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#but sometimes it feels like it tips over a bit into *forced positivity*
luffysscraps · 7 months
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Straw hats kinks;🔞
cw: Headcanons.NSFW.Smut.18+.Fem reader. Luffy’s a bit gross. (BUT IF YOU DONT LIKE HIM LIKE THAT THEN YOU’RE NOT A TRUE LUFFY FAN‼️‼️) Sanji cums on food.
Characters: Luffy. Zoro. Sanji.
Not proofread.
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-Luffy
• Hair pulling (Giving and receiving); he didn’t know how much fun it was to pull you down on his cock by your hair. Watching you try to get away from him and forcing you to look at him by your hair made his dick twitch. He also loved when you grasp his head when he’s going down on you. The feeling of your fingers gripping his hair harshly made him hard instantly.
•Excessive cum; Again he discovered this by complete accident. Even without using his devil fruit powers his balls are abnormally large and filled to the brim with cum. Doesn’t matter how long ago he was sucked dry they’ll refill within an hour. And with Luffy’s stamina he doesn’t even notice when he’s shooting blanks. But watching you fill up with his cum turned him on even more which resulted in him going longer creating an endless cycle of cumming inside of you. He likes to pull out slowly and watch the juices drip down his cock and onto the bed sheets; making a mess of your pussy.
•Spit; He’s so messy. His kisses are so sloppy. And he knows this, he often apologizes for his messiness but doesn’t do anything to improve it. So when he accidentally drooled over on top you he didn’t expect his cock to twitch so wildly. So (with your permission of course) he begins to spit on you more often. In your mouth; on your boobs; ass; pussy; face. Anywhere you’ll allow him to he does so. Hell he’ll even ask you to spit on him some times.
•Belly bludge; He loves placing his hand on your womb and, every time he thrusts feeling your skin stretch to accommodate his size. “Hmm~ I can feel myself inside of you~!” He’ll groan out with a laugh on the end of it. He makes it a game, placing his hand on your stomach as he’s trying to feel his tip with every thrust.
•Marking/Biting; He loves, loves, loves to leave marks on your body. By the end of your session you’re left with red and purple hickies and bites all over your body. He can’t seem to take his mouth off of your body, there’s something so addicting about having your soft skin in between his lips. A simple neck kiss often turns into a sex session because he’s so turned on by just sucking on your skin. (Although he does forget his own strength and ends up biting too hard sometimes.)
•Body crushing; “You can take it! Can’t you?” He giggles while he smothers you against the mattress. He loves the feeling of his weight on top of you. At first he used it as a way to restrain you and stop you from squirming but he soon began to enjoy the control he got from it. You can barely breath from underneath him, and your squirms were no more. There was something unexplainably sexy about you two being so close to each other that turned him on. He didn’t know what it was but now he loves to smother you against the bed sheets
•Bonus; He doesn’t mean to be so rough with you, it’s just that he doesn’t know his own strength and when he’s going at it, his mind runs blank more often then not. He’s not in control of his body and stretches his dick to reach your womb, trying to go beyond but it seems impossible. So he’s made it his goal to break through your womb! And he tells anyone who asks what his dreams are or goals. “My goal is find the one piece, become pirate king and break through Y/N’s womb!” He shouts in the middle of a heated battle. Sometimes you wonder why you love this idiot.
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-Zoro
•Throat fucking; Zoro often has you laid out on his bed in front of him. He spreads out your arms grasping both of them tightly. He positions himself at the entrance of your mouth and goes to town. He loves to grip your throat and feel the outline of his cock as he thrusts in and out of your mouth like his own personal toy. So warm; so wet; and don’t get him started on that tongue of yours. It’s something about your throat that Zoro loves (slightly) more then your pussy.
•Dacryphilia; When your eyes start to water and tears prick the corners of your eyes Zoro let’s out nothing but a moan. There was no concern for you. He loves watching the tears streak down your cheeks as you whine and cry about how his cock is too big and too much for you to handle. “What is it too big? Come on now Y/N~ I know you can handle it~” The power and control he feels from seeing your pathetic tears make his dick run wild.
•Breastfeeding; The man loves boobs, and he loves sucking on them too, this kink was a no brainer. He doesn’t know why but playing with your nipples and sucking on them gets his rocks off. He’ll get hard In seconds from just playing with them. Sometimes he’ll fall asleep with a nipple in his mouth.
•Cockwarming; Just like how he’ll fall asleep with your nipple on his mouth, he’ll fall asleep with his cock still inside of you. It feels at home just being inside your warm cunt. He loved spooning you and just shoving his cock into you without warning and falling asleep in seconds. It’s just so relaxing, feeling you squeeze him tightly in his sleep. He’ll stay like this with you for hours, but don’t be surprised when he wakes up and starts going to pound town without warning.
•Boxers; something about seeing you in his boxers makes him hard in a heart beat. Man sees you wearing his boxers and he is sprung. You look so sexy wearing his underwear, he can devour you in seconds if you come to bed wearing his boxers. The boxers being way too big for your figure; the way he can see the outline of your cunt. It drives him crazy. A simple nap together can turn into getting freaky in the sheets because of you wearing his boxers.
•Orgasm control; “listen to me. You can’t cum now. Don’t disobey me baby girl~” Again it’s the power going all to his cock. When he feels you squirm and your walls twitch he shakes his head “Ah, ah, ah. You’ve gotta hold it until I cum first alright?” His voice is so demanding and feeling your uncontrollable twitching go against his words causes him to smack your ass. “Bad girl~” he warned with a smirk.
•Breeding; The thought of knocking you up is just so enticing to him. Stuffing you full of his cum and watching you quake and shake makes his body feel so hot. And watching your baby bump and tits grow larger just turns him on so much. He’ll place his hands on your stomach and breasts every day, feeling them swell as the days go by, god it just makes him hard instantly. He’ll pump you full of cum every single night, he can’t help it he loves using your hole for hours on end.
•Bonus; not really a turn on, turn on. But Zoro finds it hot when his s/o is smarter then him. Say something smart, figure something out or lead him back to the crew and he’ll just stare at you with a devious smirk. He’s totally silent but that smirk on his face is all telling.
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-Sanji
•praise (giving and receiving); “you’re doing so well for me princess~ just a little more.” “What a good girl you are for me~” “fuck~ so tight. So good for me~ hmm~” with Sanji being Sanji, even if he can’t speak full sentences he’ll praise you to the ends of hell. But if you praise him back, call his cock big, tell him how good he’s fucking you, tell him he’s amazing and sweet to you; he’s hard again in minutes and you’ve earned yourself another round.
•Brat taming; My goodness, please, please, please act naughty and disobey him. It turns him on soooo much. If you tell him ‘no’, try to get away from him, or tell him something mean he’s quick to remind you who’s in control here. He’ll pin you to the bed like “uh uh uh~ Be a good girl for me, okay princess?” With a playful wag of his finger he’ll lightly scold you and act like what you did was childish before rightfully punishing you. Shoving his cock in your pussy before fucking you painfully slowly, and with your body pinned you can’t move at all. You’ll end up whining and begging for him to speed up, and only when you say please is when he’ll comply.
•Spanking; It goes hand and hand with brat taming. Be too naughty in one night and he’ll bend your bare ass over his knee. “Now you’ve earned yourself 20 spanks. I want you to count with each one or else I’ll have to start over.” He warns before he smacks your rear. He’s gentle with you, not too harsh but not too soft of course. He just wants you to learn a lesson. And when he sees the plush of your skin turning a soft red and purple it drives him wild. After the spanking is over he’ll kneed the bruised skin with a sly smile. Sinking his fingers into it to hear you whine and cry more.
•Bondage; He likes the restraining aspect of bondage. He likes to tie you up and restrict your movements. He’ll tie your hands around your back with just about anything he could get his hands on. A rope, a ribbon, his own tie. Loves to watch you squirm and cry, begging to be unrestrained but you’re at his mercy. It makes him feel like he’s in control, only he can let you go and only he can make you feel like this.
•Oral (Giving); Sanji LOVES to eat you out for hours on end. He’ll tie your hands behind your back and place his hands firmly on your thighs so you can’t move. He’ll leave a trail of kisses along your stomach before his head dips down to your wet cunt and his tongue does it’s job. He’ll have you ringing out orgasms on end. Not stopping from your whines and protests of overstimulation. He’ll go until your clit is sore and your pussy aches. He loves eating you out, your juices are simply delicious. He loves feeling your thighs squeeze his head, he swears he can cum just from your noises and the action of his tongue sliding in and out of your slick.
•Food play; Sanji often treats himself with a snack late at night and that’s you. He’s brought whipped cream and hot fudge to the bedroom and you’re his plate to decorate. He’ll tie you down to the bed and spread whipped cream on your sensitive nipples, a trail of hot fudge runs down to your pussy and cherries on top to garnish the dish. He makes you a work of art before devouring your body. As he eats you up like no tomorrow you can feel his hard on pressed against your inner thigh. You’re just the best dish he’s ever had, how can he not get hard?
•Bonus; “I’ve made you a special dish tonight my love.” Sanji beckons as he enters the bedroom holding a plate. You know exactly what that meant and hummed softly laying down on the bed. “It’s a chocolate eclair, made with Love~” He sung happily taking a piece of it up with his fork and putting it to your lips. You could see the runny, milky-clear, liquid of his sperm sitting on top of it and you gladly ate it and you could see the exact second his cock gets hard in his pants.
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abysswalkerastraea1 · 30 days
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Eddie Munson x Ovulating reader 👀
Eddie knew you well by now, you had been together long enough. He knew that when you were ovulating and sexually frustrated, you became so bratty and whiny.
He knew just how to put you in your place. Even if that meant his friends hearing it.
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Needy ovulating bitch
Rough
Size kink
2000 words
Lechery
You had been with Eddie for six years. And after that many years, Eddie felt like he could confidently tell when you had needs and how to correctly tend to them.
And right now, Eddie believed he knew just how to tend to your bratty, fed up and restless mood.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
You were drooling, mouth agape and face in the bed with your eyes lidded and knees shaking at the feeling of Eddie thrusting languidly in and out of you, pulling out to the tip and teasing you before sinking back in deeply in one thrust, forcing the air out of you alongside a desperate whine.
"Oh-- Oh--!", you cried, fisting the sheets below you and quivering, face growing a deep shade of red as the man behind you chuckled and shushed you, leaning forward to hold a ringed hand over your lips.
"Can't let them hear you, babe." He chastised, the weight of him leaning forward to whisper into your ear pushing you into the bed more, his bulk pinning you down and you loved it--
" 'm sorry, I'll try to be quiet but I--" you bit your lip, mesmerised at the feeling of him sinking in so hard only to pull out fully to repeat it again. It sent every nerve inside you on fire, having been so empty to so full in seconds.
His hand gripped at your jaw from behind, holding it firmly as he slid so easily into you with no resistance. Your eyes fluttered shut, body so hot, your insides quivering.
"But what? Does it feel good?", Eddie teased, chuckling into your ear and it made you feel so embarrassed and over heated and aroused and you didn't know why-
You nodded quickly, head soon dropping fully to the pillow alongside your upper body, your ass high in the air as your knees quaked. Eddie gripped your hips and sunk in faster, creating a pace that didn't tease you anymore.
It had you whining into the pillow, pushing your ass back desperately for more, you needed him faster, harder, fucking deeper--
It was driving you crazy, your mind a haze of lust as the rhythmic slapping of wetness permeated the room. "Eddie please, need so much more--"
Eddie smirked down at you; he knew this. Knew that whenever you were ovulating you became a mess, an aggravated brat that seemed a tad more aggressive due to wanting to be fucked and put in her place. Sometimes he thought you didn't even suspect this, didn't realise what you yourself were doing, or perhaps didn't realise your desires.
To him it was as clear as day. You became so sexually frustrated during this time and he found the only way to cure this was to absolutely ravage you.
"Want me to fuck you hard, is that it? Want me to fuck the bitchiness out of you?" He spoke sardonically down at you, gripping a fistful of your hair before he snapped his hips forward and fucked into you roughly. The force of his thrust sent your thighs shaking and collapsing until you laid fully on your front.
This new position had your insides pulsing with pleasure, his thick length pushing between your plush ass cheeks and sinking into your sodden hole seemingly even deeper. You lost all control of your voice as you cried out and moaned out loud, writhing and trying hard to push your pussy onto his addictive cock for more, you needed more, needed to be stuffed and bred and--
Eddie's large body swallowed your own, now pressed onto you as his arms were wrapped over your own and a hand slapped firmly over your mouth once more.
Before he could even reprimand you, he grinned at the way your muffled voice cried out for more, begged to be fucked full of him. He loved it when you got to the point of being so fucked out, your tongue would loosen and you'd admit every single thing you wanted.
You could feel him pulsing inside you, cock so engorged it slightly hurt in this position, and you felt mortified at the tears that slid down your cheeks at feeling him stop his movements to whisper something into your ear.
"Fuck, look at you", he sounded in awe, "so wet. Are you that aroused? I love it when you're ovulating, babe."
His words sent a spike of desire pooling into you, and his lack of movement was making you whine childishly beneath his hand. You attempted to move and buck your hips but found yourself fully pinned beneath his stronger body; your eyes fluttered shut at the thought of what his strength could do to you.
"Aw, have I fucked you dumb?" He cooed condescendingly, bracing his arms either side of your head before he savagely began fucking into you. The sound of your ass slapping against his hips grew obscenely loud.
As did your moaning. You knew Steve and Robin were downstairs getting drunk and watching a movie but you couldn't control yourself anymore.
"Oh fuck, oh Eddie, love your cock, want you to-- to--" you couldn't get the words out, stammering and dick dumb, but the sound of Eddie snorting in humour at you made you aware that he probably knew what you wanted. You felt so red, you were beginning to feel faint.
"Ah, I know what you want.", Eddie flipped you over with ease, gripping your soaking thighs and pinning them up and down. It spread you open, pussy quivering and red from his fucking, a sticky hot mess oozing between your legs.
"Want me to manhandle you, yeah? Want me grabbing you and fucking you hard." Eddie winked down at you, hitting the nail on the head, but admitting this desire out loud had humiliation crawling up your neck and dusting your cheeks.
You nodded shyly, submitting fully, and watching dazedly as his cock spread your puffy labia before sinking into the hilt.
Your head lolled back, tears streaming down your cheeks in pleasure as he gripped at your thighs roughly before throwing them over his shoulders.
"Show me how much you love my cock." Eddie's eyes were hot and smoky like charcoal, piercing you and seductively pinning you to the spot. They were intense, burning you up, and your chest rose and fell rapidly.
In the next moment, his length sunk into you so perfectly, hitting just the right angle and it had you seeing stars and shaking, back arching as you cried out in utter bliss.
He was relentless now, delving into you hot, hard and fast and using you just like you wanted, like you craved, making you wail and cry and create sounds you never thought would leave your throat.
You felt drunk, pleasure swirling inside of you so intensely that your mind could barely think, your lips could barely form words, and your thighs splattered with your own wetness from being fucked so good.
You gritted your teeth, gripping at his forearms and relishing in the way he grabbed at your body, fingerprints abusing your hips before seeking your neck in the way he knew you loved and squeezing.
The lack of oxygen seemed to heighten your pleasure, everything around you muffled and dream like, and blinking slowly up at Eddie made you realize that he had his eyes on you the entire time, face stern and concentrated in fucking you, damp with sweat and so handsome--
"Oh God, oh--", your voice was so high pitched, so feminine and submissive and desperate, "cum inside me, fuck me full of it, please, please--" you wailed, grabbing him all over desperately as though you could barely get enough, gripping at his hair, hands upon his chiseled jaw, grabbing at his biceps, you needed to feel him everywhere.
"So fucking greedy," he groaned, teeth gritting; it made him appear almost angry, so concentrated on ravaging you. This rare look had your heart fluttering. "I'll fuck you full of cum, greedy fucking woman."
His fingers found your clit, slippery and engorged, and his mere touch, circling you deftly, had your legs spasming and toes curling, head tossed back at the sensitivity of it.
Eddie rested his forearms either side of your head, caging you, and let both his hands delve into your hair, strands falling through his fingers. Gripping your hair, he let his lips touch your own, arousal spiking deep within your gut and causing a white hot fire to take over your senses, body thrashing as you gushed on his cock, soaking both your thighs in your essence.
You cried into his mouth, his firm grip the only thing keeping you still, and your eyes rolled back at the feeling of his hot, thick cum filling your pussy. It oozed out around him, dripping down his balls, and your head fell back in bliss.
You both remained still for a few moments, before Eddie gently untangled his hands from your hair, easing himself out of you and stroking your cheek as you whined at the feeling.
His face was no longer so stern and dominating. He looked down at you softly, hands upon your quaking thighs.
"Jesus, that was intense.", Eddie rubbed circles into your thighs, fingertips dancing soothingly upon you. You had an arm covering your eyes, breathing erratic and tears damp upon your cheeks.
"You okay, princess?" Eddie cooed, gently prying your arm from your face and watching your fucked out expression, eyes lidded and mascara trailing your cheeks. Your eyes were glossy and far away, so dazed.
"Aw, did I fuck you dumb? Are you dick dumb right now?" Eddie chuckled, grinning down at you as you pushed at him and told him to shut up.
"E-eddie, stop it." You huffed softly, gripping his hand with a small smile. "But yes," you giggled, "I do feel super dick dumb right now. My god. That was so fucking hot."
"It was. Jesus, you were so wet, babe. Like, I think that's the horniest you've ever been. And God, the things you were saying? Christ." He laughed, kissing you softly and grinning at the way you became so embarrassed.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
After cleaning up and taking a bath together, you both fell asleep quickly. The next day, you shuffled downstairs groggily, Eddie sitting at the kitchen table looking mortified about something.
You blinked slowly, looking from Steve and Robin to Eddie. "Morning, guys."
Robin smiled, eating her cereal. Steve smiled, too. "Morning. How was your night?"
You tensed. Steve was just making conversation, right? "Good, thanks. Sorry for ditching you both." You smiled apologetically, taking a seat beside Eddie.
Steve gave you a sweet look. "Oh, that's okay." He brushed it off, which was good. "Though, I'm surprised you can even walk and talk after what Eddie was doing to you last night." He said it so casually that you had to do a double take, unsure you heard correctly.
Robin snorted, milk going everywhere as she giggled behind her hand. "Oh my god, Steve, don't-"
" 'Oh Eddie, oh, so good, Oh!' " Steve imitated poorly in a high pitched voice, finally cracking up as robin laughed hard enough that she had to lean against him.
Your mouth was agape, cheeks flushed and finally knowing what Eddie's mortified expression was for. They must have already confronted him.
Head buried in your hands, the sounds of your friends laughter and Eddie going between placating you and giggling too filled the room.
This was going to be a long morning.
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alatusprinz · 9 months
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when you call him good boy .
characters: wanderer/scaramouche, kaedehara kazuha, albedo, xiao
genre: smut, (warning of explicit words choice)
-
Scaramouche/Wanderer sneers at you mockingly when the words fall from your mouth. His grip on your hips tightened as he snapped his hips into your behind roughly, deliberately thrusting in so deep so your back arches with your face buried into the pillow. He hated when your needy moans were silenced when it wasn’t on his accord, making him reach out to grip onto your hair roughly to pull your body up while holding onto your neck with his other hand, forcing you to find balance in an awkward position with your knees on the mattress and back against his chest. His hips never halted one bit, still thrusting in relentlessly into your drenched walls as your mind blanked out from the dizzying stimulation. Tightening his grip on your neck, he leans into your ear, almost purring in a sickeningly sweet voice. 
"Fuck, you like that don't you? Like being used like a little dolly for me?" You whimpered weakly as your scalp slightly burned from his tight grip, your body moving to meet his slams involuntarily from the force of his each thrust. It always felt like this, almost too good, too overwhelming from the borderline ruthless way he fucked you. As your broken moans persisted and he wanted to see you break down more, let go of your hair with a satisfied smirk and instead held onto both your wrists to pull your body back to meet his hips, manhandling you and taking you as he pleased.
His grip on your wrists tightened as pulled them back to slam your ass to his hips over and over, your cunt almost sore and aching from how he used you like a toy for his pleasure.
“Yeah? Fuck, call me that again, let me know how much of a good boy I am being.” 
-
Kazuha’s gaze was always starstruck and almost drunk in love when he was staring at you as he slipped into your snug walls over and over. He was so hypnotized by you, completely allured more every second you two spent together. And he never knew he could fall even deeper until you looked at him with that sultry gaze, mouth open and making the prettiest sounds for him, and called him your good boy. Your good boy. An infatuated smile blossoming on his face, his cock pressed in deep, then he moved in a grinding motion slightly as you squirmed and mewled in pleasure. He was looking at you with heart in his eyes, completely enchanted and greedy to see more of your beauty. Nobody could ever compare or hold a candle to how beautiful you looked under him when he made love to you.
That’s right- he almost whimpers at your word as his hold on your waist tightened, immediately pressing his lips onto yours. His kiss was needy, desperate to feel you in his arms, if there was anything in this world that he couldn’t lose ever, it would undoubtedly be you. Kazuha’s heart feels like it would leap out any moment now as he rolls his hips into yours, trying his best to go sensual and slow although his patience was running thin every time your breathy moans graced his ears. His lips lowered to your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, and he whispered. 
“All yours my love, all yours… Your good boy, yours…” 
-
A soft moan leaves Albedo’s mouth in pleasant surprise at the praise he hears from you. His inquisitive gaze never leaves your face, in fact his sight never seemed to focus on anything else other than your pretty expressions when he made love to you. The way your eyes fluttered shut when his tip brushes over your sensitive spot (one he knows all too well by now), the differences in your moans when he grinds into you, slowly pushes as deep as he can to drag upon your tender spot, or when he sometimes indulge his greed and slams into you harder and faster as your nails scratched into his back- all of your precious reactions are recorded in his mind like a rewound tape. 
You called him good boy- his pupils dilated visibly if you had half the mind to notice, and suddenly he was all the more determined to please you more. His mouth latched onto your nipple, one hand gripping onto your waist as he rutted inside your warm walls, pleasured groans leaving his lips while he sucked on harder. You swore sight blurred as his other hand was suddenly rubbing over your clit, circling and flicking the way he knew you moaned the prettiest for him. He knew your body better than you did by now, Albedo took silent pride in that fact. And he intended on being a good boy for you every day and night, whenever you desire him.  
- Xiao almost gets too pleasure-driven from the moment your lips are on his more sensually, from the second your touches turn suggestive. His eyes are always clouded over with lust, desire and admiration towards you, he is hardly even lucid when he finally pushes into your eager walls, he can never control himself fully once he had a taste of you- all that mattered to him was you, your moans, and your face twisting in pleasure. That’s why when you first called him your good boy, he didn’t even hear it. His one hand was pressing yours to the mattress, fingers entwined as he rammed inside needily, it felt so good, he wanted to be buried inside your snug walls forever- this insatiable lust transfers over to his actions because as much as he tries, he can’t seem to be too gentle and from the way you moan sharply each time he slams in and his cock rubs against your insides just right, Xiao couldn’t find it in him to slow down anyways.
His fingers laced with yours on one hand, indirectly holding you down in place with how with each thrust made your linked hands sink down onto the sheets, and his other holding onto your hip so tight it felt like it would bruise,. You muttered out a weak “good boy” once more- this time he heard it all too well. He groaned in pleasure at your words, at your beauty or your tight cunt he couldn’t tell, all he knew was he had to give you more, make you take more of him. His lips are on your neck and his sharp teeth sank down on the side, his lustful panting and deep moans ringing in your ear. Your wince of pain was drowned out in the high-pitched whiny moan when his claws unintentionally dug onto your hips as he forced your walls to take all of him, slamming his hips to yours desperately like he would die if he didn’t engrave the feeling of your warmth around him inside his mind. Your sweet moans always made his heart flutter, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he bit down harder on your neck, rutting into you as though to remind you that you’re all his, and he’d be your ‘good boy’ always and forever.
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⌗︙・becoming svarog's human cocksleeve for "research" ♡⸝⸝
it's just for research, that's all. that's what you tell yourself when you shrug off your clothes and stand before the huge mass of metal that is svarog, you have to remind yourself that he's simply conducting these so-called calculations for research. but it's so hard, it really is, when he makes you orgasm so intensely that you end up passing out or when he fucks you in positions that make you feel just how big he is.
to say that his dick is huge is the biggest understatement of the century. you don't know where and how he got the idea to construct such a monstrous size, one that almost made you second-guess bending over to let him shove it in. every time he moves, your stomach bulges, your tiny body just barely accommodating his size and you have to cling onto something, anything, just to stabilize yourself. he doesn't feel pleasure when your tiny mouth suckles on the engorged tip nor when your plush walls swallow it up, but he seems to enjoy pummeling you in his own, strange robotic way.
his stamina is unmatched, mostly because he's a robot and robots do not have a concept of a refractory period or physical limits. he can keep going for however long he pleases, continuing to fuck you through the sensitivity of your orgasm even when you snivel and whine for him to at least wait a bit. the only things stopping him from fucking you for hours are the possibility of sweet clara accidentally upon this debauchery, and you passing out right after a mind-shattering orgasm or because you simply can't possibly go for any longer.
when svarog's hitting it from behind, he will grip your chin and force you to look up at him, to see the way pretty tears clung onto your lashes. he's stronger and bigger than you in every way possible, and you can be damn sure that he knows it. from the way the tummy bulge pops up and down bc his cock is too big for your body to his thick n heavy fingers holding you in place with ease, svarog overwhelms you entirely. when you cum, he gets to watch your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out as you choke out pathetic cries and moans.
sometimes, he just... sort of forgets that overstimulation is a thing, especially for cute little humans like you who can only take so much. svarog just keeps fucking your tight little hole, giving you no time for breaks as he continues to pummel his enormous cock into you. it's even worse when he tests out some strange toys that he managed to procure, though you don't know how and why. but that's the last thing on your mind when svarog keeps testing toy after toy on you, giving you no time to relax as he slides the next toy into your ruined hole.
just to see you squirm and cry out for mercy, or perhaps because he wants to see just how much further he can push you beyond your limits, svarog installs a vibrating function in that massive cock of his. and he got exactly what he wanted, as the vibrations only serve in pushing you over the edge countless times and have you crying out his name over and over. although.. it might have worked a bit too well as now you won't stop pestering him to fuck you constantly, whining that nobody else can satisfy you anymore. not like he can.
or perhaps that is what he wanted.
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© latimeriafellfromheaven
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deleteddewewted · 1 year
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Long Distance relationship HC W/ König
MDNI
W: NSFW, Sub! König, Dom! Reader, Long Distance Relationship, Fluff, Angst, Orgasm Denial, Teasing, Cute Babygirl König, Bestfriend Elias (He's his wingman and hypeman), Cum Eating (He tastes himself)
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He's such a sweetheart. He sends you pictures of strays he finds or of himself doing the most mundane things when he's at the base.
Doesnt matter how far into the relationship you're at, he's still kinda insecure about his face and sending you pictures that show his face.
He has his friend Elias though, so the guy gives him pep talks to boost his confidence.
Sometimes he does it too well cause you'll be getting a whole 12 pics of him in a span of 5 minutes all different angles and levels of motion blur.
Emoji user so expect kissy faces and hearts at the end of messages.
He texts you at ungodly hours but he'll stop if you ask him to.
He will stay up late in order to send you a good morning text.
He sometimes holds onto his pillow and pretends it's you.
You both have met a few times in person but even then it didn't feel like enough for him.
He wanted to envelop you in his arms, keep you flush against his body, and just lay there forever.
(Such a romantic, I know.)
He wishes he didn't need to leave your side but he also knows asking you to move with him wherever he goes is risky and inconsiderate of you.
He'll never make you choose so instead he promised you he'll be the one asking for a transfer once he feels ready/is forced into a less demanding position.
He just wants to live with you in the end.
He dreams of little kids running around in the living room while he embraces you from behind and lays his head on top of your own.
He can feel himself blush every time he dreams of you both finally being together and having a family.
He calls you sometimes, maybe even facetime you if he feels confident and does things with you.
He eats with you on facetime, gets himself ready for the day, changes clothes, takes a shower, cooks, anything really.
He just wants to pretend that you're both together and do theses mundane things together.
NSFW
He's so horny and it's somewhat pathetic.
He whimpers every time he jerks off and it's cause he's so sensitive. The tip of his cock is always this deep red and it looks painful.
He likes to tease himself by dragging his fingers over his length and over the veins and thinking it's you doing this to him instead of himself.
He doesn't know if cumming at a picture of you on his phone is creepy or not so he never asks you to send him anything to help him out.
If you do send him nudes or videos, maybe even audio, of yourself masturbating just know that he's going to be running to the community showers or finding some storage closet to get off in.
Because he's so pent up he needs to be quiet when he gets off. He's sharing a room with other people and sometimes the bases he's staying at doesn't provide individual barracks.
Fucks his pillows or makes a makeshift pocket pussy that he can fuck into like a dog.
In the rare case, he gets his own private barracks, he's calling you and you're both going to have some cute phone sex.
Cute phonesex? How?
Well, he's a talker and a whiny guy so he's throwing out praises like your some kind of divine being.
"Bit- Bitte! L- let me cum meine liebe~" He almost screamed into the phone but he'll be ok. He won't go against anything you say or do.
He wants to please you no matter if it means he'll have to go the next 48 hours or week hard and uncomfortable.
When he does get to cum he's thanking you profusely.
"D-anke, dan-ke, danke~!" Breathing heavy and light-headed he still finds it in himself to be grateful for you helping him relieve some of the tension he's been having.
What a good boy.
He stays on the line for a while longer just to tell you just how much he loves you and can't wait to meet up again.
He wants to hold you and take care of you and its painful to watch you take care of yourself after he got off.
He feels like it's unfair but he promises you, even though it's not necessary, that he'll devote the entire time to taking care of your needs.
Don't skip out on the praise either. He likes being told he's your good boy.
Give him kisses too. The feeling of your lips on his face is reassuring.
But, while you're both apart, just tell him that you love him and can't wait to be with him in person.
That's all the motivation he needs to make sure to keep his injuries to a minimum.
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kamiversee · 16 days
Text
➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏
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✧.* CHAPTER 39 || The Way He Needs You
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[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?
[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, semi-filthy smut, & some angst.
[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.2k
[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.
[ [ chapters mlist } ]
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————YOU FORGOT CHOSO WAS a damn freak. He wasn’t a pervert, like he’s not the type to get off on your clothes right in front of you like others have but, Choso Kamo is a very freaky man.
He likes to experiment with you sometimes, whether it’s seeing how much he can stretch your legs up and almost over your head or testing to see how many times he can make you cum before you squirt, he’s enamored by the process of pleasing you.
Currently, you were on top of his muscular parted thighs, his hands were on your bare hips as your clothes had been disregarded, and he started out by having you bounce on his cock nonstop for as long as he could get you to go. His pretty brown eyes all over you as your tits jumped in front of his face.
You were no stranger to the cowgirl position, especially not with Choso who seems to love said position more than anything. Whether it’s reversed or not, he loves seeing you on top of him, taking every inch of him for as long as possible until you’re whining about your legs being tired, to which he’d take control and stuff his inches up into you.
Slick sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his erect cock followed by the slap of skin each time you sink all the way down fill the entirety of the man’s art studio. If it wasn’t his big dick that’d knock right into your sweet spot every single time you plopped down, then it was Choso’s mouth that made you a wet mess.
His hands were on your hips, gripping onto you tight enough to leave marks but his head was tossed back. The sexy sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down groans and grunts each time your gummy walls clamped down around his shaft just right was just perfect.
Choso doesn’t mind letting out his sounds, he knows you like them. “Oh fuuuck…” He choked out, his eyes flickering back for a second, “Jus’ like tha-at baby, ride that dick like it’s yours… s-shit…”
“Hah… ah…” You smile briefly, “It is, isn’t it?”
He smirks and shifts his head back into place, meeting your eyes, “You tell me, fuck…”
Your little moment of confidence goes away just as quickly as it came, “T-Tell you?”
Choso bites his lower lip and he lifts you up a bit higher before slamming you down, “Tell me it’s yours, princess… Show me who this dick belongs to.”
“F-Fuck…” You moan, growing shy in a matter of seconds, “Y-You want me to… mmgh, s-say that?”
“Mhm…” Choso nods his head, smiling a little, “Tell me, baby…”
“S-Shit, Cho… I…” Your eyelashes flutter for a moment as you continue to bounce and grind on his length.
He tilts his head and pouts at you. You’re so cute when you get like this. It’d be at random that you’d take control in the past but Choso loved it when you were shy too. He loved seeing how nervous you get to voice out what he asks you to and how you start trying to look away.
Which you begin to do now, turning your head to the side and biting your lower lip in embarrassment.
Choso chuckles and you feel the palms of his hands caress the sides of your body, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist, “Can’t say it, baby?” He coos.
You shake your head a bit and then moan, “Mmh.. n-no…”
“C’mon, yeah you can.” He teases, moving one hand to your arm. Your brows tense for a second before he forces your hand to his neck, his eyes still on yours despite you looking away, “Tell me I’m yours, princess. F-Fuck… claim me.”
Steadily, your eyes slide over to his and you rock your hips back and forth with vigor, feeling the tip of his cock knock around your insides just right. “C-Choso… hah…” You shake your head and bite back the words he wants you to say.
“Mmmh..” Choso hums, sliding your hand up a little and then forcing the tip of your thumb near his mouth. He licks you briefly, “Jus’ say it; who do I belong to?” He asks.
You let out a shaky breath, “M-Me, fuck…”
“Yeah?” He smiles and you feel the way his cock twitches inside you, “I belong to you?”
“Mhmmm.” You whine, blindly nodding your head at the man.
“All yours, right?” Choso teases, moving to toss his head back and force your hand to his neck once more.
You pick up on what it is he wants you to do so you tighten your grasp on his neck ever so slightly, “Y-Yeah, all m-mine,”
The sudden grip made him moan in such a sultry manner, his eyes rolling back for a second, “F-Fuck, baby…” He chuckles a little, “If you’re gonna’ choke me, d-do it harder…”
Shit, he was really into this. But so were you, your hand squeezing around his neck a bit more as you sped up the movement of your hips. You’d rock your hip forward and lift slightly at the same time, then reverse the movement before rolling in a circular motion, the sensation making Choso lose his mind.
“Holy s-shit,” Choso suddenly whines, his face and ears reddening, “F-Fuck me… aaugh…”
His hand left yours and he went back to holding your hips and encouraging your movement. Choso groans and moans so loudly and unashamed, feeling the way your cunt gushes and pulses around his cock.
You grin just barely, your confidence returning to you as you see the needy state you’ve brought him to, “You’re so cute like this, Cho.” You hum out to him, your voice coming out more breathy than you would’ve liked.
Choso unconsciously thrusts up into you and his head tips forward, his eyes low and filled with lust as they meet yours, “Yeah? Think’ m’cute like this?” He utters.
You nod and take your hand off his neck. Then, you lean back a little and start forcing yourself to raise nearly off his cock completely and then flop right back down, making the man choke on air.
“Shiiit… M’gonna cum-,” Choso releases that whiney whimper you’ve heard before, “You’re g-gonna make me c-cum, baby…”
You repeat the action over and over and over again, tossing your own head back and riding him in earnest as his words go straight to your core. Choso looks down at the sight, nearly releasing as soon as he sees how slick and soaked his cock is because of you.
Then there’s the way your folds just part around his length, taking his every inch and vein perfectly as your pretty moans hit his ears. The man is moving before he even realizes it, raising a hand to his mouth for a second and spitting on his thumb to then rub over your clit as you fuck him.
Your eyes widen and you gasp, “Fuck-, Choso…” Your hips stutter in movement and he smirks.
“Don’t stop,” Choso encourages, “C’mon keep bouncin’ on me like that. M-Mhmm… Hah… Makes me feel so good, princess.” He tells you, despite his thumb working over your sensitive bud so skillfully that you lose focus for a moment.
Your upper half weighs forward a bit and your body twitches above him, “I… I c-can’t when you-,” Your words transition into a straight moan when the man suddenly presses onto your abdomen, pushing at where the bulge of his cock is and applying a sudden pressure onto it, “F-Fuu-uck…” You whine.
Your legs clamp around him a little and Choso smiles, a sudden idea popping into his mind. “You can’t?” He teases, “Want’ me to help you, hm?”
“P-Please,” You hush out.
“Hm?” Choso hums, suddenly finding the urge to tease you, “Couldn’t hear you... Speak up, pretty girl.”
Your eyes roll back a little as his wet thumb slicks over your clit all too quickly, “Y-Yes, fuck, help me.”
He smiles, “You sure?”
“Yes Choso,” You rush, “Please-”
Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed…
Choso shifts his arms entirely and they slip under your legs. Your eyes go as wide as ever and you’re quick to wrap your arms around his neck before the man suddenly stands up and your knees bend.
Your jaw goes slack when Choso seamlessly moves his hands to hold your legs up and open for him, his dick nearly slipping out of you as the man moves. You couldn’t even get a word out before he carried you away from the couch and to the nearest wall, which wasn’t more than a few steps away.
Your back is pressed against it before you have a chance to process and his hands go to the underside of your thighs, forcing your legs to be folded and spread nice and wide before he shoves every inch of his dripping cock back into you without warning.
“Ohfuck-,” You moan in one breath, holding onto his neck for dear life as you adjust to being carried against a wall. Your eyes shut for a moment and whines slip from your lips.
Choso presses his chest to yours and draws his hips back carefully, “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me,” He whispers, his voice low and coated in deep arousal as his breath hits the skin of your lips.
You do, just barely. His cock was nearly all the way out of you for long enough to give you a minute to breathe. Yet, the very second your eyes open and meet his, Choso’s slowly thrusting his dick right back into you, purposefully watching the way your face twists up as he enters you again.
“S-So… f-fucking,” You choke out a moan, “B-Big…”
“Mhm,” He smirks, “I know… But,” Choso leans in a bit more, his lips brushing right over yours, “You always take it like a good girl, right?”
You nod your head as best as you can and your breath is shared with his own in a very intimate way, “Y-Yeah…”
“Jus’ f’me, right?” Choso suddenly asks.
He’s not dumb, he knows that if there’s another guy, you’ve probably slept with him too. Even so, he doesn’t care about that right now.
Your lips are parted and you try not to moan, “C-Choso, I…”
“Let me pretend baby,” His face twists up in pleasure as his fat tip mushes right into the hilt of your soppy cunt, “L-Let me pretend it’s only me you let do this t-to you…” He huffs out shakily.
“H-Hnnngh… Choso,” You whine at his words, part of you wishing that in another timeline, you met Choso instead of Gojo and his words could prove to be true.
“Tell me it’s just me, princess,” He requests, “Please, l-let me pretend I’m all yours and you’re all mine,” Choso’s voice shifting into something needy for a moment, “P-Please, baby.”
You nod, your mind dazed with pleasure, “I-It’s jus’ you Cho…”
That statement makes him pull out and ease right back in for a second time, “Y-Yeahhh… Jus’ me ‘nd you…” He mumbles.
Yet, amid his moment of pretending that’s actually the case, the necklace that another guy gifted to you earlier that day brushes against him due to how close he is to you. Choso pulls his face back away from yours slightly and his eyes go to the item.
It looks pretty on you. So pretty that he wishes he could’ve bought it for you instead. He wishes he confessed first, wishes he could buy you nice things whenever he wanted to, wishes he was enough for you-- enough so that you didn’t even have to second guess choosing him over someone else.
Lost in those thoughts for a moment, Choso doesn’t even realize he’s started thrusting into you again. His hips are crashing against yours, his hard throbbing cock fucking so roughly into you suddenly. Moans and cries of his name are pouring from your lips and his brows furrow.
“Louder,” Choso suddenly grunts, his voice husky and commanding enough to give you chills, “Moan my name louder f’me. Who’s making you feel good? Hm?”
Your eyes threaten to roll back, “Y-You, Choso… F-Fuuck…”
He nods but his gaze won’t leave that damn jewelry resting against your skin. So, he starts pounding into you harder and harder and harder, watching the way the item jolts and jumps against you with his every mean thrust.
Choso suddenly snaps his eyes up to your own and sees that yours are barely open. He’s fucked you dumb without even realizing it. Drool is already escaping the corner of your lips and you’re just moaning and whining at how aggressive he is.
He leans his face in but tips his head to the side a little. You feel his tongue lap up the liquid that escaped your mouth before he slips the appendage right in between your lips, shoving his tongue in hungrily and kissing you with so much passion it makes your legs go weaker than they already were.
In between his kiss, you’re whimpering, “C-Choso… S’too m-much… m’gonna cum-”
“Do it,” He groans into your mouth, shutting you up with yet another heated kiss. When he pulls away slightly, there’s a fat wad of spit hanging between your lips and his, “Remind me how messy you get f’me,” Choso utters lowly, “Cum all over my cock… Aaagh… fuuck… I told you I wanna feel it all over my legs.”
There’s this loud and filthy squelching that fills the air, along with the stinging slap of his pelvis crashing into your frame every time he fucked his cock into the tightness of your hole. You just take what he gives you, whining and moaning through it.
“C-Choso, ha-ah… mm-mmh… nngh… s’g-good,” You slur out lustfully. He found you nothing but cute in that moment, despite the angry thrust of his hips.
Your nails scrape at his upper back and even his neck a little as you cling onto him for dear life, your cunt spasming and gushing around his length as you come undone.
Choso’s hands grip the plush underside of your thighs like crazy, actually leaving dark marks on you as he begins to pummel his dick into you, reaching right into your cervix every single time. He filled you up so perfectly with his size, driving himself into you so deeply and so harshly.
“That’s my girl,” Choso praises so softly yet lowly, “Thaat’s my fuckin’ girl,” He repeats through a sexy groan.
“M-Mhm,” You nod your head to his words, blindly agreeing.
“Yeah?” Choso huffs out, “Say it then, princess.” His words are so gentle with you but the way his already aggressive pace picks up into something even harsher is frightening.
It’s so sloppy how your slick creates a messy coat around his cock, a ring of your liquids collecting at his base, “M’yours, Cho,” You mumble out quietly.
Your legs part a bit more as he spreads you out, shifting his feet on the floor and adjusting to pump you so stupidly full of his cock. You were sure you could feel him deeper than possible. It was like he was in your stomach, albeit an exaggeration, he was so fucking deep inside you.
And he continues to hit deep and hard, almost meanly. He knows your claims aren’t true. You’re not actually his but he could care less, not right now, not when you looked so damn pretty with your face all fucked out and his name leaving your throat in such a whiney manner.
“You’re mine?” He asks tauntingly, “If that’s the case then… mgh… Can I fuck you full of my cum?” Choso questions filthy, as if you don’t let him do so almost every time you two have sex.
You’re nodding before the words leave your lips, “Y-Yeahh…”
“Yeah, what?” He smiles briefly, “Say it to me, baby.”
“I… a-aah…” You stammer to get it out due to the way air leaves your lungs as he pistons into your cunt, “W-Want’ you to fill me up, Cho… p-please…”
“You’re so good f’me,” He whispers, “S-So f-fuckin’ good…” He says before leaning in, his pace doesn’t slow. If anything you think it gets faster and you swear your body is trembling in his hold while he pounds his cock into you, “I love you,” Choso says, his body pressing into yours and making him reach deep yet again.
Your jaw goes slack and your eyes roll back, “M-Mhmm…”
Choso starts kissing you. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, under your neck, and all over you as ropes and ropes of his seed are fucked into you. Not that his orgasm stops him because he’s still rock hard and still balls deep inside you after the fact.
It’s a creamy white mess as he does so. The lewd sounds get even louder and you’re experiencing another orgasm in sync with him, the sensation throwing you into overstimulation like crazy. Your legs are shaking and your toes are curling.
The deed was so damn messy that your mixed cum was leaking down off his cock, slipping over his balls, and falling to the floor below. It was a sloppy and disgusting mess but Choso was too wrapped up in pounding into you against the wall to care.
He moves his mouth to your ear at some point and whimpers so messily against you. Your cunt clamps around him so tightly at the sudden sound. He’s so whiney after an orgasm, as if he’s not fucking himself into your guts.
“You’re s-squeezin’ me, b-baby,” He breathes out to you, “S-So fu-fuckin’ tiiight… fuuuuuck,” He whines against your ear, his voice echoing through your eardrums and worsening your state.
His needy voice was the complete opposite of how he bullied his stiff cock into your hole, a repetitive slick and plop noise flowing into the sex-induced air.
“Cho-so, r-right… fuck… right t-there-,” You could hardly get it out before he started clobbering his dick into where you wanted him.
Your legs were like jello in his hands, completely going numb to how hard he was going. It was by far the hardest Choso’s ever fucked you and you thrived in every second of it.
He suddenly throws his head back as he beats his tip into you, his cum and your own getting everywhere on the floor below, not that he cared. “Oh god… I wanna’ make you mine, s-s’bad… Wanna’ hear you tell me m’yours all the time…” Choso babbles.
He was beyond drunk off your cunt and his own words riled him up to a new degree.
“Wanna’ fuck you like this every day…” Choso goes on, “S-Shit, you make me feel so good.”
He starts panting and his eyes go teary from a mix of emotions and pleasure before he brings his head into place and meets your gaze.
“I love you so much,” Choso grunts, “Love’ you… Love that look right t-there… L-Love’ this f-fuckin’ pussy,” He groans so loudly that it just thrums against your ears. He’s just rambling at this point, his mind all over the place.
“Choso,” You moan, just barely, your voice fading as pathetic whines leave you.
He shoves every inch in as deep as possible and then presses his entire body up against yours, pushing you even further against the wall and forcing pressure on the bulge of his cock inside you again. Then, he moves his lips to the crown of your ear, “Again, s-say my name again, princess.”
Your cunt flutters around him nearly every time he speaks, “Choso…”
“Look at me,” He orders pulling away slightly so you can do so, “One more time, say it one more time, baby.”
“C-Choso…” You repeat, your voice airy and light.
He nods, “Mhm, keep sayin’ it f’me, jus’ like that…”
You do, feeling as he slides out and proceeds to abuse the insides of your pussy, your walls stretching for his girth and feeling the aggressive but passionate slide of his veiny cock nudging into you. His name leaves your wet lips with every thrust and his eyes refuse to leave yours.
The eye contact was so intense, his heart was pounding against yours and both of your pupils were dilated like crazy. Choso’s lips are parted just like yours, breathy grunts of your name leaving his throat and he fucks you as though he were mad at you.
“F-Fu-uu-uck…” You’d stutter out in between his pounding. The man had your pussy dripping and drooling with liquids, all of which just slid onto him and down his legs.
He liked the feeling too, that slight tickle of your cum trickling down his muscular thighs while he rutted into you. “M-Mmgh… Baby,” He groaned, his eyes still locked on yours.
Your gaze was teary from all the pleasure, “H-Hm?”
“It’s all yours,” Choso mumbles. Your brows furrow but he makes up for your confusion and continues, “My cock… It’s all yours… E-Every f-fuckin’ inch… only for you, pretty.” He claims.
You manage a smile, “I k-know,”
He bites his lip briefly, “Do you?” He hushes out.
“Mhmm…” Your heart rate is all over the damn place, “Know’ it’s mine…”
“Yeahh…” He sighs, “S-Say that again, p-please?”
“It’s mine,” You choke in between a moan, “Mmmh… you’re all m-mine…”
Choso nods desperately, “Y-Yeah, I-I am…”
He seems so happy to hear you say that, whether or not you meant it. Hell, the words drove his body crazy and he was emptying another load into you without realizing.
When he does, he breaks away from the eye contact and looks down, “F-Fuuck…”
“Hm?” You hum almost sleepily.
“I c-came inside again, baby…” Despite his worried words, the sight below him makes him shudder. It is a white and creamy mess where the two of you are connected.
As his cock slips out of your twitching cunt, he watches as the liquid oozes out of your hole and onto the floor, biting his lip at the sight, “D-Damn… That’s so… fuck, princess… look at it drip outta’ you…”
You wearily look down and what he’s talking about, just barely feeling the uncomfortable mess leak out of you. “Cho… you gotta’ s-stop cumming inside me…”
He looks at your face and chuckles, “You told me to…”
You pout at how he’s teasingly blaming you, “You wanted to.”
“Needed to.” He corrects.
“Why?”
Choso shrugs, “It feels nice.”
“Mh.” You hum simply in response.
“You feel nice.” The male adds on, tipping his head to the side a little.
“Thanks but…” You smile just barely, “Plan B isn’t a guarantee, y’know…”
“I’m aware.” He replies quickly.
You blink, carefully whispering to him, “Choso…”
“Yes?”
The way he’s looking at you is so loving, his eyes all wide and full of concern as to what your next words will be.
With a sigh, you glance off to the side, “I could get pregnant…”
He nearly said so without a second thought. Was he really about to say that? What the hell is coming over him??
Choso swallows and starts to move his hands as he holds you so that you can wrap your legs around him comfortably. “R-Right… I’ll uh, I’ll start pulling out then…”
“Or…” You bring your eyes to his own, “You could start wearing a condom.”
Choso frowns and moves to rest his head in the crook of your neck, still carrying you up against the wall like you weigh nothing, “And not be able to feel you raw? I’d rather jus’ pull out and cum on you than put rubber in between me ‘nd you.”
“Can you?” You tease.
“Can I what?” He questions innocently.
His breath hits your skin as he speaks and you grin, “Pull out in time?”
“I-I…” Choso nuzzles into your neck and your grin spreads into a smile when he kisses your skin, “Of course I can.”
A simple hum is let out in response and for a while, Choso just holds you with his face buried into you. His body is warm against yours as the rapid beating of his heart is felt against your chest.
He’s just done a lot and slowly, this sense of post-nut clarity just washes over him. Because his face is in your neck, that annoying necklace is brushing over his skin and Choso begins to fall into his thoughts.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
Eventually, the male carried you back over to the couch, and at first, he sat with you on top of him, soon moving for the two of you to lay across the couch together. Your naked body lay on top of his and despite the mess, both of you were beyond comfortable this close to each other.
One of his hands rubbed your back as you lay on him, your ear to his chest and his heart beating so steadily against you. Is it weird that you found the sound beautiful? The way it’d thump slightly faster if you moved or how it’d strutter as you let out a soft exhale against his skin.
You liked it. You liked hearing his heart.
“Y’know…” Choso begins suddenly, his deep voice startling you a little, “I wish I confessed earlier.”
You smile a little, “Me too.”
“Would that have made this easier for you?” He asks softly.
“I don’t know…” You voice out honestly, “Maybe. Maybe not… I’m really not sure, Choso.”
You feel him sigh, “Fuck.”
Slowly, you shift so that you can look at him. Choso’s eyes are up on the ceiling and his jaw is clenched.
“What’s wrong?” You murmur curiously.
The man shuts his eyes, “Am I…” He swallows hard, “A-Am I gonna lose you to him?”
Holy shit, that makes your heart throb. He sounds so worried, his tone reminding you of that fateful evening with Gojo in his car…
“I…” You sigh, “I don’t know Choso…”
His eyes remained glued shut, too fearful to open them, “I know I said I don’t care about you and him but… I lied, baby.” Choso admits, his face scrunching up a little, “I don’t wanna’ lose you… A-At least, not to some asshole.”
“Cho, he… he’s not-“
“You told me you hated him,” Choso recalls, his voice softening into something slightly hurt, “Shit, p-princess you told me it wasn’t gonna’ be some kinda’ enemies to lovers thing b-but… that’s what it is now, right?”
“N-No, Choso I don’t love him.”
“Yet,” He adds on, “You don’t love him yet… A-And it’s my fault,” Choso’s falling victim to the negative voices in his head that are currently spewing doubts and insecurities onto him. “I-If I didn’t leave you… I-If I was honest from the beginning and jus’ told you how I felt-“
“Choso it’s not your fault, c’mon, you know it’s not your fault.”
“Feels’ like it, baby. And I’m not trying to make you feel bad so please, don’t. I just…” He frowns, “God, I wish our relationship was normal.”
This conversation is slowly starting to make you feel sad all over again, “It is though, most normal relationships have drama, Cho.”
“Then I wish we could’ve just been lovers from the beginning.”
“Choso-“
“I wish I was enough for you to fall for me and only me-,” He has to shut his mouth quickly to stop himself from choking on emotion.
“I did, Choso.” You whisper honestly, “I did fall for you. I t-tried to tell you earlier, I lo-“
“You don’t, princess. You don’t love me,” Choso cuts off, his tone quiet and barely even there. “I want you to but, your heart is busy now.”
“Busy with what?” You whisper, your voice shaky with emotion, “Choso, I told you before, I want you.”
“Yet you won’t have me.” He argues.
Frustration settles in the gentle air between the two of you.
A sigh escapes your lips, “I’m not ready to.”
“Why? If it’s not because of that guy t-then why?” Choso stammers, refusing to open his eyes for even a second.
“B-Because I… I’m scared?” You hush out in a confused manner, “I d-don’t want to hurt you Choso.”
“What does that mean?” He asks, confused by your words, “How would you hurt me?”
“I…” You wish you could tell him. “I can’t explain that, Cho.”
He scoffs, “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.” You apologize.
“You don’t have to be. It’s okay, really.” Choso hums, “I’ll just… I-I’ll keep waiting.”
Again, his words bring you sadness. You wish you didn’t have to put him through this, “Choso, that’s torture.”
“Then tell me to stop. Tell me to move on and I will… Or, I’ll try.” He claims.
You say nothing to that.
“Exactly,” Choso scoffs a little, “I’ll just wait for you. And whenever you want me, I’m right here.”
“Wouldn’t that mean I’m using you?” You ask.
“Until you tell me you want me to stop waiting, you can come and go as you please.” Choso sighs in response, “I don’t care if you use me, even if it’s just for sex. That’s toxic but if that’s what it takes for you to feel something for me then… so be it.”
You frown, “Choso-“
“I’ll wait.” He whispers, “I’ll wait lifetimes for you to come to me. And don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours about whether or not I mind the wait because, trust me,” Choso’s eyes crack open and they find your gaze, “I don’t mind.”
“B-But-“
“Always will I yearn for you,” He murmurs, “Hell, I don’t even know if that makes sense b-but I mean it.”
You flash a saddened little smile, “I wish I… Choso, I wish this was easier for us.”
“It will be one day… Hopefully,” He comments with an optimistic little shrug.
“Yeah, hopefully.”
“In the meantime,” Choso moves his hand to the back of your head and forces you to lay on his chest again, “Just stay like this with me for a while, please?”
“M’kay…” You sigh, “But uh… what about our mess?”
Choso yawns and his eyes begin to close again, “I’ll clean it later…” He mumbles tiredly.
You shift and look up at him again, “Cho…?”
“Hm?”
“You’re falling asleep.”
“I know…”
“I can clean it,” You result in saying as you try to move.
Choso’s arms wrap around your body and he prevents you from moving at all, “No.” He utters, “S-Stay with me, princess. Jus’ for a little longer…”
His words sound so stressed and tired that you can’t help but relax into his touch like he wants you to. There’s so much to sort out within your mind.
Maybe…
Maybe you just need a break. Yeah, a break from both guys and the list in general.
You chuckle slightly at the thought. A break sounds like freedom. It sounds like peace. And oh how you crave tranquility…
Yeah, you think that’s what you’ll do.
You’ll just… take a break.
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GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢
KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???
NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙
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samodivaa · 5 months
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┊Knife Practice┊
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Bucky Barnes x Reader Such a tease you are, poking his mind with a cold metal rod—he can't concentrate when you play dirty.
Warnings - knife kink, smut, oral (m), p in v, slight choking Words - 1400 ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ Getting involved—on a physical level, during training—was a colossal blunder—he tried to observe the patterns of his mistakes to see if they were products of some kind of weakness—it’s you, teasing him is his greatest weakness. There is raggedness of his breaths due to fighting you, due to the knife you are pressing at his crotch. Bucky is in a sitting position and his hands are planted firmly behind him trying to support his weight, trembling—as your legs dig into his thighs—you are greatly excited to toy with him, though you look resolute. “I shouldn't have expected less of you than to play dirty, should I?” Reluctantly you lift your eyes to his, pressing the dull side of the knife more.
“Damn it” his voice sounds as though he wants to moan, but is doing his utmost to control it. “What is wrong, darling?” you ask before laughing, seeing Bucky’s flushing crimson. There is no way he can reclaim his dominance now—not that he wants to. You lean in, but Bucky doesn't pull back, and you take that as a sign of acquiescence for licking his neck, pleasure zingers across his skin and he shamelessly turns his neck to give your mouth better access. The knife outlines his cock with light pressure, rubbing the fabric to the head and you smile against his skin in delight at the dampness starting to rise to the gray fabric. You pull back and slowly cut through his pants—the sound of ripping is sinful, a soft invitation to madness, generally a tipping point into insanity. “Fuck,” he moans, staring down “Enough” “If you don’t like it, why are you hard?” Your fingers ghost over the marks covering his neck, his eyes locked on yours wide and wild, nostrils flaring. He stares at you, completely stricken, all he can do is whine softly, defeated and utterly annihilated by your words. You touching him fills him with amazement, purely animal, you let your body act before your mind. 
You throw the knife to the side, hands freeing his rigid member, slick and sticky drips of pre-cum covering the tip. He doesn't look at you, instead choosing to focus on the knife for a moment, wishing that you use it more, but you pull him on shore of a new and better sanity when you put his member into your mouth, hands grip his thighs harshly, a moan escapes his chest. Cool, metal fingers brush your sweaty hair aside and tuck the strands behind your ear before carding fingers through your hair. You don’t stop; there is no delay when the length hits the back of your throat, your gag reflex non-existent. The taste of him leaves you burning as your lips glide along his cock faster, throat muscles clamping around the tip of his dick—he is powerfully conscious that you are not in any predicament. “God, yes” He hisses out, voice a crackling mess of plea and need, heat beginning to thrum beneath his skin as he feels himself getting closer, exerting a bit of force on your scalp with slight tugs on your hair. Dominance. Control. These things are the roots of Bucky’s character. And it is your duty to defy his dominance and to challenge his control. What a languid woman, a force of gravity by which you irresistibly attract his submission sometimes—fuel a new side to him. You are lovely, vaguely threatening—the obsession with knives is something that you carry from the dreadful past. He lets out another strangled noise, hips trying to jerk into your hold, but you keep them steady to the ground. “Please” he moans, low and drawn out, voice already wavering with frustration “I’m so close, snezinka” choking the words out. Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour. The pleasure stops and when Bucky opens his eyes, you are already looking at him at eye level, blue-less eyes—because they are full of lust—burning just as much as yours. Your gaze is so intense that he wants to look away—or never look away, he can’t decide. “Please?” you breathe after a few seconds of stunned silence. He suddenly cups your face in his hands—a kiss is a lovely trick designed to stop speech when words become unnecessary—the kiss starts softly then slowly builds in intensity, his mouth lingering on yours, teeth grazing your lower lip, making you shiver. His hands move from your cheeks to your shoulders and then down to trail across the expanse of your back before pulling back to look at you. Bucky’s eyes undress his unrevealable needs “Ride me” Your eyes narrow slightly as you process the words. Such divine orbs—not just one shade of color, but... many, with a hint of mischief glimmering. Then something unexpected happens. You suddenly get up, fumbling your way out of your pants and underwear. You shuffle up over him, knees spread around his thighs, and you slowly lower yourself to sit on him, shifting your hips back and forth until the firm length of his cock settles just so in the cleft of your pussy. You let out a needy whine, hands making a home out of the crook of his neck—holding your breath, savoring the sensation of every time you grind against his cock. “Oh, come on, fuck” he moves his hands to your hips, squishing slightly, urging you forward, guiding you up and down his length. As his breaths become labored, there is a in a crack in his persona— “Please, just-fuck me” His voice is a near-moan, and bearing witness to his desperation is all you want.
You gulp, voice breathier than you like as you whisper “Okay” folds flutter as you’re parted by his length, making the cutest mewls as you ease his cock into your cunt, slowly.
His arms encase themselves around your waist, pulling you downwards, burying himself to the hilt. You let out a pleasured cry as he sinks into you, his name slipping from your mouth so fondly, so tenderly that he has to stop your mouth with a kiss as you twine your arms around his shoulders.
You need to regain some control—that’s why you set an unrelenting pace.
And all Bucky can do is leer at your tits as they bounce with every thrust. He squirms with every uneven thrust, your breath growing erratic and his groans growing louder.
Eye contact. There is more in the eyes. More longing. The naughtiness emanates from your eyes—you look at him like you own him. He can feel he is nearing his climax but closes his eyes, trying to restrain himself.
„James“
His name comes on a long-winded breath. To his horror, his body responds in obvious pleasure, his entire body shuddering in spite of his mental denial—having the faintest clue how you do it, and he feels your month against the skin of his throat, licking, sucking, and kissing not holding back your throaty moans.
“Come with me, baby” you whisper softly against the shell of his ear, nibbling at the earlobe.
„I-I will-…soon…“ he groans the words out, only adding to the erotic undertone of his words.
Heat shots through his spine. His muscles clenching as you move up and down his length, your velvety walls sealing around his member, enveloping him perfectly in its embrace. You whine, lower lip quivering as he slowly wraps his hand around your neck, the cold touch makes your body shiver as warmth seeps into you, flooding your insides white.
The motion of his metal hand elicits a loud groan from you, and Bucky captures your lips in a searing kiss, pulling you by the grip on your neck. Your walls clench as your orgasm abruptly erupts and he continues to thrust through your orgasm as best as he can.
He leans in, chasing his lips across your collarbone as his hands gently stroke down your back, your arms.
To allow yourself to trust another person is no small risk, after everything that you've been through. Allowing yourself to be exposed, vulnerable—it is incredibly intimate to Bucky.
“I am taking your knife away for a week” he murmurs into the flesh above your breasts, warmly and good‐humoredly.
“But I have a whole collection” you snap irritably, but then you suddenly smile proudly.
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keikiri-kitten · 1 month
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EYES ★ KEIGO TAKAMI
keigo likes to stare at you. you like to stare at keigo <3
Just imagine Keigo staring at you. He loves to get up close and personal every time he does. He’s always leaning in ever so slightly to get a better look at you, but what he doesn’t realize is that he’s presenting an ethereal view.
You can see him so clearly now and oh my, is he stunning. His color palette is gold; in fact, the only contrast on his face are his pupils. There’s even a warm tone to his rosy-pink lips. He’s smiling at you— always. Whether it be a gentle tug of the lips or a full grin, the shimmer in his eyes are always in view.
Speaking of his eyes, they’re so much prettier bare faced. They’re big, bright and pierce right through you all of the time. There’s only a slight angle to them without his liner, but his thick, flared, bushy, wheat colored lashes frame his gilded eyes perfectly. Only when he gets close to you like this is when you can spot the hills of honey and valleys of tawny in his irises. You almost curse that one lock of blonde curling over one of his eyes. He doesn’t mind it as long as he’s looking at you.
Sometimes you forget that he’s real; like you can’t reach out and touch him. And even with your hand lifting as if you’re reaching for a figment of your imagination, he pushes his face closer to you so the tips of your fingers can graze along the scruff of his chin. He’s indeed real. They brush over rough facial hair, teasing up to a strong, bare jawline and even higher to full, soft cheeks. That’s the only time his eyes close. And they close slowly as his cheek forces its way into the palm of your hand. He says nothing but tugs the left corner of his lip up for a brief moment. As his smile falls only a little, his eyes open once more to look you in the face.
You have to pull yourself back for small breather, trying to catch the breath you didn’t know stopped. The full image of him is stunning. Keigo’s hair falls in layers around his face and dusts right along his shoulders. All of that free time after the war gave him the opportunity to let his hair grow out again. Wheat tones of blonde, brown and platinum add to your pretty hero’s allure. His hair only has a bit of unruliness to it today, not worried about it being out of his face for fightings sake.
He’s in a natural state. Wearing a loose button down only done up halfway, allowing you to see straight down his shirt and his sun kissed skin. You can’t miss the discolored scar he earned right over his neck and collarbone from his time fighting villains on your travel down his abdomen. That’s not the only scar he had but it’s the biggest one. He stands before you in loose fitting lounge pants, hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s stared at you so long the only thing he can think of is laying a fat, damp kiss to your lips. You two were only in this position because he wanted to get a bit playful. However, as passionate as he is, his playfulness comes in waves. Now all he feels is warmth.
To cut the intensity, he swims closer to press that kiss to your lips before standing upright. “Alright,” he drags. Sauntering away from you with his hands in his pockets and a coy smile on his lips, he chuckles at your attempt to throw a couch pillow at him until his instincts allow him to grab it. How dare he tease you— without having to do much at all?
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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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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 10 months
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Dark!Ethan Landry - Short reader
Pairing: Dark Ethan Landry x (female) Short! Reader
▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.
More at Masterlist
WARNINGS: NONCON + TW PORN LINK AT THE END (DO NOT CLICK IN PUBLIC! hehe)
AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.
--
Ethan feels like he is the luckiest guy in the whole world to have you as his girlfriend. His pretty and stunning girlfriend. 
You’re so caring and nice, unlike many girls nowadays. Always looking out for him and trying to help him in every way you can. You’re simply the sweetest person ever and Ethan can’t stop obsessing over you. 
How could he not when you lean on the tip of your toes to kiss him on the cheek as a way of wishing him a good day? When you hug him and won’t let go for over half an hour, your arms unable to round all of his waist. 
Ethan genuinely thinks the height difference is adorable, how you're so much shorter than him. Your head only reaches half of his chest and the way you prop your head up just to be able to look at his face is fascinating, to say the least. 
---------- NONCON --------
Ethan fucking loves the agonizingly tight way you feel around him, you’re always sooo tight, even when he spends so much time trying to loosen you up.
But he’s often caught up in the way you scrunch your brows in pain, the soft whimpers that fall out of your lips when he’s impaling you with his cock - too big for you. 
He forces himself to keep a steady pace, with deep consistent thrusts that he has to force upon your narrow pussy, but even with this, you hopelessly whine, eyes glossy with tears. 
His body covering all of yours, your legs hardly able to accommodate Ethan’s buffy body in between them as he fucks you against the bed. He’s so sure that if he goes all the way, he can reach your cervix. 
Your hands hold onto Ethan’s biceps for support and sometimes you squeeze them hard as in a plea for him to stop, but he can’t. No way Ethan could stop there, his mind too clouded by delirious pleasure to even consider it. 
You never seem to cum around him, but Ethan pretends that you do. If he senses you getting restless and about to ask him to stop, he’ll just hug you hard as he kisses you, stopping any incoming pleas. 
Ethan’s favorite position is either missionary or riding. In missionary it’s so intimate to stare at you, he loves how his buffy body covers up yours, fucking you against the mattress and there’s no way you’d be able to stop him. 
But in missionary he can actually grab your ass and lift your body, maintaining whatever pace he wants. Your head buried in his shoulder, muffling down your whimpers as he makes you bounce on his hard cock.
Ethan will kiss your shoulder blade, tightly wrapping his arms around you, effortlessly using your body in a rougher pace that has him seeing stars. 
“You’re doing so good, baby. Making me feel like heaven, I swear. I’m so close, okay? Just hold on a bit more.”
It’s only after a devastatingly good orgasm that he starts regretting using you like a rag doll. He peppers your face with wet kisses, cleaning you up and then cuddles you, muttering comforting words to soothe your heart and your sore pussy. 
But he knows that the next time, he will repeat it all over again. 
NSFW Twitter (click at your own will and not in public) https://twitter.com/daddy1080p/status/1634029187051782145 
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More Than We Thought.
Shanks x Reader
Explicit | NSFW | 18+ only
Warnings: Heavy (but ‘delicate’?) smut under the cut - trust me. There’s no build up, we just dive right in.
A/n: It’s purely self-indulgent. I’m hiding under my covers so you can’t see me - is it working?
Inspired by Dirtier Thoughts by Nation Haven.
I’ve written clean fanfic over 6 years so I’m terrified to post something so explicit. But we’re allowed to branch out right?
For less steamy fics, try the main blog.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Shanks pressed his hand just under your belly button, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of where his hard length had entered the most intimate part of your body. He could feel himself squeezed inside. He moved forward slightly and saw the bulge underneath his palm follow the movement.
He glanced up at you and saw your head laying on the mattress, chin tilted up and lips between your teeth. He pushed in deeper and the bump grew slowly. You hummed at the sensation. Heels adjusting on the edge of the bed as you spread your legs as much as you could to let him in.
Taking the positive signs, Shanks kept going further - keeping an eye on the way your hand gripped the sheets. But his main focus was seeing how high the bulge under your skin could go before there was no more space. He wanted it to reach your belly button but even the human body had its restraints.
Bit by bit, he pushed until you let out a soft gasp when he had hit capacity. Shanks looked down at where you were connected, a small frown settled on his face - there was still a bit more of him left.
“Shanks.” You whispered. “What’s wrong?”
The Red-Haired pirate smiled. “I’ve filled you but I...” he leaned forward to kiss your neck. “I’m bigger than we both thought.”
There was a pause before you gave a breathy response. “Push it in.”
Shanks peppered another slow kiss beside the first letting his tongue linger just a little. “Are you sure?”
Looking down, you finally met his eyes since it all started. “Push it in and then repeat it.”
Shanks laughed softly and caught your mouth with his. Nipping the bottom lip when he pulled back. “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow if I start.”
Lifting your head up slightly, you copied his kiss and tugged at his lip lightly. “I dare you to have me not walk for a whole week.”
The grin on Shanks’ face distracted you for a split second until there was a sudden harsh pressure in your core as he forced the rest of himself inside you. The fit was undeniably tight and Shanks knew it. He hit the one sensitive spot that made you react in a way that made his heart race. Head thrown back, eyes closed, your mouth opened but was unable to voice a desperate scream. Only managing a short and sharp, “A-Ah!”
“Are you okay?” Shanks asked just to be sure.
You took a few seconds to catch your breath and adjust to his size. “Fine - a little warning would have been nice.” You told him honestly. When his smile dropped a little, you grabbed his chin and smiled. “But where’s the fun in that, right? Do your worst.”
“Looks like you’re not going to be able to talk for a week either.” Shanks returned with a smirk.
He pulled out carefully and when his hips moved a second time, he slammed himself into you - this time getting one hell of a scream from your lips. Then he did it again - pulled out to the tip before ramming back inside - and then again, determined to make your legs tremble until they wouldn’t hold you upright for the next week…or more.
Each thrust sent your voice screaming spirals into the air sometimes as a cry of pleasure other times just his name - and it only spurred him on. When Shanks started to speed up, your hands found his body. Nails clawing into his skin with a dull pain but it was nothing compared to what he was pounding into you.
If it became too much, you would shout the designated safe word but until he heard any part of that phrase, you were at his mercy. His hard length diving in and out of your body -
…until you couldn’t speak.
…until your legs quaked.
…until you had no more of your juices to release.
…until your insides were drowned in his hot spend.
And until your body was newly shaped to fit all that he was squeezing.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
A/n: Still in shock I wrote that. Sweet dreams x
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Garden of Secrets [17] - Moonflower
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤
Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!
Summary: Some nights are full of surprises.
Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, mentions of explicit scenes, slow burn.
Word Count: 7500
Series Masterlist
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The very first thing you noticed through the fuzzy fog of sleep was warmth.
Warmth and perfect comfort.
The sound of the birds chirping outside the window was like a soft melody in your ears, the sunlight spilling through the curtains falling on your skin making you feel all snug. You heaved a mellow sigh, shifting a little in bed but—
Oh.
You weren’t alone in the bed.
The memory of last night where you had come to Benedict’s room to sleep shot through your mind, making your eyes open. You were quite certain you had put multiple pillows between the two of you -most of which were thrown to the floor sometime at night, as you could see- and you waited for the discomfort to hit you especially considering the position you were in, but somehow it did not.
Benedict’s arm was curled around your stomach, keeping you safe from falling off the very edge of the bed you had apparently curled up on in your sleep. You two still had a pillow between you and the cover he had pushed off of him was bunched up between you two but as it turned out, even that wasn’t enough for him to roll to the other side. His nose was buried into your hair, his calm breathing moving his hard chest you were leaning your back against, his pleasant scent all over you, tickling your nostrils.
This wasn’t uncomfortable at all.
You shifted a little so that you could subtly get closer to him but as soon as you did, the cover bunched up between you and him moved a bit and you heard him inhale behind you. You instantly closed your eyes, pretending to have moved in your sleep and his arm around you tightened while he nuzzled his nose into your hair. You could almost feel him slowly waking up and for a couple of seconds he did nothing, but then you felt his body tense up behind you. A soft cuss left his lips in a whisper and he gently pulled back from you before getting up from the bed then you heard him walk out of the room, making you open your eyes and sit up in bed. You bit inside your cheek, perking your ears up for any noise of him coming back but there seemed to be none.
“Alright then…” you muttered and made your way to your own room to get ready for the day, trying to ignore how fast your heart was still beating.
By the time you heard Benedict coming back to his room, your maid was almost finished with helping you get dressed and was tying up the laces of your dress. The knock on the door connecting your room to Benedict’s made you turn your head as your maid finished tying up the laces and pulled back.
“You may leave Paula, thank you,” you said and she curtsied, then walked out of the room. You made your way to the connecting door and opened it.
Oh God damn it.
He was still half naked, the sunlight falling over his chest that made him look like he was pulled out of your very specific dreams. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on his handsome face but that wasn’t exactly helping either.
“Good morning,” he gave you a lopsided grin and you smiled back.
“Hello.”
“I thought you’d be…” he motioned back at his room and you shook your head.
“Oh you weren’t there when I woke up and I was already awake so I figured I could just get ready.”
He paused for a moment.
“Yeah I—” he paused, a faint pinkness appearing on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I thought you’d sleep a bit more.”
You shrugged your shoulders quietly and his blue eyes searched your face.
“And are you alright?” he asked. “Nightmares last night?”
“I didn’t have them after going to sleep again,” you said, purposely leaving out the part about sleeping in his bed. “And um…thank you. You know.”
He shook his head vigorously. “You don’t need to thank me at all, really.”
“No I do, and I don’t know what got into me last night but I can assure you I won’t make it a habit or anything.”
He gulped down and stared at you for a moment before taking a deep breath.
“I wouldn’t mind it,” he said, his voice soft. “If it became a habit.”
Your heart skipped a beat and you tilted your head to the side, pulling your brows together.
“Not the nightmares, obviously!” he added in a haste. “Just afterwards. Whenever—whenever you want.”
Your eyes snapped up to his, that warmth spreading through your system again but before you could say anything, you heard the butler approach so you turned your head.
“Sir,” he said as he handed Benedict an envelope, “This came for you. And ma’am, Miss Harlowe is here.”
Benedict looked up from the envelope. “Charlie?”
“Oh I’ll go and welcome her,” you said while Benedict pulled out a card from the envelope that looked like an invitation of the sort, then looked over his shoulder into his room.
“I’ll be right there,” he said and you walked past the butler to make your way downstairs, then approached the drawing room.
“Lottie,” you said, a smile curling your lips as soon as you saw her and she let out a giggle before coming to hug you.
“I know it is quite early but I simply couldn’t wait any longer,” she said. “I missed you and Benny! I’m aware it’s your honeymoon but—”
“Oh don’t be silly,” you said. “I am very glad you’re here. I was going to invite you to the park today if you didn’t.”
“Perhaps after you give me a tour?” she asked and bounced on the balls of her feet. “It looks so beautiful here! And the garden, absolutely gorgeous!”
Your stomach did a small flip.
“Our gardener is amazing.”
“Have you had the chance to work on it as well?”
“The garden?” you asked and shook your head. “I um…haven’t got the time.”
She snapped her fingers. “Of course. My mama said you’d be quite busy while you’re on your honeymoon.”
Great, now even Charlotte’s mother was making assumptions about you and Benedict’s nightly activities.
“Right,” you said. “Maybe later I might. Did you have breakfast yet?”
“I did but I could get some tea,” she said. “In the garden? I saw the gazebo, we must simply enjoy it!”
“Sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“And then the house tour, then the park.”
“Hello Charlie,” you heard Benedict’s voice and Charlotte’s whole face lit up and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he went to hug her, lifting her off the floor as he did, making her squeal. For a moment you wondered how on earth the ton thought they were courting before your wedding, because they were close yes but even the tiniest gestures had no sign of romance in them.
It was the comfort of a friend, not a lover.
“Did we make plans today?” he asked her as he put her down and you crossed your arms.
“She’s here to see me.”
Benedict tilted his head like a confused puppy. “But she’s my best friend.”
“No, she’s my best friend. Your best friend is Anthony.”
“Anthony is my brother.”
“That sounds like your issue, not mine,” you deadpanned, biting down a smile and Charlotte giggled.
“I brought you work I’m afraid,” she said and grabbed the paper stack neatly bound in a leather case off the table, then handed it to Benedict. “I’m here to have tea with your beloved, then go to the park with her.”
Benedict clutched at his heart dramatically, making you grin.
“Told you,” you said. “What work?”
“Oh I can tell you later on,” Charlotte said as she pulled you by the hand to the door. “Come on! Let’s go to the garden!”
                                      *   *  *
After taking your tea in the gazebo and a house tour, you and Charlotte decided you could go outside for the afternoon. You had sent Josie a short letter so that she, Bess and Andrew could join you at the part if they wanted and about half an hour after getting there, Josie and Bess joined you at the park, while Andrew apparently was already outside with his friends.
“I didn’t know you were a writer!” Bess told Charlotte and you nodded.
“Me neither!”
Charlotte let out a laugh.
“Oh I’m not a writer,” she said. “I just write some stories to entertain my little siblings. I’m trying to have my own collection, and Benny is doing the illustrations for me.”
“Will you publish your stories?” you asked and Charlotte thought for a moment.
“Benny encourages me that I should,” she said. “So does Tony but…I don’t know. Perhaps one day in the future.”
“Can I read them before they are published?” you asked. “I’d love to read them to Teddy, he loves stories.”
“Of course!” Charlotte said. “I can bring you the completed ones the next time. There’s one with a dragon, I think Teddy would like it.”
“Speaking of him,” Josie said. “Did I tell you Andrew bought a pony for him? An actual pony!”
“Auntie told me,” you said with a laugh. “He’s delighted I’m sure. I wish I were there to see it.”
“At least he doesn’t pout for not being able to see you everyday anymore,” Bess said. “It was making me sad.”
Charlotte heaved a sigh. “Was he very upset?”
You could feel your own heart breaking as you cleared your throat.
“He’s just not used to me being anywhere else,” you said. “It’s always been the two of us—well three of us,” you motioned at Josie who shook her head.
“I was just there when he was a baby,” she said. “It’s been only you and him for a while.”
“And your mama and papa?” Charlotte asked, making you and Josie exchange glances. “I’m sure they miss Teddy and you both! I know they couldn’t come to the wedding, but…”
A shiver ran down your spine and you clicked your tongue.
“They cannot travel,” you ended up saying as Bess reached out to squeeze Josie’s hand as if trying to assure her that she was there. Charlotte thought for a moment.
“Will you and Benedict visit them then?”
Even the thought was enough to make your jaw clench but you reminded yourself to keep a calm façade and shrugged your shoulders.
“Maybe after the season ends,” you lied through your teeth. “I don’t wish to miss anything, this is my first season.”
Bess stole a look at Josie who looked way too tense and smiled, sitting up straighter.
“And how is marriage going for you, Y/N?” she asked. “Are you getting used to running your household?”
“I went to auntie with a list the other day,” you admitted, making them laugh. “No I’m serious. It’s a bit confusing but I think I’m starting to understand.”
“I can always help you,” Bess said and Charlotte grinned.
“So can I! I know I’m not married yet but I know some stuff about it, my mama taught me a lot.”
“I appreciate it, both of you.”
“In return, you can give me some clues about how to take care of plants.”
You pulled your brows together. “Bess, you have a gardener.”
“Well yes but I’m trying to grow this rose in a vase because I saw this journal talking about it,” Bess said. “In every window a red rose—anyway, I cannot exactly ask my gardener because I feel like killing five roses in two weeks is going to personally upset him.”
You blinked a couple of times. “That’s not even supposed to be possible.”
“Mm hm,” Josie said. “Ask her how often she waters the roses.”
“How often?”
Bess shrugged her shoulders. “Three times a day.”
“You’re doing what?” you exclaimed, making Josie let out a laugh.
“Yeah. Told you.”
“Why are you not stopping her?”
“She doesn’t listen to me!”
Bess flailed her hands. “I get hungry three times a day, it’s only fair.”
You let out a whine, burying your face into your palms and then lowered your hands.
“Bess,” you said. “I will visit your house today and write you a schedule just for that, how does that sound?”
“Perfect, thank you.” Bess said with her nose up in the air. “I’ve always thought we should leave the work to experts anyway.”
                                       *  *  *
You had to admit, over the last week you had missed taking care of your garden so much that taking care of Bess’s roses felt like itching a scratch. After getting home around dinner time -because neither Bess nor Andrew were willing to let you go any time earlier- you had learned from the butler that Benedict was in his studio. Though you really wanted to see him, you decided otherwise and after a quick dinner, you went outside to the gazebo with an oil lamp and a book under your arm.
If you couldn’t take care of your garden and grow flowers, you were just going to read about them instead.
You were quite certain that this book was rather new, and you had a feeling Benedict had stacked up multiple shelves in the library with whatever book he could find on plants and flowers without telling you. The hardcover was so smooth that for a second you just ran your fingertips over the engraving over it, then made yourself comfortable by resting your feet on the other side of the bench, leaning your back to the arm of the bench. You placed the book on your legs, the peaceful sound of the water fountain in the evening surrounding you, making you heave a sigh. Your eyes stole a quick glance at the lit-up window of Benedict’s study but then you frowned and opened the book, ready to lose yourself in the illustrations and the information about flowers.
You were so engrossed by the book that after hours you still hadn’t even looked up once, and it was only when you heard someone clear their throat that your head shot up. Benedict shot you that crooked smile, crossing his arms and leaning sideways to the entrance of gazebo.
“Riveting read?”
“Quite so,” you said as you held up the book so that he could see the title, then motioned at the window of his study. “Have you already finished Charlotte’s illustrations?”
“Oh she told you?”
“Mm hm,” you said. “She even said I could read some of her completed stories.”
Benedict raised his brows. “She must really like you,” he said. “I had to beg her all those years ago just to read one of them.”
You shot him a grin. “Perhaps I’m stealing your best friend.”
“Looks like it,” he played along. “How was the park?”
You thought for a moment, Charlotte’s question about your parents echoing in your ears before you cleared your throat.
“It was fine,” you said. “Less so when I heard Bess is the Locusta of plants.”
“She poisons her plants?”
“In a way yes,” you said. “Apparently she watered her roses three times a day.”
“I’m guessing from the tone of your voice and the appalled look on your face that it’s the wrong thing to do?”
You shot him a lighthearted glare. “Good guess.”
Benedict chuckled and nodded in the direction of the house. “Are you coming or?”
You hesitated for a second, then shook your head.
“You go ahead,” you said. “I have a feeling that sleep will evade me tonight.”
“Why?”
You tried to ignore the shiver shooting through you upon remembering your nightmare, and after today’s conversation with Charlotte about your parents, you just knew you would not be getting a good night’s sleep tonight.
And it wasn’t as if you could just keep waking Benedict up, that had to be annoying for him you were sure.
“Just a feeling,” you shrugged your shoulders. “You should go to sleep though. I heard you barely left your studio the whole day, you must be exhausted.”
Benedict pulled his brows together. “Who told you that?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, then grinned.
“The housekeeper likes me better than she likes you I suppose.”
His jaw dropped. “Mrs. Alton…” he said with a shake of his head. “There I thought we had something special.”
You scoffed a laugh and his eyes searched your face, his smile slightly fading.
“Are you alright though?”
You bit inside your cheek and nodded.
“Sure,” you lied. “I’ll just um—I just need some distraction I guess. I mean here is peaceful but…” you trailed off. “Inside my head is not, sometimes.”
“I could tell,” he said softly and you took a deep breath.
“One of those nights,” you said. “I’ll be fine.”  
He thought for a moment, his gaze on you as if he was trying to decide on something, then he cleared his throat.
“A distraction, you say?”
You nodded your head and he tilted his head, that mischievous smile curling his lips again.
“Do you want to go to a party?”
                                   *  *  *
“This is insane,” you heard yourself say as Benedict led you through the crowd, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Is this…is this real?”
He shot you a wink, clearly pleased with your reaction and nodded at someone who shouted his name cheerfully while you tried to soak in the environment as much as you could.
This was beyond your wildest dreams.
The house itself was huge and if you had seen it any other time, you would have assumed it was just some other house that belonged to a yet another member of the ton but apparently, you would have been wrong. Though you had never been to a party before, you had heard about them, yet nothing you heard had described you this.
Everyone looked just…
Free.
There was music coming from one of the rooms in the hallway, some people drinking and smoking and your eyes caught the sight of a couple that were kissing by the corner, where people could see them. Even the mere thought was enough to send a fire through your cheeks but you forced yourself to look around the rest of the room so as not to stare, as difficult as it felt. As you and Benedict walked through the hallway, you could see a couple of closed doors, the chatter of the crowd and the laughter echoing through the walls. You walked past a room with multiple canvases and a couple of people sketching, and a room where someone seemed to be giving a talk about a book to a crowd, making you think that most of the people attending were artists and writers. The party seemed to be going on in multiple floors of the house and when you got closer to the main room where the music was coming from, Benedict stopped you.
“Y/N.”
You took a peek inside the room, already impatient to go in there and turned to him. “Hm?”
“I’d like to start by saying, this might not be like any party you’ve attended before.”
“I haven’t attended any parties before,” you pointed out and a look of realization dawned on his face as if he hadn’t thought about it before.
“Right,” he said. “So here’s the thing, you might see certain things that…”
“What?”
“That you might consider as scandalous, but I can assure you—”
“Oh no, something scandalous,” you deadpanned, then shot him a look. “What am I going to do, faint?”
He raised his brows. “I know you think you’re making a point but you did faint before.”
You pushed at his arm slightly, making him chuckle.
“Not because of a scandal!” you insisted and lowered your voice. “I would have fainted at our scandal if I were to do such a thing, that one ended up with us getting married!”
Benedict nodded his head. “True. But still, we’re only here to have fun, and we will go home whenever you want—”
“Are you jesting?” you asked. “I’m not going home! Come on, look at this place, I’ve never… I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Benedict smiled softly.
“Alright,” he said. “As you wish.”
You narrowed your eyes at him and let out a giddy giggle, then stepped into the room. There was a crowd but Benedict seemed to know almost everyone, greeting people while you made your way through the room and Benedict grabbed two glasses of drinks, then gave one to you as you sat down on one of the sofas.
“Is this where Lady Whistledown said you were going all this time?” you asked, looking up at him, still in a daze and he shrugged his shoulders.
“I doubt Lady Whistledown knows of this.”
“But was it?”
“Mm hm.”
“How do people—” you paused. “How does no one know about here?”
“Well, parties take place in different places, it’s not just one house,” he said. “Some of them even downtown.”
“I’ve never been downtown before,” you said quickly, your head almost buzzing with the promise of a new world and Benedict smiled at your enthusiasm.
“We can go there the next time.”
“Wait, seriously?” you asked and he nodded.
“Of course. If you want to—”
“I do want to,” you cut him off. “But my aunt would always say it’s incredibly dangerous.”
“If you were going by yourself yes,” he said. “But you’ll be with me so no. Not dangerous.”
You smiled brightly, watching the people in the room while Benedict kept his gaze on you, a soft smile warming his face. You saw a lady sipping her drink and looked down at your glass, then took a sip but as soon as the liquid burned your throat you coughed.
“Wow,” you cleared your throat. “What is this?”
“It’s called Warm Heart,” he said. “Lemon, rum, brandy, wine and sugar. Go easy on that one alright?”
You nodded and took another sip.
“Benedict, how come no one knows?” you asked. “I read about it on Whistledown or hear about it from multiple people if someone so much as breathes wrong and in here…”
He clicked his tongue. “No one will spread the word because everyone you see here are likeminded individuals.”
“Artists?”
“Artists, writers, sculptors… And some just admirers. Essentially just people who see the stifling expectations and rules of the ton as they are; complete nonsense.”
You let out a breath, trying to wrap your mind around it. “You’re all friends then? You seem to know everyone.”
He gave you a smirk. “It’s a small circle.”
You swirled the drink in the glass and looked around again, curiosity and excitement making your heart beat faster. To be in a place where one could do whatever they wanted was such an unfamiliar thing that it made your mind fuzzy, your ears muffled because of the blood rushing through them.
You could even kiss Benedict right here in front of all these people and no one would say anything.
…Not that-
Not that you would do that, ever. But it was a lovely thought to even imagine.
“Well I know who you are,” a voice snapped you out of your daze and you lifted your head to see someone clasping Benedict by the shoulder, making him chuckle. “But I have no idea who this exquisite vision is supposed to be.”
The man was older than you and Benedict, seemed to be absolutely delighted to see Benedict and there was a playful glimmer in his eyes as his gaze fell on you. You smiled at him.
“Hello.”
“Sir Henry Granville,” Benedict introduced him, making you raise your brows. “My wife, Y/N.”
Your heart skipped a beat upon him calling you such. You knew you two were married but you were beginning to think you would never get used to your new title, and how it filled you with giddiness though you tried to not let it show on your expression.
“The painter?” you asked as you forced yourself to focus and he bowed.
“Proudly so,” he said. “And I gather you’re the infamous beauty that made our handsome and bright artist change his ways.”
You let out a small laugh. “You’re very kind, Sir Granville.”
“Trust me, I am merely sincere,” he said. “My apologies for not being able to attend your wedding breakfast by the way. I have…” he motioned with his hand. “Complicated feelings about weddings.”
“Don’t we all?” you asked back and he chuckled.
“I must introduce you to my wife Lucy, she will love you. Perhaps a house tour hm?”
Benedict cleared his throat and reached out to hold your hand.
“That’s not going to happen Henry,” he said, making you frown slightly and look between them as he squeezed at your hand. “We’re just here to drink, nothing more. Ever.”
Well, that was a very definite stance against a house tour.
Sir Granville’s smile widened and he held up his hands.
“Understood,” he said. “Love. It makes one quite possessive, I would know.”
Alright, you were getting quite confused now but before you could ask what he meant, he had already clapped his hands together.
“Your wife might be here to drink but you my friend, are not,” he said. “I have some friends I must introduce you to. I may have shown them a sketch of yours and now they don’t shut up about your talent.”
Benedict tilted his head. “What sketch?”
“The one from the last party.”
Benedict groaned. “Henry, I was half drunk—”
“Well they loved it anyway, so come on!” he slapped his arm. “Come with me, promising artist. They are quite excited to meet you.”
Benedict turned to look at you and you shook your head fervently.
“Oh you go ahead,” you said. “I will stay. It sounds like an artists only environment and I’d rather enjoy my drink here.”
“I don’t think…” Benedict trailed off and you tilted your head.
“Go!” you said with a laugh. “I survive balls with members of the ton nightly, I think I can handle being left alone for a while in a crowd.”
“She will be fine Ben,” Sir Granville said. “Come on.”
Benedict heaved a sigh and stood up. “Y/N just don’t go anywhere, alright?”
“Mm hm.”
“And if somebody wants to take you somewhere—”
“I will just ignore you if you stay here any longer,” you said and sipped your drink, “Besides, you know I can take care of myself. Or did you forget about your own gift?”
His eyes lingered down to your cleavage before snapping up to your face again and you shot him a bright smile.
“Have fun!” you said and Sir Granville bowed, then they both walked out of the room.
Wow.
This was more freedom than you had gotten ever since you had arrived in London—or your whole life, really. The fact that Benedict trusted you enough to actually leave you be in such an environment made a smile pull at your lips, then you sipped your drink, leaning back.
You hadn’t even read about such gatherings before, which you assumed wasn’t so surprising. The high society of London did not even let unmarried ladies smell certain flowers, let alone knowing about such parties. Every unmarried lady had to be perfect in the eyes of the ton and her suitors, and it didn’t really change when it came to being married, just with more responsibilities. You were quite certain that if you had married anyone else but Benedict -even the thought made your stomach churn- you would have never known about the existence of such events; you would be left in the dark because of this nonsense belief that you were to be sheltered and coddled, even if it was the last thing you wanted.
That was simply condescending.
By the time you finished your drink, you were already itching to see more of the house. You shifted a little in your spot, biting at your nail and casted a glance at the door before leaning back again.
No.
You had said you would stay put.
But wasn’t that against the whole point of tonight? Everyone did whatever they wanted with no one to judge them, and surely a quick look around wasn’t going to hurt anyone. You were sure Benedict wouldn’t even be back by the time you saw the rest of the house and returned here.
You nibbled on your lip and took a deep breath, then pushed yourself off the sofa and walked out of the room before you could change your mind.
The house was absolutely enormous. Whoever planned the party must have made sure there was some sort of entertainment in each part of the house even though some hallways were definitely less crowded than others. You walked away from the chatter and the crowd and looked up at the stairs before you quickly climbed them only to find yourself in another hallway. There were considerably fewer people in here and the music was only faint, coming from downstairs where you had just left so you tilted your head, then turned the corner to take a look at the paintings all over the walls.
Paintings of flowers.
You smiled to yourself as you walked deeper into the hallway, looking up at the dimly lit paintings by the oil lamps mounted on the walls, but a faint moan made you turn your head. You pulled your brows together and looked around, then stepped closer to the half closed door, taking a peek into the room through the crack.
And as soon as you did, your breath got caught in your throat.
Inside the room there were three people, one man and two women. The man had his shirt off, one of the women running her fingertips down his muscles while he kissed her and then he pulled back to help the other woman out of her corset, nimbly pulling at the laces. Her corset slipped off and she smirked before pulling him into a kiss as well while the other lady’s hand slipped lower until—
You gasped and pulled back from the door, your heart pacing against your ribcage. Your head was spinning so much and you took a step back, then rushed out of the hallway as if someone was chasing you.
How did that—
How did that even work?
You were under the impression that you knew everything that took place in marital bed so to speak, -though you were more than aware that people did not exactly stay loyal to their spouses or wait for marriage- and as far as you knew, it was just…
It was simple. Josie’s married friends had explained the act and it was unpleasant and simple, husband and wife joining…down there and then it was to be over.
Three people?
That was impossible, surely. In terms of physical means, though you had never seen a man naked, you had heard the whispers and saw the sketches that Josie’s friends had found in a book, giggling the whole time.  
You were so confused and lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice someone calling out, not that you would have paid attention to the unfamiliar voice through the chatter of the crowd. You turned another corner, your feet leading you what you hoped was the stairs but before you could take another step, someone grabbed you by the wrist.
It was like a bucket of cold water. Your body reacted before your mind had any chance to even think it through as you snapped out of your chaos of thoughts and turned to grab the person by the neck to slam them against the wall, your other hand quickly pulling your pocket knife from your cleavage in the process so that you could rest the blade against his neck.
“Sorry! Sorry, that was very rude I know—”
“Do not touch me,” your voice came out as a growl and the man nodded fervently.
“Yeah! Yeah absolutely, no I know! I apologize, I normally introduce myself to people before grabbing at them—not that I grab at people!” he added in a haste. “I don’t grab at people but you…I swear I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I’m not making the same promise,” you said and he swallowed thickly.
“God, you have a terrifying glare.”
“It’s been said.”
“Yes and— please calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
“No I’m talking to myself,” he said, his voice coming out breathless. “It was addressed to me because I am not calm at all right now.”
You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head to actually pay attention to him. He had to be around your age and he looked rather cute with his curly hair and light brown eyes. He wasn’t as tall as Benedict but still taller than you and he took another trembling breath, making you look up at him.
“That’s a very sharp knife,” he said. “Where—where did you get it?”
“My husband gave it to me.”
A small whine escaped from his lips and he cleared his throat.
“You have a—of course you have a husband,” he said. “How about we start from the beginning? I’m Felix.”
“What am I supposed to do with that information?” you asked, your voice completely deadpan and his eyes searched yours.
“What’s your name?”
You raised your brows, still glaring at him and he licked his lips.
“Alright so even though I may have given off the wrong impression, I’m not…my intention is not to seduce you.”
You tried to repress the laugh bubbling at your throat as you scoffed.
“Seduce me?” you repeated and he nodded.
“I saw you walk by and I thought—my interest in you is completely artistic,” he stammered. “I promise. It’s just that, I’m a painter and you are very beautiful and I thought you were a figment of my drunk state, I didn’t even think about it and tried to stop you before you left forever so that I could…so that I could paint you from mind later on.”
Your eyes searched his face as you tried to see whether he was lying or not, but he looked completely genuine, albeit a bit intimidated. You rolled your eyes and pulled back from him, tucking the knife back into your cleavage.
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered and he let out a breath.
“So may I know your name?” he asked and you eyed him up and down.
“Y/N Bridgerton.”
His head shot up. “Bridgerton as in Benedict Bridgerton?”
“Yes.”
“Benedict is your husband? I know Benedict!” he said, suddenly cheerful. “We’re frie—wait a moment. You’re Y/N Bridgerton?”
“That’s what I said.”
“The Venus Flytrap?” he asked. “The diamond in the rough? The Ice Queen?”
You rolled your eyes and turned around without so much as another look at him, then started walking down the hallway but he quickly caught up.
“I’ve heard people talk about you.”
“Shocking,” you said as you turned another corner and started going downstairs with Felix who seemed rather excited judging by the happy glimmer in his eyes.
“Can you really intimidate any lord with a glare?”
“If only,” you said curtly and entered the room you had left earlier. Your spot was still empty so you grabbed a glass from the tray and made your way there, Felix following you.
“As I said, I merely wish to paint you so if you would—”
“That is not going to happen,” you said, shaking your head and Felix opened his mouth but then got distracted when another man entered the room. He walked to the crowd by the corner and you tilted your head, looking between Felix who looked almost dazed and the man who stole a look at him, making Felix avert his eyes and clear his throat.
Oh.
You were quite familiar with that look, you had seen it in Andrew’s eyes a couple of times.
As it turned out, Felix was indeed only interested in you artistically.
You smiled slightly and raised your brows at Felix, then nodded at the armchair across from yours. He fixed his hair and sat down immediately.
“Ignore him,” you said with a nod of your head. “It tends to work.”
Felix blinked a couple of times. “Oh I don’t know what you mean—”
“Yes you do.”
He offered you a small smile, getting a glass of drink as well and you leaned back.
“So you’re an artist?”
“Trying to be one, actually,” he said. “But I do not know if I have the talent for it. I hope I do.”
“Well, all the actually talented artists that I’ve met have that terrible self-doubt so I have a feeling you probably do have the talent for it,” you pointed out and he sat up straighter.
“Thank you,” he said. “So you’re married to Benedict?”
“Mm hm.”
“Is it true you were rude and cold to all your suitors until Benedict?”
You made a face. “That is not true at all,” you said. “I was also rude and cold to Benedict.”
He stared at you and let out a laugh. “Really?”
“Yes. Why are you surprised?”
“Well, ladies are always sweet with him whenever he so much as looks at them,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “Handsome and talented and all that.”
Jealousy spread through your throat but you managed to shrug your shoulders. “I’m well aware of that.”
“Not to mention, everyone keeps saying he will be a great artist,” Felix said and that was when it dawned on you.
This right there was exactly why Benedict had that self-doubt. This was why he was so hesitant on accepting any genuine compliments, if everyone thought and expected that of him, of course he was his own worst critic.
That had to have put some pressure on him.
“I’m sure he will be,” you said, barely aware of the proud tone of your voice and Felix nodded.
“Exactly.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Do you think you will be a great artist?” you asked Felix and he gave you a happy grin.
“If only,” he said, his eyes glimmering with hope. “I dream of being one. Is that not the ultimate goal?”
“To be an artist?”
“To be immortal.”
You scrunched up your nose, then shook your head. “Not for me, no.”
“You wouldn’t want to be immortal?” he asked. “All the fame and glory?”
You thought for a moment, then shook your head again.
“Not at all.”
He gawked at you. “What is it that you want then?” he asked. “Your greatest desire? If you could have anything in the world.”
You took a sip of your drink and looked down at it, deep in thought. The image of your greatest desire used to be just you as a widow but apparently somewhere along the way that image had changed. For some reason, now that you were imagining yourself happy and having everything you wanted, you had a simple picture in your mind.
And this time, to your surprise, you weren’t alone.
You took a deep breath and frowned at the drink in your hand, then raised your head to look at Felix better.
“I want…” you trailed off. “I want a beautiful garden of my own and I want to be happy.”
Felix looked at you as if he was waiting for you to continue but when you didn’t, he pulled his brows together.
“Is that all?” he asked. “Surely there must be something else?”
“No,” you said. “That is all I want actually.”
“That simple?”
You let out a laugh and nodded.
“That simple,” you repeated. “Some of us don’t want fame and glory. That’s what we have the artists for.”
He looked at you as if he was waiting for you to say you were jesting but before he could say anything, you were already distracted. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Benedict walk into the room and he directly made his way to you, a smile curling your lips without you even noticing it.
“Benedict, your wife does not like the idea of becoming immortal.”
“My wife doesn’t like a lot of things Felix,” Benedict said with a warm smile and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making your heart skip a beat. You knew it was to sell the idea of you two being completely in love even here because though it was a private party, you could never be too careful. “Hello darling.”
You could swear your heart was melting inside your chest and you looked up at him, still smiling.
“Hello.”
“Are you alright?”
“Mm hm,” you nodded as he sat beside you and put his drink on the table. “I’m having fun. Look, I even made a friend.”
Felix gave Benedict a proud grin and Benedict chuckled.
“Is that right?”
“Right after she threatened me, yes.”
“Threatened?” Benedict asked and you waved a hand in the air, trying your hardest to keep the thought of what exactly you had seen before that out of your mind.
“A misunderstanding,” you said and Felix looked from Benedict to you, a smile pulling at his lips, then cleared his throat.
“Well, I’d better excuse myself and leave the lovers to their peace,” he said and stood up. “Benedict.”
“Felix.”
“Mrs. Bridgerton.”
“Y/N,” you corrected him. “That’s the least I could do after accidentally threatening you.”
Felix let out a laugh, then shifted his weight. “But are you sure—”
“I am,” you answered before he could ask whether he could paint you. “I appreciate it though.”
Felix bowed and downed his drink, then walked away from you while Benedict turned to look at you better.
“What was that about?”
“Oh nothing,” you said. “We were just discussing something before you arrived. So how was your talk with Sir Granville’s friends?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and licked his lips.
“It was alright,” he said. “They were all very nice. All of them say I should apply for the Academy this season and not the next like I planned.”
Your eyes searched his handsome face and you took another sip of your drink, then sat up straighter.
“I am going to ask you something.”
He nodded. “You can ask me anything, you know that.”
“And you will answer truthfully?”
“Always.”
“Does it bother you when I say…” you paused for a moment and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. “Hearing it all the time ought to make you feel sort of pressured, no? When everyone says you’ll be a great artist?”
He thought for a moment, reaching out to grab his glass on the table to swirl the drink inside the glass before he took a big sip, and cleared his throat.
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But with you it’s different.”
“How?”
Benedict swallowed thickly and took a deep breath.
“It gives me peace when you say it,” the confession left his lips in such a soft whisper that if you weren’t sitting close to him, you wouldn’t have been able to hear. You felt your stomach do a happy flip and smiled slightly.
“Good, because I do believe it.” You paused for a moment, your eyes snapping up to his. “Wholeheartedly.”
That soft light glimmered in his eyes again and you found yourself admiring his beautiful face before you cleared your throat and pointed back with your thumb.
“And also I just turned down another artist’s offer to paint me, so…”
He let out a chuckle. “Felix?”
“Mm hm.”
“I knew it,” he said, shaking his head. “I had a feeling—wait, is that why you threatened him?”
“Not directly but sort of,” you said as you downed your drink, then glanced around but there was no sign of any footmen carrying a tray. Benedict took a look around the room as well and turned to you.
“Do you want another?”
You tilted your head. “One would assume you’re a bad influence, Mr. Bridgerton.”
He had the audacity to look quite offended.
“Me? A bad influence?” he asked, feigning surprise. “I have no idea what you mean, Mrs. Bridgerton. I’m simply asking if my wife would like another glass.”
You shot him a grin, that warmth spreading through your veins. “Yes please.”
He got up from the sofa and bowed his head in an exaggerated manner, making you giggle before he walked to the other side of the room to find you another glass. You kept your eyes on him, barely aware of the giddy smile on your face and you bit on your lip then leaned back on the sofa, heaving a sigh.
Chapter 18
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of-mutts-and-men · 2 years
Text
Thinking about sentient plants writhing with tentacles full of aphrodisiac sap. Laying with my back on the ground and my lower half raised and tangled up in thick vines, my knees bending towards my head. Tentacles wrapped around me so tightly and constricting every movement say for a wiggle here and there.
My mouth is plugged with a thick stamen like tentacle that sloppily pumps warm sap into my mouth, jerking around wildly and sometimes falling out and dripping all over my neck and chest before forcing back into my mouth. The effects of the sap are purely addictive, so sweet and comforting, making my whole body warm, tingly, and relaxed. Eyes stuck in a lewd haze and burning red from head to toe.
Wrapped around my cock is a flower shaped tip that is slick with more sap and strokes me up and down, small tendrils moving along the inside. Leisurely pumping into my ass is another large, stamen shaped tentacle. The tip is thinnest at the top and thickest at the bottom, full of bulbs that protrude from the inside, pumping me full of sap. The plant's 'cock' lazily drills into my sloppy and sticky ass. I could fall asleep if I wanted to.
It feels akin to the largest set of anal beads you could ever find, the orbs rubbing and dragging against my insides as it pulls out completely. Then with little force it breaches me again and sinks all the way down to the base, deep and pulsing within me.
My stomach is folded in half but I can still tell that it is bloated with sap. The plant doesn't even need to fuck me to deposit it, every thrust spills out a little bit more. So sticky and wet. I don't even know what it wants with me, how did I even get here?
Slowly, too late do I realize that the bulbous plant cock in my ass is losing its texture, starting to feel thinner and smoother. But my mind is too gone to care. All i want to do is drunkenly giggle and keep cumming all over myself and this horny plant. With droopy eyes I watch the plant's cock slip all the way inside of me, making my stomach bulge temporarily. Then pulling back out, the round bulge still there despite it leaving. Hmm...
Little did I know, one: once these types of plants lay their seeds, they need to be constantly smothered in sap in order to grow, constantly need to be covered in a new slick layer. And two: that my belly was full of them.
------
Much later and with my mind even dumber and more docile, I finally change positions. Now wrapped securely around a root at the plant's base, the stamen like cock pulls out of me with an obscene gush and slick sounds. Quick to replace it is the largest tentacle I can pick out of the many dozens. With a smooth tip and insanely thick base close to that of a human cock, already dripping sap like pre.
It slithers under me and in one go starts to push into me, my body is pushed up against my binds before my hole finally stretches enough to slip over the tip. The feeling makes my eyes roll into the back of my head as the whole head pops into me.
Suddenly, the cock nestled inside of me shoots out an intense amount of sap in one burst, flooding my already drenched insides. My mouth hangs open and my head lulls forward. A minute later, it does it again. At this point I might pass out.
As the day goes on and the seeds inside me grow and continue to be fertilized, more tentacles all with their own special heads flock towards me. Some suction against my nipples, stroke my arms and legs, dance around in my mouth. All of them prepare and pamper me for when the seeds are ready to come out.
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chxrrylime · 1 year
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Ahh could a request a part 2 to the oral fixation request but with Alejandro and Alex? (Sub! M reader)
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Happy fucking easter, you mad lads. Here's PART II to the oral fixation prompt ♥ I really like doing these types of things over fics so feel free to send some more with that in mind!! But I will totally still write fics of course, they'll just take longer.
↪ 2132 words — 18+ / SMUT.
Content tags — gen male submissive reader, oral fixation, finger sucking, public embarrassment, light degradation, mild face fucking, and cock warming.
Soap
Soap definitely has an oral fixation, too. The two of you kissing is always downright sinful. Very filthy. Too much spit and sucking and licking to really be considered kissing. 
But oh, how he loves to tease you with it. Does it on purpose, the bloody bastard, makes you red faced in front of the whole task force with what Ghost might call revolting romantic displays (the man hates PDA. Unfortunately, Soap is a walking case of it, especially when it comes to you).
The easiest way he always gets you is generally in the cafeteria. On rare occasions they get good food—shit like little bowls of vanilla ice cream with a cherry on top. Something sweet like that. You can bet your ass Soap’s either grabbing your attention only to tongue at that cherry for far too long before sucking it off the stem, holding eye contact the whole time, or he’s pressing it to your lips just to watch you instinctively lick it into your mouth and suckle before flushing bright when you realize half the table’s staring at you.
He can also definitely tie cherry stems with his tongue, but that’s another story.
He does it with other foods, too. Really, the man’s pupils blow wide every time he hand feeds you something and you take it into your mouth without a second thought. Sometimes he wonders if it’s because it’s him doing it, or if you’d do that for anyone, mindlessly taking anything into your mouth that gets a little too close. 
He’s proper annoyed when he can’t get any of the 141 to try and hand feed you, just to test his theory.
But oh, Soap loves getting head just as much as he loves giving it, and steamin’ Jesus does he get weak in the knees from your mouth on him. 
The man swears he’s never had a better blowjob in his life, and you might just believe him with how he moans and groans, squirming and humping into your mouth—really just being an all-around nuisance.
But he’s obsessed with how attentive you are about it. How intense. How you pay such close attention to his sensitive tip, the thick vein on the side, the little glands under the ridge. How you suck him like you’re suckling for milk—his words, specifically. The man called you a calf on a teet. You’d cuffed him in the back of the head for it.
And you can bet your ass his favorite position with you is sixty-nining. The both of you get so goddamn blissed out, so focused on sucking each other down, getting off from both the hot wetness around your lengths and the haziness of that headspace. That fuzzy little place you go, mind half blank when you can settle into suckling something.
Soap always likes to try and get you to go two rounds just so he can swallow one load down and let the other paint his face. 
Alex
Alex was a bit… confused.
Listen, the man’s done some exploring sexually, okay? He’s not a complete prude. He’s not vanilla. He likes to get tied up sometimes and maybe slapped around a little. Likes tying other people up, too. He thinks a girl might’ve called him daddy once and he came pretty quickly afterward. He’s been around a bit, is the point. 
He’s just… y’know… never seen someone look so damn blissful with something in their mouth before.
If anything, most of the gals he’s been with have either seen blowjobs as a means to an end or outright refused to perform them. He didn’t mind, of course, but it kind of set a precedent for him.
But then he’d kissed you that one time and when he’d pulled back he’d swiped his thumb along your kiss-swollen bottom lip, and before he could move it away you’d sucked it into your mouth and moaned. Eyes rolling slightly before fluttering shut.
His cheeks were burning, and honestly, his dick was probably twice as hard as it previously was, if that was even possible. You’d suckled and licked at his thumb like it was a cock, your head slightly bobbing, and he was gone for it.
He’s not generally a rough lover, and he maybe wasn’t the most proud of the bruises he saw on your knees the next day, but fuck, he’s never needed his dick in someone’s mouth so goddamn bad before.
Shoved you down by the shoulders. Listened to your stressed little whine when it meant his finger left your mouth—was quick to replace it with the tip of his cock, considerate as ever. 
He couldn’t help the quiver in his thighs when you hummed contentedly around the squishy head, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked and tongued at the weeping slit. Christ, he was dripping so much. It wasn’t something super abnormal for him, he was quite the leaky faucet, honestly, but not usually this early on.
He’s definitely the praise type, and it just makes your head that much more fuzzy, hearing that pretty strained voice above you as you swallow him down to the hilt, the muscles of your throat squeezing around him so deliciously.
“So fucking good, baby, mouth’s so hot, so tight. Fuck. You’re so good at this.”
He rarely will fully outright fuck your face unless you ask him to, but he will always lazily roll his hips as you blow him. Gentle, shallow little movements that move him about half an inch deeper before pulling back, again and again. Loves how you chase after his cock each time he pulls out—does it just to see it.
It's not something he can always afford, but he’s a romantic at heart, and honestly his favorite position isn’t particularly sexual, more so intimate. He likes letting you cock warm him with your mouth while you both sleep, while you both lay in bed. Likes waking up to it, too, if you decided not to the night before but woke up needy. He gets hard, sure, and leaks, but it’s not really about finishing for him. He pets through your hair and hums. Whispers little praise or groans quietly when you suck particularly hard.
He just likes the intimacy. The warmth. He's naturally a caretaker, and likes that he can do something for you to make you feel safe and good, especially if that's something you struggle to do for yourself.
Alejandro
Alejandro is a goddamn menace.
He notices you licking at and sucking on one of your knuckles one time? Good fucking luck. He goes full detective on you.
He ends up buying you a necklace with a rubber charm on the end. Maybe a little skull or something. Something unassuming—not too stim toy-esque. It was a genuine present, saw it and thought of you, it just so happened to double as the thing to confirm his suspicion.
He walks by a secluded desk you're sitting at, filing paperwork and catches you sucking on that charm? Oh, he’s fully leaning over you, arm placed on the desk to cage you in. Wolfish grin when you look up surprised, a little wide-eyed with a murmured and confused ‘Alejandro?’
The charm’s still in your mouth, your words a bit muffled and slurred because of it. You don’t let it go until he swipes his finger over your lips, tapping at the chain. You flush bright red when you realize what you’d been doing and you swear his eyes darken.
“Enjoy things in your mouth, pretty boy?”
Oh, he’s got you bent over that desk not but five minutes later, one hand stretching you open on his fingers, prepping you for his cock, and the other hand pressed against your mouth, making you gag on his fingers. Thrusts them in opposite time of each other, just to make you that much more fucked out.
Despite how much he loves to tease you, softly degrading you with hushed, raspy “dirty little thing”’s, and “puta sucia”’s he’s very, very supportive if it doubles as a stim thing for you.
Necklaces with little rubber charms become a common gift to receive from him. Some are more obvious for when you’re alone, clearly meant for stimming, shaped nicely for suckling and chewing if you so desire. Others are simply cute little shapes—stars and eight balls and significant numbers. Things you can pass off as simple keepsakes from Alejandro if asked.
The man will buy you a goddamn sippy cup if you so desire. He’s good at hiding things if needed and he just wants you to have your simple comforts to come back to after long, hard missions.
He loves making out with you. Encourages you to suck on his tongue, his lips. Leave him all kiss-swollen and red. Guides you by the hair to suck bruises into his neck, his shoulders—anywhere on his body is truly free real estate for your marks. 
Big surprise that he likes his dick sucked! But in particular he likes a lot of attention on his balls and taint. Strokes himself and tells you to kiss ‘em, make out with ‘em. He’s very sensitive there, and he makes such sweet sounds when you do. He always grooms, of course, but he’ll fully shave if that’s something you want from him.
König
Oh, König. My dear boy. I think he has an oral fixation as well, but specifically chewing. It’s more of just a stim for him, not really a sexy thing. Helps with his anxiety. Helps with the mask since no one can see if he’s got something he’s nibbling on, whether it’s gum or a necklace or whatever. He’s definitely a teeth grinder, too, so it helps to have something between his pearly whites to keep them from chipping or filing down against each other.
But it also means he understands when he sees you with your pen absentmindedly between your lips, or when you suck on your spoon long after you’ve chewed and swallowed your food. Or, at least, he thinks he understands.
Relationships are a bit hard for him. He feels a lot. And it’s a bit overwhelming, especially all the touchy, intimate parts of being with someone. So, it’s a slow process, getting him warmed up to you.
Eventually things get hot and heavy between you two, and your straddling his narrow hips (narrow for his frame, but still fucking big), his hood pushed up just enough for the two of you to make out. His large hands rub up and down your sides, and you gently rock your hips to grind your hardon against the hard planes of his shirt-clad stomach.
When you pull away from the kiss, there’s drool dripping down your chin, and for whatever reason, König instinctively reaches to swipe it up with his fingers, up and up until he’s pushing it back into your mouth, the two thick digits pressing onto your tongue as he essentially finger fucks your own saliva back into your mouth.
Except, the whole scene catches up with him, and he startles, embarrassed, about to pull his hand away and begin to intensely apologize when you suddenly grab his wrist, holding him in place, looking down at him with half-lidded, lust-blown eyes as you seal your lips around the digits and start to suck.
Oh, he lets out the most strangled, confused and yet aroused moan. He’s wide-eyed behind the hood, his own lips parted as he pants. His cock is so fucking hard in his far too tight pants.
He very quickly learns that he gets off on you sucking on his fingers as much as you do in turn.
Honestly? He prefers your mouth on his fingers over his cock. Loves to fuck into you slow and steady with three of his fingers stretching your jaw wide, fucking your mouth with them at the same pace as his rocking hips. Plus, the man’s almost as thick as a soda can. You can most likely get your lips around the tip, which he enjoys immensely, but he worries too much he’ll literally break your jaw if you go any further than that, so he never lets you.
You truly unlock something dark in König with your little fixation, though. He buys you a gag—one with a very small dildo mold on the inside, something for you to suckle on as he fucks you. He shyly admits afterward that it’s the first sex toy he’s ever bought and he had to (very reluctantly) ask Soap where he can even get them from. And then of course Soap insisted on tagging along to said adult store. You can’t help but laugh about it while König slaps at your arms and lightheartedly tells you to shut up.
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renoed · 1 year
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overworked | s. kaiba
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❥ — PAIRING seto kaiba x gn! reader
❥ — SUMMARY seto can be a bit of (a lot of) a dick sometimes, but he more than makes up for it with his moments of tenderness
# CW unsure if it needs a warning but there's mentions of Seto going prolonged periods of time without eating
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Seto works hard, there's no doubt about it. Before you started dating, Mokuba had given you countless warnings that his brother would be working more often than not: he'd cancel plans, get in sour moods, lock himself away in his office and be generally difficult. Seto Kaiba was the antonym of normal.
Today was one of those days - you were sprawled across a sofa in Seto's unnecessarily large office, scrolling through your phone to the sound of your boyfriend typing away on his keyboard, occasionally pausing to let out an exasperated sigh or pinch the bridge of his nose.
As the clock creeps closer to sunset, your stomach lets out a small growl, letting you know that it was time to get some food. If you didn't, Seto wouldn't eat until tomorrow, he had a nasty habit of working until the early hours and then going straight to sleep once he arrived home, having not eaten anything since you had forced given him something.
Shuffling into an upright position, you stretch your arms before getting up, "I'm gonna get some food, anything you want?"
The brunet just lets out some sort of mix between a huff and a hum of acknowledgement. He'd learnt that grumbling 'I'm not hungry' isn't an acceptable response if he hasn't eaten since he woke up at the ass-crack of dawn and made a measly bowl of porridge. You didn't understand how he could function most days. Maybe the conspiracy that he was a robot CEO wasn't too far-fetched.
Assembling your bag, coat and phone, you say a quick goodbye and leave the Kaiba Corp office. Almost all of the employees had already left, save for a few that regularly worked until dark (although they couldn't hold a candle to the big boss). You had become quite friendly with most of the employees you saw often, enjoying their normality while Seto holed himself away in his office.
You decide to walk to a nearby takeaway, texting to ask if he wanted anything specific. He wouldn't respond, his phone was always on silent, with the exception of notifications from you and Mokuba, and when he was working you were also muted.
The trip was quick, getting there and back within half an hour, although in that time the sun had dropped considerably lower in the sky and the building seemed to be almost empty on your return.
"I got food," you enter the office unannounced, quickly putting your bags down to take off your shoes before walking over to the sofa and beginning to lay things out of the glass coffee table, "can you take a break and eat with me?"
"No," comes his mumbled reply, gaze not even meeting yours for a moment before the tip-tapping of his keyboard is the only sound in the room again.
You recognise his furrowed brows and ever-so-slight frown as an expression that means something has happened or someone's fucked up.
"What's wrong?"
He doesn't reply, doesn't spare you a glance, so you get up once again and shuffle over to his desk, peering over his shoulder at his screen. Normally you don't concern yourself with his work - he likes to keep it separate from your relationship and you feel no need to be constantly updated on what's happening - but sometimes you like to be kept in the loop with what's stressing your boyfriend out.
On his screen there's about 20 tabs, the current one open being an email. The email's from Mokuba, his title in bold at the bottom. You quickly skim through it, seeing something about a deal 'falling through', someone 'refusing to go lower' and a frowny face tagged on the end.
You aren't completely sure what it means, but for Mokuba to have emailed instead of leaving an obnoxious text with countless emojis (used to get under his older brothers skin for lack of professionalism) you can tell it's serious.
"Why don't you take a break and eat? You can't be getting anywhere just glaring at your emails," you propose, placing a hand on his shoulder. He feels tense and stiff from sitting at a desk for the majority of the day, a chiropractor would probably have a field day if they ever saw him.
"Are you done being noisy?" he retorted, taking the moment of distraction to close his eyes for a minute.
This time it's you that doesn't offer a response, padding back to the sofa and beginning to eat in silence. The atmosphere is thick and you can't help but feel slightly awkward.
When you finish eating you check the time on your phone, frowning at how quickly the sun had been replaced with the moon. The slight clatter from you setting your dish onto the coffee table causes Seto to meet your gaze,
"Please leave, you're distracting me."
You collect your things and go home without another word, Seto still hunched over his desk, feeling slightly soured by the whole interaction. You knew that he could get short when he was stressed. You knew that he didn't mean to be a grouch.
Once you're home you drop your bags next to the door with your shoes, hanging up your coat and mumbling a string of complaints to yourself. It's best to just go to bed, you decide.
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Seto feels a nagging guilt in his chest the moment you leave, but he shakes his head and continues his work, writing a swift response to Mokuba's email about potential next steps.
Thirty minutes pass and he's spent the entire time staring at the clock in the corner of his screen. Would it be obvious that he missed your company if he left the office to go home now?
He shuts his eyes and lets his head tip back, feeling the strain in his neck as he does so. He should've just eaten with you, he mentally chastises himself, you weren't even bothering him. Another five minutes pass before he opens his eyes again and decides that he's getting nothing done now so he might as well go home. To you.
The house is silent when he arrives, only one lamp is on in the hall to signify 'I'm in bed but I knew you'd be getting home so I left a light on'. He notices the plastic bag of food and picks it up, peering inside to see what you had bought. The pair of you had eaten at that takeout before, so he's not surprised to see you had mostly gotten his favourite things.
He would eat it with you for lunch tomorrow, even if he didn't have the space - he could make the time.
Trying to keep quiet, he cringes at the constant rustling of the bag as he practically tip-toes to the kitchen, very softly opening the fridge to place the food inside.
Mission successful.
When he opens the bedroom door, bringing a slither of light into the room, you keep your eyes closed. You don't want to upset him so you stay still as if you're asleep, even though you hadn't settled down that long ago. You aren't exactly in the mood to talk after being shooed away so promptly.
He shuffles around in the room for a few minutes before gently pulling the door shut and padding over to the other side of the bed, silently climbing in.
"Goodnight. I love you."
His voice is a whisper, low and smooth, as he shifts the covers slightly to get comfortable. The room is still and with Seto now beside you, you begin to feel yourself drifting to sleep.
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When you wake up, it's with the feeling of an arm around your torso. You try to turn in your boyfriends' arms but he tightens his grip, letting out something between a whine and a groan, "don't move please."
"'morning," you mumble, keeping your eyes closed and following his wish, "what have you done with my boyfriend?"
Seto scoffs, pulling you into his chest so that he can rest his face in the crook of your neck. He presses a kiss to your skin, humming against it when you wriggle an arm out of his grasp to run a hand through his hair.
A few minutes pass with you wrapped in his arms until he decides to pull away. You expect him to get up and start changing into his work attire, but instead he tugs on your arm to turn you over and kiss you. You're barely awake and haven't even opened your eyes as his lips meet yours, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. He pulls away and mutters an almost-incoherent, 'I love you' and then kisses you again. And he kisses you again. And again.
You break away with a grin, cracking your eyes open to look at him: brown hair sticks up defiantly and his gaze is as soft and sweet as honey.
"I'm sorry for my attitude yesterday," his voice isn't as gentle this time, a firm sincerity held in his words, "I shouldn't have snapped."
"Thank you," you kiss him, "I love you too".
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[masterlist]
# A/N this was so much longer than I expected oh my- talk about a comeback, right?
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ikilledjoffery · 1 year
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Could you write a daemon Targaryen x reader using prompt 9. “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”
674 words
Usually it was the other way around, you would be fast asleep before Daemon appeared to be tired or sometimes appear at all. But tonight you had stayed at a ladies party later than anticipated as the alcohol had flowed quite nicely. That nice flow had caused a flow of mouth to happen for different women, especially those who were rarely exposed to drinking. Intrigued by their drama and stories you had stayed, now you felt like a young maiden again as you snuck into your shared bedroom. 
“Shit.” You whispered giggling as you shut the door a bit louder than anticipated as you weren’t able to see the distance between the door and the space it didn’t occupy opened. Tip toeing forward you dug your heel into the other one forcing the heeled boots off your feet with a large amount of exhausted strength. You decided to continue to strip until you met the bed, in which whatever you still had on would remain for sleep clothes. 
As you reached the bed you were even more quiet as you heard Daemon's light noises providing evidence that he was asleep and had been for a while. With a small but respectable amount of clothes on you crawled into bed, barely stirring the blankets as you got comfortable. But something felt off, the bed was colder and harder than usual. Specifically where your head was laying. Reaching behind yourself you felt for the familiar feeling of a pillow, but to no avail. Rolling just your head over you faced your husband who was laying on his back fast asleep, two pillows rather than one under his head as he breathed somewhat through his mouth in slumber.
“You little shit.” You mouthed at Daemon seeing as to how you couldn’t get your pillow without waking the sleeping beauty in front of you. Waking him was like waking a bear with a club covered in spikes, he would win that fight and would certainly make your life much harder for the rest of the night. 
You knew good and well you weren’t gonna get good sleep without something to lay your head on something. Yes, maybe you were a little privileged to be comfortable sleeping, but that was just how things were. Instead of making a pillow out of a blanket that could possibly be attached to the sleeping man you were being even more resourceful as you laid your head on his chest and curled into his body. 
“What are you doing?” Daemon sounded much more awake than what he had looked like he was which made you jump ever so slightly. 
“You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.” Putting on a sleepy and exhausted voice you snuggled even closer to him, putting an arm around his waist and a leg across his straight one. 
“Would you like your pillow back?” Daemon didn’t even open his eyes as he sighed grumpily and spoke to you keeping the current position he was in. 
“No, you’ll do just fine.” Lifting your head up just a little you kissed the middle column of his throat right in the middle trying to convince him to let you rest like this. 
“I suppose.” He spoke as if this was a chore, yet his arm came up from under you to wrap around your back and pull you even further onto his body. You could feel him snuggling his face into your hair, and his other hand pulled the blanket up onto your body making sure you shared the warmth of its soft fabric. 
“I love you Daemon.” You giggled as he made sure that both of you were comfortable and able to sleep in the position he kept you in and that you had started in. 
“No, you love that I am warm and comfortable to sleep on. But for tonight I’ll accept that.” Daemon sounded more sleepy than he had previously in the conversation you had. But this did give you an idea, hide the pillows…
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