine, you dug through your go bag for your shower essentials, leaving Hotch in the hotel room to change out of his suit.

The sound of the water running took over the silence of the room and a moment later music echoed from your phone, Hotch unable to hold back a smirk at the knowledge of what you were about to do. A quiet whirring followed by a satisfied moan as the toy slid into you, your free hand roaming your body and you succumbed to your fantasy world. Aaron felt his dick twitch when you let out a quiet whine, wondering how long he would have to withhold making a move now that he knew. He wondered if this week sharing a room would present him with an opportune moment, or if you would bite the bullet and make a move.  He was jostled from his thoughts at the sound of your voice,

“Dammit.” A frustrated huff and he realized the whirring had come to a halt, judging by your outburst, it wasn’t on purpose either. A clattering sound from the other side of the wall as you tossed the toy onto the basin and quickly finished your shower. It was only a minute later the door opened and you were changed into pyjama shorts and a tank, crossing the foot of Aaron’s bed as you made your way to your own.

“Everything alright?” He raised a brow in your direction and you nearly stumbled, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Ran outta hot water.” Distracting yourself with folding the clothes in your hands to place into your go bag you missed his smirk as he moved from his bed, grabbing his toothbrush and paste from his bag.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, you’d been on edge all day, trapped in an SUV with only him for most of the afternoon, the close proximity driving you wild as you tried to not let your imagination go too far. You’d been absolutely dying to get back to the hotel and take care of the pent up energy and now that Aaron was in on your little secret, he could tell. The grin remained on his lips when he flicked the bathroom light on and the first thing he noticed was the bright pink toy still sitting on the basin, unable to resist, he picked it up. The opportunity was staring him right in the face and he wasn’t about to pass it up now.

“You forget something in here?” He called.

“What?” You called back and he peeked his head around the corner. There was a large mirror across from the foot of your bed, a small table in front of it that you had your skin care laid out on.

“You missing this?” He asked, eyes gleaming as he stepped back into the room, holding up the pink toy. You re-capped the lotion in your hand, placing it down onto the table before glancing up and your eyes went wide. You felt the blush creeping up your chest as your heart began to race.

“Uh…it’s, uh, travel back massager.” You stumbled out, trying to cover your tracks, “you know how terrible the beds can be on these trips.”

“Mmhmm….” Hotch smirked, moving through the room to approach you, handing the toy over to you and you immediately tossed it into your go bag. “I sure do. I also know how stressful these little trips can be, it’s important to relax, and I’m guessing that little thing died on you?” He nodded in the direction of your bag and you gulped.

“Yup…” Your heart was beating a million miles a minute over just how close he was to you, never mind the smirk on his lips, the near teasing in his voice, his choice of words letting you in on the game. That he was more than well aware exactly what that toy was for, and exactly what you had just been doing in the shower. You should’ve known better, there was no way the walls were thick enough for you to not be overheard.

“You know…I think I’ve got something that could help you out,” he stepped behind you, eyes finding yours in the mirror, “all you had to do was ask.”

One of his hands came up to the back of your neck, thumb on one side with his fingers on the other and your breath hitched in your throat at the touch. His digits massaged for a moment or two, working down your neck until his hand slid to the crook of your neck and his free one came up to the other side, pinching at your body.

“Hmm… doesn’t seem too tight here. You must’ve been using it lower.” His hands slid over your shoulders, rubbing there for a moment and you felt like you were about to burst, your body tingling with pleasure already. “No… not there.” His hands ghosted down your back, settling around your waist as his thumbs gently dug into your lower back, occasionally slipping under the hem of your shirt and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet gasp at the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin. Hotch stepped closer to you, pulling you to him by your waist, his breath was hot on the shell of your ear when he spoke again, “here?”

“Hotch…” It was barely above a whisper, unable to control yourself, feeling the heat radiating off his body as you began to relax into him, your eyes almost threatening to close as a cloud of pleasure surrounded you. He chuckled, leaning down his teeth nipped at your neck and you let out a moan, this one loud and clear to his ears.

“Oh come on now, we both know that’s not what you were moaning last night.” He grinned and your eyes flew open, catching his gaze in the mirror as heat crept into your cheeks once again. “Now… I think you were using it even lower.” One of his hands wound around your body, pulling you flush to him as it slid down your body until it was between your legs and he cupped your pussy, squeezing softly and you let out a whimper. “Am I right?”

“Yes sir.” You breathed out, your knees felt weak when he massaged at your heat again and you let out a shaky breath.

“What do you say we get rid of these then?” His free hand came to untangle the knot of your shorts, “because I do think I can help you out much better than that stupid little pink thing.”

“Mmhmm.” Nodding furiously your fingers slipped into the waistband of your shorts, quickly tugging them down your legs and kicking them off to the side. Aaron remained behind you, eyes locked on your half naked form through the mirror, one hand holding your hip steady while the other slid up your body. He paused briefly only to grope at your chest through the thin fabric of your shirt, smirking at the little moans that escaped your lips when he did so. His hand continued upward, squeezing lightly at your throat and he felt himself twitch at the way your eyes fluttered shut, the way you shivered at the touch. Finally his fingers found your lips, two of them slipping into your mouth and you eagerly sucked at them, tongue lapping around them.

“Good girl.” He cooed, softly thrusting the digits between your lips before adding a third one and you moaned around them. “God I bet you’d look gorgeous with my cock in your mouth.”

“Mmmhmm.” It was mumbled around his fingers and he chuckled at the way you nodded, sucking harder around him.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You gasped out when he pulled his hand away from your mouth, “oh please yes.”

“Later.” His other hand pinched at your ass, “first I’m going to get you off far better than that little toy could, alright?”

He glanced at you in the mirror, waiting for your eager nod before his hand slid back down your body and his spit slicked fingers easily found your clit. Fingertips brushing against it in slow circles as he began to increase the pressure, your hips jolting up to the touch.

“Fuck…” You muttered out, tingles bursting through your body as you shivered in his arms. Aaron’s lips found your neck again, trailing messy kisses down your skin as his hand began to move faster. Your head lolled back on his shoulder; eyes fluttering shut as you let out another quiet moan. Suddenly his free hand was wrapping around your chin, tilting your head back up as he spoke,

“Eyes open pretty girl.” He murmured, lips brushing against your ear, “I want you to see how gorgeous you are, want you to watch the way my fingers disappear into that pretty pussy.” His hand sunk lower this time, fingers slipping through your folds, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest before he lifted his hand, fingertips glistening in the low light of the room, “you dirty girl, already this wet for me?”

“Yes sir.” You breathed out, catching his gaze in the mirror and you blushed, your pussy fluttering around nothing, begging to be filled.

“Have you been wet all day? Wishing I would get you naked, thinking about all the naughty things I could do to you?”

“Mmhm..” You nodded, doing your best not to whine as you shivered.

“Well I better follow through then.”

With another smirk his hand was back between your legs and you let out a gasp when a finger slid into your pussy, clenching down around the digit immediately. A second finger quickly joined it, easily thrusting into your warmth, pulling more wetness from it, as he set a steady pace the hotel room filled with the sounds of your pussy mixed with your breathy moans and whimpers. Your eyes landed on the mirror, watching the way Hotch effortlessly held you to him while his fingers thrust in and out of you, the heel of his hand brushing against your clit,

“That’s it…” he groaned, “such a good girl for me.” His hips ground against your ass and you let out a gasp at the feeling of his half hard cock rubbing at you through his pants. “Take my fingers so well, bet you’d take my cock just as good, wouldn’t you?”

“God! Yes!” You panted, struggling to keep your eyes open at this point, his fingers curling and twisting inside you as his lips brushed against your neck and shoulders. “Fuck… feels..s-so good.” His fingers curled once more and you let out a gasp, your body shuddering in his arms, “don’t stop.”

“Ah.” He raised a brow at you through the mirror, his hand pausing its thrusting so his fingers could curl again, finding the sensitive spot in your pussy, “right there?” He asked and you whimpered when he pressed against it again, nodding as you bit your lip,

“Oh fuck Aaron…” you moaned, your head dropping back onto his shoulder as your hips rocked downward into his touch. He felt himself twitch in his pants at the way you said his name and he wished he was buried to the hilt inside of you right then, but he’d promised you an orgasm first and he wasn’t about to back down on his word.

“You like that, don’t you?” He asked with a chuckle, beginning to move his hand again. He could feel the way you were pulsating around his fingers, how with each thrust of his hand there was more and more wetness dripping down his wrist. Your eyes were scrunched shut, your entire body on fire as he continued to finger you, curling with each thrust until your legs were practically shaking. The coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter, your hand shooting to his arm, clutching at him for dear life while you whined and shivered with pleasure.

“Fuck! Oh god… m’so close.” You could feel it burning just under your skin, he stretched you so perfectly with just his fingers you were absolutely driven to insanity at the thought of his cock buried in your cunt.

“Come for me pretty girl.” He cooed, nipping at your earlobe as he increased the pace, his free hand wrapping tighter around you to play with your clit.

You let out a gasp at the double sensation, your body jolting toward his touch, hips grinding into his hands as right as his fingers curled once again your free hand shot to your mouth, letting out a muffled cry as your orgasm shot through you like a burst of fire. Your legs nearly gave out, thankful for Aaron’s arm tightly wrapped around your middle as your body shook. A string of quiet swears and whimpers escaped your lips as he gently fucked you through your orgasm,

“So fucking hot.” He murmured, watching the way your chest heaved as you panted in an attempt to catch your breath, little trembles shooting through your body as his fingers lazily thrusted into you. “Was that better than that stupid little pink thing?” He asked, cocking a brow at you through the mirror and you let out a huff of a laugh.

“Much.”

His fingers finally slipped from your pussy and he grinned, “just fucking drenched.”

“All for you.” You muttered, finally able to stand on your own legs you turned slightly to face him.

“Bet you taste incredible too.” He replied with a grin and before he could even get another thought in your lips were wrapping around his fingers again, moaning over your own taste as you sucked his fingers clean, letting them go with a lewd pop. “Christ.” He felt himself throb in his pants once again as he looked down at you, his hands just beginning to toy with the hem of your shirt when his phone went off with a text tone and both of you jumped, suddenly coming back to the real world.

“Ignore it.” You muttered, tugging at his arm to regain his attention and he laughed softly, stepping back toward you when the phone went off a second time. His hand trailed up your neck to your cheek and all he could think about was kissing you to get a taste of what that pretty pussy tasted like when the ringtone began blaring through the room and he let out a frustrated groan, stepping away to answer the phone.

You dropped down onto the bed behind you, watching curiously as he muttered a couple of things into the phone before hanging it up and glancing back to you.

“I have to go back to the precinct.” He grabbed a couple more things from around the room before scooping up your abandoned shorts from the floor, handing them to you, pausing to pinch at your chin, “this isn’t over.”

“It better not be.” You replied with a grin, your eyes very obviously flicking from his face to the bulge in his pants, resisting the urge to reach out and palm him through the fabric.

*

By the time Hotch got back to the hotel that night it was late, far too late to have expected you to still be awake, completely unsurprised to find you curled up asleep in your own bed. He let out a tired sigh, stripping out of his clothes as he made his way to the bathroom. Tonight it was his turn to get off in the shower with the images of you coming around his fingers and fantasy of how it would feel to bury himself into that gorgeous pussy.

This certainly was very far from over.

Pt 2

_____________________

@alexusonfire @svushots @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @plaidbooks @the-hopeess-haze @niyizh @ababanana @tommyriddleobsessed @supercriminalbean @hotchs-bitch @iluvsreid @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @louderfortheback

[princessbrunette]

I made a batch of brownies for my friends and they were sooo good and then I suddenly thought about how JJ would be able to make some mean ass brownies but only because he always wants to put weed in them💀

like brownies are the only dessert he knows how to make (if not, one of the only things he knows how to make in the kitchen in general because this dude literally eats moldy bread in the show) and it’s only because they’re weed brownies

then I imagined him making a batch for him and the Pogues to share except you, who is either a lightweight/low tolerance or has little to no experience with weed, finds them and eats some squares thinking they’re regular brownies😭 imagine being like “JJ I never knew you can bake! These are so good!!” And he’s just like😟

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

you turn around in the kitchen, and to jj’s horror you’re standing there, brownie in hand, crumbs on your cheek. “these are really g—”

the blonde panics, his first move being to slap it out your hand. “oh my god.”

you stare after it before returning your gaze to him, innocent and questioning as ever. “whyd you do that jayj?”

“how much of that did you eat— like… a quarter or…” he squints, lips pressing in a thin line with dread.

“over half.” you reply happily.

“oh jesus.”

once it hits you, he’s got you on the couch for hours coaching you through the trip :( you’re giggling for the most part, watching kids cartoons on the tv— but it gets intense pretty quick, pushing your cheek into his chest.

“its gettin’ you good, huh babe?” he asks sympathetically, rubbing your back.

“the colours are too loud.” you groan in response.

“yeah that… sounds about right.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[xxx-wounded-angel-xxx]

Tear you appart - Felix Volturi x reader

Felix Volturi x fem! reader - contains smut

3456 words

content warning : swearing, darker and wilder than my usual Felix, possessive Felix, size difference (both him and reader like it) - Smut ahead ! please no judgment, this is the first time I'm writing some I tried my best I feel so embarrassed 😅 Stop at the divider if you don't want the smutty part that contains : dirty talk, voice kink, size kink, penetration, virgin reader (she's an adult in her 20's !), praise kink

Taglist : @agirllovespancakes <3

At first, you weren’t sure what to make of your mate. First, Felix was big. Like…two meters tall and really muscular. Like wow. And second, he… was busy. Like very busy, which you could comprehend since he was one of the highest ranked guards of the Volturi Coven. And the executioner… that's it you had said it. His job was to brutally kill people, and you did not fully know what to make of him because of that.

He was kind to you of course. But you could barely see him. He had a very important place in the coven after all, it would be mean to hold it against him, he couldn’t help it after all. But it was making it harder for you to understand him, how could you get to know him better if he wasn’t there with you?

Ever since you were staying with the Volturi after finding out that you were Felix’s soulmate, your existence had gotten kind of lonely. The current secretary would go shopping with you if you needed something but you were mostly staying in your quarters that were adjacent to Felix’s. So, you decided to spend the time by decorating as much as you could your quarters to your own taste.

As a goth, you took advantage of the Halloween season to buy home decor. Artificial black roses, deep red and purple ones, black lace curtains, gothic prints you paired with vintage looking frames Heidi found for you in an abandoned room… You kept the walls white but painted the furniture black. Lots of bookshelves were acquired to hold your book collection, CDs and DVDs, Felix had made sure you had a good TV and even better stereo when you said you basically lived with music. Anne Stokes and Victoria Frances’ art hung all over your walls, nemesis now dark fairy figures and cult cuties shelved neatly above your desk, nightmare before Christmas plushies and figures scattered all around your quarters with the occasional Hello Kitty and Kuromi: it was starting to look like home.

When December came by you bought red velvet curtains, and red crystal beads. A lot of them. Surprisingly, you were now finding every week rose bouquet, that you would put to dry and keep in elegant vases. You were sure they were from Felix, even if he never mentioned it the few times the two of you had met in November.

You were working on the canopy of the bed, after installing the black lace curtains and strings of white pearls that were easy to find as Christmas tree ornament, you were making garlands of red crystal beads that would reflect the light all around your bed canopy. Attaching bead after bead, you were disrupted by Felix. You looked at him, surprised as you saw him sit beside you on the black silk sheets of your bed.

“Good evening my darling mate”

This evening, you finally got to spend time with your mate. He apologized for his lack of presence beside you, the coven had been exceptionally busy and he had not been able to give you the time you deserved. But now, he was here, and could finally take care of you, his mate, properly.

You talked for hours that night, She Wants Revenge playing low in the background as you finally got to know each other.

But no matter how interesting this all was, you were getting tired. Felix noticed your yawn, and with a smile put you to bed, tucking you in and gently kissed your forehead goodnight.

Your Felix held his promise. Week after week you got to know the other better. Going from strangers to friends… to more. After a few months you realized that Felix wasn’t a friend anymore. No, he was more. You wanted him to be more. But it wasn’t easy. He was your soulmate! It was supposed to be easy! But it wasn’t. At all.

Spring came and left, and so did summer. It was the middle of autumn, and you still did not know how to tell your soulmate you liked him. How could you? How could a simple human compare to a vampire? He had not turned you yet, it seemed that he quite enjoyed your human habits for now. Maybe he liked your softness, the warmth of your skin or the color of your eyes? But that did not resolve your problem. How could you tell him when you had never done this before? You were in your twenties and not had your fist kiss yet!

You had started a diary to keep your memories, express your feelings and your thoughts. And the most recent entries were all about him. About Felix, the gleam in his eyes, the way his skin shone brightly under the sunlight, how hot you had found the glimpses of his toned and muscular body you had been able to see, the way his thunderous laugh made your heart smile… How… You love him. That’s it, you had admitted it fully: you loved him. It was written black on white in your diary. Your heart was in his hands. You did not need a prayer when you had his name.

That was the last line you wrote, leaving your diary on your bed as you left your bedroom to take a relaxing bath before going to bed in your favorite attire.

You came out of the bathroom, all clean and fresh, humming some She Wants Revenge song, when you froze. Felix. Felix was sitting on your bed. Felix was sitting on your bed holding your diary. Felix was reading your diary where you very explicitly wrote how much you loved him. Fuck.

 When Felix looked at you, you felt like you could die from embarrassment. You tried to leave, but in the blink of an eye you found yourself your back against a wall, Felix’s body pressed against yours preventing you from running away. Anyway, where would you have gone? This was your room, for fuck’s sake! You shivered as he used his big hand to raise your head so he could look you in the eyes.

“You meant it?”

“What”

“What you wrote in your diary about me. You mean it?”

You had never seen Felix that serious before, his husky voice had lost all humor.

“It… It is… Yes, it is true. I … I really mean it.”

You blurted out the last words, anxious. What if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear? What if he hated you now? What if… Wait, why was he smiling?

“You have no idea how long I’ve longed for this. May I?”

You nodded, not sure what he was asking for. He cupped your cheek, and to your surprise he kissed you. You closed your eyes.

It was better than what you had read in your books, much better. His lips were soft against yours, his kiss tender but quite possessive at the same time. You returned it, quite clumsily due to your inexperience, but still with enthusiasm. He was the one to break it so you could breathe again. You were only human after all. Your body needed it.

“Damn, that was…”

He laughed at your reaction.

“Can you do it again?”

Smirking, he eagerly accepted your request.

Later, when you were too tired to stay awake, Felix accepted to stay under the covers and hold you. The feeling of his strong and much bigger body wrapped around your much smaller frame brought unholy thoughts to your mind, that you quickly shook away, but it still let you the time to show slight embarrassment. You thought for a moment that Felix would take advantage of it, but he didn’t, only kissing the top of your head and bringing you closer to his body.

“Does that mean that we are together now?” “You could say that dolcezza.” “So you’re my boyfriend?” “Absolutely not. I’m your mate. If you want a more human term, just say that I’m your husband.”

You looked at him, shocked, and that little shit that was your mate had the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“I… I think mate is an appropriate term.” “As you wish.”

Your heart was beating so fast he couldn’t not hear it, and his bright smile was the confirmation. Luckily for you, Felix had decided to go easy on you for tonight. But you feared what his teasing would be like…

You fell asleep with these thoughts in mind, Felix’s arms holding you tight against him. “Buonanotte tesoro mio, ti amo…”

When you woke up the next day, Felix was still here, holding you.

“Hi” “Hi. Slept well?” “Yes” “Good”

Bringing you closer to him, Felix buried his face in your neck. You froze as it felt like he was smelling you, and he left a kiss where he could feel your pulse. Being this close to him felt nice, really nice. He smelled good, too. Something musky, homey.

“Are you sniffing me?” “You did a few moments ago” “Touché.” A pause. “So?” “You smell nice. Like home.” “Ah, that’s a mate thing, you know? I smell good like that to you only.” “And me? What do I smell like?” “The tastiest thing I’ve ever met.” “Felix!” “What?! You should take this as a compliment! You smell delicious!”

He had that cocky look that looked so good on him. You couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

It was near Christmas now. More than one year since you met Felix, a few months since you realized you loved him, and a few weeks since the two of you were fully mated. Well fully… There was something the two of you had not done yet. It was… sex. For fuck’s sake, you were an adult, you could say the word sex! But… that did not erase the fact that you had basically no experience in dating. Felix was your first kiss… and would be your first lover. The thing was that he was not aware of it. How could you tell him! This man was cocky enough, if you told him, it would sign you way to a never-ending teasing! Fuck. Wait, that was the point! This man – or vampire – was going to be the death of you.

Your thoughts were a complete mess. You were sure than even Aro couldn’t understand a single shit if he were to read your mind. Which was why it was a good thing that he hadn’t asked for a while. But maybe it could actually help? Wait no! You couldn’t let him know you were desperately trying to get in the pants of his executioner. All of it was driving you crazy.

You tried to keep up with appearances with Felix, behaving as normal as you could with him, but you couldn’t help but let some touches linger more than necessary, brush against him every time you were close with him, dragging the kisses as long as you could without accidentally killing yourself from the lack of oxygen… All of it you thought Felix didn’t notice. But that was forgetting something: your mate was very much a predator. And as a human, you were very much prey for him, even as his mate.

Your heartbeat running faster when he was close, the way his low voice would send shivers down your spine, or how some kisses and touches could get you clenching your thighs… Felix noticed everything, and your asshole of a mate was reveling in it, your love like the thrill of the hunt. He took great pleasure in it, day after day, trying to drive you crazy until you would be your back against a wall, forced to tell him exactly what you wanted. And he would make sure you beg for it, dragging the thrill of the hunt as long as he could. But lucky for you, he loved you more than it. He would try to not make you beg, not too much at least.

Your Felix had become great at reading you, your expressions, your desires. And being as old as he was, it had not been hard for him to put two and two together: the way you returned his affection, always eager but also quite clumsily, always holding back afraid of going too far or doing wrong… That darker, possessive side off him was extremely satisfied of it, no one had touched you like that before, no one but him, you were forever his.

After a few weeks, your struggles were not funny anymore, he wanted you to feel desired, to not see your inexperience as a bad thing. You were so damn beautiful and desirable; he would show you how much he wanted you.

He would be off duty for the next few days, it was perfect. The next time he would get in your bed, you would not be sleeping for a good while.

For the past few days, it seemed like Felix was toying with you, always managing to get you where and how he wanted. He was slowly taking you out of your comfort zone, it was like he had something in mind as he would hold you close, soft breath in the crook of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He would let you back up if you were too uncomfortable, of course, but the bastard knew what he was doing, always taking you further and further of your comfort zone without crossing your boundaries, teaching you a few things about you in the meantime. Damn, did you always have that size and voice kink or was it of his doing? Fuck, you had no idea but did not care much, it was too good for the reasons why to matter anymore.

All of this led you to that very moment, your Felix towering over you, your back against the wall of your room. Voice low, whispering in your ear, driving you crazy.

“Aren’t you pretty like that, all flustered? Your blood smell so good I might just eat you…”

Of course, this led you to grow even more flustered, your blood rushing and tempting him even more. He took another step, and lowered his head even more, leaving cold kisses on your neck, his cool breath driving you crazy. You move your head to give him a better access, and let out a soft moan as his teeth scrap your neck.

“You like that don’t you? To be all helpless as soon as I touch you. My beautiful darling…”

He lifts you, claiming your lips and you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist. He bites your lower lip, and you let out a soft gasp, your Felix taking advantage of it, his tongue meeting yours to explore your mouth. After a while the two of you part, soft panting can be heard from you. At this moment, you realize you left your stereo on, and as your notice what song is playing you send to hell every hesitation and kiss him passionately.

“I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, close your eyes, girl, so lovely, it feels so right

I want to hold you close, soft breast, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear, "I wanna fucking tear you apart"

It drives the both of you crazy, leaving you only wanting more, more than everything you had already done. So when Felix carries you to the bed, you continue to kiss him. When he lays you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you drag him close and deepen the kiss. When he takes off your shirt, you unbutton his, hands roaming everywhere on the other’s body in a frenzy haze, kisses left everywhere.

“I want you” you pause. “No, I need you.” You let out a moan as he rips your bra and leave kisses on your breast, a smile oh so smug brightening his face as he finds your sensitive spot. You writhe underneath him, clenching your thighs together, left wanting more, needing more of him.  

“Felix…” His name leaves your mouth as a soft moan, and he can’t help but chuckle at your neediness, he’s finally got you where he wants you to be, he’s going to drag on this teasing as much as he can.

“That’s my name darling, say it again…”

He’s so smug but you can’t help but do as he say, especially when his pants and yours disappear, and his hand slip in your silky panties. As he brushes against your clit, you can’t help but buckle your hips, trying to get more friction where you need him the most.

“Eager, aren’t we?”  Always that smug expression, he knows he is driving you crazy and he revels in it: you’re his and he is the only one able to get these reactions from you. He leans over you, pressing his body against yours, claiming your lips once again. You whimper as you can feel his hard bulge against you, increasing your arousal to an extent you didn’t know was possible. But you weren’t the only one left craving for more.

“Please Felix…” “I need you to use your words tesorina. Tell me, what you want?” “You. I want you I need you!” “So greedy my darling… Is that what you want?”

You can’t answer him as he rips your panties, throwing away what’s left of them before making his own underwear meet the same fate. He’s bigger than you anticipated, yet the only thing you can focus on is how much you want him inside of you.

Not breaking eye contact with you, he strokes his penis a few times, making sure it’s slick with his precum and your arousal, and get on top of you, teasing your wet folds with his hard length.

“Are you sure you want this?” He looks at you with such seriousness, trying to read your face and be sure this is what you want, that he’s not going further than you’re comfortable with. “Yes Felix please” “You only have one word to say and I’ll stop if it’s too much for you”

You nod, and satisfied with your approval Felix thrust into you. You moan at the feeling; you feel so full of him. You expected it to hurt, being your first time, but it doesn’t, your love prepared you enough.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it my darling? My cock filling you up, bringing you more pleasure than you’ve ever had.”

You can only whine and moan, too lost in the pleasure you’re experiencing for the first time. Felix eats up every of your reactions, satisfied that only him get to make you feel this good.

“You’re so responsive to my touch” Felix praises you, and his words do something to you you weren’t aware of it being possible. Something good. Really good. Felix, attentive to all of your reactions, notice and whispers sweet praises in your ear, driving you wild. He thrusts faster, eliciting more moans from you. It feels so good, you can only focus on him and the pleasure he gives you, moaning his name.

“I love hearing you cry out my name, tesoro. It’s music to my ears.”

He finally finds an especially sensitive spot of yours, hitting it relentlessly, eliciting moan after moan from you. He growls in pleasure, getting you closer and closer. You feel something ready to snap inside of you.

“Please Felix I’m close so close!” “That’s it darling, come for me.” He kisses your shoulder. “Come for me, let me feel how much you love me. I’ll be right behind you, filling you with everything I have.”

The pad of this finger brushes against your clit, and with his dirty words it’s enough to make you snap, riding the first climax of your life. Your Felix follows quickly, his cool cum filling your cunt as he moans your name, “you’re mine all mine my [Y/N] forever mine never letting you go my sweet and beautiful [Y/N]”

You fall back on the bed, trembling with pleasure and exhaustion. Sliding out of you, Felix admires for a moment your mixed release dripping down your inner thighs, before laying down beside you and holding you close, whispering sweet praises in your ear. He kisses your forehead tenderly, and you snuggle closer to him.

“I love you” “I love you too tesorina”

Exhausted, you fall asleep, safe and spent in your mate’s arms, Felix never letting you go for a second, holding you tight against him the whole time. This is what eternity should feel like, and he will make sure it always is that way for you.  

[merumis]

your son is watching tv upstairs. something bright and slow that he’s been into recently; you caught one episode a few days ago, watched as the alphabet painted its way across the screen in satisfying reds and blues. it reminds you a lot of the things you watched as a kid—soft music and sweet-voiced narrators.

the sound of a xylophone leaking from television speakers floats its way down your staircase, just loud enough that you can hear it.

you’re sitting at the kitchen counter—scrawling a grocery list underneath the one your husband has already started. fruit snacks, gallon bags, paper towels—not the trader joe’s ones. just above yours, two items of iwaizumi’s catch your eye: dark chocolate, silken tofu. he’s making mousse—the protein kind, obviously, but the one that melts on your tongue and then bites the back of it in that sweetly bitter sort of way.

there’s sets of drawn-on papers to your left. you’ve been waiting to put a couple on the fridge. your son is particularly proud of one, put it right on the top and smiled at you all wide while he did it. a woman in red crayon labeled mom, a man in blue labeled dad, and then a proud, smiling boy in orange between them, labeled me! in all big letters and exclamations.

you run a thumb over the top of it, feel the waxy residue collect on your skin, and then slide the corner of the paper between your fingers. you stand from the stool you were using and, with the drawing, make your way over to the fridge—pinning it with a red postcard magnet that iwaizumi’s mother got you from her most recent vacation.

there’s a jingle of keys at the front door. you turn at the sound, catching the soft swing of the door and the little routine iwaizumi’s made for himself at the end of the work day; key’s hung on their ring, wallet and work badge in the bowl by the door, shoes kicked off onto their shelf. his eyes catch yours and he smiles, softly—more like a greeting than anything else.

“didn’t know if you’d be home yet,” he says, and makes his way over to the kitchen. he slides into the stool you’d been using previously, stretching out his neck and back as he settles in. you lean back against the fridge.

“yeah,” you reply, “got out early, so i picked up the monster.” you gesture upstairs with a pointed finger. “figured he’d rather be at home than daycare.”

he nods, and then taps his fingers out against the counter. there’s this weird beat as he settles, the tap tap of his fingers filling out bits of silence. “either of you eaten yet?” he asks.

“no,” you say, “figured we’d wait for you.”

it’s then that your son comes tumbling downstairs playfully begging for dinner. he says something about hearing dad’s car, and then that he heard his keys, and he runs over and wraps himself around iwaizumi’s leg.

iwaizumi gets this big smile on his face—grabbing your son and pulling him up onto his lap. they exchange something that you don’t pay much attention to. you’re turned already, opening the fridge and scanning what’s in it.

“we could do tacos…” you start, “stir fry, vodka sauce-“

“why don’t we go out?” iwaizumi asks, and you can hear your son’s excitement at the idea, a little symphony—or cacophony, perhaps—of different restaurants he wants to go to filling the air of the kitchen.

“yeah,” you say, “that sounds good—let’s do that.”

iwaizumi lifts your son off his lap, telling him to go clean up himself and his room before you can leave, and he rushes up the staircase again, taking them two at a time.

the two of you have been doing this dance now for a while, you know. you’re pretty sure you both know. pieces of half-conversations spliced between interruptions and affection towards your son; quarter-baked commitments and yes’s that always sound more like maybe’s.

last night, he fell asleep first and you watched the rise and fall of his chest. you traced your fingertips along his shoulders and chest, wrinkling the cotton of his t-shirt between your skin and his.

you could’ve been twenty-one again—your bedroom soaked in the stench of rum and tequila and neither of you caring. him half-asleep, answering questions with closed eyes and mumbled sentences, his laughter warm as it brushed against your cheeks.

instead, you stilled your breath against him. you worried about waking him up, about what he would say if he knew you were up like this—if he would even say anything at all.

you still watch him now. a beat of anxiety hitting as you lean against the fridge. he’s playing with his hands, working his fingers against his palm up to his wrists.

“we need to-” you start, and you aren’t sure you can bring yourself to say the rest of it.

“talk,” iwaizumi says. he sighs. “i know.”

you walk over to the other end of the counter. when you rest your elbows on it, your knuckles brush up against his. you both inch towards each other until your fingers are flush against his.

“i love you.” you say, and you feel your throat start to tighten.

“i know,” iwaizumi replies. it’s quiet, not quite mumbled but just barely more than it.

“but i don’t think we-“ you begin, and you hang your head. you take your hands away from iwaizumi’s, propping yourself up on them, rubbing at your forehead, your temples, your eyes. “i don’t know.” you sigh. “i don’t know if we’re good for-" another breath, you catch iwaizumi's gaze for a second. for the first time in a while, you see the way he's aged in the past few years; sprinkled in grey hairs, the beginning of crow's feet. "i don't know."

you had an argument last week—as you do almost every Friday now, when you work from home and he makes his way back early. you couldn't name the topic of this fight, or really any of them, if you tried. you know you made a snarky comment, and he made one back, and that devolved into both of you yelling across the couch.

you got into an argument last night, too. prior to the late night gazing—because even with the fights, you always insisted on sleeping together. even now. but last night, you were arguing about work, his work and then yours, and maybe the groceries and where your son was going to school next year. you can't remember all the details—you don't particularly want to, either—and the day after it all becomes an abomination of anger anyway.

you're still looking at each other. you keep biting your lip between both sets of teeth, and you can see the way he's clenching his jaw.

"i know," he says for the third time tonight. he sounds so young when he says it, like you're in college and in love and you've just told him you're taking an internship across the country for the summer.

you hear your son upstairs, moving something around his room to clean up for dinner. he's not the best at keeping things clean, but when he does it, he's meticulous about it. you think he gets it from his father.

"i want it to be different," you say. "i don't want this." he shakes his head, gives you that tight-lipped smile.

"i know you don't," he replies, "i don't either, but-"

"but," you repeat.

your eyes flick to the stairs. you can still hear him cleaning up there, but you can't help but worry. when you settle your gaze on iwaizumi again, he's reaching a hand towards you. his fingers wrap around yours, his thumb pressing against the base of your knuckles.

"i won't grow to hate you," he says, "i won't do it. And if we stay married, i don't know how much longer that'll last."

you feel your face heat up, your throat tighten, tears prick at the corners of your eyes. you nod, silently, gripping his hand a little tighter.

"i know." you swallow something down, though you're not sure you could put a name to whatever it was. it feels like a jumble of everything inside of you. "me too."

you push yourself up and off the counter. neither of you say anything as you cross the threshold towards him. you wrap your arms around him, press your lips against his hairline. he raises an arm in front of you, reaching up to pull you closer by your shoulder.

"so this is it?" your voice is thick—hoarse—and still mumbled into his hair.

"yeah," your husband replies. you hear the crack in his voice. "yeah this is it."

your son yells from upstairs. he's ready to go, he says, and he's decided that you're going to his favorite mexican place. despite it all, you laugh into iwaizumi, and when your son comes tumbling down the stairs, you both compose yourselves.

you pull your son into you by the top of his head, ruffling his hair in the process. you can feel iwaizumi's arm around your waist—delicate and cautious and barely there in the first place.

and somewhere, in your chest or in your ribcage itself, you're not sure, you feel something that seems an awful lot like relief. even if it's small.

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three | part four

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. CH4: You work up the guts to call him, Eddie drags you out on a date, and the looming shadow of an unknown photographer follows you around. [14k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension ish, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing, nudes MDNI

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Dora’s Convenience, Florida, February 1991 

The air here smells like sulphur. 

After spending the last four and a half days in Canada, Florida is a shock. The air is warm and thick and the smells are less than pretty —hot baked seaweed floats in on the sea, and the groundwater carries a naturally occurring bacteria that prompts a scent that you can't say you care for— but the people are kind. 

Perhaps too long alone with only Morgan, Ananya, and your tour manager, Angel, for company has made you biassed, but so far everyone's been incredibly sweet. Hotel attendants, venue staff, a batch of shiny new techies; all smiling, happy, and willing to help. You haven't carried your own bag since the plane touched down. 

Florida is hellishly humid. You miss the freezing bite of cold that accompanied you everywhere in Toronto. You long for a gust of wind that has no smell. 

"Come on, wonderboy," Morgan says, tapping her uncharacteristic sneaker into your ankle. 

You savour the last blessed seconds of the store's open freezer before closing the door with a brokenhearted frown. The effects of the cold and the clean smell dissipate near immediately, leaving you uncomfortable once again. Morgan continues on without waiting for you, a basket heavy in the crook of her arm. She's got enough glass soda bottles for everybody, yet you doubt she's in a sharing mood. You double back to grab one for you and another for Ananya, winding between aisles and wondering how people can eat half of the stuff on display when the weather is this hot. It feels unlivable. 

At the front wall behind plexiglass and an unhappy cashier there's a TV playing Madonna, chirpy pop lyrics clearly not working any wonders. 

His long hair shifts against his shoulder with the artificial breeze. He looks a little like Eddie, you think unwittingly, pretty in an unexaggerated way, his eyes big but not brown. You nibble on your lip and put the coke bottles down by Morgan's basket. 

"You can go wait in the car," Angel says. Morgan's already left, happy for Angel to foot the bill and carry her things. 

You shake your head. You don't mind waiting with her and the car is stifling in the heat. Better to linger in the open air.

The TV fades from Madonna to Guns 'N' Roses. You tilt your head to one side wistfully. No offence meant to your not-boyfriend, but half the rockstars on TV look like Eddie. With the picture small and blurry and up as high as it is on the wall mount, they could swap him out for Slash and you'd be none the wiser. Maybe not half the rockstars, actually —bleaching is all the rage right now, a contrast to Eddie's dark head of hair. You wonder if you'd still want Eddie to press you up against bathroom walls if he were blonde. 

Probably. 

You're thinking of Eddie less than you worried you would. Things are hectic beyond words, and most spare moments are spent showering, eating, or trying to sleep. Sleeping on the bus was difficult at first due to the tight quarters and loud noise, but you're at a point of exhaustion where Morgan's ranting might as well be a lullaby. The rap of Ananya's sticks against the bench in front of her or her compulsive thigh slapping fades away when you've been awake for eighteen hours straight. 

You're in good spirits tonight at the promise of a double bed in your own room. A tiny room, you'd been told, but your own. Privacy feels like a myth lately; you're ravenous for some alone time to do whatever you want without judgement.

You're toying with the idea of asking Angel how you could maybe possibly get into contact with Eddie. You honestly don't have a clue in the world where he is, what state or country. He could be in Alaska and you'd be none the wiser. Where Godless follow locations where they know they'll have full venues, like the Midwest, Canada, and smaller shows in the 'worldwide' branch of their tour later in the year, Corroded Coffin are hitting every venue that's open. 

You can't deny it any longer. There's no point, and now you're on good terms you see little worth in pretending Corroded Coffin aren't wildly more popular than Godless. You aren't saying better. But beyond subjectivity is the cold hard truth: Eddie's band are charting high.  

Godless' new album is doing better than anyone on your team really expected it to, but, while you're unsure of the inner working politics, you know that the sales team were 'positive' rather than ecstatic. You can't fucking imagine how stuffed the vaults are about to become over at Rollerboy. If they skewed themselves in the right light they could be up there with Van Halen in a year or two. Not that they will, who knows? What you understand about the band is limited to the feel of Eddie's hands and Jamison's quiet rejection. 

Point is, Corroded Coffin's new album is about to come out, and it's going to do well, and as far as you know their tour is a sell-out dream. 

The cashier bags Morgan's overstuffed basket and moves onto your cokes. Your eyes slide to the magazine stand in front of the checkout. 

Exclusive Conversation with Rising Stars of Rock: Corroded Coffin. 

You grab it up and try to add it to your stuff inconspicuously, which means you couldn't make it more obvious. Angel snorts. 

"Can I escape ridicule for one day?" you ask. 

"The ridiculous deserve ridicule." Angel eyes the total and cracks open the touring purse. "You don't need a rockstar boyfriend." 

"I'm ridiculous?" you ask wryly. 

"Yeah, babe. You and the girls," —she hands over a pretty wad of cash with a keep-the-change nod and grabs the brown paper bags— "might not be the next Aerosmith, but that means jack shit. You guys are awesome, not just 'cause you're my responsibility. I've seen it. I've seen you guys. And I know you hate talking about being a girl band, but you are a girl band–" 

You groan. Of course you are. Pretending gender doesn't play into it would be silly. But it gives you a migraine whenever you think about it, so you try not to. 

"You guys could be as big as The Bangles. Especially if you stopped wasting time on silly boys," she furthers. Ouch. 

Angel steps out into the sunshine. You follow, shielding your eyes as you look for the car, a pretty red Mercedes-Benz with all the windows rolled down. 

"The Bangles," you repeat, genuinely surprised by her comparison. "The only thing we have in common with them is that we're girls." 

"You know what else you could have in common with them? Mansions and early retirement. Hey, Hazy Shade of Winter was actually good. You should try something like that." 

"Uh-huh," you say. 

"Hey!" Morgan shouts, shoulders out the passenger side window. "Could you guys at least pretend you have somewhere to be? We aren't all social rejects. A sense of urgency, if you will!" 

"Walk slower," Angel mutters. "Ooh, I've dropped my contact. You know, the ones I've miraculously started wearing?" 

"Oh no," you giggle, kneeling down to feel for it. You must be rather overdramatic about it, incurring Morgan's whining wrath. 

You find Angel's very real contact and return to the car. Morgan drones about her throat and how it's reacting to the constantly changing weather, and then swaps tactics when nobody is quite as pitying as she would've liked to complain about Ananya's "antisocial behaviour". 

Ananya has taken to listening to her Walkman non-stop while not on stage. Bad for her hearing, good for her mental health, you imagine. It came about after a missing wad of cash and has yet to see an end. You resent and revere Ananya's determination, jealous that she's escaping Morgan's frankly horrendous behaviour, amazed that she has the willpower.

The more you know Morgan, the less you’ve felt you could love her. It might be cruel to recognise that. She demeans your style, pokes fun at your body, and worst of all, she takes the piss out of your constant dedication to the music you make. 

Proud isn't the right word when describing the relationship you have with making music. You aren't proud of yourself for anything. You'd pictured a sort of satisfaction in getting to this point, now that you're a real musician in a famous band with sweetheart fans and the occasional acclaim. You should feel proud of yourself, but you don't. 

You'd felt relief, and now the agony of clinging to it. 

Worse is that this could all be different. If you were prettier, someone Morgan approved of. If you were smarter, and could garner Ananya's interest. Feeling like an outsider in the extreme that you do can't be good for you, but there's no quick fix. The only time it goes away is when you're on stage playing music for a thousand outsiders. 

Or when you're with Eddie. 

As you stupidly told him. 

What good will it do, telling a boy how you feel? When he's off map, surrounded by people who think he's great and women who won't stop telling him so. Maybe boys, too. You can't get a read on him. 

Naive as it was to tell him– whatever it was that you told him. I don't feel sick when I'm with you. How romantic. Naive as it was, you don't totally regret it. He'd sought you out at your show to take you to dinner and suddenly he's cutting the sleeves off of your t-shirt in a family owned pizza place and kissing your neck all slow and smooth like it's the only place in the world he wanted to be. His hand at your waist, and the way he stopped when you got quiet. His hug. That might be what you miss most. Boy's got a world-class smile that gives dizzying, sickly kisses but what you want to feel most is the weight of his arms around you. You want him to hold you steady. 

People suck. Eddie sucks. He was mean and then he was sweet and now he's just not here. 

You want to see him again.

What a sickening revelation. Anxiety pricks your fingers, pins and needles shooting down the lengths of your arms from your skipping heart. You stick your head as far as you dare to out of the window, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea. 

If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog… 

You grip the door. 

You miss him, and it's terrifying. He can be cruel. You can be cruel too, but you'd been at his fucking mercy. He'd looked at you and he'd known exactly what to say that was gonna mess you up. He has a talent for it. You hate this, and you know now you won't sleep until you're sure things are okay between you, though there's no reason anything would've changed since the last time you saw him. What kind of pathetic does that make you? 

It would be nice to hear his voice. The Eddie who dotes on you. Eddie under all his layers. You don't want him fucked on bad ice again, but the version of him you'd met that night makes you smile as you recall it. Wide eyes, quiet but honest. 

I sent you flowers, because… because those girls are mean to you, he'd rambled, slouched on the stairs, slightly too heavy for you to help him up. And I didn't like seeing you fall over. I wanted you to feel better. I don't know anything about girls... Did you like the flowers?

The Mercedes-Benz rolls up beside The Blue Lily Club, its name taken from what it used to be, presently a hotel. It has all the trimmings of a music venue, big windows and wood, but indoors it couldn't be more plush. 

Ananya holds a hand out for her room key at the front desk and doesn't speak a word. She's kind enough to smile at the chauffeur who'd helped carry your bags inside. 

"It doesn't usually look this nice in here, don't get used to luxury," Angel warns. "They're redecorating."

You trail behind her, dragging your suitcase over hardwood floors. The wheels click click click. "We'll come here again?" 

"Next time we're in Clearwater. S'where we stayed last time. You hadn't bumped up yet." 

"Was it this hot when you were here?" You rub your hand across a clammy cheek. "It feels like summer."

Angel smiles. "You think it's hot now, try a week here in May. I usually don't remember different tour dates but that was hell on Earth. Air conditioning broke in one of the buses into Jacksonville. Holy shit." 

Angel divulges her evening plans for ice cold cocktails in the hotel bar and invites you along. You decline outside of your hotel room, "I'll probably sleep." 

She nods. "Nice. Catch up on what you missed." 

She gets a couple of steps further down the hall toward her own room when you admit defeat. 

"Hey, Angel?" You pull at the neckline of your t-shirt. "You, uh, wouldn't know how I could get somebody's number? Someone from Rollerboy?" 

"From Rollerboy, huh?" she asks, knowing exactly who you want to talk to. Fuck the techie who saw you and Eddie leaving, and fuck Morgan for spreading it around. 

You push your bottom lip against the edges of your top teeth and drag until the delicate skin there hurts. 

"I'll see what I can do," she says. 

Twenty minutes later you have a phone number for his hotel and instructions on how to actually get through their privacy wall. You perch on the edge of your white bed and stare at the phone, like wanting to talk to him will make it ring. You reach for it, hesitate, and reach for it again. 

You dial the number one rotation at a time and wait for it to pick up. 

"Four Seasons Houston, Samantha speaking. How can I help you this afternoon?" 

You choke on air. Four Seasons? What kind of money are these losers on? 

"Hi, I'm hoping to be put through to one of your guests, an Eddie Munson? Room 146?" 

"And is he expecting your call?" 

"No, ma'am." 

"Who's calling?" 

"Y/N." You consider giving your second name. Does Eddie even know your second name? You suppose he could've seen it in one of the magazines, but that's doubtful. 

"Hold please."

You think about hanging up, but you've given your name. If Eddie's there and he's willing to talk to you and you hang up, he'll still know it was you calling. Is that worse? The embarrassment of chickening out versus the endless mortifying possibilities of what you might say when he answers, if he answers, oh fuck– 

"Transferring now." 

You hold your breath. 

The phone clicks twice. 

"Hi?" 

"Hey," you say quickly. You inhale, intending on– on what? Your panic is palpable.

"Hi," he says again, something warm in his voice. "Y/N? My Y/N, or a fan who knows just what to say to get my number?" 

You go a bit blind. "Your Y/N." 

"Hey. How's Florida?" 

You sit back in bed and kick off your shoes. The phone shakes in your hand. This is more nerve-wracking than any conversation you've had beforehand, and it's in the small talk stages. It should be easy, you wanted to talk to him, but this is the first time you've sought him out ever. It shows your hand.

"Hot. Really hot. The receptionist, uh, said it isn't usually like this early in the year. Yeah, it's hot." 

"It's not so bad here, considering." He sounds unlike himself. You've heard him flirting, almost torturous, and you've heard him mad. You've heard him drunk, high, offended, salacious, smug, and soft. None of those memories align. "Hey," he says, confusing you even worse, "why're you calling? Is everything okay?"

You hold the phone up in the air and twist to smash your face into the huge hotel pillows. They're gloriously cold and nowhere near enough to cool the open flame that is your flushing face. 

"Nothing's wrong, I'm sorry," you say weakly, pulling the receiver back to your ear, head craned awkwardly so you don't smother it. "I was– I was thinking about you," —holy fucking fuck— "uh, 'cause I saw you in Lastick Magazine." 

You can still save it. 

"Who'd you have to blow for that one?" you ask. 

Wrong. 

"Loser!" he cheers. Your heart sinks, but he goes on, "You gave me a heart attack, I thought something happened!" 

"No, nothing happened," you say. If you were on better footing you'd make a sly joke about big scary Eddie worrying about you. 

"Okay, good." 

You smile, tugging at the sheer, cornflower blue fabric of your skirt as you think, He sounds happy to hear from me.

"How's Houston?" 

"Babe, you wouldn't fucking believe it. They got us posted up in some four star skyscraper. Two mini fridges. Two. It's insanity, I'm basically royalty here." 

You look around your small room. "Ah, but do you have a damp splodge on the ceiling shaped like the letter W?" you ask.

"They musta forgot to put it in the welcome basket." 

You laugh suddenly, startled at his good humour. It's like it's been hooked out of your chest on fishing wire, an ugly garbling sound that infects him down the line.

"Shit, I think I was starting to forget what you sound like," Eddie says. 

You know exactly what he means. 

You won't tell him, though. Your heart is racing again as it did in the car; he's being lovely like you're friends, like you're more than that, and you love it but it scares you shitless. Boys do this kind of stuff, right? Say pretty things, kiss you like you're something treasured, and one day they stop answering your calls. Vet you through to their assistant, and piggy bank your affections by acting like you're still something the next time you see them in person. 

Eddie kissed the top of your arm the last time you saw him. If he acts like you're just friends when you see him next, you're gonna scalp him. Or self admit. 

"I meant to ask you about something before I left," he says, bridging a mildly awkward silence with a dip into flirting bravado, "but you were all over me, you know? Didn't have time to ask." 

"Yeah? That's not how I remember it." 

"No accounting for stupidity." You can hear his smile. "Can I ask, or are you gonna talk over me again?" 

"I should hang up on you." 

"After all the trouble you went to to reach me," he sympathises. 

"Tell me how the dial tone sounds next time." 

"Alright! Jesus, you're pushy. What I wanted to ask is, you're in Oklahoma in a month.”

“Where’s the question?”

“You suck. Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. I’m in Oklahoma next month, and you’ll be there at the same time, and I know some of your shirts still have sleeves which is lame and very 1989 of you. I could maybe take some time out of my busy schedule and help you with it. Consider it my charitable act of the year.”

You want to see him. He can’t know it. You don’t want to play games with him, and you don’t wanna get messed around. He can’t have all the power. 

“I don’t know, Munson… I’m pretty busy, ‘n’ I kinda like my sleeves.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

He snorts. “Shit, fine. We’ll leave your sleeves alone. Maybe we could–”

“Are you listening to Loggins and Messina?” you ask suddenly, phone pressed so hard to your ear you know it’ll leave a mark. 

“What?” he scoffs. “No, of course not.”

The music gets quieter, but you know what you heard. “You are! That’s Thinking Of You, I’d know it anywhere!”

“So what if I am?”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you say, not really thinking about how it sounds. “I love that song, it’s so sweet. I thought you were this big scary jerk but it turns out you’re just as soft as the rest of us. Turn it up, I wanna listen.”

Eddie doesn’t argue with you. He turns it up. 

“What is that? It’s too clean to be on the radio. Don’t tell me you’re carrying a Loggins and Messina record around with you, please don’t, because I’d really have to tell someone about it.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna drag your reputation through the mud, Munson.”

Your too-big smile slowly fades when he doesn’t joke back. Was that too far? He can’t possibly think that you’re being serious — as if. You don’t have the power, influence, or connections to touch his reputation, let alone drag it. Your lips part as you hesitate to correct yourself, uncurling where you’d been comfortable on the bed.

Eddie finally puts you out of your misery. 

“Did you hear that?” he asks. 

“No? What was it?”

“That was me crying out in terror. You didn’t hear it?”

“That’s not even funny,” you complain. “I'm not the only one. You realise they’re calling you a womaniser in Lastick, right?” You grab your copy of the magazine from the end of the bed and splay it open, flicking through pages until you find his article. “‘Heartthrob guitarist Eddie Munson is barely entering his mid-20’s, but his masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike,’” you read, letting the magazine flop back flat. 

“Did they really say ‘masterful fingering’?” he asks. 

You smile at the sound of his laughter. “You pig. What’s funny about that, Munson?"

“Uh…”

“I’m messing with you. Mastery aside, you’re missing the point. They described you as a heartthrob in the third biggest music magazine in intercontinental America. Like, someone went to college for four years, worked their way up the corporate ladder, blood, sweat and tears included, to call you a heartthrob, and they didn’t lose their job.”

“Right, right. The point is that you think I’m ugly.”

“The point is that I have proof you’re…” You think about the point. You want to ruin his reputation as a heartthrob by telling everyone he listens to romantic soft rock. Because that makes sense.  

“You have proof that I’m not just a heartthrob, I’m sensitive.” He sounds so fucking smug. “Making me even more of a heartthrob.”

You frown, taking the article back into your hands. “Oh, right! ‘His masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike, but is Munson the sweetheart he seems? Insider information hints that this young musician is spending less time making music and more time womanising the elite bachelorettes of Palm Springs.”

You blink. Your reading had become less smug as it went, and by the time you’ve finished you’ve the beginnings of a pit forming in your stomach. His alleged womanising had felt funny a moment ago. Why does it bother you now?

Because you’ve been confronted with the good. His laugh. His love songs. And you’re realising he isn’t as in your reach as you’d thought. 

Eddie snorts. There’s a sound like he’s rubbing the receiver against bedsheets, and you wait apprehensively for him to speak. 

“Sorry, I was turning the lights off. That’s a bit fucking rich. Who’s their inside source, Pinocchio the real boy? I was in Palm Springs for two days, and you saw me, I was fucked the entire time.” He has no clue how much you’d needed him to say that. “Maybe someone saw us together, you could pass for one of those pretty rich girls easy.” He also doesn’t know how much of an affect his easy compliments have on you, apparently. “I don’t know how someone could look at me and describe my behaviour as womanising. Pathetic, sure.”

There’s a hard edge to his voice. He made you feel better, even if he doesn’t know it. You don’t mind doing the same.  

“You were sweet,” you argue mildly. “You were. You asked me how I was, and when you saw I was wearing heels you sat down in the middle of the staircase and made me sit with you.”

“You don’t usually wear heels.”

“Morgan says–” Eddie groans. “What?”

“Morgan says a lot of dumb shit, is what she says,” Eddie grouches. “Forgive me but she’s a fucking loser.”

You feel oddly protective of her for a moment, “She’s the opposite.”

“No, but her attitude ruins everything she has going for her. She’s talented, she’s the next Nicks when she sings that one song, Heartbreak House? She impresses me, but she’s fucking mean, sweetheart. You know she’s mean.”

“I guess,” you mumble, scratching the seam of your pants with your fingernail, not sure why you're defending her. “Aren't we all?”

Another patch of silence. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, we can all be pretty mean.”

“That’s the business, right?” you ask, knowing it isn't true. 

“I think… we all have a propensity for cruelty when we feel pinned, and that…” He clears his throat. “Trying to make it when the scene is this competitive can feel like a looming hand. Just waiting to pluck you off of your pedestal.”

You laugh weirdly, all strangled breathlessness. “Easy to see who writes the lyrics.”

“Fuck you. You know what I mean.”

You do. Morgan’s probably trying her best, in the same way that you’re doing yours, balancing friendship and music and fame and a high-pressure job with little room for slip-ups. And now Eddie. Maybe Morgan has an Eddie somewhere, some larger than life loverboy with a penchant for sharpness and sweetness simultaneously.

“I want to tell you something,” Eddie says. 

“Oh, gross. You can’t just say that, now I’m panicking,” you admit, sitting up in bed, knuckles aching at the tight grip you have on the phone. “It’s something normal, right? Or not normal. Did you get some unfortunately transmitted disease or something?”

“Unfortunately,” he quotes. “That’s funny. Definitely didn’t, the last person I touched was you.” It’s heart-rending, until he adds, “Apart from your fleas, I’m clean. And I’m trying to tell you something slightly serious, so if you could keep any allusions of disease to yourself for a minute, I’d appreciate that.”

“Okay, sure. Tell me something.”

There’s a small sound. Maybe he’s licked his lips, or changed positions. “When I… when we had that fight, in the Prover Theatre. I just want you to know that I regret how I treated you. I wish I could take it back, and… I wish I had the guts to tell you in person, but I don’t. Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not how I want to be, and I need you to know that you’re right about me, I’m a loser, but I’m the kind of loser who wants to take you out to dinner and knock my soda in my lap or try to kiss you too soon, not the kind of loser who leaves you hanging.” He laughs like you had, like it’s being dragged out of him, and you realise that Eddie Munson is panicking on the other side. “Shit, can I take some of that back? I’m cool, I swear.”

You smile hard, your cheeks aching. “No, you can’t take it back.”

“Fine. I’m a loser.”

“For the record,” you say, “you did kiss me way too soon.”

He laughs roughly, a sound half threat and half promise. “You annoy me so much. When you get to Oklahoma I’m gonna make sure you know it.”

A curl of warmth unfurls deep in your stomach. You have the good sense not to ask what he means by that.

-

Cowboy Cadaver, Oklahoma, March 1991

Eddie finds that he hates having an almost-girlfriend. In his head, in his chest, you're his girl. He doesn’t know how to explain himself beyond that. It’s this feeling like heat, like light, like the kiss of a sunbeam on a cold day warming his skin. And it’s the blessed breeze in a heatwave, it’s ice on an ache, it’s the feeling of your skin, your pulse under his touch. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder —it grabs wanting by the neck and squeezes all the air out. If he doesn’t get to see you soon he’s gonna lose it. 

He tried explaining it to Wayne down the phone, because he’s being a good nephew now and actually calling, but he couldn’t take himself seriously, all those cheesy metaphors like chewed cud in his mouth waiting to be swallowed and yacked back up. He said, “Does it always feel like this?”

And Wayne sort of laughed, a derisive snort to seal the deal, and said, “Eds, you ain’t the first kid to fall for a girl.”

Which isn’t what he asked, but he reckons Wayne was telling him Yes, it always feels like this. Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love before. He’d wanted to kiss that guy on the track team junior year so badly it kept him awake at night, and he was sweet on the soft bartender when he bussed at the Hideout to the point where the entire kitchen staff started calling him ‘squirty cream’ on account of how whipped he was, but Eddie can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

He blames himself, thinking you were right after all – he did kiss you too soon. And for the wrong reasons. Now he knows what it feels like, knows what sound you make when you like it, how was he ever supposed to move past that? Your arm under his lips, or your hair against his cheek as he tried to hug the bone-deep dread out of your system, a faucet drip drip dripping by your thigh. He can’t remember what you smell like anymore, only that you smelled good, and he gets that this’ll be the nature of whatever relationship you two manage to cradle for a long while; he’d never ask you to follow him, and he thinks you’d rather die than do anything similar. 

Still, he’s starting to offer up whatever it is whoever it is that’s looking down on him will take to get a quick hit. Sweetheart for his face in the curve of your neck, five seconds to breathe in the smell of your subtle perfume. It’s extreme, but Eddie’s feeling extreme right now. Every minute that you’re late winds the wanting coil tighter. 

He doesn’t have anyone with him to tell him to get real. He pictures it instead, Jamison in the chair opposite, grimacing at the cider sticky table between them and the state of Eddie’s patheticness clearly displayed. Stop bouncing your leg, fuckhead. She said she’d meet you here, didn’t she? 

He’s going over what-ifs when you appear. You’re wearing a sweatshirt that says ‘I visited the Great Wall,’ with a helpful picture overtop and jeans without rips. He’d be upset at the lack of skin if he couldn’t see the shapes of your thighs so clearly. He’s a sucker for them. 

Better are your hands. No, better is your smile, because he knows you more than he should already and he knows what your smile means. You’re happy to see him, and you don’t want him to know it. 

He hasn’t practised this part. Shock horror, he’s been too confident in his head yet again and assumed he’d know what to do when he saw you, but he doesn’t, God, he doesn’t have a clue. Can he kiss you? Hug you? It’s feeling like neither. You slide into the booth chair opposite and your shoe bumps his.

“Hi,” you say. 

“Yeah, hi. Holy fuck.”

“What?” you ask, head whipping back to look the way you came.

“No, nothing, I just forgot how pretty you are. It’s kind of shocking up close. You know they called you ‘homespun’ in Lastick?”

“Fucker,” you say, not a hint of malice in it as you deflate in front of him. 

“Mm. Nice sweatshirt. How was it? The Great Wall?”

“I don’t know, I got this at Goodwill.” You both pause, a synchronised, silently agreed upon ceasefire to take the other in. You look more than pretty, really, ‘cos he was fucking with you when he said it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, it is, you’re lovely when you smile and you’re smiling like he’s just told you he got a lucky scratcher and he’s giving you the winnings. “You look happy,” you say. 

“Ditto.”

You grab at the collar of your sweatshirt. “Sorry, this is awkward, I don't know why.”

Eddie’s surprised at your honesty, not because you aren’t an honest person, but maybe because he’s used to skirting around the issue with you. There’s a mutual attitude that anything unsaid is untrue, and lately you’ve both said a ton of stuff you can't take back. He’s sorry, he wants to see you. You feel better when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing considering how little time you’ve spent together, and Eddie wants to change that. Hence dinner here in a blowout with floors that grab at your shoes and cigarette ash caked in the salt and pepper holders. The likelihood of an interruption is small. 

“It’s fine,” he says faux confidently, while his heart is thudding against his Adam's apple. “I know how to fix it.”

Eddie reaches down under the table for the rumpled jansport he’d brought with him and pulls out two gifts. They aren’t wrapped, even though that would’ve been more romantic. He hadn’t found the time. He places them in front of you without ceremony, a chocolate rose in plastic wrap and a CD from that Indiana band you like, signed and sealed. 

“What…” you mumble, picking up the CD with an adorably awed pout. “How’d you get this?”

“Asked around.” A lot. It was shameful. 

Unfortunately for him, there’s a little more awkwardness to cut through, the shame of vulnerability or the realisation that you’re both standing on the precipice of something shiny and new. Suddenly, every word feels important. He has to make it clear that he’s repentant, and desperate, but only for you. 

“Do you like it?” he asks.

You immediately nod, two tight dips of your chin as your thumb rubs over the plastic wrap irreverently. Your eyes are slightly widened, your pupils like dimes. “Eddie, I didn’t bring you anything.”

He leans back against the cool leather seat. “You didn’t have to. I’m just happy to see you.”

You stand up, and he thinks Oh thank fuck, you’re sitting on the bench beside him, you’re gonna kiss him saccharine sweet on the cheek like the darling girl that you are. His hand lands unabashedly atop the curve of your hip as you settle down beside him, his heart like the pull cord on a chainsaw that keeps skipping, your impending kiss the roar of the engine as it wakes. 

Your hand touches his thigh. You’ve the chocolate rose in hand, a shy smile on your lips. 

“Will you share it with me?”

He comes up short. Yeah, a kiss would be nice, but this is good too. 

Dramatics aside (dramatics being the kinder word, because Eddie doesn’t feel dramatic at all, and that’s genuinely worse), he’s missed you without metaphor. Something in him relaxes as you unpackage the rose and snap it up. You offer him a carved leaf as you nibble on the stem. The awkwardness begins to fade, at least on his end, though that might be down to his lingering hand behind your back, not touching you but close enough. 

“I told everyone I was going window shopping,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you meet his eyes. 

“They believe you?”

“Nope. They know you’re here.”

“Mine were the same,” Eddie comforts, reaching for the flower of your rose to break it apart. He holds some up to see if you’ll let him feed you. You wrinkle your nose at him and laugh. He laughs back. “Open up.”

“No,” you say, laughing through your nose as he presses a petal to your lip. Your jaw softens as you lean back, and it’s a sight to see, your eyes lit with amusement and your lips pressed tightly closed. 

He doesn’t wanna push his luck. He puts the chocolate petal in your hand and leans back to chew through his own, happy to watch you through half-lidded eyes. His squinting makes you squirm, until you figure out his angle and give him a playful glare. 

It's swiftly interrupted by a big yawn. “I’m so tired,” you say, rubbing your eye with a sore looking hand. 

“Your hands are fucked,” he says. It’s no wonder that you’re tired. You never stop. Even when the guitar pick’s fallen between strings. “That’s a bad one.”

He takes your hand in his to rub his thumb over the pad of your index finger, where the whorl of your fingerprint is cut decisively down the middle and scabbing over. The skin around it is mottled. His thumbnail scratches down the side of your finger gently as he looks it over. There’s nothing he can do to make it better. 

“You know they invented picks for a reason,” he says. 

Your middle and marriage fingers rest lightly against the meat of his thumb. Your pinky fits in the slight dip of his palm, its tip at the the bisection of hills at the bottom of his palm. Your nails aren’t long, but you’ve painted them an unassuming, translucent blue. He pushes his thumb into your fingers so they curl toward your own palm and slowly, you cover his thumb with yours. It’s a weird angle to hold hands, but he doesn’t mind. Like you can read his thoughts, you turn your hand into his, but then you must change your mind. You pull it out of his hold and face toward the table again, away from him, your forearms pushed together. You lean back with a tired moan. It turns his heart. 

“I like shows, but I don’t like touring,” you say. “I think we should get to pick a venue and that’s it, that’s where we play. The fans can come to us.”

“The fans,” Eddie repeats. 

He’s not trying to make fun of you. It’s weird to say something like that aloud and know that it’s true. You have fans. You both do. People like your music enough to come and see you play. 

And you both like playing music enough to subject yourself to borderline torturous conditions. Packing yourselves up like parcels delivered from one stage to another. 

“I bet Madonna loves touring,” he says. 

“Yeah?”

“They aren’t making her live in a ten by two box sixteen hours a day,” he says. 

“Don’t do math,” you plead, your head dipped back and drifting toward his arm. “I really am tired.”

“You could’ve cancelled. Not that I wanted you to.” He softens his voice, his best approximation of a caring boyfriend, though he’s never been one before. 

“I didn’t want to cancel…”

“You need me to take you home?” he asks, concerned as you let your head drop on his shoulder.

“Can I just sit here a while?”

“Sure. Anything. Uh…” He wraps his arm around your shoulder. 

Eddie would be content if you fell asleep but you fight your fatigue, and he’s glad for it when you move into easy conversation. This part he can do. Over the phone, he's told you about Wayne and growing up, and about stuff he doesn’t think he’s told anyone before, not secret so much as mundanities that no one ever wanted to listen to. He sticks to mundane things for now. Like the phone calls between you both (new, occasional, but always too long), he talks until he runs out of things to say, and even then he drags it out to a painful threshold.

Somehow, some way, you lay your head on his shoulder and keep it there for a while, and you tell him about your nightmare tour and all the fighting. Morgan’s not speaking to you, Ananya’s not speaking to anyone. She has a pair of headphones that she keeps on morning noon and night, sometimes during soundcheck, where she adamantly refuses to participate. 

“Ananya used to be okay,” you say, nearly whispering like you’re worried you’ll get caught telling him secrets. “But she’s just as bad as Morgan now. They’re still fighting about Morgan’s– Okay, don’t tell anybody, but Morgan does a lot of coke–”

“Is that a secret?” Eddie asks. 

He’s not being condescending, it’s just that half the people you see on MTV have a bad coke problem and Morgan is often on MTV.

“No, but she stole money out of Ananya’s purse at a party when we were first touring ‘cos she didn’t have a dime to her name, it’s pretty bad. I didn’t tell you on the phone ‘cos I was worried someone was listening to us.”

Eddie blanches. “You think people were listening to us?” He said some brave things to you last time, a cheeky promise wrapped up in platitudes. 

“I mean, no? But the secretaries can listen on the line in some places, ‘n’ you were staying in all those skyscrapers. It’s not, like, a thing. Morgan swears she was gonna pay it back. Anya got mad, ‘n’ Morgan implied that any money in Anya’s purse was money she made.”

“I see.”

You lift your head slightly. “Please don’t tell anyone. They’d kill me if they knew I told you.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. “My lips are sealed.” He eyes your pretty mouth, your face as close as it is. “Well, mostly sealed. Ooh, you could buy my silence.”

“How does one go about that?” you ask quietly, knowing exactly how, he’s sure.

Eddie gives you the softest kiss he can manage, hiding his nervousness well. He grabs your upper arm, and grab isn't the right word but it’s the only word that makes any sense given the quickness of his movement; he's leaning in and he needs to be touching you first, steady himself. You smile into his lips. 

“That’s not gonna be enough,” he says as you pull away. You startle him by leaning in again quickly, your lips parted a fraction and hot against his as your hand stretches out across his chest. 

He’d intended to stay chaste with you. He's trying to rescue the head-first plunge that was his handful of confessions, make your possible relationship one that works, but he can't help himself. He takes it slow, admittedly, but slow kisses become long, and he turns lax at the feeling of your fingertips over his heart. 

Eddie pulls away when he can make himself, cupping your face in his hand in an effort to communicate how much he wants to be kissing you still. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Why? Do I taste bad?” you ask. You have a shiny mouth. 

“You taste like chocolate. I just figured I should buy you a drink before somebody else does.”

“Eddie,” you say, leaning into his palm ever so slightly, “there's no one else here.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Who names a bar ‘Cowboy Cadaver’?”

Your lashes kiss in the corners as you smile. 

“Your band is called Corroded Coffin.”

“And it’s a good name.” He pecks you quickly. “Yes?”

Your answering hum tickles. 

“Why do I feel like we aren't supposed to be doing this?” you ask, second hand joining your first on his chest. 

“Because we’re meeting in secret?” he suggests, covering your hands with one of his. “Or mild secrecy. We aren't subtle.”

“You're not subtle.”

“No,” he agrees, and forgive him but he’s feeling positively sunny and sounds it.

“This is okay, though? We both want this?” you ask. 

“I-” No more running away. No more casual cruelty. “I definitely want this.”

You grin, leaning up in a move that surprises him as your arms wrap around his neck, his hair under your arms. You smile sheepishly before ducking your face under his, the tip of your nose crushed to the soft part beneath his jaw. He has a grin all his own as he grasps your back. Eddie kisses the side of your head, any skin he can reach, three times in quick succession, and feels an acute sense of relief. There’s something final about it like a puzzle piece clicking into place that explains the photograph, or the snap of a finishing line against his stomach. He's suddenly pin-sharp ecstatic, and he shows it with a rough squeeze. 

“You smell really nice,” he praises, his nose by your hair. 

“That’s pervy, I think.”

“I’m trying to be nice,” he says. 

He can hear even to himself how brazen he sounds, that awful flirtation he can't help from enacting with you now he knows you like this. He wants to impress, and he wants to be honest at the same time. He wants to be himself. It’s getting easier. 

“Nice isn’t a word I’d associate with you,” you say, but you sit back to meet his eyes and amend, “That’s not true. You can be lovely.” 

You give him a look that can only be described as loving. It’s pure affection, and if he weren't sitting he’d have fallen over from how it makes him feel. You lean forward until the top part of your face is on his cheek, your eyelashes twitching like a butterfly’s wing. 

“Thank you for the presents. You didn't have to get me anything," you say. 

He looks behind your head to the bar around you both. He's been so distracted by your looming presence, your arrival, and now having you in his arms, he hadn't noticed the patrons milling in as happy hour draws nearer. There’s a couple of older men at the bar, and one looks unseeing toward your public display. It makes him uneasy.

“You're welcome," he says. "We have an audience." 

You follow his gaze over your shoulder and promptly untuck yourself from his embrace when you see the bar isn't as empty as you'd thought. There’s no time for heartbreak —you weave your fingers with his and hide them between your thighs, a small smile playing on your lips. 

Eddie could get used to this. 

—

Marriott Dean Music Store, Oklahoma, (still) March 1991

There’s a black and white Gibson Les Paul hanging on the wall. It caught Eddie’s eye as soon as you arrived, and while you have no use for it (and your Fender bass's gonna jinx you if you touch an instrument that isn't her, you just know it), you kinda wanna feel it for yourself. 

“See the headstock? The line wrapped around the bottom?” Eddie says under his breath. 

There's a storehand standing behind the small counter not too far from your position near the entrance. 

You nod carefully. “Yeah?”

“Relacquered. And conveniently not mentioned on the price tag. It might be a new one, sometimes they crack backward from the pressure of the strings.”

You glance between Eddie, his pale face and a new crop of sun-wrought freckles, and the ‘like new’ label on the guitar. An ‘87 standard has no need for lies, it’s not as if the price difference between it and the new ‘91 is overlarge. 

“Are you looking for something new?” you ask. 

If Eddie functions anything like you do, he’ll have his own hardware but won’t hesitate to borrow from a well-packed bank of state-of-the-art instruments that follows the tour. He might even change instrument mid set. He won't need something new, but need and want are estranged. 

“Nah,” he says, nudging you gently away from the guitar display. His hand ghosts your elbow, like he might steer you around. “I have a Rich Warlock, you seen those? I got a new one last year ‘n’ the output level for the bridge pickup is giving me grief, but I’m not an asshole. I could sit down and fix it myself, but…”

You brush aside a beaded curtain and take a short step down into the store, where a wealth of CD’s, cassettes and vinyls are packed in rows on tables. There’s an older man flicking through records, but beside that the room is empty. A big yellow sticker faded from the sun warns of CCTV. 

“You’re too busy,” you finish. 

“I'm way too busy.”

There's a calmness to being with him here you hadn't expected. It's like lying on the stairs with him all over again, but he's missing that awful far off look to his eyes, he's tip top shape: Eddie Munson is sober. He said it like it's no big deal, and maybe it isn't, but you squeezed his hand anyways because you figure you'd want someone to feel proud of you if you stopped. You don't have a problem, just every dalliance with recreational substances is a chance at something worse. He should feel good about what he's doing. 

Especially when you understand the feeling that drives you there in the first place. The insane stress of wanting to prove that you're worth something, and the feeling like lukewarm water dripping down your spine when you're standing in the middle of a room, in the middle of a crowd, and you realise you could disappear and nobody would know until the next show. That confrontation of how small your life has become, through your own mediation and everything else. 

You'd give anything to escape that feeling. Some nights, you do. 

You told yourself you'd play it cool. What happened between you and Eddie, what's happening, it's muddled. You remember the profound hurt feeling of his final blow, and you hold it up against how you're feeling now as his fingertips coast down your arm, a thoughtless touch as he stands beside you to give his opinions on the box of records in front. He's nice. He's more nice than not. You wanted to squeeze his hand and you had, cool girl facade on the back burner. 

Maybe you're the one who was cruel. You think back to how it all went down. The details grow fuzzier in the distance, but you know you hurt him like he hurt you. And unlike him, you can't remember having said sorry. 

You turn your head and find his face remarkably close to your own. He doesn't flinch nor move, only smiles at the weight of your gaze and flicks to the next vinyl. 

"I'm sorry," you say, awkward but earnest. You don't give yourself the time to chicken out. 

You can't stand thinking you might have hurt him now. Even if he hurt you worse. The guilt of hurting anybody at all feels heavy, worse because it's you. 

"For what?" he asks.

"For what I said. At the theatre. And for walking away at Monsters of Rock." 

"I walked away," he says, confused. "I pretty much ran. Not my finest moment." 

"No, at the store." 

Recognition crosses his features. He smiles rather weirdly, inclining his head close enough to kiss you. 

"You didn't have to listen to me. I respect that. You know that, right? You don't have to listen just 'cos someone has something to say." His brows crease inward. "I hate what I said to you at the theatre. And I felt guilty about it. You make me so mad, and I'm childish and I can't deal with that. But it's not your fault. You don't deserve a lashing every time I have one to give."

Eddie tilts his head to the left. "Sorry," he adds. "Don't try to make me feel better– don't, I can see it on your face. It's not why I said it." 

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then pulls back to see if it's worked. You're smiling. He takes it for a win.  

"I'm a big girl," you say after a short second of staring at him, the ridge of his nose and the curls silhouetting his slight hint of cheekbone. "I don't need you to take all of the blame." 

"Ah, but I'm selfish. I want it all." He shrugs. "Better luck next time." 

"Nerd." 

"Loser." 

He goes back to the records with a smile. You look at it a little longer, allowed and aggrieved at once. He shouldn't be that pretty. 

You watch his hands, hoping he'll give himself away and falter. A gift deserves a gift. CD's aren't cheap. You could buy him a vinyl. He must have a player of some sort, considering his Loggins and Messina habit. 

"Think they'll have your new LP?" he asks. 

"They'll have yours." 

Eddie shakes his head. "I'm not asking about mine." 

"They won't have it here, this place is tiny. City stores are the only place I've seen any of our stuff," you say.

"Well, you guys are plastered. I saw the cover on the side of a bus in Pasadena." 

You gawp at him. "You did not." 

"I did! Think I don't know that ugly font by now? Godless in huge black and white letters. It's a bad name, by the way," he ribs. 

"What am I supposed to do about it? I wasn't there when they chose it." 

Eddie shrugs, the toned muscle of his arms shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. It might've been black once upon a time, but the merchandise he sports now is a washed out grey. You put your hand over the curve of his bicep because you want to, and pleasure simmers when he doesn't move away. 

"If it were me," he says, in a tone of voice that spells irksome teasing a mile off, "and the name were that bad, I'd go on strike. Refuse to play. That'll make them fix it, while you still have time." 

"I'm sure you could get away with that," you say. 

"You don't think you would?" 

"I'm not really tenured." 

"Ah, but who could say no to such a pretty face," he praises, pushing the box of records away from himself. "Shit, guess we better go ask for a test run on that Les Paul. This is all… questionable." 

"You're gonna serenade me?" you ask, returning his teasing. 

"You're gonna serenade me. I know you know your way around a rhythm guitar. You're holding out on me," he says, knocking your elbows together. 

You love this. All these familiar touches. Like a moth to a flame, you follow him back up into the main storefront and sit beside him on top of a crate, cradling the Les Paul like a baby you're terrified of dropping. Even with tour money you couldn't pay for it now. At the end, sure. But you doubt the manager would take an IOU. 

"What do I play?" you ask. 

"Anything." 

"That's not helpful." 

"Something fun," he says. 

Your fingers slide up the fretboard to an E flat. You bite your lip. "I'm in bass mode." It's automatic. You'd immediately set yourself up for a baseline. 

Baseline to riff for rhythm guitar is easy enough. E flat becomes E flat major. G becomes G minor. 

"Pentatonics," Eddie whispers when you hesitate. 

"You really aren't helpful," you laugh. "This is hard." 

"I'm telling people you said that." 

You mess around until you have the basis of a simple riff down, hoping you'll impress him. He shouldn't be impressed, you've seen him play things a thousand times more complicated in person, but he beams as you work your way through a verse and then an impromptu chorus. 

"Is that fucking Blondie?" he asks. 

"No." 

"It so is! Hanging On the Telephone, everyone knows that song." 

"And everyone knows it's a cover. I'm doing The Nerves version, obviously." 

You smile at each other until he cracks. "Obviously," he concedes. "Do the rest." 

"Like I'm your dog," you say, a joke that brushes too close to home. 

You fumble over the strings, gaze resolute on the body of the guitar rather than his face. 

You don't care that he said it —you care that he knows he said it. It doesn't make sense in so little words, but the feeling is contrite. It doesn't allow for sensical explanation. 

The humiliation of being seen is worse than a spurned insult thrown haphazard at your feet. His insult isn't as bad as your reaction to it. The fact that he knows it upset you. That's the worst part. 

It's embarrassing because he was right. Of course it is. And it doesn't get better, because you're still the same. Still running back after every kick. No matter the leg.  

You play him the rest of the song. Or rather, your best approximation. It's incredibly difficult to play by ear and you haven't heard the song in a while. When the guitar sounds more like a transparent translation of the lyrics than the actual meat of the instrumentals you give up, picking at the strings and listening to the individual tuning of each once. Eddie doesn't speak. Each second of his silence grows worse, your throat dry as the Sahara and horrifyingly thick. Why isn't he talking? 

His hand covers your shoulder. Fingers in a row across the slight dip of it, thumb rubbing reassuringly into your shoulder blade. "You're so fucking talented," he says quietly, his voice just above your ear. "I hope you know that." 

"I got lucky," you say, shaking your head. 

"No, you worked hard. There's a difference." 

His hand slides over the hill of your upper arm. Eddie gives you a gentle shake. You let your head flop into the crook of his neck. His hair tickles your forehead, but he smells so good you stay longer than you should. 

"Play me something," you say, trying to sound less morose than you feel. 

Whether he hears your emotion or not, he pats your arm and sits up. You hand over the guitar, and Eddie props the body over his thigh and runs his fingers up the fretboard, feeling the craftsmanship appreciatively despite his earlier disapproval. 

"What do you wanna hear?" he asks. 

"What do you know?" 

"God, I know everything. You should know that." 

"Well, you can't play anything too impressive, you'll draw attention." 

He nods very seriously at your sarcasm. He's immediately more at home than you'd been with it, and his hands look like they have a mind of their own. He plays a tight riff you recognise from one of their songs that is, to your horror, a warm up. He turns the amp down, and before you know it he's elbow deep in a complication of chords that might genuinely have you sweating if it were you rather than him. He does it like it's nothing. A walk in the park, and one he so clearly takes pleasure in. His eyes light up, the kind of look he's had before when he's made you laugh, or something a little milder than the electricity of his rough stageside kiss. 

You're in awe. 

He fucks up somewhere and laughs. A sweet giggle. 

"S'what I get for trying to show off." 

He plucks a string sharply. Hair's falling in his eyes, nearly hiding the sheepish curve of his lips. You see it, and adore it, and don't know what you're supposed to do about that. 

"I'll get him to put this away before I break it and we can get something to eat," he says, looking up from the guitar.

"It's weird to be with you. Without anything in the way," you say before you can stop yourself. 

You're glad you've said it when he raises his eyebrows. "Super weird. No more excuses. Wanna get freaky in the employee bathroom?" He laughs at his own joke. "It feels right, though," he adds warmly, before sincerity gets too much and he looks away. 

He gives the store employee back the Les Paul for its case and swings his backpack over one arm. He holds the other one out, wriggling his fingers so you know it isn't optional. You'd have tried it if he didn't offer. 

You hold hands out of the store and onto the street, busy but not crowded, and try to think of what you're supposed to say. You're in the soul of Tulsa, rather than the heart —you and Eddie decided to meet somewhere far enough from the city centre as to miss anyone who'd know who you are (or, more accurately, know who he is). You're not the kind of musicians who get papped often, or ever. Morgan's snow exposé was opportunistic, and Eddie was on the news for his epic destruction of property, but beside that it's purposeful photoshoots or moot. But this, this thing, whatever it is, it isn't for anybody else. You don't want anyone knowing quite yet. If Morgan found out you'd probably chuck up from the anxiety of what she'd do, some 'well-meaning' sabotage. Contrary to what she'd said in the past, how you should pick up the phone if Eddie calls, you know how she functions. Jealousy, or maybe some unjust belief that she deserves every ounce of lust or affection or attention, would absolutely wreck her. She doesn't like you enough to let you have this. You know it. 

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks. 

The sunlight makes him paler than usual. Pasty skin, dark dark hair, he'd be a vampire if his hand weren't warm in yours. You tighten your grip. 

"I think I'm not half as cool as I want to be." 

He licks his lips. "You're cool." 

You lift your chin to look at the sky, the wind moving over your hair gently. You trust Eddie enough to let him pull you out of harm's way. At least, you think you do. 

"I'm worried about people finding out about us." 

"Us?" Eddie asks. Horror surges. It's smothered as quickly as it comes by your hand swung in his, and his pleased little smile as he says, "There's an us." 

It's useless to pretend otherwise. And if it makes him that happy, you're thrilled. Genuinely. 

"Would it be so terrible?" Less sun and more apprehension, Eddie fails at bravado. "If people knew about your smoking hot plaything?" 

"You're not my plaything, you're– not my plaything," you stammer. 

"Bummer for me. I think I'd be into it." 

He guides you around a fire hydrant and across a short gap in the sidewalk. You have no idea where he's leading you. It's sunny enough that you don't complain. 

"I don't want people to know about us because– because I barely know about us, and, um– I'm sorry, this is the opposite of attractive." 

"How many compliments do you want?" he asks seriously, "'Cause I have a couple locked and loaded." 

"Let's go back to when you didn't like me." 

"Who cares how attractive you are? Not that you're not. But I don't want you to not tell me things because it's not hot. What kind of relationship would that turn into? Superficial, who wants that?" He stops swinging your hand abruptly, and to your pleasure, his cheeks are pink. "Do you want that?" 

"No," you mumble. 

"Oh. Good." 

"What kind of relationship do you want?" you ask. 

"A nice one." He does his fucking ridiculous giggle again and you could kiss him right here in the street. "You're ruining my reputation. I used to be respectable. Now I'm a bigger loser than before, and people are gonna clock on." 

"They've clocked on." 

"Cruel!" he says, delighted. 

"I…" You look anywhere but his face. His hand is so, so heavy. "You really don't care if I'm honest?" 

"I want you to be honest. We're not seventeen. I know girls do all the same gross stuff that boys do, babe." 

"What do you think I'm about to say?" You laugh. 

"Something really disgusting from the way you're freezing up." 

The breeze kisses at your cheeks. A stray leaf falls from the tree to your left and twists through the air, dancing in circles until it stops at your feet. You step over it gingerly. 

"Eddie, I just want you to know what you're getting into–" 

"What am I getting into?" 

"I'm not– I'm–" You struggle for words. There's no dictionary for how you feel. There's so much stuff wrong with you and he can't know any of it. You're stupid and lazy and bad at the things you're good at. You're tired, and sick, and you can't seem to get things right. You love sincerely and it's hardly ever enough. "I don't really know why you want this." 

He speaks with lips barely parted, mumbling but somehow unafraid. "I don't really know why I wouldn't want this." 

Eddie turns the corner and pulls you with him. An empty sidewalk beckons, white and stretching long down the boulevard. He pulls your joined hands up into the air and guides you into a slow twirl. 

"I think you're beautiful. You impress me, and you make me wanna write bad songs," he says, rubbing his thumb over your fingers. "What am I saying? I can't write a bad song. It's impossible. Especially if they're about you." 

"But I don't get that, we don't get along." 

"What do you call this?" he asks.

You come to a stop. There's a coffee shop to your right with huge open windows. Warm yellow light pours out into the slowly darkening sky. 

"I do want this," you say, worried you're giving him the wrong idea. He visibly relaxes at your statement, his grip on your hand strengthening once again. "I do," you continue, "whatever this is, I meant what I said, you know. You… make everything quiet for me. And I think you're–" Beautiful, you should say. "You're Lastick's heartthrob, everybody wants you. I like you." 

"I'd hope so," he says, pulling you toward him, his second hand vying for yours. He tugs you right up against him, face lit with cocky happiness. 

You hold your breath. His lashes are super long at the corners, emphasising the deep dark brown that lines his pupils and the gentler bark that surrounds it. He lays a hand against your cheek, encouraging your head up to his. He isn't soft with you like he'd been at the bar, but he isn't mean. You like how sure he is as he pulls you in, as he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes shutter closed with the pressure. 

"I don't care if everybody wants me," he says, and kisses you again, your noses smushed together. "That's not true, anyway," —he laughs quietly into your open mouth, his breath warm as it fans over your lips and tongue— "and if it were," —he kisses you a third time, his head tilted to the side, his lips parted a fraction like he can't wait long enough to line up with you— "it wouldn't change what I want." 

You have to take a breather if only to let your brain catch up with what he's saying. 

"Okay," you breathe. 

He pulls your still joined hands to his heart. "Yeah? I'm not trying to freak you out 'n' go too heavy. I know I'm on thin ice." 

"You're not on thin ice." 

"I should be." 

Maybe. "You're not." You glance down the sidewalk to make sure your public display (you're becoming those people, apparently) isn't in someone's way. Thankfully, there's nobody around. "Sorry. This has been a really nice day, and I'm ruining it." 

"Date," he corrects. "It's a date, and it's great, and you haven't ruined a thing. We're gonna get dinner and talk about music and Gareth's disgusting bunk and you can feel however you want to feel, long as it's within arms reach. Yeah?" 

"Yeah, okay," you say. You manage a firm nod. 

A date. Maybe you're a fool who doesn't deserve him for an almost-boyfriend. If you keep getting in your own way, you'll definitely be one. 

"What's for dinner?" you ask. 

Eddie smiles. 

—

Colo Do Amante Hotel, April 1991

"Do you think you'll ever move away from glam metal?" 

Eddie looks up from the notebook in his lap. He licks his lip to give himself more time to answer, searching for the right thing to say to you. The more time you spend together, the more he wants to say the right thing, and the more sure he feels that there isn't a wrong thing. 

You are, quite simply, a wonder. A love. 

He shouldn't be here. Eddie's playing a show tomorrow night halfway across the country. If even one thing goes wrong with his red-eye, he's fucked. Someone from Rollerboy will murder him, and he'll deserve it. But he's here, because he wanted to see you and miraculously you wanted to see him. A late night phone call from one hotel room to another, his quiet confession. 

"I miss you," he'd said. 

You'd hesitated for half a second, if that. "Come and see me, then." 

So he ditched the bus, got a cab, flew out with his rockstar money and crawled into your bed. You haven't slept together, only laid with one another talking about how much being a musician sucks and how awful you both are for complaining. You'll relax around him now, and he thinks more about seeing you again than he does your muddled past, and he knows that counts for something. 

"Do I think I'll move away from glam metal?" he repeats, thoughts not strictly yours. 

He's trying to write about how you look now before you move, before he can forget it. Your figure curled up yet limp beside him, your hand on his stomach and your shirt climbing up the hill of your hip, the pudge of your stomach peaking out. You're wearing something much more showy than the last time he saw you, having done press a couple hours before his arrival and with no will to change. Your tights are dark and floral lace, stretched over sweet thighs vaguely hidden by your black skirt. For all the leg on show he can't see a hint of your top half before your neck. You're layered in fabrics. He loves it, you look awesome, and you'd been amazingly flustered when he told you.

Careful not to smudge your glittery make up, he'd tried to kiss you in the lobby. You'd nearly squeaked, grabbing him by the arm to pull him to the elevator bank. 

"Can't blame a guy for trying. Have you seen yourself today? Actually? You're fucking killer." 

You'd shushed him and clicked the wrong floor button. He pretended not to notice when you corrected yourself. 

Most of the makeup is gone now, kissed off and the rest washed away, but your lashes are still lengthened and they look it as you prop yourself up by his hip and ask, "Well?" 

"No," he says honestly. There's always room to grow, and music changes with time and with an evolving scene, but Corroded Coffin are famous for how they sound now. "I love how we sound… Do you think you'll ever move into glam metal?" 

"Is there any room?" 

"No, but when has that ever stopped anyone?" 

He folds his pen between the leaves of his notebook and chucks it toward his bag in the corner of your room. You shift yourself, not quite sitting up as you pull off your sheer long sleeve and the regular long sleeve beneath it, exposing your arms and your chest to his view. He hadn't been expecting a tank top beneath. 

He whistles. Can't help himself. 

You dive to hide your face in the sheets, one arm tucked uncomfortably under your weight and across your chest, the other sliding away from his navel. "Shut up," you murmur. 

"Sorry. You're just pretty." 

"Didn't say that before I got my tits out, I notice." 

He laughs at your grumbling and leans down to talk softly. "Ah, but I did, didn't I? Told you you were 'fucking pretty' but maybe you didn't hear me, you were kissing me so hard–" 

You reach blindly for his face and push him away from you, not half as roughly as you could. 

He's messing with you. It's his prerogative. 

Being your almost boyfriend comes with privileges, like being privy to how you're feeling. Once unbeknownst to Eddie and probably everyone in your life, you're not a very happy person. He could guess why, he's not blind, but thinking it and knowing it are two different ponds. You don't say much about it, embarrassed by or maybe unable to verbalise how you're feeling beyond, "I'm tired of everything today," and, "Sorry, I'm just worried." 

About what? he'd asked. 

You'd nibbled your lip. Everything. Nothing worth saying out loud.

He'd make jokes anyhow, but he makes more of them when he thinks you're feeling down. Teasing you is a surefire trick to distract you from all the stuff you can't handle. 

It's piling on, he knows. Morgan on the news again, shirtless in a public club, your startled face in the background. You'd been poked fun at by TV hosts and journalists alike. Nothing cruel, but making you the butt of a joke nonetheless. Then there was Ananya's continued selective mutism, disagreements over stage blocking, your ever-present employment anxiety, your very first hate letter disguised as a love note, and, to Eddie's surprise, radio silence from your friend Dornie. 

He didn't like Dornie to begin with. Now he hates him. 

"Don't push me away," he whines. 

"Don't make fun of me." 

"But you look lovely when you're mad." He grins at you where you're glaring, only your eyes and brows visible in your position. "Exactly like that." 

"Lovely," you say. He can hear in your voice how the mock fight you'd started has sputtered out. You sound genuine again, a little raspy with oncoming fatigue. 

"You don't like that word?" 

You lay flat on your back. Head on the pillows, hands to your collar and fingers picking at one another, you look down at them and away from him and Eddie can't stand losing your attention. He ushers away his notebook on the sheets and climbs toward you on knees. He checks your face as he positions himself between your legs. You smile. He smiles back. He thinks maybe this is what you secretly wanted him to do. 

"You like Status Quo?" you ask. 

He smiles and lets his weight press down on you, not paying much attention to what goes where, only the feeling of being on top of you, this close, and being allowed. "Yeah?" 

"Showaddywaddy?" 

"Beg your pardon?" he jokes. 

"Let's go for a little walk," you sing under your breath. 

"Yeah. I liked that song." He sings, "I wanna tell you, that I love ya." You nod happily. 

"Queen?" you ask, quieter still. 

"Don't ask stupid questions." 

"It's weird that we managed to find each other," you say. "Though everything. You had to like all that music, we had to want this bad, we had to be born at the same time, in the same scenes, and we had to go to the same stupid party." 

He hangs his head. "I was in a mood." 

"You were. I figured you were an asshole, you know?" 

Eddie takes a deep, deep breath. "I remember." 

"I was… pathetic," you say softly, letting your hands drop flat to your chest. You change your mind, tuck a curl behind his ear. "I was desperate, your friend Jamison… it doesn't matter. I don't know what I'm trying to say." 

"There's a difference between pathetic and lonely. You tried to make friends, and I was being a dick because–" He sucks the inside of his cheek. 

"'Cos you tried to talk to me and I made fun of your court case?" you ask, self-deprecating. 

"Because you didn't know me." 

You poke his cheek gently. "That mattered that much to you?" 

"Sweetheart, we met before." 

Eddie watches you hear him, and spots the resistance to what he's suggesting. He needles his arms under your waist to feel the breadth of your back in his palms, close enough to kiss you, but wanting to hear what you have to say about it more. 

"We did," he says. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I think about a year before we met at the party, we met at the airport. You weren't in Godless, you weren't even a tech yet, you were on your way to meet the tour in New York. We met, and we talked about music, and I told you to come and meet me if you ever found yourself in the same place."

You'll put me on a list? you'd asked, charmed by his wanting to see you, as impossible as it may have seemed then.

I'll put you on the list. 

"When I saw you," he says, eyes on the curve of your bottom lip, "I was hoping you'd come to see me, but you didn't remember me, I could tell straight away, and I– I'd gotten so used to people saying yes to me that I got more pissed than I should've. I feel like a loser, telling you now, but–" But it meant something, meeting you before. It meant something. 

"We did meet," you say, voice like a line of spider web weighed down, and abruptly plinking back up. "You gave me a sticker. I dropped it down a storm drain straight off the plane." 

He nods encouragingly, "I gave you a Corroded Coffin sticker–" 

"With a rose in the background," you interrupt.  

"Yeah. You remember? You had those huge can headphones and your guitar was falling apart, and I told you about Sweetheart 'cos she was still pretty impressive at the time. You didn't have time to try her before boarding, so…" 

"So you said I could give her a try the next time we saw each other." 

Eddie bites his lip. "Yeah." 

Your breath is noticeably quickened, your gaze snapping onto his face. Recollection lights your eyes, and then, like he'd so desperately wanted to see months ago when he wandered into you of all people at a sticky, snow-loaded party, you smile at him. Like you missed him. Like you can't believe your luck. 

"Well, hey, stranger," you whisper, your thumb rubbing along his bottom lip, fingers tucked neatly behind his ear. "I remember you." 

"You took your time," he says. 

"You could've said something," you say, chin dipping to your chest. "How did you remember me after that long?"  

He's trying not to get broken up with before he's officially your boyfriend; he wants to say, You're hard to forget, but he refrains. 

He leans in for a silky, soft kiss. "Immaculate memory," he says in the slice of time your lips aren't touching, a second gap as he turns his head to better kiss your top lip. 

"Is there anything you can't do?" you indulge. 

"Can't get this one really beautiful thing to let me take her photo," he says. 

You giggle and push him away. "'Cos I know what kind of picture you want, Eddie!" 

"I already told you that's not true, dirty photos are an epidemic I've yet to feed into." He's a man, not a Saint —he'd fucking love a dirty photo, but he really does just want a Polaroid for his wallet. "How about we both have a Polaroid of each other? So you don't forget me?" 

Guilt lines your smile. "I'm sorry," you say, dragging him down for a kiss. "Sorry, sorry. I won't forget you again, Munson…" You rub his cheek with your thumb. "If I let you take a photo, will you forgive me?" 

You're already forgiven. "Three photos." 

"Deal." 

"Should've asked for five." 

"You could've asked for the full cartridge and a dirty one and I might've said yes. I can't believe we met before.." 

Eddie rests his nose on your cheek, eyes closed, already trying to remember how many photos there are left on his camera. "I don't want a picture of your tits because you feel guilty, babe." He laughs as he talks, then, the joke feels that good to say, "I want one because you have the most amazing, killer, gorgeous pair of–" 

You screech to cover his bold compliments and whack his chest playfully. "Get off of me, you freak! Get off, get off, get off." 

Eddie flips onto his back, chuckling. 

"How would you even know?" you ask, slipping off of the bed with a little thump and down by your suitcase. You chuck your shitty Polaroid Spectra onto the sheets by his arm and rifle around for a foil sealed cartridge. "You've barely seen them." 

Like past Eddie, this Eddie still wants to fuck you stupid, but he also really isn't interested in intiating anything before you're ready. He's hoping you'll make the first move, and maybe soon, but watching the tip of your tongue breach your lips as you climb on your knees to fiddle with the Spectra, he's not really thinking about sex. 

"I've seen them," he disagrees. 

"You have not." 

"Have too." 

"Have not." 

"I'm seeing them right now." 

You look down at your chest. The tank top you're wearing isn't especially scandalous, Eddie just loves your shape. 

"Okay," you say, shyness creeping into your voice and stature, your shoulders bunching up toward your neck a touch, "if I say something and it's too weird, you can tell me no. Please tell me no." 

He shakes his head gently when you don't add anything else. "What?" he asks. 

"Do you really want a dirty photo? You could take one. I wouldn't mind," you say. 

Your voice drops to a murmur with the last two words. Eddie hikes up on his elbows, smile curling and appling his cheeks. "You don't still feel bad about forgetting lil ole me?" 

"Of course I do, but it's not why I'm offering. I really like you, Eddie. I want to do things other couples do." 

Earnestness has you sounding your best: your voice has always been one of his very favourite things about you. Your voice, your smile, your passion (maybe that one most of all). When you talk as you are now, without anything in the way, he thinks he might be at his most infatuated. 

"I really like you," he says, reaching out to steal your hand from the camera. "What I want most is one with your smile, get me? One I can flash at the boys while I'm away, brag about you." 

"I thought we weren't telling anyone," you say gently. 

"Not for now. I'll need it eventually, right?" 

You beam at him. "Right." 

You pick up your camera and aim it at his face. He knows how he must look, his hair frizzy from hours on a small plane, lips sore from kissing you, ridiculously happy. Now you know everything about him he'd been purposefully hiding. All the bad in all of the good, and all the good in all of the bad. He can't wait to tell you the rest. 

The flash blinds him for a split second, and your camera chugs as it ejects the photo. You drop it on the sheets and you and Eddie crane your heads together, foreheads kissing while the image appears. 

"That's a good one, right?" he asks. Upside down, he's not sure.

"It's really perfect," you say. 

Eddie lifts your chin for another silken kiss. 

"Listen," he says as he breaks away, his lips tingling, heart in his throat. "Can I be your boyfriend?" 

He hadn't meant to ask like that. 

You nod slowly, then quickly, trying uselessly to tamp an ecstatic smile as you paw at his arms. Eddie pulls you back up onto the bed and you make camp in his lamp, hands in his hair and lips like an undulating wave against his. He kisses you until he can't think.

—

The photographer standing outside of the Colo De Amante is cold, fingertips frostbitten and nose like ice, but it's worth it for the photo he gets. Eddie Munson peeling out of the hotel in the late night when he's supposed to be in a different state, hair banded out of his face, giving the photographer a great view of his pleased features. 

The camera clicks. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! please reblog if you have the time!! i love them being all loveydovey but im excited for the drama to start again

[gumycandyyy]

୨♡ "Ａｔ Ｙｏｕｒ Ｂｅｃｋ Ａｎｄ Ｃａｌｌ" ♡୧

Trying out a oneshot! Or something like that idk.

Winter King x reader

Romantic

GN reader

RQ: nah fam, I accept requests though!

Word count: 1390

No use of y/n

Summary: You're adventuring through this interesting little world, and find yourself in a snowstorm. Next thing you know, you're in some kind of ice palace. What happened?

Walking through the snow, you look up into the sky. Cloudy. Best be quick.

A chilly breeze sneaks through the fabric of your shirt and deep into your bones. It would've been better if you'd brought a jacket. Though you didn't think your wish prepared you for that.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"I wish..."

"You better think about this hard, dude. You only get one."

"Okay, okay. I wish... Hm..."

"Want a pickle?"

You agreed to Prismo's offer, gladly taking the snack. You crunched while you thought. Man, these were good pickles.

"Okay man, I'll admit I got nowhere to be, but you were kinda interrupting me. I was watching TV."

You tell Prismo that he can watch while you think, as you hadn't thought you would make it this far. He shrugged, and pressed a button on his remote.

You saw him flipping through channels rapidly, looking for one in particular.

"Hey, Prismo."

"Hm?"

"Are those just.. Shows? Or-"

"Oh, they're universes. Y'know, the multiverse theory right? I just get to watch everything. Perks of being an omnipresent god-type thing."

You think about your wish for another few moments. You snapped your fingers, and Prismo paused the TV.

"You know what you want?"

You nodded, rubbing your hands together.

"I wish that I-" "Be descriptive. Just in case, Y'know?"

You sighed with an exasperated smile. Taking a deep breath, you asked your question.

"I wish that I had the ability to travel freely and safely through the multiverse at will."

Prismo coughed loudly, as if choking on something. He took a deep breath, sighing.

"Okay, okay. So- I actually don't know if I'm allowed to do that."

"sigh."

"Did- did you just say 'sigh'?"

Prismo shook his question off, and sighed himself. He explained to you what he was and wasn't allowed to do, and how you were in a gray area of the rules. He finally shrugged.

"What could go wrong?"

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly you weren't in the time-cube-thingy anymore. You were in a grassy field. You felt something in the back of your pocket, and bringing it out, you saw a small pocket watch.

There was a note folded up and taped to the back of it. The handwriting was almost too small to see.

Yo, this thing is weird, right? Just wind the clock when you wanna change universes.

Don't break it.

I'm serious, this thing is expensive.

So armed with nothing but your wit and a pocketwatch, you traversed throughout the multiverse.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You wished that you would've added 'immortality' to Prismo's wish.

The wind was picking up, whipping your hair around. You looked into the sky, seeing the clouds grow dark, and snow beginning to sprinkle. It was almost astounding how quickly the weather could change.

A few stray snowflakes blew straight into your mouth as you breathed in, causing you to cough. The wind whipped through you, and the snow fell into your eyes. The sky was as dark as ever, and the snow clumping to your feet made it hard to walk.

You wish you thought of bringing a jacket.

You really wish you thought of bringing a jacket.

It didn't even occur to you to leave this universe, you were too cold to think. Stumbling around in this white wasteland, you wondered if there were any towns nearby.

Just as you thought of that, you saw a light in the distance. Struggling to climb up an embarrassingly small hill, you saw a glowing little town next to a palace probably around a quarter mile away. It looked to be made of ice, but that might just be you blurred vision.

You staggered through the snow, just trying to make it to the town.

You stop in place when you realize you can't feel a single thing in your body. Breathing in deep through your nose and cringing at the chilled air, you decided to use up the last of your energy to get to that little town as quickly as possible.

Bringing your arms up and crossing them, you tried to keep as much warmth to your chest as possible. After getting within about 100 paces to the town, you were ready to collapse. You heard light and seasonal music playing from the town, and hummed along deliriously.

People were ice skating on a small lake near you, and you tried to call for help.

But you couldn't get out more than a whisper.

Collapsing into the snow, your vision blurred and darkened. Just as you were about to lose consciousness, you heard a voice.

"Ice scouts! Come help this-"

Then you were out.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The next thing you knew, you were inside some glittering blue room. Was this place made of ice? Impossible, you were warm. Looking down, you saw that you were covered in blankets. Fluffy, Warm, blankets... You almost wanted to fall back asleep...

You sat up quickly, realizing you didn't know where you were. You then heard a soft voice from your bedside.

"Oh, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

You looked to your side, seeing a man sitting in a chair, reading some book. You couldn't see its title. The man had light blue skin, white hair, a long nose, and sparkling eyes.

You noticed he was dressed quite elegantly, and a crown sat atop his head.

"Who are you?"

He blinked for a moment, and laughed softly while slapping his forehead. He stood up, brushing himself off.

"Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is the Winter King. You'd passed out in the snow when my ice scouts and I were not but twenty feet away from you!"

You introduced yourself,and tried to remember what exactly happened, but couldn't. You just had to take the Winter King's word for it.

Wait..

Winter King.

You quickly apologized for being so nonchalant with royalty, but Winter King stopped you.

"Oh, no need for such formalities. You are a guest. It's my duty to serve you. If it would make you feel better, you may just call me Winter."

He sat down again, looking at you. Not in a creepy way, just... curious.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. The air was cold, but not nearly as dreadful as the blizzard outside. You then realized something strange. You asked Winter why it hadn't been pouring snow in the town. He laughs softly, smiling gently at your question.

Man, he was pretty.

"Oh, my dear, I have control over this domain. From every ice sculpture to every snowflake. While sometimes I cannot control the weather, I can however, keep it from affecting my town."

From your basic understanding of magic logic, this seemed plausible enough. You went to stand up, but suddenly felt very fatigued, your legs wavering. Winter stood up from his seat, ready to catch you if need be.

You cleared your throat, sitting down. Only then did you realize how much your throat hurt. You coughed for a moment, trying to get this scratchy feeling out. Winter noticed what you were doing, then gently clapped his hands. A person- looking to be made out of ice- skated into the room, holding a tray with a glass of water on it.

You thanked the little ice servant, and thanked Winter.

Winter seemed a little perplexed that you thanked the servant, but carried on, as it wasn't anything to fuss about.

"I see you're sick. Sometimes I can forget that people aren't immune to the effects of my wondrous realm."

He seemed to be really proud of his little winter wonderland. You looked out a massive window to see the town below.

The town.

You were in the castle.

Huh.

"However, I am more than willing to aid you throughout your journey to regain your health!"

This man cannot be real. He's so incredibly kind! You've never really met any royalty, but you guessed that Winter was pretty much the nicest king in history.

You sneezed into your elbow, then cleared your throat once again.

"Rest for now, my dear. Though, if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask. I am at your beck and call."

Winter bowed, then gracefully slid out of the room. You forgot the floor was made of ice. Snuggling into the plush pillows and multiple blankets, you closed your eyes,

and drifted off.

︵‿︵‿T B C‿︵‿︵

My first Winter King oneshot! This was so fun to make. Tell me if you'd like a part two!

reblog for a beginner writer?

Your complimentary WK fanart ^^

Please send asks! I love writing prompts!

[solar4seekstron]

Tf1!Orion Pax/Optimus Prime x Cybertronian!GN!Reader Oneshot: Meet Again

A special thanks to @heavenlykunoichi for requesting this. I had so much fun as always writing for our boy OP. No matter which OP he is lol. I hope you all enjoy and a repost is always appreciated.

Tw/Tags: not much just fluff and op asking you on a date:

You knew Orion as the little dare devil around the mines and city. You were always a part of the same shift and while you two don’t always talk much…..Yeah you both pined for each other for a good while. You thought he was cute and funny can others really blame you? Same thing goes to him. Everytime you aren’t around he immediately starts talking to D about you.

And D always responds with ‘go talk to them then. And let me sleep.’ But Orion never does shut up. And so after that you both continued on as you both always exchange looks and smiles. Both too shy to really try to speak to eachother.

It wasn’t until one day when he randomly disappeared. Only for Sentinel to say he and his best friend died due to their race wounds. You hated yourself ever since.

You never cared for the race and just took the opportunity to go in the city and look for treats for yourself since your friends descided to go the stadium. Even as you dealt with the daily racism and made your way into he store with whatever money you head. You didn’t pay much attention to all the TVs playing the race.

Even by chance missing the part where the announcer says ‘two miners’ every time.

And so after some time you were a lot more down and out of it. Even at times not hearing the surprises like Darkeing making racist and even remarks toawrds your frame as their way of flirting. That didn’t stop them though.

Out of no where Sentnel would order for you all to do more and more shifts even over time. And so that’s all you did. Even ignoring the superiors as kept at it. The only thing keeping you to keep going is the memory of Orion. And so you don’t stop even when Darking tried to convince that he can take you out of work.

When Orion returned, now with a cog. You were still in the mines for one of the shifts in order to help others to continue and go faster.

Orion was pretty saddened. And the pain in his spark was heavy.

During the fight when the secret of Sentinel was realesed. You were one of the bots pushing the carts. You even pushed the carts down in anger as you yelled along side the others. You and the other miners then leave to go to the surface. From there you watched as D fought sentinel. And then Orion..and then…

You saw him die…. You were one of the bots who watched in horror. The pain in your optics as you could only watch. And then as D became Megatron…..Orion came back!!!

You felt joy in your spark as you watched him. He and Megatron then engage into battle. You could only watch until Optimus woukld soon claim victory. Banishing Megatron to the surface. And from there. Energon came back. And you had a cog! But you weren’t really able to greet Optimus as he cheered with the other former miners. So many others kept getting to him first. That the day was already almost over. You all got to stay in hotels and empty houses now that you cant really stay in the sleeping quarters.

And so you stayed in one of the hotels close by the tower where Optimus is staying. Most likely in a meeting with his closest friends. As you stared up at the tower of the window before heading to recharge. The next day you were looking for new work but made sure to stay close to the tower. For any chance to see Optimus.

As you spoke to Ratchet to help with patience. Since you always wanted to work in medican. You would then hear a voice from afar.

”Y/N!” you turned around and saw Optimus. You walked up to you and waved as others watched him and cheered. He defiantly has a crowd. Ratchet lets you know he’ll be expecting you in his office and be apply to have you join.

You thanked him and looked at Optimus. You both stood there only a few inches from each other and stared into each others optics. You both then about to speak first until Optimus apologized and said you first.

”S-so prime huh? And you just had to leave work for over a day?” He chuckled rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down. You sighed and held your cervos together as you looked down as well. He looked back at you. “Optimus I’ve been wanting to ask….um…since you’ve been busy and all…”

”Yeah?’ He said softly as he stared down at you. His optics soft as he did take a step closer to you. You still don’t move. “I-I well I always had a sort of…crush on you..and..”

You’d then feel a cervo on your shoulder. Only to get your attention as it moved to gently hold you chin as you looked up at him.

”I…like you too…I know we didn’t do much ‘cause well I didn’t always know what to say to you…but would you like to…go out sometime? Like lunch or something?” You only stared at him with puppy eyes. Feeling so much joy.

”I..I’d love to Optimus..” He chuckled as he keeps looking at you with admiration. “I’ll comm you then Sweetspark.” He turns, his cervo leaving from holding your chin. Until he stopped and looked back at you. Walking closer to you again.

”Oh and before I forget.” He then leaned down. A cervo behind your back and another on your wrist. Gently being held as before you knew it. His dermas were on yours. As soft kiss and passionate. It didn’t take much time for you to return the kiss.

Closing your optics as he did the same. Both of you stayed like this for a moment longer as others watched and walked by. He eventually pulled away and winked at you. “Until then Sweetspark.”

”Until then….sweetspark.” You’d say as he walked off. You finally did it…..YOU HAVE A DATE WITH HIM. You’re definitely a lucky bot in this city for sure! You couldn’t be any more happy!

This was so fun to write! I enjoyed writing for OP and ugh I love writing his cuteness and how silly he can be. I always enjoy writing for him and I had lots of fun with this Oneshot. I hope you all enjoyed and read my other works. I hope you all have a good rest of your day and continue to enjoy my later works.

[jayjj7]

chapter 22. c u girl

prev. | next | masterlist

it was pretty late now, an hour till midnight and you were still over at chaewons place. you guys had just finished cooking the heart shape pizzas that were not measured properly, causing them to come out bigger than expected. not ideal but you both got a good laugh out of it. now you were both sitting on the couch, trying to decide on what movie to watch.

“oooh, how about this one?” chaewon hovers over the movie with the remote, opening up the movies menu and description.

“mm, no that one looks sad. i’m not in the mood to cry right now.” you give chaewon a blank look as she rolled her eyes.

she was on the opposite side of the couch cuddled up with shiro. was it silly to be jealous over her dog? yes. did that stop you? nope.

“shiro! come here!” you spoke in a higher pitched voice which shiro followed as he made his way over to your lap.

“hey that’s not fair! he’s my dog!” chaewon scoots to the middle of the couch to pet him.

“oh let’s watch that one!” you point to the dark movie cover on the tv.

“yn, i am not watching a horror movie at this hour!” chaewon tilts her head in protest.

“yes we are” you shoot her a smile before taking the remote and selecting the movie.

it’s safe to say that you should’ve listened to chaewon: the movie was pretty bad, it was hard to keep your attention on the movie. but for some reason, this movie had chaewon entranced. her eyes would not move off the screen, only occasionally to pick up another slice of pizza. you had only eaten about a quarter of yours by this point and felt exhausted.

it had gotten pretty cold so the blanket you had borrowed was perfectly placed over you two. the warmth, the exhaustion, that anxious feeling in your stomach was slowly taking you out. as much as you wanted to stay awake and talk to chaewon, sleepiness took over you.

your head slowly falling to the side, breathing slowing down, chaewon had noticed this from the corner of her eye. she scooted closer to you so your head lay perfectly on her shoulder. it was now chaewons mission to not move an inch until you would wake.

taglist: [ @haerinsloverr @mym1na @greenniee @gayforalll @r4cjh @masuowo @herlv3r @bristadc @hwmhyun @cine-cult @technicallyimportantsweets @blue4hour @modanisgf @mah4u @pandafuriosa60 @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @lovepjohootoa @imahallucination11 @frenchyypoo @seunghancore @airicestala @ssamchu @multiliker @mushroom-main @wlauvers4ever] taglist is open

[circeyoru]

Nightmare Catcher = Requested

[Alastor | Vox | Lucifer x Nightmare!Reader] - separate

The Request

Alastor, The Radio Demon

Alastor’s a light sleeper or he doesn’t sleep. You do and he doesn’t find fault in that. He’d sit on his side of the bed with a book in hand or some times he’ll be writing in a notebook gifted by you for some broadcasting ideas, all while the his bedstand’s lamp is on at the lowest possible lighting

He’s notice you groaning and shifting in your sleep. The shifting was normal, but not the groaning and the way your face crunched up in distress. His eyes turn to you and observes for a while before muttering soft, “Dear? My darling?”

You don’t reply but the groaning and shifting continues

Now that he’s positive you’re having a nightmare, he’ll try to wake you up as gently as possible to not freak you out too much. Probably nudging you or shaking you awake

If you wake up, like snap awake, he’ll apologize for waking you and explain you were groaning and shifting more than usual. He doesn’t ask if you have a nightmare, he’ll let you say it to him. Either way, he’ll reassure you the same. Whatever you dreamed wouldn’t happen to you. Whoever was trying to cause you harm wouldn’t be able to come near you. 

He’ll be there to protect you 

If you don’t wake up, he’ll put away his stuff and lay down next to you, turning off the lights. As gently and smoothly as he could, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close to him. Adjusting you so you’d be listening to his heartbeat while his hand patted the back of your head

His humming calms you down and you unconsciously latch onto him too

When you wake up the next day, neither of you will talk about it unless you bring it up. Otherwise, Alastor will comment how he had another lovely night with you and the two of you would make breakfast together

Vox, The TV Demon

Here’s a question. How do you sleep with a demon with a TV for a head?

Funny thing. Vox doesn’t sleep on a bed, he sits in a very very comfortable giant chair without any hard surfaces and sleeps like that

Now you don’t do that. Nope. You sleep on the bed

So when you have a nightmare? You wake up in a cold sweat and looked around. You got your barings hugging a pillow and wrapped your blanket around you for comfort. You mutter Vox’s name, hoping he hears you somewhere since you didn’t know if he was awake or asleep

If he was awake, he’d catch your name calling and zap through the technology to your room. “What’s wrong? There an intruder?”

You hug onto him, still wrapped up but your pillow was discarded. While he hates dealing with childish acts (Valentino), you were an exception

He brings you back to the bed and has you comfortable before asking what’s wrong. Whether you tell him or not, he plays you funny videos on his TV screen to lighten you up or music to calm you down until your eyes get droopy and you yawn. He stays by your side until you sleep, he silently works beside you though

If he was asleep. Haha. Good luck. Oh, not you, it’s Vox. If it’s one thing he doesn’t like people seeing it was his sleeping form. Because he shuts down, with a black screen and all that. He has like a fixed schedule set to wake up after shutting down

Still, he gave you a special code to his quarters when you need to come. You wrapped up in your blanket and hugging your pillow tip-toed to Vox’s room. On the way, you’d be debate whether to go or not. You went

You poked his screen first, he doesn’t wake up. His chair was big and comfty, matching that of a bed’s. So you got comfortable on Vox’s lap, leaning on his chest with your ears on top of where his heart would be, your pillow on the armrest to cushion your back then you covered the both of you in the giant blanket

You kissed the side of his face (screen) and said night. Slowly falling asleep

Next day, Vox thought Valentino or Velvette played a prank on him. Imagine his surprise to find you on his lap peacefully asleep. He checked last night’s CCTV to make sure you weren’t in danger, just a nightmare, he bets

But he delays his schedules and shows just to enjoy you on his lap

(a full day of work was gone and Vox got a vacation from taking care of Valentino)

Lucifer, The King of Hell

I swear he’s the one with nightmares- But this time it was you with the nightmares

He immediately stirs when you shift too much, even getting warmer to the point that he felt like he was hugging a heater. He wake up and notice immediately you’re having a nightmare

He copies what you do for him. Wake you up gently and holds your cheeks so you’d be focusing on him. “Look at me, My Apple. You’re safe with me.”

He leads you to do a breathing exercise with him, when you were done and more calm, his forehead connects with yours. He asks if you want to talk about, since he felt better when you listened to him, he offers the same to you

You nodded

Lucifer immediately starts snapping his fingers, conjuring so much familiar objects and items. They were all your favourites. From comfort items, entertainment, food and even drinks. He spared no expenses for you

His goofy attitude lightened you up and you almost forget about the nightmare. Still though, you tell him

Midway, he summons his wings and wrap you around with them, a comforting reminder that he was there with you. You comb your hands through his wings, even leaning against them with a comforted sigh

Lucifer laid you back down, this time with his wings as the blanket and his chest as the pillow. He sings softly to lull you to sleep, humming after you were sleeping until he was positive you were dead asleep, then he’ll sleep

Next morning? He surprises you with a day at his Lu Lu Land. He’s such a goof ball you can’t resist him

Note: Ha! There! How you like this? Next try on Vox actually. Surprised I got more to write for him than I imagine. I thought he'd have the least content

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Imagine doing your nails while Gibbs is down with his boat and he comes up earlier and expected and is surprised to see you awake

“Why are you still awake?”

“Why are you still awake?”

And him ending up staying until you’re done

Little Things

“I’ll be up soon.”

Your boyfriend’s famous words to you at least 3 times a week. You never understood why he said it as if he didn’t always end up coming to bed till many hours later, usually when you were already asleep.

You knew there were many reasons he stayed down there in the musky basement, tinkering away with his beloved DIY projects, decompression being one of them. Whether it was a stressful day at work, a particularly disturbing case he was assigned to, or just really dedicated to building various pieces of woodwork, he spent at least a quarter of his life down there.

It didn’t bother you for the most part, it was his biggest way of coping and you weren’t going to ruin that for him just so you could get a few extra hours of cuddles in with him.

But tonight was different, only because you were far from tired and decided that you’d use the time to do your nails.

Once you brought all of your supplies down into the living room, you turned the tv on low, mainly for white noise and got to work prepping your toes first. Your choice of color this week was going to be a taupe-like shade. Perfect color for the fall season and it would match with just about anything you wore. Had you been skilled enough, you would’ve added acrylics but decided to leave that to the professionals and just stick with the base and top coat.

After painting and cleaning up the edges on your toes, you got to work on the rest of your nails, struggling once it came to your non dominant hand. You were concentrating so hard on not painting outside the lines, you didn’t even notice your boyfriend come up.

“Why are you still awake?” he asked in curiosity, walking over to observe your makeshift nail salon. There were files, cue tips and cotton balls strewn across the dining room table and a half empty bag of kettle chips you had been intermittently snacking on.

“Why are you still awake?” you countered with playful sass.

He put up his hands in mock surrender and walked over to the kitchen to grab a beer before coming back over and taking a seat next to you. The silence was comfortable as he grabbed the remote and changed the channel, offering you a sip of his beer. You accepted, giving it back to him and grabbed the bag of chips, holding it out as an offer. He grabbed a handful and set it back on the table as you continued your painting, occasionally asking him to hand you the acetone soaked cotton ball.

Once you had gotten done applying the final top coat, your back was killing you and you were getting light headed from all the air blowing you did to speed up the drying process. Jethro was still relaxed into the couch beside you, hand caressing little patterns on your back, content as he went back and forth from watching his movie to watching you.

“How do you like the color? I think it’s very chic in my opinion,” you spoke, smiling as he nodded in agreement.

“Looks good,” was all he said. He could care less what color you painted your nails and only gave you an answer to make you happy but that’s one of the reasons why you loved him. All he ever wanted to do was make you feel beautiful and heard. Even when it came to minuscule things such as a nail polish color. You didn’t need him to give you long articulated compliments, you had figured out his shorthand a long time ago.

He made you stay on the couch as he cleaned everything up and turned everything off.

“You can grab your supplies in the morning,” he said before picking you up bridal style, making you laugh and hold onto his neck.

“Jethro, the polish is dry, I can walk.”

“I know.”

You reveled in how easily he carried you upstairs and into your bedroom, only setting you down so the both of you could brush your teeth and get undressed for bed.

The two of you faced each other in bed, you running your fingers through his hair as he hummed in appreciation with his eyes closed. Placing a kiss on his nose, you whispered.

“Goodnight Jethro.”

“Mnight,” he mumbled already half a sleep from your brushing fingers ministrations but pulled you in for a proper kiss afterwards, leaving you with a smile.