#these are newer ones that likely weren’t on the list

[mollywog]

For your consideration…

Reunion

The Only One by @thesweetnessofspring

If I could Hold you for a Minute by @wendywobbles

The District 13 This Would Have Happened Anyway challenge collection

i think i read all the fics that are cataloged on everlarkficquestions where peeta was never hijacked. it's an obsession, i fear.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yantober Day 1

Love at First Sight [Yandere Forest God x Gn.Reader]

Using @ozzgin's Yantober prompt list!

Tipjar :)

Tw! Dead dove do not Eat! MDNI, NSFW Noncon, oral sex (recieving), Yandere, Implied kidnapping

You go into a newly acquired piece of land to survey it for your job when things start to become strange...

1.7k words

There was something wrong with these woods.

You were used to seeing some kind of anomaly in your field studies. Maybe the deer or rabbit population was too high, or you would find that an invasive species was beating out a more native one. It was never crazy though outside of the normal, exhausting sludge that was conservationist work. You were sent out by the local government to different wildlife reserves, or areas that were undeveloped to do some basic surveying and then come back and give them updates.

This forest wasn’t any different, initially. It was a newer addition to your city’s ownership, sold to them by a smaller, dying rural town. There were talks of what to do with the land, but first you had to be sent down to make sure they wouldn’t violate any regulations or kill off an endangered species. Not that they really cared. After all, your job was to get professionally ignored.

So you went in, camping gear and your truck in tow, and you began to explore.

Again, it was normal at first.

It was an average area. Normal flora and fauna. In fact, it was kinda impressive how well the area seemed to be doing. There was hardly any trash, no signs of destruction, no weird occurrences. It made you feel kinda happy. You went about your days just noting stuff down, humming happily all the while.

It was fine until the staring started. It began with a squirrel or two. They would just sit there, unmoving, unblinking, always just in the corner of your vision. Odd, sure, but maybe they were trying to see if they could get some of your food you always carried with you? Days passed and it escalated to a couple of birds added in, perched on branches and hidden by thick leaves. Then some bunnies, not even eating or twitching their little noses.

You thought you were going crazy, but nothing could prepare you for when the bigger animals started doing the same damn thing. The deer were one thing, already unsettling and strange, but having a bear watch you, still as a stagnate pond, was terrifying. You weren’t sure what to make of it. The only time the oddly behaving creatures would move were when either you’d get too close (in which they’d back off) or when you explored the forest (in which they’d follow after you in some sort of procession). 

You noted it all down of course. You assumed that it might be an illness, or perhaps they were used to humans? But they didn’t look unwell, and from what you understood, this place was rather isolated, so there was no reason for them to approach you this often. You felt a sense of growing unease with each passing day, with each filled page in your field journal. This was getting too weird. The thing of note was obviously the staring, but you figured that it was definitely not in your area of expertise.

That’s why, after weeks of camping and surveying the woods, you decided to get the fuck out of there. 

You packed up your campsite with little fanfare, hundreds of tiny gazes trained on your back. You glanced around as you loaded up a final few things into your truck, and you had only just realized then how many of them there were. The fauna crowded around the clearing you had settled in like a bated audience, and you shuddered. If you weren’t getting paid so much to stake it out here, then you probably would’ve hightailed it much faster.

“Okay… got my keys…” You mumbled and shuffled through your pockets quickly to make sure you weren’t leaving anything behind. “Should be good to go now.”

“Go where?”

You spun around, nearly jumping out of your skin in shock. Behind you stood a man, imposingly tall with a stony expression and dark skin. You pressed your hand to your now rapidly beating chest as he towered over you with a tilted head.

���Where are you going?” He repeated, and he prompted out a hand that was seemingly carved out of a deep bark to beckon your words out. You were shocked. His hair was seemingly made of vines connecting him to the earthen ground and shifting in unnatural ways.

“Uhhhh, back home?” Was all you could say in a slightly unsure voice. Seriously, you were at a loss for words. You had never seen such a person, and through your stuttering mind, you were able to guess that whatever was wrong with this place was probably his doing.

The man’s eyebrows (which looked as if they had been carved into his face) furrowed slightly. He placed a hand on his chin in contemplation, his dark hollow eyes and pure emerald pupils narrowing slightly.

“But,” he started, and it felt like his words rung over a hundred times in your head, shaking and lumbering through every node of your soft brain tissue. “But I thought you had come to live here,” He mumbled and reached forward to touch your arm. You flinched back on instinct, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Flower…” The man chided softly. His seeking fingers were more insistent this time, and you could not move back quickly enough before he was snatching you up and drawing you close. You cried out softly as you fell against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and sighed, shivering in contentment. You cringed at the feeling of shifting, wriggling grass and vines.

“Flower, surely you must know that you cannot go,” He sighed while he ran his hands over your scalp. You blinked. Flower… why was he calling you this? You pushed him back slightly, just to look him in the face.

“I’m sorry but, who are you?” You asked. It wasn’t just a name thing, but rather to say ‘who do you think you are?’. He hummed in response, and you can see him taking in every little thing about you. Suddenly, he laughed.

“Don’t you think it’s cruel, my flower? You ask my name but I know naught of yours,” He said with affection blooming between every roll of his tongue. Your vision spun, and suddenly your back was pressed against soft earth and damp grass. You gasped and cried out. Before you could even protest, your shirt was ripped open and your pants were pulled down.

“What silly things you wear,” He chuckled and placed kisses along your neck. The feeling was strange, slightly rigid. “Is this what mortals wear nowadays? So revealing,” He murmured and toyed with the shredded fabric. Your eyes were wide, and you tried to wriggle out from under him. He merely grabbed you by the hips and pulled you back, the vines from his hair enveloping you and wrapping around your limbs. You squeaked as your thighs were pulled apart by the coiling greenery, digging into the softer flesh. 

“I must admit,” the man moved back, letting his breath ghost over your parted legs and crotch. “I was rather taken with you from the moment you arrived.” 

The strange man held you down as he buried his rugged face and strangely glowing tongue in your entrance while stroking your privates with grooved, deft fingers. Your back arched, and you desperately tried to break free. Your frantic pleas for release were soon broken by the sounds of your breathy moans, and your voice rang like a bell in the clearing. Each lap of his rugged tongue sent shivers down your spine and had your toes curling. 

“W-what? Stop that! Let me go!”

Your keys were discarded in the grass, and those fucking animals just kept staring. You could see your writhing, pinned form in the reflection of hundreds of deep, black unblinking pools. You felt sick to your stomach, and no amount of fluttering arousal could disguise that.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had company, and you come here looking like that. No, you’re going nowhere, flower.”

It felt like years were passing as he kissed, licked and held your hips in place with a tender firmness that would have you blushing if he was your lover. Or at least a lover you chose. Your begging was drowned out by your own frantic heartbeat and the humiliating squelch of your own pleasure. Never had you faced such cruel adoration, such gentle violence. Any place that had previously shown off exposed skin was kissed in a brief moment of reprieve from the onslaught. Your arms, your calves, your collar bones which had only just peaked out from under the neckline of your shirt.

Your truck, covered in mud, but still rather nice nonetheless, slowly began to be pulled into the ground by the flowers and flora rapidly growing on the vehicle. Your things! You tried to reach for them, but a hand of his reached up and entwined his fingers with yours.

Your screams of both pleasure and fear were carried by the wind, weaving through trees and filling the forest as naturally as the rustle of leaves. He continued to eat you out, and it was like you could feel his words in your head simply from the graze of his palm. It was overwhelming, and with each wave of heat, each tremble of your body, you sank further and further into his hold.

“Oh, look at you, my flower,” He pressed reverent kisses to your naval. “How you shall bloom in my care.”

More pressure, more bitter white flashes dancing across your vision as you keened and cried. Branches rustled around your face, and you wondered when they had even gotten there in the first place. They sprouted from his back and shielded you from the sun and sky. 

“-made for me-”

“-love…”

“Flower…my flower…”

You caught bits and pieces of his voice, nestled in your ears like sticky pollen. It was too much, and all at once you had come undone, spilling over his face with an anguished, strangled noise.

It was hard to think after that. All you could feel, all you could know was that you were being dragged back into those deep, dark, very wrong woods with a loving smile slotted against your lips and flowers in your hair.

[kiwanopie]

Overnight Lovin’

Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader

cw: smut, alcohol mention, oral sex(f!receving), dumbification, dirty talk, whipped!Kiyoomi, mutually cumdrunk, PnV sex, creampie. Minors do not interact.

wc: 3.2k

This is not your bedroom.

As much as you’d kill for it to be. Silk cotton stuffed duvet a rich maroon in accordance to equally as soft sheets. Carefully shined mahogany floors checkered in wine colored Persian, a bedroom that’s more fantasy love suite than any commonplace bedroom and fuck if this mattress isn’t like heaven to lay on.

But this isn’t your bedroom.

You point your nose to the oversized shirt flooding a little under your collarbones. It’s just a simple horror tee. Dark colored kanji hovering over an illustration of Jason half obscured by cartoon blood and soft to the cotton touch. It’s big enough to cover a good portion of your thighs that are… not dressed with anything. Huh. Yeah, you are- You feel up your modest covering with a quick pat down of your hands. - Completely naked under this. And honestly a little sore. A certain shift of your hips has your pelvic area throbbing back at you like it’s already tapping out, fingerprint bruises on your thighs that feel tender when you poke them; even your tits are sore - nipples perking under your shirt like they’ve already been prodded and played with. Whoever the hell you went home with last night gave you a run for your money.

Come to think of it, what the hell even happened last night? Last you remember you were twisting your hips against a bar stool while your college buddies raved on ecstasy and coke on the dance floor. — A Shirley temple was enough to start your party high without indulging in any illicit drugs, but you’ve never been much of a drinker. That fizzy cherry vodka already had you buzzing, a few more of those and who knows what’ll happen.

You bite your lip against the grain of new life and newer feelings of lechery. You look too good and too soft not to be bent over a sink somewhere.

“That sweet?” His voice turns your fine hairs into goosebumps. “Looks tasty.”

You gaze up at him with doey eyes so filled with mirth that it makes his palms sweat. “It is.”

You slide your bottom lip through your teeth. Voice as pretty as you are. “You want a sip?”

He’s the smell of Dior and vetiver as he lifts the glass cuplet out of your hands. “Sure.”

You don’t remember who he was or what he looked like but just the memory of his raspy voice turns your sore throbbing into a needy ache. — If the way the sink in his bathroom abruptly stops with a moment of sluggish shuffling, you’re about to find out who exactly it was that rocked your world last night.

You’re already looking up at him when the door opens with a neat click, his muscled limbs stretch his boxers in a way that can only be described as appetizing.

And then you get a good look at his face.

Oh. Holy shit.

There’s… That’s-… How? He looks exactly like he does on his team’s magazine covers. JSM’s top ten lists, Bungeishunjū, and news outlets that brandish his face for a chance at watchability. He’s even more handsome in person. Trademark resting bitch face does little to dilute how painfully attractive he is and if anything the intimidation factor is a bonus. As well as the fame, the money, and of course his position as one of the top most well known athletes in all of Asia.

His name precedes him, the renowned Olympic volleyball player feels even taller than the humble 6’4 his Wikipedia pages cite him as,

He’s Sakusa Kiyoomi.

If it weren’t for the disorienting confusion you may have screamed. This is the guy who fucked you last night within an inch of your life.

Your voice is a little raspy which is expected, but when you open your mouth your jaw is sore. “Ohayō Gozaimasu-“

He clears the floor from the bathroom to the bed in just a few footsteps, you can barely react when he’s grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up for a better angle.

And then he’s kissing you.

The kiss is slow and sensual, so sultry that you moan a little in his mouth and he breathes into it with a deep hum. He’s kissing you like he loves you, like he’s crazy about you and like he just can’t get enough. The current of the kiss follows a savory kind of spit swapping that turns your inner thighs misty, and he pulls away with a soft smack that all but leaves a gossamer trail.

His thumb rubs circles on the soft of your cheek. “Ohayō.”

Your heart skips at the little peck he leaves on your lips before finally pulling away.

He runs a large hand through his tousled hair as he moves for a dresser near the vanity. “I ordered us some breakfast that should be here within the hour,”

He pulls out a shirt. “I’d make you some breakfast from scratch but,” Sakusa tugs it over his head. “I figured it’d be cruel to subject you to my cooking this early on.”

You blow a humored breath out of your nose. “I appreciate the sentiment regardless,”

He approaches the bed again and sits himself down across from you, there are love bites on his neck that probably match yours. “I hope you slept well.” He hums. “I slept like a rock because of you, actually.”

Oh god, you don’t even wanna know what kind of raunchy shit you were up to last night.

“I slept like the dead.” You crawl up to him, he’s already opening his arms for you. “Whatever you did put me out like a light.”

You fit in his arms so well it’s almost scary, he wraps his arms around you like he might never let you go. “Uh, Sakusa-san?”

He furrows. “Last name?”

You smile apologetically. “Kiyoomi,” You correct yourself. “I don’t… remember a lot of last night. We came back here from the club, right?”

“You…?” Kiyoomi’s eyebrows shoot up incredulously. “You don’t remember?”

“Not a lot.” You shake your head.

He frowns.

But even still his hand rubs fond lines up and down your back, still holding you just as faithfully, and looking up at you like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. “We marathoned a few drinks and then I had us dropped off at my place. I think… we started in the car, and then in my living room, and then the kitchen, the hallway, my bedroom finally; and then after a few hours we finished each other off in the shower. Around five we kissed until you eventually fell asleep.”

Kiyoomi traces the curves of your lips as he gazes fondly. “Last night was the best night of my life, I think. I don’t know if I’ve ever been with someone who could make me feel so good.” He proclaims. “I hope it’ll all come to you eventually, it was really something special.”

Well with the way he’s been treating you up to this point, it’s not like you’ll have a hard time believing that. Every earnest caress and look of adoration, the way his voice timbres into a loving hum, so smooth it makes you shiver. Hopefully those memories do come back at some point. You’ll never live it down if you actually missed the best night of your life.

You muse it with a little pout at the thought of that, Kiyoomi debates leaning forward and sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. “Hopefully I do remember then. It sounds like we had a lot of fun,”

Your pout drops after a short moment of consideration and you lean in even closer. The soft tip of your nose grazes in feather strokes as you skim it over his and slowly ease your lips down the path way to his, tasting his shuddering breaths as you hover there for a few painful seconds. But he all but melts when you finally meet. A chaste lingering kiss at first, a few sensuous short ones; you do him the courtesy and suck his bottom lip in your mouth instead. — Letting it snap back before you’re starting a trail down his cheek and kissing up until you're nosing under his jaw, using your loving hand to tilt his head up and give you the access that you seek.

He could buy you a ring right now, he wouldn’t even regret it. You don't even remember what you two got up to last night and still you’re caressing him in a way that gives him goosebumps. If you keep this up, he might wind up funding your entire life.

You bring your head up again and pull him into another kiss. Slow and open mouthed, and he damn near purrs when you start pushing your fingers through his hair. “Regardless, you feel amazing.” You whisper against his lips.

God, you might be trying to kill him. “I wouldn’t mind a refresher if you’re up for it.”

He sighs through his nose as he ducks his head to burrow himself into the crevasse over your shoulder, already peppering in searing kisses down your throat. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

Kiyoomi sucks in a love bite that makes you whimper so pretty. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good you can’t take it.”

With the way you’re already making a mess in his lap, you believe him.

—

He’s a good kisser.

Regardless of where his lips end up. He’s a little messy, a little heavy with tongue, slow when it matters and firm when it counts. He’s great with his mouth. Surprising since he’s known for being somewhat of a recluse in the opinion of the public eye. Some call him aloof, others call him cold, the majority call him intimidating, but right now what comes to your mind is giving.

The way he spits on your already messy pussy makes your eyes roll.

You inadvertently hump into his face as the combination of his tongue and fingers set the pit in your stomach ablaze. He’s fucking you with his mouth so thoroughly that the skewlch of your building arousal reverbates throughout the room. You almost feel bad about how much your thighs are all but compressing the sides of his head, but every effort to lighten up on him has him tightening his hold on you to keep him locked against your sloppy cunt.

You hiss through your teeth as your fingers card through his hair. “F-Fuck… Omi…!”

Kiyoomi moans against your clit at the wanton sound of your pitched voice. Airy, and breathy, and intoxicating. He’s grinding himself so desperately into the mattress that he’s sure he’s gone sticky.

The veins in his arms pop as he persistently fucks his fingers into your tight little hole, sloppily sucking your swollen clit as the way you roll your hips into his face drives him crazy. “You’re gonna make me cum…!” You whimper. “Fuck, Kiyoomi!”

That crude mixture of his spit and your cum is starting to form a little puddle under your backside, every bit of you he doesn’t get to swallow he doubles his efforts to drink you up sprucely.

Hearing you teeter over the edge makes him feel like he’s following close behind. Your moans are so astonishingly pretty that it’s turning his brain all fuzzy. “Ffffuck! Oh fuck. Oh my god, baby! Fuck-! I-I’m…I’m cumming…!”

Kiyoomi groans drunkenly into your cunt as it suckles on his fingers, he’s so determined to drink every last drop of your cum that he almost comes off as depraved. Lewdly slurping you up as the way he desperately sucks on your clit makes you whine into the air. Still indulging himself in your mess even as you whimper from overstimulation.

He only pulls away because the way you’re begging for him to fuck you is sending him into a frenzy. “Wan’ it so bad, Omi. Please? Do whatever you want to me. U-Use me up!”

“Yeah?” Kiyoomi hums into your mouth as you suck yourself off of his tongue. “Want me to use you? I’ll fuck you till you cry, you know.”

Your misty eyes make his heart skip, the way the head of his cock catches your entrance feels like stepping into heaven all over again. “Please, baby? Give it to me. ‘Wanna feel you inside!”

He gapes a little as he presses himself in, so overwhelmed that his head falls into your shoulder and it’s an effort for him not to outright cry out at how fucking unreal you feel.

He thinks he might just be falling in love with you. Having a pussy like this may just be a hazard for his mental health, there’s no way he’s letting this slip throughout his fingers. “Oh my god,” Kiyoomi chokes. “O-Oh my fucking god.”

“You feel… unbelievable, angel,” He starts his pace. God, fucking you is actually pushing him to the brink of insanity. “…oh my fucking-… s-so tight! So fucking wet for me, angel… holy shit…- you’re so good to me, baby.”

His breathless praises are sending you alight. He’s so deep in your guts that you’re sure you’d find a bulge if you looked down at where your bodies meet. “So good…! So, so good!”

The way you hold each other is so desperate and devoted that it feels biblical. “I can feel you in my stomach, Omi… So deep…! Y-You’re… too deep!”

Kiyoomi grunts as he pushes himself in to the hilt and holds himself there for a blissful second. Grinding his hips in shallow circles that make you choke on your tongue, but you barely know the half of until he’s lifting up one of your legs.

And then the other, lifting on his knees till he’s hovering over your pretty face, - and then he starts pistoning.

The way your face contorts from a flustered glimmer of welling tears to a blissed out gape that cutens as your tears fall is enough to make his balls feel tight enough to burst. Never mind how fucking amazing this new angle is, watching you lose your mind under him as those pretty tits move to the current of his thrusts is making his brain feel all cloudy. — He’s sure the eye contact he’s keeping is transparent in the fact that he’s turned a little love drunk. Ducking his head to press tempered kisses on your throat, but he can’t help himself from the way his lips skim up to your ear and his mouth moves without him really thinking about it.

It’s a pleasure induced haze, he’s sure. But he can’t be forgiven for the absolute filthy things he’s saying to you.

“You hear that?” He drags in a few particularly forceful thrusts that make you sob so prettily for him. “You’re really soaking me up, huh.”

“Is it that good? You feel me deep in your tummy?” Kiyoomi swivels his hips. “S-Shit. What a pretty fucking noise that just was. Fuck, baby. - Oh, are you crying?”

“Too much?” But even still he presses more of his weight on you until every thrust is hitting you to the hilt. So deep that every other press of his hips forces a yip out of you that makes his face hot. — He’s really starting to think he might be ruined for anyone else at this point.

“You’re g’nna take it for me anyway though, huh? Slutty baby… You’re gonna let me fuck you brain dead? Fuck you till you’re all stupid for me?”

You sound as far gone as he is. “Y- Yes! Yes!”

“Yeah, that’s it, angel. Such a… fuck… good fucking girl for me.”

You must be close to cumming cause you’re really starting to milk him for all he’s worth. Sucking him back in every time he pulls away and every moment he continues to fuck into you you only get tighter.

He’s losing his mind. “Ohhh fuck. Fuck! I swear to god I’m gonna break you. G’nna - shit - gonna fuck you till you’re all mine, yeah? H-Holy shit-“

Kiyoomi groans at the way your fingernails start to dig groves into his back. “Mhm. Mark me up, angel. Wanna see you all over me when we’re done.”

You grab a helping of his hair and hold on to it for dear life, you’re drooling at this point. “Oh my god… oh m’ god, Kiyoomi… I’m- I’m gonna make a mess!”

“Yeah?” Which obviously means he’s reaching down to rub messy circles on your clit. “Gonna make a mess? Wanna soak me in your pretty cum?”

“Give it to me then, baby. I’ll fill you up so good when you do.”

You croon in his ear and it sounds like gospel.

And then you’re soaking the bed with your cum.

Kiyoomi doesn’t let up even as your juices wet down his pelvis and legs. He doesn’t stop his punishing thrusts or the rhythm he’s keeping on your clit, still whispering words of filth and praise in your ear, — and it looks like you’ve completely lost yourself to the pleasure at this point. The way his name is clipping so desperately off your tongue is making his eyes roll into his head. And it’s just a few more moments of fucking into your spasming pussy till he’s following you off the edge.

“Oh god. Oh my god.” He hisses. “Mmmh - Oh fuck, baby. I’m cumming… f-fuck! I’m cumming. I’m cumming.”

Oh god, even after last night there’s still so much of it. So much and so hot. Just the feeling of clenching on his hot cum as he continues to fuck into you is sending you over the edge again. God, the sounds you’re both making. Thank goodness his penthouse is big enough to not worry about disturbing any of his neighbors, reinforced flooring probably snuffing out the sound of your debauched love making. He’s never been the most vocal in bed but you’re making him whine into your ear like a cheap whore. And the sounds you’re making - Fuck, the sounds you’re making, he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned his head and found the decorative plants near his terrace sprouting flowers. It shouldn’t even be possible to sound that fucking good and feel this fucking amazing all at once.

Kiyoomi doesn’t even realize that bed making firm clicks into the wall until he starts to slow up his thrusts. Gradually coming down from his high until his desperate movements become slow and sensuous grinding, still rocking into you even as you settle again in his arms.

He lifts his head to bring you into a lazy kiss, a little sloppy, a little butterfly inducing.

You sigh into his lips. “…Holy shit.”

Kiyoomi pulls away to press a few slow kisses into your jaw. “I think I just might be addicted to you.”

“You’re telling me…” You cross your legs over his back. “Is it too early to suggest we go steady?”

He snorts a little. “As if I’m letting you go anywhere after that.”

Kiyoomi raises his back to gingerly kiss you on the lips, so tender it feels loving. Even as he pulls away he seems ailed by it. He is ailed by it. He can’t even imagine how he’ll fare when he has to get up eventually.

His breath is warm against your lips. The way he speaks to you feels reverent. “You’re stuck with me now.”

You smile. And he goosebumps. “Aren’t I lucky then?”

reblog uwu?

[buzz-in-your-veins]

Oops, did i do that?

Accidentally sending a spicy pic to your crush.

The reader is more fem dressed and has a vagina in this- if you want a part b where they don’t have outfits just let me know!

CW: Gender Neutral reader with a vagina and fem-like fashion, reader wears bras, no mention of having boobs.

Vox

Vox hadn’t known you for very long, you were one of the newer demons working for him. You’d applied for the job a few months ago.

In that time he’d seen you about four times, but he was honestly thinking of promoting you, you were amazing at your job, good with both the data and the customers, the only thing it seemed you couldn’t do, was look at your contacts.

You weren’t working tomorrow, so you’d gone out with your friends, you’d purposefully gone to one of the only clubs in the pride ring that wasn’t owned by a member of the V’s, in an effort not to run into your new boss.

You’d gone all out tonight, spurred on by your friends, see, you had a minor crush on the TV demon, not that you’d ever entertain it. However, your friends had picked your outfit tonight, and you ended up in a gorgeous (if a bit slutty) royal blue dress, sleeveless and short, with a glittery tulle overlay, and some beautiful electric red heels.

You were messing on with your friends in the bathroom, taking photos and just genuinely having fun, already beyond tipsy now. You were sending a photo of you and another friend in the mirror to your group chat, your friend had taken the time you were fixing your hair to add Vox onto the ‘send to’ people, you never noticed.

You also didn’t notice your phone go off when Vox opened it.

If only that was the worst part.

You finished the night absolutely trashed, your friends working together to walk one another home, most living near one another. You, of course, were the odd on out, and the odd number.

You assured your friends it was fine, you lived in VVV tower for Lucifers sake, you’d be fine! Your friends wouldn’t hear it.

One of your friends, less drunk, had messaged one of Velvettes models, whom she used to work with and asked for them to walk you back.

You got back safe and sound, still not having realised you’d sent Vox the bathroom photo, or seeing the demon’s expression as Velvettes model walked you in.

You weren’t quite tired enough to sleep when you were dropped back in your room, so you messed on on your phone for a bit, before undressing. You hadn’t got to taking your make up off or undoing your hair, you’d gotten your dress off, and just.. stopped.

You were in an ethereal lingerie set, clearly made with Vox in mind.

Pretty blue panties hugged your hips, red electric bolts providing straps, the lace comfortable against your pussy, your chest coved with a light blue bralette, lace spilling against your skin, and the most beautiful glitch effect chain snug around your belly.

You matched this with a black thin choker with a hanging blue electric bolt, and posed against your bed, taking a few photos, changing poses and taking more.

Your favourite was one where you were laid flat, the photo taken from above, you could see your entire body, including the heels you still hadn’t taken off, and you were stairing straight at the camera with your painted lips parted.

Satisfied you went to save your photo.

Never noticing you’d sent the same photo to your boss.

Afterall, you hadn’t know to take him off your list.

You were cuddled up asleep, still in the underwear, when Vox opened your photo.

You never noticed the power surge then go out, nor did you notice Vox’s name pop up on your phone.

Angel Dust

Angel had seen you around the hotel more than usual, Charlie said you’d recently quit your job to work for someone else, and it gave you more free time and flexibility.

Angel was happy for you, your boss had been a real price of work.

Still riding the high off getting a better job, you’d invited your friends out clubbing, having received a handsome final salary.

You had chosen to go to Hyper-Tech, one of Vox’s clubs, and one of the best. They had some off the greatest drinks, and, unbeknownst to you, that night they also had Angel Dust dancing.

You friends teased you relentlessly about your crush on the porn star already, and they played this off as purposeful on your part, even though you’d had no idea.

You had started the night feeling confident and pretty in your oulfit, but seeing the spider you felt a flash of self consciousness, after all, your outfit was styled on the spiders own colour theme, an off the shoulder soft pink velvet crop-top, above-knee white loose pleated skirt, and pastel pink heels with a hot pink belt and nail polish.

You friends quickly took care of that, telling you how wonderful you looked, that anyone would be lucky to see you.

And getting you drunk definitely helped, the endless stream of cocktails bought with your money, and eventually dipping into your friends supplies brought on a happy buzz.

They also greatly diminished your ability to think critically.

You never saw how Angel Dust watched you the entire time you were in the club, as you progressively got drunker, to the point Angel was shocked you could still stand, never mind walk.

Your friends however, saw how the renowned demon was watching you with concern and admiration.

They quickly concocted a plan without your input.

Angels set finished around 2 in the morning, he waited in his dressing room for you to leave.

You had planed to walk home with your friends before splitting off to the hotel, but one of your friends changed the plan, stating there was no need for you to walk them home, after all, didn’t you like live in the complete opposite direction? Another friend had ‘needed the bathroom’ and had walked right by Angels door, talking about how you were leaving with the third friend.

As you were arguing about the principle of walking your friends home, Angel Dust came out of club, and said he didn’t mind walking you home, you lived together anyway.

Your friends quickly agreed and left, not allowing you to argue.

The whole walk back you were showered with compliments about your outfit, your dancing, your hair, your ability to drink, everything.

Angel walked you all the way to your room before leaving you.

You started to undress, but decided you wanted a photo for this occasion.

In your underwear, a pretty pale pink push-up bra, and a silky white thong, still in the hot pink heels, you took a photo in the mirror, sat on your knees staring in the mirror.

For some reason, you decided to send that to yourself instead of just saving to camera roll.

Only, you never send it to yourself. After the walk home, Angel had messaged you to sleep well, meaning he was your top contact.

Never thinking to check, you simply threw on a pale pink baby doll, took your heels and make up off, and went to bed.

Alastor

Alastor showing up to help at the hotel had never been in your plan.

The radio demon was always an unobtainable shadow, someone you could safely crush on from your own mind, because he would never be in your reach.

Except..

Now he was.

Now not to be foolish, you had figured from his interactions and reactions that Alastor was most likely somewhere on the Ace or Aro spectrum, and you would never push anything onto him.

But you could never even get close enough to talk to him, never mind ask about the possibility of him being on the spectrum.

So you hid. Everytime Alastor was around, you weren’t.

Alastor was cooking? You weren’t hungry. Al was helping with the daily running? You had work. Alastor was in the library? You didn’t want to read anyways.

Alastor always noticed your absence.

Instead you poured over everything and anything about the radio demon.

When he appeared, what he did, where he could have been in the seven years, his rise to power, his ability’s, his domain, everything.

Your crush on the radio demon was a foolish one, but that didn’t stop you from having it.

From dreaming of picnics and ice cream dates, of long walks down the streets of hell, to him taking you apart with his words alone, voice wrapping around you.

And when he stopped those muggers?

You went weak.

So, yea, your crush was unobtainable, in the highest scene.

You could still dress up though.

And you did, frequently.

In pantsuits of dark crimson, to the bloody scarlet ball gown, for the party.

Alastors eyes never left you that night.

Mostly, it was under your clothes.

Pretty crimson baby dolls. Black lacy thongs. Scarlett bralettes. Everything. Your camera roll was full of photos of yourself in the underwear, posing this way and that, full of imagination and hopes you would never act on.

Oh how you’d positively die if anyone saw.

That didn’t stop you.

Right now you were dressed in a darling crimson corset, embroidered with darker lace, tied tight, paired with dark scarlet panties, pussy damp against the lace as you lost yourself slightly in a fantasy, black heels and a black necklace, you had posed side on to the camera, staring straight ahead, knees folded underneath you and head tilted slightly up, arms held behind your back.

You heard your shutter go off and stood, getting dressed in a black lace camisole, taking of the corset and heels before heading to bed.

Picking your phone up on the way, you saved the photo to your folder.

Surely, you should have expected naming your folder ‘Alastor<3’ to backfire, but..

Maybe this was a Freudian slip?

It’s not like you even noticed you’d sent it, and you were asleep by the time your phone when off.

Lucifer

You’d seen the King of Hell maybe twice, once in passing, and once when he came to the hotel.

It was more than enough for you to crush on the child-like King, falling in love with his attitude and personality, drawn further in by his looks and kindness.

By the time the charity ball came around, you were completely lost for him.

Lucifer showed up in a white suit, not too different from his normal attire, only more fancy, more Kingly, so to speak.

You had taken Angels advice and dressed to impress.

Angel Dust was the only one who knew about the feelings you had for the fallen angel, and he took every opportunity to tease you for it, but he was also your biggest supporter.

You and Angel had knows each other almost as long as you’d been in hell, so his help was soothing for you, and you smiled as the spider laced up the golden gown you’d picked.

It was a golden off-the-shoulder ball gown, with a soft cover of glittery tulle over the top, the skirt flaring out, reaching the floor, covered in rose embroidered embellishments, and paired with bloody red heels, and a glittering clutch.

Charlie had told you all to go all out, and you and Angel did not disappoint.

The two of you descended together, and you caught site of the King before quickly moving your eyes, your blush almost matching your clutch.

Charlie swanned around you, telling you how amazing you looked, and look at your hair!

Angel got you a flute of champagne before leaving you to find Husk.

Traitors.

You walked around the party, dancing with people here and there, doing your best to avoid looking at the King.

You never saw that his eyes never left your form, or how he glared at everyone who touched you.

The king had tried more than once to get close to you, if not to dance with you, to at least tell you how amazing you looked, but you always seemed to move at just the right time.

Charlie had been snapping photos of you the whole night, sending them to her dad, even she saw the two of you pining for one another.

Your flute was never empty, and unfortunately for you, Angel could always recognise when you were about to bolt, and he and Husk would step in to talk to you and prevent it.

Did you mention traitors?

By the time you were finally able to leave, you were definitely tipsy, clutching Angels arm as the two of you ascended the stairs, congratulating yourself on managing to avoid the King.

Angel saw the way Lucifer was watching you, but you didn’t.

By the time you were in your room and Angel had left after unlacimg your dress, ‘we went all blessed with long arms, A——y!’, you wanted a special photo.

So you got ready.

You kept your heels on and striped to your underwear, a strapless golden bra with a red bow in the center, trimmed in lace, and panties to match, also trimmed in lace. You kept the sparkly fishnets on too, and your makeup on, before finiding a pose you liked.

Finally settling on a pose wherein you were laid on your back, your knees up and tilted slightly to the side, one hand on your breast, the other just above your head, and your face tilted towards your phone, positioned slightly higher than you, and just above your head.

You smiled at the photo, and went to save it.

You never looked.

Lucifer had got your number of Charlie to tell you how nice you’d looked. Your response?

A photo.

You were asleep by the time Lucifers own response came in.

Husk

Husk hadn’t taken much notice of you at first, only that you seemed to come and go with Angel, Husk later learned you were Angels shadow so to speak, Valentino payed you prettily just to follow and protect the star.

Husk noticed you more as you came out more without Angel, not being needed as often when you were in the hotel.

You and the barcat had had some quite good conversations, and some even better discussions.

You knew your way around cards that was for sure, and the cat loved talking with you about card tricks.

Sure no one could match him in card tricks, but hearing you talk about them? Something just felt different.

Husk worried about you and Angel a lot, especially when you both came back late, Angel looking trashed, and you looking slightly high on those nights. It took Husk months to realise Valentino was drugging you both, more so Angel. On those nights, Husk would stay up late to make sure you and Angel ate and drank before going to bed.

Husk never brought it up, and Angel didn’t remember, so you never spoke about it. If the cat didn’t want to bring it up why should you?

Husk did notice his favourite snack appearing on the bar in the mornings however.

Your crush on the cat had started before you even began talking to him, but those conversations, the way he treated you, how he never made you seem unimportant, the way he looked after you and Angel after Val had been upset?

You were gone.

And the cat was your new home.

Not that you’d ever tell him of course, you would never risk ruining such a wonderful friendship like that.

Of course, there were also nights like these. When Val needed Angel for publicity, those were the best. You both got to dress up and basically just party, no forced drugs or alcohol, just fun.

You’d dressed in an orange one-shoulder skin-tight slip dress, with a split up-to your thigh, paired with glittery purple heels, a clutch and jewellery, with black card themed earrings.

Husk had seen you just before you got into Vox’s limo and dropped his bottle of cheap alcohol, sending Niffty into a cleaning/laughing fit.

You and Angel didn’t get back until 1 in the morning, both of you slightly buzzed, but pretty much sober, not having been forced to fed any drugs and having eaten at the gala.

Husk had tried to stay up.

You feel deeper when you realised the barcat was asleep at his post because he was waiting for you. Sending Angel to bed, you walked over to the barcat and gently shook him awake, telling him he could go to bed.

From here Husk noticed the earrings, and flushed, jolting backwards and falling.

You giggled a little before apologising for startling him, which he waved off.

He headed to bed and you got back to your room. Taking your dress off you caught sight of your self in the mirror.

Pretty orange panties with a tiny club embroidered in at the side, deep orange plunge bra with a spade on the left cup, purple bracelet, necklace, and shoes, pretty orange make-up, and a heart and diamond earring set.

You needed a photo.

Fussing around a bit you finally settled on a pose with you laying slightly over the end of the bed, head and chest tilted down, knees pulled up to the side, camera angled too capture everything, arms by your head, and full body on display.

You changed into some sleep clothes after the photos, and in your sleepy state sent them to Husk, instead of simply saving them.

You didn’t wake up until well after Husk responded.

Lute.

Lute had noticed you as soon as you’d joined Adam’s ranks.

Of course she had.

You were the prettiest exterminator Lute had had the pleasure of seeing.

She pestered Adam until he agreed Lute could have her own assistant.

That of course, was you.

Lute loved having you work with her.

Yes all your conversations were about work, and you treat her like your boss, not a colleague, but it wa a better than when you weren’t talking at all.

You were still reeling from the change in position so fast, and now having to deal with the angel you were crushing on at all hours of the day?

Your poor heart couldn’t deal.

You were a blushing mess under your mask every time Lute spoke to you, praising yourself every time you got through an answer without stumbling or stuttering on the words.

Your friends were relentless with the teasing, going as far as to create hand signals to tease you even on the training fields.

Regardless you excelled.

You had to be the best.

And so you were.

Lute often asks what fuels you, and you always stumbled through a bullshit answer, never remembering what you’d said before.

You never gave her the same answer.

You couldn’t exactly tell your now boss the reason you did so well was so she would notice you, could you?

Shadowing Lute meant shadowing Adam. He usually left you alone for the most part though.

It meant going to fancy angel party’s. With out your mask.

You forced your friends to help you get ready.

Gorgeous black knee length dress, clinched at the waist, with silvery heels, a silver necklace, a silver clutch, and purple earrings, your hair done all nice and make up to compliment the outfit.

Your friends told you you looked stunning, and when Lute saw you, she had to agree.

You spent the entire party following Lute around, you didn’t know any of the people here and you were anxious.

Lute kept your champagne topped up, eventually switching you to something a little harder when it became clear you wouldn’t settle on the sparkling liquid alone, not used to the alcohol you got drunk fast.

Adam allowed Lute to leave early, so she could take you home.

Lute got you in safely and even placed an aspirin and water on your bedside table, before leaving you, messaging your phone to let you know what’s happened.

Meanwhile, you’d striped down to a gray lacy bralette, with matching high waisted panties, pretty silver heels, make-up still on and earrings still in.

You wanted a photo.

You set your phone up, and posed, on you knees on your bed, heels just visible, leaned back slightly, one hand behind your bed in a stretch and one on the bed, eyes looking just beyond the camaraderie.

Happy with the results, you went to save the picture, instead, sending it to Lute, who opened it as soon as she got home.

Bye the time Lute replied, you were curled up ontop of your covers, heels still on, sleeping deeply.

Feedback is always appreciated <3

If you want more people added feel free to ask and I’ll do a part two!

Comments are my high.

They make me write faster.

~Vyrus

[pedropascallme]

After The After Party

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: “‘Have you ever noticed,’ Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, ‘That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?’ She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. ‘Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.’”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) p in v sex, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics, praise, creampie, soft!dom Damien who is also incredibly needy, mentions of drinking/alcohol, brief mention of gambling. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: This is so dialogue heavy and I won't even apologize for it. Dedicated to the idiots to lovers mfs out there <3 part 2 here!!

Long shoot blocks, you’d learned, usually devolved into long nights out. The cast and crew—or, at least, those of whom had the time and the desire to let loose—often found themselves in bars with high ceilings, with music playing too loud, and drinks that were just strong enough. There were nights when you lost Arasha and Amanda to the grimy dancefloor as soon as you passed the threshold, and nights when you watched from afar as Chanse cozied up to a beautiful stranger.

You liked listening to your friends talk and laugh as if you weren’t all exhausted after the grueling work week.

You liked feeling like part of something.

Some nights, though, when Shayne and Spencer got tired of hugging the wall, and when you’d all realized how expensive it was to go out as often as you did, someone would offer their house as a respite from the outside world. It was a chance to avoid prying eyes and the same top 40 hits that seemed to play at every bar.

Now, you found yourself at Damien’s house; someone had dimmed the lights, and from your spot on the couch you could hear glasses clinking in the kitchen as Tommy poured various liquids into a makeshift mixer. Your friends held mugs of alcohol, pretending to be above the culture of red solo cups.

You watched Amanda and Angela play a card game you didn’t know on the coffee table in front of you.

“Your pile is huge—your pile is huge, oh my god!” Amanda’s voice carried over the other noises around you. You leaned against Angela’s shoulder.

“Because you’re playing wrong! You’re cheating! You’re literally cheating and it’s so uncool.” Angela tried to grab Amanda’s cards, and you smiled at their back and forth. You were admittedly distracted, but trying to play it cool, pretending your mind wasn’t elsewhere as Angela jostled your head.

You watched Damien out of the corner of your eye. He stood across the room, toying with one of his rings, nodding along to something Alex was saying.

You tried not to stare, but there was something so attractive about the way he looked in a space all his own; he didn’t command attention—Damien hated being the center of attention, especially when it was easily avoidable—but he had a way about him tonight that just seemed so relaxed, and it was hard to ignore. Especially when he was already taking up most of your thoughts as it was.

For as long as you’d worked with Damien, he was someone you looked forward to seeing. He wasn’t the only reason you got out of bed, but he was certainly up there on the list. Thoughtful, considerate; he was a generally good-natured person. He made the days go faster, making jokes and ensuring you felt included as a newer member of the cast.

And you liked his laugh, and the way he listened, and the soft color of his hazel eyes that looked somewhere close to green in the light.

It was no secret that you found him alluring, but you felt that it was better to keep those thoughts out of his orbit. If not for your sake, for his. It just seemed unfair to come onto him after you’d spent so much time together as friends, especially when he had given you no reason to think that he felt anything for you beyond camraderie.

You sat up from your position on Angela's shoulder, moving your head to get a better look at Damien. He noticed, shooting you a smile. You reciprocated it, offering a small wave, keeping your elbow low and fingers folded near your palm. He waved back, and you both quickly returned to your respective conversations.

Amanda and Angela had gone back to playing their game, light-hearted fighting words replaced by laughs as they smacked cards down.

There was a tap on your shoulder, and Courtney pulled you up from the couch.

“Come to the bathroom with me.” She set a cup of something that smelled strong on the table.

The rules of the bar still applied to house parties, and you had no problem tagging along on trips to the bathroom, sitting pretty while your friends fixed whatever makeup was still left of that morning’s full beat. You followed Courtney down the hallway and into the bathroom.

“You’re bright red, you know,” They wasted no time in grilling you, running the water and dabbing it under their eyes to wipe away streaks of mascara that had rubbed off.

“I had a Tommy special.” You sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“That’s not—you can handle your liquor.” Courtney turned, combing through their hair with her fingers, “You’re not blushing just because Tommy gave you one vodka cran.”

“It wasn’t a vodka cran. It was a vodka soda.” You could tell where the conversation was headed, and you tried to veer it off track.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are.” Courtney raised a brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t even spoken to me tonight.” You contradicted yourself, markedly aware of what she was referring to and feeding into the topic, but disputing what you could.

“You’re oblivious.” Courtney laughed, fishing lip gloss from her pocket and turning back to the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You stood behind them, watching her reapply the color to their lips.

“Have you ever noticed,” Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, “That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?” She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. “Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.”

“He doesn’t do that. Damien is always offering to host. Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” You retorted.

“Not true,” they shook their head, “On days that you're not around and we don’t feel like going to the bar, Tommy always hosts. Or Amanda. Or Ian.”

“Tommy has more alcohol at his place.” You ignored the rest of the list, still trying to change the subject.

“Dude,” Courtney was laughing now, “It’s like you don’t want to see it.”

“See what?” Your ears began to feel hot.

“That he likes you as much as you like him.” The words had a tone of finality. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Bec—are you serious? Why wouldn’t I be nervous? Why would I run the risk of ruining a perfectly good friendship? Or, you know, whatever it is—however you might describe what it is!” You started to ramble, digging yourself into a hole, “What happens if something happens and then—it could ruin work, Court. It could ruin everything!” You suddenly became aware that you were whisper-yelling. You cleared your throat, returning to a normal tone of voice. “It could ruin everything. That’s why people don’t fuck their coworkers.”

Courtney said nothing, just held up their hand and made a point of showing you the wedding band around their ring finger. She cleared her throat.

“That’s different.” You tried to backpedal.

“How?” Courtney looked amused, eager to hear your half-baked reasoning.

“Cause of course that worked out. Look at how Shayne looks at you. Look at how obvious of a pairing you two are.”

“Same way Damien looks at you.” Courtney smirked.

“You’re reading into this more than I am.” You shook your head at them. “He would’ve made a point to do something by now.”

“Are we…talking about the same Damien?” Courtney laughed, and you responded with a tight-lipped scowl. “In what world would he ever make a first move?”

“The ideal one. Where everything goes my way.” You scoffed, folding your arms.

“Right,” Courtney put a hand on your waist, and you looked at each other. “Approach this with more confidence, is all I’m saying. Give yourself—give him—the opportunity to make something happen.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, unfolding your arms and rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, no, you’re right.” She gave you a cocky look, and you slapped their arm gently, “Don’t rub it in.”

“You’re hot,” Courtney rubbed her thumb over the exposed skin of your waist, “And sweet. You deserve the world. And I love the both of you more than words, but you act like you’ve never had a crush before.”

“Not like this.” You admitted, and they smiled.

“I know. But you have nothing to lose.” They looked around as if they were afraid someone might be listening from behind the shower curtain, “I have it on good authority that he feels just as strongly about this thing—” she gesticulated vaguely, “as you do.” She smiled, turning to open the door. You grabbed her by the arm.

“What did Shayne tell you—what did Damien tell Shayne?” You tried to pull them back as they turned the door handle, but she wiggled from your grasp.

“You didn’t hear it from me!” She called back to you, leaving you alone in the bathroom to ruminate on the conversation. 

~~~

It was still early when people started to trickle out. You knew when Shayne and Courtney left that the party was over.

“Do you guys need a ride?” You sidled up to Courtney where she stood in the foyer with Shayne, “I don’t mind driving you home. I’m sober. Stone cold.”

“Oh my god—Steve Austin, I love your work!” Spencer called over to you while he herded a cheerfully inebriated Tommy through the door. Shayne let out a quick, barking laugh.

“No, don’t worry about it. We’re ubering.” Courtney moved hair from your face, and you saw something dubious hidden in her smile. She leaned further into your space, lowering their voice, “And you’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” You made a face.

“Give yourself,” they pressed a finger to your chest, “an opportunity.”

You grasped her hand, squeezing her fingers. Shayne looked on, and if he knew what you were talking about, he kept it to himself.

“I’m leaving. I’ll be gone—out the door right after you.” You argued, and Courtney raised her eyebrows, waving you off before exiting. Shayne followed close behind her.

You didn’t leave right after them. As it turned out, you didn’t really want to leave at all.

You liked Damien’s house. It was spooky year-round, warm in both temperature and color palette, and his couch was cozy.

It wasn’t just the furniture; Damien’s presence was equally as, if not more, comforting. He walked around picking up whatever had been misplaced during the night, trying to find the right spot for it all. He hummed quietly to himself, shooing the cats away with his feet.

“I’m sorry for not helping,” you shifted on the couch, lying on your side.

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled, “It’s fun to organize.”

“That is such a you thing to say, you know that?”

“What is?”

“That organizing is fun.”

“It is. Especially when I have company while I do it.” He looked pointedly at you. You held eye contact.

“You can tell me to leave. If you’re done for the night.”

“Why would I want you to leave?” He looked genuinely curious as to why you would think he’d want you gone.

“If you’re tired, or something. I get it.”

“No,” he shook his head, grabbing a cup that had been left half-full on a bookshelf, “I like having you around.”

“Can I get that as a written statement? Signed, dated…” You sat up a bit, positioning your head on the armrest of the sofa.

“Absolutely not. Nobody can ever know.” He laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Come sit with me.” You leaned over to pat a cushion before returning to your reclined position.

It could’ve just been the liquid courage you’d ingested, but you’d only had one drink. It was hardly enough to make you feel a buzz, let alone get you drunk. Maybe you were just thinking too much about what Courtney had said, about giving yourself a chance, finding an opening to let him in. Or maybe you were just really, really comfortable where you were spread out on the couch. For once, though, the confidence seemed to be your own doing.

Damien put down the cup in his hand and settled on the couch. You rested your feet on his thigh, and he placed a hand on your shin.

You’d always felt that any one-on-one time you got with him had a deadline, like you were on a time crunch based off of when the next video needed to be filmed or when your friends would join the conversation. It made the moments alone with him all the more enjoyable.

You liked being here, alone with him.

You liked it a lot.

“You wanna do something?” Damien leaned his head back on the couch, stretching his arms out beside him. You tried not to pay too much attention to the way the fabric of his t-shirt hugged his arms and the broad expanse of his chest.

“Like what?” You quirked a brow.

"Something low energy that makes us feel like we’re doing something…” He mulled over the possibilities, “Smash Bros?”

You nodded. “Wanna make it interesting?”

“I’m not putting money down.”

“Because you’re scared?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Scared you’ll lose. Wouldn’t wanna take a chunk out of your day rate.”

“You fucking wish,” you kicked at him gently. “I wasn’t thinking the gambling route.”

“So what were you thinking?”

“You ever played strip poker?”

Damien looked taken aback, and you regretted your proposal almost instantly. “Are you suggesting we play strip Smash?” He broke into a fit of laughter.

“We don’t—it was just a thought.” You tried to retract your suggestion.

“I didn’t say no.” He held your gaze, and you felt a tug in your stomach. “But if you get cold, tell me.”

“You say that like I’m going to lose.”

“Oh, is that what that sounded like?” He tossed you a controller, “Good. Cause that’s what I meant.”

You kicked at him again.

You lost your socks first. Then your shirt. You didn’t know whether or not to thank or chastise yourself for remembering to wear a bra. Your pants quickly followed, and though it was far from a matching set, you were relieved that your undergarments were at least presentable.

You were acutely aware of your own body now; the rise and fall of your chest and the way you moved your legs when you got caught up in the game. You didn’t notice Damien: how he bit the inside of his cheek so hard when you took off your shirt that he flinched; how he nearly lost his grip on the controller when your jeans came off; how he kept shifting in his seat.

You especially didn’t notice the way he looked at you. His eyes flicked over your face with a combination of pride and adoration, and they darkened significantly when his gaze dropped below your collar and took in your half-naked form.

“How far are you gonna take this?” Damien was grinning, his voice the only other sound against the backdrop of in-game blasts and the click of thumbs on controllers.

“Down to my skin.” You shot him a glance and he cleared his throat.

“Won’t be long, then.”

“Yeah?” You bumped your shoulder against his lightly.

“You’re oh-for-three.” He pointed out, and you pushed against him again, harder this time, in an attempt to throw him off his rhythm.

“Let me choose a different character.” You tried to reach for his hands to grab at the controller. He held it up and away from his body.

“I don’t think the character is the problem,” he laughed, face lighting up at the way you sneered in frustration. “I’m not pausing just so you can be Kirby.”

“Who said I wanted to be Kirby?” You chastised him.

“Did you want to be Kirby?” He looked smug when he turned to face you, his hands still out of reach. You realized how close you’d gotten to him over the course of your teasing exchange, and suddenly recognized that the opportunity Courtney had been alluding to was right in front of you.

You moved to straddle his waist, legs framing his body and tits inches from his face as you stretched out to grab his hands, removing the controller from his grasp. You tossed it to the side and Damien was frozen as you shifted to look behind you at the screen, your victory now swift thanks to the lack of any opponent.

You turned back to him with a smile. “Did you want to be Kirby,” you imitated him, echoing his taunt. “Lose the shirt, Dames.”

Damien looked up at you, frozen. The tension was almost visible, like fogged glass, and you had no idea how to clear the air. You were nearly certain that you had made a terrible mistake, that everything about tonight was about to go wrong.

You were unable to make eye contact with him—afraid that by looking at him you would completely fall apart and lose the edge you’d only just found. Throughout your mental battle with yourself, Damien still hadn't moved, his gaze fixed on your face.

You tried to make your fear dissipate by breaking the silence.

“What?” You laughed, a little awkwardly.

Damien swallowed. “I...sorry,” His eyes were wide as he spoke, “I just got…very nervous and—and really turned on.”

Oh.

He let out a small, huffed laugh, smiling up at you in a moment of awe. He blinked hard a few times before moving his arm to rest behind his head.

“That…that makes two of us, then,” you stayed where you were, placing your hands on your thighs. You licked your lips, exhaling, before finding the nerve to continue. “You still have to take your shirt off, though. You lost. Rules are rules.”

“Didn't you get to take your socks off first?” He narrowed his eyes playfully.

“You can take them off," your words were coy. "You want me to move?”

“I never said that.” He shook his head, leaning forward just enough to grant him the space to remove his t-shirt. He tossed it to the side, and you felt your whole body flood with nerves and anticipation when he leaned back against the couch on full display for you.

“Are you cold?” Damien brought his hand up to cup your elbow, and it was only then that you became aware of the goosebumps that had broken out over your flesh.

“No…No. Just…” You swallowed, moving slightly on his lap. “Just nervous.”

He let out a small laugh. “Do you—I mean…” He was entranced, unable to remove his eyes from your face for the fear that if he looked at any more of you, you’d be able to feel his reaction. You reached out to trace a hand over his chest, admiring him and letting the heat of his skin warm your palm. “Would you mind if…” He bit his lip, closing his eyes while your fingers grazed his flesh. He took a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?”

You stopped your hand, letting it linger on the center of his chest, just above his stomach. Damien gingerly placed a hand on your waist, and for just a moment you wondered if he could feel the desperation seeping through your skin.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can kiss me.” you nodded, maybe a little overzealous, “Please.”

You leaned forward into him. You could feel the weight of his hand on your body and the thrum of your own heartbeat in your chest as it threatened to break through your ribcage. You watched him suck in a sharp, deep breath before his other hand cupped your face. You closed your eyes, letting him guide you into the kiss.

It was tender. You moved slowly, in tandem with him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting yourself settle into him as you got lost in the way his mouth felt on yours. You let your lips part, making space for his tongue to dip between them and explore you further. You let out a quiet moan when he licked into you, and you let your own tongue delve beyond his lips to take a taste of what you’d been craving so urgently. His grip on your waist tightened in response to your sounds, and you took it upon yourself to test the waters, rolling your hips against him. You were rewarded with the feeling of his stiffening cock between your legs, and a gruff sound that caught in his throat. His hand moved from your face to the back of your head, applying light pressure to keep you steady as the kiss became hungrier, and he bit at your bottom lip.

When you parted, both of you pausing to catch your breath, he looked up at you, quietly chuckling to himself.

“What?” You let your hands wander over his shoulders, “Was it that bad?”

“What? No—god, no. No, I’ve just…I’ve always wanted to do that.” Damien smiled, moving his thumb in a soothing pattern over your hip, “I’ve always wanted to do that…” He trailed off, raking his eyes over you and letting both hands move up and down your sides.

“Really?” You posed the question with your eyes closed, lost in his touch. You let yourself fall forward on his chest.

“Really.” He sighed dreamily, “I can’t begin to explain to you how much space you take up in my head. The real thing is a lot better than the imaginary version.” 

“But you can do whatever you want in your imagination.” You pointed out, pressed against him and tracing lines over his collar with one finger.

“Yeah. Sure. But nothing I think up could ever beat this.” His fingers grazed the clasp of your bra, “And, full transparency, I’ve thought up a lot.”

You laughed, pushing yourself up with both hands on his chest to really look at him; his hair was messy, and his cheeks were flushed pink.

He looked flawless. You felt flawless.

“Damien,” your tone was saccharine, still tinged with a shy edge but steadily coming into your own with help from Damien’s clear reciprocation of your feelings, “Do you wanna show me all the thoughts you’ve had?” You watched his face go stern at your words, still hinting his amusement with a small, nearly hidden smile. “Do you wanna act on them?”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him; somehow the feeling of your tits pressed against his bare chest was almost more intimate than the kiss you’d just shared. You squealed, tossing your head back, which he took as an opportunity to leave dainty kisses on your throat, muttering against your skin.

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen my room.” His voice was gravelly, parched from the kisses he left on your skin as he picked you up. You gasped, suddenly off the ground and in his arms as he carried you down the hall; one of his hands trailed down your body, and you felt his fingers dig into the flesh of your upper thigh to keep his hold on you. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, letting him overwhelm your senses.

You got lost momentarily, like time had paused or sped up or stopped completely, but then you were in his room. The lights were dim, just as they were in the rest of the house, and the shelves stacked with various tchotchkes and books that you were too distracted to care about in the moment.

You realized that a person could look like their home, in a way, and you recalled the moment earlier in the evening when you had found yourself so attracted to how Damien carried himself in his own space. It’s because the space was just as welcoming, just as comforting and soothing as he was.

He let his grip on you loosen, and you landed on his bed, hands still wrapped around him and tentative of letting go. But you didn’t have to; he lay next to you, rolling onto his side and pulling you against him in a swift maneuver that placed you comfortably on his chest.

He didn’t kiss you, maybe out of anxiety that he was moving too fast for your taste, or just because he felt the moment didn’t call for it, but he brushed his nose against yours and let his hands linger on your waist.

“Is this what you thought about?” You whispered, letting him continue his quiet ministrations, “Taking me to bed and touching me like this?”

“And so much more,” he breathed, hands moving up your back, trying to commit your entire body to memory. “I hope you—I didn’t mean for it to come off like I’ve only ever thought about fucking you.”

You moved to rub your thumb over his cheek. “What did you mean?”

“That I don’t want you to be my friend,” he smiled, and your heart dropped for a second before he continued, “That I think about you all the time in ways that friends don’t think about each other. And I…” He searched for the right words, “Even after a night like this, even after, you know, seeing everybody and having everybody over—even when a place is full of people, and noise…You’re still the only person I can pay attention to. Or think about.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and he pulled away from you to meet your gaze.

“Does that sound really stupid?”

“No,” you reassured him, pulling him back towards you, “No, it’s…you put it into words, Damien.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I get it. I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe what you mean to me, and you just,” you laughed again, trying to collect yourself, “You did the work for me.” You smiled, tilting your head back with your chest still pressed against him, making sure he paid attention to what you were saying. “I love you.”

You watched his face change, something in his eyes and the curl of his lips looked different in a way you couldn’t pinpoint. You couldn’t look for long, because he was on you again in a flash, arms wrapping around you, engulfing you with his body and tugging you into him. His lips crashed against yours, and it was hungry, and messy, and passionate, so much so that you couldn’t be bothered to care about the clack of teeth or the small bead of spit that fell from the corner of your lip.

“I love you,” Damien’s voice sounded tight, higher than it had been all night, “I love you.” He freely explored your body now, big hands reaching over your ass and offering soft squeezes before grazing your sides and the swell of your breasts.

“You know how,” you managed to get a few words in between heated kisses, “you said you didn’t want it to come off as if you only wanted to fuck me?” You let out a small moan when he licked a stripe up your neck and to your earlobe, mumbling quiet curses to yourself at the feel of his tongue on your body.

“Mhm,” Damien acknowledged your words without breaking away from you, still nipping at your neck while you let your breathing mellow so that you could continue speaking.

“Want you to fuck me,” you put a hand in his hair, forming a fist in the silver strands and pulling him up to make eye contact. “Damien, I want you to fuck me.”

He looked almost surprised, like he had forgotten physical intimacy beyond kissing you was even an option. The look of mild shock was replaced with clear enthusiasm as he moved to get off of the bed. “I’d hate to make you ask twice.”

He shed his jeans, and you realized this was more of him than you had ever seen before; standing next to you was the man that took up all your thoughts, ready and willing to give you what you wanted, his eyes like pools of reverence as they trailed over your form.

You couldn’t help but feel excited, uncaring if you came off as desperate. You sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, situating yourself on your knees. Your hands found purchase on his chest and slowly moved down his stomach until you reached the waistband of his boxers.

“Eager,” he let your hands wander, watching on as you explored. You paused, looking up at him to wordlessly ask if you were allowed to go further. “Don’t be shy, baby,” something about his tone had changed, and the cheerful voice you’d come to know and love was replaced with a deeper, rasping sound that you thought you might like even more. “You can touch. Take what you need.”

The words reached your core before they fully hit your ears, and you shifted on your knees, pressing your thighs together to give yourself some relief. Sliding your hand under his waistband, you were met with the solid, smooth skin of his cock. He helped you pull his boxers down and over his length, letting it spring free, and you felt your mouth water.

He was big, thick, and while not surprising in the slightest, you couldn’t help but whine at the sight before you. You looked up at him, your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb brushing the reddened tip; you expected him to look smug, proud of himself, maybe, but he looked dumbstruck, in awe of the way your hand looked wrapped around him—in awe of the fact that it was you.

“Damien,” you prompted, and it broke him out of his haze. He nodded. “Can I…”

“Please,” he took a deep breath, “God, yes, please.”

You smiled. “Well, I’d hate to make you ask twice.” He laughed at your mimicry before quickly silencing himself with a shaky moan when you licked an experimental stripe up the bottom of his cock. He tilted his head to the side, unable to decide whether to get lost in the pleasure or to enjoy the view he had of you, bent over yourself on your knees and using your mouth in a way he’d only ever dreamed of.

You spit in your hand, gliding it over him and appreciating the way he felt in your hands; the warmth, the pliant weight. You made sure he was looking when you finally took his tip in your mouth, circling your tongue over him. You moved your hand in sync with the way you bobbed your head. He groaned, hand flying to rake his fingers through your hair, and the way he sighed out your name spurred you on more.

His other hand caressed your back, tugging cautiously at the straps of your bra.

“Take it off,” you pumped him in your hand, letting your tongue flick out to deliver barely-there licks to the tip of his cock. “Take it off for me.”

“Fuck.” He huffed, hypnotized by the way you used your mouth on him. He undid the clasp with one hand, and you let the straps hang off your body. You didn’t want to pause your movements, didn’t even want to slow down at the risk of having to go for even a second without hearing him moan your name; you shook the constricting material from yourself, taking him deeper in your mouth until tears pricked your eyes so that you could slip your bra off your arms. Damien let out a low groan, tightening the grip he still had on your hair. 

You took him deeper still, hand working what you couldn’t fit down your throat. When you gagged on him, he let out an absolutely filthy sound.

“You like that?” He was smiling with his mouth open, chest heaving with every breath, “You like choking on me?” You answered with a garbled “yes,” his cock still pressed against the back of your throat, one hand on his hip to keep yourself stable as your other hand stroked the base of him. He moaned. “You look so pretty. Always knew you’d look so good with my cock down your throat, baby.”

You couldn’t help the noise that you let out, something between a gasp and a moan that sent vibrations up Damien’s spine. You continued to move up and down over his cock before removing your mouth from him, spit dripping down your chin and a dopey smile on your lips.

Damien grabbed your face in one hand, fingers pressing hard against your cheeks as he pulled you up to his level. “You really are just so fucking perfect.” He kissed you, letting the drool that coated your chin drip onto his face. “Can I taste you? Can I taste how sweet you are?”

You nodded, the hand he still had on your face moving with you.

“Yeah? Say it.” He demanded, and you whimpered, enjoying the look of dominance on him.

“Want you to taste me, Damien.” When you spoke, his fingers pressed the inside of your cheeks against your teeth. “Want you to taste how sweet I am.”

He growled, moving his jaw in a circle as if to stretch the muscles in preparation for what he planned on doing to you. “How do you ask nicely?”

You felt an adrenaline rush deep in your stomach. It was one thing to be here with your pleasure in his hands, but to hear Damien say the things you’d fantasized about for so long made your head swim.

“Please…” One of your hands grabbed impatiently at his arm, “Please, Damien…want…want you to fuck me with your tongue. Please.”

He kissed you again, smiling against your mouth and removing his hand from your face to push softly against your chest so that you fell back onto the bed. He knelt on the mattress, holding your calves and pulling your legs open. You sank into the pillows at the head of the bed, letting them cradle and support you at an angle that allowed you to look down at Damien, whose face hovered over your core. His fingers danced over the waistband of your panties, and you wondered if he had felt the same tingly sensation when you toyed with his boxers as you did right now with his hands running over your hips and stomach.

He pressed his face against your clothed cunt, impatient and greedy for you. You moaned, one hand fisting the sheets under you while the other came to rest on your thigh, holding your legs open for him when your muscles threatened to snap them closed following the sudden contact.

“Fuck, Damien, that feels—that’s so good.” You squirmed under him as he licked over your panties, tongue brushing your clit through the fabric. You tried to push the material down, wiggling your hips to ease your panties off your body, but Damien caught your hands in his.

“Let me play, baby.” His doe eyes stared up at you from between your legs with a devious glint. You didn't listen, and instead continued to move your hips in an attempt to wriggle out of the fabric that kept his mouth from making direct contact with you. He pressed down on your hips, forcing you to cease your fidgeting. “Be patient.”

He licked a stripe from where your panties threatened to reveal your hole and up to your clit, and you arched your back in an attempt to encourage him further.

“God, Damien, please!” You pleaded, begging for him to touch you without the obstacle of the fabric that remained on your body. “Want it—said you wanted to taste me, you can taste me—you can taste me, I need it. Please, let me feel your tongue, please—”

Damien snapped your waistband and you yelped, effectively ending your rambling.

“You’re pretty when you beg," he kissed your stomach, and you let out a whimper. "But if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll fuck it.” Damien’s words weren’t harsh, you could hear the joviality buried under the severity in his voice, and somehow that made it even sexier.

Your arousal was heightened when, as you moaned at his words, you felt two thick fingers plunge into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, and you choked out his name.

“Oh my god!” You cried out, looking down to see that he had moved your panties to the side to give himself access to your entrance. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling to hit your more delicate spots, and the sound was utterly indecent.

“You’re soaked,” Damien was smiling with his top teeth, watching his fingers as they disappeared inside of you. “What got you so wet, baby?”

“Because…s’cause…” You didn’t have the energy to talk, too focused on the way his fingers pushed against the walls of your cunt, forcing your body to make space for him.

“Because why?” He goaded, thumb rubbing circles on your clit as he pushed his fingers deeper, “Because you like the way I touch you? Hm? Because you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have? For as long as I have?”

You nodded, mouth agape and eyes threatening to roll back; maybe you looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, completely content with his fingers thrusting into you.

“Aw, come on. If you still want my mouth, you’re gonna have to do better than that.” He removed his fingers from inside of you, using the slick that coated them as lubricant to massage your clit.

“Wanted this for so long—so fucking long, Damien.” Your words came out rushed and breathy, “Thought about you like this all the time. Thought about—about you when I came, every time I came.” You couldn’t stop yourself from telling him the truth, the words tumbled from your lips as easily as taking a breath.

Your admission made him pause his movements, and for a moment the dominance in his face faded into something more tender. But he gathered himself, finally pulling off your panties in one fell swoop, then taking one of your legs and hooking your knee over his shoulder while you continued to babble to him.

“Keep talking, princess,” the nickname made you dizzy with desire, and you whined out for him, your eyes wide and watery when his breath fanned over your now bare, slick coated center. “Keep talking. Tell me all about it while I taste you.”

The first swipe of his tongue against your clit sent shockwaves through you, and you whimpered before recollecting your train of thought.

“Th—oh!” You quickly lost your words again when Damien began to ease his tongue into your entrance, toying with your hole before plunging into you with a purpose. He squeezed your thigh, and you took it as encouragement to continue. “Thought about this all the time—about your mouth against me. Using your mouth on me until my legs got sore from the way you’d hold me open.” He groaned against your cunt, and you extended a hand to comb your fingers through his hair. “Thought about all the ways you could use me. All the ways I would let you use me—fuck, like that, please!”

He had his face buried in you, your slick dripping down his chin and his nose pressed against your clit. You could feel the movement of his tongue inside of you, and you tugged on his hair as the sensation spread over your body.

“Thought about getting on my knees for you. I would let you have me whenever you wanted—wherever you wanted.”

Damien growled. “Yeah?” His brow quirked and he looked up at you momentarily before diving back into your heat, “Have to take you up on that.”

You whimpered, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tensing from the onslaught of pleasure, and the feeling let you know that you were approaching your peak.

“Knew you would make me feel so amazing, Damien, knew you’d make me cum like nobody else ever could.” You were stringing words together faster than your brain could think them up. But even if they came out jumbled, every last word was true.

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” Damien was grinding his hips against the mattress, the relief he got from the fabric of the sheets dulled his intense arousal only momentarily, but he chased the feeling. “Please, baby, give it to me.”

You pulled his hair, admittedly harder than you had intended, but with the moan he let out, it seemed he didn’t mind. His tongue worked wonders as he extended it over and into you. Right when you thought you were already done for, limbs going slack and the pleasant tingle in your core reaching a fever pitch, Damien wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, letting his tongue flick against the sensitive bud.

It felt good to scream out for him, to let his name fall repeatedly from your lips as you yanked on his hair, but it felt better to hear his voice and the words that rang out from between your legs.

“Beautiful,” he was mumbling, still licking into you, trying to savor the tangy flavor of your cum. “So fucking beautiful, baby. Look at the pretty fucking mess you made. Did such a good job.”

You tugged again on his hair and he let you guide him up to face level. When he leaned in to kiss you, you opened your mouth instantly, and he slid his tongue between your lips. You sucked on it happily, eager to taste yourself on him, eager to experience everything you'd always imagined being able to do with him.

In turn, he held you close, so you wouldn’t slip away like you did when he woke up from his dreams.

You let the kiss linger, leisurely grasping at each other and appreciating the newfound lack of constraint. You curled yourself into him, lying on your side and tangling your legs with his in an effort to get as close to him as you could.

“You look so pretty when you cum,” Damien mumbled, lips grazing your pulse point, dipping down and sucking faint bruises onto your collar. “I want to see it again.”

“You can see it whenever you want,” you closed your eyes, relishing the gentle pressure he was putting on your skin so that the marks would form in small spots across your chest. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he reluctantly stopped licking the bruises that had begun to pop up. Your thumb stroked the skin under his eye. “I want you to see it again now.”

Damien leaned into you, trailing kisses over your jaw. “You want me to fuck you?” He licked a stripe up your neck and over your chin. When his tongue reached your mouth, you opened for him, letting him lick between your lips, kissing him fervidly and moaning softly. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? Want me to fuck you even though I just made you cum?" He growled into your mouth. "You need more already?"

“Yeah,” you smiled shyly, rubbing your face against the stubble on his cheek.

“Needy thing.” He removed his hands from you, then snaked his arms through the gap in your bodies and put his hands on your shoulders, pushing you against the mattress and onto your back.

He straddled your legs, keeping you immobile on the bed and kissing down your chest. He nipped at the plush flesh of your breasts, unable to contain himself, unable to hide the obvious pleasure he took in seeing you this way.

“Damien—” You sighed when he circled his tongue around one of your nipples, your fingers wrapping around his bicep.

“I know. I know. Sorry, I just—God, you’re beautiful.” He smiled, more to himself than to you, but the joy on his face was palpable, and you were sure he could detect the pride you felt at being the one to make him feel this way.

He used his knee to spread your legs, opening you up for him, moving his own legs to situate himself between your thighs. One of his hands ran up and down your leg as he stroked himself, lining his cock up with your entrance. When the tip of him rubbed between your folds, you whimpered, moving your hands down his arm and squeezing his forearm.

“Is this what you want?” Damien was looking down, examining how perfectly his body meshed with yours. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” your words were barely above a whisper, “Want you to fuck me.”

He moved his hand further up your body and squeezed your hip. “Where are your manners, princess?” He smirked, “Say please.”

“Please, Damien,” you stared up at him wide-eyed, captivated. “Please.”

“There you go.” He squeezed your hip again in recognition of your obedience. Slowly, as if he was worried he’d break you, he pushed into you, watching your eager, waiting cunt swallow every inch he offered you. You moaned, squeezing his arm and leaving small, curved marks where your nails dug into his skin. You watched his eyelids flutter, head tilting back with his mouth ajar, letting out a deep groan as he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again to meet your heavy-lidded gaze.

“Big.” It was all you said, stretched and full of him in a way nobody had ever filled you up before.

Damien swallowed a laugh, flashing a domineering smile. “Big?”

“Too big.” You clarified, not entirely meaning it; you were thrilled to be this packed with him, but it had been so long since you’d felt a satisfying sting like this that it would take you a moment to get accustomed to it.

“You can take it, baby. I know you can.” He pressed his palm over your stomach, brushing his thumb across your skin soothingly. “You tell me if it’s too much, ok? Use your words, say it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t want you to stop.” Your voice came out strong momentarily, so eager for him that the possibility of him leaving you empty made you tense. “Waited so long…” You said, mellowing slightly, “Want you. Want you to…to use me.”

Damien made a throaty noise, something between a laugh and a moan that both relaxed and lit a fire inside you. Unhurried, he pulled out of you, his hands on your hips to give himself proper leverage. You exhaled slowly, mind set adrift by the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls; his rounded tip, every vein that ran up his length—you were certain you could feel it all.

You whimpered when he had pulled out enough so that nothing but the head of his cock penetrated you. You swayed your hips, trying to spur him on, but even with just the tip you felt you had ample stimulation.

He didn’t stop you, just watched on as you tried to fuck yourself with the tip of his cock just barely inside of you.

“You need some help?” He raised an eyebrow at.

“Please—fuck me, please.” You nodded excitedly, aching for him.

He smiled, eyes fixed on your face as he rammed back into you, watching your mouth contort and your tits bounce as your body absorbed the force. You screamed out for him, arching your back, which gave him the ability to push the remainder of his cock as far into you as he could.

“Fuck Damien! So—feel…so full!” You felt a tear fall over your cheek, overwhelmed by the bliss of having his cock buried inside of you and the rough way in which he made it happen. He leaned over you, supporting himself on his forearms as he caged you between them, and met you at face level. He thrust in and out of you shallowly, bringing his lips to your cheek and kissing the path of the delighted tears you had shed.

“Yeah? Feel full?” He whispered, still moving his hips, his cheek pressed against yours so he could speak directly into your ear.

“Yes, Damien—God, yes!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to immerse yourself in all of him. You searched for any part of him that you could reach with your mouth, planting sloppy kisses on his collar, his shoulder, the crook of his neck.

“Good.” He kissed your cheek again, before licking the wet, salty trail that your tears had left behind. “Want you to feel me for days after this.” He found your lips and kissed you, the pace and intensity of his thrusts increasing. “And when you can finally walk straight, I’m gonna do it to you all over again.”

You scraped your nails up his back, moaning for him and desperate to have him follow through on his threat. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel the tug of his stubble on your skin as he panted against you, fucking into you aggressively in a way you’d always dreamed he would.

Each thrust felt deeper, and there came a point where you felt a pleasant pain in your side as his cock brushed your cervix.

“Damien—Christ, you’re so fucking deep,” Your nails jabbed harder into the skin of his back and he let out a hiss. “Please, like that. Just like that, don’t stop. B-bruise me, please, please!”

“I won’t stop, princess,” Damien’s words were snarled, gruff in your ear as his lips grazed just below your earlobe. “I promise. Wanna leave this pretty pussy so nice and sore.” He sucked a mark under your jawline, "Wanna ruin you."

You moved one hand, fingers lacing through his silver hair and yanking at the brown roots to pull him from his spot in the crook of your neck. He took the hint, rising up to meet you, his mouth finding yours and biting at your bottom lip.

“I love you,” you couldn’t bite back the words, not even if you tried; not when his cock was hitting spots you didn’t even know were there, not when he was using all his upper body strength to stay above you just so he could gaze down upon your tear-streaked, fucked out face, not when it was something you’d been dying to tell him in this capacity for as long as you could remember. “I love you, Damien—I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed your words, voice softening and face relaxing. “I love you so much. I do, I love you so much.”

You raised your hips to meet his thrusts, and Damien moaned out your name, muscle in his jaw tensing before he let his mouth fall slack. He paused momentarily, sitting up while still buried inside you, to take your legs in his hands and press your knees back to your chest. You were bent in half, completely at his mercy and loving it. You yelped, the new angle giving him the ability to drive harder and deeper into you; the control he had over your body made your head swim and your cunt squeeze around him. He leaned over you, smiling through the pleasure that clouded his mind to jeer at you affectionately as he continued to escalate the manner in which he fucked you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He watched you, your head lolling to the side and practically drooling as you looked back up at him, pitiful moans and gibberish the only way you could communicate. “Lose your voice?”

You swallowed hard, gasping for air and overcome with the feeling of him. You searched for the right words.

“Make me—oh!—feel so good,” you panted, “so fucking good.”

“Who makes you feel so good?” Damien pressed, plunging his cock as deep as he could, his hips firm against the back of your thighs.

“You do!” You felt all of him, and still, somehow, you craved more. “You do—you, you!”

“Yeah? Say it princess. Say Damien you make me feel so good.” He grabbed your chin, forcing you to stare up at him with your lust-blown eyes. “Say it.”

“Da—Damien,” you whimpered as he fucked you in quick bursts while waiting for you to speak. “Damien, you—you make m-me feel so good.”

He pressed his lips to yours, further enhancing the way your body was already contorted, and you moaned into his mouth at the feeling of being used like a toy by him.

“That’s right,” Damien licked into your mouth, “You make me feel so good, princess.”

He pulled back from your face, straightening once more; he grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders, gripping your thighs close to his body and using them to pull you onto his cock. The sounds you made were high pitched and pathetic, eyes rolling back while he placed kisses on your calves where they were slung over his shoulders; he nipped at you, teeth just barely grazing the flesh of your legs as his lips did a bulk of the work. The tickle of his five o’clock shadow was a welcome match to the gentle pressure you felt in your abdomen brought on by the way his cock stretched you.

He wrapped one arm around your legs, leaving you powerless to his movements as your head pushed back into the pillows from the sheer delight of feeling him inside of you, heightened by the depth and momentum with which he fucked you. He let his other hand drop to hold your hips, thumb caressing your skin with unidentifiable shapes.

You couldn’t remember getting fucked like this before—if you ever even had been fucked like this before. Somehow Damien knew you inside and out better than anybody else did, maybe even better than you knew yourself. This was proven by the way he drove his hips into you, hauling you over his cock and making you feel the delicious drag of his length in a way that made you feel full to the point of near discomfort. The electrified jolts of satisfaction when the tip of his cock pressed up against your more delicate, hidden spots, were eased by the soft way he touched you. The feeling wasn’t confined to your walls; his fingers brushed your clit, the ghost of a touch sending shockwaves through your system. You wriggled your body, unable to contain yourself and responding physically to the way his digits teased you while he ruined you with his cock.

He was rough, wild, and everything you needed. When you looked up at him, you could still see the kindness in his features, hear the compassion with which he moaned your name, feel the romantic way he squeezed at your body even while he was fucking you stupid. His groaned words of praise, of affirmation, when he managed to gasp your name between panting thrusts brought you to the edge just as much as his physical prowess did, and you let it be known how you were feeling.

“Damien—” You reached out, grasping at his arm where it wrapped around your legs, his other hand kneading your clit in slow circles. You felt your cunt tighten around him, walls fluttering in preparation for your oncoming orgasm, hips bucking on their own accord as you chased the ecstasy he brought you.

“Give me another, princess,” he grunted, pounding into you, his fingers deftly tracing over your clit. “Doing so good, give me one more.”

You turned your face to the side and buried it into the pillow under you, biting into the cloth to silence your increasingly loud screams. He reached down to grab your face, once again pushing your knees to your chest and earning a loud gasp of his name as you wiggled your hips against him, relishing the feel of his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

“Show me that pretty face,” he cooed, sweat lining his temples from exertion, “Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He pressed hard against your clit, and your body responded explosively; you screamed for him, reaching for his shoulders to pull him to your chest and kiss him as a warm feeling spread from your center and out to your limbs. You could feel it in your chest, the fulfillment traveling over every inch of your body, muscles responding in kind with small twitches as your cunt squeezed him tight.

Your legs squirmed free from underneath him, and you wrapped them around his waist, keeping him close to you while you rode out your high, circling your hips over his cock. He moaned into your mouth, the kiss devolving into a messy exchange of spit and sweat and teeth, lips chapped and swollen with passion. You bit his lip and he growled, leisurely swaying his hips and punctuating his thrusts with eager whines.

“Where,” he was breathing heavily, once again finding solace in the crook of your neck. “Where do you want it, baby. Tell me. Please.” He was practically whimpering, begging you for permission to finish by communicating where it was you wanted his cum.

“Inside,” you moaned, the aftershocks of your orgasm lulling you into a sleepy heap of oversensitivity and devotion.

Damien growled as he took in your request. “You’re—fucking christ, you’re sure?”

“Please,” it was all you could say, desperate to feel the culmination of his pleasure inside of you. “Pill. Need it, Damien. Cum inside me. Let me feel it, please.”

Damien groaned at your words, brow knit and mouth open. He sped up his pace, pushing himself up from you and supporting himself on his hands. You whined, content and aching for him.

“Fuck, I'm gonna fill this pussy up so deep.” Damien squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before opening them and looking down at you, “Fuck—gonna cum, baby, I'm—fuck!” His hips stuttered, and you wrapped your legs around him tighter, keeping him secure against you. He dropped down onto you, still providing shallow thrusts, though much gentler than before. “I love you,” he whispered, lips pressing against your neck as he engulfed you with his own body, cock spent and twitching inside of you, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated quietly, and when he kissed you, you could feel that he meant it; the words echoed in your mind as he eased his lips against yours, taking time now to really savor the way you moved against him and enjoy how perfectly you fit together.

You focused on catching your breath, and he removed himself from atop you as he collected himself. When he slipped his cock from you, you whimpered at the new emptiness, and he kissed your temple.

You both stayed there, lying in bed together while you came down from the high-energy tryst. You still couldn't remove yourselves from each other completely, limbs tangling together and hands gliding over sweaty skin as you appreciated the tranquility together.

“Do you want water?” He asked, nose rubbing against your cheek.

“Yeah,” you gulped a breath, “Yeah. Thanks.”

He got up on shaky legs and found a pair of sweatpants, walking to the kitchen only to return seconds later with a glass of water. His face was radiant and his cheeks dusted pink as he beamed at you.

“Thank you, baby,” you guzzled the cool liquid, mouth dry from the way he'd made you scream.

“Say—” Damien looked down at you, giddy, “Will you say it again?”

You smiled, tired eyes taking in his form. “Thank you, baby.”

He sat down next to you. The mattress shifted with his weight, and you inched yourself towards him.

“I like hearing you say it.” He seemed timid, like after all that had happened, he was still worried you’d reject him.

“I like saying it,” you nuzzled your face into his stomach, resting on his thigh. His hand came down to pet your hair, thumb occasionally brushing over your temple.

“Will you stay here tonight?” He asked, “Only if you want to, I mean—but, I’d like it if you did.” He laughed to himself, “And then, you know…if you wanted to stay every night—I’d like that, too.”

“Well, good, cause the U-Haul is on its way over.” You turned your head to look up at him from your spot on his leg.

“Wow, those guys work fast,” he smirked down at you. “And then, when you, uh—when you finish moving in…could I take you out on a real date?” His face looked so gentle, “You know, away from everybody we know. Just…just us?”

“I would like that.” You smiled, turning to place a kiss on his stomach. He examined your face, still stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry if anything I said was…if you think I was moving too fast—or if I said something you want to pretend I didn’t say yet. Or at all.” He winced, nervous.

“Damien,” you sat up, shuffling to kneel in front of him and cupping his cheek, “I love you. I don’t want to pretend you never said it.” You placed a kiss on his nose, and he tackled you back onto the mattress, kissing your face.

“Thank god,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “Because I don’t think I could ever take it back.”  

“You’ve said it before,” you laughed when his head dipped under your chin to suck new marks onto your neck to match the ones that he had made prior.

“I know,” he mumbled against your skin, “But it’s—this is different. I mean it…different…” He smiled, sharp teeth on display, and you laughed again, enamored.

“Good,” you played with the hair that curled against the back of his neck, “I mean it different, too.”

Damien pulled you against his chest and rolled over, leaving you to straddle his waist and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he sighed happily.

“I love you, too.” You left kisses on his collar bone before pressing your face against his neck.

~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you awoke the next morning you momentarily feared that it had all been a dream; that you were back in your own bed, alone, hungover and suffering from the memories of some distant fantasy.

But you were still with Damien. His arm draped over your waist and his face pressed between your shoulder blades as he snored quietly.

You could get used to this.

You leaned back against him, eager to tell him that you loved him when he woke up.

The sun was just barely up, and the minuscule amount of light that made its way through the window illuminated tiny bits of dust that passed through the rays. Zelda had made her way into the room at some point in the night, and her soft purring sent tiny vibrations over the blanket, her body nestled into the curve of Damien’s knee behind you.

You stretched, aimlessly reaching out and inevitably grabbing hold of your phone. You dimmed the brightness, scrolling through notifications you had missed the night before; tagged pictures, drunken Instagram stories, a few Venmo requests and a few more Venmo payments.

Courtney had texted you only about 20 minutes before you had woken up.

Court: How was the rest of your night 👀

Court: Does Shayne owe me $10

Court: Or did you end up going home

You let out a silent laugh, rolling your eyes a little at the betting pool that seemed to have erupted over your love life. You twisted in bed, opening your camera and zooming in on Zelda where she sat comfortably against Damien’s knee, the backdrop of his bedroom on full display. You took a picture and sent it to Courtney with no explanation, amused by your own vague confirmation that you had spent the night with Damien—and planned to do it again. Often.

You put your phone down and it started to buzz on the nightstand, lighting up with Courtney's contact picture. You considered picking it up, but then Damien’s arm tightened around you, pulling you to him while his hand spread out over your ribcage just under your breast. He kissed your back, still half-asleep, before he resumed snoring.

You decided that you would talk to Courtney later, turning over to bury your face in Damien’s chest, letting his breathing lull you back to sleep.

[llamagoddessofficial]

knightmare.......... (⸝⸝๑ ̫ ๑⸝⸝⸝)

The air was hot, and heavy. It always was, in the Summer Court, where the inescapable sun remained high in the sky for eternity. In this particular moment, however... the heaviness in the atmosphere was not caused entirely by heat.

The new knight, the stranger, had won yet another joust. Not only that, he had won a golden rose; the coveted prize for unseating five knights in a row. His opponent was still limping back to the competitor’s tent, their wings low in shame - and the stranger remained tall on his steed, alone in the centre of the ring. The raised stands surrounding the jousting arena had fallen deafeningly silent... he looked like a demon, horned helmet branching behind him, black ichor still leaking from between the heavy segments of his midnight armour.

The knight he had unhorsed was one of Dream’s favoured guards. Nobody knew what to do. Cheer? Boo? He held the rose he had just been presented with as if someone had handed him a dead bird; he seemed to observe it with a peculiar and detached sort of disinterest. 

Amongst the dozens of rainbow-clad fae surrounding him, he appeared a single black spider in field of butterflies.

The fae who had presented him the rose hurried out of view, ducking back under the fabric of the stands. The stranger’s horse had attempted to bite her, and she had only just moved away in time. You would’ve run, too, if you were her.

“... Your prize, visitor.” Dream, naturally seated under the shade at the head of the tourney, spoke with his classic eloquence. And you couldn’t deny you admired his ability to speak so loudly, and with such friendliness, as if nothing was wrong. But you knew him well enough to know that his teeth were gritted. He looked down at the knight with an unreadable expression, golden circlet winking in the light. “Well earned.”

You didn’t have the luxury of sitting further back, in the top of the stands, sheltered from sunlight. You were sat on one of the far wings - to the very front, with the rest of the common fae. 

... You used to be at the back. But you couldn’t think about that anymore. Ever since you had lost your humanity and grown wings, Dream’s eyelights had wandered to newer, more interesting people. You were relegated to the long and ever-growing list of Dream’s “old favourites”, the fae who had committed the ultimate sin of becoming boring. 

You weren’t even one of the preferred old favourites. You would be surprised if Dream even recalled your name. You sat at the front now, far from him.

... So when the knight ignored Dream, and turned his great horse in your direction, even though the stands provided a moderate height advantage you felt fear seize every muscle.

You had suspected, from the dramatic moment this terrifying stranger arrived, that he had been stealing glances at you. Little tilts of his helmet - flashes of an eye underneath the metal. You had done your best to talk yourself out of it, why would he care about you? He was clearly here to mock the King. You were seeing things, or he was looking past you to other, more beautiful fae.

The horse was more beast than steed. It was frothing and biting at its bit, muscles straining beneath its armour, midnight hide rippling with barely restrained energy; it stood at least three hands above every other horse at the tournament, wild eyes blank like parchment. How the knight stayed so easily seated upon the monster was a mystery - but a loud testament to his own strength. Anyone who could tame and ride such a thing must be worth his salt. 

You watched, in horror, as the beast drew closer. Each hoofbeat struck like thunder into the sand; you couldn’t help but feel a childish fear that the approaching steed might lunge forward and eat you. The fae around you were murmuring, wings were fluttering, seats creaked as tens of bodies attempted to lean away without committing the impropriety of leaving their place.

The horse pulled up alongside the stand. Its wild eyes, that had so hungrily observed the competition (and even the rose-bearer), didn’t so much as glance at you. It was like you weren’t even there.

The knight’s gauntlet-clad hand extended. The golden rose, tilted toward you. It all but glowed in the sun reflecting off its crafted petals; water-like ripples of light cast from it across his fine dark armour. Within his midnight hand, it only seemed to shine brighter. 

You looked down at him. From the gap in his helmet, could see a single eye staring back at you, the brightest azure you had ever seen. He spoke - his voice was far softer now. Not at all like the proud, booming tones of when he had declared himself a contender for the joust. 

“might this simple knight be so bold...” he murmured, “as to ask for your favour?”

It took a moment for you to speak. Your own voice was choked, barely audible to anyone but him. 

“Y-you wish to exchange your golden rose... for my favour in the rest of the joust?”

You could hear his smile through the metal. “indeed.”

Your brow furrowed. “That hardly seems like a fair exchange for you, lord.”

“any fool with coin could have a hundred golden roses.” His eye sharpened. “but the favour of the fairest creature in attendance? alas, there is only one of those. a metal trinket, in exchange for something truly priceless.”

The heat in your cheeks was undeniable. He extended his hand a fraction further; you sat forward in your seat and extended yours in turn. As he placed the delicate rose into your awaiting palm, you felt the cold metal of his claws trace gently over the back of your knuckles.

He settled back into his saddle, retaking his reigns.

“... I-I...” You swallowed, gently nodding your head to him, slightly raising your voice. “Good fortune to you, Lord.”

The knight lifted the reins. The horse shook, making a sound like a great bonfire, hooves beginning to paw at the ground once again. 

... He bowed his helmeted head. The horse turned, tail whipping, and moved back toward the centre of the joust range.

You froze in your seat, hands clasped around the rose. Everyone noticed that. Whispers immediately began to ripple across the crowd; you quickly darted your eyes away from the head of the seating, where Dream sat, hair prickling as you desperately avoided the overpowering urge to look to the Summer King for his reaction.

The mysterious knight had not called Dream “King”. Not once. And despite having every opportunity, for the duration of the tourney he had not bowed to him.

... But before the entire court, he had just bowed to you.

[fairy-writes]

BIRD IN FLIGHT

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Siren!Reader, Myth AU (I referenced the Trojan War in the last part), Enemies to… Something…

Notes: PART TWO TO SIREN SONG 

I’M JUST SAYING THE ITHACA SAGA HAS BEEN ON REPEAT SINCE IT DROPPED

Tag List: @hanniejji

__________________________________________________________________________

Admittedly, Soshiro was in a bit over his head with trying to gain your trust. 

Every time he went down to check on you in your cell, or read to you, or talk to you, you just cowered with a snarl in the corner of the prison they had trapped you in. 

You wouldn’t actively try and escape anymore, but you refused food and water, withering away in your cell. 

Soshiro has to do something. You’d be no good to them for bartering passage if you were dead. 

So he began to think. 

And think. 

And think. 

Until he was struck with an idea. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?” Ichikawa Reno asked. He was a newer addition to their crew, much like Kafka, but Kafka was busy, and Soshiro needed help with his idea. 

“Of course not. This could go horribly. But she’s no good to us dead, so it’s worth a shot.” He said as he adjusted the length of rope looped around his arm. 

The stairs down to the brig creak horrendously, quickly alerting you to their presence. It takes Soshiro’s eyes a moment to adjust, but you’re in the corner, as always. Reno swallowed thickly when he saw you and your emaciated body and wings. 

Feathers were scattered around you, and he watched as you took ahold of a feather and plucked it from your wings, letting it fall to the ground. You almost did it again, seemingly entranced by the twirling of the feathers from your fingers when he put the key in the lock and unlocked the cell door. The sound of the key jiggling in the iron lock roused you from your stupor, and your face soured with distrust when you realized who it was. 

You were surprisingly emotive for a creature of myth. Almost human-like. It was almost eerie to see such a pretty face surrounded by feathered hair and sharp teeth.

Reno stepped hesitantly into the cell and shut the door most of the way as he waited for Soshiro’s next move. 

Soshiro crouched in front of you, not stepping on your scattered feathers and just out of your reach in case you tried to attack him.

“I have a proposal for you.” He said, and you merely curled your lip in a snarl. At least, you did until you spotted Reno. Then, your face morphed into one of confusion. 

You were likely wondering why he was here. After all, you hadn’t seen him before, and the list of people who saw you most commonly comprised of Captain Ashiro and Soshiro. Kafka, Aoi, and the ship’s doctor came down to treat your injuries, but even then, that wasn’t a common occurrence. 

So, someone new was probably exciting. 

Soshiro continued speaking. 

“We’re willing to let you out. Supervised, of course, that’s why I have this rope. What do you say?” He said and didn’t miss how you perked up at the mention of being let out. However, almost immediately after, you shrank back when he held out the rope. Soshiro frowned but didn’t scoot closer. The memory of you trying to claw his eyes out was still fresh in his mind. 

“Might I try?” Reno asked, and Soshiro nodded after a moment of hesitation. He handed the rope off to Reno, who took his place and knelt before you. You huddled back warily, one wing drawn in front of you as if trying to protect yourself. You peeked through your feathers with untrusting eyes, but that didn’t sway Reno’s attempt. 

“Can I come closer?” He asked gently, like trying to soothe a spooked animal. Your eyes narrowed, and Soshiro noticed you were rubbing the scar around your throat. But you weren’t attacking or saying no…

Reno picked up on this and shuffled the barest bit closer. 

“What if I tie this around your wrist? Would that be okay?” He asked again and it was then that something changed. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” 

You spoke. 

Reno looked as shocked as Soshiro felt. But both soldiers recovered quickly, and Reno shrugged. 

“I suppose I feel you could use some kindness.” He said honestly, and now it was your turn to be shocked. Your wing drooped enough so they could both see your astonished expression. 

And then… 

Your eyes began to shine with unshed tears. Reno panicked as Soshiro was left with a feeling he couldn’t quite define in his chest. 

You were slow going up the stairs from the brig to the deck. The pain was evident in your frame as you stepped up the stairs. Soshiro couldn't help but stare at your balding wings as he walked behind you. Reno held the rope as he walked ahead, just in case. But Soshiro had the feeling that you wouldn’t be able to fly any time soon. 

Not with your wings the way they were. 

If they even healed.

All conversation ceased on deck when you reached the top of the stairs. Almost immediately, you shrank back and bumped into Soshiro, who had come up behind you. You winced, though you tried to hide it, as he aggravated your healing injuries. You looked back to glare, but he didn’t let that stop him from smiling in your direction, 

“Are you going to go up and get some fresh air? I imagine the brig is awfully stuffy.” He said and could see the resolve steeling in your bird-like pupils. 

You squared your shoulders, pulling them back as much as the bandages and scabs would let you, and walked out into the sunlight. 

The relief in your shoulders as you step into the ocean air is palpable. Your wings, which had been held high and proud behind you, dropped in a sudden calm. Even your hands, which were tied in front of you, relaxed in their bonds. 

Reno tied the other end of the rope to the mast while he was instructed to return to his work. Soshiro was ordered by Captain Ashiro to watch you. So he sat on a barrel of rations as he studied you. Slowly, everyone went back to their duties, and soon, you were ignored. 

Soshiro had the feeling that was how you preferred it. 

He watched you watch everyone else with curiosity. Your eyes were wide as you scanned the ship and everyone on it. You even sat down of your own volition and not because there was nothing else to do, like when you were back in your cell. You sat with your back against the mast, feet curled beneath you so you were out of the way of tramping boots and those scrubbing the deck. 

It didn’t take long for Soshiro to get up and approach you. You flinched with surprise as he sat down beside you and looked at him incredulously. 

“Figured you might want some company.” He teased and you just rolled your eyes.

But… You didn’t scoot away.

This became somewhat regular for you. You’d be bound by your wrists and brought up to the deck, where you were tied to the mast and allowed to watch the people working. You started to eat and drink again. 

Soshiro found you absolutely fascinating. 

You recoiled from his touch, yet you looked like you wanted to interact with him and his fellow humans. You eventually got to the point where he could touch your wings to check the splints, yet you wouldn’t let him touch your scars. 

He wondered why. 

He got his answer one night when he was at his post while everyone slept in the belly of the ship. You were tied at the helm of the boat while he used the stars to navigate them home. They had been nearing the land of sirens for days now. He could see the craggy rocks where your sisters resided. 

Was he ready to let you go? 

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked, and Soshiro jolted in surprise. You spoke little, if at all. Your voice was rough from disuse and the injuries marring your throat. 

“Because we need you to barter passage through siren territory.” He said. He didn’t see any point in lying. But his resolve wavered when you barked out a harsh laugh. 

“That’ll just get you slaughtered. Why do you think I was in the water in the first place? We aren’t exactly close.” You bite out, and he frowns. 

“I thought sirens lived in flocks?” He said, and you shrugged, tilting your head back to look at the stars you passed under.

Soshiro looked up too, able to name the constellations used to guide them home. 

“Typically, we are. But not when you’re different, apparently.” You mutter under your breath, and it is then that the dots connected. 

“Did your sisters give you those scars and injuries?” He asked, and you stiffened. The splints had been taken off your wings at this point, and the feathers shifted uneasily behind your back. 

Eventually, you nod, somewhat upset that he figured it out. 

“I’m sorry,” He said and could see out of the corner of his eye how your head jerked up in surprise. 

“Why are you sorry?” You snap, and he shrugs. Flashes of his family pass behind his eyes. 

“I suppose I know what it’s like to not live up to the expectations of others. Or to be different. I’m… Not on the best terms with my family.” He said, and now it’s your turn to frown. 

“I’m… Sorry…” You say awkwardly, and he laughs out loud. 

“Don’t be. I got my own little family right here.” He said, gesturing to the boat where he could hear the wood creaking and the faint snores of his fellow soldiers.

For whatever reason, you looked sad. 

Things came to a head when they finally passed through the land of sirens. 

It was quiet at first. Soshiro didn’t see anyone or anything in the rock caves. But as the helmsman steered the ship past craggy outcroppings of stone, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

They were being watched. 

You could tell, too. Hunkered down under the stairs that led to the helm, and your wings were pinned tightly against your back. Soshiro kept his hand on the pommel of his sword and wedged some beeswax in his ears. He had heard about a siren’s song. The mystical ability to sing and hypnotize a sailor and bring them to their doom. 

He wasn’t sure why you hadn’t done that to him when you initially woke up, but he had the feeling it had to do with what your sisters did to you. 

He wasn’t even sure the wax in his ears would work. But it was worth a shot. 

And suddenly—There! Just on the edge of his hearing! A noise!

And it was then that the boat came to a stop, and the soldiers around him dropped their weapons. Captain Ashiro looked on blankly, her sword slipping from her hands as she fell under the siren’s spell. 

All the while, Soshiro watched on. 

He tightened his grip and drew his sword as the first siren dive bombed the ship. 

The scaly talons dug into the helmsman’s shoulders and yanked him off the ship. There wasn’t a scream or cry for help. Just silence as you cowered under the stairs. 

And then… They all came at once. 

Soshiro cut down siren after siren, but he didn’t have the time to put wax in anyone’s ears as they were pulled from the ship to their deaths.

A pair of talons dug through Soshiro’s armor like it was nothing but butter and lifted him from the ship. He slashed and cut, but the siren wasn’t like you. This siren was well-fed and strong. Her wings had a healthy sheen, and she actually had all her feathers. 

At least until you stepped in. 

He heard a guttural screech that he knew all too well, and suddenly, he was plummeting to the deck. 

What? 

He looked up and rolled to the side a split second before the siren hit the deck, missing one of her wings. Soshiro scooped up his sword and prepared to cut her down, but you were on her in a second. The two of you rolled and flailed and scratched and bit until you came out on top. 

The other siren didn’t move. 

You threw your head back and let out a deafening screech that he heard even through the wax in his ears. 

And… One by one… The sirens left.

The remaining crew seemingly snapped out of the spell and looked around, confused. 

You had protected them. 

Protected him. 

And it was beautiful. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Things not pictured because I’m not smart in fitting things in:

-Narumi Gen

-You trying to rip off Narumi’s head

-Just shenanigans with Narumi in general.

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack: – gojo satoru chapter 3: green tea

contents: gojo satoru x reader, tw!ptsd, swearing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, satoru being down bad and not knowing it yet, satoru not being good at feelings summary:  after trying to cheer you up after a bad day, gojo starts to wonder what these growing new feelings towards you mean.

wc: 2.5k

oh no. were you crying? did he make you – now gojo really didn’t like this, he’s almost panicking, heart racing to an unfamiliar rhythm. he winces, “shit, babe.” refusing to meet his eyes, you wordlessly shake your head.

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

you will yourself to unclench your jaw as you rustle into your pockets to fish out your loose change. today was just not your day – after a week of decent sleep you had your first setback in the form of a vivid nightmare that frustratingly did not allow to you go back to sleep. sighing, you add some coins into the machine and press the buttons on the right side to select your favourite bottle of green tea.

grinding your teeth while you shake off the residual panic that’s rooted within your subconscious waiting at the vending machine for your drink to dispense. you were making progress – the nightmares weren’t happening as frequently but you were getting frustrated at your slow progress. sure, other students had nightmares but never as bad as yours were.  were you that weak that you couldn’t fight off your own imagination? if only you had moved quicker, fought harder … maybe everyone wouldn’t have died and you – 

you shook your head at imposing thoughts and impatiently rubbed your temple to calm down the consistent migraine you had. at least the green tea would awaken your drained head and provide some relief from your racing thoughts. you breath hitches as you watch in slow motion as your bottle of green gets jams against the glass of the vending machine.

you blink, biting your lip. luck was not on your side today.

 you sighed heavily, feeling tears at your waterline. oh god, you were going to cry. okay, okay. that’s okay, you just needed to recollect yourself, right? no biggie, it happens, it’s not the end of the worl–

“ooooooh fuck, babe that’s unlucky,” says a sing song voice from behind you.

not this, not now, not gojo.

you unfortunately hear his cheeky smile before you see him. if you were having a bad day and satoru gojo showed up, it was just about to get worse. creeping into your peripheral vision you see messy white hair, dark sunglasses and an infuriating grin. if you turned around you weren’t sure if you were going to yell at him or burst into tears, so you clenched your fists, shut your eyes and hoped he got the hint to leave you alone. you at least hoped that geto was with him, at least if his trainer was there the blue eye beast would be more tolerable.

but luck was not on your side, only hearing one set of foot steps drawing closer and closer, you hold back an audible groan. you shut your eyes tighter around the sound of his voice, hoping that the darkness would smoother his presence. if you cried here – in front of him – you would die of embarrassment. you knew that he would never let you live it down. he still teased you that time you cried when you ate something too spicy after a mission with ieri and geto 4 months ago.

“- last time, it took like 6 colas to unlodge my original cola from this piece of shit. suguru practically died laughing. this one’s the worst,” he said banging his fist on the side of the vending machine hopelessly. “ya gotta go to the one near the gym, babe!  that one is waaaaay newer and better stocked too, but i mean shoko keeps hogging all the strawberry milk. i mean… i guess– we could also just break on the vending machine if-“

yikes. how long had he been talking?

you sigh and finally open your eyes to find him animatedly talking, hand on his hip, other hand on his chin, looking closely into the machine - nose almost touching the glass - trying to figure out a plan to get your bottle of green tea out. if you were stronger or if you had less pride you’d admit that it was almost endearing.

“- or I could- hey? babe? how come you never listen to me???” gojo turns to look at your vacant expression, his lower lip jutting out exaggeratedly, blue eyes burning bright with a tinge of annoyance.

shit, he caught you.

you sigh trying to drain the increasing flow of water in your eyes. “im just having a bad day, gojo. sorry,” you say sheepishly.

gojo eyes widen to take in your appearance, you slightly hunched shoulders, cheeks flushed at being caught. wait.. were your eyes more watery than usual? rims with a tinge of red, eyebrows downcast, you were fidgeting with your fingers unable to look at him in the eye. something explodes in gojo. did.. did he make you upset?

oh no.

the thought of him being the cause of your sadness almost made him want to throw up. he did not like this at all. but.. why was he feeling this way? maybe he needed a cold drink too. or- or maybe.. was it the tea that was the cause of your reaction? oh god, did he have to fight a bottle of green tea? he was one of the strongest he could do it; he’d definitely break the machine in half to get it for you, he would if that’s what you wanted. is that what you wanted? hell, he’d buy you green tea everyday - he’d buy out every store in Tokyo for you if it meant you’d smile.

he was a good friend - he’d do the same for Suguru or shoko, right? he just wanted you to be happy. but when you turn your back to him, gearing up to make an escape, he feels something else drop in his stomach.

“hey - hey it’s okay! i’m not mad, i swear,” he says moving closer to you, awkwardly bumping your shoulder with his.

perhaps it was the combination of his unusual sweetness and the acknowledgment of your fragile state, you feel your eyes grow misty once more. why was he so infuriating? you didn’t want to deal with him, you didn’t want to hear his taunts or his obnoxious comments. you didn’t have the headspace to come up with a witty response or to roll your eyes at him right now. but luck was not on your side today.

 attempting to save yourself from the embarrassment from him seeing your threatening tears fall, you begrudgingly lean your forehead gojo’s shoulder, nose facing his arm conveniently hiding your face. why did embarrassing moments always happen when he was around? you hated it but the need to hide, to disappear was far greater. you sniff softly.

realisation widens his blue eyes. oh no.

were you crying?  did he make you – now gojo really didn’t like this, he’s almost panicking, heart racing to an unfamiliar rhythm.

he winces, “shit, babe.” refusing to meet his eyes, you wordlessly shake your head.

c’mon keep it together. gojo can’t see you like this. “i-is this about the green tea- like it’s not your fault! the machine does that all the time, you didn’t break it or anything! it’s just like – “ “c-can you just.. just shut up for a sec.. please,” the weariness and fatigue coating your words. you sniff, fully succumbing to your bad day, hands moving quickly to rub the tears that lightly fall from your heavy eyes. gojo immediately quiets – a rare sight. fidgeting with his hands, he’s at a loss for what to do. you’re so close, so willingly close to him. your skin is comfortably warm and he’s surprised at how pleased he is that you’ve chosen to get close to him.

he raises his hand and pats your head as he listens to your breathing, trying to offer some semblance of comfort to you even if he knew that you wouldn’t fully accept it from him.

your eyes shut, unconsciously you lean into his soft touch. it felt nice, almost reassuring. “..what’s going on, babe?” he asks quietly, not wanting to upset you more than you already were.

“im.. im not babe.” he hears you muffle against his shoulder, voice still raspy with an abundance of unshed tears. “ and .. my head isn't for patting.”

gojo snorts and makes a point of fluffing your hair to your annoyance.  “yes, you are,” he mumbles, uncharacteristically gentle, his hand stilling on top of your head.

“are you… are you okay?” he asks, concern in his voice. this new sense of helplessness from you was strange to him. even that night when you made udon together, you were out of it but you were still composed albeit exhausted. you’ve always had a bit of fight, but today your meekness and defeated tone started to make him worry.

“i.. i’m just…” you say as you struggle to find the words, unwilling yourself to vocalize your weakness to him. “..i’m not sleeping well," you put simply.

“how come?” he takes his large hand off of your head, instead moving to unconsciously play with a lock of your hair.

“… thinking too much, i guess.” fragile voice threatening to crack. you clear your throat swiftly. “i’ll be fine.”

gojo’s hand settles behind your neck, his warm hands offering a strange and new comfort. he stares at you with a look that you don’t understand, his blue eyes shining. was it understanding or knowing gojo.. pity?

you flush. you detach yourself from him and turn your back swiftly to hide yourself from him. hopefully you’d disappear if he didn’t look at you.

“y’know you don’t have to do that, right?”

you turn slightly angle your head to look back at him with a questioning stare. what is he getting at? “well.. you always hide.“ he states plainly like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “you don’t have to hide with me.”

you blink, red rimmed eyes not looking at his face, instead choosing to focus on the ground beneath him. you weren’t used to gojo being like this towards you, but maybe –

“..and ‘member, babe? six eyes i’ll catch it anyway, so don’t even bother trying- ” yeah he ruins everything. you shoot him the most murderous look you could muster.

getting the hint, he backtracks quickly “..uhhh I just mean, i'm – we’re here for you, you know? shoko, suguru and me. but since i’m the best -“ “nope. you’re at the bottom of that list.”

“wha- the bottom?” he gapes at you disbelievingly, hand over his quickly beating heart. “nuh uh! wait whose at the top then?! don’t tell me that it’s sug-“

you chuckle at his playfulness, you found amusement in seeing him all worked up. his eyes would blaze brightly, slender nose scrunched up, plump lips sculpting into a pout.. he was ridiculous. tilting your head up, your eyes finally meeting blue.

there was so much you wanted to say to him, but you settled on something that nicely encompassed everything:

“you’re so dumb, gojo.”

gojo slowly blows air out of his nose, he swallows his whines and instead pouts slightly at your comment. good this was good, if you were being mean to him then things were getting better - you were feeling better. calling your name he gestures you closer to the vending machine. you follow slowly, unsure of his intent. he inches closer to you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off his lanky frame and the fresh smell of his shampoo.  

did this guy know the concept of personal space? why was he so close?

“i’ll get your tea out for you. i can blue the machine if you want! or-or I can –” he says with an easy grin.

your cheeks twitch up, threatening to smile. “you’d blow up my drink then you idiot,” you say voice infinitesimally stronger now, tone more playful.

“yeah, but if i were you i’d want revenge!”

“what, on the machine?” your eyes roll before looking down at your green tea bottle still hopelessly stuck. just like you were.

“dude of course! the bastard stole your green tea!  let’s fuck it up!” his eyebrows wiggle, bright blue laced with mischief.

you snort. “you’re crazy, gojo. if you want to burn some energy go spar with suguru!”

“what, him?” his nose wrinkles at your first name basis with his best friend – and not him. “why ask him when you’re here already? but y’know, i feel like we’d make a good team don’t ya think? we could do some damage together!”  if you didn’t want to tell him exactly what was going on, he could take your mind off whatever is making you upset, it’d be a win. and he always wins.  

“i’m not fighting the vending machine.” you deadpan, fingers coming to pinch your nose bridge, exasperation eclipsing sadness.

“what, babe? you don’t think I’d win???” gojo incredulously whines.

“are you seriously asking me that question right now?”

“all im hearing is that you don’t think i’d win against a cheating vending machine!!” gojo huffs dramatically, crossing his arms and turning away from you.

you fully laugh. his ears perk up happily at the noise, he bounces on his feet while mentally patting himself on the back. he made you laugh –  perhaps luck was on his side today.

he claps his hands suddenly. “right then babe, let’s go!” gojo practically shouts. giddy from his win, gojo quickly grabs your wrist and drags you behind him, the pathetic bottle of green tea forgotten still suspended, leaning on the glass. your eyes widen as you feel the warmth of his hand around your wrist.

“he–gojo! HEY! where are we going?! gojo, slow down, why are we running?!” you ask jogging to keep up with his long stride. "hey!" you sharply shake wrist connected to him to get his attention. “we’re going – oh sorry!” he turns his head, white hair catching the light as he notices your increased pace, he slows down to accommodate your shorter stride.  “we’re going to the convenience store to get some green tea, duh. oh my god, can we get some cake too? oooOOOHhH, let’s get the new strawberry cream cake they have! can we??”

“okay, but you’re paying.” you say amused at his excitement. gojo grins happily, “you think I’d let you pay? c’mon!” shaking both of his hands excitedly, jostling your whole arm when he holds your wrist.

“you can let go now, gojo…” you say, barely noting the way that his grip on you grows a little tighter.

gojo blinks as he hesitantly drops your wrist. quickly recovering, gojo exclaims, “awwwwwww, i thought we were just starting to get alon -” offering you a teasing smile.

“oh my god, let’s just go.” rolling your eyes. taking large strides to walk past him before turning back in a huff annoyed to see that he wasn't following you.

you sigh dramatically, “I’m going by myself if you don’t –“ he quickly falls in line with your steps.  “im coming, im coming! jeez babe, you’re so demand–“ you slap his arm sharply, eyes blazing, all previous sadness forgotten, suspended for the time being. gojo laughs loudly at your expression.

gojo’s day just got better and judging by the pep in your step, he smiles to think that yours did too.

A/N: i loooooove him, he's such a lil puppy here. -- head image credit: unknown! credit goes to the rightful artists dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

[sugurusdiscordmoderator]

Halo bby! <3

Do u perhaps take request? I have been thinking about husband!gojo who feels offended after wife!reader told him about how men can only ejaculate 3 times a day after after she saw it on facebook :3 So Satoru had to cum in wifey more than what she believes because the truth is better than rumours, right? 🤔

hi anon! my inbox is always open for requests (it just might take me a little to finish them lol)

Sorry I’ve been working on this for like 3 weeks lol, I am going to take a break from writing Gojo for a little after this though (:

I didn’t proof read this my apologies

MDNI

cw: smut lmao, handjob, 69, riding, missionary, doggy, daddy kink (oops), shower sex, etc.

—

You scroll through your Facebook feed, when an article from Cosmopolitan magazine pops up called “How To Make Your Man Orgasm Better”. You read through some of it, not really absorbing much until you see an actual doctor’s name listed as research for the article. I mean of course if there’s a penis doctor listed in this article it must be legit!

‘Generally, a person with a penis can orgasm no more than 3 times a day. It can become painfully overstimulating the penis after that I’m afraid. In fact over 80% of this study shows that the person with the penis could not go longer than one orgasm, and 95% could not continue after the second one. That leaves just 5% of the population able to orgasm a third time in a day. There is the possibility for an asymptote - a line that never actually reaches zero although approaching it rapidly after the number 3.’

After reading through the article you decide to scroll through the comments, reading about middle aged women’s sex lives and how their husbands are rather bad at being intimate.

But oh, you could not relate.

After all, you are married to the Satoru Gojo. As a newer married couple with no kids, the two of you fuck at least once a day, usually after work or before bed. You like to get a little more creative on weekends, with morning sex, shower sex, kitchen counter, couch (and just about any surface in the house he can bend you over he’s already fucked you on). You guys can have sex for hours, pulling multiple orgasms from you, but the most he’s ever came in a day is three! So that doctor must have been right.

Just then, your lovely husband Satoru comes home to your beautiful little house, strolling in with a smile on his face like usual. He sits his bag down and takes off his blindfold before making his way over to you and kissing the top of your head where you sit on the couch.

“Hi baby, how was your day?” he asks

“Good, I was just reading a medical article!” You giggle mischievously, getting up to join him in the kitchen with your phone in hand.

“You can read?!” He sarcastically responds, pretending to be shocked before coming up behind you to hug you. This time he kisses the side of your head near your temple, smelling your freshly done hair and you can smell the remnants of his cologne that he sprayed before leaving this morning. “What were ya reading baby?” He kindly asks, not joking this time.

“Well this doctor says guys can cum at most three times a day! And I was thinking about it and even when we stay in bed all day on the weekends having sex the maximum you’ve hit is 3 so it must be true!”

Your husband breaks out laughing, a truly angelic sound, but you’re not quite sure what he’s laughing at. He breaks your hug turning you around to face him with his hands on your shoulders.

“Oh. You actually weren’t joking.” He says reading the expression on your face.

“No babe. Here read it!” You shove your phone towards him with the article pulled up. He reads the same paragraph as above and makes a mental note of the doctors name and credentials and thinks about how he’s going to contact him once he proves this theory wrong.

“Oh, interesting babe. Since you’re so into these ‘medical’ articles you find on cosmopolitan, why don’t we test this theory for ourselves?”

You giggle and blush at his sentiment, still getting shy when initiating sex even after being together for 5 years! You close the distance between your bodies, wrapping your arms around your husbands neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

“Yes please” you whisper against his lips. Satoru deepens the kiss, taking control over you like always. He continues kissing you and backing you up until your back reaches the refrigerator. He plants kisses all over your face before moving down to your neck.

“Y’know, I think we’ll have to make me orgasm all different ways for it to count. Something about a control variable.” Satoru mumbles against your neck.

You’d protest but your pretty little head is thinking about the way his mouth is on your sensitive spot, too horny to shut him up. He pats the back of your thighs for you to jump into his grasp, and you do wrapping your legs around him like a koala. The two of you continue your passionate make out before heading to the bedroom.

Leading you to the gorgeous master bedroom satoru closes the door behind you even though nobody else is there. He begins unbuttoning his jacket and throws it on the floor followed by his undershirt and black jeans. He lays back, his stiff member pulling his boxer briefs tight as he looks over to you expectantly. You waltz closer to the bed, only wearing your matching silk tank top and short set that satoru bought multiple of and loves so much.

He bought every pastel color and loves when he can see your somehow always hardened nipples through the silky fabric. Today’s outfit was baby blue, which happened to be his favorite. Being Satoru’s housewife really isn’t so bad, he makes good money and takes care of you in every way. You just can’t help but be submissive to him when he asks you to wear certain things or cook a certain food. For this man, you threw feminism out the window, and oh how he knew that.

Satoru pulls you onto his lap, looking up at you with those stupidly beautiful eyes as he gently squeezes your hip. “Cmon princess let’s start this experiment,” he winks at you before helping you take off your tank top.

While yes, you play a submissive role in your relationship, he doesn’t always dominate you in the bedroom.

That being said, you roll off satoru so you are laying beside him, leaning to him to resume your steamy make out session.

“Mmm.. I love making out with you, we need to do this more,” he mumbles against your lips. You “mhm” in agreement before proceeding to enter your tongue into his mouth. One hand grips into his white locks while the other reaches down to rub his erection through his boxer briefs. He moans at your touch, reaching his slender arm around you and firmly grabs ahold of your ass, as if you would run away. Satoru takes over the kiss a little more, but as you’re still trying to be in control you stick your hand inside his underwear, rubbing your thumb against his slit.

You break the kiss so he can lower the underwear, before spiting on your hand to lube his shaft as your soft hand runs up and down. He shudders and rolls his eyes back, putting both of his hands behind his head, showing off his sculpted physique completed by the tufts of white hair on his armpits.

You try your best to talk dirty to your lover, being shy in bed like usual is not going to work if you want to make him cum more than 3 times.

“Such a pretty cock belonging to my pretty man”

Satoru knows he’s in for a wild ride when you start to talk seductively. It doesn’t happen often because while you’re vocal in bed… it doesn’t usually include words or full sentences. 😉

You keep eye contact with your lover while you rub your thumb in circles against his sensitive spot, on the back side of the shaft where it meets the head. He lets out a mixture of a whimper and moan while closing his eyes. You add the dripping precum to the tip of his cock will you rub him up and down just like he had shown you previously. He likes when you start towards the middle and rotate up and down, not too fast and not too slow, but not too much pressure and not too light of a touch. He openly told you before that you weren’t very good with the whole handjob concept even though you’re basically professional at everything else, and so he went into great detail, and now you can really make the man quiver.

You sit up, moving so you can use both hands, because his balls look just a little too neglected. You straddle his left leg, allowing him to feel your bare soaking pussy against him. He grunts at the new feelings, getting to be too much for him to handle.

“Baby please make me cum,” he whines as you start to grind yourself on his leg, matching the rhythm that you’re stroking his length. Your other hand gently caresses his full sack, you know he will be cumming so much tonight and you cannot wait.

“Satoru, baby, please? Cum for me?” You let out a small moan as he rubs his leg against you for some extra friction, which simply sends him over the edge. Looking into your big sweetly innocent eyes he shoots his seed all over his abs. Neither of you even look at his cock when he cums, too mesmerized by the lust contained within the eye contact.

Finally, you let go of his penis as he catches his breath with his eyes closed. You want to give him some time to recover but not too much, because it will mess up the variable data!

“My sweet, are you ready for more?” You ask innocently already devising a plan for what you’ll do to him next.

“Whatever you want princess,” he breathes out finally opening his eyes when he has caught his breath.

You try to remain confident as you shift your weight off of his leg and swing your body around.

“Can I sit on your face please baby?” You ask again sounding way too innocent for the words coming out of your mouth. Satoru lets out a moan at the unexpected question, his cock growing hard again.

“Please, fuck yes, please let me make you feel good,” Satoru begs, grabbing your legs to help you get adjusted.

“No baby, I want to face the other way.”

“Oh,” Satoru breathes out, knowing what is coming next.

You get adjusted, your warm soaking cunt hovering over your husbands mouth, thinking about how long it has been since you’ve done this position, surely it won’t take him long to reach peak number 2.

Satoru wastes no time diving in like a starved man. That is the thing about your husband, is he loves pleasuring you almost more than he likes being pleasured himself. Seeing and hearing and feeling you feel good drives him crazy, being the reason he loves sixty-nine so much.

Pulling out all the stops tonight you lean down, licking a strip down Satoru’s abdomen, the exact line where all of his previous cum was. You lick from the bottom of his pecs down the whole way until you reach the base of his dick, proceeding to lick a stripe up and wrap your lips around his tip.

“Oh my fucking god baby that was the hottest thing ever”

Now he really starts eating you out with a passion, tongue circling your clit before plunging in your hole. You attempt to match the bobbing of your mouth on his cock but he simply goes too fast. You come off his cock to let out a guttural moan of his name, which only eggs him on further.

“I’m - I’m not going to last long - ahhha - if you keep that up S’toruuu”

“Mhmmm,” he hums against your clit, knowing how good the vibrations feel for you.

You close your eyes before going back down on his cock, feeling him twitch as you messily tongue his tip.

“-m sensitive hmm” a muffled Satoru says but you don’t care. Using your previously covered in cum hand, you run up and down his shaft while moving down to suck on his balls. This sends toe curling electricity through his body, and he reaches his arm around your thigh so he can access your tight hole with his thumb. Sucking and licking while you feel his thick thumb being sucked into you. Being as turned on as you were, a first orgasm is almost instantly ripped from you, catching both of you off guard but you moan against Satoru’s balls. The combination of feeling you convulse against his thumb plus the sensitive state of his dick in your hand sends Satoru over the edge, but he at least gets to give you a warning.

“Cummin for ya again baby please take it all,” he says barely coherent being so overtaken by pleasure. You attach your lips back to his tip and finish sucking him off until you feel cum stop coming out. You try to get off of him as gracefully as you can, moving to lay down for a minute to give you both some air. You look at the lower half of his face as he licks his lips, and you hold out your tongue showing him you swallowed all of it.

“Cmere pretty girl,” he murmurs, wrapping his right arm around your shoulders and pulling your sweaty bodies close.

“Don’t get too comfortable my baby were only half done, at least,” you smile up at him and watch as he realizes you really weren’t kidding earlier.

Once you’ve recovered from your orgasm, you crawl back on top of Satoru, but this time straddling his pelvis, his semi-hard cock under you. He still looks a little out of breath, but you’re going to do all the work so he doesn’t need to worry right?

You grind your soft wet folds against his growing erection, “can I have it in my sweet pussy this time baby?” You ask doing your best to give him puppy eyes. His eyes roll to the back of his head, humping his hips up a little to give more friction.

“You can have anything you want Princess, you’re being such a vocal good girl t’night,” he sounds out of breath, whiney, and desperate as he watches you reach your hand down to line him up with you. You smile as you playfully rub his tip on your clit.

His hands cover his face, “please. Please stop teasing me, please baby,”

Without further notice you slip him inside, slippery from the previous orgasm Satoru ripped from you.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he whispers before a porn like moan courses through him, “y/n I’m so sensitive, I don’t think I can do it!”

You slowly ride and grind up and down his shaft, one hand on his chest to support you, the other rubbing at your clit. “Please, daddy… for me?” You emphasize that word, knowing being called that drives your husband crazy.

Satoru’s large skinny hands find the squishy sides of your hips and he squeezes hard. Not that he meant to, but there will definitely be 10 small oval bruises on your ass and hips tomorrow.

“Say it again…” he moans.

“Say what again?” You smile innocently, batting your eyelashes. With that he lifts one hand off your hip and lashes out a spank on your ass check, making your tight hole clench down on him more.

“You know what I meant.” God, something just slightly feral comes out of Gojo when you play so innocent but also act so seductive for him, especially when he hears that word from your lips.

“Daddy, I need two more orgasms from you, please?” You whine as you find a particularly good spot that his cock is rubbing inside you. It’s like your words revived Satoru’s stamina, firmly grabbing your hips again before helping you lift off and on him at almost inhuman speed. Each thrust goes so deep in you, you think you feel it in your stomach. A few more hard thrusts and he is pulling you off of him, and pushing you straight back so your back is on the bed now. He hovers above you, reclaiming his dominance, before pushing back into you with both legs dangling off his shoulders. You know he is holding out as long as he can, but he’s going to want you to cum first so he can feel you clench around his cock and push him over the edge. He leans down kissing your lips, forehead, and cheek before whispering seductively, “such a good girlll,” while emphasizing the last two words with two particularly rough thrusts. He continues his praises inbetween licks and sucks on your neck

“You looked so pretty on top princess but I just had to have my way with you,” before he leans down to suck which will surely leave a hickey. When he comes back up for air he breathlessly groans,

“And you just taste so good and your throat knows my cock so well!” You think he may be slightly going insane and wonder if orgasm numbers 3 and 4 are necessary. Moaning with him, he knows you love his dirty talk because he can feel you squeeze his cock without trying.

Satoru fucks into you with relentless speed, causing your chest to bounce up and down, and all you can do is grip onto his shoulders and let your toes curl from pleasure.

“Mmm, daddy, g’na cum for you,” you barely breathe out, getting closer to the edge as your back arches off the bed. At this he puts your legs together and pushes them back towards you, knowing exactly how to hit your favorite spot in this position.

“Come on princess, cum for daddy, that’s it,” he groans, temporarily forgetting about his overstimulated cock while being so focused on your eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open in pleasure. Just a few more thrusts and he has you squeezing his dick so tight, he knows he won’t last much longer. Your orgasm hits you, not even able to control the beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth, face red, tears threatening to spill from pure bliss. Satoru slowed his pace to let you finish your orgasm before pounding into you harder than before

“Sa-tor-u” his name comes out of your mouth broken up not being able to catch your breath.

“I-I’m gonna - toru!” Being fucking into overstimulation has made you squirt all over Satoru’s cock and lower abdomen, which puts him over the edge, two more hard thrusts before he pauses, spilling his third load of the evening into your throbbing cunt.

His breathing heavy, sweat making his usually fluffy white hair stick to his forehead and his whole body seems to be glowing from the shine of sweat covering him. God you feel so bad for him but also do you really? As he’s said before “your pussy is heaven” so like it’s not really bad that you’re giving it to him…

“Let’s get you in the shower hun,” you whisper next to his ear, having plans for how you can get at least one more orgasm out of him. Still huffing, he gets up and his glorious skinny body looks so beautiful you feel yourself getting horny again. At least you weren’t as tired as your husband!

You set out 3 fluffy clean towels from the linen closet and turn the shower on a good temperature. Satoru has his arms wrapped around you from behind as you both wait for the water to warm up. “I love you,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“Love you too, Toru” you smile up at him, turning around in his grasp. You kiss him sensually slowly at first, on your tippy toes gently rubbing your fingers along his cheek and neck. You deepen the kiss, knowing exactly how your husband loves it. He reaches down, each hand grabbing each ass cheek and squeezing before giving you a light spank, causing you to giggle.

“Naughty girl, still haven’t had enough?” He asks down to you. Without responding you gently wrap your had around him and pull him into your beautiful giant shower. The water is perfectly hot , making your eyes roll back in relaxation. You pull Satoru under the water taking care of him first. He turns into your big baby, leaning down to let you shampoo his hair and wash his body. When you get to clean his pelvis area you gently lather his soft penis with soap. He whimpers just from you touching it, but you have to clean it! Next you fondle his balls, massaging the soap in. His erection slowly starts to grow again and you know orgasm number 4 won’t be too far away.

“My turn,” you say looking up at him and turning around so you ass rubs up against his hardening member.

Satoru pumps a generous amount of your fancy smelling body wash onto your pink loofa, his frontside still pressed up against your backside. His long arms maneuver around your smaller frame, using all his energy to make sure he washes you in every hard to reach spot, only detaching himself when he had to wash your back and ass. He ignores the boner that impossibly came back after cumming 3 times already, and thought you didn’t notice.

He opts to hang the loofa back up and uses his hands to sensually rub the soap in, starting with your tits, although they needed no extra attention. Your nipples have always been sensitive in the best way, so when he starts rubbing them you can’t help but feel your core heat up again.

“Spread your legs hun,” he whispers, barely able to hear it over the running water. You do as satoru tells you, and he runs his hands down from your chest to your folds, making sure the area is soapy and clean. Your eyes close, leaning your head back against his chest while he massages your slightly tender pussy.

You take this opportunity to reach behind you, grabbing your husbands hardened shaft, and lining it up with your slick cunt.

“Baby…” he groans, voice laced with concern.

“Shhh, it’s okay I’m going to take care of you,” you answer back and with that, push yourself back onto his cock. You both moan in unison at the connection, like a melody between the differences in your voices. You can tell Satoru is tired by his rather lazy thrusts, so you hold onto the shower wall in front of you, fucking yourself back onto him. He is back there whining and groaning uncontrollably, being such a trooper for letting you do this experiment on him.

He puts his hand over yours on the wall, while snaking his other around your waist and under you to rub at your swollen clit. Immediately when he touches it you gasp, not realizing just how sensitive it was from this evening’s fun.

“-hmygod, don’t squeeze me like that,” Satoru whimpers, you turn your head to the side to see his eyes squeezed shut, a blush covering his whole face and chest, and his abs flexing over and over.

Seeing your hot husband so worked up is just the ammunition you needed to finish this last round. You ask him to sit on the little stone bench you have in the shower, which the two of you don’t utilize enough. He sits and you turn around, reverse cowgirl, and bounce up and down with as much energy as you can.

You didn’t even realize how loud your own moans had gotten, his hands on your waist, with yours resting on his knees.

“Please Satoru, let go for me, cum for me please,” you babble and moan with your head empty. Satoru is completely pussy drunk and fucked out in a way you’ve never seen him before.

“Love you ‘Toru,” you moan out as you reach your last peak and the combination of words and friction send him over the edge. He nearly convulses, gripping your hips to the point it actually kind of hurts. No moans, whimpers, or grunts can even come out of his mouth at this point, his jaw is just slack and eyes pressed shut.

You still on his lap, he leans forward and presses his head against your shoulder, and you think you may have made him pass out.

“Babe, cmn, let’s get you out of the shower.” You stand up turning around to see your husband in all his glory, looking half dead on the shower bench with his cock softened and red. You give him and yourself one more rinse over to get the last rounds residue off and turn the water off. You help Satoru stand, although nearly a head above your height, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and lets you guide him out. You wrap his fluffy extra large towel around him and he slowly grabs the edges, just standing there letting water drip off and making no attempt to dry himself. You wrap your hair in a towel, and quickly dry your body off, tired yes, but not nearly as worn out as your husband.

You look over to him, head thrown back, holding onto the towel. You decide to pamper him for the rest of the evening, drying him off, putting his usual hair product in for him, helping him put on a clean pair of boxer briefs and crawl into bed. It’s not even 8 pm and the sun is just starting to set, you giggle but he hasn’t eaten dinner since being home from work. For christs sake he hasn’t had dessert either. He rolls onto his side scrolling through his phone as you get yourself dressed and brush through your hair.

You kiss his forehead and he tiredly smiles up at you. “Thank you babe,” you whisper, “you helped me prove that article wrong.”

His eyes roll jokingly, “well thanks to your damn article I don’t think my dick is going to work for a few days, so who’s loss is it really?”

You ignore his question, “do you want takeout babe? Are you hungry?”

“Can I just have ice cream..?” He squints up at you like a kid asking their parent to have dessert without finishing their vegetables.

“I guess..” it’s your turn to roll your eyes at him, “stay here I know how you like it.” That brings a smile to his face, snuggling into your cozy bed.

You leave the room to head to the kitchen and Satoru goes back on his phone. He googles the doctors name from the article that he noted to himself earlier and finds the email address.

Dear Doctor Yeager,

Please note that my partner and I experimented after reading your article, and I would like to inform you I am an outlier, and finished four times before nearly passing out. If you would like to do any tests on me please let me know.

- world famous Satoru Gojo

he pushes the send button as you walk back in with his ice cream.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Saw you had requests! And this may be a trigger warning but it’s a fix I’ve thought about for months.

Eddie, bestie female reader. You are newer to Hawkins and go to a party with Eddie robin and Steve. Not big into drugs or drinking to stick with punch.

While Eddie is off making some money you’re not paying attention to your cup. And someone slips in something.

Soon you start to feel weird… and scared. Someone finds Eddie who is by your side in a second. Friends freak out your crying and scared possible culprit is found and Eddie wants to kick his ass but he is taking care of you. And then from there where ever you think it could lead? Ed’s taking you home but staying and helping you through your high/trip so sweet doesn’t even need to be secretly in love or it could be but nothing happens because… well after a scary thing like that… no thanks.

Idk it’s been stuck in my head and again don’t write if you’re not comfortable.

Im not going to anon because I’m afraid I may miss if you do write. But again if not that’s totally okay!

Hey, thanks so much for your request!

Word count: 1,723

CW: reader gets roofied, let me know if there’s anything I missed!

Eddie x bestie!fem!reader

You looked around Steve’s house which was filled a bunch of people you didn’t know. You hadn’t really liked parties, but Eddie had begged you to go and you found yourself unable to say no to him. He was just so cool and pretty that you wanted to do whatever he asked when he flashed you those doe brown eyes.

You were still new to town and in no position to pass up friends so that meant hanging around people you didn’t like just so full your social circles. People like Brad were who you despised the most. He had been trying to sleep with you for months only to be met by rejection. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, approaching you every chance he got and that night hadn’t been an exception.

“Hey,” he smiled, leaning over the back of the couch. Eddie was always quick to jump to your defense, but of course he was nowhere to be found, taking an opportunity to sell, it being a huge party and all.

You ignored him, looking down at the red plastic cup in your hand. Eddie had given you some punch that had just been a bunch of different types of alcohol mixed with some juice. You didn’t drink much so it was perfect, the juice completely covering up the bitter alcohol taste that you weren’t a fan of.

You thought that not speaking to Brad would help him get the hint, but that only made him speak again. He took your silence as playing hard to get and goddamn was he determined to get you.

To Brad, you were just another body to use. He loved that you were innocent, having never slept with anyone. He just wanted to add yet another notch to his bedpost, wanting your name to be on the list of virgins he had fucked.

You had felt bad for the girls who had been desperate enough to sleep with Brad and you definitely weren’t going to be one of them. He was gross and you had eyes for only one man. That man being nowhere to be found when you needed him.

You hadn’t been paying attention and Brad had slipped something into your drink, quickly moving away before anyone could catch him. If you wouldn’t say yes, he was going to take matters into his own hands.

But Robin had caught him and hurried over to you to stop you from drinking the now contaminated juice. You had already taken a sip before she was able to get to you. She watched in horror as you swallowed the liquid and quickly took the cup from you. She pulled you in the kitchen to keep an eye on you and poured the juice down the sink.

She then grabbed onto Steve who just so happened to also be in the kitchen and turned him around to face her, panic in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He could see the look on her face and started to worry. Robin was known to freak out on a regular basis, but this was different. He could feel it. Something was wrong.

“Y/n was roofied.” He felt his knees go weak at her words and looked at you for any signs of sickness, but you seemed fine. It was only a matter of time before the symptoms took over.

“I’m gonna go get Eddie. Take her to your room,” she told him, looking around the house for the curly head of hair.

Robin was quick to run from the kitchen, pushing through all of the partygoers to find the metal head. She didn’t have much time and it didn’t help that Steve’s house was packed and there was no trace of Eddie anywhere.

Steve took you to his room so you could have some quiet. You already felt dizzy, having trouble walking, feeling like the place was spinning. Everything was distorted and didn’t look right.

You continued you to try to walk but fell to the floor, the drugs in your system quickly taking over. You fell face first in the foyer and people were quick to part like the Red Sea as you laid there in the middle of them.

Everyone just stared at you while Steve was picked. He looked down at your face to see that your nose was red from where it hit the floor. He carried you up the stairs and to his room, hoping that Eddie was going to be there soon. You were fading fast and you looked so scared, it was terrifying to him. He didn’t know you as well as Eddie, but you were his friend and he hated seeing you like that. So scared and helpless.

Steve opened the door and closed it behind him with his foot before carefully laying you on his bed. His heart was racing and he was wondering where the fuck Eddie was. It didn’t take long to get to his room no matter when in the house you were coming from.

Steve sat you up against his headboard, making sure you didn’t fall asleep. He laid next to you awkwardly, not taking his eyes off of you.

“I need Eddie,” you slurred. Steve wanted Eddie too. He was the only one who always knew what you needed. Steve was going to try his best, but he was terrified for you. He couldn’t imagine going through something so scary.

“Eddie’s coming sweetheart. He’ll be here in a second.” Steve wasn’t sure how sure his statement was true, but he was going to believe it anyway.

The door burst open and Eddie and Robin rushed into the room. She sat on the bed next to Steve while Eddie made a beeline for you. He took you into his arms and the two of you slowly lowered yourselves to the floor. You cried into his chest and he let you, knowing how scared you were. You needed to let it out and he was going to let you talk about it if you wanted to.

Robin and Steve made themselves scarce, wanting to give to two of you some space. Eddie pulled you onto the bed and you cuddled up into his side, feeling nothing but dizzy. Everything was doubled and you had to close your eyes so it would go away, but it didn’t. It only got worse when you closed your eyes.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. I should have been there with you.” Eddie was going to blame himself for the rest of his life. Sure, if he had been with you, you wouldn’t have been drugged, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just horrible incident and the only person to blame was Brad.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you slurred. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve been paying more attention.” He was getting angry that you were blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault at all. You should have been able to have a drink without worrying whether there were drugs in it or not.

“No,” he said a bit too harshly, sitting up he so could look you in the eyes. “None of this is your fault, y/n. It’s Brad’s.”

“Exactly,” you opened your eyes. “So you shouldn’t be blaming yourself. You should be allowed to leave me for a few minutes without worrying about me.”

“I always worry about you. You’re my best friend. That’s my job. And I didn’t do my job for one night and something horrifying happened to you, y/n. You were assaulted.” That word made it sound so much worse. You knew that was what happened to you, but didn’t really have time to think about it until Eddie had said it.

Just because Brad hadn’t done anything to you physically didn’t mean that you weren’t a victim. Eddie wanted you to know the severity of what had happened and wanted to you to know that you had every right to feel scared.

You fell silent after that, the words heavy between the two of you. Your heart rate quickened as everything set it. You didn’t want to believe it, very much in denial of the severity of the situation. In your mind, if you didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t actually happening.

You slowly drifted to sleep and Eddie kept an eye on you to make sure you were okay. He felt sick seeing you like that. You hadn’t been acting like yourself and even after your discussion, he was still blaming himself for what had happened to you. He’d get over it eventually, but for now, he was going to let himself drown in his guilt.

You woke up the next morning from the sun shining through the window. You felt so much better, but you were still a little groggy. You sat up and panicked when Eddie wasn’t by your side but let out a sigh of relief when you saw him sitting at Steve’s desk. He had some toilet paper in his nose and a bag of frozen peas was sitting onto top of one of his hands, his other hand of top of the bag.

He smiled when he looked at you and you returned it, his smile always infections. You eyed the peas once more and wondered what had happened while you were asleep. It seemed like Eddie was always up to trouble.

“What did you do this time?”

“I punched Brad.” He said the words so proudly and for once, you didn’t feel like scolding him. If anyone deserved to have the shit punched out of them, it was him. He deserved a lot more, but you were going to take what you could get as far as his ass kickings went.

“Steve helped. We went to his house this morning and taught him a lesson about dragging women before calling the cops. They arrested him an hour later so he’s definitely not to be bothering you anymore.”

You didn’t think anyone had done something so nice for you. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie would have done anything for you. He would have even left Brad alone if you asked.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You walked over to him and planted yourself in his lap. He wasn’t caught off guard at first, but arm quickly wrapped around your waist while you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I know,” he nodded. “But I wanted to. And that was the least that fucking dick deserved.” It was true, and even though you would probably never to get over what had happened to you, knowing that Brad was behind bars made you feel a whole lot better.

[shiorimakibawrites]

The Accident (Part I of Happy Little Accident)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 7, 368 Summary: You tripped in the elevator and covered your neighbor in paint. Your ridiculously hot neighbor that you have an enormous crush on. Warning(s): Anxiety, Female Gaze, Referenced Sex, Referenced Character Death, Reference to assumed Attempted Murder, Thoughts about sex Happy Little Accident Masterlist My Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. EDIT: Cleaned up some typos.

The Accident

You were painting in Central Park when your phone rang. You let out an irritated huff as you fished your phone out of your apron’s pocket and looked at the caller ID. Abby, your boss at the Daily Grind. It was tempting to ignore the call, pretend like you had forgotten your phone. Very tempting. It was a lovely spring day, one you would much rather spend painting than working. But in the end the knowledge that Abby wasn’t prone to bothering her employees during their off hours without a good reason had you accepting the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Abby said, sounding apologetic. “Can you cover for the afternoon shift today? Peter is in the hospital.”

“The hospital?!” you repeated, feeling immediately concerned. “What happened? Is he okay?”

Peter was one of the cafe’s newer employees. You didn’t know him very well yet but he seemed like a nice kid. If a little absentminded, given how often he arrived for his shift at a rush. And possibly even more clumsy than you are since you had often seen him with bruises which he claimed were the results of tripping over things.

Assuming he wasn’t lying about how he had gotten hurt. Which you thought that he was . . . some of those injuries didn’t look like they had came from a fall . . . It worried you. It worried others at the cafe too. Abby wasn’t usually so forgiving of such frequent tardiness and absences.

“He got hit by a car. Claims that he’s only got minor injuries but the hospital doesn’t want to discharge him without running some tests first. So can you come in today?”

You suppressed the urge to sigh. You didn’t want to send the wrong message. Because you weren’t actually annoyed with Abby or Peter but the situation. These things happen. Sometimes people got hurt or got sick. And when they did, someone didn’t get their day off. Today was simply your turn.

And well . . . it wasn’t like you couldn’t use the money.

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks! You’re a lifesaver!”

You ended the call and slipped your phone back into your apron before starting to gather up your things. Your newly acquired shift started at three. It was only a little after noon, plenty of time to get back to your apartment and get ready, but you didn’t like to rush. Rushing tended to make you even more of a klutz.

You swirled the used brushes in the water jar, trying to get as much paint off of your brushes before rolling them in a small towel. A second towel, already stained with old paint, was used to wrap up your palette. The paint was thrown back into their carrying box. Which was technically a small tackle box but you had repurposed it for art supplies. The box went into the bottom of your tote bag along with the water jar, double checking that lid was screwed on tightly. You didn’t need to ruin another sketchbook. You squeezed your current sketchbook behind the tackle box. Next went your pencil case, followed by the towels and their respective cargo. Now the only thing left was your painting and the portable easel.

You removed the painting from the easel, careful to avoid the spots where the paint had spilled over onto the tacking edge. Your fingers already had enough paint on them. The painting was propped against a tree, fingers crossed for two things. One that the wind wouldn’t pick up and send your painting flying. And two, a police officer wouldn’t start yelling at you for it. You didn’t think using the tree as a momentary support while you packed up violated any park rules but you weren’t entirely sure. You had read the park rules but they were written like a legal document . . . which it probably was . . . but that made you feel like you probably weren’t understanding it right. After all, you weren’t a lawyer.

Luck seemed to be with you. You were able to get the easel broken down and put away without incident. You swung your bag into your shoulder before picking up your painting. After making sure you had a good grip on the stretcher and the tacking edge, you took a quick look around to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything. Then you started making your way home.

Your lucky streak continued. You didn’t drop anything. No one dumped into the wet canvas or you while you were walking. The subway was busy as usual but not packed to the gills. Your feet resisted the urge to get tangled up in some random piece of debris. Or your own feet. Or the absolutely nothing that you somehow managed to trip over sometimes . . .

In hindsight, you should have realized that it was too good to last.

Things began to go awry when you were waiting for the elevator to arrive. You looked down and saw a tube of paint in your aprons’ pockets instead of the tackle box where it belonged. Normally, you’d shrug and try to remember to put it away later but it looked like the cap hadn’t been screwed back on correctly. Your frown deepened after you transferred your painting to one hand and realized that the cap was loose. Loose enough that it was a minor miracle that it hadn’t fallen off somewhere between the park and here . . . you hoped the paint hadn’t gotten dried out . . .

You heard the elevator dings its arrival as you pulled the paint out of your pocket. Trying to one-handedly shift the tube so its cap could be gripped between your fingers and twisted close, you didn’t look when you heard the elevator door slide open. You just moved forward. And immediately tripped over . . . something . . . you had no idea what.

You just knew that you were falling, that you had lost your grip on your painting as your hands instinctively rose to protect your head from the oncoming impact. An impact that never came. Someone caught you before you could hit the floor. Unfortunately the hand holding the paint had squeezed down, spraying paint on yourself and the chest of your rescuer.

It was like a train wreck. You didn’t want to look but you also couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. You stared in horror at the giant splash in the middle, the magenta color of the paint shockingly bright against the light gray suit, white dress shirt, and blue tie . . . Your eyes darted to the array of smaller droplets that radiated outward like shrapnel . . . you raised your eyes with the growing dread. Because you recognized that suit and tie, that broad chest . . .

Sure enough, when you looked up, you were greeted with the very surprised face of Matt Murdock. You felt your heart sink. Of course it was Matt. It couldn’t have been someone else. Anyone else. Preferably a random stranger that you would never see again. But no . . . it had to be your neighbor. It had to the man you had developed an enormous crush on.

Your face felt like it was on fire. You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. You wanted to cry. Matt returning your feelings had always been a long shot . . . but now? There was no chance. You had turned out of his nice suits into a terrible Jackson Pollock . . . you were going to be lucky if he ever talked to you again . . .

You don’t know when you started apologizing. One minute, you were frozen in humiliated shock, the next increasingly frantic words started spilling out of your mouth. What words you couldn’t say. You couldn’t hear anything past your heart pounding in your ears . . .

A hand cupping your cheek was so startling that it immediately pierced the panic clouding your mind. Big, warm hand . . . you blinked and realized that someone was speaking to you. A familiar deep, soft-spoken voice . . .

“. . . shh, shh, sweetheart, it’s okay . . .”

Sweetheart?! You could hardly believe your own ears. But that was definitely Matt’s voice, his face that you were looking at, and those oh-so-kissable lips were moving . . .

This wasn’t the first time that Matt had called you sweetheart. He had been doing that since the first time you meet. If literally running into someone counts as meeting them. You would like to say no but it wasn’t like your second encounter with your then new neighbor had gone much better. You weren’t always a klutz around him but your bouts of clumsiness did occurred around him with embarrassing regularity.

And provided he was nearby when it happened, Matt always caught you when you started falling . . . so finding yourself in his arms also happened on a regular basis.

This had some upsides. For one, it gave you an appreciation for how much muscle must be hiding under those suits of his. Because he never had any trouble catching you or helping you get back onto your own feet. There was something very hot about the way he could lift you up like you weighted nothing. For another, he is very warm. Which had been especially nice during the recent autumn and winter months. And he smelled good. Like plain soap, ink, paper, and something woodsy like sandalwood with fainter notes of leather, cooper, and something else familiar but that you couldn’t quite remember what it was or where you had smelled it.

On the downside, you were never in his arms for very long. Certainly not long enough to really enjoy being held by those strong arms. He’d catch you, make sure you were steady on your feet again, then his arms would slide away and he stepped back. Taking all of his warmth and good smells with him. Which was always a little disappointing even if you did appreciated that he didn’t assume that he had permission to hold you longer than was absolutely necessary. And that he didn’t use those moments as an excuse to get handsy. Which you knew some people would have.

Further on the downside, being in his arms for any length of time made it very hard to pretend that he didn’t get you all hot and bothered. That having his warm breath brush against your neck and ear when he said something like ‘Careful, sweetheart’ didn’t make the skin there prickle and the rest of you shudder. Or, last week, when your shirt had gotten ridden up, that feeling those callused fingers against your bare skin didn’t make you shiver. Or the absolute worst, when you had to act like you hadn’t just been touching yourself while fantasizing about him, that you hadn’t just been moaning his name, that being in his arms hadn’t renewed the heat between your legs . . .

Those moments, it was really difficult to stop yourself from doing something crazy. Like ask him if you can find out if those pouty lips are soft as they looked . . . or if how much of that beautiful ass you could fit in your hands . . .

You suppressed the urge to groan. Serena, your best friend in the world, was right. You needed to get laid. Because even at the most embarrassing moments of your life, when you were half-considering changing your name and moving somewhere far away, you still couldn’t keep your mind out of the gutter.

Your imagination was out of control. It kept trying to convince you of the wildest things. Like that there was something more to the way his fingers had rubbed that little sliver of bare skin last week than just some mild curiosity when his hands didn’t encounter the expected shirt material. Or those tightening grips on your waist was anything other than making sure he wasn’t about to drop you. Those moments when his voice went deeper and huskier weren’t due to attraction but Matt was obviously coming down with a cold or something.

You ignored the grumbling inner voice that pointed out, aside from when he had the misfortune to get stuck in the elevator with that guy from the third floor who smelled like he bathed in cheap cologne, you had yet to see Matt so much as sneeze. Or that none of those moments had overlapped with the times Matt had looked ill – tired and moving like his body ached.

You weren’t going to get your hopes up. Matt was way out of your league. So far out that you weren’t even playing the same sport. He was incredibly good-looking, easily one of the most handsome men you had ever meet. You were the textbook definition of Plain Jane. Not ugly but not beautiful either. He was confident, outgoing, and charming. You were anxious, shy, and awkward. He was a lawyer with a successful law firm. You were an artist whose work didn’t sell well enough to make a living off of it. Hence the waitress/barista job at the Daily Grind.

Maybe not the most sensible job choice for a shy klutz but there were only so many options for someone with an art degree. Plus you had been working there since college and Abby had displayed remarkable patience for your clumsiness (and the periodic broken dishes that went with it). Mostly because you were otherwise reliable. And while you would never enjoy making small talk with strangers, you could do with a smile. It helped the majority of the regulars were nice . . .

“Sweetheart?”

Any blood that managed to drain out of your cheeks immediately flooded back. You were really batting a thousand today. First you spray him with paint, then you babble incoherently at him, then you stand there like a moron ignoring him for god only knew how long. If Matt didn’t already think you were awkward and weird, he certainly did now.

“Sorry,” you said, not sure of what to say.

He smiled at you. That sweet one that seemed . . . .dare you say it? . . . fond? Which did nothing to diminish the flush in your face. Neither did the little circles his thumb was rubbing into your right cheek or the reassuring squeeze from the hand at your waist.

He’s just trying to keep me calm, you told yourself sternly. It didn’t mean anything. He just didn’t need you panicking again. Lawyers are busy people. He probably had things to do and didn’t want to waste anymore time on you.

“And to answer your earlier question, no, I’m not going to sue you.”

You had actually said that? Out loud? You closed your eyes and let out a low groan. Everytime you think this situation couldn’t get more embarrassing . . . that idea of moving some remote mountain which hopefully had no insanely hot lawyers living on it was sounding better and better. The only thing thing that would have been worse was if your word-vomit had decided to detail just how attractive you found him. Then, in addition to everything else today, you’d have to listen to him say ‘I’m flattered but . . .’ while your heart shattered into a million pieces . . .

“Sorry,” you repeated. Because what else you could you say to something like that?

“No need to apologize again, sweetheart,” he said as his hand slide off of your face before joining its fellow in helping you get back on your own feet. Then, as usual, his arms pulled away entirely and he took a small step back. As usual, you told yourself that you weren’t disappointed or felt colder. Both were a lie.

“It was an accident,” he continued. “You said you were sorry. No harm done.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from flickering around his suit. The mess hadn’t miraculously disappeared. It was still here.

“No harm?” you repeated. “You’ve got magenta splattered all over your suit!”

“Which one is magenta?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I remember what magenta looks like,” Matt said, sounding thoughtful. “Can you describe it for me?”

“Er . . . pink?” you said, trying to think of how to describe it. “This particular shade is darker than bubblegum, more purplish-red? Like some plums just under the skin or a pomegranate?”

“Sounds pretty,” he said. “Foggy has been telling me that I need to wear more color.”

“I think he probably meant new clothes that are different colors, not paint splattered on your existing clothes,” you said slowly, unsure of what to make of this conversation. It was not turning out at all like you would have expected it to.

He grinned. “Most likely but he never actually said clothes. Just more color. He knows better than to leave the terms of a contract that vague.”

While you didn’t know Foggy Nelson very well, you had the feeling he would not be impressed. You had also seem him and Matt needling each other at Josie’s often enough to picture the irritated look he would level at his partner if he returned to work looking like this and tried to make that argument. The image was so absurd that you had to giggle.

“Not sure that is a winning argument, Mr. Murdock,” you said,

“Sure it is,” he said. “Any ambiguity in a contract favors the party that didn’t write it. Foggy wrote the contract without defining his terms. So I am free to interpret those terms as anyone might reasonably expect them to mean.”

Which only made you giggle even harder. He was being so silly. “It’s not very professional?”

“Regretfully, I have to agree,” he said, sounding almost like he genuinely disappointed about that. Provided you couldn’t see the cheeky grin on his face. “Will I need anything special to remove the paint?”

“No,” you said, silently thanking Past You for choosing to work with acrylics today instead of oils. The faded spots the turpentine would leave would be less noticeable than magenta but still probably not something he wanted. Also even the low-odor version didn’t smell good. You didn’t know if there was any truth to that whole ‘blind people’s other senses get stronger’ thing but real or not, Matt seemed to have a pretty sensitive nose. “Acrylics are water-based. As long as it is still wet, warm water and soap is enough.”

“See? No harm done,” he said, giving that flirty smile that always made your heart go pitter-patter. Even when you tried to tell yourself that it didn’t mean anything. Matt was a charming guy who flirted a little with everyone. You had seem him get a little flirty with Mrs. Gonzales, the third resident of the sixth floor. Who was, as she pointedly reminded him, old enough to be his grandmother and scolded him for shameless flattery. She had rolled her eyes a little when he retorted the truth wasn’t flattery but did seem pleased. Pleased enough to make him tamales. Which honestly made you a little jealous. The tamales you had bought from her during the holidays had been really good . . .

Serena thought Matt wasn’t flirting with you just to flirt. That he actually liked you. But she was your best friend. It was her job to believe that you were wonderful and agree that the hot guy you had a crush on was into you. And if it turned out that he wasn’t . . . well, then he was an idiot who wasn’t worth your time. You wanted to believe her . . . you wanted that to true so badly . . .

But you had seen the women Matt used to bring home. And the ones who flirted with him at Josie’s. Beautiful, self-assured women with successful careers. They were everything that you weren’t. Granted, you hadn’t seen one of his paramours leaving or arriving at the building for a while. And the only ones you had seen him leaving Josie’s with lately were his friends.

Or you. Which you refused to read anything into either. Matt just didn’t think you walking home alone at night was safe. And it wasn’t. The Kitchen might have Daredevil, its guardian in red leather, but he couldn’t be everywhere. Couldn’t save everyone through if the rumors were to be believed, it certainly seemed like he tried.

The point was that Matt would the same thing for anyone. Even someone who really didn’t need it. Like Jessica Jones. Through he claimed that was just to save himself or Foggy from needing to make another late-night trip to the police station because she had punched some creep into a wall. While he agreed that yes, they deserved it for treating someone like that but the police didn’t see that way, Jessica . . .

Regardless of his reason, you always ended up agreeing because you were too weak to say no to spending just a little more time with him. And it wasn’t like you were making him go out of his way since you both lived in the same building . . .

“As long as it’s still wet,” you repeated. “It’s harder to remove once its’ dry.”

“How does that take?”

“About half an hour.”

“Good thing I’m so close to home then.” Then he seemed to hesitate. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Absolutely,” you said, cringing a little at how eager you sounded. But you had gotten paint all over him. A favor was the least you could do.

“Can you help me get this cleaned up?” he said, gesturing toward the paint. He gave you a self-deprecating smile. “Otherwise I might miss a spot.”

“I can do that,” you said. You had been intending to offer help anyway. You had made the mess. You should help clean it up.

He frowned suddenly, his head tilting to one side. “Are you sure? I’m not keeping you from anything?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t need to be at work until three and it’s . . .”

You tried to check the time on your watch but it had a smear of paint across the face. Unfortunately the hands were hidden by said smear of paint. “Probably not three.”

Matt’s lips twitched. “Problem with your watch?”

“Paint is hiding the hands.”

He gave an amused grin as he ran his fingers around the edge of his watch. “The downside of wearing non-tactile watches. It’s a quarter til one.”

“Plenty of time,” you said. And even if it wasn’t . . . Abby was a reasonable person. She would completely understand not leaving any neighbor, let alone your blind neighbor, to clean this up.

He smiled before reaching down to pick up his fallen cane. You felt your face get warm again. Both because you just realized what you had gotten tripped over (which made you feel like a jerk) and because that action had pulled those trousers taut over his ass (which made you feel . . . other things). But you couldn’t stop yourself from looking. Not when you had a front row seat to one of the best asses in America. Possibly the world.

Matt couldn’t possibly know that you were checking out his ass but that smug little smirk that he flashed in your direction made you feel like he did. You averted your eyes and tried to find a distraction. Before thinking about his ass (or other body parts) got you worked up. More worked up. Which not only would be awkward but make you nervous and prone to say something embarrassing.

Then you remembered your painting. You had dropped it earlier. Where was . . . you let out a distressed groan as you picked it up. The good news was that your painting hadn’t landed paint-side down. Which had saved the mostly dried paint from smearing or chipping. The bad news that hadn’t escaped The Magenta. It didn’t get hit as nearly badly as Matt but there was still a giant splat right in the middle of the lake . . .

“What’s wrong?”

“There is a giant glob of magenta in the middle of the lake,” you said.

“The lake?”

“In my painting,” you said. “I was doing one of the Bow Bridge in Central Park.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Maybe,” you said, looking at the mess and trying to think of how to incorporate the random splatters into the image. You could remove some of it without taking off the underlying layers but not all of it. That would have to be incorporated somehow . . . Maybe a boat? Or a float . . . some of the smaller ones could be turned into leaves if you switched the setting to autumn just as the leaves were turning . . . or a flowering tree with pink blossoms . . .

“We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents,” you reminded your inner perfectionist.

“That sounds familiar.”

“It’s something Bob Ross said a lot,” you said. “He was–”

“That guy on PBS who painted the landscapes?” Matt said. “Soft-spoken, sometimes had a squirrel in his pocket and talked about happy trees?”

“That’s the one,” you said. “The Joy of Painting. I watched it religiously as a kid. How about you?”

An odd little smile spread across Matt’s face. “Not often enough to qualify as religious but you could call us regular watchers. My dad wasn’t much of an art guy but he found the show relaxing . . . and it was quiet. I could turn it on in the morning without waking him up after he had worked late.”

He sounded nostalgic, like these were fond memories but also deeply sad. Then you remembered that Matt’s father was dead. Killed when he was a little boy. Which you only knew about because you had once given into temptation and googled Matt Murdock. Most of the search results had been about his law firm and the Castle trial but further down the page, articles about the accident that blinded him and his father’s death had also appeared. But by then, you had felt guilty enough about snooping into his life that you hadn’t read any those of articles beyond their headlines.

“Did you ever try to follow along?” you asked softly.

“A few times with the watercolors from my school supplies,” he said. “I was terrible at it but my dad hung up every picture on the fridge like it was the Mona Lisa.”

“Mine did that too,” you said. “My mom might still have a few of them tucked away with the baby pictures, waiting to embarrass me with them.”

He chuckled. “Did you ever fall asleep watching the show?”

You laughed. “Yes. Usually after I had stayed up too late reading.”

“Same,” he said, then gestured to the control panel. “Shall we go up?”

“Yes, we shall,” you said, a little amazed at how well this was going, despite the mishap. And that the elevator had remained here at the ground floor for this long. Probably it was the middle of the day and therefore most of the other tenants were either at work or school right now. As the elevator rose, you tried to think of something to talk about. You didn’t mind quiet but your earlier anxiety about his reaction had been replaced by your more usual nerves at being around the man you had spent almost half a year pining over.

Nervous You tended to be a chatterbox with chronic foot-in-mouth disease. Nervous You might blurt out that you liked him. Might detail how you wanted to go on dates, snuggle on the couch, hold hands while you took long walks, call each other by cliché nicknames like honey or dear. Basically be one of those disgustingly adorable couples . . . And behind closed doors, mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex that would leave you walking funny with a big smile on your face . . .

That thought alone made your cheeks warm. Among other places. Maybe work? Work should be a safe enough topic. Nothing naughty about work . . .

“What brings you home this early?” you asked, injecting as much cheer as possible in your voice to disguise your nerves. “Does no one need lawyering today?”

He chuckled. “No, we still have plenty of people who needed lawyering. I just forget my phone this morning and this was the first chance I’ve had to retrieve it.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as the elevator dinged your arrival to the sixth floor. The doors slide open and you walked out. Or rather you tried. But apparently you just had no luck with elevators today because you managed to slip on nothing. For the second time today, you started to fall. Only backwards this time.

And despite what happened the last time, Matt still caught you.

“Sorry,” you said, feeling the earlier flush to your cheeks deepen.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” he said. “I like having a beautiful girl in my arms.”

Which only made the warmth in your face start to spread down your neck. Even if he didn’t meant it, it was nice to be told that you were beautiful. You couldn’t help liking it. You did your best to ignore the nasty voice in your head – the one that sounded a lot like those awful girls in high school who had bullied you – saying how would Matt even know that you were beautiful or not . . . he was blind . . .

Your more optimistic side – which sounded like Serena – pointed out that for obvious reasons, that Matt was unlikely to find someone attractive based solely on their appearance . . . so maybe he really did find you beautiful . . .

You blamed those pernicious thoughts for making you feel like there was hint of hesitation, of reluctance, in Matt’s hands as they slide back off of your waist once you were standing upright again. But not matter how many times you told yourself that it was just your overactive imagination . . . part of you couldn’t help but hope.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Matt said as you followed him into his apartment. While he disappeared down a hallway, you propped your unfinished painting against a wall before slipping your tote off your shoulder with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t very heavy but those almost falls had jerked it and its contains around, making the straps dig into your shoulder. After sitting down the tote, you prodded the area. It was a little sore but it lacked the tenderness you associated with oncoming bruises.

You walked toward the kitchen and looked around, curious. In some respects, his apartment was a lot like yours. Both displayed the buildings’ previous life as factory in the exposed brick, scuffed hardwood floors, and visible HVAC and pipes. Both had large windows that let in a lot of natural light if even the old glass was a little wavy or different colored. Both had galley-style kitchens and generally open floor plan. Both of you seemed to have opted for a mismatched collection of secondhand furniture in either earth tones or neutral colors. But that was where the similarities ended.

The first and most noticeable difference was size. His was a lot bigger than yours. Which honestly you had expected, knowing very well that your side of the sixth floor had been turned into two units whereas his was left as one. Yours didn’t have access to the roof but in all honesty, you were fine with that. You weren’t afraid of high places in and of themselves but you were afraid of falling from high places. The outside of your windows wasn’t dominated by The Billboard. Which even during the day looked rather bright.

Matt’s apartment struck you as unfinished, like there was something missing but it took you a moment to figure out what. There was nothing decorative. The walls were bare and furniture were bare. It was sharp contrast to your place where the walls had been turned into a gallery for your unsold paintings and the furniture was festooned with the efforts of Serena’s knitting or your embroidery. You wondered if this was due to preference (Matt was simply a minimalist who considered decorative items to be annoying clutter) or to circumstance (Matt hadn’t found anything that he liked yet).

Another difference was the level of tidiness. You weren’t outright messy. You cleaned up after yourself. But there was always a certain amount of controlled chaos. For example, you were just as likely to find your pincushion and scissors on the kitchen table as in the sewing bag where they belonged. Or how your books often ended up stacked on the floor by your reading chair instead of being put back on the bookshelf.

Matt’s place, by contrast, looked very well organized. Everything obviously had a place and was always returned to its spot when not in use. Which made sense when you thought about it. No one wanted to go on a scavenger hunt every time they needed something. And given how busy Matt was, he also didn’t have time to be doing that.

Plus there were things that no one would want to get mixed up. Like grabbing the shampoo bottle when you wanted the mouthwash. Yes, there were other things that would clue him in before he inadvertently washed out his own mouth with soap. But, as your grandmother liked to say, an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

“Will any soap work?”

You jumped at a little at Matt’s voice. He sounded close. Much closer than you would have thought he could get to you without you noticing. Especially on these old hardwood floors which had so many places that creaked or groaned when stepped on.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s . . .” you started as you turned toward the sound of his voice. And promptly felt your intended words get tangled up in your throat. Your heart began to race as blood rushed back to your cheeks at the sight before you.

Your eyes greedily took in his broad shoulders, then down arms so thick that you doubted that you would be able to fully wrap your hand around it. Back up and across to the well-defined pectorals, then down through to sculpted abdominals until they disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. All covered in a skin that looked like it was as soft as satin.

You swallowed hard. You had known for a while that Matt had some muscle. He had saved you from your own clumsiness too often for you not to know that. But this . . . you had no idea he was hiding all this under those fancy suits of his . . . It was like someone had brought the statue of a Greek god or Michelangelo’s David to life . . . and then someone had apparently convinced him to put on pants. Whoever that idiot was should be fired . . . because if the rest of him looked this good . . .

“Sweetheart?”

Once again, you jumped at his voice. You raised your eyes up to his face. Your breath caught for the second time. Because Matt wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. You had never seen him without those glasses. Predictably, his eyes were just as pretty as the rest of him. Big, brown eyes sparkling with amusement and confidence. It matched that cocky little smirk he was sporting. The same one he had given you earlier. Only this time, you were positive that he knew that you were staring.

But it was so hard not to . . . he was so beautiful . . . it filled with you competing urges. The artist longed for your drawing pencils and a couple of hours to sketch. You weren’t sure you had the talent to fully capture his beauty but you would love to try. The woman, however, wanted him to fuck you. For him be inside you. Cock, fingers, tongue . . . your cunt didn’t care which. Any or all of them would do.

Watching that pink tongue dart out from between those oh-so-kissable lips before disappearing back inside his mouth did nothing to quell your arousal. Nor did the almost hungry look in his eyes. All it did was make you think about all things a man could do with his tongue if he was so inclined . . .

You dug your hands into your jeans to keep them to yourself. Silently you reminded yourself why you had to control the later impulse. First – Matt wasn’t your boyfriend. He was your neighbor and maybe a friend. Second – even if you were his lover and consented to having sex, neither of you had time today. He needed to go back to his office and you had to be the cafe at three. Abby would understand you being late because you were helping Matt clean up The Magenta. She would be far less sympathetic toward hanky-panky induced tardiness. So as much as you would like him to bend you over his kitchen table, you had to ignore that particular desire.

As for the artistic urge . . . since he didn’t seem to hate you for The Magenta, maybe he would agree to model for you? And you were friends of a sort. Friends could ask friends to model for them, right?

“L-liquid soap,” you said, doing your best to sound normal instead of incredibly turned on. “I-I found it easier to work with when cleaning up paint.”

Matt didn’t look like he was convinced by your non-existent acting skills. But he went along with the change of subject. Then gave you another heart attack by revealing that his shirt and tie were silk while his jacket was wool with a silk lining. You had no idea how to clean paint off of those without damaging them . . . isn’t stuff like that dry clean only?

The answer was yes and no. The shirt was made of a type of washable silk that he could launder at home – on the gentle cycle with mild soap. The suit and the tie, however, were both dry clean only. But Matt knew how to prevent stains from getting set in his fancy clothes and you knew how to handle paint. Between the two of you, you worked a plan that should get the paint off while preventing damage to his clothes.

Using an old gift card that you used as a painting tool as a scrapper, you removed the bulk of the paint from the tie and jacket while Matt used his bottle of liquid dish-soap and water to wash his shirt in the sink. Then, you dampened a white washcloth with lukewarm water, added a tiny amount of the soap, before dabbing the affected areas. Before dabbing again with a separate cloth that was just dampened with water, then carefully blotting with another washcloth that was completely dry.

You tried to keep your mind on the task in front of you but kept getting distracted. By his . . . everything. You wanted to trace every muscle with your fingers. Or your tongue. Either would be enjoyable. Or both. Both was good . . . the only thing that wasn’t making you press your thighs together in an effort to relieve the ache in your cunt were the scars.

Not because you thought his scars were ugly. The scars were like kintsugi. The healed but visible damage made the person more beautiful, not less. But because the scars worried you. It looked like someone had tried very hard to kill Matt.

You hadn’t realized that being a lawyer was so dangerous . . . but then, Nelson & Murdock had gone up against some powerful people. People like Fisk. Had Fisk or someone like him sent someone after Matt? You glanced at his hands. He had the same calluses on his knuckles as your ex who was a boxer. Did Matt know how to box? Was that how he had survived the obvious attempt on his life?

You were curious but realized that some of the answers you wanted might require a lengthy conversation. Which you didn’t have time for. Assuming Matt was even willing to answer those questions. He might not be. Which was fine. Trauma was rather personal and you didn’t really know each other.

You returned to your task. Despite your frequent distraction, soon the clothes were cleaned to the best of your ability. All three items were hung on hangers to dry in the case of the shirt or await a trip to the dry cleaners for the other two. Something that you offered to pay for.

“No need for you to do that, sweetheart. It’s about time for that suit to go to the cleaners anyway.”

“But it’s my mess,” you protested.

You didn’t win the argument. But it wasn’t a fair fight. First, he was a lawyer. He argued with people for a living. You painted or served food and drinks. Second, he still hadn’t put on a shirt. It was very distracting. And he knew it. His opposition in court was so lucky that he had to keep all his clothes on in the courtroom. Otherwise, they’d might never win.

“Stupid, sexy Murdock,” you muttered quietly under your breath as you washed your brushes and palette. Not quietly enough because he laughed.

“I’m sexy?” Matt asked. Warmth flooded your face. Judging by that cocky smirk, he knew the answer to that question. Yes, absolutely yes. But you were absolutely not going to say that.

“I plead the Fifth,” you said. Which only made him laugh harder.

He opened his mouth, probably to tease you some more, when his phone started ringing out, “Foggy, Foggy, Foggy.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” he said.

“Go ahead,” you said quickly.

He flashed you a smile before answering his phone with a “What’s up, Fogs?”

You put away your things while Matt talked to his partner. From the sound of it, he was explaining why retrieving his phone was taking so long. A check on your watch – now cleaned of paint – warned you that you really needed to leave now if you wanted to be ready for work on time. You swung your tote up onto your shoulder.

Then found yourself in a quandary. It was rude to interrupt someone while they were on the phone but it was also rude to leave without saying good-bye. But it wasn’t like you could go just wave good-bye.

“Matt?” you called out.

“Hang on Foggy,” he said, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’ve got to go,” you said. “I’ll see you later?”

“You’ll have to. I can’t.”

For a moment, that answer confused you. But only for a moment. Blind joke. Not the first one he had made around you. It wouldn’t be the last. He seemed rather fond of them. Well, it was his disability. It certainly wasn’t your place to tell him that he couldn’t make jokes about it if he wanted to.

Besides sometimes the looks on people’s faces when he made them were very funny.

“Left myself wide open for that one, didn’t I?” you said.

“Yep,” he said. He looked very pleased with himself. “But yes, I’ll see you later.”

That made you smile. “Bye, Matt.”

“Bye, sweetheart,” he said before returning to his phone call. You closed the door to his apartment as quietly as you could, then made you way across the hall toward your own apartment. Time get for work.

Step one – a cold shower.

Notes

There are portable easels that are designed to be collapsed down and easily carried. I have one. Some of them come with an attached box that is meant to carry paint, brushes, and whatever else you need but that type is more expensive (about 70 dollars on the cheaper end) than one that is just the easel (which is about 20). Reader has a limited art budget and those fifty bucks she didn’t spent on an easel can buy a lot of paint and canvas.

I’ve found that tackle boxes and tool boxes make great carrying cases for arts and crafts supplies. The divided trays are very useful if the creative thing you are doing involves a lot of little pieces or tools like beading or jewelry making.

Reader took the subway for part of her journey because, according to what I could find, getting from Hell’s Kitchen to Central Park via subway takes about 14 minutes while walking that same distance would take about 40 minutes. So the subway it was.

Magenta is, generally speaking, purplish red color. The shades vary between more pink, more red, or more purple. Even paint doesn’t always agree. I have one set on acrylic paints that labels a color as ‘light magenta’ while a different set calls the same color ‘magenta’ and third just says ‘pink.’

Jackson Pollock (1912 – 1956) was an American artist who was part of the abstract expressionist movement. He is best known for his ‘drip’ technique where he would pour or splash liquid house-paint with frenetic movement onto the canvas which was laying flat on the floor. In some ways, his work reminds me of acrylic pouring which looks very cool but also very messy.

I mean no disrespect to those with an art degree. I started off majoring in fine arts and part of me wishes that I had stuck with it despite the challenges. One of my professors recommended getting your masters if you were going to major in art simply because then you could get teaching jobs in many places.

That contract thing is true but I’m not a lawyer and have never taken Contracts 101. Always get your legal advice from actual lawyers.

Turpentine is used to clean paint brushes and other tools when using oil paint. A low odor version is highly recommended but remember to only use it in a well-ventilated place as the fumes are toxic. It is also very flammable. You can use it to get oil paint off of your skin but it is very drying and probably isn’t be safe to use on places like your face. The skin there easily absorbs things (which is the primary reason that make-up has go through FDA approval).

For the record, blind people don’t have better senses than everyone else. They just pay more attention to the information from their other senses provide, things that us sighted people tend to ignore. And arguably have more practice identifying different sounds, smells, etc than someone who largely ignores that input.

While I cannot say that this happens in NYC, as I have never lived there, where I grew up (American southwest) and where I live now (Florida), the grandmas and aunties in the Latin community make and sell tamales during the winter holiday season. Maybe for some extra spending money for said holidays. In my experience, they are always excellent. I almost don’t consider it Christmas without some tamales.

The reason Reader feels like a jerk for tripping over Matt’s cane is that messing with someone’s mobility aid and/or not giving them enough space to use it is a dick move.

The Bow Bridge is a bridge in Central Park. You have probably seen it before since it is pretty popular for movies and television. Probably because it looks perfect for your sappy romantic moments, dramatic love confession, meet-cutes, etc. It also helps that it looks just as nice surrounded by leafy trees as it does covered in snow.

Bob Ross (1942 – 1995) was an American painter who was the host of an instructional art show called The Joy of Painting, which aired from 1983 until 1994, on PBS (public broadcasting station) in the US but also in similar public stations around the world. You can find the episodes on YouTube.

According to the internet, you can spot clean wool, silk, and other such fabrics like how Reader does without damaging the fabric. But it was the internet so take that with a generous portion of salt.

Yes, I do use an old gift card when I paint. To make smallish straight lines, very handy for fences and rain effects. I cannot speak for every artist but my painting tools aren’t limited to brushes and painting knives.

Kintsugi (“golden joinery”) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer that has been dusted or mixed with gold, silver, or platinum. The point is not to hide the damage but highlight it, to treat the breakage and repair as simply part of the object’s history. And that having such a history makes it more valuable, not less.

[kentosovertime]

(n.) beauty that is more than skin deep

➳ sex shop owner!megumi x afab!barista reader - 4.3k

➳ a/n: 'gumi baby cone 'ere lemme give you a kith :* drooling over the absolute brain rot of megumi covered in tattoos

➳ cw: explicit content, explicit language, unprotected sex, fingering, light choking, sex toys and their usage, bondage, ropes, blindfolds, use of pet names (daddy, baby girl, sweetheart, angel), pining

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box | AO3 | Ko-Fi✨

The door to the sex toy shop looms in front of you, daring you to enter. 

Take a deep breath. You chastise yourself as you stare at the door’s handle in apprehension. You’re an adult and this is nothing to be ashamed of. At this point you’ll draw more attention to yourself if you just stand here like an idiot. 

Maybe some of your apprehension comes from the fact the cafe that you work at is almost directly across the street from this place. What if a co-worker saw you go in and started asking questions?

That puts your ass in drive and urges you to grasp the door and scoot inside. You cringe inwardly at the loud jingling of the bells that the door hits as you step inside the cool space. 

Your eyes scan the large room, finding it devoid of any current inhabitants. Even the checkout counter is empty. It's perfect for your escape to the back of the displays to try and find what you saw online while you were figuring out what you thought would work for you.

If anything, looking at online listings was easier than this. You stare at the wall, filled with dozens of options of things you hadn’t seen before let alone considered. 

How many types of dildos were the- You catch one out of the corner of your eye that’s obscenely large and you shudder. How the fuck? 

Certainly it wouldn’t take this much effort to free yourself from the terrible run of men that you’ve slept with. You just wanted to get yourself off since none of them could manage it. 

Out of habit, you peek around the display that you were standing at, looking towards the desk for a worker. You realize your mistake when you see who’s standing behind the counter as you duck back behind the display and debate making your escape. 

The counter was next to the door. There was no way he wouldn’t see you leaving if you made a run for it. No way in hell would you be asking one of the coffee shop regulars where they kept the specific dildo you were looking for. 

Megumi? You ponder over the name that you’ve written on his cup the dozens of times that you’ve made his iced quad americano with caramel, no milk. 

It wasn’t that he was a creep… you just didn’t want to look him in the eye tomorrow when he came through the line thinking of you holding anything in this store. He wouldn’t even give any indication that he remembered you.  He looks just as standoffish here as he does in the warm lighting of the coffee shop. 

The newer hires were too terrified of him to make his order, afraid of what reaction would come out of someone like that if they got it wrong. Little did they know how good it felt for him to mutter how perfect the drink was before leaving a $20 bill in your tip jar. 

You weren’t scared of some tattooed and pierced man with a coffee, but surrounded by all… this? Your appreciation of him didn’t extend this far, no matter how attractive or how good of a tipper he was. 

Trapped in your nervous thoughts, you barely note the passing of time, looking back to the counter to see him no longer there, pulling a sigh of relief from your lungs. 

Fantastic now you’ll just- “Do you need help with anything, miss?” A low graveling voice hums behind you, making you jump out of your skin and whip around, almost nailing him in the face. 

“Fucking christ! You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” You squeak in horror, clutching the strap of your bag to your chest as you take a step back to give him some space, ignoring the fact that the display you were hiding behind has a wide variety of bondage equipment that was currently in the same field of vision as Megumi. 

“I called out to you a couple times.” He leans against said bondage display with crossed arms and a slight smirk, toying with his tongue piercing. “I hardly call that sneaking up on someone.” 

“You couldn’t approach me from where I could see you?” You argue, your eyes catching his playful smirk as your cheeks flush pink. “Not when you were so intensely focused on the spreader bars and gags, (y/n).” Scratch that. Your cheeks were a deep shade of crimson red. “I have to say… that's a shock. Did you want stainless steel or aluminum?” “I wasn’t- No!  I was just stuck in thought-” You sputter, trying to choke out an answer. “Wait, why is that…? Assuming preferences is so rude-” “Hey, now.” He throws his hands up in surrender. “You learn an awful lot about reading people and their tastes when you own a sex shop. I apologize. Again, can I help you find anything, (y/n)?” “Um… a… toy?” You struggle to get out an answer, wondering what alternate reality you stepped into where you were being asked to explain what sort of toy you were looking to use on yourself. He only stares at you expectantly, his smirk growing as you get more and more flustered, needing to fill the silence. “I was looking for something to use on myself.” “You know we have an online site if you don’t want to be here?” He chuckles and cocks his head, waiting for your reply. “I didn’t think I’d run into anyone that I knew while shopping for dildos, sorry.” You hiss. “Besides, it's hard to picture how big things are from a picture online and your site said there were testers that you could touch before buying...” 

You especially didn’t expect him. You had always assumed that he worked for the popular tattoo parlor around the corner with how he looked. 

“Well…” He hums and a conspiratorial sparkle glimmers in his eyes. “I’ve already seen you here so you may as well let me help you out with what you’re looking for.” 

You sigh in defeat because he has a point. You’re already embarrassed, you may as well get this over with and then never come back in here. 

“I’m looking for a dildo… just a normal one?” You force out, looking up into his gaze for a reaction, but he only looks pleased you listened to him. 

“It would help if you explained why you need it, If you’re comfortable.” He looks you over, loving how you seem to squirm in place. “You could also tell me your preference on what helps you finish so I can narrow down your options. 

“Its for self use… and I don’t know…” You think it over, frowning at how none of your hook ups were able to get you to finish by just fucking you. “I guess I’d like something that vibrates. I don’t… finish from sex.” 

God, you sound so pathetic, he’s probably embarrassed just speaking to you. 

“That’s completely normal. Only about 25% of women can finish from penetration alone. Follow me.” He leads you across the store and away from the traditional dildos you thought you needed. “I’d suggest either a rose or a rabbit vibrator.” 

You cock your head in question, not knowing what those were. Your skin flushes with heat as he gently grabs your wrist and tilts your hand so your palm is open to the ceiling before he presses a small hand sized item into your grasp that he takes from the shelf. You jump slightly when you realize it’s vibrating, sending shivers down your spine.. “T-that’s really strong.” Your throat swallows around a lump as you blink up at him. 

“Oh that’s the lowest setting.” His gaze seems to darken as he explains further, turning it up three notches. “This is the rose… this is the strongest setting and after this you’d have 7 other patterned vibrations to choose from. You use this one on your clit and you can grind on it too. You probably need to have your partner stimulate you too if you’d like to finish.” 

You find you need to press your thighs together as you picture yourself using it, but your previous fantasies of using a toy on yourself morphs. Now Megumi is sitting on the bed with you, coaching you through using it, bringing you to orgasm over and over. “You… suggested another one too?” Fuck you’re throbbing with need, you can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing second. 

“Mhm. A rabbit.” He picks up another example toy, this one is much heavier than the first and part of it is shaped like the dildos you were looking at, only with an extra appendage is attached. “This one will give you penetration and this part rests on your clit… it is good for using it yourself or your partner would have a good angle to use it on you.”

He watches your reaction carefully, as he’s sure it's not possible that you could get any redder. You blink at it, looking over the buttons at the base curiously, jolting a little when the tip of the toy rotates suddenly and ratchets up as you press the up button. 

“I don’t have a partner.” You mutter, clearly frustrated by the idea of the hypothetical partners he invented not being able to please you. He watches as you press the second pair of buttons, frowning when you don’t feel something immediately. “What does this one do?” 

“Keep turning it up…” He hums, watching hungrily as you immediately obey his commands, watching with barely concealed lust as the extra appendage starts vibrating harder. Your head cocks to the side and you graze a finger across the little rabbit ears that would press against your clit, gasping at how strong it is, pulling a dark chuckle from his mouth. “Like it, sweetheart?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes with a sheepish look on your face, nodding when you realize you can’t trust your own voice. 

“Aw come on, angel.” He grins, breaking you down slowly to trust him. He thinks he’s lost track of the amount of times you’ve pressed your thighs together to alleviate the pressure. “You can talk to me about it. You’re already playing with it in front of me.”

“Y-Yes…” You avert your eyes when his gaze becomes too much. “I can see that this one would be good for a… partner…” 

“Mhm.” He grabs one of each from the stock for you to buy, knowing you want them both. He places the testers back on the shelf before tugging you back towards the section you had been hiding in, pointing at the items hanging from the hooks, including self adhesive bondage tape, ropes, and gags. “And if you’d like, these can be good for play with a partner if you end up finding one that can fuck you right. It makes everything feel so much better.”

He expects you to squeak in embarrassment at this point, or maybe try to tell him you’re good and ready to check out with your two items, but you surprise him with your curiosity again, touching the bundles of ropes closest to you. 

“It’s softer than I thought…” You murmur softly. “I wouldn’t even know where to find someone who could handle doing this. All the guys I’ve been with are strictly… What do you call it? Vanilla?” 

You sigh, dropping the rope back on the hook with a look of disappointment on your face. You’d never meet someone who was decent at sex let alone experienced enough not to hurt you with all of this. 

“What here interests you the most?” He pries, wanting to know what he could do to please you and make you forget all the disappointment other men had put you through. 

“Um… the ropes and the blindfolds?” You supply shyly, slowly getting more comfortable with communicating with him. Something about him makes you feel safe giving your fantasies to him. “But I’d want to eventually be able to try all of it. I’m not one to knock something until I try it at least once.” 

“And you think that people don’t exist that can help you try these things?” Is it just you or is he getting closer to you?

“I’m sure they exist but it's the trial and error of sleeping with men until a woman is comfortable voicing what they want. I barely was able to walk in here…” 

“But listen to you now.” Oh he is absolutely getting closer to you. “Talking to me like you’ve known me long enough for me to be able to have this knowledge about you. What’s a guy to think when you’re so open with him?”

“... that I’m trusting you for your recommendations?” You guess with a harsh swallow. 

“I could also provide a… demonstration.” His hand reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Given I now know everything I need to make you sing for me.” 

His voice is low with promise and heat lights up your insides and you lean into his touch as an invitation for him to take more. 

“What’s to say you won’t be like all the others?” You whimper with pure need, if this disappoints you, you don’t know where you’d go from here. 

“Oh, angel.” He coos with a light condescension to his tone. “It's my job to know how to make pretty girls like you feel good.”

“Y-Yes…” He blinks at you in surprise and you press on. “To your demonstration, that is.” 

“Well then…” He smirks and grabs a bundle of rope and the blindfold you were eyeing. “I won’t ask twice. These are all on the house.” 

A protest rises to your lips that you’re happy to pay for them, but he cuts you off with a harsh tug as his warm hand closes around your wrist again. He leads through the store to a door that opens to a staircase to the second floor. You pant with the exertion of keeping up with his pace when he seems to take two stairs at a time. 

You take in the tidy studio apartment, breathing in the masculine scent that clings to the space as he tosses the boxes with your new toys on the bed with the rope and blindfold. 

“You don’t like something, you just say so, ok? I’ll stop immediately.” He murmurs with gentle sincerity, as he steps back into your space. You can see how his muscles are bunched with the need to pounce on you, but he’s taking the time to make you feel safe. It makes the throbbing in your core intensify. 

His gaze takes in your cloudy expression, his cock screaming to be freed from the tight confines of his black jeans as he drags a hand up the column of your neck, relishing how you swallow audibly and shudder when his grip tightens. Dark, hungry eyes meet yours as his eyes bore into you, waiting for the moment of sweet surrender that will allow him to snap his control. 

“Ok, ‘Gumi.” Fuck you can already feel your legs turning to jelly and he hasn’t even started. 

“Fuck, angel.” He groans loudly as he easily lifts you and carries you to the edge of the bed, tossing you down like you weigh nothing. “My name sounds perfect coming out of those fuckable lips of yours.” 

You feel his control snap like the fragile thing it is. He doesn’t want one more moment to pass without you cursing and whimpering when he makes you feel more than all those shitty men you’ve let touch you while he’s been admiring you shyly from a distance whenever he goes for his coffee. 

He has you bare in seconds, your shirt and jeans thrown across the apartment before he growls in appreciation at seeing so much skin. 

“So fucking beautiful…” You whine out in frustration, not having his attention where you really need it yet. Your entire body squirms in impatience as you watch him grasp the rope and give you an appraising look. “Hands above your head, angel… There you go, so obedient and eager.” 

“M’gumi-” Your bra clad chest pants, arching toward him as he runs the rope in loops around your wrists, tying it in a neat knot, pausing just enough for your eyes to seek him out. “Wh-what are you? Ah!” The blankets drag across your skin as he takes the ends of the rope and hauls you up the body closer to the headboard. He loops the rope around the slats in the furniture, leaving you pinned and unable to stop whatever he decides to do. 

“Much better…” He mumbles and leaves you alone on the bed, going to stand at the end of the mattress to take in your prone form splayed out for him like a feast. 

“Aren’t you going to u-undress?” You struggle with the bindings, testing the strength of the knot with a low moan. Your body jolts when you hear the tearing of cardboard, your eyes flying to where he’s opening up the rabbit, testing the battery before the bed dips under the weight of his knee. 

“Not when you look like such a good slut all bared to me.” He snaps the band of your panties against your skin just to watch those cute little nipples pebble in your bra before he rips them off your body. He watches the slickness from your center drip from you as he kneels between your legs so you can’t shut them easily. “And this about making you cum, baby. Now tell me…” Your tongue darts out to lick your lips as you watch him spread lube across the toy’s length, eyes catching on how his hands flex around it. What you wouldn’t do to have those fingers in-

“Oh g-god-” Heat floods your system when those fingers leave the toy and press into your entrance, reaching deeper than your own have been able to. 

“... How many men haven’t made you cum?” Shame and embarrassment pool in your stomach with the growing heat as his fingers seek out the spongy spot inside of you. “Come on, you can tell me. I won’t judge.” “T-three-” The feeling in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, building past what you’ve been able to pull from yourself. At this rate you’d be making a mess of his fingers within seconds. 

“You let three men touch what’s mine?” He tsks, shifting to grind his palm into your clit in time with the thrusting of fingers, snapping the winding feeling in your gut with a shock squeak. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, muffling your moans as you shudder and shake helplessly. “We’ll start with three then.” 

“Three w-what? Megumi?” In the next blink his fingers are replaced with the length of the vibrator and your walls clench around it, sucking it deeper as he turns the rotation first. He watches in rapt fascination as your arms fight against the ropes to grip onto something, even as your hips shamelessly grind further onto the toy, bottoming yourself out. 

“Three orgasms, angel.” He palms his erection through the fabric of the pants, allowing himself a moan as he works the length of the toy in and out of your cunt, replacing it with his cock in his mind. “Fuck… didn’t even need the lube. You’re already fucking dripping.” 

Your breath pitches up, bordering on hyperventilating, your hips moving on their own accord to meet each thrust. He waits until your eyes are glazed and you look to him with needy desperation before he maxes out the vibration of the piece resting against your bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck-” You sob and try to escape the sensation, your legs kicking wildly to manage the stimulation. That commanding growl returns as his hand leaves rubbing his cock to dig his grip into your hip, pinning you to the bed as he doubles down with his speed, making obscene squelching pour from you as your cunts sucks it in deeper. “F-feels weird please you need to s-slow down-” 

“Let it go.” He commands without room for argument, wanting to see what your pussy does when it's overstimulated and desperate for the real thing. “Give me that mess, baby. Daddy wants it.”

The image of you soaking his wrist as you shriek out your high and writhe under him easily tops anything he’s done and he has to dig his teeth into his cheeks to hold back from coming prematurely in his pants. 

“Good fucking girl.” He comfortingly rubs the skin of your thigh, soaking up how you twitch and jolt at the littlest touch. He takes pity on you and gently pulls the toy from your center, leaning forward to kiss along your jaw. “You’re on birth control?”

He’ll get a condom, but he really doesn’t want to. 

“M’ on p-pills.” You hiccup, slurring your words heavily from the orgasmic fog in your head. “Want y-you inside…” 

The image of him filling your core with his cum has you shaking, wanting to feel a sticky trail leaking out of your abused center. He deserves it. You whine low, when he pulls away but it's quickly replaced by a loud moan when his skin becomes visible. 

Every inch of his strong muscle is perfect and when his boxers drop and he bops free, your mouth goes dry with anticipation. When he crawls back above you he’s holding something dark in his hand and your vision goes pitch black.

“Just a blindfold. You’re doing amazing for me angel.” He coaches you through as he acclimates you to his touch again. 

He wraps his arms around your thighs, tugging you down to take any slack out of the rope before he teasingly taps the angry, red tip of his cock against your clit, his length twitching as he slides himself through your folds. 

When he enters you he does so slowly, but it's not for your benefit. He can feel himself tighten at how warm, wet, and snug your walls are around him, ready to blow his load into you already. 

But he promised you at least one more orgasm and he wasn’t about to talk a good game without following through for you. 

“Megumi-” You whine in desperation, feeling the way your walls are pulling him against your cervix. “P-Please move. Fuck I need you to- fuck!” 

He rears back and thrust back into you before you can feel his actions. 

“Is that what you wanted, angel?” He coos down at you, gripping around your hips as he sets a brutal pace. “Finally get a good cock and you turn into my limp little fleshlight?” 

You suck down harsh breaths, your eyes watering beneath the fabric wrapped around your face. He tilts your hips just right, filling the room with the wet smacking of your skin against his. Each grunt and low moan that slips out of his normally calm composure builds your high and you thrash against the bindings, craving the bite of your nails in his skin as you cum. 

“Fuck you’re gripping me so tight-” He can feel your cunt squeezing him, urging him to give in and empty into your swollen little cunt. But he slows just enough to have you crying out in frustration, refusing to let you fall over the edge until he’s sure he’s ruined other men for you. “Awww… what is it baby? Need more?” 

“Please.” You croak, your voice a crackling, raspy mess from screaming. “Jus’ wanna cum, ‘Gumi.”

He almost pities you, but you’re just so pretty and drawn tight, your body fraught with tension, he has to play with you a little more.

“Say you’re mine, baby girl. Say you’re daddy’s and he’ll let you cum.” He teasingly gropes your tits, lightly twisting your nipple, just enough to add to your frustration.

You don’t even put up a fight or hesitate before you’re babbling that he owns you, that you’re his and only his. A sob of relief shakes its way from your chest as he reaches between you to stroke at your clit. 

The sob quickly turns into screams that you can’t hold back, realizing that the sensation at your core was caused by the low buzzing of the rose purring against you, catapulting you into your high. 

His eyes drink your trembling, vulnerable form greedily before his eyes roll as his head drops back with a satisfied groan, pumping his cum into as he paints your walls white, shuddering along with you. 

The light in the room hits you suddenly as he lazily tugs your blindfold off and unloops your hands, his touch gentle again as he rubs the angry red marks left behind. 

“I’m right here angel.” He assures, gathering you to his arms and rubbing your back with light caresses. He gently shushes you as you try to push yourself up and speak. “Rest, love. We’ll have time a little later.”

Cuddled to his chest and boneless with satisfaction, your eyes droop and you fall asleep with a satisfied smile.

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[jikookuntold]

The Untold Truth of "Letter"

Back in 2021, 2022, or even early 2023, if someone had told me about the possibility of JK having vocal credits in Jimin's solo album, I would have called it wishful thinking at best. But it happened, and we got the song "Letter" (AKA Dear Army) as a hidden track in Jimin's first solo album, FACE, with back vocals by JK, and his name written invisibly in the album book.

The perfectly matching vocals of Jikook, with the heartfelt lyrics and soft instruments, undoubtedly made one of the most beautiful songs of the year, which could break many records for Jimin and his album if it was released in the streaming and buying services. The release of Letter as a hidden track in Jimin's solo album raised many questions and debates among Jikookers, and as someone who barely scrolls in the Tumblr app, I know I'm a bit late for the party, but I may or may not have some notes to add to the already made discussions. FYI, these are my analytic views and speculations, I am fully aware that this song has been named "Dear Army", and Jimin called it a "Fan song" on different occasions. So, I do not intend to ignore that and diminish Jimin's expression of love for his fans.

What's a Hidden Track?

Before getting into "Letter", we need to understand what a hidden track is. Well, the definition is pretty clear; When a song is not listed in the official track-list of a music album, but it exists in (some versions of) the physical printed CD, cassette, or LP, it's called a "hidden track". 

Hidden Tracks of BTS

There are several techniques and reasons to "hide" a track in an album, but in the case of BTS discography, the hidden tracks exist for a specific reason, and I'm going to explain it with the only examples we have. The debut album (2013) and Love Yourself: Her (2017), are the only BTS albums including hidden tracks, and if we ignore the skits in each album, "Path" and "Sea" are the only hidden songs BTS ever released. So, these two songs must have something(s) in common and different from the other BTS tracks that caused them to end up as a hidden track. To find that common factor, we need to check their lyrics first:

Path

[Intro: RM] Yeah, wassup? You know, time flows like stars (Check it, check, check, check, check it out) [Verse 1: RM] I started from imitating Eminem, Garion, Epik High To writing my own raps Now I see that I’m already at Hongdae My lyrics back then were all (****) Bossy But we dunno, we dunno When I dreamed without anyone to stop me Reality tied me down and trapped me inside Oh, my youth trapped me My hot heart lost to my cold mind (Damn) As I blindly told myself my decision was right I don’t know whether it’s an angel or a devil, but it says to me "Do you really have any plans to rap properly?" (Yes or no?) I didn’t have more time to hesitate and didn’t want to be stupid So I came here and three years passed by Some say art is long, life is short But for now, art is life Life is sports, just do it, uh [Chorus] If I had chosen a different path, would have I been any different? If I stopped and looked back (Oh hey ya, hey ya) What will I see at the end of this road? Where you should’ve been standing? (Oh hey ya, hey ya) [Verse 2: Suga, Suga & Jungkook] A long time passed and by 2013, I was a trainee for three years I was a high school student who grew overnight (I became a child) White hair grew from my desires and one by one my many friends (Parted ways with me) I spent my time in Seoul alone without a family (That was my third spring) I thought my worries would disappear with my debut ahead of me I closed my eyes to the present that had nothing to change But the reality was different, even as my family and friends tried to stop me I walked into the tunnels that shed no light on my own I thought I would be alone (Why?) As it turns out, there weren’t seven bare feet but we were wearing the shoe named Bangtan We’ll have to go forward, take one more step, become newer And that’s how I spent my fourth spring in Seoul (Whoa) [Chorus] If I had chosen a different path, would have I been any different? (Hey) If I stopped and looked back (Hey) Oh hey ya, hey ya What will I see at the end of this road? Where you should’ve been standing? (Oh hey ya, hey ya) [Verse 3: J-Hope] 2010, the year I walked towards Seoul! I just loved to dance, and now I’m standing on top of the stage Until then, I overcame many pains and scars to prepare myself I survived with my belief to bend, not break, and ran for three years Let the stars inside my heart shine! Now shine on me differently Write “Bangtan” on the paper world I walk my future with more lights on Give a smile to that far future (Ha, ha)

As you can see, the lyrics are simple and self-explanatory, so I guess we don't need any lyrics analysis, and the description section of the Genius translation I used here, says it all:

“길 (Road/Path) follows the member’s decisions to become idols in the Korean music industry. They recall their different upbringings from listening to hip hop in school to the hard years of being trainees under BigHit Entertainment. BTS pose the questions of how their lives would be different if they made a different decision, and they ask themselves what the future entails. A very introspective track about their career for a debut album, BTS display their thought processes as they enter the music scene.”

Sea

[Intro: Jungkook] Oh, ah, yeah [Verse 1: Rap Monster] I just started walking and ended up at the sea I'm looking at the coast from here There's endless sand and the rough wind I'm still looking at a desert I wanted to have the sea so I swallowed you up But I'm even thirstier than before Is what I know really the ocean? Or a blue desert? [Refrain: J-Hope] I don't know, I don't know If I'm feeling the waves right now, yeah I don't know, I don't know If I'm being chased by the sand wind, yeah I don't know, I don't know Is this the sea or the desert? Is this hope or despair? Is this real or fake? Shit [Pre-Chorus: J-Hope] I know, I know, my hardship right now I know, I know, I'll overcome I know, I know, open me up It's the place I can rely on Think positive, I'm swallowing my dry spit Even if I'm nervous, even if I'm in a desert I'm in the beautiful Namib Desert [Chorus: Jimin, Jin] Where there is hope, there is always trial (4) [Hook: V, Jungkook] Where there is hope You know, you know You know, yeah yeah (2) [Verse 2: Suga] I thought this was the ocean but it's a desert A medium-sized, ordinary idol was my second name Countless people get cut from broadcast But someone's empty spot is our dream They say some of these kids can't make it cuz their agency is too small I know, I know, I know too Times when the seven of us had to sleep in one room With foolish hope that tomorrow will be different before we fell asleep We saw the mirage in the desert but we couldn't grasp it Praying that we'll remain in this desert till the end Praying that this isn't truly our reality [Verse 3: Suga] In the end, we reached the mirage and it became our reality The scary desert became the ocean with our blood, sweat and tears But why is there this fear in between the happiness? Because we know too well that this place is really a desert [Refrain 2: Suga] I don't wanna cry I don't wanna rest No, who cares if we rest a little? No no no I don't wanna lose It's always a desert I told you everything Then I'll just be more depressed [Chorus: Jungkook, V] Where there is hope, there is always trial (2) [Hook: Jimin, Jin] Where there is hope You know, you know You know, yeah yeah (2) [Bridge: Rap Monster] Ocean, desert, the world Everything, the same thing Different name I see ocean, l see desert I see the world Everything's, the same thing With a different name It's life again [Hook: V, Jungkook] Where there is hope You know you know you know yeah (2) [Chorus] Where there is hope, there is always trial

Compared to “Path”, we have more innuendos and metaphors in “Sea” because of Namjoon’s lyricism (it was supposed to be in his mixtape at first), but as the description says:

"It discusses the hardships BTS has experienced since debut, particularly struggling to compete with groups from other, larger agencies. In this song, BTS reflects on these hardships, fearing that their global fame and success could leave as suddenly as it arrived."

Common Denominator

These two lyrics have one big thing in common, and it's the topic they are discussing. They talk about the members' struggles, fears, hopes, and dreams career-wise. I was thinking maybe these issues are something they can only share with their longtime fans, not the general public, therefore, they decided to release them as hidden tracks in the physical album for their real fans who buy them, something like the difference between Weverse and Instagram, I guess? Then I realized that’s something Namjoon has mentioned himself to Billboard Magazine, in LYS: Her interview:

And if fans are so lucky to own the physical album, they’ll hear two hidden tracks at the very. Why keep them secretive?

"I think they’re hidden because you have to be a real fan of BTS to understand them. Otherwise, you won’t. Otherwise, you’d like to be, “Why are they feeling so confused about things? They’re good?!? They’re No. 1 somewhere, they have so much stuff, why are they worried?” People always talk about that. But if you are a true fan of BTS and you buy the album and you listen to the hidden track — if you are an Army and we spent time together from 2013, 2014 — they could understand. It’s kind of more special, more closer, to our true hearts"

What about "Letter"?

In conclusion, hidden tracks for BTS, are something between them and their real fans who know about the path they have wended, therefore they can open up to them through lyrics and talk about their fears and struggles and ambitions without being judged or misunderstood. Also, we have to debunk some of the misconceptions going around (especially after the release of FACE) about hidden tracks. For example, some claimed that Letter is made for fans because hidden tracks are always supposed to be “gifts” for fans. This claim obviously can’t be true when you are able to listen to a hidden track legally, only by purchasing the physical album. Gifts are supposed to be free of charge, like Promise, Still with You, Christmas Love, My You, and so on. 

Then what about “Letter”? Why this song is a hidden track in Jimin’s first solo album? Did Jimin want to say something by hiding this track in FACE? To answer this questions, we need to pay attention to the lyrics and how the song was made:

 [Verse 1] What should I say? And how should I convey it? I'm really not getting my words right I know it sounds so clichéd So that it's not taken lightly Let me say it to you properly [Chorus] I say oh-oh, I hope you can be happier You, who stretched your hand out to me whenever I fell I say oh-oh, I'll hold it now (I'll hold it) So when you feel like crying, you won’t fall [Verse 2] After all this time has passed Will we still be the same? Just like we were when we first met, hmm-mmm If we are together, even the desert could turn to a sеa Just like how we were then, oh-hoo-ooh [Chorus] I say oh-oh, I really hope that it’ll last forever You, who felt like a warm spring to me in a cold winter I say oh-oh, I'll always cherish it All those moments between you and I [Refrain] Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah To you, who see me bigger than what my little self is (to you) So that I can give as much as I’ve received (oh-oh) So that I can keep my word (oh-oh) Don't worry, just stay by my side, yeah (Yeah) We don’t know what the future holds (holds, yeah) And that’s scary and makes us afraid (oh-oh) But don’t forget that we’re always together (don't forget) [Outro] I know it sounds so clichéd So that it's not taken lightly Let me say it to you properly

The Feelings

If you compare these lyrics to "Path" and "Sea" you can clearly see the differences, and except a mention of "sea and desert" there's nothing in common between them. Letter is not a monologue about career issues, it's a romantic song. These lyrics are expressing the feelings and addresses them to an audience and appreciates them. But how was this song made?

According to Jimin, at first, SMF Pt2 was supposed to be the last track of his solo album, but in their YTC promotion and recording era when they announced that they have planned to put their group activities on rest, Jimin decided to express his feelings of the moment through a letter, and turned that letter to song lyrics. Producers liked the song so much and decided to add it in his album and that’s how “Letter” was born. Although Jimin didn’t explain much about those “feelings” and left the conclusion to us like a true artist, we all know that this song is totally different from the other tracks in his album.

All the tracks of FACE are dark and sad. Jimin’s first album is all about himself, and he talks about the painful emotions he had as an artist and a person in the past few year, but with “Letter” there is a different story. Recording Academy admitted this and wrote:

“Though the EP is technically only six songs, the physical version has an additional “hidden” track called “Letter”. The song provides an intimacy that stands out from the other FACE tracks, capturing Jimin in his best form. The lyrics are poignant and vulnerable as Jimin pleads for someone to stay (“Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah”) The biggest surprise though? Fellow BTS member Jungkook contributes vocals to harmonize with Jimin.”  

A Fan Song?

“Letter” being a “Fan Song” is a stated fact by Park Jimin himself, and there can’t be any arguments about it, but that fact doesn’t mean Jimin made this song with the thought of fans in his head and all about them. In one of my old posts, I said that a faceless crowd can’t be the muse for a romantic song, especially when that song has a "standing-out intimacy".

Another reason for calling "Letter" a fan song, is the fact that it starts at 6:13 of the album, the numbers that remind us of the debut date of BTS. We can't call this a coincidence because we know how thoughtful and punctual Jimin is. But don’t forget that 6.13 is more of BTS time than ARMY time. So, as much as you call this track a song for fans, it can be called a song for his fellow BTS members.

Why JK?

Now, let’s address the elephant in the room. Why JK was a part of this song? Did it mean something for Jimin, or did he have no other options? Jimin said that FACE is an album about himself, and he didn’t feel right about featuring other artists in it, that’s why he decided to record SMF Pt2 all alone and do all the rap parts by himself instead of featuring Yoongi in it. He collaborated with several producers and songwriters (including Namjoon), but there was no featured artist in the whole album.

About the background vocals of the album, he did most parts by himself, and for the other parts, he worked with artists who already had credits in his album, such as BLVSH, Sumin, and James Keys. But JK didn’t have anything to do with Jimin’s album. Jimin was fully capable of doing the background vocals of Letter by himself, as he did for the first parts of the song. Jimin never really explained why he decided to have JK in the song, other than saying their voices match. This known fact doesn’t give us much information, but we can have our speculations. 

Closer Than This?

Another thing that questions the idea of “Letter" being inspired by fans, is the existence of “Closer Than This”. The newest release of Jimin is the exact definition of a fan song, the lyrics are straightforward and directly address the fans and leave no place for speculation. If CTT is the result of Jimin getting inspired by his fans, then “Letter” must be inspired by something different because these two songs are not comparable. 

The difference becomes more obvious when we look at the initial version of the Letter lyrics in Jimin’s drafts. I wonder what the Grammy journalist who called the final lyrics of “Letter” intimate would have said if they read this: 

You hugged me tightly Only you who protected me Hold my hand, hold my hand tightly You who reached out my hand You held out your hand to me

We don’t know what was going on in Jimin’s mind when he wrote these, but we can see that the initial lyrics have been moderated, and the intimate parts, which clearly refer to a person, didn’t end up in the final lyrics. FYI, I’m doing a lyric analysis here, and this is not a complaint or conspiracy theory because Jimin said that he liked the way the final version came out, and it's all that matters.

For Fans, Not About Fans

So far we made it clear that "hidden tracks" are not about fans, they are for fans like any other BTS song, but the hidden tracks are a secret between the artist and the fan, something that only the true and dedicated fan can understand, and this applies to Jimin's "Letter".

Jimin gave up on many records for streaming and buying by releasing this song as a hidden track in his album. So, there must be an important message in this song that he wanted to convey to the true fans. He did his share of being thankful to fans by CTT, and I don't think he needed to do it twice in a year.

Maybe you prefer to think Jimin just made this song for ARMY and hid it in the album as a surprise or because it didn’t match with the whole concept of FACE, and you might not be wrong about any of that. But, don’t forget that he didn’t explain anything about this, and we both are just making assumtions.

Yes, maybe Jimin didn't acknowledge JK being a part of Letter in his promotion era, but JK did everything he could for his share. A few hours before the release of FACE, he started a live and played a part of it with his guitar, and months later, he watched Jimin's live performance for Festa while harmonizing with it and reminding us that he knows the lyrics very well. In Jimin's documentary he was very supportive and even teased for a live performance with him in future.

Why Just Jikook?

Jimin and Jungkook are not the only members of BTS. But I don't know why everytime Jimin or JK do something with romantic undertones, the fans (OT7 ARMYs, to be more specific) immediately try to label it as "About ARMY". I usually don't see this energy with the other five members. I'm perfectly sure they are also very grateful for ARMY, they have released several songs about them, and they would have loved to collaborate in a fan song with Jimin, too.

Then why Jimin only included JK in Letter? Why he wanted to sing for "ARMY" with him? Unless we assume Jimin's gratitude towards ARMY has connections with JK, and I don’t even want to bring up 2019 "I am army" jokes. But "Letter" is the song the most optimistic Jikookers didn't expect to exist. You may try to ignore and normalize it, but you can't deny the fact that Letter proved Jikook's unbreakable connection as two harmonic colleages, long time friends, and inseparable souls.

[everythingmaxriemelt]

Films I like in 2023 (some weren’t released in 2023 and I haven’t seen most of the newer films in other Best of 2023 lists)

So, in no particular order:

1. Anatomy of a Fall (dir. Justine Triet, 2023)

2. Past Lives (dir. Celine Song, 2023)

3. Close (dir. Lukas Dhont, 2022)

4. Afire / Roter Himmel (dir. Christian Petzold, 2023)

5. The Watcher (dir. Chloe Okuno, 2022)

6. The Eight Mountains (dir. Felix Van Groeningen, Charlotte Vandermeersch, 2022)

7. Tár (dir. Todd Field, 2022)

8. Passages (dir. Ira Sachs, 2023)

9. One Fine Morning (dir. Mia Hansen-Løve, 2022)

10. Talk to Me (dir. Danny Philippou, Michael Philippou, 2022)

Other films I like in 2023:

Saltburn (dir. Emerald Fennell, 2023)

Ernesto’s Island (dir. Ronald Vietz, 2022)

Barbarian (dir. Zach Cregger, 2022)

The Quiet Girl (dir. Colm Bairéad, 2022)

Bottoms (dir. Emma Seligman, 2023)

Emily The Criminal (dir. John Patton Ford, 2022)

[tenpintsofsundrop]

Emergency Contact

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Leave me something - or let me out. I'm starving. Push me, pull me. Waiting for the start of:

Things that I want, this happily ever after. You choke on your words, but you swallow them faster. Just want you to be my Emergency Contact.

Summary:

After Jason miraculously comes home from his brush with Deathstroke, you're both feeling it in very different ways. You have an unexpected physical wound from the battle, and he has many (very expected) emotional wounds. You help each other heal. Even if it's very stubborn on both your parts.

Jason Todd x GN!Powered!Reader. Enemies/FWB to Lovers. Angst and Hurt/Comfort. (Slight Smut). Set during Season 2, Episode 5.

Word Count: 10,400

Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

If you want to be notified whenever I post a new fic, make sure to follow my library blog @sundropslibrary and turn on notifications there.

List of detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general emotional angst, Jason has a self deprecating inner dialogue, (kind of) enemies to lovers - more like annoyances to fuck buddies to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, the reader and Jason have a bantering/argumentative nature to their relationship, the reader is meant to be 100% gender neutral (the reader is never referred to in the third person, so there is no need to use they/them pronouns, but the reader is not called she/her or he/him), Jason calls the reader ‘babe’ (imo, a completely gender neutral term and he would call anybody that), mentions of alcohol (Jason drinking a beer), the reader character has ice powers (not entirely relevant to the plot but I couldn’t help myself lmao).

sexual themes throughout, mentions of sexting (no detailed descriptions), mentions of sexting in public, mentions of the reader character sending nudes to Jason (no detailed descriptions of the photos), one scene with detailed smut (but it is not the primary focus of the fic), the reader’s genitals are not described in any specific way, some dirty talk, Jason is more dominant and the reader is more submissive, penetrative sex, Jason is annoying even during sex, Jason has a pain kink (even when he’s a dom, he’s a painslut, I don’t make the rules), scratching/marking (Jason receiving), slight humiliation kink.

mentions of canon level violence, mentions of kidnapping (in alignment with canon), mentions of Jason being beaten by Deathstroke, mentions of Jason’s near-death experience (being dropped off the building), gun violence, the reader is injured - has a bullet wound/bullet fragment in their stomach, mentions of blood, descriptions of first-aid, mentions of puss from an infected wound (theoretically, not something that happens in the fic). That should be everything.

A/N: The title for the fic comes from a song by Pierce the Veil of the same name. It's a newer song, and it's one that I absolutely went to when looking for a title for this fic. The concept of becoming someone's emergency contact is about upgrading the relationship from casual to much more serious, and just the whole song, and specific lyrics in it suit this fic so well. I highly recommend listening to it paired with this fic.

This was based on a request from my old blog, but obvi I don't have that ask anymore - the request was about Jason getting shot and having his wound attended to by the reader, but I changed it to the reader getting shot cause I thought that was more interesting and less common. If the person who made that request sees this and finds my new blog, I hope you enjoy it! And in general, I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it.

...

If asked, you would be hard pressed to explain your relationship with Jason Todd. 

The best way you could describe it would probably be - friends with benefits? 

But most of the time, the two of you weren’t even friends. You weren’t the type to hang out casually, or spend time alone together if it didn’t involve ripping each other’s clothes off. 

If you ever exchanged secrets or those precious bits of your most raw selves, it was by mistake. It was through sarcasm, or coming off the tired lips of someone who had just been exhausted by a few orgasms. The two of you knew each other well, quite literally inside and out. But you always made a deep, concerted effort to hold each other at arm’s length. And maybe that’s part of what all the snark and harsh words were for. 

It wasn’t all arguing. You were friendly. You could be civil, at the very least. 

Right from the moment you had first met Jason, you had found him to be so damn annoying, a shitstain on the earth - yet, someone you couldn’t stay away from. The line between flirtatious banter and a truly grinding argument was always so thin with the two of you. 

… 

You hadn’t expected that your life would be truly changed when you walked into that safehouse in Chicago that day. You truly thought nothing of him when his eyes landed on you - in those moments, a completely anonymous stranger, raking his eyes over you like you were a piece of meat. It was a gaze that immediately made you feel naked, something that made you want to smack him. You told yourself it was because he was being a pervert, not because of the heat that curled in your gut at feeling so intensely desired by him. 

He had been sitting on the couch sipping a beer like he owned the place, his thighs spread wide in a way you immediately decided was arrogant and annoying rather than hot - showing off his muscle tone as if it was trying to break through his jeans. Definitely annoying. Definitely the stance of a fuckboy trying to look bigger and badder than he was. He definitely was not attractive. 

When Dick led you, Rachel, Gar, and Kory further into the condo that seemed far too conspicuous to be a safehouse, the stranger you would later come to know as Jason quickly spoke up. 

“Who are your friends?” He asked. 

As he rose from the couch, his eyes lingered on you. Though his words seemed more out of curiosity, you couldn’t help but feel that bite of something more salacious lingering in his voice. 

It caused you to scoff and roll your eyes. 

“Not important.” Dick declared, his voice snippy. He was clearly annoyed with this new guy, and you could tell that your perceptions of him were definitely not ill-informed. 

“Who’s he?” Kory asked, going for the obvious question. 

“Not important.” Dick parroted out the words again, sounding much shorter with his patience. 

“Anybody want a brew?” Jason asked, motioning with the beer bottle in his hand. 

“Brew?” You twisted your eyebrows with disgust, staring him down as you commented on his odd choice of slang. 

He didn’t get to reply, as you were trampled over by Gar’s enthusiastic voice in your ear. 

“I do!” He said, raising his hand with excitement. 

“No, you don’t.” You quickly told him, reaching out to grab his hand and put it back down. “It’s disgusting.” 

You had a grand suspicion that Gar had never drank beer before, and he had no idea what he was truly asking for. Rather, he was simply taking advantage of trying new things because Dick and Kory were incredibly slack parental figures and he was away from home for the first time. 

“No, no one wants a brew.” Dick sighed, shaking his head. He threw Jason a small glare and you resisted the urge to laugh. 

“That can’t be Adamson.” Kory said, motioning toward Jason. 

This left you confused. But you didn’t question it. 

“He’s not Adamson. Adamson’s in the bathroom. Unconscious.” Dick explained. 

“Hi, I’m Rachel.” Rachel told Jason, offering him a sweet smile - being her usual sweet self. 

“Jason.” He introduced himself, in that moment, finally giving you a name to that obnoxious face. 

“I’m Gar!” Gar said with a grin, to which Jason nodded. 

Jason caught you glaring at him, and looked you up and down again, as if trying to willfully tear off your clothes with his eyes. It made your skin itch with heat and you would forever deny that it was a feeling you liked. 

“What can I call you, babe?” He asked, his voice entirely slimy, the kind of tone he would have used to recite cheesy lines to Tinder dates, you were entirely sure of. 

Before you could come up with some clever reply, Dick sighed in frustration and started balking again. 

“Okay, who we all are doesn’t matter right now.” He pressed, his neck so entirely tense that veins began to pop from the skin. “Can we just chill out, relax, sit on the couch and watch TV or something?” 

It seemed that he wouldn’t get his wish. 

Gar quickly charged around the table, finding something else to get strung up about. 

“Yo, when did you get another one?” He asked, putting his hands on both of the expensive cases on the long dining table - a copy identical to the one you knew to be containing Dick’s Robin outfit. 

It made you curious, and the answer that followed certainly surprised you. 

“That one’s mine.” Jason said, his chest literally puffing out with pride as he stated the fact. 

“No way.” You scoffed. 

“Yes way.” He quickly argued back, the whole exchange sounding entirely juvenile.

“This one’s yours? Wait, you���re Robin too?” Gar quickly put the pieces together. 

“I thought you were Robin?” Rachel commented, tilting her head toward Dick with curiosity. 

“I am.” Dick said firmly. 

“He was.” Jason corrected, a cocky smirk forming across his lips. 

“Batman really lowered the height requirement, huh.” You said. 

The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them, seeing as it was likely the only thing you could nitpick about Jason’s appearance. Between his stunning sharp jaw, his piercing blue eyes, his oddly appealing wild hair, his muscle tone being somehow visible beneath his baggy clothing - all of it made you equally frustrated and annoyed with him, and your baser urges couldn’t resist the low-hanging fruit. 

You felt victory and a slight pang of guilt when Jason deflated because of your comment, shrinking back into himself at your words. 

He didn’t have anything to say in return, he simply sipped his beer. 

“Wait, how many Robins are there?” Gar said, beginning to excitedly ramble at the thought. “Are there a lot? Cause I would love to-” 

“Okay, quiet.” Kory cut him off, clearly becoming annoyed with all of this dancing around the point as much as Dick was. “Sit.” 

Her words were firm, and you couldn’t help but to listen. You found yourself collapsing to sit on the couch while Rachel and Gar took seats at the dining table. Jason continued to linger in the middle of the room, staring at Kory and Dick as their frustration filled the air. 

“Bathroom.” Kory told Dick, and then they left to deal with whoever - or whatever - Adamson was. 

Jason sighed and took a seat beside you. When his eyes fell on you, you set your jaw and glared at him. You didn’t give away a single ounce of the heat you were feeling as his eyes locked with yours. 

“Even if I am the shorter Robin, I can assure you that everything else about me is… very long.” He lowered his voice and whispered those last words, crowding into your personal space as he did so. 

It sent shivers down your spine, his silken voice making the words sound too tempting. Even if you twisted your face and said ‘gross!’ causing him to dissolve into laughter, you didn’t make an effort to move away from him or put any space between your two bodies on the very large couch. You told yourself it was because you were tired from a very long day of travel, not because you were enjoying the smell of his strangely expensive cologne from this close by. 

His grin was still entirely smug, and you couldn’t stand it. 

When he raised the beer bottle up to his mouth again, you reached over and put a hand on his forearm, forcefully dragging his arm down as you made a snide comment. 

“That shit is disgusting, why the hell do you drink it?” You asked. 

You found your face drifting toward his again and if asked, you would say it was a form of intimidation - not that you were being drawn in by an unconscious attraction to him. 

“Because I can.” He replied, just as snide as he slipped your grip and sipped on the drink. 

You mocked his words in an entirely childish voice, and then you raised a single finger up to it and skimmed along the neck of the bottle. It took only a single moment of concentration with your skilled powers to freeze the beer inside solid. He thought he felt an extra chill coming off his hand, but convinced himself that he imagined it. But when he kept it tilted and nothing came out to meet his lips, he shook it and then stuck an inquiring eye inside the bottle. 

When he saw that it was completely frozen, he looked over and saw you grinning, and little did you know - that was the moment he became completely taken with you. You were one of the most annoying people he had ever met, and he found himself so intensely attracted to you. 

Even if it was getting under your skin by arguing with you or fucking your brains out, he knew in that moment - he had to get inside you and drive you insane the same way that he knew you would for him. 

… 

When Dick left to go check on his old circus friend Clay, Jason winked at you and said ‘don’t miss me too much’. You made a show of putting a finger near your mouth and audibly gagging. 

Later that night, when Jason didn’t return, you hated the curl of disappointment that panged in your stomach. You wanted to hit yourself for staring at the door, waiting for the second Robin to come in behind Dick. 

You hated yourself even more for replying to Jason’s texts. 

Apparently he had taken your phone out of your jacket pocket when you went to the bathroom (not to see Adamson - a different bathroom, to pee). And he had put himself in your contacts as ‘Hot Guy’. He had also sent himself a text from your phone that read ‘omg Jason you’re so hot, will you fuck me?’. And then replied to it from his own phone with a picture of his cock. 

Unfortunately, the only thing you could mock about the picture was poor lighting. 

When you told him as much, he quickly remedied that with several more pictures - ones with better lighting. He sent a video with very distinct audio. You would deny that you rushed to put your headphones in to listen to it while you sat on the train with Kory and Gar. You would deny that it drove a hard, hot pain between your thighs. 

You dug through a folder and sent some pictures of your own. You told yourself it was to prove to him that you were too good for him - to show off something he could never actually have. To tease him. 

You would deny that you loved the compliments he gave you, that you ate up the affection like a plant lovingly soaking up the sun. 

When you were sexting him, you had no clue that you were ever going to see him again. It was almost mindless, something for a dopamine hit to distract yourself from all the chaos going on around you. You weren’t doing it because you actually liked Jason. You didn’t have any real attractions toward him, or any real plans to carry out all of the bold things you said in those messages. 

You had no clue that you’d end up living together. 

When you did find out that Dick would be taking Jason into the newly reopened Titans Tower along with you, Gar, and Rachel, you didn’t make a big deal of it in your mind. When Jason made flirtatious remarks toward you in person, you brushed him off. You put up a wall. 

You told yourself that he was nothing more than a cocky, shallow guy who would use you for sex and then throw you away - something you could never actually build a proper relationship with. And if you were supposed to live together, be some kind of team like Dick expected you to be, then you couldn’t be messy. You couldn’t get emotional. 

You had no clue that on one of those first nights living together, your self assured discipline not to give into your lust for him would break like a wafer cookie, and you would be in his bed faster than a sea turtle running into ocean. 

… 

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good on my cock.” Jason grunted, his face buried in your neck as he thrusted deep inside of you. The loud squelch of artificial wetness coming from between your thighs as he worked his hips, working you open with a needy, demanding pace. “Bet you love this cock, huh? Tell me how fuckin’ much you love it.” 

“Shut up.” 

The words came from your throat as a weak whimper, much less powerful than you had intended. 

You didn’t want to give him any more power than he already held over you - he had you weak and willing on his cock, something you would have never admitted could be true until it was happening in these moments. 

Though you would never admit it aloud, you loved the way he handled you. Having you pinned against the bed with his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, having you breathless and moaning as he fucked into you with fast, obviously skilled strokes. Your nails cut into the flesh of his back, and he let out a low rumble from his gut as the sharp sting sent a wave of pleasure through him. 

You hated the twinge of lustful embarrassment that curled in your gut when he chuckled at your words. 

“Oh, you want me to shut up?” He asked, slightly breathless from the act himself, moving one hand beside your head to raise himself up slightly to look in your eyes. 

He was sweaty, disheveled, his hair a mess, his muscles taught with the effort as he continued to pound into you. You hated that you had imagined him much like this before, and that this outlived all of your fantasies. 

“Yes.” You fired back. “Just shut up and fuck me.” 

He bit his lip - something you didn’t know was him trying to hold back his orgasm, so utterly turned on by your bratty defiance, the twinge of a whimper in your voice as you said those words. 

“You weren’t tellin’ me to shut up when I was texting you.” 

He said, all hot breath fanning across your chin, his hips spearing forward in sharp, hard hits that made your skin smack loudly together. It made you work hard to suppress moans deep in your chest in a way that was painful, like venom inside your lungs. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your sounds, of knowing just how good he was fucking you - even if he could see it written all over your pleasure twisted face. 

“You only begged for more when I was tellin’ you how I was gonna lay you on my bed. Take you apart… make you scream my name.” 

He reached his other hand from your hip to the point where you were joined. He began touching that tender place, making sharp, vicious strokes that were almost vengeful. Tears easily gathered in your eyes and he let out another chuckle when you choked on a deep, pleasurable wail. 

“Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself reading what I wrote?” 

He asked, leaning down to whisper the words right in your ear. 

“How many times did you cum thinking about me?” 

“I didn’t.” You choked out, digging your nails deeper into the skin of his back, causing him to grunt as the pain mixed with the pleasure flowing through him. 

“Sure, babe.” He smirked down at you, turning that look into something absolutely pavlovian that would forever make you feel his cock deep inside of you when you saw it, rather than feeling annoyed. 

Maybe from that point on, it was a bit of both. 

In an effort to shut him up, you reached up and claimed his lips. It was supposed to be a kiss, but it was mostly teeth. When you bit down on his bottom lip, snarling, he tasted blood and the way he moaned at the pain was absolutely unmistakable. It was something you remembered and used against him many times after that. 

… 

You wouldn’t allow yourself any room for self hatred when it came to that break in your self control. When it became an ongoing thing, you spun it as positive in your mind. 

It was just sexual release. You and Jason both needed it. It paired well with intense training and the heavy studying that Dick made you do. It lowered your stress levels a lot, and it helped you get through the day. 

The more time you spent around Jason, the more you got to know him, and the more you came to realize that he was nowhere near shallow. You easily saw that he was caring, deep, complex, troubled. The more time passed, you found yourself falling for him and the more you deeply denied it. Because it was just sex. 

Things were good between the two of you, and you knew that if you added anything else to the mix - any complicated, mushy feelings - you would fuck it up. 

You were especially reminded of this - how important it was not to fuck things up - just a day or so before every other force aside from you railed Titans Tower and began royally fucking things up. 

… 

It was a morning just like any other at Titans Tower. It was delightfully quiet - even though Dick demanded that everyone get up at ungodly early hours to begin training, you had somehow managed to wake up before everyone else and you were enjoying the peace it brought you. 

When you got up to see that Jason was already in the kitchen, standing at the counter as he munched on a bowl of cereal, you wanted to scorn the idea that your peace would be interrupted. But instead, you found yourself willfully suppressing a smile. 

You yawned and walked over to the counter, grabbing a bowl from one of the cupboards, thinking that cereal was just the right idea on his part. A deep frown cut through your face when you poured out the rest of the cereal box he had left on the counter, and a very measly amount fell into your bowl. 

“What kind of asshole only leaves three fucking cornflakes in the bottom of the box?” You scoffed, causing him to chuckle. 

“Learn to count, babe.” He told you, speaking with his mouth half-full. “That’s more than three.” 

You rolled your eyes. You were likely exaggerating - but still, it seemed rude to you to leave such a small portion, barely a handful, in the bottom of the box. 

“Or did I make you cum so hard last night that I knocked the common sense out of your head?” He added on, throwing you that signature smirk that made heat bloom between your thighs. 

You let out a sarcastic snort, giving him a purposefully disgusted grimace as you lifted the bowl up and dumped the remaining cereal into his portion instead. 

“You might as well take these.” You told him. “And don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that good.” 

You moved behind them, distracting yourself from the conversation by making a cup of coffee. 

“Oh really?” He perked up, rising to his full height, pure mischief in his voice. “It didn’t sound like it last night.” 

Much to your horror, he then began imitating your moans. 

“‘Oh, Jason! Oh, fuck me! More!’” 

It was a cartoonish, pornographic imitation, something he likely wouldn’t have done if the others were anywhere within earshot. Oddly enough, even though your relationship was casual, you still kept it guarded and private, as though it were some precious secret that needed to be kept from the others. 

“‘Jason, please, your dick is the best! Oh, make me cum!’” 

But that was the farthest thing from your mind as embarrassment curled in your stomach, the reaction he likely wanted to draw out of you. You hated that you didn’t truly know if it was accurate or not, because sometimes - yes, he did fuck your brains out and make you completely mindless on his cock. 

But you would never admit that he was right. 

“Shut up.” You sighed, causing him to dissolve into laughter, feeling as though he had won. 

But you wouldn’t simply leave it at that. 

Instead, as you pushed the button on the machine and your coffee began to drip, you turned around and gently placed your fingers on the side of his cereal bowl. You froze all the milk inside of it solid, making it into one large frozen chunk with the spoon stuck inside when he wasn’t looking - distracted, staring at your face, looking for any trace of the reaction that he had drawn out of you. 

You just glared, and he smirked once more. 

When he picked up the spoon again and went to take another bite, the entire bowl came with it. He sighed in defeat when he realized what you had done. 

“You know, it’s so damn annoying when you do that.” He sighed. 

“I know.” You grinned at him. 

He couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach at this. He resisted the urge to grab you by the sides of your head and steal the grin of your mouth with his own. He told you that it was out of annoyance, and not affection. He told himself those lines were most definitely not blurred when it came to you. 

… 

Confessing your feelings to Jason would not have been your choice. 

Given the choice, you would have let your feelings quietly live and die inside of you. You would have just kept Jason as a friend. You would have even dropped the amazing sex if it meant staying on good terms with him. 

But the stakes rose pretty quickly, and things were taken out of your hands. The choice was stolen from you and Jason entirely against your will. 

When you found out he was missing, supposedly kidnapped by Doctor Light on the heels of some misguided plan - something inside of you shattered. Up until that moment, if you thought it was just a stupid crush, or an infatuation inside of you that would easily fade with time - you quickly found out that you were wrong. 

You went through the stages of grief like a rocket. 

Denial. Staring at the door, waiting for him to walk inside at any moment. Just like you had back at the safehouse.

Anger. Being so pissed at Dick at the other older Titans that you could barely breathe. How had they let this happen to him? How could they make him feel so inadequate that he felt the need to go out on his own, half-cocked, clearly doing something in the name of looking for their approval? 

Bargaining. You would have traded places with him. You would have been the one, alone and scared and stranded if it meant that he got to be at home safe. You would have gone with him to carry out the stupid plan if he had only asked. Why hadn’t he asked you? 

Depression. You wept in your room, hands clasped over your face, letting out chest-shaking sobs as you thought of the possibility of him never returning home again. You realized the possibility of him dying was very real and it made your lungs burn. 

And then finally - Acceptance. You finally accepted that your feelings for him were something bigger, and if it meant that you were the only person in the Tower who truly cared about him (probably aside from Gar) - the only person who didn’t just see him as a pawn to be used against Deathstroke - then you had to do something about it. 

So you laid out your love for Jason. You put it all on the line for him. You accidentally confessed to him, showed your feelings in a gesture so quiet it screamed. 

You knew that for someone who stepped up to become Robin, someone who scorned cops for pummeling down on the innocent when they were supposed to be protectors - stepping up to try and save his life meant a love bigger than anything else you could have done. 

And he was terrified of it. There was a big justice in your love for him. And to him, there was an even bigger justice in giving you an out to escape it - to escape loving him.  

… 

Hectic. 

That was easily how you would describe the last few days at Titans Tower. 

Between the unexpected arrival of Rose - Dick taking on another stray because, like Rachel said, he couldn’t resist a bird with a broken wing. Finding out that she was related to one of the deadliest men on earth that the Titans apparently had previous history with. And then Jason going off on his own without telling you, some botched hostage trade, and the group picking up yet another stray - a strange boy who had saved Jason’s life. It was all a blur of hectic chaos that had you snapping your neck to keep up. 

Sleep was scarce and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a proper meal. 

But you weren’t truly worried about any of that. 

Dust had been kicked up around your life, and you couldn’t wait for it to settle before you made your next important decision. 

Even though the wounds were still tender, you knew that things were safe for now, and your number one concern was Jason. 

The minute he had gotten in the door, even though he was slightly hobbled and clearly sore from whatever Deathstroke had done to him, he rushed out of your sight. He was clearly eager to get away from everyone like a wounded animal sulking away to lick his wounds in peace. And when you had chased him, ignoring a nagging pain in your own side from the fight, he had slammed his bedroom door in your face, entirely uncaring of the fact that you called out his name, concerned for him. 

The rest of the group was distracted with Conner - not knowing what he had been shot with or how to fix it. You hated it, but in the eyes of the group, yet again, Jason and any of his problems fell to the back burner. 

After you had taken a short shower and changed your clothes, you found yourself here. Standing in front of Jason’s closed bedroom door, hoping not to face another cold rejection. 

You wondered if he would be sleeping, wondered if you should interrupt his peace. But you knew that sleep was unlikely after everything that had happened. 

So you took the leap. 

You raised a fist, once again pushing down that stinging pain coming from the right side of your stomach. You reasoned that it was probably nothing more than a bruise forming there. And you knocked on the door. 

A few moments later, the door was jerked open, and Jason glared at you. 

His eyes were dull and tired, and there was a large bruise forming on the side of his mouth. Probably one of many others that you couldn’t see, from the way he had been walking earlier. He likely hadn’t been sleeping, but you had disturbed him. 

“What the hell do you want?” He grumbled out, his voice dull, lacking any true fight. 

“I wanted to check on you.” You told him, entirely honest. “I know it might seem stupid, but I wanna see how you’re doing.” 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

He wanted to agree that - yes, it was stupid. It should have been obvious how he was doing after being kidnapped, beaten, and dropped off a building. But he was an idiot who had gotten himself thrown headfirst into that mess, thinking he could handle it. And he didn’t need to go crying to you about how badly he had fucked up. He had made a poor choice and he deserved all of the consequences. It was a simple fact of life. 

“I’m doing just fine, thanks.” Jason said, entirely snide and sarcastic. “Look, I don’t need your help, okay? So fuck off.” 

It was a set of harsh, cutting words. But he thought getting distance from you would be best. This whole thing had woken him up from the sweet little fantasy the two of you had been participating in. He was a natural born fuck-up. And sure, he could have you for a while, play around a bit - but he could never truly make you happy. Eventually, he would fuck you up too. He was a harsh poison and it would be better if he got out of your life before you felt the full effects. 

He moved to shove the door closed and upon instinct, you reached up and fought him on it. Unconsciously, you winced as a sharp pain came from the injury in your stomach, reaching for it with your free hand as you held the door open with the other. It should have been no big deal. With your meta abilities, you usually healed quicker. You weren’t even used to feeling it when you got hurt. You were probably just feeling it worse because you were tired. 

You tried to ignore the pain. But in a moment, Jason’s eyes went wide with worry as his gaze darted from your face, knit with pain, to where your hand was nursing the injury. Any sense of smarmy discontent dropped from his features, immediately being replaced with a softness and worry for you. 

“You’re hurt.” He said quietly. 

He let the door fall open again, reaching for your hand to inspect the injury himself. 

“I’m fine.” You played the card this time, exchanging his lie for your own. 

It was an odd play. He had lied about not being so torn up inside, emotionally devastated as he was, and now you were lying about not being physically injured from the fight. The two of you made an odd, but perfectly matched pair. 

Jason barreled right past your words, and you were easily pliant to his touch as he removed your hand from the injury. You certainly were not expecting for him to find anything incriminating under your hand. But he glared at you when he found bright red spread across your palm, a glossy wetness leaking through your shirt. 

“You’re bleeding.” He grunted at you. 

Clearly, he was disappointed in the fact that you had neglected to bring this injury to the group’s attention. Pissed off at the fact that you weren’t in the medbay with Conner receiving some treatment right now. 

Maybe you could blame it on the chaos. Maybe you could blame it on the fact that with everyone so emotionally distraught, you didn’t want to be just another problem for everyone to fuss over. 

“Whoops.” You breathed out sarcastically. “I didn’t even notice.” 

That last part was honest. In all the adrenaline, all your worrying over whether or not Jason was going to live as you watched him dangle so high off the ground - you truly hadn’t paid any mind to the injury. 

“You didn’t-?” Jason huffed out in anger, but didn’t bother finishing the sentence. 

Perhaps he partially understood himself, knowing how the adrenaline from a fight could stamp out pain. Or perhaps he knew how truly stubborn you were and he didn’t want to waste his energy arguing with you. 

“You need this treated.” He added on. 

No matter how fucked in the head he was, he never wanted to see you hurt. That was something he would definitely waste his energy on - wearing down your stubbornness until you let him or someone else in the house take care of the injury properly. 

“Conner is worse off than I am.” You shrugged. “He needs the attention more.” 

“Then let me help you.” He said, an impatient nagging rising up in his throat. “Bruce gave me some first aid training. One thing that means I’m not totally useless.” 

The words made your chest ache for him, a pain that easily competed with the bleeding wound. 

“Jason-” 

You wanted to argue with him. You wanted to tell him he had infinite worth to you. 

But of course, he cut you off. 

“Just go sit on the bed.” He told you, quiet, but a firm command that you couldn’t ignore. 

He gently pushed past you, on a quest for some supplies to patch you up with. You then found yourself drifting into his room almost mindlessly, your hand clutching the wound again upon instinct. It was a place that you felt oddly at home. The nights you had spent in that bed since coming to Titans Tower, your head delightfully empty as he had fucked you hard and fast - they were by far your favourites. 

You would say it was because of the sex, and not just because you got to be wrapped up in Jason’s arms. Maybe everything had changed. Maybe your answers were different now. Maybe you were raw and tender and Jason wasn’t prepared to chase you in that devotion. 

But that was just the thing. With you and Jason, there was never any sense of devotion. You and Jason were always hard and fast. Teasing each other, verging on the edge of vengeful. It was a flame that burned intensely hot - but it was never anything soft. It was never anything that prompted you to knock on his door so late, wanting to check on his well being. It was nothing that prompted you to make chase to put your life on the line for him. 

Even just knowing that he had the intent to attend to your injury, called himself useful because of it - the thought cradled you like a warm blanket. It had you balancing on the edge of a dam holding back a barrage of feelings that you had been quelling down since the moment you had first put your lips on his.

“I told you to sit.” Jason’s voice came from behind you. 

He had raided the infirmary and now had a handful of supplies - luckily without anyone seeing him or questioning why. When you turned to him, he was closing the bedroom door behind him, sealing you both in with this newfound soft intensity, the tired lull of two people unwilling to hold back that softness anymore. It was entirely dangerous, and entirely life-saving at the same time; and neither of you realized it. 

“Since when do you get to boss me around?” You told him, your voice low and lacking any true spirit or sarcasm. 

It was in the same vein as the banter the two of you usually threw around - bickering about who was a bigger asshole, who was more stubborn, who was better in bed. 

You expected some kind of sexual comment in return. You could almost hear it now - he was the boss of you because he made you melt on his cock, made you mindless and dumb with it. 

But, no dice. 

The longer you stared at him, catching bits of the fresh pain swimming through those gorgeous blue eyes, you wished so badly for the mischief and sarcasm and light to come back and bite you the way that it used to. 

It only made your stomach churn harder at the whole situation. Things had officially changed between you and Jason. You had yet to find out if it was for the better, or for the painstakingly worse. 

Jason sighed through his nose. 

“You can be such an asshole sometimes.” He told you. Coming from him, and given the nature of your relationship, you knew it was almost a compliment. “Will you just sit down and let me help you?” 

Even though you were utterly terrified of the swelling of emotions you felt, bound to come to a head - you did. 

You sat on the edge of the bed and he placed the supplies beside you. 

When he mumbled out a quiet ‘lay back’, and you did, his cool fingertips at the hem of your shirt pulling it upward felt strangely more intimate than any other time you had been in this same position. It wasn’t heady, you weren’t granted the distraction of his mouth on yours and his tongue shoved between your lips while a harsh throbbing nagged between your legs.

This was quiet, and calm, and gentle. 

When you caught his eye above you as he wiped away the blood with some clean gauze, you saw nothing but pity and worry and sparkling affection for you. You almost dared to call it something as epic and dangerous as love, buried deep in his eyes. He worked with the most delicate touch, almost as if he was afraid to break you, before he glanced down and inspected the wound. 

His brow furrowed with even more intense worry, guilt nipping at his insides when he got a good look at it. 

“I think I see a bullet in here.” He told you, and then he moved around the bed and grabbed his phone, turning on the flashlight to have a better light to inspect it. You felt intensely naked, intensely caught when he began shining the light on your stomach with a harshly inquisitive look across his face. “Definitely something shiny. You got shot and you didn’t fucking tell anyone?” 

It was only then that you realized when you had gotten the wound - the exact moment clicking into place in your mind. 

“It was only a ricochet.” You argued quietly. “It’s not that bad.” 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes, and began sorting out his supplies, preparing to pull out whatever was lodged inside of you. 

… 

Dick explicitly told you to stay put. 

They only wanted the more experienced Titans, the Varsity squad on the case when dealing with Deathstroke. He blamed young naive incompetence as the reason Jason had gotten captured in the first place. You blamed him and Bruce pushing Jason out, making him feel like he needed so desperately to prove himself. But it was something Dick wasn’t ready to hear - an argument you weren’t going to have with the very stubborn team leader. 

Instead, you went for the silent route. You trailed the rest of them out of Tower, and when Dick strayed away from the rest of the group, his head on a swivel as he glanced back and forth, seemingly wanting to assure that none of the others were following him - you followed your gut instincts and went after him. 

You hid in the shadows and the moment that Deathstroke hit the button and those panels scrolled up, revealing Jason stranded on that scaffolding - you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Jason!” 

You screamed out his name, you leapt forward. 

Dick didn’t have time to scold you, not before the gunfire started. 

Kory came out of nowhere - seemingly, she had the same idea as you. Putting her life on the line for an emotionally repressed man that she hadn’t admitted her feelings for. But she was there because she was in love with the other Robin. (Or rather, a man who claimed over and over again that he wasn’t Robin.) 

Things quickly became a blur - flashes of flame as Kory fought, battling with the muzzle flashes from Deathstroke’s guns, limbs flying as they fought each other. You didn’t see it, but Deathstroke raised and aimed at you as you rushed toward the window, blindly going after Jason. In response, Dick charged forward, redirecting the gun as he pulled the trigger. You heard the sharp ‘ping’ sound of metal on metal - what you couldn’t see was the bullet hitting one of the metal beams in the ceiling. But you certainly felt it when it sliced into your side. 

At the time, it was nothing compared to the fear you felt for Jason. 

His eyes were wide with terror, and you could only focus on getting him to safety. You had no idea that a large part of his panic came from seeing you in the building. He had hoped that Dick would keep you away from all of this. But there you were, standing a few feet away from a man with a gun who was shooting around wildly. Jason would have delighted in being dropped off the building to his death if he had to see you get fatally shot when he could do nothing but squirm on the other side of the glass. 

You put two hands on the glass, banging on it - of course, it was no use. It was inches thick, meant to keep people from going through it at this height. Working entirely on instinct, you put your palms flat across it and began forming ice crystals over it, hoping to make it rigid and breakable if it was frozen. 

Once there was enough ice, you quickly looked around and spotted a metal pipe there for the in-progress construction of the building, so you grabbed it and rushed to smash the glass with it. You felt victorious as it shattered, and Jason flinched away from the shards, putting you one step closer to freeing him. 

Though the moment the glass was cleared, leaving the wind whipping around you, his first words of greeting to you were not celebratory. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He barked at you, clearly angry with you. 

You felt a dull ache in your chest at this. You thought he might be relieved, happy, pleased. At the time, you couldn’t interpret his harsh reaction as worry for you possibly getting hurt. 

Nonetheless, you ignored his harshness. You would save him, whether he wanted to be saved or not. You draped your body through the window, reaching out to him. You made an effort to keep most of your weight planted on the floor of the building, in case the scaffolding wasn’t stable enough to hold two people at once. 

“What do you think?” You replied, pure sarcasm dripping through your voice as you reached behind Jason and began fiddling with the rope around his wrists. 

The position put the two of you in intensely close proximity. Jason caught a whiff of your unique scent, the shower gel you used that mingled with your body’s natural oils; and he felt so painfully at home. For the first time that night, he held back tears. He couldn’t help but to lean his forehead on your shoulder, taking comfort in having you so near after being on edge and terrified for so many hours. You resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, to cradle him and give him further comfort. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand - getting him to safety. 

Behind you, at the very back of the room, Dick and Deathstroke wrestled with the remote for the explosives attached to the scaffolding. 

Just as you managed to get Jason’s wrists freed, Deathstroke hit the switch, and the bombs went off. 

… 

You winced loudly as Jason dabbed at the wound with disinfectant. 

“I would say sorry… but, you’ll thank me later when this isn’t swollen and leaking puss.” He told you, throwing you a small smirk. 

It was smug. It was the usual kind of humor that he gave you. 

It was comforting to know that every trace of the Jason you knew hadn’t been stolen by Deathstroke. 

You held your breath as he pressed down with the medicine-covered gauze again, drawing much less of a reaction out of you this time. 

“Great mental image, Jay.” You replied, your voice dull. It lacked any of the true bite you wanted to deliver in response to him. “I’m sure it’s such a turn-on thinking about my puss.” 

It was meant to be a joke. But even unconsciously, it was an acknowledgement of that dangerous line - the line between truly caring and just using someone for sex. The line between having someone in your life as a body to get off with, and being so… homely with them. 

You and Jason were towing that line dangerously. It was a thread that you were balancing on, and it would either break, or you would cross to the other side and be forever bonded to him. 

Jason shrugged. “Maybe I don’t have to be turned on by you all the time.” 

There was more stuck in his throat. Another dangerous acknowledgement of that line. 

‘Maybe I just have to care.’ 

Both of you lulled into silence because neither of you dared to say it. 

After a few moments, Jason put down the gauze and hesitated to reach for the tweezers. He knew that pulling the bullet out would be painful, but inevitable. It was a lot like the state of your relationship with him. Break it off, and find happiness elsewhere, or acknowledge this big thing swelling to fruition between the two of you. Have Jason fuck it up eventually. Painful, but inevitable. 

“You shouldn’t have to be hurt like this.” Jason said quietly. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt for my sake.” 

There it was again - words with a dangerous double meaning. 

You looked up at him, pure pain knit across his face, and for a moment he looked from the tweezers to you and he could hardly stand holding your gaze. 

‘It’s worth it.’ You wanted to say. ‘For you, I’d bear any pain.’ 

The words lived and died behind your eyes, and your tongue decided on something else entirely. 

“It’s nothing.” You told him. 

You downplayed the pain, pretending that the injury was only a minor inconvenience for you. And in the grand scheme of life, it was. With time, it would heal. Losing Jason would be something you’d never heal from. 

Jason shook his head at this statement. 

He forced himself to reach for the tweezers then. He handed you his phone, a silent agreement that you would hold the light as steady as you could. He knew you well, too well, and he knew that you needed something else to focus on to push away the pain. He put his free hand on the plush of your stomach, pulling back slightly to hold the wound open while you held the light on it. 

When the sharp metal of the tweezers breached your wound, you wanted to swear. You wanted to call him an asshole as the pain shot through you. You wanted to scold him for leaving the Tower and being kidnapped in the first place. But you knew that even if it was playful or sarcastic, fueled by the bite of your pain, it was not what he needed to hear right now. So instead, you held your breath, and gripped his phone hard, keeping the light steady as you bared the sharp shocks of pain. 

After a moment of digging around that felt like an eternity, he pulled out the fragment and held it up to show you as you collapsed back against the bed, panting with tears stinging the edges of your eyes. 

“It’s not nothing.” He declared sharply. 

You couldn’t conjure a response. You knew he was right. And you didn’t want to be forced to admit it. 

Instead, you turned off the light from his phone and relaxed into the bed, closing your eyes as he walked around to the trashcan and threw out the bullet fragment. It fell into the bottom of the plastic wastebasket with a very small ‘ping’ - making you wonder how something so small could cause so much trouble. 

Jason quickly returned to you, dabbing more disinfectant into the wound in a way that made you groan and flex away from the touch. Once again, he did not apologize. 

There were a few moments of muddy silence with nothing but your slightly labored breathing, trying to contain your sounds of pain so as to not make him feel any further guilt about the whole incident. 

Your mind churned, and you couldn’t help the next words that came from your mouth. 

“I meant what I said.” You told him. 

At the sound of this, his hands immediately stilled. You felt his eyes on you, and you forced yourself to open your own and look up at him once again. He stared you down with intense examination. He looked for any ounce of falsity, any sign that you were lying, even posturing to make him feel better after everything that had happened. 

He didn’t find any. 

You thought he might acknowledge you, that he might say something back to return your mighty words. Instead, he simply reached for more gauze, and began putting a final bandage on your wound. 

… 

The explosion caused a sharp rattle through your ears. It shocked you and made you dizzy and put the whole world off-kilter. The only thing you could perceive past the mind-numbing hum in your brain was the feeling of Jason’s rough glove gripping tightly onto your wrist, so you gripped back as hard as you could. 

When you blinked open your eyes, you were half-hanging out of the open window, the edge of the floor cutting into your waist as you held onto Jason by nothing but his wrist. His whole body weight created a harsh burn, straining on the muscles in your shoulder as you watched him dangle hundreds of feet above the street. 

Panic flooded you. 

You scrambled to reach out with your other hand, and the moment you moved, your shirt slipped against the sleek, polished material of the floor and you began sliding out the window. You gasped and Jason stilled his panicked flailing immediately. 

“Don’t move!” He shouted. 

“Give me your other hand so I can pull you up!” You shouted back. 

Beyond the unpleasant hum of your eardrums rattling, you still heard chaos behind you. Gunshots, the grunts of fighting, Kory and Dick’s voices yelling. They were busy with Deathstroke, they couldn’t help you or Jason. 

Jason looked up at you with glassy eyes. 

He knew that with all his gear weighing him down, even with the training you had been doing, you wouldn’t be able to pull him up. Not by yourself. And if you weren’t careful, his body weight would just pull you out of the window and cause you to go tumbling down to your death along with him. 

When you saw that frown etch across his lips, that filthy look of dawning - you glared at him. 

“Give me your other hand!” You screamed, your voice raking across your throat like hot coals. A hot boiling rage at the fact that he seemed almost determined to die. 

There was one thing he was determined about. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to take you down with him. 

His gloved wrist started to slip from your nervous, sweaty palm, and you tried hard to hold on tight. You formed large shards of ice, hoping you could create some kind of bond there by freezing your hand to his. But it would only be temporary with gravity trying to tear the two of you apart. 

“You have to drop me, Y/N.” He said, nothing but pure mourning on his lips. “I’m dead weight.” 

You both knew it was a horrendous double meaning. 

He thought he was a dead weight to your life. 

“No!” You immediately defied this thought, that feral rage ripping at your throat once again. “I’m gonna pull you up. I’m gonna pull you up!” 

You reached your other hand down and tightly wrapped both of your hands around his wrist, yanking upward. The harsh movement caused you to slide even further out the window. You were now dangling dangerously over San Francisco with only the thickness of your thighs giving you any real stability on the intensely high up floor. It made you dizzy, and the only thing you had to focus on were the wet wells of Jason’s eyes staring up at you. 

“It’s no use!” Jason said tearfully. 

You ignored him. 

You cast your chin over your shoulder, and began shouting. 

“Help me!” You screamed, trying desperately to get the attention of Dick or Kory. “Help me! Fuck!” 

“You have to let go.”

Jason’s words immediately shifted your focus back to him. 

But of course, you refused. 

“I’m not letting go of you!” You declared sharply. “Not that easily.” 

As he stared up at your tearful eyes, he knew that you meant it as more. 

Unfortunately, it was the one thing he was terrified of. 

He thought that you saw him as some shiny perfect thing, something good and worth having in your life. He thought that you were incapable of seeing the poison, the true fuck-up that he was. If you didn’t let go of him, sooner or later, just like everyone else in his life, you were going to get burned. 

So Jason did what he had to do. 

He began prying your fingers off his wrist, trying his best to keep you stable while he forced himself from your grip. 

“No!” You shrieked. “No, no, no-” 

You didn’t have much room to fight him about it without falling out of the window yourself. 

You made a move to readjust, to get a tighter grip on him - and it was the one deadly move that caused him to slip out of your touch completely. 

You were forced to watch on in chest clenching horror, blinking through heavy tears as he began hurtling toward the ground. 

… 

If not for Conner - a literal miracle - swooping in and saving Jason at the last second, then you would have spent the rest of your life regretting those moments, wondering what you could have done differently to save him. 

When Jason finished taping down the bandages, making sure the wound was clean and secure, he laid his palm flat on top of it. It was a kind of ‘kissing it better’ that instantly spread warmth curling through your gut. It was a touch so incredibly tender - especially compared to the heated, aggressive groping you were used to from him - that it caused a whimper from the back of your throat. 

You knew it was unlikely, but you hoped that he hadn’t heard it. 

“All done.” He said quietly. 

You instantly felt regret when he took his hand away and began tidying up the medical supplies. But you forced yourself to sit upright, now feeling only muscle soreness and a much duller pain coming from the area. You felt intensely thankful for his care as you pulled your shirt back down, righting your clothes back into place. 

“You’re free to go now.” Jason told you, his voice still low, as though a single decibel would shatter the delicate peace between the two of you. 

You felt your heart sink. 

In an instant, you understood what it was - he was concerned about your physical wellbeing, but he didn’t actually want to have you around. Just like his reaction to you showing up at the hostage exchange - he didn’t want your presence there. 

You heaved a sigh and got off the bed as Jason busied himself with gathering up the used gauze to throw it away. As you put your hand on the doorknob, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to leave. 

It was something else. 

It had to be something else. 

Jason hadn’t let himself drop off a building in some desperate ploy just to get away from you. He had been trying to save you. 

He was so utterly willing to give his life for yours. 

And now he was trying to back down from that. 

You turned and faced him, leaving the door closed. When he turned from ditching things in the wastebasket, he froze. He was entirely surprised that you were still there.

The two of you locked eyes, both staying still - like a predator and prey locked in a stalemate, wondering who would run first. 

In this situation, you weren’t sure who was the prey. 

You were both so vulnerable. 

Jason thought it would be selfish to get caught up in all of this, to finally admit those dangerous feelings he had for you. When he cared for things, he usually ended up breaking them. Of course, it was never on purpose - he was an idiot. Everything he touched, he fucked up. He had made that more than evident with his last braindead plan, the outing to prove that he was worthy of being Robin. Something that had gotten you shot, probably could have gotten you killed. 

If you stuck with him any longer, you probably would end up being killed. And he would never forgive himself for that. 

He would be better off ripping himself from your hold, as much as it hurt. Giving you a dose of that heartbreak now so that you could get over him and go after better things. 

As you stared at Jason, you could see all the pain boiling underneath his surface. You wondered what he was thinking, what the hell he was churning over in that intense brain of his - but you didn’t dare to ask. 

You knew that he needed to be held right now - in every sense of the word. You knew that he needed to be cared for the way he had cared for your wound, pushing past the pain in order to heal. You wondered if he would lay down and bear it or if he would continue to fight you. 

You were the one to bravely step forward. Though Jason was tempted to ask you to leave, that thing inside of him yearning to marinate in his isolation because he deserved it, he pushed it down. He let his hands naturally come to sit on the plush comfort of your waist as you put a gentle touch on both his shoulders, leaning into his body ever so slightly. 

You laid your forehead on his cheek, right next to that ugly bruise that had been left on him, and he let out a contented sigh as he felt your warmth envelope him. For the first time since his feet had touched the ground, he felt calm. He felt safe. 

You smoothed a hand across his shoulder, and raised your head, using your touch to gently tip his face toward yours. He quickly realized that your intention was to kiss him. And something ached in his heart - something painful and longing. He knew that it would not be needy and haste with the intention of pile-driving toward sex like your other kisses had been. He knew that it would be the metamorphosis of your relationship that he was not prepared to go through. 

He nuzzled along your forehead, gently stopping you. 

“Please don’t do this.” He murmured quietly into your skin. 

He knew that it would break him. 

He knew that this was the moment - like Gatsby reaching up toward the stars - this would be the moment that he was tied to you forever, damned by his love for you. Only, much different than Gatsby, he wasn’t destined for some grant fate if he didn’t have you. He was on a one way path to a messy death, and he was determined not to take you down with him. 

Tears pricked the edges of his eyes at the thought. 

You pulled back, just enough to properly look him in the eyes, and your own tears formed when you saw that pathetic puppy dog looking back at you. 

“Why not?” You demanded, much sharper than you intended. You knew he was fragile and you didn’t want to upset him any further than he already was. 

“You know why.” He replied, his voice barely scraping above a whisper as the emotion clutched at his throat. 

Jason wanted to hold onto you forever, but he was also a realistic person. He expected that any minute now, you would rip away from his arms and charge out the door, entirely angry with him, and this would finally be over. You would finally be safe from him - safe from any nasty fate his life could conjure up for you. 

You hated what he was asking of you - asking you not to care for him anymore. As if you could somehow switch it off. Impossible. 

“I meant what I said.” You repeated yourself, still entirely firm in this conviction. “I’m not gonna let you go that easily.” 

You leaned in, planting your lips on his in a light kiss. A pained sigh ripped through you when he didn’t make any moves to kiss you back. 

“Jason, please.” You whimpered out desperately. “If you get to bandage my bullet wound, then I get to do this.” 

Jason wanted to spell it all out for you, plain and dirty. He wanted to get angry, he wanted to scream. He wanted to rush along the inevitable. He wanted to tell you what a poison he was to the world, that he deserved to die and you deserved better things. But he had the utmost feeling that you wouldn’t listen. 

“Please, stop pushing me away.” You whispered against his lips. 

Instead, he listened to your plea. He let himself indulge in this selfish softness for once. 

He reached up and grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a firmer kiss, declaring every ounce of passion and terror that he was feeling in those moments. You answered it all right back - digging your fingers into the shoulders of his shirt, letting out a hot huff against his cheek as you leaned into his body. 

He would never be perfect - but he was yours.

...

Final note: yes, I used to be @/pinkchubbiebunnie. That is still my username on AO3, so if you saw this fic posted on there, it is my fic. Please do not accusing me of plagiarising fics if you see this, because this is my own fic. This is my new blog. Feel free to follow me if you’re interested in my fanfiction and thoughtful discussions of the media that I enjoy.

[undead-supernova]

It's a Delicate Need / Masterlist

Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

18+ minors DNI

plot: you've never met eddie munson before...and even if your reputation's never been worse, desire is the sound of the whiskey and you're prepared for the risk. but are you willing to let it go to waste?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: drinking, mention of weed, there's genuine smut in here so sorry for the length, mention of body shaming

wc: 6.9k

This chapter is inspired by the sound and lyrics of “Delicate” and her unreleased Lover track “Need” that I haven’t stopped thinking about since it leaked. This is one of my favorite things I've ever written and I can't believe I get to share it! Okay, have fun! (special thanks to @littlexdeaths for helping chill out my frantic screaming about writing smut)

Late April, 2024

You met him in those weird ways celebrities do. Usually, it’s an award show or some house party thrown by mutual famous friends. For you, it was the Grammy after party.

Corroded Coffin won Best Rock Album for “Fire Shroud” and Best Metal Performance for the title track. (Ozzy Osborne presented their award and you couldn’t believe how jealous you were.) 

You’d won Song of the Year for “Cradle Me”. The night was electric, one that would go down in history for you and your ever-growing career. 

Because you’d done it. You won a Grammy. 

And that was the only reason you decided to even go to the after party, really. You rode the high of your adrenaline, your tears. The squealing and stomping of victory as you basked in a kind of pride you’d never felt before. A kind of pride that you didn’t even know existed.

The room boomed with music, everyone seemingly on the same wave as you. You’d been practically shredding up the dance floor all on your own, taking time to close your eyes and feel a release for what seemed like the first time since you’d started your career. You were on top of your game, on top of the world. Nothing could derail you now. 

As a remix of Miley Cyrus’ “Flowers” came to a close, you remembered where you were. Opened your eyes to look around you as another song sounded, the bass pulsating in your ears.

And despite the noise, everyone noticed when Corroded Coffin walked in.

Even you.

Here they were, all five members decked out in lavish outfits, all five shimmying their way through the parting crowd with drinks held high in the air. If it was anyone else, they’d look obnoxious and lame. But each one of the members of Corroded Coffin acted like real people. They were in sequins, dark makeup, designer suits and dresses…and they were normal. Just laughing their way through the crowd and dancing like idiots.

And that’s when you saw him.

About an hour after their arrival, Eddie Munson snuck away from the rest of the group. He was at the bar, nursing some whiskey, a smile on his face as he chatted with the bartender. Leaning sideways against the counter with his legs crossed, just lounging as he socialized.

And maybe it kind of seemed a little stalkerish that you were watching him across the room, sipping on your third Shirley Temple—with, yes, copious amounts of vodka—but you were merely observing. 

You weren’t his biggest fan or anything, but you were still fascinated by him. By his effortless charm, the sheer effect he seemed to have on everyone. Some had called him the New It Guy, others had called him a Soon To Be Has Been. But, for the most part, he was considered the man of everyone’s dreams. 

Not only that, but he was genuinely talented. Corroded Coffin was killing it, having reached newer heights. Those Grammys they won? Yeah, they’d already received two the year prior. In the last two years, they’d collaborated with Post Malone, Joan Jett, Bring Me The Horizon, Nova Twins, Amy Lee, Poppy… The list was starting to get rather full from how desirable it was to work with them, especially smaller artists they’d been bringing into the limelight. 

Plus, they were bringing metal to new heights. Tearing down the walls of what it meant to listen to metal and defying how it was “supposed” to sound. And you could go on and on about their lyricism, the way that they wrote about more than just testosterone-driven rage. They talked about mental health, about heartache. Addiction. Loneliness and the way isolation stung. Even the intense weight of fear that comes with falling in love.

They were raw. They were real.

And you kinda wanted to talk to Eddie Munson.

He was alone, for God’s sake. Just a sitting duck by himself, clad in that outfit. The sequins on his blazer casted light over his cheek, reflecting off of the LED lights. His blazer was a deep eggplant, all velvet and cool and fitting perfectly tight against his toned muscles. There were patterns of small black roses strategically placed throughout. Not enough to be overwhelming, but enough to give the drama. 

Oh, yeah. One more thing.

No. Shirt. 

Just his lean stomach with an attention-grabbing happy trail that led to his incredibly tight leather pants. The color even matched his blazer. Combat boots. Rings adorning his fingers and some black nail polish. Layers of diamond bracelets and chains resting against the dark ink of his tattoos. A guitar pick at the center of a black velvet choker around his neck.

Yeah, you really wanted to talk to Eddie Munson.

For a second, you stared down at yourself. You had a momentary lapse in confidence, wondering if what you were wearing was acceptable for a metal lead. Because you were clad in a silk knee-length dress, blush pink. One that hugged your curves and twirled around you wherever you moved. It was Old Hollywood. It was graceful. It was you.

Fuck it.

You approached, handing the bartender your empty glass and kindly asking for a refill. When you glanced over at Eddie in your peripheral, you knew he was being respectful, looking down at his drink rather than you.

It was up to you to deliver the opening line.

“You know,” you started, catching his attention immediately. “you’d kinda look like Lord Farquad if you got a bob.”

Eddie’s eyebrows lifted, trying to stifle a chuckle. “Yeah? You think so?” You nodded and watched as he tried to tuck in the bottom half of his hair to create the illusion of a bob. “‘Run, run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!’”

You were right. He kinda looked like Lord Farquad’s taller, hotter, more glamorous brother. 

“That is perfect,” you said, slow clapping. “Brilliant.”

He laughed, moving his whisky as a subtle invite to stand next to him. “I’m glad you think so. I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You smiled, telling him your name, watching as he nodded. He was wearing some eye shadow, all deep purple and bruise-y. He seemed to have had a coat of lipgloss on that was now lining the rim of his glass, with only a slight residue remaining. It was still effortlessly beautiful. He was effortlessly beautiful.

“Yeah, I actually know who you are.”

Your eyes widened. He knew you? 

“I didn’t think it was your genre,” you said honestly.

Eddie shook his head. “Nah. Come on, give yourself a little credit. ‘Tetris’ had a bit of a rock vibe to it.”

“Yeah, true,” you agreed, rolling your eyes. That was a single from your last album, one that hadn’t even gotten much traction from audiences. “But it’s nothing like A Rush of Hellfire.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up again. “You heard our first album?”

Confusion flooded your features. “Well, yeah. Hasn’t everyone?”

“No one talks about it anymore,” he responded, shrugging as he scratched the top of his head. “You a fan?”

“Not, like, a diehard fan or anything, you know? It’s fun to work out to. Or scream in the car. You did that remix with Post Malone. ‘Something Real’, right?” He smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I can’t get enough of it. The original is heavenly, but you guys put a spin on it that made it transcend the meaning and give it an extra boost of emotion that didn’t even seem possible. And your added verse? I mean, it was just so raw and…” 

You stopped yourself, starting to feel embarrassed from practically fangirling about this guy’s music to his face. He may have been actively listening, or was pretending to, but you had to stop before it got to be too much.

“Anyways,” you finished. “I really like it.”

His smile grew and it was like something flutter-y-ish was rushing to your heart. What was that about? 

“I’m flattered,” he said. “Unexpected, but flattered nonetheless.”

“Why unexpected?”

“Well, I mean. Well, your music—I just assumed—”

You laughed at that. “I like way more than just pop. That’s just the music I make, you know?” He gave you another silent nod, making you feel a little self-conscious. “So, I’m guessing you’re not really into my stuff?”

“No, I really like it. I just don’t want you to think I’m a diehard fan or anything. Actually, it’s kinda funny. I saw your cover of ‘Lolita’ by…” he trailed, waving his fingers around in thought until he pointed at you with a smirk. “Lana Del Rey, that’s it. Saw it a few weeks ago. Very cool. I liked the way you changed the sound. It seemed a little sadder than the OG, even with the synth.”

You smiled. You’d done that cover in the BBC Live Lounge to make fun of the way the media portrayed you. A player on both sides, leading everyone on and leaving them high and dry. Being a temptress of some sort, always on your best misbehavior. It was a common story, something that was far from realistic. But the media circus wasn’t about reality. It was about the fantasy.

And a lot of people misinterpreted the song choice as a confirmation of your reputation. It was mortifying. And annoying. Mostly fucking annoying.

And as the bartender handed you your drink, you prayed to whatever God was out there that Eddie didn’t think the same about you.

“I did it as a joke,” you defended sheepishly. “You’ve probably heard about me, but I’m not actually like that.”

And you knew that there was no reason for you to justify yourself to him, especially someone rumored to be a player himself. Eddie was known to the public as someone who collected  groupies like a goddamn claw machine, but it was seen as something desirable. He was hailed as some kind of Metal Prince of Darkness. (Though, you’d never come into contact with anyone who’d actually been involved with him…)

So why were you nervous all of a sudden?

You studied his reaction, the way he barely had one. He just kept smiling like that, this kind of half-smile as if you were the most interesting person he’d ever met. You were sure he smiled at everyone like that.

And if it was a trick, well fuck, it was working.

“I definitely got the joke,” he said, chuckling as your eyes widened. “What, did no one else?”

You shrugged. “Not a lot of them, no.”

“Well, I guess the world is as dense as I thought.” 

You couldn’t stifle your giggle as you lifted your drink to your lips, nearly spilling it on yourself. 

And maybe Eddie thought he was being smooth, but he took a small step forward, closer than he’d been before. “Just letting you know,” he said. “as someone who is also not like that, I thought it was amazing.”

You could smell the tobacco wafting off of his jacket, mixed with something like amber or bergamot. His pinky finger was dangerously close to yours, seemingly inching forward. The closer he got, the easier it was to decode the exact shade of his eyes. Brown had been wrong. No, they were hickory. They were umber. And these hickory, umber eyes were looking at you.

It wasn’t fair in the slightest.

Something in you wanted to call him out because there was something definitely happening between you. Maybe it was a game he was playing, taking shots at your weak spots to lower your defenses. Or maybe it was genuine chemistry, luring you in with a dangerous kind of desire that you’d never felt before. 

It was something you couldn’t even explain to yourself. 

Out of seemingly nowhere, Eddie asked, “Beatles or Stones?”

You snorted. “Easy. Beatles. You clearly haven’t listened to my album.”

“Oh, I’ve heard Acacia My Dear. How could I not?” Your eyes widened. “But I thought you were sane. Guess I was wrong.” He sighed, waving you away. “This has been fun but get out of my sight.”

“Okay, wow. How does it feel to be a loser?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“How does it feel to be wrong?”

“The Stones do not have half of the amount of hits that The Beatles had. Name any Beatles album, which I bet you can’t, and I can tell you the plethora of well-known songs from each one. You can’t fight me on the factual evidence—”

“Do you wanna dance?” he asked suddenly, cutting you off.

You froze, confusion and intrigue colliding inside you. 

“Didn’t you just tell me to go away?”

“As a joke.”

“Are you going to continue to insult my preferences?”

He leaned in just a bit further. “Is that something you’d want?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, trying to catch your breath as he took it. “As a treat.”

“I’d be honored.”

Eddie took you to the floor like a gentleman in a ballroom, one arm pressed against his back with the other holding your hand up. As if he was wearing a luxurious tux and you were in a ballgown. As if this was something serious, something more than it should’ve been.

And, god, whatever he was doing was fucking with your head.

Because the two of you started dancing to one of the popular hits of the year, a song you hadn’t cared to listen to. But it didn’t seem to matter to either of you, going back and forth with each other as you moved through the dance floor. Eddie shimmied his shoulders and rolled his hips. You gladly followed his lead.

As the song hit its bridge, he leaned in. “By the way, I don’t know this song.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I don’t either. I’ve been religiously listening to Maisie Peters for the last year.”

He nodded before looking at you with a bit of a sheepish expression. “I don’t know who that is either, I’m afraid.”

“That’s more offensive than your Beatles comments,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes before taking your hands and spinning you around. Laughter fell from your lips easily, finding the sensation quite dizzying.

God, how was his energy so infectious?

He tried to bring you back up, to let go. But you were done for, wobbling in his arms from the dizzy spell coming over you. One of your held hands was placed against his chest, the drumming of his heart nearly matching the beat of the song.

“Woah there,” he teased.

You sighed, your grasp on his hand tightening. “Don’t blame me,” you said. “That was all you.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right.” When you were stable enough to stand properly and the room stopped spinning, he asked, “Favorite Beatles song?”

You scoffed. “Why should I tell you if you’re just going to make fun of it?”

“You wound me.”

“I have evidence. Exhibit A, five minutes ago you told me my opinion was wrong. Twice.”

“I’ll behave myself.” You raised an eyebrow. “Scout’s honor.”

You decided to answer truthfully. “It changes every day, I think.”

“So, what’s todays?” he pressed. When you gave him a quizzical look, he shook his head. “Don’t leave me hanging over here.”

Your smile returned. “Today, it’s ‘Sun King’.”

“Ah, a highly underrated track from Abbey Road. Mine’s either ‘I Want You (She’s So Heavy)’ or ‘Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?’ from the White Album.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. “You know their discography and yet you disrespect them.”

He wagged a finger at you. “You’re mistaken, young maiden. I never said The Beatles were bad. I said they weren’t as good as The Rolling Stones.”

“I think I hate you,” you said without thinking. Without even knowing how he was going to take that.

But then Eddie’s small smile grew into a grin. “Oh, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Mhm.”

“Does that mean we’ll never speak again?”

“No,” you admitted, showing him your cards. 

Eddie smirked. “Good.”

Apparently, he was showing his, too.

Another drink and a round of bickering later, you and Eddie were promptly interrupted by a rumbling of voices calling out to you.

Well, not you.

“Ed!”

The two of you turned and watched as the rest of Corroded Coffin rushed over. Well, Ronnie was trailing behind, still in her heels. And you commended her for not running like the rest.

Eddie let out a chuckle and you watched a grin stretch across his face, lighting him up more than anything else seemingly did tonight. It was a look of love, of appreciation. Friendship.

And when he looked at you, you swore that it intensified.

God, he was something else.

“This is Grant, Gareth, Ronnie, and Jeff,” he introduced, gesturing to the group.

As if you didn’t already know.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said, giving each one a handshake and a smile.

“Jesus, you’re prettier in person,” Ronnie said, giving you a look over. “Love the dress.”

You could help but smile, especially with how beautiful she was. Ronnie Ecker. A legendary fucking female drummer standing in front of you. Her satin dress hugged her hips, a slit running up her thigh as the tips of her fingers rested against the opening. And, sure, Eddie was standing next to you, and you were extremely interested in him. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel heat rising to your cheeks at the sight of one of the hottest women alive.

“Right back at you,” you replied, trying to stop sounding so nervous. “You’re incredible at the drums. It’s such an honor—"

“We’re heading out, actually,” Gareth said loudly, catching your attention.

“To do what? Go to bed?” Eddie asked, snorting. “Did you grind the indica by mistake?”

Grant shrugged. “We came to see if you wanted to go back and do a one-shot…” he trailed, eyes flickering over to you. “But then we saw you over here and, well…”

Jeff pointed at you. “We decided we wanted to meet you,” he said plainly.

“Yeah, exactly,” Gareth confirmed.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, please. I’m really not that interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Eddie said, catching your gaze. “Not to us or anyone else.”

There was something about the way he said it that made you wonder exactly what he was thinking about you. Because there was that hint of a smirk again, one that you couldn’t help but interpret as: You should see yourself the way I do in this moment.

And even though the others fell headfirst into their own tangent, you decided to lean over to Jeff. 

“A one-shot, you say?” you asked. “Like for D and D?”

A grin spread across his face. “Precisely.”

“You guys play a lot?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, Eddie’s, like, the best DM I’ve ever seen.”

“Better than Brennan Lee Mulligan?” you questioned.

“Close enough,” he admitted.

Eddie tapped Jeff on the shoulder. “Did someone just mention Brennan?”

“She did,” Jeff said as he patted your shoulder. “Wanna get super jealous?”

You raised an eyebrow as Eddie gave you a shit-eating grin. “I’m guest starring in his upcoming campaign.”

“Oh, fuck off!” you exclaimed. Stomping your foot, you shook your head. Your lips twisted into a smile, all jealous and playful. Because you were extremely envious, having watched D&D for years but never playing it yourself. And here Eddie was, getting the opportunity to work with one of the best DMs there were. What a cool fucking asshole.

“Well, if you ever wanted to plaaaaaay,” Gareth exaggerated, clasping his hands together and grinning. “We could always head back and get you a character sheet.”

Eddie flicked his forehead, giving him a hard stare that you couldn’t understand. “Gareth, we are not doing a one-shot tonight.” When both men’s eyes flickered over to you for a moment, you began to pick up the meaning. “So you better scram.”

And then it was its own conversation, one that started with goodbyes but led into another whirlwind of comments. You tried to follow along, tried to understand what they were even talking about in their shared campaign. There was something about a powerful wizard, another realm underneath the one you called your own. A world that seemed upside down, a world that you were glad you didn’t live in.

And as soon as it began to descend into chaos, Eddie sighed and held up his hand. “Alright, I’m cutting us off. Go to bed, you lovely dumbasses.”

“I like you,” Jeff said as the others hugged and bumped fists. Your eyes widened. “I like you a lot.”

Without a chance to ask him what he meant by that, Jeff was filing behind Grant and Gareth, all three sneaking glances back at you as they walked away.

Ronnie gave you another look over before leaning in. “Some advice? Don’t break his heart,” she said, patting your shoulder before she hustled to catch up with the others.

Shock ran through you at the sheer idea of feelings being involved between you and Eddie Munson of all people. As if he would ever actually want something like that. The idea was so absurd that you almost had to scoff.

“Did you want to keep talking?”

You turned to Eddie whose stare was becoming almost too magnetic, having to look away every few seconds. If you didn’t, the eye contact was going to send you into cardiac arrest. 

“Talking?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

He played innocent, shrugging. “Well, we could always talk. We could do other things, too. If you’d like.”

“You want me to go home with you?”

“To my hotel room, maybe?” Eddie paused, clearly trying to interpret your expression and failing. “Uh, unless I’m reading this all wrong.”

“You’re not,” you said.

Without breaking eye contact, his fingers found your palm before lifting it and pressing his lips against the back of your hand. You could only hope the music would mask your sharp breath. 

“I have fewer scarlet letters than people think.” 

Another kiss. Another lodge in your throat.

“So, don’t think I’m doing this because I’m a whore.”

You could only nod. “Likewise.”

“I just…” he paused, a hint of something covering his features. “I think you’re really cool.”

“Likewise,” you concluded, disconnecting your hands before his touch could electrocute you further. “See you at the hotel.”

“How many scarlet letters do you have?” you asked Eddie.

How the hell you’d managed to be alone in the elevator was beyond you. In fact, it was a miracle on its own that the two of you were able to leave separately, arrive at the hotel without paparazzi standing out front, and casually make it to the elevator without anyone taking notice. It was a rather close call.

Or maybe it was a sign.

You nearly rolled your eyes at the thought before Eddie’s laugh brought your attention back. 

“Ah, man,” he said. “Three, the first two being in high school. What about you?”

“Four,” you said plainly. “All post high school. I wasn’t very popular back then.”

“Neither was I.”

You looked over at him, curious about what else was there.

“Really?”

Eddie snorted. “Are you kidding me? Of course not. Look at me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”  

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Those first two? They used me to get back at their boyfriends. Thought the local freak would, I don’t know, make them jealous?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I was also the freak.”

“Really?” You nodded. “Could’ve fooled me.”

And there that stare was again, burning a hole in your chest that you weren’t sure how to make go away. But did you really even want it to?

No words were exchanged as you made your way down the hallway. You looked back, always alert at the potential of a camera or wandering eyes. And when you made your way inside his hotel room, thick with the scent of him, you felt the prickles on your neck that always came when you feared danger.

For some reason, you couldn’t help but look at the door, making sure it was locked. Making sure that the shadows underneath the door were passing by quickly. Muffled voices came and went, but your guard never wavered.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us,” Eddie said. You turned slowly, watching him unlace his boots. “This floor is all booked for the band. No need to risk anything. That’s probably just my guy, James. He’s a hardass, but he loves a good party.”

A small chuckle left your lips. “It’s not that I’m scared to be seen with you,” you explained. “It’s just a nasty habit.”

“I don’t blame you. Las Vegas can drive people crazy.”

You took the moment to undo your heels, finally able to let your feet breathe after a long, long night of discomfort. There was a stinging pain the moment your bare feet hit the carpet.

But you couldn’t wait, taking tentative steps towards him. Like you were assessing him, assessing the risk. Watching as he watched you, standing like you’d made a silent request that he couldn’t say no to.

“I won’t bite,” he said, hands reaching out to yours. Taking your fingertips and pulling you towards him. Like you were still on that dance floor, like he was as lost in the moment as you were. 

As you drew near, you caught a glimpse of his smudged eye shadow, the way it was starting to smear. His eyes, darker than before in the low light of the lamp, only on you.

Yeah, you weren’t thinking about consequences anymore.

“I have to be up early in the morning,” you whispered, nearly chasing his lips with yours.

He nodded. “You can leave whenever you want,” he said softly, thumb brushing your lower lip. “I do want you to know that I want to kiss you so bad it’s going to kill me.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say—”

Eddie kissed you fiercely, nearly knocking you over. 

It was like he was chasing after you. Wherever you moved, he moved. Whenever you gasped, he gasped. Your hand met the back of his neck, so his moved to yours. 

It was the kindling of a fire.

If you dared to utter it, you would call it passion. 

You slowly made your way to his neck, scratching against the choker as you went. Eddie inhaled sharply, trembling as you made your way down his chest. Desperate to feel all of it. Desperate to understand where he started and where he ended. Wondering if you’d truly be granted full access.

But it was his fingers that flipped a switch. Eddie carefully moved the tips along your jaw—gently, like he was trying to learn exactly what you felt like. And before you could register it, Eddie pulled your head to the side and latched his lips to your throat. 

There was a release of a moan, the high pitch shocking you. 

Because here you were, feeling a lightning strike against your neck, rumbling like chills down your back. Before you knew it, you were limp in his arms.

You were giving in.

Slowly, Eddie helped you out of your dress, trying to take his time. But you were a little more fast-paced, nearly ripping off your own underwear before reaching towards him. Mainly because he only had a jacket on, but you were also extremely close to losing your mind if you didn’t have him inside you in the next ten minutes.

“Now, why’re you going so fast?” Eddie asked, voice hushed in the silent room. His lips met yours again, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Shouldn’t you give yourself some time to enjoy it?”

Dumbfounded. That’s the only way you could describe yourself. Eddie was standing in front of you, offering you the chance to experience not just sex, but pleasure.

“Can I?” you asked him, desperate to be told again. 

He kissed your forehead.

“Yes.”

Eddie gently lowered you to the bed, helping you scoot up to rest your head on the pillow. He paused, peering down at you as he unhooked his choker. It was the tucking of his lip into his mouth that captivated you, beckoned you to reach up to his lips.

You couldn’t remember wanting anyone else’s mouth this much.

And amongst the kissing and the harsh breaths, Eddie had his pants off, quickly kicking them aside to focus on you. You immediately clocked how he had not worn any underwear.

Fuck.

You had no time to look down at his length, instead feeling it as he rocked his hips against your mound. With lips against skin and a fever building, you hardly formed a thought as you tried to push his hand towards your pussy.

“Eddie,” you whined. “Please.”

“Whatever you want,” he murmured. “Promise.”

His fingers danced around your entrance, the calloused tips stroking your clit as he went along. Your hips bucked, but it was nothing against his grip on you. Instinctively, you moved your face to the side, wanting to hide your face in the pillow. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” he whispered, placing a small kiss to your nose. “Let yourself go.”

Before you had any time to respond, Eddie was inside you. His fingers pumped in and out, the squelching sound of your wetness filling the near silence.

Eddie wasn’t done annihilating your neck, leaving more and more marks as he went. There your sounds returned, nearly choking on your breath as you whimpered. 

It went on like this for a while, Eddie taking his time to bring you to the brink of an orgasm. Once. Twice. Unable to edge you a third time when you came uncontrollably and suddenly. You’d come down only to find his fingers on your clit again, beckoning you.

“Can you do it for me again?” he asked.

Feverish nods, hushed confirmations.

Another orgasm. Another bout of emotions that were ripping through you.

When you finally came down from your third orgasm, you knew you needed more. It wasn’t a want. It was a need. Eddie hadn’t touched himself, hadn’t given in to his own pleasure. It was all you.

All you.

“Can you, um,” you tried to start, breath still heavy. 

“What is it?” he asked.

With shaky fingers, you reached down between you, lightly stroking his cock. Eddie let out a hiss, arms struggling to hold him up. It was his turn to quiver.

“Ah,” he finally said, a nervous chuckle eliciting from him. “I, uh, would really like that.”

Without another word, he ran his tip over your clit, a groan leaving your lips before you came back to reality.

“Wait," you sighed, pausing. "What about you?” Gently, you pressed a hand against his chest. “Don’t you want me to, uh…”

You were too embarrassed to ask him point blank if he wanted his dick (cock? Big Ben? Woodpecker?) sucked. Because you knew that if you were to say it out loud, you would be a fumbling mess of Do you want me to suck your cockbenpecker? And then you’d have to leave and kill yourself out of sheer embarrassment.

But Eddie didn’t laugh at you. Instead, his lips found your shoulder. “No, I’m alright. Thank you for the offer, though.” He slowly trailed his tongue to the other side. “Rain check for that?”

You nodded. “Y-yeah, absolutely.”

He carefully slid in, eliciting strained moans from both of you. You watched his eyes widen; mouth agape as he looked at you. Took your silent nod as confirmation to rock into you. He didn’t go too quick, seemingly taking his time to feel you. 

And as he built his momentum, you couldn’t help but find yourself becoming a a mumbling mess.

His cock was filling you, completing you. Aching as though you’d been missing each other your entire lives and you were finally colliding.

He lifted your leg over his shoulder, seemingly desperate to go deeper. You felt as he shivered, like he was unable to control himself while trying to maintain the control he already had. It drove you wild, moving with him to get him to keep going. Getting as close to him as you could to keep him vibrating above you. 

It was addicting, keeping your eyes connected as you tried to give back what he was giving to you. There was a silent connection forming, one where you were desperate to make him feel the way you did. Craved the ability to make him bend at your will, a carnal desire to make him fall apart at your hands.

Eddie smiled, nearly laughing as you grabbed his ass and pushed him deeper into you. And even though you were close to cracking a smile, it was quickly taken away. He thrusted again, harder, intensifying the wave of ecstasy washing over you. You cried out, unable to hold it in anymore. 

“That’s it,” he said. “You sound so pretty, you know that?”

A fourth orgasm ripped through you at his praise, cum coating his cock as he continued to rock into you. He slowed, only for a moment, just enough to help you down before he picked you right back up again. Cradled your face in one hand, his other lightly running up and down your calf. For the first time, you weren’t thrown into overstimulation.

For the first time, you experienced true pleasure from sex.

As you continued to writhe in his arms, trembling as he left you in wave after wave of euphoria, you felt something shift in your chest. You couldn’t see it then, but there was a part of you that would want him the moment he was gone. Because when he finally came, pulling out and spilling onto your stomach, you were disappointed that he hadn’t cum inside you.

It was in the way he took his time with you, treating you like a lady, praising you with each orgasm. Instead of whatever you imagined, something fast and filthy and rough, you were… Well, you were worshiped.

It was much more than whatever a one-night stand between strangers was supposed to look like. And you’d never had a one-night stand, but you were ninety-nine percent sure it was not this. Strangely, you were very, very okay with that.

When you two were officially finished, he pulled you into his chest, your head resting above his thrumming heart. And you stayed there. Without any thought of the future, without any thought of your hotel room or your manager or the flight you had to take tomorrow. No, you were somewhere else. Somewhere lovely. Somewhere safe.

“Tell me something true,” you whispered in the dark.

“What do you mean?”

“Something you probably haven’t talked about to the press or whatever. However personal you’d like to get.”

“I have two cats,” he said. “And I’m actually considering getting a third.”

“That’s really cool,” you responded. “But I’m curious.”

“Hm?”

“How do you have cats when you’re always away from home? I’ve always wanted to adopt one, but I’m scared we’ll have separation anxiety.”

“Easy. I bring them with me.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I have special bags for them and everything. They fucking love traveling if you can believe it. Goddamn angels on airplanes.”

You couldn’t help your jealousy. It had always been a dream to have a cat. A companion, a friend to curl up next to at night. But your parents despised animals and then, well, you were suddenly never home. You wondered what it would feel like to be able to bring a piece of home with you wherever you went.

“What about you?’

You peered up at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said with a smile. “Tell me something true.”

“It’s so stereotypical, but…” You took a deep breath, contemplating if it was okay to be so vulnerable so soon after meeting him. “I get really sad when people talk about my body.” You watched his eyebrows furrow. “I like myself, but it’s hard to be, like, not skinny and still be the artist I am as if my body determines whether I’m good enough at my job.

“Sometimes I wish I could just be a person who happens to have this body and that was that. I’m healthy…what more do people want out of me?”

Eddie’s arms tightened around your waist, fingers brushing against your tummy. “People are fucked up. Genuinely.” 

“I agree. It’s like… Either I’m too big for someone to love me but my reputation is that I’m fucking everyone within a ten mile radius at any given time. Like a fucking fuck radar.” Eddie laughed. “Like which is it? ‘Cause I clearly can’t be both and I can’t be neither.”

“You know what I say to that?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Hm?”

He raised his fist. “Fuck ‘em.”

You gave him a fist bump, nodding. “Yeah, fuck ‘em.”

“Also, if I may add, you’re fucking beautiful.” You shook your head. “No, I’m serious. I saw you walk up to accept your award tonight, which you totally had in the bag by the way, and I couldn’t help but think, ‘Wow, she’s more stunning in person.’ And I was at one of the tables in the back.”

 “You really thought that?”

“Please, I think Jeff was getting annoyed at how much I was staring. Said Radiohead wrote ‘Creep’ about me.”

A laugh fell from your lips but you still shook your head.

“I genuinely like you for you,” he whispered, lightly lifting your chin up. “It’s something true.”

“I think…I believe you.”

“Please do.”

But when you finally fell asleep, you were thrown into something ferocious. The sky turned black, with crows and ravens circling the trees. You ran along a path, trying desperately to find shelter. In the distance, you saw Eddie, walking with some other girl. One arm behind his back, his other hand holding hers. Just like he did with you.

And then it occurred to you: Now that you’d gotten a taste of Eddie Munson, you didn’t want to share.

It was supposed to be a random hookup. Just a fleeting glance at the unusual mixture of metal and pop, leather and lace. But when you woke up to the sound of your alarm, having to get on a plane as soon as possible to do promo in Chicago, you decided to wake him up.

“Hey,” you said. “Wake up, sleepy.”

He opened his eyes slightly, taking in your already dressed appearance. “Where are you going?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you shrugged. “Chicago. I have a podcast to go on to talk about the Grammys and bullshit about having anything written for the next album and do promo and all that.” You looked down at the white duvet, all wrinkly from the long night (with a hint of his smeared eye shadow.) “I just wanted to thank you for last night and tell you that I had fun.”

“Yeah?” You nodded. “I did, too.” 

For a moment, you were quiet. Watching as he bit his lip, noticing how you were chewing on yours. Wondered what to say. What to think. How to end an interaction you really didn’t want to end.

“Favorite Beatles song this morning?” he asked.

You tried not to smile, but you couldn’t help it as you looked up at his cheeky expression. 

“‘I’ve Just Seen A Face’.”

“Help!” he nearly shouted in a fake scared voice, clasping onto his face. 

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you said, “If I didn’t know better, you know every album they’ve ever done.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you the answer next time I see you.”

You chuckled, telling yourself that this was just something people say. Next time this. Next time that. And there’s no follow up. Just a glance here and there at events. No one calls. No one cares.

You tried to get up, but Eddie gently grabbed your hand, rubbing his fingers along your knuckles. “Actually, in all seriousness…I wouldn’t mind seeing you again sometime.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Without a word, you disconnected your hand from his and started towards the door. Started towards what was ultimately going to be a long day with endless naps and replacing the water in your body with coffee. 

And as you placed your hand on the cold doorknob, Eddie said his last words.

“I’m going to miss you.”

You glanced over at him, your armor starting to come loose. 

But it tightened as soon as the weakness was identified. Because there was no way to make any promises, no way to guarantee anything more than what this moment in time had provided. 

“I’ll see you soon, Eddie. I’ll make sure of it.”

After that, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he was just so honest. Upfront. Wanting you close.

He told you he was going to miss you. He told you that he liked you for the person you were, not the person that everyone expected you to be. And he was the same, his reputation being nothing more than a façade for the lovely human being underneath.

The rest of that day, that week, you could only think of him.

Shouldn’t you give yourself some time to enjoy it? his voice echoed. 

It’s alright. 

Just let go.

Early October, 2024

His makeup smeared down his face as he held your eyes. You’d never seen him so soft, so gentle. Full of emotions reserved just for you. Desperate for the one thing he ever wanted. 

You.

And in that moment, it all froze mid-air. The laughter and gasps of the crowd. The sound of the photographers shouting his name, shouting yours. The videos and the comments that felt like sticks and stones. Ronnie’s hurling words that felt like daggers.

It dissipates as you remember the start, as you remember why you were there in the first place. Why it mattered.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Eddie's eyes widened.

“I’ll stay.”