#Fretboard Notes

[musicalcolorsmc]

If you're starting your ukulele journey, learning easy ukulele chords is a great way to get started. Our detailed color-coded sticker guides with simple chord cards and step-by-step instructions will make playing fun and accessible for beginners. With just a few chords, you can strum along to your own songs and impress your friends and family. We focus on the simple chords to start, ensuring you build a solid foundation for your playing. Explore our resources today and start making your own beautiful music with ease. Embrace the joy of ukulele playing and discover how quickly you can progress with a color-coded fretboard. For more details on upgrading your instrument, please visit our website www.musicalcolors.com

[walking-circles]

i either need bigger hands or a smaller bass …

[sammaria]

GUYS A GUITAR IS JUST SIX TURING TAPES STACKED ON ONE ANOTHER

[whywalkwhenyoucanride]

trying to learn hardingfele without prior violin experience. struggling but improving. slowly. lots of fun

[sunsoak]

Looking at guitar sheet music makes me feel ill

[aashish0470]

Always creative to resurrect something like this. My first love was the sound of the guitar.

Wrote my favorite quotes ( some by me ) on every fret of my first Guitar.

I am thinking about uploading all my recordings on tumblr.

[hipatti-fante]

Installing Frets on Your Guitar with Profession by Fante

[musicalcolorsmc]

Understanding bass guitar scales is crucial for building a strong foundation in music theory. At Musical Colors, we simplify the process with online resources that cover various scales used in different genres. Learn how to apply these scales in real-world playing, enhance your improvisation skills, and take your bass guitar abilities to the next level. For more details, please visit our website www.musicalcolors.com

[ariseur]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), hispanic!reader / spanish speaking!reader in mind for javier’s, intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @maskedteaser

𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024

[sky-is-the-limit]

Artist's Touch.

P: Javier Escuella x F!Reader

CW: NSFW Content, Vaginal fingering, Grinding

WC:1,823 words

You were sitting by the tranquil water, the gentle caress of sunlight warming your skin as you cradled Javier's cherished guitar in your lap.

"Am I doing this right, Javi?" You whispered, the words barely audible above the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant movement of the water.

With tender care, you ran your fingers across the strings, coaxing out soft, melodious notes that mingled harmoniously with your surroundings.

Javier behind you was a comforting presence, his hands resting atop yours as he guided your movements, his touch warm and reassuring.

Javier's response was immediate, his voice soothing to ease your worries. "You're doing great, mi amor." He murmured, his warm breath tickling your ear.

You could feel the firmness of his arousal nestled between the rounded curves of your ass and despite your best efforts to maintain focus on the task at hand, the undeniable presence of his hardened length pressing against you was impossible to ignore.

Perhaps it was the way you were shifting slightly on his lap, the subtle movements torturing him despite his innocent efforts to teach you how to play the guitar.

Maybe it was the comfortable silence that hugged you both, a peaceful rare moment from the hustle and bustle of the camp life as you both used fishing as an excuse to get away.

And he was aware of it too. You could sense it in the way his gaze lingered on you, dark with desire as he whispered with sultry tone in your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it each time to betray his intentions.

His hand gently guided yours to a different position on the fretboard, the familiar formation of E minor taking shape beneath your touch. As he adjusted your grip, you could feel the calluses on his fingertips brushing against yours, a reminder of the countless hours he had spent perfecting his skill.

"Practice that one, love." With a soft murmur, he encouraged you to play the chord. "Let me hear it."

And so, you obliged, hesitantly strumming your fingers across the strings of the guitar. You focused intently, ensuring that you applied just the right amount of pressure on the strings to produce the correct sound.

Yet, despite your concentration, you couldn't help but feel the subtle shift in Javier's touch. His hand, which had been guiding yours moments before, now trailed down to rest on your hip, his fingers tracing circles against your skin and causing your breath to catch in your throat.

"Good, good. Now show me A major." Javier instructed with a velvety whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

As his lips moved dangerously close to the pulsing of your neck, you could feel the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin and a smirk forming on his lips.

"Javi, what are you-" You began to question, but before you could finish your sentence, you felt his fingers daringly graze your upper thigh. The hem of your dress barely covered your most intimate parts, leaving you feeling exposed to his touch.

With a firm grip, his fingers found interest on the material of your clothing and slowly, almost teasingly, he began to raise the fabric upwards, revealing inches of nakedness underneath.

The sensation of exposed skin against the cool air raised goosebumps all over you, your senses heightened by the not so surprising turn of events.

Caught off guard by his sudden boldness, you hesitated, uncertain of how to react, if you should keep playing. But then, with an unfamiliar sternness in his tone, he interrupted you.

"Ah, ah, cariño." He chided softly, his tone carrying a hint of authority that excited every corner of your body. "You focus on your playing and I'll focus on mine. Go on."

Javier watched you intently, his gaze unwavering as he searched for any sign of a reaction. He was eager to see if he could break through your focus, to witness the moment when you would fall apart to what he was doing.

With a slow motion, he positioned the index and middle finger of his right hand, forming a V shape over your outer lips before pressing firmly against them.

Despite the overwhelming pleasure, you remained determined to maintain your composure, to continue playing the guitar as though nothing else mattered.

As his fingers pressed against you, you could feel your inner lips spilling outside around his digits, the heat of your arousal radiating from your core. Your lower muscles hardened under his touch, responding instinctively to the stimulation.

With each movement of his hand, more of your juices seeped from you, coating his fingers in a slick sheen of your lust.

You pushed down against him, your silent plea for more evident in the way your body moved and trembled.

Javier was more than happy to comply, eager to satisfy your every need. With a swift touch, he removed his middle finger, allowing his index to glide smoothly along your soaked slit, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

His touch was electrifying, setting your skin ablaze as he trailed his finger from the bottom to the top of your slick folds, stopping just short of your clit. The anticipation was almost unbearable and your whimpers choked in your throat before they could reach your lips.

Exasperated by it all, you stopped playing altogether, your focus entirely consumed by the pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Javi, please-" You whined, pleading as you begged for more. "I need more, please-"

"Keep playing, amor or I'll stop." Javier warned huskily with a hint of playful threat. His words hung in the air, a reminder of the power he held over you in that moment.

A with a renewed sense of determination, you focused all your attention on the guitar in your hands, your fingers moving deftly across the strings as you continued to play the melody.

Then he moved faster, pressing even deeper. The thumb on your clit added pressure and swirled with such skilled accuracy that it burst a sudden moan out of you. It left your thighs trembling, growing weaker with each passing second.

It was velvety and slick, the way his fingers glided in and out with ease, as if you were sucking him in despite the slight stretch.

Despite your best efforts to maintain composure, whimpers and cries spilled from your lips and every word you tried to articulate was swallowed by a panting mewl, each syllable lost in the haze.

"You're doing such a good job for me." Your lover praised and with each word, you felt yourself growing more and more responsive to his touch, your body instinctively reacting to his every movement.

With each passing moment, the intensity of his touch grew, his thumb working your clit in small, tight circles that left you gasping for air, your cries mingling with the wet sounds of your own arousal.

The heat building in your stomach intensified, leaving you trembling and the guitar in your grasp alongside you. It was a wonder that you managed to maintain your grip on it amidst it all.

Every nerve in your body seemed to be on fire, ignited by the rhythmic pressure of Javier's palm now grinding against your clit as his digits thrusted in and out of you at a maddening pace. With each movement, the pressure pushed you further and further toward the edge as tears welled up in your eyes.

Amidst the haze of sensation, you felt Javier's lips against your ear, "That's it-" He rasped, his voice sounding almost more wrecked than your own. "Keep clenching around my fingers, fuck-"

In desperate need of more friction, you instinctively began to grind the globes of your ass against his clothed length and though there was the barrier of fabric between you, you could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against you with each motion.

At first, it was a subconscious movement, an innocent attempt to find a rhythm that would bring you closer to your climax. But as you continued to press yourself against him, something snapped within you.

Then, as if breaking through the barrier of your own desire, you heard it, a low, needy moan that escaped Javier's lips.

''Just like that, keep grinding on me- fuck-'' Heavenly little noises fell from his lips as he finally started pressing his crotch against you with pressure, the tone of his voice betraying his ability to last long.

The guitar was long forgotten as he, too, seemed lost in the heat of the moment. The wooden instrument served as nothing more than an object for you to hold onto. Your fingers clung desperately to the smooth surface as your hips instinctively started grinding against his hand in search of release.

His climax coming early didn't catch you off guard after only a few moments of using your lower body strength to both milk his fingers with your warm walls and grind against him. It was no surprise, really, considering the torturous arousal that had been building inside him since the moment you sat on his lap.

The fact that he had even lasted as long as he did was admirable, all things considered.

''Fuck-'' With a shudder that seemed to ripple through his entire body, Javier stilled, his cock pulsing as it spilled rope after rope of hot thick semen into his pants.

His abs flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt, the muscles rippling beneath his skin as he rode out the waves of pleasure that washed over him. His hips twitched involuntarily, his movements punctuated by sharp gasps and whimpers of pleasure as he struggled to catch his breath.

Though Javier was trying to come down from his own high, his fingers never ceased their relentless thrusting inside you. Even as his body trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm, he picked up the pace, his fingers driving deeper and faster inside you.

''Javi- God!'' The sound that escaped your lips was primal, raw, the cry of a wounded and your head swam with the force of your orgasm, every sensation heightened to a fever pitch as you surrendered to the sparks going through you rapidly.

"We might need to wash up before we get back to camp, eh?" Javier smiled wolfishly, bringing his hand up to his lips, his tongue trailing along his fingers as he savored the taste of your release and licked his fingers clean.

As your back rested against his chest, the rise and fall of your breath gradually returning to its normal rhythm, you felt Javier's hands begin to move and you felt the weight of the guitar being lifted from your body.

With a tender touch, Javier placed the guitar gently on the grass beside you and then wrapped his arms around your body, holding you close to ret his head on your shoulder.

[mungdou]

DANDELIONS PT. 2

PR. ushijima x reader; semi x reader

W. swears

GR. angst, comfort, resolution

WC. 3.2k

AN. revenge is so sweet; tysm for all the love on the first part!! it was such a warm welcome back haha :)) requests are still open so please ask away my brain is highkey empty.

(pt. 1)

It's been a while since you've felt lonely. After that day, Semi started sitting with you during lunch to chat about his day, hum some new riffs he was testing out on his guitar, or just as good company. He'd get something from the cafeteria whilst you ate the pre-packed lunch you made the night before. Needless to say, there were more than a few bites missing from your lunch after the hour was over. It was peaceful and more than anything you could ask for.

"Y/n, listen to this-" He played a short video clip of a new song he was practicing. The sound was smooth, almost as if he had run the audio through a creamy filter. Were his fingers always this nimble? Or did you just start noticing? Mesmerized by the short clip, you couldn't help pressing the reset button 3 or 4 times before Semi began pulling away.

Your eyes looked up, snapped out of the trance his fingering put you into. "Oh! Sorry, I couldn't help myself-" You smiled as your face burned with embarrassment. "That was amazing, Semi-Semi, definitely remind me next time you practice- I'd love to come listen to you live." Your fingers twiddled under the table, hoping the sudden advance didn't come out too eager. His playing was beautiful- his fingers danced on the fretboard meticulously and the notes were so smooth, almost like magic.

His lips curled in a proud smile and he seemed to perk up like a dog. "You... wanna come over? Like, to hear me practice? Me? Really?" He mustered out, his words stumbled over another. His ears turned pink and waved his hands around, gesturing between the two of you without direction.

You giggled at his flustered reaction and grasped his flailing hands. They were flushed at the knuckles, and you could feel the hard-earned callouses that had formed from years of guitar and volleyball practice. His palms were warm, but his fingertips were cold, and as you squeezed his hands, they seemed to relax into a gentle position.

"Yes! I'd really like it if I could... does this Sunday work? You'll be going home for the weekend, right?" You eagerly spoke, your hands squeezing his just a bit harder.

Semi nodded shyly, his eyes darting between his enveloped hands and your eyes. "Ahem-" He coughed softly. "Here, give me your phone, I'll put my address in for you." He took your phone off the table and typed in his address before turning it to you to confirm that you had it.

"Hmm? Oh! You live so close by to me!" You exclaimed, smiling brightly. "Yeah this is like, a 15 minute walk from my place! Wow, Why haven't we seen this before, that's so convenient, Semi-semi!"

"Oh really? That's crazy, we could have been catching the bus together or something-"

"SEMI-SEMIIIIII??" The disembodied voice of a familiar lanky middle blocker interrupted your newfound discovery. "DID SHE JUST CALL YOU SEMI-SEMI????"

"Goddamnit" Semi groans, turning away from Tendou, banging his head against the table.

"Hi Tendou, what's going on?" A shit-eating grin creeped on your face with full intent to milk this 'Semi-semi' privilege you held over his head. One of the only things you could hold above his head to be honest.

Tendou's teeth grit, greeting you with a playful glare before turning to Semi, "Why can she call you Semi-semi without getting verbally attacked? This isn't fair, I'll have you know." He tsked, "And what's this about meeting up?? Hmm?? Unsupervised, might I add?"

"Shut up, Tendou." Semi growled, picking up his tray and walking away.

You smiled nervously at Tendou, "So..." You began.

"So..." Tendou copied.

"How's Ushijima been? I mean- well- yeah." It was hard asking. It had been a few weeks since he insulted your character and needless to say, everything about it was hard. His words and your acceptance of those words. As much as you wish it didn't, time still moved on even though you were left in pain and embarrassment. The only thing that helped you get through with it was Semi and Tendou.

"He's doing okay, I guess?" Tendou mused before sauntering to pester Goshiki abut his bowl cut or something.

You guess? Okay, weird.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Even though Tendou stayed close to Ushijima, he still came over to ask about how you were doing every so often, or to tease you about something or another. It was refreshing, that despite all this, he still treated you the same.

At least he didn't pity you.

It was a shame how fast rumors spread after Ushijima rejected you so coldly.

Most said that it was your fault for interfering with his feelings.

Some thought that it was his fault for being so blunt without apologies.

Even less thought it had to do with Aoi.

Most people in the inner volleyball ring knew the truth. That Aoi had changed their cornerstone ace for better and worse. On one hand, he worked twice as hard to impress her and to better himself. On the other hand, he became ever so slightly distracted, and it didn't help that Aoi rarely did her manager duties.

At some point, it had become too much for you to handle basic manager duties on top of appealing to Aoi and Ushijima. Aoi's whole point of being here was to help out, but instead of pushing carts, hanging laundry, or taking notes, she could be seen trailing her boyfriend up and down the court with a water bottle and towel only for him.

Imagine pulling a hundred pound anchor of dead weight on a chain with your teeth while using your hands to organize papers and running 5 miles an hour.

It was obvious that people noticed. They pitied you more than they cared to admit, but they were too afraid to speak out. Plus, you reassured them that everything was fine as to not stress them out further.

Besides, it wasn't like you could fire her at this point. She was supposed to be taking over after you graduated and it was already too soon to the end of the year to start over.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

That Saturday, you woke up earlier than usual to make some cute thumbprint jam cookies to bring over as a snack for your hangout the next day. You biked out to the local grocery store to grab some missing ingredients and some nice fruit for his parents before visiting for the first time. After grabbing all the ingredients, all that was left was to peruse the aisles for fun.

"Ooh, they have truffle fry chips? That's new- ahh I shouldn't... but then again... hmmm." You murmured to yourself, crouching down to look at the options of savory treats when you heard a voice call out your name.

"Y/n-senpai?" A familiar cute, yet unfeeling voice rang in your ears, making your stomach flip in anxiety. You turned around and saw Aoi standing at the end of the aisle. Whipping your eyes back down to the bottom of the shelf, you took a few deep breaths as you heard the pitter-patter of her heel-adorned feet run down the aisle towards you.

"Aoi." You curtly nipped, with an unfamiliar lack of emotion lacing your words. "What are you doing here?" Standing back up to face her, you noticed that she had showy makeup on and was dressed nicer than usual.

"I'm here to get something with Toshi~ But I should be asking you that." She smirked boastfully, her cute demeanor barely shielding her bitter intentions. "You are so... weird. No offense. Why are you here? Probably stalking Toshi like always. Ugh, you're so suffocating, like, leave us alone. He. Doesn't. Like. You. What don't you get about that? Honestly, I might need to call the police or something to report you-"

"I. Don't. Give. A. Flying. Fuck. You. Dense. Ass. Child." You clapped back, clapping between every word, emphasizing your hate towards her. "You wanna talk about being clingy and obsessed? Really? Because last time I checked, who's the one who constantly follows Ushijima around the court, ignoring everyone else around them? The one who's always rushing over to hover over him to gush about how amazing he is after practice while others pick up your slack?"

Her face turned pink with anger, the flush blocked by the sheer amount of concealer she had on. "Well- you were rejected, yet you still show up around him, to practice and to show the notes to him all cutesy and whatever. You're practically begging for attention." She ticked her head to the side, as if she was saying checkmate.

You doubled over laughing. Tears formed at the corner of your eyes as you wheezed, trying to catch your breath. "Hah... Hah.. Oh my god you are such a little comedian." Wiping away the tears, you stood straight up and finished off your thought. "Showing up to practice and taking notes, putting aside my differences to make sure that the team functions?? Aoi, I'm gonna metaphorically hold your hands while I say this."

I stepped forwards and leaned down, moving my lips close to her studded ears. I lowered my voice, babying my voice to make sure she understood.

"That's what you call being a mature manager. Woahh~~ Whahh~~ Isn't that amazing? Though, if I'm being honest, you probably don't even know what being mature means, so I don't blame you if this completely flies over your head."

You walked past her frozen figure, waving nonchalantly as you passed. "And by the way, to answer your question, I live in the area- in fact, I live right next door to Ushijima. The same place for the past 5 years, so forgive me for intruding on his space or whatever."

On your way out, as you scanned your ingredients by the self-checkout, you caught a glimpse of a softly weeping Aoi and a silent, but furious, Ushijima in the background.

Well, at this point, what do I have to lose? If he's mad at me, I've already accepted that. If he's mad at her, I win.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

When you returned home, you hastened your pace, prepping all the ingredients and efficiently moving around your kitchen to make your cookies as quickly as possible.

Flour, butter, eggs, sugar, jam.

Finally, after an hour, you popped the cookies into the oven, wiping the sweat off your brow in triumph. After setting a timer on your phone, you ran up the stairs and collapsed on your bed.

As you lay there looking out the window, you began to think about what happened just a few hours ago. Oh the rant you were about to go on when you see Semi later tomorrow.

The thought of seeing Semi relaxed you, a heavy weight leaving your shoulder, and now all you were stressing about was to not fall asleep before your cookies were done.

Don't sleep. Don't do it, you're going to burn your whole house down. You'd better not pass the fuck ou-

"Get out."

A voice bellowed from outside your window. You sat up quickly and peered out your curtains. Across the way you could see Aoi and Ushijima arguing in his room. It was hard to hear, and only snippets were caught.

"but-"

"did i stutter? please, get out. i am saying this as nice as I possibly can."

"Toshi- please, she was the one harassing me, I swear!"

"do you think i am that dense? i was in the next aisle, i am not deaf."

Your cookie alarm loudly rang from your pocket while you peeked out the window, scaring you, but also getting the attention from the perfect couple next door. Their heads sharply looked over, but you slammed the window and shades to avoid their gaze before rushing down to take your cookies out of the oven.

phew. at least they came out nice.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It's a weird feeling, waking up before your alarm.

After dressing up in a nice white top, a jean skirt, and a gray overshirt, you went downstairs to pack your cookies and fruits into a canvas tote before leaving your house to walk over to Semi's place.

"Y/n." Ushijima's deep voice startled you.

"Oh! Good morning, Ushiji-" You started before being cut off.

Ushijima cleared his throat, "You should call me by my first name again. We aren't unfamiliar, after all."

You smiled, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. "Wakatoshi. What's up?"

"You heard, did you not?" His intense gaze wavered for a split second, tilting down towards the curb.

"Well, it was hard not to- though I didn't mean to eavesdrop like I did... Sorry about that, by the way." You sheepishly looked away, struggling to meet him in the eyes.

"It's alright. I should be sorry for the way I've treated you for the past few weeks. I never should have let her blind me into treating you like that. I never thought that her intentions were impure." He looked into your eyes, a light gentleness glazed over his own. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

"I can," You began, "and I will, eventually. But I don't think I can just forgive and forget right now, but lets just establish good terms from here on out? I'll let you know when I've healed- emotionally- that is."

"Thank you." He paused before speaking up, "Where are you off to?" looking at your treat stuffed bag.

"O-oh. I'm on my way to visit Semi... I'm running a bit late, so I'll catch you later! Bye Wakatoshi!" You jogged off, quickly making your way over to your destination.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You arrived on Semi's doorstep, but before you rang the doorbell, you tried to catch your breath. However, the door swung open to reveal Semi, draped in a loose gray hoodie and cargo pants. Both of you flushed with embarrassment.

“You… hah… I didn’t even ring the doorbell, Semi-Semi.” You laughed, out of breath, looking at him as he put his hands over his face, trying to hide his flushed cheeks. “Were you waiting for me~”

“N-no-“ Semi turned around, holding the door open to let you in before turning back to dace you, “Well, you were running late, y’see- and, uh, I was worried…” he trailed off after seeing the pouch in your hands. “What’s that?”

You looked down at your hands, “I made cookies for us to eat! Oh!! I also got some fruit for your parents- are they home?” You rummaged through your bag and took a nicely wrapped melon.

“Nah, my parents aren’t home right now… We can just leave it in the basket over there.” He led you to the kitchen and took the melon to store away.

"So... you were waiting for me, weren't you?" You smiled, leaning in close, "I didn't even ring the doorbell- You were definitely looking for me through the window..."

"I- No, It heard your huffing and puffing a mile away-" he stammered, his ears now flaring red. "A-anyways... let's go upstairs- you can bring the cookies with you..."

Following him up the stairs to his room, you noticed all the baby photos adorning the walls, before stopping in front of a familiar one.

Semi heard your steps come to a stop, turning around to join you. "Wow this is so embarrassing- that's from my daycare graduation-" He started, before turning to see your face.

You looked almost startled, "I have this same photo in my house, look-" Your finger pointed at the little girl behind the platinum haired toddler. "In the pigtails behind you-"

"Seriously?" Semi huffed, looking closer at the photo, "Damn, you're right- it really is you."

"Wow Semi-Semi, your hair is naturally this color? I could've sworn you dyed it or something-" You giggled, examining the photo in detail before quietly whispering, "You were a really cute baby."

Semi looked at you with wide eyes. "I heard that-" He coughed out before grabbing your arm and pulling at you to his room. You yelped in surprise, but after walking through the hallway of pictures, you finally made it into his room. It was covered in band posters and at the very corner stood a guitar propped up on a stand.

"Wow- your room is so decorated, it's putting my room to shame," You laughed before plopping onto the floor. Semi picked up his guitar and started to tune it.

"It's nothing special, just some stuff that I've printed throughout the years." He smiled, plucking at the strings before playing some chord progression.

It was almost angelic, the way he played. His fingers danced around the strings so naturally, like he was born to play.

"You play so beautifully," You smiled, looking intensely as he played, "If you put a halo on and wore all white, I could swear you were an angel or something."

"Probably not as beautiful as you are, though." He blurted before catching himself, his fingers frozen in place. "Wait-"

"Really?" Now it was your turn to blush. "Wow Semi, you are such a flirt~" You felt the blood rush to your face while the words fully sunk in.

He cleared his throat. "Uh... Yeah... You are really pretty, did you know that?" His fingers hovered over the strings, almost as if his brain didn't know how to control them anymore.

"You too." You squeaked out, trying to find your voice and composure. "You too, Semi-"

He put the guitar down, and it's hollow body clattering when it hit the floor. "I like you." He smiled shyly, not sure what to say next. "I really really like you."

You shuffled, closing the distance between the two of you. "Me too." You mumbled, looking down at the ground. "I really really like you too."

Both you and Semi sat in silence for a while, though the room kept getting warmer and warmer.

"O-oh!" You exclaimed, stopping the stagnant silence. "The cookies! Uh- Really good! Eat-"

Good job, Y/n, really, really good job.

Semi, in a state of panicked eagerness, grabbed one and practically swallowed it whole before choking a bit. He pounded his chest, tears watering in his eyes.

"Ah!! Water- Water!" You scrambled, pulling out the thermos in your bag.

Semi quickly took the bottle and gulped down the water, sighing in relief after the cookie passed through.

"Are you okay?" You exclaimed, the panic leaving your body. Semi nodded in embarrassment.

"Yeah... it was really tasty- the choking was my fault."

"No, I should have warned you that it was the crumbly kind of cookie." You paused, before buckling down laughing. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gasped for air.

Semi started to laugh, and soon the silence and panic was replaced with cackles.

"Hah... this is gonna be a good story to tell everyone." You sighed, calming down and leaning on his shoulder.

"Yeah...." Semi smiled, resting his head on yours, grasping your hand and interlacing your fingers.

"Wait-" he froze. You looked at him, puzzled by his reaction. "No we can't tell anyone- Especially not Tendou- I can't take the embarrassment any further."

You giggled, looking up at Semi through your eyelashes.

"No promises."

AN: omg this took so long haha my bad yall, hope u liked it :)

masterlist || request

[tomssexdoll]

Under His Strings

PAIRINGS: Tom 2014 x Female reader

CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Tom is Y/Ns private guitar teacher. One day when she shows up she couldn't get the song right, failing almost every time she played, she could sense his frustration and used it to her advantage, teasing him until breaking point.

A/N: ur all amazing ily

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), mutual masturbation (handjob, fingering), a lot of teasing, degrading, age gap (5 years)

Tom was my guitar teacher, I took private lessons with him, I do have to admit they were expensive but Tom always gave me a discount, calling me his favourite student. I loved every session with him, he was patient, gentle and funny, he always bought us food and let the lesson go overtime.

He was in a band when he was younger, retiring to teach people guitar. He was a bit older, 27 to be exact. I was only 22, looking to learn guitar as a little hobby, the city I lived in being super boring.

When I wasn't learning guitar with Tom, I was at school. I came in one day for my usual lesson, I sat down on his fancy, red leather couch, grabbing one of his guitars and setting it in my lap, waiting for him to show up.

Shortly after he entered the room, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me. He sauntered over, his muscular physique clearly visible under his grey shirt. He took notice of my smile and returned it with a charming smile, "good morning, ready for your lesson?" he sat down next to me, grabbing a guitar too and facing me.

I nodded, "yep! Let's get started," I smiled brightly, grabbing my notes sheet, looking at the song I was due to play. He chuckled at my enthusiasm, grabbing the aux and plugging them into the speakers and guitar.

"Alright then, pay attention to the chord progressions and let your fingers find the notes naturally," he looked up at me from his guitar, making sure my fingers were in the right spots.

I began to play the song, messing up a few times, not able to get the rhythm right. I could tell he was growing a little bit frustrated, I usually had the ability to catch on pretty quickly but this song was difficult.

He let out a deep sigh, "I know you can do better than this, try again," he watched me play again, yet there was no improvement, only worsening due to the pressure of him watching me.

"Tom I can't!" I sighed, frowning deeply, his expression turned stern, eyes narrowing as he studied my performance, "can't or wont? Because right now, it looks like you're not even trying," he reached out, taking my hand, his large fingers wrapping around mine as he placed it on the fretboard. "You have potential Y/N, sometimes you just...don't try hard enough," he kept his hand on mine for a little too long, rubbing his thumb over my skin.

"Tom you don't understand, I am trying!" I whined, upset with how strict he was being. His eyes flashed with a hint of anger, his grip on my hand tightening tightly.

"Understand? I understand that you're struggling, but that's no excuse for mediocrity, I've taught you well and will not tolerate this from you," he leaned in, "whatever..." I muttered, pulling my hand away from his and focusing on my guitar again.

I started to play again, Tom watching me for a few moments, his expression unreadable. He leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he observed my progress. "No, no, no. You're still rushing the chorus. Slow down, take your time with it," I grunted and set the guitar aside, "well I can't help it if you're watching me like a fucking hawk!" I raised my voice, my tone laced with frustration.

He raised an eyebrow at my outburst, scooting closer. He took a deep breath, leaning forward to place a hand on my knee, "that's enough. I'm just trying to help you improve, let's try again," he looked into my eyes, reaching up and gently squeezing my shoulder before letting go and handing my guitar back to me.

Tom watched me intently, his eyes following every move I made as I played. He nodded along to the rhythm, occasionally offering a suggestion here or there, but for the most part he observed in silence. At times, he even moved closer to me, seemingly drawn in by your performance.

As I finished he spoke up, "that's it, well done, all you're stuck on is the chorus, come here, let me help," he turned me around, coming up behind and wrapping his arms around me, placing his hands on mine, "there we go, now let's start.." he whispered gently.

His chest pressed against my back as he adjusted my grip on the guitar and helped me strum the strings, his breath was hot against my ear as he whispered instructions, sending tingles down my spine, "see, it's all about timing and rhythm," he smirked, I bit my lip and nodded, feeling the tension start to build, the air thickening.

I kept strumming, purposefully getting it wrong to tease him. His grip on my hands tightened as I kept getting it wrong. His patience started to wear thin, his body tensing behind mine as he tried to control his anger, "no, no no, like this"

I kept messing it up, a small smile tugging at my lips, "like this?" I turned to look at him, our faces inches away. His eyebrows furrowed, his grip on my hand tightening even more as he tried to control his growing frustration. His chest heaved against mine as he took a deep breath, "stop fucking around and listen to me," he growled lowly.

"Sorry Tom.." I batted my eyelashes, putting on a fake innocence to drive him crazy. I backed my ass into his crotch, softly grinding into his erection, "so, do i do the chords like this?" I smirked, playing the guitar right for a moment.

His breath hitched as he felt me grind against him, his cock slowly hardening . He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure, "yes, just like that.." he murmured, his voice strained.

He tried to adjust himself discreetly, but I could feel him twitching against me. I smirked as he cleared his throat, trying to play it off, "okay Tom.." I kept grinding softly, at one point pushing my ass into his crotch.

"Tom I just can't get it right!" I whined, he hissed softly as he felt my ass digging into his hard cock, a rush of pleasure shooting through him. He tightened his grip on the guitar to try and distract himself, but it was no use. "Here, let me help you," he whispered softly, holding back a moan.

I nodded, feeling his hands gently move towards my hips, holding them tightly, guiding me to lean forward over the guitar. His breath quickened as he positioned me just right, so that his bulge pressed firmly against my ass. He could feel my warmth through his pants as he ran his fingers up and down my sides, teasing me softly.

I gasped, "keep teaching me.." I moaned softly, feeling his lips graze over my neck as he mumbled a low "ok..", his grip tightened on me, trying to guide my fingers on the guitar. His breath hitched as the friction against his aching cock became too much to bear.

I moved my hand behind me, towards his crotch, gently rubbing his bulge, causing him to let out a sharp breath, his hips jerking involuntarily, seeking more friction against my soft touches. "Not yet.." he warned, his voice low and husky, "focus on your lesson."

I smirked and returned my hands back to the thin strings of the guitar, gently strumming and slowly playing the song, "I can't get it right!" I grunted, turning to look at him again, his forehead covered in sweat, his breath ragged.

His eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and desire, not understanding why I was teasing him like this, was I purposefully fucking up the chords? Was he crazy for thinking I was teasing him?

He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, "stop teasing and focus," I smirked, "you look tense Mr Kaulitz, what's wrong?" I said innocently, knowing damn well why he was acting like that.

He grunted lowly, I had lit a fire in him that he couldn't extinguish, "I'm not tense..." he growled, trying so hard to not just grab me, bend me over and fuck me until I couldn't walk straight.

"Are you sure?" I moved my hand to his crotch again, gently rubbing his erection, "you seem upset Tom.." his patience finally snapped, throwing the guitar aside and roughly spinning me around to face him.

His hands gripped my shoulders firmly as he glared down at me with a mix of anger and lust in his eyes. "Stop it, or I'll take you right here and now, do you want that? Do you want me to fuck you on this couch?.." he grunted, "what if i do..." I smirked, leaning in closer.

His anger boiled over and in a flash, he grabbed me by my wrist and yanked me towards him. His other hand cupped my face, digging his fingers into my skin as he slammed his lips against mine in a brutal, punishing kiss, "fucking teasing slut..." he grumbled, pulling me flush against his body.

His hands moved up and down my sides, gripping me tightly as he kissed me again, his lips moving passionately against mine, his tongue demanding entry. His hands squeezed my hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue dominating mine in a heated dance, "you have no fucking idea what you do to me.." he grunted, moving his lips towards my neck, gently sucking.

"Tom.." I gasped, my mouth slightly agape as I wrapped my hand around the back of his head, gently tugging at his hair as he kissed my neck. He let out a low growl against my skin, knowing he had me right where he wanted me. His hands roamed down to the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it up to expose my stomach and chest.

My tits hid behind my bra, his hands desperately tugging it off, revealing my breasts, my nipples hard. His gaze dropped to my exposed breasts, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he took in the sight.

His hands immediately move to cup and squeeze them firmly, drawing a gasp from my lips at the mixture of pleasure and slight pain. "Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful," he murmured.

He moved his hands back to my waist, pulling me swiftly onto his lap. I moved my hand down to his erection again, feeling his cock throb in his pants, "you want me to touch you, hm?" I whispered, moving my lips to his neck, gently kissing the skin.

He let out a strangled groan as I rubbed his aching cock, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing through him. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer against him as he grinded into my touch, "yes, fuck...touch me, baby. I need it," he grumbled, I smirked and hummed in approval, quickly unbuttoning his pants and hooking my fingers around the waistband, dragging them down.

I hovered over his lap as he helped push his pants down further, letting them fall to his feet. His cock strained against his boxers, begging to be let free. I shoved my hands into his underwear, pulling his cock out, his tip glistening with pre cum.

A guttural moan escaped him as my fingers wrap around his aching cock, the feeling of my touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through his veins. His eyes rolled back slightly, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow as he arched into my grasp.

I started to move my hands up and down his shaft, small ragged gasps coming from his lips. As I kept jerking him off I felt his fingers slowly snake to my hips, down to my lower stomach and into my panties, running his fingers along my sopping folds.

A shudder ran through Tom as my hands work his cock, each stroke igniting a fire in his loins. The feeling of my slick heat against his fingers as he explored my panties was intoxicating, groaning low in his throat, "jesus, you're so wet for me already.." he leaned in, whispering against my lips.

I gently pressed my lips against his, whining as I felt his fingers enter me slowly. His lips devoured mine, his tongue slipping in to dance with mine as his fingers delved deeper into my wet heat "fuckkk...so tight and wet..taking my fingers so well baby.." he groaned, breaking the kiss for a second to spit dirty words at me, feeling my inner walls flutter around his fingers. His cock pulsed in my hand, straining towards release.

I moaned against his lips, continuing to stroke his cock, my pace quickening as I felt his fingers curl inside my pussy, teasing my g spot and sending shivers down my spine, "Tom...mmh..."

"You like that baby? You like when I finger this tight cunt?" he whispered, his breath fanning on my face. I nodded, whining softly as the pleasure built up, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked down at me with a dark, hungry gaze. His fingers worked inside me, pumping and curling to hit that sweet spot that made me clench around him.

He growled lowly as I worked his cock with renewed vigour, my hand flying up and down his throbbing shaft. The dual sensation of his fingers inside me and my hand on his dick almost too much to handle. "Fuck, yeah...Just like that you dirty slut.." he said, his voice laced with desire.

I felt my release quickly build up, my pussy clenching and throbbing around his fingers, soaking them in my juices. "Cum for me..let go baby.." he moved his lips down to my neck, placing sloppy kisses all over the skin, sucking gently and leaving marks in his path.

"Gonna cum baby...cum with me.." he said through gritted teeth, thrusting up into my hand, his thick cock moving up and down in my hand viciously, precum beading at his tip, his release dangerously close, ready to erupt at any second.

His cock throbbed in my hand, cum shooting across my stomach and breasts as he groaned, clenching his teeth, his pace never faltered even after his orgasm, only going harder, his thrusts erratic and cruel.

I threw my head back, moaning loudly as my orgasm came crashing down, my hole clenching tightly as my juices spilled all over his fingers.

"Fuck yes..that's it baby.." he groaned, removing his fingers from my cunt and moving them up to his mouth, gently sucking all the slick off with a pleasured hum, his chest heaving with extortion "mmh...you taste so sweet.." his eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took in the sight of my pleasure drenched face.

After calming down from our earth shattering orgasms, he gently laid me back on the couch, climbing on top of me. His gaze darkened as he saw me ready for him, his possessiveness flaring as he pinned my wrists above my head, his cock still hard against my thigh. "You're mine, understand? Mine to fuck, mine to use however I please.." he said, his voice just above a whisper, taunting me.

"Yes Tom.." I nodded softly, looking up at him, my pussy aching for his cock. A wicked grin spread across his face as he saw the desperation in my eyes. His grip on my wrists tightened, his thumbs brushing over my pulse points.

"Good girl..." he lined up his cock, the head pressing against my entrance. He slowly entered me, inch by inch stretching me out, "ah! fuck!" I gasped, squirming in his grip. He let go of my wrists, his hands snaking to my hips instead, holding them in place.

A low grumble rumbled in his chest as he felt my warm enveloping him, "fuck, yes..You're so tight, so perfect..." he thrusted himself deeper inside me, setting a steady and dominating pace, "you belong to me now, understand?" he growled, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of my hair.

"Mmhm!" I whined, his eyes flashed with excitement, his thrusts becoming more forceful and deliberate. "You like that, don't you? Being fucked like a little slut..being fucked by your guitar teacher.." he leaned in, his hot breath against my ear, making my skin prickle.

I whined, not being to answer because of all the pleasure I was receiving, he chuckled deeply at my helpless response, pounding into me with reckless abandon, his cock throbbing inside me as he chased his climax.

I wrapped my arms around him and dug my nails into his back, the pain causing him to groan lowly. As much as he enjoyed the pleasure, he also enjoyed the pain.

The couch creaked and shuddered beneath us, a symphony of flesh slapping against flesh and my mingled moans and cries. He couldn't get enough of me, his body craving more with every thrust, "take it all, fuck.." he grunted, pulling my hair tighter, diving down into my neck and leaving rough, sloppy kisses.

He groaned into the crook of my neck, slamming into me with renewed ferocity, driven by the sweet torment of my nails and the desperation in my moans.

"Come for me, love. Let me feel you cum on my cock.." he groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest as he slammed into me with brutal force, he reached down with his spare hand and gently rubbed my clit, his cock twitching and throbbing in my needy cunt, signalling his impending release.

"Mmmh! Fuck!" I gasped, the feeling of being pleasured in 2 different ways at the same time driving me crazy, arching my back to meet his vicious thrusts.

His thrusts become erratic, powerful and ruthless, the couch slamming into the wall beside it with each brutal plunge. I felt my stomach turn in knots, my climax dangerously close with his.

His grip on me tightened as he slammed into me one final time, his cock erupting deep inside me, yelping my name. His hot seed flooded my pussy, painting my inner walls as he rode out his climax, lost in the intense pleasure of claiming me so thoroughly.

The feeling of being filled triggered my orgasm, I moaned loudly and came all over his cock, my juices spilling down it. He collapsed on top of me with a grunt, our chests heaving in unison, trying to calm down from another shared, mind blowing orgasm.

After a few minutes he gently shifted his weight off me, but remained lying close, settling behind me. His strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest. His breath still heavy as he recovered from the intense love making.

He reached out to gently stroke my hair and whispered, "I can't get enough of you, my love, we have to book you more classes during the week," I smirked, "oh do we? And what will we do Mr Kaulitz?" I taunted, turning around and looking up at him.

"Mmhh..." he gave a sly smile, his eyes glinting with  mischievous intent, "ah...I have a few extracurricular activities in mind.." he leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.

"Oh you do?" I giggled, "and what are those activities," I whispered against his lips. His hands wandered down my body, tracing the curves of my hips and waist before pulling me closer against him. He nipped at my bottom lip, his voice husky with desire.

"Mmmh...exploring every inch of your body, making you scream my name as I take you roughly.." he grinned, "oh really? I don't think that's very appropriate Mr Kaulitz, you're my guitar teacher after all," I said, continuing to taunt and tease him.

"Oh shut up.." he chuckled, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss. I deepened the kiss, feeling his tongue invade my mouth, his hands roaming my body, caressing and exploring, as he pulled away from the kiss he looked at me with a heated gaze.

"Let's get you cleaned up love, i'll drive you home.." he pecked my lips before grabbing a tissue from the coffee table in front of us, wiping all the cum he had spurted on my tits and stomach from before, then moving down to my pussy and cleaning the cum dripping out.

He helped me put my clothes on, fixing up my hair and holding my waist as I walked, my legs close to giving out, trembling slightly with every step.

tags: @ballhair @kaulitzswhxre @tomsonlyslut

tags: @billsdolliest @pa1n-0f-l0ve @tomscumdoll

tags: @bills-wife-1 @bkaulitzlover @ella1289 @tomsfuckdoll

Tags: @miyukafujii

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 2 - Electric Desires

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7.2k

Chapter 2/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Each chapter is hella long because I had time to sit and wait to release this one. Weekly updates might be the wave.

R and Nat will be moving quickly so if you like slow burn this isn't the story lol.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Natasha sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch in their cluttered studio: which was just Tony’s garage. The room buzzed with creative energy and the faint scent of old leather, a familiar combination that fueled the essence of Velvet Rebellion. She strummed her guitar absentmindedly, her fingers dancing over the fretboard, creating a gentle hum in the room. She was in her element in full force. 

Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Tony were huddled around a battered coffee table, scraps of lyrics, and scribbled notes strewn about like confetti after a wild party. They were her bandmates, her comrades in music, and tonight they were deep into a songwriting session. Natasha enjoyed days like this the most. She often found the songwriting process frustrating but fulfilling, which is why they’re on hour four of this session with only the first verse written. It seems she’s not the only one with writer’s block. 

"Natasha, we need something here," Steve’s voice cut through the room's creative haze. He furrowed his brow, fingers dancing over the keys of a vintage synthesizer. "A melody to tie this verse together."

Natasha tore her gaze away from her guitar and glanced over at Wanda. Her fingers stopped mid-strum. She blinked; her thoughts momentarily disrupted.

"Nat, you with us?" Tony chimed in, his eyes darting between Natasha and his laptop.

A flush of embarrassment washed over Natasha. She'd been lost in thought, her mind wandering where it shouldn't have. She’d been thinking about you again. She couldn’t get you out of her head. There was a hint of exhaustion on her features as she sat her guitar next to her. She’d spent the previous night going down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos involving you. It seemed you’d understated how good of a musician you were. Natasha discovered you had a small fanbase with plenty of videos dedicated to your brief yet impactful career. Even if your resume included a lot of backup singing, she could see why there was a push for you to strive for something more. You were talented in every sense of the word. 

With a sheepish smile, she nodded. "Sorry, guys. Got a bit distracted there."

She fumbled to put her phone face down on the coffee table, hoping her bandmates hadn't noticed her constant glances at the silent screen. Natasha had been replaying every moment of your brief encounter at the party in her mind, questioning if she'd made a connection or if it was just another fleeting moment.

Steve’s fingers continued their dance on the synthesizer as he tried out different melodies, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. "No worries, Nat. Happens to the best of us."

But Natasha couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration with herself. She was the lead singer and lyricist and usually held everything together. Yet today, her mind was scattered, torn between music and an unexpected, lingering hope that her phone would light up with a message from someone she'd barely known.

Natasha's fingers deftly reached for her well-worn writing book, nestled among scattered lyrics and half-finished songs. Her eyes scanned the pages, searching for something that had evaded her for far too long. Her bandmates carried on their musical discussion, oblivious to her momentary distraction.

Finally, she found it—a scribbled idea that had haunted her thoughts for weeks but had remained unreachable, refusing to take a tangible form. Natasha's heart raced as she read the words, her handwriting staring back at her, challenging her to bring them to life.

"Guys, hold on a sec," she called out, her voice trembling with excitement. Her bandmates stopped their conversation, turning their attention to her. Natasha's fingers tapped the page she'd found. "I think I've got something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What is it?"

Natasha cleared her throat and began to read the lyrics she'd unearthed, her voice carrying a hint of the sweet melody she envisioned:

"Underneath the city lights, I saw your face,

In the crowded room, you were my saving grace.

A glance, a smile, it all fell into place,

In that moment, I knew, love's tender embrace."

As Natasha recited the lyrics, Wanda's eyes widened, and she nodded appreciatively. "That's beautiful, Natasha."

Natasha couldn't help but blush at the compliment. She felt the lyrics were deeply personal, a reflection of the emotions she'd been grappling with. "Thanks, Wanda. But I think it's missing something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her fingers lightly grazing Natasha's arm as they huddled together over the writing book. "What do you have in mind?"

A spark of inspiration flickered in Natasha's eyes. "How about this? Instead of just a glance and a smile, it's about meeting someone and falling in love at first sight. The moment your heart skips a beat."

Wanda's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I like that. It adds depth to the story."

With renewed enthusiasm, Natasha began to sing the modified lyrics, her voice filled with emotion:

"In the heart of the city, I met your eyes,

In that instant, I felt my soul take flight.

Love at first sight, a sweet surprise,

Two worlds colliding, under starry skies."

The words flowed effortlessly, weaving a sweet melody that resonated with everyone in the room. Sitting behind his drum kit, Tony started tapping a rhythm, adding a pulsating beat to the song. Steve found his way back to the keyboard, his fingers searching for the chords that matched the melody.

The studio came alive with the energy of collaboration as they played off each other, improvising and experimenting. Wanda's voice dipped into low notes, adding a haunting harmony, while Tony began to find a mix to add to the music. 

It wasn't the final product but the magic of creation—their music taking shape from a mere spark of inspiration. Natasha couldn't help but smile as they continued to refine the song. 

Bucky sat down his guitar, a sly grin playing on his lips as the melody they'd created together hung in the air. He couldn't help but feel a shift in Natasha's usual songwriting style, one that intrigued him. "Nat, you're getting into writing love songs now?"

Natasha shot him a playful yet challenging look, her fingers still scribbling along the notebook pages. "Oh, please, Bucky. We had love songs on our first album."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Not like this. These lyrics, they're something else."

Natasha sighed, closing the tiny notebook again. She knew he was right, and she couldn't deny the shift in her lyrics and her emotions. "Alright, fine. Maybe I am writing a love song."

Bucky leaned forward, his gaze intense. "So, are you in love, Natasha?"

She met his gaze head-on. "No, Bucky. I'm not."

Bucky nodded in understanding, sensing the unspoken annoyance in her words. Natasha had always been guarded about matters of the heart, and they respected her boundaries. They returned to their instruments, each lost in their thoughts, letting the music speak the words that couldn't be said.

********************

The leotard store was an arrangement of colors, and Isabella, your spirited nine-year-old daughter, was bouncing between the racks, playing her own game of hide-and-seek with the endless collection of spandex. Her enthusiasm for picking out leotards rivaled her passion for gymnastics.

"Mama, check this one out! It's super sparkly!" Isabella shouted, triumphantly holding up a leotard adorned with sequins like a little treasure hunter.

You and Monica shared a knowing smile as you surveyed the options. "Great choice, Bella," you replied, trying to match her enthusiasm. "Let's add it to the pile."

Isabella nodded, seemingly satisfied, and skipped off in pursuit of her next leotard conquest.

As Monica and you continued your search, your mind drifted back to a conversation you’d had at Harley's party just a couple of weeks ago. There was a woman there, a stranger to you, who had engaged you in a conversation that had held your attention for longer than you’d expected.

"Hey, y/n" Monica began, her tone a mix of curiosity and amusement. She sifted through the clothes, trying to understand what she was looking for. Isabella had a very specific taste.  "Are you going to finally tell me about the woman from the party? You two seemed to be hitting it off."

You glanced at Monica, feeling somewhat caught off guard. "Oh, that? It was just a casual conversation. I doubt it's anything worth dwelling on."

Monica raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your dismissal. "Just a casual conversation? You looked pretty into her. What's her name?"

You sighed, knowing Monica wouldn't let it go quickly. "Her name is Natasha Romanoff. She’s the lead singer of that band. Velvet Rebellion. We talked for a while. But honestly, I haven't reached out to her or anything." You shrugged. 

Monica persisted, undeterred. "She’s cute. I’ve heard a couple of their songs in passing. Why haven’t you called her?"

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers unconsciously fussing with a leotard on the rack. "Life's been hectic lately. I've barely had a moment to breathe, let alone call someone."

Isabella, who had overheard your conversation while meticulously assessing leotards with the discerning eye of a seasoned fashion critic, joined in. "Mom, you should call her."

You couldn't help but smile at Isabella's straightforward logic. "You focus on the leotards. You only need a few for now. You’re growing like a weed."

Monica and Isabella exchanged amused glances, both united in their disbelief. "The kid is right," Monica declared, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Isabella nodded in agreement, adding her hint of authority. "I’m just saying." She held up a pink leotard and you shook your head. The cut wasn’t appropriate in your opinion. She returned the leotard to the rack with a sigh and went to a new one. 

Monica's curiosity was relentless, and she wasn't about to let the topic of the woman from Harley's party go. As you continued looking through the racks with Isabella's energy bounding around you, she probed further.

"Come on, y/n, what's the big deal about calling her?" Monica inquired, a mischievous glint in her eye.

You sighed, trying to choose your words carefully. "Mon, you know their band's reputation. The tabloids haven’t been so easy on them. Especially with them being new. Trust me I’ve checked.” You shook your head. “And besides, Natasha used to date Carol Danvers. We’re not friends, but we’re not exactly enemies either. I’m not in the business of going behind her back. It was a bad breakup if it’s anything like the tabloids say and I don't want to risk the same fate."

Monica raised an eyebrow, her expression one of bemused disbelief. “You're not even dating this Natasha person yet. It could be a fun fling or something. You don't have to jump into a full-blown relationship. Also, you hate Carol Danvers."

“I don’t hate her,” You refuted her claims. “I simply enjoy spending my time in spaces that don’t have her in them.” You couldn't deny Monica's point, but the cautious side of you still hesitated. "Also, I know it doesn’t have to be more than what it is. But I've been down that road before, and it wasn't pretty. Besides, I don't want to have this conversation in front of Isabella."

You leaned down to pass a few leotards to Isabella and whispered to her, "Sweetie, can you go find some shoes that match these leotards? That would be a big help."

Isabella nodded enthusiastically, her focus shifting from the leotards to her newfound mission. As she scampered off in search of the perfect shoes, you turned your attention back to Monica.

Monica gave you an understanding look, her voice lowered. "Alright, I get it, y/n,  But don't let the past hold you back from something potentially great. You deserve happiness, too. Even if that means you fuck a few times and that’s it."

“Monica,” Your eyes widened, clearly scandalized by her bluntness. 

“Am I lying?” Monica held up a hand. “When’s the last time you had some? You don’t know do you?”

“I do know. It hasn’t been that long.” You considered her words. You thought back to the very brief casual sex thing you had with a woman around last year. Or was it two years ago? “You’re right I don’t know.” 

“See,” Monica leaned against a rack. “Ask her out to the party tonight. It’s a group thing. I get to vet her. You get to see her. We all win.”

“Fine, fine,” You shake your head. 

“Call her now,” Monica nodded. 

“Um, she’s probably busy.” You furrowed your brow. Another excuse from you. 

“She’ll answer,” Monica said assuredly. “Do it or I’ll dm her myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” You held up a warning finger to Monica. Sometimes your best friend’s forwardness wasn’t welcome. Even if she meant well. She raised a brow at you before pointedly looking toward your purse. “Fine.” You grumbled as you took out your phone. 

You walked to a quieter corner of the store, away from the bustle and the excited chatter of Isabella and Monica, who were now hunting for beam shoes. You scrolled through your contacts until you found Natasha's name. With a deep breath, you pressed the call button.

On the first ring, Natasha's voice came through, calm and confident. "Hello?"

You couldn't help but smile, though your attempt to sound equally composed might have come off as forced. "Hey, Natasha. How's everything going?"

“Oh, it’s you,” Natasha's tone change was evident. "Everything's good. I've been wondering when you'd call."

You felt a rush of relief hearing that she'd been waiting for your call. "I'm sorry it took me a while. Life's been crazy lately, and, well, you know how it is."

Natasha's tone shifted slightly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "I do know. But you don't need to be nervous. It's just a call."

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "You're right. I've just been out of practice with this whole...courting thing."

“Courting? Is that what we’re doing?” Natasha's voice lowered, the flirtatious edge unmistakable. "Well, maybe we can help you get back into practice."

You couldn't help but blush, even though she couldn't see it over the phone. "That sounds like a plan."

Just then, you heard Isabella's excited voice in the background, likely showing off a pair of beam shoes she'd found. Natasha must have heard it too.

"Sounds like you've got company," Natasha noted. 

Just as you were about to respond to Natasha, Isabella's excited voice carried through the phone in the background. "Mama, look at these beam shoes! They're so cool!"

You grinned and chuckled softly. "That's my daughter, Isabella."

Natasha's voice held a hint of warmth. "She sounds like a lively girl."

“She is,” You nodded. You give Isabella a thumbs-up and a smile. "Listen, Natasha," you began, "there's something I wanted to mention. There's a party tonight at this great club called Heatwave. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, I’ve been there once or twice,” Natasha replied.

“Well, I don't usually go out much, but I'll be there. It would be great if you could join."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Natasha's voice returned, filled with a sense of anticipation. "Heatwave, huh? I'll stop by."

Your heart skipped a beat at her response. It seemed that, despite your initial hesitation, the possibility of something exciting and new was on the horizon, and you couldn't help but look forward to seeing Natasha at the party tonight.

“What time should I be there?” Natasha questioned. 

“I like to put Bella to bed before going out,” You informed her. “My mother will be watching her, so I’d say around nine. Does that work for you?”

“That works for me,” Natasha agreed. 

“Okay then, Natasha,” You smiled, wondering if she could hear it in your voice. “I’ll see you then.”

“Great, see you then.” Natasha mirrored your excitement. You hung up the phone and tucked it into your back pocket. You walked back over to Monica, trying to hide your excitement, but she noticed immediately. 

She gave you a silent questioning look and you give her a thumbs up in return. This should be fun. 

***********************

Back inside the recording studio, the band was wrapping up what turned out to be a successful recording session. They’d written one song so far and revised a few Natasha had in her back pocket for times like this. Which was the most progress they’d gotten in a year. Either way, it was a session that left them fulfilled. Natasha stood in front of the microphone, her voice still echoing in the room. She exchanged satisfied smiles with her bandmates before returning her wired headphones to their stand. 

As they wrapped up their belongings Steve spoke up, "Alright, Natasha, we nailed it today. What's the plan for tonight?"

Natasha leaned back against the soundboard, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Oh, you know me, Steve. I'm a creature of habit."

Steve chuckled, "Yeah, we all are, aren't we? It's one big codependent family."

Natasha nodded, her red hair cascading around her shoulders. "True, but you guys like it that way."

Steve smirked, "And you do too."

Natasha sighed playfully, "Alright, you caught me. I have a thing."

The moment she mentioned 'a thing,' the rest of the group became intrigued. Tony, Bucky, and Wanda started bombarding her with questions, eager to know more. They were known for their tight-knit bond, often spending their evenings together.

Tony asked, grinning, "What kind of thing? Spill the beans, Red!"

Natasha tried to deny it, but under the pressure of their excited curiosity, she finally admitted, "Okay, okay! I'm going to Heatwave, a club downtown. I'm meeting up with a new friend."

Immediately, it was settled - if Natasha was going out, they were all going out. Tony's eyes gleamed with mischief, "Sounds like a party! Can we come too?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, thinking about the guys' tendency to get a little rowdy. Then she relented, "Alright, fine. We can all go."

Steve high-fived Tony, and Bucky and Wanda exchanged excited glances. "This is gonna be awesome!" Steve exclaimed. Though he wasn’t much of a partier he loved exploring new places. 

Natasha couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm, "Yeah, let's hope it's good, then."

With the decision made, the band members packed up their instruments, ready for another night on the town. 

*****************

As you stood before the bathroom mirror in your finest party outfit, face and hair all done up, the room around you painted a stark contrast. The soft notes of Beyonce’s “Yes” played in the background as you prepared for your night out. The bathroom was a chaotic scene, messy and disheveled, with makeup and hair curlers scattered haphazardly. Clothes lay strewn on the floor and over the edge of the bathtub. The countertop was cluttered with various cosmetic products, their caps discarded carelessly.

A hairbrush, half-buried under a pile of clothes, seemed to have given up on its role in maintaining order. The floor bore the evidence of spilled powders and makeup brushes discarded in haste.

Isabella, standing in the doorway, disapproved of this sight. Her usually tidy nature couldn't help but frown at the disarray. With her wide, disapproving eyes, she silently conveyed her thoughts to you. “Why must it be so messy in here?”

“Must? I knew I was creating a bougie child,” You laughed to yourself, applying the final remnants of your makeup.

“I’m not bougie. I just go to a good school,” Isabella quipped. She stood with her arms folded her expression showing her unhappiness with the looks of your room. 

"I know I pay the high tuition bill remember?" You mutter. Sierra Canyon was a school worth every bit of the $35,000 tuition. Even if it did hurt you to sign that check every year. “Well, I’ll pay you twenty dollars to clean it up,” You offer.

“Forty and we have a deal,” She counters. 

“Forty?” You asked incredulously. 

“Inflation, Mama,” Isabella explains as if it’s obvious. “My favorite toys aren’t cheap anymore.”

“I see,” You mumble. “You drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal.” You turn back to the mirror. 

You did a spin to get Isabella’s final say. You wore a black backless draped split dress that reached mid-thigh, perfectly complemented by your sleek, hair slicked into a bun with two small bangs framing your face. The finishing touches of makeup were precise, accentuating your features with a subtle, smoky eye and a deep red lip. 

“You look really good,” Isabella nodded. 

“Not too trampy?” You asked and she shook her head. 

“Not,” Isabella said. 

“You know that was kind of a test and you failed?” You sighed. “Your dad lets you watch reality TV at his place again?”

“Maybe,” Isabella pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key. She was not one to tell. 

You couldn't help but smile. You bent down to Isabella's level and planted a series of gentle kisses all over her cheeks, as she mostly wiped them off with a giggle. 

“Oh, Isabella Marie, my little artist," You chuckled, feigning scandalization. "You've ruined my masterpiece!"

Isabella just laughed, her eyes sparkling with admiration for you. She reached up to touch the necklace you were wearing, a subtle gesture of appreciation.

You took Isabella's hand and said, "Come on, it's time for bed."

“I really should try to convince you to let me stay up later,” Isabella commented as she allowed you to drag her out to the living room. 

You made your way to her bedroom, where you tucked her in with great care.

“Did you brush your teeth?” You asked as you rearranged her pillows. 

“Yep,” Isabella nodded. “And I washed my face.”

“Good girl,” You praised her. 

As you smoothed the covers over Isabella and adjusted her stuffed animals, Isabella reminded you with a bright smile, "Mama, remember, I have Lenny’s skating birthday party tomorrow. You said we'd go together."

You leaned in and kissed Isabella's forehead, making sure to wipe her face free of your makeup, as your heart warmed by your daughter's excitement. "Of course. We’ll be there. Now sleep, I love you.”

“Read me a story?” She begged in anticipation of your answer. 

“One story,” You warned her before walking over to her bookshelf. You grabbed Hair Love by Matthew Cherry, one of her favorites these days. You sat beside her, offering her your best voice as you began to read to her. Isabella leaned into your body. When you were done, her eyes drooped with drowsiness as she whispered a contented, "Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, my precious girl. Sweet dreams." You turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in a warm, cozy darkness. With one final kiss, you left Isabella to her dreams. 

With your preparations complete, you rushed out of Isabella’s bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Time was of the essence. In your hurry, you grabbed your purse and a bottle of water from the fridge. With a sigh of relief, you twisted open the cap and took a long, refreshing sip.

As you did, your mother entered the kitchen, her gaze appraising your outfit with a discerning eye.

"You're going out looking like that?" Her mother's tone was a mix of concern and disapproval.

“What don’t you like my outfit?” You turned to face her with a determined look. Your mother sighed but said nothing. "Yes, Mom. I've already put Isabella to bed, and I'll be back by two at the latest."

Your mother's expression softened, but she couldn't hide her worry. "Y/n, you know I worry when you go out so late."

You smiled reassuringly. "I know, Mom, but I never go out anymore. It’s all mom's life and work. I just want to have some fun with friends tonight. I promise to be careful."

“That only makes me feel slightly better,” She shook her head. 

"I'll leave my phone on in case of an emergency, okay?" You promised her. 

Your mother nodded; her eyes filled with maternal concern. "Alright, but you better answer if I call."

You laughed softly and hugged your mother. "I promise. You can count on me."

With a final smile and a quick kiss on her cheek, you left the kitchen, hoping to catch your Uber before it was too late. 

************

As Natasha and the rest of Velvet Rebellion arrived at Heatwave, the vibrant thump of bass and the lively chatter of the crowd spilled into the street. The atmosphere was electric, and it was clear that the club lived up to its reputation. There was a line wrapped around the entrance, everyone attempting to get to the same point. 

Natasha was sure they would be able to get in unscathed. However, as they approached the entrance, it became evident that someone had tipped off the paparazzi about their plans. As soon as they exited the car, flashbulbs began to pop, and reporters shouted questions. Natasha and Wanda, not yet accustomed to such situations, swiftly made their way inside, their confidence unshaken.

The boys followed closely behind, with security personnel discreetly positioned around them. However, the security was mostly unnecessary. Velvet Rebellion wasn't a superstar band, and they had no intention of acting like one. They were here to enjoy the music and the vibes, just like any other patrons.

Once inside, the pulsating rhythm of the club enveloped them. Heatwave was a mix of hip-hop, reggae, rock, and everything in between. The diverse crowd danced and mingled, creating an intoxicating blend of cultures and energies. The dimly lit club was a sanctuary for adults, a place where the music was loud, and the energy was contagious.

Natasha and her bandmates moved deeper into the club, losing themselves in the music and the seamless fusion of genres. The vibes were indeed immaculate, and they were ready to savor every moment of the night, leaving their fame behind for a while and simply being themselves - music lovers enjoying a night out.

Wanda, swept up in the excitement of the club's atmosphere, leaned in closer to Natasha and shouted over the thumping bass, "Hey, Nat I'll find us a booth! Tony's going to grab drinks for everyone!"

Natasha nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before deciding to excuse herself to the bathroom. The path to the restroom was a maze of dancing bodies and neon lights. A few girls recognized her and attempted to approach her for autographs or selfies, but Natasha simply smiled and waved, preferring to do things in peace. She could feel the presence of her security guard, Mike, behind her as she stepped into the bathroom. He waited outside of course. 

After freshening up in the bathroom, Natasha emerged and found herself back in the crowded club. As she navigated the sea of people, she accidentally bumped into someone. Before she could react, her security personnel stepped forward, ready to intervene. However, Natasha recognized the person she had bumped into and quickly raised a hand to stop her security detail.

“Mike, it’s okay,” Natasha nodded to him. 

It was you.  A hint of amusement danced in your eyes as you noted the security presence. You couldn't help but think of the time when you, too, needed security. Back when your father was at the height of his career. Now not so much. 

Despite the loud music, you managed to engage in a conversation, leaning close to hear each other over the thumping bass.

Natasha, with a playful smile, observed you, her eyes raking over your bad in a way that sent chills up your spine. "You look stunning tonight. That dress suits you."

"Why, thank you, Natasha. You look great too.” You lightly touched her arm. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too.” Natasha shouted over the music. "Life's been busy."

You nodded in understanding, "Tell me about it. It's been a whirlwind."

Natasha's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What's new with you? How have you been?"

You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing against Natasha's ear as you shouted above the music. "Lots of work, but tonight, I'm here to let loose. What about you? Any new songs in the works?"

Natasha nodded with a grin. "Always working on something.”

“That’s good then,” You smile back. You blink at her through your thick lashes before your eyes scan the room. “I see you brought your friends.”

“I have,” Natasha stepped a bit closer, though it was subtle, and you didn’t notice. You liked feeling the warmth radiating from her. “They wouldn’t let me come alone.”

“Gotta love them,” You joked. “Care to dance?” You ask. 

“Lead the way,” Natasha takes your hand as you drag her onto the dance floor. She pretends she’s not checking out your ass but when you look back you nearly catch her. Funny. 

Just as you and Natasha hit the dance floor, the DJ transitioned into a surprising mix of "What Is Love" by Haddaway and "In Da Club" by 50 Cent. The blend of the '90s dance classic and the early 2000s hip-hop anthem was unexpectedly catchy, and the crowd roared in approval.

Natasha was a fantastic dancer, her movements fluid and precise. You were equally impressive, managing to keep up with Natasha's rhythm effortlessly. Your bodies moved in perfect sync as you joined the sea of people on the dance floor.

The atmosphere was lively, energetic, and incredibly fun. Laughter and cheers filled the air as the club-goers embraced the unexpected combination of music with enthusiasm. The dance floor seemed to vibrate with the collective joy of everyone present.

You couldn't help but enjoy having Natasha so close. Her skin against your fingertips felt like heaven. The way her hands rested gently against your back. It was intimate, warm, and sensual despite the tempo of the music. 

As the music continued to pulse through the club and once you were all danced out, bodies slick with sweat, you led Natasha to a booth where her bandmates were already seated. Their faces lit up with excitement as they spotted Natasha. It’s then you noticed Monica was already sitting amongst the rockstars somehow having made it past security. 

“There you are,” Monica smiled sweetly. “You two were on fire out there. I was just making friends with our new family.” She said despite the quizzical looks. You reciprocated her hug as you whispered low into her ear. 

“I hate you so much,” You growled. 

“I love you too,” Monica laughed. 

"Natasha, this is Monica," you said, introducing your best friend to the redhead. 

Monica extended a friendly hand and smiled, though there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Natasha."

Natasha returned the smile warmly, "Likewise, Monica."

As everyone settled into the booth, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Monica was cautious but kind, warming up to Natasha as they chatted about various topics. The club atmosphere had a way of breaking down barriers, and it wasn't long before they were all laughing and enjoying each other's company.

Somewhere along the way, the group decided to order a mix of different foods and drinks, sharing bites and sips as the night wore on. On the booth, Natasha sat next to you, the two of you sharing a closeness that was hard to ignore. During the lively conversations and the infectious rhythm of the music, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that someone in the crowd had their phone out, possibly recording you. The thought bothered her, but you kept her engaged and distracted, your charm and energy captivating.

There was a break in the peace Natasha felt as her sharp eyes caught sight of her ex-girlfriend, Carol Danvers, making her way towards the booth. Natasha knew that this could potentially lead to a problem, so she decided to intercept Carol before things escalated. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Natasha sighed. She was not expecting this to happen tonight of all nights. You watch the two of them walk away before turning your attention back to the group. It was none of your business. "Carol, hi, let me talk to you.” Natasha wanted to take action before the mess. The last thing she needed was a problem when there was none. 

She gently guided Carol to a more private corner where the music was lower, allowing them to have a conversation without distractions. As they stood facing each other, Natasha's demeanor was polite but distant. She wasn't fond of talking to Carol but wanted to ensure she was okay.

“I see you’re having fun,” Carol rubbed her sweaty hands against her jeans. Her eyes looked a little bloodshot, the deep bags being covered by concealer and heavy makeup. In all honesty, Natasha could tell Carol was not in her correct frame of mind. Whether that was due to lack of sleep or something else wasn’t her responsibility.  Carol's voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, "You look good."

“Thank you,” Natasha sighed and shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolution. "Carol, it's not worth it. We've been through this."

“I know,” Carol nodded. “I just wanted to say hello.” 

Natasha found Carol’s meek demeanor unsettling. It was so unlike her. Again, not her problem. 

“Look, it was good to see you,” Natasha peaked back at the booth to see you were laughing with Monica about something. “Take care of yourself.” Natasha rubs a hand over Carol’s arm before walking away. She was not in the mood to be dealing with this right now. When she sits down again, it takes a moment for her to reacclimate with the group, her feelings of dread and the aftermath of the breakup all taking over again. 

You noticed the change in her demeanor and decided to check in on her.

With genuine concern in your eyes, you asked softly, "Natasha, is everything okay?"

Natasha tried to feign a smile, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... old memories, you know?"

You nodded, understanding that sometimes the past had a way of sneaking up on you. You decided to lift the mood by embracing the party spirit. As fans approached you for pictures, only allowed with the say-so of security, you graciously obliged, even though you weren’t used to so much attention. Having a famous family meant everyone assumed you were someone to know too.  The smiles on their faces and their gratitude brought a spark of joy to the night.

However, Natasha's mood didn't seem to improve. You could see the lingering discomfort on her face and sensed that Natasha might need a change of scenery. You leaned in closer to Natasha and asked, "You sure you're okay, Natasha? If you want, we can get out of here."

Natasha appreciated your concern and gave you a small, genuine smile. "Isn’t this your friend’s party?”

“Alicia? She’ll understand,” You grinned. “I’m a mom.” You shrug. 

“How many times have you used that excuse?” Natasha questioned. 

“Once or twice,” You laughed. 

“I think that might be a good idea then." Natasha leaned over to whisper to Wanda that she was leaving. Wanda narrowed her eyes between the two of you but ultimately said nothing. 

“Monica, I’m leaving with Natasha,” You informed your best friend. “I love you.” “Love you too,” Monica smiled briefly. “Call me tomorrow and tell me everything.” She said a bit lower. 

“I will,” You roll your eyes. 

As you made your way towards the exit, Natasha felt grateful for your understanding and support. As you neared the club's exit, you leaned in closer to Natasha and suggested, "Let's use the back exit. It's a quicker way out, and we can avoid the paparazzi."

Natasha nodded in agreement, appreciating your thoughtfulness. She followed you towards the inconspicuous back exit, with Mike, Natasha's security guard, close behind. The corridor was dimly lit, and the sounds of the club faded away with each step.

Walking side by side, you and Natasha found a comfortable silence between you. Natasha appreciated the quiet respite after the club's raucousness. 

Then, without hesitation, you reached out and gently took Natasha's hand. It was a bold move, and Natasha's heart skipped a beat. The connection felt warm and reassuring, 

Natasha looked at you, her eyes softening with gratitude. Your fingers entwined, as you continued down the dimly lit sidewalk together, taking comfort in the simple act of holding hands, a gesture of comfort and support.

“Downtown Los Angeles is not exactly the safest place to hang out at night,” You point out. 

“Did you have anywhere in mind?” Natasha questions. “I’m not really ready to go home yet.’

“How about here?” You point to the restaurant just across the street. It was settled. 

You and Natasha walked into the small Japanese food restaurant and were greeted by a soothing ambiance of sleek and modern dining. The interior featured clean lines, polished wooden tables, and elegant, dimmed lighting that created a cozy yet sophisticated atmosphere. The walls were adorned with tasteful Japanese-inspired artwork, adding to the restaurant's aesthetic appeal.

Despite the late hour, they were still open, and there weren't many people left in the restaurant. The subdued chatter of a few diners in hushed conversations added to the tranquil atmosphere.

The restaurant staff welcomed you and Natasha with warm smiles, happy to accommodate your late-night visit. You were ushered to a well-appointed table with comfortable seating, creating a sense of intimacy in the otherwise empty space.

Once seated, you took the lead in order, your familiarity with the menu evident. You chose the baked crab hand rolls, a delectable choice known for its rich flavors and delicate textures, and edamame with a sprinkle of salt for a simple and satisfying appetizer.

Natasha decided to indulge in a sushi sampler, intrigued by the restaurant's offerings. She also ordered drinks for you to share, wanting to continue the evening in a relaxed and enjoyable manner, free from the distractions of the outside world.

As you waited for the food to arrive, you turned your attention to Natasha, your expression carrying a hint of concern.

"Natasha, "You began hesitantly, "Can you tell me more about Carol? Should I be worried about her showing up like that?"

Natasha sighed, recognizing the need for honesty. She leaned in, speaking softly, "Carol is my ex-girlfriend. We used to be really close, and she was a good person, but lately, she's been caught up in the wrong crowd. I've been trying to keep my distance from all of that."

Caught up in the wrong crowd could mean a host of things in the industry. Drugs were usually the most common. Though you didn't press for her to elaborate.

You listened attentively, her concern deepening. "Do you think she's going to be a problem?"

Natasha could see your question for what it was. Was she going to be a problem in whatever potential the two of you could have? 

Natasha shook her head, her gaze reassuring. "No, nothing like that. She's just... lost, for now. I don't want you to worry about it. I'm doing my best to stay out of any trouble, especially now."

You nodded, appreciating Natasha's honesty and the effort she was making to ensure your time together was free from complications. You reached out and gently squeezed Natasha's hand, silently conveying your support. 

You leaned in closer and admitted, "I understand, Natasha. My ex and I co-parent Isabella, and it wasn't always easy either. But we've found our way." You shrugged. 

Natasha appreciated the understanding and felt a connection with you as you shared your experiences. 

Then, the conversation took a different turn, and Natasha's curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in with a playful glint in her eyes and said, "Alright, enough about my drama. I want to know more about you. You downplayed your singing career at the party. Backup?”

“You’ve done your research,” You chuckled at the playful teasing but then became more serious as you responded, "You're right. Singing has always been my love, my passion. But the demanding career and the lack of privacy that comes with it gets to you after a while. That's why I love being a publicist. It allows me to stay in the industry that I adore but from a different angle, more behind the scenes. It gives me room to breathe and a sense of control over my life."

Natasha nodded in understanding, appreciating your candor. She could see the sincerity in your eyes as you spoke about your career and the choices you had made. It was clear that you had found a balance that worked for you, and Natasha respected you for it.

When the food arrived, you immediately dug into your meal. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked Natasha, "Do you and your band have a publicist or a manager?"

Natasha smirked playfully, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Is it that obvious? I guess it's the many times Tony's been arrested.” Natasha began to list. “Or the time I punched paparazzi for trying to take a picture at an awkward angle.” She grimaced. 

You couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's observation. "Well, those incidents might have given it away a bit."

Natasha's smile faded slightly as she confessed, "Honestly, I know we need someone to manage us, but I've never felt entirely comfortable with the idea. It's like giving up a piece of our freedom and creativity. We've managed so far, but I know it can't go on like this forever."

You nodded in understanding, recognizing the challenges that came with managing a successful music career independently. You asked, "Do you have anyone in mind for the role, someone you might trust enough to bring into the fold?"

Natasha thought for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "Possibly. It's a big decision, and I want to make sure it's the right fit for us, you know? We've been doing this our way for so long that it's hard to let go."

“Well, when you’re ready, I’m your gal,” You offered your services. “I also may have a few wild cards that would work perfectly.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha sips from her cup. 

As the night drew to a close, you found yourselves waiting on a quiet street corner for your Uber to arrive. The bustling energy of the club was a distant memory, replaced by the calm of the late-night city.

Natasha looked at you with a genuine smile and said, "I had a lot of fun tonight, y/n. Thank you."

You returned the smile, your heart warmed by Natasha's words. "I did too, Natasha. It was great getting to know you."

The streets were mostly empty, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. There was a moment of silence as you stood together, the unspoken tension of the night hanging in the air.

Then, as if guided by an invisible force, Natasha leaned in and softly pressed her lips against yours. It was a gentle, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but smile.

Breaking the kiss, you teased, "Well, that's a surprise ending for the night."

Natasha chuckled and replied, "I couldn't resist."

“Don’t worry, I liked it,” You grinned. You leaned forward, kissing Natasha again, lingering when your lips pressed before you pulled back. 

The distant sound of the approaching Uber pulled you back to reality. Your ride had arrived. You exchanged one last lingering look, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had shared that evening.

With a soft goodbye, you climbed into the waiting car, and Natasha watched as it drove away into the night. As she walked away, Natasha couldn't help but smile, feeling grateful for the unexpected and unforgettable night she had just experienced.

---> next part

[thewritingbeforesunrise]

Object of Desire.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

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A/N: I really couldn't stop thinking about this scenario, and I had to write it down.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: NSFW 18+ONLY, graphic sexual content, dirty talk, swearing, angst, angry!Jake.

Summary: Jake is having a hard time making certain things work.

________________________________

A crash followed by a loud curse echoed from the inside of the studio.

It was very late and the few people still lingering around took that as a sign that it was way better to leave before hell broke loose.

The door of the first recording room opened and Daniel was the first one to exit, swiftly followed by Sam. The two of them basically ran out of the door looking worried and exhausted while more shouting came from the inside. Two voices were overlapping and growing in volume every second more.

The door was almost closing when it bursted open violently, hitting the wall like someone had kicked it hard.

“Well, I might be an obnoxious diva but you really need to learn how to play that fucking guitar again Jakey, you are slowing us down. So you better pull it together and control it because you are sounding like shit.” Josh came out of the room with his hands flailing, still facing inside and shouting to his brother on top of his lungs.

Then he grasped the door and slammed it shut before the half empty bottle of wine that Jake threw towards him could hit him straight in the face.

A loud “fuck off” echoed from the room at the same time that the bottle shattered with a booming crash against the wood of the door, sending shards and drops of wine everywhere.

Then, after that, the building fell completely silent.

Inside the recording room Jake was fuming with anger.

His ears were ringing and his chest was heaving. He was very hot and his already unbuttoned shirt was sticking to his skin uncomfortably, making him feel trapped and intensifying his anger.

He immediately took it off and threw it across the floor, exhausted.

It landed in a corner right next to the guitar, his beloved, that he had thrown to the floor a few minutes before everyone ran away and Josh accused him of not knowing how to play it anymore.

A renewed fit of anger filled his heart and he quickly crossed the room.

He harshly grabbed his beloved guitar from the floor and slammed it down on the table with so much force that the sound it made had a shiver run down his spine.

That bitch had been giving him troubles all day. It just wouldn't let him play it properly and he didn't know what the hell was wrong with it. The only thing he knew was that he needed to find that out as soon as possible.

He grabbed it by the fretboard and slung the strap over his shoulder. Then he plugged it into his amp and started playing a song he had played an indecent amount of times and that he knew like the back of his hands.

A few seconds later he was huffing out a curse under his breath. Something was wrong.

The notes sounded weird, in an almost sinister way and he didnt know why.

Frustration was slowly getting the better of him, so he sat down on the sofa with the guitar still on his lap and opened the bottle of Pinot Grigio that someone had placed right next to the sofa at the beginning of their useless recording session.

He uncorked the bottle and took a few long gulps right from it, without even bothering to go grab a glass.

Then he closed his eyes and rested his pounding head against the back of the couch for a few minutes, hoping that the wine would clear his mind and ease his nerves a bit.

With a renewed glimmer of hope, he tuned the instrument again, even though he knew that that wasn't the problem and this time he tried to improvise something.

An hour later, the bottle of wine was empty but Jake was still drowning in despair and anger. He kept trying to come up with a decent new riff but he produced nothing that sounded even remotedly like it used to when his fingers stroked the frets of his beloved.

It had been love at first sight between that little horned cherry-red devil and his twelve-year-old self. Inside that shop so many years ago with the first note he played he knew that she was the one.

But right now he was not so sure anymore.

The umpteenth wrong note echoed into the room, despite the guitar was perfectly tuned and that sent Jake spiraling.

A violent fit of anger coursed through his body.

He stood, ripped the guitar from his sweaty body and slammed it on the same table as before. Another hideous sound left the instrument from the violent impact and Jake lost it completely.

With a scream, he ripped all the strings from the guitar so hard that he even sliced his middle finger open with one of them.

Blood slowly started to drip out of the cut and onto the wood, creating a grim contrast with the red of the instrument but Jake didn't even notice at first. He was blinded by anger in a way that he didn't remember to have ever experienced before.

Without thinking he grabbed the neck of his guitar, bent over it and started whispering.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, hm? Why are you being such a bitch tonight? Are you fucking jealous because I played other guitars all day long?” He hissed like he was referring to an actual person, his lips grazing the wood and metal of the fretboard in a snare.

He knew he sounded completely out of his mind and that the entire scene might have granted him a one way ticket to a psychiatric ward but he had reached the point of no return.

At that moment a single crackle sound came from his amp and Jake froze in place.

A strange feeling crept up his spine making him shiver.

And then the thought that invaded his brain made him feel utterly helpless and crazy.

‘That sounded like an answer’ he thought but then shook his head because he refused to believe that.

It was true. That morning one of his closest friends brought to the studio many guitars, one more rare and prestigious than the other and he had a lot of fun playing a lot of them for a few takes. He did that because he wanted to spice things up a little bit and render his playing a bit more dynamic with the new album.

That evening however, since he was tired from playing that many different guitars, he needed to fall back on the one which he knew even better than his very soul.

But somehow he couldn't make it work this time.

He felt so stupid for even thinking that his beloved guitar, an inanimate object, could be sentient and could give him a hard time because of that.

He straightened his back and mustered up the courage to ask the same question again, but this time nothing happened. His voice just echoed into the empty room in a peculiar way.

“I’m wasted” he scoffed at himself and laughed out loud. He started pitying himself, and moved away from the table to go get some fresh air outside, hoping that it could help him clear his mind.

He reached for the door but, as soon as he placed his sweaty hot hand against the cool metal of the knob, another noise echoed from the single cabinet on the other side of the room.

At first he thought it was the usual creaking of old wooden furniture but then he heard it again and this time it sounded more like something metallic hitting wood.

He slowly turned around but everything was in perfect order.

He was just thinking about the fact that the wine had fucked him up pretty good when he heard it again, louder this time.

It was coming from the bottom drawer of the cabinet where he usually kept his new guitar strings just in case one broke during the recording.

His heart was hammering in his chest and his head was spinning a little, but he decided to investigate further anyway.

He slowly approached the cabinet and crouched down. He reached for the knob and mentally counted to three before firmly yanking the drawer open.

Immediately he jumped away scared by what he saw, falling on his ass on the floor and then he burst out laughing like a maniac.

Inside, the guitar strings that he had placed there that morning wrapped in a neat circle had unrolled and, as soon as he opened the drawer, they had burst out, scaring him to death.

He laughed again, shaking his head and watching how they bobbed everywhere.

Then he decided that that was a sign. The sign he should restring his guitar and play whatever it came to his mind.

He stood, grabbed the strings and the tools he needed and moved back to the table.

He also noticed the blood on his hand and grabbed a paper towel to clean himself and stop the blood from flowing further.

Before getting to work he even grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged half of it. The coolness of the liquid helped him clear his mind a bit. At least his head wasn't spinning anymore.

He carefully started placing the new strings where they belonged with one hand while keeping the body of the guitar still with the other.

He tightened the first one and was about to place another when the hand that was holding the guitar still slipped slightly, making the lower part of the instrument bump against his crotch.

He tried again and again his hand slipped, making the guitar press against his hips like it happened seconds before.

He was slowly getting fed up by everything again.

He let go of the guitar, wiped his sweaty hands against his jeans and began again.

This time he held the guitar a bit more harshly, making his knuckles turn white.

He correctly placed another four strings and he was about to reach for the last one when his hold slipped and the instrument ended up pressing against his crotch again.

He groaned and involuntarily pressed his hips back against it, feeling himself twitch in his boxers.

Then, as if recovering from a momentaneous blackout, he shook his head, reprimanded himself and tried again to place the final string.

An imperceptible blush covered his cheeks, and he told himself it was because of the anger but in reality he was starting to feel aroused, something that happened to him often when he irresponsibly paired wine with anger.

He successfully placed the last string and a sigh of relief left his lips. Then he started turning the tuning peg to tighten it but the guitar slipped from his grasp again, this time pressing into his tense balls and causing a little twinge of pain.

But instead of recoiling from it, he felt his hips move forward almost without his control. He pressed his now growing erection against the wood and he had to bite his lips to stiffen a groan of pleasure.

He stopped himself hastily and bent over his guitar, pressing his sweaty forehead against the cool surface of the table and questioning what the hell he was doing.

After a few seconds he straightened his back, exhaling a curse through gritted teeth and tightened his hands against the body of his guitar.

“Fuck it” he said and started pressing his hips against the lower curve of the instrument.

Instantly, pleasure started coursing through his body and the rhythm of his hips intensified to chase his release.

During every push of his hips Jake felt like his guitar was slowly countering his thrusts fucking itself against him. He tried to change his rhythm and the instrument matched it effortlessly and impeccably.

He stopped overthinking what he was doing and quickly fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans letting go of the guitar.

When finally he managed to pull his pants and boxers down to his ankles, setting himself free and placed his trembling hands back against the body of the guitar, it almost felt like it was vibrating imperceptibly as if in anticipation of his next movements.

When the delicate flushed skin of his engorged cock made contact with the smooth cool wood of the guitar a whimpery moan left his spit-slicked lips and he had to bite them to stop himself from screaming.

He moved his hands to grip the wood better and, as his fingers involuntarily grazed the strings, a low note echoed into the room, vibrating through his body and making him shiver.

“Please, do it again” he heard his own voice beg but didn't notice his lips moving with the words.

He grazed his fingers gently against the strings one more time while thrusting his hips and he almost doubled over in pleasure as the guitar slipped again from his grasps and pressed against his balls.

Jake knew he was slowly losing his mind but the fact that it really looked and felt like his guitar was making him fuck her was terrorising and arousing him at the same time.

He quickened his rhythm, fingering the strings unashamedly now as if his guitar was a flesh-and-blood woman under his grasp begging him for more and more.

The vibrations of the music were bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

After a few seconds he noticed that his hands were replicating the same pattern without knowing and his heart skipped a beat.

That was it.

The new riff he was looking for.

Right there.

Where it had always been.

He just needed a little bit of help to bring that sound out of his jumbled mind.

The vibrations coming from the guitar had his back arching with a loud unbridled moan as his nails dug into the wood of the instrument.

He knew he was getting closer and closer.

Embracing his moment of insanity he bent again over his guitar while thrusting his flushed cock rapidly against the wood that was already sleek with sweat and precome.

“Am I fucking you good, baby? Is this what you wanted all along, hm? You wanted me to treat you like my one and only bitch, didn't you? Now take it, slut.” He whispered dirtily towards his guitar as his thrusts quickened even more.

Another crackle sounded from the amp behind him and a note sounding like a moan resounded from the guitar, making him bare his teeth towards the instrument.

“C'mon Beloved, sing for me a little more. But make it dirty.” he addressed the guitar once again and, as if on command, the moment his fingers grazed the frets another riff sounded into the room making Jake’s toes curl.

“Fuck, yes, just like that” he heard himself moan, as his body twitched and spasmed against his guitar. His hair was damp with sweat by then, as was his entire body, and kept swaying back and forth in time with his lewd movements.

One last drawn out low note that was dripping sex and darkness echoed into the room and right through his body making him reach his high.

He watched mesmerized as his cock hardened even more and tensed, exposing his many veins and then, with a long prolonged moan, he admired as ropes of pearlescent come covered and ruined the polished wood of the instrument.

When finally he had regained a bit of his composure he straightened his back and huffed out a little breathy laugh.

Then he bent over his guitar one last time and licked it clean from his release almost hungrily.

With the pointed tip of his tongue he collected the last white drop from a string and the single note that reverberated into the room gave him yet another new idea.

Immediately he straightened his back, tied his hair in a low bun and pulled his boxers and pants back up.

Then he grabbed his beloved, slung the strap over his shoulder and went to press the recording button only to discover that it was already on.

And he really didn't remember turning it on.

___________________________

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[patricia-taxxon]

any advice on getting my paws wet with music theory? i realize that this probably doesn't actually mean all that much, but every time i use a daw without a "highlight every note in the scale" feature, programming midi suddenly becomes very cerebral and i have to repeatedly mentally calculate which notes are in the scale ("okay" to use), which is frustrating. my spatial reasoning is incredibly poor and i can't just go off of vibes anymore. i feel like i'm missing the point, or something

Honestly, this might be a disappointing answer, but in order to gain intuition with it you probably need to gain beginner/intermediate level proficiency with a musical instrument, it's gonna be memorization and math until you can get those ideas out of your paws. It's just the shape of the information, a lot of jazz theory is based on the spacial quality of the piano keys, a lot of rock theory is based on the spacial quality of the fretboard, etc. And listen to a lot of music, of course. Once you can feel the diatonicism on your clawtips, you're gucci.

[tmbgareok]

Evening Mr. Flansburgh!

I am an aspiring musician! I really want to create my own songs, but since I'm an absolute beginner starting from the ground up, I am soul-crushingly daunted by which skill I should focus on learning first, especially with the amount of resources available to me online (Singing? Lyric writing? Learning a particular instrument? Mixing? Music Theory? etc).

Do you remember what skill(s) you focused on doing first when you were just getting into music, or have any recommendations about the order to do then in?

Much appreciated!

JF: reflecting on it, my experience was extremely organic, slow-evolving and combined so many of my interests and obsessions I am not sure it is necessarily that universal. (For instance I was kinda obsessed with recorded sound before I started writing and recording songs on a tape recorder, which I did for a couple of YEARS before I ever played in front of another human being). So I came to writing songs with some extra skills that actually facilitated my earliest efforts.

An art history professor of mine said "Art is foisting your obsessions on the world" and I think he was right. Another art professor of mine said if you embark on a dozen creative projects, the odds of creating an inspired one greatly increases over simply working on one. I think this is very good advice, and is echoed by a lot of folks writing about the nature of creativity.

If you can't play chords, or move your hands around a keyboard or a fretboard fast enough to play a chord progression, saddle up to a screen with a movie and practice scales so your fingers get stronger. Do it everyday for some time. Then practice toggling back and forth between two chords as quickly as possible. Get a metronome. You know why!

Yes, a song is exactly the confected thing your mentioned in your request--it's a lyric, a melody, a progression, a beat, an evolving musical notion. But those parts are often created at separate times and simply smushed together. It doesn't have to be done in one go, and if the whole enterprise seems odd, or your skill set is underdeveloped in one way or another, assembling a song from the various moving elements might be an easier way to approach it.

(also a couple of days ago someone was asking about singing and I pointed at a few ideas there--essentially taking advantage of these free online vocal warm up videos)

I think you should gather a small clutch of tools--a tape recorder or a DAW that is simple enough to master quickly--there are multitrack recording apps that you can install on your phone that are intuitive. A couple of instruments-a guitar or keyboard, maybe an auto harp.

Find a place to work where you can make noise and not be heard.

I think you should start writing in a physical notebook where you can write down your ideas and revisit them. I wouldn't do it on a computer. It's slow writing, and the screen just creates distractions.

Write a bunch of lyrics without trying to write music: Make one about you but write it like it's about someone else, one about someone else's experience but sing it first person, write one about a group of people. Be positive. Be negative. Be regretful. Be optimistic. Express anger. Be as extreme as you can stand. Experiment in writing in every mode you can think of. Here somebody would write "express your own ideas", but ALL of your ideas will be your own! You are making choices based on musical notions that inspired you, but what comes out of you will almost certainly be different enough, and if it's too close to something else, shimmy it around so it isn't distracting! Write a few chord progressions. (A two chord progression that just sounds interesting going back and forth. A four chord progression. Make a beat, or find a beat online, and write a bass line or just a sequence of single notes on a keyboard or guitar to make a pleasant, evolving line. And see if you can write a "song" or two with a two or four chord verse, and a chorus that is a different chord progression.) Write it down and revisit it! Record it slow. You might want to speed it up later when it's "under your fingers."

Pretty soon you will have all the component of what you need to put lyrics to music. You can also try just singing lyrics over a beat, and then figure out the chords underneath AFTER you have a notion of a melody.

That's enough free advice. Go write some songs!