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luveline · 8 months

Note

Can I request an Eddie and roan story where something happens and Eddie is quite vulnerable and upset and roan finds him at the kitchen table so she goes and gets reader to help cheer him up. Hurt comfort

ty for requesting ♡ eddie and roan fem!reader, 1.7k

cw grief

It's a bad idea, but Eddie opens the photo frame on the sill. He moves the small metal holdings aside, peeling away the velvet back to reveal the hidden photograph waiting beneath.

His hands are trembling as he picks it up. The edges are soft but the photo itself is pristine, a perfect polaroid taken from her waist height, angled up as she smiled down.

Eddie puts it back. Closes the frame, sets the photograph right side up on the sill next to your vase. His hands shake as he stuffs them in his pockets, a hard lump aching in his throat. I shouldn't have looked, he thinks to himself, sitting down at the dining table freshly cleared after dinner.

He couldn't not look. As he washed the dishes after dinner, he'd found his gaze drifting. The photo framed is a simple close up of Roan at her last birthday, her face painted pink, purple, and white in the shape of a butterfly with silver glitter accents. The secret photograph is stupid to keep secret, he should put in pride of place, he should be a fucking man about it—

If you could hear his thoughts you'd frown. Maybe do that silly sweet thing with your hand on his cheek and your soft eyes imploring as they look into his. God, Eddie would give you anything you asked for when you look at him like that. But he doesn't tell you about the photograph, how could he? It's his. It's the last bit of her.

He looks down at the wooden grain of the dining room table. Without thinking, he springs to his feet, removes the frames backing, and takes the photograph of his mom into his hand a second time.

She looks so young. Younger than Eddie is now. He must have been a really little kid when he took the photo, old enough to have worked the camera but young enough that he can't remember the moment. Can't remember what she said, what she was laughing about, how that sounded. He can't remember her smell.

How could I forget that? he thinks, stricken.

Eddie ducks his head. He drops back into his chair at the table, pinching the bridge of his nose between a calloused index finger and a softer thumb. Don't, he thinks desperately, even as his thoughts race to a more cruel place. I don't remember her.

She's beautiful in the photo. Willowy and smiling, crouching ever so slightly with a hand braced on her knee. Her lips are curved up a touch and parted with a laugh, but Eddie theories now that she wasn't laughing. Maybe she was telling him something he doesn't remember anymore. Maybe she was telling him that she loved him—

"Dad?"

Eddie hides the photograph without thinking. "Yeah?"

His voice cracks. Roan stares at him with wide eyes, brown as his own but with longer lashes. She's quicker to smile than he was at her age, though none of that lightness shines at present.

"I'll get Y/N," she says hurriedly, spinning on her socked heel and hurtling back the way she came.

"Ro!" he says, clearing his throat. "Fuck. Fuck." He wipes at his wet eyes. Fucking great.

"Y/N!" he hears Roan shout, her panic a raw thing. He can see the look on your face a floor away. "You have to– we have to go help dad!"

There's a lapse in shouting. Eddie would put the photograph away, wipe his eyes, and run to set things straight if he could; you don't deal with abrupt circumstances well and he hates to think of how your heart is racing, but he can't stop crying.

Your footsteps sound and stop at the kitchen doorway.

"Eds. You okay?" you ask.

"I'm fine, I'm," —he starts to laugh, but the laugh turns into crying, everything a mess— "okay. Tell Roan it's okay."

"Okay. Two seconds." Eddie covers his face, trying desperately to get a handle on things as you speak in hushed tones. "It's okay, Ro, alright? How about I put some TV on for you? Would that be good?"

"I want to stay," she whispers.

You pause. Eddie loses bits of time and conversation, wiping madly at his eyes, his head heavy as a bowling ball and aching as though it's been hit by one. Roan must agree to watch TV or at the least pretend to, because you return alone, pushing the table away from him to stand skewiff by his legs.

Eddie feels like he's choking on air. "Sorry."

"Eddie, what's happening, honey?" You touch his shoulder tentatively. "What's wrong?"

He tries to tell you and it hurts worse. Grief is super weird, it always has been (when it wasn't solely and unsympathetically devastating), and Eddie's grief tends to hide away for long periods of time. Like a brewing storm, pressure builds, and builds, and he knew looking at her photo wouldn't end well but she was just so pretty.

He presses his forehead to balled fists.

You sigh like he's hurt you, curling protectively over his hunched back. Your cheek to a heaving shoulder, you rub at his tensed spine with your palm spread. "It's okay," you whisper, hugging him gently. "Sweetheart, it's okay. You have to tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

"You can't," he says, his voice rough as gravel.

You kiss his shoulder.

A handful of seconds and you pull back to look him in the eye. "Let me try?"

He shakes his head softly, reaching into his lap. He's careful to dry his hands before he picks up his mother's photo, placing it with care on the table. You follow his movements, your lips twitching with understanding as you realise what it is. "That's your mom."

"Yeah, she…"

"I've never seen this one."

Eddie doesn't have many, but he has a few that he treasures. One framed on the living room mantle, four or five kept in safe keeping with Wayne. You nudge the corner of the polaroid to shield it from the glare of the kitchen fluorescents.

"She looks really young."

"She was younger than we are now. She didn't… it couldn't have been five years before she…"

You don't condescend, your empathy palpable as you murmur, "Aw, Eddie. I'm so sorry. It's not fair."

His eyes burn. His nose tickles. He closes his eyes and shoves the brunt of his palm against his socket. "I can't remember what she was trying to say. What kind of son am I?"

"No, no," you crouch down and place your hands on his thighs, "what do you mean? Is that why you're upset? Babe, I can't remember things you said to me last night, you know that? That's not how memory works."

"But it was important. I took the photo, I should remember."

"You were young… I'm sorry, I wish you could remember, but," —you hold the photo up carefully— "with a smile like that, it's not hard to guess, right?" Your voice is smooth and soft as angora silk, though it pills as you continue, "I bet she's just telling you that you're doing a good job. Same way you say it to Ro. You must've gotten it from somewhere."

A half sob shudders out of him. "I hope so."

You pat his thigh. "You gonna be okay?" you ask, eyebrows pinched.

He leans into the chair, the armrests groaning as he tries to breathe. His breath hisses from between his teeth. "Shit, sorry. I'm sorry. I'm alright, just, sometimes I remember she's gone and I realise I lost another little part of her and–"

"It's okay." You stroke a strand of hair from his face. He relaxes at the simplicity of it, a routine gesture. "She's not lost, Eddie. You're not losing her. Yeah? That's not how it works. She's your mom forever."

"I guess you never stop wanting your mom, huh?" he asks. His throat burns like nothing he's ever felt.

"I guess not."

Eddie's tears peter out eventually, aided by the way you hold his hands as though they're delicately made and the constant steadiness of your presence, your head dipping down intermittently to press kisses to the side of his thumb. He can't shake the feeling of grief and he doubts that he'll feel much better tonight, but the need to cry dissipates. He's drained suddenly, like he's held his breath too long, every inhale an ache.

Roan comes to investigate the quiet. She tiptoes in, her lips parted in confusion, but her puzzlement doesn't stop her from snaking between his legs and your arms to sit in your lap. He's scared her, he knows, and he can't blame her for the way she wraps her arms around your stomach. Like he said: you never stop wanting your mom.

Roan twists her neck to look at him. You plant a kiss behind her ear.

"Are you okay, dad?" she asks.

"I'm okay."

"Why were you crying?"

"I don't know, Ro. I guess I was hurting."

"Did you cut yourself on the sharp knife?" she asks worriedly.

Eddie chucks her under the chin. "Not that kind of hurt, babe."

She frowns as though he's told her off and buries her face in his knees. Eddie folds down onto her like a cheap tent in a hurricane, craving the comfort of his little girl, knowing she's here, and that she's not going anywhere. "Is it okay if I squeeze you?" he asks.

"Yeah, dad. But only this time. You squeezed me too hard last time." She huffs, chewing over her words even as she hugs her father back ferociously. "You're rough."

"I said sorry already," he says lightly. His eyes scrunch closed. He has to try hard not to burst into a second round of tears as he smells her hair. "I'm really sorry, I thought you liked being squeezed."

"I don't mind if it's to make you feel better."

You laugh through your nose. Eddie clings. "Thank you." He's saying it to you, too. He really hopes that you know that. "I feel way, way better already."

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trashmouth-richie · 8 months

Text

master list

eddie! x fem reader

summary: 3 years later; happy birthday

I can’t believe this is almost the end. It is so bittersweet to be uploading this and thanking you all for the continued support on this story. I hope you will miss eddie + tooty just as much as I will. The epilogue is next and then a fun little surprise for you all.

trigger warnings: fluff, sweet sweet fluff 💕

Crinkly paper streamers twist down into even boughs along the cedar planked walls. A homemade banner crafted with the best paint Melvald’s could offer, hung over the sliding patio door, freckled with glitter and deep hues of scarlet and onyx.

Carefully stenciled uniform letters spelling out a greeting for the birthday boy, line the banner— perfectly positioned.

Looking at it now, you can nearly feel the backache it caused from the leaned over pretzel position you were tangled in while attempting to make it look store bought. Instead it took hours and a ruined shirt to paint each letter with precision on your living room floor.

Red plastic cups were stacked in a corner on top of a cheap plastic table cloth adorned with paper plates and plastic utensils. A smaller card table from the Wheeler-Byer’s held a two tiered homemade cake, dolloped with sticky whipped strawberry frosting. His favorite.

Polaroids of the birthday boy were placed, in no particular pattern, with sticky tack to the wall above the card table holding the presents.

Various shots from the past year capturing adventures big and small. He had wanted that.

Wanted to remember every detail— an important step to moving forward, leaving the past in the dust and enjoying the second chance at life you had both been given.

The pictures were mostly candids, snapped in the blur of a moment, memories to be cherished for a lifetime to come. And although some of them were cheesy, or horribly cliche; they held delicate moments of the past two years of you and Eddie, together at last.

You suck the sticky remnants of frosting from your thumb as you carefully arrange a framed picture of his graduation day just so on the table, stepping back and admiring the hard work and weeks worth of planning you had done.

Your fingers dance along the sharp edges of the selected photos you had given Jonathan to print for you. 8”x10”, 5”x7”, colored, sepia tone, and even black and white you had wanted to give it more of a collage feel to the project, and Jonathan did a great job.

The pictures varied from moments that probably didn’t need to be remembered and ones that should have been taken by a professional, but it was perfect, exactly the way you had envisioned it.

A snapshot photo of Eddie’s plump lips wrapped around a brown beer bottle after a night of helping Wayne paint the outside of his trailer, his signature middle finger in the air, the rings glittering with the flash— was propped next to a candle.

One of Wayne and Eddie hugging on Christmas last year, a small tree tucked into the corner of the yellowing smoke stained walls and part of your finger covering the lens, and another one right after the first of them both looking shocked that you snapped the picture.

A picture of you and him, holding fishing poles on the bank of Lover’s Lake. His arm wrapped around your waist, your pole holding a sizable fish, his line snagged on moss and a tattered beat up tennis shoe, a proud smile on his face as he looked down at you, you mid laugh as Wayne teased Eddie behind the lens.

Another of just him in black and white, asleep on the bed you shared his dark tattoos looked piercing against his bare chested. Long angelic lashes closed against pinked warm cheeks, the silver scar barely visible on his bottom lip.

One with Eddie and the boys, sitting in the backyard, the tails of the fire licking into the sun fading sky, his hands wild in the middle of explaining a campaign idea.

A candid of Steve, Eddie, Robin and Dustin wearing their tuxes and running into the ocean. Shoes snug into the sand and socks left forgotten. Steve’s white jacket thrown into the air, half of a laughing, Leighanne all dolled up and beautiful on their big day.

A photo from the same day, but of only you and him, your lips perched on his cheek as he held you in his lap in the back of a limo. His other cheek sparkling with the residue of a lipgloss kiss, one hand holding your strappy lavender heels, the other wrapped around your waist. His dimpled smile wide and toothy.

And finally, your favorite one: one of just you and him, dressed in your homemade costumes as Mario and Luigi. A felt mustache falling from under your nose,his white gloved hands holding up rock n’ roll. Right before you two had won the Halloween costume contest at Nancy and Jonathan’s house.

Wayne had brought baby pictures that he had dug out of an old box in the forgotten storage shed when you had moved in. Dust lining the frames showing a brown haired baby with doe eyes, drooling over a washcloth while in the sink for a bath. A curly haired toddler with a big smile while on the swings at a park. And many more that were placed around the house.

The most special of them all sat on Eddie’s bedside table: a woman with soft honey muddied curls sweeping down to the middle of a white blouse, sunglasses pushed into her hair atop her head, kissing the forehead of a baby swaddled in a blanket.

“Tooty!” Gareth called from the kitchen, “phone call!”

You set the napkins next to Nancy who was meticulously adjusting the m&m dish into its correct place. Trying to balance out the clashing colors with the black and red theme.

“Looks perfect as always, Nance,” you murmur as you squeeze her arm gently when you pass her.

She huffs in disapproval, sweeping a permed curl behind her ear, her finger to her lips as she tuts, “it’s missing something.” You squeeze her arm again and trot into the living room.

Gareth is holding the blue phone by the long cord twirling it around like a pair of nunchucks, shoving the last bits of a hot dog in his mouth, ketchup wedged into the corner by his lips. “ it’s Hig D,” he announciates horribly, “somthin’ about heddie— shit that’s good— something about them just getting ready to leave work.”

laughing at him you can only roll your eyes, “you’ll make a good whore someday deep throatin’ like that,” you tease, taking the phone from his hand.

Gareth chuckles and shoves your shoulder, “haven't had any complaints yet, Oh! By the way, I need a three day extension on rent. Cool?”

Rolling your eyes again, a smile escapes your lips as you flip him off.

Of all of Eddie’s friends, Gareth was the hardest one to crack, but now he was easily your favorite. He reminded you a lot of Eddie in high school. A wild haired mess, always down for a crazy adventure to surely land him into trouble. But a big ol softie when it came down to people he cared about, especially Will.

Curling your fingers around the telephone cord, you talk into the receiver, “hey D, what’s up?”

—-

Argyle and Jonathan arrive through the front door, smelling like purple palm tree delight and balancing pizza boxes in their arms.

Robin spins at least a dozen times trying to find a place for the tower of cheesed pie and nearly knocks into Jonathan in her pursuit of frenzy. The boys slide them into place onto a card table against the kitchen wall, a photo of you and Eddie holding the keys to Hop’s cabin with wide grins on your faces hanging above it.

The brisk May breeze flows through the house, flickering the candles and making the helium balloons bump into one another in a lazy staticky dance.

A blur of red stalks into the house holding two bottles of liquor in each hand, a baseball hat backwards on her head, “hope Eddie likes whiskey because that’s all Walt would sell me,” she says heaving the bottles onto the counter in a clunkered manner, wiping the sweat from her freckled forehead, sporting a fresh new bob cut all thanks to you, “stubborn ass, he charged me nearly double,” she huffs, folding the paper sacks haphazardly, “son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t even let me use my employee rate!”

“Thanks for getting it Maxi-pad,” you say over your shoulder stifling a giggle from the old nickname you hadn’t called her since middle school, “Eddie’ll drink beer from a boot as long as he got a buzz from it—let me know what I owe you.”

She spins on squeaky sneakers and grabs a slice of pizza from one of the leaning boxes, squishing the greasy cheese between her teeth, talking with a mouthful “quit— we’re square for all the times you’ve come over since moving back.”

A sad expression falters behind the mask on her porcelain complexion. But she’s quick to shove it all away. It had been months since she’d been back in Hawkins, and your friend since elementary school was just starting to get her life back into order.

“Eddie’s offer still stands by the way,” you gently whisper, turning away from placing candles into the pink frosting to give her a quick squeeze, the fringes of your friendship mending together after years of not really speaking.

Holding Max at arms length you raise your eyebrows at her, “I’m serious,” a clip in your voice that even Nancy would envy.

She shrugs quickly and looks back with wet blue eyes, not willing to let her guard down on the eve of a party, “I’ll think about it,” her jaw set tight.

“Let's have fun tonight, okay?” she begs, “it isn’t every day Eddie’s old decrepit ass turns forty.”

The giggle she was hoping for to ease the tension tickled your throat, “he’s twenty nine, Maxine,” you tease back.

“Oh-ho-ho,” she chuckles, crossing the linoleum to the fridge in a swift motion, throwing open the door and leaning into the illuminated box, fingers dancing along the brown neck of a Bud Light, a smug smile on her salmon lips, “government names huh, T? I’ll remember that.”

—

Will and Mike were in charge of moving vehicles behind the north tree line away from the driveway and out of sight. Each car owner silently held their breath and the litter of anxiety rising higher as Mike got behind the wheel of each car. 13 tickets by Hopper’s deputies hadn’t slowed him down yet.

Leighanne, and El had just finished hanging the decorative white lights on the back deck and around the trees. The backyard looked like a little cozy oasis. And it warmed your soul to see it all come together.

It was rough when you had first moved in here. Hopper had a buddy who owned the cabin you now call home. It was far from town but hadn’t been renovated in years. Nothing a little elbow grease and nights after work wouldn’t fix, it took six months with help from just about everyone you knew, but the place was perfect.

And after everything that happened in Hawkins, Eddie’s promise stuck.

He got you both out. Started a new life away from the wandering eyes and whispered lies. Even after he was cleared, people still wouldn’t let it go.

But, the cabin was everything you could imagine and more. Perched into a thick grove of trees. Secluded. Secretive. Exactly what you both needed.

It was heaven.

Lounging on blankets in the soft grass, bare toes curled into the soft comforter, the girls sat back and laughed as Steve nearly tipped over the entire pan of grilled burgers and hot dogs.

“Yeah laugh it up you two!” Steve scolded playfully, tugging and shoving a hand into the thick tuft of hair on his head, “you won’t be laughing when there’s nothing to eat!”

“Such sass from The Grill Master,” Leighanne giggled, covering her mouth with a delicate hand, a large diamond on her ring finger.

Before Steve could whip up something cheeky, Arygle’s smooth baritone voice broke amongst the laughs, “Damn my dude,” he chuckled, leading Eden’s small frame through the patio door, “smells good out here.”

Steve huffs again, “Thanks, I’m just doing what I’m told, don’t mind the peanut gallery back there,” he gestures with his spatula to the two giggling gals on the blanket.

The keg was perched on the small back deck, ice melting slowly around the tin base. Steve had been grilling burgers for the last half hour, smears of grease rubbed on the bottom of his red apron embossed with fancy lettering, kiss the cook.

“And you’re doing it man,” Argyle salutes him as a fellow culinary soldier, “it’s art what you’re doing dude, pure fuckin art—like Picasso if he was a chef… piSteveo.”

“Okay man—yeah, I get it,” Steve says all in one breath, rolling his eyes and cracking a grin back at his bride who was biting her own cheek and trying not to laugh. “Dustin and Susie ride with you?”

“Yeah,” Eden scowls, crossing her legs and dragging Argyle down to sit on the picnic bench, her black pixie cut fluttering in the light breeze resembling a real life goth tinkerbell, “that four eyed little shit kept going on and on about the ecosystem and methane gas or whatever, so yeah they’re here— probably terrorizing everyone else about the election or some shit.”

Steve snorts and flips another burger onto the grates, the sizzle of charred seasoned beef signaling the first signs of summer, “sounds about right.”

“Alright guys,” you say stepping through the sliding patio door, the sun close to setting in the west taking the warmth with it, “D said they’re just leaving so everyone get in position.”

“..I’m just sayin’ is all,” D barks, finishing wiping the grease from a gas station bean burrito on the back of his hand from his pudgy lips, “I’ll give you top dollar for it.”

Eddie took another sip from his Mt. Dew, barreling down the highway and thumping his thumb along the steering wheel, contemplating heavily on what Big D had been asking of him.

“fuck I dunno man… it’s like a part of me y’know?”

Eddie rubs the beginning of his scruffy chin, unable to grow a full beard even though he’s nearly in his thirties, Peter Pan syndrome hitting him square in the jaw.

“had it since I was fifteen, fixed it all up with my uncle,” he mumbles lighting a cigarette between his teeth, “it’s a staple to the Munson name.”

D rolls his eyes and tosses the foil wrapper to the floorboards of Eddie’s truck. “that was like twenty years ago man, you don’t even drive it anymore.”

Eddie chuckles through a cloud a smoke, turning the steering wheel to the right down the hidden driveway, overgrown grass on both ends of a rotted through fence post, “easy there asshole— ‘sides, thought you were buying Jeff’s mom’s car?”

D slides belches loud and throws his chubby hand out the window, fresh air wiggling his fingers slowly, “I did, just gotta fix it up, but the van would be my daily driving chick magnet.” He wiggles his eyebrows like two black caterpillars dancing a tango.

Eddie smiles to himself, memories of past times booze cruising to Rick’s and hauling band equipment to the Hideout. Times long gone and fading like the moon into dawn.

A time when he was ruthless, chaotic and hungry for the world’s shittiness just so he could add his own fucked up version to it. A big fuck you to anyone who ever doubted him.

A time before you were officially his.

Nowadays the bear inside of him was tame, licking its paws in laziness, hibernating with the sounds of a calm beating heart. Fed and cared for, content.

“We’ll see,” he replies, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “you still owe me $40 for that service you gifted to that waitress last week, fucker.”

“Pffft,” D says lighting a cigarette, “take it out of my check boss man.”

Eddie cranked his lips into a smirk, it still didn’t feel real.

The roar of Eddie’s diesel truck echoes along the tree line, vibrating against the fallen branches from the late winter storm that snapped full grown Red Oaks like matchsticks when the ice built heavy onto its branches.

The cabin lights were dim, curtains pulled tight to barely show the glimpse of any crack of light. It wasn’t unusual, your lives were kept pretty private after everything that happened, doors always locked.

“The hell?” Eddie grumbled, wiggling the stick into neutral with the palm of his hand and killing the engine, the old dodge sputtering out to quiet, “thought you said Gareth was comin’ over to practice tonight?”

D fumbled for words, reaching for the metal door handle “no, yeah he’s here— maybe Will dropped ‘im off.”

Eddie quirked an eyebrow, the exhaustion from work taking over his features as he let out a loud yawn and arched his back against the velour seats, he climbed out of the pickup, lunchbox in tow.

“alright man, ‘m just gonna shower quick,” he hooks a thumb behind his shoulder, walking up the stone path to the front door, “think Tooty still has the hose hooked up if you wanted to rinse off.”

D stomps around the truck, leaning a thick arm onto the hood, “don’t make any special accommodations for me dude, I’m cool.”

“Yeah yeah you’re pretty cool alright,” Eddie said climbing the two steps with heavy footsteps, and putting a brass key into the knob, twisting it in his grasp, “why’d you think I had the window dow—”

Eddie is almost knocked back into the wall by the room full of his friends shouting surprise! as he entered the cabin.

Shock and a racing heartbeat wash away to a dimpled smile and squinted eyes. It was worth the weeks of planning and aligning everyone’s schedules to make it all work out. And in the end, the crowd turned into a blur when you peaked your head behind the kitchen wall grinning wide at the handsome man at the door.

His girl. His one and only. Spoiling him with a surprise party. Mouthing “happy birthday baby,” from across the room with a warm smile that still was able to tinge his cheeks in the prettiest shade of bashful.

Backs were slapped and shoulders clapped as Eddie made his way around to the guests. His smile was wide and toothy, lighting up the room with his deep laugh and dimples.

He hugged friends like he hadn’t seen them in years, pressed cheek to cheek and apologizing later for grease smudges left on their shirts.

“Shit,” Wayne breathed, as he stepped into the doorway, finding you immediately and looking sympathetic, “sorry we’re late, the missus was wrappin’ a last minute gift.”

Nancy and Mike’s mom stood tucked beneath Wayne’s arm. Four gifts wrapped tight and pristine, held in her arms. The alimony from Ted was still treating her more than well.

“Wayne,” Karen giggles like a schoolgirl, a long manicured hand to his denim jacket, dismissing him with a wink, “here Tooty,” she gleams, walking towards you with her arms outstretched, embracing you in a hug, “it’s just a little something for the two of you, saw it at the mall and couldn’t resist!”

It was an adjustment for the youngest Wheeler when Karen left Ted. Nancy and Mike didn’t seem to care, having already been moved out of the house and living their own lives. But Holly took it hard, refusing to see her mother at all.

“It’s perfect thank you Karen,” Eddie said, sneaking around you, his fingers dragging along your lower back and down your hip, sending shivers to your core. A quick wink to you as he grabs the gifts from her and Wayne.

He was happy for them, he had never seen Wayne with someone who treated him so well before in his life, he gave his shoulder a squeeze, “next time put your glasses on so you can see while driving, might get here on time, old man.”

Wayne rolled his eyes and put Eddie in a headlock, “I ain’t here to see you anyhow, came to see my favorite daughter in law to be if you’d just marry her already, didn’t even know it was your birthday you little punk.”

“Yeah yeah,” Eddie scoffed, “that’s why it says ‘Ed’s birthday’ on the calendar in your office, right? Because you didn’t know?”

Wayne releases Eddie and gives him a side hug, “been celebratin’ this day for twenty-three years with y’ boy, I ain’t never forgettin’”

Karen was always like a mother to you. The Wheeler’s held such a special place in your heart, and you’d always be grateful for the kindness both her and Ted had shown you when you were growing up. Seeing her now with Wayne surprisingly wasn’t that odd. They balanced each other well.

Wayne pulls you into the other side of him, keeping you and Eddie under each arm, “looks real good in here darlin’” He says, looking down at you with icy blue eyes, “sure am glad y’ learned how to tame this wild li’l shit.”

you smile up at the Munson’s and Eddie sticks out his tongue at you.

“Now,” he says addressing only Eddie, “I swear on my mama and daddy’s graves, Ed, you better marry this girl someday or ‘m gonna hang y’ from your toes by that clothesline out back.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but before he can speak, Nancy waves at her mother and stands atop a metal chair.

“Alright everyone, let’s go out back and we can start eating.”

Once the room emptied it was just you and Eddie. The tension was always thick in every room you were in with him, electric in ways that buzzed between your legs and made your head feel fuzzy.

You waited your turn patiently.

Eddie coins a coy grin behind his plump lips, walking with his hands behind his back and moving his shoulder low, cocking his head.

Your hands, busy themselves with arranging presents, fingers slipping between the silky ribbons and plucking the ends to watch them curl. Warm arms surround your waist and you act surprised and let out a squeal.

He sets you down and pushes the collar of your shirt to the side, pressing his lips like angel’s wings to the skin on your shoulder, relishing in the way the goosebumps crawled across your flesh.

“Eddie,” you hum, working your fingers behind you to pull on the tendrils of sweaty hair tucked behind his neck.

“Hmm?” He breathes hot across your neck, working his way up to the dainty gold necklace, the same one brandishing the ring he gave you for Christmas in 1992, nothing compared to the one he was eyeballing at the jewelry store in the mall.

Rubbing the underside of your chin with the bulb of his nose, you shudder and feel his grin on your skin, “all of this for me?”

You nod and whine when a large hand dances across the waist of your jeans. And almost let out a moan when he nips at your earlobe.

Eddie’s work days were long but the nights spent between the sheets were longer, both of you never getting enough of each other. The passion and static was always there.

“Wanted to surprise my birthday boy,” you breathed as your head fell back into his shoulder, and he bucked his hips into you, pushing you into the rickety table and shaking the presents.

“You’re too good to me,” Eddie whispered into your ear, his fingers digging into your hips. “How am I ever going to thank my pretty gir—?”

“Hey you guys comin’ or what?” Steve asks, hands on his hips and a scorch mark on his apron, “Nancy’s making a fucking seating chart out there, and I really hope you have liability insurance because Argyle is trying to teach Dustin yoga.”

Eddie takes his lips from your neck and turns to face Steve, “I mean, we coulda been if you hadn’t barged in.”

“Eddie!” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly, and straightening your shirt, “we’ll be right out Steve, just going to give Eddie his birthday present.”

His eyes sparkle in mischievous wonder, “oooh you think we have time?” He says unbuttoning his work blues, “I like the way you think dirty sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and tug him down the hallway to your bedroom.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, shaking his head and making his way through the patio door, “nah don’t worry I’ll entertain the guests,” he says in annoyance, “maybe we can play parcheesi or hotdog Jenga.”

—

“Don’t peek!”

“Oh c’mon!”

“Eddie.”

“Ugh fine, but you better be naked or I’ll pout.”

“Such a brat...”

“Don’t act surprised babe.”

“Alright open, but I am very much still dressed, that part of your present is later tonight.”

Eddie had showered and was getting dressed shoving his feet into a worn pair of converse when you waltzed into the room, a small oblong box behind your back.

Dropping the carefully wrapped present into his awaiting hands, he holds the box like a carton of eggs. One eye peeked open, “well,” Eddie says rubbing the corners of the box with the calloused pads on his thumbs, “this doesn’t feel like a puppy.”

“You poor boy,” you tease with a shove to his shoulder, and a kiss to his cheek, “how will you ever live?”

Eddie tears the paper with a hook of his finger where the tape joins the pieces, wet tendrils of hair dripping water marks onto the wrapping, “it’ll be hard but I think I’ll manage.”

Biting your lip in anticipation you watch as Eddie tears the paper in boyish glee. And you aren’t sure who’s smile is wider when he finally opens the small rectangle shaped box.

It took awhile to save up for it. Cutting countless heads of hair in the renovated room above Master Mechanic’s, the auto shop Eddie co-owned with Wayne in Bridgeport, and earning a small wage by cleaning houses for a few hours on the weekends.

But every scrubbed toilet, every rolled perm rod was worth it when Eddie opened his present.

“It's about time you saw them live, yeah?”

Tickets to Metallica, the same gift. But this time with the promise of actually going and witnessing their magic.

“Oh baby,” Eddie nearly cried, running his fingers over the inked words carefully, he set the tickets down on the comforter and wrapped his hands around your waist pulling you into him, “why are you so good to me?”

And just like the first time he asked you, years ago, before you were his and he was yours. When you were just roommates exchanging gifts on Christmas. You told him what you should have then.

but you don’t fight to find the words anymore, or wonder if it’ll sound dumb. Everything you've been through with Eddie you could never imagine living life with anyone other than him.

The words come easy, and it’s one of the truest things you’ve ever said.

“Because you’re a good man. Because you’re the reason I wake up smiling every morning. Because I have never loved anyone the way that I love you, and I’ll always, always regret not telling you sooner.”

Eddie smiles with a quivering lip and you lean down to wipe the tears from his eyes, his arms wrap around you tight like a vice grip.

Looking into his eyes, he somehow looked better with every year passing, truly aging like fine wine, and you were drunk on him.

“Don’t cry on your birthday baby, it’s supposed to be a party,” you smile warmly at him, bringing his chin up a bit

so you can press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Pulling you into him so you’re straddling his hips, he whispers an I love you into your ear with your real name attached at the end, all satiny on his breath like a Hershey kiss.

You don’t hear your God given name very often, having hated it for as long as you remember. Stubbornly telling everyone at a young age that your name was Tooty. Even writing it on all of your school papers as early as kindergarten.

But when Eddie said it, it set your soul on fire. Like a secret kept finally being told. Like another wall breaking down with him holding the sledge hammer. Like the first bite of a warm brownie from the oven. It felt good.

He presses slow kisses into your neck and moves his large hands to rock your hips against him, “you’re never gonna get rid of me, you know that right?”

“Fuck I hope not,” you whisper as you nip at his bare shoulder, “I made your favorite cake for tonight and everything.”

“Mmm,” Eddie purrs against the column of your throat, “strawberry?”

Gathering skin between your teeth you suck a small bruise into his pale neck, tongue swirling soft then firm, his pretty noises filling the bedroom walls.

“Yep,” you breathe with swollen lips, and popping the ‘p’, “extra frosting.”

“Lady evil at it again,” Eddie teases, capturing your lips into a hungry kiss, his hands scoring down your back and bringing your hips impossibly closer to where you were both aching.

You giggle as he breaks away, and tickles your sides. He flips you onto the bed. The bulb of his nose wedging between your neck and shoulder as his hips hold you in place, his fingers dig into your armpits, and your ribs.

You laugh until your face is red and your neck is slick and painted with a stain of raspberry teeth marks and the lap of his tongue licking the bites better.

He gives you a wicked grin, out of breath and his lips swollen, his demeanor changes into something serious.

He holds his hand on your cheek, sweeping your skin delicately with the pad of his thumb, holding you so gently as if you were made of porcelain, “I’m gonna make you my wife.”

Your fingernails scratch lightly down his chest, skipping over the tattoo of little angel wings and a halo for the unborn child you didn’t get the luxury of holding, matching the one on your inner arm. The date etched below in Eddie’s own handwriting.

It wasn’t the only new tattoo he had gotten since that day.

He also had a mockup of a cartoon lady, devil horns on her head and a long black demon tail wagging behind her, that sat on his bicep. A pout identical to yours on her pretty little face, arms crossed in a fit. ‘my girl’ in old English font beneath her little stiletto heels.

Your fingertips trace the lines of blank ink on his chest. And you lift your eyes to his.

Opening your soul to him for the millionth time, spreading its wings and joining with his into that dream land he swore he’d take you to, dancing on the rings of Saturn, bathing in the springs of Jupiter.

He smiles softly and so do you, heart soaring and beating fast, “about damn time,” you whisper softly just before his lips close around yours.

Although your life would never be the same after that awful day, the one you were crafting and coloring outside the straight black lines with Eddie by your side, was pretty damn great.

And you wouldn’t change a thing.

🤧

🏷️

@bebe07011 @dashingdeb16 @hiscrimsonangel @luxaeterna13 @enam3l

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #fic recs #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #honey I’m home series

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 26 days

Text

⚠️𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘⚠️

🎀Show your age if you wanna interact or I block u🎀

✨𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲✨ (𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨𝐱𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Gojo likes to take pictures of you—videos too if he can. You could be lounging in his living room, sprawled on the couch, wearing nothing but his hoodie that sat snugly on your frame. Click! You could be in the kitchen, cooking a delicious dinner, the smells of which make passers-by lift their noses into the air and take deep whiffs. Click! You come out of the shower in a towel, click! You feed your cat, click! You brush your teeth, click! Gojo would even buy you pretty heels and dresses, jewellery and make-up, and take you to expensive restaurants and do fun activities – all so he could dress you up and take pictures of you. Click! Click! Click! Everything you did was carefully documented in his camera roll. Pictures he would proudly show off, even unprompted, just for an opportunity to make his peers turn green with envy.

Of course, he had another secret folder. This also had pictures of you—but they were only for one pair of brilliant blue eyes. Photos he took of your body. Of his fat cock, stretching out your little hole. Your tear-streaked face – mascara running down your hollowed cheeks – as you struggled to fit him in your mouth. Drool and gloss on your lips in a rambunctious dance, dripping onto your plush chest. Videos of his long fingers, tweaking and playing with your red nipples. Of your glistening pussy. Of his hand laying claim to your stomach, simultaneously lifting his hoodie off your tummy.

Every time he was away from you, either you on a mission or him, he would whip out his phone, open up the folder, and massage his aching balls while watching you. He would hear his voice in the background of his videos goading you, as he gripped your thick ass to pull it down on his length.

“Th-a-a-a-at’s it. Fuck– there's my good girl. Hng, you're taking daddy’s cock so well, sweety.”

Your soft high-pitched moans from his phone's speaker only served to turn him on further. He would pull his cock out of the waistband of his boxers, gently stroking it and imagining your hand in its place. With every thrust on the screen, he would thrust into the grip of his hand, watching how your ass jiggled in his mind’s eye. Every move was known to him, intimately. Hours of studying his film work had made him acquainted with your body as if it were his own. He knew exactly which whine meant Please, give me more or I’m going to cry, to the gasp that translated to Fuck, Daddy, don’t stop, I’m coming!

There were times when he would make you look at the camera, “Turn around f’ me baby. Lemme see your pretty little slut face” And your head would turn to look at him, at his phone, as he continued to thrust into you from behind. Sometimes you would take his phone in your own hands, leaning it against a pillow to get a perfect shot of you. Your widened glassy doe-eyes, captured on the screen, tits bouncing in time with your lover's movements. You’d speak to him too, egging him on.

“More, Daddy! Please, Daddy! Yeah, stretch me out and fuck me—just like that!” Or you’d say something like, “God, please, you’re so big, it’s too much!”

Any time he heard you, coupled with the visual of your wet eyes and open mouth, it would make Gojo cum. Just a few jerks and he would nut into his hand, the sticky white fluid running down his fingers.

His favourite video, however, starts off with him watching you from behind the camera. You’re in a lace lingerie set he bought for you, blue and white – matching his eyes and hair. You wore a dainty silver choker around your neck with a tiny bell that made a tinkling sound each time you moved – a collar almost. Sitting on his bed, propped up by pillows, you had one hand pawing at your breast, while the other played with your hair. Your legs were spread apart giving him a delicious view of the growing wet patch on your panties. Gojo felt himself licking his lips each time he saw it.

You would move your hand from your hair to your thighs, rubbing against the flesh softly, almost as if you were enticing him to come take a bite. And it would work. Gojo would set up his camera to record as he climbed into the bed with you, settling his head between your thick thighs. His mouth immediately latched onto you and sucked.

Gojo in the future would fuck his pillows furiously, desperate to try and recreate the feeling of you under him but it wouldn’t work. In a way, he would be almost envious of himself. Of his proximity to you. The video Gojo continued, lapping at the wet patch on your panties. His hand reached up to grab at your breast and massage it. You let out a loud sigh, your hand finding purchase in his hair and you raked your fingernails against his sensitive scalp, to which Gojo would respond with a guttural growl. “Woman! Do you want me to cum while my pants are still on?”

His kitten licks soon turned into a flat widened tongue, flush against your pussy, fingers tugging the panties to the side before he lost control and ripped them into two to get a better taste. You cried out at the loss of such a pretty lingerie set and were shut up by two long fingers being shoved into your mouth. It wouldn’t take long for you to cum on Gojo’s tongue. He knew his way around your body and sucked and licked on your clit and folds like a man possessed. The taste of you was intoxicating and Gojo, watching you on the screen couldn’t help but lick his lips, missing your flavour.

You orgasmed with a squirt, gushing into Gojo’s mouth, grasping at his hair and crying his name like a prayer. Gojo didn’t realise till you yanked on his hair from the overstimulation crying, “Stop Gojo, stop please, no more – yellow!” He lifted himself off you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pupils were blown out and he looked almost wolf-like as he reached up to kiss you. His hips rutted into your tummy, the soft fat cushioning his hard thrusts. He was obsessed.

He tugged at the bra pulling your heavy breasts into his mouth one by one. You helped pull off his boxers to let him feel your skin against his. His cock was hot. The weeping tip dripped pre-come onto your belly and it ran into your folds in a cold contrast. His lips never once left your skin.

Gojo watching you on the screen later, would lose composure. Watching his cock sheath into you, knowing exactly how you felt around him would be too much. He would come for a second time that evening. Watching him, fuck you. You: falling apart on his cock; begging for him to cum in you; desperation and exertion in your voices as he finally ejaculated in you; sucking and nipping at your breasts. His hands pinned yours down and you both rode out the high repeating each other's names in unholy worship.

He collapsed into your arms and you kissed him; his head, then nose, then lips. He pulled you into his embrace and told you how good you were for him.

Future Gojo would come down from his high alone, and text you. The perfect shot of his hand, covered in his come. His soft cock, out of focus in the background.

You would open it and add it immediately to your own hidden folder. Gojo isn’t the only freak in this relationship…

A/N: Yeah so Hidden Inventory has a different meaning here. That's all I guess. I secretly like gojo also ok bye.

Hearts and reblogs are much appreciated and comments will get you KISSIE.

#anonimusunnoan #anonimuswritings #jjk #fanfiction #fanfic #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #picture taking #satorugojo #jjk satoru #jjk x reader fluff

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velvetmud · 1 year

Text

Stanley Kubrick on film

joel finds a camera and expresses his desire to make a smut film.

warning(s): 18+ explicit, daddy kink, smoking weed, also lots of dirty talk, dirty things

silver fox two decades into outbreak!joel where cameras are a rare thing to come across but somehow weed isn’t. not a request just another fun little thing that kinda came out of nowhere. still working on some other stuff ! why he always comes out so dirty in everything i start to write is beyond me :)

the smell of smoke, sweat, and sex filled the air of the quaint room.

the stereo’s playing a mixtape from some romantic-alternative nineties albums on shuffle. joel bought a quarter ounce of weed from one of Tommy’s friends. went as far as lighting all kinds of candles and placing them throughout on various countertops. as soon as you walked in you couldn’t help yourself from grabbing him and laughing, “are you trying to fuck me or set me on fire?”

he grumbled about this being one of his trying efforts to woo you. while you relax and unwind together sharing the first spliff, he pointedly mentions how he found a camera while he was going out salvaging for stupid goodies with Ellie that afternoon. screen uncracked, quality like new. even the battery was at a lucky hundred percent. he wanted to take advantage of a lingering fantasy now that he’d been presented with an open opportunity.

it wasn’t until a few hours later, fucking and devouring you every way you’ve always liked, he managed to assure you only his and your eyes get to re-watch the hypothetical smutty tape.

reality also was that you got high and felt too fucked out to put up a fight anymore, and he needed to savor it all on film.

it wasn’t necessarily a hypothetical anymore.

joel’s hungry expression hides behind the camera lens as his thumb clicked to capture your each and every movement. he went on to start video recording after a little while of obtaining a lengthy photo gallery.

while he’s puffing on the roach end of another joint, he blows the smoke out from the side of his mouth. puts it down and starts to focus solely on you, ashing whatever’s left. he could see you were already smoked out over half an hour ago anyway. once he gets his fill of watching you tease yourself, rubbing your tits, thighs and legs up and down, he coaches you into opening up a little more.

“yeah, yeah. don’t be afraid to spread those lips apart—just like that, atta girl. gorgeous.”

he zooms in on your naked legs until the screen shows nothing but your drooling, freshly fucked pussy into frame. still pulsing around nothing, leaking the cum that’s yours and his combined inside.

sweat sticks to his forehead and his hair is comparable to a birds nest at this point. he’s hard again, even if he’s drained his dick in you several times in different places earlier. he easily slips into the role of film director, starts telling you how to move and what to say.

“gonna play this back and watch it whenever I miss you. wanna thank you for doing this, baby,” he sighs. runs his hands up your legs with admiration. “let’s see that pussy, yeah. spread ‘em nice and wide, wanna see.” two of his fingers scissor your puffy lips open. his thick spend slowly starts running down your leg.

“fuck, that’s gorgeous. looks so pretty when you’re all used up. full of my cum.” he already knows future him will easily finish less than two minutes into this. “tell the camera who fucked this sweet pussy.”

”you did daddy…” you answer, shy pink cheeks stuffed into the pillow, turned over to the side.

“mmm it’s okay, baby girl. don’t gotta be shy. you know I’ll always tell you exactly how bad I want you.” he breathes, leaning his head down to yours to hold your chin as he spoke. the camera’s still in joel’s grip. it picks up the soft sounds of his rough voice reassuring you. gentle and smiling. he just wants to watch you have fun for him, over and over, on repeat. this was the best solution.

he gets the camera and puts your body back in frame. he thinks he’s turned into Stanley Kubrick as he moves it around to get different lighting and angles of your pussy. once he’s found the most lewd, up-close shot possible, he keeps the lens focused.

“so go ‘head baby. since we’re playing show and tell, go on showing and telling the camera everything you begged daddy to do to you.” he instructed, keeping his eyes glued on you through the square little screen.

you’re grinning ear to ear, still flushed under the spotlight of attention he’s putting on you.

“I…I begged daddy to cum inside me.”

“that’s right, sweet girl. what else? did it feel good, feeling daddy fuck you hard like that?”

he’s stroking himself in a tight fist now, your leftover juices still lubricating his shaft. now the camera’s framed on the two of you, eagerly pleading and teasing with him. you’re harsh when you slip two of your fingers inside, watching him with an open mouth.

“yeah, mmhm. I see that look in your eyes. needin’ my cock again. this,” he holds the tip right up to your lips, making sure the camera sees. “is yours baby. could fuck and suck it all you want. whenever you need.”

he moves the camera higher to capture a nice bird’s eye view as you suckle down on a mouthful of his tip, running your fingers through the milky evidence still pooling between your legs.

a warning pops up on the screen, something about a low battery. joel curses under his breath then picks up speed with his hips, reaching down with the other hand to find your clit. he holds his breath while looking at the sight, delighted by the visual. he starts to feel the build up as he remembers that he gets to re-watch this over, and over, and over again.

“gonna have to go a little faster baby, yeah. just like that, that’s perfect.”

masterlist + buy me a ko-fi

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #the last of us smut #tw daddy kink #joel miller hbo #pedro pascal

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 11 months

Text

irresistible, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook provokes you into fucking him. Just not before you finger-fuck his mouth in the middle of a kitchen that belongs to neither of you as a summer party rages outside.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; strangers-to-lovers; JK is a brat until he gets served punishment; intense D/s smut (fem reader, noona kink, spit kink, slight humiliation / degradation kink, choking, hair pulling, scratching / marking, denying him kisses, nipple play, dry humping, m-masturbation, cowgirl, semi-public sex, ball torture); non-idol!BTS – sub!Jungkook x noona, dom!reader

yeah, he has the double lip piercing, I like what I like, shush JK's appearance based on CK campaign and 'SEVEN' promo photos

now playing – irresistible by fall out boy

“Noona, I heard something very interesting.”

“And what is that?”

“I heard you punish bad boys.”

“Your point being?”

“Well, I can be a bad boy.”

“Hm, you are not going to provoke me into fucking you.”

“Do you wanna bet?”

He said, “Punish me if you think you can,” and you said, “I don’t need to.”

His eyebrow cocked.

You clarified.

“I will make you want punishment.”

Jeon Jungkook. Honestly, not your type. So handsome he seemed fake. Pretended not to care when he cared too much. Had a habit of taking car selfies with a certain lack of respect to them and spontaneously posting them on Instagram to farm thirst comments. You didn’t know about the last part until earlier this week. It was essential to the process, obtaining background research of the subject.

And now you were alone with him.

In a hotel room.

Sitting in a chair placed in front of the end of the bed, primly crossing your legs, contemplating if you were going to fuck the man in front of you. You studied the details of his face. Striking eyes. Tan skin that looked malleable and supple. You could tell he was wearing lip product. A balm to make them more appealing, glossier, a deeper pink. Mood, texture, color.

He had not one, but two silver lip rings on the right edge of his shapely lips.

Let’s start there.

Your own lips curved into a smirk and you lifted your hand.

Jungkook frowned at you, chiseled jaw and furrowed brows included. He was sitting with his legs partly open, hands laced behind his head like a reckless bad boy, acting as if he needed to be impressed. He had messy black hair past his eyebrows. The strands grazed above his lashes when dry and would cover his vision completely when damp. His prominent collarbones were visible under the low-cut, baggy black t-shirt. Black leather jacket was tossed aside, exposing the stark contrast of his heavily inked right arm and his equally defined bare left arm.

Your right hand raised and you placed your lips between your middle and index finger.

Opened your mouth.

Right away, you could see it.

Jeon Jungkook thought he was a lot of things, or at least tried to portray a certain image, but those big, dark brown eyes betrayed him every time.

Your flexible tongue traced a subtle v-shape between your fingers, almost, almost touching the skin, but not quite. Barely a millimeter away. Close enough to feel the heat of the warm muscle. You saw him pause. Falter. A crack in the glass. Your lashes lowering, expression demure other than your obscene mouth trapped the frame of your fingers. His stare fixated, lips parting, forgetting his confidence in this lewd display of juxtaposition. Lidded gaze, red lips, pink tongue. You licked the air between you and him, come hither.

His hands were falling, falling, slowly drifting down his sides.

“What…?”

His voice was a little too tight, a little too interested for someone trying to play it cool.

“W… What a-are you doing?” he breathed out.

You didn’t reply.

You just moved your fingers. Tucked down your index and pinky finger. Pressed the ring and middle side by side. Then your tongue slid out, jaw lowering, and you collected your two joined fingers into your waiting mouth, sliding them into the slick, glossy, perilous dark hole.

Jungkook sucked in a breath, his eyes widening.

You tilted your head, licking around your fingers. Circling around them. Slow. Thrust them in and out, letting the saliva drip down, down, closing your lips around them softly, your red lipstick being ruined, and now there was absolute quiet. Not even breathing. This was now an erotic silent film and you were the star, your eyes barely open but seeing everything, fucking your mouth in front of his face and observing Jungkook’s reaction. His body tense, trying to hide the tremors. His lips parted, trying to mask his staggered exhale. His legs adjusting to bunch up his loose, classic blue jeans, all so the crotch wasn’t pressed right against his body.

You smiled around your fingers, sinister and sly.

Pulled your fingers out of your mouth. Lingering down the right edge of your lips. Your fingernail grazed the full underside of your lower lip, ghosting your skin, down your chin and the curve of your neck, fanning your fingers over your collarbones. Careless smears of red across your skin, fading down to clear gleaming saliva over exposed throat.

Your wanton, sultry sigh invaded the air between you and him.

Jungkook stared at you, mesmerized by the view.

Like a moth getting trapped in the light by fixation.

“Hurt me,” he whispered.

So easy.

Or perhaps he had no idea that he said it, because he straightened a little, chewing on his lip and abruptly looking away. Silent but you could see how hard he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Shivers subsiding but oh-so-slowly, as if he wanted to savor their departure. Still, he was avoiding your attention. You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a spare tissue, wiping your hand and dabbing off your chin. His head jerked back at your action.

Jungkook frowned.

Disappointed.

Wanted more.

You got up from the chair and stood, looking down at him.

“I am leaving,” you announced.

He flinched as if slapped and then immediately scowled, hiding his startled surprise with veiled annoyance. “What? Why? I haven’t done anything!”

You folded the used tissue absentmindedly as you spoke. “True. And that’s why I’m leaving. You aren’t interested. You are simply trying to use me to get a good story. I wasn’t affected. She’s nothing special. Hmm, I appreciate the consideration,” you added in a dry tone that did not, in fact, appreciate the consideration. “But you can make up whatever story you want as I take my leave. Feel free to get creative. I won’t dispute you.”

Jungkook sprang up from the bed, seemingly seething. “What? No. That’s stupid. I don’t want that. I rented a hotel room just for this. For you. What, you think I’m not good enough for your talent or something like that?”

Pressing his buttons, one by one, was almost too simple.

“Oh, no. I’m sure you’re good at sex,” you hummed calmly.

An uneasy flicker across his face.

“I just think you’re not ready for what I’m about to do to you.”

His expression sharpened. Biting onto the challenge. You faced him as an equal rather than an overbearing presence. For now. You held eye contact as you breathed out. Gave instruction, gently.

“Be honest with me.”

Your hand darted out, hovering under his chin.

Almost, almost touching.

“Place your chin in my hand if you want to be honest with me, Jungkook.”

The stench of summer sex.

You drenched yourself in it and when you surfaced, you shook out your hair and went onto the next.

This was the game.

Just like the game you just played, leaving with an open white dress shirt over your red bikini top and tiny black shorts, sauntering away from the bedroom. The man in there needed to come down. Needed to bask in what had just transpired. Maybe simply needed to hide after you had ravaged him. You on top, your chest to his back and your lips whispering in his ear, do you like this, getting fucked with your friends outside, a dirty deviant, aren’t you, your fingernails down his spine, his words ringing in your ears, mark me, harder, please, harder, and yours huskily back, and what if someone accidentally sees these pretty scratches or is that what you want, you want your slutty side to be seen, don’t you, harder, sinking your teeth into the curve of that ass, tasting those hips and those open legs.

Speaking of legs.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows threw sunlight all over yours as you strode down the hallway, casting your black, shapely shadow over the wall. Outside, the pool was occupied with people. Laughing, drinking, playing around. You could hear the splash of water. Watch showering rainbow droplets spray all over the glistening bodies under the scorching sun.

Fun.

You stepped into the kitchen for a quick glass of water before you were about to make your exit. No need to apologize to the host. He knew what you were here for. Well, you were the reason he was currently a sweaty mess. Heh.

And then, Jeon Jungkook, striding into the kitchen to corner you with his silvery voice and sexy body.

“Noona, I heard something very interesting.”

Like you haven’t heard that shit before.

With the lingering taste of desperate kisses on your lips, you told Jeon Jungkook that you would not be provoked into fucking him.

“Do you wanna bet?”

You tilted your head at that. At him and his open white dress shirt exposing his muscular chest and black swim shorts slung low on his hips. At that cut v-line and visible abs. Showing off, but none of it wasn’t something you hadn’t seen before. You paused, stopping your observation on those eyes. Those black-brown irises shivered at your eye contact. Pupils dilating, darkening them. Ah. Alright. You played along.

“Stick out your tongue,” you instructed.

He made a face, and, after some hesitation, stuck out the pink tip of his tongue.

Obedient.

Interesting.

You raised your hand. Placed the pad of your middle finger on the tip of his tongue.

His eyes widened.

“You want it?” you asked him.

Those untainted eyes shimmered, brows furrowing.

You slid your finger down his throat.

“Let me check your gag reflex.”

And you pushed it down, down, down into warm wet tightness with absolutely no change in expression, watching Jungkook’s eyes widen into shock, his lips involuntarily closing around your finger, almost drawing back, but then you began to move, slowly thrusting into his mouth, lifting your other hand that was holding the glass of water so you could drink.

What?

Hydration was important.

A long, slow sip, casually fucking Jungkook’s mouth with your middle finger in the center of a large kitchen that wasn’t yours, in clear view of anyone who might walk in right now. He could jerk back, he could sputter and tell you that you were a freak, but Jungkook simply stood there, frozen, as you drank your water and stared into his eyes and violated him.

Calmly.

Rubbing the pad of your finger on his soft tongue, coating your finger in his spit.

He wasn’t your type. You liked them a little more honest. But maybe it was a front to keep the riff-raff away. Or something else. Hard to tell if worth exploring. You pulled your finger back slowly, tracing his lower lip. You noticed the small mole below, right at the center. Your nail lightly grazed the two silver rings at the right edge of his mouth, his warm breath on your glistening fingertips. He was a close friend of the one you fucked less than ten minutes ago.

Hm.

You handed him your half-full glass of water.

“I’ll get your number and then we shall make the arrangements. Don’t forget to drink water. It’s hot.”

And then you left him there.

Now, Jungkook placed his chin in your hand.

You felt the quiver of his breath. The nervousness. The vain attempt to swallow it all down.

“Look at me,” you commanded.

He did. Trying to shadow those large brown eyes with his lashes, hiding behind a raised brow and wayward strands of black hair, but the hard edge in that gaze eroded as your fingers caressed his jawline. Carefully. Softly. Gently stroking his neck, circling around the perimeter of his throat, turning your hand to place the tip of your middle finger on the mole underneath his parted lips, reminding Jungkook of that moment in the kitchen.

Oh.

He was reminded, all right.

He made a noise like a choked moan.

Then Jungkook tried to pull away, his ears bright red with embarrassment, but your wrist twisted. You sank your fingernails into his chin and dragged him back. A pained gasp and his eyes flooded. Shimmers of shame. At his sound? At himself for trying to run? Or at himself for liking it? Maybe all of them.

“I want you,” you murmured.

You could see your words from before haunting his thoughts, adding meaning to your rather simple declaration.

Be honest with me.

“Do you want me?”

I will make you want punishment.

He seemed to have forgotten his own words though, forgotten his doubt and the front he had been putting up all this time, simply letting his unfiltered emotion spill out in a whisper.

“Y-Yes, noona…”

You saw he wanted to say something more, so you waited, loosening your grip.

Stroked his cheek.

Coaxing.

“But… I’m afraid…” he breathed, on the edge of nearly not saying it. “What if I’m worse than all the others you’ve had? What if you hate it? What if you never want me again?” Shivering inhale, nervously licking at his lip piercings. “I want to be good enough. I want you to like me. But if you don’t like how I am as much as I like how you are…”

He closed his eyes, not wanting his own eyes to reveal everything.

“Sometimes I imagine you…”

His hand lifting. Tattooed fingers around your wrist.

“Hurting me, and I feel so good.”

His voice getting smaller, making you silently step forward.

“I thought that was so wrong, but then… I heard you… with them, behind those d-doors…”

You breathed in his exhale, watching his lips move. The desperate need entangled in his tone, eating away at the fear, holding you to him as much as you were holding him to you, and maybe this was wrong, feeling gratified at his unsatisfied desire but so be it, you let it happen, let him drag it out, let him fabricate his own pain, embarrassed and ashamed in his confession.

“It made everything worse, knowing that you could punish someone, and it wasn’t me. It drove me crazy, you flitting into bedrooms and slipping away with others, but not me. I want your venom in me. I need to be good so you’ll want me most. But I don’t have any experience in this kind of stuff… I don’t want it to be anyone but you. All those people and none of them were me, and remembering that over and over again made me act like a dick, and I was, I was addicted to you without you ever touching me, hurting and wanting to hurt. But I need it. I crave to be your carnage.”

His brows furrowed, hesitating.

“But if I told you… you’d think I’m crazy. Wanting you without ever having you. Feeling like I know you when I don’t know anything.”

Yes.

It was crazy.

How wonderful.

You turned your hand and choked him.

Inevitable? Maybe.

Ignorable? Of course.

Worth investigating?

Hm.

You flicked through the social media profile of Jeon Jungkook. Hah. You knew of him. Interacted on the shallowest of levels. Hard not to, considering the other profiles linked in his photos. You knew those other faces. Had tasted those lips – and more, heh – like savoring a glass of fine wine on dark nights. Playtime was the agreement, so that was how it stayed. Ah, but you didn’t want to play a silly game with an unskilled player. There was no challenge in that.

What are you hesitating for?

The shadow of your previous conversation dawdled in your mind. Your questions about Jeon Jungkook answered, along with his number obtained.

You could be his maker.

You smiled wryly as you did at the time of that conversation. What am I, a vampire?

An artist, was the reply.

Some people wanted to watch the world burn, but they didn’t want to hold the match. Instead, they handed it to you and dared you to strike it. How strange. How strange that they did not choose to burn themselves. How else could a phoenix be born? There was no rebirth without ashes, no light without dark, no heaven shining above without hell burning below.

Or maybe they simply liked the idea of you ruling this circle of hell called lust.

Hmmm.

You stared at his photos.

“There is art here, waiting.”

You decided to send Jeon Jungkook a text, asking for time and place.

His eyes flew open and there was just something so delicious about the shock in them.

You tightened your grip.

Yanked him forward. Just enough power to cause slowed blood flow. There were two types of choking your enjoyed. The first, the kind that applied pressure but no crescents of pain. And, the second, pressure accented with your nails turning inward, digging into soft flesh to mark what was yours. Jungkook received the first.

For now.

“You like pain?” you asked, placid and almost bored.

Black strands framed those sweet chocolate eyes tainted by the darkness of something deviant.

You ticked your head.

The faintest movement that screamed, hurry the fuck up and answer or I will let go.

He immediately started nodding, his chin pinching down to the pocket between your thumb and forefinger. The danger zone but he didn’t know it. And yet, so smooth, your free hand gliding up, sinking your fingers into the tousled waves of his black hair and pulling back. A breathless whimper drifting up towards you, helpless and contentment all that once, drawing a slow smirk from your lips, and you could feel it upon seeing this display of submission. The race of your heartbeat and the shot of adrenaline. Addiction at its finest. The familiar rush flooding your veins as you yanked Jungkook’s head back by his hair and dug your fingernails into his neck.

“O-Oh, fuuuuck…”

His eyelids fluttered. Hard thighs shaking under you, tense hands gripping the edge of the hotel bed, crumpling the duvet with his desperate want. You placed one knee on the bed and continued choking him, controlling the power to the pads of your fingers and less on your fingernails. Oh, you would leave a mark, but you weren’t specifically aiming to make him bleed. Maybe if he asked nicely. Arcing his head back further, lifting the elbow of your choking hand, looking down into those half-lidded, hazy brown eyes.

You smiled.

Then you spat onto his cheek.

Jungkook flinched strongly, not expecting the sudden splat of liquid onto his face, but you held him still, witnessing his full-body shudder and the moan leaking from his tight throat. You unflinchingly took the full brunt of his intense glare. Trying to burn you with indignation that he didn’t feel.

You leaned down.

And licked his face.

Cleaned off your own spit, tasting flesh and anticipation.

Delicious.

“I taste good on you,” you hummed, running your tongue over his jaw.

His breathing was shallowing and it wasn’t from the choking. Low whines creeping out between gasps, more and more pathetic as you licked all over his jaw, trailing kisses, placing one on that mole but missing his lips. Toyed with his earlobe instead, silver hoops cool on your tongue compared to the hotness of his skin. You could feel the tension in his body reaching breaking point, giving you only a few more moments before you needed to let go.

He attempted to weakly plead your name without honorifics.

You instantly released him.

Jungkook sputtered and coughed. Blood rocketed to his brain in an uncontrolled rush, and it nearly blinded him for a moment, his body veering sideways and his arms shooting up, clawing for something to hold, but your black boxy cropped jacket had been taken off already, leaving you in nothing but a black velvet bra top and matching tight miniskirt.

Strong hands grabbed your hips, dragging you down.

You stood firm.

The hand that had held his hair was still outstretched. Jungkook was coughing and blinking hard, disoriented and coasting on the high that was forced release. He could do nothing as you pushed his head back and cupped his cheek, turning his face so you could admire the dug-in crescents marring the side of his neck.

A different kind of moonlight.

This feeling.

The kind of feeling you could only get from destroying something untainted. Something so special about only encountering this once. Or...? There was something about those begging brown eyes struggling to watch you that made you want to question that. An innocence that seemed to linger even though he knew – or guessed he knew – what was coming.

You reached up and stroked a fingernail over the red marks, playing connect-the-pain-dots.

“Spread your legs.”

You said it softly and with a vicious edge.

Jungkook’s breath hitched and he obeyed, moving his knees away from each other.

You chuckled.

“Wider.”

There was a slight frown in the line of his brows but Jungkook did as he was told. Wider. You nudged his knee with yours, still holding his shaking chin with your hand, almost a gentle caress, and you pressed his thigh open until his erection was jammed into the zipper of his jeans. Discomfort shadowed his features, nose wrinkling, but you merely continued to regard him with a faint smile, reaching down with your free hand.

Took his left wrist and placed his own hand over his denim-covered hard-on.

You could see the protest bubbling in those brown orbs.

“Feel that?”

You curled his fingers around the crotch of his pants and molded his fingers to his trapped length.

“That’s how much you want to fuck me.”

It was one thing to say it yourself. Another for the one you were lusting after to point it out and make you feel it, make you stroke yourself through your clothes with their hand over your hand, and now that was Jungkook’s position, you doing just that while staring into his eyes, forcing him to tease himself under your command, only able to view you from the side as you held his head still, his black hair spilling over his cheek and forehead.

“N… Noona…”

You closed your fingers around his and made him grip the seam of his jeans, enclosing the thick fabric around the head of his cock. His shoulders buckled and he moaned, powerful legs threatening to close but you pinned his knee to the bed, driving in the point of pain, daring him to disobey.

You ticked your head.

Moved your thumb to stroke his trembling lower lip.

“What?”

Your tone was serene. Inside the rampant desire was tearing your calm façade apart, arousal and exhilaration building, finally feeling alive in this circumstance.

Those glistening dark eyes shifted, enamored by your power.

“P-Please…”

I will make you want punishment.

You knew. He knew. Those words now embedded in his mind, toying with him, dragging him into his dark fantasies that he couldn’t and didn’t want to share with others. You could see it in this eye contact. Him on his knees, holding the hem of his shirt in his teeth, wanting your tongue on him. Him with his hands above his head, taut inked skin and flexed muscles, exposing his chest to the mercy of your raking fingernails. Him sitting with his legs open, your teeth sinking into his hard thighs, clutching his balls in your grip and pre-cum dripping off the swollen head of his cock, leaking out and dripping, desperate to be buried in your throat.

You held your breath.

Just to heighten the high of what Jungkook was about to say in that silvery, quivering voice of his.

He shuddered.

“Punish me.”

“How do I know you won’t back out?”

How cute. Jeon Jungkook had called suddenly and barked this question at you. No hello, no how are you doing. Not even should I bring a snack. Instead, anxiousness hiding behind irate accusation. The I-definitely-don’t-care-but-I-do attitude.

“You don’t know,” you chuckled, letting your words caress his ears. Unintimidated by his fire, allowing it burn closer and surround you. “You just have to trust me.”

You could hear the heaviness of his breath.

“I can’t trust you,” he snapped, slipping into his Busan satoori in his fluster.

And yet you still want to keep me on the line.

“Too scared of the risk?”

And he could hear it in your voice, almost. A suggestion of adoration. On the edge, darling, but it wasn’t there. Only hinted at. You heard him suck in a breath. Tight. Maybe he had never thought of it, that possibility, until right now, until your tone of endearment that may or may not be there, but he couldn’t be sure and that was why he was taking so long to respond.

“I… I’m not scared. I just don’t wanna waste my time.”

“Oh, but I do.”

You hummed, sighing softly into the microphone, listening to Jungkook pause, holding his breath, spellbound by your tone.

“I want to waste my time on you. Spend long minutes with my hands in your hair, chest to chest, layers of clothes between us. Straddle your lap. So close but so far. My lips skimming your jaw, your throat, your collarbones. I want to say anything. I want to feel you. Breathe you. Consume the moment for every delectable bite it is. Press against you. Trap your waist between my thighs and feel you squirm against me. For me. You want it? Ask for it. I’ll deliver.”

He couldn’t see you, but you could feel your smirk widening as you spoke.

“You have my word.”

Waited a beat.

“Jungkook.”

Sweet like a lover, and then you hung up, cutting off the paradise.

Mmmm, you did love edging them.

Hovering.

You hovered above him and his shaking lips, his naked chest beneath you, and held his wrists. Not because you needed to hold him down. No, he was too trapped in his role to fight you. Didn’t want to, even. Tightened your grip. Lust rippled over his expression, slipping further into service. You deliberately avoided his hands. Kept your fingers constricted around tattoos and tendons and stared into his eyes. Dark brown irises polluted by the dilution of his pupils.

You breathed in.

Low and slow.

Feasting on the tension.

Lips barely a centimeter from his and those shiny silver lip rings. Close enough to cause the tremble, far enough to deny. Just enough distance for your exhale to be the secondhand smoke he desperately breathed in, already craving that nicotine.

You lowered your lashes.

Slid the middle finger of your left hand down, down his right forearm. Raking a line of hurt over black and color, deep enough to cause real pain but so slow, so slow that it made those round eyes shiver, his head flinching, and maybe it was involuntary or maybe it wasn’t, but you still denied him. The smirk stayed your eyes rather than on your lips, making the moment even more maddening. Frustration flashing in those expressive chocolate orbs, close to begging, but still too proud to break.

He was reaching impatience, so you took action.

You lifted your hand from his arm.

“Art…”

You whispered to those yet-to-be-devoured lips.

“Requires a certain cruelty.”

Then you pressed your palm to his mouth and slashed your fingernails over his bare chest.

Jungkook choked on his own yelp and you snuffed it back into his throat with your fingers clamping down on his cheeks. His hands shot up sharply, and you glared with malice, all five nails perched like a spider on his red, shaking pecs. A second of hesitation, and you let him remember what he said, punish me, the recall of subservience crumbling the surprise in his gaze.

He did not stop you.

You rewarded him with drenched tongue over white-hot pain.

The potent moan radiated from his flesh to your tongue and then into your head. Pierced with lust, with submission, with confusion, for he didn’t understand how it could hurt so much and yet feel so good. You scratched him again, lower, indenting his muscle and reddening the skin, not hiding your veracious fixation of the marred color, hungrily pressing the flat of your tongue onto it so you could feel the carnal elasticity and the heat of inflammation, oh how wonderful, raking your teeth over the tension, your lips smearing past, kissing his body before you even kissed him.

This.

Burning skin on tongue. He tasted clean, almost sweet. As if he prepared for you. You sank your teeth into his side, your fingers splayed out on his collarbones, ah, yes. Wet. His chest was damp from your spit. You sunk your middle finger into the base of his throat and Jungkook was gasping, choking, his trembling hand encircling your wrist but putting no pressure. Whimpers. He very badly wanted to touch you more, but he couldn’t guess how much you would allow and that fear alone heightened his lust. You pressed harder onto that spot between the bone, closing your eyes, letting his cries resonate sweetly in your ears.

This rawness of emotion.

This was beauty incarnate.

You relaxed all pressure on his throat and bit his nipple.

“Ah!”

You wrapped your hand around his neck and gripped harshly as your tongue toyed with the now-hard nub, finally lowering your body onto his clothed lower half. Right between his thighs, not your crotch but with your stomach against his bulging erection, grinding against it as you sucked, flicked, nipping at his nipples while casually and savagely choking him.

Looked up at him.

Condescendingly bored.

His hands scrambled for his neck, pulling at your fingers, but you only held on tighter, pushing the limit, and he was shaking his head, his black hair flying, those large eyes rolling in wild helplessness, glistening pink lips parted but making so sound, his feeble cry pinched in its now bloodless cage.

The silver lip rings gleamed in the light.

You ran your tongue over his chest, over red skin and trembling muscle.

Jungkook was getting harder under you. Throbbing, even in the jeans. You didn’t let go, keeping him in suspension of half-breath and half-death. That was because despite his showy performance of resistance, there was no power in his clawing fingers. The strength was in his hips, in his desperate, fervent rutting against your exposed midriff. You still hadn’t taken off your bra top or miniskirt. You let him keep going. Let him feel the velvet of your covered breasts against his hard, flexed abdomen. Let him thrive in the sensual agony. The rough friction was searing, but you did not move away, even pressing back against him.

His chest was tightening, strained scream rattling in his ribcage, trying to get off in vain, but there was too much fabric and not enough stimulation, aching pleasure fringed by the torturous pain of not enough.

You smiled.

“Don’t say you want it and not mean it,” you said, tone without inflection.

You lessened your grip just barely.

Bleeding oxygen flooding into his brain, and Jungkook moaned weakly, disoriented, his black hair sticking to his face, his lips, his cheeks, sweat and spit and tears, gasping, lashes fluttering, picturesque hands with those lovely fingers fanning out, stroking your inescapable grip on his neck. As if he savored the power locking him down. Needed it.

His silvery voice cracked like brilliant glass shards refracting rainbows as they fell.

“P… hah… Ple… Please, noona…”

There was a perverse satisfaction in watching him break.

“I… m-mean it, I w-want you, please… I can’t t-take this… I wa… want to feel you, please…”

You, too, savored his shattering demeanor.

Those large chocolate brown eyes up above pleading sweetly, urgently, watery.

Down below, you grinned with more than a touch of mania.

“Now that is what I want to see.”

You let go of his neck. His shudders travelled through your body as you slid down his, vibrations cutting all the way down to the very bone, sensing his fear and anticipation and that irresistible addiction building. The thrill of something new, something dangerous, something evolving into necessity as you looked into his eyes and Jungkook stared back, bitten pink lips parted in wonder as you slid between his thighs, serpentine, your predatory gaze reflected in his glassy irises. You did not hide your ravenous glee.

You could feel him getting more and more aroused knowing he had awoken something deep inside you.

You gripped the sides of his jeans and extended your tongue.

Threatening.

“N-No, wai–”

What happened next was simple. Almost too simple. But it was the performance that mattered. It was not just about removing his pants, but was about the deliberateness in your force while doing so. It was about your undivided attention directed right at him. It was about the slow, frame-by-frame pace. It was about the tightness of your grip and the harshness of your knuckles digging into his v-line as you slowly, tooth by tooth, dragged down the metal zipper of those classic blue jeans. You let him feel the nick of every tick of metal against his barely clothed erection. Centimeter by centimeter. Hooked your fingers under the waistband and let your fingernails catch on his hips. Jungkook whimpered, rising to his elbows, staring wide-eyed at you, not even realizing the disheveled state of himself. You slowly removed his jeans, tugging down, down, backing up, your sharp manicure periodically catching on his tense thighs, watching the gasp ripple up his red, flexed chest and escape from his throat. Sinful pleasure washing over his features once he realized he was enjoying it.

Perfect.

You let Jungkook watch your expression transform from faint amusement to rapturous satisfaction.

You backed up, tossing his jeans aside.

Knelt in front of his open legs and placed your hands on your lap.

Demure, one over the other.

You smirked.

“Show me.”

You ticked your head to the bulge in his black boxer briefs. Voice like poisoned honey, your words both a command and a dare. His cheeks burning red and there was the faintest tick of annoyance that you silenced with your sharpened gaze. Your smirk subtly morphed into something a little more sinister, a subliminal challenge in this smile. Maybe if he was in his right mind he could refuse, but there was too much adrenaline and too much anticipation.

The promise of payoff was so, so close.

Which was why you got to watch Jeon Jungkook strip his underwear off right in front of your eyes.

Your tongue traced your lower lip, wetting it.

He was now sitting at the very edge of the bed, thick thighs spread wide open, taut tension all over his muscles, and his swollen erection sticking out, the purple-red head leaking and angry, desperately seeking stimulation. And pain. Before he could drop his hand by his side again, you snatched it and stopped him.

Jungkook froze.

Visibly shivering at the contact of you holding his hand.

You stared into his eyes and brought his hand to his crotch, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock.

“Wha–”

You violently spat on the veined shaft, splattering saliva all over, and made him stroke himself, just like that. Immediate gasp, his hips bucking, and you spit on him again, slicker and wetter, forcing him to masturbate. He didn’t need much encouragement, already taking over the pace, harder, faster, and you let go, your fingertips running over his slippery knuckles, spreading your saliva all over. Looking up, seeing his black hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth open, shuddering, his moans deeper and lower now, more wanton, on the edge of depravity, not wanting to do it but needing to, too aroused to stop, too turned on to turn back, hyper-aware of the power saturated in this moment.

Jungkook was completely naked in front of your still clothed form, jacking himself off, and every time you spat on him, he whimpered, powerful hips jerking and rattling the hotel bed, the struggle flashing over his torn expression, to enjoy or be ashamed, but his lips were betraying him, more, please, his hand shaking as you made a mess of his thighs and cock, dripping spit, licking the inside of his open legs, his hand pausing with every one of your dramatic flairs.

Edging himself for you.

Your hands rested on his hard thighs, pushing them apart even more, glancing down at this lewd display but mostly observing his face, not letting him escape the pleasurable prison of your attention. You specifically did not verbally degrade him. It was not wanted and there was no need.

The silence itself was palpable humiliation.

His breathing shallowed.

Stuttered.

Chest tightening.

Close.

You leaned forward, hearing him hold his breath.

Suspension.

The harsh slap of hand to skin suddenly stopping.

Your hand clenched around his, abruptly cutting off his high. Squeezing through his grip. The violent throb of blood, and you staring into those large, glistening brown orbs, his rising sob dying in his dry throat. You rose instead, standing over him, keeping your hold around his strained hand. Even under dingy hotel lighting, his tan skin glittered with sweat, those prominent cheekbones framed by curled black strands, and, oh, those quivering flushed lips trying to choke out your name, a plea, anything, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, rendered mute by the deafening silence.

He was falling apart.

It was sublime.

Art was worth the pain.

You raised your other hand and cupped his chin.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, hazy and slow.

He moaned, thin and strung out on desperation, not caring about anything anymore, not knowing if there was an end. Ensnared by the moment. Possessed by compliance. You lowered your head. He obediently opened his lips, and his entire body shook uncontrollably, those lovely eyes rolling back into his head, hurriedly swallowing the stream of spit dripping from your tongue, the tips of your fingers caressing the slippery, pulsing, purple-red head of his cock locked in his grip, and now…

Now, the composition was perfect.

It was mere seconds, but at this point Jungkook didn’t have a good grasp on time anymore. Obscene whimpers, blown-out pupils, hardly registering the sound of the foil packaging ripping open, gasping as you tugged his hand away, his eyelashes fluttering as the ghost of your touch rolled down the condom, and then you hiked your skirt up, flicking down your panties.

They slid down your legs, the mere scrap of fabric soaked through.

Your grasped Jungkook’s right shoulder and now he finally seemed to realize what was happening, his eyes widening, but now it was too late, your heat right above the head, your other hand at the base, one knee on the bed.

“N… Noona…?”

You sank down onto his cock.

It was a slightly awkward position, but lust and adrenaline took over as you slowly, carefully bottomed out, not really for him, but for you to truly enjoy what was about to blossom, clenching around his girth and savoring the aching fullness, spying his pained expression from underneath your lashes. Tightened jaw as the wet sleeve choked him from below, and then the visible wave of ecstasy travelling through his body that manifested merely as a meek groan when you rocked your hips, dragging him into the constricting bliss, riding Jungkook on the edge of the hotel bed.

“W-Wai–oh, fuuuuck…”

You did not wait, hooking your leg over his thigh and leaning your knee against the mattress as you fucked him with some effort, but his body responded immediately, thrusting up and into you, and there it was, the flare within your core, intensity finally meeting matched intensity. Your breath stilling in your chest, leaning forward a little more, driving your hips forward, smack, there, fuck, yes, there, and you could see the angle was affecting Jungkook too, the muscles of his neck tense, lifting himself to his hands, and now he was really fucking you back, giving into the compulsion, hot gasp drifting over your neck, and you looked down to glassy brown eyes and shaking lips, those silver lip rings the inviting garnish, and still you resisted, slamming your hips down, slap, wet and tight and hungry for more, more of the thick cock, gripping his inked shoulder so hard that you were leaving even more marks.

Crescents of pain.

It was unbearably hot in the velvet bra top and your miniskirt bunched around your waist, but there was power in that discomfort. A visible inequality that fed the feral and the fervor, drowning you and him in this visceral, depraved lust, both hunting for the high, your hand rising and his hand rising, hips driven forward, harder.

Your hand around his neck.

His grasping your ass, dragging down and hitting you deeper, softly whimpering as you clenched around him.

“Fuck, yes.”

You exhaled hotly over his lips, letting your satisfaction bloom in the carnage of his pride.

“You…”

Bringing Jungkook’s face close to yours by his throat, losing your own breath with your ferocity, your words a husky rasp as you neared your crescendo.

“Inspire me.”

And then you kissed him.

Lips to inflamed lips, feeling the flash of sparks race all over your skin and burn your insides, faster, a bruising rhythm that Jungkook was leading, whining in your mouth as he came, his hips violently shaking, all the while pressing up against you, that strong hand splayed out over your lower back as he took your breath away. Your hand tightening, taking his blood away, and that was it, succumbing to the addictive power, tension snapping, radiating bliss racing through your veins, the brutal punch of orgasm leaving you airless, moaning deeply into his waiting mouth, your inner walls throbbing and viscous juices seeping down his balls, his thighs, sticking to your crotch.

The stench of summer sex soaked through the sheets, creating a large damp spot down the edge of the hotel bed.

You let go of Jungkook’s shoulder and held his trembling face, deepening the kiss and swallowing his raw whimpers. His pining sounds expanded and fluttered in your chest, so pure and so delicious, and more, you needed more, drunk on his taste, enslaved by this passion.

I’ve outdone myself this time.

You sighed into his mouth.

“I hate you.”

Surrounded by used condoms, electric air, and rumpled sheets half-pulled off the hotel bed, Jeon Jungkook gripped your wrist and told you he hated you, breathing hard, laying on his side. Both of you completely naked. You were sitting upright, delicately leaning against pillows and the headboard.

You smiled down at him.

“Oh?”

“W… Why are you… hah, why are you okay and I’m…”

His sweaty black hair was plastered to his forehead.

“Not?” you offered.

Across your body, you felt the bruises of his fingertips and soreness thrumming in your muscles. This network of pain simply curled into the blossom of the afterglow, creating the veining throughout the petals of this satisfying night.

Jungkook’s expression turned from irate to shattered.

You kept your smile but, behind it, hesitancy lurked.

Those dark glass eyes closed beneath you, but he held into your wrist, tattooed fingers squeezing hard.

Breath after breath. Ragged. Injured, but with pleasure. Satisfied, but some part wasn’t. You didn’t have to look into his eyes to know how he was feeling. Bowed, shaking shoulders. Body curling into the sheets, blanket tangled around his legs, the low light of the hotel room casting harsh shadows. He moved closer to you. Holding on for dear life. You could feel the uncontrollable tremors from his hot hand.

“Just…”

His voice so small, cracking under a weight unseen.

“J-Just… just pretend a little… longer…”

Your smile slipped away, like a shadow in the night.

“For me… noona…”

It is the performance that matters.

You looked down at the form of Jeon Jungkook and wondered if you could always be right.

“I’m not pretending,” you said to the flower that had blossomed in your carnage. You reached over and put your hand over his. “This is who I am.”

His fingers relaxed.

You paused.

You looked down again. At Jungkook burying his face into the sheets and the pillows, inhaling the heavy scent of sex that had transpired between you and him, burning it into his memory. Not too close to touch you, but close enough for you to feel the heat from his body, close enough so you couldn’t forget, and his hand was still on your wrist, tenderly caressing the inner tendon. It was a slightly rough touch. Unfamiliar.

For now.

What feeling are you trying to chase?

“Are you obsessed with me or what?” you chuckled, brushing the thought aside.

Stopped.

Jungkook was gazing at you from below. A singular dark brown orb, teary and reflective, the other masked by a tangle of black hair and the white hotel bedding. You had asked the question and the answer was wordless or, rather, simply in that stare alone. Bleeding desire. Helpless passion. Raw want.

You memorized his pained expression.

It was too beautiful not to.

“Would you let me be?”

It was both a rhetorical question and his answer.

Jeon Jungkook was supposed to be a fleeting moment. Supposed to be and, as you kept eye contact, you could feel the fire behind the glass. Some people wanted to watch the world burn, but they didn’t want to hold the match. His hand slipped out of yours and covered your fingers, grasping them tightly, possessively, intensely watching you, burning from your ignited match, burning and asking to be set on fire again, and again, and again, in dark nights and hazy afternoons and early mornings, and your skin prickled under the gaze of Jeon Jungkook, an expression that demanded to be set alight by your flames, for he had dreamed about it for so long and now it was real but you could potentially take it all away and he just wanted you to know…

He couldn’t live without the euphoria of this performance.

Your lips parted to refuse him.

And you couldn’t.

The seconds stretched into minutes. You could be his maker. Rebirthed from the ashes. An artist. You could tell that Jungkook thought very straightforwardly. He did not want to let go, so he didn’t. Simple. It was a pure feeling and it continued even after the first time.

Innocence.

The feeling I’m trying to chase? Ecstasy.

You smirked, sly laughter simmering in your lungs.

“You’re asking for trouble.”

“You’ll have to frame me up on your wall to keep me out of trouble.”

You grinned and shoved Jeon Jungkook into the wall, capturing his lips once more. The familiar press of two metal lip rings in this kiss, the familiar tension radiating from the hard muscle beneath you, the familiar impatient hands finding your ass, pushing up the short hem of your miniskirt and sinking into the soft curve. Time and time again, he showed up under you, dragging you to him, insatiable, craving, begging as if he had never had your pain before, shivering from every kiss, never having enough unless he was falling apart from your touch, all of him feeding the predatory compulsion that you had always tried to hide behind one-night stands and planned hit-and-runs.

All of your flaws aligning with this mood of his.

Jungkook slid down the wall, moaning, rolling his hips into your crotch, completely forgetting he was in somebody else’s house and supposed to be celebrating their birthday.

Thankfully, the music was blaring.

Your hand around his neck and you reached down. He was wearing tighter, black pleather pants today.

Ah, art and torture went hand-in-hand.

You gripped his balls through his pants and he whined in your face, trembling all over as his neglected erection strained above your hand. Lips locking, hot bodies pressed together in the semi-darkness, drinking in his thin exhale and his pleas, even reaching down to palm himself as you tortured his balls, squeezing and pulsing your knuckles around him.

“N-Noona, just f-fuck me, please,” was his breathless whimper into your mouth, lustful moans hitching as you choked him harder, and it was too delicious, too demanding, too beautiful was this graphic display of greedy desire.

Art.

How could you walk away?

“Irresistible, my darling,” you murmured to panicked breath, and you dragged him to you, tasting his smile as his tight white shirt was being tugged out of his pants below the entangled kiss, and he breathed you in, his free hand reaching up to your swimsuit top, scooping out your breasts as you controlled the blood flow to his head and undid the zipper with your other hand, peeling the pleather away.

You grabbed his balls, squeezing.

He gripped his hard cock.

Right.

On.

Cue.

He whined and you shoved the hem of his shirt into his mouth, making him bite down onto it and exposing his bare, muscular torso. Those pleas in those glassy brown orbs, long black hair disheveled and all over his face, and you grinned, the moment on fire, electricity racing over your skin as he toyed with your nipples and jacked himself off, him basking in your force and the addiction of being controlled. So picturesque, a work of art, and so you had to make it yours.

You couldn’t get enough of him.

You raked your nails over his ass and down his thigh and his eyes rolled back in his head, his muffled whisper between you and him, drifting in the dark.

“I love the way you hurt me.”

Music to your ears.

“Hurt me more, noona.”

Art required a certain cruelty, after all.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook x noona #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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shieldofiron · 1 month

Text

Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979.

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,”

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes:

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it.

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #steve x billy #harringrovefic #harringrovefanfic #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove fanfic #stranger things #my writing #DJATS au #Daisy jones and the six au #tw drugs

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 6 months

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The Babysitter (24)

The 'Talk'

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 24- W/c 3.5k

Tag list- @natsluttt @cerberus-spectre @dorabledewdroop @bibliophilicbi @hopelesslyfallenninlove @simpform1lfs @get-the-fuck-outta-here @natashaswife4125 @marvelwomen-simp @supercorpstan97 @aliherreraaa @aru-son (Comment if you want to be added)

The 'Talk'

After talking a little more with Wanda's parents and brother, her arm securely wrapped around your waist as you two sat together on the sofa, your head resting on her shoulder, everyone decided it was time to call it quits and head to bed.

"Are you sure you don't want the guest room? It's got more room," Natalya asks her daughter while hugging her before she leaves to go to bed, Wanda smiling at her mother's care and shaking her head.

"I think we'll be fine," Wanda replies, her mother smiling tenderly at her daughter. She couldn't be happier for her, the older woman glad she found someone who could make her daughter truly happy.

You wished everyone goodnight, Pietro warning you two to be on your 'best behaviour' and not partaking in any 'funny business' making you blush while Wanda hits her brother, muttering something in Sokovian to him with a taunting smile on her face as she leaves with you.

Fingers interlock with yours as you're guided through the Maximoff's mansion, a smile engraved on both of your faces when you enter her old room, your eyes taking in everything. Wanda leans back against the closed door, her teeth biting down gently against her lip as she admires your form taking in her old room, your eyes flickering back to hers before going to her desk and looking at the many framed photos, most with either friends or Pietro, one of the entire family in Sokovia.

Your gaze then goes to the box filled with many rings, looking back to make sure it was alright to rummage through them before doing so, putting on as many as you possibly could. Turning back to her with your hands covered in her rings, she lets out an angelic laugh at your immature antics before casually strolling up to you, her fingers slowly sliding them off while she keeps your gaze.

"This one suits you," she murmurs, your gaze reluctantly being torn away from the striking green to your hand, the last silver ring on your index finger fitting perfectly. "Keep it," she whispers and you flicker your eyes back up to her face, taking in the content and tender glint in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" You ask while she closes the box up, gaze lingering on the photo of her in Sokovia before turning back to you.

"Yes, it's not like I'm going to run out," she chuckles out, your lips stretching into a wide smile when she leans closer, her lips softly pressing to yours before she guides your body backwards towards the bed.

When the back of your legs hit the frame, you fall back, a sound of surprise leaving you when you discover it was a single bed, not a double, your head and shoulders leaning over the edge, laughter spilling from her lips. You awkwardly try to get back up, further fuelling her amusement as she doesn't help you get up, revelling in the entertainment of watching you struggle.

Eventually, you manage to get back up, Wanda climbing onto your lap and wrapping her arms loosely around your neck, fingers naturally going towards the baby hairs at the back of your neck.

"Thanks for the help," you sarcastically mutter, her smiling into a soft kiss before she rests her forehead against yours, the smile still permanently etched onto her face.

"You're very welcome," she whispers back, making you laugh breathlessly, the room being surrounded in a comfortable silence.

You focus on the feeling of her body pressed against yours, your mind not going anyway inappropriate, just simply savouring the moment. To say you were happy was an understatement, you couldn't describe the joy you were feeling. You felt safe, loved and welcomed by her family and for them to react the way they did just helped you in a way you didn't even realise you needed. Everything was amazing, and it was all because of the woman currently wrapped up in your arms.

"Thank you," you whisper, breaking the silence that filled the room, her head pulling back slightly, one of her hands moving to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin.

"For what Detka?" she asks, voice low to keep the tranquil atmosphere that had wrapped around you both.

"For just being everything I've ever wanted," you gaze into her eyes lovingly, watching as the green gloss over with care while your arms tighten their grip around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. "I've never been so happy and it's all because of you."

The enticing green that are staring at you soften, her lips ever so softly pressing against yours to convey her feelings, pulling back slowly to whisper something.

"I love you," you can feel your heart melt at the tenderness lacing her tone, the words on the tip of tongue, just not quite ready to fall off yet. "And it means the world to me that you're so happy. You deserve it," your head moves to hide at the crook of her neck, arms securing their hold on her as you just bask in her embrace, your emotions a little all over the place from the stress earlier to the overwhelming happiness.

She holds you for as long as you need, understanding that you needed this intimate moment while you still can't comprehend how she's just so perfect.

After a little longer, you pull away from the safety of her neck, a timid expression on your face from having a 'moment', Wanda tucking a few stray strands of hair out of your face gently. You lean forwards to kiss her, pouring all your love for her into it to express your feelings so that she knows how much she means to you. When she smiles into the kiss, it's inevitable that you do as well, pulling back and carefully moving your body so that you are on the bed the right way, laying back while Wanda lays on you.

"Are you sure this bed is going to be big enough?" you quietly whisper, her head tilting up to look at you from the place on your chest.

"We practically cuddle all night Dekta, this is definitely going to be enough room," she murmurs playfully before burying her head back against your chest, using you as a pillow while her arm wraps around your waist, leg also laying over yours.

"If I fall off, I'm going to be grumpy," you mutter, her laugh muffled as she turns into your body, her head lifting to look at you once more.

"Don't worry Detka, I'll hold onto you," her tone playful while her hand squeezes your side, emphasising her point, moving back to cuddle against you, easily drifting off to sleep.

***

With a pout, you climb into the passenger seat of the car, the boys talking excitedly about the trip while you stare out of the window, your lower back hurting.

"Detka," Wanda murmurs at your side, her hand moving to your thigh before giving it a squeeze, her lip biting down on her lip to stop the chuckle wanting to escape her at your moody state. "You can't be grumpy all morning," she teases, your head turning to her, having to fight the smile wanting to break out on your face as you look at her.

"You said you would hold me," you grumble, the twins giggling at your slightly offended tone.

"I did Dorogaya," she says and technically she's not lying.

"Then why did I fall off," you mutter, raising your brow in a challenging way until she mirrors your action, you quickly retreating as she also tilts her head.

"Because you rolled too far," her tone teasing while you just roll your eyes at, the smile breaking out onto your face at her nose scrunch. It's just too cute. "Told you that you couldn't stay grumpy all morning," she whispers before leaning forward to kiss you, the twins groaning in the back at the affection while your smile just widens, Wanda moving back into her seat properly to start the engine, ready to start driving to the beach house.

"Yeah, yeah," you sigh out in a light hearted tone, turning back to the twins who peek from behind their hands, making sure you were both finished.

The drive towards the beach was pleasant, the twins partaking in their favourite activity of asking a million questions, smiles engraved on yours and Wanda's face at how ridiculous some of them were.

Your personal favourite of the day was 'Do you eat or drink soup?' because it sparked a very interesting line of conversation where the twins bickered playfully while Wanda chuckled at their antics, you lost on thought on which it would be. You couldn't stop your laughter when Billy argued if you drank it you would put it in a cup or use a straw before going on a silly tangent about imagine taking bottled soup to school for a drink, quickly ending Tommy's idea of it being a one.

Before you knew it, you were once again getting out of the car with the suitcases, this time with Tommy's backpack as Wanda carried Billy's, the twins quickly running to meet their grandparents who were unlocking the beach house. Pietro soon shortly arrived, bringing his own case and leaving it in the hallway as Wanda's parents checked the house out, making sure everything they would need was there.

They then designated rooms, you and Wanda having the master room with the view of the sea, Pietro mumbling that it was his birthday too and he wanted the bigger room, to which his mother said when he had a partner he could have the bigger room making him shut up. Her parents were on the other side of the house while the twins and Pietro had the slightly smaller rooms, the twins quickly running upstairs with their backpacks to battle on who gets which bed, Wanda following them before a mini war started.

Struggling a little, you managed to get both yours and Wanda's bags into your room, flopping them onto the floor near the bed before walking to the window and admiring the view.

It was on private property so there were no random people in sight, this part of the beach completely separate meaning you had it all to yourselves. You savoured the peaceful view, lingering at the window sill as you watched small waves crash over each other, inching its way up onto the sand before retreating. It was oddly soothing, your gaze only reluctantly being torn away when you heard your name being called by Wanda.

"The boys want to go play on the beach," she says, appearing at the door frame, a smile tugging at her lips as she walks closer to you, also admiring the view, chuckling as she can see the twins practically buzzing with excitement as they wait for their mother to come down. "Do you want to join us or help Mama with lunch?"

"I'll help Natalya if that's ok," you whisper, the view of the scenic coast nothing compared to her eyes, already getting lost in the depths of alluring green.

Her mouth moves as she speaks but you're too focused on her eyes, not taking in anything she says until her hand cups your cheeks, gaining your attention.

"Are you going to listen this time Detka?" she murmurs playfully, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

"Maybe," you whisper, flickering your gaze away from her eyes to her lips and back up, "Depends if what you say is interesting." She raises her brow at that, chuckling at your teasing comment before repeating how her and the boys were going to play in the sea for a bit, telling you that if you were going to join them later you had to remember to put sunscreen on, the older woman not wanting you to get burnt of anything.

"I'll be out in a bit," your tone soft as you watch the woman leave to step out into the deck, trying your hardest to not stare at the swimming costume she's put on, the soft skin exposed naturally catching your line of sight.

You watch with a soft smile as the boys sprint towards the ocean once their mother comes out, Erik following suit, his hand still rubbing some of the sun scream on his arm as he steps onto the soft sand.

Turning away from the door, you wander through the house to find the kitchen, spotting Natalya watching everyone else throughout the window, the food her and her husband bought on the way all laid out on the countertops.

"Wanda said you might need help," you say quietly as to not startle the other woman, her gaze turning to you, a motherly gaze aimed towards you. "So I'm at your service if you need it."

"That's very kind of you dear," her accent slipping into her words, "We're only having sandwiches so it's pretty easy." You nod along, doing as she asks by buttering the bread, while she talks to you about the place, saying how they'd been coming here for a couple of years and were slowly falling in love with the place. The topic soon turns to you and Wanda, a light blush on your cheek at the way she stares at you for a moment, you being unsure of what was about to happen.

"Thank you," her tone laced with honesty and sincerity, her words making you look at her in curiosity. "I haven't seen Wanda smile like that for years," she continues, joy radiating off her at seeing her daughter so carefree. You offer a shy smile in return, her continuing, "With Vision, she just seemed to miss something and, between me and you, I never liked him," you agree with her dislike for the man, chuckling when she mutters something rude about him under her breath, " But with you... I don't know how to describe it but it's like I have my daughter back."

You feel your heart melt at her tone, the genuine smile and the way her eyes gloss over with joy, her body moving naturally to hug you while you try to place down the butter covered knife so avoid getting it on her shirt.

"Thank you," you say, mirroring her tone when she pulls back from the hug, a smile on your face at how affectionate she is. "For being so accepting of us, I... It really means a lot to me, probably more than you can imagine," she tilts her head a little curiously at that, her face softening at your timid tone towards the end, her body moving for another hug, not that you minded.

"You're welcome dear," she whispers, pulling back and moving back to finish the sandwiches, the atmosphere around the room calm and peaceful. "Have you two told your parents yet?" she asks innocently, unaware of how complex the situation was.

"That's a bit complicated so no," you sigh out, finishing the last slice of bread, manoeuvring your body so you could lean against the wooden countertop while you talk to her.

"How so? If you don't mind me asking," she turns her gaze away from the crusts she was cutting off for the twins, them being picky eaters on the odd occasion, her brows furrowing a little at your subtle shift in mood, "You don't have to answer that dear,"

"No it's fine," you dismiss, knowing that the other woman was extremely understanding, another trait Wanda seemed to have picked up on. "My dad passed away a couple years ago," you say and you're a little proud of yourself for being able to say it to someone else, normally panicking more about the topic. "Wanda, she... she came with me to visit his grave on the anniversary of the accident," her face expresses her sympathy for you, knowing herself how hard it is to lose a parent, especially so young. "As for my mother, we don't talk anymore," when you don't say anymore she gathers you don't want to explain any further, wiping her hands on a tea towel before turning to face you.

"I'm sorry to hear all that dear," she softly says and you can tell she means it, "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me." You smile shyly at that, the other woman taking it as another cue to bring you in for another hug. Seriously, what was it with this woman and hugs? "If you ever need to talk to someone dear, you know I'm here, right?" You smile at her motherly tone, her squeezing you once more before parting from the embrace, looking at you with a tender smile, "Even if it's about Wanda," she says, tone a little teasing as, if you were to ever complain about your girlfriend, you weren't sure you'd tell her mother of all people. "I'll set her straight for you."

"Thank you Natalya," your voice gentle as the other woman simply smiles at you, her gaze flickering behind you, an arm wrapping around your shoulder.

"What are you two lovely ladies talking about?" Pietro says, flashing his mother a charming smile who simply rolls her eyes at her son's behaviour.

"Nothing that concerns you Dorogoy," she says, making you smile in appreciation at not discussing it with Pietro.

"Well, if you're finished, I'd like to steal Y/n away for a moment," your brows furrow at his words, his mother knowing where this was going.

"Behave Dorogoy," her tone switching to her stern mother voice, "And be nice."

"I'm always nice Mama," he teases, moving to press a kiss to her cheek before motioning for you to follow him towards the deck, your eyes naturally going towards Wanda, her splashing water at her father while the twins laugh at her father's reaction.

"I've already had to do this talk before so I'm going to keep it quick," he says, causing you to reluctantly tear your gaze away from the beach towards the silver haired man, his expression now serious. "I love my sister so much, I'm willing to do anything to protect her," he says and you're not sure whether you should admire his protectiveness or fear for your life, "So as long as you keep her happy, I'm happy." Your face is a mix between confusion, shock and understanding, the man not giving you a chance to say anything before patting you on the back, "Great talk."

"Yeah, great talk," you say back, making him chuckle, his body moving to lean against the wooden fence surrounding the deck.

"You look so scared," he says, laughter spilling out from his lips, "Anyway, onto the good stuff," he motions for you to mirror his position, your eyes going back to Wanda, who waves over at you two before turning back to her father. "How are we going to mess with her?"

"Mess with her?" at your words, he groans.

"Yes, mess with her," he repeats, your brows furrowed but a smile is engraved on your face at his determination to annoy his sister, "I take my job as older brother very seriously."

"Aren't you only like eleven minutes older?"

"I'm still older," he grumbles, "So, stage one of my plan is we play with them in the water, one of the twins going on your back while she goes on mine, and then I'm going to throw her into the water," you want to laugh at his planning, not too sure where you fit into his plans.

"What am I supposed to do?" your tone was a little puzzled as he said you were both going to prank her.

"You're the distraction for stage two," his lips turning into a mischievous smirk, "You're going to distract her and then I'm going to push her back under the water again."

"Is she not going to get mad?" you say, not wanting to annoy her that much, the man just laughing at your consideration. She was his sister, he didn't care if she got mad at him. It's literally his role as a sibling to annoy her.

"Probably, but don't worry, she'll forgive you in a heartbeat," you smile a little at that, knowing that Wanda definitely had a soft spot for you. "I, on the other hand, will worm my way back into her good books by taking care of the twins and letting you two enjoy some quality time together," you chuckle at him, admiring how well thought out his plan was.

"It's your funeral," you warn and he merely laughs.

"She's not that scary," he says and you pull a face at him, clearly expressing your disagreement when she gets angry.

"Are you sure about that?" When he thinks about it, the cogs visibly turning in his mind, you see him reconsidering his words, shaking your head at his antics.

"Well, then you can come to my rescue and get in my good books so I never have to do any more big brother threats," he says with a toothy grin, offering his hand out to you. "Do we have a deal?"

"It's a deal," you chuckle out, shaking his hand, unaware of Wanda seeing the action.

What had you gotten yourself into?

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tgmsunmontue · 4 months

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You need to learn how to fall 3/10

Hangster (and IceMav) - Bradley is too tall to be a naval aviator and instead becomes a sky diver, specialising in spin recovery. He is a civilian contractor to the Airforce and Navy to teach pilots how to survive parachute spins from ejections. A more in-depth version of this post.

PROLOGUE 2003-2006

2007-2010 – The middle years

He ends up with another part-time job, fortunately using his human performance part of his degree and working as a personal trainer, mostly early mornings. Jumping out of planes is expensive. He moves out of the house him and Mav usually live in, but months later ends up moving in with Ice when he’s diagnosed with cancer. They don’t sugar coat things, not now that he’s an adult. He has to listen to them talk about wills and property and investments and assets; wants to stick his head in the sand and just chant la-la-la until it all goes away. He doesn’t want to consider his life without them both in it. Hard enough to think he’s already lost his actual parents, he can’t lose them too.

He sits through it though, signs forms he reads carefully because both Ice and Mav frown and look disappointed the first time he signed without even looking. They get similar forms for him, given his current career and he’s pretty sure Mav has to excuse himself to go and throw up when he says he doesn’t want to be kept on life support indefinitely if he has a bad fall. Ice just nods and accepts his decision with quiet equanimity and he wonders if it’s because he is facing his own mortality. He starts a YouTube channel, figures out how to take effective video and then edit it properly. Loads them up without commentary; originally it’s for those he’s taken up for tandem jumps, but then it’s for other instructors around the country, and then a couple of them move overseas. His channel has a small but dedicated following.

One of the silver linings of Ice’s cancer diagnosis is the fact he seems to no longer give any fucks about what people might say about his relationship with Mav. Don’t ask, don’t tell is still in effect but it’s also definitely very firmly in the don’t tell realm as far as Bradley can figure out. Everyone who they interact with seems to simply know that they’re together, and have been for as long as everyone remembers. Definitely for as long as he remembers. No one wants to tell and he guesses that Ice is high enough up that there’s probably blind-eyes all over the place.

�� Then Ice insists on Mav moving in, which he promptly leaves the house for, not wanting to hang around for listening to the argument or hearing the makeup sex that will surely follow. So they put the house on the market, then he’s given the money and told he can finally buy the plane he wants which he delays a little and carefully shops around, listening to the advice of his old instructors and also Ice and Mav. All his gifts for years are centered around either skydiving or filming and editing software. It doesn’t escape his notice that Mav’s gifts tend towards the safer indoor aspects, while Ice tends toward the safety needs. They’re both supportive in their own ways.

Living together, all of them, properly for the first time, results in the sudden influx of photos that pop up, every flat surface has frames with photos and Ice starts taking more photos. All of their lives are visually documented on the walls and bookshelves, although Bradley notes the front room Ice uses as a study and work room remains very formal and devoid of any personal touches. Other than formal portraits, like his graduation photo. Regardless of what room he’s in he feels like he is at home.

… … …

His nightmare becomes a reality, although not in full. The call he got was from Bradley, starting off with I’m alive but I’m on the way to the hospital. He’d then passed the phone over to someone else. Apparently he’d taken a bad landing after being forced to use his second backup shute. He’d been too close to the ground so had hit it hard. His hands are shaking as he walks down the hospital corridor, the only thing that has him not vomiting is the fact that Bradley is the one who called him. That Bradley was alive; maybe not alive and well, but alive enough to call him.

“Bad fall,” Mav mutters. “Like he’s tripped over the front step and grazed his hands…”

He pushes the door open to Bradley’s room. He’s pale, face covered in bandages, one arm in a cast and both legs in braces, but not as he’d imagined a broken spine and him being in something like full-traction it’s a little bit of a relief.

“He’s damned lucky.”

“Doesn’t look lucky.”

“He had his legs tucked up, hit the ground and rolled. Like it was as natural as breathing. He dislocated his shoulder but continued with the momentum… most people I know would have hit the ground feet-first despite years of training and the shock would have caused spiral fractures. They’ve braced his ankles as a matter of precaution because the x-rays showed no damage, which is a miracle but also isn’t surprising considering he walked into the hospital. We don’t usually say that you can be a natural at skydiving, but this kid is definitely a natural.”

Mav sighs.

Of course he is.

… … …

“If the cancer didn’t get me, then I’m sure jumping out of a plane isn’t going to kill me either.”

“Fighting words. It’s a good thing I’m taller than you. When we come into land you’re going to lift your legs.”

He listens as Bradley takes him through everything, despite the fact that he knows it all, having listened to it so often he’s pretty sure he could repeat it back, learning it alongside Bradley and quizzing him on it. He can follow Bradley’s instructions, he’s in the Navy. When he’s strapped to Bradley, waved the all-clear he feels a little frisson of abject terror but it’s too late, he’s falling toward to the ground and then his fear fades away and he lets out a whoop of joy, hears Bradley’s amused laughter before it’s whipped away by the rushing air. They hit the ground and it’s gentler than he thought it would be.

“Woo! What a rush!”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It reminds me of my first launch off a carrier. Damn. Yeah. I get it now. Love you kid,” he says, knocking his own helmet against Bradley’s, the words aren’t ones he says often, but feels the need to say them more often now. Doesn’t want Bradley to ever doubt how he feels. Mav either for that matter…

“Love you too.”

… … …

“You were both up there, together.”

He should have known it would give Mav another nightmare and he curls himself around him, makes gentle shushing noises under his breath, glad now that he doesn’t have to try and do this over the phone.

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then know that skydiving, especially tandem skydiving is safer than driving to and from the hangar. Car accidents are far more common and hurt far more people than skydiving does. You’ve seen him with his gear. Hell, we check it. He’s damned good at what he does. He’s meant to be up in the air just as much as you are…”

Mav lets out a little hiccupping breath and Tom knows he’s got something that’ll definitely take his mind of everything else.

“You know, there’s something else I want to check off on my bucket list…” Tom says, and he’s not going to move, but his otherwise grand plans aren’t getting a look in right now. This feels right.

“What?”

“Pete Mitchell, will you marry me?”

… … …

Ice and Mav leave plans on the table one night. An extension to the house, with a shared internal door but his own front door; effectively making two houses. A large bedroom, another room for an office with a desk, extension to the garage so he can store his gear, enough room to roll out his chutes and carry out checks. It’s very clearly an invitation to never move out, but also to live independently and he finds the sticky notes they use to communicate when they’re too busy to actually stop and talk. Simply draws a heart and writes love it in the center.

He doesn’t bother looking at moving out of home again.

2011-2015 - The later years (NEXT PART)

#IceMav #Top Gun fanfic #Hangster #you need to learn how to fall

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footballerimaginess · 1 year

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Future Mrs Mbappe

credit to @alphamccall for this gif (this gif is so cute lol)

Birthday Prompts request: I would like a Kylian Mbappe scenario 11 and dialo 5. Kylian Mbappe Word Count: 735 Kylian had a few days off, just perfect for your birthday. “Oh wow, you look incredible” Kylian leaned on the door frame as he watched you whilst you were getting changed. “Thank you, can you do my necklace for me please?” you smiled as you handed your silver delicate chain over to him.

“So pretty, I can’t believe you are look so good” he muttered as he took your hand and span you around. “Aww you are cute aren’t you. Right we best go okay?” you nodded as you took his hand again as you walked downstairs, trying not to trip over your dress. You headed to the restaurant that Kylian had booked out for the evening, just for your birthday which was crazy in itself. - As you walked into the restaurant, everyone cheered as you stepped inside. “Oh my, woah KyKy. You did all of this for me, I can’t believe it.” you squealed as everyone was approaching you trying to hug you tightly. “I am so glad you could make it” you squeezed your best friend tightly as you hadn’t seen her in months but she made the trip to Paris just for you. “Of course I would make it, I was so happy that Kylian told me he was doing this for you” you smirked as you felt a small tug at the bottom of your dress. “Oh hello baby girl” you picked up your little girl who was in her sparkly dress. “Mummy” she squeezed you tightly as you walked over to the table as your first course of food was about to be served. “Let’s all raise a glass to y/n, to celebrate her birthday. Happy birthday angel” everyone shouted and celebrated for your birthday, blushing away feeling slightly embarrassed with everyone looking at you. “This is lovely” you smiled as you helped your daughter Céline with her food. “She is getting so big now, y/n. She looks just like when Kylian was younger actually” Kylian’s mother glanced over to Kylian who was feeling awkward now. “Aww really? I have only seen a few photos of him when he was younger” you looked back down at Céline as you fed her some more mouthfuls. It was starting to get really loud with everyone speaking and catching up over lost times. Once the desert’s came out, Kylian was starting to act a little suspicious like he had something up his sleeve. “Ky, this is perfect where did you even get this cake from?” you asked him as you took a huge bite. “One of the ladies who works at PSG was telling Ethan how she loved baking, so it was Ethan who got her to make this cake” your eyes widened as you felt so soft. “Oh Ethan, that is cute of you. Bless you, I should get the recipe because this is lovely” you smiled, slightly babbling to try and make conversation as you could sense that the room was becoming a little quieter now. Kylian picked Céline from her chair. “I’ll just take Céline to the toilet, I will be back in a minute” he smiled as he put her on his hip. “So you need to give this to Mummy okay” Kylian handed over a present to his daughter as Céline nodded and grabbed onto it. Kylian took Céline back into the restaurant as he placed her on the floor as he wandered over to you. “Give Mummy her present” he smiled as he watched like a hawk as his little daughter handed over the small box. “Oh thank you darling” you smiled as you opened the small box gently. You let out a gasp as you saw the the ring. “Oh my god, what the fu-” you gasped out loud as you looked down and saw Kylian on one knee. “y/n, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” you gasped as you nodded, getting up to give him the biggest cuddle. “Of course I will Ky, I love you” you cuddled him tightly as Céline crawled to your legs as everyone was screaming in celebration. “I can’t believe it, I am going to be the future Mrs Mbappe” you squealed with happiness as you kept looking at the beautiful ring. “I love you so much, our little family” Kylian picked up Céline and hugged her tightly close together. Taglist: @footballffbarbiex @percervall @mrseriksen @football-and-fanfics @footballxixstars @odegaardsreds @simpingmyassoff @ghwoticz @0alanasworld0

#kylian mbappe imagine #football imagines #football imagine #football x reader #kylian mbappe x reader #football one shots #football one shot #futbol imagines #futbol imagine

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honeylations · 1 year

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- Let Me Be Your Edward Cullen -

HUH YUNJIN x FEM!READER

Prompt: Being a total book nerd, you wanted to spend your entire day off finishing the entire Twilight novel series but it results in a sulky/jealous Huh Yunjin who tries her best in gaining your undivided attention…Even if it meant becoming your Walmart Edward Cullen.

Warning(s): swearing, jealous/sulkyYunjin, bookwormReader, comedy, puppyvibesYunjin

A/N: Idk how this suddenly came into my mind one day but I couldn’t stop giggling to myself at how cute this is😭

Manifesting YUNJIN CULLEN!!

———

It felt like ages since you and the girls finally had a day off without constant interviews and photo shoots so you decided to cozy up in your shared room with Yunjin and read your Twilight sequels.

The day you and Yunjin met was your first dance practice. You somehow arrived at the studio early so you sat down by the mirror and buried your face in your thick novel, trying to pass time until your members arrived. Yunjin was the first to walk in, absolutely mesmerised how angelic you looked with your metal frame glasses, long hair and bare face. Long story short, she fell in love with you and confessed her feelings a day after you debuted and you were happy to say you felt the same.

Since then, she knew your love for books. Romance ones especially.

She even gifted you a whole bag of romance novels for your birthday and you managed to read every single one within a few weeks. And you were down to do the same to the Twilight sequel Eunchae bought you recently when her and Kazuha stopped by a book store during their snack errands.

Here you were on your bed, legs warm under your quilt and the book resting in your hands, already half way through the story. Yunjin walked in wearing her own glasses which you twinned with after she begged at how cute it would look. She bent over to kiss your lips before sitting next to you.

“Hey baby” she greeted softly.

“Hi” You responded quickly before resuming your reading.

Yunjin’s brows furrowed as you didn’t use your usual nicknames for her but she shrugged it off. “Whatcha reading, pretty girl?”

“Twilight!!”

“Oh is that the Vampire thingy?” Yunjin asked while peeking over your shoulder as if she was actually interested in reading such a boring novel.

“Yep!”

“Oh I’ve watched the movie. It’s kinda cringe, don’t you think?”

“It’s romance! And plus, vampires are so hot” You commented, eyes never leaving the page.

Yunjin pouted cutely. She never thought she’d get jealous over a vampire. She pinched your cheek. “Can I have more kisses? It’s our day off, you know”

“After I finish this novel, babe. You’ll get all the kisses you want”

“But that’s gonna take forever! Look how thick that book is!” She threw a tantrum next to you.

“If you somehow magically became Edward Cullen, then my attention is all yours” You chuckled, flipping to the next page.

Yunjin sat up quickly and squinted, an idea forming into her mind. “Ok then. I’m gonna go and…do something BYE BABE LOVE YOU!” She kissed your temple before bolting out the door.

As she exited the room, she ran to Eunchae who was snacking on sliced fruits at the dining table. “Manchae!”

“Oh hi Unnie. Want some apples?”

“No thank you. You still got that glitter you used for your poster the other night?”

“The silver one? Yeah, it’s under my bed. Why?”

“Y/n won’t give me her attention unless I’m Edward Cullen” The 01 liner frowned and crossed her arms.

“Edward Cullen from Twilight? Im pretty sure she was joking Unnie” Eunchae giggled but Yunjin was serious.

She was gonna die if she didn’t get your loving soon. “Im willing to do anything for her affection, man. I need to find my light brown contacts too, for fucks sake”

“Language, young lady” Chaewon appears, slapping the back of Yunjin’s head before taking one of Eunchae’s sliced apples and popping it into her mouth.

“What’s wrong with you this time, Huh Yunjin?” The leader asked, Sakura and Kazuha coming in and sitting down.

“You look stress, Unnie” Zuha commented.

“Hey relax guys, I’m just trying to fulfil my nerd of a girlfriend’s dreams, okay? If she wants Edward Cullen, then I’ll be her Edward Cullen”

The other members giggled before cheering her on. “You go Huh Yunjin! We’ll help you out” Sakura smiled, making Yunjin’s eyes go wide.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! It worries me when Y/n spends the entire day reading a book. She needs to go outside sometimes” Chaewon said, a hand on her hip.

“What’s your plan?” Eunchae asked Yunjin who took a deep breath in.

“Well for starters, I’ll do my makeup and have my light brown contacts in. Then I’ll just cover my body in glitter and recreate that scene where Edward let’s the sun shine on his tiddies and shows it to Bella”

“I don’t think that’s how the scene went but I get the drift. Let’s go to the bathroom!” Kazuha laughed, the 5 girls running upstairs, ensuring you didn’t hear their plan.

An hour and a half later…

The other girls decided to go out and eat ramen after helping Yunjin who gulped and peeked through the door, seeing you still in the same reading position.

“Babe” Yunjin whispered.

You hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

“Remember how you said you’d give me attention if I became Edward Cullen?”

You hummed again.

“Well. Here you go” Yunjin sighed and walked in, standing in front of the window where the sun shone through brightly.

Hearing those words, you finally looked up and your eyes widened as Yunjin started unbuttoning her long sleeve, her light brown eyes looking deep into yours.

‘Oh she did not…’ you thought, trying not to laugh.

Finally popping the last button, she stripped the top off and threw it aside, exposing her shining, glittery body. Your eyes scanned from her shoulders down to her gorgeous abs that sparkled from the light. “Holy…”

“Is this good enough to get your attention yet?”

You smiled and set your book down. “Hmmm, I don’t know. Are you able to carry me on your back while running?” You asked as a joke.

But of course your girlfriend didn’t take it as a joke so she snatch you up and gave you a piggy back before running out the room and attempted to go down the stairs. Seeing where this was going, your eyes widened and you jumped off Yunjin’s back who missed a step and fell down the rest of the stairs with a loud thud.

You gasped. “OH MY GOD, YUNJIN!” You screamed as you ran downstairs and saw your topless girlfriend sitting up, rubbing her head.

“Ow”

“For god’s sakes, ‘Jin, everything I said was a joke!” You said with worry, rubbing her slightly bruised head.

“I was just jealous you were reading that book more than spending time with me. I’m sorry” She pouted.

You sighed and pressed your lips softly against her’s, running your fingers through her long hair. “No don’t be sorry. I should’ve been reading that book another time. I’ll give you all the attention now, baby”

“Was I a good Edward Cullen?”

Chuckling, you cupped her face and squished her cheeks together. “You’re way better than Edward Cullen. My gorgeous vampire”

Feeling proud, she leant in and connected your lips again before pulling away.

“Wanna watch a movie?” You asked with love in your eyes.

“Of course! As long as it’s not Twilight though..”

You laughed and gently slapped her shoulder. “You can choose whatever movie you want, my love”

Yunjin jumped happily to her feet and dragged you to the couch where you spent the rest of the day in each other’s arms.

#huh yunjin #yunjin x reader #le sserafim x reader #gxg #wlw

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renxzs · 1 year

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Flight to Orynth x Rowaelin | AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Aelin’s flight is delayed due to inclement weather. Thankfully she has a certain silver haired stranger to keep her company.

Word Count: 4.3k

CW: nsfw (18+ only), strangers in an airport, slight praise kink, modern au

Aelin: September 9th

Lysandra: ???

Aelin: Save the date. For my upcoming wedding to the hottest fucking male I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. 🥵

Lysandra: SEND PIC

Aelin: hahaha, uh no.

Lysandra: Aelin!! pleeaasse

Aelin: I’m not snapping a photo of a stranger like a fucking creep.

Lysandra: May I remind you of our trip to Wendlyn last summer…

Aelin’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly with a snort. Her best friend loved to play dirty.

Her gaze cut up across the sitting area to the unsuspecting male. His nose continued to be buried in a novel. Of course, he just had to be a reader, too. Gods help her.

Aelin: FINE

Lysandra: 😁😘

Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as her eyes were drawn back to the silver haired male still focused on his book. She wasn’t normally so easily rattled by a male, let alone one across a large room whom she hadn’t even spoken to.

It was just one silly picture.

Attempting to be inconspicuous, Aelin shifted the angle of her phone until the lens brought the subject of her attention into focus. He was truly a beautiful specimen… Gods, get a grip. Her thumb hit the shutter button and snapped a few back-to-back frames.

Recrossing her legs, Aelin pulled up the most recent photo in her album app. A hint of a smile dusted her lips while she drank in the male. The photo didn’t do him justice, yet somehow was still unfairly flattering. And that quiet smirk tugging on his lips had faint flutters stirring low in her belly.

Aelin’s teeth dragged over her bottom lip as she sent the photo off to Lys, who must have been poised and ready to pounce. Her response was near immediate.

Lysandra: GODS FUCK, AELIN.

Her teeth clamped down harder to stifle her laugh.

Aelin: I know!

Lysandra: THE MUSCLES.

Lysandra: THE FACE.

Aelin: I know!!!!

Aelin: Lys, I’ve never wanted a stranger so bad. 🥵 it’s been way too long.. I’m dying over here.

Lysandra: Go climb that male like a tree. NOW!

Aelin: 😂

Lysandra: I’m dead serious. You’re hot as fuck. It’d be a damn blessing for any male to—

Aelin slammed her phone face down onto her lap when a low voice practically purred, “If you need a close up, don’t be afraid to ask.” The lilt of his accent thrummed through her in all the best places.

She whipped to where the voice had come from, only to be brought up short with that gorgeous silver haired male now occupying the seat to her left.

Proximity only enhanced his already attractive features—piercing emerald that banded his pupils, sharp lines and strong jaw, thick lashes that every male seemed to undeservingly have, plush soft pink lips that curved into a self-assured smirk.

Aelin’s eyes snagged on swirls of black ink peeking out just above his shirt collar. His sleeves were pushed up to the elbow, exposing powerful arms—the left one covered in more ink down to his wrist. Her fingers itched to uncover if his sleeve connected to the tattoo on his chest.

Gods, she could quite possibly die. Her pulse hammered in her ears and her palms felt clammy with the shock of being caught.

With a clearing of her throat, she shoved the embarrassment down and grabbed furiously at the threads of inner bravado she could typically summon so easily.

Aelin leveled her gaze with his then quipped, “Can a female be blamed for admiring the male form?”

His smirk grew as his eyes flicked down her body before settling back on her face. “Certainly not.”

Her current travel attire consisted of her favorite pair of yoga pants that nicely accentuated her toned legs and ass, and a cropped hoodie that tastefully exposed a section of her midriff—practical and cozy, but also cute. Her new companion seemed to agree.

The male relaxed back in his seat, slightly orienting his body towards her. He reached out a large bronze hand, “I’m Rowan.”

His grasp was warm and firm. “Aelin.”

Rowan hummed appreciatively, his hand lingering against hers a moment longer. “Pretty.”

Heat rose to her neck and cheeks. Averting her gaze, Aelin’s eyes fell to the phone in her lap. This was all Lysandra’s fault. She just knew her best friend would be laughing herself silly if she were privy to Aelin’s current situation.

Aelin subtly shifted in her seat as well, to better see Rowan. She made a show of recrossing her legs, letting her right foot bob freely in the air. His gaze tracked the movement, leaving a trail of heat tingling up the length of her leg.

“So what brings you to this fine establishment on a stormy Tuesday evening?” Aelin asked airly with a wave of her hand to their general surroundings.

Rowan chuckled, laugh lines crinkling around pretty green eyes. “Your flight grounded due to the weather, too?”

She nodded her confirmation. “Orynth. You?”

The corners of his lips upturned. “Same. Flying in from Doranelle after visiting on holiday.” She wondered idly who exactly he might’ve been visiting. Friends, family—a significant other?

“I try to go home at least twice a year,” Rowan supplied, as if her thoughts were written across her face. “Though my cousins insist it’s not enough,” he chuckled. So family, then.

Aelin hummed. “So you work and live in Orynth then?”

“Yeah. I took a position back in the fall at UT.” She raised an eyebrow. Snagging a position at the University of Terrasen was an impressive feat. “I love it so far,” Rowan continued. “And Terrasen is a beautiful country.”

She couldn’t help the fond smile that curved her lips. “It really is.” She gently nudged his calf with her foot and crooned, “What is it you teach, Professor?”

The change was subtle, but Aelin swore his pupils dilated ever so slightly. Interesting. Rowan snorted, “History.”

“Explains the novel,” she said, dipping her chin towards the worn war book tucked into a side pocket of his carryon bag.

“What can I say, it’s an area of interest.”

Aelin’s smile broadened with mischief. “I could provide a few recommendations if you’re looking to add a bit of spice to your repertoire.”

Rowan’s head tipped back as he barked a laugh. “Oh, Aelin—I’m quite sure you could.”

Her name wrapped in his voice was like whiskey, all smooth burning heat. Her belly swooped with the suggestion coloring his tone.

“And what is it that you do, outside of your personal interest in photography?” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Surely assassin is off the list. You’re about as subtle as a flying brick.”

Aelin hit his arm playfully, refusing to allow her subsiding flush of embarrassment to rise to the surface of her skin again. “I work in publishing,” with a muttered bastard under her breath. To which Rowan heard perfectly, if his amused chuckle was any indication.

“Ahh, so you truly are equipped to hand out recommendations then,” he surmised.

Aelin leaned a bit into his space and hummed a confirmation, then added, “But the spicy recs are solely of personal interest.”

Her eyes tracked the bob of his throat as he swallowed thickly. She rested back into her seat again with a satisfied smirk.

Rowan’s gaze darted to the large screen mounted by their gate, skimming the information displayed. A moment later, his pine-green eyes were focused back on her. A quiet heat began to unfurl in the pit of her stomach as she held his stare.

His words were soft when he spoke. “Flight is still delayed for the foreseeable future. Let me buy you a drink.”

She pretended to mull over the pros and cons of sharing a drink with this virtual stranger—incredibly attractive virtual stranger. It wasn’t like she had anything else better to do to pass the time while stuck in this gods-forsaken airport. She couldn’t deny he would still likely be her first choice, regardless.

Rowan’s quiet confidence seemed to slightly waver with her prolonged silence, as if he were second guessing his offer and assessment of where they stood with one another on the flirting spectrum.

Aelin mercifully put a stop to his internal backtracking and offered her hand, accepting his invitation. The brilliant smile she received in response warmed through her as she allowed Rowan to pull her to her feet.

Aelin: I’m having drinks with him at the bar.. 🙈

Lysandra: OMG! I demand every single detail as soon as you land!!!

Lysandra: and BE SAFE.

Aelin: I will, promise 😘

Aelin smiled softly to herself as she returned her phone to an inner pocket of her work bag. Rowan sidled up to their shared high-top table and placed a second glass of red in front of her. She murmured a thank you before taking a long sip.

Rowan gave a nod as he settled on the stool across from her, a whiskey neat cradled between his large hands. Large, tan hands that she wondered how would feel exploring her body…

Aelin tightly squeezed her thighs together to stave off the growing ache between her legs. But the teasing pressure only stoked the flames licking to life beneath her skin. The warm buzz of the wine also wasn’t helping matters, nor was her current 9 month stint of celibacy since her breakup with Chaol.

“So,” he drawled before taking a dreg from his whiskey glass. “Are you ever going to share why you were snapping pictures earlier?”

Aelin slumped in her stool with an abashed groan, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“That was not my finest moment.” She risked a peek at him; open, gentle amusement shone back. “I’m sorry for that by the way.”

“I’m not.” Rowan said matter-of-fact. “It gave me the excuse I was desperate for to approach you.”

Aelin’s heart stuttered.

“I also hoped it meant that I’d maybe caught your eye, too,” he admitted softly.

She sat frozen for a moment, stunned by his revelation. Then wordlessly emptied the last remnants of her wine glass before sliding off the stool. It took all of two steps before she found herself well in Rowan’s space. Crisp snow and pine mixed with spicy undertones of a cologne filled her lungs. The heat emanating from his body made her head spin.

Her fingertips brushed featherlight alongside the edge of his strong jaw, savoring the nip of his stubble. Gently, Aelin turned his face towards hers and leaned in close. Rowan met her halfway, his breath soft against her lips as they both hesitated for a moment, then closed the remaining space between them.

The kiss was gentle, exploratory. Rowan tasted like the whiskey he was drinking, and she wanted to drink every bit of him down. Aelin gripped his shirt to pull him closer. The heat of his skin burned through her when he cupped her face, thumb smoothing over her cheekbone.

Rowan tilted her head back further for better access, tongue dancing across the seam of her lips. Aelin moaned softly, immediately opening her mouth to him. Rowan’s free hand had traveled to the swell of her hip and flexed tightly in response. Holding steady, keeping her close.

A pointed throat clearing cut through their reverie.

Her eyes cut over to the lonely looking patron two tables over who was going to great efforts to not stare at them. Her focus slid back to glinting pine-green eyes, and she clamped her lips shut to suppress the bubbling laugh—at this ridiculously crazy situation and the dazed look that overtook Rowan’s features.

“There’s a single unit restroom down that corridor,” she murmured with a slight incline of her head in the direction behind him, eyes smoldering as they peered up through thick lashes. “Meet me there in 5?”

“Yes.” His vehemence crackled through her veins.

The corner of Aelin’s mouth tugged upwards, and she extracted herself from his grasp. Wordlessly grabbing her work bag, she slipped past him in the direction of the restroom.

Aelin’s heart pounded rapidly in her ears, blood roaring with anticipation as the door snicked close behind her. Shaky fingers hung her bag on a courtesy hook before she turned to face the mirror.

Fiery blue eyes reflected back, bright and wild. Her cheeks, neck, and chest flushed with a healthy mix of arousal and adrenalin. She was really going to do this—fuck a stranger in an airport bathroom. Heat shot down her spine and pooled between her legs with the thought.

Mind so addled with lust and need, it was difficult to find reason not to do it. Her body burned with want for Rowan—very well might die from it without proper release.

Aelin leaned her palms against the sink counter and loosed a jagged breath. Breathe.

A soft knock echoed in the small space and she belatedly realized she hadn’t locked the door. Relief flooded over her as silver tendrils came into view, followed by the rest of him.

Anticipation twisted in her gut as Rowan clicked the deadbolt into place and turned to her. She swore the temperature of the room steadily rose when their eyes locked in the mirror.

Rowan dropped his bag to the floor and sidled up behind Aelin, his body heat and scent enveloping her. She bit back a moan, leaning into him.

He brushed thick golden tresses over to one shoulder, then pressed a kiss behind the shell of her ear, warm breath ticking. Aelin shivered. Rowan trailed open-mouthed kisses across her jaw and down her throat. Tipping her head to the side, she offered him more skin to claim.

“I’ve–I’ve never… done–” a sharp hiss turned moan interrupted her thoughts as teeth bit the sensitive flesh between her shoulder and neck before licking the hurt away.

“Never,” he rasped in agreement.

Rowan fingered the hem of her cropped sweatshirt before Aelin yanked it over her head without hesitation. His eyes grew impossibly darker, nostrils softly flaring at the sight of her pert rosy nipples through the sheer lace bralette.

Rowan snaked an arm across her chest, brushing a peaked nipple with his thumb and affectionately squeezing her breast. The other firmly held her hips against his, grinding against her backside.

“Never,” he repeated. “But you’re so fucking perfect, Aelin. I can’t help myself.”

Her name on his tongue was going to be her undoing.

The incessant press of his stiff erection at the seam of her ass had her eyes nearly rolling in the back of her head. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, more, more.

His arms tightened as she attempted to turn, holding her in place to face the mirror.

“Rowan,” she ground out in frustration.

Rowan tutted at her, wrapping his left hand around her throat to apply light pressure while the right wandered down the flat plane of her stomach. “Patience, sweetheart.” His fingers inched closer, barely dipping below the waistline of her pants, taunting.

The tension tightly coiling low in her gut was unbearable. Aelin gripped the wrist of his teasing hand, nails biting into tan skin. Her hips instinctively rolled, seeking his touch, but he didn’t budge.

“Please,” she whimpered, and he nibbled at her earlobe in response. Gods, she was going to lose her ever-loving mind. “Rowan, please please touch me.”

His fingers tightened the slightest bit around her throat. Piercing green pinned her in place through the mirror’s reflection, his smile purely predatory. “Now how can I resist such pretty begging?”

Aelin swallowed thickly, eyes following the descent of his hand.

Her nerve endings exploded when he finally, finally touched where she ached for him most. Utterly helpless to the groan that tore from her throat.

Rowan’s fingers moved in tight lazy circles over the bundle of nerves. His other hand slid from her neck to the curve of her jaw, gently turning Aelin’s head to the side.

“Shhh,” he soothed against her lips. “I want nothing more–gods,” Rowan sputtered, fingers dipping to her center, coating them in her dripping arousal. “–than to hear you scream yourself hoarse on my fingers, on my cock.”

Aelin loosed a shuddering breath as said cock twitched against her ass.

Rowan’s slick fingers slid back to her clit and her whole body tensed. He nipped at her bottom lip, “But I need you to keep quiet this time. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded, dazed.

“Good girl,” he crooned before kissing her deeply, thoroughly.

Aelin lost herself to the slide of his mouth against hers and the press of his touch at her sex. His hand dropped from her face to her breast, pinching one of her stiff nipples, sending a shock of pleasure through her. Then, without warning, Rowan pushed a finger into her heat, then added a second one.

After a few pumps, he eased in a third digit. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” His voice was sinful. “Have to make sure you’re nice ‘n ready for me.”

He greedily swallowed down her moans. Pumping slowly in and out of her, her walls stretching to accommodate.

Their kiss broke on a gasp that stole the breath from her lungs as Rowan curled his fingers to rub that spot along her inner walls. Her body clenching around his thick digits and toes curling in her shoes.

Rowan chuckled lowly. “Ohh, right there?” She nodded mutely.

He pressed a kiss to throat. “Use your words, Aelin.”

“Yes,” she groaned, hips undulating in time with his thrusts. “Gods, yes. Right there—nnh, fuck.”

The blatant neediness in her voice should’ve been embarrassing, but she was half out of her mind to care.

Rowan rewarded her with the firm press of his thumb to her clit, his fingers continually pumping into her. “Such a good fucking girl for me."

Aelin’s body trembled with the building pressure, overwhelmed with the effect of his words and touches. Surely she would combust any second and the wildfire roaring beneath her skin would consume her whole.

Rowan sunk his teeth into her pulse point and her body arched, pleasure rocketing through her. The impossibly wound coil deep in her gut finally snapping. Aelin nearly sobbed from relief, sagging against the strong arm across her chest.

Rowan’s hand lazily coaxed the last remnants of pleasure from her as she finished riding the wave of her orgasm. Their heavy breaths and his fingers gently pushing through the slick between her thighs the only sounds filling the space.

Not until he ensured she was fully sated did he pull away from her heat, dragging his fingers up the center of her body to leave a glistening trail in their wake. Aelin swallowed thickly as he brought those fingers to his lips to lick them clean. Humming like she was the sweetest thing he’s had the pleasure of tasting.

Aelin turned on shaky legs and hastily dragged his face to hers, lips colliding in a soul searing kiss. Rowan lifted and sat her on the bathroom counter without severing contact. Large hands tangled in her hair, tipping her head back to open her up further. Aelin hummed against the brush of his tongue.

Hands tugged impatiently at his shirt as she mumbled “off” against his lips. Rowan chuckled but obliged nonetheless.

Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her eyes unabashedly devoured the muscled expanse of his heaving chest. The inked sleeve on his left arm indeed connected seamlessly to the whirling designs spanning across his left pec, licking up the base of his neck. She swallowed an appreciative groan.

“Gods, it’s unfair how fucking hot you are.” Aelin lightly scraped her nails over the ridges of his abdominal muscles.

“You’re one to talk.”

She smirked, but didn’t respond.

Her focus was instead drawn to the impressive bulge straining painfully against the zip of his jeans. Rowan grunted when she palmed him through the material. Then so slowly popped the button open and dragged the zipper down. Aelin worked the jeans and boxer briefs over his hips until his erection was freed and bobbing just below his navel.

Her eyes widened.

By the wryd, he was massive. No wonder he took such care in working her with his fingers first.

The smug grin was wiped clean from his face when she wrapped a hand around him. His head fell against her shoulder, releasing a jagged breath as she methodically worked her hand up and down his length.

Rowan mindlessly thrusted into her hand with soft groans. His full body shuddered when she squeezed the head of his cock and pressed her thumb to the weeping slit.

He bit out a curse, firmly gripping her wrist. “I’m not going to last if you keep that up.”

“Isn’t that the point?” She asked sweetly.

Rowan dragged his thumb across her lip. “You’re such a wicked thing.”

She hummed then wriggled her hips in silent command. Rowan didn’t need further elaboration, hooking his large hands in the band of her underwear and pants, slowly peeling them down her toned legs, also discarding her shoes in the process. At his gentle prod she spread her thighs, exposing herself fully to him.

The debauched groan that ripped deep from within his chest shot straight to her core. Pine-green eyes glazed as they settled on her glistening sex.

“Rowan,” she whispered. “Please.”

Her words snapped him into action. Gripping the base of his cock, he notched the swollen head against her entrance.

His body went rigid. “Fuck.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Trying to keep panic from edging in her voice.

“I don’t have a condom.” Rowan looked physically pained, tone forlorn.

Oh.

“Fuck, Aelin, I’m sorry.” He bowed to rest his forehead against hers. She tried very hard to block out the feel of him nudging against her folds with the movement. “I didn’t expect—hadn’t plann–”

Aelin silenced him with a kiss, slow and gentle. Her fingers delicately twined with the silvery strands at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck me, Rowan.” His cock twitched against her thigh.

He traced his thumb across her collarbone. “Are you sure?”

“I’m on birth control and I’m clean. Are you?”

“Yes,” he answered—to both questions. She nodded with understanding.

She stroked his length, then realigned him with her entrance.

“Then fuck me.”

So he did, pushing into her with a powerful thrust. Rowan slotted his mouth over Aelin’s to muffle her cries. Her toes curled tightly at the backs of his thighs, struggling to find any space within her for breath. Rowan panted, giving her time to adjust. Strong muscles shaking with barely controlled restraint.

After a moment, hips rolled against his in silent command. And Rowan obliged, pulling out to the tip before snapping into her heat again. Over and over.

Aelin’s head dropped back on a strangled moan as her nails dug into his flesh, seeking purchase anywhere.

“You take my cock so well, Aelin,” he bit out. “So fucking good for me.”

Rowan groaned as she clenched around him. Never in her life had she been so gods-damned aroused. She was going to come from his words alone, taking her apart piece by piece.

“Please, please, Rowan.”

His hand slipped between their sweaty bodies and drew pants from her pretty mouth that grew breathier and higher with each passing stroke. Until finally a wave of pleasure crested over her and she shattered around him.

Rowan nearly choked as her core contracted tightly around him. He buried a hand in her hair and brought her mouth to his in a rough kiss, the pace of his thrusts growing erratic. Then he was groaning loudly against her lips, finally meeting his release deep within her.

Aelin gently scraped her nails against his scalp and hummed into his mouth as his hips rocked slowly into hers, milking the last of their shared pleasure.

They stayed like that for long moments, Rowan still buried inside her and their lips exploring languidly. Separating only once a shiver ran through her body, the sweat gathered in the dip of her lower back cooling.

Rowan murmured against her skin through a smile, “Let's get you dressed.”

Aelin made a noise of protest as he pulled out of her, but allowed him to gently wipe her clean before helping her back into her clothes. Once fully dressed and steadied on her feet, Rowan tilted her chin with a tenderness that made her heart ache and gave her a lingering kiss.

“When we get back to Orynth, let me take you to dinner.”

With a little shrug, Aelin gave him a simpering smile. “It’s the very least you could do.”

Rowan snorted, despite the bright grin splitting his face. Then shook his head with quiet amusement, “So wicked.”

Aelin finally settled into her seat on the plane.

A smile seemed to permanently occupy her lips since she and Rowan slipped from the bathroom earlier.

Rowan. Gods, what an unexpected surprise he turned out to be.

Aelin slipped her phone from her pocket, preparing to switch it to Airplane Mode. Just as she swiped away the lock screen, a text notification scrolled across the top from her newest added contact. Biting her lip, Aelin tapped on the notification to open up the new iMessage thread.

Rowan: See you soon, sweetheart.

Warmth flooded her chest. Before she could type a response, her phone vibrated again with an additional incoming text and an image.

Rowan: ps. you can’t blame this poor male for admiring your exquisite form either. 😉

Aelin’s head jerked up to stare at the mop of silver hair seated several rows ahead of her, mouth agape for several seconds. Her lips twitched into a smirk, snorting in disbelief as her eyes fell back to the image on her phone.

An image of her from hours ago, stretching out in her seat with a hand running through her hair. Frankly, it was a good candid putting the lines of her body on display in the best way.

The stewardess’ voice crackled through the overhead speaker, directing passengers to please secure their seatbelts, close their dropdown trays, and switch all electronics to airplane mode.

Aelin fired a quick response back before toggling on Airplane Mode: Sneaky bastard!

Masterlist

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin smut #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass fic #throne of glass

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ganymede-princess · 9 months

Text

Vignettes | Robert Capa

Main fic

ship: robert capa X f!oc

warnings: sexual references/very VERY mild smut

summary: a companion piece to Entanglement Theory, this is a collection of scenes that serve as windows into Capa and Doc's relationship.

total word count: 2681

a/n: During the absolute madness and obsession that was the writing of Entanglement Theory, I imagined several scenarios that would not fit into the story. So instead of just letting them fizzle out, I've decided to write them out while I'm still in the depths of my obsession. Treat this as a fluffy little continuation of the previous story; less looming cosmic horror and more slice of life. There may be a sequel to this some time in the future. Also, while searching through Tumblr, I discovered a set of summarised backstories for each of the Icarus crew that were used during the film's production. They hit on the character's views on a few key subjects, so I decided to write one out for Doc.

written by @ganymedeprincess

Waiting Room - word count: 369

"You're nervous."

Capa looks up from his copy of National Geographic, studying me with an unreadable expression. Though the waiting room is slightly too warm, I still shiver at the frosty blue of his eyes as he peers at me through his glasses. I drum my fingers on the copy of Vogue in my lap.

"And you're not?" I flush.

Capa closes his magazine and purses his lips derisively.

"It's just LASIK. It won't hurt."

"I know, I'm a doctor, remember?"

"How could I forget?" The black frames of his glasses dominate his face, almost hiding the amusement in his eyes. I think I'll miss them when they're gone. "And yes, I'm nervous."

"Good. I don't feel so bad about it now."

He almost smiles as he goes back to reading.

"Your hair's getting longer." I bite my cheek.

"Mm." He looks at me from the corner of his eye, thumbing a lock of hair clinging to his neck. "I'm thinking I'll buzz it before departure so I won't have to worry about it haircuts for a few months."

"You'll look like Mace." I giggle.

"I hadn't thought of that." He looks up, narrowing his eyes.

"I wish you two got along better."

"He doesn't exactly make it easy."

"I agree, he can be quite antagonistic." My eyes fall on the fish tank across the room where a clownfish repeatedly prods at a closed anemone. "But you're both excellent scientists, and so interesting in your own ways."

"You like him, don't you?" His blue lantern eyes fall back to the magazine on his lap.

"Sure, he's a good friend." I skirt the obvious double entendre. Capa nods wordlessly. "You could just grow your hair out, y'know."

I hand him my copy of Vogue, folded to a photo of the actor Apollo Chalamet with his long black hair in a ponytail.

"I think it'd suit you."

He studies the page for a moment, and hands it back with a wry smirk.

"Maybe."

"Um, Met-roh-doo-rah?" A young woman in scrubs reads my name from a clipboard.

"Metrodora." I correct her with a smile. "See you after, Capa."

"See you, Metrodora." Capa's crystal eyes glimmer as he teases me. "Break a leg."

Caught - word count: 1990

Gunfire hails from all sides as I crouch run behind Harvey, covering his back as we seek shelter behind a small armored quad. Snow falls and piles up inside the hangar from the hole our magnet bomb ripped in the ceiling, slicking the floor so I have to take care not to slip as we run outside to meet the enemy tank that is rolling in, shifting the snow into dirty brown wakes behind it.

"I don't know why you don't play it in Simulation." Mace sprawls on the end of the lounge, munching a muesli bar. "You guys could afford to break a sweat more often."

"I just came from the gym room, Mace." I scoff as I unload a hail of bullets into the sprocket of the tank.

"Believe it or not, we don't all want the stress of actually being in a war zone." Harvey adds, scaling the side of the huge, silver vehicle with his grappling hook.

"You're not actually-"

"We know!" Harvey snaps.

"Are you just gonna sit there commentating or are you gonna pick up a controller?" Trey climbs up the other side, swinging across to drop a grenade into a porthole on the side of the tank, only for it to fall out of another hole, blowing him to smithereens. "Shit!"

"Nice." I giggle, and jog over to revive him. "You can have mine in a second, I'm gonna go make a cuppa."

Beside me, somebody settles on the arm of the couch. Enraptured by the action on the screen before me, I can't afford to look away.

"That you, Capa?"

"Yeah." His voice rumbles pleasantly, but I keep my eyes on the screen as I break the camera on the front of the tank with my armored forearm.

"Can you put the kettle on, please?"

"Yes, dear." He quips, wandering off.

I scoff, my face flushing with the keen awareness that none of the crew know about our affair. Trey makes a whip cracking sound with his mouth.

"Shut up, Trey!" I clumsily hand my controller to Mace. He snatches it from me a little too aggressively and I glare him down. "Hey!"

"Mmph."

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing." He scowls.

"Look, I don't know why you're so sour but you can't take it out on me." I frown, stalking out of the room.

"What happened?" Capa asks as I arrive in the kitchen. He is perched on the countertop holding a sleeve of saltines.

"What?" I avoid his gaze, knowing the instant I meet his eyes I will be powerless to look away.

"You're upset, what happened?" He taps the back of my leg with his foot. The warmth in his voice lures me into the snare of his vision.

"It's that easy to tell, huh?" His eyes cool the fire in my belly.

"Mm. I can read you." He puts down the saltines and holds out his hands in offering. "What happened?"

"It's Mace." I give him my hands sidle in between his knees. "He snapped at me for no reason."

"I'll kill him." Capa's jaw tightens.

"Thanks." I peck his cheek. "Do you know what's upsetting him?"

"You think it's my fault?" He frowns.

"No. I just thought you might know."

"Could be anything." He shakes his head, eyes sharp with annoyance. "I will kill him if you want me to."

"Mm." I smile, tuck my arms around him and lay my head on his chest, reveling in his warmth.

"Look at me." Capa rewards my obedience with a kiss.

It begins gently enough, his huge, rough hands cradling my face while his lips barely brush against mine. Greedily, I press forward to deepen the kiss, but he breaks away to look at me.

"I haven't seen you much today." He smooths my hair down. "I've missed you."

"Me too." I cradle his face in my hands and watch as he lets out a shuddering breath. "I wish we had more chances to work together."

"I'll see if I can move around the chores roster next week." He nuzzles my hand. "Hopefully we can line our break times up as well so we can go and hang out in the Earth Room."

"That'd be great." I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and nudge his nose with mine, silently pleading him to kiss me again.

He takes pity on my desperation, kissing me deeply. I part my lips and his tongue slips into my mouth, swirling a heady vortex of sensation that reverberates through every inch of me. Helpless and at his mercy, I try desperately to push closer to him, to feel his taut muscles beneath his shirt and-

Somebody clears their throat.

"Jesus!" I leap back from him, sending my empty cup scuttling across the floor. "Searle, I-"

"Searle, it's not-"

Searle puts his hand up to silence us.

"Congratulations." He rolls his eyes, pushing past me to grab some decaf. "Just, don't do that in the kitchen, yeah?"

Desperately, I look to Capa who has surreptitiously covered his lap with a tea-towel and the Saltines. In spite of my burning embarrassment, I stifle a laugh.

"Searle, listen-" Capa begins.

"No, you listen." Searle pours his coffee. "I'm not going to tell on you, but I do want to have a talk with both of you about the implications of this situation. Now, I suggest you go have a cold shower, separately, and meet me in my office in thirty minutes."

Searle slinks away, leaving Capa and I in stunned silence. I bury my face in my hands and sigh. Capa hops down from the counter and rubs my shoulder then wordlessly guides me to the bathrooms.

****

Capa and I reconvene outside Searle's office. I wring my hands, avoiding his gaze.

"Don't be scared." He murmurs. "It's only Searle."

"I don't know why I feel like I've done something wrong." I confess, anxiety rising like bile in my chest.

Capa glances up and down the hallway, tilts my face up to look at him for a moment, then pulls me into a hug.

"I'm not feeling great about it, either," He admits, stroking my hair. "But we're gonna go in there and hear him out, then we'll decide what to do."

"I guess it was always gonna come to this."

"Mm." Capa breaks the embrace. "C'mon."

As we enter his office, Searle looks up from his book and places it face down on his desk. I notice it's old and tattered, and titled Children of Men.

"Glad you both could make it." He swivels his chair around as he greets us. "You look like a pair of kids in the principal's office. Try not to feel so tense, I'm here to help."

Capa and I sit down in silence. I want the comfort of his hand in mine, but somehow it feels wrong to do it in front of Searle.

"So, do either of you have anything to say, or will I start things off?"

Capa and I exchange a glance. I shake my head. Capa looks as if he is about to say something, but he bites his lip and stays silent.

"Alright." Searle raises his eyebrows. "I guess I'll just get it out of the way and say that I've known about you two for a while."

"How...?" Capa frowns as we exchange a glance.

"Well, you're not exactly subtle about it, are you?" He sculls the last of his decaf and winces. "God, I miss real coffee. Anyway, I know you're trying to hide it, but I don't know how long you expect that to last."

"We're just worried about how everyone's going to take it." I wring my hands.

"I wouldn't worry about that. Whatever tensions come up can be ironed out with a mediator." Searle's face softens. "But we need to think about whether you should tell anyone at all. I suggest you tell Kaneda, so he can work with me to reduce friction if things get hairy between the two of you."

"I can't imagine that happening." Capa says.

"Well, you think that now, but it's not always that straightforward. For instance, if this is just a friends with benefits situation, I think you ought to keep it to yourselves until it fizzles out; but beyond that, you should consider the risks. We're going to be stuck here for another two years at least, so it'll be hard on all of us if things go wrong between you two."

I look over at Capa and he offers me his hand. After a moment of hesitation, I take it.

"It's not like that for us." He assures him.

"It didn't just happen overnight." I squeeze his hand. "Well, it kind of did, but it was a long time coming."

"You're really serious about this, huh? I figured as much." Searle grins at Capa. "You've been smiling so much, it was kinda scaring me."

Capa rolls his eyes, a warm tint rising on his cheeks

"Doctor Aldrin," Searle addresses me directly, suddenly serious. "I want to make it clear to you that I don't doubt your ability to carry out your medic and psych duties under these circumstances, but I think it would be in everyone's best interests if you're no longer assigned as mediator in conflicts involving Capa."

"I agree. I'll be the first to admit I have a bias here. I guess I didn't take my training seriously enough."

"Training isn't perfect." He assures me. "You can try to rationalize your feelings away, but it won't work. It can't work. People are built to love. We do it to survive, so really, it's going to happen whether it's convenient or not."

I turn to look at Capa, feeling sunshine beaming into me from his radiant blue eyes. He offers me a smile and runs his thumb over my knuckles.

"So what should we do moving forward?" He presses.

"Well that's up to you. You can take people aside and tell them if you feel that's going to be beneficial, or you can just start acting like a couple and the crew will figure it out themselves. You could even call a meeting, sit everyone down real serious." Searle chuckles. "Either way, I imagine you'll get a little pushback to begin with."

"From Mace?" Capa asks.

"Yes, I expect he'll argue that a relationship between you two will distract you from the mission, but ultimately jealously on his and Cassie's part will be contributing factors."

"Cassie? Jealous?" I gasp.

I have worked with Cassie often during our voyage through the solar system, and over that time I've grown to enjoy our time together and to admire her free spirit. Despite this, I have sensed a distance between her and I, and now I know why. Mace, on the other hand, wears his heart on his sleeve. I have long known of his feelings for me, and for a time I tried to see him in the same light that he sees me. At the time, it seemed that my fondness for Capa was nothing short of futile, but even in my hopelessness, I knew that Mace and I would never work together.

"Yes, she's come to me several times to discuss her feelings for Capa." Searle frowns sympathetically. "I've done my best to help her cope without encouraging her. I feel that your relationship will be a tough hurdle for her to get over, but I think it will help her to build resilience. Same with Mace. It's quite tragic, really. They want you, and you want each other."

Feeling more than a little morose, I glance at Capa and squeeze his hand. He understands my signal and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the advice, Searle." The men exchange a handshake in mutual admiration.

"Thank you." I peck him on the cheek, earning a delighted grin. "Your opinion is invaluable."

Doc's Character Profile - word count: 322

Metrodora "Doc" Aldrin - Medic

Nationality - Australian

Doc grew up academically gifted, graduating from highschool at fifteen and moving to the United States to study medicine in the Ivy League at her parents' behest. Pursuing her childhood fascination with space, she went on to specialise in aeronautical medicine, eventually gaining a position in the same research lab as Searle where they became fast friends.

Doc was too young to accompany the first Icarus mission, but in the years following, she became obsessed with space travel and sought out a position on the Icarus II.

Seeing her passion and potential as an asset on board, Searle helped her mask her anxiety and depression during the psychiatric evaluation, vowing to help her overcome her issues in the years they would spend living together.

Doc holds a maternal view of her crewmates, despite being the youngest on board. She makes a point of fostering personal bonds with each of the crew, both to keep tabs on their health and because she craves human connection. She loves her crew like family and hopes that during the mission they with both grow as people, and grow to appreciate eachother the way she does.

Though she does not consider herself a natural conversationalist, she often draws closed-off people out of their shells due to her willingness to share personal feelings and experiences with people soon after meeting them. It is this mutual honesty that both Mace and Capa fell for, though Mace's feelings come from being listened to, while Capa's come from the act of listening.

Doc lives happily without religion, feeling comfortable that her success is self-made and her fate is in her own hands. The closest thing to God in her eyes is the life-giving power of the sun. As Icarus draws closer to the sun's surface, she wonders if this comparison is still metaphorical.

At night she dreams of the vastness of space, and of Capa.

#sunshine (2007)#sunshine #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #robert capa x oc #robert capa x reader #robert capa

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kelcemenow · 1 year

Text

Touchdown - Chapter 7.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 3777

Warnings It's a bigger chapter this time but I wanted to get everything in! There's alcohol and strong language and the flirting is going to 100.

CHAPTER 6.

CHAPTER 7.

“You look incredible!” Jess sang through the phone. You had called her on FaceTime to catch her up with everything that had happened. She was mid-way through cooking a meal and wiped her hands on her apron quickly before picking up the phone and making her way to the sofa, “Will, come and see how hot Y/N looks!”

Will was Jess’s boyfriend. They had been dating for around a year and he spent quite a lot of time at your place. He was roughly the same height has Jess, but with a heavier frame. He was a published author and would often come in handy to proof-read your articles.

“You look simply delightful, Y/N!” He appeared on the screen, his rounded glasses perched on his nose whilst he read.

“Keep it in your pants, Will!” Jess jokingly quipped.

You had picked out a pair of black, figure hugging, leather trousers which made your legs look around 6 feet long. A bright pink bandeau top clung to your skin and the colour matched your strapped stilettos perfectly. You had kept your hair simple, styling it in gentle but defined waves and full of shine. You danced your way to your suitcase to try and locate some lipstick options.

“Your makeup looks fire as well!”

Your eyelids were sparkling with a shimmering silver eyeshadow a slick black eyeliner that extended out to make your eyes look bigger. You had groomed your brows to perfection and your skin was glowing.

“Thank you honey, I’m just trying to find a lipstick.” Your hand was out of sight on the screen as you dug through your makeup bag.

Jess gasped, “No! Don’t wear lipstick, you don’t want Travis getting it all over his face!” She laughed and you heard Will cheer in the background.

“Now now, I am a professional! There will be no funny business on this trip and I will keep myself poised and classy.” You left a pause as you picked up a pink toned nude lipstick before throwing it over your head and onto the bed, “Or not!” You let out a loud laugh when there was a knock on your hotel room door, “Oh, that’ll be Hannah, I have to go. I promise I’ll take photos, I’ll take videos, I’ll post Instagram stories, all that good stuff…”

“And tell me everything in the morning!” Jess shouted.

“Of course, bye honey!”

“Have fuuuuun!” You heard Jess say just before you hung up, taking a white, oversized jacket out of the closet on your way to the door.

Hannah was dressed in an olive-green strapped mini-dress which complimented her long, blonde hair perfectly. It was slicked back into a high ponytail and her petite stature was elevated by some tan laced up heels.

“You look sick!” You exclaimed.

Hannah spun around and flicked her ponytail behind her shoulder, “As do you! Man, we look hot!”

You both giggled as you quickly grabbed your hotel key card and closed the door behind you.

Hannah had managed to find out where Travis and the rest of the team would be hanging out after the game and had swiftly booked an Uber, giving you just enough time to get ready. After a short car journey, you were standing outside of The Aura. The outside was unassuming but once you had stepped in, you were greeted with floral decorations and greenery lining the walls and ceiling. Two men were stood at a door, one was holding a clipboard and the other was closely observing a small group of people just behind you.

“Good evening, ladies. Can I take your names please?” The first man said.

“Hannah Charlton and Y/N.” Hannah replied.

The man glanced down the list attached to the clipboard. He looked up and smiled, stepping back to open the door. “Enjoy yourselves.”

The lights hit your face immediately as you made your way further inside and the once muffled music swelled louder and louder. The room was slightly smoky and the botanic theming continued throughout. It was relatively busy for a Sunday and it seemed that every table was taken with people scattered everywhere. Waiters were moving swiftly past you with trays laden with elaborately decorated cocktails and food, the scent surrounding you.

You were scanning your eyes across the blur when Hannah leaned in to you, “Come on, let’s get a drink.”

You nodded as she told hold of your hand and led you towards the bar. You managed to find a space and secured the attention of a young, clean-shaven man behind the bar; he acknowledged your presence whilst he finished making a drink before coming to take your order.

“Two Mojito’s, please.”

He smiled and proceeded to make the cocktails. You were looking down the bar, watching other patrons when you heard a familiar laugh and a distinctive American accent.

“Well, I owe Travis 20 bucks!”

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Patrick Mahomes clutching at his stomach. You furrowed your brows as you turned around, “Sorry?”

“He was so damn sure you’d come tonight, but I said you probably had better things to do than hang around with his sorry ass.” Patrick came closer and signalled to the bar server.

“Oh, he said that, did he?” You smiled to Hannah.

“Oh, yeah. He said you wouldn’t be able to resist.” His curls were free from the restrictions of his helmet and were bouncing against his forehead. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt with grey jeans, casual but classic. He reached to the bar where there had been an ice bucket full of champagne left for him. He gestured towards your cocktails. “Hey, put these on my tab, man.”

“Thank you, Patrick, we really appreciate it.” You handed Hannah her drink and took a sip of your own.

Patrick held out an arm and motioned towards an area of the club that was roped off, “Follow me, ladies.”

You shot Hannah a smile and followed the quarterback as the red rope was pulled aside for him. Grey upholstered circular booths lined the walls to the left and right, with a slightly larger one directly in the middle. As you got closer, you could see Travis enthusiastically chatting to the people sat around him.

“Hey, Trav. Turns out you were right, man.” Patrick stepped aside slightly and you flashed everyone a smile before finally focusing on Travis.

He paused for a second, then his mouth dropped open to a huge grin. He stood up and made his way closer. His tongue was pressed into his cheek and he was rubbing his hands together, as if he was almost nervous. You stayed still and let him come to you, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, showing off the curve in your hips. His eyes traced down your body and your thighs tightened at his stare. Hannah was already at the table being introduced to everyone by Patrick when Travis' cologne filled your nostrils.

"You just couldn't stay away, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. His voice was soft and deep, with a slight growl that excited you.

You licked your bottom lip and held the eye contact, "Turns out I had some free time." A slight shrug of your shoulders made Travis laugh.

"Honestly, I can't work you out." His rubbed the side of his neck.

"And you hate that, right?" You tipped your head to one side, "You always have to win."

His scent was rich and intoxicating as he came closer, "You can drop the act now, okay? I know you're interested; you wouldn't be here if you weren't."

"Who said I wasn't interested? I just like seeing you work hard."

He let out a loud laugh, "Did you not see me today?" He held his hands up, "As soon as I knew you were watching, I upped my game, man!"

You left a silence as he waited for your response.

His arm snaked around your waist and his fingers lightly brushed your ass. He leaned in towards your face and his lips were almost touching your ear, "Are you saying that you weren't turned on watching me?"

Your skin tingled and you felt a shiver at this touch. You looked down for a moment before whispering slowly to him, "You're being very rude and not introducing me to your friends."

Travis quickly moved his hand down and gripped your ass before stepping back and leading you to the table. He introduced you to the various teammates that were scattered around the table, some of which you recognised.

"You're that reporter, right?" George Karlaftis lifted his glass towards you and smiled warmly as you sat down next to him.

"Well, sort of. I work for The NFL Show on ITV, I do research and social media stuff with Hannah."

He took a sip of his drink and nodded, "That's awesome, man. So, you're a football fan?"

You felt several pairs of eyes on you and you shot a glance towards Hannah, who was smiling. You shuffled awkwardly in your seat as you searched for an answer, "I have to stay as impartial as I can."

"Good answer, I like it!" Patrick nudged Travis as he took a seat opposite you.

"Y/N is one of our newest and most valued recruits on the channel. We're hoping she sticks around for a long time." Hannah smiled and sipped her drink.

"Well, I think other people are hoping for that too." Another player, JuJu Smith-Schuster shot a glance to you before turning to Travis.

You smirked as you waited for Travis' response.

"Alright, man. This ain’t high school." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, awkwardly.

You leaned back into the backrest of the booth and crossed your arms, "Then why are you blushing like a teenager with a crush?"

The table erupted into laughter and JuJu stood up, slapping Travis on his back, "Hey, dude! She got you, man, she got you good!"

Travis laughed along and grabbed JuJu's arm, "I think I need a drink, get your ass to the bar, now!"

The pair disappeared into the crowd to the sound of laughter when Patrick leaned slightly across the table.

"You're under his skin, that's for sure."

You shrugged your shoulders and picked up your drink, batting your eyelashes, "Who me?"

Patrick leaned back in his seat and laughed as you glanced around the table. You caught Hannah's eye as she was chatting excitedly with Brittany, Patrick's wife.

"Toilet?" You mouthed the words and tipped your head away from the table.

Hannah nodded and turned her head back to Brittany, smiling at her as she stood up and reached out for your hand. You followed the pair through a corridor and as the music became quieter, you arrived at a large restroom with stalls lining one wall opposite a long line of sinks and mirrors. Brittany immediately pulled you in for a hug once you were through the door.

"I loved that! You girl, are something!"

Hannah laughed as she entered one of the stalls, her voice echoing around the room, "Y/N is quickly becoming my favourite person!"

You giggled at Brittany as she turned to the mirror to fix her long, blonde hair, "Trav is usually so confident and he has this attitude of being the main man, you know." She scrunched her nose up, "Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy. But he can be an asshole!" She laughed, "But he's like a puppy dog around you!"

"To be perfectly honest, I am quite enjoying myself." You lifted your head to check your make up in the mirror.

The sound of the toilet flushing rang out as Hannah appeared between you both, "So, am I! Although, I can't help feeling you two need some alone time?"

"What?"

"You sure we're not cramping your style?" Brittany raised an eyebrow and put her arm around your shoulder.

You sighed, "You guys are crazy! We're here for a good night, to celebrate the guys' win. That's all I'm here for."

Brittany blew a raspberry and playfully nudged you towards the door, "Party pooper."

You laughed loudly as you made your way out of the bathroom, followed by Hannah and Brittany. You glanced an eye over to the table to see the group chatting enthusiastically. Travis looked distracted though, not focused on the conversation. His hands were fidgeting and his eyes darting around the room. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking for you. Your thoughts were interrupted by Brittany placing her hand on your arm.

"Another drink, honey?"

You smiled, "Yes please, thank you!"

"You Brits are so polite, you're too cute!" She squeezed you close for a hug and smiled as she disappeared to the bar. Hannah moved in front of you.

"Okay, we need to talk strategy."

You looked at her, questioning her words.

"Y/N, he's leaving tomorrow night. If you want anything to happen, it needs to be tonight."

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind, you had been immersed in the atmosphere and swept up with everything that was going on, you had completely forgotten that Travis would soon be on a plane heading over 4,000 miles away. You barely knew him, but you were drawn to him. You couldn’t deny the feelings you had, the butterflies that took up residence in your stomach whenever you saw him, but something was stopping you. Was it the idea of the long distance? Was it something about him, his lifestyle, his career?

Hannah widened her eyes and clicked her fingers in front of your face, "Umm, hello?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking." You shook your head gently, "Look, I've already said, I just want to have fun tonight. If anything happens, that's great. But I'm not looking for anything serious."

"Well, that's perfect! You've got one night, enjoy yourself!" She turned her head towards the table and started singing along to the music with her arms in the air, dancing her way back to the others. Just as you were about to follow her, Brittany reappeared with your drinks. You looked down at the tray to see two cocktails and two shots. "Shots?"

"I thought you might be a tequila girl like me?" Brittany smiled as she picked up one of the glasses.

You winked as you picked up the other, "You read my mind!"

She squealed before joining you in knocking the sharp liquid back in one go. You hissed through your teeth as you felt it work its way down your throat. Brittany quickly handed you your drink as she took hold of your other hand, leading you back to the table. Through the mass of people, Travis' eyes landed on you and he almost looked relived. Your lips curled at the edges to a small smile and you glanced around the table for somewhere to sit. Brittany had already squeezed next to Patrick and everyone else seemed to be chatting in smalls groups with each other. You looked towards Travis who was half listening to JuJu and spotted the space on the end of the booth next to him.

"Room for a small one?"

His eyes quickly traced your body and you felt goosebumps even though the room was almost too warm. He angled his body towards you as you slowly slid into the seat. You misjudged however, and spilt some of your drink onto your forearm, the cool liquid dripping down onto your leg.

"Someone's clumsy." Travis laughed.

Placing your drink onto the table, your eyes searched for a napkin, "Just a bit."

"Here, I got it." Travis locked eyes with you as he grabbed his napkin from under his drink and carefully patted your skin dry. You smiled and glanced down at your leg and he followed your eyes down, "Honestly, I'd prefer to lick that off." His voice low and gruff in your ear.

You let out a shriek of laughter and your head flew back, "Mr Kelce!"

He smiled, “I know I told you not the call me that, but I kinda like it.”

You could feel your cheeks burning, so you turned away, which only made Travis move in closer. The heat from his body warmed over your arm and you shuffled slightly in your seat.

“I was surprised you didn’t reply to my email.”

You turned towards him, but not facing him directly, “Do you send that email to every woman that interviews you?”

He looked down and laughed slightly, “Just the ones who make me smile.”

You pressed your lips together in an attempt to stifle your laugh.

He looked up at you through his eyebrows, “What?”

“That’s such a line!” You laughed loudly, getting some looks of amusement from the group, “Come on, be real with me!”

Travis gave you a big smile and cleared his throat before pausing briefly, “Okay, man. You got me. I like you, alright?”

His sudden honesty made him seem almost vulnerable, inexperienced somehow, as if this was not the usual type of exchanges that he was used to having with women. You waited silently as he continued.

“When I talked to you on the phone, man, I didn’t wanna hang up. And then today, in the corridor, I just wanted to know who you were. I didn’t think for a second you were the same person. You have an awesome personality and energy; I’m drawn to you. I like you, you’re funny and interesting…and so hot.” His eyes glittered as he spoke but was barely making eye contact.

You left a pause after he spoke, letting his words really sink in. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” You giggled and nudged into his chest with your shoulder.

Travis raised his eyes to meet your gaze and moistened his lips, “Yeah, it was actually. You…make me nervous.”

Another loud laugh escaped your mouth, “Me? That’s ridiculous.”

His hand rested on your thigh, fingers brushing back and forth leaving tingles in their wake. “I don’t know what it is, but when I see you…fuck...baby…” His eyes rolled back.

His words made you melt and you giggled again, leaning into his chest and breathing in his scent. You craned your neck to make eye contact, his gaze staring deep into yours. Your breathing felt heavy as Travis leaned closer to you, his eyes flickering down to your parted lips. Suddenly, you were blinded by camera flashes through the crowd. You squinted and turned towards the source of the lights, noticing paparazzi attempting to push past security. Patrick and the rest of the guys played up to the cameras, with Travis joining in. You sat back and watched, witnessing the commotion when two large security guards intervened at the VIP entrance and ushered the photographers away.

“I don’t know how you do it. It’s so invasive.”

Travis took a sip from his drink, “I don’t know how they got in here, man.” He turned towards the group, “I feel like dancing.”

“You always feel like dancing!” Patrick laughed.

Travis gave your thigh a squeeze, “Wanna dance?”

You pressed your lips together into a smile, “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.”

“Oh, I can.” Travis’ eye’s creased into a smile, giving you wink as he stood up and took your hand. You rolled your eyes and followed him towards the dance floor.

“You don’t know what you’ve let yourself in for, girl!” George’s voice called out as you headed away from the table.

The music was thumping from the speakers, you could feel it in your chest. As you were walking, Travis was already moving his body in time with the beat, his hips swaying wildly. You dipped your head and laughed when he spun around to face you with a huge smile on his face. Your cheeks were aching from grinning as he lowered his hands to your waist and pulled you in closer. You locked eyes with him and matched his rhythm, watching as he sang the lyrics back to you. You placed both hands on his toned chest and slid them downwards as your hips moved from side to side. His eyebrows shot upwards and his top teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. As you rose, you spun around so that he could get a good view of your ass, leather stretched over the curves. He playfully pulled you in towards him so your back was pressed into his chest and you ground into him, hearing a groan in your right ear. You felt him pick up the pace and his hips bucked forward slightly. You slowly turned around and placed an arm around the back of his neck, gently scratching at his skin. Something changed in his eyes as he pulled you back in, his large strong arms tight around you. He leaned forward and placed his lips near your ear.

“Fancy getting out of here?”

Your eyes widened as you opened your mouth to speak, but you didn’t know what to say.

Travis grasped at your hand, “Come on.”

Before you could think, you were moving through the dancefloor crowd and back towards the table. Hannah waved as you approached the group and Brittany smiled, holding out another shot of tequila.

“I got you another, honey!”

“Aww, thank you!” You knocked the shot back, the familiar warmth running down your throat and you gritted your teeth.

“We’re going to bounce, man.” Travis held his hand out to Patrick as he stood up, the pair pulling each other into a hug. You could see that they were closely exchanging words but you couldn’t hear over the music.

Hannah quickly got to her feet and rushed to your side. “Are you sure about this?”

You laughed back to her, “You’ve changed your tune!”

“I know, I know. I just want to make sure you’re okay?”

Brittany appeared behind Hannah, dancing slightly to the music. You grabbed your bag and coat from the booth, feeling Hannah’s eyes on you, “Babe, I’m fine! We’re really getting on, I like him, he seems nice.” You shrugged your shoulders.

Brittany’s head briskly nodded, “He just told Pat that he really likes you.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Brittany, “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I couldn’t just keep that information to myself! It’s funny though, Trav doesn’t usually say much about this sort of thing so early.”

You turned back to Hannah, your lips pressing into a smile.

Hannah squeaked with excitement and pulled you in for a firm hug, “Okay, have fun. Message me when you’re back to the hotel.”

“I will.”

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