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rafescurtainbangz · 3 months

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Professor Cameron #2 - Rafe Cameron One Shot + 18

Minor DNI

Part 1: Link

Rafe × female reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut, language, swearing, drinking and smoking

Fingering, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), unprotected p in v, pet names, squirting, overstimulation, praise kink, ownership kink, older Rafe, possessive rafe, jealous rafe, obsessed rafe, choking, spanking, degradation, name-calling, pussy slapping, mating press, reader calls rafe daddy

Lightly edited

4.1K

Don't let the beginning fool it’s a lot of smut lmao 😂 thank you for all the love on part 1! 💕💕💕

Taglist @imyourdaninow @gri959 @redhead1180 @romaescapes

Enjoy! ❤️✨

Tanneyhill...

Later that night

"Holy shit," you whisper, eyes following Rafe's house all the way to the top. The grandeur of it all begs the question, does a professor really live here? I mean, I'm sure the university pays him well, but not this well. This is old money.

Tracking the brick walk, you make your way to the front door, smoothing out a very different ensemble than you wore this afternoon. You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful at this moment that you decided to dress up. Your pink satin mini-dress blows lightly with the cool night breeze, an open back cinched tight, showing off your curves.

Truthfully, I didn't think that would happen. Just teasing between friends until that fictional tale came true. I never thought he would actually cross the line.

Rafe was right... The boys at school weren't cutting it. They were selfish, inexperienced, and immature. That was only an hour? What could Rafe do with a whole night? On a bed instead of a desk? He said he had a 'real big house,' which is the understatement of the century. I can make as much noise as I'd like. He's going to take care of me... Me.

I've never felt pleasure like that in my life. The part that excited me the most was that I was holding back, not wanting to get caught. What would happen if I let myself go? The part that scares me, however, is the fact that I'm already in too deep.

What if Rafe's thought about it since? Not in the way I'm hoping he would, the way that would stop him from doing it again. A moment of clarity where Rafe realizes that he may have made a mistake. I'm his student... He's my professor.

What if he's doing this with other people? What if I'm not the only student in Professor Cameron's class getting "extra credit"? Am I just another one of his girls?

I can't think about that.

I'm feeling things. And, I can't stop.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

You can hear shuffling behind the door, watching as the knob turns. The door fans open; Rafe meets your gaze with a smile. "You... Wow. You look stunning," he hails, bearing the door as you pass through.

Fuck, he looks good. You feel yourself get a little frazzled as you take Rafe in. A slim black button-down and slacks, coupled with yet another pair of designer dress shoes. He smells delicious; that same cologne reapplied, already burned into your brain. "You alright?" He smiles, looking down at you.

"More than alright, Rafe. Just a little nervous."

"About what?" He puffs, cocking his head to the side as he shuts the door. "Told ya I didn't bite. Not unless you want me to," Rafe chuckles warmly, turning you under his finger as he checks out your little dress again. "Goddamn. You're flawless."

"Thank you," you whisper as your cheeks blush. Rafe keeps his hand in yours, guiding you deeper into his house, letting you take it all in.

"So, what are you so nervous about?" Rafe presses a little further, not wanting to let it go until he figures it out.

"I don't know... I didn't expect to be here. I'm just - I hope you aren't having second thoughts."

"Me?" He chuckles; twisting his face slightly as a crooked smile spreads on his lips. "Never. No second thoughts."

"Okay... And, am I the only one-"

"Who's gettin' extra credit?" He snickers, reading your mind entirely. "You are the only one."

"Ever?" You ask, your voice just above a hush, kicking yourself for asking it in the first place to a grown-ass man. Rafe turns you toward him, lacing his fingers in yours; his lips meet your forehead, kissing you softly.

"If you're askin' if I've ever had sex in an office, and I said 'no,' I'd be lyin'," he chuckles weakly. His palms come up, resting gently on your cheeks, guiding your watch to his. "But, if you're askin' me if I've ever done that with a student... never. I've never done that."

You give him a soft smile. "I'm so happy I'm here with you."

"Me too," he hums. "Now, let's go relax. Yeah?" You nod as Rafe leans in, meeting your lips; kissing you deeply. Heat spreads across your body; the contact sets you ablaze, your entire being craving more of him.

Rafe walks you to his study, the mahogany countertop, adorned with six elegant bouquets. "Do you like flowers, princess?" He smiles; his hand resting on the small of your back.

"Of course," you respond dreamily, bending in to smell each. "Six? Rafe, this-"

"I didn't know what your favorite was..." He interjects, "Pink roses?" Rafe guesses, based solely on your reaction.

"Yeah, pink roses," you giggle. "Thank you."

He steers you to his leather couch, taking a seat. Before you can sink down, his hands are on you, guiding you to straddle his lap. You rest your hands lightly on his muscular chest as Rafe eyes you in his arms. His rough hands graze your back, landing on your bum; kneading your curves slowly.

"M'so glad you're here," he soughs, his lust-laced eyes locked on your lips. His crystal blues lift slowly to yours, sending chills down your spine. "You're still nervous sweetheart? Aren't you?"

You shake your head 'no' as you lean in close, kissing him tenderly. His hands drift down your bare thighs, slipping under the hem of your dress. "I'm not... I swear," you whisper as you widen your thighs, pressing your pussy against his rock-hard bulge as you start to grind slowly. Your lips hover close, Rafe, matching your steady breathing. Tension builds as you wait for the other to break.

Rafe kisses you deeply, a passionate exchange, pushing your hips to ride him clothed. "Need to taste you again. Fuck, you tasted so sweet," he mumbles between kisses. Rafe wraps you in his arms, lifting you off the couch. "Just a little bit now. I need it. Don't let me go any farther. Alright? Not yet."

He rests you back down on the couch, pulling you where he wants you, your body desperate for his lips. Rafe drops himself down to his knees for you, taking control as he spreads your thighs, eyeing your glistening cunt with a hungry groan. "No panties?" He chuckles darkly, his dangerous gaze flickering to yours. Rafe brushes your folds, gathering your essence all over his fingers, before sucking them clean as your eyes roll back. "M'so fuckin' hard, princess. Can't wait for you to suck my cock; make me cum again. Get that pretty little mouth of yours around my dick," he sighs. His strong arms loop around your thighs, pulling you closer than before, slumping you on the couch.

Rafe's eyes stay locked on yours as his lips do the same to your clit, sucking and brushing his tongue from side to side. He moans against your pussy, as his fingers toy with your entrance, teasing your pearl with the chilled ridges of his gold ring. Your thighs tremble, tightening around him.

"C'mon, baby," he taunts, spreading you wider, sucking and finger-fucking you with a little more force. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, holding back your cries of pleasure.

"Hey... Woah. Woah... Wait a minute, baby girl," he chides. "Need to hear you. Alright?"

"Yes, daddy..."

"Well, shit..." Rafe rasps as he grabs your legs, slinging them over his shoulders. "I could get used to that."

Everything increases; your heart rate, the pressure, the depth of his tongue in your soaked hole. "You taste like heaven," he pants, bumping his nose against your clit, making your thighs quake. Rafe laps at your pussy, devouring you completely. He breathes deeply, taking in your scent; the vibration of his low moan felt against your heat.

Rafe takes your clit into his mouth, sucking harshly, making you cry out; heels digging into his black dress shirt as you buck your hips; voice echoing through the large house. "There ya go... Atta girl."

Your back arches, lips crying out for him. "Fuck, Rafe. M'right there," you blubber. You reach for your satin straps, tugging down the top of your dress, letting your breasts spill free. Your hands instantly draw up to your tits, squeezing and pressing them together for him. Rafe bites down on your swollen clit; making you throw your head back. A choked sob spills from your lips.

Your hands drop down, weaving into his hair, giving it a rough tug. You grind your pussy on his face, feeling yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. "Rafe, s-shit." Your eyes screw shut as you cum on his face, pleasure coursing through your system as your pussy clamps down around his thick fingers. Rafe works you through your orgasm, waiting until you're fully unwound to release you with a panting breath.

"Need it - Fuck. I need your cock in my mouth," you gasp; eyes still shut as you do your best to recover.

"Baby, c'mon..." He chuckles breathily as his lips find yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, making your mind fuzzy. "I wanna share a drink. Take you on a tour... You were supposed to hold me back. You can wait. Right?" You can hear the taunting in his tone, a devilish smirk playing on his kiss-bitten lips.

"Yes, daddy."

Rafe cups your breasts in his hands. Pinching and rolling your pebbled blush between his fingers. He sucks down, trailing wet kisses before biting your sensitive skin, causing you to moan again. "You're mine," he whispers, nuzzling himself into your chest. "I don't want anyone else to have you but me. Understand?"

"What - Wait..." You ask breathlessly. "I mean. Are you sure, Rafe? You barely know me. What if I didn't come into your office today-"

"You would have... eventually. I just got lucky. I always get what I want, princess. I don't wanna see you come into class with anyone else. Don't wanna overhear some douchebag talkin' about some absolutely stunning girl he took home from the bar. You're mine. My pussy," he breathes, making your breath hitch as he slaps your sensitive cunt, soothing it with his cupped palm. "My tits," he mumbles, licking a line through your cleavage as he palms them together. "My lips," he whispers as he kisses you again. "My fuckin' girl. Mine."

"M'yours, Rafe."

**********

"So, you're a professor? Just a professor?" You ask through a flirty grin as you swirl your champagne.

"Yeah... Got bored. Decided to go to college, then grad school; got my doctorate for fun," he rasps before taking a sip.

"So..." You look around, letting your silence speak for itself.

"I made some smart business decisions when I was young. Set myself up nicely."

"Mob boss?" You quip, making him cock his brow and laugh.

"If I told you, princess. I'd have to kill you." Rafe plays along, shooting you a mischievous look. "So, you're pretty far from home. You plannin' on going back for Spring Break, or are you gonna hang around here?"

You laugh nervously, wrinkling your brow, confused yet intrigued, charmed that he went out of his way to find out more about you. "How do you know where I'm from?"

He clears his throat, regretting his words slightly, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt on his thick forearms as he shifts anxiously. "Uh... Um," he puffs, draining some more liquor into his champagne flute. "Your student account," he mumbles sheepishly.

"Professor Cameron!" You gasp, flirtingly, as you lean in a little closer.

"S'bad. Alright. I know. I know! I couldn't help myself. I had to be proactive. Alright? High stakes. I gotta be real careful who I associate myself with."

"And you can associate yourself with me, Rafe?"

"Yeah. I have a good intuition, princess. Questionin' yours a little," he bullies. "That neighborhood you live in is shit, by the way. It's not safe, baby."

Your eyes double in surprise. The more he exposes, the more it should worry me, I know, but he's pulling me deeper. He's possessive, calculated, obsessed even. But, I fuckin' love it. How much more does he know about me?

I need to know.

"You look handsome," you laud; just a slight bite of your lip as you lean into the armrest, hair tumbling to the side. You cross your legs, letting your little dress ride up your thigh.

His eyebrows raise, running his palm against his wide smile, attempting to play it cool as he stares at the valley of your thigh. "Just tryin' to keep up with you, baby. You look stunning. Did you wear that-"

"On New Year's Eve..." You finish his sentence as a smirk pulls on your lips, Rafe taking the bait effortlessly. "Do you follow me on Instagram?"

"No... Just stalk you," he admits, not an ounce of shame in his voice. He can see that you clearly enjoy his attention. "Like I said... Gotta be careful who I keep around. Not to mention, I had to keep an eye on who else was watchin' you. I don't share." He smirks before tossing back the rest of his champagne. Oh...

"That's all you did, Rafe? Just look at my pictures; make sure I was safe?"

He gives you an open-mouth smile as a blush creeps across his cheeks. "You really wanna know?"

"I really wanna know..."

"That red swimsuit you wore in Cabo might be my favorite thing, princess."

You roll your eyes, expelling a dizzy laugh. "So... Again, Professor Cameron, is that all you did? Just look at my pictures; make sure I was safe?"You bully before taking a sip.

His gaze darkens on yours, the look in his eyes telling you more than enough. "Absolutely not."

Rafe adjusts himself in his chair, spreading his thighs a little wider as he pinches a fresh cigar between his lips. He reaches over to the coffee table, snagging the Perrier-Joute, drinking from the bottle. You can see that he's getting more comfortable as time passes by, as well. Laughing a little more, a few more buttons on his shirt undone, drinking straight from the source.

"So, Rafey," you ask in an unholy tone as you stroll from your chair to his, dropping down to your knees to slink the rest of the way. "Is there anything I can do for you? I really need that A."

He quickly forgets his cigar, resting it in the ashtray without a second thought. Rafe extends the bottle to you, pouring it carefully, some still dribbling from your glossed lips down your chin. He leans down, pinching your cheeks in one hand, licking the mess to your lips. "I got a few things you can do for me, princess."

"Tell me," you whisper, fingering the buttons of his Dior button-down before pulling it open fully. Your fingers trace down his tanned chest, passing through the deep indentations of his abs to his black leather belt.

You can already see his long, thick cock; trapped in Italian wool, making your mouth water. "Since you're on your knees," Rafe smiles as he pinches the button of his pants, opening that, then the zipper. "Why don't you choke on daddy's cock. Hmm?" You can feel the wetness between your thighs, the soft sweetness of his voice contrasting his domineering words, making your head spin. You draw the material over his hips, releasing his aching dick.

You glide your fingers through your pussy; gathering your slick on your digits, taking hold of the base of Rafe's cock. He shakes his head and smiles as his teeth tug on his bottom lip. You work him slowly, watching as the little bead of precum grows larger.

Rafe's hand toils through your hair, brushing it away so he can get a better view of your face. "So pretty on your knees, baby-" Rafe's words get lost in a moan as your warm tongue traces along his prominent vein, catching his cum as it drips down the side.

You lick a few fat stripes up his shaft, kissing his ruddy tip wetly as his dick twitches in your palm. "Fuck, honey," he groans deeply, tossing his head back on the leather chair. "Might not ever let you leave." His hold on your strands tightens as your warm, wet mouth wraps around his swollen tip. A deep moan follows as you suckle on Rafe's head, flicking your tongue along his slit. You caress his balls, taking him to the back of your throat.

Rafe pushes you a little farther, releasing a needy moan as you deepthroat cock. Tears roll heavily down your cheeks as you take as much of him as you can get, gliding off slowly; swirling to the tip, making Rafe's eyes roll back. "Jesus Christ, angel, where's that gag reflex? Huh?" He laughs airly. "So good at sucking cock." Rafe pitches his hips, ramming you deep, making you gag. "Mmm... Shit. There she is," he groans.

Rafe slumps a little lower as he lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a pull. "Gonna bust my load already... Damn, you look good," he praises through a panting breath, making his stomach muscles flex. His thick thighs tremble as you start to stroke him with your mouth, rolling his heavy balls in your tiny hand. You release his cock with a pop, causing him to let out a desperate plea for more.

"M'so wet, Rafe," you whine, feeling your wetness drip from your pussy, gliding down your inner thigh. You take two fingers, skimming them through the mess. Rafe's already set, snatching your wrist; guiding your dainty fingers to his mouth.

He savors the taste, only releasing them when you tighten your lips around his dick again. Twisting your hand at the base, you bob up and down. Rafe follows your strokes, pressing you down here and there as he mumbles praise. "Lips look so good around my cock, sweetheart. Look at you, take it, baby. Such a good little slut f'me. Gag on it. Fuckin' gag on me. Mine... This mouth is fucking mine."

You hollow your cheeks, milking his cock with your mouth, making him whimper and shift in his chair as his eyes slam shut. "I'm right fuckin' there. I - I'm... Fuckkk," he moans, hazy eyes widening as you sink your pussy down on his dick instead.

"Bounce on my cock. Tits in your face," you whisper against his lips, repeating his words from his office as you lower the top of your dress as well.

"You're a fantasy, baby. Fuck." Rafe slaps your ass cheek roughly, then the other side, hissing out a breath as your pussy tightens around him. Rafe pants and groans, his muscles wound tight as he tries to hold steady, watching you as you ride and bounce on top. He's speechless, eyes moving from your face to your breasts; losing control when he glances down, watching the place where you connect; his thick cock glistening with you.

"Fuck me," he grunts in blissful defeat, taking a harsh grip on your hips, pounding deep. Rafe moans your name as he cums hard, continuing to fuck upward, gritting his teeth in overstimulation. No part of him wants to stop now that he has you like this. Rafe pulls you into his lips, kissing you slowly as you grind through his sticky spent.

"Should I stop?" You whisper, feeling Rafe's smile spread against your lips.

"No, princess. Don't fuckin' stop."

********

Your garter belt wraps around your thighs, lingerie hugging the fullness of your breasts; something new, something bought by Rafe just for you. It's a gorgeous set; cups made of two large satin ribbons tied at the center; your crotchless panties, a delicate red lace.

"C'mon, princess. Stop makin' me wait," he croons.

"This is too much, Rafe... I don't need all of this. Truly," you sigh as you round the corner, relaxing against the doorframe.

Rafe licks his lip, savoring each glimpse of bare skin. "Nah... This one's for me." He pushes off the bed, moving toward you, pulling you close before kissing you deeply, breaking away from time to time, solely to take you in. "Better than I imagined..."

"You thought about this?" You hum.

"More than I should, princess," Rafe breathes, lifting you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as you bend your arms a little tighter around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Rafe walks you over to the bed slowly, taking his time as you press your chest against his, hearts picking up pace together. He sets you down on the mattress, mounting you a moment later.

Rafe's absolutely beautiful like this: dark blonde hair a mess, flushed cheeked, skin dewy. He cages you in, admiring you for a moment before starting again. He grinds his dick against you, trailing pre cum on your skin as he works his body against yours. Rafe continues to tease the both of you, his cock, painfully hard as you wait for him to ease your ache.

He swirls his dick through your arousal, nudging your entrance with his swollen head. Rafe gives you one last look before dropping his focus low. "Shittt," he groans as your walls pull him in. He fights the urge to throw his hips into you, working slow enough to let you feel every curve and ridge until he's filled you to the brim. You don't even realize you're holding your breath until he rests his heavy head on your shoulder.

"Fuck, Rafe."

"Squeezin' me so tight," he breathes. Rafe completely bottoms you out, balls resting against your ass. He grips your hips, forcing himself even deeper, pressing his cock into you with his full weight making you squirm away slightly.

"Where are you goin', Princess?" He mumbles against your warm skin, the safeword you joked about during dessert right on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure outweighs the pain.

"Nowhere, daddy," you pant as you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to stay.

"My girl," Rafe growls, lips latching onto your neck, sucking harshly. He marks you with his lips, branding you with what will surely leave behind a dark purple hickey. His teeth sink into your skin, causing you to whimper.

Rafe starts to rock his cock into you, nailing your sweet spot each time. You wrap your arms around him, marking him in your own way as your manicured nails drive into his skin. Rafe moans your name, getting off on the ache.

His body drags away from yours, tugging at the bow between your breasts, letting the satin fall to your sides as he changes positions. Rafe starts to stroke as hands move from your hips to your breasts, gripping them tight, pinching and rolling your nipples before settling on your neck.

You wait impatiently for his grasp as Rafe studies his skin on yours. He smirks wickedly, watching the way his rings glint in the low lighting, his hand wrapped like a necklace around your pretty little throat.

Rafe tightens his grip, making your eyes roll back as he pumps into slow and deep, snapping his hips each time. You can feel yourself a little more breathless than before; your pulse felt under his heavy hand. You let out a choked cry as his other hand finds your clit, rubbing circles on top.

"Faster," you beg, your voice cock-drunk and hoarse.

"Mmm... Bet my little slut wants it harder too. Yeah?"

"Yes - Fuck," you squeal. Your breasts bounce with each clap of his hips, his fat tip kissing your g-spot with each thrust. Rafe gives it to you harder and faster as you feel your pleasure about to boil over.

He's just as pussy-drunk, eyes glossed, pupils blown. Your eyes flutter closed, drool seeping out of the corner of your plump lips. You feel Rafe's breath on your skin, his soft tongue cleaning you off just as he did with the champagne, spitting it back into your open mouth this time.

His tongue tangles with yours, sloppy and breathless, as you swallow each other's sounds. "M'gonna cum," you gasp, feeling tears of pleasure well in your eyes.

"Me too, baby. You gonna make a mess? Let me clean it up for you," he pants.

"Yeah-ahh," you answer shakily. Warm liquid squirts from your sex, soaking Rafe's thick cock and his expensive sheets. "Fuck, Rafe," you whimper. I can't believe I just did that... I've only seen that in porn. Rafe quickly snuffs out your embarrassment as he coaxes you further.

"Fuck, baby. Just like that. I think my girls got more in her. Don't you?" He grunts, not letting up, applying more pressure to your clit. You feel it again; a second release, Rafe fucking you through the spurts of your climax.

Rafe was right. He always gets what he wants.

"Gonna cum... Gonna fill you so full, Princess. Fuck," he moans.

"Cum in my pussy, daddy."

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sounds of your voice, his release following close behind, muscles tightening as he floods you with his finish. He throws his head back, breathing deeply as he comes down from his high.

"Co'mere..." You whisper. Rafe gives you a satisfied smile, burying himself in your neck; holding you close for a moment before rolling you on top.

You rest your head on his chest, listening as his heart starts to slow with his breathing. Rafe's rough fingertips skim your spine as he releases a deep breath. "Mmm... Baby?" He mumbles sleepily, wrapping you tightly in his arms.

"Yes," you whisper, blissed out and breathless as you meet his beautiful eyes.

"You're never leaving."

956 notes · View notes

hairmetal666 · 7 months

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Eddie Munson gets famous at fifteen, after a YouTube video goes viral.

He's the kind of famous where he can't leave his house without being mobbed; where his name is plastered across grocery store tabloids and every fifth Pop Crave post; who has to make special arrangements with stores, whose body guards have body guards, who's forgotten what it's like to be normal. He's the kind of famous with well-chronicled stints in and out of rehab

And he thinks, at thirty, why not do a reality show? Why not let everyone in the world into his life because they're there anyway?

There's this guy on the crew, beautiful as a fucking sunrise. He's all golden-tanned and chestnut-haired, with these big hazel eyes that makes Eddie stomach swoop deliciously whenever they happen to meet his.

His name is Steve.

And Eddie, well. He's learned his lesson about jumping into relationships. So, Steve is nice to look at, and that's all there is to it.

---

They're at the studio, and Eddie, he only smokes when he's recording but he's "not allowed" to do that inside. So, he steps out into the alley behind the building, eyes falling shut as he hands search his pockets for his pack of Camels and his Zippo.

"I didn't realize you smoked," a deep voice says from the darkness.

Eddie startles, eyes flying open. Steve is leaning against the brick of the building, cigarette perched between his pursed lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I'm Steve. With the crew."

"Eddie," he answers by instinct.

"I know," Steve chuckles. His hazel eyes are golden in the yellow streetlight.

"Oh, right." He lights his cigarette and inhales deep.

"I really like what you're doing in there." Steve nods his head towards the studio.

"You a fan?"

"Never listened to you much before. Not really a metal kinda guy, but I like it."

People aren't usually honest with Eddie. It's refreshing.

"Glad you're getting into it! How's your--uh, job going?"

Steve laughs. "First assistant camera, that's my job." Eddie's expression must read a total blank, but Steve only smiles. "I make sure everything's in focus while we film"

"Is that--hard?"

"Sometimes," Steve agrees. "How do you like being the star of a reality show?"

Eddie huffs out a breath. "It's more fun than I expected. Like, sure it's weird to have you guys follow me around, but at least I invited you, you know?"

Steve's dark eyes are fathomless in his perfect face. "You'll let me know? If anything happens that you don't like?"

Eddie nods, taken aback by the serious line of Steve's pretty mouth. Before he can respond more, the back door creaks open, Gareth's backlit shape leaning into the alley. "Eddie? They're ready for you."

"Duty calls." He smiles at Steve as he stomps out his cigarette. "See you around."

---

Eddie goes to a house party in the hills. It's just a handful of people, all of them he's known for years, no cameras in sight.

Someone asks how things are going with the band. Eddie doesn't think anything of it. Why should he, among friends? Why should he when they already know the resentment that Gareth, Jeff, and Freak have for him? Eddie got signed and not his band. The guys--they never really forgave him, think he could have tried harder.

So, he says--he says--"I wish they didn't resent me so goddamn much still. To this day! They're millionaires and they're pissed at me? Fuck that. I got them here. I got us all here."

They're filming the next day at Eddie's house. He's working on a new song, engrossed in his acoustic and his notebook.

He's so in the zone, it takes him a second to register when Gareth bursts into the house.

"Fuck you, Munson," Gareth screams. "What the fuck is this shit?" Eddie's own voice pours from Gareth's phone, and Eddie's stunned speechless for dozens of seconds as he tries to comprehend what's happening.

"I didn't--" he tires. He raises his hands placatingly, but his minds a whirlwind, thoughts a tangle, heart a mess of betrayal and hurt and fear.

"We should be fucking grateful?" Gareth yells. "You spoiled piece of shit, fuck you!" He lunges towards Eddie, but Steve darts from behind the camera, moving to block Gareth's path.

"Stop filming," Eddie shouts. He lifts his arms to block the shit. "Get out," he snaps at the crew. " Now!"

He and Gareth scuffle towards a set of double-doors, heated words low and unintelligible.

"Don't come in." He tells the crew. "Steve, I mean it. Tell them to stop."

Eddie shoves Gareth into the other room, slamming the door behind him. Still, the mics pick up the screaming fight between the two men.

Hours later, Eddie finally makes his way back to the main part of the house, finds Steve standing at the kitchen island.

"Why are you still here?" He's too exhausted from the fight to put any inflection into it.

"I was wo--I wanted to make sure everything was okay," Steve says. He relaxes against the island. "Are yo--is everything okay?"

Eddie's laugh is humorless. "Something like that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The tears he kept at bay with Gareth prick at his eyelids until they burn. "Not really, no."

Steve nods. "We could--you wanna watch a movie?"

This startles a laugh out of Eddie, one that has tears flooding his eyes and he has to blink fast, look down, anything so Steve doesn't notice.

"You know what I want?" he says. It's soft enough that maybe Steve, across the kitchen, wouldn't hear.

"What?"

"To have friends who won't sell me out for a couple thousand bucks." The tears start falling, his throat choked with emotion.

He wants to stop, embarrassed to be crying in front of Steve, but now that he's started, sobs shake his shoulders and he can't keep quiet.

Steve reaches for him. "Is this okay?" he whispers, hands rubbing circles against his back.

Eddie nods, cries for a while as Steve makes soothing motions against his back.

"I just wish I was normal," he mumbles when he has words again.

Steve's hold on him tightens. "I'm sorry, Eddie."

Shame hits him then, too hard to ignore, and he steps away. "I'm gonna--I'm gonna go. I--Thanks again."

He ignores the sound of Steve calling him back.

---

Eddie's playing a show. He's playing a show in a small club, something he hasn't been able to do for years, but he's doing it right now. It's electric, vibrating through his body, the crowd screaming along with every word.

So much of this is because of Steve, and Eddie can't think about it, because men like Steve aren't for guys like Eddie.

As he plays, his eyes scan the small crowd, find Steve easily. He's gazing at Eddie, lips slicked pink and parted, eyes shining. Eddie knows this look; the naked desire obvious. A heat he never lets himself feel for Steve blooms low in his abdomen, but--

He wails into his mic, forcing his thoughts away from that path. He has a show to play, one that's pumping his veins full of satisfied adrenaline. Nothing can ruin it.

When the show ends, Eddie is high, endorphins and adrenaline pounding through his bloodstream.

Eddie, the band, and the film crew make their way out the club's backdoor. There's a car idling close by, but they only get a few steps in before there's shouting; the ear-shattering click of dozens of camera shutters; overwhelming burst of flashes.

Eddie is disoriented, dizzy; the rapid shift from the best night he's had in years, to this, mobbed by paparazzi, people screaming his name, crowding their small group. He stumbles, black spots still obstructing his vision.

Arms catch around him, holding him steady. "You okay?" Steve asks.

Before he can answer, one of the paps yells, "Munson's wasted! Can't even walk!"

"C'mon, Ed, I've got you," Steve says.

"Just get into the booze, Munson, or someone had Molly too? Maybe a little coke? That used to be your thing, right? Snort a little blow and do a show?"

Eddie tenses, almost stops, but Steve keeps him going.

The crowd surges around them, more voices yelling, more flashbulbs popping, the guy saying, "He can't even stand without help! You got a real problem you know?"and he just--can't anymore. He whirls out of Steve's grasp, lunges for the guy.

"What's your fucking problem, man?" Eddie hisses. "What did I do to you, huh?"

"Real tough, Munson, huh?" The man sneers. He shoves Eddie hard, knocking him back a few steps.

Eddie's vision fuzzes out, brain buzzing. He snarls, knows he does, knows he's losing it, can't make it stop.

Strong arms wrap around his waist, pull him off his feet. He fights it until he's pressed into a wall, until cold hands cup his face.

"Baby, baby, you have to calm down," Steve murmurs. "You have to breathe, can you do that for me?"

"I want--he can't--I--"

Steve presses harder against him, bodies joined. "You're having a panic attack, yeah? Can you breathe with me, baby? Match me?"

Eddie nods, tries, wants to be good for Steve.

He calms, as much from the breathing exercise as being held by the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Pressing his face against Steve's neck he says, "why are you always around for my worst moments? I'm such a fucking mess."

"I don't think you're a mess," he says. "I think you've gotten hurt, you've gotten cornered. And your reactions are normal."

"Why do you even care?" Eddie asks.

Steve doesn't even pause. "Cause I like you, Eddie." His hold tightens for a second. "I like you a lot."

Eddie scoffs. "Yeah, you like Eddie Munson, the hot rockstar. Not the loser who cries in your arms"

Cold air hits Eddie as Steve steps away to meet Eddie's eyes. You want to know something? I didn't expect to like you at all. I admit, I bought into all the stories on the internet. But you were never anything like that, Ed. Not even once."

Steve takes a deep breath, turning away as his cheeks grow pink. "And you--you're always going out of your way for people. The day I knew I was gone for you? Three weeks into filming. There was this kid interning. You didn't know a thing about him, just some twenty-year-old, and you sat down and talked to him. Were genuinely interested in everything he said."

"Steve," Eddie's voice breaks. He has to cover his mouth, lips a wobbling mess.

"I want to give you normal, Eddie, as much as I can. If you'll let me."

The moisture tumbles free from his eyes, streaking down his cheeks. Eddie laughs. "God, Steve, you're--I like you, too."

Steve brushes the tears away. "So, you'd go on a date with me?"

"I think I would really like to go on a date with you, yeah."

Steve leans in, slow and gentle, placing a soft kiss at the corner of Eddie's mouth. It lights him up like a fresh struck match, nerve endings on fire. He thinks it's so much more than like already.

"Take me home, sweetheart," he says.

"Getting fresh with me, Munson," Steve smirks. "I won't have you using your rockstar wiles to seduce me."

Eddie's laugh echoes off the brick of the surrounding buildings. "Oh, sweetheart, my rockstar ways will destroy you."

"That a promise?"

---

Six months later, the first and only season of Welcome to Hell premieres. Instead, of chronicling a rockstar's debauched and wild lifestyle, it's a soft and charming love story. It shows Steve and Eddie growing closer, Steve working late into the night, to give Eddie the hint of normalcy he's so desperate for, to make him happy. It shows Eddie's eyes track Steve across a room, something like sadness crossing his face. It shows a concert that Steve arranged, the fight with the pap outside the venue, brief glimpses of Steve and Eddie in the aftermath, the gentle kiss.

In the last interview of the season, the producer asks Eddie if there will be a season two of Welcome to Hell.

Eddie smiles, glances off camera, which pans to find Steve in worn jeans and a Metallica hoodie, hair messy and wearing glasses. He gazes at Eddie, smiles this soft, aching thing.

"Nah, I don't think I need it anymore," Eddie answers. Throwing the camera a smile that matches Steve's.

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 18 days

Text

1.7k / 21 / soap soulmate au, part 2

...

Unfortunately, Ghost finds you before Soap does.

Ghost yanks you by the elbow, cuffs around your wrists, dragging you to an unmarked military vehicle, pistol in hand.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask him.

He shoves you into the back seat and slams the door, gets in on the other side and starts the car up. You right yourself, having been shoved hard enough for your ribs to bounce off the leather seats.

He answers without looking at you. "The base." Curt, cold, and pissed. He drops the gun barrel-down into the cup holder.

"We just left the base."

"Huh. So we did." He keeps his eyes on the road. "Ain't that funny."

There’s a chance he’s not 141. As if there’s some other brick shithouse of a man who wears a skull balaclava around.

You shift in your seat. "What do you want from me?"

“Nothin' that'll feel good, I can tell ya that." He rests his elbow on the center console. “We’re gonna have a long talk."

"And then what?"

“Dunno. Maybe a bullet. Depends on how much you piss me off. Got a lot of questions to ask you first.”

Great.

You look around. This isn’t a police vehicle. Barely a military vehicle. There’s no barrier between you and that gun in the front seat cupholder. But you’re not an idiot. He knows you won't go for it, too, but he wants you to try.

You lean back, looking out the window at your side. "You can still turn yourself in. You don’t need to resort to hostages.”

“I made my choice. Not a difficult choice, considering how corrupt Shadow Company is."

“Orders are orders.”

“You always follow orders to arrest your friends, no questions asked?”

“When there’s good reason to.”

"Good reason, my ass. You're just a mindless dog, doing whatever Graves says. You think he'll protect you from the consequences of his actions? He'll toss you to the wolves in a heartbeat if it means saving his own sorry ass."

"That's not true."

"It's the mercenary way, innit. Sell yourself to the highest bidder and tell yourself orders are orders."

You brace one boot on the other, slowly working one foot free from inside. "Military’s the same. Only difference between us is you're salaried."

“I fight for a cause. Can’t say the same for your line of work. All you know how to do is gun targets down for cash and a little approval from your boss. Pathetic.”

Your heel slides loose. “No cause is clean. You can’t tell me you’ve never seen corruption in your line of work. Or a bad call. Or an unnecessary death.”

He grips the wheel, glaring at you in the mirror. “Doesn’t make it right. Sure as hell doesn’t mean you turn a blind eye to goddamn betrayal in your own ranks.”

“Some bureaucrat in a suit fumbling the bag and trying to right wrongs doesn’t make us corrupt. Graves knows what he’s doing—"

"So you knew."

Your jaw snaps closed mid-sentence. Shit.

He's staring right at you in the rearview mirror, eyes so cold they could freeze the breath in your lungs. "You knew about Shepherd. Didn't you?"

You swallow, looking away from the mirror and out the window. Your left foot finally comes free, and you shift subtly to brace your heel on your right boot, beginning to work your right foot loose next. "Doesn't matter."

“You followed orders to turn on your own allies, knowing they came from Shepherd. Knowing all he cares about is covering his own mistakes." He grips and re-grips the wheel slowly, as if he's thinking hard about picking up that handgun and ending your life in a ditch somewhere. "Welcomed us into a slaughterhouse for a fistful of cash. Bet you sleep real easy at night."

You trust Graves. He’s never steered you wrong. You were doing the right thing by following orders. That mantra is stuck in your throat. You want it to be true, but then there’s Johnny.

Ghost hasn't mentioned him by name. The Shadows never found him—he got away—but you don't dare let yourself think about the implications of him being alive and knowing about you. You put it out of your mind as soon as the thought surfaces, even. You made a deal with yourself that you'd never dwell on it again. Much less ask his very hostile squadmate about it. You’re not about to offer your arteries up to a butcher.

"Shepherd is in your chain of command, too."

"Not anymore. You and yours made sure of that."

"You didn't have to defect. Commander Graves asked you to come quietly. You would've been fine. You didn't do anything wrong, right?” You hear an edge in your tone and blunt it back down. "You didn't have anything to hide. But you turned it into a firefight."

"You realize you’re defending the bastard that sold out me and my team. You think I'd lay down, let him put us in some jail cell to rot for the rest of our days? I've seen too many people follow orders, trusting that everyone above them has their best interests at heart. Seen more than a few of them get punished at the hands of men like Shepherd. I'm not giving him another chance to betray me.” You still feel his eyes on you in the mirror, but you don't look. "You never once stopped and questioned what you were told to do? Or did it not matter because your loyalty was to your company, not the right thing?" His voice is flat. "That's the difference between me and you. I don't look for excuses to feel better about my actions. And I damn sure don't turn my gun on my allies.”

Your stomach curls with discomfort. "You had a choice. You knew how this would end for you."

"Rather be a wanted criminal for the right reasons than a gun being pointed at whoever Shepherd wants dead. And wouldn't you know it--I'm in damn good company, too. Turns out sticking to a moral code earns you a little more loyalty than payin’ cash. But you want to know what the best part of being a criminal is?" He taps out an odd little tune on the wheel, but there’s nothing warm or cute about it. The loaded gun would be friendlier to contend with. “I don’t have to follow Shepherd’s orders. I’m free to deal with this little problem as I see fit, and no one can tell me I’m wrong. If I kill some mercenaries who would arrest me on sight, that's just the unfortunate collateral damage that comes with my newfound freedom and your buddies following orders."

You consider that for a long moment. “So when do you plan to kill me?”

"Depends on whether or not I like what I hear in the next couple of hours. Might change my mind in that time. Might not." He takes his hand off the steering wheel to lean back a little. The road is empty, stretching long into the horizon. "The more I hear you talk, the more I feel like shooting you just for the sake of it. But I've got too many questions for that, so..." He lets the implied you live for now hang in the air, then taps the wheel again. "We'll see how the rest of this convo goes."

You manage to slide your right heel free. You glance up to see him looking at you in the mirror again. Your heart skips. You think he's caught you. But he doesn't say anything, and you realize he's just examining you, mulling something over.

“I don’t know what you think I can tell you, but I don’t know anything,” you say.

“Why don’t you just stay quiet and think about all that stuff you don’t know. Maybe we’ll starve you until you talk; maybe we’ll grease your palms. That’s how you operate, hm?”

He’s trying to make you angry, make you take the bait, but you don’t. You know what you are.

You keep both feet carefully lowered into your boots so as not to rouse suspicion. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you and your buddy got hurt.”

That seems to catch him off guard. He frowns. A beat passes where he doesn't say anything, just watches you. Not angry or suspicious, just... calculating. "Not worth much. And his name is Johnny. But you knew that, didn't you?"

You look away. Ghost's cell phone rings.

The sound pulls his attention away from you. He glances down at the display with a frown.

"On with Ghost." A short reply. "Yeah, I got her. About three hours out." He glances at you once as the person on the other line says something else, but after a few more seconds, you can tell he's more concerned with what they're saying than with you.

This is your chance.

With his eyes fixed on the road, you silently pull your cuffed arms under you, lifting your feet deftly through the loop of your arms.

You glance down at the gun one more time. He’s holding the phone with his left hand; driving with his right. Still, even with your hands in front of you, you’re cuffed. You won’t have a chance if you go for that gun and he gets it away from you. It won’t end well.

Plan B, then.

You push your feet back into your boots and slide yourself behind his seat.

"Hey!"

Drill Sergent voice. Busted.

He hits the brakes, drops his phone, and reaches for the pistol.

You slam your feet into the back of his seat, sending him crashing forward and trapping him between the seat and the wheel. The horn blares. The car jerks and runs off the road.

Cuffed hands in front of you, you throw your weight against the driver's side door and grab the handle. He reacts, but not quick enough, his gloved hand snatching at the space where yours were a second after you get the door open.

You dive outside, crash to the ground, roll ungracefully away from the back wheels as they roar past, and use the momentum to get back to your feet. The car keeps rolling, driver's side door still open. It's still moving fast, and you landed hard. That's going to hurt in a minute. Not yet, though.

You run.

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Soap / masterlist tag

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cordeliawhohung · 2 months

Note

i was wondering if i might be able to put in a request, if possible? simon riley mafia/guard dog vibes? i can absolutely expand with more ideas on that too if you’d like but just overall those vibes are amazing and your mafia works are immaculate ♡ ♡ ♡

sorry this took forever work was killing me lmao. but vibes are perfect! gives me a bit more freedom in writing. hope you enjoy (and thanks for getting me to write more mafia!au stuff lmfao) (:

mafia!141 masterlist

cw: violence, simon beats the fuck outta someone, crude comments, slight in limbo spoilers/foreshadowing but only if you squint? terrible cliches but oh well

It wasn't your first time seeing the glint of a knife in dark light, but it was your first time having a blade brandished at you in a threat.

Really, this was all your fault. Innocent intentions of wanting to bring your boyfriend some takeout from work was what got you caught in that mess, and had you been better at following instructions you would have been inside. Instead, you botched the directions to the VIP section the bouncer up front had given you, leading you into a trap straight out of a horror movie.

You had hardly gotten the chance to round the corner before this man, some wanna-be mugger, slapped your to-go box out of your hand. Still warm and fresh steak, along with a ridiculous amount of chips, flopped out of the container and onto the ground just as you felt your back collide with the wall next to you. Brick wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to have shoved against your spine, but it certainly beat the wicked curve of the knife that was used to threaten you.

Everything in you urged you to run away, to scream, to fight, to do something, and yet all you could do was stand there like a deer in headlights. The only thing you could focus on was the man's eyes, and how he glared at you so sharply you were certain he could kill you with his gaze alone. He pointed the knife closer to you with his other hand outstretched, waiting for it to be filled.

"Are you fucking deaf?" the man snarled. "I told you to hand over your shit."

Those were the first words that fully registered in your brain, and you couldn't get your voice to cooperate. Your hands raised in an attempt to put some more distance between you and your assailant, yet that seemed to do nothing but only aggravate him further.

"Do you think I'm fucking around? I'll kill you and take it off your damn body if that's what you want," he urged further.

"I don't... I don't have anything."

Those were the first words you were able to stutter out, and you hated that it was the truth. There was nothing on you worth taking; no cash or card, not even any expensive jewelry. Worst of all, you didn't feel scared. A terrible numbness settled over you as your eyes stayed locked onto the blade that threatened to embed itself into your body, and all you could think about was that you hoped it didn't hurt when you died.

"You bitch, don't fucking lie to me. I don't have time to-"

That wretched man never got the chance to finish his words before a metal clinking cut him off, followed quickly by a crunch. The pure silence that followed was then interrupted by a piercing, guttural scream, and it was only then that your mind was able to make sense of the events that took place in front of you.

Simon, your big, beautiful bastard of a boyfriend, found you. How, you weren't quite sure, but you were thankful nonetheless. Most of what took place happened too fast for your brain to fully comprehend it, but you were able to figure out that the knife was no longer in the mans hands, and in fact, his hand no long seemed fit to hold anything at all. Several of his fingers twisted inhumanly, sitting at awkward angles that you knew no fingers could naturally position themselves. He gripped his wrist with his uninjured hand as if he could choke off the pain, but all he could do was sniffle and grovel.

"Watch your choice of words when you're talkin' to her, yeah?" Simon warned.

His huge frame slipped behind the man as he grabbed a hold of the back of his neck where he pushed him to the ground. His knees collided with the cement ground with a sound so sickening you could nearly feel the pain he felt. Even then, Simon didn't let the mugger off easy. His hand slipped into the mans short hair where he yanked his head back, forcing him to look up at you.

"Apologize," Simon demanded.

For a moment, the man couldn't get any words out. It was as if your positions had switched too violently for him to get his brain to work properly, but after a not-so-gentle nudge from Simon, his thoughts seemed to sort themselves. He sniffled as pained tears welled in his eyes, and you hated yourself for almost feeling bad for him.

"I'm sorry," the man sputtered out.

Despite the pain in his voice, it wasn't enough for Simon.

"Sorry for what?" he urged, grip in his hair only growing more forceful.

"Sorry for... for hurting you, I'm sorry," he winced.

"Yeah, I'm sure you are," Simon grumbled.

With a final shove, the man fell forward onto his good hand, nearly missing the now ruined steak and chips that was supposed to be Simon's dinner that night.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Simon urged, bringing your attention away from the crumpled mess of a man in front of you. "Let's clean up."

You didn't start crying until you realized Simon had been hurt. With clothes darker than night itself, his blood had blended all too well into his shirt, obscuring the cut he had gotten on his side. The only thing that had calmed you down was him bringing you into a private bathroom and letting you sit on the counter as he cleaned himself up. Seeing him hurt wasn't something you ever wanted to witness. Really, you never thought a man like Simon Riley could get hurt. Yet seeing the minor cut he had gotten compared to the major wound you would have endured was enough to quell your worries and halt your tears.

"How did you know where I was?" you asked.

Your legs didn't quite reach the floor as the counter was higher than most average bathrooms. You swung your feet as you watched Simon clean his cut with careful eyes. It wasn't deep, thank goodness, though it took him more gauze than imagined to stop the blood flow.

"One of the guys called up saying you were headed through the VIP entrance, and I came down to meet you. When I realized you weren't there, I knew somethin' was wrong. Besides, the cunt's demands weren't quiet," he explained.

Any other time, you would have been flustered being in such a situation with Simon. Behind closed doors in a bathroom of a club together would have already been nerve wracking enough, and the fact he had shredded his shirt was cause for you to be more abashed. But in that moment, you couldn't help but be eternally grateful he had been there, even if he had shattered a man's hand over it.

"I see why John has you hired as a bouncer," you admitted humorously. "I've never seen anyone... dispatch another person like that."

Simon's dark eyes flickered up to you as he finished bandaging his wound, and he moved to the sink to quickly clean his hands of the blood. Once he was clean, he moved in front of you where he stood between your legs, though not at all sexually. His hands came to rest against your side where he gave you a gentle and reassuring squeeze.

"I'd do anythin' for you," he said.

You wanted to explode into monologue. Wanted to tell him that he shouldn't be so willing to do things for you, even if he was capable of it. There were a million reasons why you didn't deserve him, why he shouldn't try and protect someone already damned, yet you couldn't get yourself to speak them.

Noting your silence, Simon pressed a caring kiss against your forehead before pulling away and snatching his ruined shirt off the counter.

"C'mon," Simon urged as he put the soiled clothing on.

Intrigued, you hopped off the counter. "Where are we going."

"To get dinner," he replied. "Bastard ruined my meal, and your night. Figured we could make somthin' back at my place."

The smallest of smiles graced your lips as Simon straightened himself out in the mirror, and when he looked at you again, he nearly smiled, too. You quickly wiped at your eyes as you silently prayed they weren't too swollen, and then with some sort of bravery you didn't know you had, you reached for the sleeve of his shirt with a quiet chuckle.

"I'd like that."

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mafia!ghost #mafia!simon #f!reader

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ladykailitha · 26 days

Text

Just a little silly thing I thought of watching The Airborne Toxic Event music videos and how it seemed like whenever they needed violin, piano, tambourine...whatever it was always Anna Bulbrook playing.

So what if we steddified it? Steve just picking up whatever instrument Corroded Coffin needs to fill out a song and suddenly he's on tour with them and Eddie still isn't sure how it happened.

****

Eddie was getting frustrated. The band had been working on this song for the last two weeks, but there was still something missing. And he only had mere minutes to finish it before Steve came to pick him up.

Not because they were dating or anything, though...Eddie mentally slapped the side of his head. He was getting off track. Steve was picking him up because his van was in the shop until Friday and Steve had offered to taxi him around.

Like the fucking saint he was.

He screamed his rage, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. But into the resulting silence, he realized it had become too quiet.

When he looked up he saw Steve standing there with a shocked expression on his face.

"You good there, man?" he asked with a grimace.

"Don't mind him," Brian huffed. "He always gets like this when we're stuck on a song."

"Can I hear it?" Steve asked.

Everyone just looked at each other, not speaking.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, not a metalhead, I know. But I am a classically trained musician, maybe I can figure out where it's gone wrong."

"Fine by me," Jeff said with a shrug. "What's it going to hurt?"

Eddie looked up at Steve's earnest face and sighed. "All right, if there are no objections. Let's start it at the top."

And the band played.

"Play it again," Steve muttered.

They looked at each other again, but Eddie just shrugged and they played it again.

Steve nodded. "Okay, I think I've got it. Can I borrow that old keyboard for a sec?"

Gareth looked behind him with a frown. "I mean I guess."

Steve set it up and plug it in. "Brian start on your cue."

The band watched as Brian laid on the base. Steve nodded in time to the music and then began to play a melody on the keyboard. He pointed to Gareth who immediately started banging away.

Eddie came in on vocals and suddenly the song was really coming together.

They practiced it a couple more times, Steve playing the melody line on the keyboard and when they were done all four of the Corroded Coffin boys stared at him in shock.

"Holy shit dude," Jeff said. "What the fuck was that?"

Gareth nodded. "Yeah, man. Eddie hear can play by ear and read music, but that was something else entirely."

"You're going to have to play it with us on Tuesday at the Hideout," Brian said.

Jeff and Gareth agreed. They all turned to Eddie, Steve included.

"I don't know why you're looking at me," Eddie huffed. "I'm down."

Steve just grinned.

****

But then it kept happening. The song was a hit with the Tuesday crowd because of course it was.

They were working on a song and again they were running up against a brick wall. They had already incorporated Steve's piano into it, but it was still missing an extra beat.

They had gotten permission to practice at local college's music room and Steve was getting bored.

He had his part down. There were only a couple of parts were the piano came in so he cast his eyes around the room looking for something mess around with.

His eyes lit up when he spotted his prize. He walked over to the table and picked it up, the clatter of the small metal jingles rattling as he did so.

The band stopped playing and glared at him.

"Don't mind me," he said smugly. "Keep playing."

They went back to starting from the top and as Gareth came in on the drums Steve hit the instrument against the side of his leg in time to the beat.

It stunned Brian so much he missed his cue, his jaw on the floor.

"Stevie..." Eddie said warningly. "What was that?"

Steve grinned. "You said you needed an extra beat. I'm providing the extra beat. Just trust me."

The other band members looked at each other, but did as he suggested.

Sure enough when the chorus came in, and Steve started playing the tambourine, it took everything ounce of professionalism the band had not ground to a complete stop. Then for the verses Steve would play his part on the piano and it just blended so well.

Eddie ran his fingers over his face. "Jesus Christ, Stevie, warn a dude, yeah? You are just sitting over there like a musical genius and it's seriously making the rest of us look bad."

Steve thew back his head and laughed.

"So it's a hit then?"

Everyone groaned.

Jeff shook his head. "Yeah, man. It was a hit."

Steve just grinned.

****

They were recording their first real album in a real studio and while the producers were a little unsure about this weirdo who dressed more like Bruce Springsteen than Kirk Hammett, they had contracted the whole band so they let it slide.

It took Steve two weeks to impress the producers.

Steve had been using the studio off hours (which he did pay them for) to record lullabies on the violin for Robin and Lucas. Violins were the only things that would soothe their anxieties and keep the nightmares at bay.

He had finished his little recording about an hour ago was merely laying down melodies and such that he would play back to see if he liked them.

If only his parents could see him now. Using all that classically trained music to guess Russian code, play lullabies for frightened kids, and preform in a metal band.

Clint Harrington would probably keel over on the spot.

He was so wrapped up in the music, just letting it flow over him that he didn't notice that he had gathered an audience.

He finally stopped and the mic from the sound booth crackled to life startling him.

"Shit, Stevie," Eddie's warm voice said from above him. "Do you think you could play that haunting melody again?"

Steve blushed and then shrugged. "I mean I guess. It was just me playing around. Why?"

"Because everyone in here thinks it's just what Blood-Red Skies needs."

Steve furrowed his brow and then nodded. "Can you pump the track in through the speakers?"

"Yeah," Eddie said breathless. "Just give me a moment to find it."

It was barely a moment or two before Steve's tape was replaced by the recording of the song.

The song was hauntingly beautiful. Eddie only singing vocals as rest of the band played.

It was raw and emotional.

Steve let the song play through before he signaled to play it again.

This time when Eddie begins to sing, Steve begins to play the violin. That beautifully sad sound he had played just to get it out of his head beginning to raise.

"Holy shit!" a new voice came through. It was their producer Kenny Fontaine. "You made that up?"

Steve shrugged. "Sometimes I get music in my head and I need to get out."

"Teach me to play the piano part!" Eddie blurts wrestling the mic away from Kenny. "So that when we play it live you can be on violin and I can sing and play."

Steve grinned. "I'd love that."

I love you.

****

They are playing it on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson to promote the release of Blood-Red Skies.

The tension between Eddie and Steve is thick that Johnny calls them out on it.

And that's when Steve leaned over and kissed Eddie right on the lips.

Johnny is absolutely freaking out and in a good way.

They spend the rest of the interview tucked into each other's sides like puzzle pieces.

Even later, ten years down the line when Corroded Coffin is selling out stadiums, Eddie and Steve always end the song with a kiss.

****

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes

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toji-girl · 2 months

Text

t. fushiguro

original ask: TOJI X CRYBABY GIRLFRIEND‼️ toji being an asshole to his wimpy gf and regretting it instantly..?

tags; fem reader + angst with happy ending + fighting + pet names + repost from my old blog

After a long day of physical work, the only thing that was on Toji's mind was coming home and falling into bed but knew he had to take a shower first to wash away the layer of grime off before getting in the bed.

When you heard the door open you smiled and greeted your boyfriend at the door with an array of facial kisses as you all but melted into his arms causing him to grunt, usually, he loves you being all clingy and all about him but right now he was too tired.

"I need a shower," Toji told you pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple before disappearing down the hallway shedding his clothes not caring about the mess he made as you followed after picking it up.

He expected you to follow him and that only tightened his jaw as he pulled back the curtain with a heavy sigh, one that spoke a weight of pure exhaustion. You kept talking about your day asking about his.

Toji stood under the water watching it circle the drain, his thoughts elsewhere not listening to your gabbing. "Are you even listening? I asked you how your day was baby." Your voice was soft as you peeked your head in the shower to look at him looking at him with pure love.

He turned and looked at you, his face screwed up in irritation. "No, I'm not, can you just shut up for a moment and give me peace? All you do is talk and talk, I've had a long day if you haven't noticed so just leave me alone." His voice was hard as he stared at you, your face filled with hurt as tears gathered in your eyes as you shut the curtain and frowned.

"Shit - I'm sorry babe, I didn't -"

You didn't give him more time to say anything else before you were out of the bathroom with tears streaming down your face, and sure he's snapped at you and vice versa but this time felt different.

The pain was a physical ache that manifested in your belly like a heavy rock as you settled into the bed under the covers hearing the door crack open a few seconds later to reveal Toji clad in his boxers.

"I'm an asshole for speaking to you that way, today was long...but that doesn't give me the right to say what I did, I'm sorry. I'll let you slap me?" He suggested trying to ease the tension that cloaked the both of you.

His footsteps were softened by the carpet as he walked further in to settle on the edge of the bed to peel back the covers to look at you.

Toji knew that ever since you could remember you've been a bit more sensitive than others, crying at movies that weren't sad or even sappy, TV commercials, or seeing a family of animals snuggling.

And he also knew he wasn't good with these types of things, words were not his thing but for you, he was changing his ways and now you were being drawn into his arms, his face nuzzled into your neck.

He dried your tears with his thumbs gazing down at you, his eyes were unreadable. "That was a dick move." You muttered looking away letting him stroke your back with rough fingertips.

"I'm a dickhead at times, I know but I am sorry, I never want to hurt my baby girl." He replied in a softer tone, and you knew he changed, the man you met two years ago, the wall around him was strong and stood fierce but you took it down, brick by brick turning him into a softer man.

You gave into the pull and wrapped your arms around his neck squeezing him. "I love you so much I want to hug your neck with my hands sometimes." You told him causing a chuckle to rumble his chest.

"I love you too and I don't think you're the only one, but you get the first privilege." He teased making you laugh, the air now charged with something else as you both gazed at each other tenderly.

His large hand cupped your cheek bringing your face closer to his to close the distance between your lips. "Let me hear about your day then I'll tell you about mine, but first let me grab something."

You watched as he left only to return with your favorite snacks and drinks before settling back into the bed and pulling you onto his lap to talk about your days and make plans for the weekend.

Toji couldn't help but feel a pang in his heart still at the way he spoke to you, and he knew that you changed him because prior to meeting you hurting people didn't matter to him one bit really but now?

He can't stand seeing you sad or heartbroken, you're his crybaby who he loves so much.

#toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk x reader #toji x you #jjk x you #toji fushiguro x reader

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bb-eilish · 9 months

Text

Blooming Eyes

pairing; collegeathlete!anakinx flowershopworker!reader

summary; After accidentally knocking over another student with her painting, Y/n seems to have caught the eye of him. The same eyes that stare at her, blue and intense have trapped her, so she does what she does best; paint.

word count; 14.5k

warnings; P in v sex, multiple smut scenes, rough sex, romantic sex, mutual pining, obsession, dirty talk, name-calling, dumbification, making out( so much kissing omg), cunnilingus, creampie, etc etc

Working and going to school wasn’t fun, Y/n’s sure nobody has ever said it was. Though, her job was, oddly, pretty nice. She worked in a flower shop for Christ's sake, she was around nice people, and even nicer flowers.

School on the other hand was not as enjoyable. Y/n was in school for painting, and because of these two things people were able to figure her out easily. A sensitive woman who owns multiple cats, some even going as far as labeling her a "crazy cat lady" and trying to decipher her mental health for some reason.

She didn't let that bother her though, she lived a cozy life and for that she was grateful.

"I'll miss you." She pouts at her cat. The fluffy white one, Cherry, brushed against her legs as Y/n crouched, she briefly licked Y/n's fingers before rubbing her furry face against them. The woman smiled softly at the white fluff ball as she swept her hand down the cat's furry back.

"Don't think I forgot about you Mr. Grumpy pants." Y/n smiles as she steps over to her other cat, the broody void named Bear. He was curled up on top of her couch cushion, hiding his pouty face as she baby-talked. "I'll miss you too." The black cat uncurled to stretch and play with Y/n's fingers. She finally grabbed her backpack, the large canvas she had to drag to class, and waved at the two cats before opening and shutting the door to her apartment.

Traffic wasn't too bad, though, she wouldn't mind if it was. She enjoys blasting music and singing as loud as she wants. It was therapeutic. But, as she was pulling into the parking lot infront of the art building, she turned a little too sharp and the canvas in her backseat went flying. A mantra of "shit shit shit shit shit" flew out of her mouth as she parked and prayed it didn't break. Y/n whips around and inspects the item before slumping down in relief.

Now, the worst part, getting this monstrosity into class without injuring her fellow classmates.

"Sorry, 'scuse me." She mutters as she sidesteps and tip-toes through a crowd of people. A large clock sits on the wall of the building she's facing and, of course, it reads ‘9:29’. Her class starts at 9:30, she knows college professors are more lenient but she didn’t get that kind of teacher.

She loves her art class, absolutely adores it, but the teacher is a bit of a stickler and will kick students out if they're more than a minute late. Y/n thankfully spots the brick building just in time. Suddenly, "Go long" is yelled from beside her. Whipping her head around, she spots a student who is obviously an athlete and rolls her eyes, turning back to look in front of her.

But that would, simply, be too easy. Her canvas completely bulldozes over somebody as she turned around for half a second. "Oh my god." She spoke, not at the man on the ground, but at the freshly ripped hole right in the center of her painting. Terror paints her face as she stares at it. "Watch where you're going maybe." One of the guy's friends says.

"My painting.." She says as the man on the ground gets up. She's about to apologize when the clock from before chimes at 9:30, her eyes widen more, if possible, so she offers a mumbled "Sorry" before scrambling off.

"Are you okay, Anakin?"

"Yea...I'm fine." He lets out, still a little stunned. Not at him being basically tackled, but at her. He's never seen her before, but he couldn't think of a better way to run into her. He shakes his head and catches up with his friends, momentarily turning behind him to see if he's able to catch a glimpse of the canvas through the crowd of students.

Y/n successfully makes it on time, she flies down into her seat after setting the canvas on the project table.

"Nice to see you all again." Her teacher begins, but Y/n tunes him out. As she relaxes into her chair she can't help but think back to the guy she rushed into, guilt fills her as she realized she never properly said sorry. She can't even recall what the guy looks like.

Later that day she walks around the flower shop, fixing up and watering some of the plants. It's so relaxing, she smiles at each one before moving on to the next. Soon the door swings open to a rowdy group of boys, all of them well over 6'0 as they leer over the shelves of flowers. She catches a bit of their conversation, "What do you think she would like? I know I fucked up, flowers will help, trust me. Girls eat that shit up." She rolls her eyes at that, continuing to care for the various flowers.

Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes catch her, they continue to lock onto her, even when she disappears into the backroom.

The boys ring the bell on the desk, a little too much and a little too rough. She licks her teeth in annoyance as she steps out to the checkout counter. There's about 4 of them and she'd rather be buried alive than have to talk to them. It's unbelievably intimidating as they stare at her while she's checking out the bouquet of flowers they settled on.

"That'll be $15.99." She mutters, looking up and making eye contact with one of them. His eyes are intense, but not in the same way as the others. She feels hooked, almost like she was lured into a trap. She gulps quietly before looking back down, putting away the money, and offering them change.

"Have a nice day and come again." She says, the last part coming out as they stare at each other once more. They only look away after the door opens and closes again. She's not sure if he looks back at her because she turns and zips into the backroom.

Friday, finally. She doesn't have school today, she only works. Her shift doesn't start until 4.

So, until then, she sits and does nothing. It's wonderful, she adores laying on her couch with her cats. Today was a bit different though, the stranger's eyes appeared in her head at every turning corner. It brought along a wave of goosebumps and quick heartbeats. Y/n has no idea why she's so drawn to him, but she is and it has completely blindsided her.

"Alright guys, I'll be home soon enough." Is said to her cats, more for herself honestly. Her shift went per usual, the people were back to being polite, no rowdy men who are incredibly enticing.

The next day, though, was unusual.

The bells she adores chime and ring as she enters the shop, checking in and greeting Marleen, the store owner. "Anything interesting happen recently?" Y/n asks, trying to make conversation as she gets out the watering can for the flowers. Marleen walks behind the cash register as she thinks, "Kind of, a man came in here and walked around for a little bit the other day, didn't buy anything, and then sat outside on the bench for another 10 minutes before leaving."

Y/n furrows her eyebrows, "That's strange." The conversation ends there as she goes to the back of the green house outside and fills up the can, dragging it back and watering the flowers.

An hour or two goes by before a few people come in, she's snipping some of the leaves as one of them gets her attention. The bell chimes once more behind her but she doesn't look. "Can I help you?" She asks, turning towards the man with a smile on her face. "Yes, would you happen to know anything about taking care of plants?"

She smiles brighter at that, "I do, whats the problem?"

"Well, my cactus is starting to turn a darker green or black color at the bottom and it's becoming softer. I'm not sure what to do." The man says, nibbling his lip. Y/n nods before asking, "How often do you water it per week?"

The man raises his eyebrows, "I water it everyday, is that bad?"

She hums, "There's your issue, root rot. Since it's the spring you only need to water it about every 10 days, that should clear it up. If the rot is more severe you might need to repot and re-soil it."

"I see, thank you so much!" She smiles as they part ways, she goes back to snipping the last of the leaves before retreating back to the backroom to drop off the scissors and then to the counter, waiting for anyone to check out. She spaces out for a second before noticing someone walking up to the front of the counter.

"Hello, did you find everything okay?" She spews off automatically before looking up, seeing it's the man from the other day. Not the loud, obnoxious one, the one with the intense blue eyes.

He softly smiles, "I did." His voice is deep, but inviting and easy to listen to. She grabs the small potted succulent he placed onto the counter before grabbing the scanner and scanning the bottom. She catches his outfit, a black baggy t-shirt and acid-wash black jeans. The simpleness only added to his overall appeal.

"You sure know a lot about plants." He starts, smiling at her. "You must have a lot at home."

She laughs before telling him the price, "I don't actually, I have cats so y'know." She smiles while the man swipes his card, "It'll ask you if you want to add a tip and then you can sign." She says, regarding the card reader. He nods before tapping it a few times and dragging his finger along the screen.

"You look like the type to have cats." He says as he puts his card away, "Is that bad?" Y/n lightly teases. He shakes his head no, "Not at all, it's cute."He says, momentarily reading her name tag. "I'll be sure to come back and ask you for advice if anything happens ." Her heart practically stops in her chest as she laughs, "I'll be expecting you, have a nice day."

"You too, Y/n."

She swallows, watching him leave. "Oh my god." She whispers, she could fill out a diary about him and they only just met. So, thats exactly what she does.

When she returns home, she makes a B-line for the new pocket-sized sketchbook she recently bought. She flips past the drawings of flowers and settles on an empty page. Getting out a pencil and drawing the one thing she remembers the most, his eyes. The intensity of them, his brow bone, she makes sure she incorporates the way they make her feel as well. She even busts out her colored pencils for the blue of his irises.

She would feel embarrassed if she didn't feel a physical feeling before drawing his eyes, her fingers tingle as she draws them, again and again. They stain page after page, some colored, some not. But they all make her feel the same way. When she deems it out of her system for the time being, she checks her clock, stunned to see it was way past 12:00.

But that's okay, the shop isn't open on Sundays.

Her dreams that night were surreal, she fell into his eyes, literally, like they were a hurricane, they swirled her further and further into him. She drowned in his eyes and wouldn’t mind if she did in real life too. When she awakes, there's a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. That day she tries her best to get into her homework and not the alluring customer from her job. At one point she spaces off and doodles along the sides of her psychology homework, it lasts a few moments before she realized what she drew. The same pair of eyes that have been tormenting her, stare back from her homework.

"I'm going crazy." She mumbles, laying her head on the table. Y/n picks herself up after a minute or so. Scribbling down the answer to the last few problems, she throws the paper in her folder and sits down on her couch, chewing her thumbnail anxiously. She's not really sure what's going on with her, she doesn't even know his name. His eyes though, the way they stared at her, brought out a feeling like no other. She decides to occupy herself with tv until she goes to bed, she has art class tomorrow and is well aware of the homework her teacher assigns on Mondays.

—

Pulling into her parking space, she makes a mental note on the art supplies she has to buy. The faint thought of taking her drawings of him to the next level startle her. Is this creepy? She hopes not. It's truly addicting to think about him.

"Happy Monday, everyone. As you're probably expecting, I have an assignment for you." Sighs are heard through the class as he keeps going, "Next Monday you will turn in a painting on something that moves you. Doesn't matter what, but make it have meaning." He finishes. Y/n thinks for a moment about what she'd make, she can feel it at the back of her mind though. She doesn't have to really think that hard about it.

Her job was quiet, only two people came in during the 3 hours she's been there. Her shift ends in 10 minutes and she's excited to pick up some new art supplies, creativity is fresh on her mind, it has the tips of her fingers tingle. So much so, she grabs a pad of paper and a pencil and gets to practicing the same pair of eyes she's come to perfect.

The bells chime and she lets out a "Welcome in." As she usually does. She doesn't look at the door as she shades in the pupil of the eye, she can already see his likeliness shining through the paper. She continues adding details to his eyebrows as she senses something.

"Wow, that's amazing." A deep voice says from over her shoulder. Y/n jumps about 6 feet in the air and just barely keeps in her squeal of terror. He stands back and chuckles, "Didn't mean to scare you, you okay?" He asks, putting a comforting hand on her back.

"Oh yea, I'm fine. And thank you." She tries her best to seem not panicky and caught red handed.

"Can I see it?" He asks her, nodding towards the pad of paper. Okay, now it's time to panic. She can't say no, that would be off putting. Maybe he won't notice the resemblance? She inhales, "Sure, here." She scoots over the paper to him. Her heart stutters in her chest and her palms grow clammy the longer he stares at it.

"These seem familiar." He pauses, she could honestly throw up right now, this can't be happening. "I can't put my finger on it."

She exhales, relief settling over her shoulders as he moves back to the front of the small counter, she shuffles the paper onto the shelf below the register, hoping he doesn't connect any dots.

"I actually came here to ask you something. I'm in botany right now and it's not looking too good for me, I saw how good you are with plants, so I was wondering if you would tutor me? ." Y/n widens her eyes, what did she do in her past life to be rewarded like this?

"Oh, yea, I can do that. When are you free?" She's dreamed about asking him that, different context though, usually it's after he declares his love for her and wants to get married. Tutoring is good too though.

"I'm not working at the moment so any time that works for you probably works for me." He smiles, the motion adds a matching expression to her own face.

"Tomorrow at 6:00?"

"Perfect, does my place work? I'll give you my number." He tells her, waiting eagerly for her to reply.

"I can do that, and here." She grabs her phone from her back pocket. Passing it to him, her bottom lip becomes trapped under her front teeth. Their fingers brush against each other’s as he takes the device from her. Y/n swallows, glancing everywhere but him as he continues. "Here." He passes it back to her, he even put in his name. "Anakin." She states looking up at him. There's a gleam in his eyes, she's not sure what it is but it's accompanied by a teasing smile.

"That's me. Well, I just came here to run that by you, thank you again. I'll talk to you later?" He leans on his hands that are flat on the counter, not so subtly towering over her. The intensity in his eyes comes swooping back as she looks up at him. They trace her very being and it feels like she's forgotten how to breathe.

"I'll make sure to text you after my shift." She smiles at him to the best of her ability, it's hard though, she feels like the only person in the world as he looks at her. It's not a bad feeling, not at all, it makes her feel warm and special.

"I'll be looking forward to it." He let's her know as he walks to the door, turning around to speak to her.

When he leaves and is out of her line of sight, she crumbles. Y/n sits down behind the counter to catch her breath. Her face probably looks like a tomato right now, but she doesn't mind-Y/n has bigger problems. Like having to text him. What should she say?

'Hi' sounds too uninterested.

'Hello' sounds too formal.

'Hey' sounds too much.

She decides she'll cross that bridge when she gets there, she has another hour behind the counter before she can leave.

Turns out, that hour was pure agony. She spaced out the entire time and it STILL felt like years. But, it's bittersweet. As she sits in her car, face lit by the screen of her phone, the empty message bar sits there, she's typed nothing. Y/n knows she's being dramatic, so she huffs and types against her will.

"Hey, this is Y/n."

Then she basically throws her phone into the passenger seat and takes off. The volume of the radio blasts as she grips the steering wheel with a new found urgency.

Just when she opens her door she remembers the supply store. "Goddamnit." She swears she'll go tomorrow.

"Hi, Babies." She greets her cats as they hang around her legs.

It's not very late so she decides to start on her art project. She has a closet full of canvas', so she flips through them. What would make Anakin's eyes pop the most? Y/n doesn't know why she does this to herself, but she picks the biggest one she owns. This time, though, if it rips, she might attack somebody.

She lays the canvas out on her floor, an array of different black and gray pencils sit around her.

She closes her eyes for a moment, visualizing earlier that day. How his eyes pierced her, how he looked down at her. Blindly, she searches for a pencil. The feel of it on her fingers felt amazing, she cracks open her eyes and gets to work. His eyes fill the entire thing in no time and she feels whole. It didn't take long for her to fully sketch out everything, as she gazes at her newest obsession, it sends a jolt of electricity down her back. She breathes before picking up her phone, lungs soon deflating as she sees a text.

'Thought you forgot about me for a second haha'

She spots the time it was sent, 1 hour ago.

She scrambles to open the message app and type actual words.

'I could never and sorry by the way. I was working on my art project, it really cuts me off from the world lol'

He responds a second later;

'You really are a tortured artist lol'

'Here's my address by the way-->'

Y/n knows she'll have to put that into her gps, she's not the best with directions.

'Thanks, I'll be there at 6. Make sure you have the homework you're struggling with and the class textbook'

'I gotchu'

The conversation ends there, she can finally breathe.

School was, well, school, nothing ever happens in her math or english classes. Per usual, her job was the most exciting part of her day that didn't involve Anakin.

So, when she leaves work and heads to the supply store, she picks up the right paint and decides if she needs more brushes or not. As she tosses them in her backseat, she checks the time on her phone, "You have to be kidding me." She grumbles, 5:50. Her fingers quickly punch in his address before she's pulling out of the parking lot. He lives about 15 minutes away and it makes her kind of want to drive off the bridge she's currently driving over.

She speeds the entire way there, thankfully arriving 13 minutes later instead of 15.

In her scrambled state she forgets who's door she's knocking on for a moment, the fear of being late taking over her mind completely. So when Anakin opens the door she grips the wall beside her for support. "Well well, seems you're about 14 minutes late, tsk tsk." He teases as he holds the door open for her.

"I'm so sorry, I had to run to the store to get more paint." She offers, slipping her shoes off.

"Art project you were talking about last night?' Anakin asks, closing the door. Y/n nods, muttering a 'Yea'.

"When am I gonna be able to see it? If it's taking so much of your time it must be good."

Her eyes widen, he wasn't able to decipher the quick sketch at her job, but he would absolutely tell with her painting. She tries to hide her panic, "Maybe if you pass botany." She teases, following him to wherever he's set up at. They come up to his dining room table, papers and textbooks are arranged nicely, it makes her smile.

He takes a seat and pats the one next to him, "C'mon Ms. Artist. Tell me about plants."

She giggles as they begin.

Everything is going well, he's getting questions right and seems fairly knowledgeable on the topic.

"Are you sure you need help? You're doing great, I could hire you at my shop." He gives her a shrug and a laugh, the topic shifting to normal conversation after a little.

"You have two cats?" He asks, body facing her as he leans on an arm.

"Yup, Cherry and Bear, both pieces of my heart." She expects him to laugh at her for saying that, poke fun at her for caring so much for them. But he smiles, "That's cute, I can't lie. Do you have any pictures?" Y/n almost misses his question, her ears still perked up at his compliment.

"Oh, uh, yea." She grabs her phone in her back pocket, swiping through her pictures until she lands on one. Cherry lays on her chest while Bear sits behind her, his head pressed up against the side of her face. It still warms her heart looking at it.

As she shows him the photo, she gauges his reaction. A moment passes. "Wow, that's so cute" He's mumbles, drinking in the photo as she pulls it away, "I know right, they both have such cute faces."

"Oh yea, your cats are cute too."

She laughs at that, trying to not let his obvious flirting ruin her composure right now. As Y/n stares at the photo, the time in the corner of the device catches her attention. "I should go, it's getting late." She says softly, stacking the papers they went over, neatly. She stands and pushes the chair in, until a hand comes up to hers, stopping her from getting too far.

"When are you free again?"

"What, you wanna talk about my cats some more?" She laughs, soon looking up at him again as he stands. The hand on hers doesn't move, only squeezes for a second. A laugh leaves him as he looks away for a moment, a smile present on his face

"No tutoring this time, I was wondering if you just wanted to hang out? No plants."

Her eyebrows raise, "Oh, seriously?"

"If you don't want to thats okay-"

"No!..no, I, that would be nice." She stutters out, swallowing. The hand on hers maneuvers so they're hands are interlocked. She would've peaked down if not for the way he was looking at her. It's like a switch for him honestly, the intensity in his eyes flood back and she has to remind herself to stand correctly.

Anakin sucks in his bottom lip as he stares at her face, soon settling on her lips. He takes the first step, backing her into his table. Their fingers split apart as he leans his hands on the edges of the furniture, blocking her in. "I honestly can't get enough of you, each time I see you it's not enough." He whispers against her parted lips, his right hand coming up to cradle her waist.

"Anakin." She breathes heavily.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, lips brushing against hers.

Y/n gulps, nodding as she gazes at his eyes then lips.

He doesn't wait a second before connecting with her skin, gently, lightly. The kiss progresses, the last hand on the table drifts to the base of her neck, loosely gripping the skin. Y/n seriously can't get over how big he is, he's so broad and tall. She feels like he could swallow her up with ease and it has her knees weakening.

They eventually drift apart, lingering near each other until he backs up and lets her out of his cage.

"Here." He mumbles, grabbing her hand and leading her to where her shoes sat. She slips them on without tying them.

"Text me when you get home?" Anakin asks, leaning his hand against his door frame as she stands on his porch. A soft chuckle escapes her, "Sure." Before she goes, he leans in, placing a hand on her cheek and leaving a sizzling goodbye kiss on her lips.

"Bye."

After letting him know she got home safe, she pretty much passed out, she's never been through so much in such a short period of time.

She wakes up to a few texts, and each and everyone of them drive her teeth deeper into her, poor, bottom lip.

'Good morning'

"I had a lot of fun last night'

'What are your classes today?'

Y/n composes herself as best she can before replying.

'Good morning! I had a lot of fun too, more than I've had in awhile'

"And I have two classes, psych and geometry’

The bubbles appear and she turns off her phone, closing her eyes and squealing.

'Do you wanna meet up sometime this week? if you're busy thats okay i totally get it'

She giggles at his rambling.

'I'd love to see you, is Friday okay?'

'Friday's great, wanna grab lunch? I'll pick you up'

"Sounds fun, see you then<3'

Was the heart too much? She doesn't know, it felt right in the moment. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if this was another one of her dreams, they're a little too convincing for her liking.

To say the week went slowly is an understatement. But, she has made good progress on her drawing, the vivid blues she used brought out his eyes incredibly. She traced the dried shadows casted onto the skin of his eyelids with her finger, she knew she was fucked.

Friday rolled around, it weighed on her psyche like a brick. Soon, though, the crippling anticipation would be over.

She scanned herself over in the mirror, "You got this, it's just the dude you're infatuated with who likes you back." Saying it out loud did not help, infact, the need to throw up starting growing. Y/n chugged some water before getting the text.

'I'm outside'

She inhaled and said her goodbyes to her cats, shakily closing the apartment door behind her. From the lobby she could spot a black car parked right in front of the stairs, she hoped it was his. It would be really awkward if she opened it and it wasn’t Anakin. Thankfully, though, it was. "Hey" He greeted, leaning his elbow on the center console, eyeing her closely.

"Where we goin?" Y/n asked, buckling in her seatbelt after she shut the door. He made a thoughtful face before saying the name of a cafe place he wanted to try. Her interested was piqued. The drive there made her giggle, the music he was playing made it very..obvious he was a college student. "What?" He asked, turning to her for a second before watching the road again, a matching smile on his face.

"You listen to fuck boy music." She pressed her hand lightly over her mouth as she laughed harder.

A look of faux offense struck his face as he let out an incredulous scoff. "Fuck boy music?" His astounded voice made the situation all the more funny, her stomach even started hurting from laughing so much. "Wow.." He murmured, chuckling some more. He bit his lip and shook his head. After that it was much easier to talk to him, he was easy to converse with surprisingly.

"What drink did you get?” He asks, taking a bite from his bagel. “An iced matcha latte with a shot of vanilla and vanilla sweet cold foam.”

He blinks at her, “Bless you.”

She laughs before taking another sip of her drink, a lock of her hair loosens from behind her ear and hangs in front of her eye. Anakin doesn’t waste a second before his hand is coming up to loop it back in place.

Y/n raises her eyebrows at his eagerness, "What? Couldn't have anything blocking that face of yours." The drink coming up her straw slowly goes back down as she freezes. A blush she hopes isn't as bad as she thinks it is, takes over her face and ears. She's really not used to a guy being this way with her. Anakin watches her, amused, he loves the way she reacts to his advances.

"What time is it? My shift starts at 4." She remembers, playing with her straw.

"2:04."

"I got time, what do you wanna do?" She wonders as he stands up and grabs the paper his bagel came with, throwing it away as they walk out. "Good question, do you wanna go back to your place?" It's an innocent enough question but she raises her eyebrows anyway, teasing him.

"Oh don't give me that look." He smiles, putting an arm around her shoulders. Leaning into her ear he says lowly, "Don't tell me you're already thinking dirty thoughts. You're so cute." His words paired with his tone, the proximity, his arm, and the intoxicating way his lips and breath brush against her ears are too much for her. "Ladies first." He says, back to his smiley self as he opens the passenger door for her.

The way back could be both worse and better at the same time. He rests a hand on her clothed thigh, he doesn't move it, but it's there, and she's acutely aware of it. It singes her skin even through her jeans. Y/n swears he's out for blood right now, she can feel her heart and it's not looking good.

As she unlocks her apartment door, she wouldn't be surprised if she just dropped dead right there.

Her cats, like always, meet her at the door, tails flicking, and cute meows spewing at random moments. Anakin's in awe as he crouches down, letting the animals smell his hands. "They're so cute."

She giggles at his expression, hanging up her purse.

Her cats warm up to him pretty fast, Bear flips over, his furry stomach on display for them both. Anakin gets his cat fix before moving on to her living room. "Very cozy, Ms. Tortured Artist." He jokes, taking a seat on the couch. Y/n laughs, finding the remote, "Oh, please. I swear everyone thinks I'm such an open book."

"That's probably because you are." He smiles, leaning back and manspreading.

"Okay then, guess something about me." She challenges, forgetting the remote to turn and face his smug expression. "Hmm." He looks up at her ceiling in thought before making an 'o' shape with his mouth, "I bet your room is either beige or pink, no in between." Her mouth opens a bit, he actually got it right. Her bedsheets are pink, maybe she is an open book.

"Well, fuck. You got me, it's pink." She laughs, shrugging.

"Of course it is, can I see it? I don't see too many adults with pink rooms." He plays it off, acting like he's completely innocent in this. Y/n nods, standing up to venture down the hallway. She creeks the door open, her lips pursed as she showed him the pink room he completely guessed right on.

"Wow, cute room. I bet you bring all the guys here, hm?" He teases, sitting on the edge of her bed, he pats the space next to him. "You're an ass." Y/n mumbles, sitting next to him. He leans over a bit, "I might be, do you have a problem with that?' He leans in more, scooting over even. He's close again like he was at his house that day.

She shakes her head, her spine tingling at the sensation of his hand wandering to her thigh. It caresses it, almost luring her she feels like. "Good." Is the last thing she hears before he kisses her again. They both lose themselves in the intimate act, need coming from both sides. It gets heavy quickly, a hand is placed around her back, pulling them closer together, the hand on her thigh has migrated to her ass.

Crash!

Anakin was honestly just going to power through it, the feel of her so eager to touch him sent him spiraling. But, of course, she pulls away.

"Give me one moment, okay?" Y/n pants against his lips, an apologetic smile already on her face. He nods, smacking her ass when she gets up. He closes his eyes and breathes, later opening them to glance around her room. It makes him feel something as he takes in the cutesy stuff around him, and that something shoots down to his jeans as they tighten ever so slightly. Stuffed animals littered her pink bed, her desk next to it had cute little stationary sets, random figurines, and a little notebook. He's not sure why it catches his attention but it does, the latch to keep it closed piqued his interest. So, without thinking, he leans for it, swiping it from the table.

The leather rubs against his warm fingertips as he unlatches it, flipping to the first page. "Predictable." He smiles, little sketches of flowers are sprinkled through out it, and the page after it. Just as he gets to the third page she walks in, immediately eyeing her demise in his hands. She snatches it from his hands the second he lays his eyes on, well, his eyes.

"You're so nosy." She laughs it off like she didn't feel her heart lurch in her chest.

"Sorry." He pauses, leaning back to look at her. A new mood swirling through his eyes, new to her at least.

"You really like drawing those eyes, huh?" He smiles, watching as she sits back next to him. "You could say that." She responds, hoping he drops it. He, thankfully, lets go of what he saw, eyeing her on her cute pink bed, the blush on her cheeks, and the timid look on her face. It’s so alluring. “Don't you think you're a little far away?" Anakin asks, ready to tackle her.

"I'm right next to you, our knees are touching."

"Yea, well, I could think of some other things I'd like to be touching other than our knees." He mumbles, loud enough for her to hear. He gazes at her face with an unbreaking stare. Scooting closer, he leans in to graze her ear with his lips.

"Seeing you all shy and blushy on your pretty pink bed really turns me on, if I'm being honest." His voice an octave lower. A moment later he stands up, a teasing smile on his face. "It's 3:10, you should get ready for work." Y/n looks at him with huge eyes, her fists still clenching the sheets under her. She nods, eyes going everywhere before landing on her lap—her mind trying to rationalize what just happened.

"Oh, right." Need has settled in her stomach, it swirls inside her as she walks past him to her closet. Her work uniform was neatly hung up like usual.

"Wow, do I get a show?" Anakin asks, amused as he takes a seat back on her bed. Y/n playfully scoffs, laying her clothes on her bed before taking his hand and guiding him through her house. "Are you kicking me out, Cutie? I thought we had something special." He jokes, putting on his shoes. "You're so annoying." She laughs, opening the door when he's done. "I'll talk to you later, okay? Gotta make sure you don't miss me too much."

"Okay, okay, get out." She laughs again, Anakin puts his arms up in faux defense as he laughs along. "I'll see you later, Cutie." He takes ahold of her chin, guiding their lips together. The kiss is definitely more than a peck, it leaves her wanting more as he pulls away. He offers her a wink before leaving down her building's hallway.

After closing the door, she slides down it. Face pressed into her knees. Images of what happened only minutes prior race through her mind, momentarily stunning her. She's never been so attracted to someone in her life. But, in love or not, she must get to work. As she's undressing to change into her uniform, she can't help but to let her mind wander. What if she did 'give him a show'?, she knows the feeling of his hands against her bare skin would be intoxicating. His already sinful mouth would be hair-raising.

Goosebumps graze over her arms and stomach as she slips on her shirt and tugs on her pants. The entire way there and her entire shift was endured with a heavy heart. She was wrapped so tightly around his finger already. The vulnerability of it all was scary though, she fell so hard and so fast. Yet, she didn't worry too much about it.

That night she lay awake. Skimming her fingers over her lips, replaying the kisses he's shared with her. A warm feeling fills her chest and abdomen as she closes her eyes. Pressing her face into the pillow as she smiles.

—

“Hey, listen, I was wondering if you’d like to come to my game next weekend.” Anakin says, he called her only a moment ago and, obviously, she picked up pretty fast.

“You play sports?” It really wasn’t that surprising, whenever he wore short sleeves his biceps would strain against the material, she could only imagine what the rest of him looked like.

“Yea, I play football. I’d love if you came, seeing you there would be great.”

“Sounds fun, I haven’t gone to a football game since I was in high school.” She murmurs into the phone, sitting cross-cross on her floor alongside her painting.

“Well, then you probably don’t know that you’ll need to wear a cheer costume, preferably a size smaller or two.” He teases, jokingly trying to convince her. A laugh comes from her and he can picture her smile.

“Is that so? I’m not sure either of us would enjoy my ass hanging out infront of the entire school.” She chuckles, spinning her brush in the jar of water next to her, soon drying it off on a rag.

“You’re right, you should cheer me on in a more..secluded place, like my bedroom.”

“You’re too much, Anakin.” She pauses for a moment, voice becoming softer as she continues. “I’ll be there, text me what time and stuff, okay?” The man on the other end smiles, “Of course, also. I don’t have a picture of you for your contact, could you send me that one you took of you and your cats you showed me the other day?”

Her eyebrows raise, he was oddly specific. “Sure, why that one specifically?” She wonders aloud, dipping her brush into some of the paint lightly.

“I love that picture of you, I told you I thought you were cute in it.” His deep chuckle has her hand momentarily stalling.

“I thought you were just being horny, if I’m being honest.” She confesses, breathy laugh escaping her.

“Me? Horny? Absolutely not.” Anakin teases, sitting up in his bed. “I will say though, could you blame me? You do something to me, Y/n. It’s difficult not touching you at all times.” He confesses, rubbing his neck with his free hand.

“What, do you like me or something?” She could only think of a limited amount of responses. The topic of sex and all things related stunned her a bit, she wasn’t a virgin but that didn’t mean she was used to his advances or forwardness. She heard his low laugh from the line and laid her brush on the rag for the time being.

“You have no idea, it’s honestly a miracle we’ve made it this far. We haven’t even had sex yet and you’re still keeping up with me. It means a lot.” The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.

“Does that not usually happen?” She wonders if it’s too much to ask, but she’s curious. He sighs before answering.

“I don’t have the best..track record with relationships. I feel like sometimes all people boil me down to is sex, so, it’s refreshing that we haven’t done anything yet and you still wanna hang out with me.” His answer honestly made her wanna cry, she couldn’t imagine being used in such a way—multiple times.

"I'm so sorry. If it means anything, that's probably the last thing I'd ever do. I know I don't show my feelings much...but I really like you. It kinda scares me honestly." She held her breath at the confession, scared of what he'll reply with.

"Yea? You like me? What do you like about me exactly?" And there he was, back to his old teasing self. Y/n laughs loudly at his sudden change in tone.

"Do you actually want a list?" She smiles, absentmindedly grabbing her brush and twirling it in the dark-colored water.

"Oh absolutely, lay it on me, Cutie."

"Hmm, well, I really like how forward you are. You saying you'd like to see me and stuff, the guys I've dated in the past tried to be all cool and anti-feelings. It's nice knowing what you're thinking."

"How could I ever hide how I feel about you?" He sighed, running a hand through his sandy curls.

"Plus, it really helps that you're sexy." She had to say it, it had to be known. It was the truth, she couldn't be blamed. Anakin snorts at that.

"You're so cute, I just wanna pinch your cheeks." He teases, goofy smile on his face.

The call, unfortunately, ends a little after that. She has one day to finish the painting, it only needed some final touches so she was happy tomorrow was Sunday.

Said day went nicely. She finished the painting completely and couldn't be happier with it. She honestly doesn't know how she did it but she truly encompassed Anakin onto the canvas. Looking at it brought a warm feeling to her body, it swam from her heart, to her stomach, and to her limbs.

"Alright, there are two piles. One is the normal turn in pile, and the other is the turn in pile for the University’s art show next Friday night. Now, I will warn you, not everyone who enters will be in the show. We are looking for the best the class has to offer, if you don't get picked that's okay. There will always be more."

Y/n thinks heavily about her decision, she can't possibly pass up an opportunity like this. So, she breathes and adds it to the art show pile. She tries her best to not dwell on it too much, she knows if she overthinks she'll end up panicking and changing her decision. The teacher tells them their homework for the week, but it's nothing to fret over. Because this project was so big he only asked for some simple sketches and drawings.

By the time she makes it out of class her phone pings, an email. Apparently, her teacher for her last class of the day is sick so class is cancelled. She shrugs mentally and decides to head to the library. Her shift doesn't start for a hot minute and she could get some homework done.

She adores the library, especially this one table. It's more towards the back, it's cut off by thick shelves, little to no distraction. It's perfect for homework.

As she walks, she feels her shoulders lift. The painting hanging over her head was done. The obsession with Anakin's eyes painted into reality, it was done. A small smiles lifts her lips as she opens the door to the building the library is located in. The shelves blur together as she walks passed them, they tower over her as usual. The place is fairly empty, aside from one or two students.

She gets closer to the table and crosses her fingers, hoping it's empty. Y/n sighs in relief as she sees it vacant. Sitting in her usual seat, she sets down her backpack and drags out her computer.

Unexpectedly, her phone pings again. This time it isn't an email.

'what class are you in rn?'

Y/n smiles, giddly typing a reply.

'class was cancelled, im doing some homework in the library. it's so quiet in here it’s great’

She leaves it at that, not expecting anything to come from it. So, she plugs in her headphones and shuffles her playlist. Beginning to type her homework. Her head bops to the beat until a pair of hands squeeze her shoulders. It makes her jump, she's honestly not sure if she made a sound or not, her music was a little too loud. She tugs out the earplugs, knowing the culprit already.

"Anakin, you scared me." She breathes, smile on her face as she places a hand on her chest.

"That was kinda the point." He teases, sitting in the seat beside her. "Whatchya working on?"

"My English essay, do you not have a class right now?"

"Technically, it's not a mandatory day. Plus, I'd rather be here with you." He flirts, grabbing her hand that rests on the table. "I missed you."

She can't take her eyes off of him as he tells her that. "I missed you too." Soon, he's nodding at her headphones. "What're you listening to?"

"Oh, Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls, it's one of my favorite songs." She passes him one of the earbuds and restarts it.

As she continues typing her essay, they're both quiet, listening to the love song. Anakin's eyes trail up her arm, to her concentrated face, his eyes soften as he takes her in. The song adding a loving theme song to what he was feeling. She was so close to him, a mere few inches. His hand reaches out to graze her arm, skin free due to the short sleeved shirt she was wearing. It brought comfort to him that he could reach out and know she was there.

Y/n's eyes flick to him at the touch, meeting his gaze quickly.

It's silent between them, the look he's giving her would've probably had her in the hospital a week ago. She's able to keep looking at him now, even through his intense stare. Electricity crackles in the air around them, nothing else matters. Nothing else could matter.

His hand doesn't leave her upper arm as he leans in, romantically connecting their lips. The chorus starts up once again, it's fuel for the desire being poured from them. They push together harder, wanting to be one. The only reason they split is for air. But, the need for closeness is still alive and well. So, he scoots closer, wrapping her in a hug. He mumbles something in her hair, but she doesn’t hear it. The sound of their breathing and heartbeats is the only thing heard after that until Y/n speaks up.

"Do you wanna go to an art show next Friday night with me?" Her voice is quiet, almost like he'd run away if she was too loud.

Pulling away enough to look into her eyes, he answers. "Of course, I'd go anywhere with you."

That week they met up a few times, sometimes at school, and sometimes at random restaurants for a date. Anakin was sure he was losing his mind, he's never felt such a way for someone. He was falling for her, very hard and very fast.

After their meet up at the library, Y/n had an idea. Thinking back to when they were on the phone, what if she did wear a cheer costume. Obviously not to the game, but they could celebrate afterward. She wanted to be closer to him, needed the feeling of him. She knew Anakin wanted that too, so she was ready to make it memorable. She orders the skimpy costume off of Amazon and checks that it'll be there before Friday night.

So, when Friday morning rolls around and it ends up in her mailbox she's more than ready for what's to come.

"You're picking me up right?" She asks over the phone, the device is on speaker as she gets undressed, ready to put on the costume under her normal clothing.

"Yea..why do you sound so far away?"

"Oh, sorry. You're on speaker, I'm changing right now." It's not her intention but she'll know Anakin'll get a kick out of that.

"Are you now?"

Then, an incredibly erotic idea falls into her head. As she speaks to Anakin she snaps a picture of herself, she's not wearing anything but the photo stops right above her breasts. They were still very noticeable so she could tease him perfectly. A pout is settled on her face as her hair frames the seductive expression. She sends it and keeps talking like nothing nefarious is happening behind the scenes.

When he stops talking she does too, a smirk making its way onto her face. "Something wrong, Ani?" She's never used the nickname before, but it feels like the right moment to start.

"Fuck, Y/n. You're gonna kill me. I want you so fucking bad, oh my god." His voice is deep and strained.

She ignores the way her body reacts to that as she replies, "Whe are you gonna be here? I miss you."

"Mm, I miss you too, I'll be there in an hour. Be ready for me, yea?” The double meaning of his words tingles up her spine.

She checks herself over in the mirror, the small two piece barely covered anything. Her cleavage couldn't be on more of a display, especially since she paired it with her favorite push-up bra. The small, red, pleated skirt didn't even cover half of her ass, and she paired that with a matching lace thong.

The text that he was waiting for her outside came sooner than she expected so she threw on some baggy clothes and grabbed her things. Making her way to him.

Shocking to nobody, once she sat in his passenger seat he was on her. Hand on her neck as he pressed a searing kiss on her welcoming lips. It would've gone on longer if she didn't remind him of where they were going.

"You're so lucky my game saved you, I don't think I could've held myself back after that photo you sent." He threatened, pulling out of the parking lot. "Don't threaten me with a good time." She replies, taking his free arm into both of hers. She practically hugged him the entire way there.

"You wait in the stands for me, okay? I'll be looking for you." Anakin said, closing the gap between them again.

"Good luck."

As she sat on the lowest bench of the stand, a chill ran up her spine at the thought of what was going to happen once the game was over. The feeling tripled as she spotted him. The look on his face causing a blush to grow on her cheeks.

The game started soon after that, she never really paid attention to sports, so she didn't really know what was going on. She knew enough to get her by, though. She watched him closely, watched as he bulldozed the opposing players. He was one of the tallest on the team so he stood out well. It was unbelievably hot, she couldn't deny the way her thighs clenched together. She was more than ready for the game to be over.

During one of the breaks, he jogs up to the fence next to the stairs of the stands. Calling her over with a nod and a smile. His helmet hung on one of his fingers as he waited for her. "You're doing great." She tells him, smiling proudly.

"It's all because of you, my love." He lightly pants, leaning over the fence to kiss her. Though he tastes like sweat, she didn't mind. The opposite actually, it turned her on even more. And when they split he could see the gleam in her eyes. "As soon as I win this thing we can get outta here, how does that sound?" He moved his damp curls from his face as he spoke, it added to his undeniable sex appeal.

"Sounds good, I'll wait at the car for you afterward." Her hand reaches out to rub at his sticky biceps.

He nods before giving her one last kiss and running back to the field. She gulps, hands sweaty as she sits back down. No doubt having some eyes on her after all that.

She watches him again, this time he's carrying the ball to the other side of the field. The final touchdown of the night. He wins for their team and everyone there loses their mind. Anakin's team surges towards him in awe, she could hardly hear her own thoughts as everyone around her screams and yells. She's immensely proud of him , the need to congratulate him was strong at that point. She realizes though, with everyone jumping around her, she can't see the field. So, she stands on the bench and searches for him. A large smile on her face as she spots him. Watching him so happy made her heart flutter.

As she watches the teams leave the field she clambers down from the bench and makes a B-line for his car. She isn't waiting for long as he tries his best to get through the crowd. The second they meet he's engulfing her smaller frame, her arms wrap around his neck as they kiss probably for the 20th time that day. He's sweaty under the clothes he changed back into, it only makes her wanna take them off.

Anakin presses her back into his car's door, momentarily forgetting where they are. Y/n taps his shoulder as the sound of people talking get closer.

"You did amazing, I'm so proud of you." She praises, pressing another kiss on him.

"All thanks to you, my good luck charm. Do you wanna head outta here?" He smiles, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. She nods before slipping out from under him and getting in the passenger side, telling him to drive to her place. The ride there was pure tension, she played with his calloused hands and praised him more as they neared closer and closer to her building. Neither of them addressed the very obvious pent-up sexual tension suffocating them. Opting for letting it grow--thrive. It would pay off in a matter of time.

Her shutting the apartment door behind her signaled for Anakin to throw his self-control out of the window. He walked her backward with tight hands on her waist as they made out through her apartment, trying to get to her bedroom. Once there, he plants a firm hand on her chest and pushes her down to her bed. The sight of her looking up at him, waiting for him to please her caused more blood to navigate south within him.

“Ever since I saw your cute little room I wanted to do this. Wanted to take you in the most disgusting way possible, see you sob against your pink sheets, all because of me.” He confessed, lowering himself to hover over her.

She couldn’t deny the way that made her feel, all of her ex’s made her feel like a dumb child when they saw her room. So she felt her panties dampen and her thighs rub together at his words. Anakin smirks when he notices the movement. “You like that, Cutie? You like when I talk to you like that?” He leans in to kiss her, cutting off her answer. His skillful tongue licks into her mouth, practically going down her throat the harder he becomes. The kiss is ended with a harsh suck to her tongue.

The man above her continues his assault across her jawline and below her ear, where he begins to get messy with his kisses. He sucks and nibbles all the way down to her collarbones, where he deems she’s wearing too much clothing.

“Take off your shirt for me, Cutie.”

This is it, she gulps as she takes hold of the hem of her shirt and drags it off—showing off the top half of her skimpy cheer costume. He loudly sucks in a breath before pushing her chest back down to the bed and forcefully taking off her pants himself. He throbs in his jeans at seeing the entirety of what she’s wearing.

“What’s all this, baby?” He bites his lip, his hands roaming her exposed skin. A seductive grin takes ahold of his lips as he drinks her in.

“You said you needed a cheerleader, didn’t you?”

“Fuck.” He mumbles, gripping her knees to spread her legs accordingly. Anakin eyes the thong she’s wearing and makes a mental note to stuff them in his pant’s pocket when he gets them off of her. He slots himself in between her welcoming thighs, erection pressing hotly against her clothed cunt. The kisses that were stopped along her collarbones moments ago start up again, now more urgent.

“God, you’re so sexy. All mine too. My little cheerleader.” He breaths against her, making his way down to her cleavage. Nips and sucks are felt at the exposed skin of her breasts, her hips press upwards at that, wanting to feel him. The material of her shirt is pushed up over her bra, then hands snake up her spine to unclasp that too. She shimmies down the straps so he can throw the item behind him.

“I knew you’d have perfect tits.”

He doesn’t waste a second to lick around one of her nipples, taking it in his mouth after a second. A hand gropes the breast that isn’t in his mouth and the other is splayed over the side of her thigh, moving up to grab as much of her ass as it can.

“Anakin.” She moans, arching her back slightly. Her thighs clamp down around his waist, it feeds into the desire that’s beginning to take over his mind. He ruts his hips into her, both of them moaning at the contact. The smell of her arousal floats between both of them, it has him groaning before harshly thrusting against her. “Smell so good, gotta have a taste.” He pulls away, lowering to his knees before she stops him.

“Wait, Anakin. I can’t wait any longer, please—please, fuck me.”

His forehead meets her knee, his teeth pierce his lower lip as he shutters out a breath. “My little cheerleader is such a slut for me already, hm?”

The shirt that clung to his body is taken off, in the sexiest way possible, as well as his pants. Soon, he’s left in his boxers, his very obvious erection strains against the fabric. “Come here.” He grabs her waist as he slides onto the sheets, maneuvering her just the way he wants until she’s propped up on him. His back lays against her pillows as he slips her panties to the side, her leaking cunt pressed deliciously against his clothed cock.

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, is that all for me, Cutie?”

She tries to pay attention to him speak, but the sight of him, abs all sweaty below her, causes her brain to short circuit. “Don’t tell me you’re already all dumb for me.” He hotly stares at her, hand reaching out to grab her chin, making sure she’s looking him in the eye. “I asked you a question.”

She stares with wider hazy eyes, “It’s all for you, Ani. Need you so bad.” She whines, panting already.

He smirks at her state, loving the way she reacts to him. “Show me then, Cutie. Rub your wet little pussy on my cock and I might just fuck you with it.” His eyes are back to the intense ones she knows so well. But this time, he can visibly see how bad they affect her. Taking in a deep breath, she places her shaky hands on his abs before moving her hips. A gasp is heard pretty quickly due to how hard he is, she wonders if it hurts at all.

Weirdly, he finds it that much hotter how her skirt covers where they meet.

“There you go, keep going.” He praises, watching her with lidded eyes. Her head hangs low as she grinds a little harder.

“Fuck.” He rasps, moving his hands to her hips.

Her clit catches his head and ridges a few times and it’s enough to pull a pornographic moan from her. They’re full-on dry humping now, she can even see a wet patch start to grow on his briefs when she pulls up her skirt, it makes him salivate. “I can’t wait any longer.” He groans out, stopping her movements. A hand on her waist keeps her in place as he pushes down his briefs a few inches to grip a hand around himself. Pearls of pre cum ooze down his head and it has her gulping.

“Ready, Cutie?”

Y/n nods, tossing her head back as Anakin runs his cock through her folds before pressing into her. She’s so wet that in one push he’s filled her to the brim. “Anakin.” She weakly moans out, leaning her body forward to push him impossibly deeper inside her.

“Shit, you’re so tight and wet for me. Just like I knew you’d be.”

“You’ve thought of this before?” She asks, knowing the answer. She just wants to hear his dirty words some more. “Of course, I have. Jerked off to the idea of this cute little pussy so many times. You’re better than I imagined.” Her lips quiver at that, it propels her into raising her hips and slamming them down as fast as she’s able to at that moment. The stretch of him is making her delirious, an insatiable hunger taking over her.

“Just like that, Cutie. Doing so good for me.” The praise has her clenching around him. She tries her best to keep a good pace but it’s proving to be difficult, her thighs burn as her body forces her to slow down. The man under her takes notice and grips her waist, sitting up and laying her down beneath him.

He throbs inside of her impatiently, so he grabs her thighs and pushes them closer to her chest, both of them moan at the new angle. The way he’s now kissing her cervix has her turn to pure putty in his hands. “There you go, you’re my dumb little baby, aren’t you? Have I fucked you stupid?” He calls out, eyeing the way she reacts. A smirk finds it’s way on his face as she tries to answer but fails. The grip he has on her thighs tightens as he feels her clench, the fluttering doesn’t stop so he guesses she's close.

Her hand tip toes down to her clit to messily rub, she doesn’t care how or how fast, she just needs the stimulation.

“M’ gonna come.” She moans, tears welling in her eyes at his harsh pace and the words falling from his lips.

“Do it, Slut, come.” He growls, grinding his hips into hers. Anakin watches her face closely as she finishes around him, then he backs up to peak down at the way his cock fills her up to the brim.

“There you go.”

Y/n lazily smiles as he slows down to a stop.

“Don’t think I’m done with you, yet.” He tells her, pulling out to flip her over onto her stomach. His strong hands pull her ass up, pushing her legs apart with his knee. “You look so good like this, pussy ready for me.” His voice is low and gravelly, it has her dripping.

—

The next morning she awoke to the unusual smell of bacon. A hand splays out on the spot next to her, it’s cold. Cracking open an eye, she notices the bed is empty. “Anakin?” Her groggy voice asks to the open air. There’s no response so she pushes herself to her feet, noticing she’s in her panties and what looks like Anakin’s shirt.

Traversing through her apartment, she spots the kitchen and rubs her eyes. Anakin’s tussled hair and toned back was the first thing she saw, “Anakin?”

His ears perk up. Turning around, he smiles, “Good morning, about time you woke up. I was just about to come get you.” He walks over to her, settling his hands on her hips and placing a loving kiss to her cheek. “I made breakfast, go sit down.” He nods to the table. “I didn’t know you were so motherly.” She smiles, sitting down at a chair.

“Just for you.” He murmurs, getting out cups.

Eating breakfast beside him was odd, not in a bad way though. Waking up to him was truly the best feeling. “What time do you work today?” He asks, shoveling the last of his food in his mouth.

“Uhh 4, and tomorrow the shop isn’t open.”

“Oh, so I get you the whole day? I’m honored.” He says as they both get up to put dishes in the sink. Hands on the counter, she turns around to face him. He gladly leans in and traps her between him and the surface, the kiss they shared was sweet, it made her heart swell.

“I should go back to my place to get cleaned up. I’ll miss you.” He punctuates that with a kiss, or two, or three. She giggles in return, teasingly pushing him away as he goes back for more. “When I come back you better be in the same outfit, you look amazing in my clothes.” He leans into her ear to say, playfully nipping at her neck. “Anakin…” She laughs.

—

A few days have passed, Y/n sits at her desk doing her homework as she gets a call. She recognizes that it’s associated with her university. She answers it and her jaw drops. Her painting was accepted into the art show. She springs up from her bed and squeals when the call is over. The first thing she thinks of is telling Anakin, but, maybe it would be better if it was a surprise.

“Anakin it’s a school night.”

“We’re adults, Y/n. We’re not in middle school anymore, plus it’ll be fun.” He tries persuading her. Currently his friends and him are going to see a movie, it’s about 9:00 so Y/n is a little worried. She hums from over the phone in thought, “Fine, is your car even big enough for all of us?” She asks, playing with the strings of her sweat pants.

“I’ll pick you up and we’ll meet them there, don’t worry.” Y/n hums again.

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes, okay?”

“Okay.”

As he pulls up to her building, he can’t help but be nervous as well. His friends can be a little…intense, and he knows Y/n is the opposite of that. But he really wants his girlfriend and his friends to meet.

“Hey, Beautiful. I missed you.” He smiles, leaning in to leave a peck on her lips.

“I missed you too, what movie are we watching?”

“The new insidious, it looks really good.”

“A scary movie? You should’ve warned me, I’m gonna embarrass myself even more in front of your friends.” Her doe eyes stare in worry at him, causing his heart to squeeze. “Y/n no, I promise it’ll be okay. If it gets too scary I can..distract you. I’m pretty good at that.” He smiles, driving off. Of course, he would say that.

Y/n wipes her clammy hands on her jeans, remembering how the boys were in the flower shop.

Her boyfriend eyes her from his seat, eyebrows furrowed. "Hey, if this is too much for you we can go back. It's up to you." He grabs at her hands, looking her sincerely in the eyes after he parks. "No no, I'll be fine." He smiles at her, giving her a loving kiss before opening his door. The wind whips her hair in her face as she stands, soon hearing the loud chattering of, who she assumes, are his friends. There's about 4 of them, they're already laughing and pushing each other when they reach the two. They do their guy greeting before turning to her. One of them speaks up first, "You must be Y/n, we've heard a lot about you."

"Oh, good things I hope." She nervously smiles, migrating to holding onto Anakin's hand, she grips it like it's her lifeline. The group quickly starts chatting together, Y/n, obviously, the odd one out. The only thing keeping her from running away was Anakin. As they got their tickets and stood in line for snacks, he wrapped a protective arm around her waist. "What do you want?" He asks, referring to what snacks she wants.

A thoughtful expression is seen on her face as she looks over the food. "Can I get the gummy worms? Oh and a blue slushee." She says, pointing to it on the menu. The cashier types in the order, asking if that's all. He nods, paying for you both, his friends order right after. "I'll pay you back, how much was it?" She starts digging through her purse for her wallet. "Y/n, you don't have to pay me back." He shakes his head, smiling affectionately at her.

"Dude, I didn't know you were so sappy." One of his friends laughs, of course, they all start laughing at him. Except one, she doesn't know his name but she knows she doesn't like him. The way his eyes undress her makes her feel dirty and exposed. The 3 pounds of drinks, popcorn, and candy they get is dispersed amongst them. Since they are college boys, they pick the seats way at the back of the theater. She doesn't mind too much though, having Anakin with her soothes her nerves.

As she sits down, Anakin sits to her left, and to her dismay, the one friend sits to her right. The tension the guy brings has her scooting closer to her boyfriend.

Sitting through the ads was tough, she couldn't constantly keep talking to Anakin since he was talking to his friends, so she had to sit there, eating the popcorn that sat in Anakin's lap.

The lights dimmed as she reached for him, clasping one of his hands in between both of hers.

During the movie she had the weirdest feeling of being watched, it chilled her more than the cold theater air. Or, maybe not. She didn't realize how cold it was until right now.

"Anakin, I'm gonna get my jacket from your car, can you give me your keys?" She whispers.

He nods, digging in his pocket and giving her them. Carefully, she gets up, avoiding knocking into everyone's legs as she sidesteps through the aisle.

Moments later when she turns around from locking the car again, jacket in hand. She spots Anakin, his friends, and a security guard outside by the doors. Eyebrows furrowing, she gets closer, the security guard then goes inside, leaving the rest of the men. "What happened? Are you okay?" She noticed one of the guys with a busted lip and bloody nose.

"Let's go, Y/n." Her boyfriend says sternly, dragging her back to the car by the hand. "Anakin? You're scaring me."

Once they sat in the car, her body turned towards him, "Anakin." She says again, waiting for an explanation. The man sighs, rubbing his hands over his face before muttering. "I punched Cody." She's not sure who that is, but she guesses it's the one with the bleeding nose and lip. "What? Why? I thought you were friends."

He sighs again, looking over at you. "He was saying some stuff about you, that I won't repeat. I couldn't control myself after that, then we got kicked out." Y/n was stunned, what could've he possibly said about her that made Anakin so blood thirsty? "Oh." She was obviously a little hurt, not by him, but by the friend. She thought she was doing a good job at talking to them.

"Don't let him get you down, though. You mean so much to me, Y/n, More than I can put into words, let's go home." He runs a hand through his hair before reversing out of his parking space, a stern look still on his face.

That night when they got to her house, he changed into the clothes he brought over and clung to her. They were both on their sides facing each other in bed, her head pressed into his chest, and a firm arm was around her waist.

"Y/n."

"Hm?"

"Look at me."

She does as he requested and tipped her head up, locking eyes with him even through the darkness. His hand on her waist drifts up to comb through the hair beside her ear, before resting on her neck to pull her lips to his properly.

"I love you." He breaths against her mouth, kissing her once more.

"You do?" She asks, reaching up to press her hand onto his. Nobody except her parents has told her that before, especially with the pure adoration that Anakin held. "Of course, I do. The first time I ever saw you, you ran me over with your painting. I was hooked from the beginning." He smiles, rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

Her eyes widen, "That was you?"

"Yes, and I couldn't be more happy about it." He spoke so close to her lips, they brushed against each other after each word. "I love you too." She responds, initiating the last kiss before they sleep. After that, they broke apart so Anakin could lean his head on top of hers, listening to her breathing slow as she falls asleep.

Getting through her classes was tough, there was only one more day until the art show. Y/n tried her best not to think too much about it, though.

"Here, Cherry. Here, Bear." She calls, putting food into their dishes. As she sits and pets them while they eat, her mind drifts to what Anakin's reaction might be to seeing his own eyes on display. She can only hope it doesn't weird him out, he's her first boyfriend since her Junior year of high school. He even told her he loves her. But, she knew if he did have an adverse reaction to it, she would understand. Her head lay on her knee as she processes all of her emotions at once.

That day at the shop the bell rang, signaling a customer.

"Welcome in..." She trails off. "Anakin, what are you doing here?" Y/n gasps, eyes sparkling. The man smiles while shrugging. "Just looking around, I suppose." She hums, "Let me know if you need any help, okay?" He nods at her words, stepping around an aisle. It doesn't take him too long to pick out what he's looking for.

He places down a singular rose, readying his wallet. "Alright, that'll be $1.25." He hums in return, plucking out 2 one dollar bills. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I'll miss you." Anakin tells her as she gives him his change. "I'll miss you more, Ani." They cement their words with a kiss and then he leaves, waving at her as he does so.

—

Her hands visibly shake when she steps up to his car, it’s already dark outside so she hopes he can’t see. Y/n decided to wear a nice looking dress, she thought it would be nice since her art is in the show n all. “Wow, you look amazing. If you change your mind and wanna stay home tonight just lemme know.” He jokes.

“Tempting.” She smiles back as they finish greeting each other.

“I gotta grab my jacket from the trunk, one second.” He says as he pops the trunk open. A moment later he’s running back, half of his body is outside the car he leans inside. "For you." The red rose he bought from her in his hand, the smile that erupts onto her face has her cheeks hurting.

“Anakin, you’re so sweet.”

“Whoops sorry, here’s the rest.” She looks at him confused before he moves fully in front of the open door, a large bouquet of roses sit in his hands.

Instead of her usual sweet reply, she stares at him as he sits down in the driver's seat, the roses taking up quite a bit of space. Her eyebrows are furrowed as her mouth is still open in awe. She tries to stop the feeling of tears but it’s no use, they well up in her eyes and begin to drip and trickle down her cheek.

“Don’t cry, Cutie.” His eyes soften at her.

She gains some courage to reach out and grab the flowers, looking down at them with her, now, very wet cheeks. “You really didn’t have to.” She sniffles, wiping her tears and nose with her sleeve. “I wanted to, I love you, Y/n.”

She sniffles once more, “I love you too. Thank you.” Anakin’s not sure whether she’s thanking him for the flowers or his feelings towards her, but it makes him feel good either way. During the ride she decides to put the flowers in the back, the need to hold onto him after that was strong.

“Where are we going first?” They see a bunch of people around the school, not sure where the official entrance is.

She looks around at the outside venue before pointing to the place she wants to start looking around, knowing her piece is the opposite way.

It was unbelievably nice to look around and chat about the art pieces, some are statues, clay, and of course, paintings. Now, the moment she’s been dwelling on. She spots her painting a few feet down. “Wow, these paintings are so pretty.” Y/n says, trying to make it seem like something wasn’t eating her up inside. The natural speed of their walking, and brief stops, finally brought them to her painting. A sign in front of it spells out his name as the name of the piece, and her name as the author is right under it. Anakin’s hand on her back rubs her clothed skin, as it has been on and off for the past hour. His fingers feel like fire through her dress.

Her senses are heightened, the sound of the ground under their feet, the chatting of people around them, and the wind is all very loud. Her heart beat especially.

She doesn’t say anything as they walk in front of her section. “Heh, this looks like the eyes you always draw.” She gulps at his observation, waiting for him to read the sign. In a confused voice, he lets out a “Y/n..?” As he stares at the vivid blue on the canvas and the sign that has his name as the title of the painting, it all hits him at once. She can’t possibly look at him, she’s already having trouble regulating her breathing. But, he grips her and spins her to face him.

“This..is yours?” He pauses, eyes full of emotion. “You were drawing me? All those sketches I saw..were me?” He searches her eyes for something, anything in the moment.

“I’m sorry if you find it creepy-.” She begins explaining herself, but he cuts her off. “Y/n, no. I love it, more than I can express.” He never imagined anyone would do this, would ever take such an interest in him more than his physical abilities and attractiveness.

“I can’t believe it. Come here.” He says, taking her to a less populated area. Once they’re there, he grabs her face gently. His eyebrows are knit together as tears well in his eyes. “Y/n, I, I never thought I’d meet someone like you. Thank you for loving me."

It didn’t very long for them to make their way to her bed once more, this time was different though. She felt it in the air, in the way he pressed loving kisses to the expanse of her skin. The dress she’s wearing is bunched around her hips as he lays in between them, kissing down her thighs.

“Gonna make you feel good, Cutie.”

His nose nudges her clothed cunt, it has her hips stuttering upwards. He smiles as he carefully prods her with his tongue over her panties, soon settling on her clit to suckle lazily. "Anakin." She whines, the teasing becoming too much for her. Her boyfriend smiles before moving up to the waistband, kissing sultry kisses into her skin and the fabric, it ends with him nipping at the clothing and tugging it down her body with just his teeth. She hopes she doesn't go into cardiac arrest because of him.

His large hands grip her thighs, throwing them over his shoulder and spreading her wide with two fingers. "Such a pretty pussy for me, Cutie." He mumbles into her as he licks firmly up her slit to her clit. Her back reacts first, then her hands get lost in his hair. She's never been eaten out before, the feeling coupled with the perpetrator being Anakin made her mind fuzzy. He eases his tongue inside of her, licking around before he groans. The vibrations pulling a loud moan from Y/n.

"I knew you'd taste good, so perfect for me."

His praise added a new layer of heat to her face and chest, the dress she was wearing suddenly very hot. Anakin narrowed in on her clit, his finger pulled back the hood so he could suck purely on the bundle of nerves. A choked whine leaves her, her back arches fully at the sensitivity. The liquid fire in her gut spreads like lava as she unexpectedly comes, the moans are stuck in her throat as she processes the euphoria flowing through her. His sucking becomes gentler as he prolongs her orgasm.

"You did so good for me, Baby. God, you drive me crazy. You see what you do to me?" He hotly asks, pushing his jeans down enough to grip his erection through his briefs. An ache settles in her pelvis, the need to be filled becoming almost unbearable. "I need you, Anakin. Feel so empty without you." His eyes close for a second before he fully undresses, soon doing the same to her as she pushes the material of her dress up and over her head. The both of them feeling the effects of the other person.

He pushes in and leans down, catching her lips in a kiss. "I love you, Y/n." She mutters back the sentiments, eyes rolling to the back of her head at the initial stretch of him. The veins that line his shaft are felt through her tight walls, it drives her crazy.

"Fuck, so tight for me." He mumbles, dropping so their bodies are pressed flush against each other. His head rests on her neck as he picks up his pace, rutting into her needly. Light lines of red come to life on his back due to her fingernails, the pressure only drives him further into her. The only other sound besides their mixed moaning and groaning is the squelching from how wet she is, Y/n bites her lip in embarrassment, and Anakin's hips stutter.

"So wet for me, love this pussy so much."

A layer of sweat forms between their bodies as he keeps going, and a hand drifts down between them to rub at her clit. His thumb keeps up with his thrusting, only rubbing faster when she cries out. “Gonna come for me, Cutie?” He breathes heavily, planting deep kisses against her neck and chest.

She nods quickly, clinging onto him. “So close for you.” Her voice is a tad hoarse as she speaks up.

“Let go, need to feel you.”

His plead pushes her off the edge. Her hips do as they please and buck up into him, plunging him deep into her. Fireworks set off behind her closed eyelids and her brain lulls to a stop, letting the overwhelming feeling take over her limbs as they shake. Just as she comes out of it a loud groan sounds from him, “Mm, Baby, where do you want me?”

“In me, please come inside me.”

The idea of coming inside her ends it all for him, dirty thoughts and images run through his mind a mile a minute as he shoves himself as deep as he can go. The warmth of him finishing in her has zaps of electricity shooting up and down her spine.

“You did so good, Y/n.” He pants from above her, leaning down to give her a sweet kiss before he pulls out. The sight after he does is picture-worthy, his come leaks out of her and it almost makes Anakin hard again. A moment passes before he takes his middle and ring finger and pushes the rest back inside of her.

“You’re so pretty with my come leaking out of you, my little tortured artist.”

She chuckles out of breath before he speaks up again.

"I know this probably isn't the right time, but y'know how you helped with my botany homework?"

Her eyebrows draw together curiously, "Yes..why?"

"Well, I actually wasn't failing, I had an A in that class but I just wanted an excuse to talk to you more."

Her eyes grow wide at that, an incredulous smile on her face. "Seriously?"

He shrugs, "It worked, didn't it?"

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker fanfic #star wars smut #star wars x reader #star wars fanfic #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen x reader #darth vader smut #darth vader x reader #darth vader fanfic

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toxicanonymity · 4 months

Text

Let me stay awake.

7.2k, vampy!Joel x f!reader | vampire masterlist | playlist SUMMARY: Joel tries to take better care of you and plans a date night in. Next time he takes your blood, it feels amazing. WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (440s to 20s-50s), reader is in captivity, angst, hurt/comfort, dark fluff, POV alternates (twice?), a lot of character dev in the first half, a former blood donor joins the cast, alcohol (minimal), chains, shackles, ankle collar, joel gets handsy and a little creepy, dry humping, groping, perfectly timed ejaculation. All dubcon because you're captive. SERIES IMMERSABILITY: Reader can menstruate, be lifted by vampire Joel, and has no allergies.

After Joel took your period, you told him he was doing a bad job taking care of you, which was true. But he did a good job at something. You slept like a baby. He was back with when you woke up. Now he’s sitting next to you on the mattress, back against the wall. Against his thighs, he’s holding a pen on top of a book that looks ancient. He adjusts his glasses and opens the book. The pages are blank, discolored, and thick. Some have been ripped out. He takes the cap off his pen and asks, “What’d ya have at your old house that we don't have here?” then rests his hand on the page to write. His hand dwarfs the page, and you feel a surge of desire recalling his sounds of pleasure. No, you don’t want him, you tell yourself, as if you didn’t fantasize about him on your way to sleep.

“Freedom,” you answer, and he winces.

He closes the journal with the pen keeping it partly open, then he turns toward you. “If ya just gimme a chance, sweetheart. . . I'm really gonna do my best. . .”

When you stay quiet, he says, “Ya know. I think one day, we’ll get there.”

“Get where?”

“Outside, out in the world together.”

“Really?”

He nods. “That walk we took was nice, right?”

“What walk?”

“Through the alley, that first night, when I walked ya to your car?” Right. . .what a gentleman.

“Yeah, I guess.” Now your mind is drifting back to the way he gently pushed you against the brick wall to kiss you on that walk. Did he already know what he was going to do to you when he first pressed himself against you?

His eyes are earnest. “It can be like that again,” he nods. “Just need a little time.”

You nod.

He clears his throat, opens the journal, and picks up his pen. “So what do you need?”

Your stomach twists. Answering would feel like resigning yourself to some dark fate. “I'm not gonna help you keep me prisoner,” you mumble.

“Prisoner?” He dips his head and his brow furrows. “God, no,” he softly reassures you. He reads your face, then stares into the mattress and swallows.

You rephrase, “Well I’m not gonna help you keep me.”

He looks you over with pleading eyes. “I'm gonna go out for a while, okay? Can I get ya anything?”

There are things you need, but you still can’t bring yourself to acknowledge you’re there for the long haul. So you shake your head no. He goes to get the chain from the floor.

“Hate doin’ this,” he mumbles. “‘s’just for now.” He drags the chain over and lifts the sheet to expose your feet. He sees the scrapes and irritation on your ankle. “Shit,” he shakes his head at himself. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he mutters. “Stupid,” he mumbles at himself as he gets up. He goes upstairs and takes the tray from breakfast with him. He returns with the same tray. It’s holding a pair of his own wool socks in a fair isle pattern, a paper bag, and a translucent teal bottle full of water. “Lunch,” he says as he sets the tray down next to you. He puts the socks on you, and they're toasty. Then, he puts the cuff on over the sock. “Little better?”

“A little,” you answer.

“Good,” he whispers.

— JOEL —

He’s gotta do something about that chain. He’s about to lay down on the sofa to think, but when he moves a decorative pillow out of the way, he feels a rush of shame. “Oh my god,” he whispers. He’s so stupid. How did he not think to give you a pillow? He goes straight to a guest bedroom. The tall, oak door creaks as he opens it. The light from the window nearly blinds him. He blocks it with his forearm as he hurries over to close the heavy curtains. He sneezes. He picks up an old pillow off the bed and fluffs it. Dust swarms around. There's no way he's giving you that. This whole room has a sad vibe. But he could make you a different room, maybe. His wheels start turning as he goes back downstairs - he has ideas for what room he could use, and what he could do with it.

He says your name as he descends the final steps. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking,” he apologizes as he crosses the room. He hands you the pillow and assures you he'll get a better one. Then he goes back upstairs.

After a little research, he packs a leather, cross-body bag and checks the weather. “Damnit,” he grumbles to himself. Cool but no cloud cover. If it were another sunny day, he’d stay home, but this is too important. He puts on a scarf and grabs his parasol from the coat closet and tucks it under his arm as he pulls on his gloves. He’d rather endure the strange looks than come home without the energy to take care of you.

Joel’s first stop is an erotic boutique. It's been a long time since he was anywhere like this. The mannequins in mesh bodysuits and strappy leather catch his eye on the way in, and he almost forgets what he came for. He can't help but imagine you wearing some of these things, but he'd rather just see you naked.

He slowly makes his way through the store. Should he get you a toy? It seems like sexual health would be a basic need. No, he decides. It might make you uncomfortable. He doesn't want to assume, and doesn't want to invade your privacy. Plus, he has to be careful. He doesn’t want you to think this is all just to get him off. He knows how it feels to be fetishized.

“Can I help you?” Someone asks. Joel turns around and squints through his transition lenses at the worker’s face, then their name tag. Craig. Where does Joel know him from? Joel stays home a lot, but not as much as one might think. He needs some kind of social contact.

Craig interrupts Joel’s thoughts, “You’re the one with the mansion, right?”

Joel chuckles. “Uhh, I dunno if–”

“Oh, sorry,” Craig holds his hand up. “Ya know what? I must be thinking of someone else.” His lie is an unconvincing attempt to allow Joel his anonymity after the slip-up. He probably thinks Joel is in disguise.

“No, no, it’s okay, man. I was just gonna say. I wouldn’t call it a. . . mansion,” Joel feels stupid as he finishes the sentence.

“Okay,” Craig concedes with a playful eye roll. “The house with the Christmas party”

Oh, God. Joel hadn't even thought about his party. It's gotta be small this year, if it happens. Maybe it would be nice. Joel pictures you in a fancy dress sitting next to him at the table. He imagines having someone to kiss at midnight.

“New year’s, “ Joel corrects him and sticks out his hand. “Joel.”

“Right, right.” Craig shakes Joel’s hand and asks, “Friend of the Fishers, right?”

Joel snaps his finger, “Yes! Right. You're in David's choir.” Another thing Joel forgot. His life has revolved around you ever since you stepped into it. You're all he thinks about. Joel starts to apologize, “Look, I dunno if I'm gonna make the Christmas concert this year, it snuck up on me.”

“It's okay, it's okay,” Craig reassures him with a wave of his hand. “Can I help ya find anything?”

“Yeah, uh, it said online y’all have some cuffs and chains and stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” Craig nods. “Come with me.” He guides Joel to a back wall covered in all sorts of contraptions. “Looking for anything in particular?”

“Yeah, something really comfortable and secure.”

–

As Craig rings up Joel’s purchase, Joel silently worries if this is going to work.

“Want me to show ya how the lock works?” Craig asks.

“Uhh, sure,” Joel says.

Craig takes the leather cuff out of the package and demonstrates the metal lock. He dangles the two keys. “One for you, and one for them,” he smiles.

“And both cuffs have the same key?”

“Yep,” Craig nods.

The cuff seems comfortable–the inside is suede and there's metal over the leather-–but Joel wonders if it's secure enough. What if you get away and he never sees you again? He looks at the metal loop on the cuff.

“Hey,” Joel asks and scratches his neck. “Y’all don't have any, uh, ID tags or anything do ya?”

“ID tags?”

“Like the little metal ones that hang on a loop.”

“Ohhh, like for a collar.” Craig raises his eyebrows.

“Or for this?” Joel asks, holding up a cuff.

“Cool,” Craig nods as if Joel is an innovator. “Gimme one sec.”

Craig goes out to a nearby shelf and comes back with a few collars that have their own tag – mostly hearts, either blank or with something generic like princess. “This is all we got.”

“Y’all do engraving here?” Joel asks.

“No. . .But if ya only need the tag, and it's gotta be engraved, I can tell ya where to go.”

–

When Joel is done with his next stop, he opens his leather bag and slips the metal tag into a zippered pocket. Damn, he thinks. He doesn't even know your favorite color. He hopes you’re okay with a black heart. Certainly better than a bone shape. He starts his car and heads toward the library.

When Joel walks into the library, he politely nods at the information desk, then heads to the computers. He sits down at one in the back row. He takes his gloves off, pulls his journal and a pen out of his bag, then logs onto the computer. He searches the catalog and the internet. What do you need? Food, water, shelter, this all seems obvious. What do you want? Freedom, he can hear you saying it. How much can he give you? How can he make you stay? How can he make you understand how much he cares? He retrieves a book and opens his journal to make some notes.

Joel puts down his pen, looks over his notes, then takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. He wishes you’d talk to him. What do you really want?

He whispers your name out loud. “God I wanna make you happy.” He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. He has a headache. The sun is catching up with him. He shouldn’t have gone out today. He should go home. When he opens his eyes, he puts his glasses back on. Someone is approaching. He swiftly locks the computer screen and closes his notebook.

“Joel.” It’s a kind, grandmotherly voice.

“Carol,” Joel smiles, and leans back as casually as he can.

“You alright there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Joel nods, trying not to wince. She looks at the empty computer screen and closed notebook.

“Okay, well, you know where to find me, dear.”

“Great sweater, by the way,” Joel tells her. “Perfect color. Really makes your eyes pop.”

“Oh, Joel,” she coyly pats down her white curls. “Thank you, dear--OH, Christy asked if you came in. Do you want me to get her?”

Joel didn’t even think about her on his way in. He feels a twinge of guilt for silencing her call, ignoring her text.

“Joel?” Carol asks, looking concerned.

He snaps out of it and feigns a little smile. “Uh, no. No, thank you. Don't bother her.”

“Okay,” Carol says in a sing-song voice. “I'll leave you to it then.” She smiles and walks away.

–

So she was expecting him. Oh, shit - he thinks through his mental calendar - Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Warmth rises to his cheeks. It’s been so long since he’s felt his cheeks get warm. It must be something in your blood. Not only has Joel taken blood from Christy, but she’s been his wingman before. They'd go out somewhere, and he'd listen to her drone on and on–she never took a breath–about her armchair detective community.

She’s always been a little too into the whole situation. If Joel thanked her for her help, she’d beam, “Any time.” She wasn't with him the night he met you. He wasn't on the hunt. But you smelled special, and he couldn't physically resist.

Joel hears Christy greet someone. He can't dodge her, he just has to hope she walks on by. He picks up his leather bag and puts it in his lap. He rifles through it until he finds a stick of menthol balm.

“There he is,” Christy calls.

Too late. He stuffs the menthol back in his bag without using it. He looks up, and she’s paused in the middle of the library with one hand on her hip and her eyes wide, even wider than usual.

“Hey, Chris.”

She hurries over. “So you are alive,” she teases with her arms crossed, then tilts her head, widens her eyes, and whispers, “figuratively speaking.” She laughs at her own joke.

She knows as much about him as anyone alive. It's made a big difference having a friend who knows. This has been one of Joel’s better eras, but the era he’s moving into with you will be lightyears better. And it’ll be more than an era.

“Kinda late,” she cringes lightheartedly.

“Oh, no, no, none for me. I’m good, thanks. Sorry, I’ve uh – I’ve gotta go.”

He stands up and puts his bag on. She’s gonna know something’s up. He scratches the back of his neck, weighing whether to break down and tell her everything so she can help him know how to make you comfortable and happy. Plus, he just wants to talk about you. He wants to tell the world. But today he has one priority: taking care of you.

“Waait a second,” Christy says knowingly, studying his face. “You’re glowing. You just got some good stuff, didn't ya?” She playfully punches Joel’s arm. “Good for you,” she beams, then raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice. “Bet it was menstrual, O positive.”

“The blood type doesn't–”

“--You say that, but if you’d let me do my experiment. . .Oh! We’ve got some new microfilm downstairs. 1880s, if you can believe it.”

“Not today,” Joel replies a little too quickly if he doesn’t want her prying.

Her lips form a line and her eyebrows go up, then she shrugs it off. “Okay, mister. Hey, can you still take care of Cal next weekend? Nat and I are–”

“--Uh, yeah,” Joel starts to walk off. “If you can drop her off.” You might enjoy the cat’s company.

“Joel!” Christy calls after him. “Don’t forget this!” She’s holding his parasol.

–

Next, Joel stops by the hardware store to get some supplies to secure you more comfortably. He’s sure he’s forgetting something, but this is a good start, and there’s always delivery. He doesn’t want to leave the house again this week. Thankfully, the hardware store is next to a Walmart, which has groceries, clothes, and pillows. He gets you some loungewear, socks, and new bedding. It’s the least he can do.

—--

When Joel gets home, he brings you four different pillows and some bedding.

“Wasn’t sure what firmness.”

He unlocks you and shows you the socks and lounge clothes. “These looked comfortable. Here, I can help. . .”

“I can do it,” you tell him.

“Right.” He turns around. While you’re changing, he says, “Let's order in tonight. Too tired to get anything started.”

“I’m not hungry yet,” you tell him.

Then he shows you the new cuffs and chain. He rings the heart shaped tag onto one cuff, then puts it around your ankle. “Better?”

The chain is much lighter. “Yeah, I guess,” you admit. “What’s this?” You look at the tag.

“Oh I dunno, I just–I started worryin’.”

You stare at him blankly.

“I dunno, just in case.”

“In case what?”

He swallows. “If ya. .” He looks around. He doesn't wanna say it out loud. “If ya left. . . so ya could . . . I dunno, get back.”

Now there’s a hint of pity and bewilderment in your eyes.

“It was stupid, sorry.” He takes a deep breath and manages a small smile. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll be right upstairs.”

When he gets upstairs, he looks at his phone and has a message from Christy. His stomach drops when the picture loads. It’s his search history about taking care of adult human women and what makes them stay.

“God damnit,” he curses himself. Of course he didn’t clear his search history. He didn’t even log off. She's typing. She stops, then starts again, and he presses the heels of his palms into his temples. What now? Should he call her? She wouldn't tell anyone, but – Her message comes through with a woosh: “this is what librarians are for.”

“Ha," he scoffs with the slightest smile. He shakes his head and turns the screen off without answering. He should be relieved, but can’t help but worry. He's seen her at her worst. God, he hopes that was her worst. What does she want?

Another message comes in: “let me help you."

Of course that’s what she wants. Funny enough, he’s seen her at her worst specifically when she was trying to help. But it’s still tempting, because she’s smart and resourceful. She could tell him everything there is to know about you within an hour. He’d love to know what kind of clothes you’d like, your favorite foods, how to make you happy. But for now, he’s doing alright on his own. He doesn’t text back.

-—You—

A while after Joel goes upstairs, you hear drilling, then clanking, metal jingling, things being dropped.

Later, he brings you dinner. He doesn’t eat, but he sits with you. Then, after you’re done, he faces you, cross-legged on the mattress. He’s wearing his glasses and has his journal again. There are handwritten notes in it. From upside down, you can see the words “buy” and “do.” Some items are crossed through.

“I was thinkin’,” he studies the page, then looks up at you. “Ya might need a bed.” He looks at your face for confirmation. “Right?” he asks. Wow, he really wants an answer.

“I mean. . . yeah, I sleep in a bed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay, I’m workin’ on a room for ya.”

For the next few days, he’s hard at work.

—----

He comes downstairs one evening around dinner time and says, “I was thinkin’, maybe we could watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Here?”

“Uh, no sweetheart. I was thinkin’, if ya wanna come upstairs for dinner, then maybe, after that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiles.

“Okay.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Great.” He goes to the other end of the chain and takes a key out of his pocket to unlock the cuff from the floor. As he's doing it, he mumbles, “You can, uh, pick the movie. If ya want.” The chain is sliding around on the mattress as he fiddles with the cuff. When the cuff is free from the hook, he puts it around his wrist, then locks it. Your breath hitches. He sees you looking at his wrist.

“Don't wanna get separated,” he chuckles sheepishly, then puts a hand on your wrist. “Want yours here?”

“Yeah.”

He moves the leather cuff from your ankle to your wrist, and it's nice to feel his hands on yours as he fastens it. He smells good. Fresh, woodsy. He opens his palm and takes your hand to help you up. He holds the slack of the chain as the two of you walk upstairs.

—

It's a large room with high ceilings. It's dark, but cozy. A fire is lit. There are plants, lots of plants. And bookshelves in the walls. He takes you through the main room, to a dining room with a huge table already set for two. He offers you the head of the table and pulls out the chair for you. He lets the slack of the chain pool between your chairs, and you're both still wearing a cuff on your wrist.

You eat mostly in silence, which makes the jingling of the dog tag deafening when you move that hand. He asks where you’d like to travel. You’d love to just travel outside, down the driveway, but you humor him with more ambitious places.

The space is lit with gas candelabras, and it’s hard not to admire his handsome face and the way his eyes sparkle in the candlelight. Sometimes a flicker catches the silver in his beard just right.

After dinner, he takes you back to the main room. There's an oversized sofa with a large, soft blanket draped over it and pillows like the one Joel brought downstairs. There's a big, square ottoman. There's also a side table with two clean, empty wine glasses. The sofa faces the fireplace, which is quite wide, and there’s a screen mounted above it. Joel offers you a glass of wine, and you accept but won’t drink much of it. He starts the movie.

Joel puts his arm around you while you watch the film. The chain lightly clinks against itself as he strokes your shoulder, then your arm, and you feel yourself melting. He arranges the pillows and asks if you want to lie down. You do. He spoons you, with his free hand resting over your body. His chained hand is under the pillow, and it finds yours as the movie goes on. Your fingertips brush, and you don’t pull away. Then he fully rests his hand on yours.

The hand draped over your side gradually begins to wander. He slowly, lightly strokes your side. . .then your hip. . . then your stomach, over your clothes. His breath deepens. His light, meandering touch makes you weak with desire and lulls you half asleep.

“Thanks for being here,” he whispers. He kisses the nape of your neck. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” He kisses your hair. “But it'll be worth it.” His light touch continues, and you begin to tingle. “Won’t be stuck here forever. . .we’ll travel the world one day.”

His hand travels higher on your body as he moves it in loose circles, until he’s skimming the bottoms of your breasts. His palm grazes the outline of your hard nipple, and a hard shape twitches against your ass. You don’t flinch, but you inhale sharply through your nose, trying to suppress a wave of desire.

Joel pulls his hips back and tucks the blanket between you, to your secret disappointment. Then he props his head up to admire you. “So many things I wanna do with you,” he murmurs, running his massive hand down your side again where he started. “And for you,” he whispers, draping his hand over your lower belly. Then, barely audible, so quiet you might be imagining it, “and to you.” He puts his head back down on the pillow and inhales your hair, skimming your top with his fingers.

His hand nudges under your lounge top, then his fingertips slip into your waistband ever so slightly, and you’re throbbing. His fingertips skim your bare belly, dipping a little further into your pants.

He asks, “You okay from. . .”

Your heart rate quickens. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I can check,” he quietly offers. “Make sure I got it all.”

“Ok,” you whisper.

“Good,” he slides his hand down your lounge pants. You’re not wearing underwear. You gasp softly as his fingers reach your clit. He pauses there, and an involuntary push of his hips lets you feel him through the blanket before he pulls back again. His fingertips get lower, then hook between your legs, and he softly gasps when he reaches your wetness. He runs his fingers through your folds, then uses his massive hand to hold the waistband open while he peeks at his fingers.

“You did,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shoulda waited, though. I wasn too rough. Shoulda let it happen.” He lets the waistband close over his wrist and cups your mound.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, closing your eyes, embarrassed at the whole situation. Now he knows how wet you are.

His middle finger twitches and nudges your clit, then begins nudging it rhythmically. Soon, it evolves toward a more deliberate, pleasure-focused rub, and he inhales deeply, chest expanding against your back.

“I think I should go to sleep,” you whisper, overwhelmed. His finger stops moving, but his hand stays in your pants.

Joel offers, “Might sleep better if–”

“Not tonight.” You twist your hips away from his, already hating yourself for cutting this off, but knowing you’d judge yourself for continuing.

He slowly withdraws his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Somethin’ came over me.”

On the way downstairs, he tells you again, “I’m workin’ on a room for ya. Just gimme a couple days.”

He chains you back to the floor, then makes up the mattress with a new set of bedding and a comforter. He tucks you in, and leans over you. He wets his lips, looking at yours. You look away. He kisses you on the cheek, soft and slow. Somehow, it feels just as sensual as if it were your mouth.

“Night, sweetheart.”

—-

The next evening, your room is finished. He brings you upstairs and shows you what he’s done. It’s an actual bedroom, with a nice, roomy bed. There’s a reading nook with a big, comfy chair and a wall of books. It’s dim, of course, but he shows you how to use the dials to remotely adjust the flames of the candelabras and chandelier. There’s a window with a curtain. It has steel bars, but at least it’s there. There’s a closet with clothes and some packages not yet opened. There’s even a fireplace.

“And here’s the best part,” he says excitedly, gesticulating in a way that makes the chain between you jingle. He brings you outside the bedroom and closes the double doors. There are two dark panels that create a heart where the doors meet. “Check it out.” He retrieves a key from his pocket, and locks the door from the outside. It’s a heavy, satisfying click. He looks at you like you’re going to be excited. “So you can take this off,” he explains, holding up the chain.

-----

You see Joel more often once you’re out of the basement. He’s happy to have you close, and you’re glad to have the accommodations. But you’re also confused, and a little depressed. You crave his presence and his touch in a way you know is unhealthy. You know it must be because he’s all you have right now, but your heart tells you there’s more to it. The whole situation has felt like a dream, and maybe that’s how you’ve coped. But the longer it lasts, the more real it feels.

One night, it catches up with you and you have a good cry. You try to be quiet. You try to stop, but you can’t. So you let it go, you just sob.

After a while, you hear the heavy lock, and the massive door opens just enough for Joel to come in. He closes it behind him, then stands there rubbing his beard. He looks at you like he’s lost, then cautiously approaches.

“Hey,” he whispers. He sits down on the bed. You’re curled up, facing him. You don’t turn away. He strokes your arm, and you cry harder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His eyes are sad. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He knows. He lies down, facing you. He hugs you into him and you cry into his soft t-shirt, inhaling his scent with every gasp for air. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You close your eyes, wanting him to kiss you, and you’re disturbed by your own desire. You pinch your lashes shut harder, and your whole face tenses. It hurts.

“This isn’t okay,” you sob. “It’s not gonna be.” You try to push him away, but he holds you still. After all the times he’s folded, apologized, and backed off, that’s not what he does. He holds you in his arms, making you stay there. “What are you doing,” you whine, and you push at his chest. He doesn’t budge. You half-heartedly hit and kick at him, and he cages you with his leg, too. It soothes you, like a weighted blanket, but you fight it.

“Shhhh,” he holds you tight. His voice is deep and quiet against the top of your ear. “We’re gonna be happy one day,” he insists. “Promise, sweetheart.” You exhaust yourself crying, and he holds you. “I love you.” You try to ignore it, but that doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering. Soon you’re nuzzling your head into his neck, gripping his shirt in a fist like you don’t want him to go. He drapes a heavy blanket over both of you. He holds you like that until you fall asleep and your fist releases his shirt. He stays a little longer, then kisses you on the forehead and leaves.

—--

The next afternoon, Joel approaches you and sits down on the edge of the bed. “How ya feel? Ya look good,” he whispers, and cups your cheek. You don’t shrug him off.

“I’m fine,” you reply, wishing he would lie down with you again, but not wanting to invite him.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks.

“I don't care,” you answer.

He sits there in silence and places a hand on your knee.

“Got ya somethin’,” he murmurs, and stands up for a moment. He appears to get nervous as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a shallow, velvet jewelry box. He sits down again and holds the box out for you to take, but you don’t. He opens it for you. It’s a necklace. He tells you what the stone is. It’s your birthstone. It’s thoughtful, but he only knows your birthday because he has your wallet. He faces you and puts his hands around your neck as he puts the necklace on, getting his face close to yours so he can see the clasp. With his temple nearly brushing yours, you feel a surge of want. There’s no denying it. The scruff of his cheek scratches you lightly as he finishes fastening the necklace. “There,” he says, and looks at you adoringly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re one of a kind, ya know.”

He wets his lips and you notice they’re chapped, dehydrated. He’s pale. You find yourself wanting to hug him, kiss him, but you don’t. He kisses you on the cheek.

—

One night, Joel makes you a special dinner. He cuffs the two of you together, and you eat in the dining room at the big table with him again. He tells you he needs your blood again. “I don’t have to take much,” he says. “It can be tomorrow,” he offers. “Don’t wanna spring it on ya.”

“It’s alright,” you tell him. “You need it.” And the truth is, you want it. You want him to take it. You want to be taken back to that moment against your car. You want something that overwhelms your senses and puts you on another plane. You need something to remind you that you aren’t just a girl in a room, and he’s not just some guy keeping you there. If you can physically feel all of that, maybe you can let yourself relax.

After dinner, he brings you back to your room and unchains you. You sit on the bed. He turns on the fireplace and tells you he’lll be right back. When he returns, he has an old medicine bottle with a cloth. He wets the cloth and says, “I’ll lay with ya, til ya wake up, okay?”

You look at the cloth in his hand and say, “You don’t have to put me to sleep.” He adjusts the cloth in his hand. “Don’t,” you shake your head.

His brows knit, and he reads your eyes for a few seconds.

“Let me stay awake,” you plead.

“You sure?”

You nod. He closes the bottle again and puts it on your nightstand.

“Thought it scared ya,” he mumbles.

“Well it did, when it was a surprise.”

He nods solemnly. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. I really shoulda. . . I don’t even know.” If he had asked, you wonder if you would have let him. Surely not, so you can’t exactly blame him.

“Okay,” he looks you over and gets on the bed with you. “You warm enough?” He nudges the cardigan you’re wearing.

“Yeah,” you nod, and shrug it off. You’re cozy enough from the fire.

“C’mon, let’s get up here.” He guides you up the bed and gets you to lay down with your head on a pillow as if you’re going to sleep.

He gets close to you, and starts lightly stroking your shoulder as he looks you over. His eyes glue to your neck, and he wets his lips, then he pulls his eyes back to yours.

“You can choose,” he offers. “Where I take it.”

You bite your lip as you watch his face and inhale his scent.

“I can take it here again,” he caresses your neck. Then he holds your arm and lightly brushes his thumb across where you’d normally get an IV, giving you an unexpected surge in arousal. “Or here.”

He checks your face, then lays his hand on your waist. His palm skims your side, down your hip. “Or,” he runs his hand up your thigh under your dress. His thumb caresses your thigh, right near your pelvis, and he whispers, “I can take it here.” You’re nearly overwhelmed with desire already.

“I dunno,” you whisper.

He gently rolls you onto your back. He takes a deep breath, scoots down the bed, and gets between your thighs. He nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose, then whispers, "up to you, sweetheart." You're throbbing.

“Tell me what feels right,” he murmurs and nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose. His hair is fluffy and his eyes are dark and sparkly as he looks up at you. “God, you’re . . .” He reaches up and wraps a hand around your arm. “You’re perfect.”

“Where do you want?” you ask.

“Everywhere, anywhere. I want every inch of you.”

You allow yourself a little smile and hold his eyes for a few seconds.

He sits up again and offers, “I can make ya feel good.”

“I know,” you nod with a laugh.

“I mean, it’ll feel best, if you’re already feelin’ good.”

You nod with butterflies in your tummy, telling yourself it’s for a practical purpose, and you might as well enjoy it.

He nods and whispers, “Okay. . .good.” His eyes rove your body hungrily. He asks, “Anywhere ya don’t want me to touch ya?”

You say "no" so fast your cheeks heat in shame.

His eyes darken and he growls, “good,” as he prowls back up your body. His triceps swell out from under his shirt.

He kisses you tenderly below your jaw and brings a hand to your breast. You lift your chin with a sigh. He drags his lips and nose down your throat to your chest, pausing at your neckline. He looks up and you nod. He nudges the fabric aside with his nose, then plants a wet kiss on the swell of your breast, and his eyes close. He moans into your skin. Your gaze fixates on his softwash khakis, and he briefly removes his hand from your chest to adjust himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“s’okay,” you whisper.

“‘Sposed to be about you right now,” he murmurs, looking up at you. You tilt your head, trying to look at his pants, but the room is too dim. Truth is, you’re finding it hard to think about anything but his cock at the moment. You only felt the briefest hint of it the other night. You want to feel it all.

He slides his hand up your thigh again, and his thumb nudges just slightly under the crotch of your panties, making you twitch. He takes a deep breath through his nose, then withdraws his thumb and lets down the edge of your panties. He scoots up to lie to your side again, leaving his knee between your legs. He rests his hand on your mound, and slowly ghosts your clit, closing his eyes. When he opens his eyes again, they sparkle, and his face drifts toward yours. You don’t flinch, you don’t pull away. You let him kiss you.

With one hand still between your legs, he slides the other one under your head. He kisses you slow and deep, stroking your most sensitive spot through your panties. Your mouths remain connected as his massive hand slides up to your bare abdomen. He gives your side a little squeeze before sliding back down and nudging his fingers under the hem of your underwear. He pulls his lips from yours and looks at you darkly. It’s not a question, but you nod as his hand slides down. You gasp and his knuckles strain the fabric as he cups your naked heat. “Good,” he whispers when he feels how wet you are. “What if ya just. . .” he kisses you again, then murmurs, “let your body decide." He plants a soft, open mouth kiss on your cheek, then whispers in your ear, "I'll go everywhere. You tell me when.”

You wrap your wrists around his neck and he catches your inner arm with his mouth. He wetly kisses the inner crook of your elbow, looking up at you. Then he drags his lips down toward your chest, where he pulls your dress down. Your skin hardens with goosebumps as your nipples sharpen, and he groans softly. He kisses your bare breast, then fixes your dress, and kisses your hard nipple through the thin cotton. You arch your back and sigh. He gets between your legs and backs up as he kisses his way down your torso. He lifts your dress and thumbs your panties, sighing “oh, God.”

He lifts one of your knees over his shoulder and kisses at your cunt through the damp fabric. Your hips lift into his mouth. He licks along the edge of the crotch, then your inner thigh. He leaves a meandering trail of kisses around your inner thigh, then plants his lips and leaves a hickey. He glances up at you and adjusts himself again, and you let out a little moan. “C’mere,” You nudge him, pulling at his arms, wanting nothing more than him on top of you.

He prowls up your body and plants his hands on either side of your chest. Lays his hips into yours, and when the shape of his warm, hard package presses into your most sensitive place, you gasp and he lets out a low moan. “Should I take-” he asks, reaching for his belt. You’re nodding before he finishes the question. He uses his left hand to unbuckle his belt. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he pulls away from you enough to take his pants off. Now he’s in long johns, and it’s quite a bulge you’re looking at. Your face and chest burn. You pull him toward you with your feet. He presses his throbbing arousal against your aching heat, and you moan. You card your fingers through his hair. “Feel so good,” you whisper.

“Good,” he whispers, then kisses your neck again.

He puts his hand on your thigh and you wrap your leg around him. He lightly grinds into you as he kisses your neck, then your cheek, then your lips again. Your mouths open and draw each other in. You breathe each other’s air and drink each other’s spit. Your lips tingle. Your chest tingles. As you kiss harder, he grinds harder against you. You badly want him inside you, but you won’t, you can’t, you shouldn’t, you tell yourself.

The next time his mouth comes to your neck, he teases you with his tongue and a bolt of pleasure shoots down your spine. Your nipples harden. He opens his mouth wider against your skin. “Do it,” you whisper, then feel the prick of his fangs against your flesh. “Do it,” you repeat, and his arousal swells against you as he sinks his teeth into your skin. Your hips lift against his. He moans into your neck, and as your blood flows into him, he gets harder. You shudder in pleasure as he takes what he needs. You move his hand from your thigh to your breast, and you lift your pelvis into his, whispering, “yeah.” You’re not lightheaded, not yet. He’s doing this slowly, pacing himself.

His warmer, harder cock twitches against you, and you reach down to grope it desperately. He groans. You grind up against him and moan, “Joel,” with a surge of need overtaking you. He ruts against you slow and hard, warm and stiff, then his cock pulses right against your clit. He groans into your neck, and you grind back against him, and the whole front of you begins to pulse with him. “Oh God,” you gasp and grab his ass, pulling him against you harder as the warmth of his cum seeps through the thermal fabric, “oh fuck,” you sigh as you cum with him.

As you finish convulsing, his fangs release you. His breath is humid against your neck. “Fuck, i’m sorry,” he mutters. He leans his cheek against your shoulder, and you can feel how warm his face is.

“Don’t be,” you whisper. “That felt really good.” He pulls back and looks at you, cheeks blotchy.

“Really?” he asks. He cups and adjusts his manhood through his damp bottoms. “I never. . .”

“I know,” you reassure him. “It’s my blood, isn’t it?”

He nods with his eyes half closed. “It’s incredible.”

You nod. “It was good for me too,” you admit.

“I could feel it,” he puts a hand on your panties. He sighs and lays half on top of you. He strokes your face. “Can I do somethin’ for ya?”

You shake your head no. “I’m good.”

He caresses your neck. “I’ll get ya some ice.”

“No,” your hand comes to his back, and you don’t let him leave. “Just stay right here.”

You lay in silence with him half on top of you. Then he props himself up to look at you.

“We're made for each other,” he whispers, looking at your mouth. He kisses you softly, then meets your eyes. “You don’t believe it yet. It’s okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t-”

“It’s okay. Don’t have to,” he reassures you. He rests his head close to yours on the same pillow, and nuzzles his nose against yours. “Just hope ya feel it one day,” he murmurs into your cheek. “I know ya will.”

You feel it. You disagree, you think, but you feel the truth in it.

He puts his arm all the way over you. His arm is solid, and you imagine very heavy, but it's not dead weight. It's tense, like he's actively holding you there, just in case.

—----

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His parasol was inspired by @gasolinerainbowpuddles mood board.

Thank you so much for love for vampire!Joel and your patience for his story to continue.

I hear you about notifs not working, and tags too (i'm not receiving a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" link on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.

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loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means, the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world.

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.”

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated.

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do.

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while.

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is.

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment.

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something.

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light.

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate.

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck.

"I was just looking for.. uhh…"

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed.

" Shit. Sorry, let me-"

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly.

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-"

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-]

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen.

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless.

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples.

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early."

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge.

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it.

So naturally , you were sent to kill him.

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer - particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable.

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower.

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside.

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry.

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange.

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily.

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?"

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold.

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view.

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial.

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought.

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him.

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you.

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression.

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-"

He shrugs, noncommittal.

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt.

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile.

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes.

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter.

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time.

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile.

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?”

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky.

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong?

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