#like that desperate NO as the iron maiden shuts

[lithiumrian]

literally just wanna go to sleep but i can't stop thinking about how right when Jen was finally growing close to Lilia and beginning to understand her, Lilia just up and sacrificed herself

like wtf dude

[littlexdeaths]

i get off - e.m.

perv eddie munson x perv fem reader

you don’t know that i know, you watch me every night…

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), eddie is lil peeping tom but reader loves it, they both steal each other’s shit, oral (f receiving), fingering, cum eating, choking, spanking, dirty talk, mean!dom eddie, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, squirting, they both are nasty freaks

a/n: this is another edit and repost from my old account. it’s one of my favorite fics so i had to move it over here. enjoy freaks xx. 😘

based on i get off by halestorm

word count: 3.8k

you’re sprawled out on your bed, fingers running through your drenched folds. clad in only an oversized iron maiden t-shirt and a pair of knee high socks, you’re everything he’s ever wanted. plucked directly out of one of his dirtiest fantasies.

you can feel his eyes on you, you always do.

not that he realizes that.

and while you’ve lived barely ten feet apart for your entire lives, eddie has never had the courage to make a move.

so he settles for this— watching you through his bedroom window.

fantasizing that the delicate fingers now dipping inside you were his. and the fist currently wrapped around his thick cock was smaller, softer. yours.

the first time he witnessed you like this it was a complete accident.

you had been pent up all day, and didn’t think to shut your bedroom curtains before slipping your hand inside your panties. the bedside lamp bathing your room in a muted yellow hue. eddie had been working on a new song, guitar perched on his lap.

he was frustrated with trying to string together this new melody, glancing up in utter annoyance. that is until his gaze drifted towards the window, his eyes widened and his cock stirred in his jeans.

you looked beautiful, you always did. however this was the most vulnerable state you could be in, and the fact that he got to witness it— made you all the more enchanting to him.

he’d be embarrassed to admit that watching you touch yourself made him cum in his jeans, completely untouched. and that first time you were none the wiser, not noticing the dark eyes that were trailing your figure. but once eddie had gotten a taste he couldn’t get enough.

eagerly waiting by his bedroom window to enjoy his new favorite nightly program… you.

you weren’t sure exactly how long he’d been doing it for, but the night you caught him in the act, it awoke something within you. while eddie made sure to keep his bedroom light off, the moonlight was not on his side that night.

it had filled his room in a soft white glow, highlighting his pale skin. his naked form perched on the edge of his unmade bed, stroking his shaft in tandem with each thrust of your fingers.

his moans are what gave him away, as your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure. but he’d gotten a little too carried away, thinking about how pretty your pussy would look stuffed full with his cock.

the thin walls of the trailer doing nothing to conceal his sounds. when your eyes finally opened, you were met with the most glorious sight you’ve ever seen.

eddie fucking himself into his fist, his head tilted back as he spilled all over his ringed fingers. the image alone had your eyes rolling back, body shaking as your orgasm ripped through you. one of the most intense you’ve ever had, and from that night on you always kept your curtains open.

desperately chasing that euphoric feeling again.

while you didn’t always see him, you knew he was there. the feeling of his greedy eyes on you was enough to have you cumming harder than you ever have in your entire life. your whimpers were muffled but still rang through his ears as he’d make a mess all over his hand and chest.

different images of you— on your knees, on top of him, taking you from behind, or his favorite with his head buried between your thighs.

it was slowly driving him crazy, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of you. he needed more. he quickly found himself staring out his window any chance he could. gazing longingly as you floated around your bedroom.

he watched you change, get ready for the day, study with your college textbooks. your pencil resting in between your teeth. eddie knew it was wrong, that if you ever found out you would be revolted.

if he only knew it was the exact opposite, and how you couldn’t finish without feeling his eyes on you. but you also needed more, desperate to feel his weight on top of you. his mouth trailing over your skin, his cock stretching you out perfectly.

so you became bolder, going as far as to leave your bedroom window open. letting your moans drift through the night air, teasing him further.

and when you noticed some of your panties had gone missing it only heightened your desire for him. knowing he was in your room, touching your things… holding your panties up to his nose as he came all over himself.

grunts of your name escaped his pouted lips, and his left yours as you drenched your fingers. but it wasn’t enough.

you needed him.

fueled by your insatiable lust you found yourself gazing at him more and more. as he sat on his messy floor, playing guitar or working on a dnd campaign. focusing intently on his fingers, and imagining just how good they would feel inside you.

but your favorite was when he was fresh out of the shower. his dark curls were drenched, water dripping down his inked chest. the patch of hair that disappeared beneath his towel drove you absolutely mad.

so you took a play out of his own book, sneaking into his room while he was working at benny’s. or coming home late from a gig at the hideout, surrounding yourself in everything that was so distinctly eddie.

eddie honestly wasn’t concerned when a few of his shirts had gone missing. or a pair of his cum stained boxers, a guitar pick… as he lost things all the time. he simply chalked it up to his forgetful nature, either he misplaced them or lent them to someone.

that is until tonight, as he peered through your window for what felt like the millionth time. his heart was in his throat as he instantly recognized the iron maiden shirt adorning your frame as his.

the realization dawns on him that you knew exactly what he’d been doing this whole time… and instead of being disgusted or upset, you liked it. enough so that you began doing the same thing to him.

that epiphany made any reservations or fears he still had fade into nothingness. the male decided that he couldn’t sit back and only watch you anymore.

he had to have you.

the brunette rose to his feet, pulling a pair of sweatpants over his long legs before slipping out of his bedroom window. quickly dropping onto the ground as he walks the short distance to your adjoined trailer.

his large hands grip the bottom of the window sill, pushing it open the rest of the way before he’s hoisting himself through it. a small gasp leaves you as he tumbles inside and onto your bedroom floor.

eddie is quick to get up onto back on his feet, as you eagerly eye the obvious tent in his gray sweats. he licks his plump lips as he practically sizes you up. he stalks forward like a predator, slowly crawling onto your bed and between your spread legs.

the male grabs your wrist, coaxing your fingers out of your drenched cunt. raising them up to his mouth, slipping them between his lips with a deep groan. “such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?”

for once you’re speechless, his actions jumbling your already fuzzy thoughts. you never imagined he’d actually come through your window, like you’d been dreaming about for weeks.

“speak for yourself, munson…” your confidence suddenly comes rushing back, pushing your fingers deeper into his mouth. feeling your wetness pooling onto the bed sheets as he swirls his tongue around them.

“guess we’re both a little dirty, huh baby?” eddie chuckles as he removes your fingers from his mouth, now leaning over you.

letting yourself fall back against the pillow, his face mere inches from yours. this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to him, now noticing the light freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose. the dimple that indents his cheek as he smirks down at you, little things that you found utterly endearing.

his hands begin drifting down your sides, his smirk only widening as you shudder beneath him. “is that what does it for ya? you like being watched, sweetness?” he grips the fabric of his shirt, starting to push it up your torso.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you. “i get off on you…” you slowly trail your lips up his throat, sucking harsh bruises onto his pale skin. the male letting out a husky moan as you nip at his ear, “getting off on me.”

eddie curses under his breath before he’s pinning you down against the mattress, his lips crashing against yours. your fingers tangle in his wild curls, kissing him back just as forcefully. all the pent up sexual tension and desire now spills from both of you, as his hips rut into yours. you can feel his hard length pressing onto your thigh, causing you to moan into his mouth.

your impatience seems to get the better of you as you grip onto one of his wrists, guiding his large hand in between your thighs. a not so subtle way of telling him exactly what you wanted, the male nips at your lower lip before he’s leaning back onto his knees.

he spreads your thighs even wider, as his dark eyes zero in on the mess between them. his fingers dip between your folds, gathering your sticky nectar on the digits. swirling them around your swollen clit before moving lower.

the metalhead teases you as he circles the tip of his middle finger on your entrance. barely pushing it inside you before removing it, a wet squelch filling the room. “oh listen to her purr for me, baby… you want my fingers inside you?”

you nod frantically, lifting your hips up in an effort to get him closer to where you needed him. but he pulls them away immediately, causing you to whine from the loss. eddie grabs your cheeks in his hand, squishing them together as he meets your hooded gaze. “i asked you a question, sweet cheeks.”

he watches as your eyes glaze over more, the dominance he was exuding turning your brain to mush. “and i expect an answer, or is that pretty little head of yours too fucked out for me?” his tone is condescending, borderline rude but it only seems to fuel the fire in between your legs.

you let out a soft whimper, the male letting go of your cheeks to trail his sticky fingers down your jaw.

“need your fingers, eddie…” you reply.

the male merely chuckles, wrapping his fingers around your neck and hovering his face just inches over yours, while his thumb strokes along the column of your throat.

“need them where, hm?” he prods.

and you’re quickly becoming impatient, and he can tell from how your lips jut out into a pout. your thighs close in around his own, in an attempt to feel some kind of friction.

“come on now…don’t ya wanna be a good girl for me?” he can see the effect those words have on you, your pupils dilating and breath hitching in your throat.

“put them inside me.” while your tone is meant to be demanding, it comes out as more of a breathy plea than anything else.

your heart is pounding in anticipation as his fingers trail over your stomach before cupping your cunt in the palm of his hand.

“and what do good girls say?”

you now realize your mistake, the male raises a brow while he awaits your answer.

“please touch me.” you plead, and eddie is quick to reward you, by plunging two fingers into your awaiting heat.

“see? now you’re learning,” he almost purrs.

and another string of curses leaves his mouth as your walls tighten around his fingers and a high pitched moan falls from yours.

“shit sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight.” he curls the digits up, watching in awe as your back arches off the mattress.

“fuck, i need to taste you,” he mumbles more to himself as he slips between your thighs.

his tongue darts out, encircling your clit with an urgency you’ve never experienced with anyone else before.

the noises you’re making are music to his ears, and while he’s heard them before—you’ve never sounded quite so needy. pride blossoms in his chest knowing it’s because of him, you need him. he was making you feel this good.

your thighs begin to tremble as he increases the pressure of his tongue, pumping his fingers even faster.

“m-more need more.” while eddie wants to reprimand you for not using your manners, he’s been waiting to have you like this for far too long.

but he’d make sure you didn’t forget next time…if there was a next time, he really hoped there would be.

he slips a third finger inside you, the long, thick digits reaching places you never realized existed until now.

but now that you knew what they felt like, your own would never suffice again.

“aww pretty thing, you gonna cum?” he chuckles mockingly as the sound vibrates against your core.

the feeling only aids in bringing your release that much closer, causing your eyes to flutter shut. a harsh slap on your thigh has them flying back open, your eyes meeting his own as he looks up at you from his position between them.

“eyes on me,” his tone is stern, commanding as his tongue returns to assaulting your swollen bud.

as you start to grind your hips up against his mouth, it pushes his fingers even deeper inside you. hitting that sweet spot that has you crying out a broken, “oh god, please.”

eddie hums against you, increasing the speed of his fingers. “while i prefer master…god has a nice ring to it.”

and if you weren’t on the brink of an orgasm you might have found that funny, barely registering his soft laughter as he sucks harshly on your clit.

the sensation is what finally sends you over the edge, your thighs squeezing tightly around his head and trapping him there.

not that he would ever dare complain.

once you settle back down into the mattress is when he pulls away, crawling back up your body toward you. your excitement covers his chin in a light sheen, tasting yourself when he kisses you with a renewed force.

you reach for the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his thighs. you just barely feel his cock rubbing against your thigh, and you want nothing more than to feel it hard and heavy on your tongue.

“wanna taste you too, eds,” you whine as he trails his lips across your jaw, sucking onto your skin.

but as much as he would love to have you gagging on his cock, his own impatience had reached its peak.

“next time, sweetness…” he insists, “i need to be inside you.”

you clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up, but the promise of a next time makes your heart flutter beneath your ribs.

eddie unwillingly untangles himself from you, now standing at the edge of the bed to fully remove his sweats. his cock stands at full attention as you sit up, eagerly crawling towards him. your mouth waters at the sight, as you’re finally able to admire him how you’ve been dying to for the last few weeks.

you wrap one of your hands around the base of his shaft, glancing up at him as you lick up the pre-cum that has smeared across his pink tip. the male grips a fistful of your hair in his hand, tugging you off his dick as a small whimper leaves you.

“hands and knees— now.” he nearly growls at you, releasing you as you continue to look up at him in a daze. “don’t make me repeat myself, baby.”

as much as you would love to test how far you could push his buttons, that would be saved for a later date. so you do exactly as you’re told, crawling away from him now on your hands and knees.

and you can practically feel his eyes trailing over the plush skin of your ass.

“take a picture, munson, it’ll last longer.”

what you don’t expect is to hear the snap of your polaroid camera, and you whip your head around to see the shit eating grin he was sporting. he sets the camera and picture back down onto your dresser, almost missing the wink he shoots your way.

“was just following orders, sweet cheeks.” he chuckles, crawling onto the bed behind you.

eddie lands a firm smack on your ass, his chest now draped across your back. his hot breath fans over your neck as he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “face the mirror, you aren’t gonna wanna miss this, baby.”

your thighs clench together, now turning to face the full length mirror that stands across from your bed.

you glance at yourself briefly before your eyes trail upwards, now meeting his in the reflection. a cocky grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hands now roaming over the full expanse of your ass.

when you feel the tip of his cock brush against your core, your hips push back almost involuntarily, desperate to feel more. eddie’s calloused hands grip you tighter, stopping any further movement on your part.

“don’t be fucking greedy, you’ll take what i give you.”

you squeak out a small apology, keeping your eyes focused on him as he rubs the tip of his cock through your folds. you gasp once he slowly guides himself into your awaiting heat, a strangled moan tumbling from his lips.

his eyes squeeze shut as he bottoms out, his balls flush against the curve of your ass. you feel so incredibly full, the stretch so divine it makes your head spin.

“eddie, please.” you mewl, watching as his brown eyes meet yours.

desperate for him to do something—anything.

eddie’s rings dig into your hips, his eyes flicking down to watch as he slides his cock back out. letting out a low groan when he sees that you’ve already coated his length in your arousal, a sight he’d only ever seen in his dreams.

“gonna give you everything,” he grunts before slamming himself back inside, practically knocking the air from your lungs as you fall forward onto the mattress.

you grip the edge of it for support as he continues to rock his hips into yours, this new angle allowing him to rub against your sweet spot perfectly. you keep your eyes locked on the mirror, the image of him behind you—thrusting into you will be seared in your memory forever.

the black ink that swirls across his skin, the light sheen of sweat on his chest and the veins in his forearms that are much more noticeable as he grips your hips tighter. he looks more like a greek god than anyone had a right to.

your jaw is slack, mouth hanging open as you continue to watch him. the little ‘uh uh uhs’ that leave your lips mix with the sound of your skin slapping together which now fills the once quiet space of your bedroom.

“taking me so well—this pussy was made for me.”eddie moans, completely distracted by the way your pussy flutters around him. the creamy ring that’s formed around the base of his cock expanding with each thrust of his hips.

“look at me,” you whine, and that signature smirk returns to his features when he meets your eyes in the mirror once more.

“aww poor little, baby,” he coos, slipping his hand between your thighs and landing a harsh slap on your already sensitive bud. “always need my eyes on you…don’t you?”

a string of curses slips past your lips as you frantically nod your head.

“need it,” you whimper as his calloused fingertips circle over your clit. “need you.”

your words seem to have quite the effect on him, a low growl leaving him as he fucks into you even harder, “what do you need me to do, pretty girl? tell me.”

it takes you a minute before you can give him a proper answer, the male having fucked any coherent thoughts from your head.

“n-need it…inside.” is the best you can manage, but eddie understands all too well.

it’s exactly what he had hoped you would say.

“yeah, you want me to fuck you so full?” he grunts, “ruin this pretty little pussy for anyone else?”

those words along cause your eyes roll back in your head, as his other hand wraps around your throat.

he handles you like a rag doll as he pulls you up, your back now flush against his sweaty chest. the action forces his cock even deeper inside you, barely brushing against your cervix. his hand that was just wrapped around your throat is now cradling your jaw, guiding your gaze back to the mirror.

your half lidded eyes watch as he leans forward, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear.

“this pussy is mine now, got that, sweetness?”

it’s suddenly all too much, and the rubber band in your middle finally snaps as your body trembles in his embrace. cries of his name and ‘yours yours yours’ the only words tumbling from your mouth.

the brunette watches in amazement as you drench his thighs, your bed sheets—the pressure almost forcing him out completely.

the metalhead curses as he continues to bounce you on his cock, the wet squelching of your pussy finally sending him over the edge. the male grunts as he pumps you to the brim, and your body falls limp against his chest.

you’re both panting as you come down from your highs. and his grip on your hips is much more gentle than before as he coaxes you onto your back.

you hum contently, eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion hits you. eddie cradles your face in his palms, pressing soft kisses to each of your eyelids before his touch suddenly disappears.

your eyes fly open in alarm, reaching out for him as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, “don’t worry…you aren’t rid of me just yet.”

eddie chuckles as he spreads your thighs apart, his dark eyes watching intently as his cum drips out of you. it pools onto the bed beneath you, making an even bigger mess of your sheets.

his head dips lower, inhaling deeply as he gathers the mixture of your arousals onto his awaiting tongue. he moans before diving in deeper.

“shit, we taste good together.”

“too much,” you whimper, wiggling your hips away from his eager mouth due to the oversensitivity.

eddie presses a kiss to each of your thighs before he joins you once more, collapsing next to you with a boyish grin on his face. you reach out to trace the stubble along his jaw, your fingertips carefully brushing over his plump lips.

you feel him release a shaky breath against your fingertips, the look he’s giving you makes your stomach do a little flip.

“so…is it too late to ask you out on a date?”

[corrodedhawkins]

Souvenirs: Perv!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Based off of this idea from @daughterofautumn

Content warnings: Graphic smut (minors DNI) language, snooping, nudes, male masturbation, implied public sex (his van).

“Eddie? What the hell happened?”, you ask, opening the front door for him. You had expected him to pick you up an hour ago, but he had never showed.

He’s absolutely soaked, dripping onto the floor as his sneakers squeak beneath him.

“My van broke down”, he huffs as you shut the door. “Walked all the way here in a fuckin’ downpour.”

You drag him down the hallway, stopping in front of the bathroom door. “I’m going to grab you towels and start the shower, the clothes you forgot last time you slept over are in my dresser.”

Eddie leaves you in the bathroom and continues down the hallway to your room to rifle through your dresser. He throws the top drawer open, searching for his sweatpants and Iron Maiden t-shirt.

He finds his clothes folded neatly towards the top, grabbing them and tucking them under his arm. As he’s reaching for the nob to close the drawer, a stack of Polaroids catch his eye.

The first in the pile is innocent enough, you’re smiling at the camera in a low cut top. The next features a close up of your cleavage, pushed up by your arms holding the camera out to take the photo.

He continues to look through the pictures, treated to the sight of you in a matching black lace lingerie set, slowly being removed with each photo.

“What the fuck?”, he breathes, shuffling through the pile of photographs.

By the last few photos, you’re completely nude, thighs spread to show off your glistening cunt to the camera.

Did you mean for him to see them, or did you forget they were there when you told him to go into your dresser? His head is still spinning when he hears you walking down the hall towards him.

“Did you find them?”, you call.

Eddie practically jumps, scrambling to put the Polaroids back into a neat stack how he found them. He plucks two from the pile and quickly tucks them into his back pocket before shutting the drawer.

“Did you find them?”, you ask again, hip resting on the door jamb to your room.

“Y-yeah”. Eddie spins around, holding the pile of clothes out for you to see. “Found them. I’m going to go”, he gestures past you towards the hallway, “shower”.

You step aside to let him pass, eyeing him when he clears his throat after having accidentally brushed his shoulder against you.

Eddie practically runs to the bathroom, hand reaching for the Polaroids in his back pocket before he even gets the door shut and locked.

He unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down along with his boxers, fist flying over his cock, desperate to cum.

It only takes him a handful of pumps before he’s spurting all over himself, biting his fist to muffle the whimpers he can’t hold back.

He sets the Polaroids on the counter, careful to place them in the pocket of his sweatpants for safe keeping.

Once the rain stops, you drive him back to his van, which thankfully only needs a jump to get running again.

He hugs you goodbye, angling his hips away from you when he feels the heavy press of your breasts against his chest.

The Polaroids burn a hole in his pocket the entire ride home, hands drumming on the steering wheel impatiently.

Eddie nearly sprints into the trailer and down the hallway to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Ripping the Polaroids from his pocket, he pushes down his sweatpants and boxers, kicking them into the corner.

Sitting down on his bed, he reaches over to his bedside table and pumps lotion onto his hand. He wraps it around his erection and starts to pump, spreading the lotion to slick himself up.

He holds the pictures close to get a better look as he fists his cock, thumb tracing the head as he twists his wrist on the upstroke.

In the first picture, your tits are out, nipples hard like you’d been playing with them. One hand is buried under the waistband of your panties, no doubt toying with your clit.

He imagines pushing them together, burying his cock in the valley between your breasts as he paints your chest with his cum.

In the second photo, Eddie’s personal favorite, your black panties are pulled to the side, showing off your pussy. Your clit is red and swollen, lips puffy and shiny with your slick.

He thinks about running the head if his cock up and down your slit, bumping into your clit as you grind down onto him, seeking friction.

The hand on his cock speeds up, moaning when he thinks about all of the sounds he could coax out of you. Maybe you were a screamer, wailing as he pounds into you.

Or better yet, maybe you were shy, quiet sighs and barely-there moans slipping out of you. He would spend every ounce of energy trying to make you lose control and cry out. You'd sound so pretty, split open on his cock, head thrown back as you whimper and beg for him to make you cum.

He doesn’t realize how close he is until the image of you on your knees in front of him, mouth open to take his cum pops into his mind, orgasm blindsiding him.

His cum spurts out onto the photos, quickly cleaned off once he catches his breath so that he doesn’t ruin them.

The clean Polaroids end up sandwiched between the pages of his worn copy of The Hobbit on his bedside table for safe keeping.

The next day at school, an envelope flutters out of Eddie’s locker when he opens it to retrieve his lunchbox, ready to head home for the day.

Inside the envelope he finds the rest of the Polaroids with a note written in your signature girly cursive. It reads: “I know you stole a few of these, you pervert. I took some new ones for you. Enjoy!”

Eddie’s eyes widen, looking around quickly to make sure he’s alone before shuffling through the stack of pictures, finding a handful of new ones.

In these, you’re wearing a pair of red lace panties shoved to the side, one of Eddie’s old Hellfire Club t-shirts hanging off of your shoulder seductively as you bury two fingers into your cunt.

Eddie sputters and slams his locker shut, taking off down the hall to the parking lot.

You don’t make it to your car before he’s dragging you into the back of his van to show you just how much he enjoyed his surprise.

Tag list:

@ghastlyentity @sweetpeapod @e0509 @stardustmunson @simpingoverfictionalppl @quinnswife86 @munsonquinns @thorfemmes @khaleesibubblegum @manddoublee @mcplestreet  @lizziesfirstwife @kellynickelsgirl00  @wroteclassicaly  @msmimiandrew @emokid-ellie @stardust-galaxies @escapingthereality @bayouteche @marsbar127xx  @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @xcarabear @just-absolutely-feral @hellfirebabes @ely-seum @fireflyisland @anaisweird @suhsouza @sagihairius@prozacandnicotine @latenitewolves @munsons-bun @paprikaquinn@protecteddiemunson4vr @slightlyvicked @thestrangestthings @marsmunson86

[bree-cheesy]

Just You... (Modern! AU)

A/N: So this fic was kind of rushed, but I still sort of like it. It’s a friends to lovers trope because that’s my favorite and I will probably write it a lot sooooooo....

Eddie Munson! x fem!bestfriend reader

Credit to @nicostiel​ for the gif!!! (I love it too much)

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!! (kissing, light humping, nipple play, oral f receiving, unprotected p in v sex (reader is implied to be on birth control.) dirty talk, fingering, 2 reader orgasms) Angst, but fluffy at the end. Eddie is kind of a dick and the reader overreacts a little. Eddie gets in a physical fight so assault I guess. Let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 2,862

Side note: I am still very new to this so please go easy on me 😭😭

______________________________________________________________

Eddie Munson. Boy do you know too much about this man. He’s been your best friend since you were in 8th grade. You were neighbors and heard him playing his guitar often from your window at night. Your cat had run out of the house and you were out looking for him when you saw Eddie playing with him on his porch. That’s how you met. For you, it was love at first sight. You were absolutely head over heels for this man. Sure, other boys had been in your life, but none of them made you feel the way Eddie made you feel. It was almost suffocating. It felt like too much being around him so much. You were now in your senior year of High School and Eddie was in his 3rd senior year. Ever since Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, and Lucas Sinclair all joined Hellfire, you’ve felt Eddie hasn’t been paying any attention to you. He doesn’t talk to you much anymore and you guys don’t do your Friday movie nights anymore.

When getting ready for school you decided to wear something you usually didn’t wear. A short black leather skirt, a tight Iron Maiden shirt, fishnets, and some black boots. You wanted to get Eddie’s attention and this was your last resort. Your phone was buzzing off the hook with texts from Jack Denver. He was on the football team and you two had been talking recently. He was picking you up. You quickly left the house and got in his car before he drove off. He parked and you saw Eddie next to his van, snuffing a cigarette out on the ground with his boot. You got out of the car after Jake came around and opened your door. He kept a hand on your back and you glanced over at Eddie who was staring at you two, slack jawed.

“You still hang out with Munson? He’s looking at you like you’re a piece of meat.” Jake mumbled.

You shrugged and leaned into Jake a little more. “Yeah, we’re still friends. Don’t really hang out much anymore. More just sit with each other at lunch. I let him copy off my math homework.” You smiled a little to yourself at the memory of Eddie coming to you desperate so he could actually pass math class this semester. Eddie was walking a ways behind you and Jake and you noticed him.

You kept your head down and walked into the school. At lunch you made your way to Eddie’s table and sat down in your spot next to him. He didn’t even so much as look at you

You sighed and laid your cheek on your palm as you ate, feeling hopeless.

“Hey Y/N, what was up with you walking in with Jake Denver? Thought we hated him?” Mike looked straight at you from across the table. You shrugged and played around with your food. “He offered me a ride to school. Someone didn’t answer my texts….” You threw a dirty look at Eddie and he just rolled his eyes.

“I would’ve given you a ride.” Jeff looked at you. “Don’t count on Eddie. He’s an asshole.”

Eddie slammed his lunch box shut and wiped the crumbs off his hand with his jacket. “The campaign tonight. You’re all going to be there, right?” He looked around the table, everyone nodding except for you. He stared at you. “You better be nodding, princess.”

You glanced up at him and flicked a peanut at his face. “I’m busy. Made plans.” You mumbled, shoving a chip in your mouth.

“You made plans? We’ve been planning the end of this campaign for months!” Eddie stood up, slamming his palms on the table. “Suddenly you’re busy!? You’ve had tonight marked on your calendar since the start!”

You looked up at him and just blinked, shrugging your shoulders and wiping a crumb from the corner of your lip. “You guys will be fine without me. Plus, doesn’t Lucas’ sister play? Have her fill in for me.” Your phone buzzed with a text from Jake and you smiled at it while responding.

Eddie scoffed and sat down. “This is unbelievable. Can’t believe you’re ditching us for a fucking football player.” He shook his head and you stood up suddenly, not wanting to deal with his shit anymore.

“Ya know what, fuck you, Eddie Munson. For once in my godforsaken life I am happy and you just want to turn it around and make it all about you. Fuck you!” You grabbed your lunch and stormed off, not wanting to be around any of them anymore. You went into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror, willing your tears to stay in. A few deep breaths later and the bell to go to class rang.

Later that night you were laying in bed. Jake had canceled on you and now you were stuck home alone. Your Hellfire group chat was going crazy with texts, but you hadn’t read any of them. You were too pissed off at Eddie. He never said one thing about how you looked today, just constant berating. He kept trying to apologize in English, but you weren’t having any of it. The texts stopped and you sighed, finally willing yourself to look at them. Eddie canceled the campaign. You were surprised, he never canceled. You were doing homework and listening to music when something started tapping against your window. You tried to ignore it, but it just got louder and louder. You groaned and stood up to look out the window and saw a figure. You squinted and realized it was Eddie. You opened your window.

“Eddie, what the hell are you doing here? My dad will kill you!” He jogged up to the window and climbed inside like he used to do almost every night and hit the ground with a loud thud. You just sighed and shut the window. He quickly stood up. “You better be quiet. My dad is still mad about the time he caught you in here before.” You sat down on your bed and continued to work on your laptop.

“Are we going to talk about what happened at lunch?” He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked at you. “Look, I know I’ve been a jackass recently and probably don’t deserve any ounce of attention from you, but I just want to explain myself.”

You looked up at him and nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “Okay….?” He sighed and sat down next to you on the bed, kicking his shoes off because he knew you’d yell at him for putting them on your clean sheets.

“Look, I’ve been seeing you around with that Denver kid and I’ve been jealous. I’ve been worried that he’s taking you from me. I was trying to push you away so maybe you’d see that….. I miss you. You’re my best friend, princess and I don’t want someone like Jake Denver to take you away from me.” He looked at you and sighed. “I realize now that that was the opposite thing I should’ve done. I should’ve just talked to you, but I was afraid. Afraid some of the feelings I’ve been pushing down were gonna come bubbling up.”

You were quiet for a moment. You didn’t know what to say. Eddie was usually so carefree and worry free. Hearing him say something like this broke your heart. You were worried he thought you hated him.

“Eddie, I’m not mad at you.” He let out a breath and flopped on the bed. “I was just worried you didn’t like me anymore. I thought after Lucas, Mike, and Dustin joined you were sick of little ol’ me.”

He chuckled and tilted his head back to look at you. “Princess, I could never be sick of you.” You blushed and looked away.

He grinned when he saw the pink tint on your cheeks. “Princess, did I make you blush?” He sat up, suddenly excited. “Better tell me now, or I’ll force it out of you. I’m not afraid to.” He sat up on his knees and put his hands on his hips.

You covered your face in shame. “N-No, it’s just…. kinda hot in here….” Your voice came out soft. He laughed and tackled you, making you squeal and your eyes opened wide. “Eddie! Quiet!” You whispered.

“Sorry, princess, forgot.” He let go of you and settled back in next to you. You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Promise you’re not mad at me.”

You nodded and he soon left after hearing your parents walking around.

The next day at lunch, Eddie was his usual self with you. Throwing random crackers at you and making fun of the bleach stain on your sweatshirt. You looked up and saw Jake approach the table. Eddie glanced at him and clenched his jaw. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts? You said you’d sit with us today.”

“Uhm, change of plans, I guess. You canceled on me. Didn’t I say I’d ignore you if you kept doing that?” You snapped at him and saw his face go red with anger.

He scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. “Whatever. I was just using you to make Hannah jealous.”

You just blinked at him and shrugged. “Okay? Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” You popped a grape in your mouth.

He gritted his teeth together and shook his head. “Glad to have your slut back, Munson? Happy I got to try her at least-”

Suddenly Jake was on the ground with a loud thud. He groaned in pain and held his nose. Eddie had socked him in the nose. Probably broke it. You gasped and stood up, backing away from the two after Jake stood up and launched himself at Eddie. Eddie wasn’t the biggest guy muscle wise, but after years of torment he’s able to hold himself in a fight against the school jocks. Jake punched Eddie’s jaw hard before Eddie did the same to him. Eddie punched Jake over and over again until you pulled him off.

“Eddie, stop!” You pulled him away as people gathered around the fight. Jake’s friends helped him up and tried to go after Eddie, but a few staff members stopped them. Eddie stormed off and you chased after him. He was walking to his van. You caught up to him and stopped him from walking. You inspected his face for any serious injuries with a frown. He pushed your hands away.

“I’m fine.” You forced him in the van and dug the old fast food napkins out of his glove box. You got them wet with your water bottle and started to wipe his bleeding nose and cut lip.

“You really need to stop getting into these fights. Not good for you.” He didn’t say anything and just let you clean him up. He winced in pain when you got to his knuckles. “Wayne’s gonna kill you.”

He looked at you and his face softened. You looked so worried for him. It broke his heart. His free hand went up under your chin and tilted your face up. Without a moment to think, his lips came crashing down on yours. You gasped softly against his lips, but pressed against him. His hands tangled in your hair and you kissed him deeper, willing your mouth open to welcome his tongue. You got into his lap and the kiss turned hot and wet. Tongues melding together in a battle for dominance. His hands went under your sweatshirt and gripped the skin at your waist, almost melting at how soft you were.

“Fuck…” He cursed into your mouth and moved down your neck, suckling little lovebites into the senstive skin. You whined softly and tangled your fingers in his thick curls, rocking against him slightly.

The van felt humid. All the air now gone in the moment of pure pleasure. “Eddie, please….” He kissed her neck once more before pulling back.

“We can’t do this here. Not now.” You frowned and he cupped your face with both hands. “After school. Meet me here and we’ll go to my place. Wayne is out of town. We’ll be alone all night.”

You nodded and he kissed you once more before you both got out to go to class.

That night, you were in his van, driving to his house. Saying you were nervous was an understatement. You knew Eddie wouldn’t push you to do something you didn’t want to do, but you were just worried about disappointing him. When you got inside, Eddie had barely shut the door before he was on you. Kissing you deeply and stealing your breath. Your knees almost gave out and he picked you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you kissed him back desperately. He walked you to his room and dropped you on the bed before stripping his vest and shirt off. God he was absolutely beautiful. He got on top of you and pulled your sweatshirt off before kissing down your chest. He got your bra off and licked your nipple before taking it in his mouth and sucking. The room was filled with sounds of shuffling on the bed and your moans. Eddie wanted to record it and keep it for himself.

“Fuck, you taste so good, baby…” He sat up on his knees and pulled your pants and panties off. “Damn, and you look so damn good, too.” He ran his hands down your body and bit his lip. “All for me, right? No one else gets this, right?”

You shook your head frantically. “It’s all yours, Eddie. All yours.”

He grinned and settled his head between your legs. He kissed teasingly up your inner thigh. “Can I taste you, baby? Wanna know what I’ve been missing out on…” You nodded and he leaned forward to lick a long stripe up your folds. You moaned and fisted your hands in his sheets. He groaned and pulled away. “God, just like honey, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna need this for the rest of my life….” He went right back in, swirling his tongue over your clit, sucking and licking. You all but screamed when you felt a finger press into your pussy with no resistance. He made you so fucking wet. His fingers hooked right against the spot inside you that made you go crazy. You cried out and he suckled on your clit while fingering you.

You trapped his head with your thighs, trying to keep him right where he was and moaned loudly while tangling your fingers in his hair. “Yeah? You like that, princess? Gonna cum so hard for me, right? Make a big mess all over my fingers like a good girl?” You blabbered some nonsense and nodded, tightening your fingers in his hair. “Do it. Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers…” You cried out and came hard. No guy had ever made you cum as hard as Eddie. He groaned and licked it all up before going to kiss you again. You kissed him back and managed to get his pants and boxers off. He pressed his tip against your entrance and you licked your lips, aching for him to be inside you. “Ready, princess?” He looked at you and you nodded before he pushed ever so slowly inside you.

Both of you groaned and moaned as he pushed inside you. He felt like heaven. He buried his face in your neck before thrusting in and out of you. Both of you moaning in unison like a song. Two people so utterly consumed in each other. No one else mattered. The only thing that mattered was how unbelievably amazing this was. He thrusted harder and faster, holding your hands and kissing you deeply, panting into your mouth while your moans were smothered by his kisses. He let go of one hand to go harder and you dug your fingers into his back, no doubt leaving marks or even scratches.

“Eddie…. I’m s-so close…” You moaned and pressed your forehead against his.

“Me too, baby. Let it go. Cum all over my cock….” He encouraged you and you cried out, cumming hard around his cock. He groaned and felt himself unload inside you. Your pussy was milking him dry and he never wanted the feeling of you wrapped around him to go away. It’s all he needed. He could die a happy man right here and now. He gently pulled out of you and ran a hand through his hair before standing up to get a towel for you. You breathed heavily, already missing his warmth. He came back and cleaned the both of you up before helping you into one of his t-shirts. He laid down next to you and you cuddled up to him, nuzzling your face into his chest. He held you close and kissed your head.

“No more Jake, right?”

You giggled and looked up at him, kissing him gently. “No more Jake. Just you….”

He smiled and kissed you again.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Your Favorite's Here {pt. 2}

Ship: Eddie x fem!Henderson!reader

Summary: Dustin realizes he has made a grave mistake in not telling Eddie about his older sister. Meanwhile, Eddie becomes painfully smitten with a girl he's met once.

Word Count: 1801 (oops, shorter than intended)

Warnings: sibling content, mutual pining, fluff

Notes: For clarity, this takes place in an AU Stranger Things timeline after S4, where Eddie survives and graduates and we are ignoring the finale.

{part 1} // {part 2} // {part 3} // {part 4} // {part 5}*

*coming soon!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

This was, perhaps, the longest shift of your life. Ever since Eddie and his bandmates had left, you had been looking at the clock, watching the hands move impossibly slowly. It wasn't that you were desperate to be out of work, not like normal. It was because you knew the instant you got home, you were going to corner Dustin.

How could he have not told you that he actually knew the band with the ridiculously attractive lead singer he insisted you go see all the time?

You met a lot of people working at a restaurant. Hell, you had met a lot of guys at Everett's—conventionally attractive, reasonably behaved men who were more than happy to flirt with you and make eyes at you over their drinks. There were even one or two you'd considered cute enough to go out with, not that you ever actually would. But holy shit. You have never seen a man as attractive as Eddie Munson.

Sitting there in his leather jacket and an Iron Maiden shirt, he'd looked terribly out of place in the dim, romantic lighting and steel grey interior of Everett's. You'd caught sight of him the instant he walked in because his bandmates were ridiculously loud in the normally quiet restaurant, and you'd known immediately he felt uncomfortable. His cheeks had been a few shades too dark and he wore an awkward smile that screamed how much he knew he was detested by the restaurant's regular patrons. He was seemingly trying to hide his face behind his hair.

At first you'd expected the night to be...eventful after they walked in. Surely they would be rowdy, just to piss off the regulars, and they'd probably refuse to pay Everett's high prices. But any time they got too loud, Eddie was whispering at them to shut up.

You hadn't recognized them at first. They had gotten rid of the heavy makeup that obscured them when they were playing, and their clothes were a little more muted than when they were up on stage and in the floodlights. It wasn't until they mentioned it had been a big night for their band that it had clicked for you.

"Y/N! Y/N!"

You stopped fixing your uniform in the bathroom mirror. "Yeah, Dustin, I hear you, stop shouting!"

Dustin burst in through the door. "Y/N, we have to go, Corroded—" He caught sight of your uniform. "You're working tonight?"

"Yeah, it's a Friday. Why?"

Dustin pulled a face. "Because Corroded Coffin finally sold out an auditorium and we absolutely have to go see them, this could be the start of their whole career! And they've got new music they're playing tonight!"

And oh, that was tempting. As much as you pretended to be just a regular fan for Dustin, you loved the band with all your heart—almost as much as you loved Queen. Corroded Coffin made wonderful, beautifully written music.

But you had college debts to worry about. You had your rent to worry about. You had general living to worry about.

You sighed. "Maybe next time, Dustin. I've got to go to work."

He looked heartbroken. "Can you call out?"

You shook your head. "I can't this time. Maybe next time, but I've got to pay off some of my loan next week. I can't afford to fall out of the grace period." You twisted your ring uncomfortably. "Hey, invite Steve to go with you this time!"

"He doesn't like metal or rock music," Dustin complained.

"Maybe you can convince him he's wrong. Which he is." Dustin giggled. You ruffled his hair. "Next time. And I promise to take you to buy their album when it comes out."

Well, maybe you had missed seeing them play today. But they were sitting at a booth in your restaurant, and it was one of your tables.

"Deep breath, girl," you told yourself as you mixed the band's drinks. "It's fine, it's totally fine, you are just...meeting some of your idols. Who are your age. And are really cute. And the really, really pretty one is very shy and keeps looking at you and—"

"You talking to yourself over there, Henderson?" asked your favorite coworker.

You blushed. "Er, yeah, sorry. Just...thinking."

She raised her eyebrows. "They givin' you trouble, honey?"

"No, no, not at all. I just know them from outside of work." You were about to say they were your favorite band, but decided against it. You were already a bit of an oddball at work with all your rings and the fact that you talked to yourself. No need to make yourself even more conspicuous.

You finished with their drinks and brought them over, trying not to shake as you set them down and took their appetizer orders. You gazed at the lead singer—the beautiful Eddie Munson—the whole time, finding an intensity in his stare that matched the burning in your chest.

Shit. Dustin Henderson, you are in so much trouble for not setting me up with this man.

~❊~

By the time you got home, Dustin should have been asleep. But he was not. His bedroom light was still on, visible through his curtains.

You waited a few minutes to get changed out of your uniform and take off your jewelry. You washed your face and went through your usual nighttime routine, then poked your head down the hallway leading to Dustin's bedroom.

His light was still on, seeping out underneath his door in a golden puddle.

Well, that was that.

You pressed your ear to the door and heard Suzie's familiar voice. You knocked on the door. "Dustin, you got a moment?"

Dustin made a garbled sound. "Um...five minutes!"

You leaned against the wall in silence, hearing him trying to wrap up his conversation with Suzie. Even though it took longer than five minutes, you didn't rush him. They were adorable.

Dustin opened the door. "How was work?"

"Y'know, pretty good actually."

He raised his brows judgmentally. "Even though you had to miss a Corroded Coffin concert?"

You cleared your throat. "Yeah...about that. When were you going to tell me you know Eddie freaking Munson of Corroded Coffin personally?"

Dustin gulped. "Uh...what?"

You pushed him toward his chair and flopped onto his bed. "They visited Everett's, Dustin! They came to Everett's! They came to Everett's."

Dustin's eyes popped out of his head. "Corroded Coffin went to Everett's? Why would they go to a rich person's restaurant, they're dirt poor!"

"Dustin!" you chided, throwing his pillow at him. "Be nicer to your friends." Dustin blushed. "C'mon, Dustin, you could've told me that we were going to see your friends play. I still would have gone."

"You would?"

"Of course I would have gone! Eddie's totally my type, and if you like his music, hell yeah we're going to see him and his friends play!" Dustin shouted his victory. You shushed him. "Shh, shh, shh! Mom's asleep!"

"I knew you totally had a crush on Eddie!" he whisper-hissed. "I knew it!"

You rolled your eyes. "You are totally giving me a formal introduction."

Dustin groaned. "No. No. No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because you two will get along like a house on fire, and then I have to deal with it!"

"Dustin! Getting along with Eddie is the entire reason why you should introduce me. He'd be like...your older brother!"

"Ew! Ew, ew, ew, stop that!" Dustin shoved you out of his room, his cries of disgust punctuated by his and your laughter. He shut the door on your face. "Not another word about Eddie!"

You grinned to yourself, heading to your room. You'd given him your shifts. You could only hope he was as into you as you were into him.

And judging by the fact he walked into a table just to hold your gaze... Maybe it was like something out of a novel, but that had to mean something, right?

~❊~

Dustin had about five seconds of peace on Saturday, when the group met for another Hellfire session outside of school at Eddie's trailer. Now that Eddie, Jeffe, and Gareth had graduated, the DnD sessions had moved to the weekends to keep the campaign going. And then Eddie was skidding to a stop in front of him, holding his palms up and keeping Dustin stopped in front of him.

"Why didn't you ever tell me your sister is a fucking fan of my music?!"

Dustin groaned. "Oh, not both of you!"

Eddie perked up immediately. "She asked about me?"

He sighed. "She's pissed at me for not telling her about you."

"And I'm pissed at you for not telling me about her!" Eddie said with a snort.

Dustin huffed, sitting down in his chair at the table.

"She's perfect," Eddie said, flopping into his seat with a dreamy look in his eye. "She's...she's gorgeous, Dustin, absolutely gorgeous!"

"C'mon, man, that's my sister!"

Gareth snorted. "Yeah—that's his sister. Like you kept saying Friday night when we tried to get you to ask her out!"

"Guys!" Dustin complained.

Jeff rolled his eyes. "You should have seen him. He was tongue-tied."

"All red and blushy," Gareth teased.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"You'd think he'd never talked to a girl before—" Gareth stopped, a teasing smirk growing on his face. "—when we all know he and Chrissy—"

Eddie hid his face in his hands, groaning.

Gareth laughed hysterically. "See! See, there's the Eddie we all saw on Friday."

Dustin pulled a face. "He was like that, and my sister still thinks he's hot?"

Eddie's head snapped up. "She thinks I'm hot?"

Dustin sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything. I should not have said anything."

Eddie folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. "She thinks I'm hot," he repeated, his voice dreamy and far away.

Gareth nudged Dustin. "You're screwed, man. He's already head over heels."

"She gave me her shift schedule," Eddie murmured softly, playing with his hair.

"She did what now?!" Gareth was nearly shrieking. "And you didn't tell me?"

"You were drunk and pestering me, no, I didn't tell you!" Eddie complained.

Dustin sighed. "Are you going to go visit her?"

Eddie took note of the tone of his voice: dejected, almost disappointed. He pulled himself back to reality, his smile falling. "Look, man, if you don't want me to, I won't. But I really, really want to."

Dustin bit his lip. "It's not that I don't want to, it's..." He sighed. "If anything goes wrong, I have to live with both of you. So don't be awkward if it goes wrong."

"Who says it's going to go wrong?" said Gareth, watching Eddie lean back once again, putting his arms behind his head. "She's got Eddie wrapped around her finger."

"That's what scares me."

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Eddie Munson // Part 2 of 'Your Favorite's Here'

[separatist-apologist]

A Mythical Thing

I'm begging for you to take my hand. Wreck my plans.

Summary: A creature of scales and shadows lurks just beyond the woods. Watching.

Waiting.

For a priestess bathed in light and the shimmering bond that tethers them together.

A moment of impulsivity drives them together, wrapping them in fates golden ribbon.

Azriel will do anything to make her his.

Read More: AO3

beta'd by @velidewrites

CW: Dragon monster (more like shifter); past mentions of SA; human men.

-

Gwyneth Berdara had always been warned not to walk the woods. Not alone and especially not at night. It was a warning she’d heeded her entire life given that terrible, lurking beast had a taste for the flesh of maidens. As a priestess, Gwyn was expected to never take a lover, to never know the touch of a man. It made them all nervous that one day the monster might realize the temple at the edge of the realm was filled with nothing but maidens. 

A veritable feast to be had.

But then he was found, paraded back into the city with a massive chain around his throat. Gwyn had watched, hidden beneath her hood. She’d expected a terrifying, scaled beast…not a man in irons walking to his death. They said he’d defiled the last woman, had impregnated her. Gwyn heard the rumors that the woman had liked him, that the two were in love.

She’d seen the agony on that man's face when Lord Nolan taunted him before everyone that they’d find the missing woman. That they’d drag her back and remove the creature living in her body. How he’d remained utterly still, dressed only in a pair of loose fitting pants. His body was so strangely scaled in shimmering orange and gold, his eyes the oddest color of red and brown. 

Gwyn liked to think she knew what love looked like. Nolan was devoid of it.

The monster was filled with it.

And that night, Gwyn decided to take the first walk she’d ever had outside the walls of the temple. Moonlight peeked through the snaking tree branches overhead, devoid of their usual greenery as winter approached. Gwyn went too far that first night, drunk on her own success. The monster loved the woman they’d sent him and, to hear it told, had released the rest.

Perhaps the only monsters were just the trees and this shifting, slipping shadows. It had been those grappling, creaking hands that tore at her cloak. The shredding material sent her running back for the walls, heart pounding desperately in her ears when she slammed the gate loudly behind her.

Tendrils of night seemed to drape themselves around her, curling gently against her moon pale skin. She turned her head, a friendly breeze ruffling the copper brown of her hair until it was pushed into her eyes. There was nothing out there but the men from the city, hunting down a terrified, pregnant woman. Gwyn wondered what it was like, to be so sure of something you’d turn your back on your entire way of life just to keep it.

And with a breathy sigh, she walked back to the arching silver doors of the temple. No one was awake save for her. Everyone else was a creature of the light the way their Mother Goddess demanded. Gwyn had tried. For fifteen years, she’d tried so desperately to be what was expected of her. Gwyn suspected she was the outcast because of the circumstances that had seen her dumped on the doorstep of the temple.

Living alone with just her sister had painted targets on their backs. Catrin had fought back but Gwyn…Gwyn had allowed those men to touch her, to do whatever they wanted while she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed it would all be over soon. That she would get through it. Too late and too often, Gwyn wondered if she’d fought back if those men would have let her join her sister.

Catrin was buried at the base of the mountains in the village she’d grown up in. She’d been given a proper burial by a populace more willing to mourn a dead, martyred woman than the very real living one who was now alone. The men were never punished but Gwyn was. 

She’d been little more than a child, and yet she’d heard the way the older women spoke about her and Catrin. Women. Seductresses. Temptress. 

She’d been thirteen.

Gwyn sighed, taking the steps up the winding tower to her bedroom. If the other priestesses had experienced anything similar, they’d never said. Everyone knew about her. She was safe, if that monster ever invaded but Gwyn liked to think that the creature could tell the difference between willingly handing something over and having it stolen from you. Even before she’d learned he was only a man, Gwyn had thought he might kill her, too.

That she could join Catrin and find some measure of peace.

Belonging. 

Gwyn went out the second night and then the third. She considered, tramping against the dead, rotting leaves that were damp from the rain they’d gotten that morning. The earthen smell of autumn warred with approaching winter while that teasing wind greeted her with another playful ruffle of her hair. Gwyn’s steps were bouncy as she basked in the waning moonlight. There was no one out here to admonish, to call her Gwyneth in that disapproving tone.

Gwyneth, don’t sing while you do your chores

Gwyneth, why are you smiling during service? 

Gwyneth, where are the scrolls I asked you for—

She grinned now, face tilted towards the sky. Opening her mouth, Gwyn sang the same song from that morning without worrying someone might overhear. Only the trees would witness her. She felt free, untethered and unbound. 

Happy, without that usual guilt that she shouldn’t, that she was betraying Catrin somehow, by finding joy when her sister could not. Out here, it was easy to hear Catrins voice urging her to indulge a little. Catrin had always been like that. Gwyn had been studious—serious, given how absent their mother was—and Catrin had been fun. In her darker moments, she often thought it was a tragedy she’d survived and Catrin had not.

Catrin wouldn’t have stayed in the temple. She would have done something. She would have figured out how to move on, to keep laughing, smiling—living. Gwyn’s voice softened, her emotion threatening to overwhelm her. The song changed to a familiar tune sung often in the villages.

Catrin’s favorite. 

Gwyn’s steps took on a life of their own, pulling her towards a denser patch of trees where even shadows couldn’t penetrate. She went, if only to prove to herself that she could. That some small, tiny part of her wasn’t scared. There was nothing, she told herself. Only the dark, only night. 

A soft snuffling stopped her the second she was enveloped. The leaves beneath her feet shifted as though something heavy dragged over them. All at once her singing died, her body utterly rooted into place.

“Hello?” she whispered. Silence was the only sound save for the soft, panting breath. She wasn’t alone anymore. Gwyn didn’t move, afraid if she turned and ran the thing would give chase. 

Wide eyes cut through the dark, hazel and as bright as stars. She had a sense of this beast now, of the creature’s unfolding wings that made him sing twice as big as the forest itself. He raised himself upwards, tail sliding closer towards her. Gwyn’s heart was in her throat.

She’d been warned, hadn’t she? 

Gwyn opened her mouth to scream, turning to run. The monster grabbed her, pulling her close against his warm, dark scales. His wings extended even further, betraying the sheer size of him as a thing so big it didn’t seem possible he’d ever been able to hide here. As he took to the air, Gwyn noticed his scales seemed to shift the most peculiar shade of wintry blue. She reached out one trembling, terrified hand and touched.

He bellowed in response, a ring of fire igniting the world beneath them. She exhaled a breath.

And if she drew another, she didn’t know. 

Darkness overtook her, dragging her into the blackened abyss. 

AZRIEL:

He hadn’t believed Lucien when he showed up with the female claiming her as his mate. Gold ribboning her neck, belly filled with child and still Azriel had assumed him to be a liar. Tired of waiting for a female of their own kind to show up, he’d merely bent the magic to his will and taken a human instead. And though Azriel was certainly curious, he hadn’t truly thought he had a mate, either. Like so many other males that had agreed to fight with Cassian, he’d decided to see the woman. 

Perhaps cajole one into joining him as a pseudo-mate. It wouldn’t be the same and yet better than centuries of loneliness. If nothing else, he’d told himself he’d get to punish the mortal males that were responsible for the slaughter of his people. That had been reason enough to don his armor and hide among the trees, waiting for the prince to offer a command.

It had been her singing that had drawn him away from the ranks. He’d crept closer, swearing he was only curious as to the sort of female that would wander the woods alone at night. He didn’t think the humans were that brave, not when they were so afraid of Lucien, of all people. 

Standing in a patch of moonlight, Azriel had felt that snapping oof, had inhaled her bright scent and had just known. 

Mate.

The smiling, fragile little thing belonged to him and was, without even meaning to, wandering towards an army of males who had likely never seen anything half as beautiful as her. He’d panicked, snatching her up and bellowing a warning when Cassian came chasing after him. He still felt that wildness, that urge to claw out the throat of any male that came too close to the now sleeping human female in his bed. 

Azriel didn’t know what to do with her or even how to explain why he’d just kidnapped her. It was all wrong, he mused, but perhaps not unsalvageable. From what Elain had said, humans didn’t know they could be mates—had no concept for it. Perhaps, though, if he explained, she would understand why he’d taken her. 

If he offered her a little token, something pretty and small, she might not be so afraid when she woke up. He was torn between leaving her in his home, an isolated cabin at the far end of the mountains. No one but his own kind could get to her up here and, at least for the moment, they were occupied with their war with the humans.

Azriel took one last look at his mate—beautiful, with her long, coppery brown hair and her freckled, pale skin. She was draped in soft blue and he wondered what his own shade might look like imprinted over her skin. If she’d be ribboned like Lucien’s mate was or if it would show up in some other way. Azriel swallowed.

There would be time for it. 

He didn’t want her to fear him. More than anything, Azriel wanted to see her smile at him, to sing for him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew she’d cry if she woke and he was pacing like a monster, demanding she accept him as her mate without doing any of the work that was required to make a mate feel safe, loved, or cherished.

Heart lighter than it had been in centuries, Azriel stepped into shin deep snow and took to the skies. He wished he knew what she liked. As he made his way to his own city, cut against the tallest mountain, Azriel decided to just get everything he could think of. Shining baubles and clothes and books and jewels were shoved indiscriminately into a bag. His people loved these things—surely humans must, too?

Azriel returned to find her still tucked in the bed—his bed—and he wondered when the last time she’d had any sleep was. He sat on the edge of the mattress, one scarred hand flat on the thick, black blanket. It had been a well-guarded dream, imagining a mate. A female who might curl beneath his sheets.

Who might belong to him.

His chest tightened, not with pleasure but with fear. He’d kidnapped his mate. Panic flooded through him all over again. She was going to wake up and hate him and rightly so. She’d demand he take her back and he’d be forced to relinquish her, doomed to watch her age and die. Perhaps most horrible, at least to Azriel’s mind, was the fear she’d take a different mate, would find happiness with that male.

Some not insignificant part of him wondered if he didn’t deserve that. After all, Azriel had done horrible things in his life. Things he wasn’t ashamed of, would never feel sorry for. The humans had come when he’d been a boy. They’d killed his mother slowly, torturing her in a tower while she pleaded and begged for them to spare him. 

They’d kept him locked up for five miserable years. Five years without another living soul to speak with, subjected to their every cruel and mercurial whim. They poked and prodded, sliced and tore. And once, they’d doused him in flame just to see what might happen, scarring his hands before he’d been able to put it out. The humans didn’t understand that boys eventually became men. His kind was no different. Azriel had bade his time until his form was so massive he could tear that tower apart stone by stone, reducing it to rubble.

And then he’d had his revenge, stalking into the village and destroying every human without mercy. It was retribution for more than just his suffering but his mother, who had been soft and kind. Who had died trying to keep her only son safe. What would his mate think if she knew how soaked in blood he was? 

What would she think of him if she knew he’d gone, first and foremost, to taste their blood again? 

She shifted, fingers curling around a fluffy pillow. Deciding he would do whatever she demanded, that he would atone however she asked, he waited breathlessly. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen, her eyes the color of sparkling, sun warmed water. Rosy lips parted as she looked around the bedroom, taking in her new surroundings.

Taking in him.

Azriel had to fight not to shift, to spread his wings and show her how large he was. He had the sense that would only scare her, though had she been one of his own, she would have understood that males spread their wings to show their females what good protectors they were…and, perhaps, to preen, if only a little. Azriel’s wingspan was large. Some small, vain part of him wanted to see her flush with pleasure when she realized that extended to all parts of him. 

She exhaled a sweet scented breath. She reminded him of fresh dawn breaking over the mountains and she smelled like home before the humans came. Like berry soaked pine needles and fresh fallen snow. Azriel’s fingers twitched and he had to fight to keep himself from burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

“You…” she swallowed hard, sitting up very, very slowly. Drawing her knees to her chest, he had the sense she was trying to protect the softness of her body from him. “You are also a man.”

“Yes,” he agreed, noting how she flinched when she heard him speak. The scent of her fear rolled off her in waves. Standing quickly, Azriel went for the bag of things. “I got you a gift.”

He heard her exhale sharply.

“A gift?”

He set the bag gently on the bed, careful not to touch her. Thinking it might be better if he stayed off it entirely, he instead dragged a chair at the far end of his bedroom, the one he kept by the window, and sat down once he was as close as he dared to get. 

She waited a moment before scooting towards it, grabbing the edge and dragging it towards her. With curious fingers, his mate pulled open the flap and just dumped everything onto the bed. He caught her delight, smothered quickly.

“This is…”

“I didn’t know what you liked,” he admitted, watching her carefully. She picked through the baubles and jewels and clothes until she came to the book. Azriel’s whole body ignited with pleasure watching her draw it up, examining the spine. She exhaled softly.

“We’re not allowed to read for pleasure,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked quickly, sitting so close to the edge of his chair he was in danger of falling out. She looked over at him, her long hair spilling over her delicate shoulders. Biting her bottom lip, Azriel guessed she was wondering if she should tell him what she thought. If he was safe or if this was all a ruse. He slumped, curling in on himself, hoping it made him seem smaller by comparison. One day she’d learned to appreciate his size…but perhaps today she needed to see him as someone that would not hurt her.

“Our lives are dedicated to the Great Mother,” she finally said, her eyes glazing for a moment. A priestess? He hadn’t realized, though the shimmering robes made sense to him now. His kind hadn’t seen one in centuries…they had been the first to go, undefended and isolated as they were. 

Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if the goddess didn’t have a sense of humor, pairing him, a creature soaked in darkness, with a female dedicated to worshiping the light. Perhaps this female was meant to be his salvation. 

Did that make him her ruination?

“What is your name?” he asked her, hoping very much he was wrong.

“Gwyneth,” she whispered. “Or…Gwyn, I think. Just Gwyn. That was what my sister called me.”

Sadness stole over her features and her hands, once so tight around the book he’d given, now dropped it into her lap.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked him, her fear pungent again.

“No,” he said hastily. Placing a hand to his black tuniced chest, he added, “My name is Azriel.”

“Azriel,” she repeated. 

He shivered in response. 

“Why…” she gulped down the rest of her words. “How long do you plan to keep me?”

He was terrified, heart hammering in his throat, as he asked, “How long would you stay?”

“That depends,” she said, pushing aside the items he’d brought her carefully.

“On?”

“Why you took me in the first place and what you intend to do with me.” 

She was shaking so hard he could hear her teeth rattling. 

Azriel swallowed. His voice a rasping whisper, he said, “You’re my mate.”

Whatever she’d imagined, it clearly hadn’t been that. He took advantage of her stunned silence to add, “I just…I just want to spend time with you. I won’t hurt you. I…” Gods, it was all coming out wrong. “You can trust me.”

“Trust takes time,” she said, looking at her fingers. “If I did stay…say…for a week. Where would you sleep?”

“Anywhere,” he replied, certain she was not inviting him into her bed. “Outside, even, if that would make you feel safe.”

He could guard the door for threats, which might also make him feel safe. Gwyn’s eyes slid towards the window, curtains pulled open to reveal the snow capped mountains lined with that swaying pine forest.

“It’s too cold to sleep outside. Maybe just…not in here?”

He nodded, trying to swallow his eager relief. “Okay.”

“And…” she was still fidgeting. “And you’re not allowed to touch me unless you ask first. Ever.”

Azriel went so still. He could still scent that fear, sharper than before. Who had touched his mate without asking? 

“I swear,” he whispered, vowing one day, when she felt safe, he would cajole the names from her. He would offer her the same revenge he’d given his mother and if she wanted, he would put the knife in her hand. He didn’t think she wanted to know what manner of creature he was, how too often he flew alongside death itself as both friend and companion.

“One month,” she added. “And I can go home any time.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” he agreed. “I will take you anywhere you like, even if you want to leave.”

“Will you show me this place? Let me see?”

Azriel stood slowly, watching as she clambered out of bed and smoothed out her dress. 

“I will do anything you ask.”

He would do anything to keep his mate.

GWYN:

Gwyn half thought that perhaps she had hallucinated the fire breathing dragon that had snatched her in the night. Azriel didn’t seem capable of kidnapping someone. Had it not been for the wintry blue scales that gilded over his body, she might have thought him just a regular man. A very polite man, but a man nonetheless. She was so curious about his scales, how they edged over his bare, muscular arms before vanishing behind his clothes. The appeared again up his neck and over the side of his face before disappearing once again in his inky black hair. 

She was most fascinated by the burns on his hands, scarred and, in places, scaled like the rest of him. They seemed to shine in the light so beautifully it made her chest ache. That was the only reason she’d agreed to stay with him to begin with. Azriel was stunning, so handsome she could hardly believe he was real at all. He seemed to be cut from the same cold stone lurking in the distance, as if the goddess herself had taken the time to lovingly place each feature. Gwyn hadn’t seen a man so close in fifteen years and never one with his high cheekbones, his full, curved lips, or his wide, hazel eyes, his skin the loveliest shade of warm brown she’d ever seen. He was taller than her by a good head and shoulders, his body muscular and broad. All muscle, if the bare arms crossed against his chest was any indication. A warrior, she thought, studying him when he wasn’t watching. 

And quiet. His voice was dark and smoky, the sort of thing she swore lingered in the air like shadow. When she spoke Azriel seemed to vibrate, hanging off her every word, but he offered very little outside of his reassurances he did not mean to hurt her and his unending questions about her, her life.

Mate. 

Gwyn had questions of her own. She waited until they were on the bottom level of his home, seated at a square dining table. He’d made a simple dinner and was, as always, watching her with his unguarded fascination. She thought of the golden man that had likely been executed by General Nolan and his anguish when Nolan had promised to find the pregnant, hiding woman. Had they been mates, too? 

“Why are your scales blue?” she asked instead, too afraid to ask what she really wanted to know. Azriel’s thick brows shot skyward, his mouth shaping into an oh. He glanced down at his hands before curling them into fists and hiding them beneath the table.

“My kind–”

“Your kind?”

“Mountain dwellers,” he amended patiently in that rich, deep voice. She shivered without meaning to. “We are typically blue or red…very occasionally purple.”

“I wonder what color I would be,” she wondered out loud. Hazel eyes flashed with delight.

“Blue,” he declared, eyes sliding down her neck. He looked no further before his gaze returned to her face and Gwyn could admit she appreciated the way he didn’t seem to ogle her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she decided to be brave.

“And what are mates?” 

He didn’t hesitate. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

It was oddly sweet. “Like marriage?”

He wrinkled his nose. 

“Not like marriage?” she pressed. He opened his mouth and closed it again, clearly struggling. 

“It is…it is a connection between souls. Blessed by the Mother Goddess herself,” he added hastily, clearly trying to make this phenomenon make sense to her. “I can feel it here.”

His broad, golden brown hand pressed against his chest. She didn’t mention she didn’t feel it, though Gwyn had to admit she did feel something. Drawn to him, perhaps. It had been enough to make her agree to stay when he’d so readily agreed to her terms. There was still danger in the decision given that night was falling rapidly and he might go back on his promise.

“What if you don’t want it?”

He went so, so still in that unnatural way of his. “You want to reject it?” he rasped. 

“No,” she said quickly, though that wasn’t entirely true either. Gwyn was merely curious. “I just…I want to know about it, I guess. It’s different for us.”

“Yes,” he said with a quick roll of his eyes. “I have heard about how human males court their females.”

She smothered a smile. “Not a fan, I take it?”

“They do not appreciate what they have,” came his surprising response. “They are cruel to their females, so certain they could just have another should the mood strike them.”

Azriel didn’t know the half of it. Her attackers had remained with their wives, who had protected them. Those women had led the charge to have Gwyn removed, unable to stand the sight of her—of the reminder that their husbands were bad people. The girls were blamed, the men protected, coddled and still respected. 

“And your kind don’t?”

She didn’t believe there was any world in which men cared about women let alone venerated them. Azriel’s eyes darkened for a moment, as if he knew exactly why she’d asked that question. Like he would have committed violence on her behalf. It ought to have scared her. 

“There are not enough females anymore,” he began carefully. “Centuries ago, when the humans decided they no longer wished to live among them, they slaughtered them first. Children, as well. What remains are the warriors who beat them back. Even if we had an abundance, though…mates are rare. Cherished,” he added too pointedly, as if he needed her to understand what she meant to him. Gwyn swallowed. 

“I would rather let you remove my wings than harm you.”

Pretty words, she thought with too much cynicism. She’d wait to see how the night played out before she dared to trust him. 

“There was a man like you–”

“Lucien,” he said quickly. “He is a different sort of dragon.”

That, she supposed, explained why Lucien had been gold and Azriel blue. 

“And the woman? Is she…?”

“His mate?” Azriel asked softly. “Yes. He is protecting her and their child as any good mate should. While the humans busy themselves with killing him, Elain will have time to escape.”

“Oh,” she whispered. It was all so sweet, in a strange way. She couldn’t imagine self-sacrificing in the hope that your wife and child would escape and yet Gwyn so badly wanted to believe in a world where that was possible. A place built differently. She would never forgive him if it was all a lie. 

She hadn’t had hope in fifteen years. Gwyn hadn’t dared, not after everything. Not after Catrin. Staring down Azriel who was, in turn, watching her eat, Gwyn could feel it blooming in her chest. That warm want, that desire to find good in the world. She’d been smothering all of it in ash all these years, had buried it right alongside Catrin.

“Do you like being a priestess?” he asked, unaware of what was happening with her internally. Curiosity still danced over his features and when Gwyn set her wooden spoon inside the carved bowl, finished with the stew, Azriel was on his feet so quickly to give her more. 

“I’m not…you don’t have to serve me,” she mumbled, embarrassment flushing over her. Azriel dropped back into his chair, supremely pleased with himself. 

“Do you like being a priestess?” he asked again, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“No,” she admitted. “Not really. I…”

He leaned forward on his elbows, nearly spilling his own half-eaten food. No one had ever looked at her with such interest before. Gwyn’s eyes dropped to her bowl.

“I like parts of it. I just don’t know that I belong, I guess.”

“Why?”

She didn’t know him. Why was she confiding these things? Gwyn forced herself to smile. “I’m still figuring myself out, I suppose.”

Some of his interest shifted, his expression becoming guarded again. They lapsed into silence while she ate though she could practically hear the grinding gears of his mind. He stood when she finished but this time, aware that he intended to feed her until she puked, stopped him.

“No more,” she said. He eyed her warily.

“Are you sure?”

“I swear,” she agreed. “I—” she was suddenly too scared to say she wanted to go back up the stairs, to close the door and pace while she gathered herself. What if he decided he didn’t care what she wanted? If he meant to just…consummate this faux marriage regardless. 

“Sleep?” he murmured, guessing her thoughts. “Would you like water for the bath?”

“No!” she replied hastily, wrapping her arms around her chest as she backed for the archway leading to the living room. 

“In the morning?” he pressed, so earnestly it made her stomach churn softly. 

“Maybe,” she whispered. “I uh…”

“Sleep,” he said again, firmer this time. She took a step, unable to turn her back to him but Azriel remained between the table and the kitchen, watching her with such soft eyes her heart was in danger of splattering at her feet. Gwyn took another, and then another but Azriel didn’t move at all.

And when she darted up the steps, she swore she heard him sigh softly. With disappointment. What was it like to end up with her as a mate? She imagined he’d been hoping for this his entire life, had dreamt of it the way she’d once dreamt of her future husband. And Azriel had ended up with her.

Broken.

Gwyn heard the door beneath her open once she was locked up in Azriels room. She walked to the window and watched him stand in the snow, hands on his hips as he stared out into the distance. The air around him rippled and then that massive, scaled monster was just in front of the door. He paced in a circle three times, stamping the snow beneath his black clawed feet, before plopping to the ground with a huff. 

Gwyn unlatched the window, pushing it open to look down at him. Azriel turned his massive head, those hazel eyes peering up with curiosity.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked. He huffed a steaming breath, big enough she could reach down and touch his scaled head. Fair was fair, she thought, as she asked, “Can I touch you?”

His head bobbed up and down. Gwyn leaned from the perch on the ledge and ran her hand over him. He was hot and his scales soft. She’d thought they might be sharp like knives but instead found them a flexible plating that, when she ran a finger over the edges, didn’t slice open her skin. 

He snorted softly, angling his head so he could look, taking a deep inhale of the air around him. Gwyn didn’t know why, but she thought she liked him better this way. At least she knew what he was capable of. With his spiked tail and his massive teeth there was no denying the monster. As the man, though…as the man, Gwyn had to wonder what lurked beneath the veneer of civility. 

“I think I am too in love with the dark to ever be a good priestess,” she whispered, telling the beast what she could not say to the man. He blinked, eyes sliding from the pretty hazel into azure for only a moment.

And then he was back, nuzzling her hand with his massive snout. 

I know what you mean, he seemed to say.

And Gwyn believed he did. 

AZRIEL: 

Azriel had never slept better in his life. His mate had touched him. Hesitantly, sure, and still bathed in that stench of fear and yet she’d done it all the same. He’d woken like king of the mountain, splaying out his wings for the gods so they, at least, could appreciate what he was guarding just inside. Perhaps she’d touch him again, fingers caressing his scales as she mapped him out. Azriel would let her, would stay in his winged form if that pleased her.

He wanted very badly for his form to please her, both as dragon and male. He didn’t dare offer to show her the other, not until she asked to see it. He came inside and waited in the living room, one leg bouncing eagerly when he heard her moving overhead. He wanted her to come down before he offered her bathwater again. 

The door creaked open. “Azriel?” she whispered into the early morning glow. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he replied, standing at the bottom of the steps. Invite me up. Let me see you. 

“I um…” he could hear her voice tremble. What was wrong? He gripped the railing, waiting for her to ask him to take her home.

“I need your help.”

“Oh,” he murmured, taking the steps with easy, soft steps so he wouldn’t seem too eager. Gwyn was in the doorway in her same dress, arms wrapped around her torso. Had she not wanted any of the clothes he’d gotten? Azriel opened his mouth to ask but Gwyn spun quickly, gathering her long, thick mass of hair and holding it over her shoulders.

Laces.

“I can’t…” she gulped down a breath, her whole body trembling visibly. “Can you…?”

He had to bury his fury that someone had seen his perfect, sweet mate and had done something so irrevocably awful that the thought of his touch made her pant with fear.

“Yes,” he agreed, reaching for the blue knots with extreme care. Each new tugged revealed unblemished, freckled skin and Azriel did not dare touch it—not even with his knuckles. He wanted to. All he wanted was to push the dress from her shoulders and see her. She had only asked him to undo the laces and he had sworn not to touch unless she asked. Azriel was a male of his word.

He would not harm his mate. 

She turned when she felt that last tug, holding the front against her chest.

“Would you like water for a bath?” he asked her. “I have to turn it on…you can wait in the hall, if you like?”

She nodded quickly, ducking benath his arm as he stepped into the room. His chest expanded when he realized she had put away all the things he’d given her. Clothes were folded in the chest beside his own, the trinkets lining the top of the dresser. The book was at the very end of the bed and Azriel nearly burst with pleasure knowing not only had she slept in his bed, but she enjoyed something he’d given her. 

Stepping into the bathing chamber, Azriel pulled down a nice towel and a little candle, lighting it with a snap of his fingers. He set it beside the sink before turning the rusting nob. Cold water poured, good enough for him but hardly conducive for his soft mate. He waited, sitting against the lip of the tub, until it was filled before dipping his hand inside and warming that, too. 

“It’s ready,” he told her, stepping back into the hall so she knew he did not mean to follow her. Gwyn watched, backing away like before as though she did not trust him enough to present her back. Azriel swallowed that outrage, too, tallying it in his mind against the human males ledger he would one day see die. 

She closed the door behind her and Azriel all but ran from his house, shifting the second his feet hit the snow. If she liked books, he’d bring her more. He’d build her an entire library if that was what it would take for her to look up at him with trust instead of fear. 

Azriel would have done anything. Digging out books was hardly anything at all. A small thing, a little token he could offer as proof he was sincere. That she meant more to him than anything he’d ever had. Gwyn was a gift, special.

 Azriel gathered a few groceries in town, wondering if Gwyn liked things that were sweet. He couldn’t bake but thought it couldn’t be that hard to figure out. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was something they could do together. She could teach him to make a pie…and he could teach her how to disembowel a human male. That thought excited Azriel more than the baking, though he shoved it down.

Maybe he’d wait on that one.

Azriel arrived back at the cottage, certain Gwyn must be finished bathing. He had clothes that had buttons in the front so she couldn’t have to ask him to unlace her again. Not unless she wanted to, at any rate. He was pulling out a pretty green one, thinking it would look nice against the red of her hair, when the door flung open.

Her face was blotchy and tear stained. She had a dress over her frame, held by one hand, the ends of her curling strands dripping against the fabric and the floor. Azriel dropped it all to the ground, spinning in a circle to see what had caused this onslaught of fear.

“Where did you go?” she asked, her voice squeaky. He froze.

“I…” This was his fault? Hastily, he picked the bag back up, showing her the dress. “It has buttons,” he tried to explain. She stared for a moment, another tear sliding down her cheek. His legs shook at the sight. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What if…you left and I…”

“You’re safe here,” she said, stepping forward to close the door behind her. “No one can get to you without wings and no other male would dare.”

His reputation ensured that, if nothing else. Gwyn nodded, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. She took the green down and darted back up the steps, leaving him feeling stupid and confused. He hadn’t thought she’d notice and if she had, he’d just assumed she’d be grateful knowing he wasn’t lurking around trying to see something she shouldn’t. 

He blew out a breath. Maybe he would have better luck, he reasoned, if he sent her back and tried courting her the way a human male would. Azriel meant to offer when she returned, so devastatingly pretty in the green that Azriel could have died. She didn’t hesitate, launching herself against him, arms wrapped around his middle.

He did, though. She squeezed while his arms hung uselessly in the air, brain struggling to keep up. Had anyone ever dared to touch him like this? It took a moment for him to decide to touch her back, one hand spanning the middle of her back, the other tangled softly in her silky, wet hair.

“Next time, will you tell me when you go?”

“You can come with me,” he promised hoarsely. She was touching him again. Fear didn’t ripple off her, clogging his senses. Only that sweet softness greeted his nose. He lowered his head, resting his chin against her scalp so he could breathe it deeper.

“I would like that. I want to see more of this world,” she whispered, cheek to his chest. He heard her swallow and then she was stepping out of the embrace, her cheeks the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen. 

“My mate is scared,” he murmured, studying her carefully. She froze, eyes wide even as he stepped from the hall to the living room. He could feel her just behind, watching as he ducked around the couch for the fireplace and the knife sitting against the carved mantle. 

He brought it to her, pressing the silver hilt into her hand.

“Az, I…”

Az. He sucked in a breath at the nickname. “One day you will trust me,” he murmured. “And you will tell me what they did to you.”

She blinked those big, teal eyes up at him, lips parted ever so slightly. Daring to touch, Azriel reached for her soft chin, holding it between his thumb and his finger.

“I will lay them at your feet for daring to harm you. And if you like, I will teach you to become the sort of creature that haunt their very nightmares.”

She leaned ever so slightly into the touch. “I would like that a lot.”

He dropped his hand before he gave in to instinct and touched her lips. Azriel smiled at her. He knew what they said about him. He was cold—cruel. Unforgiving. All of it was true.

But not to her.

Never her.

[youmakemyhearthowl]

Punk Princess

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 (Next Part)

Steve was thankful El was over at Max’s when he got home from Hellfire, collapsing into his bed instantly as an ugly loud sob ripped from his chest.

Eddie wasn’t being fair and it was eating him alive with how much it hurt. Because sure, Eddie didn’t know how deeply Steve’s feelings ran for him, but using… calling him… That whole situation, that whole dynamic that they’d had before, was to Steve at least, sacred, and to just act like it was okay to still use it after he’d basically just told Steve he was still Bullshit . It wasn’t fair of him. 

His heart felt like someone just kept sending it through a meat grinder over and over again, and he couldn’t breath , everything just felt like it was too much. 

He shot up, stumbling to the bathroom and barely making it to the toilet before he puked. His entire chest burning with the sensation. He didn’t know how to be friends with Hellfire and be around Eddie if this was how he was going to make him feel everytime they see each other now. 

Eddie was being so unfair .

He thought at first, maybe he’d over reacted to what Eddie had said, that the word bullshit had infected his brain and made him overthink the other words that had come out of Eddie's mouth. But as he’d been crying before the game Robin had reassured him that Eddie was out of line, and friends don’t treat friends the way he had, and Steve had every right to feel the way he was feeling.

He wished he could stop feeling like this.

He’d never been this sensitive before, when he was still ‘King Steve’. It had been so much easier to shut his feelings off and just move on, move forward. That’s how you survived.

Men don’t cry Steven.

His father used to spit the words at him, a swift slap to his wet, red face to get him to calm down and the tears to stop flowing. Steve brings a hand up and slaps his cheek, willing the tears to stop and go away, for the feeling to go with them. But it doesn’t help.

A sharp knock on the cabin door pulled his head from his knees where it had ended up. His face and heart aching as he sat quietly, hoping whoever it was would just go away if he didn’t answer.

“Steve, please we need to talk.” A quiet sob rips out of Steve’s chest when Eddie's voice reaches his ears. Of course, of course he would be here right now. “Steve, I know you’re home, please, I really need to talk to you.”  And he doesn’t want to, doesn't want to peel himself off the tile floors and rub at the makeup he knows is all over his face now and face Eddie, but Steve’s said it before. He's a weak man, and the desperation in Eddie’s tone has him shuffling towards the front door. Discarding his vest and yellow sweater to pull his oversized faded Iron Maiden hoodie over his head as he goes. He sniffles and wipes his nose on the sleeve, leaning his face against the cool wood of the door.

“What are you doing here Eddie?” 

“Steve, please, I fucked up, and I need to be looking at you to do this right.” He can tell Eddie's also pressed to the door, his voice muffled as he talks through the wood, the plea in his voice dripping into the cracks and being absorbed into the walls around them. Steve lets out a soft sigh, before pulling the door open and Eddie goes to talk, goes to say something before he’s taking in Steve's face, and his entire demeanor crumples. 

“Stevie…”

“Don’t, Eddie, what do you want?” Steve walks into the house and leaves the door open, he can feel the heat where Eddie trails behind him, shutting the door softly, Steve only turns to face him again when they're standing in the living room, the soft hum of the fireplace, the only noise echoing around them.

“Steve I..” He hesitates, his face scrunching up like he’s trying to get the words out but nothing coming. “I just…” 

“Eddie, I’m really not in the mood for whatever this is, so please either say what you came here to say or leave, because I’m tired.”  The pressure on his chest just seems to be increasing the longer he looks at Eddie, his entire being aching at seeing the man in front of him. At Eddie’s silence Steve sighs beginning to turn towards the front door again when his breath catches in his throat.

Eddie, Eddie is slowly lowering himself to the ground, a steady stream of tears spilling from his eyes as he holds Steve's gaze. Slowly, slowly he bends his knees until they hit the carpet below him, and then, then he bows his head and stares straight down at his hands on his knees. 

Completely submitting to Steve.

“I’m so sorry.” The words are barely a whisper, Steve straining to hear them from his frozen spot, his entire body stuck, frozen exactly where he is because Eddie is kneeling in front of him on the ground, and that’s.. That’s not… Eddie isn’t the one who…

Steve lets out a strangled sound as he rushes across the floor to kneel in front of him, his hands coming up to cup his face, trying to push it up to look at him.

“Eddie, Eddie, what are you doing?” He’s a little frantic because this means something, and his entire body feels like it's burning from the inside seeing Eddie on his knees in front of him. Because he doesn’t, isn’t supposed to do that. That’s not his role . And Steve knows he’s crying again, knows the feel of the white hot tears streaming down his face as he tries to pull Eddie from the position he's in, because it feels wrong .

“I’m so sorry for the way I treated you Steve. Everything about who you are is important to me. And I can’t.. I can’t” He seems to be stuck on the words, a small sob pushing past them and into the space between their kneeling bodies.

“Eddie please.” He pulls Eddie's face to his chest, wrapping his arms around him and cradling him like he's something breakable.

“You shouldn't be comforting me.” His words are muffled by Steve's hoodie, but they ring clear in his ears. “I needed to apologize to you. A real apology, because I didn’t realize what I’d done. How much I’d hurt you. Steve you’re so amazing, and I’m learning I have a lot of things I need to unlearn. And I’m sorry I took it out on you. You deserve so much ” A soft sob shakes them both as Eddie's hands finally come up to wrap around Steve in return. “ I hurt you and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m giving you all that I am. I’m so sorry Steve.”

Steve’s not sure if your heart can break from a true genuine apology but he’s pretty sure his just shattered right there on the floor next to them.

“Okay Eddie, okay I forgive you.” 

And he knows they need to have a longer conversation, that there's more that needs to be said, things between them that need to be addressed, but in that moment, with Eddie submitting fully to Steve and offering him everything he is, this feels like enough for now.

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 (Next Part)

[oppositeurmama]

The Bear and the maiden fair (Bjorn X Reader)

A/N - this contains smut with dubious consent! I don’t want anyone to get triggered, so if you are not comfortable with this, pls don’t read! <3

Warnings; violence, dub-con

P.s - I don’t condone any of the following actions, I find it repulsive.

The castle had been stormed hours ago. The villagers had died first, slaughtered in their homes and in their forges, the blacksmiths branded with their own tools, the butchers sliced and diced like prized hogs. And after the village had been burned to the ground, the plunderers came to the castle. They forced down the great oak doors, killed any who stood in their way. 

My father had been the first to die. He’d been on his throne when one of the barbarians had launched a spear, and it hit him straight through the gullet, the sharp iron tip pinning him into the wood backrest. My mother had been the second to die, after she screamed for god to help. 

But the gods were cruel. They didn’t listen to women anymore, even high-born ones like me, even though i was the lucky one. As my family were gutted, i had hid in the only place i could dare think to hide; my bedroom. It wasn’t a clever or sneaky place to hide, to be true, but the door locked and there was only one key, and i was the sole owner.

***

Hours passed. The screams filled my castle, blood splattered the wall and stained the cobbled floors, and those damned screams and pleas of help fell on deaf ears, forgotten by the barbaric cries of the savages who seeked only to slaughter, to take and to take, to never give back. 

I was beneath my bed when the door came crashing down. A great axe stuck through the wood and stripped back the bark, hack hack hack! I held my breath, placed my hands over my mouth as my chest heaved, seeking sanctuary in the dark low confines underneath my wooden bed. 

The door opened, squealing on iron hinges. Goosebumps prickled my skin. The viking stepped through the doorway, treading heavy over chunks of splintered wood and debris. “Princess.” He called, in a growling rasp. “You ran, little princess, and we didn’t know where.” The viking walked across the vast expanse of my room and he dragged his sword against the floor, the iron sparking against the cobbles. “i found you, princess. And now . . .” 

I swallowed a sob and the scraping of his sword stopped. He turned on his heel and before i could barely comprehend, he’d gripped my ankle and pulled me out from under the bed. “You’re mine!”

He pinned me down, and I glanced up at him, too frightened to dare speak, my words catching in my throat, my tongue growing fat from fear. And despite my terror, no tears fell. “Bjorn ironside.” I said, shakily. “You’re Bjorn Ironside.”

A flash of moonlight set his face alight. His smile was cruel and thin. “I am.” He admitted, and my jaw trembled. My chest heaved with the effort it took to breath and not scream for help, or even to sob. “Are you going to kill me?”

Bjorn smiled and gripped my jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He studied me as though i was a fine piece of art-work, his favourite book, a goddess of lore. Finally, he spoke. “No, i won’t kill you. You’re too . . . sweet, for a thing like that, princess.”

I tensed my shoulders, but his eyes were too bright, almost eerie. They cut through me like glass, stripped me bare, left me ashamed and uneasy. His voice was a low, guttural rasp. “Will you fight me, little princess?” He questioned, raising my hands above my head. “Will you beg me to stop?” He took a small dagger from the leather throng at his side, and used it to divulge me of clothing. 

I shook my head. “No.” I said, quietly, too meek to even resist. I truly beleived that, even if i tried to protest or even raise my knee to that tender spot between his legs, he’d beat me black and bloody. 

At my answer, the Viking smiled. “Good.” 

The stone floor was cold against my back. Even if i wanted to fight, i couldn’t. He was too heavy, covering me with his bulk. His hands were rough and careless against my skin, as the icy blade of his dagger slit the soft silk of my bodice and when he lowered his face to kiss me, i tasted blood.

Bjorn’s fingers were mean and cruel against my warm skin, and they travelled to my core, only to find me dry. He grunted against my mouth, irked. When we parted, i turned my face to the side, wrinkled my nose up in disgust. 

Bjorn chuckled lowly and spat on his hand, then lowered it between my legs. “Don’t worry, princess.” He assured, slipping a thick finger into my cunt. “You’ll learn to like this soon enough.” 

It was uncomfortable and foreign. I squirmed and his hot, hungry mouth lowered to bite and nip and kiss my neck. I tried to lift my torso, but he was impossible to move. “Don’t.” I said, harshly. 

He raised his face and smiled. I spat in his face. 

His eyes grew cold, like pale blue ice. It frightened me, and my heart beat heavy and hard beneath my chest, thump thump thump, faster than a snared rabbit’s. “Fiesty, huh?” He questioned, and laughed cruelly. 

The swollen head of his cock was at my entrance. He was big, and he was brutal. With one hand pinning my arms above my head, the other gripped my hip, leaving bruises in his wake. and with one sharp thrust, i wept. 

His jaw clenched and, as though he was punishing me, Bjorn pulled his hips back hard if only to slam back inside me again. The metal of his armour scratched my tender skin, and my cunt burned around his cock, raw and red and aflame.

His movements grew more frenzied, the harsh thrusting depriving me of air in my lungs. His hand firmly squeezed my hip, my back hit the ground hard, and then  I collided against his torso the next. It was almost as if we were fighting instead of coupling. When he thrust forward and the tip of his dick hit my cervix painfully, a bolt of hot pain shot through my stomach when he slammed back into me, harder than before. I shut my eyes and yelped. 

He grimaced and pushed me back to the floor, with his hand forcing my arms into the stones. His groin bumped against my sensitive mound, assuring that no trace of my precious maidenhead remained. “Hold onto me.” He grunted, lifting up one of my thighs. 

I glanced over his muscular shoulder, my eyes trained on the ceiling and the twinkling chandelier, though in the gloom everything was unrecognizable. I did as he bid, wrapped my legs around his hips and looped my arms around his neck, unwilling to fight anymore. 

When Bjorn thrust inside me, it didn’t hurt as much. Encouraged, i clutched at him as tightly as i could, the smell of sweat and blood filling my nostrils, the sound of his moans vibrating against the shell of my ear. I arched my back and predicted his cruel thrusting, and slowly, the friction from Bjorn’s cock pounding away at my cunt managed to rouse a queer tickling sensation at the pit of my stomach. My eyelids grew heavy.

Bjorn lowered his other hand to palm my breast, pushing aside the silk fabric of my slashed dress, as he rolled my hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You like that, princess?”

My cunt clenched at his incessant pounding. I dug my nails into the tanned nape of his neck, and whimpered. He pressed his warm lips to mine and kissed me, tasting strongly of iron. His beard scratched my face, and he plunged his tongue deeper into my mouth. He brought his hand between our bodies and i flinched, expecting more pain, only to find pleasure; hot, flashing bolts of pleasure. 

The friction of his manhood as he tirelessly impaled me, and the queer warmth which was pooling in my stomach tainted my thoughts. I moaned into his mouth and he cursed, “Fuck.” 

Beneath him, my whole body shook when he played with my clit. I hit my peak, toes curling, back arching, breasts pushed flat against his muscled chest, quivering and whimpering beneath him, my gasps and pleas smothered by his hot, hungry mouth. And with my climax, came his. 

Bjorn shoved himself to the hilt and uttered a long, low growl. He kept me flush against him for more than a moment, and after a few desperate thrusts, he stiffened and collapsed, crushing me beneath his bulk.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. When he pulled out and leaned back on his heels, lifting up my silk skirts to look admiringly at my tender pussy, he grinned. Between my thighs was a sticky mess of cum and blood. He leaned down and licked the entirety of my cunt from hole to mound, and i pushed him away, too tender to be played with. “Please.” I begged, shaking my head. “No more.” 

Bjorn crawled atop me and wedged his knee between my thighs to keep me from closing them. “Easy now, princess.” He muttered, capturing my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine. He kissed me rough and i tasted blood, my blood, on his tongue. “You’re mine.” He said, finally. “All mine.”

[kkusuka]

Have I told you I hate weak y/n’s that get pushed around by fangirls? No? Well, I hate them 😊

Let’s have Oikawa, Atsumu, Akaashi, Semi, and Terushima react to their normally calm gf, beat the dog shit out of a fangirl that tried to intimidate her for dating said men above. Reader just has a soft smile before cocking her fist back and boxing her shit before holding up the fangirl and looking to the rest like “You wanna end up like her? No? Then know your place~ ☺️”. Then she faces her bf with a sweet smile and says something affectionate like “I brought you lunch, dear. I made it just how you like it 😄” before kissing his cheek like she didn’t go Muhammad Ali on a bitch

<3

Oikawa Tooru<3

Oikawa’s had more than a few less than pleasant experiences with women

Considering he’s always been surrounded by them, from his sister's friends in middle school and being swarmed by them in High school and college- having women around him was nothing new

And for the most part, they were all pleasant

Giving him little gifts and food- that he always gave to you- and just telling him how much they loved watching him play

All things he can deal with before talking to his favorite girl, you

Though, there have been instances of some bold woman who just never get the hint

Whether it be drunkenness or some weird dream of having Oikawa to herself or just blatant disregard of his relationship

And right now just happens to be one of those times- but now you got a firsthand view of the madness.

Whoever this was clearly didn't understand relationships or personal space for that matter

She had a hand on his chest and was just blubbering about how she would be the best wife for him and would make life so much easier- much more than you do for him- and that was just what you saw from the ten seconds you were in earshot

He would normally laugh it offend continue seeking out autographs but he seemed to be locked in an iron maiden

“I promise! Forget about your girlfriend, she’s useless anyways!” and finally a perfect chance to make yourself known

“Tooru, I have your lun-” you attempted to grab him away, him shooting a pleading look to save him before your wrist was snatched from his arm and tugged away and shoved to the side then pushing your body away from the two

“Back off bitch!”

Now,  you were normally a pretty calm person, you knew how to deal with the women and you have been for years.

But you stand by the fact that it was never ok to put your hands on someone- no matter the situation.

But at that moment, you could care less about your silly reparations and breathing methods, that lady put a hand on you and pushed you

You could hear Tooru telling her to keep her hands off you but you just looked around and made sure that everyone saw what had happened, you don't need to be arrested anytime soon

Grabber her arm you detached her from your boyfriends and in the next second your fist was connecting with her face, watching her wither on the floor you turn to your boyfriend who’s now coming towards you

“As I was saying, I have your lunch.”

Atsumu Miya<3

Another guy who’s constantly surrounded by women

Although he is far less appreciative and nice to them, and he makes it a point to be abundantly clear that you are the only woman he will spend the rest of his life with

Something that wasn't too popular with a few specific fans

Every blue moon someone will find his phone number and blow it up with loving messages or try and get his address

The worst it’s been was someone finding his apartment number and thankfully being too far away to come by themselves but they did send some inappropriate images to his PO box and that led him to create an even thinker line between fans and himself

Thankful, the whole of them understood and respected his boundaries

Buuuuut there are always people who go the extra step

Like whoever this is crowding your boyfriend after a win against the Alders with a giant poster of him and a …. Thong

If you were the slightest more stoic you would have held in the laugh that started it all but it seems crazy is crazy no matter how you provoke them

That lady heard you laugh and the flood gates opened, in a split second her hand was on your cheek then she was on the floor holding what you could hope was a broken jaw

You didn't even realize you punched her until a shooting pain went up your wrist

Though before you had a chance to return to your lovely boyfriend, who was standing in the same spot shell shocked (and slightly turned on)  hand grabbed your ankle the flung you to the ground

It was, for lack of a better term, a catfight

She was hitting you and you were hitting her and she was screaming random shit about how awful you were to her precious Atsumu- seriously this lady was insane

Nevertheless, security arrived, and let’s just say that you were in much better condition than she was, who knew you could fight so well?

Though you weren't allowed to come to the next game and had to apologize to the heads of the Volleyball association, Tsumu was proud of you and the internet was on your side- so it was kind of a win-win

Akaashi Keiji<3

He surprisingly doesn't have a swarm of fangirls around him

But it’s much much worse, you’d rather have a mob of girls around him than the four specific psychos that never leave the poor guy alone

Everywhere in school at least one of them is watching the two of you, in class, at lunch- no matter where you try and eat- you swear you even saw one at the boba show you pass on your walk home with him

The worst part?

He thinks it’s funny.

It is hilarious to him that you try so hard to keep them away full knowing he would never leave you for the likes of them. It’s just too cute how you puff up your cheeks and huff about them and honestly, it's a breath of fresh air considering how much everyone kisses up to him

Well- he likes it when they are at a distance

On the off chance they get close to him, it's a different story. They truly are intolerable, and they away try bad-mouthing you to him like it was supposed to mean something that they don't like you

And they only ever do it when you’re away- cowards they truly are. And since they’re always watching, as soon as you left to buy the two of you lunch, one of them was on him in an instant

She was annoying and all she could say was ho you were a ‘poison’ in his life and he had to leave you as soon as possible

He didn't even realize you were there until a hand grabbed the back of her uniform and flung her off him. And from the looks of it, falling on the ground really hurt

“I’m a poison? That’s all you could come up with?”

You didn't even have to say another word, she was already out of sight

Not missing a beat, you handed him his lunch and started talking about the latest episode of the volleyball anime you loved.

Semi Eita<3

First off- a total power couple

Not only are you willing to beat a bitch, but he’s also ready to hype you up while you do it

It’s not confirmed you have, but there are rumors that you fought more than a few girls who were less than pleasant. And it’s not like you do anything for rumor control, you just laugh and turn the other way

Still, even with the rumor mill running rampant, some girls still try and shoot their shot

But this girl has to be the boldest woman on planet earth

Not only was she flirting with an openly taken man, but she was flirting with him as he held his arm around your waist. She even looked at you as she spoke to him, the audacity of people these days

“You like music? That’s crazy, I do too!” you wanted her to shut the fuck up as soon as possible.

What pissed you off more was that he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was letting it happen to spite you.

What happened after this you blame solely on the alcohol the party was providing and not on the fact you wanted to clock this girl the moment you saw her

It was just that suddenly your drink was in her face

Then her drink was in her face, and she was running to the bathroom, maybe she should listen to rumors more often because you don't think strawberry daiquiri will come out of a white crop too so easily

Terushima Yuji<3

He’s an ass

But he’s your ass, somehow

He’s a manwhore and an attention-whore, mix that should have been shot before it could grow into something more

By now you're used to the girls slipping him their numbers and hitting him up on every social media site possible and you remain happy to say he doesn't respond- probably too busy dicking you down to care about any of them

Plus, less than 1%  of them actually approach them in public, and they just happen to be the most insufferable people on the planet.

Desperation doesn't even describe it

Of that 1%, at least half of them try to touch him, running a hand on his arm, tugging at his clothes, maybe even a strand of his hair, all you can deal with because he knows what’ll happen if he even entertains their advances

But for some reason, the only thing that sets you off is when they mention the tongue piercing.

It invokes a rage unknown within you, the second the metal ball’s mentioned you see red. And he fucking loves it, you could be three prefectures over and the second the girl mentions it, you magically appear at his side like you’d been there the whole time

All of a sudden you’re all over him, disregarding this girls words as she tries to bring the conversation back to her, going as far as grabbing your shoulder, and since she touched you first- you had the green light

Your arm pulled back and your fist connected to her cheek

And like nothing ever happened you turned back to the blond

tags: @diamond-3 @rinsangel @heyheyitsne @angelalje @monisi @crystal-lilac @sadpotato10

[iero]

I gotta know, what are some of your favorite little head canons you have about Steve/Eddie. I’m so desperate for content about them and also I value your opinions and thoughts

Oh God... Literally have been like in my Steddie feelings for the past at least two weeks now. I love them so much. I had to really think about this one. Let's see:

Okay, it's literally canon that when they're watching a movie, Steve plays with Eddie's hair and/or attempts to tie it up! Sorry, don't make the rules!

Eddie loves back hugs!!!

Eddie also steals Steve's clothes and wears them around the house (the yellow sweater... *chefs kiss*) and vice versa! Steve would never be caught dead in a Iron Maiden shirt, but for him...

Is them showing each other their music canon? It's gotta be if not. Steve finds himself listening to Judas Priest in the car and Eddie finds himself humming and/or playing a riff to a Talking Heads song on his guitar (Steve listening to Talking Heads is also a headcanon, but shh...)

On that note, I am also firmly of the belief that Steve does enjoy going to Eddie's shows/band practices! Bonus points if he pretends that he doesn't or passes it off like Robin wanted to go to the show and Eddie pretends to give him Hell for it. Imagining a 'Enjoy the show, Harrington?' 'Pshh, no.' type of scenario.

They're both terrible cooks but don't admit it to one another because they want to seem 'romantic.'

They teach Dustin how to drive! Think about it! Steve would literally be a backseat driver to the point where Eddie would have to turn around from the passenger seat and glare at him to shut him up.

Is that good? Are those good enough for now? Don't get me started on AU's, I got some of those too LMAO. Thank you for letting me talk about them. :)

[godspecd]

where: the iron islands, the sea tower when : month 4 of the seven months of hell in westeros who : ames harlaw @amesharlaw

if only someone could see the two harlaw sisters. how horribly broken they had been. in this scene, one could hear how the rushed steps of the remaining elder harlaw uncle attempting to climb the roped bridge that divided this tour to the rest of the great keep in pyke. he was summoned by one of dyana’s handmaidens, as they soon came to realize just critical of a state their lady had become. thank god dyana’s staff was all paid handsomely for their ability to keep their mouths SHUT. a long tradition in the harlaw family, her mother would tell her to continue it. after all, who wanted their house to be gossiped about outside of the walls of the great keep? or even within it? it also helped that dyana was just desperately in need to ensure aurore never heard of her breakdowns. she didn’t need to be reminded how much stronger her sister had been, how her sister could just silently clench her fists on a sponge and scrub away at a boat to get her feelings out. 

dyana’s will had been finalized, hidden away and stashed somewhere in the great keep. her great council had significantly decreased, aurore’s seat now being replaced with victarion. all were made aware that dyana had made a will, but only sigfryd and ames were made aware of where to find it if she didn’t have to write a new one. the thoughts that plagued her mind were tremendous, hauntingly so. her dreams wouldn’t leave her alone and she tried to hide in the sea tower the day before. yet, upon waking up to yet another night terror, her cries wouldn’t stop. she didn’t have her nuse maiden anymore to comfort her, nor did she have euron and lani to remind her to stop screaming. after all, she was dreadfully scary as euron remarked once.

she would find herself gasping for air and curled up in a ball against the black cold old stone of the tower when her uncle arrived. it was a breathing alike hyperventilation. if she stopped, she would die. if she stopped, the cold air would stop entering her lungs. if she stopped, she would begin to taste the horrible taste of ash in her throat. the heat of her own body was an enemy as it only felt to escalate to unbearable levels. her fingernails scratched at her arms as if flames still danced near them, enough to cause her panic. she was awake, the night terror ended but this...this attack wasn’t. she felt like she lost everything in king’s landing, anything in front of her was forgotten as she only could hear the giggles of alanis harlaw in the fire slowly turn to screams. aurore’s hand was above the bush that just lit aflame in front of her. dyana saw it turn to ash right before her hands. davios’ firm grip on her was long lost already, his touch and the memory provided no comfort. she was alone in the pyre, with only the phantoms of her family both dead and alive telling her to just give up. 

[joestarwhore]

Hi! May I request headcanons for yandere Risotto with a darling who’s very small and dresses in lolita fashion, but gets picked on for it? Fem or gen-neutral pronouns, if that’s okay!

Thank you in advance!! Please be sure to drink lots of water and take breaks when you need to!

you are just the sweetest!! of course i will do this for you bb!!🌸🌈🌙🤍

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

You were polar opposites.

Risotto was close to 7’0, but compared to you, he was the tallest being you could imagine.

Your stands name was Iron Maiden, an offensive stand with a range of 5 meters and wields a pure steel scythe. After your abilities awoken, you gravitated towards more of the lolita style, closely resembling your stands appearance as well.

Though you were quite the adorable sight, you were often the end of every joke. Prosciutto and Melone were no mere exception.

“Why do you wear that ridiculous get up?” Prosciutto would grill you constantly about this. “You look like a cheap child’s doll. Is that just how you wanna be known?”

You stared down at your lap, gripping your skirt with your tiny hands. “I-I just match my stand this-this way and i feel nice in thi-“

“God you’re such a fuckin freak!” Ghiaccio yelled at you, laughing boisterously at your bent over frame. God this sucked, why is it always you that gets picked on? Matching with your stand is the most comforting thing for you in a strange world that you were still getting used to. It was the one thing you actually felt attached to-

“Shut the fuck up, you limp pricks.”

The deep, stone cold voices sent ice down all of your spines, Ghiaccio’s face draining of color as he and Proscuitto slowly turned around. Risotto’s giant black height was standing menacingly in the door way with Metallica’s beads dancing all around behind him. “Are you both fucking dumbasses? The girl is (Y/A) and had no choice to join us. WE chose her,” Metallica beads starting crawling menacingly towards the panicked mafiosos, their moans getting more and more deprecate, “and you wanna take away the only thing she has for comfort?!”

Your eyes grew wide, you knew as soon as metallica reached them both, Risotto would have no resolve to punish them. You mustered up all the courage you had in your small body and ran towards Risotto and threw your hands on his chest. “Risotto please, it’s not worth it and i’m not worth it, PLEASE don’t hurt them!!” You cried out, desperation reaching Risottos ears. His red and black eyes looked down at you and simply melted. He couldn’t resist you, no matter how hard he tries.

Metallica disappeared and the boys took that moment to run out the back door.

Risottos hands slowly wrapped themselves around your tiny frame. “You don’t deserve that. You deserve to feel good as you are, do you understand?”

You smiled, and pressed your head into his frame. The Capo was the scariest man on this earth, but you saw just how truly lovely he was.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

[phykios]

volcano kiss scene but make it medieval, for @perseannabeth 💙 note that this is little more than a fancy rewrite, but... marble king verse is too good to be done with completely

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June, 1446

As Percy led his little band of adventurers through the tunnels of the Labyrinth, himself, his questing partner Ana Zabeta, his childhood companion Aegidius, and his half-brother, the cyclops Tison, following a marvelously clever creation of the god of fire, he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to feel a small sense of pride. They had finally located a deity who not only did not appear to have any negative designs on their characters, but had also promised them his help--after they had performed him a small favor, of course. 

Hephaestus had fashioned for them a little spider made of metal, who moved about as though it had a beating heart, darting this way and that, nearly invisible, were it not for their torchlight flickering off its shiny, shiny legs. Though he would never speak it aloud, Percy felt a particular kind of pride on Annabeth’s behalf, as she followed the eight-legged creature with neither complaint nor fear. He knew full well just how totally she detested the beasts, her eternal and forsworn enemies, just as their mother had been an enemy of Athena. 

They rounded a corner, moving from a passageway lined with a strange, shiny substance which felt cool to the touch to one of crudely-cut stone, when he spotted a tunnel off to the side, dug from raw earth, wrapped in thick roots which pried their way through the holes in the stones. Aegidius had noticed it as well, slowing his pace until he stopped entirely in front of the dark, gaping maw in the wall. “Aegidius,” Percy said, stopping as well. “What is it?”

It was as if he had not heard him. The satyr merely gazed into the black tunnel, his curly hair rustling in an impossible breeze.

“We cannot delay!” said Annabeth. “We must keep moving!”

“This is the way,” Aegidius muttered, hushed and reverent. “It is here.”

He couldn’t possibly mean… “The way to Pan?”

But Aegidius ignored him, turning instead to Tison, the creature whose very nature often rendered him speechless with fear. “Do you not smell it, too?”

“Yes,” said Tison. “Earth. The forest.”

Before them, the spider skittered further down the stone corridor. If they delayed any further, the trail would be lost to them. 

“Once we have finished our errand for Hephaestus,” said Annabeth, “then we can return for Pan, I swear it.”

“The tunnel will have gone by then,” said Aegidius, with a confidence Percy had rarely seen before. “A door such as this will not remain open for long--and I must enter it.”

“But,” she said, desperate, “the forges!”

He looked at her sadly, but firmly. “I cannot go with you this time, Annabeth.”

Percy had forgotten--Aegidius was not only his companion. He had been Annabeth’s as well. He had been responsible for seeing her safely over the magical boundary in Sigeion. But the spider was nearly out of sight, and they could not tarry any longer before the gateway to the god. “We will continue to the forges,” he decided. “Aegidius, you go on to seek Pan.”

“No!” she gasped. “It is far too dangerous. If we part ways, we might never find each other again! And I cannot let you go alone.”

It was then that Tison, gentle creature he was, put his hand on Aegidius’ shoulder. As much fear as satyrs held for cyclops, Tison, for some odd reason, held just as much, if not more, for the satyrs. They had made an amusing pair at times, two of the sweetest, kindest people Percy had ever known, cowering in fear at the other. But Tison showed no fear now. Now, he was brave. “I shall go with him.”

Percy could not believe his ears. “You will?”

He nodded. “The satyr needs help. We shall find the god of the wild--together.”

Aegidius took a deep, steadying breath. “I wish I could see this through to the end with you, but--”

“I understand,” said Percy. The search for Pan was his life’s goal, the final prize in a quest which had taken his father, his father’s father, and so many searchers before him. If he did not succeed on this journey, the Council of Cloven Elders would never give him another chance. “I pray that you are right.”

Shoulders square, suddenly possessed of a confidence Percy had rarely ever seen from him, save for when he deliberated on how keftedes paled in comparison to spanakopita, he grinned. “I know that I am.”

Percy took a heartbeat to gaze on him one last time, imprinting him in his memory--just in case. “Be careful,” he told him. Then, he looked towards Tison, and opened his arms to his half-brother, who went into them willingly, squeezing Percy so strongly his eyes just about burst from his sockets. 

Tison and Aegidius then disappeared into the darkness of the tree roots, lost to the wild. 

“This was a mistake,” said Annabeth, her voice trembling. “We should not have let them go.”

“We will see them again,” Percy replied, attempting to summon Aegidius’ confidence. “Now, come on. The spider will not wait for us any longer.”

“Do not remind me,” she said, shuddering.

Before very long, the tunnel grew warmer, the stone walls red and glowing. The air felt as though they were walking through a giant oven, as though they had been transported into one of the forges beneath the villa for Hephaestus’ children, and he supposed, in a way, that they had. The tunnel sloped down, deeper into the earth, the spider nearly tripping over itself to reach the bottom, Annabeth right behind it.

Percy jogged to catch up. “Annabeth!” he called. “A moment?”

She glanced back at him, but did not cease her quick pace, forcing Percy to match her. “Yes?”

“I have a… question,” he panted, “regarding what Hephaestus… said, about your mother.” 

“She swore never to marry,” Annabeth said, easily. Curses, Annabeth did not appear to be even remotely out of breath. He felt like such a fool compared to her, always. “She is one of the maiden goddesses, alongside Artemis and Hestia.”

Percy frowned. He had not recalled that detail about the war goddess--though, he was rather infamous for nodding off during lessons. Perhaps he had simply slept through that particular lesson. “But, if she is a maiden goddess, then--”

“How is it she came to have demigod children?”

Blushing, he nodded. 

Now, this was not at all appropriate conversation, he knew. Young boys and girls were not meant to discuss such things with each other--not yet anyway. But Percy was nearly a man, and besides, he had spent enough time with Carlos and the older boys at the agoge to pick up a few pieces of knowledge here or there. Hopefully, Annabeth would think the flush on his cheeks was due to the heat of the cavern. 

“Do you know how Athena was born?” she asked him. 

“She was born from… the head of Zeus? In armor?”

“Precisely. She was literally born from his thoughts--and thus, her children are born the same way. When Athena falls in love with a mortal partner, it is a purely intellectual affair, just as it was with Odysseus in the epic tales. Our mother says that it is the truest kind of love.”

“So,” said Percy, frowning. “Your father and Athena… you were not--”

“I was born from their minds,” she interrupted, quickly. “Sprung from the divine thoughts of my mother and the mortal ingenuity of my father. Her children are gifts, blessings on the mortals she favors.”

“But--”

She turned to him, exasperated. “Percy, the spider has nearly vanished. Do you really wish for me to explain the precise details of my birth?”

Flushing even harder, he snapped his jaw shut.

Victorious again, she smirked. “I thought not.”

Running ahead to catch their guide, Percy followed, very neatly put in his place, and not certain he would ever be able to look at his friend the same way ever again. Some things, he decided, were perhaps better left as mysteries.

After another few minutes or so, they emerged into a cavern, larger than any stadium Percy had ever seen. It felt to be five times the size of the mighty Colosseum. There was no floor, just miles of bubbling lava beneath their feet. Standing on a rock ride which encircled the cavern, Percy saw a complex, overlapping network of metal bridges spanning the width of it, meeting on a huge platform in the center which housed the largest anvil he had ever seen, a block of iron the size of a villa. Dark, strange shapes moved about them, like formless shadows, too far away to discern what manner of creature they might be. 

“We cannot sneak up on them,” said Percy, noting the distinct lack of places to hide with some despair. 

With a slight grimace, Annabeth picked up their metal guide, its form having changed to a small ball, and slipped it into a fold in her dress. “I can. Wait here.”

“Hang on--” But Percy was too late, as Annabeth put on her magical cap, a gift from her mother, and vanished from his sight. 

Percy cursed. He did not dare call after her, not willing to draw attention to her tactics, but nor did he appreciate the idea of her approaching the forge on her own. If those creatures could repel the likes of Hephaestus, what hope did Annabeth have? It was not safe. She was their leader--they could not risk her life. Percy would not risk her life. 

Alas, he could never sit still for very long. Creeping along the outer rim of the lake of molten rock, he darted from stalagmite to stalagmite as best he could, hoping to find a better vantage point. Really, Annabeth should have known better.

The heat was horrendous, heavy and oppressive. Drenched in sweat, and eyes stinging with smoke, he moved along, staying as far from the edge as was physically possible, until he found his way stopped by a large metal box, fitted on wheels. Peering inside, he saw it was full scrapped metal, bits and bobs of broken swords and lumpy shields, piled on top of one another. Nothing he could reasonably use for an extra weapon, or even some kind of defense. Making to squeeze himself around it, he suddenly heard from up ahead a voice, rough and grating, speaking an ancient language which no man alive had heard for a thousand years. 

Monsters, he knew. 

There was no time to run away, no place to hide… except for the box. Leaping inside, covering himself with a dented aspis, he curled his fingers around his father’s sword, that blade Anaklusmos, hissing as the sharp metal of his bed cut between the soft parts of his armor, biting his tongue so no curse could escape. 

With any luck, the monsters would pass him by, and he could continue along unmolested. 

That was when, of course, that the box lurched forward, pushed along by the monsters, carrying Percy along with it. Malaka! Was he about to be tipped into a smelting pot?

All around him, he heard the chatter of terrible beasts. He was not so skilled in the ancient tongue as Annabeth, but even he could recognize a few words here or there, “weapon” and “cyclopes” and “furnace,” and some names as well: Zena, hissed with scorn, Posidaota, spat with bile, and, most chillingly of all, Kronos, spoken with reverence and awe.

Percy blinked against the sudden light as his cover was removed from his person, revealing himself to the monster, who was so taken aback by his presence, that it blinked back at him in return. For a few moments, neither of them moved, so shocked were they by the other’s sudden appearance. Then, springing into action, Percy slashed upwards, dissolving the beast in a cloud of golden smoke. Snatching up another shield and leaping from his bed of spikes, he saw with his preternatural vision a small army of at least twenty monsters, black like dogs, but with sleek, shiny skin, and legs which looked to be more suited for swimming than scrambling around the rocks of Aitne.

With a hearty battle-cry and another wide swipe, he repelled the front row of these creatures, carving himself some space to jump, sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel. The monsters followed after him, baying and growling as a pack of ravenous wolves, and they would have caught him, tearing him to pieces, had they been but a little bit faster. Thinking quickly, at the top of the tunnel, Percy hurled his shield into a column, the rocks crumbling upon impact, burying the monsters and blocking off the path with a great, noisy cave-in. 

He doubted it would keep them trapped for very long. Not only that, he very much doubted that they had been the only monsters in the cavern. Percy had just announced his presence to anyone who might have been listening, destroying their chance for any sort of subtle reconnaissance.

And Annabeth was still out there, somewhere, invisible.

“Annabeth!” He yelled, running towards the platform at the center of the ocean of lava. “Annabe--!”

An invisible hand clamped over his mouth, wrestling him down behind a large, bronze cauldron. “Silence! Do you mean to have us killed?”

Arms flailing, he managed to locate her head, slipping off her cap of invisibility. She shimmered into view as an island emerging from the mist, scowling and covered in ash and grime. “It’s far too late for that,” he said, grimly. “I came upon a group of monsters, and brought the roof crashing down on them.”

Hissing curses, her hands clenched, as though she meant to strangle him, before she visibly managed to control her temper. “You said there were monsters?”

He nodded. “I know not what kind. I had thought they may have been dogs, were it not for their flippered feet and human hands, adorned with claws. They spoke of furnaces and weapons, making arms for the first Titanomachy.”

“Telkhines,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Of course! I should have known. I had wondered when I saw… well, look.” 

Together they peered over the lip of the cauldron. In the center of the platform stood four of these demons, larger than any Percy had seen before, standing at least the size of a fully grown man. Their black, scaly skin glistened in the light of the fire as they labored, sparks flying between mighty hammer strikes on a long piece of glowing, hot metal, hissing to each other in the ancient language. “What are they saying?” he whispered to her. If he could not understand them, Annabeth surely would. 

“They are talking of fusing metals,” she said, frowning. “Other than that, I--I cannot say.”

“Is that bad?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “The telkhines betrayed the gods,” she said, “for practicing dark magics. For their transgressions, Zeus banished them to Tartaros.”

“Alongside Kronos.”

She nodded. “We must return to Hephaestus at once--”

But no sooner had she spoken than a sharp, clawed hand pierced its way through the rubble of Percy’s cave-in, pushing aside the rocks which blocked its path, followed closely by its snout, teeth long and sharp and dripping with saliva. “You must return to the god,” Percy said, moving into a crouch. “Leave me here.”

“What?” she shrieked. “No! I will not leave you!”

At any other time, he would have praised her for her courage, but not now. “You must! Let me distract the monsters, and perhaps the spider can lead you back through the Labyrinth. You are the leader of this quest--you must take the message back to Hephaestus.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning to face her. “As well, there is no other choice.”

She glared at him, her lips pulled back almost in a snarl worthy of one of the monsters. He knew this look of hers well--it was the one she wore whenever she considered hitting him for his foolishness. 

But rather than hit him, she did something which shocked him even more.

She grasped the collar of his tunic, pulled him close, and kissed him. “Be careful, phykios,” she murmured against his lips, breath hot. Then she put on her cap, and vanished. 

Percy couldn’t breathe, and not for the smoke. Had it not been for the lava, the monsters, the weapon, the quest, he would have been quite content to sit there all day, thinking of nothing but the softness of her mouth and the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight, unable to even recall his own name. 

A sea demon screamed, jolting him back into reality. 

The horde of monsters, freed from their prison, charged across the bridge towards him. Percy scrambled up from the ground, running for the middle of the platform, startling the large monsters so thoroughly that they dropped the red-hot blade over which they labored. It was as long as they were tall, curved like a crescent moon, its shape burning into his vision, sending shivers down his spine. 

Unfortunately for Percy, the monsters recovered quickly from their shock. Every which way he turned, his exit was blocked by a small army, surrounding him. Cutting him off. 

Raising Anaklusmos, he prayed that they could not see the blade shaking. 

“Son of Poseidon,” rasped a demon, speaking Percy’s own language now. “We are honored by your visit, fish-blood.” 

He spread his senses, casting about for an escape, but there was none. He was trapped. 

“Will you strike us down, half-blood?” asked another one. “An you try, the rest of us shall tear you to shreds.” Licking its lips, it advanced on him, claws glinting in the glow of the forge. “Perhaps we shall deliver you to your father in pieces--an omen of the horror we shall visit upon him, and all the rest of the twelve, for their betrayal.”

Annabeth would not have allowed herself to be cornered this way, but Percy was no strategist. If the gods favored him at all, they would have seen to Annabeth’s escape, leaving him to his doom. 

Was this to be his doom, he wondered? Trapped in the heart of a volcano, overrun by monsters which would use his bones to pick their teeth? 

The tallest of the demons plunged its hand into the furnace, scooping a handful of molten rock. “Let us see the might of Olympus,” it said, grinning. “Let us see how long it takes him to burn!” And it threw the lava at Percy.

Dropping his sword, he swatted at his clothes which had been set alight, as though he had merely had an unfortunate run-in with the lava trap at the agoge, but it was not nearly enough, the fire engulfing him with each passing second. At first, oddly, it had only felt warm, though it grew hotter and hotter with every heartbeat. 

“Your father’s nature protects you,” one monster sneered. “Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, fish-blood. Not impossible.”

Later, Percy would struggle to remember the particulars. He would recall only the fire, and the pain. He would not remember how he crumpled to the floor in deepest agony, the sea demons howling in delight at his terror. 

Nor would he remember the voice of the naiad at the farm of the giant Geryon. The water is within me, she had said. 

Between waves of torment, there was a tugging sensation in his gut, calling vainly for water where there was none: not a river, nor a stream, nor even a petrified seashell. Percy called for the sea, the towering waves which could wash away villages, the currents which could destroy ships in a single blow, the endless power of the ocean, and he called for these things inside of himself, letting it loose in one terrible, horrible scream.

Fire and water collided, a typhoon of unearthly power shooting him up from the beating heart of Aitne on wings of superheated steam, peeling his skin away, another piece of flotsam flung from the earth by the force of the blast. Higher and higher he flew, further than Icarus, than Bellerophon, than Zeus himself, so high that the lord of the heavens would not be able to reach him--and then he fell, a shooting star, hurtling towards the sea which would not save him. Not this time.

[literate-lamb]

Man of the House | three

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader | 18+

A racket in the attic leads to a discovery of old memories. Your dissatisfaction leads you to a forgettable night.

► warnings(!): dubcon/noncon, asphyxiation. this is a dark fic.

|| Series Masterlist ||

A/N: This is it, lads. We’re picking up steam. And sorry for the delay, but I’m here to finally deliver. Thank you for the love lately on this story!

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

The pitter patter of rain was a welcomed presence. They added to the serene ambience of the residence; sombre but comforting. While others would bemoan the absence of sunny days, you relished in the cool and comfort it brought. It gave ways to days under duvets and blankets, a book and warm drink in hand. Today, it brought coolness to the sweat as strands of hair clung to the temples. 

Napkin in hand, you wiped the respiration trickling down your chin, the cool air helping it dry off. Scanning the guest room, you were satisfied with the result. Floors mopped, surfaces wiped, sheets aired; the room was finally dust-free, perfect for accommodating guests.

Today marked the first week of your stay in the house. Your first week in the so-called haunted house. And one more week to go before you bag that $500 cheque. Take that, Tony.

Sam had left for the day, spending time with his college buddies at a bowling alley. He’d promised to cook you dinner when he came back, you looked forward to it.

The room was silent as you went back to work, stretching the sheets end to end, taut enough that a coin could bounce. And if the coin fell, hitting the floor, you were sure its ring would echo. The silence of the house when alone was deafening, saved for the small shower outside.

Suddenly feeling unsettled by the silence, you took out your phone. Opening your playlist, you played the first song you saw; Love by Nat King Cole. The music blared from the tiny speakers, flooding the room with the harmony of jazz.

You swayed and tapped to the beat of the cymbals, the saxophone aiding your show, all the while managing other meagre chores. You moved, feet light, across the hallway to the linen closet, taking extra sheets.

While fitting the sheets in the other guest room, that’s when your ears picked it. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Among the symphony of rain and Nat King Cole’s swing baritone, you heard it; light footsteps, tapping to the rhythm of jazz, above you. The rain and sax almost drowned it out, but you could discern it between the others. 

You stopped your hands and listened on. The creaking was light but they were there, following a rhythm of sorts. It took you seconds to realize the steps were not random. They were following the rhythm of the music. 

They were dancing.

You let the music continue playing before it ended and changed to another track: Iron Maiden’s The Trooper.

The creaks stopped abruptly when Bruce Dickinson’s shout came through. Then, a sudden crash boomed your eardrums. Loud and heavy, like hardbound books falling off a shelf. It stilled for a moment before frantic meowing began.

“Peaches?”

The meows continued, high-pitched and desperate. You heard scuffling on the ceiling, probably the cat’s paws scratching the surface, desperate for help.

When the meowing went on for longer, you hurriedly left the room all the while huffing about the mischievous cat that you decided to keep. Pulling the built-in ladder at the end of the hall from above, you began climbing up. Peaches’ cries still echoed. 

Your footsteps caused dust particles to float, making you hack. Taking the space in, you noticed every single item was covered in white sheets, protecting them beneath. Some were tall, some broad, crowding the attic in a ghostly maze. A lone circular window laid ahead, opened, flooding the supposed dark space in natural light. A breeze from outside came through, chilling you.

It was serene, yet a little unsettling. If one didn’t know better, they would’ve mistaken the standing figures to be ghosts, instead that of a lamp. Standing still in a few corners, unmoving. The fluttering of their sheets by a draft the occasional movement.

The feline’s constant whining reached you, pulling you out. You took slow deliberate steps, stumbling and navigating through the sea of cloaked figures. Paying attention to the pleading mewls, you tracked down Peaches to a corner, adjacent to the source of light.

“Were you prancing around up here? How did you even get up here?!” you scolded. Peaches whines only became louder.

Going over to the window, you shut it, stopping the cold air from chilling further. Strange, has it always been opened? 

You stepped towards Peaches and assessed her. 

She was covered in soot, immaculate white coat now stained grey. The cat, for some reason, got her tail stuck under something heavy; a large leather bound book, covered in an inch of dust. You picked up the offending item, freeing Peaches from her confinement.

“There you go, you stupid cat,” you huffed. She mewled in reply, head butting your leg, showing gratitude. “Yeah, next time pay rent.”

She slinked between your legs before dashing off down the stairs, her tail between her legs. You could only sigh at her mischief. 

Gazing down, you inspected the heavy book in your hands. The word “Memories” was embossed on the cover in gold lettering. Some of the skin had been chipped off, the leather worn with age. Flipping to the first page, you realized it was actually a photo album.

A black and white portrait of a woman greeted you, her tight-lipped smile stern yet warm. She was a classic beauty, with shoulder length curls and immaculate brows. She looked every bit of the word professional.

Margaret Carter-Rogers, 1921-2016

On the next page, a wedding photo surprised you. In the photo, the woman —Margaret— was clad in virginal white. She was holding the arm of a light-colour haired man, whom you recognized to be Mr Rogers. He was equally dashing.

Carter-Rogers’ Wedding, June 1946

The following pages showed bits and pieces of their lives. Snapshots of the couple dancing; Five Year Anniversary, 1951. Photos at parties; Sharon’s First Birthday, 1977. And pictures with friends; Peggy’s Farewell Party, 1991.

You observed as the couple became progressively older with each flip of a new page. Hair became greyer and thinner. Skin became taut and wrinkly.

The photos of the couple stopped when you’ve reached a new section. 

James Buchanan Barnes, 1917 -

The page showed a small photograph of a brunette donning what seemed to be a military cap. Sharp cheekbones and a cleft chin were his distinguishing features, but what caught your attention were his eyes. Light-coloured in the sepia hues, most probably a light blue. They crinkled with his smile, adding more to the charm.

To say he was handsome was an understatement, he was most probably a heartthrob during his prime, you imagined.

Flipping through each page, you uncovered more of the past. Each photo consisted of both Mr Rogers —a skinnier younger version of him— with this mysterious man. James, as you’ve learned to memorize.

There were photos from their youth; Coney Island, 1937. Stills in their uniforms; Leaving for Europe, 1943. Images from their military days; Howling Commandos, 1945. And they ended there.

You admired each one of them, curious about Mr Rogers’ friend. They seemed to be really close if the amount of photographs were of any indicator. 

Where was he now? Were they still friends?

What piqued your interest further was the absence of a death date on the first page, beneath his photo. Was he still alive? If so, that would make him over a hundred. Where were the rest of the photos? The amount seemed considerably smaller compared to Margaret’s. Did something happen?

Before you could spiral further, you chose to close the album. That was enough prying for one day. 

—

“Hmmph harder!”

Moans mixed with the slapping of skin against skin echoed in the bedroom. You were on all fours, clutching the comforter for dear life as Sam railed you from behind repeatedly. Your toes curled in time with the delicious sting from his girth, wanting more and more. The roughness of his palms kneaded your behind, slapping your globes occasionally. It filled him with satisfaction when they bounced to his thrusts.

The post-dinner activity commences. 

“Ah... yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“You nearly there, baby?”

“Need more, Sammie,” you whined, head clouded with lust.

It started with a nice little dinner. Just the two of you. Before Sam brought out the whipped cream for desserts. He couldn’t resist.

Without warning, he flipped you over. You laid on your back, watching Sam as he hovered above. Giving a small peck to your lips, he re-entered, pistoning as he picked up where he left. You locked your ankles behind his back as you clung to him, the speed jostling you. 

You could feel it. You could feel how close he was to climax. The sloppy thrusts. The harsh grip. The unbridled groans. He was close. But you weren’t.

Pumping a few more times, Sam stilled, lost in the pleasure of his release. Riding the wave, he looked at you.

“Did you cum, baby?”

“Nu-huh,” you admitted, pushing your hips. It had been pleasurable, but you were far from reaching your high. You wiggled your hips, enticing Sam and making him groan.

Starting again, Sam changed condoms and thrusted into you; the goal of sending you into an orgasm in mind. He slowly rocked into you, penetrating with shallow thrusts before picking up momentum, going deeper. The speed and angle was adequate, but you felt something was amiss. 

Grabbing his arms, you thought of an act that would surely send you over the edge.

“Choke me, baby.”

You placed his palm on the base of your throat, closing the fingers on the sides of your neck. You gripped his hand, squeezing it to initiate the action. Immediately, you felt your airways cut off. The dizziness sent you to new sensations. A different kind of high that you welcomed.

You felt pleasure starting to build up within you. His deep thrusts paired with the asphyxiation drove you closer. Starting to tither over the edge, closer and closer. You were so close. Until it suddenly stopped.

You swallowed large gulps as oxygen invaded your lungs. The high that you were experiencing came crashing down, and not in the way you expected. You were robbed of it too early. Too soon.

 Sam’s hands were no longer on your neck. You looked up at him, seeing unease and guilt and another emotion. Put off.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologized. “I’m just uncomfortable by it. What if I made a mistake?”

He apologized a few more times, but you admonished him, reassuring that it was okay. He tried to get you off one more time, reaching his second climax for the night. You never reached yours.

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔼𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Sunday came around with a ball of sunshine to make up for Saturday. You spent the afternoon alone, again, serving lunch for one. The only form of company the cat you adopted, when it was not out causing mischief. It seemed your choice of dwelling has caused you further isolation than you realized.

You’ve always cherished being by your lonesome. But today, it felt particularly lonely. 

The press of his lips on your forehead still lingered in your mind. The hug that he left with fell short of the usual warmth. Sam had been gone since breakfast, citing a friend needed his help. You didn’t ask further, giving him his space.

After last night, you felt it. His apprehension rolling off in waves. You didn’t blame him. While chasing for pleasure, you neglected the comfort of your partner. You neglected to discuss any boundaries that he had erected. 

You’ll make up for it when he gets back. But before that, you had tea and cakes with Wanda to catch. 

—

“I think it put him off,” you sighed. “Just this morning, he was doing his usual thing. He kissed me before he left, but it felt… different. Or maybe I’m looking too much into it and it’s actually nothing.”

The Sleeping Cat was crowded in the late afternoon. Its cozy interior provided shelter for those seeking warmth from the chilling autumn wind. The aroma of cakes and coffee was a welcomed presence, filling you with familiarity. Opposite of you sat Wanda, listening to your woes as she lazily stirred her tea.

“I feel bad, I told him to do it without discussing it with him first. He must be disgusted, or weirded out, I don’t know,” you gazed down, picking the strawberry on your cake. It was easy to talk to Wanda, she had always been a great listener, and a trusted friend. If anyone was an expert on relationships, it would be Wanda; Vis and her’s eighth anniversary a few months shy.

“Then, why not talk to him?” she said, looking quite amused yet still serious. “From what I gather, he only apologized. He didn’t say he was disgusted or anything. Like you said, it might actually be nothing.”

“Vis and I used to have misunderstandings a lot in the early years, given how clueless he always is,” she rolled her eyes. “But we learned that what we needed was to communicate. We’re not mind-readers, witch or not.”

You hummed, acknowledging the truth in her words. You’ve known Sam for a long time, friends before feelings came into the equation. You knew he would be open to communication; he did it for a living at the VA. It could end up actually being nothing but a misunderstanding from your part. It was silly. You’ll never know and keep on guessing unless you ask.

“Maybe you’re right,” you grabbed the tea at hand. “I was already thinking of making up to him, but maybe what we need —what I need— is just a conversation. Like a heart-to-heart.”

The tea soothed you, it’s blend of passionfruit and orange zest proved a tangy balm for your flurry of emotions. This company, and this atmosphere was a part of what you needed. On one hand, you shot Sam a text, asking if he’d be back for dinner.

“So, how’s the house? Feel like leaving yet?” Wanda asked, eyebrows raised.

You looked up from your phone, chuckling, “It’s been great, actually. Tony asked Sam if I wanted to bail out the other day, I told him to suck it.” Wanda laughed, amused, before her expression schooled.

“Have you experienced anything? Like, anything... weird?”

You contemplated her words, chalking it up to the usual suspicion. Your earlier intentions were to humour her, but the more you stewed, the more you were reminded of the past few days. 

“Well, there has been this ‘screeching’ noise?” you said, unsure. “It happened at night, but not every night. Sam said it was the brakes of old cars passing by, but honestly, it could also be my cat.” You didn’t want it to be a cause for worry, you tried to deflect the topic as best as you could.

“I adopted a stray in the area,” you explained. “Her name’s Peaches and she’s a menace. I’ve found her down in the basement twice and yesterday, she was in the attic of all places!” you huffed, eye-rolling. “But yeah, nothing really exciting besides my stupid cat.”

Wanda chuckled. A few beats passed before she continued, “But if anything happens, promise me you’d let me know?”

Her eyes were unwavering, the greens intense. Her amusement had turned sombre. You knew Wanda saw the world differently than you did. Believed in it differently than you did. The least you could do was ease her mind.

“I promise you’ll be the first person I’ll call, Wands.”

—

It was nearing 12am and Sam still wasn’t back. Did he go back to his own place? You’d understand if he did, you had work yourself. But he’d told you if he were.

You furiously tapped the end call button, irritated at the repeated tone of the voice message. His last text read at 7pm, said he was meeting with Tony and Rhodey for a while and he wouldn’t be back for dinner. That was 5 hours ago.

You couldn’t help but worry a bit. Was this about last night? Was he upset? Was he mad at you? Was he avoiding you? 

Putting the kettle on the stove, you turned on the burner. Remembering Wanda’s words, you thought of ways to calm your speeding mind. Some tea could help. After all, chamomile was considered a mild tranquilizer.

While waiting for the water to boil, you calmed yourself and thought rationally. Sam Wilson was a grown man. He didn’t need to be checked on constantly, didn’t need to be coddled, and he was deserving of his own personal space. You held yourself back from texting Tony and Rhodey, reminding yourself to respect Sam’s time and space. He will come back. He always does. 

The whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought. Taking a tea bag from Mr Rogers’ box of a housewarming gift, you let it steep before bringing a cup upstairs. 

The pull of slumber was immediate as soon as you finished; teacup barely making it to the saucer.

—

Creek!

You stirred from slumber, head groggy. The bed dipped and shook lightly, a weight rocked you slowly. Your eyelids felt heavy, unable to open, as if they were glued shut. Your limbs felt like lead; dense, laying useless by your side.

Creek! 

With the absence of sight, your sense of hearing heightened. After a few beats, you soon realized what was creaking. It came from the frame of the bed, its wood rickety from age. 

Cold air kissed your lower regions, making you shiver. You didn’t remember sleeping without the covers. Your nightshirt the only article of clothing, riding up until your stomach.

Creek! Creek!

Soon, a warmth enveloped you. A heavy weight. A body. Covering your form in their heat. They were running hot. 

Calloused and roughened, two large hands descended on you, running your sides. Their fingertips and palms ghosted, barely touching, before stopping on your thighs. The sensation left you in a shiver, leaving a sense of yearning.

“S… S-Sam?” you croaked out, throat parched.

Blind and in a haze, you tried to move your arms again, wanting to reciprocate the touch. Wanting to feel him. Only your fingers twitched, the effort proved exhaustive.

Creek! Creek! 

“Ah…”

A finger fiddled with your nub. He played with your clit, swirling with the pad of his fingers before gliding along your lower lips, prodding and teasing. He parted your legs, granting easier access as he toyed with your slit. Slick began to pool, he gathered and smeared it all over your cunt, giving your clit the occasional flick.

You felt cold and wet when he retracted, your juices clinging to your skin. Without warning, you felt the tip of his cock probed you, snuggling into your tight channel, demanding entrance. His thick girth stretched you, making you feel full. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he began rocking, plunging into you bit by bit. 

You felt odd. You swore one of his hands felt colder than usual. You shivered.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

The bedframe squealed louder and louder as he picked up speed, fucking you without a rhythm. You felt empty when he pulled out and full when he rammed in. He jostled you, hitting all the spots that made you scream, lost to the euphoria. You felt the occasional tap to the cervix, his bulbous head kissing it repeatedly. 

And while all this was happening, you remained locked, limbs laying heavy and unmoving.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

You loved the feeling of him inside you. You took him in like a champ, body pliant and receiving everything that came your way. The sensations made you almost forget your state of inebriation. 

With one hand, he pulled your nightshirt above your chest, freeing your breasts for him to see. The cold air hardened your nubs slightly. It wasn’t long before you felt a warm tongue descend on your tit, swirling and suckling as if to fulfill a hunger. 

He gave them both equal amounts of attention and care, alternating between the two. He stopped when he felt the treatment was adequate, leaving your nipples sore and wet in saliva.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

Fighting the heaviness, you slowly tried unfolding your eyelids. It proved exhaustive. You managed a tiny slit, shutting when it felt too much.

Your field was blurry and dark, heightening your hearing as the bed continued to creak. Sam’s broad figure hovered above, plunged in darkness. You couldn’t make out any features, just the shadow of his movements, thrusting into you.

Creek! Creek! Creek! Creek!

You felt a hand on your neck. Slowly, he began enclosing your throat, cutting your airways like the night before. Except this time, he didn’t stop squeezing.

The deep penetration of his cock combined with the exhilaration of breath play sent you to new heights. A new feeling; dizziness, euphoria, pleasure all rolled in one. The lightheadedness pushed you forward, nearing the edge. You felt it in your core.

Creek! Creek! Creek! Creek!

His pubis kept rubbing on your swollen clit, adding to the amounting high. His movements were getting erratic. He was getting closer, and so were you.

He released your throat, letting a rush of oxygen fill you. You were sent to an all new high. This was it, another type of rush. The head-spinning exhilaration you’ve been waiting for.

“S-Sam!” with a loud rasp, you came undone, quivering beneath him. He followed suit, jacking his hips frantically before stilling. His loud groan reverberated, almost animalistic in the night.

Tired out, your eyelids weighed down again, never getting the chance to peek at him. You drifted off, sleep pulling you under before you could hear his low mumble.

“Your fella could never do that, could he?”

[nightshade-minho]

-Nightmare- (8)

Warnings: none, really

Word Count: 2k+

Minho looked in the mirror. His eyes were red and his face was puffy, tears streaking his cheek. He looked pathetic. Weak.

He’d gone to your room. All your stuff was still there. He opened your drawers, realizing some of your clothes were missing. 

There was nothing but anger in his heart as he pulled on his jacket, grabbing his phone and leaving the house with his heart heavy and weighed down.

He didn’t exactly know which friend you’d be staying with, though he had a few ideas. You only had one female friend, so he called her up.

“Hi, Chaeyoung?”

“Oh...Minho?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” He hated how shaky his voice sounded. “I was just wondering if Y/n ever came by.”

There’s a pause of hesitation on the other end. All he could hear was some shuffling and some random sounds. 

“P-please.” He sniffed. More shuffling.

“Chae, please don’t answer, I-”

The call cut off, and he stared at his phone. That was definitely your voice that he’d heard. 

Minho knew where the girl lived, since he sometimes dropped you off at hers. He tried to mentally recall the address as he made his way out, getting into his car.

On the way there, Minho’s grip was tight on the steering wheel. His head felt a little better after taking Tylenol, but his heart felt like it was trapped in an iron maiden. 

He’d had sex. With you.

He rubbed his temples as he finally reached, stumbling out of the car and making his way upstairs.

He stood in front of the door, taking a deep breath before he knocked on your door.

When you finally opened, he felt like there was something stuck in his throat as you opened your mouth a little, closing it.

“M-minho...”

He couldn’t speak. Everything still felt so fucking raw. Cause there you were in front of him, your oversized sweater falling off your shoulder, neck still adorned with the hickeys he’d left the night before. It was all too painful.

“Y/n, we need to talk.”

You shook your head, eyes wet as you stepped back a little, trying to close the door. He stopped you, sticking his foot in the doorway.

“Please? Just...”

You paused, eyes narrowed. “What more do you have to say to me?”

 “Please, I just...you can’t just leave like this! We’ve known each other for sixteen years, you can’t just go-”

“Exactly! Sixteen years of friendship, and at the end of it all I was just another girl for your bed.”

“W-what?”

You bit your lip, the tears flowing freely now. “I’ve never been the special one. And I realize now that it was foolish to think that you would ever see me in such a light. Once upon a time, I was content being your friend, but now I’m not anymore.”

“You’re not just a friend. You’re my best friend.” Minho didn’t know why he couldn’t just confess to you already. He just couldn’t say the words he desperately wanted to let out. 

You stayed silent, watching him as he opened his mouth again, struggling to get out what he wanted to say. 

“You’re my closest friend. You’re not just another girl for my bed, I promise. You were right, last night was a mistake. But our friendship isn’t.” He sniffed.  “It’ll never happen again. Neither of us remember it very well, right? We’ll just forget about it. Just...come back home.”

You watched, your face passive as you comprehended his words. It may be true that Minho couldn’t remember last night, but you hadn’t drunk as much as him, and hence you could remember some bits. The memories were fresh in your mind. 

“I don’t know...things feel too different. I’ll stay here for a little longer...I need space right now. You have to understand that sex might be a simple thing for you, but it isn’t for me. It isn’t just a pastime, or something I can just forget.”

Minho nodded. “I understand that, but-”

He was cut off by his phone ringing. He took it out, glancing at the caller ID. It was an unknown number, but it looked vaguely familiar. He went to disconnect, but you shook your head. “Answer.”

He sighed, lifting the phone to his ear as he answered. 

“Hi, Minho, miss me?” He heard a giggle on the other end, causing a shiver to run through him.

“It’s Rina.” He mouthed at you. Your eyes widened a little. “Put it on speakerphone.” You whispered, moving a little closer.

He did so, holding the phone out. 

“Hi, Rina. How...how are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you?” Another giggle. “I’m guessing you had a good night, judging from the way you two were making out before you left the party.” 

He chuckled nervously, glancing at you. “Y-yeah.”

“Hmm...I’m gonna be honest, I had my doubts about you two at first. I’m sorry about my threat. I understand now. It would have been pretty shitty of you to cheat on your girlfriend...so I’m alright with having been humiliated at the party.”

Minho didn’t say anything, fear in his face as he made eye contact with you. You were biting your lip, confusion etched across your features.

“I admit I found it a little suspicious at first. You two were just friends, up until the time I made that threat? It was unusual. Huge coincidence.” She laughed. “But I was being immature. I’m really sorry. To make it up to you, I was thinking of inviting you two to a dinner! Juyeon’ll be there too, so it’ll kinda be like a double date. Sound fun?”

The two of you looked at each other. Was she being sincere? It was hard to discern. Her voice was too sickly sweet. Was there something fishy going on?

“We should agree.” You mouthed.

Minho raised an eyebrow. “But it sounds too fishy!” He whisper-hissed.

“It’ll be fishier if we say no.” You whispered back.

Minho rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the girl still rambling away. “Okay, Rina. Looking forward to it.”

“Not to brag, but I’m a pretty good cook. I can’t wait! Bye, see you tomorrow evening at Juyeon’s apartment, okay? I’ll send you the address...or just ask Y/n, I’m sure she’s been there before.”

The call cuts off. The two of you straightened up.

You sighed. “I guess we have somewhere to go tomorrow.”

Minho looks over at you, inhaling as he pocketed the phone. “Are you sure? I thought you said you needed space.”

“Yeah. I did, but I don’t want anything to happen to you. That girl’s lowkey dangerous, and I don’t want either of us to get on her bad side. I still care about you, but you have to realize that last night definitely changed things between us. I need time to rethink our relationship.”

Minho knew that you thought that he didn’t truly understand the weight of last night’s event. You thought sex was just a hobby for him...and it was. However, he’d felt things last night that he’d never felt before, and he wanted to explore those feelings. The sex last night wasn’t something mindless or hollow. He’d been completely invested through it. His heart had been throbbing as much as, if not more than, his cock. But there was a sense of doom hanging over him...he still harbored the fear that you hated him.

“Y/n...it was just sex.”

You looked up at him, shaking your head, “And that’s exactly the problem.” You whispered.

He didn’t respond, shifting from one foot to the other. An awkward silence hung between the two of you.

A minute later, you spoke up. “Fine...I’ll come home.”

Minho looked up, his eyes wide. “You will?!”

You nodded, eyes downcast. At this point, you’d given up. It wasn’t like you could blame Minho. Sex was in his nature. You were the stupid one, to have thought that he could possibly feel for you the same way you did. He was your best friend, at the end of the day, and that was all he would be. You could learn to accept that. You would.

Minho’s smile was wide, and it made your heart melt. You mentally scolded yourself.

“Oh, by the way, why’d she say that you’ve been to Juyeon’s before?”

You rolled your eyes. “We were project partners. We met up at each other’s places to work on it.”

“I don’t remember him coming over.”

“That’s cause you’re never home anyway. Just wait here for a few minutes, I’ll go get my stuff.”

You went back inside, leaving Minho to wait outside as you grabbed your bag and thanked Chaeyoung for letting you stay.

As Minho waited, he felt himself calm down a bit. Yeah, you were angry at him, but it would pass. Just like it always did. He knew it wasn’t fair. He kept hurting you, and you kept forgiving him...you honestly deserved better than him.

“I’m in love with Y/n.” He repeated the phrase in mind, chuckling a bit. It felt so unreal...but it was reality. He wasn’t scared anymore, though. After last night, he knew what he was feeling was too real for him to ignore. He was deeply, madly in love with you. Always had been.

But there was still some residual fear in his heart. Even if he could work up the courage to confess, he didn’t know if you’d react positively. He’d been an asshole. Why would you trust anything he says? He’d screwed you over and apologized a thousand times. So many promises to ‘change’...but he never did.

“You have to try.” He told himself, just as you came back out. You’d changed your shirt, but the marks he’d left were still clearly visible. It made his heart throb, knowing that they were his. It excited him to think of how your clothes were covering all the other marks he’d left on your body. His personal favorites were the ones he’d sucked onto your boobs and waist. He-

“Earth to Minho?”

He snapped back to attention. “Wha? Oh, yeah. Come on.” You followed him to his car.

As he drove back, he glanced at you. “I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You let out a noncommittal hum as he looked out the window. “That word coming out of your mouth has lost all meaning, Minho.”

He inhaled deeply as he reached the apartment. “This time, I really am.” 

You got out, staying silent as you made your way upstairs.

He followed, frowning as you went straight to your room as soon as he unlocked the door.

“Wait, please. We should talk-”

“Sorry, I have an assignment due. We’ll talk later.”

You smiled apologetically at him before shutting the door. Minho groaned, plopping down on the couch as he threw his head back in frustration. He needed to let out his feelings for you. After years of them being buried, now that he’d finally realized them, they were bubbling up, eager to escape.

His eyes landed on your tattered shirt from last night. Picking it up, he winced at the ruined material. Jesus, he must have really been out of control. He wished he could remember.

He knew he owed you a better apology. You deserved to know his true feelings. It didn’t matter if you rejected him...this was his chance to be a decent best friend. He didn’t want to lose you...didn’t want to scare you off. But he knew that if he kept it all in, he’d just end up hurting you more.

He sighed, going to the balcony to get some fresh air. He saw your guitar lying on your chair, a soft smile appearing on his face as he recalled all the times you played to him.

Yeah, he was scared. He was well aware that his confession would change everything. But he would hold on to these memories, no matter what happens. You were more than just a best friend. You were his home. After a long day at the dance studio, you were all that could cheer him up. 

You, playing your guitar. You, getting mad when he ‘sang better than you’ despite not having had any vocal lessons. You, baking cookies for him and nearly burning the kitchen down in the process. You, Gyu in hand, standing in his doorway after having had a particularly terrifying nightmare. You...cuddling up against him as he stroked your hair, calming you down. 

He hated himself for forgetting about his plans with you that night. He never wanted to hurt you, not when you were the only one that was always there for him. Him, not his dick or his status. Yet, hurting you was all that he seemed to be doing, lately. 

He sat in your chair, taking your little lyric notebook and reading through it, flipping until he got to his favorite one, the one titled ‘Nightmare’.

The song always calmed him down, for some reason. The lyrics felt so profound and raw...he could feel the music rooting itself deep into his heart. Every single time you played him that song, his heart would tighten and tears would prick his eyes. He didn’t know why.

The afternoon sun was hot, but there was still a light breeze tickling his face as he closed his eyes, humming the tune in his head.

You watched from the living room, hands on the french door leading to the balcony as you sighed, hating the fact that your heart was still pounding. Listening to the melody that meant so much to you leaving his lips hurt. He had no idea it was about him...and you had to try your best to keep it that way.

[musedblues]

Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.”  Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe. 

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head.  A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw.  "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘