#I’m just not as into rock or their heavier songs

[jupiterpilgrim]

Everything's Ruined

Christmas Special 🎄

Hanni x Male Reader

word count: 10K

The room glows with the warm, soft buzz of Christmas lights tangled messily over the mantle and around the windows. Music hums in the background—a lazy mix of holiday classics and some throwback pop songs someone thought was ironic. You’re sunk deep into the couch, a heavy glass of whiskey and eggnog dangling loose in your hand. It’s late, the party is only half over, but everyone is already wasted, even though they're just chilling now; a handful of half-drunk bodies lounging, half-assedly debating the virtues of Die Hard as a Christmas movie. 

Then there’s Hanni.

She’s curled up next to you, except "curled" isn’t right. She’s draped—like she forgot personal space was a thing about three drinks ago. Her dark hair tumbles over her face as she tips her head back in a laugh that’s way too loud for whatever dumb joke someone just made. Her cheeks are flushed, probably from the wine she’s been inhaling all night, and when she looks at you, her eyes are glassy and warm, like you’re the most hilarious person alive just for existing.

Thing is, Hanni’s your best friend—the one person you're not supposed to have these feelings for, but with the alcohol in your system and the way she’s leaning into you now, all flushed cheeks and that stupid, glassy smile, it’s getting real fucking hard to remember why.

“God, you’re so fuckin' cute,” she slurs, and you blink. She doesn’t seem to notice, just scoots closer, swinging her legs over your lap like she’s staking territory. “You’re my favorite, you know that?”

You snort. “You tell me that every time you’re wasted, Hanni. Get some new material.”

She pouts, sticking out her lip in this over-the-top cartoon way that somehow makes you grin like an idiot. Her weight settles heavier against you, and yeah, you’re feeling that whiskey warmth in your veins too. Her hand wanders—innocently enough at first—over your shoulder, across your chest, then down to rest right at the edge of dangerous territory.

“I’m serious this time, though!” She pokes your chest like she’s trying to prove a point. “You’re the only person who gets me, y’know? Like…fuck, dude, if you weren’t my best friend, I’d probably marry you.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, sharp and incredulous. “Wow, what an honor. Thanks for the consolation prize.” 

Hanni leans forward, her face inches from yours now, her breath sweet with wine and whatever sugary cocktail she’s been nursing all night. “I mean it, asshole. You’re like…everything.” Her voice drops, softer now, and she smirks, but it’s the kind of smirk that’s all affection and none of the usual bite. “You’re my fucking rock.”

You feel something twist low in your gut. “Shit, Hanni, who knew wine turned you into a Hallmark card?” you say, trying to keep it light. 

She bursts into giggles, doubling over, her face pressed to your chest. Her ass shifts on your lap, and you freeze for a second because—fuck—her skirt’s hiked up just enough for you to feel the heat of her through the thin fabric. Hanni doesn’t notice, or maybe she doesn’t care, because she’s too busy tracing lazy patterns over your stomach now, her touch just shy of intimate.

“Y’know what sucks?” she mumbles, tilting her head up to look at you, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. “You’re too good for me. Like, no joke, you should be with someone hot, not stuck babysitting my drunk ass.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to focus on the way her thighs are pressing into yours or the flash of bare skin where her sweater’s ridden up. “Who says I’m stuck? Maybe I like babysitting your drunk ass.”

Her face softens in this way that makes your chest feel too tight. She shifts again, pressing closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear when she whispers, “That’s why I love you.”

It’s teasing, almost playful, but there’s something heavier underneath, something that makes your pulse spike. You’re about to say something—maybe a joke, maybe something stupidly earnest—but then someone across the room yells out, “Alright, last call for shots!” 

Hanni perks up immediately, her attention snapping away from you. “Hell yeah! Let’s fucking go!” she yells, hopping up so fast you almost spill your drink.

As she stumbles off, you exhale, leaning back into the couch, trying to will away the heat simmering low in your stomach. It’s just Hanni, you remind yourself. She gets like this when she’s drunk—touchy, emotional, saying all kinds of shit she won’t even remember tomorrow. But fuck, if she isn’t beautiful, with her tiny frame and those absurdly thick thighs that make no goddamn sense on someone her size. 

You shake your head, draining the rest of your drink. 

—

What began as a quiet night spirals into that perfect mess of booze and laughter, the kind of chaos that only happens when no one’s watching the clock or counting drinks. Someone’s wearing a Santa hat and nothing else but a pair of boxers. Someone else decided the fake Christmas tree would make a great dance partner, and now half the ornaments are shattered on the floor. You and Hanni are still on the couch, her body leaning heavily against yours as you both wheeze-laugh at something dumb on the TV—a claymation Rudolph looking suspiciously baked out of his red-nosed mind.

At some point, Hanni grabs the half-empty bottle of wine from the coffee table and lifts it in a mock toast. “To you, bestie,” she slurs, words spilling out like syrup. “The only motherfucker who didn’t ditch me when I got kicked outta karaoke night last month.”

You roll your eyes, reaching to take the bottle from her before she spills it. “You got kicked out because you tried to sing ‘WAP’ like it was a gospel hymn, Hanni.”

“It was art, you heathen,” she shoots back, but her pout barely lasts before her face splits into a grin. “But seriously. You’re the real MVP.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you say, laughing as you set the bottle safely aside. “But thanks, I guess.”

Time keeps sliding, blurring at the edges. Someone takes an Uber home. Someone else starts snoring under the coffee table. By the time you look around again, the room’s mostly empty. It’s just you, Hanni, and the sound of some low-budget Christmas movie droning in the background. Hanni’s slumped sideways against you, her head resting on your shoulder. Her breath is soft, wine-sweet and warm, and when you shift slightly, she groans.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she mumbles, voice thick with the haze of too much alcohol. Her hand tightens on your arm like a sleepy cat staking its claim.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, but the sight of her like this—soft and unguarded—makes something in your chest clench. “You, on the other hand, can’t even sit up straight. You’re not going anywhere.”

She blinks up at you, her eyes unfocused but shining, like she’s trying to process your words. “So what? I just crash here?”

“No,” you say, patting her leg. “My place is closer, and I don’t trust you not to wander into traffic if I send you home.”

She snorts, the sound loud and ungraceful. “Aw, look at you, being all responsible and shit. You’re such a dad sometimes.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. “C’mon, let’s get you sorted.”

You help her to her feet, and she wobbles, gripping your arm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. After saying goodbye to your friends, somehow, you manage to guide her the short distance to your apartment, both of you giggling like idiots the whole way. By the time you’re inside, her sweater’s sliding off one shoulder, and her hair’s a mess, but she looks at you with this sleepy grin that makes your head swim worse than the booze.

You sit her down on the couch, and she flops back like she’s about to take a nap right then and there. “God, your couch is so comfy,” she murmurs, kicking off her shoes.

“It’s a couch, Hanni, not a five-star hotel,” you say, but you’re smiling anyway as you sit down next to her.

For a while, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that comes when the party’s over, and the city outside is muted under the weight of night. Hanni shifts closer, curling her legs under her, her knee brushing yours. She looks at you, and there’s something in her gaze now—not just the drunken haze, but something deeper. Something you’ve been trying not to notice all night.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she says, her voice soft but steady. 

You frown. “What? That I’m cute?”

She nods, biting her lip like she’s bracing for impact. “Yeah. That. And the part about loving you.”

Your chest tightens, and you let out a short, breathless laugh, trying to break the tension. “Hanni, you’re drunk. You’re gonna forget this by tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck that,” she says, sitting up straighter now, her face inches from yours. “You think I don’t know how I feel? You’re my best friend, yeah, but also…you’re more. You’ve always been more.”

Her words hang there, heavy and undeniable. Your pulse thrums in your ears as she leans in, her lips brushing yours, tentative at first. Then it deepens, and all the air seems to vanish from the room. Her hands slide up your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair, and before you can think, you’re kissing her back, your hands gripping her waist like she’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

When you finally break apart, her lips are swollen, her breath hitching as she looks at you like you’ve just answered a question she’s been too afraid to ask.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whisper, but you’re already leaning in again, your lips finding hers as the tension between you snaps like a live wire. She climbs onto your lap, her thighs pressing against you, and you don’t even care that you’re both still drunk. The couch groans under your combined weight, but neither of you notice, too caught up in the heat of the moment.

“We should—bed—” you manage to mumble between kisses, and she nods, her lips trailing down your jaw.

Somehow, you make it to the bedroom, the clothes leaving a haphazard trail in the hallway and inside your room. By the time you hit the mattress, both already naked, it’s not just excitement buzzing through you—it’s the quiet, electric realization that this is happening, and there’s no turning back.

The bed creaks beneath you both, the springs protesting as Hanni sprawls out on her back, looking up at you with a mix of hazy confidence and nervous vulnerability. Her cheeks are flushed, hair a wild mess against your pillow, and she’s biting her lip so hard you’re half afraid she’ll draw blood. You hover over her, your hands on either side of her, just taking her in for a moment. This is Hanni—your best friend, your partner in crime—and right now, she looks like a fucking dream, her legs parted slightly, the curve of her hips begging for attention.

“You’re staring,” she says, voice low but teasing, and she reaches up, cupping your jaw with one hand. Her fingers are warm, soft, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “I know I’m hot, but damn.”

You laugh, short and breathless, shaking your head. “Fuck off, Hanni. You’re not gonna ruin this by talking shit.”

“Oh, I’m totally gonna talk shit,” she replies, her grin sharp but faltering slightly when you dip your head, pressing your lips to hers again. The kiss is slower this time, deeper, and when you nip at her bottom lip, she gasps into your mouth, her hips shifting beneath you.

Your hand finds her side. Her skin’s soft and warm, and when your palm grazes the swell of her breast, she lets out this soft, needy sound that goes straight to your cock

“God, you’re so fucking impatient,” you murmur against her lips, but your tone’s more affectionate than mocking. Your hand slides down, over her tummy, then you pause, your fingers resting just above where you know she’s burning for you.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, you think she’s gonna back out, but then she smirks. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

“Well, now I have to,” you say, rubbing your fingers on her mon pubis.

“Asshole,” she breathes, but her words catch in her throat when your fingers find her slick folds. She’s soaked, and the realization sends a rush of heat through you. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shit, Hanni,” you say, your voice rough with a mix of awe and lust. “You’re fucking dripping.”

Her laugh is shaky, more like a breathy moan. “Yeah, well…you’re taking your sweet ass time about it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” you reply, but your fingers are already sliding lower, brushing over her clit. The reaction is immediate—her body jerks, her hips pressing up into your hand as a strangled moan escapes her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she chants, her words tumbling out as your fingers circle her clit, slow and deliberate. “Just like that—oh, god, yeah, like th—oh fuck!”

Her voice cuts off as you slide one finger into her, her walls clenching around you like a vice. You add another finger, curling them slightly, and the noise she makes is obscene—half a gasp, half a moan, her head tipping back against the pillow.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you say, your voice low and rough. “How the fuck are you this tight?”

“Shut up,” she groans, but there’s no real bite to her words. Her hands grip the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping her grounded as you start moving, your fingers pumping into her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips roll against your hand, desperate and needy, and when your thumb brushes her clit again, she practically cries out. “Oh my god—yes—just like that—fuck!”

“Yeah?” you ask, grinning as you lean down, your lips grazing her ear. “You like that, Hanni? You like the way I’m fucking you with my fingers?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—” she gasps, her voice breaking as her body arches off the bed. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—”

Her words dissolve into moans as you pick up the pace, your fingers fucking her harder, faster. You can feel her tightening around you, her breath hitching, her entire body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Come on, Hanni,” you murmur, your lips brushing her temple. “Let go for me. I wanna feel you cum all over my fingers.”

Her response is incoherent—a garbled mix of your name and curses—but then she’s coming apart, her back arching, her thighs trembling as her pussy clenches around your fingers. Her moan is long and guttural, her hands flying to your shoulders as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.

“Fuck—fuck, oh my god—” she pants, her chest heaving as she comes down, her body still shivering under your touch. You don’t stop, not yet, your fingers slowing but staying inside her, coaxing out every last aftershock.

When you finally pull your hand away, her eyes flutter open, and she looks at you with a dazed, fucked-out expression that makes your chest tighten.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, her voice shaky. “That was…”

You smirk, leaning down to kiss her, your lips brushing hers lightly. “We’re not done yet.”

Before she can respond, you slide down the bed, positioning yourself between her legs. You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, your hands spreading her open, and she gasps, her hands flying to your hair as your tongue flicks over her sensitive clit, licking through the mess she’s left behind—sweet, sticky, and fucking intoxicating. Hanni’s trembling beneath you, her thighs twitching every time your tongue grazes her clit. Her fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, and you can’t tell if she’s trying to push you away or keep you there forever.

“Jesus fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” she gasps, her voice breathy and half-wrecked, like she’s been screaming at a concert all night. “I’m—oh god—s-sensitive—”

You pull back slightly, grinning against her skin. “Yeah? Sensitive, huh? You’re the one who keeps pulling me closer.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, but her words falter when you press your tongue flat against her, slow and wet, dragging it from her entrance to her clit. Her body jolts, a sharp inhale cutting her off. “Oh fuck—stop talking and just—”

“What? Just this?” you interrupt, sucking her clit into your mouth, your fingers digging into her thighs to keep her in place when she tries to squirm away. Her reaction is immediate—her back arches off the mattress, her head tossing back against the pillow.

“FUCK—yes, like that—oh my god, just like that—” she chokes out, her voice rising and falling with every flick of your tongue.

You pull back just enough to murmur, “You taste so fucking good, Hanni. I could eat you all night.”

She groans, throwing an arm over her face, her voice a mix of exasperation and raw need. “You’re such a goddamn showoff.”

“And you love it,” you reply, sliding your tongue back inside her, savoring the way she clenches around it. The cream left behind from her last orgasm coats your lips, and you lap at it like a man starving, dragging out every broken moan she gives you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she stammers, her hands gripping your hair like a lifeline. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

You pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at her. “Gonna what? Cum again? Already?”

Her glare is half-hearted, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dripping,” you shoot back, crawling up her body until your face is hovering over hers. You kiss her, slow and dirty, letting her taste herself on your lips. When you pull back, her eyes flicker down between your bodies, and her breath hitches.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, and you follow her gaze to where your cock is pressed against her stomach, hard and heavy. “That’s…uh…”

“What?” you ask, smirking. “Bigger than you expected?”

She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing as her eyes dart back to your face. “I mean—yeah, kinda.”

You laugh, the sound low and rough as you reach down, guiding her onto her hands and knees. “Don’t worry. You’ll take it.”

She lets out a nervous laugh, glancing over her shoulder at you as you position yourself behind her. “Confident much?”

“You’ll see,” you say, running the head of your cock along her folds, teasing her just enough to make her hips jerk back toward you. “Fuck, Hanni, you’re so wet. You’re gonna take me so good.”

Her response is a shaky moan, her hands gripping the sheets as you push inside her, slow and steady. The stretch is immediate, her body tightening around you like a vice, and you grit your teeth, fighting to keep control.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice high and breathless. “Oh fuck—you’re—fuck, you’re huge—”

“Yeah?” you say, gripping her hips as you sink deeper, inch by inch. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes—don’t stop—” she groans, her head dropping forward as you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. You stay still for a moment, letting her adjust, your hands smoothing over her waist, her back, the curve of her ass.

“You look so fucking good like this,” you murmur, giving her ass a firm squeeze. “All spread out for me.”

She lets out a soft laugh, glancing back at you with a dazed smirk. “You’re so full of yourself.”

You don’t bother replying, instead pulling back and snapping your hips forward, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Her gasp turns into a cry, her body rocking forward with the force of your thrust.

“Fuck—yes, just like that—” she moans, her voice muffled as her face presses into the pillow. You pick up the pace, your grip on her hips tightening as you fuck her harder, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you.

You raise one hand, bringing it down on her ass with a sharp slap. The sound echoes in the room, and she cries out, her walls tightening around you. “Shit—you like that?” you ask, spanking her again, harder this time.

“Fuck—yes—do it again—” she pants, her voice ragged. You oblige, your hand coming down on her ass until it’s red and warm under your palm. She’s a mess beneath you, moaning and writhing, her body arching every time you spank her.

Your grip tightens on Hanni’s hips as you feel her starting to unravel. Her moans spill out in frantic, breathy bursts, her voice trembling under the pressure of everything building inside her. She’s trying to keep her balance, her arms shaking as she holds herself up, but you’re not making it easy. Every thrust has her lurching forward, her ass bouncing back to meet you, her body completely giving in to the rhythm you’ve set.

“Shit—fuck—oh my god, I’m so close,” she stammers, her voice climbing higher, more desperate with every word. Her hands claw at the sheets, bunching the fabric into her fists as you slam into her again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.

“Come on, Hanni,” you growl, your breath hot against the sweat-slicked curve of her back. Your hand dips between her legs, fingers finding her clit and circling it in sync with your thrusts. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—oh god, yes,” she cries out, her voice cracking as her hips buck against your hand. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

You don’t. You keep your pace steady, unrelenting, the wet sounds of her slick pussy growing louder, more obscene, until finally, she snaps. Her whole body locks up, her head tossing back as a scream tears out of her throat, raw and broken. 

“Oh fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—” she chants, her thighs trembling violently as her orgasm rips through her, wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure. Her walls clench around you like a vice, trying to pull you deeper, but you hold still, grinding into her just enough to prolong her high. Her moans turn into whimpers, then gasps, her body sagging forward as she rides out the aftershocks.

When she finally collapses, her chest heaving against the mattress, you can’t help but grin. “Oh Hanni,” you murmur, sliding out of her slowly, your cock still hard and aching, slick with her arousal. “You looked so fucking good just now.”

She turns her head, her hair sticking to her flushed, sweaty face as she glares at you halfheartedly. “Shut up,” she mutters, but her voice is shaky, her body still twitching with the remnants of her orgasm.

“Nah, I mean it,” you say, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. “You’re fucking perfect like this.”

Her response is a muffled groan into the pillow, and you laugh, flipping her onto her back before she can complain. Her legs fall open instinctively, and the sight of her laid out beneath you—skin flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly—makes your cock twitch.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you murmur, positioning yourself between her legs. Your hands slide up her thighs, pushing them further apart as you line yourself up with her entrance. She looks up at you, her lips parted, her eyes hazy but full of something that goes deeper than just lust.

“God, you’re so fucking cheesy,” she whispers, but there’s no bite to her words. If anything, she looks…soft. Open. Like she’s waiting for something only you can give her.

You push into her slowly, watching her face as you fill her inch by inch. Her lips fall open, a soft gasp escaping her as her body stretches to accommodate you. “Oh fuck,” she breathes, her hands coming up to clutch at your shoulders. “Oh my god, you’re—fuck, you’re so deep—”

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice rough as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. “Feel good?”

“Fuck yes,” she moans, wrapping her legs around your waist to pull you closer. “God, you feel so fucking good—”

You start moving, your thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging your cock out almost all the way before slamming back into her. Her head tips back, her nails digging into your shoulders as she moans unabashedly, her voice filling the room. “Yes—fuck, just like that—”

You lean down, bracing yourself on your forearms so you’re hovering over her. Your lips find hers, swallowing her cries as you pick up the pace, your hips snapping against hers harder, faster. She breaks the kiss first, gasping for air, her hands sliding into your hair to tug you closer.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies colliding. Her eyes meet yours, wide and shining, and the vulnerability in her expression makes your cock throbs. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

You freeze for a second, but the way she’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth—it's enough to drive you crazy. “Hanni,” you murmur, your voice breaking as you start moving again, slower this time, each thrust deep and deliberate. “Fuck, I love you too.”

Her breath hitches, and she pulls you down into another kiss, her legs tightening around you as if she’s trying to fuse your bodies together. “Don’t stop,” she whispers against your lips. “Don’t ever stop.”

"I won't," you groan, your cock throbbing inside her tight, wet pussy as you grind deep. Her walls flutter around you with each slow, deliberate thrust, and you can feel how close she is to cumming. You press your forehead against hers, maintaining eye contact as you fuck her with long, measured strokes.

"You feel so good wrapped around my cock," you tell her, your voice rough with emotion. "So fucking perfect, Hanni. Love how wet you get for me."

She whimpers, her nails digging into your shoulders as her hips buck up to meet yours. "Only for you," she gasps. "Nobody's ever made me this wet before."

The admission makes your cock twitch, and you reward her with a particularly deep thrust that has her crying out. "Yeah? Tell me more, baby. Tell me how good I make you feel."

"So good," she moans, her pussy clenching around you. "Your cock fills me up perfectly. Feels like you were made for me."

You kiss her hard, swallowing her moans as you pick up the pace slightly. Your tongue slides against hers as you fuck her deeper, harder, but still maintaining that intimate connection. Her tits press against your chest with each thrust, her hard nipples dragging against your skin.

"Love these perfect tits," you growl, breaking the kiss to trail your lips down her neck. You suck hard enough to leave marks, wanting everyone to know she's yours. "I love how they bounce while I fuck you, how they get so hard for me."

Hanni arches her back, pressing her chest more firmly against you. "Please," she whimpers. "Touch them, suck on them, anything!"

You shift your weight to one arm so you can cup one of her tits, rolling the nipple between your fingers as you continue to thrust. "Like this, baby? Like having your tits played with while I fuck your tight little pussy?"

"Yes!" she cries out, her walls clamping down around you. "Fuck, I'm getting close!"

"That's it," you encourage her, lowering your head to take her other nipple into your mouth. You suck hard while still pinching and rolling the other one, your cock never stopping its steady rhythm inside her. "Want to feel you cum all over my cock. Want to feel how tight that pussy gets when you lose control."

Her hands slide into your hair, holding you against her breast as you continue to suck and nibble at her sensitive flesh. "Oh god, oh fuck," she pants, her thighs trembling where they're wrapped around your waist. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You release her nipple with a wet pop, looking up to meet her eyes again. "Never stopping, baby. Gonna keep fucking this sweet pussy until you can't take it anymore." You punctuate your words with a particularly deep thrust that has her seeing stars.

"Love watching you fall apart on my cock," you continue, your voice rough with desire. "Love feeling your pussy get wetter and tighter with each thrust. You gonna cum for me, Hanni? Gonna show me how good I make you feel?"

She nods frantically, her eyes glazed with pleasure as she stares up at you. "So close," she whimpers. "Just a little more, please!"

You shift slightly, changing the angle of your thrusts so your cock drags against her g-spot with each stroke. At the same time, you slide your hand between your bodies to find her clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud.

"Fuck!" she screams, her back arching off the bed. "Right there, right fucking there!"

"Yeah? This what you need, baby?" You keep the pressure steady on her clit as you continue to pound into her g-spot. "Love how your pussy's gripping me right now. Can feel how close you are to cumming."

Her nails rake down your back as she writhes beneath you, chasing her orgasm. "Please," she begs. "Make me cum again, please make me cum!"

You lean down to whisper in her ear, your voice low and rough. "Cum for me, Hanni. Show me how good my cock makes you feel. Want to feel that tight little pussy squeeze me while you cream all over my dick."

That does it. With a sharp cry of your name, Hanni's orgasm crashes over her. Her pussy clamps down around you like a vice as she cums, her whole body shaking with the force of her release. You can feel her cream gushing around your cock, making everything even wetter and slicker as you continue to fuck her through it.

"That's it, baby," you groan, fighting against your own need to cum as her walls milk your cock. "Fuck, you look so beautiful when you cum. Love watching you lose control like this."

She's babbling incoherently now, a stream of "fuck" and "yes" and your name falling from her lips as her orgasm continues to roll through her. Her pussy is practically convulsing around your cock, making it incredibly difficult to hold back your own release.

But you manage, wanting to draw out her pleasure as long as possible. You stay buried inside her for what feels like forever, your bodies pressed together, sweat mingling, her legs still wrapped tightly around your waist. Hanni’s breathing slows gradually, her chest rising and falling against yours as her trembling subsides. You brush her hair out of her face, tucking the damp strands behind her ear, and she gives you this sleepy, satisfied grin that makes your chest ache.

“You’re gonna ruin me, baby,” she mutters, her voice soft and teasing, her fingers trailing lazily over your back. 

You chuckle, nipping at her jawline. “Pretty sure I already did that.”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, but there’s no heat to it. She shifts slightly, wincing when your cock twitches inside her, still rock hard. “Jesus, are you still ready to go?”

“Can’t help it,” you reply, smirking as you grind against her, making her gasp. “You’re fucking addictive, Hanni.”

She groans, covering her face with one hand, but when she peeks up at you through her fingers, her eyes are gleaming. “Okay, fine. My turn.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Your turn for what?”

“To make you cum, dumbass.” She pushes at your chest until you roll onto your back, letting her straddle you. Her thighs press against your hips as she sits back, your cock still buried deep inside her. She bites her lip, her hands sliding over your chest. “God, you’re fucking huge. I can feel you all the way in my stomach.”

“Yeah?” you say, your voice rough, your hands finding her waist. “You’re taking me so fucking well, Hanni. You're absolutely perfect.”

“Damn right I am,” she says, smirking as she starts to move, slow and deliberate, rocking her hips in a way that makes your breath catch. “Fuck, you’re so deep…”

She sets a rhythm, her hands braced on your chest, her body rolling against yours with a lazy, drunk confidence. The sight of her above you—hair a mess, lips swollen, her tits bouncing with every move—has you gripping her hips like she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Shit, Hanni,” you groan, your head tipping back against the pillow. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

Her laugh is breathy, almost mocking. “Good,” she says, picking up the pace, her thighs slapping against yours with every bounce. “You deserve it.”

Her movements get sloppier, needier, her breath hitching every time your cock hits that spot inside her. And then, out of nowhere, she starts talking—dirty, raw, and absolutely unhinged.

“God, I can feel you so fucking deep,” she moans. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that? You’re gonna fuck me so full I won’t even be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” you hiss, her words going straight to your cock, making you buck up into her. “Keep talking, baby. Fucking say it.”

With your request, Hanni rides you with a desperation that feels almost animalistic, her hips slamming down onto yours like she’s trying to bury you even deeper inside her. Every bounce makes her tits jiggle, her nails scraping against your chest, leaving angry red trails that sting just enough to keep you tethered to reality. But just barely. You’re so drunk, so fucking drunk, that every sensation feels magnified, her heat, her tightness, the wet sounds of her cunt taking you over and over—it’s all you can focus on.

“Fuck—oh fuck—you’re so fucking deep,” she continues, her voice raw and slurred, her head tipping back as she grinds against you, her clit brushing against the base of your cock. “I really can feel you in my fucking stomach—god, you’re ruining me—”

You groan, your hands glued to her waist, guiding her movements as she slams down onto you again and again. “You’re so fucking tight, Hanni. I can barely move—you’re gripping me so fucking hard.”

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, and when she leans forward, her lips grazing your ear, her voice drops to a sultry whisper that shoots straight through you like lightning. “You’re gonna cum inside me, aren’t you?” 

Your breath catches, your hands tightening on her hips. “What?”

“You’re gonna fucking fill me up,” she says, her teeth nipping at your earlobe. “I can feel you, baby—you’re so fucking close. I want it. God, I need it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hanni—” Your head falls back against the pillow, your grip on her hips almost bruising now as she speeds up, her thighs slapping against yours with every bounce. You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a reply, because all you can hear, all you can feel, is her.

“I want you to breed me,” she breathes, her words spilling out like she doesn’t even care how insane they sound. “I want you to fill me so fucking full I can feel you leaking out of me for days.”

You choke on a groan, your hips bucking up into her so hard it makes her gasp, her nails dragging down your chest. “Fuck, Hanni—you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“And it's all your fault,” she shoots back, her voice dripping with lust as she smirks down at you. “You know you drive me crazy and still insist on teasing me. Tell me the truth: you’ve been dying to cum inside me all night, haven’t you?”

“Shit—” Your voice cracks as she grinds her hips in slow, teasing circles, her walls fluttering around you like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “You’re fucking insane.”

She leans down, her hands braced on either side of your head, her breath hot against your face. “Maybe,” she whispers, her voice trembling but full of wicked intent. “But you’re gonna give me what I want, aren’t you?”

Her lips crash against yours before you can answer, swallowing your groan as she slams down onto you again, her movements frantic and unrelenting. The angle shifts just enough to make your cock hit that perfect spot inside her, and she breaks the kiss with a scream, her body convulsing as she clings to you.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck yes—just like that,” she babbles, her words spilling out in a breathless rush. “You’re so deep, so fucking deep—I want it, baby, I want you to cum inside me. Please—fuck—please, I need it.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel your control unraveling, your body tensing as the pressure builds, white-hot and unbearable. “Shit, Hanni—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m so close—”

"Yes, yes, fucking breed me!" she begs, voice breaking as she slams herself down harder. "Fill this tight pussy up with your hot fucking cum. I need you to knock me up so bad. Pump that thick cum deep in my womb!"

Her dirty talk drives you wild. Your hands grip her waist, helping lift and drop her onto your throbbing shaft. Her pussy is absolutely drenched, making obscene wet sounds each time she takes you to the hilt. The way her walls grip and massage your cock has your eyes rolling back.

"Gonna cum," you grunt, feeling your balls tighten. "Gonna flood that tight pussy."

"Do it! Fucking do it!" She starts grinding and circling her hips, stimulating every sensitive spot. "Give me every last drop. Want your cum dripping out of me for days!"

Your orgasm hits like a tsunami. Your cock pulses violently as you start shooting thick ropes of hot cum deep inside her. But she doesn't stop - if anything she fucks you harder, determined to milk out every single drop.

"Oh fuuuuck!" you moan as she keeps bouncing through your orgasm. The stimulation is almost too much on your sensitive cock but she won't let up. Her pussy walls contract rhythmically, literally sucking the cum out of you.

"I can feel it," she pants, eyes glazed with lust. "So much hot cum filling me up. Keep cumming for me, baby. Give me more!"

The continued stimulation has you seeing stars. Your cock is so sensitive it almost hurts but the pleasure is mind-blowing. She grinds down hard, working her hips in circles as she milks out another surge of cum.

"Such a good boy," she purrs. "Giving me all that potent cum. Gonna put a baby in me with all this hot fucking seed."

Your whole body trembles as she continues riding. More cum spurts out with each bounce, making wet squelching sounds as it mixes with her juices. She's absolutely relentless, using your cock like her personal cum extraction tool.

"Please," you gasp, overwhelmed by the intense stimulation. "Fuck, Hanni!"

"Just a little more," she moans, her movements getting erratic. "Want every last drop inside me. Need all your cum breeding my tight little pussy!"

Your eyes roll back as another orgasm crashes through you, smaller but just as intense. She cries out in triumph as she feels the fresh surge of cum, her own orgasm making her pussy convulse around your oversensitive cock.

"Fuck yes! Breed me, breed me, breed meeee!" She collapses onto your chest, still grinding slowly. "So much cum... You give me so much cum, baby… can feel it so deep..."

Your cock gives a few final weak pulses, completely drained. She finally stills but keeps you trapped inside her, her pussy occasionally squeezing as if trying to coax out any remaining drops.

"Mmm, your cum is so hot, baby," she sighs contentedly. "Filled me up so perfectly. Gonna keep all this hot cum inside me until it takes."

You can only lie there panting as she nuzzles your neck, your thoroughly milked cock still twitching inside her cum-flooded pussy.

You wrap your arms around her, holding her close, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the city outside and the sound of your uneven breathing. Everything feels still, heavy, like the world just stopped to let you exist like this.

Then Hanni snorts.

It starts quiet, just a soft huff against your chest, but it builds quickly, bubbling up until she’s full-on giggling like a kid who just got caught doing something stupid. It’s contagious. You’re laughing too, your head tipping back into the pillow, your chest shaking beneath her.

“What the fuck are we even laughing at?” you wheeze, running a hand through her damp hair as her giggles turn into full-blown cackles.

“I don’t know!” she gasps, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “I think—I think it’s just—holy shit, we actually did that.”

You grin, wiping at her face with the pad of your thumb. “Yeah, we fucking did. And now I can’t feel my legs, so thanks for that.”

“Don’t even,” she shoots back, propping her chin on your chest and glaring at you playfully. “You’re the one who fucked me so hard I saw stars.”

“Yeah? You’re welcome, then.” You wink at her, and she groans, burying her face in your chest again, her laughter muffled against your skin. 

When she finally calms down, she tilts her head up to look at you, her expression softening. “Hey,” she says quietly, her fingers brushing over your jawline. “I wasn’t kidding earlier, you know. I love you.”

Her words hit you like a sucker punch, but not in a bad way. It’s more like someone just flipped a switch inside you, lighting up every dark, unspoken corner of your heart. “Fuck,” you murmur. “I love you too, Hanni.”

She beams, her smile so wide and genuine it almost makes you forget how fucking trashed you both are. “That was—shit, that was the best sex of my life,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like, no contest. Hall of Fame level.”

You snort. “Same. And that’s saying something, because I once hooked up with this girl who—”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence,” she interrupts, smacking your chest lightly. “Don’t ruin the moment!”

“Fine, fine,” you say, grinning as you squeeze her waist. “Moment un-ruined. But seriously, you were fucking amazing.”

She smirks, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Duh. I know that already.”

“God, you’re impossible,” you mutter, but your smile doesn’t falter. 

She yawns suddenly, the sound soft and innocent, and you raise an eyebrow. “You good? Wanna hop in the shower or something before we crash?”

Her nose wrinkles immediately, and she shakes her head. “Fuck that. I’m not moving an inch. We can sleep like this—sweaty, sticky, whatever. I don’t give a shit.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you pull her closer, tucking her against your side. “You’re such a goddamn gremlin.”

“Aaand-youuu-loveee-it,” she mumbles, already half-asleep, her voice muffled against your chest. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, your hand running up and down her back. “I fucking do.”

Then, finally, the alcohol and exhaustion hit you both like a fucking truck, pulling you under faster than you expect. You drift off together, her body warm and soft against yours, her breath slow and steady in your ear. It’s messy and stupid and probably the worst decision you’ve ever made, but for now, it feels like the best thing in the world. You fall asleep like two reckless, drunk kids who don’t know any better, and for a little while, everything feels perfect. 

—

It's like the first morning in purgatory. 

You stir first, the throbbing in your skull dragging you out of unconsciousness. Your mouth is dry, your limbs heavy, and every movement feels like wading through molasses. You blink against the pale light leaking through the blinds, your vision blurry, the pounding in your head relentless. Beside you, Hanni lets out a soft groan, still half-buried in the covers, her hair a wild mess against the pillow.

“Fuck…” you croak, your voice rough as sandpaper. “What the hell happened?”

Hanni stirs, her face scrunching up in discomfort. “Why does my brain feel like it’s on fire?” she mutters, her words muffled against the pillow. She shifts slightly, the sheet slipping down to reveal bare shoulders. “Wait—”

She freezes.

Your eyes snap fully open, the fog in your head clearing just enough to process what you’re seeing. Hanni’s eyes go wide, darting between your face and the sheet draped haphazardly over your waist. “Why the fuck are we naked?” she asks, her voice pitching higher, panic seeping into her tone.

You wince, the sound drilling into your already aching skull. “I—uh—” You glance down, seeing your bare chest, then feel the cool air against your equally bare ass under the sheets. “Shit.”

Her hands fly to her own chest, clutching the blanket against herself as if that’ll undo whatever the fuck happened. “Did we…? Oh my god, did we fuck?” 

You sit up slowly, your head spinning. “I don’t know! I mean…” Your brow furrows as fragmented memories start piecing themselves together. Her riding you, her breathless moans, the way she begged—fuck, fuck, fuck. “Okay, maybe. Yeah, probably.”

“Probably?” she snaps, sitting up too quickly and clutching her head. “Fuck, my brain feels like it’s gonna split in half. Okay, but like—wait.” Her voice falters, her panic mounting as her eyes search your face. “Did you—did you, uh, cum inside me?”

You freeze, the question hitting you like a brick to the face. “What?” you ask, stalling for time as your headache roars back to life. “I don’t…fuck, I don’t remember. I was so wasted—”

“Oh my god,” she interrupts, her voice trembling as she throws off the covers and sits back on her heels, her hands flying between her legs. She winces, her fingers brushing something sticky, and when she pulls them back, her face goes pale. “Oh my fucking god. I can feel it. It’s—it’s dry—holy shit, you really came inside me!”

Your stomach twists violently as the memories come flooding back—the heat of her body, the way she clung to you, the way you spilled into her so deeply it felt like you’d never come back up for air. “Shit,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay. Fuck. Yeah, that…definitely happened.”

“On Christmas?” she nearly shrieks, clutching the sheet around herself like it’s some kind of moral shield. “You knocked me up on fucking Christmas? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” you say, raising your hands defensively. “First of all, technically it was on Christmas Eve. Hmm, although there is a big chance it could have happened after midnight, I think we got here pretty late…” Hanni looks at you as if contemplating the idea of committing murder. “Oh, second and most importantly, nobody’s knocked up yet. It doesn’t happen that fast!”

“Yeah, but you fucking came inside me!” she shoots back, her voice a wild mix of fury and panic. “What the hell were we thinking? Why the fuck didn’t we use a condom?!” 

“I don’t know, Hanni! We were drunk off our asses! I barely even remember half of last night!” You gesture vaguely at the room, at the scattered clothes and the bed completely messed up. “I mean, look at this shit. Does this look like the scene of responsible decision-making?”

She glares at you, her hands still clutching the sheet tightly. “Okay, well, what the fuck do we do now? The pharmacies are probably closed. It’s Christmas! Do you think there’s some magical 24/7 Plan B hotline we can call? Hey, Santa, got any emergency contraceptives in that bag of yours?”

Her sarcasm slices through the tension, and despite the mounting panic, you can’t help but laugh—a short, bitter sound. “Yeah, let’s just write to the fucking North Pole. ‘Dear Santa, I was very naughty last night. Please send condoms and a time machine.’”

She doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy pacing now, muttering under her breath as she tries to piece together a plan. “Okay, okay, maybe there’s a convenience store open somewhere. Or—fuck, do I know someone who could have contraceptives? No, that’s stupid—god, I’m so fucking stupid—”

Hanni moves like a whirlwind, her body tense and her face set as she grabs her scattered clothes off your bedroom and hallway floor. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance in your direction as she yanks her sweater over her head and hops into her underwear with sharp, jerky movements. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet pooling around your waist, watching her with growing agony.

“Hanni, will you just fucking stop for a second?” you say, your voice low but urgent. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” she snaps, still not looking at you as she grabs her jeans. “About how we were too drunk and stupid to use protection? About how I might have a goddamn Christmas baby on the way? Yeah, sounds like a super fun conversation.”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Come on, don’t do this. We can figure it out together—”

“There’s nothing to figure out!” she interrupts, finally turning to face you, her expression a volatile mix of anger and panic. “I’m going home. I need—I just need to think. Alone.”

“Alone?” you repeat, standing up, the sheet slipping off your waist. “You’re seriously just gonna leave? What if you—”

“I’ll find a pharmacy,” she says quickly, cutting you off again. “I’ll take care of it. I just… I can’t fucking deal with this right now, okay?”

“Hanni, please,” you say, stepping closer, reaching out to grab her arm. “Don’t shut me out. I—fuck, I care about you. We’ll get through this together.”

She pulls her arm out of your grip, her jaw tight. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who could end up pregnant. You’re not the one who has to wonder how the fuck you got here with your best friend.”

This unsettles you for a moment, but before you can reply, she’s already slipping on her jacket, her hand on the doorknob. “Hanni,” you say again, softer this time, your voice almost pleading. “Stay. Please.”

She pauses, just for a second, her shoulders slumping. But then she shakes her head, her voice nothing but a whisper. “I can’t.” 

And with that, she’s gone, leaving you standing in the doorway, naked, hungover, and completely fucking lost.

—

The next few weeks are a blur of radio silence and vague, clipped texts that feel more like placeholders than actual communication. Hanni texts you the morning after to say she found a pharmacy that was miraculously open on Christmas and took the pill, but that’s it. No follow-ups, no calls, just short, impersonal messages that feel like they’re written by a stranger.

You spend every day alternating between guilt, panic, and a weird, gnawing ache you can’t quite name. Every time your phone buzzes, your heart races, hoping it’s her. Half the time it’s not, and the other half it’s just more of the same: I’m fine. Just busy. Talk later.

When “later” finally comes, it’s weeks down the line. You’re sitting on your couch, staring blankly at some shitty Netflix movie you’re not even watching, when your phone rings. The sight of Hanni’s name on the screen jolts you upright, your heart pounding as you fumble to answer.

“Hanni,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “Hey. What’s—what’s up?”

There’s a pause, and then her voice comes through, soft and hesitant. “I got my period.”

Relief floods through you so fast it almost knocks you over. “Oh, thank fuck,” you mutter, leaning back into the couch, your head tipping back against the cushions. “That’s—that’s fucking great news.”

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s no relief in her tone. Just exhaustion. “It is.”

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you like a storm cloud. Finally, you clear your throat. “Can I see you? Maybe we could grab coffee or something, just talk. I miss you, Hanni.”

She sighs, long and heavy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What…? Why not?”

“Because,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “Because I’ve spent the last few weeks losing my mind, thinking about what might have happened, what did happen. I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck we ended up here, and I still don’t have an answer.”

“We ended up here because we were drunk and stupid,” you say quickly, your words spilling out like a defense mechanism. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a mistake?” she interrupts, her tone sharper now. “Because that’s what I keep asking myself. Was this a mistake? Did we ruin everything for one fucking night of drunken stupidity?”

“Hanni,” you say, your voice low and steady. “It wasn’t just one night. Don’t pretend like you don’t feel something—”

“Of course I feel something!” she snaps, cutting you off. “That’s the fucking problem! I can’t stop thinking about it—about you. About your hands, your body, your mouth, your fucking cock. And that’s why I can’t see you right now, because if I do…” She trails off, her breath hitching.

“Because if you do, what?” you press, your chest tight.

“Because if I do, it’s gonna happen again,” she says, her voice trembling. “And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or if it’s just gonna destroy everything we had.”

“We’ve already fucked up everything we had, Hanni,” you say quietly. “The question is whether we’re gonna fix it or just throw it all away.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, bitter and broken. “I don’t know if it can be fixed. I don’t even know what it is anymore.”

“So what?” you say, your voice rising slightly. “You’re just gonna ghost me? Walk away from everything we’ve built?”

“I’m not walking away,” she says softly. “I just… I need time. To figure out what I want, what we are, what we could be. I need to get over this before I see you again. Because if I don’t…”

“I thought you loved me... I mean, you said that to me that night.” 

“I wasn't ready, you understand? Not really. This wasn't how I wanted it to happen… our first time, the confession of my feelings… I just…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. The weight of her words hangs heavy in the silence, suffocating you.

“When will I see you?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” she replies, her voice cracking. “I really don’t.”

“Hann—”

The line cuts out, and you’re left holding the phone, staring at her name disappearing from the screen. The movie’s still playing, but it might as well not be.

You drop the phone, lean back, and close your eyes. Outside, the world moves on, but inside, it’s just silence—heavy, empty, and endless.

[slytherinshua]

[phant0mth1ef]

i’m just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you.

-

college au!

-

you’d pressed the elevator button as the familiar ding occupied your ears. when the doors opened, you’d found yourself in an unfamiliar hallway as you’d treaded through the unknown grounds.

you were looking for your upstairs neighbor. dorm 572A.

better known as the person who had been keeping you up all night with some annoying rock music, and it wasn’t like you opposed the music, it just always resulted in you being forced to sleep with a pillow snugly wrapped around your ears.

you’d arrived at the door, dark wood staring back at you as you knocked. you could hear clammoring going on around the dorm, it was a quad. four people were crammed into one room.

the music was lowered, footsteps softly headed towards the door as you heard the locks coming undone as you were met by his face. he had an eyebrow ring, said brow was quirked up in a questioning manner as he saw you staring back at him.

you didn’t exactly know what to expect, your loose band t-shirt hung off your body. your pajama shorts disappeared under the shirt.

“what?” he was wearing a nirvana shirt, loose fitting jeans hung off his body as he eyed you down. he was trying to intimidate you.

"can you turn that off, or at least turn it down? some of us are trying to sleep?" the annoyance dripped off your tongue, your eyes nearly shutting with how tired you were.

"nah. s'only bothering you. and i don't really care what you think of me." he'd slyly grinned at you.

you'd taken another look at his shirt, sucking your teeth as you took him in.

"can you even name 5 nirvana songs?" the bags under your eyes grew heavier with each minute that you were forced to stand outside of his dorm.

the door was shut in your face.

you’d retreated back to your dorm. unbeknownst the you, the man on the other side of the door was grinning ear to ear.

his campus crush had finally noticed him.

[rootedinrevisions]

Let's Find Out Together

SUMMARY: After a painful breakup, you turn to Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, your longtime friend, for support. But as he steps in to help you heal, he reveals that he’s been harboring feelings for you all along. What starts as a comforting distraction quickly turns into an intense, unexpected connection that blurs the line between friendship and something more. Now, as the sparks fly, you're left questioning everything you thought you knew about love, friendship, and passion.

A/N: Thank you to the Anon who sent this request in! this was a fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it!

PROMPT: "What do you like?" "I don't know." "Well, then how about we find out together?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. (Biting, Marking, Oral Female Receiving)

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The Hard Deck was alive with its usual buzz—boots scuffed against the wooden floors, laughter echoed from the pool table, and the jukebox played a classic rock song that you barely registered. You sat at the bar, staring down into the bottom of your glass like it might hold the answers to every question rattling around in your head.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice from behind you.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw slid onto the stool beside you, his presence like a balm for your frayed nerves. His aviators hung from the neckline of his shirt, and his easy smile faded the moment he got a good look at your face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone softer now, concerned.

You tried to muster a reassuring smile but knew it fell flat. “Nothing. Just… a long day.”

He wasn’t buying it. Bradley had known you long enough to spot when something was bothering you. His brow furrowed as he leaned in closer, his voice low. “Come on. It’s me. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. Then, with a quiet sigh, you admitted, “I broke up with Derek.”

Bradley’s expression flickered—something unreadable passed over his face, a mix of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. He took a moment, then asked, “What happened?”

You swallowed, the words feeling heavier than they should. “I caught him cheating on me.”

Bradley’s hand clenched around his beer bottle, his jaw tightening. “That asshole,” he muttered under his breath, then louder, “He can go screw himself.”

You snorted at his bluntness, a small laugh escaping despite yourself. Bradley’s intensity softened as he looked back at you.

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone gentler now. “You deserve better than that. Better than him.”

“Yeah, right,” you replied with a hollow laugh. “Good guys aren’t as common as they used to be.”

Bradley shrugged casually, but his lips twitched into a small smile. “I think I’m a pretty good guy.”

You blinked, caught off guard, then smiled at him. “Yeah, you are. One of the best, actually.”

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the bar. “Then let me take you on a date.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned. “Bradley…”

His brown eyes held yours, steady and earnest. “I mean it. Let me take you out.”

“You don’t mean it,” you said, shaking your head, though your pulse quickened at the thought.

“I do,” he countered, his voice unwavering. “I’ve liked you for a while. But you were with Derek, and I wasn’t going to get in the way of that. Now that you’re not…” He trailed off, his gaze softening. “I just want to show you how you should’ve been treated all along.”

Your heart twisted at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t process how Bradley—your steady, dependable Bradley—was suddenly baring his feelings to you like this.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted quietly.

“Say yes,” he said simply.

Your lips curved into a small, hesitant smile. 

“Okay,” you said, the word slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

His face lit up, and he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against yours where they rested on the bar. The touch was tentative, warm, and for the first time that night, you felt the weight on your chest ease just a little.

“Let me take you home,” he said. “You’ve had enough of this place for one night.”

You nodded, letting him help you off the stool. As he led you toward the door, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of something you’d been too blind to see before.

The drive back to your place was quiet at first, the soft hum of the engine filling the space as you leaned back in your seat, watching the lights of the town blur past. Bradley’s hand rested casually on the gearshift, his fingers drumming lightly against it in time with the song playing low on the radio.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, “is this you taking me home and tucking me in? Or is this you taking me home?”

Beside you, Bradley’s lips twitched into a grin, though he kept his eyes on the road. “Depends,” he said smoothly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “What do you want it to be?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked.” His tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more—something that made your stomach flip.

“Just so you know,” you said, folding your arms across your chest in mock indignation, “you’re terrible at tucking people in. I seem to remember you leaving me to sleep on a couch last New Year’s while you stole my blanket.”

Bradley laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “First of all, that blanket was fair game. Second, you’re the one who insisted on watching that terrible rom-com marathon. I was being a good friend by suffering through it.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Suffering? You cried during The Notebook.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Fine. Maybe I got something in my eye. A guy can be moved by powerful cinema without crying, you know.”

“Sure, Brad,” you said, unable to keep the smile off your face.

The banter continued, easy and familiar, until he pulled up outside your place. He shifted the car into park but didn’t immediately move to unbuckle his seatbelt. Instead, he turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes searched yours.

“Seriously, though,” he said, his voice low, “it’s up to you. I meant what I said back there. I’m not in a rush. I just want to be here for you.”

Your smile faded into something gentler as the weight of his words settled over you. “I know, Bradley. And… I appreciate it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air in the car thick with something unspoken. Then you reached for the door handle, breaking the spell.

“You coming in, or are you going to sleep in the car?” you asked, your tone teasing but your heart pounding.

Bradley grinned, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You know I’m not letting you go in there without company.”

You reached your front door, fishing your keys out of your bag, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Bradley trailed behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. As you tried to slot the key into the lock, your hands trembled—whether from the chill or the way your heart was racing, you weren’t sure.

Before you could get the door open, you felt him. Bradley’s hands slid gently around your waist, his touch tentative at first, as though giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against your back.

“Bradley…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

His only response was to lean down, his lips brushing softly against the curve of your neck. The first kiss was light, testing, a feather-soft touch that sent a shiver down your spine. The second lingered longer, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he pressed his mouth to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, his voice low and husky against your neck.

You closed your eyes, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. “Yeah,” you hummed, the word barely audible.

You swore you felt him smile against your skin before he continued, his kisses growing bolder, more insistent. His lips trailed down the side of your neck, tracing a path toward your shoulder. His hands splayed across your stomach, anchoring you to him as his mouth moved lower.

Every kiss sent a wave of warmth through you, the world outside your little bubble fading away.

“Bradley…” His name slipped from your lips, half a sigh, half a plea, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking for.

He hummed in response, his lips still trailing over your skin. His touch wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was deliberate, reverent, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he cared to admit.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch his gaze, but he paused, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he spoke. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you turned fully in his arms, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. His brown eyes searched yours, and whatever he saw there must have been enough, because his lips were on yours a moment later, warm and sure, pulling you even closer.

Bradley’s lips never left yours as his hands moved down your back, his fingers grazing over the curve of your hips before gripping your thighs. With an effortless motion, he lifted you, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his neck for support.

Your breath hitched as he adjusted his hold, steady and sure, like he’d done this a hundred times in his mind. The strength in his arms sent a shiver through you, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered how he managed to make it all look so seamless.

Still cradling you securely, Bradley leaned back just enough to reach behind you, pushing your door open with one hand. The kiss never faltered, his lips still moving against yours in a way that made your head spin. The door swung open, and he stepped inside, his boots echoing softly against the hardwood.

With a swift motion, he kicked the door shut behind him, the solid thunk of it closing grounding you in the moment. Then he turned, pressing your back gently against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as his lips traveled down, brushing over your jawline and back to your mouth. The intensity of his kiss deepened as his tongue slipped past your lips, teasing, exploring, drawing a soft moan from your throat that you couldn’t hold back.

Bradley’s hands slid down your sides, his touch leaving trails of heat in its wake. When they settled on your waist, his thumbs stroked slow, deliberate circles against your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. The way he held you—firm but gentle, steady but utterly consuming—made your pulse race.

Every movement, every touch, felt purposeful, like he was trying to show you with his hands and mouth everything he hadn’t yet said out loud.

“Bradley,” you murmured against his lips, your voice breathless and shaky.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his lips brushing yours as he paused just long enough to look at you, his brown eyes dark and full of something that made your stomach flutter.

You couldn’t form the words, but he didn’t seem to need them. Instead, he dipped his head again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss that left no room for doubt about how he felt—or how much he wanted you.

Bradley pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his lips hovering near yours as his warm breath brushed your skin. His hands still rested on your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your sides as his eyes searched yours with a mixture of mischief and heat.

“So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “do you still want me to just tuck you in?”

The question made your pulse quicken, but instead of faltering, a surge of boldness rose within you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging his head back gently but firmly, exposing the strong line of his throat. His lips parted slightly, and a low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound sending a shiver through you.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw as you whispered, “I want you, Bradley.”

His reaction was immediate. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer against him as his eyes darkened with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he muttered, his voice rough and full of unspoken desire.

Without another word, he shifted you in his arms with ease, his hold on you unwavering as he stepped back from the wall. Your legs tightened instinctively around his waist, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he turned and started down the hallway.

The journey to your bedroom felt electric, every step punctuated by the tension between you. Bradley’s grip on you was sure and steady, his strength making you feel both weightless and completely grounded.

As he reached the door to your room, he paused, glancing at you with a small, almost cocky smirk. “Last chance to back out,” he teased, though his voice held a note of seriousness beneath the playfulness.

Your response was simple: you leaned forward and kissed him, pouring every ounce of your pent-up feelings into it. That was all the answer he needed.

With a quiet chuckle, he carried you over the threshold, his lips finding yours again as he stepped inside and nudged the door closed behind him with his foot.

Bradley walked you over to the bed, his movements careful and deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second. Gently, he lowered you onto the soft mattress, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he leaned over you. The room felt still, save for the quiet rustle of sheets beneath you and the sound of your own uneven breathing.

He braced himself on one arm, his other hand brushing a strand of hair from your face as his lips met yours again. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. Then his mouth began to travel, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and back down to your neck.

Between kisses, his voice came out low and teasing. “What do you like?”

The question caught you off guard, and you froze for a moment, your mind blanking under the weight of it. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bradley stilled, his lips hovering just above your collarbone. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“You’ve... you’ve done this before, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with an awkward uncertainty.

A laugh bubbled out of you, breaking the tension. “Yes, I’ve slept with people before,” you said, your tone light and reassuring. “It’s just... all the guys I’ve been with only ever did missionary.”

His expression shifted instantly. First, his eyes widened in disbelief, and for a split second, you thought he might be about to argue. But then his lips curled into a slow, confident smirk, the kind that made your pulse race.

“Missionary,” he repeated, the word almost incredulous. “That’s it?”

You shrugged, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Bradley leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice a low, teasing murmur. “Well, then... how about we find out together?”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours again, and his hands began to explore, sliding over your sides and down to your thighs.

Bradley’s fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with anticipation.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

With deliberate care, he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, his hands brushing against your skin as he did. The warmth of his touch lingered, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze didn’t waver as it roamed over you, and the look in his eyes made you feel more seen—and more desired—than you ever had before.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice reverent but with an edge of heat that made your cheeks flush. His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans next, his thumbs hooking into the fabric as he paused to look at you again. “Still okay?”

You nodded again, your voice catching in your throat.

He made quick work of the button and zipper, easing the denim down your legs and leaving you in nothing but your bra and underwear. He straightened, his gaze sweeping over you as you lay back against the pillows.

“God,” he breathed, shaking his head slightly. “You’re so beautiful. No... you’re sexy.”

The compliment hit you like a spark, and for a moment, you wondered why you had never let yourself see Bradley like this before. He wasn’t just your dependable, loyal friend. He was this—sweet, confident, and undeniably attractive.

He knelt back down, his hands gently trailing up your thighs as he leaned in. “You tell me if there’s anything you don’t like,” he reminded you, his voice soft but firm.

“I will,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

His lips found your neck again, pressing gentle, lingering kisses against your skin. Then you felt his teeth graze your neck—a new sensation, one that sent a jolt through you. Before you could process it, he bit down gently, and you gasped, the sound escaping you unbidden.

You felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “You like that?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Do you want me to do it again? Do you want me to mark you?”

You nodded quickly, your breath hitching. “Yes. I want to be yours.”

The words barely left your lips before he leaned in again, his teeth sinking into your neck just enough to sting, followed by the soothing press of his mouth as he sucked on the tender skin. The sensation was unlike anything you’d felt before—electric, heady, and intimate. When he pulled away, you could feel the heat of his gaze as he admired the dark mark he’d left.

Bradley smirked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face as he leaned in to kiss you. “Can’t wait to see what you look like with those all over,” he whispered, his tone filled with a promise that made your pulse race.

You couldn’t help but smirk back at him, a boldness blooming in your chest. “Where else do you want to put one?”

His eyes darkened with a mix of mischief and intent, and his smirk widened. Without another word, he lowered his head, his lips trailing along your collarbones before dipping lower, stopping just above your breasts.

He paused for a moment, looking up at you as if to ask for permission. You gave him a small nod, and he bit down again, his mouth working to leave another mark, this time on the skin between your breasts.

The sensation sent another wave of heat coursing through you, and when he pulled back, his expression was pure satisfaction as he admired his work. 

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough.

Bradley's hands slid up your sides, his thumbs grazing the edge of your bra. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, silently asking for permission. When you gave him a slight nod, he reached behind you with practiced ease, unhooking the clasp and gently sliding the straps down your shoulders.

The garment fell away, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his gaze filled with reverence and hunger that made your skin flush.

One of his hands moved to cup your breast, his palm warm against your skin as his fingers squeezed gently, exploring. The sensation was new, different, and surprisingly intoxicating. You couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped your lips as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over your skin before his lips wrapped around one of your nipples.

The feeling sent a jolt of electricity through you. No one had ever paid much attention to your chest before; past partners had always been more focused elsewhere, making offhand comments about your body that left you feeling unbalanced. But this—Bradley’s touch, his mouth—was deliberate and consuming as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Then you felt his teeth, a brief, unexpected pressure that made you gasp, your back arching as you unconsciously pushed your chest further into his mouth.

Bradley hummed against you, his lips curving into a smirk as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin to soothe it. 

“You like that,” he murmured, not as a question but a quiet declaration.

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, your voice too tangled in the haze of sensation to respond properly.

He didn’t wait for words. He pulled away, his lips leaving a trail of warmth as he shifted to your other breast. His hand replaced his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers while his lips found their target. This time, he didn’t hesitate, biting down gently but firmly, drawing another involuntary gasp from you.

The sound made something flicker in his eyes—satisfaction, excitement, and a hint of possessiveness. His tongue swept over the spot he’d bitten, his mouth working with a combination of suction and teasing flicks that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Bradley pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he looked up at you. “I love hearing those sounds you make,” he said softly, his voice a rough whisper that sent a shiver through you. His hands slid down to rest on your waist again, grounding you as his lips brushed a gentle kiss against the curve of your breast. “I’ve got so much more I want to show you.”

Bradley’s eyes never left yours as he slowly made his way down your body, his lips brushing over your skin with a slow, deliberate pace. His hands were gentle but firm, guiding you closer to the edge of something new and thrilling. When he finally positioned himself between your legs, his gaze flickered up to meet yours once more.

He smiled, a look of both excitement and admiration in his eyes. “I can’t wait to hear the sounds you make when I do thi,” he said, his voice low and husky. The weight of his words settled heavily between you, making your heart race.

You swallowed, your breath hitching slightly as he traced his fingers along your thighs, his touch light and teasing. His lips followed, pressing a soft kiss to one thigh before moving to the other, a trail of warmth in his wake. Then, with a careful touch, he slid your panties down your legs and tossed them aside, leaving you feeling exposed, but strangely safe in his hands.

He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, before lowering himself further. The air between you two was thick with anticipation. His hands gently caressed your hips, grounding you as his lips finally reached your center.

The moment his mouth made contact, your body jolted with the sensation, a sharp intake of breath escaping you as you arched into him, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

Bradley was slow, methodical, taking his time to explore and bring you closer to the edge. Every touch, every movement was carefully tuned to your reactions. He wasn’t just trying to make you feel good—he wanted to know what made you tick, to learn the rhythm of your body in a way no one else had before.

Bradley’s focus never wavered as he continued his work, taking his time to explore, making sure every movement was deliberate and sure. Each kiss, each touch, each gentle caress sent shivers through your body, and you couldn’t stop the quiet gasps that escaped your lips as you reacted to him.

He shifted slightly, and his movements grew more confident. His lips found that sweet spot, the one that made your breath catch, and when he applied a little more pressure, a moan slipped from you—louder than you’d intended, and unmistakably full of need.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but then Bradley’s voice, low and full of approval, reached your ears.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips curling into a satisfied smile against your skin. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He repeated the motion, coaxing another breathy moan from you. The sound was so raw, so genuine, it made him groan in return.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your body arching further into him as the sensations built. “Bradley…” you moaned, almost too loudly, your eyes squeezing shut as a wave of heat coursed through you.

He growled in approval, the sound so deep that it sent a rush of excitement through your veins. “You sound so good, baby. Keep letting me know how you’re feeling.”

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through it, gripping him closer. The intensity in his gaze grew, and the way he praised you made you feel both empowered and desired in a way you’d never experienced before. You felt your body reacting to him, to his touch, to the way he made you feel so seen, so good.

Every movement he made, every sound you gave him, only fueled the connection between you two. This wasn’t just physical—it was raw, emotional, a dance of vulnerability and trust. And Bradley loved hearing you like this, loved knowing he was the one who could make you feel this way.

Every touch, every flick of his tongue, every deliberate movement made your entire body hum with need. You felt yourself coming undone, the sensations overwhelming as your breath hitched and your body responded to him.

Then, with one final, deliberate motion, Bradley pushed you over the edge. Your back arched as the release washed over you, your body trembling in waves of pleasure. A gasp escaped your lips, followed by a low moan, as the intensity of the moment left you breathless, unable to form words. It was the first time a guy had made you finish just with his mouth and hands, and it left you gasping, completely undone.

Bradley’s lips curled into a satisfied smile as he crawled back up the bed, his hands gently brushing the hair away from your face. His eyes were soft with affection, his gaze intense as he looked down at you, making sure you were okay. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice hushed, a mix of concern and pride.

You nodded, still panting slightly, the aftermath of the orgasm leaving you weak but content. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice unsteady. “I’m… I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

Bradley chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you gently, a tender contrast to the intensity of the moments before. “I’m glad I could give that to you,” he said, his voice warm and full of sincerity.

You smiled up at him, feeling a mix of vulnerability and comfort, knowing that this moment was something you’d never forget. His presence, the way he made you feel, was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

Bradley settled beside you, keeping you close, his hand resting on your waist as he held you. Bradley’s hand gently traced patterns on your skin as he settled next to you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. 

“So, what do you want to try next?” he asked, his voice low, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You blinked up at him, feeling a newfound boldness. Without missing a beat, you shot him a playful smirk. “I want to ride you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Bradley’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching at the unexpectedness of your response. A grin spread across his face, his hands moving quickly as he pulled you on top of him, your bodies aligning with a hunger that was only growing. 

“Damn, baby,” he groaned, the thought of you in control sending heat shooting through his veins. 

You both shared a laugh, the playful tension still crackling in the air, before the moment turned more serious again. But this time, there was no question—the night was only just beginning.

[mattitties]

welcome to paradise - matt sturniolo

drummer!matt is my new favorite matt.

smutty af 😘

I walk down the hallway towards my boyfriend Matt’s room, hearing the familiar sound of drumming. I can’t quite recognize the song today, but it does sound a bit reminiscent of “Welcome to Paradise” by Green Day. I open the door ever so slightly and poke my head in. His drum kit faces the wall, so he’s completely turned away from me, and he has his headset on as he pounds onto the kit.

He’s not one to enjoy having an audience when he drums, but he’s more used to me watching him now, so I close the door quietly, tiptoe to his bed, and sit down to watch the rest of the song. 

Matt is obviously attractive, anyone with eyes can see that, but when he drums, he only gets hotter. The amount of passion and energy he puts into it, the way his hair gets all messy as he starts to sweat and his cheeks get flushed, the way his fingers hold the drumsticks; there’s nothing that turns me on more than watching him drum.

I’m lost in my own world thinking about him that my eyes glaze over, stuck on him. I don’t even realize when he finishes the song and turns around and sees me.

“Babeeee?” he calls out, finally catching my attention. “You get lost in your thoughts over there?”

I blush and nod. “Yeah, a little. Sorry.”

He comes over to the bed and lays on top of me, giving me small kisses on my cheeks and lips. “When did you get here?”

“Just a minute ago. Was that Welcome to Paradise?” I ask.

His face lights up. “Yeah!! Oh my God, I can’t believe you recognized it. I thought I was getting it all wrong.”

“Of course I did! You don’t give yourself enough credit, baby, you’re really fucking good.”

“Well I just learned that song this morning so…” he shrugs before kissing me deeper. “You like watching me play?”

“Mhm,” I say into his lips. “It’s sooooo hot. Gets me all worked up.”

“Yeah?” he asks teasingly. I’m about to slip my tongue into his mouth when he gets up. 

“Ay! Come back!” I say.

“No, no, it’s fine, come here a sec.” He sits back on his drumming stool and motions me to come over, so I get up and stand next to him. He looks up at me, then at his lap, then me again. “Sit.”

“Like, facing you, or…?” 

He grabs my hips and sets me down on his lap so I’m straddling him. “I’m gonna start to play a song, and every time you guess correctly you get a kiss. And maybe I take off my shirt or something,” he smirks.

“Okay, okay. I’m ready,” I tell him excitedly.

He starts drumming a song, and I know immediately what it is. 

“Come Together, but that was too easy. Make them harder!” I say, smiling when he pulls me in for a kiss.

“Well I want to kiss you, so no, they’re gonna stay easy. Next!” He starts drumming again, and this one takes me a little longer.

“Ummmm…” I listen for a few more seconds. “Oh! Walk This Way!”

“Good job!” He kisses me again. This goes on for a few more songs, but each kiss gets longer and deeper, and we both get needier. By the 6th song I guess, I’m ready to jump his bones, so when he kisses me again, I wrap my arms around his neck and move my hips. I’m already sat directly on his crotch, so my movements aren’t missed by him.

He sets the drumsticks down without opening his eyes and grabs my ass with both hands, helping me grind more. 

We’re breathing heavier into each other, subtly whining and groaning every so often. I’m getting wetter by the second, and he’s rock hard. 

“Matt,” I whine. “I need you.”

“Yeah?” He asks. “You wanna ride me baby? Right here?”

“Uh huh,” I say, lifting up for a second so I can pull my skirt up and push my underwear to the side. As I’m doing this, he pulls his dick out of his sweatpants and briefs, jerking it a few times to spread his precum down. I’m about to sink back down, but instead I get on my knees on the floor in front of him.

I lick a stripe up his shaft as my thumb runs over his slit. 

“Ohhhh, fuck baby,” he groans, collecting my hair into a loose ponytail. 

I moan as I take him in my mouth, swirling my tongue and sucking just his tip at first, then getting lower and lower each time I come back. His stomach is heaving as he hits the back of my throat. 

“Baby- fuck, I’m gonna cum.” 

My eyes are watering as I look up at him, feeling his cock twitch in my mouth. I pull off of him and stand up, taking my underwear off completely. His dick is throbbing, leaking, and red, and he groans at the loss of contact.

“Poor baby,” I say. “Thought you were gonna cum in my mouth?”

I don’t give him any time to respond before I straddle him again and sink down, completely bottoming out on him as we gasp together.

“Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl,” he mumbles. “Mmmmm, so fucking tight for me.”

I nod and stay still for a moment, putting my head in his neck as I let myself adjust to his size.

“You okay baby?” he asks.

“Mhm.” I begin moving my hips rhythmically, and he runs his hands, calloused from the drumsticks, up my back, lifting my shirt off in the process. 

His eyes light up the second he sees I’m not wearing a bra, and he immediately dips his head and starts sucking on my right nipple, rolling my left between his thumb and index finger. 

“So perfect, angel,” he talks into my skin, his tongue lapping at my nipple.

I moan at the contact and run my fingers into his long hair, somewhat damp and curly from the sweat of him drumming, as I start to bounce on his lap. 

He groans in pleasure. “Yeah baby. Ride my cock just like that.” 

All I can do is moan and whine, the sounds of our thighs slapping filling the room as I come down harder and harder with each thrust. He’s holding my ass with one hand and my hip with the other, thrusting his hips up to meet mine.

He’s filling me up so deep that I can’t focus on anything else. He tries to kiss me, but I can’t even align my lips with his, so he opts for sucking and kissing my neck instead.

“Fuck,” I whine. “I’m gonna cum, oh god.”

“Yeah? So am I. Gonna fill you up and watch it drip out of you after, got it?”

I nod in response as I feel myself get closer and closer to my end. I’m moaning with every thrust, and before I can stop myself, I’m clenching around him, crying out in pleasure into his neck.

“Mmmmmm, fuck, gonna cum inside you angel,” he mutters.

He’s pounding up into me like a wild animal, squeezing my hips as I feel his dick twitch inside of me. 

He slows down, wrapping his arms tightly around me. We sit there for a few moments, just breathing each other in. 

“You really like me drumming, huh?” he says into my neck.

“Uh huh,” I reply. “It’s so fucking hot.”

He pulls his head back and kisses me, deep and hard. “I’ll drum for you every fuckin day if this is the kind of treatment I get from it.”

I laugh and slowly stand up, both of us hissing at the loss of contact. He stares at my pussy, still clenching and leaking our cum down my thighs, then touches me lightly to collect it all before sucking it off his fingers. 

I lean down and give him a soft kiss, enveloping his tongue, then pull my underwear back on as he puts his dick back in his own underwear.

“Come sit back down, I’ll teach you how to play something.”

[slavghoul]

Interview from Metal Hammer 8/2023

LIFE LESSONS from TOBIAS FORGE

Shock rock, bad glam bands and wanting to be Venom: inside the brain of Ghost's benevolent overlord

Tobias Forge is the mastermind behind one of the 21st century's hottest metal bands, but even he’ll admit that success was a long time in the making. Hailing from the Swedish city of Linköping, the Ghost frontman dabbled in everything from death metal to glam before donning the iconic Papal attire and paint to transform into Papa Emeritus, transcending his roots to become a larger-than-life character. Here are the key parables he has to share, gleaned from more than 25 years on the heavy metal frontlines.

MUSIC AND MOVIES ARE GATEWAYS TO OTHER WORLDS

“Linköping was a nice city to grow up in. It wasn’t so small you felt like you were cramped in a village, but it’s small enough that you’d still want to eventually move somewhere else. You’d have access to all these gateways to other worlds through the record stores and the local video store. My dreams started there - everything I do now, I dreamt back there.”

I WAS A TEENAGE HEADBANGER

“I had a teenage brother growing up, so I had a free pass into teenage culture. Whatever they consumed, I got a whiff of - how they dressed, what they watched on TV, what films they rented... The lifestyle and expression that meant most to me was shock rock. Twisted Sister were a wrecking ball into my life with I Wanna Rock. That song made me want to bounce!”

THE HEAVIER IT GOT, THE DEEPER I WANTED TO GO

“When I first heard Candlemass, I was eight and I was blown away. I already liked Black Sabbath, Metallica and Motorhead through my brother, but Candlemass were local and sounded so heavy, it was like doomsday. King Diamond and Candlemass served as a segue for me to discover death metal and black metal in the early 90s. It became my calling. From the ages of 12 to 22, I spent my life in death and black metal bands.”

FOLLOW YOUR HEART (AND SOMETIMES YOUR WALLET)

“My mom is from Stockholm, so when I was 15 and started saying I wanted to move there, she was just like ‘Finish mandatory school’ and we moved together [after I graduated]. I moved back to Linköping when I was 25, because Stockholm is a big metropolitan place and it’s not fun living in those places if you don’t have money. Now I’m in Stockholm again; it’s more fun now I can afford it!”

HEAD IN THE CLOUDS, FEET ON THE GROUND

“I learned the hard way in the late 90s that wanting to play 80s-inspired death metal with my band Repugnant was     painfully out of touch with what was going on at the time. It broke my heart; I wanted us to be signed to Roadrunner and support Slayer. That never happened unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately, as it kept me grounded for a few more years and if those things had happened maybe I wouldn't be here today.”

TAKE CHANCES, BUT STAND YOUR GROUND

“Repugnant had a close shave with success. We signed to the label Hammerheart, which at the time felt like we’d made it because the first thing they did was take us out on our first tour, supporting the American band Macabre. They were a favourite band of ours - still are, and whenever we play Chicago they come to the shows - and at that point it felt like we might be going somewhere, but we quickly parted ways with Hammerheart because we couldn’t agree. It felt like our chance and we’d blown it.”

NOT ALL 80S BANDS WERE CREATED EQUAL

“With Crashdiet, we never really went beyond our home. I can’t say how many shows we did, but I don’t think it was more than a handful. For me especially there was conflict with the singer, Dave Lepard. We were friends, but he clearly wanted to take his band into some sort of glam-sleaze direction, whereas when I think of ‘glam’ I’m more Hanoi Rocks and Guns N’ Roses - never, ever the other bands. I know Poison kinda came before a lot of the latecomers, but to me they were repellent. Dave wanted to go all neon and I wanted it so that if we were glam, we’d be Hanoi Rocks meets Lords Of The New Church or The Dead Boys. I don’t want to be fucking Stryper! Fuck that!”

THERE’S NO POINT TRYING TO FOLLOW FASHION

“It was a confusing time in the early 2000s – rock was all of a sudden in fashion because of bands like Franz Ferdinand and Kaiser Chiefs. Everyone was always looking for the next big rock band and in Sweden The Hives were huge, as were The Soundtrack Of Our Lives, The Hellacopters, Backyard Babies...so many rock bands! But there we were in Subvision, influenced by The Dead Boys, with a little-too-long hair, leather jackets, just a little too ‘metal’... yuck! You’re supposed to be more indie; heavy metal is about having the biggest dick and indie is the opposite.”

FIRST IMPRESSIONS REALLY DO COUNT

“I hated The Strokes when they first came out. Back then, everyone described them as being so natural, that they weren’t interested in being rock stars, and I was like, ‘No. They didn’t wake up looking like that.' They chose to do that to be rock stars. And they can really play! Then when First Impressions Of Earth came out it was like, ‘There you go! That's what they really sound like! After that, I loved The Strokes, because they were showing they actually did love the music, but a lot of indie rockers treated it like it was their sell-out record.”

HAVE A VISION IN MIND

“Ghost started with a song, Stand By Him, which ultimately came out on our first record. I wrote it spontaneously, as an experiment - almost a joke, if you will, in 2006. When I recorded it the first time, I had no equipment in my home, so I had to go to a friend’s house. We did this very rough demo. He said it was great. He’d been in Subvision, Repugnant and Crashdiet with me, but we’d stopped playing together. He was like, ‘Can we form a new band?’ and I was like, ‘This song is the only thing I have. If I can come up with two more songs and there’s a pattern, then of course.’ But they needed to be as playful and spontaneous, and sure enough they were.”

PRESSURE CAN DO WONDERS

“Around 2008, when Ghost were first getting properly started, my girlfriend told me she was pregnant with twins. I never said it out loud, but I was preparing for my dream not coming true - maybe I wouldn’t become a rock star, I’d never be successful... So I had to at least have something that I could live with, a hobby that I could feel strongly about and get all my inclinations filtered through. I wanted to play metal, but also write pop music, have this horror rock show with theatre... Still taking inspiration from Venom pictures in 1982 where they looked like bikers surrounded by smoke and red lights. Ghost felt like a combination of all those things. Lo and behold, when I didn’t have all the time in the world, like I had before and gotten nowhere, when I could only put so much effort in, everything changed.”

THE MYTHOS IS NICE, BUT ONLY THE MUSIC MATTERS

“It was so weird, being threatened with a ‘reveal’ [Tobias’s public identity was revealed after ex-members took legal action against him in 2017I, as if people knowing who I was would be such a turn-off that they’d never listen to Ghost again. Here I am, most of my life wanting to be known, but then I was fighting to be unknown? What a paradox!”

ROLL WITH THE PUNCHES

“I’ve always tried to be like a general – have a goal, like, ‘Let’s take that castle’, but knowing that things can change in the field. You need to conduct yourself with a certain level of elasticity. I know I’m a control freak and want things to be done in a certain way, but I’m also aware things never work out that way.”

CHALLENGE YOURSELF

“One of the biggest weaknesses with modern metal - and horror - is that it’s being created and curated by people who only like that thing, so it becomes regurgitation. The best horror movies I’ve seen - Jaws, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, The Exorcist, The Omen - were made by people who never made horror films elsewhere. They wouldn’t limit themselves. If you don’t like other things, that’s fine, but if you ever feel stuck creatively it might just be that you’re sticking too close to home. I can’t even imagine just sticking to one lane these days.”

[jasmines-library]

As a girl who listens to a lot of metal (all kinds, especially death tbh), I always try to find fics abt the batfams reaction to that, but there’s not a lot to find.

You think you could write that? <3 totally fine if you don’t want/can’t, it’s just such a small thing I think they’d be really interested in!!

Metalhead

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: As a metalhead, how could I refuse? Also Jason definitely listens to metal.

Word count: 0.7k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

You hadn’t really been paying much attention to what was happening around you. You had your headphones in and were tapping your hands and feet along to the drum of your music. It was turned up quite loud, so you didn’t notice Jason calling your name from across the Batcave as he returned from his patrol.

“Hello? Y/N?” Jason tried again but was still left with no answer as you continued to be absorbed in your music as you watched the screens.

Rolling his eyes, Jason moved closer, the sound of his footsteps resonated throughout the cave. As he approached you, he could hear the muffled sound of your music escaping your headphones. It was loud, with a distinct guitar sound playing overtop.

When Jason tapped you on the shoulder to gain your attention, you flinched slightly and turned around quickly to face him, hand reaching instinctively for the weapon at your hip. Though once you realised it was your only Jason you let your guard down and slipped your headphones off.

“Hey Jay. What’s up?” You asked him.

“I’ve been calling you.”

“Oh. Sorry.” You shrugged. “I was listening to my music. I guess it was louder than I thought it was. What can I do for you?”

“I was just going to ask you if you needed anything from upstairs.”

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment before shaking your head. “No, I’m all good thanks.”

Jason nodded.“What are you listening to anyway?”

You hesitated. It’s not as if you were ashamed of your music, it was just something you had never shared with them before. Between patrol and training, sitting and listening to music together wasn’t one of your priorities.

“...metal?”

“Metal?” Jason squinted. He hadn’t pegged you for being into metal.

“What?” You frowned, confused by his reaction. Worried what he was going to think.

“Nothing.” He hummed. “Just surprised me is all.”

Taking off your headphones from around your neck, you handed them to him. “Wanna listen?”

“Sure.” He placed them over his own ears and you pressed play on your phone. Soon enough he was humming along to the song.

“You know it?” You asked him as he tapped along to the drum solo on the chair.

“Oh yeah. They’re a great band.” Jay replied. “I wish you had told me you liked them sooner. We couldn’t have listened to them together.”

And you did. You and Jason began to listen to metal together quite frequently. Whether it was when you were training or if the two of you had some spare time in the evening. The both of you would sit and listen to it, sharing recommendations, seeing who could scream the loudest along to the vocalist or just jamming out together

It spread pretty quickly through the manor that you enjoyed metal. And although the others were less keen sometimes they would tap along.

Particularly Damian, who liked to imagine he was in some sort of dramatic fight from a movie whenever it played over the aux in the cave.

Dick and Tim were…less keen. They would listen to a few songs, but often would ask to change it to something a little less heavy.

Sometimes, you would catch Tim listening to it once in a while. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He even asked you once for recommendations ‘for a friend’.

Dick was an avid listener of rock music, so although he was not a huge fan of the heavier death metal, he found that sometimes his music strayed onto the cusp of metal but he wouldn’t listen purposefully to it.

Since they found out that you like metal, jamming sessions became a frequent, not just with Jay but with the rest of them too. And even Bruce would join in occasionally. Though, an effort was made to make sure that when Alfred was in the house it wasn’t too loud because none of you wanted to cross that bridge.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGLIST:

@hearts4robs @aestheticdaisies @hell-o-kittys @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @harleycao

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[dekariosmagic]

Safe and Sound- Gale x Tav/Reader

Paring: Gale Dekarios x Tav/Reader (Referred to as Tav)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Word Count: 1,515

Description: Gale seemed to take the news from Elinster fairly well, or so it appeared.

Other Things: Fluff. Hurt comfort. Uses lyrics from the song "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift. Pre-relationship (but they're basically there).

Warnings: Panic attack. References to potential story canon suicide.

Elminster’s news had been a bombshell in and of itself on the party. Gale had seemingly taken the news in stride, perhaps the best in the camp. 

Gale made dinner as usual, while everyone avoided the singular topic on all their minds. Tav assumed no one knew how to bring up the topic to the man himself. 

It wasn’t until Gale finished his own portion and took off to his tent for an early night, did the rumbling start. 

Tav did her usual rounds, trying to ignore the feeling of a rock settled in her chest. And with each companion she talked to with their collective rage and disgust toward the situation and goddess of magic, it just seemed to get heavier. 

It felt good to know the rest of them were all on the same page. That they’d rather fight the goddess herself than willingly give up their wizard. 

Hells Tav was ready to take the goddess on herself, as foolish as the task would be. The fact Mystra felt she could demand that of him. The ultimate sacrifice to end a threat to her power, and get rid of a loose end in one go. She’d not spoken to him since the orb incident, and this was how she broke the silence?

Her heart hurt for Gale and herself. The entire situation couldn’t be easy, not nearly as easy as he made it sound as he accepted the mission from Elminster at least. Hearing from an ex of a relationship that ended so badly would be tricky, make her his goddess of magic and it was far more complicated.

And her own feelings complicated it. She wanted to grab him by his shoulders and scream. Tell him to defy Mystra, to think, to not accept this outrageous thing he’s been asked to do. To spurn Mystra’s words and stay here, with her, in this… whatever they were building. 

She’d become far too attached to him already. But everyday at his side just added to the growing list of things she adored about him. The one bright spot in a bleak road ahead. 

Walking to the front of Gale’s tent, Tav freezes as she contemplates calling out to him. Whether she should try to talk tonight, or leave it for later after he’s had more time to think. Or just let him stick to his own resolve entirely…

Her thoughts are cut short at the sound of a broken sob on the other side of the fabric. 

Without a thought, she slips into the tent and throws her arms around his midsection from behind. His body tenses in surprise, but it does little to interrupt the next sob from his lips. 

She squeezes him tighter as his body shakes, using one hand on his front to rub slow circles on his stomach as she rests her head on his back.

“Y-you don’t h-have-“ Gale begins before slapping a hand over his mouth trying to stifle the next sob, sucking air in desperately around it. 

“Gale, I’ve got you. It’s ok to let it out. I’m staying right here, I promise.” 

She feels him nod more than sees it. She sways them slightly as he shakes, taking a moment to spin herself around his body and hold him more tightly from the front. 

His arms quickly wrap around her, his face pressing to her hair. 

Her fingers rub gently into his back as she softly starts to hum a melody, his tears running down onto her as he tries to mumble an apology.

She holds him for what felt like hours, lost in their own moment. His shaking lessens, and the sobs dwindled to small hiccups over time. 

Turning her head to glance around the room, she spots his bedroll a few steps away. 

“Let’s lay down,” she says softly, backing them toward the bedroll and carefully tugging him along with her. 

She drops down to her knees when she reaches it, grabbing his hands to tug him down to the bedding with her. Adjusting his pillows around and finding a blanket, she lies on her back and holds her arms out to him. 

He studies her for a moment before laying down and snuggling into her, his head resting on her shoulder as she pulls the blanket up around them. 

Her fingers slowly card through his hair as he buries his face against her neck, a shuddered breath leaving his lips as his hand grips at her shirt fabric on her stomach. 

She resumes her humming after they settled in, his face turning from her neck to glance up at her. 

“What are you humming?” He asks quietly, his voice raspy and unsure. 

“I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I'll never let you go. When all those shadows almost killed your light, I remember you said don't leave me here alone,” she sings softly to the melody she’d been humming. 

“Don't you dare look out your window, darling, everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on. Hold onto this lullaby even when the music's gone, gone.

“Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound,” she finishes singing, rubbing a hand along his arm. 

“My mother would sing it to me at night when I was upset,” she finally answers. “When times are hard now I hum it to myself. Quite often lately if I’m to be honest.” 

“It’s beautiful,” he responds, his eyes reddened and puffy, but looking at her with adoration. “You’re beautiful. And I’m undeserving of your company.” 

“Oh hush,” she says and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re deserving of far more than you believe. You deserve to be happy, you deserve to have people care about you, and you deserve to live.”

“I… I don’t want to die,” he whispers after a moment. 

“Good, hold onto that,” she says squeezing him closer to her. “I will find another way. We will. There’s always another way. I’m not going to give up on you. You’re enough as you are Gale.”

His face presses back up against the juncture between her shoulder and neck, a shaky exhale on her neck, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” she whispers just loud enough for him to hear as she feels him smile against her skin. 

“Would you stay here with me tonight? Only if you’re comfortable with it,” he asks quickly, keeping his face hidden from her. 

“Of course, I’m always up for a cuddle with my favorite wizard,” her fingers go back to playing with his hair.

“If you only know one wizard, I’m both your favorite and least favorite,” he jokes with a dry chuckle. 

“I’ve met a few, but you make a good point. I’m always up for a cuddle with my favorite person,” she amends. 

His hand drifts from her stomach to her side, holding her closer to him, “If you continue this I might believe you and you’ll be stuck with me, then you’ll be sorry for throwing those words around.”

“Is that a promise?” She grins and lays her head against his. 

“Promise?”

“If I keep saying you’re my favorite and that I care about you, I’ll be stuck with you? Because I can easily keep repeating the truth each day.” 

“I-I don’t know what… I mean, I still have that order and I might, but maybe,” he stumbles over his words, his brow scrunching in thought.

“You don’t have to think about it right now,” her hand lightly grips his chin to turn his head so she can see his face and presses her finger between his brows. “No decisions, sacrifices, or answers are needed right now.”

He blinks rapidly in response, tears building in the corners of his eyes again as he searches her face then nods, lolling his head back against her shoulder.

Tav lets her fingers drift down his cheek, then follows along his jaw slowly, enjoying the prickle of his beard on her skin.

He stretches some in her embrace, leaning into her touch, his eyelids drooping.

“Go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake,” she promises as she feels sleep starting to come to her as well. 

“A wondrous sight to awake to I’m sure,” he smile softly, his eyes drifting shut. 

Tav continues to stroke along his cheek and jaw until his breathing evens and his nose twitches in his sleep when her hand accidentally brushes against it. 

Holding back her chuckle, she wraps her arm back around Gale and snuggles her face against his hair, letting her own eyes drift shut. 

She sends out a quick prayer, to any god that may listen, that she find a way to get them all through this. Her new little odd family would all make it through this intact, or she herself would die trying. His goddess may have given up on him, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to. 

--------

My Main Account: @lykaonimagines AO3 User: Lykao (Marvel, Sherlock, Cyberpunk 2077, and other video game fics)

[hannahssimblr]

Jen sleeps on my bedroom floor that night. Others crash in the living room, and Evie retreats to the guest room, as per my mother’s instructions. We don’t get the chance to say goodnight. 

Now, mom and I whisper at each other on the landing.

“Can I say goodbye to Ivy?”

“No, she’s fast asleep. You’ll only disturb her.”

“Okay, but I won’t see her. I think she’d like to see me, too.”

She purses her lips. “She’s too small, and she’s starting school again soon. You’ll throw her whole routine off, and you’ll have her upset with all this talk of leaving. I’ll pass on your goodbyes in the morning.”

But when she goes to bed, I sneak in regardless, peeking around Ivy’s door into her room, lit with the dim glow of her nightlight. There, I stand for a few moments as she sleeps soundly, her arms thrown over her pillow and her blonde hair around her head like a halo. She’s always slept like that, like a little maniac, arms and legs akimbo, determined to take up as much space as possible. Her chest rises and falls in the slow, steady rhythm of her breath. 

I step away and quietly shut the door. 

Back in my room, Jen is sleeping too. I’m careful to undress myself quietly, and climb under the covers. 

Setting my alarm is the last thing I do. 

Four. 

I awake to the vibration of my phone and the frantic song of the first birds of dawn. It is still dark, but that other-worldly, early morning haze that you only catch before the first burst of sunrise. 

Goosebumps erupt on my skin as I climb out of bed. I dress myself and fix my hair. 

Evie is still sleeping. 

In the bathroom, I clean my teeth, then leave the toothpaste out on the counter for her. She won’t know that we keep it in the cabinet, because anything that doesn’t suit the colour scheme of the bathroom is deemed offensive to the eyes. She will appreciate knowing where to find it when she gets up.

Afterwards, I risk a gentle knock on her door, to no response. After waiting a few moments for sounds of life, I receive nothing.

A slice of dim sunlight streams through the bathroom door and across the floorboards. 

I knock again. 

“Evie?”

Nothing. 

She must be sleeping in. We were all awake past midnight, at least, so she’ll be tired, but I’m certain she’ll get up soon. 

To my left, a door squeaks.

My sister, in her pyjamas, rubs sleep from her eyes. “Hello.”

“Why are you awake?”

“Because I heard you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I climb to my knees in front of her. “I was trying to wake someone else. She must be a heavier sleeper than you, yeah?”

“Are you going now?”

“In about an hour.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t know how to feel about this yet. It’s too early to make decisions. Her hair is sticking up in all directions, and her eyes are weighty with sleep. 

I smile. “You should go back to bed.”

“Were you going to say goodbye to me?”

I hesitate. “Of course I was.”

“Oh, okay.”

“C’mere.” I hold my arms out for a hug, and she falls into them, all warm from her bed, her cheek soft and hot on the side of my neck. 

“I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Will you ring me?”

“Every day, if that’s what you want.”

“Oh, no. I won’t want that. You’re too annoying to talk to every day.”

“Alright, jeez. Once a week?”

She considers this. “Yeah, alright.”

“Glad we could come up with a deal.”

She squeezes me tighter. “Okay. Bye, Judie.”

“Bye, Ivy.” I squeeze her back and rock her side to side until she begs to be freed. I oblige and flick her lightly on the forehead. “Get back to bed, right?”

She nods, becoming still and quiet, and I start to worry she might cry. I can’t handle any more crying. 

“C’mon, don’t be silly. Go to bed. I’ll call you in a few hours.”

“Yeah.”

“Go on,” I push her back into her room, and watch her climb back under the covers, curled up on her side with just her face poking out, red nose and wet eyes. 

“Miss you,” she says. 

“Miss you too.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[anotherbananasong]

Looks like it’s Banana Story Time.

2023 Christmas Ghost Fiasco

Context: my three nieces are home alone because it’s Christmas break, my younger sister and brother-in-law are at work. They live ten miles outside town on their own little homestead. My older sister is in town for the holiday, my first time seeing her since early summer of 2023.

Under the read more, cause it’s a long one.

My oldest niece texts us to get McDonald’s for lunch. I tell my older sister I’ll be at my parents’ house in ten minutes to pick her up, and we’ll take them lunch together.

I get to my parents’ house. I’m listening to Ghost. I text my sister that I’m outside cause it was cold and I didn’t want to get out of the car. Ten minutes go by, and I’m irritated cause I hate waiting. I end up getting out of my car and go inside. My sister is on the couch going through her emails. She laughs it off cause she didn’t hear her phone go off right behind her. So I’m like, okay, little thing, no big deal, calm down, Banana. We get to McDonalds. I ask my sister what she wants and she says a “plain McDouble”. So I order her a plain McDouble. As we’re going around to the window, she says she meant everything that normally comes on it (mustard, ketchup, pickles, and onions). So a regular/standard McDouble. I HATE changing orders at the window, so I am irritated for having to inconvenience the staff because I know they’re already working hard to begin with. But they accommodate and it’s fine. As we’re leaving, my sister says she forgot her chapstick, and can we go back to the parents’ house to pick it up. Banana rages inside, but says fine. We get to my parent’s and she has BANANA go in and grab it, because she’s holding the drinks. Irritated cause now I’m out in the cold again just for some cursed chapstick. I have to ransack the couch for it, but find it anyway.

We finally get to heading out to deliver lunch to my nieces. As we’re driving, “Mary on a Cross” comes on and my sister is like “oh, I know this song. I like this kind of music over that other stuff” (I had been listening to Lorna Shore the other day; heavier metal, for those unfamiliar), so I’m excited because someone in my family is familiar with Ghost. So I ask her “you wanna hear my favorite song??” and she’s like “sure!”

I happily almost veer off the highway to put “Cirice” on. As it’s a ten minute drive, we hear the whole song. We finish just as I’m turning down the dirt road to my little sister’s. She goes “that was nice, I liked that. What’s it about?” because she likes hearing interpretations on things; she just graduated with her Master’s in music. I tell her there are a lot of different ways I personally interpret the song, depending on the day, my mood, and who/what I’m thinking about. But one of my favorite ways to describe it, though, is that it is essentially (in my opinion) a love song to us from Satan.

Record scratch.

“Love song from WHO?????”

It was at this moment, Banana remembered this particular sister was devoutly Christian, having spent the entirety of her career teaching music in Lutheran schools, and had just moved to Indiana to work as a director of music for a church.

“Oh……… right….. um, they’re a Satanic rock band out of Sweden….”

The sheer level of pearl-clutching. The height of offense.

I couldn’t tell if she was more offended that I was literally playing her “the devil’s music”, or that she had admitted to liking it before knowing more about the band.

Needless to say, she refused to let me pick the music after that.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: this one actively broke my heart while writing it and i hope i did the topic justice. title came from a song on @pyotrkochetkov ‘s barzy playlist and i just knew i had to write something angsty for it. a bunch more happy and smutty long fics and headcanons are coming! seriously, let me know what you thought of this one - much heavier and angstier than i usually write 😬 ignore any inconsistencies, i’m not an expert on this particular medical procedure or professional hockey team travel

word count: 7k

tw: miscarriage, subsequent emotions

summary: on a mini trip to vancouver to watch andrei play, you suffer the worst loss of your life. andrei is your rock throughout the ordeal

Vancouver is a fun city - maybe not as fun as Raleigh or New York, but fun nevertheless - and you’re excited that part of the Canes’ Western road trip fell close to Thanksgiving weekend so you could join in for a bit of it without having to miss too much time at work. Part of your goal this season, your first married to Andrei, is to see him play in every arena. You’ve managed a few of the east coast arenas so far, but this is your first time out west. Nykki joined you too, so it’s like a mini-girls’ trip rolled into a ‘supporting our men’ trip.

The team’s there before you and Nykki get to Vancouver, having already played in Seattle two days before. It’s actually been slightly more than a week since you’ve seen Andrei in person and you miss him a lot. You’ve been with him for four years now, so you’re used to the travel and not seeing him for chunks of time, but this week feels extra hard. Luckily, after this little West Coast swing, Andrei will be home for a good chunk of time - the quirks of the NHL schedule are always insane to you.

You and Nykki get dinner before the game, discussing her wedding plans. It’s scheduled for early August, but time is already flying. You’re a bridesmaid, but you’ve been pushing off picking a dress, knowing that it’s not going to fit you by the time the wedding happens. Your fingers curl carefully against your stomach, hidden by the table and the bulk of your sweater, your little secret.

Butterflies roll in your stomach, excitement mingling with nerves, knowing that you’re going to tell Andrei the news after the game tonight. It’s so early in your marriage, and you’re definitely freaking out a little bit, but the idea of a little baby that looks like Andrei is enough to help the excitement win out.

“Martin wants to do Bali for the honeymoon,” Nykki tells you while you find your way to your seats. You bought tickets for the lower bowl, wanting to be in the middle of the crowd and all the excitement. The Canucks fans are already a little rowdy, with warmups halfway over. There’s a few Canes jerseys smattered through the crowd, but it’s certainly an uneven match.

You sip at your overly large Coke, your stomach turning a little. Dinner isn’t sitting right with you, but it’s manageable for now. “Bali’s nice, I mean, so I’ve heard. But what’s the weather like in August?”

Nykki points at you, her other fingers wrapped around her beer can. “That’s what I said! I thought it would be unbearably hot and humid, but apparently it’s gorgeous - 86 and barely any rain,” she grins. “I promised he could be in charge of the honeymoon, so I think we’re going to Bali.”

“Well,” you smirk back, “there are worse places to spend two weeks with your gorgeous NHL player husband, Nyk.”

She laughs and takes a sip of her beer, eyes twinkling. “You have a point there. How about you and Andrei? What are the big summer vacation plans?”

You pause, thinking of an answer because you’re anticipating having a newborn this summer, so a vacation isn’t likely to happen. Andrei’s been floating the idea of a mini European tour - hitting Rome and Paris for a few days each before heading to Russia for a little bit to visit family. But you haven’t really committed to plans since it’s only November and you have plenty of time. “We haven’t really talked about it,” you answer Nykki truthfully. “Drei’s been focused on the season and I’ve been busy with work. He doesn’t like to plan anything before the end of the regular season anyway.”

“Superstition,” Nykki sing-songs, putting her beer in the cup holder as she stands for the anthems. You get to your feet, pulling off your baseball hat and holding it over your heart, humming along with both anthems. You shift your weight from foot to foot, stretching out your lower back a little.

The puck drops and the game starts - Andrei’s almost immediately put in the penalty box, complaining and shouting at the ref the entire time he skates over. His hands fly in the air as he gestures, but his passion isn’t moving the ref at all and he takes his seat in the box, slumping down. You laugh, shaking your head affectionately. He’s a sweetheart off-ice, but on the ice, Andrei is a borderline criminal. He’s leading the team in penalty minutes and you’ve definitely heard plenty about how he doesn’t deserve it.

The game clock ticks down, Andrei’s released from the box and immediately scores on a breakaway. You and Nykki jump from your seats, screaming and cheering with the Canes up one to nothing. The Vancouver fans around you glare and chirp, but you and Nykki just laugh, giving back as good as you get.

It’s pure fun to be supporting the visiting team and you and Nykki thoroughly enjoy yourselves, dancing to the music and gossiping during TV timeouts and slower moments. Nykki gets another beer and you refill your soda, your stomach still acting up. The popcorn Nykki gets is too salty and you end up joining the crowd when they start throwing their own snacks at the refs. It’s a penalty called on the Canucks, which is good news for you, but the crowds enthusiasm is infectious.

The fans of the Canadian teams are definitely a little more intense and vocal with their displeasure with the refs, you’ve noticed. A particularly obscene chant breaks out when Brady dances around one of the Canucks’ defensemen to set up a powerplay goal for Brent Burns.

You and Nykki throw your arms up and cheer, screaming yourselves silly. Your stomach cramps a little and it puts a damper on the celebration and also serves as a reminder that you really need to see a GI doctor to determine if you’re actually lactose intolerant or if you have a gluten allergy. You grimace and sit back down, clenching your stomach a little, which seems to help. The rest of the second period flies by and the boys are up two to one.

The people around you start to shuffle off to get more food or go to the bathroom, now that the second intermission has started. You finish the rest of your soda and shift in your seat. Nykki looks over at you curiously. “You okay? You seem like you’re kind of uncomfortable,” she says, twisting her hair back into a ponytail.

“I’m fine,” you hum. “My back is killing me though. I must’ve tweaked it on the flight over.”

“You want an Advil?” Nykki’s already shaking around her purse and you can hear things rattling around.

“Let me go refill my drink, pee, and then yeah, I’ll take an Advil,” you reply, holding the reusable cup to your chest and getting out of your seat. Nykki pulls her knees to the side and you scoot past her, stopping when she makes a little noise. “What?”

“Babe, I think you need a tampon too,” she whispers, gesturing to the back of your jeans.

Your eyebrows draw together. You’re not getting your period anymore. “Tamp-?” The word catches in your throat and your eyes go wide. Your mind spins as the pieces start clicking into place and, as if to serve as the final kick in the ass sign, your lower stomach twists unpleasantly with a sharp cramp. Tears fill your eyes and you reach down to grab Nykki’s hand. “Um, surprise, I’m pregnant, but maybe see should go to the hospital or an urgent care?”

Half a dozen emotions cross Nykki’s face before it settles on shock, but all you can focus on now is the persistent cramping in your stomach. The cramping that’s been bothering you all day and you ignored, thinking nothing of it. God, you’re a terrible mother already.

“Okay, okay,” Nykki jumps to her feet, squeezing your fingers and dragging you out of the row and up the stairs to the main concourse. Her other hand is gripping her phone tightly and she’s jabbing at it with her thumb. “I’m calling an Uber. The hospital is like a ten minute drive.”

You nod, feeling numb as Nykki drags you along, your feet stumbling to keep up as you dart around the people waiting in lines for the bathroom and for food. How could your whole night - your whole life - have just taken a complete one-eighty in the matter of minutes. The cold Vancouver air hits your face like a slap, shocking some feeling back into your body. You wish it hadn’t.

The cramping is worse, the feeling between your legs - blood - like free bleeding during your period, but worse, so much worse.

Your stomach lurches and you rip your hand from Nykki’s grasp, bending at the waist and vomiting into a bush next to the entrance to the arena. “Oh, it’s going to be okay. Let it out,” Nykki’s voice is soothing and she rubs a hand in between your shoulder blades while your stomach seizes and you vomit again, spitting into the dirt.

Tears streak down your cheeks and your throat burns now. “I want Andrei,” you whisper, heart clenching with grief.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Nykki guides you towards the rideshare pick-up area, where a four-door sedan is already waiting. “I’ll get a hold of him somehow, but let’s take care of you first, okay?”

You let her bundle you into the backseat of the car and swallow back your tears, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes hard enough to see starbursts. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you try to calm down, you don’t know what’s happening for sure. Even though it feels very much like the end of something, you have to find a little piece of hope to keep yourself sane. The driver catches your eye in the rear view mirror as he pulls out of the arena parking lot, his mouth twisted down in a concerned frown even as his eyes are slightly judgmental. He’s driving you from a hockey game to a hospital - god knows what he’s thinking about you.

Nykki squeezes your knee and smiles gently at you, even as she’s typing on her phone with her other hand. “It’s still intermission, no one’s going to have their phone on them, but I’m trying to see if I can get through to one of the trainers or something. Just stay calm and we’ll figure it out,” she’s no-nonsense and you’re so grateful for her taking control of the situation.

Your lower back complains as the driver hits a pothole and another leak of fluid rushes between your legs. The drive is too long and too short all at once and before you know it, you’re being admitted to the Vancouver General Hospital emergency room and deposited on a bed, a curtain drawn around you. A nurse with warm, sympathetic eyes and a kind smile does your intake, her lips twisting to to side as you’re answering her questions.

“I just found out a few days ago,” you whisper, starting your fingers together. “I haven’t even told my husband.”

“Mrs. Svechnikov,” the nurse pats your arm comfortingly, “we really don’t know anything for sure until we get an ultrasound. Try not to put added stress on your body.”

You don’t even bother correcting her about your last name, the Russian name sounding strange in her Canadian accent. Nykki comes behind the curtain, clutching her phone. “There’s about ten minutes left in the third,” she says. “I can’t get ahold of anyone, but I’ll keep trying.”

“We’re going to get an OB down here and check everything out, okay?” The nurse says kindly, but brusquely, and then disappears back into the main emergency room. You roll your neck so your cheek is resting on your shoulder and a few tears leak out of your eyes.

“You didn’t leave any messages or anything for Andrei, right?” You ask. “I don’t want him to see and freak out.”

Nykki brushes your hair off your forehead and shakes her head. “No, I left a few messages for Martin to call me as soon as he could. I figure I’ll get to Andrei that way. Do you need anything?”

“Just Andrei,” you hiccup a sob, pressing a shaking hand to your mouth. Your other hand hovers over your stomach, afraid to touch it. The bleeding hasn’t stopped, so despite what the nurse said, you know it’s a miscarriage. Your stomach rolls and you press your lips together tightly so you don’t vomit.

“I’ll get him here as fast as I can,” Nykki reassures you. While you wait for the OB, she absently braids your hair back from your face, tying it off in an efficient, utilitarian French braid down your back. She talks as she works, trying to distract you, and you’re grateful for her efforts even if they don’t work. All you can think about is the little life that had been growing in you just a few hours ago. Your heart lurches painfully when you realize Andrei’s going to find out about the pregnancy and the loss all at once.

The OB is a middle-aged Black woman with a slight Canadian accent who introduces herself as Doctor Hayes and she doesn’t sugarcoat the news, which you appreciate. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Svechnikov,” she sighs, looking very much like she hates this part of her job. “But you are actively miscarrying right now. We’re going to admit you overnight for monitoring and will reevaluate in the morning.”

Your entire body goes cold at her words and you grip Nykki’s hand - you hadn’t let her leave your side, terrified to be alone. A cramp rips through your lower body and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. “What-“ your voice is hoarse and you clear your throat, trying again, “what, um, are the next steps?”

Doctor Hayes rests her hands on the guard railing on your bed. “Well, we’ll have you on a hydration IV throughout the night while we monitor the miscarriage. There may be a need for a D and C, to make sure it’s complete and there’s no tissue left behind.” Your face blanches as she talks. “But all of that will depend on what happens tonight.”

“Thank you,” you murmur and she pats your hand gently, sympathetically, as she leaves. You can hear her giving the nurse instructions and you slump back against the pillows, completely drained.

Nykki checks her Apple Watch and grimaces. “It’s Martin. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Be gentle with Andrei, okay?” You reply, desperately wanting him at your side, but also wanting to protect him from this heartbreak a little longer.

She’s back in a few minutes, after the nurse has started you on an IV. “Martin’s going to bring him over,” she says, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t tell him why you were here, just that you started to not feel well during the second,” she says. “It sounded like Andrei was halfway out the door before Martin could finish his sentence.”

You nod faintly. That sounds like Andrei. “I hope they don’t get slammed by Rod for leaving…” You twist your wedding rings around your finger, the diamonds catching the fluorescent lighting.

“They won’t,” Nykki says firmly. “He’d have to be a real bastard to punish Andrei for coming to the hospital for you. Besides, someone should’ve been available to get Andrei here earlier! It’s ridiculous.”

“Let him have an extra hour of normalcy,” you sigh, shifting on the bed, sore and uncomfortable.

You’re moved into a private room and given a hospital gown that bares your entire back and ass. A giant pad that’s probably as big as a damn puppy pee pad is wedged in between your legs to contain the bleeding and the IV is tugging unpleasantly at your skin. Nykki’s waiting downstairs to bring Andrei directly to you and you hope he’s here soon because now that you’re alone, the reality of the situation is sinking in and your chest is starting to feel tight. You turn your head and try to bury your face in the pillow, but you catch a whiff of the lingering Tom Ford Lost Cherry perfume you’d applied earlier mixed with antiseptic and sterile hospital smell and your brain briefly registers that it’s a shame, because you really love this perfume and now you’ll never be able to wear it again. Your heart thumps painfully in your chest, a reminder that you’re losing more and more of your baby with each passing second.

You hear him before you see him, the pounding of his footsteps echoing through the hallways. He’s running down the hall, that much is clear, and when you look over at the door, you catch the blur of Andrei skipping completely past your room before he doubles back and skids to a stop in the doorway.

He looks terrible - hair still damp with sweat, the red mark across his forehead from his helmet is still prominent, and he looks like he got dressed in the dark - or an extreme hurry - in a pair of basketball shorts and his button down with the buttons done up all wrong. But it’s the look of complete panic in his eyes that scares you the most. Andrei never looks that panicked.

“Solnyshka,” he breathes, his shoulders dropping from around his ears. In three long strides he’s at your side, holding your hand, and you finally feel like you can breathe.

“Hi,” you whisper before bursting into tears.

“Hi,” he replies softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His grip is almost painful, but you welcome it as you hiccup. “What’s going on, solnyshka?”

Insanely, the only words that come out of your mouth are, “your shirt is buttoned wrong.”

Andrei looks surprised, “what?” he asks absently as his gaze flickers down to his shirt. He shakes his head, “I rush. Solnyshka,” his voice is high and nervous, “what is going on? Neci didn’t know anything. Just that you’re here, in hospital.”

“I…Andrei, I’m so sorry,” the words rush out of your mouth on a flood of fresh tears. “I was pregnant and now I��m not. I lost the baby.”

You’re not even sure if Andrei can even understand you, you’re crying so hard. But one glance at his face and the completely shattered expression it wears, and you know he understood you. His fingers tighten around yours and he’s shaking his head, hair falling forward over his forehead.

“What? I don’t - a baby?” He rubs at his forehead with his other hand, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “When did you - why didn’t -“

He can’t seem to get a full sentence out and it only makes you cry harder, your entire body hurting with the effort. You know what he’s asking though.

“Last week,” you manage. “The day after you left. I was going to tell you tonight, but…” You trail off, shrugging one shoulder.

Andrei’s head hangs, chin to chest, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The worst of your tears are drying up and you shake your head. “It’s not…I had Nyk. I hate that you had to find out like this. Baby and then no baby, all at once,” your voice cracks and you trace the little embroidered A.S. on his cuff, barely able to look at him.

Your husband sighs and drops his head so he can rest his forehead against yours. He smells like sweat and fear and Old Spice and your throat clogs with emotion again. “I thought…” he breathes. “I hear hospital and I think the worst. I thought the worst.”

This is the worst, you think. The worst possible thing. But you know what he means, that he thought something even more awful had happened to you, that he was worried he lost you because he didn’t know there was something else to lose.

Andrei’s lips brush against your cheek, soft and delicate, the rasp of his stubble a stark contrast. You sit like that, foreheads touching, for who knows how long. Andrei doesn’t cry, but his chest hitches and you think he might, maybe, when it all sinks in. You’re all cried out and now there’s just bone-deep exhaustion.

“i’m tired,” you murmur, the words getting lost between you.

Andrei nods against your forehead and pulls back, looking like it takes him a huge effort to sit back up. He cups your cheek and his thumb strokes a careful arc over your cheekbone. You lean into the familiar gesture, comforted. “Sleep, okay? I’ll…I have to call Rod. Get my stuff. I’ll take care of everything,” his voice is steady, but his eyes are clouded.

You nod, your eyelids already closing. Andrei gets up and brushes his lips over your forehead, murmuring that he loves you. Once he’s outside the room, you can hear him talking quietly to Nykki and Martin, but your grief and exhaustion pull you under before you can really concentrate on what he’s saying.

Sleep doesn’t last and you’re awake again after a few hours. You blink awake blearily, confused for a second before everything comes rushing back. Andrei’s scrunched up in a chair in the corner, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand, eyes shut. He changed in the time since he left, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. His legs are kicked out in front of him, a pair of white sneakers on his feet. You don’t want to wake him, but when you shift, a sharp pain pierces your side and you gasp loudly before biting down hard on your tongue to muffle the noise. It doesn’t work and Andrei’s eyes fly open, his entire body jerking.

“Hey,” he’s at your side in a second, “what hurts? I call a nurse?” His accent is thick with sleep and worry.

You shake your head, the pain subsiding. “I’m fine.” And you are, the worst of the cramps are gone, leaving just a vague soreness and uncomfortable tightness in your chest and stomach. “You should’ve gone back to the hotel.”

“And leave you?” Andrei looks at you like you’re crazy. He shakes his head. “I got my bag and Nykki brought yours back. Do you want anything?”

“No,” you reach for his hand and lace your fingers together. “I just want to go home.”

He nods, looking exhausted. “Me too. I spoke to Rod, if you’re discharged later today then you come with us on the plane. If not, I stay and come home with you when you’re ready,” his lips quirk up at the corner when you start to protest. “Is decided, solnyshka. I’m not leaving your side.”

“But…” you trail off, all the arguments that you can think of fading when you realize that you don’t want to be separated from Andrei, not right now. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Good,” he chuckles under his breath. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“No arguments from me,” you reply dryly, rolling your head so your cheek is on the pillow and you can look directly at him. “Why don’t you try and sleep some more? I’m not going anywhere.”

His jaw tightens a bit. “Can’t sleep,” he replies, even though you had just seen him asleep. “If the doctor comes, I want to be awake.”

You nod again, sore and tired, and Andrei just sits with you quietly for a while before you think to ask, “how was the game?”

He snorts. “We won, but who cares?” It’s such an unexpected answer - Andrei’s never not cared about winning a game - and it startles you into silence.

A nurse comes in a few minutes later, saving you from having to find an answer. She introduces herself as Kayla and speaks in a soft, but firm tone. You’re starting to recognize the undercurrent of apology and sympathy in the nurses and doctors’ tones and you’re beginning to hate it. Andrei doesn’t let go of your hand while she checks your vitals and puts another bag of saline on the IV pole. “The OB will be in soon to do another ultrasound and see if you need a D and C,” Kayla says gently. “But everything else looks good. You won’t be staying another night and I would guess that you’ll be out of here by early afternoon at the latest, either way.”

You nod robotically, not really absorbing what she’s saying. By this afternoon, everything will be over and you’ll for sure, 100% not be pregnant anymore. It’s a gut punch, even though you knew this was coming. Andrei asks the nurse a few more questions before she leaves, but you don’t really listen, focusing on a small stain on a ceiling tile. It looks like nothing at all, just a blob of brown, but the more you stare at it, the more your vision unfocuses, the more it starts to look like one of those stereotypical ultrasound blobs.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying again until Andrei wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Try and sleep again,” he murmurs, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I think you’ll need strength.”

“Can you get me some water?” You ask, running your hands over the braid Nykki had done. It’s so messy and it feels like she fixed it a million years ago, but it was only four or five hours. It feels like another lifetime, sitting in the arena and joking around with her. From halfway through second intermission to a hospital room at 2 a.m. Certainly not how you were picturing the end of your trip to Vancouver.

You think you must fall asleep again because the next thing you know, there’s sun coming through the window and Andrei’s at your side again, his large hand resting on the top of your head, cradling the crown. Unfamiliar doctors and nurses are in the room and they all speak to you and Andrei, but the only words you hear are “incomplete miscarriage” and “quick procedure” before you’re being shuffled off to an operating room. It all happens too fast for you to even be scared and the last thing you remember before the anesthesia is Andrei by your ear, whispering in Russian to you, the spicy scent of his deodorant filling your senses.

Andrei’s there again, when you wake up, eyes looking red and face drawn. You’re barely conscious, but the sigh of relief he exhales permeates the fog. His hand is warm in yours and you manage a weak smile at him. “Hey there handsome,” you croak and he laughs weakly. “Miss me?”

“You…” Andrei coughs, “I love you very much.”

“Love you,” your words slur a bit. “I wanna go home.”

“Soon, solnyshka,” Andrei promises, stroking your hair. “Soon.” He’s still stroking your hair when you fall asleep again.

When you wake up again, the overwhelming sense of emptiness is what you notice first. Then Andrei comes into focus again, his weight of his head resting on your leg, his hand on your hip. You’re not sure if he’s awake or not, but you gently run your fingers through his hair and he looks over at you, shifting.

“Hi,” he murmurs, dark circles under his eyes.

“Hi,” you rasp back, fingers still working through his hair.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore, tired,” you hesitate, “empty.”

“Yeah,” Andrei’s reply is barely an exhale. “Doctor said we can go, once they give you the all-clear.”

You nod, chewing at your lower lip. “Andrei,” you choke his name, the words coming out like broken glass, “we don’t have a baby anymore.”

“I know,” Andrei replies simply, sitting up all the way and leaning forward to gather you into his arms. You go to him easily, moving carefully and ignoring the pull of your protesting muscles, and bury your face against his chest. He’s in the same black t-shirt and he smells stale now, like he needs a shower desperately, but under that he just smells like Andrei, like home, and you cry into his chest, the fabric growing wet under your face. He just holds you, his arms a strong cage around your back, his hands running up and down your back. Everything in your body hurts, but nothing more than your heart.

Throughout the next few hours, when you’re given a clean bill of health, instructions to take it easy and abstain from sex or using a tampon for three weeks, and discharged, Andrei is a rock. He’s right at your side, helping you get dressed in the soft joggers you were using as pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. He laces up your sneakers for you and carries all the bags out to the waiting Uber. You were discharged in time to make the team flight home, but after hearing Andrei on the phone before the doctor came in for your exam, you kind of suspect that he may have pressed Rod to change the travel plans. You can’t even start to think about what he’s done for you, exhaustion seeping to your bones.

No one says anything to you when Andrei ushers you onto the plane, but Neci gives you a small smile and squeezes your hand when you walk past him. You return the smile, feeling awful that Nykki has to fly home on her own. She’s been texting, checking in on you, and you haven’t answered yet, too distracted to deal with even holding your phone. Andrei bundles you into a seat near the back of the plane and wraps his jacket around you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Anything for you, solnyshka,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Try and sleep, long flight. I have the pain pills, if you need, okay?”

You nod against his shoulder and wrap his jacket tighter around your body, tucking your hands up into the sleeves. Andrei rests his palm on your knee and before the plane even takes off, you’re asleep.

It’s a long flight back to Raleigh and you don’t sleep the entire way, but after a solid three hour nap, you wake up feeling better. Andrei’s asleep when you wake up, his head dropped back against the headrest, his mouth open slightly. He finally looks relaxed and peaceful and you’re grateful, so grateful, for him.

Your whole body still hurts, but your legs are starting the cramp up, so you carefully shimmy out of your seat to stretch in the aisle. Brady and Jarvy wave at you from a few rows up and you wave back, wondering what they know, if they know anything. No one really tries to talk to you, so you assume Andrei told them that you had some kind of medical emergency. Legs feeling better, you settle back into your seat, finally pulling out your phone and connecting to the in-flight wifi so you can text Nykki.

She reassures you that none of the other guys know what happened and that if you need anything when you’re back in Raleigh to let her know. You’re blessed to have such a good friend in her and you thank her, thinking that maybe in a few days you’ll see if she’ll bring Gigi over for some puppy cuddles.

Andrei wakes up about and hour before you land and he gulps back half of a water bottle before he even says anything. Then he tips his head close to yours and whispers, “how are you feeling? Any pain?”

“No,” you whisper back, “I’m okay. Just sore. It’s like being drained after a really bad period. I feel better after my nap.”

“Good,” he pushes the half-empty water bottle into your hands. “Drink.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, the moment of lightness making you feel a little better. You sip at it slowly, starting to get a little nauseous. Andrei wraps his arm around your shoulder and you lean against him, drawing comfort from his solid warmth.

When you land, Andrei guides you off the plane, his palm reassuring against your lower back. It’s easy to let him take the lead and to not think about anything. He’s got both of your bags and you don’t even put up a fuss when he refuses to let you carry even your purse. You’re just too tired.

Andrei’s car is parked fairly close and you don’t have to walk very far. You lower yourself into the front seat of the Lamborghini, muttering, “I hate this car.” Your stomach gives a protest of pain from having to climb into the car.

“I know,” Andrei laughs a little, loosening up. His string of ugly sports cars is a long running topic of conversation. The last one was orange, the one before that a strange green. This one is electric purple and it’s hideous. His terrible taste in car colors is his only red flag. “Next one will be red.”

“Why couldn’t this one have been red?” You ask, breathing deeply to stave off the nausea. You sink back against the seat and Andrei pulls out of the parking spot. He’s driving must slower than usual and is taking extreme care with navigating the roads.

“This one was only 75 made,” he explains again. “It’s a collectors item.”

“It’s still ugly,” you tease, a smile playing at your lips.

He reaches over and takes your hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “I love you so much, moya solnyshka, and I’m so…proud of your strength.”

Andrei doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his voice gets thick and he swallows roughly. He continues, “it hurts to know there would’ve been a baby in the summer.” So he did the math, you think. “But, this is maybe the wrong thing to say, but I’m glad I didn’t know before.”

It’s not really the right thing to say to you in the moment, but you can’t blame him. You sniff and nod. “I know. I almost wish I hadn’t known either. It was only a week, but I was so attached to…to the idea of our baby.”

“When you’re ready,” Andrei says slowly, turning to look at you while you’re stopped at a red light, “you tell me and I’ll give you a baby. When you’re ready.”

You nod, unable to even think about trying for a baby right now, but Andrei’s words and his earnest expression make your heart melt. You love him so, so much. “When I’m ready,” you repeat, squeezing his fingers.

When you get home, Andrei runs you a shower and joins you after a minute, soaping up your hair and scrubbing down your body gently. You don’t speak while he works and his touch is nothing but chaste. He’s careful around your stomach and between your legs, impossibly gentle with those huge hands of his. You stand under the spray while he gives his own body and hair a quick wash, the heat of the shower starting to make you a little lightheaded. Right before it gets to the point where you think you’re going to have to say something, Andrei flips the water off and reaches out of the stall for a huge, fluffy towel, wrapping you up in it and rubbing his hands up and down your arms to keep you warm. He grabs another towel and wraps it around his waist, gripping your elbow and guiding you back to the bedroom.

You rummage in his drawers for oversized clothes, not wanting anything constrictive on your body. Once you’re comfortable in an old pair of Andrei’s grey sweats and a threadbare Duke t-shirt, you crawl under the covers and curl up on your side. “Join me?” You ask, looking up at Andrei. He nods, silently climbing into bed behind you and gently scooting you closer to him. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back and he wraps his arms loosely under your breasts, avoiding your stomach. Andrei buried his face in your hair and you let a few silent tears leak out of your eyes.

What did you do to deserve this wonderful man?

With Andrei’s arms around you and your heart heavy in your chest, you fall asleep again, but it’s unsatisfying. After a few hours, you need food even though you’re still nauseous. Andrei makes himself a sandwich and warms up a can of chicken soup for you and you eat in bed, a rerun of The Nanny on TV. Andrei doesn’t really get the show - the humor is too specific - but he does like to point out all the outfits that Fran wear and he thinks you can pull off. It’s a nice distraction.

You take the next few days off of work, just to recover, but Andrei isn’t as lucky. You’re mostly fine physically except some lingering soreness, most of your problems are mental. After talking about it on the way home, neither you not Andrei has really brought up the miscarriage.

Two days after the miscarriage, the team is playing at home and Andrei’s right there in the middle of it all. You don’t watch the game, still too raw to watch hockey after what happened in Vancouver, so it’s a little shocking when he comes home with a blackened right eye and a cut across his nose and part of his cheek. “What happened?” You yelp upon seeing him, getting carefully to your feet and reaching up to lightly touch the side of his face.

Andrei grunts. “Distracted, got hit,” he winces when he moves his face.

You feel awful, knowing he was distracted because he was worrying about you. “Luckily it didn’t need stitches,” you say softly. “Can’t have anything ruining that pretty face,” you tease him lightly.

He gives you a tight smile and his gaze flickers down to your stomach, covered in an oversized sweatshirt. You catch his look and brush your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me so much,” you say. “I’m tough. I’m strong.”

“I know,” Andrei sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead. He hesitates, wanting to say more, and you wait. “At the game,” he says slowly, “Burnsie, Staalsy, they had their kids there. I couldn’t help…I was picturing…”

Oh.

Your heart cracks right over the scabs that had been forming the past two days and fresh pain floods your veins. “Drei…” you’re not even sure what to say to him. You knew he was sad, but you hadn’t really thought about how deep his feelings went.

He smiles sadly at you. “Today, it hit me,” he says, twisting his lips. “We lost a baby.”

“Yeah,” you reply, throat tight. “We did.”

Andrei pulls you close, twisting his hand in the end of your ponytail. “I wasn’t expecting it to hurt like this, when I didn’t even know for very long,” he murmurs and you can feel a few tears drip onto the top of your head. You wrap your arms around his waist tighter.

“I don’t think that matters,” you mumble. “It hurts no matter how long you knew about it.”

You can feel Andrei’s head turn, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. You just stand there in his arms, holding tightly to the only other person that’s feeling the same pain as you. The longer Andrei holds you, the more you feel your fragile heart mending itself, the steady beat of his heart a constant under your cheek.

After that, things slowly start getting back to normal. You’re physically healed and cleared to resume normal activities. Andrei’s not so distracted during games. You can go hours, days without thinking about the baby that’s gone.

Andrei mentions it, off-hand, about a month after you get home from Vancouver, after he’s back from another quick road trip. “We could’ve been telling our families about the baby at Christmas,” he’s clearly been thinking about it.

You nod, a little startled by his comment. “Probably, yeah. Or we would’ve told them already, too excited to keep a secret,” you smile a little to yourself, thinking about how Andrei almost spoiled his proposal twice before he actually popped the question because he was so excited.

He grins at you, dimple popping, and pushes a slim box across the table at you. “Early Christmas present,” he says, answering your unasked question.

Looking at him suspiciously, you pop the lid on the jewelry box, finding a thin gold chain bracelet with two delicate charms on it - the common blue and white Greek mati to ward off the evil eye and a little horizontal cross attached at each end to the chain. You trace your fingers over the chain and look up at Andrei.

“A little luck?” He says, lifting one shoulder. “I saw it in a store window, in Long Island, before we played. Made me think of you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, getting out of your seat to kiss him softly. You trace your tongue over his lower lip and desire stirs in your stomach, something foreign after the last few weeks, but oh so familiar. You’re not quite ready to have sex yet, but it’s a good reminder that you will one day soon. “It’s perfect.” You hold out your wrist and Andrei clasps the bracelet on.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, reminding you of the promise he made in the car.

“Whenever I’m ready,” you repeat, crawling onto his lap and letting him hold you. The thought of getting pregnant again doesn’t make your chest feel quite as tight anymore, doesn’t get the panic alarms ringing in your head. Andrei’s been so patient and gentle, making everything just a little bit easier to bear.

Every day just reminds you that as long as Andrei’s by your side, you can handle anything life throws at you.

He kisses the side of your head and holds you close, chasing the shadows of grief away.

[yogurtkags]

❝ IF NOT FOR YOU ❞ — semi eita

— 02. sweet nothing

“they said the end is comin', everyone’s up to somethin', i find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings. outside, they’re push and shovin', you're in the kitchen hummin', all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothin'”

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“join us for a jam sesh later? we can show them the song, rest of the boys are going to be there.” the end of that sentence is laced with a tinge of bitterness, and eita likes to think that it’s hidden behind a forced cough and a minuscule amount of cellphone static.

he wants to show off what you’ve been working on because he’s proud, he always is, but as much as he refuses to admit it, he wants you all to himself just as it’s always been since the beginning. if inviting you over to band practice (“we’re not a band, we just play together sometimes and perform my songs at gigs”) with the guys is what it takes to see you, or hell, even just hear from you, he’ll make do.

the lyrics of the song are really sweet, he thinks it might be the first love song you’ve written fully. a part of him wonders what, or rather who, inspired you to write it, but perhaps it’s not his place to know. it won’t stop a part of him from wishing it was him though, and frankly he’s not sure what to make of that information just yet.

you had a rough skeleton of an idea for the instrumentals but pretty much gave him free reign with this one which he’s not going to say no to, making sure to sprinkle in a little bit of his own taste into it — heavier instruments are more of his forte, having countless alternative and rock musicians listed as his personal inspirations. the final product's a fine mix of you and him, perfectly balanced and no more of one or the other. he’s very proud of it, proud of you, as with everything that you do together.

his thumb hovers over the send button, the preview of his short voice message looping while he contemplates deleting it. it’s starting to get grating with how long it’s been going for, his pathetic voice doing nothing but making him overthink even more. he doesn’t know if he’s being presumptuous to imagine it but it seems like you’re... avoiding him?

it’s been more than a week with barely any texts or random voice memos, you're usually blowing up his phone with silly memes and song demos, or even as simple as asking how his day has been. nothing since the last time he came over and finished the song with you. he noticed something seemed up at the time but didn’t press, now the guilt eats at him for not at least trying to ask. you always did keep your troubles to yourself, preferring to handle them on your own and keeping him in the dark about it until it either got too much and eventually bubbled past the surface, or fizzled over and only coming out casually in conversation once it’s a thing of the past. but who's he to judge, he's not any better.

maybe he’s reading too much into it, you’ll tell him with time as you always do, right? maybe he’s blowing it out of proportion, maybe you just had a bad day before seeing him, or you’re just tired, or— enough, now i’m just overthinking again.

finally releasing his bottom lip from the onslaught of his teeth, he bites the bullet and hits send, tossing his phone on his nightstand. as he lays back down on the stiff mattress, the arm thrown over his face shields the glaring sunlight breaming down on his face. it’s way too bright in comparison for the thoughts swirling in his head and with a sigh, he uses the foot hanging off his bed to tug the curtains close.

give her time, she’ll come to you when she’s ready.

i just hope she’s okay.

well shit.

the realisation that there even a slight possibility that you're in love with eita hits you like a splash of ice cold water to the face. you won’t lie and say that you didn’t have your suspicions, but it’s been just so long, brushing it off as the closeness of childhood friends. he’s your best friend, the first one you contact with good news, the first name that comes to mind when asked to invite a plus one, the first person you think of when you see those tiktoks of lovesick poems captioned “who do you picture when you read this?”, the list goes on.

in some way or another, this is what you always wanted, someone who understands your ins and outs and to spend your years with. eita was always the only option you’ve considered, but god you’re scared.

you feel a little sick to your stomach, the thought of it all weighing too heavily on your mind. there’s just too much at stake here, and you’re hell bent on not letting whatever the hell these damned feelings are jeopardise years of what you’ve built together. unknowingly in a similar spot, you find yourself curled up in bed, head swimming with worst case scenarios and make-believe narratives that say this is doomed for disaster.

light knocks on your door gently pluck you from the stirring storm in your head and with an muffled “i’m coming in!”, hitoka shuffles into your room and audibly coos at your deposition.

“hey, you left your phone out on the counter and it went off a couple times. i think semi messaged you too, thought you might want to see it.”

speak of the devil.

with a small smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching your eyes, you take your phone from her hand with a mix of gratitude and dread, “thanks hitoka. i- can i ask you something?”

“yeah what’s up? everything okay?” she sits by your side, her pretty, youthful features plagued with concern.

the posters on your wall suddenly seem like the most interesting things in the room, your eyes meekly darting around and refusing to meet hers. a wave of embarrassment washes over you from head to toe as you mull over your thoughts, collecting and trying to put them into words without sounding like a total idiot. this is stupid, you open your mouth for a moment and close it in the next, the words stuck in your throat and you’re already regretting bringing it up. you’re not ready for this conversation as much as you want to and it festers and grows and feeds on the seeds of doubt sprouting.

her small, smooth uncalloused hand closes over the back of yours in assurance and comfort, the small action causing a surge of peace and calm to flow through you, “it’s about him, isn’t it?”

nodding in shame, you hesitantly speak up, quietly, “hypothetically if i did have feelings for him—what if he doesn’t feel the same way? i won’t be able to look at him again.”

hitoka sighs dramatically, “first off, it’s a hundred percent not hypothetical who are you even kidding, surely not me. second, have you seen the way he looks at you? i’m surprised you haven’t caught on sooner.”

when you remain silent, she takes it as a cue to continue, squeezing your hand, “listen, i don’t know him as well as you do by a long shot, but i know feelings when i see it, and that man is very into you. and don’t even come at me with that ‘but we’re best friends’ bullshit, you don’t act that way with kenma and vice versa.”

you stifle a laugh at that last part, feeling a little tension release from your muscles after listening to her perspective. she’s nothing but truthful and supportive especially when it comes to anything (especially serious) concerning you and your heart swirls with warmth that you have someone like her to talk to about these things, the boys aren’t much help but you still love them dearly.

“i’ve been running away from him for days, i haven’t spoken to him since the last time he came over.” you mumble, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling, eyes fixed on the rotating fan and letting it blur in your vision as your hand still remains clasped in hitoka’s.

you feel the weight of guilt on your shoulders for shutting him out so abruptly, the sudden rush of feelings leaving you dumbfounded in its wake. your instinct was to hide and let it pass, hoping he wouldn’t catch on, but you never stopped to consider what it might look like to him. truthfully, the longest you’ve ever been apart was when your family went on holidays overseas, never if you could help it — you miss him.

remembering that he sent a message, you opened it up, letting the sound of his voice flit through the still air within your four walls. it sends a tingle down your spine and causes a soft involuntary smile to stretch across your lips, it’s like music to your ears.

“i swear to god, you two are disgusting.” hitoka lightheartedly complains as she rolls her eyes, getting up to leave you be. “go see your man before i throw up.”

“shut up, it’s not like we’ll be alone!” you retort, flipping her off as she’s shutting the door with a click, hearing a yeah yeah yeah echo down the hall.

taglist. open (link to form) @wyrcan @cheesypuffkins87 @peachyugoose @tetzoro

@twiishaa @samuel1004 @blueparadis

notes. hi it’s been a while since we've seen our two blindly lovesick pals :3 no fun facts this time, just a little filler chapter !! they’re so stupid and lovesick PLEASE— also band lineup in the next one ! big love to @mikiruie for beta reading < 3

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[stairset]

How we feelin abt this new starset album so far boss? I’m having a great time, but the audience seems divided so i’m goin to the expert.

LONG ANSWER:

I think people complaining about the new music are entitled to their wrong opinions but I very much disagree. From what I've seen the biggest complaints have been:

A) The swearing in Brave New World, to which I say it's just ONE song out of like 60, there's a censored version anyway if you don't like it, using swears is not automatically bad songwriting no matter what some might say, and they're not a christian band they can swear if they want to.

B) The three songs we have so far are heavier and more metal than usual. Especially Brave New World and Degenerate. To this I say their music has always been on a spectrum with heavier stuff on one end. The heavier stuff has always been part of their identity. Right now they're leaning more into it than usual but it's not out of nowhere or anything. Also this is probably the first time in my life that I've seen fans of a rock band complaining them getting MORE heavy instead of less which is very odd. Especially since one of the complaints people had with the last two albums was that there wasn't as much screaming. It feels like I ended up in opposite world or something.

C) The subject matter. So far with these songs Dustin's been a lot angrier and more on-the-nose with the social commentary than before. I'M on board with this because this band has ALWAYS been about social commentary and acting as if this aspect of them is new or out of nowhere is stupid. And the stuff that Dustin's singing about in these songs is stuff that he's been trying to warn people about for over a goddamn decade now. In 2013 the things these songs are talking about were hypotheticals that COULD happen soon. But now it's 2024 and all of it's actually happening aeound us in real time. So the way I see it he deserves to go all "no more Mr. Nice Guy" and angrily scream about it. As a treat.

SHORT ANSWER:

The music's still good and haters gonna hate.

[ready2bl0w]

Dante and Vergil Music Headcanons (featuring playlists)

Dante

In my opinion, Dante comes across as someone who dabbles in a variety of genres, although he’s not without his favorites. He certainly favors rock and R&B above all. With Dante, he’s busting out your typical ���Dad Rock” artists, alongside some industrial (I swear I’m not saying this because I'm a rivethead). He definitely listens to Nine Inch Nails. Pretty Hate Machine is his favorite album. He listens to some KMFDM (Ready to Blow and Stray Bullet are both Dante-coded). He’s an absolute sucker for that signature rugged mechanical sound. It scratches something in his brain. On the more classic side of things, Dante enjoys his fair share of SOAD, Guns N’ Roses, Alice in Chains, Melvins (does that count as “Dad Rock”???), AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Pearl Jam, and some of the heavier Nirvana tracks. I mean, I could go on and on, but this is just a small scope of what kind of rock he’s bumping.

In terms of R&B, Michael Jackson is a given. I also picture Dante listening to a lot of “hornier” tracks and artists. Thinking Adina Howard's Freak Like Me, Ginuwine’s Pony, and just all of Jodeci in particular. Prince and Janet Jackson are among his favorites as well (he often hums Nasty to himself). Sir Mix-A-Lot would also be in his rotation. Select songs, but nonetheless, when he comes on, Dante can’t help but bob his head ever so slightly to those raunchy tunes.

His guilty pleasures are Barbie Girl and anything the Vengaboys make.

Vergil

Classical music is a given. Tchaikovsky, Wagner, and Mozart are among his favorites. Aside from that, I’ll be honest, I’m unsure as to what else he listens to. Not very familiar with the eldest twin. Although, I can see him playing some tunes from “The Phantom of The Opera,” “Carmen,” and the like (perhaps on an old record player he managed to get his hands on. I imagine he takes jobs alongside Dante sometime after they return from hell, so…). Once he’s settled into the human world, as best as he can, I imagine him experimenting with some gothic music, mainly tracks heavy with orchestral instruments. OH! Add 20’s - 40’s jazz to that as well. Specific songs, however. Not that many, in fact.

Many of the songs listed in the playlist below are NOT songs Vergil would listen to (unfortunately, I don’t think he’d give Bad Apple a try). However, I find the lyrical content fits Vergil well—sometimes to a T.

Take Ethel Cain’s Family Tree (Intro). The second verse goes:

Jesus can always reject his father, But he cannot escape his mother's blood. He'll scream and try to wash it off of his fingers, But he'll never escape what he's made up of.

While Vergil cannot reject his father, he certainly can’t escape the human blood Eva has passed onto him. He does his absolute best to cast away his humanity, operating with the sole purpose of gaining power so that he may never be that helpless boy, pierced by demons and left behind by his family. His efforts are in vain, however, and we see that his humanity still lingers inside him through V.

“He’ll never escape what he’s made up of.”

His guilty pleasure? Earth, Wind & Fire’s Let’s Groove, of course.

[kitten4sannie]

ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇꜱ

11 - ɪ���ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ - ꜱᴀɴ

part 1

pairing: lead singer! san x groupie! reader (fem) feat. guitarist! seonghwa (seonghwa is just kinda there in this i’m sorry ;;)

genre: band au, smut

summary: after being rejected by your favorite guitarist, you give the lead singer a visit instead.

w.c: 2.6k

warnings: some mxm in the intro, san’s a menaceeee but so is the reader, dom leaning! san, sub leaning! reader, dirty talk, nipple play (m/f receiving), degradation, marking, brief spit mention (it wouldn’t be my fic if there wasn’t spit somewhere 🫶🏼), unprotected sex, impregnation kink (duh), there’s a big focus on cum bc i’m filthy, tiny mention of cum inflation, multiple creampies

a/n: i think this might be my favorite fff fic so far <3 i just really like the idea of alt metal ateez okayyy and plus san's my bias so i went completely off the rails 🥵 also no one asked but the lyrics of the song in the intro were taken from the ending of “kingslayer” by bring me the horizon and the bridge of “the death of peace and mind” by bad omens <3

FFF Masterlist

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

“I can feel youuuuu!” San sang with every ounce of his being, bending himself backwards, his head hanging upside down, a few beads of sweat dripping from his temples. He stood back up and held onto his mic with a death grip, bringing one leg up onto the speaker that continued to blast out the loud, angsty instrumental. “Is this what you want?” The crowded chanted his name, fueling his ego and his wish to leave everything he possibly had to give on the stage.

“Then, this is what you fucking get,” he growled out, a few veins visibly straining against his freckled neck, his dark eyes filled with pure rage. “Augh!” Consumed with the energy of their performance, he tore his loose black tank top off in a downwards motion. The remaining fabric hung off of his frame, his perfectly toned upper body now on display for everyone and their mom to gawk at. When the music came to an intensely loud peak, he suddenly reached his arm out to point to someone who probably blew their load right then and there.“You motherfuckin’ shit!”

You were squished against the barricade, hardly paying attention to the rowdy people routinely bumping into you from all sides, too distracted by how mesmerizing San was onstage. And how incredibly wet you were. If Seonghwa was so fond of sharing himself with others, what was stopping you from doing the same thing?

San and the rest of the band, including Seonghwa, began banging their heads to the heavier-sounding combination of guitars, drums, and bass. “Put your hands up, motherfuckers,” San exhaled into the mic, scanning the crowd with his blown out pupils, looking certifiably insane. He always stayed in character onstage, but how much of it was an over exaggeration and much of it melded with his true persona? Not knowing turned you on to a degree you were almost ashamed of.

Most of the crowd followed his lead, reaching a hand out into the air to put up the rock symbol, though a few girls were too busy ripping off their bras to toss in his direction. You simply stood there with your bottom lip trapped in between your teeth, waiting patiently for him to find you in the crowd. Once the lead singer’s hooded eyes were on you, you lifted your band hoodie up and allowed your tits to drop out of the thick material, bouncing a bit on your heels from your excitement.

San groaned at the sight of you, not having the self-control to keep himself from grabbing his half-hard cock through his tight pants. “Are you ready for this? I said, put your fucking hands up,” he shouted to the sea of people below him, not able to take another look at your bouncing tits when Seonghwa grabbed San by his small waist, his fingers hooking into the material of the lead singer's torn jeans, yanking him in his direction.

Licking his lips, San lifted his mic in between them, allowing Seonghwa to let out his own raspy yell, his voice starting low and guttural and eventually growing louder and raw, showing off his impressive pipes. San watched him with a fondness that bordered arousal, his hands sinking into the other’s damp raven locks, gripping it tightly. Seonghwa’s eyes rolled back, his fingers still expertly hitting note after note without much concentration, as though it were second nature.

“Are you satisfied?” San yelled out, expelling the air from his diaphragm in order to produce the perfect metal scream, almost being drowned out by the overwhelmingly heavy sound of guitar and drums. He tugged Seonghwa in his direction, pressing a rough kiss onto the guitarist’s open mouth, his tongue slipping inside. Once San got his fill, he shoved Seonghwa backwards, a small string of saliva dripping from their mouths. He bent over near the edge of the stage, squeezing the mic inside his calloused hands, his once slicked-back hair now falling into his eyes. Waiting for his cue, he took in a deep breath, his neck veins making a return, shouting with raw intensity, “Are you fucking satisfied?!”

The crowd lost their goddamn minds, cheering and shouting, some still holding their rock symbols up, and others too busy shedding a tear. Personally, you didn’t understand how you survived witnessing set after set for so long, or how anybody else did, for that matter. Their performances were always so viscerally stimulating, it physically hurt that you couldn’t simply jump onto the stage and let each of them use you to their heart’s content.

-

You found yourself standing at the door of Seonghwa’s hotel room, despite your plans to talk to San after the show ended. “Goddamn it,” you mumbled to yourself, wondering why you weren’t capable of playing hard to get around him for even a microsecond. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t be the one waiting around for him.

Hearing your eventual knocks, Seonghwa answered the door, his raven hair wet and clinging to his bare face, remnants of mascara present underneath his eyes. Naked for only a moment, he wrapped a small towel loosely around his slender hips. “Baby, hey. What’d you think of the show?”

Your pensiveness melted in an instant, instead being replaced by your clear adoration for him. “God, I can’t even describe how it made me feel, Hwa. I just know how fucking wet it made me.”

He chuckled to himself, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “You’re always wet for me, Y/N.”

You took a step closer, your hand moving past his towel to lightly stroke his length, lifting yourself up onto your heels to whisper near his face, “Always.”

Seonghwa took in a deep inhale and let it out, leaning his head back, growing hard inside your grip. "Baby..." After a few moments, he brought himself back to reality, suddenly grabbing you by the chin and pressing a harsh kiss against your lips, only to push you away, a sad smile on his flushed face.

“Hwa…?” you mumbled, slowly retracting your hand, your eyes wide with surprise.

Two separate feminine voices came from the bed that was out of view, the both of them whining about how he was taking too long. Seonghwa sighed, rubbing his neck. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve told you I was busy tonight. Why don’t you visit San?”

“Maybe I will.” No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep your lips from forming a small pout, though you were able to furrow your brows in annoyance. “You know what?”

Seonghwa frowned, feeling bad, but knowing you wouldn’t want to join him as a third. You simply required too much attention from him in a group setting, unable to handle when he took care of others in front of you. “What?”

Your pout was replaced by a subtle, but distinctively smug smirk. “I’m gonna let him put a baby in me.”

-

Okay, take two. You knocked on San's hotel room door, unconsciously pulling on your hoodie strings, leaning back on your heels. You almost felt like you should back out, not wanting to get rejected by your idols one after another. Before you could take a step back, San opened the door halfway, giving you a lewd, almost cheshire-like smile, his eyes surveying your chest as though he were reminiscing about what had occurred an hour earlier. "What brings you here, doll?"

Wrapping one of the hoodie strings around your index finger, you looked up at him past your fluttering eyelashes, your tongue wetting the corner of your glossy lips. "Is that offer still good?"

San’s brown eyes dilated in real time, his face and body almost frozen like he was malfunctioning, before immediately turning around to yell at the half-dressed groupies lazing around on his bed. "Time for you guys to go! Something just came up, so go find another band member to fuck, alright?”

The group of girls and guys, some older and some younger, groaned and cursed amongst themselves, eventually filing out of the door, some of them giving you dirty looks. “You better fuck him good for us,” one of them grumbled near you, prompting you to emit a small ‘yep’, before he disappeared down the hallway with the rest of the groupies.

You turned your attention back to San who had already grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the room and shutting the door behind you, pressing you against it with his heated body. "You were about to fuck all those people?" you asked casually, reaching down to slip your hands underneath his sleep tee, your fingers exploring the soft curves of his hips and stiffness of his abdominal muscles, not able to decide which felt better underneath your touch.

"Yeah..." he sighed, arching his back slightly when you began to play with his pierced nipples. “I like performing for a crowd…” He eventually leaned his head into your shoulder, emitting small breaths of air, your fingers expertly tweaking and twisting the small metal bands to give him maximum pleasure.

“Of course you do.” You lifted San's shirt off of him, your fingers going back to his pebbled buds to play with them some more, pulling at his piercings, making him groan. "Do you fill all of them up with your cum, Sannie?"

“Uh-huhhh…” San exhaled into your neck, bringing one of his hands up to slip underneath your hoodie, grabbing onto one of your tits, squeezing it roughly inside the palm of his hand. “Every last one.”

You moaned, your fingers going lax for a moment, caught up with how San pushed both hands under your hoodie to knead your tits around, his fingers flicking your nipples. "Ahh, how do you not run out?"

He grinned after hearing the small squeaks you made when he pinched and pulled at them instead, mumbling in a deep voice near your ear, "I just have a lot of love to give, doll."

Boldly slipping your hand past his briefs and gripping his hardened cock, you asked in a sweet tone, "Does that mean you have a lot of love to give me?"

-

San had you folded up on the mattress, holding your ankles down near your head, slamming his hips into you so quickly and forcefully, neither of you could take a proper breath. He leaned his head down, his wet bangs tickling your forehead from being so close, chuckling softly at the sight of your starstruck expression. "You look like you want to say something, Y/N."

"You were—aaah—so amazing onstage earlier, Sannie..." you breathed out, your cunt clenching tightly around his throbbing cock, familiar with the warmth and thickness of his cum, knowing he was shooting more inside you. "You made me so fucking wet..."

Almost shuddering from how hard he was cumming, San buried his face into your hickey-covered neck, sucking on the skin of your collarbone, groaning out, “I already know how goddamn wet I made you. I bet those panties of yours were drenched by the end of the show, huh?" San moved down from your neck to your chest, slurping up each of your tits into his mouth, one at a time, giving them both the attention they deserved.

"I had to play with myself on the tour bus on the way back here..." you admitted, wanting to say more, but being unable to, emitting a sharp gasp instead. Your tits were a lot more sensitive now, especially from how San alternated between having them inside his mouth and using his tongue on them. “No one saw me though, I swear. I did it in the bathroom.”

He spit onto one of your already shiny tits, wanting to make more of a mess, before he dove in to suck and lick at them like he was racing against an invisible timer. "Mm, looks like babydoll can't get enough of me onstage...so much so that she resorts to being a needy little whore all by herself," he mumbled on your bruising skin, eagerly flicking his tongue at a nipple, making you squirm underneath him. "Bet you wanted me to pull you onstage and pump a baby into you in front of all those people, huh, naughty girl?”

"Yeah, I did...and it's your fault," you whined softly, emitting a set of soft, airy moans, San's cock brushing against your g-spot over and over. "Take responsibility, Sannie." Your fingers clenched into the muscles on his broad back, feeling them tense up underneath your touch.

"My fault? My fault you needed me so badly that you resorted to showing these pretty tits off in front of everyone?" Finding your dick-drunkenness to be amusing, he wanted to push the topic, pressing kisses to your neck up to your jaw, still thrusting into you at a fast pace. "It's my fault for turning you into a shameless little slut? Hm?"

"Yes!" you cried out, your voice broken and hoarse from how hard you were cumming, your trembling thighs squeezing around his tiny waist.

"Hm, I guess I should take responsibility, huh?" Blowing a few strands of hair out of his hooded eyes, he pulled out slightly, holding the tip of his cock against your pulsing hole. "I should take responsibility for all these fuckin’ loads I'm filling you with too," he groaned, stroking himself for a few more seconds, his seed eventually spurting out onto your mound, the liquid dripping down along your puffy folds.

“Mm, fuck, that’s it,” you reacted, reaching down with one hand to rub his cum around your cunt, pushing two fingers inside your gaping hole to fuck the liquid into yourself. However, your fingers weren’t enough to satisfy you. You needed his cock inside. You needed to be filled with his hot, milky love one last time. “It’s not enough, Sannie. I need more.”

Your shameless desperation and insatiable lust was like chicken soup for his black soul, making him hard again almost instantaneously. “Yeah? You want to milk me completely dry, doll?”

“Yes, please.” You suddenly lunged up from the bed and pushed San down, his back hitting the mattress with a bounce, sinking down onto his length without a second thought, his cum being pushing out of you.

“God, yes, ride me, baby, just like that,” San growled, gritting his teeth, one hand gripping your hip tightly, the other on your lower stomach, allowing you to fuck yourself to hell and back using his cock. “You’re so full for me…so full of my seed…yet, it’s not enough…” He pressed on your abdomen, feeling some resistance, convinced that his cum was making your tummy swell slightly. “God, I fuckin’ love you…”

Bouncing on San’s dick with feverish speed, you started to pant heavily and drool a bit, not even caring that he was seeing you in such a fucked-out state. You were simply too desperate to make him cum again, to the point that you didn’t even care about reaching your own high. “Fill me up, Sannie. Please, please, please fill me up with your cum…Fuck it into me, into my womb…make me yours…”

Your whiny-sounding words and tight, cum-slicked cunt brought San to his end, making him shudder and thrust wildly up into you. “God, here it comes, baby…take my fucking load…” He let out a series of throaty, almost guttural groans, ramming himself into you until he held you completely still, slowly pumping his seed as deep as he possibly could.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…” you echoed weakly, pretty sure you were unraveling in that instant from how insanely amazing it felt to be stuffed completely full of your favorite lead singer’s seed. If you were having a baby for anyone, it was definitely him.

Once you came back down to reality, your body felt heavy and almost numb, causing you to slowly drop down onto San’s chest, your sweaty, sticky bodies melding together. “That was…Fuck, I can’t even form the words…”

San stroked your wet hair, gazing up at the ceiling, the post-nut clarity incredibly kind to him this time around. “I might have to write a song about it.” You giggled softly, moving your fingers upwards to slip into his hair as well, gently massaging the shaved area of his hair near his pierced ear.

After some comfortable silence, San eventually inquired, "So, am I your favorite band member now?"

You lifted your head up, your skin still flushed beyond measure, bringing your hand to your mouth to wipe some drool away from your lips. "I don't pick favorites."

San burst out into laughter, patting the top of your head and giving you a pleased smile, his dimples making your heart race. "Now, that's a fuckin’ lie."

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

FFF: @hwalysm @scuzmunkie @creativechaoticloner @dilucpegg3r @yeosxxx @gemjimin @wonwowzers @sanjoongie @manipulatedstars @k-drizzle 

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2023.

[crying-screaming-throwingup]

my thoughts on prelude to ecstasy:

the intro orchestral movement?? it felt like something out of a roman period piece. it was so perfect and just *chefs kiss* and the ending crescendo was so gorgeous

burn alive felt so dramatic like watching the lead up to a murder “let me make my grief a commodity” and “there is candle wax melting in my veins” are just such poetic lyrics. the guitar riff during the verse feels like a warning- eerie and stark. “i am not the girl i set out to be” is such a raw line it makes me feral omfg. abigail morris’ final line felt like an open wound

i’ve heard caesar on a tv screen before but in the context of the album as a whole changes it. it’s almost like a sequel of sorts, showing what she “set out to be”. musically, the contrast between the verse and chorus itches a scratch on my brain. “champion of my fate” feels so spiteful idk why

the feminine urge gives lana vibes maybe cause of the darker imagery and tone. it feels like a performer cracking their mask. “i am a dark red liver stretched out on the rocks” is sUCH A GOOD LYRIC. “to nurture to wounds my mother had” killed me my god

again i’ve heard on your side before but the album changes the feelings within it. if the feminine urge was the cracking of the mask then this song is the removal of it. it is vulnerable and raw and open about love and shame. the vocals feel like they’re pleading but already resigned- it’s heartbreaking

the flute opening for beautiful boy sounds so wistful. this so is so queer omg. “what good are red lips when faced with something dark” the lone piano chords in the chorus plus the harmonies are so ethereal they make me feel like i’m at my funeral service.

gjuha makes me feel like i’m intruding on something private, a ritual between a girl and a god. THE TRANSITION OMFG

the placement of gjuha before sinner MAKES ME FEEL THINGS OMG. like the contrast of imagery, between sin and holiness. “TURN TO THE ALTAR OF LUST” this song made me feral when i first heard it and it makes me feral now like omg. the religious imagery in this entire album is so interesting

my lady of mercy’s bass line is so groovy and perfect and amazing. and the percussive claps are so amazing. again, this so is so queer™️. the heavier sound in the chorus is so amazing and the bridge makes me feel like i’m fighting my final stand and praying to win

i love the stripped back piano of portrait of a dead girl compared with my lady of mercy. even further in the track, it remains kinda mellow and softer but no less direct. “the dignity of letting me go” when it finally gets more upbeat it the chorus it rly doesn’t disappoint. and the strings omg. also song title could be a nod to the album cover or vice versa??

the beginning of nothing matters feels like a prayer and the harp is so bloody good. “a sailor and a nightingale dancing in convertibles” the guitar riffs in the second verse are so funky i love it and the solo just makes me want to dance.

mirror feels like the end of the battle- the drums and solemn voice. it’s the end of the performance, the final death. “pretty glass and empty heart” death of the performer is the death of the album. but the final fifty seconds feels like a rebirth in a way, growth and renewal.

i don’t know if u could tell but i fricking loved this album like it’s everything i’ve ever wanted in terms of vibes and blend of dramatics and sincereness. i’m just praying that i get tickets omg