#the press junket begins!!!

[dogco11ar]

god i can’t wait for ppl to bring up old ass discourse when the tog sequel drops

#by cant wait i mean everyone’s gonna be insufferable including me bc i have very strong opinions #rant in tags bc i simply cannot keep my mouth shut and i’ve been thinking about it since june #beginning with: i don’t think greg rucka concieved of joe and nicky beyond it’s baseline symbolism #their history and background has so much potential but the avoidance of the development of their relationship is perfectly displayed in the #short lines of the film. #so if ppl have a problem with the inclusion of a scene that delves into it— the problem begins with what greg loaded onto himself for #creating those characters with previous assumptions and existence in a very tenuous history #fucking deal with it bro— you did it to yourself!! jdsksn #but whatever it doesn’t matter to the plot i guess even though it has major implications and their worldview could have immense influence on #the group dynamic #whatever i’m not writing it! #<- massively bitter #the other discourse has been simmering for far longer and i don’t want to get into bc it’s absolutely fucking stupid to even argue abt it #anyways this is just to say i wanna hear marwan and luca’s take on like All of It bc they’re meant to embody and understand those characters #so like!!! begging the press junket to have more substance than the first one bc there was a total of 2 good interviews

[ferrstappen]

Everybody wants a taste l LN4

a/n: i am in an urgent need of writing ideas I've had for MONTHS so brace yourselves I guess?? also the title ofc is from pop anthem jealous by nick Jonas.

i am also very very very stressed waiting for the standing start.

pairing: Lando Norris x actress!reader

this is angst. and some tom holland after this poll results <3

summary: Lando had never been the jealous kind, but after seeing you with many co-stars, he reaches his limit. and his girlfriend doesn't like it.

No one would ever know Lando Norris' was reaching his limit as he stood on the sidelines of another press junket for his girlfriend's new movie: a coming of age movie that already was creating awards season buzz, and God was he proud of her, having witnessed the ten minute standing ovation she received during Cannes.

But of course the limelight wasn't only on her. No, it was on him.

Lando remembers when he was asked who he'd want to portray him if they ever did a biopic and he didn't hesitate: Tom Holland. There could be some similarities between the two, both British, chestnut curls, but now Lando's skin crawled just from hearing the name.

He had dealt with different co-stars during the almost two years of relationship; he'd seen her kiss them, fight with them, fall in love with them, but this was different, he never had to witness her naked skin pressed against someone else, placing her body on top of his, pretended noises he knew weren't real and authentic, but still, they were supposed to be just for him. All for the sake of making a point of her character being an adult now, some shit about an epiphany of being able to take control of her own life, make decisions about her body, and whatever the screenwriters wanted to portray.

And of course Lando didn't help himself.

user1: God has favorites, just check y/n having fake sex w tom holland and real sex w lando norris

user2: no but y/n and tom??? such a hot couple I NEED it to happen

user3: and what are you gonna do with lando and zendaya? lol user2: idc I just want y/n and tom to be a thing

And that was just the beginning, before the movie had even dropped, because the day of the premiere? Everything went wrong.

Sunny Los Angeles had welcomed you and Lando after landing from London, paparazzi eagerly waiting for the arrival at LAX, catching the perfect pictures of Lando placing you in front of him, holding your hand tightly and doing his best to shield your body from prying eyes who just wanted a couple of dollars.

Despite being jet lagged after spending a couple of days in your home in Monaco, there wasn't much time to catch a break because the moment the two of you set foot on the Beverly Hills Hotel, they barely let you take a shower before giving some nice, fluffy robes. Lando was first, out of nowhere two people were working on his hair while the other was applying some kind of serums and creams on his face, but he didn't care when it was time for another team to start working on you; Lando was mesmerized by the way your hair perfectly framed your face, the natural glow of your skin, the deep red of your lips.

"I don't like being so separated," Lando pouted, walking towards your seat, earning a giggle from you because he looked so funny and cozy with the big robe.

"There's not much we can do, baby. I can barely move," You searched for his eyes and that was when Lando got the idea. The hair stylists gasped when the racer sat down on the floor, circling his arms around one of your legs and resting his cheek on your thigh. "Oh, you're willing to be told off by the make up artists as well?" You asked him but your insides were dancing all over the place, your fingers quickly finding their place on his curls.

Neither of you noticed a Vogue photographer capturing the scene, with Lando's eyes closed and cheek smushed, with his arms secured around your leg, but neither realized representatives for Armani had walked in carrying Lando's tux and your body-hugging black velvet gown.

So far so good. A picture perfect young couple who loved each other very much and had photographers swooning by the way Lando fixes your earring and checks for lipstick on your teeth, and how you make sure his bow tie is leveled.

But then, they get to the red carpet.

It was an elegant affair, but still full of people and before he realized, the red carpet manager was separating you from him for an alone photo call before the one and only Tom Holland got there, cheerfully greeting you in front of the cameras, throwing a couple of jokes to make you laugh as he placed his hand on your back.

This was a nightmare, having to listen to people say how cute the two of you looked, a perfect on and off screen pair, chemistry on and off the screen, both your names already on the shortlist for the Oscars.

Lando's skin was starting to crawl, and it didn't help that he had to re watch the scenes haunting his mind, but this time it was out for the entire world to see, and it didn't take long for his latest instagram post to be flooded of vile comments.

when are you getting replaced by tom holland??

now tom holland can play you in movie and y/n plays herself, nothing changes lmao

lando control ur woman!!!

lucky man, she sounds so pretty I almost had to leave the theatre

lando honey you can leave her I'd never do that to you

And Lando knows he shouldn't, but when your hand reaches for his when the night ends, he pretends to look for his phone; when you try to fix a messy curl, he moves his head out of your reach.

and you know your boyfriend too well.

"Baby, are you okay?" You ask him once you reach the shared hotel room.

Lando lets out a dry chuckle, but too aware of his throat closing. "Why wouldn't I be?"

But you weren't having it, not today, not on your big day, not when you just wanted rest your head on his chest and fall asleep with his arms wrapped around your frame.

"I don't know, you tell me, you're the one acting weird,"

"I am not," Lando argued, trying to take deeper breath, but failing miserably.

"Okay Lando, whatever, I don't care. You can be selfish during a very important day for me for all I care,"

Those words struck a nerve: "Me? Selfish? Are you fucking kidding me?" Now you could see his cheeks flushing, maybe even his neck gaining some red color.

You wanted to be scared, to walk away and let him cool off any unwanted feeling or thought on his head, but you couldn't.

"No, I'm not. Please illustrate me as to what happened to put you in this insufferable mood," You argued back and watched as Lando's mouth opened and closed as he undid the cuffs from his shirt, threw the suit jacket on the leather sofa and threw away the bow tie, all in just a couple of seconds.

"Am I not allowed to be upset to watch him all over you, having to look at the both of you acting like the best of friends or lovers for all I care, and then have to watch on this fucking enormous screen how you kiss him and touch him," Lando spat the words as if they were venom; he could feel his throat closing

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your brain not processing Lando's words. "Lando, you are not making any sense. Are you listening to yourself?" You were careful not to raise your voice, knowing he wasn't in a clear space of mind, but you blood was running hot too after processing what he was implying.

"Yes, I am. (Y/N), baby, I'm tired of having to watch you making out with a different guy every a couple of months, it is so tiring, and I understand that this is your job, but..." Lando was about to continue but was stopped by you, messily taking off the heavy velvet dress and heels, putting on the first pair of jeans and oversized sweater you found. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to listen to you anymore. You are ridiculous, Lando. You're talking about my job, my career, that I've worked my ass off, and never in a million years I thought you'd be telling me this bullshit! I'm not going to entertain this, so if you can't deal with this anymore, please let me know so that I can move on," this time your throat tightened, the last words coming out broken and choked, emotions fighting to make their way; from anger to utter sadness.

"Where are you going?" Lando didn't know if he was angry with you, disappointed in himself, maybe a mix of both as he watched you grab the Chanel black backpack.

"I don't know, but let me know if you can do this or what,"

You were sure those were the last words of the unforeseen argument, but as you were grabbing the card key of the room, Lando opened his mouth.

"Maybe you can go with Tom, everyone wants you two together anyway."

Of course he needed to get the last words.

#lando norris au #lando norris x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris angst #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris x oc

[imthegayone]

Missing Jenna Playlist

Summary: Without your girlfriend's comforting presence, you take to youtube to find any form of comfort. Luckliy for you, your girlfriend is a celebertiy with a lot of interviews to watch.

Warrnings: None, just fluff, and maybe some errors

Author's Note: Thank you for the love on my last fic, seeing how many of you enjoyed it has really helped me feel more motivated to write. So again, thank you and I hope you enjoy. 🩵

Word Count: 1255

__________

If anyone asked about your comfort playlist full of your girlfriend’s interviews, you’d deny it. Even as said playlist made an appearance in your watch history when she was away filming. 

It had been a particularly hard time spent away from each other when you gave in and made the list. Jenna was so busy that she barely had time to call or FaceTime like usual, not that your conflicting timezone was helping any either. You weren't getting any sleep, realizing just how much your girlfriend’s voice and presence had on your ability to do so. 

At first it was just one of her Wednesday interviews with Emma. Hearing both of them laugh and joke brought you back to the time you had a sleepover together while visiting Romania. It was comforting hearing her raspy voice coax you into a deep sleep. But it would always end too soon, just as you would start to drift off, they were saying goodbye and the video would end. 

So you’d search ‘Jenna Ortega Interview’, a hundred options popping up. You had your favorites and your least favorites. The ratings mostly consist of how much Jenna talked in them and the ones you knew she was excited to have done. 

One day after a week of not hearing Jenna’s voice from her phone calls you wanted your favorites to comfort you. But they were all scattered around, some from Wednesday press junket, Scream 6, her promoting her book, it was too many to just queue every time so you decided a playlist would be good. 

It’d keep everything together, no random videos to play afterwards, just all your favorite interviews in one place. You only did it as a convenience, not because you were desperate for her to be by your side, or anything. Just, supporting your girlfriend while she promoted her recent work. Plus you were tired, and fewer things to select so you could fall asleep to the sound of Jenna’s comforting voice was obviously the better option.

Maybe the playlist started to see the light of day however. Not only being played on your phone as it sat on the mattress next to you. But as the days went on you’d play it on the tv as you cooked, cleaned, or read a book. It basically became your favorite form of podcast without even being one. 

It started to become a routine, you’d come home from work, fix something to eat and watch a show you recently started, until you’d begin to miss her. Your fingers expertly pressing every button needed to enter YouTube and reach your playlist, as if it was second nature. 

It was one of those days, watching Jenna and Melissa die laughing at something Courtney said, the sound of keys unlocking your front door catching your attention. You perk up like a puppy hearing the bag of their favorite treats being opened. “Baby?” You hear the voice you’ve been wanting to hear for weeks and shoot up from your seat. 

Your socked feet against the hardwood making your trek to the door more uncoordinated than usual. “Hi, baby.” You say a little out of breath, a smile gracing both of your faces. “Hello.” She replies, cupping your face and pulling you down into a smiling kiss. You wrap your arms around her pulling her even more into you, your body buzzing with happiness. She sighs as she wraps her arms around your neck, tucking her head in the slope of your neck. 

“I didn’t know you’d be coming home so soon.” Not that you were complaining at all.

“We got a week off of filming and I wanted to see you.” Tightening her grip around your shoulder you feel her relax as you start to sway side to side. “I’ve missed you so much.”  You couldn’t be happier at hearing she felt the same. 

“I’ve missed you too.” Just as you couldn't feel any more at home, your heart sinks as you hear Jenna’s laugh, but it wasn’t coming from Jenna in your arms. No, it was Jenna prompting Scream months ago. You can’t believe you forgot to turn the tv to literally anything else. Jenna pulls away confused, you try pulling her back into you but she pulls away fully walking towards your shared living room. This is a great time to have the floor swallow you whole, you think. 

“Hey, why don’t we put your clothes up and get ready for bed. I’m sure you’re so tired and wanna sleep the rest of the day away. That sounds like a great plan, right?” Unfortunately, she continues on her way, towards the sound of her own voice. Your only comfort being the sly smile she gives you over her shoulder. She stops when she sees what’s on the tv and you sigh. You’ve been caught, and now you are gonna have to hide away for the rest of your life.  

“Did this just come on by itself?” You nod not making eye contact with her. “Yep, it just came on. I guess it got recommended after I watched the roundtable interview.” 

“Oh really?” You hum in agreement, your hands start to sweat as she looks back at you with a mischievous smile. “You didn’t just really miss me?” 

“You don’t even know.” That wasn’t suppose to come out, but it made her smile grow bigger. Her fingers reach out and grasp the hem of your shirt. Her smile and eyes softening at your admission, she pulls you in, her big brown eyes looking up at you takes your breath away for the millionth time. 

Your hand comes up and cradles her neck as your thumb rubs against her jaw bone. It’s quiet for a moment as you just take each other in. You lean down pressing your lips to hers. When you pull away her mischievous smile is back. “You missed me.” She singsongs, you lovingly roll your eyes. “Maybe a little.” 

She pulls you towards the couch, pushing on your chest until you fall into its pillows. “It’s very sweet that you watch my interviews but I can’t watch myself.” She says as she lays on top of you and reaches for the remote. You're so caught up in finally having her in your arms that you don’t realize what she's about to see. 

“You’re watching a playlist of my interviews?” She looks down at you, then back at the screen. “You made the playlist?” You groan, why didn’t you change the tv, why aren't the cushions swallowing you whole like you hope they would? Trying to hide your blush you hear Jenna giggle on top of you and her kissing your warm cheek. “Baby, you’re so cute. Do you know that?” 

“Shut up.” You mutter feeling even more flustered at her words and kiss. That makes her laugh more. You feel her hand slide up your body and find its resting place on your cheek. Pushing you to look at her, she smiles down at you. 

The overwhelming need to confess your feelings almost takes over but after a year of dating you wanted it to be her choice to say it without pressure. 

“I love you, Y/n. So much.” Relief and happiness floods through you, she said it and she meant it. She loves you. You can’t help but surge up, capturing her lips in a kiss, and confess the same sentiment you felt since you met her against her lips. 

“I love you too, J.” 

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #hey how tf do you end a fic?? #also how tf do you name one without feeling cringe #asking for a friend #this is my longest fic tho and thats awesome i'm so happy with that small achievement #also i was thinking about that tiktok where its like 'i bet her laugh is cute' #then it plays the bloopers from scream 6 of her laughing #its so adorable #fics by the gay

[bybdolan]

Taylor's 2011 interview with The New Yorker is so interesting in the context of Clara Bow...

"Swift is sometimes called a twenty-one-year-old 2.0—the girl next door, but with a superior talent set. She has an Oprah-like gift for emotional expressiveness. While many young stars have a programmed, slightly robotic affect, she radiates unjaded sincerity no matter how contrived the situation—press junkets, awards shows, meet and greets." ("Flesh and blood amongst war machines.")

"Swift has the pretty, but not aggressively sexy, look of a nineteen-thirties movie siren. She is tall and gangly, with porcelain skin, long butterscotch hair that seems crimped, as if from a time before curling irons, and smallish eyes that often look as if they were squinting. She loves to wear makeup, but it tends to resemble stage makeup: red lipstick, thick mascara. . . . She is in the midst of her second world tour, and every show begins with a moment in which she stands silently at the lip of the stage and listens to her fans scream. She tilts her head from side to side and appears to blink back tears—the expression, which is projected onto a pair of Jumbotron screens, is part Bambi, part Baby June." ("You look like Clara Bow.")

[cosmal]

phoebe bridgers — send me a headcanon or a prompt + a character, and i’ll write you a blurb!

what abouttt rockstar!remus x shy!reader omg. maybe r being backstage at one of his concerts and giving him good luck kisses or something. or just whatever u want, you always have the best ideas anyway <3

a kiss

summary — you ask remus for a kiss before he goes on stage.

content — remus lupin x fem!reader, rockstar!remus, shy!reader

note — mal this was such a cute idea i love u

You sit one one of the many big speakers backstage, legs dangling over the edge, waiting for Remus to finish his conversation with his manager.

Having a boyfriend who is constantly busy, with sound checks and press junkets, song writing and concerts, it’s hard to see him when you want. Sometimes it feels terrible to want things.

Because Remus is always busy. He’s hardworking and never stops and you really admire him for it. You hate to interrupt because most of the time it’s for things you don’t really need.

Remus, can I have a hug? Remus, do you want to watch a movie on the couch tonight?

You sit with your hands in your lap, fiddling with the rings around your fingers. You spin them to distract yourself. There’s an ache in your chest that you feel like can only be soothed by Remus. You bite your tongue to hold back the urge to talk to him when he seems busy. It feels selfish and you don’t want to be.

Remus cuts his conversation short with his manager and makes his way over to you. The feeling in your chest creeps up your throat with bubbling excitement. He’s your boyfriend, he gives you every drop of attention when he can — which is always. But when he gives it to you when you feel like you don’t deserve it, it makes you feel warm.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs when he reaches you. It’s quiet and there’s thousands of fans past the wall behind you. You’re still tuned to every sound he makes.

“Hey, Remus,” you say back. You’re more than pleased when he takes your hands into his. You don’t show it though. You look solemn and Remus worries for you. Your glumness morphs into guilt when you remember you should be happy for him. Because you are — you’re ecstatic.

You still feel out of your depth whenever you’re in this situation. Behind a curtain, listening to piercing screams of your boyfriends and his band mates names. A thrumming that beats quieter than your heart most of the time.

“Are you okay?” Remus leans forward until your linked hands press into your bare legs. A heavy weight that feels necessary.

“Yeah,” you say. Then, when his fingers unfurl to press firmly into the dough of your thighs, you say, “Just feeling off today.”

He leans forward to press a kiss on the top of your nose. Then your cheek and behind your ear. Remus is a rockstar. A rockstar with a kissing pattern that he knows will have you melting.

“Yeah?” he hums into the skin below your ear. He tries to kiss away the beginnings of your goosebumps. He only makes them worse. “You should tell me these things, dove.”

You should. And you do — most of the time. When you’re in the bath together, when he makes you sit and eat dinner at your tiny two-seater table, or on his tour bus. You won’t get into how you think he likes to corner you in tiny settings and make sure you’re okay. He worries you won’t tell him if he doesn’t. But he always makes time for it.

“Not right now,” you dismiss him with a shake of your head.

“Yes, right now,” he says. Half fond, half too serious.

“You’re about to go on.” You look over his shoulder to find James sitting by the snacks table, a pair of drumsticks tapping against his jean clad thigh. You suspect Sirius is around somewhere stressing out.

“They’ll wait,” he says a little too smugly. You roll your eyes.

“Remus,” you chide.

“No, I’m serious, honey,” you might die if he keeps it up with the pet names, “what’s up?”

You lean into his chest until the top of your head hides your face. You huff and you feel a small laugh vibrate up his chest.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna play so shit out there because I’m worrying about you,” he says. You know he doesn’t mean it. It still makes you feel awful. You lean more of your weight into him.

“Stop,” you argue.

“I’m serious—“

“No, you’re not.”

He hugs your head closer to stable you. “I’m not.”

Remus let’s you sit up until he can see your face. You worry he might hold you warm face in his hands. When he’s doesn’t, you’re only mildly relieved. You don’t want to be teased about how flustered he can make you. You also want him to squeeze your cheeks.

“Can I have a kiss?”

Remus startles. “Of course.”

You get your way when he cups your face in his hands to lean down to kiss you. His lips soft and a tiny bit unsure when he does it. You grip his wrists with shaky hands and hold him closer. Only gasping into his open mouth when he pulls away.

His lips are a little wet when you open your eyes. You watch his pupils shrink back down and feel a tad amused. You feel your shy temperament dial back a bit. You know he loves you.

You smile. Remus mirrors it, though half as bright. “Is that what you wanted?”

Dazed, you blink, “What?”

He kisses you again, too short for you liking. He smiles more this time when you let out the tiniest hiccup like sound when he pulls away again. “Oh, my poor girl.”

You push him away, not as rough as you feel you should, “No,” you giggle. “No, stop it.”

“C’mere, let me kiss you again,” he laughs. You despise it. Well, you pretend to.

“No. Go play the guitar or whatever it is you do.”

You push him out with your arms, palms flat against his chest. Fingers tangled through his pretty silver chains.

“Whatever it is I do?!”

“Yeah.”

Remus turns when he hears James call his name. “Moony! C’mon!”

Remus pulls his guitar over his shoulder. Baby blue against his grey shirt. “You’re lucky,” he warns.

You push him like you aren’t sad to see him go. It never lasts long. Soon, you’ll be swelling with so much pride you won’t be able to move.

“When I come back, you’re getting it.” Remus finds it hard to pretend to threaten you. It’s worth it when you gasp, hand held to your chest.

“I’m terrified!”

Again, though this time it’s Sirius, “You’ll have all the time in the world to make out with Y/N tonight! Hurry the fuck up.” You watch him disappear behind the wall. The crowd rumbles with excitement.

“You better hurry, Moony,” you tease.

Remus leans forward to smack a kiss to your appled cheeks, turning to run off. He stops before the wall to look back to blow you a kiss. You catch it before he disappears. The crowd’s cheering grows tenfold.

#remus lupin #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x f!reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fan fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #rockstar remus lupin au #marauders au #marauder x reader #the marauders #the marauders fanfic

[chirpsythismorning]

If SAG-AFTRA begins to strike tomorrow, then actors will not be able to:

Film any movie & TV productions

Take part in any press junkets or film premieres

Promote anything at SDCC & will be advised not to attend at all

It is highly likely SAG will strike, though it’s not exactly guaranteed because leadership has been very moderate about where they stand with the studios.

Members are not exactly happy with the way leadership delayed negotiations to stopping on July 12th instead of July 1st, as it’s known that deep divisions remain amongst the studios and the union.

We could be 12 days into a double strike rn, but instead we’re delaying the inevitable. And for what exactly?

Crazy to think Matthew Modine could’ve been president of SAG, but got beat out by Fran Drescher…

Basically, strap in. Either way shits about to get real.

#byler #stranger things #st writers #st writers strike #st sag strike #don’t be mad at the writers/actors for wanting to make a living #blame the studios that are greedy and willing to jeopardize an entire industry for a power trip #the studio want people to turn against the writers and actors #don’t fall for it!

[sin-djarin]

in reality

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!reader

Rating: Explicit. MDNI. This blog and its contents are 18+.

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Dieter comes home for Christmas.

Warnings: Established relationship, masturbation (M), Dieter's self deprecation, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n.

A/N: Written on a phone with c*v*d brain. Please excuse brevity and typos.

in fiction for context.

Delayed. 

Again. 

Dieter’s fingers rake back and forth through the patchy whiskers on his chin as he stares up at the departure board with aching, dry eyes. The terminal is swarming with irritable and restless passengers trying to get home in time for the holidays. The collective tension has completely eradicated any festive cheer that should be filling the air. 

He closed the front door behind him to leave on a two week long press junket and he’s itched to get back home since he turned his key in the lock. All of it has fucked up his sleep pattern. Between waking up at stupid hours of the morning to give interviews for breakfast TV in far away continents and travelling, he doesn’t know if the darkness outside means that it's early or late anymore. 

Dieter ran out of original things to say on day two. “I’m so excited.” he lied to reporters. By day seven he couldn’t fake enthusiasm any longer. And how could he? He was contacted to promote his film that was slated for release in January - the beginning of the Hollywood dump months. 

He glances down at his phone. No one has answered his prayer for a miracle that would breathe life back into it. Its black screen is unresponsive still, leaving him disconnected from the world. And from you. 

As his thumbnail absentmindedly picks at the oily mayonnaise stain on his patterned linen pants, he thinks of your face and the disappointment that he believes will be painted all over it when - if he arrives home.  

All the stores in the airport have closed around him for the night. He can’t even buy you a shitty overpriced magnet or a phone charger. But maybe it’s for the best. He can’t be tempted into reading about his career that has been reduced to inches in the columns of glossy magazines. The ones that can never seem to decide to label him insane or the most charming man in the world. 

A growing anxiety courses through his veins and his leg bounces uncontrollably. The dark sunglasses he wears indoors and the sleeves covering his tattoos have kept him mostly incognito. But he’s all too aware of the covert glances and attempted snapshots by people suddenly feigning interest in the mediocre artwork on the walls behind him. He imagines another clickbait headline if a photo of him in an airport makes the press: Dieter Bravo flies economy.

An announcement reverberates over the tannoy. The tinny voice tells him that the flight is overbooked on top of being delayed. The air steward offers a night at a chain hotel and a giftcard if someone will give up their seat. There’s no way that he’ll surrender his and he instantly dismisses the proposition. He needs to get home. He can’t spend another night by himself. Not for Christmas. He doesn’t want to fuck his fist again. He’s grown to dislike the feeling of it. He hates wishing that it was your tongue or your hand until his thighs quiver and he drives his shoulder blades deeper into the foreign mattress as he comes hot over his stomach and knuckles. 

Hours pass and for the majority of them, he’s been berating himself that he should have charged his phone. That he shouldn’t have left his charger behind in the hotel. If he hadn’t done those things, he’d be able to hear your voice and reassure you that his flight is delayed. And not for the first time. 

As he waits in torment, he toys with an empty KitKat wrapper, trying to distract himself from the fact that the delay is due to part of the plane needing to be repaired. He can't take a picture of it to send to you and tell you that they've started to put peanut butter in them and how it stuck to the roof of his mouth - the same spot where your name usually rests, ready to roll off his tongue. Instead, he runs his tongue over the sugary coating it's left on the enamel of his teeth and imagines the smile on your face at receiving another Dieter Bravo-esque message. 

Finally, he boards the plane, grateful to be off the uncomfortable metal chair that made his lower back burn and into a cushioned aisle seat. The other passengers are as pissed off and exhausted as he is. Their muttering and sighing fill the cramped cabin as they poke at the small screens in front of them. Their fatigued faces contort with indecision as they rifle through the lackluster selection of films and TV shows. He silently hopes they don’t choose to indulge in a celebrity gossip programme - the last thing he needs is another segment of Bravo self-annihilation broadcasted for all to see. 

Most passengers opt for Christmas movies to lift their waning spirits; The Grinch, Deck the Halls, Die Hard. If he makes it home on time, it’ll still be Christmas and maybe you can watch one together. It’ll be a respite from questioning why he’s never taken a role in one soaring 30,000 miles above ground. A small grin plays on his lips for the first time since in nearly 24 hours as he imagines himself as a modern day Hans Gruber, wreaking havoc in a remake. 

The flight itself is turbulent. It causes the complimentary pretzels to churn in his gut. The sickly sweet smell of orange soda the hair hostess spilled in his hair and wooly sweater intensifies his nausea. Dieter has never been the world's best flier and his fingers dig into the spongy armrest as the DIY-ed aircraft rattles again, pleading for it to just get him to you safely. 

Five wretched hours later and he’s inching closer to you. As he waits for his luggage to appear on the belt, he notices the bustling crowd carry out their usual “Will I? Won’t I?” routine as they contemplate approaching him for a selfie. He pushes the sunglasses further up his nose and hopes that he fades into the grumbling sea of people around him. 

After enduring a queue for a cab, he’s closer still. The early morning traffic in the city seems to stretch the journey into eternity. His fingernails have almost rubbed the skin of his jawline raw. The car crawls past billboards advertising all things Christmas; food, gifts, discounts and then it hits him like a punch in the throat. 

Dieter hasn’t gotten you a goddamn thing. Too absorbed in his self pity that he forgot. He didn't even take anything from the hotel that he could pass it off as a gift. He briefly considers asking the cab driver to make a detour to the mall but that would mean waiting for it to open. 

Then his tired eyes settle on a roll of metallic snowflake patterned wrapping paper in the front passenger seat. 

“Hey, buddy. Can I borrow that?” he asks, desperation dripping from his voice. 

The driver laughs at him through the rearview mirror, shaking his head. “You gonna give it back?” 

“I’ll give you a hundred dollars. You can buy fifty of them.” Dieter bargains. 

“It’s all yours.” 

Dieter pulls the roll into the back seat and starts tearing and folding the paper. 

–

You’re woken with a start to the house alarm roaring. The sun has just begun to rise as you run down the hall to the top of the stairs with your heart slamming against your ribcage. 

Your body shuts off your fight or flight response when your eyes land on him at the hall door, surrounded by his luggage and suit bags. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Dieter always has to make a grand entrance. 

Before you fell asleep last night, you checked his flight details and saw that it was delayed. When your last message to him failed to deliver, you figured something happened to his phone. Usually he couldn’t go an hour without sending you an out of context photo of some random object or a dog in a sweater that he passed on the street. 

The peachy morning sky behind him reflects off his bejeweled fingers that frantically bash the buttons to input the alarm code. The passport clenched between his teeth is suffering his frustration.

Eventually he gets it right and the high pitched shrieking of the alarm stops, leaving only your own racing heartbeat and his cursing audible. You tread down a few steps and his head whips around at the movement out of his peripheral. 

The passport drops to his feet when his mouth falls open - like he can’t quite believe he’s made it home. Then he’s sprinting towards you, the rubber soles of his Crocs screech on the tiled marble floor under his feet. He climbs the carpeted stairs, almost on all fours to stop a few steps below you. 

Dieter studies your face, his wide brown eyes search for the scowl he thinks he deserves - for a dead phone battery, endless delays, and a rude awakening. He doesn’t find it. Instead he’s met with relief and a gentle touch as you cup his cheeks. The pads of your thumbs smooth over the wiry mustache hairs that have grown too long over his upper lip. 

Underneath the dark lenses of his glasses, his way of living has been etched onto his face but his eyes are still bright as they gaze back at you. His heavy head falls against your belly while your hands move to his unruly hair and your fingers catch in the sticky strands. A little groan of annoyance escapes him at the tugging but he sighs and melts further into you as your fingers massage his scalp and the heat of his breath warms your stomach in the cool morning air. 

His tension dissipates underneath your fingertips, ridding his mind of any residual thoughts. You could ask him why his curls are clumped together but you don’t. He’ll tell you about it soon. In fact, he’ll act out the whole scene for you. He'll include all its fantastical twists and turns with sleep deprived enthusiasm and you’ll fill your lungs with his words. 

Reluctantly pulling away from you, he rummages through the pockets of his pants. The jingle of his rings hitting off the loose change brings that welcome noise back into your life. 

“Here.” Dieter says nervously, his Adam’s Apple bouncing in his throat as he presents you with a thick, rectangular piece of paper that’s a little torn at the edges. “For your books, you know?” You look down at your handmade bookmark and grin at his efforts, brushing your fingers over the glittery snowflake details. “And so we can pick up where we left off.”  he says hopefully, shooting you that familiar crooked smile.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x gn!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[pippin-katz]

And so it truly begins… the unbridled suffering that accompanies the red carpet and press junket content for Mary & George, thinking about all we could’ve had, all they could’ve had…

Jokes aside, I’m gonna be honest about how I’m feeling, so feel free to move along if you don’t want to hear it.

Let me be clear, I am in no way saying this out of anger towards Nicholas or hate towards the show. These feelings of disappointment and whatnot would have arised regardless of what project either of them did.

I’m not going to lie about it though. As wonderful as it is and as happy as I am to see Nicholas getting this moment, I am undeniably sad.

I’m sad seeing him attend a red carpet when RWRB couldn’t have one, especially considering that Taylor has still not gotten to attend a red carpet for one of his projects.

I’m sad seeing him pose with Julianne and Tony for pictures when there have only been two official pictures taken of him and Taylor together since RWRB’s release.

I’m sad seeing him laughing and talking with Tony for what is undoubtedly the first of many interviews when he only got to do one with Taylor prior to the strike and has not done one since it ended.

I’m sad seeing Nicholas posting pictures and videos from behind the scenes of Mary & George when he hasn’t posted any for RWRB.

I’m sad seeing Nicholas talk about George when I know he cares so much about Henry but missed his chance to talk about him.

I’m sad seeing all this attention on this queer project that’s entirely focused on filthy and outrageous gay sex for power when Nicholas was just in a film that showcased true queer love, with sex and everything beyond physical intimacy.

I am fucking sad.

And I’m allowed to be. I’m allowed to be sad about not getting to fully experience the release of one of my favorite films the way it was meant to. I’m allowed to be sad that we didn’t get any interviews, or press, or anything we were supposed to.

I am so happy for Nicholas and looking forward to seeing this show. I will be posting and reblogging support and positivity, of course. I will try my best to focus on the excitement.

I’m saying this to get it off my chest, and to potentially reassure anyone feeling the same way that it’s okay. We will probably never fully get over these feelings of longing for what we didn’t get. It’s hard loving something so much, waiting for so long, and having it mean so much to you, and knowing that you were robbed of the entire experience by corporate greed. If you’re feeling down about all this, don’t feel guilty. Try to keep focused on the positives, but know you’re not wrong for being upset.

#mary and george #red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb rambles

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to - Chris Evans x Reader

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SOON TO BE SEXIEST SILVER FOX IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE!!! I hope Chris has a fabulous time in London for his birthday, and we brits are very proud to host him on this very special day 🥰

Summary: Chris had loved every moment of the Lightyear press tour right up until today

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Angst! Fluff! Allusion to Smut! Language!

Chris normally hated having a big fuss made over his birthday. He didn’t need a big party or lots of presents. He just enjoyed spending some time with his family, drinking a couple beers and relaxing. Something he’d done on Saturday in his LA home.

But waking up completely alone in a London hotel, with not even dodger around still felt pretty crappy.

He knew it was going to be this way, and he knew it couldn’t be helped. But he still wished the London premier of Lightyear hadn’t fallen on his birthday. A day that if he was back in Boston it wouldn’t matter if his family was busy, and his niece and nephews were at school, because he’d still see everyone in the evening.

What he hated the most though was that you weren’t here, and he only had himself to blame. He was the one who convinced you it was fine, that it didn’t bother him. You had a big meeting with a client today and it would look bad if you moved it for him. So he told you to stay at home and smash your meeting and he’d see you on FaceTime later.

God why was he such a selfless meatball

Reaching over to the bedside table he grabbed his phone. He saw a few text messages from his UK based friends. So far nothing from his family or you but it was 3am back in Boston and midnight in LA so he couldn’t really blame them.

A pang of homesickness hit him as he thought about you, knowing you’d be curled up fast asleep in bed, arm probably outstretched to his side of the bed. So he pulled up the text chain with his manager and asked her to sort the earliest flight back, he didn’t care if he had to fly coach, he just wanted to be back with you.

With a long sigh Chris pushed himself up from bed and started to get ready for a day of press junkets. When he got out of the shower, walking back into his room he saw his phone light up. Grabbing it hoping it was his manager confirming the flights but to his delight it was you.

Y/N: Happy birthday sweetheart, I know you’re probably busy already but have a great day and I’ll talk to you later xxx

Chris: Thank you sweetheart, can’t wait to talk to you later, now get some sleep I know its late in LA and you need to smash that meeting xxx

Y/N: don’t worry I have my stand in snuggle buddy xxx

Chris smiled as you attached a photo of you curled up in bed with Dodger fast asleep lying next to you.

Chris: glad to see it, and only slightly jealous 😂 good luck with your meeting and I’ll talk to you later xxx

Chris continued to get ready for the day, putting on the outfit his stylist had set aside for the press junkets. Letting out another long sigh Chris mentally prepared himself for the day. He’d been enjoying doing press for Lightyear, the LA premier was the first premier he’s actually enjoyed being at in years. He felt like a kid going to the cinema for the first time. But today he was back to dreading it, wishing he was doing something else instead.

The day went by painfully slowly, alternating between zoom interview and in person ones. Every person he met was lovely, wishing him a happy birthday, but he just didn’t want to be there. It didn’t help that the ended up running behind too.

By the time Chris was making his way back to the hotel room he was exhausted. All he wanted was to collapse in bed and call you, talk to you until he fell asleep but he couldn’t. He had to start getting ready for the premier, his call with you still hours away.

He was so tired that when he opened the door to his room, the fact that the lights were on didn’t alarm him. He just didn’t even notice, letting out a long sigh as he dropped the key and his phone down on the small table by the door.

“I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming” he then heard making him jump.

He looked up eyes widening is disbelief as he saw you sat on his bed smirking over at him. He blinked a couple of time taking a few hesitant steps forward trying to work out if this was really happening or if this was jet lag catching up with him.

You smiles at him warmly standing up from the bed and closing the gap. Chris remained completely still as you rested your hands on his chest smiling up at him.

“Yes I’m really here and no this isn’t jet lag” you tell him with a gentle shake of the head “Happy Birthday sweetheart” you smiled cupping his cheek and gently kissing him.

It wasn’t until he felt your lips on his that he actually believed you were here. Snapping back to reality he instantly responded, fingers running through your hair as he cupped the back of your head. His other hand gripping your hips possessively closing any remaining distance between you.

Chris wasn’t expecting to see you like this until tomorrow at the earliest. He’d thought about your reunion all day, what he’d do when he saw you again, to the point he was struggling to hold himself back as he deepened the kiss. Feeling you hum in content as he grabbed your ass.

“As much as I love where this is going” you pant, your voice barely above a whisper as Chris attacked your neck “the team are literally just outside and I don’t think they’ll appreciate us being late to the premier” you finally get out.

Chris lets out a light chuckle, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as he nods “okay, okay” he pants catching his breath “but as soon as the premier is over we are coming straight back here and I’m having my way with you” he smirks pressing another deep kiss to your lips.

“Anything for you birthday boy” you smirk.

Chris smiles down at you shaking his head in disbelief “i still can’t believe you’re here, what happened to your meeting?”

“He called late last night saying he had a family emergency and had to postponed the meeting so I booked the earliest flight I could and here I am” you smile running yours hands over his shoulders.

“But you texted me from bed” Chris pointed out.

“I took that photo hours before I sent it, I was actually boarding the plane when I was texting you” you explain making Chris laugh in disbelief.

“You must be exhausted” Chris sigh, reaching up to push some hair off your forehead.

“I am but it was worth it, now c’mon we have a premier to get to” you smile spurring him into action, your presence giving him more energy than he’s had all day.

The entire time he got ready for the premier he couldn’t help but steal glances at you, as if you could disappear at any moment. It didn’t help that you looked incredible too, your dress perfectly complimenting his outfit. He had to give it to his stylist, because if he didn’t know any better it appeared as if you were meant to be here this entire time.

When you stepped onto the red carpet together Chris had his arm around you as soon as he could. He had no plans to let you leave his side all evening. Chris had gone to bed last night completely dreading today, but it had turned out so much better all thanks to you.

“Thank you so much, you’ve made this the best birthday ever” Chris smiled as soon as you stepped inside the cinema away from the crowds.

“Anything for my space ranger” you smile hand cupping his beard cheek, thumb cascaded through the grey patches you loved so much.

“Fahk I love you” Chris grins, his Bostonian accent slipping out as he leant down to kiss you deeply.

Needless to say as soon as the premier was over and the credits rolled, Chris led you back to the hotel to have his wicked way with you. If anything he was proud of the restraint he showed not to jump you in the car ride back.

-💙💫💙-

Please like follow and reblog!

Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist but follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary and turn on post notifications to stay up to date

#niamhwrites #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #buzz lightyear #lightyear movie

[muddyorbsblr]

don't make the sounds

See my full list of works here!

Summary: During a press junket interview, Tom uses one of the questions addressed to him to his advantage and distracts you from your peculiar mood.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: implied smut/talks of smutty intentions (either way minors & pearl clutchers dni); reader with body image issues [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: slight dom vibes from Tom; hints of the starts of a Daddy kink if you squint

"Heads up, tiny terror, this next interviewer's got the hots for your man," Chris told you as he sat down on the chair next to yours, extending a plate of fries towards you. "You want some?" 

You gratefully took a piece and nibbled at the end of it, earning a look of consternation from your Australian friend. "What else is new?" you grumbled. "Every woman who came through this room today has found some way, shape, or form to disrespect me. Oh you must be the assistant's intern. Oh you must be the publicist's assistant. Oh you must be the coffee runner. Bitch fuck off," you whispered with a hiss.

"They're really playing clueless that you're none other than the girlfriend, huh?" he chuckled, brow still furrowed at the sight of you nibbling at the end of your first fry. "Okay, Y/N what is this?" He motioned at your nibbling. "Who are you and what've you done with my eating buddy?" 

You took a bigger bite off your fry. "Your eating buddy's getting fat. Beginning to look unworthy of being Tom's girlfriend. At least  that's what these hateful bitches think; they've been eyeing my stomach for the last three hours like I'm four months pregnant or something." 

"If you are that's one tiny baby, so he must take after you." You swatted his arm in response. "Honestly, Y/N, this is ridiculous, I've eaten half this plate and you're still on your first piece, at least finish that one off it's way past its life expectancy." You quickly popped the tiny remainder of the fry into your mouth. "Atta girl. Now get another piece." 

"No," you whispered in response. "I just don't wanna give these people any ammunition to report back to their knitting circles going wow what a pig. I'll eat when his interviews are over, I promise." 

"Alright, Tom we could take a quick pause. Have a sip of water, idle chitchat, maybe?" Your hairs stood up on end at the obvious flirtatious tone of the interviewer. God grant me patience because if you grant me strength, you better send over some bail money as well.

"Thanks." You turned your attention back to your boyfriend in the chair. "Y/N, darling?" You perked up your eyes trying to feign composure. "Are you alright?"  he mouthed.

"Fine. I'm fine, sweetie." You kept on nodding your head, as if you were trying to convince even yourself that you were alright, which was more than enough of an indicator to him that you most certainly were not. You felt a sharp pang of guilt as you watched him stand up and walk over to you, framing your face in his hands. 

"Something's wrong, I can see it all over your face. The crease between your brows gives you away, my darling." He then proceeded to press a kiss between your brows, making you let out an exhale, feeling your body relax. 

"Our dear Y/N has concerns about her figure. Something about her looking unworthy of being with you," Chris volunteered the information. "Today hasn't been very kind to her. So please, Tom, tell her she's being ridiculous because she sure as hell won't listen to me." 

"Why are we friends again, Hemsworth?" you groaned. 

"Y/N. Darling, look at me." You opened your eyes, feeling even more guilty as you saw the evident concern on Tom's features. "Is this true?" He took your hands in his and gently tugged you out of your seat and up on your feet before loosely wrapping his arms around your waist. 

"He's--exaggerating, I'm fine, sweetie. Really." You placed your hands on his upper arms, trying to soothe his concern by lightly rubbing your hands up and down his arms, the guilt ratcheting up in you as you felt him remain tense under your touch. 

"Oh, my darling." He pulled you to him, leaning down to place a soft, loving kiss on your lips. "My gorgeous, precious, perfect girl. I could speak volumes about how I'm enraptured by you." He pulled you flush against him and he pressed his lips to your ear. "But most of those words are meant to be whispered against your bare skin as I worship you in the privacy of our bedroom, my love." 

"You two horndogs better remember you've got company," you heard Chris whine from behind you. 

You felt as much as heard Tom's low chuckle against your ear, the reverberations traveling all over your body and causing wave of arousal to pool between your legs. He pressed a kiss by your ear before placing his hand at the back of your head, holding you in place as he slanted his mouth over yours, tongue slipping into your mouth and briefly gliding against yours in a heated kiss cut way too short as he pulled away a few mere moments later.

"To be continued, darling," he murmured against your lips with one final kiss before walking back to his seat, visibly struggling to neutralize the satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

You slowly sank yourself back down on your seat, fully aware of your boyfriend's heated eyes on you as you did so. As the interviewer returned to her seat three feet away from him, your heart picked up as he visibly mouthed the words "I love you" your way, the expression on his face softening as his words made you smile.

"I love you," you mouthed back before he received a cue from the cameraman that they were going to roll once again in a few seconds.

The interviewer proceeded to ask him about his love for Shakespeare and tennis, making you exchange a look with the Australian to your  right. "They should know better at this point than to ask him about Shakespeare or they'll be here all day," he quipped.

"Maybe that's what she wants," you shot back in a hushed tone. "I mean he could probably give the world's lengthiest dissertation on how much he loves Shakespeare." Chris chuckled at your joke.

"Hmmm…second longest. Surpassed only by a dissertation on how in love he is with you." 

"Pfft. Please. He could probably give a…bachelor's degree thesis presentation on that topic. You'd be insane to think that the likes of me could beat out Billy Shakes." 

"After all this time and you still don't know the magnitude of that man's devotion to you, huh." You shrugged at his comment. "Maybe one day you finally will." 

The interview moved on to how much Tom loved tennis and he made little clicking sounds with his tongue that sounded more like ping pong than tennis, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. As you sipped away at your water the interviewer started doing her impression of "tennis sounds" which sounded more like they belonged in an adult film set.

You shared another look with Chris as if going "Is this chick for real?" Then he proceeded to roll his eyes back and make an exaggerated orgasm face that made you take a few deep breaths before even attempting to swallow your water at the risk of it going up your nose. "Don't do that!" you whispered, swatting his arm as you took another swig of water.

Big mistake. Because the next thing you knew, your boyfriend went full tennis nerd and decided to demonstrate what actual effort sounds were like on the court, full on grunting with his muscles tensed. And the sound jolted you so bad that you  choked on your water mid-swig. You put your hand up to your mouth, staring at your friend with wide eyes as he held back his chuckles at the sight of you struggling. 

Once Tom's interview wrapped up, he walked over to you with a playful smirk in his face. "Are you alright, darling?" He placed himself behind you and proceeded to rub your shoulders, searching for knots of tension he already knew would be there. 

"Never make those sounds in an interview again, God dammit the internet's gonna lose their collective minds over--" Your words were cut short by his fingers weaving through your hair and pulling your head backwards with a gentle but firm tug and his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. 

"The only mind I'm concerned with is yours," he said softly in a mumble with his lips still pressed to yours. "If I can't put your mind at ease from the thoughts plaguing you at the moment, then I will find a way to distract you from them." He pressed another quick kiss to your lips before releasing his hold on you, letting you sit back upright in your chair as the next interviewer walked in, and you breathed a sigh of relief that it was Josh from MTV.

"Tom, great to see you again, buddy. And you must be Y/N." He extended his hand towards you to shake.

"Hi, yeah. That's me, I'm Tom's--"

"Girlfriend. Anyone who says they don't know is lying to themself," he said with a chuckle. He looked to your right and waved at Chris. "Hey, Chris. What're you doing here?" 

"Trying to get my eating buddy to eat more than a singular french fry," he answered while poking at your arm with the nearly empty plate.

At Chris's words, your boyfriend walked over to face you, taking your hands in his once again and tugging you gently to your feet. "I'd really have to recommend you eat something, darling." He stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms loosely around you and cradling your head in his hand as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. "I fully intend to fuck every single one of those dark thoughts plaguing you out of your head, and I surmise that may take us well into the morning. You need your strength, because I won't have you passing out on me." He placed a tender kiss on your cheek, a stark contrast to the intent behind his words, before backing away from you and walking back toward the chair.

"You doing okay there, Y/N? You look a little frozen," Josh chuckled from his chair. "Tom what did you do to your girlfriend?" 

His words shook you out of your stupor. "He was just--confirming our plans for tonight. Sorry about that, I just got a little dazed. It happens." You turned toward your friend, holding the now clean plate that once held a small hill of fries. "You wanna get something real to eat?" 

"Fucking finally!" He stood up from his seat. "I don't know what you said to her, Tom, and I don't want to know, but thank you for bringing my eating buddy back to life." 

"The PG version is she better go out and eat something or I'll sit her on my thigh and feed her myself." You choked on nothing but air at his words, watching as an amused scandalized look was painted on Josh's face. 

"I'm going I'm going," you croaked out, tugging on Chris's sleeve as you walked out of the room. 

"I'll see you in a few hours, darling. I love you," Tom called out from his seat as you stepped through the door.

"Love you!" you called from the door, and upon closing it you found the next interviewer already queued up outside, Chris sizing her up discreetly from a few feet away. She gave you a glaring once over, but you decided that at least for the day, you were done with their pettiness, and opted to simply walk past her.

Your friend, however, had other plans, deciding to address you with a booming voice. "You know, Y/N, for a second I thought you were going to say 'Yes, Daddy'," he said with a slightly obnoxious stage laugh.

"For a second there, I almost did." 

A/N: I finally made something out of the tennis sounds gifset haha!

Taglist:

Everything: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston smut #muddyorbs writes

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Anything with odduck!reader? :)

"How does my diagnosis have anything to do with my book?"

"People want to know-"

"And they can ask me individually and I'll be happy to answer. While I'm not doing a press junket."

The interviewer- a woman in her mid 40's working on a puff piece for the morning news blinked. Not sure how to proceed. The look you were giving her was perfectly bland, mild mannered. Not a hint of irritation.

"Your relationship with Bruce Wayne-"

"Has nothing to do with my book- which coincidentally is on sale starting next week." You look at the reporter, waiting. You hadn't missed the social cue. It was just stupid.

Bruce didn't write the book. You did. You fucking Doctors also didn't write the book. You did. And you failed to see how any of your personal details were more interesting than Joan of Arc. Your poor Joan- Maligned and then venerated but it seemed like no one ever told the story right.

You sipped your coffee, waiting for her to recover but. Thankfully It was time to cut to commercial. And you were free. Finally.

It made your miss Gary. The flamboyant little man who usually did your interviews for this station. He'd have come WITH an advance copy of the book and ready to talk. What this woman was doing you couldn't begin to say... Lois could teach her a thing or two.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #odd duck!reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert

[violetthekiller]

anyways. moving from all that what’s next? 😋

press junkets begin today and let’s see if we can get the first tally on the chart!

#ask

[sassyfrassboss]

Different anon here,

Sarah Rafferty was happily married at the time. Rumours at the time said that Meghan was the one who had an affair with Gabriel Macht. His wife for wind, and actually joined the cast (lol!). This was very early days of suits. Gabriel was totally whipped and cuckolded by the wife because she went on to always be suspicious of him.

Meanwhile, Meghan "bonded" with Patrick whatshisname, and his longtime girlfriend who was an LA nepo baby. And she became bff's with Rick Hoffman by the time season 3 was being filmed. It was around this time Abigail Spencer joined the cast of suits and she and Meghan became 'birthday sisters'.

I don't know why Meghan kept her around, my guess is because nearly all of Meghan's other new friends friends were on the totem pole - Jessica, Sophie Trudeau, Rick etc, and abigat was the one she could Lord over. But there was some previous LA connection as well.

I never heard Rick Hoffman rumours (and honestly idk why I thought at the time that he was like her gay best friend). But mainly it was Gabriel, who she flirted endless with in the beginning.

With Patrick the vibe was odd, she flirted with him but he had his own attitude and entitlement, so he definitely thought he was better than all the rest of the cast. She did get terribly jealous of him when they started doing press junkets together because she was rarely given any opportunity to talk.

She was close to Sarah till the time her divorce came through. It was her she would go crying to playing a victim. Essentially, ninaki's substitute. Then dropped her soon after, once she started having an affair with the hockey dudes.

By the later seasons Gabriel had been truly from the cast by his wife. Their relationship was beyond odd. Patrick was with his girlfriend, and wanted to keep her happy so they could get to the marriage stage. So Meghan's friends were Rick Hoffman (platonic work best friend) and Abigail (but not as close as they claim to be now). It was Jessica she was all over.

It really did seem like after a season or two Meghan was hanging out with Jessica and others rather than her co-stars.

I think this goes back to her not wanting to share the spotlight with anyone.

[hippiegoth97]

Roam (Pt. 2)

Hey, everyone! I just wanted to post my Valentine's story on here to celebrate the holiday. This is technically the second part of a two-part story, but it's readable as a standalone. Enjoy! <3

Description: Eddie and his band finish their first world tour, leaving three whole months for you two to spend some quality time together. And what better way to kick off your intimate time, than with an absolutely amazing Valentine's Day?

Warnings: swearing, smut, female reader, mentions of drug use, alcohol use, anxiety, mentions of sexism and classism, mentions of sexual harassment, groping, use of a video camera, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise/light degradation, rough sex, squirting, dirty talk, consecutive orgasms, overstimulation

Roam Pt. 2

"Alright, we're gonna play our last song of the night. It's a special one I wrote for my wife. It's called "Fool for You"." Eddie says into the mic, met with cheers and whoops from the packed stadium. You watch from backstage, smiling as his eyes flick to you. "Y/N, this one's for you. I love you more than life itself, baby." He smirks in your direction, before strumming the first note to begin the song.

You've had your eyes glued to Eddie all night. You wait in the wings as he rocks hard on the guitar, delivering some of the greatest vocals in the industry, strutting around the stage with confidence and flair. He's such a showman at heart, always has been, and always will be. Even in the early days of Corroded Coffin, Eddie has given it his all with every performance. It's that commitment and passion that has gotten him and his band where they are today. And you admire the fuck out of him for it.

His tight leather pants and sweat-soaked muscle tee accentuate his perfect body as he sings, leaving very little to the imagination. You occasionally peek at the audience, finding many young women screaming and in tears over your sexy husband. You just smile at the thought, these chicks really think they have a single chance in hell with him. And sure, he gets real up close at times, putting his arms into the crowd to let them touch him. But it's all part of the act, and he doesn't have any interest in them whatsoever. He goes home with you, makes love to you, spends his every free moment with you.

Tonight is the final stop on the band's world tour. And you can't say you haven't been anticipating the end, so you can spend some quality time with your love. You've been on the road and on flight after flight for over a year now. It's been long, and grueling, and Eddie's exhausted, though he never shows it. But after tonight, you get three whole months to relax and recuperate before the band begins recording their third album.

He's been working tirelessly on the songs every night, scrawling notes, chords, and lyrics on napkins or scraps of paper when he can't locate his notebook. He's made sure that once the curtains are drawn, and the stage lights go out, there will be no interruptions of your special time together. Eddie has promised to give you every ounce of his undivided attention, and to shower you with expensive dinners, and spa treatments, and drug-fueled fucking. But, as amazing as all of that sounds, all you truly want is him.

Between press junkets, industry parties, and magazine shoots, Eddie's been remarkably busy. You get to come along for most of it, but he's unfortunately preoccupied with networking and dealing with shallow assholes to a point where you feel a little left out. Well, that is until said shallow assholes try to make a move on you. You don't entertain them for a single millisecond, but it's annoying to have creepy label execs and talent agents playing grabass at various mansions belonging to the likes of Ozzy Osbourne and Axl Rose. Eddie typically notices it happening, and nips that shit in the bud. But there have been a couple times where you had to sock one of the elderly bigwigs in the nose for trying to slip a hand under your dress.

Despite the obvious negatives of this lifestyle, you love watching Eddie and the others perform their hearts out night after night. This journey the five of you have embarked on has been mind-blowing. You've been able to see the whole world, and meet tons of amazing people. This whole experience, even from your second-hand point of view, is something to be cherished forever.

You notice the band is nearing the end of the song, and you watch as a couple tears squeeze their way from Eddie's eyes, smudging his thick eyeliner down his cheeks. Other than you, his true love is the stage. Performing means so damn much to him, and to know that it's over for now isn't easy. There will no doubt be another tour within a couple years time, along with award show performances and music festival sets. He loves sharing his music, his message, with the world. To have a connection like that with thousands of people is something he holds dear. He never thought he would get this far, and he is thankful for every last second of it.

A moment later, Eddie slams out the last few chords like his life depends on it. You can tell he's channeling his intense emotions into his guitar, trying to keep himself together. When he hits the final note, he falls to his knees as the sound splits the air. The crowd erupts with applause and cheers, and Eddie stays on the floor for a second with his chest heaving. He slowly stands, turning to look back at his bandmates. He beckons them to the front of the stage, and they leave their instruments to join him in a small line before his mic stand. He huffs a couple more breaths, throwing his arms over Gareth and Jeff's shoulders.

"I just wanna take a second to thank you all for bein' here tonight. This tour has been the shit dreams are made of, and we wouldn't be here without you, the fans. We can't wait to do this all again, whenever the fuck that'll be." He chuckles, still breathing hard. The others laugh with him, smiling wide as the high of performing rushes through their veins. "But until then, we've been Corroded Coffin. We love you, and goodnight, Amsterdam!" Eddie ends with a shout, hyping up the crowd again. Him and the others wave goodbye to the fans, and walk off the stage for the final time tonight. Eddie runs to you immediately, scooping you up into his glistening arms.

You shriek in surprise at his sudden actions, wrapping your arms around him to hang on. "You were amazing as always, baby. I'm so proud of you, my sexy rockstar." You smile, planting a messy kiss on his lips. His sweat transfers onto you, but you don't care. You notice his chest shuddering and hot tears meeting your flesh as you kiss. You pull away, having him set you back down. "Oh, baby. I know, c'mere." You pull him into your embrace, and he squeezes you hard as he lets out a few sobs. "I know, love. But there'll be more shows in the future, and you killed it every time." You comfort him, allowing him to feel everything that's been brewing inside him today. Ever since this morning, he's been on the verge of tears at the thought of the tour ending.

"Doin' alright, Munson?" Alex asks as the three guys approach you.

"He's taking it a little hard. He'll be okay." You reply, stroking Eddie's damp hair with your hand to calm him down.

"We kicked ass, man." Jeff says, and he and the others huddle around you in a group hug. Harmonizing sniffles can be heard in this bundle of bodies, and stray tears fall from everyone's eyes, it's a very heartfelt moment.

"Damn straight! And tonight was definitely our best so far." Gareth chimes in, slightly muffled in your huddle.

Eddie sniffs harshly, wiping his eyes as he pulls away from you all. "Ugh, sorry, guys. Shit got to me more than I thought it would!" He lets out a weak laugh, exhaling shakily to keep himself from breaking down again.

"Don't sweat it, man. It's been a crazy night. And I dunno 'bout you guys, but I'm ready to take a loooong siesta for three months." Jeff says with a tired grin, the adrenaline of performing quickly wearing off as you listen to the crowd file their way out of the stadium.

"I second that, we'd better get to the airport. It's a long flight back home." You reply, taking Eddie's hand. The others nod in agreement as you walk together. You gather your coats and bags from the dressing room, and say goodbye to the crew members. Your limo is waiting outside in the snowy night, with perfectly set heat and plenty of booze to warm you up. The air nips your nose, making you shiver in your fur coat. Eddie puts his arm around you as you walk through the private parking lot. You all slide into your respective seats, and you lay your head on Eddie's shoulder. He keeps you close, needing to lean on you to avoid more tears.

The driver pulls away once you're all situated, knowing exactly where to go to set you on your eleven-hour flight back to Los Angeles. "I just can't believe it's over, Y/N." Eddie says quietly, not wanting to disturb the others as they've already passed out from exhaustion.

"I can't either. It's been a crazy year and some change. But I look forward to us having some alone time for once." You giggle, thinking of all the things you're gonna do with him once you get home.

"I know it hasn't been easy for you to follow me on the road, sweetheart. But you have no idea how much I appreciate it. I don't think I could've made it through all of this if you'd stayed in LA." Eddie replies, turning your body to put your legs across his lap.

"I'm really glad I tagged along, Eds. We've seen the whole goddamn world! How many people get to say that? And I had to be here, I always cheer you on, baby. I'm your good luck charm." You say sweetly, laying your head on his chest as he holds you close. You resist the urge to fall asleep in his lap, knowing you'll have plenty of time to rest on the jet.

"That you are, darling." He presses a kiss to your hair, inhaling the scent of your expensive shampoo. He sighs at the sweet, floral notes wafting off the strands. It's become a comforting smell for him. "I love you, Y/N. So much." He whispers, choking back another batch of tears.

"I love you too, Eddie. I can't wait to be back home with you, in our bed, away from all the cameras and fangirls." You nuzzle against him, counting down the minutes until you can turn the world off for a while.

"Oh? But I thought that was your favorite part." He says sarcastically, drawing muted laughs from both of you.

"You're lucky I'm too tired to rant about how 'difficult it is being in the public eye'." Your tone is anything but serious, ending in a contented sigh as your eyes flutter closed.

"You fallin' asleep, love?" Eddie asks, concerned that this life is too much for you at times. You never complain, but he can tell the constant attention he and the guys receive makes you feel a bit forgotten about at times. He tries to remind you how much of a priority you are, buying you flowers at every tour stop, having at least one meal a week with just the two of you, fucking you silly whenever possible. But these things can only do so much, because at the end of the day, you aren't in the band.

You may tag along to events and meetings, but you're seen by others as Eddie's arm candy at best. You're sat in a corner with the other 'groupies', stuck having less-than-engaging conversations about how big your mansion is and what designers you wear, while the big boys do the 'real talking'. Said groupies don't ask you anything substantial, either. None of them even know you're on your way to publishing your first novel, which Eddie is immensely proud of. Not to mention all the assholes at said meetings and events, who think everyone's significant other is up for grabs at the right price. His stomach turns at the thought of how many sleazy people have offered him record deals, money, cars, drugs, among other things, for a 'night with your hot wife'. He shudders to think how many of his 'heroes' may have done such a thing to their own partners, in exchange for advancement in their careers.

"A little. I'm trying to wait 'til we get on the plane, though. Much as I love you, you don't make a very good pillow." You sigh, shifting uncomfortably in your spot. You're itching for a plush California king mattress, wanting to feel cool, satin sheets beneath your skin.

"Just a little bit longer, dollface. Then we can pass out in our seatbelts and wake up back in LA." He says soothingly, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You hum at the simple touch, letting your mind wander away from this conversation. You list off all the things you wanna do with Eddie inside your head:

1. Go to In-N-Out, I've been missing their chocolate shake and animal-style fries like no other.

2. Fuck, and fuck, and fuck.

3. Cuddle in bed and watch cartoons all day.

4. A long, hot bath with all the trappings. Candles, chocolates, fancy soaps, wine, and some heavy metal love songs on the stereo.

5. More fucking, obviously.

6. Cook a nice meal for Eddie, my famous lasagna.

7. Even more fucking, thank God for birth control.

By the time you finish your internalized list, the limo has pulled up to the runway where your jumbo jet awaits you. The lights outside are blinding when the door is opened for you to step out, waking the guys up from their nap. "Aw, fuck!" Gareth yelps, shielding his eyes.

"My apologies, sir. We have arrived at the airport." The driver says in a thick Scandinavian accent.

"No sweat, man. You're just doin' your job." Gareth replies, rubbing the sleep from his face. All five of you step out into the cold once more, quickly making your way up the steps into the airplane. The door is shut shortly after your bags are loaded in, closing you off from the outside world. The guys strap into their reclining seats, and Eddie pulls you along to your private bedroom for the final time for the next three months. You both plop onto the bed, melting into the soft mattress.

"Fuck, this bed has never felt so good." You groan, clumsily kicking off your shoes and removing your coat. You slide up the bed, getting into your safety belt. Eddie follows behind, clicking the metal buckle together for himself. You both lie down, pulling up the covers. "You ready, Eds? I know take-off is still a bit rough for you." You take hold of his hand, brushing your thumb across his knuckles.

"Baby, this plane could fuckin' explode at this point. I'm too tired to give a shit, I just wanna go home." He says, slightly whiny while his eyelids begin to weigh a thousand pounds. He's gotten a helluva lot better with his fear of flying. He barely even flinches anymore at every little bump or dip the aircraft makes during your journey.

"I feel that." You giggle, realizing you forgot to turn off the bedroom light. You groan aloud at the thought of getting up again. Eddie's about to ask what's wrong, when you force yourself upright and hop off the mattress to flick the switch. You return to your husband a second later, happily clicking yourself back in place.

"Thank you, I was thinking of doing that. But I honestly cannot get up." Eddie chuckles, pulling you over to spoon you through your seatbelts.

"No problem, babe. I don't think I can get up again until we land." You bring one of his hands to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. Before you can say anything else, you hear Eddie's light snoring just behind you. He's out like a light, and you're barely hanging on to the waking world yourself. The plane is beginning to take off, and you knock out the second the wheels leave the ground. You don't wake up for about six hours, until the plane hits some minor turbulence. Your stomach drops when you feel the slight fall, but you settle back down after checking your surroundings to ensure everything is fine.

"Baby, we've landed." Eddie coos, gently shaking you awake once you've reached your final destination. It's still technically the middle of the night in LA due to the large time difference between here and Amsterdam. You really don't want to get up, needing at least another half a day to just pass the hell out. You whine at Eddie's words, rolling over in bed while bringing the blanket up to hide your head. "Sweetheart, we gotta go." He says, opting to scoop you out of your nest and carry you. He pulls away the blanket, undoing your seatbelt so he can pick you up.

"Ugh, Eds. I don't wanna move, I'm so fuckin' tired." You grumble, putting your arms around his shoulders all the while. He doesn't bother to pick up your shoes or fur coat, you won't really need them for a couple months. Someone will come by to pick up any belongings left behind and send them to your respective homes anyway.

"I know, darling. That's why I'm carrying you. You're a stubborn sleeper." He chuckles quietly, walking the both of you out to the main cabin in bare feet. The guys are waiting by the door, looking more exhausted and jet-lagged than they have all year.

"You're gonna go home like that?" Alex asks, quirking an eyebrow in your direction.

"Yeah, man. They'll send our shit over anyway, and Y/N needs her big, strong man to get her home safe." Eddie smirks, looking down at you nuzzling into him. You let out a sleepy noise or two, high in pitch and oddly cat-like. Oh, princess. You're melting my heart here, he thinks to himself.

"Whatever you say, dude." Alex laughs, finding your affectionate display rather adorable.

Eddie carries you down the stairs of the plane. The warm California air hits your skin as you disembark. You get into another limousine, and the guys are dropped off one by one at their individual homes. It's just you two now, making the long trip all the way to Beverly Hills. Being married to the frontman of the hottest metal band in the business certainly has its perks. The limo drives through the tall gate after it opens, trailing down the winding driveway until you reach the front entrance of your massive house.

The house, well, mansion, is truly something to behold. It's smaller than most in the area, but far be it from you to complain about a slight difference in square-footage. Especially when you live in one of the most well-known and coveted neighborhoods in the world. There's ten bedrooms and eight bathrooms, most of which are attached to said bedrooms. Marble flooring and countertops, state-of-the-art fixtures and appliances, an olympic-sized pool, and a full staff of maids, cooks, drivers, landscapers, etc. are just a few of the perks that Eddie's megastardom affords you. You take none of it for granted, but you're certainly comfortable. You've told Eddie before that you feel weird having people wait on you hand and foot all day, but he insists that you deserve to be spoiled.

That being said, you both make sure the staff are treated well and paid more than enough due to the size of the place. You know all of their names, and give them as much time off as you possibly can. You try your best to get to know them somewhat personally. You hate the idea of faceless servants running about the place, all while avoiding eye-contact or casual conversation. You find the concept of that creepy and demeaning. "We're home, Y/N." Eddie whispers, trying to see if you're awake.

"Okay. Can you carry me to bed, baby?" You ask, snuggling further into his warm body.

"No need to ask, sweetheart. I've got ya." He presses a kiss to your head. You hold on tight as Eddie carries you through the threshold of your not-so-humble home. He treks up the stairs and into the master bedroom, laying you to rest for as long as you want once he helps you remove your clothes. He climbs into bed after you, keeping you warm and safe in his arms. He gives you a few more kisses, this time to the back of your neck. You only half-feel them as you're pretty much asleep again. "Sleep well, princess. I love you." His words fall on deaf ears, your breath entering and leaving your chest at a slow, steady pace.

You don't wake up again until around 9am, having slept for at least twenty hours. A sliver of light peeks through your dark curtains, shining directly into your eyes. "Fuck." You mutter, turning over to look at the clock. You can't believe you managed to sleep for so long, and that you feel pretty well-rested on top of that. You sit up in bed, rubbing your eyes. Eddie's still sleeping soundly beside you. His face is buried in the pillows, and his limbs are splayed about clumsily. You notice a rolling cart sitting beside the bed, it must have been brought in by one of the cooks. You take a look at the contents, all of which make your mouth water beyond belief. There's muffins and scones, fresh-squeezed orange juice in a large pitcher, a chilled bottle of champagne, and two perfectly warm burgers, wrapped up in a paper you'd recognize anywhere. "In-N-Out, hell yeah." You smile, mixing yourself a boozy mimosa and taking one of the burgers to eat in bed.

"Mornin', my love." Eddie says from behind you, almost making you drop your glass.

"Jesus, Eddie! Don't scare me like that!" You shout, looking back to see him sitting up in bed. He's leaning back on his hands, his bare chest flexing as he breathes. A sleepy smile sits on his face, and his thick locks are an absolutely frizzy mess.

"Sorry, doll. Didn't mean to startle you. That smells good, though. You wanna pour me a drink and bring that other burger over here? I'm starving." He speaks sweetly, his stomach making hungry gurgles.

"Sure thing, hot stuff. How'd you sleep?" You set your glass down, picking up the empty one to make Eddie a drink.

"I slept alright, had some weird-ass dreams. But that always happens when I'm jet-lagged. Oh, happy Valentine's Day, by the way." He says with a laugh, knowing you've forgotten what day it is.

"Oh my god, is that today?" You ask, smacking your head at your forgetfulness.

"Did you really forget?" Eddie scoffs, his mouth falling open in exaggerated disbelief.

"No.....yes." You cringe. "I mean, I got you a present, but I can't believe I forgot about today. God, I'm a terrible wife." You groan, bringing the food over to the bed. You hand Eddie his glass and sandwich, plopping down beside him with your head hanging low.

"Don't worry about it, baby. I've got something planned that we'll both enjoy." He smirks, his tongue playing at the edge of his mouth.

"Oh? And what would that be?" You ask, dying to know what he's got planned.

"Oh...you'll see. I've got the whole day mapped out. Speaking of, we have a couples massage in..." He glances at the clock to check the time. "About an hour. So, we'd better eat up and grab a quick shower." He unwraps his burger to take a massive bite. He groans at the taste, his eyes rolling into his head for a moment. "Damn, I've missed these." He chuckles with his mouth full.

"Me too. Gina knows us well." You reply, taking a long gulp of your mimosa. You both continue eating, the messily strewn about blankets barely covering your bodies dressed in only panties and boxers. Eddie glances at your tits occasionally, but not in an ogling way. It's more so in admiration of your stunning beauty. You've been together for a very long time, and yet you both still feel that giddy honeymoon-phase sentiment towards one another. You've had your fair share of spats, but it's never anything you can't solve with a compassionate talk and some make-up sex.

You finish up your breakfast, enthusiastically hopping out of bed together to head into the shower. Eddie starts the running water, and you remove your lace panties. His breath hitches at the sight of your nude body, and you walk over to him nice and slow. Your hands meet his chest, and you roughly push him up against the bathroom wall. The cool tiles meet his skin, making him shiver. "Hey there, angel. Is there something you want?" He asks with a grin. You can already feel his erection poking against you, and you reach down to palm him through his boxers.

"I think you know exactly what I want, Eds." You say lowly, smirking at the groan he lets out as you squeeze him. You pull on the waistband of his underwear, yanking the fabric down his legs. His cock stands at attention, a small bead of precum forming on the tip. He kicks the garment away, bringing his hands down to grab your ass. You moan at his actions, pumping him in your hollowed fist.

"Can't wait for tonight, huh?" Eddie chuckles, though he realizes he'd be lying if he said he wanted to hold off himself.

"No, I can't. I need you, Eddie. We've barely fucked all week, and it's been so hard to keep my hands to myself." You bring your lips to his, hungrily shoving your tongue into his mouth. You continue to stroke his dick, winding him up. He moans down your throat, bringing a hand around to your front. He slips between your legs and feels how wet you are for him. Your arousal spreads on his fingers, which plunge into your pussy a moment after. "Fuck, baby. Let's not waste water, I think we're in a drought again." You say through a whimper, leading him backwards into the shower. The hot water soaks your bodies, and Eddie pulls away from you. He turns you around, pressing a hand on your back to have you bend over. You place your palms against the wall, waiting for him to push into you.

"We'll have to make this quick, sweetheart. The masseuses will be here soon." Eddie says, before shoving his length inside you. His thick inches fill you up perfectly, kissing your cervix. "Shit, so fuckin' wet for me." Eddie groans, taking a firm hold of your hips. He pulls almost all the way out, and then slams back in.

"Oh, god." You moan out as he brushes your g spot just right. "More, Eds. Please." You can't help begging, it feels like forever since the last time you had sex. Although, in reality it was only three days ago.

"You got it, angel." He breathes out, holding your hips even tighter. Eddie pulls back again, and begins fucking you at a rough yet steady pace. His dick thrusts into you swiftly and repeatedly, pushing you towards a rapidly building orgasm.

"Feels so good, baby." You praise, savoring every time his tip rubs against your sweet spot. His hand leaves your waist, smacking your ass. "Fuck." You groan at the pleasurable sting, wanting him to do it again. He anticipates your desires, switching hands to hit the other side. "God, I love it when you do that."

"And I love how much you moan for me, darling. Turn around." Eddie says, pulling out of you. You do as he asks, your back against the wall. He lifts your legs up, holding tight onto your thighs. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and he rams his cock up into your pussy.

"Fuck, Eddie! Just like that!" You cry out, your mouth hanging open to release vulgar moans and curses. Your breasts bounce as he keeps it up, his eyes glued to them through the steam filling the room.

"Your tits look so good when I fuck you, baby." Eddie groans, lowering his head to plant messy kisses on your chest. It's hard to manage, given the speed of him thrusting into you, and the water making your bodies all slippery along with your sweat. He closes his mouth around your nipple, worrying the pebbled flesh with his teeth. You whimper at the sensation, finding your end is quickly approaching.

"I'm getting close, love. Go faster, harder. You fill me up so well." You egg him on, needing him to send you over the edge. You tug roughly on his soaked hair, drawing a low groan from him. He's still nibbling on your tit, increasing his pace. His dick slips against the special spot inside you over and over. You're so close, you almost can't stand it. "Make me cum, Eddie. I need it so bad." You whine loudly, your walls fluttering around him.

"I know, princess. I'm close too, just hold on for me." He murmurs, trying to readjust as his hands are losing their grip. But his foot slips on the floor of the shower, making you both tumble down onto the tiles. You grunt at the impact, still connected like puzzle pieces. Eddie lands on his ass, and you on your knees. His dick hits deeper inside you than before, making you gasp. The landing was softer than you expected, leaving you straddling his lap. You don't want to stop, and it seems neither of you are hurt. So you proceed to ride him, bouncing like your life depends on it. "Keep going, baby. You're such a good girl for me." Eddie encourages you with a grin, his hands on your waist to lead you. Your chests rub against one another, stimulating your nipples. You both can't stop moaning, the sounds echoing in the room. Your breath fans hot and heavy in one another's faces from your proximity.

You lean forward slightly, wanting to speak into Eddie's ear. He loves when you talk dirty to him this way, it's almost guaranteed to make him lose his cool entirely. "Rub my clit, Eds. I'm so close. You want me to soak your cock? I'll be such a good girl for you." You say seductively, grinning at the filthy noise that leaves his lips in response. He obliges your request, bringing a hand between your legs to swirl circles on your bundle of nerves. "Oh, god." Your eyes squeeze shut, just seconds away from reaching your high. "I wanna make you lose control, baby. I wanna feel you fill me up with your cum, it's so warm. I love the way it mixes with mine, we taste delicious together." You bite his earlobe, feeling the knot within you finally snap. "Fuck!"

"Good girl." Eddie feels your cunt clamp down on him as you continue to bounce through your orgasm. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, and the sounds escaping your lips are all he needs to join you in utter bliss. "Shit, I'm cumming, angel." He grunts, his hips jerking upwards while his stomach tenses. His load spills into you, thick white spurts coating your pussy. Your heads rest on one another's shoulders, effectively collapsing as you try to catch your breath. Your hearts pound in sync, thumping rapidly against your ribs. "I love you, Y/N." Eddie pants out, turning his head to press a kiss to your shoulder.

"I love you too, Eds. That was amazing." You reply before lifting yourself up off his softened length. You wobble slightly when you stand up, leaning back against the wall. Eddie gets up after you, already reaching for the shampoo. The rest of your shower is quite rushed, and you barely manage to dry off and get into your robes before you hear knocking on your bedroom door.

"Come in." Eddie says, and in walks two women carrying folding massage tables. They're dressed almost like nurses, all white tops and pants that resemble scrubs. The business name of 'Majestic Massage' sits in elegant script on the breast of their uniforms, embroidered in navy blue thread. Their hair is held in tight, slicked-back buns, and they smile brightly at you as they set up. You and Eddie sit together in an armchair while you wait. You make light conversation with the ladies, which they seem to appreciate. You don't imagine many of their clients bother to do the same.

The women, whose names you find out are Alice and Fiona, unfold the tables, and set out various scented lotions and massage oils on a rolling cart you had brought in. When you notice they're just about ready, you get out of Eddie's lap to go over to the stereo. You put on some music, Metallica, no less. "That's a new one." Alice says with a giggle.

"Oh, is it too weird? I can put on something else-" You offer, realizing it might interrupt their 'flow' or something.

"No no, it's alright. You two are just...different. In a good way." Fiona assures you with a kind glance.

"Thanks. We highly appreciate you two being here on our special day." You reply, feeling a bit awkward when you think about the dynamic of this situation. These women might have boyfriends or husbands of their own waiting to spend the day with them. And here they are servicing you and Eddie instead. Alice picks up on your sad thoughts, finding the sentiment very sweet. She's never had a client care even a little bit about her personal life.

"Please, don't feel bad. Your husband is paying us good money, Miss. This is our job, and we enjoy it." She insists, beckoning you and Eddie to take your places on the tables.

"Heart of gold, this one. I'm the luckiest man in the world, aren't I, ladies?" Eddie chuckles, walking ahead of you, smacking your butt on the way.

"Yes, sir." Fiona replies, slipping back into detached professionalism. You hold back the intense cringe that washes over you. You know there's nothing actually wrong here. You're being perfectly polite, and these women were hired to take care of you. But you'll never get used to this, much as you'd like to. You can't help but see the person behind the uniform in situations like this, and it makes you stick out like a sore thumb. "Please, Miss. Come, let us help you relax." She speaks again, drawing you out of your own mind.

"Right. Sorry." You say shortly, taking your place on the table. You lie face down in the donut-shaped headrest, taking off your robe. The masseuse lays a towel over your ass, covering your most sensitive parts. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to enjoy your romantic day with Eddie.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, turning his head in the hole to look at you.

You meet his gaze, awkward as it is to achieve. "Yeah, I'm fine." You say, though you're not sure even you believe that bullshit.

"Honey, you've gotta get used to this sometime. Look, I get that having maids and stylists and other people like that waiting on you makes you feel bad. But it shouldn't, you know why?" He questions.

"Why?" You ask, already knowing what he's going to say.

"Because it's not that big a deal. They're paid well, at least by us. We aren't mean to them, or turning our noses up at them, right? We're already better than, like, ninety percent of the other people they work for. They make our lives easier, that's all. We aren't taking advantage, or treating them like slaves. Okay?" He explains calmly, as he has multiple times already.

"I know. I think that's what it is, though. The fact that almost everyone else treats them poorly, and I don't want to be part of that. I get that I'm being a bit silly, but this lifestyle can feel cold and heartless sometimes." You reply, just as Fiona brings her oiled palms up to massage your shoulders. She uses just the right amount of pressure, working at the tense knots that reside there from the stress of the tour. "Mmm." You moan quietly, melting at her magic fingers.

"I know, baby. But maybe if we lead by example, others might change for the better. You never know." Eddie replies, letting out his own blissful sound while Alice rubs a hardened tangle in his back.

"Fuckin' unlikely. I may be a lifelong fan of the Girls, Girls, Girls album, but the way Tommy Lee treats his assistant is abhorrent." You retort, recalling how handsy he was getting with that poor girl. She couldn't have been older than nineteen. You'd managed to wedge yourself between them at one point, which only accomplished getting both you and Eddie thrown out of his house. Eddie wasn't upset, much. He knows you had good reason to intervene, but it certainly burned any potential bridge for a future collaboration with Tommy or any Crüe members. Good riddance, honestly.

"I know, love. I wish it weren't like this. But we do our best to change things, and that's all we can do." He says, sympathizing with your thoughts. He's far from numb to the issues of this industry, and he does the same as you when he sees something wrong. But that doesn't guarantee the behavior will stop. If anything, it makes everyone else look at the two of you like you've grown extra eyeballs.

"I suppose." You sigh, putting the thought away for a while. You're meant to be calm and loose, fully accepting the sensations of the massage. The rest of your reserved hour goes smoothly, and you focus on the music and the warm hands working on your body. By the end of it, you feel like an entirely new person. You give Alice and Fiona a massive tip, and they give you many thanks as they leave.

"Feel better now?" Eddie asks, pulling you into him once you're dressed in your robes again. He smiles at you, brushing your hair behind your ear.

"Mmm, yeah. It was really good." You lean in for a kiss, pressing your lips to his. You hum into him, pulling away a moment later to avoid heating things up again. You should save something for tonight.

"Good, and it's just the start of the amazing day I have planned." Eddie replies, a joyful gleam in his eye at the thought of absolutely spoiling you today.

"What's next on the agenda, baby?" You ask with a giggle.

"Well, you are gonna go shopping for an outfit to wear out to dinner. That includes lingerie, sweetheart. You can pick anything you want, you look sexy in everything." His large hands run up and down your sides, and he lets his eyes wander around your robed body as he speaks.

"And what are you gonna do when I'm gone?" You question, blushing at his lustful stare.

"I will be setting up the bedroom for tonight, that's all I can say. Now, get dressed and take the limo. And then meet me in the living room when you come back, okay? And no peeking!" Eddie instructs, pointing a warning finger at you.

"Okay, okay. I promise I won't spoil the surprise. Ugh, you treat me too well, Munson." You give him another kiss, long and warm this time. He can't resist squeezing your ass in his hands, and you feel him growing hard beneath his robe. "Mmm, naughty boy. I'd better get moving if I'm gonna look stunning tonight." You pat your hands on his chest, moving away to open your walk-in closet. You want something comfortable, and not too fussy since you'll be trying on lots of clothes today. You settle for some tight jeans, a vintage t-shirt, and some converse. That's another 'odd' thing about you. Unless it's absolutely required, you just can't be bothered to dress extravagantly at all. You find most high fashion and designer labels to be rather uncomfortable. That's not to say you have no sense of style, you just prefer keeping things simple.

You bring your desired outfit to the bed, along with a basic bra and panty set. You remove your robe, laying it over one of the chairs in the room. Eddie whistles at your naked body, which makes you laugh. "Damn, what a view!" He says, finding some clothes of his own to throw on. He follows your lead, keeping it simple until dinner tonight. You both dress quickly, no time to waste as there's so much to do. Eddie puts on some eyeliner in the bathroom, and you apply a light yet full face. Nothing crazy, just enough to enhance your flawless features. Eddie leads you to the front door once you're ready to go, opening the hulking thing by the ornate handle. "I'll see you later on, baby. Dinner is at 7:30, so take as much time as you need. I love you." He pulls you into a light kiss, giving your butterflies.

"I love you too, Eds. And I'm looking forward to tonight." You smile at him, turning to walk outside and into the limousine waiting for you. You slip into the leather seat, the driver, Jim, shutting the door for you. "Do you know where to go?" You ask through the small window between the backseat and the driver's end.

"Mr. Munson gave me all the details, ma'am. We'll be there in about twenty minutes." Jim replies, giving you a kind smile.

"Okay, thank you." You say back, looking out the window on your journey to wherever it is that Eddie has sent you off to. You watch as the car zooms past towering palm trees while the sun beats down on the city. Skyscrapers pierce the big blue, no clouds to be seen today. Tourists and socialites walk the streets, stopping for photos at the Hollywood stars. You see a girl working almost every corner, and a dealer or two hanging around not so inconspicuously outside businesses that are most certainly fronts for criminal activity.

Billboards and electric signs advertise everything under the sun for as far as the eye can see. An artful gallery of capitalism shoved in your face in pristine technicolor. Los Angeles, land of the consumer, home of the advertiser. The city often feels hollow, lifeless even. Everyone and everything feels phony. Like they're all made of cheap plastic, but labeled with a hefty price tag. That's not to say there aren't things you enjoy here. But if Eddie's career didn't rely on it, you'd live far, far away from a place like this. The limo stops outside a lavish lingerie shop, your first stop of the afternoon. "We have arrived, Miss. I'll be waiting out here for you." Jim announces, stepping out the driver's side to let you out onto the sidewalk.

"Thank you, Jim." You say politely, giving him a small wave as you walk towards the shop. You can see why Eddie chose it, the outside alone is quite the spectacle. The structure is a slick, sinful red building, with massive windows. Corsets, feather-trimmed robes, garter belts, bustiers, and crotchless panties are on display for all eyes to see. Every color and fabric you can imagine is at your disposal, dressed up perfectly on mirrored mannequins. You step inside, immediately greeted by a gorgeous young woman with a name tag that reads 'Tina'.

"Hello, and welcome to Le Boudoir. How may I help you today?" She asks in a chipper voice.

"Oh, um, I'm looking for something special for Valentine's Day." You reply, finding the space a little intimidating. The store is very large, with rack after rack of various forms of sexy underwear. All the furnishings are either that same cherry red or blinding silver as the window displays.

"Oh, who's the lucky guy?" Tina asks, and you can tell she's trying to suss out which celebrity you're attached to. She noticed you stepping out of the limousine, and all she saw was dollar signs.

"My husband, he's in a metal band. Corroded Coffin, I dunno if you've heard of it." You say awkwardly, you really hate to name-drop. But you get it, people around here get curious about the rich and famous. Tina's eyes widen, and her mouth falls agape.

"You're married to The Eddie Munson?!" She practically squeals. "I'm a huge fan!" Of course you are. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Sure, your husband is pretty amazing in every possible way. But fangirls seriously annoy you sometimes.

"Yes, I am. And I'm on a mission to find something that will drive him absolutely wild." You reply, laying on thick the fact that Eddie is your man.

"Well, you've come to the right place. What are you into? Leather, lace, silk? All of the above?" She's very eager to impress you, possibly thinking there's a chance she'll get something in return besides a sales commission.

"I'm not really sure. I don't want anything too complicated. But um...red is his favorite color." You hesitate on telling her that small fact. You've been trained pretty well by the band's PR team to not disclose any personal information about Eddie or the others. So you instinctively get a bad taste in your mouth after the words slip from your lips. It's innocuous, really, you're sure Eddie has probably revealed said fact in a silly teen magazine interview before.

"Ooh, a man of taste. Well, about half of our store is some shade of red. It's a very popular color. I'll take your measurements, and then I'll bring out some choices for you to try on. Sound good?" She says simply, clearly she's pretty good at her job.

"Great. Thanks." You reply, finding yourself feeling uncomfortable all over again. She knows you're married to Eddie, that he's a famous rockstar. But she doesn't even know your name, or care to. Though he talks about you every chance he gets, it's difficult for people to acknowledge your existence in his life. The media and the fans would much rather he appear single and available, so it's almost like you aren't real at times.

You spend well over three hours trying on countless bodysuits, bras, camisoles, and fishnets, tirelessly trying to find the perfect thing to wear for your man. Nothing feels right, and you're overthinking every combination of items you put on. "Okay, I can sense we're having some trouble here." Tina says kindly from the other side of the velvet curtain you're changing behind.

"I'm sorry, I've just never felt very confident in this stuff." You sigh, turning your body every which way in the teddy you're currently dressed in. You're checking every angle, trying to see yourself as sexy. But it's not working, this trip might be a bust.

"Well, confidence is key when it comes to lingerie. But I understand, it's uncomfortable for lots of women. Hmm...there's still one thing we haven't tried. I'll go get it for you." Tina says sympathetically, her heels clicking away from you. You remove what you currently have on, waiting for the saleswoman to hand over her final option. She sticks the hangers through the curtain, and you gladly take them. "Now, when you put this on, don't overthink it. Just think 'I am beautiful, I am sexy, and my man is gonna love this', okay?"

"Okay, I'll try." You put on the ensemble piece by piece, only looking in the mirror to make sure you've fastened in properly until it's complete. You clip the stockings to the garter belt, finishing the transformation. You dare to take a good, long look at your reflection, remembering what Tina told you. I am beautiful, I am sexy, and my man is gonna love this. You repeat the phrase in your head a couple of times, drinking in your own form. A sheer, red lace bustier pushes your tits upwards, adorned with tiny bows down the middle and sides. The garter belt, crotchless panties, and trim of the stockings match the corset, making you a true vision in crimson. The fabric feels delicious against your skin, and hugs all your curves just right. Damn, I look good. You bite your lip, knowing that this is the one. Nice job, Tina.

"So, what are we thinking? It's very quiet in there." She pipes up, you imagine she's gotten a bit tired bringing you countless pieces of underwear today.

"It's perfect! I'll take it." You reply, unable to stop smiling at how gorgeous you look.

"Great! I just know Eddie is going to flip out!" She says excitedly. The way she says it is odd, as if she's thinking about Eddie seeing herself in this little get-up as opposed to you. The thought makes your blood boil, but you refuse to let her fantasizing get under your skin. You're the one that gets to have him at the end of the day, that's all that matters. Tina rings you up, packing the lingerie nicely in a large black bag. She hands it off to you, seemingly expecting you to do something else. Here it is, she's gonna ask for tickets to a show, or a goddamn autograph if you have Eddie swing by just for her. Shit, fans really lack boundaries sometimes. She's about to open her mouth to ask for God knows what, but you don't wanna hear it. Not on your special day.

"Thank you for the help, Tina. Have a good day. Name's Y/N, by the way, though you didn't bother to ask." Her jaw claps shut at your demeanor, swallowing her inappropriate request. Without another word, you walk out the doors. Jim's waiting for you, holding the limo door open.

"Everything go alright in there, ma'am?" Jim asks, noticing you're looking less than happy.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Where to next?" You change the subject, sliding into your seat.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Mrs. Munson." He chuckles, finding his opportunity to keep up the surprise Eddie planned for you rather fun. Jim loves working for the two of you. You're exceptionally kind to him, which is hard to find in his line of work. He closes your door, walking to the driver's seat once again. You ride down a few blocks, stopping outside the Dior shop on Rodeo Drive.

"Jesus, Eds." You mutter, shaking your head. He really is too much. This trip goes much smoother than the other, although the employees here are much more snooty than Tina at Le Boudoir. You try on a few dresses, but you don't really like any of them. That is, until they bring out a breathtaking red gown designed by John Galliano. The dress goes down to the floor, layered with gorgeous, wispy tulle that's frayed at the ends. It's very edgy, very you. Not to mention, it matches the lingerie set you purchased earlier today. You purchase it and a pair of red heels immediately, feeling ecstatic and relieved that you've managed to find a gorgeous outfit to wear tonight.

"All set, ma'am?" Jim questions, noticing the huge smile on your face. He loves seeing how happy you and Eddie make each other. You're truly a fairytale couple in his eyes, a kind of love that comes around once in a lifetime.

"Yes. Thank you, Jim." You smile at him, waiting for the limo to start moving again. He takes you back home, with a few hours to go until dinner. You go back inside the house, finding the staff bustling around the halls and upstairs to your bedroom. You can hear Eddie making gentle commands up there, ensuring every detail is absolutely perfect. You let him be in order to maintain the mystery, setting your shopping bags down on the kitchen counter. You're feeling a bit peckish, so you grab one of the chocolate scones from the pantry as a small snack. Eddie's distinctive footsteps come down the steps, and he smirks when he finds you munching away on one of the kitchen barstools.

"Back so soon, sweetheart?" He says sweetly, wrapping his arms around your torso from behind. He plants a kiss on your neck, sending a flare up your skin.

"Yeah, I got the perfect thing to wear tonight. I can't wait for you to see it." You say through your chewing. "I see you've kept busy while I've been gone." You gesture at the staff running around the place.

"I certainly have. We're almost done, though. And I'm very excited to show it to you." Eddie replies seductively, nipping on your throat. You moan as you swallow, tilting your head to the side to allow him more access. "Don't fill up on pastries, baby. I'd hate for you to have no room left for dinner...and dessert." He chuckles darkly. He gives the hickey he's left on you a soothing lick, pulling away shortly after.

"Shit, you're such a tease, Eds." You whimper, shifting in your chair at the arousal spreading between your legs.

"I promise it'll be worth your while, sweetheart. I gotta finish this up, but I'll come back down and we can watch a movie." Eddie kisses your cheek before hopping back up the stairs to complete the arrangements.

You polish off your scone, scooping the crumbs off the counter and tossing them in the trash. You know you don't have to do that, but it's an old habit from childhood. Just because you have people to clean up after you, it doesn't mean you have to be a pig. You go to the living room, looking around your extensive collection of VHS tapes to find a film that fits the day. You think about something romantic first, like Pretty in Pink or Casablanca. But you're feeling like you want to go against the grain, opting for My Bloody Valentine instead. "Perfect." You say aloud to yourself. You and Eddie are avid horror fans, no matter the occasion. Today may be a holiday of romance, but this movie speaks to your common tastes more than anything else. And that's what you're meant to embrace today. Each other, for better or worse. It's all about connection, intertwining your hearts in your own unique way.

"Did you pick something, love?" Eddie says from behind you.

"Yes, I think I've found the perfect thing." You turn around so he can read the paper sleeve. He lets out an amused laugh, nodding in approval at your choice.

"I was hoping you'd go for that one, darling. Pop it in, and c'mere. I need my wife to cuddle me." He says lovingly, patting the spot beside him on the leather couch. You do as he asks, scurrying to the couch excitedly. Eddie puts a blanket over the both of you, and pulls you real close. "I love you, Y/N. I'm so glad I get to spend this day, and the rest of my life with you."

"I love you too, Eddie. You're my everything, and I wouldn't have it any other way." You share a brief kiss, before you lay your head on his shoulder. Eddie's hand strokes up and down your thigh as you watch the movie, making your skin tingle beneath the thin material. You hum quietly at the sensation, it really shouldn't turn you on so much. But you can't help it, the way he touches you is like nothing else on this earth. Your thighs squeeze together at the building pressure between them. He picks up on this, holding back the lusty chuckle forming in his throat. You're so easy to rile up, he'll never get enough of it. You feel yourself sinking further into the couch. You look at Eddie's face, finding he's still fixed on the movie while he teases you.

"Something wrong, princess? Is the movie too scary?" He asks playfully, noticing you staring. His head turns to look at you, finding your pupils blown out with desire. He bites his lip, knowing he's done for now.

"Uh-huh. But maybe if you kiss me, I won't be so scared." You form your mouth into a pout you know he can't resist.

"Anything for you, babe." He chuckles, cupping your cheek. He brings his face closer to yours, closing the gap between you. The kiss is smoldering, setting your insides on fire instantly. Your hands tangle into his hair, and he quickly maneuvers your bodies to lay over you. It's like you're dumb kids in high school again, clumsily making out on your couch. Only now there's no parents to catch you, no one to scare you into quickly separating while you readjust your fucked up hair and clothes. You both let out quiet moans as you kiss and grope one another, tongues rolling and hands wandering hungrily. You're still waiting until after dinner to do anything substantial, but it sure is fun to get yourselves amped up beforehand.

The movie ends without you realizing, and one of the maids, Angela, comes into the room. She turns off the TV for you, standing with her hands clasped before her. You take no notice, still lost in this red-hot embrace. She clears her throat to get your attention. "Pardon me, Mr. And Mrs. Munson. You said to remind you when it's time to get ready for dinner." She says matter-of-factly, ignoring your writhing bodies and vulgar noises.

"Thanks, Angela." Eddie replies between kisses as he doesn't want to stop.

"Eds, c'mon. You don't want to miss our reservation, do you?" You say through a laugh, gently pushing him away to let you breathe. You look to where Angela was standing, finding she's already left the room. You feel a bit bad, you can't imagine she enjoyed the view.

"I guess not." He whines before scooting off of you. You both stand, and he leads you by the hand to one of the spare bedrooms downstairs. "We'll have to get ready in here. I hope that's alright." He says as he opens the door. You see your shopping bags on the bed, and a garment bag holding whatever it is that Eddie plans to wear tonight. Your makeup has been brought down here for you, set out neatly on the bathroom counter. You notice there's a folding screen in the center of the room, allowing you both to have privacy when getting dressed.

"That's fine. I can't remember the last time we did the whole 'surprise outfit reveal' thing. Our wedding, maybe?" You smile at the memory and recall the image of Eddie's eyes tearing up at the sight of you in your wedding dress.

"That's right, angel. I wanted to make tonight extra special." He replies. "Go on, get ready. I had to call in a few favors to get the reservation we have, so we can't be late." He playfully shoos you away, handing you your bags so you can step onto the other side of the screen. You set the bags down, stripping off your clothes. They pile onto the floor, and your heart skips a beat when you pull the lingerie you bought from the bag. You slip into it so easily, unable to stifle a light moan at how sexy you feel in it. "You enjoying yourself over there, baby?" Eddie asks in a husky tone, trying to imagine what you look like right now. His mind runs wild with images of you in every kind of lingerie imaginable. It's taking everything in him to keep his erection at bay. It's just too easy to picture you in leather, or lace, kneeling before him or taking his cock from behind.

"I'm just very happy with my purchase at Le Boudoir, you're gonna lose it when you see me in this. Hell, even I'd fuck me right now." You laugh, continuing on to put on your Dior gown and high heels. It fits you like a glove, and so fucking comfortable it's unreal.

"I'm sure you look fucking amazing, doll. It's taking everything in me to be patient." He says, breathing heavier than usual.

"Me too, Eds. But I know the wait will be worth it." You zip up your dress, heading into the bathroom to your right. You close the door, applying some fresh makeup, still keeping things light, except for a bold red lip to match the rest of your look. You step back behind the screen once you're all ready, waiting to see how handsome Eddie looks.

"You ready, love?" He asks quietly, sounding nervous.

"Yes, darling." You reply with a smile. Eddie counts down from three, and you both step out from your hiding place to see each other. "Holy shit." You exhale, eyes widening at how amazing your husband looks. He's wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, with a bright fuschia shirt underneath. Half the buttons are left undone, Eddie loves to show off his chest. His tattoos peek out at you, and his necklaces twinkle in the light. He's got pristine, shiny black shoes on, and has kept his voluminous hair down. The deep brown locks cascade over his shoulders, framing his gorgeous face. "You look so fucking good, Eds." You smirk, noticing his signature rings still on his fingers.

"Not nearly as good as you, baby." He replies breathlessly. You look so beautiful, red from head to toe, his favorite color. Your makeup is flawless, and your hair hangs just right against your shoulders. He drinks in your form, admiring how your dress hugs your body in all the right places. He wasn't sure you'd find something you genuinely like at the Dior shop, it worried him that maybe he went overboard on that one. But to see you here like this, wearing one of the biggest smiles he's ever seen grace your face, he knows he made the right choice. "You are an absolute vision, princess." He gushes, sending a blush to your cheeks. He smiles at you, extending his hand. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way, handsome." You giggle, taking his hand. Eddie leads you back outside, assisting you in walking down the front steps in your gown. He helps you into the limo, following behind. The gifts you purchased for one another sit on the seat beside you. "So, where are we going?" You ask, unable to help yourself. You're absolutely buzzing with excitement.

"You'll just have to wait and see, Y/N." He says, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"Ugh, you're killin' me!" You groan after failing to convince him to reveal this secret location. You decide to just go with the flow, every other surprise today has been pretty awesome. So there's no doubt that Eddie picked a great restaurant. You lay your head on his shoulder, snuggling up as best you can in this dress. You close your eyes, enjoying the smooth ride until the limo comes to a stop. You open your eyes, which are met with the 'most romantic restaurant in Los Angeles', Il Cielo. "Eddie! You did not!" You turn to him in utter shock.

"I did, baby. You deserve the best." He says with a smile. You step out into the setting LA sun, gazing at the rustic building before you. Lush vines and twinkling lights cover the outside, save for the elegant sign peeking out from the foliage. A few couples are seated outside, and you can see through the large front window that the inside is just as beautiful and busy. Eddie's brought you here only once before for a business dinner. The food was amazing, though you found the conversation boring. He always promised to bring you back, and until now you thought it would never happen. This place is always booked months in advance, especially for such a day as this.

"You're the best husband ever, you know that?" You press a hard kiss to his cheek, leaving a large mark of lipstick in the shape of your lips on his skin.

"Only because you're the greatest wife a man could ask for, angel." He returns your sentiment, holding your hand and the gifts in his grip to head inside. You make your way to the host's station, waiting behind the small line that has formed. When it's your turn, you're met with wide eyes from the maître d'. He seems to recognize Eddie, a real shocker there. He checks his list before either of you can speak, finding 'Munson' underlined on the paper with special instructions beside it.

"Right this way, Mr. Munson." He says to Eddie with a smile, looking at you for a moment. His smile grows wider, nodding to you. "Mrs. Munson." Well, that's the first time today that a stranger has actually acknowledged you as Eddie's wife. Not only that, seeing you here with him has made this particular stranger happy. You and Eddie follow the man to a table in a secluded corner of the restaurant. Real rose petals cover the white tablecloth, leaving space for your plates and glasses. The maître d' pulls your chair out for you, gently pushing you in.

"Thank you." You say kindly, and he nods.

"It is certainly an honor to have you dining with us tonight. My name is Alfonse, and I will be handling your table personally this evening. Shall we start off with some wine, or champagne, perhaps?" Alfonse speaks cordially, searching your faces for an answer to his offerings.

"Wine would be great, Alfonse. We'll take whatever you recommend." Eddie says, reaching for his menu to take a look.

"Of course, sir. I have just the thing for such a special night, with such a special lady." Alfonse replies, giving you a friendly wink. You giggle at his charm, opening your own menu. The man leaves you two alone to retrieve the finest bottle in the place.

"Well, he's very nice." Eddie says casually.

"I'll say. He's the first person I've met today that's actually treated me like your wife, and been polite about it." You reply, struggling to hide the bitterness in your voice from your earlier interactions. Eddie reaches a hand across the table, taking hold of yours.

"I'm sorry, princess. I wish people weren't so goddamn rude. They treat me like a fuckin' king in this town, and yet they seem to forget the fantastic queen I have by my side." Frustration laces his tone, but he keeps it at bay. Tonight is meant to be special, and no one is going to ruin that. "But I'll never forget, darling. I'll just have to do a better job at reminding everyone who I belong to." He says, looking at you seriously. He means it with all his heart, he'll make damn sure everyone understands how important you are to him. And if they don't like it, then they don't deserve his presence.

"I appreciate it, Eds. So, what are you ordering?" You ask, unsure of the answer yourself. Everything just sounds so good.

"To be honest, I don't know." His brows knit as he stares at the menu, he knows he won't be able to pronounce all these damn Italian words. "I'll just ask Alfonse what he likes. No one knows the food better than the employees." He sets the leather-bound booklet back on the table, and you follow suit.

"Good enough for me. There's no way I can read anything off this thing without sounding like an idiot." You laugh, drawing one from Eddie as well.

"My thoughts exactly." He smirks while he toys around with his silverware. "So, should we do presents before or after food?" He asks.

"We can after Alfonse comes back with the wine. Sound good?" You reply, looking around subtly to see if the man is coming by anytime soon.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Eddie says, noticing Alfonse coming towards your table with a large, bulbous bottle with straw weaved around the bottom.

"Here we are, our finest chianti." The man says as he pours each of you a glass. "Are you ready to order?"

"Yes, we would actually like you to surprise us. You seem to be a man of taste, so we'll take anything you give us." Eddie smiles at him, hoping he's not asking too much.

"Certainly, sir. I appreciate your trust in me." Alfonse replies, happy to take the compliment. He knows exactly what to bring you, he only hopes it's up to your expectations. "I'll put the order in for you, it shouldn't be long." He says, leaving the bottle at the table and heading to the kitchen.

"Okay, present time." Eddie smirks, bestowing you with his gift. You hand off his, and wait for him to open it. "Oh, me first?" He asks when you're both sitting in silence for a moment. You nod, biting your lip. You can't wait for Eddie to see what you got for him. He pulls a velvet ring box from the bag, raising an eyebrow at you. "A little late for a proposal, don't you think?" He jokes, making you laugh. He's so unserious sometimes.

"Jesus, babe, just open it already!" You insist, and he flips open the lid. His mouth falls slack-jawed at what he finds inside. It's a thick, silver ring that's in a similar style to his usual ones. But this one is very distinctive, as it's sculpted in the shape of the demon's head logo from his old D&D club. ‘Hellfire’, they used to call it. You remember it well, you used to be a member yourself back in the day. Eddie stares at the ring for a moment, overwhelmed with nostalgia. It's been so long since he's played a campaign, or even thought about the game at all. A single tear rolls down his cheek, this has to be one of the most thoughtful gifts you've ever given him.

"Y/N, this is amazing. I-I can't believe you remembered." He says, giving you a meaningful look.

"Of course I did, Eds. I used to be in Hellfire too, ya know. You really like it?" You ask, somehow doubting your gift.

"I love it, angel. Thank you. It's a perfect reminder of where we started, and how far we've come." He slips it onto a free finger on his right hand, outstretching his arm to admire it for a moment. "It's pretty kickass, too." He smiles, putting his hand back on the table. "Okay, it's your turn now!" He says excitedly.

You reach into the bag in front of you, digging around in the tissue paper. You pull out a hardcover book, and your eyes go wide when you realize what it is. It's your novel, fresh from the publisher. The dust cover displays the title, Planet Mystique, in bold, purple lettering. It's a sci-fi/fantasy novel with plenty of action and romance, told from the perspective of a badass female protagonist. The illustration on the front is of said main character, Straana, riding a pink pterodactyl-like creature. She's wearing her full-body armor, brandishing a gleaming sword as she glides into the battle of the Gamma Rebellion. Your name graces the bottom of the cover, Y/N Munson. You can't believe you're holding this, the book isn't due for release for at least another six months. "How did you-" You start to ask, but Eddie cuts you off.

"I convinced the publisher to make a copy just for you. This is what it'll look like on the bookstore shelves, and I just know it's gonna be a bestseller. You'll be busy writing the sequels in no time. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You're unbelievably talented, and I can't wait for everyone else to see that." He says sweetly.

"Thank you, Eddie. I love it so much. This is fuckin' insane!" You exclaim, a little too loud. A few scowling faces of surrounding diners draw to you, and you blush hard while mouthing 'sorry' to them. Eddie chuckles at your embarrassment, you're too damn cute when your cheeks turn red.

"You're welcome, doll. Oh, look. Perfect timing." He says as Alfonse brings over your plates. The maître d' places the dishes in front of you, and the savory aromas hit your nostrils immediately. It looks amazing, and you wait for Alfonse to explain what it is he brought for you.

"For the lady, we have Burrata e Aragosta. Carnaroli rice with lobster and burrata cream sauce." Alfonse states, gesturing at your plate with a flourish. "And for the gentleman, Pappardelle al Cinghiale. It's homemade Pappardelle pasta, with roasted wild boar in its natural au jus, and Barolo wine. Enjoy, I'll come by with a very special dessert later on." He bows, going about his business once more.

You dig into your food, gathering a decent-sized bite of rice and lobster on your fork. You bring it to your lips, moaning at the rich, creamy flavors that explode in your mouth. "Mmm, fuck that's good."

"Sounds like it, I thought only I could make you moan like that." Eddie quips, taking in a mouthful of his own meal. He makes a similar sound, remembering what all the fuss of this place is about. The two of you devour every last bite of your food, the only sounds between you the occasional satisfied moan or slurp of wine. You can't help it, every single bite tastes so damn good. You set your fork down, wiping your mouth with the cloth napkin from your lap. Eddie does the same, and you both lean back in your seats and wait for dessert.

"Ah, I see you both have a very hearty appetite. Here is your dessert. Cuore di Cioccolata, a perfect end to your special meal." Alfonse says, taking away the empty plates and setting down a gorgeous, heart-shaped chocolate cake topped with raspberries before each of you. "Is there anything else I can do for you this evening? Or can I bring the check around?" He asks, in no rush at all.

"The check would be great, Alfonse. Thank you for taking care of us tonight." Eddie reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out his wallet. He takes the Amex out, handing it to the man. "Here, and tip yourself whatever our total is."

"Oh, that really isn't necessary." Alfonse attempts to be modest.

"No, no, I insist. You know what? To hell with it, double that!" Eddie exclaims, making the eyes of the maître d' bug out. He gasps, utterly shocked that your husband wants to tip him so much.

"Anything you say, sir! Thank you!" Alfonse beams, scurrying away to process the bill.

"Jeez, Eds. Sounds like Alphonse's wife gets to have a special night, too." You giggle, always amazed at Eddie's generosity. You suppose it's due to his more than humble childhood. Living in a trailer with his uncle Wayne, selling drugs to provide for himself. At his core, he's still that same geeky kid you first met all those years ago. Kind, sweet, always looking out for those who need him most. And now he has the disposable income to spoil his friends and family, and act as a charitable stranger to people who deserve it.

"Absolutely, he did a fantastic job for us tonight." He says simply, cutting into his cake with his fork. You do the same, gobbling up every last crumb as politely as you can manage. Alphonse returns with the credit card, setting it and Eddie's receipt on the table.

"Thank you for dining with us at Il Cielo. Please, take your time, and we hope to see you again soon." He says kindly.

"Thanks, Alphonse. Have a good night." You reply sweetly, and he chuckles.

"I see you liked the cake very much, ma'am." He wipes his thumb against his bottom lip, signaling that you've got a spot of chocolate on your face.

"Oh, sorry." You blush, wiping your mouth frantically with your napkin.

"It's quite alright. It's been a long time since I've seen a lovely couple like yourselves actually enjoy the food here." He says in a hushed tone, as if it's a secret that the other patrons here may go through life with their heads up their own rear ends.

"We really did, it was delicious." You reply with a smile.

"Glad to hear it. Have a wonderful Valentine's Day, you two." He leaves your table for the final time, tending to the front door once again. You and Eddie gather your things, heading outside.

"Holy shit, it's Eddie Munson!" A man in the line to get inside shouts. This causes everyone's heads in your vicinity to lock on to you and your husband.

"Great." Eddie mutters, rolling his eyes. He pulls you along a little faster, and other people start to gather and get in your way.

"I'm such a big fan! Can I have an autograph?" A young woman asks desperately.

"How about a picture?" Another shouts. The situation is quickly getting out of hand, sending your anxiety levels through the roof. You've told Eddie to hire a bodyguard a hundred times over, but he's insisted it's not necessary.

"Please? My daughter loves your music!" Another voice from an unknown location begs. You're verbally assaulted by person after person, wishing you could reply with the thoughts the attacks evoke.

"I love you! You're so sexy, Eddie!" No shit, Sherlock.

"Marry me Eddie! I wanna have your babies!" He's taken, bitch. Plus, ew.

"Who's this woman you're with? Is she a prostitute?" That's fuckin' rude. Do I really look like a hooker?

"When's the next album coming out?" Wouldn't you like to know?

"Is it true that you're secretly hooking up with your bandmates?" What the actual fuck?

You both just keep walking, giving no outward reaction to any of these invasive questions. You're struggling to find Jim in the growing sea of bodies. Eddie holds your hand tightly, his face hardening as the crowd only seems to expand, the edge of the street miles away now. Endless voices and faces ebb and flow like harsh waves, bombarding you with every form of unwelcome attention. You can't think straight, and someone tries to yank the gift Eddie gave you from your grasp. You almost fall over from the force of the grubby hands clawing at you. You look to Eddie to figure out what to do, but he's just as overwhelmed as you are, if not moreso.

"Alright! That's enough! If you don't stop harassing Mr. Munson and his wife, I'll report all of you to the police!" You hear Alphonse practically scream from the edge of the crowd. The rabid gathering turns to glare at him, but he is far from intimidated. "You should be ashamed of yourselves! I suggest you let them through to their vehicle right this instant! Otherwise, I've got some very bulky waiters who are just dying for a good fight." This statement seems to strike some fear into the vultures, which makes a wide grin spread across Alphonse's face. "I thought so. Go on now, get out of here!" They collectively flinch, quickly dispersing to reveal Jim standing a few feet away from you with the door open.

"Thank you, Alphonse. You didn't have to do all that." Eddie says apologetically. He knows it doesn't look so good to have a mob form outside such a fine establishment.

"No trouble at all, sir. Are you both alright?" He asks in genuine concern.

"Yeah, we're okay. I think we'll have to hire some security to keep that from happening again, though." Eddie laughs nervously, his heart still pounding from how awful that experience was.

"I highly advise you to do so. People are crazy, especially in La La Land." Alphonse jokes, putting you both at ease. "Alright, you'd better leave before they try to swarm again. Hopefully the rest of your evening goes smoothly."

"It certainly will. Goodnight, Alphonse." You reply, before turning away to finally get back in the limo to go home. You exhale loudly, puffing your cheeks while you slide into the seat. Eddie follows suit, and the door closes behind you. Finally, safe and sound again. You lean into one another, and Eddie puts his arm around you to keep you close.

"You okay, baby? I know that got pretty scary." He says softly. He feels awful that this happened, and on your special night of all things. He curses himself for not listening when you've hounded him to hire security.

"I'm okay, but some asshole tried to steal my book. Thankfully I'm stronger than whoever it was." You look down at the novel, noticing a small rip in the dust cover. Damn.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I promise I'll call around to get the best bodyguard possible, okay? I never want this to happen again." He kisses your temple, resting his forehead on yours afterwards. "God, did you hear some of the shit they were saying? Who in their right mind thinks any of that is okay?" He squints his eyes shut tight in disgust, utterly annoyed at the thought of it.

"I know! Like, do I look like a streetwalker? I hate to be that girl, but this is Dior, for fuck's sake!" You exclaim, gesturing wildly at your dress with your hands.

"You don't look like anything other than my gorgeous wife, baby." He says calmly, hoping to relax you after that unpleasant moment.

"Good, because I really like this dress." You chuckle, snuggling your head into the crook of his neck.

"I know you do, sweetheart." He laughs lightly. You spend the rest of the ride home in silence, needing some time to fully calm down. The moon has come out to play, and the street lights flash against the windows as you ride past. You pay no attention to the outside world, you've had more than your fair share of it for the time being. You're safe inside your Eddie-sized bubble, kept warm and secure in his strong arms.

"We've arrived at your home, Mr. and Mrs. Munson. Have a good night." Jim says with a yawn. He's looking forward to going home to his wife for the night. You and Eddie climb out of the limo, walking up the steps and into the house.

"You ready for your final surprise, angel?" Eddie asks, the anticipation building for the main event of the evening.

"More than anything, love." And with that, he gently leads you by the hand to the large doors of the bedroom. He lets go of your hand, slowly twisting the doorknobs. He reveals the room to you, which looks completely different to how it did this morning. You step inside, absolutely dumbstruck. There's lit candles all over the room, some in high-standing candlesticks, others on every table at Eddie's disposal. Rose petals cover the bed, which is dressed in beautiful red and black sheets. An ice bucket with a perfectly chilled bottle of champagne sits on the nightstand, along with a large box of chocolates. And the cherry on top, is a video camera positioned on a tripod a couple feet from the end of the bed.

"What do you think, baby?" Eddie asks lowly, standing right behind you after closing the doors. His arms wrap around your waist, and he nudges your hair aside to plant blazing kisses to your neck. You can feel him getting hard in his pants, and you instinctively press yourself back into him. He groans at the friction.

"It's perfect, Eds. Just like everything else you've done for me today. And the camera is a nice touch." You laugh breathily, slowly grinding against him repeatedly.

"I was hoping you'd like that." He smirks through his kisses. His hands wander up your front, taking hold of your breasts through your dress.

You moan at his groping. "I really do. I've always wanted to try it. And you know...I've heard it's just as fun to watch the tape back as it is to make it." You turn around, needing to touch him. Your hands run up and down his chest, slipping into his loosely buttoned shirt. You feel up his warm skin, trailing your fingertips anywhere you can reach. You trace his tattoos, drawing small groans from Eddie at the contact.

"You wanna help me get undressed, princess?" He asks, wanting so badly for you to strip him down.

"Sure thing, Eds." You grin, reaching for the lapels of his jacket. You push the fabric from his shoulders, and he slips the jacket off his arms. It lands on the floor, fully exposing his fuschia shirt. "God, you look so sexy in this suit, baby." You observe aloud, biting your lip. Eddie's always had such great style, although he looks good in everything. You undo the rest of his buttons at an agonizing pace, pulling the shirt tails out of his slacks. The shirt joins the jacket on the floor, leaving Eddie topless. His bare torso makes your mouth water, he truly is a sight to behold. Smooth, supple skin, subtle muscle definition, badass tattoos inked on almost every available inch, all illuminated beautifully in the candlelight. He's so damn perfect, leaving you wondering how you got so lucky.

"Uh-oh, has my rockin' body distracted you again, Y/N?" Eddie asks half-jokingly. He'll never get enough of the awestruck expression that permeates your face when you see him in all his glory.

"Maybe." You meet his eyes, no doubt your pupils are blown out with desire. You bring your lips to his, kissing him hungrily. You quickly move on to his jaw, his neck. You nibble and suck the flesh of his throat. He whimpers at the sensation, the sound of which makes arousal spread inside your panties. Your hand wanders downwards, quickly taking hold of his erection.

"Fuck, baby." He groans as his eyes flutter closed. You keep palming him, lowering your body to kiss his chest. You drag your tongue all around his skin, and playfully bite his nipples. "I love it when you do that." Eddie sighs blissfully, enjoying every move you make on him. You continue to bring yourself to your knees, kissing his stomach, dipping your tongue into his belly button. "That tickles." He says with a light laugh. You stop groping him for a moment, needing both hands to undo his belt. You get it open, and unzip his pants. He's still got his shoes on, but you don't care. You want his cock in your mouth, and you want it now. His slacks gather at his ankles, and you yank down his boxers to join them. His dick slaps his stomach, precum beaded on the tip.

"You want me to suck your cock, baby?" You ask teasingly, looking up at him with your hands resting on his thighs.

"Yes, please." Eddie begs. Your messing around has wound him up significantly. You take his length in your hand, pumping him a few times. "Shit." He groans, pleading with his eyes for you to give him what he wants.

"Patience, love. You'll get what you want." You coo, licking light circles around his tip. He moans again, anticipating your next move. You drag your tongue up and down his shaft, still warming him up. Helpless noises leave his lips, each of which sends a rush to your pussy. You're getting absolutely soaked, dripping onto your dress through the slit in your underwear. You finally take him in your mouth, effortlessly swallowing all his inches.

"Oh, god." He mutters, already getting close from all your teasing. His hand grips your head, fingers tangling in your hair. You bob back and forth on him, your nose brushing against his mound of hair with every stroke. You swirl your tongue around him as you work. You know all the right moves to drive Eddie wild. "Feels so good, baby. Such a good girl for me." He praises, drawing closer to his release.

"Mmm." You moan around him, sending vibrations through his lower half.

"You're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart." Eddie says, breathing heavily. He can't stop moaning, and calling out your name. Everything you're doing feels so fucking good. You've always been massively talented at giving head, and it's only gotten better with time. "Keep going, I'm almost there, baby." He instructs, his eyes squeezed shut as he awaits his release.

"Mmm." You moan again, becoming needy for your upcoming turn. You reach around to grip his firm ass, wanting to bring yourself closer to him. You massage the rounds of him, only increasing his pleasure. You gag on him over and over, your eyes watering as you work overtime to make him lose control.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum. Just a little more..." He trails off, gripping your head harder. He thrusts himself into you, chasing his high. You let him use you in any way he wants, breathing through your nose as he chokes you with his cock. "Such a good girl for me, angel. Taking my dick so well- shit. Gonna cum down that pretty throat of yours." He's babbling, his mind scrambling as his stomach begins to tense. "Fuck!" He shouts, his hips bucking into you harder than before. His hot load spills down your throat, his toes curling inside his shoes. He lets you out of his grasp, and you slip off of him. You gasp for air, swallowing hard. "Thank you, baby. That was so fuckin' amazing." He says lovingly, helping you stand up again.

"You're welcome, darling." You give him another kiss, which quickly turns into making out. Your tongues roll against each other, dialing up your desperation. You have to feel him touch you. Hands, face, cock, it doesn't matter. You want him in every way he'll give himself to you.

"I take it you want a turn now, sweetheart?" Eddie says quietly, your lips still barely brushing against one another.

"More than anything, Eds." You practically whine.

"Anything for you, baby. Let me get my shoes off, and how 'bout you lose the dress?" He politely commands, and you nod. You let him sort himself out, and you slowly pull the zipper down the back of your gown. You wait until Eddie's looking at you to take it off. "C'mon, love. Show me what you've got on under there." He bites his lip, becoming very excited again. You do as he asks, carefully pushing the dress down your body to reveal the lingerie you picked out for him. His eyes widen with every inch you expose, and his cock is already getting hard at the sight of you. You step out of the dress bunched at your feet, still standing in your high heels. You put your hand on your hip, posing casually.

"What do you think, Eddie? Do you like it?" You smirk, loving the awestruck expression on his face.

"You look gorgeous, baby." He says in disbelief. He moves closer to you, taking in every last detail. The bustier pushing your tits up, the ravishing red fabric sitting deliciously on your skin. He circles you, wanting to see all possible angles. "So fuckin' sexy, Y/N. God, I just want to take you right now." He meets your front again, unable to stop staring at your body.

"There's one last little detail you haven't seen, love." You spread your legs apart slightly, taking hold of his hand. You gently lead him between your legs, letting him feel for himself that there's no crotch in these panties.

His eyes widen further at this discovery, he gasps. "Oh, my god." He groans, his dick twitching at your little surprise. His fingers stroke your folds, spreading the excessive wetness around. You whimper at the sensation, your hips jolting when he runs over your clit. "And you're so fuckin' wet for me, too." You're gonna kill him at this point, every part of this is blowing his mind. He easily pushes two fingers into your cunt, curling them ever so slightly.

"Eddie." You moan out, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep your balance. He continues to finger you while walking you backwards to the bed. You let out muted moans, your insides setting alight as he pleases you. He pushes you down onto the bed, taking his digits out of you for a moment. You whine at the loss, but quickly realize he's just turning on the camera. The red blinking light comes on, and you're officially being recorded. You scoot backwards, trying to get as much into the camera's view as possible.

"You're so gorgeous, Y/N. The most beautiful woman in the world." Eddie compliments you, climbing onto the bed to hover over you. You're laying sideways on the bed, ensuring the camera will capture everything you do to each other. Eddie kisses you deeply, shoving his tongue in your mouth. You both moan into the kiss, hands wandering over each other's bodies. He lowers his hand to your pussy again, rubbing circles on your clit.

"Oh, fuck. Feels so good, baby." You say as you break the kiss. He shoves his fingers into you again, rougher than before. Your breath catches at the contact, your back arching off the bed. His other hand cups one of your breasts, massaging the flesh harshly. "You know, the woman that sold me this seemed to be imagining herself in it instead. She wanted to be here with you, in my place." You say in a seductive tone, and he picks up on what you're doing. You're using your jealousy to increase your own pleasure. "But you only want me, don't you?" You state this more as a fact than a question, needing Eddie to affirm the sentiment.

"I only want you, Y/N. Nobody else, not some starlet that throws herself at me, not an overzealous fan, not a lingerie saleswoman. Just you, because you are the most wonderful woman in the universe." He replies, his tone dark and sweet at the same time.

"Good boy." You say breathlessly as he increases his pace. He blushes at the nickname, you don't pull it out all that often. He loves it though, the way you can both play off one another so comfortably and easily. "I love how good your fingers feel, baby. But your mouth feels even better." You gaze up at him as you speak, caressing his cheek. He gets the message, pressing a few kisses to your cleavage before crawling downwards to position his face between your legs. His breath fans over your pussy, and he slowly removes his fingers from you. You sit up abruptly, taking hold of his wrist. You lock eyes with him as you lick your arousal from his skin. You moan at the taste, so sweet and musky.

"Damn, that's hot." Eddie murmurs, his words brushing against your core. He tents your knees, spreading your legs apart nice and wide. He wants to capture every second of this, to replay these intimate moments with you over and over. His tongue pokes out from behind his lips, making contact with your clit.

"Oh, Eddie." You gasp, your head falling backwards a moment. You're resting on your elbows, wanting to watch everything he does to you. Eddie licks and sucks every centimeter of you, from your bundle of nerves to your dripping entrance. His wet muscle feels so warm against you, flicking all the right places expertly. You can sense your release building higher and higher, just waiting to come tumbling down. You're covered in sweat, making your lingerie stick to you. "I love it when you eat me out, baby. Your tongue is so wet and warm. Fuck, I can't get enough." Eddie happily accepts your praises, growing unbearably hard at how pretty the words sound coming from your lips. He shoves his tongue inside your cunt, drawing a loud moan out of you. He keeps pressing your g spot like a button that makes dulcet noises escape your lungs with every push. You're getting very close, needing just a little bit more.

You weave your fingers in his hair and hold his head down. You tug roughly on his curly locks, and he grunts against you. "Mmm." The vibrations take your breath away. A large wave signaling your oncoming orgasm crashes over you.

"Do that again, Eds. I'm so close." You whimper. He does as you ask, another wave rolling over. "More. Make me cum, baby. I need you." Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, your breath coming out in a shallow panting. He repeats the action, stronger than before. That's all it takes for you to lose all control. "Oh, god! Eddie!" You cry out as your thighs begin to shake. Eddie keeps a firm hold on you to keep your body steady. You cum hard on his face, and he swallows as much of your juices as he can. He groans at the taste, furthering your high with even more vibrations. Stars blur your vision, and a fresh layer of sweat coats your skin. You fall backwards onto the bed, letting your eyes slip shut as you come back down to earth.

"That was beautiful, baby." Eddie says while lovingly stroking your thighs. He moves to lie down next to you, giving you the softest of kisses. You open your eyes to look at him, finding his kind face admiring you. "Hey there, my love." He smiles.

"Hey there, yourself." You reply cheekily. "That was really fuckin' good, by the way. Some of your best work."

"Oh, you think so? No notes, then?" He chuckles, playing around.

"None whatsoever, babe. You always know how to please me completely." You give him a kiss of your own, keeping things light. You're both still cooling off from your first orgasms, slowing down to savor every moment.

"I try my best." He turns onto his side, rolling you with him so he can spoon you. "Mmm, I love you, baby." He says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"I love you too, darling." You sigh, melting into his touch. You sense things heating up again, his dick is poking into your ass like before.

"You ready for more, sweetheart?" Eddie asks seductively, right in your ear. His breath fans hotly against your neck, making you shiver.

"Yes, please." You reply, barely above a whisper. Eddie grabs your thigh, angling your leg to lay over his. He's tender and gentle, his large hand trailing across your skin with every touch. He takes his dick in his hand, rubbing the head against your folds to lube you both up. You share a moan at the feeling, and turn your heads to share another kiss. Eddie slowly pushes his cock into your pussy, your walls swallowing him up completely. He brushes against your sweet spot, his tip hitting your cervix once he bottoms out. "You're so big, Eddie." You say against his lips.

"All for you, dollface." He replies. He pulls almost all the way out, before slamming back in. You cry out, and his breath hitches at your insides flexing around him. "Fuck, you're so wet and tight for me. Fuckin' gorgeous." He pulls out, and thrusts back into you even harder.

"I need more, love." You whine at him, wanting him to completely let loose.

"More what? Use your words, be a good girl." He commands, a dark thrill shooting through you at his tone. He thrusts roughly again, his hips smacking against your ass.

"I want you to fuck me harder, Eddie. Go faster, ruin me." You beg, not a care in the world for how needy you sound.

"I love it when you beg, baby. It's impossible to resist." He says with a wicked smile, before taking a hard grip on your waist. He starts hammering into your pussy, hitting your special spot every single time.

"Just like that, Eds! You feel so goddamn good, don't stop!" You exclaim, enjoying every second of this. "I want you to tear me apart, fuck me again and again until there's nothing left."

"You're such a greedy little thing tonight, aren't you? So needy for my cock, my perfect little freak. I'll give you anything you want, princess. You take my dick so well." Eddie speaks through gritted teeth, the words flowing directly to your brain. Every syllable dizzies your head, pushing you further toward the edge. Eddie's doesn't seem too far behind, his thrusts becoming unfocused. "Roll over for me, baby." He pants, pulling out of you and getting onto his knees. You do as he asks, putting your ass in the air for him while you rest on your elbows. He rams his dick into you just barely after you get a good grip on the blankets beneath you.

"Fuck!" You cry out. "You getting close, baby?" You ask, noticing Eddie's balls tightening as they slap against you.

"Yes, angel. I can tell you're almost there, too. You're squeezin' me so tight." He struggles to get the words out. Your walls flutter around him in the most exquisite way. His rings dig into your flesh, holding your hips for dear life as he chases your high along with his own. Your bodies are soaked with sweat, hair clinging to faces and beads of moisture rolling down cheeks. "C'mon, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me." Eddie groans, bringing his hand around to rub your clit. He makes perfect circles with just the right amount of pressure to seal your fate.

"Eddie!" You shout, falling helplessly into the depths of your second orgasm. Your front end crumbles, utterly powerless as pure ecstasy courses through you. You moan consistently against the sheets, muffling your sounds. Your pussy clamps down onto Eddie's length, and he pulls out just before he loses control.

"Good girl, Y/N. So fuckin' pretty when you cum. A perfect mess, just for me." Eddie grunts out the words as he jerks himself off, positioning the tip just above your ass. "Fuck, princess." His stomach clenches, and his load spurts out in hot white ropes. You feel his release spill over you, soaking through your panties and running down your thighs. A drop of it lands right on your clit, making you jolt. You're just about to let yourself collapse onto the bed, assuming Eddie's finished. But clearly he's only getting started. He doesn't want to stop, feeling far too gluttonous to tap out now. He manages to stay hard, and shove himself into you once more.

"Shit, Eds. I thought you were done." You gasp, still sparking from your previous orgasm. You've had no time to recover, and it won't take long to make you lose it again.

"Far from it, darling. I need you, to feel you soak my cock, to hear you scream my name. I'm not gonna stop until you beg me to." He almost growls, cursing at how sensitive he feels. He's never seriously tried to go another round so quickly, it typically doesn't work out. But this night, and the way you look in your sexy lingerie, it's taken him to an extremely intense place. You keep pulsating steadily around him, quickly adding on top of the existing pleasure still roiling inside you.

"Go ahead, love. Use me any way you like. Fuck me 'til I can't walk for a week." You whimper, feeling the waves crashing over you again. "Oh, god. I'm gonna cum again." You say as a warning, but it only makes Eddie work harder. He snaps his hips, hitting your g spot at an entirely new angle. "FUCK!" You scream, legs trembling once again. Your walls constrict like a snake, overstimulating his cock.

"Good girl." He huffs, still keeping up the punishing rhythm. You're moaning and whining helplessly as he extends your pleasure. You feel a rush of cum flow out of your pussy, dripping messily onto the bed and your thighs. "Such a dirty girl for me, making a mess all over the bed." He says, watching the erotic scene before him. He stares at his cock pounding into you, and your cum spilling everywhere. It's one of the most phenomenal things he's ever seen. You don't squirt often, but Eddie loves it when you do.

Your fists ball the sheets tightly, tears of overstimulation running down your face. It feels so good, and you don't wanna stop. "Make me do it again, Eddie. I'll be a good girl for you. I'll soak the entire bed if that's what you want." You offer, playing to his dark tendencies that you hold so dear.

"Don't mind if I do." He says through a groan. He starts rubbing your clit again, setting you off not a minute later.

"OH MY GOD!" You scream. You swear you're bursting into flames, everything feels so fucking amazing. You pulsate again, your legs jolting beyond your control, tugging on Eddie's dick. More cum gushes out of you, splashing onto his chest and stomach, and your back through his continued thrusts.

"Fuck, Y/N!" He moans, you're more tight and warm and wet than you've ever been before. The flood of fluids rushing over him makes his eyes roll back into his head. Eddie's still not quite reaching his third orgasm, but he knows he will if he can get just one more out of you. "I'm getting close again, baby. Just do one more for me. You feel so fuckin' good." He forces the words out, he's so close it almost hurts.

"Anything for you, love. Cum inside me, claim me as yours." You whine. Your muscles won't stop tensing and quaking, it's like you're not in control of your body anymore. All you know is overwhelming pleasure, waiting for the final explosion to detonate. Your ass stings from the constant, rough slapping of skin, which only increases from your mess covering everything. You're full-on crying at this point, unable to hold back as he builds you up one final time.

"Almost there, sweetheart. You can do it, you're such a good girl." Eddie encourages you. His own hips begin to stutter, he's seconds away from losing it. His brows knit, and his abdomen becomes tight. "FUCK!" He yells, bucking into you as his load spills into your cunt. The feeling of his release stickily coating your insides makes you cum one final time.

"Oh, god! Eddie! I'M GONNA-" You're cut off as the air completely empties from your lungs. Your vision blacks out, and for a moment you think you've died. It's like you've exploded into a million stars, white-hot and flying across the night sky. You can't comprehend a damn thing, all that exists is you and Eddie in this moment. The sheer amount of cum that explodes from you feels positively inhuman. It's like someone dumped a huge bucket of warm water all over you and Eddie. The sheer force of it pushes his dick out of you.

"Fuck, baby. Holy shit." He slips backwards on the mattress, left to witness what he can only assume is all the moisture in your body splashing onto the bed. He watches in complete shock, eyes wide and jaws sat open. You cum for a solid fifteen seconds, so hard it almost hurts. And by the end of it, you're more spent than you've ever been. You collapse onto the bed, gasping for air and sobbing. Eddie gets up to turn off the camera, there's no need to record you crying in the aftermath. He helps you sit up, but you feel dehydrated and dizzy. Your chest heaves and hiccups as you attempt to calm down. He keeps an arm around you, holding you close for comfort. "Are you alright, love?" Eddie asks, worried he's gone too far with you this time.

"Y-Yeah. I'm fine. It w-was amazing, Eds." You say through your sobs, giving him an exhausted smile. You take a deep breath, exhaling shakily. You do it a couple more times and it seems to soothe you enough to speak properly. "I love you so much, darling. Happy Valentine's day." You say sweetly, giving him a tender kiss.

"I love you too, sweetheart. You were unbelievable. I'll never forget this special night we shared." He replies, just as content as you. "How 'bout we take a shower, and get you some water? I'll have someone come in and change the sheets, and then we can watch the tape back if you want." Eddie suggests, helping you stand up.

"Sounds perfect, love." He leads you to the bathroom, assisting you in removing the soaked lingerie set and high heels. He slips on his robe for a moment, leaving the bedroom to summon someone to clean up the bed for you. He rejoins you, and you wash away all the mess of tonight's activities. You find the bed freshly made for you once you finish. Eddie grabs the camera from the tripod, and you both slip under the covers in the nude to relive the amazing sex you just had. You snuggle up real close, and Eddie rewinds the tape to start at the beginning.

Tonight couldn't have been more perfect. The shopping, the dinner, Eddie's gift, the sex tape, it's all been absolutely amazing. Sure, you're gonna be waddling around like a penguin for the next few days. But it's all worth it to know that Eddie loves you above all else. And you love him to the ends of the universe and back.

The end.

#stranger things #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #smut #eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #90s #corroded coffin #los angeles #eddie munson x female reader #valentines day #valentine fanfic

[tomorrowxtogether]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER got their summer back

A look at the documentary TOMORROW X TOGETHER: OUR LOST SUMMER

2023.08.02

TOMORROW X TOGETHER: OUR LOST SUMMER is a documentary that follows the group on the US leg of their ACT: LOVESICK world tour last year. The first stateside concert took place in Chicago on July 7 after which the tour continued on in New York, Atlanta, Dallas, Houston, San Francisco and Los Angeles before the boys returned to Chicago to play Lollapalooza on the 30th.

Twenty-three days isn’t a particularly long period of time to be on the road, but fans had been waiting close to three years for those few weeks to come. After TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s debut song, “CROWN,” came out on March 4, 2019, it already had over 100 million views just one year later. A bright new star had entered the sky. And then, right on the heels of their impressive debut and just as they were about to set out on their first world tour to see all their fans, the COVID-19 pandemic brought everything to a halt. Now the group couldn’t even go out to see fans in Korea, let alone around the world. The documentary’s subtitle, OUR LOST SUMMER, is a nod to TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s song “We Lost The Summer,” which itself is about how the group felt being isolated from fans and friends during the pandemic: “A day or two, a week, month, year / Walking alone in place, going nowhere.”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER: OUR LOST SUMMER documents the first emotional steps the group took out into the world after two long years of “walking … in place” through the pandemic as they set off on their ACT: LOVE SICK world tour. The documentary encapsulates their journey from debut to throughout the pandemic, highlighting how ACT : LOVE SICK serves as a significant milestone in the history of TOMORROW X TOGETHER. With the release of minisode 2: Thursday’s Child in 2022, in their fourth year, TOMORROW X TOGETHER became the fourth K-pop group to go platinum in the first week in Korea, and just ahead of their tour. But the tour they were embarking on came with unforeseen problems. For one, the group had amassed a huge catalog of albums during the pandemic; the set list for ACT: LOVE SICK was 22 songs long, not including the encore, and 11 of which were performed back to back. There was also Lollapalooza and the whole press junket in the US to contend with. The documentary also shows scenes from the US showcase they performed just as they were debuting. They were new to the scene and eager to promote themselves and the songs off their debut album back then, but by the time they reach US shores a second time, they come to find that everything’s changed.

HUENINGKAI suffers a nosebleed in the middle of singing “Frost” off their album The Chaos Chapter: FREEZE, but he keeps it hidden and makes his way through three songs to keep the audience from worrying about him. The group’s status had flourished during the pandemic—far more than they ever realized—and everything was more involved and bigger in scale than they expected, but they never had the opportunity to develop the know-how required to properly handle the changes. The show must go on, and their only recourse is to push through in much the way HUENINGKAI did. At one point, with their energy beginning to wane under the demand of putting on concert after concert, the members of the group begin to worry if they’ll lose concentration while on stage too. And while each of them has slightly differing opinions on how the concert should go, they ultimately come to an agreement, keep each other perked up and make sure that the show goes on. As the tour presses on, the TOMORROW X TOGETHER members are treated to brief glimpses of the American landscape outside the venues and grow ever more reflective about their work, like when SOOBIN muses on all the love they get from MOA, their fandom, and how “the relationship between idol singers and the fans is really interesting.” TOMORROW X TOGETHER: OUR LOST SUMMER stands as a record of how they prove themselves through their shows, demonstrating their ability to live up to all the attention and excitement that swelled during the pandemic.

Lollapalooza, TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s last stop in the US, was an event unto itself, and a milestone one at that, with sales of the group’s then-latest album increasing after the festival. Given the focus of the documentary is on the experience the boys undergo throughout their US tour, however, the significance of Lollapalooza goes beyond a mere driver of a bigger success. Their performance of minisode 2: Thursday’s Child’s lead single, “Good Boy Gone Bad,” isn’t just the highlight of their festival concert but also the whole documentary because it’s an explosive display of how much the boys grew and achieved as a group during their US tour. The TOMORROW X TOGETHER that emerges after their first world tour is completely different from the recently debuted group that was performing just before the pandemic struct. There’s a highly symbolic scene where j-hope—Lollapalooza’s headliner—and Jimin, there to support his fellow BTS member, both give words of encouragement to the members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER. BTS underwent a similar period of growth and development when they overcame the many unexpected challenges that faced them throughout their own world tour, as seen in the documentary Burn the Stage: The Movie. And what TOMORROW X TOGETHER gained on their first world tour wasn’t much different from what BTS did. Now, one year later, TOMORROW X TOGETHER is the one headlining Lollapalooza. Who knows what new things we’ll see from them as they’re walking out to take the stage this time?

#txt #tomorrow x together #230802 #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #weverse magazine #weverse #our lost summer #Youtube

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 6 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 9305

chapter summary: a honeymoon of sorts.

chapter warnings/tags: relapse, depictions of drugs/alcohol/actions under the influence, dubcon because neither character is sober, lots and lots of smut

a/n: this chapter is particularly bittersweet for me. so begins the continues the downward spiral. highly recommend reading this on ao3 so you can see the proper formatting for the text!

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“Refill on your whiskey, sir?”

His fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone. Her question broke his concentration, if there had been any at all. He has rewritten that last line at least three times now. 

“Sorry, what did you say?”

The flight attendant smiles at him, a tall brunette with a bob down to her chin. If she recognizes him, she gives no indication.

“Your whiskey, sir. Would you like another? We still have an hour before we land.” 

He rattles the plastic cup that’s mostly ice water now and then throws the remnants back. He nods.

“Thanks.”

She takes the cup and puts it in the trash bin in her trolley. She unscrews the bottle of Buffalo’ Trace before preparing a new cup. 

This early, the plane is mostly empty. The lights are low, the air is warm, and most passengers are asleep. The flight attendant speaks softly as the plane rattles in the wind. 

“Is this your first time visiting New Orleans?”

He nods.

“On your honeymoon?” She nods to the woman asleep in the seat next to him, her head on his shoulder. He spins the gold ring on his finger with his thumb. 

“Something like that.” 

She wipes the bottom of the cup with a small napkin before giving it to him.

“Congratulations, then.” She smiles brightly. “As they say, laissez le bon temps rouler.”

The trolley squeaks as she rolls down the aisle, gently asking those still awake if they’d prefer coffee or anything stronger. Beneath the half-closed window blinds, a strong pink light peaks through. 

His glance returns to his phone. He still hasn’t sent the text he means to. It won’t go through this high up, but he doesn’t want to look at it once the plane lands. 

He looks at the woman next to him. His heart swells. He kisses her forehead. He goes back to his phone, types the first thing that comes to him, and taps send. 

It’s not his problem right now. It’s not going to be for the next two weeks. Two weeks and he has to be back in Los Angeles to start touring for the press junket. He intends to make the best of it. 

He clicks the phone to lock it, and he slides it back into his jacket pocket. And without much thought or hesitation or anxious overthinking, he slides off his wedding ring and pockets that too. 

He picks up the sleeping woman’s hand and kisses her knuckles. She stirs in her sleep and he smiles. 

Maybe it’s the second glass of whiskey he’s had in two years, but he feels good about this.

His last text sits, waiting for reception. 

 

“Dieter, you cannot be serious.” 

He slips his hand into yours and kisses your knuckles. He can do that here. “I am.”

You let yourself be dragged, mouth agape, as he guides you past a cobalt blue swimming blue, lined by red brick. Your baggage bumps and clatters as it knocks over the ridges. He leads you through a green door, where the French Colonial style homes have been refurbished into individual rentals. Black metal railings puff and curl on the upper balconies. Pastel green shudders line white windows. Flowering dogwood trees bend and wave in the breeze from their stations in the courtyard between doors. 

He leads you down to unit 162, gold and embossed on the front of a green door. Grinning over his shoulder, he unlocks it with a comically large brass key. 

“Hey, now, I’ve seen Skeleton Key,” you tease. The humidity in the air makes his curls extra tight, scooping up the back of his neck. “This isn’t going to end badly for me, is it?”

“Depends on how you define ‘badly’,” he shrugs and shoulders his way through the door. 

Inside is a gorgeous kitchen that manages to straddle the old and new. Modern appliances tuck up against the wall on the right, while on the other wall sits a beautiful square kitchen table, with fat knobs and white molding. Above the table, the entire wall is made of chalkboard.

You frown at the French written there in an elegant hand.

“What does that mean?”

He shuts the door behind him, smiling. “It’s an old Creole saying. It means, let the good times roll.”

You smirk at him, eyebrow raised. “Expecting a lot of good times here, Mr. Bravo?” 

His hand takes a big squeeze of your ass as he pulls you into his chest. You giggle as his sharp nose trails along your cheek. 

“It’s certainly on the itinerary.” 

He can almost smell the desire that flickers within you. You bend your head to catch his mouth, but he turns away at the last minute. He runs his finger underneath the strap of your white dress. It's currently in the running for his favorite of yours, tied only with those fucking denim shorts. 

“Go look upstairs. I’ll get our bags.”

Your cork heels clatter as you bounce up the white wooden stairs. He smiles to himself when you gasp. He takes your bag and his and follows you up.

The white shutter doors are flung open to tempt some bayou breeze, offering the beautiful view into the courtyard below. From this cottage, you can see over the private wall, down into the street on the other side. You smell sugar and molasses, and you sigh. Inside is a white bed with a brass frame. The tan walls are offset by a single wall of red brick, similar to the pathway outside. Above you, a fan spins, a much needed relief to the humid heat. 

You stand out on the porch, clearly enjoying listening to the music that can be faintly heard from Jackson Square, hands wrapped around the railing. The breeze blows your dress and any remaining anxiety around the phone in his pocket is gone. 

He hasn’t heard from Chloe.

He hasn’t heard from Heidi. 

He’s made a decision. It’s time to fucking commit. 

Finally allowed to, finally where no one could see, he joins you out on the porch and tangles his hand into your hair. He thumbs the curls there encouraged by the humidity and with a sigh, he presses his lips to your hairline at the back of your neck. You wait until he pulls back, to turn over your shoulder to him, his arms ensnaring your waist.

“This is beautiful, Dieter,” you murmur as you nose his jaw, your hand scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know how you found the most perfect place, but you did.” 

“I want to take care of you, baby.” You smell like lemons and lavender, as he runs his nose against the length of your neck. “I want to show you how much I care.”

You stiffen momentarily before folding into his open arms even more. 

The cottage block is quiet, discrete, and rather empty of prying eyes. He intends to take you out, to let you wander as any other normal couple in the Crescent City, but not just yet. His hands rub up your sides, thumbing your exposed skin on your shoulders where the shoulder straps are tied together. The sweet smell of powdered sugar in the humid wind and the curve of your neck is making his mouth water. 

“Besides, I’m making up for my other decisions. One regarding an office and a very sturdy desk,” he whispers in your ear, delighting in the way you shiver from just his words. Delicately, he slides up the hem of your dress and squeezes your thigh as a reward. His hand travels up, then in, and his finger brushes the line of your panties. 

“I’m suddenly very interested in your apology.” You turn in his arms, the bunched up fabric of your dress running against the front of his jeans and he has half-a-mind to take you on this goddamn balcony in the open air. Because he can. 

“Hmm, it’s going to be very long.” 

He eases your legs up and around his waist and your arms glide over his shoulders. Your breath smells like the gum and champagne you bought at the airport. He swears he can see your pulse point flicker on your throat.

“Oh? And?”

“Very complicated.” 

He carries you back into the room and folds you backwards onto the bed. Your cheeks are flushed from the warmth outside as you slide your feet out of your heels and he positions himself in between your legs. You drop onto your back, fingering his belt. 

You mock-frown. “Complicated? Oh, I dunno if I can follow along.”

The two whiskeys he’s had are thrumming in his veins, wants to taste that biting sweetness off your mouth again. He takes you by the heel and kisses your ankle, his other hand diving under your dress and back up to your panties. Your eyes flutter when he finds the spot he wants. He drops your ankle over his shoulder and steps forward, closer. You’re losing the ability to speak –  he can tell by the way your mouth parts as his thumb rubs your clit through your underwear. 

“You won’t be able to do much of anything, once I’m done with you.” 

“Dieter–,” you’re already getting impatient. 

“Oh, don’t ‘Dieter’ me. What’s the saying, good things come to those who wait?”

“I like the other one more. Especially the part about things rolling.”

You grab at his wrist and, as if to demonstrate, roll your hips against his fingers, trying to angle them where you want. He smirks as he twists his hand and grinds the heel of his palm into your clit, his fingers stroking you through the fabric. He nearly loses himself when he feels just how wet you are. The thin strip of underwear you so foolishly decided to wear is hardly anything more than damp twine now. 

You whine as he gathers your slick with his thumb and crowns your clit with it. “Dieter, c’mon.”

“I told you I was gonna go slow. Maybe I need to be reminded of what comes next. What do you need, baby?” 

“Your fingers,” you huff, eyes half-lidded as you watch his forearm flex, not being able to see but instead, feeling exactly what he’s doing to you. Do you always close your eyes when you come? He wonders. 

“You have them.” He steps closer, your ass against his thigh. 

“I want them inside of me.” 

Grinning like the bastard he is, he drags your underwear off one hip, then the other, then he rolls it up your thighs – you gasp when you see just how completely destroyed they are, slick making them sticky – and he tosses them by the luggage. 

Your eyes drop shut when his warm hands return near to where you need them most, but not quite exactly. He’s kneading your thighs, your ass, dragging his middle finger up through your slick and sucking on it. He hums, lips all the way down to his knuckle, and you drip more at the thought of sucking him off. 

“What do you want?”

You swallow, mouth dry. “F-fingers. I want your fingers. Inside of me,” you clarify, as you learn how to ask him properly. 

There should be an award for the amount of restraint he shows by not flipping up your dress and watching as he slowly presses his finger into your pussy. He wants to watch, but he also wants you a little bit angry with him, teased to the point of frustration, so he explores you with his finger. And then a second one. 

Your walls pinch his fingers and your back arches. “Oh, yes, Dieter, that’s it.” 

He brushes and strokes and fucks you with his fingers. Slowly. Methodically. He follows every line of your face, every twitch of skin, as you frown with pleasure. Your nails bite his wrist, your other land flat out next to you, fingers clenching the blanket. If there are stories of the Legendary Dieter Tongue, there had to be fucking songs about his fingers. 

He groans and drops your ankle from his shoulder, pushing your thigh to the side and exposing more of you. 

“Do you like this, baby? How you’re spread out for me?”

You nod, bottom lip chewed beyond recognition. He curls his fingers and you moan, the sound stifled and muted. He gently presses down on your lower abdomen to feel himself fuck up into you.

“I’ve already opened your legs. Do I need to open that mouth too?” He leans over you, somehow getting even deeper with his fingers, the sound lewd and squelching. He kisses you on the corner of your mouth because he wants to keep your lips parted. “You have to be loud for me, okay?”

You huff, skin pink, and nod. 

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Yes, Dieter. I’ll be loud for you.”

“Good girl.” And he adds a third finger. The stretch is exquisite and you let him know with a moan that digs into the ceiling. 

“Told you you’d like it if I took it slow.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice strained. “But I want it rough later. I need it, Dieter.”

That intensely satisfies him. He beckons you towards the edge just for that. He thumbs your clit in purposeful, deliberate circles as his fingers curl and twist inside of you. “We’ll stay here as long as you need it, alright, baby? For as many orgasms as you can give me. And speaking of, I’d like one now. Please.”

Maybe it’s the low gravel of his voice– laced with need and want – or the faint tease of his mustache and beard against your throat, or it’s the final relief after a thousand denials. For once in your life, you listen to him and the orgasm sparks out from your core and up through your spine. Your back, hips, shoulders arch off the bed as that wildfire sends you into orbit. 

He should make you clean yourself off him, but he wants that scent, wants his fingers coated in you. He watches you ride your orgasm and he licks his fingers. His pants are unavoidably uncomfortable right now. As you spiral back down from your high, he takes you by the waist and pulls you up near the head board, to give himself enough space to lie down. 

“Fuck, Dieter . . .” 

“I hope you do,” he grins as he bends your knees, planting your feet wide enough for him to get between your legs. You do your best impression of exasperation while still trying to remember which room you’re in. Your skin is glowing from sweat. 

He knows he’s sweating too, feeling it in the valley of his spine, and he doesn’t want to overheat this quickly. While you finally center, he takes off his shirt with one hand over his head. He unzips his pants and your eyes widen, hips arching up, so eager and willing to take him.

He kisses your knee. “Not yet, baby girl. This next one is for me.” 

He peels down the hem of your dress and his mouth floods with spit. 

Your cunt is pink, swollen from the pump of his fingers. It’s wet and your curls are wet and he knows that is the only thing in the world he needs to drink when he’s so parched. You ache to be filled again. 

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

He hums in appreciation and drops to his elbows between your legs. His bare shoulders up against the back of your thighs and his fingers pressing into the creases of your hip, he spares a glance at you. 

Your chest is flushed, breath hitching, and your hair has fallen down from its bun. You can feel his breath on your exposed cunt, the burn of his beard feeling as warm as though you held your hand out over an open flame. 

As an actress, you are confident, striking, and serious. 

Under him, you’re reduced to pathetic whines and humping the air. 

“Baby, please,” you huff, voice small as if truly uneasy. 

He licks one bold stripe up the length of your cunt, swallowing your slick like he would chase an errant drop of melting ice cream– and then he goes back for seconds. 

It’s not sweat-drenched whiskey. 

It’s better. 

“Oh, Dieter,” you sound on the verge of tears. He strokes as far as he can reach with his tongue, before sliding it back out to wrap warmly around your clit. He sucks once and your hands fly to his hair. He sucks again and your moan is strangled, coming deep from inside of you. 

He holds you to him, mouth and tongue wrecking every single sensitive part of you they can reach, his gaze on your face. He adds his fingers back in as reward for yanking so divinely on his hair. 

He doesn’t feel like he’s conquering, though he should. After all those fights, he finally managed to make you incoherent, but watching your face contort with pleasure, your moans making the heartbeat in his neck spike, he instead feels more possessive. This isn’t a stupid fuck for him. This might not even be to get back at Chloe. This doesn’t feel like backsliding. How he feels about you is entirely unique to any of the other fucked up shit in his life. This is different.

Mouth more attached to you than if he had fangs, he eats you whole. He grinds his hips into the mattress and the rough rub of the zipper on his hard cock makes him groan wet, damp air into your pussy. 

You vibrate against the sensation, as if you are overwhelmed. He drops his forearm across your hips like a steel bar. He’s not letting go until you rattle out a second orgasm. He tongues that one spot that made your breathing stop with his fingers inside of you. That white hot heat inside of you is blooming, the fires expanding every time you look down and make eye contact with him. He’s watching you with determination and focus as though you were an intricate puzzle he wanted to pick apart, its guts all exposed, and remake to hear it click. 

He’d rather be flung into the sun than take his mouth off you but he can’t talk to you the way he wants. He mouths the words in between licks.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

I can’t stand it when I’m not around you.

Your cunt is so pretty. 

I wanna fuck you on all fours but I know your legs won’t work after this. 

You’re not allowed to come for anyone else but me. 

He takes off his mouth for a moment, you hiss at the emptiness, and then he blows warm air all the way up your cunt before taking your clit into your mouth and sucking, adding his three fingers again.

Ecstasy makes black spots cover your vision as he carries you through another orgasm, pleasure sparking out from your core again, your muscles locked in sweet rapture. He swallows and laps up your release into his mouth, greedy and eager. Your hips jerk and he stays latched on, thumb rubbing what could be comforting smooth circles over the bunched up fabric of your dress – if his hand wasn’t so fire hot. 

He thinks you were close to squirting and he remembers that little spot on the left side for later. 

He leans back onto his heels, chin, cheeks and the end of his nose glistening, as you sink into the mattress, your legs and back muscles spasming slightly. 

In all your jerking and bucking, the strap on your shoulder became undone. The top of your dress is uneven. 

He finally lets himself picture what he only suspected earlier. You are absolutely not wearing a bra. He strains in his pants. He palms himself, knowing he’s not going to last but he needs to see those pretty tits of yours bounce. The last time he fucked you, he could only imagine. The time “before” that, they were bound with tape and he refused to look at them anyway. 

“Baby, can I?” 

You tear your eyes away from his swollen red cock, visible through his zipper. He’s fingering the other strap’s knot, waiting for permission. You nod, your irises swallowing the lovely color of your eyes. 

He plucks the strings loose and, pinching the fabric by your waist, he gently tugs your dress down. You arch as the hem drags across your sensitive nipples and he groans when your tits bubble up as the dress gets to your ribs. He continues pulling, his heart pounding in his ears, and then you’re naked for him. He takes in a breath and your cunt throbs at the sound of adoration. 

He feels it. His brain inhales this moment in a snapshot, a flash and a pop of smoke, before he’s ready. This moment will always be there. 

You’re scrambling to meet him as his fingers dig into your hips to pull you up. His arm digs around your back, pressing the back of your neck towards him as he kisses you desperately, wildly, as though some sort of apocalypse was minutes away from unleashing hell on earth. His forearm hooks around your low back as he pulls you into his lap, thighs tense. 

His nose and mouth run the length of your neck. He feels your pulse jump under his lips and there he finally uses teeth. He bites you and sucks just enough for your hips to jolt in his lap. Hickeys are not part of taking it slow but desire is rubbing itself up his spine, his cock so hard it was painful. He palms your breast, gathering the weight and flicking your exposed nipple. He ducks his head to taste the sweat as it runs from your throat down your under the swell of your breast. 

He slips his pants down and off, with your arms around his neck. The second he’s freed, you crowd him, hand dropping to his lap to squeeze him. 

“Don’t,” he hisses, “later. Need to be inside of you, now.” 

With shocking strength and dexterity, he picks you up by your thighs and hauls you to his chest. You reach back, finding him below you and slowly, slowly, slowly sink down. 

He was right. He took his time with you and now, with a single thrust of his hips, he’s inside you with barely any resistance. But –

“Fuck, Dee, the stretch,” you gasp into his ear, head tucked into his shoulder. He murmurs filthy secrets of desperation, mapping you from the flush of your ass, all the way up to the knot of your spine in his hands. He has you, you’re here. You want him. You want his cock. He tugs your knees around his hips, shifting him inside you. From collar bone to pelvis, you are skin to skin– your breasts pressed flat against his chest, your stomachs riding up against each other, you’re seated on him and he is fully inside of you. He grinds his teeth, his mouth pressed up to your shoulder, and then, his hips roll in and out of you, an inch at a time. 

Slow. Tense. Filthy. 

You whimper.

“That’s it. Take it, baby, take all of me.” 

It’s almost too much. You’re sensitive and sore from your other orgasms but just as the last one ebbs, another one is kindling, pleasure knotting again and again in your core. He fucks you almost like he’s bored– playing with a toy, a cock-sleeve, a place to rub one out. But it’s the drag, the controlled thrusts– he’s making sure you feel every slide and touch of his cock inside you. His pace is maddening. 

He pulls away from clutching you to him, pulls back to look you in the eyes. His hands slide and grip you by the hips, pushing you down so that his thrusts are that much deeper, almost painful. You tighten your grip around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, the sweat and the heat radiating from him like a solar flare. He knows you need it hot and fast but he doesn’t want it to end yet. He knows he’s being mean, too much teasing, overstimulation. 

He fucks you like he’s trying to break something. Or fix something. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath ragged and mouth parted. He cups the back of your head, the smell of your hair making his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Tha’s right, baby, hold on t’ me. Grip me. Let me do the work. I’ll get you there. I’ll do it.” 

“Dee, please, move faster,” you moan. “I’m almost there. Just give it to me.” 

He tightens his grip on you again, easing you against his chest – he’s trembling, control slipping– but he doesn’t change his pace. It’s steady, it’s constant. Your orgasm is staggering, lumbering towards you, so large and all consuming you almost fear the weight of it. 

“I can finally-finally fuck sweet baby’s pussy the way I want to.” He puts a hand to your cheek, your jaw, upturning your face to him to kiss you. He thrusts lazily and you feel like you’re going to drown. His back is damp. He’s so warm. “I’m gonn-nuh— make it last.”

“Fuck– please. Please. Dieter, I wanna come. Please.” Your voice is wet, like you might cry.

He can’t resist begging. Or praise.

“Gimme one more like this and I’ll fuck you like you want, alright?” 

You squeeze your thighs around his ribs, the only sign you can give him that yes, you’re listening, yes, he’s wrenching another orgasm out of you– thank you, Dieter, oh God, Dieter – 

Just as you crest the wave, he shifts up onto his knees in a particularly brutal stroke, holding your knees to his waist, his other hand wrapped tightly around the curve of your shoulder— and starts jackhammering into you. 

It’s like he’s rung a bell inside of you. 

“Oh, shit—,” 

You can feel your body ringing. 

Your next orgasm nearly knocks the wind out of you. You call his name – “I’m here, baby, tell me what you need,” – and his fingers dig deeper into your shoulders. There’s no comedown, you’re still coming, as he rams his hips into yours. 

“I’ll give you anything you want – just keep saying my name.”

You aren’t sure you’re actually saying anything over babbling words of praise, his name, and some blend of it all. 

The puffy pain around your cunt makes you dizzy and now there’s wetness all over his thighs. You arch in his arms as your orgasm steam-rolls you flat, eyes rolling in the back of your head. The steady buildup then his new pace hits you like a train as the detonation in your core sends you into orbit.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it, baby—,”

Three strokes later, he tumbles over the edge after you with a gut-deep groan. 

You’re marked in his fluids and he’s marked in yours. 

He’s shaking as he lowers you down and your limbs slip off him, every ounce of strength and control seeping from you and into the mattress below. You’re both sweat-streaked and panting, the humid air nearly drowning you. With a care you certainly couldn’t have performed, he crawls back, and one more aftershock leaves you trembling all over. 

Dieter is red faced. He’s got crescent-moon indents on his shoulders and neck. It smarts but he’d leave that pain for days if he could. Though a little-light headed and desperate for water, he slips his cock out of you, his hand on your knee. He pushes your knee to the side, just enough to watch his cum leak out of you. He scoops it with his thumb and pops it into his mouth. His eyes close as he sucks. 

“Jesus Christ, Dieter,” you moan, flopping your arm over your eyes as if another minute of watching him will send you into another tailspin. 

He chuckles weakly and moves your knee to crawl into the empty bed beside you. He tucks his arms up under the white pillow and tries to breathe, his perfect ass exposed to the air. Your last few pants are louder than the spin of the ceiling fan. It might be several minutes, if not hours before feeling returns to your limbs.

“So why New Orleans?” You ask, only a little breathlessly, your arm still over your forehead. 

“Are you kidding me?” He lifts his head, the hair at his temples darker than the rest of it. He’s only marginally offended. “Sex like that and that’s the first thing you say?” 

“Well, there were other things on my mind,” you shrug against the pillow beneath your head. “That was the only thing that was coherent enough to voice out loud.” 

“Damn fucking right.” He kisses your overturned wrist before rolling onto his back with a groan so deep, you’d think he was restarting. “And I, uh, don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go see Jackson Square and I think I’ve been kicked out of my own house, so now seemed like as good a time as any. I just need to be in a place with a lot of people right now.”

You lift your head as if expecting to see a full orgy at the foot of the bed.

“Well, you might be off track there. With the tons of people thing.” 

He smirks and adjusts to his side. He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb on the other side than his fingers. With an encroaching dark haze in his eyes, he lowers his hand around your throat. Not squeezing. Not even putting any pressure. But just a reminder. A thought. A promise.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” 

You press your chest up against his forearm, tilting your head back to give him more room. You’re not actually interested in more sex but it’s this game you play. Coin flip. See who can survive the longest. 

“You did promise to be rough with me next time.” Your fingers tighten around his wrist and at your hip, you can feel his cock twitch. 

His hand compresses once around your throat before he lets go and lets out a deep sigh. He pulls away, huffing, and collapses back onto the bed. 

“And people call me crazy.” 

You smirk, now completely satisfied. You stretch like a cat in sunlight. But then something he said earlier makes you frown. You roll up onto your elbows, looking down at him.

“I didn’t know you were kicked out of the house. Why did you say anything?” 

He takes the inside flesh of his cheek and worries it between his teeth. He’s not sorry, exactly, but this is not at all where he wanted this conversation to go. “Thought it was kinda obvious when I asked you to come with me to the airport at three in the morning.” 

You stare at him, something transfixed in your gaze, before you nod. You lean forward, a curtain of your hair closing off you and him from the rest of the world. His stomach flip-flops; rarely do you let anyone see this soft side of you.

“I’m glad you did,” you whisper as you kiss him, gently, patiently, sweetly. “It’s not like this with other people. For me.”

Beneath the curtain of your hair, it’s just the two of you. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, awe-struck that he finally has you. He feels it humming under his skin, his want for you, itching to dig his fingers in. It’s a high unlike he’s ever known. “You’re all I have, you know. Even when you don’t want me, I’ll still want you.”

“I always want you.” 

When you finally pull away, the light outside the window has gotten heavier, shadows forming in the corners. 

“Sun’s going down,” you say, the light of the (still) open shutter doors making the outline of your head glow. “Probably cool enough to wander the streets, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, in a little bit.” Looking up at you, he tucks your hair behind your ear. In the warm late afternoon light, you’re radiant and he is transfixed. Finally, all mine. “I think there was something about a promise in there.” 

Your eyes twinkle as he pulls you back down on top of him.

   It’s nearing ten o’clock when you’re finally seated at your table. The restaurant is dark, hidden away from the noise of Jackson Square and Bourbon Street. The only indication that anything existed inside of the low, squat building was a copper sign, a cut out in the shape of a Magnolia tree. But Dieter seemed to know where he was going, going on about having heard rumblings about the jazz music and grilled oysters. He simply walked into the unmarked building with all the confidence you’d expect from a man so boldly named Dieter Bravo.

The hostess seated you in the corner, each table designed with half walls, making them slightly enclosed like a carved out egg. The set of the man with the cello on stage in the front of the room ends and you clap softly, along with the rest of the room. Except for Dieter. He’s flipping through the bourbon offerings and has his hand on your thigh. A gentle hum grows in the room as its occupants return to hushed conversations before the next act arrives.

When he told you to bring a nice dress, he couldn’t have fathomed this is what you would bring in his wildest dreams. 

It’s long, gossamer, and so dark blue it looks black. The front is held up with a silver halter that connects around the back of your neck, exposing your sinful chest. But his favorite might be the back. Or rather, the lack thereof one. The material cups your chest, but drops like a chandelier down at the back of your ribs. It flows and pools at the base of your spine and the instant he saw you in it, he had you pressed up against the nearest wall to lick your shoulder blades. 

“Dieter, I will strangle you if you mess up my hair,” you huff breathlessly while at the same time digging into his own curls. 

“Why are we going out? Whose stupid fucking idea was this?” He rubbed the crotch of his dress pants up against the curve of your ass, as if he hadn’t actually had his cock in you from this angle less than an hour ago. After a bottle of champagne to celebrate, the shower to finally clean off hadn’t really gone as planned. 

“You made the reservations, dumbass,” you said before hissing as he sucked the soft spot below your earlobe.

He still can feel the bubble of the champagne under his skin, in his mouth. Still pouring over the bourbon selection, he mouths your shoulder, gently using teeth. He’s being overtly playful, the low lighting and single burning candle at the center of the table as the only nearby light source making him even more daring. But he knew he’d be admonished – it was too much in public and –

His breath catches in his chest when you lift your hand slowly from the edge of the menu and palm him over his pants. Like him before, your eyes don’t leave the menu, as if morbidly interested in the catch of the day from the Pontchartrain. 

“Don’t dish out what you can’t take, Bravo,” you say lowly, cupping the curve of his shaft before dragging your fingers back up to his crotch. 

“Th-that’s cheating,” he hisses, fighting the urge to roll his eyes back in his head. “I wasn’ even close to touching you anywhere n-ngh-near there.” 

“Well, that sounds–,”

“Is that fucking Dieter Bravo?” 

You retract your hand so fast, it bangs the table underneath, as you both look up to watch a young man with bright blonde hair, a blue suit, and an annoyingly punchable face approach the table.

He snags the chair from another table, twirls it around, and sinks into it like he owns the place. And judging by the Jaeger LeCoultre watch around his thin wrist, he very well might. 

Dieter blinks as his pale face solidifies in the half-dark. “Oliver? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Come now, dear boy, that’s no way to greet an old friend.” His posh accent speaks of boarding schools and yacht clubs. “Especially one you haven’t seen in ages.”

Those pale eyes slide to you and his lipless mouth drops open.

“Well, if I had someone half as stunning as you to keep me company, I too would fuck off and not look back. Oliver Hastings, madam.” He reaches out across the table and you take his hand, which he quickly presses to his lips. His blue eyes sparkle in a way that makes Dieter put an arm around you. You don’t look at him, but a small smile uncurls across your lips. 

“Pleasure to meet you. Where did you two meet?”

Oliver and Dieter exchange knowing glances. 

“A club in the Netherlands. My people knew his people,” Oliver says, simply. It was as close to the truth as time allowed.

“I never thought I’d see you in New Orleans,” Dieter says, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t figure this was your scene.”

“Oh, it’s not.” Oliver sniffs. “What are you drinking and can I have some?” 

He pokes a pinkie into each of your drinks, unimpressed.

“I’m here on business,” he continues and turns to wave down a waitress. 

“You don’t work, Oliver,” Dieter says, smirking. “You never have.”

“One of the pleasures of being distantly related to the Queen of England, I suppose,” he says when a waitress comes and asks for their drink orders. You gape up at Dieter while Oliver looks away. 

“That Queen of England?” You hiss at him and he grins.

“A bottle of your most expensive bourbons and three glasses. They do drink bourbon here, right? That’s a thing?”

Dieter nods, still grinning. For all his immediately off-putting mannerism, there was a charisma about Oliver that one could perhaps only buy. 

The waitress leaves to get their order and Oliver inches closer and wraps his arms over the back of the chair. 

“So, yes, on here for business, not that kind of business, but the other kind of business. The kind of business that the wealthy elites and ravers alike all fall over themselves to get.”

“I wonder if that sort of thing is hard to get through customs,” you smirk over the dredges of your red wine. 

Oliver stares at you as if seeing you for the first time all over again. And then he smiles wickedly.

“I’m sorry, I just cannot get over the fact how stunningly gorgeous you are. Did I already ask your name? You’ll have to forgive me if I’ve forgotten, I haven’t slept in three days.”

“I’m Natalie Lorraine. I’m Dieter’s co-star in an upcoming movie.”

“Ahh, well, that explains a lot of things, doesn’t it? American movie stars are rather quite fit, aren’t they? Much more than our old birds back home. Well, I can already guarantee that I’ll be first in queue to buy a ticket.” 

The waitress returns with the drink and glasses. “Thanks, love,” Oliver says and hands her a one hundred dollar bill. “I’ve got it from here.”

Shocked by the tip, the waitress nods and wanders off. 

Oliver uncorks the bottle and begins pouring out three fingers for everyone.

“Oli, you still haven’t told us what exactly you’re doing here in New Orleans,” Dieter teases. He runs his thumb nail lightly over your shoulder and in return you put a hand on his thigh. 

The British man smirks and caps the bottle. “I still haven’t told you what exactly I’m doing here in New Orleans. And I could. Or I could just show you.”

In a move that would have impressed the most skilled of card sharks, he coaxes out a small plastic bag from his sleeve with his middle finger. 

Inside are three gold dots on white cards. “They call it Stevie. Because it looks like gold dust when you rub it on your skin. Or put it in your drinks.” 

You sit forward and Dieter’s fingers nudge the knots of your spine. “What is it?”

“Bit like ecstasy, bit like Molly. None of the bad comedowns.”

Dieter snorts and chews on the leftover ice in his glass. “That’s what they all say.”

Oliver gasps softly and puts a hand over his white-collared chest. 

“Are you doubting my stock, Mr. Bravo?” 

Dieter rolls his eyes. “How long does it last?”

“Eight hours, twelve max.” 

You take the bag and hold it up in the low light. “And it’s new?”

“Originally started as a pain-killer that could be absorbed on the skin. FDA never approved it so the pharmacy that developed it went under. The blokes that made it tinkered to make it more of a party drug and here we are.”

You look over at Dieter, an excitement in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in weeks. He’d be offended if he didn’t feel the same sort of stirring. 

Oliver leans forward, his pale eyes looking up under pale lashes. By the upward tilt of his mouth, Dieter knows he knows he has you both. 

“C’mon, Dieter boyo, for old time’s sake. You should show lovely Natalie here how to have a good time.” 

He’s fine. He’s not hurting anyone. He’s having fun. He’s in control.

He can stop at any time.

You know he’s going to say yes before the words form in his mouth. You lunge forward and kiss him on the lips. 

“Alright-y then!” Oliver pops open the bag and on three fingers, he plucks up each of the gold dots. 

“To old friends,” he says as he dips a gold dot into each of their drinks, “and new.” 

Your eyes glitter as the three raise their glasses. 

“To friends.” 

And he drinks. The gold mist swirls.

   If the time he spent with you in New Mexico was slow, like molasses, dripping in sunlight, the rest of the trip in New Orleans is a blur. 

   He stands on the precipice of a mountain, the wind whipping through his hair and his cheeks. Lights unfocus and flash. There’s music and then there isn’t. There are sensations –

“Oh, God, Dieter, faster, harder, more – please, more,” 

Sweat flows down his neck, down his back, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your voice is high, breathless, as he drives himself deeper, deeper into you. You are warm and pliant beneath him and he thinks he’s going to choke on the taste of your neck under – 

– the paint is cool underneath his palms. He wipes streaks of yellow and red and green and blue up the side of the wall. He can smell the chlorine from the pool outside and the birds are singing and he thinks he can taste the yellow in the back of his teeth. The morning air is fresh and curls itself up in his bare chest and –

– he wants pastries, sweets, his mouth is tangy with the taste of your cunt –

– giants on stilts wander over his head, their pants gold and green and purple, you curl up next to him giggling and it's the most perfect sound he’s ever heard in the world. The crowd around you pushes you closer to him and he’s struck by you, by everything you are. He stops you in the middle of the street, the dark night sky arching above the streets, his hand up by your cheek, your beautiful eyes black and wide and tripping –

No, wait, I have to go back. Go back to her.

– The mural in the kitchen grows. It expands up into the ceiling, down onto the floor. The kitchen table and the chairs are thrown out into the brick courtyard. He paints and he paints. But he doesn’t know what it is yet – 

– the bed is a mess, blue paint everywhere. Your beautiful thighs are smeared with blue. His eyelashes feel heavy with paint but he can’t tell what color. His chest is cold and sticky. You’ve got one hand pressed up against the headboard, your thighs spread around him as he finds the missing warmth in the clutch in your cunt. Your tits, stained with purple, bounce and sway with the forces of his thrusts. The shutter door is open, fluttering in the wind, and it’s raining beyond the balcony. It’s pouring and he’s pouring out blue. He stains your cunt with orange, his thumb pressing up into your clit and you shriek. He can feel the white in him burst out and coat your chest and throat in his own paint –

– it’s quiet. You lay on the grass next to him in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. You’re pointing out constellations in the sky, a white powder near the corner of your mouth and the sweet scent of out-of-reach beignets hovers near your lips. As you talk, he reaches over and swipes the powder from your lips. You giggle because he’s only made it worse. There’s powder all over his hands –

You’re an artist. It rages in your blood.

No, it’s paint – 

– he wakes up and it’s quiet. 

The racing has stopped. The universe has settled. He lifts his head, barely able to comprehend where he is, but beyond grateful for all of it to end. He’s back in the cottages, on that white billow-y bed. It’s morning. The world is still quiet. He drops his head back against the fluffy pillow and sighs deeply.

But that smell is . . . it’s familiar. That sweet smell and . . . something else.

Girlsex. 

He glances down, suddenly recognizing a weight on his chest. 

Your back curves down his side. You’re covered in paint and powder and his own cum, but you rest soundly with your arm across his chest, the rise and fall of your breathing slow and deep. His cock actually aches from overuse. He picks up your hair and twirls it in his fingers, marveling at the way the light catches it. The way it smells like him. 

“Dieter Bravo,” you mutter into his clavicle. He smiles, his right leg hanging off the mattress. He skims his toes along the warm wood. “That’s not even your real name, is it?”

He can feel you grin against his chest and the drowsy, unused thing in his heart stretches. 

“Just as much as Natalie Lorraine is yours.” 

You both laugh quietly, too spent to really do anything else. You lift your head and purple is smeared by your cheek. He wants to lick it into his mouth. He feels like you are peeling him down to his bare essentials and he doesn’t know what you’re going to find. You’ll have to tell him when you do.

You kiss him, gently, as much as your aching body will allow. He hums. If he never comes again and can only kiss you like this, he’ll be satisfied. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” you whisper against his lips. There’s only gold light separating you from him. 

“Okay,” he says, thumbing the apple of your cheek. There’s nothing he ever wants to hide from you. “Dieter Bravo is a stage name. My real name is–,”

– he wakes up again, just as your tongue slips a thin, square paper into his mouth. The air is moist and his jacket is too hot but the thumping beat of the music curls into the base of his spine. The building behind you shakes with noise and you’re next in line to enter the club. The crowd of people behind you vibrates with excitement. It smells like piss and vomit. 

“See you on the other side, baby,” you murmur into his throat.

   Music. Music music music. 

It’s in him, it’s grinding up in his teeth, he swears he feels it behind his eyelids. It’s coming out of him, leaking out of his pores and thrumming in his pulse. His heart — it slipped out of its natural rhythm and attached itself to the new beat, this new pulse — and he is everywhere and nowhere. He exists only in this sea of pumping, sweating bodies and never existed anywhere else. 

The only thing centering him, the only thing real, his living heart outside of his body, is you. Your sweat-streaked hair is in his face, the damp back of your neck is inches from his mouth, flooding his senses with the taste of your sweat, your scent. For a moment, he thinks he can see the electric blue synapsis of your brain firing in pace with the music, with the LSD in your body, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He wants to feel the threads with his fingers. 

He wants to bite through your neck and slurp your synapses up like noodles. 

“Baby,” you murmur below him, barely audible above the thunder of the music, “you’re squeezing too tight.” 

He blinks and the image is gone. He sinks his jaw over your shoulder, loosening his grip on your elbows and sliding his hands over your forearms. He tries to focus on dancing, swaying with you between his thighs.

“Sorry, darling, sorry.” He holds you to him, oozing back into that blackness with you as a warm light. 

Your ass, in that black leather skirt he bought you, moves out of sync with the beat, with the swaying you had both fallen into, and rubs him through his jeans. The light travels to his crotch. 

It’s like someone dripped honey all over his brain. 

“Fuck, baby.” He noses your ear and takes your earlobe into his mouth with the curl of his tongue. You moan and, with his hands over yours, he pushes the heel of your hand over your clit. His grip moves around your waist, to the bare skin between your skirt and your high-cut top. He can’t see in the purple haze of the twitching lights and thick, fluorescent fog but he can feel you. You are dripping with sweat, almost feverish. He thinks about the blue in your brain and his dick jumps. He laves the knot of your neck with his tongue. 

“I want you. I want you right now.” 

You lean back into his damp chest and clutch the back of his head in your hand. You draw his other hand to your thigh. Your breath reminds him of flowers, flowers pressed into a book, pressed until they aerosolized. He can’t find your eyes in the dark, in the haze, and in the pulsating light, your face looks blurred. “Then don’t wait. Fuck me here, baby. Right now.” 

In the beat, the cleft of your ass rubs his cock and he thinks he can see the blue in him. Glowing blue in his gut. He nods, frantically, hand leaving your thigh to undo his belt, then the buttons of his jeans. 

He rucks your skirt up, the leather sticking to your damp skin, and he adjusts his hips. You moan, feeling his cock hard at your back. He’s sure his dick is glowing in the dark. 

“Are you ready? I can’t get you wet like you need it–,”

“Baby, I am wet. Just need you. Need you rough.” 

He thinks he might puke blue but the blunt head of his cock rubs in between your sweaty, warm thighs and the pressure in his stomach collapses. If he doesn’t fuck you right now, he’s going to break apart. 

Your skirt clutched in his hands, he swipes your underwear to the side and slides up into you in one stroke – now you’re both blue, from the tips of your heads down to your toes. He doesn’t even move, it feels so good – he says this outloud. You whine loud in his ears, the music distant and far away. You’re closer than you were before, even if it didn't seem possible at the time. 

He grinds his hips and you throw back your head against his shoulder, gasping, nails digging into the backs of his hands at your hips. He throws his forearm around your waist, before grinding his hips back and forth – never leaving you. He wants to be this close to you forever. He can’t imagine ever pulling out of your sweet, hot cunt. He thinks of his cum leaking down your thighs and he groans low in your ear. He wonders if his cum will glow and everyone will see who you belong to. 

He wants his cum all over you. His hips jerk back an inch before slamming them up again. 

“Tha’s it, baby,” you whine. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. “Keep going.”

He does. At some point, he hears the blood in his cock thump to the beat of the music, and he wants you to know.  

“Can you feel that, baby?” He slurs in your ear. He pushes your wet hair over your shoulder and presses his teeth into your skin. “You’re takin’ me. All of me. Wanna paint you blue.” 

His hand slides over your thigh again, his thumb diving in towards your center, then up. He hopes to find your clit but your entire cunt is hotter than a furnace and he’s afraid of rubbing up against metal. His hand ghosts over your clit and you cry out. 

“Fuck me harder, baby. Leave a bruise. I need you.” 

There’s a memory of being surrounded by people, but it’s not here. It’s not now. It’s ages ago. A lifetime ago. The only thing that ever existed was your cunt squeezing his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you up,” he hisses. There’s a chemical smell in the air and he thinks it’s from the lights or it might be from inside him. No, there’s only music inside him. Music he wants to share with you. Gift to you. Fall to his knees and lick up inside you.

You both only exist in blackness and there’s nothing to press you up against, but he tries. He adjusts his hips, his grip, and he fucks you deep.

Pretty thing.

Pretty girl.

Pretty cunt. 

Blue. Blue in your hair. Your eyes. Gonna paint you in blue. 

He wants to split your skull and live in your brain. 

Your moans are higher, airless, gasping, begging. The pressure behind his gut is a black-hole and he wants to fall, wants to drift. 

He braves metal burn and presses down on your clit with his middle finger. 

You are gushing blue. 

He fills you up a moment later, hips stuttering, thighs quaking. And that makes you come again. 

It’s never ending. It’s a cycle. It’s infinite. You’re infinite. If you ever leave him, he’ll die. Broken blue. 

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear in a voice so soft he purposefully won’t remember it the next morning. He drags you into his chest, to feel his heart burning for you. Only when he gets like this again, which is soon after, does he remember. When he’s sober, it’s only a feeling. When he’s out of his mind, higher than God, he has to say it. 

“I love you. I fucking love you. So much.”

When he’s this high, he doesn’t remember if you say it back. 

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