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sceletaflores · 5 months ago

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Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you.

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone.

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you.

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you.

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.”

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller.

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey.

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands.

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure, "Just try to relax.”

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter.

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything.

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings."

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done.

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up.

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you.

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back.

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house.

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things.

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.”

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience.

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to.

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing.

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold.

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again.

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything.

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now.

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him.

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over.

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly.

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest.

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,” he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room.

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying.

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it.

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you.

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself.

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you. Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets.

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit.

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter.

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining.

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips.

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan.

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks.

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

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starkwlkr · 4 months ago

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Could you do fic for jealous!Toto Wolff with wife reader? The Merc garage has invited someone to the paddock and it's someone who the reader idolizes (male). Her whole attention goes to him and Toto's feel jealous because he's always away and can't spend time with her eyes when he's home. But she assured him that everything is fine. Add something else to it if you want to. Just something fluff and cute. Thanks!! :)(

divorce babe divorce | toto wolff

toto gonna be stressing through this whole fic

Before the 2023 F1 season ended, it had been announced that Keanu Reeves would take part in a documentary about Brawn GP formula one team. It was no secret that the actor had a big passion for motorsports so as a way to promote the upcoming documentary, Keanu was invited to COTA. Toto kept this information from you since he knew that younger you had a massive crush on Keanu, you told him many times when you watched one of Keanu’s movies. Teasing Toto that you would leave him for Keanu started off as a joke, but he was always overthinking.

Austin was hot. It was Texas after all, they had unpredictable weather every day, but race day just so happened to be sunny. You were seated in Toto’s chair in the Mercedes garage, scrolling on your phone when you heard Lewis call your name. You turned your head and saw him walking towards you with the man you had been crushing on when you were a teenager.

“This is Mrs. Wolff, y/n meet Keanu.” Lewis introduced you. He smiled wide, he also knew you were a Keanu fan.

“H-Hi, oh god. Welcome! I heard Mercedes was going to have a guest i just wasn’t expecting. . . you.” You said nervously. “It’s definitely not a bad thing! Don’t take it like that!”

Keanu laughed. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for having me. This whole experience is incredible.”

Lewis excused himself when he noticed how relaxed you had gotten. He felt confident you could be on your own with Keanu so he left to get ready for the race.

When Toto entered the garage, he really wasn’t expecting to see another man make his wife laugh and smile.

How could she laugh at another man’s jokes? Was I not funny enough? Maybe I’m trying too hard or not enough? And she’s smiling! How could she sit there and laugh? thought Toto.

Before Toto could continue overthinking, you called for him.

“Keanu, this is my husband, Toto.”

Toto forced a smile. “I’m her husband.”

Keanu continued to be his genuine self and talked to Toto about Formula 1. The team principal only nodded and smiled, occasionally mumbling a yes or a no. You knew something was going on with Toto. Why was he being like that?

Keanu excused himself to go to the restroom before the race started. This was your opportunity to talk to your husband. While you sat in his chair, he stood beside you looking over paperwork.

“What was that about?” You nudged him.

“What?” He questioned, not looking up from his papers.

“You know what. I saw that forced smile. I know you, Torger. Have you forgotten that?” You asked.

Finally Toto put his attention on you. “Am I a good husband?”

“Toto, why are you asking me this?”

“I heard you laughing with him. You haven’t laughed like that in a while. And the way you were smiling, you looked so beautiful,” Toto admitted. “I haven’t been the best husband, I know. I’m always away and you’re always alone in our house.”

You took his hand in yours. “Toto, you are the greatest husband ever. Don’t ever think you’re not. I love you so so much. I loved you yesterday, I love you today, I will love you tomorrow and everyday.”

To Toto, It sounded like a sweet song hearing you say those words.

“I love you too.” He kissed your lips. “But, don’t get mad, but in another universe, would you ever date Keanu if you had the chance?” He curiously asked.

You looked at him with pure love in your eyes. “In every universe, I’d find my way to you.”

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x wife!reader #f1 fic

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in1-nutshell · 2 months ago

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TRANSFORMERS ONE IS OUT! Unfortunately, I couldn't watch it in theaters because work and money is a bit tight right now. I can't wait for this movie to come out in YouTube Movies to watch it. Since we both know it's obviously gonna have a sad ending, do you mind if I added a bit more sadness in this request? Orion Pax has a younger sibling that he raised named Buddy. Buddy loves both Orion Pax and D-16 as a family. Buddy is willing to bite some ankles if anybody was mean to someone Buddy cares about. Buddy is also tagging along with them in the adventures, much to Orion's dismay and dread. I heard there is gonna be a fight between them at the near ending. Buddy is horrified and scared that those two bots that Buddy considered their family is now fighting each other as enemies. Buddy begs and screams at them to stop, but Optimus and Megatron obviously won't. When Optimus and Megatron shoot each other at the same time, in a moment of panic and terror for their loved ones - Buddy jumps in between them and get hit by both of their shots accidentally that immediately offlined Buddy. They both stopped fighting in shock and grief. Buddy's death was the final straw between Optimus and Megatron's relationship. When Megatron and Optimus went in their separate ways, they both knew the war had begun. Characters: Orion Pax, D-16, Bumblebee, and Elita-one. Please and thank you!

Trying to get the TF1 fics out a bit early so we have something to read.

Hope you enjoy!

Slight mention of spoiler in the movie

Bot Buddy being Orion Pax's younger sibling

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Angst, Character death (you have been warned!), Cybertronian reader

TF1

Buddy was one of the youngest miners in the group.

They did get some special treatment from certain bots but was otherwise expected to act just like everyone else.

One bot in particular took interest in the younger bot.

Orion Pax was his name.

He saw a lot of himself in the younger bot and offered his companionship.

The younger bot quickly latched onto him faster than rust.

It didn’t take long for them to fall into a sibling dynamic.

Soon D-16 was introduced.

D-16: “So let me get this straight. You saw them and decided to be their friend and the next thing you know your siblings?” Orion: “That’s pretty much it.” D-16 shakes his helm in good humor. D-16: “Sometimes I can’t with you.” Buddy swings their arms around him and Orion. Buddy: “Get used to it D! You’re one of us now!” D-16: “As long as you’re not like this rusty bucket its fine.” Orion: “Hey!” Buddy chuckles: “Don’t worry about that D.” 2 weeks later… D-16 watching Buddy trying to drop kick Darkwing after he ‘accidentally’ knocked their energon cart. D-16: “Primus… they’re worse…” Orion pats D-16 on the back. Orion: “Yep… want to help them out?” Both mech’s wince seeing Buddy get punched in the chassis. D-16: “…Fine.”

Buddy always kept their brothers on their pedes with their antics.

Always kept them both on alert.

Buddy loved to randomly jump on their shoulders or try and pick them up.

Despite their antics, Buddy was a good miner and even managed to do something most miners couldn’t do.

Get on Elita-One’s good side.

No one knows what exactly happened between them both for Buddy to get a bit of favoritism.

Elita refuses to elaborate and Buddy likes to see bots squirm for the answer.

Buddy hands Elita a spare jetpack. Elita: “Buddy I already have a jetpack.” Buddy: “We’re going to need it.” Elita raises an optic but ignores it. Later… Elita: “… How did you know—” Buddy: “The jetpacks are old Elita. Its only a matter of time before someone falls from a faulty one.” Elita pats their helm. Elita: “When I get promoted, I might just ask to move you to be my assistant.” Buddy: “No! I don’t want any more work!” Elita: “Too late, already considering it.” Buddy: “Orion tell her to stop being mean!”

Buddy was helping Elita get used to her new role in waste management when they saw who was on the Iacon 500.

They cheered for their brothers with everyone else.

The bot let out a yelp when they saw D-16 get hurt, but quickly smiled seeing Orion try and help him to the finish line.

…Too bad Chromia won the race.

Good news, Buddy was now a couple shanix richer from the betting pool.

While they were heading to the med bay to go see Orion and D-16, they quickly hid seeing Darkwing picking them up and leading them somewhere.

Orion and D-16 talking to B-127 when something big falls on to the conveyer belt and jumps off it. Buddy dusts themselves from the junk. Buddy turns and waves at the bots. B-127: “New friend!” Orion and D-16: “Buddy!?” They both go over to Buddy looking for any injuries. Buddy: “Hey quit it! I’m not dying!” Orion: “What are you doing here?” Buddy: “Well I was going to the med bay to congratulate you two, but Darkwing got to you first. Then I had to wait a while until the coast was clear and find out where you were sent. It’s kinda fun going through the shoot though.” D-16: “What you did was—” B-127 pushes D-16 out of the way and shakes Buddy’s servo. B-127: “Hi there! I’m B-127, or you can call me B or—” Buddy: “Wait! I can be B and you can be BB!” B-127: “Or maybe we can go by the Double B’s!” B-127 and Buddy start chatting up a storm. Orion: “What just happened?” D-16: “I don’t know but I don’t like it…”

Orion catches Buddy up on the new information on Alpha Trion.

Buddy is ready to go.

Orion and D-16 try to get them to stay, but Buddy ends up joining.

They are having a blast climbing the crates inside the train as Orion tries to get Elita.

Buddy stared long and hard at the landscape when the group reached to the surface.

Is sprinting with B-127 the moment the giant rock formations start getting closer.

Grips Orion and D-16’s servo when they all get tossed out of the train.

Their chatting and B-127’s chatting makes the other older bots consider gagging them for the remainder of the trip.

When reaching the cave of the fallen Prime’s, they gently hold D-16’s servo as they silently mourn for Megatronus Prime.

Hides behind Elita when Alpha Trion comes back online and nearly decks Orion in the face.

Cries a little bit seeing what Sentinel had done to the other Prime’s.

They deserved so much better than that fate.

Absolutely seething with D-16 when the group sees Sentinel giving the Quintesson’s THEIR hard earned energon.

Once everyone gets their T-cog’s, Buddy is the first to try and transform… unfortunately they did not get it the first time.

The group was running down the hill. Buddy’s helm gets tucked into their frame. Buddy: “I CAN’T SEE! I CAN’T SEE!” Orion starts laughing Orion: “HAHAHAHA—AAH WHERE’S MY HEAD?!”

Buddy gets a bad feeling about D-16 when he starts talking to Orion but brushes it off as stress.

They hoped they were right, especially after he admitted to wanting to terminate Sentinel.

Don’t get them wrong, they absolutely hate the bot now, but to go so far as terminate him?

It didn’t seem right.

Was the first one to get tased and wake up.

They get excited the second they see Starscream, Shockwave and Soundwave.

B-127 and Buddy both tell the other’s who the High guard were.

An excitement that quickly turns into frightened when they see D-16 beating up Starscream.

They tried to get to him, but the crowd wouldn’t let them.

Buddy looked over at Orion, both sharing the same look of worry and fear for their brother.

They end up getting captured by Arachnid with B-127 and D-16 after the explosion.

Orion is riddled with guilt the second Elita tells him that Buddy, D-16 and B-127 were captured with some of the high guard.

Thankfully, he and Elita made a plan with the remainder of the guard to help get the others and bring Sentinel to justice.

Back at Iacon…

Buddy was in between D-16 and B-127 on the ground, restrained as Sentinel prattled about having them executed.

They felt their spark stop for a second when D-16 stood up.

Arachnid had to restrain them when Sentinel started branding Megatronus’s face on D-16’s chassis.

Buddy kicks the spider in the back of one of her legs. She lets go. The younger bot then kicks Sentinel in the back of his knee joints before helm butting him. Snetinel staggers back a bit. They stood in front of D-16 with fury in their optics. Buddy: “Touch my brother again and I swear I will send you to Primus myself!” Many of the captured bots looked in surprise at the young bot protecting the fallen miner. B-127: “Buddy just stay down!” D-16 tries to stand up the second he sees Sentinel start to move to them. D-16: “Buddy get out of the way!” Buddy: “Fat chance!” Buddy tries to kick Sentinel again, but this time the Prime grabbed their pede and with a swift movement twisted it. SNAP! Buddy: “AAAAHHH—” WHAM! Sentinel punched Buddy across the face sending them skidding across the floor. D-16: “BUDDY!” He glares at Sentinel. D-16: “Stop! Your fight is with me!” Sentinel: “No, they made it personal when they helm butted me. Its time to make an example.”

Thankfully the train had just crashed into the building.

Orion hops out and helps D-16 and Buddy up.

Orion briefly thinks on punching Sentinel in the face but is quickly drowned by D-16 yelling that he was going to terminate Sentinel.

Buddy tried to tell Orion that something was wrong, but their older brother was gone, off to tell everyone the truth about what Sentinel did.

They did their best in battling the other guards with their bad pede.

The bot screamed in horror when they saw D-16 and Sentinel going off the edge.

It took them a while to get to where the fight was.

They remembered seeing D-16 holding an extremely injured Orion over the edge of a dark hole.

They didn’t remember screaming, but their voice box started glitching when they saw D-16 let go of Orion’s servo.

Elita and B-127 were by their side holding them tightly, afraid they would try and jump off the ledge to get to him.

Buddy remembered looking at D-16 giving his speech.

Their audial winced when he called himself ‘Megatron’.

They had to close their optics for a second, not believing they had seen a newer version of Orion, now calling himself Optimus Prime.

The two former brothers fought.

Megatron and Optimus were on the ground wrestling the former’s fusion cannon. They barely registered the sounds of pedes coming closer. Megatron: “Let go!” Optimus: “Never!” Suddenly the cannon went off. A scream. THUD! Both mech’s look over and see Buddy’s frame laying on the ground…so still. Optimus quickly gets off Megatron and runs to Buddy. Optimus: “Buddy!” Optimus gets to the frame. Buddy’s optics were offline and there was a smoldering hole in the middle of their chassis where their spark was supposed to be. Optimus gently cradles them. Optimus: “Buddy! Buddy please! Buddy… please… don’t…” He gently hugs the limp frame, not caring in that moment if Megatron blasted him. Megatron just stood up and stared. He wanted to scream. To yell. Megatron wanted to hug his little sibling frame and pray to Primus that this was not happening. Optimus gently places the frame down, stands up and looks at Megatron dead in the optics. Optimus: “Take the High Guard and go. You are banished from Iacon.” Megatron starts walking away but stops for a moment to take one last look at Buddy’s still frame before yelling for his troops to follow him.

There was a small funeral held for Buddy.

Optimus made sure to hold it together in front of the others.

But Elita and B-127 caught him alone, sobbing with a picture of Buddy, Orion, and D-16, smiling, without a care in the world.

The two bots held their leader tightly as he continued to sob.

Megatron mourned for Buddy in private.

It was only right.

He cried in silence holding a picture of him, Buddy, and Orion Pax on their first day of mining.

In the safety of his habsuite, he could cry all he wanted before his Decepticon’s expected him to come out with a rally cry.

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #transformers one x platonic reader #transformers one x reader

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j-onedrabbles · 1 year ago

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𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒎𝒚𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏

✧ PAIRING: BANG CHAN X FEM!READER ✧ PLOT: listened to STUCKINMYBRAINAGAIN by Chase Atlantic and decided i needed to write angst + anon requests: "Hi hi! Could I request a Channie comfort drabble/fic were the gf!reader starts to distance themselves from Channie because of a really believable dating rumor they found online involving him?" ✧ CW: fem!reader, overthinking, dating rumor, crying, unhealthy coping mechanisms (using alcohol to cope), themes of cheating (there is no actual cheating), reader is written to be of drinking age but age never mentioned, ✧ WC: 1.5K ✧ NOTE: this was kinda sitting in my drafts with a rough idea of a plot then i got an anon requests and it clicked so enjoy

It had to be a rumor. Right?

Y/n scrolled through her Twitter, seeing her boyfriend trending wasn’t new but, curiously clicked it to see what he did this time. Only to find it was a dating rumor.

At first, she thought that Stay or div-1 caught them out on one of their dates but, as she scrolled, she found that it didn’t even involve her. It was another woman. Photos from afar— like most dating rumor photos were— but Y/n could believe this was her boyfriend and someone else, but it wasn't. Was it?

Chan was friends with half the K-pop industry and she knew he had female friends. Could it be one of them? Maybe they were just hanging out?

The longer she looked at the tag, the more her heart ached. Chan spent long hours at the studio working on music for 3RACHA and the kids. What if it wasn't music? Just an excuse to go out with someone else?

The angel on her shoulder told her Chan would never. He was loyal. The best boyfriend anyone could ask for. But the devil was louder.

She got up from the couch and tried to busy herself with anything around the house. Chan had a packed week of schedules and had already told her he was going to crash at the dorms but he promised would text her when he had time—one week of not seeing him.

She couldn't even talk to the guys since they all had promotions to do. What if it was a staff member? She felt like she was going to be sick. Turning on their speaker and blasting a playlist— one without any songs her boyfriend had made, which was a hard feat.

Cleaning the whole apartment while the random Spotify playlist played. She drowned out any noise in her head for as long as she could. Even made dinner for herself and turned on a movie. Silently eating as her phone pinged with a message. She looked at the screen to see the name.

Channie♡: hey baby, just got back to the dorms. How was your day? Y/n♡: okay. Just cleaned the apartment and made dinner. Channie♡: I’m glad you got something to eat love! Are you doing alright without me so far 😉 Y/n♡: yeah. The apartment feels a little empty though. Channie♡: I’m sorry baby 😣 I’m hoping this week goes by fast. I already miss you. Try and get some sleep tonight, okay? Y/n♡: You too. Talk to you later. Channie♡: Yeah, I’ll try and text you more throughout the day, yeah? I love you ❤️ Y/n♡: ily2

Chan looked at the last text, he knew his girlfriend. She wasn’t one to abbreviate an “I love you”. Maybe she just wasn’t having a good day? Tired maybe? She did say she cleaned the whole apartment. He wished he could at least be with her at night but with all their promoting at the moment, it was just a little easier to stay with the kids at the dorms. He’d check in with her when he woke up, maybe send her some food tomorrow.

But he noticed the time between her responses got more and more spaced out and cut down to one or two-word answers. He tried asking her what was wrong but she always said she was fine. It was at the end of the week when one of the guy's managers told him about the dating rumor.

He immediately thought the same as her. Their relationship was caught by fans or div-1. The staff showed him the photos and immediately knew it wasn’t them. Yeah, the guy had the same height and build as him, dressed similarly, and had his face hidden. He thought it was him too for a moment but it was the girl he was with. Complete opposite of Y/n.

He took a closer look at the guy. “That's not me or Y/n. How long has this been out?”

“All week. We knew it wasn’t either of you but we wanted your confirmation.”

All week? The same amount of time Y/n had been acting off. “Fuck,” he sighed

“We can put out a statement denying it and announcing you and Y/n’s relationship,” The manager suggested

“Let me talk to her first. I think she already knows about the rumor.” Chan was thankful it was the end of the day and he finished the last schedule.

He hurried to make his way back home, calling his girlfriend along the way. No answer.

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/n L/n. I can’t come to the phone right now but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Hi, baby. I’m on my way home. We need to talk when I get there. I love you.”

Y/n listened to the voicemail but did nothing. One week had her spiraling. She ended up taking out one of their bottles and pouring herself a drink. Just wanting the thoughts to stop at this point.

She didn’t know how much she had actually been drinking, just that her world was getting blurry a bit. She didn't even register the front door opening.

“Y/n?” Chan’s voice called

He looked around the living room before spotting her in the kitchen. Both kept eye contact before Y/n broke down. Tears slipped from her eyes as she put the glass on the counter.

“Baby,” Chan ran over to her and pulled her into his arms.

“Is there someone else Chan?” Y/n said through tears.

He noticed the bottle of alcohol and felt worse. She’d known about it all week and said nothing. Thinking worse to the point of drinking.

“There’s no one else baby. Let’s get you some water and sit down, okay?”

“Is she an idol? One of the staff?”

God his heart broke hearing that. He should have checked Twitter or social media sooner. Slowly he sat her on the floor and quickly grabbed some water from the fridge for her. He sat down across from her and soothed her tears as best he could before getting her to drink the water.

“Can you look at me, baby?” Chan asked softly

Y/n looked at him, sniffling as she hugged her knees to her chest.

“Let’s go take a nap okay? Sober up a bit and then talk. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Chan reached his hands towards her to help her up and walk with her to the bedroom. “How much did you drink?”

“Don’t know. Just wanted to stop thinking about the rumor,” Y/n said as he got her under the covers. “Things are a bit blurry.”

“Get some sleep for now. I’ll be here when you wake up and then we can talk.”

Y/n sniffled and wrapped her arms around him, trying to keep him close. Chan did the same. Not wanting to let her go at the moment. Y/n let his warmth lull her to sleep.

Both ended up falling asleep till morning. Not intending to but that's what happened. Chan woke up first but refused to get out of bed. First time in a week he got to wake up next to his girlfriend and he wasn’t missing out on anything.

He ran his hand through her hair as he looked down at her sleeping form on his chest. Slowly she started the stir, waking to her pretty boyfriend looking at her with stars in his eyes.

“Good morning baby.”

“Morning,” she grumbled, cuddling into him more, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay baby. I almost believed it too.”

“Doesn't excuse me for accusing you of cheating. Should have talked to you when I saw it.”

“Hey. The company didn't even tell me till yesterday and I knew you had already seen it. I know you get in your head sometimes but, next time you see a dating rumor about me, talk to me.”

“Don't want any more rumors about you.”

“They asked me if I wanted to confirm our relationship. Think that’d keep the dating rumors at bay.” Chan smiled and tilted her face up to him, placing a quick kiss on her lips. “If you don't want to, that's fine baby. But I love you either way. You’re the only one I see a future with.”

Y/n teared up a bit hearing him say that. She cupped his cheeks and pulled him back into a kiss. Chan smiled and pulled her closer to him, moving his lips in sync with hers before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers.

“Tell Stay about us. I’m okay with the world knowing about us.” Y/n told him

“Think you're just being possessive baby,” Chan joked.

“Says you,” Y/n laughed at him

“I’ll call them later. Right now I need to make up for not being around for a week.”

Chan kissed her again and rolled her onto her back, smothering her in kisses and cuddles.

M. LIST ✧ TIP JAR

T A G S ✧ @soulphoenix1618 @hanniemylovelyquokka @hyuneline @scarletbedlam @lillithathecat @cosniffee @caravm @queen-in-the-shadows @moonlight-the-writer @skzhoes @ultimatestayandminoronce @watermelon2319 @poody1608 @iadorethemskz @goblinracha @weakforskz @scallywag1299 @2mins-world @iloveksmohsomuch @stickycrusadecollective @lacie220900 @your-platonic-gay-lover @lvlnijiro @smally97 @lynlyndoll @bbokari711 @liknws @nicora04 @hrskt @lookitsjess @5starlee @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @mini-mews @red-airhead @minhwa @soupbinlily @caitlyn98s @alex--awesome--22 @emyferra08 @yeetmehome @hyunjinswifeee @greyyeti @beautifulcolorgarden @ylixbok @tinyelfperson @mixtape-racha @lovesunshinefelix @princelingperfect @slay-and-gay @the-sweetest-rose

#: ̗̀➛karmic writes #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan x reader #bang chan x reader angst #bang chan x reader fluff #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #stray kids x reader fluff #stray kids x reader angst #skz x reader fluff #skz x reader angst

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pro-sipper · 24 days ago

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Had such a fun conversation with my therapist today. Honestly I'd been wanting to bring up the whole pro/anti debacle with her just to see what she'd say and how it would stack up against what proshippers and antishippers have to say about therapy online. No points for correctly guessing which side she agreed with

I talked about my job for about 3/5ths of the time there, then segued into The Discourse by telling her about how I'd been writing daily during the first two weeks of my new job, but hadn't been as active lately

And I even asked her if she had any other chronically online clients she talked to and she reassured me that she had plenty, and even one who had kind of explained this whole debate to her before (from a proshipper stance, and how she lost a friend over it)

I explained my whole issue with her about how fandom is so deep into purity culture these days. And how reckless and raunchy it was in the 00s and how I don't want to go back to that, but there's got to be some middle ground somewhere.

I told her about some of the stuff I've written and all the weird or nasty comments I've gotten on it and how that can be discouraging. And I told her that most of my works are smut, and of those smut works, all of them have at least a little sprinkling of trauma in them. And she said that can be a good way to look at things. And used a real life example of how something could be awful but there could be good things about it too. Specifically saying that nothing is just black and white, everything has shades of grey. And that digging the little good out of the big bad is a positive thing, actually

And I told her about being a young teen and reading a fic with incest in it and having the sense not to immediately jump to "I want to recreate this in real life" and she was like "Yes, exactly. It's like this one book I read, umm..." and I was like "Flowers In The Attic?" just as a guess and she was like "Yes!" and said just because you read about something doesn't mean you want it to be your reality

And I did my best to explain the whole concept of how some people seem to think that everyone engages with fiction by putting themselves in the shoes of the main character, so if the main character is doing awful things then you must want to do awful things too. Which of course she said was in no way true

And she told me that she was such a big fan of horror movies and loved to watch those as a way to relax and unwind bc it gets her mind off her work, but that doesn't mean she wants to be a killer lol. And I had to be like "Oh no you don't understand. They think killing and torture and cannibalism is totally fine, it's just when you bring sex into the equation that people start freaking out" and she was confused at that lol

And of course she thought it was ridiculous that people can get called a pedo or a groomer or whatever other awful things over fictional stories.

So yeah it was a fun and reassuring conversation. I know I'm leaving some stuff out but I can't remember any more specifics of what was said. Plus I was talking a mile a minute bc I wanted to say everything on my mind before time was up asfdsfs it was a monumental task.

OH and I even brought up how people will literally say "well my therapist said..." just for some other people to accuse them of lying or saying their therapist is corrupt or some other bullshit which she was understandably aghast at. Because she is a licensed therapist who went to Therapy School and knows better, and is not a magical villain promoting propaganda fed to her by Big Proship to corrupt her clients. You know how it is <3

#sip rambles #proship #proshippers #proshipping #proshipper #proship safe #pro ship #proshippers please interact

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grimeerie · 1 month ago

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If Enigma of Fear comes this month,i am praying for this game to be absolulety marketed fucking EVERYWHERE online,cause not only Ordem is such a amazing project that deserves so much recognition,but being a fully brazilian/latino-made TTRPG,the idea of this series becoming worldwide-known means so much personally as a brazilian artist.

I've mentioned this on a post before,but the experience of growing up as a latine being constantly fed white american-centric pop culture,be it comics,TV series,movies,art in general,to such a extreme point it made me develop such high insecurity in my country's art and culture as a whole,is so deeply harmful that even after leaving that toxic mindset,that insecurity still lingers on.

And it's why Ordem as a project is just so beautiful as an rpg to me,like the campaign main setting? All brazilian cities! The characters? Brazilians from different parts of the country all speaking in the accent and slang of their state or city! The players? Brazilians! The promotional art,the music,the boards,the tokens? ALL BRAZILIAN MADE. Like this project in so unashamedly Brazil and that makes me love every bit of bit.

Even though the gringo side of the Ordem fandom may still be somewhat small,the ammount of love i've seen you all have for this project is so big; all of the fanart,fics,headcanons,every single form of appreciation has just been so good. Know that regardless of what you may think about the quality of your contribution to this fandom know that to me and so many other brazilian,your love for this series means a lot to us. The hype for Enigma of Fear has been wonderful to see,and DESERVED CAUSE THE GOD THE GAME LOOKS FANTASTICAL AND DUMATIVA PUT THEIR WHOLE DUMATUSSY FOR 4 YEARS INTO THAT GAME AND THEY DESERVE THE RESPECT FOR IT-

BUT ALSO i want to shoutout the QSMP fandom as well,cause y'all are insane fr,seeing people love the same CCs i've watched and loved since my childhood,the fandom interacting with us Brazilian ??? Learning about our culture???? LEARNING TO SPEAK PORTUGUESE???

Sorry for the ramble but like- the whole learning portuguese part still makes me so happily feral cause as someone who grew up on Internet fandom spaces,having to learn english on my own to be able to interact with others,especially english being the main language in most internet spaces,THE FACT THE INVERSE IS HAPPENING LIKE WHAT?? Serioulsly,the dedication man! That is awesome!!

Legitimately i don't think there's enough words to describe the appreciation i have for yall,so basically: thank you all,so much,for giving us so much love this past year,and i hope if Ordem does become big enough out there,that more brazilian art to come gains as much love as this one,we are such a diverse country with so much to offer,and im am so glad to be born to such a colorful and crazy country <3

In general i hope this will be an encouragment for all to support non-white american centric art in general,there's so much art from other countries to love and appreciate,that desperately need it.

So basically: Watch Ordem Paranormal,and play Enigma of Fear when it comes out. It's RPG,it's story,characters,worldbuilding are fantastic,its horror,found family,comedy and deliciously SOUL-CRUSHING angst. Trust me,you won't regret it.

É ORDO REALITAS CARALHO!

#ordem paranormal #o segredo na floresta #o segredo na ilha #os sinais do outro lado #a ordem paranormal #cellbit #qsmp #qsmp cellbit #ordem paranomal quarentena #desconjuração #calamidade #enigma of fear #this is the first post that i ever rambled so much #and i wont apologize for it honestly #my love for this series is big and i will be annoying about it as i damn please

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kiss-me-muchoo · 9 months ago

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𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 || 𝐄𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐜 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ have you seen the MV of wildest dreams? If not… you play the romantic interest of Enzo’s character in a movie and the sparks begin behind cameras too. But he turns you down and finally sees you years after that, realizing he missed you and now he’s jealous.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠_ age gap, angst, fluff, Enzo is a little bit of an asshole, Enzo’s ex is NOT specified, okay? Definitely not trying to imply anything by that, Spanglish, ANGST AGAIN. We have a Mexican carne asada here y soporten. BIEN CRINGE ESTA MADRE

𝐀/𝐍_ people from Uruguay and Argentina can correct me all they want about the accent, please start listening Cedar, then Widest Dreams for this… BOTH SONGS IN MY PLAYLIST FOR ENZO.

♪ ♫ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝟒 𝐄𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐜 ✰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 (+fics here)

_________________________

Your character was close to his. They were lovers. So you had to spend a fair amount of time with him consequently. Enzo was a humble and kind man. He was so random and yet so peaceful. Which facilitated the connection.

In the beginning, you thought it was weird that the production of The Society of the Snow had decided to keep more than 50% of the cast for a short film that would promote the movie and create speculation. You didn’t say no because it meant flying to the shores of Spain and enjoying more time with the boys.

So you give in, you take the director’s advice to stick to Enzo and build a connection.

He’s older than you, more mature, more experienced in many ways, but yet you seem to be able to make him laugh.

“Tenés que estar bromeando,” he says laughing.

“No es joda, de verdad me multaron y se hizo un desmadre” you explain giggling, drinking at your water bottle.

Both of you are having a little moment on the beach. It was warm, and it was a free day. The rest of the boys decided to spend the afternoon playing video games and you were not willing to melt watching a TV.

“Recuérdame jamás salir con vos” you roll your eyes.

“Ay vete a la verga, todos saben que soy el alma de las reuniones y fiestas” he shrugged, eating from his sandwich and smiling.

“Si, tenés razón quizá”

“¿Quizá? No, no mientas, Enzo” finally, he laughs loudly.

“Bueno está bien, lo acepto”

“Así me gusta, obediente, mi niño” he blushed. And it made you blush too.

The sound of the waves swiftly colliding makes you feel at peace. It’s been great so far. Filming an action short film, playing the damsel in danger who turns out to be the villain, and having lots of fun with your workmates.

“¿No extrañas tu hogar?” he asks, and you sigh, looking at the sea.

“Trato de no pensar en eso. Dependo mucho de casa, de mi familia. Me cuesta el cambio, pero me adapto rápido” he nods, smiling, and you hate to admit you like how good he looks with his hair slightly shorter.

“Eso es bueno… adaptarse. Aunque cueste… creo que al final es bonito el cambio” you start laughing. Because you remember his Instagram captions and the pauses he always wrote. But he’s think that you are also very pretty, not only the change he mentioned before.

“Si, es bonito el cambio” You keep laughing, and he shouldn’t be smiling so much at you. But you were so funny, you always had something to share and talk about. Enzo was very close about sharing things about him. But with you, he could make an excuse.

So you also stare at him, and you feel your heart start beating faster.

You can’t fall in love with him. But you’re miserably failing.

…

You look at yourself in the mirror. Your character had a disguise moment, where she had to pretend to be a dancer to get information. So there you are in a bejeweled attire with feathers.

“No mames, qué buena me veo,” you say laughing. Loving how your waist looks and how your hair looks so fluffy. The costume department did an outstanding job of making you look hot

“Como que si… ¿eh?” The annoying twink of Juani had to be there.

“Ponme la de perdió este culo de la Bad Gyal, por favor” Juani starts cackling, already filming you for some random tweet.

“Pero si vos tuviste un ex hace siglos, ya no queda” you roll your eyes, checking on the glitter decorating your eyes.

“Ay, pero no por eso, Juani. Nomás por mamona lo digo” There’s a knock on the door and you turn to see who’s standing there.

“¿Y esa diosa?” You blush, smiling at Fran being the person who knocked at the door before.

“¿Dónde que no la veo?” Of course, Juani had to be an idiot and ruin the moment, but soon he blows you a kiss.

“No es cierto, linda” You roll your eyes and turn back to see Fran giggling. You give him a sweet smile and scratch the back of your neck. He helps you get your robe so you won’t have to cross the whole building with your exhibitionist outfit.

“Tenés escena conmigo” Fran says offering you his arm, which you gladly take.

“Adiós, naco perdedor,” you say to Juani, who starts laughing loudly. As you start walking with Fran across the hallways of the building, you start feeling your heart beat faster. You were going to have a heated scene with Enzo, which made you cringe a lot. First, you appear with Fran’s character in the club which ends with your character tangling up with Enzo.

“¿Nerviosa?” You shake your head, sighing.

“I don’t know…Digo, no lo sé” he nods, as you two walk out of the building to get going towards the set. The shores of Spain were beautiful, Cádiz was warm and it suited your overwhelmed mood.

“Va a estar bien. Que igual si no, nos vamos a dar la vuelta en la noche” that immediately makes you smile. You nod, hugging him.

“Eso me encantaría mucho, Fran” You are on set now. There’s no way back, and when you turn back, you see Enzo, and he’s already looking at you.

You blush, and offer him a little smile before turning away so rapidly. The whole action is watched by Fran and he has his own opinion.

“Has pasado mucho tiempo con Enzo…¿No crees?” You shrug, greeting the makeup staff who are going to retouch your look.

“Teníamos que conocernos a fondo para que esto resultara” he nods again.

“Creo que si se ha dado lo de la conexión” it was weird, because you knew it was true. you had developed a special connection with Enzo. Hours spent talking and having long walks across the beach. The days you decided to cook for the boys and he always was the first to arrive and try to help you set up everything.

“Si se diera la oportunidad… ¿Te quedarías con él?” His question makes you wonder. It took you aback, and while you have full trust in Fran, you don’t know what to answer.

Well, you do know what to answer… but you are afraid to admit it.

“Si… aveces siento que si es con él, Fran. Me hace muy feliz… pero, no creo que Enzo sienta lo mismo” you confess. He smiles, taking your hand.

“Tenés que decirle. Se llevan un par de años, pero… se ven tan bien juntos” he says looking at Enzo.

“De verdad… ¿Tú crees?”

“Es que ve cómo te mira, y/n” In disguise, you turn to your side, and you confirm Enzo is still looking at you.

“Decíle… anda” you smile, a warm feeling growing in your heart. You feel loved, you feel like it might be meant to be. So you plan something.

“Hay que hacer una carnita asada” Fran laughs.

“Pero vos le pones mucho al asado. Jamás había visto uno así” you laugh. Since your type of asado was a northern Mexican carne asada. They all believed it was a great change of style of cooking.

“No lo niegues, Fran. Mi asado es grandioso” he tries to deny it but at the end, he smiles nodding.

“Ey… ¿estás lista, linda?” Enzo asks, appearing with a gorgeous smile. He was wearing a dark suit, his hair looked amazing, very hot.

“Creo que si…” you let him know. After some brief exchange of words with the production, you take your position along with Fran to start filming. And you never miss the way Enzo was looking at you.

Maybe he felt the same.

…

You started the carne asada before taking a shower and getting ready. Now, everything was ready. The big patio that connected the apartment complex was decorated with a table that Juani and Matias helped you set, with chips, salsas, guacamole, beans, and agua de tamarindo that you had to mix with some alcohol.

Everyone is having fun, and you have helped to serve the food to everyone with Blas. It seemed to be going well, you have a sundress and sneakers on the feeling of the alcohol has you tipsy and you can’t wait to make yourself some tacos with the asado.

You feel someone hug you from behind, and when you turn back, you end up caged around Enzo’s arms.

“Hey… you made it!” You cheer after seeing him, trying to ignore the blush on your cheeks. You hoped nobody had seen the interaction. Or else they would start with cheesy rumors.

“No me lo perdería” you smile, offering him a glass of agua de tamarindo.

“Hice verduras asadas y queso fundido para ti” he wanted to hug you so tightly again after hearing you say that. You had thought about him and cooked specifically for him. Enzo had been in some dilemma, where he questioned if you could be the one. Although, he still had many obstacles to get to you. And he didn’t know yet that those obstacles would draw him apart from you.

“Ehh.. y/n linda, ¿hay más mas cubiertos?” Agustin asks you suddenly.

“Creo que hay servilletas y popotes en el cuarto de lavar. Voy a ver” you say laughing.

“Te acompaño…” says Enzo, which makes you blush again.

“Gracias…”

Both of you walk inside the building, and the laundry room is very near, so in less than a minute he opens the door to let you in. With the distance, you finally are able to distinguish the song playing on the patio. You hum along trátame suavemente playing in the background.

No quiero soñar mil veces las mismas cosas

Ni contemplarlas sabiamente

Quiero que me trates suavemente

Enzo can’t help but think you look so adorable. He remembers the way he had to touch you for the scene earlier. Half of him hated himself for feeling that way about you, and the other half questioned if it could possibly be correct.

“Enzo… no alcanzo las servilletas” When he turns back, he sees you trying to climb the washing machine to open the drawers.

“Así no, chiquita.” He laughs and stops you, making you sit on top of the washing machine while he grabs the bag with napkins and straws inside.

“Ay, si… humillame pues” you complain crossing your arms. He drops de bag beside you, and then gives you a silly smirk, which makes you laugh.

“Nada de eso, sis vos sos bien linda así” You cross your arms, avoiding his eyes. This was the closest you’d been around him. It feels alright like having him close to you was normal. Making you realize, you could get used to his aura being so damn close to you.

I like him…

“¿Tú crees?” You let yourself play a little dumb, pretending innocence. And you have the excuse of being under the effects of alcohol.

Te comportas de acuerdo

Con lo que te dicta, cada momento

Y esta inconstancia, no es algo heroico

Es más bien algo enfermo…

you keep humming the song as you try to keep the conversation normal with the man.

“Si… muy linda vos” The outrageous side of you let your arms get tangled around his neck. And it caught him by surprise but he let himself feel the moment. He shyly placed his hands on your hips, and you squirmed.

“¿Qué estamos haciendo?” He asks, accepting that he was getting lost in your eyes.

“No sé” you admit, feeling how his chest was touching yours.

“Bésame, Enzo…” you close your eyes, and seconds later, you know he’s kissing you. Your fingers trace his hair and it’s so soft that it makes him groan in pleasure.

You let his hands caress the plush skin of your hips and legs as you keep pushing him towards you.

This is it, you are falling in love with him.

…

It’s one of the last days of filming, but for the past two weeks, you have been spending a sickening time with Enzo. He spent two nights with you, he even agreed to go out to the city just for you. You could say the feeling of falling in love was growing very rapidly.

He made you feel safe and every smile he offered was enough relief for your days. He held your hand once while walking through the crowded streets to not lose you and it felt right.

And you hadn’t seen him in two days because he had different scenes to film.

Until now, where your character holds hands with him as she confesses she’s the villain. You feel the air shift, you feel the distance he’s making and you wonder if it was because of the scene or if he was actually being cold to you. The setting is on one hill with a gorgeous sunset in the background, making the scene very dramatic and tragic for the romantic partners.

“Dime que me amas y me entregaré. Por favor…” your character says. Enzo looks at you, and the look he exchanges with you is sad, making you confused on camera.

“Yo te amo, pero sabes que no podemos estar juntos” his character had to say. And for some reason, you felt like Enzo was actually saying that to you.

“CORTE!” The director said. Everything keeps going on. But for you time stops. You look at him, hoping to find some sense of tranquility. That nothing had changed.

Slowly, Enzo dropped your hand and after a brief look… he walked away.

…

You spend the afternoon collecting shells. You are confused and slightly sad because filming is coming to an end. You don’t know if Enzo actually wanted to give it a try on distance. Because after the kiss on the carne asada, none of you had given status to the relationship.

But it’s not necessary to keep thinking about it, because you see him walking towards you, and your immediate reaction is to offer him a smile.

“Ey.. te perdiste todo el día” you try to sound calm.

“Estaba ocupado.” He says with both hands inside his hoodie. His hair looks disheveled and he seems tired.

“Entiendo…”

“Volví a hablar con ella” There’s no need to address it, you know who he meant, his ex-girlfriend. You don’t say a word, opting for hearing him before talking.

“Hablamos mucho. Quedamos de vernos cuando vuelva a Uruguay” you gulp, each word hurting you more.

“¿Entendés, verdad? Vos sos más joven que yo, somos de lados muy distintos… no iba a funcionar” your eyes get watered immediately. Rage invading you and sadness flooding you.

“Decí algo, por favor. No quiero lastimarte…” you laugh, shaking your head. There are some seconds of silence. You need to choose the right words.

“Alguna vez me miraste, sonreíste y pensaste que… tal vez, ¿tal vez pudo haber sido conmigo?” He sighs, looking away, at the sea.

The longer he remains quiet, the more you have the answer. He never felt the same as you, but he never tried to stop you either. He played along.

You just start walking away, hand on an extremely tight grip, the shells and sand irritating the skin on your palm.

“Nunca quise hacerte daño” he yells as you have walked a fair amount of steps away.

“Si nunca sentiste algo por mi, nunca debiste haberme dejado encariñarme contigo.” He lowers his gaze and you feel even more enraged.

“No puedes ni levantar la cabeza. Fucking shame on you…” you spit with disappointment.

“Y jamás debí haber aceptado conocerte tanto” you finally say. Walking away at once and fighting the tears as you try to pass the boys who are playing video games again.

“Ey… ¿estás bien?” Juani asks and you nod, but he follows and once his hand touches yours, you can’t help but collide on his chest, letting the tears fly away silently. Juani doesn’t say anything, not yet, he just hugs you tightly.

…

The next afternoon, Enzo goes to find you in your room, but he’s surprised by the fact that you’re gone.

“Filmó su última escena y se ha ido a casa” Santi told him.

“¿Cómo?” Enzo is in shock, he just sighs, closing his eyes.

“Se quiso ir antes…”

“Le dijo… muchas cosas a Juani y a Fran” Santi adds, and Enzo can tell what had happened. And of course, he accepted being guilty.

“Necesito hablar con ellos” and with that he lefts.

But the talk didn’t help a lot. He just realized you were gone by the time he was able to be alone in his room again. Enzo was confused and tired and he also just wanted to go home. But as he understands you’re gone and he won’t see you in a long time, he feels a little lost. And empty…

…

A lot of things change. You grow, you forget, you change. You go back to your normal life, college goes great, and everything is normal until it’s time to give a promotion to the movie and the short film. You kept a lot of contact with Fran, Juani, and Matias, but it won't be the same as if you didn't end up on good terms with Enzo.

About him, you learned he didn't make it with his ex-girlfriend. He was single and apparently good. You don’t hate him, but there’s a lot of resentment. And as the premiere was around the corner, rumors had appeared on the surface of social media. Rumors of you and Enzo, and all the drama. You didn't pay attention to those, but you were expecting at least one question regarding the issue in the upcoming interviews.

You were offered to be dressed by some perfect designer who had similar ideas to you. He made a silk dress in a champagne color for you. With tiny crystal beats and a gorgeous skirt. You loved the dress, it suited you so well too.

So at the beginning of the night, you don’t think about anything but making a good impression on the cameras. All that mattered was the promotion of the movie.

As soon as you arrive at the gala, you start shivering because of your nervousness about seeing your friends again. You were the last one to arrive so you weren’t able to greet them.

And that’s when you see Enzo. He seems fine, in a completely dark suit and his stupid perfect hair. When he finds your sweet eyes, his heart beats faster, you look so perfect. Your hair, your brows, your eyes, the pink lips, everything seemed to make you look so perfect. And he can tell you look older, your childish and plush cheeks are gone, and your short hair too. He remembers all the good memories he made with you and he feels sadness taking over. He missed you so bad after going back home. And he wasn’t able to hear anything from you because he didn’t dare to ask Juani or Fran for example.

“Te ves preciosa,” says Agustin hugging you. You smile at him and thank him. All the boys want to greet you and all is being recorded. The only one you don’t greet is Enzo, who stays afar posing for the cameras. Until most of the photographers keep asking to take a picture of you and the man who broke your heart.

“No te acerques si no querés” Juani advises you, whispering in your eye. You sigh, looking at how Enzo is getting closer.

“Creo que ya no tengo de otra…” you whisper back, pretending to have a big and honest smile on your face.

Enzo exchanged looks with you, and he was able to sense how awkward you were feeling, which didn’t soothe him. So he pretended to place his hand on your back but he never touched you, and you didn’t even glare at him a second the flash hit your face. You ignore the growing pain of having him so close but being so far away at the same time.

They want you to do a little interview with him. So you get close to the cameras to answer some questions.

“Entonces y/n… ¿qué crees que fue lo mejor de grabar el largometraje?” You giggle, easy question.

“Definitivamente que pude volver a estar con los chicos. Fue mas sencillo y podíamos divertirnos con mayor libertad” the woman nods, assuring that she was recording your answer.

“Y Enzo… ¿fue difícil grabar estando en una relación?” You know he didn’t like the question, and you suddenly felt worse or awkward.

“Eh… no. La verdad es que llevo rato soltero.”

“¿Hay alguien que podría llevarte a dejar de estarlo?” He laughs and you just want to run away. You really don’t care, and you don’t want to know the answer.

“Hubo una chica con la que estuve en Cádiz hace casi dos años. Nos la pasamos muy bien y las cosas no se dieron, mi culpa. Me gustaría hacer las cosas bien por ella…” it must be you, and it can’t be. You don’t believe him, you just turn around and look for any of your friends. So when you see Matias making you a sign to join im, you take the opportunity.

“Me llaman por acá. Un gusto, y gracias…” you thank the woman with a smile and leave quickly, knowing Enzo has eyes set on your back.

You won’t cry, but you can’t help but feel so weird about everything. You had been great without him. Seeing him back made you go back to that summer in Cadiz and how great it was your life at the time. But that is gone, and so are the memories you made with him.

…

Everyone knows you disappeared after the projection of the movie and the short film. You don’t like feeling his eyes across the dark room. You can’t rest knowing the party that followed the projections was going to be very painful. By showing clips of the behind-the-scenes, everyone saying words to each other. You are not in the mood for that. And it’s all because of him. Because he had to be an asshole and not think clearly. You couldn’t even call yourself stupid because he gave all the green lights that actually looked like green flags.

And as you question everything in pajamas, looking at the open balcony of your hotel room with red swollen eyes when there’s a knock.

You drag your feet to the door, and once you open it, he’s there.

The suit is still on, but he has a specific gesture on his face.

People often said looks said more than words, and Enzo was the perfect example.

You tilt your head, reading his face. His face says that he’s sorry, he feels sad, and he’s desperate to have you back. And he frowns after seeing your sad face. Your red eyes and look that said how confused and hurt you were.

So both of you stare for a little longer, literally glorifying each other faces. Remembering the soft touches, all the things you talked together. How happy you made each other.

“Podemos arreglarlo…” he finally says.

And slowly both of you smile, sad and broken smiles.

You open your arms and he immediately goes to hug you. His hands find their way to your waist, his face hidden in the warmth of your neck.

“Tú recuerdo jamás me dejó” and you smile again, closing your eyes, letting your face get comfortable on his chest, letting more tears fall.

“Si es contigo…Siempre fue contigo” he admits, knowing he’ll never let you go again.

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update agosto 2024: JAJAJAJAJ que mamadas escribía, aún amo a Enzo y no me arrepiento de nada pero qué mamada JAJAJAJJAAJ

Antes de que me digan que que pendeja esta la y/n por perdonarlo tan fácil, pues en mi cabeza cuando Enzo la fue a ver a su cuarto fue como muy fuerte. De esos momentos donde la tension es mas fuerte y no se necesitan tantas palabras para saber que la persona está literalmente a tus rodillas suplicando so…

I already have an idea for a new fic with Enzo that it’s going to be AHHHHH. hint? Everyone loves you, that’s it

#enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic #si no etiqueto la movie como hago que esto lo vean duh #la sociedad de la nieve #the society of the snow

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haodarling · 4 months ago

Text

Like the Movies

about: a series of my favorite movies reimagined with (some of) the boys of seventeen.

notes: the movies inspired the fics, please don’t expect it to be an exact word for word reenactment of the films; i had a couple of ideas and decided to roll with it. unfortunately i will not be doing all of the boys as some of them are key side characters unless specifically requested! the stories are interrelated in some way; it won’t be explicitly stated but try and look for crumbs!

also! most if not all the y/ns in the fics are directly stated to be female due to some of the stories heavily relying on y/n’s biological sex to be female.

currently working on: pretty girl !

Pretty Girl

based on: Legally Blonde

pairing: law student! joshua x heiress! reader // ex boyfriend! wen junhui x reader

synopsis: the youngest of 3 successful sisters, no one expects you to accomplish anything save for sitting still and looking pretty, but after your boyfriend dumps you for a much more educated girl, you get your eldest sister to pay your way into harvard law where you meets joshua hong, who does not seem to appreciate how lightly you takes things.

tropes: opposites attract, popular girl x nerd boy but with a twist, they start off at the wrong foot, it gets resolved, joshua will say hurtful things along the way though

A Sweet Haven

based on: Notting Hill // Maid in Manhattan

pairing: golden retriever!mingyu x single mother!y/n

synopsis: never in your wildest dreams did you expect acclaimed actor, kim mingyu, to stumble into your quaint bakery and ask you to hide him from the onslaught of paparazzi. what began as one chance encounter turns into constant visits to you and your daughter. but just as you begin to see a future between the two of you, the reminder of his fame and reputation hovers over the both you.

tropes: forbidden romance, single mom! reader, mingyu’s an actor, secret relationship

Hot and Cold

based on: Pride and Prejudice // Emma

pairing: wonwoo x reader, seokmin x oc

synopsis: as the eldest child of your family, you have only ever wanted the best for your siblings. so when your sister confesses to being in love with someone— you do everything you can to make sure they both end up together… but the infuriatingly handsome brother of your sister’s beau seems to be against the union altogether.

tropes: enemies to lovers, they really don’t like each other at first, just two people being protective of their younger siblings, elder sibling trauma written by an only child LOL

Mr and Mrs. Choi

based on: Mr. and Mrs. Smith

pairing: agent!scoups x agent!reader

synopsis: you and seungcheol (code name: scoups) have a bit of a work place rivalry going on, and the agency wants to put you both to the test by pairing you up with each other in a mission that would determine who gets the promotion… the catch being that you both would have to play a married couple.

tropes: rivals to lovers, technically also coworkers to lovers, fake marriage au, a lot of back and forths, cheol is a teasing lil shit with y/n, will very much include the old “the target is gonna notice we’re tailing him hurry let’s make out”

Love Me Tomorrow

based on: 2 week’s notice // flipped

pairing: jeonghan x reader

synopsis: your friends and coworkers say you’re foolish for harboring a crush on the worst man ever; aka your boss. yoon jeonghan is a successful ceo, and he is well aware of the hold he has over you; often using you to perform minute and tiresome errands. but what happens when you finally draw the line?

tropes: unrequited love (initially), she fell first but he fell harder, hannie’s an asshole here ngl, he gets better i promise, y/n is on a path to self love, when hannie realized he loves her he’s so pathetic i swear

Something Borrowed, Something New

based on: My best friend’s wedding

pairing: minghao x extraverted!reader, slight vernon x reader, and slight minghao x oc

synopsis: you love your fiancee you truly do, and you were very sure he felt the same long enough to propose to you; but he’s quiet, and well- you’re not. you know this, and so you always make sure you are not too spirited in days where he doesn’t feel it. but when he runs into his old college friends, you could not help but notice how he becomes a lot livelier with his childhood best friend.

tropes: established relationship, opposites attract, golden retriever y/n and black cat minghao, angst, like a lot of it, hao has a girl best friend :(( , two people who don’t communicate because of their own personal reasons

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #angst #fluff #suggestive #svt angst #svt fluff #svt imagines #scoups x reader #joshua x reader #jeonghan x reader #wonwoo x reader #mingyu x reader #the8 x reader #like the movies — satin #minghao x reader

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for-a-longlongtime · 19 days ago

Text

Coming

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x non-binary!afab!reader Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI. 🏳️‍🌈 Warnings/tags: Reader is nonbinary + AFAB (assigned female at birth), no pronouns are used, limited descriptions of body and none of skintone/race (reader has a clit, gets wet when aroused - no further genitalia references -, has hair that can be tugged), is called 'baby' several times by Dieter. Light recreational use of cannabis (vaping), shotgunning, fingering, oral (m receiving), intercourse. Bossy Dieter. Word count: 2.2K A/N: There was no functioning brain behind this (and only a quick editing round) - just a whole bunch of PWP. And, well, the way that the expression in the top right gif (by @arcanefox207!) reminded me so much of that Dieter gif on the left... This one is for my non-binary babes, especially for @sp00kymulderr! Edit: I just realized this is my first Dieter fic, I hope I did justice to him!

main masterlist | read on AO3

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Dieter looks fucking incredible - and he knows it.

“You’re staring, baby,” he says teasingly as he catches your eye in the mirror.

He’s right; you’re unabashedly admiring him, even with the shitty dressing room lights, as he just finished putting on his outfit. ‘One last day of shoots for Cliff Beast, and we can right away record a bunch of promo as well,’ the director had promised, and those had been the magic words - it was no secret how much Dieter hated promoting this movie. So get it all done at once? Sold.

You purse your lips slightly as you try to hide your smile. “It doesn’t look terrible on you,” is the most you’re willing to admit, fully aware that just might be the understatement of the century. Light colors look so good against his skin, especially when he’s got this summer tan still going, and the new stylist had picked out a great outfit. Add his charisma and surprisingly good mood to it, and it was clear he is going to nail this shoot.

That is, if you would even let him leave the dressing room.

“Not terrible?” He raises an eyebrow as he grabs his vape, wandering over to you as he takes a deep hit. “Bullshit. Saw you checking out my dick.”

“Nope. I was looking at your outfit, and the pants are just part of that.”

“You’re such a shit liar.” His grin widens, and he takes another hit before he leans in, tipping your chin up slightly so you look at him - asking you for permission. You nod as your part your lips for him, then inhale the smoke he gently blows at you to share his buzz.

“You were totally touching yourself,” you mumble as you run your hands over his chest, and his eyes sparkle as he takes another hit and shares it with you. “Show off.”

“Voyeur.”

“Cock tease.”

He laughs softly as as he sits down on the couch, leaning back casually and comfortably as always. Like he’s in his ratty pajama pants and a robe instead of designer clothes. “I wasn’t even cockteasing yet.” He shrugs as he looks you up and down, ending with a lingering look on your lips. From the corner of your eye you see his left hand moving, straightening out the fabric at the crotch of his pants, and you know the good prospects for this shoot are about to take a turn.

“They’re probably gonna come get you soon,” you protest weakly, but he just smiles, thumbing open the button of his pants with his eyes locked onto you. “Dieter…”

He’s wearing his white CK boxers, of course. The ones that show everything and are practically translucent. But what you just may like the most about them is the way they hug his hips, and thighs, and how the soft swell of his belly spills a little over the band. Some days it makes him feel self-conscious, but today isn’t one of those days - he looks calm and in control, almost surprisingly so.

His fingertips ghost over the fabric and he cups himself briefly, a slow smile tugging at his lips; he knows you’re hypnotized and are following every little move. It’s not even arrogance that’s on his face; he just loves to see how much you want him, how he can get you fucked up with just the smallest of actions. “C’mere, baby,” he says, giving you a wink as he fully presses his hand against his crotch now.

You squirm as you feel your own underwear get wet, your tongue aching to taste him, but he clicks his tongue in amusement as his eyes flit down your body, before they move back up again to look right at you. Fucking elevator eyes.

When you see the wet patch where he’s leaking against the white fabric of his boxers, it’s game over. No more waiting. You don’t just come over as he requested - you also reach out for him, determined to tug those boxers down and at last get to see all of him.

“Nuhuh,” he grabs your hand just before you can grasp the fabric of his boxers. “Behave.” His voice is low, deeper than general, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that you’re definitely not going to be in control this afternoon. But that has never stopped you from trying - if there’s one thing Dieter loves, it’s being challenged.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you let your other hand brush over his boxers, and you feel him twitch under your touch. “Dee. Take them off. Wanna see you.” But the thing about Dieter is that if he’s got other plans, he simply won’t listen to suggestions. And he’s really good at cajoling people into getting what he wants.

It takes embarrassingly little time for you to sink down to your knees in front of him - quicker even that it takes him to take his pants off and toss them over to a nearby chair, followed by his underwear. His big hand closes around his cock and he strokes himself, slowly and teasingly, not missing a beat of how you’re practically salivating at the sight. You know it riles him up even more when he sees how much you want him, and you also know that he’s fully aware already that you’re soaking wet for him.

He’s on a little power trip now, jerking himself off while staring down at you being on your knees in front of him - his voice that perfect kind of hoarseness which always sends shivers down your spine as he says your name.

With two fingers he gathers the precum that’s leaking from the head of his dick, then reaches with his other hand for your chin, gripping it tightly as he forces your mouth open. “Take it.” And then those slick fingers push into your mouth and he groans pleased when you take them in, sucking on him.

When he’s content with how desperately you’re sucking on his fingers, he pulls them out of your mouth and grabs you by your hair, guiding you towards his balls. There’s that low, deep groan from him when you eagerly put your tongue and lips on him, licking him before you take his sack into your mouth and he continues to pump himself slowly in one hand as he watches you play with his balls. Just for a little while, until you’re whimpering his name in frustration - then he tugs your head a little further back, his hand still in your hair, and rubs the head of his dick over your lips, watching how he slicks up your lips.

You can tell Dieter is waiting to hear one more whine or plea from you, and when he gets it, he at last he feeds his cock to your mouth - finally letting you take over, but with his hand still firmly in place on the back of your as you blow him, guiding you in the rhythm he wants.

“Look at you. Want it so bad, huh?” Dieter grins when he notices you’re touching yourself while sucking him off, and fucks your mouth just a little harder as his breathing is getting all messed up. Eventually he pulls himself out of your mouth with a groan and helps you up from the floor, only to urge you down on the couch.

Within seconds he’s stripped you off your pants and underwear, and you’re on all four with his fingers slipping between your legs. “Fuckin soaked just from sucking my dick”, he scoffs as he slips a finger into you, but you can tell by his tone of voice that he likes it. A second finger rapidly follows, and he curses as you clench around him, rutting back against him.

His resolve has worn off though, and you can tell he’s getting as desperate as you are. When you look back over your shoulder, you see him fist himself with your wetness, eyes heavy lidded as he watches you. You’re more than ready to take him, but still you can’t help but gasp as he presses into you to fill you up. The broadness of his chest and shoulders are warm against your back, and you try not to think about what this is doing to his outfit, as he doesn’t slow down until he’s fully buried inside of you.

He’s rough and fast, needy in a dominant way as his fingers dig into your hips. “You take me so well,” he breathes, sounding strung out already as he thrusts into you, handling you to his liking. You gasp his name suddenly as his cock hits just the right spot inside of you, and he picks up on it immediately, making sure to keep the pace going while he slides his other hand down to your clit to stroke you. His breathing is rapidly getting out of control, both of you barreling towards a release, and you let your fingers join his to touch you just the way you need it.

A knock on the dressing room door startles you both, and you curse as you suddenly remember you didn’t lock the door. “Shit. Shit, you’ve gotta stop, Dee,” you try to force the words out even though it’s barely more than a moan when you hear someone outside call out for him, followed by another knock.

But Dieter laughs hoarsely, shaking his head as he slams even harder into you, balls slapping against your sweaty skin. “Oh I don’t fucking think so, baby. Let them come in,” his breathing is hot against your ear as he pins you down even more with his body, and you know there’s no point in trying to break free from him. “You’ll just have to come faster.”

The truth is that you wouldn’t even care that much if it was just his assistant - god knows that poor guy really did see it all before. But while you initially thought it was one of the set assistants, you now hear the voice of the actor you’ve had a thing for since you were in your late teens.

“Hey man, they need us on set - are you in there?”

Dustin. Dustin fuckin’ Mulray, because of course. That goddamn Cliff Beasts 6 shoot.

You feel the shiver of excitement running through Dieter’s body and against yours, and again there’s that shit eating laugh of his as he buries his face against your neck. “Fuck. Want me to call him in, baby? Get him on his knees so he can lick you while I fuck you like this?” His voice is thick and you know he’s imagining it, that he knows you are imagining it too now he’s said it. Even though you’re trying with all your might to say no, your treacherous body is clearly saying otherwise.

“Mmm, yeah, I think you do. I know you’ve been hot for him for a long time now,” Dieter’s voice is gleeful as he’s panting now, clearly enjoying how you clench tighter around him at his taunting words. “He’s got a pretty mouth. Or want him to fuck your mouth so you’re full on both ends? Take you from London to Paris - he’s well hung, too.”

Your body tenses up at that and you curse at Dieter, almost crying now as you grab his hand tighter and grind down against his fingers, forcing just the right amount of pressure against your throbbing clit. “You son of a bitch, just fuck-….”

“Hello?”

You stop breathing when you see the door handle move down, and Dieter groans with way too much delight at that, his spare hand yanking at your hair suddenly in a way that never fails to affect you. “You’d better come quick for me, honey,” and the words have barely even left his mouth before you’re spasming around his cock, shoving your fist against your mouth to muffle your moans as you’re coming hard - some part of your brain still bracing yourself for the sight of Dustin staring at the two of you, which both mortifies and exciting the hell out of you.

Dieter’s laugh is deep and throaty as he tries to stop his own moans, shifting his hips until he’s gasping and slamming himself even harder into you. “What’s that, Dustin?”, he calls out, forcing your head up so you have no choice but to stare at the door - and your body jolts up again, and again, as the door handle is now pressed all the way down and you’re less than a second away from meeting Dustin’s hazel eyes.

“I said-…”

“Fuuuuck”, Dieter’s voice is muffled against your shoulder as his body jerks hard, and both his hands now grip your hips as he fills you up, his cock pulsing inside of you. “Coming, Dustin!”

The door handle moves back to its original position as you hear a muttered “Alright, fine. Always late,” from the hallway, and you try to control your breathing while considering how you can kill Dieter and get rid of the body before anyone notices.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” you finally manage when he pulls out of you, and he laughs as he helps you up.

“It was locked. You were fine.” He catches your hand by the wrist before you can slap him, and smugly leans in to give you a kiss. “C’mon, put your clothes back on. Wanna know I’m leaking out of you while you watch the shoot, babe.”

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<3 for @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @arcanefox207 @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @sin-djarin @qveerthe0ry @lotusbxtch @mountainsandmayhem for encouraging my little brainrot fic!

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main masterlist | follow @longlongtime-updates for updates

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble #dustin mulray #david duchovny #david duchovny characters

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seeingivy · 23 days ago

Text

the season of us

phd!eren x f!reader

**part of my canary mate fic

previous part linked here

Follow Up: Gabi Braun Hello Y/N, I hope you’re having a great week! Just letting you know that Gabi and I had a great meeting last week. We’re going to start processing her paperwork and everything. She seems like a very sweet girl. She spoke very highly of you and all of the hard work you do. I can’t wait to hear all about it when you come home in a few weeks! Love, Pieck

“so do you always have such a shit look on your face or is today something special?”

you nearly jump at the sound of eren’s voice, not having noted when it was that he sat in the car. you had taken the free time to open your emails, the one from pieck standing particularly out between the usual mix of promotions and comments that levi left on your documents.

you note that eren’s wearing his glasses again today and that much to nanaba’s delight, he’s freshly cut his hair to avoid man bun status all together.

“you got a haircut.” you state.

“you’re wearing a green sweater.” eren responds, mimicking the tone in your voice.

“what?”

“i thought we were both just stating random facts.” eren deadpans.

that was one way to start the day.

you roll your eyes, peeking over your shoulder as you pull out of his driveway. in your peripheral vision, you can see that eren immediately reaches for the aux cord hanging in between the seats and plugs in his phone.

“i mean. you had to know that i was making a comment about your haircut. that you got in between the time we last saw each other.”

“a comment would be something objective. like, eren i love your haircut, you look so handsome. you just simply stated that i got a haircut, which is a fact. which i am obviously aware of. since you know, i was the one who got the haircut and all.”

you sigh.

“i don’t understand how you have this much energy to fight before you get coffee in your system.” you mumble.

“you bring out a special irritation in me. you should be flattered.” eren responds.

you scoff.

“oh trust me, i am. it’s my true honor to haul you around in my car and have you sass me every morning.”

eren doesn’t take the bait and the two of you continue to drive down the street in silence. it’s often quiet that way, nothing filling the air between the two of you except for the music. which at the current moment wasn’t filling the awkward air at all.

you peer over to the passenger seat at the red light to see eren scrolling through a playlist. you’re not sure if your eyes deceive you, but in the blur, you swear that the name of the playlist is your name. something that looks eerily similar to the shape of your name.

you swear you’re imagining it. and against your better judgment – and something you’re positive you will most definitely get teased for even mentioning – you ask him if it’s true.

“is the name of your playlist my name?” you ask.

no. the name of his playlist is obviously not your name.

eren looks over at you, green eyes almost bored, as he answers.

“yes.”

he responds like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. that his simple response warrants why your name would be in his playlist, like it’s something as casual as what the weather's like today or how far the two of you are from the coffee shop. eren scrolls towards the middle of the playlist and starts playing the song.

The Song for My Brother - Nam Hye Seung, Park Sang Hee

“why is your playlist name my name?” you ask.

“because we agreed that it was going to be my turn to play music today.” eren states.

you glare at him.

“you’re acting like that explains why you have a playlist that has my name as the title.”

“yeah. we agreed that we were going to play movie scores for each other since we both liked them.”

“did that warrant you making an entire playlist? with my name on it?” you ask.

“i’m trying to put you on good scores. i can’t go repeating them and they all depend on the mood. don’t go taking it personally or anything.”

you roll your eyes.

“does it count as putting on when i already know the score? everyone’s watched crash landing on you, you dumbass. besides, this isn’t even the best one from the show.”

eren looks over at you, almost intrigued.

“you watched crash landing on you?” eren asks.

“i’m more shocked that you did.”

“and what is it that you thought that i watched?” eren asks.

you shrug.

“baby sacrifice rituals. joe rogan. the antichrist.” you offer.

you think your eyes deceive you again, that eren’s trying to fight off a smile. then again, your original instinct was correct.

“no, those are part of my morning mantras. i watched the show with my mom and my sister.”

you laugh in response.

“what do you think the best one is from the show?” eren follows up.

“same sky, different world.”

“wrong. it’s picnic.”

you shake your head.

“picnic is a classic because it does have the hints of the main title in it so it feels nostalgic. i like the violin. but same sky, different world is too perfect tone wise for what’s happening at the end of the show. it gives the last scenes of the show an entirely different air. because they are under the same sky but in different worlds.”

eren smiles. almost too brightly and you’re convinced that he’s taunting you.

“so you really are into scores?” eren asks.

“did you think i was just saying that when i mentioned it yesterday?”

“i mean, a little bit. the only other person i know who listens to them as seriously as me is my little sister, karina. she plays the cello too.”

you scoff.

“i’ll be making a counter playlist for tomorrow since you’re getting so competitive about this entire thing, which in hindsight i should have realized would happen. now, get out and go get the coffee.” you respond.

in the three minutes that eren leaves, you get a notification on your phone.

[busstopbilly]: I am finding myself in dangerous territory.

[lizontopoftheworld]: The K during rush hour?

[busstopbilly]: Ew, I would never go over there. If I wanted overpriced food, I’d at least go somewhere where the food is edible.

[busstopbilly]: No. I’m in dangerous wallflower territory.

[lizontopoftheworld]: YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[lizontopoftheworld]: don’t you have like horrendous foot in mouth syndrome when it comes to her? what was it you did last time?

[busstopbilly]: I told her that her friend’s boyfriend, well now he’s her fianceé, was too loud or something like that. I am ninety percent she told them and that I won’t be invited to the wedding, but that’s not a big deal.

[busstopbilly]: Let’s just say that I did something that could be perceived as weird. And I didn’t think that it would be weird, because now she knows that I thought about her. At length?

[lizontopoftheworld]: you sound like a murderer

[busstopbilly]: Is this how perverts feel?

[lizontopoftheworld]: I ALMOST CHOKED ON MY SPIT

[busstopbilly]: I’m glad you find my torment so amusing.

[lizontopoftheworld]: RELAXXXXXXX

[lizontopoftheworld]: you’re so melodramatic. i’m sure she didn’t think much of it. and even if she did…why don’t u just go for it :D

[busstopbilly]: You can choke.

[lizontopoftheworld]: OH MY GODDDDDD

[lizontopoftheworld]: you said she was pretty

[busstopbilly]: And that’s relevant why?

[busstopbilly]: i just need you to assuage the fact that I’m not a creep so that I can use it to move on through my day.

[lizontopoftheworld]: does my endorsement mean that much :)

[busstopbilly]: Obviously.

[busstopbilly]: Your opinion is the only one that matters to me, pretty girl.

[lizontopoftheworld]: bro can u relax its like eight in the morning

[lizontopoftheworld]: u have my seal of approval that u are not a creep. or a pervert? NOW MOVE HENCEFORTH THROUGH UR DAY

[busstopbilly]: Thanks, Liz.

eren returns after two minutes, with both of your coffees in hand. you shoot him a grateful smile as you stick yours into the cupholder and make your way towards the hospital.

“hey. can i talk to you in the fishbowl?”

you look over the top of the divider to find gabi peering over the top, eyes expectant as she waits for an answer.

red eyes and messy hair.

you give her a nod, picking up your laptop and walking down the length of the hall with her.

“everything okay?”

“yeah, yeah. i just had a question that i wanted to ask you. with people not around.”

“okay, sure.”

you swing open the doors of the glass conference room and plop down at the end of the wooden table. gabi looks over her shoulder before talking, double checking the door is closed, before she turns back to you and gives you an awkward smile. your first instinct is to make a note – that this something that you most definitely have to interrogate falco about later.

“are you about to confess that you committed a murder to me?” you ask.

“what? no!”

“you’re just particularly flighty. whispering, looking over your shoulder. are you sure everything is okay?”

gabi slouches down into her chair.

“no, no that’s partially what i wanted to talk to you about.” gabi starts.

you can tell that she’s fumbling words together. that she hasn’t thought about this entire thing that deeply, only because it’s very clear to you that she’s exactly like you – that when she has to say something important, it’s rehearsed in her head four times before it actually counts.

that much is obvious from the way that she talks in the meetings. talking about papers, about her proposals – the order of the words are almost identical to what she had written, which to you, was a sign that she had almost memorized them, rehearsed them over and over again to make sure that they were perfect.

you wonder if she found conversations as difficult as you sometimes. that when they weren’t rehearsed, they were almost impossible to control.

eren did mention that you had a rather unconfident way of talking.

“thank you for connecting me with your sister. she’s very sweet and she’s been really helpful.”

you shoot her a smile.

“i’m glad that she could help. is everything going all right with that?”

“yes. yes, we just submitted all of our forms to get an appointment and everything. there’s just a problem.”

“which is?”

“do you remember when….when you offered me the help and you talked about how hard it is to juggle this thing with everything else? you said that it could be a lot at times?”

you nod.

“i do remember that. what about it?”

gabi’s voice sounds strained when it comes out.

“did you mean it? was it really that hard for you too?”

you can’t help but deflate at the sound of her voice. at what she’s asking you.

was it as hard for you as it is for me right now?

“yes. i did mean it. in every sense of the thing. that type of thing is hard, hard at any portion of your life, but especially when you’re trying to figure out your own thing and what it is that you like to do.” you respond.

gabi’s face melts.

“really hard.” she affirms.

“do you want to tell me what part of it is hard right now? just so that i can see if i can help you?”

you’re not sure what it is, but the mere question sends a flood storm of words babbling out of gabi’s mouth. it’s hard to keep track but certain things stick out more than others.

“i just don’t know what to do because i have to help my mom translate most of the forms. then i get so irritated that i end up doing the entire thing by myself when i’m supposed to be reading all the papers that eren gave me for our abstract. falco’s having the time of his life chatting with everyone and he always invites me to come out to talk about stuff with mikasa and jean, but i can never come because i’m so busy. and this is one summer! one summer where i’m supposed to just be doing research to figure out if i like this. and then…and then i feel guilty. why am i complaining when they did so much for me? i want to help them, i desperately do, but i can’t help but feel like i’m missing out on something here. i want so bad to go to the conference with all of you in marley, but i don’t know if i can pay for transportation. when am i going to get this much time alone again with falco?”

gabi’s eyes widen at the last part, coupled with a pink flush that creeps up her neck. you so desperately wished that you could sick it to eren – that you knew for a fact that falco and gabi weren’t just being friendly.

you wonder why that’s the first thing that you thought of. and choose to ignore it to pick your words carefully.

“i’m garnering that��transportation is the issue here?”

you choose to save her from the embarrassment of pointing out what she said – especially when it’s very clearly something that she does not want to discuss.

gabi shoots you a grateful smile.

“i dropped three grand on sending in the applications for the stuff with my family. pieck told me that i’d probably have to spend more down the line. i know this is a great opportunity but i can also just present at the conference at the end of the fellowship and go off of that.”

you shake your head.

“i’m going to drive in my car. i’m pretty sure that freeloader falco is going to ask if he can join me in a few weeks. did you want to come with us?”

gabi gives you a tired smile.

“i can’t impose. that’s a lot of gas money.”

“that’s a non-issue. i would love to have you there when the four of us all present our work together. granted, i’m sure that eren’s going to blab the entire time and let none of us get a word in because that’s just who he is, but still. it would be a great place for you to network and see how things work. plus, at the undergrad level, it’s kind of a who can show off more contest.”

gabi groans.

“ugh. don’t say that.”

“granted, some of that doesn’t go away when you become a grad student. just think about the fall social. levi fully instructs me to go brag so that i can make him look good. but for the most part, it is people who are interested in that type of thing.”

you sigh.

“it’s really hard to grapple with what to prioritize. i love my family more than anyone else, but you also have to not give up things that are really important to you. that…that can make you harbor a lot of resentment. and i don’t want you to be resentful towards your family because, it’s such a hard and complicated thing to grapple with.”

“yeah.” gabi responds.

“it’s not supposed to be your job. but it is. you want something entirely different, but your family is what you’re strapped with – good and bad.” you add.

you sigh.

“you wouldn’t be imposing if you came with me. i hate to drive long distances, so you can even take over for a little bit. i refuse to let falco drive my car so it would kind of work out perfectly. but think about it. i’d at least like to be able to help with some part of everything you rambled about. the part i can actually help with it.”

gabi gives you a halfhearted smile.

“you don’t have to make up stuff to feel like i’m giving you something back.”

you smile back.

“i wouldn’t do that. and i know that you know for a fact that i’m not kidding about falco’s driving since you basically risk your life everyday when you try to get here.”

gabi smiles.

“don’t even get me started.”

“you don’t get me started.”

gabi takes a pause.

“you…you won’t tell him what i said earlier right?”

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

gabi sighs a breath of relief.

“god, falco’s right. you kind of are the best.”

eren notes that he’s in a particularly bad mood when he leaves the feedback on the abstracts that levi asked him to review. this point is only made apparent to him when he sees you at focus group afterwards, the expression in your face cueing him into the fact that he’s about to get an angry lecturer.

“did you really feel the need to leave a comment on every single line of the abstract i wrote?”

“i didn’t write a comment on every single line.” eren retorts.

he shouldn’t be so quick to talk back. to respond with the first thing that comes to his head.

“oh sorry. you left the line where i wrote my name blank. that’s awful kind of you.” you deadpan, as you slam hard on the button of the elevator.

the elevator whirrs up, quietly whining in the background, as eren huffs a sigh.

“i fixed your entire algorithm, that was entirely dogshit by the way, without saying anything snarky. you could have done the same.” you respond.

and that was exactly the problem. that you had rewritten his algorithm perfectly, so perfectly that he couldn’t find a mistake or rectify the new issue that they had at hand.

“would it kill you to get a spell checker? did you get your bachelors degree from a cereal box?” eren asks.

you roll your eyes.

“quit being so patronizing, eren. not all of us are afforded the privilege of writing in our first language.”

eren has no response for that. only because he feels horrible

“did you run the numbers?” eren asks.

“what?”

“did you run the algorithm after the fact? after you fixed it.” eren asks.

you shake your head, following directly after eren as he basically darts out of the door of the elevator the second that it opens. he smacks his password onto the free computer quickly, offering quick smiles to the people that wave as they walk past, and pulls up the code that you had fixed earlier that day.

eren runs play on the code and you instantly detect the problem.

three steady lines and one that doesn’t even take off.

“what the hell? what happened there?” you ask.

“colt’s not meeting the mark. well technically, he’s not even moving past the starting line.”

the algorithm is supposed to be simple. training against itself to see if there’s a significant amount of progress that can be simulated for future sessions. and for three of them, that much was true, even promixing.

but for one person, it’s staggeringly bleak.

you reach for the closest chair, rolling it up next to where eren’s sitting, and reach for the mouse. eren can tell that what you’re going to do next – that you’re going to read every line of your code obsessively, to see if you can find a mistake as to why colt wasn’t responding to the stimulation therapy at all.

eren only knows that because he tried it himself hours before.

“that can’t be.” you murmur.

“it is.”

you click back to the tab with the windows, the color coding of your graph pissing you off entirely. three yellow lines – signaling good progress – and one that was bright red.

noting your complete failure.

“so what are we doing to do?” you ask.

“if colt doesn’t pass the round that we give him this week, he’s going to be excluded from the group.” eren murmurs.

“what?”

“it’s part of the ethics guideline that we wrote. that would technically be the third time that he gets stimulated unnecessarily and we…we can’t just keep doing it when it’s something that has more risks than harms.”

you scoff.

“more risks than harms? there’s quite literally nothing else that he can do in his condition.”

“i know that. but technically, we could push things over the edge. make them worse and i would hate to do that.”

eren shrugs.

“i didn’t mean to be harsh on your abstract. it was fine, i just…already ran the numbers and was prematurely upset about it.” eren asks.

you give him a halfhearted nod, as you stare back at the line.

“i thought your concern with falco was that he was going to get too emotionally involved. you don’t seem to be taking it so well.”

eren pinches his lips into a line.

“you’re seeming very passionate about it as well.”

“well, that’s the difference between me and you. i wear my heart on my sleeve and you pretend like you don’t have one.” you respond, pushing up out of the chair as you read through the charts that have been stacked at the check in station.

eren makes a quick observation. that every time he’s argued with you, it’s because he’s already been in a bad mood before.

he’s quick to follow suit at your side, noting that your eyes are glued on colt’s chart, razor focused on the notes that floch had left earlier in the day regarding his status. eren can see bright red hair turning down the hallway as eren reaches forward and shakes hard on your shoulder.

you get his hint and follow eren down the length of the hall to the the room of the focus group. only to be met by the most crushing sight, and quiet possibly, the only one that fills you with enough determination to get it right when you do the stimulation therapy next week.

at the sight of colt finally laughing with everyone else in the focus group.

an: eep! we enter the scores part of the fic. anyways, for those of you who wonder, these were the scores that were mentiond in this chapter and some of my favorites from crash landing on you: the song for my brother, picnic, and the story of us! I can't wait to share more eep

taglist: @invisible-mori @multiplefandomthings @chericos @wheredidmycrowngo @chaoticpxnda @aizzon @stuffeddeer @butterfly-skinnylegend @najaemism @hellokitty-doll @constanciandrea @iblamesusy @jaegersdiary @f4irygard3n @misadear @fell-4-u @coyloves @sobbangchan @you-always-made-me-blush @th0tformikasa @yell0wdreams @itzmeme @elliesbabygirl @miniaturemartian @differentrunawayperson @k0z3me @stroberiz @stillnotherapy @cherryredribbons @bsenpai @cacapeepee

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yelenasdiary · 29 days ago

Note

Cute spooky spirt idea.

A Natasha x reader fic where reader isn't a huge fan of Halloween but nat love Halloween so she tries to get reader to enjoy it more. Probably fluff or something like that, just thought it was a neat idea.

-🌛

A Spooktacular Challenge

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Summary: Nat gets you to enjoy Halloween.

Fluff & Teeny Tiny Angst

Warnings: Brief mention of Body image insecurities | 1.4K

Translations: Detka (baby)

AC: Thank you for sending this! I decided to make this for all the curvy girlies out there, I hope that’s okay! Enjoy! x

October Special Masterlist 2024

Your favorite album played softly in the background of the study while you added some finishing touches to a drawing you had been working on over the last few days. Since October had officially arrived, you made a list of different activities you could do to avoid having to involve yourself in the holiday. You had never been a fan of Halloween, the over-the-top costumes and children shrieking in joy followed by the overdone decorations that littered the neighborhood and not to mention the sudden jump in Halloween movies being promoted had definitely made Halloween at the bottom of the list of your favorite holidays.

Natasha, your girlfriend on the other hand, loved Halloween. She lived for the spooky season with her love for horror movies, her sweet tooth, coming up with a different costume each year and handing out candy to those who knocked on the front door. You didn’t like to express too much of your dislike for Halloween around her, she was like a child herself when October arrived, but she knew you didn’t enjoy the holiday as much as she did.

“Babe! I’m home!” You heard Natasha call out. A soft smile tugged at your lips at the sound of her voice, even after being together for three years she still managed to make you smile just by her voice.

“In the study!” You called back, adding another line of detail to your drawing.

Natasha opened the door, pushing it wide open with the bags of shopping she had in her hands before she dumped them at her feet, excited to show you everything she had brought. You placed your pencil down, away from your drawing before you spun around on the office chair to face your excited girlfriend whose smile was wide and bright.

“You brought more decorations?” You asked with a cocked brow. Nat nodded proudly, “just a few more things to add to the display!” She replied before she reached down into one of the bags and pulled out a box that had an inflatable ghost inside, “the neighbourhood kids are going to love all this!” She boosted.

You watched as Nat pulled out more decorations, a skeleton cat in a laying position, a few skull battery operated candles, more fake cobwebs, some fake flying bats and two black cat light up Jack O' Lanterns.

“I thought maybe we could put them up together” Nat said with begging eyes.

You chuckled at the thought, “sorry baby but Halloween is your thing, remember? Besides, you wouldn’t want me to help, I wouldn’t make it look very spooky”

Nat wandered over to you before leaning down and capturing your lips in a soft, deep kiss. “What about now?” She asked, causing you to smile against her lips.

“Very sweet of you, my love, but still n-“

She cut you off with another kiss, this one longer. “pretty please?” Natasha begged sweetly.

You sighed lightly, the smile on your lips not fading, “Fine, but I’m only helping because you’re so cute when you’re excited”

Natasha smiled once more, “That’s the spirit! We’re going to make this the best Halloween ever! I’m going to take these out the front, bring a coat! It’s a little chilly!”

“I’ll be there in a moment” you replied.

As you and Nat finished up some of the decorations for the front yard, you couldn’t help but admire the happiness that Natasha got whenever somebody wandered past and complimented on how wonderful and spooky the house looked. Kids pointed and commented which added to Nat’s Halloween excitement.

Nat wrapped her arms around your soft waist, gently pulling you closer. “Thank you for all your help detka, I couldn’t have made all this look amazing without you”

“Oh please! this was all you” you chuckled, brushing a lock of her red hair behind her ear, “it looks amazing darling, really” you added with a soft smile.

“There is something I want to pitch to you” Nat said softly.

“Pitch away”

“I know you don’t like Halloween, but I thought this year you and I could do something, together, just us” she started, “we could have a cozy Halloween movie night with our favorite snacks, We can hand out candy to the kids, and then, maybe we could dress up as something cute together?”

Your eyes slightly dropped, “Nat, come on” you sighed, “you know how I feel about dressing up” you reminded her.

“I know darling, but I don’t want you to miss out on any fun, I would love to dress up with you and I promise, it’ll just be you, me and the kids that come knocking”

“Do you promise it’ll just be us? No last-minute Halloween parties or guest coming over?” You asked, locking eyes with her.

“I promise, just you and me” Nat replied, smiling softly before she kissed you.

----

Halloween was here and Natasha was beaming with excitement. Part of you felt excited for the cozy night in with your lover but the other part of you just wanted Halloween to be over with already. Nat had already set the living room up with lit candles, throw blankets on the sofa, an untouched bowl of popcorn in the center of the coffee table complimented with hot cocoa along with a small bowl of candy and other snacks.

Natasha was in the kitchen, finishing up the Halloween themed cupcakes she had just baked. She placed a few on a plate and added them to the coffee table of snacks. You couldn’t help but smile softly at her while her eyes traced over the living room with proudness, “everything is all set” she said.

“All this looks amazing!” You complimented as you made your way to the sofa.

“Thank you” she smiled, “but don’t get comfy yet! You’ve gotta get into your costume” she added with a playful wink.

“Oh, right! yes, the costume…I’ll be right back” you replied, giving her an unsure smile before you wandered back to the bedroom.

Your costume was already laid out on the bed, a white dress topped with a black leather jacket and a wig to finish the look. You almost hated that you weren’t going to be showing off your costume to others, especially when Nat helped you put everything together.

The dress sat perfectly on your body, flowing nicely over your curves, you couldn’t wait to show Nat the costume in full. You threw the leather jacket on and wandered into the bathroom to put on the wig and apply some light make up to complete the costume.

“Babe! I’m ready!” You called out before leaving the bathroom.

Natasha in her colorfully striped long sleeved shirt and denim overalls and her red locks a mess, smiled lovingly as you gave her little twirl in your dress. “Well, well, miss tiffany, you look divine!” She complimented, causing you to chuckle lightly.

“Thank you! You look very murderous!” You replied.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me!” Nat winked just as the door-bell rang. “Our first trick or treats for the night!” She almost jumped with excitement.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You asked, “we have candy to give out and movies to watch!” You added as you reached for Nat’s hand. The two of you walking towards the front door together, you grabbed a couple of candy bars for the children who smiled happily as Nat answered the door.

“Trick or treat!” The two children in costumes sang in sync.

“Wow! You guys have awesome costumes!” Nat smiled, “happy Halloween!” She added as you kindly dropped the candy in their treat bag. “You both look amazing” you smiled at them.

“Thank you!” The children smiled before turning on their heels to return to their parents waiting patiently at the mailbox.

Natasha closed the door and smiled at you once more, “See, that wasn’t so bad” she said.

“I guess you’re right, Halloween can be fun. Did you see how big their smiles were?” You replied. Your words were like magic to Natasha as she gently wrapped her arms around you, “I knew one day I would get you to enjoy Halloween, and I think this year I won”

“Calm down chucky, it’s only the start of the night!” You said teasingly before softly kissing her, “besides, I’m just doing all this for the cuddles and movies” you added with a playful wink.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s true!” Natasha chuckled, “come on, let’s go start a movie” she added.

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #🌛 anon #fanfiction #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #flufftober

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eddiernunson · 1 year ago

Text

Really Drives Me Mad | EX-bfs dad!Eddie Munson x Reader | 18+

Previous Part | Master List | Next Part

Word Count: 12.8k

Big big thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing for me I appreciate it, bestie

Another big thank you to @bebe07011 for spitting ideas and giving feedback.

Warnings: Degradation/praise, eating out, public sex, daddy kink, and several scenes where smut is mentioned but not described. There is about 1k of words just from Dylan's perspective but its worth it trust me.

Eddie is a bit of a sugar daddy in this part, but its ok cause we all want him to spoil us anyway.

Author's note: Some of y'all are gonna make me cry with how kind you are with your words for this fic. I cannot believe how much this story has truly taken over my life. People have expressed sharing it with friends and I just cannot get over that. Thank you.

Your hands held a home-made cocktail on ice while The Princess Diaries played on the tv, a soft blanket covered your crossed legs as you sat with both Sky and Bethany in your living room, scattered along your couch.

Bethany often snuck a joint or two while she visited, the window staying open to minimize a smell with a 20-dollar fan in front of it to promote air circulation. It was nice to have a girls’ night, to order bags of chips and candy over SkiptheDishes, wear face masks, do your makeup for the hell of it, and just let loose.

Bethany made her way over about a movie and a half ago, and she was now explaining a stupid mishap from her office administrative position that quite literally pulled the company to a halt for 45 minutes. “I swear, you could not pay me enough to put up with those drivers.” She claims, taking an inhale from the joint in her two painted fingers.

Sky makes a sudden movement in her seat, reaching to the remote next to her to pause the movie. “Holy shit. Did I tell you I saw Eddie?” Her question is directed across you to Bethany, and you’re left wondering why the hell your boyfriend is the new topic of discussion.

“Wait, what?” Bethany asks, wide green eyes moving back and forth between you and Sky. “When and where?”

“Our date?” You interject her, a little weirded out by the turn this conversation has taken. “When Eddie picked me up, she was here.”

“Oh, I see.” She hums to herself. “Well, since she won’t show us a photo, please tell me what the man who’s old enough to be her father looks like.”

You roll your eyes at this, a cheeky thought occurring to you. “Well Dylan might be great; but he is a sequel. Ain’t nothing compared to the original.”

Sky nods, agreeing. “Eddie is… very good looking.” You shoot her a warning look, for some reason, her just alluding to his good looks makes you feel territorial. “Show her a picture if you don’t want to hear it, damn! Just telling the truth…”

“It’s not that I won’t show you guys,” you explain, unlocking your phone. “It’s that he doesn’t use social media, so he has no good photos of himself.” On the internet, at least.

“What, no throw back photos from Dylan’s insta?” Sky asks, mostly joking.

You go to Dylan’s insta, and you can’t view it. Fuck, you forgot. He blocked you. Even though he seems to be on better terms with you, simple reminders like being blocked from his social media or him refusing to tell any details about his life remind you he’s still nursing a healing wound. “Still blocked.” You look up, and their faces tell you they’re not letting up on it. “Fine. I’ll go to Eddie’s Facebook.”

Eddie added you as a friend the day after your date, adorably waiting as you went on your phone to accept it. The moment you did he went onto your profile and dove into your photos. His eyes were comically wide as he scrolled through them, and after the first few swipes he lifted his head to you. “You just put these on here? Fuck.” The photos weren’t even particularly bad, just you in a bikini on the beach or in a summer dress, he’s just that obsessed with you. You asked him if he minded and he shook his head comically, his dimples so prominent from his wide smile, he looked manic. “Oh, I never said to stop, sweetheart.”

Your thumb slides into Eddie’s profile, and while you were afraid of the calls from a judgemental relative about the relationship with him the word single on his relationship status still hits you hard in the chest. You move to his photos, past the useless profile picture that was his company logo of Munson’s Garage and swipe through the regular posts, past Dylan’s graduation from college, from high school, a picture of a nice car, an old one of his ex with Dylan, (barf), until you finally got through to a throwback, one posted in 2011.

It was taken in the 90s, so a picture of a picture of him sitting at an old kitchen table arm in arm with another dude. One of his feet was up on the table, and he was clutching a beer, lifting it to the camera. His friend was talking to someone off camera, distracted for the moment, his slightly freckled face in a scowl. His friend had brown hair down to his neck styled specifically in a swoop, and they seemed about the same age.

His friend was quite attractive, but younger Eddie made you fucking drool. God, he was so gorgeous. He wore a leather jacket under a denim vest, ripped blue jeans over his big black boots. Fuck. You almost didn’t want to share this photo.

You go to the next photo, and a giggle leaves your mouth as you see him posing with a friend, tongues out and devil horns on their heads as smiles peek through. The background is a stage at an Iron Maiden concert, and they both look ecstatic. It’s a different friend in this one with curly hair, but it looked like he had posted from the Iron Maiden concert. A few more scrolls told you that the throwback photo would be the best option.

“Ok.” You finally say, and both girls have been waiting so long at this point they’ve started scrolling on their own phones. “Guys. You wanna see it or not?”

You hand your phone to Bethany, indicating he was the one on the right. The possessiveness that hits you when you see her reaction, her wide eyes and jaw literally dropping, stunted you. “Holy shit. This is him from how long ago?”

“In the late 90s, I guess.” You tell her.

She hands the phone to Sky, who was asking for it repeatedly as soon as Bethany let out her reaction. “Oh, yeah. He was a cutie. Honestly, he’s hotter now.” Your teeth grit, and you take a deep breath in to calm yourself.

“How?” Bethany asks, gesturing to your phone.

“Ok. Enough. He’s very good looking. But he’s fucking taken.” You bark out, holding your hand out for the phone.

They both stop talking, your sudden anger very uncharacteristic of you. Usually when you find someone particularly good looking, you’d show them off, agreeing with your two friends when they would praise their good looks. This wasn’t anything like those times. Hearing their praises just makes you want to sink your teeth into Eddie’s neck and mark your territory the next time you see him.

“Woah, girl.” Sky says, laughing lightly to diffuse the tension. “Never seen that side of you before.”

“Well, I didn’t even know she existed until a waitress looked at Eddie on our date and I wanted to throttle her,” You admit, grabbing the nearly empty cocktail and taking a sip. “I just…I don’t know why I’m so territorial over him, but God, the thought of him with someone else makes me sick to my stomach.”

Bethany holds her hands up in surrender, “Alright, we won’t compliment him anymore. But you did good, girl. You did mighty good.”

As per usual, the girls'-day-in resulted in the three of you falling asleep in the living room, blankets and pillows scattered across the three of you. The sun cascading through a window by the couch wakes you up, disgruntled, as you pat around for your phone. The screen greets you harshly, your notifications indicating you have three messages from Eddie, two from a manager at work, and the several random ones, which you clear out, not caring about Instagram stories for the moment. Eddie texted to say he was going into work for a few hours. The next two messages indicated if you were there when he got home, he wouldn’t be against it.

Basically, he just told you to please be there when he got home. Fuck, the feeling of him reaching out first was enough to send a wide smile to your face, staring stupidly at your phone. You message him back, letting him know you’ll be there.

The messages from your manager were one from two hours ago, asking if you’d be able to come in for 10 o’clock– Which was thirty-five minutes ago– and the second asked if you were able to come in at all. You quirk your eyebrow, glad your read receipts are off for her, because you’re planning now to text at 3 o'clock to let her know that, oops, you just saw this. No, you’re not going in on your day off, you’ll be spending it with your ridiculously hot boyfriend.

You leap from your couch, running into your room to pack another overnight bag. You’re out the door before the others even stir.

As you pull into Eddie’s driveway, you notice Dylan’s truck there, but Eddie’s is still gone. You wonder when he’ll be back, because although Dylan is civil towards you, interactions with him are still stunted. You open the front door, grateful Dylan tended to leave it unlocked. You drop your overnight bag and pillow off at the staircase, its usual spot, before you trot off to the living room where Dylan sits watching tv.

As you plop down next to him on the other side of the couch, Dylan looks to you, startled by the movement, but his eyes roll in exasperation when he realizes that it’s you. “Hi.” You sing-song to him, knowing you’re annoying him, but having fun with it anyways.

“Hey.” He deadpans, watching the tv instead of looking over to you.

“Oh, wow you’re almost caught up.” You say, indicating to a show that you had recommended he watched a while back.

“Turned out to be a good show.” He comments, sounding annoyed.

“Well, how about that?” You retort, and Dylan rolls his eyes before a small smile lands on his face.

Progress.

Less than an hour later, the front door closes, indicating Eddie’s homecoming. He walks in, and as you pay attention to a particularly good episode in this series, you hear a big stretch come from him. “Hi, Ed!” You call out, finally turning towards him.

Fuck. Holy shit.

A few grease stains paint Eddie’s hands and chin, and he’s wearing a pair of blue coveralls from work with a patch on his chest of his name. The grease monkey suit shows off his muscles beautifully, both sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair is tied back into a messy bun, and you’re sure he forgot about the reading glasses on his head. Oh god, he is mouth watering.

A throw pillow hits your face, completely startling you. You whip your head around, glaring at the culprit. “Little drool.” Dylan mouths, pointing to his chin.

“Oh, little drool?” You mock, getting up to hit him with the pillow hard. He chuckles, fighting you off.

You push his shoulder off, shuffling into the kitchen. You turn to see Eddie moving around the kitchen, making himself a quick sandwich. “Hi baby!” You greet him, reaching out for him.

“Oh, hi baby.” He says, following up with an air kiss. He breaks into laughter at your scowl. “Sorry, you don’t want this grease on you. It smells terrible and it’s not fun to wash off.”

“But there’s no grease on your lips.” You point out, staring at those pretty pink lips of his.

“Baby, I cannot kiss you without touching you and there is grease all over my hands.” He chuckles, holding them out.

You want to point out that he’s getting things dirty with grease in the kitchen, including his sandwich, by his own logic, but you have a feeling you won’t get away with it very easily. “Fine. Come see me when you’ve had a shower then.” You tell him, attempting to waddle back to the living room.

“Ah, ah.” Eddie tuts, grabbing your hand. “Come with me, after I shower, I need time with you in my bed.”

“In your bed? Or, in your bed?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing suggestively at the second option.

“If you didn’t know the answer by now, clearly I haven’t done my job right.” He says in a lowly, his eyes darkening in an instant.

Eddie turns around to the sandwich he made as if he hadn’t said a word, grabbing it quickly before tugging on your hand to take you up the stairs.

He hops into the shower, you scroll through your phone on his bed as you wait, somewhat impatiently, your panties already uncomfortable from his stroll into the house in his work uniform.

Fuck, he was hot. You thought about him. His muscles, the slight glisten of sweat, and your phone was tossed aside before you even realized your hands were roaming over your body. You close your eyes, the image of him busy at work on his back on one of those…rolly things in your head. His forearms flexing, the look of concentration on his face.

Your hands itch for your center and you can barely hold back anymore, thankful you opted for a pair of stretchy shorts. Your fingers graze your center easily, rolling around in small circles as you picture the easy access his coveralls would give you, showing up with a dress and no panties and just riding him in his office. Fuck, maybe you wouldn’t even make it there. Goddamn, the images were too hot, your panties finding their way around your ankles as you grind up against your own fingers.

“Fuck.”

Your eyes fling open to see your boyfriend in his towel. You were so wrapped up you didn’t even notice the water from his shower turn off. He’s staring, open mouthed and eyes dark, and Jesus… This was a fantasy of yours from the beginning. You continue, staring half lidded back at him, hand grabbing up at his bed frame when it started to feel so fucking good.

Eddie’s towel drops when his brain catches up, jumping into his bed to lay next to you. “Couldn’t even wait, huh?” He asks, and you let out a whimper as he lightly kisses your neck. “Just couldn’t fucking wait.”

“You were so hot—” you gasp out, moving faster on yourself now. “—in that goddamn uniform. Wanna…wanna ride you in it.”

The very indication that you were playing with yourself because you found him that hot in his uniform is too much for Eddie to process. He nearly moans, leaning for another kiss on your neck. His hands are itching to help you, itching to take off the rest of those clothes that hide your gorgeous body, but he holds back, needing to know more about it. “What—what were you thinkin’ ‘bout, baby?”

“You, in the uniform…” you tell him, your hips starting to move when your want grows. Why isn’t he helping?

“C’mon, baby. I wanna touch you but I just gotta know.” Eddie tells you, his voice gruff.

A gulp moves through your throat before opening your mouth to tell him. “Your dick out of the uniform, and me with no panties and a dress at your shop, riding you anywhere…your office, the rolly thing, god, just you in that uniform…Ed…”

Goddammit, was that an idea Eddie certainly had before. He has wanted to show you around his workplace, but also christen it with you, and he had had the exact idea with his uniform and you in a dress, to boot. “Fuck, my horny, eager little slut, hey?” Eddie asks, watching your closed eyes as you continue to work yourself.

“Please…please touch me?” You ask him, the torture of his voice there but not actually helping you is too much. “Want…want you.”

“Hmm. Horny little slut didn’t wait for me…I dunno if she even deserves my help.” He bluffs, wanting nothing more than to reach out and feel the slick of your wet pussy.

You nearly cry out in protest, not calling him on his bluff. “I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself…you’re just so…fuck…you’re so fucking hot, Ed.”

He leans in to kiss you and you accept it gratefully, a smile against his lips. As his lips move against yours, deepening the kiss to easily work his tongue against yours, his hands land on yours against your pussy delicately, gently pulling your fingers to the side. He slides a digit in and you whimper into his mouth, your hips thrusting up. “Oh, so fucking desperate.” You nod your head, agreeing with him. You’re desperate for more. Even with Eddie on your mind, your fingers never even compared to his.

He leans into your neck, the scent of his aftershave and body wash strong but oh-so-goddamn good. He slides your shirt up your torso smoothly with his free hand and pulls it from your neck fiercely. You feel his hand somewhat desperately go around your back to unhook your bra, and as it falls casually over the edge onto the floor, he moans at the sight of your exposed tit, your nipple just begging to be touched.

He leans in to mouth the bud, and you whimper at the sensation. He pauses, breathing heavily and open mouthed onto it. You gasp, his hot breath sending waves down your body. “Fuck, so pretty.” Eddie mutters to himself, dark eyes watching your face as you get closer.

A desperate hand of yours tugs him up to your face, desperate for more of his wet and hypnotizing kisses. “Fuck me.” You gasp, suddenly feeling that his fingers weren’t enough. “Need…need your cock. Please.”

Eddie’s mouth opens at the prospect of you simply begging for him, and you can feel a shift in his energy as he starts to kiss you deeper and hungrier. “When you beg so sweetly, how could I possibly say no?” He hums, his hand framing your face.

He finishes yanking the last of your pants off your ankles. As he settles himself in between your legs, he can’t help himself. He leans down, taking one long lick along your folds, for just a taste. You whimper in response, knees springing up to your chest. Eddie chuckles, crawling up slowly until his chest lines up with yours, the tingle of him against you too much to handle. Slowly, he moves into you, and as he stretches you open, your eyes roll back and your toes curl. Eddie watches the utter bliss that takes over your face.

“Oh that beautiful face you make, sweetheart.” He grunts, smoothing his hands over your forehead. His words make you pulse around him. “This fucking tight little pussy wrapped around—” he stops, grunting as you continue to pulse around him. One hand moves down to your hip, caressing it softly he uses the leverage to buck into you.

A hushed swear comes out of you, the simple pleasure from his cock alone sending you into euphoria. Eddie continues slowly, enjoying every inch of your heat around him. “Your pussy…god how did I live without it?”

You clutch onto him, staring up into his darkened brown eyes. You open your mouth to respond in kind, but the particularly harsh rut into you leaves your mouth gasping open and your eyes fluttering shut in pure heaven. “Oh, that’s it.” He mutters, hips moving faster. “That’s my cock-drunk little whore.”

Your nails scratch down his back, and he moans in response. “Eddie, your cock. There’s…I…please.”

“I-I know, baby. I know.”

He collapses onto your chest, and you feel his cock twitch into you as your orgasm takes over your body. His hand carefully sweeps your sweaty forehead as he watches you recover, your eyes losing their haze as you return to earth. “Hi.” He mutters, leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Hi.” You smile. For once, he does take his dick out of you right away, despite your protests. However, you can’t protest any further when he comes back and wraps his arms around you with his chest pressed against your back, his still steadying breaths lulling you into a quiet nap.

Somehow, you know that his arms are always going to be the best place in the world.

About an hour later, you’re snuggled against his side, legs intertwined as Eddie watches his show and you work on a crossword puzzle. “What’s a six-letter word for angry?” You ask him, stumped for a good minute.

“Uh…grumpy? Heated? Hmm…raging?”

“Raging! Fuck, I couldn’t get that one. Thanks, baby.” You tell him, receiving a kiss on the head as a response. “Why’d you go in for work, Ed?”

“Other than making my baby horny?” He jokes, muttering it into your hair. “Well, one of my best-known clients called and my men know that when he calls, they need to call me in, because his car is just—” he cuts himself off, holding out the OK sign. He continues talking about the mechanics/politics of handling a car like this in his job. The caliber, the horsepower, the specialized engine, and everything else.

It’s not like you know a whole lot about cars. Most of what he is saying comes out as gibberish. But you listen to him, watching as he gets more and more animated, his hands gesturing wildly as he excitedly explains his morning. You watch him, a soft smile creeping up your face as he describes…what, you weren’t even sure, to you.

He stops as he notices the peculiar look on your face, your eyes glazed over. “What?” he asks, wondering if you caught even a word of his story.

“I love you.” It comes out before you even realize. But it’s true.

With your whole chest, you love him.

Eddie inhales sharply, and he looks at you like you had placed each star in the sky just for him. Because you did. “I-I’ve been wanting to say that to you since I first saw you.”

His words feel both impossible and like they make the most sense in the entire world. Because since day one, you have been captivated by him in every sense imaginable. Taking the time to get to know, see and love every inch of him before recognizing that yes, this is love.

This all occurs to you within a second, because Eddie’s hand is framing your face and you feel his lips on yours, deep and caring to a point that takes your goddamn breath away. Your tongue collides with his, and his fingers are so gentle as they cradle your face it barely feels like he’s holding it. He tastes so good, like the air you breathe is suddenly useless, and all you need to do is breathe him. His fingers intertwine in your hair, he gasps as his forehead collides with your own, clinging onto you for dear life.

“Will you say it?” You ask, realizing he still hasn’t.

“I fucking love you.” He says in a low, soft voice. He uses a hand to force you back and you open your eyes to look into his beautiful brown ones. “I love you.”

Your chest inflates rapidly, like all the emotion just bursts into it. A giggle escapes your lips, the smile on your face seeming to be permanently etched there. He tugs you into the tightest hug, and you feel his heart beat rapidly against your own as your arms fling themselves around his torso, burying your head in his neck.

God, it’s like you fit perfectly there.

He slouches down, ignoring the book you dropped and the forgotten tv show, and lays you down, chest to chest, his arms wrapped around you as you curl into his chest. He nestles his nose into your hair, breathing you in, feeling the breath, the life in you as you breathe in sync with him.

Any sense of time, responsibilities, or the outside world become muted and pale in comparison.

It’s just you and him.

The sizzling sounds of bacon for dinner mixed with Eddie’s humming to some oldies fill the kitchen. Every time he turns around from the stove to grab something, he shoots you a smile that captivates his face, something that you wholeheartedly return each time. The acknowledgement that this is love somehow didn’t feel like it had tied you to anything or that any new expectations were put on either one of you. You simply want his company and he, yours.

You scroll through your phone absentmindedly, though the sight of his hips in his low sitting sweatpants are much more enticing than anything your phone’s algorithms have to show you. Playfully, Eddie keeps dancing a little too hard to the music, head banging and swinging his hips to even the softest of Dad Rock.

God, it’s Heaven. As Eddie serves up a few plates, Dylan comes down dressed in one of his better date night outfits.

“Ooh, hot date?” You ask him, leaning forward onto the kitchen island.

Dylan’s brows furrow, stopping mid stride. “Yeah. Not talking to you about that. You’re still my ex. And you’re still seeing my dad. Weirdo.”

Eddie sends a glare his way, eyes darkening in a split second. Dylan rolls his eyes, sneaking around him to grab a bite of bacon. Ignoring it, Eddie places a plate in front of you with eggs, bacon and toast, and you thank him as he leans in for a kiss.

“Love you.” Eddie mutters, and you smile into his lips and feel him do the same.

“L-love?” Dylan spits out, his voice exasperated. He shakes his head, still chewing on the bacon. “Fuck right off.”

“Dyl.” Eddie starts, leaning forward as he takes a bite from his toast. He has a devious smile on his face, chewing on his idea. “Quiet. The adults are talking.”

If you had expected something out of pocket, it certainly wasn’t that.

The brown eyes Dylan shares with his father widen in pure exasperation. “What?? Dad, I’m six months older than her!”

You barely keep in the laughter that bubbles out of your chest. Eddie grins at you and lets out his own chuckle. “That’ll teach you to be an ass, huh?”

Dylan doesn’t respond, just grits his teeth and yanks one more piece of bacon before leaving through the front door.

Dylan Munson got dealt a dirty fucking hand from whoever the fuck is in charge of this shit.

It was only a mere nine weeks ago when you made your way across the mixer to say hi to him that he thought things were going his way. The more he saw you, the more he thought that this had to be leading to something. It made sense to him, but as he had started mentioning long term plans or anything of the like, he could feel you clam up. Every time he mentioned something requiring commitment, your shoulders tensed up, your face winced by only a smidge, but when it became a regular occurrence, Dylan realized you might not have been ready as you thought you were.

He was willing to accept it. So, he took matters into his own hands. Honestly, he would’ve been fine paying the daily fee for parking, but he knew his dad was there, and he was excited to introduce you to him. Boy, what a shit show that turned out to be.

As he woke up to an empty bed, he had expected you to be downstairs. Instead, he was faced with a bowl of cereal without the milk, and he couldn’t tell how long it had been there. He searched the whole house. Your bag, clothes, and shoes were still there, so he knew you couldn’t have gone far. Turns out, he was right. You didn’t. You went two doors down from his own.

The sight of you and his fucking dad in the white sheets was already too much to bear, and then the stab of betrayal from his own father hurt more the initial shock of yours, tugging angry tears from his eyes as he ran to his room. The torture of hearing your whimpers, a sound he knew well, while downstairs trying to cheer himself up was fucking brutal.

When you finally left, his dad came home with a terribly apologetic look on his face as he walked through the front door. Dylan refused to hear a damn word out of his mouth, dismissing all his claims of ‘holding back as long as he could’ and ‘I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before.’ Shit just hurt.

A day later, Dylan couldn’t hold it in anymore. He screamed at the top of his lungs, the anger finally kicking in. His dad did yell back, but mostly at the choice words aimed at you. It hurt for a moment, as it felt like he cared more about someone he had met last week, his (now ex) girlfriend.

When you and his dad showed no signs of slowing or stopping any time soon, he realized this would become a new normal. Didn’t mean he liked it.

He came home after a relatively long day at work to you and his dad sitting and watching a movie comfortably. His knee jerk reaction was to swear angrily, but the look on your face stuck with him. You had never relaxed with him. You were always looking around corners or there was some part in your body unable to lean into him completely.

As you apologized awkwardly on his bed, his hurt finally felt acknowledged by you, and fuck, he needed to hear that he didn’t do anything wrong. He genuinely started to wonder if he did.

Most of his nights he spent going out, his friends asking where the hot new girlfriend he was bragging about now was. He just said you cheated on him and it was over and they called you a bitch and moved on.

Yes, even Ethan. (The one friend you actually liked)

He drowned his sorrows in alcohol, always making his way back to the house where his ex was expected to be at any given time. God, it was so shit.

After your apology, though, he had to admit, you looked good together. It seemed like his dad’s smile just hadn’t left his face for days, and goddamn, was it annoying to admit that you were good for him. That remaining anger seemed to itch at him, unable to forgive or forget, a buried hatchet with an X to mark the spot.

Ethan eventually brought his girlfriend to boys’ night out, which was met with disgruntled groans from the collective group. Ethan’s girlfriend invited a friend who would be joining, and Dylan fought hard not to roll his eyes.

An hour into the night, a drink, and a few good dances in, Ethan’s girlfriend brought her in, and Dylan stopped dead in his tracks. Okay, no one said she would be fucking gorgeous.

If Dylan thought you were out of his league, then Maya wasn’t even playing the same game. His heart pounded out of his chest, and he knew he had to grab this girl a drink and get her number, now. As he pulled into an easy conversation with her, the hairs stood on his arms as it felt electric just being near her.

Maya met his enthusiasm, agreeing to a date within the first hour of conversation with him. One of his buddies mentioned Dylan had been cheated on by his most recent girlfriend, and Maya was floored. If any girl was lucky enough to have him, how could they even think of cheating?

As Dylan rode home in the backseat of his friend’s truck, drunk on her undivided attention and, well, plain ol’ drunk, something his dad had said came to mind. “I can’t explain it, I just had to know her. In every sense of the word.”

He felt the same way about Maya. Everything about her drew him in. Her smell, the way her jeans hugged her hips, the shine of her red hair. God, she was fucking beautiful.

As he smelled bacon on the way down the stairs, he decided to grab a piece on his way out to his first date with Maya, jitters galore. You asking him about the date was kind, but still too weird for him to gush about the gorgeous girl from the bar he met when that ‘gorgeous girl’ was once you.

Love you, his dad said. The word struck him, it occurred to him he doesn’t truly understand how much you and his father cared for one another. The L word didn’t come easily to Munson men, after all. Dylan walked to his car, disgruntled as the interaction rolled over in his mind.

What a mess he would be bringing her home to, if he ever got lucky enough.

Since you worked the next day, you had to go home for the night. The lingering kisses at Eddie’s door were too much to bear.

Too much for Eddie, too. You get a text about twenty minutes after you get home, Need you.

You grit your teeth, you need him, too. Working four days in a row sounds manageable, at least it usually does. Without Eddie to come home to or to wake up with, it’s nearly torture. You ignore Skylar’s comment of codependency. Fuck co-dependency, it isn’t that you depend on him too much, you just need him too much. You need to come home to him, to sit and watch tv with him… It’s the domestic bliss you miss.

Somehow, just reading a book at the end of the night without his even breaths has you on edge. You shoot him a text letting him know you’d be there soon.

As you walk through the doorway of Eddie’s house, he welcomes you and you hop into his arms, inhaling his shampoo as soon as you get close enough to, his familiar scent bringing you an indescribable feeling of safety. “Need you to stop leaving for so long.” He mutters, feeling nearly crazy for missing you so much while you were gone.

You hum in response, staring into his pretty eyes as they stare down at you lovingly, resting your chin on his chest.

“Move in with me.” It’s impulsive.

You blink, unable to register what he just said. “Uh, what?”

He chuckles, hoping the stunned look on your face is a good thing. “It’s stupid for you to keep moving back and forth between here and your apartment all the time. Move in with me.”

It’s a tempting offer. Could you do it? Realistically, could you bring your things in, set up your skin care routine in his bathroom, have a horde of snacks at your disposal, bring Bethany over for sleepovers…is it possible? He watches as you think it through, and his heart skips a beat as he watches it falter. “I-I can’t. Not yet, at least.”

His head tilts curiously, eyebrows furrowed. “Hmm?”

“I’m still tied to my lease for another three months.” You can’t abandon Sky, not after all this time. “Skylar would be pissed if I just up and left her to either scramble for a new roommate or for a new apartment.”

Was that it? “Oh,” Eddie says, relieved. “I can pay that.”

His answer momentarily stuns you, and a gorgeous laugh escapes his lips as he takes in your slack jaw and wide eyes. “W-what?”

He leans in, kissing your lips sweetly. “Sweetheart. I’m not gonna wait another ninety days when I can just pay it now and get you here tomorrow.”

“You’ll pay my half?” You ask, eyebrows raised, a light smile on your face.

“What’s your rent?”

“1800 for the apartment, we both pay 900 plus utilities.”

He does the quick math. “Oh, so 54 (hundred) to buy the lease out? Yeah, I’ll pay it. Might relieve Sky from being pissed at me for stealing her roommate.”

The casualty of his words drench your underwear, his urge to take care of you sending a heat to your center you can’t explain. You lean in, swiping your tongue on his bottom lip, showing your appreciation. “Can-can we go upstairs?” You ask him, out of breath.

Eddie smiles, taking in your lust-blown eyes and slack expression. “You know that’s not why I offered, right?”

The overwhelming happiness bubbles up from the inside and you shoot a wide smile up at him, chin resting on his chest again. “I know. Still, baby. Want you. Please,”

Eddie smirks, framing your face with his thumbs lightly. “When you say it so nicely, how could I ever refuse?”

You tug him by the hand and start running up the stairs. A yelp echoes through the house as Eddie grabs at your ass near the top, and when he lies down on the bed, you can’t get his cock down your throat fast enough.

To say the least, Sky couldn’t find it in her to be angry. She was going to miss you, more than she could describe as her roommate. She also had a three month warning to find a new roommate or a new apartment and had ample time to put at least some money aside while she didn’t have to pay for rent. She really had nothing to complain about. Still, she was gonna miss you.

As soon as the lust of him offering to take care of you died down, you went into overdrive, remembering how stressed you were when you had to move in your current apartment, a lease you’ve renewed twice now. You started making a list of things you needed, working between your phone and a random spiral notebook you found in a junk drawer. How many boxes did you need to get? If you used both Eddie and Dylan’s trucks how many hours would it take to move down the stairs-only building you had?

“What’re you working on?” You hear his voice over your shoulder.

“Oh, just working out the kinks of moving. My car won’t be enough, I’ll need your guys’ trucks to help. I also have my own furniture to worry about. The entertainment center is hers, but the couch is mine. My dresser, my bed, my bathroom shelf, all my bathroom junk—”

“Baby.” He interrupts you, a hand sliding up to your neck. “Relax. I can hire someone to take care of all of this for you. Just focus on packing your things and directing the men around on where to put them.” He places his hands delicately beneath your chin. “Ok?”

Fuck, you might just blow him again.

“Ok.”

And you did just that. You shared your list to Eddie’s phone, who called a smaller moving truck with three men to assist, hired an organizer to assist in organizing what you do or don’t need and who will handle selling your furniture, and finally, paying the rest of your rent to your front office without blinking an eye to get you out of the lease.

Soon, you were on the driveway on a hot day, watching as all the boxes containing your clothes, shoes, makeup, and other junk went up the stairs to Eddie’s (and now your) bedroom, a few staying downstairs.

He stands next to you in a white muscle shirt with a band you don’t know pictured on the front and some sweats, hands on his hips as he watches the movers go back and forth between the house and the truck. He radiates authority, each mover couldn’t be much older or younger than you, but they all look to him with respect, all of their words followed by the word ‘sir’.

“Sir, huh?” You ask, teasing him.

Eddie slightly grimaces, rejecting it. “Yeah, they insisted.”

“Dunno, kinda suits you.” You tease, and you walk back to the house, missing the audible gulp that comes from his throat, imagining it. You, on your knees, begging for him, calling him sir…

“Sir?” One of the movers asks, getting his attention. He flicks back, seeing the clipboard held in front of him. “Need you to sign.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” He mumbles, picking up the pen to sign.

As he signs his name, Dylan pulls up, taking in the men, the truck, the boxes on the floor visible past the open front door. “She’s moving in?”

Eddie looks at him, apologetic. He had asked you yesterday, and since then, he hasn’t had time to sit down and tell Dylan in person. “Sorry, bud. Kind of just happened all at once.”

Dylan thinks of his new girlfriend’s apartment, the night he had just spent wrapped up in her sheets. “I-I get that.”

Eddie blinks, expecting more of a push-back. “So, dad. I met this girl.” Oh, that explains it. “She’s…” the smile that lands on Dylan’s face is peaceful, and Eddie feels both curious and reassured. “Anyway. I wanted to bring her over for dinner to introduce her. Is that okay?”

A firm hand lands on Dylan’s shoulder, bringing him for a hug. “Of course, bud. When did you want to bring her over?”

“Friday at 6?”

It’s Wednesday, so that gives you both ample time to unpack and get the house ready for a dinner guest. “Friday works. Bring her over.”

“Hey, do you guys need any more help with the boxes?” He asks, running into the house.

Eddie doesn’t answer as he stands, stunned at the change in his son over the last, what, week?

The next two days make Dylan realize although he was in a much forgiving mood, he’s going to need to move out and fast. Just when he thought the two of you were bad, he didn’t realize how much worse you’d be when you moved in. In hindsight, he wasn’t sure how he didn’t see it coming.

Soon, he texted a friend he knew who was looking for another apartment about maybe moving in together after realizing your moans were not coming from your bedroom as he grabbed his keys and booked it for the front door.

You were on Eddie’s laundry room floor, wrapped in his arms, with only your shirt around your torso and his hair halfway out of its ponytail. You were still in the middle of recovering; Eddie edged you twice before finally letting you finish. “Did you hear the front door close?” Eddie asks, still breathing heavily as he does.

“N-no.” You gasp, moving your head up to face him, his chest hair tickling your chin. “Were we that loud?”

Eddie laughs, letting a thumb pet your face lightly. “Have you ever tried to be quiet, sweetheart?”

You shut him up with a kiss, slippery, but filled to the brim with everything you had. “Shut up.”

“I love you.” He mutters as you wrap yourself in his arms, and you whisper it back into his chest. “We do have company coming over, so we should probably finish unpacking.”

You groan lightly, but Eddie takes your hands and forces the two of you onto your feet, your knees lightly buckling. “I have so much stuff! There’s so much left to unpack.”

“Oh, I’m sure unpacking yourself into the second half of the walk-in is so hard, baby. C’mon, I’ll help you out.”

Again, Eddie’s house looks humble from the outside, but it was nothing to snark at. As he made more money, he slowly upgraded and renovated instead of just moving into a bigger house. The one upgrade that wasn’t really for him, but a constant reminder of what he lost, was the his-and-hers closet he had made for his ex, something she only enjoyed for six months before leaving him. He was excited to see your dresses, skirts, pants, and underwear in his closet, and especially your smell. Basically, he was excited for your invasion of the house.

You walk over to his–your–room where there are still boxes sitting, waiting to be unpacked. You start unpacking the one labeled dresses/skirts. As you start laying out a pile, separating the skirts you knew you weren’t gonna wear from the ones you would, Eddie sidled up beside you, pulling one you knew looked good on you up from the pile you weren’t gonna wear. “Hey, hey. Why haven’t I seen you in this one?”

You hesitate in your answer, pulling two more dresses out before answering. “Dylan fucked me while I wore that.” You admit, and he drops it immediately. He pulls another one up, hands moving over the silky blue fabric. Damn that one looked great on you. “That one, too.”

He drops it unceremoniously, hands moving to his hips. “Which ones hasn’t he touched you in?”

You put your hands on the much smaller, less appealing pile. “These.”

Eddie sighs, scratching his head. “Alright. We’re going shopping.” He announces, placing the pile of your old ‘rejects’ onto the floor.

“Huh?” You ask him, not sure you heard him correctly.

“Yep. Just leave all the clothes in a pile right there, and on Saturday I’m taking you shopping.”

“Baby, I work Saturday.”

“So call in.”

After Eddie helps you settle in for the next day and a half, you spend a good portion of your Friday in the kitchen, working in tandem to make supper together. You place plates at the dining room table Eddie and Dylan barely used, straighten up the napkins and the utensils when Eddie comes from behind you, and you feel his cock press right up against your ass. You grind back into it, closing your eyes and whimpering.

“Ed, they’ll be here in like,” you let out a sigh, “half an hour.”

He turns you, giving you a dirty kiss and gripping your hips harshly. “Then we better get moving.” He slips your dress up your hips and your underwear down.

“Hmm…take off your pants.”

He slips his cock in, bending you over the table, making you gasp. “Already off, baby.”

Dylan pulls up in his truck, now having to park in the same spot you did in the street since you took over his spot on the driveway. “So, this is my house.”

“For three more weeks?” Maya asks, teasing him.

He lets their hands intertwine, leading her to the door. “I did grow up here.”

“Yet your dad is kicking you out.” She says, eyes narrowed.

“No, not kicking me out…” He drifts off, when Maya’s green eyes silently ask him, he dismisses it. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.” He unlocks the front door, and as soon as it’s open, a very peculiar, very annoying sound is heard echoing in the house.

“Fuck, Ed, oh shit.”

Maya’s eyes go wide, it takes her a second longer to understand what they were listening to than it did for Dylan. Dylan shuts the front door, shoving his hand into his pocket for his phone. He dials his dad right away. “…Hello?” Eddie asks after three rings.

Dylan puts him on speaker. “Dad, wrap it up, we’re here.”

“Shit, sorry. Give us five—” the sound of your giggles interrupts him, “sorry, ten minutes. W-we’ll call you.”

He hangs up.

Maya’s face is the picture-perfect expression of what the fuck. “Dyl, when you said your family dynamic is odd…”

“I meant it. C’mon, let’s go for a walk to the corner store.”

Maya is taken aback, but she easily falls in line as Dylan holds his hand out for her. “Can’t believe the first thing I heard from your dad was that.”

“Darling, I have never meant it more than I have right now.” Dylan assures her, and she can see how much he means it in his brown eyes. “My dad has met my girlfriends in worse situations. Just be glad we didn’t see anything…’cause that was not coming from their bedroom.”

Eventually, you had to go upstairs to find a new dress to wear, Eddie having completely soiled it during your tryst as he phoned Dylan to let them know they were in the clear. Turns out, the two of you had time blindness when it came to one another, because neither of you were even close to done when Dylan had called.

As you climb down the stairs, there’s a knock on the door, and Eddie meets you there in time to open it to face Dylan and his new girlfriend. It was an intriguing feeling, opening the door to Dylan while Eddie’s arm was behind your back. Like a couple welcoming their son home. It was…bizarre to say the least. “Hey, sorry about—”

“It’s fine, dad. Rather not talk about it.” Dylan insists, his arm around a pretty redhead.

“Sure. Come on in.”

They step in, Maya taking a look around at the place as she does. “Maya, this is my dad and his girlfriend, Y/N. Guys, this is Maya.”

You weren’t used to Dylan being suddenly so cool with you and Eddie being together. He’s never out loud said that you were his dad’s girlfriend before without rolling his eyes or gagging. Whatever he had with Maya seemed to bring him some peace.

Thank god, you didn’t know if you could handle more eye rolls from Eddie’s 25-year-old teenage son. “Maya! Nice to meet you.” You hold your hand out to her, which she accepts graciously.

You remember meeting Eddie as a father to Dylan, and while your thoughts were occupied, whatever you were expecting for Dylan’s dad, it certainly wasn’t Eddie. You could see it clear in her face she wasn’t expecting this metalhead, either.

“Hi, Mr. Munson, nice to meet you.” She extends her hand to Eddie, and Eddie just about loses his mind.

“Ew. Don’t. Call me Eddie. Please.” Eddie gags, the same reaction he had when you addressed him that way when you first met.

“Oh. Sorry. Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles back, purposefully dressing himself down as a parental figure. You could tell he was poising himself differently for them. Whether it was self consciousness over the last time he met a girlfriend, or making it clear to Dylan he had no plans for a second contender, it did the job.

“Alright, the dining room is this way.” You extend your hand out down the hall, leading the way out of a somewhat awkward situation.

The four of you sit at the table, both men at the heads of the table while you and Maya sit across from one another. Eddie picks up the salad bowl, plating himself quickly and handing it over to you. “So, Dylan. Tell us how you and Maya met.”

They both start the story, eager to share. “Oh, can I tell, Dyl? You always get to.”

“Fine by me.”

Maya giggles softly before facing you and Eddie. “Well, my best friend sort of ditched me to tag along to guys’ night, and I refused to be ditched, so I got myself ready and ended up being fashionably late. When she invited me, I was already done for the night, pajamas and all but I got dressed up out of pure spite.” You chuckle, that’s something Bethany would do. “I got to the club, and suddenly I saw Dylan, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone else for the rest of the night.” She looks over to him, her eyes soft and her pink lips in a sweet smile. “He just drew me right in. We talked for so long we didn’t even realize it was time for last call.”

“Wow.” You comment, taking the last bowl in rotation from Eddie’s hands, the stir-fry vegetables. “Sounds like you guys have a great connection.” You look at Dylan at the last word, hoping he receives your message.

“Oh, we truly do.” Maya grins, Dylan shooting a wink at her in response.

Eddie grabs your hand under the table, and you hold it, petting at the tough skin and colliding with his rings.

“Our first date was incredible.” Maya mentions off-hand but doesn’t elaborate. If it was anything like your first date with Eddie, you knew better than to pry further. “So Dylan told me how you guys met, tell me about that.”

You and Eddie share a look of surprise at how casually she mentions it. You weren’t expecting her to know yet, in fact you were wondering if Dylan was going to tell her at all. Eddie lets out a chuckle. “A shitshow, let’s just say. When Dylan found us, it just became real messy in here.”

Unfortunately, Eddie missed the continuous waving Dylan was doing across the table to stop, please!

“How would meeting online make things messy?” Maya asks, the story Eddie had just told her and the story Dylan explained not exactly lining up.

“What?” Eddie asks, now unsure himself.

Your hand meets your mouth in understanding, facing Dylan with his head in his own hands. “Baby, I don’t think he told her, yet.”

“Nope.” Dylan musters out, annoyed.

“Oh.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Maya asks, watching everyone’s facial expressions one by one.

Dylan sighs, not ready to explain this part. “They didn’t meet online. Remember, my ex? The one who cheated on me?”

Maya rolls her eyes. “Of course I remember that bitch.” She says, giving you a look that says, ‘am I right’.

Dylan sighs, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Uh, Maya?”

“Hmm?”

“That’s her.” He says, pointing to you. “She cheated with my dad.”

Maya looks at you, dumbfounded, as you wave with a tight smile on your face. Being called that cheating bitch behind your back was certainly a new development from him. Not the…greatest feeling in the world. She looks to Eddie, who isn’t smiling, somewhat insulted on your behalf, but gives a friendly wave nonetheless.

“O-oh.”

“I said my family dynamic is different, didn’t I?”

“I thought you meant with how young she is…”

“There’s that…and there’s this. It used to hurt me a lot more, but honestly, since I met you, I don’t really feel that pain anymore.” He says to her. “I wish we could’ve had this conversation in private, but I guess I didn’t warn them.” A new hardness reaches Maya’s eyes as she looks at you, and you’re slightly taken aback by it. “Don’t be mad at them, because I’m not anymore. Well, mostly anyway. My dad said when he met her that he had to know everything about her or he was going to lose his mind.” You look to Eddie, and he winks at you slyly as you mouth the words I love you to him. “I used to think that was bullshit… But when I met you, Maya, I felt the same way, and I realized I couldn’t blame them for pursuing it if it was half as strong as what I felt when I saw you.”

The ice in Maya’s stare all melts the gloss in her eyes. “That’s still super messed up.”

“One hundred percent.” Dylan looks over to you and Eddie, and you’re wondering if the two of you were supposed to leave the table and give them privacy. “But now…they look good together. They’re good for one another. She puts this smile on his face that I never get to see anymore, and she seems more happy with him than she ever was with me.”

Your phone buzzes in your chair under your thigh. A text from Eddie. For the record, no one feels as strongly for anyone as I do for you. No one ever will.

You look at him and he nods once, his lips in a firm line. Your hands reach for his, interlocking with his. “Maya, I know you didn’t mean to but I would appreciate you not calling her a bitch.” Eddie tells her, parent voice on. “Now that we have all that out of the way, Maya, tell us what you do for work.”

Maya was a peach, and she seemed great for Dylan. As she helped clear the table she asked Dylan a question and it led to him announcing he was moving out. Out loud, Eddie gave him a proud hug, telling him it was a great idea.

To you, Eddie pumped his fist in celebration. As you washed the dishes that night, insisting Dylan and Maya go enjoy a movie on the couch, Eddie comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “When Dylan finally moves out, I’m fucking you on every surface in this house. I might just tell you to stay naked for easier access.” He leaves a wet kiss on your neck, and you’re left to imagine the possibilities as he adjusts himself while clearing the rest of the table.

True to his word, as Saturday dawns, Eddie wakes you up two hours before you start work and tosses your phone to call in sick for it. You text your manager at his request, and as soon as you hit send, Eddie sends you to his bathroom to get ready for a shopping day. In your first outfit, a pair of shorts and an oversized sweater, Eddie looks up and down at you exasperated and tells you to go get all dressed up and put some makeup on.

When your hands land on your hips at this he backtracks hard. “Of course you can wear what you want, baby! I just know that you love to get all dressed up, and I thought it would be fun for you. That’s all. We’re going to be trying on lots of clothes and I want my girl feeling her best.”

Okay, he has a point. An hour passes by, Eddie moving around you as he gets dressed up himself, less dramatic than his date night outfit, but dressed up all the same. As you finish, a wing on your eye, he comes behind you, looking over your shoulder for something. “You know I used to wear eyeliner all the time?”

“I…no?” You stutter, turning to face him.

“Might put some on today.” He mutters, slightly teasing you.

“If you don’t want to scare the general public, maybe we’ll save it for a date night, Ed.” You yank the pencil away from him, terrified that if you look away for one second, he’ll go overboard.

“Not even a little on my water line?” He asks, and you suddenly realize that yes, he does want some makeup for the day.

“I don’t see why not.” You shrug.

Now you walk hand in hand in the largest mall in town, starting the journey down the large aisle, leading Eddie. But eventually, Eddie ends up leading you, knowing exactly which stores he wants to go to. In the first store he takes you to, you look around the racks timidly, putting away anything you see over 20 bucks. In less than five minutes, Eddie comes by with a pile of clothes in his arms. “I’m gonna get a dressing room started, ok?” He pauses, noticing the 45 dollar dress you just put back. “Ooh, can you hand me that?”

“No, it’s too much.” You insist, looking at the large pile of clothes he has. You thought he meant like, three or four items at the most.

“I didn’t ask how much it was, sweetheart. Hand it over.” He tells you, to which you do. Only five minutes later, as you have only picked out two or three more dresses yourself, does he swing by and tug you to the biggest dressing room, the walls decorated with clothing.

“I-I’m not trying all of this on, am I?” You look around, it would take you at least an hour, and that’s if you hurried.

“Yep. And you’re showing me every piece.” He says, before closing the door on your stunned face.

“Eddie, this is way too much.”

“No complaining, just show me the first one!” he yells to you, no real bark behind his command.

The first dress you wear was a bit revealing, an open back, up to your thighs with a cowl neckline that shows cleavage. He smiles at you, leaning his elbows onto his knees in the seat offered in the dressing room. “Nice… Do a spin.” You roll your eyes, spinning for him slowly and timidly. He whistles lowly. “Man, I’m good. Next!”

He asked for a spin in everything you modeled for him until he didn’t need to, you did it for him. With each new piece, you were learning to not care if you were in a store with him, posing for him as he assessed each piece. Some you thought looked decent on you, he put in the no pile, while others you thought were a sure no, he put in the yes. He told you ultimately, it was your decision and if you felt uncomfortable, you could put one in the no pile, but he knew your body better than anyone. If he insisted it looked good, it must’ve looked good.

At the last piece you put on, he can’t seem to decide, asking an attendant for her opinion. She says she thinks the shirt looks amazing on you but isn’t sure about the style of pants. “Yeah, I chose them just to see if you’d wear it.” You shook your head no, feeling uncomfortable in the business type pants. “Cool. Get dressed in your clothes, we have more stores to hit up.” You toss the shirt to him after yanking it off, and by the time you make your way to the register, the attendant is already handing over two oversized bags to him.

“Eddie, this is enough clothes, I really don’t need anymore!” You insist as he directs you to a store only three spaces over.

As soon as you walk in, they see the big bags Eddie’s carrying and immediately offer their assistance. Eddie rolls his eyes, knowing he only ever gets the star treatment if he’s walking around with the occasional designer bag. (He likes their underwear). “Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but the women’s side of our closet is huge, and you didn’t have nearly enough clothes to fill it anyway.”

Our closet. You’re so fixated on the use of the word our that you don’t realize he’s waiting for you to talk. “Doesn’t mean I need more.”

“Oh, that’s exactly what it means!” He turns to the employee who’s been following him around and hands her the bags. “Be a dear and hold on to these, will ya?” He turns back to you, resting one hand on the rack beside him and staring down at you intensely. “Baby. I want to spoil you. Let me. Please! Pick out some clothes you want, I’ll pick some out, too, and you can try them on.”

“You’ve spoiled me so much already!” You insist, gulping at the sincerity in his eyes. “You’re all I could ever ask for.”

“That’s exactly why I have to spoil you.” He retorts, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I love you. Let me show you how much. I have a stupid amount in savings. I kind of want to chuck some out just to keep me humble.”

You giggle at this, finally, fully giving in to his madness.

Madness, it is. As you go from store to store, he gets about two more bags full from each one, and you’re sure some of these outfits will never see the light of day after you see how he looks at you in them. About ten percent will just be something you put on for about two seconds before he takes it off you. He’s buying dresses he knows he’ll be the only person to ever take them off or see you in them.

At one point, he runs back to his truck to put the eight bags he got tired of carrying around away, coming back to meet you in the store he left you in. It wasn’t much of a clothing store, but you had a basket of things you were planning to buy for yourself. Earrings, a knick knack for your desk, a cute notebook and the like. (There was a shirt you found for Eddie that you got just for the hell of it.) You're waiting in line, and you’re digging through your purse for your wallet when Eddie comes behind you, wallet out, card in the machine. “I—”

“Baby. Your money is useless today. Let me.”

You roll your eyes, and the cashier’s wide eyes at his pet-name for you catches your eye, a laugh escaping you. “Yeah, sorry. Guess I forgot to mention my boyfriend is also in his 40s.” You giggle, having just gushed about how Eddie was spoiling you to him.

“What? 40s? I’m clearly in my 20s.” Eddie asks, acting offended.

The poor cashier looks genuinely frightened, holding up his hands in surrender. “He’s joking. He is. Likes to make people squirm.”

“Oh I love to make you squirm—”

“Eddie!” You berate him, yanking him out of the store as he lets out a bout of laughter. He catches his breath, still laughing as you cross your arms, waiting impatiently for him to stop.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you made it too easy! C’mon, two more stores, then we can grab food.”

“Can I pay for food?” You ask, holding his hand.

Eddie smiles, petting your hand with his thumb. “Of course.”

The second to last store he brings you to is an underwear store. Eddie lets you do all the picking, following closely behind and offering any commentary when you ask for it. For once, he doesn’t insist that you model for him, claiming that just seeing you go through the lacier drawers of panties was torture enough. You walk out with a wardrobe’s worth of new underwear, bras, and a little bit of lingerie. It was the first time you were there to see the total, your eyes widening as Eddie takes out his card.

He smirks at your stunned expression. “Oh, this isn’t even the highest bill, sweetheart.” The transaction goes through and the kind lady behind the desks offers the bags to him. “This isn’t even half of it.”

The bill was at about 700 dollars, so the very idea drove you insane that he had already collected every receipt and refused to let you see them.

He brings you to one last store, wall to wall, covered in clothes. He goes a little ham this time, and you notice he focuses on basics. Sweatpants, sweaters, shorts, and under shirts. There’s one thing he chooses that has you struggling to get the zipper up, and eventually you call out for him for help after a good five minutes of fumbling .

He opens the curtain delicately so as to not reveal anything, and you look at him helplessly as your hand can’t reach the zipper sitting low on your ass. His fingers are light to the touch, as one hand rests on your shoulder, one on the zipper as it goes up to your neck, your hair held by your hands. You can’t help the shiver that runs through you as your hair curtains down around your neck, and you turn to face him, holding your hands out to silently ask him what he thought.

What does he think? He thinks that this fucking dress looks so good on you that it would be a crime to get you to start trying on those shorts and sweaters. Hell, you knew your size, you were probably good to go. It was much less revealing than any dress you tried on, a number he’ll probably get you to wear on your next date. He couldn’t help himself, surrounded by the privacy of the small room, he leans in to kiss you sweetly, one hand going up to frame your neck. “Baby.” He mutters, his voice sounding desperate. “You look…fucking gorgeous.”

You smile into it, your hand tracing the seam of his shirt along his torso. “Thanks. Help me out of it? I still need to try on all these clothes.”

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, surprising you. A slight whimper escapes you as he backs you into the wall against a few clothing articles hanging there. “I will absolutely help you out of this dress.” He says, his voice husky and a touch of arousal lands in your underwear as you realize why. “But then I’m going to get my cock in you.”

“In-in here?” You ask, highly aware you’re in a public space.

“Mmhmm. Be quiet and no one will suspect a thing.” he says, hand slipping under the skirt of the dress to start palming at your folds over your panties. You whimper at the touch into his mouth, focusing all your energy on not alerting the kind sales lady that you were hooking up in her dressing room. “Oh, good girl, keeping herself quiet.”

“It’s…it’s hard.” You whimper, the light touches over your panties not enough, but still causing more arousal.

“So am I.” Eddie chuckles, watching your face as he teases you. He slips the hand into your panties, letting them drop on the floor. “Oh, so wet, huh?” He asks you, eyebrows furrowed as he plays with the slick on your folds.

“Mmhmm.”

“Does daddy buying all the pretty clothes make you all hot, baby?” He asks, voice in your ear and fingers rubbing at your clit gentle, but enough to start you to your destination. You nod your head, because on some level, this was a big turn on for you. “Oh, you horny little slut.”

“Good girl…” You whimper, and Eddie leans back from your shoulder. “Good girl. Please?” You ask him, the slut shaming wasn’t doing it for you.

“Oh, you wanna be called a good girl, huh? Daddy’s good girl?” You nod, your eyes closing as he starts to rub at your clit faster.

“Feels…feels good, Daddy…”

“Daddy’s gonna make you cum, and since you’re a good girl you’re not gonna make a fucking sound. Okay?” You nod, holding a whimper in your throat from the finger he slides into your heat. “Oh she’s close.” He mutters to himself, placing gentle kisses on your neck. “Fall apart on my fingers so I can fuck you, my good girl.”

Your mouth is open in a silent scream, an orgasm shaking through you as you wither against the dressing room wall.

“Oh, that’s my good girl, such a good listener. Now, turn around and hold on to those hooks.” You do as he says, and as you brace yourself with your hands awkwardly against the hooks decorated with hangers, he zips the dress off you, lifting it over your head and nearly forgetting to muffle his own moan when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He lets his pants fall around his calves, and as his cock pushes you, you let your jaw open and eyes close, doing everything you could not to moan out loud.

He slowly bucks into you, and you close your eyes and lean against the wall headfirst while the scent of store clothes invades your senses. Soon, Eddie leans forward, forcing your torso up against his back as he places his ringed hand around you like a necklace. He kisses at the skin he can reach sweetly, eyes open as he watches your reaction to everything he does to you.

While the prospect of being caught by someone was hot, Eddie found himself watching for your visual reactions than listening for your audible ones. Hmm. He didn’t realize he had begun to rely on them. “How’s Daddy’s cock?”

“G-good.” You whisper, leaning into his chest with your head back against his shoulder.

“Gonna cum in you.” He mutters. He starts fucking into you a little harder, and it has to be perfectly timed because if he went all the way in, the sound of his balls against your pussy would be a dead giveaway.

“How’s everything in there?”

“Speak.” Eddie commands you, and you have to tear yourself from outer space for a moment.

“Great, thank you!”

“Just a reminder we try not to encourage two people in one dressing room.”

“She was just needing help with a zipper. Almost done.” Eddie pipes out, sounding relatively normal for someone seconds away from cumming.

“If you need any help or sizes, let us know.”

“Thanks…” Shit, that sounded out of breath.

“Cum in me.” You whisper, and Eddie does just that, slowly fucking his way through his orgasm, his cheeks flushed, shirt clinging onto the sweat.

You nearly protest as he takes himself out and tucks himself back into his pants. At this point, you were so turned on you kind of wanted to blow him while you had him in the room. You hold his face in your hands and connect your foreheads. “Is it bad I still want more?” You mutter under your breath.

Eddie swears softly, his boner fighting harshly against his slacks. “Fuck. No, I do, too.” He tugs your naked self into his arms, kissing your hair softly. “But…she was suspicious. Unless we want to get kicked out, we should quit while we’re ahead.”

“Can I blow you when we get home?” You ask him, turning to grab your own clothes off the floor.

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs the clothes scattered around the dressing room. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

It took multiple trips from Eddie’s truck to bring in all the bags. You truly didn’t realize how many pieces of clothing he had bought you until you saw it all scattered on the closet floor, all ready to be reorganized. Eddie starts hanging them, and you notice the outline of his cock in his slacks. He was still throbbing.

“Can I?” You ask, sitting pretty on your knees and looking up at him.

“Fuck, I’m never gonna say no to that.” Eddie answers, placing a hand under your chin.

You undo his pants, giving him a hungry look as his cock springs free. “You’re still hard?” You ask, knowing you’ve gotten food at the food court and walked around the mall a bit more before coming home.

“Mmhm.” You smile, jerking him lazily as you eye the length hungrily. You have the idea to tease him more, but the need to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue is too much. Eddie swears loudly as you take him in your mouth, gripping onto the center console for accessories and underwear. “Fuck”

You slowly bob your head up and down, staring up at him through your eyelashes as you relax your throat and allow your nose to meet his stomach. His hands skim through your hair, moving your head lightly, and again, you find it ridiculously easy to submit to him.

Eddie is uncharacteristically quiet, head thrown back in bliss as he feels the spit gather at his base. His stomach starts to tighten up a little bit and under your hands, his thighs are tense. Somehow it spells out to you he’s close.

You prepare yourself, moving your head faster on your own accord, opening your eyes at him again to watch for his reaction as you double down. A goddamn whimper escapes his throat as you continue, and suddenly it’s your goddamn mission to make him make that sound again. “Fuck, baby. Fuck…” Without any warning, the warm salty taste of his cum hits your tongue and you moan around him as he rides through his orgasm.

For once, as you wipe your mouth, you can tell he’s the one that needs recovery. You move to your feet, waiting for him to catch his breath. “Need some water?” You ask him, somewhat joking.

“The fuck was that?” He asks, his face in awe as he looks at you.

You give a cheeky and quick little kiss to the hand on your cheek. “Wanted to make you feel good.”

“Jesus Christ—” he tugs you into a hug, habitually kissing your hair. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Uh Ed.” You push lightly on his chest to get out of the hug, giving him a look of disbelief. You look gesture around the closet to the half of the clothes still not put away. “How are you the lucky one?”

Eddie’s face breaks into a wide smile, his dimples prominent, his smile lines deep. “You keep thinking that, darling.” He laughs, tugging you back into his arms.

As you stand there against his chest, relaxing into him with your eyes closed, the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it. You put away my clothes since you know where everything goes.”

“I did design this closet.” He retorts, pointing a finger at you.

You walk down the stairs to the front door, seeing a tall figure facing away through the smart glass. You open the door to a gorgeous set of brown locks, perfectly coiffed. The figure turns around, and clearly doesn’t expect to see you standing there. “Hey, Ed- whoa.” You recognize his face, but you aren’t sure where from. You subtly fix your hair; suddenly aware you had just given head to your boyfriend. “Uh, sorry, little lady. Is Eddie here?”

“He’s upstairs in the closet. Can I help you?”

The stranger smiles kindly, and you notice the freckles on his face are like constellations. “Oh sorry! I told him I’d be coming through town, but I forgot to say when. I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read your comments, replies, and reblogs. As always, reblogging is the best way to support your fic writers on tumblr.

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you

Taglist for Really Drives Me Mad: @yunnie-f1 @hollster88 @corrodedcoffincumslut @daisyridleyyyy @daniellabrandt @lail1010 @alicentswife @names-were-taken @bl4ckt00thgr1n

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you smut #older eddie munson #older eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #older!eddie x reader

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mooodyblue · 4 months ago

Note

Hiii could you please do austin having a nightmare that causes them to regress and they're to scared to wake the reader up, so they just cry till we do wake up and comfort them.

Also, I love ur fics so much!! They're amazing

wc: 679

pairing: little!austin butler x cg!reader

warnings: age regression (sfw)

a/n: ty friend !! sorry it's a lil short, hope u enjoy 🩷

masterlist directory

austin was okay when he woke up this morning, he wasn’t feeling little at all. he had his coffee, made himself some breakfast—hell, he even made you breakfast. when he kissed you goodbye before his long day of promotions, you had no worries about him being okay off on his own. things were good, he was happy.

his promotions went well, he had a good day out with his co-stars, now it was time to sit back with you and hang out for a little while before bed. the two of you watched a couple movies, eating on the couch and being lovey-dovey with each other then headed right to sleep after.

now, rarely does he ever have bad dreams. sometimes he’ll have a sad dream, thinking of his mother or maybe something along the lines of losing you too–but nothing that ever made him wake up in a cold sweat. his last nightmare was so long ago, back when he was filming elvis. filming took such a drastic turn in his life, he almost expected it. his thoughts combined with what felt like elvis’s own thoughts caused his brain to go haywire that night. you weren’t around then, he had to deal with it all himself. that was when he learned about going to that younger headspace. he had elvis to thank for that one.

this nightmare was nothing he’d ever experienced before. he felt sick to his stomach, waking up with tears in his eyes and the images still fresh in his mind. he couldn’t shake that awful feeling like the nightmare would actually come true—but it wasn’t, it was unrealistic. he needed to be reassured that he was safe, that he was okay, but he didn’t want to wake you up.

austin got up from bed, careful to not wake the sleeping figure beside him. he went downstairs to pace back and forth, trying to breathe and calm himself down. the tears just wouldn’t stop. he was in hysterics, shaking his hands and flapping his arms beside him as he tried to soothe his nerves. nope, nothing. he needed you.

he returned to your shared bedroom, watching as you slept peacefully. he refused to wake you up, he couldn’t. he felt you’d end up angry with him and it was the last thing austin wanted to do. he got back into bed, hugging his pillow as he cried softly.

but his soft cries woke you up, feeling a gentle shake of the bed as he tried to be quiet. you furrowed your brows, turning the other side and sitting up slightly. “austin?” you called out groggily, sleep in your voice. you looked over at austin, feeling your heart sink as you saw his shoulders shaking as he cried into his pillow. “oh, honey…honey, it’s alright. c’mere.”

that was the voice austin needed to hear. with no hesitation, he turned to face you and cried into your chest, soft sobs coming from him. you held him tightly, rubbing his back gently. “oh, aus…aus…” you cooed, “breathe, baby.” he only clung onto you more, his breathing staggered as he tried to calm down. “can you tell me what happened?”

he took in a deep breath, “bad dream.” he replied shakily, “don’ wanna talk about it.”

“alright.” you kissed the side of his head as you rubbed his back, “that’s alright, aussie. you don’t have to say a word. i’m here though, you feel my heart beating, i’m breathing and talking to you.” he hummed in response with a nod, hugging you again. “and i love you.” you made sure to add, “i’ll never let anything bad happen to you, okay?”

austin only seemed to cry again a little more, but nodding at your words. “love you.” he sniffled.

“think you can go back to sleep?” you tried to ask. he shook his head in response and you decided not to argue. “that’s okay, you wanna watch a movie then? disney movie?”

he raised his head, looking up at you. “i pick?”

you chuckled, “of course. whatever you want.”

#austin butler x reader #wheeee two in one day

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poeticpascal · 1 year ago

Text

Trouble (Pedro Pascal x Rockstar!Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: Pedro had never heard of (Y/N) (L/N) before his latest appearance on The Graham Norton Show. By the end, his assistant wishes it had stayed that way, and he wonders how it took him so long to find her.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of drug abuse (now recovered), allusions to but no specific mention of an overdose.

A/n: I am very nervous to post this! I've never written a fic about an actor like this before, so depending on how this one does lol, you may be able to expect more from me like this. Please let me know what you think, and don't forget my requests are open!

“And he used red this time! We were getting so worried that he wasn’t interested in all 3 primary colours-”

Pedro sighs, glancing towards the door to see if his assistant was coming back yet. No sign.

He turns back to the old lady who’s been talking now for what - 4 hours? 5? It felt like it. She was sweet, and he didn’t want to be rude, but god if he had to spend one more minute hearing about her grandson’s latest finger painting-

“So sorry I took so long! We’ll have to get going Pedro - your next interview is in 10.”

His assistant - Alicia - burst back into the room and Pedro was sure he could feel his eyes well in relief. He takes the lady’s hand, shaking it and giving her a warm smile. “Mrs Alderman, I’d love to hear all about Harvey, but I’ve gotta go. It was lovely to meet you!”

She smiles in understanding and clasps her own hand on top of his. “It was lovely to meet you too, Peter!”

Alicia snorts behind him, and Pedro gives up with a final, defeated smile before heading out of the cafe and back towards his car. He’d only wanted to nip in for a second, to grab coffee and a pastry, but then Alicia got a phone call, and Mrs Alderman started talking to him in the queue, and by the time they left his goddamn coffee had gone cold.

They clamber inside, Alicia pushing a few files onto the backseat as Pedro stares. “I almost died, you know,” he quips, half muffled as he takes a bite of his croissant. He hums at the taste, light and buttery; maybe it had been worth it.

Alicia rolls her eyes, used to his antics by now. “I was on the phone to the BBC. They’ve confirmed who you’ll be on The Graham Norton Show with.”

“They have? Who?”

He generally felt nervous going on the big chat shows, especially with how in demand he'd been recently. But Graham had been so warm, especially for his first time on the show, that when they asked him to come back he'd accepted without hesitation.

And really, he was quite looking forward to it.

Alicia doesn't seem quite as excited though. She flips open her notepad, littered with delicate but hasty scribbles of various projects and dates, and begins to read out the names.

“Robert Downey Jr, he’s promoting Oppenheimer.”

“I'm gonna meet Iron Man?” Now he was nervous.

“Kate McKinnon. She's in the Barbie movie, I think.”

“Amazing.” He'd always wanted to meet her.

“And…” she sighs. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

“Who?” No seriously, who?

Alicia snaps her head up to look at him. Surely he didn’t not know who she was? “(Y/N) (L/N)? The singer?”

Pedro just shakes his head, unbothered. “Nah, never heard of her. She any good?”

“No, Pedro, that’s the point.” He cocks an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue as she looks back and forth between him and her notes. “She’s a publicist’s worst nightmare. She’s the lead singer of this band, The Heartbreakers, they’re huge. Like, Taylor Swift-huge. But if Taylor Swift did heavy metal.”

“And why don't we like her?” he asks.

“Because she’s trouble. She’s had big drug problems, she argues with everyone, she goes on stage and pulls all these crazy stunts. She’s always in the news, Pedro.”

He can’t help but think she sounds like fun.

“Can’t be that bad, right? If she’s that famous?”

Alicia shakes her head, “she's famous, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. People love you right now, Pedro. I’m just concerned that if you’re seen to be… friendly with her, people will raise their eyebrows. It won’t look good.

He thinks for a second. It really wasn’t in his nature, this whole PR thing. He liked meeting new people, and listening to them, and connecting. Maybe not Mrs Alderman - and now he's thinking about that nightmare again - but, for the most part, yes; Pedro liked people.

And not giving someone a chance because of his public image didn’t feel right.

Alicia sees the cogs turning in his brain, so she flips the pad closed, giving him her full attention now. “I know it’s strange, but I mean it. It’s not a hole you want to get dragged into. Her fandom is huge, the media's obsessed with her, parents hate that their kids listen to her and kids love to piss off their parents by listening to her. I’m going to speak to them about getting you sat on the opposite end of the couch... I just want to make sure you’re not linked with her. Trust me.”

With that, he nods his head. He does trust her - at the end of the day, he didn’t even know who this (Y/N) person was. So what if he didn’t speak to her much on the show?

—------

“WHAT?!”

He had to pull the phone away as Bella’s near-screech pierced his ears. They yell again, something along the lines of “are you serious? Pedro, are you serious?!”

“Yes I’m serious, what’s the big-”

“Oh my god I can’t believe it! You’re going to meet (Y/N) (L/N)! Will you mention her to me? I saw her tweet once that she watched the show and oh my god I need her to follow me on Instagram-”

“Wait, Bella, wait,” Pedro rubs his thumb and forefinger between his brows, not exactly thrilled that what was supposed to be a call to calm his nerves the night before the show was now filled with so much rowdiness. “I don’t even know who she is! You listen to her?”

They gasp, and he just knew they were pulling a dramatic, jaw-dropped face on the other end of the line. “Come on man, I know you’re not the hippest guy around but you have to know who she is!”

He giggles, throwing his hands in the air. “‘Fraid not, Bella. I’ve no clue. I do know i’m not supposed to talk to her though.”

Now there was a real gasp, not the purposefully dramatic kind. “What? Pedro, you can’t not talk to her. You have to. She’s the coolest person, like, ever.”

Pedro scoffs, “what about me?”

“When you get sleeve tattoos and banned from performing at the VMAs, you might get considered dude.”

“She was banned from the VMAs?”

You know that feeling, when someone tells you not to do something, and you don’t want to do anything else?

Yeah, that.

“I’ll send you the link, it was so cool. She said she’ll be allowed back next year anyway 'cos they need her to stay relevant.” He giggles again at that, and yeah, he couldn’t deny his intrigue.

“So that’s why you like her? She's all rebellious and stuff?” Pedro chews on his thumb as he asks, the anxiety of tomorrow not quite forgotten, but listening intently as Bella rants on.

“Nah, I mean she is controversial, but I just think she’s amazing. She acts all tough and rock 'n' roll, but she's really great deep down. I went to see her band once a couple of years ago, and this girl fainted so she stopped the whole show to make sure she got water and was okay. She’s just misunderstood, man.”

“Is it true she’s a drug addict?” He's not sure why he felt the need to ask. Why he cared. Maybe it was just to build a better picture, or maybe because Bella loves her so much, and he cares about their interests. Maybe, he had a sort of… concern, for her. For this enigma.

They knew each other well, and Bella could sense Pedro’s interest. More than anything, they were just excited to tell him about their favourite singer. “She used to be, it was crazy. She’d go on stage high and everything, people really hated her then. But she’s been sober now for, like, a year? She talks about it a lot. This is what I mean dude - everyone remembers all those shitty things but I think she’s so strong.”

He hums in agreement, thinking back to Alicia’s warning a few days earlier.

“Do you think it’d be bad? If I talked to her?”

It was Bella taking a moment’s pause, now. “I mean… Alicia’s not wrong. She’s not exactly got the cleanest image a celebrity’s ever had. I guess it’s up to you to decide what matters most.”

It was quite profound really, and Pedro was reminded of just how mature they were for their age.

“The most important thing is that you give her my instagram handle.”

And just like that, the moment’s gone. He laughs, shaking his head and muttering “you’re a dick”, before falling into conversation about other things. He fully intended to look up (Y/N) (L/N) before he fell asleep, but the hours went by quick and soon enough he'd drifted off, phone in hand and tomorrow's nerves dispelled for now.

—------

Maybe this whole Graham Norton thing was a bad idea.

Pedro was tired.

It had been a long flight to London, a long drive from the airport to his hotel. And a long, long wait at the studio before they even thought about getting filming started.

He’d been in hair and makeup for a good while, and according to Alicia, it would still be another two hour’s wait until they got him sat on the big red couch.

Yeah, he was tired.

He steps out, the muddied skies of London painting a grey-cast shadow on his face, the frosty winds hitting his skin. It was nice. Different. Much harsher than the LA sun he was used to.

He looks around; it’s just him there in the car park, leant against the windowsill and letting his eyes drift shut. It’s peaceful, and if it weren’t for the rushing of the motorway that ran just beside him, he’d almost feel alone.

“Mind if I join?”

He jolts awake, startled out of his near-tranquility, facing the woman who’d crept outside through the same doors he did. She was casually dressed, far more so than the BBC staff he’d seen today; she must be a temp, or an intern or something. A heavy black hoodie swallows her frame, and he wished he had a similar one as his ice-cold breath fell into the air. His eyes draw upwards, and he thinks to himself just how pretty she is. (Y/H/C) hair is bundled in her hood, loose strands blowing messily in the wind. She has no makeup on, so he can see greyish bags hung under her eyes, her lips stained pink, a soft blush blooming over her cheeks from the frosty air. There’s a roughness to her, something harsh, and it makes her so utterly alluring.

“Yeah- yes, of course. Of course.” He offers a smile, and she smiles back, and his heart races.

He shuffles to the left, unsure of why he’s making room for her on the windowsill; they’re outside, he’s a stranger. There’s a bench not far from the door, perfectly fit for her to sit on. And yet she follows his movements, and leans against the porcelain outline of the large window, searching for something in her pockets.

“D'you smoke?” She produces a pack of cigarettes, and digs out a lighter from her back jean pocket. Pedro watches as she slips one of them between her lips, covering the end with delicate hands as she lights it, revelling in the taste and taking a long drag. He notices then her long black nails, perfectly painted and delicately holding the cigarette in place, elegant and weapon-like at the same time.

There’s a nonchalance to everything she does, and it’s enticing. She doesn’t look at him when she asks, or when she expels the smoke from her lungs, keeping her eyes set forward and undoubtedly feeling the weight of Pedro’s on her face.

He forgets he’s supposed to answer.

“Er, no, thank you. I’m being good.” He offers her a smile, forced as he tries to remember his own whereabouts, too entranced by the beauty and the charisma that fell from this woman in droves.

The two are silent for a little while, he can’t be too sure how long. He smells the smoke from beside him, sees the wisps drawl from her tongue and into the cool air, and for someone who considered himself rather charming, he couldn’t for the life of him think of something to say.

He doesn’t have to.

“What're you doing out here, then?”

And this time she is looking at him. They’re sat close, and his eyes meet hers with ease, warm and welcoming. He feels a little more comfortable now, like she’s a friend; her warmness makes it hard to feel anything other than at peace.

He smiles, bashful. “I’m working.”

“Working?”

He looks down at his shoes, rubbing them against one another. It was always a strange conversation to have, explaining who he was to people who didn’t know. It felt like showing off a little; more than anything, he didn’t want to make a big deal of it.

“Yeah, I, uh… on the show.”

She giggles, and it sounds so sweet that his tummy heats up. “I’m only kidding. I know who you are. The Last Of Us, right?”

There’s a sincerity to her tone, nothing like this thick, false charm people try to use when they know he’s famous. It didn’t feel like she wanted anything from him in that moment. He nods, looking back up at her and his breath hitches when they immediately lock eyes again. Her lips are turned into a sly smile, cheeky almost, and he can’t help but grin back.

“I liked that show,” she says before taking another long drag.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. Makes this fuckin’ huge press tour worth it.”

She laughs. Not the quiet giggle she gave him before, but a proper laugh, one that makes her eyes brighter and her nose scrunch up. Pedro laughs too, caught up in her, and when their chuckles die down they relax into a comfortable silence for a few moments before he turns to her again and asks, “how about you? Are you on the production team?”

She ponders her answer. It’s the first time - in the 10 minutes since they’d met - that she’d seemed to falter. Like she was unsure. “Yeah, you could say that.”

He didn’t push it. Maybe his fame was a problem. Did she feel overwhelmed? Or judged? He didn’t know - but a twang of sadness settled in his gut, and he wondered what to say next.

She recovers quickly, though. Stands back up a little straighter, puts the butt of her cigarette out against the wall, and faces him once again. “You seem nervous."

Pedro chuckles, nervously. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only when you scuff your shoes within an inch of their life and readjust your glasses every 10 seconds.”

“And here I thought I hid it well.” Cocking an eyebrow, the woman looks at him knowingly and tilts her head, encouraging him to go on.

“I always get nervous before these things... it feels worse this time, though. I just know Robert Downey Jr is gonna think I’m so weird, and then there’s this other lady I gotta avoid-”

“Who?”

She was abrupt, quickly apologising for interrupting him. He didn’t mind. “She’s like this... musician? I think. I’m sure you’ll know who she is. I’m awful at keeping up with whatever the kids are doing now. (Y/N)- (Y/N) something.”

There was a pause, awkwardly long. “My assistant says I gotta stay away from her” her continues, feeling a need to fill the gap. “Just doesn’t feel right to me, you know? To judge someone like that before you’ve even met them?”

He watches as she nods her head, deep in thought. She meets his eyes and nods again, faster, showing to him now that she agrees. She understands. He’s not quite sure how she understands, but he believes her; she didn’t strike him as the dishonest sort.

Pedro’s phone vibrates in his pocket, startling them both and they share another soft laugh. He grabs it, seeing Alicia's text flash on the screen - You’ve got a meeting with the producers to go over filming. 10 minutes. Ah shit.

“Everything okay?” There’s concern in her voice, and Pedro wonders if she knows he has to go. If she’s just as disappointed as he is.

“Yeah, yeah. I just - I gotta go.”

She’s definitely disappointed. He knows because her bright eyes fall the same way his did.

He’d never quite felt like this; like a magnet was drawing him to someone and like it would hurt in his soul to let her go. It occurred to him then, he didn’t even know her name, and he’d be damned if he was going to crawl back into the world of PR and publicity stunts and rehearsed answers without finding it out.

“It was nice to meet you. I don’t know if you- you want to get a coffee? Or something? After filming?”

The same harsh edge she had when they met, the one that had slipped and softened as they talked, seemed to have crept back as a once-sweet smile became that sly, cautious smirk. He couldn’t quite understand what she was thinking, what the cogs that so clearly turned in her mind were churning up, but he knew he didn’t care as long as he got to see her again.

“I’d like that.” Pedro sighs in relief, smiling again and sticking out an ice-bitten hand. “I’m Pedro.”

She giggles, offering her own hand and he stalled at the feeling of her fingers wrapped around his own. “I know.” She retorts, and he laughs, and just when she opens her mouth to tell him her own name-

“Pedro! We gotta go!”

Alicia shoves the door open, not even looking up from her phone which was presumably inundated with countless emails and phone calls, and Pedro sighs before looking desperately into the still nameless women’s eyes. She just smiles, dropping his hand and digging hers into her pockets. “Go on. I'll catch you later.”

He nods, swallowing and offering a small, regretful smile before pushing himself off the wall and following Alicia back inside. She huffs at him, speeding back off down the corridor and muttering something along the lines of “these goddamn producers”. He looks back a final time, to where the woman still sits in the windowsill. She waves, and he grins, unable to hide the childlike excitement her little gesture gave him before waving back and letting the door shut behind him.

—------

“We’ve got a fantastic show for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get some guests on!”

Pedro hears the roar of the audience, only a single wall between them and him as he waits to hear his name. He looks around the room; Robert and Kate are stood with him, chatting away at something he’d stopped listening to a little while ago. He felt better now he’d met them - they were lovely, so down to earth and genuinely happy to chat to him and hear what he had to say. It made him less nervous, and you might even say he was looking forward to this now.

There was no sign of her though. The singer - (Y/N). Alicia had scoffed, “typical,” just 10 minutes earlier, when there had been no sign. And she still wasn’t here.

“We’ve got the newly Emmy-nominated actor, best known for his amazing roles in The Mandalorian and HBO’s The Last Of us,” the audience’s roars got louder, “Mr. Pedro Pascal!”

It’s time.

He pulls his suit jacket a little tighter around himself, laying his palm flat against the bottom of his chest. With the other hand, he waves, smiling brightly at the crowd who cheered him on. Graham greets him, pulling him in for a hug and welcoming him back, before pointing him towards the end of the couch. Pedro gives the audience a final wave, mouthing ‘thank you’s and trying to express his gratitude for the love that filled the room.

Kate and Robert came next, shaking his hand and ‘introducing’ themselves again, despite the fact he’d already met them an hour earlier. A producer runs up to Graham, whispering something in his ear before darting off in the other direction. Graham rolls his eyes playfully, turning towards the audience and announcing, “we’ve got a late one!” The audience laugh, and Graham just organises his cue cards as producers usedthe extra time to prepare the camera angles and get the lighting right.

Graham looks at the couch, smiling with a wink. “Don’t worry - she’ll be here in a minute.”

“Is this (Y/N) again?” Robert asks, grinning.

“You’ve met her?” Pedro jumps in, falling into small talk among the four of them.

“A couple of times now yeah,” Robert replies. “I think she’s great, really funny. She's just… not the most put together person.”

They laugh, and Kate recounts her own story of having to wait on some celebrity or another, entertaining the crowd.

Graham parts from the conversation after around 10 minutes, holding a finger to his ear piece and nodding at whatever he was being told from the other end of the line. He stands up, smiling wide and turning to the audience, “she’s here! We have our rockstar ready.”

Cheers immediately erupt, and Graham turns to the guests to check they’re all ready to carry on with the show. Pedro nods, anticipation building as he spots Alicia from the corner of his eye, keeping watch.

“And don’t worry everyone, we’ll cut that little intermission out!” The room laughs. “Now I’m very glad introduce our last, but certainly not least, guest of the night. She’s the lead singer of Grammy-nominated band The Heartbreakers, she’s one of the most famous women in the world right now, and she’s only a tad terrifying. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome - (Y/N) (L/N)!

The audience becomes the loudest they’ve been all night, standing and yelling as the final guest takes the stage, and -

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It’s her. The woman from outside, the one he’d been thinking about all afternoon. The one whose name he never learned.

She looks different; she looks like the woman he’d been warned about. She looks dangerous. Where a black hoodie had hung from her shoulders, a black lace dress now clung to her figure and he could see the tattoos that littered her sleeveless arms. The bags under her eyes were gone, as was the pink on her cheeks; her skin was painted, perfected, sculpted with darker shades and glowing radiantly. Her lips were black and glossy, so neatly done that she almost looked like a doll. Thick eyeliner carried a smoky shadow across her eyelid and beyond, drowning the same (Y/E/C) eyes he’d memorised in black.

She was ethereal.

And she was his one, single instruction for the night. Don’t get involved in her.

She waves at the audience, smirking in the same sly way she’d done to him earlier; he saw more clearly that they were the same now. She has the same charm, same charisma, same allure and yet she seems all the more potent now as she strides across the stage in 6 inch heels and pulls Graham into a tight hug, like old friends. She whispers something in his ear, and he throws his head back with a laugh before she saunters to the couch, where the three guests stand up to greet her. She and Kate introduce one another with a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile, before she gives Robert another tight hug and they share a word that Pedro can hear now. “I have to stay here an extra 10 minutes ‘cos of you” Robert quips, causing (Y/N) to pull back and look at him with a cocked brow.

“You know I’m worth it, Downey.”

With that, she turns to face Pedro, and his breath hitches the same way it did when they’d first met. Her grin falters slightly, and there it is again; that honesty. She almost seemed like she was putting on a show, with her slow saunter and cheeky remarks, but there was nothing false about the way she wrapped her arms around him and looked into his eyes.

“My name’s (Y/N).”

He just laughs. He can’t help it. She makes him feel giddy. “I know.”

The audience’s applause dies down, and (Y/N) takes her spot as the star guest, and the first on the couch closest the Graham. He talks between them and the crowd, commenting on what a great line up they had today, despite certain delays, which has the audience howling again. (Y/N) laughs with them, shaking her head and pretending to cover her face with her hand, before looking up at Graham and saying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I got held up!”

“Well you have to tell us what happened,” Graham retorts, and they banter as (Y/N) recounts getting stuck in the backstage toilets. She has everyone wrapped around her finger, listening to everything she says and laughing at her jokes, and Pedro can’t find himself believing the warnings Alicia had given him.

He remembers Bella, and how much praise they had for her, and he gets it. He sees what they see.

“Well you’re here now, that’s all that matters. We actually haven’t seen you for a while!”

(Y/N) nods, her demeanour becoming slightly more serious. “No, it’s been a strange few months.”

Graham continues, “the last time you were on the show was 2021. And obviously as most of us here know, you've had quite a difficult time since then, right? Tell me how you’ve been.”

She takes a sharp breath, and Pedro could’ve sworn she glanced up at him before she answers. “Well, yeah. I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone that I was struggling with addiction for… most of my career, really.”

“‘No surprise’?” - Graham interjects - “you used to get high on stage!” It seemed judgemental, but it quickly became clear that he and (Y/N) had that sort of friendship, the kind where you can talk to one another so blatantly. She purses her lips at him, and he giggles, which makes her break the feigned offence and giggle too.

“Look, man, that’s rock and roll.” The room laughs again. “No but seriously, yeah, it just got worse and worse until… well, you know what happened. it was hard. But I’ve gotten clean, I haven’t touched that shit in what, 8 months?” The crowd launch into cheers and applause, echoed by Graham and the other guests. Pedro could see how much it meant to her, how she tried to keep a stoic appearance despite the tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. She mouths a thank you, and he longs to skip right past Robert and Kate to be by her side, to hold her. She recovers quickly, something Pedro notes she seems to do a lot; cover her moments of weakness as soon as they start. Instead she sits up straighter and jokes, “I think everyone’s worried I’m gonna be boring now, without the drugs.”

Graham laughs, “I mean, you are known for being one of the more controversial artists out there.”

“If anything, I think being high slowed me down. I’m just gonna get worse, now.”

“Oh god, don’t say that,” Graham jokes, “you’re going on tour again soon, I’m not sure we can handle it.”

The audience cheer even louder at the mention of the tour, making (Y/N)’s smile grow wider. “Yep, new album, new tour. It’s all happening.”

Graham turns to Pedro suddenly, as if remembering he had three other guests to rope into the conversation. “Do you listen to this sort of music, Pedro? The Heartbreakers?”

And, shit. Pedro can feel Alicia’s eyes burning into him from off-stage, and he recalls her warnings about this very situation.

Don’t make friends with her

Don’t give the media something to talk about

Don’t ruin your reputation

And yet, her voice got quieter and quieter in his head, as the sound of (Y/N)’s laugh and the pierce of her eyes became all he could think about. The decision was pretty easy to make, really.

“I actually hadn’t heard of them, until today.” Graham chuckles at his reply. “But I think I’ll have to start listening.”

The crowd cheer, and the pair lock eyes for what could’ve only been a few seconds, but felt like so much longer. She tries to fight the way the corners of her mouth pull upwards, white teeth poking through painted black lips, but when she sees him smiling back at her she lets them go and drowns in the butterflies she’s so unused to feeling.

God, he was in so much trouble.

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