#maybe because you are unsure if you are a threat

[noonew1lleverask]

Love and Loathing

Y’all, I’m posting again. TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW! I don’t know what’s taken over my body, but I’m loving this rush of inspiration, and I hope you guys are, too. This one is more concise because I locked in this time.

Description

You didn’t expect this when you joined the BAU. A young man by the name of Spencer Reid had captured your heart, with no intention of giving it back. You were obsessed at first, simply adoring his mind and aching to know every wrinkle and fold. Then, it deepened into… what? Yearning? Love? You weren’t sure, and you hated it. You were meant to be smarter than this, yet here you were: deep in a pit of self-loathing, all because of this… boy wonder. How will you cope?

Spencer Reid x gn!reader, second-person pov, fluff? angst? No smut🫶

Word count: 1700

Character count:9476

Emotions of wild proportion typically sat snugly beside each other, nestled in arms strong and steady, and under this veil of affection, daggers were pointed at their backs. Under constant threat, love could turn to hatred so easily.

Falling is an unstoppable action. Gravity is cruel as it pulls on your body, demanding the ground to meet you in a forced hug of one-sidedness.

You crashed to the ground when you met Spencer Reid. He was something entirely novel to you, this man. He stood tall at 6’1, with a steady set to his shoulders you frequently found hunched over books. He smelled of something light and sharp, a slip of pine into your every day life, like slowly introducing a new tea into your mornings, adding goals to the end of the week. Unsure how, but utterly grateful, Spencer Reid had become something important to you; pivotal to your mental and physical state. The dependency you felt towards him was unhealthy, and you knew this, but you couldn’t… stop.

The praise he’d deliver to you filled your veins like heroin. It was addictive. The smiles slipped to you across the round-table were consumed greedily, savored like a decadent truffle on your tongue. Everything about the man enamored you. You could have said it was love, but that was jumping the gun by then. You simply found him… incredible, to put it lightly. A genius in the FBI; his mind was a labyrinth you were foaming at the mouth to understand.

Over a brunch with an old friend, your newfound passion for the man was addressed.

“You talk about him like he’s a god or something,” she commented, angling her fork to sink into the corner of the syrup drenched toast on her plate, covered with glistening fruits sitting on a pillowy bed of whipped cream. She scooped up a dollop of whip cream onto her fork alongside the triangle of french toast, and shoved it into her mouth.

“I mean.” You hated when she spoke with her mouth full, but kept your lips glued. “How special can this guy be?”

You wanted to tell her exactly that. Your teeth chattered with restraint as you held back from jumping onto the table and shouting your praises over this man.

God, what had you become?

.

.

.

Late evenings in the bullpen had become a creature comfort to you. You weren’t even sure why. Actually, you were. You were very sure, you just didn’t want to admit how cold your apartment had become, how deep the wound of loneliness had uncomfortably grown. The bullpen carried a lingering warmth from the camaraderie of the day, and you relished in it when you could. Which was a lot.

Most nights were spent alone with the soft yellow of your desk lamp, but some nights a few agents lingered like you. It made you wonder— hope, even— if they were as lonely as you. Maybe they would come up to you, ask you questions about your life out of the blue. You would hate that, you knew you would, but you wanted it anyways.

How the hell did you explain that?

Tonight was one of those nights, and this time, you didn’t wonder if this agent was lonesome. He was. His lashes shadowed his sharp cheekbones, dancing across his skin as they fluttered with each turn of the book laid flat on his desk. It was leather-bound and old, something that looked like it would crumble under the slightest pressure, which explained why Spencer handled it with grace and tenderness. Would he touch someone he loved like that?

You didn’t realize you were staring until he caught your eyes, blinking those dazzling eyes of his owlishly. You didn’t look away— you didn’t know if you could. “Good evening,” he said. Polite and casual, as he always was.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart was in your throat. Swallowing, you steeled your nerves and replied, “Good evening.”

Spencer looked between you and his book, debating, before he finally closed his novel, lowering the cover with trembling fingertips. “You stay late a lot.”

Astute observation, Einstein.

“I do,” you confirmed.

As expected, he asked, “Why?”

Why? Because I cannot go home to a dark apartment. I cannot see the couples dancing on the streets, their laughter echoing up to reach my balcony like a taunt. Because I’m a lonely fool who’s hopefully in love with you, when I don’t even love myself.

“My heating’s broke,” came your answer. You were a good liar. You’d honed the skill after years of family gatherings, of friends who looked past the glassy shine of your eyes. “It should be fixed soon, though.”

“Your heating’s been broken for… two weeks, and you’re just now getting it fixed?” He sounded skeptical, his fingers tracing the binding of his book.

Refusing to answer, you instead questioned him. “Why stay after just to read a book?” You shrugged your shoulders casually. “You can do that at home, can’t you?”

The smile that grew on his lips was deadly to you. It was teasing and playful, something boyish that gave you the inane urge to shrivel up and die. “My heating happens to be broken, too,” he answered.

If you were a more hopeful person, with just an edge more delusion, you’d believe he was flirting.

Returning his smile, yours was more tentative and practiced. “Guess we’re both in bad shape, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are.” His gaze was scrutinizing, and you wanted to crawl under your desk to hide from it, regressing to a childlike state to shy away from the millions of questions dancing in his eyes. Was this meant to be an interrogation, or casual conversation?

You didn’t say anything more after that. He went back to his novel, reading at an abnormal speed as per usual, and you back to your work. You always had work to do; files upon files because you all but begged Hotch for them. Cold cases were excellent distractions. Field reports were less interesting, but your writing was consistently formal enough to persuade Hotch to deliver you more work.

The night seemed to stretch on, the ticking of the clock overwhelming as it echoed in your ears. Your eyes grew tired, which was the tell-tale sign that it was time for you to go back home to your apartment. You sighed, rubbing your eyes, and the action Drew Spencer’s attention.

“Going home?” He stood from his desk, taking up his coat and sliding it over his long arms.

The swift eagerness of his actions startled you for a moment, and you stuttered, “Uh, y-yeah, I am. I can’t really blink without my eyes burning anymore, so…”

His brows drew together in concern. “Your eyes are probably dry. The air conditioning in here is… aggressive.”

You hummed in reply, slowly pulling your body from your chair. It was like picking up a cat, but your own body. You felt the pull of exhaustion in the backs of your calves, threatening to pull you down to the floor. You refused to let it win, because you’d rather be shot by a psychotic UNSUB before falling apart in front of Spencer.

Suddenly, he was behind you as you threw your coat over your blouse, which caused you to jump. He sheepishly grimaced, cheeks flushing. “Sorry.” His satchel was tossed over his shoulder, sagging into a curve with the weight of the items inside. Books you assumed.

“I’ll walk you out.”

You quickly turned him down. “Oh, no, Reid. I’m fine, really. I can—“

“I’ll walk you out. It’s no problem.” His tone was final, and it made something in your stomach twist with an unpleasant pleasantry you hated yourself for relishing in.

Your answer was meek. “Okay.”

He held the door open for you on your way out to the bullpen, allowing the glass door to fall shut behind him as he sped up to match your pace. He pressed the button for the elevator, the down arrow flashing orange.

He stood beside you, his hands in his pockets, as you waited. You stood beside him, hands twisting together in front of you, eyes on the metal doors, watching your blurrier reflections, as you waited.

“I lied about my heating.”

You didn’t look over at him, but you were sure he heard your heavy exhale.

“And I’m sure you lied about yours too.” Partly true. It didn’t surprise you that he saw through your lie like glass. Right now, you felt like you were being pressed against glass, watching the scene through an out-of-body experience.

His feet scuffed the floor next to you, nervously shifting. “I know why you stay late, and I… relate. I understand what it feels like to enter your home but feel like a stranger to it.”

You dared to turn your head, and he was already looking at you, his chin tilted slightly to fully meet your gaze. And, God, you were hooked. There it was, that rush of adrenaline again, a high you would surely crash from the minute your door locked behind you.

Something was intense there in his gaze, heady. You could get drunk off of it alone, and you were sure you were. Your legs turned to jelly, and your fingertips numbed as you clenched your hands together.

“I know your apartment’s heating is fine, more than fine, considering your income and the area you live, but…” A shy smile pulled at his lips. “Let’s pretend you’re freezing, so… you can come over to mine? And I can offer you some midnight take out to warm you up?”

Your heart raced in your chest, threatening to burst free from your body. That wouldn’t be pleasant. It’d be disgusting, and would drive Spencer further away from you than a father from his family.

Feeling escaped your limbs, but you knew if you did collapse out of sheer… disbelief, he’d catch you. His arms were lean and steady, like tree branches, and you wondered how they’d feel wrapped around your body.

Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe immediately after your reply, you’d know.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

(Part 2 of Spencer’s POV?)

Thank you so much for reading! Have a wonderful night, day, afternoon— and know you are so incredibly loved by me, God, and so many more people you have yet to meet! THANK YOUUU!

[bycourageandfaith]

Talking about how marriage is a outdating concept and how (for straight women) it is not worth it because men are not up to the standard. It doesn’t really MEAN anything.

But i had to say it and you could see the cogs turning in heads as they realised how it could mean something different for me.

‘I wasn’t allowed to marry, i never thought I would because I COULDN’T. It has always been women for me, and women couldn’t marry other women. I never dreamed of marriage. That’s why it was so important that we did when we could’

Source: Women Together; Portraits of Love, Commitment, and Life - Essays by Mona Holmlund , Photography by Cyndy Warwick

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend

tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark

It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.

"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.

"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.

"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"

You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.

"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"

You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.

"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.

"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.

"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.

"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"

"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"

He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.

"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.

But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.

"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."

You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.

"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."

"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."

[moriitis]

Don't talk to strangers on the internet.

Toby Rogers x Female Reader. Content/Warnings; phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, threats, graphic themes, sexual themes.

18+ MINORS DNI. NSFW/SMUT.

Word count; 4.7k

So, you met this guy. He was cute, his pictures on his social media were inviting enough and eventually the two of you got around to talking. He was.. charming of sorts, oh, and funny too! But there was one thing that always rubbed you the wrong way, how he always avoided certain questions. You'd had your fair share of friendships over the wonders of the internet, you knew a handful of people and if you were asked, you knew their age, whereabouts they came from and what their dog was called. The usual information you felt any friend was ought to know but this guy.. you weren't sure; a part of you just assuming that maybe he some sort of catfish? - Or just a very private person and hey, who were you to blame? The internet could be a weird, dangerous and pretty scary place. You'd had the phrase 'Stranger danger' drilled into your head more times than you could count. But him -

Toby.

That was all you knew of him. Well, other than he was also in his twenties and owned a crappy pick up truck. He'd met you through -

Toby: a friend of a friend….. thought u seemed cute :)

And well, he was cute to so fuck it; you gave him a chance and opened the DM he sent. His Instagram was plain as anything, with barely any followers and equally barely posts. Some crappy mirror selfie, a photo of his truck and then a picture of a cake. It all felt… well, weird and it gave your gut a weird feeling.

[Y/N]: friend of a friend? umm.. who?

Naturally, you were open to meeting new people and forming friendships, but your Instagram was pretty private and you couldn't think of which friend who would give it out without your consent.

1 Image Attached.

And it was a screenshot of your friends Instagram. It was.. better than nothing but it only opened up a lot more questions than answers. It was bad, you were single, lonely and he was cute; so fuck it you'd let it slide this once. After accepting his follow request, you allowed him further into your private life. The photos and pictures on your feed detailing every part and aspect of your life. The park you would visit, what you ate for breakfast, your Spotify wrapped, photos of your pets, it was endless but your Instagram was your safe space; so you posted a lot on there. Even after accepting him, a part of you expected him to almost immediately ask for nudes or better yet, send some unasked dick picture in your DMs. But that was where Toby surprised you, because for months he kinda just ghosted you or wouldn't message at all. You weren't going to complain, you liked not having someone spam the shit out of you.

Then, as days and weeks ticked by, you'd upload more. Admittedly, you forgot about your little DM encounter with Toby until he liked your photo. It was just a picture of your new nails, a little treat you'd like to get once the blue moon. As soon as you got the notification, your phone buzzed again and it was another DM from Toby.

Toby: hey. sorry i havent messaged in awhile. lol

You blinked, unsure on what to type back but it was too late now because you'd opened the message and he had seen that you had seen it. So you both sat in the chat, lingering, that familiar online green dot beside his profile picture as you thought on what to say. This small talk shit was… a bit boring and you hated it. So, after a moment, you typed a response.

[Y/N]: oh no dont worry its ok!

He read it in an instant.

Toby: im toby btw. srry i never like rlly introduced myself and now u probs think im some creep

A laughing emoji followed behind his sentence and you couldn't help the smile creeping across your face. You swiftly tapped your fingers against the screen as you typed back a reply.

[Y/N]: im [Y/N]. haha its ok

You cringed a little, you felt like you were being so blunt toward him; so for safety measures you sent a little smiling emoji after your own text.

The small talk flickered back and forth for a couple more months until Toby's messages became a little more consistent and as much as you hated to admit it; you were opening up to him more and more. The awkwardness of the first interaction seemed to have disappeared the more you interacted with him, yet that nagging voice in the back of your mind were persistent. Despite the time you had known each other, Toby would dodge each question you asked him.

[Y/N]: so where r u from?

Then suddenly he'd go offline. Then at other times he would respond at insane hours of the morning. Time zones, you thought. Maybe he were just across the country and he'd respond at times when you were asleep? It made sense, it was logical and yet that voice still lingered; that something was weird about this Toby user. His green flags kept you around though, or the random memes or reels he would send you that would make you laugh. Before you knew it, the months rolled into a year already of knowing him and each time he'd send you a message, there'd be a flutter of excitement in the pits of your stomach.

It was late, well, early actually. Your sleep schedule was beyond fucked and you were sleeping until noon and staying up until the early hours of the morning. Toby must've been a night owl too, because almost every time he saw you online in the early hours of the morning, he'd send a message. This time though, there was no message and he was offline, the chat between the two of you unusually quiet. Now, perhaps it was the lack of sleep and the impulsiveness that followed, but you were lingering in the chat; debating whether you should message him or not. You didn't want to bother or disturb him, especially if he were sleeping.. but you were adamant he had to be awake.

4:24 AM.

[Y/N]: r u awake

Silence, no respond and with a sigh you admitted defeat. Maybe you should just try to sleep. Then, that green bubble appeared next to his picture and you quickly tapped back into the chat.

Toby: now i am

[Y/N]: fuck im srry did i wake u up

Toby: lol nah i was joking :p

You rolled your eyes, smiling softly to yourself.

[Y/N]: wat u doin

Toby's speech bubble appeared, disappeared, appeared and then disappeared again in the chat.

1 Image Attached.

Your curiosity peaked and you raised a brow. Admittedly, you were nervous to open it because now you were convinced it was going to be a picture of his dick. This had, sadly, happened too many times and it had become a little predictable now. However, as you clicked opened the image, it was nothing but a picture of him laying on a bed. There was a tv on a dresser, it looked like he were watching some movie but honestly, your attention was elsewhere. The sheets were draped over his legs in an almost half-assed fashion. Your eyes, dare you admit it, trailed higher up the photo. His bare legs on display, one laid out straight while the other propped up with his knee in the air. It looked as if he were only in his boxers but you couldn't really tell, it was dark and the only thing illuminating the photo was the glare from the tv before him. Now, Toby was hot, you were single and you couldn't help but admit that maybe you were a little lonely and that photo opened up a lot more feelings than you anticipated to feel tonight. Swiping off the photo, you saw he was lingering in the chat and decided to message back quickly before it got weird.

[Y/N]: oh lol just watching tv. kinda boring.

You teased and Toby sent a laughing emoji.

Toby: probably better than wat u r doing… wat r u doing? huh?!

You laughed at the tone of message. With a huff, you raised your phone above you before snapping a photo. Your face, thankfully, was out of frame, but the photo allowed him to catch a glimpse of your collarbones; the rest of your chest tucked away under the thicket of your duvet. It was a teasing photo, you could admit that. He could see your jaw and jawline, a soft smile across your face.

It was also dark in your room, so you used the phone's flash to give him better access of what he was looking at. Then you sent, not wanting to give it another thought. Toby reacted to the photo with a gasped emoji but you knew he were just teasing, the motion enough to make you chuckle softly.

Toby: ur legit not even doing anything and me watching tv is boring? lol ok.

You loved how comfortable you now seemed with one another, a huge difference compared to a year ago when he first popped up in your DMs. His message made you laugh again, sending him a gif of someone poking their tongue out.

[Y/N]: u sound like a hater

Toby: me??? a hater???? LOLLLLLL sure.

Then the chat went silent a little, but he were still online; waiting, yearning even. This friendship between you and Toby was something you cherished, it flowed so well that it felt as if you guys had known each other longer than a year. With a sigh, you tapped your fingers against your screen; trying to find words to keep the conversation going. It seemed, however, that Toby thought the same thing and he had already beat you to it.

Toby: u know. ive never heard ur voice.

Those words, nothing but a simple array of pixels, was enough to make you feel another flutter of excitement. You were a little surprised by his message and you also knew that he were right. You hadn't heard his voice either and now a part of you were also equally curious.

[Y/N]: what r u implying? lol

Toby: idk. maybe i should have ur number and call u.

You raised a brow, it was smooth; trying to get your number and all that. You weren't going to hesitate, because admittedly you felt a little more comfortable with Toby than ever before.

[Y/N]: lol but its late and im tired. plus i sound like shit :p

It were true and even though everything in your very being told you that you wanted to call him, you were also a little nervous at the prospect of it.

Toby: u think i care?

He was right, why do you care? Maybe it was because there were feelings that were blossoming. Fuck, and that was bad itself as you had no idea if this guy even had a girlfriend. You didn't want to be some wrecker, or worse, the other woman. But why would you care? Is the only thought you could muster up, it's not like this phone call was going to go anywhere. You were friends, nothing else, no benefits, no strings attached; just two people who enjoy each others company. So, before you knew it you had typed your phone number away in the chat. Nothing followed after a couple minutes, making your hands clammy from sweat. God, you hated phone calls and now you were nothing but a puddle of sweaty anxiety as you waited for him to call.

Then there it was, your phone buzzing from the incoming call. It was an unknown number, naturally and you only assumed it was Toby's. Although you hesitated to answer, feeling yourself chew on the bottom of you lip. Quickly, you answered and pressed your phone to your ear. It was quiet, an awkward silence looming over the two of you.

"Hey," he spoke, his voice a lot more huskier and deeper than you imagined it to be. Immediately, you felt shy and swallowed back the lump in your throat to respond.

"Hey," you replied, your nervousness evident in your tone of voice alone. You could hear a short, brief chuckle emerge from the other end and you sat up a little, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I don't think you sound gross," he started, causing a small fluster of red to emerge on your cheeks. You were thankful this wasn't FaceTime. "I l-ll-.. like your voice." He spoke in nothing but a hushed whisper, which yeah, made sense considering it was nearly 5 AM. Toby had opened up to you about his stutters before, so hearing him struggle with some words were nothing out of the ordinary for you. You were thankful he trusted you enough to open up about it really.

You chuckled, trying your best to remain quiet. "Thanks," you started, your heart beating a million beats per second.

Then that awkward silence again and you cringed, licking your lips wet before speaking again.

"Sorry, I'm so awkward," you let you a short chuckle, running a hand through your hair as you tried to act more casual. Toby chuckled again.

"It's okay, I get it," he reassured, his voice soothing and comforting. You palmed nervously at your duvet, not even too sure what to say. There was always so much to say over text and now he had you pinned, in the spotlight a little and you were choking.

"There's a lot I want to say-" you admitted sheepishly and Toby hummed in interest.

"Then say it."

You exhaled a shaky breath, licking your lips once again. As much as he had you pinned, you also had him. There were so many questions you wanted to ask, so many things you wanted to know and now seemed as good time as any. If he were to hang up, then that would answer a lot of your suspicions. "I just feel like I barely know you."

"Then what do you w-ww-.. wanna know?" he asked, his voice gentle and welcoming and frankly it put you on edge a little. You didn't want to interrogate the man but this was the closest you had been to actually knowing more about him in the whole damned year you knew him!

"Well, I'm assuming your name isn't just Toby."

He chuckled.

"I mean, it's Toby… but I do also have a l-llast name, yeah."

You swallowed, throat becoming unbearably dry.

"Well… what is it?" You asked, your anxiety bubbling at the base of your throat as if you were about to throw up.

"Toby Rogers." You could hear him smiling as he said it and you breathed out a sigh of relief which was loud enough for him to hear. "Why'd you wanna know?" And admittedly, you weren't sure. Maybe because it just felt more.. real? Honestly, you just felt better knowing than unknowing.

"I-I-.." you couldn't explain yourself. "Honestly, I don't know-" you admitted, chuckling dryly.

Toby Rogers. Toby Rogers. That name repeated itself in the back of your mind, each time you found yourself almost recognising it more and more. It was so familiar, like you had heard it before and yet you were unsure as to where. Toby's short scoff brought you back to the conversation at hand. You could hear that same tv in the background on his end. It wasn't loud but loud enough for you to make out screaming.

"Are you watching a horror film?" you asked, snorting out a little laugh at his nerdiness. Although, you received no response, no answer. The screaming just filling the end of the phone, you felt that uneasiness creep back into your very being. Then, after a second long silence, he spoke.

"Oh- hah.. sorry, yeah, I am, didn't think you could hear it."

You forced a smile, scratching absently at the back of your neck.

"So.. what are you wearing?" Your heart fell through to your ass and you froze, wide eyed in horror at his sudden question. It was unexpected and nervously you choked out a laugh.

"Uh-" you started and before you could even muster up any courage to speak, he was laughing; which only calmed you briefly.

"Haha! Oh god, I'm joking, I'm not a weirdo-" he chuckled, laughing a lot harder than he had recently done. You rolled your eyes, shit he wanted to play games? You were up for it, but first you needed to fan yourself for a moment. His laughter faded back into that silence as you glanced down at your body. Admittedly, you just wore some old over sized shirt that had acquired many holes over the years and your underwear. Wasn't particularly lingerie, but shit, it's not like you exactly planned to actually do something with this guy?

You snickered to yourself purely because the idea of.. being so intimate with him excited with you more than you'd ever know.

"I'm wearing just some old shirt, that's-.." you choked out a laugh. "That's really too big for me.. and just-.. just my underwear." Toby was silent on the other end, not expecting you to actually straight up answer his question. He let out a short chuckle and then another, not believing what you had said but by the serious tone in your voice, he dawned on him that you were being honest.

"Oh?" he finally croaked out, feeling something stir within him. It was this flutter of excitement, that began in the lower pits of his stomach and finally travelled to his cock. Now, he knew what dangerous game he were playing and he knew that if he accepted this invitation, it could bring him a great deal of trouble. Your voice was just so.. tempting and it lured him in just to taste more of your sweet words. Toby clenched his jaw a little, he was getting so riled up at just the thought of you alone. "You don't sleep naked?" there was a teasing hint in his tone of voice and you chuckled.

"Would you rather I did?" And it was there he melted. Fuck, he'd do anything. He'd tug on some fucking pants right now just to march over to your house and fuck you relentlessly. Your words resulted in him shuddering, his breath hot and heavy down the phone. Toby knew to choose his words carefully here because ultimately he knew he were playing with fire, it's just the only issue was; he was thinking more with his dick now than with his head. Toby scoffed out chuckle once again, his voice a lot more huskier than before.

"I mean.. I would-" he started, his mind a horny, jumbled mess as he tried to conjure up the right words. "Would make it easier for me to fuck you." Speaking those words made his skin prickle, it was so wrong and in that moment it felt so right. The tension in the air was palpable, his mouth feeling increasingly dry. His cock stirred and twitched beneath the fabric of his boxers, making him shift uncomfortably in bed. God, he wasn't gonna jack off tonight but fuck it, if you were gonna, he wasn't going to let you do it alone.

And you weren't any better than he was on the other end, your own clit aching for a simple touch. It made you shift also, in some sort of desperate attempt to feel some fabric against the sensitive nerves. The touch, however, not enough as you felt yourself slipping back into the softness of your pillow. His words almost made your head spin, your breath hitching in your throat as you tried to control your thoughts; which were riddled with nothing but filth. As much as you tried to deny it, you could feel the dampness seep through the thin layer of fabric between your legs, feeling so ridiculously turned on that a part of you questioned how long it had been since you hooked up with someone.

"God-.." you breathed helplessly down the phone, your words and breathless tone already giving Toby the thumbs up that he was headed in the right direction.

It was there he laughed a little, almost in disbelief. "Wait, are you touching yourself?"

You froze a little in his reply, dumbfounded. Should you be? Your body ached for it, so why not? Quickly, you pushed a hand down between your thighs and got to rolling your index and middle finger against your clit. You gasped at the touch, legs parting a little more as you rolled your head back into pillow beneath you. The touch brought an immediate warmth to the lower of your stomach, earning a soft, delicate whimper to escape from between the plumpness of your lips.

Those noises only stirred Toby into motion himself, palming himself through his boxers with a soft grunt here and there. His eyes closed briefly, imagining all those delicate sounds to be coming from the tip of his cock. Wanting to desperately to feel your lips wrapped around his shaft.

"I like those pretty, little sounds," he spoke softly, his voice just above a whisper as he soaked in each sound that flowed through the speaker of his phone. "What are you thinking about while you touch yourself?" he grunted, biting the bottom of his lips briefly as the mental image of you in bed reaching your orgasm to the thought of his cock alone making him almost tremble and whimper himself.

Your fingers, although with a slight tremble, continued to dance against your clit. Rolling it softly in an attempt to pace yourself, but you were hungry for an orgasm and not only that; you were fucking tired. It wasn't like you wanted this to be over, it's just you weren't sure how long you could hold out for. His words fed your actions more as your whines and whimpers continued to flood helplessly through the phone. "I'm think-.." you interrupted yourself with a moan, "I'm thinking about how good you'd feel."

Those words send a shiver of delight down his spine and Toby was feeling too hungry to withdraw himself any longer. So, his hand wrapped around the length of his shaft and slowly he pumped at it. Each motion of his hand sending soft waves of pleasure to course through his bloodstream, a concealed grunt and groan which passed through his clenched teeth. He wasn't exactly a vocal person - though he had to be for the whole idea of phone sex to really work. "Ffuck-" he breathlessly moaned, his cock an aching mess with pre-cum already coating the tip of it; adding only a fraction of lubrication.

Toby's own mind was equally full of sinful thoughts, the idea of running is tongue up between your slit to suckle softly on your clit, or the idea of cumming all over that pretty face of yours. Admittedly, being a fucking murderer meant he didn't get many blissful nights of burying his cock deep in someone; so the thoughts accompanied with those sounds of yours were enough to nearly already make him cum. Stifling a moan with a lip pressed firmly against his upper teeth, he groaned a deep guttural growl.

"I need to feel you-" and a part of you cringed at how desperate you sounded, like whiny slut. Toby didn't mind, why would he? You sounded like a fucking pornstar and he knew it wouldn't be long until he was seeing stars and coating his knuckles in his warm, white liquids.

"Fuck, keep talking," he grunted as his hips bucked into his hand, almost helplessly fucking the palm of his hand. He could only imagine how fucking good your pussy would feel wrapped around him, how wet he would make you, how good he could make you feel. His command did things to you, the way he spoke through gritted teeth and there was a tightness forming not just in your lower abdomen, but in your thighs as well. For a brief moment, your fingers moved from your clit to your dripping cunt, coating your fingers to coat your clit in your wetness. You were torn, wanting to feel something inside you and wanting to give your clit attention; you'd cum either way regardless.

You began to mumble incoherent whimpers, praising him and uttering his name like sweet nothings; words dripping in poison that would intoxicate Toby more and more. Your grip on the phone began getting looser as you felt the warmth rush to your cheeks, your own hips rolling against your fingers in a desperate attempt to reach your orgasm.

"Toby- please make me cum, please-.." you cringed hearing yourself so squeezed your eyes shut. You could feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into your pillow, a rush of blood creeping across your face and almost making your head spin.

Your words were the tipping point for Toby, and with one final grunt and thrust, stringy ropes shot up and out across his knuckles. "Nng- Ffuck-" he slurred on his own words, the warmth of his own cum sending shockwaves and ripples up his abdomen.

While Toby rolled out the end of his orgasm with some slow thrusts, you hadn't yet reached that phase as you helplessly humped your own fingers, breasts bouncing with each roll out that your hips gave. You were a desperate, panting mess as you tried to quieten and muffle each moan that dared to escape from you. Despite feeling satisfied himself, he knew he couldn't be a dick and leave you hanging on the edge of your orgasm - hell, he could though. Your moans were just good to miss however and quickly his focus returned to you as he came floating back down from his own high.

"The thing's I'd do to-to-… to you-" he choked out, surpassing a tic almost painfully. "I'd love to make you scream," he uttered, his voice lusty with a hint of something else. You hadn't noticed it at the time, but there was a sense of darkness that lingered in the back of his throat. His words having more meaning than a simple mission to get you to orgasm. Your head spun as the muscles in your thighs tightened, your hips bucking violently against your fingers as you reached the height of your own release. There were stars, a soft, long drawn out groan escaping deep within you as your hips continued to buck; a little softly as you rode out the very last of your orgasm. Your fingers rolled your clit until it became nothing but a sensitive bud, sending little jolts as you gasped, feeling sweaty against the mattress of your bed. The sound was music to his hears as he listened, the phone pressed so hard against his ear that for any other person it would've hurt.

"Fuck-" you gasped softly after each pant, allowing your body the time and space to recover.

"I'd love to bash your pretty, little head in with one of my hatchets."

And you felt your once steaming hot body turn into a cold flush, your breath hitching in the back of your throat. Had he really said that? Or was it more background noise from the horror film he was watching? Toby chuckled, it's friendliness vanishing in thin air before you as his demeanour became cold; uninviting. Your brows furrowed, too speechless to form a coherent thought. Was it just.. a kink thing? Was he.. fuck, like roleplaying or something? You were grasping at any explanation before you.

"What." Was all you could muster up, a measly whisper.

"I enjoyed talking to yo-ou. I'll be honest, never done this b-bb-before with most girls, I wooould've let you live… but work is work, you'll understand. Oh," he scoffed. "No, you won't but I'll see ya around, yeah?" And Toby hung up. Leaving you in a state of confusion.

Toby Rogers. Toby Rogers. You repeated it over again, sitting up on your elbow, brows furrowing and staring out into the darkness of your room. Toby Rogers - that name was on the news just the other week, you could've sworn it. The news anchor mentioning something about.. him murdering his Dad.. being a mass criminal.. and how he was still missing after all those years.

And you just had phone sex with him.

sorry if this seems rushed, still trying to find my lingo when it comes to writing smut.

will be a bit mia for the next days, but asks are open (just may take a lil while for me to answer them.) i originally planned for this to be shorter, but i have this weird habit of where once i start writing, i legit cannot stop.

[kiwi-bitchez]

Double Down, Triple Threat 

Summary: insecure!Eddie x bartender!Reader

Eddie is constantly flirting with you after his Corroded Coffin sets at the Hideout, and you have the bad habit of flirting back. What happens when you overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for you? Maybe you’ve had the wrong idea about the cocky metalhead who negs you for free drinks. Now you need to take it into your own hands to resolve some built up tension. 

Smut, as always, with a touch of angst but generally fluff/happy ending. 

Word count: 18k (eek! in retrospect I maybe should have split this into multiple parts but...fuck it, brevity has never been my strong suit LOL) Buckle up for a doozy.

Content warnings: smut, afab reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol consumption, smoking, the devil’s lettuce, mention of Eddie's scars and sustained injuries (slightly canon divergent obviously because our boy is ALIVE here, but the events of season 4 generally stand otherwise), also Eddie does some negative self talk where he refers to himself as mutilated but everything is happy in the end I promise, and scars are nothing to be insecure about he's just down in the dumps you feel me?, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected PIV sex (plz use protection irl), pet names, reader and Eddie shower together

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted a fic on here, but I hope all y’all who are still riding the Eddie Munson thirst train enjoy this :) I’m trying to regain the motivation to write more, so hopefully more fics to come soon (no promises though lol) (maybe some Steve? Steddie x Reader? Let me know what y’all want to see.) I

"I'll have the usual," his hoarse voice and boisterous presence cut through what few other customers sat at your bar, forcing your attention his way.

"Yeah, and what would that be?" you try to give him your best deadpan voice, unsure yet if you were in the mood for his antics. 

"Come on, like I ever order anything other than a whiskey and coke," his curly dark hair stuck slightly to his damp forehead, not having bothered to wipe the sweat from his brow in between the stage and the bar. If you could even call it a stage. It was more of a sad corner with an extension cable and a few amps that his grunting bandmates were lugging back into their truck while he very helpfully came over and tried to flirt with the bartender. You were the only bartender. On Friday nights anyways. 

"That's because you're unoriginal," his drink was already half made as you flick your eyes up through your lashes at him, knowing he was watching you intently, not that he was particular about how his drink was made by any stretch. "You're actually going to pay for it this time," you slid the glass over to him, "I'm not joking."

"You wound me," he tries his best to give you puppy dog eyes, "but I'm pretty sure Randy mentioned something about drink tickets when we negotiated our new Friday slot."

"That's not a thing," you make up menial tasks behind the bar to keep your hands and eyes busy while he relentlessly chats with you, "never has been. Plus if I keep giving you free drinks you'll get the idea that I like you or something." 

Fuck, you told yourself you should stop flirting back with him. Your first excuse had been professionalism, which didn't make a lick of sense considering you were a bar back at this hole in the wall that paid local bands in drink tickets, apparently. Your second excuse had been that as fun as Eddie was to chat with, you hardly knew anything about him other than his loud band and his drink order. 

Unfortunately he liked to chat and sooner than later you knew more about him than you wanted to. Your newest excuse? If you kept flirting back with him he might get the idea that he could see you outside of this dingy bar, and you liked the comfort and safety of the three feet of wood separating you, it kept you from doing something you might regret. 

"Don't act like you didn't like our set," he threw the rest of his drink back, "I saw you watchin' from over here."

"Yeah, well you're kind of hard to ignore, you know, with the volume and all," your voice had a too-playful tone that you mentally noted to dial back on. 

If you were being honest, Corroded Coffin was one of the weekly acts that you didn't entirely mind. Most were groups of middle aged men trying to relive the glory days by booking a weeknight at the Hideout, instruments barely tuned and a setlist that was decades out of style. While Eddie's band certainly wasn't everyone's cup of tea, you found yourself tapping your foot along with their songs more often than not. At least they were original, you’d give them that. 

He held his glass up to signal a request for another. "Go help your friends carry all your shit," you swiped the cup from his hand, hating that you focused on how your fingers briefly touched his, "and then I'll make you another. And I'm charging you for both."

"Whatever you say, babe" he spun around three or four times on the bar stool before sauntering off and finally assisting with moving the amps and drum kit. You rolled your eyes, not that he was watching you anymore, but more to keep yourself from checking out how his shirt clung to his torso. His black t-shirt was always a size too small, revealing his tattoo covered arms that you never allowed yourself to stare long enough at to make out what any of them were. 

Eddie was nice. As much as you liked to push each other's buttons and joke around, he was a lot more respectful than most patrons that tried their hand at flirting with you. He never said anything gross or disrespectful, not something you could say about most men who've had more than a few beers. 

But you didn't want to risk pushing any boundaries with him, because you work here, and his band plays here weekly, religiously. You didn't want things to get weird, and as much as you learned how to avoid certain patrons, there was only so much space between the 'stage' and your station behind the bar. 

Despite this, you have his second drink made before he finishes putting his stuff away, and you haven't started a tab for either of them. A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he notices his already-made drink set by his stool as he walks over from the back door. You couldn't help but feel a tiny smile creep up on your face as well. 

"Really made me work for this one, huh?" he takes the first sip while still standing before setting back into his seat, "truly amazing service, best I've ever had, really." You glare at him while cleaning some cups absentmindedly with a rag. "Not sure if you can tip on a drink ticket though..."

"Fuck off," you giggle and throw the wet towel at him, "you can't charm your way into TWO free drinks you ass."

"Aww you think I'm charming?" the flirtations between you were always edged with sarcasm, which you both found a lot easier than admitting 'hey you need to stop looking at me like that or else I'm going to keep thinking about pinning you against this countertop.'

"No, I don't, which is why you're PAYING for both those drinks," a lie followed by another lie, and you both knew it. "Where'd your band go?"

"Why? 'm I boring you?" he didn't mind taking up all your attention when the other bar patrons were either too drunk to stand or too old to even notice that a metal band had performed for the past hour. "No one's ever accused Gareth of being more interesting than yours truly. Plus he doesn't drink anyways, so your venture capitalist instincts wont work on him." He raised his drink to punctuate his joke before taking another long swig. 

"Ha ha," you don't give him the satisfaction of a real laugh, "I just wanted to make sure you had a ride home in case you try and swindle me into making you a third drink."

"Oh no, I told them all to scram, that I had a hot date with you and my unsettled tab," he leaned over the bar, trying to eliminate as much space between himself and you, "plus I've got a friend coming by to pick me up in a bit. So if you wanted to make me that third drink in exchange for me keeping you company while you close up, I certainly don't have any reason to turn you down."

"Fine," you point at him with a stern finger, "but this one'll be more coke than whiskey."

"Deal," he pointed his finger back at you, moving carefully in so the tips of your pointers touched. This made you genuinely laugh, unable to keep up a wall for too long around him. 

He finished his second drink while you ordered last call, and settled up with crumpled cash and mumbled thank you’s from the few remaining drunks. After closing up the cash register you make him that more-coke-than-whiskey drink as promised, and get to wiping down every sticky surface. 

"What's your drink?" he asks.

"Hmm?" you glance over from your hunched over position, trying to get the wet rag across the underside of the bar where someone had clearly spilt what appeared to be an entire pint of light beer. 

"You know my drink order, I wanna know yours." you stand up straight and look at him. 

You consider pushing back and demanding why he wanted to know, but it was late and you only had so many quips left in you, "Gin and tonic with extra lime." You get back to soaking up the spilt mess.

"Woooooow," his drink was finished and he took it upon himself to grab the broom from behind the bar and start sweeping up the bottle caps and tracked in dirt, "and you had the nerve to call me unoriginal."

"I'm not some creative rock and roll guitar guy like you, I don't need to be original, I'm just a bartender," you let him keep sweeping and start checking off other tasks from your closing list.

"You aren't just a bartender, give yourself more credit than that babe," he held up the dustpan full of crap, silently asking where to put it and you hold open a mostly full garbage bag for him to dump it into before tying it off, "judging by your drink order I would also guess that you're, hmmmm, an 85 year old man."

"Oh my god," you slap him on the arm with another half dirty hand towel, "in that case, you're doing voluntary manual labor just to flirt with this 85 year old man, so maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

He takes a few steps forward, not quite caging you against the bar, but nearly there. "And how am I doing? Is it working?" He's the closest he's ever been to you, jokingly sliding the broom around your feet, pretending to sweep while maintaining searing eye contact.

As the which-one-of-us-is-going-to-learn-in-first question buzzes around you, an irritating light flickers through the big front window, indicating someone had pulled their car right up to the curb with their high beams on. Eddie scrunches his nose up, and your urge to kiss him somehow grows despite his annoyed expression. "That's my ride."

You give him a small nod, turning your head to try and squint to see who could possibly be picking him up at this hour, but not making out much through the foggy glass. "I suppose I can manage the rest without you," you grab the broom from him, fingers touching for the second time tonight, "see you next week, rockstar."

Eddie wants to do something smooth, a wink or a clever line, but instead nervously gives you a nod and is out the front door before he can give it a second thought. The minute the door closes behind him you let out all the air you had been holding in your chest, both frustrated and slightly relieved. Eddie on the other hand- was bursting with regret and frustration, immediately running his hands through his hair and pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. 

"Absolutely not," Steve craned his neck out of his car that always looked like it had just gotten a fresh wax and detail, "at least five feet away from the beemer if you're going to light that." 

Eddie rolled his eyes, considering putting the cigarette back into the carton and getting the fuck away from this bar, but ultimately gave in and pivoted on his heel storming back towards the brick exterior and slumping against it as he flicked his lighter and took an aggressively deep pull. 

"What's your damage?" Steve moved out of the expensive car, keeping a bit of distance from Eddie but close enough that the two could talk, "That bartender you like wasn't on or something?"

"She's inside closing up now, so keep your fuckin' voice down" he gave Steve a glare and then immediately an apologetic look for being so prickly, "I'm just bad at this shit, man."

"You can't be that bad at it, Gareth and Jeff said the two of you eye fuck across the room every Friday night," Steve shrugs, understanding Eddie's drawback but knowing his friend rarely gives himself the benefit of the doubt. 

"Yeah, well, that's not the hard part," Eddie rips his cigarette and presses his wild hair deeper into the brick behind him, exhaling upwards. 

You had taken note that Eddie's ride hadn't left yet, so you busied yourself for a minute before deciding who cares if you had to give him an awkward wave on your way across the parking lot, so you locked up and grabbed the trash to take to the dumpster out back before leaving for the night. 

You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but as soon as the back door clicked you heard their muffled conversation from around the corner. Rather than give away your presence with the clanging of the trash you gently set it against the wall and moved forward silently, staying out of sight but well within earshot. 

"Flirting is the easy part, she's fuckin' easy to talk to, man" Eddie's voice carried, and you felt guilty but continued to listen, "I don't want to just fuck her though, I want to like, date...her."

"Oh," Steve's voice dropped knowingly, "well that's... good, I guess, that you like her like that."

"Well even if I didn't like her like that and was only looking to fuck her," he sighs out, and you carefully listen while furrowing your eyebrows, trying to make sense of their conversation, "she's gorgeous, and no girl that hot- scratch that no girl at all want's to fuck some mutilated freak."

"Don't call yourself a freak," Steve's voice seems apprehensive. 

"Yeah, sure, but you can't say I'm not mutilated." There was a beat of silence, and you didn't have time to think too much about his words before he went off again, voice laced with thick sarcasm, "Oh hey babe, so glad you were able to look past that I live in a trailer park and all my neighbors think I'm a satan worshiping murderer, but I hope you can be cool with my singular nipple and weird lumpy scar tissue, I know it's super hot, you're gonna have to get in line." His voice carried easily far past your hiding spot. 

"You're not giving her much credit dude," Steve was still apprehensive to respond, knowing how Eddie got when he started to spiral, "Maybe she's not that shallow."

"It's not that," Eddie's voice started to calm, "I'd just rather take my twenty minutes of flirting after our Friday gigs than risk it and have her look at me like she's sorry for me or something." 

With that he snubbed out his cigarette butt with the toe of his combat boots, let out a big sigh, and moved to get into the passenger side of Steve's car. You take a few slow, careful steps back towards the slumped garbage bag and wait until you hear the engine start and see the lights pull out onto the opposite side of the road. 

Fuck. Part of you felt incredibly guilty for listening to what was obviously meant to be a private conversation, especially a private conversation about you. But your gears were turning far too fast to get hung up on guilt. 

You always felt apprehensive about Eddie because you figured he was a flirt, a player, the kind of guy who talks to all bartenders like that, and you just happened to be the one he flirted with after his Corroded Coffin shows. You never wanted to get too invested in making him smile or waiting around for him to chat you up, because you know how most guys are, especially guys who carry themselves with that much confidence. And you were fucking wrong. 

Now fully realizing that the ball is in your court, you need to plan your first move. You decided, Eddie was worth taking the risk. 

It was truly a shot in the dark, but if your intuition ended up being a bust then no one would know about your wasted afternoon other than yourself. The following afternoon you drove aimlessly up and down the unpaved residential streets of the trailer park. There were two in town but you had a pretty good feeling that this was the one. 

You only started to feel stupid when you got some confused and slightly angry looks from people going about their business, hanging laundry or smoking on their porches, scrunching their noses and trying to make out the unfamiliar car driving in circles around their neighborhood. 

Aha! There it was. You knew that your gut could only fail you so many times when it came to Eddie. Exactly what you had been looking for, a big black and blue 1971 Chevrolet van strewn with dents, patches of rust, and, your telltale sign, a homemade Corroded Coffin sticker crookedly placed on the faded chrome of the bumper. 

Step one, complete. Step two was contingent on Eddie even being home. The presence of his van had you feeling hopeful. 

You attempt to rid yourself of lingering nerves with a deep breath and silent pep talk. You park adjacent to his van and hop out before your legs can convince you not to, and suddenly you've rung the doorbell and are standing with your hands clasped nervously in front of his door. 

"Just a minute," you hear him yell from inside, step two, complete, "What're you here for? Cuz I only got weed right now so if you're..." his hollering voice trails off from inside as he catches a glimpse of you through the screen. "Y/n? What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Jeez, hello to you too," you try to lace your voice with the same flirty edge that you always took with Eddie, but you didn't have the comfortable barrier of the bar or the security of being the person serving him his drinks. 

"How the fuck do you know where I live?" His tone wasn't quite angry, but it was bordering on more pointed than just confused. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to drop by totally unexpected," you suddenly felt vulnerable, regretting this whole stupid plan, "I can go." 

You start to scurry back to your car and hide your face forever, but he cuts you off with, "No, no, just, why are you here?" He softened his voice, and came down the stoop to hover over you on the last step. 

"Well," here goes nothing, "last night I felt like we sort of got interrupted." You pause, trying to gauge his reaction, "And I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I didn’t want to wait a whole week to see you again."

"Oh," his face and reaction didn't give you much of a clue as to what he was thinking. 

"And," you started filling the empty air with words, as you often did out of anxiety, "I know where you live because I've heard you sing 'fuck everyone in the trailer park, I'll play my music and curse your existance' probably a thousand times, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out where you live." 

He let out a chuckle, despite being deep in the throws of processing your earlier statement of feeling cut off. Of course he wanted to see you outside the confines of the musty bar, he just hadn't expected it to be like this, so sudden. "Well that's fair. I’ll give you double points for perception."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your Saturday," you began to reel again, "just wanted to tell you I'd like to hang out with you sometime, preferably not at The Hideout."

"Can sometime be now?" he hopped down from the last step and gave you an inquisitive smile, nose slightly scrunched and giving you butterflies. 

"Yeah, sometime can be now. You promise I'm not interrupting anything?" you felt a wave of relief, his energy had fully shifted from confusion to your comfortable flirty banter.

"Just a packed bong and have some laundry I probably wasn't going to do anyways," he suddenly realized he either had to invite you inside, which would be slightly embarrassing given the current state of his trailer, or suggest a secondary location, "you hungry? We can grab lunch or something?" 

He offered to drive, and you suggested sandwiches and beer to go for a backseat van picnic. He was relieved that you were down with doing something so casual, no stuffy cafes or overpriced food. If you were more than happy to suggest eating deli counter sandwiches in the back of his clunky van then maybe he had less to worry about than he thought. 

The passing moments between you had him realizing he truly didn't know much about you. Your job, how you had no problem snapping back at rude customers, and most recently your favorite drink. He wanted to know more, and quickly did as you had a 'regular' sandwich order and gave him directions to a side street that looked out onto a small lake, explaining that you'd eat lunch out here sometimes when the weather was nice. He parked the van in reverse, letting the back doors swing open, giving you the perfect bench looking out to the scenery to sit back and eat. 

"All my years living 'round here, I've never been to this spot," he noted through bites of sandwich wrapped in white paper.

"Yeah, most people know the spot across the lake with the rope swing and all that," you gesture across to where there was a popular jumping rock littered with empty beer cans, "too crowded for me though, it's more peaceful over here." 

"Sorry if I was a bit rude earlier," he started, but you quickly cut him off before he could finish his apology.

"No, no," you move your hand over to gently grab his mid gesture, "don't apologize, your reaction was incredibly reasonable."

"I just-' he started but you gave his hand a squeeze, "I really am happy you decided to come by, I didn't want you to think otherwise."

"I'm happy you chose lunch with me over a bong and laundry, that was some tough competition I had," he rolled his eyes at you.

"Don't make fun of me," he nudged your side, "I'm usually pretty wiped from Friday's show and trying to think of clever things to keep up with you, so my Saturday's are usually pretty lazy," your shoulders rubbed against each other, "being a washed up wannabe rockstar and flirting with a girl way out of my league can really do a number on me."

You share a soft giggle but reassure him that playing live music, even if it is only for you and a crowd of five drunks is still pretty cool. "Plus I like that you dress like this all the time, it's not just an act, this is just how you are," you gesture to his ripped jeans and ring clad fingers.

"What did you expect, babe? Surprise me at my trailer to find me in a polo and khakis?" the suggestion alone had the two of you laughing, brainstorming an alternate universe where Eddie was an accountant by day and only let his rocker side loose on Friday nights. 

"If you aren't secretly an accountant, what do you do when you're not playing music, if I may ask," you realize this was really one of the first personal questions you'd exchanged, keeping things punchy and surface level until this point.

"Ah, well," he scratches the back of his head, "although I wish the drink tickets we make at The Hideout were enough to cover rent, I work down at the body shop, you know the one down the street from the grocery store? My uncle knew some guys there and hooked me up with a job fixing cars after high school, and it's not too bad, I'm not half bad at it either, so that's where I'm at."

"You just really keep getting better and better, huh?" at first he wonders if your comment is sarcastic, but you continue "So what I'm hearing is you'll look at my rattling engine for free? I know nothing about cars and am always worried the people at the body shop are going to overcharge me."

"I only charge in sandwich dates and drink tickets, so you're in luck," he responds quickly without giving it much of a thought. 

You take a second, "What about dinner dates? Maybe movie dates too? Are those acceptable payments for your mechanic expertise?" 

"Not usually, but I'll make an exception for you," he responds after a few beats, realizing you wanted to see him again, and not just at the bar. 

You both are looking out at the lake, the buzzing energy around you making you nervous to look at each other. So you just tilt your head sideways to rest on his shoulder, "Phew, that's a relief, because I have a lot more of these planned."

"Oh yeah?" he shifts his body towards you, lifting your head from his shoulder and finally meeting his gaze, a stupid grin plastered across his face, he couldn't help it. "Which one of these dates do I finally get to kiss you?" You let out a breathy laugh, half amused by his corny line and half surprised he was being so forward. 

"Hmmm, I'm not sure," you pretend to think it over, stringing this out was killing both of you, but you couldn't help but push his buttons a bit more, "I'd say I'm kind of a third date kind of gal."

"Three? As in three from now or three including this one?" He seemed genuinely concerned, causing a genuine laugh to slip through the act you were putting on. 

You move your hand to his chest, faces closer than they had ever been. You had always been sucked into his big brown eyes, but now you saw flecks of honey and deep browns that bordered on black in them, faded freckles dotted across his cheeks, a chapped patch on his lower lip that had clearly been the victim of some anxious chewing. "I'll make an exception this time, for you."

He let you make the first move, leaning in and gently pressing your lips to his, soft and slow. You could feel his breath catch in his throat, prompting you to pull back and look at him through fluttered lashes, as your mouth parted slightly to ask him if that was okay, his big ring clad hands cupped the sides of your cheeks and pulled you right back into him, kissing you like he was afraid you'd evaporate if he ever stopped. 

The wind was knocked out of you. You couldn't be bothered to breathe when your attention was solely focused on his lips, his tongue, the sharp intake air he sucked in between slotting your top lip down to your swollen bottom one, nipping with teeth and holding your face so close. 

After a minute of soft whimpers and exploring the new intimacy you pull back to finally catch your breath, fully ready to ignore the need for oxygen and lean back in when you see his face, rosy and buzzing with excited energy. 

"Sorry, if that was kind of a lot," he realized you had given the sweetest peck and he proceeded to practically shove his tongue down your throat. 

You however, were already brushing his apology off and leaning in for more, missing the feeling of his big hands cradling your face, sending tingling shockwaves down your body. Before you could lunge back at him and take more of what you wanted, he takes your chin in between his fingers and tilts your head up to his.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm sort of crazy about you. And I really don't want to fuck this up, but I've wanted to do that for a really long time.” 

He could tell by your pout that you were begging for another kiss, and he couldn't refuse you. You were completely lost in it. Learning that he let out a little gasp when you ran your fingers up into his hair, that he would catch your bottom lip in between his teeth when you started to pull away and he needed more, that you were already completely wrecked for him. You weren't even conscious of the fact that you were now fully seated in his lap, sandwich wrappers and empty cans long pushed aside. 

Part of you wanted to wait, to let things build up organically over time and get physically intimate when the moment felt right. But fuck it, the moment felt right now. 

Any apprehension or worry of scaring him off dissipated when his thumb ran across your cheekbone, his other strong arm holding you steadily against him, you don't think you could wiggle away if you tried. Swirling in your apprehension you also fought the urge to press your hips down into his and grind against him harder. You wanted to let him take things at his pace and not rush anything, but fuck you could feel his cock getting hard between your legs and it was driving you insane. 

He dragged the knuckle of his middle finger up your neck along the curve of your jaw, speaking softly into your kiss, "can I kiss you here?" pressing his touch into the side of your neck.

"You can do anything you want to me," you pant back, slightly embarrassed at how desperately horny that came out.

"Fuck," he groaned out, cock noticeably twitching against his black jeans and into your thigh, "you can't say shit like that to me."

"Sorry, sorry," you try to gain your composure and lift off him slightly, “I-"

He took a hold of your waist and pulled your back down into his lap, diving into the side of your neck and nipping and sucking until he found the spot that made you squeeze your thighs slightly around him. "Anything I want requires a lot more time and space than we have right now, pretty girl." He mumbled into your neck in between kisses, his words making your back arch slightly more into him. "Plus I need to be a gentleman," you rolled your eyes at this. 

"Since when have you ever worried about that," you tug his hair back to force him to look at you.

"You really want to know what I want, right now?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Really, really," you let your weight sink down onto his lap a touch more, feeling the stiff length under his jeans slot between your thighs a bit deeper, making his breath hitch before he could respond. 

"I want you to lay back on those blankets up there," he nodded towards the few crumpled up blankets he had shoved behind the driver's seat, "and let me eat your pretty pussy until you're screaming loud enough for the people across the lake to hear."

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that. 

This unexpected burst of sexual confidence threw you for a loop, as you were fully prepared to be the one making all the big moves. Your mouth hung open slightly, struggling to form a response when all that was swarming through your mind was holy fuck, holy fuck, that was so hot, what the fuck do I say. 

Rather than respond with words you just roll off his lap and start moving deeper into the back of his van, propping your torso up on bent arms and sending him back a suggestively raised eyebrow. He swung his legs up over the ledge and took one of the doors with him, sliding into the van and quickly shutting the other as well. 

It took a second for your eyes to adjust, the previous sunlight coming in from across the lake was cut off, and the light source now was only coming from the front windows, making things darker but not invisible. You quickly had no trouble making out Eddie's slender form shuffling around and getting situated in between your bent knees, urging you to lay back a bit more and relax as much as your body would allow against the lumpy blanket pile. 

"This is okay?" he asks while leaning down to pick up where you had left off a moment ago. 

"Yes, fuck," you wiggle up into his form, wanting as much contact as he would allow, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into your lips. 

It all had moved faster than you were used to but fuck if it didn't feel so right. Why did you feel more comfortable with this person you hardly knew than you had with your past few long term relationships? He just had this way of taking your nerves and throwing them out the nearest window. 

After sucking on your lower lip until it was puffy and slick he dips his chin into the crook of your neck, dragging his perfect nose up your jugular and nestling into the junction of your neck and ear, licking a stripe all the way. You wanted to desperately buck your hips up into his, but only allowed yourself half the satisfaction of lifting your thigh slightly to give him more space to sink deeper into your slumped form. 

When Eddie’s life flashed before his eyes, on more than one occasion- actually- he wasn’t particularly satisfied with what he saw. In the moments before what he assumed was death, his brain searched for the best moments to accumulate and reminisce on before his body succumbed to the untimely demise he was facing. It wasn’t much. 

He wished he had more than smiling moments with his D&D club, a few killer performances at the Hideout, no killer audiences, some nights of revelry with his friends, and a few forgettable hookups in dingy bar bathrooms. That couldn’t be it, right?

In the wake of his life flashing, fading, and flashing again, he made more space for good things. After his shows now he let himself think about you, and how much he liked you, let himself try his hand at flirting. Because if he was going to come anywhere that close to death again, he needed more to show for it than a few trysts with nameless girls and an unnerving amount of scar tissue. 

So he wasn’t about to fuck this up. If someone came at him with an axe tomorrow, at least he’d have the memory of you splayed out beneath him in the back of his van, lips shiny and cheeks rosy. If his life were to flash before his eyes again it wouldn’t be as bad.  

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he mumbled into your neck, his denim clad thigh pressing perfectly in between your legs. You could only hum back as if to say, “no, tell me.”

“I think you do know,” his teeth grazed upon your earlobe, sending a jolt through your hips and finding solace in the friction between your thighs with his.

“Yeah, I know,” you breathe out, arching your neck down to nudge the tip of his nose with yours, “do you?”

“I didn’t have a clue,” he mumbled into your lips before slipping his tongue against yours, sickly sweet and laced with all the regret of not asking you out sooner. 

You let your ankles hook around one another, locking your hips together and earning a deep rumble of a moan from the man trapped. “I recall you mentioning something about the people across the lake hearing me…” you playfully trail off, equal parts confidently flirty and deeply desperate for him to act on his earlier promise. 

He had nudged his way down into the neckline of your shirt, licking and nipping at as much of your breasts as he could find, fingertips grazing the waistline of your pants. Part of you wanted to just lay here and let him have his way with you, but the conscious part of your brain recognized the insecurities he expressed in that conversation you weren't supposed to hear, and signaled you to be as forward with him as you could be. 

“Fuck,” you struggled to pry your hands between your pressed bodies to reach your jeans button, “Eddie can I take these off, I want to feel you.” 

With your hands moved south, you managed to undo the clasps of your jeans while also running your hands upwards towards his shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath. 

It was subtle, but impossible for you to miss, when your fingertips grazed his lower stomach and trailed up his t-shirt his body shifted into a tense state for just a moment. You could have easily missed it. It took all of a millisecond for him to subtly jerk away from you and redirect the attention to your now unbuttoned pants. His hands were dragging the material down your thighs before you had a moment to register the way he averted your touch. 

He playfully tossed your bunched up pants over his shoulder, as if they had anywhere else to go other than the three feet of van between him and the doors. After that flashed moment of shyness, you noticed nothing but a playful smirk on his face, smile crinkled at the corners of his cheeks and eyes full of wild mischief. 

His hands spread against your thighs, digging his fingertips into as much skin as the width of his palms would allow. 

“So fucking perfect,” he drank you in, hardly noticing the moment you pulled your shirt and bra over yourself, but dumbstruck as soon as his eyes caught sight of your reveal.

Knowing he had yet to put his money where his mouth was, he adjusted downwards and let his flushed cheek make contact with your thigh. In that moment he vowed to let the sight of the little damp patch in the center of your cotton panties stay forever in his mind. 

He didn’t let a single thought register in his brain before he leaned forward and let his tongue lick a fat strip up the middle of your clothed center, adding dampness to the apparent arousal already there. 

“Jesus,” you were slightly taken aback at his action, letting your head fall back, while still lowering your gaze down to where his hooded lids and pink tongue sat in between your thighs.

He reveled in the feeling of being between your thighs, letting his tongue play around the center of your panties for a few strokes before the twitching in your legs signaled that you had had enough of his teasing. 

Taking a blissful moment to hook his finger through the crotch piece of your underwear and pull it to the side to reveal your slick center, he simply couldn’t help himself. He pulled back and drank the sight of you in, panties wet with your arousal and his spit pulled to the side and your perfect cunt finally in his sights. 

The groan he let out only tripled your level of neediness for him. You let your chest puff up and hips gyrate forward at nothing to signal that you needed him, like, now.

Before you could even think of something snarky to say to get him to get on with it, his entire face was fully buried in you. An involuntary ahhh escaped you as he let his entire tongue press as far into you as space would allow. 

“Ohmygod,” all coming out in one breath, “fuckeddie.” 

He groaned deeply into you at the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, your taste, how your hips twitched slightly when his nose pressed against your clit. He didn’t even think about all those drunken chats with the boys or stupid cosmo articles he couldn't help but read, eating your pussy didn’t require any thought, he could only feel. 

Your sighs were like a song to him, every sharp inhale and subtle whimper, he caught it all and it was the most beautiful music. He let his tongue swirl faster when he heard your breath hitch, gripped your thigh tighter when you let out that beautiful exhale. 

“So fucking good for me,” he mumbled into your inner thigh in between licks, fully pussy drunk and ready to stay here forever, “fucking perfect.”

After some selfish exploration, he settled on a steady rhythm against your clit, making your back arch and whines jump an octave. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you groaned, feeling embarrassed how needy your voice already sounded, “can you use your fingers too, please.” Desperate. That’s how you felt, and you couldn't help but be self conscious for any more than a moment, as he immediately headed your request. 

Guitar fingers. You fucking knew it. You always found him attractive and charming, but immediately scolded yourself the moment you started speculating about those damn fingers. If he could learn Metallica solos in private, what else could he do?

Curling upwards in that magically delicious motion that had you already seeing stars, he glanced up at you upon entering and was met with the glorious sight of your mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut. 

You simply couldn’t be bothered by the rickety van floor beneath you, the sad lumpy pillow propped under your head, or the stagnant, vaguely cigarette scented air around you. Nope. No thoughts other than the tightening knot in your stomach and how those pretty brown eyes peered up through too-perfect lashes at you in between sinful strokes. 

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you hardly recognized your voice as your own, “please don’t stop, Eddie, please…”

And there it was, euphoric bliss found in the back of a pot dealing metalhead’s van. Your thighs quivered and your brain lost all capacity for thought. All you could feel was the sudden wash of pleasure, the pulsing between your legs, and the tongue and fingers fucking into you as if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Writhing, trying to keep your moans down despite his verbalized promise for them to be heard far and wide, you try to control the jerk of your hips and grip on his hair. You rode out your orgasm, far sooner than you would have liked. You wanted to revel in it. 

After months of relentless flirting and suppressing your attraction to him, you wish you could have held your orgasm off a while longer. You simply couldn't allow yourself to bask in the velvet of his tongue or the tickle of his bangs on your thighs. You needed it too badly to hold off. 

Coming down from your orgasm, a broken moan cracked from you and let him know to slow his roll. In between catching your breath you catch a view of him sucking your release off of his slick fingers, and almost throw yourself at him, beg him to jump your bones. But all you can do is let out a breathy laugh and find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You come?” he asks, slight snark to his voice.

You muster up the energy to bop him upside the head and ruffle his hair along the way. “Fuck off,” you respond, still breathless, “you know I did.”

“I know,” he cocks his head, still admiring your form, your flushed face and rise and fall of every breath, “It’s polite to ask, though.”

“Ah yes, Eddie Munson, most polite man I know,” you flop back onto the mismatched pillows.

“Hey!” he pretends to sound offended but only manages to tug at your heartstrings, “I’ll have you know, that I am a delight.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” you reach down to feel your dripping folds before hunching forward to search for your underwear, which haven't traveled too far from his knees on the van floor.  

You wanted to return the favor, do more than return the favor, but something about his shift in demeanor and the way he angled his body away from yours slightly to adjust his hard cock in his pants and keep up the too-casual post-orgasm conversation had you thinking it was more than him being too polite to accept your advances. 

“Shit, what time is it,” he begins to shuffle towards the front of the van to check the time while you awkwardly gathered your clothes and redressed, fully assessing that whatever fooling around in the back of this van you were doing was officially over. 

“I, uh, have a few errands to run,” he sounded apologetic, not like he was making some excuse to get you out of his hair, “I can drop you off, or you can come along for the ride…”

There is was, your affirmation that he was just as desperate to hang onto this moment together as you were. 

“I actually have a shift starting pretty soon,” you regrettably admit, “and as much as I’d love to ditch it and be your passenger princess, the Saturday tips are usually the bulk of my rent money so…” 

He understood, he hated how much he understood. 

“What time do you get off?” He didn’t even try to hide how eager he was to see you again, again in ten minutes, again later tonight, again tomorrow, again as many times as you’d let him. 

“Get off? Pretty sure I did that like three minutes ago…” you joke and appreciate his huff of a laugh, “Um, I’m closing, so probably not until like two or three. Don’t worry though, I can give you my number and we can do this again when we’re both free.”

“I’m free later… at two,” his expression was dead serious, “or three, or four, or whenever.” He noticed your brows shoot up and words start to form in your mouth, before you could speak he cuts in, “If you won’t be too tired or anything. I can pick you up?”

“It’ll be pretty late Eds,” you were falling into the trap of his puppy dog eyes, “you don’t need to wait up for me like that, I promise we can see each other again, tomorrow even…”

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy,” he took your hand in his and mindlessly stroked circles into it with his thumb, “but I’m sort of a night owl, not big on the whole sleeping thing anyways, and I’d love to pick you up from work later.”

“Okay,” you agree, the soft earnestness of his voice snared you, and considered the magic he had just worked between your legs, who were you to say no. The glimmer in his eye and quirked smile at your response had you wishing you had said more than ‘okay,’ wondering what kind of look you would have gotten from a ‘yes, please,’ or ‘I’d love that.’

He drove you back to his trailer, not letting go of your hand during the ride, not even to turn up the music at his favorite parts. He offers to follow you back to your place, insisting that waiting for you to shower and change into work clothes and then drop you off at the Hideout was “on the way” to these supposed errands he had to run. 

You roll your eyes but start to accept that this is the kind of guy Eddie is, insincerity undetectable when he makes these offers. You invite him in, but he opts to wait outside with a cigarette, pacing a bit and then forcing his legs and mind to still by waiting in the drivers seat. 

“Hey hot stuff,” he wolf whistles as you exit your apartment, dressed in your usual black shirt and jeans for work, apron balled up in your bag to put on once you arrive. 

He’s sweet, and sincere. As much as you liked the jab banter between the two of you at the bar, you think you might prefer his sarcastic jokes mixed with sweet compliments and longing gazes more. Not that you weren’t getting that from him at the bar before, there were plenty of longing gazes there too, but now the shared glances are heavy with the knowledge of what his tongue feels like on your cunt. 

A sloppy, exaggerated kiss on the cheek and a ‘go get ‘em tiger’ sends you off into the bar, where your hands will be pouring cheap liquor for the next several hours but your mind will be solely occupied with what your post-work date with Eddie entails. 

The drink special of the night was a mix of anxious anticipation and lustful yearning, shaken too aggressively and served with sunsteady hands. Luckily the Saturday rush kept you mostly focused on vodka sodas and Guinness pours, wiping down sticky surfaces and making change for impatient customers. 

You had assistance behind the bar, and that also meant assistance closing up, finally allowing yourself to start peeking through the window to see if Eddie held up on his promise. Of course he had. He’d been waiting in the lot, scoring a few sales from exiting patrons who knew him previous deals, since long before the bar closed. 

You wipe your sweaty palms onto your apron and ball it up into your bag before bounding across the parking lot towards Eddie, who always seems to have this effortless charisma buzzing around him, a cigarette dangled from his pretty lower lip and posture just slouched enough to still be sexy. Maybe you were biased at this point. 

He pulls you in by your waist, angling his chin up to blow the smoke up into the sky rather in your direction. 

“How was work?” Your cheeks were already starting to grow hot at the feeling of his pinky finger landing on the strip of skin between your shirt and jeans, “Miss me?”

“Bartending’s a lot easier when I don’t have your nosy ass pestering me for free drinks,” you cock your head at him, silently asking for a drag of his cigarette, which he immediately understands and complies, “wasn’t too bad though, happy it’s over,” you exhale. 

“If you’e hungry there’s some fries and a milkshake by the passenger’s seat,” he let you slip from his grasp to spin around towards the van door.

“For me?” you peek through the window, realizing he didn’t just mean extras from his dinner earlier, he had gone out of his way to pick you up a post-work snack.

“Unless you aren’t hungry,” he moves to hop in the drivers side, “In which case you can practice tossing fries into my open mouth while I drive.”

You let a few fries fly across the car seat in his general direction, feeding him the occasional one directly, but inhaling most of them shortly after you peeled out of the parking lot. 

“D’you want me to bring you home, or…” you knew where he was headed with this, a nervous edge to his voice. 

“We can hang out back at your trailer if that’s okay,” you say mid-fry, “as long as I can take a quick shower I don’t mind chilling there.”

He grins like a giddy schoolgirl and grips the steering wheel just a touch tighter, and drives just a bit faster back to the trailer park. As anxious as you felt during your shift, you can’t be bothered to overthink with Eddie leaning towards you with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, making googly eyes at the shake you were downing as his way of asking you for a sip. 

He put the van into park before the wheels had even come to a complete stop, hustling around the front to make sure he was the one to open your door. He had spent some of the time you were away straightening up his trailer for the first time in a good long while. Empty beer cans were cleared and he even changed the bed sheets. It still wasn’t the Ritz or anything, but at least he can say he tried.

He tried to busy himself with locking the door behind you after entering, not wanting to see if your eyes drifted over to the mess of records and smoking pariphenelia that cluttered the coffee table, or the chance that the mixture of heavy metal and nerdy posters strewn about would draw a judgmental reaction. 

When he let his gaze drift back to you, you weren’t looking at any of that. You were looking right back at him, already leaning up on your toes and asking, “Can I kiss you again?” 

A mumbled “of course” had you wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his touch, finding his lips already on yours before you could go in for the kill. 

The kiss started off French-fry-and-strawberry-shake flavored, smiling into his lips as the anticipation of seeing him again after only a few short hours slips away. 

“Thank’s for spending so much time with me today,” you whisper in between sticky sweet kisses, “and for the fries and-“

He took your cheeks in his hands and smushed your lips into his mid-sentence, pulling back to see the puckered fish face he held between his hands. 

“You’re welcome,” his big button eyes bore straight through you, as if he saw all of you and more, “but you don’t have to thank me, I like being with you, and I ended up eating most of the fries anyways,” he trails off, cheeks rosy and lips slick from your claim on them.

“You wanted to shower?” He cuts himself off, and feels stupid for it. He knew he could keep kissing you and kissing you and kissing you, and the only thing holding him back was his anxious brain and big mouth. 

“Oh, yeah,” you were a little surprised that he remembered, and chose to bring it up now, “if you don’t mind. I always feel a little sticky after work, you know, with the Hideout’s C health rating and all.”

With a smile that nearly knocked the air out of you, he took a deep bow like some silly court jester and motioned down the trailer’s only hallway. You took your lead and followed his outstretched arm, figuring there were only so may doors that could possibly lead to a bathroom. 

“Oh, shit, wait,” you hear him scramble behind you, shuffling past into the door you assume to he his bedroom, emerging milliseconds later with a crumpled towel in his balled up hand, “you’re gonna want this.”

“Thank you,” you’re slow with your movements, wondering how he was acting so squirrelly, like a middle school boy around the girl he wanted to take to the dance, even though he had you fully spread out begging for him in the back of his van only hours earlier, “is the shower big enough for two?”

You meant it equally suggestive and genuine, knowing full well that not all showers are built for partner bathing. However, the fear stricken look that washed across his face for a millisecond before scrunching up and setting to neutral had you thinking you had just asked if there was a built in hot tub or something like that. His mouth hung open and for a moment that conversation you weren’t supposed to hear replayed in your mind, maybe you had to take this slower than he was willing to let on. 

“Just looking for someone to massage my scalp, that’s all,” you try to jokingly play it off, keeping your invitation open but concealing it with a joke to double back on just in case.

“Yeah, it’s- uhhh,” Eddie, who was always quick with a comeback was suddenly lost for words, “It’s the size of a normal shower, yeah.” It’s not like he could lie, all you had to do was turn around and size it up for yourself. 

You take the towel from his white knuckled grip and pivoted towards the door that was close to having burn holes from where his laser focused eyes were shot. You give him a wink over your shoulder, figuring that was enough of an invitation and vague enough of an excuse for him to leave depending on what he wanted. You hated this line you were towing, knowing more than you should- yet still feeling so in the dark. 

He was right, it was a normal sized shower. A bathtub with a sliding door and a detachable shower head with only one working setting. There was a rack with three-in-one and a bar of dove soap, which should have annoyed you but made you giggle instead. You let a quarter sized drop of the generic body wash slash shampoo slash conditioner lather into your hands when you heard the bathroom door creek open, purposefully left unlocked. 

“Hey, is it okay I’m in here?” He sounded so genuine in his concern, unknowing you were on the verge of begging him to get in the shower with you. 

“Yeah,” you borderline shout over the running water, “here to help massage my scalp?” You let your tone stay light and joking despite being deadly serious. 

“Wow I didn’t realize your hands were really that delicate and incapable,” he tried to match your energy, but an anxious edge remained present. 

“I mean,” you searched for your words, “I’ve seen you play Metallica, I know those fingers could surely get this pine scented crap deep into my roots.” You let the suggestive comment linger, nervous after a beat of silence passed. 

“If you really need my help,” you heard him shuffling around , “who am I to turn a damsel in distress away?”

You felt your cheeks get rosy and shoulders wiggle with excitement as you caught the shower door jerk open. Your face was towards the shower head, and you only turned a quarter of the way around before Eddie stepped in behind you and those guitar-string-calloused-hands gripped your shoulders and twisted you back towards your view of the water stream. 

“I’m gonna make you a deal,” his voice was coated with as much charisma as he could muster, his worries only poking through enough for you to notice, “I’ll give you the full treatment, but you can’t turn around.”

You were willing to play along with about any game he suggested. If he asked you to bend over backwards you’d extend your spine as far as it could go. 

You stood with your front as straight towards the shower head as you could, only feeling his presence behind you and his gentle hands lay on your shoulders to assure you wouldn’t turn around. 

“Just let me take care of you,” he edged closer, letting you feel his naked body enter your space, his face craning over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, “Just stay like this and let me feel you.”

It was less of a question and more of a plea, the only thing more pathetic sounding was the whimper that slipped out of you when you felt his body press against your back, warm and hesitant to press all the way into you, but close enough for you to feel his skin. 

“Okay,” you let your head lull back onto the space between his collar bone and shoulder, keeping your eyes closed, not that you could see anything from this angle anyways, “I’ll stay just like this, promise.”

“I just-“ you could hear his walls come up, suddenly trying to find the words to explain himself to you, “I’m not-“

“Eddie,” you whisper, eyes fluttering open to glance up at him as much as you could, “it’s okay. I’ll stay just like this, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You gently found his hands resting at your hips and guided them up to your soapy scalp, “We both know the real reason I called you in here anyways,” you joked, and angled your head straight forward so he could run the pads of his fingers all through your 3-in-1 coated hair.

He let out a light chuckle at your joke, nearly feeling it catch in his throat as all the passed time of insecurity and locking his feelings away welled up and shattered with the intimacy of washing your hair. What did he do to deserve having you like this? For you to understand and want him to stay anyways? 

As much as his emotions clouded his vision and stunted his breathing, the rush of blood in between his legs broke his internal monologue. As overwhelmed as his mind was, his body couldn’t be convinced to focus on anything other than the sudsy girl pressed up against him, letting out little noises of satisfaction as he let his fingers absentmindedly massage away. 

“This’s nice,” you lean back into him a bit, “it’s like masturbating, you know? Always feels better when someone else does it for you.” You didn’t feel too guilty about the sexually charged comment, considering the fat rod that was pushing into your lower back. 

He let out a short chuckle, but his breathing was rapidly turning heavy as the air clouded with steam and your wet body rubbed against him, fully arching into his erection as if you wanted to get a better feel. 

“Can I wash the rest of you?” his request is polite, but his voice is lust filled and bordering on begging. 

You hum in agreement and lift your arms to let him slip his hands around you, one crossing your chest and the other reaching around to get more gel, “It technically is shampoo and body wash, and I was promised the full treatment here.” 

As much as you wanted to keep joking with him, finding silly things to comment on to break the tension, your resolve was quickly going down the drain as his big hands lathered you up. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is just audible over the rushing of the shower water, “I’ve always thought so, but now I fucking know it.” 

His warm breath against your ear manages to cut through the heat of the steam, making you shiver despite it all. “Eddie,” you whine, his hands running up and down your torso, spending more time on your chest than the rest, but surely showering you in as much attention as his hands could reach.

Knowing that tone from earlier, already committing to knowing your body as intimately as you’ll allow him to, he immediately gives in and touches you exactly where you want him most. 

Most of the bubbles had dissipated, and he held you close to him, with one hand splayed across the center of your chest and the other dipping down to run two fingers through your now parting legs. 

He could feel the slick of your folds, standing out from the water cascading down your body, so warm and wet in a different way. 

“Fucking hell,” he groans out, letting his hips roll forwards slightly to find some friction against your backside, sliding his fingers from your hole up to your clit a few experimental times before letting his middle and ring fingers dip into you. 

When he had gone to town on you earlier in his van, which somehow felt like a million light years ago, you had taken a keen interest to the way his metal rings brushed up against your inner thighs and lower lips when he slipped his digits into you. As much as you had reveled in that new sensation, he had taken all his jewelry off along with the rest of his clothes and reservations before joining you in the shower. And now you could grind down onto his hand until he was completely buried to the hilt of his knuckles, no demon heads or upside down crosses in your way.

You wanted to wiggle and writhe around, feeling a bit week in the knees and desperate to buck your hips down against his pumping fingers. He pressed your chest tighter against him, lips pressed up against your ear, “I thought you promised to be good and stay still for me.”

He could feel your pussy clench at that, letting out a satisfied chuckle and  plunging his fingers right back into your cunt, letting the meat of his palm massage your clit in perfect time. 

“S’ this what you wanted,” his voice had the full bodied confidence of a man who didn’t just ask you to not turnaround to see him without a shirt on, “for me to be all sweet and wash your hair, then make you cum on my fingers like the dirty girl I know you are?” 

The smallest fraction of you wanted to be a brat and joke back at his silly use of shower innuendo, but your mind was almost entirely committed to the feeling of his hands on you and his dick rutting Into the meat of your ass.

“Eddie,” you could barely squeak his name out, “Eddie, can I touch you too, please? Please?” While his voice had been pleading before, you were literally begging to get your hands on him. 

“Like this,” you manage to open your eyes, head still resting against his shoulder and your hand snaking back to where his cock pressed into you, not fully grabbing it but motioning towards it with your hand. 

He snatches your wrist up with the hand not occupied with your tightening pussy, and for a second you fear that you had crossed a boundary. 

As much as you were willing to comply with not looking, you were bursting at the seams to touch him, make him feel good, show him how much you wanted to be right here with him and nowhere else. 

Before your mind could race any further, come to a screeching halt and apologize, he guides your hand up underneath your chin and demands “Spit.”

Your short circuiting brain dashes from his fingers, remaining crooked inside of you, his request, and the tone of voice he used to ask. You were fucked. Drool leaks from your lips before you even have the chance to process his words other than the immediate feeling of oh fuck yes. 

He brings your spit coated hand back to reach around, allowing you to wiggle it in between your wet bodies and find his eager cock already arching into your touch. 

He only faltered for a moment, the consistent dizzying pace of his fingers inside you stuttered the moment he felt your slick palm take an experimental stroke. The moan he let out was involuntary, along with a breathy “Oh, shit.”

Obviously you couldn’t size him up visually, but the weight of him in your palm was enough to have your mouth watering and thighs squeezing his wrist a bit tighter. Uncut? Maybe? With a pretty patch of curls to match his mop top? 

“Just like that, please,” you whine out into the steamy air, the two of you finding a joint rhythm between your hands and subtly rolling hips. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, so warm and tight for me,” every other word slurred into the curve of your neck. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you try and match his increasing speed with your hand, “Eddie, please don’t stop, I’m-“

“Shhhh,” he was getting lost in it too, “I’ve got you.”

Your legs turn to jelly, but he keeps you steadily upright with his support on your chest, focusing entirely on you despite the welling orgasm of his own rapidly approaching. 

It’s the crack in your voice that pushes him forward, the high pitched breathy moans crumbling and releasing the noises of pleasure from deep within your chest. His name  mixed in with ahhhs and uhhhs as if his name is the only word you know in this moment. 

“That’s right,” a sense of confidence welled in him as your limp body twitched against his and your cunt squeezed his relentless fingers, “cum all over my hand, doing so good for me.”

Despite your orgasm wracking your brain and body succumbing completely to whatever Eddie was willing to give you, the thought of collapsing into the shower floor never crossed your mind. He held you so close and steady against his chest, it crosses your mind that you may not be putting any weight onto your feet at all by this point. 

Rather than catch your breath as you come down from your quaking orgasm, you slip deeper into the throws of pleasure, biting your lip and craning your neck backwards so he can see the fucked out expression on your face. A few more steady, enthusiastic pumps mixed with a desperate kiss, wet and at an awkward angle, breathless and needy, perfect and dizzying, sends Eddie over the edge with you.

The deep rumble of his chest against your back as he groans into your open mouth, encourages you to keep your pace as he gently fucks himself into your hand. He’s spilling into your hand and halting his wiggling fingers buried inside you, letting the momentum that the two of you had built up come to a pulsing end. 

The two of you stay tangled in each other for a moment, hands sticky and brows dewy with sweat despite the running water, which had long lost its heat and now settled at a less than comfortable lukewarm. Neither one of you wanted to move. Eddie would have stayed there until his legs cramped and the shower turned ice cold. 

His eyes were screwed shut, head tilted back, still holding you close until you wiggled from his iron grip to bring your cum covered fingers up to your lips to suck two of them clean. 

“Jesus Christ,” he was thankful that he had opened eyes in enough time to witness that, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

You let out a mischievous giggle with his cum coated fingers still in your mouth, glancing over your shoulder to catch the look on his face. Equal parts hungry to pick you up and fuck you against the shower wall right now, and melting down to nothing and slipping away down the drain, unable to even start comprehending what had just transpired between you two. 

You let your fingers go with a pop and turn back around, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to do the same,” you let the chilling water hit your face, focusing on anything other than turning around and lunging at him, wrapping your body around his and letting your skin melt into his. 

He gives into temptation and lets his pruny fingers meet his tongue. He knew what you tasted like from your escapade in his van eaierler, but he’d seize any change he got to take in as much of you as he could. 

“That was,” he started, unsure how to sum how he felt, good, great, perfect, none of those words felt correct, “fuck, yeah- that,”

“Me too,” you press your back into his again, “Thank you Eddie.”

Before he can stumble over his words any more, you ask if he’s okay for you to shut the water off, and you ask if he’d be willing to spare some sleep clothes for you to borrow. You curiously stay in the shower while he takes your excuse for him to leave unseen. 

After toweling off and slipping into the old t-shirt and boxers he left folded up on the counter for you, you found him already dressed and in bed, set criss cross and packing a bong. 

“Post-shower-orgasm smoke, cuddle, then sleep?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you get cozy among the pillows and let the swirling smoke and easy conversation lull you into a comforting half sleep. 

An easy energy settled between the two of you, a silent understanding that you weren’t going to ask him questions, and a building comfort that made him almost ready to show you. 

You slept tucked into his side, and didn’t even mind his snoring or tossing in the night. Every time he rolled over, your sleeping form just found a new way to mold into him. It was the best he had slept in months. 

A steady stream of sunlight blazing directly through the blinds and into your eyes pulled you from your slumber, gorging your groggy eyes to open and crunched up limbs to search for room to stretch. The involuntary fluttering of your eyes and long extension of your libs was far beyond your control. 

“Oh!” You whisper out to yourself once your brain manages to catch up with your waking body, realizing the somewhat compromising position the night had thrown you into, your leg hiked up and clinging to Eddie’s waist, with both your arms scrunching up his t-shirt and leaving a strip of stomach exposed. 

A negligible, unnoticeable few inches between where his sweatpants hung low on his hips and where your gripping arms had balled up his hole-ridden t-shirt stood before your gaze. 

You didn’t mean to stare, and the moment you caught yourself doing so, you quickly and quietly removed your tangled limbs from his and repositioned yourself so that he was half spooning you, eyes facing far away from his unintentionally exposed scar tissue. 

You knew it was probably going to be worse than you were expecting. You hadn’t dedicated much thought to what it could be, or what maybe had happened. You just knew it made him feel like he wasn’t worth your time, and you needed to make him feel seen and safe enough to know that that couldn’t be true. 

Everyone has insecurities, sure. There are surely parts of yourself you weren’t eager to share with the world, let alone someone you’re romantically interested in. You had moved past being astonished that someone who wore gaudy costume jewelry and sang boisterous music for a bar of twelve patrons with the energy of someone who had sold out Madison Square Garden would ever shrink into their shell the way you had seen Eddie. Now, laying in his bed and knowing that whatever it was, the scars were more than what was on his skin.

“Mfffmmm,” he groans and shifts behind you, wiggling beneath the sheets and snaking his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close into him, “This is nice.”

His morning voice was scratchy and barely above a whisper. 

“I think you just like that my butt is all pressed up on you,” you joke, dodging admiring that you’d rather be here than anywhere in the world in this moment. 

“Yeah, I’m not complaining,” he digs his nose into the side of your neck, “But you smell nice too, ’s nice to wake up to.”

“That 3-in-1’s really doing it for ya?”

“No, you do smell like that a little, but more just like yourself. Girl smell.”

“I’ll get started on that perfume line right away. Girl Smell. Might be a million dollar business venture.”

“I just woke up,” the sleep in his voice melted away and his hands running up and down your sides were more deliberate, “Don’t make fun of me. Plus I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed making me all nervous.”

“Anyone with magic fingers like you has nothing to be worried about,” you keep the conversation playful but allow the unspoken truth, that he truly has nothing to worry about with you, be spoken.

“You just like ‘em cuz I washed your hair so well,” he plays with a strand, letting his finger pads dig into your scalp and scratch away, massaging a bit harder after you let out a satisfied groan.

“You must have lots of practice,” you reach an arm back blindly and half smack the side of his shoulder before finding his messy bedhead, staying resolutely facing the poster-covered wall. 

“You’ve got really pretty hair for a boy,” you let your finger wrap around a curl. 

“For a boy?! Excuse me, I have pretty hair period.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true” you giggle at his joking defensiveness, “It’s incredible that it’s this nice considering you use the same thing to condition your hair as you do to wash your balls.”

“If you show me what kind of shower products you like I’ll replace the three in one,” he nuzzles his face into the hand playing with your hair, “but maybe the three in one is what’s keeping it so luscious.”

“I wanna wash your hair next time,” you say absentmindedly, meaning it wholeheartedly, with little anxiety after that you had implied a next time. 

“Yeah maybe next time,” his voice trailed off, still soft and flirty but edging on a tone that let you know this conversation was just about over. 

“Eddie,” it came out as hardly more than a whisper. You wait for him to respond but the gravity of the silence between you quickly became unbearable and you needed to break whatever tension this was. 

“I meant it yesterday when I said I wanted to go on more dates with you. You know that right?”

“Mhmm” he mumbles into your shoulder, still holding you against him.

“We have a lot of fun at the bar and stuff,” you search to find your words, “But I want you to know that I don’t just like you cuz you make me laugh and have magic guitar fingers. I like pretty much everything about you so far, and I want to know you more if you’ll let me.”

Your voice wavers, and your message is perhaps more vague than you would have liked, but the deep exhale he lets out conveys that he hears you loud and clear. 

“I know I’ve been…” he starts, “It’s just that I…”

“It’s okay Eddie,” you flip around, rolling so that your chests are pressed together and noses are almost touching, “I don’t want to push it. You can tell me when you’re ready, I just want you to know that I like you a whole lot and I don’t think there’s much that could change that right now.”

His eyelashes flutter shut, forehead touching yours, “Thank you.” 

“Unless you have a huge chest tattoo of something wildly offensive, or like a tramp stamp that says ‘I heart Ronald Regan.” He appreciates your natural ability to make him laugh even in situations like this. 

“Nah,” he pulls back and gives you a serious look, “Fuck Ronald Regan.” 

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, rolling deeper into the sheets and settling into a comfortable cuddle again, with your head on his chest, face angled up to his and legs all tangled up.

Coming down from the beginnings of the conversation that had been lingering above both of your heads, you place a few reassuring kisses up his jaw and find your way up to his parted lips. 

“Mmmm,” he hums into the deepening kiss to signal you to stop, “I probably have mega morning breath,” he huffs into a cupped hand which makes you laugh and flop your head back into his chest.

“It’s okay, if you do then I do too and didn’t notice,” you peek back up at him, “But if you want to brush teeth and get your day started I won’t stop you.”

“No, no,” he grabs your cheeks and pulls you back up for a smushed kiss, “I wanna stay here all day with you, if you’ll let me. Our second date, we can order a pizza and watch movies here, won’t even have to put pants on.”

“That sounds really nice, I don’t have work today so I’m all yours.”

“All mine,” his grin reaches the apples of his cheeks, “I will go brush my teeth though, cuz I think this second date involves a lot of kissing.”

“Got a spare I could use?” you shuffle out of bed before situating yourself  on the edge of the bed, “Or do you brush with three in one too?”

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, “you with the three in one. After today I promise there will be three separate shower products stocked and ready for your use.”

He manages to find a spare toothbrush in the closet and keeps you wrapped in his arms while both of you take turns spitting into the sink. Looking at the two of you, eyes still crusty from sleep, in the scratched up bathroom mirror, a weird sense of domesticity washes over the two of you. 

Eddie realizes that less than 48 hours ago he was too nervous to make a move to kiss you, and now he was already thinking about making room for your toiletries in his bathroom. 

As comforting and easy it was to do normal everyday things with you at his side, he couldn’t help but notice your nipples poking through his oversized t-shirt you slept in and the way your toothpaste full mouth was framed by your perfect, spit slicked lips. 

“You got a spit kink or something?” You half joke, pressing your ass into the growing rod you could feel nudging against your side.

“Sue me,” he spits and wipes the corners of his mouth, pulling you by the waist into a minty kiss. “Bed? All day?”

“Mhmm,” you agree and lean in to kiss him again, standing on your toes and letting out a shriek of surprise when he scoops you up bridal style and travels the short distance to his bedroom. 

“Eddie!” You yelp out as he gently tosses you back into the pile of sheets. 

“I know I’m no Hulk Hogan, but moving guitar amps is pretty good strength and conditioning.”

“Shut up, you never help your friends carry the equipment.” You think of all the times you watched his poor bandmates lug their equipment after a show while he seamlessly flirted with you. 

“Not when you’re around, you’ve got me there.”

As promised the two of you laze around all morning, bowls of cereal in bed and a bowl of weed to accompany it, switching between fits of giggles and tangled in the sheets while a B horror movie plays on the little TV set propped up near the end of Eddie’s bed. 

He tells you about how he used to live with his Uncle in a trailer down the street until he saved up enough to start renting his own, the three attempts to finish high school and the relief when the local mechanic shop hired him despite his reputation around town as a satan worshiper. He talks a bit about his friends, some who’ve stayed in town and others who’ve long moved away. 

You listen attently, taking in every spared detail. In return he asks you about where you’re from, why the hell you had moved to a bumfuck town in Indiana to be a bartender. He assures you that you wouldn’t have liked him if you had known each other in high school and you laugh and tell him you were far from popular yourself. 

After inhaling a large pizza and running out of VHS tapes you demand a “post pizza bloated cuddle” to which he happily obliges.

“Wish we could do this every day,” he pulls you into him.

“Then we’d need a much bigger movie selection, and maybe body doubles to go do our jobs,” you don’t disagree, although lazy and uneventful the day felt perfect. 

“Don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” he whines, holding you a little tighter.

“Me either, but we can’t be in this lazy cuddle bubble forever,” his hands came up to massage and scratch your scalp, which he now knew you loved, “but next time we’re both free maybe we can have that third date.”

“If I remember correctly, date three is when I finally get to kiss you,” he jokingly smooches behind your ear and down your neck. 

“Only if you behave,” you reply sarcastically, “you’ve been such a gentleman lately, but you’ve been pushing it mister.” 

“I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman before,” his voice trails off as he buries his nose into your neck, “Will you let me be a gentleman now, make you feel good?” His tone was suddenly dripping with lust, sending a rush of arousal through your already so-relaxed body. 

“Mhmm,” you agree and let your body mold back into his a bit more, pressing yourself against him and letting his hands start to wander.

You arch your neck around from your spooning position and search for his lips, your kiss starting out gentle but not staying that way for very long. 

“You’re just somethin’ else,” he breathes out in between heated kisses, his eyes big and round, earnest, making your heart swell.

“Can I make you feel good too?” you roll your hips into his erection, your breath catching in your throat when you feel it pulsing under his boxers and pressing into the space between your legs. 

You flip around to straddle him, not hiding your intention to grind yourself down onto his covered cock, moans from both of you interrupting the hungry exchange of tongues and lips.

A shaky breath grabs your attention and he finds the air to exhale out, “Can I fuck you?”

You bring your hands to his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss, continuing to rock your hips against him, giving him words as well you mumble a “Fuck yes, please, please Eddie.”

He finds the hem of your shirt and slips it over your shoulders, the momentary break in kissing makes you whine. He immediately makes it up to you by paying delightful attention to your exposed chest, leaving sloppy wet kisses on every inch of skin he had access to, “fuck”s and “so perfect” breaking them up. 

You instinctively reach down in between the two of you to take his hard cock into your hand, still pressing your core against it, but taking the rest into your hand to stroke him over his boxers, the choked out moan that escapes him is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You’re losing yourself in the feeling of his weight in your palm, sitting up to see his gorgeous fucked out expression, pinched eyebrows and flushed cheeks.

He swore he’d died and gone to heaven, despite all his sins, with you above him, lip tucked in between your grinning teeth as you rubbed up on him. Fuck, there was no going back after this.

You lean down to resume making out for a moment, missing the feeling of his nose pressed into the side of yours and his too-perfect eyelashes brushing the tops of your cheeks. 

“We can, um-“ you catch your breath, hips stuttering as you find your words, “I can turn around. Or we can make a blindfold or something.” 

His heart swelled at the thought that amidst fucking yourself against his lap you still had the courtesy to think of his comfort, his obvious insecurity, the elephant in the room that he was so desperately trying to shoo away. 

“I want you,” his voice strangely steady, “and I’ll let you have me, no stipulations.” 

You nod with a “Please.”

“Only because, I plan on fucking you every chance I get,” his tone makes you clench your thighs, “So we might as well rip this bandaid off now, because if you’re going to be my girlfriend I don’t want you worrying that I’m hiding something from you.”

He flips you over so you’re now laying beneath him, eyes still glassy with lust and mind swirling with the words he’s just let out.

“I’m gonna take off my shirt now, and I don’t want you to pretend like everything is fine, or that you don’t notice anything, because that’ll be a thousand times worse, okay? I know it’s bad. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but I know it’s not easy to look at.”

With that he pull this black t-shirt off by the back neck collar, and bares his soul to you. You can tell he’s examining your face for a reaction, very carefully managing your facial expressions for his benefit. 

He was right, it wasn’t easy to look at. Only because it made you wonder what horrible thing had happened to leave half of his torso, hip, thigh, and what you could only assume traveled onto his back as well, left entirely torn away and scarred. 

“And-“ he cut off your wandering eyes with his words, “Don’t ask what happened. I’ll tell you eventually I just- We can’t have that discussion if we’re about to have sex.” 

You nodded with understanding, you knew better than to ask. 

You think that your snooping and seed of knowledge helped hide some of your shock, his comment about missing a nipple dampening your realization that he was telling the truth, the scar tissue running so deep that his entire pec was covered in a jagged pink , slightly mishapen scar tissue, and leaving his opposite nipple to stand alone on his chest. 

The one thing that did leave you in a bit of shock was half of a tattoo on his hip that abruptly ended where the scar tissue started. Some sort of zombie head, the black ink lines all coming to a halt when’re his skin had been injured.

You let a tentative hand come up, fearing he’ll flinch away, but he doesn’t. You touch his chest, feeling the textural difference as you let your palm run across his chest and down to his hip. 

“You know, I still think you’re super hot, right?” You try to assure him, but he only lets out a dry chuckle. 

“I mean it,” you sit up a bit, pulling your hand from its exploration of his skin and bringing it to your own chest, using three fingers to cover your left nipple, “you’d still like me, right?” 

The softness in his face almost made you jump up to wrap him into a hug, you wanted him to know that everything was okay and he was safe with you, whatever happened was in the past and he didn’t have to worry. Although the moment was emotionally charged, neither of you could ignore the fact that you were both ravenously horny for each other. 

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide this from me,” you pull his face down to yours, “but I’m glad you showed me, because I’m so fucking ready for you to ruin me.”

He lurches forward and lets his body weight collapse down onto you, your legs widening to wrap around his hips, arm and legs locking him against you. 

Feeling his bare chest pressed against yours, lips on your neck and hips rutting into your spread legs, has your head spinning. 

“Please Eddie,” you whine, “let me feel you.”

Without missing a beat he shoves the waistband of his boxers down just enough to reach his thighs, hard dick springing free in the little space in between you, and he snatches your wrist and shoves it in between your bodies without unlatching his lips from your collar bone. 

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t see what you were grasping, just like in the shower, but you didn’t dare push him off of you to catch a glimpse. He was all over you, hands tangled in your hair, groans and whimpers hardly making their way out in between the wet sloppy kisses he spread across your neck and chest. 

He slips a hand down your body, gracing your ribcage with his fingertips, a stark contrast to how they suddenly part your lips and rub the pool of slick from your hole up to your clit. 

“So wet, this for me?” He quirks and eyebrow and sinks a digit into you, causing your mouth to open and hips to wiggle up to ask for more.

“Yes ’s for you,” you breathe out, wanting to give him some pushback, wipe the smug look off his face, but not finding an ounce of courage to do so. You just let your head lull back and eyelids flutter shut as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you. “All for you.”

You use your free hand to push your underwear as far down your hips as this position will allow, not wanting to shift your focus from the feeling of him on your lips, his pulsing cock in your hand. 

“Need you,” you gasp out, partially at the feeling of his knuckle deep fingers buried inside of you, and equally the fucked out look on his face looming over yours, eyes blown wide and mouth parted on the verge of begging for more, “Eddie, need you to fuck me, please.”

He sits up and removes his fingers from you, earning a wince and a whine. He helps crunch your legs up to remove your panties, leaving your legs raised and crossed over one of his shoulders. He takes a moment to kiss your ankle and tenderly run his hands down the length of your leg. He took the moment to take off his own boxers, leaving you both bare in front of each other for the first time. 

“You’ve got a pretty cock,” you complement him earnestly, it was pretty. He gave you a halfhearted scoff and an eyeball in return. “No Eds, I mean it. It’s big too, good thing you got me ready with your fingers. That and I’ve been soaking wet for you for like 48 hours now, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” you giggle. His shy smile tells you he’s willing to take the compliment. 

You let your legs fall from their perch on his shoulder and fall to either side of his hips, opening yourself up to him. He’s staring, mouth half agape. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but to have you laid out like this before him, fully ready to give yourself over to him and wanting him wholly in return, how couldn’t he stare. 

You let your hand stroke up his cock, bringing his attention back to where the two of you nearly met. You angle him closer to you, you’re slowly pumping fist brushing against your own center. He snaps out of his trance and nudges your hand away, using his own grip to tap his thick cock against your opening. 

Tap, tap tap. His head meets your slick folds, hips jerking slightly with every tap.

“Don’t tease me Eds,” you push your hips forward and are only met with him rubbing his dick into the outside of your pussy, “want you inside, need it so bad.”

He want’s to be a bother and continue his teasing, watching your writhe and squirm, but he can’t find it in him to deny you, so he presses the tip in and gauges your face for a reaction, only finding babbling bliss and pleas for more. 

He’s sinking into you at an agonizing pace, craning down from his kneeling position above you to frame your head with bent arms and his lips on yours as you moan into each other’s mouths, him filling you more and more. 

Your hands are in his hair, keeping your foreheads anchored together, breathing in tandem. He finally sinks all the way down and you can feel it in your lungs. You wrap your ankles around his back and squeeze him into you tighter, not wanting him to move just yet, wanting to just feel how deep he filled you up for the first time. 

He lets out a shaky exhale and squeezes his eyes shut, “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he punctuates this with a subtle roll forward of his hips, lips falling into yours as if they had nowhere else to go. 

You let your legs fall back, unclasping his hips, and move your hands from his wild hair down to his thighs, pushing him to start fucking you. 

“Feel’s so fucking good,” you whisper into his mouth, your hands hardly assisting him anymore as he pumps in and out of your slick cunt, almost knocking the air out of you each time. 

He grabs your chin with the hand that’s not propping himself up, “look at me,” his pace doesn’t falter and your mind nearly turns to mush, “you’re mine now, yeah?”

“Yes Eddie,” it comes out as a broken sob, your eyes barely able to focus on him with how close he was, “all yours, only yours.” Your mind had barely made the decision to say the words before they had escaped your lips, a dumbfounded truth serum setting over you in your cock drunk state. 

You knew it to be true though, there was no going back after this, and you were willing to give yourself over fully, and accept anything he would give you. 

“Ahh, fuck” you let out after a particularly harsh thrust, fists now dripping the sheets beneath you. 

“So fucking good for me,” his hands now found purchase on your hips, setting a rhythm between you that only a musician could. 

Through glassy eyes you admire him. Curly bangs stuck to his forehead, frantically thrusting torso making his tattoos look like stop motion cartoons, and through it all the scars are hardly noticeable. If anything, they’re just another part of him, the person between your legs that you found incredibly sexy, insecurities and all. 

His perfect hands slid from your hips to your shoulders, now using the weight of your torso as leverage to fuck into you harder. His eyes bore into yours, searching for eye contact and finding your reassuring gaze that told him this was everything you wanted and more. 

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you babble out. His little grunts and whimpers send volts of electricity to your core and fog your mind with lust and desire.

He moves a hand down to meet your center, palm splaying across your abdomen and keeping you pinned to the bed, thumb methodically catching your clit with each thrust. He didn’t have to ask if it felt good, the rolling back of your eyes and mouth so wide he could see your molars were enough of an indication that he was headed in the right direction.

“Mhmmmm,” you could hardly form words, but smiled up through your fucked out gaze at him, wide beam and lust fulled eyes telling him that he couldn’t possibly be making you feel any better than you do right now. 

He leans back a bit, balancing himself on his thighs keeping his pace, thumb on your clit and eyes locked into yours. Through a groan he brings his unoccupied hand up to his face, biting down on the knuckle of his pointer finger, trying not to blow his load at the feeling of you squeezing around him. 

Of course, this only made him look hotter to you, and thus you flexed around his cock even tighter. 

Unexpectedly, he pulls out of you completely and before you can muster up the breath to complain, he’s dipped his lapping tongue against you. He fully buries himself into your cunt, cutting off the rhythm, of his cock with the somehow perfectly timed pulsing of his hungry tongue. 

You can’t help but cry out, arch your hips, and send a hand flying to his hair to ground yourself. Through frantic panting and wet slurping sounds you think you can make out a “just had to taste you.”

Completely breathless, you can hardly conjure a response before he’s plunging into you again, fucking into you deeply and capturing your parted lips into a passionate kiss.

Something takes over you, and you’re suddenly wrapping your legs around his hips and using some found momentum to flip the two of your over. Suddenly, you’re on top of him, his curls splayed around his pretty face and body laid flat beneath you. 

Before you had a moment to question yourself, you anchor your hands onto his shoulders and try your best to pick up the pace he had set earlier. Hips rolling and wet slapping sounds coming from between you. 

“Jesus- fuck,” he stuttered in his movements, unsure if he wanted his hands on your face or your tits or your hips or… they landed on your ass and he wouldn’t argue with his first instincts. 

“Eddie, I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” your words were breathy and mixed with lustful gasps, “always wanted to have you like this.”

“We could have done this a long time ago, huh?” He tries not to think about all the time wasted, and instead fantasies about all the making up for lost time you’ll do in the near future. 

“You were always giving me those eyes while you played with your band,” you looked angelic to him, face hovering above him, framed only be the poor overhead lighting and flickering VHS menu of the last film you’d finished, “I always wanted you, just wasn’t sure you wanted me like this too.”

Your statement was simple enough, but he knew what you meant. You wanted him more than a fuck, and that’s what he had been worried about all along. Now, to have you sunk down on his cock like this, telling him that you had been scared in the same way as he had, only made him roll his hops up into you and pull your cheeks down for a sloppy kiss to seal the deal. You were finally on the same page. 

Switching from a bounce of your hips, you lean back slowly and shift to more of a roll, keeping his cock buried deep inside of you while you gyrate your hips. Your arm extends back in between his spread legs to keep you stable, your torso finding its own rhythm in the midst of pleasure and fucking yourself onto his cock. 

“So fucking perfect,” he gasps out, hardly able to take in the sight of your body writhing and rolling above him. He manages to find bait of sense in his brain and brings his hand back to your lower stomach, thumb flicking over your clit with every thrust of your hips. 

“Oh,eddieohmygosh,” it came out as one breathy syllable, “pleasedon’tstopthat.”

He gently fucks himself up into you, matching your movements and not throwing you off of the sinful rhythm you’ve set, just managing too punctuate each bounce with the raise of his hips into yours and the increased pressure of his thumb on your clit. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he loves the way each breathy word out of your lips is matched with the beautiful bounce of your tits, “Eddie, you’re gonna-“

He doesn’t change a thing, the pressure on your clit, the arch of his hips, he would sooner die than rob you of pleasure or ruin this moment. Every moment he get’s to look at you, he thinks it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever looked, but he knows for sure that this one takes the cake. 

“Ahhh, I’m-“ you don’t  have to finish your statement for him to know you’re cumming on his cock, the pulsing squeeze of your walls and intense concentration from him not to bust on the spot, and rather to focus on the parting of your lips and the twitching of your hips on his. 

“That’s it,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, but lets up on the pressure as soon as he feels you jerk against him, “that’s my girl.”

You lurch down and wrangle him into a kiss, only wanting to feel his lips on yours as you come down from your orgasm. You’re still slowly rolling your hips against his, but focused more on the feeling of his cheeks under your palms and his lips on yours. 

“You okay?” He asks in between tongue tied kisses. 

“Yes, perfect, thank you,” you arch your back into him a bit, “ready for more.” 

Although you were fully prepared to bounce on his cock until he came, you were pleasantly surprised when his large hands surrounded your waist and hoisted you up off the bed. He wanted to try and keep his cock inside you, but accepted defeat as he managed to situate on the edge of the bed.

He shifted around you and situated himself in between your legs. You laid out, everything below the knees hanging off the edge of his hand-me-down mattress. He stood above you and lowered himself to land a few wet kisses on your breasts, his hard cock pressing into your needy center. 

He jerked you up by the underside of your knees, pressing your thighs into your chest and sinking down into your open pussy, causing a deep groan to emit from both of you.

Here he was, scars and all, standing above you and thrusting into you as if it was the last thing he would ever do, and he looked like an angel to you. 

More thoughtful than you may have initially given him credit for, his thumb finds your clit again and he politely, yet breathlessly asks, “Can you come again for me, pretty girl?”

How could you say no to that. You dumbly nod and throw your head back against the sheets, your hands balled up at your sides as he thrusted into you, grunting and moaning your name. 

“So fucking good Eddie,” you manage to squeak out, “You make me feel so fucking good.”

“Ah fuck, yeah, yes,” his voice nearly jumped an octive, signaling his release. “Where should I-“ he began to ask.

“Inside,” it came out as two syllables in-between breaths, “It’s okay you can come-“

“Fuuuuuck,” a strangled moan and a collapse of his arms, along with the delicious pulse of his cock inside you signaled his release. 

Before you could eve catch your breath, regain consciousness of the situation, he was reeling back and replacing his softening cock with two fingers. He latched his lips to your clit and began to suck in time with his finger’s replication of his cock’s earlier movements. 

“Oh my god,” you were truly taken aback, his face buried in your cunt and setting you back on track to your building orgasm. 

It didn’t take more than a minute and a half of him slurping your mixed releases from your cunt and bullying your g-spot with those damn magic fingers to send you hurdling towards orgasm number two, shaking and crying out his name. 

It wasn’t until your legs were truly shaking and your hand was searching for his forehead to push him away from overstimulation that he finally let up and let up of your pussy with a wet pop and a smug look.

“You come?” He asks again, just as he had in the back of his van. 

You don’t have the energy to respond, only roll your eyes and flip him the bird as you flop back down onto his bedsheets. 

He managed to get you a warm rag and a cold glass of water, stroking your har and asking if you felt alright.

“Feel perfect Eddie,” you say after a long gulp, “you took such good care of me, you always do.”

He stroked your hair and positioned the two of you back comfortably beneath his sheets. “Thank you,” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“No, thank you,” you kiss him again, “for trusting me.” The look in your eyes could nearly make him melt. “You’re really something special Eddie, I mean it.”

“Special enough for a fourth date?”

You smack his chest and bury your head into his neck. “I don’t think we have to count dates if I’m your girlfriend now…”

Those dimples you adore perk up on his cheeks, and he bear hugs you, scarred chest and all. 

“What time should I set the alarm for tomorrow?” He asks with a sorrow in his voice. 

“How about never,” you roll over to trample him with another kiss, smothering his body in yours, knowing you’d be luck enough to have many moments like this soon to come. 

A/N: I'm sorry I have long lost the tracking of a taglist (crying emoji) don't want to bother anyone who asked to be added the last time I wrote a pic ten thousand years ago, so I hope this reaches everyone it needs to <3

[bandsofmarv]

Cold to the touch

Enemies to lovers Bucky x reader

TW - smut, angst

Part 2

The compound was unusually quiet, except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea, hoping the caffeine would get you through another tense morning.

It wasn’t the missions, the training, or even the threat of constant danger that drained you. No, it was him.

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Resident pain in your ass.

You had been forced to work together on Steve’s orders, a new partnership meant to “strengthen the team dynamic.” Instead, it had only strengthened your resolve to avoid him at all costs. Bucky was cold, distant, and maddeningly closed off. And worse, he seemed to go out of his way to make your life hell.“Up early, huh?” His voice, low and gravelly, startled you out of your thoughts. Speak of the devil.

You turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. He looked as stoic as ever, but there was a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral.

He shrugged, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until he broke it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question.

You blinked at him, surprised by his directness. “Not everything is about you, Barnes.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure this is,” he said, turning to face you fully. His gaze was sharp, assessing, like he was trying to read your mind. “What’s your problem with me, anyway?”

“My problem?” You laughed bitterly, setting your mug down with a clink. “You’re arrogant, impossible to talk to, and you act like the whole world owes you something.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, the faintest crack in his icy exterior. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back. “You don’t let anyone in. You’re like a damn wall.”

He took a step closer, his steel-blue eyes burning into yours. “Maybe I don’t let people in because I know how it ends. People like you—they don’t stick around when things get messy.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, cutting through your anger like a blade. For a moment, you saw the man beneath the armor, the one haunted by a past he couldn’t escape.

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, your tone losing its edge. “You don’t get to push people away and then blame them for not trying.”

Bucky stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his metal hand bracing on the counter beside you.

“Why do you care, anyway?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why not just walk away?”

Your breath hitched as his proximity sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a mix of leather and something distinctly him, filled your senses, making it impossible to think straight.

“Maybe I’m just stubborn,” you said, your voice shaking slightly.

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Stubborn enough to take a chance on someone like me?”

You didn’t have time to answer. Bucky’s lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrelenting, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You gasped against his mouth, your hands flying to his chest, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

He made the decision for you. His flesh hand slid to your waist, tugging you against him as his metal fingers traced up your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His kiss was messy, full of teeth and hunger, but it was exactly what you needed.

“Bucky,” you breathed when his lips left yours to trail down your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin. “If you want me to, tell me now.” But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him closer, threading your fingers through his hair as his hands roamed, exploring every inch of you like he was memorizing it.

“Hard to love, huh?” you murmured, your voice teasing despite the breathlessness.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea.”

And then he kissed you again, and for the first time, you thought maybe you were willing to find out.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭

Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid

Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺

First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.

Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend) [it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]

The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.

You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.

To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.

"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"

Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.

"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.

The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.

Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.

"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.

So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.

"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"

Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.

"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.

The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.

Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.

It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.

So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.

Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.

The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.

Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.

The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.

"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."

"I don't care about money."

Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?

"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.

"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.

But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.

Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.

"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."

The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.

You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.

Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.

[revelboo]

I NEED A FULL FIC OF GIVE UP/GIVE IN NOW. JUST THE WAY YOU WRITE MEGATRON IS SO GOOD AND HOW HE IS WITH THE READER BECAUSE OF HIS GUILT BUT ALSO HOW HES GROWN AS A BOT. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I NEED THE NECT CHAPTER ATLEAST PLEASE.

Give Up/Give In Pt 6

TF Earthspark Megatron x Reader

• Rotors humming, he tracks the minivan back to the Malto’s, never letting it out of his sight even as he sweeps the sky around him for threats. With the Seekers ramping up their attacks, he can’t risk an ambush now. And he can’t figure out Starscream’s game. Bold attacks had never really been his style unless he was sure of victory. These strikes feel more like probing, quickly lashing out to try and cause maximum damage and then warping away. Over and over. Always near human settlements-

• Leaning your forehead against the cool glass, you track that silver aircraft. Even though the fact that he’s following, watching, should probably make you uneasy, you just feel safe. He’d saved you when he hasn’t had to. Heard you and reached out a massive, but so gentle hand. Taken you to help. None of that was really his responsibility, so why had he? You’ve heard the stories of the former warlord. Everyone had. Stories that painted him as a monster, but you can’t convince yourself that this is the same Megatron. It can’t be, those big hands were far too gentle.

• Always near human settlements where the fight will inevitably cause collateral damage and maybe fatalities. Primus. Like what had almost happened to his little ward below with the Malto’s. This isn’t about finding a weakness, it’s about undermining human opinion of Cybertronians. Specifically him. A bid to drive a rift between him and the Autobots, then? Circling lower as the van pulls into the driveway near the house, he transforms as he lands. Sees you leaning on the van’s door, staring up at him with wide eyes as the wind stirred from his rotors whips your hair.

• He’s bigger than you remember as he crouches as if aware of how massive he is and trying to make himself appear less threatening. Even shifting the arm with that big cannon attached so it’s slightly behind him as he holds out the other hand to offer you a single servo. And you’re aware of Dorothy glancing from him to you and back, lips pressing into a thin line like she’s trying to not smile. “Here, little one,” he says and that deep, faintly accented voice strokes over you and calms you, lets you rest a hand on that big servo. Moving slowly forward so you don’t pull at your stitches as you crane your neck. Biting your bottom lip, you shiver as he curls another servo around your shoulders, encouraging you closer.

• Primus, you’re tiny. Dorothy is no bigger, but she never felt so fragile, her attitude and presence her armor to make her seem much bigger. But you? Certainly no warrior as you look up at him with uncertain eyes, but at least there’s no fear there. Stumbling a bit and clinging to his servo as Dorothy starts forward and relaxes seeing that he has you. “I wanted to thank you,” you say and he’d almost forgotten how soft that voice is even as his spark twists. Thank him? Your life had only been in danger because of him. “For saving me.”

• “I shouldn’t have let Starscream lure me into a fight near humans,” he says, deep voice lowering into almost a growl. That tone should scare you, but it’s not directed at you and Alex and Dorothy don’t seem worried. Their calm helping you relax, convincing you that you are safe with him. His servo flexes slightly where you’re leaning on it, warm against your skin.

• Jaw working, he cups his other hand around you. Dorothy would put herself in his hand to be lifted, but you hesitate before shifting your weight, letting him carefully pick you up. Can feel Dorothy watching him, can almost feel her knowing smile and he’s sure she’ll have questions later. His servos close loosely around you, feeling your heart beating against him as he stays crouched, unsure if he can straighten without scaring you. And knowing how undeserved your gratitude is, he can’t say what he wants with the Malto’s right there watching him, so he switches to Cybertronian. “I’ll be your shield, little one. And your blade should you need it.” Your protector to repay the debt owed. Your head tips slightly, smiling uncertainly at him because you can’t understand, but that’s okay. He’ll show you.

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[jinkicake]

~ ♡ Late Night Visits ♡ ~ 

(( Day #2 )) Aizawa, Dabi, Hawks, Shigaraki x Reader

A/N: i havent written for these losers in months and I haven’t even watched the new season yet but I've seen pics and that’s enough for me.... i had to write for the dilf, the arsonist, the double agent, and the stinky league fan one more time just for fun!-

NSFW // SEMI-SMUTTTTTY

WC - 2,238

~~~

. . .

Aizawa is tired. 

He all but stumbles into his apartment before he carelessly tosses his scarf onto the kitchen floor. With his strong fingers, he roughly pulls at the roots of his hair. 

Almost like thin air, you appear behind him. Had he not been so accustomed to your cold hands, he would have flinched at the feeling of them running underneath his shirt. 

“Are you alright, dear?” You press your cheek into his back as you flatten your hands across his muscular abdomen, it’s no secret that you’re feeling him up but, Aizawa doesn’t mind one bit. If he had any complaints about your (sometimes) odd habits then he would have never married you in the first place. “Did you have a tough night?” 

The gentle kisses you press along his spine, standing on the tips of your toes to reach the back of his neck, make the man sigh in contentment. 

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” He mumbles and it’s a miracle that his words don’t slur together. 

“Sleepy?” You egg on and Aizawa reaches for an empty coffee mug on the counter. 

“Just tired.” He narrows his eyes at the lack of substance in the container, he could have sworn that he filled it up earlier before his patrol. “I still need to finish those exams,”

“I already graded them for you, don’t worry about it,” You coo before you teasingly dig your nails into his sides, Aizawa grunts at the tug. 

It feels odd for the man to not drink coffee right now at almost four in the morning. Still unsure of your motives, he suspects that you don’t expect him to sleep right now.

“Come on, come on,” You push your weight against his back to get him to move but, your husband doesn’t budge a single inch. “let’s go to bed.”

“Let me take a shower first,” He snaps but there is no malice in his words, no threat or anger. It’s more like a gentle nip that makes you roll your eyes. 

“No, I said bed,” Again, you pinch his skin and this time lower your hands to the front of his baggy pants. 

Aizawa gets it now, why you want to drag him to bed instead of force him to go to sleep. In a way, it’s the same thing. You always fuck him to sleep and he falls for it every time with little complaint. 

He has never been able to turn you down.

It’s how he finds himself leaning over the counter, bending over your soft body as he rolls his hips against your ass. You’re much too tight for him to move but, he couldn’t be still even if he wanted to. Aizawa leans on one of his muscular forearms against the cool top of the counter while his hand palms at your breast. You keep squeezing your thighs together and the guttural groans that leave the man because of it are sinful. He’s loud, much louder than he usually is and maybe it’s because of his initial tiredness but you just feel too good for him to care. 

“Are you going to cum for me, Shouta?” Your voice almost sounds like a purr, calling out to him and beckoning him with a backward roll of your hips. The soft giggle that leaves your lips causes his hips to stutter. “Cum in me,”

. . .

When Dabi finds himself pulling out his key to open your apartment, he scoffs. He wants to roll his eyes at this ‘domestic shit’, it pricks him like an uncomfortable thorn in his side. How odd. His heart beats a little faster in his chest whenever he’s around you and whenever he’s not, he finds that the missing beat is replaced with a dull ache. The man will never understand his own bodily reactions and doesn’t want to. He ignores it, like most powerful emotions in his life. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when he finally pushes past the door to your bedroom. His clothes are long gone and now on your floor, phone discarded on your table. He stares at you, in nothing but his boxers, as you rest. 

“Cute,” Dabi hears himself say and again ignores it entirely. He can’t be blamed for it, you really are cute with your leg poking outside of the blanket. From this angle, he can almost see what’s hidden underneath the rise of your pajama shorts. His fingers start to burn as his soul demands to touch you, and like a moth drawn to a flame, Dabi can’t stay away. 

He runs his fingers along your bare thigh, gently stroking your skin higher and higher until he reaches the curve of your ass. It would be so easy for him to push the shorts aside and-

Dabi pulls his hand away.  

Something snaps inside of him as he moves to sit on your bed instead, ultimately laying over you as he stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t think about his feelings, he doesn’t want to. Dabi continues to ignore the pull even as you squirm out of your slumber. 

“Get off, asshole,” You say this but still attempt to wrap your leg around his waist. When this doesn’t work, you finally sit up and wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

There’s a glint in your eyes that almost makes Dabi nervous. 

“Are you here to fuck now?” You grin and the smile is entirely knocked off of your lips when Dabi pushes you back against the mattress. He relishes in the sound of your laughter, filled with delight, and he tries to think of anything that can compare to it. 

Nothing can but, he doesn’t admit to that. 

He ignores it, like all things related to you, and kisses you instead. In an effort to soothe his racing heart, the man focuses on the push of his lips. He memorizes the way your lips mold into his own, pushing and pulling until your mouth parts open for him. The messy smacks of your lips captive him too well as he lowers himself onto his forearms. 

Dabi swears against your tongue as you spread your legs and wrap your thighs around his broad waist. The dig against his staples makes him bite back another curse but he can’t complain since he gets to feel your ankles pinch his lower back. 

He nearly cums altogether when you loop your arms around his neck and tug on the ends of his dark hair. That’s when his restraint breaks and that’s when he stops kissing you in favor of pinning you back against your mattress with a hand to your throat. 

“Stay still,” Dabi murmurs quietly as he runs his eyes over your exposed belly, the hoodie you were wearing is now pressed over your chest. He lowers his face without a second thought, “and I’ll make you feel good.”

. . .

“Oh, pretty bird,” 

At the sight of your sleeping form, Hawks can’t help but coo in adoration. He immediately sends his wings off in different directions to care for you. One pulls your blanket up higher to rest just under your chin while another brushes a strand of your hair out of your face. 

You’re too sweet, it does terrible things to his heart. 

After his initial greeting, the prohero continues with his nightly routine (the one when he is not on call) while his feathers continue to shower you in love. He removes his outerwear and shoes then heads for the bathroom. 

He isn’t sure when his feathers started to take a more ‘thoughtful’ approach at making sure that you’re comfortable but, all Hawks knows is that he can now hear your moans over the running water from the shower. 

“Keigo!” You curse out his name as you rip the blanket off of you, the vibrations between your own legs are starting to get the better of you. Hawks is now all too aware of the situation, he can practically feel your arousal leaking between your thighs and the little twitch of your clit against his vibrating feathers. 

This is why he never lets his feathers run on autopilot. 

He rinses off quickly, ignoring the soap still trailing down his legs before grabbing a towel and throwing it around his waist. 

“I’m so sorry, babe-” The rest of his apology dies on his lips as his throat runs dry. He thought you were angry and upset since you had every right to be but, this, this sight before him is at the forefront of every single one of his wet dreams. The almighty prohero nearly falls to his knees. 

You’re there, knees bent and spread wide by two of his feathers while another rests against your cunt, and you’re tugging and toying with your own nipples. Each pull of your fingertips makes you gasp out in pain but the ache is quickly soothed by another one of his feathers vibrating against your soft breast. 

Hawks didn’t even know he had that many of his feathers back but, he can’t even think about counting them when he starts to drool. 

“Baby,” He calls out almost pitifully, reaching for you as he crawls on the floor on his hands and knees. You throw him a pointed look before ignoring him to focus on chasing your own high. The slight arch in your back and convulse of your pretty cunt, Hawks knows the telltale signs too well. “please,” He whimpers now before kissing his way up your calf and thigh. 

At some point, he becomes too impatient and decides to trace the expanse of your leg with his tongue. The taste that decorates your skin makes him shiver. 

“Come on,” The hero can beg all that he wants but, his feathers are now in their own control. Hawks couldn’t stop moving them even if he wanted to (not that he ever would). 

In your own way of being generous, you straighten one of your legs and rest the pad of your foot against the thin towel covering his hips. The moan that leaves him is almost embarrassing but Hawks couldn’t care less, he desperately needs more from you. 

. . .

Shigaraki’s eyes burn as he stares at the bright computer screen. For once, it’s not his own screen that he is staring at. It’s three in the morning and you are still in your own little world. 

He’s watching you bitterly as you continue to happily play a shitty farm simulation. Somehow, he’s become so distracted that his C6 Yelan has died multiple times while fighting a pesky low-grade ruin guard. 

Why are you giggling over some pixel flirting with you? Why are you cooing at digital cows?

The need to pull at his light hair becomes stronger and Shigaraki thinks his eyes may fall out if he doesn’t blink in the next handful of seconds. When he manages to tear his eyes away from you, blink, and look back at his phone screen, his entire team is dead. Yelan is gone, Raiden is gone, Kokomi is gone, and Collei is gone. Not like he cared much about the last character. 

He doesn’t even fix his team, he simply closes the app out of frustration before stalking over to you. There’s no effort on his part to be quiet at all and you wordlessly glance over your shoulder when you hear the rough slams of his socks against the hard floor. 

“What?” You hum and barely give him another glance as you go back to brushing your sheep. Shigaraki nearly growls in irritation. 

“Get up,” He narrows his eyes and then instantly regrets his choice of words once you slowly pause your screen. Shigaraki’s legs nearly buckle under the intensity of your glare and he tries to wrack his mind for any possibility to go back on his words before you get the chance to scold him. 

He’s fought proheros before, survived a fucking experiment that took months in the process, and he still can’t face you when you’re angry.

“What?” You keep your face leveled despite the judgment in your eyes. Shigaraki clicks his jaw. 

“I meant, ” He disregards his pride entirely as he looks to a random corner of your room. “Can we sit together please?” It’s your pleasant hum that brings his attention back to you. 

And it’s now his own pitiful moans that serve as a reminder, his pride means nothing in the face of you. 

Shigaraki will gladly suffer blow after blow to his pride if it means that you will sit in his lap and circle your hips while continuing to play your game. Each tight squeeze of your cunt has him gasping for air, roughly gripping the edges of the chair while his hips relentlessly buck up into you. He can’t control the way his gut wrenches and thighs tense as you happily bounce up and down on his cock. Each time you slam your hips down, it nearly crushes his balls and he can’t think of a more blissful feeling. 

“Harder,” He grits his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, as he eagerly awaits the next painful slam. You place your controller down without a second thought before moving again, taking turns rocking your hips and bouncing up and down.

Shigaraki knows what happens when he interrupts your game, you don’t stop until you drain all the cum out of his balls. But, being the masochist that he is, he loves it entirely too much to stop. 

. . .

2023/02/03 ♡

[faerievampling]

The Life of Astarion's Dark Consort

Summary: These are my random head canons about Ascended Astarion and his vampiric bride, Tav/Durge. What would it be like to actually spend eternity with him?

Warning: 18+, mention of sex.

After the ascension, Astarion is so overwhelmed with all his new abilities that he is a bit distant. (Think Lazslo Cravensworth in that one episode of WWDITS where he barely speaks for two weeks all because he’s trying to make a decision about how he is going to reorganize the library) This lasts for nearly a decade, but once Astarion adjusts to his new body, he is able to come back to himself.

Once you are Astarion’s spawn (bride), he no longer needs to mask when lovemaking. He knows you will never leave him. Your lovemaking goes through many 'phases', from being loving and tender to beastly and rough. But either way, he is raw with you, and only you.

Every night, without fail, your vampire curls up in your arms, holding you tightly as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep or reverie. He can’t fall asleep without being in your arms, or vice versa. 

You, his most prized treasure, are far too vulnerable during your rest, and he insists on being as close to you as possible, with a dagger close by, of course. Over the years, he never relents. If you two are ever apart, which happens so rarely, maybe once a millenia, he spends the night sleepless and aching for you.

One of the first things he does once the tadpole is gone is hunt down Haarlep, if you made a deal with him. He wouldn’t allow his treasure to be violated and used any longer.

Astarion’s possessive love for you only grows as the years creep on. 

Sometime during your third century of marriage, Astarion stabs the eyes out of (and allegedly kills) dozens of men and women who he deigned to have violated you (and thus, disrespected him) by looking at you lustfully. It takes two decades of you begging him to stop before he finally relents.

Ask me anything, and it will be yours. On his own time, of course, which you have so much of. You become a very patient vampire.

Astarion certainly values your life and his, but not others. You have to remind him, lest he lose his humanity completely. And you, as well, have to make sure you have a tight hold on your own humanity. You are a vampire, after all.

Watching your friends pass one by one is difficult, and Astarion supports you through it all, despite him not particularly caring about them himself. He cares about his consort, and he does everything to make you comfortable while you grieve. This is where your humanity starts to slip, when your friends are gone from your life for many years.

If you are able to reverie, you aren’t able to actually look through your memories because of your undeath. The years stretch on so long, you nearly forget how the story began at all. But you always have Astarion, and he does his best to help you both remember.

Astarion never takes another consort or another independent lover. The two of you enjoy threesomes and orgies occasionally, but Astarion prefers it to be just you and him. Astarion did particularly like to watch you get fucked by other men and women. But this changes sometime during your first century of marriage. Astarion demands to have his consort and only his consort in the bedroom. He ultimately doesn’t trust anyone else to be intimate with him. He doesn't want anyone else to touch him. You don’t protest the decision.

Astarion creates regular vampire spawn, more for utility than anything else.  He always asks your permission.

After a thousand years, you and your Lord are inseparable. You are not to leave his sight. 

He is very powerful, and has become a threat and a target. The two of you rarely speak aloud anymore as your mind connection is so strong that your minds are melded together. Your relationship is beyond spoken word. As Bride and Master, you are unsure where you begin and he ends. 

Eternity is a very long time. Astarion agrees, but he never wants to die, and he certainly will never let you go.

In your old vampiric age, the two of you strike fear into every mortal you come across. You can't help it. You are both so hauntingly beautiful and pale, and your intense mind connection makes most mortals believe you to be...absent. Oh, how the sheep forget themselves.

Yet your need for blood is so small now. They needn't fear you, not really. You now only drink from Astarion, which gives you what you need. He loves it, being your life essence. 

He doesn't let you drink too much, of course. During your fifth century of marriage, Astarion wants you to feed on him and only on him, as his contempt for others grows and his possessive love for you begins to cause him his own bout of madness.

This causes you to go mad, and Astarion is entirely distraught until you are healed. He spends an extravagant amount of money and a long time healing you.

With the last of your friends dead, you forget to view the mortals as anything but the puppets of your Master. The ways of the world as you knew it slip by you. There is a war, Astarion tells you, but you have no fear. You know he will protect you.

You often go into a vampiric hibernation as you sit on your throne during court. Astarion is still able to put on the mask, but you cannot. Astarion wishes you would try harder, but he also understands.

Even after so many years, Astarion’s body craves you. You are certain you are addicted to each other. You wonder if it is a result of your vampiric marriage. 

He pleasures you every night, and you pleasure him; you cannot remember what sex was like before your undeath, but you know that nothing feels as good as when Astarion makes you come. 

Halsin is the last of your old friends that you can remember, as he lives to be nearly a thousand. You do your best to remember his face, but it slowly starts to slip away from you. 

You feel sad about these things, at times. Astarion cradles you, both your body and your mind, and tries to assure you of your gift. Eternity.

Part 2!!

Masterlist

[deadbeat-motel]

ᐯᗩGGIE ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕᕼᗩᖇᒪIE ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

These two are simpler than the angel dust design I did since I didn't have a lot to go off of. Posted on Valentine's Day because yes I can.

I don't think Charlie is significantly different from her Pilot design because I genuinely think it was the best design from the cast (before the redesign).

Thoughts below, though TW for the creepy charlie image at the end:

My issues with their Original designs:

Vaggie:

The giant "X" over her eye is really distracting and even world-breaking because

1. Why had no one put 2 and 2 together that the only character in Hell who has a visible 'X' mark on her face might be related to the angels who also sport that X mark on their faces.

2. Why is it shaped like an X? Her eye was taken out via a single slash.

3. If the hair's purpose was to cover it, why would it show through it? What's the point of the hair then?

The hair that was supposed to cover that wounded eye looked so ugly and confused as to what it should be doing. I mean every shot that showed that thing in a sideview shot of Vaggie felt like the animators had to make their own guesses as to how that was supposed to look like. It was distracting for me personally and I hated it so much.

It's been said over and over again, but her clothes look like she works at McDonalds. I get needing to change her outfit so that she looks like she works at the hotel, but it's just been poorly designed.

Why change her clothes' colors from white to red? the white helped her stand out from Hell and the Hotel's majority red background. (In the finale, she at least has a non-red attire)

She's also one of the very few women in HH and she falls under the skinny stick side of it despite being an angel exterminator.

Her hair is kind of hard to visualize looking at in any way other than what it is when it's static. However, when it changed into a ponytail or a bob, it's actually really nice to look at.

Unsure of what that bow's purpose is for the design.

Charlie:

Charlie is a simple but very confused design. The pilot design was a lot more coherent than the current show design

It's disappointing to see the bouncy Pilot hair go and be replaced by that boring bubble braid of all things.

Her undershirt peaks out of her tuxedo.... why???? to separate the top jacket and the pants? You wouldn't need to do that if her pants were a different color like the pilot design.

Thought about it and was confused, as a demon with an angelic father, why didn't she have wings as well? She didn't need the 6 wings like Lucifer but maybe a pair of one would appear?

Out of all the characters for the show's redesign, Her's was by far the MOST infuriating to me. Her pilot design wasn't perfect but it was good, they had to downgrade her for some reason.

I didn't have much to say about Charlie. it basically sums up to "the Pilot design was better".

On to the thought process for these two:

Valerie the fallen:

Yes, she got a rename. Sue me.

I had to remove the moth aspect of her design because it doesn't seem like it makes sense for a heaven-born to follow the sinner's rule of "gaining features based on the life you lived" since she basically never lived right?

In this redesign (and eventual rewrite), Valerie is not ashamed of her exterminator background. In fact, she was known as the most recent "fallen" in hell. her short stature doesn't make her less of a threat to the demons.

She's also visually thick with muscle because why not let one of the show's women have a body type that isn't stick-thin?

She's using the wings that were torn off of her as both an interesting article of clothing and as a way to remind others and her that she is (or more accurately 'was') an angel who could kill them if she wanted to.

Her clothes are pure black underneath the pale feathers to show that while she is an "angel", deep down, she is far from a good person.

She's also getting an actual skin color because from what I gathered myself from the show's heaven. Most of the souls there still retain a human appearance (Adam, Lute, St. Peter, and the other random human angels up there still look human..... but just don't mind the fact that most of them are white.)

Her hair is that ponytail she had in the finale because as much as I didn't like that episode, some designs looked actually decent.

Also, her hair actually covers the eye scar properly.

I wanted to keep her ribbon as a splash of brightness on her design but the OG ribbon looks a little out of place on a warrior so It became that (Plus it pays homage to her OG moth influence with its shape looking like the fluffy antennas of the moth)

Gave the spearhead a little bit of detail on it plus a chipped side so that it has a bit of charm as an old weapon she still decides to keep around.

A note about Valerie's design is that I haven't tackled the armor of angels yet so I was unsure of what pieces of the undesigned armor to give Valerie as of now.

Charlie:

I honestly actually enjoyed her Pilot hair, so I tried to put it back and also simplify it a bit so there are not a lot of strands for me to keep track of. Plus it was a genuinely cute design for her. (There's a reason that version was used in the Verbalase video.) <- I'M JOKING

Replaced her button nose with a goat's because a friend has commented how it looked like the noses of the women in a Goofy Movie and I will never be able to unsee that.

Her hair is also a lot brighter compared to her washed-out blonde color.

She has the same design thought process as Valerie, Covering the darkness of her true nature with white fluffy fur which is stylized like feathers at its ends. She has pitch-black skin underneath and looks like a proper nightmarish demon like the image below.

I ditched the tuxedo look, since almost all the cast has a similar outfit already, and gave her a jumpersuit instead. (Idk what it's really called but that's what I think it is). It's a light grey because she's a mix of bad and good (though a bright grey because she prefers to be on the good side)

Her horns are there and visible because yeah it's cute but also helps her read as the half-angel/half-demon character she is.

Tiny goat tail because can you imagine every time Valerie holds the rare angel smile of approval, her tail is visibly wagging in glee and excitement???? My heart would die. I love these lesbians with my life.

Has wings from her father.

Anyways, those are my thoughts and redesigns... I wanted to add more details to them but I didn't really know what to add that didn't feel unnecessary.

Also bonus! Concept art of Charlie's true form:

[meeludrawz]

Shigaraki dating & other hcs

🐀 Says "Damn it" a little bit too much 🐀 "Fuck off" to people who annoys him (aka Toga, Twice & sometimes Dabi) 🐀 Very silent, only speaks up when he disagrees, complains or when someone's talking to him 🐀 When he doesn't like something, no matter how small or irrelevant that thing is, he wants to dust it, because it "Pisses him off" 🐀 Sarcastic most of the time and when pissed (for real this time), he quickly jumps to threats or insults 🐀 DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO COOK, only microwave stuff 🐀 Picky eater, but not overly picky 🐀 HATES it when you're upset, mostly when you're on the verge of tears, he just wants you to be happy and it breaks his heart seeing you cry. But of course, he'll never admit that so he'll say that it annoys or pisses him. 🐀 Very VERY observant, he'll notice right away if you have new clothes, a new shampoo, if you had a bad night or if something troubles you 🐀 Has a very good memory, he easily remembers important dates, the small habits that you have or where you last put your keys 🐀 Talking about good memory and being observing, he learns very fast. You're teaching him how to drive? He already knows the basic of course (GTA) but also by looking at you driving 🐀 He could also learn how to cook if he observed you but he just loves when you do it <3 🐀 Shigaraki analyzes very quickly, he's an overthinker, which benefits him for his job. Not so much on relationships, so at the beginning he might have insecurities towards you. So you two need to ✨ communicate ✨ 🐀 After that, once he knows for sure that you love him, his overthinking will be sent towards what gift you want for christmas or something 🐀 He loves roadtrips with you, he would stick his arms or head out of the window, not dramatically, he's not stupid, it's dangerous, but just a bit, because he loves the feeling of freedom 🐀 He also loves watching the landscapes passing by, it feels refreshing as he almost never goes out of town due to his "job"

🐀He loves hearing you sing. He loves your voice, no matter what it sounds like because he sees how happy you are, judging by your dancing and the sparks in your eyes, and he thinks that's perfect 🐀Now let's talk about kisses, at first he was unsure about them because of his very dried lips, thinking you might find that disgusting 🐀 But oh, the first kiss you two shared, he was melting and his brain was throwing fireworks. Now, he won't stop giving you kisses here and there when he wants to <3 🐀PDA? Hell nah, don't get me wrong, HE'D LOVE TO! But his #1 Villain in Japan status would get dragged in the mud OR you'd end up in jail. (Which would result in him destroying the whole city to get you out of there) 🐀 Even with the LOV around, he doesn't touch you or else they'll start annoying him and he'll throw hands, literally 🐀 Buuuuuuuuuuuut, as soon as you're alone with him, GOD HE CRAVES IT. Hugs from behind, cuddles on the bed… Then you walk past him when he's on the couch? Nope, not anymore, he grabbed you and now you're stuck on his lap <3 🐀Once he starts cuddling, it's very HARD to get rid of him, poor baby just wants affection 🐀 Unless you really need space then he'll leave you alone and threaten anyone that gets too close (While he sits against the door of your bedroom, waiting patiently for you to feel better) 🐀Very flexible with his fingers, he practiced A LOT to control his quirk without any protection. And what was his best way for that? Guitars, pianos and harps! Yes, he knows how to play all three of those. Though, he'll never play harp anymore because he thinks that's not cool. But piano and guitar? Maybe he'd play some for you ;) 🐀 Talking about flexible fingers! That made him very fast on a keyboard and with a console controller, which made him the best player of the LOV 🐀He never had gloves until he met you. He was so often confused by his feelings that he'd get pissed and accidentally dust something

🐀Hell, when he realized that he had feelings for you, he really, really, REALLY didn't want to accidentally dust you. So…. GLOVES :D 🐀Why didn't he invest in gloves earlier?! Nah, really, WHY?! Now that he has gloves, he dust less and less often his shirts when putting them on, which is great! 🐀He only played a few games when you met him. Now, because of your suggestions, he plays all sorts of games! 🐀Talking about games, he has all consoles you'd need. Xbox, PS, Switch and PC. So if you ever had one console in your entire life and wanted to test a game on another platform, well now you can because of your precious dusty boyfriend :P <3 🐀You thought he was a cat person at first and he is, but he's a tiny bit more dog 🐀And jellyfish, he loves jellyfishes 🐀For the last HC 🐀You always thought he didn't take care of his hair, that it looked messy and gross to the touch 🐀To your surprise, when you first headpat him, it was very soft and fluffy. It just seems to not obey to any type of brushes

[awkward-walking-potato]

Omg I absolutely love your writing! You write Logan so well and it’s just 🤩

I was wondering if you would mind doing something for Logan x Fem reader. Reader gets taken by Stryker as a way to lure out Logan. Logan gets pissed and goes all out to save her.

Reader has never seen Logan feral like this and after he saves her she is very intrigued by his animalistic side (maybe some nsfw, if ur comfortable)

Unleashed Instinct

The darkness of the facility was suffocating, and the cold metal walls echoed with distant footsteps. You sat in a small, dimly lit cell, trying to suppress the wave of fear building in your chest. Stryker’s men had taken you in the dead of night, and you knew exactly why. You were bait—bait for Logan.

You tried to stay calm, but it was impossible not to worry. Logan was strong, capable, and he’d been through hell more times than you could count, but this was different. They knew exactly how to push his buttons, and you were the perfect way to do it.

A sudden bang from down the hall startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. The footsteps were getting louder, accompanied by the sound of shouting and metal crashing. Something was coming—no, someone.

You moved closer to the door, heart racing as the chaos grew nearer. The heavy steel door suddenly ripped open with a screech, and there stood Logan, bathed in the low light, his chest heaving with unrestrained rage. His claws were extended, and his eyes glowed with a feral intensity you had never seen before.

“Logan?” you whispered, your voice small against the roaring in the hallway.

He didn’t answer. He was scanning the room, looking for any threat. When his eyes finally landed on you, something shifted. His shoulders relaxed slightly, but the animalistic edge didn’t fade. He was feral—more beast than man at that moment, and it was both terrifying and mesmerizing.

Without a word, Logan crossed the room in a few strides, his hands gripping your arms gently but possessively, as if making sure you were real and unharmed. His breathing was still erratic, and the tension in his body hadn’t fully subsided. You’d never seen him like this. Wild. Unrestrained.

“They hurt you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, his eyes still flashing with danger.

You shook your head quickly, your own breath catching in your throat as you felt the raw power radiating from him. “No… no, I’m fine.”

He exhaled sharply, pulling you against him, his claws retracting as he held you close. “Good. Because I’d tear them all apart if they did.”

His words were a promise, and for a moment, you could almost see it—the brutal, primal force inside him that was barely kept in check. You had known Logan for a long time, seen his strength, his protective nature, but this side of him… it was different. It was pure, untamed instinct.

As he led you out of the facility, his body never fully relaxed. He moved with purpose, eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, muscles coiled and ready for a fight. It was clear that his feral side wasn’t far beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed again at any moment.

By the time you were safe, far from the facility, you couldn’t shake the feeling that had settled deep in your chest. Logan had always been protective, always fierce, but seeing him like that, completely unleashed—it stirred something inside you.

He glanced at you, his brow furrowed as he caught the look on your face. “You okay? You’re bein’ quiet.”

“I’m just… thinking,” you replied, unsure how to phrase what you were feeling. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice gruff but softer now that the danger had passed.

“Like… that,” you said, gesturing vaguely with your hands. “I mean, you were so… animalistic. I didn’t even recognize you for a second.”

He grunted, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, that happens sometimes when I get pushed too far. Stryker knows how to bring out the worst in me.”

“I don’t think it was the worst,” you said quietly, surprising yourself with your own words.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” you hesitated, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “It was intense, sure. But there was something… captivating about it. You’re always so controlled, so restrained. But seeing you like that—it was raw. Real.”

Logan’s gaze softened as he took in your words, something shifting in his expression. “That side of me… it ain’t pretty. But if it keeps you safe, I’ll let it out every time.”

You smiled softly, stepping closer to him. “I think I’d like to see more of that side of you. Maybe not in such dangerous situations, but… you don’t have to hide who you are from me, Logan. Not ever.”

His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the lingering ferocity in his eyes. “You sure about that, darlin’? ‘Cause once you see all of me… there ain’t no goin’ back.”

“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

Logan’s lips curled into a small smile, and without another word, he pulled you into a deep, possessive kiss. There was still that primal edge to him, but it was laced with affection, with a protectiveness that made your heart race.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and rough. “You’re mine, you know that? An’ I’ll always protect what’s mine.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

And with that, you knew—you’d seen the most feral, untamed side of Logan, and instead of fear, all you felt was love. Love for the man who would stop at nothing to keep you safe, no matter how dangerous it got.

[themisplaceddemigod]

i'm immortal, i can wait

PJ!Apollo x F!Reader

summary - Apollo has loved you since he first saw you, but he's had to wait several years before he could make such a confession. Especially since you're the child of his scariest uncle, Poseidon.

warnings - Apollo is his own warning. that and his haikus, also i am KEEPING JASON ALIVE in the Trials of Apollo part of this (curse you Rick)

He met you in person when you were fourteen.

Westover Hall, you had been summoned to collect two demigod kids with your brother Percy and friends Annabeth and Thalia. The mission turned sour, Annabeth was kidnapped, and Artemis saved the day before calling him to give you all a lift back to camp.

Both of you could remember how red your face turned when you'd seen him, and he wouldn't tell you but he'd heard you talking about how hot he was with Thalia. It boosted his ego (which quite frankly does not need any more boosting), and he was smug the whole ride.

"Percy, you never told me you had a sister!" He spoke so loudly the whole bus could hear him.

"Um, because we've never met in person?" You brother suggested, a little nervously. Apollo was pretty chill, but that made him even scarier.

The god of the sun just laughed, before turning to look at you. The way his eyes roamed your figure felt less-than-innocent, and your face flushed as you yet again turned a bright shade of red. You couldn't believe the Apollo, the hottest Olympian, was actually staring at you with interest. Like he found you pretty enough to be stared at.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He smiled flirtatiously, earning some aggressive threats from the Hunters behind you, which he ignored. "Just kidding, I know it already. (Name), right? Pretty name."

You felt as if you might explode. From embarrassment, from being flustered, you didn't know. Maybe he was toying with you, as gods tended to do, but then he looked at you again and genuine interest and attraction glimmered in his stunning blue eyes.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo," you stammered out, unsure of what else to say.

"So shy," he teased, grinning, "Cute. I like you."

Of course, he had to restrain himself from charming you entirely, since you were still a minor. Poseidon would have his head if he touched you at this age, so he decided it was best to wait a few years.

Those few years were full of struggle and pain for you, losing so many friends in the battles with Kronos and then Gaea. Apollo almost intervened just to comfort you several times, but was stopped by his sister convincing him to give you a few more years - and also reminding him that the Olympians could not intervene.

But you grew into such a beautiful, smart, brave woman - and extremely sexy, but he would have to keep that to himself - and Apollo felt lucky to have watched this growth. It made his attraction to you all the more prominent, and he began to feel something he hasn't felt in centuries - genuine. true love.

And it scared him.

His past lovers that he had really, truly loved had both been killed in gruesome ways. He was afraid of what being with him would mean for you, but ultimately decided on getting Poseidon's permission first.

The god of the sea said no.

Then came his trials.

The first demigods he went to were you and Percy, of course. Since he was stuck with an infuriating little girl, he hoped that you might tag along on his perilous journey to make it a little better.

To his delight, you agreed.

"What's so funny?" He demanded when he caught you snickering during a break from all the running.

"You," you laughed, "Never thought the god Apollo would be reduced to an average teenage boy with acne." You laughed even more at that, and he pouted, but enjoyed hearing you laugh nonetheless.

His first sign that you might have a crush on him too came when he mentioned he'd turned some gossipers into ravens just for telling on his previous cheating girlfriend. The mere mention of his ex-girlfriend seemed to irritate you, and Apollo was amused.

Though his turn for jealousy came when he noticed how close you were to Jason Grace. He couldn't do anything, though, so he watched miserably as you got along with the son of Jupiter so well that any outsider would think you were dating.

"What's with the pout, then?" You had asked him when you noticed how upset he looked.

"I am not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

You stepped closer, and your intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. He felt like a schoolboy with a massive crush, just you being that close scrambling his thoughts and making it difficult for him to answer.

"Alright, keep your secrets," you laughed, then walked away, and Apollo was left disappointed.

He was not even going to talk about the whole thing with Reyna. You had suddenly gotten so angry with him after that, you hadn't spoken to him for two days - unless absolutely necessary. It hurt, but he knew you must have been even more hurt by what had been implied.

The end of the trials eventually came and relieved all of you, the defeat of the Triumvirate taking a great weight off the world's - and yours - shoulders. Apollo disappeared after he went to fight Python, and for two weeks you heard no word from him or Olympus.

Then suddenly he was in the middle of camp, spouting the worst haikus you had ever heard in your life. And that was saying something, since all his haikus were pretty terrible.

"Like captured water

You hold me in your cupped hands

I flow on your palm."

Your jaw dropped. That was even worse than you assumed it would be, especially since he chose to center it around the fact that you're a daughter of Poseidon.

"Lord Apollo-"

"See what I did there?" He winked, coming up to you with a cheerful grin. "Did you like it?"

"Well-"

"Fear not! I have another one prepared that is sure to woo you."

Your face flushed, "Please don't say "woo", your kids are listening!"

He was already reciting his next haiku.

"You shatter my sleep

All milk-need and petal lips

You smile and I melt."

You frowned in confusion, "What does that even mean?"

"Aha! See I knew that was the one!"

"I didn't-what?"

He ignored your puzzlement in favour of coming so close to you his overwhelming godly power almost made you pass out.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around for two weeks," he apologised sincerely. "I was in a coma. I swear on the River Styx that it's the truth. But I came here as soon as I woke up, for you." He grinned like that was the best confession he could muster.

"Are you serious?" You breathed out, unable to believe what you were hearing.

"Technically I wanted you when you were fourteen, but that would have come across as creepy apparently," he informed you, "So I had to wait a few years until you turned the right age. That was okay with me, I'm immortal, I can wait."

Your jaw dropped further, "Are you, um-is this-?"

"A love confession? Yes!" He gleefully exclaimed, as if it were perfectly normal for an Olympian to invade camp and profess his love for a demigod.

The entire camp was silent, except for the Aphrodite girls who seemed to be glaring holes into you while trying to curse you - fortunately only the Apollo kids (ironically) had the power to curse a person to speak in rhymes.

"And what did...what did my dad think of this?" You cleared your throat, slightly nervous.

"Oh he was against it at first," Apollo admitted, "BUT he came around. It seems the trials proved a lot more than I thought."

"Well, uh, that's great," you half-smiled, not sure why you felt a sense of dread. This should be the happiest moment of your life.

Apollo's smile faltered, "Do you not-"

"No I do!" You quickly cut him off, sparing him the embarrassment of being rejected in front of a few dozen kids MUCH younger than him. "It's just...you're a god..."

He sighed, "Let's go take a walk."

A few minutes later you were away from prying eyes, sitting by the lake since it always calmed you down. Water soothed you, as cliche as that is for a Poseidon kid.

"I'm just worried," you started after a few minutes of silence, "You know, about all your mortal affairs and having demigod children and all that." You sighed. "I know it's silly. But I just don't think I can go through with it knowing that."

He frowned, but understood, "I can always stop-"

You laughed bitterly, "All the gods promised a woman what. Zeus promised Hera, but there's Jason and Thalia. Poseidon promised Amphitrite, but here Percy, Tyson and I are. It's in your nature, you can't help it."

He felt offended by that, "Yes well, none of them had the displeasure of being turned into mortal for a few months. It changes a god, you know."

You turned to look at him, "Are you really sure about this? That this is what you want? I'm what you want?"

"I've waited for you since you were fourteen," he reminded you, "Of course I'm sure." Despite your reluctance, he took your hand. "Please, just give me a chance."

You thought it over for a moment, before smiling softly, "Fine. You have your chance. But the first mortal affair you have-"

"I won't need them," he smiled, moving closer, "You can have all my children."

Your jaw dropped at his blatant suggestion, a deep blush forming on your cheeks, "Are you crazy?! I can't-"

"You can," he leaned in even closer, "Once I make you immortal."

You started stuttering and stammering just then, uttering some kind of incomprehensible nonsense that the god of the sun just laughed at. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, before finally leaning in and claiming your lips.

He had waited long enough, now he was going to kiss you every chance he got.

[bueckersstuff]

REMEMBER

Note: Angry typing all my emotions away cos of last game and a bonus part at the end because paige seems fine. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: A Thin Line Between Dreams and Nightmares

Your breath catches in your throat, and your chest tightens. The weight of her gaze presses down on you like a storm you can't escape. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of anger and pain, bore into yours as though she's searching for an answer—or perhaps confirmation of something terrible.

Your mind races. Did you wrong her? Did you hurt her in some way? The silence between you is deafening, an unspoken accusation hanging heavily in the air. You want to speak, to break the tension, but no words come. All you can do is stand there, frozen, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

What do you do? What can you do?

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she asks, her voice laced with venom.

You stand there, just staring at her, unsure of what to say or do. The woman in front of you is a stranger.

"Oh, you're not talking again? You're making me look stupid, that's what you always do!" she spits at you, her words sharp as daggers.

"I—I'm sorry, I don't—" You start, but you’re cut off by the sudden ringing of your phone. You check it, and it's your dad calling.

"I'm sorry, but I have to take this call," you say quickly, turning away from her as you start to walk off, the anger in her eyes burning into your back. You make your way home, your dad's calls urgent in your mind, leaving the woman standing there, seething with rage.

At home, hours passed, but you barely noticed. Your movements had become mechanical, like you were a puppet on strings—each action automatic, without thought or feeling. Your mind, however, remained anything but still. It was consumed by her. The woman. The stranger. The one who had been haunting your thoughts since the moment your eyes met hers. Each time you tried to focus, her face would flash before your eyes, clouding everything else. You couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to understand her—why she seemed to know you, how she could have been a part of your past.

Yet, the more you thought about it, the more confused you became. Could she have been a friend once? Maybe. But everything felt like a fractured puzzle, and you were struggling to make sense of the pieces. All you knew was that deep down, you needed someone to talk to. Someone who might understand what you were going through. Someone who might hold the key to all your missing memories. But how could you even begin to open that door when her very presence felt like a threat? She could tear through your thoughts like a storm, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake.

Your thoughts circled in endless repetition, until everything felt numb. The passing hours became nothing more than a blur of exhaustion and silence, a hollow echo of the storm inside your head.

And then, somehow, it was night.

The world outside had grown quiet, and you had drifted off, too tired to resist. But when you awoke, the room was darker than it should have been, and you could feel the shift in the air—a strange heaviness pressing down on you.

Why was there a woman sitting at the edge of your bed? Her back was turned to you, her attention fixed on something in her hands—your paper planes. She was gently tossing them into the air, her fingers delicate and precise. The scene was almost surreal, as if your mind had conjured her from the depths of your dreams.

Your vision blurred, the edges of the world softening as sleep still clung to you. But there was no mistaking her—blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face that felt so familiar, yet so far away. You cleared your throat, unsure whether this was real or another twisted illusion, and she turned toward you.

It was her. The woman from earlier that day, the one you couldn’t forget. But this time, her expression was different—there was joy in her eyes, life in her smile, and for a moment, everything else faded away. You tried to sit up, eager to reach out to her, to hold on to whatever connection she might offer. But as you moved, your bed suddenly caved beneath you, and you felt yourself falling, spiraling into a darkness that had no end.

When you opened your eyes again, you were standing on the abandoned basketball court. The same girl was there, shooting free throws. The ball came flying toward you, and she smiled—a smile so full of passion and happiness, it made your heart ache. She walked toward you, but something was pulling you away. It felt as if invisible hands were dragging you back, away from her, and you watched helplessly as she fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

It hurt. It hurt so much. You felt like your ribs were cracking, like your insides were being torn open, and someone was ripping your heart from your chest.

"Hey, hey, sweetie, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re just dreaming, you’re okay."

Dad?

It was all a dream?

You were crying in your sleep. You didn’t even realize how loud you were sobbing until your dad’s voice cut through the haze, waking you up.

"What is it, honey? You can tell me," your dad said, his voice filled with concern.

“It’s her, Dad. She’s haunting me…” You choked back a sob, the weight of it all almost too much to bear. You were so affected by her, and you didn’t even know her name.

"Who, honey? The one who plays basketball? Paige? You remember her?" Your dad's brow furrowed, a look of worry crossing his face. He didn’t seem to mind the slip of the name.

Paige.

The name hit you like a physical blow.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your chest tightened. Paige. The name felt like a shard of glass lodged deep in your heart. It was her—Paige. The girl from your past, the one you couldn’t forget, even if you tried. The one who, no matter how hard you fought to move on, still haunted you in ways you couldn't explain.

The tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, but you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Saying her name out loud made everything feel so much more real—the distance, the years, the loss.

Paige—how could you forget her?

You didn’t answer, though, because the thought of speaking her name again was too much. It felt like the air itself was pressing in on you, suffocating you. If you spoke it, you feared the memories would overwhelm you, dragging you back to a time when things were simpler, but so much more painful. The years of silence, of distance, of not knowing how she was...

“Maybe... maybe you won’t see her again,” you thought, trying to convince yourself. It had been so long since you left Minnesota. Your dad was right—she probably had the perfect life by now. The kind of life that didn’t involve someone like you. You had been given a second chance, a new life, and you had to make it right. You owed that to your mother.

“She’ll just learn to forget me,” you whispered to yourself, the thought searing through you like a brand. But even as the words left your lips, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was a lie.

Paige's POV

I was on a break from school, so I went home to spend time with my brother, Drew. He's getting taller, probably from all the ice cream at the shop down the street from the old basketball court. I usually order from DoorDash now, but something about that place felt so… familiar.

I didn’t expect to notice anything odd, but the first time we passed the court, I saw her. A girl, sitting on the bench, just watching the empty court. I thought it was strange, but I didn't think much of it at first. Why would anyone just sit there? I wondered. Why not play?

The second time I saw her, I started to get concerned. Was she sad? I thought. Does she just come here and sit alone because no one will play with her?

I couldn’t explain it, but I couldn’t stop looking at her. There was something about her, something I couldn’t shake. And by the fourth time I passed by, I saw her clearly. She was sitting sideways, and I finally saw her face.

Five years since you left, and now you just casually pop up here?

It made no sense. It couldn’t be her. But deep down, I knew. I knew it was.

I had so many questions for her, but my pain got the best of me. It was strange, though—she didn’t back down from any confrontation before, but now, she just looked shaken, confused. And before I could say anything more, her phone rang, and she left me there with nothing but two empty "I’m sorry"s.

Back home, I couldn’t sit still. I replayed the moments over and over in my head. I wasn’t exactly affected by her sudden appearance, I just needed answers. I needed to understand everything she’d done to me—and then move on with my life. Things had changed. I wasn’t the same Paige anymore.

But then, why am I here? Why am I standing at this godforsaken basketball court again? And why isn’t she here?

Taglist: @sjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj @0phantom0 @glamourdaya

[tinytinyblogs]

Okay hear me out can I request yandere skz whose darling hates/refuses to even look at them and says mean things to the boys in order to get them to leave her alone but it has the opposite effect

Are you defying me, darling?

The more you distance yourself, the closer they might become. Take it slow if you're unsure.

⚠️ yandere theme, unhealthy obsession, and a lot more⚠️

Hyung line, Maknae line

💬 Thanks for your patience! Things have been a bit hectic lately, and I apologize for the delay. Here's the reaction post you requested, as promised. Let me know if you have any feedback or if there's anything I can improve on.

stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Chan, your sunshine, your anchor – the very picture of gentleness. He opens doors with a smile, treats you like royalty, and knows exactly how to make you laugh. Yet, a knot of apprehension coils in your stomach because for all his sweetness, there's a line you never want him to cross. The air hangs heavy. You haven't spoken in what feels like hours, the silence a suffocating blanket. It started with a simple plea, a desperate need for some space, some time to breathe without the constant hum of his presence. The words tumbled out, harsh and ragged. "Can you just leave me alone, damn it?" The change in Chan is instantaneous. His smile vanishes, replaced by a coldness that sends shivers down your spine. A heavy silence descends, thick and suffocating. You steal a glance at him, and your heart plummets. His eyes, usually sparkling with warmth, are now narrowed lasers, fixated on you. The air crackles with a tension you've never witnessed before. Then, a deceptively calm voice breaks the silence. "What did you just say, sweetheart?" he asks, the endearment sounding foreign in this new context. It's clear he doesn't like what he heard, and a flicker of fear ignites in your chest.

You shrink back, your voice barely a whisper as you repeat, "I... I just want to be alone, Chan." But the damage is done. With a slow, deliberate movement, Chan closes the distance. He towers over you, his form an imposing shadow. He crouches down, invading your personal space, and gently, but firmly, cups your chin with his hand. You wince as his nails dig slightly into your skin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Sweetheart," he says, his voice a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine. It's calm, almost too calm, and that terrifies you more than any outburst. His eyes hold you captive, a storm brewing beneath the surface. "I may love you," he continues, his words laced with a dangerous undercurrent, "but disrespect won't be tolerated. Remember that." Seeing the tear, a flicker of something crossed Chan's face – maybe regret, maybe anger. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a chilling coldness. "Tears won't work this time," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He reached out, a single finger brushing against your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You will explain yourself," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "And you will understand exactly why you don't get to ask for space from me."

Minho

Minho wasn't like other guys. He didn't crave grand gestures or whispered sweet nothings. No, Minho thrived on the spark in your eyes when he sent shivers down your spine with a surprise tickle or a whispered threat that danced on the edge of plausibility. The way you flustered, the stammer that replaced your usual sharp retorts when he'd corner you with a teasing question – that was his fuel. So, when you finally snapped, a glorious eruption after weeks of his calculated torment, a thrill snaked through him, cold and exhilarating. "Get away from me, don't touch me, you jerk!" you shouted, cheeks flushed a furious red. He'd expected the usual splutter of insults, a well-placed punch maybe, but this raw defiance, this unfamiliar vulnerability – it was intoxicating. Minho's smirk wasn't playful this time. It was a slow, deliberate twist of his lips, a predator recognizing a challenge in its prey. You wanted him gone? Perfect. He'd become your shadow, a constant reminder of the delicious chaos he reveled in unleashing. The way your breath hitched when he brushed past a little too close, the flinch you couldn't quite suppress when he materialized at your locker – oh, he'd savor every startled reaction, every muttered curse under your breath.

Perhaps you didn't understand him, and maybe that was part of the allure. Minho was an enigma, a puzzle only he held the key to. But that didn't matter. He thrived on the chase, on the unpredictable rhythm your dynamic had taken. Your pain, a byproduct of his gamesmanship, was a mere footnote – the price you paid for defying him. "Feeling spicy today, aren't we?" he drawled, his voice low and gravelly. He stopped directly in front of you, his face mere inches away. "Seems like somebody needs a reminder of who's in charge," he continued, his smirk widening. A single finger brushed against your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted to fight back, to spit out a retort, but the words wouldn't come. The fear was a thick fog clouding your thoughts. Minho seemed to revel in your silence. He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he leaned in closer, his voice barely a whisper but filled with chilling promise. "We have plenty of time for you to learn your lesson." The enclosed space became a prison, the air thick with unspoken threats and simmering tension. You knew this wasn't a game anymore. This was Minho asserting his dominance, and you were the unwilling participant in his twisted play.

Changbin

You clench your fists, heart hammering against your ribs. "Damn you," you growl, the words tasting metallic on your tongue, "don't come any closer, jerk!" Changbin's laugh echoes in the confined space. It's a sound you've never heard before, devoid of its usual teasing lilt and replaced with something darker, hungrier. This new side of him sends a shiver down your spine, both terrifying and...exciting? The thought is fleeting, pushed aside by the urgency of the situation. He ignores your protest, a predatory glint in his eyes. Each step he takes is a deliberate invasion of your personal space, until your back is pressed flush against the wall, trapped. His hands snake around you, pinning you against the cool surface. It feels like the room has shrunk, the air itself thick with unspoken tension. "So what, huh?" he taunts, leaning in so close his warm breath tickles your ear. "I can do whatever I want." His voice is a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine. It's as if this sudden resistance has ignited a fire within him, a twisted competition to break you, to own you completely. You can almost see the gears turning in his head, a game suddenly unfolding before you. One he intends to win.

Shame burned through you, hot and acrid. You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker of excitement that had dared to ignite within you. Changbin's dark eyes, usually lit with playful mischief, were now narrowed with predatory intent. The possessiveness that radiated from him was suffocating. "This isn't a game, Changbin," you spat, your voice shaking but defiant. You met his gaze head-on, refusing to show fear. "Don't you dare turn this into some twisted dominance act." A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a slow, dangerous smile. "Dominance act?" he echoed, his voice low and silken. His thumbs brushed across your wrists, sending a jolt through you. "Perhaps," he continued, leaning in further, his breath hot against your cheek. "Or maybe it's just a reminder of who calls the shots here, sweetheart." His smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something you couldn't decipher passing through his eyes. Then, with a sigh that seemed to shake the very room, he released you. You stumbled back a step, breathing heavily, the air suddenly feeling thin. "Maybe you're right," he conceded, his voice back to its usual drawl, though a hint of darkness lingered. "Maybe we need a different kind of reminder." He took a step back, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sent chills down your spine. "A reminder of the consequences of defying me."

Hyunjin

Your outburst, a tirade fueled by pent-up frustration and veiled truths, had frozen Hyunjin. He stood there, a statue carved from confusion and a flicker of something darker. You spat out the final words, "Just get out! Leave me alone you jerk!" expecting a fight, an apology, anything but the unsettling silence that followed. He left, the quiet deafening and thick with unspoken threats. But the absence wasn't a reprieve. It was a predator stalking its prey. Every creak of the floorboards sent your pulse racing, every shadow a potential monster. Sleep was a distant memory replaced by a hypervigilance that left you drained. The bed felt vast and empty, the once comforting weight of Hyunjin beside you a chilling reminder of what you'd lost. Days blurred. The air crackled with a tension so thick you choked on it. Then, one evening, just as the remnants of hope started to flicker, Hyunjin reappeared. He wasn't the playful boy you knew. His eyes, usually sparkling with amusement, were now steely and focused. They scanned the room, lingering on you, assessing. Silence stretched, broken only by the shallow rasp of your own breath. "So," he finally spoke, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, "you want to be alone, do you?" It wasn't a question.

It was a challenge, a test to gauge your sincerity. You opened your mouth to apologize, to plead, but the words wouldn't come. The fear had lodged itself in your throat, a physical weight hindering any attempt at defiance. A slow, predatory smile spread across Hyunjin's face. "There are consequences for everything," he said, each word dripping with a chilling possessiveness. "Especially disrespect." Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You wanted to scream, to fight back against the oppressive atmosphere, but the fear kept you rooted to the spot. "I… I'm sorry," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. Hyunjin stopped in front of you, his face inches away. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult to breathe. "Sorry isn't enough," he said, his voice a low growl. "You will understand, one way or another, how much respect I deserve." He reached out, a single finger tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his gaze. "We don't need space," he murmured, his voice a chilling caress. "We need understanding. And you," he leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your ear, "will learn exactly what that means." He wasn't angry, exactly. He was calculating, methodical, a predator who had finally cornered his prey.