#my dude in christ you are talented

[hobiwonder]

Days stretch by and nights sweep away with the bitter caress of the summer winds. When did the sun turn into the moon? When did the moon lose half of its face? I’ve lost count of how many stars light up the night sky just as I’ve lost count of how many days it’s been since you were last here.

whoever this is.... u wanna collab

[harrylights]

.

[yeowvng]

was introduced to yuzuru hanyu. i am a changed woman.

[222col]

meet me at the tennis court

pairing: art donaldson x reader ft. patrick zweig summary: art needs patrick's tennis coach, in more ways than just tennis. word count: 2.4k warnings: 18+!!!!, smut, dirty talk

Art never thought he'd be one for sabotage or betrayal, he never thought he'd need too, he was a good enough player on his own. He and Patrick had always been of a similar level, it was an even playing field before either of them went pro. Patrick got a head start, when Art went to Stanford. While Art did improve during college, Patrick had a dedicated coach, Art had to share a college level coach with the whole team, the playing field wasn't so level anymore. You starting coaching Patrick a year into his professional career, you'd met Art a few times when they'd practise together during spring or summer break, you knew he had potential. Art knew he needed one thing to beat Patrick, you.

It wasn't that he didn't want Patrick to succeed, he did, but he knew he needed you. As much as Art would never admit it out loud, he knew he had the talent to go further than Patrick, he just needed help. He'd watched you, how you worked with Patrick, your sternness, but kindness. You were exactly what he needed, for his career, but also his life. Once Art finished college, Patrick persuaded him to play in a doubles match with him, it wasn't high priority for Art, but he knew it meant time with you, so he agreed. Arriving at training, Art was nervous. Knowing this was his big chance to steal you away from Patrick, to join his team. Part of him felt bad, like a bad friend, but there was just something about you, that he craved.

"Alright, boys," You arrive to the court as the boys are warming up, tight tennis skirt and matching tank, carrying a crate of balls and a racket. Art mumbles a 'Christ' under his breath as you set the crate down and set up some cones. "Dude, I know, I don't know how I ever focus with her as my coach." Patrick responds. Art didn't think he was loud enough for him to hear, letting go of Patrick's hands, letting him drop to the floor. "You think she's hot?" Art questions, pulling his friend up from the floor. "Art, I'm not blind. I know she's hot, I spend nearly every day with her." Art shakes his head and picks up his racket. Patrick follows suit, holding out his hand in front of Art's mouth. Gum drops from his mouth to Patrick's hand. "Very romantic, can we maybe get on with training now?" Their heads snap towards you, both nodding as you wait, hands on hips.

Art wants to impress you, but he keeps missing shots, watching your skirt blow in the wind as you hit balls his way. "Get it together, Donaldson!" You shout, hitting another ball his way. He's focused now, but Patrick jumps in front of him to hit the ball back to your side of the court. "Nice to know one of you has your head screwed on, need to go back to college tennis, Art?" Your words sting, he's meant to be showing you that he's worthy of your time and attention, yet Patrick is out doing him, again. You throw a couple balls in his direction. "Let's see your serve." He picks up a ball, takes a breath and lines it up with the neck of his racket. He grunts as he hits the ball, it was one of his best. "Better." You smile to him. He has to stop the blush that creeps onto his cheeks. "Christ, all she did was smile at you, Donaldson." Patrick mocks, clearly noticing the redness on his cheeks. He's grateful you're moving cones and don't notice.

He improves throughout the rest of the session, not better than Patrick, but not missing any more shots. "Okay, boys, that should do us for today." They both drop their rackets, hair slick to their foreheads with sweat as you hand them both a bottle of water. "You have potential, Art, but you need to focus more." He shrugs in agreement as he drinks his water. "He's normally a lot more focused, wonder what got into you, Donaldson?" Patrick isn't slick, Art internally cusses him out. "Maybe I could do with a private session, if you have any spare time?" Art's almost smirking, Patrick definitely is. "Sure, Art," You say, packing away spare rackets. "I have a couple hours tomorrow before Patrick's solo session." His smirk turns to smile. "Great. See you then."

The two boys pick up their bags and head to the showers. Undressing and turning the water on, Patrick laughs. "What?" Art questions, turning on the shower next to his. "You're trying to fuck my coach." Art just shakes his head and starts washing himself. "You're not even denying it!" Patrick laughs, washing the shampoo out of his hair. "Maybe I just want some help." Art responds, letting the water wash the soap off of his skin. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you do." Patrick brings his fist to the side of his face and sticks his tongue to the inside of his cheek, imitating a blowjob. Art scoffs and continues showering. As much as yes, Art does want you in that way. He wants more, he wants all of you. Your body, your brain, your guidance.

Still nervous, but less so than yesterday, Art arrives for his private training session. You're already on the court, skirt looser than yesterday, the wind nearly exposes your ass as you bend over to pick up some extra balls. "Fuck me," Art mutters under his breath. He drops his bag next to you. "Jesus, Art, you nearly gave me a heart attack." You laugh, breath unsteady as you hold your chest. His mind is already wandering. He laughs too, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Opening his bag to pick out a racket. You pick up a racket of your own, grabbing a few balls and telling Art to do the same. You both get into position on either side of the court. After a few rallies, you stop. "You seem a bit pent up, Art, what's bothering you?" You ask, walking towards the net. The sexual frustration he's feeling is one thing, the other being how to breach the subject of subtly betraying Patrick. "Patrick's other coach said this too, I'm not sure." Patrick doesn't have another coach, Art just needs to find a way for you to leave Patrick and focus all your time on him.

"Oh really? That's interesting. Maybe you need to channel your aggression on the court." You don't bite. Do you know he's lying? You take a sip of water. "I didn't know Patrick had another coach." There it is. You bite. "Yeah, for a few months now, I think." Art keeps lying, he should feel bad, but if it means you direct your energy to him. He'll do anything. "Interesting. I told Patrick when I first starting working with him that I prefer my clients to work solely with me." You take another sip. "You know, so secrets don't get shared. My work doesn't get undone, things of that nature." He's done it. He's got you questioning. Your brow furrows as you keep drinking. "That makes perfect sense. I was surprised when he told me, when I knew how brilliant you are- How brilliant you made him." He hopes you ignore his slip up. You don't. "How brilliant I am?" You smirk to him, placing your water on the bench, taking a step towards him. "Well, you're an extraordinary woman." He smiles. "Exactly what I'm looking for actually." You examine his face. "In a coach?"

His eyes deepen, the space between you closing. "Yeah, something like that." Your hands are on your hips, looking up at Art. He can feel your breath on his neck, swallowing deeply. Looking down at you, the loose fit tank not helping, due to the fact he has the perfect angle to see your cleavage. "Something like that?" You repeat his words back to him. "Mhm." is all he can muster in response, his breath hitching. "You want me to coach you, guide you, tell you what to do?" You lean up to him, you lips mere inches from his now. "I definitely want you to tell me what to do." His confidence is back. Smirking down at you. "In tennis?" You question, playing dumb. "In tennis, in life, in bed..." He trails off, faking innocence. "Kiss me then." You barely finish your sentence before his lips are on yours. You can feel his hunger on his lips, his hands searching all over your body as yours tangle themselves in his hair. He finds his way underneath your skirt, caressing the lace and bare skin beneath it. You smile into his kiss, cocky bastard, you think, kissing you like this with his hands on your ass in the middle of the tennis court. Anyone could walk out onto the court, any minute, Patrick could easily arrive early and find the two of you together like this. The thought only turns you on further, Art must feel it in the kiss as his hand snakes around your body and into your underwear.

Gasping and gripping his body tighter as his fingers stroke the length of your folds, your legs almost buckle as he grabs hold of you tighter. Giggling to himself as he watches you come undone. His finger slips inside of you as his lips find their way back to yours. His kiss can barely capture the sound of your moans as he slips another finger inside. "Shut the fuck up," He whispers in your ear, covering your mouth with his hand. "Or do you want someone to catch us with my hand under your skirt?" His grin is evil, he's loving this, watching your eyes turn darker the further he pushes his fingers inside of you. He removes his hand from your face, returning to it's place on your ass. "I don't remember me saying you could tell me what to do, Donaldson." Your voice is shaky, breathing heavy as you hold your moans in the best you can. He raises his eyebrow, removing his fingers from inside you as you pout. "Do you want me to stop?" He asks, his fingers teasing your clit, so gently you can barely feel it. "N-no," you muster, his fingers re-enter. "Stop acting like you're in control right now then." His order hits you like a slap across the face, your knees go weak. You didn't think he had it in him. All you can do is nod your head as he picks up the pace. His thumb now drawing circles on your clit, your eyes close as your head flings back. You bite your lip to stop your moaning, Art's lips attacking your neck, definitely leaving small bruises as he goes. "Good girl." You can't stop the groan that falls from your lips this time. Art chuckles, loving the control he has over you in this moment.

"I thought I told you to shut the fuck up, or do you not want to come today?" Your head swings back to face him. "I'll be quiet, I promise, fuck- Art, please let me come," He rewards you with a kiss, you use it to your advantage and let your moans escape into his mouth. You're getting close and he knows it. You've began to shake, your grip on his biceps getting stronger as your nails dig into the skin. He's revelling in the fact you're leaving marks on him. He's getting exactly what he wants, you. "Come for me, baby," His whisper pushes you over the edge, nearly falling to your knees as you finish on his hand, he instinctively holds your body up as you bite down on to his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. He can feel that through his shirt, he'll be left with a bite mark. A groan leaves his own lips at the thought. "So, you'll be my coach then?" He asks, cheekily as you ride out your high. "Fuck, Art, I'll be whatever you want me to be if you keep doing that." He chuckles, pulling out his fingers, immediately bringing them to his lips. He inserts them both to his mouth, licking every drop of you from his fingers. He licks them clean and leans down to kiss you. He giggles into the kiss and smacks your ass playfully. "Hit the showers, Donaldson. I've got to get ready to fire my client, looks like you'll be my priority from now on." He picks up his bag, winking at you as he leaves the court.

Entering the showers, he finds Patrick. He claps slowly, "What a show, Donaldson." Art's cheeks flash red. "Really, I didn't think you had that in you." Art's head drops, thinking whether to deny the whole thing, until he sees the tent in his trousers. Patrick just laughs, patting him on the back. "It's nice to know that I'm finally rubbing off on you." Art's laughing too now, turning on the shower and undressing. "Fuck off," He retorts, stepping under the cold water. He winces as the water hits the fresh marks you've left on his body. Patrick inspects the reason for his wince, noticing the bite mark on his shoulder. "Is it weird to say that's hot?" Patrick smirks, brushing his fingers over the mark. Art shakes his head and pushes his hand off his shoulder.

"You might wanna start looking for a new coach." Art states, washing his face. "Why? You wanna make sure I don't make a move on the girl you're fucking?" Patrick smirks, as Art turns to face him. "She's my coach, as well as the girl I'm fucking, actually," Art can't even attempt to hide his smile as he continues showering. "You little snake!" Patrick laughs as he slaps Art's boner, he groans in pain. "Will you still be my doubles partner?" Patrick asks, picking up his bag, ready to head to the court. Art laughs, "Of course," turning back to his shower. "Don't tell her you saw anything, oh, and if she asks you've had another coach the past few months." Patrick leans around and hits Art on the balls. "You really are a fucking snake, Art!" Patrick laughs and jokingly kisses his cheek. "It's exciting seeing you like this, I hope she gets you to apply it to your tennis, then maybe you'll finally beat me."

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 1

Hello! I know there are a few minutes left of the poll, but there is nothing that could happen in the next 15 minutes that is going to change the outcome.

3 to 1 in favor of the main story first. The only reason I asked, was because that story has been finished a long time, but this one is just getting started. But the masses have spoken.

Original prompt here.

Summary: Eddie and the Corroded Coffin boys made it big right out of high school. So big that Metallica could open for them. Outselling the biggest bands and artists. They are huge. Then a small little indy metal band called The Fallen comes on the scene. They wear hoods and masks and go by aliases. Eddie (and most of the rest of the metal scene) are dismissive of them. More splash then talent.

Only fans don't thinks so. So when Dustin takes him to one of their concerts Eddie learns two things.

One that they are super talented.

And two, that he knows at least of one the members' of the band's real identity.

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

****

Getting out of Hawkins had always been the dream. Being able to do it with three of the best people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing with their music? That was the cherry on top of the icing.

But Eddie never dreamed that Corroded would outsell one his favorite bands of all time. Never even crossed his mind to dream about.

But there it was in black and white. Corroded Coffin was the highest grossing band of the year. Metallica was seventh. Fuck they had outsold Taylor Swift for Christ’s sake.

Barely.

But it still counted damn it!

What was a surprise was the number nineteenth best selling band of the year. A band he’d never heard of before. The Fallen. It said the genre was metal in that little italic font.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Yeah, it was impossible to listen to every up and coming metal band. But if they had already hit this big with only their second album, surely Eddie would have heard them on the radio.

Only on their last tour Chrissy Cunningham, their beautiful and amazing manager had put an embargo on the radio because the riffs were finding their way into Eddie’s song writing. So he guessed it made sense that he hadn’t heard of them.

So he called the one person he knew who would have all the details on these guys.

“Dusty!” he greeted when the man picked up. Man. Shit, when did they all get so old?

“Eddie!” Dustin greeted back. “Finally back in town?”

Eddie grinned. “You know it. Dude, you know my tour schedule better than Chrissy does.”

“Maybe.”

He laughed. “Guess who hit the top of the most successful metal bands of the decade?”

“Oh my god!” Dustin screamed. “That’s so cool! Is the issue out on stands yet or did you get a sneaky peak for having made it to the top of their list?”

Eddie winced. “Sadly the later. But! I can bring it over to show you when I come to hang out.”

“That’s acceptable,” Dustin said. “Steve just got back in town, too. That label he works for sure does like dragging him all over the world.”

Eddie hummed. “Yeah? Where’d they send him this time?”

“Japan if you can believe it,” Dustin huffed. “He basically came home sometime around midnight and just crashed.”

Eddie didn’t know what Steve and Robin did for the studio, no one did. But the general consensus was that they were dogsbodies of some sort. Getting coffees for execs and stars, driving them places. Just stuff they didn’t want to hire out for, they made Robin and Steve do.

“I won’t be waking him up if I come over, will I?” Eddie asked, biting his lip. He had a crush on the other man. A large one. But fame and fortune kept getting in the way of something more.

“Nah,” Dustin assured him. “He woke up about an hour ago. He’s even showered and eaten. He’ll want to see you as much as I do.”

Eddie very much doubted that, but he was going to take it. “Great! This list is insane, man. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

“Come over for dinner,” Dustin suggested. “We’ll pour over the list over pizza and beer.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re old enough for beer now.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” Dustin said. Eddie could feel the eye roll from here.

****

Eddie was watching Steve in interest.

He was walking around like he was used to being in high heels or something, as he would catch himself on his toes and force his feet down on his heels.

He would jump at Dustin throwing open the door. He kept touching his face and rubbing at his throat.

Robin was constantly pushing tea into his hands to get them settle. When they weren’t cradling the tea mugs, they were all over the place. Not just his face. But his back and stomach, too. Rubbing his palms on the front of his jeans.

“Dude!” Dustin hissed. “What is wrong with you? Japan can’t have been that different from America.”

Steve winced from the sound. “Bud, you are seriously being too loud. I told you that I have a migraine.”

Eddie tilted his head. “Hey do you need me to go? Butthead here said you were fine.”

Steve looked up at Eddie and his expression softened. “I’m fine as long as you aren’t yelling like Dusty Buns, here.”

Eddie chuckled. “I hear that. So how was Japan? When me and the boys went a couple years ago it was so beautiful.”

Steve rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows. “I wish I could have seen more of it. It felt like we were running nonstop. At least we aren’t roadies. I don’t think I could do the work they do. They’re the true beating heart of the operation.”

Eddie nodded. “Our last tour we had twelve trucks of roadies and equipment. It was insane.”

Robin grabbed Steve’s cold tea mug and swapped it with a warm one. Steve murmured his thanks. “I’m still not sure if I’m on this time zone yet. And I worry that this fucking migraine may throw me off even further.”

“Is that why Robin is plying you with tea?” Eddie asked. “To keep you awake enough to go bed at the right time?”

Steve nodded, humming contently over the cup of tea. “Nothing caffeinated, not really. Peppermint for the most part, honey lemon, too. She thinks I might be coming down with travelers’ cough.”

Again Steve made an aborted movement toward his face.

“Stop doing that!” Dustin hissed again. “Why do you keep touching your face like that? Did the Tibetan monks curse you or something?”

Robin smacked the back of his head. “That’s China, doofus! And no, no one has been cursed. We had to wear face masks like the surgeons wear for a lot of the trip because there had been a flu outbreak.”

Eddie nodded. “Ooh, yeah. They recommended we wear them too in certain areas, it wouldn’t surprise me if I was that twitchy when we moved to the Australian leg of the tour.”

Dustin eyed Steve warily, like he wasn’t sure if he should believe him or not, but Eddie had backed him up, so Dustin decided to let it go.

For now.

“Where were you touring again?” Steve asked Eddie after taking a long sip from his mug. “South America, wasn’t it?”

“Right in one, big boy,” Eddie enthused. “It was our first time in some of those countries so it was super exciting meeting the people, learning the culture, eating the food. I swear by the end of the tour we had all gained at least ten pounds and that was with us sweating our asses off on stage almost every night.”

Steve winced. “I don’t know how you guys do it, the stage lights we had were merciless.”

“Years and years of practice, Stevie,” Eddie said, “years and years of practice.”

Dustin turned to Eddie. “All right I think I’ve been patient enough, I want to see the top twenty money makers of metal before I vibrate out of my skin.”

Steve laughed and smacked the back of his head. “You know who number one is, why do you care about the other nineteen?”

Eddie shook his head. “Not just metal bands, my weird little friend. But out of all the bands.”

He pulled out the magazine and Dustin snatched it out of his hands, careful not to rip it.

Dustin was furiously reading the list and it was clear that he was looking for someone specific.

“Eureka!” he cried. “I knew it! I knew they were outselling other new metal bands.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. “Yeah? Who’s that, bud?”

“The Fallen!” he cried. “They are so cool man. They have these on stage personas like Daft Punk and they kick ass on stage. I was so bummed when they didn’t come to Pasadena or anywhere near there when they were doing their US leg of their tour.”

Dustin was going to school at Caltech because as much as he wanted to go to MIT his mom was worried about him being by himself, so he moved out to California to move in with Steve.

He was on campus for housing most of the year, but he came home on the weekends and that put Claudia’s mind at rest.

Steve himself had moved out to California a couple of years before. Robin and him had gotten a job at record company and had to move out there to be closer to the headquarters.

Interestingly, or at least to Dustin, Steve’s friends all found jobs out here, too.

“I saw that one,” Eddie was saying. “But I’d never heard of them are they any good?”

Dustin scoffed. “Are they any good? Holy shit are they good.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “They’re a metal band, no offense to Eddie here, but there are only three metal bands on the whole list. Most of them are pop, rap, or country. How good can they be?”

Eddie scoffed and held his hands to his heart. “You wound me!” Then he flopped on the sofa, playing dead.

“That’s what does make them so good, Steve,” Dustin insisted. “Because there are only three metal bands on the list, it means they had to work their asses off twice as hard as the others.”

Eddie popped up. “Yeah, Stevie!” He stuck out his tongue and Steve laughed.

“You got any of the albums?” Steve asked, with a flippant wave of his hand. “If they’re so good, let’s hear them then.”

A shadow crossed over Robin’s face and she looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

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[kimingyuslover]

WONWOO FIC RECS

scandal by @fantasyescapes17 (regency!au, fluff, angst, kinda enemies to lovers!au) pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) was beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

the peephole by @rubyreduji (smut)

➥ wonwoo can’t stop thinking about how he wants to ruin his roommate, the peephole in his wall isn’t helping tamper those desires either

neurosurgery department by @taeyegu (fluff, angst, some humor, friends to lovers!au)

“if there is a nice person, please introduce him to me. sometimes like water, sometimes like fire. someone who can love me sincerely. i hope he is someone who is mature and faithful…” (introduce me a good person, joy)

getting closer (angst, smut, crime!au, Joker!Jeon Wonwoo x Chief Inspector!fem!reader) by @multi-kpop-fanfic

Summary: Four months. It has taken inspector Y/N L/N four months to get her hands on Jeon Wonwoo, the maniac, Joker-like criminal, who has thrown the city into total fear. The same criminal who has an obsession with the inspector, because she's the only one who can grant him his greatest wish. They need each other to fulfill their goals and there's only one way - by getting closer to each other, one last time.  

bloodily safe by @starlightxsvt (psychological thriller? camgirl au, college au, smut)

synopsis ➳ you have a little secret. one you are desperately hiding. yet the boy you have a crush on has figured it out. now a game of cat and mouse has begun. how do you make it out alive?

game on by @starlightxsvt (pt. 2 of bloodily safe, smut)

synopsis ► ❝ there has not been a single uninteresting moment since you have started living with wonwoo. as halloween rolls around, things only get more riveting. ❞

twisted fate by @smileysuh (smut, some fluff, vampire!wonwoo, vampire hunter!reader, soulmate!au, enemies to lovers!au)

💙 preview. “He deserved it,” Wonwoo assures you, reaching out to grab you by the back of the neck, pulling you closer. He’s covered in blood, and he looks like a sexy, wild monster. But he’s your monster, and you can’t help but react, leaning in- “Jesus Christ,” you hear Jeonghan breathe, turning to give you and Wonwoo privacy while he presses his lips against yours hungrily. At first, you can try to ignore the wet liquid on your fingertips as you grab at his strong shoulders, but you can’t ignore the taste on his tongue. Your body goes rigid and Wonwoo pulls back with a sigh, resting his forehead against yours. It’s an oddly peaceful moment amongst the chaos.

anteric by @smileysuh (smut, friends to lovers!au, frat!au, fake dating!au, ft. mingyu)

💙 preview. when you bump into the guy that ghosted you, your model best friend and roommate, Mingyu, steps up to be your fake boyfriend for the night... and when the asshole is hired at your workplace, your other roommate, twitch gamer Wonwoo, is roped into the charade too - “polyamory exists dude, get over it.”

work husband by @rubyreduji (fluff, ft. mingyu, office!au)

summary: your two coworkers get a bit too involved in becoming your “work husband”

to my youth by @viastro (slice of life!au, smau, fluff, humor, angst)

ミ☆ synopsis: in a world where everyone finds out who loves them within a 10 meter radius through the app love alarm, confessing your feelings without the use of the app is no longer considered normal. however, you refuse to download it in hopes that you’ll be able to fall in love without being dependent on love alarm.

[katuschka]

Touch Starved Pups – One

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader x Josh Kiszka 4.011 words

Welcome to Part One of the story about what happens to two well-behaved, bored and horny romantics when a new feisty, worldly and hot social media manager enters the building...

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): expressive language, promiscuous behaviour, unprotected sex (or still rather just allusions to it , just setting the scene...), oral sex, handjob, kissing, twinfight, fistfight, angst, mockery, consensual teasing game that's borderline exploitative, slightly toxic behaviour...so, to sum it up, this is pure rock&roll filth, folks.

Also, if you like the story and want to get notifications for future updates, you can join the Taglist or see the Masterlist

Hooked? Read Part Two.

I know who I am when I'm alone

I'm something else when I see you

You don't understand, you should never know

How easy you are to need

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me

Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back

Walking down the photo pit after all the other photographers cleared off is my favorite part of the day. Or night, to be more precise. That’s when I shine: strutting along, ready to capture all those best moments that make all you bitches go feral during AND after the show. This is my queendom. I make content for you lot. And I’m damn good at it.

How do I know that? The numbers just skyrocketed after I joined the team. Ka ching! All those poor things that came before me had no idea how to do their job. Tried to do some lifeless artsy shit that might be good for booklets and collectors’ crap that only collects dust, but not followers. They listened to what the band and their management wanted, but that’s not how it’s done. Nuh uh. I listen to you, my dudes. Your screeches, howls and cries. Some say that you’re crazy, but I know better. I’m here to observe what drives you crazy, and then I shall stir it up even more. When it comes to online content, the only thing that matters is what YOU want.

Make no mistake, I create art too. The crucial difference is that it’s not shit. Socials need candid eye candy and I’m here to provide it. 

I gotta admit, they make my job quite easy. All four of them do, but the twins are human masterpieces. Born pretty, they gradually learned that they could monetize it just as much as their respective talents. I didn’t need to come up with a strategy; it’s always been there for the taking. The fact that my predecessors have been mostly ignoring this is a mind-boggling mystery to me. Those guys know for sure that they ruin your panties. I just needed to know how.

So I rolled up my sleeves and went down to the barricade to do my research. Marketing’s no rocket science. Veni, vidi, vici. I just looked at them through your eyes and your own photos, and let me tell you – you bitches aren’t crazy, you are right! Yeah, I saw it too. And I get it. Some people in the team wanna keep pretending that it’s all about the music – which is surprisingly good, by the way – but that’s not what makes you sleep in the dirt and sit on a curb for days, and then again…and again. Those sons of bitches basically fuck on stage, looking very tasty while doing so. Especially Frodo and Patchybeard. Whether it’s a guitar, a mic stand or just plain air – they just shag it! Y’all look like you can feel it, and they’re very well aware. It strokes their egos, so they just keep adding fuel to the fire. The first time I saw that, I just stood there with my mouth wide open and just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. It was a fucking orgy! And then, when it was time to walk into their bright conference room and pretend to do some serious business for a change, I put on my super serious and super professional face, and I told them what needed to be done. 

Let’s just take your usual fangirl stuff and make it official. Sorry, not sorry. You crave it, so what. I keep the Facebook page artsy and businesslike for those gramps and music snobs that would go batshit crazy if they saw any more pictures with sweaty “jummies”, sparkling dicks and marshmallow balls; but anywhere else, it’s a party. 

Some of you keep wondering why they behave like such frenzied horndogs all the time. My lovelies, the explanation is pretty simple. It’s because they are! You wanna know if they are like that in real life? Yes, the answer is yes! It’s good for the show, sure thing, and they’re both true born professionals creating a breathtaking spectacle. “It’s all for you, bla bla bla!” But the truth is that they’re naturals, not really much different offstage. Lusty, filthy, bad. 

Just kidding. They’re sweethearts. Lust-driven, whiny pups that want to be played with. When the show is over, they both follow me backstage like the good boys that they are, wagging their tails at me enthusiastically. 

Ooops, what did I just say? Lemme put my fingers to my mouth and giggle like a coy lady that I’m not. Some of you already suspect it anyway, and it was collectively decided that you should hate me with passion. I guess now I’m famous, too. D’oh!

So, yeah… When I said that it was there for the taking, I forgot to mention that I also wanted to take it. Life on tour is lonely and stressful. I’m not immune to that either. Sex helps. That’s why the rockstars of yore kept fucking everything that dared to come close while they were all high as a kite. Because why not…well, apart from the fact that unlike good sex, drugs actually ruin lives. No, I’m not a fan. 

Times have changed and today’s musicians – and I’m not talking about all those wannabes with backing tracks – really need to work hard to earn their bread.They’re self-aware and sober (Take that with a pinch of salt…they’re sober while actually working.). Often homesick. Sure, some of them are still jerks or junkies. Or both. Not a fan of these either. I worked with some and it was a nightmare. 

But, when I joined the Greta Van Fleet team, I found a bunch of down-to-earth and touch starved homeboys, well aware of their power but hesitant to act upon it. That’s the difference between having a huge dick and being one. They’re – and now let me let out a sob or two for the dramatic effect – gentlemen! 

You know what a sweetheart with a huge dick is? That’s your dream come true. Believe me. That’s just something you want. I certainly did.

Not from the start, though. No. They treat the crew like friends and family, and as much as that was certainly a pleasant change, I wavered initially. They were all so kind and gentlemanly that I just decided to keep my friendly distance, thinking they really were such mama’s boys that they appeared to be…The impression didn’t last long. Soon I heard them making jokes and lewd comments when they thought no one was listening. Some of those comments were about my bouncy ass, too. 

Men, am I right? 

Alas, sweethearts’ dicks are still just dicks, and neglect will gradually take its toll. I could see right through their nervous ticks. 

Jake was the first one that fell into my snares. I didn’t really pursue it; I’m not a monster. Like I said, we were lonely and stressed, and so it just happened one fine day. He craved human contact, and I was there. Life is complicated, but certain things are still pretty simple. Thank god, or whatever supernatural entity you believe in. 

It was a lovely evening in his 2-storey hotel apartment. He often got those, because the others had this habit of gathering together in his room to discuss business – since it was his band – and to get shitfaced in the process. 

We were both sitting cross legged on his bed, both already pleasantly booze-soaked and shrouded in semi-darkness, the only source of light being the dimmed lamps in the main room. I had been giving him a lecture on the importance of a good online presence that evening. Or at least I was trying to do that… When the others got a bit too rowdy, we retreated to his bedroom to have some privacy.

When it comes to online shit, Jake’s the most difficult one. He doesn’t like it. Plain and simple. He had created this cute mask of a smooth and aloof poet slash ancient adventurer, behind which he hides, but you bitches don’t like that. You like watching him talking to his SG in front of thousands like she’s his obedient whore. See, there’s a certain discrepancy in that. I kinda understood where it was coming from, him being in his element onstage and all that shit, but I also needed him to understand my point.

And it was tough. He’s complicated. He likes to pretend to be a tough, mysterious guy, but deep down he’s just a shy and wide-eyed fawn that bounces when you say “boo”. Not always, mind. I learned that  the hard way once when I was leaving his room with scarlet imprints of his fingers on my thighs. However, drunk Jake is a meek and needy cutiepie. I could definitely use it to my advantage. So I poured us more drinks. 

“I dunno, s’not really me,” he countered after I tried to explain one more time. 

I showed him another one of the most recent videos. “Are you telling me this is not you?”

I grew really fond of his quiet “hahaha” every time he felt discomfited and flattered at the same time. Just like now. Stroking his chin with his finger, he shifted nervously and continued: “Well, yeah…uuum…you like this?” 

That was the moment when I knew I had him firmly in my grasp. Yeah, Jakey, I reeeeally like it. Let me just show you how much.

I seized my chance. We laughed and joked and flirted and all that shit. Talking about his desirable body parts that y’all take snapshots of soon turned to physical manifestations and before we knew it, his fly was open, his fat cock hard and out and firmly in my hand. I brushed my thumb gently over his pink and already leaking head before I wrapped my fingers around his shaft once again and started pumping him slowly. He just sat there and watched me with his lips parted, both mesmerized and taken aback by how quickly things escalated. I returned his stare, looking him firmly in the eye while I quickened my pace, and his breathy exhales turned to full-fledged, loud moans. I tried to shush him by forcing my other thumb in his mouth… and that only made it worse. There were still other people in the adjacent room and the door was open, but he just wouldn’t shut up! I had to grab his chin and stick my tongue in his mouth to keep him quiet. 

That sobered him up a bit. He didn’t want me to stop, he just wanted to regain control. Our tongues wrestled for a few seconds before he grabbed my cheeks and returned the kiss in such a manner that made my pussy spasm. I liked that, and we continued like that until he came all over my fingers a few minutes later. Thankfully, someone put some music on in the other room and it muffled his moans a bit, because my mouth could no longer contain them. He howled in it. It was hot.

You know, I’ve had the misfortune to cross paths with assholes who’d just throw me out after that, both satisfied and ashamed that my skills made them finish so quickly and unceremoniously, without fanfare and praises. Not Jake. He had to reciprocate AND prove himself at the same time. He’s vain, but in a good, gentlemanly way. 

After everyone else left, he just fucked my brains out. It surprised me how much he wanted to kiss, and not just my lips (either kind). His tongue was running marathons all over my body, and if I remember it correctly, I think I came five times that night. Not my record, but still a very impressive first-time. 

After that, he just kept crawling back to me, stopping me in empty hallways just to whisper obscene poems about my hungry pussy in my ear. Talking about how he’d feed me. 

He’s a sly one: the kind of a man that would run his fingertips gently down your spine in a room full of other people, while talking casually about fucking you raw, only for you to hear. I mean, that’s exactly what he did once or twice. I’m sure our “conversations” always looked completely innocent from a distance, with only Josh sometimes watching us with his lips pursed. Sometimes his eyes even narrowed a bit. That feisty chipmunk knew from the very start, and I thought I could spot jealousy in that piercing stare of his. I enjoyed that, just as much as Jake enjoyed making me wet in public, and calling it “retribution”. Honestly, I didn’t mind. Punish me as much as you want, baby, and keep using all those fancy words while doing so. Yeah. 

I’m a born provocateur, so I often just asked for more. Every time I saw him start licking his lips absentmindedly, I struck. In the end, it was always him who had to calm down, to keep it cool…to hide his hard dick. 

We both loved it. It was our little fight for dominance. We teased each other and then there would be a reward. 

It was a bit different with Josh. He’s a lover, not a fighter. He doesn’t need to fight for dominance and so he often rejects that role voluntarily.

At first I thought he wouldn’t be interested at all, even though his grabby hands landed on my bare skin more often than some would deem comfortable. But he’s like that with everyone! Including Bob, the chalice filler. It often doesn’t mean a thing. 

I knew it meant something when he almost grabbed my ass once. I tried to experiment with the same strategy I once used on Jake: using his own weapons against him, making him cross the friendly line.

It happened during a soundcheck while I was showing him a preview of my next scheduled post. His weapon was right there, on full display, and I further accentuated it by a subtle, punny caption. It made him giggle and I winked at him. 

“So, you okay with this? I mean, it’s all over the internet anyway…”

“Dear sparrow, if I weren’t okay with this, you wouldn’t be able to take such a lovely picture of it.” His hand first landed on the small of my back familiarly, just like it always did, and as we talked about other pictures in the carousel, I felt his fingers move even lower until the tip of his pinkie slid under the hem of my pants. I cleared my throat ostentatiously and he drew his hand away quickly as if I had burned him. 

“You know, I should report you for harassment for this,” I said matter-of-factly, still looking at the screen, trying to look both cool and unphased, but the twitch in the corner of my mouth gave me away. A true master of reading such subtleties, he slapped his fingers with his other hand and grinned at me. “Naughty me. Can’t blame me. You just smell so nice, sparrow. What is that?” 

“Hypnotic Poison.”

“Right…” He licked his teeth in a vain attempt not to grin even more. To be hundred percent sure, he still asked me if I wasn’t mad. Sure I wasn’t. I had been waiting for this. 

We parted after that, minding our respective businesses, but all those fleeting glances he cast my way during the rest of the afternoon didn’t escape my attention. Later, just before the show, he cornered me in the bathroom, startling me. I almost poked my eye out with a mascara when I noticed him standing right behind me. “Jesus Fucking Christ on a stick, Josh!”

“Yeah, I’m all that.” It was obvious he wasn’t there to take a leak as he kept watching me watch him in the reflection and his eyes grew darker. I slowly turned around and ran my finger down the hem of his low neckline, even more slowly. Tentatively, almost. Never breaking eye contact and with his lips slightly parted, he let me go lower until I reached the zipper head and tugged at it playfully. 

“Black velvet really suits you, you know?” I teased.

“Yeah, I know.” 

Cheeky brat. You wanna play, baby? Let me show you how it’s done. I slipped the tips of my fingers under the hem of his cleavage until I found his left nipple and started running circles over it with my middle finger. His breath hitched and his eyes widened before he seemingly regained his composure and flashed me a sly smile. 

“So…ummm…you and Jake are…exclusive?”

“Wow, you’re pretty straightforward,” I laughed. “No, we’re not. Just having some fun. Why?” 

Why, indeed. He made it pretty clear why, and I let my tongue give him the answer he desired. After the show that very night, he knocked on my door with a shy smile plastered on his face after I opened it. I welcomed him in.

Josh never fought me. He always presented himself on a silver platter and let me do whatever I pleased. Then he repaid me when the payment was due. My initial impression of him being a pillow princess wasn’t completely off, but my god! The man can fuck! Never try to piss him off. Or you know what? DO try to piss him off, because it turns him to a jackhammer. 

I once called him a sissy and the wrath that poured down on me afterwards made me see stars. 

So that’s how it went. They both knew what was happening behind closed doors with the other one, and both were ok with that, as long as it didn’t interfere with their own plans. And that was just a matter of time. 

To tell you the truth, I did wonder what it would be like to have them both, so when the opportunity presented itself, I would be a fool not to encourage it. 

Every once in a while, there are shows where shit just happens and everything that can go wrong, does do wrong. It was one of those nights. Even back at the venue, right after the show, I saw how both their faces were twisted with tension, and maybe the best way to avoid even more trouble would have been to avoid them altogether. They weren’t the only people who had a rough night. I was exhausted, too. If I were a bit more responsible, I would have settled for a nice hot bath and a filthy book, but sadly, I’m a people pleaser. Also, nothing can calm me down better than the smell of male skin.

It was long past midnight when I heard a knock on my door. 

“It’s me, Bebe. Please, let me in.” 

That’s right. He gave me that nickname shortly after we started fucking, even though I teased him that he would never beat those allegation that way. 

If you guessed that I indeed did open the door, you’re right. He didn’t even wait for the invitation to enter this time. The stress was doing us no good. I could smell even more troubleon the horizon, but I ignored it.

“Jake, you can’t just storm inside like this. What if I had company?” It was no use to argue with him. No longer sober to begin with, he was already making himself at home and pouring himself another drink. 

“Please, Bebe, stop teasing. I need you! I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Well, tough luck! Josh asked first.”

“Oh no, no no no! It’s my turn, baby! You can’t do this to me. Tonight was hell. Call him and tell him that you’re mine.” I shot him a sharp look, so he added quickly: “... for the night. ” Well, that only made it worse. 

Funny how quickly they got accustomed to the fact that I was just within reach. I would have been offended if I weren’t aware of how insolently I played with them too. Still, I should have said no, but I’m just human. 

However, the whole situation was already a bit more complicated than that. “I can’t. He’s already here.” 

Jake cast me a confused look before he smiled sympathetically at my feeble attempt to get rid of him. “Where? Hiding in the closet?”

“No, he’s in the shower.”

He just stood there for a short while, contemplating something, before he grabbed my cheeks with both hands and whispered sultrily: “Please, love, just a blowjob then. Your mouth can do wonders, baby. I beg you.” Noticing that I wavered, he bent closer to whisper in my ear: “You can ride my face anytime you want. You know that.”

Again, I should have said no, but the said mouth already started watering when I noticed the rapidly growing bulge. Mentally, he was already hitting my tonsils. I was on my knees in seconds. I knew Josh usually took his time, so maybe it was manageable. And if not…well, surely there was a way to benefit from the hypothetical pickle, should it happen.

And it happened. I was deepthroating him with both his hands holding my head and his head tilted back, when we heard the door open.

“Jesus fuck, Jake!” 

The moment of surprise made me gag. Jake withdrew quickly and started tugging himself back in his pants, which wasn’t easy, given his current state. Josh, however, just stood there completely and unabashedly naked. “Get out!” he bellowed, completely forgetting that it was in fact MY room they were both in. 

“No,” Jake spat back.

They started barking at each other like berserk chihuahuas. I swear, I was seconds from throwing them BOTH out, dicks out and all. They could keep shouting at each other in the hall or even in the main lobby for all I cared, but the wicked creature in me wanted to see how this would escalate. And it escalated majestically. 

I hadn’t bothered to unpack my suitcase earlier that day. It just lay open on the floor with my purple vibrator placed haphazardly on top of my lingerie. Jake spotted it, bent down to retrieve it and before I could argue, he thrust it against Josh’s bare chest while his other hand patted his cheek: “Here, this should do. Now bugger off!” 

I think I stopped breathing for a second. They teased each other quite often, but this seemed downright mean, even to their standards. I think Jake realized it too, but it was too late. We both watched the flames that appeared behind Josh’s dilated pupils and before either of us could react, Josh started after him and pushed him against the wall. And so the party started. In a matter of mere seconds, Jake fist almost collided with Josh’s jaw. Thankfully, Frodo is quite nimble, so he ducked the blow and striked back, his knuckles colliding with Jake’s forearm. Watching them wrestle like that, fuming, limbs intertwined, I was almost sorry I had no popcorn at hand. It was a comical sight: Josh still completely naked, Jake barely tucked back in his jeans. 

Have you ever seen puppies fighting over a toy? That’s them. They were both so needy and neither one ready to give up. It was time to seize the opportunity, so I… started laughíng. Loudly and mockingly. They both let go of each other and turned their heads to the source of that offensive sound: me. 

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning back on my arms and with my legs crossed, contemplating my next move. Realizing I had no panties under my punto tube dress, I decided to Basic Instinct them. Sure, nothing new, but men are simple creatures. A naked pussy is like the Moon they howl at. It’s always new. Moreover, the fact that they never saw me like this before together was surely a great bonding experience of its own. I watched their faces for more clues and grinned viciously when I saw exactly what I hoped for. See, they’re different in many ways including this. Jake licks his lips, while Josh clenches his jaw. I tutted at them, watching how they both raised their eyebrows in a silent question. 

“Guys! You both know very well that I got more than one hole.”

Hooked? Read Part Two.

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @wetkleenex-gvf @lyndz2names @emojakekiszka @hollyco @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @cheersdannyx2 @gvfstuddedmajesty @gvfmarge @dayumclarizzel @musicislove3389 @lipstickitty

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 16: Sanctuary

Contents | Part 15 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Ellis gets the keys to her new flat.

Word Count: 7.9K (Grab a snack my dudes, it's a long one.)

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult and sexual themes, alcohol consumption, body insecurity. Smut: penetrative sex, oral sex (receiving), lurrv making, praise, worship, aftercare, feels. Readers must be 18+

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter I would so, so, so appreciate it if you left a comment. It helps a lot and means more than you’ll ever know to hear what you all think. Thank you so much, hope you enjoy this one as much I do 🤍

"Jesus Christ." 

You considered it a talent; how easily you could compel a priest to take the Lord's name in vain. 

Father Benedict's knuckles were blanched, bone white as he clung to the handle above the passenger door of his car. You could have sworn you saw him make the sign of the cross from the corner of your eye, mumbling a prayer under his breath. 

"At least there's nothing here for me to crash into," you said, taking a hand off the steering wheel to gesture to the empty supermarket carpark around you. 

"Both hands on the wheel," he said.

"Sorry." 

"It's alright, you're doing fine, just... Remember you need to slow down as we approach this turn." 

"Okay." You looked down at your foot as you took it off the accelerator, swapping it to the brake.

"Eyes up, Ellis. You have to do it without looking." 

"Oh, yeah, sorry." 

"Now, get ready to press the clutch down." 

"Why do I need to press the clutch?"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to disguise his growing frustration. "To move into first gear." 

"Oh." You looked down at your feet again. 

"Ellis... Ellis!" 

You looked up, slamming your foot on the brake and bringing the car to a sudden, hard stop just inches from a row of bollards. The car shuddered and the engine cut out, you turned to look at Father Benedict, his hand still gripping the handle above his head.

He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself with a deep breath before glancing over at you. "It's fine," he said calmly. "Just restart the car and let's keep going." 

You fiddled with the keys until the engine roared back to life, the car jerking forward suddenly before cutting out again. 

"Clutch," he said quietly. 

"Right, yes. Clutch. I just- Y'know it's really hard having to do foot things, hand things and eye things all at once."

"Eye things... You mean seeing...?" 

"Yes," you said, starting the car again and moving the gearstick into first. You pulled off slowly, turning the corner that led you back into the empty carpark. "I have to look in front of me, behind me and either side, somehow all at once, while simultaneously using two feet to operate three pedals, and two hands to steer a wheel, indicate and change gear every other fucking second." 

"Change gear." 

"Hm?" 

"You need to change gear. Can you not hear the engine? It sounds like it's going to explode." 

"Oh." You looked down at your feet as you pressed the clutch, then down at your hand as you fiddled with the gearstick. 

He leaned over quickly, gripping the steering wheel with one hand to stop the car veering through the empty bays.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, taking over again. "I'm pissing you off, aren't I." 

"No! No of course not. I just can't believe you've managed to go your whole life without ever driving a car." 

"Oh, well funny story actually," you began sarcastically. "See, I was in this really serious car crash when I was thirteen and had to be cut out of the wreck with heavy machinery. Oh, and my brother died in the driver's seat right next to me while we waited for emergency services. It was quite traumatising, believe it or not, so when I finally got old enough to take driving lessons I'd have panic attacks at the wheel. Which meant I never actually got to learn. Did I not tell you about that? I'm sure I told you about that."

"Okay, alright, fair point. I apologise." He held his hands up in surrender. "Why don't we have a go at parking instead?" 

He directed you to a space near the back, trying his best to sound encouraging as he talked you through it. 

"Here," he said. "So you're going to slow down and start turning the wheel just before this line, okay?" 

You did as he instructed, driving towards the space and beginning to slow down. 

"Slower," he said. "Even slower. Now start turning- Nope, not that much- You're still going too fast-"

You somehow managed to park diagonally across three spaces, stalling once again in the process. 

"You know what, it's fine," you said with a shrug. "I just... It's time we all accept that I wasn't made to drive, I was made to be driven."

"No, come on, you can do this," he laughed. "Turn the car back on." 

You huffed and did as you were told, like a sulking child. He leaned over and grabbed the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before looking at you. 

"Right, clutch down and put it in reverse... Reverse... The one with the R on it, Ellis... Okay, that's it. Now gently on the accelerator." 

The car slowly began to roll backwards. He took your hands and put them on the wheel. 

"Now brake. Okay." He let go and sat back in the passenger seat. "Clutch, first gear, and we'll drive down there." 

"You make this look so easy when you do it," you said as you fiddled with the gearstick.

"It is easy once you get used to it. Becomes like second nature."

"Mm. Or maybe you're just good at everything."

"I'm not good at everything," he laughed.

"Okay, name something you're bad at." 

He paused in thought. "My handwriting's awful." 

You laughed softly, bringing the car to a gentle stop. "Oh my god, I didn't stall." 

"See, I told you," he replied with a smile. "Now get out of my car." 

You climbed out and made your way to the passenger side, waiting as he battled to force open the stiff door. You grabbed the handle and pulled as he pushed, eventually managing to pry it open. He got out, blowing a stray curl out of his eyes and looking down at his watch. 

"Come on, we better get back."

He placed a hand on the top of your head, scrunching his fingers gently in your hair before making his way around to the driver's side of the car. 

You loved when he touched you like that. The simple, chaste gestures that served no purpose beyond showing his affection for you; the comforting hand on the back of your neck or the light squeeze of your thigh, the head scratches and sweep of his thumb across your cheek. There was something so intimate about being touched so purely, how naturally he had inhabited your personal space, and how easily you'd welcomed him in. 

You arrived back at the rectory soon after, Father Benedict's car shuddering as it rolled along the gravel driveway. 

"Have I fucked up your car?" you asked. 

"Nah." He shook his head. "It's on its last legs anyway." 

He got out and lifted two large packs of bottled water from the boot. You tried to take one from him but he refused, insisting on carrying them both. It was late August, the air void of any breeze, thick and muggy despite the cloudy sky. You walked with him down the winding path that led to the pub, beads of sweat peppering your face by the time you got inside. You followed him into the back room, another sign added to the door which read:'St Augustine's Church Book Club - Wednesdays 11am'. And for a moment you questioned why the hell you'd chosen to spend your day off doing this. Why anyone would do this at all. 

You quickly blotted your face with the bottom of your t-shirt, immediately walking over to the windows and pushing them open one by one. It made no difference; there was no air, the outside just as warm and still as it was inside. You rolled your eyes and wandered to the pile of metal chairs, taking them out and unfolding them one by one. 

Father Benedict was humming to himself, his back to you as he set the bottles down on the floor and tore through the packaging. "Ellis, would you mind getting started on the ch-" he turned around to find you already setting them up in a circle. 

"I'm a pro now, Father," you joked.

"That you are," he laughed, turning his back to you again as he unpacked the bottles and set them on the table. "Thank you for helping me with this, I know it's a pain in the arse."

"I don't mind. After that driving lesson this morning I think I owe you."

He chuckled. "Hopefully when Edith gets out of hospital she'll feel well enough to take over again. But until then," he turned around and placed his hands on his hips with a sigh. "Looks like I run a book club." 

You laughed softly. "You're a good soul." 

"I do try." 

There was a moment of quiet, your eyes fixed on each other from across the room, subtle smiles and unspoken desire. He broke first, clearing his throat and looking down at his watch. 

"Right, people should be arriving soon," he said. "Do you want to stick around for the meeting and I'll drive you home afterwards?" 

"I would but I have some last minute flat stuff to sort out before I move in next week." You placed the last chair down to complete the circle. "I can't believe how fucking expensive some things are. Dining tables, hundreds and hundreds of pounds. Why?" 

He bowed his head and laughed. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye," you said with a smile, certain you could feel him watching you as you walked away.

You held the keys in the palm of your hand, staring down at them like you couldn't believe it was real. You hadn't even realised you'd arrived until your father nudged you, jokingly singing She's Leaving Home by The Beatles. 

You rolled your eyes and breathed out a laugh, opening the door and jumping out of the van. You walked up to the front gate, staring up at the building, wondering why you suddenly felt scared. 

"Are you going in or what?" your father called out as he slid open the large side door of his van. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him, then back to the building, taking a deep breath and pushing through the gate. You unlocked the front door and walked inside, the cute frog doormat still sitting outside your neighbour's door.

Neighbour. You had neighbours now. 

You made your way up the first flight of stairs, turning to head up the second when the door of 336B opened and a man stepped out onto the landing with a large bin bag in his hand. You almost walked right into him, stumbling backwards slightly.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," you replied with a polite laugh.

He stepped aside for you to walk past. "Narrow landings," he said. 

"Yeah." 

You had just reached the first step when he turned and called out to you. "Are you the new neighbour?" 

You nodded.

"Oh, cool, nice to meet you. I'm Rav."

"Ellis. Nice to meet you too." 

"Have you met the downstairs neighbours yet?" 

"No, but I like their doormat." 

He smiled. "Well her name's Lorna, I'm sure she'll come and introduce herself at some point. It's just her and her daughter Blossom." 

"Blossom...?" 

"Yeah." He laughed. "The name'll make sense when you meet them. Anyway, welcome to the building, I better go and get rid of this bag that is definitely not full of pizza boxes."

You breathed out a laugh, giving a slight wave as he disappeared down the stairs. He'd left his door ajar, and it made you feel safe, somehow. Like your building was the kind of place where people could leave their front doors open without worrying, have friendly chats on the landing as they passed each other.

You continued up the stairs, fiddling with the keys in your hand as you approached your new front door. Maybe you'd paint it a fun colour, get yourself a cute doormat too. You unlocked it and stepped inside, swallowing past a lump in your throat as you walked into the middle of the stark, empty living area, the wooden floor glittering with shafts of multicoloured light from the stained glass window.

You sat on the floor and lay down, arms and legs outstretched like a star, basking in the silence, the empty space that was yours to fill. It smelled like fresh paint, a piece of masking tape still stuck to the coving in the corner. You wondered how hard it would be to decorate the ceiling; cover it in stars or patterned wallpaper, paint it like a cloudy sky. You had all the time in the world to decide, the thought making you smile. 

"The fuck are you doing?" 

You sat up to see Mara stepping into the flat, Soleil perched contently on her hip. You clambered to your feet, staring at her as she stood with a raised eyebrow, still so pretty despite the confused scowl on her face. Her eyes darted around the room then back to you, waiting for you to say something.

You weren't a hugger. Neither was she. But still, you found yourself hurrying across the room towards her, wrapping your arms around her and holding her tight.

"Thank you," you said. 

She stilled for a moment before gently rubbing your back. "You're welcome. Just don't get the place repossessed." 

You laughed and pulled away. 

"Nathan's downstairs helping dad up with all your stuff," she said. "I just thought I'd come up and see the place before you fill it with shit." 

"It's nice, isn't it." 

"It's beautiful. I love this." She pointed to the window. "Anyway, I can't stay. I'm taking this little one to a mother and baby class. Shoot me. But I'll pop round once you're settled. We can kill each other putting together some flatpack furniture."

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. 

"I'll see you soon. Happy moving day."

"Enjoy your class." 

She brought two fingers to the side of her head, miming a gunshot. 

You watched as she walked out, her voice suddenly becoming high-pitched and animated as she talked to Soleil. When you could no longer hear her, you sat back down on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you waited for Nathan and your father. 

For months, your life had sat inside a cluttered garage, waiting, waning, much like you. Now all of a sudden there was light. 

You hadn't gotten used to the intercom yet; the loud buzz still making you jump whenever it rang through the flat. You rushed to the door, practically hurdling over boxes to get there, and pressed the button on the wall. 

"Hello?" 

"It's me." 

You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to hold in the smile threatening to spread across your face. "I'll be down in a second." 

You ran downstairs, not bothering to change out of your t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and opened the front door, the smile finally breaking through when you saw Father Benedict on the other side. He was in his own clothes; a grey t-shirt, dark jeans and trainers. You still found it strange seeing him so casual, so normal. But even in the most ordinary of clothing, there was still something ethereal about him. 

"Hi," you said.

"Hi." He gave a charming smile.

"Do you want to come in?" 

"Yes, I would much prefer that to standing on the doorstep." 

You laughed sarcastically, allowing him to step in and closing the door behind him. 

He followed you upstairs, the closer you got, the tighter your stomach became. You were excited; excited to see him in your space, to blur the lines between your two worlds. 

"So obviously I've only been here for two days," you said as you walked into the flat. "So it's still mostly unfurnished. And there's boxes everywhere. And I haven't-"

"Wow," he whispered as he stepped inside. 

"What do you think?" 

"It's nice. Really nice. And this..." He wandered over to the window. "It's beautiful." 

"I know." You felt a slight sense of pride wash over you, his approval mattering more than you thought it would. "Do you want a tour?" 

"Sure." 

"Okay, well obviously this is the living room," you gestured to the space around you. 

There was a small second-hand couch, an old coffee table from your mother's house and a TV balanced atop a cardboard box. Your green chair sat in the window, the place you'd spent the majority of the last two days.

He followed you through to the alcove where you opened each door. "Bathroom. Spare room or office, haven't decided yet. And my bedroom..." 

He peered inside the empty room, furrowing his brow at the double mattress on the floor, your duvet and pillows strewn messily on top. 

"My bed won't be delivered for another three weeks," you said. 

"Ah." 

"I actually don't mind this though. It's quite comfy." 

He smiled at you, following you back towards the kitchen. 

"And this is my kitchen, complete with empty cupboards and a microwave I have no idea how to use." 

"Love it." 

You laughed.

He cocked his head slightly, eyeing you for a moment. 

"What?" you asked. 

He shrugged. "I just like seeing you like this. You're happy."

You paused for a moment. "I really am." 

There was a lull as he gazed down at you, eyes creasing with joy from seeing you so content. But after a moment he snapped out of it. 

"Oh, I brought you a little gift," he said, reaching to pull something from his back pocket. "Now, I know you're not religious, but in the catholic faith this is supposed to bring protection to your home, so I wanted you to have one..." 

He handed you a small glass picture frame, the edges decorated with intricate gold filigree. Inside was a depiction of Christ, a vibrant red heart on his chest. 

"It's the sacred heart," he said, an uncertainty in his tone. "You can tell me to go fuck myself if you don't want to-"

"No. No, this is... It's really thoughtful. Thank you." You pressed it to your chest, smiling at him appreciatively, before walking past him into the living area. 

He followed, watching from the kitchen doorway as you placed the dainty frame in the middle of the coffee table. You turned to see him smiling, creating the deep lines in his cheeks that you loved so much. 

You looked around for a moment before clearing your throat. "Do you have to be anywhere?" 

"Nope, I am completely free for once."

"Really? Well, would you maybe want to stay for a while? I was just going to order food and maybe watch some films or..." 

"What films?" 

"Oh, let me think, erm... Passion of the Christ... Stigmata... The Exorcist... The God Father." 

He gave a sarcastic laugh. "Hilarious." 

You smirked, far too proud of your own joke. 

"Yes. I'd love to stay," he said sincerely.

"Great." 

There was another moment of quiet between you as you stood across the room from each other. He was leaning against the kitchen doorframe with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, while you hovered near the coffee table, nervously twiddling your fingers. Since you met him, you had always been the guest. Now suddenly you were the host, and you weren't sure what you were supposed to do. 

"What's that going to be?" he asked, nodding towards a pile of wood, screws and nails on the floor.

"A bookcase. I got annoyed and gave up." 

He chuckled and walked over to it, crouching down to read the instructions before picking up a heavy, black Dr Marten boot. "Please don't tell me this is what you're using for a hammer."

"What else would you suggest I use?" 

"An actual hammer...?" He picked up a bread knife, holding it up at you with a raised eyebrow. 

"Screwdriver," you said. 

He dropped his head and laughed. "Okay. Okay, I can work with it." 

"Oh, you don't have to-" 

"I want to," he said, grabbing a large plank of wood and leaning it against the wall. "Doesn't look too complicated."

You'd never found traditional masculinity particularly attractive before; never desired a man who could build or fix or lift. But for two hours, you watched Father Benedict put together your bookcase. You watched him heave heavy slabs of wood with ease, hold nails between his lips as he eyeballed measurements and use his t-shirt to mop the sweat from his brow. 

When he was done, he took a step back, hands on hips as he admired his work. He knocked his fist against the side of it, showing you just how sturdy it was, and moved the entire thing across the room and back twice when you changed your mind about where it should go.

You were sitting together now, cross-legged on the floor in front of it as you sorted through a box of books. You had a specific system, a particular way you liked to order your shelves. You knew it was annoying, remembering how Alfie would huff whenever he put a book on your shelf only to have you move it back to its original place soon after. But Father Benedict didn't huff, didn't get irritated or tell you it was stupid. Instead he was patient; asking you questions and trying to learn the system so he could follow it without having to ask where things should go.

He reached into the box and pulled out the bible he'd given you, sticky notes still poking out from between the pages. It felt like a lifetime ago now, a relic of an era you didn't even recognise anymore. He held it up and you smiled. 

"You can have it back if you want," you said. 

"No, you keep it," he said, sliding it onto the shelf in the exact place you would have put it. 

You sifted through a handful of books, finding a small, leather-bound binder amongst them. 

"Is that a photo album?" he asked. 

"No," you lied, throwing it back in the box.

He pulled it back out immediately, opening it and flicking through the plastic wallet pages with a grin. He turned it around to show you a picture; your scrawny, eight-year-old self scowling at the camera as she sat on a sun lounger beside a hotel pool. 

"I was annoyed because my mum was forcing me to wear a t-shirt in the water," you said. 

He gave a deep chuckle in his throat, turning the album back to him and fanning his thumb across the photos. 

"Is this your brother?" he asked, showing you another picture.

You tilted your head to one side, looking down at the image you vividly remembered being taken. You were twelve, wearing a blue floral shirt beneath a brown pinafore dress, a large rubber mallet in your hand. Cain was standing beside you in a white vest, ugly Hawaiian shirt and bright red trousers, his hair styled in a ridiculous quiff. 

"Yeah," you said. "We were at my aunt and uncle's costume party." 

He looked at the picture for a moment. "He went as Ace Ventura?" 

"Mhm." 

"Nice." He smiled, before narrowing his eyes. "Who the fuck were you supposed to be?" 

"I was Kathy Bates in Misery," you said bluntly, as if it were obvious.

He burst into laughter. "What kid chooses that as a costume?" 

You shrugged. "What would you have preferred I go as? A Spice Girl?" 

He continued to giggle, shaking it away as he analysed the photo closer. "You have his smile." 

"You think so?" 

"Mhm." 

You took the album from him gently, closing it and putting it back in the box. "Evidently I have his driving ability too." 

His mouth opened slightly, eyes widening as he breathed out a laugh. "That was dark." 

"I was a kid who loved Stephen King films, what do you expect?" 

His mouth curled into a half smile. 

You struggled to your feet, your legs tingly and numb from sitting cross-legged for so long. You hobbled to the couch and picked up your phone, turning back to look at him. 

"Shall we order food?" 

The sun was slowly fading, a promise that summer was finally coming to an end. The dim light melted through the window, making the flat feel smaller, cozy and serene. You convinced him to watch trashy reality TV while you ate dinner on the couch, laughing as he grew invested in the drama, shouting at the screen with a mouthful of food. 

You couldn't remember ever feeling this comfortable with another human being. It was effortless, harmonious; two voices blending together to create something new and beautiful. You had been drawn to his exterior, attracted to the parts you could see on the surface. But the deeper you delved, you only seemed to discover more to adore. 

The coffee table was strewn with empty takeaway boxes and trays. Obnoxiously loud music played as the end credits of the show began to roll. You forced yourself to get off the couch, making your way towards the kitchen. 

"Do you need another drink?" you asked.

"Please," he replied, stuck to the couch and nursing his full stomach. 

You pushed through the door and opened the fridge, pulling out the bottle of champagne your mother had given you as a housewarming gift. 

He looked up at you as you returned, his eyes creasing with amusement at the bottle and two mismatched mugs in your hands. 

"I'm not the champagne-flute-owning kind of person," you said. 

"No way," he teased.

You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, popping the cork and pouring some into each mug. 

He waited for you to bring the mug to your lips before taking a sip himself, the pair of you sharing a glance as the sharp, bubbling liquid slid down your throat. 

You grimaced. "I forgot I don't like champagne." 

He laughed, taking it and placing it on the table for you. You thanked him and relaxed back into the couch, tucking your feet beneath you as you flicked through movies on the TV. 

It grew dark outside as the movie played, the TV illuminating the room with a blueish hue. You kept asking questions, another habit Alfie would groan at until you stopped watching movies together at all. But Father Benedict simply answered them, even laughing at how thoroughly you'd misunderstood the plot.

You sat forward and grabbed your mug of champagne, wincing as you took another sip. "So now who's that?" you asked, pointing at the TV.

"That's the big boss," he said. 

"But I thought the other guy was the big boss?" 

"He is. Of the rival group." 

"Oh. But then why did those men go and talk to him before?" 

"Well because it's obviously being hinted at that they're moles of some kind." 

"Ah." You put your mug back on the table. 

He looked at you, his mouth curling with a smile. "You're still not following, are you." 

"Nope." 

He gave a deep, throaty laugh. "We can watch something else if you'd prefer?" 

You shook your head and leaned back against him, absentmindedly taking his arm and draping it around your shoulders. "I'm enjoying it." 

"You keep saying you don't have a clue what's going on..." 

"Yeah but you do. So we're watching it." 

He paused for a moment, exhaling a quick, soft breath through his nose. You felt his body relax, his arm wrapping around you more securely. He placed his other hand in his lap, palm up, silently asking you to hold it. You linked your fingers through his and he squeezed your hand gently.

When the movie ended, you didn't move, too comfortable and content in his embrace. You watched the credits roll to the very end, the remote control just out of reach. Father Benedict moved his arm, scratching your head with the tips of his fingers. You turned your head to look up at him.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said. 

You laughed softly and forced yourself to sit upright. "Of course not, I was just very invested in the film." 

He smirked. "Of course, silly me." 

You looked at him, admiring the structure of his face beneath the glow of the TV; the soft shadows and sharp angles, smile lines and pale, captivating eyes. 

"Thank you for spending your one, very rare night off with me," you said. "I know there's probably a million things you'd rather be doing than building bookcases and explaining movie plots to me."

He shook his head. "There is nothing else I'd rather be doing." 

His own words seemed to give him pause. You cocked your head, watching as his eyes rounded, turning soft and glassy, his jaw relaxing, lips parting ever so slightly. 

"What's up?" you asked. 

"Nothing," he said quietly, blinking a few times and swallowing hard. 

You thought about pressing him for a moment, but you didn't. Instead you got up and gathered the mess from the table. 

"Do you want something different to drink?" you asked. "I can't stomach that champagne anymore." 

He shook his head distractedly, staring blankly at the TV. 

You shrugged and carried the rubbish into the kitchen, stuffing it in the bin and forcing it down until the lid finally closed. Then you moved to the sink to wash your hands, peering out at the tall, thick tree that stretched across the window. In the mornings, you could hear birds singing inside it, and at night you would watch the leaves sway gently in the breeze. 

You were drying your hands when the door opened behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Father Benedict stepping into the kitchen. 

"Hey," you said. "Changed your mind about the drink?" 

He didn't say anything as he walked up behind you, turning you around to look at him and taking your face in his hands. 

You stayed quiet as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, inhaling deeply as he kissed you softly, slowly, earnestly. You placed a hand on his cheek, returning the kiss, following his lead. His breath quivered as he broke away - just for a moment - to tilt his head the other way and bring his lips back to yours. He moved a hand to the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist, the other slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him. You curved your hands around the back of his neck, rising onto your toes to kiss him with more ease.

Usually when you kissed, there was an urgency behind it, a hunger, a primal, impatient need for one another that made you move with haste and vigour. But this was different, somehow. It was longing, desperate, intense. You could feel anguish in his hold of you, reverence in the way he moved his lips, so slowly and deliberately. 

He broke away again, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his chest, resting them there as you caught his gaze with your own, searching his eyes for a clue, a reason for his sudden sincerity. But all you saw was adoration, a shimmer in his waterline. 

You led him to your bedroom, his hold on you never wavering as you moved together through the flat, as though he couldn't bring himself to let go of you, even for a second. You opened the door and pulled him gently into the room, kissing him with the same care and patience he'd shown you. 

The room was dark and cool, the curtain-less window letting in a dim glow from the streetlights outside. You wished you'd taken the time to make the bed this morning; your rumpled duvet and mismatched pillows strewn across the sad mattress in the middle of the floor. You opened your mouth to apologise for it, but he caught the words in another kiss before they could surface. 

He broke away to take off his t-shirt, throwing it aside and immediately returning his lips to yours, as though any second he was deprived of you was a second too long. You let your fingers dance over the ridges of his torso; the firm muscle of his chest and soft flesh of his belly, the trail of hair beneath his navel and smooth skin slowly puckering with goosebumps. You could no longer imagine a world where this body didn't belong to you. 

You moved your hands to the waistline of his jeans but he stopped you, gently pulling his hips back and reaching for the hem of your t-shirt instead. You raised your arms above your head as he peeled it from you, still fighting the urge to hide yourself from him as he laid eyes on your body, even after all this time. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you deeply as he unclasped your bra. You slid the straps down your arms and let it fall to the ground, melting as the warmth of his chest pressed against yours. 

He lowered you both to the mattress, laying you gently on your back as he began showering your body in kisses. Your core fluttered with every warm press of his lips to your skin, your nipples growing tight and hard, making you shiver as his tongue grazed over them. He moved lower, kissing your ribs, hips and stomach, letting his hands roam in tandem with his mouth, taking in as much of you as he could at once. 

You tensed your abs beneath his lips, arching your back, making your body appear firmer, ridding yourself of any curves, any softness you didn't want him to see. He responded by kissing the parts you couldn't hide; the dip at your waist and the rounds of your breasts, the soft spot over your womb and the imprint your pyjama shorts had left on your hips. He was admiring the things you thought of as flaws, worshipping them like virtues. 

He slid the shorts further down your thighs. You lifted your backside off the mattress, allowing him to drag them down along with your underwear. He tossed them aside and continued to cover you in kisses; the heat of his breath making your body tingle, the anticipation of feeling him in the place that craved him most sending shivers through your core. His lips grazed over the crease where hip met thigh, slowly travelling inwards but never touching your centre. 

You sighed in desperation, reaching down to stroke his hair. He glanced up at you, like your touch had snapped him out of a trance, and crawled back up to kiss your lips. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to you, the solid bulge in his jeans pressing against your stomach. 

"Are you teasing me?" you whispered, playfully thrusting your hips against his erection. 

He breathed out a soft laugh before falling serious again. "I'm indulging in you." He kissed your neck. "You, Ellis, are the most... divine woman I have ever met."

Divine - Of a God, or God-like. 

Was that really how he saw you? Heavenly? Seraphic? Something worthy of worship? In the beginning, you'd been a temptation, a test, a weakness. But now, you were divine.

He trailed his kisses back down your body, parting your legs and pressing his lips to your inner thighs. You lay back and closed your eyes, fists clenching the duvet beneath you as his tongue finally made contact with your clit, so lightly it was almost torturous. 

You'd gotten so used to the severity of your interactions; the pent up frustration or deep, aggressive need that made sex hard, rough and intense. It's what you wanted, what you enjoyed. You'd almost forgotten it could be like this; tender, forbearing, every breath hanging like a pause in the air between you. 

He licked along the seam of your pussy, lapping and sucking as he hummed in pleasure, like he could happily spend the entire night with his face buried between your legs.  

"Ben," you whispered.

Your back arched as he flicked his tongue, focusing the pressure on your clit, hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place. You whimpered, filling the quiet room with the sound of your shallow breaths as your fingers dug into the sheets. You never understood why it took so long to give yourself an orgasm, yet every time, without fail, he had you on the brink in minutes. It was like your body had an express setting, and he was the only person who knew how to activate it. 

He didn't speed up, didn't change pressure or adjust your positions. Yet still, the slow, gentle sweeps of his tongue drew the climax from you in a deep, shuddering rush. Your legs shook, toes curling as an electric current whirred through your core. You moaned softly, reaching down to grab whatever part of him you could as you rode out your orgasm against his mouth. 

You hadn't even realised he'd moved until you felt him kiss your jaw, the weight of his body on your chest. If you were divine, then you were convinced he must be God himself. You turned your head, catching his lips with your own and cupping his face in your hands. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, his hard cock springing out against your stomach as he shimmied them off. 

You spread your legs further, rocking your hips wantonly. He sighed into your mouth, breaking away and resting his forehead against yours, looking down into your eyes as he shifted to position himself at your entrance. 

He groaned as he entered you, slipping effortlessly through the slick and filling you with a familiar, breathtaking pressure. He drew back and pushed inside again, slowly, making you feel every ridge and vein, every inch and pulsation against your inner walls. A quiet moan escaped you, a tight coiling deep in your belly making you squeeze around him. 

He kept eye contact as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, as though nothing else in the world existed besides the place your bodies became one. He slid his fingers between yours, pushing your hands above your head and holding them there, kissing you, moaning with you, connecting with you in a way you weren't sure you'd ever connected with anyone before. 

Your breath was trembling; the friction of his cock, his groin rubbing against your clit, the weight of him on top of you, all sending you into a heady daze. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin. You let go of his hands and wrapped them around his back, holding him close to you, fingernails pressing into the flesh of his shoulder blades. 

You weren't sure how long it had been, but your thighs were starting to ache, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every steady slide of his cock. You dug your nails deeper into his back, eliciting a growl deep in his throat. He lifted his head, brushing away the hair that had stuck to your face with sweat, and kissed you lovingly. 

The next orgasm was different than the first; it was heavier, more guttural, coming from a place deeper inside you. The first was electric and airy, spiritual and sublime. But this one was earthly, carnal, thundering through your body like an earthquake. It was so visceral that he felt it too, almost losing his composure as you came around him.

He kept kissing you, moving with long, slow strokes until your limbs softened, head falling back against the mattress in bliss. Your eyelids were heavy as you gazed up at him, a part of you certain that you could have drifted off to sleep, sated and satisfied. But the other part never wanted him to stop. 

He rested on his elbows, propping them either side of your head. "You know," he whispered. "You're the only woman I've ever came inside." 

You let out a breathy gasp, his confession sending a shiver through your entire body.

"And it is..." he continued. "The most incredible feeling." 

You whimpered, clutching the back of his neck with both hands and bringing his forehead back to yours. He almost lost it again, his rhythm faltering for a moment. He planted his palms on the mattress either side of your head, looking down at you with intense, stormy blue eyes. 

He knew you liked his voice, liked it when he said dirty things, talked to you as he buried his cock inside you. But that wasn't for you. He wanted you to know that, to understand you were separate from whoever he'd been with before. 

"Come inside me," you whispered against his lips. "Ben..."

He exhaled a heavy breath, thrusting deep and slow before finally letting go. He growled into your mouth as he sank as far as he could, cock pulsing as he released every last drop of pleasure.

You wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving, damp curls tickling your face. You smoothed them down, closing your eyes and relaxing beneath the shelter of his large frame. You could hear again; the whoosh of distant traffic outside, the annoying buzz of the lampposts, the sound of Father Benedict's heavy breaths. It was serene, a contentment you never knew you were capable of. 

After a while, he shifted slightly, laying kisses across your chest. You smiled, exhaling a soft laugh as his lips tickled your skin. He'd softened inside you, sliding out as he moved, continuing his kisses down to your stomach before resting his head there, seemingly more tired than he'd thought he was. You giggled again, stroking his head gently. 

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you said with a smile. 

"Good."

He stayed there a while longer, resting on you like a pillow, swirling his fingers over your hips and stomach as you played with his hair. 

"Ben..." you said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Don't leave me tonight."

He lifted his head to look at you. "I won't."

You nodded with a smile.

He shuffled up the mattress to lay at your side, draping a leg over yours and pulling you into him. You nuzzled your face into his neck and closed your eyes. 

You didn't think this place could feel any more like home. But with him there, you would happily never leave.

You woke groggy and confused, the side of your face stuck to Father Benedict's bare chest. You had no idea of the time, but the sky was still pitch black outside, the room colder than it was when you fell asleep. You sat up and began shuffling to the edge of the mattress when you felt him grab your arm with a sleepy grumble. You turned back to see him squinting at you in a half-sleepy state, shushing him softly and gently releasing your arm from his grasp.

"I'm just going to get some water," you whispered.

He relaxed back into the mattress and closed his eyes. You smiled and climbed to your feet, walking out of the bedroom as quietly as you could. 

You didn't bother to cover up. It was one of the joys of living alone, people would always say, being able to walk around naked. You never understood why anyone would do that, but as you padded through the flat and into the kitchen, completely unclothed, you felt like you finally got the appeal.

You glanced at the clock on the cooker - 2:34am - wondering what the hell made you stir from sleep at that time. Then you tried to swallow, your throat so dry it seemed to stick closed, and you realised that was why. You took a glass from the draining board and pulled your new water filter out of the fridge, pouring just enough for you to swill your mouth out. Then you poured a full glass, gulping it down without stopping. 

Father Benedict pushed through the kitchen door, the sudden noise making you jump in fright. 

"Sorry," he said, his voice low and croaky. 

He was naked too, his hair wild and messy, eyes still half-lidded with sleep. 

"It's okay." You put your glass down. "I didn't mean to disturb you when I got up." 

"Don't worry." He pointed to his mouth. "Could do with a drink as well."  

You padded around the kitchen together in a comfortable silence, naked in more than just body. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a milky glow across your skin, making everything seem soft, calm. You stretched on your tiptoes to reach a glass from the cupboard, handing it to him as he grabbed the water filter off the counter. You rinsed your glass at the sink as he guzzled down two lots of water, one after the other. Then you took his glass when he was done, rinsing it and placing it side-by-side with yours on the draining board.

You felt him press his body against your back as you stood at the sink, placing a kiss on the side of your head, another on the back of your shoulder. You let your head fall back against his chest, basking in the feeling of his hands as they roamed your body; squeezing your breasts and dipping between your legs. He slid a finger through the slick he'd left there and you hummed softly, tilting your head to give him access to your neck. He nipped you with his teeth, soothing the sting with a kiss, and you closed your eyes as his finger slid into your pussy. It was brief, shallow, but enough to make your stomach flutter. 

He brought his lips to your ear. "I like that there's still a part of me inside you." 

You shivered, composing yourself quickly and turning your head to look at him from the corner of your eye. "Only because I fell asleep." 

He gave a short, deep chuckle, his voice so gruff and low you could feel it vibrating against your ear. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting it out in a calm, quiet breath. "Bend over." 

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him again. 

He squeezed your backside. "If you want to, that is..."

He fucked you in the kitchen, tiredness doing little to deter his stamina, and afterwards he carried you back to bed, stroking your hair and holding you until you drifted off again. The next time you stirred, it was you who wanted him, nudging him awake and straddling his lap, riding his cock until your body gave out, your mutual climax coming quick and with little effort.

Your joints ached, skin peppered with love bites and fingertip bruises, hair sticking to the nape of your neck with sweat. But you didn't care. It was all evidence of him, memories that would echo in the days that followed.

The mattress shifted. You opened your eyes to the room illuminated in the faint light of dawn. You blinked through the grit in your vision to see Father Benedict putting on his clothes, trying to be quiet as he hopped into his jeans and searched the floor for his t-shirt. He turned to find you sitting up watching him, making his way around to your side and crouching to bring himself face-to-face with you. 

"I have to get to the church," he said.

"Okay," you croaked, shifting to get up. 

"Hey, it's alright, you stay there and I'll let myself out." 

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Go back to sleep, it's still early."

"Okay." 

He tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned in to kiss you. 

It was gentle, lingering, like he didn't want it to end. And when he finally broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Goodbye, Ellis."

"Bye."

You watched him leave, listening as the slam of your front door echoed through the flat. Only then did you lie back down, pressing your face to the pillow he'd slept on and giving in to slumber once more.

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[cherrycoloredfaith]

BEAUTIFUL artwork for Kiss Off by my beautiful friend Ashley!!! she's so talented and beautiful thank you SO MUCH for being a part of this @ash-yuh

Kiss Off

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 5

Chapter 4

He left the bar first and set off down the road alone, getting to his car in a matter of minutes. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to breathe again. Driving aimlessly for nearly twenty minutes he realized he was leaving the city, going to the only other place he knew: Munson Construction. The storm clouds in his head that had vanished at the bar returned on the drive. The roads were dark, but the air was clearer out here, and Steve couldn’t get enough of it. The wind wrecked his hair, whipping it around as he took deep breaths. Steve wondered if he should just book it to Hawkins and give up on all this. Wondered if he was ever really meant to leave his hometown. Wondered if he really messed up and should have just married that girl from high school. 

Parking in that same red dirt parking lot, he didn’t ask himself what he was doing because there was no point. He was going to wait it out, stay out of Robin’s hair and give her no reason to worry. Getting out of his car, he headed towards the front to lean on the hood and look out into the surrounding woods that reminded him of home. Except you could see right through them to the street lights beyond the thin cluster of trees. If he was in Hawkins, he could have looked out on a number of lakes within a few miles. Perfectly hidden and perfectly alone. Even out here, he could still hear distant cars from the busy highways, pulling him out of his reveries.

Steve wished he had a pack of cigarettes. Smoking never really tempted Steve until moments like these, where he was alone, searching for some sense of peace.  Pausing, he remembered the key to the clubhouse sitting in his pocket.

Maybe Eddie had some in his locker or office somewhere? Would it hurt to take just one?

Steve tossed his keys in the air, caught them, and thought once again, fuck it, they gave him a key anyway, right?

A single light illuminated the steps going up to the door, the screen door slamming against Steve’s back as he bent to unlock the deadbolt. Once inside, he felt along the wall for a light switch and failed. 

In the dark, his outstretched arms led his way around to the lockers, trying to use what little light came from outside the doorway. The red hard hat was the second locker from the right if his memory served him correctly, so once his hands made contact with the wall of open shelves, he started to rummage. He felt a small, soft cardboard box in the back of the highest shelf, thought, yes, and fumbled to open it in the dark. Just one. 

Steve heard a creak of the floor and his head snapped up, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark hallway beyond that led to Eddie’s office. Nothing but pitch black.

Suddenly, a yell rang out–no, more like a battle cry. The lights came on in a flash, giving Steve just enough time to register the baseball bat swinging for his head. He cowered down, covering his face with his arms as he shut his eyes tight, preparing for the blow. 

When none came, Steve peaked out of one eye at the scene before him. There stood Eddie, in Garfield pajama pants, bat still raised high, and hair coming out of its bindings–a look of utter confusion cast upon his face. 

“Whoa, dude, what the fuck?” Steve exclaimed once he’d found his voice. Is this guy going to kill me?

“Me, what the fuck? No, you, what the fuck?!” Eddie retorted, not moving to lower the bat. He looked from Steve’s face to his hands where he still clung to the pack of smokes. “Did you come all the way out here for those? I could have told you where to get your own. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“No, Eddie, God, I was just–” Steve realized he didn’t have a good explanation for this situation other than the truth. “Look, my roommate needed me out of the apartment for a bit, I was just driving around, looking for somewhere to go and I ended up here.” He shrugged. “And I wanted something to do. What are you doing here?” Steve was pointedly not looking at Eddie’s silly pajama pants. The last thing he needed was to be punched by his boss for laughing at his sleepwear.

“Shit, well, no fucking point now,” Eddie sighed and rested the bat on his shoulder. “I live here, asshole.” 

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he picked the first question that popped into his head. “Oh. So… do you normally go to sleep at 10:30 on Friday nights?”

Shutting his eyes, Eddie finally dropped the bat to his side, and Steve could breathe again. When he opened them again, he glared at Steve. “For your information, I was watching a goddamn movie.”

It finally clicked. “Why didn’t you say you lived here before? I thought that was your office,” said Steve, looking towards the dark hallway.

“Because not everyone knows. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, I just didn’t want to stay with Wayne anymore, and it was convenient. I pay him rent, but it’s nothing like what the city would cost me.” He looked defensive. 

Steve just nodded, unsure of what to make of it all. Before he knew it, Eddie had walked back into his office–bedroom– and then returned with one shoe on his foot, the other in his hand, his bat nowhere to be seen. He hopped down the hallway trying to pull the other sneaker on.

“Alright,” said Eddie when he succeeded. “Come on, then.”

Steve didn’t move as he passed by, wafting a soft, sweet scent from his clothes. “Huh?”

“You need to waste some time, let’s waste it.” He was leading Steve through a door he hadn’t noticed before leading out of the kitchen. He grabbed a tin lunchbox as they headed outside. Steve followed as if on autopilot onto a surprisingly cozy, covered back porch, fit with a table, chairs, and even a couch and coffee table that made up for the missing furniture inside. It looked homey. 

Eddie set the box down to plug in some string lights that provided enough illumination for them to see one another. They sat on opposite sides of the couch; once Steve saw Eddie prop up his feet, he did, too, hoping to give any semblance of a relaxed state–when, really, his heart was hammering in his chest. 

When Eddie opened the lunchbox in his lap, Steve immediately got a whiff of what was inside, and he prayed a silent thank you to whatever fates led him here. Eddie looked over at Steve with a grin. “You seemed like you’d need something stronger than those.”

That was the second time Steve forgot about the cigarettes clutched in his palm; he decided to set them down and nod as a sign of his gratitude. 

Then, Eddie started to roll his own joint as if he’d done this a million times. Steve even saw that he had proper rolling papers. He watched him with fascination while Eddie focused on his task. No words were spoken between them, but something about the silence felt comfortable. No, not comfortable, but… anticipating.  Steve stared in awe at how relaxed he was, delicately licking the edge of the paper to hold it closed. Eddie’s hair was almost completely out of the low bun it was in and long strands dangled down, creating a curtain around his eyes. Steve had the urge to brush it aside.

“How’s the sunburn?” Eddie asked. 

“The what?” Steve blinked out of his trance. His heart was pounding. 

“Dude, you’ve got to snap out of it. Did I scare you that bad?” Eddie leaned in, searching Steve’s eyes for something.

“No, no, I’m fine, I swear. Thank you.” What was he thanking him for? Steve was screaming at himself on the inside, begging him to regain his cool. “I’m so sorry–for barging in like this. I can go, you don’t have to let me stay.”

“I know, Steve. It’s cool. To be honest it gets… a little lonely living out here, not being in the city. Your presence is welcomed, for now.” He shot Steve another smile and began to light the end of the joint. Steve starts to wonder if Eddie has already done this once tonight based on his low, honeyed voice, the slightest glaze over his eyes. 

“Where’s Wayne’s?” wondered Steve.

“Closest suburb to the east of here. Not ten minutes down the road when there’s no traffic. I just needed some space to learn how to take care of myself, but still save some money.” He took a drag. “And to smoke without worrying about Mrs. Wheeler next door calling the cops,” he added, chuckling devilishly low as if it was something that actually happened. 

Steve took the pass, inhaling deeply, trying to hide his little coughs. “What movie?” he asked as he stretched his arm back out for Eddie to take the joint from his hands.

Eddie looked over and laughed. “Can you speak more than two words at a time?”

Steve rolled his eyes and snatched his hand back, moving it out of Eddie’s grasp to take another hit. “Fine, fine! I mean, what movie were you watching before I broke into your house?”

“Technically you didn’t break in, you have a key.”

Steve flushed. “That’s another thing to get back to. Are you avoiding the question?”

“Never. I was watching Back to the Future 2,” he said matter-of-factly, chin held high as he took back the joint, fingers brushing Steve’s, sending a shiver up his arm. “Arguably, the superior of the two films. With triple the Michael Fox. ” Eddie looked up at the lights dreamily. 

“Dude, what? You’re lying to me. The original is so much–wait, what?” he asked, caught off guard by Eddie’s last words.

He laughed, “Kidding, Harrington! So far, the original one reigns supreme.” He winked, but his gaze didn’t linger. “That was actually going to be my first time seeing it until…” he gestured to the two of them sitting on the couch. 

The confusion Steve was experiencing at Eddie’s implications caused him to flush again. “Oh,” was all he said in response. Maybe he should ask him if he’s into guys. “So why give out keys to literally your home? Does everyone have them?” Steve screamed at himself in his head. 

“Usually I don’t have to worry about anyone I work with thinking anything valuable is inside. Tonight I was sorely mistaken. And no, not everyone has one, but anyone needs to be able to get in, so…” Eddie shrugged. “It’s worked out for me so far. I keep my room locked too during the day, so don’t get any ideas.” He smiled.

Steve decided not to ask why he received one after his first day, and instead decided to change the subject. “My roommate wouldn’t really have kicked me out herself, but I knew she’d want the place since she was the only one getting lucky tonight.” Oh, God. Why did he have to bring that up?

“Ahhhh, are we in love with said ‘roommate’? Here on a feel-sorry-for-yourself evening escapade?” Eddie tilted his head to the side, peering at Steve through lidded eyes. 

“No. Seriously, it’s not like that. She’s my best friend. We went to this place downtown… near Pennsylvania Avenue,” Steve was cautious with his words, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know. “I forgot the name. Do you know any bars over there?”

Eddie met Steve’s eyes, but his were unreadable. “Yeah, I know of one. Did they play a lot of dream pop?”

“Yes!” Steve exclaimed, trying not to sound too overly excited that Eddie picked up on a similar detail as him. And appeared to have visited the same bar as him. This probably meant he was cool, but he still couldn’t tell anything about him. He should just ask. “Yes, that one. Red door?”

Eddie nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Tell me more about her. Your roommate.”

Steve got lost in talking about his best friend for a moment. He was familiar with giving the usual exposition of how they met working at an ice cream parlor but had gone to school together for years. They were inseparable ever since, up until she graduated and decided to go to college, which Steve hadn’t got in. He was so grateful she was close by, but he always felt that he couldn’t follow. When Robin’s scholarship finally let her live off campus, Steve was elated to come join her somewhere new. 

“So, she’s the whole reason why you're here?” Eddie asked. 

“Kind of. She’s who really got me out of my hometown,” replied Steve, shrugging.

“Hmm, sounds like you might be in love with her…” Eddie repeated. “Why else would you want to move just to work such a shit job with such a shit boss?” He gestured to himself, topped with a sickly sweet smile. 

“Seriously, dude, that ship has sailed. Or never even made it in the water. Or doesn’t even exist. I don’t–I don’t see her like that,” Steve answered, not sure if Eddie could pick up on what he meant. The weed was starting to cause his thoughts to swim around in his head. “This was the only job I got called back for.”

“Oh,” said Eddie. The joint had sat forgotten between his fingers as they spoke. Now, Eddie lit it once more, taking a drag. Instead of turning his head to blow the smoke away from Steve like he had before, he leaned in, locked eyes with him; he blinked slowly as he directed his exhale at Steve’s face in a powerful gust. Steve groaned, made a face and put up his hands, pretending to be bothered by it while his stomach did somersaults; he had to fight to not stare at his lips. “Guess Wayne was desperate, huh?” Eddie kidded.

“Hah, yeah, I guess so,” Steve nervously laughed to shake himself out of the trance Eddie put him in. He knew Eddie was reasonably joking, but it wasn’t far from what Steve suspected was the truth. But speaking the words out into the world of his failures didn’t hurt as much with the weed in his system. It didn’t feel so much his own fault as it was the nature of the outside world. Life outside a small town. Simple truths you learn as you age. Finding a job is hard, being gay is dangerous, etc. 

A quiet silence fell over them as they finished those last puffs of the joint. It was comfortable, but Steve couldn’t help but feel the absence of the words between them. It was nearing midnight according to Eddie’s digital watch on his wrist. Was it really just hours before Steve overheard Eddie complaining about him? Saying he was going to “ruin everything”? 

Steve jostled at the memory, the same concerns from before settling in. He had to ask. 

“Eddie… What happened last summer?” Steve urged. 

Their eyes met again. When did they get so close? Steve could see the expanses of Eddie’s brown eyes. They suddenly darkened, and it was as if Steve was being pulled forward ever so slightly. 

Then, Eddie pulled his legs back, leaned forward, and propped his elbows on his knees, putting distance between them as if nothing had happened. He looked out to the darkness of the woods ahead.

“Nothing that actually concerns you. I’m sorry you heard me yell,” he revealed, defeated and ashamed. “This guy on my crew last year, he caused a lot of problems. Didn’t treat Max well either.”

Steve’s stomach flipped again; so Eddie was referring to him with that outburst. Steve wasn’t sure what this last guy had to do with him. He hadn’t caused any problems like that, right? He barely remembered what he did that day.  Steve paused, taking in the information; he had that same feeling again, that there was more to be said about his guy, but before he could pry further, Eddie interrupted. 

“Anyways, you might want to be heading back before it gets too late. You good to drive? I don’t have anywhere for you to crash,” asked Eddie. 

Taken aback, Steve nodded, feeling dismissed. They stood to walk inside; Steve paused to assess how high he was only to find he was hardly buzzed. He was surprised, certain that he felt so much more a second ago.

Steve couldn’t tell what Eddie was thinking as his face was blank when they walked along a dirt path in the trailer to the front door. Eddie held it open for him as Steve tried to think of something to say.

“Thanks! For hanging out I mean, and the smoke.” Steve hoped he was successful at attempting to sound casual. In return, Eddie gave a familiar grin, nodding once and shutting the door behind him without another word.

Steve stood there for a moment, wondering why bringing up this guy set Eddie off so badly. He wished he could have stayed for longer, but it was getting late. Sighing, Steve brushed off his nerves and walked towards his car to head home. 

As Steve drove that evening, despite abruptly being sent home, he couldn't help but to be hopeful. Steve could drop the whole last summer issue if Eddie could. He imagined himself enjoying himself at work, making Eddie laugh, making him proud. Becoming his friend. Really learning how to do the work. He smiled to himself as he walked up to his apartment. He didn’t even feel so lonely when giggling drifted up from under Robin’s door. Steve went to bed in his new room finally feeling a little at peace. He fell asleep to the image of Eddie’s smile behind his eyes. 

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Night in New Orleans

Normally the men Y/N is in charge of managing are the ones getting in trouble, not the other way arround. This time, while shooting in Louisiana for the second movie, it’s a bit of both.

Johnny Knoxville X Gn!Reader, Bam Margera X Gn!Reader (if you squint)

(Fluff)

5.7k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, crude language, heavy nudity, alcohol, drug use, fights, blood, hurt/comfort, flirting, stripping, fighting

An: Another manager Y/N fic!! I can’t seem to get away from this premise for the life of me! XD they’re just so fun to write for!! Also as proof of how much research goes into these fics, every location mentioned in this fic is entirely real and on Bourbon Street! I had an ex that went to New Orleans but I’ve never been there myself, so I could only hope it’s as wild as I immagine it to be! Also, this fic takes place ~2006 during the filming of Jackass Number Two because they filmed a good chunk of that movie in Louisiana! Anyways,thank you for sending in requests and please keep sending them!

Backroads seemed to stretch on forever as you ranted to Jeff on the phone, “MTV is not paying me enough for this shit! I mean, it's bad enough I gotta spend every day with idiots, now I’m the one who’s gotta find them when they run off?” The dusty road ahead of you was solely illuminated by the one working headlight on the van as you drove through the darkness, your only source of direction being the man you were on the phone with, “It's not my fault they decided to run off to some ranch in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana!” You rolled your eyes, leaning forward against the wheel to try and see ahead as he sighed, “Listen, we gotta shoot in the morning so just get them back to the hotel. Manage the talent!” Click.

Fuckin Jeff, making you go out in the middle of the night in the stupid van that was bumbling allong on its last legs- you didn’t even want to immagine what went down in it based on how it smelled. The whole ‘manage the talent’ thing became almost a motto for when shit turned sour but calling them talent was an overstatement. This is what chauffeurs- better yet, the town dog catcher is for, not managers. Thanks to his amazing directions, you ended up at a ranch, sure, but it seemed practically deserted as you pulled up into the dirt parking lot. Squinting into the darkness, you could barely make out the carved writing on the wooden sign that hung over the front gate that read, ‘New-D Ranch’, whatever that meant. You waited for a few minutes, trying to catch a breeze from the one working AC vent while wondering why the hell you hadn’t quit already to find a job somewhere a little more sane before you heard the swish of the doors behind you opening.

You knew it was Johnny who called shotgun when you heard the slight twang in his grumble as he slid in the passenger seat, “Christ, for a nudist ranch you’d think there’d be more chicks…” Blinking, you turned to him, looking him up and down. Shoulders, chest, thighs- oh god he was naked. Well, naked save for those stupid sunglasses he never seemed to take off. The guys chattered amongst themselves in the back seat as you whipped your head around- yeah, them too. Knoxville must have seen how big your eyes got or the blush that spread across your cheeks, and judging by the way he chuckled a little and let his knees drift apart as he settled down in his seat, he didn’t seem to mind. Pervert. It’s not like you could help it that he was so shameless and all blue and glowy from the way the moon kissed his skin. Finally, you got your words out, yanking the van into gear as you peeled out, “Why are you all naked?”

Admittedly, you were speeding a little down the desolate road while Chris and Steve filled you in on how they heard about this totally rad nudie ranch from this guy at the hotel bar and were down to get with some really hot chicks that night, but all they found there were dudes and farm animals. Every now and then you would sneak a glance over at Johnny who was still wearing that shit eating grin he always had when he knew he was pushing your buttons. You didn’t want to debate yourself if this whole thing was turning you on or pissing you off, but you didn’t have a whole lot of time to consider it as you saw those flashing red and blue lights in your rear view mirror. Shit.

What a perfect time to get pulled over. Veering the car off to the gravelly shoulder, you did the routine. Yes officer. No, I don’t know why I got pulled over. My license? Oh sure! Right here, officer! He flashed that stupid little flashlight inside the car and audibly gasped as he gawked at the proud exhibitionists- that is, all except Bam, who was redder than a tomato and practically squirming in his seat as he desperately tried to cover up his junk. You could tell Officer Friendly got a little uncomfortable with the way Chris suggestively raised his eyebrows at him from the way he stuttered as he continued his police spiel, “May I ask why you are out at this hour with a- a van full of nude men?” Thinking for a moment, you tried to come up with a worthwhile excuse, “Well, I, uh- these are my brothers, officer, and they had a little too much to drink tonight, so they called me to pick them up from the bar!” Making eye contact across the center counsel, Johnny nodded with a very clear tone of amusement in his voice, “Yeah, brothers.” The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

All the cop could do was awkwardly ask for your license and go back to his car, leaving you alone in the oppressive humidity and near silence as crickets chirped faintly. Turning around, about to deliver the lecture of a lifetime, you noticed Steve eerily uiet and nevrous, of all things. Looking up at you from his nails that he was biting to the nub, there was a trace of panic in Steve’s eyes as he started, not even waiting for you to ask what was wrong, “I’m fuckin’ naked and I gotta warrant, man! I-I can’t go t’jail- not like this…” You rolled your eyes at his dramatics- really it wouldn’t surprise you if they all had warrants based on the shit you had to get them out of. As he stood up a little to get a better view out the front window, he anxiously bounced his leg, murmuring to himself, “Fuck, man. That’s it. I-I’m gonna make a run for it.” Your eyes shot open and you pushed him back into his seat. If there was anything you didn’t need tonight, it was a naked man under your care on the loose, so you shut that down fast, “Steve! Stay!”

When the cop returned, the guys turned to look in completely different directions so as to not appear suspicious as you got the news that everything seemed fine with your license. He let you off with a warning and a shake of his head, muttering something about you taking your brothers home to sober up and getting some damn clothes on them while you were at it. Yes, officer. Thank you, have a nice night, officer. As you started back to the hotel, Chris, who was previously distracted by looking at fireflies out the window, noticed something, “Woah, dude. What’s wrong?” Glancing in your rear view mirror as you pulled away, you saw Bam, in between Steve and Chris, white as a ghost with sweat just pouring down his face. Running a hand through his soaked curls, he shook his head, “Shit, dude! I was worried- like, I-I’m small and cute! And naked!” Johnny turned to face him and piped up, “And famous.” Bam disregarded any traces of sarcasm as he turned to you, “And famous! I’d get the shit kicked out of me, dude!” With how cool these guys were normally, the way they freaked out when a cop showed up surprised you.

By some miracle you made it to the hotel, a motel, if you were being honest, in the middle of bourbon street. The place was the definition of a shithole, but you’d stayed in worse and it was better than sleeping in the van so you made do with the used condoms under the bed and roaches in the bathroom because if they could survive this, so could you. Not wanting to leave the guys unsupervised for too long, you decided that your best bet at getting the guys from the car to the room would have to be something in the near vicinity, and while scanning the parking lot, you got an idea so good it made you want to ask for a raise. An assured grin crossed your face, ”I’ll be back.” Just as you were halfway out the door you heard Bam protest with an exhausted sigh, “Fuck it! I’m going with you.” He climbed over Chris to open the door, putting his hands up as he got over his previously held shyness at being nude in front of others, “I’ve been sittin’ between two naked dudes and I gotta get the fuck outta here.” Stopping just before an indecent exposure charge, he held his hand out to you, “Gimme your jacket.”

Begrudgingly handing over your hoodie to Bam, he casually tied it around his waist backwards to cover his crotch loincloth-style as you made a mental note to wash it before you wore it next time it got chilly. Decent enough, you thought, shaking your head as you walked towards the shitty hotel pool that glowed teal in the night. You tried to pretend he wasn’t there as he followed on your heels through the parking lot and through the metal gates that fenced the pool in. As you nearly dove into the big plastic green thing that housed the neatly folded towels, you heard Johnny wolf whistle from the van. Initially assuming that it was directed towards you, you flipped up, clutching an armful of fluffy white fabric, but before you could shout something back you very quickly noticed that Bam’s pale little ass was just completely out. Goddamn it. As you handed out the towels, he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest when Chris chuckled and said something about hating to see Bam go but loving to watch him leave.

Making sure to stay behind the group like a Border Collie to a herd of sheep, you marched the idiots through the lobby who were miraculously dry despite allegedly having come from the pool. As celebrities go, they didn’t attract as much attention as you would have otherwise expected, but that didn’t stop a few drunken women splayed out in the wide, red silk upholstered chairs in the lobby from loudly propositioning them. Steve threw up a ‘call me’ gesture and Bam dragged his feet, whining something about you never letting them have any fun as you nudged them along. You were so exhausted that you didn’t even bat an eye when Chris ‘accidentally’ dropped his towel and glanced back at you with a finger over his lips like one of those pin up girls. Humorously snatching the towel off of the ground, you shoved it into his arms as you all crowded into the tiny, rickety elevator that was surely over it”s weight limit. How strange it must have looked from an outsider’s perspective- you and four nearly naked men, all packed shoulder to shoulder into that tiny space. But you were too tired to care about any of that, leaning your forehead against the wall with a thump as the doors closed.

You were the one Jeff gave the keys to because you were the only one deemed responsible enough, so you tossed them to Bam as he passed you in the hall, but while the others were stumbling in and tossing off their towels, Johnny lingered in the hall as you went to unlock your room. The hallway was only maybe wide enough for you to stand on one side and stretch your arm out to touch the other side, so you really had to look up to talk to him, “Where’re you going?” Holding his towel up far too low with one hand, Johnny shrugged, leaning against the wall opposite to you, “M’goin t’our room.” Most people, if they were in your shoes, staring up maybe six inches away from this ruggedly handsome, partially nude man, would fold like a house of cards, but you were not most people, so you kept your composure. Shrugging, you unlocked your room. “No, this is my room.” The dryness of your words contracted with the playful tone in his voice, “You sure ‘bout that?” Tossing your keys into the bed, you turned to him flatly, “Yep!” Johnny shrugged, turning to leave before dropping his towel. He cackled that signature Knoxville laugh, picking it up only after he heard you snicker from your doorway.

After sending the kids off to daycare, you finally got a moment to yourself. Your day was mostly spent lounging about your room, trying to savor the peace and quiet however short lived it may be. But it came to a stop all too soon when your hotel room phone started ringing- it was Bam, who was apparently too lazy to just go next door and knock. He mumbled over the line, sounding a little embarrassed to ask you, “We wanna go out, n’Jeff says we can’t without you.” This premise never ends well. Hearing your sigh, he turned defensive, “Hey! We just wanna go get some food, okay? That’s it! Jeez…” In the background, you could hear Johnny say something about how the boys were starvin’ over there. “Okay, fine!” You relented after hesitating for a moment, “As long as it's just for food.”

The group walked through a blur of light and sound, dazzling neon signs flanking either side of the street: Bourbon Gifts Cigar Shop, Tropical Isle- Home of the Hand Grenade, signs advertising $5 Jager Bombs, but no restaurants. The guys seemed to have completely forgotten about looking for dinner, more concerned with what trouble they could get into than feeding themselves. “C’mon, Bam! I know this kickass voodoo lady that lives ‘round here- she’ll totally get us footage!” Steve’s excitement was met with a shudder, “No fuckin way, man. Like I wanna get hit by brooms’n play with snakes ‘n shit.” Maybe the fact that Johnny was holding the portable video camera from the hotel room should’ve tipped you off that they may not have been on the prowl for food. He chuckled, turning to Steve, “She sounds sweet. Think’y could get me her number?”

So far you had done a pretty good job at keeping the guys together, even if you had to grab their hands and tug them through the crowds like you were their mother when you caught them rubbernecking to peep into whatever strip club you were walking past. Suddenly, you saw Chris dart away from the pack. You weren't sure if it was the Penthouse Club, the Kama Sutra Cabaret, or Lary Flynt’s Hustler Club that he b-lined it into, but just as soon as he did, the rest of the guys followed quickly behind, leaving you stranded. Knowing how much shit you would get into if you lost one of them or god forbid someone got arrested, you went after them.

Given your line of work, you would’ve thought that, by this point, you would have gotten a little more familiar with the inside of one of these places, but nope. This place was on some real Girls, Girls, Girls shit, like the image of a strip club- mirror poles, velvet tablecloths, and women wearing barely more than a smile and nine inch heels. Averting your eyes from the ladies onstage, you let out a sigh of relief when you spotted Knoxville sitting at the bar. Hopping up onto the tall red vinyl stool next to him, you let out a sigh of relief as Johnny glanced over to you and let out a chuckle, taking a sip of his beer before reassuring you like he could read your concerns without you having to open your mouth, “If you’re lookin’ for the fellas, they’re out on the floor. S’not like they’re goin’ far”

Rolling your eyes, you kept your head low as you scouted the place out. “I thought we were gettin’ dinner.” This was not the kind of place you wanted to be found in, and you bet Johnny could tell from how entertained he seemed at your discomfort, looking you up and down, “Well, for these guys, this is dinner.” You couldn’t deny, you actually were kinda hungry, distracting yourself by eyeing the initials that were keyed into the countertop, “I don’t even think they have food here…” Knoxville nudged a glass bowl of peanuts sitting on the bar top toward you with a smirk. “Here,” He grabbed one himself, crushing the shell in his hand before tossing one in his mouth with a smirk, “Lemme buy you dinner.” Taking one from the bowl yourself, you scoffed, a smile ghosting over your face as you murmured, “Oh, you’re quite the gentleman, Knoxville. Strip joint and peanuts.” Laughing, he relented to you, “Alright, how about I make it up to you with a nice dinner sometime- one good dinner? I owe you.” Wait, was he asking you on a date? Before you could consider maybe taking him up on that offer, you felt a tap on your shoulder. “Hey, hey- Y/N!”

Turning around, you weren’t sure if you were annoyed or relieved to see Bam standing behind you, holding out a fifty, “Y’got any singles?” It was like a kid asking his mom for money to go to the movies. Johnny shrugged, turning to you to remark, “I mean, at least he’s tippin’ the ladies. Not like Steve-O over there.” He jabbed a thumb at the corner where Steve sat, a herd of women clustered around him. Sure, Steve never tipped, but every time you saw him at the club, he was never drooling over the strippers. Instead, he would be sitting over in the corner, just chatting up the ladies while they were on their break. Strangely enough, they always seemed to be more than eager to hang out with him, waving and blowing him kisses as they headed back onstage. It bewildered you, but it was kinda sweet in a weird way. “Wha- no! I don’t have any singles!” Bam shrugged at your reaction, turning to walk away, “Ah, I’m sure I can get some at the bar. Thanks though!”

The question you were about to ask Johnny, about where Chris was at, was answered before you could ask it. Just as Bam ran up to the edge of the stage with a handful of singles, excited to see some T and A, you could see his face just fall as he muttered to himself at the sight in front of him, “This is so fucked up….” You yourself stared slack jawed as Johnny snickered at the sight of Party Boy himself strutting out onto the stage wearing nothing but his silver mankini while the beginning riff of one of those cock rock strip club songs started up. Not one to miss this kind of thing for the world, Knoxville whipped out the camera to capture the wide eyed shock in Bam’s eyes that turned to disgust when Chris started his little routine, eyeing the fat stack of ones in his hand. He kept inching closer and closer to the edge of the stage- specifically, closer to Bam. Getting down on his knees, Chris wasn’t shy in the slightest about shaking what he had (which he had quite a great deal of), barely inches from his face. Even you couldn’t deny that he was pretty damn good up there, and it seemed that Johnny agreed as he got up to toss a couple singles up there with a whistle. As the song reached a crescendo, everything seemed to reach a fever pitch and Bam hurriedly shoved the bills in his arms onto the stage, unable to stand it any longer, “Just take my money- and get your junk outa my face!” Pontius smirked, tucking the cash in the strap of his mankini with a wink. He whispers something you couldn’t quite hear, but you assumed was some sort of flirty comment from the way Bam rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, this is how I wanna spend my night.” Johnny turned to you as you tried to speak up over the music, “Watching Chris strip.” He chuckled, leaning back on the sticky bar, drink in hand. “Yeah, me too.” The incandescent lights of the club looked so pretty in the reflection of Johnny’s glasses that you hardly noticed when Bam ran back to the bar in the stupid little way he ran everywhere, as Candy or Trixie or whoever was strutting out onstage. He just happened to cross paths with Chris, walking off the stage and flipping through all fifty two dollars he got. Bam stopped him in his tracks with a hand on his baby oil covered chest, “Dude. Gimme my money back.” Chris just gave him that stoner laugh and shook his head, “No way! I earned this. How about you go up there and shake your little moneymaker?” Bam turned a little red and debated arguing or just getting more money. Looking back up at the stage, he gave in, more concerned with what article of clothing the girl on stage was shedding than his own money.

But just a few moments later, it was him who was getting physically tossed out onto the sidewalk, landing on his ass. All you saw was this little dark blur getting hoisted up by this bouncer twice it’s size and going flying out the doors. Of course, all the guys followed behind, laughing as he stumbled to his feet. “Rookie mistake, man.” Steve joked, his hands in his pockets as a curious few of the ladies peered out the door after him. You should’ve known that of all people it would be Bam who got a little too handsy with the girls. Nobody on the street even stared at the spectacle as you fled outside after them. “Okay, that’s it- let’s just call it a night.” The guys collectively groaned about you being a killjoy and begged for just one more stop at another bar for a nightcap as you threw your hands up in the air, not easily swayed, “C’mon, it’s a sign. Let’s just get you all back to the hotel…”

You got them safely tucked away in their room for the night, but of course the chaos didn’t cease. Maybe an hour passed after you collapsed onto your mattress with the lights off, trying to get a few hours of shuteye before you had to deal with them in the morning when the shouting started. Chalking it up to some couple having a marital dispute next door, you brushed it off until you realized which room it was coming from. Oh. Oh no. Clambering to your feet, you jumped at the telltale sound of an appliance shattering against a wall and tried to run the numbers of how much that’d cost to cover as you scrambled out the door. Hoping it was just a coffee maker or something and not a repeat of the time Bam hurled an entire Zenith television out of a plate glass door, you barged in the room.

Now, you didn’t know what the argument was initially about, but you got the gist of it as Steve’s elbow made contact with your mouth, slamming into you. Everything froze. Just your luck to get caught in the crossfire of one of his drug induced fits. Bam, who was on the other side of the room, was completely shirtless, as was Steve, but significantly more all together mentally and seeming to be on the other side of whatever conflict was happening. Running your tongue over your teeth, you confirmed that none of them were missing, but that wet iron taste lingered on your lips. “Holy shit…” This quickly sobered Steve up, whose voice was barely a whisper as he watched the blood that got Jackson Pollocked all over your face drip down your chin and neck. That was one way to break up a fight.

Blood trickled down the drain as you held yourself over the bathroom sink in the guys’ room, blinking away the tears that swelled in your eyes. Everyone cries when they get hit in the nose- it’s probably a reflex or something, you thought, not that it hurt that bad. Glancing up to the mirror, you caught sight of someone standing in the doorway- Knoxville, holding this ice pack he fashioned out of a towel full of ice from the hall. It seemed that your waterworks had really gotten his attention, judging from the concerned tone in his voice, “Y’alright?” Taking it from him, you gently pressed it to your face, wincing at the cold sting. “M’fine.” He smirked but the tone of his voice was still present as he sat down on the lid of the toilet seat next to you, “You sure?” Johnny waved you closer, gesturing for you to lean down towards him. You did, and he reached out to gently grasp your chin, “Lemme see…well, that might leave a mark.” It was an oddly intimate moment, feeling his noticeably larger hand on top of yours as he went to move the ice pack. Leaning it to get a better look at your face, Johnny smiled just barely, “I think you’re gonna be alright.”

With the way the guys treated you the next day, you would’ve thought you were the queen of England. When you woke them up the next day, they didn’t whine or complain in the slightest, instead obediently getting out of bed and starting to get ready, avoiding your gaze. You felt like the headmaster at some British private school for undisciplined boys. As you stood idly in the doorway, perplexed at their sudden shift in behavior, you noticed something- Knoxville was MIA, and it seemed that nobody cared or was willing to say anything to you. Dipping your head in the door, you scanned the room, “Does anyone know where-“

Jumping a little, you caught your breath after the initial surprise when you realized it was Johnny who was standing next to you out in the hallway, maybe six inches away. He smirked at how easily he startled you and wordlessly handed you one of the two complementary breakfast coffees he had in his hands. Look at Mr. Suave-Cool, coming in with the apology drinks. Still, you weren't going to say no. Taking a sip and pondering how he could be the constant center of attention and, at the same time, so damn sneaky, you didn’t even notice when Bam sprang up from his bed, scampering to lean against the doorframe behind you. While all of the guys were quietly doing it already, Bam seemed the most eager to grovel, not even waiting for you to turn towards him before he started fawning with uncharacteristic earnestness, “Hey, I just wanna tell you I am so sorry about last night- I mean, it was totally Steve’s fault, but I feel so bad!” Immediately, you turned to Bam and looked him up and down, as did Johnny, who snickered at the fact that he was standing there without a care in the world, totally naked. At this point in the trip you were so desensitized to the male nudity that you didn’t even say anything. From behind him in the room Steve, who had his shirt halfway over his head, was clearly over his faux niceness by the way barked at Bam, “Oh, fuck you man!” But when you made eye contact with him, his ego shrank up like he just got into a cold pool as his voice dropped a decibel, “I-I mean, you looked pretty rad with all the blood and stuff...” Chris, who was totally unbothered by all of this, just smiled at you as earnest as ever, “Yeah! The blood was totally sexy, dude!”

“Is there anything I can do to make it up?” Bam looked at you with this eager to please look on his face, and you weren't one to pass up this opportunity. You thought that hell would freeze over before any of these guys would ask to do something nice for you. “Well…if you really want, you could grab me a danish from down front.” He started off before he glanced down and noticed the obvious. Quickly running back into the room to tug on a pair of jeans- no underwear, Bam slipped past you and ran down the hall in that same stupid way he did at the strip club.

While the guys were out for the day, you shot a call over to Ed the Medic, who was, as his name implied, an on set medic (if you could call him that) who they only really kept around because he really liked giving people pills, so this was maybe the first time anyone called him for a legitimate injury. He was nonetheless happy to pawn them off onto you. While you debated whether or not you should take them, the throbbing pain in the middle of your face failed to cease, so you gave in, throwing them back and hoping the high would wear off before the guys got back and you made a fool of yourself the same way they did with you.

For the first time that trip, nobody wanted to go out that night, not after the day they just had. Drenched in sweat from the hot Louisiana sun with sore muscles from a day of stunts, all anybody wanted to do was maybe have a beer and crash for the night. Nobody was more exhausted than Bam, who arguably had the worst day out of any of them. From getting locked in a trailer with snakes and racking his nuts to having to eat and by extension throw up a piece of cowshit- not even Johnny asking to take a gander at his sprained dick could bring any humor to the situation. So as soon as they got into the room they all fell onto beds or chairs or whatever they could find, content to call it a night before six. That is, until you came knocking on the door.

“Heyyy!!” Stumbling into the room, you were all giggles as you bumped into Johnny who had opened the door. He looked down at your purple, swollen face confusedly as you slurred your words, “Didn’t you guys wanna go out…? C’mon, let’s go. I wanna party!” Turning back to the other guys, they all reflected the same bewildered expression as his- never once had you ever expressed interest at partying, or at least their idea of partying. However, though he had arguably had the roughest day out of all of them, Bam’s mood shifted at your sudden change of opinion, getting up from his place on the bed with a grin and putting a paintball-scarred hand on Johnny’s shoulder, “Alright, you heard ‘em! Let’s party.”

The streets were nearly empty as you and the guys walked them. Hell, you didn’t even know you were on Bourbon street until you saw the street sign on the corner as you left the hotel, “Wait, this is that Marti gras place, right?” Johnny nodded as he walked close to you, making sure you didn’t run off or hurt yourself doing something stupid. He clearly wasn't doing a very good job at it, made apparent when you tugged your shirt up to your neck, squealing, “Oh! I’m gonna get some beads!” Imitating women who flashed for plastic at those parades, it seemingly didn’t occur to you that not only were you about three months late to the whole Marti gras thing, but you were doing it to nobody in particular. Johnny noticed, his eyes going a little wide as he grabbed the sides of your shirt, quickly but gently pulling it back down, “Woah, woah- Y/N,” There was this almost protective tone in his voice as he talked to you the way you usually talked to him when he had a few too many that night, “If you wait right here, I can get you some beads, okay? Just- just stay in this one spot.”

He returned shortly after with a handful of multi-colored strands of plastic beads, brilliant iridescent purple and greens under the gas lamps that lined the sidewalks. Your eyes sparkled, “Woah…you got these for me…?” Johnny nodded. Maybe instead of getting them from a float like you assumed he had ran into a gift shop and hastily bought the first bulk bag of necklaces he could find, but he wasn’t technically lying. As you happily pulled them over you head, Bam elbowed you in the side, raising his eyebrows as he leaned in with a grin, “I could get you some beads if you flash those titties again.” Before you could comply, which you would’ve been more than happy to do, Johnny put an arm between the two of you, pushing you apart. What a killjoy! Still, he gave you a good explanation, “You don’t need any’a Bam’s junky beads cause I got you the good ones- the fancy kind.” Looking down at the beads in your hand again, you weren't sure what made them so fancy as they just looked like any old beads to you, but you trusted him. “Besides” Johnny brushed Bam’s hand off of your shoulder, “Why don’t I take you out on that dinner I was talkin’ about?”

You spent half of the meal gushing to the guys about your shiny new beads you got, somewhat less high but far from sober. Chris and Steve found your predicament absolutely hilarious, sitting on either side of you with giddy smiles at their uptight manager who was finally getting in on the fun. The lot of you ate your dinner in that sleepy little twenty four hour cafe a block from your hotel (about as far as you had gotten) and afterwards Johnny took you back to the hotel and up to your room with an arm around your shoulders, preventing any further mishaps. Dragging your feet, you collapsed onto your bed in your jeans. He gently removed your shoes and tucked you in before quietly leaving to go back to his own room next door. If there was going to be another time you ever ended up high, he would be the man you would want to babysit you. Tomorrow would be the last day of shooting in New Orleans, and you would be mortified at the stories of your behavior, but for that moment that night everything was just perfect.

[piratefishmama]

Crossing The Line | Part 7

Again. Right. Okay. Again, Kas wanted him to say it again. Cool. Definitely wasn’t high key anxiety inducing to do it the first time. Robin was right, straight from wooed to the apartment? Probably not going to happen, he was super overestimating his level of game.

He had no game. None, nada, zip, zilch, bupkis.

He almost bailed, almost bolted with his tail between his legs but no, no he’d be brave, sure this man was kind of an asshole to him and honestly it may be a bad idea because what if he was still an asshole, like… what if he was just constantly an asshole, like… toxic kind of asshole. He had to hope though, someone that pretty couldn’t be awful, right? In what universe would that be fair?

“Uh… you, me, dinner? Tonight maybe? Or tomorrow if that’s better. Or… or y’know, any day this week, I’m flexible.”

“Why?” The guy practically choked, his grip on the rolling pin loosening a little. “I mean—why me?” Why him? Why him? God why him? Why the nerdy metalhead whose name he didn’t even know? Why the guy who’d spent a whole week bitching him out over social media over an experiment? Steve didn’t know.

He had no idea! He didn’t know why he’d fallen so hard so fast, why he’d spent hours just watching those talented fingers dance along the neck of that beautiful warlock, he had no idea, Steve was just following the dopamine and Kas seemed to be an endless supply of it for him.

“Uhm, I like you?”

“You don’t even know me, dude. In fact, the only knowledge you have of me is that I bitched you out for a week.” True, he didn’t seem to be gearing up to apologise for that either. The anxiety was only growing by the second, oh no. He felt so small all of a sudden, so stupid, of course it was stupid, he never should have come. “And now you come and what… hunt me down at work and ask me out? That’s so fuckin weird an I’m—"

“Grass, bitch, and I’m the mower!!” Steve had to spin round fast just to catch Robin as she stormed in there having been listening close by the door, the grip on that rolling pin tightened again.

“Jesus H. Christ!” The rolling pin poised to launch.

“Robin, no!”

“No he’s being mean again! I’m not having it! You spent a whole week just lying there mooning over this fucking idiot’s hands for crying out loud even when he was being a dick to you for something you only did for fun and now we’ve come all this way and he’s being mean in person and I’m not having it, I refuse, lemme at him!” Honestly ‘Kas’ was lucky Steve was as strong as he was, Robin would have gotten out of that hold easy if he were any weaker.

“Mean?! I’m being HONEST, you psycho!”

“Motherfucker, I’ll show you psych—"

“ROBIN!” She stopped struggling. Steve rarely raised his voice, honestly the only time he ever raised his voice was when the kids were involved. When pushy labels or producers tried shit with his kids, that was the only time Steve ever raised his voice. Also that one brief stint in acting where the script demanded it. “Go back outside.”

“But—”

“Go, i’m a grown man, I can fight my own battles, now go back out there.” His voice back to its usual soft tone, she shot the other man a sharp glare before returning back through the swinging door “go sit down! Away from the door!”

“FINE!” She’d have only lingered behind that door again if he hadn’t told her not to. Steve kept an eye on the door for a moment, just in case, before turning back to Kas, his shoulders slumping as a deep sigh escaped him at the sight. The poor guy was backed right into that little gap, rolling pin clutched tight to his chest, this was a bad idea, he looked so freaked.

“I’m sorry.” Steve breathed softly. “I’m sorry for Robin, she’s uh—she’s protective, and um, for turning up out of nowhere, for scaring you, I really didn’t mean to turn up at your work, this was… this was hugely by a weird amount of chance,I just… I was going to go to your gig? We even bought clothes for it but uhm… shit, I should have just... I dunno, dm’d you or something, it would have been easier.” Probably wouldn’t have wasted the money on the flights or the apartment that way, Kas could have just rejected him over DM! “And uh… I’m not stupid, like… I know I don’t know you, I still don’t know your actual name, or if you even like guys, I wasn’t assuming just… hoping, but… I dunno, I was hoping at dinner I could get to know you an y’know… we’d hit it off despite our obvious differences in musical preferences…” maybe they could have been friends if nothing else.

The silence drew on for a moment, Steve had said his piece, and Eddie was clearly processing it, eyes flitting, micro expressions creasing his brow, his jaw shifting in a way that made it obvious that he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, and the grip on the rolling pin had relaxed again.

“…You were going to come to my gig?”

“Mmhm, Tuesday 9pm, right? Robin forced me to get different clothes because what I was going to wear probably wouldn’t have cut it.”

“What were you going to wear?”

“You’ll mock me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will”

“I promise I won’t.”

“…Promise?”

“Scouts honour.” He even put the rolling pin down to do the little hand gesture. Cute, Steve thought to himself.

“I’m dubious of your history of boy scoutery” he could see the quirk of a lip, just a little ghost of a smile at the corner of Kas’s lips “but fine, okay, I’ll trust you to be gentle, I have this really nice grey sweater vest, and I was gonna put a—” his words cut short by the snort of a laugh that bubbled from his ridiculous crush “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“Sweetheart, I said I wouldn’t mock, I said nothing about laughing” sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart— moving on. “A sweater vest at a metal gig? Cute.” The way his voice dipped? Unfair on every level.

Every single goddamn level.

“Y-yes well, now I have a new outfit, so you won’t get to see the sweater vest.”

“Oh, oh no” Kas clutched his hand to his chest as if pained “the pain! Jail for you, jail for one hundred years, you’ve hurt me so very deeply. Jail for the pretty boy.” Pretty boy? Steve felt those invasive little bastard butterflies kick up a flurry in his chest, pretty boy? “I really won’t ever get to see the sweater vest? That’s just a goddamn travesty, truly” it sounded sarcastic but honestly it also didn’t. It was a weird mix, like he was taking the piss but also being genuinely honest. “Worst punishment you could give me, no sweater vest for Eddie.”

Eddie.

“No sweater vest for Eddie” Steve parroted with a smile so full of sunshine warmth that Eddie couldn’t stop himself from mirroring it. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t a lost cause then… maybe he could still make this work maybe— “So… uhm… dinner?” Maybe he wouldn’t get shot down if he asked again.

“…Ask me again after the gig if you enjoy the show.” Oh the hopes, they were HIGH, he knew he’d like the show! He knew he would! “Now, about that coffee you and your menace to society came in for.”

“Fuckin heard that you moms' basement dwelling bitch baby!!”

“She seems lovely.” Steve only let out a quiet snrk of a laugh.

Part 9

[meet-me-backstage]

🜸

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 🎸 Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 🎸 You play at the Hideout with your band, Stake For My Valentine, every night, you're considered the metal queen of the bar and your band are the rulers of the roost, famously loved by the Hideout's local drunks. However, when a band named Corroded Coffin land their first gig there, the sparse crowd warm quickly to the unique and awkward charm of the leading metal head, Eddie Munson.

However, you don't warm to him so easily - in fact, you don't warm to him at all. Eddie, on the other hand, worships the ground you walk on and doesn't hesitate to make it known, leading to a cold rejection from you.

Band rivalry occurs - you vs. Eddie, Stake For My Valentine vs Corroded Coffin.

You hate each other... but one night everything changes when a plan is created and executed by yours and Eddie's bandmates with the intention of bringing you two together and harmony between the bands.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊-𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 🎸 bad language, angst, mention and consumption of drugs, mention and consumption of alcohol, sexual innuendos, mention of blood, Eddie wearing eyeliner bcuz damn😍, some typical bar fight drunkard violence and SMUT so you must be 18+ to read‼️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 🎸 7.3K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 🎸 bad language, mention of and consumption of alcohol and reader being kinda mean to Eddie for no reason oop.

𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚 - 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝟐𝟎𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝑶𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑱𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒚 (𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 - 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂)!

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐩𝐥���𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠!

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝! <𝟑

⇜ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 ⎈ 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 ⎈ 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓

Eddie had his head tucked into the shitty school magazine he'd been handed on his way into the Hawkins High cafeteria.

He didn't usually read it, but today he felt he needed a distraction - tomorrow was going to be Corroded Coffin's first ever gig... well, aside from the middle school talent show and Battle of the Bands' competitions - but they were different, events full of acts and terrible sound quality. The last time Corroded Coffin played at a Battle of the Bands the amp blew during Eddie's guitar solo, putting the entire event to an abrupt end.

There was something else though, something other than the usual nerves of a first gig - engraved and irritating his mind like a new tattoo to the skin... it was you.

He hadn’t been able to get you out of his head from the moment you gave him the eye from the stage on Friday. It had been playing on his mind with every hour that passed, he couldn’t believe that you gave him the eye - the coolest and most metal badass in Hawkins.

He’d never received attention like that and he’d come to the point of accepting that he wasn’t going to from anyone, let alone from the girl he’d been obsessing over for years.

A tray slammed on the table, making Eddie jump in his seat and causing him a mini heart attack, he dropped the magazine he was ‘reading’ onto the table, “Jesus Christ!” He squeals, looking up, only to see an aggravated Gareth standing over him, “What the hell, dude?”

Gareth grimaces, “Seriously?!” Jeff and Travis are stood behind him with their arms crossed, “We don’t see you at band practice and all you’ve got to say to us is ‘what the hell, dude’?!”

Eddie’s eyes were wide and his chest heaved, he slowed his heavy breathing and placed his hand over his heart, “You scared the hell outta me, what else was I gonna say?!”

“Gee… I don’t know, maybe an apology - an explanation?” Gareth asks sarcastically, scratching at his chin before dropping himself onto the seat with a thud diagonally from Eddie. He leans towards Eddie, giving him intense eye contact that made Eddie’s pulse pick up again, his cheeks turning pink from embarrassment.

The other boys sat themselves down, Jeff next to Gareth and opposite him - they began to stare too, making Eddie writhe even more and bite at his trembling lips to try and stop himself from breaking.

Eddie felt sweat beginning to bead at his forehead from the tension of his friend’s glares, he felt like his entire head was about to explode, or his mouth out least and he couldn’t hold his words any longer.

A strained noise escaped his lips and moments later he let his hand fall and slam down into the table , “I’m sorry, m’kay,” he drawls with a small frown, his lips still twitching as they continue to stare at him, unsatisfied. Eddie rolls his eyes, “Fine - if you buttheads really have to know - I was at… the Hideout,” he exhales as he utters the last two words, his chest deflating and he stares down at his ring-clad fingers tapping a fast beat on the table.

The three boys around Eddie squint their eyes all at the same time.

“The - Hideout?” Gareth blinks with blank features.

Eddie gulps, nodding. His brown eyes were wide and he continued to keep his head down, afraid of them spotting the obvious blush on his cheeks. He felt so hot, he could only imagine how pink his entire face looked.

Jeff and Travis snorted with laughter, holding their hands over their mouths to try and cover it up and it only made Eddie more self-conscious and jittery so he dives a hand into the pack of pretzels that his Uncle Wayne had left out for him in the morning and chucks one of them in his friend’s direction, “Shut up!”

Eddie knew that he was going to have to tell them about his whereabouts last weekend, he just hadn’t exactly planned how he was going to explain. The decision to visit the dingy bar was on a complete whim on his part, it was like he’d been lovestruck and suddenly couldn’t keep himself away from the place.

“Hey - defensive much?” Jeff picks up the rogue pretzel and chucks it back at Eddie, who narrowly dodges it.

“I am not being defensive.”

“You so are.”

Gareth laughs, his eyes flickering between the two bickerers before setting his hands down with a thump onto the table, gaining him the attention of all three boys sat around him, “Defensive? More like delusional,” he flashes Eddie a knowing smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie furrows his brows, tilting his head to the side and burrowing his hand back into his packet of pretzels, ready to fireball some more of his lunch if need be.

Gareth rolls his eyes, “This is about your little lovesick puppy moment last week.”

Eddie blows a raspberry, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, “I don’t know what you’re talking about - I - went there to get more familiar with the place so my nerves won’t be so bad at our gig on Tuesday and I just - forgot… about band practice.”

“You expect us to believe that bullshit?” Gareth asks sarcastically while the other boys blink blankly and nod in agreement with Gareth. Gareth suddenly leans forward and points at Eddie, his finger brushing the ‘W.A.S.P.’ badge on the pocket of his denim vest, “You went there because of Vampire - whatever the name is now - Vamp!”

“No I did not!” Eddie squeaks.

“Oh come on - we all know you’re obsessed, you’ve been obsessed since 6th grade.”

Eddie forced a nervous laugh, memories flooding back suddenly of the moment he first saw you in middle school.

He was in the midst of stuffing his grade six history notes messily into his locker, his door was wide open and all he could see of the person beside him were their shoes, small worn black boots that thudded loudly on the floor, the sound being what caught his attention in the first place. His lips trembled, being new and already unpopular, he knew nobody other than Gareth at that point.

He not so sneakily peeked past the locker door… it was you. You were taller than him at the time and chucking some of your own notes into your locker - he spied on the decorated interior of it and one particular thing caught his eye, Black Sabbath’s logo that you’d clearly torn from a magazine.

⎈ 🎸⎈

“What are you looking at?” You ask with a harsh stare, looking down at the small boy after taking out your diary of ‘77 that had little butterfly stickers on it.

You could only see half of his face, the other half was hidden by his locker door and when he’d realised that you’d caught him his eyes, widened, massive compared to his small head and the rest of the features on it - you raise your brows at him, crossing your arms and tapping your foot. He slowly unhides himself, shutting his locker’s door carefully, “I - er - l-like Black Sabbath - too.”

You just stare for a few seconds, then roll your eyes at him and slam your locker door, muttering with a shrug of your shoulders, “Whatever.”

You leave him stood there with a rapid heartbeat that felt as if his heart was going to pound out of his chest.

⎈ 🎸⎈

Eddie remembered running to the cafeteria excitedly and jumping onto the stool opposite Gareth, immediately uttering the words ‘I spoke to a girl!’

You were always pretty distant from everybody else - it was something you did on purpose with the intention of not being noticed by anybody… or so your thirteen year old self thought… but twelve year old, buzz-cut Eddie did notice you. After the short encounter you had he noticed you on the sidelines whenever you excused yourself from any kind of drama, game, school event or club. Whenever you sneaked yourself past the likes of Derek Hagan and his basketball friends, including his younger brother, Tommy and his friends in the year below. They would all snigger at you whenever they had the chance through middle and high school - it never stopped until you took matters into your own hands and dropped out, never looking back at the school again.

Eddie was the first to notice yours and your friend’s disappearance in your senior and his junior year - he figured it was because of the bullying and felt bad about it because he was sure that if he’d approached you more then you would’ve been sat with him - friends.

But eventually you had found your own friends and he had found his. The thought of approaching you felt stupid when he figured you would probably send him away anyway, but it didn’t stop him from thinking that you were the coolest in both Hawkins middle and high combined. He decided that he’d love your antics and be your number one fan from afar.

Seeing you again at the Hideout was a chance that Eddie thought he’d never get since it seemed like you’d just vanished.

Two years later - a second chance. Take it, don’t waste it - was all that had been running round and round Eddie’s head since that night.

“Helloooooo-,” Gareth waves his hand directly in front of Eddie’s deadpan face. Eddie eventually blinks himself back to reality and pushes Gareth’s hand away, “Where were you?”

“With Vamp by any chance?” Jeff asks with a little grin.

Travis then pouts his lips, making smooching sounds, the others hysterically laugh for minutes.

“Are you guys done?” Eddie asks, his cheeks pink from embarrassment and suddenly feeling extremely conscious of his surroundings, everyone else in the cafeteria - which was unlike him, he didn’t usually care for the glares that others gave him from other tables.

Though their laughter had died down, they were still watching Eddie with amusement.

“What?”

“Did anything happen?” Jeff pipes up, usually the most quiet of the four.

Eddie looked down for a moment, fighting a small smile from making its way onto his pink lips, “She looked at me - again, y’know - like - the look. Like the one I was telling you about on Friday,” he trails off at the end of the sentence.

“And?” Jeff lifts his hands up, gesturing for Eddie to continue.

“And what?” Eddie shrugs, trying to play it cool.

Jeff rolls his eyes, snorting a small giggle, “Did anything happen? Did you talk to her?”

“I - looked back at her,” Eddie reveals, genuinely impressed with himself by straightening his back, pushing his chest forward and toothily grinning until he notices the disappointed looks that his friends are giving him, “It’s something, m’kay?”

“It’s nothing!” Gareth interjects, “You’ve gotta talk to her, dude - this is like sixth grade all over again!”

“Pfft - I tried, but everyone in there wants to talk to her. She’s like - the queen of the Hideout, whenever I got the courage to approach her someone else would swoop in so I just - sat at a booth with a bottle of cola that Keith gave me, I must’ve looked that miserable,” Eddie exhales with a laugh at the end of his ramble, “Besides - I think she’s got a thing going on with that - Rodrick guy, y’know - the one that-.”

“Got us the gig tomorrow - yeah, he’s kinda epic for doing that for us,” Gareth mutters, lowering his tone and scratching the back of his neck.

“Exactly, he is epic - and cool - funny,” Eddie sighs.

“You’re all three of those too,” Gareth states, placing his hand flat on the table in front of Eddie, “you just need to show her that you are.”

“How?”

Gareth bites his lips together for a brief second before exhaling, “I think you made a pretty good start last Friday, you made her laugh so - she thinks you’re funny at least.”

“I’m pretty sure she was laughing at me - there’s a difference. I’m not that clueless - even you should know that, Gareth, you’re the most experienced here.”

“Being dared to kiss my crush in eighth grade and running out of the room after is not what I would personally call ‘experience’,” Gareth recalls, his teeth gritting slight at the memory before he pressed the tip of his index finger against the tabletop, “My point is - if you can make a girl laugh, you’re already halfway to your destination - her heart.”

Eddie tilts his head, squinting his eyes, “you’re making this sound a lot like one of my campaigns.”

“If it helps you then maybe picture it like one of ‘em,” Gareth suggests, his voice growing with enthusiasm, earning a few nods from Jeff and Travis, “Picture it like this - Rodrick is Orcus. There’s an undead army guarding them - Orcus and er - Tiamat! Vamp is Tiamat. You’ve got to somehow get to your dragon queen by killing Orcus, slaying the undead army and defying Tiamat’s powers.”

Eddie grits his teeth before visibly deflating, rolling his hair around his index finger, “I dunno, man - that sounds pretty brutal.”

Gareth also deflates at the sound of his friend’s low tone, “C’mon Eddie - this isn’t like you. A Dungeon Master doesn’t give up on a quest just like that-,” he snaps his fingers, “Not before the battle has even started.”

It’s silent for a while. Eddie restlessly taps his fingers and bounces his legs as he thinks about the mission he’d been given to conquer - it takes a few minutes and his brain starts to ache before suddenly his heart jolts and his entire body stills, but the light behind his eyes reignites. The other boys notice it, causing them to smile and hold the table from inner excitement, they knew what was coming - a hop on the table performance from Eddie.

His lips pulled upward at the corners of his mouth into a mischievous smile, he began to lift himself up off of his seat and climbed stealthily onto the seat before jumping onto the table, almost knocking his black lunchbox and trays of lunch off of the table. Gareth, Jeff and Travis quickly hold the trays down and stare up at Eddie with grins from ear to ear as he stares back down at them.

Eddie holds his arms up, playfully aiming at tables around the cafeteria, “First, I’m gonna fireball the undead,” he jolts his arms forward as if he’s preparing for attack and shouts ‘boom - boom - boom!’, making the other boys laugh and the rest of the cafeteria stare at him with dumbfounded looks. Eddie smirks before swiftly spinning himself around and facing Gareth, “I’ve stunned them - now before the villainous Orcus can bring them back to life I sneak past the army, like this-,” he ducks and runs with light feet along the length of the table, ignoring the fact that he was practically stepping on other student’s lunch, “I’ll shield myself as I sneak past Orcus and from the poisonous clouds of Tiamat - then-,” he stamps his foot down on the table and runs further along the table until he reaches the end, “I go in for the kill - firebombing the dragon queen, she’ll rush me, but I’ll knock her back, then I’ll pound until I have her heart, killing Orcus!” He holds a hand up in the air, his chest heaving under his ‘Dio’ t-shirt.

Gareth, Jeff and Travis are in fits of giggles, but clap as Eddie jumps off of the table, ignoring others that were calling him an ‘asshole’ for his outburst. He jogs back to his friends, his hair bouncing on his shoulders and he stands behind Jeff and Travis, placing a hand on their shoulders, “It’s not gonna be easy, but I’m gonna give it a goddamn try.”

Gareth grins triumphantly at the return of his friend that he’d known since the very first day of sixth grade, the defiant, energetic and loud Eddie that he loved, “There you are. This is the Eddie that is gonna blow her mind.”

“Mhm - mhm - starting tomorrow. I’m gonna shred an almighty guitar solo, we’re gonna perform the most metal concert in all of the world. I’ll give Vamp the eye and after - I’ll - make a beeline straight for her, I’ll talk to her again - finally - hopefully without any interruptions or - mess ups - or rejection,” Eddie nods with each word, squeezing his friend’s shoulders for support as he tries to build his confidence up.

“Vamp is not gonna know what’s hit her.”

𝐓𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ⎈ 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 ⎈ 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓

“Yeah - see you in ten, Elektra,” you fiddle with the cord of the telephone in your room and as you put the phone down, the cord uncoils itself from your fingers and hits your face, “Fuck!”

Like your old middle school locker at school, your room had ripped logos, band photos and your favorite photo of Eddie Van Halen stuck to your black and purple striped walls. Unlike your old middle school locker, you had Polaroids of you and the girls of Stake For My Valentine stuck to the wall too, your band logo that you designed spray painted onto fabric and hung up at the head of your bed.

You were laying on your bed on your stomach in a skirt with fishnet tights and wearing an oversized, old band t-shirt of The Runaways - who were your queens of rock ‘n’ roll from the moment you first purchased their debut album on vinyl with your pocket money as an eleven year old in ‘76.

Jumping off of the bed, you hastily grabbed your black leather jacket and climbed through your window as a way out of your childhood ‘home’.

Though you couldn’t call it a home because homes are meant to be a place of comfort, love - you didn’t feel that here. It was the reason why you were climbing out of the window and not simply walking out of the door, saying ‘goodbye’ to your mom and dad, because you’d only be met with their strictness, their disappointment in you, they’d probably go to the extent of trying to stop you from going to the Hideout again - they could never.

As far as you were concerned, the Hideout was your home and Elektra, Alyssa, Cherie, Keith, Rodrick and all of the drunks, the misfits that hung out there - they were your family.

You scraped your legs and your fishnets got caught on the rose bush that you landed next to upon dropping yourself from your window and tucking and rolling - a move you’d gotten more stealthy at over the last few years.

With a flip of the bird aimed at the house, you ran your way in the dark to your real home.

The Hideout was on the other side of the woods that separated the larger houses and what once was Starcourt Mall from the desolate side of town.

There were abandoned, unkept buildings surrounding the Hideout, along with trees and straw-like grass as far as the eye could see.

You didn’t mind the darkness, or the woods - in fact, you actually found comfort in both, especially in autumn.

The crunch of leaves under your feet, the chilling whistle of the wind blowing past you, causing goosebumps to form on your skin, the sight of the bright moon, making the silhouette of the branches of trees above you crystal clear.

Other than it being on your journey to the Hideout, it was a place you sought freedom in when you struggled to feel like you belonged anywhere, before you found that dingy bar, before you formed Stake For My Valentine, before you decided that you wanted to pursue music and before you’d even met Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa.

It had been a while since you’d sat yourself against the trunk of a tree with the intention of contemplating something that had happened the same day, or basking in silence instead of muffled shouting coming from your parents on the floor below while you locked yourself in your room.

It took time to learn to ignore it and not care - you found that just being distant, keeping to yourself and delving into the sweet sound of metal music at the Hideout as much as you could was the best way to warm your cold and empty heart. It was also a way out - long-term, you wanted nothing more than to use the little money you got from gigs to eventually be enough to buy a trailer, then you could play your guitar to your hearts content.

You were even more desperate for that trailer now, especially with the potential of Corroded whatever having access to the ‘backstage’ room that Keith provided. You, Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie had, had it to yourselves for so long - it was personalised to Stake For My Valentine, filled with your belongings and all of your music gear, it was your place to play guitar and sing… your place to learn new Iron Maiden, Dio, Van Halen and Metallica songs and guitar solos on your beloved Pink Special.

You’d no longer have that privilege if you had to share the room with another band and deep down, though you’d never show it… you were worried.

Corroded Coffin had been on your mind since the very first moment you had been introduced.

The shyness and the boyishness of them intrigued you. If Keith and Rodrick had scoped them out and decided to give them a show then they must be at least a little talented… metal - no, I decide who is metal and who isn’t.

That’s why you were making your way to the Hideout right now - to pass judgement because they couldn’t be that good, right?

You had to see it for yourself.

Besides, the curly-haired, doe-eyed brunette - Eddie Munson, had been doing the exact same to you. You’d seen him spying from the back of the room at your show last Saturday, hiding at a booth and at the back of the small crowd who had come to see you play.

Two can play at that game, you thought, now stood on the opposite side of the street from the Hideout.

You could hear loud crashes, bangs and wallops coming from the inside, it was muffled from where you were, but you knew that the music being played was the four boys that made up Corroded Coffin because you’d planned on arriving late all along.

With every step you take, the music gets louder and you could distinctly hear between each instrument… and a voice.

When you opened the rustic door that was painted black and had little chips from how old it is, the music blared past you, almost knocking you off of your feet from it’s strength.

You slowly stepped into the bar once you’d gathered your balance against the sound waves. There was a crowd of about five drunks stood in front of the stage, making you smirk, you internally laughed until…

Squinting your eyes due to the familiar fog in order to see clearly. You recognised one of the sparse crowd, it was Alyssa. She was dancing chaotically in a black and white chequered flannel, distressed black skinny jeans and her trademark, her black cowboy hat that she wore 24/7, complimenting her long dark mullet.

Out of the four of Stake For My Valentine, Alyssa is the groover and has immensely incredible rhythm when it comes to dancing - you can tell that she puts her skills of drumming into her moves.

Alyssa’s eyes were shut, one of her arms up in the air and her head banging to the music as she held her hat down with her other arm’s hand.

Traitor.

You storm your way towards her with a stomp of your feet, though you couldn’t hear the them over a loud drum solo. Once you were stood by Alyssa, who had still not noticed your presence from being so lost in the ‘music’ - if you could even call it that. You tap her shoulder harshly with your pointer finger, “Alyssa!” You continue to tap until she bats her eyelashes at you, “Alyssa, what are you doing?!”

Alyssa grins smugly in response, even after being caught red-handed. You held onto her shoulders tightly but her head continuously turns to face the stage, like the boys on the platform had her under a trance with their instruments.

Her eyes were half-lidded and she continued to bat her eyelashes, you furrow your brows as you watch her - you turn your head purely out of curiosity, realising that she was practically eye-fucking the drummer - Gareth? You quickly turn back to face her, shaking her shoulders at the same time, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What?” Alyssa shouts back before gesturing towards the band, you suddenly hear the same voice that you heard outside of the building, “Aren’t you hearing this?! They’re good!”

“You're the light of the dying sun-.”

Hearing it clearly, the voice has a high-pitched raspiness about it that you couldn’t hear outside.

“You're the dark side of the night.”

It pierced through your body suddenly, having the same effect as the music had on you when you first opened the door. You subconsciously whipped your head in the direction of the stage again, catching eyes with Eddie. His legs were spread apart and he wielded a beautiful guitar of a shiny red and black pattern - you couldn’t keep your eyes off of it, falling into a similar trance to Alyssa’s. It was as if the lines of sound waves coming from his electric guitar had wrapped themselves around your neck and you could not drag yourself away.

Your gaze drifted upwards, only to realise that he was looking right back at you - mirroring the same exact look that you’d given him last Friday, his lips twitch upward at you too.

Your facial expressions immediately harden and you snap yourself from the trance that the music had you under. You drag your eyes away from him and look to Alyssa, who had resumed dancing. You roll your eyes and slide a hand from her shoulder down her arm to her hand, grabbing it before pulling her with you away from the dance-floor.

Elektra, Cherie and Rodrick wave at you from a booth and you sigh from relief, tugging at Alyssa’s hand.

Elektra’s arm was wrapped around Cherie’s waist as Cherie leaned her head on Elektra’s shoulder.

Alyssa stood by you and Elektra waved down her little sister with her spare arm, “Murder on the dance floor, eh? You killed it, sis!” Elektra then held her arm out to low five Alyssa, who grins, slapping her sister’s hand.

You scrunch your nose at the sight, breathing in your frustration and turning your attention to Rodrick, who, as usual, had a beer in his hand. He gestures with his pointer finger for you to come over, then pats the seat beside him - you flash him a flirtatious smile and oblige, climbing into the booth and shuffle on the seat towards him, leaving a small distance between your hips.

Rodrick closes the distance, shuffling to connect your hips, he leans towards your ear and you can feel his beer-smelling, hot breath on your skin, “You look beautiful tonight, Vamp!” He shouts into your ear, making you flinch and look the other way, again, unintentionally making eye contact with Corroded Coffin’s lead singer, this time he didn’t smile back at me, he looked down at his guitar instead, pursing his lips as he seems to play even more passionately than before.

Again, you drag your eyes away, focusing on Rodrick’s breathing in your ear, “Only tonight?” You utter with sarcasm and a pout, facing him, looking deep into his brown eyes that were outlined with black eyeliner.

He laughs, shaking his head and taking a swig of his beer while subtly pressing his thigh more against yours, “You know you steal the show every night, you don’t even have to try.”

A sly grin creeps it’s way onto your lips, “Yeah, well - tonight’s show isn’t proving to be too tough to steal anyway,” you nod in the direction of the stage.

Rodrick bites his lips together, making your eyes flicker to them for a moment, “You’re really harsh on them, huh?”

You shrug your shoulders before confidently reaching for his beer, taking a sip from the exact spot that he had pressed his lips against. He watches you closely, licking his lips at the same time, even as you slide his beer back to him, “They’re a parody of metal music - it’s embarrassing, it’ll taint our-,” you gesture towards Cherie, Elektra and Alissa, who are occupied with their own conversation, “reputation as a band, I’m afraid we won’t be taken as seriously alongside - that,” you groan, letting your hand slam onto the table of the booth, “I swear, if they get a weekly deal with your dad I’m gonna- ugh- I’m gonna make their lives a living hell here.”

Rodrick raises his brows, his lips pulling up into a mischievous, but mesmerised smile, “You’re kinda hot when you get all passionate and angry, y’know that?”

You shoot him a playful glare and in response to it he sticks his tongue out, scrunching his nose.

“You’re agonisingly annoying, y’know that?” You mimic his voice, leaning closer to him.

“And you’re so into it,” he mumbles and leans closer too, your noses almost brushing, but not quite. You no longer felt the same excitement you used to when you’d be this close, even closer - everything had changed since you’d seen each other naked.

“Totally,” you whisper convincingly, but half-heartedly and as he continued to lean forward with a half-dead expression you quickly turned, looking over your shoulder for any sign of Keith, “Your dad might see us,” you whisper. You spot him stood at the side of the stage, and phew, not paying any attention to you and Rodrick, instead, he was preparing to do is usual ‘five minutes until the show is over’ warning with a tap of his wrist watch.

Rodrick leans his chin on your shoulder, “Er, Vamp? I don’t think it’s my dad that you should be worrying about right now.”

“What?!” You shout over the music, leaning your head gently onto Rodrick’s.

“Four o’clock!”

You turn your head in the direction of ‘four o’clock’, your eyes landing on the bar. You squint your eyes, only seeing the locals that usually sat there and waiting to be served, “That’s nothing I should be worrying about, aren’t you supposed to be serving them while your dad is on ‘five minute warning’ duty?”

“I meant the stage - shit, I gotta go!” Rodrick downs the rest of his beer, the froth of it now coating his lips. He gives you a kiss on the cheek before climbing over you, almost tripping and falling onto the table on the way, the running in a stagger towards the bar.

You wipe the wet kiss from your cheek, muttering ‘gross’ as you do it.

What did he mean by ‘the stage’? You ponder for a moment before slowly glancing the it’s way.

The sight made every feature on your face drop and toughen up - it felt like a hallucination, you became extremely still.

There were more people gathered in front of the stage now, unlike before.

Where had all these people come from?

They must’ve heard the music from outside, you’d never seen them before and you’d know if you had.

It was still a sparse crowd, but equal to the amount of people that would come to a Stake For My Valentine gig - just that thought alone made your skin crawl with anger.

No, this can’t be happening.

With stiff bones you lift yourself up from the booth, your eyes setting target at the four boys performing.

Rage was filling you second by second as you slowly walked in the direction of the stage. It was evident on your face, how angry you were, your lips and nose were twitching and your head was bowed on your way.

You stood at the back of the crowd, who were dancing, screaming, throwing their limbs chaotically to the music - you crossed your arms, stood still and staring up at Eddie.

He was looking Keith’s way, who was pointing at his watch - the five minute showdown. In response, to Keith, he nods before he appears to be searching the drunk crowd until… his eyes widen at the sight of you in the midst of it.

You glare at him, but he quickly turns to face his band-mates, shouting something at them. So amateur.

‘I think Vamp likes us! I can’t believe it, the plan is working so well!’

You couldn’t hear a word, and neither could the rest of the crowd - neither did they seem to care about the band’s lack of professionalism.

‘I am the king-,” he sang, his brown doe eyes catching your piercing glare. He shot you a smile, dimples peeking at the corners of his rapidly moving lips, “and this is my castle!”

Your blood was boiling within you. The smile - the lyrics - the constant staring… he’s laughing at me.

Then his eyes close at the euphoric feeling of playing the guitar on stage, he was on cloud number nine - you could tell. You watched him closely, still with harsh eyes as his ring clad fingers quickly pluck the strings of his six string, a screech of notes ring through your ears like a sweet caress - the most beautiful guitar solo you’d ever heard, and you’d heard and studied plenty.

It ranged from low to high notes and his fingers wriggled skilfully as his bottom lip tugged behind his top one, his face was scrunched up and his hips were pressed against the body of the guitar.

Slurred screams and claps sounded around you - you heard people talking amongst each other as they enjoyed Corroded Coffin’s music.

‘Where have these guys been?!’

‘This is what I call metal!’

‘Who is that?!’

You couldn’t believe your ears, are these people for real? They must be drunk to the point where they can’t actually hear if they’re enjoying this shit!

When he plucked the last note it ringed for a while, fading into the familiar sound of static from the amp.

They finished just in time for Keith’s one minute warning, you noticed, because the middle-aged man gave the band a thumbs up and a proud smile.

The room was silent for a few moments, as if they’d completely shocked the sparse crowd with their godawful music. Screams, thuds of feet and clapping soon erupts together into a loud and messy rhythm.

Your mouth was left agape, you were left at a loss at the entire situation, your mind in a state of complete disarray. They did it, Corroded Coffin had actually wooed a crowd.

The so called ‘metal’ band basked in the glory with faces that expressed disbelief and exhaustion mixed with pent up adrenaline - they huddled together, jumping and chanting before the swooshy-haired singer, in a cropped black t-shirt with a white skull design on it that matched the bandana he wore on his head and showcased his arm and chest tattoos, swung his guitar over his shoulder, kissed the neck and carefully rested it against the bass drum.

His face was glistening with sweat, his chest also heaving up and down rapidly. He faces the audience, wide-eyed and frantically searching again until eventually he locks eyes with you, pulling that same smug smile that boiled your insides for what felt like the millionth time tonight… your organs feel so hot that you are sure that they are suffering from first degree burns.

To your surprise, he jumps from the platform down onto the floor. Droplets of sweat shake off of him and his hair slaps wetly back onto his shoulders after the thud that his sneakers had made from his land.

His eyes didn’t leave you for even a millisecond as he headed in your direction with large strides. The crowd reached for him, touching his shoulders, telling him that he ‘rocks’, that they’d ‘never heard anything like you’ and asking things like ‘will you gig here again?’. These were the people that were usually clamouring for your attention, your time - why were they suddenly so desperate for his? I don’t see the appeal.

His response was to triumphantly grin while bewildered by the sudden attention, uttering a breathless ‘I hope so’ before looking straight forward, manoeuvring and dodging people with an energetic skip in his step… he was getting closer and closer and you physically felt as though you couldn’t move - his stare was dark, half-lidded but still entirely focused on…

Me? Is he? Your breath hitches and you look over your shoulder to see… no one…

“Hi,” you hear the familiar voice of the doe-eyed brunette and your heart drops as you slowly turn your head to come face to face with him. Seeing him closeup, his pupils were blown out with adrenaline or maybe just from shock at the sight of you stood in front of him - the messily applied eyeliner he wore was running in streaks from his eyes due to the sweat, “You - you came,” he speaks softly, breathlessly.

You press your lips together tightly into a straight line, trying to suppress your anger at him because you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Keith again, especially after the ‘talk’ last Friday.

“I didn’t think you would,” he continues, bringing his hand up to fiddle with the tips of his dripping hair, “Thank you.”

You snort a small laugh, “Oh - don’t flatter yourself, Ed- Edwin - Edmund - whatever your name is-.”

“It’s Eddie-.”

“Eddie,” you repeat in a low drawl that makes his breath hitch, “If I’m honest - I forgot about your little gig and my invitation, I came because my friends and I are discussing our Halloween gig next week.”

He nods, gulping and sliding his shaking fingers through his hair now, “Nonetheless, I’m glad you came.”

You roll your eyes and huff with attitude, “I’m sure you are, Munson.”

“So you did remember half of my name, that’s a start,” he mutters the last three words to himself.

You did remember his entire name - how could you not? It had infested your entire brain over the weekend, the name infuriated you.

You notice his lips tugging upwards again into that smirk- I swear, if he looks at me like that again with that stupid look, twirling his stupid long hair around his stupid fingers I’m going to lose it - you spin on your heel and turn away from him and return to your friends.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You hear behind you, along with footsteps, “Hey, wait up!” He pleads over the music now coming from the old stereo, but you continue to walk until he gently grasps your hand.

The touch sends an electric jolt through your entire arm that makes something snap within you, making you turn to face him again with raised brows, “Leave - me - alone, do you know what that means?”

Eddie tilts his head with widened brown eyes, resembling a lost puppy, he no longer wore the smug expression, “Woah woah woah - I’m struggling to pin-point exactly where this all went wrong.” He gestures dramatically between the two of you with his spare hand before letting his hand drop to his side, slapping his thigh in the process, “Can you enlighten me, please?” He asks with a sigh, absentmindedly rubbing your knuckles subtly with his clammy fingers.

Feeling the coldness of his silver rings against your fingers, your breath hitched at the realisation that he was still holding your hand, “Sure, I’ll - enlighten - you,” you mimic his desperate high pitched voice, pulling your hand away from his soothing and gentle grasp before you grimace at him, “How about the way you just loved rubbing your undeserved success in my face tonight with your annoying looks - the stupid smile - the guitar solo - need I go on?” You bring your hand up and press your index finger’s tip against his chest, poking him with every word spoken in a sassy tone.

Eddie’s face couldn’t have fallen more, he brought his hands up in surrender and let out a nervous and breathless chuckle, “Y-you’ve completely got the wrong end of the stick, sweetheart.”

“Well, how about you enlighten me?” You take a small step closer towards him, visibly making him even more nervous as he starts to breathe shakily, “And don’t you dare call me that again,” you state with another poke to his chest, your finger grazing his plectrum necklace.

“I - I just wanted to-,” he sighs, shaking his head and placing a hand on his forehead, “Jesus H. Christ - this is stupid - I just wanted to impress you, m’kay?” His pleading brown eyes search yours through the gap between his pinky and ring finger, “I wanted to - show you that I can be cool - metal or whatever and I kept on looking at you because I wanted to see if you were - having fun - impressed,” he rambles while scrunching his noise. It was evident to you that he wanted nothing more than to crawl into himself and hide forever. It almost made you laugh in his face, “I even tried to put on this - stupid eyeliner - badly because I know you like it. And I - came up with this - extravagant plan just to talk to you because you never even looked my way three years ago… I’m pretty sure you still wouldn’t even if I walked around Hawkins High with underpants on my head.”

You furrow your brows… now you were lost, “What?”

Eddie’s breathing is now staggered from his confession, his heartbeat rapid. He exhales loudly, “I-.”

“I think I owe you a congratulations, bro!” Rodrick suddenly swoops into yours and Eddie’s personal space. He wraps his arm around Eddie, rubbing his arm roughly and shooting you a questioning look, “How do you feel? Like you’re on top of the world I bet - am I right?!”

“Y-yeah, dude - like the king of the castle,” Eddie doesn’t reciprocate the embrace, but turns his head to Rodrick, forcing a grin.

Rodrick mirrors Eddie’s grin and pulls him closer into his side by the shoulder, “Speaking of ‘kings of the castle’, me and my dad think that Corroded Coffin ruled the Hideout tonight, andddd - if you want, we’re willing to give you a deal. You’ll play every Tuesday, how about that?”

Tuesday?

As Rodrick speaks he side-eyes you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, while Eddie stares at him with an excited expression, practically bouncing on the spot and about to burst, “Yes! Shit! We’ll do it - we’ll do it!” He laughs between each word, finally reciprocating Rodrick’s embrace.

Rodrick cackles, “Then the backstage room is yours just as much as it is the Valentines. We’ll see you next week - the thirty-first,” he side-eyes you with a mischievous glint in the look - it is almost like he wants to see my reaction.

Halloween night?

Rodrick squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, pointing at him with his other hand before looking at you once more with a raised brow and leaving to resume tending to the drunkards of the bar.

You were alone with Eddie again, who was elated at Rodrick and Keith’s proposition, while your world had crumbled right in front of you.

The softness of your features due to his confession before Rodrick had interrupted, had hardened.

Halloween was your favorite night of the year, but most importantly it was your gig. The same rage that had been boiling within you before had resurfaced - you’d spent so much time planning a costume for your performance, the lighting, the makeup, the set-list… now completely sabotaged and stamped on by Corroded ‘fucking’ Coffin.

“So - now that I’ve finally got your attention. Would you wanna - maybe go-,” Eddie confidently begins with a charming and dimpled grin, chuckling in between words and rubbing his hands together.

“Save it, asshole,” you spit with a harsh glare, staring right through his eyes like a laser before throwing yourself around in a spin, facing your band-mates, only to see Alissa clearly flirting with Gareth and Rodrick proposing the ‘brilliant’ deal to the rest of Corroded Coffin at the same booth.

You huff and storm your way towards the Hideout’s exit - feeling the extreme urge to leave before you could burst and get yourself a permanent ban from Keith.

Before slamming the door and removing yourself from the insufferable situation you turn to face Eddie, who was stood in the exact same spot you’d left him in, a defeated look evident on his soft features. “And I’m the queen of this castle,” you state loudly enough for him to hear and flip him the bird.

From the moment that you’re completely alone and no one can see you, a tear falls from your eye, only for you to quickly wipe it away and sniffle.

You stumble your way to the first place you can think of…

The woods.

⇝ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 <𝟑

𝐈𝐭'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ’𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒’ 𝐨𝐫 ’𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝑩𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺

@munsonology @eddiesluvt @pexsistolss @kathieycarrerarosshley @marjoriea13 @lolalanaie @big-ope-vibes @majesticjellyfishzombie @lexi--a @b-ritney @joyfulcandyrunaway @sidthedollface2 @sillypurplemurple @aysheashea @spookycreepycookie

𝑬𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝑴𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏

@introvertedmouse @fastnights

🜸

[k-femdove]

First Love: Prologue || H.RJ

pairing :: sub!renjun x afab!reader (+ a hint of chenle x reader but not really)

warnings :: first love au, sexual banter (it’s just chenle moaning as a joke), light profanity

word count :: 1k | not beta read

sypnosis :: In a world where your family can see who their first love is going to be, you are unable to love anyone until you end up with that person. Not a big deal, right? The only problem is that your first love is moving and you only have a week to make him fall in love. 

or; my take on the soulmate au

playlist link here! or listen to ‘fall for you’ by sarah kang

prologue

First loves have always been essential to romantic classics. Some weren’t concerned- marrying your first love was rare. To others, there was nothing more special.

Not to sound corny, but you were different. With romance, you stand out from the crowd. It was something straight out of fanfiction.

You could tell when you met your first love. It was an indescribable feeling. A small heart would appear on your wrist and theirs, which they rarely noticed.

The ability came with a couple of drawbacks. There was no avoiding the relationship. Fate would bring the two of you together.

However, this never guaranteed a good relationship. If you were being honest, the so-called talent wasn’t very beneficial. In reality, not one person in your family stayed with their first love. That was another downfall to the ability; you weren’t supposed to stay together, which was different from having a soulmate. The moment fate changed, their heart would turn into a mole.

Most of your family had their experience when in their teens, the perfect age of experimentation. Then there’s you come in.

Here you were, 22 and loveless, but you didn’t worry about it. You lived an ordinary life.

After years without a lover, you began to believe that this whole “first love” thing wasn’t true. Besides, it’s not like your life was a cheesy romance drama. A gift like that seemed nothing short of preposterous.

Startled by a sudden loud noise, your thoughts had been disturbed. You turned and saw your friend, frozen in shock, standing above a pile of shattered glass.

“Jesus christ, Chenle.” You breathed out, looking around the cafe. “You’re lucky that there’s no one in here right now. I’m surprised that you’re not fired yet.”

Chenle rolled his eyes and went to grab a broom. “Whatever, y/n. You know you love me.” He said with a smirk.

You laughed at his antics. What he said was true. No matter how stupid Chenle acted, he was still your best friend.

After Chenle nearly slipped on the glass, he shot you a dirty look.

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help?” He asked, beckoning you over.

While the two of you cleaned, it was only natural for a conversation to start up. It started slowly at first, but eventually, your family came up.

“Say, y/n, have you fallen in love yet?” He questioned teasingly. You narrowed your eyes, ready to respond, but he cut you off. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll know when you see them.”

You pushed him playfully, resulting in an exaggerated whine.

“What about you, lover boy?” You inquired with a sly smile. “What about your roommate? The one that’s moving out next week?”

“Oh, Renjun?” He responded, scrunching his nose.

“That’s the one. When do I get to meet him?”

Chenle was about to deny your requests, but paused in reconsideration.

“Actually,” he started, “He’s stopping by soon.”

Surprised, you looked at Chenle. “Oh, for real? Have fun with that.”

Annoyed, he sighed. “You can have him. He’s cute and all, but so not my type.”

“And what makes you think he’s mine?” You asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a seat.

“Dude, I dunno-“

The bell rang as the cafe door opened, and a cold gust of wind blew into the cafe.

That’s when he walked in. The prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. It wasn’t love at first sight, but something close to that. The boy had soft brown hair and dark eyes that sparkled in the light. His bangs lay lightly against his forehead and down to his eyes. He wore a little fur hat and a small smile that pulled you in. His cheeks were pink from the cold weather.

The rest of the interaction went by quickly. You watched as the boy hugged Chenle before making his way over to you. As soon as you locked eyes with him, you felt a strange wave of warmth wash over you. Your fingers grew numb and your wrist began to burn.

“So you’re y/n? I’m Renjun, Chenle’s roommate.”

The rest of the meeting went by quickly. You exchanged a couple of words, and then he was gone. As soon as the door closed, you turned to Chenle, your eyes wide.

“That’s him.” You gasped.

“What?” Chenle asked, confused.

“He’s the one.” You said.

“Y/n, what are you talking about?” Chenle began, but then looked into your eyes and down at your wrist. “No fucking way.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight. There’s a heart permanently tattooed on your wrist because you saw some dude that just so happens to be my roommate that’s literally about to move away. Now you have to date him before he’s gone or else nothing in your love life will work out until years later when you run into him, but you’ll never actually end up with him so your heart is broken either way? And it’s gonna crush you so your love life will suck anyways because fate will make you fall in love with him even though you aren’t in love with him now? And it’s not supposed to be a big deal?”

You thought about it before saying, “well when you say it like that… I don't really know what to do.”

“Why don’t you just seduce him or something?” Chenle suggested, walking over to you. “Try pinning him against the couch.”

“That’s cheesy as hell.” You said, crossing your arms.

“So? Renjun’s never dated someone before. He probably loves that kind of shit.’’

You rolled your eyes and pinned Chenle down, his head hitting the cushion.

“Have you fallen for me yet?” You asked jokingly.

He laughed before putting on his best Renjun impression.

“Oh god y/n,” he moaned as you snickered, “you’re soooooo hot.”

You heard someone walk into the living room, and you and Chenle jerked your heads towards the intruder.

Renjun’s eyes widened, and already red ears grew even redder. He was already concerned when he heard the moan, and now his fears had been confirmed.

“I- uh- you guys can continue what you were doing.” Renjun stuttered before running back to wherever he came from. You head the front door slam shut. 

You looked down at Chenle's just as shocked face before slowly getting off of him. He got up and the two of you sat in silence before Chenle finally broke the ice. 

"...I don't think it worked."

a/n: hey! i’m back ig. I had this weird idea and i just had to write it. I may complete this series before my other ones, but im not abandoning the other works! my taglist for this fic is open so don’t be afraid to ask :). 

[madhattersez]

I finally got my hands on something I've been looking for (for a reasonable price) since I was just a lowly little level 12 hornball - A "Marvel Swimsuit Special!"

This is the second issue in the series (though the third book of its kind), and it was released in 1993 when... times were different.

The coolest thing about them (other than the totally radical '90s hunkeroos and baberinos in general) is the amount of really talented artists that submitted pieces - So many industry-leading folks putting their spin on the self-aware, low-brow, tongue-in-cheek project.

This first image was by Joe Jusko, a super popular cover artist at the time. I remember his Conan covers the most.

I'll eventually scan the whole thing in high quality, but for now, I'll take some preview pics to show you some of my favorite and/or goofiest pages:

Here is Domino, looking like we might need to race her to a Dermatology appointment. She's apparently tacky enough to wear a swimsuit with a domino print on it.

And check out Cable in the back - Sun's out, cyberbun out! He's ready to catch some waves on a totally-worth-the-money-and-production-time rocket-powered machine gun surfboard.

I really appreciate this artist's commitment to all the "Liefeld pouches" here. I hope they're waterproof, or all those Tic Tacs inside 'em are gonna get ruined. :(

Penciling by Chris Batista, ink by Hector Collazo, coloring by Mark McNaab.

Let's kick off the "after the jump" part properly with this glorious image of Pip. Because this is certainly what people bought this book for.

It just so happens that this fuzzy little asshole narrates the entire issue, so he's to blame for the inherently sexist captions on all the pictures.

Jesus Christ, he's got two big toes on each foot.

Pencilking by Darick Robertson, ink by Andrew Pepoy, coloring by Tom Smith.

I love me some Cloak and Dagger.

Tandy looks as gorgeous as ever. Surely she owns stock in boobie tape by now.

Tyrone, however, is getting so much sand stuck to him right now... I don't think he digs being used as a beach blanket. I'm... not even sure he's ever had to wash his cloak before today! Yikes. He's all like:

Penciling by Joe Madureira, ink by Terry Austin, and coloring by Gregory Wright.

I can't stop laughing at how much Thunderstrike looks exactly like the Genetic Freak, Big Poppa Pump Scott Steiner in this picture:

The work is entirely by Lou Harrison. It may not surprise you to learn he's also a Fantasy artist.

I've always had a thing for Silver Sable, and this page is just fantastic.

That being said, my favorite part is Sandman sitting there, looking like a dope, shaped like a sand castle. Which, while it seems silly, was probably the most challenging and detailed thing I've ever seen him do with his powers. Worth it for the shot, I suppose!

Line work and ink by Steven Butler, a favorite of mine. He did penciling for the "Silver Sable and the Wild Pack" series (which got me attached), but he's also known for designing the Scarlet Spider suit. Coloring by Gregory Wright.

If you thought I wasn't going to Morb out on this post, you were undead wrong.

Just look at that ridiculous batpackage. Also... Is he really serving a cape over a leather jacket, but with absolutely no pants? Damn, dude.

Penciling by Gary Barker, ink by Jimmy Palmiotti, coloring by Tom Smith.

I can spot Adam Hughes' work a mile away, wow. I guess I didn't realize he was doing work for Marvel this far back.

A fierce-as-ever, short-haired Natasha who looks like she got slammed so hard against a rocky wall that it cracked, got up, emptied out the rest of her clip, and still had enough time and energy to pose during a reload.

Black Widow, bay-bayyy. ♫

Oh my god, Ghost Rider is just so naughty. Wearing nothing but his birthday bones.

This scene just looks like it smells awful.

Artwork by Tristan Shane.

Shulkie in a metal bikini (function over fashion?), bursting out of the lava from an active volcano. You wanna talk "hot tub?" Sure, this gets a feature.

Penciling and ink by cover artist Steve Geiger, coloring by Paul... Mounts.

Deezamn, Bishop. Never seen guy looking so buff before.

Instead of just Bishop, this looks like Hank McCoy and Bishop had a child together. Does he have any other mode than "arm vein p-pop?"

Penciling by Dwayne Turner, ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Ah, one of the more famous '90s Psylocke images that wasn't done by Jim Lee.

This centerfold was used in lots of comic store ads for several years after this issue came out. I remember seeing posters in the shops themselves. Trading cards of this picture are one of the most costly to collect.

It's beautiful, and the colors/lighting/shading are all fantastic.

Penciling and ink by the wonderful Art Thibert, creator of the Raft max security prison and inker of some of the most iconic X-title covers.

Coloring by Paul Mounts, who did the coloring in hundreds and hundreds of just Marvel comics alone - I didn't mention that earlier because I was snickering at his name earlier in the She-Hulk feature. My bad.

Well, this wouldn't be Tumblr without a cat picture, yeah? Or a catgirl picture, I suppose.

This is the most adorable scene in the book. Just Tigra innocently taking a cuddle nap with some... um... wow, I don't know what the fuck those things are. Snuggle up anyway!

Penciling and ink by Amanda Conner, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Huh. Of all the characters in this book, I really didn't expect to see Dr. Cooper... Either which way, the swimsuit under the detective get-up is pretty choice, honestly.

This is, of course, another Adam Hughes line art joint. Ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright (who did a lot of these, huh?).

What's this? A parody ad that you'd more expect to see in an issue of "What The--?!" that only '80s kids will understand? Yup, totally.

This was in the back of the book and doesn't fit the theme at all, but it gets a mention because of the weird inclusion and also to stall time until I had the final image ready, because I needed time to prepare...

THIS.

This is the one.

How could I not end this little "show and tell" without this beauty right here?

Here, we have remorseless killer Frank Castle flexing his best end-of-catwalk pose in front of a... wrestling match between a bunch of lady demon dinosaurs battling... for his affection? To tip him American cash? Or maybe all those hearts come from their love of beating each other up? I'm not here to judge.

And then there's a sign for 75 cent hotdogs, but it's been covered with another sign for... $20 tooth brushes? What in the shit is going on here?

There is one thing I do know, though. The artist wants you to think that The Punisher has at least $2.75 worth of hotdog under that massive crotch skull.

[imfinereallyy]

Happy Almost Birthday!!! dialogue prompt #41 for Platonic Stobin please and thank you :)))

@spectrum-spectre aaah thank you!! also it feels right to start this event with an ask from you, your reblogs always make me smile. also this one is absolutely not where I expected it to go. (you can find the request game here)

Robin walked into the doorway of their apartment, only to find Steve staring off into the distance with a CD case gripped in his hand.

She felt something drop in her stomach. Sure, Steve wasn’t a man of many words, but the utter silence when she entered the door was damning. Steve never failed to greet her, even on his bad days.

“What’s wrong?” Robin demanded, getting on to the floor besides Steve, resting on her knees.

Steve turned and gave her a watery smile, “I like that.”

“Like what?”

“That you just know.”

Robin hummed in agreement; if anyone else were around, she would wave it off as being friends for years. That living with someone allowed you to pick up on their signals. She knew that was not true, though. That Steve and her had always been connected. Even when they didn’t like each other, there was an understanding between them. The years between them now made it stronger, sure, but to her, Robin and Steve were always meant to be Robin&Steve.

“He came out with the new album.”

Oh. Robin thought, that’s what this was about. That funny feeling only got worse with his words. It settled into something more solid, something more like dread.

Robin knew what she said next would be crucial. Most would want her to bash the album instantly. Any ex-boyfriend should be immediate trash, no matter the talent. But Robin knew Steve, so instead, she asked,

“Any good?”

Steve huffed, “Stupid good.”

“That make you angry? That he’s doing good even without you?” Robin took his hand and rubbed circles with her fingers.

“No, I’m not angry, and I don’t think he’s doing good. Kinda worried, actually. It’s just… it’s just track 7, is well—“ Steve cut himself off to rub his eye with his free hand. The motion pushed his glasses up and down his nose.

Robin took her friend in. The years had been stupidly kind to Steve. Sure, he was only 28, but fighting another dimension should age a guy. His scars only made him rugged instead of old. Robin hated him at times because of it, even told him so. But then, Steve would say something dorky, and kind, and would make her ego inflate way too much and—

Yea she loved her strange little dude.

“What’s on track 7?”

Steve cleared his throat, “You haven’t listened to the album have you?”

Robin, despite the tension in the air, can’t help but roll her eyes, “Oh that’s what ticked you off? Not me asking how the album was?”

Steve snorted as he leaned forward to click seek and landed on track 7 before he hit play.

Robin wasn’t prepared.

Track 7: My Reflection is You

In the depths of darkness,

where love once thrived,

A burning passion left,

but a coldness revived.

Our once forged bond,

now a shattered mirror,

Reflecting the pain,

as we stand here unclear

Torn apart,

like lightning splitting the sky,

Our hearts collide,

leaving scars we can't deny.

With every shattered piece,

a painful memory,

We fight to find solace,

a fleeting remedy.

“Jesus Christ.” Robin found herself saying interrupting the song. The irony wasn’t lost on her; that phrase she used was ingrained into her by the very man singing the lyrics.

Robin looked at Steve, and could see the pain he held in his body. How he ached to change things. The lyrics continued to play as she waited for Steve to speak.

Shattered silence,

shattered dreams,

Torn apart, it seems.

Steve leaned forward and paused the cd, “I guess I just always thought when someone wrote a song about me, it would be romantic. Not this.”

Robin didn’t have much to say. She leaned her head against his shoulder, "I know, babe. You deserve better.”

A sob escaped. Steve was suddenly buried in the crook of her neck, and Robin didn’t say a word, just held him as he cried it out. She didn’t shush Steve, or distract him. He needed this.

Robin, some days thought about yelling at Eddie Munson. This song, though, made her want to commit murder. Torture even. With her experiences, that wasn’t something she said lightly. But with Steve there, as he sobbed in her arms, she doesn’t even question the idea of stabbing a man she once considered a best friend.

But he would never be a soulmate. He would never be Steve. And for making Steve cry he deserved death.

Robin wouldn’t actually do it, though, because it would be more for her in the end. It wasn’t what Steve needed.

Steve’s sobs settled and he pulled back. “Sorry, Robbie.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Steve shrugged, “Don’t know. Just feel like I should be.”

“Well don’t. You did nothing wrong, okay?”

Steve nodded slowly, “Okay.”

“Now,” Robin sighed, “Do you want to rant about it or do you want me to tell you what I think?”

It was Steve’s turn to look at her. Robin wasn’t sure what he saw as he silently gazed at her, but she could tell something had settled in him. “Tell me what you think.”

Robin took a deep breath, “I think that the Upside Down fucked us all up in ways that we can’t even count.”

Steve grunted, but let her continue.

“But also think that as time passed, we all made lives for ourselves. Some of us with each other, like you and Eddie, or Lucas and Max. Some needed distance, like Mike. But we all became these things outside of the trauma, but we couldn’t exactly escape said trauma. So we all had our ways of coping. Me, throwing myself into academics, you with overexercising—don’t give me that look; I’m sure we can unpack that another time—but for Eddie, he made this wonderful life with you, and outside of you. Got big, and got a record deal. But he still had that trauma. So add famous rockstar plus unhealed trauma, and it usually equates to partying and addiction.”

“Where are you going with this robs?” Steve scrunched his eyebrows.

“I have a point, I promise. He loved you, and two things are usually offered to these rockstars: sex and drugs. And God—that boy loved you. Would never think about cheating, so I think he got it into his head that drugs were the solution. Maybe he got into his head that it would help him, or cure him. I’m not sure, who knows what goes on in Munson’s head.”

Steve giggled. Robin can’t help but feel she’d done something right. “It doesn’t matter why he did it, though. It doesn’t matter how much he loved you. Because you tried. You tried to make it work. You tried to get him to accept help. You tried to put up with the long nights, and the I’m sorry’s and the ER scares. It reached the point where, even though I love you both, I couldn’t stand to see the ghost of the person you had become. So you gave him a choice, to get sober or lose you, and he chose wrong. Not because he didn’t love you, not because you’re the problem, but because Eddie Munson doesn’t know a good decision if stared him in the face.”

Steve pushed his head against Robin’s “So you don’t think I made a dumb decision, that I deserve this?”

Robin held his face in her hands, “No, babe. In fact, I actually want to murder him for violating your trust and exposing you raw like this. Like how the fuck does he get to sing about heartbreak and make money off of something he could of fix. The only reason I’m not busting down his door right now is because of you.”

“I’m not exactly stopping you Robbie.”

“No, sweet Stevie, but I, unfortunately, know the inevitable truth. That you guys are going to end up together, he’s got a lot of work to do, and I get to at least punch him twice at unexpected times, but I know you both. I think that you guys are a force impossible to separate, always finding your way back to each other. Kinda like us.”

There’s a watery mist built up in Steve’s eyes, “No Robs. Nothing can be like us. Not even Eddie.”

Robin tried to hold back her sob, “Yea, okay. Nothing can beat us; I promise you that. But either way, I do know this: You, Steve Harrington, deserve the world, and one day that man is going to give it to you. But for now, we’re going to cry about what a piece of selfish shit he is, and how I get to record him groveling when he inevitably realizes what an asswipe he was.”

Steve settled back into her side, “So, no killing him? Only trash talking?”

“I feel it’s only right we at least do that. Maybe hold off on our first actual murder charge.” Robin nodded.

“Maybe you shouldn’t hear the next lyric.” Steve moved to grab the cd out of the player, but Robin stopped him, reached across Steve, and hit play.

A love once pure,

now turned to rust,

Betrayal's sting

now we're in disgust,

Echoes of laughter

that haunt my mind,

In faded memories,

I'm left behind.

Robin was silent.

Steve put a hand on her shoulder, “Robin? Babe?”

Robin turned to Steve very slowly, as the weight of everything came over her. This was her best friend, her soulmate. How dare someone blame him for wanting to actually heal, how dare that little weas—

“Robs?” Steve spoke softly. “You okay?”

“What? Oh yea. I’m just going to need your bat. I’ve changed my mind on that murder charge.”

And although she was serious, Robin couldn’t help the smile that cracked on her face when she heard Steve’s laughter echo through the apartment.

***

sorry I know this hurt a lil bit, I can’t believe I wrote purely angst. I hope even if this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, you liked it. Thanks for all the laughs and love.

find the request game here

[sageappa]

Ok, so, hear me out, HEAR ME OUT. I promise this is good speculation for GO3.

Good Omens was renewed for a third and final season. (I have been screaming and crying out of joy since 15:05 of my time zone, the exact time when Good Omens Prime's X account posted the news. But that's not the point.)

Mr. Gaiman, about this renewal, said:

"Season One was all about averting Armageddon, dangerous prophecies, and the End of the World. Season Two was sweet and gentle, although it may have ended less joyfully than a certain Angel and Demon might have hoped. Now in Season Three, we will deal once more with the end of the world. The plans for Armageddon are going wrong. Only Crowley and Aziraphale working together can hope to put it right. And they aren't talking."

So if I read it correctly, and if my English as a non-native isn't failing me, it seems that this time Aziraphale and Crowley actually intend to make Armageddon happen.

The plans are going wrong. Together, they can hope to put it right.

So what on Earth could have made them change so drastically their idea? What changed? Did Metatron do something to Aziraphale? Did Crowley get so depressed without his Angel that he'd rather have the world get destroyed? Naaah. Nah, I don't think so. They're both too attached to Earth and earthly beings to change their minds so quickly.

No, my guess is Armageddon changed.

It should have been how the Bible says: the coming of the Antichrist, the Four Horsemen riding, the enormous battle, etc. But it wasn't. And the Antichrist (or former Antichrist, since he refused Satan's paternity) won't collaborate to make the world end. What to do then, if both Heaven and Hell wanted it so bad?

Well. If Hell didn't make it, Heaven could get their try. (And Crowley knew this. Crowley knew that they'd come to some similar solution. That's why "he understands it a lot better than Aziraphale does.")

At the very end of Season Two, we hear this conversation between Metatron and a very unhappy Angel:

METATRON: Well, I can't think of a better angel to wrap things up, and to set into motion the next step in the great plan.

AZIRAPHALE: Um, yes, you mentioned that. Can I know what it is?

METATRON: Well, it's something we need an angel of your talents to direct. An angel who is familiar with how they do things on Earth.

AZIRAPHALE: Ah.

METATRON: We call it the Second Coming.

So Heaven is going to make their move. And it will be with a Second Coming - another Christ, another son (or daughter?) of God. With Armageddon in their minds.

It's the Anti-Antichrist.

Aziraphale is now the Supreme Archangel and, as Gabriel did with the very first Annunciation, he will have to give the happy news to the mother of this baby. In a contemporary world. Where no one would believe that easily the "it's God's son!" story. Yeah, good luck Aziraphale, no wonder Heaven needed someone who spent six thousand years on Earth to do this job. (And if they're planning Armageddon, who cares if Aziraphale still is Supreme Archangel, there would be just heavenly sounds and no problems at all after Heaven wins the war. Right? Just let the dude with a lot of knowledge about human do the job and then whatever.)

But. Do you really think that Aziraphale would just do it and make Armageddon happen exactly as intended by Heaven? Do you really think that, after what happened, after the Armageddon't, after him having to say no to his beloved Demon and losing him - and even though all of this happened he was still ready to throw himself in Heaven, in that lions' pit made of angels that always bullied him! -, after the courage he showed and the hope to make a change and do good -- do you really think he would just say "yes" to this? (I know, I lost my English here, I'm sorry, I'm just super-hyped.)

Oh, no, come on. He's still enough of a bastard worth knowing.

He is the Supreme Archangel, and even if everyone would just want him to be a nice puppet and do what the others say to him, he won't throw away his shot, I can assure you that. (How fun would it be though to have a scene where Michael and Uriel are kind of arguing between themselves about who should "suggest" Aziraphale what to do? And then Saraquel having to intervene?) No, no, Aziraphale learned from Crowley that sometimes he has to make his voice a little louder and be more incisive, as shown when in the last episode of Season Two he takes the lead in the library - while Heaven and Hell discuss what to do with Gabriel and Beelzebub. And he will do that again. He will make everything he can. He sacrificed his own happiness with Crowley for that. He cannot fail... and he has to do it alone. It's scary. He'll be anxious, but he'll do it. For the world. For good. For Crowley too. And for sushi.

So Aziraphale will try to make Armageddon something different. It's not "the" Armageddon, it's "his" Armageddon. Or theirs. He would have loved it, to be theirs - his and Crowleys'.

Our beloved angel is spot on in finding all those little quibbles that allow him to not go openly against the rules but also not follow them strictly. Maybe he'd find something also for the Armageddon. Maybe he'd find an Armageddon that would involve only Heaven and Hell, leaving the world and humans be. Maybe the Armageddon will become a way to reinvent Heaven and Hell. Make them fight, have their war on some galaxy far away from Earth, "destroy themselves" (I'll get to this later) and then a new Heaven and a new Hell would rise from their ashes. You know, how they became toxic, and everything else Crowley always repeats? Maybe it is not possible to change them without them having their war. They won't stop until they'll have had it, so maybe the only way is to give them war.

Or at least, to make them believe it.

What if Aziraphale and Crowley would actually need to collaborate in order to trick Heaven and Hell into thinking they had/are having their war? What if this plan cannot be done just by an angel? What if this is their only chance to stop this madness, once and for all, even though it's not easy for neither of them to get in contact again so soon after what happened?