#(That Was Incredibly Suspicious Framing)

[stranger-theory]

are we gonna talk about how Lucas was the only main girlie in s1 to be played as overly aggressive, distrustful, and generally rude. like. i'm just saying.

[wonder-worker]

"Hannes Kleineke cites Dean and Canons of Windsor MS XI.B.6, rot. 2, for evidence of a deathbed codicil by Edward IV concerning a dispute between the knights and canons of Windsor"

remember when I said that we don't know what Edward IV's deathbed codicils were as they haven't survived? that there is no reason to automatically assume they were relevant to his son's minority? that it's entirely possible that they weren't very important at all considering how dismissively Croyland spoke of them ("some codicils thereto", with no emphasis or elaboration whatsoever)? I LOVE being proven right <3

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

Poppy - A Collab by Ice-CreamForBreakfast & Surely-Sims

::Download:: (Patreon - Free)

You know I never pass up a chance to delve into 60s mod fashion, so when the wonderful Surely-Sims asked me to collab on this set for her character Poppy, the answer was always going to be yes!

This collection of seriously sixties (and like one eighties dress but shhh) fashion is perfect for that dinner party, stakeout or just looking better than Beryl at the local potluck.

Item descriptions below:

Wolfsbane Dress - A suspiciously 80s, woven mini-dress with diamante detailing and contrasting colours. Did you time-travel to the future for couture? Naturally.

Daphne Set - A sweater and pants set, perfect for day to day comfort while still looking better than Doreen Parker who works the reception at the local doctor's practice.

Foxglove Dress - A sleeveless mini-dress with a pleated hem and bow detail on the neckline. Perfect for a summer garden party, but breathable enough for a casual heist.

Heliotrope Dress - Why bother keeping up with the Joneses when you can simply make Marjorie Jones jealous enough to curse the day you were born. This button-down, belted dress is simple, chic and classic.

Larkspur Dress - The Larkspur Dress shows just enough while leaving the rest to the imagination. Made with a fine, but surprisingly sturdy fabric, you can be sure that your secret weapons remain concealed.

Cardosanto Bikini - Looking for fun in the sun, with enough space to conceal your throwing stars? The Cardosanto bikini has you covered. The belt ring? Emergency parachute cord.

Daffodil Sunglasses - Why bother with rose tinted glasses when you can see the truth (and through walls) with these floral frames?

Hyacinth Hair - Cleaning up the scene of a crime, but want to look chic while doing it? Look no further than this flippy 'do with a rather fashionable bandana!

Triffid Sunglasses - These sunglasses look really cool. That's it! No secret powers....or are there?

Nightshade Gloves - Not only are these heart-cutout gloves incredibly stylish, they don't leave fingerprints anywhere! Jessamine Earrings - These fabulously mod earrings make a statement, but could also take someone out...so don't whip your head around too quickly.

Holly Earplugs - Block out his snoring while tuning into your favourite bugged phoneline to lul yourself to sleep with these very stylish earplugs.

Holly Earrings - Love your Holly Earplugs, but prefer to hear what's going on around you? These earrings are perfect for you. Sadly they can't pick up radio signals, but they can pierce skin!

Oleander Earrings - These earrings will set you squarely on the list of Oasis Springs' most stylish sims! If they don't, simply take them out and throw them at the journalist who dared to write the list.

 Looking for more? Grab Surely-Sims' part here! And check out the amazing Plott Legacy while you're at it

[sturnioloskyline]

Hey, how are you?

Would you like to ask Chris for something, something where the reader is stealing his clothes? sweatshirts, shirts and etc... and maybe people even make tiktok about it? Maybe they notice an old video of Chris, where he is wearing one of his sweatshirts, and in the new video you are wearing his sweatshirt that appeared in the old video? sometimes even matching clothes?

thanks!!

secret’s out

pairing: chris x fem!reader

warnings: secret relationship, language, time jumps, kissing, cuddling, not proofread

summary: you and chris were in a secret relationship, but your clothes might have given you away.

thank u for the request, anon! 🫶🏽

"okay, can you hurry up? we got everything set up and i just want to get this over with," nick was on facetime, only the top half of his face showing. you had your phone propped up on your desk as you rushed around your room, gathering your things.

"chill, im about to leave," you rolled your eyes, walking over to your phone and picking it up. nick adjusted his angle so his full face was showing, giving you an unamused look. you stuck your tongue out at him. "okay. i'm gonna hang up now, be there in a—"

"wait!" a voice called from the background of the call. you watched as nick looked up from his phone to someone in front of him. "is that y/n?"

"yeah?" nick replied with a suspicious tone. suddenly, a face appeared at the top of the screen, upside down and peering at the phone.

"hi y/n!" chris grinned. you couldn't keep your lips from turning up into a smile.

"hi chris," a light blush dusted over your cheeks at the sight of him. nick's eyebrows furrowed as chris's grin only grew wider.

unbeknownst to nick and matt, you and chris had been dating each other for the past few months. you had been best friends with the triplets for years, but you've always known that your relationship with chris was more than friendly. when chris had finally admitted the feelings he had for you, the two of you agreed to keep your romance a secret. matt and nick were very protective over the both of you, and if either of you told them that you were seeing someone, they would go ballistic. plus, given the size of the triplets' audience, being in a public relationship with chris could end up incredibly messy. chris and you were content with keeping everything a secret though, enjoying the lack of judgement from others. and sneaking around was fun too, of course.

"you guys are weird," nick said, tilting the phone back down so that only he was in frame. "see you, y/n."

nick hung up and you tossed your phone into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and headed out to your car.

...

"NOOO!" chris yelled out, putting his face in his hands. the four of you were making a disgusting food roulette as a last minute effort for the video that was supposed to come out tonight. the randomizer nick was using had chosen chris to drink coconut water, arguably one of the worst drinks on the planet. you, matt, and nick burst into a fit of laughter, knowing that this would get a big reaction out of chris.

"c'mon chris, drink up!" matt teased his brother. chris reached for the box, bringing it up to his face. he used his other hand to plug his nose, bringing the drink up to his lip and quickly taking a big gulp. he immediately let out a loud gag, only causing you and nick to laugh harder.

chris made a face at the taste lingering in his mouth. he groaned, rushing over to the kitchen sink to rinse out his mouth with the open container of coconut water still in hand. however, on his way to the sink his body slammed into yours at full speed, sending you tumbling to the floor as coconut water shot upwards. before you knew it, the coconut water had come splashing down on top of you, all over your shirt.

"CHRIS!" you yelled through giggles. nick had doubled over in laughter, and matt clapped his hands over his mouth.

"oh my god! i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry!" chris apologized frantically, immediately leaning down to your level to help you up. "are you okay?"

"yeah, just fucking drenched in coconut water!" you whined playfully. "ew! i can taste it!"

the four of you stayed laughing uncontrollably for a few moments, before you headed over the bathroom to clean up.

"i brought an extra shirt, i'll just change really quick," you told the triplets, shutting the bathroom door behind you. you pulled a black and white t-shirt out of your bag, swapping it with the wet white tee you were wearing. you adjusted it as you slipped it on, looking at yourself in the mirror. you noticed the pattern, images of betty boop scattered across the shirt, the top reading 'hollyboop'. you couldn't really remember where you had gotten the shirt from, but it was cute so you just kept it.

you made your way out of the bathroom, tossing your bag on the couch and joining the boys behind the counter. chris's eyes scanned over you, and you took notice. you glanced up at him, giving him a 'what's wrong?' look, but he just shook his head, biting back a smile.

"okay, let's continue," nick ordered, and you guys finished up the video.

...

when it was time for you to leave, you gathered your things and gave matt and nick each a hug goodbye. "goodnight guys!"

"goodnight y/n," the two of them said in unison, heading to their rooms for bed.

"i'll walk you to your car," chris said, opening the front door for you. you smiled at him, checking to make sure matt and nick couldn't see you before placing a quick kiss on his cheek. you stepped outside, chris shutting the door behind you. you made your way to the driveway, where your car was parked. you opened the backseat and threw your stuff inside, shutting the door and standing outside of the driver's seat. chris stood in front of you as he paced his hands on yor waist, pulling you into him. you wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling into his shoulder.

"do you have to go?" chris whined. you chuckled, pulling bak to look at his face.

"what am i supposed to do, spend the night here when your brothers are home?"

"can't i just go to your place for the night? i wanna spend more time with you," chris mumbled, leaning down to kiss you softly. your heart fluttered in your chest, and as much as you knew this was a bad idea, you just couldn't resist.

"fine, get in," you rolled your eyes, watching as a goofy grin took over chris's face. he quickly pecked your lips again before heading over to the passenger seat, eager to go to your place.

...

the next morning, you woke up to chris's phone violently buzzing on your nightstand. chris was fast asleep, his shirtless torso sprawled on top of you.

"babe," you groaned, pushing him off of you. chris whined in response, slinging an arm over your body. "pick up the phone."

"no," chris rasped out, pulling you close to him. "let it go to voicemail."

you sighed, too tired to argue. soon enough the buzzing ended and you shut your eyes, ready to fall asleep again.

then the phone started ringing again.

"what the fuck," chris mumbled, reaching over you to pick up his phone, staring at the caller id. his eyes widened at the screen and he sat up, pulling away from you.

"what?" you asked chris, slightly annoyed that your sleep was being disturbed.

"it's matt," chris explained, clearing his throat and bringing his phone to his ear. now it was your turn for your eyes to widen. you leaned up to chris in an attempt to hear whatever matt was saying. "hello?"

"chris, where the hell are you?" matt asked, his voiced laced with worry.

"uh, i, um," chris stuttered, unable to form an excuse. you slapped your hand against your forehead.

"are you at y/n's?" matt asked. you fully sat up at the question. how in the world did matt know?

chris looked at you, not knowing what to say. you let out a sigh, taking his phone from his hands. you put the phone on speaker.

"uh, yeah. it's y/n. chris is here." you bit your lip. chris placed a hand on your leg, rubbing his thumb up and down your skin. a moment of silence passed.

"so it's true?" matt asked ominously. you furrowed your eyebrows.

"what's true?" you asked in response, confused as to what matt was referring to.

"have you guys checked twitter at all since last night?" matt asked carefully. you looked at chris with worry, handing him his phone and grabbing your own from your nightstand. you opened twitter, only to see that your inbox was overflowing. you clicked on a notification as it popped up at the top of your screen, leading you to a tweet.

'THERE'S NO WAY' the tweet read, two pictures attached. one of photos was a screenshot from an old car video of chris, in the same betty boop t-shirt that you were currently in. the second photo was a screenshot from last night's video, after you had changed into the shirt.

"fuck," you whispered, scrolling through your feed to find hundreds more tweets noting the shirt, as well as other times that you and chris had shared any item of clothing.

'is this why y/n's fresh love is always oversized?'

'OMG I KNEW IT'

'i remember chris had y/n's hairtie on his wrist in one of the car videos'

'if u go to 14:17 u can see chris put his hand on y/n's back'

'every time chris and y/n have shared clothes, a thread'

you turned your phone to show chris, who ran a hand through his hair. "shit."

on the other end of the line, matt had rushed to nick's room. "nick! chris and y/n are together."

"see! i told you," nick yelled. chris furrowed his eyebrows.

"what do you mean 'i told you'?" you asked.

"you guys are so obvious," nick scoffed. "i always knew you had a thing for each other."

you groaned, bringing a hand up to rub your temples. chris wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in so that you rested against his chest.

"how long has this been going on?" matt asked.

"we've been dating for nine months," chris mumbled, still sleepy.

"NINE MONTHS?!?!" matt exclaimed. you sighed.

"yeah, nine months. listen, i'll bring chris back in a bit. we're going back to sleep." chris smiled down at you, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

"wait—" chris cut matt off by hanging up the phone, turning on do not disturb and placing it back on the nightstand.

"i'm sorry, i didn't know that was your shirt," you mumbled into chris's chest. chris brought a hand under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"you have nothing to be sorry about," chris whispered, leaning down to kiss you. you smiled softly, bring your hand up to the back of his neck. chris pulled back, lying down and pulling you down with him. he tucked some of your messy hair behind your ear, kissing your forehead. "we can worry about all of this later. for now, let's just go back to sleep, okay baby?"

"okay," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and laying your head on chris's shoulder. chris ran a hand up down your back, lulling you to sleep.

"i love you," you spoke into chris's shoulder as sleep took over your body.

"i love you too, so much." chris let his head fall against yours, relaxing and letting himself fall back asleep next to you.

...

author's note: i hope this was what u wanted 😭. im a little swamped rn, but i promise i see all of ur guys's requests and they will be coming soon!! also im seeing drake 🤭

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Can we get a little 12 or 14 blurb from the clumsy prompt ☺️

number 14 for you lovely! “Hearing a crash or bang in the house and their partner isn’t in sight, cue immediate panic mode. meanwhile their partner just calls out casually that they’re okay or that something fell.”

There was a thump, a startling loud one, from upstairs.

Steve froze, eyes flickering upwards and his body tensing. Silence followed and the boy immediately dropped the spoon he’d been using to stir the macaroni, his shoulder colliding with the door frame in his haste to run to the stairs. His socked feet slipped on the floorboards, his brows knitted together in concern and as he reached the bottom of the steps, he called out, voice strained.

“Babe?”

He heard a small groan and some shuffling, his hand on the railing as he prepared himself to bolt up but your voice followed, suspiciously light and airy.

“It’s fine!” You called down to him. “Something just fell.”

Steve blew a breath from his nose, one eye twitching because he knew this, he knew you, but you were talking at least and that counted for something. His free hand went to his hip and if you’d seen him, you would have definitely called him a mother hen.

“Yeah?” He replied mildly. “Something fell?”

“Uhuh,” you shouted back. Something else clattered to the floor and Steve heard you swear under your breath.

He couldn’t see you from his position at the bottom of the stairs, but he could imagine your twisted pout, your pinched brows.

“Was it you?” Steve yelled.

A pause, a quiet bubble. He heard you sigh, long suffering and exasperated, a sign of you giving in. “Yeah,” you warbled, sounding incredibly mournful about your admission. “Yeah, it was me.”

Steve didn’t know if he should laugh or lecture you, so he just took the stairs two at a time instead. “You okay?” He asked as he made his way to the bedroom. He could see your shadow move under the door frame, so at least you had use of your legs. “You’re not bleeding, right?”

“God, I hope not,” you cracked. “M’wearing my favourite shirt— oh, hey.” Steve opened the door to you on the floor, crawling on your hands and knees you made a weak attempt to sweep up the fallen books.

“That’s my shirt,” Steve commented as he looked down at you.

You huffed, looking a little too warm and unharmed. No blood, no severed limbs. “I didn’t say it wasn’t,” you shot back, “I said it was my favourite.”

Steve snorted and held out his hands, grinning when you slapped your palms to his. He hauled you up, gentle as he examined you. No broken bones, no unfocused eyes.

“What did you do this time?” He murmured, taking your chin between a finger and thumb, tilting your head this way and that, checking for injuries. “Hmm? Apart from give me a damn heart attack.”

You frowned at the accusation, nipping at Steve’s fingers in response. “Couldn’t reach the top shelf,” you confessed. “Turns out I’m not eight foot tall and those shelves aren’t that strong.”

Steve gasped, all dramatic and faux surprise. “No way,” he whispered. “Who knew?”

You pulled a face, tucking your head into the crook of Steve’s neck and sighing. “Not me,” you mumbled against his throat, body going slack when the boy’s hands smoothed over the planes of your shoulders.

“Did know you have a boyfriend with much longer arms than you?” Steve mused. “He even played basketball.”

You grinned, pulling back from his embrace with a gasp as dramatic as Steve’s. “Oh my god, professionally?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at you, an almost glare except his lips were lifting into a smile despite how hard he fought it. “Yeah, you seem fine,” he mused, nose nudging yours.

“I’ll still take a kiss,” you told him, grinning. “For medical purposes.”

And how could Steve say no to that? He wasn’t cruel.

[princessvelaryon]

Just a Taste

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Vampire AU

Synopsis: You and your vampire boyfriend try something new for the very first time

Light smut

18+ MDNI

NSFW

Warnings: Light smut, light blood play, talks of depression and self hatred

This is a very, very rough draft that I wrote on my notes app. I haven’t written a fic in years but Jace and my Jace Nation inspired me so I had to get this out of my system. I began with Twilight fanfiction so I have to get back to my roots. I plan to make this a full series but this scene just popped in my head first.

I wrote this as a gift for my girl Nattie @earth4angels

Special thanks to all the Jace Nation writers that inspired me. @swordgrace @jacaerysgf @hxtd @vividxpages @eldrith @benjinotes @entitled-fangirl @gracexthoughts

I love you guys, you all are amazing and deserve awards❤️

*************************************************

At the moment, you and Jace were the picture perfect image of blissful domesticity. You were sitting at your kitchen table, cutting fruit for a smoothie. Jace insisted that as a busy college student, you didn’t eat properly and the compromise was that you would drink a fruit and vegetable smoothie to make him happy. There wasn’t much you wouldn’t do to make that man happy. Jace argued that sometimes you forgot to eat just because he didn’t. You were so considerate, almost too considerate. You hated eating in front of him because you knew it made him feel guilty that he couldn’t even partake in this very simple and very human ritual with you. Since you two were practically inseparable, you have been neglecting yourself as of late.

That was one of the aspects of your relationship that made his heart ache with want. He wanted so desperately to be a normal couple with you, doing all the traditional things normal couples do. He wanted to take you out to nice restaurants like you deserved. He wanted to eat breakfast in bed with you after waking up next to you. Jace believed that sharing meals together was a very important part of bonding and he felt incredibly guilty for making you miss out. It always filled him with a sense of shame when he had to leave you to eat dinner alone for an hour or two everyday to hunt in the woods for his food like the animal he saw himself as.

He may not be able to read your mind but it was hard not to hear the thoughts of your friends and family. They approved of Jace and liked him but they knew something was “off” with him, but most of these suspicious were kept in their subconscious thoughts and that was a slight relief to him. Your mother was worried why Jace was always so pale and cold. He gave her the same excuse he gave you when you first met.

“It’s just some harmless anemia. A family curse, unfortunately. It just makes me sleepy and a little paler than normal. Nothing to worry about.” Your mother was insistant that Jace take his vitamins and eat healthier and he had to lie to her that he did, adding to his crushing guilt.

It was hard to concentrate on your task of chopping vegetables when Jace was across from you looking so ethereal. The sunlight hit his fair skin just right and it made him practically glow. His head was buried in a book of Valyrian poetry, making his brown curls fall in his eyes, framing his face perfectly. From where you sat, you could cound every single freckle along his nose and cheeks.

Jace would often read to you in High Valyrian late at night before you went to bed, your head laying on his chest or buried in his neck. Usually his head would be in your lap as you ran your hands through his curls, making him whimper and shiver until he relaxed under your careful ministrations. But on certain special occasions, your head would be in his lap and he would gently run his fingers through your hair as he read to you.

If Jace had his wish, you would be lulled to sleep by his heartbeat or his pulse. You used to wonder if Jace read to you as a distraction from his nonexistant heartbeat but the deeper you fell in love with him, you realized that your mutual love of literature was how you bonded and how Jace showed his love. In his human life, he used to read bedtime stories to his little brothers just as his mother had read to him and her mother before him.

Thinking of Jace being a mother hen to his little brothers led directly to your next thought. For a brief moment, you were struck by a vision of a future you so desperately wanted to share only Jace and no one else. It was as if you were floating outside of your body, watching an older version of yourself walk around the room.

It was just the two of you in the kitchen, just like this one. You and Jace were a few years older but you looked relatively the same except for the lack of baby fat on your faces. Jace’s hair was a little shorter than usual, the result of a recent haircut because your newborn son kept tugging on his curls. He knew not to cut it too short because of how much you loved his hair. Jace walked in circles around the kitchen, soothing your son. You were busy chasing around your 3 year old daughter who wanted nothing more than her father’s attention and to hold her little brother. Sunlight was beaming through the windows and making Jace look transcendent as it always did. As soon as he turned to smile at you, the vision disappeared as quickly as it came. You wee too lost in your thoughts of a future that will never happen that you lost your train of thought and the sharp knife slipped and sliced your entire palm open.

Jace used his powers to be next to you in a literal flash, something he usually never did. He hated using his powers of strength and speed. They only really showed themselves in times of emergency and any harm that came to you, even slight, was considered an emergency to Jace.

Jace was able to smell the blood and he could even hear it before the thin layer of red showed itself on your skin. He fell to his knees in front of you and grabbed your hand, instinctively covering the wound with his slender fingers. He could hear your hearbeat and breathing speed up.

“I’m so sorry, I got distracted admiring you” you stammered out trying to be as honest as you could be without hurting his feelings. You were admiring your handsome, gorgeous boyfriend. But you left out the daydream about a future with him that could never be in order to not break his heart. You knew in your heart of hearts that Jace wanted a family with you as much as you did with him. He would give you all the babies you wanted if he could.

“Shh, Love it’s alright. I just worry for you. Does it hurt terribly?”

“Not really”

“Let me…”

He lost his train of thought as he looked down and saw your blood dripping to the floor, no longer able to tamper down his natural instincts. As he looked at you, something came over him, a particular look desire in his amber eyes that you had never seen from him before, not even in bed. His fangs popped out and he gave you one last look before he brought your palm to his plump lips.

He began with licking long stripes up your hand, cleaning up the blood that had leaked out of the cut and stained your skin. You couldn’t deny how good it felt. You always loved Jace and how his mouth and tongue felt on your sensitive skin. He had frequently kissed your palm im a tenture gesture when you would caress his face lovingly. But you had no idea your palm could be an erogenous zone until this very moment. You bit your bottom lip and held back your moans, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, knowing this was the first time for both of you. You felt the weight and importance of the moment.

As if he could sense you holding back, Jace looked up and made eye contact with you, his pupils dialated and mouth covered in you. The look he gave you shot straight to your groin and you could fell your panties instantly dampen at the sight. You sensed that he was asking your permission. You nodded without hesitation and he dove right in. Jace alternated between long stripes of his tongue and small flicks of his tongue. Your eyes rolled back into your head when he pressed his pouty lips to your hand and began to suck.

Jace couldn’t help himself unlike you. He was moaning and whimpering into your palm almost as much as he did when you two were making love. You looked down and could see he was hard. The slurping noises Jace was making would almost be on the verge of vulgarity if the moment wasn’t so erotic, which was one of the only words that came to mind to describe what was currently happening between you two. Erotic and deeply intimate. Jace had told you that sharing blood was the most deeply personal act for people like him. So the moment his mouth made contact with your blood, you immediately understood what this represented for you two as a couple.

You had a feeling this would happen sooner rather than later, you took the chance to fulfill your fantasy, so you fisted your hands in his hair, you two both mimicking the other act you both desperately loved to do. That seemed to spur him on even more. You presumed in Jace’s world, that sharing blood was held the same intimacy as him tasting other parts of you. Jace said that according to Valryian histories, blood sharing is an ancient magical ritual of sorts. No one completely understands it, especially since the Doom of Valyria, where the most of the histories of his people were lost to time. He didn’t have to read your mind to know that you were enjoying this as much as him. He could not only hear your heartbeat but he could feel it increase speed through your palm.

The combination of everything was getting overwhelming in the best way possible. The noises Jace was making, the look on his face, lost in pleasure solely from you, watching him use his mouth to expertly worship your hand the same way he did to your cunt, pouring every ounce of love he did into the acts.

You betrayed yourself and could not longer hold back your noises of pleasure. As soon as you let out a whimper, a wave of shame washed over him, practically burning him from the inside out. He suddenly pulled back from your hand wide wide eyes, with a horrified look on his face. He used his fangs to prick his thumb, then gently rubbing his blood up and down the cut on your hand. You watched in fascination as it healed right before your eyes. Jace’s ran a long finger down your now healed wound and he leaned his head forward to lay a soft kiss on your palm. Jace always took care of you and made sure your safety was paramount, no matter what was going on with him. You two had officially shared blood, and the private magical bond between you and Jace was officially sealed, forever.

He did this all without meeting your sympathic eyes. You could already read him like a book. You knew about his self hatred issues and you knew he would torture himself for getting carried away and actually enjoying the intimate act with you.

He crossed over the other side of the kitchen table to sit down in the chair across from you and he sat down, elbows on his knees and he covered his face with his hands. You continued to look at him with soft, kind eyes, just wanting to help him.

“Jace…”

“Please forgive me. You must hate me”

You got up and walked over to his side of the table. You got down on your knees in front of him. You reached forward, and gently reached forward to attempt to take his hands into yours to remove them from his face. You wanted to see him and you wanted him to see you. As soon as your warm hands made contact with his cold ones, he pulled back. You let your hands fall to your lap, wanting to give him his space.

“Please don’t”

“Jacaerys Velaryon, I could never ever hate you, no matter what. I promise”

You could hear him sniffen underneath his hands.

“Jacaerys…”

You only used his full name when you were serious.

You reached again for his hands, and this time he let you take them. You joined your hands together, kissed each of them and let them rest on his knees. He swooned at the intimate gesture. He still could not meet your eyes.

“Jace, please just look at me.”

He was being stubborn and pouting, looking instead at your joined hands. You reached out and cupped the side of his soft face and he instinctively nuzzled his face into your hand as he had done a hundred times before. You knew that muscle memory would work and his sad golden eyes finally connected with yours. You could tell he was trying to close his mouth to hide his teeth, but you weren’t having it. You reached out to gently touch his fangs.

“Please don’t hide any part of yourself from me. They’re beautiful, just like you”

He was still pouting but he sighed and reached out his hand like a prince from a fairytale and he helped you stand up. You surprised him by sitting sideways in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He wrapped his strong arms around your middle, anchoring you to where you sat. Jace buried his head in your chest, kissing your collarbone. Finally beginning to relax, his fangs retracted. Even though you could still feel him half hard against you, the moment wasn’t charged with raw sensuality like the previous one. This was just pure loving intimacy and comfort between two lovers.

“I really liked it Jacaerys…I loved it actually. In fact, I want to do that more often. Much more often”

He pulled his head back from your chest in surprise. His amber eyes were sparking and not from tears.

“Really?”

“Mhm. I promise”

You leaned forward to kiss him deeply. You moaned into his open mouth when you tasted the metallic aftertaste of your blood.

Surprisingly both Jace and yourself, you enjoyed the taste of yourself on his tongue. You liked this but you much preferred tasting another part of yourself on his tongue.

[harrysgal]

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (4)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

I am actually a little bit nervous about this part, so I hope you enjoy it.

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

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PART 3 — DENVER // MASTERLIST

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I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 4) — THE VIDEO

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liked by bestfriend, anthonypham, mollyjane_x and 59,302 others 

yourinstagram im sorry its taken me so long to show up. i thought time would give me the ability to find some words to say, but as it turns out im much better at telling things through a camera than through a pen (or a keyboard, in this case). when i posted my first video on youtube, all i wanted was to find myself again after finally getting free from a relationship that drained the fun out of me. making movies is something that ive always been passionate about, so i thought — why not? three months later, when i posted my first video at a concert, all i wanted was to tell the story of a woman who, after raising two kids and giving everything she had to make everyone around her happy and safe, finally had the opportunity to make one of her most “innocent” dreams (seeing shania twain) come true. fast forward to this week, as i post my latest video all i want is to tell the story of a man who has the entire world in the palm of his hand and yet lives his life as if he’s merely another ordinary soul on earth. what happens now, and what you do with this story (or with any other ive already told), its not up to me anymore. 

that all being said, thank you harry for trusting me with this story. it wasn’t mine to tell, but you allowed me to do it anyway and i’ll always be grateful for that. so, again, thank you. 

ok i will stop typing now. 

actually, im just gonna add that i hope you all enjoy this video as much as i do (but if you don’t, thats fair, and i’ll accept it just as much) 

ok, now im done :) 

view all 11,073 comments

lookitsnyoh 👑👑👑👑👑 harryfan9 this was so much more than we’ve asked for 🙏🙏🙏 user1 its been almost 24 hours since you posted this video and im still 😲!! YOU’RE INCREDIBLE  user5 absolutely amazing! unexpected, captivating, touching… 10/10! yourbrother Kinda sucks that I don’t even feel like teasing you this time. I’m just proud.

↳ sisterinlaw Printed and framed already. ↳ yourinstagram … i dont even know what to say right now ↳ yourinstagram ＠sisterinlaw i’ll need a copy of that pls 

harryfan your mind is so brilliant im so in love with this and i know i speak for the entire fandom when i say: THANK YOU 😭

↳ harryfan5 no really bc we’re so used to getting practically nothing that she coulve just done anything and we would’ve still died… and yet she gave us THIS?  ↳ harryfan7 yn deserves the best in life period ↳ harryfan54 c’mon… it’s not THAT good

harrystyles 😲 so this was my story you were telling? 

↳ yourinstagram i kept my side of the promise, didnt i? you were supposed to keep yours ↳ harrystyles fair enough. you’re welcome x  ↳ yourinstagram 😌😌😌😌😌 ↳ yourinstagram thank you ↳ harrystyles you’re welcome x ↳ harryfan25 OMFGDSGFUAGFBH ↳ harryfan11 ＠yourinstagram ＠harrystyles sorry guys do you want us to leave you two alone?  ↳ harryfan51 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭  ↳ harryfan17 wdym you kept your side of the promise??? what did you promise????? what is it?????

harryfan10 pls we need more harry content already  user7 Don’t go missing again, we miss you here! 

Sep 9, 2021 •

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liked by yourinstagram, bestfriend, jefezoff and 5,187,031 others

harrystyles I’m honored to say ＠yourinstagram has turned the beginning of this new chapter into a lovely short-movie, one you can watch right now on her youtube channel. 

Thank you Yn for being so caring and respectful about everything and everyone involved in this project. To watch this idea turn into reality has been nothing but inspiring. 

Welcome to the team, it’s too late to back out now. x

view all 203,557 comments

bestfriend this moment is all mine. 20+ years of friendship are FINALLY paying off. 

↳ user3 you’re so unserious i love it fgajdujn ↳ yourinstagram im doing it just for you <3

harryfan5 noooooo I can’t do this my heart can’t take it pls stop 😭😭 harryfan23 I CANT BELIEVE YNS FIRSTS WORDS TO HIM WERE SHUT THE FUCK UP HAHAHAHAHA  annetwist What a wonderful job you’ve done dear ＠yourinstagram 🥰

↳ yourinstagram ❤️ ↳ harryfan54 🙄

harryfan66 who are you and what have you done to the real harry? 🧐

↳ harryfan14 for real tho lmao  ↳ harryfan74 yup. ive been saying it: another strategy just to get a random famous on harrys back. as usual.

harryfan9 NOT HARRY EXPOSING THE FIRST TIME THEY TALKED????

↳ harryfan3 and the fact that HE texted her first???  ↳ harryfan9 pls!!! molly gave me your nUmBeR 🤪🤪

harryfan15 oh you’re so sick for this AHDUAJHDJ  yourinstagram THOSE messages? REALLY???

↳ harrystyles I’ve been explicitly forbidden to post a picture with you so I had to improvise.  ↳ yourinstagram ok but did you also have to conveniently leave my next message out of it? ↳ harrystyles Yes x. 

Sep 9, 2021 •

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PART 5: FROM SAN ANTONIO

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[periwinkla]

What I love the most about narumitsu is that, although they knew each other for 25 or so years but spent more time apart than not, the little time they did spend together was so incredibly meaningful it irreparably changed both of their lives. Phoenix wouldn't be a defense attorney, he wouldn't be able to defend the innocent. He wouldn't even be a father to Trucy (or have any of his current friends-turned-family). Miles would be dead by the executioner's hand or his own. And even if for some reason Manfred didn't frame him for murder, he would at least still be having nightmares nearly every day and questioning what he was even doing with his life. They both became the best version of themselves because they inspired each other. It's not even about 'saving' (sure Phoenix may have literally saved him during his trial but that is something he would do for anyone he believed innocent), it's just that the other person made them believe they could accomplish whatever they set their mind to. That they could better themselves. And then they did it on their own. Phoenix got up and decided he had to become a defense attorney. Because he had to help his friend, the very person he admired when he was a kid but had lost his way. Then he got disbarred. And then he went and got his badge back again, because now he had to help someone else, and only he and Edgeworth together could make it possible. But also, don't you think the reason he adopted Trucy was, in part, because she reminded him of what Edgeworth went through? So he got his shit together even though that was the worst time of his life, because he couldn't let Trucy go through that. Miles decided that it was time to face his own demons. So he left. He came back as a better person, someone he wouldn't be quite as ashamed of. Phoenix didn't simply give him comfort, that was not what he needed - instead he made him see the bitter truth - 'What happened in this trial can either make or break you as a prosecutor. In the end, it's up to you.' But also, what he says to Kay: 'If you don't believe in yourself, believe in the me that believes in you!' suspiciously sounds like 'I don't believe in your nightmare.' That's one of my favourite quotes from him, actually. Basically the culmination of his character development.

They are each other's fodder for character development and I love it.

[mingsolo]

so good for us.

hongjoong x reader (f) x san / g: established relationship, poly au, smut / wc: +4k / warnings: alcohol mentions, unprotected sex (dont do it), threesome?, foursome, cum playing, cursing, sub/dom dynamics, oral (m & f receiving) / r: 18+ MINORS DNI

HAPPY VALENTINES MY DEAR @sanjoongie ! I tried my best to write good lemon for the lemon queen, I know I know the audacity but I'm sure I went somewhere... hope you like it please block me if you don't ;')

note: this is specially made for Topaz but everyone is welcome to enjoy the debauchery !

“You look incredible on it.” 

Hongjoong speaks from the door frame, where he is admiring the view as you model to yourself the set of lacey lingerie that he just gifted you for your anniversary. You turn back and get closer to him, turning on your heels, now showing off to your boyfriend. 

“I wonder what you have in mind, there must be a reason for it” you finally get to his side, and kiss him softly, his hand resting on your waist as he pulls you until you are pressed against him. 

You start kissing Hongjoong when you feel San’s hand pulling your hair away from your neck, giving him enough space to plant a kiss while his hands roam on your hips and a little below them.

“Today is a very special occasion, doll” he coos as he turns you over, making you whine as it makes you break the kiss with Hongjoong. “Oh, don’t you want to kiss me?,” 

His tone turns sulky and you can’t resist his pleading eyes, kissing him as well. It’s subtle behind his jeans but you can feel him getting hard as his fingers trace over the lacey underwear. You moan softly against San’s lips as Hongjoong lets you go, walking towards the coat hanger and taking his favorite jacket.

“Come on Love, I wish we could go out with you in lingerie, but alas,” He laughs, urging you to stop making out with San and finish dressing up for the night.

Tonight was your anniversary with both your boyfriends. Hongjoong reserved dinner at your favorite restaurant, both of them always eager to please you on every detail on your romantic dates. 

You chuckled against San’s lips, his hands were already palming over your pussy, trying to push in, you stopping him.

“Save that energy for when we come back,” you tease him, placing a smack on his cheek and sprinting to the bedroom to finish dressing up. 

San pouted, looking at Hongjoong in anticipation, but the latter was already waiting for you two at the door. You glanced at them suspiciously sensing they were onto something. Quickly you slid a shiny dress over your head, the hem of the skirt falling exactly on the edge of your stockings. You did a couple of fixes on your hair and after putting your heels on, and walked towards your boyfriends who waited at the door for you.

Hongjoong handed your coat and soon you were out, ready to dine, wine and spend a relaxing night out, before coming back home where you were sure, something special awaited. 

In the restaurant, as you sipped on your third glass of wine you suddenly felt the soft touch of San’s fingers, brushing slightly under your dress-skirt. He was extra touchy tonight. Kissing your shoulder, brushing words over your ear, squeezing your tights under the table, all evening. 

Usually when you were out like this, it was customary for people to glance over in disbelief and disapproval, you three weren’t really hiding the fact that your relationship was polyamorous. You tried to sit between the two of them tonight but San had grabbed you and placed you beside him the entire evening, with Hongjoong sitting across from you. The thing that puzzled you the most is that he wasn’t really doing anything about it. 

Both San and Hongjoong were kind of possessive, and when one or the other wanted to take the lead with you, the other was ready to jump, to your delight, making them both fight for your attention. Even turning into themselves for little kisses or touches when you were the one ignoring them. But tonight was different. Hongjoong seemed out of it, not really caring that the people on adjacent tables and waiters alike glanced awkwardly at him, pitying him for seemingly being the third wheel between San and you. 

A little past midnight, Hongjoong suddenly declared it was time to go. He was designated to drive since he barely touched alcohol. In the car, San continued with his mission of making out with you all night. As San’s tongue was inside you, your eyes were looking for Hongjoong’s through the rear view, asking him for a signal that he was paying attention. 

“San, you better go easy on her until we get home,” He suddenly said, eyes still on the road. “We don’t want her pretty gift to get ruined before that.”

San whines, biting your lip as he breaks the kiss, and just leaning his head between your neck and shoulders, hands out from inside your dress. You smile, both from Hongjoong’s command and San’s cute whining. 

At least he’s planning something.

The familiar awkward glance of the receptionist greets you as she watches the three of you holding hands together, entering the apartment complex. She was a woman in his fifties that even after months living there and seeing you almost every day,  wasn't used to the fact that you three were together romantically.  

You politely smile back at her, San waves and Hongjoong nods, she smiles back, quickly turning back to the computer screen in front of her. 

“She can’t get used to it,” San laughs once you three are on the elevator.

“Did I tell any of you that she once asked me if my parents knew what I was doing up there?, she thought I was charging you guys”

“So she thought you were a whore, say it.” San teased you, hugging you from behind. 

“San!” you cried, feigning wanting to get away from him. 

“In a few moments you will act like one,” He bit your shoulder and you pushed him teasingly. 

“I’m not drunk enough not to kick you, Mr. Chestnut” 

Hongjoong laughed softly, taking you from San’s embrace, touching you for the first time since you left the apartment earlier that evening. 

“Oh, so you love me back? You've been weird all night.” you pouted. 

Hongjoong laughs, and San laughs with him. “I’m just saving my energy.” 

“So you two will fuck me that good tonight, eh?” you rolled your eyes at him. 

“Well,” San begins to speak, but the elevator door opens, making him stop. Hongjoong walks towards your apartment door and starts looking for the key in his pocket. San takes your hand, rubbing the back of your palm with his thumb. It’s soothing, and you always appreciate it when he has that gesture, but your senses tell you that he only does that when he’s trying to ease your nerves or comfort you.

“Sanie?” you turn to see him, and he kisses the back of your palm in response. 

Hongjoong enters first, San and yourself close behind him. As soon as you take one step into the living room you notice something different. Something, or rather someone standing at your kitchen counter. 

“Hello,” the man turns from whatever he was doing in the kitchen. “How was the anniversary dinner?”. Plum lips smile gently as he walks into the living room where Hongjoong is already ready to greet him. 

“Love, tonight we’ll have a little company”. Hongjoong’s hand moves to your lower back, kissing your cheek before he walks to the bedroom. You turn to San with a confused look, but he’s already walking towards the man standing in front of you. 

You recognize him from a couple of gatherings with Hongjoong’s producer friends. 

“Doll, you remember Seonghwa, think you have met him before?” San asks as he removes his coat and helps you get rid of yours, walking towards the hanger.

“Uh, yes, we have met, Hongjoong’s studio?.” 

You remembered him very well.

One night, way past midnight you had accompanied Hongjoong to the studio for a couple of beers while he finished his work, and Seonghwa had appeared bringing more drinks, which turned into an all nighter as he and other few people joined. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, and you were ashamed to say you couldn’t either.

He had big eyes, plump lips. His voice was so melodic and soothing. His laugh was very peculiar, making him look worried and you just couldn’t stop thinking about it. He brushed his hand over yours when you passed him one can of beer, and it sent shivers down your spine. He also played with his tongue a little bit too much, and it was making you crazy.

Later that night, you could tell Hongjoong had noticed, he was possessive over you, and something like you finding his friend hot couldn’t pass by him.

You give the guest a smile, not sure how to react yet. This was supposed to be your anniversary night with your boyfriends, and now there’s a third man in your house ready to join?.

“I’ll pour us some drinks,” Seonghwa said, walking towards the kitchen counter where he was before, taking glasses from the counters as if it was his own home. San comes back to your side and you are quick to glare at him before he offers to go help Seonghwa out. 

“Uhm, what the fuck?” you mutter only for him to hear.

“What?” he says back with a smile that would pass as full of innocence if you didn’t know him better. “Relax, don’t you trust us?” He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, caressing your cheek with the other one, slowly going down across your bottom lip. 

Hongjoong comes from the bedroom, coat and jacket long gone, looking as relaxed as one could be in this situation. 

Seonghwa comes back with the drinks, San helps him to hand them out. You sit between your boyfriends on the long couch, while Seonghwa takes the single one in front of you, looking like he was a counselor of some sorts.

The three men sip on their drinks and you can’t take the uncertainty, but just as you are about to ask what the fuck is happening, Hongjoong speaks first.

“Love, remember that time in the studio? When you couldn't take your eyes from Seonghwa? I told San how wet you were when I fucked you in the bathroom that night, and im sure it was because of my friend here, well we couldnt stop thinking about that ever since.”

San sipped on his drink, a smirk drawing on his face. “Hongjoong told him how good you are for us, and he would love to get a taste this time.” his voice dripping like honey, the tone he used when he was aroused.

Seonghwa’s eyes were dark as he witnessed your boyfriends giving you the heads up about what was about to happen. He didn't flinch as he watched Hongjoong turn you to face him, cupping your face and kissing you softly. “Will you be good for us and show our guest what a goddess you are when you are on your knees?.” 

San placed a hand on your tight and found you trembling. You turned to see Seonghwa and just by seeing him sit, legs open, pushing dark locks of hair from his eyes as he sipped on his drink was enough to feel the familiar warmth between your legs, finishing ruining the lacey lingerie Hongjoong gifted you, first because of San, and now as you glanced at the stranger eyeing you with a shine in his eyes.

“Let’s chat a little first, shall we?,” Hongjoong relaxes on his seat and finishes his drink in one go. “I don't want my Love to be nervous when she should be letting us take care of her, right Seonghwa?”.

Seonghwa hums, crossing his legs and smiling at you tenderly. 

The next half hour goes with lots of chatter and more drinks being passed on, you can barely pay attention to the conversation even if Seonghwa is attentive to know what you say and trying to get you to relax around him. 

“I’ll be right back,” you excuse yourself at one point to go to the bathroom. Once there you take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves down. You couldn’t deny you were thrilled and actually wanted Seonghwa, the way he looked at you the entire night reminded you of that time at the studio. Hongjoong was right, after everyone left and there was only you and your boyfriend there, you imagined Seonghwa’s mouth between your legs as Hongjoong worked on you, and you hated that you were so obvious about it that even he noticed.

You come out of the bathroom, finding Hongjoong waiting for you in the hallway. 

“Love, are you okay?,” he asks, taking your hand and pulling you towards him. “I can’t wait for him to see what you can do.” He kisses you softly and you look around the living room, noticing both Seonghwa and San are looking in your direction. Hongjoong part from your lips and smiles, guiding you back to the living room.

Hongjoong sits and you follow beside him. He guides your hand to his crotch and you can feel himself getting harder as you palm him softly. He starts unbuttoning his jeans, letting his cock spur free for everyone to see. 

You take a deep breath, the truth was that you were wet as fuck, and you do wanted both your boyfriends and Seonghwa. You kneel down and go between your boyfriend’s legs, remembering San’s words from earlier — In a few moments you will act like one, fuck was he right. Wrapping your tongue around the shaft and licking him slowly at first, quickly gaining pace, sucking exactly where you know he loves it. 

Hongjoong’s hands are quick grabbing the back of your head, pushing you slightly, encouraging you to continue working him out so good. His breathy and loud moans come quickly. You moan too, suddenly forgetting about the other two men, just enjoying and moaning along Hongjoong, as he pulls your hair with rather force. 

“You look so pretty sucking him off, just as they told me.” you heard Seonghwa’s breathy voice behind you, you turned slightly to watch him, noticing both he and San had already started working on themselves as they watched you suck Hongjoong. 

You turn your attention to Hongjoong as you hear him praise you for what you're doing to him, your folds already dripping from his little noises and whimpers, music to your ears after him being so quiet all night. The other two men fucking into their hands at the sight of you two are just the cherry on top.

Hongjoong opens his eyes and cups your face, signaling for you to work on him with your hands. 

“Show him Love,” he mutters. You nod, licking his cock from the shaft to the tip, before moving and facing both your other boyfriend and your guest.

You look at San, eager to suck him off too, but he smiles at you lovingly, getting closer and kissing you softly in the lips. “Guests first, love” he coos, getting back to his relaxed position on the sofa, cock hard as a rock on his hand, pumping himself at a calm but steady rhythm.

You look at him with pleading eyes, mouth watering by the sight of his length out there so close for you, but your momentarily thoughts were interrupted by Seonghwa, taking your face so you could face him, all of him before you. You crawled at him until you were also between his legs as you were with Hongjoong. Seonghwa relaxed on his seat and closed his eyes, gasping suddenly as you licked him from his balls all the way to his tip, already leaking. 

Your tongue swirls around his cock, licking the tip and putting what most you can of him inside you. You take him all in, sucking him off so good, as if he was one of your lovers. You want his praise and to show him it wasn’t all talk. You will have him seeing stars tonight.

“Fuck, she so good… you are so good” Seonghwa moaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your tongue worked him up. His praise is having you already so wet you can feel yourself dampened.

For the next half hour you take turns, crawling between both of your boyfriends and Seonghwa, sucking one off as you hand work the other. At some point, while you are back pleasing Hongjoong, you can feel the familiar hands of San grabbing your waist. You almost choke with Hongjoong’s dick inside your mouth, feeling how San pulls down your panties, his eyes fixated on Hongjoong’s. They loved to play dom while they fucked you, and this time was no exception. 

You cry out loud as San pushed his dick inside you in one go, it entered so easily that but it was still too much, but you manage to keep working on Hongjoong’s cock, watching how he is seeing your shared boyfriend fucking you from behind as he fucks your mouth too. 

You cannot forget your guest of honor. Seonghwa has now moved to another sit and watches darkly as your boyfriends fuck you together, you gaging on Hongjoong’s mouth as San trusts deep inside you. 

You don’t know how you are managing to resist coming from all the build up, but your need to please the three of them is stronger, thought you are sure it wont be long til you come from either San fucking you, Hongjoong’s sounds or Seognhwa’s gaze. 

“Fuck,” San growls behind you, and you know he can’t hold it anymore. Hongjoong pulls you out his mouth, making you look at him as he pumps himself a couple more times, coming in your mouth, at the same time San is trusting rapidly into you, whispering how good you feel into your ear. He comes mere seconds after Hongjoong, filling you up and you can’t resist anymore. San coming inside you is always your favorite thing, and so you do, moaning loudly as Hongjoong’s own cum drips from your mouth, and San’s combines with yours inside you.

You can hear Seonghwa’s whines as he pumps himself with force, coming into his hand while staring at you and the mess you and your boyfriends left on the carpet floor. 

“Love,” Hongjoong is panting, standing up and letting you up as well, ready to see you swallow what’s left of his cum in your mouth. Both San and him hug you, San kissing your shoulders and Hongjoong wiping his load that’s dripping from your chin. “You did so well,” 

You kiss him, and then turn to kiss San as well. They both kiss you together, your mouths linked by the cum and saliva you shared. It was a mess but you wouldn’t like it another way. 

You see Seonghwa approach you, after cleaning himself up with his own shirt, now discarded on the floor. 

“Would you let me taste that pussy as well?”, he asks, pulling you towards him. “It looked so pretty.” He then kisses you with an open mouth, his tongue buried inside you and it’s making you feel a pool inside you all over again. Your tongue plays with his and he grabs you by your ass, holding both your legs and wrapping them around his waist. 

San chuckles, taking his shirt off, walking towards the bedroom, opening the door for you and Seonghwa to enter. You couldn’t care less who was fucking you right now, the sensation on your lower abdomen is burning over and you needed to have someone inside you quickly. 

Seonghwa had another idea though, dropping you on the bed, sliding your dress over your arms, throwing it away. He pushes your bra down exposing your tits and sucks them sloppily like a starved man. His hand goes between your legs, opening them up with force, palming you, feeling just how dampened you are for him.

“You want me to fuck you?, he chuckles, and all you manage to do is nod, eyes not leaving him for a moment. “Want your boyfriends to see?,” he stood up and invited them in, both Hongjoong and San already half naked, they both sat by your side. 

Seonghwa pulls you to the edge of the bed, head facing your pussy,and takes a good look. “So pretty,” He says. You see his eyes sparkle even with the dim lights of the room. He licks your entrance and places kisses that quickly turn into sucking. Your pussy is already too sensitive and you can feel the knot building up inside you. He is sucking you so hard you can feel tears down your cheeks. Your cries and whines make Hongjoong and San eager to be inside you too, so they start pumping themselves again. You look at them pleading. 

“He’s fucking me so well,” you cry, half embarrased to confess to your boyfriends, but also enjoying the pleasure like it was the first time someone sucked you off this good. Hongjoong chuckled darkly, San groaned, trying to resist the urge to get inside your mouth again.

“Fuck me please, I want them to see,” you cry to Seonghwa, who’s tongue is deep into your pussy, driving you mad. He licks a final strap into your slit, changing position to align his cock with your entrance. 

“They weren’t wrong, you are such a good slut”. He says more to himself than you, as he pushes himself into you slowly until he fills you up to the brim. “Fuck.” he groans, throwing his head back as he thrust into you, increasing his pace.

You cry out, unable to keep your eyes closed, admiring how his eyes go to the back of his head, how his fingers were pressing into the sides of your hips, leaving marks. Sweat beads appear on his forehead, rolling down from the sides of his face. He looks majestic and you swear you could come again just by looking at him even if he wasn’t fucking you like he is right now. 

“I- I’m going to…” you moan, feeling your release so close but resisting a little more so you can keep feeling him inside you. “Fuck, please!” 

“You close, Love?” Hongjoong’s voice reminded you your boyfriends were right there by your side. You open your eyes as much as you can, seeing them pleasing themselves again as they watch another men fuck you so good. You nodded slightly, eyes asking for Hongjoon’s permission, as you always did. You turn slightly to see San, eyes closed chasing his release. He was already positioned to load himself all over your tits, his favorite. “Sanie is not gonna last much longer, and?” He turned to Seonghwa, who was biting his tongue trying to resist the urge to come inside you. He knew neither Hongjoong or San would allow it, so he turned his gaze to you.

“Where do you want it?” 

“Here,” you said, opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out, eyes fixed on his. He trusted a few times more, grabbing the back of your head without breaking the gaze. His breathing was increasing rapidly and when he was ready, slipped out from you, grabbing you by your chin and placing the tip of his dick over your lips. You opened once more letting all his cum get in, swallowing it skillfully, eyes never leaving his.

He was catching on his breath, a little bit of cum still coming out of him as he moved to the side of the bed. San couldn’t resist more and as soon as you were apart from Seonghwa he came with a loud moan all over your tits, so much that cum was dripping from between them. He learned to leave a sloppy and wet kiss on you before moving.

“Darling, I’m ready,” Hongjoong’s voice said beside you, grabbing your hair and turning you rather harshly “Don’t forget who you belong to.” You closed your eyes and obediently took his own cock into your mouth as he took his turn to fill your mouth with his seed. Again you swallowed it all, licking your lips as he finished. 

“Good girl,” He brushed a kiss on your lips, helping you lay on the sheets. 

Seoghwa’s breathing was loud as he tried to regain his energy. He cupped your face as you laid down. You saw his shape leave the room behind your foggy eyes. Hongjoong following behind him.

“Sanie?” he called when he saw San not moving. 

“I’ll be in a moment.” he groaned, his eyes on you, watching his cum still all over your tits, eyes closed, puffy lips half open, trying to regain some strength. 

Hongjoong arched his eyebrow, smirking slightly, and left the room. As soon as Hongjoong was out, San hovered over you, tracing out kisses on your face. His hands, ripping off what was left of your lace underwear, ruined to the point of no salvation.

“You looked too pretty, getting fucked by someone else” He bites your neck and you let out a tiny whine. “Hope you liked your anniversary gift, but now it’s my turn,” He muttered, lowering himself to take your breasts with his tongue, tasting his own cum. 

You opened your eyes slightly, seeing how he devoured your tits one by one. You knew he was about to fuck you so good, always wanting to be the last who get to cum inside you. 

You don't know how much time has passed, but you wake up in soaked sheets, not remembering how many times you’ve come, how many times they fucked you and how many loads you swallowed between the three of them. As you drifted off to sleep again, you heard the faint laughter of the three men in the living room, amusedly chatting. Probably about how amazing tonight was, how good you were for them. 

You took a mental note to tell your boyfriends that you were all in for another gathering like this, perhaps the event could turn into a little anniversary tradition. 

note: sorry not sorry for not including hwa in the banner or the pairing :') ily

mingsolo / please do not repost/translate anywhere

[jadedxhearts]

𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐢

You wear a new bikini with the intention of teasing Law with it. Only, your plan backfires on you.

Warnings: nsft, afab reader (no pronouns but Law does say “my girl”)

Originally posted on April 21st, 2023

repost from my main @jadedrrose as a part of my most popular fics event.

You’d practically doomed yourself from the very start of your evening out. 

The crew was having a night out at some island, and truthfully you’d completely forgotten the reason why. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday, and there weren’t any holidays that you could think of. But, nevertheless you were excited for the excuse to dress up. 

It was very hot and humid on the island you’d be spending your evening at; and even with the sun fading away, the heat just never left the air. You also knew it was a beach town, meaning just about everything was on the front of the island, bars and such all incredibly close to the water, some even built on the water. So, with this knowledge combined you decided on an outfit that would work best. 

The base of it was a bikini. It was vibrant, your favorite color in a bright shade with a hibiscus floral pattern in white, littered across both the top and bottoms. It was also rather flimsy and small. The top was a basic triangle cup bikini shape that was held together by two string ties; one behind your neck and the other in your mid back area. The bottoms were similar, only the strings were more high-waisted and tied in little bows at your hips. The set was skimpy and daring, hardly hiding anything from wandering eyes. But it was an easy fix. You grabbed a pair of denim shorts and pulled them over the bikini, only leaving out the strings as the bows would get in the way. So while your ass was covered now, one could only imagine how the outfit looked underneath…

You slipped on a thin floral print open front shirt to cover up a bit more, then grabbed your favorite pair of sandals and sunglasses to complete the look. You reviewed the look over in your mirror, before deciding everything was set in place and you were ready to go.

When you emerged from the stairs of the submarine, it became evident that you were the last one to be ready. Some of the crew had stayed back to wait on you, but most had already departed for the island. 

Law stood at the front of the group, wearing white shorts and similarly to you, an open front shirt with a pattern on it. He looked at you suspiciously, raising an eyebrow and scanning the outfit you wore. He only let out a light huff and didn’t say a word, though. Once you reached his side, he seemed flustered as he slipped your hand into his and muttered, “took ya long enough…”

You looked up to gaze at his face, playfully smiling. There was a hint of blush dusted across his cheeks. But, you decided not to embarrass him over it. “I wanted to look cute… for you,” you replied to him, leaning up to place a little kiss on his flushed cheek. 

—

In the time that you’d spent pretty much partying in the beach town, you’d abandoned the shirt due to the heat. And now, since you were on the beach, you figured it would be fine to remove your shorts. Everyone else was in their swimwear, after all. It’s not like you’d stand out too much.

So you stood up from your seat in Law’s lap, stretching out your limbs before unbuttoning the shorts and moving your hands to slip them down your frame. 

You’d only gotten them slipped just under your bottom when you were suddenly stopped. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Letting your hands and shorts freeze in the position they were in before you’d been stopped, you turned your head back to look at Law.

“Taking off my shorts so I can get in the water?” 

It was only then you noticed you’d barely stepped a foot away from Law, so you were pretty much directly on display for him. 

“Y/n… don’t you know what your bikini looks like?” 

“Yeah, why?” You asked, trying to play along with him; pretending to be oblivious.

“I can see all of your ass, you’re practically wearing a thong.” He remarked, arms crossed as he frowned.

“Do you like it?” You teasingly asked, smirking down at him. 

“Wh-? Yeah… but, I don’t want some creep looking at my girl’s ass.” He pouted, the same blush from earlier dusting across his face.

You giggled, deciding to let the shorts fall to the sand beneath your feet. “Fine then. You can come with me and cover my ass.”

“I can’t get in ocean water, y/n.”

Rolling your eyes, you decided to just return to his lap, only this time facing him. “Fine, fine. Honestly I just wore it to tease you… I didn’t really plan on letting anyone else see it anyway.”

“Then why did you-“

“To tease you,” you repeated, wrapping your arms around his neck and shimmying further into his lap. 

Law sighed, placing one of his tattooed hands on your lower back. “And did you plan on paying for it, too?”

“Huh?” 

“Don’t think you can just tease me and get away with no punishment,” he muttered into your ear, placing a small kiss on the skin of your neck. 

Feeling more daring, you decided to just dig your own grave now. With a sultry grin, you moved to kiss Law, removing one arm from his neck and placing your hand against his face, holding him as your lips connected.

Law seemed to tense up, probably because of the rather intimate display of affection you two were showing in public, but he moved his free hand to grab your bare thigh, squeezing the soft skin in his grasp. 

He briefly pulled away, but only far away enough to get some air. His breath came out hot as he panted against your wet lips, your mixed saliva still connecting you both together. 

Just before Law could kiss you again, you subtly began to rock your hips, grinding your lower region against him. A breathy grunt escaped Law’s lips, his body tensing up even more as he hardened his grip on your back and thigh. 

“Shit… you’re just asking for it now, hm?” 

You decided then to reconnect your lips, giving hot, wet opened mouth kisses against his own lips. You pushed your hips down harder, whining at the friction of your just barely covered cunt against his hardening length. 

Though your reply was late, you did so anyway, “mhm… please take me back home… punish me for being a whore, Law.”

Not wasting anymore time, Law practically shoved you off of him and slid your shorts back up, tossing your sandals and shirt at you before grabbing the towel you’d been laying on and taking your hand to lead you back to the sub.

—

As soon as you were back in your bedroom with the door locked behind you, Law jumped at you, grabbing your body and biting at the tender skin of your neck, sucking it between his teeth to mark you.

You let out a high-pitched cry, tilting your head back to give him more access. His lips were still wet, and as he dragged them across your skin, your neck became slick with his spit. The sensations felt so intoxicating; the slight pain of his bite before the feeling of his lips sucking you in, the hair of his goatee pleasantly scratching your skin.

“Law,” you quietly whined, legs shaking with need as you tried squeezing your thighs together, desperate to be touched. But his lips didn’t leave your throat.

“Law, please,” you pleaded, fisting his shirt into your palms. “I need you so bad…”

Finally, his attack on your neck ended and you watched with hazy eyes as Law looked down at your needy body with lust evident in his eyes, along with a mischievous look that meant you were really in for it this time.

Just before you could open your mouth to beg for him again, Law pushed you down onto the bed, grabbing at the fabric of the bikini top between your breasts, ripping the entire thing off of you. 

He quickly tossed the garment away, wasting no time to put his tattooed hands on your chest, groping and massaging the plushy mounds. Another whine left your lips as his palms brushed against your nipples, and you leaned your back up into his touch.

“God, you’re so needy,” Law shook his head, removing his hands and watching with amusement as you cried from the loss of his touch. 

Then he was grabbing your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he harshly flipped you over to lay on your tummy, one hand landing on your ass to hold you in place as the other delivered a teasing smack to your skin that poked out from underneath your ridden up shorts, which were removed from your body only a moment later.

Law didn’t even try to be gentle as he forced the denim off of you, throwing it away to free his hands. His palms were on your skin again, squeezing the fat of your bottom as he looked over what was left of your bikini.

The bottoms didn’t cover your ass at all, so when he spanked you again, the contact was directly on your skin this time with a loud slap. 

“You bought this thing knowing it’d piss me off, didn’t you?”

You tried shrugging but that was difficult with your current position. “I knew you’d like it on me… but not in public.”

“Exactly,” he hissed, smacking you again. “You’re such a brat, y/n.”

Letting go of your bottom, Law hastily untied the bows from your hips and pulled the rest of your bikini off. Once that too was tossed away, he freed himself from the restraint of his shorts. You continued to whine, voice louder now as he rubbed his cock against your skin, spitting down at it to get it wet. 

“Law, please!” You begged, “I need to feel you in me… I don’t care what else you do, just stuff me!”

“Don’t care what else?” He echoed your words, lining the tip of his member up with your soaked cunt. “This is a punishment, don’t forget. How about you don’t get to cum until I say so?”

You whined, clearly not liking that idea; but you had no say in whether or not Law would do it. 

You felt one of Law’s hands slip into your hair, grabbing fistfuls of it before pulling on it and finally sliding into your throbbing pussy at the same time. Already it was hard to not cum from that alone, and all you could do was moan and scream in frustration as you tried to hold your orgasm back. 

Law’s pace was ruthless and hard, not giving you any time to adjust to the stretch from his cock as he repeatedly slammed himself into you, getting lost in the feeling of your warm walls fluttering around him as you tried fitting him in. 

Already, your cunt was flooding with juices and that only created more opportunity for Law to fuck you faster, hitting into you more forceful than before; lewd squelching noises accompanied by the slapping of skin echoing throughout the bedroom. 

You moaned and grasped desperately at the sheets underneath you, letting your entire body rock back and forth from the motion of Law’s hard thrusts. “ah-ahh. Law!

“Law! I can’t hold it in anymore,” you cried and begged, letting his name fall from your lips a few more times. “L-Law! Please, I need to cum, Law! I can’t take it!”

You listened for his approval but all you got were grunts and loud pants from behind you, Law not giving you any mercy as he kept up with the abuse on your cunt. 

“Law! I- I can’t- Law,” you screamed, clenching hard onto his cock in an attempt to stop yourself from cumming.

“I don’t give a damn anymore,” he groaned. “Just cum, baby… cum on my cock.”

With his approval, you finally let yourself go and moaned loudly into the mattress as you came; creaming on Law, leaving a white ring of your cum around his cock. 

And Law wasn’t far behind, he continued to fuck you, slam his cock into your spasming pussy for just another moment before tightening his grip on your hips, thrusts becoming sloppy as he let himself start cumming. 

He let out a flustered moan as his hot seed began spilling into you, but he quickly pulled away and let the rest of his cum spill onto your back, leaving a warm sticky mess on your skin.

You both panted heavily, catching your breath and calming down from the intense punishment you’d just endured. After a moment, you felt his mess being wiped off of you, Law gently cleaning you off before turning you on your back so he could look at your face. 

His soft hand cupped your cheek and a kiss was placed on your lips. “You okay, y/n-ya?”

You nodded, blinking away the tears from your eyes. Another kiss against your lips, and you wrapped your arms around Law once again. 

Lifting you up into his hold, Law decided you deserved a relaxing warm bath after what he’d put you through. He carried you to the bathroom, kissing your shoulder and whispering quiet “I love you”s to you the whole way.

[strayheartless]

Random body headcanons for AGSZC:

Zacks hyper mobile. His elbows do the thing where they bend to far out when he sticks them up. He can also touch his thumb completely to his wrist and crack his hips. Down side of this is so many broken bones.

Cloud has got little scars on the back of his hands and calf’s from various canings.

However the stupidest scar he has is the one on the inside of his lip where zack bit him as a joke… they were not dating at the time.

Angeal has a couple of scars on his right forearm and elbow from the time he had to get the bone pinned because Genesis pushed him out of a tree when they were eight.

Sephiroth doesn’t really scar unless it’s a deep deep wound. He’s got a few surgery scars but the dumbest one is the one on his wrist that is a suspicious match for Genesis’s dental records (it’s exactly what you think.)

Cloud and Genesis and both incredibly flexible people.

Angeal is about as stiff as a board. Genesis has tried to loosen him up with yoga. It did not work.

Zacks not inflexible, however he overestimates how bendy he actually is and usually hurts himself.

Zack can dance he just chooses to be bad at it. The only time you’ll catch him dancing properly is when he’s trying to wooh his partners.

While Cloud and Genesis are very flexible, Sephiroth has mastered the ability of being able to fit all six foot five of himself in the gap behind the boiler in the airing closet. Many hours have been lost to that place.

Zack runs hotter than the sun.

Genesis runs surprisingly cold for someone who favours fire materia.

Cloud frequently does not recognise that he feels cold. He will walk around with blue lips until Angeal wrestles him into a jumper.

Angeals shoulders have been known to be wider than some door frames.

Don’t ask me where this came from. I do not have the answer.

[kesujo]

Chapter 6: Sick Days - Part 1

Previous chapter here.

When Parker entered his next-door neighbor’s apartment, this time, Hunter was there to greet him. “Hey Parker, thanks again for agreeing to come over. Jessica usually doesn’t get sick, but for her, when it rains, it really pours. She’s still in the bedroom, her temperature hasn’t really gone down since this morning, but I have a meeting in like, two minutes, so I’ll have to jump into the office in a few. Sorry for just dumping all of this on your plate all of the sudden.”

“No problem. Those holiday planning meetings are a real killer huh?”

Hunter laughed, that boisterous kind of laugh that easily filled any room he was in with a bright energy. “Yeah, tell me about it. Thanks again for taking the day off and coming over to help. Oh—” Hunter stopped right before they entered the hallway that separated the kitchen and living room from the office room and bedroom, “—by the way, Jessica expressed some interest in entering the software development industry, and I know your work is in that field, so do you mind giving Jessica a good word at your place?”

If Parker were to be honest, that was the last thing he wanted to do. His workplace was his sanctity, but if he did anything but agree, he knew it would be suspicious. So, he just played off those emotions with a smile and a joke, “I don’t know how much help she would need, but yeah, I’ll do that.”

“Thanks a bunch, I owe ya!”

The two split off in the hallway, Parker continuing to the bedroom with Hunter quickly stepping into the office and closing the door behind him.

The reason Parker so confidently agreed to be in a room with Jessica alone was, earlier that morning, Hunter called him to ask him if he could take care of Jessica for the day, as she appeared to be incredibly sick upon waking up that morning. An ill, weak Jessica posed no threat to him, mostly because Parker knew Jessica was a good person and wouldn’t want to risk passing on her illness to him—something which sex would definitely at least have the risk of doing. But even if she was well enough to pressure him or if she decided to risk it anyway, Hunter was a greater threat than ever before.

The last two times Jessica forced adulterous activities onto Parker, there was a definitive barrier between Hunter and them. However frail it was, it existed: the thin apartment living room wall and Hunter’s desire to cook for Jessica, the bathroom door and Hunter’s desire to give Parker the space he needed while he was ‘vomiting’. This time, that barrier didn’t exist. The bedroom door, even if it was closed, was something that could always be opened. And, of course, Hunter would want to check in on his sick wife whenever possible, so it made sense for him to pop in from time to time. Although it seemed a barrier existed, it was more like a foggy window than anything: just a simple, trivial gesture would expose the view of the other side.

But despite knowing all of this, Parker was still a little bit on edge. Every time Parker thought it was unreasonable for Jessica to ambush him, he was proven wrong again and again. So, seeing Jessica’s small body curled up with the thick blanket smothering her body put his mind at ease. In fact, he found a bit of a smile growing on his face at the frankly adorable sight, Jessica’s tiny frame dwarfed by the humongous size of the blanket that was covering her. This was a side of Jessica Parker had almost never seen, a side of her he would much rather get to know than this other, dangerous side.

It was only when Parker was halfway to the bed that Jessica’s eyes opened. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Parker, you’re here?”

Hearing her hoarse, weak voice made Parker feel all the worse for being cautious of Jessica despite everything.

“Yeah, did you eat breakfast yet?” She shook her head, Parker slowing down as he neared the bed. “Do you want—”

When Jessica threw the covers off, Parker’s eye fell onto the spectacle, and despite barely having any time nor light to see what laid under the covers, he could clearly make out her curvaceous, bare body hiding under the thick layer of comforting material. Her hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing his arm and giving it a quick tug. Caught off guard, Parker felt his body in a brief moment of free fall, cursing himself for falling prey to Jessica again. After a brief scuffle, Parker found himself somehow having been maneuvered on top of the nude woman, the weighty blanket covering them both. His face was at her shoulder-level, her slender legs snaking around his waist and legs to secure his body tightly against hers.

By now, Parker felt more shame than anything else. Was he just extremely gullible? Or was this proof of Jessica’s slyness?

“I think I’d like your cock for breakfast, my lips have been starving for your cum.”

“Fucking bitch Jessica, this is by far the dumbest thing you’ve thought of. Hunter can come in any moment and you’re doing this shit?”

“I know, but that’s what makes this exhilarating!”

The excited gleam in her eyes confirmed Parker’s worst fears: that Jessica was faking her sickness to bait him over here. But what about that foggy window of the closed bedroom door being the only barrier between them and Hunter? Was Jessica so confident in herself that she didn’t deem it a problem? Or maybe it was just a challenge she was willing to take on? Or was she simply naïve?

“You pretended to be sick? Did you use makeup?”

Parker was stalling, digging through his brain for anything that might give him the slightest bit more time to figure out how to worm his way out of this mess.

“Yep! You know Hunter’s a heavy sleeper, so I just slipped out of bed this morning to apply some makeup to make me look sick, ran my head through some hot water and tampered with a thermostat’s readings to make it appear that I had a fever even if he checked my forehead himself. After that, I woke Hunter up to have him confirm it and got him to work from home. Since I knew that he would be really busy today, I gave Hunter a hint that I might need some additional attention to make it through this ‘illness’, which directed Hunter to call you over.”

In the brief minute Jessica granted him, Parker’s mind was still drawing blanks. She was too smart to fall for something like claiming he suddenly forgot something he needed to do for work, and if Parker tried making a break for it, Jessica could just draw Hunter’s attention with a loud scream. If that happened, it would be worse than usual, as in that situation, it would be reasonable to assume that Parker was the one that attacked Jessica and not vice-versa. Trying to call for Hunter himself was out of the question as well because Parker had no idea how Hunter would react to this kind of situation: while it might be the case that Parker would seem innocent by the fact that he was the one who called for Hunter, he might also come to the conclusion that Parker tried to take advantage of Jessica in her weakened state, and when she resisted, Parker yelled for help before Jessica could to deflect guilt from himself.

Hearing the thoroughness of her planning, though, Parker couldn’t help but feel amazed. He wondered how many problems she could solve if she applied those skills in the workforce and not wasting them away finding creative ways to cheat on her husband. Then, Parker remembered all that she had already contributed in her brief stint in the few companies she had worked for already.

“Well, first, let’s get these pesky things out of the way~”

Parker grabbed Jessica’s frail wrist as her fingers curled around the hem of his shirt. “Jessica, please.” This time, more so than ever before, Jessica could see the guilt and pain in his eyes. Even if he wasn’t trying, his use of puppy-dog eyes while begging her was extremely potent. Unfortunately for Parker, seeing it just turned the adulterous woman on more.

“Aww, is my baby getting impatient?” Jessica cooed, bringing her other hand up to Parker’s face and cupping his cheek.

“No, what—no, Jessica, don’t do this. There’s no way we’ll be able to notice Hunter every time he’s about to enter. Please, don’t do this.”

Parker tried channeling all the guilt and sorrow he felt into his voice as possible, but it fell on deaf ears. “Why? Are you going to be fucking me so hard, it’ll be hard to hear his footsteps?”

“No, that’s not—I mean, you promised that you would never let Hunter find out as long as I obeyed you right? Well, how are you going to uphold that today? Even you can’t predict every time Hunter would come in.”

“You don’t think I’ve only prepared up until now, do you?”

Parker already had a sinking suspicion, but seeing that she wasn’t going to budge disheartened him nevertheless. “Just—” he didn’t know what he could say at this point that would stop Jessica. So, instead of trying to stop her, he resorted to simply saying, “—just promise me that you’ll do everything in your power to prevent Hunter from finding out.”

Jessica gave him a dazzling smile. “Of course! It’s not a good thing for me if we get caught, you know.”

Parker groaned, his face paling at the thought of being pulled into another similar situation like this. Every time Jessica pulled him into such a situation, his heart felt on the verge of bursting in anxiety and fear, and every time Jessica let him go, he spent a good few minutes recuperating and collecting himself.

Parker wordlessly let Jessica strip him of his clothing, the pieces of cloth wedged between the side of the bed and the wall, essentially invisible to any onlookers. “Ooh, your friend has come ready to play,” Jessica noted excitedly, carefully stashing away his pants and boxers with one hand, the other wrapping around its thick circumference. She gave it a few pumps for good measure, his stiff shaft hardening in response. “What a good boy,” she cooed, as if talking to a puppy. Her head was buried beneath the covers, her eyes trained on Parker’s pulsating member, lifting the covers just enough to allow her to make out its outline. “You want give mama a big kiss on the lips? You want to feel how much mommy loves you? You want to give mommy’s kitty cat a hug?”

Ordinarily, Parker felt hearing those words in real life would be so incredibly cringey that he couldn’t help but laugh: however, Jessica’s cutesy, high-pitched voice and the babyish words she used sharply juxtaposed to her right hand stroking his cock and the attached erotic connotation of those words instead caused Parker to bite his lower lip, unable to help but feel his erection, trapped in the firm grip of her dainty fingers, grow.

“Mmm,” her half-hum, half-moan of pleasure sent a shudder down Parker’s spine, cursing the increasing feeling of arousal his body was experiencing, “You’re such a big boy, mommy’s kitty cat can’t wait to give you a biig hug.”

Parker wanted to beg her to stop but knew he would never live down the embarrassment from Jessica’s teasing, so he just bit his lip, wave after wave of pleasure rolling up his spine.

“Is my baby getting impatient? Don’t waste any of that precious milk,” Jessica reached down and wiped the precum off the tip of his dick, spooning it right into her mouth. “It tastes good, but it’s my other lips that want your milk, ok baby? Aww, look at how impatient you’re getting; don’t worry, mommy will pay attention to you soon, she just needs to tell daddy something.”

“Can you stop talking like that?”

Jessica giggled, making eye contact with Parker. “You say that, but your buddy is so hard it’s almost red; I can almost feel its veins against my hand, as if it’s it’s not inside me yet.”

Parker just had to open his mouth, didn’t he? Obviously, Parker was aware of Jessica’s words on the aggressively erect organ between his legs, but hearing Jessica say such words with his dick in her hands just felt extra wrong, somehow. “Let’s just get this over with, what did you want to tell me?”

“I’m only saying this because you seem to forget every time, but don’t do any of that ‘reserved’ stuff. If you’re not rough with me straight away, I’m going to let Hunter know.”

“But Hunter would be able to hear, wouldn’t he?”

Jessica shook her head. “This bed was designed not to make any sound while having sex.”

“What do you want me to do, even?”

“Whatever you want. My body is yours; treat me like your personal sex slave.”

As Jessica guided his cock into her, Parker started to panic. “Wait.”

Jessica stopped, a curious gaze landing upon him. Although it seemed innocuous enough, Parker could tell there was an underlying threat, that if Parker didn’t stop her for a good enough reason, she would get mad. But as the seconds ticked by, he kept on drawing blanks; so, under the steady gaze of Jessica’s expectant eyes, he decided to throw his morals out the window. The faster they got over this, the better; and, it’s not like trying to resist Jessica would do anything. If Jessica wanted him to be domineering, he would give her just that. After that, he can go back home and rest.

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do. You listen to me, got it?”

Parker felt himself cringe, hearing the words coming out of his mouth—but the way Jessica’s expression darkened with lust assured him that this was the fastest way to escape.

“Hands off. You only get to touch me when I say.”

Jessica retracted her hand, placing both by her sides, fingers curled towards her palms. “Sorry…”

“Sorry what?” he let out a guttural growl, his hands traversing her mounds and pinching the semi-erect peak.

“Master~” Jessica yelped, her body jumping at a sudden injection of ecstasy, “Sorry, Master!”

“Be quiet you slut, you want Hunter to hear us?” Parker asked, slapping her across the face. The crisp sound resonating from it made his body tense, hoping it wouldn’t be enough for Hunter to come check.

However, Jessica showed no signs of being worried about it, in fact clearly showing excitement amidst the submissive whimpering she was doing. “I’m sorry Master, I’ll be quiet…”

Parker turned his attention to her voluptuous tits, each hand grabbing a handful of the pliable skin. “Look at these huge tits, they’re just begging to be squeezed.”

“Master~” she mewled, her body squirming slightly at his touch.

“You like that, don’t you? When I squeeze your slutty tits like this, don’t you?” Parker felt a shudder run down his spine at the pleasant, ecstatic almost, feeling of Jessica’s boobs giving way to his hands, massaging and kneading the soft skin. The surge of arousal from the action might’ve shown on Parker’s face, but at this point, he didn’t really care. “Tell me, what good are these tits on your chest?”

“F-For your pleasure, Master,” Jessica replied, her breaths starting to deepen. Parker could see the lust cloud her eyes, something he let himself feel even more turned on by.

“That’s right. Your nipples are so hard too,” Parker noted, giving the two hardened nubs a firm pinch. Jessica quickly moved her hands over her mouth, muffling a surprised half-yelp half-moan, her body again jumping at the sudden injection of pleasure. “You like that, when I pinch your nipples?”

“Yes, Master~” she almost sang out, her eyes laser focused on his hands.

“But why do you deserve to have them pinched again? Have you been a good girl?”

“Yes, please Master, I’ve been a good girl.” Her pleading eyes searched for Parker when he took his hands off, her hands beginning to reach out but stopping partway after remembering his earlier warning.

“Why? You brought me here, to the bedroom of you and your husband, with him working in the office just a few steps away, just to insist that I fuck you. Tell me why you deserve anything if you’re being such a naughty girl.”

Parker knew he was pushing the envelope here. Fortunately, Jessica seemed to be into it, adamantly playing along.

“I-I just wanted to make Master happy because it’s been an entire week since last time. I also wanted to offer you myself as a gift for the holidays, and…” Jessica’s voice grew timid, something that almost shocked Parker out of the roleplay, “…and was hoping Master could gift me with his cum in return.”

Parker could feel his impatience growing, giving her boobs one final squeeze before reaching down, holding his painfully erect cock in his hands and guiding it to her entrance. “I appreciate the thought, but I still need to punish you for how needy you are.” As if to prove a point, Parker rubbed his shaft along her slit, slick with her own juices already. Jessica preened at the contact, a surge of arousal exploding from her nether regions and directly into her brain.

“Ooh, Master…” she panted, her fists now tightly clenched at her sides, her back arched and her boobs pressed against Parker, who was hovering barely a few inches above the mattress in an effort to keep the blanket over them. Her hips bucked wildly, only achieving greater contact with the underside of Parker’s cock. “Master…”

“Hm? What’s wrong?”

Jessica’s eyes opened up, filled with an insatiable lust and desire, searching Parker’s eyes for mercy. “Master, please…”

“Please…?”

“Please, I want Master’s graceful penis inside my tight, wet cunt; I want Master to stretch my tiny pussy with his huge cock and fill me up, I want Master’s cock to ram into my womb and destroy my undeserving pussy, I want to feel Master’s balls slapping against my ass and I want to feel Master’s cum spill into my slutty snatch and stir up my insides with your hot, thick semen.”

He wasn’t expecting that string of words, but Parker certainly welcomed it. “Hmm, good girl.” Parker brought his hand up to her face, letting Jessica lean into his palm and rub her face against it as if she were a cat, shortly before swiftly plugging up her awaiting hole.

“Ah, Master!”

Parker promptly removed his hand, using it to give her another sharp slap across her face. “I told you to be quiet, bitch. Did I not?”

“I’m sorry Master, I’m so sorry Master…”

“Tell me, what punishment does my slutty sex toy get for being so loud?”

“Muffle me with your fingers.”

“Hmm, good choice.”

Parker, following Jessica’s directive, brought his left hand to her waiting lips, waiting for them to part before plunging three of his digits straight in. It wasn’t a few seconds before they were completely drenched in her saliva, her lips clamped slightly past the second joint, her tongue running along its length, dancing circles around the three digits. Her eyes never broke contact with Parker’s, who started to rev up the action down below as well. He at first cautiously increased his speed, and upon noticing that the bed indeed made zero indication of the adulterous activity happening atop it, ramped it up explosively. With his other hand on her breasts, his cock glided in and out of Jessica’s wet snatch with ease, each long and hard thrust causing bits of her honey to spray out onto Parker’s groin.

“Hmm fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good, god it’s so tight, did you miss my cock that much?”

Parker retracted his fingers from her mouth, her tongue lolling out almost as if in protest to their exit. “Yes Master, I’ve been thinking about your cock so much, thank you for gracing my pussy with it.”

“Do you promise to be quiet without my fingers in your mouth?” “I-I don’t know, Master, your dick feels so good inside me I might accidentally let something out…”

Understanding this was Jessica’s indirect way of directing him, he acquiesced. “We can’t have that, can we?” This time, when he brought his left hand to her mouth, he shoved his pinky alongside the three other fingers, his thumb resting along her baby-smooth cheek.

Parker could feel his breath grow ragged, wave after wave of pleasure assaulting him at the feeling of Jessica’s hot walls convulsing against the length of his shaft, the fleshy material slathering it with enough lubricant to counteract its gradual tightening around the intrusive object.

Somehow, amidst the panting and the slight gagging noises and the lust clouding his mind, Parker somehow managed to pick up the faint sound of footsteps from the other side of the door. The reminder jarred Parker awake, taking the moment to throw aside his shame and guilt to warn Jessica. “Hunter.”

The one word was enough to snap Jessica out of it too, Parker extracting his fingers from her mouth and his dick from her pussy. Jessica guided him under the blanket, instructing him to curl up at her torso level. She had her back against the door, Parker’s body in fetal position pressed flush against Jessica’s stomach, her boobs resting on his head, her legs and arms wrapping around his body securely, when the door opened.

“Hey Jess, just checking in to see if you guys needed anything—where’s Parker?”

Parker could hear his heart desperately pumping blood throughout his body, which was in a frozen state of shock, fear, anxiety, and a mess of other emotions.

“He’s in the bathroom.”

Hearing her voice turn on a dime like that was honestly pretty amazing to Parker. If she really wanted to, maybe she could be an actress—she certainly had the face and body for it. Something Parker, unfortunately, knew much too well.

“Ah, OK. Well, if he needs anything, tell him to let me know. I gotta jump back into the meeting, take care!”

Hearing Hunter taking his wife’s words at face value so quickly only demotivated Parker even more. By the time Hunter closed the door, he felt like he was drowning in guilt.

“He’s gone,” Jessica notified Parker a short while after the sound of the office door closing could be heard. “You can come out now.”

Parker emerged from the stuffy covers, laying on the bed next to her. “I—I can’t do this, Jessica.”

 “Aww, does my baby need mommy to help him?”

Jessica slyly climbed atop Parker, swinging her legs around his waist and trapping them between her velvety legs. “Jessica, we already almost—”

Jessica shushed him, placing a slender index finger on his lips. “It’s OK. Mommy can take over from here. You did so well up until now, but mommy is greedy and still wants your milk. Do you think you can do that? Give mommy’s kitty cat your milk?”

“I don’t—”

“Ah ah,” she quickly cut him off, reaching down to grab his slippery member, “Call me ‘mommy’, baby.”

It felt so wrong on so many levels, but Parker knew Jessica wasn’t going to relent. So, between the choice of speaking or calling Jessica ‘mommy’, he elected not to speak at all.

This was something Jessica was clearly not content with as she repeated, “Try it. Call me ‘mommy’, and mommy will reward you.” She gave his cock a few pumps for good measure, a hiss nearly escaping Parker’s lips at the sudden surge of ecstasy shooting up his body.

“Hunter’s—”

Jessica immediately interrupted him again. “Bad boy. You know what happens to disobedient children, right? They get punished.” With that, Jessica lowered her head onto his neck, planting a chaste kiss along it before baring her teeth at it.

Realizing what she was about to do, Parker opened his mouth. “Mommy, I’m sor—ah!” a muted yelp escaped from his lips as Jessica’s teeth bit down on the soft skin, nibbling on it for a few seconds before letting go. When she raised her head again, a clear red mark could be seen on his neck.

“I’m sorry baby, but I can’t just let a naughty boy do whatever he wants. You understand, right?”

“Y-Yes, mommy…” it just felt wrong, hearing the words coming out of his mouth, but he didn’t want to find out what further punishment awaited should he disobey again.

“Good boy. Mommy will keep her promise and reward you,” she said, using her hands to push her boobs up to him at face level. Parker accepted the offer, taking her soft breasts into his mouth, his lips running across the sensitive skin and his tongue slathering it with his saliva. “Mmm, that feels so good baby…”

Without so much as a warning, Jessica plunged herself onto his cock. A muted moan emanated from Jessica’s lips, her body shuddering as his girthy cock hilted Jessica’s pussy once again. Parker could definitely feel the effects of Hunter’s visit: compared to before, Jessica’s pussy was definitely tighter. “Oh baby, your penis is so big, you fill mommy up so well~” Her legs tightened their hold of his hips, gaining better leverage to pull herself up before slamming back down onto his crotch. “Join me baby, help mommy feel good.”

Parker proceeded to meet Jessica’s next thrust with a thrust of his own, Jessica murmuring lustful gibberish as their paces gradually increased. “Oh baby, your cock makes mommy feel so good. Mommy loves feeling your thick, veiny cock stretching mommy’s little pussy and feeling your penis kiss my womb. Baby, mommy’s starting to lose her mind, oh my god, it’s so good … oh baby, you’re so hard inside me, mommy’s kitty cat wants every drop of milk you have, be a good boy and shoot it all inside mommy.”

Parker refused to reply, instead focusing solely on matching Jessica’s wild pace. It wasn’t long before it returned to what it was before, Jessica’s gradually increasing voice muffled when she pushed Parker’s head back onto the pillow beneath and captured his lips in her own. Her velvety lips pressed firmly against his own, her spongey tongue entering his mouth and rubbing against his tongue. Parker could feel her hot breath against his, her luscious lips fiercely massaging his lips, the kiss growing wilder by the second. His arousal built and built, but the rate of Jessica’s increasingly tightening womanhood told him she was closer.

Jessica released their lip lock, the thick blanket draped over her slim shoulders. “Mommy is so close baby, just a little more, mommy’s going to cum, oh god…!” She quickly dove down, pressing her lips against his once again to muffle the ecstatic scream erupting from her body, her lower regions similarly erupting as a violent stream of her cum sprayed all over Parker’s cock, dripping out onto Parker’s legs and groin. Her entire body shuddered, shaking with the cadence of her orgasm, riding it out on Parker’s dick. However, when she finished, she barely slowed down at all, only removing her lips from his. “Come on baby, be a good boy and give mommy your milk, OK?”

In accordance to her wishes, Parker hastily warned her before a stream of the viscous, white liquid ejaculated directly into Jessica’s awaiting vagina. Jessica’s facial features contorted in pleasure, her thrusting growing even more wild and animalistic, rope after rope of his hot semen pouring into the ecstatic woman. “Oh god, it’s so hot, fuck, oh my god…” when his orgasm died down, Jessica’s motions grinded to a halt, planting her face on his sturdy chest. “Mommy is so happy, thank you baby.”

“Um, mommy?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

Jessica hummed for a bit, candidly rubbing her cheek against his warm torso. “Sure, go ahead. And you don’t have to call me ‘mommy’ anymore.”

She unmounted him, shuddering as a stream of their mixed juices dribbled out of her hole in response to its unstopping, and laid down on the bed next to him. However, she summarily stopped him when Parker went to go reach for his clothes.

 “What are you doing?”

“If Hunter walks back in while I’m exiting the bathroom and sees me naked, don’t you think the first thing he’ll assume is that I’m taking advantage of your weakened state and banish me from interacting with you ever again? You don’t want that, right?”

Jessica pondered for a second before eventually agreeing, allowing Parker to put his shirt and pants back on—without his boxers—and go into the bathroom. As Parker sat down on the toilet seat, he buried his head in his hands, gritting his teeth. There was a twisting kind of sensation deep in his chest, the guilt of having sex with his best friend’s wife while he was diligently working in the other room, having trusted him to ‘take care’ of Jessica, eating at him. Parker knew he could only hide in the bathroom for so long, but nonetheless was surprised when Jessica called out his name.

“Parker?”

He swore under his breath. Surely, that was loud enough for Hunter to hear—but without any context, it could just be heard as Jessica calling for Parker because she needed something from him, not as the warning for him to stop hiding in the bathroom as it was intended to be.

“Sorry, I’m coming,” he shouted back, flushing the toilet despite not having used it, washing his hands and returning to the bedroom.

“Nice try,” Jessica smirked when he got closer, speaking in a low enough tone that Hunter wouldn’t be able to hear, “Don’t think we’re anywhere near done yet though.”

Next chapter here.

[blueywrites]

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! 🐝

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.

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.

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. 

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ as long as you're okay

requested by anon: "do you think you could do a cheol or dino version of the comforting seungkwan fic you did ? it was such a nice read"

pairing: dino x gn!reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship

word count: 2148

warnings: curse words, pet names (love, baby), descriptions of a breakdown

summary: it's the day of exam results release, and you're beginning to have doubts. but luckily, your boyfriend is there for you and more than ready to reassure you.

"I'm fucked. I'm actually so, so fucked. I can't remember any of the paper, can't remember how any of it went, can't remember what even happened in that exam hall! I think I did a Wonwoo and blacked out during the exam. This is terrible. I'm so fucked."

You're standing there wringing your hands in the dining room, while Chan is trying to peacefully eat his lunch. Unsuccessfully, really, given that you're complaining, incredibly loudly, because you're going to have to leave the apartment soon to go and pick up your exam results. And you kind of really, really don't want to. 

Chan looks up from his food, eyeing you as you shake your fists some more, friendship bracelets on your wrists rattling together. 

"How come you’re wearing all the bracelets the other hyungs made for you and not the ones I did?" is all he says, squinting down suspiciously at a piece of lettuce in his salad. 

"What?" You look down at your wrists, where Soonyoung's bright orange beaded bracelet is next to the pastel creation that Jeonghan made you, along with the multiple from Seokmin and Joshua. You shake your head. "That’s because you never made me any! Chan, are you even listening to me?"

Chan just looks you right in the eye as he stuffs the leaf into his mouth. "Are you even listening to yourself?"

That makes you whine, stomping your feet a little petulantly. You look like a child having a tantrum, but it's all to cover up the fact that you are genuinely incredibly nervous. 

"What if I failed?" you fret. "Chan, what if I failed really badly?"

"Then, we’ll just have to accept it," he says simply. He pushes away his wilting salad, unwilling to eat it anymore and unable to eat because of your distractions. "All you can do is your best, and if that's what happened when you tried your best, then there's nothing you can do."

You pout, crossing your arms. “You really are no help.”

There's a pause, and he looks at you, your stiff frame and trembling shoulders and he just sighs sympathetically, standing up from the chair and wrapping you in his arms. You stand stiffly, unwilling to yield, mildly upset at him for his horrible advice. He rocks you from side to side anyway, unfazed, cradling the back of your head. 

"My lovely Y/N," he says softly. "I really don't know what else to say. If you fail, then that's okay. I'll support you. I'll help you. And if you did well, which I'm sure you did, then that's wonderful. I'll support you then too."

He pulls away slightly so he can look at you, nudging his nose against yours. He's looking at you intently, even as you try to keep the mild disappointment in your gaze as you look back. Sighing again, he shakes his head, leaning forward so your foreheads are touching. 

"You're going to do fine. Absolutely brilliantly. You know how Wonwoo hyung is: the tests he remembers the least are the ones he did the best in."

That makes you smile a little, finally getting the encouragement you wanted. 

"See, that's all you had to say," you say, leaning in to hug him fully, and his arms are wrapped around you once more and his hand has protectively come up to the back of your head, cradling you gently. 

Chan chuckles, pulling away to look at you. "Really? Was that it?"

You hum, nodding. "Mhm. What can I say, I'm a simple person."

He laughs properly at that, pulling away and kissing you on the top of your hair. "Perhaps. But you better go now, if you want to go get your results. You're going to be late otherwise."

Your eyes widen as you look at the time. "Oh my god, you're right." You lean forwards to peck Chan quickly on the lips before rushing into the hallway. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to open them before I get home though!" you call out, and Chan wanders into the hall to smile as you tug on your shoes. 

“You better not. I wanna scream over your results with you.” He grins. “Your results which are going to be great and will show you passed with flying colours, of course.”

You laugh, and the sound is high-pitched and a little wobbly with nerves, but at least you’re able to laugh. “We can only hope.”

Chan leans in and gives you another tight hug once again, and smiles at you so sweetly and lovingly that it's actually a little overwhelming. "Good luck, love. I know you'll do well."

Opening the door, you smile back at him, giving a small wave. "Thank you, babe."

And then the door closes, and you're gone. Chan stares at the door for another moment, before retreating down the hallway again and going back to his wilted lunch.

————————————— 📄

There’s a clattering sound of you getting out your keys and unlocking the door, and Chan looks up from where he's on his phone on the sofa. He's been waiting for you, because duh, of course he has, and he gets up and walks out to greet you, but the smile dies from his face when he sees your expression.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You’re clutching the envelope that holds your certificate with your results on it, and it’s clear you’re trying not to hold it so hard that the paper wrinkles, but your shoulders are shaking and you look… well, you look terrified.

“Y/N?” he asks, tone infinitely more concerned. “Here, let’s take your shoes off, love.” He bends down, untying your shoelaces for you, praising you almost without thinking when you take them off. Then he stands back up, sees your face again, and his eyes widen.

“Chan…”

“You’re crying.” He blinks, eyes widening even further when the tears well faster in your eyes, spilling over. “Hey, love, why are we crying?”

You can’t answer, bringing a hand to your face, trying to stem the tears before they dissolve into sobs, and he’s stepping forwards again, hugging you to him, arms around you. You’re still holding onto the envelope, still making sure not to crinkle it, but right now Chan couldn’t care less about a piece of paper when you’re here, crying, in his arms.

It takes a little manoeuvring, but he takes off your coat and, still with his arms around you, leads you into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa with you in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, even though he thinks he might know. He rubs your back, soothing, as you cry quietly into the fabric of his shirt, the envelope abandoned on the coffee table. “Why are you crying, love?”

You take a deep breath, attempting to speak, before getting choked by a sob and burying your head further into his shoulder. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Chan murmurs, and you make a small, broken sound that makes his heart clench. “I’m here, it’s okay, you’re okay. You’re okay, love, everything is okay.”

“N—No,” you manage to stutter out, wet and helpless, “it’s not. Everything is—is not okay.”

He makes a sad noise at that, one hand still rubbing big, slow circles on your back, the other cradling the back of your head and hugging you close. “Why do you think that?” he asks gently. “What’s making you feel that way?”

“E—everyone,” you sob, and begin to cry even harder into him, your entire frame shuddering, and you sound so devastated that Chan just wants to make all of your pain disappear immediately. “Everyone is m—making me feel like things are not okay.”

“Even me?”

You can’t answer, dissolving into tears yet again.

He takes a breath, his own breathing a little shaky. He hates hearing you cry, hates seeing you so upset, and right now he’s fighting back his own tears, wanting to make you feel better instead of just sobbing with you. “Don’t listen to them, baby,” he says, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “You haven’t even looked at the results yet, how can you trust what they’re saying?”

“There were others and—and they opened theirs right there, a—and I don’t think I did—I don’t think I did as well as them,” you say, and now the crying is getting worse, your breaths coming out all quick and panicky, and you’re shuddering so hard that it’s like you're going to break in two.

“Hey, hey. Y/N, look at me. Come on, love, look at me.” Chan tilts your chin upwards, hand cradling your cheek, and your face is wet with tears but he just stares you straight in the eyes, ignoring the way his own vision is blurring. “Do these people—no, baby, look at me, please—do these people really matter to you?”

You hiccup a sob, blinking your eyes rapidly, and he still has one hand on your back, the other gently wiping your own tears.

“Are these people really that important to you? Do you care about them so much that what they do is crucial to you?”

You jerkily shake your head. “N—no.”

“And,” he carries on, “Do they care about you this much too? Do they genuinely care about how well you did?”

You shake your head again.

“Exactly.” Chan smiles softly. “Their opinions are worthless. How well they did is worthless. For me, and for you, the only important thing is how well you did in comparison to yourself.”

“T—That—” You breathe in shakily again, tears falling faster— “That doesn’t even make sense.”

He can’t help but laugh, just a little, even as your face crumples as you cry even more, curling up even smaller in his lap, burying your head back into his shoulder once more. 

“Don’t worry about how other people did,” he says, wrapping his arms more securely around you, keeping you cocooned in his embrace. “You did your best, Y/N, and I can personally vouch for that. I mean, how many days were I deprived of kisses because you were too busy studying? How much did I sacrifice so that you could revise without interruption?”

You chuckle, watery and a little deranged, sounding like you’re hanging on by a thread, and he just hugs you tighter.

“You have done,” Chan begins, “so so well already. I know it. I’ve seen it. This piece of paper? This just tells you what you already know. It’s going to tell you what I’ve already told you, and that’s it. Don’t base your worth on this, because you are so much more than a number and a grade.”

That causes another sad noise to be pulled out of you, touched beyond belief, but Chan doesn’t say anything else, burying his face into your hair, blinking away his own tears as he holds you through your own.

Several minutes pass, just like that, and he whispers soothing, nonsensical noises, arms tight around you, thumbs rubbing soft patterns into your skin. It takes a while, a long while, for you to eventually calm down, but he just holds you through it all, murmuring that it’s okay and that you’re okay and that he loves you, loves you so, so much.

You’re still breathing shakily, but they’re big, shuddering breaths now, and you sound calmer, resting against his chest, head tucked under his chin.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, gentle.

“Hmm. ‘m sorry.”

Chan blinks, hands pausing in their movements. “Sorry for what, love?”

“For… I don’t know. For breaking down like this, I guess.” You rub your nose, and it’s evident that you’re a little embarrassed for just crying like that, and Chan thinks his heart dips a little at that thought.

“No, gosh, there’s no need to apologise at all! It’s okay. I’m here to help you, aren’t I? It’s one of the things I’m meant to do, baby. I just want you to feel better.” He pauses. “You do feel better, right?” he checks.

You laugh a little, quiet and watery. “Yeah, I do. I feel better.”

He hums happily, hugging you tighter. “That’s good.”

There’s a beat.

“Do you wanna look at your results now?” he asks, looking down at you. You shake your head, eyes fixed on some random point on his shoulder, still blinking away the remnants of tears. “That’s okay.”

Fondly, Chan brings up a hand to your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb, before leaning in to press a light kiss to your cheek. Your cheeks are still wet, a little sticky, but he doesn’t care. The shoulder of his shirt is also in a similar state, anyway. It doesn’t really matter.

He rests his chin on your head again, rocking you from side to side affectionately, humming a tuneless melody, rubbing your arm comfortingly.

“As long as you’re okay.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt

[stillfoodforguys]

I wasn’t informed that my friend had his brother visiting when he invited me over, so the handsome stranger lounging on the sofa caught me off guard when I arrived.

His thick, tanned arms were nicely exposed, the thin fabric of his white vest snugly fitting around the rest of his wide frame. When he glanced up from his phone, I felt slightly intimidated by the way he eyed me up and down. After his silent judgement was over, he winked at me while subtly licking his lips as they curled into a suspicious grin.

Before I had chance to think about whether that was a good sign or a red flag, my mate called out and diverted my attention. He asked me to wait here while he changed clothes, giving his brother the perfect chance to strike while my back was turned. As soon as my friend left the room, a hand was suddenly clasped over my mouth while another hairy arm wrapped around my chest, pulling me back and pinning me against his chunky body.

He prioritised stuffing my head all the way into his mouth, muffling my cries for help so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught right away. With incredible strength, he tore my shirt off and cast it to the ground before devouring my upper body. Although he was obviously in a hurry to eat me before his brother returned, he made sure to gather up as much flavour from every crevice of my body using his slippery tongue. He kept undressing me as he swallowed, giving him access to all of my raw flavour.

Once it was just my bare feet hanging out of his mouth, he kicked my clothes under the sofa, sat back down and rubbed his swollen belly while sucking on my ankles. He savoured the last of his meal for as long as he could, waiting until he heard steps approaching to quickly gulp my feet down his throat. When my confused friend questioned my whereabouts, he was answered with a deep, guttural belch before being told that I had to leave all of a sudden.

Somehow he didn’t notice his brother’s huge gut, having expanded so much that it poked out from under his vest. This dude loved feasting on his dumbass sibling’s friends, knowing full well that he would always get away with it.

[blkkizzat]

THIS NERDY PERVS TAKEN OVER MY MIND AUGHHHHH

otaku Gojo gives off the vibe he would steal bunnies panties buy buy new ones so she’d never notice (she does)

Oh yeah he most def would nonny!

You'd be so suspicious of the "laundry service" at the Gojo residence because your returned "washed" panties were clearly brand new every time. I mean you weren't about to complain when its brand new Gucci on your coochie so you initially shrug it off as Gojo family being so fuckin rich they never wore the same underwear twice.

That is until one day after awaken from a nap (that was very much earned from Gojo rearranging your guts midmorning) you are lookin for him around his mansion. You enter into his hentai figure museum rooms thinking he's there (6/10 times he is). Yet, he isn't this time though. However, when turning to leave you accidentally trip over a plushie on the floor before catching yourself on a shelf for stability. Shifting the objects accidentally on the shelf you yelp as your gravity shifts. Not realizing you triggered a switch (it was a figure of you in cosplay that gojo had custom made) and the wall case swings inward to reveal what gojo would dub "the panty palace."

Framed and mounted were dozens of your panties all over the wall. Each frame contained a panty in addition to a photo of you either in them or in the clothes you wore over them. The plaques next to them explained the date as well as the memory. Memories like: the red lace thong you wore for your first xmas; the granny panties from the first time you let him hit it on your period; the sky blue see through g string you wore on your first date and black cheeky boy shorts from you wore the first time you got the flu and he nursed you back to health.

However, the biggest display of them all was the hot pink thong you wore the first time you had sex.

It was on a pedestal in a glass case in the center of the room, custom lights illuminated the material that was displayed on a makeshift mannequin--one of the custom onaholes you let him make from your pussy (that you IMMEDIATELY regretted letting him do at this point).

There had to be over 30 pairs of the walls and an extra 20 in air sealed bags labeled " fap material for travel :P ".

You didn't know whether to be incredibly touched or incredibly disgusted. It was truly puzzlingly how he managed to always bring out two intense emotions at complete opposite ends of the spectrum.

But you knew you'd give him shit for it either way. "SATORU GOJOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

is the cry that can be heard throughout the entire mansion which of course sends your otaku boyfriend running to your side.

"COMING MY ECCHI ANGEL!!!"