#By god if I have to look at this a moment longer I am going to explode

[inlovewithyelenaa]

first time

40’s!bucky x reader

smut

bucky always knew that he would stay a virgin until he met the perfect woman. a nice, innocent and well mannered dame who would love and appreciate him. he began to grow worried that he would never find the right woman, until he met y/n. bucky and her have been dating for 2 years, even before he got the serum. bucky has always known that she was the perfect girl for him, and now he is ready to show her just how sure he is about her.

y/n hums as she cleans the kitchen. she has not seen bucky in months due to him being away with the military. y/n jumps in excitement as she hears a knock on the door. she smiles and giggles as she hurries to open the door. behind the door is her large, muscular and tall boyfriend, standing at about 6 feet and 6 inches. y/n and bucky always loved the height difference between the two of them. it turned both of them on to know that he could control her body and every movement because of how much larger he is than her. the moment that the door begins to open bucky rushed in, throws y/n over his shoulder, and begins speed walking to the bedroom. he throws her onto the bed as she lets out screams and giggles at the sudden action. bucky grabs y/n’s hand and puts in on his massive boner. she begins to palm him through his pants and he starts groaning as the two make out. “i need you so bad, baby. i know we talked about waiting until marriage but i know i am going to marry you and i need to be inside of you, i can’t wait anymore, doll, i need it, please.” bucky says. y/n is silent for a moment before she whispers “have me, buck. i’m all yours. fuck me”. bucky groans at y/n’s words and pulls off her skirt and top. he grabs her panties and rips them off her body. y/n gasps, but has no time to complain about her ripped panties, because bucky begins licking all over her pussy. y/n is automatically whimpering and whining for steve as he begins to insert one finger. he groans on her pussy as he feels how wet she is. she wetness immediately overtaking bucky’s senses and he can’t seem to get enough of her pussy. he is completely focused on eating y/n out that he doesn’t even realize that she is about to come. “bucky! baby! i’m coming don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”. he speeds up his motions and y/n finally falls over the edge with a scream. he retracts his fingers and y/n is panting and zoning out, so she doesn’t even notice bucky taking off his pants eagerly. he groans as he begins to stroke his cock, and this gets y/n’s attention. y/n’s jaw dropped. her eyes trailed down his body and she loved every inch of him. finally, her eyes land on his cock. it. was. huge. his cock was at least 8 inches, very thick and an aching pink red tip that was leaking pre-cum. how is this going to fit inside of me? y/n thought. “don’t worry sweetheart, it’ll fit i promise”. bucky grunted as he continued to pleasure himself. y/n sits up and wraps her small hand around bucky’s huge cock, mimicking the movements that he was making before. he immediately groans at the touch, as he can feel his balls tighten. he slaps y/n’s hand away as he pushes her back down on the bed. “i can’t wait any longer baby i need you now”. bucky growls as he rolls a condom over his large cock. once the condom is on he quickly gets on the bed, and begins to push in slowly while peppering kisses all over y/n’s face. once he is bottomed out, y/n has tears running down her face, and her makeup and hair is ruined. this is bucky’s breaking point. she looks so fucking hot and ruined over his dick that he can’t take it anymore. he begins pounding into y/n. her discomfort immediately turns into intense pleasure and she begins moaning very loudly into his ear. hearing his girl moaning so loudly brings steve closer to the edge, so he reaches down between their two bodies and begins rubbing her clit so they can come at the same time. y/n screams “oh my god babe i’m going to come! i’m going to fucking come!” bucky moves his fingers faster and thrusts faster. y/n squirts and the liquid goes in between their two bodies while bucky continues thrusting, feeling his high approaching. he bottoms out and groans loudly as he begins to come into the condom. “oh my god baby there’s so much cum it won’t stop y/n” bucky whimpers until his long orgasm comes to an end. as steve pulls out, he removes the condom, and sees the amount of come in the condom. “oh my god bucky…” y/n moaned as she licked the come dripping off of the tip of his dick. he hisses in overstimulation.

bucky drags y/n to the shower, and they spend time washing each other slowly and giggling as they cover each other in soap. after, they change the sheets of their bed to lay together and cuddle. “thank you, y/n. you were amazing. i can’t wait to marry you.” bucky whispers. “i love you so much, steve” y/n says as she presses a kiss to bucky’s lips. “i love you more, baby”. the couple goes to sleep, knowing that tomorrow morning they will wake up and repeat the fun all over again.

[frozenjokes]

I’m Really Sorry About The Whole ‘Crush On My Alter Ego’ Thing, But We Could Still Totally Make This Work

Grian woke up early to a harsh alarm as he had every day since Scar’s.. confession..

The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but it probably would in an hour or two, so Grian wasted no time getting right on his morning routine. Which is to say. Doom scrolling for at least an hour before actually getting up. Though before choosing one of many social media platforms to waste his time with, he checked his texts, expecting to find a meme or work schedule change from Cub, and instead:

Good morning sunshine👊👊👊👊👊!!! ❤️ Time to get ready for another day of stopping crime and KICKING ASS👉👊👊‼️⚡️⚡️⭐️✨✨💥💥💥💥 I would say I hope you slept well.. but I KNOW you did and that your going to have a certifiably SLAY DAY⭐️💥⭐️💥⚡️⚡️⚡️ I just wanted YOU to know that your killing it (👊👊👊👊👊👊) and you’re awesome and very cute😳 like cUtEgUy you know and everyone loves you❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️Me included!! Can’t wait to see you today🫵🫵👊👊🫡💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 *dhoots arrow* HOTGUY

It went on for quite a bit longer, but Grian had seen enough actually, and consequently was no longer inclined to stay awake. This would be a problem for future Grian.

Future Grian was not very happy with past Grian when he woke up a few hours later, stumbling in his disoriented state to the kitchenette for coffee. Cub was at the kitchen table scrolling through his phone, and once Grian had the presence of mind to interrogate him, he pulled up the text, shoving his phone in Cub’s face.

“What is this. Did you have something to do with this? Did you write this for him? That’s probably something you’d do. What’s your prerogative here?”

Cub took a long moment to read, a small smile creeping across his face before outright laughing, “Oh, this is great.” Cub gently took Grian’s phone to keep reading, adjusting his glasses, “It just keeps going. How long do you think he spent typing this?”

“I don’t know! I don’t care! What the hell am I supposed to do? Why is he even texting me in the first place?”

“I’m failing to see how this is a big deal. He’s probably just sorry about the Micah thing and this is how he’s chosen to express that. Oh- here. ‘You don’t have to worry about seeing Micah again because I killed him. He’s gone.-‘ several explosions emojis ‘-I also tried to kill HotGuy but when I brought it up to one of my buddies who’s in with the higher ups he said No No Definitely Not Do Not Bring This Up To Anyone Else Ever For Your Own Safety so I’m feeling a little bit more insecure about my place in the world but that’s okay! I mean I know my life has always been in the hands of government doctors but I didn’t actually think through those implications until right now. You know me though, I’ll just keep doing my best! HaHa!’ Oh god. That’s a lot more text with very few emojis. Do these things not have character limits? I don’t think he’s okay actually. This just keeps going.”

“The- Okay, how am I supposed to be upset at him after you just read all that out to me? This is not fair. Can we just put that aside for later because how the fuck am I supposed to look at Scar in even remotely the same way after Micah- You can not possibly understand, Cub, I told Micah everything. We like- connected! And it was just fucking HotGuy the whole time! The guy I can’t fucking stand!”

“Out of costume I think he prefers you just call him Scar.”

“Okay. Sure. Fine. Scar fucked my brain! How can he even expect me to look at him the same way! He just let me think for all that time he was a different guy! Do you know how crazy that is? He talked shit ABOUT HIMSELF constantly! He tricked me!” Still, after a whole week to think about it, Grian couldn’t make sense of that. That he had met someone, made a real connection with a real person, but he hadn’t, not actually, because all of it was a facade. It was just Scar. But it didn’t feel like just Scar- it felt like Micah. Micah, who was just an act. Micah who he’d never see again. And maybe that hurt the most. That he’d lost someone like that. That he’d lost a friend. Someone who he thought might be able to be more than a friend.

“If it helps I think he has serious enough issues with his identity that he was not just ‘Scar but playing a character.’ Micah was a different person to him, I think.”

“Yeah.” Grian’s shoulders sagged, the idea not much of a comfort, “That. I got some idea of that. He was asking me a lot of questions about alter egos when-“ Grian cut himself off to groan loudly, “This is so stupid. This is so stupid. He needs to go directly to therapy for weeks at a time so I don’t have to see him for at least another month.”

Cub shrugged, “Maybe it would be good for you to see him. Maybe you should go in today.”

“How would this help me.” Grian glared, but Cub wasn’t looking up, still reading-

“I don’t know,” Cub said, setting Grian’s phone down on the table to return his focus to his own coffee, “I just kinda want you to.”

“Seriously.”

“I do. You’ve both been a bit of a wreck all week, maybe this’ll clear the air. And unless you plan on never speaking to Scar again, which is not practical for your work or your home life, you’re going to have to tear the bandaid off at some point. If he wants to apologize, you should let him say what he has to say at the very least. You don’t have to forgive him.”

“You- Are you in on this? I think you’re in on this.”

“I didn’t know about the text. Honestly, the majority of that message comes off as very.. in the moment. I don’t think that was planned. But he has a plan. No idea what. He wouldn’t tell me. It’ll probably be funny though.”

“So do you want this to fix me or do you want to laugh at me?”

Cub waved a hand dismissively, not looking up from his coffee. “I want to laugh at Scar.”

“Great.”

“You should go to work though.”

“I know your motives, Cub.”

Cub only shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m also just curious. I want to know what he does. Don’t you? Wouldn’t it be sad if he planned some sort of big I’m Sorry event for you and you never showed?”

“This is extremely appealing to me.”

“But then you’ll never know what it was. Or if it even happened at all.”

“Scar will text you.”

“He might not.”

Grian scoffed. “If you want to see what Scar has done so badly then you can go and see it for yourself.”

“You think security would let me in?” Cub looked a bit too excited by that idea, the kind of expression that crossed his face holding Great Intention. Always a terrifying look on Cub, and definitely not something to be encouraged lest he get himself arrested.

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

Cub deflated (a great relief), but didn’t budge on his prior sentiment. “You should go.” Grian rolled his eyes.

“Well I am going, I want to go, but I'm not trying to see any of Scar. If he wants to talk to me he can chase me down. I’m not playing into anything he has planned.”

“Oh,” Cub blinked, then looked back at his phone, “Great. My job’s done then.”

“You are in on this!”

“I maintain my innocence. Hope it’s a good day though.”

“It won’t be.”

“If you say so.”

Grian rolled his eyes, taking his coffee off the maker and heading back to his room. He dressed in his underclothes, grabbed his bag, then headed out with a passing goodbye. Cub’s focus was elsewhere anyway, getting ready for his own work. One day Cub would be able to quit that damn job. Now that Grian had he means, he was going to make sure of it.

…

With the ample warning, Grian made sure to steer completely clear of his and Scar’s offices. He intended on lingering here as little as possible, only dropping in to change and collect a radio.

Apparently Scar had anticipated this.

“Well hello there!”

Grian didn’t catch more than a glance of him before slamming the public office door closed, but had to open it again seconds later because what the fuck was Scar wearing.

Scar had laid himself out over the center desk, dressed head to toe in the most garishly abhorrent green crop top, booty shorts, and sparkly jewelry Grian had ever seen all on top of his uniform. ‘IM SORRY’ was written across the chest in neon pink fabric marker chicken scratch, a miserable failure at matching CuteGuy’s colors. The entire outfit clashed so horribly that Grian couldn’t help but stare, for a moment too long apparently because Scar took this as an invitation to continue speaking.

“CuteGuy! I had a rose for you, but you took your sweet ass time getting here and I got bored, so I ate it instead. You know how there’s rose flavored candy and shit? Does not taste like the flower. Would not recommend. Actually!” Scar rolled over onto his stomach, kicking his legs, and Grian choked on a snort when he saw the text across Scar’s ass said ‘WHORE.’ “I was trying to spit it out, you know, and I’m pretty sure my saliva is purple now. It turned my water purple. I might have poisoned myself.”

Grian found himself stuck between bafflement and a laugh, but he refused to show Scar he was any amount amused by this display, his voice stilted in suppression when he finally spoke. “Give me. A radio.”

“Sure thing!” Scar plucked one off the dock, spinning it in his fingers before tossing it across the room. Grian caught it, turning on his heel to leave. “Hey! Where are you going?”

Grian didn’t feel the need to answer, shutting the door behind himself as he went, but it wasn’t long because he heard the tip-taps of Scar’s boots behind him, not running, but certainly trying his best to catch up.

“Did you see my message this morning?”

“I saw it.”

“Did you see the part where I asked to take you to lunch?”

“No.”

“Do you want to go to lunch then? Later, obviously. You don’t even have to go with me!”

Grian scoffed through a chuckle, rolling his eyes. Ridiculous. “No thanks.”

“I thought so. That’s okay! Maybe another time! I’m going to go now, but it was nice to see you, CuteGuy!”

Grian frowned, not responding or turning around. If Scar wanted to dress like an idiot, that was his prerogative. Grian wasn’t going to be the one to stop him. He had actual work to be doing.

…

Grian liked how often he got to fly in this line of work. CuteGuy the villain didn’t fly anywhere; he laid low, he scouted the streets from roofs of buildings, he stuck to the shadows. ‘Grian’ didn’t fly much either, not without a reason. Sometimes he’d fly just like anyone would go for a walk, but he liked doing something, he liked having places to go. As much as he loathed superhero culture- and the whole damn city for that matter- he loved this.

It wasn’t unusual for a crowd to gather at the scene of a fight or crime, but maybe Grian should have known that a crowd this large, this dense, was a red flag. It had been a couple hours since he’d set off into the city, so his guard was down, he was in the zone. He had just assumed someone was hurt. That people were trying to help or panicking. Clearing the crowd revealed otherwise.

Scar was laying on the sidewalk, still wearing his clashing clothes, signing a book from a fan before shooing them away while looking distinctly like the two of them were in on some sort of inside joke. He.. didn’t have his legs.

“CuteGuy!” Scar swooned, drawing a gloved hand across his forehead, “I have fallen and I can not get up! I need a handsome and capable superhero to assist me!”

Grian cringed, but despite the majority of people having backed up, no one seemed to actually have left, encircling the both of them in a tight barrier. Scar knew plenty well how their fans felt about the two of them, (Grian had stumbled upon some.. choice pieces of fanart before) and he’d never miss an opportunity to tease under the scrutiny of eager eyes. Though, there was something beautifully normal about that; the teasing, the invitation of banter. The kind of normalcy you long for, even when things aren’t well. (Even when Micah was never real, even after you lost a friend.)

“You’re plenty capable. This is a severe waste of my time.” Grian flapped his wings, not intending on leaving, just needing more space from the onlookers.

Scar watched him carefully, delight dancing across his face when he realized that Grian was going to stay. “Well of course, of course, but going all that distance walking on my hands? No no, I don’t think so! I don’t even want to think about the kinds of calluses I’d get! And it would take hours.”

“Serves you right. Did you make sure that call only wired to me?” Grian huffed, making a grand show of his annoyance since Scar couldn’t see the roll of his eyes. And.. well.. he couldn’t quite help himself with the crowd. Everyone gets a kick out of dramatics sometimes. “Where’d your legs run off to anyway?”

“Oh! Funny story! The Goat took them.”

“You paid him to do that?”

“That would have been a really good idea! But no. He just happened to see me, and after laughing at me for like ten minutes he said ‘iF yOu aRen’t uSinG thEsE tHen I wiLL’ like he does, you know him. It was a little ominous actually. I’m a bit worried. My doctors are going to be pissed when they find out, so personally, I would rather be delivering this news with legs in hand.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah. It’s not ideal. If it wasn’t already clear, I’m going to need help getting them back.”

“I hope you know how unbelievably a ‘you problem’ this is because I am not helping. Good luck hunting him down. First I’d recommend calling someone to bring you your chair.”

“No!” Scar jolted upright, proving just how capable he was of not laying pathetically on the concrete, “I want you! Look, look at me. Listen. Close your eyes.”

Grian made a face, scoffing to hide the hint of amusement that was threatening to show in his expression. “Do you want me to look at you or do you want me to close my eyes.”

“Listen. Imagine. HotGuy and CuteGuy: Dynamic Duo-!”

“This sounds awful.”

“-I’m up on your shoulders, we’re infiltrating The Goat’s home base together! You’re punching bad guys and I’m shooting my bow from above-“

“And how do you think you’re going to hang on, huh?” Grian interrupted, tapping his foot.

“Obviously I’d-“ Scar moved, seeming to realize too late he didn’t have the legs he was planning on using. This did not deter him, a sharp smirk splitting his smile, “Velcro!”

Grian snorted despite himself, “Yeah. That’d be perfect, wouldn’t it. I foresee zero issues.” With a great irritation that gripped him out of nowhere, Grian was suddenly aware of other voices, the crowd, speaking loudly amongst themselves. Someone started to chant his name. Another chanted ‘Velcro!’ That caught on much faster. Grian flapped his wings far more aggressively when the crowd began to close in, hitting civilians out of his personal bubble, but this didn’t seem to be very effective, anxiety crawling under his skin as the attention started to be too much. Scar seemed to notice, but despite his efforts to control the onlookers, they were too rowdy, too caught up in their excitement to listen.

“Goodbye.” Grian hissed, straining to be heard, and Scar half-shrugged, a possible attempt at apology.

“So that’s a no, then? You’ll fetch my legs at least, will you?”

“No.” Grian beat his wings hard, forcing civilians out of his way and prepping to take off.

“Oh! Okay! Have a nice day then!”

Grian was gone before he could hear another word, before any other body could brush the backs of his wings. Anger painfully out of proportion boiled in his stomach, spilling out and staining the rest of his insides in its pulsing fire. He wasn’t angry at Scar. Well. He could certainly blame Scar, luring him around and speaking like that, stoking the fire of fans who adored the both of them, but Grian hadn’t minded the show, he hadn’t even cared all too much that he’d been tricked, not when the resulting interaction felt so.. normal. He liked an act. He liked being CuteGuy. So why was he so upset? And maybe that was it. He was just angry for no reason, and that made him angrier, because despite everything, despite trying so damn hard, he was still broken.

He could punch someone about it. He wanted to punch someone about it. Cub wouldn’t want him to.

So he flew instead. Flew like he liked, fast and far and high until the air was too thin, then let himself fall, playing games with his life as he hurtled through the sky before catching himself under spread wings and doing all of it over again. Eventually he got tired. Eventually he had to stop. But the aftermath of a senseless episode still buzzed under his skin, nearly as unpleasant as the burn that caused it. Grian could feel it. He could feel it under his skin. He wanted to tear it out. He wanted to fly, exhaust himself until he couldn’t feel anything at all, but he was too tired, so instead he found himself gliding to Cub’s workplace. He didn’t know where else to go.

“CuteGuy-“ Cub’s manager was frightened by his sudden entrance, stumbling through the front door aggressively enough to rattle the attached bell into senseless noise.

“Hello Diane.”

“How do-“ but Grian cut her off with a frustrated groan, not caring to listen as he dragged himself to the back. Cub looked even more startled to see him than his manager did, though surprise quickly melted into concern when Grian collapsed into a pile of cardboard boxes. He grunted. They were not as soft as they looked.

“Ah CuteGuy, friend of HotGuy who I am friends with and know for this reason- it’s fine Diane, it’s fine, let me just- I can handle it.” Grian heard the soft arguing from the doorway, but didn’t care to say anything. He didn’t care to think. He just wanted to be better.

Eventually the door closed.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Cub’s hand flew to his shoulder and Grian viscerally cringed, lips parting in silent discomfort until the hand was swiftly drawn back, “I’m sorry. Do you need me to call an ambulance? Are you okay? You’re not okay.”

“I’m not hurt,” Grian mumbled, narrowing his eyes against Cub’s panicked expression in his peripherie. “Angry. Stupid.”

Cub jolted in his recognition, gears shifting immediately. “Scar, then. Was it Scar? I mean, I can’t say I haven’t been keeping tabs on the news- social media, the like. I’ve seen more than a few videos- people are going kinda nuts over nothing in my opinion but- It was too much. I’ll tell Scar to stop bugging you, he’ll stop.”

“It’s not Scar. I don’t care about Scar.”

Cub made a bit of a face, enough for Grian to tell he wasn’t so sure about that, but Cub didn’t voice the thought, instead asking, “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Nothing.”

“Is- I’m struggling a little with the tone, man.”

“I don’t know! I was fine, I was kinda having fun and then I just wasn’t and out of nowhere everything just sucked and I was so mad and that’s not supposed to happen to me! Nothing happened and I wanted to rip out my hair and punch things and I didn’t, but now I just feel stupid! Why is my brain so fucking dumb.”

Grian let his head drop, face down in a pile of cardboard, but Cub didn’t move, intense in his silence. Eventually he sat down, right on the floor. “I need to break these down anyway,” he hummed, almost subconsciously as he leaned to grab something off his desk. The next couple minutes were filled with the sound of a boxcutter against tape and cardboard. It wasn’t awful.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Cub asked, not much more than a whisper. Not like he was sad or anything either, just focused on the task at hand.

“Okay,” Grian mumbled, the word coming out entirely indecipherable as anything but a noise of assent.

“I think you were nervous this morning. I think maybe you had an alright day, but got overwhelmed near the end. You can be having a good time and still get overwhelmed. There were a lot of people around you from what I could tell; it looked kinda claustrophobic.”

“But I didn’t- I didn’t care. It was like a switch in my brain just flipped! No build up!”

“Sometimes that’s how it happens. Sometimes there is build up and you just don’t notice until it’s too late. It’s not always so simply defined. There’s not always a reason. And there doesn’t have to be. You’re not regressing because you had a bad day, Grian. You’re not stupid.”

“I feel awful.”

Out of the corner of Grian’s eye, he saw Cub nod. “Yeah. I get it.” Cub continued with the boxes and Grian didn’t speak, only shuffling a little to grant easier access to the few he was laying on. But Cub stopped almost abruptly after breaking down one box, the room blanketed in a meaningful silence. “Have I told you yet? How damn proud of you I am?”

The question jolted Grian out of his daze. He didn’t know what to say. How to respond. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Of course you have. You’ve been dealt a pretty shitty hand of cards, but you haven’t stopped working with them. You haven’t given up. And you have your moments, you have bad weeks, bad months, but you still pick yourself back up at the end of today. I think you’ve grown. I don’t think Grian from a couple months ago would have walked away from the crowd and taken his anger somewhere better. I don’t think Grian from a couple months ago would have come to me. I respect you, Grian. You’ve come so damn far. I’m proud of you.”

Grian shook his head. “I haven’t done anything. It’s all you. I don’t pick myself up at all, you’re just pushing me back on my feet.”

“I haven’t known a single person that overcomes any of these kinds of challenges without support. That doesn’t make you any less capable, Grian. You’re still standing on your own two feet. I am proud of you.”

Discomfort burned in Grian’s chest. Cub didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. “It’s all for you. I’m only here because of you.”

“Having a strong motivator doesn’t discount all the hard work you’ve put in for yourself. You want to be better, Grian. You give your blood, sweat, and tears to make it happen. I’m not just dragging you along. You go to therapy and work your ass off. You keep track of your meds. You make the decision to walk away when all of you wants to haul off and kick someone’s shit in. You do it. You. And maybe most impressively, every time you fail, get arrested, relapse into old behavior, you peel yourself right off the concrete and try again. And there’s nothing harder than that. So that’s why I’m proud. That’s why I will always be proud. You’re a good man, Grian. You’re good.”

Grian didn’t know what to do with that. A soft chill rippled through his form, shaking him in his entirety despite its gentle nature. All of him felt so heavy. His lungs were full of lead.

“Can I have a hug?” A meek question, but he didn’t care.

“Of course.”

Cub’s touch sent another wave of coolness riding through his veins, contracting his muscles, making him sick and heavy and limp. And then, slowly, a steady march that began in his chest and spread outward; warmth. A soft, perfect warmth. The kind of love that could make anyone believe they were something to be proud of.

[its-in-the-woods]

Chapter 2 of down the rabbit hole

Chapter one here chap three

MDNI

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating: Not much for this, brief mention of SA, mention of alcohol.

Slow build like novel damn length okay, Very Fluffy, Pinch of Angst, Relationship Development, Hurt/Comfort, Older man/ Younger(30s) women, Alternative universe, fictional work (IDK WHY BUT I AM PUTTING IT) Probably more as I go.

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

WARNING I do not have this all written out, I do have it plotted out, but it may be a little slower for chapters to come out. Please bear with me. If you know a Beta to edit please send them to me.

*Before we get into things. Thank you 100x for all the love. It means the world to me*

Somehow four weeks have slipped by. As always, TV series runs like a machine on fire while driving through a snowstorm. Long days, and even longer nights. You wonder briefly why you chose a profession that meant you average four to five hours of sleep. But then Walton brings the whole trailer their favorite coffee and you just shrug the thought off. Working with the cast and crew was like being in one big dysfunctional family. One part hated each other, one part was fucking each other, and another part just held on for the ride. You liked to think you were in the last group, but sometimes when you caught Liz glowering at you, you wondered if maybe you were in the first group. 

“Why does she hate me?” You ask Trevor as you try to eat lunch. Fish wasn’t your first choice but it’s what they had had. 

“Who?” Trevor asks, munching on some strawberries, how the man ate as much as he did and remained tiny was amazing. 

“Liz.” You sigh moving your fork around the plate.

“Liz hates everyone, don’t take it personally.” He grabbed a couple more pieces of fruit. 

“Have you seen the way she looks at me? Like, why bring me onboard if she was just gonna avoid me like the plague?”

“She’s jealous of you.”

You turn and raise your eyebrows at him. “What are you talking about?”

Trevor lets out a snort and chomps down on some cheese. “Girl. Don’t play down your talents. You have worked your damn ass off to get here. One of the best makeup artists out there and Liz knows it. Why do you think Mr. Goggins likes you so much?”

You shrug and pick through your food, the fish was not sitting particularly well. “I am not better than anyone else.”

Trevor swats at you playfully, “Shut up. You can wrangle through asshole actors like no one else. You take zero shit from anyone and you get stuff done on time or before they are needed. You’ll be one of the most valued artists in town in no time.” He chuckles and pushes his own plate away. “Just make sure you bring me along with you.”

You grin back at him. Trevor had never jerked you around like most others. He was right, you did a good job and people appreciated your blatant lack of kiss assery. You fiddle with your fork for a moment before deciding that you had enough for the day. 

***

It was Thursday, which meant the week was almost over. The end was in sight and your bed was calling your name. You’d probably sleep the weekend away and indulge in some overpriced Chinese food. Your thoughts about sweet and sour pork are broken when someone announces they are coming in. Liz walks in and looks you up and down. Dear god, that woman has a chip on her shoulder. She went and pulled out a couple of empty totes. 

“It’s going to be you and Trevor tomorrow and the following week.” She says her lips pressed firmly together, as she talks she goes through drawers grabbing different products.  “Walton is here doing some scenes, Laura will also be here but she shouldn’t be on camera. If she is, I've emailed you notes and pictures.”

You nod, not bothering to look at her as you continue to wash your brushes. Liz continued to add to her bin.  “Sounds good.”

“Look, I know we haven’t been exactly- Friendly.” You turn to look at the woman, she is putting the lid on to the tote. Writing info on a sheet of paper on the top. “But, you do a good job. The director has been very happy with everything. “

“Thank you.” You reply, giving her a small smile. “I appreciate that Liz.”

Liz nods back at you and grabs the tote, waddling out the door. It’s probably the closest you’ve come to liking her. You sit there for a moment, taking in the compliment, maybe things are changing for the better. 

***

Friday is here, and you decided to bring some timbits to celebrate the end of the week. The usually bustling studio lot was quiet. Construction and Set Dec had busied themselves with various other needs. It was refreshing to have a little quiet. You had even been able to park your car right beside the trailer. As much as you loved the absolute chaos that was a film set, the calm was a nice balm. You knew that before long you would miss the chaos, and it would be back with vengeance. 

Laying things out you felt like you could breathe. You had put on some gothic country on the stero, something that only you and Trevor really enjoyed. Both of you had moved from rural areas to do your job. It was another reason why you enjoyed his company. Trevor had set himself up on the second workspace, the two of you spreading out a little while the boss was away. 

“Hello. Lady and gentleman,” Walton’s voice shrill as he came up the stairs. The man was a never-ending ball of energy. You were positive you could do a month of night shooting and he still would come in chipper as if it was his first day. 

“Hey Walt,” Trevor said with a grin, it was hard not to be happy around the man.

“Excited for the weekend?” You ask as you drape him with a cape, popping off his sunglasses and grabbing his other glasses off the counter. As he rereads some lines. 

“I sure am. It feels like it’s been an extra long week.” He sighed, rubbing at his hazel eyes before grabbing a timbit. “These things are delicious, I am going to steal the whole box..” 

You slap playfully at his hand.“Hey now! Make sure I get a few” He gives you a crooked smile and holds one up. You don’t hesitate to lean forward and let him feed it to you. He swallows and looks up at you, as the realization dawns on you as to what you just did. 

“Well-Umm- Next week doesn’t look to bad,” Trevor pipes, shooting you a look, his voice squeaking slightly.

“This is true, just the three of us enjoying a few short days,” Walton says, you are desperately trying to move past what just happened as you grab a moisturizer and apply it gently. His eyes follow you.

“I can certainly say I will enjoy not having to drive all over the place.” You reply, trying not to let your cheeks flush. Reminding yourself sternly that you were a professional and for Pete’s sake you’d been working together for over a month now. 

“You have the craziest eyes.” He whispers as the two of you look at each other. There is no way of hiding the fact your cheeks are burning. Trevor graciously comes over and starts to fuss with his hair. 

“Thank you,” You reply, words caught in your throat. Turning to start packing your set bag, anything to hide the fact that you were bright red. You look up to see Trevor raising his eyebrows at you. You look away and finish things up before sending Walton off to set.

“What was that?” Trevor drawled as he slid into the chair, the look on his face made you want to crawl under the counter. 

“What was what?” You try to dismiss things even if your face is on fire. What the hell had just happened?

“He just fed you a damn donut hole and you are blushing all over Goggins?” Trevor pushes fiddling with a comb, and you really want to throw something at him. 

You freeze a bit and look up at him in the mirror. “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what? See the fact that you two have been goggling over each other for the last four weeks. You just ate food out of his fingers. Wait what does he taste good?’

You do throw a powder puff at him. “You. You stop it. I don’t know what the hell I was doing. It just kind of happened.” 

Yes, you had noticed the little things, but really the man was friendly with everyone. He had always been touchy-feely, but maybe there had been more that you had missed, including eating food out of his fingers. You remember him kissing you on the cheek yesterday morning before leaving. But there couldn’t be anything there, there was nothing there you repeated to yourself. 

“Oh give me a break. He brings you coffee and touches, and kisses your cheek every day. The man has been fawning all over you.”

You bite your lip and turn to look at your colleague, ‘He does that with everyone, Trevor. He’s just friendly.”

You’re now madly stuffing stuff into your bag trying to get out of this newly warm trailer. Trevor snorts and puts his things into his bag. You wish he would drop it, but he was never good at leaving things alone. 

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” He giggles in an imitation Southern drawl. The two of you hop out of the trailer. You aren’t sure whether to smack him or hug him, either way, there is a job to be done. 

***

It was a textbook day, Walton had nailed almost everything. The man could act there was no doubt about that. The character was a belligerent drunk detective trying to solve a cold case. The script was dark, moody, and well horrible. You didn’t shy away from horror, but true crime always made your stomach flipflop. Your stomach also flipped as you watched Walton go from looking like he was gonna bite someone's head off, to all smiles and laughter. 

You, Trevor, and Walton are walking back to the trailer together. It was actually sunny out, a rare moment for the Pacific Northwest. Costumes had been busy with some extras so you decided to start with him and finish with the others. 

“So do you two have any plans for the weekend?” Walton asks, walking in between both of you.

“I think I might have a date on Saturday,” Trevor replied cheerfully. 

“Oooh and who's the lucky fella?” Walton sing-songed.

Trevor looked flush for a moment, “Decon, from props actually.”

Walton chuckles elbowing Trevor “Well that sounds like an excellent Saturday. Man is gonna have some fun.”

Trevor shakes their head and rolls his eyes “He better show or I am going to have to send you both after him”

Walton bares his teeth and growls, which send everyone into a fit of giggles. Decon be aware, there was a madman coming for you. You thought as you get to the trailer opening the door.

“And what about you, little lady,” Walton drawls, that damn southern accent creeping in. 

“Nothing special. Think sleep and Chinese food are calling my name.” You reply as everyone settles in. Really that would be the best way to end the weekend. 

“Oh, Chinese food sounds amazing.” Trevor pipes in, turning on some tunes. 

“Who needs sleep, it's not that important.” Walton chides as you get to work. “I was wondering if you both would like to come to a small bar not far from here. Transport can drive us there and back, a few of us are getting together for some drinks.”

You catch Trevor's gaze, a sly smile spreading across his face. “Oh, I would love that! Little get-together with our mess of a family.”

“What about you?” The lead asks, rubbing your arm. His hands are warm, you’re surprised to feel a few calluses on his fingers. 

“Oh. Yeah sure. That would be good.” You give a small smile, trying not to let your mind wander too far. If you were honest, the prospect of getting together with a bunch of coworkers was low on your want list. But the look on Trevor's face tells you that you aren't allowed to say no. Your stomach clenches as the memory of a wrap party gone wrong rumbles past your mind. You push that down. It had been almost seven years since that happened, these were different people. People you knew and trusted.

“Fantastic, I am excited to have you both there,” Walton exclaims before closing his eyes to let you finish your job. 

Once Walton is released to Costume, you and Trevor busy yourself with cleaning the trailer. Getting extras cleaned up and making sure everything is ready for the early morning come Monday. You can tell Trevor has been watching you but you can't make yourself say anything. Anxiety has pooled in your stomach like a cold stone and you are struggling to shake it.

“What's wrong?” Trevor asks bluntly sitting down in a free chair. You shake your head and keep your hands moving.

“Come on now. I've never seen you get this clammed up over an invitation to a party. To be fair I've actually never seen you go to a party–” Trevor’s words trail off realization washing over his face. “I know you like your peace, and quiet, but what is going on”

You collapse into the other chair with a deep sigh. Trying to find the words, you really didn't want to explain things too much. That said if there was anyone who'd understand it be Trevor.

“When I first got into the industry.” Your mouth feels so dry even at the thought of it. You grab your water bottle taking a swig.“I went to a wrap party. Got drunk and a guy from Sound took advantage of me. So I've never gone to one since.”

Trevor looks shocked, sadness creeping in at the words. “Hon.That is awful.”

“It happened almost a decade ago. It's fine. Just makes me nervous.” You let out a breath. You weren't going for sympathy, despite it being the worst night of your life, all you wanted was understanding.

Trevor comes over and gives you a big hug. You feel tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. As you let yourself sag against him. You were so thankful for this man, that he was understanding and seemed to care about you. 

“Honey, nothing like that is gonna happen to you tonight. We'll go together and enjoy ourselves. And if any man or woman tries to hurt you I will beat them with my handbag” Trevor reassures you with a small smile. You both chuckle at the last statement 

You sniffle a little, grabbing a tissue from the counter to dab at your eyes. “Thank you, Trevor”

He gives you a reassuring nod as you both get ready to go out. You were determined to make it a good night one way or another. 

Chapter three

Maybe.. maybe.. I will post the next chapter tomorrow cause I am too excited not to share it. Likes, comments, and reblogs are so greatly appreciated. Y'all keep this northern person happy.

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - none

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 17

Late one evening, shortly before Christmas of 1966, Matt rapped lightly on my door and called, “Sattnin, I have to talk to you.” We had a password. Teasingly, I told him he’d have to utter it before I’d admit him. He laughed and said, “Fire Eyes”—the nickname I gave him when he was angry.

He had his old boyish grin on his face and his hands were behind his back. “Sit down, Baby, and close your eyes.”

I did. When I opened my eyes, I found Matt on his knees before me, holding a small black velvet box.

“Baby,” he said.

I opened the box to find the most beautiful diamond ring I’d ever seen. It was three and a half karats, encircled by a row of smaller diamonds, which were detachable—I could wear them separately.

“We’re going to be married,” Matt said. “You’re going to be mine. I told you I’d know when the time was right. Well, the time’s right.”

He slipped the ring on my finger. I was too overwhelmed to speak; it was the most beautiful and romantic moment of my life.

Our love would no longer be a secret. I’d be free to travel openly as Mrs. Matt Sturniolo without the fear of inspiring some scandalous headline. Best of all, the years of heartaches and fears of losing him to one of the many girls who were always auditioning for my role were over.

He was in a rush to show the ring to his father and Grandma and to tell them that we were officially engaged. I didn’t even have a chance to get dressed. Considering our irregular life-style, getting engaged in my dressing room and showing off my beautiful diamond while dressed in a terrycloth robe didn’t strike us as at all odd.

I wanted to share the great news with my parents, but he suggested we wait until we returned to L.A. a few weeks later. Then we could tell them in person; they deserved that consideration. That night, we called my parents and invited them to spend a weekend with us in Bel Air.

On the day they were due to arrive, Matt was as excited as I’d ever seen him. He kept looking out the window, watching for their car. He was dying to show them the ring and almost did the moment they walked in the door, but I managed to keep my hand behind my back until we were all settled on the sofa. The second we were seated, he pulled my hand from behind me and said to my parents, “Well, we just wanted to show you this.”

“What is it?” my father asked, peering at my hand.

“Well, sir, that’s an engagement ring.”

Tears trembled in my mother’s eyes. “My God,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

They were both ecstatic. We loved letting them know that what they’d so long hoped and prayed for had now come to pass. We emphasized the importance of keeping our announcement a secret, asking them to maintain strict confidence even within the immediate family, since the kids might tell their friends at school and then word would be out. We wanted a private wedding, not a celebrity event. My parents agreed with all the plans. They couldn’t have been happier, and all weekend they beamed with pleasure.

In the five years I’d lived with Matt, I would rarely let them discuss marriage with Matt. The possibility of their daughter being hurt was foremost in my parents’ minds. Now they no longer had to worry whether they’d made the right decision in allowing me to leave home at such a young age.

I know that Colonel William asked him to take a long look at our relationship and decide where he wanted it to go. Matt’s attitude toward marriage was that it was final. Although he was monogamous by nature, he loved options. Still, he wasn’t about to let me go. Curiously enough, after his talk with Colonel, it didn’t take him long to decide the time was ripe.

It was his decision and his alone.

In our excitement we made the rest of our plans for the wedding ceremony. It was suggested I find a dress immediately, the reason being that if the news leaked out, we could get married at a moment’s notice. But my search for a wedding dress ended up taking months. Disguised in dark glasses and a hat, I shopped every exclusive boutique from Boston to L.A. where, despite my disguise, I was paranoid enough to think people recognized me. I even spoke with several seamstresses about designs but I didn’t trust them enough to tell them it was for a wedding dress.

Finally someone suggested a little out-of-the-way shop in L.A. Charlie escorted me, posing as my fiancé, and it was here that I found my wedding dress. It wasn’t extravagant, it wasn’t extreme—it was simple and to me beautiful.

I glided out of the dressing room to model it for Charlie, and when he saw me, his eyes filled with tears. “You look beautiful, y/nn,” he said, and whispered, “He’ll be so proud of you.”

It was the February after our engagement. We were driving near Horn Lake, Mississippi, when we spotted a beautiful ranch—one hundred sixty acres of rolling hills. A herd of Santa Gertrudis cattle was grazing. There was a bridge across a little lake, a barn with stalls for horses, and a charming house situated in a prime location. It was for sale.

This was my perfect dream house. I fell in love with it and began to picture Matt and me living there alone. It was small enough for me to handle myself. I could clean it and take care of Matt, bringing him his breakfast in bed in the mornings as he gazed out at the gentle view of Rising Sun grazing in the pastures.

I thought of this ranch as a wonderful way for us to get away from Graceland from time to time. I pictured us saddling our own horses and riding in the early morning or at dusk. My picture was of us alone, without an entourage.

We were determined to buy it, never foreseeing the burden it would become. He wanted the ranch as much as I did, even though James said that at $500,000 it was overpriced. He felt the owner could offer a much more desirable deal and tried to persuade us that financially it was not a good move. Matt’s movies were continuing to decline in popularity and record sales were down. He was averaging a million dollars a film and the money was going out as quickly as it was coming in. Yet Matt’s mind was made up. He wanted it.

James grudgingly went to the bank to borrow money, putting Graceland up as collateral. We bought the entire ranch as was, including cattle and equipment, and christened it the Circle G for Graceland.

We had eighteen horses by then, and all were transferred to the ranch as was the staff of nine. It was the heyday of the commune, but Matt had his own idea about how he wanted us all to live. Since the house on the property was small, he bought individualized mobile homes and designated one to each family. James worked diligently to get permission from the city to put gas and water on the ranch.

“Whatever it takes, do it,” Matt ordered.

Before long, tons of cement were being poured to make the huge concrete foundations for the trailers. It didn’t stop there. He bought El Caminos or Ranchero trucks for each family, even one for the plumber and another for the painter. He spent at least $100,000 on trucks alone.

He continued spending money as if it were going out of style. Alarmed, James literally begged him to stop, but Matt said, “I’m having fun, Dad, for the first time in ages. I’ve got a hobby, something I look forward to gettin’ up in the mornin’ for.”

It wasn’t unusual to see him walking around the property, knocking on doors, waking everyone up, or checking on the horses in the early-morning hours. He was having a ball, and there were days he didn’t even want to take time out to eat—he’d walk around with a loaf of bread under his arm in case hunger pangs struck. He loved shopping in Sears’s basement, buying power tools, knives, flashlights, and other equipment that he would come bearing proudly back to the ranch.

That spring of 1967, we spent a lot of time there, sometimes staying as long as two weeks without returning to Graceland. On Sundays we had picnics and all the girls chipped in on potluck, bringing chicken baskets, cookies, and salads. We rode horses, held skeetshooting contests, and combed the lake for turtles and snakes. There was fun, laughter, and a lot of camaraderie. Once again, our life was a group affair with everyone participating.

Even in my tiny house there’d be guests for dinner every night, usually single guys like Steven and Charlie. Cooking for Matt was easy: I’d just take whatever we were having and burn it. But there were so many others that his cousin Patsy would usually stop by to help me. The guys with wives would have dinner in their mobile homes and then come over for dessert and spend the rest of the evening with us.

There was always a lot of jamming. Matt, Steven Wright, and Charlie Hodge would get together in the middle of the room, harmonizing a favorite song. When they were really going good Matt would yell, “Whew! Hot damn! One more time!” He’d sometimes spend an hour just on an ending because it had “the feel—the ingredients of a masterpiece.”

Just as the entourage had followed us to the ranch, so did the curious. The same ones who gathered around Graceland started turning up at the Circle G and soon—day or night—scores of people were lined up along the fence. Since our little house stood in full view of the road, Matt built a ten-foot-high wall, but nothing deterred them; now they began climbing on tops of cars and roofs of nearby homes. We couldn’t get away from them, and I dreaded driving through the gates.

The dream was slowly turning into a nightmare. The wives wanted to get back to their homes, and the children wanted to get back to their friends and their schools.

Matt liked it when everyone was together on terms he alone specified—and he got upset when they wanted to leave. “Hell, I bought all this stuff,” he said, “and everyone wants to go home.” He resented defections; he’d given the employees everything and they didn’t seem to appreciate it. He discovered that some of the regulars were selling their trucks. They needed the cash more than the El Caminos. Matt couldn’t imagine the financial struggle most people face and he never understood that the married regulars had to consider responsibilities to their wives and children.

Still, he enjoyed giving and sharing even as his own bank account was radically diminishing. An expensive hobby, the ranch had already cost him close to a million dollars and created a serious cash-flow problem. In daily phone calls to the Colonel, James pleaded with him to come up with some work to divert Matt from his spending spree. The Colonel promptly made arrangements for another movie, Clambake. Matt read the script, yet another beach-and-bikini story, and hated it.

James convinced him he didn’t have much choice. “We need the money, Son.” And Matt was committed.

“I don’t wanna leave here, y/nn,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you, the ranch, Sun. Ain’t no son of a bitch gonna keep me away long. That goes for Dad, Colonel, the studios—no one. Their little plot to keep me from spending money ain’t gonna work. If I need money, I’ll go to Nashville and record a few songs. It’ll be better than those lousy goddamn pictures.”

Neither he nor James ever considered turning the Circle G into a profit-making operation. All the necessities for a successful farm were present—tractors, feed, and the finest Santa Gertrudis cattle, bred on the Rockefeller ranch—but he sold the cattle after James advised him that upkeep was too expensive. With professional financial counsel, Matt might have pursued legitimate business ventures beneficial to him and his hobby.

Unfortunately, James and Matt were leery of business matters requiring financial advice. James operated on pure instinct, refusing any suggestion of tax breaks, which he found too complicated to consider. He let the IRS figure Matt’s taxes and had done so ever since Matt had been audited while in the Army and assessed eighty thousand dollars in back taxes.

“Let’s just pay the taxes, Dad,” Matt said. “I make enough money. I’ll make a million dollars and I’ll give them half.”

It was during the filming of Clambake that our lease on the house on Perugia Way in Los Angeles expired and we had to go looking for a new home. After our experience at the Circle G, we were concerned with protecting our privacy, and when we spotted a secluded home nestled against a hill in Bel Air, we thought we’d found sanctuary at last. But privacy was to elude us here as well.

Soon, hundreds of people began collecting on the mountain road directly above us and observing the view below through binoculars and telephoto lenses. We could no longer use our pool, patio, or driveway without looking up at an audience, including reporters and photographers who were having a field day trying to get candid photos and scoops.

The situation occasionally got out of hand. One night when Matt went to Mount Washington to talk with Daya Mata and I was driving to Amber Doe’s (Nate’s wife) for a visit, I noticed a car with bright headlights tailgating me. It was one of Matt’s most ardent fans, a two hundred-pound female who was accompanied by another girl and a guy. Feeling unsafe, I decided to turn around and go home. She followed close all the way and by the time I drove through the gates, I was furious.

Seeing her drive up to the dead-end road above our house, I sped after her, parking my car broadside across the road, blocking her. She was standing beside her car when I strode up and demanded: “What are you doing here? Why are you following me?” She stood there mutely and again I demanded: “Why are you following me?”

“You whore,” she snapped.

Incensed, I clenched my fist and swung an uppercut, hitting her in the face. She landed on the ground, spread-eagled and stunned. I landed on her and the two of us yelled, screamed, and pulled hair until I realized I needed help. I ran back to our front gate and yelled into the intercom, “Someone—Sonny, Jerry—come help me!”

Within seconds Matt came flying out of the house with the guys close behind him. “What is it, Baby?”

When I explained, pointing to the ridge, Matt went charging up the hill. Seeing him coming, the girl and her friends locked themselves in her car. Matt was livid, lifting the car on its springs, bouncing it from side to side. He pounded the windshield, threatening to kill them if he ever got his hands on them or if they ever laid their hands on me.

“I’m underage! I’m underage!” she kept yelling. “I’ll sue you if you touch me.”

It took a lot of convincing from Sonny that she was more trouble than it was worth before Matt would let her drive away.

Matt was so despondent over Clambake that his weight ballooned from his usual 170 to 200 pounds by the time he reported for work. The studio ordered him to take the weight off—and fast. Enter the diet pills, the only way he could curb his appetite and reduce his weight in the short time allowed. Colonel managed to deal with the impatient studio brass.

The morning he was to begin shooting he awoke groggy and went into the bathroom while I was still in bed. I heard a loud thump, then cursing. “Goddamn motherfucking cord! Who the hell put this thing here?”

I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom, calling out, “What’s happened?” He was lying on the floor, rubbing his head.

“I tripped over the goddamn TV cord. It was so damned dark in here I didn’t see it. Help me out of here—I have to lie down.”

Although he was dizzy and off balance, we managed to make it to the bed. Feeling a big lump on his head, I called Nate Doe at once, who summoned Colonel William and a doctor. Within minutes, the room was full of people—the doctor, his nurse, Colonel William, and several nervous studio executives. Colonel suggested that everyone but himself wait outside while the doctor made his diagnosis.

A few hours later it was announced that Matt had a severe brain concussion and that the start of his film would be delayed indefinitely. The Colonel decided to use the accident to curtail some of Matt’s other activities. He wanted Matt to abandon his involvement with esoteric philosophies, which the Colonel felt were irrelevant to Matt’s acting career and detrimental to clear thinking.

Matt’s spiritual quest hadn’t gone unnoticed. Everyone from the entourage to film crews was aware of a change in his personality over the years he’d studied with Larry Geller. Matt’s vibrant personality was now passive and he was becoming more introverted. The mischievous games he’d once played on movie sets had been superseded by studious pursuits. Matt buried his head in books that he diligently lugged to and from the studio every day.

The person most concerned about this change was Colonel William. The Colonel felt that Larry’d hypnotized Matt, and his acting and recording careers were suffering as a result. Matt’s “concussion” provided an opportunity to put a halt to the soul-searching.

A few days after the accident, the Colonel gathered Matt and the boys together for a meeting and told them they were burdening Matt with too many problems. “Dealing with one person is one thing,” he said, “but eleven, plus his own problems, is enough for any man to buckle under.”

The Colonel told them that there were going to be some changes, from cutting back the payroll to taking problems to Nate instead of Matt. His basic message was: Leave Matt alone.

“Matt should concentrate on his career,” he said. “He’s an artist, not a shoulder to cry on. Leave him alone, and let him do his work.” The Colonel looked over at Larry; it was obvious that his message was primarily aimed at him. “I don’t want him reading any more books and getting involved in things that clutter up his mind.”

Matt sat and listened like an obedient child, looking down, saying nothing. He did not stand up for Larry; no one did.

Later the Colonel told Matt that he should get Larry out of his life, that Larry used some sort of technique to manipulate his thinking. Matt argued that this wasn’t the case. He was truly interested in his readings.

“You wouldn’t be in this condition if your head was on straight,” shouted the Colonel.

“I’m telling you, Larry’s jamming up your mind.”

I was surprised at how attentively Matt was listening. Matt had always argued with anyone, even me, who said anything against Larry. At one point; it seemed Matt would cut off his right arm for Larry. But now Matt promised the Colonel he wouldn’t spend any more time than he had to with him. He kept his promise. He only used Larry to style his hair and was never alone with him again.

After that meeting, the boys became openly hostile toward Larry, and even Matt began making a few pointed remarks about him. Larry was now the outsider, and he eventually left. Colonel William was elated. His boy was back.

Matt was ready for a major change and it was time to move on. The Colonel said his films were doing badly and he had to revitalize his career. He’d be getting married soon, and before that date he’d have to get his career and life back on track.

After Larry left, Matt locked away many of his books. I told him I was glad, that they were literally destroying us. We were engaged to be married. “Would it make you feel better if I just got rid of them all?” Matt asked. I nodded.

That night, at three in the morning Matt and I piled a huge stack of his books and magazines into a large box and dumped them into an abandoned water well behind Graceland. We poured gasoline over the pile, lit a match, and kissed the past goodbye.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - engaged!!🎀

[momo-de-avis]

Historical context needed for what I am about to explain: portuguese Green Wine has a "backyard" type of history. It was started by small producers and it is very much a rural wine, made by people who stand on the opposite end of the enologist spectrum. It's called Green for several reasons but one of them being that they did make wine with green grapes initially considering the region of Minho, where it comes from, gets less sun than the rest of the country and harvest happened at the same time as everywhere else so the grapes hadn't ripened. The fizziness however comes from something else. Typically producers stored this wine in barrels to let it ferment, but because it's colder there than the rest of the country, fermentation took longer than usual. In the spring, people would knock on their doors to buy this wine. Like I said, these were very much back-door buyers, that's where green wine comes from. Because most producers were far from rich, they weren't about to turn a prospect buyer away just because fermentation wasn't done. So they filled up bottles and sealed them. What happens when you seal a fermenting wine is that it releases gas, thus creating a very soft fizziness.

With that out of the way,

The other day, during a tour, a client asked me for a green wine with no fizziness, and I immediately suggested Alvarinho. But that's the easy answer and there is another one I was trying to remember. It happened that we were at a wine bar in that moment (one of our partners) so I thought, I'll ask S, the owner.

I like S and her husband, I really do. I like the staff there. But I worked at a gallery and I can sniff out snobs like k9s in airports and the snobbery was off the charts that day. Still, I head downstair and say "hey S, do you have a green wine without fizziness?"

With the most disgusted look on her face, she says "Green wine doesn't have fizziness".

This is where the historical context I just provided you with comes in. Because my family on my father's side comes from that region, and while they aren't producers, they have always consumed that exact type of green wine. What changed over time was us joining the EU which resulted in a professionalisation of wine producers, and the reinforcement of demarcated regions led to Green Wine having rules established. Meaning, fizziness is not mandatory and when added is a synthetic process, and the grapes aren't green anymore.

It's true that most producers who make bottled green wine are giving up on the fizziness entirely, but to say "green wine doesn't have fizziness" is factually incorrect, and S knew it, she was just being a fucking snob.

So she says that and I'm just standing there in silence like. What do you want me to say to that? And she asks me what do I want. I say, the client asked me for a green wine without fizziness. She says, none of our green wines have fizziness. I'm like, do I look like I work here? I don't even know where your green wines are oh my god just show me one.

There's a bit of back and forth with "what do you want" and me insisting "I don't want shit, it's the client" and she's clearly boasting about how much she knows about not just green wine, but good quality green wine, and she's clearly trying to make me look like a fucking idiot in front of her friends, and it's at this point she picks up a bottle and one of friends (and this man had a moustache and a pair of spectacles that you could just tell he was the Major Snob) says "that one has a hint of green apples".

I genuinely don't know if he was fucking with me or not, but I take the bottle upstairs and the moment I show it to my client I remember it's Soalheiro what wanted to show him, so I just tell him fuck these snobs, go to Garrafeira Nacional instead and get a bottle of Soalheiro.

Next day, I have another tour. At the green wine stop, I tell the history of the wine, everything I just explained to you.

Then, I realise I am still salty as fuck over the day before. And so I go on a rant about snobs. I tell them: while it is true that green wine has evolved and wine experts are in favor of green wine without fizziness, the truth is this is a back-door producers type of wine. It's very rural and in the past 30 years its production was boosted thanks to EU money and professional wine producers. But the people still like the fizziness. I said there's bottled green wine, but there's also on tap, or draft, and when it's draft, it's always carbonated. I told my clients: try going to a marisqueira and asking for a non-carbonated green wine to eat sea food and see what happens. Because the concept alone is an insult. People love green wine, with and without fizziness, but with fizziness is dear and special to people. So, if you ever hear anyone say that real green wine isn't carbonated, please know that those people are, in my humble opinion and as a person whose family has an emotional connection to the wine, snobs.

Funny thing is, that day, we finished the tour again at the same place as the day before, but the owners (The and her husband) weren't there.

As I was signing my papers to leave, a client walks past me, thanks me for the tour, then turns back, pats me on the shoulder, and dead ass says "thank you for not being a snob".

I have never felt more like I have won in life

[unproduciblesmackdown]

blade gunnblade !!!!!!!!

via eliza simpson:

There are no words for this true warrior. They kill me. MMM: went in for a post show hug. Me:"ow!" Asia: "oh sorry, that's my bullet necklace." 😳........ 😍

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

It's almost Time™️ in my fic & I'm not ready

[pendragora]

Might a girl live without any body horrors for just one fucking night

[tirednapentity]

Day 5: In loving memory of

@sergeantsporks

I have to admit that this one… got away from me a bit. It’s way longer than I wanted it to be and I’m a bit uncertain wether it fits the prompt. This is also perhaps one of the most angst things I’ve ever written. 

They’re back on that damned bridge. Or, at least what’s left of it. Over half of it is gone, leaving a narrow strip of stone that thy’re running around on, desperately trying not to die. Above them, their foe twists and turns in the air, laughing loudly as they strike left and right.

And in the middle of it all, is Hunter. He’s shaking with adrenaline, running, jumping, throwing everything he has and is into this fight. Panic blurs his vision - until he turns his head at a terrified yell coming from his left. And suddenly his entire world is narrowing down to Gus, crouched down low and eyes wide in fear, and the shadow looming over him, golden light flashing in his vision. He moves, faster than the eye can follow, slamming into him and putting his body in front of Gus’s. The blow connects with his side, and then he’s stumbling – they both are – and there’s suddenly no ground under his feet.

Air rushes by them. Gus screams, right by his ear, and Hunter thinks he might be screaming too. It’s kind of hard to tell, with the air rushing by him as they plummet. He thrusts out a hand, grabbing onto Gus’s arm as tightly as he can, while the other fumbles to get a grip on his staff. His fingers barely close around it, but it’s enough. It has to be, or else they’re going to end up nothing more than two mangled bodies on the floor.  

Wooden wings beat the air, and their descent begins to slow, just as Hunter thinks they might not make it after all. It can’t be called flying, with Hunter hanging onto the staff with one hand and grabbing Gus with the other. Hopefully it’ll be enough for them not to die upon impact. His hands are slick with sweat, trembling with exertion as he tries to hold on.

They still hit the ground hard. It knocks the air from his lungs all over again, and for a single second before he punches himself to his feet, he just lays there, trying to make sense of the fact that he’s still alive. His vision swim

“Hunter?” he says, voice sounding like it’s about to collapse, heightened into panic. Hunter finally opens his eyes – when did he close them? – and

And for a moment, the world stands still.

There are bodies around them. Barely even that – all Hunter sees are bones and golden masks, and oh Titan, there’s so many of them, far more than he’d ever thought and –

He thinks he might vomit.

His staff falls out of numb fingers, clattering on the ground and rolling away from him, closer to the center of this tomb they’ve stumbled into. It’s littered with loose debris and shards of both metal and glass all over, and when Hunter pushes himself to his feet, he feels them prick at his fingertips.

He hadn’t – he doesn’t remember how many memories of dead guards he’d seen in Belos’ mind. He’d thought that it had maybe been a dozen or so, but not – not this. There are far too many to count, scattered all around them. It almost doesn’t look real. But then there’s the way his body aches all over, the way the air tastes like rot and how his feet seem glued to the stone floor, and the sinking knowledge that this is very, very real.

It’s too horrible to be a dream, and not merciful enough to be a nightmare.

From behind him there’s a quiet, strangled gasp. Hunter barely registers it at first, too caught up with trying and failing to keep himself together. But then it does catch up to him, and he whirls around to Gus. He manages it just in time to see Gus’s eyes flash a bright, terrible blue.

Blue light swirls around them both, a dizzying rush of color that eventually solidifies into tall trees that shroud them in shadow. Magic ripples out from Gus, blurring and reshaping the ground into a forest floor. And Hunter’s stomach just plummets, throat dry and stuck together as his heart pounds against the inside of his ribcage.

“Gus?” he chokes up. It comes out wrong, but that’s irrelevant. He can’t muster up anything better.

Gus doesn’t see him. His eyes are locked onto his but they’re unfocused, flooded with blue. His hands are shaking at his side, balled into fists, knuckles nearly white.

Fuck.

“Gus, breathe,” he tries, raising a trembling hand and holding up four fingers. “It’s going to be alright.”

He draws in a slow breath, folding his fingers to his palm and counting aloud. One, two, three four – three, two, one. One, two, three four…

And miraculously, Gus begins to copy him. His breathing is shaky, but it evens out with time. Hunter truly thinks he’s about to collapse from the mixture of still present panic and relief that floods him.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. His voice still sounds brittle and wrong, but Gus simply nods, and Hunter moves up to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Gus melts into it, burying his face into his side. Hunter just pulls him closer, closing his eyes and trying his best to not fall apart, pushing down the tears pricking at his eyes.

He can’t cry. He can’t cry right now, because he knows he would break.

“We need to get out of here,” he eventually says. It should be manageable – Flapjack’s around here somewhere. He just has to get his staff, and then they’ll be okay.

They’ll be okay.

But the floor’s still covered in Gus’s illusion, a thick layer of grass and fallen leaves hiding the stone underneath. Hunter can barely see his own boots. And he dropped his staff earlier – who knows where it could’ve rolled to.

He’ll find it, Hunter reassures himself. He’ll find it eventually. Maybe that’s a lie, but he can’t think about that for the same reason he can’t cry.

So he calls out for his palisman, hoping desperately to at least hear and answering chirp. Nothing. He tries again, and again, and again.

Nothing.

It looks like he’s doing this the hard way then.

Hunter’s fingertips drift over the floor of the pit, occasionally catching on tiny glass fragments and cracks in the stone as he feels around for his staff. They’re trembling worse with every minute. Occasionally, they’ll brush against cold, jagged metal.

Hunter searches, and tries not to think.

He’s barely keeping his breathing under control, nausea creeping up inside his throat, as he touches something that’s roughly the right shape. He lays a hand on it, wrapping his fingers around, only to realize that the object in fact isn’t his staff, when instead of wood he feels –

Hunter yanks his hand away as if it burned him as soon as it registers what he’s touching. He shakes even worse after, breaths coming out faster and faster as his ribcage draws tight around his lungs. Bile rises in his throat, and he barely chokes it down.

When he’s finally got a grip, he puts his hand back on the floor. He has to keep going – if not for himself, then for Gus. He’s not giving up on him too.

It’s not the last time he touches the bones of his predecessors. His hand bumps against something that could be a skull, still half covered in metal. Tiny fragments are scattered like pebbles all across – it’s hardly possible to avoid. All he can do is bite his tongue and try not to vomit.

He doesn’t even know how long he searches.

Logically, he knows that he has to find his staff eventually. It couldn’t have rolled that far. But rationality is hard to hold onto when he’s kneeling in a pit filled with the remains of centuries worth of past Golden Guards. In the very pit where he knows he would’ve ended up if he’d just been slightly less lucky.

It also holds resemblance to being buried under the roots of trees, hearing two voices echo around him as he fumbles with slips of paper and clutching an old jacket. But that’s yet another thing he’s trying not to think about.

Hunter keeps searching and he keeps shaking and he keeps teetering just on the edge of collapse, treading a fine line between ignoring everything around him and letting it overwhelm him. His mind is racing a mile a minute and his heart pounds against the inside of his sternum like a bird trapped in a cage that’s much too small for it.

Hunter doesn’t know when he slips up. All he knows is that suddenly the crushing fear and hopelessness becomes too much to bear as his lungs are suddenly completely void of air, as his hand rests on what can only be a skull – only this one doesn’t have a mask. It’s much too small for one anyway.

Gus is calling his name. Gus is calling his name, voice barely just cutting through the fog that’s taken over his brain, and Hunter can’t fucking muster up anything in response. He wants to respond, truly, he does, but all he can manage is another stuttering gasp as he desperately tries to breathe. A hand lands on his shoulder and he can’t suppress a violent flinch. It’s retracted instantly, and he thinks he can hear Gus say something else, even if the words don’t quite reach him.

He’s in front of Hunter now, and he looks just as afraid as him. Titan, does he look afraid. His hand’s up, counting down as he tries to get Hunter to breathe. But Hunter – he just can’t. He just keeps hyperventilating like a fish out of water as Gus has to pick up his slack.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been.

They’re both still kneeling on the floor of the pit, Gus’s hands gripped tightly in his. Hunter still hasn’t found his staff and Gus’s eyes still shine a brilliant blue.

But then there’s a voice echoing through the cavern, calling out their names. It’s joined by another, deeper one, one that sounds just as desperate.

It takes him a while to register the sound. But when he does, he finally manages to lift his head – because he knows these voices. Tears try to push up again, this time just from the sheer relief that floods him as he desperately shouts back, his grip on Gus tightening to the point of pain.

And then the illusion ripples in place as Luz bursts out through the fake trees, face crumpling in relief as she spots them. Right after her comes another figure, a purple cloak sweeping across the stone.

“Oh thank god you’re okay,” Luz breathes, crouching down beside them. Her presence is like a breath of fresh air as she reaches around to wrap both of them in her arms. Hunter lets her, too drained to even think about refusing the touch. Gus latches onto her too, burying his face in her shoulder as he trembles.

Darius clears his throat behind them. His face is so carefully neutral that Hunter thinks it has to be fake.

“As heartwarming as this is, I do believe you probably want to get out of… whatever this is.”

Oh. They don’t actually know what they’ve just stumbled upon, do they.

Of course they don’t. Gus’s illusion still covers every inch of the horror underneath. There’s no way they know. Hunter doesn’t know how to feel about that.

So he doesn’t say anything. What comes out of his mouth instead is, “Flapjack’s still around here somewhere.”

“We’ll have time to find your palisman later,” Darius responds, settling a hand on his shoulder. Maybe Hunter’s imagining it, but he thinks his face softens just a bit when he makes eye contact.

He doesn’t want to leave his palisman. But he’s beyond tired and he trusts Darius. So he just nods and lets himself be helped to his feet. Only that Darius doesn’t let his hand go, even after he’s steadied himself.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, and Hunter looks downstairs his hands and oh. Turns out those shards might’ve cut deeper than he realized.

Titan, why didn’t he bring his gloves?

It’s not that bad anyway. Just a few trickles of blood from tiny cuts. It isn’t even hurting badly, and even if, that’d hardly be the worst thing about this whole situation. Yet Darius stares at it with his brows knitted together in a frown, like it’s something worth worrying about.

“It’s okay.” he says quietly. “It doesn’t hurt.” And Darius looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Instead he simply pulls Hunter closer, gesturing for Luz and Gus to come join them as well.

“Well then, let’s get going.” He says, drawing a single spell circle. Abomination magic rises up above them and Hunter takes a deep breath before letting it swallow him, holding on tight to the others and closing his eyes.

It’s a while before he sees Darius again after that. When he does, Darius wordlessly presses the handle of his staff into Hunter’s hands before sitting down next to him. This time, the blank look on his face doesn’t nearly look as structurally sound as before.

He doesn’t know what to say except a breathless thank you while he hurries to unscrew Flapjack from his interlock. They immediately flutter all around him as soon as he gets them free, chirping her worries and little I love yous with every breath. He cradles her close, cupping them in his hands. He half feels like he could cry just from this.

“I love you,” he whispers back. “I love you so much.”

You too!

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

Darius keeps standing there, watching them. Eventually, Flapjack calms down, perching on his shoulder and tucking their head next to his chin. And that’s when Darius finally breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not coming to get you sooner. You shouldn’t have to see any of… that.”

Hunter swallows. “You were fighting for your life. We all were.”

“That’s not an excuse, just an explanation, and you know that.”

Hunter doesn’t come up with a response for that one. Because he doesn’t really blame Darius, but he’s too tired to argue any more. Instead he simply sighs, and in a movement he doesn’t dare think about, lets his head rest against Darius’s shoulder.

He’s pleasantly surprised when instead of pulling away or anything of the sorts, Darius I seat puts his own arm around his shoulders. Hunter leans into the touch as his eyes start to drift shut.

They stay like that for a long time.

[dc-bitchin]

i pressed record on my phone because I wanted to really *quickly* summerize an episode for an animated Batman series I would LOVE to make and it ended up being 15 minutes long and makes references to shit only I know about... :|

[apollos-boyfriend]

SPARKLEZ!

You wouldn't believe the things I've seen. Or maybe you would. What do I know?

Worlds upon worlds of wonder have embraced my many selves. I'm living a thousand lives at once. And those are just the lives I'm aware of. For instance, in a place called Middle Earth I am reborn a beautiful elf queen. And under the ice shield of a moon called Europa I am a strand of plankton. And in a world we both know well, I'm a bunch of little girls who look just like me, and maybe other things too... Anyway, my umbrella consciousness has reformed for just a moment; my caretaker, in his mercy, has allowed me to show you these things.

But you definitely won't believe the most amazing thing I've seen. Lately I've been looking through a window... A window into bygone years. A man sits in front of a screen, speaking his soul to the world while playing a game. I think I know who he is!

I see this man forming friendships with those who also speak to the world. I know who they are too. They project themselves as tiny box figures into a world made of boxes. It's so much less detailed than the world where the man and his friends sit. I would not have known Ruxomar and it's sister dimensions to be so childlike in appearance except by this contrast!

The days go on as the friends play. The boxlike world is ruled by two gods. Of course I know who they are. The man is faced with a choice between the two. His life is riddled with choices! And like the stubborn idealist he is, he carves out a middle path. He'll take neither god. He'll have a goddess all to his own.

He created me.

A man named Jordan Maron created the goddess Ianite in a world beyond worlds. And Jordan Maron looks just like you. He is one of your countless alternate selves. He looks so much less boxy! I think that if I did not already know you and Spark so well, I would call him my favorite version.

Now I grasp the truth I have been seeking all my life. I have see what is above gods. It is ____________.

My umbrella consciousness won't hold much longer. Let me say a few choice words before the final goodbye between this version of you and this version of me. Thank you for choosing to create me. I believe that had the other you not made that choice in that far off world, none of my present selves would exist. In a strange sense, you are my god. Thank you for believing in your creation enough to make it real. Thank you for continuing to love me and make choices for my wellbeing. I hope another you loves another me in another world soon.

If Jordan looks out the window one of these days, he might be able to see me.

Not even creeping. Just fyi.

Forever Your Lady

[osaemu]

i am a strong believer in soft and sweet gojo. when he tries being mean during sex, the tears on your face and the muffled cries make him fold so fast. he’d stop so fast and lean down to hug you and whisper so many praises and apologies in your ear. oooooooh my god i have a gigantemasorous praise kink it’s so gross please i just wanna be called a good girl and be treated like a princess :(((

PRAISE KINK: SATORU GOJO

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: he can't help but go soft when you look up at him through teary eyes. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. p –> v, creampie, praise kink (shocking), cockwarming, unprotected sex, dacryphilic themes, squirting, teeny tiny size kink. halfway through i changed the plot and this ended up way longer than i expected oops!

"good girl, stay just like that f'me," satoru mumbles, white hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at you. his thrusts grow sloppier the closer he gets to cumming inside of you, and the cute way you look up at him through unfocused eyes just pushes him over the edge. "f-fuck, makin' me cum faster than a vi—"

satoru doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence before his orgasm hits him, fast and hard, and his cum shoots out of him in a thick, hot load deep inside of your welcoming cunt. both your chests heave as satoru collapses on top of you, resting his body on his forearms and his forehead on yours. "heh, good job, princess," he exhales, closing his eyes and letting his lips curve into a smile.

"y'did so go— aw, wait, are you cryin'?" satoru breathes, eyes fixed on the messy tears that fall down your cheeks. he slows his relentless pace inside of you to a stop and lifts a hand to wipe away your tears, fingers light and gentle against your wet face. "c'mon, don't cry, baby, y're makin' me feel bad."

"s-sorry," you mumble, voice shaking just enough for satoru to notice. he tuts and kisses your cheek, lips lingering just underneath your eye.

"you did so good, pretty girl," satoru murmurs, lowering his body and lying down on top of you. his face is barely a couple centimeters away from yours, and as he lowers himself, you swear can feel his dick slide in all the way. "shhh, lemme take care of you," he coos when a soft moan slips out of your lips. "does it hurt?"

"a little," you whisper, looking up at satoru through wet eyes. he smiles tenderly back down at you, peppering kisses all over your warm face. his hips rest on top of yours, and every little shift of his body feels like an avalanche in yours—satoru's heavy, especially when you're already weak from an hour of sex in his sheets.

"you're so cute," satoru mumbles, lips touching the corner of your mouth. "n' so pretty, too..." his mouth finds yours and he kisses you slowly, hands involuntarily finding themselves all over you. satoru doesn't bother attempting to speak anymore as he just takes you and all your beauty in—to him, the whole world is less than nothing in this moment compared to you.

satoru lifts his head to let you breathe, a playful smile on his lips the longer he looks at you. "aw, princess, why're you still crying?" he tuts when another tear falls down your cheek. "was i that mean? m' sorry, baby, don't cry, please?"

"snf, it's not you," you sniffle, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. but the second one tear's gone, another trails down your face to replace it. "i.. i don't know why m' crying," you try to explain, but the way satoru tilts his head like a confused puppy shows that your efforts are futile.

"c'mere," he rolls over onto his back and pulls you on top of him, dick still lodged deep inside you. satoru's head falls back onto a plush, white pillow as he lifts one hand to caress the side of your face. "'m not gonna let you cum until you stop cryin', baby."

"why not?" you ask petulantly, thighs starting to tremble from how deep satoru is. even when he's not trying to drive you crazy, he still manages to with how little he's moving now. he already got to cum—in fact, most of his cum is still inside of you, held there by his unmoving dick.

"'cause i'm gonna think you hate me."

"i don't hate you."

"then stop crying."

"fine," you huff, a tiny smile starting to grow on your face.

satoru matches your smile with one of his own and he nods in approval. "aw, you're so pretty when you smile like that f'me," he coos, eyes rounding as if he's looking at the cutest thing in the world—which, to him, is you. "stay like that n' i'll let you cum, 'kay?"

he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and nudges you off of him and onto your back, switching positions with you. satoru pulls out of you, cock glistening with a mixture of your slick and his cum before he plunges back inside and fills the empty space inside of you.

"t-toru—" you mewl out, thighs unconsciously clenching together before satoru pushes them apart again.

"shhh, be a good girl and—fuck, jus' like that," he groans, feeling your cunt clench around him with every thrust. a breathy laugh slips out of satoru's lips, a welcome addition to the wet, pornographic sounds coming from the two of you. "shit, baby, you fuck me up in ways you can't even fuckin' imagine," satoru mumbles, too lost in your shiny, dumbed-down eyes to form coherent thoughts.

with every thrust, satoru sinks deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, cursing and moaning about how good you take him. you're not really sure how long it takes for the coil in your stomach to snap—maybe seconds, minutes, even years—but it comes all at once, hitting you with the force of a wave and any remaining self-control you have dissolves.

you babble satoru's name over and over again, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes as he talks you through it—in fact, you're practically getting off to the sound of his soft praises. "fuck, you're so cute, keep takin' me like the good girl i know you are," he groans, lips curled into a drunken smile. "gonna cum on me, baby? c'mon, use your words, i know y'can."

it's a miracle that he can keep running his mouth even as he gives you the best orgasm of your life—but somewhere in the hot fog that's your mind, you manage to gasp out a "yeah" amid satoru's increasingly sloppy thrusts. it feels like he's chasing his own pleasure more than yours, but you don't mind, because a moment later you're squirting all over his throbbing cock and holding onto him as if he's your lifeline.

"yeah, jus' like that, princess, you're so—" satoru cuts himself off with another laugh, chest heaving and eyes wild. he brushes his thumb underneath your swollen lips and wipes the little trail of drool. "fuck, what are you doing to me?" he mumbles, kissing you breathlessly, hardly caring whether or not either of you could breathe.

satoru watches as your eyes flutter shut and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. "heh, pretty girl, you did so good f'me," he whispers, a soft smile on his lips as he gazes down at you. "sleep well, you earned it..."

[theemporium]

[3k] too many shots and a bet leads to a very interesting night out. it's just a shame neither of them can remember it and the whole world is discovering the details alongside with them.

series masterlist

.

RING! RING!

The first thing you were painfully aware of was the annoying shrill of your phone echoing from some distant corner of the room. 

RING! RING!

The second thing was the fact you had forgotten to close the blinds last night, meaning the blinding rays of the Nevada sun were doing their best job in dragging you out of your comforting slumber like irritating parasites. 

RING! RING!

And the third thing was that whoever was trying to call you was seemingly very insistent to get in contact with you, if the three calls in a row (that you were so far aware of) were anything to go by.

RING! RING!

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you pulled the edges of the pillow over your ears, hoping it would muffle the ringing shrills. But when the phone continued to ring and the noise only seemed to get louder, you were forced to throw your hand out and blindly try to grasp the cursed device in hopes of making the noise stop. 

Your fingers wrapped around the buzzing phone, your eyes still firmly kept shut as you kept tapping the screen until the ringing stopped before you brought it to your ear. “You better have a good fucking reason for calling me.”

“I hope you are doing something you enjoy.”

You frowned, your brain taking a few moments to process the voice coming through. “Arthur?” 

“Like, I hope you are fulfilling your lifelong wish right now.” 

“What the fuck are you on about?” You grumbled, exhaustion hitting your body just as badly as the rays of sunlight shining through the open blinds were. “It’s too early for your riddles.”

“I am just saying that I think you should be doing something you love before Charles kills you.” 

You let out a non-committing hum. “And why would he kill me?” 

“Many reasons but I think getting married in Vegas last night is easily the top of the list right now.”

Your eyes shot open when you heard the words leave Arthur’s mouth. It felt like ice had doused your entire body as you quickly sat up in the hotel bed, now painfully aware of the pounding headache that only tequila could give you. 

“WHAT?”

“Congrats, by the way. I do pity the poor guy you locked up though.” 

Now painfully aware of the situation, your eyes grabbing onto any detail that would hopefully prove your brother wrong. Unfortunately, all you seemed to find was evidence that he was telling the truth if the white dress, the horribly large costume jewelry ring on your finger and the abandoned veil with ‘NEW BRIDE’ on the floor were anything to go by. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you breathed out, feeling though as you were going to empty your stomach’s contents any moment now. “How do you know? Why didn’t you stop me?!” 

“I wasn’t with you! I just opened Twitter and found pictures of my sister outside a wedding chapel and all over some random guy!”

“I married a stranger,” you hissed out, your lips parting in shock. Tequila made you do many questionable things, but even this was bad for you. 

“He’s your husband, it’s a bit offensive to call him a stranger.”

“Arthur, I swear to god—” You cut yourself off as your eyes fell on the large lump in the bed next to you. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realise it was another human. It took you even longer to tear your eyes away from the cheap suit he was wearing before you looked up at his face. “Oh my fucking god.”

“What?”

“Charles is going to kill me,” you breathed out, your heart pounding like it was lodged in your throat. 

“Yes, we established that when I called you—”

“Charles is going to kill me when he finds out I married Max,” you continued, lost in your own daze that you barely acknowledge your spluttering brother on the other side of the phone.

“YOU MARRIED MAX VERSTAPPEN?!” 

Unfortunately for Arthur’s sake, you quickly hung up the phone. You could barely process the fact the Dutch driver was currently passed out on the bed next to you, let alone doing so with your brother screeching in your ear the whole time. The phone was abandoned on the bed as you stared at the Dutchman, your brain working on overdrive as you tried to work out what to do next. 

So, you did what any reasonable person would do and shoved him off the bed. 

“OW!” 

You froze for a moment before you crawled over to the other side of the bed, peaking over the edge and down at Max who was currently groaning on the floor from his impromptu wake up call. 

“What the fuck was that about?” He grumbled, blinking a few times before he realised who was hovering over him. “What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room?” 

“This is actually my hotel room,” you replied. 

“Oh,” he muttered. “Then, what the fuck am I doing in your hotel room?”

“Well, it’s what a married couple do,” you commented. 

Max’s brows furrowed together. “What?”

You lifted your left hand, the ring now on display and you could practically see the cogs turning in his head before the realisation hit him. “Do you think this counts as our honeymoon?” 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

...

...

“How did this happen?” 

“Tequila,” you muttered with your nose scrunched in disgust as you watched the Dutchman begin to pace the hotel room. If you cared enough, you would be concerned about him wearing down the carpet. Though as of the current moment, your priorities were currently elsewhere. 

Max turned to look down at the certificate he had found stranded beside your veil on the floor, your names and signatures clearly printed on the piece of paper—which took out the small piece of hope that this was just some elaborate prank set up by Arthur.

“How did we get that drunk though?” Max questioned, his brows furrowed together. If he wasn’t so confused, he would be more embarrassed at the fact he clearly couldn’t handle his alcohol as well as he once could. 

“Well, it’s your fault,” you commented casually, which had the boy whirling around to face you. 

“How is this my fault?” Max scoffed.

“You made the bet!” 

Max’s frown deepened. “What bet?”

“At the hotel bar,” you stated like it was a basic fact he should have remembered. “When I bumped into you—”

“We bumped into each other,” Max chided. 

“—you were the one to suggest shots,” you pointed out.

Max gave you a look. “How is that a bet?” 

“Because you said I couldn’t outdrink you. I said you would be a sore loser. And then you bought us ten shots each.” 

He blinked. “Huh.” 

“I’m pretty sure it was also your idea to go to another bar afterwards when we got kicked out the hotel bar,” you said in a sing-song voice.

Max scoffed. “Absolutely not. You were the one that said only losers go to bed after one bar.” 

You shrugged. “I stand by it.”

Max let out a laugh, a little breathless like he was trying to hide it. He shook his head, glancing down at the certificate one more time before shrugging. “It’s not really that bad, to be honest. A bit embarrassing, but what people don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Your expression turned sheepish. “About that…”

“Who knows?” He asked in a blunt voice. 

“Well, Arthur knows,” you started. 

“That’s not that bad,” Max scoffed, his shoulders relaxing. “Wait. Charles doesn’t know, does he?”

“Not yet,” you said before quickly continuing. “But he probably will because the paparazzi caught us last night and now the pictures are all over the internet.” 

Max blinked. “AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO START WITH THAT?” 

“You’re grumpy when you wake up!” You defended, watching as the boy rolled his eyes at you.

“The whole world thinks we are married!” Max countered before sputtering out a laugh. “Well, we are married. Or we aren’t. I’m still not totally sure but I don’t need your brother chopping off my balls over it!”

“He wouldn’t!”

Max shot you a look.

“Okay, he would,” you grimaced before giving him a shaky smile. “But he doesn’t know yet so we should be in the clear—”

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

...

...

“Okay, I have good news and bad news.” 

Max looked at you expectantly. “And?” 

“Bad news: Charles now knows,” you said with a shaky smile. “Good news: he doesn’t know it’s you!” 

Max pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to rub soothing circles. “Fucking hell.” 

“But also bad news: he is coming here right now as we speak so we should probably—” You started, fully set on grabbing what you needed and hiding out somewhere else in the hotel until Charles calmed down. However, your plans were put on hold when you heard a groan from the bathroom. 

“CAN YOU BOTH PLEASE SHUT UP?”

Your gaze caught Max’s as you stared at each other, both with expressions mixed between confusion and surprise. A few seconds passed before you were both clambering off the bed, heading towards the bathroom where you threw the door open and scrambled to turn on the light before you both froze in the doorway at the sight in front of you.

“Now that was unnecessary.” 

You gaped at the sight of Yuki curled up in the bathtub, dressed in a similar looking suit to the one Max was wearing along with what you were certain was the shower curtain placed over him like a blanket. He had a pillow behind his head and sunglasses over his eyes, and for all intents and purposes, he looked fairly comfortable. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed out. “I married two drivers last night?!”

“I hope you at least married me before Yuki,” Max grumbled, only to let out a small wince when you elbowed him. “God, you’re a difficult wife.” 

“Kinda going through something,” you snapped back before your eyes moved back to the Japanese driver. “I can’t believe I married you and Yuki.”

The driver in the tub let out a scoff mixed with a laugh. “Please, you didn’t marry me. You’re not my type.”

You blinked, unsure whether or not you should have been offended by his comment. 

“The ring on your finger says otherwise, mate,” Max commented, the ring a matching one with the one that was currently on your left hand.

“I married someone but not you,” Yuki said as he waved you off, nuzzling his face back into the pillow. “And our wedding was much classier than yours.”

“I—” You frowned. “You remember?” 

“Yeah, you said you wanted witnesses,” Yuki grumbled, bringing the shower curtain up until it was tucked under his chin. “You also dragged Lando out so he would take your photos.” 

Max gaped. “Lando was there? Lando knows?!” 

“Yes, now can you please go bother him?” Yuki muttered under his breath. “And turn the lights off as you leave. Only wake me up when you order food.” 

...

...

“Don’t make me an accomplice in your crimes.” 

“Shut up and let us in.” 

You weren’t surprised to find that Lando and Logan were already in the room, both with looks of amusement on their faces as they watched you and Max wander in—still dressed in your wedding clothes from the night before. 

You wanted to slap the smug looks off their face. 

“Is it really a good idea to hide here?” Max asked as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, feeling as though the headache pounding through his head had nothing to do with the alcohol he consumed last night and more to do with the mess you both had created.

“It buys us time,” you insisted. 

“On the chance that Arthur doesn’t rat you out,” Logan added. 

“You told Arthur where I was?” Your eyes widened before you turned to look at Oscar. “Do you want me dead?” 

“You know, something about the way you’re wording that makes me feel like it’s a trick question,” Oscar commented with a suspicious look on his face.

“Oh my god, I’m going to die today,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. 

“It’s kinda romantic that you guys will die together,” Lando chimed in as he grinned between you and Max. 

“If I survive today, I’m going to run you over,” Max threatened with a strained smile on his lips.

Lando snorted, shrugging. “Yeah but the chances of that happening are low so…”

“Your brother doesn’t even know my room number,” Oscar pointed out. “It will take him ages to convince the desk to give it to him or even hunt—” 

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“This is what English teachers meant when they taught us poetic irony,” Lando laughed, all giddy and happy.

“Like you paid attention,” you grumbled, eyes narrowing on the boy before you turned back to the door. “Don’t answer it.” 

Oscar’s eyes widened. “I can’t not answer it.” 

“Yes, you can,” you said bluntly. “Just don't open the door.”

“He knows we are in here,” he hissed. 

“We don’t know that for sure.” 

“OPEN UP! I CAN HEAR YOU! SOMEONE OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD—” 

“Even more reason not to open the door,” you said, pressing your lips together to hide the wince that you wanted to let out as Charles thumped on the door again. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Max grumbled as he quickly stood up, ignoring your pleas to just pretend your brother didn’t exist. He reached the door, yanked it open and braced himself for the wrath of an angry Charles Leclerc.

Much to his surprise, the Monegasque barged straight past him and headed straight for Oscar instead. 

“You!” Charles gritted out through clenched teeth as he reached to grab Oscar’s collar, firsting the material in his hands. “What do you have to say to yourself?” 

Oscar’s eyes widened as Charles backed him into a wall. “What?!” 

“Marrying my sister in Vegas? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Charles continued. 

It didn’t take long for Lando to descend into a fit of giggles, practically on the floor if it weren’t for the fact Logan was keeping him on the bed. Somewhere still standing by the door, Arthur stood with an amused look on his face that only grew wider when he saw your confused and shocked expression too. 

“I didn’t marry your sister!” Oscar said to him, trying to push the boy away but he was latched on tightly. “I was literally in bed by nine!”

“Loser,” Logan grumbled under his breath.

Charles faltered, his eyebrows furrowing together. “What?”

“I wasn’t the guy to marry your sister,” Oscar repeated, finally managing to pull Charles’ hands off him. “I don’t think there is enough alcohol in the world for me to do that.”

“First Yuki and now him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“If you didn’t marry her, then who did?” Charles questioned. 

It was almost comical how quickly everyone turned to look at Max, who was still standing by the door and looked like he was contemplating just dashing out the room.

“You,” Charles muttered out, his eyes narrowing on the Dutchman. 

“In my defence,” Max started as he gave the boy a smile, though it didn’t seem as confident as he was hoping it would be. “I didn’t know I married her either.”

“I am right here,” you huffed. “Jesus Christ.” 

“I am going to—” 

“Nothing. You’re going to do nothing,” you jumped in, taking a step so you were blocking his line of vision of Max. “It’s just a…phoney, fake marriage. It’s not that big of a deal, Charles. People will forget by next weekend anyways.”

“Uh,” Logan cleared his throat. “It’s actually very legal all over the US and in some other places—”

“Shut up, Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Charles narrowed his eyes on you. “You’re not allowed to marry him.”

“I already did,” you pointed out with a sheepish expression. 

“I don’t care.” 

“Charles,” you stepped towards him, though the boy still looked like he was contemplating parading into the paddock with Max’s head on a stick. “Charlie, please. Don’t do something stupid because you’re annoyed.” 

“I want to cut his dick off,” Charles told you.

“I know.”

“And you can no longer have alcohol unsupervised.”

“That’s a tad dramatic.” 

“And no consummating the marriage.”

“That would be difficult to do if you cut off his dick anyways.”

“Can we stop talking about my dick?” Max chimed in with his hands locked in front of him, almost protectively.

Charles sighed. “But I promise I won’t kill either of you. Today.” 

You grinned as you reached towards your brother, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“You should tell Maman before she finds out through the internet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Maybe shower first. You stink of tequila.”

“That would be kinda hard to do considering Yuki is currently asleep in my bathtub,” you commented. 

Charles opened his mouth to reply but just shook his head. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Good, because I don’t have answers,” you murmured with your lips turned down. “And he’s really snappy when you try to get them from him.” 

Charles snorted. 

“So, that’s it?” Lando suddenly spoke up from behind you both. “God, that was not worth getting out of bed for. I expected more drama.”

“I’m still pissed at you,” you told the Brit, who just grinned. 

“I’ll send you the photos later, don’t you worry,” he said like he didn’t just hear the words that left your mouth. “Maybe one of them will inspire angry Charles again.”

“Please don’t,” Max grumbled. 

“It won’t be necessary because we are finding a divorce lawyer,” Charles stated simply, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head before he began making his way to the door, nodding for Arthur to follow him. “Both of you get dressed. We are leaving in an hour.”

Both you and Max gaped at the boy, but he didn’t notice. 

“And someone take one for the team and wake up Yuki. I vote Lando.” 

Lando frowned. “Woah, wait a second–”

“ONE HOUR PEOPLE!!”

...

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 133,728 others

yourusername call me mrs verstappen

view all 12,892 comments

oscarpiastri sometimes i wonder if you just enjoy pushing charles over the edge

yourusername yes

user WHAT

user it was real?????

user oh my god IT WAS MAX?

user someone sedate me

user this is some wattpad level stuff wtf the book tropes????

user i need to know how charles reacted when he found out

arthur_leclerc badly

maxverstappen1 i mean it was an accidental name but i guess it suits you

yourusername you like meeeee, admit it :)

maxverstappen1 i think i legally have to agree because you're my wife

yourusername damn don't sound too enthusiastic about it

user i just know charles lost years of his life over this

landonorris uh photo creds?

yourusername no

landonorris rude

charles_leclerc take this down

yourusername no

charles_leclerc you are a leclerc, not a verstappen

yourusername the marriage certificate says otherwise

charles_leclerc please stop reminding me

pascaleleclerc welcome to the family maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc MAMAN?????

maxverstappen1 thank you? i think?

pascaleleclerc dinner will be at 6 when you are back in monaco

maxverstappen1 yes ma'am

charles_leclerc MAMAN WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON????

.

[princessbrunette]

rafe getting home from a long day at work and winedrunk reader waiting for him in the couch, wearing a pretty little short dress from a dinner she had with her girl friends and being all clingy and going on and on about how much she'd let him do 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 pls i need this man

god this is awfully me coded

he’s already pinching his nose bridge when he walks through the front door. following in his fathers footsteps is proving way harder than he thought it would be — and the pressure he is putting himself under is gathering in a vague yet aggravating ache at the base of his neck through to the scrunch of his eyebrows.

you’re on the other end of the spectrum, elated — pampered and princessed by rafes hand, giving you a good life thanks to his hard work. you’d gone out to dinner with the girls, returning tipsy and horny thanks to the shared bottle of rosé, and you all but giggle when your boyfriend walks through the door — ignoring his usual dark and stormy aura.

his back straightens when he enters the living room and sees you, as if a little startled you’re home so early. if he’s being honest, he’s not in the mood for any silliness — still frustrated from the deal gone wrong, all whilst barry was blowing up his phone trying to drag him back into his old life. rafes hands fall by his side, glancing at the way you’re sat, wearing a little dress he would have had something to say about you wearing outside around other people if he wasn’t too preoccupied with other stress.

“you’re back early.” he converses dryly as he drops down onto the opposite couch, spreading his legs and leaning his head back against the cushion. you bite your lip, eyeing him like he was your prey — an unusual switching of roles.

“the girls wanted to stay out longer, but i missed you.” you hop up in your bubbly manner, “y’look stressed, rafey.” you slide around the back of the couch, delicate hands coming down onto his shoulders and rubbing the tense muscle. you liked this, liked playing concerned housewife when your big bad rafe would come home all broody and mad. doting on him got you off.

“i am stressed. where’d you go?” he stares ahead, brow still heavy with irritation. if you wanted to play all sweet and suck up to him, he could only hope you knew what you were getting yourself into — that being a vessel for him to pound out his frustration. however, from the way you were touching on him, letting your hands slide down from his shoulders to run down his strong chest and stomach through his shirt, you were okay with that. infact, you were encouraging it.

“that new restaurant down by the pier. s’good… we should go…” your voice is soft and it relaxes him a bit, his eyes finally dropping down to your hands when your pinkie finger slides just beneath his belt. he looks, and then turns his head and looks at you, nodding in gesture to the couch.

“sit down, would you?”

you do what he says, you’d do anything he says right in that moment. you pout when you drop down right next to him, curling your legs beneath you. you wanted his touch, his attention, and you had a feeling he’d make you work for it. “do you need anything rafe? is there anything i can do for you?” your voice is nearly slurring, just slow and honey-like as your hand carefully grazes his chest again. he turns his head, to look at you — serious and still wearing the mask of irritation from his day. it’s hard to keep it up when you’re all fluttery lashes and twinkling eyes though.

“yeah, actually.” he drawls, eyes dropping shamelessly to your lips and then your tits. the slightest bit of attention makes you preen, and your manicured hand slides over his thigh, a longing exhale leaving you.

“i’ll do anything you want. i’d let you do anything to me.” you nearly whine, hand creeping up nearer to his crotch. he watches your hand, only glancing up at you.

“oh yeah? like what?” you can see the stress melting off him a little. your hand cups his bulge and you feel him hardening.

“i dunno, whatever you want rafe.” you pout, wanting him to take the lead. he glances at you again, which prompts you to keep rambling. “just wanna get fucked, needed it all day — i’ll do anything, i’ll take you in my throat, i’ll even let you put it in my ass just - just need you i missed you—” you sound like you’re getting upset from the lack of attention as your hand grips him, practically jerking him through his khaki pants and he winces, exhaling with his jaw agape and raising his hand, wrapping it round your throat to cut you off. he doesn’t squeeze, but his grip is firm and you squeak like a dog toy.

“alright.” he silences you, nose twitching a little in aggression. your hand slows a little before reaching for his belt, shaky fingers undoing it. “you miss me? yeah? want you to show me how much you miss me whilst i’m out here busting my ass to keep you happy.” he mumbles, jaw set as you pull his length out his pants. he cups the back of your head, pushing your face towards his length making you stumble to reposition yourself on the couch. “down you go. you know what to do.” he scratches behind your ear affectionately, which is enough to soothe you and you happily get to work, leaving lipgloss prints on his shaft.

“good girl. shit.” he sinks further into the couch, spreading his legs more as he gets comfortable. your ass is practically in the air as you bend over on the couch to suck him off, obscene sucking noises and your own leud gags all that can be heard for the time being. your dress has ridden up over the swell of your ass cheek and he shakes his head disapprovingly, hand sliding up the back of your thigh to grip the meat of your ass, making you whimper around his cock. “and we’re gonna talk about this dress when you’re done. can’t have you sluttin’ yourself out around town. you’re not a pogue, and slutting you out’s my job.” his voice is low and quiet, it’s even a struggle to hear him over your own gargles. you didn’t mind his disapproval, you wore it with intention — and you knew he’d follow through and fuck you in it.

[freedomfireflies]

Insufferable You*

Summary: The third part to Infinite You*

The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it's time to remind him what he's missing.

Word Count: 7.3k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, edging, spanking, brief exhibitionism, sir kink, masturbation, brief choking

“Kitten…what are you doing?”

Your whimpers are airy. Light. A string of breathless pleas woven between the soft sounds of your fingers fucking into your cunt. And you can’t answer his question. Can’t find the strength to pull yourself away from the pleasure between your thighs.

“Kitten,” he asks again and it’s firm. “Talk to me.”

He’s panting through his request and the sound—the image in your head of the way he must look, fucking his fist to the melody of your voice almost hurts you.

“I’m…I’m playing with my clit,” you answer. He groans. “Just like you do.”

“Just like me, hm?” He curses on his end of the phone and your legs shake. “How?”

“M’pinching it,” you tell him. “And pulling it. The way you like.”

His noises are louder. Needier. He must like the image in his head, too. “God, I’d give anything to see it, baby. Give fucking anything to watch you touch yourself for me.”

Anything. Anything. You shiver. “Yeah? You’d watch me?”

“Mhm.” He’s getting closer and you don’t want this to end. “Sit there on my knees and take every drop in my mouth when you’re done.”

Your hips buck up and your fingers sink deeper. He ruins you even when he’s not here. “I know,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut. “And I’d let you.”

He makes a sound that might be a laugh but could be a strained moan. You aren’t sure. But you don’t really care because it’s beautiful, no matter what it is. “Kitten,” he exhales and your insides twist. “I need you to cum for me, okay? I need to hear you. God, I need to fucking hear you, baby, let me. Come on—”

There’s something in the way he speaks. Like he’s just woken up. Rough and low and thick. He sounds like sex and you miss hearing it in person. But you were desperate—you had to call him. You had to hear him talk you through this moment and you’re so glad you did.

When you cum, it’s everything. Perhaps not as satisfying as when it’s with him, but still euphoric. And your whimpers of pleasure are what send him over the edge.

The phone fills with the sounds of your ecstasy and you wish you could record the way he moans your name. You wish you could bottle this feeling and get drunk on the way he adores you. 

Instead, you indulge in the few moments you have with him. Because you know they won’t last much longer.

“That was good,” you tell him breathlessly and he chuckles. “How are you so good at that? Even over the phone?”

“Could ask you the same thing. Now I’ve got a sticky hand and nobody to clean it up.”

You pout. “Stop, don’t tell me that. It’s not fair.”

He laughs again. “Sorry, Kitten. Couldn’t help it. You all right? You feel better?”

“I do. Thank you for letting me call you.”

“Always.”

Your heart skips. “So…what are you up to today?”

There’s a pause. A long pause and you know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “Rebecca and I are running some errands.”

“Oh.” Oh. Your throat goes dry. “Right…sorry, I’m…you probably need to go, don’t you?”

Another pause. “In a bit,” he says. “After I make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you say far too quickly. And far too obviously forced. “Yeah, no, I’m…duh. Obviously I’m okay now. After…yeah. Okay, sorry. You can…I’ll talk to you later—"

“Kitten.”

You stop. “What? I’m…I’m letting you go—”

“Don’t. I want to talk to you a little longer.”

“But you’re busy—”

“It can wait.”

Swallowing, you whisper, “Harry, I’m…I’m just saying—”

“So am I.” He’s firm again. “Don’t do that. Don’t send me away because of her. We can talk. I promise.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. You force the tears back. Why does orgasming make you so emotional? “I know, I just…she’s there, isn’t she?”

Another beat. “Not in the room.”

“But she’s there. In the apartment. Near you.”

“Yes.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “See, that’s…that’s why I’m letting you go. So you can be with her. Okay? I’ll talk to you later—”

“Kitten.”

“Harry.” You huff if only to make yourself sound stronger than you feel. “I’m okay. You can go.”

“You’re not okay. You’re sad.”

“I’m…no, I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m tired. I came really hard.”

“I know you.”

“Well…you don’t know me that well. Cause I’m fine.”

“Baby—”

“Just go,” you insist. “I promise I’m okay as long as you are. I shouldn’t have called so early anyway, that was…I’m sorry. That was my mistake—”

“You can call when she’s here, you know that—”

“But I don’t want to.”

Another long pause that feels like an eternity. “Okay,” he finally murmurs and you pull the phone away to take in a shaky breath. “But I want your honesty. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Are you really okay?”

Truthfully, you don’t know. “Yeah, I’m fine. Swear. Thanks for helping me. I’ll talk to you later?”

“You will,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Rebecca’s dinner.”

Fuck. You forgot. “Oh…right—”

“You’ll be there. Right?”

It doesn’t really feel like you have a choice. “I…I don’t know yet, I might be busy—”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know that. I could have plans.”

“You do. With us.”

Us. Your nose scrunches. “I mean other plans—”

“You don’t.”

“I might—”

“You don’t. If you did, I’d know.”

“Well, that’s presumptuous.”

“Maybe, but it’s true. Because you talk to me. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly. You’re a good girl. I know you.”

Your chest feels tight again. “Well, I don’t tell you everything.”

“You should.”

“You don’t tell me.”

“Because you don’t ask.”

He’s right. You never ask him anything personal because honestly, you’re afraid of what he’ll say.

“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll be there. Are we done?”

He waits a moment before saying, “We’re not done. We’ll discuss this later. But for right now, yes.”

And even if he sounds a bit strict, you can’t help smiling. “Yes, Sir.”

“Mm. That’s my girl. Take it easy today, all right?”

“I will.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, Kitten.”

“Goodbye, Sir.”

He chuckles and you hang up and even despite everything else…you can’t help but grin.

“Oh, my god. He does. Every time. He’s got such a weird thing with feet.”

You laugh. “It wasn’t so bad at first. But then he got a little too comfortable—”

“No, he does that. He really does.” Rebecca smirks as she throws the freshly chopped carrots into her pot. “And it started out cute, but now…”

You both glance into the living room where Harry is relaxing on the sofa. He’s smiling as he watches the two of you work on the food and even if he can’t hear you, he must know you’re talking about him.

“It’s still cute,” you argue in his defense. “Gross…but cute.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he can be cute when he wants to be.”

You grin together and this feels good. You’ve missed your friend. You’ve missed having someone to laugh with, gossip with. And maybe it was strange at first, to come into their apartment and talk to your best friend about sleeping with her boyfriend.

But after a minute or two, you settled right back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship. And it almost felt…normal. 

“Has he done the thing where his left leg starts to shake when he gets overstimulated?” she asks and you nearly snort. 

“Oh, my god. Yes. The other day. I thought he was having a heart attack.”

“It’s the funniest thing. It just started, too. Couple years ago. He swears it doesn’t but like…I can see it.”

“It’s quite the tell,” you agree and you can’t help the way your eyes drift back to where he’s lounging on the sofa.

He notices and smirks at you.

“What?” you call.

He shrugs. “Nothing. You girls are cute, that’s all.”

“Bite me,” Rebecca says and he chuckles. “We’re not cute. We’re hot.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. He leans forward. “Let me guess. You’re telling her about the leg thing?”

“Yup. And I was right,” she says smugly. “She sees it, too.”

His eyes roll but he smiles at you. “It’s not that bad—”

“No, it is,” she argues. “You look like a dog. A very cute dog, but still.”

He laughs a little louder and you’re almost jealous of their dynamic. A dynamic you’ve been witness to for almost five years. And it’s never made you jealous before.

But now…

She puts the soup on simmer and grabs your hand to lead you to the living room. “I told you we were gonna gossip about you,” she reminds him. “All good things, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure.” He smiles at you both as you take a seat on the sofa. She flops down right beside him while you cautiously sit on the other end. Exactly where you’d been that first day you agreed to this arrangement. “This is nice,” he says.

She hums. “Yeah, it feels like old times.” She glances toward you. “And it’s not weird…is it? I mean, you feel okay?”

Feeling a little hot under the spotlight, you swallow and force a quick shake of your head. “No, this is…it’s good. This is fun.”

However, she knows you better than anyone and her brows pull together as she studies you. “Do you have any questions? Or anything we can clear up?”

“Uh…I don’t know.” Truthfully, you don’t want to ask. “Is it…is it weird for you guys?”

They both shake their heads, almost as if in sync, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose.

“Do you…have any regrets?”

“No,” she says and Harry agrees. “None. Do you?”

“No,” you echo. “No, I just…I don’t know. This still kind of feels like cheating.”

They exchange a glance and your heart skips. You’re even jealous of the way they look at each other.

“Rebecca and I have always agreed that whatever the other decides to do is their business,” Harry says. “As long as we communicate, there's freedom there. No judgment, no expectations, no regret.”

“And no jealousy,” she adds, offering you a soft smile. “Or shame. Or anything like that.”

You nod and pick at a loose string on your jeans. “And are you two…I mean do you still…”

“No,” she assures you and you’re thankful she figured out what you meant. “No, we haven’t in a few weeks.”

“Oh…because of me?”

She shakes her head while Harry says, “Not entirely. Most of it is for safety reasons. Keeping things clean and respectful. But it’s also one of our rules.”

“Rules?”

“We have a few rules we like to follow,” she explains. “It just makes it easier. Sometimes it can be tricky and this helps keep us on the same page.”

“And no sex is one of them?”

“Kind of. We don’t sleep together if one of us is seeing someone else. Well, no penetration, anyway.”

You hate the way your stomach sinks. “Oh. And…do you date other people…a lot?”

He looks over at her and she thinks. “Not…really?” she says. “I don’t think, anyway.”

“Jack was the last guy you were with, right?” Harry asks and she snaps her fingers.

“Jack. Right. Yeah. He was cute. And then yours was…Angie? I think?”

He nods. “Last year.”

“She was nice.”

“She was…sure. Yeah. She was nice.”

Rebecca laughs and he grins proudly, happy to have made her laugh. Your nose scrunches.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca argues. “She was just put in a weird position.”

“Literally and figuratively.”

She smacks his arm playfully and he pinches her thigh. You want to look away. 

“Either way,” she finally says, “we don’t very often. And I don’t think of it as cheating. Especially not with you. Because I know he’s a good partner and I know that you deserve someone as kind as he is.” 

He gives her a grateful grin before returning his attention to you. “We can stop if you want. Because I agree with Bex. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend and if you feel pressured or unsure—”

“I don’t,” you nearly rush to argue. “No, I don’t, I…I’m just really struggling with the dynamics of it. I guess.”

“Trust me, I get it,” she says gently. “It was a bit of a learning curve for us, too. Harry can get incredibly jealous.”

You’re tempted to tell her that you already know but you watch his reaction instead.

His eyes roll but then his stare returns to you and he winks, as though he’s recalling the same memory you are. 

It makes your skin feel warm.

“Oop, hold on. I gotta check the soup,” Rebecca suddenly exclaims before jumping off the sofa to rush back to the kitchen.

And now left alone together, your attention is drawn back to the tall, handsome man you can already feel staring at you.

“Any more questions?” he asks softly. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and somehow, even that makes you feel safer. 

“Just one,” you murmur and he nods. “Does this mean you and I are…dating? Or are we just fucking until I can find somebody else?”

There’s a slight edge in your voice that you hadn’t meant to be there, but he picks up on it instantly.

“Are you looking for somebody else?” he asks.

“Not really. But this whole thing started because you both felt bad for me,” you remind him. “And it’s been a lot of fun. Honestly. But you are kind of on loan. I just…I’m not sure what this makes our situation. If we’re just fucking…or more.”

He takes a moment to think about his answer, eyes flicking between yours almost as though studying you. “Would you like there to be more?”

You bite back huff. He’s very good at redirecting. “I don’t know. Would you?”

“I think more can get complicated.”

Your feel your expression fall. “Right.”

“And I don’t want to lose you from my life for good,” he continues. “You know that. Neither of us want to lose you—”

“Right, yeah. It’s fine. Forget I asked.”

He’s frowning now. “Kitten, don’t do that—”

“No, really,” you argue. “It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s just keep it like this until I can find somebody else.”

The frown turns into a glare. “Kitten—”

“Okay, soup is almost done,” Rebecca announces as she returns. This time she sits next to you and throws an arm around your shoulder. “What did I miss?”

The tension is palpable. You speak first. “I was just telling Harry that I might not need his services much longer.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows raise while Harry’s scowl deepens.

“Oh?” she asks.

You nod. “Well, seeing as we don’t want to do anything to ruin the friendship…I thought I’d give Ethan a call.”

It’s mean and perhaps a bit cruel, but you can’t help yourself. You aren’t trying to hurt him. Because he is right. And don’t want to lose him for good, either, and all this evening has truly done is prove how close he and Rebecca actually are.

You’ll never be able to compete with five years of love and affection. And maybe you don’t want to.

Maybe it’s time to move on.

“Ethan?” Harry repeats while Rebecca perks up.

“Yes,” she squeals excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you would. He’s so nice, I think you guys would be perfect together.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a pointed look at Harry. “I think so, too.”

He knows what you’re doing. You can tell. And he’s oddly calm as he leans against the cushions and tosses his arms over the back of the couch. “And who the fuck is this Ethan?”

“Guy from my work,” you answer, equally as calm. “Nice. He’s been asking me out for a while.”

“A while.”

“Yeah, a while.”

His brows furrow. “So why do you want to go out with him now?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He was never really my type before but we’ve gotten closer recently. I think it’s only fair I give him a real chance.”

“Really?” He’s curious. Maybe skeptical. “Now?”

You nod. “That way the three of us can preserve our friendship. Since that is the most important thing.”

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Rebecca tells you and hugs you to her side. “You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”

You grin and it’s all teeth. “I will.”

Dinner is nice. Tense but nice. You and Harry spend a majority of the meal exchanging icy glances and keeping to yourselves, leaving Rebecca to do most of the conversing.

And she doesn’t seem to notice. That or she merely pretends not to. She catches you up on some drama at work. Teases Harry about his sleep talking. Says she’s planning to visit her parents in a few weeks and then gives you the recipe for the soup.

And you and Harry nod politely, despite the unspoken rage from your ends of the table.

When dinner is finished, Harry offers to clean up and do the dishes. She kisses him on the cheek gratefully and says she’s gonna go take a quick shower since she’s got an early day tomorrow. She tells you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and then she hugs you tightly and whispers, “I’m so glad we’re still friends.”

You hug her back and agree.

The moment she’s gone, Harry sets down his sponge and turns to you. “Come here.”

You hesitate by the front door, itching to escape. But he’s firm as he watches you from the sink, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched, leaving you no choice but to listen.

“Kitten,” he repeats. Lower. Sterner. “Come. Here.”

You take a tentative step toward him. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“Kitten.”

You huff and throw your purse back down. “I really don’t think we need to—”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you that we’re gonna have a chat and you’re gonna come in here like a good fucking girl and talk to me.”

This is how he gets you. This is how he pulls your strings and turns you around until you obediently join him in the kitchen. Like a good fucking girl.

Satisfied, he leans back against the counter. “Now. What’s this Ethan shit you pulled?”

“It’s not shit, it’s real,” you huff. “He really did ask me out and I really am going to say yes.”

“But you haven’t yet.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I told you. He wasn’t my type—”

“No, I want the real answer.”

You frown. “That is the real answer—”

“No,” he repeats. “It’s not. And you know it.”

You cross your arms and look down at your shoes. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He wasn’t my type but now he is.”

The argument lulls and the small kitchen falls silent. You hear him sigh and it almost hurts to hear how heavy his disappointment hangs.

But a moment later, he’s slipping his fingers beneath your chin and raising your eyes to his. They’re soft. Serene. Filled with everything he can’t seem to find the words to say and you hate how quickly your body begins to crave him.

“You aren’t being honest with me, baby,” he murmurs. Your lashes flutter. “You aren’t communicating with me. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say and he sighs like he knows this is a lie. “Really, I just…I know myself. If I don’t put a bit of distance between us…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe on my own.”

This makes him sad and it hurts you to know you’ve made him sad. “Kitten,” he whispers. He steps closer until his chest is brushing against yours. “If I’m doing something wrong—”

“You’re not. That’s the problem.” You swallow and he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “You’re doing everything right and I’m worried I’m gonna want you in ways that I shouldn’t.”

“Do you not want to want me?”

“Not…like that,” you admit. “Not when you’re still hers.”

He frowns. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about anyone else—”

“But I do. Because at the end of the day, you’re still her Harry. You’re on loan to me until one of you decides you shouldn’t be anymore—”

“Kitten—”

“And I can’t be with you in any way but physically. You said so yourself. More would get complicated and even if you wanted to be with me…I don’t think I could share you.”

 He considers this. A long moment passes. “So you’re punishing me,” he says. “You’re going out with this Ethan guy to prove that you don’t need me.”

“What? No.” You lean back but he doesn’t let go of your chin. “I mean…okay, maybe I wanted to piss you off a little but I really do think I need to be with someone else in order to truly move on. I’m not punishing you. I’m…obeying you. If anything.”

He scoffs. “If you really wanted to obey me, you would have talked to me about what you were feeling.”

“I tried. You said more would get complicated.”

“It could. There’s always that risk. But I never said it wouldn’t be worth it.”

“So…what? You’d date me?”

“Of course.”

The answer is quick and it surprises you but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.

You blink. “You…really? You would date me? Like…officially?”

“I would.”

“And…what about Rebecca?”

“What about her?”

“You’d…you’d still be with her? Right? Even if we were together?”

He seems to know what you’re implying and sighs quietly. “Yes. I would.”

“And even if you weren’t…I’m assuming you would still want to be in an open relationship with me?”

Another pause. “Probably,” he admits, and even if you knew it was coming, you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “That’s just the agreement I’ve always felt most comfortable with—”

“And that’s fine. I get it,” you assure him. You sniffle and he seems to wilt. “Really. I just…like I said, I don’t do well with sharing and if…if all we’re doing is fucking, I might as well just find somebody else, right? So that way the three of us can stay friends. And it doesn’t have to get weird.”

“I understand,” he says and you know he does. “I do, Kitten. And I would never keep you in a relationship you’re not comfortable in.” A beat. “But I can’t say that I like the idea of you going out with this guy.”

You smile. Gently. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He looks down at you and takes your cheek in his hand. “You’re my girl,” he says. “No matter what. If you’re with me or not with me. You’re my fucking girl. And he doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”

You fight a large grin and cling to his shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because.” You play with his buttons. “You don’t get to be jealous when you’re still with her.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like seeing you with someone else.”

You pout. “That’s not fair, Harry.”

“I know.” He brings his lips to yours. They hover—close—but never make contact. “I can’t help it. Can’t ever seem to help it when it comes to you.”

You want to push up and take his kiss, but he teases you just a little longer. “Harry—”

“Do you know that, Kitten?” His hands drop to your waist and he squeezes. Even though Rebecca is only two rooms away. Even though you can hear her humming in the bath. Even though he can never be yours. “Do you know how much I think about you?”

You swallow. Thick.

“How I think about the way you asked me to take care of you…” He ghosts his mouth down your neck. “The way you begged me to be rough….to spank you. Choke you. Degrade you.”

His voice is a sin and your eyes fall shut.

“Do you want me to degrade you, baby?” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Do you want me to pull you on my lap and spank you until you’re crying?”

The image in your head is somehow even better than his taunting. Your knees about buckle. “Harry…”

“You can find somebody else if you want to,” he whispers. “But do you really think they’ll be able to care of you the way I do? The way you want? The way you deserve?” 

His kisses find your chest while his knee slots between your thighs.

“I know how naughty you really are, baby girl,” he says and it’s over. “He will never know.” 

You grab his hair and he grabs your hips and you’re on the counter before you can even whisper his name. He pushes the hem of your dress up and guides your legs apart. He makes a home there, finger curling around the crotch of your panties in order to get a taste and it’s magic. Always.

And he does this to you only a few hundred feet away from where his girlfriend is innocently taking a shower. He does this, knowing she could walk out and see. He does this and you let him do this because there is no world in which you stop him.

“Harry,” you say—whimper—and he hums. His tongue licks up your cunt and your head drops back. “Har—wait—”

He doesn’t. He holds your thighs beside his cheeks and he sucks on your clit until you begin to squirm. “You promised to stay for dessert,” he says. “This is my dessert.”

The sounds are loud and beautiful and his curls feel good in your hands. You feel good in his.

Things fall to the ground. Bowls, pots, containers. He grins. He likes this, the danger. And he knows you like it, too. Because if you really wanted him to stop, he would. 

But you don’t. And you yank him closer to your pussy as though this will be the last time he ever gets a taste.

And deep down, you wonder if it is.

Either way, you enjoy his tongue and his lips and the tip of his nose that nudges your clit so expertly. You wonder how it’s possible to be so addicted to a man you’re not even with. A man that only recently started fucking you and a man that you’ve only ever considered a friend.

Part of you wants to get caught. Part of you wants things to implode. To believe that he’s doing this because he wants her to find out. Because what would happen if she saw? What would happen if he realized he wanted to end things? Would he be yours? Would he decide that your time and your heart and your pussy were infinitely more important than his sexual prowess?

You scrunch your nose. These are all the wrong questions. Harry doesn’t work like that. He never has and you can’t expect something from him that he won’t ever give you.

You return your focus to him. To the way his large hands are curling around your thighs and hoisting them up on the counter. You love his hands. You think they might be your favorite hands in the world.

They’re so gentle but strong. Practiced. You know they’d look good anywhere on your body. Your thighs, your chest, your throat…

You whimper at the thought and he glances up. He’s proud again. Drenched in your arousal and the evidence of your lust for him.

He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg and nips. He leaves marks and memories along the soft skin and you can’t wait to stare at them whenever he’s not around. The way he makes you his in the only way he can.

And you’re so close. You aren’t even sure how he got you here so quickly but he always seems to. And you don’t mind. Instead, you fist his hair and you buck against his tongue and he’s going to make you cum all over his girlfriend’s kitchen counter.

And then he stops.

He stops, he lets you go, and he pulls away.

Your heart drops to your toes as the orgasm fizzles down to nothing. “What…what are you—"

“Get down,” he says curtly. He slaps your outer thigh. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. And you don’t ask. Instead, you watch as he wipes his mouth and disappears from the kitchen to wait by the front door.

After straightening your dress and readjusting your underwear, you scurry to his side with a fretful glance toward the bathroom. “Shouldn’t you tell her you’re going?”

He smiles. “She’ll figure it out.”

With that, you leave their apartment so he can take you back to your place and he keeps his hand on your thigh the whole drive. You wonder if he merely wants to keep some sort of claim on you or if it’s habit. 

Either way, his thumb rubs circles into your skin, right over the dark spots made by his lips and you smile. You want to lace your fingers with his. Want to hold his hand and pretend like the two of you are on your way home from a date. To pretend like this is normal—an everyday occurrence.

But you lose your nerve and soon, he’s pulling into the parking lot.  

“I want you upstairs,” he says and gives you a pointed look. “On the bed. Naked. And waiting for me by the time I come up.”

You nod quickly. “Okay. Are…am I in trouble—”

“That depends on if you obey.” He unlocks the door. “So let’s hope you do.”

Swallowing a giddy grin, you scurry from the vehicle and into your building. You don’t bother with tidying up or adjusting your appearance. You run straight into your bedroom, rip off your clothes, and spread out into a starfish position on the bed.

You hear him follow not much later. Slow, deliberate steps. Meant to taunt you, tease you. Make your stomach flip. And it works.

When you see his tall, muscular figure in the doorway, your pulse skips.

Smiling, you call, “Hi, Sir—”

“No speaking,” he says shortly. “Unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”

“Yes—no—sorry, I’m…” You stop. Nod. 

He frowns but you know it’s only to hide a smirk. “Don’t test me, Kitten. You’ve already done that enough this evening, have you not?”

Another nod.

“And you knew better, didn’t you?” He walks into the room and begins to unzip his jeans. “Knew better than to dangle fucking Ethan in my face.”

You nod again but your eyes are trained on his hands. On the fingers that pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head.

“And you fucking knew…that if I got a taste of such a sweet pussy…I’d never stop,” he murmurs. He crawls onto the bed, wearing nothing more than his briefs. “That I’d forgive you. And let you off the hook.”

You don’t nod this time. You can’t. You’re too far gone in the lust in his eyes. The gentle green that’s now dangerous and luring you in.

“Well,” he whispers and then he smiles. “You thought wrong.”

He grabs your thighs and flips you over. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, head spinning, while a large palm comes down in a sharp smack to your ass.

You jolt. Shriek. 

“Easy,” he says and he’s kinder now. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good little whore, aren’t you?”

Now you understand. You see. And you settle onto the bed as he smooths the stinging print with the soft of his hand. 

You nod.

“Good.” He spanks you again. “I think we should do one for every time you lied to me. For every time I asked for the truth…and you refused to give it to me.”

Your lashes flutter. You suppose that’s only fair, although in your defense, the truth would have only hurt him.

“Let’s see…we’ll start with five,” he says and you exhale a sigh of relief. “Because I know you don’t mean to be a bad girl, do you?”

You whimper.

“You want to be good. Want to behave for me.” He spanks you. Number three. “You want a lot of things from me, don’t you? And maybe I’m bad, too. For not being able to give them to you.”

The air in the room shifts and you attempt to glance back.

However, he lays another firm smack to your ass before you can and then squeezes your hip. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coos. A beat passes. “Do you remember me mentioning the traffic light system?”

You nod.

“Red for stop, yellow for pause, green for good, keep going?”

Nod.

“Good. Then I want you to use your words and tell me what color you are right now. Honestly.”

“Green,” you whisper, then clear your throat and speak louder. “I’m green. Honestly.”

He hums. “And you’re gonna take your last strike, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you’re gonna thank me for being so generous to such a selfish fucking whore?”

Your cheeks flush. Oh, he’s very good. “Yes, Sir.”

You still can’t see him but you can imagine his grin.

The last spank of his hand lands against your tender skin and somehow…it feels good. There’s something delicious about his pain. About the way he inflicts it. The way your body responds to it.

You groan—moan—and finally manage, “Thank you, Sir.”

He purrs something devious as he strokes the spot and begins to kiss his way up your spine. “Good fucking girl,” he breathes. The exhale of his praise dances across your back and you shiver. “Took your punishment so well. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Bet you even fucking liked, dirty thing. Didn’t you?”

You nod again and feel his knee begin to nudge its way back between your thighs. 

“Let’s check, shall we?” His fingers move now for the mess you already know is there. And when he feels it, he curses. “Fucking shit, Kitten, you’re soaked.”

You are. You are soaked and you’re making a mess of your duvet and his knee and he still hasn’t let you cum yet and you think you might die if he waits any longer. 

“Harry,” you nearly cry. “Please…please…”

He brings his kisses to the back of your neck. To the place below your ear that makes your stomach flip. He kisses. Sucks. Nips and violates the skin with his teeth.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, but only because I know you need it.”

You nod again and begin to turn over. He goes to stop you—he wants to try from behind—but you insist.

“I want to see your face,” you say. “Please, I just…I need that tonight.”

The softness in his eyes and the fall of his expression almost hurts you. You don’t want to cause him pain or confusion. Ever.

But he’s not confused. He understands. And he agrees because maybe he needs it, too.

You pull him out of his briefs and he hikes your leg around his hip. Until the heel of your foot is digging into his ass and pulling him forward.

When he first pushes in, you both take a moment of silence to appreciate the beauty of your bodies connecting.

Harry was once your best friend and now he’s something else entirely. A completely different entity and you never imagined you’d see his cock disappearing into your cunt but now you don’t want to imagine his cock anywhere else.

When he’s about halfway in, he pulls back out and begins a steady pace. He’s large and he knows you need a moment or two to find the pleasure before he picks up a faster rhythm. So, he puts the focus on you. On your clit, on your thighs, on the way his lips feel against yours.

He kisses you—soft, sweet. Gentle. And then he kisses your neck. Your chest. Plays with your tits and whispers about how good they feel in his hand.

Then, he buries himself to the hilt as his hips find yours.

You arch and he catches you. There are more kisses, more soft murmurings. And there’s an intimacy here that doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like making love, a term you once scoffed at but now indulge in. Because maybe he does love you, in the only way he knows how. Maybe he does choose your body over hers. Maybe this was the best thing that ever could have happened to you. 

You grab his hand and bring it to your throat. Pointed enough that he knows what you want and after a quick glance for consent…he squeezes.

Your lashes flutter and you press on his knuckles. Harder. He obeys.

And you were right. His hand does look good on your body. A necklace to wear proudly and he whispers your name before tightening his grip and allowing the sides of your sanity to go fuzzy before loosening his fingers. 

You breathe. Deep. The air tastes like him and you love it.

He smiles. “You okay?”

“More than okay. That was…shit, I really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably cause you’re doing it.”

He uses this hold to kiss you and it’s a mess of tongues and spit and loud sucking. It makes you giggle.

“You’re making this very hard for me,” he suddenly whispers.

“Well, I prefer you hard.”

He smirks, but this is not what he means. “I want this to work.”

“I know. I do, too.”

He surges forward—a sharp thrust. “It can’t work if Ethan’s in the picture.”

Oh. “Why? Because you need room for Rebecca?”

He sighs and you hate how sad it sounds. “I know I’m not being fair—”

“You’re not.”

“I can’t help it—”

“Well, neither can I.”

He stops for a moment and looks at you. “You have every right to go out with him. I know that. But I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you do.” He continues to roll his body against yours and you want to purr. “So I want to make a deal.”

“Okay…”

“If you go out with Ethan, you go out with me,” he says. “If you date him, you date me. And I’ll play nice. I’ll share. But only until you realize he’s a waste of time.

You run your fingers along his shoulders. Along his back. Along the curve of his ass. You think about his proposition. It sounds good, it does. A way to keep him while also keeping your options open. 

Because maybe this way, it won’t hurt so much when he still goes home to her.

“Can I think about it?” you ask. 

He kisses you. “Of course. Always.”

You resume the languid but fervent pace he previously set. He squeezes your neck whenever he wants to hear you whimper and you scratch your nails down his spine whenever you want him to groan.

And it’s perfect. Truly. Because while you’re on this date with Ethan, he’ll be able to see the marks Harry left on your throat.

And when Harry goes back to Rebecca, she’ll see the scratches down his back made by your hands.

You can’t help but feel satisfied with the idea and it brings you that much closer as Harry presses your hips to the bed and begins to fuck into you harder.

He readjusts his stance above you, knees deep into the mattress and hands clutching the sheets beside your waist. And every thrust is purposeful. Hard. Beautiful. The sounds are symphonic and when you look down to see, you nearly mewl. The way his cock is absolutely fucking covered in you, slipping in and out of your cunt with ease and determination. 

He’s beautiful when he’s focused. When he’s about to cum. You just want to kiss him and hold him and love him and be his.

And you fucking hate it.

“Need you to cum, baby,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “Can you do that?”

“Yes….yes, Sir,” you stammer, already feeling the overwhelming power creep up your thighs. “I’m…I—”

“I know. I know, come on—”

You do. Just like that. Unravel like a spool of thread and dissolve into nothing but pleasure beneath him.

But you don’t feel him follow. In fact, he continues fucking you through your high until he suddenly pulls out and comes all over your swollen pussy.

It’s the most mesmerizing thing you think you’ve ever seen. The sticky substance paints your cunt in masterful strokes. Glistening from your body, your clit, your thighs like stars.

And you want to be disappointed that he didn’t finish inside but soon you understand why.

He takes your hand. Moves it closer and presses your fingers into the mess. 

“Touch it,” he whispers. “Fuck it back in.”

Your eyes widen. He smiles but the look in his eye is mischievous and deranged.

“Go on, Kitten,” he says. “I wanna watch.”

Your arms are shaking. In fact, every part of you is still shaking from your orgasm but you obey. You slowly—very slowly—begin to circle your touch around your clit. Feeling the way it nearly throbs as you stimulate it. As you force it into more pleasure.

Harry’s attention is glued to the show before him as he swallows thickly and you swear you can almost see his heart beating against his chest like a cartoon.

You move down. Collect as many drops of him as you can and slowly begin to ease two fingers into your fluttering hole.

When you reach the knuckle, you gasp and he exhales. 

It’s perfect.

He scoots back until he can lay on his stomach and place his cheek against your thigh. Close. Close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your hand.

And he watches. Happy. A lazy smile on those beautiful, pink lips. Lashes fluttering every time you whimper or whine.

“I…I can’t,” you whisper. The sensations are too strong. You’ve already cum once, you can’t possibly cum again so soon.

He hums. “Yes, you can. Let me see, baby. Let me watch.”

And you almost want to be embarrassed but something else seems to take over your mind entirely and you can’t help but go faster.

You pinch and curl and flex. You push his offering as far into you as you can reach and then you push in a little more. And it’s easier this time, even if it almost hurts. But you cum. You do, right in front of his very eyes until he’s quickly grabbing hold of you as though he’s desperate to be closer.

You’re more than a puddle this time. You’re practically limp but you’re also so incredibly happy. And he smiles brightly as he pulls your fingers away and puts them in his mouth.

You don’t even have the energy to make a noise this time. You merely watch him—content—until he starts kissing down your palm, along your arm, and to your chest.

Then, he pulls you into his embrace and you both indulge in a moment of peace. 

You’re both quiet for a while. Even after your heartbeat has steadied. Even after the sweat on your skin has dried and the room no longer feels so warm. 

You run your fingers down his torso. Along the dips and curves of his muscles that seem more defined every time you see him. 

“You’re insufferable,” you finally say and he laughs. The sound bounces between the walls of your room—joyous and unencumbered—and it makes you giddy. He doesn’t laugh like this for her. “What? You are.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Another beat. Longer.

Then, you whisper, “Okay.”

He looks down. “Okay?”

“I’ll agree to your deal.”

“Really?” He’s grinning again. Big.

“Mhm. As long as I get to keep you in some way…maybe it’ll be worth it.”

He seems to sadden at the use of the word maybe, but he brushes it off before you can comment on it. Instead, he pulls you closer and kisses you hard. Forever. 

And maybe…this won’t be so bad.

Previous Part:

~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)

~ Full Infinite You Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921

[steddiewithachance]

"You Should Date My Nephew"

"433-6296". Wayne mouthes to himself. He visualizes the little slip of lined paper that's taped to the wall above their phone at home. 433-6296. He could call. But he wont.

Wayne grunts as he lowers himself to sit on the curb outside the plant. He got off work --he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch-- 36 minutes ago. It's 3:36 am and god dammit Eddie how many times did he remind the kid to set his alarm. How many times did Wayne remind Eddie that his truck was in the shop and that he'd need a ride home in the morning. And every single time he'd mention it, Eddie responded "I got it old man! I'll set an alarm" with an exasperated eye roll and would go back to whatever he was doing. Wayne has tried calling the trailer a dozen times already and damn that boy for being such a heavy sleeper.

433-6296. Wayne could probably solve his problem with a single call, but that would be completely inconsiderate and borderline inappropriate, so he wont. A gust of cold November wind hits Wayne unforgivingly in the face and makes his eyes water. He pulls a pack of camels from his chest pocket and with stiff, shaky hands, lights one. 433-6296. He could call or he could walk home. The walk wasn't easy in ideal weather when Wayne was fully rested. Right now it was freezing, Wayne didn't have his good jacket, and he just finished an eight hour shift. 433-6296. Fuck it.

Wayne stands up and hurries toward the phone before he can talk himself out of this. It's insane, and he knows the poor kid barely sleeps as it is. Knows from Eddie that he'll pick up the phone anytime Eddie has a nightmare and drive over to talk him out of the bad dream, keep him company, or fall asleep on the floor of Eddie's bedroom so his nephew doesn't have to go back to sleep alone in a haunted home. 433-6296 Wayne dials and waits with baited breath.

The phone rings a handful of times before a quiet voice greets him on the other side of the line.

"H'llo? Eds?"

"Uh hi Steve. It's Wayne?" Wayne says quietly into the phone. Steve seems to sober immediately.

"Mr. Munson? Is everything okay? Is Eddie okay?"

"Yeah no everythin's fine. I'm sure Eddie's safe and sound at home. Look, I'm real sorry to wake you, kid, and I'm sorry to even be askin' you in the first place. I know it's mighty unfair of me to call at this time but uh- My trucks in the shop and Eddie was supposed to pick me up from work forty minutes ago but I think he mighta slept through his alarm. And it's too far for an old man like me to walk. Was wondering if I might owe you a helluva favor if you could pick me up tonight, son." For a few moments there is silence. Wayne worries he has crossed a line, for a brief moment he fears he might have burnt the most important bridge in Eddie's life. He's immediately regretting waking Steve up for this.

But then he hears the distinct rustling and thump of someone putting on shoes.

"Of course Mr. Munson, I'm leaving now. I'll be there as soon as I can." And Wayne is once again floored by this kid's kindness.

"Steve, thank you. I owe you son. Whatever you need."

"It's no problem! I'll see you soon."

"See you." Wayne mutters in disbelief and hangs up the phone.

And to think... Wayne used to hate Steve. The thing about Steve Harrington is that his name is haunted, in a way. And the thing about Wayne Munson is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch who will hold grudges on Eddie's behalf longer than the kid himself will. There were countless days in high school when instead of shooting through the front door of the trailer after school with a devilish grin and music blasting from his headphones, Eddie would turn the knob slowly and he'd drag himself into the house, giving Wayne a small nod before disappearing into his room quietly. Wayne felt like crying or punching something when Eddie came home in low spirits. He knew how evil the kids at school could be, and he knew the names of all the bad ones. Wayne always gave Eddie 10 minutes of quiet before he'd knock on his door and gently ask if he wanted to talk. It was a routine they had. He'd ask and Eddie would say no. But then like clockwork, Eddie would open up about his day later in the evening usually while they ate dinner and before Wayne left for work. He'd complain about all the kids that made him feel bad: Hagan, Harrington, Perkins, Hargrove, Carver, and so many more.

So imagine Wayne's surprise on March 27, 1986 when he briefly left Eddie's hospital room to get coffee and returned to Steve Harrington, the bully son of Richard and Nicole, sitting next to his nephew's hospital bed. It had been a long week of worrying on Wayne's part, and an emotional 48 hours spent at Eddie's bedside, so Wayne had very little patience for whatever was happening in front of him. In retrospect, Steve Harrington was looking at Eddie... sweet and tenderly, even back then. But in the moment all he could think about was Eddie returning from school with hunched shoulders and his head hung low.

"The hell are you doing here?" Wayne asked using his gruffest and most intimidating voice, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. The way that Steve startled was like nothing like Wayne had ever seen. He jumped a foot into the air and folded into himself.

"Oh! Mr. Munson. I'm sorry I didn't know you were around. Just, uh, didn't want him to be alone in case he woke up." Steve had said rising from his seat. When Wayne didn't budge from the doorway or respond, Steve nervously fiddled with the zipper of his jacket.

"How do you know Eddie?" Wayne asked trying to keep his firm tone.

"From high school sir. But also through a mutual friend. Dustin Henderson? They play DND together. Dustin and I brought him in after we found him like this..." Steve lifted his head again gauging Wayne's still stern expression and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry sir I didn't mean to interrupt anything I'll get out of your hair."

And Wayne wanted to be skeptical of Steve, wanted to accuse him of doing this to Eddie, but the truth is that Steve sounded painfully earnest. And there's no human explanation for the tiny bite marks all over Eddie's body. Wayne stepped out of the doorway and let Steve take a few steps down the hallway before calling out to him.

"Hey, Harrington?" Steve turned around quickly, looking back with a startled expression, maybe surprised that Wayne knew his name at all. "D'ja see what happened? I mean d'ya know anythin about what hurt him?" Wayne asked more softly. Steve looked around the crowded hallway, with nurses buzzing from door to door. Steve shook his head slightly, apologized, and continued down the hallway.

But Steve didn't stay out of his hair for long. The kid was exasperatingly persistent in being around for Eddie. And while Wayne kept a watchful eye on him, he was starting to get the idea that Steve Harrington was not who Wayne thought he was. He cooked for, cleaned after, and tended to Eddie, asking for nothing in return. Often refusing to stay for dinner when Wayne was home, even if he was the one who cooked it, because he didn't want to interrupt family time. If he brought food from out he always brought something for Wayne, and never took the money Wayne tried to push into his hands for it.

"Here, Mr. Munson. I wasn't sure what you wanted from the diner, but Eddie said you're not picky so I brought you a burger and fries." Steve had said that first time, holding out a bag in front of him.

"You brought me food?" Wayne asked perplexed.

"Well yeah, of course. I wouldn't have shown up with dinner for just me and Eddie." Steve set Wayne's bag on the counter when he made no move to take it.

By now Steve knew Wayne and Eddie's order at pretty much every food place in Hawkins and Wayne and Eddie were getting real creative at finding ways to slip money into Steve's wallet.

On top of that, almost every other day, Wayne gets home from work to find a maroon bmw parked outside his place while Steve helps Eddie through bad dreams. So what could Wayne be, besides grateful, for Steve Harrington's slightly confusing devotion to his kid?

He's snapped out of his thoughts when said maroon bmw pulls up in front of him. Steve is wearing a pair of wired glasses and his hair is all ruffled from sleep. Wayne opens the passenger door.

"You were waiting for forty minutes in the cold? Why didn't you call sooner?" Steve asked pushing up his glasses as Wayne closes the door quickly. And well... Wayne doesn't know how to respond to that.

"I- I shouldn'ta had to call you in the first place, Steve. I'm real sorry" Wayne says as Steve pulls the car out of park and starts driving back towards the trailer park. Wayne glances over at Steve waiting for the kid to say something. They sit in heavy silence until Steve breaks it by clearing his throat.

"Just... I know you're probably mad at Eddie but- but don't yell at him. He's barely sleeping so he really just needs the rest. It's not his fault." Steve ends on a whisper.

A tidal wave of different emotions rip through Wayne. Affection for Steve's caring nature, immense gratitude that Eddie has someone like Steve in his life, disbelief that Steve would say something like that after being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. Wayne was sitting and staring at the most selfless kid he'd ever met. Steve fucking Harrington.

"You should date my nephew."

Steves eyes widen and the car swerves.

"Uh- s-sorry- what?" Steve stammers.

"If I could choose someone for him, the best option out there, I'd choose you." Wayne says honestly, and he didn't even know he'd been thinking it until this moment. But it's so true. After so many heartbreaks over truly terrible men that Wayne could never see the appeal of, Eddie deserves someone like Steve. Steve face softens before checking to make sure Wayne was being sincere. Steve cracks a smile and chuckles to himself.

"What, you think I'm jokin'?" Wayne asks defensively.

"No sir! Not at all. It's just Eddie and I have been dating for months already. BUT- but- thank you for saying that! It means so much to me and truly Eddie's the best thing-"

"You- what?" Suddenly Wayne is embarrassed. Blushing. How'd he... how'd he miss that? And well, he did have a few moments where he thought the two of them were awfully close for a pair of young men, at least one of which who was openly queer, but they'd been through a lot together.

"Why did no one tell me?" Wayne asks turning his face away from Steve who is desperately fighting a huge grin and losing.

"We thought you knew. We sleep in the same bed every night."

"You do what now? Thought you were sleepin' on the floor" Wayne knows he sounds like the protective dad of a teenage girl and not the uncle to an adult man, but his world was just turned sideways. Steve laughs at that and adjusts his glasses before stopping at the red traffic light which almost immediately turns green because no one is out at this hour.

"Oh well. Good, I'm glad then." Wayne says after his mind has stopped spinning. "And call me Wayne already, you basically live at my house." He punches Steve lightly in the shoulder.

"Okay." Steve agrees quietly. He pulls into Forest Hills and stops the car in front of the Munson's place. "Mind if I just check to make sure he's okay before I leave? For peace of mind?" Wayne opens the door and steps out.

"Oh so now you're playing coy about sharing a bed? Just sleep here, kid" Wayne closes the door and heads towards the house. Steve jogs a little to catch up. When they open the door, the sound of an obnoxious alarm comes pouring out from the back of the house which concerns both of them. But when Steve hurries to Eddie's room he sees that the idiot had fallen asleep with music blasting in his headphones. Wayne stops the alarm as Steve gently tries to remove the headphones from his ears pausing the tape inside.

Eddie suddenly stirs and blinks up at Wayne and Steve looking down at him.

"'S going on?" He croaks, rubbing his eyes. Wayne and Steve share a look before Wayne chuckles and pats Steve on the back once before thanking him and wishing him a good night on the way out. After the door closes behind Wayne, Eddie looks back up at Steve. "What's going on baby? What happened?"

Steve slips into the bed and scoffs, fondly. He curls around Eddie and pulls him into his chest. Once they've settled, Steve pushes his fingers through Eddie's until they're all intertwined.

"Did you forget something, Bambi? Was there someone you had to pick up from work at 3 in the morning?" Steve whispers into his neck. Suddenly Eddie shoots up and dislodges Steve where he was leaning against him. Steve groans.

"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit"

"Eddie it's okay c'mere. He's home now, it's all good babe." But Eddie just stares at the wall and pulls a hand through his hair. "No one is mad, just come back here. Let's sleep." And Eddie hesitantly lies back down.

"Did Uncle Wayne have to call you? I'm so fucking sorry Stevie." Eddie asks, sounding embarrassed.

"We had a nice conversation on the way home so it all worked out. You're okay. Sleeeeep."

And right before they both fall asleep, Eddie whispers, "Thanks Stevie, love you."