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irisintheafterglow · 5 months

Text

don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense

summary: on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him (pro!bakugo x you).

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo's here and he's angry, miscommunication-based comedy, idiot(s) in love, coworkers to lovers, a little bit of angst/comfort but it's just for the plot yk

note: i'm not sure where the concept of this came from; i was just listening to sabrina carpenter and was like,,,, hey i can use this. so have this! hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Okay, go over it one more time for me. I think I’ve got it,” you reassure him, only to be met with a skeptical glare. “I’m serious; I think I understand it, even though it took forever.” You tap the whiteboard of the meeting room with the red marker in your hand, slightly tired from scribbling down as much as you could comprehend from your boss’ vague gestures. He exhales deeply, dragging a hand down his face, and gives you an impatient look. “Ready when you are."

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” you remind him and he shoots you a withering glare that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “And don’t try to write it, since that clearly didn’t work.” You glance at the scribbled mess of letters scratched onto a yellow notepad of paper, Bakugo’s first attempt to communicate that something was off when speech was not working.

“I fucking know that! You don’t think I can’t remember that you have no idea what I’m fucking saying?” You blink at him, desperately biting your tongue to avoid bursting out laughing. Even though Bakugo had been hit with a quirk that was creating some very entertaining moments in an otherwise bland office job, he could still make his palms crackle dangerously in warning. “Remind me to fire you when I get out of this.” You can’t control your laughter that time and you let a snort slip from your throat, wincing when his scathing eyes stare menacingly into you.

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” you laugh quietly, attempting to subtly wipe a tear from your eye. “It’s just that…that time it was a dolphin.” You scrunch your face to avoid laughing again and try so hard that it makes your stomach hurt. Your boss continues to stand there, absolutely mortified, while you add another animal to the list of sounds that have come out of his mouth. Since he re-entered the office after a seemingly normal patrol shift, the noises of a bear, horse, mouse, tiger, monkey, a bird you couldn’t identify, and now a dolphin had exited his mouth in place of his scratchy voice. You thought it was a sneeze, the first time the bear roar had echoed through the office, but were equally perplexed when you asked him to sign a form and the only answer you received was high-pitched squeaking.

“There’s no fucking way,” he’d muttered under his breath when you first explained to him what you thought was happening. It became all too real as his face paled when you played what your phone recorded as his “voice,” which only came out as the insistent hoots of a monkey. He was used to receiving weird looks on the street, especially when civilians realized that they were walking next to one of the top Pros in the country, but it dawned on him that they may have not heard his usual voice when he barked at them to move. “And you’re the only one in the office right now?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you inform him carefully. “But, if you’re wondering if anyone else is here to help you, there’s not.” You can only imagine what kind of colorful expletives he yelled by the unrelenting scream of bird noises that left his mouth. “And I was about to leave, so if you want me to stay and help–”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Oh, great. You’re a horse now,” you deadpan, understanding from his facial expressions alone what he was trying to communicate. “Well, if you don’t need my help, have fun explaining to the guys why you sound like you swallowed a zoo.” Your boss’ face turns bright red at the idea of showing up to dinner with his old classmates in his current state. He fires off a single, precise shot at the rubber door stop before you can exit the meeting room, effectively locking you in there with him until you sort out how to fix him. “So, you do want my help?” You turn to look at him with a knowingly innocent smirk, delighted to find him seething in place but reluctantly nodding. “What’s the magic word?” A single horse neigh echoes through the meeting room and you head to the whiteboard. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You spent the next hour and a half playing a ridiculous game of charades with Bakugo after the alarming discovery that anything he tried to write would become illegible scribbles. You figured that it was just an effect of the Quirk itself, which seemed to give the user the ability to communicate with different animals without being understood by humans. If an eavesdropper managed to figure out what they were saying, the words would become unreadable on the page for further secrecy. Despite inconveniencing your boss and preventing you from leaving the office on time, it did serve as an important tool in the Quirk-stealing weapons trade you’d been investigating. The only issue now was to figure out where Bakugo was hit.

“So, you’re walking down 25th.” A nod. “And make a right on Pine?” His palm hits his forehead in frustration. “No, no, not right. A left, towards 24th.” Another nod. “And that-that alley, by the coffee shop with the good strawberry milk teas?” More aggressive nodding. “That’s where you got hit? With the dart?” He slams his hand on the desk, nodding furiously. You stare at him, slightly in disbelief as you pull out a rolling chair and slump into it. “How the hell did you get pulled into that alley?”

“Someone was screaming for help and I’m a hero so I go help them, I don’t fucking know.”

“Dolphin again,” you smirk and he rolls his eyes. “But, really. You don’t ever go that route since it’s too out of the way from where your patrol ends. What were you doing on that side of town?” He pauses, his mouth drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows drawn as he searches for an explanation in his brain. Truth be told, he had no idea what possessed him to take that route back to the office. All he could recall were snapshots, little Polaroids of information that, if he pieced them together, made a relatively cohesive explanation. He’d snapped at you unfairly, a common snap of his temper, but the hurt on your face affected him more than he was willing to admit. Something bothered him about your tense expression and it continued to bother him when he was out of the office and kicking villains into the dirt. It seemed like instinct was the only reason why he headed in the direction of the cafe with the strawberry milk he knew you liked. “Well?”

He blinks at you once, twice, and then stands abruptly and swings open the door. You watch him through the room’s tall windows as he enters his private office briefly and exits with a cardboard drink holder. A minute later, a plastic cup with the taut seal unbroken is unceremoniously set in front of you, along with a large straw to suck up the extra strawberry bits he knew you always ordered.

“What is this?”

“What does it look like, idiot?”

“I know it looks like a drink, but why did you get it for me?” His eyes widen with the idea that you could understand him again, but you’re quick to shut him down. “And no, I can’t understand you yet. Right now, you’re a tiger.” You half expect him to launch the other drink, something brown sugar looking, at the wall; instead, he pulls out the chair next to you and stabs his straw into the plastic, gesturing for you to do the same. You obey hesitantly, eyeing him curiously as he avoids your questioning expression. “Thank you.” He huffs, something you’ve learned is the only response he gives to gratitude. “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I hurt your fucking feelings, of course I needed to.” You’re staring at him again, you and your pretty eyes and kind smile and uncanny ability to withstand even his most fiery temper tantrums. He’d discovered his feelings for you months ago and it was like a speed bump was put in front of him every time you were near, always making him trip or say something stupid. Bakugo was never known to be good with his words or his feelings, but you made him feel so warm inside that he’d be a fool to deny what it was. “I guess it’s good that you can’t understand me right now because I can vent about how stupid you make me feel.” You hum, a fond glint catching in your eye.

“That’s a new one. You’re a chicken right now.” You laugh and he can feel his forehead get airy, like he’d chugged three sojus. What he felt was sweeter, though, without the bitter taste that always followed alcohol. To him, you were pure light.

“Makes sense, ‘cause I’m too much of a dumbass to tell you how much I care about you. Fuckin’ idiot.”

“You sure have a lot to say, boss. Go on and let me pretend I’m on a poultry farm.” You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes, appreciating his unexpected gift. “A much needed vacation, in my opinion.”

“There you go again with your stupid sarcasm and your stupid laugh. You’re insufferable, you know that? Always making me run around in circles because I don’t know what I’m fucking doing around you.” You raise your eyebrows melodramatically and nod at him slowly, still having no idea what he’s trying to communicate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty because if you were anyone else, I’d fucking deck them right now.” Your attention shoots to him but gives no indication that you comprehended what he just said, so he goes on. “I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, but I think I’m a little too proud to admit how much I like you. Fucking hell, you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Hey, boss?”

“The fuck do you want?”

“The Quirk wore off,” you breathe, in complete shock from what he just unknowingly confessed to you. You’d be less surprised if he’d told you that he murdered his way up to the top three. “You started speaking normally when you said,” you pause to try to slow your racing pulse in your ears, “that I was pretty.” You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye to find him bright red and mirroring your wide-eyed expression. “I guess the effects wore off pretty fast?”

“Yep,” he forces out. “Must have.”

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“It’s why I got you the fucking drink, stupid,” he mumbles, still examining the shiny wood of the table. “Didn’t want you to be sad.” An idea pops into your head and you shrug, leaning nonchalantly back into your chair. You can feel his eyes watching you, reading your body language.

“I know something that would make me less sad.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” You shrug and let the corner of your mouth turn up, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. You didn’t think it was possible to turn such a deep shade of pink and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t amused by how miserable he looked.

“Take me out to dinner,” you reply, chuckling at the way his nostrils flare. “Repeat all the stuff you said while you were speaking zookeeper. Beside the love confession, of course. I understood that pretty well.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the office. “Next time I get you that strawberry milk, you’ll be there with me. Then we’ll both have that stupid quirk.”

“Mmm, great. We can both tell each other how much we like each other while speaking dolphin.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha fluff #bnha fluff

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junosmindpalace · 5 months

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AGAINST ALL ODDS

☾ ft. satoru gojo

☾ sfw. a back and forth between you and satoru gojo has led to this very moment.

the scoreboard hasn’t been very well in your odds ever since you’ve met satoru gojo.

you gave into his antics the first day you met him when he made an irritating comment about you looking weak and unassuming. you took the comments personally and retaliated; rookie mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. despite your outburst about his bad mouth and self-entitlement, you could get no reaction out of him. and so, point one went to gojo.

you threw the first punch when he dared you to take a swing at him, taunting you about how much you craved to and how much of a wuss you were that you didn’t. you missed and got in trouble with yaga for attempting to start a fight. point two to gojo.

still, without your knowledge, you’ve been able to accumulate some points on this metaphorical scoreboard. one day while looking for suguru on the training grounds, satoru finds you as well, fighting against him in an intense battle. you slash through his curses, dodging and weaving through his attacks with a concentrated expression, and satoru is almost mesmerised as he watches your display of agility and power. you finally get your first point.

this sort of unspoken back and forth has gone on for some time, with you occasionally giving into satoru’s antics and accidentally subjecting yourself to the humiliation it brings, and satoru finding himself humbled by your sharp wit.

by now the score is tied, and it’s been a long battle to see who would be the tiebreaker…

today, however, the heavens remind satoru that he alone is in their favor.

“suguru, pass me a marker.”

satoru takes extra care in making sure the rest of his body doesn’t move an inch as he extends out his arm to do a beckoning motion, smirking at his own ingenious idea. suguru only gives him a deadpan look as he eyes his friend and you, leaning against him asleep, standing by the classroom's doorway, about to head out to report on a mission.

“you know, i actually like Y/N.”

“i do too! we’re just having some fun. i’ll do something to Y/N, Y/N’ll do something to me—well, try to at least.”

suguru raises his brows in doubt, flickering his gaze between the two of you before sighing and pushing himself away from the doorframe, departing with a final: “i’m not enabling you." before disappearing behind the wall.

satoru huffs in annoyance at his friend’s lack of cooperation, resolving to reach for it himself. “fine, then.”

his eyes dart back and forth as he takes the most absolute care not to let this once in a lifetime opportunity go to waste. he quickly leans over to grab a whiteboard marker and then immediately straightens when he gets ahold of it. he lets out a breathy, victorious laugh when he looks over at your still unconscious figure and yanks off the cap with his teeth, reaching over to draw some unflattering images on your skin that would surely last a day or two, and surely get him even higher on your list of truly intolerable people.

but he finds himself coming to a sudden halt when you adjust yourself on his shoulder, tilting your head slightly lower, hair falling over your eyes and brows subconsciously creasing in slight distress over being disturbed in your slumber.

and satoru feels bad.

what’s he got to feel bad about? you’d probably punch him and call him a pervert when you wake up and take notice of your somewhat intimate positioning. he goes back in with his marker.

again, you halt his actions, this time by letting out a small disgruntled noise, burying your face deeper into the crook of his neck.

it almost feels like you were challenging him, and he feels like he's losing. the right side of your face was still open for him to scribble whatever sort of crude word or drawing he wanted, but for some reason the left side smushed against his arm was willing him still.

he couldn't help but think, as you relaxed again, that you look so peaceful. he’s never seen you so so delicate looking, and it stirs a mixture of emotions in his stomach that burn in his face. he can only stare in wonder, a slight bit anxiously, as he brings a cautious finger to move the hair out of your eyes. his fingertips brush against your temple for only a moment, but the ghost of a smile lingers on the corners of your lips at the gentle touch anyway.

satoru gojo alone is the honoured one, but then again…the gods are fickle.

just as he had before, he ever so carefully closes the marker and sets it on the desk beside him, and lets out a long, shaky exhale as he clasps his hands firmly in his lap. his eyes shine as they glance over and linger at your face, yet quickly he redirects his gaze and pursues his lips.

it’s only ten minutes later when you stir awake, and satoru, who only seconds previously was lost in his own head, straightens in alarm. you groan a little as you come to and lift your face to ground yourself back into reality. when your gaze eventually meets satoru’s, wide eyed and somewhat unintelligible, you quickly jump away from him.

“what the hell were you doing on me?!”

“you were on me.” satoru smirks, and immediately melts back into his typical casual and insolent demeanour, and your face only burns in embarrassment when you realize you can’t refute.

“well why didn’t you push me away?”

“oh, you just looked so tired and, you know—“ satoru pretends to yawn, stretching his arms over his head. “i felt bad disturbing your peace. did you know you drool in your sleep?”

“oh you are so—“

“ah, so you did wake y/n.”

both your heads shoot up toward the door where suguru stood with an arm casually propped up against the doorframe. your mouth opens and closes for several seconds before you manage to ask, horrified, “how long was i out?”

“i don’t know. you were asleep when i left, and it’s been about…fifteen minutes? since then?”

you quickly turned back to look at satoru accusingly, but he only raises his brows up and down in a suggestive manner. you turn away from him in your embarrassment, and scold the black-haired sorcerer instead.

"and you just left me alone with this guy? you could've woke me up!"

you drop the subject fairly quickly, and satoru can't help but feel grateful, because he’s having a hard time keeping the racing of his own heart under control. he gazes downward at the floor, slightly bashful and uncomfortable with himself when he, unwillingly, reminisces on the tingling sensation he felt as you laid against him.

the tie breaking point finally goes to you.

#an old draft i'm posting since i'm going back to school #and have no clue when i'll next have the motivation 2 write...#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #jjk fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo oneshot #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru oneshot

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archive-of-alexandria · 8 months

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Grease Paint (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing on Tumblr in over 10 years, but I am so down bad for this man that I can't help myself. I'm working on drafting my Moulin Rouge! x Buggy long-form fic, and this was just something I scribbled out in the meantime. This is pure Buggy x Reader fluff, so I hope you enjoy!

***

For once in his life, the ever-flashy clown pirate has nothing funny to say.

Your thumb gently ran along Buggy’s cheek to correct your lines, and the genius jester felt the greasepaint being very obviously replaced by his own maddening blush. Your tongue pokes out in concentration, and he fights the urge to grab it between his fingers – haHA! Cat got your tongue! – and spoil the mood with a poorly concocted joke.

Buggy blinks.

….Mood? Who said anything about a mood?

A blush begins to bloom under his collar. Buggy had, in fact, been planning a way to weasel his way into your heart for months - and it seems as if you'd fallen right into his brilliantly scripted scene....so how come he can't remember any of his lines?

You continue working, and Buggy’s usually frantic mind suddenly falls deafeningly silent. Instead, the captain seems to fall into a sort of trance – focusing the entirety of his attention on memorizing your face. He observes every freckle and crease, wishing to commit it to memory. This was the first time -the only time - he’d ever been this close to someone in this…domestic…way, holding his breath out of fear that the illusion of contented bliss would shatter.

Buggy swallows.

He had planned for this, written out every charming and witty line he could think of.

Your eyes catch hold of his through the fan of your eyelashes. Now it was time for your ears to turn pink.

“You’re staring,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and Buggy practically melts as your eyes soften, “Something on my face?” As if on cue, a strand of hair falls in front of your eyes.

God.

He clears his throat, a soft chuckle rippling off his lips, “Well, now there is,” he muses, “Talk about a paid actor.”

You reach to push the hair from your eyes at the same time as he does, fingers awkwardly colliding as soft chuckles and mumbled apologies spill from both of your lips. Still, your eyes hold one another.

You give way to allow Buggy to proceed, whose deft fingers trace along your forehead and behind your ear. Buggy feels electricity shoot through his hands at the feeling of his touch against you, swallowing as he allows his knuckle to caress your cheek. When you seem to lean into his touch, however, he panics.

It would seem he failed to write that into the script.

Buggy barks out a laugh, gently nudging your face and making a pop! noise with his lips to try and swim back to shore before he’s too far gone. You grab hold of Buggy’s lipstick, the last bit of his flashy facepaint to be applied.

"And, for the finishing touch," You hum, taking his chin in your hands as you lean forward with his lipstick in hand.

Buggy's heart hammers against his chest as he feels your breath against his lips, the blood rushing to his ears in the same fashion as one hanging from a highwire.

At this moment, he indeed feels as if he is on the trapeze - delicately balancing with the hopes of making it through without a fumble.

“Doh–!” A chuckle passes through your lips, closing your eyes tight at the sight of Buggy’s comically crimson mouth. In the months that you’ve been a part of Buggy’s crew, you've never seen his makeup so fresh…and the sight was actually rather startling. It was as if the captain was in bad 3D, sponsored by technicolor, painted in by the most potent Crayola markers known to man. Buggy’s whole face looks crimson, but perhaps it's just a reflection of the brutal lipstick…

Buggy’s lips, like two bright cherries, suddenly form a pout at the sound of your laughter. His heart sinks, mind immediately skipping to the worst possible conclusion: You agreed to do his makeup not because you might care for him, but rather this was your chance to humiliate him. Buggy could feel his heart clench in his chest, and his delicate balancing act was about to turn into a dive routine.

“What?” He manages to quirk his lips into a strained smile, “You didn’t make me look like a clown, did ya-? Hrumph-!” His attempt at salvaging his pride is derailed by your thumbs pressing to his lips, your giggles giving way to a radiant smile. Little did he know that your fingers against his lips were just as much an attempt to quiet him as they were an excuse to touch Buggy.

“This color is so much more red than usual,” You say, your face growing warm, “What did I do wrong?”

A blink. Moments pass as Buggy stares at you with saucer eyes before his hands fasten themselves to your wrists with a gentle tug. Had you realized that your fingers were still attached to his lips?

“If you must know,” he gulped, “I have a top secret makeup technique.”

“Oh?” You feign surprise, leaning closer to your captain. A smirk twists into your lips. “Top secret, eh? Even from me?”

You bat your eyelashes, emboldened by your captain’s sheepish expression, and Buggy mutters a curse under his breath.

Oh, fucking fucking fucker fuck.

Buggy’s voice lowers and his grip on your wrists tighten, the creak of the supple leather breaking the silence. “Especially from you.” A blink passes with the realization that Buggy wasn’t cracking a joke or being wise. He genuinely seemed…embarrassed. You’re not deterred yet, and instead, he finds you leaning in closer as your legs involuntarily squeeze together – Just imagine what those gloves would feel like in your –

You’re nearly nose to nose with the dread pirate as the air settles thick. For months you and Buggy have fallen into the old routine of cat and mouse, always teetering on the precipice of…something. The way Buggy allows his eyes to follow you during your routine without shame and latches on to your figure like a predator observing his prey is undeniable. He relishes in watching your body twist and writhe on the acrobat hoop, and you'll admit that all of your special tricks are, indeed, for him. You live for the moments he would stalk up behind you after a performance during the roaring applause when no one would be able to hear his voice - low and thick - praise you with lips ghosting your ear: “What a good girl you are, hm? Making your captain proud.”

Your eyes fall to Buggy’s lips.

“Show me,” you swallow thickly, brushing your nose against his, “Show me your special technique.”

Buggy’s eyes flicker elsewhere – anywhere – from your gaze before deciding upon your own lips. His grip falters, his body erupting into flame as his eyelids flutter.

This was it: the climax of the show he has been planning and rewriting in his dreamworld for months. Buggy's flashy showmanship, however, deflates. Your hands are suddenly dropped from Buggy’s grip as he pulls back, redirecting his gaze to his now unoccupied hands. As he begins to peel off his gloves, the silence shifts into something unsettled. The fizzing tension between the two of you seems to thicken.

Meanwhile, Buggy is desperately trying to suppress an impending, raging hard-on. He already feels humiliated enough at the fact that you're laughing in his face, and now...

Cabaji had made fun of Buggy for weeks after discovering the wanted poster smeared in crimson red grease paint in Buggy’s quarters, your face barely visible beneath layers and layers of kiss marks. Buggy initially tried to cover it up, claiming it wasn’t intentional and he just needed something to “blot and perfect” his signature look with at call time. However, the sheer amount of kisses scattered across the page betrays him. There is no denying that Buggy was completely smitten with you. And here you are, practically begging him to kiss you. The set-up, the lead-in, the wind-up to the punchline…It is the perfect joke, all at his expense.

At least Cabaji hadn’t found the other copy of your wanted poster, crinkled and smeared thick with Buggy’s–

“Bugs?” Your hand on his thigh pulls the captain out of his thoughts, eyes darting up to meet yours with an unmistakable look of guilt as he tries to wipe away the memories of his moans and your wanted poster slick with his– “Are you okay?”

The clown clears his throat, finding the willpower to bring his fist before his face with a flourish as his humorless eyes settle on yours in an attempt to save face.

“For your viewing pleasure,” he forces a smile, “The technique!”

Without another word, Buggy begins to rub his lips back and forth vigorously against the top of his hand in order to remove the excess pigment.

Fuckingfuckinghellthisissostupidthey’regoingtofuckinghatemewhatamIevendoing–

His brilliant demonstration is put on pause as you take hold of his wrist, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. A sheepish grin attempts to cross his lips, but it falters. His eyes fall to the floor.

He looks ashamed.

“For once,” Buggy’s voice is hoarse as he huffs out a laugh, “I don’t have anything funny to say.”

A beat.

The intimacy of the moment is almost too much to bear, and your skin pricks with nerves.

“Buggy…” you breathe.

Your fingers find his face once again, tenderly wrapping around his chin. Buggy squeezes his eyes shut as you guide his face up to you. He refuses to see the expression in your eyes as you stomp on his glass heart. Suddenly you're cradling his head in both of your hands, “Buggy,” you mused, “I have a better technique to share with you.”

Your noses bump against one another.

A choking noise passes through Buggy’s lips, and in a moment of sheer desperation for tenderness he whispers, “Please.”

Your lips finally meet Buggy’s, and the awkward feeling of your body being too far away is overcorrected by the desperate captain. Buggy follows your lips with his body like a man possessed, knees knocking with yours as his arms swallow you whole. His hands find purchase wherever they can, trying to quickly grasp any and all of you as if you'd disappear. It's awkward, teeth knocking against teeth with the expertise of someone never before kissed, and you can't help the smile that comes to your lips.

You break away and Buggy’s breathing hitches, eyes still closed and hands gripping you so tightly you know you’ll have bruises.

You don’t mind, though. Quite the opposite.

You can always cover them up with a little bit of grease paint.

#buggy x reader #buggy fluff #buggy the clown #buggy imagine #opla buggy #i am so down bad #go burpy!#one piece #one piece imagine

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squerlly · 3 months

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flames of desire chapter 5: bonding exercise

Alastor x (f! bunny reader) -Fluff- chapter 1

your POV:

through out my time here in hell I have grown accustomed to the musty hot atmosphere of the underworld and the loud mornings of screaming, gun shots, and road rage, its hell after all and there technically isn't any rules. me and angel hang out a lot more, behind his sex jokes and playful demeaner hes a great friend. husk and I are cool I suppose, according to him I'm more tolerable. Nifftys a bit crazy and energetic but I enjoy helping her clean sometimes, but one person that's been on my mind a lot is Alastor. hes always watching me, I catch him staring at me with that weird smile, I wonder if his face hurts from smiling all the time...none of my business what he does I just wish he wasn't so eerie. I was in the lobby this morning when Charlie called us over for a "bonding exercise", seeing everybody gathered in there seats I sit on the couch next to angel, "good morning everybody thank you for comingggg, I would like to have you all here for a little bonding time yayy!!!..." the silence was defiantly loud... "uhm- well I though we could all do something fun like drawing!" standing behind her vaggie comes out with paper, markers, and crayons "oooo colors" niffty giggles "what's does this look like kinder garden?" "angel please try and at least participate" letting out an annoyed grumble he agrees "fineee..." "great! were all going in partners and you will draw each other, that sound fun right!!?" oh no... "charlies with me, husks with angel, and Alastors with y/n, nifftys can uhm..." "oh oh can I be the judge!!!" "sure..." "you gotta be fucken kidding me..." "aww cmon whiskers I'm not that baddd~" walking to there partners I turn to see Alastor sitting on the arm chair looking at me with a wide grin on his face, "fuck me..." I grumble walking over to sit on the floor beside him "well my dear looks like its just me and you" "yeah... me and you" grabbing two pieces of papers and some crayons "I cant even draw..." "oh don't worry I'm sure you will do just fine!" "why am I doing this again..." "cheer up dear this is supposed to be fun after all, I cant be that hard to draw" "yeah your right just need two colors" scribbling on the paper I start at the base of his face, doodling his creepy smile and red hair, looking up I see him studying me curiously "what's the matter, am I hard to draw?" I say smugly "not at all dear your quite easy to draw" ouch, thanks...

Alastors POV:

I never really focused any time on things such as art, yes I can cook and maybe play the piano but drawings not one of my few good skills although ill give it a shot. I would have never guessed I would be sitting here doing one of charlies silly little projects, attempting to draw y/n I look at here for a while, this is the closest I have ever really been next to her, my she really is small it makes me want to squeez her tiny little body, her head could fit in my hand easily. I have noticed a few things while observing her, her ears twitch when she's focused on things like now, her pink bunny nose twitches when she's scared, and her fluffy tail wags when she's exited or annoyed what a strange individual...

your POV:

"ok guys once your done with your drawings you will show them off to your partners!!", as a few minutes pass by I have finished my drawing and well I'm quite disappointed in myself, man I should have taken art class in high school "I finished if your ready to show them" hell no... "I- I'm done but I don't think I wanna... "oh I'm sure its not that bad" giving the drawing one last glance I turn the page I show him the drawing facing away to hide what little dignity I had left. hearing a quiet static buzz noise I look back up seeing him looking at the drawing with a questionable face "I know its badd!!!" "w-well I wouldn't say that dear its just..." "just say its bad!" "its interesting" "well what does yours look like?" turning his page my jaw drops to the floor, what is this creepy deer man not good at "its not my best work but-" "are you kidding me Al this is good!" standing up I grab the drawing, it was in crayon but it looked just like me. pausing I try to tone down my excitement seeing alastor wide eyed from my reaction "I'm glad you like it dear" "what cant you do" "well I did say I was a man of many talents but drawing isn't one of them" "do you uhh mind if I keep this..." "not at all dear~" "you don't have to keep mine you can just throw it-" "nonsense its mine isn't it?" "yes.." "then I will keep it". for once he seemed to have a genuine smile on his face, not some creepy ass smile, its kind of nice...

Alastors POV:

I don't know why but I wanted to keep her silly little drawing, its...cute?. it looks nothing like me but its quite amusing seeing her all embarrassed. I was surprised to see she liked my drawing, her eyes lit up with a small smile on her face, it feels good to know my work is appreciated even in the... strangest things it gives me a sense of pride, I might hang it in my radio tower...

your POV:

looking at everybody else I saw Charlie bouncing on her heels looking at a little doodle vaggie made how cute~, husk made a sloppy doodle of angel and angel just drew himself. niffty was running around looking at others drawings, eventually she got around to ours, climbing on my shoulder she looks at Alastors drawing "ooooOooo you look so cute in the picture!!" I smile a bit "thanks niff" grabbing her off my shoulder I set her down "well that's the end of the exercise, how was it!" "ehh it wasn't to bad" "it was alright" "whatever...im going back to the bar" Charlie puts on a little smile "well do one again next week, maybe we could make cookies together or do all about ME's oh oh!! what about-" "ok hon slow down" "sorry". this was nice, hell isn't that bad, at least not here. better than home...

hey guys!!! I was supposed to release this earlier but I'm a little sick right now from the cold weather but I refuse to let you guys down! I made this chapter a little longer than usual so I hope you guys loved this cute chapter as much as I did, love you guys have a good day/night

-squerlly

for more content or chapter please click this masterlist

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#hazbin #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x y/n

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xianyoon · 23 days

Text

you cannot be serious

neuvillette x gn reader where his melusine daughters get mischievous reupload from my prev. blog @.i23kazu. domestic & romantic fluff

the minute neuvillette steps into the house, his mind is already at ease. the air is warm, a stark contrast to the chilly autumn that decorates the outside world. you’ve already had the fire started from the time you reached home — your husband is grateful, taking his gloves off and warming his hands by the fire.

“welcome home, darling,” you croon, helping him take his jacket off. “dinner will be ready in half an hour, why don’t you go and rest?”

"have i mentioned that i'm grateful for you?" neuvillette smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. with another stolen kiss to the cheek, the man reappears from your room quickly, freshly showered and changed into a dark turtleneck. neuvillette moves to sit on the navy loveseat, gratefully nursing the warm mug of peppermint tea that you had prepared while the sounds of his shower going had become your white noise.

as he nestles into the soft cushions of the seat, your two little ones, mela and puca, giggle and push one of the books he had bought for them into his hands.

"pleeeeaaaseeeee, daddy?" mela whines, snuggling closer into his lap.

"didn't i read that to the both of you last night?" neuvillette raises his eyebrows in confirmation, not unkindly. he couldn't quite understand your girls' attachment to this particular book... not especially after narrating it to them, every night, without fail. nevertheless, neuvillette gently plucks the book out of his lap when mela and puca nod furiously, and the father adjusts his position – making space for the two girls to nuzzle on his lap. they stay in that spot for a while.

there's nothing but the sounds of the warm fire crackling alongside them, neuvillette's soft narration breaking through the quiet silence. even the girls know not to disturb the serenity of the scene they're in.

but the serenity seems to catch up to neuvillette – especially after a long day at the opera epiclése, the warmth and hearth of the home gently cover him like a freshly-warmed duvet. his words start to slur and trail off into nothing, and the book lays down to rest on his chest as he puts it down. your husband has finally succumbed to the warm lull of sleep, gently snoring.

mela and puca exchange a glance and giggle softly, deftly leaping off his lap and trotting to the next room to grab items for their next activity. papers and markers are held with childish eagerness, and the pair sprawl themselves out on the floor to continue, drawing cute foxes and flowers.

as tranquil as the house is, energy-filled little girls never are fully entertained by the limits of marker and paper.

and sometimes, little girls need to do what little girls do best – find another outlet. unfortunately, neuvillette had become too easy of an outlet by his proximity and lack of awareness.

puca quietly tiptoes to her sleeping father, leaving behind the forgotten, strewn about pieces of drawing block – and turns her attention to a snoozing neuvillette's face. mm... daddy wouldn't be angry, right?

the markers are back in use – swirly scribbles and smiley faces decorate neuvillette's cheeks, with brushes of bright yellow under his eyes and green whiskers. mela soon joins her sister, her red marker highlighting her father's lips. with the most mischievous grins only little girls could muster, puca giggles and gathers neuvillette's hair into tiny pigtails, his white hair sticking up at odd angles.

neuvillette is turned into a masterpiece.

well, a masterpiece, in your daughters' eyes.

perhaps mela had giggled too loudly, or puca had accidentally knocked her marker against neuvillette's cheek – but the older man starts to stir, noticing a wetness on his face.

"what happened?" he mumbles groggily, moving to sweep his hair out of his face – when he realises that he can't.

puca and mela hide behind the curtains, giggling.

"dear? i think there's something on my face, could you help me to check it?" neuvillette calls, and you set down your phone to make your way to the living room. he rubs his face with more vigour, but nothing comes off. strange.

"let me see-" a quiet oh. tumbles off your lips, momentarily caught off guard by the... sudden bedazzlement of your husband. you bite back a laugh, not wanting to embarrass him – but how can you keep a straight face when your husband is quite literally the embodiment of a girl dad right now? you tremble with laughter, spotting your mischievous little ones hiding behind the curtain.

"mela, puca, did you happen to give daddy a makeover?" you laugh lightly, searching for a mirror to hand to neuvillette. finally, one with a wooden handle is found, and he chokes at his clownified appearance.

"we did! isn't he pretty?" mela positively beams. neuvillette's heart breaks, and he doesn't have the heart to wash it off at this point.

"are you.. are you angry, daddy? mela and i just wanted to have fun, and the drawing paper wasn't enough." puca nervously toes the ground, her eyes not meeting neuvillette's.

"while i am, ah.. surprised, i could never be upset at the two of you, mes petits rayons de soleil." your husband smiles, his lips still painted cherry red. your little girls snuggle back into his arms, grinning and touching his face.

oh dear. that'd take a while to come off – but you snap as many pictures as you can, because this might not happen again anytime soon. your little mela and puca are the most pleased, and neuvillette would do anything to make it stay that way – even if it meant leaving his face of artwork on for a little longer.

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i23kazu · 8 months

Text

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS

characters. neuvillette x gn!reader genre. romantic ; domestic fluff. an. soft dad neuvillette! where neuvillette takes a nap and wakes up dollified by his melusine daughters. | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

“welcome home, darling,” you croon, helping him take his jacket off. “dinner will be ready in half an hour, why don’t you go and rest?”

as he nestles into the soft cushions of the seat, your two little ones, mela and puca, giggle and push one of the books he had bought for them into his hands.

"pleeeeaaaseeeee, daddy?" mela whines, snuggling closer into his lap.

as tranquil as the house is, energy-filled little girls never are fully entertained by the limits of marker and paper.

and sometimes, little girls need to do what little girls do best – find another outlet. unfortunately, neuvillette had become too easy of an outlet by his proximity and lack of awareness.

neuvillette is turned into a masterpiece.

well, a masterpiece, in your daughters' eyes.

perhaps mela had giggled too loudly, or puca had accidentally knocked her marker against neuvillette's cheek – but the older man starts to stir, noticing a wetness on his face.

"what happened?" he mumbles groggily, moving to sweep his hair out of his face – when he realises that he can't.

puca and mela hide behind the curtains, giggling.

"we did! isn't he pretty?" mela positively beams. neuvillette's heart breaks, and he doesn't have the heart to wash it off at this point.

"are you.. are you angry, daddy? mela and i just wanted to have fun, and the drawing paper wasn't enough." puca nervously toes the ground, her eyes not meeting neuvillette's.

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mes petits rayons de soleil. – my little rays of sunshine.

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-) they all go a long way!

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aelinschild · 18 days

Text

Dropping this and running away.

Regular evenings seemed to come less frequently these days.

Aelin remembered when the drip of some leaky floorboard was the sole pace of her shifts. The dripdripdrip a marker of seconds passed. Ticking in the back of her skull like a pulse she'd long forgotten. A beating heart settled - put down. It's gentle sounding no different than a petulant child. Itching underneath her skin like the uncomfortable scratch of wool gone too long without washing.

She had grown fond of the noise, though. Like the hand of a clock steadily raced forward, so did that godsdamned floorboard. Racing against time, or the composition of the building in it's entirety. She didn't know. Didn't care.

Much of what she did here was just for the wad of cash slipped under worn tables. Hands cracked and peeling - slivers near her nail beds. The blood lasted on the money, so long as it stayed with her longer than a night.

It was why she was still here. Still watching the same game of poker begin for its thousandth consecutive time. Roucous chatter drowning out the drip. The sound of heavy coins denting the rotted wood.

Funny, how it was strong enough to pierce her skin and simultaneously bend to the weight of a piece of silver.

She didn't take well to the irony.

Her shifts had for so long been the same routine. Serve the regulars. Pocket a coin from the gaggle of grannies, crammed into the recess in the wall. A little alcove. Made great shadows to conceal the trick of fast hands and faster tongues. Wipe down the tacky residue that accumulated faster than she could keep track of. Argue with the old man from across the street - he didn't like the (outrageous) fractured neon lights. Pity for him, because when he was knee deep in his points, face red from exasperation, pulling out a chair had the most similar movements as a sly hand into a pocket. Cool cash crawling up her sleeve. He'd leave in a huff and Aelin would be a little lighter when she missed back behind the bar. Then the night would roll in on itself. Drunkenness a curse of this corner of the Earth, she was only powerful enough to keep her head above water and do her job. Close the bar. Count the cash. Wire it away and consider mourning the loss. Until she wouldn't and was back behind the counter.

That was her normal.

And so when her flagging gaze swept across the floor, the appearance of a new piece on the board made her falter. She wished there would be more reaction than the stuttering of her eyes, wished that she felt something deeper, drawn from newness, but there was nothing.

Nothing walked closer to her. She had the thought to smile, make herself pleasant, but the action didn't follow. Nothing laid large hands upon her bartop, the one to her right (nothing's left), crawling with whorls and scribbles. Like a child had gotten a hold of a tattoo gun. How unfortunate. Those hands - large, uncomfortably so - were attached to arms. Shocking, she supposed, as her eyes crawled up along the weaving tattoo. Golden skin and visible definition could have heated something in her. Maybe it did, maybe it had been so long she no longer knew what heated her core.

"...neat,"

Hm?

The dripdripdrip was gone. And with it took the clarity borne from acute annoyance. Hands, arms, shoulders... Was she warm? Or was she losing it?

"Love."

Like a fog had descended over her minds eye, snapped away as quickly as it had formed at the call of that petname. Love. What?

She balked. "Pardon?"

He - nothing, nothing of nothing who is nothing and of no effect to her - pursed his lips. Rolling the flesh between teeth, tightening the hinge of his jaw. Gods, there was definition there too. The angle of that jaw raised to high chedckbones, a tinge of red, pulsed with life. An overwhelming urge to follow that rise and fall, trace the hollows and contours. Feel along the strong brow that framed pine green eyes. Eye that sparkled. Eyes that tightened. Eyes lined with mirth...

"You work here?" He gruffed. The smirk in his eyes didn't reach his voice. But that voice... She'd love to compare it to crashing waves, smoothing over jagged rock. Endlessly leaving a print on what was considered impenetrable. But it instead stroke along a frayed edge in her. Breaking, rather than soothing.

A pause. Where were her words? "Yes."

"Right," he murmured. Muscles flexing as he rapped his knuckles along the worn bartop. She wanted to tell him to not. Grab his fist in her own and hold tight above the shitty wooden slab. Cover it with her own. "Then I'll get a whiskey. Neat."

Crawl over the tanned skin. "Of course." Trace the inked designs. "Just give me moment." Litter a marking somewhere.

Something tangible.

"Yes!"

She didn't know how it had really happened.

Well, she did. She had played her part, and now was enjoying the outcome. Somewhere along the lines of him ordering the whiskey, leaning only lightly against the barstool, delicately draped like he was ready to spring up at a moment notice. She had wandered around. Who knew that dust collected so quickly on tables that were just cleaned? Repetitive movements only let her drift into the sensation of green eyes pinned to her back. Lower, even.

She needed extra cleaner from the back. And it was only an accident that her hand grazed his upper thigh. She had practice in the deft movements that could steal a pretty coin, but her fingers didn't dig in, clasping around valuables. Rather, she had grazed the worn jean. Lighting a blaze, trailing the fire down to his knee.

It had pulsed in her core as she walked to the back room. The bar quieter, different to the usual rowdiness of a Saturday. She had swayed her hips a little more. Sensual machinations coming back like the flip of a switch. She felt a buzz in her head, unlike a dripdripdrip of a leaky floorboard.

It was stuffy. Her face so close to his, the height difference didn't serve them well at first, until he had hoisted her up around his waist. Her legs locking her tight. She had felt the heat of his body. Felt the heat through the clothes - get them off - felt the heat from her body, emanating out in a pulsing rhythm.

She had been panting. Breath coming out faster and faster as she wiggled her hips to tuck deeper into the hardness she felt pressing into her core. Writhing would get her nowhere when he was holding her in his arms. Her mouth found the underside of his jaw, and she sucked hard.

His groan was music to her ears.

Her apron fell. Ripped apart by those large hands. How much could they hold? He was surprisingly deft with unbuttoning the front of her dirty blouse. Button after button, down until he could rip it from her waistband, and shuck it off her shoulders.

Her bra was nothing special. Some department store sale piece, but it didn't matter, because it was off just as quickly and she was bare from the waist up.

"Off." She tugged at his shirt, taking a break from marking up his neck. She wanted to feel him against her. Skin to skin. She needed the contact more than anything. She was burning.

He had leaned her back, still in his hold. A little rough, her head nearly crashing into the wall they were pressed up agaisnt. She'd forgive him though, when he snaked one arm behind his head and expertly peeled the shirt from his torso.

Gods. Gods above, was this her lucky night. The tattoo wound all the way from his wrisr to his neck, matching like a puzzle along his chest. Corded with muscle, Built from genuine use, she could tell. This man was not built of aesthetics.

Her fingers found the hardened planes of his stomach, pressing lightly along the muscles. It tightened under her hand. Palms pushing agains the tautness of his abdomen, she didn't know whether to trail back up to his mouth, or push lower.

"Hold on," he bit out. Breathless just as she was.

She dug her nails into the shoulder she was tracing, his hand snaked to the button on his jeans. Her breaths came more rapidly now. Blood rushing through her ears. It was hands and tongues and teeth and no other thoughts. Nothing but what would come next. Nothing at all.

The zipper was so loud amongst their panting. But it was pulled down, and Aelin made a effort to shuck off her pants as well. But where her thighs were stretched around his waist kept her from making any further moves. She wanted nothing between them.

"Hurry up," she hissed, pressing herself back against him.

He shuddered when she pulled him tight, nails digging deeper. She hoped they would mark him. Stay with him longer then this moment. "Gods." It's not soft the way he shoves them closer into the wall. The way his hand is under her nondescript panties in seconds. Burning a trail along the most intimate skin. He stalls there for a second. Aelin is pulsing; in her head, in her blood, in her cunt.

His eyes find hers. Green and vibrant and swirling and dark. All blown wide with lust. He keeps her trapped there, pinned by his gaze while his fingers swipe along her folds. Through them, deeper until they wetten with the arousal she surely though was dripping down her leg by this point. He traces along for a moment, and she has half a mind to snap at him to hurry it up when his thumb is pressing into her clit so hard she sees stars.

She squeaks out a breathless yelp.

"You're soaking," he drawls, mouth coming down to the skin at the coloumn of her neck. He breaths into her, breathes her in. "Just waitin' for me, weren't you? All pretty behind your bar top."

She would roll her eyes if they weren't already at the back of her skull from the pleasure. He kept a steady hand on her clit while rough fingers slipped back through her folds, down to where she needed him most. Yes. The roar in her head heightened.

"Please..."

He hummed. "Please what?" A smirk, in voice or against her skin, she could not tell "Please who?"

Fuck. She hadn't gotten his name either. They had tumbled into the closet so quickly, bodies pressed so close, that introductions had been skipped. She thought she could make it throigh without his name. But this bastard was going to hold it over her head.

Fingers traced around her entrance; probing, waiting.

"Please... Sir. Fuck me."

He laughed. She jostled with the movement and his fingers pushed against her just right. "I'll let it slide," and with little pause, he pushed in. Slicking in quick, easy, the slide only assisted with the way she was falling apart in waiting for him. Two - two - fingers stretching her wide and pushing that rising wave higher. She keened a breathy whine when he curled those rough fingers. Pressing hard into that spot inside of her she could never reach herself.

His breath curled around her ear. He bit the shell of it before murmuring "But you better call me Rowan. No Gods or Sir. I want to hear my name from those pretty lips."

She nodded, feverish for more. He bared his teeth in a satisfied smile, increasing the pace of his fingers inside of her. She had hardly noticed when he swapped his thumb for the heel of his palm against her clit. But she felt it now. Pushing against her whole he slicked up her panties. The wave rose higher and higher.

"Rowan!" She cried. "Ah! Don't stop... Please."

"Wasn't even thinking of it, love." He kept her trapped under his gaze. And she wanted to look away when her jaw dropped in white-hot pleasure but something in his eyes promised to hurt if she did. "There you go, pretty girl." She moaned at his comment, riding high after the crashing of the orgasm. She could feel every press of his fingers inside her as he stilled them, still sensitive even after the rush of pleasure.

And oh, was she riding a fine line. Legs a little shaky and breath hurried. But when Rowan pulled out - to her displeasure - and brought those hands to his face, to his mouth, and licked her clean off of them.

She whined. A pitchy sound that worked its way out of her as he stared into her eyes, licking along the crevices between fingers. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he quickly shoved those same fingers against her tongue and pressed down. Freezing her there.

"Taste like heaven, love. But that was only the first course"

Jeans ripped off and pants pulled down. She swapped the wall against her back for cold air. Stiffening nipples to an even harder peak than what they had come to in post-orgadmic bliss. More more more, she changed in her head. She was so sensitive and so ready and so-

She squeaked. He had pulled himself from the confines of his underwear. She has missed it. Blissed out with the feel of him against his chest, but he was there, notching against her entrance in hasty movements.

He eyes met hers, "Condom?"

Fuck her. "I'm on the pill."

His grin was feral. His grip tightened to a near bruising hold. She felt his cock prod at her entrance, and he pushed it around, catching on the arousal she had spilled. At least he had prepped her. She hadn't seen his size, had felt it, yes, but this man seemed like he was blessed, if only judging by what she had already seen.

The moment spans, and her what desire jumped thrpigh her at a rushing pace came to a near stall. The dripdripdrip threatening to return, when the air was punched from her lungs as he pushed up, up and into her in one stoke.

"Ah! Rowan!" She choked. Stretched so full she felt him in her stomach. Tears brimmed her eyes as the stretch ached. Gods, the prep wasn't enough, and the tight grip on him must have let him know, as he held still, caressing her back and down to her ass, before his hand snaked back around to her clit.

She moaned, sharp little breaths as he circled his finger with enough pressure to relax the tightness in her body. She hadn't noticed, but when she looked up to his eyes, wanting to see him fully, his jaw was tensed so tight that the muscles of his neck pulled. Was he in pain?

"Ah... Rowan, wh-whats wrong?" Her tears brimmed and fell over. A loosening in her core and a rushing through her mind. Every sensation was a fire lit inside of her, so much so that she didn't notice as the pain morphed into pleasure, and how she could feel every ridge, every vein, of his cock inside of her. Inside of her, gods, he needs to move.

"Nothing," he gave a shallow thrust, Aelin keened. "Jus' squeezing me so fuckin' tight I can barely breath."

"Y-yeah?" She laughed, salty lines tracing down her face. "Gonna come?"

The words were out of her mouth before she had really considered the implication of them. She was no sadist, liked the high better then the route there, but something in her tingled (beside his cock, nudging deeper and deeper with every breath) at the fire that lit in his eyes.

He laughed, a deep rumble from within, and moved. Soon, they were back up against the wall. Aelin squeezed him so tight, wanting some pleasure and wanting it now. And maybe she was egging him on more. But when Rowan tossed her legs up above the crook of his elbows - rendering her immobile - and pulled out, she almost came again there.

He pushed back in with so much force that her hands came up to cover her mouth. He set a relentless pace, hair falling over his brow and beads of sweat beginning to form at his brow. He leaned over her, pushing closer and closer and testing the limits of her flexibility. Aelin was still moaning, but it was punched out in a yelp every time his cock shoved deeper inside. The slick noises only added to the lewdness. "You gonna come? Huh, love? Gonna come for me now or do I need to fuck you harder?"

He was teasing her.

He leaned down, she dropped her hand, expecting his mouth to close over hers. But he just smirked. When his tongue traced the lines of her tears, licking all the way up her face, she closed her eyes and let go. Falling deeper into the sensation.

It wasn't long before he bored of licking her face. His mouth did finally come to her, and she let him into her mouth so fast that her head was spinning. He still thrusted in, a relentless thwap at every entrance inside of her, and she felt the wave rising again. She traced up his abs, winding around his shoulders to grip onto his hair and pull, just as he pushed in so deep she saw stars.

"Come," he growled. Tiny little movements only to plant himself deeper inside. The roaring came back to her head and she nearly screamed when it hit her. Harder than anything she felt before. Harder than she knew how to handle. Rowan groaned above her, and that was it.

He came inside her. Flooded her cunt so thoroughly it was actually uncomfortable. And it dripped down when he pulled out with little celebration. She whined at the loss of him. Whined more when he set her on her feet and stepped away.

"Thanks, love." He said, breathless and reverent. She felt lost in the aftermath. Head empty and body shocked.

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem...?" It came out as a question and she didn't know what to think. He grabbed a tissue from someplace and offered it to her. Well, at least he did something. Strange and beautiful man. Rowan, oh Rowan.

"Fucked you so hard you forget how to think, huh?" He smiled. Less feral than before, but still the edge of a knifes blade inside of those green eyes. She just nodded, reaching for her clothes that had been scattered on the floor.

She guessed that he was giving her space to come down, giving her a moment. But it crashed into the dirt when he gripped her chin between his forefinger and thumb and searched so deep into her eyes. He held her in his grip, both naked and reeling, and said, "don't shut me out, love." Before he pressed his lips to hers again. Kissing the roaring in her head to a stop and breathing something into her. Something she'd like to hold onto.

"I'll be back. Proper date and all soon, alright love?" He said as he stepped into his pants. Dressing with all the grace he had exhibited while fucking her a moment ago. What? He just moved for the door, shucking his shirt back over those beautiful shoulders and hiding the length of his tattoo. "Don't wander too far away anytime. I don't want to waste my time chasing."

The door opened, just a crack, "I'll see you soon, Aelin."

When Aelin was clothed and less in mental limbo, she pulled on the conversation (one-sided). Some deep, darker part of her was satisfied to see the nails marks she had driven into his back. Some tangible sore he'd no doubt have to clean up, if he wanted the blood off. She smiled to herself.

It wasn't until she was stepping out of the backroom that she realized Rowan had called her Aelin. Had said goodbye to Aelin.

She had never told him her name.

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punkshort · 8 months

Text

The Contractor

Summary: Joel joins you at work to help fix some things around the greenhouse.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader, established relationship, set in the TWWW universe but can be read stand alone, no use of Y/N.

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI)

Word count: 3.4K

January 2006

The sun was just beginning to rise, bringing on the start of another frigid winter morning as you and Joel made your way down the street towards the greenhouse. Every time you exhaled, you saw your breath puff out and disappear with the bitter wind. Joel carried his thermos in one hand and a toolbox in the other, seemingly unfazed by the blustery conditions as he took a sip of coffee. By the time you reached the greenhouse, you felt tears forming in the corners of your eyes from the biting wind whipping around you.

You gasped with relief when you finally entered the warm and humid building. It was a treat to work in the greenhouse in winter, but you always paid for it during the summer.

"You're so sweet for spending your day off helping me," you said to him as you hung your outerwear on the hooks by the door.

"This is the kinda stuff I like doin'," he replied, picking his toolbox up from the floor after he shed his coat. "The fact it's for you makes me like it even more."

You gave him a smile and a quick kiss to show your appreciation. "Follow me, I'll show you the two benches that are broken. And I was thinking if you have time, maybe you could build me a small shelf so I could put all my fertilizers and spray bottles away."

"Whatever you say, ma'am," he said, giving the back of your head a two-finger salute as he followed you down the long aisles toward the back of the building. You led him over to the last row of benches that were void of any plants due to a broken leg on one and a buckling middle on the other. He crouched down to take a look at the underside of both to assess the damage, then stood.

"I can fix 'em, no problem," he told you. "Just need some two by fours to stabilize 'em."

"Oh, Carl brought some wood from the stables yesterday. Will this work?" you asked as you led him past the small, enclosed office space where the wood was piled in the corner.

"Yep, that'll do," he said, leaning down to pick up a few pieces. You watched him for a moment as he dropped the wood unceremoniously on the floor next to the broken benches before he lifted one onto its side, then moved it again so it was upside down with a grunt.

You wandered into the office and sat down at the metal desk, reviewing your notes from the days prior and looking at your schedule for the week ahead. You were busy logging the harvest numbers for potatoes when you realized the noise Joel had been making stopped. You turned to look out the office window and saw him shrugging his flannel off, tossing it onto the other empty bench, leaving him in a plain grey tee.

You sat, entranced, as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before shoving his glove back on. He bent over to continue hammering some nails into a piece of wood, his shirt riding up and exposing a small sliver of his back.

You decided you could do your notes later and it might be a good time to plant some seeds, instead.

You stepped out of the office, wrapping an apron around your waist to protect your clothes from the dirt. Your eyes raked over Joel's body as you passed him, noticing the back of his neck had begun to collect beads of sweat.

Standing about ten feet from Joel, you pulled a marker out of your apron to scribble the names of herbs on some tags before you got your hands messy. Your gaze traveled over to Joel when you heard him grunt. He was flipping the bench back upright to test his work. You paused, watching the muscles in his arms flex with each tug, his jaw tense as he strained from the effort.

He sighed once he got the bench upright and shook it roughly, testing its strength. He seemed pleased because he shoved it back against the wall. He was about to turn his attention to the other bench when he noticed you hadn't moved in a while. He looked up at you, and you quickly came up with an excuse for staring at him.

"Do you need some water?" you asked, your mouth dry and your eyes unblinking as you tried not to focus on his sweat beginning to soak through the collar of his shirt.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, oblivious to what was happening to you. When you moved, you could feel the slick of your arousal pooling in your underwear, rubbing against your sensitive skin with each step.

You grabbed his water bottle and brought it over to him, holding it out and noticing he was panting a bit from the heat and the physical effort it took to do his repairs.

He nodded at you before removing his gloves and unscrewing the cap, tipping the bottle back, his face angled straight up towards the ceiling. You watched his throat as he drank, his Adam's apple bobbing under a thin sheen of sweat. You swallowed roughly, unable to look away and trying to resist the urge to run your tongue along his neck. When a small drop of water escaped from the corner of his mouth and slowly made its way past his jaw and down his throat, you had to bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from audibly moaning.

"Am I disturbin' you?" he asked, his eyes focused on screwing the top back on his water bottle.

"Not at all," you assured him, leaning back against a barrel of rain water.

"I shouldn't be much longer. This one'll be quicker to fix, and a small shelf won't take much time."

"Mhm, that's fine," you said distractedly.

"Somethin' the matter? You feelin' alright?" he asked you, his brows furrowed. "Your face looks hot."

Your breath hitched in your throat as you considered your options. It was just supposed to be you working today, but that didn't necessarily mean someone wouldn't pop in unannounced. You squeezed your thighs together and crossed your arms over your chest as he waited for your answer.

"I'm fine. It's just hot in here today," you told him, wiping some sweat from your neck. His eyes narrowed as he watched you shift your weight, and he began to connect the dots.

"You sure that's all?" he asked lowly, pinning you with his gaze.

"You know, I've never actually seen you work," you told him, ignoring his question. "I never came to see you when you worked on the wall, and before, I only ever saw you at the office."

He took a couple steps towards you, and you could feel your pulse quicken. He casually leaned against a rain barrel next to yours, the heat behind his gaze growing when he noticed your chest rising and falling faster than usual.

"Yeah, suppose that's true," he replied, inching closer. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up again. "And what'dya think of my work?"

Your lips parted as you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, his large body crowding yours against the barrel. He was so close now you could smell the sweat on him, and it was making you dizzy. You tentatively reached out to thread each pointer finger through his belt loops.

"I think I'm starting to realize why you're so good with your hands," you whispered right before his mouth crashed down on yours.

You yanked on his jeans, pulling him closer to you as his hands gripped your waist tightly. You greedily opened your mouth against his and slipped your tongue past his lips, tasting the remnants from his coffee earlier that morning. He turned your body, walking you backwards towards the office door while your fingers slid up from his belt and skirted under his t shirt.

Your fingertips left trails through his sweat over his soft stomach and up to his broad chest, moaning into his mouth when you finally felt the old desk hit the back of your legs. You wiggled yourself up to sit on top of it without breaking contact with Joel, your hands still dancing over his skin.

Joel lifted a hand from your waist to grip your jaw, opening your mouth wider as he hungrily licked behind your teeth, desperate to taste you. You tipped your head back, gasping for air while he nibbled at your jaw, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you close as he made his way to the pulse point thrumming steadily against your skin, his lips sucking a mark against your throat.

The ache between your legs was unbearable. You felt yourself clench around nothing while he ran his hand up the front of your shirt, tugging the cup of your bra down so he could roll your sensitive nipple between his fingers, eliciting a low groan from your throat.

"Let's go home," he said, his words muffled since his lips were still locked onto your neck.

"No," you whined. "Can't wait." You leaned your head forward, causing him to lose contact with your neck, and pressed the tip of your wet tongue against the warm skin on his collarbone, tasting his salty sweat as you slowly dragged your tongue all the way up his throat, just like you wanted to do all morning.

"Fuck," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as you reached for his belt. "Here?"

"Yes," you panted, your fingers fumbling for a minute before you finally got the buckle undone. You landed on the button of his jeans when his hands stopped you.

"You sure? Door's unlocked," he mumbled, but he eagerly undid his jeans for you anyway. You slid down from the desk and sunk onto your knees in front of him, giving the pantlegs of his jeans a couple tugs down so his hips and upper thighs were accessible.

"What're you doin'?" he asked, staring down at you. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips were parted as he panted lightly from the excitement. You slipped your fingers inside the opening of his boxers to free his throbbing erection, already dripping a bead of precum at the tip.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" you asked him, your eyes fixed on his cock, gently stroking up and down, committing to memory the noise he made and the way he twitched in your palm. You flicked your eyes back up to his and you saw him gulp.

"Eyes on the door, if you're so worried about it," you told him, then leaned forward to lick a stripe from his base all the way to the top, your tongue scooping up the wetness collecting there. He let out a shaky groan when you wrapped your mouth around his engorged tip, swirling your tongue around as you slowly eased him into your mouth inch by inch until you were sure you couldn't take any more.

"I ain't watchin' shit when I got my cock down your throat," he said through clenched teeth. "Whole town can walk in for all I care."

The corners of your mouth turned up into a smile as you pulled back. You wrapped your hand around the rest of him and used your other hand to balance yourself on his thigh as you leaned forward again, taking him as far as you could and flattening your tongue along the underside of his length. Once you established a rhythm, you picked up the speed a bit, pumping and twisting your fist as you moaned around his cock. You caught on quickly that the vibrations from your voice made a difference when he reached a hand down to get tangled in your hair and his hips began their shallow thrusts into your mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered as he watched you hollow out your cheeks to form a tighter seal around him. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you tried to take him deeper. When you looked up to meet his gaze and he saw a single tear slide down your cheek, he pulled your head off him abruptly.

"Gonna make me come if you keep goin'," he said with a grunt, palming himself as he took in the sight of you on your knees before him.

You stared up at him, your mouth open and panting, saliva covering your red, swollen lips, and your hair a mess from his fingers.

"Up," he commanded while kicking the door to the office closed.

"There's a window in the door, anyone could still see," you told him as you yanked your apron and jeans off.

"I know," he said, pulling his jeans and boxers down to his knees. You pressed your palms flat against the desk and jutted your hips back, looking at him over your shoulder as he ran his cock through your soaking wet folds.

"Then why bother closing it?" you murmured, your eyes sliding shut when you felt him notch at your entrance. His hands found a home on your hips as he pushed forward, giving you only a few moments before he sheathed himself inside you completely. You let out a strangled cry, and tipped your head back, finally able to feel some relief from the ache that had been building all morning.

"Oh, fuck, Joel," you sobbed, your voice echoing in the small room. He snapped his hips into you steadily, curses and moans mixed with garbled versions of his name falling loudly from your lips.

"That's why," he grunted before biting your earlobe, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. "No one gets to hear these sounds except for me."

You fell forward onto the desk, no longer able to hold yourself up. Your cheek pressed into the cool metal and your fingers scrambled to find the edge of the desk, but Joel's thrusts had pushed it flush against the wall. All you could hear was his sweat soaked skin slapping against yours and the metal legs of the desk squeaking on the concrete floor.

"What got my girl so worked up today, hm?" he asked you, his palm traveling under your shirt and up your spine, gently holding you flat against the desk. You moaned quietly as he repositioned himself behind you to thrust even deeper inside your slick cunt. "What happened to make you wanna drop to your knees on this dirty floor and suck my cock?"

"Joel..." you wailed into the crook of your arm, trying to muffle your sounds. He yanked your arm away and twisted it so it was pinned to your lower back, his hips slamming into you so hard that your jaw was permanently hung open in a silent scream.

"Don't do that," he warned you, and you were sure you would have bruises against your hips from the edge of the desk tomorrow.

"Don't fuckin' hide those - sounds - from - me," he growled, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust of his hips. You could feel your release approaching, the warmth pooling in the bottom of your stomach and the flush creeping up your neck. You were about to warn him when a loud crack filled the room, and Joel yanked you backwards against him just in time to watch the desk slump to the side, your papers and notebook scattering across the floor.

"Jesus," you gasped, then whined as Joel pulled out of you suddenly. He twisted you around to push your back up against the wall, then lifted your legs so you could wrap them around his waist and stuffed his cock back inside you with a deep groan.

Your fingers dug desperately into his shoulders as you rocked your hips forward, trying to keep pace with him. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs roughly as he pounded into you, his face buried in your shoulder. You raked a hand through his dark curls, then tightened your fingers around them, tugging to pull him up so you could see his face.

His dark eyes searched yours, his jaw clenched as he chased his release. You whimpered at a particularly hard thrust, which caused him to change the direction of his hips, and suddenly he was pushing against that spot inside you that always made you come undone. You turned your head to the side as you felt your orgasm bubbling quickly to the surface. Joel could feel you clenching around him, so he slotted his lips sloppily against yours to pull your attention back.

"Look at me when you come," he told you. Your jaw was slack and your eyes were glazing over as the flames stoked inside you, rising higher and higher. You were barely able to hear him, but you still nodded weakly.

"Joel..." you moaned, your head tipping back but your eyes still locked on his. "I-I'm close."

He nodded, his eyes burning into you, his fingers slipping against your sweat coated thighs.

"I know, sweetheart. I can feel you squeezin' me, so goddamn tight," he grunted, his pace not letting up.

You felt your orgasm rip through you violently, the intensity taking you by surprise. You cried out his name and rutted your hips against him, turning your face to the side out of habit, but his fingers quickly gripped your chin and pulled your gaze back to his.

"Eyes on me," he reminded you firmly, but you couldn't muster a response. You just kept your eyes locked on his, your jaw slack and your eyebrows pinched as your orgasm washed over you. You felt your body immediately go limp and you struggled with all your might to keep your legs wrapped around his waist.

He groaned, his hips stuttering into you as you tipped your head back against the wall, your eyes sliding shut. He rested his head back on your shoulder. His breath fanned over your hot skin and when his teeth sunk onto your collarbone, you yelped.

"Please, Joel," you whimpered. "I need you to come for me."

He cursed and pulled out quickly, his wet cock sliding against your leg as he coated your thighs with his release.

"Shit," he whispered with his eyes closed, his sticky forehead pressed against yours, gasping for air. "It's so fuckin' hot in here."

Laughter bubbled up from your throat while Joel slowly released your shaky legs back down to the floor. You immediately collapsed in the desk chair, wiping the sweat from your face and chest. Your hair felt wet as you raked your fingers through it, trying to tame the mess.

Joel tugged his jeans and underwear back up, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket to gently clean you up. You watched him through heavy lidded eyes as he tended to you: leaving sweet kisses over your stomach before finding your clothes and peppering your legs with more kisses as he pulled your underwear and jeans back on.

He slouched on the floor against the wall of the office while you continued to catch your breath in the chair, your head tipped back over the top and your trembling legs stretched out.

"You never answered my question," he said, lifting his head up to look at you. You rolled your head lazily to the side, raising a confused eyebrow.

"What gotcha so worked up?"

You grinned and sat up in the chair, wincing slightly at your already sore legs and back.

"I never saw you do stuff like this before," you said with a shrug. "Fixing things. Building things. I don't know, just watching you do that really turned me on."

He smirked and turned his face away, trying to hide the blush that was creeping up his neck. It was never lost on him how you simply loved him for being him. Something he wasn't sure he ever had before. Most of the women he had dated were only interested in the white collar parts of his life, always forgetting that the blue collar part is what made him so successful in the first place. But not you. You only ever saw him, loved him, for who he was, flaws and all.

"Well," he said with a grunt as he rose up from the floor, "do'ya think you can keep it together for the rest of the day? 'Cause I just added one more thing to my list." He jutted his chin towards the broken desk behind you and you giggled, standing up on wobbly legs to give him a peck on the cheek.

"I'll do my best, Mr. Miller," you said with a wink, grabbing your apron off the floor and heading back to work.

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

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amazingmsme · 5 months

Text

With a Bow on Top

AN: Happy holidays to all who celebrate, & especially to @tickles-tea I’m your squealing santa! I loved writing this, & I hope you enjoy! Added a lil festive flare to this one. HUGE thanks to @hypahticklish for hosting! & be sure to follow @squealing-santa so you don’t miss out on all the winter fluff!

Miguel sat on the floor of Peter and MJ's living room, half-used rolls of wrapping paper scattered about the floor around him. Peter himself was sitting next to him, completely transfixed on the movie playing "for background noise."

That lying rat bastard.

"You know, I only said I'd bring my universe's Grinch because you promised you wouldn't get distracted and actually help out. Which, you're not doing," Miguel said bluntly. Peter snapped out of his Christmas movie haze to defend himself.

"Sorry, but I've just never seen it before!" He reached down and grabbed one of Mayday's unwrapped gifts. Folding the paper around the box, he finished by sealing it up with a web. Miguel rolled his eyes.

"What? My gift looks way cooler than yours, you're just jealous of my artistic flare," he said smugly.

"Don't get me wrong, it looks great, but how's she gonna open it?" Miguel asked with a smirk. Peter's brow's nearly kissed his hairline as he came to the realization.

"Shit! Well, hopefully by Christmas it'll be weak enough to tear through," he finished with a shrug, slapping a bow on top and sliding it under the tree. As Peter reached for another present, he noticed a scrap piece of ribbon, much too short to fit around a box. Then, his gaze trailed over to his unassuming friend. Perfect.

He picked it up, fluttering it along the back of Miguel's neck. Peter can hear him gasp, and isn't that a lovely sound. He rolls his broad shoulders, arching his back and scrunching his neck ever so slightly. By the time he whipped around to glare at the perpetrator, he had already retracted his hands, hiding them innocently in his pockets.

Miguel looked him up and down before returning to his work. To his credit, Peter waited a few seconds before striking once more. Miguel sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, rubbing his ear against his shoulder to rid himself of the lingering tingles.

"Peter?"

"Hm?"

"I know you're not really working," he deadpanned. Peter sputtered in shock.

"I am too! Look, a perfectly wrapped gift!" he said proudly, holding out Mayday's present. Miguel looked it over, only half amused.

"You're right, a gift. So why not pick up the pace?" he challenged, tossing a Spider-Man themed basketball his way that Peter had planned on giving Miles. Peter caught it with one hand, and Miguel rolled his eyes. Showoff.

"How the hell am I supposed to wrap a ball?"

"I don't know wise guy, you're the one who got it for him." Okay, Peter wasn't sorry for what he was about to do.

He grabbed a marker off the floor and uncapped it with his teeth, making a satisfying pop sound. He barely bit back a snicker as he leaned in, quickly scribbling at the back of his neck. A strangled squeal caught in his throat at he snatched Peter's wrist in one hand, the other rubbing at his neck.

"You think you're funny or somethin'?" he asked with a cold glare.

"Hilarious, actually," Peter corrected with a shrug. Miguel scoffed and let him go.

"Go back to watching the damn movie if you're just gonna bother me," he suggested, grabbing a new tube of wrapping paper to switch things up. Can't have them all looking the same, now can we?

Why not both? Peter thought to himself, an evil grin growing on his face that rivaled the Grinch onscreen. He grabbed two pieces of ribbon discarded on the floor holding them poised to strike between his fingers. Miguel had his back turned, busy wrapping another present and allowing himself to get sucked into the movie. He was practically serving himself up on a silver platter. He really ought to know better by now...

Or maybe he didn't totally mind Peter's shenanigans. But that was a silly, fleeting thought.

Or was it? Only one way to find out.

Ever so quietly, he scooted closer to Miguel, snatching the marker off the floor. The grumpy Spider-Man was sporting a pair of ripped jeans. (He constantly made sure people knew he didn't buy them like that and that he earned those holes and rips.) A particularly large hole left his knee exposed and vulnerable for an attack... Perfect.

He let out a surprised snort, jerking his leg away before a chuckle could follow. They were locked in an intense staring contest, or glaring contest, on Miguel's part. Peter wore an innocent grin, though his next words were anything but.

"What's wrong big guy? Ticklish?"

If it were anyone else, they wouldn't have noticed the way he flinched at the question.

"No."

"Really? You're sticking to that lie?"

Miguel huffed, angrily slapping a bow on top of a present. "It's not a lie."

"Well in that case, I'm not ticklish either," Peter boldly proclaimed. Miguel looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Since we're being honest and all." Miguel grabbed a tube of wrapping paper, bonking Peter on the head in one swift motion before he even knew what happened.

"Don't forget I'm the one helping you," he reminded pointedly.

"Noted," Peter said, grabbing the tube from him and setting it beside MJ's new boots. For good measure, he started wrapping the gift until Miguel turned away. Then it was back to scheming.

He scanned the pile of unwrapped gifts for inspiration, smiling to himself when he spotted a handheld massager he got as a stocking stuffer.

"Hey Miguel?" he elected to ignore the annoyed groan he was met with, "Can you do me a favor?"

"No."

"Perfect! Just tell me if this massager is any good, okay? I don't want it to be too weak or painful, or not have enough settings." He heard Miguel sigh in defeat.

"Whatever."

"Thanks!" He scooted closer to him, turning on the X-shaped massager. At first he decided to play nice and actually work out the tension in his friend's shoulders before setting his plan into motion. He had to rebuild some trust, after all.

"Not bad, I think she'll like this," Miguel hummed, letting his head fall to one side as he began to relax. He was really watching the movie now, allowing himself a moment to enjoy it. It was one of the more heartfelt scenes of the film, and one of his favorites. He found he tended to like the more subtle, meaningful holiday movies rather than the over the top comedies and rom coms that dominated the season.

The last thing he was expecting was a dreadfully ticklish buzzing on his side.

His resolve gave way as he fell onto one side, loud surprised cackles spilling out into the room and drowned out the sound of the TV.

"Peheheter! Quit ihihit!"

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you through all that laughing. Which is weird, considering how not ticklish you are," he taunted, running the massager over his abs. Miguel curled in on himself, a giggly groan slipping out in response to the teasing.

"You're hohohorrible, you know thahat?" he asked, weakly swatting at Peter's hands, but to no avail.

Peter snorted. "Maybe to you."

The gentle vibrations traveled from his belly up his sides and to his ribs, causing the deep rumbling chuckles to build up momentum. Encouraged by this, Peter grabbed his wrist and wrestled his arm above his head, pinning it in place.

"Wahait!" he cried, trying to fend him off with his other hand. Peter grinned down at him, the textbook definition of smug.

"Okay. Well? What am I waiting for?" he asked, hovering the tool above his armpit menacingly. Miguel slammed his head against the ground in frustration.

"Gehehet off of me, you asshole!" he demanded through giggles.

"Why should I?" Peter challenged.

He just won't quit, will he? Miguel had no choice but to surrender, if they ever wanted to get done wrapping, that is.

"Fihihine, okay? You wihihin!" he conceded, rolling around on the ground. ,!"

"Wow, okay, so what do I win?" he asked, pulling his hands away to give him a breather. Miguel panted and glared up at him.

"I'm fuckin' ticklish, okay? There, happy?" he growled through residual giggles.

"Over the moon," Peter confirmed. He patted Miguel's chest as he let him go, crawling over to the pile of unwrapped presents. "No more funny business, I promise!" he assured. Miguel only rolled his eyes, a fond smile still lingering on his face.

"Yeah yeah, I'll believe it when I see it."

#squealing santa 2k23 #squealing santa #ss2k23 #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #spiderman atsv #atsv #atsv fic #spiderman atsv fic #atsv tickle fic #spiderman atsv tickle fic #ticklish!miguel

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piratekane · 1 year

Text

fic: love thy neighbor

chapter title: crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon note: Another day, another AU - but this time make it collaborative! A dual effort by @kendrene and I to bring you some 'new neighbor AU' goodness and we are stoked about it.

The third time she hears someone curse loud enough to be heard through the walls, Beatrice gives up on the book she’s reading. It wasn’t very engaging to begin with, but she was going to give it considerable effort as it was the only book Lilith would even entertain for this month’s book club.

A voice not unlike Mary’s whispers that she can find the summary online and Lilith will be none the wiser. But she ignores that voice. She’ll just… try again. At another time. When whoever has moved into the apartment next to hers isn’t educating her on curses in… she thinks she recognized the Portuguese word for shit, but her rudimentary Portuguese greetings were reserved for her parents’ counterparts from Brazil and they certainly never used that kind of language with her.

The person - a woman, she assumes - swears again. Beatrice makes a face. Her last neighbor had been quiet, even in his death. She hadn’t noticed he was deceased until she knocked politely at his door to return his mail. And even then, the whole affair had been quick, neat, and silent.

This woman is none of those things, based on the fact that Beatrice has been dealing with this racket for what seems like hours and the various, numerous boxes spilling out into the hallway that start in front of Beatrice’s door and continue right into the next apartment. Some of them are open and most have large letters scribbled on them in marker, but no matter how she turns her head, Beatrice can’t make out any of the words.

“Hello?” she calls into the hallway, one foot still solidly in her own apartment. it’s never seemed so cramped here before now. “Excuse me?”

Something heavy and metallic drops and then there’s another curse - definitely merda this time - and the sound of something hopping in her direction. Beatrice pulls back, nearly ducking into her apartment and closing the door quickly, but before she can, a woman appears in the hallway, holding one foot in her hand as she balances precariously on the other.

“Oh. Wow.”

Beatrice frowns. “I’m sorry?”

The woman smiles crookedly. “I said, oh. Ow.”

No you didn’t, Beatrice wants to argue. But she doesn’t even know this woman. She looks young, hair cut to her chin and half pulled back, a cutoff shirt hanging off her frame and just above her navel. Her frown deepens. The woman looks hardly older than a university student. And Beatrice already lived through university-aged girls before; she has no intention of doing it again.

No, this won’t do.

She thinks about the diplomatic approach: introduce herself, how long she’s been living here, slip in a comment or two about the decorum of the third floor that she’s purposefully cultivated by surrounding herself with retirees. Her parents would approve of that. But the woman is still smiling, head tipped in curiosity now, and she’s waiting expectantly for Beatrice to say something.

Can you keep it down? Beatrice is sure those are the words she settles on saying, once the thought process behind them completes. While it would work best to be polite, the banging and the cursing did go on for some time. And, judging from the number of unopened boxes still awaiting in the hall, there may be a whole sleepless night of noise ahead. Unless Beatrice puts her foot down. Like, now.

“You look like you could use a hand,” is what comes out of her mouth instead, the moment the new girl’s fingers grip firm around her own. Her hand. Beatrice has never been more conscious of the tiny, bird-fragile bones moving within it, the play of sinew under her skin. The thunder of her pulse trapped against a palm that’s warm, but not sweaty. Calloused but not rough.

“Boy, could I!” Her new neighbor pumps their joined hands up and down, and it’s a miracle she manages to do so while remaining upright. Her other hand is still clutching her foot - the crash Beatrice heard tied to that, clearly - so she’s balanced on one leg, precarious, like some weird, noisy bird.

Although, what she really reminds Beatrice of, is an overenthusiastic dog.

“Guess I should give you your hand back before I can use it, uh?” Heat scalds Beatrice’s chest, spilling past her collar. She clears her throat, staring at the space between them. New girl is indeed still gripping her hand. Beatrice slowly lets go.

“It might speed things along, yes.”

New girl steps back with a grin, both feet back on the ground, and points at a pile of boxes. “Wanna start with those?’ Of course she picked the furthest stack from her door.

“Sure,” Beatrice grabs one of the boxes at random, balances another on top. Finally, with her nose practically merged to the cardboard, she can spell out a word. It reads: rocks.

Odd.

Much later that night, the evening sky an indigo smudge framed by the bars of the fire escape outside her window, Beatrice is in bed and cannot fall asleep. It’s not that there’s noise. Ava - that’s new neighbor’s name - has pinky-promised she would tone it down, and to her credit she’s managed.

Beatrice can hear her at times, the natural order of things in a building where walls are no thicker than wet wipes. It’s neighborly sounds: the shower running, a TV turned on low. The snatch of a song hummed tragically off tune.

They’re different sounds, is the thing. Sounds she’s not had time to grow used to. Old Mr. Whittaker - Witkins? - he didn’t sing. He rarely even used his TV. How he moved around the apartment had been different, too. Beatrice can’t be 100% sure, but she’s pretty certain Ava actually skips from room to room.

A version of Call Me Maybe so mangled it barely resembles the original tune reaches her ears, and Beatrice is tempted to go close the window. She likes letting the late spring breeze in, though, that it smells of green things in bloom and summer to come. Plus, the fire escape is only accessible to tenants, locked on ground level behind a gate that opens with a code, so the whole arrangement is really quite secure.

Eventually the off-key singing stops. All sounds of traffic die. Beatrice falls gradually asleep, but the weight on her chest - the sense of unease that comes with having her routine so thoroughly disrupted - doesn’t lessen at all.

A weight on her chest wakes her, struggling to breathe, in the dead of the night.

“Vince.” A voice she’s become painfully familiar with, whisper-hisses right outside the window. “Vincent, come the fuck out of there, now.”

Meow.

Beatrice freezes, immobilized. Every muscle group tenses in a methodical, frequently-practiced manner, starting with her toes up into the joints of her knees and into her hips. They’re tight, coiled, ready to jump at this sudden intrusion and disengage with this attacker.

But her training fails her as the weight on her chest shifts and slides. She inhales, air like ice in her lungs, as something pin-sharp digs into her bare collarbone.

In the dark, it takes her an excruciatingly long moment to put an image to the sensation on her chest as her eyes adjust to the sliver of moonlight coming in through the window.

The open window.

Where Ava, the woman who seems to be entirely made of catastrophes, is trying to wiggle under the frame, one hand outstretched as she hisses, her own voice cat-like.

The cat on her chest merely shuffles closer to the hollow of her throat as pointed claws sink further into her skin. They’ll leave a mark. Thick, soft fur sticks to her bottom lip and she strains her head backward so she doesn’t accidentally breathe it in. It seems to only invite the cat closer as it slides, boneless, into the space she creates.

“Excuse me,” she says quietly into the cat’s fur.

It purrs loudly, an odd sensation against her breastbone, not entirely unpleasant.

“Vincent,” Ava hisses again. “I’ll send you back, don’t think I won’t.” Something rattles, the point of a knee against glass, and Ava makes a pained noise in the back of her throat.

“I’m- shit.” There’s a loud shuffling noise and a deep groan as shadows dance across her bedroom wall and create a large, crouched and pointed shape.

Beatrice turns her head as Ava crawls in through the window, body contorting in a way that it shouldn’t. There’s a low hiss, a slight growl. Ava wiggles through the opening, landing on her hands, her legs suspended outside above the fire escape for a moment before they slip in after the rest of her body as she collapses into a heap on the floor.

Beatrice feels the floor shake as Ava lands hard on top of it. The cat - Vincent - doesn’t seem bothered by the noise, purring loudly and nosing his way into the curve of her neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Ava whispers, voice strained. “Oh my God, Vincent.” The backs of her knuckles dig into Beatrice’s skin as she wiggles her way under Vincent.

That sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant either, but Beatrice doesn’t linger on that, all of her attention on the way Vincent’s claws dig into her skin and hold on. He yowls, scrambling out of Ava’s arms and darting away in the darkness.

Air rushes back into Beatrice’s lungs. She blinks at the ceiling until she looks back down at her chest. Ava is staring at her hands, still over Beatrice’s sternum, face pinched in thought.

“Excuse me,” she says again.

Ava, unlike Vincent, startles and takes a staggering step backwards. She trips over Beatrice’s slippers, placed parallel to her bed, and falls. The floor shakes again.

"Are you okay?"

For the second time in the span of a few short hours, Beatrice ends up saying something she immediately regrets. She should be angry. She’s furious. She’s -

Ava sits up, peeking over the edge of the bed, and refracted moonlight falls across her face. It casts a silvery aura around her, a nimbus, a halo. Her forehead is still scrunched up, in pain perhaps, but when she notices that Beatrice is staring, her expression changes.

“Is it too late to say I’m sorry again?” Ava offers a sheepish grin, a small shrug.

“It’s too late.” Ava winces, and because a sensation close to the kind of regret one might feel after scolding a child spears through a part of Beatrice she wasn’t aware existed, she hastens to add. “Timewise. It’s - what time is it, actually?” The cold, clipped tones of her initial reaction had made her sound too much like her mother.

“Uhm.” Ava’s eyes flick to the digital clock on the nightstand. “You don’t wanna know.”

Beatrice sighs. Then sneezes.

“Oh, shit, are you allergic?”

“I don’t know.” Another sneeze. “I never had a cat climb on me before.”

“Yeah.” Ava shifts to her knees. “About that.”

“You’re sorry?”

“He’s new.”

“Like you?” A thud, followed by the roll of something heavy across the kitchen’s floor, prevents Ava from replying. She just peers through the open door of Beatrice’s bedroom, mouth open, eyes wide. A second louder thud reverberates through the apartment. The distinctly metallic sound of tin cans dropping on tile.

“I think Vincent got into your cupboards. We should probably -” Beatrice is already out of bed, flicking lights on as she goes. “ - get him.” Ava scrambles in her wake.

In the kitchen they waste a good half hour and two cans of premium Albacore tuna trying to coax Vincent out from the cabinet under the sink.

“It’s not his fault, really.” Ava tells her, somewhat muffled, while she twists her upper-body around spare bottles of dish soap and stove detergent. She’s got a knack for wiggling into tight spots, Beatrice thinks, crouched behind her with a flashlight. Hopefully, Ava’s head is wedged so far up the crawl space beneath the sink she cannot hear the sharp intake of air subsequent to that thought.

Beatrice runs a hand through her bed-tousled hair and vows to never let her mind wander in that direction again.

“Right.”

“I mean it!” Hiss. “I got him from the shelter. Poor Vince, was all alone.”

“I am starting to see why.”

“You don’t understand.” Ava shimmies back, emerging from the bowels of the cabinet with a scratch on her cheek but absent a cat. “They wanted to put him down.” Her bottom lip quakes slightly, and she blinks up at Beatrice rapid-fire, like the idea dislodged a landslide of other memories inside her. “I couldn’t leave him behind.” She scrubs at her cheek, and her fingers come away red. “How much cleaning stuff do you own, anyway?”

“Well, you must use beeswax for wood. And cast iron pots require -” Beatrice’s teeth snap shut around the rest of a tirade Ava probably has no interest in. “It doesn’t matter. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“Don’t be. Just come here.” Beatrice stands, extending a hand and hauling Ava to her feet. “Wash your face in the sink. I’ll grab the first aid-kit.”

“But Vincent…”

“He’s safe enough in there. Leave him until after we’ve cleaned this.”

She takes a moment longer with the first-aid kit than she needs to, poking around the cabinet it’s logically stored in like she hasn’t recently restocked the one bandage she’s used in the last month. Ava is none the wiser, standing at the sink and staring at the dark gray microfiber hand towel Beatrice keeps next to it, lost in thought.

Beatrice takes a moment to drink in the sight of Ava.

Her head is bowed, the overhead light sliding across her shoulders, bare except for the thin strip of fabric that holds her tank top in place. For a moment, she looks as if some otherworldly light is emanating from her, brightening her apartment in a way Beatrice has never seen before.

Ava bends over the sink, turning on the tap with a flick of her wrist. She cups her hands, lets the water pool in white palms, and brings it to her face slowly. It runs off her cheeks in rivulets, beads of cool water sliding down her neck and gathering in the hollow of her throat.

Beatrice’s own throat goes traitorously dry, air locking tight in her lungs. A gauze pad wrinkles in her hand, the plastic loud in this vacuum she feels stuck in.

Ava turns her head and Beatrice can’t hide her sudden inhale behind a bottle of dish detergent this time.

“I found it.” Her voice feels unknown, like she’s just forming her mouth around the words correctly for the first time. She holds up the gauze in one hand, a small tube of antibiotic in the other. “Sit.”

Ava presses her face into the towel and Beatrice files a thought away for later. She holds it up; Beatrice shakes her head and Ava drops it next to the sink. Her slide into the chair is with a grace that rivals her rather abrupt entry into Beatrice’s bedroom.

She rises above Ava like a dark tower, eclipsing the sun. Her fingers curl under Ava’s chin, lifting gently. Their eyes meet briefly, Ava’s a honey gold and brown, before she focuses on the thin scratch across her cheek. She turns Ava’s head, studying it carefully.

“It won’t scar.”

Ava lets out a thin stream of air Beatrice feels against the back of her hand. “Thank God for that. It’s my primary moneymaker.” She smiles at the blank look in return. “I work at the university. The… the rocks? Nothing?”

Beatrice frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. What do… rocks have to do with your face?”

“I’m the one who does the fundraising. People don’t like to pay for-” She grins a little, voice pitched low as she mimics the way Beatrice said, “rocks.” Her voice returns to its natural register. “Unless there’s a pretty face selling it to them. And my department is made up of men who found the first rock, so they won’t do”

For a brief moment, she wonders if making a charitable donation to the Geology department at the local university might get her anything in return.

“So, do you teach about rocks, too?” Beatrice asks to distract herself while needlessly re-arranging the contents of the first aid kit she’s already set down on the table in a line. Gauze pads, Neosporin, the box of kids’ bandaids she was forced to get the last time she’d been to the pharmacy, as they’d run out of anything else. It’s a rather minor scratch to take care of. Beatrice really doesn’t need to triple-check what she’s just double-checked in her head.

She’s stalling.

“Uh-uh.” Ava slouches a little in the chair, legs stretching out in front of her. “A few. Mostly introductory courses. I like that I get students to really think about what’s under their feet. About what dirt and rocks are made of, how they’re formed.”

Beatrice blinks down at her hands, hovering inches from the piece of sterile gauze she meant to daub disinfectant on. She’s hung on the tone of Ava’s voice, talking about her job. There’s a subterranean current to it, a note that invites Beatrice in deep. Joy. Awe. For an adult to retain this level of wonder, it’s a rare thing. Like a vein of precious mineral, wrought from the underbelly of the earth out into the light.

“What about you?” Ava is asking. Beatrice blinks to find that her hands knew what to do on their own. Ava’s chin is again trapped in the cage of her fingers, and Beatrice can feel her jaw moving, pressing into the palm of her hand when she talks. She tries hard not to think of the way Ava’s breath paints feather-soft strokes on her skin. Of the curve of Ava’s cheek that for some reason she aches to explore.

“Do you play doctor often?” There is a teasing lilt to Ava’s voice, a crinkle around her mouth. It is a joke.

“Only when my neighbors sneak through my bedroom’s window at night.”

“Yeah, not my best moment, I’ll admit.”

“You could say,” Beatrice dabs disinfectant over the scratch, inwardly wincing in sympathy at Ava’s slight flinch. “That we got off on a rocky start.”

“Oh, wow.” This time, there’s no doubt, not that there was any the first. Beatrice heard right. “I think I might be in love.”

The tub of Neosporin she’s been squeezing cream out of goes flying, skidding to a halt by the cabinet where Vincent is still hiding. Intrigued, the cat hops outside and circles it, sniffing.

“Oh, no.” Beatrice feels horrible for overreacting. Ava certainly didn’t mean anything, She couldn’t have been. It wasn’t an attempt to flirt. “If he licks that he’s gonna be sick.”

“Vince, I told you the five second rule doesn’t always apply.” As soon as Ava stands, Vincent makes himself big with a hiss. “Fine, get sick then. See if I care.” A slight tremor puts chink sin her tone. It’s clear that she does.

“Let me try and get it away from him.” Beatrice suggests. She doesn’t particularly care for a scratch or a bite, but the mess is her fault in the first place. She should be the one to fix it. “If I can just—”

Crouching low, never breaking eye contact with Vince, Beatrice extends a hand slowly. Her fingers brush against the tub of cream. Tighten around it. She’s beginning to pull her arm back when Vincent headbutts it, a purr vibrating out of him.

“Oh, he really does like you, doesn’t he?” Ava says behind her. “Then again, who wouldn’t?” And Beatrice, who’s always kept her cool in the face of unexpected market crashes, almost loses it all over again.

“I’ve never had any- “She’s going to say positive but she thinks twice. “I’ve never had any interactions with cats before.” She’s still crouched, hand extended as Vincent rubs up against her arm. “He’s very… soft.”

“You don’t feel itchy or anything, do you?”

Beatrice looks back over her shoulder, mouth pinched in a frown. Ava looks intent, more serious than she has in the hours Beatrice has known her.

“Or your throat closing, or anything? I’m not a doctor but I watched a guy have an allergic reaction to shrimp once. I didn’t know what to do then and I’ll be honest, I haven’t brushed up on anything since then.”

Beatrice feels a flicker deep in her chest, a sort of affection she didn’t know was possible in such a short amount of time. “If I was going to have an anaphylaxis allergy to cats, we would have known when he was sitting on my chest.” She slowly retracts her arm and Vincent simply moves along with her, winding around her legs instead.

“He, uh, really likes you,” Ava says. There’s a bit of a pout in her voice, mirrored in the shape of her mouth. “He doesn’t like me that much.”

Beatrice tries to remember where she was with the Neosporin. Ah, yes. She continues to squeeze it out onto the gauze. She’ll apply a bit to the wound, then put a bandage on it. She’s successful this time, hands firm around the tub. Of course, Ava doesn’t say anything to distract her.

“Surely he liked you at the shelter.” She tips Ava’s chin back again. She has mesmerizing eyes this close up. Like circles of golden honey. Her cheeks flush.

“Well, not really,” Ava admits in halting words. Beatrice’s hand slips from her chin and Ava grabs it, holding it against her skin.

Beatrice’s fingers nearly go slack again at the sensation. She prides herself on her ability to maintain herself, though no one would believe her if they saw her now. Ava’s words register. “No?”

“Nope.” Ava’s mouth pops the p. “But he was there, being passed over for kittens. I couldn’t just leave him.” Her voice is trembling again and Beatrice wants to go in and find the source of it, to make it stop. It affects her in a way she can’t quite describe.

It’s unlike her. Everything since she’s met Ava has been unlike her.

“I’m sure he’ll come around,” she says quietly. She feels him against her legs, moving between them and Ava’s. She’s suddenly aware of how she’s positioned herself, standing between Ava’s legs. The inside of Ava’s knee is hot against her leg through her thin pajama pants.

“Or we’ll have to split custody.” Ava smiles. Beatrice feels it in her hand, still trapped against Ava’s chin. “We’d be tied for life.”

Beatrice’s chest shudders at the thought. It sounds terrifying and appealing. She’s unsure of where this is coming from - she’s known Ava Silva for less than 24 hours and the majority of their time together has been one disaster to the next. But there’s something intriguing about her, like she’s made up a complicated number system Beatrice wants to take apart and turn around in her mind.

She files the thought away to be revisited later. Later, once Ava is back at her own place. Later after she’s latched the bedroom window shut and put a little distance between herself and a night that somehow feels like a dream.

“I’m sorry for the kids’ band aid.” Beatrice applies it over the cut with care, again taking a moment longer than is necessary with things to smooth it across Ava’s cheek and make sure that it’ll stick. Yellow ducklings swim on it, the band aid’s background vibrant blue.

“Regular band aids are boring.” Ava doesn’t try to stop her from retreating this time around, and another small shiver ripples through her. It feels like something of a crack. Like the minuscule hairline fractures that sometimes appear on drinking glasses right before they break. Beatrice doesn’t think she’d have known what to do had Ava leaned into her touch again. Still, a part of her wishes Ava had.

“Uhm, anyway.” She takes a step back and towards the sink, meaning to wash her hands. “I never answered your question about my job.”

Ava’s gaze on her back is as tangible as touch.

“Tell me?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit like adult band aids.” Beatrice clears her throat, forcing more words out. “Boring I mean.”

“I still wanna know.”

“Finance.” Beatrice has no idea why she’s so nervous about it. She’s never felt this on edge about telling someone what her job is before. It may not be the most exciting career one can have, or what she would have picked were there not so many expectations weighing her down, but she’s worked hard for it. The youngest associate at her consultancy firm in more than ten years, with the prospect of rapidly climbing the ranks. She should be proud of it.

She is.

“Numbers uh?” Ava hops off the chair and stretches. The t-shirt she’s wearing rides up, exposing the enticing strip of skin at her navel. Beatrice looks quickly away. “Like Wall Street and stuff?”

“Nothing that grand.” Vincent, who’s kept on following her, paws at her leg and meows. “I try to steer people away from risky investments, mostly.”

“Maybe my department should hire you.” Ava begins creeping forward. “Whatever money we get through fundraising is always gone so fast. It’s like the Geology department is built on a sinkhole that eats cash.”

Finally within striking distance of the cat, Ava lunges. Her fingers close around his scruff, and she lifts him up, firm but trying not to hurt him. “Ah! Gotcha!”

Vincent’s meowing reaches ear-splitting on the decibel scale. His front paws extend in Beatrice’s direction. She gently scritches the top of his head, and that seems to calm him enough for Ava to get a better hold.

“Do you want me to—” Beatrice says, when Vincent digs sharp claws into the bare skin of Ava’s forearm.

“Maybe you could—”

They pause, the cat suspended between them, then Beatrice extends her arms and Vincent leaps straight into them, nuzzling into her chest. She gets the impression Ava might want to join, too.

“Maybe I can bring him to your apartment for you?"

"Would you? I feel horrible asking but he's—" Ava's mouth sours. "Yeah."

"I don't mind, promise." So what if she's a bit sad at the prospect of Ava leaving? It's not like Vince is gonna sneak into her apartment every single night. She can be sad. It means nothing. It's fine. "Lead the way?"

"Okay, but we have to go the long way round." Ava nods at the door to the bedroom and Beatrice's heart skips several beats. "I don't have my keys."

Oh.

God.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #another day another AU #this is gen-u-ine fluff #i hope if you read it you enjoy it #because we had fun writing it #and... BREAK!

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skxllz · 6 months

Text

𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

warnings; fluff !! + slight angst? + ooc lip

side note; I got bored 😋

“ you like j cole? ” lip was going through your collection of cd's to listen to —you made it a tradition at this point to lay up in your bed on friday nights, and just stare at the ceiling while music plays in the background— when he discovered the plain, azo cd scribbled with black sharpie. usually you picked the songs or album of choice, so of course lip wasn't aware that you listened to this particular artist.

“ yeah... ” you trailed off, raising a brow questionably as you looked up from your notebook. you had been coloring a scooby doo picture to pass the time. “ so what? ” your gum popped, then smacked obnoxiously.

lip scowled at the sound but didn't comment on it, “ ... ‘s nothing. just haven't heard ‘im in a while. ” his head turned towards you over his shoulder, his chlorine eyes meeting your own while he bounced his brows; spinning the cd between his thumb and forefinger. “ wanna’ listen? ”

shrugging, you sat up from the position had been lying in on your stomach; capping the brown marker you used to color over scooby's body. “ sure. don't see why not. ”

the male whistled in reply, only to lean over and press a button on your stereo. a clip noise sounded, before the tray to the cd player popped open and slid out.

lip took out the cd you had labeled songs to sleep to <3, and sat it aside, before popping in the j cole mix. it was random songs you had collected on your computer over the years and decided to burn just the year before.

as the tray was slid back in and the first song whirred to life, lip got up from his criss-crossed position on the floor and walked over to your bed. plopping down, the bed slightly bouncing, making two of your markers to thump up and slide - only to fall onto the floor.

you lightly shoved him for that.

“ hey! ” he laughed, throwing his hands up, “ ‘t was an accident! chill out, pup. ”

“ oh fuck off, ” you blew out your tongue at him, while leaning over to pick up the turquoise and black colored markers. only then as you sat up did ‘ work out ’ start playing.

your head whipped around to lip and both of you guys’ eyes widened. surprisingly enough, you both loved this song.

getting comfy, you nestled back into the wall back first. bringing the coloring page into your lap, while lip laid down and got comfortable on your bed. he folded each of his arms behind his head and smiled to himself, silently voicing the lyrics in his head.

“ ya’ know, this song reminds me of us, ” your voice suddenly met his ears while the back n’ forth of markers against paper could be heard. “ we got a good thing, don't we? ”

lip's smile slightly faded, but then he chuckled, his eyes panning onto your figure. the way your hair fell into your eyes made you look rather... cute. “ yeah. we do got a good thing. ”

a small grin tugged at the corner of your mouth, “ good enough for you to be my man? ” the question was cocky and unexpected, and you knew this — that's why your eyes darted to look up from your picture, to study your friend's expression.

to say the least, he was shocked. eyes wide, lips parted in... you weren't sure if it was awe, or surprise- it sure was somethin’. but lip just stared. he looked gobsmacked. and usually, he was never rendered speechless, that's why you suddenly regretted saying anything.

“ uh, ” you cleared your throat. “ forget I said anythi— ”

“ no, no- ” lip sat up abruptly. his hands shot out, grabbing onto the arm that moved to gather your markers that slid down rhe bed- he thought you were going to leave.

what a silly thought, really. it was your room. your house.

“ i- uh- did you mean that? ” aquamarine eyes blinked rather innocently at you, the look he had screaming smitten. what an odd look for lip gallagher to wear. “ being your man? do you really want me, being your man? ”

your brows furrowed. “ lip- of course. ” you dropped the markers from your hold, arm lifting to palm at his cheek. cradling his face gently, you made sure to firmly hold his jaw, “ I... wouldn't say something like that as a joke. I know how sensitive you are to this shit. I'm not an asshole. ”

swallowing thickly. brows pinching together, skin meeting roughly in the center. he looked choked up, but you said nothing about it. lip's pride got in the way, way too much — if you pointed out how vulnerable he was being, he'd surely reel back. you'd let him come to you.

and he did. lip circled his arms around your neck, and pulled you close. your own arms met around his back and hugged tightly; not daring to release.

“ I got you... ” you mumbled. “ we got a good thing, remember? ”

#lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher blurb #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #shameless #shameless us

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whimsical-roasting · 1 year

Text

“Coach Ted, how do you feel about group cohesion and dance breaks?”

thinking about random moments shared in the jamie tartt x psych major!reader fic i have in my head... just cute shit tbh

okay so the reader has been with the Richmond club for a solid few months, she’s a familiar face and friendly to the team but not super close with everybody, minus Colin and surprisingly,,, Jamie hehe

the team seems to be having a serious tie-streak going on, and they’re all kinda bummed by it

Ted’s obviously still Ted, unwavering winners mindset that basically means ‘do your best, give yourself a pat, shake it off, and repeat’ - with the addition of a smile ofc!

the reader has been doing readings for her org psych class and knows that raising group morale is necessary but also so so hard.

sometimes motivational speeches just don’t cut it yknow?? sometimes you gotta think outside of the box to fix the vibes and spread positivity

so there she is, standing in the coach’s office with a bluetooth speaker in her hand, nervously waiting for it to be her turn to speak

“Coach Ted,” she calls him in a manner that’s playful but still professional - he’s insisted on just Ted in the past and she’s complied but for serious conversations, she enjoys leading with a ‘subtle sense of professionalism’

“Coach Ted, how do you feel about group cohesion and dance breaks?” she asks, fiddling with the speaker in her hand

“Well darlin, I love a good flash mob. Gosh, those folks must keep in touch, right?” He directs his eyes to Beard, who peaks over his book and replies affirmingly, “a bond has been formed,” causing both you and Ted to smile

“Well, less flash mob but more like... a bi-weekly dance break?” she continues as Ted’s eyes land on her again. “I know the boys are bummed with the tie-streak and I was reading in my org psych textbook about the importance of autonomy in decorating our workspaces, and how group morale helps cohesion which’ll lead to better attitudes and hopefully better performance - not that our performance has been poor, it’s been great, I’m proud of the boys really! But, it sucks to see them bummed out...So maybe a twice-a-week-song-dance-break will lift spirits??”

she’s rambling. she’s nervous!! it’s a good idea tbh but still, sharing means being vulnerable and the potential of getting rejected

Ted politely waits for her to finish, nodding along and then grins, “sounds wonderful darlin! Hey, maybe you can get the boys to give some song suggestions to help with the whole autonomy thing you mentioned.”

she’s happy !! grinning as she steps out to the locker room, dragging out the whiteboard from the corner and scribbling in a lil corner of it

Jamie’s eyes follow her silently. truth be told, they followed her when she entered and disappeared into the coach’s office. but he smiles a lil seeing her grin at herself

when she’s done with the whiteboard, she calls for attention and lets the boys know to write down their suggestions, and she’ll choose two songs for the week randomly!! she emphasizes nervously that it should help according to her textbooks and Jamie is silently nodding, eyes drifting to her hands as she fiddles with the whiteboard marker

Dani is the first to speak, “pardon me, can it be Spanish songs too?” and she smiles really big, “anything you like!!”

Isaac adds, “yea bruv, I fuck wit Bad Bunny” and there’s a wave of approving noises from the rest

SO, the plan has been implemented, and it’s frickin working!!!

the boys always look forward to whose song is chosen - lots of rap, some taylor swift, Work Hard Play Hard makes them go nuts, some musical songs from Colin but it’s okay cause the lads are hyped over Hamilton

Ted gets into it!! dancing!! Dani and Jan Maas share an imaginary mic!! it’s great, but Jamie’s favourite part is seeing her join them in the locker rooms for every dance break grooving to the music

one day SHE chooses the song... “Keep Your Head Up” by Andy Grammer cause the team seemed extra tired and bummed

everyone’s like ??? who chose this?? she’s like ‘me. I did.’

she’s trying to break the tension, so she takes her imaginary mic and goes to Ted, then Colin, then Sam, and soon everyone’s into it - just happily singing and dancing

she somehow ends up next to Jamie, shoulders bumping. she’s swaying as she faces him, playfully mouthing the lyrics to him as he smiles with a slight blush (not that she notices cause she’s blushing too)

they’re both dancing close to each other, and she lightly pokes his chin when the song goes, “you gotta keep your head up”, reaching up to pull down his headband at, “and you can let your hair down,” grinning at him when he’s like ‘hey!! :o... >:)’

the song ends, and they’re still laughing at each other, holding hands...a bit longer than they should tbh hehehe. Jamie loves her energy and kindness, it matches his goofiness and makes him wanna be a better person

but anyways!!! they pull away, hoping no one notices.. some do but don’t say anything

#jamie tartt x psych major!reader #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt

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mysticmunson · 2 years

Text

lone star, part two

summary: eddie had packed up his things and moved to the big city, indianapolis, but when he enters the fast-growing world of the adult entertainment industry, it gets lonely.

rating: R

warnings: smut, filmed sexual acts, drinking, smoking

authors note at the end :)

word count: 7k

Simple and sweet.

The words entrenched themselves in Eddie’s brain as he got ready the next morning, making sure his hair looked nice and even wearing blue jeans rather than his typical black ones. This was his chance to prove he could be marketable as a boy next door, not just used in obscure films that, even though he loved, were limiting him. Plus a chance to make things up with you.

“Woah. First off, I thought you didn’t work today. Second, whose pants are those? If they’re mine, I swear to God, Munson-” Robin rambled, a half eaten donut in her hand as she sat in her work uniform with Steve at the table. Eddie walked past them to grab a pastry for himself, walking back in with a mouthful of food.

“They’re mine, sweetheart.” He remarked condescendingly, earning a certain finger from her as Steve laughed, taking another sip of his coffee. “But Bill called last night, wants me to do a shoot today, have to be there at 9.”

They nodded, continuing to eat their meals in peace as the clock ticked closer to 8:30. Noticing the time, he scarfed down the remaining bites and quickly went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth extra long (even using mouthwash for good measure), fluffed his hair, and put on his rings. He felt a little odd wearing a plain black t-shirt, blue jeans and his white sneakers, but it was just another aspect of his profession.

Playing the part.

The nervous jitters he felt transcended down the highway and into the studio building, walking in 5 minutes to 9. Fiddling with the rings on his fingers, he scanned his surroundings for Bill, Rich, or you.

“Eddie!” Bill exclaimed, making him spin until he caught the older man’s eyes, body poking through his office door and summoning him closer. “You’re lookin’ sharp, buddy.”

“Thanks man.” Eddie snickered, patting his shoulder as he walked in, seeing the other two people he was searching for there. Giving a quick wave and a smile, which you returned while Rich did an upward head nod.

Leaning against the wall, Eddie watched as Bill looked through the papers on his desk, the leather chair squeaking as he leaned forward. The rustling of papers disrupted the consistent tapping of Rich’s nails against the arm of the chair. You sat silent, hands in your lap as you looked down at your nails painted with a white strip at the top.

“Alrighty, so we need a flix today, but this is last minute so there’s not much planned. What do you have in mind?” Bill asked, looking at you as your head popped up, straightening your posture.

Sitting quietly for a moment, contemplating your options that seemed too vague to necessarily pinpoint, you made a soft hum noise.

“Well, I haven’t done anything with, like, spanking? Or choking?” You peeped, warmth rising to your cheeks despite everyone in the room seeing you spread eagle. Vocalizing your desires seemed much worse than just exhibiting them.

Eddie swears they had to have heard his stomach sink, twisting into knots as your request bounced off every crevice in his brain. Rubbing his chin and feeling the stubble, he nodded in comprehension, awaiting Bill’s response.

Bill chuckled as he pushed his glasses up as usual, someone needed to get him a new pair. Fiddling with the sheet in his hand, he pursed his lips in a suppressed smile, glancing down at his calendar. It was barely legible with red pen scribbling and black marker crossing out to add new things.

“I like it, I think we should do a scene like that next week. But we still are determining what your first introduction will be. If we come out swinging with the more extreme stuff, we’ll lose the shock factor. Would it be alright if we did a calmer scene?” He proposed, clasping his hands in front of him as you nodded, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

Eddie could’ve kissed Bill at that moment, strangled him into a hug and lifted him off the ground. Ultimately, as long as it wasn’t something Eddie strongly opposed, he went with the flow. If you wanted to do a more intense scene, he would oblige, but he was relieved when it turned out to be plainer.

“We have some leftover props from Aiden’s scene last week, could do a date night scene? Roses and shit?” Rich coughed, his deep voice catching in his voice before sipping his coffee. Bill clapped, giving a thumbs up before flickering his gaze from you to Eddie, both of you nodding.

“Alright! Meet back here in about an hour, we’ll get you all done up and start filming.” Bill stated, quickly putting it on his calendar with Rich being the first to leave. You and Eddie followed, wandering in silence to the front door, a gust of wind sounding as it opened.

Standing in silence, Eddie debated on a good starting sentence, but his mind went blank. He could ask if she was excited for the scene? But what if that sounded cocky or she wasn’t thrilled? Maybe compliment her shoes, they were a pair of black sneakers with blue laces, pretty cool. His hand played at his lip subconsciously as he leaned against the building.

“Eddie?” You called, snapping him from his trance, “Do you know of any place to grab a bite to eat? I was running late and didn’t get breakfast.” Turning towards him, he nodded, pushing himself from the wall and closer to you. The smell of his musky cologne was pleasant, different than the one he used on set previously.

“There’s a really good place a few minutes walking from here, it's a local diner.” He informed, pointing a ring clad finger in the distance, “I could take you there?”

You agreed, the two of you walking down the old sidewalk surrounded by fresh grass. The stroll was quiet, only the sounds of cars driving past and the squeak of both sets of shoes.

Eddie wanted to talk, but he was too wrapped up in his head to form anything. Everything he thought he could say was twisted into something else entirely, already seeing you storming off and begging to have the film with Steve be your introduction.

The small diner was at the corner of the block, a small set of stairs leading to the glass doors. It was empty, besides for a few miscellaneous truck drivers or construction workers who were getting a cup of coffee.

Sitting at the table in the corner, the menu was an all-American breakfast, your mouth was watering at just the whiff of it. The clink of Eddie’s rings that tapped rhythmically against the counter, the silver rim around it reflecting his hand in abstract shapes.

“Morning, Eddie. You’re up early!” The waitress approached, notepad in hand as you both looked up. Her gray hair was pulled into a low bun with a yellow button up dress, accompanied by a black waist apron. Her eyes had subtle wrinkles, laugh lines that accentuated her soft smile, and her nails painted a pale pink.

“Morning, Veronica. Had to be at work early.” He laughed, handing her the menu, “I’ll have a coffee and the number 3.” She mumbled “Gotcha”, barely audibly, scribbling it down before facing you.

“I’ll have the number 5 please with apple juice.” You replied, handing her the flimsy plastic menu that she exchanged with a nod. She walked off into the back, the silver door swinging back and forth till it came to a halt.

The decor was 1950s themed, checkerboard flooring with some neon signs teasing 5 cent soda. The shiny red seats at the bar were mounted to the floor, the booths matching similarly across the rest of the place. It was charming, providing a comforting feeling of home cooked meals.

“I don’t think I’ve had the number 5 before.” Eddie spoke, your attention snapping to him as he looked at you, no clear emotion present. But then again, what kind of emotion should he be having over your choice of breakfast.

“It’s chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, don’t worry I have a toothbrush.” You jested while Veronica brought over your drinks, setting down coasters to prohibit the condensation from pooling.

The steam from Eddie’s cup rose to his nose as he put in creamer and sugar, stirring it and watching it go to a lighter shade of brown. Pulling out the spoon, he watched the small tornado within it dissipate before taking a sip, sighing at it going down his throat.

“Don’t worry about it, once had a partner eat tuna and garlic bread before a scene.” He assured, but the small smile on his lips let you laugh, placing a hand over your mouth to regain some composure.

There were some unspoken rules in your line of work. Spending your day physically with or in someone means you need to be extra cautious on hygiene, like showering with nicer body wash or putting on extra strong deodorant.

Even when you would film alone for solos, you took additional routes for cleanliness. There’s very few things more embarrassing than someone saying you smelled bad or were dirty when you were intending to be clean.

Eating tuna and garlic in one sitting is a dangerous concoction by itself, but before a shoot was a whole different type of sadistic. The pair didn’t even sound appetizing, your stomach twisting at the mere concept.

“Did she hate you?” You pondered, but he only shrugged, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took another drink. You took one as well, wiping your dampened hand on your jeans and seeing them go from medium wash to a patch of dark denim.

“Dunno. But you’re the first adult I’ve ever seen order apple juice at a restaurant.” He pointed out, his chin resting on his knuckles looking down at your drink with confusion.

“Are you saying you don’t like apple juice?” You inquired, not being able to believe someone could dislike it. Maybe it seemed childish, but it put you at ease, caffeine would only make you more jittery.

“Not at all, it’s great.” He grinned, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, peering over his shoulder to see Veronica returning with plates of hot food.

The chocolate chip pancakes before you smelt heavenly, a slab of butter melting on top with syrup on the side, while the bacon faintly sizzled after just coming off the grill. This alone could make you horny enough to film.

Eddie’s meal was waffles, crispy with butter and syrup, with a side of scrambled eggs and bacon. It overcrowded the blue ceramic plate, corners of it hanging off the sides, but that’s how you want homestyle food.

Thanking Veronica as she confirmed you both were set, you dug into the feast before you, falling into a more natural silence than the one on your walk. There was a small TV up on the counter playing the news, covered in static and projecting dodgy volume.

The pancakes melted in your mouth, soft and fluffy with the hints of sweetness. An accidental moan of satisfaction rumbled from your chest, pointing your fork down at the plate for emphasis, but felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Glad you like it,” Eddie chuckled, “Lets just hope I’m half as good as those.”

The rest of breakfast went smoothly, brief commentary commencing in between chewing and eyes averting to the news as it forecasted the weather or moments of good deeds in the city. It must have been a slow day.

The watch ticked on, giving you two only 15 minutes to scurry back to set. Despite your protests, Eddie paid for the meal while you weren’t paying attention, sneaking Veronica the cash underneath.

With full tummies, you walked down the sidewalk and looked at the road, now quieter as rush hour concluded.

“Thoughts on the diner?” He peeped, glancing at you to see an initial reaction. He knew you enjoyed it, you moaned at the first bite, but it didn’t hurt to have some reassurance.

Before you could answer, his stride halted yours, looking at him confused. He mumbled something about chocolate on your lip, swiping his thumb at the corner bringing it to his own mouth. The moment wasn’t intentional, Eddie didn’t even process his hand coming to your face, something that felt more intimate than anything thus far.

“It was wonderful, thank you again, Eddie.” You stuttered, hand pressing on your lower stomach from the outside of your green sweater as you continued to walk. He felt his cheeks warm, you didn’t say his name much, but it was nice when you did.

Holding the door open for you, the warm air of the office forced you to scrunch your sleeves to your elbows, walking to your dressing room down the hall. A man stood inside, setting up different shades of base makeup, along with every color of eyeshadow imaginable.

Your presence wasn’t made known until the door clicked behind you, his head shooting up as he smiled. His hair was a soft blonde, a dangle earring peeking from behind the waves, with a pair of gold, thin rimmed glasses. His outfit was simple, an abstract designed button up with a white tank top exposed from the top button, and black slacks.

“You must be Eos, I’m Henry, nice to meet you.” He introduced, extending his hand over the folding chair that you met gladly. Enchanted by his trinkets, you watched him set up in awe, slightly unable to believe he couldn’t make all of this into a makeup look.

Maybelline and Revlon were the only two brands you could list off the top of your head, but now the names of French designers and suggestive adjectives branded themselves on the bottles. He motioned for you to sit, the lightbulbs surrounding the mirror illuminating with the click of a button, buzzing for a fleeting moment.

Cold swatches of foundation stroked against your jaw as he leaned back, lips pressing together before he wiped two of them away. Picking up his choice, he pumped it on the back of his hand before painting it with a brush, blending to your hair and neck.

“How long have you been doing this?” You questioned, watching the cream blend seamlessly into your skin.

“About two days.” He quipped without a beat, your eyes widening as your mouth popped open, “I’m kidding, about four years.”

Laughing as he grabbed the concealer, he put it under your eyes and between your eyebrows, plus over the pesky pimple on your chin.

“Would it be appropriate to ask how long you’ve been working?” Henry asked, his voice genuine without a sliver of judgment, maneuvering the product around to cover the discolored areas.

“Working in general since I was 16, but I’ve only been doing adult… stuff for a few months. Mostly solos till this week.” You confided as he nodded, grabbing some powder to set your face.

“Must be why I haven’t seen you here before, I work on almost everyone, even did Bill’s makeup for fun once.” He revealed, making you smirk, wishing you had seen your boss covered in shades of extravagant eyeshadow.

Leaving Henry to his work, you closed your eyes and tried to calm your nerves. No matter what job you pursued, the jitters followed, adding extra tension to your shoulder blades and back. The successful breakfast made you hopeful of a fresh start with Eddie, but your mind taunted at the thought that it was a fluke. You couldn’t bother to care too much as the smell of pressed powder hit the apples of your cheeks.

Eddie did his typical routine of playing air guitar from his boombox, keeping it at a reasonable volume after one too many scoldings from Bill and Rich. Sneaking in a quick shot of tequila for confidence, he shook his limbs with deep huffs, looking at the popcorn ceiling above him.

His prep time was significantly shorter than his partners as he just needed to show up and get hard. If it was an abnormal day, there were stashes of raunchy magazines to get him riled up. Not only did he not want to touch them as some were older than he was, but waiting 21 years to have sex gave him a fair amount of stamina.

The typical butterflies in his stomach appeared on schedule, noticing the black clock inching closer to showtime. Anita, the head of the costuming department, left a nice outfit hanging up with a pair of oxford on the oddly colored carpet. The pleated dress pants fit his slender legs nicely, recalling the last time he wore something decorous was to funerals, but he should probably keep that to himself.

The freshly ironed white button up felt soft against his skin, tucking it in and rolling the sleeves to his elbows. The black ink that decorated his arms stood out even more against such a fair tone. Looking in the illuminated mirror, he adjusted every crevice he could spot before meddling with the top few buttons of his shirt.

Opting to leave the top one open, he took off his guitar pick necklace, placing it in the drawer to his left. While there was likely no one coveting the old plastic plectrum, he kept on guard as often as he could. He recalled the conversation at the diner while fetching his blue toothbrush, scrubbing extra thoroughly to avoid hypocrisy.

The glass bottle of cologne on the shelf reached a halfway point as he coated himself, giving one spritz down his pants for extra assurance. Shoving the leather shoes on his feet, he flew open the door and grabbed it before it crashed with the wall. The hallway buzzed with chatter as scenes changed, props scattered on the floor that Eddie made sure to dodge as efficiently as he could.

The set was pristine, looking like the bedroom of an upper middle class family, the kind Eddie used to dream of having to be able to cover his posters across the paint. The bedside table had a small lamp, illuminating the stack of books beneath it and a small jewelry dish with tangled necklaces.

The cocoon of nerves winding tight in his belly grew firmer, his throat constricting on the blowing air conditioning. Rubbing his neck and forcing a cough, he tapped his foot against the rug placed beneath the ‘room’ set up.

Hearing a growing bundle of voices, he turned to see Bill and Rich rambling, hands flying for emphasis and extravagance. But behind them was you and Henry, linked arms to keep your feet steady in the tall heels.

Your hair was done casually, falling to your back in curls against your bare shoulders. The black dress had thin straps and a heart shaped neckline that accentuated your bust before flowing to your midthigh. Bidding Henry farewell, you walked further onto the soundstage and closer to Eddie.

The heels were blisters waiting to happen, rubbing at your ankle and big toe in an uncomfortable way. Despite this, you adored your outfit, feeling grateful that Henry had vetoed the first dress Anita brought that was a vibrant pink with black stripes.

“Hey Eddie.” You approached him, smiling beneath your rosy red lipstick that would soon litter his skin.

“Hey.” He spoke, voice quieter than it had been just an hour earlier, but as your lips parted to check in, it was time to set up.

The plot was simple enough. You were a couple that just got back from stellar date night, one where sex isn’t on your mind as you drive or as you walk in your house. However when the lights to the bedroom flicker on, there’s something boiling beneath both of you as you want to prove how much adoration you have for one another.

Scenes like this could be more intimidating than intense ones. Instead of the power dynamics being physical, like being tied or gagged, this was emotional. To be convincing, you have to play the part as well as you can, that having sex wasn’t just to come, but to be so close to someone you feel within your bones already.

“Sorry, excuse me.” Eddie mumbled, escaping the group to walk to his dressing room, closing the door quickly. Rich and Bill gave each other a look of confusion, before Rich took the initiative to set up the camera.

Filming Bill was a frantic mess, leaving everyone in his path frazzled, just like always. With panic in his eyes, he wordlessly noted this wasn’t like Eddie, and you knew that. With careful steps, you neared his wooden door.

A flashback to your first encounter flickered in your brain, hesitating your fist until you eventually caved. A muffled ‘Yeah?’ was barely audible, but it gave you enough of a warrant to enter, slowly pushing it to anticipate any refusal.

Eddie didn’t know what was wrong with him. His stomach felt like it was getting wrung out, contorting into shapes as his chest felt heavy. The overstimulation of voices, bodies, and objects infiltrated every one of his senses, believing he could even taste the words leaving anothers mouth.

Not even registering his departure, he somehow made it to his room, much quieter and subtle.. The thing he couldn’t escape was his body, despite the exchange of environment, it still felt constrained. Rubbing his hands against his face, he paced as he plotted some way to feign serenity for just an hour.

Picking at his nails, he replied to the knock with little thought, not looking up as the person had fully stepped in.

“Eddie, you okay?” You questioned, guiding the handle back until it clicked shut. He released a forceful huff, running a hand through his long hair.

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t know, I just feel kinda off. My chest and stomach feel tight.” He affirmed, still looking at his shoes and shoving his fists in his pockets. He familiarized himself with the inner stitches, the way the miniscule thread bound such material together, the inner to the outer layers.

Cautiously taking a step forward, he tilted his head to meet your line of sight as you showed concern. Your eyes were much more tender than the ones he saw under the harsh stage lights, the mellow aura of the room at the moment made your feature appear softer.

Soft hands cradled his face, thumbs running across the lines of his cheeks, putting just a hint of pressure that miraculously made him placid. Inching north, the application on the exterior creases of his eyes made them flutter shut as he took a hefty breath. Your fingers crawled closer as you rubbed between his eyebrows, sliding them back down to cradle his face.

“Where did you learn that?” Eddie questioned, feeling more relaxed than he had in days, the taut muscles causing him aches were weightless.

“My mom used to do that to me when I’d get fidgety, I did it to my younger sister when she was upset. Must be magic.” You smiled, relieved that the close contact wasn’t awkward and welcomed, watching his cheeks flush to a natural hue. “I’ll give you a second to get ready.”

He watched as you walked away, closing the door quietly with the patter of heels following. He could still feel the tender caress against his face, the pads of your fingers skimming his scruff and the scar between his eyebrows after he hit a swingset as a kid.

Sitting on the edge of his chair, he took controlled breaths, finding a proper headspace for the scene. He needed to be gentle, but passionate. Everyone in that room needed to be convinced that they had made love millions of times prior, knowing the other's body as well as they know their own. He thought back to the first time he met you, how you moaned against his lips when he gripped your thighs and tugged at his hair when his tongue flickered over your breasts.

With his pants feeling tighter, he hopped up just in time as everyone rushed to assemble the finishing touches. Your hair was being sprayed once more, thanking the stylist and walking to the edge of the stage. Eddie went up beside you, standing shoulder to shoulder, observing how each and every aspect needed to be just right.

“Thanks by the way.” He interrupted, putting his hands behind his back and clasping them.

“Anytime.” You teased, but you knew you would actually do it if he asked, especially with those button eyes. Shutting the prop door in front of the two of you, Eddie held it still in fear it would fall on top of you.

With the finishing touches, it was time to start. The slate was filled out for scene one, take one as Bill and Rich called their cues for sound and filming. With a snap of plastic, Rich’s voice boomed over the room as it fell silent, “Action!”

Eddie opened the door, allowing you to walk in first, following the instructions given. You were to walk in first, giving the camera a chance to scan your body, and give the scene a quiet moment before everything began. Time was given to observe Eddie as he shut the door and approached you narrowly.

“That restaurant was really good, tonight was so fun.” You professed, turning cautiously and flipping your hair over your shoulder.

“I’m glad, but is tonight already over?” He questioned with the corner of his lips turning up, arms snaking around your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel the outside of his trousers, pressing into your lower stomach.

You shrugged, putting your hands behind his neck, fiddling with the collar. With your lip between your teeth, you furrowed your eyebrows together in faux thought. He looked at you expectantly, the lack of a script was making him overthink any hesitation in your speech, but you hadn’t given him a reason to worry yet.

“I don’t know, you didn’t get me dessert.” You pouted, pressing your chin to his chest, looking up at him. Laughing boisterously, his head tilted back as his Adam's apple bobbed, shaking his head as if he simultaneously couldn’t believe, but expected the rebuttal.

A firm hand smacked then grabbed your ass, making you squeal as he lifted you up, arms shifting below your bottom. The giggles were genuine as he walked towards the bed, slouched over his shoulder and bright lights blinding any surroundings.

“Put me down!” You yelp, putting a firm hand on his own butt that was now in arms reach. He jolted, making a tsk noise, dropping you onto the bed and bouncing up.

“You’re gonna regret that.” He teased, straddling over you as he unbuttoned his shirt. Propping to your elbows, you watched in amusement as he struggled to get them undone with his thick fingers, tongue poking out in concentration.

Sitting up, your smaller fingers were able to undo them efficiently, but you indulge in his body in front of you. Running a hand against his stomach, a hint of hair above his belt buckle made you warm, pressing a kiss above his belly button while pulling the shirt from his pants.

Dramatically flinging it off for comedic effect, you began the examination of his belt. Pulling the leather through the metal buckle, it made a satisfying sound as it dragged against the fabric and falling to the floor. The noise alone made your thighs clench,

As you went for his pants, he grabbed your hands in one of his as the other tilted your head up. He looked angelic with his face flushed, hair surrounding him like a halo, the bright lights solidifying his cherubic status. Even his chocolate curls reminded you of the Renaissance paintings of small angels carrying harps.

“As much as I love this, I’d like to see a lot less clothes on you.” He jested, sliding his warm hands beneath your thighs to push it upward. There was a slight malfunction as he couldn’t get it off your shoulders in one go, eventually shimmying it off and leaving you in just a thong.

He laughed in a sharp breath, leaning back with his hands perched on his waist, looking down at you. The stance was meant to be sexy, giving him and Rich a second to observe you with pert nipples and lacy panties. He looked more dominant for some obscure reason, despite the scene being fairly common, it was the essence that dripped from him like honey.

Leaning down to meet your lips, you cupped his jaw, tasting the mint toothpaste on his tongue mixed with chapstick. Snaking your palm behind his neck, one of his knees planted itself on the mattress, keeping him sturdy as he pulled you closer to the edge.

Attempting to slide down to the floor, he catches you by the armpits, lowering you easily and fixing your hair. The action is sweet, making your cheeks flush, but you continue your mission of undoing his pants. His thighs were nice, you remembered that from last time, but something about him in refined garments made you more lustful.

The boxers beneath were easier to discard, allowing him to step out of both after you shoved them downward. His dick was pretty, something that definitely couldn’t be said for everyone, and you went eagerly for his tip. The bead of precum fell to your tongue as you dragged against his slit, an assuring hiss from above.

Rich moved closer with a handheld camera, putting it at the level of Eddie’s shoulder. Fluttering your eyelashes, you peered up as you went down to his base. The hairs tickled your nose, but you moaned salaciously and popped off.

“You’re nothing, but trouble, you know that?” Eddie croaked, urging your mouth open with his grasp on your cheek. With your tongue out, he slapped his hardened length against it and slid to the engulfing entrance of your throat.

When Rich moved back to his previous position, you rested your hands on his thigh comfortably, keeping your motions steady with the help of his guidance. But his free hand came to one of yours, interlocking them and letting them stay at his waistline.

He noticed the soft lines by your eyes when he did this, flicking his brows upwards quickly with a strangled moan. You swirled your tongue around him like you need to remember every detail, doting over each vein or patch of skin, creating your masterpiece of eroticism.

Despite his growing experience, Eddie found himself becoming overwhelmed as you maneuvered your way around his manhood, thumb stroking the back of your hand. He yanked your hair to give him access to your lips, crouching to kiss them hastily while tugging you up. His eagerness was soothed briefly by your touch, holding his shoulders while your body pressed against him, feeling the thin fabric between your legs.

With little contemplation, he went to his own knees, nipping your navel and then the petite bow at your waistline. You watched in awe as he held eye contact, dragging your panties down with his teeth until they reached your knees. Motioning towards the bed with a nod, he began removing your shoes as you sat growing wetter and wetter.

The subtly throb in your foot felt relief as he slid them off, humming as he planted a soft kiss to your instep and ankle. He ran his nose up your soft leg, looking up to your amused look with a laugh, biting your thigh.

“I feel like you’re trying to eat me, baby.” You crooned, his face blocked by his wild hair, but you felt his face skim past your cunt. With a sharp breath, you laid on your bare back against the cool comforter, letting your legs spread.

“I’m getting there, doll.” He huffed playfully, licking up your folds to taste your desire. Moans fall from your lips as his vibrates against your core, fluttering at his tender touch. The silk skin glides seamlessly against his eager tongue with little resistance, only breaking his stride to suck on your clit.

The exaggerated slurping noises could’ve made you laugh, but you threw your head back with a moan, running a hand over your breast. With certain people, it was tricky to remember you were in a scene, but then there’s moments where it’s so stereotypical that it takes you by surprise.

Not to say that Eddie wasn’t exquisite at his job, it was pleasurable, but his job was ultimately to perform. You both were paid to give people an intimate show that typically ended in an orgasm if you’re lucky.

Making direct eye contact with the camera, you bit your lip and groaned before letting your mouth fall open. Running your hands through your own hair, you let them hang up by your ears as Eddie made his way upward.

His lower face was doused in your wetness, leaving a subtle trail of it as he kissed up to your chest, latching to a nipple. Lifting his head, you left pecks from his forehead to his nose and to his cheeks, wrapping your legs around his waist. The new angle gave you a chance to flip over, still attacking his face as he blushed.

“I want your cock inside me.” You stated, rising to hover over his blooming erection as he watched. Truthfully, he wasn’t used to having someone else in control, his scenes usually had him making the rules and calling the shots. While there was no power dynamic for this one, it was interesting to see you start on top.

“I think I can manage that.” He replied with a chuckle, holding your hips still as you began to descend, slipping the tip inside. The pair of you cried out, a mix of sincere and elaborate with the way he pierced through and you squeezed.

Being on top was always riveting as gravity assisted, for better or for worse. Needing extra leverage, you placed your hands on his thigh to begin bouncing, leaning back to give a camera a full shot. Eddie went to his elbows, rolling his eyes at the way your chest moved hypnotically and your slick decorated him.

“You’re so big, it never gets easier.” You cried, satisfaction evident in your proclamation, and feeling firm hands grab your waist.

“Wouldn’t be so hard if you weren’t so fuckin’ tight.” He hissed, repositioning your chests flushed to one another as his feet planted on the bed.

The thrusts up inside you started gentle as it built momentum, taking note of when your tone became softer and not as rigid. As your body relaxed, he quickened his pace as your hands clutched the sheets.

A cameraman did a close up of where you connected, the sultry noises of skin picking up from the boom microphone. Eddie slowed it down to give the man a better shot before regaining his tempo.

As you began to clench around him, Eddie flipped your bodies so he could hover above you, caging you in his warm body. He entered you with more intention this time, sling and languid with not just the orgasm in mind, but bordering on the love making requested of them.

“I love you.” You gasped, kissing his lips abruptly, threading your fingers through his curls and pushing it back, making both of your faces easier to see.

“Fuck, I love you too, baby.” He groaned, “You gonna come all over me?”

“Please, come inside of me.” You shrieked, feeling the climax approaching in a hot wave until it consumed you. As your body struck with pleasure, you felt Eddie’s release coat your inner walls, bringing you back to reality.

Eyes fluttering open to see his big brown ones with a dopey smile, you giggled for the 100th time and cupped his crinkled cheeks. Regardless of his softening length inside you, his mouth was avid and met you with affection.

“Let’s get a shot of it dripping from her!” Rich called, snapping you both from the embrace and Eddie rolling beside you. The device went close to your pussy as his come flooded out into your lips, taking a finger to spread it and taste it.

“That’s a wrap! Great work!” Bill called, the prolific noise resuming in the room as assistance ran up with your robes. The cotton was comforting as it covered your body, tying the knot to keep it closed in front of you as the man beside you mimicked your actions.

Going your separate ways with a brief goodbye and closing the doors to your dressing rooms, you could hear the muffled voice of James Hetfield from down the hall. You laughed to yourself, grabbing your clothes to go into the showers and thinking about the way he wiped chocolate from the corner of your lip.

—--

This was a first for Eddie.

Typically after a day of shooting, he was ready to eat boxed mac and cheese and drink beer. But he was standing in the beaded back room of Family Video, glad that Robin was not in for another hour. Skimming the names on the torn paper VHS covers, his calloused index finger hit the letter E.

Grabbing the tape, he rushed to the clerk and to his van, not uttering a word to anyone. Shoving it in his bag, he sped out of the parking lot with a black trail from his tires. Hands fiddling with the hairs in his brows, suppressing the urge to tug at them as each light turned red or a pedestrian crossed the street.

Consolation filled his chest as he realized both Robin and Steve were gone, their cars missing from the busy lot. Skipping over a few steps on his way up the stairs, he fumbled with his keys as they rang through the cold, outdoor walkway. The click of the lock sent him flying in, racing to his bedroom and locking that door for an extra safe measure.

The old television was wooden with a coat hanger sticking from the antenna, providing dodge news channels, Saturday morning cartoons, and the occasional sitcom. The VHS player beneath it was covered in dust as most movie nights were in their living room, almost never finishing before they got distracted and did something else.

As the tape slipped in the player, he sat on the floor and took a deep breath. Clicking the play button created an unpleasant static before you appeared, sitting on a bed with a lilac dress on, flustered as the man behind the camera complimented you.

Even before his career, Eddie didn’t get the opportunity to watch porn a lot, resorting to crinkly magazines or if a friend had premium cable that got X-Rated channels. When he did join, he didn’t find it enjoyable after knowing all the mechanics, most of the stars, and how some didn’t like each other outside the thin walls.

“I’m Eos, I guess.” You announced meekly, tucking hair behind your ear, your foot shaking against your other ankle. The shoes were wedges, not nearly as tall as the ones from earlier, but enough to emphasize your legs.

Eddie had a vast mind that ran almost constantly, going from one obscure thought to another with little guidelines. As he watched the blurry screen, he focused more on the abstract elements that most who rented this film didn’t, especially since they had their cock in hand and he twisted his bracelet. Realizing how the background looked recognizable, like the Castle Hotel on the other side of town, one he recorded once in and hated it. It smelled like gasoline and had little noise cancellation.

The small indents of where your shoe hugged your ankle appeared as you slipped them off, very similar to the same ones he felt earlier. Somehow this felt more perverted, the fact he wasn’t just jacking off to it, but truly watching it.

Losing patience, he grabbed the remote beneath a pile of clean clothes on his dresser with some tumbling to the floor with his sharp movements. Clicking the white arrows, it sped through the introductions and getting acquainted with being in front of a camera, stopping when your clothes were discarded.

A shaky breath ran through his lungs when you pressed a vibrator to your clit, achieving a timid gasp at the incentive as you began to glisten under the bright lights. The stirring in his stomach was a mix of arousal and nausea, feeling his face scorched, but his pants constrict.

With a few more taps to the remote, you had a dildo between your legs as a haughty song blared through the weak speakers, jolting Eddie to sit straighter. Your mewls were barely audible and the angles were atrocious, scanning down your body as you whined and traveling up as your cunt made amatory noises.

Rewinding to the beginning and ejecting it, he sat with it in his hands, slightly disgusted with himself and his evincing erection. Shoving it back in his bag, he marched to the bathroom and shut the door aggressively unintentionally.

Tugging at his knotted hair, he dragged his clammy paws down his warm cheeks and looked at his own brown eyes in the mirror. The bags under them were more prominent as he was deprived of sleep, too many thoughts infiltrating his waking moments till his body finally gave out.

Turning on the faucet, he splashed tepid water in his face, droplets decorating him like ornaments on a tree. His lashes clumped to a darker brown as he cooled down, blindly reaching for his hair tie in the side drawer to put it in a low bun.

His hands clenched the beige granite countertops littered with products and guitar picks, subconsciously noticing the way he could make out a dog in the splotches of black igneous rock. Stretching backwards till his rear hit the white wall, he rolled himself against it until he saw his own reflection once more, continuously asking himself the same question.

Why the fuck did you rent that tape?

authors note: hi there! thank you for reading and for your patience! i can't begin to say how much reading the comments on my first part means to me, i love writing and i'm glad i can do it for people with a similar interest as me. a special thanks to my loves autumn ( @lilacletter ) and august ( @indouloureux ) for being my favorite people and helping me with this piece. mwah.

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