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#also i’m taking my nail tips off today :((
coryosbaby · 7 months
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Ultraviolence // E.L + C.M.
(Pt. 5)
Fandom: “Scream Vi”
Pairing: Stepbrother! Ethan Landry x fem! Reader, Chad Meeks Martin x fem! Reader, Ethan Landry x Chad Meeks Martin
Warning: stepcest (stepbrother x stepsister), some angst and shit parents // nsfw ! Threesome . Spit kink . Degradation & praise . Cum swallowing . Oral (m & f receiving) . Fingering (f receiving), choking, overstimulation — dom! Chad, dom! Ethan, sub! Reader
A/N: If this isn’t necessarily the pt 5 people were hoping for I deeply apologize. This is also more plot than porn. But I have a shit ton of ideas for part 6 that I’m rly excited to post 🤭🤭 Ty for reading 🙌🏻
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Ethan’s cock is hot and heavy inside you as he fucks your needy cunt with an aching rage. Your nails are digging into his back, small whimpers slipping from your lips as his teeth bite down on your jugular. His hips cant into you at an incredible pace.
It’s been two days. Maybe three, you haven’t really been counting with how much Ethan has been shoving his cock into any hole on your body that exposes itself to him. He’s taking his anger directed towards his dad out onto you, while Chad watches.
Sure, Chad likes watching you get fucked; there’s no doubt about that. But the way Ethan has been touching you for this long is almost starting to concern him. But he knows he can get this way sometimes. Sometimes Ethan gets the need to blow off steam. After high school the once nerdy guy Chad used to be friends with is now a mean sex fiend.
Not that the other can talk, though. Because he’s been going along with it too, cock flush in his hand while he towers over your face and let’s it rub along the expanse of your kiss bitten lips, his abdomen clenched tight with the ache to release. His apartment is hot today, the summer heat reaching a high of ninety eight degrees. It’s a wonder none of you have passed out yet, even with the a/c running. Sweat drips down Ethan’s neck as he pounds you. Your eyes look up at the both of them, pupils dilated and streaming tears. Ethan’s thumbs move to the corners of your mouth and roughly pull them apart to expose the whites of your teeth.
“Good fucking girl. Yeah, open that mouth wide.” Hes demanding, and you can’t say no as you move your mouth open wider. He grins, his spit landing on your tongue and making your eyes roll back. “You fucking slut. This is all your good for, isn’t it? Being used as a little sex doll. That’s your place now, right? Can’t go anywhere, staying in this fucking bed being our fucking sex slave.”
You nod, fucked out and desperate; you’ve came more times than you can count since Ethan had decided to crash on Chad’s couch and you had showed up. Of course you took breaks, but… that wasn’t too far off from them just doing it so you wouldn’t faint or die from dehydration.
“You wanna taste my cum, bunny?” Chad’s voice growls out. He’s close, hands rubbing against his tip in just the right spot. Your tongue peeks out as you close your eyes and wait for his seed to hit you. And when it does, salty and bitter against your taste buds, Ethan lets out a loud animalistic groan and dumps his third load of the day into you. Your worn, body feeling incredibly hot and used. You’re too fucked out for another orgasm.
“Are you done?” You ask quietly, as Ethan pulls out of your abused cunt. He nods, fingers coming up to run across your jaw and tickle the tips of your ears. Chad moves to lay beside the both of you, his hands going to wrap around your wrist as a form of comfort.
“Yeah, baby. We’re done. C’mere, you have to rest.”
“Can we get McDonald’s after this?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Chad cuts in. “Anything you want.”
“I don’t know,” Ethan jokes. “She has her belly full now, doesn’t she?”
Chad grimaces. “Shut up, dude. That’s gross.”
“You literally swallowed my cum two days ago.”
“Yeah, because you held my head down —“
“You would’ve swallowed it anyway!”
A smile plasters on your face at their antics, and your eyes begin to close as the two boys wrap their arms around you.
Ethan watches the outline of your jaw, your soft neck littered with hickeys and bruises. And then to Chad, who’s hands gently graze his as they rest on your tummy. He smiles.
It’s almost perfect, this way. Chad has a job, Ethan’s working on getting one, and you… you’re here, and you’re perfect and you’re beautiful and—
Ethan is so mad.
It’s almost perfect— but there’s a problem. Of course there is, why fucking wouldn’t there be?
You still live in your parent’s house, after all.
Oh, you could move if you could. You could live with Chad, with Ethan, make things the way you want them to— but your mother is demanding. Threatening to cut off your college tuition money if you left was the part that had made you stay. Even after they accused Ethan of being a perverted freak of a person, after saying you were ‘too innocent’ and ‘too young’ to know what he was doing (you and Ethan are only two years apart).
So after they had left for an emergency business venture you knew where you could go. They told you not to, but it’s not like they’d figure it out. And being locked in your room was really starting to bore you.
Ethan’s blood has been boiling since the night you got caught. He wishes he could give you the money for your college, wishes he could give you the entire fucking world. But that doesn’t work on Chad’s salary and probably won’t work on the one Ethan’s about to have.
He wants you and Chad to only be with him.
That may sound selfish, but Ethan isn’t known for being necessarily generous. He wants the entire world to be cut off from the both of you, wants the only thing you both see to be him. Ethan could tear the world apart limb from limb just to have you and Chad forever.
It’s really starting to fuck with him.
Ethan is starting to scare you a little bit.
It’s not the sex— well, it is a little bit, but you enjoy it. He’s just been so.. out of it, recently.
Not in the sense of ‘he’s losing feelings’ or anything like that. It’s when he gets this look in his eyes. Sometimes when he thinks no else is looking, when those doe eyed things go dark and he seems like he’s thinking of doing something he shouldn’t. You don’t know what it is, exactly. But he looks so far off— as if he’s somewhere else. And he’s become more violent; in sex, in the way he holds you down and then holds Chad down the same way. It’s confusing.
And it’s also making you a bit nervous.
Chad doesn’t seem any different, at least from what you can tell. He’s still his same soft self— outside of sex, of course. He takes Ethan’s behavior in stride (and with a little bit of prep). But you can tell that he notices, too.
“I just think that you should drop out.”
Ethan’s voice is blaring with a twinge of annoyance, as he drives you back to your house. You told him he shouldn’t, that it’s too risky. But he won’t listen. You also know that when he says ‘drop out’ he actually means ‘leave our parents and be with me.’
You roll your eyes, hands going down to adjust your pink sundress.
“I can’t just drop out, Ethan. I have a career I’m set on.”
“We can make it work—“
“Don’t be stupid.” You mutter. His hands tap against the steering wheel impatiently, face turned up into one of anger. His blue shirt clings to him tightly, muscles are prominent.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” He snaps.
“Don’t make dumb suggestions.”
After that snide comment he shoves you into the house and bends you over the kitchen counter, regardless of your protests, like he did the first time. And then he left you with cum dripping all down your legs, while you waited for your parents to get home from their trip.
When they did you decided to not eat dinner that night.
Your mom has been on the fence since your secret had been revealed to the Landry household. Ethan — your stepbrother — has been fucking you for months.
You still remember the sound of Wayne’s voice screaming at the both of you:
“How could you do this?! After everything we’ve done for the both of you?!”
“You’re a disappointment to me, Ethan. I want you out!”
And then after, when Ethan had left, the words spewed at you.
“I can’t believe you would be such a whore.”
“How could you do this to our family? To me?!”
“You’re never seeing him again.”
Yeah, right.
You sigh, plopping down onto your bed. It’s almost time for you to go to college, the summer ending.
What a wild story you could tell if you had an essay due about your summer.
Your parents are downstairs, now. Doing— you don’t really know what they’re doing. You don’t come down from your room anymore.
A text dings on your phone. You smile.
E🫶🏻: you okay?
me: mhm
You pause. You bite your lip as you assemble to next message.
me: I miss u :)
A moment for him to reply.
E🫶🏻: I miss you too, bunny
E🫶🏻: chad said he misses you too
me: I miss u both >:(
me: we’ll see each other more when I’m away at college tho <3
E🫶🏻 : maybe I have a way to make us be with each other all the time :)
me: oh yeah lover boy? And what would that be
E🫶🏻: you’ll see.
Your brows furrow. A surprise, maybe? A gift? Maybe a new way for you to sneak out…
You don’t know. But your eyes are beginning to become heavy and sleepy; you tell him and Chad both good night and begin to sleep.
Your dreams have become nightmares, more or less. Images of blood and gore, a hand holding on a little too tight — it’s been the same for the past few nights. Your family, slaughtered.
A loud crash makes your eyelids flutter open.
You think you’ve only been asleep a few hours. Your hello kitty clock reads 2:37 a.m in giant bold letters, and your heart beats harshly against your chest at the sudden sound. Furrowing your brows, but being cautious, you grab the pink pocket knife you kept beside your bed. It isn’t much, but it’s something, at least. Creeping closer to the door you can hear that the noise has stopped— but that doesn’t calm you. You think of waking up your parents but you don’t want to make them any more mad than they already are.
You open your door. No one is outside your room, it seems. The sound must’ve come from downstairs. Creeping down the wooden steps you go into the living room and see that it’s empty.
Except for the window.
The one near the couch is wide open, and you can see that a house plant beside it got knocked over and broke all to pieces. You gulp, hands gripping the knife tighter. Your dreams have made you extremely paranoid, and if there really is an intruder, you won’t go down without a fight.
Another crash— from the kitchen this time, but not as loud as before. It was more of just.. commotion. You prepare yourself, breath heavy. You make your way to the doorway, prepared to strike and stab and hit….
Someone grabs you.
The knife clatters to the ground. So much for protecting yourself! Your immediate thought is to scream, but no words come out and a hand is covering your mouth. When they whirl you around and begin laughing your brows furrow and hot tears well up from the stress.
….It’s fucking Ethan.
He’s standing there, a shit eating grin on his face, wearing a muscle tee and jeans.
You sneer, pushing him harshly as you wipe your eyes.
“You fucking asshole!” you whisper yell. “You scared the fuck out of me! What the hell is wrong with you?”
He chuckles. “Sorry, sweetness. It’s just so funny to see the look on your face.”
You sniffle, crossing your arms and willing yourself not to cry anymore. “‘S not funny.”
Ethan’s smile drops, his hands reaching out wrap you into a hug. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, promise.”
He doesn’t seem that sorry, but you drop the subject.
“You literally broke in, Ethan. What if mom and dad wake up? You’ll be in so much trouble, i swear— they’ll call the fucking police on you—”
Your words stop when he turns his back to you, stalks into the kitchen, and begins rummaging through the house’s well renowned junk drawer.
“Calm down, baby. I just needed to get my watch. I forgot it before I moved… aha! There it is!”
He excitedly turns around and shows you the black and red band. He slips it around his wrist. You roll your eyes, and scoff.
“You broke into the house so you could take a watch?”
He gives you a mischievous look. He moves closer to you and his lips graze yours. You can’t help but smile.
“Maybe I came to take something else with me, too.”
You bite your lip, but your eyes go to the stairs.
“We can’t do that here. We’ll get caught.”
“Suit yourself, then,” Ethan quips. He sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll just be on my way then..”
“No!” Your immediate to keep him here. To keep him with you. You aren’t the same without his company.
He smiles, lips grazing your neck. His teeth scrape against it and you admire the sting. “There’s my good girl.”
You kiss him, harsh. He tastes fresh and sweet. His hands find your waist and he pushes you against the kitchen counter. You whine, your hands reaching for the bulge in his pants— but your wrist hits his pocket and you feel something inside of it. You reach in, playful. But when you pull it out, it’s the pocket knife you dropped earlier. He must’ve picked it up when you weren’t looking.
“Why do you need my knife?” You ask, as his lips peck your chin and jawline. He looks down, at it in your hands, white teeth shining as he smiles.
“Maybe I like to have a part of you with me wherever I go.”
It’s endearing. But this feeling settles in your stomach— something you can’t quite place. However, you slide the blade back into his pocket and begin to kiss him again. His fingers are right there, just about to brush over your clit.
And out of the corner of your eye, you see the upstairs light flicker on.
You panic, lips breaking away from Ethan’s as you hear footsteps. You’ve lived long enough in the house to know who’s it is— it’s your mother’s. Your eyes widen.
“Hide!”
Ethan mouths the words oh shit before running into the living room. You pray he finds a decent hiding spot. Your mom comes down the stairs, in her robe and with messy hair. She seems like she’s just woken up.
“Is there someone else down here with you?” She says, confused.
You shake your head, nervously biting your thumbnail.
“No, mom. No one is down here. It’s just me.”
“Huh.”
She looks around and she walks into the living room. You follow her in fear, and when you catch Ethan’s sneakers underneath the window curtain you almost fucking scream in frustration. Your mother is too busy looking at her broken plant and the opened window for her to notice.
“Oh my god! Did someone break in?” She exclaims. Your heart beats rapidly.
“Uhm— no!” You say, exasperated and lying.
You try your best to think up a good fake story. “I slept-walked again, i think. I’ve been meaning to tell you… it’s been a while but I think it’s starting up again.”
You haven’t slept-walked since you were twelve. Your mom sighs, annoyed.
“Shit. I’ll call the doctor in the morning, then. We’ll see if he can find anything for it. Because if it’s to the point where you’re breaking things and opening windows..”
“—That’s not necessary, mom, really.”
“I’m calling them, y/n.” She states. She looks you up and down for a moment. If you don’t know any better you think a look of disgust is on her face. “For once in your life, please make yourself useful and clean this up.”
Your head hangs down, and you bite your lower lip to keep from snapping at her. “Yes ma’am.”
When she goes back up stairs, Ethan comes out of his hiding spot. You breathe out a sigh of relief, but Ethan’s fists are clenched.
“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.” He says.
You shrug, threading your fingers through his. His curls are sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed. He’s absolutely precious, even when he’s angry.
“Doesn’t matter, E. Forget about it.”
He narrows his eyes at the stairs, as if she was standing there and he could see her. Your thoughts go back to the knife and you get that feeling again. But your lips are back on his in an instant and it seems that Ethan quickly forgets his rage. His hand rests on the back of your head as he tries to drag you to the couch. But you shake your head and giggle.
“Not here. I’m not getting caught fucking you again.”
“Technically, we weren’t fucking.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Still.”
So you drag him up the stairs. It’s scary, because your parents are also up there, but at least you’re both better concealed. He fucks you raw on the bed and chokes you with his incredibly toned arms. And then he lays with you and you both smoke a joint out the window so it doesn’t smell.
But even then, and even after he left, your thoughts still linger on the knife he had taken with him.
© 2023 bratty-lxndry444 🤏🏻 all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours !!!
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sleep-0-deprived · 6 months
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Being Overhauls oblivious house husband who always cooks him meals, and cleans the house for him. The reader also has a quirk that's similar to an angel. NSFW?
House husband
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Omg I love this idea especially the thought of Overhaul taking all his “frustrations” out on the poor reader so I did this short Drabble and I forgot to mention the readers quirk but I hope you still like it ;}
Female aligned dni 18+ only blog NSFW content below
Today was like almost every other day I was in the kitchen when overhaul came back from work in a less than happy mood, “how was your day?” I say waiting for a response and getting nothing in return.
Overhaul walked over to me in the kitchen lifting me over his shoulder and taking me upstairs to our shared room “what are you doing” I croak as he sat me on the bed “I’m making my day a little better sweetie” Overhaul groaned in my ear while littering my neck with bite marks and hickeys “let’s get rid of this now” he said pulling my shirt off leaving me in only my pants and boxers “this feels good~” I groan as Overhaul palms my growing bulge.
“god you look so perfect like this” overhaul said while taking my uncomfortable pants off. “Touch me more hah~” I moan out as Overhaul ran his thumbs over my nipples while tracing his tongue down my stomach, only stopping at my bulging boxers “so desperate and I haven’t even fucked you yet” overhaul grunted as he pulled my boxers off with his teeth and taking his hands off my sensitive nipples while letting his hands roam my body while they slowly find their way to my dick “
you like when I do this don’t you?” He said as he licked up my shaft and sucking on my tip while taking his hands and gripping my thighs, only leaving bruises behind “fuck yes yes please just like that~” the moans escaped my lips as Overhaul kept sucking my dick “damn your such a whore for me aren’t you?” Overhaul teasingly questioned while stuffing his mouth full of me “hah yes I am~” I gasp while feeling my climax soon approach “fuck I’m about to cum~” I shout, feeling a wave of pleasure hit me as I came in overhauls mouth letting him suck me dry “you taste sweet baby boy but now it’s my turn get on all fours~” he cooed.
Soon I get on all fours, feeling overhaul grip my ass and pull my cheek apart “I wouldn’t want to cause unwanted pain to you sweetheart” overhaul groaned and grabbed lube from the night stand drawer and squirting it on my ass and his hands soon he shoved two fingers inside me and started thrusting in and out “so good~” I groan backing up into his fingers “damn your such a slut, since you want it so bad I think your prepped enough” overhaul spoke pulling his fingers out as my hole clenched around air.
Overhaul aligned his dick with my hole “just fu~” I was soon cut off as overhaul bottomed out into me “hahh~” I groan feeling the bulge in my stomach and the hands gripping my hips “your doing so good for me” he grunted as he picked the pace up, now slamming into me relentlessly “Right there~” I scream as overhaul hit my prostate head on “found it~” my husband groaned. Overhaul continued to nail my prostate dead on while pounding into me and gripping my hips “I’m close~” I scream as I feel my second orgasm approach “I’m close to baby just wait~” overhaul purred in my ear.
With a few more hard thrust’s overhaul cums I feel his cum fill my stomach and see the small bulge appear “I’m cumming~” I moan as I feel my second orgasm of the night hit me. I cum on my stomach and feel it drip down onto the sheets I know I’ll have to wash tomorrow, I soon collapsed on the bed while feeling tired “what are you doing I’m not done taking my stress out yet baby boy
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thewriterg · 1 year
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♡︎𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭♡︎
Pairing(s): Peter Parker x Fem!reader, Peter Parker x Siren!reader, Sub!Peter x Dom!reader
Summary: At first he would’ve just been colateral damage but you couldn’t let him go and Peter knew you wouldn’t let him go and if you followed the plan you would be together truly soon —kinktober day; 21—
Word count: 1.0k+
Warning(s): Pure filth, Peter is 21, Mommy kink, oral m receiving, p in v, breath play, aftercare, a peak of manipulation, dirty talk, pet names, one mention of a drug —if you blink you’ll miss it—, and language
A/n:—GIFs aren’t mine— I got inspo from an Eddie fic I remember I read a looong time ago I tried to search my like but that was a lost cause so here we are
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Peter felt that familiar chill rushing up his body, you were here and he didn’t even need to look at the time to see what the clock read it was 3:00am the time you came every night for the past six months
He felt your nails run up his abs him having to be shirtless and he still couldn’t help the fact but shiver and it never failed to put a dark grin on your face before Peter finally opened his eyes
“That was some stunt you pulled today with that Michelle girl hmm?” You questioned pushing at his lips softly with the pad of your thumb before he knowingly took your finger Into his mouth as you could here the soft suckling noises echoing through the darkness of his room before your other unoccupied hand slipped to his neck
“That was some stunt you pulled today with that Michelle girl hmm?” You questioned pushing at his lips softly with the pad of your thumb before he knowingly took your finger Into his mouth as you could here the soft suckling noises echoing through the darkness of his room before your other unoccupied hand slipped to his neck
“You’re lucky all I did was break that coffee pot because I don’t share, you’re mine and only mine and I’ve think that’s something you’ve seemed to forget” Your grip got tighter on his pulse point and Peter could feel himself get dizzy but refused to tap out it was euphoria in one swift motion
Peter had always thought you could read his thoughts because after one more squeeze you were off his neck while the lost oxygen returned to its rightful place in his lungs before you began leaving cold kisses back down his abdomen stopping just above his waist and smirk etching its way on your face
“So hard for me, as always” Peters senses were going haywire your touch was everywhere and nowhere at the same time before you began to palm him through his pajama pants
“Only for you no one else, only for Mommy” The brunette began babbling and it made your heart swell at the thought reality no one could please him like you did you were his and he was yours only
“No one can ever please you how I do, you would be lost without me” Peter pants were gone in a blink as he nodded rapidly in agreement his hips bucking into nothing as the cold air hit his angry red tip
You hand inched it’s way to the base of his cock your thumb wiping a bead of precum from its tip using it as lube before spitting in your hand as you began to jerk him off not giving the boy a chance to adjust as your hand moved at a rapid pace
“Look at you baby, going so dumb and we’ve barely begun” You taunted as Peter whined loudly before you brought his cock into your mouth your tongue doing spins and spirals on the tip that had his hips bucking and twitching roughly while you hollowed out your cheeks taking his length whole gagging slightly before moving your head up and down never faltering your quick movements while you brought a hand to play with his heavy balls
Peter struggled not to take you right there and fuck you both into oblivion but he didn’t have permission to touch you and he knew that but he also knew he was on the brink of the biggest load in human history
“I’m gonna- fuck I’m gonna come please” Peter was about to fucking cry when he felt your mouth leave his cock with pop as you started kissing his tip then trailing down his thighs back up to his face
“Two more weeks pup, two more weeks and we can be together the moon will reach its apex and I can return to my true form” Peter could feel the vibrations from your words in his jugular as you nipped and lapped over his neck sure to leave marks
“Gonna be with Mommy?” His big brown doe eyes stared into yours his head tilted like a curious puppy that had your stomach flipping in knots you hadn’t felt like this in years, century’s even
“Yes pup, you’re gonna be with Mommy” You whispered sinking down on Peters cock as he moaned such pornographic sound that it could be used for a movie scene his broken words going into your ears and traveling down to your cunt every time you skin slapped together as you bottomed out before thrusting him back in there was a new “mghf” or “fuhh”
“You can touch me baby” You reassured and that was all peter needed to hear before he flipped you both over him now being on top of you slamming his hips into you relentlessly at a brutal pace while tears began to drip from his cheeks down his chin at the grip your pussy had on him
“You fuck me so well baby, gonna fill me up go ahead pup” You moaned his pace bruising his groin smashing into your mound as you could feel the pleasure bubbling in the bottom of your stomach
“Close. gonna come. coming” Peter came with the loudest cry he screamed in the last six months as hot ropes coated your walls as you followed behind him tugging the roots of his hair before he collapsed into you using his shaking arms to break his fall
At least five minutes had passed before you slowly lifted your hands to Peters cock moving it back and out of your clit as he whined nudging his nose into your neck
“Gotta get a towel baby” You muttered lifting from the bed and into the bathroom that connected to Peters room grabbing a clean towel turning on the faucet dampening a corner before returning to the room
You took the damp corner wiping Peter base following with his tip which he jerked his hips at the motion whining
“Too much, no more please” He whimpered holding your hands in place while you shushed him softly
“I know baby I’m all done” You slipped back in the bed next to Peters side as you hand made contact with his hair scratching gently as lied on top of you nudging his nose Into your neck breathing in your scent
He knew you wouldn’t be there when he woke up you had no choice but he only had to deal with it for two more weeks and you could be together, you would turn him so you could love each other forever.
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blueywrites · 1 year
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I Will Wait
a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)
cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness
18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. fem!reader, alcohol consumption
three (15.3k) | next | masterlist | AO3 | 🎵 shmackin' tunes
in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. enjoy! 🐝
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The next few months are an absolute whirlwind. Corroded Coffin was in the last legs of producing their new album when you were hired, meaning the period of time when they were gearing up for the debut was just getting started. Photoshoots, interviews, preparing press releases, scheduling future appearances, and a million other things all seemed to be happening at once.
In addition to being the middleman between Eddie and the powers that be, which mostly consisted of Steve sending you constant emails of new appointments, you also were quick to learn some of the other expectations that comes along with being a PA for a celebrity. Mainly: house work.
At first you had thought they were fucking with you when Eddie mentioned that he needed you to come to his brownstone in the morning to do his laundry. As it turns out, he was both completely serious and incredibly amused with your ignorance of all the things you had technically signed up to do for him by taking this position. So you found yourself letting yourself into the Munson brownstone in Greenwich Village a few times a week to do menial tasks for your client. 
Today, you’d walked in around 10am, much to Eddie’s displeasure, and were greeted with a bag full of laundry thrown at your feet. “Good morning to you too, Eddie,” you offer, albeit a bit dryly as you place your pocketbook on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Did the maid I hired not get around to laundry this week?”
“Fired her.” Eddie sounds way too chipper for this time of day, and you can only guess it’s because of his smug smile as he forces you into doing things you’ve tried to work around. “Kept looking at my underwear weird; thought she was gonna sell it or something.”
Not believing it for a second, you still give him a tight smile. “I’m sure. I’ll work on finding another maid to clean the brownstone. Again.”
“You do that!” He calls over his shoulder as he walks further into the bright and airy kitchen. In his black sweatpants and bleach-stained tank top, he looks completely at odds with his own home. It sometimes makes you wonder if his wife, Robin, picked everything out or if they had just gotten a designer to come in and make it like a show home. The first floor is beautifully decorated but stale, like no one actually lives there. It gets a bit more personal as you ascend but it still seems strange to have a home feel so disconnected. “Oh—” he looks back over as you lift the bag of laundry into your arms with a huff, “I have a pair of silk boxers in there that need to be hand washed, so don’t even think about putting them in the machine. And, uh… don’t worry about the stains.”
Oh, how you wish you could smack the cheeky grin off his face sometimes. You mumble an acknowledgement as you carry the bag through the first floor and past the kitchen, passing through an open door frame that leads into the laundry/mud room. Sorting lights and darks, despite the very intense lack of white articles that need to be cleaned, you start shoving black fabric after black fabric into the top load washing machine. When the tips of your fingers brush silk, your teeth clench tight together as you clutch it in your fist and throw it towards the deep sink a few feet away.
Once the machine is started, you walk back over to where the bundle of black silk now rests at the bottom of the plastic basin. Upon first examination, there are no suspicious ‘stains’ to be seen, but you still don’t trust it. Pinching one of the hems between your fingernails, you lift it up to eye level to inspect further, wanting to know exactly what you’re getting into before you get started.
The french door behind you pulls open with a stream of sunlight and a brush of floral perfumed air. Still holding the offending garment between your fingertips, you spin toward where Robin has just entered the mud room, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose and a book in her hand. “Uh…” Her hand slowly drops from the door handle, a smile stretching across her face as her eyebrows raise. “Whatcha doin’?”
Embarrassment wells up to warm your face, which you assume was Eddie’s goal all along, while you give Robin a tense smile. “Eddie fired the maid again. Said his silk underwear needed to be ‘hand-washed’.”
Robin’s sigh is one of long-suffering acceptance as she crosses over to you, grabs the boxers, and throws them into the running washing machine. “He’s fucking with you; you know how he is.” The sunglasses are pushed up into her hair so she can fix you with her blue-eyed stare. “You can just… push back a little. Don’t let him walk all over you.”
“It’s my job to—”
“Your job is not to just do whatever the fuck he tells you to do. Like, hiring the maid was a good move. He probably would’ve had you over here everyday dusting his little trophies if you hadn’t outsmarted him.” Her smile is warm, almost like she’s proud. “Your job is to make sure he can do his job. That’s all.”
Since meeting Robin 3 months ago, she has been nothing but sweet and kind to you. Despite being your client’s wife, she very often put herself in your corner, facing off against some of Eddie’s more unreasonable requests. While you don’t necessarily need her intervention, it still is nice to have sometimes. Her reassurance has your tension easing, a deep breath expanding your lungs in slight relief. “Thank you, Robin.”
“No prob,” she taps the cover of her paperback against your bicep as she moves past you and out into the kitchen. “Eddie!”
You follow her through the entry just in time to see Eddie spinning toward her shout, an open gallon of milk in his hand and a white stain on his upper lip. “Hey Rob, what’s the move?”
“God, Munson, you’re so fucking gross.” She pushes his shoulder out of her way to reach into the fridge and pull out a decanter of orange juice. “Remind me to never drink the milk in this house again.”
He sets the jug on the kitchen island and leans on his elbow to keep himself in her sideview, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “And you married me anyway.”
“Don’t remind me,” she groans, although it betrays a certain level of amusement with her husband as she places her palm on his forehead and pushes him away again. Watching the easy interaction of their back and forth, always acting more like best friends than a more formal married couple, has a pang twisting in your chest. You can only hope for such an easy and comfortable relationship with your soulmate one day.
Two days later, you’re once again standing in the Munson brownstone in the early hours of the morning. Or, Eddie’s version of early, which happens to be anytime before noon. You hadn’t had time to find another cleaning service yet so you were elbows deep in the sink in their kitchen, bright yellow silicon gloves protecting your hands from the hot, soapy water as you washed bowls and coffee cups.
Eddie appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning loudly as he stretches his arms skyward, shirt lifting to show a peek at the ink beneath. You pay him no mind as you continue your methodical cleaning of ceramics, keeping your eyes down even when he walks right up beside you and leans on the counter. Fully content to ignore him until your task is done, you can’t help but startle away when his fingertips ghost against your temple, pushing the hair back.
“What are you doing?” You finally glance over at him, your voice pitching up a bit in surprise. His smile is mischievous, eyes shining in the light, leaning over further to rest his chin on his fist.
“Oh, I was just fixing it for you. Your hands are wet and soapy.”
Exhaling through your nose, you go back to focusing on scrubbing the burnt eggs from the bottom of a frying pan. Over the last month or so, Eddie has gone from barely tolerating your existence and trying to make your life miserable, to being very pleased with your existence so he can continue to push the envelope on making your life miserable. It has become more and more like a game for him – testing the boundaries on what you will tolerate. Both what you will do for him and how much he can flirt with you until you get terse.
After a moment of awkward silence, at least on your end, you move to break the tension. “We should go over your schedule for today.”
He gives an exaggerated sigh, turning to lean both arms back on the counter beside you. “If we have to.”
“Your stylist asked you to be on site by 10am so they would have time to get you ready before the photographers arrived.” You’re barely halfway through your sentence before Eddie is groaning, sinking a bit lower onto his elbows. Mustering a flat look, you turn your head in his direction. “Why are you pouting?”
“I forgot the fucking photoshoot was today.” A ringless hand comes up to rub at the side of his face, still a bit swollen from sleep. “The only thing worse is those stupid press interviews.”
You turn back to the soap filled bowl in your gloved hands to hide your smile. “Good thing that’s not today. The interview is later this week.” Eddie’s reaction is instantaneous and dramatic – he moans in outrage as he slides all the way down to the floor beside you, leaning over to lightly hit his forehead against the side of your outer thigh over and over.
“I swear, it’s like you hate me,” his voice is muffled from below, face directed down. “You hate me when I have been nothing but nice to you.”
An amused snort leaves you against your will at the idea. His head whips back to look up at you in surprise and you barely manage to school your expression in time. “It’s not personal, Eddie. I’m just doing my job.”
“Speaking of your job,” he picks himself up off the floor in a less-than-graceful fashion, his sweatpants running much lower as he rises. You keep your eyes in the sink as you wipe down the last coffee mug left and pretend you aren’t seeing him adjust the fabric around his groin. “I need you to walk my lizard today.”
Halfway through removing the stopper from the sink to drain the used water, you freeze with your forearm still in the slowly lowering water. “Excuse me?”
He’s leaning on his elbow again, a smug smile on his face as he watches your reactions. “My lizard. You know, the one upstairs?” You make a noise of acknowledgement that you know what lizard he’s referring to. “He needs to be walked once a week. Specifically on sunny days. Normally around noon when the sun is highest, so he gets the most of the heat, y’know?”
You feel your eyebrows drawing together in confusion, trying to think back to what you know about lizards. Which, admittedly, is not much. Still, needing to walk a lizard sounds incorrect. You’ve never seen someone walking around with their lizard on a leash. You’re about to start to question him more when you catch sight of his expression. He has his lips drawn in between his teeth, his eyes pinched tight as he tries not to laugh. “... You’re fucking with me.” The laugh escapes as a bark, his palm slapping down on the counter beside you as it echoes out into the high ceilings of the brownstone. “You almost fell for it too!”
Bristling in annoyance and just a little bit of embarrassment, you take a deep breath and hang the damp gloves over the edge of the now-empty sink to dry. “I think it’s time for you to get ready to leave.”
His mirth dies down fast, his head rolling back to sigh at the ceiling. “But, and here’s the thing right, I really don’t want to go.” You make another noncommittal noise, not looking to encourage his antics right now. Neck rolling toward you, that cheeky grin that you’ve come to loathe is back. “Beg me and I’ll do it.”
Another exhale out of your nose to remain calm, you weigh your options. If you beg, you are playing into his games and encouraging antics like this. But, you also get the result you want faster. If you refuse, you are technically standing your ground, but could end up with a bigger fight to try to get him ready and out the door in time. Deciding to play his game, you give him the flattest expression you’re capable of. “Will you please get ready to leave for your photoshoot?”
This time the sigh he lets out is satisfied, his shoulders falling and eyes closing in what looks like relief. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re accompanied by a lazy smile. “Love when you say please.” He taps the tip of your nose, shocking you still, as he turns back toward the stairs. “I’ll be ready in no time!”
He is not ready in no time.
You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs at 10:10am and have still not seen head nor tail of Eddie since he traipsed back up. The car outside has already honked twice, letting you know it’s waiting, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Eddie, we’re already late!” Your voice echoes through the multi-floor space, definitely loud enough for him to hear, but you get no response. Patience running thin, you raise your voice again. “Eddie!”
You finally hear him reply, voice far off. “I got stuck in my pants, maybe you should come up and help me!”
Pressing your fingertips to your brow bone hard enough to pull the skin of your eyelid, you call back, “If you’re struggling to put your own pants on, I should probably call a medical professional.”
The soles of now-familiar boots appear at the top of the tall staircase, your eyes trailing up their occupant as he begins to slowly lumber his way down the stairs. He’s in his usual attire. Scuffed Doc Martens, a pair of black jeans stretched tight over his endless thighs, leather jacket fitted against his frame, those chunky rings adorning his fingers. Around his neck he wears multiple silver chains of varying sizes, dipping low into the collar of his shirt. “Y’know you could stand to be a little more fun.”
You remain firm, arms crossed as you wait for him to hit the final step. “I don’t think I understand your version of fun.” He blows a raspberry in your direction as he crosses the foyer to start shoving things into the already-tight pockets of his jeans. “We’re already late, and that means we are just delaying further when we can get to your preferred portion of the day at the studio.”
He meets your eyes through the mirror before him. Both of you showing an attempt at nonchalance.  “I swear, sometimes when you talk it’s like a fly buzzing around my head and I just,” he swats once, “can’t,” twice, “get it,” three times, “to stop.”
“Maybe you should get better aim,” you offer coolly as you cross behind him to hold open the front door, hoping to get him to finally walk through it. “Or, better yet, you should consider actually listening to me instead of letting it go in one ear and out the other.”
“But it's like a buzzing little bee in my ear. Gets so annoying whenever you’re droning on and on about responsibilities and my to do list and shit.” He walks past you as he continues his rant, bouncing down the small set of stairs leading to street level. You’ve just turned back from locking the door when he whirls on you. “Maybe if you wore something a little more easy on the eyes, I’d be able to focus more on what comes out of your mouth.”
When you grit your teeth, his grin only grows, backing up towards the black sedan waiting for you both. Your voice is a thinly veiled warning when you start to say, “Eddie –”
“Careful, little Bee,” he opens the door, lifting a boot to rest on the frame. “If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.” Then he falls into the darkened car, leaving the door open and sliding across so you can get in next to him. With no other option, you stomp down your frustration and climb in after him.
You’re not sure what to expect as the car pulls up in front of an abandoned warehouse out on Long Island. At first glance, it’s a dilapidated looking hole in the wall. From where you’re sitting, you can see the rusted metal roofing, the smashed in windows, exposed beams standing erect to hold up the exterior of the building. You knew the team intended for a grungier, broken down scene to represent the lyrics of the band’s latest album portraying a man’s downfall; however, you hardly anticipated something such as this in the seemingly middle of nowhere. 
  Eddie’s knee spreads further right from where he sits next to you, jean-clad thigh brushing yours ever so softly. Your head shifts to take him in, gaze trailing instantaneously to where you’re connected, stamping down the feeling that wells up and lingers behind your ribs with every fleeting moment such as this. His amber eyes are shrouded behind a pair of sunglasses today, tattooed hand nearest to you sprawled over his bent kneecap. There’s a thought burgeoning in his gaze, ever present before he ever even opens his mouth to speak out his reluctant drawl of, “Guess it’s now or never.”
The two of you slide out the car in unison on opposite sides of the respective vehicle, winding around the exterior and meeting to join in the center of the uneven, grassy ground. His lip quirks upward as he takes in the sight of you like a newborn doe on heels that insist on sinking into the ground, head tipping your way in the only acknowledgement of your presence you’ll likely receive. Inside, you’re immediately greeted by rusted over conveyor belts in the center of the room. There are steel beam stairs leading to an upper deck overlooking the central portion of the interior. To your left is the wall least eaten away by rust throughout the years, silver metal spanning from floor to ceiling, with endless lights positioned around the edges of the parameters to illuminate the set.  
Your head tips to Eddie, standing there disinterested as ever, head tipping up to the sky, visible through the broken up ceiling. Like this, you can see every dark wave of hair that dances along the leather of his jacket, the ridges on the column of his pale throat, the tattoos that creep up high along the neckline of his collar, hinting at intricate detailing beneath. And then that left hand settles over the bridge of his sunglasses and pushes them upward, the glint of his wedding ring catching in your field of view, and you set your gaze on the glowing set before you as you edge closer to your destination. 
The room itself is bustling. People shift and mill about the warehouse, carrying various pallets and crates in hand and positioning them strategically around the room in order to create impactful angles for the intended photos. Workers chat amongst themselves with cameras draped around their necks, clipboards in hand as they mark down a list of tasks you’re not privy to. Once nearer to the group, a woman comes barreling over in a flurry of movement. She’s gorgeous. Deep russet skin, dark hair styled to perfection, a tape measure over her shoulder, and a pair of leather pants curled over a forearm. You catch the glint of her artful gold hoops in either of her ears and the bright makeup covering her eyelids. You admire the rips in her jeans and the fabric of her oversized hoodie as she tuts audibly and glares Eddie’s way. You assume this isn’t the first time Eddie’s run behind schedule, try as you might to get him there as close to on time as possible.
“You’re late!” She admonishes, hand dropping to a popped out hip. For the first time since you’ve been working for Eddie, you catch the slight drop in his steely facade. It’s barely noticeable, just the slightest downturn of his lips, but you capture it all the same, knowing this woman intimidates him in a way no one else seems capable of doing so. She turns to you then, flashing you a megawatt smile. “Erica. Erica Sinclair. I’m Corroded Coffin’s stylist. I’m sure you tried your very best to get him here on time, but you see Edward wouldn’t be Edward if he wasn’t late to everything.”
“Fashionably late, Sinclair.” She glances him up and down, clearly unimpressed by his excuse, and curls a hand around his shoulder.
“Says the man who would wear the same ugly ass Hellfire shirt to every fitting when I first started working with you all. It’s a miracle by my own doing that you know how to dress yourself now. Come on, the team is already paying for your lateness,” she says, and without another word your way, she ushers him to a trailer standing just outside of the warehouse, where you anticipate the rest of the band to be readying for their photoshoot within. 
You’re left to stand in the back of the warehouse, trying to keep out of the way of those working around you. With a low sigh, you wander over to the furthest wall covered in sheet metal and broken in windows, looking out into the grassy landscape. A bird flits on by, drawing your attention, just as a voice sounds from behind you. Jolting, you whirl on the heel and spot none other than Steve himself, and beside him, a man you’ve yet to meet before.
The man’s bearded face is twisted in a scowl as he shouts into his brick of a cell phone. He’s gesticulating wildly, dark curls bouncing with every angry movement. You can only catch snippets of his impassioned rant, but you’ve gathered enough to know that he does not suffer fools gladly. 
Steve stands awkwardly beside the man, wincing on occasion at his booming voice. The scene is not entirely inviting, but you have no choice but to approach when Steve’s gaze catches yours. His face lights up in recognition, and he waves his hand to beckon you near. As you approach, Steve steps forward and briefly pats your upper back in greeting.
“Glad to see you made it! I want to introduce you to our band manager, Murray Bauman.” Steve motions you over with a warm smile until another shrill taunt from the man in question has him flinching away. “But let’s just give him a minute, shall we?” You agree politely and turn with Steve to observe Murray closing out his phone conversation. 
“I don’t care how busy you are, get it done TODAY!” Murray’s barking demand echoes throughout the warehouse, and you stare as he rips the phone from his ear and takes out his frustrations by repeatedly smashing the end call button. He lets out an annoyed breath before pushing his wireframe glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 
“Fair warning, he can be… bold.” Steve whispers this warning for your ears only. Just another hothead for the collection, you snort to yourself. You deal with Eddie Munson on a daily basis. How much worse could Murray Bauman be? Steve walks ahead of you to serve as the bridge during introductions. Before Steve can offer an explanation, Murray’s annoyed face takes in your approach with suspicion. 
“Who are you? Harrington, why are you bringing this person to bother me?” Murray interrogates you immediately. He regards you skeptically, assessing whether you are worth his time or attention. 
“Murray, this is the assistant I was telling you about,” Steve explains, offering your name as he beckons you forward. “You know, the one who is currently working with Eddie.”
“You mean the one you forced me to hire?” 
Steve casts a furtive glance your way before his gaze whips back to Murray, the stare holding weight as he replies, “She’s lasted four months, Murray.”
Murray looks back flatly as Steve tries to impress some knowledge upon him with a combination of wide hazel eyes and bushy brows. Behind his wireframe glasses, Murray squints. “Four months?” He replies skeptically, and Steve nods slowly.
“Four months,” he enunciates slowly, and you watch the men communicate through shifting facial expressions: Steve’s eyes implore Murray to be civil, while Murray appears exasperated by the prospect of niceties. Eventually, Murray lets out a groan before forcing his face into a perfunctory smile.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Murray offers, insincerity lacing his every word. His dark eyes cut to Steve as if to ask - happy now? All at once, his mask crumbles and he returns to his brash self. “Do me a favor, yeah? Keep Munson in line. I’d prefer to not clean up any more of his messes.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” you reply. “It’s very nice to mee–”
“What the hell are you wearing?” Murray sounds appalled, disgust written all over his face. His question makes you stutter to a stop. You look down at your outfit and see nothing untoward - white blouse, black cardigan, plaid pleated skirt, dark tights, and chunky heels. It’s simple and professional. It’s safe. Or so you thought. Confused, you look back up to see that Murray isn’t making eye contact with you. Instead, he’s glaring at something or someone behind you. That’s when you register the sound of heavy boots thudding your way. You turn to see who has inspired such a visceral reaction from Murray, but instinctively you know who you’ll find. 
Eddie.  
He strides toward you with Erica by his side. She looks proud of her work, and you can’t blame her. Eddie looks… well, he looks hot. To put it bluntly. Erica has given Eddie a monochrome look that’s enhanced by different textures and accessories. His black suit is striking with its satin lapels and tailored fit. The suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the pièce de résistance - a mesh top that leaves little to the imagination.
“You look ridiculous! Where’s the rest of your shirt?” Murray’s question is directed at Eddie, but his scowl is aimed straight at Erica. Any other person would have withered under the intensity of his glower, but Erica seems emboldened by it. 
“Where’s the rest of your hair?!” Erica counters without a moment's hesitation, arms crossed in defiance. “Leave the dressing to the experts. Seriously, Murray. You look like a sad, middle-aged hack going through a divorce.”
“Oh, spare me, Sinclair.” 
Erica and Murray’s jibes muddle with Steve’s pleas to stop, eventually fading into background noise as you observe the man standing before you. 
You have to hand it to Erica - it’s a daring look. The mesh hugs Eddie’s torso in a way that flatters his lithe frame and provides just enough of a glimpse of his tattoos to captivate any onlooker. His pale skin is heavily decorated in ink, and you can’t help but try deciphering what you’re seeing through the mesh. Eddie’s collection of tattoos seems to pay homage to his love of music and fantasy. On his left side, you spy an unusual string instrument with the word bard etched underneath. Just below that, you see artwork of a dagger with a blade made of uniquely shaped dice. By his right ribcage, Eddie has a tattoo of a mighty dragon with wings poised for flight. The dragon’s claws seemingly tear into the supple skin of Eddie’s toned abdomen. You follow the dragon’s scales down, down, down until its tail disappears beneath Eddie’s suit trousers - along with a little patch of sparse hair below his navel. 
I wonder where that tattoo ends. The thought jolts you back to reality. This is your client— your very married client— whose wife has been nothing but kind to you. The guilt and shame overwhelm you. 
You become very aware that you’re still ogling Eddie’s body, and your eyes race upwards to find a more appropriate location to settle. Unfortunately, your retreat to safety is foiled by the glimmer of metal you spot by Eddie’s nipples. You feel flustered by the sudden warmth blossoming within you. Eddie Munson has his nipples pierced. You had been too distracted by his tapestry of tattoos to notice them at first, but now you’ll never be able to forget that the piercings exist. Great going, you think to yourself, you try to avoid staring at your client's happy trail only to stare at his nipple piercings instead. Well done, very professional. 
To your horror, Eddie has caught you staring. He sports a look of faux disappointment with his plump lips pushed into a pout. His tattooed hand points to his face, and he teases, “Tsk, tsk, little Bee. My eyes are up here.”
Your mind races to find a suitable excuse for your staring, or better yet, a way to deny it happened in the first place. Eddie is looking at you like he’s a spider that has caught you in his web, and you break eye contact to save some face. It ends up being the wrong decision because your mortification only deepens when you realize that Murray and Steve have witnessed Eddie’s accusation. Erica has long since departed after her verbal sparring match with Murray. Without her there to act as the target for his irritation, Murray is now laser-focused on you and Eddie. “Hmm… that’s interesting,” he observes, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. 
“What’s interesting?” Steve asks.
“Keep up, Harrington,” Murray offers no explanation and instead dodges Steve’s question with a dismissive wave of his hand. Steve places his hands on his hips looking utterly bewildered. He goes to speak again, but Murray beats him to the punch. “So, Munson… I hear that your assistant has lasted four months working with you. Is that right?”
Murray’s inquiry has an instant effect on Eddie’s body language. His playful pouting has dissipated, and his stance now appears guarded. He crosses his arms over his chest— over the distracting nipple piercings, thank god— as he eyes his band manager cautiously. “... why do you ask?” 
“Oh, no reason at all. Just curious,” Murray replies nonchalantly. “You must be getting along.” You don’t know Murray well at all. However, you do know Eddie well enough to take his weariness as a signal that things could soon become uncomfortable. 
“I haven’t scared her off, yet. If that’s what you mean,” Eddie scoffs. “But don’t worry, I’m still working on it.” It’s a classic Eddie move -  making a joke of something to avoid showing any hint of being rattled. He throws a coquettish grin in your direction, which does not go unnoticed by Murray. Steve looks uneasy, as if this conversation will upset whatever balance you’ve struck with Eddie. 
“I sure hope she isn’t stroking your ego too much.” Murray’s tone is blasé, but his implication is clear. “And you better not be giving her a mouthful.” Steve can no longer stand idly by now that he has finally caught onto what Murray found so intriguing. He swoops in to intervene by physically placing himself between Eddie and Murray. 
“Well this has been fantastic,” Steve forces a laugh out and runs a shaky hand through his brown locks. “Murray, let’s continue that chat about merch, yeah?” He is practically vibrating with nervous energy as he tries encouraging Murray to move. 
Allowing himself to be led away, Murray offers a farewell over his shoulder, “Good luck, kid. If you need anything, anything at all, do not contact me. Bother Harrington instead.” At the mention of his name, Steve turns briefly to mouth I’m sorry as the pair exit. 
Mind spinning off kilter from everything that occurred in the last few minutes, you turn yourself back toward Eddie for a sense of stability. Since when is Eddie something constant in your life? You find a very tense-looking man. The muscles in his jaw are pulled tight as he glares at the spot once occupied by Murray. The moment ends quickly as if he can feel your eyes on him. Eddie annoyingly seems to have gained a sixth sense for knowing when you’re staring. His crossed arms fall along with the seriousness of his expression, hands tucking into his front pockets. The action only causes his pants to inch lower and, for a split second, your eyes are instinctively drawn to the patch of skin now on show. 
My eyes are up here.
The echo in your brain rings out and has your glance jumping back up in horror. Eddie watches every movement and his lips pull between his teeth again, the same face he made this morning when he was trying not to laugh. All you can offer in defense is rolling your shoulders back to look taller and making your gaze sharper, daring him to say something. He lifts his hands in surrender, his lips popping out into a self-satisfied smile as he turns on his heel and saunters back toward the set, whistling all the while. You begrudgingly follow after him.
Eddie’s pace is unhurried as he drags his feet in a clear display of apathy. You spot the rest of the band gathered around a petite woman speaking animatedly and pointing to various spots on the set. She’s captivating with her high cheekbones, loose brunette waves, and eyes like the ocean. Those eyes narrow upon seeing Eddie’s dawdling. 
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she chides. “We’ve been waiting on you. Hurry it up.”
“Hello to you, too, Wheeler. I didn’t realize you were so excited to see me. I’d hate to disappoint a fan,” Eddie teases with a roguish grin wide across his face. Much to your surprise, he picks up his pace and joins the others in listening to Nancy— whose first name you learn indirectly, thanks to Eddie’s habit of calling everyone by their last names— detail the aim of today’s photoshoot. She explains that the media team will be experimenting with several looks in order to use the photos for both album promotion and touring purposes. 
Eddie turns to you as Nancy begins guiding the others to their spots on set. “Enjoy the show. You sure seemed to earlier.” He winks and turns on his heel to join the others.
Deny! Deflect! Do something!
“I was only admiring Erica’s work! It had nothing to do with you.”  You can see Eddie’s shoulders shaking with laughter, and you know he’s not convinced. To be fair, you haven’t convinced yourself either. It sounds weak even to your ears, like a last-ditch effort to save your dignity. Feeling defeated, you slump over to the chairs lining the wall where you can watch the photoshoot concealed behind the photography equipment. 
Two hours pass and the band is still preoccupied with taking pictures. You watch as they’re pushed and pulled into different poses and settings. The process feels overall repetitive, but Nancy does her best to keep energy levels high. She directs the photographers to get solo shots, which leads to hilarious chaos as the band hypes each other up behind the camera. “Yeah, Harry! Rock out with your Cox out!”  
Despite the momentary amusement, you find yourself mostly bored watching from the sidelines. You’re both surprised and grateful when you see a familiar face enter the set. Robin peers around at the flurry of activity before making her way over to you. 
“Finally some good company,” you breathe out in relief. Robin is delightful to be around, and you mean it when you share your appreciation for her presence. She gives you a sympathetic look before taking a seat beside you.  
“These things can take forever,” she commiserates. “But Nancy will keep them on track. Don’t worry. They’re lucky to have her. She’s brilliant.” Her husky voice sounds especially warm with adoration.  
Just as Robin said, Nancy is brilliant in her precise and methodical approach. She directs the crew in adjusting the lights and backdrops with ease. Her critical eye allows her to observe each shot and offer valuable posing guidance. It’s impressive to watch someone be so in her element. 
You and Robin sit together and make small talk until there’s a break for a set and wardrobe change. Robin excuses herself and makes her way over to Nancy. You notice Nancy’s focused demeanor melt into one of warmth upon Robin's approach, and the sight of their friendly affection for one another brings a smile to your face. Quite honestly, it makes you miss your friends; you’ve been so busy since starting this job that you haven’t found much time to see them.
Eddie walks past the pair on his way to meet Erica, briefling nodding at his wife in acknowledgement. He stops abruptly and looks around at the crowded set before swiveling back to face them.  
“Hey Wheeler, did Robin tell you she’s getting new headshots done for her upcoming play?” he asks. “Do you mind giving her some pointers while we break?”
Nancy brightens at the suggestion, “That’s a great idea. I’d be happy to help!”
“Why don’t you two go somewhere private? I don’t want all these people leering at my sexy wife when she’s posing.” Eddie winks at Robin, who whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ before leaving with Nancy. You’re touched by what you’ve just witnessed. Eddie is actually a supportive and loving husband. The longing hits you unexpectedly. When will it be my turn? Soulmate, where are you?
It’s exhausting to pine for someone you haven’t met yet. You have all of this love to give without a person to receive it and reciprocate. It feels aimless, like being adrift in the dark ocean with no light to guide you home. You’re too lost in your yearning to notice that Eddie has returned and is standing beside your chair.
“Everything okay, Bee?” The question physically jolts you from surprise. You wait for the inevitable teasing from Eddie about catching you off guard. Instead, you look up to find Eddie eyeing you closely. Whatever he sees in you in that moment must cause him concern. His brow is furrowed, and there’s an unexpected tenderness in his gaze. 
“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted by my thoughts.” 
“Well, that’s no good. What did I tell you this morning about having more fun?” Eddie hold his hand out for you to take, and he gently coaxes you to stand. His calloused hands feel rough against your gentleness, but you find it comforting. Once upright, he drops your hand and offers out his arm out as a replacement. “Come on, I’ve got just the idea to break you out of your shell.” 
The two of you walk side by side comfortably, and Eddie guides you to where the band and Nancy have reconvened. The guys are looking up at one of the warehouse walls in deep observation. You squint your eyes, searching for something on the wall that might be drawing their attention. Having no success, you look back to the band and realize they’re each holding something. Are those spray paint cans? Your ears perk up at the sound of rattling as Gareth shakes the can he’s holding. Yeah, definitely spray paint. You send a quizzical look Eddie’s way.
“Murray thought we needed some more edgy photos. He suggested we graffiti the wall for the next set,” he explains. “Wheeler was all worried about it, but… Murray knows best.” He mutters the last part bitterly, shaking his head with distaste. “He might actually be right about this, though.” Eddie steps forward, breaking your linked arms, and snags two spray paint cans from the ground. He holds one out to you, his face alight with mischief. 
You look around self consciously, noting that Steve and Murray are both within view. You fidget nervously and contemplate whether you can let your hair down while on the job. No one else appears to be partaking; only the band members have been given spray paint. “Are you sure about this? I think it’s just meant for you all.” 
Eddie throws his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Come on! Live a little.” He snaps out of his dramatics when he hears the sound of hissing fill the air from the spray paint cans in use. Gareth, Jeff, and Harry have already begun doodling on the wall without him. “See?! We’re missing out on the fun because you’re overthinking.” 
He extends the can out to you once more, gently nudging you to partake. He grins widely when you take the simple black paint from him reluctantly. You can do this. Show him you’re not always so uptight. 
You slowly approach the wall and think about what to paint. You need to show him that you can have fun and keep up with his jokes. The idea comes to you easily, and you get to work on your masterpiece. It’s a simple piece that only takes a few minutes for you to prepare. . 
Eddie is intently focused on drawing a large, crimson devil’s face, and you need to wave to get his attention. When his eyes meet yours, you point to your painting and await his reaction. Previously blank, the wall now sports the image of a humble bumblebee. The bee has two basic stripes, fluttering wings, and most importantly - a stinger. Eddie’s warning from this morning is fresh on your mind. If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.
Your artistic choice has the intended effect, and Eddie lets out a hearty laugh. He smiles at you, and those brown eyes crinkle at the corners with joy. He looks proud, and it stirs something unexpected inside of you. You find that you like pleasing him.  
  “Atta girl.”
You suppress a shiver that the hum of his voice conjures despite the flippancy of his words.
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That photoshoot, though chaotic in and of itself, somehow ended up becoming the calm before the storm for you. A demarcation point beyond which your days became filled with the relentless pursuit of planning a multi-month tour for a moderately famous industrial metal band. Days that had previously been spent ushering Eddie around to meetings with some semblance of timeliness and bringing him snacks when he gets cranky are now consumed by filling a thickening manilla envelope with neat documents, each marked with your precise handwriting as you plan and record each aspect of the trip logistics: contacting venues as per Steve’s direction, managing their hospitality riders, tracking expenses and budgeting for food and accommodations, as well as other minutiae that, frankly, has begun to make that vein throbbing in your neck a near constant companion by the end of the workday. The hours feel long, longer than they do when you’re trying to wrangle Eddie; though the days aren’t physically taxing as you spend them holed up at a desk fitted snugly into the closet you’d reorganized, they are mentally exhausting as those dates, dollar amounts, and contact names begin to tangle up in your head. You spill them out onto your trusty desk calendar, collecting them there as you stretch the strands and detangle them in order to begin weaving together Corroded Coffin’s first tour. It’s a feat you take no small measure of pride in.
Thankfully, during the weeks you spent taming this beast of a task, Eddie and the guys had been occupied almost entirely with rendering the final mix of their album. They’d worked closely with Argyle in refining the balance and levels of instruments and ambient sounds that would create the dirty industrial feel they were seeking with this upcoming release. You’d popped out of your stuffy little closet occasionally to check on them, though they didn’t seem to need much beyond being fed. Eddie, in particular, seemed quite consumed by a desire to see the vision brought to life, and was as serious and engaged as you’d ever seen him with a chair pulled up next to Argyle. That’s where you’d almost always see him when you emerged— long fingers idly twisting chunky rings, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed while he listened carefully and assisted in tweaking such small changes that you hardly could tell the difference with your unpracticed ear. He had a beeper to page you, but through your months of working with him, you’d begun to anticipate what he needs to sustain him daily in this routine— a hot to-go cup of black coffee first thing in the morning; at least half a box of cigarettes in the pocket of his leather jacket, on call for a smoke break; a salty snack around his lull time of four in the afternoon, which you rotate to keep him from getting bored; and next-to-no interruptions except a quick meeting of your gazes a few times a day in case it reminds him to ask you for something. 
And now, finally, as late August adorns the New York streets with haze rising from the asphalt and paints sidewalks with the frantic bustle of summer tourists, your strands of dates and locations and prices and contact names have now been woven together to form a complete tapestry: Accommodations for Corroded Coffin’s ‘95-’96 Album Tour. All the knotted muscles in your shoulders, the bloodshot eyes, the late nights and early mornings had been worth it to get to this point— the point at which the final picture of what exactly that tour would entail has been tied off into neat and tidy knots of thorough efficiency. You stretch your arms above your head and your spine pops with relief; despite the fatigue you feel fuzzing between your eyebrows, you push back your chair almost cheerily and pull the headphones from your ears, prepared pop from the closet and join the men whose tour you’ve just planned.
When you emerge, you expect to see them all in some approximation of the same position as usual— Argyle and Eddie sat in front of the mixing board, Harry hovering close behind, and Gareth and Jeff either mucking about in the studio or sprawled on the couches in the corner where they call out their contributions. Instead, you’re surprised by the presence of an unexpected figure, who acts as the nexus point around which the rest of the band hovers. He’s got his hands stuffed under his armpits and his hip jutted out, one loafer tapping against the floor, though behind his wire-rimmed spectacles he looks less irritated than the last time you’d seen him. I suppose having the tour booked and the album finished would put any band manager in a decent mood, you think, eager to join the throng of smiling men who gather around him.
“What’s on the menu? Anything good? ” Gareth is asking as you walk up.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is free food not good enough for you? You eat Smarties in Yoohoo as breakfast cereal. Get a grip,” Murray snipes, and laughter rumbles through the group.
“Oh!” All eyes turn to you at your little sound of surprise. “What promo event are you discussing? Did Steve plan something? I don’t remember seeing it on my weekly agenda notes from him.”
There is a beat of uncharacteristic silence from everyone before Jeff speaks— not quite tripping over himself, but with an extra edge of enthusiasm you don’t typically hear in his voice. “No, no,” he assures you quickly. “You didn’t miss anything. It’s a celebration for finishing the album, not a promo event. Just a get together Murray planned for us tomorrow.” He lifts his brows, eyes warm and sincere, if not a little too wide. “You gonna be there?”
That familiar feeling in your chest— that subtle deflating that sinks into your stomach, reminding you of cafeteria tables lacking in saved space and friends reminiscing over shared experiences you hadn’t even been aware of— weighs you down inside as you look into Jeff’s kind face. It stings, the knowledge that you hadn’t quite been forgotten or excluded, but only just— only because you’d emerged from your makeshift office and wandered into the conversation at just the right moment. Had you not, you would have been none the wiser, and it makes Jeff’s question— ‘You gonna be there?’ — feel awkwardly like you’ve invited yourself.
Still, you choose to save face. “Oh, gotcha!” you say, turning to Murray. “Where is it?” 
The neutrality in Murray’s expression in place of his typical sardonic scowl almost makes you feel worse. “My place. You been to the Upper West Side?” You nod. “You can show up anytime after seven. I’ll have Harrington shoot you the address, kid.”
You brace yourself against this second blow— being called ‘kid’ as if you really are just Eddie’s babysitter, as if you hadn’t just single-handedly coordinated an entire tour’s-worth of hotels and restaurants and activities— and smile. “Thank you,” you say, avoiding the dark brown eyes of one curly-haired menace.
Because if there’s pity there, too— pity like the kind you felt in Jeff’s too-wide smile or Murray’s soft nod— you think you might just burst into hot, utterly humiliating tears.
On Friday night, it takes some time for you to dress and even longer for you to resolve to actually attend the celebration party. That last-minute invite has rocked your sense of self, manifesting most clearly in the lack of clarity regarding your outfit. Clothes are strewn across your typically-orderly room like a cyclone of indecision has torn through it, and what you’ve chosen feels barely adequate: silver jewelry, simple mary janes, and a black silk blouse that flows like water against your skin, tucked loosely into the waistband of your bootcut blue jeans. You’d settled on the blouse chiefly because of the color, as if with some subconscious desire to blend in with the men you work with so that maybe next time they won’t forget about you.
After a good nights rest unencumbered by that looming task still hanging over your head— since you’d finally completed it, to your relief— and some consideration, you’d reasoned that the reason for your late invitation was probably not malicious. And when you’d checked your email to see that, not even twenty minutes after your conversation with Murray had Steve emailed and sent you details and the address, it essentially confirmed it. Sure, it certainly still stung knowing that you hadn’t been thought of from the get-go, but you chalked it up to your newness and the fact that you’d been cloistered in your ‘office’ so often lately.
You’d concluded the mistake was likely innocent, and as you stand outside the front door to Murray’s apartment hesitating to knock, you find yourself desperately hoping you’re right, and that you haven’t made a mistake by coming after all. This job is already so different from any you’d had before— nowhere else had you spent so much time intimately intertwined with the details of your employer’s life outside of a professional context. Spending time at Eddie’s apartment to wash his dishes, coordinate his meals, take him to his appointments, fetch him the things he needs… look after him… it all feels more domestic than professional, though in this role, really, those things are one in the same. It blurs the lines and leaves you strangely yearning for inclusion, leaves you feeling more vulnerable, as you finally press your index to the doorbell, than you’d honestly prefer.
A flash of panic hits you as you hear the approach of footsteps beyond the door. You prepare yourself for the sight of Murray’s face half-twitched into a reluctantly-polite smile as the rest of the men stare at you from their seats, drinks dangling from their hands as their eyes turn quickly from you and back to one another.
But when the door swings open, you’re instead greeted with the sight of Gareth’s poofy brown bangs and pink cheeks as he smiles so widely at the sight of you you’re sure his face must ache from it. “She made it!” he exclaims into your face, breath puffing loose and acrid with alcohol as he hooks an arm around your shoulder to pull you inside amidst a rousing chorus of elongated ‘ay’s from the rest of the band.
Your apprehension dissolves like seafoam as he pulls you eagerly inside. 
The interior of Murray’s apartment feels as though you’ve walked into a time capsule. You aren’t sure whether the mid-century modern theme is because Murray is partial to the style or because he hasn’t bothered updating the furnishings since the seventies, but judging by his half-unbuttoned ‘party’ shirt striped with deep brown and cream— displaying no little amount of bushy chest hair within which a gold chain is nestled— you figure it’s probably the latter. You look around with interest at the furnishings, intrigued by the design’s ability to feel both high end and also warm, quite a contrast from the modern crispness many favor nowadays. Gareth doesn’t give you much time to sight-see as he leads you towards the party’s epicenter in the living room, though you do notice that the walls are a bold burnt orange, accented by geometric wallpaper and bookshelves filled with vintage books and knick-knacks likely gathered on Murray’s travels. As you pad over the shag carpet in your mary janes, your gaze is drawn to the men crowded on the low-slung sofa around a sleek, glass-top coffee table. The air is hazy with smoke, which wafts from a cigar resting in a crystal ashtray near Murray’s elbow, and the record-player in the corner is crackling with jazz— Miles Davis, if your memory serves you correctly. 
All-in-all, it’s nothing what you expected Corroded Coffin’s album-completion party to look like, down to the way they all perk as Gareth leaves you to hover near the side of the couch while he plops back down in his spot on the floor. It’s all the familiar faces you would expect, and no one else. Murray, Steve and Argyle sit on low-profile armchairs pulled up beside the coffee table where cards and poker chips clearly indicate they’re in the middle of a game; Jeff and Gareth are seated together on the floor, and they lift their drink glasses to you when your eyes pass over them; and finally, Harry and Eddie are on the couch, knees spread wide and comfortable as they slouch, though they straighten at your approach. The mens’ greetings become a cacophony of friendly voices you can’t possibly discern as they overlap happily, and you accept them with somewhat shy nods but a pleased smile. Harry immediately shifts over towards the couch’s arm, and when he notices, Eddie does the same, narrowing his knees and shuffling over to the opposite side to make room for you.
It’s a clear invitation, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest as you step carefully over Harry’s shoes to sink onto the low velvet couch between them. 
“Did you find the place okay?” Steve asks, and you meet his hazel eyes as you reply,
“Yes, thanks. Actually, my aunt lives—” You find a cup suddenly thrust into your fingers, and you close them hastily around textured glass, glancing down at the amber liquid inside. “What is this?”
“Whiskey, my dude,” Argyle replies, settling back into his chair with a lopsided grin. “Bottoms up.”
You stare at it for a moment skeptically, already balking from the burn in your throat. But, like sharks in the water, they sense your hesitation; as if with one mind, the guys lean forward to goad you with some light ribbing, flashing brows, and wide grins. All except Murray, that is, who seems more impatient to get back to the poker game as he grouses and sighs impatiently. 
In the end, it’s Eddie’s elbow in your side and his brown eyes catching yours that do it— his gestures are loose with alcohol, and yet more gentle than you typically see him. “C’mon, little Bee.” He smiles, and something catches in your throat as it brightens his flushed face. “Time to get buzzed.”
Your head tosses back of its own accord as you laugh, tickled by the pun; when you look at him again, Eddie looks inordinately pleased with himself. “All right,” you concede; the guys cheer as Murray shakes his head. And though it burns just as much as you knew it would, when you clink that glass down against the coffee table, coughing slightly as Harry claps you jovially on the back, all you feel is warm. Warmth in your belly, warmth against your sides where Harry and Eddie sit beside you, warmth in your cheeks as you settle back against the cushions and look around at the friendly faces that surround you. 
Now that you’ve been christened with your first drink, the group turns back to the game of poker your arrival had interrupted. You watch with interest as they take up their hands again, hiding your giggle behind your hand as Gareth dramatically flops backward in a sprawl on the floor when he loses to Jeff, who rakes the pile of chips in the center gleefully and dramatically into his corner of the table. “I put thirty dollars on that hand; come on, man,” Gareth whines, but Jeff pays him no mind nor offers any mercy.
“D’you know how to play?” Eddie asks you, and you shake your head. 
“We can teach you,” Harry offers. 
“Oh, I’m fine watching—” You begin to protest but it’s cut off almost as quickly with a sharp movement from Eddie, who snatches a handful of chips from his pile into his broad fist, heedless of the way some bounce to the shaggy carpet below. You’d felt warm in your belly, at your sides, and in your cheeks, but more than anything else, you feel that warmth in your heart as Eddie presses some of his poker chips into your open palm.
“Doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to play,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just have some fun.”
You smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips to match the way he pats your wrist before lurching forward to pick up his fallen chips and receive his next hand. 
Throughout the games of poker you play, you find yourself both having the fun Eddie had instructed you to and simultaneously watching him, marveling at the way the haze and jazz and laughs and velvet couch have… softened him, almost. He's clearly drunk— more than a little glassy-eyed, with flushed cheeks and loose, heedless swinging of his wild curls and his limbs as he celebrates victories and laments losses— but it’s accompanied by more easy smiles and cackling laughs than you’ve heard from him in the last few months combined. He’s full of life tonight, but without as much biting edge. And you can’t help but think that to see him like this, so relaxed, so happy…
It’s nice. Nice in a way that makes that feeling bloom again— the one you’d been feeling more often since the photoshoot. You shake it quickly away.
His joy fuels the others, you notice. You suppose it makes sense; Eddie’s boisterousness and overwhelming energy tends to dictate the tides despite others’ attempts to direct situations otherwise. And as the night wares on, that easy looseness eventually devolves to become a bit more wild. Of course, it doesn’t take much for some of the others to follow suit.
Somewhere between the umpteenth hand of poker and your third round of drinks, Argyle wanders into Murray’s kitchen and helps himself to the bottle of champagne chilling in an icebucket, most likely prepared by Steve— you can’t see Murray bothering with that. Steve perks up when he comes back over, rubbing his hands on his trousers and rising as he reaches to take it from Argyle. 
“Thanks, Arg,” he says, but his gratitude ends up being a little hasty. Because rather than passing the bottle into his waiting hand, Argyle instead begins to shake it with a jerky flail of his arm, forcing Steve to retract his fingers, who huffs affrontedly. “I was gonna say something,” he protests, and while the exasperation is easy to read there, it’s overshadowed as Eddie leaps suddenly off the couch, crouching slightly, face alight with mischief as he circles Argyle on the rug. Once Eddie’s up, everyone follows suit— Jeff and Gareth scramble to join him, and you and Harry follow close behind, your hands clasping your elbows as you eye the proceedings with cautious amusement.
“Yeah, yeah, Steve, we all know what you’re gonna say,” Eddie drawls, but the wide smile on his face takes the edge off the sarcasm. “‘What an incredible accomplishment, we’ve worked so hard, the culmination of many months of effort—’ blah, blah, fuckin’ blah.” Eddie cackles as he flings his arm out to smack Steve companionably in the stomach, making his PR manager stumble slightly due to the accidental force behind the gesture. “Allow me.” 
Eddie flourishes and bows dramatically, his wild curls splaying around his shoulders as he jerks his head up to address the group— his face is flushed, pink rather than pale, with a vein popping on his forehead, and you can’t help but shake your head in reluctant, wry amusement as he declares, “Fuck bitches, get money, make metal, and raise fucking hell, boys!”
And with that— without any forewarning, really, besides a slanted smirk— Argyle pops the cork from the champagne bottle, spraying Eddie directly in the face with it.
You don’t know why you wouldn’t have expected it, but you stiffen with a little jerk as Murray roars, “Fuckin’— dammit, Argyle, not on the goddamn rug—!”
His ire is quickly overtaken by joy that fills the room as Jeff and Gareth jump towards the spray, mouths open wide in wait; ever obliging, Argyle coats their faces, too, directing most of the alcohol into their mouths but playfully directing it toward you and Harry too. You squeal and giggle as fizzy drops coat you lightly, turning into Harry’s broad shoulder for protection as the spray gradually weakens until it’s nothing but a dribble dropping to the shag.
In the ensuing silence, Steve looks at Murray sympathetically. “I’ll bill him for the carpet cleaning,” he promises, wringing his hands until Murray’s face calms from apoplectic to merely deeply aggravated.
You’re briefly worried he may pop an aneurysm until Argyle— the only one of you still bone dry— distracts everyone by pulling something casually from his pocket. “Oh, brochachos. Almost forgot. I got this advance copy of the album finished last night.”
The boys explode in a flurry of potent outrage and glee. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us sooner?!” Jeff shouts, and you’re taken aback to see the most even-keeled member of Corroded Coffin shake his producer by the shoulders. 
“Relax, dude,” Argyle drawls. “S’not fully mastered yet, but it’s close enough.”
And when the needle scratches to a halt on the record player, replacing smooth, dulcet jazz with the rhythmic drum beat of what you know is the boys’ favorite song on the album: ‘Closer.’
It also happens to be one of the best tracks to dance to, and the boys take advantage of that, though their movements— mostly just flailing limbs as they jump and headbang— are really just some crude approximation of dancing. Yet that doesn’t detract from the glee of the moment as, at some point you get pulled in, too, finding yourself in the middle of it all— laughing and swinging your head and shouting along with them. “I wanna fuck you like an animal!” you scream, chest effusive with bubbling joy as Eddie doubles over in wild, joyful laughter at the crudeness of the lyrics shouted in your alcohol-hoarsened voice. You find yourself swung by hands, twirled under arms, spinning and sing-shouting until your throat goes scratchy and your head a little fuzzy from all the activity.
As the song ends, Eddie steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, and you smile up at him appreciatively but are surprised when he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he tips his head, jerking it toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, and you see his lips move but barely hear his words underneath the booming of the next track, which echoes so loudly it nearly rattles the knick-knacks on Murray’s shelves. 
You trail after your employer as he leads you to the kitchen, sloppily filling an empty glass with water from the sink and handing it to you without any explanation. The intuitiveness of the gesture surprises you, as does the way he hovers nearby while you take tiny sips to soothe your parched throat. 
Eddie leans a hip against the counter, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his dark jeans and looking you over appraisingly. It’s the first time you’ve really gazed at him all night, and as he appraises you, you don’t feel that instinctual need to hide, the impulse dulled by the warmth buzzing in your veins. Instead, you just appraise him back, eyes trailing over the silver of his handcuff belt buckle, the chain at his hip, the soft, faded black of his band t-shirt, your eyes lingering where he’s clearly torn the sleeves off, evident by dangling threads that tickle the alabaster of his pale biceps. His curls are frizzier than before, still damp and sticking to his neck from the champagne, and his plush lips are pinker than they typically are— shiny and wet as he licks across them with a swipe of his tongue. 
You feel a distinct stirring deep in your belly and wrench your gaze from his mouth to his eyes, face heating as you anticipate a smirk and a crude remark, or perhaps a pointed comment about your wandering gaze. Yet Eddie’s face is calm, almost a little hesitant as he opens his mouth to speak— seemingly entirely consumed by what he wants to say. “So, you know we’re going on tour,” he says matter-of-factly, and you can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of it.
“I think I’ve gathered that. I mean, I’ve only been working out your accommodations for said tour for the past few weeks now,” you retort with a little smirk, and his lips curl in a lopsided grin at your sass. You anticipate a rebuttal, but Eddie continues without comment.
“Well, I know it might come as a shock that I’d be admitting this, but, ah…” He scratches the corner of his lips with one dark-painted fingernail, mouth stretched wide before he continues abruptly, “things have been running a little smoother since you came around. ‘Specially once you got the hang of washing my silky drawers right.”
Your growing pleasure at the praise flattens along with your expression at that final comment, though it eases when he smiles at you, crooked but wide, as eager as you’ve ever seen his smile be. “So,” he says with an air of dramatic finality, “how’s about you take that laundry service on the road?”
In what is almost more to goad him than in genuine disgust, you wrinkle your nose, and your chest warms again when he chuckles huskily, knocking you with his elbow lightly again. "What I'm try’na say is... you wanna come on tour with us?" 
When you think back to the way this party began for you— with a split second of awkward silence and a hastily extended invitation, clearly late-to-come— you hadn’t anticipated the way it would end up. In that moment at the studio, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed in so readily, sprayed with champagne, twirled underneath their arms, and cared for with poker chips and glasses of water. You hadn’t thought you’d be here, standing with Eddie Munson in his manager’s kitchen, being invited by him personally to go on tour with the band. 
It’s confirmation that you do have a place amongst them, and it’s also exactly why you took this job in the first place— the opportunity to explore beyond the limits of your current world.
"Yes,” you reply, and you can’t help it when your voice comes out honey sweet. “I'd really like that." 
"Well, good,” Eddie huffs good-humoredly, “‘cause you kinda have to whether you like it or not. But I'm glad I don't have to twist your arm after all." 
You nod, and something small— small and tenuous, trickling like briny water— flows between you and Eddie as you gaze at one another. "Well... thank you," you say, your voice soft and almost shy as you look up at him.
Eddie blinks, looking a little taken aback by the gratefulness in your expression. Quickly, his eyes jump from yours to track around the room as he says distractedly, "Sure, little Bee— Hey, Murray!” His hoarse voice rises in a shout as he skirts around you, trailing out of the kitchen as he calls wolfishy, “Where's your top shelf shit? I wanna get fuckin' blasted tonight." 
You watch him lope off toward the living room again without sparing you another glance. Quickly, you drain your water glass, leaving it in the sink and wandering back into the fray until you find yourself elbow to elbow with Steve. 
“So—” Your eyes find hazel as Steve regards you with a friendly, knowing smile. “You ready for that travel I promised you?”
Another wild cackle— one that, after tonight, threatens to haunt you in your sleep— draws both of your gazes. For a moment, you and Steve watch as Eddie sneaks up behind an unsuspecting Gareth, grappling him around the neck and tugging him into a headlock as the other man sputters and kicks at him. All at once, they seem to you much younger than their years, and it makes you consider the question.
Are you ready for the travel Steve promised you— travel where wrangling these unruly rockstars, and one in particular, is about to become even more of your daily existence?
You find, as Eddie shoves Gareth into Jeff and licks across his bottom teeth with a manic grin when the two recover and face him, readying themselves to retaliate, that you have no damn idea whether you’re ready or not.
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Dear Soulmate…
The early morning of the first day on tour, your feet carry you around the familiar walls of your apartment, taking in the comforting sights you’ve woken up to for the past year. Angela watches from the kitchen island, eyes full of unshed tears, an unspoken awareness settling over the room. Your life has changed since becoming Eddie’s assistant. It’s a reality you’ve accepted for some weeks now, but it feels real now—more than it ever has before. Because now you’ll be traveling on tour with the band, with him, moving across state lines you’ve never roamed. It’s a world of endless opportunity ahead, new sights to see, places to explore. It dawns on you that your home in New York City will be a far and distant memory for the next months you’ll be following Corroded Coffin around the country.
I’m leaving on tour with Eddie and the band today. Isn’t that crazy? I’ve never been this far from home – traveling was just never something I had time to do. I was always so focused on school, on trying to make my parents proud, on trying to be perfect. And now, I’ll be traveling with a metal band across the country! I never thought this is where I’d end up, but I’m trying to learn to embrace the unexpected (it’s so scary though!). I definitely didn’t expect Eddie to be the one inviting me. Although, he acted like he really had no choice in the matter, it’s still strange. 
Angela helps roll your multiple suitcases out into the main living area, mouth a wobbly line as you push them over onto their side and make sure you have everything you need one final time. Heels and other shoes, boots and sneakers in one duffel bag, each one a proper pair, freshly wiped down for any imperfection or defects. Another bag holds all your toiletries, makeup products, and hair tools should you ever need them. You unzip your suitcases next, peering in at various tights, dark skirts, dark colored sweaters, dark wash jeans for your off days. 
Eddie is… well, we’re still working on our relationship. I think most of the time he feels like I’m annoying him on purpose, but I’m really just trying to do my job. He’s not used to being on a schedule, which is a little wild to me because that’s all I’ve ever known. And maybe that’s what makes him push me away so much. His wife says I need to push back a bit, but I’m worried about keeping my job… I think I’ve grown to like working for him.  
Angela walks you down to the street, helping roll one of your bags down and onto the pavement. Cars and taxis speed by in a kaleidoscope of color, but your eyes latch solely on the rolled down window of the car sitting on the curb’s edge. 
            Eddie’s thre with a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, those dark sunglasses of his shrouding his eyes, tattooed arm on display in the bright sun of the morning. An inky tapestry of intricate detail, etched with countless stories and meanings he’ll never divulge. In the front is Hopper, his usual bored demeanor in place as he opens the driver's side door and walks around to join you and your roommate. The back trunk of the vehicle pops open with a small beep, your heart hammering away as the heftier man helps hoist your things into the back and latches the car back into place. 
“Ready?” Eddie calls from the car. 
You’re on the clock, sure, but you still remind yourself to quench the desire to raise your middle finger in a vulgar gesture, annoyance writhing in your gut. Instead, you focus your tangle of nerves on the girl standing before you on the street, with her shiny blonde hair and mournful expression on her face. She takes a slow step forward, arms coming to curl around your shoulders. There’s a suddenness of the realization you won’t see her until you return to New York for the holiday season. For the last year you’ve woken to the comfort of the four walls of your bedroom, the warmth of your apartment, and your friendship with Angela. 
“Go crush it,” she says, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, head close to your ear. “Take all the pictures. Try and enjoy yourself. New York will be here when you get back. I’ll be expecting as many phone calls as possible, and postcards of all the places you travel to! I want to hear about it all.”
He’s challenging, and yeah he calls me Bee (which I am STILL certain is short for Bitch despite his reassurances otherwise) but the work genuinely feels rewarding. Also, I am really enjoying getting to know the other guys in the band. They’re not friends, no, but they’re kind enough. And who knows? Maybe Eddie will come around. We don’t need to be friends, but I would like it if one day we could become colleagues, at the very least.
Eddie regards you with little interest, still unchanging in his distaste for any time before 12pm, as you clamber into the back of the car with him. He does not shift whatsoever to accommodate your presence, only haphazardly flicks his cigarette onto the concrete below and dips his head at Angela. The blushing blonde raises her hand in a nervous wave, an uneasy smile crawling across her features as he glances along her frame, telling her to have a nice rest of her day. It’s almost comical, though no laughter bubbles up from you, the easy kindness he shows her way; meanwhile, he regards you most days as though you’re no more than a pest when he’s not relentlessly flirting with you. Hot and cold, dependent on his mood on any given day. A bee to be swatted away. You suppose it’s understandable—knowing your mere presence is a reminder of the mistakes he’s made in the public eye. Huffing audibly in your mild upset, your fingers lift to wiggle in the air to wave goodbye to her as Hopper slides the tinted windows up to keep the air conditioned temperature within the vehicle, obscuring her from view. 
I wonder about what you’re doing a lot these days. It’s summertime, the season of endless possibilities. Are you traveling? Maybe you’re on a beach somewhere tropical. Maybe you’re celebrating some good news. Or, maybe you’ve taken up a new hobby. Angela and I tried hot yoga last week (never again), so I suggest you stay away from that one. To be honest, and maybe it sounds silly, I just think about you a lot. With everything changing, it seems like knowing you’re out there is one thing I can rely on. Even if I haven’t met you yet. 
Your fingers drop and curl around your notebook tucked within your pocketbook for safekeeping, trailing along the pages littered with words meant for the one person in the universe who will understand you better than anyone. It brings you comfort as Hopper peels away from the road and into the bustle of New York City traffic. 
Outside, taxis speed in and out of lanes, regardless of bodies surging forward in intersections, heedless in pursuit of their destinations. The car jerks and thumps over numerous manholes and metal grates around street corners, Hopper’s fingers reaching across the center console to raise the volume on the radio. 
One of Corroded Coffin’s songs is playing through the elaborate speaker system. There’s a spark of pride that springs to life within you. It’s not one of the newer, to be released singles—no; but there’s a sense of excitement for them, knowing how hard they’ve worked to get where they are, especially because you’ve witnessed the effort they put into their craft first hand. 
Eddie seems unphased by his own voice on the radio — as if it’s a normal occurrence for him, and you suppose it is. While you’re still adjusting to your new life following alongside a public figure, he’s had some time to become acclimated. He’s experienced sold out concerts, screaming fans singing along to his songs, crowds surging forward to try and get closer to Corroded Coffin. He’s been on the receiving end of good and bad press that paints him in a caricature of himself; one that’s larger than life and not entirely accurate. 
And you’re once again reminded you’re here with him because you’re his assistant when his thigh accidentally brushes yours as the car jolts over a particularly large bump, skin burning at the point of contact, seated beside him in the quiet space around you, watching as the city blurs behind your eyes. 
“Remind me of what you have planned for the day,” he drawls, and you’re grateful his stare is presently focused on looking out his window and not on your face. He doesn’t capture the deep inhale, nor does he catch the slight gathering of tears on your lashes that you swat away with the pads of your fingers, brought upon by the suddenness of your change in scenery and leaving Angela. 
It's as easy as breathing after that. With his cold, quiet words a distraction from the sadness swirling in your gut, you swiftly breeze through the mental list you woke with. You remind him you’ll arrive on schedule at six, where you’ll get on the tour bus around seven after having a meeting and breakfast with Murray and the rest of the band. After that it’s a two and a half hour drive into Philly. It gives you all enough time to get situated once in the city and for the band to relax a bit to get into the proper headspace before getting ready for their soundcheck in preparation for the first concert scheduled later in the evening. 
You tamper down and try to hide the thrill of excitement that buzzes in your veins at the prospect of seeing the guys all perform together. It’s been one thing watching them in the studio for the months they’ve been working on the album, and another all together to see the culmination of all their hard work come to fruition. However, it also brings up a new bout of anxieties over what exactly will be required of you while on the road. Thus far you’ve run errands and kept Eddie on schedule for meetings, interviews, photoshoots and other appearances. Following him across state lines and watching him on the stage, however, seems like a new, daunting task you’re hoping to tackle head on. 
“Ever been to the exotic Philadelphia?” Your head jerks as the words break through the silence, those dark eyebrows of his furrowing in confusion when your mouth opens and closes, no words falling freely from your lips. “I’ll take that as a no.”
You swallow thickly, pushing aside the indignation that burns and builds at his words. His inked fingers reach up to grasp the sunglasses perched on his nose, sliding them down slowly to fold them away beside his thigh. You’re no stranger to Eddie’s features at this point. Those amber eyes of his, emotive and magnetic, immediately capture your attention. You regard him carefully, just as he is you, his gaze trailing your features in a slow perusal. When you finally speak, it’s a soft utterance of, “I haven’t really ventured too far out of New York.” 
He chuckles gleefully, mouth drawn upward enough where your eyes catch on the dimple in his cheek. He’d be prettier, you think, if he scowled less. Like this he’s vibrant and bright, and appears much younger than his twenty nine years. For a moment you wonder what he was like before all the fame, before the party lifestyle, before the allure of the industry sunk its greedy teeth into him and spat him right back out. His head shifts toward the streets, and your eyes drop down to your lap, fingers toying with a frayed edge on your pocketbook. You hear him then, voice a husk of, “Looks like it’s time for my little worker bee to finally leave the hive.”
My first stop is Philadelphia. I’ll definitely be sure to take a bunch of pictures to share with you someday! I’d like to try and draw a bit too while I'm gone, but who knows. I haven’t really had much time for that lately with the new job. If I create anything worth keeping, I’ll definitely save it so I can show it to you. 
You offer him an easy smile, returning your gaze to the world outside the vehicle, exhaling deeply when Hopper pulls up into a parking garage. He mutters briefly that he needs to go check on the tour bus and leaves the two of you to your own devices. You can hear the echoes of voices closer to the tour bus, whoops and calls from the other band members reach your ears through the softly parted window as they catch sight of Eddie’s vehicle. Vaguely, you even catch the utterance of your name in the midst, teasing in nature, urging the two of you outside. 
Before you can even say a word, Eddie’s opening his passenger side door and getting out of the car, leaving you behind with your things. Exhaling deeply, you move to open your own side and nearly fall out when the man in question tugs the door open and extends a hand in your direction. There’s a brief clash of stares while your eyes drift from his to his palm, uncertain as to what he’s doing. 
Unamused, Eddie huffs out, reluctantly explaining, “So you don’t bust your ass like you did your first day working for me.” His eyes drop to your largely inconvenient heels. You’d only worn them because you weren’t sure what one would wear before heading off on a concert tour. Noting your apprehension, he continues, “Bee, I’m not going to pull my hand away at the last second. I can be a gentleman, you know?”
You snort, wrinkling your nose. “I didn’t doubt it.” It’s not the fullness of truth, but you suppose for your client, it’s better to abstain from telling him that most days he is quite determinately, or at least it seems that way, driving you to the brink of hysteria. It’s probably also best to not remind him how not very long ago, before you hired him another maid you insisted he keep this time, he would make you clean his brownstone top to bottom. A task that also included tending to his clothing and highly suspect underwear on more than one occasion. 
Deciding to appease him, you envelop his palm within your own and allow him to help you down onto the concrete below. Your feet wobble a bit from the drop, but he’s there with a gentle hand at your bicep to steady you, before the moment fizzles and he pulls away all together. You walk side by side, though not together, to join the rest of the band where they stand in an excited huddle around the tour bus. 
Even the vehicle itself is larger than you anticipated. It looms above you, imposing and impressive, signifying the success the group has seen in the time they’ve been in the media spotlight. You have little opportunity to think about it, however, because the boys greet you with warm welcomes and hellos, trading their normal handshakes they’ve given you for hugs. A recent development, brought about merely by spending as much time with them over the months as you have. Jeff in particular lingers a little longer just as Murray calls the band into a circle for a meeting, muttering a “Happy you’re here,” before rejoining with the rest of his band mates. 
You’re not left alone long in that parking garage, luckily enough. Steve’s there to urge you off to the side when he pulls up in his car. He’s a little worse for wear, acknowledging his lateness with a wave to the guys and a pleading look shot your way. He requests you follow him, putting yourself out of earshot from the rest of the men. For a brief moment, you worry you’ve done something to muddle your position. Stomach dropping at the thought you might have unintentionally said the wrong thing to Eddie, a vendor — maybe even Robin, but that fear is quelled immediately when Steve clears his throat, his hand coming to cup around the back of his neck, kneading the muscle beneath his fingertips. 
“Look, you’re doing great. I’ve told you more times than I can count on two hands how grateful I am you’re here and everything, but I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. He’s — ”
Your mouth opens briefly to ask what his meaning is behind the clear warning, just as Eddie appears out of the blue and claps Steve on the shoulder, chuckling brightly as he asks, “Ready to go, Bee?” He looks to you imploringly, and you haltingly meet his stare before shifting back to Steve’s kind features. He tips his head, dismissing you, and you join at Eddie’s side, following him in the direction of the vehicle. Murray shoots Eddie a stern look as the two of you walk along by, your eyes darting to the Corroded Coffin logo stretched across the entirety of the exterior. “Here is your home for the next few months.” 
You’re uncertain as to what you might expect. You’ve never been on a tour bus before. The closest thing you can attribute it to is a coach bus for a school field trip back in your early education days. What greets you as Eddie turns back to extend a hand once more and assist you in climbing up onto the first step is greater than anything your mind might have conjured. 
He’s not kidding by his assessment that the bus will quite literally be your home for the duration of the tour. At the head of the impressive vehicle belies Hopper’s station, full of buttons and displays you’ve never seen before, and a dashboard with a hanging Corroded Coffin logo dangling from his rear view mirror. The burly man raises his hand in a wave as you and Eddie pass, heading into the lounge area that follows immediately. Your eyes are drawn to dark red couches, like that of a red wine, with black pillows strewn about. Nestled in front of the couch is a table pressed against the corner wall, new magazines displaying photos of the band and a headline that details the upcoming tour. 
Deeper into the vehicle is the adjoining kitchen, all in the same color scheme of dark black furniture, with red and silver accented bits. Eddie shows you around the space, opening the fridge for emphasis, showing you how to use the different amenities, before moving on down to point out the bathroom. Lastly, you’re brought into the bedrooms. Or rather, one spacious room lined with bunk beds on either side of the bus. 
“Normally I like being on top, but when it comes to sleeping I prefer the bottom." Eddie says suggestively, gesturing to the bed on his right. Your head shifts his way, taking in the little alcove he’ll be sleeping in for the night. He waves his hand to your left, smirking. “That’ll be yours. In case of an emergency.”
“In case of an emergency,” you repeat slowly, placing your pocketbook down on your assigned bed as you settle down beside it, positioned specifically across from Eddie’s in the event he requires you for anything. You quickly reach inside and jot down a few sentences in the unfinished letter, affixing a bright floral sticker to one of the corners. 
I have to go. We’re about to leave, but I just wanted to let you know what I’m up to. I’ll talk to you soon. Wouldn’t it be fun if we met in Philly?
As you shut your notebook, you realize you never heard the rest of Steve’s harrowing warning. I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. Your eyes narrow in piqued curiosity as you take in Eddie, that now familiar lanky form of his flopping down against his own mattress. He nods his head in your direction and you wave back numbly. 
You hear it then. That soft howling in the distance, a creeping sense of something looming with no name to place on it. 
You offer him a soft smile, and he throws a pillow over his head, settling down to nap.
Steve’s warning is suddenly very far away from your mind. 
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highttowers · 9 months
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telephone. [sorry, i cannot hear you, i’m kinda busy.]
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pairing(s); matthew lillard!william afton x reader
fandom; five nights at freddy’s [movie]
w/c; 604
trigger/content warnings; SMUT MDNI, blowjobs, slightly bottom!william, desk sex, voyeurism??, afab!reader, gn!reader as possible (reader is described having hair long enough to get in their face), employee!reader, nicknaming, name-calling, age gap (reader is mid 20s, william is early 50s), swearing, lmk if i missed anything 
stella speaks! i was not expecting all the love i got on that shitpost and for it to grow into this! also sorry if this makes no sense i usually have to get silly to write proper smut.
tags; my fellow william afton thirst babie, @truecobblepot
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William’s hand is tangled in your hair. His face is picture perfect, albeit shiny, but his ragged breath and airy chants of you name falling from his lips tell another story.
Your knees are burning. Your pants are around your ankles, your panties shoved into William’s pocket, cun leaking on the ground from where he had just fucked you on two of his fingers. The tile under your knees is cold, and hard, a sharp contrast to the rest of your body.
Your mouth is wrapped around his cock, head brushing the back of your throat. You gag, and William pulls it out, tapping your lips with it. “Kiss it. lick it.” He commands gently, and your hand wraps around the base of cock, obliging.  William’s hand comes up to cover a whimper from escaping from his lips, the travels down his neck, loosening his tie. When the phone rings, you jump, but William calmly leans forward to answer it.
The hand in your hair keeps your mouth over the tip of his cock, and you swirl your tongue around it. “Hi, this is Mike. I was just calling to see if that job that you offered was still available?”
William tenses, and you lick a strip up the underside of his dick, a hand coming up to brush your hair back as you take him deeper.
“Yes, the security guard,” William answers, his voice unwavering. You dip your head, hollering your cheeks and taking him so far his top hits the back of your throat. In your mouth, the rest of his cock twitches, and William suck in a sharp breath.
“I will take anything.”
William’s hand grips the armrest of his chair as you slide him out of your mouth, releasing him with a pop! and, William exhales a little shakier than the fist time.
“All you have to do is keep your eyes on the monitors!” William says, his voice slightly wavering. You’ve gotten louder, and William’s whole body is tensing.
“Right…uh…so. What— what day is a good start date?” Michael asks. He can hear the noises through the phone, and he’s frozen in his chair. He’s only slightly aware that his jeans are gradually tightening around his crotch as he tries to focus on what William is saying.
“How about Thursday?” William says, then exhales loudly when you gently take your nails over his happy trail.
“O-okay. Thursday.” Micheal is silent for a few more moments before: “Do- do you hear that, Mr. Raglan? What’s that sound?”
William’s grip tightens in your hair, stopping you from freezing. His cock twitches in your mouth and you realize he’s getting off to this.
“Oh, it nothing Micheal. Just the rain we’re having here in Utah. You know how it is…” William’s hand moves down to the back of your throat, and his his balls tighten. He’s telling you to keep your mouth there, right there as best he can without speaking.
Across town, Micheal glances put the window near him. It may be growing dark fast outside, but the sky is clear. He can’t even catch the smell of rain on the wind. He swallows thickly, wondering if he should continue this conversation.
“Mr. Raglan…it was sunny today.” William is hardly paying attention to him at this point, hips stuttering as he shoves himself as far down your throat as he can go.
He grins when you gag, finally getting his release. As he spills down your throat, he smiles at the tears gathering in your eyes, shushing you quietly.
“Ah, silly me,” he hums into the phone, petting your hair. “My mistake.”
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(For your lovely rollo event.)
Rollo, how do you feel about children? Either just in general or perhaps.. if you would ever want to be a father in the future?
Like Fire, Hellfire.
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“Children?”
He handled the word as though it were a skunk—innocent and harmless for now but primed to spray at the first hint of danger. A muscle in his face ticked. It was though he wished to shift into a different emotion but hadn't yet decided which one.
Handkerchief out, Rollo sucked in a breath through his teeth. The usual disgust or disapproval was not present in full force. Today, it was tempered by hesitance as he tip-toed around the subject.
"They have the capacity to be rambunctious. Like fire, difficult to tame. I’m not certain I can match their energy," he said vaguely. “The children in the City of Flowers are free-spirited, and that tends to result in acts of mischief. Whether their pranks and games disturb public peace depends on the time and place. I'm not fond of the instances when they do."
A slight grimace crossed his features. "There was once an incident when a boy blew hard into a magically charmed handkerchief, and the noise it produced startled the baker at the cafe I was frequenting. He had just pulled out a fresh batch of croissants from the oven. The croissants ended up all over the floor... What a waste of perfectly good food. The baker, too, was quite upset, as you can imagine."
"What happened to the boy?"
"Ah, him. He attempted to abscond from the scene of the crime. In his rush to escape, he paid no attention to his surroundings and collided with me." Rollo waved a hand. "The baker's rage was upon him in an instant. The boy was shaking like a leaf in the wind—he grasped onto my robes to keep himself upright.”
Rollo drew out a sigh that ended in a small smile. “I managed to smooth things over with the baker, though I also spoke with the boy and had him apologize. One must atone for one’s crimes—that lesson was surely instilled in him that day.”
"Aw, it was nice of you to step in and speak on behalf of the little guy." You found yourself smiling as well. Even though Rollo-san always has this stern air about him… "You really have a soft spot for kids, huh?”
His frown quickly returned. "No, I wouldn't say that. I was merely holding the boy accountable for his actions. Children can so easily be led astray without proper instruction and moral guidance. Who is to say he wouldn’t be a repeat offender if he was let off the hook?”
"Someone's in denial," you said in a teasing singsong. “It’s okay to confess that you’re good at taking care of kids, you know.”
“… I am not,” he insisted. “I am most content observing the children go about their simple days. I do not wish to take a larger part in their lives beyond that.”
A terrifying thought nipped at him from the dark crevices of his mind.
I don’t have a right to.
If his heart were a house, then a window had been thrown open, letting the outside in. A hole opened in the dark, and incriminating light rushed to fill it.
A flower of pain blossomed in his chest, its thorns driving deep into his flesh. The blood that rose to the surface was both hot and cold. Burning scorn, icy remorse.
A deadly duo.
Spiraling.
I wasn't able to protect the one that mattered most of all. My magic came too late. I'm in no position to be a big brother, let alone a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a guardian of any sort…!
I’m not worthy.
Rollo gritted his teeth. His soul ablaze, his mind jumbled with emotions running high. He pushed back with teeth and nails.
It’s not my fault. I’m not to blame!! The one who cast this flame is…!
“Rollo-san?”
You were staring at him, concern seeping into your eyes. Curiosity, too, had bloomed there. It was the same sort of expression one makes at a a stray on the side of the road. Sorry for it, but uncertain about drawing near to check its condition.
He gasped—realizing he had been making a most frightening face. Rearranging his features back into some semblance of calm, he cleared his throat.
“… Suffice to say, it is impossible in this current state of affairs for any child to grow up safe and free of sin. Around every bend and corner, there is temptation of magic calling out to them. How cruel!” he lamented pityingly. “The poor things, like lambs led to the slaughter.”
You shuddered at the gruesome image—human children like lambs.
Poor things, echoed your head. Poor Rollo, echoed your heart, thinking such things.
“Until I can bring about that magic-free world into fruition, I cannot commit my efforts toward any other endeavors,” he concluded. “A world without all the pain and suffering of this one… I intend to see my goal through to the very end. That is my utmost priority.”
A fairer world for all.
For the children.
For him.
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mountainficss · 2 months
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omg hihihiii, this is like my 1st time EVERRR writing a req, but I feel ur fics r just too good ngl, I read this concept in another fic, it was like thigh riding meanish joshua, and it just made me so AHDJSLKRIEKE like and I wanna see how you would see it !!! also if u do anons or wtv ??? idk how it fully works, but can I be 🦈 anon ??? I think thats how it works ??? SORRY THIS IS SO LONG THANK UUU
omg hihihiii anon thank you very much for sending me a request! i’m always happy to answer any submissions <3 they’re never too long for me bby! also yes you can definitely be 🦈 anon!!
AND AKEKEKEKE I LOVE MEANIE JOSHIE <333 it’s so funny you asked bc i am currently in the process of writing another joshua imagine! i’m in my joshua feels today <3
as you know joshua is a sweet guy. he’s such a gentleman! he’d totally be the type wrap his jacket around your shoulders when you’re cold and pay for your meals. but ohhh he can be mean! a real bully. i feel like if you act out intentionally, like tease him in public or just disobey him, he’ll hide his irritation for the time being. maybe laugh it off or just keep quiet for a while. but when you get back to his apartment and try to tug his shirt off, he’ll grab your wrists roughly to stop you. he’d slowly back into the living room, guiding you with him by your wrists. he’d plop down on the couch, pulling you in to straddle his thigh and gripping your hips harshly to keep you in place. you’d lean closer to press kisses to his jawline, but he wouldn’t let you and would just grip your hips harder ;( “this is all you’re getting tonight,” he’d bounce his thigh underneath you once, making it blatantly obvious that this is your punishment for misbehaving. he’d smirk at your whines and protests, and relish in the fact that even through your complaints you’re still mindlessly grinding against his thigh. he knows that you’d take anything he offered if it meant you could cum. you’d continue weakly fucking yourself on his thigh, pathetic whines escaping your lips as he smiles meanly at you. you’d beg him to strip you, beg him to fuck you, but he’d just scoff at your pleading. he’d probably tease you too :( “aww, baby wants me?” he’d coo with faux sympathy, guiding your hips. he’d jut his bottom lip out, giving you a fake pout. “aww. bet you wish i was inside, huh? poor baby~” you’d just mewl and pout as he guides your hips faster, feeling your climax approaching through the friction of his jeans rubbing against your clothed heat. “‘shua,” you’d pant and fist at his shirt, sinking your nails into the fabric and wrinkling it. you could feel your panties sticking to your core as he whispers, “if you can cum like this, i’ll think about fucking you tonight.” you’d let out little whimpers and cries, your orgasm threatening to tear through you. “y-you’re so m-mean, joshie,” you’d huff, his taunting laugh bringing a tinge of pink to your cheeks. “make a mess,” he’d coax, pressing a heated kiss to your lips. the contact alone would tip you over the edge, finishing with a loud moan as you shove your tongue into his mouth. he’d grind you against his thigh, helping you ride out your orgasm as you moan erotically into his mouth. you’d feel him smile against your lips. “you’ve been a brat all night, do you think i should fuck you?” and then you’d spend the whole night just whining and riling him up, trying your hardest to convince him to fuck you ;(( i don’t think he’d need much convincing though :((( UGH I LOVE JOSHUA <333
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mysticmunson · 8 months
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bewitched: s.h. x f!r
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summary: on his graduation trip in london, steve is apart from robin for the day when he runs into you at a coffee shop. after one conversation, you agree to spend your last day in london together, and you both become bewitched.
based on bewitched by laufey
an: hi everyone! i reposted this from earlier, but this fic was so fun for me and i hope you enjoy! please let me know your thoughts and give that magnificent song a listen :) (not proof read)
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The clinking of dishes filled the London coffee bar as businessmen on their breaks stopped for small sandwiches wrapped in wax paper squares, a red logo printed across them. 
Emotional bribery came as two roundtrip tickets across the pond for Steve’s graduation present, taking Robin with him as they took the two weeks off from work. The silver credit card with his name on it covered most expenses, but the steaming tea was paid for with crumpled dollars from the tip jar of Family Video.
Taking a glance up from the book in his hands, he spotted you turning around from the cashier, looking around at an empty spot. The only spare seat was the one before him, a black metal one that wasn’t the most comfortable, but it seemed this place wasn’t for long-term moments.
“Hey.” Steve cleared his throat, earning your attention, gesturing in front of him. 
With a smile you approached with your warm cup and coordinating plate, letting it touch the glass table, taking the opposing spot. The sleeves to his yellow jumper were pushed to his elbows, resting them as the paperback balanced one of them.
“Thank you,” You greeted, pulling the back of your brown sweater down, straightening up, “I’m Y/N.”
“I’m Steve,” He introduced, the tips of his nails trailing against the rim of the small plate, “what brings you here?”
Black tea in your mouth, you swallowed it despite the burn, grabbing a small packet of sugar. Flicking it back and forth, you ripped the white paper, dumping the containments inside. 
“A friend of mine has family here, had an extra ticket,” You explained, stirring your drink into a swirl, “you?”
“Graduation gift.” He quipped, internally wincing at how pretentious that could sound, but you only nodded, “I brought a friend too.”
Knitted blue yarn made up your sweater paired with a white skirt and black tights paired with black flats that began to peel near the sole. Ripples crafted in the spoon you blew on, tasting the now sweeter drink.
“Looks like we’re two halves of a similar story,” You mused, the silverware touching your plate in an unpleasant noise, quickly moving it to the napkin beside it, “what long are you staying?”
An awkward slurp came from his mouth as he finished his cup, cheeks growing pink as he set it down, anxiously wiping his clean mouth with the back of his hand. His right white Reebok bounced beneath the table, running his spare hand against his jean-clad thigh. 
Foreign jitters rattled inside his chest, tightening as you smiled at him once more. Dates had slowed down since high school, fumbling with the ladies more often than not, but the feeling of pleasant uneasiness was one he hadn’t felt in a long time.
It felt foolish as you had been before him for only a minute, tucking your ankle behind your other and taking in your surroundings. He had been doing the same until you approached, he didn’t think to look at anything else.
“We’ve been here for four days, we leave in three. My best friend, Robin, had been with me every day, but had something today.” He waved off, “You?”
Black lashes fluttered before reaching his gaze, “I’m ending my week, today is my last day, but my friend also had something today.” 
Irony dripping from your words, Steve grinned, “If it’s at Covent Garden too, I might lose it.”
Mouth covered in amusement, he gaped, “No way, is your friend there too? Some record store event?”
You confirmed, head bobbing as Steve sunk back in his chair in shock. It felt like filling a glass up to the brim, it would’ve been fine lower, but it’s always a pleasant experience to get the extra taste. 
“What’s your friend's name?” Steve questioned, resting his chin on his hand. 
Tables had cleared beside you as the lunch break period concluded, but you remained in front of him. Processing that they were clean, it didn’t dawn on you that you could readily rest beside the window as you hoped. The boy with hazel eyes had taken your attention with an iron grip, melting into the hold.
“Rodney,” You began as Steve felt his heart hit his gut, too sure that it had to be a boyfriend, “I’m not his type, don’t worry.”
The obscure bashfulness flooded him again, yet your look was not full of taunting, but rather warmth. Air turned colder outside, scarves joining the getup of many, however, Steve realized that if he stood close enough to you, he might not even need his.
“I doubt that.” Steve hummed, shuffling through his stack of dusty King Steve remarks, ones he hated to recall, but was desperate to continue the conversation.
“Oh no,” Taking the turn to be flustered, he watched you pick the corner of the square napkin, “Believe me, not his type at all.”
Initial disbelief dissipated as he picked the context clues he often gave when describing his own best friend. 
“Robin, my best friend,” Steve began, watching the faintest bit of complex emotions on your face, “I’m not her type either.”
A grin crawled onto your face slowly as Steve held eye contact, both of you erupting into giggles at the pure absurdity of the scenario at hand. 
Panic that had become all too familiar punched him in the gut, knowing this had been too perfect to be true. That suddenly a man twice his size and twice as attractive would come out, carrying you off into the busy streets of London while he watched your blue sweater become a speck.
A similar slurp sounded from your mouth as your tea ran dry, moving the cup to the edge of the table. Steve prepared for the departure, hand on the small book as he braced himself for rejection.
Taking a glance out the door, he watched an older man gift a woman yellow tulips, pleased as she smelled them and held the bouquet close to her chest. Mundane as it may be, he took it as a kick, that maybe it’s worth trying to keep it going if rejection lurks anyways.
“Forgive me if I’m being too forward,” He joked with sincerity, “I don’t have anything going on today, would you want to hang out? Walk around for a bit?”
Teeth pulled in the inner skin of your bottom lip, repressing the overdramatic response you urged to give, “I’d love to, Steve.”
Holding open the black door, you both left the coffee shop to rejoin humanity, met with the smell of cigarettes and the smoke of construction. He expected a sour look, yet you only beamed brighter amongst the chaos, like a flower growing between cracks in a sidewalk.
“Have you been to any museums?” You asked, walking with a hand on the top of your purse that hung around your shoulder.
Shaking his head with a straight mouth, you gawked with a smack to the arm, electrifying his restricted chest. It bounced to his stomach and then to his throat, coughing away the slight itch.
“We could go to the National Gallery, they have some iconic pieces,” You explained, though your excitement backpedaled when glancing over, “Or we could, um, do something else too! I’m flexible.”
The confirmation that you were nervous too aided his cause, shaking his head, “I’d love to, let’s go.”
Footsteps trekked down the sidewalks of Soho, yours walking in tandem to the boy beside you, who took the spot closest to the road. Brown curls fell in front of his eyes, his fingers running through the thick locks.
Steve’s feet fumbled as a woman stormed past, a grimace on her face as she forced his body against yours. 
Before the apology could form, you scoffed, making a quip about how she must be in a rush. He agreed, rolling his eyes as he heard a man shout at the woman, both of you turning to see her knocking over a man’s newspaper.
Proceeding forward, Steve mocked the face of the guy who seemed too up in arms about fallen paper while you attempted to sympathize with them both. 
“She was probably having a bad day and he wasn’t expecting it!” You rationalized, amusement evident as you both turned the sharp corner.
“She probably was, but I’m sure a man who sounds like Mr. Bean yelling isn’t helping!” He jested, a rupture of laughter aiding his blooming confidence. 
The large white pillars at the top of the stairs came into eyesight, a large red banner listing a current exhibit in white font. Seemingly unconsciously, he watched as you sped up, picking up his pace to watch as you got your ticket. 
Service must have been high quality as he was hoping to pay for your ticket, but the woman had already given you a small white ticket. 
Signaling him over, Steve walked over to you confused as you handed him a pass, walking towards the first room.
“Hey, let me pay you back!” He insisted, examining to see if there was a price, but you shrugged. 
“It’s free, bud.” You smirked as you both walked between two security guards in black sunglasses.
“Oh, I knew that.” He confirmed falsely, making you look at him skeptically. 
The first portion was filled with classical paintings, mostly with natural elements like water and grass. Ranges of ages stood behind the small black wire a few inches from the floor to observe.
Museums hadn’t been Steve’s thing, finding most in Indiana fairly boring and the ones his parents dragged him to were even more insufferable. 
Though, between the large walls in the new city, he noticed the strokes of a paintbrush older than most buildings. The smudges of oil paint that blended into other colors on top of canvas secured in extravagant frames. 
“I like this one,” Steve began as you joined his side, the strangers beside him having wandered off, “reminds me of my sweater.”
“A Van Gogh fan?” You inquired, following as he began to read the information card in the corner.
“Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers by Vincent van Gogh,” He concluded, eyebrows lifting at the discovery that it had been around 100 years since the paint dried, “Guess I am a fan.”
“It’s incredible,” Glancing at his yellow jumper that matched the work before you, you scolded your heart for wondering what you could stare at longer, knowing it probably was the one made in this century. 
“I really liked seeing his one over here,” You guided, the boy on your trail, “it’s simple, but it just does something for me.”
The face of a woman was designed in dim colors, her face covered in hesitance, titled The Peasant Woman.
A few steps back, Steve looked at the shades of brown above the woman’s head, appreciating the intricacies of such a simple work. Yet, he found himself much more intrigued by the curve of your nose and plush of your cheeks.
The self-guided tour continued, most in silence as you took turns reading the occasional description. The stroll was brisk as he struggled to keep up with you, not because he couldn’t be quick on his feet, but because he liked to look at you and could get away with it if he was farther back.
“If you want to slow down, let me know,” You announced when standing in front of Monet’s The Water-Lily Pond, “I just don’t read all the cards, I like to think what it could possibly be then only check if I really want to know.”
“I’m okay,” He assured, flexing his hand after the urge to touch your arm came, “I do think this is a pond though.”
Joke landing, you chuckled, continuing on to the next floor. His eyes caught an abstract painting of shades of blue, making out a boat on the water with no firm lines. A sunset burned in the back, searing into the open sky in contrast to the calm water.
“He’s so cute.”
Steve felt his gut jump, fixating on the emotionally ambiguous artwork instead of the reality at hand. Fearing your new discovery, it dawned on him how art could affect him. 
Boats on the water never moved him, but he saw a reflection of his mood in it now. 
Finally turning, he noticed you affectionately looking at the gentleman on the bench with a sketch pad in hand. Likely in his 70s, he formed the portrait of Venus and Mars ahead of him, hands shaking as he balanced the spiraled book on his knee. 
Soothing his dreary headspace, his lip twitched at the sight, marveling that someone with such talent sat without recognition. It seemed cruel that no one had his pictures on the walls, gawking at the straight lines done by hand or the blending of charcoal. 
Yet, as Steve saw your face, he realized that if anyone looked at him that way, he would sit on wooden benches without a known name for years.
“He is.” Steve agreed, scratching the back of his neck, the other man pushing his glasses up his nose to get a better look.
The beauty of the gallery captivated you both, but half of your brains focused on the other, watching as the other absorbed another masterpiece. 
Between the 18th century section, Steve’s hand brushed against yours, initially coy until you trailed yours against his. Taking a leap of faith, he held your hand in his, his heartbeat plunging through his wrist against yours. 
Walking down the staircases, fingers interlaced as you whispered about the passing artwork. 
You learned he was from Hawkins, Indiana. An only child who graduated last year, but postponed the trip after his old job burned down, where he also met his best friend, Robin. He has a few friends, some of who are freshmen that he befriended after dating one of their older sisters. (You could see his visible panic at the mention, so you brought up a past boyfriend of yours whose sister you kept up with.)
Sounds of children leaving school filled the tight roads as you walked hand in hand with no end in mind. The back of Steve’s socks began to slip, but he barely noticed until a blister began, popping into a convenience store.
Sat on the grass in a park, Steve unlaced his shoes to put the band-aid on, the only bandages left being purple and pink ones. Struggling to turn his lifted foot in his denim, he huffed, a stray piece of hair whipping up.
“Here.” You chuckled, grabbing the small plastic wrapper and opening it. Crumbles of wax paper sat on top of your purse, focused on putting the sticker right over his reddened skin.
Far from pure, Steve still felt his ears warm at the benevolent touch as you pressed down to secure it in place. Thanks were whispered under his breath, pulling his socks up and tying the laces.
“I used to work at this camp and kids got hurt all the time,” You laid back, resting on the clean grass, “It was never anything too bad, but I bought the character ones with Mickey Mouse or He-Man on them. I carried them on me forever, but I gave my last one away a few days ago when I saw a mom and her screaming toddler.”
Back resting beside you, the fabric covering your shoulders touched, Steve looked at the gloomy London sky. 
Such weather used to agitate him, wishing it were sunny enough to wear a shirt or shorts, but the past few days made him enjoy the lack of sweat when walking and relaxing outside.
“What character was it?” He asked, looking over at you who met his eyes. 
“It was Jeannie from the I Dream of Jeannie cartoon, they were on sale.” You muttered, preparing for the groan that came from boys when discussing the supposed girl’s cartoon. 
What you didn’t expect was his mouth to hang open, scoffing, “And I didn’t get one? That sucks!”
Noting your pleasantly surprised expression, he added, “So, I didn’t have siblings growing up, but I had cousins. The one closest to my age is Riley, she’s two years older than me, and when we were young, she loved that show. So much, that she made me watch it constantly.”
A hollow feeling resonated in his chest at the memory coming into view, his face directed toward the sky, “She understood when my parents would argue and shit, so she’d put it on really loud so I wouldn’t hear… Sorry that was a bit much, it’s a cool cartoon!”
“Don’t apologize, Steve, not for being open with people.” You smiled, not moving your stare at his face. With little space between the two of you, you noticed the array of freckles on his nose and cheeks, some lighter than others.
The tips of his lashes touched them when he closed his eyes, scrunching together when his nose twitched which was rosy from the biting cool air.
Peering over at you, he shifted to his side, not caring if any dirt ended up on his white shoes. Mimicking his stance, you propped up beside him, stunned at just how many things had to happen for you to end up here.
“I almost went to the coffee shop up the street.” You revealed, plucking the longer strands poking from the ground, twisting them.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” He disclosed, “I don’t want to sound crazy, but I really like you.”
Blood rushing to your cheeks, you initially tried fighting back your joy, weighing your burden of a plane tomorrow before it. Nevertheless, his bronze iris’ made you feel dizzy, hoping the sun would never set.
“I like you too, Steve, but I leave tomorrow.”
Already handed this information, it still sunk in his gut that you had to get on that plane tomorrow, that it wouldn’t magically be rescheduled to the day he left or you’d show up in Hawkins. 
Life passed Steve by for as long as he had experienced it, focusing on getting through or ignoring the things too big to be processed with ease, something he couldn’t do anymore.
“I know, but please, give me tonight.” He pleaded, “We can call out friends and say we’ll be back whenever and just spend the rest of the time roaming. I just don’t-”
Your answer was shown with your lips on his, tasting the free mints given to you at the cafe and chapstick. Hand cupping your cheek, he deepened the affection, withholding the urge to explore at the recollection you were in public.
Parting ways, you looked at him shyly before standing up, reaching out a hand to help him up. Grabbing your bags and each other's hand, you ventured onward. Steve moved to your left side to be closer to the traffic once you reached the main sidewalk.
“Want something to eat? We could stop by the shopping area down this way.” You suggested, feeling the curling of your tummy after a few hours of walking. Or the nerves you succumbed to around Steve. You weren’t sure. 
Thoughts coinciding, you headed down the brick lane, the wind tickling your ears. You wondered if the passing strangers assumed you were in a relationship, a piece of you aching at how nice it would be to begin again.
Steve held an analogous notion, considering what his life would be like if he lived in a city where no one knew him or his parents. How they wouldn’t know King Steve and his plethora of mistakes that lived within the walls of his high school. 
Maybe he belonged somewhere he wouldn’t have even fathomed, smelling the perfumes crafted in petite bottles exclusively in the town or pastries those in Hawkins would never know. 
Past hours led him into imagining you in his life, and that if you ran the other way, he wouldn’t forget a second. Each holiday or celebration, he would wonder what the girl in the coffee shop was doing as he stared out his family's window, reality over his shoulder in the crowded living room.
Warm air surrounded you both as you entered the small deli, an elderly woman preparing paninis that smelled too delicious. Humming in delight, you both examined the menu, picking out which ones you preferred.
“Ham and cheese for you and the gentleman with two bottles of water.” 
You both got the same thing.
Steve made sure to grab his wallet before you could, hands occupied with sandwiches to reach in your purse. He ignored your protest, handing the woman a few pounds, and putting the rest in the small tip jar accented with ribbon.
“Steve!” You whined as the door shut, the faint ring of the front bell behind you, “You didn’t have to.”
He grinned cheekily, grabbing his sandwich from your hand in order to hold it in his left and your hand in his right. “I know.”
Thankfully, the area was close to a field, choosing to sit against the damp grass, watching children play in front of you with traffic existing to your rear. 
The first bite made you both look at each other, knowing that this was heavenly and a great decision. The bread was fluffy while the cheese was stringy, complemented by the flavorful pork inside. Due to hunger, you sat in silence for a few minutes, watching two little boys attempt to climb a tree.
“I really hope they don’t fall.” Steve mentioned as the boy’s shoes slipped down the bark, close enough to the ground not to hurt.
Nodding, you watched as the one on the branch yelled to the one on the ground, seemingly frustrated with his inabilities. 
“I couldn’t climb trees,” You recalled, “could you?”
“Yeah, I was pretty athletic, and did a lot of sports to get out of the house.” He thought, knowing he realized that much later, “I still work out sometimes, but nothing like I used to.”
“I used to go outside with chalk all the time. I can’t draw for shit, but it was fun.” You disclosed, memories of pink powder covering your elbows and jeans, usually getting a scolding from your parents for a mess that would come out in the wash. “My parents could afford for me to do a sport a year, but by the time it came to do it, I overheard my parents stressing about swim camp. The next morning, I told them I completely lost interest, asking for sketchbooks instead to keep me busy in summer.”
Aware of his privilege, there were still small things Steve never thought about. That the small sum of a camp was a large amount for others. It sounds ignorant in his head, but he recalls Robin mentioning how she and her mom would split sandwiches when going out when growing up.
Sensing the discomfort he tried to hide, you nudged him, “I can draw a mean stick figure though and I eventually learned how to swim.”
He laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. He felt word vomit bubbling up, seeing your kind expression chopping away at his guarded exterior.
He wished he had a diary that he could let you read, and find every aspect of himself he loved, hated, and felt neutral about. Just so he could ask if you still like him. The thought terrified him, the answer, but also that he even contemplated it.
Bird noises came from the kids in the park, screeching as the one jumped from the branch and onto the brown and green leaves beneath him. The crunch matched your bites, filling your ears as you savored the moment.
“Do you like kids?” You asked, watching as the boys ran to see a girl sitting with dolls, her growling at their attempt to touch their sparkly dresses with their dirty fingers.
Scoffing, “Yeah, they seemingly are pulled to me. I have a few munchkins I watch after back at home.”
“I like kids too, I used to babysit,” You trailed off, a thought creeping in, “I don’t know if I want kids of my own though because I’d really want to be a good mom. I wouldn’t want them to ever have any doubts that I was there for them, you know?”
A shatter blasted through Steve’s chest, “Yeah, I have this dream that I have, like, six kids. But sometimes, I think about if I’d really be a good dad or not. I like to think I couldn’t be worse than my own, he mainly threw money my way and went off to work. But then I think about having a kid that's my own blood, it’s happy and sad.”
The words spewing from his loose lips had never been uttered to another, yet you agreed, letting your leg brush his as they outstretched on the ground. He looked to see your meek smile, an empathetic one, yet your eyes read a rawness he didn’t see often.
“My parents paid for this trip, but I’ve tried using my own money for everything I’ve done since I got here. They gave me this credit card, but didn’t come to my graduation.” He sighed, “But that sounds ridiculous because money is important! I have a nice house and clothes-”
“It doesn’t buy parenthood or happiness though, Steve.” You concluded for him, watching him try to explain his sentiment, but you knew. 
When you saw Steve, you didn’t see a spoiled rich boy. Truly you weren’t sure exactly what you saw. You knew he had hazel eyes and chestnut hair, gentle hands with a ring on his index finger, soft lips, and a pink bandaid on the back of his ankle.
His lips greeted yours soon after, a gentle peck that felt intimate, like two lovers who knew each other's bodies like the back of their hand and their souls like it was embedded on their own. It made your cheeks hot. 
“Yeah, I want my kids to know I love them and how to make a mean stick figure.” He joked, making you chuckle, taking the final bite of your panini.
Standing to throw away your trash, Steve joined you, taking your hand and swinging it. The nearby bus stop had a few people beside it as the red vehicle approached and stopped.
Reaching to his bag, he grabbed his wallet where two bus passes were placed in a folder. Neither of you cared to check where it was exactly going, walking up to the second level and sitting as the engine kicked into gear. 
Trees and street lights blurred as you drove along the route, the sun beginning to set into a beautiful orange and blue mesh. Steve’s arm was slung across your frame, resting your head on his shoulder. 
“We should just stay here forever.” Steve teased, but too foolish to immediately agree if you had said yes. That he would run the credit card dry and work every moment to make sure you were taken care of. 
“We should,” You sighed, seeing the faint outline of your breath in the chill air, “but I would miss my cat.”
Laughing, he rubbed your bicep, looking around at the scenery. Big Ben was in sight, pointing at the building in awe as the clock's black hands ticked on.
Days and nights in the London air made your heart swell, eyes burning in unshed tears as you were reminded of the ticking clock. 
A jolting stop signaled you both off, walking into the busy alleys as strangers conversated after a long day of work. 
“What do you want to do? Work wise.” You asked, looking at the men in business casual clothes, drinking a Guinness with their sleeves rolled to their elbows. 
Shrugging, he bit the inside of his lip briefly, “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.”
“How exciting.” You responded, his face dropping at his initial thought that you were ridiculing him, but he saw your warm smile. “Not knowing can be exciting, I mean it, you have so many options that you haven’t even heard of.”
Ears turning pink, he ran his fingers through his hair, “I guess so, thanks. What about you?”
“Figuring it out.” You quipped, fingers skimming over his knuckle, “Oh, we should probably call our friends. Do you know the number to your hotel?”
The red phone booth could only fit one person as you went first, spinning the dial as you held the scribbled-down numbers. Steve fished out the hotel's business card with Robin’s handwriting on the back, the room number, and the phone number.
He heard your boisterous laugh through the thick glass, catching your glance when you turned towards him with a smile, soon placing the phone back up.
Steve took his turn, holding the plastic phone to his ear as the dial tone rang. The receiver picked up, immediately speaking.
“Hello?” 
“Rob, it’s Steve.” 
“Oh, shit Harrington! Where are you? Did you get lost-” She began listing off, mind going to the worst as she untied her shoes in their room.
Groaning, “What, no! I’m fine- I’m great. I’m not going to be back till early morning though-”
A whine filled the speaker as Robin’s foot hit the ground, loud enough to be picked up, “You’re getting laid and I’m not? I thought Europe was progressive or some shit-”
“I’m not getting laid!” Steve gritted, making sure you weren’t overhearing the conversation. He caught you speaking to the florist on the street, smelling the lilies and roses they had picked. 
“So you’re just hanging out outside?” Robin squinted, though alone with no one to witness, but Steve knew her well enough to read her expression through tone. 
“No! No, I met someone-”
“Always meeting someone, never meeting a job-”
“Robin!”
“I’m just messing with you! Sheesh, anyways, who is it?”
“I met her in a coffee shop this morning and we just hit it off. She leaves tomorrow morning and we’re going to walk around through the night… I really like her Robin, I haven’t felt this way since Nance.”
“Oh, wow,” Robin sighed, knowing the emotional rollercoaster her friend experienced, “I’m happy for you, just be safe, call me if anything happens.”
The duo joked around more often than not, but she knew he didn’t open up to everyone. So if he felt strongly and even admitted it, it was a big deal.
“Will do. Love you, dude. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Stepping out from the stuffy box, he wrinkled his nose at the cold air, approaching you as you paid for two flowers. Practically skipping towards him, you put one behind his ear, a white daisy, with an identical one behind yours.
“You’re so beautiful, Steve Harrington.” You muttered, looking at him so lovingly that he wanted to curl in a ball.
“And you’re ethereal.” He smiled, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing your forehead as you laughed, “What?”
“You so got that from the word of the day thing in the newspaper.” You accused, knowing the local paper had that in large print, making Steve huff playfully.
“It must have known I was meeting you.” He saved himself, smirking as he watched you become bashful.
Pushing his chest, you looked down, “Sap.”
Wandering brought you to the riverside, a gathering happening of people dancing to jazz music the performers played. The sound of the saxophone made your feet tingle, heading toward the strangers.
It had been the weekly performance for the band, a jar with pounds inside that you both added to. 
Neither of you were classically trained dancer, but the upbeat rhythm of Beyond The Sea was infectious, making him spin you around. Steve sang in a theatrical manner, recalling the days his grandfather would turn on a Bobby Darin record when he taught him cards.
A few songs zoomed by, one of you knowing a tune the other didn’t, joyfully ignoring the ache in your shoes as the moon came into full view. 
A chilling D cord signaled from the group for a song, finally, you both knew. The other pairs grew closer as they swayed back and forth, but you and Steve stayed frozen as We’ll Meet Again began.
It felt too cinematic, as the lyrics of a crooning voice simmered into your consciousness, the kind eyes you knew only briefly left you hypnotized.
Nearly stumbling, you rested your cheek on Steve’s chest, hands around his neck as his went around your waist. He leaned his head against your hair, indulging in the scent of your perfume. 
Words could be spoken in vain, stories of how you both could meet up and live together forever somewhere. The future was unwritten, however, no promises could be made to soothe your aching hearts. 
The band thanked the crowd before cleaning up, both of you continuing on to the journey ahead. The song had left you both speechless, not an easy feat for him, and the stars assisted the illumination of your skin. 
“What time is your flight?” Steve inquired, his watch showing it was already past 3 in the morning. 
“It’s at 7:30, I’ll need to get there by 5:30.” You respond glumly, “My friend is bringing my bags though, so we can head straight there- If you wanted to go all the way there with me?”
An L shape going to his chin, he stroked his imaginary beard as he hummed, bumping into your arm. You scoffed, pushing his body away, laughter bubbling between the two of you.
A stone-covered bridge came before you, wandering over and stopping to watch the fish below. Steve looked at your profile in the moonlight and wished he had a photograph, giving him an idea for later.
“Are you scared of planes?” He queried, his own memory of Robin hyperventilating for the first hour of the flight replaying in his mind.
“I’m neutral, I’ve flown a few times before, but I’m not super comfortable.” You revealed, “What about you?”
“Same here. I used to hate them because it meant my dad was on a business trip that I’d be dragged along to, but now I can do it for funner reasons.”
Nodding, a smirk formed on your face, “I don’t think funner is a word, gorgeous.”
Ignoring the pet name that made him flustered, he pouted, pushing away from the edge to walk forward. 
“It is to me!” He argued as you caught up with him, though he grabbed your hand within seconds. 
The area was now familiar as he and Robin had wandered these streets on their first day, excited to be in a new place for the first time. 
A few strangers wandered the roads, a cigarette lit between their lips as they trotted. Though, Steve had his sights set on the building at the corner of the two roads, a photo booth there. 
Before you could question his motive, he dragged you in, squeezing onto the plastic seat, the bright light overhead. Popping a euro in, he paid for two film strips.
“Okay, what are we doing?” He asked, looking at you hopefully, the first photo accidentally going off, “Shit!”
Through giggles, you pulled him closer to look at the camera with wide grins, then a silly one. For the last one, he didn’t ask or follow your lead, he grabbed your warm cheeks and kissed you.
The final click was ignored as he continued to move his lips against yours, your nose slightly cold against the frigid air. Breathless, he pulled away, forehead against yours for a beat.
Returning outside the curtain, you each got your film strips, smiling at them in your grasp. The film shined under the streetlights, a glossy finish on the paper, placing it carefully in your purse.
With his hand in yours, you continued on, the wind whistling through tree branches and against thin window panes. The roads twisted and turned, passing by restaurants whose lights had been out for hours. 
“I really enjoy spending time with you.” You mumbled, resting your head against his arm, “I wish I didn’t have to leave-”
“Hey, c’mon, don’t think about that right now. We have a few hours left.” He consoled, though sadness dripped from his words as he felt the same dread.
“I’m going to write you a letter, but you can’t open it until I leave tomorrow.” You announced, shuffling through your purse, ripping two pages from your small notebook, and grabbing a pen.
“I want to do one too.” Steve added, taking a sheet and your spare pen. 
Taking a seat at a nearby bar, you sat at different tables outside, covering your words with your forearm despite the distance. Occasional playful sneers were thrown each other's way before smiling. 
Both of you resisted the urge to tear it open, seeing what the other truly thought. Part of him doubted you fell for him, convincing him he’d hear the painful words that it was bullshit. Part of you doubted he fell for you, another boy taking your feelings and crushing them. 
Folding them neatly, you exchanged your messages, leaving a lip gloss-covered kiss on yours. Your eyes locked as you stood still, letters in each pocket, it seemed like a trance. It was broken by the speeding of a yellow cab, swinging the turn like the cops were after him.
“We should probably call a cab,” Steve suggested, looking at his time as it taunted both of you, approaching the side of the building near a payphone, “I have some coins if you need-”
Glossy lips touched his slightly chapped ones, molding against one another in bliss as you ignored his words, back bumping against the brick wall.
Not the most abrupt, the quiet of the night made you bolder, knowing that even if someone was around, they were likely wandering or going straight home. They didn’t know you and they didn’t know Steve, you were just two strangers kissing under the dark sky.
His hands went around your waist, pulling you closer with a grunt, hand covering a portion of your bottom. His gorgeous locks were soon woven in between your fingers, feeling how soft they were. His teeth caught your plush lips in a whimper, gasping when he pulled away.
“Fiesty.” He teased, making you whine, dropping your head onto his shoulder. Remembering his hands were on your ass, he pulled away, reaching for the red door to call the taxi.
The operator sent him forward, looking back at the street name and the building you were in front of. The man’s gruff voice was hard to understand, practically smelling the cigarette smoke through the speaker.
“Trying to get rid of me.” You sighed as he walked out, arms opening and engulfing you despite your quick wit. 
Arms around one another, you stood in the sounds of your accompanying breath, hearing his heartbeat through his sweater. 
“Are you cold?” He worried, rubbing your arms lovingly as the stillness of your bodies made the temperature settle.
“I’m okay, don’t let go.” You mumbled against his chest, feeling vibrations of his stifled laugh.
A taxi whipped around the tight corner, bright lights shining in your faces. He relinquished his hold to open the door, hand meeting the small of your back to guide you inside to sit.
The London lights blurred together as you rested your head on his shoulder, secretly inhaling his scent and hoping you’ll be able to remember it. 
Shapes in various sizes were drawn against the skin on your knee with his fingers, cheek pressed against your hair. 
“God, I hope he remembered everything.” You sighed with humor, but also worried your friend would forget any essentials. Thankfully, you planned on spending most of the day out so your bag was pretty much packed. 
“I hope he doesn’t, make you stuck here longer.” He smirked, squeezing your thigh.
The sound of the wet pavement froze as you entered the drop of section, people bustling towards the front doors of the airport filled with exhaustion and stress. 
Steve unbuckled and opened the door for you, paying the driver before you could. 
Mouth open to complain, he yanked you forward to kiss your lips, hands around your waist as yours went behind his neck. 
Over dramatic and much more public than either of you typically preferred, there was nothing that could remove your lips from one another. Except Rodney. 
“Dude!” A high pitched male voice let out as another taxi driver tossed the luggage onto the ground, a skinny man standing on the sidewalk with messed up hair. 
Your frame left Steve’s grasp as you went to the baby blue suitcase on the ground, sitting it upright. 
“About time, bitch!” The boy snapped, but there was familiarity behind it, “Ugh, girl, that was the worst car I’ve ever been in, smelled like piss- Wait who’s the cutie?” His voice dropped lower to avoid lingering ears at the last comment.
Scratching the back of his neck at the compliment, Steve let you introduce him, “Rodney, this is Steve, Steve this is my best friend, Rodney.”
“Hi.” He chuckled, “Sorry I stole her for the last night of your trip.”
“No, no, I see why she stayed.” Rodney smiled, nudging you who was more bashful than Steve had seen, “It’s nice to meet you, Steve. I’ll go ahead and get in line so you guys can say bye.”
Rodney walked off with all the baggage, a pep in his step despite the sun having yet to make an appearance. 
Steve finally ripped his attention from the boy walking inside to you who looked to the road, tears already coating your eyes, “Hey, don’t cry, it’s okay.”
With a laugh, you subconsciously rubbed your nose, “I don’t know why I’m-“
“Oh no, trust me, I probably will cry too.” He eased your distress, embracing you in a final hug.
Each grip was tighter than the last for your hugs, this one nearly mending each body together. A peck left on the warmth of his neck, you lifted your head for a last kiss, his eagerness at an all-time high.
When your lips stopped moving, it took a moment to pull away as neither of you wanted to. A burning sensation reached your throat and behind your eyes, toes curling within your knitted socks.
“As cheesy as this may sound, I’ll never forget you, Steve. I’ll see you again- Unless you don’t want me to-“
“Don’t even finish that sentence because I am one bad decision away from hopping on that plane with you.” He quipped, leaning back enough to see your face. 
“I’ll see you?” You murmured, not caring how stereotypical it sounded.
In romance movies, you’d groan at the common tear-jerking goodbyes, but as you stood in the midst of an airport goodbye, you understood. You got why they’d run back to the lover’s arms and never leave. You knew if you ran into Steve’s arms again, you’d never leave. 
“Not if I see you first.” He mustered, kissing your forehead before revoking his arms from you, already burning with desire to reattach. 
As the cotton fabric left your touch, you smiled at him through tears, turning on your heels and into the clear doors. 
In the flurry of people, you turned around, waving at the boy who was right where you left him, and if you squint hard enough, you think you could still see your heart in his hands. 
Steve waited until you joined Rodney, watching as the boy gave you a hug with a soothing hand on your back. Swallowing the influx of emotions, he walked away with lead-filled shoes, utilizing every ounce of self-control to keep going. 
The tube station nearby ran to Piccadilly Circus, close enough to walk to his hotel from there. Securing a white stub, he found a seat on the nearly empty cart, a crunch sounding from his pocket.
Quickly taking the note covered in lip gloss out, he traced his thumb over the way you wrote his name. As the engine began, he unfolded the thin paper, taking a soothing breath. 
Dear Steve, 
Right now, you’re sitting at a metal table at a closed bar and I don’t think anyone’s looked more beautiful. My gut is dropping to my toes in fear that you don’t feel as strongly, but I think you do, that hasn’t happened to me before. 
I’m not the best with words, but I love your hair and eyes and sweater and shoes and pink bandaid on your ankle. You’re incredibly kind and smart and memorable. You’ve given me more joy in these few hours than I’ve had in months. 
I hope to see you again soon, gorgeous, I need to teach you how to draw one badass stick figure. My phone number and address are on the back of the paper, but don’t stalk me. Or do, I think you’d make your presence known anyways. 
Love, Y/N.
The sounds around him went mute as he felt the unfamiliar sting of tears, something he never let himself embrace. But the words made his heart soar high enough to punch his nose, setting his emotions ablaze. 
Meanwhile, you sat in the window seat on a full plane, Rodney already dozing off beside you as reached steady enough air to relinquish mandatory seat belts.
Your hand finally reached your bag, holding the paper from your own notebook that was covered in writing belonging to the boy at the cafe. 
Dear Y/N,
I didn’t have any idea how this trip would go, but I’m glad you showed up at that coffee shop instead of the one down the road. 
To start, you’re fucking beautiful. A kind of beautiful where even if you didn’t speak a word to me this morning, I would’ve talked Robin’s ear off about you all day anyways.
You’re so nice, like so nice it gives me cavities. (Just kidding, perfectly healthy teeth- That was very stupid, sorry) And you are so gentle and caring, I want to spend more and more time seeing it because even when you weren’t looking at me, I felt my cheeks getting red. 
I hope I don’t sound too dumb when I say this, but you made me feel very happy. I hadn’t felt a need to spend so much time with one person in a very long time, to open up to someone like I did today. But it felt natural, like anything else would’ve been a crime. 
My grandpa loved this Frank Sinatra song called Bewitched, I don’t remember the words, but I know the feelings when I thought of someone caring for me that way and I heard it as we danced a few hours ago. You’ve bewitched me.
My address and phone number are on the back, I just really hope you can read my terrible handwriting. 
You mean a lot to me. 
<3, 
Steve. 
“Honey, you okay?” Rodney whispered, watching your wet cheeks be wiped away with a napkin. 
Nodding, you folded the note and put it in your purse, “I’m okay, Rod,” You sniffled, staring at your shoes that had reminisced of dirt from the grasses and sidewalks you strolled. 
“I think I could be a witch.” You declared with an elbow to his bicep, his snort was subtle as he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You longed for Steve’s. 
“Hey,” You alerted the boy to your right, “Want to go to Indiana?”
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tagging: @ali-r3n   @honey-eyed-munson   @bakugouswh0r3  @jj-ever-lovely-jewel   @spicysix  @andvys  @berryfairy444  @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint  @bimbobaggins69  @lilacletter
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zyonsay · 3 months
Note
Hi i’m the one who made the long request (sorry if it was too long).
if you still want to write it the reader’s job is the same, but the request is lando x male reader (smut) where the reader receives an award (oscar or grammy you can choose) and they come home partying in their way
thank you so much and sorry again if the previous request was too long :)
Viva Valentino Baby! LN4
Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!
Summary: You and Lando celebrate
Reader: Male
Warnings: Smut, Pet name: Star/Baby
Now playing: 'West Coast' by Lana del Rey
AN: Hey love! Im sorry for taking so long! I hope you like it :] Also i just figured out how to nicely put pictures into a post and i'll be re-formatting all my fics later, wish me luck! (Nvm i fucked up, does anybody know how tf to do that?)
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“And the grammy for Album of the year goes to…”, the man looked around the crowd while slowly unfolding the envelope in his hands. The ten nominees anxiously looked around, amidst them were you, gripping onto the edge of your seat. Your nails basically dug into the cushioning.
“Y/n with the album ‘Viva Valentino’!”, your heart stopped. The masses of people around you turned their heads to look at you. It all became a blurry mess but a hand on your thigh pulled you out of your haze. To your right was your boyfriend Lando, who was cheering and pumping his fist in the air. He pulled you into a quick kiss before motioning you to go on stage. You smiled at him before hurrying to collect your award. What you didn’t see was that Lando’s eyes had tears of joy in them. He clasped his hands together and smiled while watching your award being laid into your hands. Quickly patting the pockets of his pants, he fished out his phone to take pictures or a video. With tears welling in your eyes, you approached the microphone. “This is crazy.”, your eyes danced across the crowd. Loud cheering erupted and the giant LED screens behind you displayed various pictures of you from concerts and your latest tour. “I thank each and every artist on this planet.”, once again the masses of people interrupted your speech with clapping and cheering. A sweet laugh escaped your throat as the tears finally left your eyes. “Thank you all for keeping art alive!”, you held your grammy skywards and now the cheering got more intense and roamed through the whole crowd.
The celebrations took longer than expected, but here you were. Straddling Lando in his 765LT Spider who was already parked in the garage. The atmosphere was burning and the only sounds ringing through the car were occasional whimpers and heavy breaths. His hands laid firmly atop your hips as he gently grinded up into you. With a few gasps in between kisses you sucked sweet blackberry hickeys onto his neck.
“Baby let’s get inside. The car’s a bit small for this.”, you could feel the grin in his voice. With a soft hum you slid back to the passenger’s side. Once you and your boyfriend had exited the car he put a hand on your hip and pulled you inside the house. Lando was known for his short patience, he didn’t want to walk all the way to the bedroom. As if.
He made quick work of his shirt and pants, leaving him in his navy boxers. Tossing them aside he pushed you onto the couch. Kneeling before you he fiddled with your belt while gazing up at you. “Take that shirt off.” A warm sensation ran over your skin as you threw your dress shirt over the backrest of the designer couch Lando had bought earlier this year. Maybe it was champagne or maybe it was the dim light, but his eyes looked like they were glowing. His pupils were blown out but there was still a beautiful green ring around them. His hands ran over your now bare legs while he tugged your briefs aside, revealing your already leaking member.
With gentle hands he slowly stroked it, earning a groan from you. “I’ll spoil you today, my star”, he licked a long stripe from the base of your cock to the tip and licked away the salty pearl of precum. With a heaving chest and trembling hands, you brought a hand to his hair, tangling your fingers with his soft curls. “Don’t tease me Lan”, your voice was quiet, but dangerous. He let out a light chuckle before taking centimeter by centimeter into his mouth. He gagged lightly as it hit the back of his throat. A light tug at his hair motivated him to begin moving. With a fairly slow pace he bobbed up and down the length of your cock. He ran his tongue along the veins and gripped onto your thighs with both hands. With the firmness that he was holding them he’ll for sure leave bruises, but you didn’t mind. The warm feeling in your stomach began stirring and boiling. “Faster”, you tugged on his locks again while you whispered sharply. Lando wasn’t one to deny your order and obeyed with tears pricking in his eyes. The warm feeling spread over your stomach to your back and down your limbs. You gently bucked into Lando’s mouth as he increased his pace. Now all the heat ran up your limbs, over your back and to your stomach- “Swallow.”  - and with that, think ropes of creamy cum spurted down Lando’s throat. You held him in place with your hand, making him swallow every last drop. He sighed happily, caressing your thighs with his hand. With a gentle ‘plop’ he released your length. He licked his sweet lips and got up from the floor. In a quick movement he got rid of his, now wet, boxers. Carefully straddling you, he connected his lips to your neck. “Let me take care of you, star.”
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eashmo · 5 months
Text
-Welcome Home-
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Warnings: SMUT and small fluff
A/N: I seriously have so many short stories that I need to finish for Eddie, Billy, and Steve.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It has been 3 months since I last saw my precious boyfriend. Eddie was on tour with his band Corroded Coffin. After so long,  the phone calls just didn't even begin to cut it anymore. I needed him, I craved his kisses and cuddles. He was coming home today, so I decided to give him a surprise welcome home. 
I grinned at Eddie as he entered our bedroom, watching him closely as he stood there smirking as i fucked myself with a dildo, and his eyes didn’t move away from it. I brought my other hand down to rub my clit, my fingers gliding over it easily. 
“Welcome home, rockstar.” I moaned out. 
“You couldn’t have just waited until I got here?” He asked, but he couldn’t even pretend to look disappointed.
“I figured you’d enjoy a surprise,” I breathed heavily. The dildo was a perfect shape and size, hitting my G spot perfectly. It was the same size as him. Which was perfect when we had phone sex. It felt like he was there when he was miles away from me. But I craved the real thing every day.
“Oh trust me, babygirl, I’m enjoying it,” he smirked. He ran a hand over the bulge in his boxers, hearing the pet name made me wetter, biting my lip as I rubbed my clit faster as I pumped the dildo in and out of me. Eddie watched intently, his eyes going darker by the second.
“Feels so good, Eds,” I whimpered. 
“I’ll bet it does,” he groaned, taking out his cock from his boxers, jacking himself off to the sight of me “keep going, babygirl”
I did as he told me, and I began to move my wrist fast and bring myself close to the edge. I stopped before I came, not wanting to let go before Eddie got his hands on me. I pulled it out of me slowly, his eyes completely dark when he saw how much it stretched me out as it popped out “I need you baby” I breathed. 
He startled me when he roughly grabbed my ankles and pulled me closer to him, 
He kisses my lips, moving down to my neck, making me moan. He circles my sensitive clit with his thumb, making me cry out more. I bite his neck firmly, which always drove him crazy. I rake my nails roughly down his back.
“Eddie please” I gasp into his shoulder. 
He grabs my hips, and runs the tip of his cock over my soaking core before he roughly shoves himself inside of me, making me cry out loudly. I need him in me. Now. He gives me a second to adjust to his thick member before pulling out and slamming back into me over and over and over. He picks up his pace, leaning over me to rest one hand on the headboard, to use it as leverage. I was not going to last long like this. This man knows exactly how to please me. He knows I love it rough.
“Fuck i’ve missed this pussy…” He growls into my neck. My hands grab a fistful of his hair, making him groan again.
“Eddie…” I whine. I was getting dangerously close, and he knew it.
“Don't you dare...cum…” he warns me. He began thrusting harder, driving me even closer to the edge. I try my best to hold back my quickly approaching orgasm.
“baby...please…”
“Please what?” He says in a low voice, beginning to lose control of his rhythm. He is close, too.
“Please let me cum…” I whine.
He continues his now erratic thrusting, and relentless playing with my oversensitive clit for a moment. “Cum with me, babygirl” He whispers in my ear. I shout his name as I am consumed with wave after wave of pleasure.
 “y/n” I hear him groan, finding his own release. His fingers on my hip dig into my flesh, definitely leaving his mark. He collapses on top of me, breathing heavily. He slowly drags himself to lay next to me, pulling me with him. I turn to face him and snuggle up to him.
“God, I've missed you y/n…” He says; his voice deep and gravelly.
“I missed you too.” I say, running my hand up, resting it over his heart. “I love you, eds”
“I love you too, baby girl. Also, thank you for the welcome home sex” 
“Anytime, baby”
 We both laughed as we savored the moment of him finally being back home. Back into my arms.
masterlist
2023
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Text
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A/n: he’s so hot 😩 also I’m not sure how I feel about this so I apologize if this sucks.
Warnings: P in the V, Luis going feral for his girl aka him ripping his shirt off the readers body, lots of praise, slapping the readers ass, cock warming, breast play, doggy style, breeding kink{ you can tell me this guy won’t have one}.
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If it was one thing that Luis Serra loved more than you, it was the fact that you’d dress up or dress down for him. The man loved to buy you lingerie, anything that showed off your body, anything that showed off your curves.
God did the love your body.
But the one thing he loved the most was when you wore his clothes. That would really make his heart race, make his blood travel to a place that he was oh so familiar with.
And today was no exception, watching you dance around the room for him wearing nothing but his silk shirt. Your shapely hips twisting with the beat of the song, his shirt stretched across your breasts. Hr couldn’t tear his eyes away from your form.
Licking his lips he stepped closer to you, his arousal evident as he tugged you close. “Hey sexy lady, I like your flow.” Nuzzling your neck, he gave the skin a light nip. “Your body is banging amore.”
Biting your lip you wove your arms around his neck as Luis gave your hips a squeeze though your cheeks warmed feeling the man give your ass a slap. Luis loved to tell you how he felt, how beautiful you were. Something your ex’s never had done.
“Really?” Pressing closer to his hips you slowly pushed against his groin feeling his hardened press against your center. “Then what are you waiting for Mr.Serra.”
Letting out a playful scoff, Luis wrapped his arms around your hips lifting you up as your legs wove around his hips. “Do you know that you are the only one to make me scream, make me beg for more.” He whispered laying you down on the bed as his hand slipped under your shirt.
Nuzzling his nose into your neck, he let his fingers brush your breast. “Mi amor…tell me you need.”
A shudder ran down your spine, your nails digging into his shoulders. You hoped he could feel how much you wanted him, how wet you were for him.
Letting out a small laugh you ran your fingers through his hair giving it a harsh tug. “Luis, my love…please fuck me. I want to feel you, feel all of you.” A small whimper escaped your lips as you traced you fingers down his cheeks feeling the scruff beneath the tips of your fingers.
A small growl escaped the man’s lips as he tossed you onto the bed. Your body bouncing on the bed. Luis’s eyes glued to your frame, watching every inch on exposed skin. Crawling on the bed you watched the man hover over your frame, his fingers teasing that buttons of his shirt though soon the sound of fabric tearing echoed through out the room.
“Y-you’re shirt!”
Giving you a teasing grin, Luis placed a kiss to your neck as his hand messaged your breasts. “I can but a new shirt…it was distracting me anyway. Hiding your beautiful body from me.”
Grabbing a hold of your hips a gasp escaped your lips feeling his length brush your entrance. Giving your neck a light nip he continued to tease your folds.
“How do you want me?” Slowly opening your eyes you wanted nothing more than for him just to fuck you but it was never simple with Luis.
“On your knees.”
Biting your lip, you gave him a small pout as you shifted your body, following Luis’s instructions you clutched one of the pillows burying your face in it as he let his fingers trace down your spine until he finally pushed his cock into your entrance as you clutched the blanks tightly.
Form this position you were able to take him fully, you felt so good wrapped around his length and while Luis loved nothing more than to watch you ride him, this, this is what he needed right now.
“Look how good you take me Mi Amore….such a good girl.” He whispered letting this thumb trail down your spin keeping still as he then moved his hands to your hips digging his nails into your flesh, fantasies running through his mind. Ones with filling you with his seed, watching your belly grow.
Watching your breasts grow would just be an added bonus to him as he guided your hips. Your walls clenching around his cock as he continued to thrust in your pussy.
Chest heaving, you tried to keep your eyes opened but this felt to good. Luis always knew how to make you feel good, he always knew what to say to make you weak in the knees. His name becoming a breathless whimper past your lips as he slowed his movements.
A light yelp escaping your lips once you felt the man start to play with your clit. His thumb playing with the bud as a slight chuckle escaped past his lips.
“Such a sweet darlin you are…I love how wet you get for me.” He whispered against your ear as you felt your body tense once another orgasm hit you. Your heart hammering against your chest as your cores became muffled into the pillow your juices now coating your thighs and his cock.
You could feel it building in the pit of your stomach, that sensation you were so used to showing how close you were. It took one last thrust from Luis for you to see stars, your walls clenching around his cock. Milking him as his cum coated your walls, his seed spilling into your pussy. Your voice raw from crying out his name.
Slumping forward, your nearly collapsed on the bed as you felt Luis run his fingers down your back. Still within you, he let your body curl into his. “Now how do you feel Mi Amore?”
Chuckling weakly you let your fingers trace the mark on his chest. “Tired…but very satisfied.”
Humming, Luis grasped your hips pulling your closer,a whimper escaping your lips. Still sensitive from your orgasm. “That is what I like to hear.” He tried not to groan himself, it felt so good to be within you.
“Tired but very satisfied.”
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maybeimamuppet · 4 months
Text
twelve days of matilda-mas - day 1: cuddles
hellooooooo everybody!!! happy holiday season if you celebrate something and happy day if you do not! i hope everyone’s doing well!
and a very warm welcome to a little thing i’m calling the twelve days of matildamas!! from today until christmas eve i’ll be posting a short (ish) oneshot related to a holiday-ish theme :)) i’ve been working on these since around october and i’m very excited for y’all to get to see them too :))))
i did not come up with the prompts on my own also!! i borrowed them from a list i used before for my mean girls holiday fics in 2021 (also if you’re not fussy about fandoms and are in the mood for some christmas stories pls feel free to read those too! please they took me so long lol) and the original list was created by @/bidiboop on wattpad (i hope i got that handle right!!) for that fandom and i just wiggled a few to fit this one.
anyway!! boring stuff over happy holidays or winterval or whatever you got going on and i hope you enjoy day one!!
————-
Jenny always takes her time waking up.
Obviously, she has an alarm to ensure she’s up and ready with plenty of time for school, but she’s usually awake long before. Sometimes she’ll drift back off and coast into some more dreams before she has to be up. Other times she simply lies in bed, comfy in the sheets that are nice and warm after sleeping in them all night, and lets her mind wander.
Starting today, school is on winter holidays. She misses her students, but she does have to admit that it’s nice having nothing to worry about until January. Her alarm is turned off, she’s cozy and warm in bed while a freezing wind blusters the bare branches of the small birch trees just outside her window, and-
Hm.
The one thing she had allowed herself to splurge on when she and Matilda moved into her childhood home was a nice bed. Large, with a nice mattress that sounded like it would age well along with her aging body.
She’s not used to being so cramped for space.
Furrowing her brows in confusion, she carefully tugs the blankets away from the small lump she’s found herself pressed against.
And there she finds Matilda.
She’s completely buried in the blanket. Her head doesn’t even rest on the pillows. Her nose is pressed to Jenny’s side, and the rest of her is curled into a loose ball next to her mother. Jenny’s a bit confused as to why she’s not asleep in bed, her own bed, where she left her last night, but she doesn’t complain.
She tucks her back in, beneath her nose this time, to ensure she can breathe, and gently strokes her nails through the roots of Matilda’s hair. She smiles as her nose crinkles a little in sleepy confusion, and Matilda cuddles a little bit closer.
They stay that way for a long, long while. Jenny feels the sun streaming through the window slowly shift to warm different parts of her back while she and her daughter share a cozy cuddle in the large bed. It’s certainly a pleasant way to begin the morning. Jenny doesn’t think either of them would complain about doing it more often.
Eventually, Matilda’s eyes flutter open and she stretches herself out as far as she can before curling back in on herself and blinking at Jenny.
“Hello,” Jenny murmurs softly. “Sleep well?”
Matilda nods and grumbles sleepily in the back of her throat. She presses her face against Jenny’s chest and murmurs, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Jenny echoes. “You’re not where I left you last night.”
Matilda nods. “Your bed’s nicer.”
“Ah, using me for my bed, eh?” Jenny teases, gently poking Matilda in the side. Matilda squeals and jerks away.
“Hey!”
“Hey me? You’ve stolen my whole duvet!” Jenny says with laughter in her voice. Matilda’s face falls.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I… I… I just wanted…”
“It’s alright, lamb,” Jenny says comfortingly, tipping Matilda’s chin up. “You can come join me any time you fancy a cuddle. I’ll never be angry with that. It’s much warmer with you here, anyway. I don’t even need the duvet.”
“Any time?” Matilda questions softly.
“Any time,” Jenny confirms with a nod.
“Then… could we stay like this the whole entire day?” Matilda asks with more of her usual pep in her voice.
“The entire day?” Jenny asks in shock.
Matilda nods. “There’s no school. We haven’t got anything better to do today.”
Jenny considers this. There’s chores to be done around the house, and billing and paperwork for the new year to be done for school. But it’s only early in the holidays. They have days to get everything done. One can be sacrificed, she supposes. Especially for the greater good.
And this is most definitely the greater good.
“Well, I think we ought to have breakfast, but I don’t see why not. You’re right, we really don’t have much we need to get done today,” she says.
“Yes!” Matilda cheers, rolling onto her back and throwing her arms to the ceiling in victory. Jenny laughs and gently boops the tip of her nose.
“Come eat, then back to bed with us.”
They have some oatmeal sweetened with brown sugar and cinnamon, handle the dishes, and return to bed with warm, full bellies and a copy of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Matilda sits in the hollow of Jenny’s body with the blanket on top of her and begins to read aloud.
And it
is absolutely
perfect.
—————
hope you enjoyed!! see you tomorrow :DDD
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starburstjuno · 1 year
Text
Brother’s Best Friend | Robin Buckley
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plot : y/n harrington wasn’t quite sure why exactly she’d never noticed robin in school, but seeing her in that sailor outfit sure did get the heart and mind racing.
warnings : gay gay gay gay fluff and pining, also steve being a himbo as usual
word count : 1.7k
(this is a companion piece/sequel to best friend’s sister, and will follow y/n’s point of view as opposed to robin’s)
masterlist | requests open
Starcourt Mall was busy as always when Y/N walked through the doors. She knew exactly where she was going, easily winding through the crowd to the far side of the food court. The Scoops Ahoy sign flickered slightly as Y/N walked in, a sigh passing her lips. Her eyes quickly scanned over the empty booths and tables before finding Robin standing behind the counter. Y/N couldn’t help the smile that came to her face as Robin’s eyes flicked over to meet hers.
“Hey Robin!” Y/N smiled, walking into the store as Robin straightened up from her slouched position.
“Hey Y/N.” A smile came to Robin’s face. “Macy’s decide to give you an early lunch?”
“No way, never.” Y/N snorted. “I’m off today.”
“So what the hell are you doing here?” Robin’s eyebrows furrowed.
“I got bored.” Y/N shrugged, trying her best to look casual. It wasn’t entirely untrue, Y/N had been bored, but mostly because she was trying to give it some time and not show up right when Scoops opened. “Our parents are out of town again, and you two are obviously not super available to hang out right now, so I figured I could just come down here and hang until it gets busy." Y/N then looked over her shoulder, glancing around the completely empty store, taking note of how everyone else in the food court was acting like they couldn't even see the ice cream shop. "By the looks of it, and the fact that I can hear Steve snoring from here, I'm sure you won't mind the company.” Y/N looked back at Robin, flashing her a coy smile. “Right, Robin?”
Ever since the beginning of summer, when Y/N had first walked into Steve’s new job with the sole purpose of mocking his uniform, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about Robin. Much like today, she’d been the sole person standing behind the counter, picking at her nails and looking horribly bored. But to Y/N, even under the disgustingly bright fluorescent lights and even clad in the stupid Scoops sailor costume, Robin looked drop dead gorgeous. That first conversation had been awkward and full of wandering eyes, stuttered words, and flush cheeks-until Steve busted out of the back room to tell his sister to get out and go find a job somewhere else.
There’d been something in that first conversation, something that had stuck with Y/N as Steve pushed her back out into the food court. She couldn’t really pinpoint what it was, and at first she thought it might just be wishful thinking, but Y/N got the feeling that Robin was checking her out as much as she was checking Robin out. Ever since, she’d been trying to push that boundary a little more, lay the flirting on a little more thick each time they spoke. By now, at the end of the summer, Y/N had managed to come out to Steve-he already knew-and was just about throwing herself at Robin, while getting just about nothing back. Just as she’d begun to doubt her feelings, doubt that Robin could ever like her back, Robin would give her this little smile and have this twinkle in her eye that told Y/N everything.
"Yeah, course not." Robin nodded, and Y/N noticed that her cheeks flushed quickly. "I've been standing here for like a million years, bored out of my mind. Any company is more than welcome, especially yours.”
“Aw, don’t make me blush.” Y/N could feel her cheeks heating up as she leaned against the counter. “Hey, have you heard about the new movie from the guy who made The Hills Have Eyes?”
Now usually, Y/N would know better than to recommend Robin watch a scary movie. Robin hates scary movies-especially The Hills Have Eyes-but, this was all apart of the tips on getting girls that Steve had given her. He’d said to always watch a scary movie on a date, because when the girl gets scared you can be there to comfort her. He’d boasted that he’d gotten to makeout with at least ten girls by doing that. And while Y/N didn’t really believe he’d pulled that many girls just by doing that, and also definitely didn’t need to hear it anyway, she figured there had to be something to that.
“Nope.” Robin shook her head. “You know I’m not crazy about scary movies.”
“Oh come on!” Y/N huffed. While yeah, she was trying to round-a-bout ask Robin on a date, she also really did want to go see Wes Craven’s new movie. “This one looks really cool!”
“What’s it about?” Robin sighed, rolling her eyes though Y/N could see a small, reluctant smile on her face.
“It’s like, this group of teenagers who are getting haunted, and hunted, in their dreams by the same guy." Y/N explained, unable to help as the excitement bubbled up. “It's called Nightmare on Elm Street and it comes out in a few months.” Robin stood there, thinking for a moment as she absentmindedly fiddled with one of her necklaces.
“Alright, fine, that does sound pretty good.” Robin admitted, to which Y/N happily clapped her hands.
“We’ll have to go see it when it comes out!” Y/N insisted, not even realizing what she was doing as she reached over and took one of Robin’s hands between both of hers. For a split second, she froze at the contact, but then, something about it just felt right. “We could go opening night! Be the first people to see it! What do you say?” Robin’s eyes were wide as she looked back at Y/N, and Y/N could tell that she’d been right. She’d been right all along, all these months. The way Robin looked now was the way Y/N felt when she first took Robin’s hand.
“Y-Yeah.” Robin’s voice cracked slightly. This is it, Y/N thought, finally, I have my chance. Y/N opened her mouth, just about to start confessing her feelings for Robin when a loud crash sounded from the back room. Already knowing exactly what had happened, Y/N was as the back room door and throwing it open before Robin made it there. The pair stood in the doorway as the door swung open, revealing Steve and the chair he’d obviously been sleeping in were now both splayed out on the ground.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Y/N sighed. Of course Steve was getting in her way, once again. She crossed the small back room as Steve rolled over onto his back with a light groan. “Hey, you hurt or anything?”
“I don’t think so.” Steve sighed. “Bad way to wake up, though, shit.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt…dumbass.” Y/N really had been worried if Steve cracked his head open-for about two seconds. Since then, she’d really just been trying not to laugh at him for falling out of a chair.
“Shut up.” Steve groaned, weakly swinging one of his arms up in Y/N’s direction. Still trying to shake off sleep, his arm didn’t even reach halfway to her before it fell back onto him.
“How the fuck do you fall out of a chair, Steve?” Y/N joked, smirking down at Steve as he gave her an annoyed look. “Like, seriously.”
“I was asleep!” He defended, and Y/N laughed in his face which only made him look grumpier. “You’re being mean.” Robin shifting in his peripheral vision made him look over. “Robin! Y/N’s being mean to me!” He called out, which only made Y/N laugh again.
“And?” Robin asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You guys are the siblings, I’m just here. I have no skin in this game.” Steve sighed dramatically, rolling his head away from Robin as if he was scorning her for not helping him. As he did, Robin noticed just how dirty the back room floor was-which meant Steve didn’t mop last night. “Hey, isn’t your hair gonna get all dirty if you stay on the ground?” Y/N was doubled over in laughter by the time Steve had scrambled to his feet and left the room with an annoyed stomp, obsessively checking his hair as he took up position behind the counter.
“You two suck.” He commented as he walked out, which only conjured a small laugh from Robin.
“Did you see the look on his face?” Y/N laughed as she straightened back up, looking over at Robin as she let the back room door shut. “Oh my god!”
“Shut up, Y/N!” Steve’s voice came through the sliding window. “It wasn’t funny!” Y/N did her best to compose herself as she walked over to the window, small giggles still managing to slip out. She pulled the window open, hearing Steve sigh as she leaned into the frame.
“You know what, Steve, you’re right. It wasn’t funny.” Y/N was doing her best to sound serious, and Steve turned around with a tired, yet extremely annoyed expression. “It was downright hilarious.” Y/N’s full laughter bubbled back up, and Steve huffed and turned back around. He stuck up his middle finger behind his back, catching a glimpse of a few pretty girls that were eyeing Scoops. As soon as they decided to come in Steve turned around and forced Y/N out of the window, shutting it so he could turn on the charm. Y/N let him be, laughing her way over to the break table and picking up his chair before plopping down into it. After about a minute, Robin quietly came over and joined her.
Y/N looked over at Robin, ready to crack another joke about Steve, but she saw Robin was already looking at her. Y/N was a little shocked by the look on Robin’s face. It wasn’t the same coy smile or little eye twinkle as usual. No, this face, this look, it was more akin to the way Steve used to look at Nancy when they were together. It was a look of love. Their eyes only met for a moment, Robin quickly looking away when she realized Y/N was looking back at her, but that moment was enough. It was more than enough.
“Hey Robin?”
“Yeah, Y/N?”
“When we go see Nightmare on Elm Street, is that gonna be our first date or do you think we could go get dinner a few times between now and then?”
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taiiunknown · 1 year
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✨TONIGHT, ILL BE THE BEST YOU EVER HAD 💍
This a short story inspired by the song (Tonight ~ John legend) so I advise you to listen to the song while reading 😽
Warning: FLUFF AND I MEAN LOTS OF IT , grab a tissue 🥺, very short story sorry not sorry 😛
Summary: Y/n & SHURI has been dating for 3 years and shuri finally decide to propose Aka tie the knot 🪢💍🤭
Today shuri has been acting really weird today, I don’t know what’s up with her but she have been real distant and sneaky and I really don’t want to jump to conclusions bc we have been strong going on 4years and it has been the best 4 years of you life .
Shuri told me that she was gonna be busy all today so she might not be home at 4 like she usually do , so I decided to go to my best friend house to vent to her a bit and also catch up , but she thought it was a good idea to treat me today which was very odd but I guess she just wanted to be nice today so we ended up at the nail shop .
*NAIL SALON*
“I feel like you overreacting.” Cari said while looking at the lady who was painting her toe nails, “Ya, Maybe you’re right…I just want to know what’s wrong.” Y/n said while having her feet in the water while the nail tech finish her pinky finger (you got cute white French tips medium length with a little diamond on you ring finger). “Just enjoy the day we having together then tonight when you go home talk to shuri.” Cari said with a small smile “ya… I am, what we doing after anyways ?” Y/n asked “oh we fixing your hair so when we don’t you better get to picking hair styles , I Feel like you need a cute silk press since your hair already long asl .” Cari said “ok even though I love my curls” I said laughing .
*3hours later*
I felt like a brand new person walking back in the palace, After getting my hair and nails done , including a Brazilian wax , I felt so pure and fresh.
On the way here I was already planning in my head on how to confront shuri about her being to distant , as I got closer the living area I seen rose petals leading to the balcony by the kitchen, I hear (Tonight by John legend) playing in the back ground and was easily caught off guard by how sexy shuri look right now . She was wearing a all black long sleeve shit with gray buttons, all dark gray pants with black shoes and … WAIT A MINUTE DID SHE GET A LINE UP IN THE BACK ?!!?!?!!
Ughhhh god take me now …
Mean while i have on a cute black dress and cute black rhinestone flip flops since I didn’t expect to be doing much today,
“Shuri what’s all this for ?” I asked looking at the set up in awe (just imagine what you want) “for you Usana, you deserve this and everything that comes with it” shuri said lifting my chin so I can focus on her “including you? Bc last time I checked you was being real distant to me for the past couple of days like you don’t love me anymore , and I’m really tryna understand if I did something wrong or not so I can fix it or even m-” I said rambling non stop “ MY LOVE STOP !” Shuri said to stop me from rambling “You did nothing wrong y/n , I just been planning something special for you that I have been thinking about since the first moment we met, And don’t ever think about changing yourself okay ? Bc you are perfect and I love you with everything in my heart and I don’t want you to ever think I stopped loving you bc I will never stop loving you Mami , Do you hear me? And I’m so sorry for even making you feel that way Nkosazana yam (my princess) . Shuri said while we both tearing up a little
“Ever since I first laid eyes on you I’ve been having it all planned out y/n and even my mother knew we are soul mates before she passed..” Shuri says while slowly moving on to one knee … lord I’m finna fall out
“So will you please make me that happiest Queen alive and be my wife sithandwa sam ?”
Shuri asked with a few tears running down her face while I’m straight out finna blow a snot bubble 💀
“YES ! Yes my shuri, I will” I say sobbing a little
“YES ?!!” Shuri asks shooting back up to her feet while picking me up “YES BABY!” I say giggling bc I’m so star struck. Shuri begans to scream in happiness and I do the same.
Shuri puts me back on the ground to place the ring on my finger (imagine what you want)
“And by the way Cari was in on the plan” Shuri says with a sneaky grin “Wowww I knew she was up to something” I say laughing “yk you look really good right now Ms.Uduka” Shuri says while grabbing me by my waist “MEEE?? You look fine as always while I literally have on the most simple fit ever” I say rolling my eyes and pouting, “it’s ok if you don’t see what I see Usana, But do you mind not walking tmr ?” Shuri says getting closer to my lips “umm..it depends how good you do” I say clearly joking bc she be fucking me up for real. “Say less enomtsalane (sexy)…
THE END !!
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yourfavoritebookclub · 7 months
Text
WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction
CHAPTER 12
What the fuck was that, Sgaeyl?” I bark as we climb into the sky, each beat of her wings turning the trees and fields into a blur of green.
The sound of Sgaeyl’s huff is her only response. She’s gone oddly silent in my mind. A fact that’s got me plummeting into a state of panic.
“I am TIED to her. WE are tied to her. That makes things very, very complicated.” I feel like I’m talking to myself.
“You are behaving poorly.”
“I’m–” I stutter at the accusation. “I’m behaving poorly? This changes things. This changes everything.” I clench my fists so hard my nails bite into my palms, knuckles scraping against Sgaeyl’s diamond-hard scales
I’m spiraling, fast, falling towards a bottom that has no end.
I close my eyes as I struggle to regain control of the torrent of emotions flooding my mind.
I know there’s not a damned thing I can do to change the circumstances now at play. Humans have very little sway in the goings-on of dragons, but it still doesn’t stop the anger and dread that’s drilling a hole in my chest.
“You are yelling, and it is irritating.” Sgaeyl bites back, and it’s an effort to keep my mouth shut.
Wordlessly, she banks left, taking us east of the Flight Field, a stream of air trailing behind her wingtips as she glides at a slow, easy speed.
She’s giving me time to process, cool off, and put the mask of the Wingleader on before we dropdown into the chaos of the Flight Field.
Every trace of frustration melts as I sit in the wholly unconditional, undeserved love that Sgaeyl grants me. Even when I am hard to love.
Violet is making things…complicated.
More than complicated. This is messy on so many levels. Brennan is her brother. I am keeping secrets. Secrets that she is far too intertwined in.
I was ready to break a lot of rules to keep Violet from harm today. I was willing to put a lot of people at risk for her, and that means something I don’t want to admit.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I know what it means. I also know that pursuing Violet will only cause problems, and it’s not worth the damage it would cause if I chose to act on it. She is still the daughter of the one person who is capable of thoroughly ruining me.
She is a liability.
She is dangerous.
And her life is now tied to mine.
Sgaeyl lets out a puff, “Tairn does not make bad judgments.”
That’s the other piece of it I can’t work out. Knowing what Violet is capable of, I’m not surprised that Tairn chose her, but his convictions place him firmly with Sgaeyl and I, and he’d never put us at risk. So what does their bond mean where her allegiance is concerned?
“I know.” I say curtly. I’ll feel guilty about my behavior with Sgaeyl later. Right now, I’m still trying to claw my way out of the pit of dread that I’ve been in since we landed in that clearing.
Sgaeyl takes us higher and higher into the sky until the air grows thin. I close my eyes, tipping my head back as we’re enveloped in a layer of misty cloud. The air goes cold for a moment as we break through the clouded barrier between the world below us and the open sky around us.
We land at the edge of the Flight field with the rest of the Wingleaders a few hours later, dusk cloaking the sky. The mage lights have been lit, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.
The dragons stand tall and proud next to their newly bonded riders, their bright eyes and shining scales glinting in the light. Tairn stands, a behemoth among the throng of dragons and people alike.
The arrival and bonding of the “unbondable” dragon to Violet Sorrengail no less, combined with the Feathertail in the crook of his wing, has piqued the Quadrant’s curiosity. All eyes are now fixed on the trio standing in the middle of the field.
On the dais, Melgren has his beady eyes on Tairn, a slither of venom in his gaze. I can practically see the wheels turning, and they are clearly assessing a threat.
On the far side of the field across from us are the unbonded, a dark cloud at the edge of the mage lights’ glow.
The unbonded always become particularly vicious in the weeks following Threshing. And this year will be no different.
Except it will be. Because Violet is target number one. And that means my life is on the line.
I was ready to break a lot of rules to keep Violet from harm today. I was willing to put a lot of people at risk for her, and that means something.
If I’m being honest with myself, I know what it means. I also know that pursuing Violet will only cause problems, and it’s not worth the damage it would cause if I chose to act on it.
Violet makes her way to the front of the dais, and General Sorrengail rises as Violet moves to stand before the roll-keeper who records today’s bonded pairs. As Violet waits in line. Professor Kaori bounds off the platform where the higher-ups are stationed and stares open-mouthed at Tairn.
As if Tairn’s ego could get any bigger.
“Quiet, my shadow.” Sgaeyl says quietly, and I know she’s right. Whether I like it or not, this is a moment in history. More than that, it’s a moment for Violet. A well deserved one.
My shadows pull away from my body in tendrils, weaving in and out of the crowd and melting into Violet’s shadow at her feet.
“Is that really—” Commandant Panchek blurts.
“Don’t say it,” General Sorrengail hisses, her hard gaze not so much as touching her daughter, wholly focused on the Tairn. “Not until she does.” Even from my spot at the edge of the field, I can see the way Violet’s whole body goes rigid at the implication.
An unexpected slice of fury strikes a hard line down my body. Violet has spent her whole life being underestimated and undervalued. She’s had every opportunity to quit. To escape to the comfortability of the Scribe Quadrant and leave this death camp behind.
And yet here she stands. Tall and strong despite the pain she seems to carry with her every day. Despite the target that’s been on her back since the day she put her feet on that parapet. Gods, no one sees it. How can they not see it?
And now they’re all witnessing something they can’t comprehend. Something that makes them question how and why a dragon chooses a rider.
“Violet Sorrengail,” the scribe announces as she scribbles in the Book of Riders. “Nice to see that you made it,” she says, a nervous smile lining her lips. “For the record, please tell me the name of the dragon who chose you.”
“Tairneanach.” She says quietly. The Scribe shakes her head in amazement as she writes down his name. “I can’t believe he bonded. Violet, he’s a legend.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but no words come out. The color leaches from her face as she stares out, seeing nothing, fully encased in her mind.
I narrow my eyes, trying to get a better read on her face.
And then I realize what’s happening a moment before she does.
Andarna has chosen her.
“Violet, are you all right?” the scribe asks. When Violet doesn’t provide an answer, she asks again, “Violet? Do you need a mender?”
Violet clears her throat and opens her mouth.
I brace for impact
“And Andarnaurram,” she whispers
Pure, unadulterated shock spreads throughout the Dias. “Both dragons?” she squawks. Violet gives a small nod and the crowd erupts. Leaders are already in heated debate, cadets shouting their discontent to anyone who will listen.
I take a seat atop the base of Sgaeyl’s tail, settling in as we wait for things to die down.
“They’ve stirred up quite a ruckus haven’t they?” I say to Sgaeyl.
“Indeed.” She says simply.
I heave a sigh. She deserves an apology, and it’s better I do this now rather than later.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” I whisper. I close my eyes and swallow the lump in my throat, struggling to get the words out. “I’m scared. My control is slipping and I cannot fail. I cannot condemn what’s left of my people to death.”
She turns to fix me with a stare and blinks a large, sapphire eye at me. “Hone your fear into a weapon Wingleader.” She swings her gaze to Tairn and Andarna. “I will not stand and watch the future of dragon-kind be slaughtered. She is a good female. A new being on this earth”
“I understand, Sgaeyl. I really do.”
“I know you do My Shadow.”
A few moments later, Liam finds me, a broad grin on his face.
I jump down, unable to hide my own smile, as his dragon Deigh, meanders over, stopping at a distance.
I wrap my arms around him tightly before pulling away, hands on both of his shoulders. Examining him for any signs of harm.
“You did so well. I might even say I’m proud.” Liam goes pink around the ears, and I give him an amused smirk. Liam Mairi, always humble.
“High praise, Xaden. Thank you. When Deigh chose me—” He pauses, shaking his head. “It just feels like we’re closer to everything we’ve been working toward.”
“We are. Day by day, and now I’ll actually get to see you. You can come with us,” I say. A subtle nod to our monthly activities.
“What are you going to do about Sorrengail?” He asks, nodding his head at Tairn.
While Bodhi is family, and Garrick might as well be, there’s a sense of relief settling over me now that Liam is here. Having one person who I can be honest with - no, who deserves my honesty - is an indescribable weight off of my shoulders.
“I don’t know,” I mumble,“protect myself I guess. Protect us both.” I pause, running my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know at all.”
“We are leaving,” Sgaeyl says simply. I assumed there would a meeting with the Empyrean. However, I have little doubt that Violet will still have two dragons at the end of this day.
“Tairn says to stay with Violet while we are gone.”
“Obviously.”
Sgaeyl brings her head down to give me a light thump on the head with the tip of her snout. I groan as her breath tousles my hair into a tangled mess. I scowl and bring my hands up to smooth my hair down.
She lets out a grumbling laugh from low in her chest, and I’m met with another gust of wind as she shoots skyward. Laughing softly I throw up my middle finger as she hovers above us, waiting for her mate.
Tairn stays planted on the ground for a moment and swings his head to look at me, “I expect the Silver one to be in one piece when we return, Wingleader.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and give him a curt nod, glaring at him through lowered brows.
He narrows his eyes at me as an irritated growl fills my head. And then without a backwards glance, he flies off to meet his mate.
Liam and I take in the dusky sky, mottled with hues of orange and violet as the cluster of dragons become nothing more than small specks on the horizon.
He turns his gaze towards me with a joyous light in his eyes, and, for the first time in a while, I don’t hate myself completely for where I’ve put my people.
For a heartbeat, I can imagine what it might feel like to hope.
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leiko-in-love · 2 months
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How was your day today?
I had an off day today for the holiday so I used it to start my reset and relax before work gets busier.
My blowout lasted all week and my hair cooperated perfectly all week so I washed my hair, did a hair mask and deep conditioning treatment, did some Dyson curls and put my hair up in curlers, and set it all with some hairspray. I didn’t want to do too much and I wanted the casual bounce and volume instead of big curls so I’m happy that I was able to pull it together without much heat. My hair was finally starting to look a little boring so I thought it was high time to freshen it up and actually try and put some life back into it.
I needed to restock on some makeup and I wanted a few new things anyway so I did some online shopping, went to the Holy Land in person (Sephora), and had a nice time trying on new scents and testing new lippy colours, restocking on products I’ve gone through, and shopping with friends. I’ve been wanting to just sit back and talk to one of my friends forever so she and I went out for lunch and then went to Sephora together and we had a really nice outing and a very fun debrief.
I had a mani-pedi with another friend since I needed a fill and we had the time to do that this morning. I just went for the basic French tips on my fingers and toes but I swear there’s nothing like having fresh nails and feeling clean again. I hate going o nail salons but I love nail day and I’m happy that I got exactly the look I wanted. I’ve been using the same two colours since I started getting French tips again so I went ahead and rebought the colours I usually use just so I can have them at home in case I need them for my DIY fills.
I went to Target because I needed to pick up another one of my favourite notebooks. I go back to working in the real world tomorrow and I’m going to need plenty of room to write and to plan everything out. I’m going to be doing a lot of writing in my journals this year because I love putting words on paper and I’m happy that I have a silly $8 notebook to help me get to where I want to be. I’ve found that writing about work and taking the time to put everything on paper before I go to sleep helps me be better at my job and I’m able to stay organised without thought or additional stress.
I had to do a little bit of shopping because I needed a new outfit I saw on a girl during rush and she gave me the deets on it. I had to get the skirt online but I got the bodysuit in store and I found a few other cute pieces whilst I was at it. I also got invited to an event and I’m really looking forward to it so I have to start looking for something special; I have an idea of what I’ll end up wearing but I’m keeping an open mind and getting ready for the sales to start before I settle on anything. I saw a lot of amazing pieces this rush and I definitely deserve to indulge myself after dealing with the troops.
All in all it was a productive and very relaxing day.
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