#The boys aren't fine but they're making the best out of it

[eternalnexuswarrior]

Most chaotic MFB Beyblade AU to pop up into my head. Part 1: Metal Fusion

Okay this one has been stuck in my head for close to a week to the point where I wrote snippets of it in my Google docs. Basically, all the characters are the same, the plot is relatively all the same, but one or two things makes this all a chaotic mess.

All the legendary bladers are mentally linked together about 2 years prior to Metal Fusion. As in, they can telepathically communicate with each other and sense each other's links.

They all get headaches one day and eventually find themselves mentally linked to each other. At first it's a chaotic mess of "what the actual heck is going on here?!" to slowly learning about each other and their families to "Oh heck, these are my friends and we support each other, however far away we are." They open up to each other, ranging between Dynamis and his family curse, to Chris' troubles and loneliness, and it becomes a friendship/brotherly therapy group. Even Ryuga opens up with them. He's not too much different from main series, but he cares about them and will protect him.

The other thing? Doji has screwed over a few legendary bladers by harming their families. This man is probably eviler in the AU than canon. He's arranged several accidents, including a rockfall that injured Dynamis' father on Mist Mountain, Ryuga's best friend getting injured in a hit and run, and other things.

This changes the situation quite a bit. Instead of Ryuga joining out his own will to spy on this man, end up possessed after grabbing L-Drago, and ending up in a coma. Dynamis, having a bit of psychic abilities due to his training on Mist mountain, is able to sense this, and besides avenging his father's supposed death and Dynamis' father's injuries, Gingka makes it his personal mission to take down Doji and save their mentally connected to them brother.

Enter the Canon.

Gingka meets Kenta and Madoka and everyone as Canon, but during the 1 vs 100 beybattle against the face hunters, Kyoya realizes during the commentary and has that "Oh shit, this is my bro!" Moment and later on meets up with Gingka face to face. The two get along,

And then Doji comes along to cause chaos.

Kyoya: “Hypothetically speaking, if this Doji person appeared out of nowhere in your hideout after a battle, should I be concerned?

Gingka: "...This isn't hypothetical is it?”

Kyoya: “Nope.”

Chris: “Wow, this guy wants blood.”

Kyoya: “....Want me to spy on him for you?”

King: “Oh? We're trolling?”

And from there, the ball gets rolling. Canon events happen while Kyoya gets free training during his spying (hey he's not gonna pass up a chance to train with his friendly rival), he relays what he sees during all this via group telepathy, up until his second battle with Gingka. Hikaru plays a bigger role from this too. Canon continues after that, including Gingka losing to Ryuga and the trip to Koma Village. At some point between all that, the group does learn about Kyoya and Gingka's backstory with both Doji and Ryuga. To which they are surprised, a bit unconvinced, to eventually believing them.

And then the stuff leading up to battle bladers happens. Canon battles happen, the tournament is announced, and everything goes according to the series. Except one more minor detail.

Enter Ryutaro Fukami. I headcanon this precious boi being Dynamis' cousin, with his family being related to a certain... Nemesis blader (more on that in a separate post someday). Well Gingka and Kyoya and the rest of the group make it to the Battle Royale tournament, and they stumble upon Ryutaro during a fortune-telling. He's aware of this link during a visit to his cousin, but is very sceptical about until the two visit his booth

Gingka: Hello! I'm Gingka and this is Kyoya. Your cousin has mentioned you.

Ryutaro: PiscesBlader.EXE has stopped working.

The group explains their backstory, and one thing leads to another. Ryutaro is unintentionally pulled into this situation (and doesn't know what to think of it), and even volunteers to spy on Doji. He gets his older brother (one of few OCs in this case, art is on the site) Ranmaru involved with this, and things slowly start to change from there.

No big changes, Canon continues up to the end of the season, right after to where Ryuga is defeated. Pegasus is gone, but as frustrated and upsetting as that is, Gingka's got his friends and his bros. And Ryuga's got his brothers help him heal. And of course Ryutaro is invited to join in the mental conversation due to his own psychic abilities.

Legendary Bladers: (talking about many things and situations)

Ryutaro: (instantly regrets it and starts stocking up on headache medicine)

Part 2 of this will cover Metal Master and probably Metal Fury.

[erwinsvow]

rafe topper and kelce being protective of you at a party !!

"wan' some?" the boy next to you offers you the little mirror with white lines, his eyes big and bloodshot. you don't recognize him, you just took a seat on the nearest surface since your feet hurt from dancing.

"i've never done it. what's it like?" you cock your head, interested in the answer. rafe is particularly strict about coke—you're not allowed anywhere near the stuff. it's a stupid double standard since topper and kelce get high with him all the time, and you're stuck driving their asses home.

you glance around, making sure the boys aren't nearby. you aren't really a troublemaker but you've always been able to hold your own with them. especially rafe, since the two of you rarely agree on anything—where to go for lunch, what music to play in the car, which kind of beer to buy.

coke is the one thing he's stern about, and you don't really like testing him about it either, since he's so much more pleasant when you listen. you like to tease him but he thought you were smart enough not to mess with the only rule he'd given you.

"once you start you won't be able to stop," the boy replies, passing the plate onto your lap. the whole thing feels a little grimy, the way he's touching your legs, how high he looks.

"yeah, i think i'm gonna pass.” you try to slide it back, when he grabs your wrist.

"no, try some."

"no, i'm good-" you try to get up, the mirror clanging to the ground, white powder hitting the floor.

"you bitch-" you turn and try to get away, trying to get your wrist free of his grip, when he holds on tighter.

"what the fuck is this?" you hear the boom of kelce's voice, coming over and pushing the boy aside.

"are you deaf, man? she said no, don't keep fucking asking, you creep-" you hear topper defend you.

oddly enough, you hadn't expected it. the boys are nice, and they're your best friends, but you thought you were almost just another one of the boys, didn't think they'd care enough like this.

"you okay?" kelce asks, while the boy scrambles on the floor. your eyes are wet, you're not sure when you started crying. "rafe, over here."

"no, don't tell him-"

"don't tell me what?" rafe asks, taking in the boy darting away, the broken glass and spilled drugs on the floor. he picks up your red marked wrist. "hey, hey."

you turn to face rafe, tears spilling down your cheeks. you feel even more embarrassed infront of him.

"you okay?" he asks, leaning in close. you nod, trying to speak but it comes out in a wrangled sob. "hey, s'okay, you're fine now." he brings you into a hug, and you cry softly against his chest for a few minutes.

you think you're incredibly thankful for your friends.

rafe thinks he's never letting you out of his eye sight again at a party.

[space-invading-pigeon]

Everyone jokes about Steve being the babysitter or the mom friend, but no one actually appreciates everything he does until he gets sick. Steve is the epitome of a doting parent; sure, he's only twenty and the seven kids he's adopted aren't actually his in any legal way, but those kids are his pride and fucking joy. Anyone who sees Steve with those kids can tell that he loves them deeply, which is why Steve is the only person in the Party that can convince their parents to allow anything- their parents KNOW that their kids will not only be well looked after, but they'll be genuinely enjoying themselves too.

Because he's a single mom except he's actually just barely out of his teenage years with no kids, he gets a lot of shit from everyone about it; he's known almost exclusively to the Party as Mama Steve (when he isn't in earshot of course). That's all fine by Steve, he always wanted a big family and now he has it. The problems start to appear when the Party realizes that Steve Harrington flat out ignores his own needs until they're so pressing that he's physically unable to do anything.

It all starts when Robin is told by Keith, of all people, that Steve has called in sick. Robin, of course, panics and calls him, and when he doesn't answer she calls Eddie to check on him. He and Steve had gotten closer since spring break, so it wasn't unusual for a member of the party to call either Eddie or Steve to check in on the other.

Eddie checks in to find Steve Harrington, badass warrior prince incarnate, sobbing from a blanket mountain on the couch in his living room. No one has ever actually seen Steve cry before, so Eddie freaks out, but it's just the result of a high fever and watching Old Yeller by himself. After calming the sick man, Eddie managed to coax some medicine into him and call Family Video to let Robin know that, yes, Steve is alive and no, he wasn't going to die of fever, but he only manages to get Steve to sleep by reading to him (Eddie finds it disgustingly adorable, even more so later when Nancy mentions that Steve loves stories but struggles with what he calls "moving letters"). And for the next two weeks, Steve is down for the count. Joyce and Claudia Henderson take turns making sure Steve is alright (Joyce because Steve is one of Her Kids, and Claudia because Steve is the Older Son she never had) while Eddie, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin all try to take his place.

By the end of the first day, Nancy calls it quits: Mike is a bullheaded terror who only ever seems to like Will, El, or Eddie, and even then he doesn't always listen to them, so the Wheeler siblings fight even more ferociously than usual. She can't get El or Erica to listen, either; Erica is a force to be reckoned with, and El will only nod passively before doing what she wants anyway. By the end of day three, Jonathan is out. He won't say what happened, but he told Max to be nicer to the Party one time and, ten minutes later, he was tearfully saying that the kids were little monsters.

Robin lasts longer, almost an entire week, by chattering at the kids until they give up and listen to her. She meets her match when Dustin and Erica try to commandeer the Family Video computer again: Dusting sneaks past and almost breaks the computer just trying to get to it while Erica does Erica and argues until Robin the Rambler runs out of words. The morning of day seven is very dark for her.

Eddie, through what he believes to be the universe's acknowledgement of the depth of his affection for Steve and also sheer force of will, lasts the whole two weeks, but just barely. Mike argues over everything, no matter what; Will is skittish at the best of times and disappears constantly (thankfully, not like his Upside Down episodes - the boy just can't stop getting distracted and wandering away from the group), only to reappear directly behind Eddie and scaring him into an early grave; Lucas gets frustrated easily and can never seem to find the right words to communicate his thoughts and feelings, so he snarks and lashes out before awkwardly trying to mend the situation; Erica is so completely herself that it can be dizzying when the full force of that hurricane is directed towards Eddie; Dustin practically follows Eddie around like a little duckling, demanding updates on Steve or ranting about one of his many interests; El spends most of her time with the Party learning about how girls her age act through Max or practicing her braiding on Eddie. The worst of them all, though, is Max. Despite having healed up, she's still in physical therapy to rebuild her muscle strength and dexterity, and her eyesight is bad enough now that there's talk of her getting a service animal. It isn't that she needs a little extra attention that makes her the worst, though: it's that somehow, she still chases the most mischief. Eddie has only narrowly managed to keep her from assaulting no less that nine people in the two weeks that Steve is sick, and he knows she's definitely tried to commit arson at least twice that often.

Finally, after two weeks, Steve feels better enough to return to his usual activity, and Eddie begs him to never get sick again.

[wxnheart]

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐚, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

part two (nsfw)

What are the odds that you're the object of affection for not one but two masked killing machines?

Well, that's what they would have you believe, that they're deadly. I mean they are and they... aren't. Simon is a giant armored teddy bear and König is a playful Golden Retriever. Your good boys. Your best boys. Your good, best, and chaotic boys.

Well, uh... Ghost will forever call bullshit and protest because he is NOT chaotic. Now that is bullshit because his chaotic nature is more subdued. You can admit that König brings out this part of him more than you do.

Though to be fair, you've gotten in your fair share of shenanigans with König. Ghost swears he rolls his eyes more often than not when it comes to you two.

They also tend to lowkey compete with each other and it's made you laugh more often than not.

You thought you were a worrywart but König and Ghost have you beat. By miles. And König has you both beat by lightyears.

He'll bring you up a lot when he and Ghost are gone. When the three of you are in different places, best believe a conference call will be had. You and König are talking the most and Ghost will interject every so often. And then König and Ghost will talk and sometimes they will... not!bicker like an old married couple.

Their voices (especially the rumble of Simon's) are so soothing to you. You fell asleep on the phone while talking to them once and they got so worried that they were THISCLOSE to sending someone to check on you.

Speaking of being away, König absolutely does not like the fact that you're alone when they're gone. Thinks it makes you susceptible to an attack. Simon disagrees and vouches for you ("Alone doesn't mean weak. You'll be fine.") but in pure König fashion, he surprises you and Simon with the cutest Doberman puppy ("To keep you company and protect you when we're gone, Schatz."). A Doberman puppy who, to date, has no name because you three can't agree to one. König calls her Königin (Queen), Ghost calls her Pup, and you call her Lola.

Speaking of pet names, you're either Schatz or Schatzi to König and Baby or Love to Simon. They're usually handsome or gorgeous to you. You're still working on giving them specific pet names but those two will suffice for now. It's cute watching König glow whenever you call him that.

The dog is more company than she is protection because all she lives for is table food, scritches, and 'stalking' Ghost and/or König. The latter absolutely loves to roughhouse with her, too. She made Ghost her personal couch/bed/thing. Yeah...

You also encourage your four-legged baby to smile, too, and when she first did it in front of Ghost he was almost scared shitless ("What the fu—?").

Ghost is also a little dismayed and turned on that König can pick him up and carry him like a sack of potatoes. Ghost.exe stopped working the first time it happened. When YOU witnessed it for the first time, you, uh... well... let's just say you were deliciously sore the next day. (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)

The same thing usually happens when you watch them spar and it gets a little heated (König gets that little glint of determination in his eyes and like fuck will Simon admit that it gets a little personal when he loses). Goddamn, just look at those physiques.

In the bed: You had to upsize because your lovers are fucking gigantic. König prefers to be rather confined when he sleeps so he's always in the middle. Ghost likes to sleep facing the door and you and the furbaby are... everywhere in the bed. She also gives no fucks and will plop down on the closet body.

Simon is also the resident pillow princess. Yeah, his pillows need to be extra fluffy and he keeps an abundance of them on the bed. So fucking what. You tease him about it endlessly but he couldn't give a shit. Funnily enough, König almost got supplexed once because he called Simon that in public.

Speaking of being in public, they're your protectors when you're out and about. Either they're walking in front of you if there are too many people or they're by your side. You do prefer for them to walk in front of you for... reasons. That involves the view. (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)

And by the way, they can get a little jealous. They will feel some type of way if your attention is on something or rather, someone else. You are theirs and they have no problem letting people know that.

Oh yeah and König, fuck you. Ghost calls bullshit. Your mask does not look better than his.

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. [13k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining (and hatred), slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, kissing / heavy petting, hickeys, sexual tension, eventual hate-fucking, some misogyny (not eddie), TW readers bandmate is a bully, TW drugs/alc/smoking, disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Indianapolis International Airport, Indiana, Late 1988.

There's a really sweet-looking boy sitting in the chair across from you. The airport is blotted out by both your headphones —huge chunky cans, the best you could afford— and your sunglasses. He's a shade of sepia from the lenses, dark hair darker still where it's tucked into the hood of his hoodie. 

There's no way he could possibly know you're staring at him while you're facing your lap, scribbling lyrics for a song that'll never get made with your body curled inwards, and yet he looks up from the novel in his. He smiles, his cheeks pulled up, and he looks younger. He isn't old by any means but something about his smile is transformative. 

You don't mean to give yourself away. You smile back just a little. 

He says something. You push your headphones around your neck and break the seal, soft 70's rock replaced by the sounds of the airport, footsteps and clicking and children laughing somewhere behind you. 

"I'm sorry," you say, covering the cans of your headphones to cut their weak buzzing, "what did you say?" 

"I said you have good taste."

He nods toward your guitar case patterned in overlapping band stickers. 

You notice his own case on the seat next to him. It's more conspicuous than your own with only one sticker, a band you've never heard of. 

"I wish I could say the same, but I don't know who that is, 'Corroded Coffin'?" you ask, purely curious. 

He sits forward, a picture of casual confidence as he drops his face into his palm, elbow digging into the ripped jeans covering his knee. "I'm offended, sweetheart. They're only the best sound to come out of Indiana in the last ten years." 

"The Stacey's?" you offer, scandalised by his suggestion. "Doorway to Cooperstown? The Cats?" 

He blinks at you. "You know the scene." 

"It's my scene," you say.

You don't mean to sound pretentious, and hopefully you don't, but music is your life. 

"It's mine, too," he says. He leans forward and scrubs a hand through his hair, scratching absentmindedly. "Where are you going? Must be pretty important to tear you away." 

"New York. I'm– I'm a techie for Godless. I will be, once I get there." You sound smug and nervous at the same time.

"Holy shit," he says. He smiles a gorgeous, awful kind of smile, like you've been friends for years, and your good news is his. "No fucking way. Go you." 

Godless have been compared to loads of bands but the one you favour is a heavier, feminine The Clash. It's an emerging sound, punk rock stolen, repurposed, and remade. Reborn by girlhood rage. You love their sound (though you have some notes), you love their statement, and you're probably the happiest you've ever been knowing you'll be behind the scenes of a new era of music. 

"And you're taking her?" he asks, gesturing to your guitar case. 

Inside is a beat up old bass guitar you got for nothing. You're self-taught, you're good, but you don't have any disillusions on what you'll be doing on tour. 

"She's worthless," you say, "mostly taking her for company." You reuse his pronouns, though you aren't the type to assign personality to your instruments. "What about you, uh–" 

"Eddie," he says, taking his guitar case into two fine hands. Your eyes snag on his ragtag assortment of rings, and he leans over the neck of the case to retake your gaze. "This… is Sweetheart." 

— 

Hotel Edison, New York, Early 1990.

"We have to go. Why are you guys never ready when I tell you to be?"

You panic slightly. "I need a minute." 

"Ananya, could you find, like, a modicum of patience? Fucking annoying." 

Sharp, Morgan's unhappiness sounds over the droning drill of your shitty hair dryer. You shift where you're kneeling in front of the floor length mirror to check she isn't talking to you — unusual, but not impossible that her hostility would be aimed at someone who isn't Ananya. 

Ananya stands in the middle of the hotel room, thick eyebrows pulled into a familiar scowl.

"Get it together," she says disdainfully, like Morgan's nothing more than a mild inconvenience. 

You wish you had her confidence when it comes to Morgan's tantrums. You stand up, clad in nothing more than underwear and a pair of black stockings, your t-shirt in one hand and the hairdryer still humming in the other. You turn it off and let it drop to the floor, worried you're just another rockstar cliche as you take in the state of your room. Your suitcase is open and your clothes are all over the place, laid flat in an attempt to dry your rain-soaked clothes. Your underwear dangle from the lampshade, a mix of pretty lingerie you've yet to wear and full-shaped panties that had made Morgan laugh for a minute, no pauses. 

"I can see why you're so desperate," she'd barbed. 

You slip your shirt over your head in case you have to act as a human shield. It's honestly not the worst thing they've had you involved in this year. 

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Morgan asks. 

She's a fascinating creature in that she isn't always talking with thinly veiled passive aggression. You genuinely believe she's looking out for you sometimes, or believe that she believes it, at least. She doesn't say it with malice, simply asks. 

She's multi-faceted. 

"No," you say, though you'd been meaning to. 

"Good, skirts really aren't your thing. You look blocky. I have a pair of flares in my bag, wear them." 

And Morgan — Morgan's the lead singer of Godless. You don't really have a choice. 

You find the pants she'd instructed you to wear and half tuck your shirt, scrabbling for your shoes as Ananya starts lamenting the time, sat on the small table by the TV.

"They have to wait for us, babe, that's the whole point," Morgan says, fussing over her eye make-up. 

"No, they don't. And we really don't need the attention right now." 

"That's dramatic." 

Ananya leans forward and clicks on the TV with a perfect finger. The screen buzzes to life. She clicks through the channels until she gets to the local news station, and then she slumps over the frame on her elbow. 

You giggle behind your hand. Onscreen, images of Morgan are blown up and slated, your bandmate sloppy drunk on the steps of Covey Gold. They've caught you red-handed in the background pretending you aren't with her, but luckily Morgan's too obsessed with herself to notice. 

"I really don't see the issue," she says breezily, slipping into her tiny heels one foot at a time. "I look sick." 

She looks stunning, easily, but that's not the problem. 

"You have a fucking snow trail," Ananya says. 

Unfortunately, Morgan's left nostril is crusted with coke. 

"It's punk rock!" Morgan's moved onto earrings now, and she's jutting her tiny pointed chin toward the door. "Hello? We're late." 

You don't roll your eyes, but you could. You slip your shoes onto your feet and tuck the laces inside without tying them while the news anchor on TV continues to relay current events. 

"Fletcher isn't the only rockstar making a mess in New York City this week. Members of up and coming heavy metal band Corroded Coffin were sanctioned by Flume Venues Tuesday night for damaging twenty six thousand dollars worth of equipment when their lead guitarist kicked over an amp and caused a quote unquote 'domino effect.'" The anchor laughs. "Their PR has certainly felt some corrosion." 

You look up at the joke and are just in time to catch a picture splayed across the screen of the band. You're so close that their faces are made up of red, blue, and green, more colour than photo. Your skin glows with the image. Your eyes widen, perplexed. 

"Do we know those guys?" you ask. 

Morgan grabs your hand and drags you up. "They know us," she says. "That's what matters." 

Ananya turns off the TV. 

You're thrilled at being included in the 'us'. You've been an unofficial official member of Godless for four months now. Each one feels more unreal than the first, and each one brings a solidity. In Ananya's words, you're on 'probation, given you can keep up', but you look at her now, her hopeless expression as she closes your room door behind you, and know she's not hoisting you off the stage anytime soon. She'd have to deal with the world's tallest toddler alone. 

Your tour manager and assorted personnel meet you in the hotel's lobby, furious and panicky at your being late. Morgan spouts the same spiel as you get shepherded into cars idling outside of the hotel.

"We're the talent. What were you gonna do, throw the gig without us?"

You're both embarrassed by her and impressed. Morgan is pretty and talented and extremely loud — she's not afraid to stick up for herself, even when she's (nearly always) wrong. She sees each hurdle in her life as an unfair disadvantage. Insanity, in your opinion, considering nearly all of those hurdles have been jumped by means of a favour, rather than any expended effort on her part. 

Her bad attitude aside, she's a good singer. She's gorgeous, exactly the kind of face that obliterates mainstream reluctance. 

She sits between you and Ananya and kicks her feet out over the console, boots between your driver and your tour manager, Angel.

"You guys can't be late like this. You have half the time you need for sound check now, you realise?" 

"I don't need practice," Morgan says. 

"It's not practice, Morgan, it's–" 

Morgan laughs and bursts into song. She does it whenever she doesn't want to listen to Angel, and she sings an apt tune: Angel by Aerosmith. You look out the window rather than watch, eyes snagging on the wet New York streets and taxis and people, so many people despite the weather, black umbrellas like inverse stars lining the sidewalks. 

Morgan has a great voice, raw when she wants it to be and full of life when she doesn't. You can't hear Angel's venue instructions under it and are barely paying attention as a lanyard gets tossed into your lap. It sounds stupid, and a few months ago you wouldn't believe it, but you get used to the motions. Ferried from one place to another, all anybody cares about is technicalities, politics, public image, and how you look on stage. All you care about is the music. Your bass guitar in your hands, that familiar weight, the strings as your pick slides across them, and the sea of the crowd. Its waves and ripples, hands and eyes and mouths like poppies, red-pink tongues and black throats at the centre as they scream. When you throw your pick people want to catch it. They fight over it. You throw a few. There's always more in a box in some poor techies bag.

The cushy car you're in pulls up and parks outside of the venue's main entrance. You climb onto a wet curb and shield the top of your hand with your head, dirty rain splashing down in fat, sparse drops that chill your scalp. Morgan blitzes inside and Ananya tags behind her. You go slower, eyes following down the sidewalk where, in a couple of hours, fans will wait to see you, shivering in the cold. 

— 

Every breath Gareth takes sucks in Eddie's short sleeved t-shirt. Eddie scowls at the top of his bandmate's head and tries to shift away. 

"Seriously, man? There's a whole fucking couch," Eddie grouches. 

Gareth sits up with bleary eyes furrowed into a scowl of his own. He's pale and missing his glasses, giving him the appearance of a concerned zombie.

"Shithead." 

Eddie has a lot of emotions he wants to express and none he feels he can properly articulate. The injustice of his current situation, for one, is a burning irritant. How the fuck can you get grounded by your manager? And why did his warden have to be the most boring member of the band? Sorry Gareth. 

"Can't you sleep in your bed?" Eddie asks. 

"You'll sneak out." 

Eddie will sneak out. He's a fledgling rockstar in New York. Suddenly, there are a hundred colourful boozy doors wide open to him, and he intends on haunting the threshold of each one accordingly. 

But you kick one amp and boom, you're the antichrist. 

"You know this is stupid." 

Gareth rubs his eyes. "I mean, do I know that?" He reaches behind the couch armrest for the two-litre bottle of soda stashed there, and he talks as he brings the lip to his mouth. "You've been a real pissant lately, Munson." 

"You're a pissant, pissant," Eddie says, really scowling now. 

Gareth kicks him across the sofa. Eddie kicks back, foot jamming into the side of Gareth's knees. Soda spills in a shoot over the carpet. Gareth is a know-it-all with a predisposition for being as unpleasant as he can possibly be at all times, in Eddie's opinion, and Eddie knows the second the soda lands what he's going to say. 

"Nice going, hotshot. This is why you're fucking grounded." 

Eddie's halfway across the sofa when the door opens, an unimpressed Jamison standing with the light behind him. He flicks on the main switch and glares, brown skin golden in the resulting yellow light. 

"What are you losers doing?" 

"I prefer the term 'freak'," Gareth says, glare softening. "I'm fending off Munson's advances, what does it look like? No means no, asshole." 

"You're disgusting," Eddie says. 

"You look disgusting," Jamison echoes. "I don't know who forgot to tell you, but they invented running water a century ago. Go shower. I'll watch baby boy." 

Eddie thinks Jamison is hot in the freaky way — Jamison is conventionally attractive, and Eddie would let him get freaky if he asked. He has a perfect complexion, the most attractive of the band by far, medium brown skin and a broad-shouldered frame. He's the eye-candy, literally; they'd admitted him into the fold based one parts on his talent, two parts his image. 

He can play piano, guitar, bass guitar, violin, all that shit. He's a musician, and he's better than Eddie at everything but the guitar. 

Nobody's better than Eddie on guitar. At least, not anybody running in his circles. 

"I can't shower, I'm watching him." 

"I'll watch him," Jamison says, like this is extremely obvious and Gareth is an idiot. 

Eddie pulls a couch cushion over his face and drags himself onto his back, whining into the fabric unhappily. "This is fucking bullshit," he mutters

"This is due diligence," Gareth says. Eddie feels his weight lift off the couch and lets his legs slide into the empty space. 

"This is fucking bullshit," he repeats. 

There's a silence. He sulks. Gareth collects toiletries and the bathroom door clicks open and closed. The shower spray begins to sputter, and then the pillow is being tugged out of Eddie's hands and tossed aside. 

"Jame," he protests. 

"Shut up." Jamison stares down at Eddie. "Are you done being a child?" 

"I already told you, it was an accident. Yeah, I kicked the amp, because my fucking string snapped and nobody would listen to me. I didn't know it was gonna actually move." 

"If we go out, can you behave?" Jamison asks quietly. 

Eddie sits up ramrod straight. "Absolutely… Why? What's so important?" 

"Jeff's asleep, I'm bored, and-" He shrugs offhandedly. "If you got 'em, flaunt 'em?" 

Jamison holds up a silver pair of car keys. They clink together, the sound music to Eddie's ears. 

—

So you and Eddie meet for the second time like this. 

“Does it have to be this loud?” you shout over the music, pleading gaze on Ananya, who shrugs. 

She looks better after a show, even drunk. Her lipstick is a pink-red with a darker but incomprehensible outline, leaving her looking kissed sick. Her dark eyebrows are ruffled and thick, their minimal gel sweated off. She has the most heartbreaking expression about her, and you think it isn’t truly fair, how she can look so pretty and be so talented at the same time. A tragedy that other people have time for both. You feel as though you barely have the time for one.

Despite the volume, you love the sound. This is your sound. Small town hatred in a big room — begging to get out and the music proof enough that you did. It’s passionate and anxious, a two-chord progression that’s boggling simplistic but drawing you in anyhow. Wrinkled noses and bored eyes say it’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’d hazard a guess that whoever plugged it into the stereo isn’t the kind of person who worries about public opinion. If Godless worked more on your choices, this is how you’d sound.  

“Whose house are we in?” you ask. 

“Babe,” Ananya says, “seriously, there’s a whole room of people who want to answer you. Go bother someone.” Else. Go bother someone else. 

She dismisses you with little more than that, slinking into the kitchen with a toss of her thick hair. The red of her corset top darkens to a bloodier shade in the mood lighting. She looks as though she’s bleeding out from the back. 

You aren’t sure Ananya’s right. You aren’t, in the eyes of the people here, anything impressive. A techie who’s been filling in isn’t anything new, no, you’re only impressive if you get to stay, if you play better than anybody else. You’re never gonna prove that under Morgan’s thumb, and you’ll never prove it without her. 

I need a bump, you think. Morgan’s coke nose flashes in your mind and you change your mind. I need something to drink. Something fucking cold, but if Ananya thinks you’ve followed her into the kitchen she’ll throw a pissy fit in front of everybody. 

The room is a gaudy yellow, a tobacco stained fingerprint over the lampshade with whorls of dirt in lines, darker patches where shadier reconciliation plays; in one corner, a bag of coke, another something worse. This had been a surprise with age rather than location, the commonplace of cocaine and the bravado of its sufferers from high school and up. You’d die for some of that cocky confidence now, numb gums and a sullen credit card. 

I need to get paid. 

The heat of a cigarette tip kisses your shoulder. In your ear, the sound of someone taking a long, slow drag, crackling paper. You turn into it slowly, looking up slower, right into the skinny face of your missing-in-action bandmate. 

“What’s up?” Morgan asks, blowing her smoke in your face. Your eyes burn. 

She’s placing the cigarette between your lips before you can answer. Whether she believes she’s tormenting you or throwing you a life raft, you’re grateful for it, sucking in a blistering breath and wincing as it floods your nose. 

You blow it away from her. 

“Ashtray?” you ask, pinching the cig between two fingers. 

“The floor’s fine.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsurprised at her cavalier suggestion and flick it still smouldering into your cupped palm. The door is perpetually open, guests flicking in and out like the froth of a cresting wave, a rushing entrance and a sluggish recession. 

“Can you get me a bag?” you ask her. 

“I’m not your daddy,” she murmurs.

“Bored already?”

“I have to be bored?”

To bother bothering you? Yes, Morgan would have to be bored. Bored or wasted, and she doesn’t seem inebriated. You place the cig between your teeth and lean your head back to look at the ceiling rather than give her the attentive watching she desires, the roof of your mouth an uncomfortable heat.

You remove it, blow all your smoke skyward, and drop your head. “How are you gonna fuck with me tonight?” you ask plainly. 

You find you aren’t asking Morgan. 

In her place stands a much taller, much more handsome face, big eyes set into pale skin. You don't recognise him at first. He wears the uniform well, in company with every other guy in the room, a crumpled shirt you imagine discarded and re-discarded on different floors. Ripped, dark jeans. He could be wearing nothing at all and the air of intimidation surrounding him would survive — there's something behind his eyes that alarms you, a knife's edge. Sweetness bordering cruelty. 

"I don't know yet," he says. An insipid smile takes his lips from corner to corner as he eases the cig from your hand. "I'm sure we can think of something… together. Sweetheart." 

Boys don't always give you the time of day, not the nice ones, and he doesn't look very nice. He looks like he's trying to calculate what he can get out of you. You're thinking you'll pay just about anything if he can get you a bump of something fun. 

He sees your look too, his lips poised to mention it, but you've just realised where you know him from. 

"I saw you on TV."

"Yeah? In Madison Square Garden?" 

"In court." You give him your best doe eyes, a soft, sweet look, far from mastered and yet effective where it counts. "How much did you have to pay for all the stuff you broke?" 

His smile shutters, realigns. A split-second and enough to let you know his cool gaze is nothing more than a parlour trick.

"You look familiar," he says. 

You hum. "Rollerboy paid, huh?" 

He glares, the idea that his record label might pay for the damages he'd caused laughable and undoubtedly correct. You aren't trying to make enemies, aren't attempting to play someone you're not — you're meek mannered, mollycoddled, too naive to be in the industry for very long. You can see it on his face, exactly what he's thinking, and it's easy to see because everybody else is thinking it too. Even you. 

Before you can repair the offence you've caused, he's dropping your stolen cigarette on the ground and grinding out the flame. 

"Nice to meet you," he says slowly. 

You stare straight ahead and listen to him leave. Smoke tickles your nose. When you look down, the cigarette is smouldering. You squat down, pick up the flattened bud, and drive it into the floor until your fingers are black with soot. 

You wrap those same ashy fingers around the neck of a bottle of coke and try not to be too pissy about it. Fucking rockstars and their fucking egos. He did something embarrassing, and you're the villain? 

You feel bad halfway through your coke. Maybe he'd had nice intentions, but how could you know? You'd talked for all of two minutes. And even if he was bad news, he likely wouldn't have been any worse than half the jerks here. 

He'd have had a handsome face to look up into while said intentions were being acted out, at least.

You frown more. Wishing you'd been nicer to him because you're bored enough to want to get laid isn't strictly kind. Human, maybe. 

The feeling worsens when his appearance garners a small crowd. He sits in a nest of dirty couch cushions and a cloud of smoke, the smell of green strong enough to irritate you from here, telling a story with frenetic hands, and despite the cool look he'd given you earlier, he's making a show of it. Cussing, giggling, blunt between his lips as he ushers for a zippo. A pretty girl with surfer curls relights it, an act of flirting in the way she pulls her shoulders in. 

He takes the blunt from between his lips and blows the smoke so it misses her completely. 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says, voice rough as hewn stone. 

You kick one shoe behind the other and squeeze your tired thighs together. You get this feeling like a matchstick, red powdered head flicking against gritty scratchpad but failing to strike. Something is familiar about the way he speaks, his sticky inflection. 

Or you're lying to yourself, and you just like the way he talks 

The way he would've spoken, thick fingers braceleting your wrists as he forces your hands into the pillow behind your head, the weight of his body on top of yours, the snugness of a knee between your soft thighs. Your hotel light would've kissed his left side, dividing his curls into strands, the individuals glowing like silver thread as they danced over your cheek and temple, as his breath warmed your lips, as he closed the distance. 

Joan, you could hit him.

"That's an unfortunate hand. Are you sober?"

Cheeks full of heat at being caught in a fantasy, you lift your eyes and meet light, almond brown eyes almost entirely shielded by darker eyebrows. A man stands in front of you, a comfortable gap between his nondescript skate shoes and your worn boots. He's tall and pretty and surprising: he's smiling at you like you're something worth smiling at. 

"I'm–" You brandish the bottle as if that might explain it but harshly set it aside. "No, not sober. I mean, not willingly. Coke's were out here, so…" 

"Oh, right," he says, nodding knowledgeably. "Right, I was sorry to hear about that." 

You lick your lips. "'Bout what?" 

"They banned beautiful women from the kitchen," he says. "Hadn't you heard?" 

"No, that one passed me by." 

"I'm Jamison," he says, holding out his free hand. 

You take it. You tell him your name. 

—

Morgan is crying. Big heaping sobs that she attempts to talk through, creating this ringing whining sound that fills you top to toe with anxiety. You lean back in your hotel bed, wondering what it is in the world that could've happened to her as a kid to make her this unsatisfied now. Ananya blows on her freshly painted nails though they've been dry for hours, knee to knee with you atop the squishy hotel sheets. 

"I can't fucking do this," Morgan cries, tears dripping down her bare skinned cheeks. 

The three of you have been sworn off of makeup, junk food, and unapproved wash products for the next four to five hours. You're happy for this to continue until the end of time. Morgan, less so. 

You're trying to decipher exactly why she's crying, feeling a confusion you'd liken to the first modern day archaeologist that laid eyes on ancient hieroglyphics. All these symbols and colours and stories. No clear translation. 

If Ananya were an archaeologist, she's the kind who got to see the Rosetta stone. Morgan's moods make sense to her, and while she often doesn't empathise with her, she at least knows what to say to appease the worst of it. 

"It'll be alright, Morgs," she says, her faux sympathy unconvincing.

You feel a little sorry for Morgan and clear your throat. "And you're not by yourself. We're here." 

"Fucking amazing help you've been," Morgan says. Her voice does a theatrical peak, pure hysterics. 

It irks you how good she looks. You think that, maybe, if you could make your problems pretty the way that she does, you'd be a lot happier overall. You've often lamented that you suffer the kind of unhappiness that makes people uncomfortable and unwilling. You cry ugly, and always alone, hands over your mouth to smother the sounds, and that's when you do cry. Mostly, you bounce around inside yourself and feel very afraid that this feeling is forever. 

But, you think presently, that isn't Morgan's fault. Not all of it. 

Morgan throws her hands out at you and Ananya and spins on her heel, through the bathroom and into her own separate room. 

"At least the backdrop of her breakdown is nice," you murmur, hugging the pillow against your stomach, heels digging into the mattress to keep your knees up. 

Ananya snorts and flicks to the next page of her magazine. "Right?" She stretches her naked legs out over your sheets. You know she's decided to ruin your bed with her after-waxing oils rather than her own. "Better here than back home." 

"Why's she so upset?" you ask. 

Already, your thoughts are starting to drift. You take another peek at the phone across the room and will it into ringing. 

"She draws them on everyday anyway," Ananya says agreeably. 

You summarise that Morgan's eyebrows are the root of the problem. You don't blame her for wanting to look perfect tomorrow night. Your stomach is a weight every time you think about it, solid as petrified wood. This will be your first TV appearance that isn't a recorded concert, a mid-show performance for the Prover Music Awards, and it should further cement your place in the band. If you look good and people like you, public favour might be enough to keep you around. If they don't, there'll be a couple hundred different audience members with industry links. If you play well, and you're certain you will, you might finally prove to Morgan, Ananya, and the rest of the management team that you're worth choosing. 

You want it badly. You want lots of things, and being a real part of Godless could hand them all to you on a studded platter. Recognition of your talent, further experience, the chance to perform and be supported, to be adored, and the money isn't something you'll pretend you don't think about. A rockstar's salary is hardly stable, but a lack of stability is almost always supplemented by the amount. Wouldn't that be nice? To buy your own bass, to buy whatever you liked. To go out and have spa treatments like the one you'd had just this morning whenever you please. To get to feel beautiful and limp as this all the time. More than anything, you want the validation, the poster that comes with it. 

If Godless decides to keep you, it's a huge, blinking, neon-lit sign that says you're good enough. 

They chose me, and you're stupid for letting me go. 

They chose me. I'm something worth something. You didn't see it, but it's there in me. 

The subtext isn't important. 

You're scared shitless at the reality of performing tonight, knowing any fuck up could follow you, or worse ruin your hopefully budding career in rock for the rest of time. You have this body and this name, and if you want to keep your life you have to be good. It has your fingers itching for your piece-of-shit bass guitar where you know she's hiding under the bed. You should be practising, but this entire week has been practising. The dress rehearsal went well, and you'll give yourself a pass for having certain distractions. 

Morgan warbles. You glance at the phone. 

"Waiting for someone?" Ananya asks. She misses nothing. 

You both wince as Morgan screams and throws something across her bedroom, the eventual clattering smash indicative of a fragile target. 

"Think room service will send up a sedative?" she asks. 

Room service won't send a sedative, nor will they send the single hashbrown Morgan is apparently craving. You're starting to panic when the solution practically jumps at you. 

"Morgan," you say gently, standing in the doorway of her room with a tentative smile, "can't offer you something, can I?" 

You hold up your little pouch. Morgan doesn't know you well, but she knows it's where you keep anything interesting. She should know, she pilfers it of anything truly exciting within the day. 

"Don't be stupid," she scathes. "My eyes will be bloodshot. You know smoking doesn't agree with me." 

You hold in a comment on how she'd literally been smoking out of the window last night. 

"It's a brownie. It's a couple days old, but… perfectly edible." You offer her the pouch, dropping it at the end of the bed among her things. 

She picks at the brownie, timid princess bites that make you want to roll your eyes. You often think the worst thing about Morgan is that you love her, or you could love her more, if only she felt the same way. She isn't all evil and she never will be, she's just a person. But she takes shit out on you and makes your life harder than it needs to be, so even her most endearing moments fall short. 

"This tastes awful." 

You laugh and kneel down at her dresser to start putting her thrown jewellery box back together. "It wasn't that nice when I got it," you lie. 

You clean her room. Morgan never wants to do anything she knows can be done for her, and you know she won't bother here, not when room service will spend the hour it takes themselves. You think of some poor service worker squaring away the impossible amount of stockings and garters for a sad $3.45 an hour and the task suddenly becomes much more enjoyable. 

Morgan doesn't say thank you. You don't insult her intelligence by thinking she isn't aware of what you're doing. She sniffles and blows her nose daintily with a balsam tissue. 

"I saw you talking to that guy from Corroded Coffin." 

You brush off your knees as you stand. "Which one?" 

"Eddie. The rhythm guitarist." 

"The loud one." 

"He's kind of hot. If he calls, you should go out with him." 

"That's not–" who I'm waiting for. You squint at her. "Morgan, that would be terrible." 

"Can you get me something from the minibar?" 

You kick open her minibar and grab a cold can of seltzer. She slides onto her back and accepts it, pressing it to her eyes with a relaxed smile. Eyebrows forgotten, it seems. 

"That would be perfect. He can be the cat to your mouse." 

"Your definition of perfect–" You cut yourself off again when she starts to laugh. You don't believe it to be genuine. 

She lounges in bed for an hour until she's high, reappearing in you and Ananya's suite with a dizzying smile. You don't mind high Morgan. She's smoked enough in her time to bypass the dizzying, giggly kind of stoner. This Morgan is relaxed, almost easygoing. She sits at the end of your bed and watches you pluck out a bass line proposal for one of their current works in progress, head bobbing. 

An hour again and the stylists appear to spray you down with smells and oils and make up, and soon you've been strapped into a short shining dress with a cowl neck, dark black stockings that shine like oil, and heels you can't really walk in. You complain about them politely enough that Mel, the man in charge of your 'costuming', swaps them out for shorter ones. 

"This fucking corset is a nightmare," Morgan grumbles. 

"Sorry, love, that's all we've got." 

The commute is over in a blink. You arrive outside of the venue for the Awards, staring up at its imposing silhouette against the skyline, a dark building in the strange blue night. The sun is unseen but light illuminates the wet streets in blinding patches, so white they glow violet behind your eyes. 

There's a modest red carpet where you thankfully don't have to pose for many photos. After all, besides being a temporary member of the stage, you aren't truly in Godless. Most casual fans (the majority of their fan base) only know the faces in the magazines and on TV, and you have yet to be in either until tonight. 

After a bundle of shy and regretfully nerve-wracking photos, you're drawn inside the building and away from all the flashing hubbub. You sit in your seats, short rows divided by the occasional table for drinks, and you try not to sink into the carpeted floor. It smells insanely like nothing at all. No bleach, no air conditioning cleanliness. Every now and then another guest walks past your row and you get a whiff of perfume. 

A familiar scent pricks your attention. 

You look up, slightly over your shoulder, and your eyes meet familiar sticky brown. 

He drops down in the seat next to you, and you think, No way. 

He holds up the placard that had been under his thigh. His name is typed in clear blocked letters. 

It's a strange humiliation to have been read for filth like that. You're you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression can be pretty telling, evidently. 

"Hey, sweetheart." 

Matchstick against the box. You tilt your head and try to place him for the tenth time. 

"Have we met before?" you ask. 

He actually grins like this is the best thing you could've said. "You met my friend," he says, pointing down the aisle. 

Jamison stands talking to a woman who is admittedly gorgeous, and, to your sinking horror, much prettier than you. They kiss each other on the cheek and it's the kind of over friendly to make you sick. 

Eddie pouts at you. "Better luck next time, sweet thing." He throws one leg over another. "You look different. New haircut?" 

"You look exactly the same," you say. 

It's surprising how untouched he is. Sure, he's had some makeup applied and his hairs been tousled into life, but his outfit is remarkable in its simplicity. Surely rockstars can wear suits too? He looks neat and dark and tidy, but he also looks effortless. It's irritating.

This phenomena is not self contained, you find, as his bandmates sit down the row with their managerial chaperones and one date. Jamison sits right at the very end. He doesn't look at you. 

You avert your eyes and wonder if it's possible to die from embarrassment. 

The venue gets increasingly busy as the bigger names and bands flood inside. Soon, you're sitting amongst legends, people who pretty much spearheaded late 80s glam rock, punk, grunge. People you've only ever seen on TV. And it isn't restricted to alternative sound, there are pop stars and their supermodel girlfriends shaking hands and kissing cheeks in the row behind, while producers with names big enough to make your mouth dry up clap each other on the shoulders in front. 

"You'll catch flies." 

You turn to Eddie. He doesn't sound entirely cruel. He doesn't sound like much of anything. You could almost believe him to be a friend. 

There's a smudge of eyeliner on his cheek. 

"You have–" You point at your own cheek, a mirror. 

His lightness fades. "Nice." 

"No, seriously, you have something. Make up, on your cheek. I have a wipe if you want it." 

He scrubs at his cheek ineffectually. 

You're reaching out to help before you can stop yourself, witnessing your own actions with a strange out-of-body horror as you wipe the small black line gently. It spreads, and you panic and dab at it until it's an unfortunate grey shadow. 

"Let me get the wet wipe," you say. You'd been holding your breath, awkwardness stiff between you, and it sounds too much like a laugh. 

Eddie flinches away from your touch and covers his cheek. "I got it," he says stonily. 

He leaves, stepping over his bandmates feet like stepping stones, earning a cacophony of protests and disparagments. 

Dick, you think. Again, that had been a little bit your fault. Not all of it, he seems to be in a perpetual bad mood that can't be your doing, but you can understand why he might think you were laughing at him, and the defensiveness that comes with it. When he comes back you'll apologise. 

Or that's what you tell yourself. The lights go down, the curtains open, and the venue erupts with applause. By the time Eddie takes his seat again you're too afraid of disturbing the quiet. 

After half an hour you're ushered backstage. You have to move in front of Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin as you go. 

He looks up at you in silence. Head tipped back, face barely lit by the lights while you stand in between his legs. His lips part and he's all rockstar, his brown eyes and their edging of straight dark lashes, his pink, pretty lips. He has a distinct line to his nose, a cupid's bow perfectly shaped. His maker must have looked at him and known somebody, somewhere, would want to kiss him right there. His lips twitch. 

"Can I help you?" he whispers. 

You stammer a response that won't form and Morgan shoves you. 

"Fucking move," she says. 

His expression flickers. 

"Sorry," you say, unsure of who you're talking to. "Sorry." You sound pathetic. A kicked puppy. 

You keep your eyes on the floor until you're in the aisle, where a new set of nerves tries to swallow you whole.

—

Eddie knows exactly who you are, and he hates himself for it. He remembers you, the first you, shy and sweet and so excited, sitting pretty in Indianapolis International Airport with your guitar and your huge leaky headphones pounding death metal. While fame has broadened the amount of people who want to sleep with him, it hasn't changed his type, and you'd been a ringer, right there in the middle. 

You'd been pretty and maybe you knew it, maybe you didn't, it didn't matter — what he liked most was the way your hands had moved as you spoke, hummingbird thrumming, an energy he'd seen in himself and every other musician desperate for a chance. He loved the passion and your eyelashes and the way you'd smiled as you'd waited for your plane, the two of you destined for New York, where you both seem to have looped back now. Only, he'd been cursed with remembering your every detail, and you either didn't remember him or don't care. Both sting, but he likes the second better. He'll take purposeful cruelty over the casual any day. 

Like your thumb pressed to his cheek. The heat, and then your laugh. 

"The fuck is this?" Gareth asks, leaning over the space between their two chairs. 

Eddie looks up at you on stage and shrugs. While bands made up completely of women aren't new, they aren't as common as bands made up of men, obviously. He likes it, likes your sound, though it's not the kind of thing Corroded Coffin would ever play, and he won't join in on Gareth's doubt. Even if you are, like, a magnanimous shithead. You're good. 

"She's hot," he furthers. 

"Jesus, Gareth." 

"What? She's fucking hot." 

He has to squint to see you from this distance, and he can't truly make out many details. Gareth's not wrong. You're pretty, and out of the three members of the band you're the only one who actually looks like they're having a good time. 

The lead singer trails around the stage pulling Blond Ambition poses. She can sing well, she has a strong voice that does whatever it is she bends it into, but her propensity to drop the guitar slung around her neck to grab at the microphone stand like it's escaping isn't helping anything. 

The girl on drums is arguably given a pass, fighting to keep up with the pace, sweat sticking her thick hair to her neck in glossy spirals and her huge eyes set in concentration. Her messy lipstick sparkles under the stage lights, a party pink that pops against her brown skin. 

He thinks you might be trying to cover up the lead singer's sloppy playing. You're good, sure, but it's not the easiest to tell when it's ragtag and rough like this. Only because he's watching does he notice your pick slipping between strings to the floor, and your willingness to strum with the sides of your fingertips. He likes that. The dedication is hot. 

"I've never seen a girl on drums who didn't look like a guy," Gareth says. "She's killer. Think I can get her number?" 

Eddie groans. "No, you fucking loser." 

"I was just asking." 

You bounce around and Eddie shifts in his seat, annoyed that he'd assumed you were the one Gareth was talking about. 

He claps for you when the song is over and hates how you return to your seat during the break, back in your cute dress and beaming, practically dripping in deodorant and post-show adrenaline. 

You apologise again as you step over him, and if there's one thing he doesn't want from you it's a sorry. Twice now you've spoken to him in the last week and twice you've made fun of him like some plaything under your thumb. Eddie isn't in the habit of being under anyone's anything. Apologies feel like salt in the wound, even though he knows you aren't saying sorry for the stuff that's pissing him off.

"What the fuck was that?" Lead girl asks you, sounding about as uptight as she looks as she climbs over your leg. "What were you doing?" 

"Morgan, I don't know if you noticed, but you didn't play half of the song," you say defensively, the skirt of your gem-encrusted dress glancing off of his thigh. The gems are tiny, like pinprick stars in country night skies. They shine purple, green, orange. 

Morgan holds her hand up for an attendant. When one approaches, she says, "Appletini," and nothing else, waving dismissively. She pulls at her stockings and doesn't notice the ladder she makes near the calf. "You're here to play what you're given." 

"I did." 

"And only that." 

Your silence speaks volumes. What he'd thought to be an edge in Godless' sound may have been an improvisation, something Eddie personally applauds. 

"Christ," Morgan says, "you're more trouble than you're worth. I hope you know that." 

Eddie believes the sting of her barb to be in the presentation rather than the words themselves, though what she'd said is hardly kind. She looks away from you as she says it, like she's giving instruction far below her station. Factual, concise. 

You barely wince. The lights dim, and he watches you contend with how you're feeling from the corner of his eye.

Eddie isn't evil. You may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and he's definitely holding his resentment at being forgotten tight to his chest, but nobody deserves to get shit on like that. You'd played well, you'd had a great time, and that should be commended. What's worse, your lack of a reaction tells him this is a common occurrence. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say. 

Morgan waves you away like she had the waitress. You stand, and you say, "Excuse me," to every person you pass. Eddie put his hand on the back of his chair to follow you up toward the back of the room where the sign for the bathrooms glows green. 

He sets his eyes back on the stage and begs himself to stay sitting. Corroded Coffin's nomination for best up and comer has already passed, a loss, and there's no reason he can't nip to the bathroom himself. There's also no reason he should go after you. 

Fuck it, he thinks. 

What could go wrong? What could go wrong, outside of the women's bathroom, where he has so obviously followed you, where he waits for you like some creeper trying to paw one off on you. He can't hear anything but the running tap. For a moment he thinks you haven't come here to collect yourself after all, you'd needed to pee, which makes his situation that much awkwarder. 

Stuck between indecision, he leans against the wall between the women's and men's and digs for a cigarette. His pockets are empty, a precaution for exactly this moment. You can't smoke in the Prover Theatre, pissant.

You appear and blitz past him. 

"Hey," he says before you can go too far, "d'you have a card?"

You turn on your heel. Hands already in your purse, you dig out an unopened box of cigarettes and offer it to him. You don't look as though you've been crying or anything like it, but you don't look him head on, so he keeps his theory. 

Eddie peels the plastic off of your box and slaps the end against his chest for good measure. 

"I don't think you can smoke in here," you say finally. Your voice is tired. 

He raises his eyebrows and peers down into the box, pulling a cigarette free and sliding it between his lips. He holds out his hand for a lighter and you give it to him, already waiting with it between two fingers. 

He lights it, inhales sharply, and passes you back your carton and lighter with a clouded, "Thanks." 

"Yeah." 

He's surprised when you don't move. You stand there and watch him smoke, whorls of pearly smoke dissecting the air between you, spider-webs over your pert face. You're waiting for what he doesn't know, so he'll give you something. He's nice. 

"She's a piece of work." 

You shift uneasily. 

"I'm not the feds," he says, pulling the cig from his lips to talk unfettered.

"Forgive me for wondering if you have my best interests at heart." 

He beams at you, really smiles, startled and enamoured by your sharp tongue. "Now why wouldn't I?" 

You don't say anything, only pull at the neckline of your dress in what's likely a nervous habit. He gets a flash of the top of your chest and looks away. He thinks you're beautiful in a rather understated way, and he doesn't not want to see what it is you're showing, but he knows you don't actually mean to be so forward. He might be an asshole, but he's not like that. 

It's quiet here in the foyer, like standing outside the doors of the movie theatre. You can hear the announcement of a new category, the roaring applause. The hallway and the bathrooms feel cordoned off from it in a strange way, an uncanny energy that has him on internal tenterhooks. 

"You always let her treat you like that?"

"Like what?" 

He steps toward you because the distance feels unnecessary. "Like that. Like you're a dog." 

"Fuck you, I do not." 

He pouts, the taste of smoke thick on his tongue. 

"What would you know?" you ask.

"Besides hearing it all fucking night, nothing. You must like that shit." 

Your eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say it. There's a light behind them now, some life, something to cover up that shitty wounded despondency you'd been wearing. Your hands bunch in the soft skirt of your dress, shaking. He's touched a nerve. 

"I must like it," you quote, strained.

"Woof. Do you do any tricks, or is it just the one?" 

He doesn't mean for it to happen this way, he wants it on the record. He's a dick, he's a loser, whatever, he hadn't meant to argue but he will. And, you know, there may be a slight possibility that he isn't as sure in himself as he appears, and that there are nerves he keeps too close to the surface, too. 

"You can teach me one of yours, if you want," you offer, voice tight with annoyance, "I'm thinking smug asshole picks easy target, but I'm open to other options." 

That's funny. He takes another step toward you, another, your cigarette between his lips smouldering at the tip as he inhales through his smirk. 

"Yeah, like what?" he asks, smoke licking your cheeks as he breathes out. 

"How you get your head through the door might be a good place to start." 

He waits for you to explain, knowing the silence will force you to fill it. 

"You know, considering you're in the exact same place as me, only one of us performed tonight and it isn't the one acting like God's gift." 

"You think they invited you to play because you're good?" he asks, feigning an earnest tone.

"I know exactly why they didn't ask you." You hike the strap of your purse higher up your shoulder, chin lifted in a snooty superiority that makes his heart pound. "Wannabe rookie who had too much smoke blown up his ass and thinks he's somebody. But you're not," you say. "You're a child. They've seen a hundred guys just like you in the Indiana circuit."

"You're a jumped up fucking groupie that got lucky," he says.

The light behind your eyes dims. He takes that last step, the step that's gonna put you shoe to shoe. 

He should stop now, he would, but suddenly his anger is real, this isn't strictly fun anymore. He says what he knows is gonna hurt you. 

"You're a stand-in, a temp who's already overstayed her welcome." He flicks the tower of ash between your heels. You follow it down, watch as it settles into the fibres of the carpeting. "You're a burnout waiting to happen." 

Your breathing is loud in his ears. Slightly too fast. 

"You don't know anything," you murmur. 

"If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog," he says, pausing, words coming out thick and slow, "it's a dog."

Your face flares with hurt. You're gone before he can say anything else. 

He's glad for it. Honestly, he's not sure what else he would've said, and later, he'll regret this, regret blowing up at you, regret following you out here and making you feel worse when he'd wanted the opposite. But tonight he's lit up from the inside out, your words a reverberation. A hundred guys just like you.

"Yeah, right," he says to himself, scoffing with a surety he doesn't feel. 

—

Donington Park, England, August 1990

"I'd be a little more excited if I knew they weren't desperate this year," Jamison's saying, "that's all." 

"They're hardly desperate." 

"Last time they had KISS, Iron Maiden, Megadeth." Jamison sighs and falls back into the couch, muttering about the stale smell before continuing, "and this year, what do they have? Poison? Thunder? Who cares." 

Eddie thinks he might actually have an opponent for biggest ego right now. 

"You know they put Godless bigger on the poster," Jeff says with a bright smile. 

"Can we not talk about them for one fucking day?" Eddie pleads. 

He's a little disappointed at the lineup too, but that doesn't make this entire festival a bust. Monster of Rock may not be the most prestigious event they've ever attended but it's still impressive to be asked to play here, and this is only Corroded Coffin's third festival. Eddie's a smug bastard and even he knows Jamison sounds like a bitch. Besides that, he's so, so tired of talking about Godless. 

"They finally stopped stringing that poor girl along. What was her name?" Jeff asks, clicking his fingers. "Eddie, you know, the one who said she didn't know you in the magazines?"

"What?" Eddie asked. "They cut her?" 

Jamison sits up, eyes lit with mirth. "What's it matter to you, heartthrob?" 

"It doesn't." 

He's not being truthful. His bandmates are all unkind, and none extend the generosity of pretending they believe him. 

"Nah, she's not cut, she's official. Writing credits on the new album and everything, 'cordin to Rolling Stone." 

"You have it?" Eddie asks.

Jeff laughs at him but digs it out of his suitcase, brandishing it all rolled up. 

"Shit better not be sticky," Eddie mutters under his breath. 

"... Skip the interview with Kim Gordon." 

Eddie gags and flicks through the pages until he finds the article on you, or rather the column. 

"All female rock band Godless finally welcomed a new bass player this month after the departure of Millyanna Richardson in '89. Y/N L/N, 24, had been with the band for almost a year under a 'touring only' basis, though she performed live with remaining members Morgan Fletcher and Ananya Roy at the Prover Music Awards in early June. Fans have praised her talent and finesse, and are looking forward to her contributions to the band's next album expected this December. Hopefully she has thicker skin than her predecessor, who branded the band's inner politics as 'gruesome' and 'unlivable'."

There's a grainy photograph of you and your bandmates at the Prover Theatre overtop. You look exactly as you had that night, pretty and glitzy. He scowls at your printed face.

He can't fucking stand you, let it be known, and he thinks your frontman is the most spoilt brat he's ever seen. He hadn't seen the article, but he'd heard via word of mouth that you'd both had something to say about him. His approximation goes as follows: 

Interviewer: …and you guys will be performing at the Monster of Rock music festival in England this August, right? Any faces you're excited to see? 

Morgan: I think I'm better than everyone despite being in a mildly popular band that didn't qualify as hard rock until, like, three months ago, and I totally shit on our bass player for trying to make the change by the way, so I'm not excited to see anyone besides myself in the mirror. 

Interviewer: How sophisticated and mature of you. And you, Y/N, are you excited to see anyone? Photos from the Prover Music Awards show you were sitting beside Corroded Coffin's Eddie Munson, did you two hit it off? 

Y/N: Who was that, the guitarist? I'm so sorry, I don't really remember getting a chance to talk to him, but I'm excited for the opportunity to meet more people in the scene right now and to get to play for a new audience. Also I suck and I want Eddie sooooo bad. 

"I wish I were asleep." Gareth squints at the ceiling. "Asleep or back home."

"Miss mommy?" Jamison asks him. 

"And Cindy." 

"Oh, god," Eddie groans, "I don't want to hear it, seriously." 

"She always had smooth legs, you know?" Gareth says. "Always shiny, soft. Fuck, I miss her legs. Girls on the road never shave their legs." 

"Do you shave your legs?" Eddie asks. 

"Fuck off, Teddy, you know you like it better when they shave." 

"Do I know that?" Eddie asks. 

He turns to Jamison, giving him a much-used 'make him stop' expression. Eyebrows raised, lips parted. When Jamison says nothing, and Gareth starts to talk about hair removal in other places, Eddie scrubs his eyes with both hands and stands up. 

He's a guy. He has guy thoughts. Yeah, he thinks about girls, and their legs, and everything else, but he also thinks about them as actual people, something Gareth hasn't quite grasped yet. 

"Remember why Cindy said she didn't wanna come with you?" Eddie asks. 

"Because she was jealous of my success." 

Eddie snorts and shrugs on his jacket where he'd left it thrown over the ratty couch. "Because she was going to beauty school," Eddie corrects. "I'm going out." 

"We're miles away from anything interesting," Jeff says, magazine crinkling in his hands. 

"I'm sure I'll find something," he says, and doesn't add that it should be easy. 

What counts as interesting has taken a sharp turn since arriving in Donington. Which isn't to say it's boring, exactly, there's a rich culture Eddie isn't familiar with, and a fucking castle, but he's so used to loud dives and backroom parties that this has been a stark change. Wending had said to think of it like a vacation to get his head screwed on tight. Paula had said to think of it like a punishment, which had been funny at the time. Now he's wondering if she was serious. 

He knows there'd been a convenience store somewhere down the road from the hotel. Or rather, the bed and breakfast, a strange cottage situation where the hosts keep an eye on you under the guise of making your dinner. Eddie's first world problems continue. 

He could get weed, possibly. He doesn't know where from, but he knows someone who knows someone who must know someone, right? 

Then he starts debating with himself about if he should smoke just to escape boredom. That sounds like a terrible idea, life isn't even bad right now, he's just hungry, and— 

Eddie turns the corner, wet sidewalk dark as pitch under his feet, and spots the back of your head as you disappear inside of the convenience store. The corner shop, as Wending had informed. Eddie doesn't understand because it isn't on a corner, but he has bigger fish to fry. He considers waiting for you to leave. What are the chances you'll walk back this way? Pretty likely. 

Don't be a bitch, he tells himself. 

Light rain spots his neck as he hurries inside, the bell above the door ringing to announce his entrance. He's confused as soon as he looks up, because in front of him is an aisle, and to either side is an aisle, and he can't make out where the cashier is. He takes a tentative step in, eyes tracking muddy footprints down the way to the drinks fridge humming loudly at the back of the room. 

Claustrophobic, he makes his way through the aisle and stops in front of the drinks. Because luck isn't ever his friend, you're standing toward the leftmost part, where a second fridge hums, filled to bursting with canned beer and litre bottles of cider. Eddie isn't sure it's really you until you turn to the left slightly and reach out for a colourful glass bottle. He should walk away. He doesn't like you, he has no business watching you, but there's something so sweet about it. 

You in the humming chill, a coat pulled tightly around you, your chin hidden by the multicolour of a yarn scarf. You turn the bottle in your hand delicately and blink slow as you read the ingredients. Your hair is frizzy from the wind, flyaways surrounding your face in a little wave. His fingers twitch. 

You keep the bottle and pick up a second, nails clinking against glass. Your movement pulls like you're moving through jello, and Eddie turns to the fridge in front of him hurriedly. 

He can feel your gaze on the side of his face. 

He picks up a couple of drinks without thinking, his face burning with heat. When he chances a glance your way, you've moved. He stares at the rainbow of drinks and the gaps where you've taken what you wanted. 

He leaves some time between your departure and follows the way you must've gone down an aisle of more alcohol that's unrefrigerated and pet food, wondering how they organise here, and is confronted with you again at the end. 

It's a snug building. You're blocking the way past where you're standing in front of the cashier's desk, a plexiglass shielded cube decked out in hanging sweets and cigarettes. 

"Do you have Newports?" you ask mildly. 

"Sorry." 

"That's okay, uh, I'll just take a carton of whatever you think is best?" 

The cashier retrieves a light blue box of cigarettes. "Lambert and Butler blues," he says. "Total, sixteen fifty six, and I'll need to see some ID." 

You pull your passport from an already opened purse and offer it to him. While the cashier's checking it over, you peek at Eddie, and you don't smile but you don't not smile, a formal quirk of the lips. 

"You're American?" the cashier asks. 

"I'm visiting for the festival," you say. 

Apparently having passed his test, the cashier hands your passport back and accepts your card. 

"Are you paying together?" he asks, nodding at Eddie. 

Eddie grins unconsciously, worse when you say quickly, "Oh, no, we're not together." 

"Your brevity wounds me," Eddie says.

You snort with a similar geniality. "You don't need me to pay for you, do you? I heard you're rich now." 

There has been an improvement in Eddie's finances lately. Your album breaking into the Billboard top 100 does that. 

"I thought you didn't know who I was?" 

"I thought that was kinder than what I really would've said." 

He hates how your snark makes him smile. You're not looking at him, waiting for your change with your eyes forward as the cashier clicks a couple of buttons on the till. 

"What were you really gonna say?" 

The cashier hands over your change. You slip it into your purse, put your purse in the pocket of your coat, and slide your hand through the weak blue handles of your plastic bag.

"Thank you," you say sincerely. You take a step like you're going to leave, but you pause, and you look Eddie in the eye and say, "I would've said you were mean." 

His jaw drops. You look hurt, and you leave with a discomforting frown. 

He puts the drinks he's carrying down on the cashier's desk and says, "I'll be right back," before following you out.

You've pulled your hood up to defend against the thickening rain, walking with your face angled down. Eddie beats along the wet pathway. 

"Hey! Hey, wait, wait a second, princess." 

"You can't be serious." 

"I'm so serious," he says. 

He weaves in front of you and stops. You look cold as he feels with his red-tipped nose and stiff fingers, your arms drawn together over your chest. You look pretty and he's so sick of thinking it and not saying it. 

"You're hot when you're mad." 

You glare at him. "I wish I could say the same." 

"Hey, hey, okay, we had a spat, but we got off on the wrong foot, you know?" 

"I thought that too," you say. 

He smiles. "See, we're– you're fucking with me. Nice." 

You start laughing, edging around him. He moves in front and you shrug, stepping off of the sidewalk and into the leaf litter clogging the gutter. 

"Don't be stupid," he says, hands held up in surrender "get back on the sidewalk." You keep walking. "Come on, don't get hit by a car. That would really put a damper on the festival." 

You take a step further into the road, the kind that would make a collision unavoidable. He checks both ways for cars and sees none, knowing you're fucking with him and hating it anyway. The two of you are locked into a stand off, grey skies above you and wet ground underneath, your face partially occluded by your scarf and your hood and the dribbling rain. If he listens, he can hear the small sounds of the festival preparations a half a mile away, guitars hooked up up an insane array of speakers and the pounding of a beat through the floor. 

You start walking again. He follows, treading backwards to keep your attention. 

"Seriously, come on." 

"No." 

"No?" he asks. 

"No. I don't have to listen to you." 

"You're being stupid." 

"Eddie, I truly, honestly, don't care." 

"Sure." The sound of tires on the road draws his eye. A car appears behind you, approaching fast. "It's your funeral."

"What do you get out of this?" 

He bites his top lip, shaking his head from one side to the other. "Out of what?" 

"Tormenting me." 

"Tormenting you? Sweetheart, we hardly know each other." 

"Exactly!" You almost trip over your own shoes. "Exactly, you don't know me, but you thought you could say all those things–" 

"You started it." 

You laugh again and Eddie would be pissed but the car is still coming, headlights beaming through the light downpour. He huffs and grabs your wrist, tugging you up onto the sidewalk with his second hand on your waist. He doesn't mean to rag you about, feeling especially apologetic when your face knocks into his chin. The car spins close and validates his concern. You have enough sense to realise what's happened, watching over your shoulder as the car beeps and whizzes past. Still, you yank your arm out of his. 

"Don't touch me," you say quietly. 

He dips his head to force you to meet his eyes. "Next time I'll let you get hit by a car. Great idea." 

"I wasn't going to get hit by the fucking car." 

You're infuriating. 

Infuriating, and yet he feels bad for pulling you around. He lowers his voice, softens his tone. "Sorry," he says. "I don't know why this happens, everytime I see you, I…" 

You look intensely uncomfortable. "I have one of those faces, I guess." You shrug away from his reach. "Try to play well tomorrow? I don't want to go on to a dead crowd." 

His mouth snaps closed. "If you need me to warm them up for you, just say that." 

—

You go to watch Eddie's set because you're awful. You want it to suck. You want Corroded Coffin to bomb it and you want it to be his fault, anything to wipe that pretty smile off of his face, smother the electricity of his bouncing steps as he bounds from one side of the stage to the other. He's entranced by the crowd — it's hard not to be. Ananya had told you on the plane that UK festival audiences are a different kind of enthusiastic, eager and loud, and it's obvious now that she was right, and that Corroded Coffin had more than a few loyalists in the sea of people. 

The barrier bends under the force of it, thousands of warm bodies throwing themselves against one another despite the terrible weather, mud to the shins and sliding. You've never seen so many people happy to be covered in dirt. 

Neither Morgan nor Ananya had wanted to join you so you stick to the shadows with your lanyard pass. You refuse to think about why you've dressed the way you have, a black, stiff corset type top to cinch your chest, exposing the soft hills of your breasts, and the flare pants Morgan had insisted make your thighs acceptable. You're bedecked in pretty jewellery and your hair looks perfect, and it's all for your show, you swear, all for your set straight after his. 

Eddie's dripping with sweat and rain at this point, darker curls wet and slick and sweet around his face. His brows are furrowed like he's in pain, and his thumb has split on the strings, blood like cherry juice running down the body of his guitar, a Warlock NJ Series electric with a red and black tortoise shell design. It shines like mother-of-pearl. 

You're impressed by him, and worse, there's a heat stirring in your abdomen you despise. He's attractive, you've always thought him pretty, but on stage he's something else entirely. The passion transforms him, makes him a different person. No trace of agitating smugness about him. 

And he's good. You're not a critic, an expert, and your opinion hardly matters, but if he's this good now you'd love to see him at Hammet's age, at Hanneman's. He could be one of the greats. 

You're riddled with jealousy. Bass and rhythm guitar are not the same, and they're comparable in some ways, incomparable in others, but you know you're not like he is. You want to be the next Entwistle, the next Ian Hill, but practising You've Got Another Thing Comin' until your fingers bleed is never going to give you what Eddie plainly has. 

You hide your bandaid covered fingers in your back pockets and shake your head. You can pinpoint the moment Eddie notices you on the side stage despite the small audience they've attained. His neck snaps to the side, and his eyes bore into yours for a split-second. 

You could pretend you aren't here. If he ever calls you out on it, you could lie. You want me so bad you're seeing me places, Munson. 

You don't do that. 

You wave. 

You've never been the prettiest girl. You know you aren't model material, people aren't shy about letting you know that, and so, you're practised in the art of quiet flirtation. Your wrist straight, you wiggle your fingers sweetly, a face of fresh make up and your sweetest smile, like he's a guy across the bar and you're trying to get a ride in his passenger seat. 

For a split-second you adore him. It's the meanest thing you can do. 

You aren't expecting him to fuck up. His hand slips down the neck and that's it, one missed second of sound. He throws himself back into it and doesn't look your way again, a storm of emotions clouding his handsome face. 

Not what you'd meant to do, and yet. There's a cruel satisfaction in knowing you'd had any sort of power over him.

There's a ten minute gap between sets, twenty because of the shitty weather. Morgan and Ananya are nowhere to be seen as Corroded Coffin pour off of the stage and down the short stairwell where you're waiting, picking at your clear nail polish absentminded. You don't look up, and the resulting quiet makes you think they've all left. 

A wooden board creaks. 

You look up. 

"Hey, you–" 

Eddie takes your shoulder into his warm, big hand and pushes you back. You wobble and rush to correct your posture, hand clamping around the crook of his elbow. Even though he's soaked through, wet to the skin, his hand is a blistering heat. 

Your shoulders collide with the wall under the stairwell. It's a snug fit, dark and out of view. 

"What gives?" you seethe, pushing at his chest. 

"You fucking–" Eddie tucks a lock of wet hair behind his ear, and his hand stays at that height, hovering between you. "What's wrong with you?" 

"What's wrong with me?" 

"You want to mess with me, is that it?" 

His hand takes to your face, index finger following the line of your cheek, his thumb along your jaw. He isn't kind. He isn't cruel. He's touching you, just touching you, and your mouth is bone dry at the sensation, the stuttering beat of your heart. 

"I don't want to do anything to you, Munson." 

"We both know that's not true." You've never heard his voice like this. It's scratchy– pleading. It's a desperation. 

He's breathing hard. Your proximity means you feel each one as it comes, heat fanning over your lips. You look to his, find them parted, the barest hint of pearly teeth between pink dewy skin. They look soft. 

You lift your chin. 

I dare you. 

His hand slides down. He presses his thumb into your bottom lip and inclines his head. You close your eyes, fine stands of his hair drawing lines of wetness against your face as he boxes you in. 

"Are you going to–" 

"Shut up," he says, crushing his lips to yours. 

It his nose you feel more than anything, the force of it as he moves in, bridge sliding down your own. His hands, and how they tighten, fisted in the slope of your shoulder and clutching at the underside of your jaw like you might slip away. His touch brings you in, his hips force you back, wedging your spine tight to the panelled wall behind you. 

You let him kiss you, let his lips work over yours, let him take what it is he wants. Your fingers slide softly up the chilled leather of his jacket, coveting the wet mess of his hair. You weave your fingers into it, their tips pressed to his roots, and pull him away. 

You steal the gap between you and try to take control. You don't know how to kiss like he is, you don't know where all that meanness comes from. You force his hand from your face and nip at his bottom lip, imprecise, stammering pecks that reveal too much. 

Eddie inhales hard, pulls the breath from your mouth. 

"Don't play games," he says. 

He presses a firm, hard kiss all lopsided into your lips and pulls away, yanking your hand from his hair and setting it against the line of his waist. 

"You like games," you argue. 

He tilts your head to one side a millimetre at a time, tilting his own to follow you. A teasing light burns behind his eyes, a playful flare of his lashes that worries and excites at once. 

His thumb haunts the column of your throat, pressing, releasing, pressing again. Never enough to hurt. 

"Stay still." 

You stay still. You aren't expecting him to weave the other way, the hot and unapologetic scratch of his teeth against your pulse. You laugh at the feeling, find it gets all clogged up when he starts to bite. The hand that isn't anchoring your head roams down your shoulder, your back, falling into the small of it as though it were made to be there. His fingers spread and pull and your pelvis pushes hard into his own. 

"Is that a–" You cough on your murmuring, chastened by his thumb outside your windpipe. "S'that a micronta quartz in your pocket, or are you just," —you hiss as his hickeying turns brutal, hand pawing ar his waist uselessly— "happy– Happy to see me?" 

Your shuddering makes him smile. He lets your bruised skin slip from between his lips only to scandalise you further, kissing and nipping, licking a humiliating stretch until he's under your ear, speaking into it. 

"I'm never happy to see you," he murmurs, hand turned, the back of his index knuckle stroking a tender back and forth. His forehead kisses your temple. "You should know that by now." 

A picture of composure but you know what you feel. You roll your hips to revel in his subtle groan. 

"You want me to mark up the other side?" he asks. 

His question sounds so genuine, you almost say yes. He laughs at your silence and kisses wherever he can reach, crescent moons, spit-damp and branding. 

He pauses to speak into the corner of your mouth. "Mess me up again during a set and I won't be this nice." 

"You're not nice," you say, lashes skimming the skin under your brows as he stands at full height, widening the gap between you to a safe distance again. 

"Exactly…" Eddie squeezes your cheek until it aches. His eyes are unreadable. "Have a good set, sweetheart." 

Unreadable turns smug. He pats your panging cheek, gaze dancing over the sore stretch of your neck, and turns without a second glance. 

You press the heel of your palm to the cold wall behind you and blink. Once. Twice. In that moment you hate him more than you've ever hated him, hate him like you've never hated anyone, because his retreating figure is unaffected, and you're dizzy with the lingering press of his lips.

You have to hand it to him. He's good at the game. 

You'll have to be better. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

I wrote the bulk of this really quickly so please forgive any major errors I missed during editing, I’ll go back again in future and make more corrections! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did please consider reblogging or telling me what you thought, I promise it makes a big difference <3 I was super nervous about this one and I still am lol

[prettyboypistol]

Mercs Thanksgiving Headcanons

Found Family is just as valid as blood and these mfs are HOMIES

Scout

Primary shit talker at the table while also somehow being the most incoherent about things.

Loves the feeling of being surrounded by people who kind of like him. It reminds him if home with his brothers and mom.

Passes out on the couch after eating a metric ton(2 plates and a fuck ton of mashed potatoes)

Soldier

Tries to cook, gets immediately kicked out of the kitchen.

Plays outside with the raccoons/already drunk people, absolutely gets into the inevitable politics fistfight on the side of AMERICA

Man eats his weight in turkey and then battles the calories off

Pyro

Happy to be here :)

They like being around in a holiday of togetherness and familial love, especially since they view the crew as family.

Helps Engie and Spy with the food prep, is actually surprisingly helpful and good at searing/flambe

Demoman

Is totally fine with people cooking dinner until he actually looks and starts backseat cooking.

Judgey drunk aunt energy lmao. This man comes for your THROAT at the table. "Oh ye ain't gotta girlfriend?? What happened to being God's gift to humanity??"

Probably the best advice giver, as long as you ignore his suggestion to take a swig of Dutch courage whenever you're scared.

Heavy

Secretly is absolutely enraptured with the idea to have a day surrounding family and friends.

Makes him a little sad that his mother and sisters aren't there, but he appreciates that Scout, Soldier, and Engie are over the moon about the tradition of dinner together.

Coddles the drunkards and is the cornerstone of the inevitable cuddle pile of tired sleepy men on the couch

Engineer

Heartwarming father energy ON GOD

You thought this man was southern then??? Hoo boy this man is the most gentlesouled cook in the kitchen. He's got all the southern tricks to get everyone at the table.

Glares at the fighting but playfully engages in light teasing. He dotes on Scout and Pyro a good bit as they remind him of his nephews back home.

Spy

Isn't a fan of the whole idea at all, but realizes it's important to most of the group so he joins in anyway.

He eats quietly and watches, the feeling is slightly uncomfortable being around all of the cheering joyfulness. He's not supposed to be here, he's a spy!

The last one awake, and with a little sigh he cleans the dishes, puts away the leftovers, and puts a blanket over the pile of mercenaries on the couch. It's nice when they're quiet.

Sniper

Surprisingly very happy (secretly) about the concept. He likes hanging out with the group, especially when he's allowed to space out in the general area of everyone without an obligation to talk.

Second to last asleep and offers to have a small campfire out back with Spy for a more quiet gesture. After all, he understood Spy's want to be quiet and just observe.

Finds the Scout-Demoman debates hilariously entertaining.

Medic

Is banned from the kitchen :(

This mf is megabanned from touching the food and drinks. Scout and Engie are hypervigilant about that. "NUH UH! NO SLIPPING STUFF IN THE TURKEY!"

Genuinely likes the banter but after a good half hour he gets a headache. He's the first to steal the couch to rest on, but probably the 3rd to fall asleep.

[artificial-transmutations]

Can you believe it?

10.02.2024

Can you fucking believe it?

As most of you know, I'm working for LifeCorp, and you won't believe what they just did to me! I'm pissed!

My job is, apparently, becoming 'obsolete' with the whole AI thing bla bla bla. But! Of course, they don't want to fire me. Instead, they're offering me alternative positions. So far so good, right? But do you know which positions they offered me?

- Security Guard

- Janitor

- Escort

Not that bad, right? I mean I don't have the skillset for any of those, but that is apparently no problem, because these jobs come with a fucking mandatory life change if I take them?

Apparently, my usual charming self is not enough:

What kind of bullshit is this? Normal companies ask you to move if you want to keep your job, LifeCorp requires you take on a whole new body, just to keep working for them.

You think that's outrageous? It gets better. Apparently, none of those jobs is suitable for a woman. I can be a male security guard, a male janitor or a male escort. And when I complained about it, they just said that for security guard and janitor, a strong body is a requirement, and they have enough female escorts already. What a bunch of assholes! There's absolutely no way I'm gonna take one of those jobs.

Love, Tracy

***

14.02.2024

Have you seen LifeCorp's newest shit post? The valentine's day special? The audacity!

Stacy and Zara are now fricking men? No doubt they have been bullied to make that change. You know what this company has? A fucking frat-boy attitude. More and more people are becoming guys, "BeCaUsE tHeY wAnT tO". Bullshit. It's clear to me that the upper management wants to see more dick in their company. Probably a cocksucker like Stacy and Zara have become. I'll talk to them first chance tomorrow.

Oh, and Matthew? Why would anyone want to become a Latino?!

Love, Tracy

***

18.02.2024

Okay, I talked to Stacy and Zara (No, I won't call them "Steel and Zacharias", these are still women!). They were all "Oh, we're so much happier now" and "We're finally being our true selves" and "You should do the same, really."

It's a fucking brainwash. I mean, they haven't been right in their mind to begin with (they had the delusion of being a couple - ha! Couples are one man and one woman, nothing else!), but it's becoming veeery clear to me that they have been forced and brainwashed. And I will find proof for that!

Love, Tracy

***

18.02.2024 - 2

Okay, I'm fuming now. I told my boyfriend about that whole job situation. And you know what he said? You know what he fucking said?

"Ok. Do whatever makes you happy."

He just said "Ok" and was all cool about it! He even had the audacity to tell me that they didn't force me to do anything and that I could just find a new job if I didn't want any of that bodies.

But the best part is still to come. He said, and I quote, "Just make sure to ask them to make me gay if you take any of those jobs, so we can still be together." I mean... wow. That's a reason for a breakup just there. He's a fricking man, or at least that's what I thought up until now. The thought of becoming gay should have been something that made him sick!

But, oh no. He's fine with it. Disgusting! I need to re-think this relationship.

Love, Tracy

***

19.02.2024

I have a plan!

I'm going to accept one of LifeCorps offers. No, hear me out. I'm gonna accept - and then I'll sue them. Discrimination, kidnapping, something like that. I'm gonna be rich. Oh, and about my boyfriend? He's gonna have it his way. I'll make sure they make him the fag he begs to be and then break up with him. This'll teach him. Good thing he doesn't read this feed.

I'm just too clever for this world. Take that, LifeCorp!

Gonna take the janitor, though. With all their fake diversity and stuff, the guard and escort probably aren't even white.

Love, Tracy

***

22.02.2024

I just got a letter congratulating me on my choice and that they are happy to keep me as an employee. Ha. If these losers knew.

Love, Tracy

***

26.02.2024

Holy shit! How do you guys even walk with that thing?

Needless to say, I got my new body. Here's what I look like now:

Apparently, they meant it well with me, cause my new dick is just... enormous. And they gave me some huge balls to match it, too.

The muscles aren't all that bad, either - I just feel big and powerful all around. The hair will take some getting used to, but it's not for long, after all. After I sue them, I'll demand my original body back.

I do have to admit, I'm feeling good, though. So much more powerful, but calm and happy at the same time. I wonder if this is a guy thing or a me thing? Is that how my boyfriend feels all the time?

Oh, gosh. My boyfriend. He's probably gay already, so I should break up with...

But that would be really mean. Also, thinking about him just made my new member react. It's kinda straining my underwear now. These things really do have a mind of their own, right?

What was I writing about? Yes, my boyfriend. Why did I want to break up with him? I mean, he's just cute like a button, right? I just realize what a gigantic asshole I was, planning to break up with him. I'll have to apologize. Or, even better, I'll apologize by showing show him this huge package I got. That's what he wanted, right?

I should really go. Don't want to keep him waiting.

...

You know what? I think I'll try out this new life before I make any more rushed decision. So far, I enjoy being a dude a lot and I'm actually looking forward to my new job. And my new-old boyfriend. And they didn't even force me to do anything. Perhaps I should ask them to adjust my ethnicity later on, though - I feel a bit more adventurous now. Also, I think I'll go by Trace now. It's an unusual name, but I like it.

Sorry for being such an ass before. Well, speaking of ass - off to get some.

Bye!

- Trace

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine helping Benn get away to see a 'friend'

Benn: *trying to slip off the ship during dinner for the third night in a row*

Shanks: *notices he's gone almost immediately* Where's Beck?

Lucky Roux: *counting the money Benn bribed him with to keep quiet* I dunno

Shanks: *Runs out on deck to find Benn trying to sneak over the side of the bot* Where we going?

Benn: we aren't going anywhere, I'm going to port by myself.

Shanks: You're leaving the crew! *Starts to tear up*

The crew: *piles out when they hear Shanks' caterwauling* You're leaving! Without even saying goodbye!

Benn: I'm just leaving for the night, not forever...*realizes no one is listening to him* oh my gods, FINE! Fine, I'm not going anywhere.

Crew: *cheers as they herd Benn back into the mess hall*

An hour later

Benn: *finally manages to claw his way out of the impromptu game night to take a breather out on deck*

You: *watches him lean on the railing, trying to light night cigarette* Need a light?

Benn: *jumps in surprise and drops his lighter into the bay* You scared the shit outta me!

You: *hands him your lighter and leans against the railing*, so why were you trying to sneak off?

Benn: what's it to you?

You: maybe I could help if you have a good reason.

Benn: I wanted to go see a friend I always hook up with when we make port here. She knows I'm a pirate, but not what crew I'm apart of.

You: and you don't want us to meet her? Are you shamed of us?

Benn: *no hesitation* very...Nah, nah, it's just she's a sweet gal and rather timid.

You: and you think she'll be scared off when she finds out you're the emotional support idiot to one of the four emperors?

Benn: yes...Wait, I'm no one's emotional support idiot.

You: In order to stop Shanks from pouting you had to let him curl up in your lap.

Benn: so?

You: You looked like you were burping him, like a baby, when he's a whole ass grown man.

Benn: *purses his lips because he knows you're right, so he elects not to respond*

You: Anyway, you want help sneaking out?

Benn: No offense rookie, but I don't think you can help me. They're a group of seasoned pirates, and you.... You've only been in this life for what? Three years?

You: You're forgetting that they're also just a bunch of dudes who are children at heart.

Benn: what are you getting at?

You: What I'm saying is sneaking out will cost you.

Benn: how much?

You: Take me shopping tomorrow and we'll find out.

The next night

Benn: There's no way this is gonna work.

You: Boys! Benn bought you some stuff! *Presents them with a 10,000 + piece Lego set of the Red Force (I'm making Legos cannon for a plot device), a dial set of Uta's newest album, and twenty barrels of booze*

The Crew: *move like a wave, taking up the gifts*

Shanks: What brought this on?

Benn: Just thought we could use a new activity for tonight, you've all been working so hard lately and all.

Thirty minutes later

The crew: *absorbed in sorting Lego pieces and reading the instruction manual*

Benn: *also absorbed*

You: *elbows him* aren't you trying to get laid?

Benn: but Legos.

You: You really gonna pick Legos over pussy?

Benn: but what if they finish it without me?

You: I'll make it have an accident, so they have to start all over. Now get out of here.

Benn: I can't believe that your plan worked.

You: yeah yeah, get outta here before they notice you're gone

Benn: You're the best *kisses your forehead and flings himself off the side of the ship*

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

List of Up-and-coming works

[v3lv3tsin]

really, really: sim jaeyun

| pairing: sim jaeyun x reader

| genre: friends to lovers

| warnings: no warnings <3

| word count: 5.0k

| stefy's note: this idea hit me at 2-3am and well i'm going back a bit to my jake roots, so enjoy :)

[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]

You never really spoke with Jake ever, and just knew him as "the hot transfer student from Australia", but that was until he had come up asking if you wanted to help him set up. Obviously you guy's best friends agreed to too, since you knew they already liked each other.

What you didn't think was that it would lead to you and Jake becoming incredibly close, to the point you'd hang out almost every day and grow really close, that others would start to think that you two were dating, which wasn't true, not yet, at least.

"y/n..." Jake hugged you tighter. He'd never thought cupid-ing would've lead to the both of you sitting on the swings in a park at two am after you had called him, crying in desperate need of comfort.

"Can i stay at yours tonight?" You asked embarassed. Ever since you became "friends", you started wearing his hoodies on a daily basis. Knowing that he lives alone and not wanting to hear your parents fight anymore, as they were getting divorced soon. You already explained the situation to him over the phone.

"Of course you can.. it's better than you being here alone with your 'awesome parents'.." He said sarcastically but in a playful matter, as he was clearly not a fan of them and would be more than happy to let you stay at his place for as long as you needed.

"Yeah right." You giggle a bit, hugging him tighter.

Jake wraps both of his arms around you tightly whole chuckling. "Plus it would be nice to have some company, my bed is awfully big for just me." You giggle a bit and add. "So will your couch."

"What? You aren't sleeping in my bed?" He smirks leaning into your neck and kissing your shoulder jokingly. You nuzzle your head in his chest giggling, feeling embarassed. "Maybe."

"Aww come on...you have to sleep with me or else i can't sleep." Jake whined, clearly not used to sleeping alone anymore. "But we have to watch a movie first." You added looking at him.

"Only if you let me pick.." He smirked at you, he knew you were in no position to say no to him, not now at least, not after you two had gone to the extent of basically flirting and acting like a couple at this point which makes him believe you could say yes to anything.

"Fineee, but not the lego movie again." You rolled your eyes giggling. "We watched it five times already."

Jake beamed, he had the biggest smile while giggling along with you and gave you a quick peck on the forehead. "That's my girl.." Jake smirked proudly once again, now he knew why everyone was shipping you guys, being alone with you would put a smile on anyone's face, including him.

You blushed a bit, looking at him and nuzzling your head in his neck embarassed

"Let's just get to my place alright..? I've got snacks.. and a much better bed than this" Jake teased as he got up, he held out a hand for you and was waiting for you to follow him back to his place.

"But do i get to change this hoodie to another one that's new?" You said reffering to the hoodie you were wearing which was his, taking his hand.

"Fine.. but if i find you wearing my clothes again in the morning, I'm not letting you borrow anything ever again" Jake teased, you could tell he wasnt actually annoyed by you wearing his hoodies.. he just acted annoyed but you probably knew better than anyone else at this point that this boy liked it.

"But they're better than mine." You whined following him home.

"Fine, fine keep them, but only because the thought of you wearing my clothes is kinda hot" Jake said with a smirk while walking with you to his place, he stopped infront of the front door and opened it for you.

"Kinda hot?" You teased him, pushing his shoulder playfully.

Jake blushed and looked away before mumbling. "Very hot." Jake looked back and smirked and then pushed you into the wall teasingly. "I dont want you to ruin my hoodies though, so no washing" He teased again.

"No washing?" You asked, fakely offended by what he just said.

Jake chuckles and nods his head "Yes.. no washing.. besides I think they smell better when youre the one wearing them." He said teasingly, as he leaned a little closer to you, closing the gap between you two, looking into your eyes.

"Oh do they?" You said teasing him, tilting your head to look at him better.

Jake smirked and put both of his hands on your waist. "Very much so... they smell almost like a sweet.. perfume.. i cant get it off my mind"He says teasing you, but its almost as if hes being serious, you think you might be starting to have an effect on this boy.

"Lilies." You whispered to his ear, reffering to the perfume he is talking about.

"Yes.. that's it." Jake whispers back as if in a trance, it was clear he was obsessed with that specific scent, you knew right then and there that you'd be wearing that perfume everytime you hang with him if this was the way he loved it on you.. not that it was necessarily a bad thing for you.

"Told you." You said wrapping your hands around his neck, playing with his hair.

"Well if i didnt know better... i'd think you were putting some kind of love potion in every one of my hoodies" Jake said with a light chuckle as he moved his hands to rest on your hips, still being pretty close to you as he looks down at you.

"I know you love the harry potter universe but no, i don't use love potions on you." You said giggling.

Jake rolls his eyes teasingly and chuckles "Damn, well i guess i gotta stick with the idea that your natural scent is like an aphrodisiac to me then" He said while he pulled you in tightly into a hug so that your face was buried in his chest, wrapping his arms around you before planting a quick kiss on your forehead.

"And i'll take that as a compliment." You nuzzled your head in his chest, giving him the biggest and cutest smile.

Jake smirked. "Good, you should take that as a compliment" He said teasingly, he held you closely to him and played with your hair, before he noticed something. "Hold on a second.. are you wearing any perfume??"

"See for yourself." You said leaning your head against the wall, letting him have access to your neck.

Jake's face was now buried in your neck, he sniffed it a few times before he pulled back confused. "Wait.. theres no perfume.. just the smell of your body?" He said sounding almost shocked and confused, he smirked at you as if thinking up something. "So you mean to tell me that the only thing that drives me crazy is just you?"

"Exactly." You smiled looking at him while playing with his hair.

Jake's face was bright red at this point and he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So all this time..... there was truly no love potion?.. damn it.. i was starting to think that you were slowly and secretly making me fall in love with you" He teased with a smirk as he started to caress your cheek.

"Next time i promise i'll learn how to make spells." You giggled, leaning into his touch.

"Oh so you weren't already using love spells on me??" Jake teased, it was clear now that you two were officially flirting with each other, this conversation pretty much sealed the deal for him.. which meant that he was definitely not going to be sleeping alone that night.

"It's my natural charm." You smiled, looking at him.

"Natural charm? oh please.. dont be so full of yourself now" Jake said teasingly as he smirked at you, you could tell he was still trying to process how the girl he's been pining over for two solid months now is flirting with him, this wasnt something he expected to hear from you, it was like Christmas and his birthday all in one.

"I'm just saying the truth." You smirked still keeping eye contact.

Jake chuckles as he rolls his eyes, this girl was something else. "If you truly believe you're that beautiful then you're crazy"

You looked at him and pretend to be fakely offended by what he said. "Now you hurt my feelings!"

Jake quickly realized that he took it too far, he probably didnt mean to actually insult you, which was why he quickly added. "Okay okay okay.. my bad, you have some sort of 'charm' if that's what you wanna hear, but you still arent going to admit to using love spells on me"

"Fineee, i learned how to do love spells!" You giggled, curious of his reaction.

Jake's face was red again as he let out a small chuckle. "Well damn, that would explain a lot actually, there's no way a girl as pretty and sweet as you liked me.. there had to have been some sorta of love spell used on me" He teased back, but this time he did sound like he was being somewhat genuine.

You pouted, hearing the way he talked about himself. "Someone like you? Jake, you're an amazing guy.

Jake's jaw practically dropped to the floor when he heard those words, he wasnt used to getting compliments, definitely not like this anyway, he smirked back a little trying to play it cool as he tilted his head at you. "Ah you're just saying that though.. im a very boring guy really."

"Sure you are." You teased him back, giggling then decided to state the truth. "That's why you're the basketball captain."

Jake rolled his eyes playfully, you caught him, he really wasn't boring if he was captain of the basketball team. "Okay yeah, you got me, i'm not boring... but I'm not 'amazing' either.. im not even that good looking"

You looked at him shocked. "What? Not good looking? You're known as the "hot transfer student, i think that sums it all up."

Jake snickered. "Do people actually call me that? well now you sound like youre complimenting me only because im cute" He teased, he seemed to be in a much better mood now, he still couldn't believe that someone as amazing as you was complimenting him.

"But you're cute." You ruffled his hair, wanting to help with his confidence.

Jakes face was once again red as he chuckled. "Shut up.. im not that cute, alright? and just because people are constantly staring at me as we walk down the hallway doesn't mean that im "hot""

"Sure it doesn't, sweetheart" You teased him back, giggling and going inside the living room.

Jake rolled his eyes as you called him sweetheart, he tried to pretend he hated it but he really liked it when you called him sweetheart. "So you want any snacks or anything?" He asks as he walks to the kitchen, his tone was still playful, he was slowly getting more comfortable around you which made all this flirting even better.

"Well anything you want, i'm ok with anything." You sat on the counter, making yourself comfortable, still keeping eye contact.

Jake noticed you sitting on the counter and smirked before asking. "So not picky huh?" He said teasingly, this was his kind of girl.. not picky, not annoying and best off.. she actually wanted to be around him, he grabbed himself a soda before he turned to face you once again. "So.. where are you planning on sleeping tonight?"

You looked at him thinking. "You're bed seems pretty comfortable." You smiled a bit.

"Yeah my bed is pretty comfy indeed" Jake smirked, he liked the thought of this much better than you sleeping alone at your place with your parents fighting. "So we sharing orrr?" He teased as he took another sip of his soda.

"So i mean that you probably will be on the floor by the time you even reach the bed." You giggled, thinking about what will his reaction be.

"So you'd push me off the bed to make room for yourself?" He teased pretending to be offended, he was very much enjoying this back and fourth flirting. "How selfish of you.. especially after i offered you the comfort of my bed" Jake said mockingly but in a clear teasing tone.

"What can i say, i'm very selfish when it comes to sleeping." You chuckled, taking a sip from his soda.

Jake couldn't help but laugh a little at that. "So.. what you're basically saying is that not only are you selfish when it comes to sleeping, but you would also take up a ton of room to make sure that your comfort is top priority" He teased teasingly, he really had no clue what was coming next but he was fine with whatever the outcome was going to be considering you still agreed to sleep in the same bed as him.

"That's exactly what i'm saying." You nodded, curious of his reaction.

Jake chuckled once again and sighed. "Fine.. but i get to pick which side you get to be on.. deal?" He said with a smirk, he was just messing with you but he was curious to how you would react, was she going to be fine with that or get mad? the anticipation and curiosity was killing him.

"Fineee" You rolled your eyes, agreeing with him.

"Okay good, so that's settled.. we're both sleeping on my bed" Jake said sounding rather genuine, he looked at you as he waited for an answer, he was hoping that this conversation would eventually lead to something more, but he was afraid to make the first move just in case you declined.. but for now, he was going to enjoy this flirting as much as he could.

"Come on, don't ask so surprised, we slept in the same bed many times." You said thinking about the amount of times the two of you have been into trips and slept together in the same bed.

Jake's face went red when you said that, he completely forgot about the times on the trips where you slept along-side him in the same bed, when he noticed that he suddenly smirked and said with a teasing tone. "So you mean to tell me that you liked sleeping in the same bed with me on those trips? I mean why would you wanna share a bed if you found it uncomfortable?"

"The bed was uncomfortable, not sleeping beside you." You said while wrapping your hands around his neck.

Jakes face went completely red when you wrapped your hands around his neck, he couldnt believe how lucky he was sometimes, here was this beautiful girl, who was willing to share a bed with him and admit to him that sleeping next to him had been her favorite part of those trips. "Is that so?" He teased sounding impressed, he kept his eyes locked onto yours as a smirk spread across his lips.

"Mhm." You nodded into affirmation, still keeping eye contact with him.

"So do you enjoy sleeping next to me then?" Jake teased with a smirk, he couldnt find another way to ask the question without sounding somewhat goofy.. he did however like playing it cute with you.

"Your cuddles are the best." You blushed and looked at him embarassed by just confessing that to him.

Jake's face went more red as you said that, he was glad that you found his cuddles enjoyable.. he really didnt have anything else he was good at otherwise other than basketball, so the thought of being good at cuddling you made him more happy than he could ever let known. "My cuddles? that's all?" He teased with a smirk, he chuckled, he really was enjoying this flirting and banter.

"Too obvious." You giggled while playing with his hair.

Jake smirked and chuckled as you played with his hair, the action was so soothing, yet you had no clue how much it meant to him that you were playing with his hair like this. "It is obvious isnt it? it's the obvious truth though.. im not too bad of a catch right?" He asked while he smirked, he knew the answer to that question just based on how you were so comfortable around him alone, the flirting, even the fact that you slept in the same bed as him during trips said enough.

"Not bad." You said giggling, coming closer to him.

Jake smirked as you came closer, he liked that you were doing that, he was also wondering just how close you were really planning on getting that you'd be basically pressed up against him. "Not bad?" He teased as he looked you up and down. "I think i'm the most catchiest boy you've ever met" Jake joked confidently.

"And so modest." You said teasing him.

Jake rolled his eyes playfully as you teased him. "I have to brag about my many.. many amazing qualities, its how i win over pretty girls like you" He teased you back, he knew damn well he wasnt the most modest guy, in fact he was far from it when it was just him alone but he just couldnt help acting like the cocky and confident guy he always presented himself to others as.

"That's why all of our friends started shipping us." You giggled and continued to tease him.

Jakes face went completely red when you mentioned that you and him were being "shipped", you were the first one who actually brought it up with him and that caught him off guard. "So all of our friends ship us as if they can tell we're in love or something? is that it?" He asks teasingly but he was also curious if you were one of these people who actually liked the idea of you two being together.

"They have been doing for some time." You giggled. "Don't tell me you don't know?"

Jake rolls his eyes playfully as he chuckles. "Oh no i know very well they have, I just haven't really given it much thought.. but now that youre mentioning it, do you like that people ship us together?"

"Maybe we should." You blushed, tilting your head to see his reaction better.

Jakes heart was pounding when you said that, he couldnt really believe that you were actually saying this right now, he couldnt believe it. "Maybe we should?" That was exactly what he wanted hear, he was dying to actually date you, he wanted to have you to him self, make you his own and him being yours.. that was what he yearned for when it came to you.

"Hopefully this answers your questions." You said, kissing him softly.

Jakes heart skipped a beat when your lips touched his, his hand moved instinctively to wrap around your waist as he pulled you towards him, now their was no need for him to suppress his smirk, he was getting exactly what he wanted. He kissed you back as his grip on your waist tightened and he pulled you closer to him, their was no way that this was all a dream, this was real right?. You pulled away after some time to catch your breath.

Jake's breath was heavy as he finally pulled away from the kiss, it took him a few seconds to recover but once he did he smiled at you. "So does that mean that you'd be willing to date me?" He asked coyly with a smirk, he wanted a straight answer, after all his heart is racing right now.

"That's exactky what this means." You smiled and played with his hair.

Jakes smile grew bigger once you said yes, his whole world just got that much better, he couldnt contain himself and leaned forward to kiss you again. You kissed him back, coming closer to him.

Jake's mind went blank when your lips once again touched his, his hold around your waist tightened as he pulled you closer, he didnt want to stop kissing you, ever.. it felt like time had stopped, it was just you and him there, no distractions, just kisses and him feeling your presence and yours alone.

You continued to kiss him and said between the kisses. "So no lego movie tonight?"

"No lego movie tonight.." Jake says through our kisses as he wraps his arms around your body, he then slowly pulls away from the kiss, he lets out just a tiny little giggle as he looks at you. "Are we actually dating now? or is this just a friends with benefits situation?" He said teasingly with a smirk.

You looke at him, rolling your eyes giggling a bit. "Well what do you want it to be?"

"I want it to be an actual official relationship.. just you and me" Jake replies quickly with a smirk, he meant what he said, he wanted the relationship between you and him to be official, not something temporary.. he wanted to be with you and he wanted you to be only his and his alone.

"So do i." You kissed his cheek softly.

Jake chuckles and rubs his cheek where you kissed it. "That makes me happy to hear" He says smiling, he then thinks for a moment as he leans forward to give you a quick peck on your lips. "But we still need to figure out a way to actually tell our friends that we're dating.. they've been shipping us and trying to get us together for weeks.. i know they'll go crazy once they find out"

"Can we not think about it now?" You pouted a bit not wanting to think about how you're gonna tell your friends about your relationship. "We'll figure out a way."

Jake chuckles and his smile grows once again once you pout. "Fineeee, we dont have to think about it right now.. we can figure it out later, right now im not letting you out of my sight" He says wrapping his arms around you once again, he pulls you back into him so that you were pressed against him.

You giggled looking at him. "Sure you won't."

Jake chuckles. "Oh im sure of it.. in fact i wouldnt dare let you out of my sight.. we're dating now so you better get used to it" He says teasingly as he smiles at you, his grip around you doesn't loosen up or anything.. he couldnt bring himself to let go of you after you guys just made it official, he was just too happy to want that in the moment.

"Possesive..." You smiled a bit, looking at him. "I like it."

Jake chuckles as you say this. "Am i coming off as possessive? because id happily be possessive over you" He says with a teasing tone, he really wasnt trying to be possessive, it just came naturally to him when it came to you.

"Come off as possesive? You're very possesive." You smiled as you played with his hair.

"Well you're just too pretty and attractive, im not letting anyone else have a chance to look at you" Jake says smirked as his grip around you tightened a bit, it was all playful but he was being serious when it came to not wanting anyone else to have a chance to look at you.

"Sure you won't." You said smiling and then looking at the clock remembering that the two of you have school tomorrow.

"Oh right.. school.." Jake says with an amused shake of his head, he completely spaced the fact that you guys have school tomorrow, he was getting a little too carried away by flirting and making it official that they're dating that he forgot that he needed to be up in the morning.

You pouted as you looked at him. "Come on, you have practice tomorrow, and besides i need to steal more of your clothes."

"Oh you're in the mood to steal more clothes now huh? i'll let you take as much as you want" Jake says teasingly as he shrugs his shoulders, it wasnt like he minded that you were currently borrowing his hoodies and sometimes his t-shirts, that just meant that he got to see you walk around in them and that was enough to satisfy him.

"I'm always in the mood to steal your clothes, and you know i saw so many girls wearing their boyfriend jerseys." You told him suggesting that you want to wear one of his jerseys and wear it for his game and practice. "And maybe i can see your practice."

Jake chuckles as you suggest that you want to steal his jersey and come see him practice, he wasnt really surprised that you were willing to do that, especially considering how much girls like to do similar things, he was just surprised that you were actually going to do it. "You want to watch me play basketball?" He asks curiously looking at you, if anything now that you guys were official, he was more willing to let you watch and see his practices, it felt good knowing that you'd be watching from the bleachers.

"Maybeeee" You blushed, nuzzling your head in his chest.

Jake chuckles as you nuzzled your head in his chest, he was more than happy to let you do that, he liked when you snuggled into him as he wrapped his arms around you, just the small act meant so much to him. "That sounds like a yes" He replies teasingly as he looks at you with a smile, he just couldnt stop himself from giving you another kiss on your head.

"Still." You added looking at the clock again. "You still need to ace the game on Friday."

Jake sighs as he looks over at the clock again aswell and realizes you were right, he does need to sleep but at the same time, he was having so much fun being with you right now, he didnt want to end the moment so early. "I know, but i dont think im going to be able to sleep with you around" He says teasingly with a smirk, he definitely had to go to sleep and make sure he gets plenty of rest but he was just enjoying having you in his arms way too much.

"I'm hoping the cuddles can help you sleep." You smiled trying to convince him. "Cause at the rate that my parents fight i could just move in."

Jake chuckles as you say this, he never really knew about how your home life was when it came to your parents, even though he felt bad that you had to be around that kindve of environment, he was somewhat glad that he got to spend so much time with you.. "So are you actually willing to move in with me?" He asks teasingly, he hadnt meant for that question to come out at all, it just slipped from his mouth without realizing it.

"Let's not think about it now." You said, thinking that is it too early to even know about any plans of moving in with him.

Jake chuckles as you said that. "Right right.. we can think about that later.." He says with a light giggle and smirk. "Im willing to let you move in anytime you want, but you know what would really help me sleep right now?"

"What? Kisses, cuddles." You added, still thinking about his question.

"Exactly.. kisses and cuddles.. that's what would really help me sleep good tonight" Jake says teasingly before pulling you closer to him and planting a kiss on your forehead.

You smiled as he kissed your forehead and asked curiously. "Soo that means we finally sleep." It would be a lie to say that you weren't tired.

"If thats fine with you that means we finally get to fall asleep together" Jake says with a smile, he was more than ready to actually go to sleep with you in his arms, it felt like the most comfortable thing ever.

"Well now we get to cuddle as a couple that's differnet and besides i need to steal more of your hoodies." You said giggling and kissing his cheek.

Jakes smile grew wider when you said this, you were right, this was different now that you two were official.. and you were right about you stealing more of his hoodies, he didnt mind of course as long as you were the one who's stealing them away from him. "You need to steal more of my hoodies now? how many more do you need to steal?" He joked with a chuckle as he pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around your waist again, he was more than happy to cuddle with you the night away.

You giggled, leaning into his king sized bed and looking at him, but kissing him before doing so. "But i can steal them tomorrow so don't worry." You smile reassuring him that it's time to sleep since it's almost three am.

"You're really trying to steal my whole wardrobe huh?" Jake says teasingly as he giggles lightly with you when you lean onto his king sized bed, he doesnt mind if you steal away the hoodies or shirts he owns, it just meant that you get to look even more cute in them. "We should go to bed, it is pretty late right now" He agrees as he plants another gentle kiss on your forehead.

And so you did, Jake fell asleep with his hand around your waist and your head leaning onto his muscular chest. That's how it happened. You were accidentaly in love.

© V3LV3TSIN ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[lyneira]

♡ surprise attack! ♡

-> how would the genshin men and obey me guys react when you suddenly hug them from behind?

Is initially worried

Lucifer, Barbatos, Ayato, Zhongli, Cyno, Albedo, Tighnari

You catch them by surprise when they feel your arms wrapped around them all of a sudden. With the way you were holding them so tightly and how you nuzzled your face into their back, they wondered if anything bad had happened to you or whether you were upset and needed comfort.

"Y/n, is something the matter?"

"no...I just wanted to hug you"

They'd let out a relieved chuckle and hold onto your arms wrapped around them, taking one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your palm, appreciative of your affection and glad that you're fine.

Feigns irritation

Satan, Scaramouche, Diluc, Alhaitham, Dainsleif

Their fight or flight mode was activated the moment you embraced them from behind and oh boy were they ready to fight. Though, once they realized that it was you, they eased up.

"Y/n, please", they'd groan. They would try to put up a slightly irritated face, but deep down, they loved it. They loved being held by you, to feel you hold onto them so firmly, full of tenderness and confidence. Your hugs assured them that they were worthy of such love and that, yes, there was someone out there who loved them deeply. You loved them deeply and that meant oh so much.

So really, they just didn't want to admit how much they would melt each time they were in your arms.

Gets flustered

Leviathan, Mammon, Xiao, Gorou, Thoma

They would blush right when they felt your embrace as it would have startled them. Were you trying to give them a heart-attack? Hugging them out of the blue like that.

And if you were to tell them how much you loved them right in their ear, too? Just let them perish already. They can't comprehend how you could be this cute.

If you want to tease them a little, let your hands roam over their torso, pull them in closer towards you, and feel as their body begins to heat up even further. They're glad that you're behind them so they could hide their flustered face from you, hehe

Immediately hugs you back

Diavolo, Belphegor, Asmodeus, Itto, Kazuha, Venti, Childe, Kaveh

They adore that you want to hug them, but they want to hug you too! Will turn around to give you a proper hug and squeeze you tightly, placing multiple kisses on your cheeks while they're at it. If you aren't gonna hold back your affections, then he isn't going to hold back his either! 😌

Would be unfazed

Beelzebub, Solomon, Simeon, Baizhu, Heizou, Kaeya

They wouldn't say a word nor complain. They're very much used to your antics that they would simply let you be. They'll let you cling onto them like a leech while continuing whatever they were doing. Whether it was reading a book, eating, or working on some documents, they'd do it all while you were attached to their back. They weren't going to deny any attention or affection from you even if they were busy.

And if their task ever required them to have you off their back, they'd simply adjust your position while still enabling you to hug them.

But, if you dare to do your best to distract them by leaving kisses up and down their back, then be ready for the events that will follow. They won't hesitate to turn you around and return the favor directly up front 🤭

Bonus:

Ends up giving you a piggyback ride

DIAVOLO, Beelzebub, ITTO

When you suddenly come clinging onto their back, they thought that it could only mean one thing: you wanted a piggyback ride. So they scooped your legs up, held them at their sides, and began to dash around, catching you by surprise. (It would be a fun and pleasant surprise nonetheless)

Now you'd better give them a destination to head towards before they end up getting the both of you lost because they'd be running with zero sense of direction, lost in the fun they're having with you.

a/n: I didn't want to make separate posts for either fandom so I just combined em :D

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[rogueddie]

Leap of Faith T | 1,286 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is saying 'I love you' even when you're scared

Eddie has never been very good at figuring out where his limits lay. It's something that usually proves good- he's willing to try to do anything, sure he can do it and he usually finds that he either can or he can pick up the skills neccessary very fast.

When it comes to romance, he's never quite got it.

He's not sure Robin "gets it" either, but she knows Steve better than he ever could. He trusts her to plan something that would, at the very least, be something Steve would enjoy.

It might not get him a boyfriend at the end of it, but it will at least make Steve happy. It's the best Eddie can bring himself to hope for.

But, even with all of that in mind, Eddie is terrified.

"You'll be fine," Wayne reassures him, for the eighteenth time. "That boy adores you. Even if this don't work out, you'll stay friends."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"It's still scary," Wayne wraps an arm around his shoulders. "I get it, son. This ain't ever easy. I can't imagine how much harder it is when it's with another boy. But I know you. You're gonna do great."

Before Eddie can respond, there's a knock at the door.

"Oh, shit, I almost forgot-"

Eddie darts off to his room, quickly grabbing the tickets Robin had got him. He can hear Wayne and Steve talking, which makes him rush back.

"Hey!" Eddie says, slightly out of breath. "Sorry. You, uh... you look good."

"Thanks," Steve grins, glancing down at himself.

Objectively, Eddie knows it's an outfit he's worn before- a striped, yellow polo with his favourite jeans and go-to white sneakers.

But he tries to be optimistic, and it's easier than he expects. He's told Steve that those types of jeans suit him, he's told Steve that yellow looks good on him...

"You look good too," Steve adds, looking him up and down.

"Thanks. Uh..." he hesitates, glancing at Wayne, who pointedly raises his eyebrows. "We should head out, right? Movie starts soon."

"Did Robin tell you what movie we're going to see? She gave me the weirdest rundown of tonights plan."

"She told me not to tell you."

"Great," Steve sighs. He tries to frown, to look annoyed, but it fails completely. His excitement is too obvious.

Eddie holds the door open, gesturing Steve through.

When he turns back to say bye, Wayne mouths "good luck" at him, giving him a thumbs up too.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Thanks. See you later, old man."

Steve is already stood by his car, expression making it clear that he'll lose if he tries to argue that they take his van instead.

"We're not going in the van," Steve says, the second Eddie pulls out his keys.

"I know! Just- one minute!"

He climbs in the back, shoving things aside so he can grab the small box, grabbing the flowers once he's climbed back out.

"For you," Eddie says, holding them both out.

The carnations aren't anything special- Eddie had only picked them specially because they're cheaper- but Steve holds them delicately, eyes full of awe.

"Thank you," he breathes, finally tearing his eyes away from the flowers. "They're, uh... they're really pretty."

"Yeah, they're... you're welcome."

"Could, um... you don't mind if we stop by my house, on the way, right? I should- these need to be put in water."

"That's fine, yeah, I don't mind."

The ride to Steves is quiet, but tense. Eddie keeps his eyes firmly forward, struggling to keep his expression neutral with how Steves eyes keep boring into the side of his head with his glances.

When Steve darts inside, Eddie grabs the box that Steve seems to have missed with the flowers stealing all his attention. He carefully props it on the steering wheel.

He keeps glancing at it as he waits. By the time Steve comes back out, he's wiping his hands on his jeans, anxious.

"Oh!" Steve grins, grabbing the box, excited. He only hesitates for a moment, glancing at Eddie, who gives him a nod. "It's not even my birthday."

He freezes once he finally opens it. He turns to look at Eddie after a moment, expression blank.

"It's, uh... you said you liked it," Eddie explains. "Saw one the other day and, uh... here we are."

"Thank you. Really. I didn't think you'd... well, it's great. Thank you."

The ring is almost plain, a silver band with simple designs carved. It doesn't help that it's old, clearly second-hand.

Eddie thinks the age adds to its charm and, judging by how Steve immediately slides it onto his finger, he seems to agree.

"We're eating after we watch this film, right?"

"Yeah. I thought we'd go to that little burger joint?"

"The one ran by Diane?"

"I think it is. It's got those weird tablecloths with the-"

"The lace things, yeah, that's the one. I love that place!"

Thankfully, conversation comes easy after that. It makes the journey to the cinema less tense. By the time they park, they're teasing each other as usual.

The movie, for Eddie, is boring. Another rom-com that Steve loves.

Eddie spends almost the entire time staring at Steve, enjoying his love of the movie, basking in the second hand joy.

He's almost disappointed when the credits roll.

Their meal makes up for it though. Steve spends the entire time talking about the movie, gushing about the parts he loved and why. The lovesick expression he has, when describing the love the protagonists shared, is worth the price of admission.

Steve gets out, when they pull up to the trailer park, walking him to his door.

"Eds," Steve says, quickly, grabbing his arm when he goes to unlock the door. "You know, tonight was amazing. It was really fun. I'd, um, love to hang out again. If you want."

"Yeah?" Eddie shifts, nervously glancing around. "What if, um..."

Steve waits for a moment but, when it becomes clear that Eddie is too nervous to continue, he asks, "what?"

"I don't want it to be a hang out," Eddie rushes out to say. The words jumble together in his rush, making him almost unintelligable. "I want it to be... to be a date."

"Really? That- yeah. Yeah, I'd love that. Was- this was a date too, right?"

Steves smile is wide, eyes crinkling at the corners. It makes Eddies heart flutter.

"Yeah, I mean, if you want it to be, because... I do. Want it to be a date, I mean."

"It was a date," he nods. "And it was a great date. Perfect."

"Good." Eddie shifts a step closer, taking a shaky breath. "Sorry I didn't ask you, like, properly. I really, um... I really like you, Steve."

"I like you too."

"No, I mean... I'm pretty sure I love you."

"Good, because I'm pretty sure I love you too."

He leans in, quickly kissing Eddie on the cheek. His cheeks are flushed as he quickly looks around.

"Oh, look," he snorts, pointing to one of the windows- Maxs face is peering through the curtains and she gives them a thumbs up. "Brat."

"You... don't mind? That she saw?"

"No? She's like family, man, she's safe." Steves smile falters. "Unless you don't want them to know? Is it too soon? Am I-"

"No, it's great. I just wasn't sure."

"Well, to be clear, I'd scream it from the rooftops if it didn't put a target on your back."

"On our backs."

"Eh, I've got a nailbat, I'm fine. You've been through enough."

"So have you."

Steve rolls his eyes, sighing. "Sure, yeah, whatever. Come on, let me kiss you again before we say goodbye."

[jazeswhbhaven]

Hello, I was wondering if I could request a headcanon for the kings + lucifer and morax!

I was wondering how they'd react if MC suddenly got into an injury, which isn't a very serious one, it was just minor where they need to massage that part and let it rest, but MC was kind of stubborn and scared and was even like “Nahh.. I think I can heal on my own”, till they were eventually forced to give in after they started saying the possible effect or consequences if they don't let it get managed. (Idk if that made sense 😭)

Hi anon, this makes sense don't worry! (Thank you for waiting) Our bois that you mentioned would be so sweet (or not) depending on how stubborn MC is being and well it sounds like MC is being a bit stubborn here lol Morax: He's such a kind and quiet healer, so when MC is literally being difficult and reassuring him that they're fine? He's clocking that immediately with a firm tone. "No you're not okay, sit back down..." For once, MC is surprised and the pain in their injury further proves this devil right. Once they do sit, he heals them pretty much instantly, and he goes the extra mile to check their vitals and other things before letting them go. "I didn't mean to be so rude, but had this gone unchecked, I wouldn't forgive myself..."

Satan: He pretty much grabs MC by the waist takes them away to his room and forces them to rest. He isn't leaving or letting them leave until they're healed. He's not very good at wrapping injuries but he tries anyway and doesn't care if MC is chewing him out about how he isn't listening. He knows better. R e s t. Mammon: His master is injured?? How could he have let this happen? He's checking them over constantly, asks for Buer to come look you over too, and gets the best bandages and ointments he can find in order to make sure they're okay. He stays by their side the rest of the night rubbing them and asking if there's anything they need he can get it. And oh, even if it's not a leg injury, they aren't allowed to walk lol.

Beelzebub: He's concerned, but he chides MC for being so 'breakable' but that's what he likes about them. He even goes as far as to tease that they seem to be well put together when he's [redacted] their [redacted]. In the end, though, it's really Bael who ends up taking care of MC as Beel watches carefully. Also, for once, he doesn't leave MC's side until they're asleep.

Leviathan: "So stupid, why'd you go and get yourself hurt? Useless..." He'd grumble, all while bandaging up MC himself because he's had to do this for himself for his own injuries sometimes before he had help from his nobles. He looks bothered and he is bothered because MC got hurt in the first place and he thinks it's going to get in his way or slow him down. But even if he is annoyed, MC can tell that he's genuinely worried by the way he has them stay in his bed for the rest of the day and dares them to move or 'else'.

Lucifer: All of his healers are wondering what's needed for MC, and Lucifer simply states he's got it. This is nothing that he can't handle. And he's right, the injury is minor and he's quietly bandaging up MC or massaging them, etc. The silence is soothing and it seems he's humming quietly while working his magic. Such a mysterious fallen angel and yet...caring all the same.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖 𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗗 - part six max verstappen x girlfriend! driver! reader (angst + fluff, minor smut) “. . . Where have you been?”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( previous | first )

"Oh my lord Max." You laughed watching your boyfriend jump in the pool. He was most definitely drunk, because he was fully clothed. The reason why he was in the pool was because literally. "You're so hot, hotter than the sun." "But you're hugging the sun, aren't you going to catch fire?" "Oh shit! I'm on fire!" Splash!

You laughed looking at the boy who was treading at the edge with his eyes looking at you with the most loving gaze. You were quick to get on your knees and try to reach for the blond. Alcohol does not mix with water. "Maxie, take my hand." "No, I don't wanna be on fire."

He swam ( more like paddling like a puppy ) away from you. You were getting a good laugh out of this, setting your wine glass down and getting a spare towel. "Maxie stop running away." "I want to live." He replied as he escaped you once more.

You slipped into the pool swimming after him, finally catching him and pulling him out. "Noooo." Max whined as you wrapped the towel around him. "My sun went out." He sighed looking at you, leaning into your embrace. You laughed rubbing his shoulder to comfort him as you pressed small kisses on his lips.

"I'm fine, Maxie." You chuckled looking into his blue eyes that looked at you with worry, leaning your forehead against his. He smiled gently pressing a kiss to your lips. "I'll always be there for you, Maxie."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Look at that dribble." Carlos laughed as he watched you get past Daniel and Max like a pro, shooting towards the goal but ultimately missing. The three boys laughed as you looked disappointed at the empty goal. "How do you miss that?" Daniel asked wheezing on the floor.

You frowned at him, giving Carlos ( your team mate who was making fun of you ) a dirty glare. Next was Max, who was standing straight like a pencil, doing his best to hold his laugh in. "You look like shit." You scoffed at him, folding g your arms and looking away embaressed. Your insult only made all the boys die even more.

Max lost his composure falling to the floor, laughing as he pleased. Your gaze softened for a moment, you never heard him laugh this much before.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Did you know? The fans behind you, they're Y/N's fans." "I've been told, yeah." Max looked back, looking at the crowd cheering for him. A warm smile covered his face as he turned back to the interviewer. "And how does that make you feel?" "It's uh, definitely a good thing. Makes me feel like she's here with me." Max nodded looking back at the crowd singing in your native language.

When max walked back to his garage he looked at his new car for this season. Although not much has changed with the paint job and the sponsors, your racing number was on the nose of his car ( something he begged your father to have ) even though he could have the number 1 now that he won the World champion title after you left.

The pre season testing had been completed and Max can finally go home. Passing through the fan zone, Max met his and your fans alike. He took pictures and signed autographs, as well as received gifts.

Upon entering his empty apartment, the blond took refuge on the couch. The spot where he had turned into his bed, even though there was a one in perfectly good condition in the bedroom next door ( which has not been touched since you received your world champion title ).

It's been like this for two years now, Max liked to pretend you were too lazy to get out of bed, napping or eating while watching Kimi's races. But deep down, he knew you weren't. With a deep sigh he pulled the extra bag he had to buy to fit all the gifts he received.

Most of the gifts were for him, minus the few pink themed ones for you which was a result of your obsession with your pink coloured Porsche sitting in the garage. The pink stuff was set on one side for you and the blue or orange on another side for him.

Max received shirts, bracelets, letters, a lot of things really. What caught his eyes the most was a flip book, a work of art containing water paintings of moments you shared with Max across your journey though f1.

When he flipped to the last page his eyes where met with a printed QR code. This could be either a bad or a good thing, and before he got the chance to find out his phone rang. "Hey Verstappen." Your father's voice rang through the apartment.

"What's so important you had to call me in the middle of the night?" He sighed rubbing his face tired.

"You might want to come down to the hospital." He replied sighing. "Hi, Max" he heard Daniel in the background. That's all Max needed to put on something appropriate and go down to the medical centre. When he finally found the two men through the ER, he was welcomed by a nice surprise.

"I think I stubbed my toe." Daniel joked looking down at his broken foot. "What did you do?!" Max was panicking, the season had barley started and Daniel ( who was finally in a RB seat ) was out.

"Someone slammed the door on his foot." Your father explained sighing in annoyance. Max never liked your dad, since he was a kid. He was always so mean and cruel. And although he tried to fix things recently, whether by comforting Max or you, he still had this dark and intimidating aura.

A former world champion and the father of one, sitting on a stool, eating mac and cheese. Very scary. Daniel laughed seeing Max looking at your dad amused. "Who gave the old man food?" Your father rolled his eyes as he continued to eat.

"It should be an easy recovery, a month or two." Max sat on a spare chair listening to Daniel explain the injury in medical terms he didn't understand. And soon, after Christian Horner was informed of the inchident, Max was able to return to his apartment, laying on the couch facing the racing sims on the other side of the room.

"Maxie, you hungry?" "I'm good, Mijn liefje. Thank you." [my love] He looked up at you, a soft smile spread on his face. Although he should've been concentrating on the online race in front of him, you had his attention wherever he went.

You chuckled gently putting the pair of glasses you found on the boy. "Since you're not hungry, I guess I get the beautiful tomato soup in the kitchen all to myself~" You teased kissing his cheek. "Hey! No fair! I want some." "Then you'll have to hurr-" ring! ring!

"Kan ik geen moment van rust hebben?!" [can i not get a moment of peace] Max shouted over the phone agitated. Who was interrupting him this late?! What he heard next made him feel like a maniac. He was back in the hospital, jogging ( he was told he wasn't allowed to run ) through the halls and up the stairs.

Once he reached room 717, he came to an abrupt stop. A deep breath escaped his lips as he opened the door. "Your late."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I'm hooked on a feeling. I'm high on believing. That you're in love with meeee. I'm hooked on a feeling!" Max sang through his radio as he completed his cool down lap. Once he jumped out of the car, he was greeted with cheers from the fans and his team. But most importantly, your smile.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"There's nothing for miles." "You don't say. We've been walking here forever." You groaned arms dangling down. You were sitting on Max's shoulders, dangling down upside down out of boredom.

The beach was stretching out for miles on end, the waves crashing into each other was the only noise you could hear.

"You think the kids are fine?" He asked worriedly, stopping for a second and looking back. "Yes, Maxie. Have a little faith in them." "I do have faith, I'm just-" "I'm scared too. But you know, I've got you, so I'm less scared." You assured, patting his thigh.

"Ps. Why's your ass so big?" "It is not." Max defended swinging you sideways. You could only laugh, smacking him over his swim trucks before wriggling out of his hold and running away. Max was quick to follow you, running after you. "Come back here!"

"Run run as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the- AAAH." "Gotcha!" Max wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up and spinning you. You were laughing loudly, relaxing in his arms as he pressed kisses on your cheek.

[chocoqtelle]

“𝐏𝐀𝐂 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓„ what people are you attracting romantically?

“𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄„

yikes 😭😭 no, you can't fix them. stop trying. it's a lot of emotionally fucked up people who are just immature and scared to face their own emotions. type of people to leave when things get tough. im getting like immature little boy energy but of course they don't have to be boys. this is because of smth with you. make sure you do your shadow work. maybe you're used to "saving" people and shit because of your childhood? regardless, you gotta work that out. i believe in you, treat yourself how you wanna be treated and how you want others to treat you.

“𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎„

im getting like kinda over protective energy? i don't think it's anything to worry about but make sure you put up boundaries with these people. they're working through their own issues so be considerate. they've been through a lot 💀 that's why they have to do their inner work. don't rush them on this. make sure you leave behind any extra burdens and are ready before you date any of these people (if you do). a lot of you might not be able to accept happiness for yourself because you're worried it's gonna end or smth like that but just be happy it'll be there in the first place and enjoy it for as long as possible.

“𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄„

don't just go for people because they have enough money to help support you and keep you stable 😬 there are tons of other things to worry about in relationships besides money. your money is fine, stop worrying about it. don't worry about who's the "best" and most stable option for you. go for the person you want. you can't logic your way through love 😭 just date who you want cuz you're attracting the "stable" people and not the ones who are what you want. it's just people with money and stability but who aren't good or fun partners. trust me, your money is fine.

[hwathinker]

"we don't have to do it here.."

pairing ; idol! boyfriend!hongjoong x non idol! fem!reader warnings ; this is def smut(mdni), humping, public sex (studio), y/n is bein mad clingy <3, y/n is being called noona by the members (you're 25!) wn ; these pics of joong came across my pint and i've been thinking abt it the whole day omg // lmk if there's any errors or something i forgot to put in the warnings!:)

sunday, 1:44pm

"joongie, i don't think you're paying attention to your bunny!" you whined. "sorry love, something was up- yunho! fix the timing please, you're not supposed to sing it like that." hongjoong was in between talking to you and working his ass off. well, not exactly talking.. but he's trying his best to pay attention to you, wearing a cute lingery, and a.. mito headband he got from somewhere in the company? it left him speechless and hard when he picked up your facetime. but still, he can't be talking right now since its his working hours. "joongie! take your eyes off of them for a while and talk to me.." you yelled through the phone, making hongjoong switch his gaze back to you again. he loves it when you're teasing him, but not at this time..

"sweetheart, please i'm in the middle of work right now. can't we continue our business later when i come home?" hongjoong talked as if he's not looking at your visible boobs prettily sitting in the small lingery. "stop licking your lips while watching my body if you don't want me to annoy you joongie.." you said, bringing the phone up close to your face as you pouts. hongjoong just laughed, leaning to his chair. "well, if you're that bored in the apartment you can go here and chill with me." he said. you quickly got up, "really?! you're letting me watch you work now?" you said excitedly. hongjoong smiled, watching you quickly get off your lingery and pick your clothes. honestly the best decision ever. really.

sunday, 2:36pm

"noona! you're here? i haven't seen you in long!" wooyoung's voice was loud enough for hongjoong to hear in the recording room along with yunho and mingi sitting at the sofa waiting for him to fix something. "aren't you going to run to your girlfriend outside?" yunho asked, playing his phone as he teasingly smile. "she'll know where i am, its alright." hongjoong said. he was too focused in his job that he can't get up from his seat to welcome you. you, on the other hand, brought some kimbap with tteokbokki on your way here before taking a cab. "where is joongie? i need to see him!" you asked seonghwa, who's eyes was glued to the food inside the paper bag. "oh, he's in the recording room. i think he's rehearsing with yunho." he said. you nodded and thanked him as you ran to the recording room.

as you open the door, you greeted with happiness. "joongie! i'm here, watcha doing?" you excitedly hop to him, finally seeing your boyfriend up close since this morning. "hahah, joongie? aww joongie..!" the boys at the back mocked, giggling to themselves. you were fine that they're making fun of his nickname. but its about hongjoong right now. and he doesn't like it. "babe, please don't use that name.. you hear them laughing about it at the back right?" hongjoong said, giving you a hug. you sat on a chair beside him, putting the paper bag on your lap. "so you're not gonna be my boyfriend today?" you pouts, looking down to the food. "no, no honey. i love the nickname but its just that the boys.." hongjoong push his chair to get closer to you, holding both of your shoulders. you look up to him, smiling widely. "by the way joongie, i got you and your friends some foods." you quickly grab the tteokbokki and kimbap that was wrapped in a foil out, putting it on the table. "did you walk on your way here?" hongjoong asked. "no, i took a cab after i bought these."

you and hongjoong along with the others ate together, laughing and joking around while enjoying each others presence. its been so long since you had times like this with them. "by the way hongjoong, why don't you get y/n noona to record with us? you know, get the hidden vocals in our songs!" wooyoung said, pointing at you. when woo said that, you quickly bat your eye on joong, looking at him almost choking on his food. "okay, i get that you want to spend more time with your noona and it would be cool if she has a part in the hidden vocals but wouldn't our producer notice that we have a random girl's voice?" he said. they all then looked at wooyoung making him shrug his shoulder and a furrowed eyebrows. "what?"

you all finished eating an hour ago, you're now watching them working with their vocals and repeating a specific part whenever it doesn't sound like how they want it. "pleaaaseee joongie, let me have my part in the song" you begged, pulling on his shirt. hongjoong simply didn't let you do so, replying your beggings with "nope" "nah" "y/n i said no". then you gave up, slamming your body to the chair. hongjoong then turned to you, hands placed under his cheek as he leans in his palm. "why won't you understand that you can't be in our song? that's like.. adding a non member.. you know." he didn't know how to explain but he hoped you'd understand instead. you fold your arms together, eyes glued to the recording room watching jongho throw a thumbs up to you and you simply just nod with a smile. "honey, its not that i don't want to okay?" hongjoong swoops closer to you, trying to unfold your arms and hold your hand. you were quick to push his hand away, glaring at him. "okay, won't bother you then. might as well take back about putting you in the song-" "sorry." you were already in front of his face when he turned to you again, leaving him surprised by the sudden act. "don't do that man!"

you ended up doing the hidden vocals, singing it a hongjoong asked you to as its already been written in the lyric paper. "yeah noona that's what i'm talking about!" mingi said from the other room hongjoong was in. you smiled at them when you finished one part. "you're lucky i don't bite when it comes to my girlfriend." hongjoong said when he saw you smiling to the others, rewinding your part back and doing something with it before asking you to record again. "joongie when are we starting again?" you asked through the mic in front of you while looking at him. "in a second, love." he said. "ew, we should leave." seonghwa said, pointing to the exit. "yea its mad cringe in here. sorry noona!" they all laughed and left. you walk out of the recording room and sat next to hongjoong, sighing while putting your head on the table, watching him working on the computer. then, you got a notification from yunho.

yuyu :p ; we'll get some drinks at the cafe down here. be back within an hour!

"an hour?! is this really normal or are they escaping from us?" you said, annoyed. hongjoong laughed, turning to you. "they spend their time laughing and relaxing. its normal." he said, leaning to the chair. he scan your whole outfit. you wore a white long sleeved top with little flowers, mini jean skirt along with a cute white thigh high with bows on each side and a coat hanging on the chair. hongjoong likes it when you wear something revealing. especially when you're out here, alone. hongjoong pulled your chair by the side, caging you in between. you looked up at him, holding your phone close to your chest. his oversized sweater made his chest visible and you didn't waste a second to peek at it. "look at me, pretty girl." he lifted your face by your chin as he gets closer to kiss you. your lips moved in sync, tongue playing fights against each other to who's going inside each other's mouth first. the taste of strawberry you had turns him on, your sweet perfume lingers in his mind. while you, enjoying his soft lips and his hands going down to your waist.

"joongie.." you softly said, stopping his hand from going further down to your skirt. "we don't have to do it here." you said. hongjoong sighed and grabbed you by your waists, basically carrying you to his lap as you folded your legs. "haha, i thought you weren't so into this earlier." you teased. his hand going up and down on your back and the other tucking your hair behind your ear before joining the other as he stared into your eyes. "baby, you look so fucking good when you wear this type of outfit.." as he roams his hand on your waist, slowly going to your thighs and going to your back again as his eyes follows his hands then to your eyes. "aww, you like it? i recreate the one i like on pinterest." you said, hands playing the back of his hair as you smile. hongjoong gently push your head to him as he kiss you. so passionately that you start to get your body closer to him by shifting your hips and hitting his bulging area. he whined in the kiss, tightening the hold on your waist. you discovered that he's dick is now hard just by kissing you like this. so you took the chance and hump on his bulge. he pulled away, throwing his head back as he let out a breathy moans. you held on his shoulders, biting on your bottom lip as you watch him enjoy the heated session.

"joongie... you don't mind if i make a little something on your neck right?" you breathily moan, barely speaking because of how good he's feeling through the layers of clothing. hongjoong nodded, pushing your head to his neck gently. he loves it when you make that little something on his neck. its because his neck are the most sensitive area when it comes to you. "a-ah, so fucking good my pretty y/n.. humping like a desperate doll, aren't you?" he moaned. when he's in his working hours like this, and that he's also fucking hard for you, his very favorite way to release that feeling is you humping his clothed dick. then, when he's got that feeling when he want to fuck you right away, he'd told you to stop and finish his work quick to go home with you. but this time, he wanted something different.

"fuck, harder y/n.. until i'll fuckin' cream in my sweats." he tapped your chin, asking for your lips. he was close. close. your panties got soaked, squirting little by little on his sweats. he felt it, but he doesn't mind as long as he's going to cum by your humping. "baby, i'm close. you could go more hard right sweet doll? or you want me to fuck you right now?" he said, making you slow your pace, asking for his dick to be inside of your aching pussy. "awh, you're fast to slow down your pace hm? you want my dick inside of your pretty cunt baby?" he smirked, licking the bottom of his lip. you nodded, making a begging face. you held your body up for a while to let him take off both of his pants and boxer. luckily, your thigh high weren't the pants type. you pulled your skirt up to your waist to have more access. when you saw his big dick springs out, you were quick to spread his precum around his tip making him hiss at the contact of your cold hands.

"slide 'em in, pretty girl." he said, holding you by your thigh, leaning to his chair while he watch you slowly going in. he grunts at the process, finally feeling that tight walls of yours. "ah, quick princess. we don't have enough time." he said, hugging you as you've slide in fully. you felt his tip hitting your g spot right away as you moved in and out. "mmh, like that babygirl. just like how i want it." he praises. the never ending praising makes you reach your high so fast. "faster doll, do you want the other to come in watching you like this?" he sighed, moaning in your ear. you increased your pace, trying to reach your climax. his tip hitting that spot really does it, as you bite your lip. hongjoong buck his hips and matches your pace to be quick. as soon as he thrusts harder, you came as you bit his neck gently to not leave a louder noise. hongjoong had cummed in you, wetting the walls of your pussy so well it leaked out, dripping on his other part. "you're enjoying it so much, doll. you're so cute when you moan." he said, smiling to you as he kisses you for the last time before cleaning up.

when you both is finally clean, and hongjoong changed his sweats, you went to the sofa behind him to relax. the door burst open, s the boys comes in with different topic coming out from each one of them. "yo!! did you finish your part yet noona?" wooyoung picked up your legs from across the sofa and sat down with your legs on top and he pats them. "no, me and joongie went to play games after you left." you smiled at him, closing your phone as you looked around the room. hongjoong turned around, meeting all of you as he smirked. "y/n was going hard on me, so i'd thought that maybe i can give something even harder. you know, our things. you won't understand. so!" he shrugs his shoulders and giggled. "what is wrong with him.." yeosang said, making the others laugh. "yup. so hard it made me scream."

-

MAN WHAT THIS TOOK 2 DAYS CUS I DIDNT HV ANY MOTIVATION TO FINISH IT IN 1 DAY BUT here ya go lmao its kinda rushed cus im too lazy to grab my laptop's charger. i hope its not that bad........ im sososososo sorry BUT I WANTED TO POST THIS SOOO QUICK </3</3

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Tiny humans - Dr James Wilson x peds!reader

description: House gets to meet Wilson's new girlfriend for the first time when his case takes him into his worst nightmare...peds. House is in for a shock at the ball of sunshine who has his best friend on a string.

authors note: my first post for this series I want to do of oneshots and my first fanfic post on tumblr ever...enjoy!!! Btw i'm taking a lot of inspo from Arizona Robbins from Greys anatomy

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN FOR PEDS!READER - request here

House limped down the hallway followed by an exasperated Wilson who was concerned at his friends eager step, seeing as he was on his way to see a patient. How un-house-like.

"This is peds remember, these aren't normal patients. They don't lie, they don't have ulterior motives, they're just...kids." Wilson halted his friends shoulder and turned him towards his concerned face.

"So, wait until they've had a sip of beer before berating their existence?" House mockingly tilted his head in faux concern. Wilson's mouth opened but all that left was a sigh.

After confirming that his friend was no longer going to halt the inevitable, he continued on with a new fervour in his limp. But Wilson didn't stop there and sped to catch up with the surprising amount of ground his friend had covered.

"You see she loves these kids almost...almost like they're her own. She's smart and is excellent at what she does but she doesn't care about that." Wilson paused and looked back into his mind, picturing the moment he first saw her in a child's room, a plastic tiara on her head and an empty teacup perfectly clasped between her fingers.

"She cares about the kids."

"Wow. I'm touched." House grasps his chest and wipes away a non-existant tear. "Do you know how easy being a paediatrician is. They can't lie until they grow teeth and after that they're stupid enough to reveal to us when their parents lie. There's a reason it's 'daddy touches my special place' and not 'daddy gets aroused by children.'"

"That's it I'm making the rule. No pedaphile jokes."

"But the jokes literally in the name...peds"

"Who lets you around children?"

"Who lets me around people? Haha, I got you there!" He jabs a finger into Wilson's chest. Wilson rolls his eyes and holds out his arm to prevent his morose friend entering the land of happiness. Well as happy as a bunch of sick kids can be.

"Well let me appeal to your true nature." Wilson sighs. "I like this girl and she likes me. Please don't ruin it?"

"How could I say no to those puppy dog eyes. Fine! But only in the name of your libido, at least until I finish my soul-searching and realise my true calling is your bed."

Whilst House finishes his thought, they are spotted by a woman in pink scrubs, absent of any colour of coat. She briskly walks towards the two.

"Dr Wilson, Dr House. My name is..."

"I don't remember nurses names, it's nothing personal, I rarely remember anyones."

Wilson coughs and shoves his friends shoulder to direct him towards your burning gaze.

"As I was saying, my name is DOCTOR y/l/n. Pleasure to meet you."

Despite the gaze, her smile remains cheerful and she extends her hand for House to shake. Reluctantly, he eventually offers it and it is taken in a firm and bouncy handshake.

"James has told me so much about you, to be honest I'm surprised our paths have not crossed sooner. Regardless, today I am so happy to welcome you both to peds. The most magical place on earth."

Whilst listening to her, House took stock of the woman in front of him. Her pink scrubs seemed to be the dullest thing about her. Her hair was collected in a ponytail that swished its way down between her shoulder blades. Her pockets were lined with memories of her past. A pink glitter pen given to her from a girl who was continually brought in for asthma, a ball of yarn from a boy who had loved knitting, a yellow sticker saying great job, a blue glitter one saying 'you go girl'. There was a pencil with a yellow smiley face rubber and another that seemed to contain many colours. I guess that just made it all the more fun. House smirked when he saw a pocket protector. Not too dissimilar to the one that lined the pocket of the smitten brunette next to him.

"Gentlemen, this is peds. This is the place of the tiny humans. They like glitter, they play games, they see us as magicians. They believe we are the magical healers who can cure them. So that's how we present ourselves to them. The tiny humans may be tiny but they are strong. Stronger than most. Their bodies fight because they know they have so much life left to live and we try our hardest to give them as much life left as we possibly can."

As the girl speaks, absolutely in awe of her job and the lives it saves. She fails to notice the adoring gaze of the one she calls hers. The brunette looks to her as if she hung the stars and the moon and even though he could hear House's eyes rolling into the back of his skull, he couldn't bring himself to look or care. Not when she was in his line of sight.

"So you will not be stubborn, you will not be blunt or sarcastic. As far as I'm concerned, today you are the two newest editions to the circus. So play the part and follow my lead."

She picks up her files which were each coordinated by colour and glitter. House smirked at this. She turns to push open the door to the unit but falters.

"Also..."

She turns back to face the two men.

"The owners of the tiny humans can be quite volatile. You've been warned. Enjoy!" Her look of warning is quickly replaced by a mask of pure joy.

House softly giggles.

"I like her. Will we soon be hearing the pitter patter of tiny 'Wilson' humans?"

Wilson didn’t even hear his friends comment and instead chose to follow his beauty, like a moth to a flame.

House shrugs.

"Men, never thinking with the right head." As he eyes the glitter residue that adorns Wilson’s sleeve.