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bobluvbot · 2 months

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late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it) wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part.

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest.

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort.

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement.

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts.

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world.

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall.

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better.

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did.

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft.

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier.

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it.

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare.

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa?

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal.

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope.

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response.

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell?

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy.

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread.

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back.

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm.

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man.

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him.

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach.

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?”

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.”

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind.

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck.

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence.

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.”

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin.

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought.

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?”

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allieebobo · 8 months

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Do you have any if recommendation?

Ooh! I have really, really bad memory(!!) but these are current faves that I have played/replayed recently that I can think of. A lot of the authors are also THE BEST HUMAN BEINGS EVER. So, double recommendation.

I probably missed a bunch out, so take this as a non-exhaustive list! In no particular order:

(Edit: Added some descriptions but yeah I got a little unhinged so I'm sorry nothing makes sense or if the quality of the write-up went down over time/did not actually give you any useful info)

WIPs with demos

Citadel, @bouncyballcitadel (I think of all the IFs on this list, this one makes me sweat the most. And I've said it once and I'll say it again: the dialogue is so snappy and well-written, and characters are SO DAMNED LOVEABLE.)

Infamous, @infamous-if (I've been manifesting Band/Musician IFs for the longest time, and then this popped up! I've even played Choice of a Rockstar, that's how desperate I was... Anyway, this is legions better than that. Angsty ex routes are my kryptonite, and Seven is just. Inevitable.)

Defiled Hearts: The Barbarian, @defiledheartsblog (I went into this wanting something juicy and fun/historical—and it's all of those things, but I didn't expect it to be so damned funny, too. The ROs are all impeccable.)

Raiders of the Caravan and Apartment 3-3, @leftski-if (A'ight listen, fantasy slice-of-life is my fave genre, and these are IT. Like, everything I never knew I needed in my life, and SO cozy/wholesome, with a cast of characters that I want to befriend in real life.)

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: An Affair of the Heart @doriana-gray-games (First off, the customization in this game is INSANE, and the branching too. I've replayed a couple of times and the little variations I discover each time just blows my mind. Secondly, it's so funny and written so well. Ngl I'm not a Sherlock fan but that's just testament to how amazing this IF is.)

When Life Gives You Lemons, @when-life-gives-you-lemonssss (Modern slice-of-life with an adorable kid, a bunch of hot ROs, CC. Hill's humor, what can I say?)

Golden @milaswriting (Really interesting world-building, one of the coolest fictional cities I've read in an IF, AND I'm obsessed with the ROs, in particular K de la Renta. Also Mila is such an awesome writer, I'm beyond excited for @beyondthegame.)

A Tale of Crowns @ataleofcrowns (This game is beautiful, polished, and SO exciting. Honestly, it looks like the kind of game created by a whole-ass game studio and would cost $50 to buy, it's that good. I really got swept up by this IF—probably played it all in one go.)

Rougi @rougi-if (Again, another game with scrumptious visuals/UI and also is just so well-crafted. I love the premise too, it's so original and fresh.)

Scout: An Apocalypse Story @anya-dev (Unfortunately this one might be on hiatus but I am/was really, really obsessed.)

Wayfarer @idrellegames (Love the game mechanics of this one, and the visuals. Probably controversial, but I like the D&D / random dice effect. And I also like the fact that it feels like an old-school RPG.)

Chop shop @losergames (The premise is all I needed to be sold, really—I'd always wanted to buy GTA as a kid but my parents were like NO WAY. Anyway, this IF did not disappoint, and let me live all my childhood dreams.)

Edit: AHH! How could I forget, one of my recent faves, Folksaga @folksaga-if (Lush atmospheric writing, super unique premise—norse mythology, plus I'm head over heels for Katla).

Completed IFs

Butterfly Soup 1 and 2 @brianna-lei (these are completed and I will never not promote them. Honestly the most adorable, wholesome, funny sports/coming-of-age IF I've read)

Elsinore: After Hamlet @lapinlunairegames (Insanely cool premise, insanely cool execution)

The Thick Table Tavern @manonamora-if (I love bar/tavern games, and this one actually lets you mix drinks! Instant fave.)

Other HGs/COGs I love: Slammed, Tin Star, Fallen Hero, If it pleases the court, A Player's Heart (these last two are so underrated, though I guess cause it's mainly wlw)

#asks #if #IF recommendations #other IFs #interactive fiction

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?

hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!

IMPLODING THE MIRAGE

Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)

You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)

imploding the mirage — the killers

i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining

He was the moon, and she was the stars.

It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.

The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.

So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.

He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.

Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.

He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.

“Where to next, Moon Boy?”

She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.

He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.

“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”

Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—

“Jesus Christ!”

You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.

“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”

Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”

“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”

He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.

“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”

You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.

He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.

You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.

You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.

“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.

“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”

You frowned.

“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”

“Hell of a time for that to happen.”

He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.

“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”

Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.

“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”

Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.

“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”

Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.

“Of course Steven made you.”

A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?

You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.

You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”

You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.

She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.

Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.

“Fuck, Marc.”

She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.

“Want you—need you so bad.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.

“Shit, I—sorry.”

You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.

You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.

“It’s nothing, Marc.”

You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.

He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.

“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”

There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.

“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”

You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.

Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.

“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”

She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.

“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”

She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”

He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.

“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”

“Why do you push me away?”

She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”

He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.

You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.

You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.

You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.

You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.

Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.

“No.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.

“What?”

Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.

“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”

The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.

“I—you?”

He glowered playfully.

“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”

That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.

“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”

Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.

You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”

You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.

Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.

“But what about how you feel?”

His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”

Anger flared within you.

“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”

Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”

“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”

You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.

Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.

“No, nena. I’m sorry.”

You turned away.

“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”

You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.

“What if he breaks my heart?”

He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”

The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.

She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.

He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.

“G’mornin’, darling.”

He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.

“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”

He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.

“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”

She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.

“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”

She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.

“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”

“G’mornin’, darling.”

The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

“Steven! Shit!”

You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.

“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”

You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”

You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.

“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”

There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.

Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.

He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.

“There we are—good as new.”

He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...

Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.

“Bon apétit.”

You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.

“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”

He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.

You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.

“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”

He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.

“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”

She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.

“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”

“S’there somethin’ on my face?”

Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.

“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”

He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”

You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.

“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”

“Yes.”

You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.

He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.

“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.

“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”

She’s lying.

Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.

And how do you know that?

Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.

What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?

Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’

But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.

He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.

“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”

You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.

Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.

You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.

“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”

There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.

The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.

He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—

Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?

Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.

Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?

You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.

You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.

hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x

It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.

What if this was from his latest mission?

It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.

You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.

“Where is it?”

A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.

“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”

To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.

“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”

He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.

“I just wasn’t alone.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.

“Looking for this?”

She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.

Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.

When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.

“Thanks.”

Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.

Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.

“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”

He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.

“Marc. I mean it.”

He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.

“Yeah, I know.”

She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.

“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”

Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.

Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.

“Wake up, little star.”

Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.

“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—

“Wake up!”

With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.

When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.

He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.

“Marc?”

You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.

“Drink.”

He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.

“I—what happened?”

You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.

“What do you remember?”

He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—

“Was I kidnapped?”

You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.

“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”

He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.

“What do you mean?”

You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.

“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”

“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”

His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.

“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.

“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”

“Stop!”

He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.

“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”

“You don’t think I know that?”

Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.

“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.

“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”

His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.

“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”

You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.

“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”

“At least we’d be suffering together.”

It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.

“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”

“See you?”

He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.

“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”

You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.

“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”

Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.

“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”

His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.

“I—what?”

“I—”

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”

He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.

“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?”

You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.

“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”

Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.

“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”

“But that’s not true.”

He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.

“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”

“But you told me—”

“Well, I lied.”

He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.

“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”

Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.

“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”

“I know.”

He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.

“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”

“I’m a big girl, Marc.”

You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.

“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.

“I know.”

It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.

“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”

You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”

Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.

“He—he did?”

Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.

“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”

“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”

Marc’s brows furrowed.

“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”

You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.

“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.

“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”

“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”

You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”

You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.

“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”

“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”

His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.

“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”

You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.

“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid.”

He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.

“It’s just not true.”

“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”

She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—

“Hey. Where’d you go?”

It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.

You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—

“Sorry.”

You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.

“What were you thinking about?”

Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”

It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.

He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.

When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.

“Wait—wait.”

You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.

“I just—”

You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”

He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.

“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”

You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.

When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.

“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”

You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.

You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”

You felt a small smile find your face.

“Really?”

He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.

“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.

“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”

You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.

“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”

He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.

He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.

“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.

The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.

“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”

You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.

“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”

You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.

“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”

He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.

“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.

“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”

Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.

“You want my cum, baby?”

You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.

“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”

He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.

“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”

His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.

He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.

You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.

It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.

“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”

Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.

“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”

Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.

“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.

“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”

Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.

You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.

“Told you so.”

Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.

You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.

“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”

You nodded.

“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.

“And you called me estrellita.”

You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.

“Estrellita?”

He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”

You explained, and he shook his head.

“I know that, but I—hmm.”

His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”

You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.

“He fucking what?”

Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?

Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.

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jjkeremika · 4 months

Text

Valentine

description: AoT men and women asking you to on a valentine's date <3

pairing: Levi; Armin; Jean; Erwin; Eren & Mikasa; Historia; Zeke; Reiner x reader

Levi

Levi stood at your apartment door with flowers and concert tickets to your favorite band. He shifted his weight between his heels and toes as he nervously wondered if he should turn back before you realized he had arrived.

Two solid knocks and a light pause later, you opened the door to his stoic demeanor, his lips relaxing into a smile at the sight of you in comfy clothes. He briefly glanced down to his ratty jeans and aged leather jacket. “Hey,” he greeted after clearing his throat, regretting his appearance. He felt he should've dressed up for you.

“Levi, hey!” you returned excitedly, about to pull him in for a hug when you noticed the flowers in his hand. You didn’t comment on them. “What are you doing here? Oh! Come on in!”

You dragged him by his forearm inside, closing the door behind you. “Oh, I was just,” he said quietly, shrugging, “around. And,” Levi lifted the flowers, shifted the weight between his feet. “I saw these and thought of you.”

“Awh, Levi, they’re beautiful!” You eagerly took the flowers from him, brought them to your nose for a long sniff. “Thank you.” You hugged him with one arm before pulling away and rushing to your kitchenette. “Let me just get a vase. Make yourself comfortable as always.”

He followed you to the kitchen, stood awkwardly in the doorway and tried to not blatantly gawk at your figure as you bent over to search the cabinets for the vase.

“I, uh, also saw that Linked Horizon are coming on the fourteenth. Did you s—?”

“Oh my god, yeah!” you exclaimed, hopping up from your position in the cabinet, the ornate glass in your palms. “I saw that!” You filled the glass with water and a spoon of sugar. “But I never bought tickets and now it’s sold out.”

Levi rubbed the papery tickets against each other in his pocket. He watched as you used shears to cut the bottoms off the stems. He pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket.

“Well, if you’re not busy that day…” You carefully dropped each stem in the water, rearranging the flowers and tossing the fallen leaves and petals. He stepped into the room, drawing your attention, and held the two tickets openly. “I’d like to go with you.”

Armin

Working at the library was honestly one of your favorite parts of the day. It was slow, mindless, relaxing, and quiet. The ambiance was kind, and any sour moods evaporated instantly once you entered those archaic arched doors.

Since it was a library, you didn’t really speak with your coworkers beyond necessity, but the blond boy who spent his time at the admin desk always caught your attention—and he was always already looking to you.

The two of you spoke in an unintelligible morse code, an unspoken language of wordless greetings and longing thoughts and lingering stares.

When you both started speaking, it was by bonding over a love of puzzles and logic traps. Armin and you shared stories of writing and interpreting ciphers and tricks, discussed possibilities of work-related games for entertainment.

On the twelfth, you started your shift with the return cart, and a large note in black ink stopped you from starting the task. For Y/N, please review the following, it read, proceeded by four rows each with four columns containing a decimal value and three numbers.

You recognized the decimal shorthand and spotted the books already on the return cart. You picked up the first one and reviewed the set of numbers, eventually determining it as indicators for the desired page number, line, and word.

Once you deciphered the message, you smiled and felt the warm flutter in your belly. You dragged the cart upstairs to the main entrance, stopped outside the administration room to see the familiar fluffy blond hair poking over the computer screen.

Wordlessly you entered and sauntered over to his desk, dropped the sheet of paper with the decoded message and your answer on his desk and left with a wink, leaving him with amazed wide eyes and an open jaw as you left the room.

Will you be my valentine?

—Yes x

Jean

Connie told him the traditional approach was stupid and uninteresting. “It’s y/n! They’re cool and fun and hilarious and awesome! You can’t do something unbelievably lame like you always do,” Connie had rambled in an eccentric voice that now haunted Jean’s thoughts.

“Fucking Connie,” Jean cursed to himself as he fixed his hair in the reflection of the window, trying to maintain his balance as the train rushed over unsteady tracks. He nervously glanced down at his watch, frantically grabbed the handlebar when the tram lurched to a stop.

Jean hopped off and rushed to the bar at which the two of you had decided to meet. He spotted you instantly, in the tight red fuzzy sweater vest and still perfectly fitting baggy jeans. He regretted his overly dressed up appearance with his matching suit and pink tie for somehow still lacking.

“Y/n,” Jean leisurely greeted with an eager grin and sparkling eyes, feeling his body warm up at the quick embrace you gave, “thank you for meeting me here.”

You gestured to the free seat next to you; he sat down. “Oh, Jean, it’s my pleasure,” you said with a smile, “thank you for asking me here.”

The conversation flowed naturally, and Jean felt himself warming up from your attention, the drink, or the room. He slid his jacket off and tugged on his necktie in a failed attempt to cool off.

You noticed the pink tint on his skin and the faint hitch in his breath. You noticed the awkward tugging on his necktie, that he was wearing a necktie at all. You noticed the smile he hid when you touched his arm with your long fingernails, when your thigh brushed against his.

As the night neared its end and he still hadn’t asked, the adrenaline rushed through his veins and he heard Connie’s cynical voice echo in his brain. He felt his stomach drop with each glance towards you, because he was convincing himself he couldn’t ask, couldn’t be worth more than nothing to you.

“I’d really like to see you again,” you hinted while you both stood on the pavement, “soon.” You felt the heat burning into your skull. The shocked expression on his face was tortuous. Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe that was too far.

Maybe it was far enough. “Y/n… would you maybe like to spend Valentine’s day with me?”

Erwin

You had visited the older instructor’s office to ask some questions on the class content, to seek some extra support on upcoming assignments.

Connie had told you Smith was the most helpful of the instructors, but you neglected to factor in the biceps the size of your head, the voice that was smooth like margarine, the eyes that stranded you alone at sea. His help was marginalized by his distracting features, by the concerned expression when he asks if you understand contrasting his brilliant smile and demeanor when you say yes.

And did it really matter if you only understood when it came from him?

His elbow bumped into yours as he leaned to the side, closer to you, to view your page. "Y/n," he started, his leg brushing against yours as he uncrossed his thighs and leaned back in the chair, the skin tingling in his touch's memory, "would it help to meet regularly?"

The question alone caught you by surprise, but paired with his heavy tone, thick with uninterpretable layers, and a curious expression with a piercing blue, watchful gaze. You barely heard him tap his foot over the blood roaring in your ears.

"We can start with an additional meeting on the..." Erwin trailed off, clicking through his online tabs to find the calendar. "The fourteenth." He punctuated his sentence with a click on the date, your eye catching the empty schedule as it appeared on the screen. He turned to you. "We can start then and take it from there."

"O-Okay," you agreed, nodding in sync with the faint throb in your pelvis as your brain reeled with the improbable. "Thank you." Your voice was quiet, and you barely heard yourself speak.

"Absolutely," he breathed out, "more than happy to help." He glanced you up and down, rested his chin between his thumb and fingers to hide his lips, his light blue eyes darkening. "I'll order us something to eat too."

Eren & Mikasa

Mikasa was scribbling your and her names in the corner of her notebook page, actively drawing the small heart around it, when Eren suddenly and loudly slid into the seat next to her, causing her to jump and draw a line through the doodle. She hid it with her palm.

Eren looked at her with a bold desperation in his eyes. “Mikasa, I’ve been thinking about asking y/n out for Valentine’s…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the side sheepishly. “Do you have any ideas?”

Mikasa’s eyes widened. “O-oh,” she stuttered out, taking a half-breath to quell the unsettling feeling in her gut, “I, um.” She glanced to the palm covering the doodle. “I’ve been wondering the exact same thing actually…” She swallowed dryly. “With y/n, too…”

It’s not that she expected him to be upset, but she was surprised when his eyes lit up in a mix of excitement and relief. He perked up, straightened his spine and leaned towards Mikasa. “Let’s ask together! We can do, like, a three-person date.” He shrugged, tried to contain his eagerness. “I’m not against it. But I still have no fucking clue how to ask.”

You entered the room mid-sentence, both of their eyes focusing to you as you crossed the room to a desk. You glanced up from your phone to see both of them already looking at you, both smiling and waving immediately.

“Hey, babes,” you greeted the two of them, affectionately fixing the out-of-place strand of hair near Mikasa’s forehead. You turned to Eren and smiled wider at his eager anticipation. “I was addressing you too,” you clarified, rubbing his shoulder.

Eren leaned into your touch. “Do you have any Valentine’s plans?” Mikasa asked, playing with her pen. You spotted the heart near her hand.

You started to feel warm, flattened your lips to try to suppress the growing grin but eventually bit your bottom lip. “Not currently. Sounds like I might in a minute, though,” you responded with a wink, smiled wider at the light pink stretching across her nose.

Eren’s voice caught your attention, and you suddenly became aware of the arm he snaked around your waist under your backpack, noticed that your arm had slid along his shoulders, “Would you... want to spend it with us?” he asked nervously, before rushing out, “It doesn’t have to be a date, but, well—”

The heat settled in your stomach, and you felt your pulse in each body part. Your smile twitched at the question—at the implication.

“Yes,” you interrupted Eren’s rambling with a confident answer to a question you’ve never considered before, but now will never forget, “I’d love to spend it with you two. As a date.”

Historia

Ymir had the largest scowl on her face when Historia shyly walked over to you, a pink blush on her cheeks and a sweaty hairline. You shifted uncomfortably under Ymir’s gaze when your eyes flicked to the blonde girl standing in front of you, looking at the floor.

“Hey, y/n,” she started quietly, her cute, high-pitched voice singing in your ear, “how’s your day going?” She had a sickeningly sweet smile, one that made your stomach flip and turn with nerves. You felt your inhale cut short as she stared at you with big, rounded blue eyes.

"Good, thanks," you answered with a smile, “how’s yours?” You continued to pack your bag with your notebooks, ignoring the uncomfortable heat of Ymir’s bold glare.

“Better now,” she answered, a light rouge appearing on her cheekbones. The giddy feeling erupted in your gut and bubbled into a doey smile. “Do you have Valentine’s plans yet?”

You shook your head, tugging on the last zipper. “Nope,” you answered casually, unbothered by the notion of being single on the love holiday, “i’ll probably watch a movie at home.”

“Oh, good idea! I love movies!” Historia added, the grin taking up her face. “I..." The tips of her ears tinted pink. "I don’t have plans either." She rocked back and forth on her heels, clutched her notebook a little closer to her chest. "Would you want to watch a movie together?”

You corrected your posture and returned her soft gaze. "Yeah," you answered with an exhale, started to put your backpack on. "I'd really like that."

Zeke

Zeke haphazardly handed you the blunt, the leaflet threatening to slip from your fingertips and fall from the third story window. “Ze, careful,” you told the older man, rolling your eyes despite the smile lingering on your pursed lips, “you’re gonna’ make me drop it.”

He snorted, settling with an open mouthed smile. You watched the faint red appear around his cerulean eyes. “I can’t make you do anything.” He stretched his hand out, silently requesting the roll back.

You crossed your legs, took a long huff, then passed it over. Your fingers brushed against his, the light sensation tickling the skin for moments after. “If you hand it off wrong and I drop it, that’s your fault,” you explained simplistically, shrugging to emphasize the easiness of it all.

The smoke curled around his beard, followed the lines of the glasses resting on top of his head. He flicked the wrap, spent ash falling to the windowsill. “But I didn’t make you drop it,” Zeke retorted, blowing some residual smoke into your face. He chuckled as you closed your eyes and swatted the contaminant away.

“But you played a direct role!” You reached over and stole the blunt from him before he brought it between his lips; the blond man laughed as he let you take it, watched intently as you brought it to your own. “Wouldn’t have happened without you,” you mumbled with a long exhale, the picturesque smoke rolling off your tongue.

Zeke leaned against the wall, let his wrist rest against his knee, and tilted his head. His smile softened the longer he stared at you directing smoke and ash out the window. “I also play a direct role in asking if you want to have dinner with me on the fourteenth, but I can’t make you say yes.”

You looked out the window, suppressing the blushing grin by biting your lip. You affectionately rolled your eyes at his redirection. Not the same thing—like at all. “It’s different when you know I will,” you retorted, taking a hit and holding it until it burned, still avoiding eye contact.

“So… you will?” He eyed you carefully, handed the rest of the blunt to you and dropped his glasses onto his nose. “Say yes, I mean?” Zeke nudged your foot with his.

The roll slipped from your fingers as you focused on hiding your red cheeks and toothy grin behind your palm. “Well, obviously, yeah,” you answered sheepishly. You spotted the wrap on the wooden floor. “And see! You made me drop it!”

Reiner

You patted into the kitchen to find Reiner in front of the stove, steam rising from the pans as he shifted between items. You admired his bare back, the smooth, silky-looking skin intimately caressing tight, bulky muscles interrupted only by the thin linen apron straps.

The sudden noise of the espresso machine caused you to jump and squeal, which brought Reiner's attention to you. He hurried over, gave you a quick kiss to the cheek. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet," he murmured between more kisses, eventually pressing his lips to yours for a lingering lock.

"I can smell everything from the next room," you responded, lightly tapping his firm chest and kissing his lips again. He pulled away to attend to the aromatic contents on the stove. You sat on a bar stool. “Smells delicious, by the way.”

You saw the way his thin lips morphed into a pleased smile. “Should taste so, too,” he hummed his agreement, turned his back towards you for five more minutes. You indulged in the sight, feeling your own pupils dilate to take in more of his broad shoulders and tailored back.

Then he was making a lot of ruckus, rapidly opening drawers to find utensils and rushing to and from the fridge for toppings and ingredients. He was tossing food onto one plate and carefully aligning it on another.

You slipped off the stool to peak over, smiled at his concentrated brows and peaking tongue as he drizzled chocolate onto the dish.

You were right behind him when he turned around with the dish ostentatiously in his hands, his kind blue eyes sparkling with pride and excitement and anticipation.

You audibly gasped and brought your hands to your open smile. “Reiner! Wow!” you said astonished, hearing and feeling your stomach rumble with hunger at the sight of the heart-shaped pancakes with a chocolate lace drizzle, at the bacon and eggs and toast arranged on the side.

He waited for you to read the hidden message, the note written in jam on the toast. You giggled, took the plate from him to put on the counter, and embraced him. “I’d love to be your valentine,” you said with a long kiss.

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tiannasfanfic · 1 year

Text

Paparazzi

Eddie Munson x Reader (Angst)

| Eddie Munson Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: All of Eddie Munson's dreams come true when Corroded Coffin finally catches their big break. But once the record deal is signed, the executives take control of their images, lives and their relationships.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Author Note: Afab reader, they/them pronouns. Angst with a Happy Ending. Rockstar!Eddie AU where record labels have old Hollywood like control of their artists lives.

CW: Controlling behavior from record label; social alcohol use; secret relationship; mentions of cheating but no actual cheating; smut (kissing, fingering, blowjob, tit job, p in v, slight exhibitionism); consensual non-con photos taken by paparazzi.

Word Count: 12,937

Eddie Munson Taglist: @eddie-swhore

Life is a bit complicated when you are the secret girlfriend of a rockstar. While it certainly comes with a lot of benefits, and the lifestyle it provided was beyond anything in your wildest dreams, it came at the steep price of some heartache and emotional discomfort.

Though, in all honesty, “secret” was purely a subjective word at this point. The rest of the band knew. All of their people knew. The record label knew. The touring crew knew. His wife knew. All of her people knew. Anyone that needed to know knew.

The general public, on the other hand, did not know, which is how you found yourself the mistress of your high school sweetheart.

How exactly did this happen, you ask?

Now that certainly is quite a story.

Once Eddie’s name had been cleared of all murder charges, the members of Corroded Coffin made getting the hell out of Hawkins their number one priority. It took a little over a year once the last member graduated from high school, but the band was finally able to make the move together to Indianapolis. They shared a small, one room apartment since it was all they could afford and set out to make a name for themselves.

Like most bands, Corroded Coffin was discovered purely by chance. After a couple years of playing in bars around the city, one of their shows was seen by an agent from Los Angeles, who happened in town for a wedding and took a break from family to relax to some local music. That’s how the band met Joe, the man who would become their manager and who would help catapult them to success.

With Joe’s help, they got a demo recorded and then Joe managed to get one of their songs on the radio. It took off, giving the band quite a bit of local popularity. After yet another move, this time to LA, they once again started over fresh, but soon Joe had them playing regular gigs around the city. It was only a matter of time before they were signed to a label and their demo re-recorded to be released as their first studio album.

It was shortly after this, when the band began to rise in popularity, that they realized how little the music industry actually dealt with music. Creating and maintaining an image was the largest priority.

And the image they had, as it turns out, was metal as hell right out the gate.

Four childhood friends from a small town in Indiana that were bullied for being outcasts. They lost three, almost four, classmates to serial killer Henry Creel. Front man, Eddie Munson, was initially accused of the murders due to being a metalhead loner but was eventually cleared on all charges. They survived a devastating earthquake that nearly destroyed their hometown but destroyed their homes. The front man himself then spent months recovering from a physical assault that nearly killed him and left prominent scars on his body. Through it all, they stuck together.

Everything about their story, particularly Eddie’s, was absolute perfection. It paired beautifully with their music and lyrics, with Eddie’s descriptions of bats in an upside down being seen as a metaphor for bullies terrorizing their victims.

It was all perfect except for one tiny detail.

You.

“Absolutely fucking not!” Eddie yelled, jumping to his feet so fast the chair nearly toppled backwards. “Whoever thought of that one can shove it up their ass!”

It been a casual, relaxed Monday morning up until that point. Everyone was well rested coming off the weekend. It had been quiet one, giving you all some much needed time off. The majority of it you and Eddie spent at home. Despite the fact you two went everywhere and did everything together, you never grew tired of each other’s company.

However, everyone went from relaxed to angry in two seconds once Joe told them what the executives at the label had suggested for Eddie to give himself an edger image.

“Eddie, let’s just-“ Joe started to say, slowly rising to his feet behind his desk, his hands making a settle down gesture.

“Let’s just what?” Gareth interrupted, looking as furious as Eddie, but still sitting down.

“Let’s just talk about this calmly,” Joe said. “I wasn’t saying I-“

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Jeff interrupted now, also angry looking.

“Right!” Nick yelled, jumping to his feet. “We’re not going to ditch Y/N and leave them behind for no good fucking reason!”

But in the minds of the label executives, they had a very good reason for suggesting this.

It was all about image. Single front men drew more attention, they said, especially when they looked like Eddie. He was someone every guy wanted to be, and every woman wanted to fuck, which would result in higher popularity in both market segments. Plus, with everything Eddie had been through, they wanted him to project himself as a lonely bad boy, but one who had a different girl on his arm every night.

Apparently, being with someone for fourteen years wasn’t very metal, nor did it mesh with the image of young, rock n’ roll promiscuity they felt Eddie should portray as his lifestyle.

Obviously, this upset you all. After so many years of leaning on each other, you all were a family now. You might as well have been in the band yourself with how close you all were.

You had been around even before Corroded Coffin, when it was just you and Eddie, two middle schoolers who fell deeply in love on the first day of school. You were there for the founding, and you were technically their very first manager even before Joe. You had worked your ass off promoting them as best you could, first at the school then the bars around Hawkins. You went with them to Indianapolis, lived in the shitty apartment with them, and dealt with just as many asshole bar owners to get them on stage time, if not more.

And then you did it all over again without complaint when they set up shop in LA, only under the helpful guiding eye of Joe. It had been a long and crazy road for the five of you, but you got through it all supporting each other.

You belonged here with them, and they knew it as well as you did. They weren’t about to just leave you behind, nor would you have let them. Not now, not ever, and certainly not just a few weeks before their first major tour as an opening act. The tour was kicking off in Seattle, hometown of the headliners. You were going to see the country with them if they had anything to say about it.

“Guys!” Joe barked, finally having to raise his voice to get their attention again. “I don’t agree with it either!”

That got them to simmer down enough that he was able to continue uninterrupted.

“Kid, I get it,” he said, putting his hands on the desk to lean over and make eye contact with the wrecked front man. “Believe me, I get it. Valerie and I hit thirty-five years next week. Coral anniversary. I still have no fucking clue what to get her. But I do know one thing.” Joe pointed one finger at Eddie. “I wouldn’t give her up either on any man’s word either.”

Joe sat back down, then made a gesture for them to do the same. Nick obliged with a heavy sigh, but Eddie came to stand behind your chair, his ringed hands resting on your shoulders. Joe pulled his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“It was only a suggestion,” he said as he put his glasses back on. “Nothing has been passed down as Word from God yet. Yet.” He held up a finger as he said the second yet. “But some of the big guys see potential in this storyline for you, which means they see money in it for them.”

“So, what are you saying?” Eddie asked with a tight voice, his hands squeezing your shoulders.

“I’m saying, now that the idea has been brought up, it’s not likely to go away,” Joe said, then leaned back in his chair. “And, judging by how excited they seem about this one, I’m guessing the order to actually sever ties with Y/N will come down soon. They’ll want time for the word about Corroded Coffin’s newly single front man to get around before the tour starts.”

Everyone quietly stared at him, speechless.

“That quick, eh?” you said, finally breaking the silence. Joe nodded regretfully. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you looked up at Eddie with a half grin. “Babe, most guys would kill for this chance. You might want to think it over a little more carefully.”

Joe was the only one to laugh, but he quickly turned it into a cough at the glare he got from Eddie.

The glare softened before it was turned on you, but you still got glared at regardless.

“This isn’t funny, Precious,” he said, and you could see it in his eyes that he was close to panic. “They’re fools if they think I would discard you so easily into the fires of Mount Doom.”

One thing you learned about Eddie Munson a long time ago is, when he’s under a lot of stress, be it from the chord of a song being difficult to having to hide at Skull Rock wanted for murder, he starts making Lord of the Rings references about the situation.

You reached up to rest one hand on top of his and gave it a soft squeeze. Eddie quickly wound his fingers through yours so you were holding hands.

“You’ve gotta admit though,” you said, smiling reassuringly. “Those assholes do have a point, babe. Most guys don’t get into this business while attached. They live a rowdy life and never settle down until they either marry a porn star or marry the mistress they cheated on their first wife with.”

As you spoke, Eddie’s face became a mask of abject horror. He quickly came around to drop to his knees in front of your chair and took your face in his hands.

“Sweetheart, please tell me we’re not splitting up right now,” he whispered, looking near tears.

“We’re not,” you said firmly, taking his face in your hands. “Absolutely fucking not. I just said they have a good point.”

Relief washed over his face, and he wrapped you in his arms. After you exchanged a tight hug, Joe cleared his throat so your attention would come back to him.

“Now, as I was about to say before you all started yelling at me,” he said, pausing to give them a fatherly glare before continuing. “There is an alternative, but it will require a lot of discretion from you two lovebirds.”

Since Corroded Coffin didn’t have much media attention outside of local music papers, you were still an unknown name in the scene. Local places knew you as Eddie’s girl. In interviews, if relationships ever came up, Eddie had only referred to you as “my girl” instead of by name. You certainly weren’t in any of the official photos the band had done. You could fade into the background easily and go unnoticed.

Based on Joe’s suggestion, which was immediately approved by the guys before you could get a word in edgewise, you went from Eddie’s longtime sweetheart to his personal assistant. That was actually the next matter on the agenda anyway since Eddie was the only member of the band without one and he needed to get the hiring done soon before the tour started.

Two birds, one stone, as they say.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you protested as the guys were taking turns high giving Joe for his ingenuity. “I’ve never been a personal assistant before! I’m not going to know what the hell I’m doing!”

“You’ll be fine,” Joe said, turning to you with a warm smile. “Trust me, my dear, I’ve had many personal assistants over the years and I’m quite sure none of them knew what they were doing either.”

Fortunately, Gareth’s personal assistant, Lucy, did know what she was doing. She was able to give you a crash course in the weeks leading up to the tour so you would know what the typical day of a personal assistant is like before you were throw into it.

While you took to your new responsibilities with ease and spent just as much time with Eddie day to day as you did before, the change in your status didn’t really become apparent until after you had left the home comforts of LA.

Two nights before the first concert of the tour, the headliners wanted to give everyone a proper welcome to Seattle by treating the bands to a night on the town. Since It was their first ever tour as the main act, they were in the mood to party. Band members, their entourages, and dates only.

Since it would look a little odd for Eddie to be the only one showing up with his personal assistant as a date, you had to break the news to him that you weren’t going. This resulted in you having to nearly force him into going since staying in with his personal assistant rather than partying with a famous band would look even odder.

While you were just as upset as Eddie, you didn’t let it show. He could tell. You knew he could tell. But keeping a brave face kept his cracks from showing. He could keep it together if you could, and that’s exactly what you did. You helped him get ready and shared the elevator down with the band until it reached the floor your room was on. All of the boys were sad you wouldn’t be joining and hugged you before you exited. With nothing left to do today, your plan was to raid the mini fridge and cry.

You were well into your second tiny bottle of vodka when a frantic knocking at the door to your room nearly gave you a heart attack. Then your mind immediately went to Eddie. Thinking he had changed his mind about staying, you rushed to the door, not sure if you were about to hug him or yell at him.

Instead, you found a very breathless Lucy standing outside.

“Here,” she said, thrusting several shopping bags into your arms. “Change into that and get your ass down to the hotel bar pronto.”

You blinked several times, looking from Lucy to the bag then back to Lucy.

“What’s going o-“

“No time to explain, just do it!” she hissed urgently, then retired to her room across from yours.

Twenty minutes later, as you stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby, you immediately regretted your decision to play along with whatever Lucy had planned.

Inside the bag had been an outfit that made it easier for you to blend in among the groupies scattered about the lobby. It was tight in all the right places, layered everywhere else just right to smooth everything out as it hugged close your body and pushed everything up to just the right angles. When paired with the high-quality black wig you found one of the other bags, you hardly recognized yourself. While it was far from your normal style, while in the privacy of your room, even you had to admit that you looked damn good. Feeling bold, you added some dark makeup, the jacket from the final bag and a pair of your own shoes to top everything off.

It was easy to feel confident while in your room, and even while on the way downstairs, but now as several patrons in the lobby looked you over, appraising you, you felt exposed and extremely uncomfortable.

You swallowed nervously, took a deep breath to calm yourself, and then did your best to ignore any leering stares as you headed for the hotel bar just as Lucy instructed.

A loud cacophony of voices and laughter hit your ears as soon as you walked in. The place was packed. You hadn’t realized this was where the bands would be gathering to meet up. It looked like they were still waiting on a few people, so they were having a few drinks as they waited to set off.

As you made your way over to sit at the bar itself, you glanced around the room. It didn’t take you long to spot Corroded Coffin. You couldn’t help but smile seeing them. Three of the guys seemed to have already found a companion for the night, while Eddie sat there playing with his rings and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. It almost made you laugh how sullen he looked, but you kept your cool as you took a seat. Since Lucy hadn’t given you any other instructions, you ordered yourself a drink.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to wait around long to figure out what scheme Lucy had been a part of. Not long after you began sipping your drink, you were fetched from the bar by Garth’s bodyguard and lead to the Corroded Coffin table.

Gareth grinned at you as he watched your approach. The glimmer he had in his eye told you this had been his plan rather than Lucy’s.

“Good evening, miss,” Gareth said to you as you stopped at their table. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting at the bar all alone. Are expecting company this evening?”

You shook your head, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

Gareth straightened up brightly, then winked at the redhead sitting with him, who giggled.

Sometime between high school and now, Gareth had become quite charming with the ladies. Granted, he wasn’t trying at all that hard with you, just enough to sell the ruse, but whatever he had said to the young woman earlier clearly still had her under his spell.

“Wonderful!” he said, then gestured extravagantly to Eddie. “My friend here also happens to be without company for the evening. We’re about to head out to dinner, but it doesn’t feel right for him to be here alone. Would you care to join him?”

You finally let your gaze slide around the table, taking in the happy grins of Jeff and Nick, before letting your gaze land on Eddie.

And you almost lost your shit laughing.

He was now sitting with his eyes closed, his facial expression a mix of annoyance and resignation, as if he were now mentally preparing himself for a long evening with unwanted companionship.

“Hmm, I’m not so sure,” you said, keeping your gaze on Eddie and tilting your head at him. “Your friend sure doesn’t look like he wants my company.”

At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s eyes shot open, and he looked up at you in confusion. It took a moment for him to register what he was seeing. His jaw dropped as realization set in.

“Pfft, that’s just his normal face,” Gareth said, making all the girls at the table laugh, and you looked back over to see him wave his hand through the air in a gesture of dismissal. “I’m sure he’d love to have your company.” He looked over at the front man with a grin. “Wouldn’t you, Eddie?”

Despite the verbal cue from Gareth, Eddie just continued to stare at you until the blonde sitting between him and Jeff finally elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oh, y-yeah,” Eddie murmured, jumping out of the booth. He cleared his throat then stepped aside, gesturing to the seat with a bow. “It’d be an honor if you would grace me with your presence, m’lady.”

The other women at table giggled at Eddie as you lowered yourself into the booth, but as you scooted over to make room for Eddie, the brunette at Nick’s side started to pout.

“Aww,” she said, winking at you. “I was just about to say, if he didn’t want your company, we certainly wouldn’t mind a third.” She looked up at Nick and winked at him. “Would we, Nicky?”

Nick nearly choked on his drink, eyes slightly widening in horror at the idea of a threesome with the girl he thought of like a sister.

“N-nah,” he said, fumbling his words for a second before thinking of a good response. “I’m a one-woman man and, baby, you’re all I need tonight.”

It was a good recovery. Nick’s words had brunette giggling and blushing. You couldn’t help but grin yourself, remembering back when Nick used to be a stammering fool around the other sex instead of the smooth talker he was now.

You couldn’t help but wonder right then where the time had gone.

As soon as Eddie was seated next to you, he wasted no time before throwing his arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. A round of introductions began, where you then pretended to not know anyone at the table.

It didn’t take long for the guys to return their attention back to their respective ladies, leaving you and Eddie in your own little bubble at the end of the table.

“Getting a bit handsy aren’t we?” you couldn’t help but giggle as he leaned in to nuzzle your ear, keeping your tone soft enough only he could hear you. “After all, we only just met, like, five seconds ago.”

Your hand slid over into his lap to softly squeeze his thigh as you spoke. Eddie sucked his breath in through his teeth, then you felt him grin against your ear.

“Well, they do say the front man of Corroded Coffin is a bit of a whore,” he said to you softly, then took ahold of your chin with his free hand and turned your head gently so you were looking at him. “And I’d say that makes me your whore, now, doesn’t it?”

Much later that night, when Eddie brought the raven-haired woman back to the hotel, he made sure everyone in the surrounding rooms heard exactly how much of a whore he was for you.

That was how things continued for most nights on the tour, with you being snuck along to parties as Eddie’s piece of ass for the night. While this wasn’t what either of you had pictured when dreaming of your life together once he made it big, Eddie didn’t care so long as you could be by his side. No matter how you were dressed, now he actually had the money to the queen you always were to him. The whole crew figured out the scheme halfway into the tour schedule, but they pretended not to for plausible deniability’s sake.

The record label wasn’t exactly happy with Eddie’s interpretation of their desires but couldn’t exactly say it wasn’t effective. The front man of Corroded Coffin was projecting exactly the image they wanted; a hard partying bad boy who had his pick of women every night. Who cared if it was the same woman in a wig? So long as Eddie kept playing it up, and your true identity went undetected, they had to let it go.

That was until they were in the studio working on their next album and Eddie unknowingly opened the door for them to finally step in.

A couple months had passed since that first tour successfully wrapped up. Corroded Coffin was enjoying more fame and publicity, but despite the happy, smiling personas the guys wore in public, they were all varying degrees of miserable. It was hard to be happy when they had little to no control over their lives.

On the day they signed with their record deal with the label, Nick made the joke that they were signing their souls away. It turned out to be a very prophetic statement. While Eddie received the brunt of it being the front man, life wasn’t much better for the rest of the band. None of them really had a say in major life decisions anymore. Even potential relationships had to be approved by label executives first.

While everyone was upset about it, there was no one more upset than Eddie. By signing his soul away, he felt like he had inadvertently signed yours away as well.

A few months after they began working on the album, the next big story in entertainment news broke. An actor just had a baby with his former personal assistant. This was the same personal assistant he was caught having an affair with the year before via telephoto lens.

While it wasn’t exactly the same situation, it inspired Eddie. Now that Corroded Coffin had started attending more publicity events, he wanted things to go back to normal with you two. He missed being able to be free with his affection for you. He had Joe pitch the idea to the label that involved him starting to publicly date his own personal assistant. It shouldn’t cause a stir like the actor did because he was single, Joe reasoned on Eddie’s behalf. They could restart their relationship over in the public eye. No one would be any wiser. Pretending to be a new couple wouldn’t be hard since the guys often teased you both about how your honeymoon period was still going on.

While the label executives did agree it was time for Eddie to start settling down and have a regular date on his arm, they had different ideas as to who would be his girl.

Eddie was then informed he would be entering an arranged relationship with someone of their choosing. However, they wouldn’t be dating for long. Not due to a breakup, but because they would be married within the next two months. It was an arrangement that would be beneficial for everyone, the executives reassured.

For his future bride, they had chosen adult actress and dancer Deandra Day. She had starred in the two most recent Corroded Coffin videos and had recently began dancing live at their local shows. The new storyline the label had in mind for Eddie was the bad boy that finally met the right woman and settled down.

And, with that, they expressly stated that Eddie was now a one-woman man effectively immediately. His public persona was to now be a man deeply in love with his wife. There were to be no more one-night stands with women from hotel bars.

The news hit hard, for both you and Eddie.

Marriage was one of the things you two had always put off for later. Mainly it had been Eddie who wanted to wait, wanting to put on a grand spectacle when it finally did happen. He had known on the very first day of sixth grade when you gave him your extra pencil that he was going to marry you. He had told you as much right then and he could still remember how baffled you initially looked after that statement. But then you grinned and said okay, the memory of voice right then could still make Eddie’s heart skip a beat.

Eddie still wanted to marry you just as much now as he did when he was twelve years old. The idea of marrying anyone else completely shattered him.

They were leaving you with your duties as his personal assistant, but little else. Your position ensured you would still be there backstage at concerts, interviews, on tours and on location during shoots. That was it. The after parties, fancy dinners, VIP sections, limo tours of cities, everything else was cut off to you now. You would have to stand back and watch as another woman took your rightful place.

While you were just as upset as Eddie about it, you weren’t exactly surprised. The executives didn’t like it when their artists outsmarted them. And you had been warned that they held grudges. Joe had long suspected the label would eventually make a play to get rid of you again in order to mold Eddie into the artist they wanted him to be. As much as Joe had tried to prepare you for it, that didn’t stop it from hurting when finally happened.

Ironically, the one redeeming quality in the whole situation was actually Eddie’s wife to be. The label had unknowingly given the both of you a huge boon in choosing Deandra for this new role.

Deandra had no interest in an intimate connection with Eddie. For her, the marriage was purely a business arrangement to further her career goals. After being in the adult industry for so long, she was interested in branching out into music. While she was a talented singer, getting a foot in the door was hard for anyone just starting out, no matter their fame in other form of entertainment. The music industry was very competitive, and one that had a lot of turnover. Deandra didn’t want to be a one hit wonder or have one good album then fade into the background. She actually wanted to have a long-term career. This marriage to Eddie would open the doors she needed in order to be successful much faster than they would normally open for her. Her commitment to the label only required the marriage to last for a minimum two years with the option to renew, which she had no intention of doing.

While on the surface it seemed like there was nothing in this for Eddie aside from having a beautiful actress on his arm, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The evenings spent on Eddie’s arm may have ended for you, but the appearance of a steady relationship opened other avenues for you to be together.

There was no need to recruit Deandra into your conspiracy. She identified the relationship after Eddie introduced you at the very first video shoot simply by the way he did it.

“He introduced you the way any man should introduce his wife,” she explained after asking them directly how long they’d been together. “And most men I’ve met don’t even introduce their own wives with that much reverence, much less their personal assistants.”

With her being in your corner, your time with Eddie actually increased after the wedding. Since the record label had no control over Deandra or her schedule, outside of her contractual appearances with Eddie, she was rarely around. Since a majority of her work in adult movies was based in the San Francisco area, she had no intention of ever selling her house to permanently move to Los Angeles. When the studio prodded at Eddie to finally purchase a house with his wife, Deandra made sure she was shooting out of town and busy with projects for other clients. You were officially sent by Deandra in her stead to give you and Eddie the opportunity to finally pick out your dream home together without the prying eyes of the label.

It ended up being way easier for a member of staff to sneak you in and out of the house everyday than it was pretending you were a groupie. The modest mansion just off the beach in Malibu had a six-car garage, two of which were always empty. All you had to do was lay down in the backseat of a car with heavily tinted windows, until they pulled inside and the doors closed. No one was ever the wiser.

Once you were inside, you and Eddie could do as you pleased. The decorator had ensured the place was outfitted with heavy duty blinds and drapes, an oddity for a mansion with such an amazing view of the ocean, but it ensured total privacy. You could be yourselves, even on the rare times Deandra stayed in Malibu. But it was easy to keep to yourselves, Deandra had her own room while you and Eddie had the master bedroom.

The end date of the arranged marriage came while Corroded Coffin was back in the studio working on their fifth album. The joint statement announcing Eddie and Deandra’s separation had been drafted by the label and Deandra’s PR team. The announcement would coincide with the album’s release to garner publicity. From adult movies to music, this was a common marketing tool many entertainers used to drum up publicity for new releases. Sad news such as a divorce always brought in sympathy dollars.

With the popularity of Corroded Coffin at an all-time high, the label executives had been in good spirits about the band for a while. They had started loosening the reins some with its members, allowing them more freedoms in their personal relationships. Joe felt confident that so long as the album succeeded as well as they’d hoped, and the divorce went smoothly, that Eddie would be able to enjoy that same freedom as well.

But just as you began to see light at the end of the tunnel, it winked out of existence.

A former disgruntled employee spoke to a tabloid about the suspiciously close relationship between the married front man of Corroded Coffin and his personal assistant. They provided firsthand accounts of witnessing suspicious behavior that occurred between the two of you.

While the source remained anonymous, everyone suspected an aide that Jeff had recently hired and then almost immediately fired after catching him stealing his fiancés jewelry. The incidents described in the interview were fairly recent, and the former aide was the only unknown among those present for them.

Luckily for the label, the editor of the tabloid who purchased the story owed one of the executives a favor and gave him a call as soon as they had bought the rights to the story. An arrangement was worked out for the label to purchase the story, and it was swiftly buried.

Unluckily for you, the label was angry. While they were willing to tolerate some controversy and scandal generated by their artists, they did not abide major scandals like adultery.

As of that day, you were barred from all properties owned or affiliated with the label. You were also barred from any concert or event sponsored by the label. On top of that, Eddie was told not to enter into any relationships once the divorce was announced because once it was final, they would have someone new already lined up for him. This time, they expected him to be a truly devoted husband and even possibly start a family with his new wife.

It was a complete disaster.

The only time you had with each other now was at home. As much as the label wanted to, they couldn’t control what went on inside the privacy of Eddie’s house, and you technically lived there. In retaliation, they started booking him for more event appearances. publicity appearances and after party appearances, keeping him away from home as much as possible. When he was at home, he was exhausted, and you let him rest as much as possible.

With the new album fixing to be released, a new tour was already being planned. It was to be Corroded Coffins first tour as the only headliner, with their opening act. But it was hard for anyone to be excited knowing you’d effectively be a prisoner on the tour bus unable to enjoy it with them. You wouldn’t be able to leave while at the venues since the tour was label sponsored. Most of the hotels they would be staying at were label affiliated, which ensured you couldn’t set foot on the properties.

Even though the story about Eddie and his personal assistant never broke, whispers overheard at the tabloid office alerted some paparazzi to a potential story regarding Corroded Coffin’s front man. No one knew specifics, of course, just that there were some rumors that Eddie Munson might be cheating on his wife. But paparazzi don’t need specifics to latch onto a lead. The house was now under constant watch, and you and Eddie both were constantly followed. As production on the album grew closer to wrapping, it began to get extremely hard for you to slip to and from your own home unnoticed.

After several miserable weeks, Deandra approached both you and Eddie with an idea.

It was a bold idea. A daring, not to mention extremely provocative, idea. But it was an idea that, if executed correctly, could be just the ticket to the freedom you all so desperately needed. But while it was you and Eddie that would be exposing yourselves to major controversy and possible public humiliation, you weren’t the only three people that would be affected by it. You sought out the rest of the band and they gave their blessing. With Joe, you two decided it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

It was all up to you and Eddie now.

Using the labels own marketing tactics against them, the three of you decided the best time to enact the plan would be the night after the new album released. The label was sitting on the joint statement regarding the divorce for at least another week, giving the album time to naturally rise up the charts before giving it that sympathy boost.

There was also a second reason for choosing that particular night. While Deandra had been in town for a couple of weeks, that particular evening she would be out for most it. After heading to dinner with her normal entourage, she would then be spending the rest of the evening MCing an event at a local club. With the after party that was to follow, Deandra didn’t expect to be home until close to sunup the next day. It wouldn’t look weird for Eddie to stay at home since they rarely attended anything together save for award shows. Deandra felt like the plan would have a better effect if she were just merely out of the house for the night rather than in another city for several days, if not weeks. It made the whole thing more taboo, in her opinion.

When the night in question finally came around, your nerves kicked up. The finality of it all was starting to sink in. After tonight, there would be no way to hide anymore, no way to blend in with the crowd. You and Eddie both were about to be put at the mercy of public opinion and let the fans decide your ultimate fate out here in California.

Once Deandra had left to head out for dinner, and a suitably long enough time had passed, it was time. Eddie got everything ready while you got changed.

The backyard of your home wasn’t large by mansion standards, but it was far from small by normal standards. It was wider than it was long, holding a rectangle shaped pool with a built-in hot tub on the side closest to the house. Even with that space taken up, there was still room for a small yard complete with privacy fence on one side of the pool, and an outdoor cooking space on the other side. The view below took in the beach and beyond that the beautiful Pacific Ocean.

As the sun lowered past the midpoint of the horizon, the outdoor lights in this little backyard paradise automatically came on. While there were bright security lights at the front and sides of the house, back here the lighting was soft rather than bright, programmed with quiet relaxation in mind. Clear garden lights hung underneath the porch, illuminating the sitting area and hot tub with a gentle glow. Dimly lit solar lamps lined the pool area with enough light to watch your step. The pool itself was lit from within, the water glowing with a soft illumination. There were a few lights dotting along the structure of the house to add lighting to the house itself.

It was your quiet paradise that Eddie helped you find but had been unable to fully enjoy.

Until tonight, at least.

Once you heard the outside speakers begin to softly play some newer music that you both liked, you knew it was time. You made your way downstairs, wearing the bikini Deandra had bought for you earlier that week, your heart pounding the whole way. Every time you caught sight of yourself in a mirror, you couldn’t help but pause to gawk.

While it wasn’t so far away from your normal style that it looked completely out of place on you, it certainly displayed a lot more skin than you were normally willing to show. It fit you well though, the thin fabric hugging your body comfortably tight. Whoever designed it had both sex appeal and wearability in mind.

After a few stops just to stare at yourself, you finally made it to the dark kitchen and then the sliding door leading to the backyard. Looking out, you could see Eddie had already settled himself into the hot tub, his hair wet now and plastered back on his head. He was in a relaxed posed; both arms up behind him on the edge of the hot tub, with his head tilted back and eyes closed.

Your gaze shifted over to your yard, then let your eyes drift slightly beyond it to the vine covered fence. Somewhere in that area hidden by vines and shadows, you knew two of the slats in the fence had been cut from the outside. The hole this left could easily accommodate a wide-angle camera lens. It was a fairly recent vandalism, done within the last few weeks when the paparazzi really began staking out the house. And you knew with as many people that had been caught spying on the house in that same time period, it was likely that the hole was always manned.

Normally, this gross violation of privacy would have severely angered you, but now it had the opportunity to work in your favor. Whoever was currently behind the peep hole would be getting a clear view of everything that was about to happen.

You took a deep breath, tried to calm yourself one last time, and stepped out the door.

Eddie didn’t hear the door when you opened it, too lost in this peaceful moment of solitude. However, he did hear the soft click of it shutting over the low music and soft hum of the jets and lifted his head to turn towards you. It took a second for the image he was seeing to translate in his brain, but when it did, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

No matter how many times over the years that Eddie saw you naked or in something he thought was sexy, he always behaved like it was the first time.

“Goddamn babe,” he called out breathlessly, arms coming down from the edge of the hot tub so he could lean forward, forearms on his knees, as he carefully watched your approach.

You took your time as you made your way over to the hot tub, your eyes taking him in as much as he was you. The heat of water made his skin flushed, which when paired with the intense gaze he was giving you made him look almost feral.

A cool breeze blew in off the ocean just as reached the hot tub. With only the bikini covering you, goosebumps slightly rose up on your skin and you felt your nipples hardening at the temperature change. The thin fabric covering your tits did nothing to hide this, and you saw Eddie’s gaze dip down to your chest.

As you stepped down into the water, you watched his eyes darken as he took you in again now that you were at close range.

“Deandra did good, I take it?” you asked, making your way down the rest of the steps until you were standing on the bottom.

Eddie’s head rapidly bobbed up and down.

“My soon to be ex-wife has excellent taste,” he said, his tongue running over his bottom lip as his face started to grow more flushed.

Right as you started to lower yourself into the water to take the seat across from Eddie, he lifted one arm up and extended his hand out to you. You took a couple steps forward, closing the distance to accept the gesture by placing your hand in his. With a gentle tug on your arm, he pulled you into his lap, his free hand resting on your waist to help steady you as you positioned yourself to straddle his thighs.

“Hi there,” you said with a coy smile, your hands resting on his shoulders. “Come here often?”

“Not exactly here, per say,” Eddie replied with a chuckle as his hands rested comfortably on your hips, his head tilting back up to look at you. “But I hope that changes soon.”

With a smile, you leaned down to kiss him passionately. His response was immediate with no hesitation, his lips latching onto yours to return your intensity with his own. As your tongues met just inside his lips, Eddie slid one hand up your back, traveling upwards until it finally came to a rest on the back of your neck. He held onto you tightly, his remaining hand pulling at your hip to slide you forward in his lap.

With your bodies now so close together, chest to chest, you gave your hips a gentle roll against him. Eddie softly groaned into your mouth, his hips slightly thrusting upwards to match your movement.

Then he broke away from you just enough so he could speak, his eyes gazing up into yours.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked you, voice low and soft enough it couldn’t be heard by anyone else but you. “It’s not too late to back out.”

You shook your head.

“It is,” you said, lightly running your nails down the back of his neck. “They’ve got photos of us kissing now at least.”

Eddie studied your face, as if looking for any sign of hesitation, then nodded before returning his lips to yours.

It was a lot easier to let go and forget about your audience than you would’ve thought. But as Eddie’s lips moved downwards towards your neck, and then started sucking on that one spot just below your ear, everything around the hot tub just faded away.

You moaned softly, head tilting back as your hips pushed forward into his impulsively. A soft grunt left Eddie, his ass bucking up slightly at the feeling. You hadn’t done it very hard, just enough for him to feel you rub against his hardening length. But it was enough to spur him on.

The hand on your hip slipped down slightly to rest on your ass. Squeezing it tightly, Eddie pulled your hips forward again as he thrust his own towards you. You moaned softly into his mouth, helping him out by rocking your hips down into his thrusts. He stopped pulling at you when he realized you were matching the movements, instead holding onto you firmly as bucked up into you harder. His motions were rough enough to make your body jar upwards on his lap. You both swallowed each other’s moans, the thin fabric of your respective swimsuits doing little to dull the sensations of you grinding against each other.

Your hands slid down his back, raking his skin with your nails as they went. It wasn’t a hard scratch, but not a light one either, making Eddie hiss softly, his hips thrusting hard against you at the feeling.

Eddie’s lips traveled lower on your neck, down to your collarbone. There he started kissing and nibbling his way all the way across your chest, taking particular care to bite at the hallow of your throat. The feeling of his teeth bearing down on the delicate tendons just under the skin made you gasp, almost yelp even. You could feel Eddie’s lips twist upwards in a grin against your chest.

As he continued to make his way across, the hand on your ass slid lower, caressing down over the curve of the cheek until it was under you. His arm slid under your thighs and lifted you a little. This now put your chest at Eddie’s eye level, and he immediately dove forward for your tits. Holding you there, his lips latched onto one through the fabric of your bikini top. As his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, his free hand slid around from your neck to roughly grasp your breast from underneath.

“Mmm,” you moaned softly, as your back arched forward towards him.

One of your hands went to the back of his neck, steadying yourself as you pushed yourself back down to resume grinding against him. A loud groan erupted from Eddie, his hips thrusting up as he bit down on your nipple, making you gasp. He slowly pulled away, still holding it in his teeth for a second before letting go.

“Now that wasn’t very nice, Princess,” he growled softly, but you could hear the playfulness in his voice.

“You don’t love me because I’m nice,” you said, smirking as you brushed your lips over his.

You felt him smile against your mouth and you softly ran the tip of your tongue over his bottom hip. Eddie shivered at the feeling.

“Good point,” he said softly, his hands moving to rest on your lower back. “But remember, sweetheart, I’m not particularly nice either.”

Eddie quickly brought one hand around to slide it between your bodies, pushing it down between your legs. He began rubbing his open hand back and forth over your mound, his palm gently pressing against your clit with each pass up. Your moaned softly, arching your chest forward, and Eddie slid the hand on your back further upwards to the rest between your shoulder blades. His fingers drifted apart with each pass, letting two fingers lay on either side of your slit to rub outer lips, while he pressed his middle finger down to rub between them.

With each pass of his finger, he stopped just shy of your clit, passing just close enough you could feel how close it, but not quite touching where you most wanted him to. Not until a soft whimper left your lips and your legs started to twitch did he finally oblige and give you want you wanted. He pulled his hand forward, drawing his middle finger up along your slit until he could slowly circle the tip around the sensitive nub.

The combination of the light pressure and the slick material of the bikini rubbing against your most tender areas soon had you quivering in his arms. Unconsciously, your hips started to move in small circles in tandem with the circles Eddie was making on around your clit. It added a new sensation, making his finger alternate between firm and featherlight pressure, teasing you one second then pleasuring you the next.

Your head tilted back again, eyes closed, and Eddie’s lips soon found the side of your neck. When your moans started to grow louder, he moved away from your clit to push his hand back between your legs. He wiggled his fingers past the edge of your bikini to push it aside and sink his middle finger all the way into you.

“Eddie, god,” you moaned, your nails digging into his back, as he slowly started to finger you. “Always feel so good.”

“Yeah?” he asked against your neck, and you nodded as his tongue traced over the purpling skin under his lips. “Love it when you call me your god.”

You moaned in response as he added his ring finger next to his middle and curled them both upwards, hitting just that right spot. Crying out loudly with your head thrown back, you held onto him tightly as your hips thrust forward against his hand. This pushed his fingers deeper and made you gasp.

When he started pushing the heel of his hand against your clit, grinding into it with every inward thrust of his fingers, it didn’t take long for you to come undone. Clenching around his fingers like a vice, you completely let go, screaming Eddie’s name along with incoherent praise.

Eddie continued to finger you through your orgasm, gradually slowing down as you came down from your high. When your moans softened into whimpers and you began squirming, he finally pulled his hand away, only to begin opening the front of his swim trunks.

As you shifted your hips back a bit to give him more room, some advice Deandra had given you came floating up in your memory.

“Remember, make it really good,” she had said. “And make it so damn dirty they’ve got no choice but to go straight to print, no matter how many favors they owe.”

In this brief moment of clarity, you realized that, yes, while this all had been very enjoyable so far, it was rather vanilla compared to what you were used to. It seemed like Eddie was holding back, either from his own nerves or his worries for how you were really doing with all this. He was going to need to get over his hesitation quickly if they really wanted to make headlines.

“Eddie? Baby?” you said softly, dragging the tips of your nails across his upper back. He grunted in response just as you felt his cock come free of his swim trunks. “I don’t think you fingering me and then me riding you with all the good stuff under water is going to cut it.”

Eddie paused for a second, then pulled back a bit to look at you, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“What do you have in mind, Princess?” he asked.

You inclined your head upwards towards the edge of the hot tub.

“Why don’t you hop up there, and I’ll show you,” you said, leaning in for a moment to flick your tongue over his lips.

You pulled yourself out of Eddie’s lap and he lifted himself out of the hot tub to sit right at the edge, his feet resting in the seat. As he did this, you briefly submerged yourself under water, getting yourself completely wet. Eddie watched as you resurfaced, leaning back on one hand, and lazily stroking his cock as you wiped the water out of your face.

It was quite the sight to open your eyes to and you couldn’t help but pause to watch for a few seconds. His grin got even bigger, watching your eyes move up and down in time with his hand and your lips open slightly.

Then you came forward to kneel between his legs on the seat he just vacated. One hand immediately went to his cock to bat his hand away, wrapping your fingers around his hard shaft in their stead. Kissing along his chest, you started working his cock with your hand. You kept a slow pace until your lips were at the base of his shaft, where you then ran your tongue down his full length.

Eddie’s legs twitched and he muttered a soft curse. You shifted your gaze up to see a soft look on his face despite how intently he was watching you. You paused, quirking a brow at him. He brought his other hand over to rest it on your shoulder, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze before sliding over to the back of your neck. With that last check in complete and permission to continue given, you turned your attention fully to his cock.

After slowly circling your tongue around the tip several times, you took the head of his cock into your mouth. Eddie started to let out a deep groan at the feeling of the warmth and wetness enveloping him, but it changed to a cry of surprise and pleasure as you hollowed out your cheeks to apply a deep suction.

“Fuck!” Eddie cried, his hand letting go of your neck to grip a handful of your hair instead. “S-shit, babe. That’s it. That’s my girl. You know how I like it.”

Indeed, you did, and you needed no further encouragement. You started bobbing your mouth up and down in just the head of his cock, keeping up with the slow rhythm of your hand stroking his shaft. Another low moan left Eddie, and you felt his fingers flexing in your hair. He wasn’t pushing or pulling at you yet, merely holding onto you.

As you increased the speed of your hand, you lowered your mouth down on him a little more with each downstroke. Already you could taste his precum, the tip of his cock leaking on your tongue and coating the roof of your mouth.

Once his cock was halfway in your mouth, you moved your hand away from his shaft and took the rest down your throat in one fast motion.

Eddie gasped loudly, and when you looked up you could see him staring at you in awe, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

“H-Holy s-shit,” he groaned before pinching his eyes closed and tilting his head back as his entire body shuddered.

You set a slow and steady rhythm, sliding all but the tip of his cock out of your mouth before taking it all back in again. The sounds Eddie made every time he felt your throat around his cock made your core throb.

After taking him down your throat a couple more times, Eddie’s moans became whimpers, and his hips began to twitch upwards. When that happened, you slid his cock from your mouth, your hand returning to stroke his shaft.

“Wanna do something really dirty?” you asked, batting your eyes up at him before flicking your tongue over the tip of his cock.

Eddie shivered and gasped, his eyes heavy lidded and dilated as he watched you.

“Maybe,” he said, brushing some hair away that had fallen in your face. “What were you thinking abo-“

The sudden halt in his speech was caused by you leaning up towards him just enough that the head of his cock nestled between your tits. You then angled yourself so that the length of his shaft was laying between them.

“Oh f-fuck yes,” he finally said, arching his hips up a little to thrust his wet cock upwards between your tits.

With a smile, you brought your free hand up to the bottom of your bikini top. You pulled it away from your chest just enough that you could easily slip his cock underneath. The new sensation of the wet fabric against one side of his cock and your smooth, warm skin on the other made Eddie groan. It seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hand suddenly as he watched you with wide eyes, so he moved it behind him to lean on as well.

Shifting your body a little bit more, you got into a better position so it would be a smooth glide. You moved his cock a little bit then tilted your head down, taking a second to gather all the saliva in your mouth to spit it down between your tits and his cock. A stream of curses left Eddie’s mouth as he watched you do it again a moment later, this time directly on to his cock.

“Fucking hell,” he panted, legs twitching as you pushed your tits closer together with your arms, pushing them closer around his cock. “Always so fucking filthy for me, baby, fuck.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d let him fuck your tits. After nearly twenty years together, fifteen of which as lovers, there was very little you two hadn’t done together in bed. But it was one of those things that didn’t happen often, so when it did, Eddie went mad.

And, after fifteen years as lovers, you knew exactly what buttons were left to push before Eddie went absolutely berserk.

“Like that, baby?” you asked, moving your body so he cock began to glide easily between your tits at a steady pace.

“Fuck, baby, I fucking love it,” he groaned deeply.

Eddie’s ass was starting to buck up off the tiled edge of the hot tub. His breathing was becoming erratic, his cheeks turning red as he tried to hold onto himself for as long as he could. Your skin was smeared with precum as it leaked down his shaft. When you looked down and saw this, you paused temporarily and opened your mouth, letting him thrust the head of his cock past your lips so you could gently suck on it, cleaning it off. Eddie gasped loudly at the feel of your mouth around him again and you felt his whole-body twitch.

Suddenly, he completely stopped moving and leaned forward, taking ahold of both of your shoulders in order to push you away, his cock slipping free of your bikini top. You didn’t have time to say anything before he had jumped back in the hot tub with you. He took ahold of you then spun you around, pushing you to the edge of the hot tub so you were bent over it.

While there wasn’t much sense left in Eddie, there was enough to make him be careful of how he angled your body. He made sure to position you in such a way that nothing of yours could be seen or photographed by outside parties. That was his one stipulation to agreeing to this. He didn’t care who saw what of his, but the Full Y/N Experience, as he put it, was for his eyes only.

Once he had the angle right, where a semi side profile of your bodies could be seen, along with a left clear view of your faces, Eddie pulled your bikini bottoms to the side and held them open. Using his free hand, he lined himself up with your entrance and then pushed the head of his cock into you.

You moaned loudly, your hands gripping the side of the hot tub as both of his came up to grip onto your ass cheeks. He lifted them slightly and spread them, watching as he slowly sheathed himself deep inside your aching cunt. The feeling of him bottoming out made your legs tremble, a long moan leaving your throat at the feeling of him being so deep in you.

Eddie gave a couple of slow rolls of his hips, allowing you to properly feel his full length dragging through you. Low, deep moans left your throat, the slow pace making you want more. Soon though, he began to pick up the pace until he was finally slamming himself into you fast and hard.

“Fuck, Eddie!” you screamed, squeezing your eyes closed.

All you could do was hold onto the edge of the hot tub for dear life as he pounded into you from behind. He slid his hands up from your ass to take hold of your waist. He started pulling you backwards into each thrust, the force making you both gasp and moan together. The head of his cock pushed even deep inside you, hitting all your most sensitive inner areas. It wasn’t long before you could feel the coil inside you close to snapping.

“G-gonna cum,” you managed to gasp out.

Your words made Eddie’s thrusting slightly stutter, but not for long. He slid one hand down from your waist back between your legs, his fingers seeking out your clit to circle around it.

“M’close too,” he groaned out as your inner walls twitched around him when he swept the pad of his finger directly over your clit. “Want you to cum around me.”

With three more thrusts, Eddie’s wish came true, and your cunt clamped down around him as you came. The orgasm washed over your body hard, making your legs shake and your knees start to buckle. You screamed, crying out curses and his name in an incoherent mess of words.

The hand on your shoulder left it to grab a handful of your hair, pulling your head back and causing your chest to arch outwards. This also caused your hips to lift, giving Eddie a better angle to fuck straight into you.

He fucked you through your orgasm and wasn’t too far behind you. His thrusting was already growing harder and erratic as you were coming down from your high. The steady grip of your inner walls coaxed him along, and after a few more of those hard, deep thrusts, Eddie began to shoot his cum deep inside you.

“F-fuck!” he cried as his lower body slightly spasmed, the hand on your waist gripping you hard. “That’s it, fuck! Such a good girl for me, Y/N, fuck!”

The stream of cursing and praise that left Eddie’s mouth next was almost unintelligible as yours as he kept fucking you through his orgasm. His hips gradually slowed until he finally came to a stop, leaving his cock still buried in you.

You both were panting, exhausted messes. It took several moments before Eddie could even move in order to pull out of you. You whimpered at the loss of contact when he finally did, the motion making your legs tremble again. After tucking himself into his trunks, he helped you stand up and fix your bottoms, before dropping into seat you just fucked on. He pulled you down into his lap across his thighs, sitting there contently with your arms wrapped around each other.

It took a while before either of you felt like moving, supremely happy to just sit there together. You spoke softly about trivial things, exchanging soft kisses and caresses until the timer on the hot tub went down to zero and it shut itself off. That was your cue to finally go inside. After drying yourselves, the two of you went inside to shower then get ready for bed, both exhausted. Just before you went to sleep, Eddie wondered aloud to you about how long it would take for the photos to get out.

That question was answered barely two days later. Shortly after the nationally aired morning shows began for the day, you and Eddie were woken up by a phone call from Joe, telling you both to get down to his office as soon as possible. The label wanted the band and you assembled for a conference call with the executives.

About an hour later, once you all were assembled around Joe’s desk, he dialed into the labels conference room as he was instructed.

The phone call as brief as possible.

It hadn’t taken long for the photos to be picked up by a major tabloid. While the story hadn’t hit the printers yet, legitimate news outlets caught wind of the story and had already validated its legitimacy. There had only been short blurbs about it so far during the entertainment news, but everyone knew it wasn’t going to take long for the photos to be everywhere.

They were informed that Corroded Coffin’s contract with the label was terminated effective immediately with the upcoming tour cancelled.

They cited a morality clause in one of the subsections of their contract stating any behavior considered immoral or reprehensible by the label from any member of the band would be grounds for label to terminate their agreement with the band as a whole. Since the statement announcing Eddie and Deandra’s pending divorce hadn’t gone public yet, it was a clear-cut case of adultery. There was absolutely no way for the label to spin it into anything else and that created a big problem for the executives.

While they had no interest in continuing their relationship with Corroded Coffin, they assured the band they would not be put their names on any blacklists so that they may find another label to take them on during this next phase of their careers. They predicted that Corroded Coffin would have no trouble finding someone to quickly sign them on.

After wishing everyone well, and reminding you all that your NDAs still wouldn’t expire for years to come, the executives ended the call.

You all listened to the dial tone coming through the speaker phone for a few seconds before Joe finally hit the button to hang up.

Then the guys cheered with joy.

A tremendous feeling of relief washed over everyone in that office. Even Joe, while he didn’t fully approve of you and Eddie’s methods, definitely appreciated the outcome . He was happy to finally have the label out of his hair, too.

While none of you knew whether or not to believe the label executives at first, they held true to their word and did not blacklist the band in the industry. It didn’t take long before other labels started reaching out to Joe, interested in signing them. However, most of the labels he met with were offering deals way too similar to the one the guys just got out of. This time, they wanted to be much more careful. Since they actually had the clout now to be choosier, Joe put potential labels through far more scrutiny on their behalf.

In the meantime, Joe made sure they continued to work and perform, but things were much different now than before. The bigger venues were hard to book without the backing of a label, and the dive bars they started out in were too big of a security risk thanks to their fame. All that really left was the festival circuit and special appearances. But none of you minded though. Every show was much more relaxed than their previous concerts with the label had been, and definitely not as frantic and stressful as touring. The slower pace allowed them to begin recovering from the burnout their old label had pushed them into. Soon they were enjoying performing again. Even the writer’s block Eddie and Gareth had been experiencing started to lift, allowing them to write music again.

It really didn’t take that long to get a new record deal. Not in comparison to how long it took them to get their first deal, at any rate. The wait was worth it though.

A smaller label eventually contacted Joe, interested in signing Corroded Coffin. At first, he was leery of their interest. The label was relatively new, having only been founded within the last five years. They had a handful of artists signed, but none of them particularly famous outside of niche audiences. However, the label desperately wanted to sign them. Corroded Coffin would be their biggest act signed to date and would certainly start to make a name for the label. The label then extended the most generous offer the guys had received so far, allowing them total control over their careers and lives. It was an offer they couldn’t refuse.

Once they were signed, they immediately went into the studio to start recording the new material they all had been working on. Since they had gotten inspired in recent months, there ended up being way more music than they needed for an album. Rather than forcing them to pair it down, the label encouraged them to spread their creative wings and try something new.

This led to the release of a double disc album, “Destruction & Resurrection.” Most of the songs were veiled references to the hell their previous label put them through (Destruction) and taking back control of their lives and careers in the aftermath (Resurrection). It did very well among old fans and new. It rose through the charts quickly after release and soon they went on a very successful tour to promote it.

The difference between the old tours and this new one was obvious from the start. It was much more laid back, and not as hectic with so many guidelines the old label had them follow. They were finally able to enjoy the spotlight, enjoy being on stage together and enjoy all the benefits years of demanding work had yielded without someone else pulling the strings.

Not only that, you and Eddie weren’t having to sneak around in the shadows anymore. Since your relationship had remained public ever since the photos of you two in the hot tub made the news, you never left his side now except for when he was on stage.

But living life in the public eye wasn’t without its drawbacks, especially after a scandal of that magnitude.

The photos of you and Eddie had broken during the fast rise in popularity of internet being used as a way to connect with other people sharing similar interests. Among the discussions you saw about the band, the scandal was wildly talked about. Eddie’s name was once again tarnished for something he didn’t do, but this time you were taking the brunt of the blame. Most people had less than favorable opinions about you. People called you a home wrecker at best and a trailer trash slut at worse. You tried to not let it bother you, tried to not let it get under your skin, but it did at times. With the NDAs still in effect, you were forced to grin and bear it.

Once the latest tour wrapped up, with the labels blessing, Corroded Coffin took an extended break. They weren’t broken up by any means, but like all bands that stay together long term, they had all reached the point where they wanted to live their own separate lives. They wanted to stretch their wings out, rediscover themselves and learn what makes them tick. After so many years of working and traveling together, it was time.

Nick more or less retired from the public eye during this time. He and his wife had their first of four children together shortly after the tour concluded, and he wanted to spend as much time with them as he could.

Outside of having families themselves, Gareth and Jeff started a new project in order to experiment with the nu metal sound that had really become popular. It was fairly successful, featuring both Eddie and Nick on several of the songs.

Eddie and you led a pretty quiet life. Now that you weren’t forced to be shut ins in order to be together, you discovered now you preferred being at home together rather than going out. Outside of the occasional vacation with friends and family, you two spent most of your time at home. Though, one of those vacations did land you two on the front page of the tabloids again when you two were spotted vacationing in the Maldives with Deandra and her fiancée.

When the early 2000’s rolled around, the guys of Corroded Coffin were starting to feel a bit restless. The itch to write and perform together again was creeping in, and they started to talk about if it was time to start working a new album.

Fate decided to step in and give them the nudge they needed.

The producers of a popular horror movie series wanted to use a couple of Corroded Coffin’s songs in the latest movie. They were also asked if they would also write and record a brand-new song for the soundtrack. Since Eddie, you and Jeff were fans of the series, the band happily agreed.

While the movie itself ended up being one of the weaker installments of the series, it still did well enough at the box office to assure another installment. The soundtrack was highly praised and relaunched the name Corroded Coffin to a whole new generation of fans. They went back into the studio to record again.

The success of their following album led to them being approached by VH1 executives with an offer. They wanted to do an episode of Behind the Music on Corroded Coffin detailing their rise to fame, the scandal that resulted in their expulsion from their first label, their reinvention under the new label and the lives they lead now. The offer was thrilling, and everyone readily agreed. There was very little haggling over the script and the questions, which seemed a little odd at first to the producers. Usually there is always something the guests didn’t want to talk about, but everyone seemed perfectly willing to bare it all.

What the producers of VH1 didn’t realize was, all of the NDAs the group signed with the first label had expired the prior year. You and Eddie were done lying and gave everyone your blessing to tell the real story.

It didn’t take long for before VH1 realized what a goldmine they had. As the story unfolded, the entire structure of the episode changed. Instead of presenting them as former hard partying rockers that got knocked down several pegs by the front man’s scandalous love affair, they were presented as a band held prisoner by a former label that controlled everything from to who they dated and what they wore. Everyone interviewed for the episode confirmed every bit of the story, from Joe’s widow Valerie and Diandra herself, to Eddie’s longtime friends Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson.

Corroded Coffin’s episode of Behind the Music shocked the music world. While everyone was moved by what all the guys went through, hearing about what happened to you and Eddie broke hearts.

As it turns out, the men in suits at that first label had been wrong.

Everyone on the internet agreed. Eddie Munson being with his high school sweetheart for over twenty years, not to mention the lengths that you two went to finally be together, was very fucking metal.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar eddie munson

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m1ssunderstanding · 3 months

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Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.2

Prettyyyyy

Maybe John's not actually crazy for thinking Hey Jude is to him? “For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.” fool is, in my tin hat world, often a code name for Paul in their songs. And that description is certainly him to a t actually. I wonder why I've never considered it before.

John: are you happy here, honey? Paul: I ain't happy here my honey, can you take me back? How many songs does Paul write from 1968 on about trying to go back? One day I'm going to make a list and it'll be a long one.

And thus begins the phase of they just can't help it, can they? But they really wish they could. They make each other so so happy, but they really wish they didn't. It would hurt less that way.

I love the comparison of Linda's pictures of everyone else and then of John. It just shows that it's not a her problem – that's such a lovely one of George, who Hates Yoko – it's how he feels about her.

John, coming up with every possible weapon to provoke Paul, finally has Yoko sing Paul's part in one of their songs. It really is such a slap in the face. But of course breaking the sanctity of their music is what does it best. And still, all he gets out of him is a look before he walks away. Whatever it is that John wants, I think Paul literally can not give it to him.

Btw the white album is my favorite, probably. There's just such incredible diversity on it. It's so much fun, you never get tired of it, and it's an excellent display of their genius and versatility.

He looks like an abandoned puppy.

What do we think? John says Paul drummed on WDWDITR. Paul says Ringo did. Who is telling the truth?

“It was getting to be where he wanted to do it like that but he couldn't make the break . . .” So John thinks Paul doing his songs by himself means he wants to break the group up? I personally read it as him not wanting to annoy everyone with his bossiness, but that's just my take.

John talking about how it's him and Yoko now, but before, it was . . .

George needs to send them a cease and desist notice or he'll sue them for breech of character the amount of times they drag him into things he's not a part of. Especially if they're not going to even fucking spare him a glance in reality. Please and thank you, Hare Krishna.

Paul's epigraph on the two virgins cover. “Battles to prove he was a saint”? What kind of passive aggressive shit is that, Paul?

The eternal question: what happened in India? And does John really not know? Or is he just unwilling to tell what happened to rolling stone?

Somebody please engage with that poor little boy, preferably, you know, his father. Ugh, Cynthia must've had so much anxiety watching that footage, or really any time Julian was with John. And that footage is placed in the doc right after a pic of Paul already being Heather's dad just so naturally.

But hell, if I've ever seen attention-seeking behavior, this is it. Singing about wanting to die while seductively undressing the closest thing Paul would've had to career competition at the time.

I'm sorry but it will forever be hilarious to me that when John's singing his part of “I've Got a Feeling” with Yoko it's “soft dream” and then with Paul it's “wet dream”. How John and Yoko tricked everyone into believing they were too horny for each other to control themselves is beyond my imagination.

On the day John plays their sex tape, “Unusually, Yoko is not present.” LMAO girl same. John: I'm going to play our sex tape for the band tomorrow. Yoko: oh was that tomorrow? Damn, I forgot, I have a thing.

“Well that's an interesting one.” What did John honestly expect, though? Like I know he wanted Paul to be like, “that's it! Enough is enough I'm taking you home and doing you right!” Or whatever. But what did he honestly, realistically expect?

Always saying the same things at the same time, always on the same page, same word. About everything, it seems, except their relationship.

Paul: but you won't say anything about it. John: I said what I've been thinking. Paul: Are you still thinking that now? What are you thinking now? John: I'm still thinking about it. Infuriating. Whatever it is John's been thinking, he doesn't want to talk about it in front of cameras. Is it quitting the band? I think it's something more complicated than that but I've no idea what.

“John, John, joooooohn!” X “Martha my Dear” crossover my beloved. The fact that literally Everyone reacts and tries to get her to stop except Paul is so extremely telling. Yoko: joooooohn! Ringo: He's busy! Yoko: joooooohn! John: Stop that! (And he looks and sounds genuinely pissed) Yoko: joooooohn! Paul: (plinking and pounding away, definitely not thinking thoughts about what he would do right now if he was a girl that will come out of his mouth fifteen years later)

Everyone's trying to figure out the problem with George vs JohnandYoko and Paul's saying “and like with Yoko, they’re real. They mean it.” Linda laughs. “I don't dig that.” You don't, Linda? What about them isn't real to her, I wonder. Does she think they don't really love each other? Or what?

Linda: *Makes fart noise* Go away! Paul: continues to defend them. Neil: everybody cough. See and this is why it sucks that get back was so edited. Because it's important that Paul's defending them here not just going on and on where nobody asked. He knows he's hurt John, and he feels bad enough about it to let him have his mommy with him at all times if that's what he needs.

If what??? Someone needs to force them to finish their damn sentences. Because I feel like he cuts himself off here when (I swear!!) he's about to say what it is that's hurting John so badly.

Anyway, here's where (imo) he's kinda wrong. Where he says "if it came to a push between Yoko and the band, it's Yoko." I think I said it in my get back posts, but I'll say it again. Yeah, if it was Yoko or the band, it's Yoko. But if it's Yoko or Paul filling all the gaps Yoko is currently filling? It's Paul. You know? And I think that's what John wants so badly at this time, actually. Is “a push between Yoko and [Paul]” ending with Paul stepping up for him in some way that he wasn't before, you know?

He really does get it though. John wanting to be as close as possible with Yoko so he doesn't lose her and their connection. Don't forget he does put Linda in his band. He gets it because it was the same with him and John.

I really do think it's a huge myth that they just never talked about feelings or anything serious. Look at them. This is how they talk in a crowded place with their girlfriends sitting right there. They didn't just get through fifteen years of one of the greatest collaborations in history never actually talking. They talked about deep stuff. And frequently.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #linda mccartney #yoko ono #ulm #understanding lennon mccartney

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pvrkacciosan · 10 months

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Spiked

A/n: stay safe when going out drinking guys, this runs alongside Max's "Creepy-crawly" (The girlfriend to the opposite driver has been given names in this, simple to make it easier on myself to write.)

Synopsis: You're out on a night out, when suddenly you start to feel very strange, perhaps you shouldn't of had that last drink.

Pairing: Lando Norris X fem!Reader

Warning; Reader gets spiked at a bar, throwing up, description of a possible dangerous situation (sexual assault) mention of previous underage drinking

Word Count: 3.5K

You were in the best time of your life. How could you possible not take full advantage of that.

In your early twenties, and being a partner to a competitive Motorsports athlete, especially F1 meant you were no stranger to having a good time.

Many of you knew how to party hard. The backless pale orange top you wore was low cut around you chest and was probably your favourite outfit. Especially when matched with the pair of faux leather trousers.

As you were finishing up your makeup on the floor of your bedroom, you couldn't help but notice the presence by the door.

Lando's face was expressionless as he took you in, his eyes frantically darted from the exposed flesh of your back to the tight curve of the trousers fit over your ass.

Packing away you stuff you ignored him, simply giving him the time to take you in, you didn't put this much effort into getting ready; only to not be admired by your boyfriend.

Once everything was finally put back away inside your bag, you got up from the place in front of the wall to ceiling mirror. You could feel Lando's stare following you, but he stayed silent beyond a small groan which caused you to look up at him.

"Something wrong?" you lifted a brow in question

He shook his head, trying to be subtle as he fumbled with the rim of his hoodie, pulling the bottom further down to try and hide the obvious.

"Nothings the matter." the words were a breathless rush from his barely parted lips.

Rising up slowly, you cocked your head walking towards him, the fine lines of his body were rigid while you slide and curled your hands around his torso, he only seemed to avoid your gaze in order to compose himself,

There was an uncertain, and yet smug smirk on his expression when he finally did look down to meet your gaze.

"Everything is fine"

"Or really?" you raised a brow, innocently looking up as you slipped a hand down to toy with the band of his joggies. Lando stiffened against your body,

You slide you hand down further; he leant closer, feeling the heat of his mouth almost to yours when there was a knock on the apartment door.

When you pulled away, patting his chest lightly as you strolled past, his hand lingering on your hip until you turned down the hall, the floor was cold underfoot, grabbing for your heels as you passed the shoe rack, knowing full well who was behind the door.

You were going out for a night out with a close friend, who also happened to be dating none other than Max Verstappen.

Your prediction was correct as you unlatched the door and simply allowed it to swing open for Natasha.

"Come in, Tasha"

She strolled in, a tight fitting red dress hugging her figure. It was laced down her sides, showing the sides of her breasts, exposing the skin right down to where the dress ended about her mid-thigh.

"My god. Stunning." you leaned down to quickly put the heels onto your feet, Tasha did a twirl in the middle of the living room, showing off the outfit,

The exchange inside your apartment didn't last for long, yelling a quick goodbye, and 'love you' to Lando, You had tried to suppress the amusement when you only received a delayed response from your boyfriend,

It wasn't until you hit the clubs that, your screen lite up from a text. Lando, reminding you to stay safe, and text him when you needed taken home.

Replying in haste you got back to the night at hand. Despite being just the two of you, the nights activities never once ceased to be anything but a night to remember,

It had probably been about an hour ago that you had finally stopped feeling your feet, the pain the heels inflicted no more as the alcohol began to take root in your nerve system.

"Come on!" Tasha yelled to the DJ, she swayed beside the booth, body moving with the beat banging from the speakers beside you both.

She dragged you closer to dance, you could faintly notice the light of her phone as she filmed a video, swinging it around to get the DJ in the background.

This continued on until the bass was all you could feel in your head, but that didn't seem to faze either of you, not as you continued dancing till you felt as though your lungs might actually give out on you,

Your skin was coated in a glimmer of sweat, and the back of your throat itched for another drink. Taking hold of Tasha's arm, you signal you were going over towards the bar,

She gripped you shoulder, using the hold to pull herself closer as the bodies around you jostled you both,

"I'm going to stay here. Won't leave the booth"

You knew it was stupid to split, but this club wasn't too big and if she was within view of the DJ and other club staff, it gave you piece of mind that she should be alright for a few minutes as you got drinks.

Navigating through the bustle of warm moving bodies, towards the bar was a little more difficult then you may have originally thought, just as you were trying to get around a group of older men, a hand clasped your elbow tightly.

Spinning around the lights in the club blurred your vision at first,

"Y/n?" the male voice spoke, it took a second longer then you usually would have liked to recognise him.

"Danny!" you threw yourself at your boyfriend's former teammate, you could only just hear the Aussies' laughter over the blare of the music.

You hadn't seen the Ricciardo in so long, and as though he read your thoughts; "Your boy needs to learn to share, I never see you anymore." You snorted, holding onto his arm for support,

"Then hurry your ass up and get back on the grid"

Daniel let his head fall back to laugh, the music around you only seemed to get louder, and a buzz from the bar redirect your attention,.. Tasha!

"Will see you later, I've got to go back to find Tasha"

The lights made it only more obvious when his eyes widened and he looked around rather comically in search of the other girl,

"Tash is here too?" At his excitement you laughed, feeling the sway of alcohol grip you once more, jerking your chin towards where the clubs music was loudest.

"She's by the DJ"

Danny's beamed in excitement, "I'm going to get the others, I'll see you back there yeah?"

Before you could even agree or ask which 'others' the tall Aussies was already dancing his way back through the crowd. The bar wasn't too far from where you stood, but the distance felt much longer when trying to elbow your way into a space long enough to actually order.

When the barman, who looked far too young to sell made eye contact, you stuttered out your drink quickly, the own sound of your voice drowned out by the surroundings, it was a mystery how he even heard you.

While you waited you could only fixate on the small puddle of spilt drink on the floor at your feet. You must had walked straight into it without noticing.

The glass was in front of you on the mat in little under a minute. Reaching into your clutch to get your card, you felt two bodies on either side of you,

"Can I pay for your drink?" a stranger asked, turning slightly to him, he appeared very similar in ages with you and if you had to guess perhaps a couple years older.

He smiled sweetly to you, "Miss?"

You shook your head quickly, "I'm capable of paying myself, thank you,"

as you leaned back slightly to reach for your drink, your foot slipped out on the puddle, The man reached for you, catching around the waist to stop you from actually falling. You tried grasping out to the bar to steady yourself, dropping your phone as a result

There was a split second where your focus was not on your drink, as you could only notice how his fingers caressed the sides of your waist, raising up as firmly as you could, you jostled to ungrasp his hands from your body.

Grabbing your drink and bending to pick up the dropped phone, you thanked him quickly, before moving off into the crowd Inspecting your now cracked and wet phone. Once far enough away, you stopped; lifting the drink up to the light, there was no abnormal bubbles or decolouring. And after a quick waft, you concluded there was no strange smell other then the strong scent of vodka.

Besides he was alone, and not ever man was out to get you. You were being paranoid.

Making a final decision you took a swig. Placing your hand over the rim of the glass, you continued venturing through towards where Tasha had last been, perhaps Ricciardo was now there.

You took another quick sip, as you neared the booth, but the scene you wandered back into was not that of which you had left.

Even with the bustling atmosphere and jostling bodies around you, it was easy to pick out the distinct red of Tasha's dress, But she no longer danced, instead she was deathly still with her shoulders curled in both arms wrapped around herself,

The tall Australia driver was position at her front, his back to her. Moving closer in a haste, you bumped into a body, the man spun. Pierre Gasly, steadied you quickly,

"Here you are." he exclaimed, pulling you closer to where the others stood, you noticed a few other driver present, but they kept at a distance.

"What happened?" you leaned closer to his side, shouting to him in an attempt to get your words across to the Frenchman over the blaring sound of the music.

"Some guy touched up her dress, she hit him, he went to swing back"

Now the positioning of Tasha and Daniel made sense, Pierre stood beside Max's girlfriend, as Daniel continued to argue with the guy whom you could only presume was the creep that touched up your best friend.

Taking a sip from you glass you held it to the driver, "Hold this, I'm going to get a bouncer"

Pierre frowned at first, "I don't think it will go well, If Dan punches this guy" flicking your gaze back to where he guy got back in Daniel face, you hurried yourself away to find some security to pull this apart before it did wrong by Daniel's reputation, even though you knew for a fact that fans wouldn't be upset to discover one of their favourite drivers got into a punch up over a girls rights.

It would be the damage it might do to any future teams sighing him back onto the grid that worried you.

It was the best guess that the bouncers may be somewhere near the entrance, you were probably half the distance there when you paused, breath falling short from your lips.

Something wasn't right. You couldn't point it, but you just knew.

The lights around you began to swirl more then they had before, and upon looking down at your hand, you couldn't seem to stop the shaking no matter how hard you tried. You could hold your alcohol better then most, drinking from the age of 13 back in the UK made you familiar with the sensations of being drunk.

But this was different, very different. It was like someone had shoved your head underwater, and you whole body had been lost to the effects of gravity.

Your vision began to haze, but through the stupor of moving people, the lines of their dancing bodies a blurring; You caught the eye of a familiar face. The guy from the bar. He stood about twenty metres from you, unmoving, smirking and watching your every movement. Tracking everything to the flick of your uncoordinated hand.

The pit of your stomach dropped through you ass, as panic leapt into your throat. Pivoting around you began to make your way back to the booth, looking over your shoulder, he had moved closer.

You wouldn't make it to them intime, he would catch you before then, and with how unbridled your motions were, the world spinning on its axis around you, it was no unknown fact to you, that you would not be able to stop him if he tried anything.

Pushing through people, using the point of your elbow to dagger them from your path, you made for the wall, the light glow from the bathrooms drawing you closer. The hopeful safety it might provide taking root in your mind.

The ground was going to slip out from under you at any given second and you needed to get yourself as safe as possible before then. Falling through the doorway, the base of your heels slip out from under you.

The jolt a pain shot up your knees when it collided with the hard floor, the ground was too slick for you to grip to anything. Crawling for the nearest stall you slumped into it, kicking the door shut and then twisting to pushed against the toilet with both feet, you slammed your back into the door.

"It seems the drugs are doing their job" his voice was sly, and it shot shivers up through your body.

You could only pray your own body would stop the door from opening, as he pushed lightly against it, His laughter being the only thing to fix to as the edges of your view began to dim.

☽ - Lando- ☾

It had been hours since Lando had last heard from you, and it was beginning to set his nerves on edge. The end of his patience finally got to him, he hated to intrude on your nights out, but when you wouldn't answer his text of calls, it began to worry him.

He was pacing back and worth, tapping his phone against his palm, unlocking it he quickly clicked the call button.

Only a second when past before it connected.

"Hey Max."

"Lando?" the dutch accent came through the speaker, the noise slightly louder.

"Are you driving right now?" Max's voice sounded echoed almost, the way it does when someones phone is connected through a car.

"Yeah, I'm going to get Tasha now"

So why hadn't you called for Lando to come get you? He couldn't help but frown for a second,

"You've heard from them?"

There was a paused on the line as Max seemed to take in what Lando said, this caused the panic to spike in Lando's chest,

"No Daniel called me, wait— T-they didn't phone you?"

Why had Ricciardo called Max? why hadn't one of you done it?

"No, why? Has something happened?"

The tone in which Max spoke, made Lando stop breathing for all of two seconds. The time that did pass feeling slowed.

"Some guy was harassing Tasha." Unrivaled anger filled the pit of his stomach at the thought.

"I'm coming, past I'll swing in and get you" And with that, Verstappen hung up the call. Giving Lando time to gather himself, throwing a hoodie on and some shoes.

He was rushing down, not even locking the door to your apartment, instead letting it slam shut behind him.

Max was already waited at the road in front of the building, he opened the door from the inside for the other driver.

"Come on." it was a demand more then anything, and before he even got into the vehicle, Lando could tell; Max was pissed.

The car was revving off at speeds that could rival any set time at a Grand Prix. Lando was back again badgering your contact with messages that never seemed to be noticed.

"Fuck"

Max didn't look to him not as he drove, swerving out to overtake what seemed to be the only other car driving this late.

"I can't get through to Y/n. Was she with them when they called you?"

Lando didn't miss the way, the other drivers fist tightened, knuckled turning white around the steering wheel,

"Max?"

"No. no, she wasn't with them."

Another string of curses left him as he quickly, strolled down, clicking onto Daniel's number. It rung out completely.

"Fuck." he wanted to smash his phone. What was the point of having the means of contact if they didn't work.

"Try Pierre. He's out too." Following the Dutch drivers request, Lando managed to sieve through finding Gasly's number.

It rung a couple times before it connected. For the second of silence when it connected Lando held his breath, nothing but the noise of the cars engine roaring as Max pushed it around the street, closing in on where the strip of clubs lay.

"Hello?" he waited for a response,

Pierre voice was almost drowned out by the background noise but Lando's hand shook around his grip on the phone, "Is Y/n with you guys?"

The lack of response, made his gut drop once more for what seemed like the thousandth time. You had to be safe, you were probably just unaware of the situation.

"She went to get security. She hasn't come back yet. She-"

The response was cut off as the call disconnected, The phone trying to find signal.

There wasn't much point in trying to reconnect as Max swung the car around the corner, Club goers jumping and stumbling out the way as the car sped into their direction. It was carelessly park as Max slammed on the brake, pulling the key he was out the car in one swift movement.

Lando following suit, they were at the doors to the club, people shouted out about them jumping the que, But one look from Max and they promptly quit complaining.

Once they had hurriedly explained the situation to the bouncer the man let them through, the bigger of the two escorting them inside. The fact that the security had no clue of the situation made the worry rise inside him once more, you had never made it to the bouncers to notify them of the guy that had gone after Tasha.

It was easy to push through the crowd when they were both every bit more sober then everyone around them, People parted ways for the security, leading them for the booth.

When Lando spotted Tasha hugged beside Danny, he looked across to check on Max, but the Dutch driver was already moving, Perhaps Danny had been able to see the expression on Max's face as he moved to try and stop him.

But nothing could, not even the bouncer as Max launched for the guy which Pierre was distracting, It all assembled into chaos as Max swung for the guy.

If there hadn't been the music, Lando was sure they would have all heard the crack of the man's jaw as Max's fist collided with the bone.

The response of the bouncer was quick, already pulling Max off the guy, a few more appeared at the commotion, separating the two, but not before Max managed to get another couple punches in.

Tasha despite being visibly shaken up, Lando moved closer, Pierre appearing at his side,

"Where's Y/n?"

"She gave me her drink and left to get the security, she hasn't come back yet"

They went back and worth, trying to discover where you could have gone, Then Tasha steps forward when the light of her phone screen illuminated her face,

She quickly muttered something to Danny, the former driver looked to Lando, Taking Tasha's phone he held it for Lando to see. The screen relayed a message. Simple and concise. From you;

Bathrooms Help.

Lando was rushing towards the direction, unsure if he was being followed, he didn't care not if you were in need of help.

☽ - Y/n - ☾

Your stomach rolled but you refused to move, the man had stopped talking, but even through the haze the drugs had hold of your system, you knew you couldn't move, not if he was still sitting outside.

You had managed to get a message to Tasha, hoping she might check it, when you had dropped the device at the bar the combination of the puddle and the cracks across the screen, it wasn't displaying properly, making it near to impossible to decipher anything on the phone.

The bathroom door sounded as it swung,

"Y/N!" there was a shuffle as a guy moved through the room,

"Y/n?" the voice sounded familiar, and at some point you had begun to cry softly, feeling sick as your head continued to spin.

A gentle knock tapped against the stall door,

The muscles of your legs, gave out and you slid away from the door, allowing it to swing open behind you.

Lando knelt to you, he gripped your jaw, tilting your head to look you in the eyes.

Everything was becoming increasingly more difficult to control, head lulling back, You could faintly hear an apology from your boyfriend. You had lost all control as you felt yourself being slide around on the floor, Lando positioning you to face the toilet bowl,

"Sorry, Love."

He shoved two fingers down your throat, the gap reflex kicked in and you threw up into the toilet, vaguely aware of a hand rubbing circles into your back.

Once you had finally stopped spewing, you leaned into his leg. Resting your head back into his thigh, Lando leaned over the top of you,

"How are you feeling?"

Surprising, you felt marginally better then before, but fear still kept you on alert.

"Where is he? He was here." An aggravated sigh left Lando as he eased down to lift you up off the floor, An arm behind you back and under your knees.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, "Don't worry, he isn't going to touch you. I'll die before I let that happen." His words gave your exhausted body the safety to slump against him and rest.

Gods only knows you needed it after tonight.

Taglist: @80sloverry @unofficial-journalist @celestialams @mirrorball-6 @love4lando @ironmaiden1313

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader

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imsobadatnicknames2 · 7 months

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Music commission prices!

Update: Editing my prices again bc I still think I was undercharging a little bit from my work and also the payment processor I use to transfer money from P*ypal to my bank account recently increased their fees.

Hey everyone! My name's Carlos, I'm a composer and producer. I'm one half of the technical death metal band Beyond Flesh, and I've been doing commissioned music work since 2021. I did all the battle themes for the RPGmaker game Those Infernal Girls! and several battle themes for the "Chillen in Chult" arc of the the D&D twitch show Dice Dynamics. I also did one bonus track for the album We Will All Sing One Song by the James Connolly Upstate New York IWW.

I can make music for your:

Climactic TTRPG moment

Videogame

Short Film

Whatever else idk

The main genres I do are metal, synthwave, and dungeon synth, but I've done a bunch of commissioned work in different genres, from 8bit to jazz to EDM to hiphop backing tracks. If in doubt, ask me and I'll tell you if I can do a particular genre or not.

Prices:

Base commission price (Includes 1 minute of music, 2 instrument tracks plus percussion track) - $12 USD

Extra instrument track - $6 USD

Extra minute of music - $6 USD

Examples:

Some examples of my previous work so you can get an idea of my range:

You don't need to know anything about music theory or related language to commission me, but do have in mind that the more ifnormation you're able to provide the better the end result will be. Vibe descriptions, reference tracks that you want it to sound similar to, writeups of the character and/or scene it's for, and anything else you can think of are massively helpful. I'll be continually sending you WIPs through the entire process so you can judge the direction I'm going in and provide notes if necessary.

You get to keep all rights to the song to use it for any purpose. I, however, keep the right to post it on my tumblr blog, my youtube channel, or any of my socials for promotional purposes.

You may contact me through DMs here, or through the following media:

e-mail: [email protected]

Discord: carlos7318

I only accept payment via p*ypal invoices, as c*shapp and v*nmo don't work in my country.

#commissions #open commissions #music commissions #music

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johnnysuhbmarine · 5 months

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Just Add Alcohol...you know, the Antiseptic Kind

Pairing: Jeno x reader Description: After getting into another fist fight, !best friend Jeno ends up back at your place for help, but you’re about at your limit of how much you can stand to see him like this before saying something about it. The only problem is, you still haven’t found a way to address it without bringing up your feelings. Word count: 1,508 A/n: first fic :') wrote this sometime last year and I think it's the best out of my completed one shots, so now I'm sharing it with the world (that's you). shout out to @fullsunstrawberry for convincing me I wouldn’t die if I actually posted my writing <3333 please enjoy, or don’t…I can’t tell you what to do, but feedback would be GREATLY appreciated :)

You squeeze the excess water out of the rag before stomping back over to where Jeno laid on the couch. Your heavy, rhythmic breath is the only sound to fill the tense silence between the two of you as you press the towel up towards his eyebrow, covering a freshly split-open patch of skin. The action provokes the usual wince in pain from Jeno, but you don’t say ‘sorry’ this time, instead just clenching your jaw.

It was routine at this point. Jeno would knock on your door barely able to hold himself up, you would help him to the couch, or on days where he was particularly bloody, you’d have him sit on your bathroom counter and just pray he even had the strength to make it all the way there. Then, you’d get to work on cleaning him up, because you always clean him up, from his fights on the playground in primary school to now, when some kind of fate lets the two of you reconnect after you moved away before high school only to end up at the same college. It was two years ago when you immediately recognized the crescent-eyed smile of the boy sitting at a table you passed on your walk to class. You froze in the middle of the science building, sure you were crazy, but it only took a second before he came up and grabbed your wrist to spin you around. “I knew that was you.” He stated in relief as he pulled you into a hug that you fell right into, just as you always had. Your best friend status seemed to stick through all those years apart, as had his fighting tendencies. Though now, instead of pressing band-aids over boo-boos, you were disinfecting deep, bloody cuts, and wrapping gauze around his rough hands, misshapen by the amount of fingers he had broken that he never gave time to properly heal.

You never reprimanded him. You didn’t need to. He knew that seeing him in this state was hurting you. Though you never said so, it was always evident by the look on your face that you couldn’t be bothered to cover up. What he didn’t know was that you were only on the med-school track because, since kindergarten, you had wanted to be a doctor so you knew how to take better care of him when he got himself injured.

“You’re mad at me.” His gentle voice, the one he spoke with only when he was talking to you, cuts through the silence and brings you back to the present. You take a second to think about how to respond as you move onto his next wound.

“Why do you get into fights?” You ask, no real emotion behind your words outside of genuine curiosity. Jeno shakes his head, wincing as he quickly realizes that the motion was too rough for him right now.

“No reason.” He replies calmly, and you look up to meet his eyes as you press your towel against the cut by his lips.

“No reason? You do all this for no reason?” You spit back, unable to keep your even tone anymore. Jeno rolls his head to the side, dodging eye contact with you as he replies.

“I knew you were mad.” He says, almost absentmindedly.

You take a sharp inhale of breath, annoyed beyond measure, finally breaking.

“Of course I’m mad! I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself!” This time, when Jeno winces, it’s not because of the antiseptic or pressure, it’s your tone, one he was so unfamiliar with when it came to you. All he thinks to do is roll his eyes in response.

“I mean, I always end up fine so it’s okay-”

“No!” You yell, cutting him off as you throw the cloth haphazardly at his figure, getting him to move his gaze back over to you in confusion as he picks up the towel and presses it against his wounds in your place. You just look at him, eyes scanning his entire bloodied up figure on the couch, tears threatening to spill for the first time ever in front of him. “No, it’s not okay. Not when I go crazy with worry wondering when the next time will be that you end up on this couch for me to fix. Do you get it? Do you get how scary it is for me to see my best friend beat up like this?!”

“I mean, the other guy always looks worse…” He states, the tiniest laugh accompanying his words, enraging you even more.

“You’re unbelievable!”

He furrows his eyebrows as much as he can before it strains against his cuts. “Me? You’re the one all worried for no reason-”

“I love you! Is that reason enough?!” You yell, standing up and walking towards the kitchen in your best attempt to get away from him.

“Oh, God.” He says softly from the couch, and that’s all it takes for tears to start their race down your cheeks.

“‘Oh, God.’” You mock, shaking your head in defeat. “Great. Great. You can keep that towel, but please get off my couch and go somewhere else. Preferably, to a doctor. The rib that I keep telling you I’m worried about every time I see you, it feels broken now.”

There’s a beat of suffocating silence before he speaks up again. “Y/n…” He says, just as gently as before, though you take none of it.

“Just go!” You shout across to the living room. You hear him let out a heavy exhale before responding.

“First, it’s hard to move because I apparently broke a rib, so if you want me to go, you’re going to have to help me up and out of the door. Second, the reason I got into the first fight on the playground in kindergarten was because that kid, Seongho, made fun of your hair bow.” You render still, staring down at your hands splayed out on the kitchen counter. You don’t know if you can form any response, you’re hardly sure if you’re breathing. Thankfully, Jeno fills the silence himself. “I said ‘oh, God’ because I realized I should’ve just told you that when you first asked. That I get into fights because some part of me has always needed to protect you. That the fights I seek out are against people who eye you like creeps. Yeah, I get into other stupid fights because people wanna punch me so goddamn bad for some reason and I don’t know how to back down, but the ones I start are just so I can keep you safe and gentle in this stupid, hurtful world.”

Time seemed to stand still. You couldn’t wrap your head around his words. They seemed too unreal coming out of his mouth, but he spoke so surely. In the consequential stark silence, you hear him groan in pain, finally getting you to move as you rush over to him on the couch, extremely scared he was actually trying to get up and leave now, which he really was in no position to do by himself. However, when you get over to him, he hasn’t moved an inch. Instead, a soft smile covers his face as confusion crosses yours.

“I just did that to get you to come over to where I can see you again.” He admits, and you deadpan before you can finally find humor, shaking your head with a small laugh as tears continue to run down your face. Then, he finally does move, reaching a hand up to caress your cheek as his other still holds the damp cloth to his cuts. “I love you, y/n.” He says gently, making sure you were holding eye contact with him as he did so. You use a hand to wipe the remaining tears off your face before leaning in to kiss him softly.

When you pull away, Jeno moves his head up to chase your lips as much as he can without hurting himself, pouting when you take a step back and shake your head. “You can kiss me all you want later. I have to get you to an actual doctor before your fractured rib punctures your lung and you die.” You state plainly, reaching an arm under him to help him off the couch as the two of you hobble towards the door.

“I got so lucky…you’re incredibly romantic.” He replies sarcastically, and you just turn your head to look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know why you’re teasing me. I don’t want you to die. That’s very romantic.” You respond with a smile, opening your door to get out into the dorm hallway. Jeno smiles lightly, kissing the top of your head as the two of you wait on an elevator. Then, all you can do is hold his hand as the doctor calls Jeno stupid for getting into fights (you slipped him a $5 for that one).

#Jeno #NCT Dream #Jeno One Shot #Jeno x reader #NCT Dream x reader #Jeno fanfic #Jeno angst?#Jeno fluff?#Jeno who knows #NCT #NCT Dream drabbles #Jeno drabbles #nct x reader #nct scenarios

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gratefulfrog · 2 years

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7.9.95 Soldier Field, Chicago, IL. The Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia’s final show.

#grateful dead #jerry garcia #alwaysdead #alwaysgrateful #foreverdead #playdead #grateful #soldierfield #jerrygarcia #gratefuldead #dead #a band beyond description #jehova’s favorite choir

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blankandhappytales · 7 months

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Masterlist of stories and flash fiction..

It's about time I got up off my butt and put together an easy to reference list. I'll improve the tags and descriptions in the future, but for now these are all the ones I could find in my search for all my pieces. 😁

New(ish):

Untilted (I'll get round to it!): You could save your friend from being turned into a drone, but why bother when you know she'll be so much hotter as one?

A Change in Perspective: (Slow corruption, tech control, chipped, masturbation, second tense) - You find yourself implanted with a control chip, but every attempt to get it removed just seems to slide out from between your fingers. All is Fair in Love & Hypnotism: (Slice of life, humour, hypnosis, self-care) - A Domme decides to lightly punish her sub for not taking care of herself.

All that Glitters: (Forced femme, rubber, tech-control) - Finn finds a higher calling beyond corporate sabotage

Bambi:

Bambi Betrayal: (f/f, brainwashing, tech control, betrayal, bambification) - Charity attempts to reason with Lex who is under the control of the Bambi virus.

Family Affair: (f/f, brainwashing, tech control, betrayal, minor incest themes) - Charity introduces the joy of Bambi to the local strip club.

Bambi: Banded: (f/f, brainwashing, tech control, betrayal, forced femme.) - A mind control headband? Why not. All shall be blonde and ditzy!

Betrayal is a Dish Best Served Obediently: (Dollification, tech-control, objectification, betrayal) - Rae discovers what has become of her friend after betraying her to the Dolls.

Bimbo Chip: (Tech-control, chipped, VR, Bimbofication) - Emma surrenders to the chip in the back of her neck.

Broadcast Control: (Tech-control) - The radio station prepares for a very special test broadcast.

Chasing the Score: (Tech-control, subtle indoctrination, gaming. f/f) - Getting the high score can open you up to all sorts of interesting messaging.

Cock goes in: (m/f, conditioning, hypnosis) - Alex has provided a rather more-ish way to empty out her mind.

Cocktails and Broomsticks: (Magic, witchcraft, oral fixation) - Your Mistress decides to have a little fun with you whilst out for drinks.

Cum to the Darkside: (f/f, corruption, betrayal, tech control, twinning) - Do you hope that your best friend would ever betray you to oodles of mind control?

Darkest Desires: (tg, succubus, corruption, enthrallment) - George finds out that being damned has some perks and benefits.

Darkest Desires

Enthralled

Hostile Takeover pt.1

Domestic Bliss: (slice of life, maids, hypnosis, very short, f/f) - A parental visit causes a minor argument between Domme and Sub.

Down Slope Doll: (f/f, headphones, brainwashing, tech-control) - If you go down to the slopes today, be none of your friends have other ideas about having some 'fun' with you.

Droned: (f/f, Hive, Assimilation, tech-control, betrayal) - Mia becomes a little more intimate with the hive than she'd like.

Halfway Down the Stairs: (f/f, headphones, tech-control) - Megan finds just enough of herself to try and sneak out of the brainwashing facility to try and save her friends.

Her Perfect Doll: (Forced femme, hypnosis, Fem Domme) - Finn discovers just how deep his hypnotic conditioning goes.

Factory Reset: (Tech control, robotization, damsel in distress, objectification, female solo.): A nosy reporter find herself on a factory production line after asking too many questions.

Franchised Perfection: (Tech-control, transformation, celebrity, forced fem) - The Kardashian brand finds a fresh, new way to franchise itself to the masses.

Looper: (Tattoo, self-induction): A very special tattoo helps Melissa see the hypnotic side of life.

Mal-Adjusted: (Tech control, hypno-virus, corruption, female solo, betrayal): Cassie finds herself under assault by a powerful computer virus hell bent on spreading it's influence.

Nesting Instincts: (Tentacles, corruption, transformation, breast growth, Hive) A researcher is given a fresh purpose when captured by a tentacle nest.

Perfect Pink Kitty: (rubber, slice of life(ish), kitty ears, tech control) - Jake starts to regret agreeing to playing with Jamie as his insecurities get the better of him, but the cute kitty ears he's wearing have other ideas.

Positive Reinforcement: (f/f, slice of life, hypno-positivity) - Martha has a novel way of helping to convince Aya that her coursework really should get done. Repetition Knows Best: (f/f, slice of life, mind control, hypnosis) - Ella toys with her friends mind, building on all the ground work she's laid so far.

Seductive Reasoning: (f/f, hypnosis, conditioning, cougar seduction) - Melissa finds out she really is into older women.

Sisterhood: (gender neutral, assimilation, transformation, bimbofication) - You've been targeted for Bimbofication. Resistance is futile.

Switching Off: (masturbation, headphones, self-conditioning, very short) - Anna helps herself become even more enamored with her Bimbo conditioning.

Symbosis: (conditoning, bimbotization) - Willow learns to accept a new mindset.

The Human Element: (tech-control, objectification, robotization, dollification) - Sometimes it's the human element of your newly minted doll which proves problematic.

The Bonding: (Tentacles, hentai, kidnapping) - If you go down to the woods today... Remember to close your windows, okay? Okay! Their are things that go squelch in the woods, otherwise.

Workplace Distraction: (m/f, very short, work place fun) - Who doesn't want to get hypno-triggered like a good little corporate drone?

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theflashesoflove · 11 months

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amuse-bouche

Jan Stevens x f!reader (nsfw)

a/n: i present to you my monstrous love for this woman. you can tell what her voice does to me. i have been writing it for several nights and completely fucked up my stupid sleep schedule. proofread, but there might be some mistakes i didn't catch. perhaps i need to go outside and touch some boob- i mean grass.

warnings/tags: descriptions of an injury, blood and cunnilingus

word count: 5k

💌: @maximoffslovergirl

A loud thud. A wooden stool slipping from under your legs, a mixer falling down to the floor, smearing everything with sweet sticky substance. A bowl of cream tipping over onto your dress, your skin, all over the floors. A strangled cry in pain, a dislocated kneecap. A blood stream flowing down your leg in a perfect straight line, an attempt to stand up- more pain.

Silence.

Your bandmates turned off the hardware, vibration and rustle of your symphony faded out. The first rule of performance: if you mess up, pretend it was intentional. Audience’s applause was a distant noise – standing on all fours, you were dumbfounded by pain, a white veil covering your vision for a split second. Good, they thought that your embarrassing collapse was just the last strike of a chord. The hall became deserted in a few minutes. A few long, unendurable minutes, and not a single person paid attention to you still being on the floor, petrified by pain.

Finally, your bandmates surrounded you, their hands reached out to your shoulders to help you get up, but you waved them away. You knew you couldn’t stand up, no matter how many hands would help you get on your feet. You groaned, falling over to the side to get your weight off your hands and knees. Blood and sweet cream mixed on your skin, making it sticky and hard to tear away from the floor. Fuck, it hurt. Like a fire burning under your skin, the pain streaming down your right knee across your calf and ankle to the tips of your toes. Your other leg was in pain as well, but a different kind of pain. A familiar cramp twisted the muscles of your left calf, turning them to stone. Excellent, both of your legs were nonfunctional. You bit your lip to suppress your cries and blinked the tears away.

The world around you didn’t exist anymore, pain placed you into a vacuum. At that moment, you thought it would be easier to just pass out from it, to come round when the pain was over and your bandmates miraculously delivered your body to Dr. Glock to deal with the injury. Speaking of Dr. Glock, you really didn’t want to see him. So when your bandmates suggested calling for him, you refused. They stepped away and proceeded to pack the equipment and clean up the food from the table. At least you didn’t have to attend the afterparty anymore. Stones scribbled something in his notebook, observing your agony. Perhaps he would bring this situation up during the interview.

You looked at your leg again, the wound still didn’t stop bleeding. Pink patches of blood and cream on your skin were connected with the scarlet river system. Your knee pulsated and swelled, pain capturing all of your senses.

But something managed to sneak in. Something soft, warm, intriguing even, something soothing and yet so very intoxicating. A hand on your shoulder. A flash of white fabric, black fabric, white fabric again, black eyeshadow, the scent of her hairspray.

This woman thrilled you right from the auditions. No one from your band understood your obsession with her, and they jokingly scolded you for getting distracted from perfecting your performance. But you had it all figured out. You’d managed to focus on your performances, but a part of you, a very big part of you, wanted to impress her. It worked like a perfect mechanism, her scrutiny, praise and helpful remarks brought out the best of your performing abilities, which rewarded you with more of her attention. Though you were sure, it wasn’t anything bigger for her. Her attention never meant anything beyond appraising your art, and the older woman was so out of your league anyway. Elegant, statuesque, with mouth-watering curves and dainty fingers. Her signature makeup complimented her soft features, her attires were so very her, quite formal yet with unmatched grandiosity. And you knew that all of it was expensive. That the fabric of her skirts and blouses was pleasant against her body, that no seams irritated her satin skin. However the thing that brought you to the edge the most was her sultry voice. Voice that made you want to crawl out of your body to no longer be limited by the human form and encompass every vibration of her vocal cords, every movement of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, every barely noticeable breath that accompanied her words. No angel choir could ever compare to her giving dinner speeches, to her squeaking when she was enraged, to her reprimanding your bandmates for ignoring her advice, to her guiding your band through the shops practise with her languid tone.

“Jan Stevens,” you whispered, suddenly so very aware of her proximity. And of the unappealing state you were in. You must have looked pathetic. You imagined that she was about to scrunch her nose and snort, but she just looked at you and crouched beside, a worried expression on her face.

Her voice drowned out your pain for a split second, “Poor thing,” she murmured, brushing your hair off your face. “Can you stand up?”

“She can’t,” your bandmate stepped in, but Jan Stevens didn’t even turn her head away from your face to acknowledge them speaking. She indeed heard them, though, and furrowed her brow, alarmed.

“We suggested calling for Dr. Glock. She refuses to see him,” the other bandmate meddled, annoying you to no end. You didn’t want Jan Stevens tut at you being whimsical and hard to deal with. To your relief, she did no such thing.

“I’ll take care of it, dear. Wim!!!” Before you could answer, she called out the institute's technical assistant. When he finally approached the two of you, her gaze still didn’t leave your pained face. “Please, bring her to my house. She can’t walk.” Wim sighed, but didn’t protest. He never did. And Jan Stevens tipped generously, so he scooped you up in his arms, ignoring your hisses.

Jolts of pain stroke you with every step Wim took towards Jan Stevens’ house. You tried not to press yourself into him too much and keep as quiet as you could. Well, you tried not to howl your lungs out, restricting yourself to teary whines. Jan Stevens followed both of you, but Wim had to wait before the front door for the older woman to open it and hold it for him to enter. He found the nearest seat he could settle you in and left, gaining a nod from Jan Stevens.

The woman disappeared somewhere and you tried to sit as comfortably as you could. But no matter the position, it ached, and ached, and ached. You became awfully aware of how sticky your clothes were, covered in stupid melted buttercream you used for your confectionery themed performance. You didn’t mind the feeling for performance's sake, but it wasn’t about art anymore. It was about your clumsiness, your foolishness, and it was suffocating. Squirming, you decided to take your dress off and clean yourself with it, ignoring Jan Stevens’ curious look when she returned to the couloir to see you in your underwear.

She held a small white box in her hands with a bright red cross on its lid, a first aid kit. Kneeling before you, she placed it on the floor, and waited for you to finish dealing with the cream. You hesitated as to where to put your dirty clothes, and the woman took it from you to carelessly drop it to the floor. She licked her lips and focused on your injured knee, tilting her head from side to side to examine it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be observing the afterparty?” you pried, feeling hot at being the centre of her attention.

She shook her head, “I have something more important to deal with. My absence is justified.” Your ears flushed at her words. “Are you in pain anywhere else?”

“My other leg,” you said, “is cramping. It’s… fuck…” Your left leg was stiff, toes unnaturally curled, and the more you focused on that pain, the more insufferable it felt.

The older woman stroked your legs, not caring that one of her hands got immediately covered in gore. Humming, she decided to deal with your cramp at first. She took your left leg and stretched it out, it made you shriek, muscles tightening so hard as though they were going to be torn apart. She bent your knee and pulled it toward your abdomen, leaving faint palm prints on your skin with your own blood. You couldn’t tell if your cramp was relieved at all, because your other knee still ached immensely. Jan Stevens looked at you under her lashes as she moved your leg. She visibly swallowed, tracing the path of your half-naked body with her eyes, and finally settled your left leg to the ground. Your mouth slightly agape, you watched as she turned her attention to your wound once again, her fingers circled around the source of bleeding, barely touching, feeling how swollen your knee had gotten.

Then, she did something you never expected. Jan Stevens leaned closer to your oozing wound, and stuck out her tongue to press it against you. You gasped, your fingers twitched – you had to stop yourself from burying them in her curls to push her away or to pull her closer. She lapped at your sore skin, acting surprised when the sudden sweetness of buttercream hit her tongue. She looked unabashedly satisfied. Your stomach flipped, a sudden gush of wetness covered your sex and you knew that you were doomed. If she had lowered her gaze, she would have been able to see the dark spot spreading on your underwear, exposing you.

"It hurts," you whined, grimacing. Her cool tongue gently swiped across your knee, aggravating. There were so many sharp sensations. And not a single question about her actions. A cramp in your left leg died down a bit, the echoes of the pain flaring up under your skin from time to time. The other injured leg ached, it ached even more now that Jan Stevens’ mouth was pressed against the mixture of your blood and sweet cream, devouring it like the best dessert she had ever had.

“I know, dear. Didn’t you know that saliva had healing properties?” Jan Stevens gave you a sickly sweet smile, but your pained expression made her face twitch in worry that she might have crossed the thin already nonexistent line. “I’ll help you, let me just…” and she caressed the skin of your calf, hands crawling up towards your knee where her mouth pressed against your skin again, making you whimper from strange, uncalled desire and, of course, boundless pain. “Shhh…” she cooed, her fingers grabbing your knee, open mouth pressed against your skin. She wasn’t kissing or licking it anymore, she just sat there, on her knees before you, her face flush against your dewy skin, hands snapping your kneecap into place with one quick motion. You cried out, hands gripping the arms of the fauteuil, nails scratching antique wood, tears splashing out of your eyes. “Oh, sweet girl,” her solacing voice brought you back to reality and you noticed that it was much easier to breathe.

The overwhelming pain gradually stepped away, leaving behind a soreness that was much more bearable. Absolutely crushed in the armchair, you suddenly felt so, so tired. And so fucking aroused. Because Jan Stevens planted one last kiss to your knee and turned to her first aid kit to treat your wound. There was a little bit of blood on her face, almost the same colour as her lipstick. She cleaned your leg, lost in the process, and you just wanted, just needed to feel her mouth again. To see her lips wrapped around your wound, to hiss as her tongue would lap on your injured flesh again. Her soft hands flew across your skin, applying bandages, and once she was done, she sat back on her heels and placed her hands on her lap, looking up at you.

“Better?” she asked, and you nodded, pursing your lips. Smiling, she added, gingerly, “You still must see a doctor, darling. I can arrange for someone else to examine you.”

“Thank you.” You knew that you looked like a mess. Dried tears on your face, dishevelled hair, weakness in your voice. Jan Stevens smiled and smoothed the fabric of her skirt, however she didn’t rush to get up and go on about her night. Her gaze studied you, curious, yet… unsure? She licked her lips, remnants of your blood hitting her tongue. Why did she look so hesitant after just almost drinking from your wound? You didn’t have enough strength in you to stare back, so you busied yourself with observing the couloir, now that your attention was no longer captured by strong pain. Jan Stevens fitted in this environment perfectly, and for a moment you wondered what her bedroom looked like. Was she her startling self even in the privacy of her home? Was she always wearing that makeup? She surely had to take it off at some point in the night, hadn’t she? What clothes did she sleep in? Did she sleep alone or was there someone keeping her warm from time to time? And did she even have a kitchen? It was most likely that she did, but did she use it?

Her voice snapped you back from your thoughts, smooth as silk, “The fall was not planned, was it?”

“Lost my balance,” you replied, not really willing to elaborate.

“You never had problems with it before,” she wondered.

“I just… I got lost in the sound and,” you started, unsure how to put it, “my thoughts lead me elsewhere.”

“Where?” she leaned closer, curious.

“Sometimes I forget that- that art isn’t all about the outcome. It’s about the process… I was carried away with anticipation of the result.”

“Tell me more,” her eyes bore into you. “What result did you anticipate?” And when she spoke like that, you knew you couldn’t withhold anything from her.

You blushed and looked away. “I anticipated… being seen. That once we end our performance, people might get frustrated it was already over. And some of them might… might think of me, even for a second. Might… notice something about me, might be interested in something about me… and- oh, it sounds so silly.”

“And what?”

“And some of them… might want me to be in their life. Some of them might want me,” you whispered, horrified at your own thoughts.

“Don’t you feel wanted?” She sounded almost disappointed.

The question was phrased rather oddly, you contemplated. Like you were supposed to feel wanted, like you didn’t recognise someone’s efforts. The truth was that maybe at that particular moment you did feel wanted. That maybe Jan Stevens’ treatment, and the way she still sat in front of you on her knees, looking deep into your soul, her sultry voice kissing your ears and making your body shiver with every word she spoke, maybe all of it made you feel wanted.

“I… I don’t know. My band needs me, although I’m sure they hate me for ruining the performance. But they can always replace me. And- I don’t want to be replaceable.”

It was too much to ask, you recognised that. Every person was replaceable, after all. Even directors of the Sonic Catering Institute, they had replaced one another until it was Jan Stevens’ turn to take the position. And someday there would be a replacement even for her. No person is truly unique, truly indispensable. There’s always someone else. Someone better, even. Your friend found new friends after you isolated yourself from them, your teacher found a new favourite student after you graduated, the company you worked for found a new employee after you quit. And even after your performance the audience walked away and found some other form of art to admire. They forgot about you – they probably didn’t even memorise you in the first place – until your next performance. But maybe, maybe there was someone who felt drawn to you. Maybe they weren't able to get you off their mind, maybe they attended every performance just for you alone, and maybe they would still think about you even after the residency would be over. And maybe they thought about you at night, and maybe they cried, because they would never be able to reach you, to hold your hand, to kiss you. And maybe you would inspire them to make art of their own. And maybe they would silently dedicate every art piece to you, or maybe they would say it loud and clear. And maybe they would live with a heavy soul their whole life, never having gotten a taste of you. Never having spoken to you. You would leave a trace in their heart, a scar even, and you would be irreplaceable for them until they draw their last breath.

Having such thoughts made you feel guilty. It was hard not to lose yourself in this craving for being special, hell, these thoughts had already made you fall down and bleed and cry in pain.

“This is why you create, to feel wanted?” Jan Stevens’s voice brought you back to earth once again.

“Partly, yeah,” the older woman tilted her head to the side in question and you explained, “I value the process. I revel in the process, but I also… I also crave the unachievable outcome, is it a bad thing?”

“Of course not,” Jan Stevens lifted herself, standing on her knees, and reached her hand to your face to gently stroke your cheek, “It’s better than lying to yourself.”

Fuck, why didn’t she kiss you already? You reminisced her face, contorted with pleasure as she licked the blood off your skin. You reminisced her hungry gaze, the breathtaking blues of her eyes swallowed by the dark pits of her pupils. And she was so close now, she caressed your cheek, and you noticed the corner of her mouth twitch in something she tried to suppress. “Do you do that?” you breathed out, looking her in the eyes.

“Do what?” her voice was sweetened by the amused smile that spread across her features. You wanted to grab her by the hair and bring her lips to your ear for her to whisper, and whisper, and whisper the filthiest of words. You wanted to wrap yourself in her voice.

“Lie to yourself,” your words made Jan Stevens’ expression turn stone serious. Did you upset her? Was she about to throw you out of her home on your broken knees? She slowly rose, your head leaned backwards, following her movements. Her hand grabbed the back of the fauteuil, and after regarding you from her full height for a second, she bent down until her breath tickled your cheeks once again.

“Yes. A lot lately,” her upper lip twitched again, and she breathed out of her mouth, hesitating for a second. “Every year,” she started her revelation, “I dread that there will be someone who catches my eye and I won’t be able to resist it.” She made a small pause, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “But I also secretly hope that among my residents… there might be someone… for me, not for the audience, just for me.” Her intense gaze turned you inside out. “Don’t you feel wanted, Y/N?” the older woman asked again, her tone different this time. “Just like you craved to feel?” And you knew you had to be honest.

“I… I think I do,” your voice trembled, ragged breaths left your mouth as she leaned closer, so painfully closer. She looked satisfied with your answer.

“Good.” And she kissed you. Slowly, although it was clear that she suppressed the urge to swallow you whole. She grabbed your chin and dug her nails into your jaw to keep your mouth open, and she swiped the tip of her tongue across your lips, moaning, the knot inside of your stomach made itself known again. “I could give you it all,” she whispered into your parted lips after tearing herself away. “I could make you feel so, so special.” Jan Stevens shifted to the side and licked the helix of your ear and you whimpered, and you clamped your thighs, the slickness between your legs was audible at this point. “But beware, once I start, I won’t be able to stop, ever,” her mouth captured your earlobe, tongue playing with your tiny earring.

Every word she spoke melted on her tongue like sugar, syrupy sweet syllables, meringue consonants and honey vowels. Her gaze bore into you like a spoon dipping into crème brûlée, and you were finally between her teeth, an indulgence she could never resist. She caressed your torso with featherlight touches, looming over you, her nails scraping your rubicund skin ever so slightly.

“Please,” you begged and spread your legs, instantly wincing and cursing under your breath from the pain. You grabbed her hips and leaned closer, hiding your face in the delicate fabric of her white blouse.

"Do you really think you can take it?” Jan Stevens spoke again, her voice almost dangerous, cutting through you like a knife. But there was something else in her question. It was half playful, half sincere. As if she asked 'Do you think you can handle me? My desire? Do you think you won’t get sick of me the second we finish? Do you think you really want to stay with me?’

“I can,” you said confidently, answering all of her questions at once. “Or do you want me to beg for you to finally fuck my face?” you snapped.

“That won’t be necessary, dear” Jan Stevens uttered and sharply breathed out through her nose. The upholstery dipped under her weight as she climbed onto the fauteuil, it was a tight squeeze, but she managed to fit your legs between her knees, not straddling you, not applying any pressure to your much-suffering legs. She towered over you even in this position, her crotch right in front of your face. She rushed to hike up her long white skirt, exposing her ivory thighs wrapped in sheer black stockings. Your eyes focused on her red lace knickers that looked like a cherry you wanted to catch with your mouth.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, breathing her scent in. You pressed your nose against her thigh, hands squeezing her heavenly flesh bedecked with stretch marks. She peeped at you from above, biting her lower lip in seething anticipation.

Two of your digits dove past the band of her underwear, you coated your fingers with her essence and slowly, carefully pulled them out and sucked them into your mouth. You groaned at the taste of her, tongue ripping the string of her wetness that connected your fingers. Once your fingers were out of your mouth, she tightly fisted her skirt in one of her hands to instantly pull you towards her with her now free hand, an airy moan escaping her throat as soon as your nose pressed against her clit through her knickers.

You lapped at the soaked lace, causing a delightful friction of fabric against her sensitive spot. With one finger, you finally pushed her panties to the side and immediately kissed her slit, eliciting a blissful sound out of the woman. Her hand was still in your hair and she was firmly holding you where she needed you the most.

“Oh, darling,” she drawled out and closed her eyes. Her fingertips massaged your scalp, and you hummed against the slickness, causing her to growl.

With a simmering passion, you lapped at her folds and pressed onward onto her entrance. Eating her out was an otherworldly experience, it seemed like all of your life events led you to this particular moment. Her breathy moans encouraged you to press harder, to grind your nose against her clit and keep worshipping her. At that moment, you thought of the afterparty that was held in the main building, and with a certain smugness you realised how lucky, how special you were to be here, with her, while your bandmates must have revelled in the audience's tribute. The honour of being with her was transcendent, it was the highest praise. A course that you wanted to prolong until her knees would give in, until she wouldn’t be able to release anything other than muffled sobs of overwhelming pleasure.

Her legs trembled above you. Grabbing her ass, you helped her steady herself, squeezing and squishing her plump flesh, and losing yourself, and allowing yourself to lightly slap her cheek to give her more, to give her the diversity of sensations. To show her that you would do anything with her, anything she would like, as many times as she would like, as filthy and rough as she would like, as lovingly and tenderly as she would like. To tell her, I wanted this for so long, and I can’t believe I’m here, and I won’t let you down, and I want all of your eccentricity, all of your ardour, all of your greatness, all of you, all of you, all of you.

I want to sleep in your bed and wake up next to you, and kiss your beautiful face the first seconds of the morning. I want to sit next to you during performances and hold your hand, and stroke your thigh when no one sees. I want to sit near you at dinners, and soothe you, when residents test your patience as they always do. I want to protect you from intruders, hell, I would slash their throats for you to finally feel at peace. I want to walk with you in the gardens and compare your eyes to the clear sky. I want to help you take off your makeup at night and apply fresh eyeshadow in the morning. I want to help you dress, I want to undress you as a night ritual. For I am greedy for you. For you finally, finally gave me a taste of life I missed so dearly.

The agonising aching in your knee never stopped, but you didn’t allow it to distract you from her. When some sudden jolts of pain made you let out a strangled ‘aw’ against her cunt, the older woman stroked your head, comforting you.

Jan Stevens groaned as you sucked on her clit, and you pushed your hand up under the band of her skirt, under her blouse, and you groped her tummy, nails biting into the softness. Her skin was warm, covered in sweat, – god, she must have been very hot being still fully dressed when the air around the two of you seemed so heavy and stuffy – and you kneaded her flesh before reaching even further, fingers crawling to her bra and under it to graze her hardened nipple. Your tongue swirled across her lower lips as you rubbed her nipple between your fingertips and pinched it, causing her to let out a hoarse ‘Y- yes, Yes!’. How enrapturing it was, feeling her come undone above you with the palm of her hand wrapped around the back of your head. Feeling her fingers tangling in your hair, as your digits moved in crushing waves across the skin you could reach, as her pussy fitted in your mouth oh so perfectly. A mixture of her juices and your saliva dripped down your chin and your jaw was on fire already, moving up and down, mouth closing and opening around her. And your tongue dipped into her just right, as far as it could go, and she moved her hips to meet its thrusts.

Eventually you retracted your hand from under her clothes, it replaced your tongue, massaging her sticky entrance in circular motions. Fuck, the way she dripped on your fingers made you groan, and you tried to pull away for a second to admire her form, but Jan Stevens protested and pushed your back right on her clit.

“Ah- f- fuck, don’t- don’t stop, don’t stop, ahh- don’t you d- dare stop,” it came out under her breath, sweet whimpers getting in the way of her words.

Clenching your thighs, you felt so close to your own release. Just a little bit more pressure, just something, something to rut against, just for a second, just a couple of swift strokes, just- oh. Maybe you didn’t even need any of that after all. Maybe Jan Stevens, oh Jan Stevens, rubbing against your face in fast hard motions with your name on her lips was enough to bring you over the edge without any stimulation. You shuddered underneath her and your fingers that previously just applied pressure onto her surface, slithered inside of her and were immediately clenched by her wet walls. She came, shivering so hard it made her slip out of your mouth and from your fingers and smear your cheek with her essence. Her moan rang across the room, you trembled under her, and your clit pulsated, triggered from that sound, causing a whimper of your own. You leaned back on the armchair, sweat dripping down your temples.

Jan Stevens dropped her skirt and gripped the baсkrest with both of her hands, breathing heavily. She looked at you from above, a clouded gaze admiring your exhausted state. Next thing you knew, she leaned closer and kissed you with such urgency it made your teeth clash against hers.

“I have never felt so desired,” you almost didn’t catch her whispering, still coming down from your own orgasm. Her words sounded detached as if she was pondering to herself rather than talking to you, almost surprised, stunned even.

I have never felt so lucky, you wanted to say. And I would give you more, and I would push you down to the floor and unravel you, and I would let you use me again and again and again. I would do all of it, if my leg didn’t hurt so fucking bad. Oh, there was so much she still didn’t know about your feelings towards her.

Soon after her feet met the ground, and she studied your appearance once again. You could see her musing upon something – she must have thought of the ways to help you get up. Without further ado, Jan Stevens scooped you up in her arms, and you let out a mixture of light giggles and quiet grunts from the pain.

“Now, I will tuck you into bed like a doll you are. And I will call a doctor in the morning,” she murmured, carrying you to her bedroom.

“Can I help you take off your makeup?” you muttered, pressing your cheek against her shoulder.

“Oh dear,” she thought about it for a second, an amused smile on her lips. You pouted, awaiting her answer. “Yes, yes you can.”

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a/n: i can assure you that reader absolutely adored her bunny pyjamas

#jan stevens #jan stevens x reader #jan stevens x y/n #flux gourmet #gwendoline christie

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