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proxima-writes · 6 months

Text

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult."

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!"

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.”

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?”

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says.

“From what?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says.

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #dark content #cult leader!joel miller #cw age gap #cw dubcon #cw age difference #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark joel miller

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tiannasfanfic · 1 year

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Paparazzi

Eddie Munson x Reader (Angst)

| Eddie Munson Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: All of Eddie Munson's dreams come true when Corroded Coffin finally catches their big break. But once the record deal is signed, the executives take control of their images, lives and their relationships.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Author Note: Afab reader, they/them pronouns. Angst with a Happy Ending. Rockstar!Eddie AU where record labels have old Hollywood like control of their artists lives.

CW: Controlling behavior from record label; social alcohol use; secret relationship; mentions of cheating but no actual cheating; smut (kissing, fingering, blowjob, tit job, p in v, slight exhibitionism); consensual non-con photos taken by paparazzi.

Word Count: 12,937

Eddie Munson Taglist: @eddie-swhore

Life is a bit complicated when you are the secret girlfriend of a rockstar. While it certainly comes with a lot of benefits, and the lifestyle it provided was beyond anything in your wildest dreams, it came at the steep price of some heartache and emotional discomfort.

Though, in all honesty, “secret” was purely a subjective word at this point. The rest of the band knew. All of their people knew. The record label knew. The touring crew knew. His wife knew. All of her people knew. Anyone that needed to know knew.

The general public, on the other hand, did not know, which is how you found yourself the mistress of your high school sweetheart.

How exactly did this happen, you ask?

Now that certainly is quite a story.

Once Eddie’s name had been cleared of all murder charges, the members of Corroded Coffin made getting the hell out of Hawkins their number one priority. It took a little over a year once the last member graduated from high school, but the band was finally able to make the move together to Indianapolis. They shared a small, one room apartment since it was all they could afford and set out to make a name for themselves.

Like most bands, Corroded Coffin was discovered purely by chance. After a couple years of playing in bars around the city, one of their shows was seen by an agent from Los Angeles, who happened in town for a wedding and took a break from family to relax to some local music. That’s how the band met Joe, the man who would become their manager and who would help catapult them to success.

With Joe’s help, they got a demo recorded and then Joe managed to get one of their songs on the radio. It took off, giving the band quite a bit of local popularity. After yet another move, this time to LA, they once again started over fresh, but soon Joe had them playing regular gigs around the city. It was only a matter of time before they were signed to a label and their demo re-recorded to be released as their first studio album.

It was shortly after this, when the band began to rise in popularity, that they realized how little the music industry actually dealt with music. Creating and maintaining an image was the largest priority.

And the image they had, as it turns out, was metal as hell right out the gate.

Four childhood friends from a small town in Indiana that were bullied for being outcasts. They lost three, almost four, classmates to serial killer Henry Creel. Front man, Eddie Munson, was initially accused of the murders due to being a metalhead loner but was eventually cleared on all charges. They survived a devastating earthquake that nearly destroyed their hometown but destroyed their homes. The front man himself then spent months recovering from a physical assault that nearly killed him and left prominent scars on his body. Through it all, they stuck together.

Everything about their story, particularly Eddie’s, was absolute perfection. It paired beautifully with their music and lyrics, with Eddie’s descriptions of bats in an upside down being seen as a metaphor for bullies terrorizing their victims.

It was all perfect except for one tiny detail.

You.

“Absolutely fucking not!” Eddie yelled, jumping to his feet so fast the chair nearly toppled backwards. “Whoever thought of that one can shove it up their ass!”

It been a casual, relaxed Monday morning up until that point. Everyone was well rested coming off the weekend. It had been quiet one, giving you all some much needed time off. The majority of it you and Eddie spent at home. Despite the fact you two went everywhere and did everything together, you never grew tired of each other’s company.

However, everyone went from relaxed to angry in two seconds once Joe told them what the executives at the label had suggested for Eddie to give himself an edger image.

“Eddie, let’s just-“ Joe started to say, slowly rising to his feet behind his desk, his hands making a settle down gesture.

“Let’s just what?” Gareth interrupted, looking as furious as Eddie, but still sitting down.

“Let’s just talk about this calmly,” Joe said. “I wasn’t saying I-“

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Jeff interrupted now, also angry looking.

“Right!” Nick yelled, jumping to his feet. “We’re not going to ditch Y/N and leave them behind for no good fucking reason!”

But in the minds of the label executives, they had a very good reason for suggesting this.

It was all about image. Single front men drew more attention, they said, especially when they looked like Eddie. He was someone every guy wanted to be, and every woman wanted to fuck, which would result in higher popularity in both market segments. Plus, with everything Eddie had been through, they wanted him to project himself as a lonely bad boy, but one who had a different girl on his arm every night.

Apparently, being with someone for fourteen years wasn’t very metal, nor did it mesh with the image of young, rock n’ roll promiscuity they felt Eddie should portray as his lifestyle.

Obviously, this upset you all. After so many years of leaning on each other, you all were a family now. You might as well have been in the band yourself with how close you all were.

You had been around even before Corroded Coffin, when it was just you and Eddie, two middle schoolers who fell deeply in love on the first day of school. You were there for the founding, and you were technically their very first manager even before Joe. You had worked your ass off promoting them as best you could, first at the school then the bars around Hawkins. You went with them to Indianapolis, lived in the shitty apartment with them, and dealt with just as many asshole bar owners to get them on stage time, if not more.

And then you did it all over again without complaint when they set up shop in LA, only under the helpful guiding eye of Joe. It had been a long and crazy road for the five of you, but you got through it all supporting each other.

You belonged here with them, and they knew it as well as you did. They weren’t about to just leave you behind, nor would you have let them. Not now, not ever, and certainly not just a few weeks before their first major tour as an opening act. The tour was kicking off in Seattle, hometown of the headliners. You were going to see the country with them if they had anything to say about it.

“Guys!” Joe barked, finally having to raise his voice to get their attention again. “I don’t agree with it either!”

That got them to simmer down enough that he was able to continue uninterrupted.

“Kid, I get it,” he said, putting his hands on the desk to lean over and make eye contact with the wrecked front man. “Believe me, I get it. Valerie and I hit thirty-five years next week. Coral anniversary. I still have no fucking clue what to get her. But I do know one thing.” Joe pointed one finger at Eddie. “I wouldn’t give her up either on any man’s word either.”

Joe sat back down, then made a gesture for them to do the same. Nick obliged with a heavy sigh, but Eddie came to stand behind your chair, his ringed hands resting on your shoulders. Joe pulled his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“It was only a suggestion,” he said as he put his glasses back on. “Nothing has been passed down as Word from God yet. Yet.” He held up a finger as he said the second yet. “But some of the big guys see potential in this storyline for you, which means they see money in it for them.”

“So, what are you saying?” Eddie asked with a tight voice, his hands squeezing your shoulders.

“I’m saying, now that the idea has been brought up, it’s not likely to go away,” Joe said, then leaned back in his chair. “And, judging by how excited they seem about this one, I’m guessing the order to actually sever ties with Y/N will come down soon. They’ll want time for the word about Corroded Coffin’s newly single front man to get around before the tour starts.”

Everyone quietly stared at him, speechless.

“That quick, eh?” you said, finally breaking the silence. Joe nodded regretfully. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you looked up at Eddie with a half grin. “Babe, most guys would kill for this chance. You might want to think it over a little more carefully.”

Joe was the only one to laugh, but he quickly turned it into a cough at the glare he got from Eddie.

The glare softened before it was turned on you, but you still got glared at regardless.

“This isn’t funny, Precious,” he said, and you could see it in his eyes that he was close to panic. “They’re fools if they think I would discard you so easily into the fires of Mount Doom.”

One thing you learned about Eddie Munson a long time ago is, when he’s under a lot of stress, be it from the chord of a song being difficult to having to hide at Skull Rock wanted for murder, he starts making Lord of the Rings references about the situation.

You reached up to rest one hand on top of his and gave it a soft squeeze. Eddie quickly wound his fingers through yours so you were holding hands.

“You’ve gotta admit though,” you said, smiling reassuringly. “Those assholes do have a point, babe. Most guys don’t get into this business while attached. They live a rowdy life and never settle down until they either marry a porn star or marry the mistress they cheated on their first wife with.”

As you spoke, Eddie’s face became a mask of abject horror. He quickly came around to drop to his knees in front of your chair and took your face in his hands.

“Sweetheart, please tell me we’re not splitting up right now,” he whispered, looking near tears.

“We’re not,” you said firmly, taking his face in your hands. “Absolutely fucking not. I just said they have a good point.”

Relief washed over his face, and he wrapped you in his arms. After you exchanged a tight hug, Joe cleared his throat so your attention would come back to him.

“Now, as I was about to say before you all started yelling at me,” he said, pausing to give them a fatherly glare before continuing. “There is an alternative, but it will require a lot of discretion from you two lovebirds.”

Since Corroded Coffin didn’t have much media attention outside of local music papers, you were still an unknown name in the scene. Local places knew you as Eddie’s girl. In interviews, if relationships ever came up, Eddie had only referred to you as “my girl” instead of by name. You certainly weren’t in any of the official photos the band had done. You could fade into the background easily and go unnoticed.

Based on Joe’s suggestion, which was immediately approved by the guys before you could get a word in edgewise, you went from Eddie’s longtime sweetheart to his personal assistant. That was actually the next matter on the agenda anyway since Eddie was the only member of the band without one and he needed to get the hiring done soon before the tour started.

Two birds, one stone, as they say.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you protested as the guys were taking turns high giving Joe for his ingenuity. “I’ve never been a personal assistant before! I’m not going to know what the hell I’m doing!”

“You’ll be fine,” Joe said, turning to you with a warm smile. “Trust me, my dear, I’ve had many personal assistants over the years and I’m quite sure none of them knew what they were doing either.”

Fortunately, Gareth’s personal assistant, Lucy, did know what she was doing. She was able to give you a crash course in the weeks leading up to the tour so you would know what the typical day of a personal assistant is like before you were throw into it.

While you took to your new responsibilities with ease and spent just as much time with Eddie day to day as you did before, the change in your status didn’t really become apparent until after you had left the home comforts of LA.

Two nights before the first concert of the tour, the headliners wanted to give everyone a proper welcome to Seattle by treating the bands to a night on the town. Since It was their first ever tour as the main act, they were in the mood to party. Band members, their entourages, and dates only.

Since it would look a little odd for Eddie to be the only one showing up with his personal assistant as a date, you had to break the news to him that you weren’t going. This resulted in you having to nearly force him into going since staying in with his personal assistant rather than partying with a famous band would look even odder.

While you were just as upset as Eddie, you didn’t let it show. He could tell. You knew he could tell. But keeping a brave face kept his cracks from showing. He could keep it together if you could, and that’s exactly what you did. You helped him get ready and shared the elevator down with the band until it reached the floor your room was on. All of the boys were sad you wouldn’t be joining and hugged you before you exited. With nothing left to do today, your plan was to raid the mini fridge and cry.

You were well into your second tiny bottle of vodka when a frantic knocking at the door to your room nearly gave you a heart attack. Then your mind immediately went to Eddie. Thinking he had changed his mind about staying, you rushed to the door, not sure if you were about to hug him or yell at him.

Instead, you found a very breathless Lucy standing outside.

“Here,” she said, thrusting several shopping bags into your arms. “Change into that and get your ass down to the hotel bar pronto.”

You blinked several times, looking from Lucy to the bag then back to Lucy.

“What’s going o-“

“No time to explain, just do it!” she hissed urgently, then retired to her room across from yours.

Twenty minutes later, as you stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby, you immediately regretted your decision to play along with whatever Lucy had planned.

Inside the bag had been an outfit that made it easier for you to blend in among the groupies scattered about the lobby. It was tight in all the right places, layered everywhere else just right to smooth everything out as it hugged close your body and pushed everything up to just the right angles. When paired with the high-quality black wig you found one of the other bags, you hardly recognized yourself. While it was far from your normal style, while in the privacy of your room, even you had to admit that you looked damn good. Feeling bold, you added some dark makeup, the jacket from the final bag and a pair of your own shoes to top everything off.

It was easy to feel confident while in your room, and even while on the way downstairs, but now as several patrons in the lobby looked you over, appraising you, you felt exposed and extremely uncomfortable.

You swallowed nervously, took a deep breath to calm yourself, and then did your best to ignore any leering stares as you headed for the hotel bar just as Lucy instructed.

A loud cacophony of voices and laughter hit your ears as soon as you walked in. The place was packed. You hadn’t realized this was where the bands would be gathering to meet up. It looked like they were still waiting on a few people, so they were having a few drinks as they waited to set off.

As you made your way over to sit at the bar itself, you glanced around the room. It didn’t take you long to spot Corroded Coffin. You couldn’t help but smile seeing them. Three of the guys seemed to have already found a companion for the night, while Eddie sat there playing with his rings and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. It almost made you laugh how sullen he looked, but you kept your cool as you took a seat. Since Lucy hadn’t given you any other instructions, you ordered yourself a drink.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to wait around long to figure out what scheme Lucy had been a part of. Not long after you began sipping your drink, you were fetched from the bar by Garth’s bodyguard and lead to the Corroded Coffin table.

Gareth grinned at you as he watched your approach. The glimmer he had in his eye told you this had been his plan rather than Lucy’s.

“Good evening, miss,” Gareth said to you as you stopped at their table. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting at the bar all alone. Are expecting company this evening?”

You shook your head, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

Gareth straightened up brightly, then winked at the redhead sitting with him, who giggled.

Sometime between high school and now, Gareth had become quite charming with the ladies. Granted, he wasn’t trying at all that hard with you, just enough to sell the ruse, but whatever he had said to the young woman earlier clearly still had her under his spell.

“Wonderful!” he said, then gestured extravagantly to Eddie. “My friend here also happens to be without company for the evening. We’re about to head out to dinner, but it doesn’t feel right for him to be here alone. Would you care to join him?”

You finally let your gaze slide around the table, taking in the happy grins of Jeff and Nick, before letting your gaze land on Eddie.

And you almost lost your shit laughing.

He was now sitting with his eyes closed, his facial expression a mix of annoyance and resignation, as if he were now mentally preparing himself for a long evening with unwanted companionship.

“Hmm, I’m not so sure,” you said, keeping your gaze on Eddie and tilting your head at him. “Your friend sure doesn’t look like he wants my company.”

At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s eyes shot open, and he looked up at you in confusion. It took a moment for him to register what he was seeing. His jaw dropped as realization set in.

“Pfft, that’s just his normal face,” Gareth said, making all the girls at the table laugh, and you looked back over to see him wave his hand through the air in a gesture of dismissal. “I’m sure he’d love to have your company.” He looked over at the front man with a grin. “Wouldn’t you, Eddie?”

Despite the verbal cue from Gareth, Eddie just continued to stare at you until the blonde sitting between him and Jeff finally elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oh, y-yeah,” Eddie murmured, jumping out of the booth. He cleared his throat then stepped aside, gesturing to the seat with a bow. “It’d be an honor if you would grace me with your presence, m’lady.”

The other women at table giggled at Eddie as you lowered yourself into the booth, but as you scooted over to make room for Eddie, the brunette at Nick’s side started to pout.

“Aww,” she said, winking at you. “I was just about to say, if he didn’t want your company, we certainly wouldn’t mind a third.” She looked up at Nick and winked at him. “Would we, Nicky?”

Nick nearly choked on his drink, eyes slightly widening in horror at the idea of a threesome with the girl he thought of like a sister.

“N-nah,” he said, fumbling his words for a second before thinking of a good response. “I’m a one-woman man and, baby, you’re all I need tonight.”

It was a good recovery. Nick’s words had brunette giggling and blushing. You couldn’t help but grin yourself, remembering back when Nick used to be a stammering fool around the other sex instead of the smooth talker he was now.

You couldn’t help but wonder right then where the time had gone.

As soon as Eddie was seated next to you, he wasted no time before throwing his arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. A round of introductions began, where you then pretended to not know anyone at the table.

It didn’t take long for the guys to return their attention back to their respective ladies, leaving you and Eddie in your own little bubble at the end of the table.

“Getting a bit handsy aren’t we?” you couldn’t help but giggle as he leaned in to nuzzle your ear, keeping your tone soft enough only he could hear you. “After all, we only just met, like, five seconds ago.”

Your hand slid over into his lap to softly squeeze his thigh as you spoke. Eddie sucked his breath in through his teeth, then you felt him grin against your ear.

“Well, they do say the front man of Corroded Coffin is a bit of a whore,” he said to you softly, then took ahold of your chin with his free hand and turned your head gently so you were looking at him. “And I’d say that makes me your whore, now, doesn’t it?”

Much later that night, when Eddie brought the raven-haired woman back to the hotel, he made sure everyone in the surrounding rooms heard exactly how much of a whore he was for you.

That was how things continued for most nights on the tour, with you being snuck along to parties as Eddie’s piece of ass for the night. While this wasn’t what either of you had pictured when dreaming of your life together once he made it big, Eddie didn’t care so long as you could be by his side. No matter how you were dressed, now he actually had the money to the queen you always were to him. The whole crew figured out the scheme halfway into the tour schedule, but they pretended not to for plausible deniability’s sake.

The record label wasn’t exactly happy with Eddie’s interpretation of their desires but couldn’t exactly say it wasn’t effective. The front man of Corroded Coffin was projecting exactly the image they wanted; a hard partying bad boy who had his pick of women every night. Who cared if it was the same woman in a wig? So long as Eddie kept playing it up, and your true identity went undetected, they had to let it go.

That was until they were in the studio working on their next album and Eddie unknowingly opened the door for them to finally step in.

A couple months had passed since that first tour successfully wrapped up. Corroded Coffin was enjoying more fame and publicity, but despite the happy, smiling personas the guys wore in public, they were all varying degrees of miserable. It was hard to be happy when they had little to no control over their lives.

On the day they signed with their record deal with the label, Nick made the joke that they were signing their souls away. It turned out to be a very prophetic statement. While Eddie received the brunt of it being the front man, life wasn’t much better for the rest of the band. None of them really had a say in major life decisions anymore. Even potential relationships had to be approved by label executives first.

While everyone was upset about it, there was no one more upset than Eddie. By signing his soul away, he felt like he had inadvertently signed yours away as well.

A few months after they began working on the album, the next big story in entertainment news broke. An actor just had a baby with his former personal assistant. This was the same personal assistant he was caught having an affair with the year before via telephoto lens.

While it wasn’t exactly the same situation, it inspired Eddie. Now that Corroded Coffin had started attending more publicity events, he wanted things to go back to normal with you two. He missed being able to be free with his affection for you. He had Joe pitch the idea to the label that involved him starting to publicly date his own personal assistant. It shouldn’t cause a stir like the actor did because he was single, Joe reasoned on Eddie’s behalf. They could restart their relationship over in the public eye. No one would be any wiser. Pretending to be a new couple wouldn’t be hard since the guys often teased you both about how your honeymoon period was still going on.

While the label executives did agree it was time for Eddie to start settling down and have a regular date on his arm, they had different ideas as to who would be his girl.

Eddie was then informed he would be entering an arranged relationship with someone of their choosing. However, they wouldn’t be dating for long. Not due to a breakup, but because they would be married within the next two months. It was an arrangement that would be beneficial for everyone, the executives reassured.

For his future bride, they had chosen adult actress and dancer Deandra Day. She had starred in the two most recent Corroded Coffin videos and had recently began dancing live at their local shows. The new storyline the label had in mind for Eddie was the bad boy that finally met the right woman and settled down.

And, with that, they expressly stated that Eddie was now a one-woman man effectively immediately. His public persona was to now be a man deeply in love with his wife. There were to be no more one-night stands with women from hotel bars.

The news hit hard, for both you and Eddie.

Marriage was one of the things you two had always put off for later. Mainly it had been Eddie who wanted to wait, wanting to put on a grand spectacle when it finally did happen. He had known on the very first day of sixth grade when you gave him your extra pencil that he was going to marry you. He had told you as much right then and he could still remember how baffled you initially looked after that statement. But then you grinned and said okay, the memory of voice right then could still make Eddie’s heart skip a beat.

Eddie still wanted to marry you just as much now as he did when he was twelve years old. The idea of marrying anyone else completely shattered him.

They were leaving you with your duties as his personal assistant, but little else. Your position ensured you would still be there backstage at concerts, interviews, on tours and on location during shoots. That was it. The after parties, fancy dinners, VIP sections, limo tours of cities, everything else was cut off to you now. You would have to stand back and watch as another woman took your rightful place.

While you were just as upset as Eddie about it, you weren’t exactly surprised. The executives didn’t like it when their artists outsmarted them. And you had been warned that they held grudges. Joe had long suspected the label would eventually make a play to get rid of you again in order to mold Eddie into the artist they wanted him to be. As much as Joe had tried to prepare you for it, that didn’t stop it from hurting when finally happened.

Ironically, the one redeeming quality in the whole situation was actually Eddie’s wife to be. The label had unknowingly given the both of you a huge boon in choosing Deandra for this new role.

Deandra had no interest in an intimate connection with Eddie. For her, the marriage was purely a business arrangement to further her career goals. After being in the adult industry for so long, she was interested in branching out into music. While she was a talented singer, getting a foot in the door was hard for anyone just starting out, no matter their fame in other form of entertainment. The music industry was very competitive, and one that had a lot of turnover. Deandra didn’t want to be a one hit wonder or have one good album then fade into the background. She actually wanted to have a long-term career. This marriage to Eddie would open the doors she needed in order to be successful much faster than they would normally open for her. Her commitment to the label only required the marriage to last for a minimum two years with the option to renew, which she had no intention of doing.

While on the surface it seemed like there was nothing in this for Eddie aside from having a beautiful actress on his arm, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The evenings spent on Eddie’s arm may have ended for you, but the appearance of a steady relationship opened other avenues for you to be together.

There was no need to recruit Deandra into your conspiracy. She identified the relationship after Eddie introduced you at the very first video shoot simply by the way he did it.

“He introduced you the way any man should introduce his wife,” she explained after asking them directly how long they’d been together. “And most men I’ve met don’t even introduce their own wives with that much reverence, much less their personal assistants.”

With her being in your corner, your time with Eddie actually increased after the wedding. Since the record label had no control over Deandra or her schedule, outside of her contractual appearances with Eddie, she was rarely around. Since a majority of her work in adult movies was based in the San Francisco area, she had no intention of ever selling her house to permanently move to Los Angeles. When the studio prodded at Eddie to finally purchase a house with his wife, Deandra made sure she was shooting out of town and busy with projects for other clients. You were officially sent by Deandra in her stead to give you and Eddie the opportunity to finally pick out your dream home together without the prying eyes of the label.

It ended up being way easier for a member of staff to sneak you in and out of the house everyday than it was pretending you were a groupie. The modest mansion just off the beach in Malibu had a six-car garage, two of which were always empty. All you had to do was lay down in the backseat of a car with heavily tinted windows, until they pulled inside and the doors closed. No one was ever the wiser.

Once you were inside, you and Eddie could do as you pleased. The decorator had ensured the place was outfitted with heavy duty blinds and drapes, an oddity for a mansion with such an amazing view of the ocean, but it ensured total privacy. You could be yourselves, even on the rare times Deandra stayed in Malibu. But it was easy to keep to yourselves, Deandra had her own room while you and Eddie had the master bedroom.

The end date of the arranged marriage came while Corroded Coffin was back in the studio working on their fifth album. The joint statement announcing Eddie and Deandra’s separation had been drafted by the label and Deandra’s PR team. The announcement would coincide with the album’s release to garner publicity. From adult movies to music, this was a common marketing tool many entertainers used to drum up publicity for new releases. Sad news such as a divorce always brought in sympathy dollars.

With the popularity of Corroded Coffin at an all-time high, the label executives had been in good spirits about the band for a while. They had started loosening the reins some with its members, allowing them more freedoms in their personal relationships. Joe felt confident that so long as the album succeeded as well as they’d hoped, and the divorce went smoothly, that Eddie would be able to enjoy that same freedom as well.

But just as you began to see light at the end of the tunnel, it winked out of existence.

A former disgruntled employee spoke to a tabloid about the suspiciously close relationship between the married front man of Corroded Coffin and his personal assistant. They provided firsthand accounts of witnessing suspicious behavior that occurred between the two of you.

While the source remained anonymous, everyone suspected an aide that Jeff had recently hired and then almost immediately fired after catching him stealing his fiancés jewelry. The incidents described in the interview were fairly recent, and the former aide was the only unknown among those present for them.

Luckily for the label, the editor of the tabloid who purchased the story owed one of the executives a favor and gave him a call as soon as they had bought the rights to the story. An arrangement was worked out for the label to purchase the story, and it was swiftly buried.

Unluckily for you, the label was angry. While they were willing to tolerate some controversy and scandal generated by their artists, they did not abide major scandals like adultery.

As of that day, you were barred from all properties owned or affiliated with the label. You were also barred from any concert or event sponsored by the label. On top of that, Eddie was told not to enter into any relationships once the divorce was announced because once it was final, they would have someone new already lined up for him. This time, they expected him to be a truly devoted husband and even possibly start a family with his new wife.

It was a complete disaster.

The only time you had with each other now was at home. As much as the label wanted to, they couldn’t control what went on inside the privacy of Eddie’s house, and you technically lived there. In retaliation, they started booking him for more event appearances. publicity appearances and after party appearances, keeping him away from home as much as possible. When he was at home, he was exhausted, and you let him rest as much as possible.

With the new album fixing to be released, a new tour was already being planned. It was to be Corroded Coffins first tour as the only headliner, with their opening act. But it was hard for anyone to be excited knowing you’d effectively be a prisoner on the tour bus unable to enjoy it with them. You wouldn’t be able to leave while at the venues since the tour was label sponsored. Most of the hotels they would be staying at were label affiliated, which ensured you couldn’t set foot on the properties.

Even though the story about Eddie and his personal assistant never broke, whispers overheard at the tabloid office alerted some paparazzi to a potential story regarding Corroded Coffin’s front man. No one knew specifics, of course, just that there were some rumors that Eddie Munson might be cheating on his wife. But paparazzi don’t need specifics to latch onto a lead. The house was now under constant watch, and you and Eddie both were constantly followed. As production on the album grew closer to wrapping, it began to get extremely hard for you to slip to and from your own home unnoticed.

After several miserable weeks, Deandra approached both you and Eddie with an idea.

It was a bold idea. A daring, not to mention extremely provocative, idea. But it was an idea that, if executed correctly, could be just the ticket to the freedom you all so desperately needed. But while it was you and Eddie that would be exposing yourselves to major controversy and possible public humiliation, you weren’t the only three people that would be affected by it. You sought out the rest of the band and they gave their blessing. With Joe, you two decided it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

It was all up to you and Eddie now.

Using the labels own marketing tactics against them, the three of you decided the best time to enact the plan would be the night after the new album released. The label was sitting on the joint statement regarding the divorce for at least another week, giving the album time to naturally rise up the charts before giving it that sympathy boost.

There was also a second reason for choosing that particular night. While Deandra had been in town for a couple of weeks, that particular evening she would be out for most it. After heading to dinner with her normal entourage, she would then be spending the rest of the evening MCing an event at a local club. With the after party that was to follow, Deandra didn’t expect to be home until close to sunup the next day. It wouldn��t look weird for Eddie to stay at home since they rarely attended anything together save for award shows. Deandra felt like the plan would have a better effect if she were just merely out of the house for the night rather than in another city for several days, if not weeks. It made the whole thing more taboo, in her opinion.

When the night in question finally came around, your nerves kicked up. The finality of it all was starting to sink in. After tonight, there would be no way to hide anymore, no way to blend in with the crowd. You and Eddie both were about to be put at the mercy of public opinion and let the fans decide your ultimate fate out here in California.

Once Deandra had left to head out for dinner, and a suitably long enough time had passed, it was time. Eddie got everything ready while you got changed.

The backyard of your home wasn’t large by mansion standards, but it was far from small by normal standards. It was wider than it was long, holding a rectangle shaped pool with a built-in hot tub on the side closest to the house. Even with that space taken up, there was still room for a small yard complete with privacy fence on one side of the pool, and an outdoor cooking space on the other side. The view below took in the beach and beyond that the beautiful Pacific Ocean.

As the sun lowered past the midpoint of the horizon, the outdoor lights in this little backyard paradise automatically came on. While there were bright security lights at the front and sides of the house, back here the lighting was soft rather than bright, programmed with quiet relaxation in mind. Clear garden lights hung underneath the porch, illuminating the sitting area and hot tub with a gentle glow. Dimly lit solar lamps lined the pool area with enough light to watch your step. The pool itself was lit from within, the water glowing with a soft illumination. There were a few lights dotting along the structure of the house to add lighting to the house itself.

It was your quiet paradise that Eddie helped you find but had been unable to fully enjoy.

Until tonight, at least.

Once you heard the outside speakers begin to softly play some newer music that you both liked, you knew it was time. You made your way downstairs, wearing the bikini Deandra had bought for you earlier that week, your heart pounding the whole way. Every time you caught sight of yourself in a mirror, you couldn’t help but pause to gawk.

While it wasn’t so far away from your normal style that it looked completely out of place on you, it certainly displayed a lot more skin than you were normally willing to show. It fit you well though, the thin fabric hugging your body comfortably tight. Whoever designed it had both sex appeal and wearability in mind.

After a few stops just to stare at yourself, you finally made it to the dark kitchen and then the sliding door leading to the backyard. Looking out, you could see Eddie had already settled himself into the hot tub, his hair wet now and plastered back on his head. He was in a relaxed posed; both arms up behind him on the edge of the hot tub, with his head tilted back and eyes closed.

Your gaze shifted over to your yard, then let your eyes drift slightly beyond it to the vine covered fence. Somewhere in that area hidden by vines and shadows, you knew two of the slats in the fence had been cut from the outside. The hole this left could easily accommodate a wide-angle camera lens. It was a fairly recent vandalism, done within the last few weeks when the paparazzi really began staking out the house. And you knew with as many people that had been caught spying on the house in that same time period, it was likely that the hole was always manned.

Normally, this gross violation of privacy would have severely angered you, but now it had the opportunity to work in your favor. Whoever was currently behind the peep hole would be getting a clear view of everything that was about to happen.

You took a deep breath, tried to calm yourself one last time, and stepped out the door.

Eddie didn’t hear the door when you opened it, too lost in this peaceful moment of solitude. However, he did hear the soft click of it shutting over the low music and soft hum of the jets and lifted his head to turn towards you. It took a second for the image he was seeing to translate in his brain, but when it did, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

No matter how many times over the years that Eddie saw you naked or in something he thought was sexy, he always behaved like it was the first time.

“Goddamn babe,” he called out breathlessly, arms coming down from the edge of the hot tub so he could lean forward, forearms on his knees, as he carefully watched your approach.

You took your time as you made your way over to the hot tub, your eyes taking him in as much as he was you. The heat of water made his skin flushed, which when paired with the intense gaze he was giving you made him look almost feral.

A cool breeze blew in off the ocean just as reached the hot tub. With only the bikini covering you, goosebumps slightly rose up on your skin and you felt your nipples hardening at the temperature change. The thin fabric covering your tits did nothing to hide this, and you saw Eddie’s gaze dip down to your chest.

As you stepped down into the water, you watched his eyes darken as he took you in again now that you were at close range.

“Deandra did good, I take it?” you asked, making your way down the rest of the steps until you were standing on the bottom.

Eddie’s head rapidly bobbed up and down.

“My soon to be ex-wife has excellent taste,” he said, his tongue running over his bottom lip as his face started to grow more flushed.

Right as you started to lower yourself into the water to take the seat across from Eddie, he lifted one arm up and extended his hand out to you. You took a couple steps forward, closing the distance to accept the gesture by placing your hand in his. With a gentle tug on your arm, he pulled you into his lap, his free hand resting on your waist to help steady you as you positioned yourself to straddle his thighs.

“Hi there,” you said with a coy smile, your hands resting on his shoulders. “Come here often?”

“Not exactly here, per say,” Eddie replied with a chuckle as his hands rested comfortably on your hips, his head tilting back up to look at you. “But I hope that changes soon.”

With a smile, you leaned down to kiss him passionately. His response was immediate with no hesitation, his lips latching onto yours to return your intensity with his own. As your tongues met just inside his lips, Eddie slid one hand up your back, traveling upwards until it finally came to a rest on the back of your neck. He held onto you tightly, his remaining hand pulling at your hip to slide you forward in his lap.

With your bodies now so close together, chest to chest, you gave your hips a gentle roll against him. Eddie softly groaned into your mouth, his hips slightly thrusting upwards to match your movement.

Then he broke away from you just enough so he could speak, his eyes gazing up into yours.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked you, voice low and soft enough it couldn’t be heard by anyone else but you. “It’s not too late to back out.”

You shook your head.

“It is,” you said, lightly running your nails down the back of his neck. “They’ve got photos of us kissing now at least.”

Eddie studied your face, as if looking for any sign of hesitation, then nodded before returning his lips to yours.

It was a lot easier to let go and forget about your audience than you would’ve thought. But as Eddie’s lips moved downwards towards your neck, and then started sucking on that one spot just below your ear, everything around the hot tub just faded away.

You moaned softly, head tilting back as your hips pushed forward into his impulsively. A soft grunt left Eddie, his ass bucking up slightly at the feeling. You hadn’t done it very hard, just enough for him to feel you rub against his hardening length. But it was enough to spur him on.

The hand on your hip slipped down slightly to rest on your ass. Squeezing it tightly, Eddie pulled your hips forward again as he thrust his own towards you. You moaned softly into his mouth, helping him out by rocking your hips down into his thrusts. He stopped pulling at you when he realized you were matching the movements, instead holding onto you firmly as bucked up into you harder. His motions were rough enough to make your body jar upwards on his lap. You both swallowed each other’s moans, the thin fabric of your respective swimsuits doing little to dull the sensations of you grinding against each other.

Your hands slid down his back, raking his skin with your nails as they went. It wasn’t a hard scratch, but not a light one either, making Eddie hiss softly, his hips thrusting hard against you at the feeling.

Eddie’s lips traveled lower on your neck, down to your collarbone. There he started kissing and nibbling his way all the way across your chest, taking particular care to bite at the hallow of your throat. The feeling of his teeth bearing down on the delicate tendons just under the skin made you gasp, almost yelp even. You could feel Eddie’s lips twist upwards in a grin against your chest.

As he continued to make his way across, the hand on your ass slid lower, caressing down over the curve of the cheek until it was under you. His arm slid under your thighs and lifted you a little. This now put your chest at Eddie’s eye level, and he immediately dove forward for your tits. Holding you there, his lips latched onto one through the fabric of your bikini top. As his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, his free hand slid around from your neck to roughly grasp your breast from underneath.

“Mmm,” you moaned softly, as your back arched forward towards him.

One of your hands went to the back of his neck, steadying yourself as you pushed yourself back down to resume grinding against him. A loud groan erupted from Eddie, his hips thrusting up as he bit down on your nipple, making you gasp. He slowly pulled away, still holding it in his teeth for a second before letting go.

“Now that wasn’t very nice, Princess,” he growled softly, but you could hear the playfulness in his voice.

“You don’t love me because I’m nice,” you said, smirking as you brushed your lips over his.

You felt him smile against your mouth and you softly ran the tip of your tongue over his bottom hip. Eddie shivered at the feeling.

“Good point,” he said softly, his hands moving to rest on your lower back. “But remember, sweetheart, I’m not particularly nice either.”

Eddie quickly brought one hand around to slide it between your bodies, pushing it down between your legs. He began rubbing his open hand back and forth over your mound, his palm gently pressing against your clit with each pass up. Your moaned softly, arching your chest forward, and Eddie slid the hand on your back further upwards to the rest between your shoulder blades. His fingers drifted apart with each pass, letting two fingers lay on either side of your slit to rub outer lips, while he pressed his middle finger down to rub between them.

With each pass of his finger, he stopped just shy of your clit, passing just close enough you could feel how close it, but not quite touching where you most wanted him to. Not until a soft whimper left your lips and your legs started to twitch did he finally oblige and give you want you wanted. He pulled his hand forward, drawing his middle finger up along your slit until he could slowly circle the tip around the sensitive nub.

The combination of the light pressure and the slick material of the bikini rubbing against your most tender areas soon had you quivering in his arms. Unconsciously, your hips started to move in small circles in tandem with the circles Eddie was making on around your clit. It added a new sensation, making his finger alternate between firm and featherlight pressure, teasing you one second then pleasuring you the next.

Your head tilted back again, eyes closed, and Eddie’s lips soon found the side of your neck. When your moans started to grow louder, he moved away from your clit to push his hand back between your legs. He wiggled his fingers past the edge of your bikini to push it aside and sink his middle finger all the way into you.

“Eddie, god,” you moaned, your nails digging into his back, as he slowly started to finger you. “Always feel so good.”

“Yeah?” he asked against your neck, and you nodded as his tongue traced over the purpling skin under his lips. “Love it when you call me your god.”

You moaned in response as he added his ring finger next to his middle and curled them both upwards, hitting just that right spot. Crying out loudly with your head thrown back, you held onto him tightly as your hips thrust forward against his hand. This pushed his fingers deeper and made you gasp.

When he started pushing the heel of his hand against your clit, grinding into it with every inward thrust of his fingers, it didn’t take long for you to come undone. Clenching around his fingers like a vice, you completely let go, screaming Eddie’s name along with incoherent praise.

Eddie continued to finger you through your orgasm, gradually slowing down as you came down from your high. When your moans softened into whimpers and you began squirming, he finally pulled his hand away, only to begin opening the front of his swim trunks.

As you shifted your hips back a bit to give him more room, some advice Deandra had given you came floating up in your memory.

“Remember, make it really good,” she had said. “And make it so damn dirty they’ve got no choice but to go straight to print, no matter how many favors they owe.”

In this brief moment of clarity, you realized that, yes, while this all had been very enjoyable so far, it was rather vanilla compared to what you were used to. It seemed like Eddie was holding back, either from his own nerves or his worries for how you were really doing with all this. He was going to need to get over his hesitation quickly if they really wanted to make headlines.

“Eddie? Baby?” you said softly, dragging the tips of your nails across his upper back. He grunted in response just as you felt his cock come free of his swim trunks. “I don’t think you fingering me and then me riding you with all the good stuff under water is going to cut it.”

Eddie paused for a second, then pulled back a bit to look at you, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“What do you have in mind, Princess?” he asked.

You inclined your head upwards towards the edge of the hot tub.

“Why don’t you hop up there, and I’ll show you,” you said, leaning in for a moment to flick your tongue over his lips.

You pulled yourself out of Eddie’s lap and he lifted himself out of the hot tub to sit right at the edge, his feet resting in the seat. As he did this, you briefly submerged yourself under water, getting yourself completely wet. Eddie watched as you resurfaced, leaning back on one hand, and lazily stroking his cock as you wiped the water out of your face.

It was quite the sight to open your eyes to and you couldn’t help but pause to watch for a few seconds. His grin got even bigger, watching your eyes move up and down in time with his hand and your lips open slightly.

Then you came forward to kneel between his legs on the seat he just vacated. One hand immediately went to his cock to bat his hand away, wrapping your fingers around his hard shaft in their stead. Kissing along his chest, you started working his cock with your hand. You kept a slow pace until your lips were at the base of his shaft, where you then ran your tongue down his full length.

Eddie’s legs twitched and he muttered a soft curse. You shifted your gaze up to see a soft look on his face despite how intently he was watching you. You paused, quirking a brow at him. He brought his other hand over to rest it on your shoulder, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze before sliding over to the back of your neck. With that last check in complete and permission to continue given, you turned your attention fully to his cock.

After slowly circling your tongue around the tip several times, you took the head of his cock into your mouth. Eddie started to let out a deep groan at the feeling of the warmth and wetness enveloping him, but it changed to a cry of surprise and pleasure as you hollowed out your cheeks to apply a deep suction.

“Fuck!” Eddie cried, his hand letting go of your neck to grip a handful of your hair instead. “S-shit, babe. That’s it. That’s my girl. You know how I like it.”

Indeed, you did, and you needed no further encouragement. You started bobbing your mouth up and down in just the head of his cock, keeping up with the slow rhythm of your hand stroking his shaft. Another low moan left Eddie, and you felt his fingers flexing in your hair. He wasn’t pushing or pulling at you yet, merely holding onto you.

As you increased the speed of your hand, you lowered your mouth down on him a little more with each downstroke. Already you could taste his precum, the tip of his cock leaking on your tongue and coating the roof of your mouth.

Once his cock was halfway in your mouth, you moved your hand away from his shaft and took the rest down your throat in one fast motion.

Eddie gasped loudly, and when you looked up you could see him staring at you in awe, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

“H-Holy s-shit,” he groaned before pinching his eyes closed and tilting his head back as his entire body shuddered.

You set a slow and steady rhythm, sliding all but the tip of his cock out of your mouth before taking it all back in again. The sounds Eddie made every time he felt your throat around his cock made your core throb.

After taking him down your throat a couple more times, Eddie’s moans became whimpers, and his hips began to twitch upwards. When that happened, you slid his cock from your mouth, your hand returning to stroke his shaft.

“Wanna do something really dirty?” you asked, batting your eyes up at him before flicking your tongue over the tip of his cock.

Eddie shivered and gasped, his eyes heavy lidded and dilated as he watched you.

“Maybe,” he said, brushing some hair away that had fallen in your face. “What were you thinking abo-“

The sudden halt in his speech was caused by you leaning up towards him just enough that the head of his cock nestled between your tits. You then angled yourself so that the length of his shaft was laying between them.

“Oh f-fuck yes,” he finally said, arching his hips up a little to thrust his wet cock upwards between your tits.

With a smile, you brought your free hand up to the bottom of your bikini top. You pulled it away from your chest just enough that you could easily slip his cock underneath. The new sensation of the wet fabric against one side of his cock and your smooth, warm skin on the other made Eddie groan. It seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hand suddenly as he watched you with wide eyes, so he moved it behind him to lean on as well.

Shifting your body a little bit more, you got into a better position so it would be a smooth glide. You moved his cock a little bit then tilted your head down, taking a second to gather all the saliva in your mouth to spit it down between your tits and his cock. A stream of curses left Eddie’s mouth as he watched you do it again a moment later, this time directly on to his cock.

“Fucking hell,” he panted, legs twitching as you pushed your tits closer together with your arms, pushing them closer around his cock. “Always so fucking filthy for me, baby, fuck.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d let him fuck your tits. After nearly twenty years together, fifteen of which as lovers, there was very little you two hadn’t done together in bed. But it was one of those things that didn’t happen often, so when it did, Eddie went mad.

And, after fifteen years as lovers, you knew exactly what buttons were left to push before Eddie went absolutely berserk.

“Like that, baby?” you asked, moving your body so he cock began to glide easily between your tits at a steady pace.

“Fuck, baby, I fucking love it,” he groaned deeply.

Eddie’s ass was starting to buck up off the tiled edge of the hot tub. His breathing was becoming erratic, his cheeks turning red as he tried to hold onto himself for as long as he could. Your skin was smeared with precum as it leaked down his shaft. When you looked down and saw this, you paused temporarily and opened your mouth, letting him thrust the head of his cock past your lips so you could gently suck on it, cleaning it off. Eddie gasped loudly at the feel of your mouth around him again and you felt his whole-body twitch.

Suddenly, he completely stopped moving and leaned forward, taking ahold of both of your shoulders in order to push you away, his cock slipping free of your bikini top. You didn’t have time to say anything before he had jumped back in the hot tub with you. He took ahold of you then spun you around, pushing you to the edge of the hot tub so you were bent over it.

While there wasn’t much sense left in Eddie, there was enough to make him be careful of how he angled your body. He made sure to position you in such a way that nothing of yours could be seen or photographed by outside parties. That was his one stipulation to agreeing to this. He didn’t care who saw what of his, but the Full Y/N Experience, as he put it, was for his eyes only.

Once he had the angle right, where a semi side profile of your bodies could be seen, along with a left clear view of your faces, Eddie pulled your bikini bottoms to the side and held them open. Using his free hand, he lined himself up with your entrance and then pushed the head of his cock into you.

You moaned loudly, your hands gripping the side of the hot tub as both of his came up to grip onto your ass cheeks. He lifted them slightly and spread them, watching as he slowly sheathed himself deep inside your aching cunt. The feeling of him bottoming out made your legs tremble, a long moan leaving your throat at the feeling of him being so deep in you.

Eddie gave a couple of slow rolls of his hips, allowing you to properly feel his full length dragging through you. Low, deep moans left your throat, the slow pace making you want more. Soon though, he began to pick up the pace until he was finally slamming himself into you fast and hard.

“Fuck, Eddie!” you screamed, squeezing your eyes closed.

All you could do was hold onto the edge of the hot tub for dear life as he pounded into you from behind. He slid his hands up from your ass to take hold of your waist. He started pulling you backwards into each thrust, the force making you both gasp and moan together. The head of his cock pushed even deep inside you, hitting all your most sensitive inner areas. It wasn’t long before you could feel the coil inside you close to snapping.

“G-gonna cum,” you managed to gasp out.

Your words made Eddie’s thrusting slightly stutter, but not for long. He slid one hand down from your waist back between your legs, his fingers seeking out your clit to circle around it.

“M’close too,” he groaned out as your inner walls twitched around him when he swept the pad of his finger directly over your clit. “Want you to cum around me.”

With three more thrusts, Eddie’s wish came true, and your cunt clamped down around him as you came. The orgasm washed over your body hard, making your legs shake and your knees start to buckle. You screamed, crying out curses and his name in an incoherent mess of words.

The hand on your shoulder left it to grab a handful of your hair, pulling your head back and causing your chest to arch outwards. This also caused your hips to lift, giving Eddie a better angle to fuck straight into you.

He fucked you through your orgasm and wasn’t too far behind you. His thrusting was already growing harder and erratic as you were coming down from your high. The steady grip of your inner walls coaxed him along, and after a few more of those hard, deep thrusts, Eddie began to shoot his cum deep inside you.

“F-fuck!” he cried as his lower body slightly spasmed, the hand on your waist gripping you hard. “That’s it, fuck! Such a good girl for me, Y/N, fuck!”

The stream of cursing and praise that left Eddie’s mouth next was almost unintelligible as yours as he kept fucking you through his orgasm. His hips gradually slowed until he finally came to a stop, leaving his cock still buried in you.

You both were panting, exhausted messes. It took several moments before Eddie could even move in order to pull out of you. You whimpered at the loss of contact when he finally did, the motion making your legs tremble again. After tucking himself into his trunks, he helped you stand up and fix your bottoms, before dropping into seat you just fucked on. He pulled you down into his lap across his thighs, sitting there contently with your arms wrapped around each other.

It took a while before either of you felt like moving, supremely happy to just sit there together. You spoke softly about trivial things, exchanging soft kisses and caresses until the timer on the hot tub went down to zero and it shut itself off. That was your cue to finally go inside. After drying yourselves, the two of you went inside to shower then get ready for bed, both exhausted. Just before you went to sleep, Eddie wondered aloud to you about how long it would take for the photos to get out.

That question was answered barely two days later. Shortly after the nationally aired morning shows began for the day, you and Eddie were woken up by a phone call from Joe, telling you both to get down to his office as soon as possible. The label wanted the band and you assembled for a conference call with the executives.

About an hour later, once you all were assembled around Joe’s desk, he dialed into the labels conference room as he was instructed.

The phone call as brief as possible.

It hadn’t taken long for the photos to be picked up by a major tabloid. While the story hadn’t hit the printers yet, legitimate news outlets caught wind of the story and had already validated its legitimacy. There had only been short blurbs about it so far during the entertainment news, but everyone knew it wasn’t going to take long for the photos to be everywhere.

They were informed that Corroded Coffin’s contract with the label was terminated effective immediately with the upcoming tour cancelled.

They cited a morality clause in one of the subsections of their contract stating any behavior considered immoral or reprehensible by the label from any member of the band would be grounds for label to terminate their agreement with the band as a whole. Since the statement announcing Eddie and Deandra’s pending divorce hadn’t gone public yet, it was a clear-cut case of adultery. There was absolutely no way for the label to spin it into anything else and that created a big problem for the executives.

While they had no interest in continuing their relationship with Corroded Coffin, they assured the band they would not be put their names on any blacklists so that they may find another label to take them on during this next phase of their careers. They predicted that Corroded Coffin would have no trouble finding someone to quickly sign them on.

After wishing everyone well, and reminding you all that your NDAs still wouldn’t expire for years to come, the executives ended the call.

You all listened to the dial tone coming through the speaker phone for a few seconds before Joe finally hit the button to hang up.

Then the guys cheered with joy.

A tremendous feeling of relief washed over everyone in that office. Even Joe, while he didn’t fully approve of you and Eddie’s methods, definitely appreciated the outcome . He was happy to finally have the label out of his hair, too.

While none of you knew whether or not to believe the label executives at first, they held true to their word and did not blacklist the band in the industry. It didn’t take long before other labels started reaching out to Joe, interested in signing them. However, most of the labels he met with were offering deals way too similar to the one the guys just got out of. This time, they wanted to be much more careful. Since they actually had the clout now to be choosier, Joe put potential labels through far more scrutiny on their behalf.

In the meantime, Joe made sure they continued to work and perform, but things were much different now than before. The bigger venues were hard to book without the backing of a label, and the dive bars they started out in were too big of a security risk thanks to their fame. All that really left was the festival circuit and special appearances. But none of you minded though. Every show was much more relaxed than their previous concerts with the label had been, and definitely not as frantic and stressful as touring. The slower pace allowed them to begin recovering from the burnout their old label had pushed them into. Soon they were enjoying performing again. Even the writer’s block Eddie and Gareth had been experiencing started to lift, allowing them to write music again.

It really didn’t take that long to get a new record deal. Not in comparison to how long it took them to get their first deal, at any rate. The wait was worth it though.

A smaller label eventually contacted Joe, interested in signing Corroded Coffin. At first, he was leery of their interest. The label was relatively new, having only been founded within the last five years. They had a handful of artists signed, but none of them particularly famous outside of niche audiences. However, the label desperately wanted to sign them. Corroded Coffin would be their biggest act signed to date and would certainly start to make a name for the label. The label then extended the most generous offer the guys had received so far, allowing them total control over their careers and lives. It was an offer they couldn’t refuse.

Once they were signed, they immediately went into the studio to start recording the new material they all had been working on. Since they had gotten inspired in recent months, there ended up being way more music than they needed for an album. Rather than forcing them to pair it down, the label encouraged them to spread their creative wings and try something new.

This led to the release of a double disc album, “Destruction & Resurrection.” Most of the songs were veiled references to the hell their previous label put them through (Destruction) and taking back control of their lives and careers in the aftermath (Resurrection). It did very well among old fans and new. It rose through the charts quickly after release and soon they went on a very successful tour to promote it.

The difference between the old tours and this new one was obvious from the start. It was much more laid back, and not as hectic with so many guidelines the old label had them follow. They were finally able to enjoy the spotlight, enjoy being on stage together and enjoy all the benefits years of demanding work had yielded without someone else pulling the strings.

Not only that, you and Eddie weren’t having to sneak around in the shadows anymore. Since your relationship had remained public ever since the photos of you two in the hot tub made the news, you never left his side now except for when he was on stage.

But living life in the public eye wasn’t without its drawbacks, especially after a scandal of that magnitude.

The photos of you and Eddie had broken during the fast rise in popularity of internet being used as a way to connect with other people sharing similar interests. Among the discussions you saw about the band, the scandal was wildly talked about. Eddie’s name was once again tarnished for something he didn’t do, but this time you were taking the brunt of the blame. Most people had less than favorable opinions about you. People called you a home wrecker at best and a trailer trash slut at worse. You tried to not let it bother you, tried to not let it get under your skin, but it did at times. With the NDAs still in effect, you were forced to grin and bear it.

Once the latest tour wrapped up, with the labels blessing, Corroded Coffin took an extended break. They weren’t broken up by any means, but like all bands that stay together long term, they had all reached the point where they wanted to live their own separate lives. They wanted to stretch their wings out, rediscover themselves and learn what makes them tick. After so many years of working and traveling together, it was time.

Nick more or less retired from the public eye during this time. He and his wife had their first of four children together shortly after the tour concluded, and he wanted to spend as much time with them as he could.

Outside of having families themselves, Gareth and Jeff started a new project in order to experiment with the nu metal sound that had really become popular. It was fairly successful, featuring both Eddie and Nick on several of the songs.

Eddie and you led a pretty quiet life. Now that you weren’t forced to be shut ins in order to be together, you discovered now you preferred being at home together rather than going out. Outside of the occasional vacation with friends and family, you two spent most of your time at home. Though, one of those vacations did land you two on the front page of the tabloids again when you two were spotted vacationing in the Maldives with Deandra and her fiancée.

When the early 2000’s rolled around, the guys of Corroded Coffin were starting to feel a bit restless. The itch to write and perform together again was creeping in, and they started to talk about if it was time to start working a new album.

Fate decided to step in and give them the nudge they needed.

The producers of a popular horror movie series wanted to use a couple of Corroded Coffin’s songs in the latest movie. They were also asked if they would also write and record a brand-new song for the soundtrack. Since Eddie, you and Jeff were fans of the series, the band happily agreed.

While the movie itself ended up being one of the weaker installments of the series, it still did well enough at the box office to assure another installment. The soundtrack was highly praised and relaunched the name Corroded Coffin to a whole new generation of fans. They went back into the studio to record again.

The success of their following album led to them being approached by VH1 executives with an offer. They wanted to do an episode of Behind the Music on Corroded Coffin detailing their rise to fame, the scandal that resulted in their expulsion from their first label, their reinvention under the new label and the lives they lead now. The offer was thrilling, and everyone readily agreed. There was very little haggling over the script and the questions, which seemed a little odd at first to the producers. Usually there is always something the guests didn’t want to talk about, but everyone seemed perfectly willing to bare it all.

What the producers of VH1 didn’t realize was, all of the NDAs the group signed with the first label had expired the prior year. You and Eddie were done lying and gave everyone your blessing to tell the real story.

It didn’t take long for before VH1 realized what a goldmine they had. As the story unfolded, the entire structure of the episode changed. Instead of presenting them as former hard partying rockers that got knocked down several pegs by the front man’s scandalous love affair, they were presented as a band held prisoner by a former label that controlled everything from to who they dated and what they wore. Everyone interviewed for the episode confirmed every bit of the story, from Joe’s widow Valerie and Diandra herself, to Eddie’s longtime friends Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson.

Corroded Coffin’s episode of Behind the Music shocked the music world. While everyone was moved by what all the guys went through, hearing about what happened to you and Eddie broke hearts.

As it turns out, the men in suits at that first label had been wrong.

Everyone on the internet agreed. Eddie Munson being with his high school sweetheart for over twenty years, not to mention the lengths that you two went to finally be together, was very fucking metal.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar eddie munson

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freehusk · 3 months

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I've noticed Spain's dub tends to be more loyal to the actual translation, while the Latin American version creates it's own lore.

In that scene, when Husk is telling Angel to not solve his problems by drinking, he says (in Latin American Spanish) "Oye, si tienes problemas no los vas a resolver en el fondo de una botella. Debí saberlo antes de acabar con mi vida" ("hey, if you've got problems you won't solve them at the bottom of a bottle. I should have known before ending my life")

#hazbin hotel #husk #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #vivziepop #hellaverse

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suugarbabe · 4 months

Note

La lectora f!reader una chica con una personalidad muy atrevida y extrovertida, mientras que Lorenzo es todo lo contrario. No puede estar sin sonrojarse ante los comentarios que le hace el lector. Al lector le gusta follárselo, haciéndolo suplicar, llorar y gritar hasta que Lorenzo le dice que no puede más y que necesita correrse.

okay so i had to google translate this request but i think i got the gist of it I'm including the translation i'm working off of so hopefully this is what you were wanting!

prompt: The f!reader reader is a girl with a very daring and outgoing personality, while Lorenzo is the complete opposite. He cannot be without blushing at the comments that the reader makes to him. The reader likes to fuck him, making him beg, cry and scream until Lorenzo tells her that he can't take it anymore and that he needs to cum.

"Looking fit today, Berkshire," you can't help but pinch his cute little bum as you walk past him in the hall. The action causes a small yelp to leave his lips while the comment creates a flash of scarlet across his nose and over his cheeks, the freckles that dust over his nose more accentuated.

You loved making him blush. It was one of your favorite things to do, amongst other things. So on your way to lunch you decided you were going to do it again. Sitting down with the others you joined in the middle of a conversation. "You going to the party tonight, Princess?" You looked up from your plate to find Mattheo smiling uncharacteristically sweet at you.

"Of course, Riddle. You know I never miss a party, especially one we're throwing." Mattheo turned his stare to the boy next to you, "See, Berkshire, she's going. Now why won't you go?" You turned your body side ways on the bench, placing your hands on the wood in front of you. You knew this position accentuated your breasts and you put on your best puppy dog eyes and full pout.

You looked up at Enzo, who was trying desperately to avoid your gaze. "Enzie, are you not coming tonight?" Enzo gulped, words stuttering from his lips, "D-dunno. Not sure if I'm f-feeling a party tonight." You scooted closer, placing a hand dangerously high on his thigh closest to you. You leaned up slightly, whispering in his ear so only he could hear. "Would be a real shame if you didn't. I bought the sluttiest little dress, just for you," you drew circles with your thumb, his hard on increasingly growing and becoming more evident.

This time his blush made it to the tips of his ears, his eyes nearly bulging out of his face. You knew the effect you had on him, and his friends knew it too. That reaction alone let them know they had gotten what they'd wanted.

As shy as Enzo appeared at all your little comments, he actually relished in them. He knew the more you came at him during the day, the better it would be for him at night. So he welcomed your crude comments throughout the day, never let you leave his sight during the party. You weren't lying when you said the dress was slutty. A slinky black number that he was convinced had to be keeping you covered purely by magic alone.

When you finally grabbed his wrist and began dragging him upstairs it was all the strength he could muster not to fall to his knees and whimper on the spot. But his legs seem to be able to keep following you, one foot in front of the other until he's in your room, and you've locked the door.

And now his hands were tied to your bed posts and there's tears running down his cheeks as he begs, "P-please, Angel, fuck, can't....can't hold it any longer, need to." A slew of incoherent babble leaves his lips as you sink down on his cock once more, fully sheathing him inside you. You grind on his cock, catching your clit on his pubic bone just right and moan out in pleasure before locking eyes with him.

"What do you need to do, baby?" Your hand is placed gently on his cheek, thumb swiping at his tears before sticking it in your mouth. You make a lewd scene of your tongue swirling around the digit and his hips buck up into you cause a groan to leave you both before your head snaps back down and you tighten your grip on his face. Enzo is immediately apologizing, "M'sorry, sorry Angel, just hurts so bad. Please, please let me cum. Wanna fill you up, wanna make you feel so good, so full."

If you weren't so close to the edge yourself you'd have made him hold out longer, but he knew you as well as you knew him and he was right. You started bucking your hips, grinding down on him. You leaned down close, licking a sloppy stripe up the side of his neck before whispering in his ear, "Go on baby, make me feel good, want you to come so deep inside it's dripping out of me for days." You flick your wrists, the restraints on Enzo disappearing instantly.

"Fucking hell," with the green light his grip is on your hips fast and hard. Fingers digging into the flesh as he ruts his hips upwards, fucking up into your cunt from underneath you. You grip his shoulders for stability, your head thrown back at the sudden change of pace and pleasure. You can feel his cock twitch deep within your walls. Your nails dig into his shoulders and that's the final push before his hips stutter, a guttural groan leaving his throat as he spills inside you. You're not far behind him, cunt clenching and milking him for all he's got as you're seeing stars, his name falling from your lips.

#enzo berkshire x reader #sub!enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire smut #enzo berkshire x you #sub!enzo berkshire x dom!reader #slytherin boys #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire smut

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thefallennightmare · 6 months

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Rest-Nick Folio

Pairings: Nick Folio x Reader

Warnings: maybe a swear or two? fluff, lots of it.

Summary: Reader plans a little rest and relaxation weekend away with Nick after a five-weeklong tour.

Authors Note: Enjoy this cute ass one-shot filled with so much fluff it'll make your teeth rot.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Nick's knee bounced with agitation or excitement.

I wasn't sure.

With a crooked smile, I shook my head. "I told you it's a surprise."

The cab pulled to a stop in front of the busy airport and while Nick grabbed our bags from the trunk; I double-checked our flight reservations along with our bed-and-breakfast reservation. Our flight was scheduled to leave on time, and we would land an hour before check in.

Perfect.

I pocketed my phone then looked over to Nick, who was walking over to me while carrying both of our bags. I offered to carry my own, but he smacked my hand away.

"Three years later and you still try to carry your own bags," he chuckled.

I sighed playfully. "I'm just trying to lighten your load, Nick. You've been working so hard the last few weeks and you only got back last night from tour."

The sounds of planes taking off over head echoed loudly around us as people maneuvered their way throughout the crowds, trying to make their own flights.

With his bag slung over his shoulder and pulling mine behind him, Nick laced our fingers together and we walked into the airport as I led us towards our gate.

"I was fine staying home with you, sweetheart. But you woke me up at five this morning saying you were taking me somewhere," Nick finished with a yawn.

Guilt pulled at my heart seeing how tired he was. Bad Omens finished their five-week-long tour last night in Los Angeles so thankfully, Nick didn't have a long travel day back home but even with him coming home at 2 this morning, I still had to wake him up early so we could make our 10 am flight.

Yesterday when I showed up to the venue for his show, that was the first time in five weeks that I'd seen him. We'd been together for the last three years so I was there from the beginning when Bad Omens were playing the small stages at Warped Tour to now watching them play in sold out venues for the last two tours. Ever since they blew up on Tik Tok and gained such an immense following, all the guy had been working tirelessly to be the best they could for their fans. Touring, writing music, or trying to get in the studio to record. They hadn't had more than a few days off where they weren't doing some kind of work so to say the deserve all the success is an understatement.

To say that Nick deserves this week away I had planned for us was also an understatement.

I also planned that this trip was a strict 'no work vacation,' and I sent a text in the group chat that I created of Noah, Ruffilo, and Jolly to let them know. While Ruffilo and Jolly wished us fun on our vacation, Noah told us all the cons of where we were vacationing too.

You know it rains like all the time in Washington, right? How is Nick going to ride a motorcycle or fish?

It's October, it's probably cold as hell. Why don't you guys go somewhere warm, I'm sure Nick would love to see you in that red bikini.

You sure you don't want us to come with? We could make it a Bad Omens get away and get some time in to write.

I swore my eyes rolled so far to the back of my head; I was sure they'd get stuck. Noah, always the cheeky one. I replied to him saying it was a strict no work vacation with only Nick and I and I'd left the red bikini back home.

"I'm sorry for waking you up so early but I wanted to make sure we'd make our flight," I defended with a slight pout.

Seeing how long the check in line was, I came to a slow halt and checked my watch. It was only 7:30 in the morning which meant we had plenty of time. Nick could tell I was a tad agitated so his thumb began tracing circles on the back of my hand as he held it.

"Can I at least have a hint where we're going?" He asked while bouncing on the soles of his shoes.

Fuck, he looked so good with his bottom lip pouted out like that. It'd been so long since we had sex that I was nearly crawling out of my skin wanting a taste of him. It was hard enough keeping myself off of him in public so when he took off his hat to shake out his hair then place it back on backwards, I nearly moaned into a puddled mess which Nick simply winked in response too.

"You know," I brushed the imaginary lint away from his shirt, "We're on vacation. You don't need to wear a Bad Omens shirt. This is supposed to be a work free trip."

Nick shrugged. "It's comfy."

The line for check in slowly moved up a few paces and when we came to a standstill again, I wrapped myself around him, not giving a shit about PDA.

"I've missed you."

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Nick mused while pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I wish you could have came with this tour."

I pressed my cheek to his chest, breathing him in. "Me too but there was no way my boss would let me take that long off. It was hard enough getting this week off."

We moved up another few steps before coming to another standstill. Since we had plenty of time before takeoff, I wasn't too worried with how long it was taking for check in.

Nick pulled me closer into his chest. "You should quit. I make enough to support the both of us and this way you can come on the Europe leg of the tour in a few weeks."

As tempting as the offer sounded, I was thankful I didn't have to give my answer because the line moved once again. I was about to detach myself from him to walk but Nick held tighter to his grip around my shoulder and walked with me. My hand slipped from his side over to the pocket of his jacket but quickly, Nick shifted which made his arm fall from around me.

I raised a brow. "Jumpy, aren't we?"

He cleared his throat before a smile spread to his lips. "I'm sorry, you scared me that's all."

My eyes narrowed, not believing a word he said, but choosing to ignore his weirdness I turned my attention towards the TSA lady as she began our check-in. Thirty minutes later, Nick and I were sitting in the seats near our gate, me staring out the large window towards the runway and Nick typing feverishly on his phone.

"What's Noah saying?" I didn't bother to ask who he was texting because I already knew it was Noah.

Nick turned off the screen then pocketed his phone. "He wanted to make sure we made it to the airport."

Bullshit.

Something was weird with Nick since the incident with me reaching over the pocket of his jacket. Here I was hiding this secret vacation all the while he was hiding something from me.

"Right," I muttered, leaning far back into my seat.

He let out a long breath and linked our fingers together, his thumb brushing across the skin of my hand, and the gentle touch made me rest my head against his shoulder. I felt every breath in and out he took, head rising and falling, and Nick tilted up my chin towards him so he could capture my lips in a kiss. It wasn't a full-blown make-out session, but deep enough to make my head spin and heart flutter.

"What was that for?" I asked breathlessly.

"I just wanted to kiss you, that's all."

By now, more people arrived at the gate, building a slight crowd, and inevitably, someone would notice Nick; someone always did. It wasn't like we were hiding our relationship but Nick never publicly made it known to everyone on the internet we were dating. Pictures of us filtered all throughout the web and people made their own assumptions, as they always did. I didn't mind if Nick kept our relationship on the down low because that meant we could enjoy the quietness of our relationship for a day longer.

"Someone might notice," I jokingly teased.

Nick hummed before leaving another kiss on my lips. "Let them."

I giggled into his lips and cupped his cheek as we pulled away. "I'm still not telling you where we're going."

Somehow, I kept it hidden what our destination was even at the gate because Nick seemed to be preoccupied with something else.

With a pout on his lips, he let me settle back into him by linking our hands back together.

Six days later and I was exhausted.

Nick was surprised and very ecstatic that I planned a vacation in Washington State. We hiked a few of the national parks; he fished almost every day, and we ended each night with a motorcycle ride, one we rented for the week. The weather was beautiful but not quite warm enough for that red bikini. When we weren't out doing things, Nick and I were laid up in bed at the bed-and-breakfast doing other things. Today was our last day, and I was more than ready to spend it in bed, continuing to do those other things, but Nick had other plans.

"Can you tell me where we're going?" I begged as I held onto his arm.

He lead me from the car up towards the forest trail, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, how the tables have turned."

Rolling my eyes, I watched as the setting sun cast us in an orange glow and marveled at how gorgeous Nick looked tonight. He wore a simple black shirt with jeans to match and his hair was slicked back. A bit dressed up for hiking but nonetheless, he was breathtaking.

"This will work," he said while coming to a stop.

I gasped when I stared down over the mountain ledge. Orange, yellow, and brown leaves atop of the trees and a flowing stream down below; the sound creating the perfect background noise to the atmosphere. Everything about the scene was beautiful that I pulled out my phone to snap a few pictures, oblivious to Nick who was standing right behind me.

"Sweetheart?"

"Hm?" I turned on my heels and this time, instead of gasping at the scene, I let out a high-pitched squeal. Nick was kneeling on one knee with a black velvet box in his hand, unopened. Sweat gathered at his brow as he let out a long, shaky breath.

"The last three years have been the most baffling but amazing years. You've stayed by my side through the lowest times of my life and the highest of highs with the band. When I thought we wouldn't make it big, you were there to cheer all of us on during our first show. You were there when we played our first sold-out show, and I hope you'll continue to be there when we win a Grammy."

Tears pooled at my eyes as I covered a hand over my mouth.

"I know being with me hasn't been the easiest sometimes. I'm almost always on the road or with the guys recording but yet, you still welcome me home with loving arms. You're everything I could ever ask for and then some. I truly don't deserve this but I am so thankful you haven't given up on me. You planned this entire weekend away so I can rest and I'm kind of high jacking the rest of the trip but I've been planning this for a long time. I wanted to ask you before I left for the Europe leg."

Nick let out another shaky breath as he opened the box; a black diamond with a gold band catching the light of the setting sun.

"Oh, shit," I muttered.

"I love you so much, Y/N. Will you marry-."

"Fuck yes!" I shouted, not letting him finish.

With his own tears falling over his cheeks, Nick pulled out the ring, and it slid over my finger with ease. I jumped up, wrapping myself around him and crashed my lips onto his. His tongue immediately pushed its way into my mouth, tasting every inch, and my hands scratched and pulled at his hair. I nibbled on his bottom lip as he reluctantly pulled away. Both of us were crying happy tears, me more so than Nick, and he brushed them away with one hand while the other kept me hoisted up in his arms.

"Did the guys know about this?" I asked.

"Yeah, why do you think Noah wanted to tag along?" Nick chuckled.

I gently brushed the hair away from his eyes so I could stare deep into them. "Still want to support me?"

At first, he looked at me with a raised brow but then as he thought back to what he said back in the airport, he eagerly nodded. "Whatever you want, sweetheart, it's yours."

"Well," I kissed his lips tenderly. "Looks like I'm coming to Europe with you."

#nick folio #nick folio x reader #nick folio and reader #bad omens #bad omens x reader #nick folio reader insert #nick folio one shots #nick folio fluff

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luceracastro · 2 months

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Teacher's Pet

Part 2

Professor!Esteban Kukurickza x Reader

Summary: After a few months of starting your literature course you seem to find it harder with time to ignore your professor, little did you know you were driving him crazy as well.

Warnings: Not much in this part (Don't worry we'll get there soon ;)

Masterlist

you looked at the big A on your paper which was written with a red ink marker, you smiled to yourself proud of your grade, you looked over to Adelia who you helped out with the assignment and she smiled from ear to ear showing you the bright red A on her paper mouthing a thank you

you nodded smiling and looked to the front of the class, the lecture had started and Esteban couldn't keep his eyes off you, to try and cover it up he sometimes looks around the class or paces back and forth as he speaks but sometimes both of your eyes meet and you offer him a kind smile

Such a sweet girl, he thought "Senorita T/n, que pensaste de la lectura de hoy?" he asked and you tilted your head "Era bien interesante, yo se que va ayudar con los trabajos que nos diste" you said and he nodded "Yo se que siempre puedo confiar en ti" he said and you nodded "Si, siempre" the room all of a sudden felt a little hot

"Bueno que tenga un buen dia" you said and he nodded before you walked out letting a breath you didn't even know you were holding out. walking into the coffee shop you walked into the lunchroom putting your stuff away in your locker and moving to get your apron.

your job was to work as the cashier, sometimes to help prepare the drinks and serve baked goods or clean up , you did a little bit of everything, your boss said he trusted you the most considering how good you are with the customers. He's seen you work around the shop multitasking and getting almost everything done on your own.

"Entonces aqui trabajas?" you looked up and saw your Professor, you were surprised really, he's never been here before and you'd worked here for two years now "Hola Profe, Esteban" You were quick to correct yourself "Hola linda" he greeted you back and you smiled

"Que te puedo agarrar?" you asked and he looked up at the menu "Un cafe grande, negro por favor y eso nomas" he pulled out his wallet and you gave him his total and he paid and you moved to serve him his coffee

"aqui esta" you handed him his coffee with a sweet smile on your lips "Gracias querida" he smiled and you nodded "Que tenga buen dia" you said "Usted tambien linda, cuídate" he said and you nodded the same warm feeling returning to your belly.

"Y ese quien es?" your boss was standing behind you making you jump at the sound of his voice "Nomas un Maestro que conozco," you said moving to wipe down the counter and he nodded "Bueno iba preguntar si podrías cerrar, Melissa llamó que esta enferma y te prometo que te pagarán horas extras" your boss said and you really had nothing else to do and didn't mind more pay.

"Esta bien, lo hago no te preocupes" he smiled a sigh escaping his lips "Vos es un Angel linda muchas gracias" you nodded smiling at him before returning to work.

the whole day you were on your feet helping customers, cleaning the shop, and doing other things. "Adios T/n, buenas noches" Nereyda a coworker of yours had left the shop after offering to help pick up a bit "Adios, con cuidado," you said back sweeping the floor, after you had finished cleaning you got your belongings from your locker, and locked up the shop

you wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself since Spain's weather was unforgivable with the harsh cold wind at night, a honk made you jump a little before turning to see the car responsible for the sound, it drove a bit past you before stopping right beside you the window rolling down

"Apenas vas saliendo?" it was Esteban, you were honestly starting to think he might've been following you or something but then you remember he might've just been around yet you would've kinda found the whole following you around thing flattering

you nodded "Si, tenia que cerrar," you said "Y nadie puede venir por ti?" he asked almost with disbelief in his voice and you shook your head "Si no te molestaria pudiera llevarte a casa" he said and you froze with a stir in your belly, was he really offering you a ride home?

you honestly didn't think this was too appropriate either but then you remember you both are responsible adults and a simple ride home is innocent really "La verdad no te quiero molestar, esta bien" you tried to kindly decline but he shook his head

"La verdad linda, no es ninguna molestia" he said and you sighed, he didn't seem to give up or mind so you nodded "Bueno, si te lo agradeceria," you said and he nodded getting out the car to open the passenger side for you

You thanked him before getting in the car and he dismissed it as no problem, the warm smile on his face made you feel at ease. the drive had just started and you felt like you could fall asleep right then and there, the car was warm and the seats were comfortable for someone who had been on their feet all day

he had asked you your address before taking off so if you wanted to you could fall asleep but then you reminded yourself that this was your Professors car and you didn't want the awkwardness of that certain situation "Te ves cansada querida" he mentioned looking over at you and you turned you head to look at him with a small sleepy smile

"La verdad si, estuve trabajando toda esta semana sin parar" you said letting out a yawn covering your mouth and he thought it was just the cutest damn thing "Bueno si quieres te puedes dormir y podría despertarte" he offered and you thought about it

"Bueno si no es ningún problema" you started and he shook his head "No lo es querida, duerme," he urged you and you nodded slightly tilting your head to the side and the tiredness took over in seconds.

Esteban had looked over at you, he swore you looked like an angel and he couldn't help but smile, then the thought of how wrong it was plagued his mind, it was weird and not accepted to look at his own student in that way

yet he couldn't help but to keep stealing glances at you as you slept peacefully, he could tell you had a rough day. he stopped right in front of your apartment building and turned to face you as you slept

he really didn't want to wake you but he had too, better for you to be in a bed than a stiff car seat he thought "linda, linda estamos aqui" he whispered to not startle you and your eyes fluttered open

you then looked around realizing you guys made it to your place, you put on a small smile "Perdon" you chuckled a little rubbing your eyes "No no tranquila nena" you looked out the window "Bueno, gracias por el aventón, de verdad te lo agradezco" you said and he nodded "De nada linda," you smiled at him one last time "Que tenga buen noche" you said before opening the door "Usted tambien querida, descansa"

getting out the car you had carefully closed the door walking up to the entrance of your building, turning you saw him still there and you waved goodbye which he did in return, he didn't leave until you were inside then he drove off

once you unlocked your door and entered your apartment you sighed dropping everything to the floor, your whole body was in pain and the headache you had from the lack of sleep and food was unbearable

you didn't have the energy to eat no matter how hungry you were so you just went to your room and kicked your shoes off plopping down on your bed, as soon as your head hit the pillow you were out like a light.

the next morning you were in the worst pain, but you managed with a bowl of cereal, water, and some Ibuprofen

you had taken the bus to get to school, you lent a kind smile to Esteban as he returned the gesture, sitting in your usual seat with the class still semi empty you sighed taking out the materials you knew were needed for the lecture and class in general

he came to stand in front of you, he looked down at you and in that moment you realized just how tall he actually was "Profe" you said you both weren't alone, in the back there were a couple students who were distracted with one another but still better to be safe about it.

"Senorita, como estas? bien?" he asked and you nodded "Si, gracias por preguntar" you said and he nodded "Si, y dormiste bien?" he asked and you could sense the worry and care in his voice which made you warm inside, "Trate" you chuckled and he gave you a look "Tienes que descansar" he said and you nodded "Entiendo pero tampoco puedo dejar de ir a trabajar or faltar clase" you said and he nodded

"Mira si un dia no te sientes bien o nesecitas descansar dime y yo te mando la lectura y hasta te puedo ayudar despues de los clases," he offered and you were a bit surprised about it "De verdad?" you asked a brow raised and he nodded chuckling a little "Claro que si linda, yo haria lo que sea para mi alumna favorita" he winked at you making your stomach erupt in butterflies and you nodded a smile on your lips "Gracias profe" you chuckled a little

"bueno queirda, aye vienen los de mas, pero tenga en cuenta eh" he gave you a pointed look and you nodded "Si claro, gracias otra vez" he nodded and walked to the front of the class

did he just wink at you? did he give you a free pass most of the others don't get?

A/n: Hope ya'll are enjoying I promise it will get more and more interesting just don't wanna rush the relationship or anything so please bare with me babes! anyways comments, reblogs, and likes are greatly appreciated but no need if you do not want to just as long as you guys enjoy this for yourselves and read something that satisfies ya'll <33333 also if you'd like to be tagged let me know!

taglist: @madame-fear @catiwinky

#lsdln cast #esteban kukuriczka #fanfic #enzo vogrincic #matias recalt #francisco romero

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multi-fandomlovers-world · 1 year

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141+ Alejandro, Rodolfo And Konig Seeing Their S/O Having Scars

TW: Fluff, SFW

Not My Gifs------All supported by Tumblr

N/A: This is probably short but I hope you all like it!!! :)

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

To him, he already thinks you are a goddess so when he sees that you have scars,Simon thinks they are beautiful

They are evidence you have lived a life on this earth, so it makes you human (more than he thinks he is)

At first, you were really self conscious about your scars but you grew to love them over time and Simon was always admiring them and telling you how beautiful you are with them

On a rare night if you two are restless and can't sleep, the night is spent exploring your scars as well as exploring his

His favorite ones are the ones from your childhood. You had a scar on your arm from when you had fallen off your bike and took a pretty nasty tumble

He smiles lightly and chuckles, letting his hands touch them lightly and. Will kiss them lightly while you are asleep or awake.

John "Soap" Mactavish:

John already thinks you are gorgeous but having scars? He thinks it's badass, regardless of what the stories are behind them

Your scars are beautiful and it's a testament to your ability to survive to whatever life throws at you

You tell him stories on how you got them. He might end up kissing them and admiring them, he wants you to know that they are a beauty and it makes you look badass

He will literally stare at you with heart eyes as you tell him these stories, sharing behind each of them. He shares with you how he got his scars and you'll look at him like you just fell in love all over again

If you two ever did get the same scar, he would be convinced that two are soulmates and wouldn't stop talking about it to everyone

If you are laying down, he will climb on top of you and kiss every single scar you have on your body. This always made you smile and giggle

John "Captain" Price:

FIRST OF ALL, This man LOVES kissing them, loves making you blush when he kisses a particular scar

He'd literally sit there with you for hours, listening to their stories. If there are some that are heavier than others, he won't ever pressure you into sharing them until you are ready

At first, you were self conscious about your scars and never wanted them to show. You had one on the side of your stomach that you didn't like cause it was during a hiking trip

He would probably rub his thumb against it lightly, showing you how he admired it and would place a very soft kiss against your scar

He thinks your scars are badass and it just shows that you've survived and lived through things in your life. It's apart of being human

He wants to remind you that you are beautiful even with your scars and he doesn't ever think anything different of you

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Like Soap, he thinks your scars are kick ass but he's very soft about them like Ghost

He feels like your scars give you more character and make you more interesting, even if it's something like skidding your arm when you fell off your bike as a kid

If you ever felt self conscious about your scars, he would do his best to kiss them and show you that it's nothing to ever be ashamed of

If anything, he would insist on telling you that your scars are gorgeous and that your scars are showing things that have happened and you've survived

This boy would look at you with such loving puppy eyes, as you tell him about your scars. He swears your angel to him

Don't blame him if he laughs at your clumsy stories, he just finds you adorable and is laughing with you!

Alejandro "Colonel" Vargas:

In his eyes, your scars are gorgeous, just like you

He would remind you that your scars are just a part of my who you are. You've survived and you are a warrior no matter what life throws at you. He thinks it's brave even if it's something silly or clumsy

He would tell you to embrace your scars because they are beautiful, just like you

"Mi amor, eres más hermosa con tus cicatrices. No dejes que nadie te diga lo contrario (My love, you are more beautiful with your scars. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise)

If your laying down with him, he'll take any chance to kiss them and admire you

You fall in love with him more knowing he makes you feel whole and loved like this too

Rodolfo "Second-In-Command" Parra"

Like Alejandro, He believes scars are a way of showing that you are brave. You've survived and it's battle scars to tell

He will listen to your stories on how you got them, and will look at you with pure puppy eyes. If some scars are harder to tell, he wouldn't ever pressure you to tell them I til you were ready. He's patient

If anything, he believes you are an angel and your scars don't change his perspective on you, better yet, he thinks they are amazing

"Ángel mío, eres hermosa con tus cicatrices. abrazarlos (My Angel, you are beautiful with your scars. Embrace them)"

He will kiss every single scar you have as he tells you that he loves you. You do the same to him and his scars which makes you both love each other more

He'll find any excuse to tell you that you are beautiful with your scars, and you shouldn't ever be self conscious about them. They are just a part of who you are and that makes you unique

Konig:

When he saw that you had scars, he thought they were beautiful but he didn't understand why you had them hidden until you told him stories on how you got them

He felt that your scars are your way of saying that you've been through things and you've survived. He believes it's strong and brave

He would trace his hands over your scars as you told him stories, and kissing them softly.

You always kissed every single one of his scars and it makes him love you more. To him, you are his everything

You did feel self conscious about them for a long time before meeting Konig, but after you embraced them because he'd always tell you that it makes you, you. Your beautiful

If you are asleep, he'll find any way to kiss your scars ever so lightly and knowing that he does this makes you happy

He'd probably chuckle at your stories if you were clumsy but don't blame him! He just thinks you're cute and loves you

Taglist: @lolis-pikt @dressycobra7

#cod mw2 #mwii #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #mw2 headcannons #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #rodolfo parra #alejandro vargas #mw2 konig #mw2 x reader

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lawonderlandwriter · 1 year

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Living in Hollywood and working in Hollywood and working for someone who is related to someone who works for someone that is work-related to the Game of Thrones crew and therefore possibly people working on Snow, I feel like I can’t outright say “Fuck Kit Harington” for the things he said about Dany in the GOT Con panel today but.... I’m really disappointed in him, I’ll say that much. (If you’d like to know what Kit said during the panel, read THIS thread on Twitter, other threads have more info but this gives the gist).

When it was first announced Kit was behind the Snow spinoff, I legitimately had some hope for it and, further finding out about GRRM’s direct involvement (when he had virtually none in the final few seasons of GOT), I had a lot of hope for it that it would try to steer his character’s ending (and maybe a few others) back to what was originally intended in the books, if our theories were correct that the show was complete D&D fan fiction.

What purpose could Kit - but especially GRRM - have for creating this spinoff other than to “fix” or at least attempt to fix what D&D had broken with the end of Game of Thrones? Money? Returning to the cash-cow, as they say? I had hoped this wasn’t the case.

And then Emilia was at that panel for the DIFLondon event and said so many hopeful and lovely things about Dany AND JON that I thought, what else could the spinoff be but a way to make all those lovely things a reality? With Kit being Emilia’s alleged best friend, and the two having talked about it before the news was leaked, it made sense to me that she would be a part of it, if not full on producing it with Kit.

But with the shit Kit said about Jon killing Dany “feeling right”, I just don’t know. That hope I had for the spinoff is definitely crushed, I can’t say that it’s not. Is it crushed completely? Probably not, because I’m a fucking idiot and even with the leaks of 8x05, I still went into watching that episode hoping Dany wouldn’t burn down King’s Landing. That’s just the kind of dumbassery my pea brain participates in.

The pea brain is scrambling to rationalize everything at the moment. Excuses such as “well, it’s what he said in all his official interviews when the season first came out, all the things he was “forced” to say, but it still differs from things he’s said in less formal settings” and “when asked who he thought should have been King of the Seven Kingdoms, he said he thought it should be Jon Snow even though in the past he’s said he didn’t think Jon should be King because it didn’t suit his character so he’s clearly just saying random shit to please the audience...” Kit also said his favorite season was S2 because there were more character moments so was that a secret dig at everything that went on in later seasons without outright saying he hated them? He also said he was “shell shocked” (yeah, we fucking know, we know he went to goddamn rehab about it) when at the table read and found out Jon kills Dany. He said Ned Stark would not have approved of him killing Dany. He said he hoped Jon would be able to find love again but also said he thought Jon would have issues being in another relationship because of his trauma from what happened with Dany and Ygritte.

All of which just seems....all over the place.

Was killing Dany right? Or is Kit’s real opinion what he speculated would have been Ned’s opinion on the situation? Should Jon find love again or is he too fucked up for love? Should Jon have been King or is it not appropriate for the type of character he is? What are the real answers, Kit??

People are also saying that, as with previous GOT panels, everything here was rehearsed / the questions were definitely vetted, meaning the answers may have been rehearsed / pre-written too. But if HBO execs are vetting questions and telling Kit what to say, are they basing his answers on only the previous series or do they write his answers according to what Kit and GRRM have planned for the spinoff. And if the former and not the latter, does that mean none of what Kit said is how he actually feels and therefore should not be taken as a sign of what’s to come for the spinoff..................?

You would think that a question about the spinoff would have been NUMBER 1 on the questioners’ priority list but no one asked / Kit said nothing about it (which is ODD considering most people speculated that HBO would use this as an opportunity to officially announce that the spinoff was happening, considering, what the fuck else was the purpose of Kit even being there, if not to build up hype for his new show?)

I’m rambling. Fuck it, I’ll ramble. And I’ll just say, I don’t think his answer about Jon killing Dany was entirely his own and that it was probably pre-written for him by the HBO marketing team who wouldn't give a fuck about the audience’s opinions on Dany. Of course Kit would have to say Dany needed to die after murdering nearly a million people in a single day, or of course the marketing department would make him say that, as they don’t want people thinking, hey, we and our actors are cool with mass murder, even if it’s fictional.

Am I still upset about what Kit said? Absolutely. Do I think the answer was all his own? Not entirely. Do I think this means anything for the plot of the Jon Snow spinoff? Entirely up in the air. Will the pea brain still have hope for this spin off? Possibly. Even if I believed Kit did answer entirely honestly and that he thought Jon killing Dany “felt right” for their ending together, I still can’t fathom what a Jon Snow spinoff would be about if it didn’t somehow involve her being resurrected. It’s still a limited series. Jon still has fuck all to do up at the Wall with 0 character plot intrigue. Even if they did a “hey, the Night King and the White Walkers aren't really gone,” I don’t know how it would work without Dany. Maybe that’s wishful thinking. Maybe Kit would pull the ultimate beyond ultimate of betrayals and have Drogon return and make Jon his new rider as many Dany haters have speculated....?

Who knows? Whatever. I’m still rambling. I’m all over the place. We have nothing new to obsess over so I will be thinking about this for far longer than is necessary and reading into it far more than is necessary for something that, again, was probably just some generic bullshit written by some marketing intern.

#Jon Snow spinoff #kit harington #got con los angeles #ramblings of an obsessive former fan #not so hopeful for the spinoff #but I'm probably reading way more into all of this when it all means nothing #good or bad

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months

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Brian Merchant’s “Blood In the Machine”

Tomorrow (September 27), I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine. On October 2, I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab.

In Blood In the Machine, Brian Merchant delivers the definitive history of the Luddites, and the clearest analysis of the automator's playbook, where "entrepreneurs'" lawless extraction from workers is called "innovation" and "inevitable":

https://www.littlebrown.com/titles/brian-merchant/blood-in-the-machine/9780316487740/

History is written by the winners, and so you probably think of the Luddites as brainless, terrified, thick-fingered vandals who smashed machines and burned factories because they didn't understand them. Today, "Luddite" is a slur that means "technophobe" – but that's neither fair, nor accurate.

Luddism has been steadily creeping into pro-labor technological criticism, as workers and technology critics reclaim the term and its history, which is a rich and powerful tale of greed versus solidarity, slavery versus freedom.

The true tale of the Luddites starts with workers demanding that the laws be upheld. When factory owners began to buy automation systems for textile production, they did so in violation of laws that required collaboration with existing craft guilds – laws designed to ensure that automation was phased in gradually, with accommodations for displaced workers. These laws also protected the public, with the guilds evaluating the quality of cloth produced on the machine, acting as a proxy for buyers who might otherwise be tricked into buying inferior goods.

Factory owners flouted these laws. Though the machines made cloth that was less durable and of inferior weave, they sold it to consumers as though it were as good as the guild-made textiles. Factory owners made quiet deals with orphanages to send them very young children who were enslaved to work in their factories, where they were routinely maimed and killed by the new machines. Children who balked at the long hours or attempted escape were viciously beaten (the memoir of one former child slave became a bestseller and inspired Oliver Twist).

The craft guilds begged Parliament to act. They sent delegations, wrote petitions, even got Members of Parliament to draft legislation ordering enforcement of existing laws. Instead, Parliament passed laws criminalizing labor organizing.

The stakes were high. Economic malaise and war had driven up the price of life's essentials. Workers displaced by illegal machines faced starvation – as did their children. Communities were shattered. Workers who had apprenticed for years found themselves graduating into a market that had no jobs for them.

This is the context in which the Luddite uprisings began. Secret cells of workers, working with discipline and tight organization, warned factory owners to uphold the law. They sent letters and posted handbills in which they styled themselves as the army of "King Ludd" or "General Ludd" – Ned Ludd being a mythical figure who had fought back against an abusive boss.

When factory owners ignored these warnings, the Luddites smashed their machines, breaking into factories or intercepting machines en route from the blacksmith shops where they'd been created. They won key victories, with many factory owners backing off from automation plans, but the owners were deep-pocketed and determined.

The ruling Tories had no sympathy for the workers and no interest in upholding the law or punishing the factory owners for violating it. Instead, they dispatched troops to the factory towns, escalating the use of force until England's industrial centers were occupied by literal armies of soldiers. Soldiers who balked at turning their guns on Luddites were publicly flogged to death.

I got very interested in the Luddites in late 2021, when it became clear that everything I thought I knew about the Luddites was wrong. The Luddites weren't anti-technology – rather, they were doing the same thing a science fiction writer does: asking not just what a new technology does, but also who it does it for and who it does it to:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

Unsurprisingly, ever since I started publishing on this subject, I've run into people who have no sympathy for the Luddite cause and who slide into my replies to replicate the 19th Century automation debate. One such person accused the Luddites of using "state violence" to suppress progress.

You couldn't ask for a more perfect example of how the history of the Luddites has been forgotten and replaced with a deliberately misleading account. The "state violence" of the Luddite uprising was entirely on one side. Parliament, under the lackadaisical leadership of "Mad King George," imposed the death penalty on the Luddites. It wasn't just machine-breaking that became a capital crime – "oath taking" (swearing loyalty to the Luddites) also carried the death penalties.

As the Luddites fought on against increasingly well-armed factory owners (one owner bought a cannon to use on workers who threatened his machines), they were subjected to spectacular acts of true state violence. Occupying soldiers rounded up Luddites and suspected Luddites and staged public mass executions, hanging them by the dozen, creating scores widows and fatherless children.

The sf writer Steven Brust says that the test to tell whether someone is on the right or the left is simple: ask whether property rights are more important than human rights. If the person says "property rights are human rights," they are on the right.

The state response to the Luddites crisply illustrates this distinction. The Luddites wanted an orderly and lawful transition to automation, one that brought workers along and created shared prosperity and quality goods. The craft guilds took pride in their products, and saw themselves as guardians of their industry. They were accustomed to enjoying a high degree of bargaining power and autonomy, working from small craft workshops in their homes, which allowed them to set their own work pace, eat with their families, and enjoy modest amounts of leisure.

The factory owners' cause wasn't just increased production – it was increased power. They wanted a workforce that would dance to their tune, work longer hours for less pay. They wanted unilateral control over which products they made and what corners they cut in making those products. They wanted to enrich themselves, even if that meant that thousands starved and their factory floors ran red with the blood of dismembered children.

The Luddites destroyed machines. The factory owners killed Luddites, shooting them at the factory gates, or rounding them up for mass executions. Parliament deputized owners to act as extensions of law enforcement, allowing them to drag suspected Luddites to their own private cells for questioning.

The Luddites viewed property rights as just one instrument for achieving human rights – freedom from hunger and cold – and when property rights conflicted with human rights, they didn't hesitate to smash the machines. For them, human rights trumped property rights.

Their bosses – and their bosses' modern defenders – saw the demands to uphold the laws on automation as demands to bring "state violence" to bear on the wholly private matter of how a rich man should organize his business. On the other hand, literal killing – both on the factory floor and at the gallows – was not "state violence" but rather, a defense of the most important of all the human rights: the rights of property owners.

19th century textile factories were the original Big Tech, and the rhetoric of the factory owners echoes down the ages. When tech barons like Peter Thiel say that "freedom is incompatible with democracy," he means that letting people who work for a living vote will eventually lead to limitations on people who own things for a living, like him.

Then, as now, resistance to Big Tech enjoyed widespread support. The Luddites couldn't have organized in their thousands if their neighbors didn't have their backs. Shelley and Byron wrote widely reproduced paeans to worker uprisings (Byron also defended the Luddites in the House of Lords). The Brontes wrote Luddite novels. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein was a Luddite novel, in which the monster was a sensitive, intelligent creature who merely demanded a say in the technology that created him.

The erasure of the true history of the Luddites was a deliberate act. Despite the popular and elite support the Luddites enjoyed, the owners and their allies in Parliament were able to crush the uprising, using mass murder and imprisonment to force workers to accept immiseration.

The entire supply chain of the textile revolution was soaked in blood. Merchant devotes multiple chapters to the lives of African slaves in America who produced the cotton that the machines in England wove into cloth. Then – as now – automation served to obscure the violence latent in production of finished goods.

But, as Merchant writes, the Luddites didn't lose outright. Historians who study the uprisings record that the places where the Luddites fought most fiercely were the places where automation came most slowly and workers enjoyed the longest shared prosperity.

The motto of Magpie Killjoy's seminal Steampunk Magazine was: "Love the machine, hate the factory." The workers of the Luddite uprising were skilled technologists themselves.

They performed highly technical tasks to produce extremely high-quality goods. They served in craft workshops and controlled their own time.

The factory increased production, but at the cost of autonomy. Factories and their progeny, like assembly lines, made it possible to make more goods (even goods that eventually rose the quality of the craft goods they replaced), but at the cost of human autonomy. Taylorism and other efficiency cults ended up scripting the motions of workers down to the fingertips, and workers were and are subject to increasing surveillance and discipline from their bosses if they deviate. Take too many pee breaks at the Amazon warehouse and you will be marked down for "time off-task."

Steampunk is a dream of craft production at factory scale: in steampunk fantasies, the worker is a solitary genius who can produce high-tech finished goods in their own laboratory. Steampunk has no "dark, satanic mills," no blood in the factory. It's no coincidence that steampunk gained popularity at the same time as the maker movement, in which individual workers use form digital communities. Makers networked together to provide advice and support in craft projects that turn out the kind of technologically sophisticated goods that we associate with vast, heavily-capitalized assembly lines.

But workers are losing autonomy, not gaining it. The steampunk dream is of a world where we get the benefits of factory production with the life of a craft producer. The gig economy has delivered its opposite: craft workers – Uber drivers, casualized doctors and dog-walkers – who are as surveilled and controlled as factory workers.

Gig workers are dispatched by apps, their faces closely studied by cameras for unauthorized eye-movements, their pay changed from moment to moment by an algorithm that docks them for any infraction. They are "reverse centaurs": workers fused to machines where the machine provides the intelligence and the human does its bidding:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/17/reverse-centaur/#reverse-centaur

Craft workers in home workshops are told that they're their own bosses, but in reality they are constantly monitored by bossware that watches out of their computers' cameras and listens through its mic. They have to pay for the privilege of working for their bosses, and pay to quit. If their children make so much as a peep, they can lose their jobs. They don't work from home – they live at work:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/22/paperback-writer/#toothless

Merchant is a master storyteller and a dedicated researcher. The story he weaves in Blood In the Machine is as gripping as any Propublica deep-dive into the miserable working conditions of today's gig economy. Drawing on primary sources and scholarship, Blood is a kind of Nomadland for Luddites.

Today, Merchant is the technology critic for the LA Times. The final chapters of Blood brings the Luddites into the present day, finding parallels in the labor organizing of the Amazon warehouse workers led by Chris Smalls. The liberal reformers who offered patronizing support to the Luddites – but didn't imagine that they could be masters of their own destiny – are echoed in the rhetoric of Andrew Yang.

And of course, the factory owners' rhetoric is easily transposed to the modern tech baron. Then, as now, we're told that all automation is "progress," that regulatory evasion (Uber's unlicensed taxis, Airbnb's unlicensed hotel rooms, Ring's unregulated surveillance, Tesla's unregulated autopilot) is "innovation." Most of all, we're told that every one of these innovations must exist, that there is no way to stop it, because technology is an autonomous force that is independent of human agency. "There is no alternative" – the rallying cry of Margaret Thatcher – has become our inevitablist catechism.

Squeezing the workers' wages conditions and weakening workers' bargaining power isn't "innovation." It's an old, old story, as old as the factory owners who replaced skilled workers with terrified orphans, sending out for more when a child fell into a machine. Then, as now, this was called "job creation."

Then, as now, there was no way to progress as a worker: no matter how skilled and diligent an Uber driver is, they can't buy their medallion and truly become their own boss, getting a say in their working conditions. They certainly can't hope to rise from a blue-collar job on the streets to a white-collar job in the Uber offices.

Then, as now, a worker was hired by the day, not by the year, and might find themselves with no work the next day, depending on the whim of a factory owner or an algorithm.

As Merchant writes: robots aren't coming for your job; bosses are. The dream of a "dark factory," a "fully automated" Tesla production line, is the dream of a boss who doesn't have to answer to workers, who can press a button and manifest their will, without negotiating with mere workers. The point isn't just to reduce the wage-bill for a finished good – it's to reduce the "friction" of having to care about others and take their needs into account.

Luddites are not – and have never been – anti-technology. Rather, they are pro-human, and see production as a means to an end: broadly shared prosperity. The automation project says it's about replacing humans with machines, but over and over again – in machine learning, in "contactless" delivery, in on-demand workforces – the goal is to turn humans into machines.

There is blood in the machine, Merchant tells us, whether its humans being torn apart by a machine, or humans being transformed into machines.

Brian and I are having a joint book-launch tomorrow night (Sept 27) at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/the-internet-con-by-cory-doctorow-blood-in-the-machine-by-brian-merchant-tickets-696349940417

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

#pluralistic #books #reviews #brian merchant #luddism #automation #history #gift guide #steampunk #makers #tina #inevitablism #reverse centaurs #amazon #arise

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 1 month

Text

03/26-27/24 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Rhys Darby; Great Big Cow Band; Leslie Jones; Vico Ortiz; Guz Khan; Kristian Nairn/Con O'Neill; Rachel House; David Jenkins; Watch Parties; Kudoboards; Trans Day of Visibility; Fan Spotlight; Cast Cards; Our Flag Means Fanfiction; Never Left - Podcast; We Need to Be a Lighthouse Pixel Art; Articles; Supportive busineses; love notes; Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika;

First of all, tonight I wanted to say thank you, I received so much love yesterday when I cancelled the recap. I still haven't gotten to respond to all the messages, although I promise they are coming! Thank you for giving me so much love, it really meant so much. The last few days have been rough on me personally for various reasons (not because of the recap) so I appreciate all the love, it got me through the day! 😭🫂

PS: This is going to be a Long Post is Long so I'm gonna throw a break in here so I don't kill all your feeds!

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= Rhys Darby =

So many Rhys Sightings!!!!

Source: Rhys' Instagram

== Great Big Cow Band ==

For those of you not already aware, Rhys' son Finn's band Great Big Cow debuted in New Zealand yesterday! Rosie posed a picture with commentary on being a proud band mom!

Source: Rosie's Instagram

== Leslie Fucking Jones ==

Are you in New York, NY? Wanna see Leslie Jones in person? She'll be at The Comic Strip at 1568 Second Ave. (between 81st and 82nd st) on March 30, 2024 at 8 pm! For tickets call 212-861-9368!

== Vico Ortiz ==

I can't remember if this has been announced before, but just in case, Vico will be at the Phoenix Fan Fusion May 24-26 2024! Get tickets at Phoenixfanfusion.com! Source: Vico's Instagram

= Guz Khan =

Samba's keeping our friend Guz Khan hyped! If you're in Los Angeles (Apr 24) or New York (Apr 26) you can see Guz Khan in person! For more info visit @guzkhanofficial

== Con O'Neill / Kristian Nairn ==

Con and Kristian together again 😭 Con O'Neill's Instagram

== Rachel House ==

Photo shoot with Rachel House for DenizenMagazine/SundayMag! Just some fun pictures of one of our pirates! Source: Rachel House's Instagram

== David Jenkins ==

I ran out of image slots so took a screenshot, please visit @ofmd-ann's post here.

== Watch Parties! ==

Join SaveOFMD crew for another watch through of These Thems! It's free to watch on youtube!

When: March 28 7:30pm GMT/ 3:30 pm EDT / 12:30 pm PDF Who: Via SaveOFMD Crew On Socials Hashtags:

#CoolPirates

#SaveOFMD

#TheseThems

== Kudoboards Reminder! =

Thank you to @sharpenyersword on Twitter for setting up ALL THE KUDOBOARDS! The rest of the Kudoboard's will close on the 31st.

Go send the cast and crew some love folks!

David Jenkins

Nathan Foad

Con O'Neill

Ruibo Qian

Leslie F*cking Jones!

Matthew Maher

Vico Ortiz

Samson Kayo

Alex "Ass Tonight" Sherman!

David Fane

Gypsy Taylor

Kristian "Wee John Wondays" Nairn!

Samba "BTS and Baking King" Schutte!

Fellow OFMD Fan Crew!

== Trans Day of Visibility! ==

Save OFMD Crew is celebrating Trans Day of Visibility on the 31st by highlighting trans and nonbinary creators, activists, cast and crew, and allies as well! Wanna celebrate someone? You can use this graphic by @snejpowa and give a well deserved shoutout! Please use #CoolPirates! Trans/Nonbinary creators-- please us the hashtag to promote your platform! Save OFMD Crew will give a you a boost!

== Fan Spotlight ==

= We Need To Be A Lighthouse! Pixel Art! =

Our dear @blueberreads is back to having heart palpitations with Alex Sherman and Samba sharing their latest pixel art vid on Instagram! Congrats <3 Want check out the whole amazing video? Visit any of these places! Tumblr / Twitter / Instagram

= Our Flag Means Fanfiction! =

Are you ready for another episode of Our Flag Means Fanfiction? The podcast is available on Spotify below! This week is The Steddy Hands Episode!

= Never Left! =

Another episode of the Never Left Podcast is up! The third part of Beautiful Princess Disorder is up! Please visit their Linktr.ee to check out their new episode!

Art Source: @AmysBirdHouse Never Left Instagram

= Cast Cards =

More of our extended cast from @melvisik! I'm behind a few days so lots at once, with our beloved, gone too soon, STEAKY! John Bartholomew / Widow Ellen Conroy / Steak Knife

== Articles ==

Not specific to OFMD-- but it's about Rhys' son's band!

== Supportive Businesses! ==

So I ran out of room for images! So I'll to make a separate post for this, but Bank Square Books in CT put together a really cool list of books they'd recommend to various OFMD Characters. Obviously we've got some crew members on their staff! Even cooler, they do book bundles so if people are interested you can get lots of books for reasonable prices! OFMD Character Recommended Book list (note this link doesn't include which characters they're recommended to, you can check out their twitter link for the images / recommendations per character)

Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Hey Lovelies! @blakbonnet was kind enough to explain to me the little lovely letter game going on here on tumblr, and I think it is the coolest and sweetest thing! 😭😭😭 I'm trying to participate too but i'm gonna be a little slow! Sorry for the delays! Today got away with me!

But seriously, how damn awesome are all of you sending love like that!?!?! You're just opening up and sending and receiving love, and I feel like it's 100% what we all need right now (and helping some folks normally nervous to get some love!). It's just incredibly heartwarming, and I wanted to say how happy it made me to see it.

This post is getting insanely long so I'm gonna cut off here tonight, but I wanted to share something lovely our lovely Pirate Queen Ruibo Qian shared on IG. -- I adore all our mutual weirdness and imperfections and there's no other people I'd rather be weird and imperfect with than you all :) Good night and good day lovelies!

Original Post / Ruibo Qian's Instagram

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Tonight's gifs suggestion submitted by @brainfugk ! As you can see, the theme is "Shake Weight"... and "ARMS". Src of twitter post that was sent my way was: @snejpowa (I pulled tumblr gifs cause I wasnt sure how to transfer them from twitter, sorry for any confusion!

Darby Gif courtesy of @fandomsmeantheworldtome

Taika Gif Courtesy of @nero-in-a-petticoat

#Spotify #daily ofmd recap #daily ofmd recaps #ofmd daily recap #ofmd daily recaps #taika waititi #rhys darby #rachel house #guz khan #leslie jones #vico ortiz #big cow band #rosie carnahan darby #con o'neill #kristian nairn

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proxima-writes · 7 months

Text

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

pairing: dieter bravo x ghost hunter!female reader word count: 4.9k rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

The producers of your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, have picked your next celebrity guest. Dieter Bravo. You’re not looking forward to being locked in a reportedly haunted mansion with one of Hollywood’s biggest divas.

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

the first of my october spooky specials is here! ghost image in title art is from TO LIFE, TO DEATH by Jean-Marie GITARD. if you enjoy this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment and thank you for reading!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), drug use - weed, smoking, dub con - sex following drug use, vaginal fingering, handjob, dry humping, getting locked in a haunted house together, misunderstandings. let me know if any tags are missing!

It’s not often you get called into an actual meeting with your producers. You’re on the road a lot filming for your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, so they usually spare you from attendance and send you an itemized e-mail recap.

Not today, though. Today, all five producers were CC’d on the e-mail that requested a meeting to go over your next episode, which is set to start filming in two days. You tap your fingers against the shiny wood conference table, staring out at the Los Angeles cityscape through the panoramic windows as you wait for the suits to join you.

They all arrive at once, three men filing through the doorway with veneered smiles and abnormally smooth foreheads. They shake your hand one by one before taking their seats.

It’s Alec, a paunchy man with grey hair and round glasses, that speaks first, starting with a mumble of your name followed with, “I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got a celebrity guest for the McCallister mansion episode that you’ll need to work into your production this week.”

“This is pretty late notice,” you reply, mind already running through what you’ll need to do to adjust for the format of a guest special. “Who is it?”

The three men exchange wary glances and you sit up straighter, bracing yourself for the response.

“Dieter Bravo,” Alec finally says, smoothing his tie with his hand.

“You’re shitting me.” If there’s one person you can’t stand, it’s Dieter fucking Bravo. “Is this how I find out Ashton is filming Punk’d again?”

The joke doesn’t land. Alec clears his throat before saying, “This isn’t a joke. And it’s an excellent opportunity to—”

“To what? Pander my show to a diva who’s just going to make my job difficult?”

“He has a very strong fan base that could bring in a large number of new viewers. Your show is popular, but only to a limited demographic,” Alec says. “We’re doing this for you. Spirit Seekers has a lot of potential but if you’re going to remain at the top and have a chance for another Emmy nomination, maybe even an award, you need to be willing to work with the guests that will bring in views.”

You sigh heavily. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know. But I always am.” He slides a folder across the table to you. “Here are his requirements.”

“Requirements? He does know this isn’t a blockbuster production set, right?”

“This is the modified list,” the man to Alec’s right, Stephen, says. “Trust me, this is significantly better than it once was.”

You open the folder, scanning the document. “Alkaline water, glass bottle. Absolutely no plastic,” you read. “Organic, non-GMO, dye free, gluten free crackers. Did he just pick every Whole Foods buzzword and stick them together?”

“We will make this as easy for you as we can. We just need you to focus on the episode. Okay?”

“Fine,” you mumble, shutting the folder. “He breaks any of my equipment, I’m billing you.”

“Deal.”

Two days later you’re sitting in your makeshift command center with your crew mates, Andrew and Mike, making sure that all the monitors are displaying the feeds from the static cameras set up inside the mansion. You’ve already filmed solo interview segments with the owner, an elderly man who inherited the house over thirty years ago but left it untouched because of what he believes is a ghostly presence.

The sun is low behind the gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian home, orange sky haloing the steep roofed mansion. The historic building sits on six acres of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence that the owner, Paul, had to unlock for you to set up for the night filming session you would be doing this evening. He stands behind you now with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you connect your equipment.

“So you’ll be in there all night?” He asks, voice wary.

“Most of it. We’ll get three hours of footage with Andrew following us through the house and then a few more hours of single camera action, coupled with the static night vision feeds that will roll all night. We’ll be inside until 3 a.m. and then work out here for a bit before packing up,” you reply. “Thank you so much for letting us come in and do an investigation.”

“I’ve got a bet going with a buddy of mine,” Paul says, puffing his chest out. “If you find something, he owes me a hundred bucks.”

You laugh. “I can’t guarantee anything. My goal isn’t to make a ghost where there isn’t one.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you, this place has always been weird.” He glances up at the house, his frame shivering despite the California warmth. “Doors always opening and shutting on their own, footsteps, voices. Whole nine yards. S’why I never moved in.”

You knew all of this, of course. You’d done a walk through of the property with one of your camera guys, letting Paul tell you his first hand experiences in the old house. You’re about to reply when the sound of a car barreling up the gravel driveway pulls your attention away from the conversation.

A black Escalade approaches, coming to a stop in a cloud of dirt that makes you cough. Paul pats your back as the back door opens and designer boots drop onto the gravel.

Dieter Bravo stands with one hand gripping the door of the car while he uses his other hand to tilt his sunglasses down his nose to squint at you. He’s wearing black joggers and a faded gray t-shirt with a hole near the collar, his hair a fluffy mess of dark curls.

“Hey,” you say in greeting. You hold a hand out and give him your name, forcing a smile on your face. “Welcome to the command center.”

“Command center? This some kind of secret army operation or something?” He asks, shutting the door and walking past you, leaving you with your hand out stretched for an unreciprocated handshake.

“Michael keeps an eye on the static cameras in case one needs to be fixed,” you explain, gesturing to the man sat in front of the wall of screens with a headset on. “Now that you’re here only,” — you check your watch — “an hour late, we can get started. Andrew, could you get him mic’d?”

Andrew approaches with a wireless microphone and the actor steps back and holds his hands up. “Hold up, I gotta make sure you got everything.”

“Got everything?” You ask.

“Yeah. My snacks and water?” He looks around expectantly.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes, they got your snacks. They’re in the cooler. Can you please let Andrew get your mic on? We have to start the guest filming before the light is gone.”

Andrew approaches Dieter again, who lets him get close enough to hook the mic to the waist of his pants. Dieter smirks as he says, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

You groan, grabbing your own mic. “Let’s get started.”

“The mansion itself was built in the late 1800s and has only been home to two families since it was finished. It’s been in Paul’s possession for thirty years,” you say, walking backwards towards the house as the camera man follows. Dieter stands off to the side of the wraparound porch, waiting for his cue. “And tonight, we’ve got the exclusive opportunity to explore this gorgeous home with a special guest. Tonight’s Spirit Seeker is none other than Emmy Award winning actor, Dieter Bravo!”

Dieter steps into frame and gives a smile to the camera, clapping his hands together. “Let’s catch some ghosts!”

“Now, Dieter, we’re not the Ghostbusters,” you say, your voice deadpan. Dieter raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” He asks. Your brows pinch together.

“Excuse me?”

“‘We’re not the Ghostbusters’? Really?” He waves his hands to the camera. “Come on, sweetheart, give it a little more energy.”

Your teeth are clenched so hard your jaw aches. “I had energy over an hour ago. You know, when you were supposed to get here?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can we just get inside?”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to enter in front of him. Having toured the mansion already, you signal to Andrew to focus the camera on your guest for his reaction.

Dieter looks around the foyer, grand staircase and marble floors the centerpieces of the large space. “It’s a damn shame they don’t make them like this anymore. Look at the carvings! This has gotta be all original, right?”

“Yep. They’ve only upgraded the internal stuff, like plumbing and electrical,” you confirm. “The owner, Paul, inherited the house after his grandfather passed thirty years ago. He used to spend his summers here when he was a child and vividly remembers experiencing some…unexplained events that have left an impression on him.” You approach a table that’s been set up with your usually line up of equipment. “Tonight, we’re going to see if we can find an explanation for the inexplicable.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Dieter laughs. “You’ve got the cutest serious face, though.”

He thinks I’m cute? Your treacherous brain says, your face heating in response to the compliment. You quickly look at your equipment.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go through the equipment.”

You start with the basics. A digital recorder for capturing electronic voice phenomenon, night vision cameras, and dowsing rods. Further down the table you have thermal cameras, electromagnetic field meters, REM pods, and spirit boxes. Dieter listens attentively, to your surprise, and even asks a thoughtful question about the spirit boxes.

“How about we divvy up the gear? I can take the recorder and thermal camera, you can take the EMF reader—“

“No can do,” he interrupts, holding his hands up. “I don’t fuck with EMF.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“That shit is toxic. It’ll warp your DNA.”

“Dieter,” you say incredulously, “The entire planet is comprised of EMF.”

“No, that’s the geomagnetic field,” he argues.

“It’s the same thing!” You take a deep breath. “You know what? I’ll take the EMF detector. You can have the thermal camera,” you compromise, shoving the camera into his hands. You hastily gather the rest of the devices.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

It’s the last hour of the main filming session where Andrew films you and Dieter using the equipment. So far, there haven’t been many notable experiences. You’ve captured a few creaking floorboards and the EMF meter has gone off a few times, but nothing that you can undoubtedly point to as proof of the paranormal, which is par for the course. What people don’t realize when watching your heavily edited show is that you cut out hours of silence and empty footage.

“Alright, Andrew, you’re welcome to head out. We’ll do a bit more upstairs,” you tell the camera man. “Thanks for you help.”

“‘Night, boss,” he replies with a little salute. Dieter watches him as he leaves.

“So, it’s just us now, huh?” He says, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “All alone in a haunted house…pretty hot.”

“Oh, please,” you say nervously, fiddling with your thermal camera, “We haven’t gotten any evidence that this place is haunted.”

“Maybe the ghosts are just shy,” he suggests.

You grab the REM pod and turn on the device, the LED lights flashing. “Let’s do a REM pod session. Here, hold the camera.”

Dieter holds the expensive equipment delicately, staring at the night vision screen to keep you in frame. “Not often I get put behind the camera,” he comments.

You spend the next twenty minutes asking a series of questions in the quiet room, your digital recorder running in your hand. Dieter remains focused on the screen.

“Why don’t you playback the recording?” He suggests. You glance at him, his face illuminated in the dark by the lights of the camera and the faint moonlight that filters through a window.

“Good idea,” you admit, hitting the stop button and running the tape back. There’s some static feedback before your voice announces the date and time of the recording.

“Is there anyone here with us?” Your recorded voice asks. There’s a beat of silence and you fully expect your voice to be the next thing you hear but instead there’s a garbled, “Yes.”

“Holy shit!” Dieter shouts. “That was a fucking ghost!”

“Shhh!” You hiss, flapping your hand at him. You play it back and sure enough, the same disembodied voice echoes through the room, clear as day. “Holy shit!”

“Play the rest, play the rest,” Dieter demands. He steps closer with the camera trained on the recorder.

Together, you listen to the rest of the recording. There’s another moment where you think you might have gotten a response, but it’s not as clear as the first one. You play it back again and again, and finally Dieter takes the recorder from you.

“Alright, enough, if I hear you ask, ‘Do you mean any harm?’, one more time, I’m going to have to tattoo it across my ass,” he says with a laugh. “Actually, that would be kind of cool, right? Very…provocative.”

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but laugh and the man’s face lights up with a cute smile, the corners of his brown eyes creasing with the force of it. “Let’s go check out the study.”

“How does this one work?” Dieter asks as you turn on the spirit box, the staticky feedback noise filling the room.

“It sweeps through different radio stations rapidly and, theoretically, a paranormal entity can manipulate it and use it to speak. Just ask question.” You fix the camera on him. “Ready when you are.”

“So…do any of the ghosts think I’m hot?” He asks, glancing around the room. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh as the static continues. “Tough crowd.”

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Uh…did anything like…bad….happen to you?” No response. “Do you…like having guests?”

“No.”

Dieter jumps, eyes wide as he looks at the spirit box. “No fucking way,” he says excitedly. “Okay, uh, why don’t you want guests?”

“Loud.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Keep going!”

“Do you want to hurt us?” Dieter asks. The device is silent, no responses coming through. His shoulders drop in disappointment. “Damn. Some confirmation that we’re dealing with Casper and not that fucking thing from Insidious would have been nice.”

“Try one more question? I’m going to get the thermal cam,” you tell him, rushing to the desk in the center of the room for your equipment. You hastily power it on and point both cameras at him. “Ok, go.”

“You’re supposed to say action,” Dieter says, making you roll your eyes. “But I’ll let it slide. Hmm…ghost, is there a room we should explore next?”

It’s silent for a beat, and you think maybe the session may be over, but suddenly the device spits out the word, “Attic.”

Dieter stares at you with wide eyes. “Guess we’ve gotta go higher.”

“Let’s do it.”

You open the door to the attic, revealing a dark, narrow staircase that looks particularly haunting. The man stands at your back, looking up into the inky black darkness. He audibly swallows.

“Uh…how about you go first? You’re the professional,” he suggests.

“You scared?” You tease, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s just a little attic.”

“In a very haunted house!” He hisses. “What if it’s luring us here to kill us?”

“Then you would have had to film for this ‘stupid show’ with nothing to show for it. Tragic,” you reply sarcastically, placing quotes around the words stupid show.

Because that’s what you’ve heard him call it. Your show was up for a Primetime Emmy award last year for your Halloween special and it was your first time attending an award show. Dieter was there to present an award and was seated only a few seats down from you, talking to another actor you vaguely recognized, when you overheard his feelings for your show.

“I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category,” he said, loudly. “It doesn’t even belong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Dieter asks as you reach the open attic. There’s a circular window that looks out over the grounds, caked with dust and only allowing a tiny amount of light into the room. You turn to face him.

“At the Emmy Awards last year. I was sitting two seats down from you and you said — and I quote — ‘I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category’,” you snap.

He stares at you incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I love your show. I’ve been begging my agent to get me on as a guest since your first episode!”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s true! Just ask him!” He steps closer, eyes wide and pleading, looking like a puppy who’s just been reprimanded. “I was talking about that stupid potato documentary. It was boring as hell and had no reason being nominated!”

“Wait…so...you like my show?”

“I love your show. It’s, like, the closest thing to being in an episode of Scooby-Doo.”

You laugh and Dieter’s face brightens, like he knows he’s in the clear. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming has you both screaming and Dieter launches forward, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leaps into the air.

It catches you by surprise, all of his weight leaning into you and sending you crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and an echo of groans.

“What the fuck was that?!” You ask. “Dieter, get off, I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rolling off of you with a thump and another pained noise. “You were supposed to catch me.”

“Catch you?” You wheeze, flat on your back.

“Yeah, like in the shows. Scooby always caught Shaggy.”

“Why am I Scooby?!”

“I don’t know,” he shouts. “Listen, let me go check what that was.”

“You’re not leaving me up here,” you hiss. “We go together.”

The two of you make it to the bottom of the stairs, only to discover that the door to the attic has slammed shut. Not only that, but the damn thing won’t open. Dieter slams his shoulder into it as he twists the knob, cursing up a storm as he tries to shove it open with no luck.

“Remember what I said about the ghosts trying to murder us?” He asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a radio. I’ll tell Michael he needs to come try to open the door.” You tug the radio free from the waist of your jeans, pressing the button and asking, “Mike? You there?”

Silence fills the room. You try again.

“Mike?”

More silence.

“Fucking Mike,” Dieter grumbles. He heads back upstairs to the attic and you trail after him. He makes a beeline for the small window, feeling around the edges of it. “Maybe we can get the window open and call out to him.”

“Good idea,” you tell him, coming up beside him and pulling a flashlight from your back pocket, shining the light on the windowsill to help him find the latch.

There’s a rusted crank that he starts turning, the hinges squeaking loudly enough to make you wince. The window opens the slightest bit, fresh air flowing into the stale room.

“Can you get it open a little more?” You ask. With a grunt, he forces the crank around, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt.

Not that you’re watching his biceps. Or the muscles of his back as he moves. Definitely not.

“That’s as far as it’ll go,” he says. “See if you can see your little tent down there.”

“Command center,” you grumble, doing as suggested. You can can’t see much except a corner of the white tent fabric, but you call out anyways, “Michael! Mike! Hey!”

There’s no movement from below, no responding shout. You call out for him again and again, but it’s no use. He’s clearly not answering.

“I don’t have my phone during investigations. Do you have yours?” You ask. Dieter pulls his phone from his front pocket.

“Fuck, it’s dead,” he groans, tapping the black screen. You sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” You check your watch and find it’s 1:30 a.m. You have no idea where the fuck Mike went, but hopefully he’ll be back by 3 a.m. for debrief and a very stern lecture about abandoning his post. Dieter grins at you.

“Wanna get high?”

“The episode you did at the asylum in Kentucky is my favorite. It’s so fucking scary. The gurney moving? The shadows? Fuck, I was hiding in a blanket the whole time,” Dieter says.

You’re sitting beside each other with your legs out in front of you, your backs leaning against the wall beneath the small window. You’re pleasantly buzzed, your head a little fuzzy and your limbs loose from the joint you’ve passed back and forth for the last half hour and you’ve been talking about your favorite episodes, yours to film and his to watch, the conversation flowing surprisingly well.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you,” you say when there’s a lull in conversation. Dieter looks at you, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know. I thought you were this high maintenance asshole, I guess. But you’re kinda cool.”

Dieter laughs. “Oh, baby, I’m definitely high maintenance. You weren’t wrong about that.”

Something about Dieter calling you baby makes you feel warm and gooey. You’d like to blame it on the weed but if you’re honest with yourself for once, it’s because of him. You tried not to like him, you really did, but he’s funny and nice and doesn’t think your whole ghost hunting gig is a waste of time like a lot of men you’ve dealt with in the past. Not to mention he’s so hot, with his messy hair and pretty brown eyes and warm tan skin. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but you’re realizing now that it’s actually part of his charm.

You must be quiet for too long or fidget too much because he’s smirking at you now, plush lips tilted up mischievously. “You liked that, huh?” He asks.

“Liked what?” You whisper. He’s scooches closer, his thigh pressing against yours and your shoulders brushing.

“Me calling you baaaaby,” he says, drawing out the word teasingly. “You got all quiet about it.”

“N-no I didn’t.”

“Riiiight,” he teases. He twists his body, reaching an arm across to grip your thigh. “C’mere.”

You go willingly, maneuvering your clumsy limbs until your legs are spread over his lap. He looks up at you with glassy eyes and a syrupy smile, sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans.

“You wanna try that again, baby?” He buries his face against your chest and you laugh, squirming in his grip. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“Maybe…maybe I kinda like it,” you mumble. His hands drift up your waist.

“Like what?”

“When you call me baby.”

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, the touch electrifying. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, trying to pull away from him. He holds you tightly.

“Nooooo,” Dieter whines, peppering kisses along all the skin exposed by your tank top that he can reach.”’M sorry, I’ll be good for you, baby.”

Your eyes flutter as you sink into his hold. His light kisses turn into teasing nips of his teeth that make you gasp and grind yourself over his lap. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, the length of his cock pressing deliciously against the seam of your jeans to give you the friction you’re craving.

Dieter’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you forward to press his lips to yours. It’s awkward at first, just a lingering peck, but then he licks at your bottom lip and you open up for him, his tongue hot against yours as you explore each other. Your mouths are a little dry from the weed but the kiss quickly grows hot and wet, a little desperate and messy as you move together.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans when he pulls back for a breath. “Keep moving, just like that.”

You have a better idea, though. You move down a little bit until you can get your hands on the fly of his pants, popping the button and pulling the zipper. He helps you out a bit, lifting his hips to shove his pants down just enough for you to reach into his boxers and wrap a hand around his thick cock. His eyes are dark and his mouth goes slack as you slowly bring your fist up, palming the slick head and smearing the bead of precum around the sensitive tip.

You withdraw your hand, bringing it to your face to lick your palm, getting it nice and wet as you keep your gaze fixed on him. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort and he gasps when you take him back in your hand.

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” he groans, tipping his head back against the wall with a thump. “Tighter, baby, squeeze it tighter. Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

His words have your clit aching with need and you reach down with your other hand to unbutton your jeans, trying to keeping your motions coordinated as you do. Dieter looks up and notices what you’re trying to do.

“You need a lil something, baby?” He asks. When you nod, his hand smacks yours away, successfully undoing the button and zipper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

His hand slides beneath your jeans and panties, thick fingers quickly zeroing in on your needy clit with tight circles that have your hand stilling around his cock as you moan. His other wraps around yours, encouraging your movements as he plays with your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, fingers dipping lower until they’re pressing against your slick entrance. “Keep moving your hand, baby.”

You hadn’t even noticed that you stopped, too focused on how good his touch felt. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dieter murmurs, one finger pressing slowly inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You try to focus on his cock, sliding your tight fist over his length, twisting your wrist around the flushed head, smearing the wetness at the tip around with your thumb. He pumps one finger, then two inside of you in a matching rhythm, the heel of his hand brushing your clit and making you moan.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby, I’m right there with you,” Dieter replies, his own hips chasing your hand. “Come on, come on, all over my hand, baby.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your muscles tightening before releasing all at once as you cum, clenching around his fingers and moaning his name. Warmth spreads over your hand and when you finally open your eyes you see that Dieter has cum as well.

“Uh,” you say awkwardly, “What…what do I do?”

“Huh?” Dieter mumbles, withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“With the” — you nod towards your cum covered hand — “mess?”

“Oh, right. Uh…just kinda…wipe it into my boxers?” He says. You do as he suggests, wiping the sticky mess into the fabric. “I’ll just deal with it later.”

“Boss? You there?” Mike’s voice calls out over the radio, which sits discarded to the side. You scramble off of Dieter’s lap to grab the device.

“Mike! We’ve been locked in the attic for over an hour!” You hiss. “Come get us right now and maybe I’ll let you keep your job.”

Mike responds that he’ll be right up and you fix your pants, hooking the radio back onto your jeans. Dieter stands, pulling his pants up and gathering some of the equipment. You stand together, waiting for Mike in what you would consider an awkward silence until Dieter bumps your shoulder with his.

“We should do that again sometime,” he says. “Maybe without the audience.”

“Audience?” You ask.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear and making your shiver as he whispers, “The ghosts.” You shove him away, both of you dissolving into giggles. His face grows serious once more. “No, really. You wanna like…get breakfast or something? I know this good farm-to-table place that opens super early.” You smile at him.

“I’d like that.”

Dieter sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of gluten free crackers in his lap. “Hurry up! It’s starting!”

“Your fancy microwave burned my popcorn,” you whine as you rush back into the living room. Dieter sneaks a hand into your bowl, shoving popcorn hastily into his mouth. “Hey!”

“Boyfriend tax,” he explains. “Now, hush, or I won’t invite you over to watch anymore.”

“It’s my show!”

The opening theme music starts, some eerie instrumental that plays over a montage of scenes from earlier episodes. As the music fades, shots of the house and your recorded voiceover explain the location for the episode right before it cuts to you and Dieter.

“…And this, is Spirit Seekers,” you and Dieter say along with your recorded self, matching grins on your faces.

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