#i spent over thirty minutes trying to figure out what was going on with that flickering but i've no clue soo....ignore it <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[ncthandrake]

We could carry on driving, but I’d say this place is as good as any other part of nowhere we might find.

[rhys-writes-some-shit]

Cuddles

Alastor x Reader (QP)

You were always respectful of the fact that Alastor didn't like physical touch that he didn't initiate. You never asked why, never tried to force him otherwise, never even considered trying to touch him without his consent. This remained true for all the years you'd known him.

But sometimes it got really fucking difficult.

After a long day of work, then chores, then helping with the hotel, you were absolutely exhausted. And you still had dinner to look forward to. As much as you loved Al, his need for dinner formality really got on your nerves sometimes. At least the food was good.

Luckily, there was a little time where you could escape to your room. Closing the door behind you, you kicked off your shoes and dramatically collapsed onto the bed. As soon as your body hit the mattress, you wanted to stay there for the rest of eternity.

But that wasn't an option.

Groaning, you decided it wouldn't hurt to close your eyes for a moment. Besides, Alastor would want you to be lucid for dinner. Closing your eyes for a second would help.

"Ah, there you are." Distantly, you heard Alastor poke his head in the room. "I would like your input on supper, if you don't mind."

Unable to muster words, you made some unintelligible noises into the bed, curling up more with the blankets. Alastor's footsteps were muffled by the carpet, so you didn't know he was standing right next to you until he spoke.

"Seriously, darling, it is much too early to be sleeping. Don't be so dramatic."

A hand fell on your shoulder, probably to try and take the blankets off you. However, in your half-awake stupor, you shifted to grab the hand, pulling it towards you in an effort to pull some comfort out of it.

Your brain didn't compute what you'd just done for a full 30 seconds, until, suddenly, it hit you. Despite your exhaustion, you immediately let go of Alastor's hand and jerked to a sitting position.

"Al, I'm so, so sorry," you said, your voice sounding more tired than anything else. You ignored the way your eyes kept trying to close, Alastor's figure being nothing more than a red blur in front of you. "I didn't mean to. Give me a minute, I'll be down to help."

Alastor hummed, the contemplative hum you've learned to differentiate over time. Vaguely, you were aware that Alastor's smile softened a bit.

"I can spare ten minutes," Alastor finally said. "Move over, if you please."

You stared at him, blinking tiredly, struggling to understand what was happening.

Expectantly, Alastor motioned to the bed. "Nine minutes and thirty-five seconds."

Then it kicked in. Hastily, you moved over to the other side of them bed, giving enough room for Alastor to sit down with his back against the headboard.

Blankets curled around your shoulders, you sat there, hesitating.

"You may." Alastor answered the unspoken question. "For eight minutes and fifty-two seconds."

It was impossible to deny the smile that grew on your face as you crawled into Alastor's lap, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes. Gently, Alastor wrapped his arms around you, holding you.

Wrapped in blankets, leaning into Alastor's solid body, the darkness behind your eyelids enveloped you. It felt like you were floating, just your and Alastor, and nothing could ever harm you ever again. As long as you kept your breathing steady, everything would be okay.

Everything would be okay.

You were right; just closing your eyes for a few minutes helped immensely. It was even better that it was spent with one of your favorite people in all of Hell. And if Alastor "accidentally" forgot to keep track of the time, extending your cuddle for an extra two minutes, you weren't going to say anything.

[cjlouwho]

Bucktommy cuddling in bed, please? Doesn't have to lead to anything, just them being soft.

Since their third date, when Buck told Tommy about his fears after getting struck by lightning and how he spent so long texting Bobby every morning to make sure everything was alright, Buck woke up to a text from Tommy.

Without fail.

Five straight months of 6am texts. Even the days he was working, when he was already awake and had been for a while, he'd still get a text to check in.

That's why Buck's heart nearly sunk directly to the floor when he checked his phone one morning at 6:32am, right after they'd gotten back from a call, to see that Tommy hadn't texted him.

He hesitated briefly, but sent Tommy a heart, followed by a everything okay?

Another thing Tommy had always been great at is answering Buck back quickly. The only time he didn't, or couldn't, was when he was working.

And he wasn't working today.

It didn't take long for Bobby to notice him glaring down at his phone.

“What's wrong, Buck?”

“Oh,” Buck put his phone back in his pocket, waving Bobby off. “It's nothing. No big deal.”

“You sure? Looks like it might be. Everything okay?”

Buck let out a sigh, then explained. “Tommy hasn't missed a morning of texting me for five months. Every single morning, six on the dot.”

“I'm guessing there was no text today?”

Buck shook his head. “No. I texted him, but I haven't heard back. Maybe... Maybe he just overslept? Or forgot, or something.”

“Okay,” Bobby replied with a nod, “well, go get changed and head on out. We've got it covered.”

“But, Cap-”

“Shift ends in thirty minutes anyway. And we both know you won't be able to let it go until you make sure he's alright. Need Eddie to tag along?”

“N- No, I.. I'm sure I'm overreacting.”

“Text me and let me know once you know. And Buck?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Try not to panic.”

Not willing to make any promises, Buck turned and headed for his locker.

*****

It took him nearly half an hour to get to Tommy's place, and he didn't think twice about using the key Tommy had given him a couple months back to let himself in. Especially since he still hadn't heard a word from him.

“Tommy?” He spoke cautiously as he entered the house, trying to keep calm against all the negative thoughts running through his mind.

No answer.

The house was dark. It didn't look like Tommy had been up at all. If it weren't for his car out front, Buck wouldn't think he was there.

He moved further into the house, heading down the hall toward Tommy's bedroom.

“Tommy?” His voice was shaky this time, unsteady.

The door squeaked as he pushed it open, but he immediately sighed a breath of relief when the body tangled up under the covers moved.

“Evan?” Tommy questioned, eyes squinting toward him in confusion. “Why're you here?”

“I'm checking on you.” Buck toed off his shoes and walked over to the bed, crawling up beside Tommy. “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out and resting a hand over his forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

“M'fine,” Tommy answered, wrapping the blankets tighter around his neck. His voice still sounded rough from sleep. “What time is it? You're supposed to be at work.”

“It's a little past seven. I got worried when I didn't get a text from you this morning. Cap let me leave early.”

“Seven?” Tommy looked even more confused by that. He turned and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, shoulders slumping when he confirmed the time. “God, Evan, I'm sorry. I- I didn't know.”

“It's okay,” Buck assured him. “I'm just glad you're not severely injured or dead, like my head decided you were on the way over.”

Tommy smiled softly, holding out his arms for Buck to come lay in.

Happily, Buck pushed the comforter back on his usual side of the bed and laid beside Tommy, resting his head on his chest.

With one of Tommy's hands soothingly rubbing up and down his back, and the other massaging at his scalp, Buck almost allowed himself to be completely at ease.

Almost.

Because he still knew that something was wrong, even if he couldn't quite figure it out yet.

After pressing a kiss to Tommy's pec, Buck asked again, “Are you okay?”

Tommy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he answered. “My mom died thirty years ago today,” he admitted.

Buck stilled, then brought his arm to wrap tighter around Tommy's waist. “Oh, Tommy, I- I had no idea.” He leaned up slightly to be able to look at him. “You didn't tell me before, did you? Because-”

“No, no. I don't ever really talk about it, so I'm sure I've never mentioned it.”

Carefully, Buck rolled off of Tommy, lying flat on the bed. He pulled Tommy along with him, having him rest inside his arms instead. “I decided you're the one needing held today,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Tommy's head.

Tommy laid on him with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of Buck's heart thumping in his chest. “I don't usually miss her this much,” he said. “I mean, I always miss her, but anniversaries don't usually make it worse.”

“Grief has a way of sneaking up on you when you don't expect it.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “It's kind of a pain in the ass.”

Buck huffed out a laugh. “Yes, it is.”

“I just... I think about talking to her a lot. Telling her about my life, you know?”

“Mhm.”

“And there's always been updates here and there. She would have hated me being in the army. Would've been worried sick. She would still worry about me as a firefighter, but she would have been proud. But I think,” he paused, snuggling closer to Buck, “I think this is the first time I could've told her all about my personal life, not just the work stuff.”

Buck's hand stilled from where his fingertips had lightly been brushing over Tommy's arm. “Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah. All these years I've just gone over what work accomplishments I could have talked to her about. I didn't even think about that this time.”

Carefully, Buck scooted further down into the bed. He maneuvered them around until they were both on their sides facing one another. He tangled their legs together, and they each slung an arm around the other's waist.

“What would you have said?” Buck asked. “About your life?”

Tommy smiled. “You wanna hear me talk about you?”

“Oh, this life conversation includes me?” Buck replied cheekily. “I guess that's just a plus.”

Tommy stared into Buck's eyes as he thought over his words. “I would've told her that my friend Howie called me one day and asked me for an insane favor. A favor I probably should've thought twice about, but I didn't. And how he showed up with these two other guys who I'd never seen before. Then one of those guys would go on to make me happier than I ever thought possible.”

Even as he teared up, a smile grew on Buck's face. “You mean Eddie, don't you?”

That got a laugh out of Tommy. A big laugh where his eyes closed and his nose scrunched up. “I'd also tell her he always knows how to make me feel better. And he's good to me, and for the first time in my life I feel complete.”

“You do?” Buck asked, eyes going soft.

“I do. I'd tell her that this guy never stops surprising me. How he cares so deeply about everyone around him that I constantly have to remind him that he exists too. How fiercely protective he is. How safe I feel with him.”

Buck fought at blinking his tears away. He cleared his throat. “Do you think your mom would wanna meet me?”

“Oh, I know she'd wanna meet you. She'd be crazy about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. Because I'd like to tell her more about her son.”

“Evan.”

“I'm serious.” Buck brought his hand to Tommy's face, stroking his cheek. “I'd love to tell her what a great job she did raising you. How gentle you are, how loving and patient you are. How you always listen, and you seem to know how I'm feeling before I do. How I- I'd love to spend the rest of my life beside you, if you'd let me.”

Tommy swallowed hard. “Really?”

Buck nodded.

It wasn't a proposal. They didn't even live together yet. But it was a promise. A promise of a future together without an expiration date.

Tommy cradled himself into Buck's arms again. “I love you so much, Evan.”

Buck held him tight, hoping the depth of love he had for Tommy could be felt through his touch. “I love you too, Tommy.”

[always-just-red]

Hey, a fluff scenario for cuddling with Rafayel? Thank you 🐡✨

This one really got away from me ahaha, whoops. There's also a moment where my fine art degree really leaps out, so look forward to that, everyone. My first time writing for Raf - thank you anon!!

Perspective

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: You've spent two hours preparing a meal for Rafayel, and he has absolutely no intention of sitting down to it.

Genre: fluff fluff FLUFF!

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, cuddling, kisses, lots of intimacy tbh (soft, not spicy!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Thirty minutes. You and Thomas had spent thirty minutes on the phone trying to figure out where your boyfriend actually was. Half an hour of he’s not with you? and no, I thought he was with you!— back and forth, like a metronome, and it wasn’t exactly the first time, either.

You’re seasoned investigators at this point: called constantly out of retirement for one last job you swear you’re too old for, and yet you know is never going to really be the last. You’ve already got matching t-shirts printed for the tortured agent’s next birthday: ‘Special Unit: Find Rafayel.’ (He won’t find it half as funny as you do.)

Neither of you had heard from the artist since Tuesday, and— it being Friday— he was either in his studio, painting, or definitely dead. It fell within your jurisdiction to find out, so you’d driven here two hours ago, texting Thomas upon arriving:

He's alive!! 🥳🥳🥳

You’re less excited about it now.

Stood at Rafayel’s kitchen island, you lay out the last of the buffet you’ve prepared to try to entice him away from his art. It’s worked in the past: has seen him sniff the air and follow his stomach to whatever you were cooking, like a stubborn stray cat.

“C’mon, Raf,” you call out, because he’s not taking the bait. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Not hungry!”

Your fists ball around the cutlery you’re setting down on the marble; he’s not eaten for three days. You glance up at him across the open space of his home, taking a deep breath through your nose as you watch him scrawl away at his painting. Somewhere in your mind, Thomas is speaking. This is what you signed up for, remember?

Reluctantly, you cross between the rooms, folding your arms as you come up behind Rafayel. “Raf,” you insist again, “come and sit down. Please? You need to eat something.”

“I’m fiiiiiine.” His paintbrush drags viridian over the lower third of his piece.

“You’re not fine,” you huff, and he doesn’t respond. “Rafayel.”

“Rafayel?” he mimics with a chuckle. “You’re mad.”

He’s ‘Rafayel’ in only two types of circumstance: when he’s making you really, really happy, or he’s making you consider the career-leap between bodyguard and assassin. It’s an extraordinarily thin line, and he just loves walking the tightrope.

“I’m not mad, just worried. Can’t you come eat with me? Your painting isn’t going anywhere.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, smoothing out a stroke of paint, “but what about my inspiration?”

“That’ll be waiting for you, too.”

“You think?” His lips curve as he pensively pokes at them with the wooden end of his brush. “I guess you did spend a lot of time cooking, huh? And if you’re really that worried, then…” He spins around with wide eyes. An epiphany. “Feed it to me?”

You stare back, unmoved by the puppy-like expression. He looks cute, yeah, but you’re not falling for it again. This is exactly how he looked earlier, when you’d convinced him to at least accept a glass of water. You’d almost drowned him in your subsequent efforts to actually get it down his throat.

Rafayel mixes three colours on his palette as you relive the ordeal. Like the once-white of his shirt, it’s awash with vibrant greens and blues, some fresh, some days-old. He pauses when he’s done, but you can tell he’s itching to get back to the canvas. “Give me, like… half an hour?” he estimates. The number’s been plucked from thin air. “The food’s gonna be delicious, even if it’s cold. You made it!”

“Raf, I—”

“And how can I even enjoy it if I’m racing to get back here? I wanna savour it, y’know? And anyway…” he trails off, his attention drawn by something above.

“Yeah?” you prompt, glancing upwards. There’s nothing there.

His gaze snaps back. “Sorry, the ceiling was doing something weird. But yeah, anyway, it’s not like you have to— I mean, it’s not like I’m going to— wait. What were we talking about again?”

Not much surprises you these days, but your mouth is still agape. Enough is enough. “Put the paintbrush down. You’re done.”

He nonchalantly returns to the painting. “I’m really not, though.”

You narrow your eyes. Reassess. “You were right about the ceiling.”

“Yeah?” He looks up.

You snatch the paintbrush. “Ha!”

He blinks blankly at you and your eagerly-clutched trophy, unfazed by the moment of triumph. “Cute trick,” he shrugs. He runs a finger across the palette and applies the new colour to the painting with a quick sweep. “What’s next, Miss Bodyguard? You gonna cut off my ha— ow, ow, ow! Hey! Take it easy!”

You’re pinching his ear, dragging him wordlessly to the kitchen, because you're out of things to say.

“Fine. Fine!” he groans as he tries to keep up with you. You release him and he straightens, his face pink, but not as pink as his ear. “You win! Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

You stop dead in your tracks, then turn with a look so cold he couldn’t melt it with all of his fire.

“I mean— ahaha,” he laughs nervously, rubbing his neck. “It smells amazing, cutie. You’re amazing. I can’t wait.”

…

Rafayel sits back on his stool, still staring at his painting. The mood is different from earlier. There’s no more restlessness or impatience; he isn’t in a rush. He’s humming a soft song you’re almost certain you’ve heard before, but you can’t quite place the melody. It’s pretty, though: the sort of tune one might recall from a childhood music box, or maybe even a dream.

There’s a clink as you stack two finished plates. Then another. And another.

“Don’t,” Rafayel says quietly, catching your hand before you can collect the plate nearest to him. “I’ll do it later— promise. Sit with me?”

You were never going to say no, but his hands are on your hips before you can say yes, and he’s turning you gently— pulling you up onto his lap. You smile as his arms wrap around you, keeping you from slipping, and he’s warm as you relax back against him.

“What do you think?” he asks, staring out over your shoulder.

Your gaze follows his to the painting, still waiting for him. “It’s okay.”

“Oh yeah?” You can feel him chuckle before it reaches your ears.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a smile, shifting to face him as much as you can. “Kinda pales in comparison to my favourite masterpiece. This one,” you poke two fingers to his chest. “Right… about—” they walk higher, “—here!”

You boop his nose and he immediately scoffs, his face going red. “Sheesh,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eyes. “That was lame.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not!”

He squirms as you laugh and try to touch his cheeks; they’re going to feel hot, and he’s a sore loser. His hands don’t manage to capture yours, so they settle for finding your hips again, swivelling you around until you’re trapped by his embrace. You’re both one misjudged move away from toppling to the floor, so you let him keep his victory. What’s left of his dignity, too.  

Your laughter rescinds like a tide, but the quiet is far from empty.

“C’mon,” Rafayel tries again. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nudging your head, urging you to look forward. His hair is feather-soft on your skin, and he peppers chaste kisses along the line of your jaw. “Tell me. What do you see?”  

You hum contentedly. “A painting.” You’re not thinking about it at all; your eyes are closed.

“And?”

“A plant. A sofa. Some curtains,” you recall.

“You know what I meant,” he grins against you.

You lean back with a sigh, no longer supporting your own weight, but sinking into him with trust and begrudging compliance. It’s not bad, as surrenders go. He gives you a squeeze of encouragement and your head rolls back, stopping at his shoulder. His breath is skirting over your cheek, just barely.

You open your eyes and really look at the painting.

“It’s beautiful, Raf,” you murmur. It is; it was always going to be. “Everything you do is beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, “I know.” But he wants more. “Does it make you think of something, maybe? Anything?”

There’s no right or specific answer. This isn’t remotely your field of expertise, and you’re oceans apart sometimes, so he has to outstretch a hand. Two viewpoints. Two sides of a coin; you never should have seen each-other.

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood.  

Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. Does it make you think of something? Though the marks are fixed, they’re somehow fluid. The emerald tones are marred by shadows, as though something’s lurking beneath the surface, but there are traces of white, too. Light: shimmering.

“Reflections,” you finally answer. “Scattered to anonymity by a now turbulent lake. They belonged to something else, once, but they’ve taken a new shape— a restless and ever-changing identity— and no-one knows what it is, let alone what it was.”

With a satisfied smile, you close your eyes. That ought to keep him quiet for a minute.

Sure enough, Rafayel is silent. You don’t have to see his crystalline eyes to know they’re set on the painting, soaking it in with a new perspective. His favourite perspective: yours.

You have never been strangers to each-other. Two sides of a coin are still the same coin.

With a light laugh of surprise, he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” He’s nuzzling into you again. “I know I can be—”

“A pain in the ass?”

He laughs louder. “I was gonna say eccentric.”

“Oh…” You draw air through your teeth. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Your voice is humourless, your face plain. It lasts all of two seconds, and then the charade is falling to pieces; he’s nibbling at your ear, your neck, and it tickles mercilessly. You giggle, but you don’t try to escape. The punishment fits the crime, and who are you to deny him his justice?

You’re quickly running out of breath, so Rafayel ceases his assault, letting you get it back. “Can I look at you now?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll allow it.”

You shift and he lifts you a little— helping you twist around to face him. He smiles fondly as he links his hands behind you, stopping you from falling as you lean back to enjoy the view. It’s the best kind of smile: one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle, like the water in the painting, but infinitely more pretty.

You want to feel that smile on your lips, so you lean in and kiss him.

It’s tender and perfect and when you’re done, you snuggle closer, wrapping your arms around him and nestling like you’ll be staying there for a while. You can hear his heart, and though a part of it is in his painting, the rest is with you. Always with you.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your work?” you ask as you think of it, smiling into his shirt. He won’t— not tonight.

“Nah,” he says, running his fingers through your hair. “It can wait.”

[star-eyed-angels]

Under The Mistletoe

On the third day of Christmas, I bring this gift to you. Three almost kisses

AKA Jeonghan’s three failed attempts at trying to kiss you under the mistletoe.

Warnings: None

A/N: Day 3 of mini-Ficmas. Today I bring you Jeonghan because I miss him dearly 🥹 again, hope you enjoy my lovelies, and thank you so much for all the love on Day 1. I can’t begin to say how much I appreciate it 🩵

FICMAS

MASTERLIST

Jeonghan didn't think he’d be able to hate an inanimate object so much. Yet here he is, shooting death glares at a stupid Christmas headband. Like honestly, how ridiculous does it sound? He's spent the better part of thirty minutes hiding in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he wills cor the headband to disintegrate before him. The plastic cup in his hand crinkles as he grips it with annoyance. He lets out a huff before taking a sip of the eggnog, continuing to glare over the rim of his cup.

He’s so distracted he doesn’t notice the other two men who walk into the room. Seungcheol and Joshua share a glance, moving to stand on either side of Jeonghan. They’re not surprised to find him like this. But it doesn't make the sight any less amusing.

“If looks could kill,” Seungcheol chuckles.

“You’re practically burning a hole into Mingyu’s head, dude” Joshua says, clearly amused at the situation. Jeonghan frowns, lips pursing as he pouts.

“It’s his fault for wearing the damned thing,” He grumbles, nodding towards the red headband Mingyu wears.

Above the headband a bundle of mistletoe dangles, a tiny bell attached to the bow that holds it together. He insisted on wearing it. Saying it would be hilarious to see who ended up under it. At first Jeonghan was all for it, excited to see the chaos and maybe sneak in a kiss or two for a certain someone. Now as he watches Seokmin pepper kisses against your cheek he can’t help to think this is torture.

Jeonghan’s had the longest crush on you. It’s part of the reason he invited you tonight, hoping that sneaking in a kiss could give him a way to confess to you. But with the way things are going so far, he’s pretty sure he’ll just spend the night watching you from afar.

“Why don’t you just tell them?” Joshua prods, reading Jeonghan’s thoughts with ease.

“Absolutely not,” he protests, rejecting the idea, immediately.

“So then what’s your plan, to sit and sulk all night?” Shua asks, giving him a look.

“Shut it,” Jeonghan snaps.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes from the other side of Jeonghan. While he understands why he’s nervous, he doesn’t think he can last another night watching him look at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re psyching yourself out again. Trust me. The way they look at you when you do the smallest of things. There’s no way they don’t feel the same,” Seungcheol says, bringing his own drink up to his lips.

“And what if they don’t?” Jeonghan asks, doubt evident in his voice.

“I'm telling you. They do, you may not see but we do,” Seungcheol says, bringing a hand up to squeeze at Hannie’s shoulder gently.

Jeonghan thinks for a long moment. Eyes watching as you continue to talk to the boys. A longing feeling tugging at his heart at the sight of you. He knows he should trust them. At the very least he can finally just let his feelings out into the open, instead of constantly feeling like he’ll explode with how he feels for you. He sighs, glancing away from you to look at friends.

“I’ll figure something out,” he says, finally.

He’s determined. Tonight will be the night, it has to be… right?

________

Wrong. Tonight is not the night, in fact, at this rate Jeonghan just wants the night to end. He huffs as he falls against the back of the sofa. Three hours later and no luck.

The first hour he tried to get you under the mistletoe with Mingyu. But each time you're whisked away by another member, or he’s roped into some game by one of the others. He lets it go easily, doing his best not to appear suspicious. But on the inside he silently cursing out each member in his head. Wishing them nothing more than to kindly fuck off.

The second hour, the headband ends up on his head. Mingyu decided to pass it around, having been talked into taking it off by a very drunk Chan. It practically became a game of hot potato, going to Wonwoo, then Minghao, before landing on Jeonghan’s head. He thinks it must be a perfect opportunity, planning to steal you away for just a private moment. What he didn’t take into account was just how much the other members would be all over him. Seungkwan in particular who clung onto each member for the entire time they wore the headband. He can’t even get a moment to look for where you’ve gone before the headband is being propped onto the next member’s head.

The third hour, Jeonghan gives up on the cursed headband all together. Instead trying his odds on his own. But again his luck is just not there. He tried talking to you at the snack table, but was immediately interrupted by very tipsy Hoshi, who stumbled into you two. He’d practically wiped out the entire table in the process. Jeonghan ends up having to force Hoshi to sit and drink water, despite his whining protests. The next time he tries is when the secret santa exchange has just ended. He’s just about to ask if he can talk to you in private when the maknaes come bounding over, begging you to join their game of beer pong. When you turn to ask Jeonghan what he wanted to talk about, he brushes it off. He tells you it’s not important before watching the others pull you away from him. You turn and give him a smile, to which he gives you a tight lipped one in return.

Now he sits slumped into the couch, partially hoping for the cushions to swallow him whole. Jeonghan continues to watch the ongoing party around him, no longer feeling up to anything remotely festive. In fact he now feels terribly uncomfortable with all the laughter and smiles going on around him. Not wanting to put a damper on the mood, he decides it’s best to step away for a bit. With a defeated sigh, Jeonghan stands, grabbing his coat and making his way outside. The balcony isn’t very big, but it’s a welcome change of scenery for Jeonghan. He lets out a long breath, the cold air making it form a small cloud before him. He leans against the railing of the balcony, taking in the city before him. At Least the view is nice, he thinks. Doing his best to distract himself from his dejected heart.

The sound of the sliding door pulls him out of his thoughts. He turns to see you, the sounds of the party once again being muffled as you slide the door closed. Any other time he’d be ecstatic to see you, but at this moment the sight of you sorta makes him want to run. But the sight of you still makes him flutter on the inside, blushing like a damn schoolboy in love. Curse his heart, and its inability to beat at a normal pace around you.

He watches you walk up next to him, leaning against the railing yourself. You brush against his side softly, the feeling lingering. He can tell you’re a bit tipsy from how close you get. You are always the clingy type when drunk. Not that he’s ever really minded, he actually enjoys it.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” you say, breaking the silence.

“Needed some fresh air,” he offers.

“What? You mean you don’t want to witness booseoksoon’s rendition of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ for the fifth time?,” you joke.

He rolls his eyes, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Even in his sour mood, you still manage to unknowingly make him feel better.

“Knowing how much eggnog they’ve had, I’m sure there will be at least three more renditions,” he says, picturing the scene of their last Christmas holiday. He vividly remembers having to restrain the three from climbing on the counters.

You giggle, leaning more into him as you laugh. Jeonghan smiles, his heart racing in his chest at the sound.

“It is quite nice out here. I’ve always loved winter nights like this,” You rest your head against his shoulder. He only hums in response. The both of you stand in silence. The only sounds that can be heard are the wind and the distant sounds of the party still going on inside.

“This is nice, it's beautiful out here,” you say quietly, as if speaking too loudly would ruin the atmosphere. Jeonghan turns to look at you. You’re right the view is pretty, the snow covered city, the soft glow of the street lights, the way the night sky only adds to it all. All of it is pretty. But as he continues to study the soft features of your face, the way the way your eyes light up, like twinkling stars, the way the moonlight illuminates your face, the way your lips rest in a soft smile, he can’t help but think you are far more beautiful than the view before you. You must feel him staring, as you turn to look at him. Meeting his adoring gaze.

“What? Is there something on my face?” you ask, already moving to wipe at your cheeks with your sleeve.

“No, it’s- “ he pauses, the words on the tip of his tongue. He’d been waiting for the right time all night. And now that he has it, he hesitates, the doubt from earlier coming back. But the way you look right now, there would never be a moment more perfect than this. Even if you didn’t feel the same, he was willing to take the risk.

“You look beautiful,” he says, voice shaking slightly.

You laugh, the sound twinkling straight to his heart.

God, did you know what you do to him?

“I don’t think tipsy me is a very beautiful sight to see,” you laugh, giving him a smile.

“You’re always beautiful to me, but right now you’re happy. And when you’re happy is when you look the most beautiful. He says softly. He gives a little shrug, as he says it. As if it’s the most casual thing he’s said before. As if he’s not turning your world upside down as he says it.

“Where is this coming from?” you ask, feeling your own heart beat even faster.

“Something I should have said a while ago. Something I’ve felt for a long time actually,” he turns his attention back to the view before him. Not having the heart to watch you reject him to his face. You’re quiet for a few moments, the air becoming thick around you. Jeonghan does his best to remain calm, even as his brain screams at him to run. You on the other hand are in no better shape, mind racing a mile a minute trying your best to process what your crush has just told you.

“Well I think you look beautiful like this too,” you finally say.

“yeah?” he asks, still staring straight ahead.

“Mhm, but someone once told me that love makes you see just how beautiful someone is” you say, voice shaking with every word.

Jeonghan’s head whips around to look at you. Eyes nearly bugging out of his head, He finds you already staring up at him. A soft, shy smile gracing your lips.

God, his heart is actually going to beat out of his chest.

“Love makes people do crazy things, huh?”

“Yeah..” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

A silence falls over you as the two of you continue to study the other. Like you’re seeing each other in a new light. You don’t miss the way Jeonghan’s eyes dart to your lips, a lingering question on the tip of his tongue. The way he keeps staring at your lips has your stomach doing somersaults. But he isn’t faring any better. He thinks if doesn’t kiss you right now he might actually combust.

“Can I kiss you?” he finally says, unable to bear it any longer.

You laugh, reaching into your coat pocket and pulling out that ugly red headband. His eyes dart betweens yours and the headband.

“I’ve actually been hoping you’d ask for a long time now,” You say, sheepishly.

Jeonghan grins, hand gently grabbing your waist to pull you closer to him. You stare up at him, eyes gleaming in the moonlight, just as eager as he is to feel his lips against yours.

He cups the back of your neck before pulling you into a soft kiss. The kiss is gentle, but still manages to steal your breath away. You sigh into the kiss, hands sliding up to grip his coat softly. Jeonghan melts into you, barely being held upright with his trembling knees. This is the best Christmas gift he could have ever asked for. Why does kissing you feel like coming home? He knew it would be the best thing ever, but this? This feels downright illegal. He unwillingly pulls away when the need to breathe becomes too much. But his smile mirrors yours, looking brighter than a star on top of a Christmas tree.

“Merry Christmas, y/n,” he says softly, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Hannie,” you say, resting your head against his chest. He hugs you close, hand running up and down your back in soothing circles.

The snow slowly begins to fall around the two of you as the night grows colder. The two of you stay as you are, basking in the comfort of each other. Jeonghan can’t help but smile as he glances down at you, looking so content in his arms. Maybe this night isn’t so bad. After all, he’s just gotten the best Christmas gift of all.

Header: me

Divider: @/mikeykuns

[marvelwitchergilmore]

For A While...

Summary: Spencer Reid x Fe!Reader -> You were first introduced to Spencer through Emily, however, six years later, it seems some things are beginning to change.

Disclaimer: 16+ CM level violence. Descriptions of torture, death and stalking. This is part two. Part one can be accessed here. Fluff towards the end. Pining. Angst (kinda). Not proof read.

Five Months Later…

The last five months had been like agony for Spencer. 

He’s spent the last five months trying his best to figure out his feelings for you until one morning he walked into work, determined to look less like a complete confused mess as he had done for the last several days. 

His tie was still a little crooked, but his hair was neater than when he’d rolled out of bed, and his shirt wasn’t creased. And with a coffee in his hand, he was waking up a little faster than usual. Except, just as he stepped through the doors, he saw you by your desk. 

No-one was in the office yet. You’d been removing your scarf and coat, laying them on the back of your chair when he spotted you and the voice in his head said…

I love you.

He’d shocked himself. 

Of course, he had already known his feelings ran deep for you. But it was the first time the actual words had been spoken out loud, or in the very least, to himself. 

And it had been agony ever since. 

He was pretty sure he managed to hide it, though he doubted that the team didn’t at least have their suspicions. If Emily had figured it out with only a couple of days, the team had seen them both for months. 

However, Spencer was certain of one thing. 

He had it under control. 

Like he had told Emily, he didn’t want to lose you. And if that meant forever being your friend, living with a cage around his heart when he was with you that felt as if it was crushing his soul, he could happily live with that. 

Until, one day, Spencer wondered why he’d built the cage in the first place. Because as much as he was aware of the dangers both of your jobs posed, he never thought he could lose you because of that. 

The team had been flown to Oregon for a case. Four women had been killed in the town, all with a similar look, background and lifestyle. And the further you were looking into the case, it didn’t just seem to be in Oregon. The bodies trailed over the years across the country, and from what you could figure, the first had been in Virginia. 

However, the longer you all worked on the case, the more the nagging feeling in your gut grew. Something felt too familiar about the case. 

“We have to be missing something. We already know this guy stalks his victims, right. He knows what they do for work, he makes sure he knows what they’re doing at all times. He prays for the right moment when they're alone or they’re away from their general routine.” 

“If it was a bigger pattern you could say he’s picking them at random.”

“But I don’t think he is. I mean, look at how each of the victims are described.”

They were described as smart, happy, hard working. If they ever stepped out of their routine, it was because they had to. The first victim drove a little out of town because her usual restaurant she ordered from was shut. The second because she needed cabinet hinges. The third because she needed to stop for gas but there was a diversion on the road, sending her to another. 

The rest of the team continued talking but when Spencer looked over to you, you seemed…off. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go and get some coffee. You guys want some?”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

“Thanks.”

Spencer knew that look on your face a little too well. You needed space. Why, he didn’t know. But he also knew it was better not to follow you. 

Except, he couldn’t help but wish he could turn back the clock and do exactly that. 

An hour later, you still hadn’t returned. 

After twenty five minutes, they figured maybe there was a long cue. After thirty five, they figured maybe they had been changing the coffee filter just as you got there. 

When you didn’t pick up your phone after an hour…they got worried. 

So, sending Derek and Spencer to the coffee shop to try and find you, Hotch, JJ, Rossi and Blake stayed behind in case it was just that they were changing the filter and there was a long cue and your phone had died. 

Except, when Spencer and Derek returned half an hour later having searched up and down the block, in every cafe, coffee shop, convenience store and gas station, they all knew something was wrong. 

“She’s not any of them. The cashier said she hadn’t even come in today.”

“That’s not good.”

From the screen, Garcia popped up. 

“Guys, I’m getting a live feed. You’re gonna want to see this, though…I don’t know if you’ll want to.”

“What is it, Garcia?”

Garcia said nothing, but her face said it all. With a couple of clicks, the feed was up on the full screen and everyone in the police department was watching it. 

“How long have you had this Garcia?”

“The alert came in only a few moments before I called you, but according to the chat room, it’s been prepared for a couple of hours, but went live about forty minutes ago. I think you should also know, I was invited to this.”

“Invited?” JJ asked. 

“Believe me, I’ve had every corner that I know of, being monitored. But apparently this is a new one.”

Everyone looked a little closer to the screen, and eventually it got a little brighter. Most likely from a light on the further wall. 

And everyone’s hearts sank. 

It was you. 

You had a gash on your head, most likely where the unsub had hit you across the head. From the look on your face as you move your body ever so slightly, it wasn’t the only place on you that was wounded. 

The camera angles kept changing, offering a different view of the room, though there wasn’t much to see other than you, beaten and bloodied, zip tied and chained to a bolted down chair. 

Then someone came into shot. 

The unsub. 

He approached you slowly, bringing with him a damp cloth, gently pressing it to your head. 

“It’s okay. Take it easy.”

You forced your eyes open, but when you were met with the reality of who it was, your face turned into shock, fear, disgust and anger. 

You jerked back, unable to move any further than you had tried before. 

“Get the hell off me.”

“It’s okay, don’t be like that.”

The unsub spoke softly to you. 

“Get away from me. Get off me.”

“You don’t have to be like this.”

Then you spotted the camera. 

“You’re filming this?”

“I thought your friends might like to see it. See how safe you are.”

“Safe?!” both yourself and Spencer asked. 

“Garcia, can you get a clear shot of the unsub?”

“No, sir. He hasn’t looked at the camera fully.”

“Then look into Y/l/n’s past. She knows him. Or, he knows her. Maybe they’ve crossed paths somewhere before.”

“Already on it, Sir.”

It would take a little longer for the team to realise your relationship to the unsub. And your connection to the victims. 

“I told you you’re safe with me, you don’t have to worry any more.”

“You kidnap me and tell me not to worry?!”

“I can take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Why take her though? Why follow her? It’s too risky.”

“Maybe it’s his endgame.” Spencer said out loud, the cogs turning over and over in his head. Then he moved towards the evidence board, rearranging things around where he’d written your name in a bubble. 

He needed to keep moving, proving to himself he was alive. Or else he might break more than he ever had. 

“How would you describe her?”

“Smart.” JJ began, following what Spencer was getting at. 

“Hard working.”

“A stickler for routine. She’s fixed. Doesn’t often change what she likes.”

More comparisons came out and Spencer had proven his point. 

“I’m wondering if he was her first victim. Or if she was his catalyst.”

Everyone turned back to the screen when they heard a loud strike. 

“It WAS me!”

It took you a moment before you rolled your head back up and looked from the camera to him. 

“It never was you, that was the whole point.”

“Only because you couldn’t see what I could offer you.” He pulled a chair harshly in front of you and sat down. The camera still had a clear shot of your face, but just the back of his head. 

“I saw you, a few years ago. Who was he?”

“Who was who?”

“That-that-that guy! The one you think you wanted! The one you thought could offer you everything!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Another strike across the face. Then he grabbed you. 

“I saw how you looked at him. Like he was the whole world. Your whole world.”

“When even was-”

“Six years ago. I was coming out of a bar. Couple of buddies wanted me to go with them but I knew I had to find you. And I was stupid enough to think you’d be waiting for me. Instead, I found you with him. Standing outside your apartment. I didn’t wait around for the kiss.”

His name slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself. 

“So, you remember him? You remember him? You remember him…” 

Of course you remember him. How could you not? You worked with him every single day. 

The unsub was growing more emotional. From accusatory to confusion to a sadness of acceptance. 

Then anger. 

“You remember him!? And all he had to do was walk you home?!” The unsub laughed before pausing and kicking the chair over, sending it flying into a wall. 

You jumped at his quickness and the loudness of the noises. 

“Do you know how long I have been trying to get your attention?! How long I have spent trying to show you that you have feelings for me? You might deny it, but we both know it’s true. It has been since we first met. I know you didn’t know, but I saw it in your eyes, in that kindness you showed me when no one else did. You volunteered to be my partner, remember?”

“For the…the forest run?”

“You do remember.”

The unsub got down on his knees in front of you, clutching at your jacket. 

“See, this just proves-”

“I volunteered because Sophia didn’t want to be left alone with you.”

“What?”

“I opted to take her place to make her feel safe.”

As you continued to explain, Hotch and Garcia tracked your phone numbers and social media posts until she found Sophia. 

“So you don’t feel safe with me, but you’ll feel safe with Spencer?”

“Please, don’t bring him into this.”

“Why not?”

The unsub sat back. “Why not? Go ahead, tell me. This wouldn’t happen to be the same Doctor Spencer Reid, would it?”

You tried to deny it, but no words came from your mouth. 

The unsub became deflated. 

“And let me guess, you have feelings for him…you…you even…love him. Why do I not measure up? Because I don’t work for the FBI? Because I’m not a Doctor? What is it that makes  him so much better that he earns your love?”

“Please, just-”

“It should be me! What can he give you that I can’t?”

Then he pushed the hair from your face and held it against your head, forcing you to look at him. 

“I could have given you everything. I still can. Just tell them you’re safe, and I’ll make sure nothing ever happens to you, ever again.”

“Please, don’t-”

He turned to stand behind you, forcing you to look directly into the camera where the team could see the trails left behind through the blood on your cheeks, where your tears had flooded through them. 

“TELL THEM!”

“Garcia, please tell me you have something.”

“Uh, maybe, I-I don’t know. I can’t be certain.”

“I’ll take what I can get, Garcia.”

“Well, I, uh-”

“Now, Garcia.” Spencer called out, his voice oddly even and a little cold. 

“Sophia said his name was Toby-something. But I’ve looked through her files, her socials. There isn’t a single Toby, or Tobias or even Tobe.”

“Can you get a picture of him?”

“I’ve got a few, I’m running them through my database now.”

“What about Emily?” JJ asked. Everyone looked at her. “She grew up with Emily, right? Maybe she’ll know something.”

Spencer was already on the phone. 

“Emily? Emily, listen to me. Was there anyone in Y/n’s past that she had trouble with? An ex boyfriend or something in college?”

“I- Reid, is everything okay?”

“Garcia will catch you up, but please. Was there anyone she talked about? Maybe a Toby-someone?”

Suddenly, Emily’s voice turned cold. “Reid, where is she?”

“Emily?”

“Back when she was in college, she was having trouble with a guy. Everyone called him Toby but his real name Jonathan. Toby was his middle name. He seemed fixated on her and one day, she found him in her apartment on campus. She called me and I got her out. After that, he seemed to disappear, but she always was weary.”

“Okay, send all the details you can to Garcia.”

“Already happening.”

All the team could do was wait and watch, hoping something would jump out at them to help find you. 

“Do you love him?”

“I need to hear it from you. Do you love him?”

He picked up a weapon of some kind. A knife maybe. 

“No, no, I can’t watch!” Garcia called out, turning her chair away. 

A backhanded slap came across your face, the edge of the knife, cutting your cheek. 

“Do. You. Love. Him?” Toby screamed louder. 

Garcia squealed a little, hearing his arm movement. But just when she expected you to scream in pain, anyone who was listening heard what you said next. 

“YES!” you screamed, fear of what was going to come next taking over. Maybe it would have been best to lie. But he wouldn’t have accepted it. And if he was going to kill you…

Toby faltered, looking down at you in heartbroken shock. 

“Yes, yes. I do. I love him. Please…please don’t hurt me…I-”

Toby dropped the knife, the sound clattering on the floor, and he stepped back. Even from behind, they could all see the changes in his body movement. 

From shock, heartbreak, to more shock to…anger. 

And fear flashed across your face. 

“No, no, no. Please. Toby- what-what are you doing?”

He was moving around the room, gathering things. 

“Toby, please. Please don’t-”

Then the screen went dark. 

“Garcia! Please tell me you have something!”

“Almost. Hold on. Wait.”

“We can’t-”

“The footage is still running. There’s no picture or sound, but it’s still running. Maybe if I can just- I’ve got her.”

“Garcia, send us the address.”

“Already done. Please bring her back safe.”

Toby had taken you forty minutes out of town, held up in a small town shed on a small plot of land he’d rented in cash, save for the electric bill that was in his name from a month earlier. Garcia couldn’t trace the address, but she could find the closest cell tower. And with a little cross reference, she found you. 

All the team could do was hope you were still alive by the time they got to you. 

It was agonising to listen to, but your screams let them know you were still alive. And when Morgan kicked down the door, Toby turned around you, holding your body against his front. 

He’d changed you from being tied down in the chair to being strung up by your wrists. By the looks of it, however, you had managed to fight back, presumably in the small window of time you did have. 

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“No you won’t, Toby.”

“Won’t I?!”

You whimpered a little as the blade pushed further into your skin. 

“You love her, don’t you? Don’t you want to see her happy?”

“She IS happy. She’s happy with me.”

“Really, Toby? Because I wouldn’t say she looks happy. I’d say she looks scared. Terrified, even.”

“No, no, no she’s not.”

“Morgan…”

“She loves me! She has to love me!”

“But she doesn’t. And do you really think this is how she’s going to fall in love with you? By forcing her into it?”

Toby changed. 

“Doctor Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid. This is him, isn’t it? This is the one that took you from me? Maybe once I’m done with you, maybe, maybe he’ll be next.”

“No…”

“Or you can choose me. Choose me and they don’t get hurt. Choose me and-”

You jumped at the sound. 

A gunshot. 

Everything went silent and then the knife clattered to the floor once more, soon followed by Toby’s body. 

For a moment, you heard JJ’s voice coming from Derek’s wire, and then everything came back into a blurry focus. 

“Is it over? Is-is he dead?”

Reid moved closer, checking his pulse before nodding to Morgan. 

“It’s over.”

“Thank god, please get these off me.”

Spencer was closer, taking his pocket knife out before cutting your binds, allowing you to stand fully on the floor once more. 

Your arms wrapped around Spencer both out of necessity, since your legs gave way for a moment, and out of need to hug someone, anyone, who wasn’t Toby. 

In his arms, Spencer could feel your entire body shaking. So he simply held you tighter. 

“Is-is it-are you sure it’s over?”

“It’s over. Let's get you out of here.”

Spencer helped you out of the shed before walking you over to the ambulance that was pulling up behind one of the SUVs. 

“P-please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

And he did. 

Spencer stayed with you as they helped you into the ambulance and drove you to the hospital, he stayed with you as the doctors talked you through where they were taking you and what would happen and he was right there waiting for you, as you had asked, when you got out. 

And when they finally found you a room, he stayed by your side, holding your hand. 

Even hours later, you were still shaking with nerves and adrenaline. 

“Have you called Emily?” you asked after a few hours of silence. 

Spencer nodded. “She knows what happened. She’s also said she’s gonna catch the next flight out once they open the airports in London. Some storms closed the runways.”

You just nodded. 

“Hey Spencer?”

Spencer hummed. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For…for what happened. I-I don’t know how much you saw from the footage but Toby…I should have lied. I should have tried to keep your name-”

Spencer shot out of his seat and sat on your bed facing you, slowly taking the hand you used to squeeze your eyes shut from crying, into his. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s-”

“It’s okay. All I care about is that you’re safe. Emily…she already knew. She… a couple months ago, she talked to me about it…because she figured that was how I felt about you.”

“Spence, no, you don’t have to-”

“We can talk about it more, when you’re better, but I just…I need you to know, you’re not alone. And I don’t want you to be sorry for what you said. Because, even though I’m sorry for how it had to happen, I’m not sorry about what was said.”

“You…you’re not?”

Spencer shook his head, looking down at your hands in his, his thumb tracing a constant pattern over your knuckles. 

However, the familiar clicking of heels down the hall broke your intimate silence. 

“We’ll talk about it?”

You nodded.

Garcia was calling out your name before she found your room and took a look at you. 

“Oh, thank god.”

“Penelope,” you smiled. 

And Spencer smiled, too. For the first time in the last week, let alone the last twenty four hours, you smiled. Genuinely smiled.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you sooner. If I-”

“It’s okay. You still found me. I’m okay.”

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again. And Emily will be here soon so it won’t just be me, you’ll have both of us. Maybe we can live like the Golden Girls.”

You struggled to laugh, but laughed all the same. “I’d like that.”

“Good, because you don’t have a choice.”

“I’ll give you two some space to plan your move,” Spencer smiled. 

You smiled softly back at him as he slowly walked out of the room, but not before Penelope called his name. “Bring her back some jello! Orange, if they have it!”

Spencer nodded, however he didn’t need telling why orange. It was your favourite. 

“How do you know that’s my favourite?”

“Emily told me.”

You smiled. There had been a week back in middle school when all you could stomach was orange jello. You’d have thought that after being sick for a week, you’d never want to eat it again. But that never happened. 

The doctors kept you in hospital for the next couple of days whilst the rest of the team helped finish the last couple of cases at the police department. 

When you were finally cleared to fly, Hotch and Emily were the ones to help you with your things. 

Hotch explained what would happen when you all got back to the Bureau and what would happen with yourself and your job. 

“I know you’ll be itching to get back to work, but I want you to take some time off.”

“I will. I promise.”

By the time you got to the jet, you weren’t up in the air an hour before you excused yourself from Rossi’s story time to sit by the one person who brought you the most peace. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

Spencer smiled and shook his head, making space for you beside him on the sofa. 

“Do you want to sleep?”

“What are you reading?”

He showed you. 

“Wizard of Oz.”

“Want me to read it to you? Studies have shown it helps with sleep.”

“I’d like that.”

Within twenty minutes, you were fast asleep against Spencer’s chest. He’s turned himself so you could lean against him and see the small pictures that had been drawn, as he read. 

And thankfully, Rossi’s stories kept everyone distracted long enough for yourself and Spencer to not experience the embarrassment of getting caught in such a compromising position, considering you were both just meant to be friends.

A week later…

Yourself and Spencer had seen Emily off in the Airport, and after that, Spencer had driven you home. You’d stopped off for some chinese food on the way back, and even though you’d both had…half conversations about what you’d said in the hospital, neither of you had come right out and said, well, anything. 

Until you stopped in your tracks, forcing Spencer to do the same. 

“Is everything-”

“I feel I need to confess something.”

“Do you need a church or-”

“It’s not that kind of confession.” you turned to face Spencer fully. 

In two weeks time, you’d be going back to work. And you couldn’t take another two weeks, plus additional ones of whatever the awkward…thing was between you both. Like you each knew each other's secret, but didn’t know its full whereabouts. 

“I love you,” you told him, finally. “I know it seemed forced, but it was the truth nonetheless. I love you. I am in love with you and…I don’t know what to do about it. Because, first and foremost, you’re my friend. And no matter what, I don’t want to lose what we have. I love you, but most of all I like you. I like being around you. I like listening to you talk about different books and music and the fact that whales can produce sounds up to 188 decibels. I-”

“I love you, too.”

That forced you to stop. And Spencer could see your eyes searching for an explanation. 

“I don’t know how it happened. All I know is that one day I just…breathed for the first time. That I saw you and knew that if I stopped, I might die.”

“Sounds a little dramatic.”

Spencer laughed a little. “I guess it does. But it’s true. I’m in love with you. And I like you, too.”

You smiled. 

“You know, I had a crush on you for the longest time.”

“Really? How long?”

Part of it baffled Spencer that you had perhaps had feelings for him longer than he did you, but most of all it baffled him how he hadn’t noticed. 

“For a while…”

With a smile, you felt yourself leaning into Spencer. And he felt himself do the same thing until finally your lips met his. 

The kiss was gentle at first, but became a little more searing as his hand gently brushed the hair from your face to behind your ear, and pulled you a little closer. 

And you both just stood there for a while, pressed against each other, allowing each kiss to let you both know it was, in fact, very real. 

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn���t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

[cherryrouge]

depth of field

photographer!y/n x harry

warnings: profanity, negative self-talk, slight sexual content

word count: 2.8k

please read aperture, part I of this fic, before reading this!

alone in her hotel room was a despair-ridden y/n, her clothes from the show thrown about her room, any effort to put them away neatly proved to be futile. she had only worked up enough courage to throw on a comedically oversized david bowie t-shirt and wash her face free of makeup. the only thing she had wanted to do was sleep as she felt that a good nights rest would take away her thoughts of it. but she knew, consciously or not, that her plan was wishful at best. she had spent the past thirty minutes resting in her preferred sleeping position seeing sudden visions of it unwillingly. each time, she’d shake her head and switch into another position as if she could leave the memories in her previous placement. she had quickly grown restless and frustrated in her inability to relax and decided to get some work done. however, with her work, the act of escaping it was impossible. she was practically accosted by it. with each new image she looked at, all from tonights show, she’s met with the reminder of just how close she was to him, to kissing him. if she had tilted her head slightly, she’s confident she wouldn’t be breeching mania over what could have happened. her only reprieve throughout her sifting through photos and wallowing in her sorrows was the images of the fans. she had been half-tempted to send harry a picture of a funny sign she spotted, an action that she would have carried out without a moments hesitation normally, but this time, she choses not to. she felt it to be ill-timing. oh, hey harry, i know we almost kissed in your greenroom earlier today and haven’t spoken since but here’s a funny sign where a fan is calling you a jackass and practically demanding you to play medicine! she groans at the thought of how silly she would look.

silly was a good way to describe how she felt about herself in this situation. silly for having a juvenile crush on her boss of all people, silly for taking that fucking picture, silly for sitting so close to him, silly for looking at his lips, silly for leaning, and silly for even thinking in general that harry fucking styles would actually be interested in her. that last one isn’t even silly, its just plain stupid. how humiliating. she buries her face into her hands, rubbing her thumbs against her temples to soothe a building headache from her incessant overthinking. she closes her eyes, taking a couple deep breaths all while reminding herself that this is not the end of the world. just because something embarrassing had happened, something that left her feeling uncomfortable in her own skin and largely dissatisfied with herself, doesn’t mean that the world in crumbling to ash. the earth would continue to spin, the people in it would continue to go about their lives, and y/n will to. finally calming down, she shifts to another image she took from the show. the focus has changed once again and she is met with harry’s eyes and electrifying stage presence. she can tell he’s dancing wildly in that moment, his limbs displaying as much. she can also tell something is off with him. there’s a distant look in his eye as he looks into the lens. perhaps he had not been trying to look at her, accidentally looking over at the wrong time. but she knew better, and she knew the cause of that look. for a moment, she wonders what he’s doing at this very minute. if he’s been thinking about it too, head in his hands at the edge of his bed, knee bouncing as a way to soothe himself. she figured that thought, like the rest of them, was silly. he, in reality, was most likely soundly sleeping. the only worry in his head being if his fans made it to their places of rest safely and the quality of his performance. with a sigh, she closes her eyes and leans her head back against the headboard. she stays in the tranquil silence long enough to nearly lull her to sleep. however, the blaring noise of her ringtone startles her awake. with a slight gasp and shaking hands, she picks up her phone quickly noting the caller.

fuck. its fucking harry.

“hello?” she answers softly, carefully approaching their interaction.

“hey,” he says, voice raspy from the nights previous activities, “are you busy?”

“um- no, not really. why?“

“i’m on my way to your room. i need to talk to you.”

her mouth gapes at this sudden announcement, “oh, ok. yeah, ok. i’ll see you soon.”

with her confirmation, he hangs up the phone.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

she hurriedly moves her laptop to the bedside table and stands from her place on the bed, throwing her phone onto it before assessing the state of her room. there is nothing graceful about the way she flails about stuffing things into her suitcase to give the room the appearance of neatness. she fixes the bed, pulling the comforter up slightly and adjusts the pillows so they look nearly untouched. she then dashes to the bathroom, taking in her appearance. she lightly brushes out her eyebrows, combing them in to place and fluffs her hair. just as she believes she looks half decent, she remembers the state of her bare legs. she all but dashes into the main room to her suitcase quickly rummaging through it to get her sleep shorts. it’s then that she hears a knock on the door. with the shorts around her ankles and her body contorting to pull them up her legs, she walks to the door. with her heart hammering and her lungs gasping for air, she opens it with her shorts up and on. looking up at him, she is stunned by his state. he looks tired, still good. obviously. even his worst days are better that mosts best. she’s shocked by the intimacy of this moment. how vulnerable he looks. he is the pinnacle of strength, of power, or talent, yet here, standing in front of her, is just harry. finding herself in this moment, she swiftly moves herself out of the way so he can enter. once he’s in the room, he sits on the edge of the bed. taking in her appearance as she shuts the door and walks towards him, stopping at the end of the small hallway, providing some distance between them. her eyes are down, focus on her bare feet again the rugged carpeting of the hotel room. his eyes are fixed on her. the moment of silence that falls upon them is thick with anticipation and anxiety.

harry clears his throat incidentally. the act calling her attention to him. their eyes meet and y/n is all consumed with the need to break the intense silence.

“i’m so-“

“i wa-“

both fall quiet after the clashing of their voices, groveling to clear the hair. y/n softly giggles, an anxious, self-soothing habit she developed when trying to make light of uncomfortable situations. her habit seems to sooth harry a bit as for the first time since he arrived, a smile crosses his features. albeit, a close lipped one. one that could have lead to a full toothy grin has their situation not called for such seriousness.

“i’m sorry, you begin.” she says gently, gesturing to him from her place in the wall. her arms cross her chest, almost holding herself. the feeling giving her only a sliver of comfort. harry smiles at her and turns his head, pausing to find his words.

“i know this probably isn’t the conversation that you want to be having right now but we should just get it out of the way.” his voice cuts through the quiet of the room. she nearly winces at the sound.

she’s bending under the crushing intensity of his gaze and his silence. she wishes nothing more than to crawl into herself, find a place of comfort deep inside herself where maybe she would find some relief from this moment. he coughs looking to the side, eyes consequently meeting her laptop which had been left open and unattended on the bed side table of the hotel room when y/n was prompted to hastily tidy her room upon his unexpected arrival. it’s a photo of him from tonight’s show, looking down the barrel of the lens. it’s a good shot, though every image turned to gold with her skill so he can’t say he’s surprised. however, it’s that skillfulness that leaves it all on the table -every emotion, every movement, everything- and tonight, more than ever, he can see just how off he was.

“i don’t want things to be awkward between us, love,” he coughs at the end of his sentence, punctuating his own discomfort.

“i don’t either, i’m really sorry-“

“but i also don’t want to forget that it happened,” their eyes meet and for the first time since he’s entered the room, she doesn’t avert her’s elsewhere.

“har-“

“i hope you know by now that i adore you.”

she huffs out a surprised laugh, coming out as more of an exasperated forced exhale, “what?”

“and it’s more than just professional. i’ve tried for months to keep these feelings at bay, but it’s so fucking hard. because you are you. you come into my green room every show with a smile on your face and tell me stories that lift my mood, you shy away at every deserved compliment, you care for everyone around, even the people that maybe don’t do the same for you. you are just so fucking perfect that it’s overwhelmingly difficult to not develop a crush on-“

“harry-“

“please, let me finish, love,” he looks up at her, his dazzling green eyes filled with an unfamiliar look. his face conveying a moony, love-gutted expression. an image she had never seen before but never wanted to forget. she nods her head, eyes wide with a gleam that no doubt mirrored the one in harry’s. he lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair and stands, y/n’s eyes tracking every movement. not wanted to miss a second of this sacred moment.

“i couldn’t help it. everything you do seems to pull me in deeper. you could probably just breath in the same room as me and i’d fall to my knees.” he lets out a small laugh at the sentiment, taking a step closer to her. she softly smiles, although her face conveyed her pleasant surprise at his confession.

“it’s not professional, but i can’t stop it and don’t think i would even if i had a choice.” with every word he utters, he steps closer until he’s stood right in front of her. his tilting down and her’s up. their closeness is palpable. she can feel the warm of his body radiating. her breathing shockingly level, chest rising and falling with every breath. she is hyper aware of his movements, even the slightest twitch of his finger or bat of his lashes registers in her brain. they stand, familiarizing themselves once again with the feeling of being this close to each other. in this moment, harry takes it upon himself to close their distance. a ringless hand rising to plant itself of the smooth skin of her bicep. her breathing hitches, a glazed over expression taking over her features. he brushes his hand against the soft, warm skin before sliding both of his hand to hold her face. his gaze falters down to her parted, rose-tinted lips. his eyes alternate between her lips and eyes as his brings his face closer to hers. y/n sighs at the closeness, at the feeling of his breath fanning against her cheeks, warming them that much more.

“y/n-“

“please,” she nearly whines. in any other scenario, she would be embarrassed by her desperation but she supposes that this isn’t just any other scenario.

at the sound of the whined word, harry lets out his own breathy whine before finally putting his lips to hers. and it is everything. it’s soft, but deep. controlled, but so very desperate. the intensity prompts y/n to move her hands that lamely hung at her sides to rest on his waist. the feeling of her hands finally on him causes harry to sigh and deepen the kiss, tongue prodding her lips for entry, which she easily accepts.

throughout her time of knowing him, she could only define him as one word as a subject: entrancing. watching work as he commands, entices, and seduces his audiences but also watching him exist as a normal person is nothing short of entrancing. feeling him — his energy, his kindness, his care, his touch — is nothing short of entrancing. and now, y/n can confidently say that kissing harry is mindnumpingly entrancing. the only thought in her head is him, the only thing she can feel is him, and the only thing she could ever need in this moment is him. he is all consuming. so much so, she doesn’t feel her change in location until her back is gently pressed into the mattress with his hand on her hip and the other on the pillow beside her head. seeing him in this position, looking down at her as his knee presses into the space on the bed between her legs, his hair swooping down his forehead, jade- green eyes positively sparking with want and need in the low lighting of the room. she finds herself longing for her camera. wishing she could capture this moment, this feeling to keep with her forever. the two take heavy breathes, regaining composure and control of themselves. though that composure and control hangs by a thread. every moment spent gazing at the other solidifies their longing to be close, to be closer, that it is nearly suffocating. harry’s eyes close as he breaths, trying to cling to the last shred of sanity before he surely gives into his ever long internal battle against is yearning for her. but it was a losing cause. and when she brings her hands to skate up his torso to find the resting places on the back of his neck and in his hair, he knows just how helpless a losing cause it was.

harry dips his head down to kiss her spit swollen lips, humming at the sensation. he splits his lips and her tongue dances against his. his hand that was once resting on her hip moves up to her jaw. her hand in his hair clutches onto his chocolate locks, tugging softly, a movement that causing harry to separate himself momentary to groan before attaching his lips to her jaw before making his way down to her neck and collarbones. his hands dip down the the hem of her shirt before pushing under and finding the soft skin of her waist. she mewls and softly sighs under his touch. her own hands carding through his hand and caresses his shoulders. she pulls his face up from where he’s been trailing his lips to be level with her own desperate gaze. he smiles at her expression, wearing the emotions he feels all the same on her beautiful features. his hands on her waist squeeze and caress the skin there.

“hi,” he breathes out with a dimpled smile playing on his mouth. she giggles chirping his words back to him.

the two stare at the other for some moment, the comfortable quiet the falls upon them filled with adoration and bliss. now knowing where the other finally stands, there’s no space for over thinking. not when harry smiles down at her, pushing the hair out of her face. not when y/n gleams up at him with moony eyes. the rest of the night, the two lay in a love-filled haze. cuddled up under the blankets, legs intertwined. they laugh and share anecdotes, dreams and aspirations, until the early hours of the morning until neither can physically keep their eyes open anymore.

walking up to find y/n curled into his side, hand splayed across his stomach, her head on his chest, was the most lovely sight head ever seen. as he brushed his fingers through her hair, he could only dream of the world he would give her if she allowed him to. and god, he hopes she would.

-

thank you all very much for your patience and support as we come to a close on this story. from the bottom of my heart, i am so grateful to feel so welcomed by this community. if you have any ideas about future fics or blurbs for this one, please reach out. i’m looking forward to introducing our next couple.

with love, rory.

[thewintersoldier111]

(SMUT. SMUT. SMUT.) Just warning you!

Bro... Is it just me, or when I see the winter soldier, doesn't anyone just want to literally crumble or melt from just how hot he is! I can't be the only one. Just imagine this.

You came home from a long long day at work and you were totally spent and ready for bed. As you head to your room, taking your shoes off in the dark room. You reach over and turn on the lamp, but your stood there frozen when the one and only winter soldier is standing in the corner of your room as he twirls his knife in his hand while leaning back against the wall.

He stares at you, his eyes roaming your figure. As he was about to speak, you start to run to your bedroom door to run out the room, but the winter soldier is too fast and quickly grabs you from the hair and yanks your hair back. "Ah, ah, ah" The winter soldier says through his black mask. "Don't you fuckin' dare run" He says darkly, and you swore you felt a tingle of a certain emotion like desire run through you... Only for a brief moment.

He holds your hair tightly and then pulls you by the hair towards the bed. "Let me go!" You begged as you felt tears prick your eyes as the soldier pushed you back. He hovers over you and you sob as you squirm, trying to get away from underneath him. He quickly grabs the knife he was holding and puts it to your neck, getting frustrated by your sobbing and pleads. "Shut, the fuck, up" He says slowly and darkly, his grip on the knife almost so hard he could break the handle if wanted.

You stared at the winter soldier in shock, silent tears running down your face. Even though you couldn't see, the soldier was pleased, smirking widely by how you obediently followed his demand so quickly. Most of the time he would just simply have to kill the person because they could not just shut the fuck up and follow what he said. "Good girl" He said with a deep hum as he ran the knife down your neck ever since slowly.

You start to feel your heart pick up speed, feeling like you were under some spell. What was this feeling, this fluttering feeling in your stomach, and why do you feel so hot and bothered all of a sudden? "What's the problem,... Cat cut your tongue, bunny?"

Oh fuck... That right there made a feeling rush down to your core and made your face flush. The winter soldier gazed into your eyes like he was blazing lasers into them. His eyes are so blue, but so filled with evil and darkness that for some reason you feel drawn in... But you would never admit that of course. The soldier tilts his head, his hair swaying slightly at each side of his face as his hair dangles and moves with each movement.

He stares into your eyes and puts the knife right to your pants, straight where your core is and tapping it slightly. "... Is this what's bothering you?" He says with a smirk. You felt yourself blushing deeper, your heart hammering faster than ever before, and it's like you completely forgot just how evil this guy really is. "Answer me, now" He says with an evil demanding tone that sent another jolt of electricity to your core.

You stayed silent for a moment, hesitant to speak, but you simply whisper. "Yes" And when you say that simple word, he quickly comes back with, "Yes what?" You feel your heart pound faster and you bite your lip, blushing madly as you whimper out, "Yes sir" And that's when he went straight into action.

~~~~~

"Ahhh!" You moan loudly, slapping sounds filling the room as the winter soldier has you completely naked under him while he slams into your cunt. With every thrust he grunts and groans in pleasure as he grips your waist with his right hand while his left hand grips your neck firmly. He finally took his mask off about thirty minutes ago before he started undressing you, cutting your clothes off with the knife.

"Fucking slut, so desperate to cum huh? Need me to give that little aching clit attention? Need me to rub it?" The winter soldier says in your ear, his hot breath making you clench around his cock while he still continues to slam into you at a brutal pace. "Fucking answer me or I'll go so hard that your pussy will be damn bruised" he says in a growl as he slams harder, almost making you feel pain in your cunt from just how much force he was putting into each thrust.

"Y-yes- Ah! Yes sir!" I moan loudly. He growls and grips your neck just a little tighter and leans down, putting your nipple into his mouth as he swirls his wet warm tongue around the hard bud like it was dessert. Your body starts to shake, your legs shaking and body tensing, ready to have the best orgasm of your life. The winter soldier let's go if your neck, bringing his metal fingers to your swollen clit that was throbbing as he startes to rub it quickly.

You throw you head back, your back arching off the bed as your grip the sheets, and for a moment there are no moans falling from your lips, only for just a few seconds before you let out a loud sob of pleasure, your whole body shaking but mostly your legs as you orgasm washes over you, cumming all around his cock. The winter soldier groans and picks up the speed until he gasps and lets out a moan while cumming inside you, painting your walls with his thick cum.

He thrusts a few more times before stopping. He slowly pulls out and collapses beside you, panting as he catches his breath with you.

From there on you both start to see each other more and more as he visits you every night, and you both end up being together.

----

Is it just me, or does anyone feel the same.

[according2thelore]

What's your opinion on John Winchester and O!Dean?

Like John finding out his sons presentation, watching Dean practically raising Sam like his own pup, and having them on the "hunters life"?

How would growing up be like, do you think John would be more considered or train Dean even rougher to help him "make up" for his presentation or use it on hunts?

More importantly, does John catch Sams eyes lingering a second too long when Dean comes out from his showers?

Or when John feels daggers boring behind his head and the rumblings of a suppressed growl from his younger son as his eldest son undergoes corporal punishment for almost getting them both killed on the Penanggalan case?

It must me just hormones, right? Deans practically a mother to Sam. Of course, any pup/adolescent Alpha would be protective of their mother figure.

GASP!

anon...thank you for this ask!!!!! i have SO many thoughts about john and omega!dean!!!!! let's discuss!!!!

i think the answer is all of the above!!! john definitely raises dean to be a little tougher--not because he thinks dean is weak, but because he knows the world is going to treat him that way. dumbass alphas are going to get one whiff of him and try to take him out with one hit.

dean never shows muscle like sam does, no matter how hard he trains. he's fit, but he's not immediately recognizable as an "alpha" in the way sam's eventual height and john's broad shoulders are. john makes him run an extra mile. john makes him shoot an extra thirty minutes. he ties dean down to a chair in a shack in the middle of the woods and makes him track his way back to a road. he wants dean to be ready for all of the worst case scenarios to which his presentation make him a potential victim.

but you bet your ass they use that to their advantage. people underestimate dean, which makes it easier for him to get the drop of them, every time. the worst it gets: they're trying to lure a target out of a bar, and dean--descending into his monthly heat fast and fibbing to john just how fast so he can still be useful--puts on a too-small shirt and stumbles in, cheeks pink. he challenges their guy to pool, and takes every chance to bend right over the table, practically presenting.

needless to say, he gets way too much attention and john goes in fast to beat some alphas off. dean--saved in the nick of time--comes back to the motel shaky and pale and smelling like violence and strange alphas and sammy, not yet presented at eleven, crawls into his lap and scents him like a child. he knows exactly what dean needs, because dean slowly slackens and rubs his nose in sam's shaggy hair--still wet from a shower and dripping on dean's too-tight skin--calmed and at peace knowing he's giving sam what he needs for reassurance.

as for john finding out about dean's presentation, i think there's definitely a moment where john worries that he did this to him. dean and sammy are play-sparring in the dirt lot behind bobby's house, and when sammy playfully bites down on dean's neck like he always does, dean goes rigid. his heat lasts a week and sam is inconsolable. he's screeching and fighting against bobby and john in turn when they refuse to let him upstairs where dean's locked in a spare bedroom. dee smells wrong, he sobs, he's hurt, isn't he, did i hurt him?

but while john ices the scrapes sammy leaves up and down his arms after the pup cries himself to sleep that no, john did this, didn't he? he left those boys alone for hours. days. dean spent too much time treating sammy like his pup, and his hormones got all fritzy. his biology got confused, because john thought it was good for both of them to be close in a hunter's life. but it was also easy for john--to not have to worry about sammy as much and have someone pick up the (too frequent) slack--which eats at him.

john saw the way sammy trots after dean, fingers tucked in his belt loops. john saw the way dean dunks sam--squawking--head-first into the murky motel pool, and he saw the way dean would sit with him a few hours later, toweling his hair for minutes longer than necessary, sammy leaning into him like a magnet to a fridge. john heard dean purr sam to sleep after dean presented, sam's head smushed to dean's chest while dean's quiet rumbles slipped under the door crack of the cabin they were renting. john saw sam pause everyday before he left for school and let dean rub a wrist over his head, a preliminary and parental scenting that he only let john do sometimes.

and john didn't do anything to stop it.

and john doesn't know what to do, when sammy dutifully and solemnly brings dean his clothes to add to his nests in the week leading up to dean's heats. he doesn't know what to say when sam waits patiently on the edge of dean's nests until dean deems it acceptable, and lets sam crawl in with him. he doesn't know what to do when sam, freshly presented at thirteen--earlier than dean--crawls into his brother's bed whimpering like a pup, and dean lets sam scent him for comfort. he doesn't know what to do when sam gets in his face and actually growls at him when john tells him to pack his shit and stow the drama, and only calms down when dean calls pup, look at me in a strong, sharp voice.

(for the life of me, anon, i could not find any info on a penanggalan case, so i'm so sorry if you're referencing something specific (+ a specific corporeal punishment) and i couldn't find it)

john says maybe next time you'll think before doing something so goddamn stupid, while dean's shaking and sweating and fighting through the press-ups john keeps adding weight to. when he adds another thick book to dean's shoulders and dean cries out, the mutilated half-snarl sam isn't quick enough to stop slides out. he's been growling for the past few minutes, as soon as john added the first weight. it's been quiet enough to be denied, but john shoots an angry look over his shoulder at his youngest at this newest insubordination. sam doesn't hide his glare, the red-hot fury in his eyes. you want to join him, john snaps, but dean immediately pants--thin and reedy and overexerted--my fault, sammy. i got it.

fourteen-year-old sam is completely feral when dean gets injured on a hunt. john's never seen anything like it, when sam goes completely nonverbal and rips a ghoul's head off of its body with his bare hands. he crouches over dean and rips off the limbs of anything that even gets close. dean's pale and losing blood quickly, and when the coast is clear and john runs over to his sons, there isn't recognition in sam's eyes for a long second. just pure, frantic, territorial alpha.

dean's mostly unconscious, but sam quietly whimpers the entire way to the hospital, holding pressure against dean's wound and lurching to press his face into dean's hair every few minutes. it's eerie. it's terrifying.

john let it go too far. he knows he did.

it's too late now.

but, he tries to reason. it makes sense. dean's the omega that practically raised him. sam's known his scent longer than he's ever known a mother's.

sam's young. it'll be different when they're older.

john's right. but mostly, he's wrong.

~~~

anon PLEASEEE never hesitate to send me more of these--this clearly ran away with me, lol. i LOVEEE omega!dean!!!

thank you so much for sending this ask, anon! <33

-lizzy

[yumiis]

i was wondering if you could do nick x reader with reader being in denial/oblivious to nick's flirting with them. like they take it as a joke every time bc they don't think someone would ever be in love with them/like them?

YESS i love this trope you've found my soft spot

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 are you seeing anyone? ; nick

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre; hurt/comfort, fluff

type; drabble

read below!

Nick wanted you to be his. Super badly. However, every time he made a move, you'd just laugh it off or ignore him completely. It really upset him, but he wouldn't give up on you that easily.

You'd always been the one asked out as a joke, flirted with as a joke, it was always 'ask out Y/n as a joke!'. It absolutely killed your self esteem. It also caused you to not ever dare to reciprocate feelings to anyone, because you knew it would always be too good to be true. Nick included. You figured it was some inside joke with all the guys.

Your phone repeatedly buzzed, Nick's contact appearing on the screen. You slid over to the answer button, "Hello?.." He smiled as you answered, "Y/n! I was worried I wouldn't get ahold of you. Do you wanna do something today? I'm free, the rest of the guys are out." You were floored. This had to be a joke. "Uhh.." You thought for a minute. What could the harm really be? "Sure. What'd you wanna go do?" He smiled widely to himself, finally! He'd get to be alone with you and show you that he really does care, and he's not flirting with you as some cruel joke.

"We could just go to the mall or like, a museum or something? Just to hang out. And uh, don't worry about money! That's on me." He spoke smoothly, no hesitation in his voice whatsoever. You took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect. "O.. Okay. Gotcha. I'll be ready soon then? I can drive over and meet you at the house." He shook his head, "Nah, I'll drive over to you. Be there in thirty!"

In almost exactly thirty minutes time, Nick was knocking on your door. You flattened your shirt, answering the door. "Hey!.." You softly smiled at Nick, noticing he wasn't wearing anything too fancy. "Hey! You look nice. Nicer than me at least, heh." You chuckled a little, "Yeah, heheh.." You were trying your hardest to accept that maybe this wasn't a joke, but it was hard. "Well, you ready? I got all my shit in the car. The mall doesn't close 'til about 8, so we got time!" You nodded, "Ye— yeah!"

You guys spent about an hour or two at the mall, shopping around. Nick threw out some compliments and offered to buy you so much, but you had to decline almost every time. You just felt too guilty if you took that much money from him. He insisted on at least buying you lunch, to which you said was fine.

"So, Y/n," He started as he ate his chicken sandwich, "Are you seeing anyone?" Your face and body went cold, "Huh?" You were confused why he was asking you that. You knew it. This was all some ruse set up by the boys to make a fool out of you. "Like, are you going out with anyone?" You slowly shook your head, "Uhm, no, I uh.. I guess not." Nick looked a little sad, "You wouldn't consider this seeing eachother?" He nonchalantly asked you. You perked up. "I— Oh! Oh, uhm!.."

Nick tilted his head, "Or if you don't like me in that way and i'm taking this wrong that's fine! Just tell me that, because I know you kinda ignore or laugh off any time I make like.. any flirtatious comment.." He smiled sheepishly. You sighed, "No, it's not like that.. I, uh, I do like you like that. I was just like," You paused for a second, waving your hands around a little, "Bullied in school. So I was always the one that was asked out as a joke." He stared at you in awe. "I thought this was all some joke."

"This was never a joke," He placed his hand on top of yours, "Me liking you was never a joke. The guys were really all out today, they all actually really want me to start seeing you. They all really like you, dude." You smiled softly, looking back at Nick. "So? Are you seeing anyone?"

"... Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

[softnsquishable]

Well, i want to ask, how is joe irl? Lol

Like how was the m&g interaction

Finally, an excuse to tell the whole story. I will spare no details, so buckle up. tl;dr he is the nicest boy on earth.

About thirty minutes before Joe's signing block began, me and some other fobbies had clustered at one end of the area. I was totally cool - and then someone said "oh there's Joe" and I turned around and yeah, there he was, only a few feet away. He was holding his hands behind his back, looking lost, just trying to figure out where he was supposed to be and presumably where Rick was. No joke my hand covered my mouth and my heart raced and in that moment I was so SO thankful I had the foresight to get a notecard and write a few bullet points for what I wanted to tell him. Side note, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THAT METHOD because I always think I'll be fine going up to somebody I admire and then my mind BLANKS in the moment. This made everything so much smoother for me.

Once we found out Rick Remender was a big deal and we had to line up, we spent over an hour in line before getting up to where Joe was. I watched two people in front of me go, and then made myself a fantastic introduction by immediately dropping my bag, water bottle and phone on the ground in front of me. I backed up and let the girl that went before me get a photo before stepping forward with a little "hehe, take two".

I was wearing my "I Have Mental Illinois" shirt and Joe looked at it right away, smiled and said "Don't we all?" to which I brilliantly said "I was hoping you'd like it."

I was in the second row center at Sacramento 2ourdust back in March and I had made this sign for Joe.

I figured since it was a signing event for Holy Roller and Rifters I would bring it along to show him. On the night of the show, I had held it up during 16 Candles and he had seemed to see it, smiling over at me and giving a little wave, which definitely made my entire night. I didn't think he'd remember but...

I set the sign down on the table with the comics and said "I don't know if you remember this, but-" and Joe cuts in "I DO remember this. That was you? Yeah, I saw this, and I texted the guys about it right after the show." He then proceeded to tug on Rick's sleeve and say "Hey, Rick...Rick, look, look at this, look what she made." (Side note, seeing Joe just tugging on Rick's sleeve to get his attention, absolutely precious.) I am still completely blown away that he remembered seeing this sign after playing almost forty shows and eight months down the line, but it totally warmed my heart. He even signed it for me with a special sharpie - he dug around in his little cup of markers and then declared, "Rose gold. You're getting rose gold."

I felt my mind start to blank so I took my little notecard out, which I apologized for, but Joe said "Yeah, that's good to have". I then told him, as he gave me his complete attention, thank you for the music (I've been a fan for over 10 years) and for the books, the memoir, all the laughs, and for the community his band has fostered. I told him that I've met all of my best friends because of his band via Tumblr Discord etc. and that it's come so far that one of my closest friends, who I met on a "Fall Out Boy Forum" (it was wattpad but I wasn't gonna tell him that) and I had met after eight years of online friendship at Forest Hills. Joe asked if we were still friends after meeting because sometimes that changes things and I assured him me and them were cool.

I asked him what comics I should read to get more into comics in a similar vein to what he'd written. He thought about it and said that for Holy Roller specifically, a lot of it was inspired by early Batman comics (I believe he said Batman Year one) and that he was currently reading some of that with his daughter - turning his children into little nerds apparently! He went on for a little while like that and to be honest I do not remember all of what he was saying about it, except for at the end he did say "...that's a lot to remember."

Joe then asked me if I had the rest of the books (Holy Roller and Rifters) as he had copies of every single issue on the table. I have to preface this by saying I was a dumbass and didn't think to bring anything to be signed, so I had run into the bookshop earlier and bought an older issue of both Holy Roller and Rifters for the signing. I said yes, I was subscribed and had them at home, even if I hadn't read them yet, and he clarified "I wasn't doubting you, I just wanted to make sure, otherwise I'd give em to you".

Sidebar, he was signing anything people brought, including art, and someone's FUTCT CD. He asked where they wanted it signed and he helped them work it out, noting that, "In the past, people have had me sign on my photo. Yeah, this one, where I'm like...ten years old or whatever". He also signed a memoir or two (mine was signed when I bought it or I might've done that too).

I then asked for a picture and he said sure and he was very glad that "we (the band) helped to bring you friendship". I then asked hi for a handshake, which I got, and stepped over to meet Rick, giving him a little hello and telling him I enjoyed the books, as it was the first comic series I'd ever subscribed to. I then held up my phone for a selfie, which Joe saw us taking, and so he made this face, and then proceeded to laugh about it to himself, which was so SO sweet.

Just before I walked away I told Joe "oh by the way, my (not really mine but) discord server Fall Out Bastards say hi" and he looked mildly confused and said "I do not know them...but pass on my greetings".

I realized a few minutes later that I had forgotten to take a picture with the disposable camera I brought, so I waited for a gap in the Fall Out Boy fans and kind of timidly went, "Hey, Joe...can we get another picture with my disposable where I'm holding the sign?" He said sure, and so I went back over and posed, all the while he was giving us instructions for the camera. ("Make sure you do it with the flash on, I really recommend that...yeah, it's the little switch on the front. Is it on? Okay, good.")

I left the meet up so so happy, and when I sat down on the train to go home, I ended up chatting to the person next to me a bit. She was a casual Fall Out Boy listener it turned out, and when I opened up the sign to show it to her, I noticed that next to Joe's signature-

-he had drawn me a little smiley :') just something that made my heart soar that much higher.

Meeting Joe was genuinely one of the best experiences I've ever had. He gave his full attention to you as you talked, one knee on his chair, wiggling his flip flop sandals and chewing his nicotine gum (I know it's nicotine gum because we audibly heard Rick offer him some and he said yes and took it). Such a sweet guy and I would absolutely recommend that anybody meet him if they have the chance because though I've had to come home to my nine to five and all the issues in the world and in my own personal life...I cheer up a whole lot when I think about this interaction and see that photo of us together.

I do have to say, even as a 5'1 girlie, Joe is SMALLER that I thought he would be! Yes, he looks tall next to the rest of the band, but he is a SMALL BOY and do not let anyone tell you otherwise. Yes, he was leaning over on the table and I was elevated slightly above him, but even when he was standing straight, he did not come across as tall.

I do partially blame this interaction as the reason I went ahead and bought tickets to Innings Fest as well shdfjlsjdlhf but I'm glad I did! I hope to meet and make many more moots there and keep cheering Joe and the others on from wherever in the crowd I may be!

Maybe YOU shouldn't meet your heroes...but if your hero is Joe Trohman, I think you're better off giving it a shot. Here is a bonus photo or two of him being a very good listener.

[apomaro-mellow]

Runaway Royalty 10

Part 9

Eddie spent the rest of the evening convening with his inner circle in one of the cave’s alcoves, speaking so quietly, there wasn’t a way to figure out where the conversation was going, even when Steve found reason to go by the mouth of it no less than three times. Not that he was counting. No, Robin was and before he could make his forth pass, she hooked her arm with his and dragged him off to the space she’d taken as their own. 

“I’d say you look as lost as a child but I’ve never seen a pup so forlorn as you right now.”

“I do not!”, Steve pulled his arm away and sat on the blankets provided to them.

Robin knew that pose. It was his ‘I’m going to sit in front of my vanity and primp’ pose that he did. Usually to ignore someone until they went away. But as he didn’t have a vanity-

“Where did you get that?”, Robin gasped as Steve took out a compact mirror.

“I always pack the essentials”, Steve said, looking himself over, fluffing his hair with one hand while the other held the mirror.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You can’t ignore me forever with that little thing.”

“I can ignore you just long enough.” He brought the mirror closer, looking for what, Robin couldn’t tell. Steve would spend hours in front of his vanity and Robin could never tell you what Steve had even changed. But he always seemed satisfied by the end of it.

Robin plopped down next to him, scooting until her head was in his lap. Steve was able to hold out for approximately thirty seconds before looking down at her. Only to see her eyes had gotten big, round, and wet. Steve groaned.

“Don’t use those against me. I’m the one who taught you how to do that.”

“I learned from the best”, Robin pouted.

Steve sighed and put the mirror away. Robin smiled in triumph and sat up, leaning her shoulder against his. Steve sighed again and nuzzled the top of her head. She may have been an alpha and he an omega, but he was still her big brother. That five minute difference meant something to  him.

“What are you thinking about?”, Robin asked.

“It’s silly.”

“Sillier than running away from home?”

“It’s as silly as thinking that we may need to return home”, Steve confessed.

Robin blinked and pulled away. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Eddie said that Prince Edwin’s disappearance is causing distress among his kingdom. With you and I gone, our kingdom won’t be too far behind.”

Robin frowned. “You don’t think there’ll be a coup, do you? Or a war? Just over us? There’s still a whole line of succession.”

“Having three royals suddenly disappear is no small thing”, Steve said.

“Yes, but we didn’t know about Prince Edwin when we did it”, Robin pointed out. “And do you really want to be apart from Eddie?”

Steve brought his knees up to his chest. “You know I don’t. I know this is just infatuation but I…it’s silly.”

“You’re very silly today.”

“Could it not become a true romance? If it were given time?”

Robin laid her head on Steve’s shoulder and rubbed her cheek against it, scenting him. “I think whatever you want to do, you should do it soon. It feels like our path and his will diverge soon.”

That night, they cuddled up close together and fell asleep. Royal blood dictated that after a certain age, they had to sleep separately. Common folk typically slept with their pack in nests but if the royal family did so, it made it all the more easier for assassins. They’d both missed being able to sleep with each other.

But when morning came, Robin tugged his ear gently, coaxing him awake. It might have been gentle, but he was still annoyed by it and tried going back to sleep. 

“You have a gentleman caller”, she whispered into his ear.

Steve stiffened and then quickly relaxed. He whispered back. “How long?”

“He’s been stalking for about ten minutes.”

He wanted to slap her. “And you didn’t wake me?”

“I’ve been trying.”

Steve turned onto his back, pretending to stretch and yawn, then rose to a sitting position. He fixed his hair up a bit just in time to hear Eddie’s footsteps move across their cave. But instead of continuing, as if he were patrolling, he paused at the mouth of it.

“Oh, you’re up.”

“I am”, Steve said, voice soft.

Robin could have rolled her eyes but she refrained. She knew Eddie was trying to talk to Steve but was being annoyingly coy about it. It was a little funny though, watching Steve put on the whole ‘demure omega’ act.

“Well good morning to you. And to you Robin”, Eddie gave a bow.

“Good morning Eddie. I assume you have business with my brother, yes?”

“That I do, if I may have your leave”, he said as he rose back up.

“Hmm, I don’t know, the last time you two were left alone-”

Steve threw the blanket off of himself, into Robin’s face and got up to meet Eddie at the mouth of the cave. “Ignore her. She doesn’t know when a joke has gone too far.”

Eddie chuckled as he watched Robin struggle under the fabric. “Oh but ‘tis no joke for me. She is your kin and an alpha at that. I intend to do right by the both of you.”

“And to what end?”, Steve asked.

“I invited you both to join my pack. That makes you my responsibility.”

“Is that why you wish to converse with Steve alone?”, Robin asked, finally getting to her feet.

Eddie’s cheeks flushed and he hesitated to answer just long enough for Robin to scoff. He was so incredibly obvious. He and Steve deserved each other, truly.

“Go on, the both of you. Just remember sound travels in these tunnels.”

Now Steve was blushing but he was already rushing Eddie out. It was odd, how short they’d known each other and yet he couldn’t wait to get him alone again.

“So what did you want to talk about?”, Steve asked, their arms linked together.

Eddie’s heart swelled when their gazes met. He couldn’t believe he’d come to care for someone in such a short amount of time. He may need to return as Prince Edwin, but that didn’t mean he had to part from Steve, did it? Eddie wanted to believe his fiance would understand. Wherever he was. Maybe Prince Stephen had gone to elope with his own lover, Eddie couldn’t be sure.

The only thing he could be sure of was the fact that he wanted more time with the omega on his arm right now. Not some faceless royal who he’d never met. Eddie led their stroll across the main cavern, towards his own space.

“I meant what I said. I invited you and Robin to join us. And I know we haven’t officially set it, but I already consider the both of you pack.” 

Eddie felt emboldened when he could smell Steve’s interest. When they got to his den, Eddie sat Steve on a pillow. One that seemed like it was meant for nicer places than a cave. A blanket over the mouth acted as a privacy curtain for the space.

“You heard what I said last night. I have to return home. Someone else will lead the bandits. But you and Robin you could…” Eddie knelt in front of Steve. “You could come and stay with me.”

“S…stay with you?”, Steve breathed out.

“I want to court you the way you deserve, Steve. For longer than a day, for longer than a month. You deserve love letters, and courting gifts, and for me to earn Robin’s approval.”

“You would do all of that? Welcome us into your home and promise me all of that?”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hands. “I may not look like I come from much but we’ve got plenty of room.” It was all Eddie had thought about last night. Bringing Steve into the castle, introducing him to his family and being allowed to show the world his love. It was unorthodox, a prince courting and then marrying a commoner. But it was what his parents had done. That was something he’d been entirely truthful about.

Not many knew exactly what happened to the Bandit King. But Princess Tannis falling for someone below her station was well known. His parents would be hypocrites to not accept Steve. If they had a problem with it, he’d run away again. But Steve was meant for the throne.

“If I accept…”, Steve started, his hands smoothing up Eddie’s arms. “Would we be allowed to consummate the courtship?”

“I don’t see why not”, Eddie said, his own arms coming around Steve’s waist and bringing them to their feet. 

Their faces got close, pausing to savor their scents mixing when the blanket was pulled back, revealing Gareth. “I drew the short straw. Come and eat.”

Steve sighed but Eddie patted his hip. “All for the best, my sweet. I said you deserve better than a forest floor and I didn’t mean a cave.” Now that his path was clear, Eddie knew exactly what he had to do. What he wanted to do. Any thoughts of Prince Stephen had been completely erased from his mind. It was all just Steve, Steve, Steve.

Part 11

[beeandheroddobsessions]

Bloody Sacrifices

Summary: Reader reminisces about how she ended up with Elvis

TW: Cheating, angst, I think that’s it!

A/N: I know I know, where tf has bee been? Under a rock, sorry for leaving so suddenly but that’s just the way things go, I really did try to get back into my groove, with little success. But between school, and getting married and work, I had no time or really the patience to let myself be creative. And then, Eureka! An idea struck and my drafted papers that had been waiting on me finally started to get finished. Again, really sorry for the cliffhangers and such!

-Signed, Bee💕

Mrs. Presley,

What a title. Sometimes, it’s hard to think of life without him. He’s not perfect, no man is, but he’s pretty damn close.

Often time, you find yourself thinking about how you got this far. Married, comfortable, committed, with a beautiful child and very little worries.

The day had been heavy, you hadn’t had the greatest time. The boy you swore your heart to decided that for your third anniversary, he would treat another beauty to the dinner you reserved. Under his name, like some fool.

When the attendants opened the doors, you passed under the threshold, heart swelling. Something made you so certain it would be the day; the day he’d get down on one knee with glassy eyes and a nervous tongue and fumble over those four little words that would change your life forever.

When you asked the hostess about your table, she was quick to inform you that, the table had already been sat. You thought, for a moment, that he had beat you here. This made you excited, thinking he was really taking the initiative. So you thanked the woman and made your way around the restaurant, searching for your dream boat.

It didn’t take you long to spot him, knowing that haircut just about anywhere. Actually, every minute detail, down to how his collar hugged his neck was logged in your brain. Up until this point, you had spent an unhealthy amount of time…studying, perfecting.

So you approached the table, carefully as to not give away how excited you really were. As you got closer, hoping to see him fidgeting with his tie in front of an empty seat, you could feel the butterflies churn in your stomach. As fate would have it, things don’t always go as planned. Not at all actually.

Instead, you found a pretty blonde woman with tears in her eyes adoring an exceptional rock, and that boy with his head held high, with a beaming smile, and chest puffed out. Made you sick.

To this day, you aren’t sure what really drove you to do what you did that night.

Maybe, it was the way you cleaned after him like a mother would a toddler, or the way he expected dinner on the table before he returned at five thirty or all hell broke loose. It might’ve even been having to keep everything spectacularly clean. Down to his damn underwear.

Whatever it was, the camels back was broken and there was no reason for you to hold face now. You kept the tears at bay, gracefully walking over, stopping in front of the lovely couple.

Wouldn’t you know. As soon as the man saw you he did start to fidget with that tie. That same damned tie you bought for his birthday. You’d never seen him wear it but you’d guessed that day was as good a time as any.

And her. When you really looked at her, you picked her apart in less than 20 seconds. Bottle blonde, not natural, lipstick that wasn’t her color, makeup that didn’t compliment her, the dress she wore did nothing for her figure. All the things he swore not to like, sat right in front of you. You couldn’t believe it.

With a painfully fake smile you looked between the two. You had let out a quick breath in preparation for what you were about to say. It was quick, and sweet, no malice detected.

“Engaged?”

That was it. That was all you had asked.

Withought missing a beat she nodded her head

“After two years, I wasn’t even expecting this! At a place this nice, on our anniversary too. He really is so thoughtful. And the ring, ugh—”

She continued to ramble, but all you could hear was “Two years” and “our anniversary”

She had no clue about you. None.

And, for two of the three years, this man had the wool pulled over your eyes. Fresh out of high school, You had been walking blindly behind him and never noticed.

At least that’s what you told yourself in the moment.

But, you did know. You just wanted to deny your ignorance in that moment. You couldn’t deny the late nights, foreign perfume, and lack of affection though. Not even if you wanted to.

Till the very end though, you kept face.

“How lovely, I hope… I—, wish you both the very best.”

The woman gave a quick false smile and said “thank you, but we are trying to celebrate.”

You nodded your head and returned the same smile. You timber spinning on your feet and gearing up to make a beeline for the door. You really couldn’t help yourself though. You threw your head over your shoulder,

“Just remember, he doesn’t like it when you leave the stains in his underwear. You’ll never get them out though, just burn them and buy a new pair!”

And with that, you were through the door. Though it was a small power move, the tears still flooded your vision. It hurt bad. There was a slight downpour, mimicking the feelings you harbored. With no car you had no choice but to keep walking.

The back of your feet were rubbed raw, skin broken and bleeding. The hairstyle you had chosen for that night and no doubt frizzy beyond repair through slight adjustments.

In your emotional haze, the grate on the sidewalk went unnoticed, the back of your heel payed the price. You stopped and removed the shoe, assessing the damage. This small inconvenience on any other day would’ve made you roll your eyes and let out a curse or two. This wasn’t a normal day.

You had broken character. An almost primal shriek left your chest. Something akin to that of a hurt animal. It wasn’t pretty, or poised. It was raw and unfiltered. The scream felt good, exhilarating.

Even with that nice release of emotion, you wanted to go home. You removed both shoes and chucked them as far as you could, sacrificing their beauty, and continuing on your journey back to your very warm and dry house.

A few minutes passed, you were about five minutes away when those headlights creeped up behind you.

You looked back, part of you hoping it was the fool you’d banked on. What he did was unforgivable, yes, but you had nothing else. As the car started to progress a little was past you, you tossed that hope through the window.

“Scuse’ me honey. Why’d ya throw your heels at me?”

You stopped, glaring over at the unidentified stranger,

A simple, “I didn’t,” was all he got out of you.

The car stopped all together. The sound of the door opening put you on edge. A man stopping at this time of night, to return a broken pair of heels? Yea, right. When he rounded his car with your shoes in hand and a smug look on his pretty…face. He looked you up and down and you did the same, wondering who-

Holy shit. Was all you could think. You had thrown your heels, your very broken heels at Elvis Presley.

“Now honey, I’m no shoe salesman, but I’d bet my bottom dollar, that these here fit those pretty little puppies just right. Save for your ankles of course—”

Your shoulders dropped and you held your hand out.

“Please, just give em’ here. Night’s been bad enough, Mr. Presley. I don’t need to be humiliated any further.”

The brunet let out a light chuckle,

“Wanna tell me your name?”

You let out a sigh,

“Y/n.”

“Call me Elvis. And I can see that it’s been a little rough. What happened, honey, date stood ya up?”

You shook your head and decided to humor him,

“No, I found my beau with a different beauty,”

His smile faltered and he parted his lips, no doubt to issue an apology. You continued before he got the chance,

“Which he proposed to…”

His mouth closed, face showing pity. The last part of your confessional came out barley above a whisper,

“On our anniversary.”

Elvis was too stunned to speak, he looked around as if to see if anyone else had heard what you just said. He was in utter disbelief, that someone could wilt a beautiful flower such as yourself.

“I’m sorry honey, I didn’t meant to poke fun at you, just wanted a chance to ask you on a date.”

You could’ve sworn your ears were malfunctioning.

“I’m flattered, but no less than twenty minutes ago, I thought I was getting married. I don’t think it’s a good time—”

Elvis was quick to shake his head,

“No , no I meant to say it wasn’t appropriate. But at least let me drive you home.”

With nothing but tears to lose, you nodded your head and shuffled to the passenger side door, which he kindly opened for you.

The two-minute ride i was silent but not uncomfortable, the radio was at a low volume and the only time you spoke was to give directions.

When you arrived at your small home, you thanked Elvis for the ride. Before you could part, he handed you a slip with his number on it,

“Call when you’re ready for that date, honey.”

Hesitantly, you took the slip and made your way inside.

It was stuffed in a drawer somewhere as you fell into your stupor. For two weeks, you wallowed in self-pity. Fourteen days before you grew a pair. You rummaged though all your kitchen drawers looking for that slip.

It might have been foolish to assume Elvis would still be thinking about you after two weeks, but you still gave it a try.

Your hands trembled as you spun the rotary dial, carefully choosing every number that was on the paper. Receiver against your ear, chewing on your lip.

It rang three times before you’d slammed the phone back on its hook. It was a fruitless idea, there was just no way—

A ring stopped your negative thoughts, it rang twice before you picked it back up. Saying hello and waiting for a response.

“Y/n?” There was a pause. You didn’t know he’d given you his personal number.

“Uh, hello? Honey?…ya there?”

You shook of the surprise,

“Y—yes, uh, yes m’here”

Elvis wouldn’t be Elvis without pointing out the obvious

“So, you’re finally callin’ bout that date?”

You could practically hear the smile in his voice, and with a roll of your eyes, you said yes.

That date turned into ten years of love and a little bit of stress. He got you the prettiest ring, proposed at the prettiest dinner, and gave you the gift of your son.

For once, tears felt good on your face. When you look for reasons to stay with this perfectly imperfect man, you remember,

Those bloody sacrifices.

Taglist: @powerofelvis @rjmartin11 @re3kin

[afictionaladventure16]

bb I'm feeling the angst and hurt/comfort hyperfixation choking me out. what about... Pedro's daughter is incredibly stressed out. She doesn't ask for help because she doesn't want to be a bother. It comes to a head and she breaks down crying when he asks how her day is. Being the amazing dad he is, he cares for his baby and makes sure she takes a break and gets extensions for assignments

Stressed Out (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Word Count: 1,712

A/N: I got you, bb!!! <3 I hope this isn't too short btw!! I hope you like it!!

Warnings: mentions of burn out.

Pedro had been keeping a close eye on your door, watching the small glow of light coming from underneath. It had been over two hours since you last came out and when you did, you barely said a word. He didn’t want to seem like an overbearing father going in to check on you 24/7, but he also didn’t want you to think he didn’t care. 

Maybe this was all his anxiety getting to him. 

“What is she doing?” He asked himself as he got up from the position on the couch. He hesitates walking over to your room, and eventually, he allows himself to go cook dinner. “I’ll cook dinner and then if she doesn’t come out, then I’ll check on her,” he tells himself. 

You, on the other hand, were stressing out about all the assignments that somehow your teachers had due in the same week. You had no idea how it all came crashing down on you, as a well-organized person, you always had everything done on time and never dealt with things being due all in the same week, until now. 

You had not had a good night's rest since Thursday night. It is Tuesday. Most of your weekend was spent trying to figure out what assignment you could do the quickest and which one needed your most attention. Then you spent a good amount of your weekend researching and crying and then doing more research and some more crying. 

Part of you was glad that your dad had to be away for most of the day because you didn’t have to deal with him coming in every hour to check on you. Also, you didn’t have to bother him for help. Even if he had offered, you’d still refused because you didn’t want to be a bother. It wasn’t his mess, but yours. 

“Focus, Y/N,” you said to yourself, it was hard to keep your eyes open. They were closing every other minute, stinging with any little breeze that came from the A.C. Growing heavy with every waking moment, you wanted so badly to just close them for a few minutes, but you knew it wouldn’t just be a few minutes. 

Naps were a no-go, there wasn’t any time in your schedule for them. You slapped your face, hoping that the stinging of your cheek would distract you from the stinging of your eyes, and for a moment it worked. Only a moment. Then it was both your cheek and eyes stinging and no work getting done. 

You groaned to yourself, resting your head on your desk, “Fuck me,” you muttered. 

Your current subject was Chemistry and boy did you hate chemistry. Yes, the concept and the way it works are interesting, and the experiments you did were cool and interesting, but the work? Difficult. You hated it. You weren’t a chemistry type of person. Nor were you a math person. 

You sat at your desk, staring at the word problem in front of you for about thirty minutes. The longer you stared at it, the less sense it made. You moved the paper to the other side of your desk, maybe if you looked at it from a different angle it would make more sense. You knew it wouldn’t work, but at this point you were desperate. 

A knock at your door disrupted your thoughts, “Come in,” you said softly. 

Your dad walked in, a smile on his face, “Hey, not sure if you smelled it, but dinner is just about ready.” 

You hadn’t. You were so focused on your homework that you didn’t even smell dinner and you didn’t notice how hungry you were. Maybe some food in your system would help. 

“Thank god,” you muttered as you got up from your desk, following your dad out into the kitchen. 

“Mind setting up the table?” He asked as he gestured towards the small mess of miscellaneous items on the kitchen table. 

You groaned at the sight, “Can’t we just eat at the counter like we always do?” 

He chuckled, “Alright, but I swear, we keep putting it off.” You didn’t say anything else, your mind lingered back over to the assignments that were waiting for you at your desk. You could be finishing them right now. Your dad noticed how you got quiet, “you okay, hon?” 

You hummed a response, sitting down on the stool next to the counter. “Looks like something is on your mind.” 

“It’s nothing,” you said with a smile.

He sighed, placing one of the plates down, “Mija, I know you too well to know when you’re lying to me.” He walked over to you, leaning against the counter. “What’s on your mind?” 

You let out a shaky breath, “School,” you said as tears began to well up in your eyes. 

Your dad's face instantly softened, “Oh, Cariño, what’s wrong?” 

You took in a deep breath, “I’m just stressed out,” you began, “I have two assignments for chem due on Thursday, Two Essays due Friday, Three assignments for Calculus, and an art project all due Friday too.” 

Your dad wouldn’t say it to your face, but you were fucked. It was a lot of assignments and so little time. “Oh, Mija,” he cooed. “No wonder you’ve been locked up in your room!” 

You let out a small sob, and your dad pulled you in for a hug, “I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed. “I’ve been working nonstop on my assignments since Thursday, I barely got any sleep over the weekend. I’m so tired, Dad.” 

“Mija, how come you didn’t tell me?” he asked. 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you sobbed into his shirt. 

He let out a disappointed sigh, rubbing your back gently. “Mija, you’re never bothering me when it comes to these things, you know I’d rather you tell me than you be all stressed out.” 

You let go of the embrace, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, “I didn’t want you to feel stressed. I know you had a long weekend with all the press you had to do.” 

“Just because I have to stand in front of a camera and answer a few questions for a duration of time, doesn’t mean you can’t tell me these things. You come first in my life, if there is something you need help with I want you to tell me. I’ll make arrangements,” he gently wiped away the tears on your face with his thumbs. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

It was beginning to all make sense, why you hadn’t come out of your room and why you were always yawning around him. He was slowly starting to believe that you thought he was boring. 

“It’s okay, but from now on you tell me if you need help, okay?” You gave him a small nod, and he placed a kiss on your forehead. “Alright,” he began, “this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to go to your school tomorrow and ask for extensions on your assignments, you are also going to take the night off. That means no more working on these assignments for the night, okay?” 

“But-” 

“No buts or ifs about it, senorita!” He said sternly but with a smile on his face. “Tomorrow when you get home from school we’re going to work on your assignments together, Okay?” You nodded, “Now go change into your pajamas and hop into bed and wait for me.” 

“What about dinner?” 

“Go!” 

You rolled your eyes and jumped off the stool, your dad placed a quick kiss on your cheek before you walked off. 

“Aye esta nina,” he muttered to himself as he watched you walk down the hall. He couldn’t believe that you tried to hide this from him, especially since you told him almost everything. But it was okay, he was going to make sure you got the help you needed for your assignments. 

After a few minutes, Pedro carried two plates with him to your room. You were already laying down under the covers when he walked in, “thought you were going to send me to bed without dinner,” you commented. 

He chuckled, “Nope, we’re having dinner in bed,” he stated, placing one of the plates on the bedside table before handing you the other plate. He laid down beside you, grabbing his plate. Your dad grabbed the remote that was on the bedside table, “alright, what are we watching?” You shrugged, “Paddington 2?” 

You groaned in annoyance, “Not Paddington 2, I already feel shitty, I don’t wanna feel shitty and sad.” 

“Alright, alright, no Paddington 2. Even though it’s a masterpiece.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, “I know!” He exclaimed. 

You watched as he began to put in the letters in the search bar, “Bridesmaids?” 

“It’s a classic!” 

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “alright, I can agree with that.” 

You were quick to finish your dinner, laying your head on your dad's shoulder as the sound of his laughter slowly drifted you to sleep. 

Pedro wasn’t sure when you had fallen asleep and he wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for your snores. He smiled to himself as he gently moved you so you were in a better position on the bed. He grabbed the plate from your lap before attempting to leave the bed, but he felt a tug on his sleeve. 

“Don’t leave,” you muttered in your sleep. 

He sighed, “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. He was quick to go place the dishes in the sink and get into his pajamas before heading back to your bedroom. 

He got back into the bed, “Cuddle, por fav.” (please) 

He chuckled, you hadn’t asked to cuddle since you were little and he had missed it if he was honest. “Alright,” he said as he lifted his arm so you could lay beside him. He placed another kiss on your forehead, “Go mimis, mija, I’ll be right here.” That was all you needed. You were safe in his arms and you knew that you could get a good night's rest now. Your assignments could wait one day. Your dad moved a strand of hair out of your face, “my stubborn girl,” he whispered. 

Pedro Pascal Taglist:  @tracysnook  @cilliansangel  @change-the-world-someday  @graciegoeskrazy @oggystine93 @t-stark35 @twkobii @picklehat3r @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @white-wolf-buckaroo @steadydragongalaxy @rooting4theantihero @soupinasock @Ilovehotdadsandshit @dzaga890 @marantha @emmasauger @marysucks-blog @pcotato

[foreverrandomwritings]

Worth It In The End

Summary: Almost a year after an amicable divorce Beau finds himself still reluctant to participate in social gatherings. However he just can't seem to say no to the Bates family. He finds more than he bargained for when he attends their annual Halloween party.

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Divorce, children, marriage counseling, alcohol, fake blood and Beau being a bit of a dumbass.

Word count: 2387

Masterlist

Beau had been particularly annoyed at every social gathering he had attended this year. Everyone asked where his now ex wife was and then he had to awkwardly explain they had divorced. They had spent the better part of two years in couples therapy that ended up being an epic fail at the end. Frankly he wasn’t really sure why he had gone to his fellow admirals annual Halloween party. The plan had been to stay home and nurse a bottle of whiskey and watch old black and white films. 

But when his best friend all but pleaded that he be in attendance he relented and showed up. He had even adorned a costume, a cheap vampire costume from Spirit Halloween. Pale makeup had been caked on his face by Warlock's thirteen year old twin daughters. Black eye shadow around his eyes to give a hollowed out effect and fake blood dripped down his chin. They had even coerced him into adding fangs to his teeth. 

“Are you actually going to eat something or are you going to just stand here glaring a hole into all the food?” He had been standing by the snack table for what felt like hours trying to figure out what he could eat that wouldn't have his fangs coming out of his mouth, the glue holding them in place was very delicate he had been told. 

“Mallory and Stephanie talked me into putting fangs in then lectured me for a good thirty minutes about not eating anything that could pop them off my teeth. I am trying to figure out what would be soft enough to not heed the wrath of your daughters.” Beau gave Solomon a pointed glare, to which the man let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. 

“How in the world did the Navy allow you to be an admiral when you get swindled into things by teenagers?” Solomon’s voice was teasing as he picked up a chocolate dipped pretzel rod and took a large bite of it. Beau cursed the teeth he had been swindled into as he glared at the pretzel rod. 

“Those girls are very persuasive Solomon and you know it.” Beau’s eyes narrowed at the man as he took another large bite of the pretzel. The white that was to look like a mummy was almost all consumed by the man. 

“I think you’re just a pushover Beau. Have been since the girls were born.” A smile graced both of the men's features at the memory of the mid winter day the girls were born. The same day that Solomon had asked him to be the twins' godfather. Which he had graciously accepted. The second they were placed in his arms he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to them. 

“You don’t have much room to talk.” Beau looked down at the cowboy costume Solomon was wearing. Him and his wife were dressed as Barbie and Ken per the request of said daughters.

“Touche, Beau, Touche.” Solomon held his hands up in defense two more chocolate covered pretzels held in one hand. The black eyes of the mummy seemed to mock him. 

“Oh Beau there you are. I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” Solomon's wife popped up from behind him at the words. She came to stand next to her husband and gave them both a mischievous smile. His eyebrows both shot up at the look she was giving him. The girls had definitely gotten their power of persuasion from their mother. 

“I have someone I’d like you to meet.” he tried to hide the surprise from his face but guessed he had failed as his best friend gave him a cheeky knowing grin. He should’ve guessed there was an ulterior motive for Solomon being so persistent on his attendance tonight. 

“She is actually on her way over to us right now so please behave.” With those words you walked into sight. You had on an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt and a name tag that Beau couldn’t read due to the dimmed lights of the room. You stuck your hand out with a small smile on your face as she introduced the two of you. He couldn’t help but take in the absolute beauty you were. Hair tied in a half up bun, makeup done ever so slightly, eyes bright and smile wide. 

“Honey, I think we need to go and fill up the fog machines.” Solomon put a hand on the small of his wives back before leading her away from Beau and you. But not before the couple sent you both respective winks. To which you both rolled your eyes at. 

“I like the fake blood.” The words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. He struggled to not bring a hand up to his chin where the bright red liquid had surely stained his skin. He took in the rest of your outfit quickly, the sunglasses tucked into your hair even though it was night time, the sandals adorning your feet and the solid colored flowy pants that matched the leaves in the Hawaiian shirt you were wearing. 

“I have no idea how I’m gonna get this stuff off later.” The sentence was true, the girls hadn’t told him how to clean the makeup. The only thing they had told him was to not mess it up. Mallory had actually pointed a sharply pointed end of a makeup brush his way while Stephanie uttered the words to him, a threat more than a suggestion. 

“A wet washcloth should do the trick just fine. If not then a few makeup wipes should help.” You had cocked your head to the side as you assessed the cheap pale layer that had been smeared across his face. He racked a hand through his hair, working loose some of the hair gel that had been slathered on the dark locks. 

“Thank you for the tip. I’ll be sure to file that information down for later.” He gave you a thankful smile to which you waved your hand in a dismissive way, as if to say no problem. It was that moment he noticed just how much younger than him you seemed to be. A little bit of worry gnawed on his brain. 

“How do you know Gina and Solomon?” You picked up a glass of punch that had been pre-filled after eyeing the ingredients and scanned the table of snacks as you asked the question. He shifted from one foot to the other as he answered the often asked question. Relief flooding through him that you were a new person, meaning you weren’t going to ask about his ex wife.  

“I’ve known Solomon for years through work. How do you know the couple?” He took a sip of the Jack and Coke he had snagged from the kitchen earlier in the night as he once again eyed your outfit. This time he could read the word on your name tag which simply said City. 

“I actually ran into Gina a couple of months ago at the library. I was donating a few of my books. She happened to be doing volunteer work reading for the little ones. We struck up a conversation over my work. She then graciously invited me to her book club and we’ve been friends ever since.” Your eyes lit up as you finally found a suitable food grabbing a plate with a cheesy spider web design and adding a few fruits, vegetables, cookies and plain pretzels. 

“You said you were donating your books. Were they ones you’ve read enough to be satisfied to donate or ones you’ve had forever and never gotten around to reading?” You picked up a snap pea from your plate, peeling away the string and snapping off the ends. 

“I actually wrote a children's book. I was dropping off a few copies of it!” Beau let out a surprised hum at your response. Taking in the way your eyes got slightly wider on the topic of your work. You ate the snap pea quickly before working on the next one on your plate. 

“Have you written many books?” He decided he wanted to keep the light in your eyes so he would ask you as many questions as he could think of. Plus it got the topic off him, when people heard about his work they typically questioned him relentlessly about it. 

“This was the second book in the series. I am contracted for two more of this series before being able to move on.” you seemed to ponder what you said for a second before adding on. 

“Not that I want to move on from it. I have actually grown quite attached to the characters. I know my brother is just as reluctant to move on as I am.” you popped a strawberry into your mouth at the end of your sentence. 

“Is your brother a co-author?” He watched as you cleaned the corner of your mouth with your thumb before wiping the liquid on your napkin he hadn’t seen you pick up. He found himself already desperate to feel your lips against his own. But quickly shook his head to clear the thought away, focusing on your conversation once again. 

“He is actually an illustrator, thankfully. I was dreading having to find an artist when he stepped up.” a grin took over your features at the mention of your brother. Another topic seemingly important to you he decided, filing it away for later. 

“I’m assuming you work for the Navy?” he straightened his body a little bit, pride evident in the way he held himself. Even if he was reluctant to talk about his job he seemed to want to please you in any way he could. Plus he was very proud of the position he held. 

“I am Vice Admiral at the local base.” Even with the cheap costume on you could see the way he flexed his arms and chest as he spoke the words. Seemingly puffing himself up with authority. You weren’t complaining though, drinking in the way he simply existed in this moment. 

“Oh you’re Cyclone then!” The realization seemed to hit you in one foul swoop. From the look on his face you could tell he was confused. Your cheeks heated as he gave you a bit of a bewildered look. 

“Gina and the girls talk about you all the time. They all absolutely adore you. I can see why.” Beau preened under the praise. Something he didn’t even know he was capable of until you uttered those words. 

“Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?” It was his turn to blurt out words. He couldn’t help himself with the way your eyes scanned his form. Then he remembered just how ridiculous he looked and he felt his throat closing slightly. 

“I would actually love to have dinner with you. I’m free this Friday if that works for you?” Your eyes crinkled at the side from how wide you were smiling, teeth on full display, lip gloss shining slightly in the dim light from the pumpkin lights lining the top of the room. 

“Friday works great, do you have anywhere in mind?” He wasn’t really sure of any good restaurants around town. He hadn’t been out much since even before his amicable divorce. He preferred eating at home rather than going out. 

“We could make dinner together at my place. That way we can actually get to know each other without the awkwardness of being in public?” You were nervous as you asked the question, taking a large gulp of the untouched punch you had set down on the table beside you. The flimsy material of the cup with a matching spider web as the plate you had, left with an indent from your teeth as you chewed on it anxiously waiting for his response. 

“Dinner at your place sounds lovely. I can bring a bottle of wine if you’d like?” Your shoulders released some of the tension they held as he agreed to your proposition. You nodded in reply to the question, losing a breath as you did so. 

“I’ll give you my number and we can decide a time and what to have tomorrow.” You set the plate of mostly eaten food on the table. Then slipped your phone out of your back pocket, unlocking it and handing it to him. He typed in his number quickly before sending out a quick text to himself. He then slipped his phone from his own pocket, asked you how to spell your name and then added you to his contacts. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He seemed almost sheepish as he spoke, you simply gave him a reassuring nod telling him to go ahead. 

“What in the world are you dressed as?” you giggled at his words, your fingers playing with one of the buttons on your shirt. 

“I guess it isn’t as obvious as I hoped it would be. I’m dressed as Paradise City. The Guns N’ Roses song.” Recognition dawned on him as he took you in once more, the outfit fit for a beach and the City name tag did kind of give it away. 

“Guess I was too distracted by your beauty to figure it out.” He wasn’t sure where he got the confidence to say the words from but he was happy he did. The way your nose crinkled at the compliment and your feet shifted told him you seemed just as nervous as he did. Which gave him some relief. 

You guys ended up talking for the rest of the night, eventually moving away from the snack table to the porch outside, where he gave you his cape to fight off the slight chill of the October night. You promised to give it back to him when you saw him Friday as you climbed into your car and he waved you off telling you he wasn’t worried about you stealing it. Which you would laugh about years down the road as you had never given the cape back, it had ended up finding a home in your closet instead. He decided it was worth it in the end. 

A/N: This little piece was written for the Rocktober event @roosterforme is hosting! Thank you everyone for reading! As always likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @kmc1989