#Silver in Rock Band Au

[xazafranx]

[sparrowthefox]

Days 3 and 4 Gardening and Rockband

I couldn’t post day 3 yesterday cause I went to watch Sonic movie 3 (SO PEAK BTW PLS WATCH IT) and it wasn’t finished so I decided to group it with today’s prompt which is only gonna be a quick lil sketched comic.

Day 3 sees Silver and Sonic aiding Knuckles in planting some flowers on Angel Island. Knuckles makes a joke towards Sonic expecting him to respond back with something snarky just to see Sonic distracted by someone (erm guess who) and knuckles is all like 🤨

Day 4 is just a silly lil quick scenario of a Team Triple S Rockband scenario where Silver’s doing Shadow’s make up and Sonic asks if Silver can do his after. Silly!!!!

[artdcnaldson]

okay but PLEASE elaborate on Olympics!Art AU

TeeHee

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), feral obsessive behavior, infidelity

A/N: And you would do it too, that’s all I’m saying. Also IMPORTANT note: I love Tashi, she is a mother to many. However this fic has a very obsessive reader who just wants to fuck a married man, at Tashi’s expense

Maybe you were a bad person.

You’d met Art and Tashi Donaldson before— a year back at an event held for Tennis’ rising stars. That was you, some other guys who had done well in the Juniors, a girl from an Ivy League, and more people that fell into the blind spots of your interest..

You must’ve looked so sweet in your formalwear, approaching the couple with shaking hands so you could say just how big of a fan you were. You had no ill intent then, not when you were face to face with two people you’d idolized since you were twelve and watching the Junior US Open. That night you’d taken a deep breath as you stared at the ceiling of your home, feeling like you’d made it.

Sure, Art was handsome, and you’d lived the past decade harboring a massive celebrity crush on him, but he was married, he was untouchable. Art Donaldson oozed that sweet, devoted husband shtick. Anniversary posts, birthday posts, Valentine’s Day posts, Mother’s Day posts. He had a daughter, he posted about how much he loved being a dad.

You were fine accepting that your fantasies of fucking Art Donaldson were strictly fantasies. But that was before you qualified and had to see him every fucking day.

Art Donaldson, who held open doors for you, who talked to you casually, like he might an old friend. Art, who stood in the long line in the food court with you, ate something he probably shouldn’t have, and asked that you don’t tell Tashi.

And you’d smile conspiratorially, and assure him his secret was safe with you. The implication being that you’d keep that secret, and more. As many as he’d ask you to, really.

You’d see him on a practice court, running drills with his wife, and feel the heat of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You’d turn away, focus on your own game, practice until your hands were aching and sore.

“Where’s Mrs. Donaldson?” You asked one night after you’d been sexiled and had to sit out in the hallway waiting for your roommate to finish up. Art leaned against the wall, standing tall above you, so you had to crane your neck. You liked that point of view, on your knees looking up at him, you wondered if he liked it too.

“Oh, she’s staying in a very nice, very expensive hotel room with our daughter right now,” he said with a grin. “As soon as my events are done, that’s where I’ll be too.”

“Oh,” you said, bringing an easy smile to your lips. “Well, we’re all glad you’re here now.”

“We?” He questioned.

You gave a coy smile, batting your lashes so sweetly. “Maybe just me.”

There was a strange expression on his face for just a moment. Then he laughed like it was nothing. He wished you a goodnight and good luck in your matches the next morning, and disappeared into his own room.

You medaled in women’s doubles. They published photos of you and your partner biting the silver between your teeth. That same day, Art Donaldson took home gold. You were there to see the very end of his last match— every single collision of racket against ball, every step, every grunt of exertion. Your thighs clenched as you watched, fists balled up in the fabric of your skirt.

You wanted him in a needy, desperate sort of way. Like a groupie for a rock band, or a virgin being sacrificed on a mountaintop. You watched him celebrate with a kiss from Tashi and felt that same need like an open wound. Jealousy was festering in you like a rot.

The dive bar wasn’t what you’d expected. Something Art had found with a quick google search and a few minutes with a translation app. He’d knocked on your door to invite you, wearing the beaming smile of someone on top of the world.

“So you’ll come?” He asked after he told you all about it.

“Mhmm,” you said, heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ll come.”

And there you were— in a dress that hardly qualified as such— standing so close to him that you could smell his expensive cologne. His arm would brush yours, he’d glance over and apologize with a warm hand to your arm. You’d clench your thighs together and peer at him through your lashes. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

A few of the other players disappeared to play darts, or watch the late night coverage of the other sports still competing. You stuck by Art’s side, happily allowing his attention to fall on you completely.

“I saw parts of your doubles final,” he said finally. He was drinking a brand of beer you’d never seen before— something local, you supposed. “You looked beautiful out there.” Your eyes lit up, and then he added. “The way you were playing, I mean— it was phenomenal.”

“Well, I’m no gold medalist,” you said. You let your hand rest on his arm, and looked up at him. The fingers on your other hand toyed with the edge of the medal, warm from where it had been flush against his chest.

He swallowed. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, but he didn’t discourage it. Not one fucking bit.

It wasn’t lost on you that Tashi wasn’t there. Not that it was really her type of venue, from what you had gathered. It wasn’t lost on you that Art Donaldson was at a dive bar, drinking random Brazilian beers, instead of celebrating with his wife, with his daughter. Fuck all those posts on his instagram— if he really was a good husband, a faithful one… that’s the only place he’d want to be.

“I saw your match too. I ran right over after my ceremony to watch,” you confessed. It was hard to concentrate on anything else— you were standing so close to him that you were nearly pressed completely into his body.

His lips twitched in interest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhmm. It was incredible. You were so dominant out there, just taking what was rightfully yours.”

He swallowed again, gravitating closer. Your tits were practically spilling out of your dress— he probably got the perfect eyeful when he eased you closer with a firm hand on your lower back, when he looked down at you through blown pupils.

“You looked so fucking hot out there, Art,” you said, lips brushing against his jawline. “You can’t even imagine how it felt sitting there, watching you win. How turned on I got… how wet.”

Art exhaled a shuddery breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It must’ve been a while since he had someone want him this bad, you thought. Clearly he needed it— needed a pretty, sweet thing to tell him just how much they wanted him. You could be that. You could do that.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you whispered in his ear. His grip on you tightened and you had to suppress a giddy smile. “You can feel if you want. I won’t tell.”

He swore under his breath and glanced around. Everyone was too occupied or drunk to give a shit about what the two of you were up to.

He grabbed your hand, pulled you away into the bathroom. You looked pretty even then, in the flickering lights, sat up on the edge of the sink eagerly awaiting his attention.

When he wrenched your thighs apart, he was greeted by the pretty sight of your glistening cunt— sticky with arousal and need. His hand fit there perfectly, right where you needed it.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His fingers rubbed through your slit— wet and hot and aching for him. Your head fell back, knocking against the dirty mirror. “Want you to use me— whatever you want, just take it.”

And you meant it too. This was your teenage idol— a man you’d touched yourself to the thought of countless times. He owned your body, your sexuality, as much as you did. It was only fair he took from it whatever he pleased.

You watched with hungry eyes as he fumbled with the button of his pants, then shoved them down just enough to free his dick.

Your mouth fucking watered with the need to feel it on your tongue, nudging against the back of your throat. You weren’t opposed to begging— you nearly started before you got it into your hand.

Warm, thick, pulsing. Precum beaded at his tip, so you smeared it around the sensitive head of his cock with your thumb. He groaned, bucked into your fist once, twice before he moved your hand.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he said, slapping the inside of your thighs. You obeyed wordlessly, spreading yourself out invitingly. He pressed closer, so you felt him rutting his dick against your pussy, coating it in your arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

The words came out with equal parts disgust and awe. He probably thought you were a slut with the way you were throwing yourself at him. You wished he’d just call you that, spit it in your face.

Your cunt pulsed with need, aching to be filled up finally. The culmination of years of fantasizing. Art pressed himself against your entrance, sinking himself into you with the slow reverence of a man who liked making love.

He buried himself inside of you and had to stop moving to keep from cumming then and there. He was a perfect image of restraint— the way his fingers dimpled the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip.

Art wanted to be a gentleman— to give you time to adjust to the size of him, to ease you into it and let the pleasure be a slow, soft burn. He pulled out nice and easy, slid himself into your wet, throbbing cunt. That was all fine and good, but you knew it was just pretense. You were laid out and wanting, begging for him to use you as his own personal toy.

“I’m not your wife, Art.” You met his gaze, locked your ankles around his waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The first thrust, the first real one, knocked the air from your lungs. That silence didn’t last long— because you got what you wanted— he was really fucking you, bullying his cock into your pussy with the same need and desperation that you felt.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve— fuck— you’ve got no fucking self respect, huh?” He pounded into you, leveraging his grip to pull you against him, really impale you on his dick.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic. If he kept talking to you like that, if he kept fucking you like that, you’d cum.

“You don’t even care, do you? This fucking pussy’s squeezing me so tight— you fucking love this,” His voice was strained, interrupted by groans and pants.

You moaned, eyes rolling back. “Love this,” you echoed. When you looked down, at the sight of him splitting you open, of the ring of creamy arousal circling the base of his dick, you felt dizzy. Like you were standing on top of a tall building and looking down. Sort of out of body, tethered in the present by brutal thrusts into your pussy and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies joining.

Your fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing needy and insistent at your clit. So close to finishing that you wanted to cry and just ask to start over again, that you’d savor it more a second time.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned suddenly. You felt him start to pull out, to leave. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— not yet, you didn’t want it to end like that. “I have an IUD,” you lied through your teeth. You used your legs, pulled him closer, deeper. “Just keep going, don’t stop. I’m right there.”

He moaned against your throat— holding you tight, fucking into you with animal need. Your fingers moved against your clit with an insistent need. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. Your moans so loud that Art had to put his medal between your lips to shut you up.

And you were so pliant— letting him drill into your aching, used cunt, your mouth tasting like metal. You felt his rhythm falter— one, two harsh thrusts that knocked muffled moans from you until he came, painting your insides thick, creamy white.

He stayed buried inside of you for a while— panting, doing his best to catch his breath. You spat out the medal and it fell back against his chest, spit slick and shining. You reached up, ran your fingers along his face, reverently, sweetly. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and you tucked it away with delicate fingers.

When he pulled out, you felt that sinking feeling of loss and jealousy in your chest. He redressed in silence, turned away like he couldn’t stand to look at you, or the mirror. Shame rolled off of him in waves that you wanted to brush away.

It wasn’t bad, you’d assure him. You’re a tennis star, you’re the greatest in the world. You should have whatever you want, whenever you want it.

But you didn’t say that. You just tidied yourself up as best as you could and slipped back out into the bar. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

[sayoneee]

☆ I WANNA BE YOUR MAN

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” (1.7k)

contains: loser older brother luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. pt 2 of parent trap but can be read standalone ish. guest appearances! rock / metal music references.

kashaf’s note: i think i can call myself a melomaniac now

LUKE CASTELLAN HAS always occupied that in-between space, the no-man’s-land between something and nothing — his indecipherable gaze as his cold, black, and blued knuckles grazed your cheek when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear swims around your mind endlessly. despite how each thought, each expression, each breath is as familiar to you as your own, you have never quite known where you stand with him, regardless of how quickly he seemed to inhabit a piece of your soul.

the familiar weight of the mixtape that luke made you feels unusually burdensome in your hands, mirroring the heft of the songs on it that you have painstakingly committed to memory, each sleepless night’s offerings of tossing and turning becoming a reoccurring ritual. 

you had popped the tape in your walkman immediately after luke had handed it to you, incognizant of the way his eyes softened as you concentrated on the music, trying to identify the first song. 

“this is that band you like — l.a. guns, right?”

“you’re a regular sherlock,” luke had said, smiling and sarcastic, twisting his silver rings.

“shut up, no i know this song,” you say, tilting your head and snapping your fingers. “its — um — i wanna be yours? nono, don’t make that face at me, asshole, hold on… i wanna be your man?”

hues of pink crept up his cheeks, and you basked in the warmth of his answering crooked grin, the feeling wrapping around you like the caress of a summer night. 

you uselessly stirred the spoon in your now stone-cold cup of chai, leaning across the kitchen table with your head propped up in your other hand. the phone taunts you from its corner on the counter, sitting just by the clear jar of blue cookies, its black hue a beacon among the sea of greens (the cabinets, the tiles — you liked to tell sally that she should try her hand at interior design one of these days) — as of late, the jacksons’ kitchen has become somewhat of a refuge for you. 

you set a steaming china cup down in front of him, listening to the sounds of percy, annabeth, and grover in the living room, pulling out the chair in front of him with a slight creak on the slightly worn wooden floors, and watching him as he taps his fingers along to bob marley’s soft crooning, “little darlin’, stir it up”, lost in his own world.  

“luke,” you say, breaking him out of his revelry.

luke sits up straight, meeting your amused gaze, “yeah?” he asks, reaching for his chai, and mumbling a quiet thanks as he sips it.

“you look kinda stupid when you think,” you say, watching him blink before taking the bait, and hiding your smile of satisfaction behind your cup.

“y’know, this is why you have a black hole for a heart,” he says, grinning crookedly, filling you with an indescribable longing to reach out and trace his grin. 

“what?” you laugh, “what does that even mean?”

“just that you’re mean,” luke says, and the afternoon sun chooses that specific moment to encompass him in its glow, like a kiss from apollo. “and that you’re emo.”

“you literally say this every time, oh my god, i’m not mean or emo.”

“because i’m literally right?”

“you like him,” annabeth says, sympathetically, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her braids resting across her shoulders, glancing from your untouched cup to your face, an expression of pity gracing her features. her presence caught you so off guard that you don’t even question where percy ran off to, who was usually attached to annabeth like a conjoined twin. 

“i know,” you say, shivering slightly, the revelation feeling strangely empty, although you suppose the same part of your soul that recognized him had always known, a small inkling reappearing with every argument, and every nudge. 

“he likes you,” annabeth adds matter-of-factly, interrupting your stream of consciousness. 

“i know,” you repeat, picking at the lint on your sweater, and while this revelation is supposed to be shocking, it is also hollow, as you suppose your soul also knew this with every hushed conversation in the dead of night, and the slips of silence that only spoke volumes around him.

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” she turned and stalked back toward the living room.

you sat still for a minute or so, before sighing and putting luke’s mixtape (even in your misery, he is somehow always there) in your walkman, putting your headphones on as axl rose trilled, ‘i said, baby you been lookin' real good’ in his voice that took a while to get used to — something luke gave you a heads up on.

you sighed, conceding to annabeth’s attempts to rewrite whatever fate had pushed the two of you apart, from the hours-long phone calls that dwindled into short, clipped conversations, you can’t necessarily blame annabeth for trying to fashion a phoenix from the ashes of your friendship. 

you stood up, grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair you were sitting upon, and walked into the living room, pausing for a few minutes to watch the scooby doo episode on the screen along with percy, grover, and annabeth, who were currently sprawled across the softly carpeted floor, arguing over monopoly.

“you’re literally cheating,” percy was saying.

“i’m the banker, i’m supposed to be innocent,” annabeth argued back.

“percy, i saw you steal a couple dollars behind annabeth’s back,” grover added, rolling the dice.

“guys,” you said, interrupting their three-way argument, “put on your jackets and shoes, we’re going to the fair in five minutes.”

you ignored the way the troublesome trio exchanged glances, walking through the hallway covered in framed photos of percy and sally, going to wait by the door for them.

“so,” percy says, all-too-innocently, “why the sudden change of plans?” once the four of you are a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

“no reason, just wanted to see what was so hot about the fair,” you say, digging your hands in the pockets of your jacket. once more, you ignore the glances the trio exchange. 

“so it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain curly-haired individual that we’re currently seeing less and less of?”

you keep walking, trying to feign ignorance, although the question was so pointed even you were concerned with percy’s audacity, “what’re you talking about?”

“oh, nothing,” percy smiles. “just the way —”

“— the two of you —”

“— were inseparable —”

“— for a disgustingly long time —”

“— and now you’re not —”

“— but we’re going to the fair because —”

“— his band is playing —”

“— and you’re going to try and fix —”

“— your troubles in paradise.”

you blinked slowly, as the three of them did jazz hands, matching shit-eating grins on all of their faces, “how long did it take for you guys to rehearse that?”

“a week, give or take,” grover says, and annabeth shoots him a glare.

“not the point, the point is, we support you.”

“gee, thanks, all i really needed was the support of three twelve-year-olds.”

“three twelve-year-olds that know you’re stupidly in love with luke castellan,” percy points out.

“okay, y’know what…” you trail off, frowning.

annabeth nudged percy, “not the point here, again.”

“fine, fine, fine,” you huff, as the four of you approach the brightly illuminated fair, looking for the ticket-selling booth, “i’ll buy you guys tickets so you can go hang out on the rides and i’ll go to the concert.”

the three of them nodded happily, making a beeline for the cotton candy stand a few feet away. you shook your head before pushing through the bustling crowd to look for the concert stage. when you finally do find it, after three excuse me’s and four sorry’s, the concert is already in full swing, with what looks like a mini moshpit already forming somewhere near the center.

once you’ve pushed your way to the absolute front, the darkening night sky serving as a backdrop, the harsh lights illuminate all five individuals on the stage, with a gorgeous girl with shaggily-cut hair and a raspy voice singing as lead (thalia? you think you remember luke telling you on the phone late at night once). however, your gaze almost immediately fixed on luke, who was playing a riff on his electric guitar, looking as hot as ever, his crooked grin on full display.

the band is covering l.a. guns’ ‘i wanna be your man’ at the moment, and you’re suddenly very grateful to annabeth for her unsubtle nudges, because you would’ve missed out on this sight of luke castellan, the view of his muscled arms bulging out of his band tee is permanently seared into your memory.

you’re almost sad when the show is over though, finally realizing why luke liked concerts so much, from the crowd surfing to the drumstick tricks during solos (beckendorf, you think the drummer’s name was — luke had mentioned him before) to the lead’s insane vocals, to the girl with long curly hair that stood next to you for most of the concert (probably the band’s most enthusiastic fan), you savored every minute of it. however, you’re glad for the chance to corner luke afterwards, climbing onto the stage as the crowd begins to disperse in waves, and realizing the curly-haired girl was already among the band members packing up their instruments, helping the curly-haired bassist pack his things. 

luke barely looks up at your sudden arrival. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, packing away his guitar.

“i’m here to see you,” you say, trying to drive the hint home.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come see the band if you were busy,” luke says, uncomprehendingly, making eye-contact with you. 

“i like you,” you say insistently.

“c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves right now, you said we’re friends so you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” luke says, shrugging and looking away from your face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i listen to your dumb mixtape every night, luke castellan. does a person who’s not into you do that?”

there is something so raw about the way he looks right now, with his expression stilling as his cheeks are colored in swathes of red. 

smiling at his dumbstruck expression, you surged forward to kiss him, ignoring all the wolf whistles and “get some, castellan” enveloping the two of you, tangling your fingers into his hair, his hands coming to rest upon your hips.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[sparks-and-smoke]

Hello! Could I get a fic about Bucky accidentally finding the reader’s Christmas gifts to him? Maybe he tries (and fails) to act surprised?

Thank you (ps I know it’s after Christmas, sue me)

Aww~ I don't care that it's too late for the holidays. It's cute! Merry Christmas (belated)

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x reader (code name honey)

Content/Warnings: none it’s just goofy holiday fluff

Author Note: merry late Christmas, this may or may not be loosely based in the Fate Stone AU I have brewing. (which since you are my beta reader ;) you already know about it.)

You are a notoriously bad gift giver, Bucky had been warned many times. He didn’t really care. As long as it came from the heart it couldn’t possibly be that bad. He could put up with socks or a cheesy mug as long as it came from you. But this was worse, so much worse. 

“Sam, I don't even know what to do with it.” Bucky rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, confiding in the only other person he knew that wouldn’t immediately tell Honey. “Can I be honest here, it’s hideous.”

Sam was keeping a pretty good poker face over his mug poker but the situation was undeniably funny. “It can’t possibly be that bad.” But Bucky’s mortified face said it all. “Why were you spying on her gift away?”

“I didn’t mean too! Necessarily. She hid it in the bottom of the closet, man. She didn’t even hide it well... I’m a spy, I notice things. Plus it was pretty hard to miss.” The blanket had been tucked away in the back of the walk-in closet under a few other things. But the obnoxious colors of the corner peeking out from under the folded jeans had caught his eyes. They didn’t own anything in orange. Anything.  

His honey had gotten him a blanket, which would normally have been so very sweet seeing how Bucky hated being cold, but it wasn’t just a blanket. It was one of those viral blankets, the ones that are loosely based on 70’s rock band merch with lighting and thunder clouds rolling in the background. It’s featured pictures of Alpine, every goofy spastic picture of the cat that his girl could find with her name in the boldest font Bucky had ever seen. Honestly it hurt his eyes, and as Bucky went about describing it to Sam the other man damn near fell out of his chair. 

“That is perfect. No really I think she might be a genius. I’m gonna need a video of you opening that one.” Sam goaded.

“You're not helping.” Bucky growls, guilt twisting in his guts like a worm, but Sam was too busy laughing to try and give a shit. “How am I gonna act surprised now? Let alone be excited?”

“I don’t dude, I guess you need to start taking an acting class.” Sam wiped the tears from his eyes.

~~~~

Bucky watched with crinkled eyes as you opened your gifts from him. A nice wool winter coat because all you owned was a puffer, and while it was adorable on you and always kept you warm you always said you wanted something dressier for date night. And in your stocking an assortment of your favorite treats, skin care you were low on, and that perfume that you had been drooling over since October but always talked yourself out of because of the price tag. Bucky had been making a list since your birthday, keeping tabs on what you lingered on in stores and what you sighed at as you scrolled. He knew his girl and he knew her well. And the way you lit up with every item told him he hit it out of the park. 

“Do you like it Honey?” he asked, his chin propped on his hand. His face couldn’t have been softer or voice more full of love as he watched you glow with joy. 

“I love it. How did you even know what eye cream I use?” 

“It wasn't that hard doll.” Bucky laughed, it sits in a clear box on your vanity of course he knows. 

“Here! Open yours.” You hand him his stocking and the present wrapped in pretty silver paper, looking so excited you may vibrate across the floor. He plastered on his best game face as his stomach did a little flip. Do not ruin this for her Barnes. 

He starts with the stocking. Pulling out body wash and a cologne scented with that smoky bourbon and apple scent you were fond of, along with a small batch roasted coffee and some new gloves. So far so good, and he made sure to kiss you. “I love it honey.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t opened your big one.” you say with a twinkle in your eyes that makes him wanna melt into the floor. Should he tell her, confess he saw it? Risk it and pretend he loves it? 

“You’re right I haven’t.” he corrects himself with a smile picking up the package. It was instantly heavier than he remembered and as he tears open the package he has a brief (very guilty) moment of hoping that maybe he was wrong…

But no there it is. That hideous blanket that he knows instantly from the look on your face he is gonna end up snuggling under for the rest of time just to see you smile the way you are right in this moment. He opened his mouth to tell you thanks as genuinely as he could muster but honey was already biting her bottom lip. A fit of giggles falling out of her. “You already saw it didn’t you!” she managed to get out between chitters. 

“What?! No- I…” 

A pillow from the couch flew at his head. “I knew you would. You little sneak, you do this every year!” Honey chastised as Bucky dodged another swing with the pillow. 

“Hey! Whoa!” Bucky's arms go up in a weak attempt at blocking her little onslaught. “I didn’t mean too!”

“Bullshit James Buchanan!” thump, a hit to his ribs. “You did it on your birthday.” Whack, a bump to the top of his head. “You somehow sniffed out the tickets I bought to Coney Island.” one more swing but this time Bucky caught the pillow, pulling you into his lap with it. 

“I did not do it on purpose!” he defended, but he was beaming. Eyes crinkling in the corner as she glared playfully. “I didn’t!” 

“Yeah, you just somehow stumbled upon the blanket I hid under the laundry in the back of our closet.”

“I was looking for my coat!” 

“On the ground?”

Bucky was caught, because yes he had been looking. He always did. The man couldn’t help it, he always was just too curious. “Yea, I thought so you little rat! Do you like it?” she asks earnestly. And Bucky feels that gnawing feeling again, trying not to let it show on his face. 

“It’s… super fluffy.” he tries to deflect, hating to lie to honey, but her face is already breaking into a grin. What the hell?

“You hate it.” she beams. “It’s hideous huh?”

Bucky frowns, slouching back in his chair. Did she want him to hate it. “Uh, yeah it is..” 

“Good thing it’s not your actual present huh.” 

Bucky's eyes narrow. “You little-” She did this on purpose, hid the most outrageous thing she could find just to punish him for spoiling presents. Clever girl. Weeks of fretting over how he was gonna pull this off and SHE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. With a giggle honey climbs off his lap and back behind the couch, pulling out a slim package from the cavern behind, and Bucky’s face nearly splits in half. 

“Here. Merry Christmas.” She offers him the parcel with a kiss, sitting in his lap as he unwraps it, and he feels his heart flutter a little. It’s a scrapbook. Full of pictures of him, her, Alpine and their friends. Taken by everyone who has known them the last few years. There isn’t a lot, he doesn’t like taking pictures, preferring to take them. So she must have scoured their friends' phones to find all of these and Bucky can feel tear picking the backs of his eyes. Good tears. 

“Thank you Honey. I love it. I love you…”

[astraerystarr]

Optimus Prime x Megatron fic recs!!

HII AGAIN, I had to delete my old account @numbraerys so I'm reuploading this rec list, sorry about the mess but I'll make the rec a little prettier this time ^^

Homesick For A Memory by Eisengrave, Maelikki [M, 9k w., Bay Movies]

Even Primes can lose their faith. But sometimes, their failed Protectors make good on their word given long ago.(weird little fixit for AoE because we stan a protective Megatron and an Optimus who is finally tired of his human hamsters. Also, homecoming.)

~ugly crying, screaming on my pillow, rolling around on the floor

The Silver Lining by GeminiWishes [Teen and up, 38k w., Transformers Animated 2007]:

After Optimus was expelled from the Autobot Academy, he had no sense of what to do or where to go. Desperate for purpose, he ends up on a mining crew that travels the galaxy. But when their ship is attacked, Optimus' life will change forever.

Whether or not he'll be able to handle those changes is yet to be determined.

~I ran around my room on all fours reading this

Some Kind Of Forever by auri_mynonys (FAVE) [E, 8625 w., TFP]:

A chance meeting in a bar near the Pits brings Orion Pax and Megatronus together.

~I freaking love this fic, I'm so glad it was one of the first I ever read

Adeste Fideles by Legitconcrusher (FAVE) [Teen and up, TFP, 57,632+ w, ongoing]:

“Oh, indulge me, Optimus. How many times have you answered your desire’s calls to walk among these pitiful creatures…in the flesh?”

In which Optimus shares with his greatest foe, and former friend - Megatron, the one time a year he allows himself to feel amid the throes of their War within a Christmas market.

The angsty slow burn Christmas AU no one asked for.

~absolutely wonderful to read and incredible writing♡♡♡♡

Gaining Perspective by Dragonlingdar [Teen and up, BayVerse, 105,732 w., Ongoing]:

Megatron and Optimus are turned into humans by a prototype weapon Starscream uses against them. In order for Megatron to get his revenge and Optimus to free himself of Megatron, they must reclaim their original bodies. However, will they still be Optimus Prime and Megatron by the time they do?

~I hyperfixated on this fic for a whole month after finishing it

Contact by auri_mynonys (FAVE) [E, 98,747 w., TFP]:

Orion Pax knows there's a word for what Megatronus means to him. He just can't quite put his finger on what it is.

Which is probably how he missed the moment where he asked Megatronus to marry him.

~Slow Burn♡♡♡♡♡

Plus One by auri_mynonys [E, 64,631 w., TFP]:

Megatronus has a party to attend. A high-caste date will lend him status in the eyes of his fellow gladiators, and Orion Pax is all too happy to play the part…

~this slow burn was slowly burning, I loved every second of it

Songs Of Metal And Sparks by EbonyAura [Teen and up, 58,741 w., Rock n' Roll AU, TFP]:

Imagine the Transformers Prime universe where war is nonexistent, and instead of the Autobot and Decepticon factions, it's the Autobot and Decepticon rock bands.

Imagine that both bands are nearly world famous, yet have no idea the other exists.

Imagine that Cybertron's festival of music is approaching, and with it, the chance for a lucky upcoming band to go on a world tour.

Imagine that both bands, ecstatic for the chance to finally reach world fame, are going to the festival.

~this cured my teenage heart that didn't get to read nice cute stuff like this

Optimus Prime Is Destined To Die!! by Chuzilllaa (FAVE) [G, 169k+ w, ongoing]:

Orion Pax is your typical archivist from a functionalist free universe and lives a peaceful life, but after dying tragically in a transport incident he’s reincarnated as Optimus Prime of the hit action novel Songs of the Spark, the beautiful but aloof eldest prince of the Prime lineage…who is a pathetic side character doomed to die a tragic death at the hands of the tyrannical Duke Megatron.

Of course his darling little brother Rodimus Prime is the precious hero and puts an end to Megatron’s reign, but Orion has no intention of dying a pathetic death! No! Not again! He wants to live damnit! So begins the attempts of a pax-turned-prime turning over a new leaf in the hope of living another day. Little does he know there’s a bit more to Optimus than a pathetic side character…

~I love this fic so. damn. much.

Lunch Date by Chuzilllaa [Teen and up, 6,000+ w, Earthspark, crack]:

With a new cafe opening at G.H.O.S.T headquarters, Optimus invites Megatron to try something new.

~fluffy and funny♡♡♡

At First Sight by Lyricality (FAVE) [M, 27,000+ w.]:

Optimus is the last of the Primes; Megatron is the greatest of Kaon's gladiatorial warriors. Their shared destiny - Optimus is certain - just needs a push in the correct direction.

~help I got obsessed with this fic and I can't get out

To give (in) by 0 (only_elsewhere) (FAVE) [M, 10,000+ w, Earthspark]:

After the war, Optimus confesses.

~aaashhksdkkklkosljdhjh

Victory Condition by astolat [E, 37,000+ w, TF Gen1]

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” Megatron said mockingly. “You won’t like it, Prime. It’s not a very nice one.”

~cave in fic with poetry and the heart wrenching story of Megatron's origins - my beloved

Cooking Off by zuzeca [E, 2000 w., IDW G1]:

Megatron and Optimus find themselves in an awkward position and learn some extremely personal information about each other.

~ Good reading ;3

[loveshotzz]

I have to know what would we do to spoil our old man on his birthday 🥺🥺🥺🥺

we’d spoil him rotten 🥺

here’s semi spicy 18+ blurb about giving our favorite old man a massage on his birthday ♥️

(this blurb is for my au All I Really Want Is You but can be read as a stand-alone. Steve is 43 and fem!reader is 31 requested so long ago by @joekeerysmoles 💕) wc:600

The rose oil that covers your hands makes your fingertips glide over his broad freckled shoulders with ease. Eucalyptus hangs thick and heavy in the warm air, crackling from the wooden wicks inside the candles that provide the only light in his room. They help the nerves that still flutter even after a year of saying ‘I love you’.

Steve lays flat on his chest underneath you only in his boxer briefs, the gold Gucci emblem around the waist band shimmers in the low light. Your knees sit on either side of his hips, dipping down the plush bedding of his new king size mattress. A 43rd birthday gift to himself, while you sit in nothing but the thin red lace of the one you got for him.

Leaning forward with a smirk, your lips ghost across two of your favorite moles that dot the back of his neck, the tip of your nose tracing the shell of his ear.

“Happy birthday old man.”

Applying just enough pressure up the dip of his spine, you earn a low moan from him that vibrates deep in your core. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to rock your hips and chase it.

“Honey,” his voice comes out muffled from around the tops of his hands,“I wish there were words to describe how good this feels.”

Giggling with a chest full of pride, you catch a flash of his white teeth, stubble covered cheeks pushing up at his favorite sound. One of his big hands slips out, shoulders flexing with his movement as he reaches back to squeeze at the soft dough of your thigh before disappearing back to where it came from.

A content sigh escapes from between his pink lips as your focus shifts to his neck, your fingers digging at the tense muscles under his gold chain. The metal glistens with oil every time it catches the glow of the flickering candle, while your thumb and forefinger knead behind his ears.

“Shit, baby.”

Huffing with furrowed brows, he readjusts so he can turn his head to the other side. The movement slides you forward, creating just enough friction to bite down on your bottom lip. The dull ache between your legs becomes even harder to ignore, and you wonder if he can feel just how wet you are.

“Yeah, is that the spot?” You coo all sticky sweet, working it with even more focus. He sucks in a sharp breath, his teasing kisses all night spurring you on.

”God, fuck - yeah, yeah, right there.” He groans loud enough to drown out the sounds of The O’Jays vinyl playing downstairs, your thumb finally loosening up a hard knot.

His whole body melts under your touch, the hard lines of his face relaxing while the blunt ends of your nails scratch at the silver hairs hiding in the nape of his neck. Letting go of his long work week with deep breath, the movements have your hips rolling on their own, his oiled sun kissed skin making it too easy to do again.

He hums knowingly, relishing in the soft tug of his hair loving the way you squeal when he flips himself over. Big hands grab at your hips to keep you in place, the effects of your massage had on him becoming obvious nestled between your thighs.

There’s still no preparing for the sight beneath you, and despite seeing it almost every day, you still can’t believe he’s yours.

His soft hair is a tousled mess of auburn and silver on top of his head, begging you to drag your hands through it. The five o’clock shadow that peppers his strong jaw is at your favorite length, and sometimes you think he grows it out a little longer just for you. His gold chain that hangs off his neck fits like a choker, no longer lost in the thick patch of chest hair that you swear has a few more gray curls inside of it after today. Letting your hands wander his chest, your gentle touch makes the subtle muscles of his abs twitch. Perfect teeth biting down on his full bottom lip, watching you in awe.

“You know I hate my birthdays? Always have.” Steve hums, warm palms gliding up your thighs, squeezing at the soft dough before digging his long fingers into your hips, “Now I wish it was every day with you lookin’ like this, pretty girl.”

”Who says it can’t be?” You grin, running your slick hands back up his pecs, nails scratching in the coarse hair there.

Leaning forward, you fix his chain bumping the end of your nose with his, rolling your hips slowly, you feel him twitch inside the soft cotton of his briefs.

”It certainly feels like it,” he whispers with a smile against your lips.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 34

part 1 | part 33 | ao3

Steve ducks his head against the flurries falling outside The Hideout as he makes his way for the entrance and tries really, really hard to not to feel totally out of place.

He agreed to meet Robin and her friends here separately because he was coming straight from a shift, but he’s kind of regretting that now. The only black thing he had in his wardrobe that was at all weather appropriate was a tight-fitting black knit pullover with a high collar and a silver zipper down the front, and he feels like some dorky, supportive golf dad coming to cheer on his rebellious son after a long day out on the green. The light wash jeans and silver wristwatch aren’t really helping matters.

Jesus. He should have let Robin dress him.

The guy at the ticket counter seems to agree because he gives Steve a weird look when he approaches and asks, “Are you lost?”

“Uh, no.” And if it comes out slightly more bitchy than he intended, well—

“Five dollars,” the guy scowls.

Strike that. Maybe it didn’t come out nearly bitchy enough. “The flyer says it’s two.”

The guy eyes him up with a tight, sarcastic smile and pops his chewing gum. “For you it’s five.”

Oh, my god. Operation Woo Your Man might be dead before it starts, because Steve’s about to smash the ticket booth window and pummel this fucking guy.

“I already got yours!” Robin calls brightly, jogging up behind him on the sidewalk and waving a lime green wristband. “He’s good,” she tells the guy, then tells Steve, “Eddie said to give you this.”

Ticket guy frowns, and Steve gloats as Robin fixes the bracelet to his wrist. Yeah, buddy, you heard that right; I'm with the band.

Robin drags him into the bar, and he stops her just inside the door, hugging her tight enough to lift her up on tiptoe, smacking a kiss to the side of her head. He jostles her around until something in her neck pops, and when he lets her go she groans, “Oh, my god, do that again.”

She spins around, crossing her arms over her chest. Steve grabs her by the elbows; shakes her like a piggy bank until her spine goes crack-crack-crack.

“Wow,” she sighs dreamily when he sets her down. “Marry me.”

“You can’t just marry me for my massage services.”

“I know; it’s tragic. Anyway, come on.” She takes his hand. “Everyone’s already at the table.”

“Who’s everyone?”

Robin doesn’t answer — probably can’t hear him over the loud rock music pouring through the speakers — but she weaves them through the venue, skirting the edge of the main floor.

Steve’s never actually been in here, but it’s pretty much what he expected: black walls, black floor, black leather jackets on the handful of regulars. The stage is off to their left, already set up with Eddie’s band’s gear by the looks of it, though he doesn’t see them anywhere. Must be backstage getting ready.

In front of the stage is a small, empty dance floor, flanked by rickety tables with mismatched chairs, and overhead there’s a balcony with a sound booth and more seats. To their right, the main bar: a long, ancient dark wood counter that’s been graffitied to absolute shit, covered in band stickers and beer labels and ‘so and so wuz here’s, and just up ahead, lining the far wall, Steve spots a row of wraparound booths.

Dark red leather, the stuffing spilling out through time-worn splits. Only one of them is occupied. Steve can’t make out much from this distance beyond the vague shape of the people sitting there, but considering it’s the only table with any chicks at it, he figures that’s their group.

Suddenly, Robin stops. Turns around to look at him; drops his hand and bites her lip. “Okay, so. Don’t get mad…”

Steve narrows his eyes. He knows that guilty grimace. Whatever it is, he’s definitely about to get mad about it, or at very least annoyed. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Robin.”

“Okay!” She steps to the side, and he marches toward the table to try and get a better view, Robin trailing after him, rambling, “For the record, I really didn’t do it, I swear! But, like— well, Beth is friends with Fred, and Fred is on the school paper, so I guess he just—”

The details shift into focus: tiny frame, rigid posture. Big, curly dark brown hair.

Oh, son of a bitch. No. No.

Nancy Wheeler’s here.

—

part 35

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[darksturnz]

#INTRODUCING. . . STAR.ᐟREADER

(dividers by @bernardsbendystraws)

best paired with: artist!chris masterlist: here

all things witty ✧ smudged eyeliner. glitter. silver jewelry. chipped black nail polish. scuffed boots. thrifted band tees. bedazzled lighter. the smell of rain and cigarette smoke. late-night drives. cheap coffee. The neighborhood.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who has been obsessed with space since she was a little kid, spending hours memorizing constellations and reading about black holes, planets, and the Big Bang.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who does all her own piercings at home with a $15 amazon kit, claiming that paying for someone else to do it is just unnecessary.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who struggles with sensory overload but finds comfort in the quiet consistency of stargazing, where the world feels calm and predictable.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who info-dumps about space to anyone who’ll listen (and even those who won’t), her voice getting louder and more animated as she dives deeper into her favorite topic.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER whose parents placed little glowing stars around the ceiling of her room in accurate constellations when she was younger to keep her from sneaking outside at night to view the real ones.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who HATES driving and refuses to get her license, in fact she rarely gets into an actual car, she prefers to walk where she needs to go.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who is constantly changing her appearance, never really settling on just one aesthetic and her room is a product of that.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who wears her headphones almost everywhere, using music or white noise to help filter out overwhelming sounds, and is very big on making playlists full of songs for the people she loves.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who always has a comforting fidget toy or rock in her pocket, her favorite being a small, smooth stone she found outside the trailer.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who struggles with self-doubt but lights up when people show interest in her passions, like the time her dad stayed sober and spent all night up with her on the trailer roof just to watch a meteor shower on her 16th birthday.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who zones out completely when she’s focused on something, often to the point of forgetting to eat or sleep, especially when she’s nose deep in a new hobby.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who talks really fast when she’s excited, and her body moments are very animated along side it. and her occasional usage of marijuana only fuels it.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who has a hard time with change and gets anxious when routines are disrupted, but she’s learning to go with the flow

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who stims by pacing around the room while explaining the concept of wormholes, creation of galaxies and the moon landing undoubtedly being fake.

✩ STAR.ᐟREADER who always has her nails painted, using the polish as a sensory tool to pick at whenever she feels anxious, hence it always being chipped.

authors note: major creds to the people who have already wrote story lines with these au’s. i did some searching and quite frankly there’s just too many of you writing them for me to list out everyone :,) i hope you guys are just as excited for this series as i am. also, these are so long i know but i promise they just make it a storyline without me actually writing one, saves us both time LOL.

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

touchin', m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook has got ten minutes and a hard dick. So he says. You learn you can't trust everything he says though.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; lovers that call themselves friends-with-benefits because JK is a fool; both parties are freaking annoying tbh; smut (fem reader, double lip piercing JK, heavy petting, standing doggy with clothes on, lots of neck making out, light nipple play, low-key forearm kink); fluff; non-idol!AU - JK is wearing the outfit from his 2023.06.29 Weverse live

--

“I have ten minutes and a hard dick.”

You rubbed your temples.

“Jungkook, why are you calling me?”

Breathless surprise, as if the man on the other side of the line didn’t realize how jarring it was to call someone announcing a time limit and a stiff rod. “I have–”

“I heard you,” you growled back, interrupting him sharply as you heard the knock on your front door. “I just can’t believe you. You’ve got plenty of people trying to get in your pants.” You unlocked the door and wretched it open. “Yes?” you blurted out impatiently.

What?

You weren’t expecting anyone decent at near midnight.

Big peepers stared back.

“But I don’t want anybody else in my pants,” Jeon Jungkook told your ear and your face.

You rolled your eyes and dropped your phone. “You look like an egg.”

He did. Black beanie jammed onto his head, his black-brown hair sticking out every which way underneath, even a dropped jaw to emulate that pointed side of said metaphorical egg. White Nike t-shirt two sizes too big for him. Loose black sweatpants. Cute monochrome black-and-white sneakers you would not be letting into your home.

He bit his lower lip, still clutching his smartphone. You noticed there was another piercing on his lip now.

“I thought… we were…”

You pulled him by the front of his shirt and yoinked him inside.

“Don’t just stand out there with your mouth agape,” you scolded gently, shutting the door. “I don’t want you talking about your hard dick to my neighbors. Take off your shoes.”

It was an awkward moment of bodies pressed together and hastily followed instruction. You had to pluck his phone from him and end the call because it seemed like Jungkook had decided his primary task was ogling you and your bare legs. A large, vintage band t-shirt was good enough pajamas for you. You bent down to shove his shoes against the wall and you were very sure Jungkook’s eyeballs were glued to your ass. All that was well and good, but what was thinking, calling you up about his hard di–

His lock screen flashed on when your thumb grazed against it.

You spotted one of your Instagram photos hiding behind the time stamp and his numerous notifications.

Huh.

You looked away.

“Take this,” you muttered, jamming his phone back into his open hand. “What are you doing out so late anyw–”

You cut yourself off once you realized how close Jungkook was.

In this entire space of your front entrance, he had picked centimeters away from your chest to be his standing spot, forcing you to look up at him and his big dark brown peepers. Seemed like he was eating well. He had a little more fullness to his cheeks tonight, although he still had his sharp jawline and that silver hardware gleaming on the right side of his lip. One hoop, one new stud.

“I… I, uh…”

You intended to deliver some firm comeback, but instead you relented under that gaze and pressed your thigh against his. Just to feel him. Not too much, but enough to have the contact and strike the friction between bodies.

“Um…” He was mumbling, struggling to think. “I have to go meet my parents at the train station. They said they picked up some stuff for me and that I should go get it.”

You frowned. “So… why are you here?”

A jolt as you realized he was closer and taking your hand, pulling it down, lower.

Lower.

“I can’t go like this…”

Pressing your hand to his crotch, his lips already on yours as you palmed his rock-hard erection through his pants.

Yeah, you can, and Jungkook could tell what you were thinking from your smirk against his kiss and the tease of your tongue. There was no reason to make this easy for him, no matter how easy he was. You smiled, avoiding too much pressure in the kiss, both to frustrate him and because you were uncertain about irritating the new piercing, but Jungkook chased you, sharpness in his inhale, following your steps deeper into your dark home.

The one light you had on was in your bedroom, but you might not make it at this rate.

Strong hands grabbing the back of your head, fingers spreading out over your scalp, pulling you closer, and you met his insistence with calm, tracing your tongue over his lips and flitting in and out. Saliva and softness, the backs of his hands roughly hitting the wall, crowding you with his larger frame as you snaked your hand up and down his length, the fingers of your other hand sliding up the hem of his shirt and hooking over the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging him to you.

He moaned into your mouth when your fingertips caressed taut skin.

“What am I gonna do with you?” you purred, teasing him, nicking at his lower lip. The heat of his body was radiating and addictive. Too many clothes for how aroused he was. “I thought you said we weren’t that serious, hm?”

His hands in your hair tightened. “I t-take it back…” he whimpered. “I told you… I don’t want anyone else…”

You touched him all over, massaging his balls and toying with his cock, smearing the pre-cum over your palm and his length, pressing your soft thigh against his hard one. Rolled your body against his, your hot breath on his chin, his moan smoke above your eyes, and now he could feel that you weren’t wearing a bra under your shirt.

He shivered in delight.

You chuckled.

“I think you would say anything to have my hand on your dick.”

Pressed your lips to his throat and kissed down, wrapping your hand around his length. His pants were falling down his legs. You felt one hand leave your head and then his pants shifted. Then his fist hit the wall, a thunderous boom amidst his shudders that you felt through tongue and teeth, careful not to leave marks.

“H… Harder…”

You snickered. “You’re going to see your parents. I can’t leave hickeys.”

He whined, but you ignored it, flicking his earrings and licking under his earlobe. Tingling kisses left behind in your wake. He smelled like his usual clean soap. The tips of his hair feathered against your temples as you kissed the space under his ear, delicately sucking on it.

That was enough.

Time crunch and all that shit.

You were about to slide down the wall, but Jungkook stopped you, grabbing your shoulder.

You looked up, cocking an eyebrow. Half-laughing inside because his beanie was barely on his head, his unruly hair spilling out. There were visible beads of sweat by his furrowed brow, but you bit your words back and focused on those lidded dark eyes and flushed pink lips gasping your name breathlessly.

“B-Bend over.”

It would have a sterner effect if he hadn’t stuttered.

The side of your lips curled up irresistibly. “Oh?”

He lifted his fist off the wall and the foil packet caught the light.

You smirked.

“You’re so fun, you know that?”

Jungkook grinned and smacked the condom into your cheek, dragging your face to his, wild black hair over his eyes as he kissed you, indenting your lip with his jewelry.

There was something extra slutty about being mostly dressed and fucking standing doggy against the wall. He pressed his palm on your lower back but you were already slipping further down the wall, your panties at your knees, ass up, and you heard him swear when the throbbing head pressed into your dripping heat.

“Fuck… me… are you a virgin or what? Fuck!”

He would know from personal experience that you most certainly were not. You neglected to remind him he hadn’t warmed you up himself. Instead, you hiked your shirt up more and tilted your head playfully. Added commentary to be extra insufferable. For fun, of course.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m not…”

Your hand hit the wall. Both palms flat, lowering more and pushing back as he pushed in, the ache viciously filled with his girth, pleasure suddenly racing up your spine and devouring the equilibrium.

“I’m not, fuck, thanking you, a-ah…!”

He was the one with his hands gripping your hips but you were the one to start off the bruising pace, sucking a breath between teeth and shoving your ass into his crotch, amplifying the power of his thrust, warmth swirling in your core, satisfaction blooming in your exhale.

“Mmmm, Jungkook, yeah, fuck, just like that…”

Your fingers curling into fists, immediate fire in your veins, clenching around his hard length and enjoying every second. Power and lust and savage sweetness, feeling his fingers dig into your hips, hearing his breath hitch, his moan vibrating in his throat. You had to stifle a laugh as you realized that he was suffocating all his sounds so he could concentrate, hm, how interesting, but you let yourself fall into the pleasure, tipping your head back and sighing, the building wave of orgasm seeping out and spreading over your lower belly, pulsing around him.

You dropped your torso a little lower and heard Jungkook groan, gripping your ass harder.

“Hah… so good… fuck…”

His name falling from your lips, with desire and grace, not hiding the feeling but burning in the fervor, remembering his insincere face telling you a bold lie, we’re not that serious, and you recalled thinking, is he just saying that because he thinks I’m intimidating or what, but you let him think what he thought and want what he wanted, his nails clawing into your back, harder, regular plans becoming more irregular, breathing heavier, hotter, until he was constantly searching for you with those shining brown eyes of his, pulling you to his embrace and trying to lock down this escape artist with his lips.

Maybe it worked.

Who knows.

You pressed your fist into the wall and let out a hiss of hot breath, clenching your core and all around him, ah, chasing that brutal fullness, that declivous slick friction with every loud smack, the prickling crawling up your legs and ribcage, come on, give it to me, your low purr intoxicated by the carnal desire and Jungkook couldn’t say anything, probably clenching his jaw and burning up from the heat, closer, his pants turning into coarse gasps, choppy and erratic, faster, hotter, throbbing, there.

He didn’t have time to warn you.

You felt your inner walls pulse and flinch, squeezing hard, the rush injected into the tension and making you gasp, thrown off by the sudden shaking ecstasy, your hand slipping on the wall. Catching yourself mid-slide and feeling Jungkook jerk, freezing your hips in place as he came in intense jerks, straining against your tightness, your name in a silvery, fucked-out moan.

Damn.

Could get used to that.

Your hair was all over your face, making the dark room even darker. “Heh. Trying not to cum too fast, huh?”

“S… Shut up…”

He barely forced it out, his hands giving out and sliding up your stomach. Oof, he was warm, his chest radiating heat onto your back, and yet you smiled as you felt his fingertips rub against your hard nipples, sending shivers of pleasure through you in the afterglow. You pushed half of your hair back, amused at seeing his beanie somehow now on the floor. He lifted you up even though you didn’t ask, slipping out and shoving his sweaty face into the back of your neck.

“Hey,” you were about to protest, but he was squeezing your breasts and nipples, making you buck against him as he sighed into your skin.

“You smell so good, mmmm…” he was mumbling, ignoring your squirming.

You tried to reorient him even though he was the one trying to distract you. “Oi, aren’t you supposed to be going somewhere?”

“Wuh?”

You tried to unstick his hands from your chest but he pressed his forearms to your sides. Instantly, a tremor danced through your muscles, thundering, not allowing the arousal to subside. You sucked in a tight breath, feeling him clamp down on your waist with his arms. “What happened to ten minutes, I gotta go see my parents?”

“Oh… eh… it’s okay,” Jungkook hummed, kissing your neck through your hair. “I made that up anyway.”

Somehow, you had low-key guessed that, but there was no reason to let him get away with it. “I don’t like lying, you know,” you curtly reminded him.

“Sorry…”

He pushed your hair aside with his nose and plopped his head on your shoulder, hugging you tightly with his sweaty body. Your arms were hanging a bit limply in front of you, but that was because of his muscular embrace. It made you feel a bit like a caught kitty cat.

“Don’t do things like that,” you scolded, but he was shoving his nose in your jaw, warm breath and feathering kisses over the curve of your neck while massaging your breasts.

“Sorry… I just wanna be with you,” he murmured breathlessly. “You’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute,” you retorted, burning comfortably and uncomfortably from his touch and words, respectively.

“And pretty. And smart.” He was ignoring you even though he was the one making out with your ear. “I was afraid you would find me annoying…”

“You are freaking annoying,” you confirmed, placing your hands on the backs of his, but not pulling them away. “I told you to tell me when you were horny, not make shit up.”

You could practically hear his pout. “Well, I didn’t know I was until I was driving over here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

He changed the subject. Classic. “Why do you have to wear clothes?”

“I can’t answer the door naked.”

“But it was me.”

“How would I know that?”

It was hard to describe the comfortable kind of exasperated he made you. A welcome, spontaneous, borderline ridiculous distraction. You somehow managed to get him to untangle himself from you and clean up, his clothes carelessly flung in random places, and you shook your head at him, you’re gonna have to pick those up later, but as soon as he had washed up, Jungkook was pushing you down on your bed, pressing your naked body to his and sighing softly, his hair a floofy mess.

“I didn’t say yes to you spending the night,” you said calmly as he kissed your collarbones, sparks lingering from the contact of his lips. You looked down. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Those round, shining eyes lit up in the semi-darkness of your bedroom.

“Like what?”

Pretending like he didn’t know, uh huh.

You shook your head and tangled one of your hands in his hair, nudging him up.

“Come here.”

He scooted up earnestly. You placed a fingertip on his lower lip as he neared, making him pause breathlessly.

“Is this new?”

You couldn’t miss the sparkling in his gaze as you mentioned it. “Y-Yeah…”

You raised your head and kissed it softly. “Should take good care of it as it heals, mmmm? So let’s just be rough down here…” you breathed, your other hand raking over his thigh, smiling as he flexed under your touch, moaning into your mouth, a sweet taste that you couldn’t stop craving, and yet you had to point it out one more time.

He had the audacity to pretend, after all.

“But we’re not that serious, right?”

Jungkook groaned and shoved his face into your neck as you laughed. “I take it back! Stop being mean…!”

There was just something about his impatient whine.

“Alright, alright…”

Bad decisions were made.

Like staying up until four in the morning fucking.

Ah, shit.

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[dilfhos]

THE FAN.

#!WHO GOJO SATORU & GETOU SUGURU

#!CC: threesome, reluctance if ya squint, o.sex (G&R), riding & backshots, eiffel tower, rockstar/band au, GOJO plays with your ass

wc.5.6k | KINKTOBER ‘23 | if u can, plz reblog. im trying to get more traction frankly and would love my fics to reach a wide audience fr. as always, minors plz don’t interact w/me.

NETWORKS @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @planetonet

@scariusaquarius tysm for beta-ing, your soundboard and squeals of excitement mean a whole lot sugar hehe ♡

Are you a fan of the band EYES OF DEATH? Well they’re in town for Halloween! Ten songs! One night with Hunk Gojo as lead singer and the illustrious Suguru playing lead bass. Come down to the Shadowvale Coliseum to see them in action, you may be lucky to win backstage access!

“After all, you’re our biggest fan, yeah?” Suguru asked, a smile on his face as his palm tapped your cheek affectionately.

The sound of screaming coming from (mostly) women caused a ringing in your ears. But it wasn’t much of an inconvenience because you were screaming right along with them. Your eyes zeroed in on the lead, heart stammering at the fact that you were actually here, in person before your favorite band. Your favorite idol.

Gojo Satoru.

This time you didn’t have to gush over him in the new issue of Kaisen Times magazine, or smile when you see the million posters hanging up in the walls of your bedroom. He was literally feet from you as you were blessed to have stage side seats. He was definitely sexier up close. His messy white locks whipped with every nod of his head, as his slightly sweaty face was mostly framed by stray strands of silver.

You wish you could see his eyes but they were hidden by his signature frames which didn’t make you feel too bad. You watched as his hand came down hard to deliver one final riff. The crowd went wild as did you. He rocked back on his heels, a genuine wide smile gracing his features as he scanned his fans. When he turned in your direction, you could've sworn he was looking directly at you as his gaze seemed to remain on you for a few seconds longer. While you thought it was silly, a part of you hoped he was and your heart sped up at the thought.

His smile seemed to almost widen though as he then gripped the mic.

“How about another one? Why don’t you let me hear your lovely voices one more time?” He cupped a hand to his ear, nodding as the crowd, you included, began to scream again.

“That’s what I like to hear!” He turned back to his band mates, whispering to the one closest to him which you immediately recognized as Suguru. His dark and typically flowing locks were tied back into a messy bun, a few pieces slicking to the sides of his neck. He muttered something back to the other band mates and Gojo returned to the microphone, his mouth open in a wide smile,

“You ready?” He purred.

Everyone screamed yes! and as he counted off, the building was drowned once more in an electrifying riff of another one of his songs.

…

By the end of his concert, his shirt was drenched with sweat as he spent the rest of his energy jumping around on stage.

As he bid a goodbye to the crowd, you met his gaze. Or so you thought. You just knew he looked in your direction once more before whispering something to his bandmate, Suguru, who gave you a quick look over before disappearing behind the curtain.

You remained there, looking at the very spot he stood, wishing that he was still there. You clutched a rolled up paper to your chest, your grip tightening when someone bumped into you from behind.

It was silly but you had hoped you would’ve caught him before he left to sign it. Sure the image was a couple years old but it was your favorite and with his scribbled signature in the corner of it, you knew it’d finally be perfect.

But what you also knew was how wild his concerts ended. Groupies typically tried to sneak their way back only to be stopped by heightened security. You’ve heard rumors of some succeeding and bragging that Gojo and the band definitely made their nights.

With a sigh, you turned, watching the crowd slowly grow smaller as sweaty and exhausted bodies trickled out the exits. A headache was forming and even though you didn’t get your autograph, you were still content with seeing your favorite rock idol perform. But now, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. Maybe encounter him in your dreams as you’d done in the past.

You were trudging along with the crowd when you heard a low, ‘psst’.

You wouldn’t have paid much attention to it if it had only happened once. But when it was heard again, this time a bit more persistent, you whipped your head around only to be met with nameless faces of the crowd.

But then you heard, “Here.”

Off to the side was a man in a black leather jacket with a cap on his head. You wanted to ignore him and keep following the crowd to the exits but something about his demeanor seemed familiar. You hesitantly broke away from the horde and ducked off to the side, accidentally tripping into his chest.

“Careful darlin’” You gasped softly at his voice, recognizing it to sound like…

The man pulled you further onto the side wing, and away from the crowd until reaching a corridor. He pulled his hat back, allowing raven locks to fall around his face.

“M-Mister Suguru?”

“Getou,”He glanced down at your arms crossed over your chest, holding something rolled. He glanced back up at your face which was lit up almost innocently at the fact that you were standing in front of a member of your favorite band. He smirked. How cute.

“Poster?” He asked, turning on his heels sharply. He didn’t give a warning or any explanation, he just began walking down the hallway, silently expecting you to follow. You stuttered before your feet moved, trying to catch up to his brisk pace.

“U-Uh yeah...I um…I wanted Gojo’s autograph.”

“And not mine?” He turned his head, a smile playing loosely at his lips. His gaze made you avert yours as your face swarmed with heat. You were mainly focused on the fact that you were actually inches from him, following him and talking to him. He wasn’t Gojo Satoru sure, but Getou Suguru was just as great a musician. And an even sexier man.

You passed by a few other band members and technician crew and a part of you felt a bit nervous.

“A-Are you sure I should be back here?” You asked him after a moment of silence. He only shoved his hands into his pocket without acknowledging your question as he continued to make his way down the darkening hallway. Something about this felt a bit off but you didn’t give into your trepidation. Instead you continued to trudge nervously behind him. Still, you placed your hand into your coat pocket to feel for your phone.

After another moment or so, he rounded a corner until stopping in front of the door at the end of the hall. From behind him, you could see the name, GOJO SATORU & EYES OF DEATH ☆ in bold, white script, centered in the middle of a large star. Your stomach flipped as you read his name over and over again. Was this actually real?

“You want to meet him right?” He could practically hear you nodding excitedly before sighing. A soft rap from a knuckles later and you heard Gojo’s voice from the other end asking who it was.

“Getou,” Was what he responded with before turning the door knob. He stepped back and gestured for you to enter, and you did so, your eyes remaining on your boot clad feet. After hearing the door shut behind you however, the sound sealing you into your fate, you looked up.

The first thing you noticed was the man sitting across the room, cross-legged on the floor. In his arms was a guitar, not the bass he rocked to during the concert. Slender fingers strummed against the strings, the notes melancholic and unfamiliar. The tune carried throughout the space accompanying the soft humming you heard from him.

Gojo glanced up only briefly, a smirk on his features as you nervously made your way further into the large dressing room. He let out a few more notes, this time save for his humming.

“Erm…” You glanced back toward Suguru. What were you supposed to do? Or say? Your mind ran a mile a minute contemplating what your next choice of words would be. You couldn’t believe that you were here standing in the very dressing room of your rock idol, the Gojo Satoru and you didn't want to screw up your first impression with something stupid.

You heard shuffling from in front of you and turned to see that he was standing. Placing the guitar against the wall, he then stretched, the position drawing up his t-shirt in the process. You couldn’t keep your eyes from falling to the distinctive toning of his waist and abdomen as they flashed before you. After you heard a chuckle, you looked away, hoping that he didn’t catch your staring.

“You a fan?” His voice was like velvet, soft and alluring and even more sexier than it was when he was singing on stage. A wide smile followed his question, drawing your attention to the dazzling rows of pearly whites. A few seconds later is when you collected yourself, eyes roaming back up to his that were hidden behind his shades.

“Y-Yeah,” You start carefully, heart strumming wildly in your chest.

“A-A big fan actually! I’ve been a fan for years and have come to every single concert.” Okay, so maybe you didn’t need to disclose that last part. Gojo only smiled warmly.

“Oh yeah? And what’s your favorite track?” He leaned down in front of the vanity, inspecting something on his face. You took a moment to mentally dig through what you knew of his discography. He had plenty of amazing songs, all of which touched you one way or another.

“I would have to say...Blindfolds,” He let out a surprised noise as he turned to look at you. He was quite surprised by your response. He felt that track wasn’t his best after it was published and honestly, paid no further worry about it.

He expected you to favorite one of his more popular tracks, one of which he always heard his fans request that he sing.

Under his scrutinizing gaze, you felt heat prickling at your skin.

“I-I just really like the way it speaks to me. And your use of the clever metaphors within the lyrics give it a much greater meaning than what it was meant to be. And even though it was made clear that the song was about everyone in a way, I couldn't help but wonder whether or not…” He cocked his head, hidden, blue eyes glinting as he nodded for you to go on.

“W-Whether or not if it was really about you.” Silence enveloped the space and every second you remained under it, nervousness crept in bit by bit. Perhaps you said too much. Here was one of the top rock stars standing in front of you, listening as you picked apart one of his songs.

“I-I’m sorry if I over-” He interrupted you with laughter. It wasn’t cruel or mocking, but genuine. And coming from him, it was music to your heated ears. He moved toward you, his sudden movement causing you to stagger back some.

“Look kid, I appreciate your dedication but I think you’re reading too much into it,” He gave a small friendly ruffle to the top of your head, and you bit back a squeal. He touched you.

“She’s real cute,” He remarked behind you, toward the other man, who you honestly forgot was even still here.

“I knew you’d think so. But how about we move things along? The manager has been calling my phone like crazy wondering where you’ve run off to this time.”

“Right,” He turned back towards you, a toothy grin present on his features. His eyes then ventured down to what you were still cradling in your arms.

“What’s this?” He pointed. You glanced down at the rolled poster, your face warming immediately.

“I had wanted an autograph,” You stuttered, voice barely audible.

“S‘at so?” You nodded. He held his hand out and you hesitantly placed it. You watched as he unrolled it and the way his brows shut up in surprise.

“Is something wrong?” You were quick to question, craning your neck to what he was seeing. Oh God, did you spill something on it? Did you accidentally grab the wrong poster from your wall? Like the one with old childish writing on it with, My husband! If that was the case then you weren’t sure what you’d-

“Just surprised is all. This was actually my favorite photoshoot. Guru, you remember that one?” He turned the poster around so his friend could see. Suguru chuckled at the sight, a part of him thinking that it was only his favorite because he ended up seducing the photographer. Gojo turned, moving back to his vanity. From the plethora of makeup brushes, his fingers closed around a dark sharpie. You couldn’t see what he was scribbling as you craned your neck, but it sounded like more than just his name. With a smile, he recapped the marker and held the poster out as if to admire his penmanship and rolled it back up.

He then held it out to you and right when you were about to grab it, he pulled it away.

“You know, you’re real cute,” He muttered, a finger reaching under your chin. “And you’re my biggest fan, you said?”

He was so close, so much that you could smell the subtleness of mint and beer. You were immediately drawn in, your eyes fluttering down to the sight of his kissable lips, which were parted slightly. He nudged your chin up to refocus your attention. What was the question again?

“Y-Yes?”

“You don’t sound so sure.” He teased.

“Yes, I’m your biggest fan.” You whisper. Sitting down your rolled poster, he took off his shades, revealing a pair of lustfully blown blue eyes. Brighter than any lake during sunrise. You could get lost in them forever and it was no longer a surprise why he wore his shades all the time.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his heavy gaze, which was just as well because before you could register anything, his lips were on yours, soft and tentative. It took you a second before you began to move your lips in sync with his.

He groaned against your mouth, deepening the exchange with a suggestive swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip. Parting your lips, his tongue shoved through, wild as it thrashed against your own.

Gojo explored your mouth, taking in the way you practically melted against him. He began to walk you backwards until your knees met the back of the couch. He pulled away to watch you stumble onto its surface, panting and flustered from the kiss.

He straightened to shrug out his coat before leaning back down to recapture your lips in another heated embrace. His hands trailed down your body, paying attention to where to press and grope that caused you to whimper. He loved the sound. The sweet, sweet gasps of women beneath his touch could top any riff he played.

Eventually, his lips moved away to press open mouth kisses to the side of your jaw and neck, every now and then sucking marks into your skin. His hand pushed under your shirt, dragging the garment oup in the process until he broke away to pull it off you.

“You’re so fucking hot babe,” He muttered, cerulean eyes trailed over your body, over the hot and bothered state you were in. Gojo’s hands smoothed over your neck, trailing down to your bra-covered breasts, until stopping at the hem of your skirt. You nodded before he shoved them up your waist, hips lifting up slightly for him push them up further until it was bunched around your tummy to reveal your cute panties. He looked down, grinning at the sight of the cotton material pressed snugly against your crotch.

“Cute,” He murmured. Instinctively, you tried closing your legs, bashful at his heavy gaze and comment but he shifted down until he was on his knees, in between them.

“No need to be shy,” His voice was so compelling; you slowly relaxed, your eyes never leaving his as Gojo’s fingers curled into the waistband of your panties. Your legs tightened against each other but with an almost warning glance cast upward from his eyes, they relaxed and he proceeded to slide them down with more ease.

“That’s it. So fucking beautiful…” He tugged them against your ankles, before they were placed on the small coffee table. He moved his eyes down to the sight in between your legs, inspecting the glisten coating your puffy lips.

Seconds later, you arched your back at the sensation of his hot tongue pressing flat against your slit, as he dragged the surface of it up and down in slow and deliberate movements. He kept a firm grip on your hips as he delved in deeper, maneuvering the appendage past your slick folds and into your hole, flicking and dipping between your plush walls. His fingers then replace his tongue, curling and stretching against your insides. His lips moved to your clit where he suckled and nipped gently, drawing out a unintentionally loud moan from you.

His fingers sped up, creating a wet squelch with every thrust into your cunt. Gasping, your fingers dug into the material of the couch as you found yourself getting lost in the pleasure he created.

Suguru, seeming to have come from nowhere, then moved beside you, gripping your chin to lift your head up in his direction. Despite your hesitance, he managed to press his lips against yours roughly. After a moment you began to give in, allowing his feverish tongue to slip past your lips and into your mouth, the exchange heated between lips and teeth. He grew harder in his pants to the feel of your lips and at the sound of his friend slurping away at your cunt.

A hand crept down to your clit, taking the place of Gojo’s fingers as he began to press tight circles against the area. Your hips bucked off of the couch and against Gojo’s face, smothering him against your pussy. He released a prolonged groan at the sight of the exchange happening between you and the two men.

Pulling away, the male licked away a trail of saliva from your lips before dipping a bit lower to lick and suck against your neck.

“Suguru,” You whimpered.

“Getou,” He corrected against your skin, trailing his lips down to your breasts. His calloused hands roughly kneaded each mound. His teeth teased at your nipples, grinding gently on the hardening buds before tugging softly to release with a soft pop. Just as he pulled away, a ringing sounded throughout the space.

“Dammit,” He muttered, bringing out his phone. Gojo pulled away from your pussy, his mouth soaked in your juices as he looked up at the brunette.

‘Manager’ He mouthed, moving towards the door.

“What? Yes…” The door shut behind him, leaving you and the lead singer alone in the dressing room.

He stood, pulling off his shirt, your eyes immediately dropping to his skin. You watched with rapt focus as he then plopped down a foot or so away from you.

“Come over here,” He instructed, throwing his arms across the back of the couch. You moved closer to him, your pussy clenching in need.

Slender fingers wrapped against the nape of your neck pulling you closer toward him. His lips smashed against yours, as he wasted no time in shoving his tongue past your lips. A moan was muffled from your mouth as his grip tightened in your hair to pull you closer, the taste of your essence melting on your tongue.

He pulled away to give another soft tug at your roots, urging your head up at an angle. His lips lowered to bite and suckle marks into your skin, partly in hope to cover his friend’s. When he pulled away, his eyelids were heavy over his lust filled eyes as they ran over your face and down your body.

“You’re still my biggest fan?” A few beats passed before you nodded, eliciting a soft smile to form on his face. He then moved to undo his belt, shoving his dark jeans down to reveal his dark boxers. Through the material, you could see that he was very much excited.

“Show me then.” He urged, shifting into a more lax position with his legs spread wide open.

You swallowed thickly before partially positioning yourself over his lap, level with the prominent bulge. Your eyes the subtle trail of white that lined his abdomen and disappeared into his boxers.

With shaky hands, you moved to curl your fingers around the rim of them and pulled them down enough for his thick cock to spring free, hard and long as it kissed his abdomen. You could then feel his hand pressed up against the back of your head, urging you down toward his dick.

“Good. Now open your mouth.” He cooed. You did so, closing your eyes at what was to come.

“Wider,” He muttered, heatedly. It took a bit of effort as you felt the warmth of his cock moving past your lips. Your head lowered until the heaviness of his cock pressed against your tongue.

“Yeah, like that.” He sighed, hips hitching against your mouth. His dick was thick on your tongue and you could taste more and more saltiness melting on your tastebuds.

“Fuck, your teeth babe...Watch your teeth.” He groaned, nails digging into your scalp. You sputtered around his shaft, sending spittles of drool to drip from the corners of your mouth. Your jaw ached from the stretch as he continued to urge your head down and up against his cock. In the midst of it all, you heard the soft creak of the door opening and closing.

“I see you’ve gotten started already,” Suguru’s low hum broke the sound of your unadulterated slurping. You opened your eyes to see the dark pair of shoes a few feet away, unmoving.

“The—fuck—The manager?” Gojo asked, almost breathlessly.

“I got’er off our backs for at least an hour. Told her you wanted to rest.”

“Good. That bitch needs to learn patience anyway,” You released an unintentional moan at his harsh words, finding them to be almost uncharacteristic for the male. Your eyes closed again as you tried to focus on the task at hand as Gojo’s eyes narrowed, staring down at the sight below.

He then connected his gaze with his friend before a wide grin stretched across his face.

“She’s real good. Damn, it feels amazing.” Stomach fluttering, you moved your mouth down lower, taking another inch as you sucked in your cheeks to provide more of a suction. The change in your movements took the male by surprise because he released a strangled groan, in the process, shoving you down further, making you gag and choke around his girth. Sweat beaded along Gojo’s skin as you continued to suck him off, white strands of his hair sticking against the sides of his face.

From behind you, the feeling of the couch sinking with more weight didn’t go unnoticed. Seconds later you felt a warm hand brushing against your ass, running soothing circles against the flesh.

Suguru’s hands moved to creep to your waist, pulling away at the waistband of your skirt which was bunched around the area. You were now completely bare before both men and couldn’t help the pathetic sounding whimper that arose at the notion.

“What a good little fan. You know, you’re really doin’ me a service,” Satoru chuckled. In his words, you felt a sudden surge of validation course through you. The way he spoke to you caused a fluttering in your tummy.

At the end of the day it seemed like you just wanted to please him, your idol. When he said things about how good you were making him feel, well it caused something else to stir within you, flourishing before you could have the time to force it back.

Suguru noticed the way your thighs clenched together but it was different this time. His fingers sought out your warmth and was happy to find you practically dripping.

“I think she’s loving it,” You heard him purr as he continued to run his digits along your slit. You didn’t deny it but you wished that you hadn’t looked up into Gojo’s eyes.

He groaned at the look you gave him through your lashes. As much as he wanted this moment to last longer, he knew he needed to pull away before he busted in your mouth. He needed to save himself for the main event and that was having you crying and cumming all over his cock as he fucked you. You felt a tug on your hair as you were pulled away.

“Stand up.” You rose shakily to your feet, watching as Gojo shoved his boxers away completely as Suguru was next to you, discarding his own clothing wordlessly. Gojo shifted back onto the couch, a knee pressed onto one of the cushions and his other foot planted firmly on the floor.

“Here.” Without further protest, you moved in front of him on your hands and knees, your pussy aching for attention. Which you knew he was happy to give as you felt the swollen head of his cock teasing against your folds. His breath fanned your ear from behind as he continued to slick his cock between your lips.

You’re so wet, providing his still glistening cock with enough lubrication to push through with little resistance. You groaned at the stretch, nails digging crescents into your palm. He inched his way in, slow and deliberate for every vein to drag pleasurably against your walls. His grip on your hips tightened once he was fully seated, his pelvis flush against your plush ass.

He took a moment to gather himself before pulling out partly and thrusting in once more, ripping out a strangled cry from your throat. Tears brimmed your outer vision as he then thrusted back in, harsh and more rougher than before. His knee buckled a bit in the act causing him to lean against you as he found his ground once more.

“Fuck!” He gritted as his cock throbbed within your tightness. After a few more experimental strokes, he found his rhythm, as ironic as it seemed for the guy. He continued to grunt as his pelvis continued to slam against your ass, his cock plunging deep into your pussy. Your head lolled forward, your noises becoming louder as pleasure surged through your body.

You then feel fingers entangling in your roots as your head was tilted upwards to meet the dark eyes of Suguru. He was mere inches from you, his hand fisting languidly at his cock. His thumb swiped the bead of arousal that accumulated at the slit and you couldn’t keep yourself from licking your lips at the bothered state he seemed to be in.

“Do me a favor,” Gojo huffed from behind. Without further instruction, your mouth opened and Suguru moved forward, his cock breaching your lips to rest heavy on your tongue. You tried to work it along the length of his shaft as you bobbed your head along but with the rate of Gojo’s thrusts against you, it was a bit difficult.

Suguru noticed this and adjusted his body so that he also had a knee braced against the cushion. His hands moved to the sides of your head, stilling you as his hips surged forward in shallow movements.

“That’s it darlin,” He said softly, his eyes rolling slightly. “Be a good little fan and take it nice and deep.”

After trying to keep up some more, you eventually stilled completely— slack jawed, tongue lolled out, allowing the male to use your mouth as he pleased. Drool seeped down in thick strands at the corners as he continued to thrust into your wet hole, inching himself deeper and deeper.

You suddenly gag at the feel of a hand striking against your ass. Gojo watched as you arched your back at the sting it brought, a dark grin gracing his features as you tightened around him.

“Fuck...You like that?” Another blow was delivered as another wanton moan escaped you. His hands gripped both your ass cheeks, spreading them apart for a much clearer view of his slickened cock disappearing into your needy cunt. He eyed your tight, winking hole above that and ran his thumb along the rim, taking in the way your body practically rippled in excitement from the unfamiliar stimulation.

“I think you may be my favorite, love,” He mumbled more to himself. But you caught it and felt a new sense of pride in his words. You strained your ears for the way he sucked in his breath at your clenching walls until he leant down, hard chest pressed flush against your back.

“You like that? Being called my favorite?” You tried to nod your head the best you could with your mouth full.

“How about I bring you back after all my shows. You’ll be our little stress reliever, my little plaything I can use as I want. Fuck, I can tell you’re...Mmm, keen to the idea,” His hands pressed against your ass, spreading them apart once more as he thrusted in deeper inside of you.

You choked, pulling away from Suguru’s cock, mewling and completely overwhelmed with nothing but lust.

“After all, you’re our biggest fan, yeah?” Suguru asked, a smile on his face as his palm tapped your cheek affectionately. At his purring words, you shuddered and tightened, lowering your head to release a choked cry. Your orgasm came sudden and intense, completely overtaking your senses as your legs felt like pudding.

Gojo chuckled breathlessly, taking note of how sensitive you were to his words. He paused briefly to let you ride out your release until he pulled out. Giving a nod to his friend, he gave your ass a final smack, watching your skin ripple upon contact.

Without giving much time to catch your breath, you felt fingers in your hair, pulling your head up until your eyes met those dark pair.

“Get up.” Suguru mumbled. You shakily rose to your feet, your legs buckling seconds after. Thankfully, Gojo caught you with a tight grip on your arm, and an amused smile stretching across his face.

Suguru settled back against the couch, his hand running along his slick cock. He gestured at you with a spin of his finger and you turned around before feeling his hands on your hips to pull you flush against his body.

He positioned your body above his lap, his hands supporting you with the grip on your hips as your feet were planted on either side of his thighs. You leaned back against his chest, shuddering at the feel of his cock teasing your pussy. He pressed his lips against your shoulders feverishly as you were then lowered.

You mewled as he breached your entrance, stretching you with his girth. Suguru groaned as he took a moment basking in the feel of your fluttering walls throbbing around him. You began to sink down onto him, with little guidance of his hands, your moans growing in pitch.

“How is she?”

“So...tight and hot,” Suguru groaned, nails digging into the meat of your thighs as his heated gaze met Gojo’s. He directed your attention to the space in front of you with his hand stroking his dick.

Knowing what he wanted without further instructions, you wiggled forward to take his cock into your hot mouth, immediately hollowing your cheeks tight. His fingers grasped at your sweaty roots, tightening when you bobbed your head lower until your nose was nearly touching his pelvic bone.

Behind you, Suguru was beginning to lose his composure, his hips snapping up hastily against your ass, driving his cock deeper into your pussy. You moaned aloud, the noise being muffled by the press of Gojo’s cock down your throat. You were drowning in your pleasure as you were being pushed closer and closer to unraveling.

“Such a good little fan…” You squeal at his words the same time Suguru delivers a deep thrust into your cunt. Your eyes clenched shut as that coil within you snapped, sending your body aflame with heat and pleasure. He growled at your fluttering cunt, his hips stuttering as he approached his own high. You were nudged off of him before you felt the heat of his cum splattering against your ass.

“A-Ah…Fuck!” At the sight of this, Gojo was at his own limit, his hands shaky as he held your head down against him, the entirety of his cock in your hot mouth. He gave a few shallow thrusts until he stilled and you felt the spurt of warmth hitting the back of your throat. He held you there a couple seconds later as he rode out his high, making you swallow his cum.

When he shakily pulled away, you coughed as whatever you didn’t go down, dripped onto your chin and chest. You were a mess, but honestly, Gojo couldn’t find anything more beautiful.

He brushed his thumb over your sweaty cheek before he straightened. You shifted until you were next to Suguru, who pulled you against his side. Gojo returned with your rolled poster in hand and two beers in the other.

“How ��bout you stay for a bit longer hm? You can tell the manager we’ll be a while for the moment.” You took your poster and unrolled it, eyes zeroing on the bottom corner which, in his neat script read, To My Biggest Fan, GOJO ☆

Beneath it was a phone number and you felt your face warmed. Looking up, you saw that he was holding out the beer to you and you took it.

Suguru beside you had a hand running teasing against your slick thighs as Gojo couldn’t keep his eyes off you as more and more of your beer disappeared.

You were blissfully aware of your senses easing slightly as you started to come to the conclusion that this was the best concert you’d gone to.

@dilfhos. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE OR REUPLOAD MY CONTENT—CURRENT OR ARCHIVAL.

[nioumin-draw]

I looooove trolls AU

Here the list of my favorites :

Fostering hope , Swap AU and Lost and found of @crunchycoookies

The Eldest and Youngest : @matmiraculous

Hypno pop au of @djmurphy

Rhytm Reversal @3lectr1city

Possessive Brozone @secretpostsposts

Feral Branch @msraptor

Perfect perfect perfect family harmony @cumulonimbus-brainrot-central

Brozone bounty AU @year2000electronics

Dereliction @jellfishjellfish

Brozone fell AU @mirrow-hamato

Rewinding Our Fate @thatbennybee

N2 AU @ryssbelle

Pirate AU @araremonaka

Runaway au @kkpaaw

Destinies Changed @dragonempress001

Out the Train Wreck @keebsification

Battle of the band @turtlecosmosxvii

Punk rock and Pop @spooky-pop

@1elouise au too

Swap AU @phibsies

Dance of secrets @thebeebirb

Country boy au @peppermintmellon

Branch bounty hunter and Brozone Back au @grim-ghosty

On the road au @tezzbot

Mermaid au @tamagoneko

Silver lining AU @sunberies

You’re just a boy (you are no man ) @brotherlessorphan

Is there any others au you want share with me ? Because I wish add more on my list 👀👀👀

[slowd1ving]

OUT ON A LIMB ･ﾟ DAN HENG NSFW

"Tender was the kiss when you held me captive In your sweet embrace, Lips begin to burn and my heart beats faster, Than the normal pace." The prestigious Astral Institute is no place for those who are too afraid of competition. Though the thralls of the Music Society may tear you asunder with their particularly fierce intra-club rivalries, those fears are brushed aside as the company of a certain bassist overshadows them. PREQUEL to roommate au rough designs for blade & dan heng here male guitarist reader warnings: amab m! reader, nsfw, porn with plot, blowjobs, alcohol consumption, overstimulation, friends with benefits but one's already got feelings lmao wc: 11.4k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Few universities on the globe offer the same prestige that the Astral Institute does. Talk to anyone on the streets with more awareness than a rock, and you’ll find that the common opinion is this: amidst its hallowed stone walls, a treasure trove of knowledge it hosts. Take a stroll beneath its grand marble friezes, and if the architecture isn’t enough to enthral you, perhaps the floating snippets of discourses and lectures echoing from the halls are. 

Naturally, aspiring scholars from across the planet find their way here—either on their own two legs, or from their vaunted perch on their parents’ coattails. Yet, contrary to popular belief, the sprawling grounds offer less competition to get in than one expects. 

Maybe that’s the reason the fierce streak of rivalry manifests in other ways. 

It’s not unusual—the sports teams for the Astral Institute dominate the field, and for the past n decades, the goal of every other college in the area is to get second place. Silver is most coveted, for the hapless scholars know they’ll never touch the gilded gold of the Institute. But even their aspirations for second cannot hope to reach the silver tongues of the more academic societies: such as the Debate Society, completely trouncing their opponents round after round with mercurial elegance.

Vying for heights grander than one can even imagine is encouraged—nay, it is the shackle placed about a scholar’s wrist. 

It is even worse, you’ve observed, when clubs that aren’t necessarily clubs germinate and flourish beneath the nourishment of the Institute. The most prevalent example would undoubtedly be the Music Society, but the Dance Society is another place where intra-club, cutthroat rivalry occurs. 

It’s an official society: has its own choral branch, orchestral branch, and even its own dedicated division of audio engineers and managers who aren’t necessarily involved with the music but the image cultivated for the club. 

Officially. On the spidery ink detailing the aged vellum, which resides outside the building the Society claims. 

Unofficially, it is also a stamp of authentication for the numerous bands that have sprung like weeds with the revival of pop culture. On school grounds and the buildings surrounding the university—which the Institute owns, whether it be the sensuous jazz bar downtown or the towering library next to the river—only groups with permits can perform at these locations. 

Though, with the spike in tensions between bands in recent years, it’s become a de facto requirement to blend in: anonymous, identified by only the mask that conceals your appearance during performances. Of course, with the roughly dozen or so factions, there's new speculation about a particular member’s identity every few days: only fueled by people practising in the music halls in the open, or those prone to gossip. 

For scholars with a meagre social life and even less free time, joining a club in the school roster is practically a given. It’s a distinguished mark to put on your school record—and if you want the full Institute experience, competition needs to be an accustomed flavour on your tongue. To those who successfully balance both studies and the rigorous requirements of the Institutional Societies, it is a distinction in of itself for any academic. 

Venture forth in spite of inexperience; only ignorance shall meet those who keep still. 

That’s the pretentious quote of today, faintly watermarked onto your post-it note as you carefully unpeeled it from the stack in the on-campus café just a few moments prior.

“How stupid.” You tap your pen on the list inked harshly on the paper: Engineering Society, Archery Club, Chess Society, Classics Society. Though they had initially piqued your interest as being mildly intriguing, it now seems more of a bother than anything: time-wasters dressed up in erudite clothing. 

“What is?” Kafka sits opposite you on the plush couch: steam wafting from her Earl Grey and against her maraschino lips as she observes you amusedly. 

You don’t even know how you became friends with her—the Literature buildings and the Physics laboratories are on opposite sides of the expansive campus, after all. Maybe it was your frequent trips to the bars last year, or maybe it was your exasperated comments plastered on the school gossip board—which she ran, believe it or not—but whatever it was, you’re now stuck with a fuschia shadow at your side. Though she’s as mysterious as they come, you don’t think she’s a bad person. Key word being think, not know; there’s just something shady about her, after all.  

“Ah,” she figures as you grimace. “The club deadline’s coming up, right?”

There’s an unspoken rule when it comes to joining clubs in a university as large and diverse as the Institute. Halfway through the second year is the cutoff point—it becomes exceedingly difficult to join any society past this point. You’ve still got four months, give-or-take, but the notion of not getting anywhere is unpleasant. Perhaps it’s the intrinsic striving this college has slowly ingrained in you over the past year—but part of you really can’t be bothered. 

“Unfortunately,” you sigh. Mindlessly, you swill bitter coffee down—savouring not the aromatic taste but the piercing heat entering your mouth. 

“And you can’t figure out which to join?” she prompts. You stare down at the list—neither the Chess nor the Classics society sound particularly inviting, the Engineering Society sounds dead, and the Archery Society seems too dangerous for the you who does calculations and paragraphs by hand almost daily. 

“Uh,” you reply intelligently. “No.”

“How about the Music Club?” 

You pause. And you swallow, temporarily debating the pros and cons of navigating a minefield such as the aforementioned club. 

And as the wise men of years yonder have sagely expressed to problems which require impulsive solutions: fuck it. 

“Sure.”

It’s too late for regrets. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Though, against your nervous expectations, you’re not immediately dragged into the thick of the competition and bloodlust. It’s surprisingly underwhelming—a brief ‘that’s it?’ before you’re assigned a small pass granting you access to the numerous practice rooms and a basic certification to perform in the less-prestigious venues. 

Hmm. You stare at your electric guitar gathering dust in the corner of your friend’s garage, and just like the void, it stares back. 

No doubt the literature student expected you to pick up some managerial duties, but maybe it’s fate that led you back to collect your stuff—and not the nagging after your friend bought a new motorbike and needs more space for his baby. 

“No hard feelings, man,” he says, and perhaps it’s the forgotten discovery that allows you to break into a smile that is neither terse nor annoyed. 

No hard feelings, indeed. 

It’s a week after you’ve received the metal placard, and an hour after attending a lecture for vector fields. Maybe it’s the curiosity peeking through, but something prompts you to ditch the stack of thick sheets of homework on your desk and pick up your guitar. 

Your guide through the long-winded halls pauses, blood-red hair swaying to a cascading halt as she points to her right. “This is your practice room for today. Make sure to read the rules before you begin, alright?” 

She’s friendly, introducing herself as Himeko with a dazzling smile. She’s one of the managers in the music club—veering into engineering territory. Compared to her, you’re just some guy with his guitar; you look away from her cheerful expression, gazing at the rules emblazoned in a red less vibrant than her locks. 

No intercourse. No hot food. No unauthorised persons. Scrawled beneath in messy purple pen is a blinding neon post-it: get the fuck out if you’re not using the room properly, you bums. 

“Wow,” you cough out in surprise, breaking your laconic pattern of responses. “I assume those have some crazy stories behind them.”

That elicits a small laugh from her, and finally it feels like you’ve done something right. 

“You have no idea,” she bemoans exasperatedly, ushering you into the room. It’s nothing too large—small enough to feel cosy rather than make you self-conscious, but big enough so sound carries well. “Right, if you need help setting up, just let the admin at the end of the corridor know.”

She leaves in a whirl of crimson and gilt gold, and you’re left standing bemusedly in the doorway. 

It’s not like you do need the help: hands deftly unravelling and plugging in cords and tuning the pegs with the ease only muscle memory evokes. How long has it been? With your mountainous studies, it’s little wonder that your hobbies were pushed to the bottom of the priority list. 

Your breathing turns rhythmic as you warm-up: chord after chord gently brought into existence with the fretboard and a copper penny as an impromptu pick. Though it’s been a few years, your hands fly across the strings.

A little bit of Bauhaus. Improvisation for The Cure. A brief snippet of Fields of Nephilim.

“I was cold as I mouthed the words, and crawled across the mirror,” you sing along with the backing track, embellishing the sombre baseline—chords ringing out clean in the daylight. It’s been so long that your mouth tastes sweet: letting the tones sweep you away in its ebb. The melody and harmonies blur together—as do your eyes. They flutter shut, focused only on replicating the feeling. “I wait, await the next breath.”

The notes fall apart and distort in the empty room: jarring and incomplete, yet harrowingly beautiful. 

“Your name like ice, into my heart.”

Your voice is hoarse: fingers raw and voice scraped tender from just these meagre hours of practice. 

“Everything is as cold as life—can no one save you?”

It’s not enough, but as the sound of song dies out and is replaced by the buzz of alternating current and low whir of air conditioning, you realise there’s someone in the doorway. 

Fingers drum on the lacquered body of the guitar as you look at him, and he looks back at you. He’s roughly your age: wavy black hair cut messy round his head; silvery chains decorating his neck and pale wrists; red liner accentuating sharp, lucid eyes that bear directly into you. 

“Can I help you?” you frown, scanning his face and realising you’ve never seen him around before: be it at a lecture, the library or any of the small stores dotted around campus. At least, you hope you’ve never seen him around—it’s awkward enough knowing he heard you, let alone that you might’ve come across him and forgotten his name. 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. His voice is pleasant: slightly melodious and clear even with his lowered volume. “The other rooms are all full—I was wondering if we could share?”

Wow, you blink. He’s so damn polite.

“I don’t mind,” you shrug it off, ignoring the smile that he gives you. While it may do you good to get along better and make friends with your fellow club mates, you don’t particularly care about that. 

“Wait,” you call out to him as he walks past you towards the back, scratching your neck hesitantly. “I don’t have headphones to plug into my guitar.”

Sure, you may be cold, but you aren’t that much of a prick to disrupt his own practice like that. 

But contrary to whatever you expected him to do, it’s certainly not him rummaging around in his bag and extending his hand with a pair of headphones. “I’ve got spares.”

“Uh, thanks,” you reply, fairly dumbfounded as you walk forward. After all, the most prepared student in the physics class you’re in only carries around a half-eaten pencil and a crumpled sheet of A4 paper on a good day. Yet as you reach out for them, he holds on to the pair. Inevitably, his fingertips brush yours, and you swear his hand trembles minutely. 

“Dan Heng,” he introduces himself. “Data analysis major.”

“Bit too late for introductions, is it not?” you comment, and it’s the second time someone’s laughed today with you. No, it’s not really a laugh—more like an exhale of air that suggests a laugh. It suits him: restrained as he is. 

“It’s never too late.” He doesn’t budge: fingers firmly clasped around the headphones, tips still brushing past your skin. 

“I’ll give you a clue instead,” you compromise, wondering what exactly keeps driving the conversation. “Analyse that qualitative data instead.”

“So original,” he remarks dryly, but he does free you from his warm hands. His eyes linger upon you as you gift him a strand of red to investigate: one of the sciences. It’s vague enough to be frustrating, but he could easily view the roster for the Music Club. Or not, actually—since the club is so volatile, it can’t be easy to peruse just who’s in it. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave dismissively, plugging the plain black headphones into the instrument with practised grace. “Think of it as repayment for letting you stay here.”

“Hah,” he grins freely this time—as bright and messy as a finger painting—and you stare at him for a few seconds. “You’re really stingy, you know that?”

The mask of politeness has slipped minutely; you see it in the crescent shape of his eyes and the casual cant of his head. Even the long white coat he’s wearing is falling from his shoulders—he simply shrugs it off and tosses it on the couch behind him, as though he’s shedding an outer layer of his very being. It’s strangely personal; for a brief second, you’re privy to a stranger’s deeper feelings beyond meaningless platitudes. 

“Better than outright kicking you out,” you mutter, averting your eyes from his now-calm face. “How many doors did you knock on before you stumbled on my generous being?”

“Generous—” he coughs abruptly, and your head whips back up from your guitar. “—apologies, that was purely reflexive.”

You sit on the sofa by the window, letting the sunlight dapple over you as you watch him clear his throat. There’s no use sitting awkwardly when the tension has pretty much dissipated; you lean back until you’re comfortable, elbows resting neatly on top of the body. 

“So? Who slammed the door on you?” You adjust the jack in the insert until the static fades completely, gazing at him all the while. 

“I was hoping you’d imagine yours was the first door I knocked on,” he sighs. “How embarrassing.”

“I’m not an idiot.” You tap your penny against the lacquered wood of the guitar. Tap, tap. “This room’s on the very end of the corridor.”

A heartbeat passes. 

Tap, tap. 

“So how many people rejected you?” you snicker. Third time’s the charm. 

“Don’t phrase it like that,” he mutters. His eyes flick up to yours, and you stare at him with raised brows, evidently nonplussed. “...Twelve. Three rooms are out of commission currently.”

“Pff— wow,” you stifle the sound against the back of your palm, but you can’t hide the grin in your words. “Your charm sucks, man.”

He sighs in exasperation. “Then what does it say about you if you’re so easily swayed?”

Did he just call me easy?—you gape, then quickly deduce he’s pretty funny when he wants to be: all dry humour and quick wit. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you wave your hand in a gesture of conciliation. “I’m not surprised that they all rejected you, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, now?” 

“I don’t mean it like that.” You rub the penny—the familiar metallic scent coats your hands now, and you can almost taste it on your tongue. “I mean the students here are mostly competitive pricks.”

“Unlike you?” he deadpans, and you feel somewhat offended at the sarcastic undertones he’s emitting. So rude. 

“Uh, duh,” you grin, flipping the coin with a calloused thumb. “I let a stray cat like you in, didn’t I?”

“And here I was, about to compliment your playing,” he sighs out instead of acknowledging your words. “Guess you won’t want to hear it from a stray cat like me, huh?”

Woah, you blink, almost impressed at how quickly he’s mastered passive-aggressiveness. 

“No, I would,” you retort shamelessly. “I love cats, strays included.”

“Think about it,” you continue, missing how startled he looks—the tiny twitch of his brows as he looks on incredulously, the minute waver in his hands as he raises his finger hesitantly. “If a cat came up to you, started talking, that would be cool as shit, right?”

“I’d think I was on psychedelics,” he proclaims flatly. “And possibly insane.”

“Way to ruin a scenario.” You lean back your head until it hits the back of the couch: warm sunlight gently washes over your face and closed eyes, all red through your blood vessels in the delicate lids. “We’ve established I would absolutely not mind talk from a stray cat, so give me my compliment.”

“You always want the last word, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You’re a bit too quick with your reply. 

He sighs. Deeply this time. 

“Fine. I don’t think your rougher style of playing will ever get boring,” he considers thoughtfully, and you can feel his eyes rake over you and your guitar. Assessing—just some guy with his instrument, lazily basking in the sun. 

“And… your style is very emotive,” he adds, and there’s something about that emphasis that’s ever-so-slightly different. 

“Aeons—you’re only saying that because you heard me singing, right?” You peek one eye open in a glare. 

“I liked it.”

“Be serious,” you groan.

“I am,” he shrugs. “I’ve never heard someone sing ‘Cold’ so enthusiastically. There’s real hope for The Cure fans.”

“Damn, you’re definitely making fun of me,” you quiver in mild irritation. 

“You figure that out for yourself then.” And you’re left just like that—staring at him dumbly while he unlocks the tall cupboard in the back. This bastard… 

From its mahogany depths, he pulls out a hard black guitar case—and silently you wonder at the coincidence. It zips open with a strangled buzz: careful teeth sawing against careful teeth under his nimble fingers. You watch, entranced, as he pulls the guitar out by the neck.

It’s not six-stringed like you expected. Rather, the black fretboard and polished azure body boasts only four strings. He’s a bassist, you realise with a start; the notion enthrals you, just a little. 

“That’s yours, right?” You point, double-checking not just the way he took it from the cupboard, but to make sure you aren’t hallucinating it. 

“And to whom else could it belong?” he humours you. 

“Oh wow.” You sit up, setting the headphones around your neck while he sets up. “It must’ve been fate leading you here.”

“I would’ve come here to collect my guitar regardless of fate,” he answers.

“So fate assigned me this room in particular,” you shoot back, undeterred. 

“Coincidence.”

“Explain why no one else wanted you in their practice rooms then.” It’s a pointless back-and-forth, which is precisely what entertains you. 

“As you said—” and here he looks up, eyes catching yours in such a placid stare with lips poised in a nigh-triumphant grin that you can’t look away. “—they’re all competitive pricks.”

Seamless. You can’t even argue back; he’s agreed with you and gone against your words in the same breath. 

“Shame,” you sigh, twirling with the length of headphone cable streaming out from your guitar. “Here I was, about to use it as an excuse to get you to play with me.”

“You needed an excuse?” he comments. You look on as he fiddles with the amp: too preoccupied with the technical aspects of setting up to notice your stare honed onto the back of his curls. Or maybe he does notice—he’s observant, after all. 

“Who knows? Maybe you’d demand my name in return.” You pluck the D string lazily—it faintly echoes against your neck through the headphones. Jokes aside, there’s something itching against your flesh that urges you to take this opportunity for practice. 

“Great idea,” he replies laconically. Just like that, he’s standing with his own headphones still in his grasp—as clear as scales with just another push to tip the balance in your favour. “You’re quite stingy, after all.”

“Act broke to stay rich.” You pluck another string, then another. With the presence of your hand covering the fretboard, there’s only a jarring quality to each note. 

“So—” you look up this time, only to find he’s already staring your way. Got him. “—wanna play with me?”

“Depends. Can you keep up?”

“I mean, based on your spying, what do you think?” 

One stingy, the other arrogant. It’s a perfect joke—a meticulous comedy Kafka would no doubt write in a moment of drunkenness. 

Your hand wavers on the headphone jack, as though awaiting his answer. A stingy, hesitant fool.

Thump. That’s what you hear when he tosses his own headphones onto where his long coat rests on the couch. You received your answer after all. 

It’s safe to say that your first encounter with Dan Heng is neither bad nor good, just a mixture of both that titrates itself into mundane neutrality. 

His notes are mellowed against yours—smooth, buttery—and it’s like you read his mind and he yours. But it’s futile to ponder on the concept more; after all, it’s not like you’ll encounter him any more often.

✦ . 　⁺ 

You’re right, as you oft are. 

Truly, your studies of physics have left you with a talent for predicting trajectories—including human ones. You don’t see the bassist in the following days; the practice room you’re beginning to get rather fond of is blissfully devoid of chatter and teasing remarks strewn back and forth. 

It’s… quiet. 

Rather, the only conversations you have are rushed ones with Kafka throughout the week when you spot her on campus—she updates you on whatever gossip she’s heard recently, and the scandals she’s personally witnessed. 

Or, more accurately, Kafka isn’t the only one you talk to. Small tidbits of chatter between you and Himeko have also become tentative routine. It started off as polite exchanges, but ever-so-slowly, the two of you occasionally peruse different topics. 

(“Have you thought of joining one of the bands in the Music Society?”)

The question she left you with just yesterday plagues your mind as you wait in line in one of the tiny, cosy cafés dotted around campus. There’s the strong aroma of roasted beans, but you can’t focus on them—nor the quaint atmosphere, nor the menu items. 

No, you haven’t. Of all things, you’re not planning on entangling yourself with creating a persona to present to the rest of the student body—a mask slipping onto your features while you showcase your music to the world. 

But as you turn around with a steaming coffee in your takeaway cup, there Himeko is: sanguine dripping off her shoulders in glossy waves, a crimson smile playing on her lips, a jaunty flair to her movements as she waves you over to her tiny table in the corner. She’s better suited for the window seats—shining like the sun itself. It almost makes you squint as you look over. 

“Have you given it any more thought?” 

“Aha,” you stare at the scalding cup in your hands nervously. There’s something about seeing someone with their life perfectly put together that makes you instinctively on edge. “Honestly, I’m not too keen on the idea.”

“Hmm,” Himeko rests her chin on a manicured hand, drumming on the varnished oaken table with her other one. Tap–tap. “Is it the competition? Per my understanding, you’re a rather reserved scholar, aren’t you?”

She’s sharp, you acknowledge. 

“I just find it rather pointless,” you shake your head in half-agreement. “I may be reserved, but I can handle the pressure.”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t have picked physics for my studies,” you comment as an afterthought. “Call me pessimistic, but I can’t find much merit in anonymous rivalries that only benefit the ego.”

“You were assigned the Nihility path at orientation, weren’t you?” Himeko remarks—a reference to the quiz each first-year takes to determine a ‘house’. You thought it was more arbitrary than anything; with a school as intra-competitive as the Institute, it’s only natural that it has its own factions to compete with each other even further. But clearly, there are some who value the path system as measures of personalities. 

You hadn’t given that much thought either. 

“I think so.” You play with the empty sugar packet, twisting it in your fingers. “Dostoyevsky isn’t my favourite author, before you ask.”

She exhales wryly, and just like that, the small tension in your shoulders dissipates somewhat. 

“Well, it’s not entirely ego-boosting. Of course, due to rumours and information of that ilk, the rivalries are what’s the main focus for those who aren’t in the Society.” Red stains her own cup as she takes a sip of her espresso. “It’s a good opportunity for scholarships, prizes, and extra credit. The rivalry’s a natural consequence, of course, but there’s only one or two groups with bad blood like that between them.”

“You’d need to be a bit more careful to keep your identity as a band member a secret,” she adds. “But since a portion of the club are part of bands themselves, they mind their own business out of a mutual ‘stay out of each other's' way’ policy.”

You think back to Dan Heng’s rejections from the practice halls, and suddenly it makes a lot more sense. 

“But you’ll know who’s in your band, right?” 

“That’s a given,” she nods, and you’re sweating slightly from the enthusiasm that shines bright in her eyes. “Group managers will be eager to snatch up a talented newbie like you, so I’ll extend my hand first.”

Your tongue is leaden in your mouth as you swallow. 

And just like that, you begrudgingly join the Trailblazers. 

✦ . 　⁺

“What the fuck?” you point at the man before you incredulously, though retrospectively, you should’ve expected this. 

Himeko had driven you to the more private practice rooms in the city: a space subsidised by the Institute for each band. Your expectations had been low, but the glossy building led you to rethink your entire philosophy (each practice room was twice the size of your dorm) and wholeheartedly accept your new reality. 

It was going too smoothly, perhaps. March 7th was the first proper band member you’d met—an enthusiastic Environmental Studies student in charge of the synthesiser. Her affable personality wholly reminded you of bubblegum. 

Next through the door were Caelus and Stelle—twins which you had met before. Kafka had taken them under her wing a while back, and they’d tottered after her (or at least, that’s how you remembered it) before they grew accustomed to the Institute on their own. Theatre and psychology majors respectively, if you recall correctly. Caelus on the drums, Stelle on vocals; two roles that fit them surprisingly well. 

“Ah, Welt won’t be joining us today,” Himeko informs you as you’re idly tuning the pegs for your guitar. You recognise the name of your blunt upperclassman; an animation major who looks like he’s on the verge of dying every time you see him. Condolences, you sympathise for the man who’s finally kicked his personal bucket. “But he’s good with the harp and cello.”

“So you guys are missing a guitarist?” you interject. As far as you knew, there was a bassist left on the roster. There’s also the ‘mascot’, Pom-Pom: Himeko’s small rabbit that you’ve unfortunately not had the pleasure of meeting but you have seen from March 7th’s phone as she gushes over the tiny, fluffy thing. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Stelle sighs. “Our old one quit a while back.” 

No—she assures you, the reason was perfectly normal and not any unsavoury reasons that would’ve definitely given you cold feet. 

“He’s so late,” March 7th grumbles, but you don’t have time to ask just who exactly the mysterious bassist is—because speak of the devil, the wooden door swings open and suddenly you’re staring at a man whom you thought you wouldn’t see much of. 

Which brings you to your current predicament: spilling an expletive from your lips while pointing at a man just as dumbfounded as you. 

“Huh?” he stares back. “Himeko, what did you do?”

“You mentioned him, so I checked out his talent for myself,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “Even if you hadn’t said he was good, I would’ve seen it for myself anyway.”

He gapes for a moment longer, but your own astonished expression is a lot more difficult to stave off. 

“Oh, oh—he was talking about you, you know,” March 7th bounds up to you with her hands clasped behind her back in a picture of innocence. 

“What’d he say?” All too eager to play along, you lean so she can whisper it without the aforementioned man overhearing. She responds in kind, already cupping a hand around her mouth, but—

“March.” You’re pulled away by a glaring Dan Heng: hand firmly grasped around your wrist. Just as quickly, he lets go with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry, she’ll probably embellish what I actually said,” he fumbles. 

He’s warm, you notice. And flustered, you note, this time with far greater amusement. 

“He said the two of you had great chemistry,” Stelle calls, and her tone of voice is so steady that you half-believe her. 

“Stelle, I did not—”

“—totally did—”

“—part of ‘we played well together’ could you have possibly misheard like that? I said four words—”

They’re bickering, March 7th and Caelus jumping in on their argument—and suddenly there’s a messy, bright burst of feeling tangling in your chest. 

They’re always like that, pay them no mind—Himeko tells you, but you don’t mind. Despite your initial reluctance, there’s something that draws you to this mismatched group. 

And perhaps your second encounter with Dan Heng isn’t the greatest either, but it certainly isn’t terrible. 

✦ . 　⁺

Though it doesn’t seem like it at first, Stelle’s offhand comment—chemistry—seems to be more prophetic than teasing. From a purely objective standpoint, his buttery-smooth playing wraps into your rougher style seamlessly: a steady, unwavering foundation. 

It’s never boring; you’re watching as his hands practically fly against the fretboard as he plays a post-punk piece, spellbound even as you churn out gritty chord after chord. There’s a small smile on your lips as you gaze at his concentrated face—which breaks just as the last rattles of the song die out. 

The two of you are back in the practice room like all those weeks ago. It was quickly made clear to you that other than the weekly meetups, individual practice is more efficient since there’s no other way to meet sooner without taking study time away. It’s either good luck—or fate, as you’d like to put it otherwise—that Dan Heng’s schedule is pretty similar to yours, since now you’ve essentially got a free partner to practise with in the afternoons. 

“What?” His head snaps up as a response to the scorching sensation of your eyes drilling holes in his face. 

“I think you’re my favourite bassist I know,” you answer seriously. In all honesty, he’s the only bassist you know—but you’re not about to say his chord progressions give you goosebumps. It’s become a running bit—one that you feel a strong obligation to commit to—which consists of offhand remarks that seem a bit too much like compliments. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only bassist you know,” he deadpans. “So that compliment doesn’t count.”

How’d he know that?—you blink in surprise. Drat. “I think you’re a mind reader.”

“That’s just fact.”

He leans back on the wall at the back; maybe it’s the gentle sunlight washing over his features, or maybe it’s the low hanging light fixtures in the practice room, but his eyes sparkle cerulean at this very moment. A lazy smile paints his face, and your brows raise in mild surprise. 

“Um,” you wrack your brains. “Your eyes are pretty.”

He coughs loudly—taken off-guard at how casually you admit it. Even now, you’re still tapping that damned penny against your keyboard as you keep looking at him: nonplussed, as though you’re simply saying the grass is green and two plus two equals four. No other intonation other than neutrality. Just like any other compliment you’ve given him nonchalantly.

His stomach tightens. Just a little. 

✦ . 　⁺

It becomes habitual: practising every other day turns into hanging out. From walking to that shiny room together (both of your dorms are surprisingly close together, after all), to greeting him whenever you see him pass by to his lecture hall, it feels like you’ve gotten closer to the not-so-stoic man. 

Twenty-one days it takes to form a habit. 

You’ve gotten far too used to his company: neither March nor the twins live nearby, Welt looks like he’s fighting off death each time you see his haggard face, and Himeko’s a lot busier than you initially thought. Past those three weeks, and it seems like you’re slowly extending and accepting tendrils of friendship from the bassist. 

Maybe that’s why you’re currently in this predicament.

Even with your new-found (and old-found) hobby, there’s an obvious need to keep studying—that physics degree won’t award itself, after all. In comes the expansive library on-campus: a marvel of classic academia and modern architecture that scholars never get used to. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” It’s just you and Dan Heng in this corner. You—sitting down at a four-by-four walnut hued table, stacks upon stacks of atomic structure reading piled neatly on your right. Him—standing before you with a meagre, slim laptop in his hands that cannot possibly contest with the fat stacks of paper by you. 

“Absolutely,” you lie through your teeth. “The whole table is reserved for my company.” 

That’s a prime example of falsehood. 

Dan Heng, the smartie-pants he is, sees through the fib quite easily. 

“You and what friends?” His brow piques. 

You make an obvious show of looking around him. If the space beholden to him was any emptier, there’d be a tumbleweed merrily sweeping past him. 

“And where’s your company?” 

He scowls. 

“Know the enemy and know yourself.” You place a palm on your chest sagely. “It appears you do not know yourself, nor your enemy.”

“There’s someone willing to spend time with you?” He sits down anyway, but it’s not like you were going to reject him in the first place. 

“Yes.” You turn back to your book mysteriously. Ignoring the very obvious contender who’s currently sat himself opposite you, willingly, there’s also a text on your phone refuting his words. 

< Living Poets Society <3 > 11:32 > I’ll be there in fifteen. Save me a place, won’t you?

There’s a smile playing on your lips while you tap out an ‘okay, see you soon’, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Dan Heng as he glances up at your sudden movement. He’s still looking over as you place your phone down and crack open the textbook once more: eyes so blatantly heavy you can’t help but speak while you skim over the information. 

“Need something?”

“I still haven’t gotten your number—” and this time he pointedly adds your name to the end of his statement, courtesy of a slip-up from March 7th a few weeks back. 

“Oh, yeah,” you turn your page, unlocking the phone without looking and passing him the device. “Just add yourself.”

He notes the anonymous sender in the back of his mind, the heart directly after, and the message itself. His teeth grit together as he adds himself to the list of contacts: why March and the twins are there before him, he doesn’t know. He’s known you longer and better, damn it. 

His thumb swipes a quick message to himself so he can save your number too—a simple ‘hi’ that makes his mouth dry, even with how lacklustre it is. 

Though, his mouth is dry due to deliberation over whether to put a heart next to your name, which he now knows thanks to March 7th. Just as quickly, he strikes the thought from his mind—it doesn’t matter. 

Why the hell would it matter in the first place?

He glances back up at you—you’re engrossed as ever in the text, which is all well and good because his hands wobble a bit as he slides your phone back. You still barely notice: a low ‘thanks’ slipping from your lips as you turn the page. 

Dan Heng appears to be working away silently from where you’re sitting, but what you can’t see is how he’s rereading the same few lines of data with furrowed brows. 

What you can’t see when Kafka arrives and kisses your cheek in greeting is how his hands clench around his pencil—but she does, purposefully lingering just a second longer to leave maraschino smeared on your face. 

What you can’t see when you make no moves to wipe the gloss off is the stony look on the bassist’s face—as well as the questions he has for himself. Why the hell is he so annoyed anyway? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t, but the way you’re unbothered by it increases his bothered levels as though it were inversely proportional. 

He doesn’t know her—though he thinks he’s seen her with Caelus and Stelle before—but he’s never been so irritated by a stranger before. 

She’s sitting next to you, a model scholar: typing away on her laptop with a concentrated look on her face. But she’s leaning into you, head canting in your direction at such a sluggish speed that had he not been glaring at her, he wouldn’t have noticed it. 

You’re none the wiser. Absent-mindedly, she’s tapping on your palm: kneading away at the flesh and you let her, too preoccupied with inking notes into the memo pad before you to really care what she’s doing. She’s always been slightly touchy with her friends—lingering hugs, grasping your hands and twining her fingers with yours, dotting her spiced perfume right against your wrists—so this isn’t particularly out of the blue.  

With a loud clatter, Dan Heng’s pen falls to the floor—you’re too busy looking his way to notice the coy smile brimming from her pout. 

Gosh—she coos internally, what an oblivious little student you are. This is what collecting organic material is all about; even if he doesn’t realise it himself, he’s practically brimming with jealousy. 

“Wanna get out of here?” she whispers after a half-hour of noting his reactions to various visual stimuli: outright holding your hand, resting her magenta head on your shoulder, letting you take a sip of her sweet coffee. It’s low enough to appear as though she’s making an effort to stay quiet, but she knows he can hear it; the now-familiar creak of the plastic biro graces her ears. 

“Sure,” you reply absently. Perfect. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Dan Heng.”

And as she saunters out of the library with you in tow, she makes sure to wrap her long coat around your shoulders. 

It’s rather cold outside, after all. 

Well, certainly outside. For poor Dan Heng, he’s likely stewing over in his irritation. 

✦ . 　⁺

If it weren’t often before, it is now—seeing Dan Heng has become a daily routine. Whether it be at the library or at the music practice halls, the familiar ping on your phone alerts you diurnally that he’s located somewhere in the vicinity. 

To be more accurate, it’s nocturnally now. He’s at your dorm door tonight—

< Dan Heng > 23:48 > Snack run?

—a motorcycle helmet held out to you in his steady hands. This development only came to life a few days ago; you had opened his mini-fridge to find no actual food, and thus came his offer to go on a late-night snack run. 

With his jacket wrapped snugly around your shoulders, and your hands tightly gripping the valley of his waist, his abdomen trembles somewhat. But not enough for you to notice, and certainly not enough to stop him from poking fun at you:

“What, you planning to fall off? Hold on properly.”

He shivers as your arms sling round his middle: fingers splayed then grasping his shirt, right at his shaking diaphragm. He can feel your chest press up right against his back—muscle shifting against muscle as you get comfortable against his quaking torso. 

It must just be the frigid wind nipping at his body. 

He doesn’t quite know why he’s offered these rides to you when he’s never done this with anyone else, but the smile you give him as you pick out food for the two of you to share is somewhat endearing. Dan Heng sighs in annoyance as you forget to get him a drink—yet he supposes he’ll just steal some of yours in return. 

“You got a lecture tomorrow too?” Sitting outside on a bench—cherry juice on your breath—is pleasantly eye-opening. With the city just waking up, it’s a profound experience to witness. 

“Yeah,” he hisses as you poke his cheek with your gelid fingers when he spaces out. 

“And you’ll wake up for it?” you remark sceptically, retracting your hand. He’s warm, you note—a mild flush on his cheeks from the boreal night. 

“‘Course.” His tone is somewhat insincere, especially right after he takes a swig of your drink. There’s a red trickle of the sticky juice that lingers on his mouth, and your eyes can’t help but be drawn to the motion of the liquid. 

“Okay…” It’s clear you don’t believe him. 

“What, you wanna skip?” Dan Heng doesn’t quite know what possesses him to ask. Maybe it’s the specific look in your eyes that makes him want you to acknowledge him—something childish and petulant, sure, but isn’t it natural to feel like this with your friend?

You weigh your options: Intro to Mechanics, or the slightly pleading look in his eyes?

“Um—” you swill down another gulp of the tart juice—there’s a prickle of redness on his cheeks as he realises he also took his sips from that particular spot. Sanguine coats your lips, and now it’s his turn to stare as your throat bobs and juice trickles from your warm mouth. “—sure.”

And perhaps watching B-rated horror movies isn’t the best way to keep grades up, but there’s something addictive about keeping his leg pressed against yours on his cramped couch—something he can’t quite put his finger on. 

When you tell Kafka about those forty-eight hours, she lets out a cackle that sounds like it’s been marinated for that long too—and she won’t tell you why. 

✦ . 　⁺

With the rigorous academia of college comes a universal, practically hallowed tradition that resides on the other side of its gleaming coin. Parties. Gatherings, events, soirées—whatever elegant name one wants to disguise it with, all meld into a party with enough booze and enough people. 

One lonesome Friday, there’s a ping that graces your phone—followed swiftly by another, then a final one that finally catches your attention. 

< Music Society: ANNOUNCEMENTS (do not reply) > 10:00 > For those in the Society, an opportunity to socialise and mingle with fellow club-goers is here for next SATURDAY. Hosted in the illustrious Avis Hall by the POP MUSIC division…. [108 members reacted to this message]

< Kafkalicious <3 > 10:05 > I’m picking you up.  10:06 > There’s no way you actually have good clothes to wear for this. 

Sheepishly, you type out an affirmative. The club can brand this however they want, but the specific division they’re referring to is often labelled the unhinged party of the year—sneaking in dozens of students who aren’t necessarily in the Music Club, serving enough liquor to comfortably drown in—yet still managing to keep it under wraps. Unfortunately, this also means the clothing you have in your dresser—casual ensembles and a few ones suitable for performing as a member of a band in the darkwave genre—won’t cut it. 

Which is precisely why you’re feeling the biting cold particularly clearly as soon as the next Saturday rolls around—Kafka’s lended jacket does little to warm you up when the mesh, spider webbing top she selected lets through all the frigid air. It ghosts white against your skin, while the pallored cargoes she picked out are likewise spectral and blend in against the snow dotted around campus. Even the jewellery she painstakingly selected is almost intransient: shifting like silvery mercury against skin with their delicate links and chains. To put it simply, the only skin that isn’t somewhat on display is the skin of your legs—the trousers are thankfully opaque. 

As you enter the building, the strong odour of spirits and alcohol hits you: just like any other college, its parties aren’t any more illustrious than the next. 

There’s the press of bodies against bodies in the small hall; dim lights make it hard to spot anyone clearly, let alone your friends. If it weren’t for the stumbling wake of drunken dancers in your path, it might’ve been easier to navigate—but this building is crowded, and you probably would’ve been swallowed in the horde already were it not for the sight of the stairs in the corner. 

With a solo cup unceremoniously taken, you inch past the thumping decibels of music that cannot be classified as pop—ironically, almost every genre save the division’s namesake plays before it—and the amorphous mess of people milling about on the ground floor. 

A text from March 7th saves you the trouble of meticulously searching the rooms to find your friends. 

< National Cereal Day <3 > 21:16 > first floor, room at the end of the corridor!! We’re playing seven minutes hurry up!!

It’s why you find yourself squished between Kafka and Himeko in the dim room; if you squint, you can make out Dan Heng, Caelus, March 7th and some other oddballs like Ruan Mei and a few you can’t place the name of. 

There’s no actual closet in the room, which brings in question the integrity of this game. A confused glance at Kafka later, and you get your answer—the janitor closet next door will suffice, won’t it? 

“You look simply divine,” she compliments directly into your ear, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the glare she feels on her belongs to. 

“I bet my stylist would love hearing that,” you shoot back, and she twirls her hair coquettishly in response. She’s right—the outfit she picked out for you feels like you’re about to step into an angelic rave, minus the wings. 

Is it luck that spins your name first?

You swill down the bitter, slightly lukewarm alcohol down—setting the red plastic down as you select a piece of paper out of the hat. Kafka whistles as you take your time unfolding it; she’s got a knack for noticing things that people hide in the shadows, and currently she’s noticing how your little friend’s hands clench tight around his trousers in the dark. It almost makes her feel bad—almost. 

“Uh—” your brows raise in mild surprise. Dan Heng’s breath hitches, and now even March notices—the look she sends him is one half-disbelieving, half it just dawned on her. There’s approximately a nine-percent chance of being drawn—

“Dan Heng,” you read carefully. What a joke—to have someone you’re close to rather than not to accompany you to the space sequestered away in the hallway. When you look up at him, there’s a strange expression settled on his face: slightly agape, as though he’s uncomfortable with the thought of being in a closet with you. 

He stands abruptly, and you flounder after him: too busy ignoring the wolf whistles to notice the faint rosy hue that radiates from his ears. 

Maybe you would’ve asked him if he was okay with this, but the way he opens the janitor closet door and steps in leaves you at a loss for words instead. As it stands, you simply follow him in—the heavy thud that resounds from outside confirms that there’s no backing out. 

It’s smaller than you expected; only a foot or so separates the two of you, and the air is thick with the lingering odour of lemon-scented cleaning chemicals. You’re thankful for the faint tendrils of light that pierce through the small holes in the door—since at least now you can observe the look on his face as he glances at the floor, then the shelves. Anywhere but your face. 

“You… alright there?” you murmur. There’s a certain incandescence to his features as he looks back up, evidently startled by your question. If you focus on the heavy bass that you can somehow faintly hear from downstairs, the effect is almost dizzying. 

“Um,” he begins hesitantly—that in of itself strikes you as unusual. “I’ve never kissed anyone, so don’t expect too much—”

“Dan Heng,” you interrupt, and suppress a laugh as his head snaps up awkwardly. “This game doesn’t actually force people to kiss.”

“Oh,” he starts, and this time you don’t miss the hazy red painting his cheeks. “I… knew that.”

You snicker—he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “Yeah. We can pretty much just stand here until seven minutes are up. Talk. Gossip. Hang out in this tiny space.”

It’s easier said than done, though. You can smell his cologne, the scent of the liquor he drank earlier tainting his breath; you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he shifts in place. This isn’t comfortable, but you don’t mind staying like this for those few minutes. 

“But,” and your eyebrows pique at that word. “I’d like the full game experience.”

Wow. That’s new, but then again, he’s always saying things you don’t expect. You mull over a reply quickly—he’s practically trembling after all, breathing shallow and face radiating the same rosy shade as his cheeks now. 

“Oh? Would you have asked this of whoever you ended up with?” It’s out of curiosity that you ask, but you’re hoping his answer will be a no. 

“No,” he breathes. “I’d rather have my friend be my first kiss.”

“So we’re doing this as friends?” you mutter. Your hand slips under his chin, and you can feel his breathing waver. You’re no stranger to friends with benefits-type situations, which is precisely why you miss the adoring look his eyes briefly hold—flushed, hazed, yours. 

“Exac—exactly,” he practically whines as you grip his face tighter. He’s scorching to the touch, much more than usual. “Don’t get the wrong idea—”

His hands loop around your neck as you lean down to match his height. Your eyes follow his throat bobbing when he swallows nervously. 

“Dan Heng.” He clams up immediately as you tilt his head upwards. “Shut up.”

“Mmph—” Whatever he’s about to reply with is cut off by your lips pressing against his suddenly—his movements come to a halt as his arms coil tighter around your neck. Almost reflexively, like some sort of snake. 

He tastes like venom too—the impression of liquor and a hint of whiskey clings avariciously to his lips. If you weren’t so pressed for time, you would’ve spent longer tasting his flesh. But judging by the desperate curl of his hands tangling in the chains around your neck, it appears he feels hounded by the sand grains in the hourglass as well. 

Your thumb and forefinger press into the sides of his face. Pliantly, obediently, his lips open with a gasp; you waste none of those precious sand grains in how you languorously probe into the warmth of his mouth. Just as you taste the profound tang of alcohol and salt on his tongue, so does he taste the familiar palette of sweets on your own. Sweets that you’ve shared with him on all those snack runs. 

The very thought of it makes him press urgently into you. He’s shivering as he melds the seams between your lips and his more: chest rising and falling heavily as he laces you tight against him. But that’s a mistake—your much-too-thin shirt lays bare all the divots and dips of your flesh against his, and his mind blanks out shamelessly as he whines low into your mouth. 

He flinches as he feels himself sink down onto your thigh—flinches as he hears himself. 

“You good?” you murmur as you pull back. Your thumb traces small circles in his side, and perhaps that’s his last straw; he’s tugging you back onto his mouth with a small groan. 

So, so good, his thoughts jumble out in a haze, and it’s not until you pause that he realises that he did, in fact, say that aloud. 

But it’s not like he cares: not when your scalding mouth targets his jaw. Rough fingers grasp at his hair and crane his neck backwards, and it takes everything within him to muffle the sounds he’s making. 

Fuck, fuck. 

Almost unconsciously, he’s grinding on your leg—blood rushing straight to his head with how numb his mind feels. Aeons above. As you trail your mouth beneath his collar, he can feel his abdomen tighten impossibly. 

“Ah—” he lets out as you nip at his collarbone, and those eyes go wide as saucers as he stutters to a halt against you. He’s practically dripping into his boxers: hips flush against your leg, so utterly done for as you shoot him a grin. 

“I hope that was satisfactory,” you deliberately speak with a polite cadence, as if he wasn’t just writhing against you. As if— as if you weren’t just drawing him to the brink of pleasure. “Did you enjoy the game?”

Perhaps he should be grateful when the scraping sound appears once more and light—though not much brighter—floods into the small space. Perhaps he should be thankful, but instead he buries his red face in his hands and desperately composes himself—bile entering his mouth at the interruption. 

He leaves early that night. 

✦ . 　⁺

A friend, as he buries his face in his pillow and ignores the painful tent in his pants. The air conditioning turned on full blast with the winter breeze streaming through the open window does nothing to cool him down—skin burning, teeth worrying away at his lips. 

A friend, as he recalls the skilled movements of your hands against both the fretboard and his skin—drawing out small noises that he can’t help but blush at. 

A friend,  as his own hands attempt to recreate the feeling of your body on his—practically towering over him in that small space. If he closes his eyes, he can picture it vividly: tasting even the liquor that lingered in your mouth just an hour or so prior, feeling the firm press of your arms as you caged him against those shelves. 

Did you… want to go further?

As a friend, surely it would be rude to not acquiesce, right?

“Dan Heng?” That’s your voice, right? He’s not… imagining things now, is he?

With a start, he realises he’s staring at his phone—black reflection coming to life with his sudden movement, revealing that he did in fact call you. 

“Yes,” he practically whines as he soaks in the rougher lilt of your voice; if he zones out, he can almost feel your breath ghosting across his neck and stirring the dark curls by his ear. 

“Did you need something?” Stoic image gone, he’s entranced by the cooler tone of voice—fuck, fuck. There’s a dark crimson flush on his face, and a sheen on his forehead as he smiles against the receiver. 

“Wanna come over?” Aeons he’s desperate—vocal cords twisting into something breathier, heavy with implication. 

“Oh—” and he can practically hear the purring grin stretching out your face—taunting him that he can’t see it at the minute. “—I get it now.”

“You— you do?” He feels himself twitch against his mattress, ever so slightly shifting until he’s rocking gently while you speak. 

“You want more from me, don’t you?” There’s a mocking tone laced under your words; common to when you make fun of him, but currently, it only serves to make him harder. 

“Yes,” he groans, half-muffled through his pillow. 

He’s so, so shameless. 

“You alone?”

Luck smiles upon him tonight. He’s never been particularly fortunate—serendipity for him is painfully average. The most he expects from his middling chance is for his boot to occasionally knock against a discarded penny: burnished copper never picked up by his clean hands regardless. 

But tonight? He’s lucky. 

“Yeah,” he slurs into the soft fabric. “Roommate’s gone home for the weekend—I’m all alone for you.”

No feelings involved, he thinks—too oblivious to notice the dopey grin on his face as he hears your next words: 

“Give me ten minutes.”

And when you disconnect with a sharp click, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the hazed look dilating his pupils is akin to a rather adoring one. 

✦ . 　⁺

Fuck—he should’ve never suggested this, he should’ve never come to that stupid party in the first place. 

It’s only one predicament after another; squirming on the edge of the bed was not what he had in mind when he practically begged you to come over. But now he’s in this mess because of only himself: rolling his fucking eyes back while you spread his pliant thighs even further with your shoulders. 

His teary gaze meets yours from where you’re kneeling before him, staring right at his face as you trail your mouth across his weeping cock. It’s torturous—and worst of all, he can’t feel himself softening anytime soon. Not even with the pearled globs of white that spilled just from grinding into your leg, and definitely not with his sore chest as you soothed it with your balmy mouth: bruising teeth marks upon bruising teeth marks left to bloom mauve come tomorrow. 

“Hurry—ah,” he whines as you suckle on the angry, flushed head; cold saliva and precum drip down the length, and he shivers at the sticky shick-shick that resounds in his small dorm as a result of your pistoning hand. 

But contrary to his plea, your pace slows until it’s deliciously agonising. He wants to buck his needy hips into your face—yet your hand firmly maroons him on the spot by his trembling waist. 

Aeons, his flesh feels scalding beneath his taut skin—the bloodiest of reds sprawls across his damp cheeks, to his shoulders, to even his very chest. 

Even like this—with just your warm, slick mouth barely grazing him—he can feel the now-familiar tightness in his abdomen building up within. But you don’t let him adjust to the new pace you’ve set; almost immediately after his mind stops reeling, you dip your head and take him down your throat. 

He’s arching into your touch reflexively as white spurts onto your tongue—messy, thick. It dribbles from the corners of your mouth as you swallow with him still in your mouth; tears streak from his placid eyes at the weird sensation in his stomach that leaves his hips writhing with how sensitive he feels. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he mewls as you finally draw back with a wet pop sound—lips slick with his release as you lick them clean. The view certainly doesn’t help him; you’re looking at him so ravenously that his flush won’t ever let up. 

“Happy?” You’re licking your fingers clean now, and he’s aching once more. 

“No—” he sobs as he twitches in your tight grasp. His head’s spinning, but he’s so fucking empty he wants to cry. 

“You want more?” Can you believe this guy?—your expression seems to state: a slight concern present in the pique of your brow. 

“Yes, yes,” he slurs, cupping your face in his scorching fingers. “Need you in me.”

Despite his words, he’s gasping as you slide a single finger in: roughly probing to only the second knuckle, but he’s already gripping onto your shoulders for dear life. 

“Mmph—feels weird,” he breathes before you kiss him sweetly. Your mouth swallows up his cries as he adjusts to the sensation that makes his stomach churn devastatingly. It’s uncomfortable, but he wants you to be buried in him—wants you to lose yourself in his tight walls and never want to let him go. 

When you probe a second finger in, he’s struggling to prop himself up: arms shaking far too much as you scissor and stretch him open. It hurts, but there’s something budding in his gut that keeps pulling whine after whine out of his kiss-bitten lips. 

That all changes when you crook your fingers slightly. Something shifts inside his walls—a specific spot of nerves is pressed, and he freezes in your arms. 

“Wait—ah—feels strange,” he gasps out. You rock him closer, but you don’t relent with the steady pistoning of your fingers: making sure to brush and hammer right into that spot. His eyes dart everywhere and nowhere—dizzy as a twirling teacup, beyond measure. He’s stuffed so full; each time he hears that squelch, he can’t help but moan out. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly in his ear. He shivers at the small gesture—so tender he’s getting whiplash, quite frankly. “You’re doing great.”

“Ngh—” he whimpers—he fucking whimpers—at the praise. Maybe it’s the proximity of your skin against his naked body, or maybe it’s your words—but he’s clenching around your goddamn fingers as he spills more white over himself and now you. The aftershocks hit him like a train; blinding incandescence flashes bright in his eyelids while his body writhes against you. 

“That’s a surprise,” you mutter. What’s a surprise?—is what he wants to ask, but a gasp is forced out of him as soon as your fingers leave him. 

“See that?” you ask in fascination as you lift them—clear tendrils coat the digits, sopping all over his sheets and staining his own face a dark red. “Must’ve liked it, huh.”

“Shut up,” he hisses. Although, it’s pointless to even begin to defend himself—not when his dripping hole still flutters like it was made for you. 

“Oh— oh fuck,” he eats his words as soon as you smear his fluids against his peaked nipples; cock bobbing stiffly against his tummy with each languid ministration. 

“So weak-willed,” you coo; he’s so cute like this. Knuckles white with how fastened they are to the sheets, it’s really no surprise that he looks like he’s losing his mind. Those blue irises are almost completely gone—dilated completely as he gazes up at you with a quivering bottom lip. 

With a shaking hand, he pulls you closer by your white belt loops—you’ll have to apologise to Kafka later, since you’ll never wear these ruined clothes again. 

He’s the one who unzips your pants. He’s the one who palms your front—it’s so heavy and warm he can’t help but feel a little flustered by the foreign feeling. He’s the one who ultimately slips past the underwear and handles it with something close to reverence. 

“Fuck,” you hiss as his hands wrap carefully around your sore cock—neglected, but so utterly worth it as he gazes all doe-eyed at you. “Dan Heng, baby—”

His fingers quaver to a halt, and he stares with eyes large as saucers. Ignoring the obvious stain on his cheeks, it’s evident his breathing’s picked up to shallow, rapid rise-and-falls. 

“Aeons, please put it in,” he all but begs. His syllables stumble over each other in a race to exit his mouth first, but they trip into incoherency as he feels the fat head of your dick press against his slick hole. 

“Ah.” He cants his hips upwards in delight—stars in his eyes and shimmering across his mind’s theatre as the very shaft burns into him with a slow squelch. Hurts so good, he wants to say, but all that comes out of his mouth is a drawn-out moan as you latch onto his fat tits with your mouth—suckling—until he feels the sensitive buds harden once more. 

He’s so embarrassingly close from just the tip alone—especially since your tongue is unrelenting, just the way he likes—

“Ngh— fuck, I’m cumming,” he wails, choking each word out just as your teeth graze his chest. But you’re unrelenting, even as you’re groaning into his ear from how he tightens around you—you simply rock him in your arms so he can ride out his orgasm. 

The waves of pleasure ebb and flow in his mind so poignantly he sees the most blinding of whites. Right after it fades, he’s greeted with the sight of your face and chest plastered with slightly thinner, paler ropes of liquid. 

“Aeons.” He barely knows what he’s doing anymore. Weakly, his tongue kitten licks and suckles the salty liquid off the areas he can access—namely, your jaw and neck—before he bites hard on the flesh, slinking his arms tightly around your nape so he can arch into your touch. 

He’s softened now, but he’ll be damned if you don’t stuff him full for the rest of the night. 

“So pretty like this,” you whisper. The words, paired with the slightest roll of your hips as you adjust your position, jolts him with a delicious pain. “You wanna keep going?”

“Yes, ah—” he sobs, legs wrapping tightly around your waist. It hurts—his dick feels spent and all too sensitive to the lightest of brushes of your soaked abdomen. But despite it all, he can still feel the stupid thing harden once more as he imagines you filling him to the brim. 

“Fuck,” you curse, long and drawn-out as his hole flutters around you once more. “So damn tight.”

Inch by inch, he takes you deeper; swearing he’ll be split in half by the time you’re done with him. Uncontrollable moans spill from him, mixed with incoherent babbling as he claws at your skin; he feels so damn full that his spent cock still dribbles precum from the slit. 

“Are you in fully?” he slurs after a few more minutes of this agony. It’s not until he glances down and sees a bulge in his lower stomach that his heart skips a beat—only to find you admiring the sight too. You lift your hand, and—

“Wait,” he begs, but it’s already too late.

—you press down on the mound in his tummy, and he wails. 

He arches into your touch fully; tears leaking out his eyes as drool escapes his lips. Like a mantra, he’s chanting your name in between his broken sobs—too cock-drunk to think about formulating any other word. There’s only thin cum streaming from his softened dick now—and it hurts so good. 

His mind’s so numb, but there’s still something missing from this giant puzzle. 

He’s so far gone with pleasure that he can’t think of anything else. 

“Do you want to stop?” Your voice comes fuzzy and disembodied, like he’s hearing you through a pool. But he musters up enough energy to shake his head in a vehement no. 

“Keep— keep going,” he whimpers. That’s all the encouragement you need as you start moving faster, thick cock splitting him right in two as you tightly grip his hips. With each collision of your pelvis against his plush ass, a devastated whine rips out his hoarse throat. He’s so spent, but somewhere in his subconscious he wants you to think how good he squeezes you, how tight and warm he is around you. 

“Aeons, you’re so beautiful like this,” you mutter between kissing him desperately. With each rough thrust, you drill into his prostate over and over—blood wells up on your back with how hard he digs his crescent nails in. 

“Fuck—” you swear as you finally spill into him—hot seed stuffing his hole so full that he sees stars one final time. It’s a dry orgasm—he thinks he hears you say, but he’s far too delirious to think of anything but the sopping mess between his legs. 

His eyes flutter shut, and the last thing he can feel is the warm, gentle touch of a wet cloth wiping him down—and the sweet press of a kiss against his forehead as he slips into the land of slumber. 

It may have been a bad decision. He may have a crisis over his terrible impulsivity. It may have felt so good he was positively wracked with pain. 

None of that stops him from coming back for more. And more. And more, until it’s more common to see Dan Heng with a bite mark just poking out the top of his turtleneck than not. 

When you tell Kafka about this hypothetical friends-with-benefits situation, she supports you—of course she does. But what she doesn’t tell you is how this man looks at you.

She’s a poet, so she could talk about how enamoured his gaze is. How devoted the brush of his knuckles against yours is. How he looks at you as if the stars strewn across the fabric of space were your doing. 

But she’s a sadist, so the adoring haze in your so-called ‘friend’s’ expression is one she lets you be oblivious to. 

If every other band-mate of yours can see how obsessed he is with your very existence, surely you’ll be able to tell eventually?

[gracev0609]

On the Rocks

Danny Wagner X Reader (Sweetheart)

An AU where Danny is a heavily pierced and tattooed bartender with a mutual crush on his coworker.

WC: 6.6k+

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI, Explicit Sex, Heavily pierced Danny and Reader, Heavily tattooed Danny and Reader, Multiple Orgasms,cum kink, this is 90 percent smut, 10 percent plot.

A gracev0609/ @lipstickitty collaboration.

Looking up from the well she was stocking for the evening she saw her coworker saunter in. His polished finger tapping away at the touch screen, clocking in for the evening shift. While he was preoccupied she not so subtly checked him out, her eyes scanned from the black curls cascading down his back to his completely see through black mesh crop top. She could plainly see the black and grey artwork that flowed down the contours of his arms and back disappearing into the waistband of his pants. Danny turned towards her grabbing the new bottle of whiskey, putting on the pour top before stocking it on the shelf.

She noticed the silver glinting underneath his top, a sparkly dermal piercing in his chest, silver barbells through his nipples and one through his belly button.

“It's gonna be real busy tonight. The first day it hasn't poured all week? And it's a Saturday? You ready to break a sweat, sweetheart?” Danny repeated the process with a bottle of bourbon.

“Always Danny.” She giggles, reaching for the bottle of Casamigos Blanco. Her fingers just grazing the bottle, and she feels him behind her, his hips barely grazing her ass as he reaches up and over her body grabbing the heavy glass bottle for her.

“Just ask next time. You don't need that coming out of your paycheck because it slipped out of your fingers,” he winks, raising his hand and wiggling his silver ringed fingers.

Her eyes zero in on his hand, his long fingers making her mind wander briefly, not at all helping her crush on him, before he catches her staring with a knowing smirk.

Her cheeks flushing a bit, she finishes stocking the bar alongside Danny and he kindly doesn’t say anything about catching her staring.

Throughout their shift, they both break a sweat, little beads rolling down their faces. She follows a droplet down Danny’s chest with her eyes for a moment before mentally shaking herself and brushing it off. “Hot, sweetheart?” He asks with a low chuckle, slinging a couple beer bottles across the bar. He pulls a black elastic from his wrist before piling his hair back in a bun, little tendrils falling loose around his face. She can't help but stare at his side profile, beautiful florals inked into his neck flowing up starting along his jawline in front of his ear.

“You have no idea.” She sighs, pushing her damp hair back off her forehead.

Danny grabs the little fan sat at the end of the bar and angles it toward her, letting the breeze cool her heated skin.

“You’re amazing.” She groans, her eyes falling closed as she basks in the cool air for a moment.

“You have no idea.” He laughs then, throwing his head back with it as he takes in her shocked expression.

Seeing her sputtering to come up with a response, Danny continues, “I was looking at the schedule for tomorrow night, looks like you’re off?”

She confirms with a nod and a ‘mhm’, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m playing tomorrow night, well my band and I. Was wondering if you’d like to come out and watch?” His voice lowers a little in pitch and volume, “I’ll make it worth your time, sweetheart, promise.”

His sultry voice entices a shiver to run down her back,”I'd love to. I'll be there.”

He smiles, his canines pointing out as he grins,” Good girl.”

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

The music was booming as Danny's band started their first song, the guitarist was electric and the singer had enormous power stored within his small body. She worked her way to the front of the stage with her own tequila soda in her hand. She couldn't help but stare at Danny, the muscles rippling in his arms as he pounds on the drums. His hair flying as he whips his head, his tongue obscenely sticking out of his mouth. His eyes find her, piercing and rimmed with black shadow. She sees him mouth ‘hi sweetheart ‘ and butterflies form in her stomach. Entranced she watches his entire set and before she knew it they were bowing and leaving the stage. Hurriedly she heads to the bar grabbing the attention of the bartender she usually works the opposite shifts to,” Miranda! Can you grab me another tequila soda, double shot, and a Jack and Coke.”

She smiles,” For Danny right?’

Blushing she nods as she watches her make their drinks.

Handing her two cups, one with clear liquid and the other amber,” He's such a flirt! Go get ‘em!”

Laughing she walks back towards the stage, seeing him walking over to where she was.

She extends her arm, offering him the drink,”Thank you sweetheart. Did ya enjoy the show? I saw you eying me up there.”

He grabs the cocktail from her hand, their fingers brushing. She notices the glossy silver polish on his nails and boldly flirts,’ I like that color.” Gesturing to his hand,” It would look really pretty wrapped around my throat.”

A dangerous smirk forms on his lips, his voice dropping low and husky,” Well what do we have here? Someone's a bit eager, huh?”

He steps up, his free hand grazing the skin of her throat, goosebumps forming and her nipples hardening. He leans in, his lips brushing against her ear,” My fingers would look even prettier with you dripping off of them.”

Running on instinct she steps forward pressing her body against his, the liquor swirling in her bloodstream lowering her inhibitions,” Do you want to go find out?”

Danny picks the black cocktail straw out of his drink, throwing the liquid back, finishing it in a few gulps,” Lets go sweetheart.”

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

Following Danny into his house, she looks around and notices how Danny everything is- if she’d sat and pictured what his home would look like, her mental picture wouldn’t be very far off from the reality. All black furniture, tasteful decor- it was nice, very fitting.

He leads her to the kitchen by the hand, pulls out a bar stool and gestures for her to take a seat. “Can I get you a drink, sweetheart?” His dark eyes meet hers, a smile still playing on his lips. She takes in his beautiful face, the piercings adorning his eyebrow and nose, the artwork starting at his jaw in front of his ear, trailing down his neck disappearing under his shirt, then reappearing flowing down both arms.

“Whatever you’re having.” She flirts with a wink.

Danny retrieves two glasses from inside a cabinet, filling each with ice from the freezer. From the fridge, he pulls out a bottle of tequila and a can of sprite. “Not quite as stocked as the bar, but it’ll do.” He grins at her, teeth on display as he mixes their drinks.

He leads her over to the couch handing her the drink after she gets settled on the black leather beside him. Taking a sip of her beverage she can't help but blush under his gaze. She knows him, she works with him numerous times a week. They've laughed and joked and flirted for months. She knows despite his appearance he's a good man, last month he caught some piece of shit trying to spike a patrons drink, and Danny swiftly shut it down and kicked him out as well as made sure the woman was alright.

“Are you having fun? Did you like the band? We try to play originals and covers.” Danny asks, his voice soft as she realizes she's been staring into space for a few minutes.

“I loved it! You were amazing, all of you were! But I couldn't keep my eyes off of you, you're magnetic up there.”

Danny grabs the drinks and sets them down on the coffee table in front of him, before shifting a little closer to her.

“You're really sweet ya know that? Everything you say is just sugar coated,” his hand comes up to stroke her cheek and she can feel the cool metal of his rings on her face.” Can I have a taste sweetheart?”

Leaning forward she presses her lips to his, softly she warms up to him, opening her mouth and allowing him access. His warm palm still securely holding her jaw keeping her in place. Little moans slip out when his tongue brushes against hers, causing wetness to start pooling between her legs. His free hand comes up, fingers teasing the heated flesh of her throat before slightly dipping under the neckline of her shirt.

“Can I?” He mumbles against her lips.

“Please.” She utters into his mouth.

His fingers slip down her shirt, under the cup of her bra, brushing against her pebbled nipple. His eyes widen in surprise as his fingers find a barbell pierced through them.

He pulls his mouth away to speak, fingers still rubbing across the nub,” Sweetheart, what a surprise. Why do you keep these hidden away? I didn't even know you had them. Ya know you'd make more tips with them on display.”

“I don't know, I kind of like them to be a mystery, especially when I get to see pretty boys reactions.”

She moans as he pinches them in between his fingers, making his hard cock pound beneath his jeans.

“Can I put my mouth on them?” He pleads, needing it more than anything in the moment.

Wordlessly she peels her top off and unhooks her bra letting it fall to the floor. She sits in front of him, letting his eyes feast on her partially unclothed body. He notices more tattoos than the ones he could previously see on her arms, the biggest piece being an underboob tattoo that drapes across her sternum and her ribcage. Danny nudges her back against the cushions bringing his lips to her inked skin before sucking her nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirling around the hard bud sending shockwaves through her core. She's almost sure she has soaked through her pants by this point. Danny licks and sucks and drags his teeth against her sensitive skin, tugging at the piercings. He swaps back and forth between her breasts, stimulating them both.

“Danny, don't stop baby. I think I'm gonna cum like this.” She pants into the humid air surrounding their bodies. Danny whines, continuing to suck on her oversensitive chest, not changing a thing as her moans grow pitchy and her body shakes below him. When she finally relaxes into the pillows he disconnects from her body placing kisses against her soft breasts.

“Fuck baby. That was so fuckin hot, let me do it again, let me make you cum again.”

She looks at his eager expression through hooded eyes, still feeling floaty from her orgasm,” Show me your bedroom Danny.”

Both glasses being left on the bar to be forgotten about, Danny takes her hand and leads her to the bedroom. A grin stretches across his lips as she takes her hand from his and situates herself on his bed, the plush comforter feeling soft and luxurious against her bare skin.

She reclines back against the pillows, her hair fanned out around her as she pats the bed next to her, growing increasingly impatient the longer she waits for Danny to join her.

“Let’s get comfy, sweetheart.” His voice comes out low, a sultry whisper as his skilled fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, his tattoos barely peeking out from under the material. Finally, painfully slowly, he drags the material up and over his head, ruffling his curls a little in the process.

She’s taken aback by his beauty all over again, her eyes raking over every inch of the inked flesh that she’s itching to feel against her fingertips, her lips. The barbells pierced through his nipples keeping them peaked, she can barely wait to run her tongue over them, suck them into her mouth. The twinkling gem in his navel catches the light just right, the sparkles standing out perfectly against the dark smattering of hair that resides on his lower tummy.

Danny’s hands trail down his torso, thumbs tweaking his nipples just a bit making his hips just barely jolt forward, a shaky breath leaving his plush pink lips as his inked fingers dance over the waistband of his low rise pants.

Danny knows he’s being a tease, he just can’t help himself with her hungrily staring him down, watching her tongue trail across her full bottom lip. He has her full attention when finally his nimble fingers pop open the button and slowly slide the zipper down, inching the material down to the tops of his thighs. She bites her lip, overwhelmed with need as she takes in the prominent bulge in the front of his boxers, a growing damp spot in the material showing her how badly he needs her too.

“All the way Danny. Let me see all of you.” She purrs from her spot nestled in his pillows.

He smiles, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers before slowly tugging them down his hips. Swirls of ink frame his hips, blurring into the patch of hair at his base. She huffs, wordlessly telling him to pick up the pace. He pulls the material down further, exposing his length decorated with purplish veins that complimented the artwork around his groin. Finally, he frees himself, his cock bobs obscenely and she takes in every inch. Her gaze honing in on a sparkly silver piercing resting along the top of his head. A single bead of precum beading along the silver ball threatening to drip down onto the sheets.

She smirks,” I guess we both have some surprises.”

He grasps his length in his hand, slowly stroking himself,” Your turn sweetheart. Let me see all of you. And spread em.”

Hooking her fingers in her panties she pulls them down her legs before tossing them at him, bringing her knees up before opening them wide so he can gaze at her.

“For fucks sake.” He growls, crawling on the bed, his body begging for a closer look. Taking her two fingers she gently pulls up on her mound, letting him peer at the dainty ring pierced through the hood of her clit.

She can hear him panting, already out of breath as arousal courses through his veins.

“Surprise.” She coos gently rubbing her fingers over her oversensitive clit.

Danny lowers himself to his stomach between her legs, his lips ghosting along her inner thighs. Her body tingles with anticipation as he's so close yet so far from where she needs him.

“Sweetheart? Need you to tell me if there are any hard no's.” He asks lifting his head from her soft skin.

She taps on her chin,” Hmm… well I don't typically do anal when I'm just hooking up with someone. That's third date material.”

Danny laughs gently, shaking his head,” No anal yet, got it.”

He dips his head down kissing the short trimmed hair above her slit,” You're really something else, ya know that?”

His lips leave a trail of kisses down her groin, staying away from her most sensitive skin.

Groaning she threads her fingers in his hair,” Fuck, just eat me out Danny.”

“Gonna let me put your pretty little clit in my mouth sweetheart? I just know you taste so sweet.”

“Just do it, fuck!” She whines, pushing her hips up begging for him.

He licks a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit, gently lapping at it making her piercing flick against his tongue. Softly he wraps his lips around it, sucking lightly, not knowing exactly how sensitive she is.

Whining she pants,” Harder, just a little harder. Fuck feels so good Danny!”

He follows her directions, sucking her between his lips a little harsher, and he gently prods his fingers against her entrance. Pushing in until his first knuckle and pulling them back out again, he can feel her clenching around him desperately trying to suck him in further.

He continues to tease her until she's gasping,” Fuck Danny, hmm I'm gonna- shit.”

Swirling his tongue around her clit as she shakes and a gush of warm slick wetness coats his fingers that are barely inside of her. Gently he places more kisses on her clit,” Do you always cum this easily or am I just that good.”

She leans up, cheeks flushed, her hair sticking to her face around her hairline,” A little bit of both if I'm being honest.”

He smiles at her, his mouth glistening in the low light of his bedroom,” You're so fucking sexy.” His fingers gently glide up and down teasing her slit,” Can I eat you out some more? I love the way you taste.”

She relaxes back into the pillows telling him to go ahead. He immediately dives back in his tongue reaching as far into her entrance as it can go, his hands holding her open wide, his silver polished nails glinting against her skin, his chunky metal rings biting against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Shivering against him as he moans into her heat, fully immersing himself in her. He licks his way back up to her clit before gently tugging on the piercing with his teeth and nudging his fingers in much farther this time, relishing in the way she squeezes around them. It doesn't take her long to feel the familiar tingling in her lower stomach yet again as he gently guides her through yet another orgasm.

Finally he removes himself from her, chucking asking if she's alright as she lays there, limbs loose and dazed. Her head still in the clouds. Lazily she smiles,” I'm more than alright. My turn, let me play with you, I know you're aching by now.”

Danny rolls to his back, pulling his hair back to flow against his dark silk pillowcases getting situated. She watches as his red flushed cock moves as he gets comfortable and she can practically feel herself salivating at the thought of having him in her mouth. Sultrily she crawls in between his legs letting a string of spit fall from her lips onto the tip of his cock. Bending down he quickly gathers her hair in his fist keeping it out of her face as she goes to work, she licks up the underside of his cock purposely avoiding his pierced head. He huffs a breath as her hot tongue caresses the sensitive skin, she's warm and wet and his mind is already spinning. After what feels like forever she places an open mouthed kiss to his slit, the silver ball gently knocking against her front teeth. She can taste his salty arousal on his skin from how much he's already leaked in his excitement. She moans around his tip as she takes him a bit farther, feeling his piercing nudge against her top lip and then bump against the roof of her mouth. Humming around him he cries out, the head of his cock extremely sensitive.

“Fuck you're so good at that sweetheart. You can go harder, you're not gonna hurt me.” He pants, his fingers softly rubbing her scalp in encouragement.

Taking that as her go ahead she suckles his tip, feeling him swell and harden further. Her doe eyes bore into his as she somehow makes sucking cock look incredibly innocent. And he has to close his eyes for a moment, swearing that if he looks at her any longer he's going to blow his load.

When she takes more of his throbbing length down her throat he shudders a shaky breath, his ringed fingers gripping her hair a bit tighter as his hips flex involuntarily.

She can feel the cool metal of his piercing softly nudging the walls of her throat, a unique sensation she finds a lot more enjoyable than she thought it might be. His whimpers and low groans are some of the prettiest sounds she’s ever heard and she wants to hear more and more of them streaming from his lips like liquid sugar.

“You think I’m gonna feel it, when you fuck me?” She pants with her lips brushing his sensitive head and the jewelry adorning it, punctuating her words with a sweet kiss to his tip before sharply flicking her tongue across his slit.

“I assure you you will, sweetheart.” He chuckles through his nose, gently tugging on her hair prompting her to straddle his waist and bring her back up to his lips for a kiss.

As Danny’s tongue explores her mouth, he lets her taste herself on his tongue mixing with the slight hint of his arousal on her own. When her hips grind down into his, the cool metal of the barbell through his tip catches her hypersensitive swollen clit, a moan tearing from her chest.

“Keep going, sweetheart. Think you can cum just like this?” His whisper raises goosebumps on the tender flesh of her neck where his warm breath hits and she whines, letting her head fall into the crook of his neck. Her breaths fanning over the sensitive skin beneath his ear makes him shiver as she nods slightly into his neck, another soft moan escaping as her hips roll into his.

The direct stimulation to his sensitive head is almost too much, his pretty face flushing red as more sweat accumulates on his chest. His kiss-swollen lips still slick from her tongue running over them, the bottom one bitten into his mouth as he focuses on how she feels, dripping down onto his cock, his lower abdomen slick with a combination of their juices and sweat.

Her eyes roll as she continues to rock her hips against him, absolutely drenching him. Pressing herself down even further she angles her swollen clit against him pushing herself even closer. A few more thrusts of her hips and the coil in her stomach snaps as she falls apart on top of him. Pressing her forehead against the tacky skin of his neck she shudders, orgasmic aftershocks wracking her body.

“Good girl, that's it baby. Catch your breath.” Danny coos in her ear as his large hands wrap around her, holding her body close to him. Gently his fingers knead her damp skin, bringing her back to him. He cranes his neck bringing his lips to her head, placing a few kisses on her hair. After a few moments she stirs, leaning in to place a searing kiss on his lips. He continues to place a few pecks to her lips before murmuring,” Ready for me now baby?”

“So ready.”

He leans over, opening the drawer in his nightstand fishing for a condom. She places her hand on his chest,” Before you put that on… I want to feel you.”

Danny put the small foil packet down on the table top and he smirked,” Go ahead sweetheart, take it it's yours.”

He leans back slightly, grasping his shaft holding it up for her to climb on. Positioning herself above him he angles his tip directly against her entrance. Slowly she lowers down, feeling the rounded metal on his tip enter her. She shivers as it rubs against her insides in a strange but pleasurable way as she lowers herself down. Whimpering as she adjusted to his size, his hands caressing her body, coming up to rub circles over her nipples. She clenches around him at first when the jolts of pleasure run down her spine, her back arching pushing her breasts into his palms. Needing more she starts rocking her hips, loving the way she can feel him fully.

Once she’s fully seated on Danny’s cock she plants one hand on his abdomen to steady herself and the other comes up to tease his nipple, lightly pinching it making him choke out a moan. “You feel so fucking good sweetheart.”

She moans in agreement, grinding her hips feeling her pierced clit rubbing against his base. He lets his hips buck up into hers, the cold metal just brushing her cervix making her cry out.

“You feel that baby? Feel that cool piece of metal kissing your insides?”

It comes out as a chant, a prayer, “yes, yes, yes.”

“Feel it so deep? That’s how much I fill that beautiful tight pussy. Fuck, you’re taking me so well.” The praise lights a fire low in her belly, finding a rhythm bouncing in his lap, the jewelry decorating his tip brushing her velvety walls.

Her fingers pinching a little harder at his other nipple now, she feels his cock twitch deep inside of her as a high pitched whine leaves his lips. “Fuck, baby. Feels so good!” His eyes lock on to hers, his talented fingers tracing up the expanse of her bare stomach, tracing the outline of the artwork inked into her skin.

“Cum on my cock baby and then I'll put the condom on.”

She whines in protest, jutting out her bottom lip in a pout.

“Trust me sweetheart, I'm not gonna want to pull out.”

His words make her clench around him, tightening like a vice as her hips glide on his.

Danny smirks,” Did you like that sweetheart?”

She lays her head on his shoulder yet again speaking softly,” Mmhmm. I like cum. Can you maybe talk about cumming in me, it'll get me there faster.”

Danny grits his teeth as his cock throbs, twitching deep inside of her,” Yeah. I can talk about cumming in you,” his hands find purchase on her hips guiding her movements,” Wanna hear how bad I want to fill you up? Want me to paint your pretty insides white? God, I want to cum in you so fuckin deep.”

She writhes on his lap, gasping and moaning so close to unraveling,” More! Keep talking.”

“Fuck sweetheart, I wanna give you all I've got, fill you up until it's dripping out of you with nowhere else to go.” His hands squeeze her hips holding himself back,” Yeah baby? Are you gonna beg me to cum in that tight pussy? Beg me to make it mine?”

“Fuck!” Her hips jolt as her high comes crashing down, soaking his cock in her hot silky release.

“Good girl, fuck- that's it, pretty pussy is trying to milk me,” He flashes her a smile,” But I'm not there yet honey.”

Gently she settles in his lap, the muscles in her legs quivering as she tires from exerting herself. He softly pets her damp hair back from her face,” Are you getting tired baby?”

She hums in response,” Yeah, but you feel so good.”

He strokes her cheek, moving her to look in his eyes,” You came so hard and so pretty for me. Let me take care of you now, get on your back sweetheart.”

Gently lifts her hips helping her onto the mattress, her limbs are like jello and her mind is in a haze totally drunk on him. Reaching over he grabs the foil packet, ripping it before taking the rubber out. Swiftly he rolls it down his length, discarding the trash on his nightstand to be worried about later. He climbs between her legs, her face is flushed and her eyes are slits totally blissed out. Softly he pushes in, bottoming out. His hips find a rhythm fast enough to start getting him closer as she whines and sighs beneath him caught up in the pleasurable sensation of him fucking her.

Danny leans down and connects their lips in a fierce kiss, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of her head. The change in angle has a moan catching in her throat, feeling the slick skin of his chest sliding against her own as he pounds into her. Their lips part from each other but he remains close, pressing his forehead to hers. Simply not able to resist any longer, she sinks her teeth roughly into his pectoral muscle, eliciting a hiss from between his gritted teeth as his cock throbs inside of her.

His piercing hitting her cervix has her seeing stars, the painful pleasure unlike anything else she’s ever felt. Her head dips to lick up the side of his neck, tracing the lines of the artwork there and tasting the salty sweat from his heated skin before biting into the sensitive skin beneath his ear. The whine he lets out has her melting, her walls clenching around him impossibly tighter.

Her hand snakes between their bodies to lightly pinch his nipple between her thumb and first finger, his gasped, ‘harder’ setting her insides ablaze, who is she to deny him? She squeezes harder, gently tugging on the bar in his other nipple with her other hand.

“Fuck, just like that.” He groans, his cock twitching deep within her walls. He swoops down and takes one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the pebbled flesh as his teeth gently tug at the bar.

Feeling her squeezing him tighter and tighter, Danny knows she’s close again, and he wants nothing more than to feel her come undone around him one more time before he lets go.

“Gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Need you to cum all over me one last time, baby. You can do it, be a good girl and give me one more.”

Leaning down he places his mouth over her nipple and sucks hard, his teeth grazing her super sensitive skin as her nails rake red lines down his back, a colorful addition to the black swirls. The pain of her nails combined with how tight she's squeezing him as she crashes into her high for another time tonight has him seeing stars. His brows furrow and his eyes screw shut as his cock swells and throbs inside of her, he knows there's no coming back from the edge this time as he starts to spurt filling the condom with his own wet hot release.

“Fuck Danny! I feel it, fuck I can feel you cumming.” She groans thrashing her head back and forth on his pillow.

His hips stutter as he continues to fill the rubber as he fucks himself through his orgasm. After what feels like forever his hips finally still and he remains tucked inside. Her hands find his face, softly cupping his strong jaw as she pulls him down to meet her lips,” You were right. You are good at that.”

He chuckles softly before placing more kisses to her still kiss swollen lips,” ‘mgonna pull out now, okay sweetheart?”

She nods her head and grits her teeth as the overwhelming feeling of being empty washes over her.

With a sigh and protest from his tired body he stands from the bed, one hand lightly gripping the condom on his shaft so as not to make a mess on the carpet and the other outstretched waiting for her to grab it,”Let me show you where the bathroom is. Wanna shower with me?’

He grabs his hand letting him pull her from the bed and letting her crash her weight into his side, steadying her,” Please. We're kinda sweaty and gross.” She laughs, lifting her arm pretending to sniff her armpit,” I'm sure I stink.”

Danny giggles,” Stink? Nah, if anything I like it.” Leading her to his ensuite bathroom lit in a warm glow of some nightlights. Not bothering to turn the overhead lights on he walks over to turn on his shower nice and hot. She admires the way his tattoos frame his ass and work their way down his strong legs. She continues to watch him as he goes to stand above the small plastic bag lined wastebasket as he carefully pulls the condom off before tying it and putting it in the trash. Her eyes take in the way he looks soft and for whatever reason it brings a smile to her face,” It's cute.” He turns his head, cocking his eyebrow,” Your dick. It's cute.”

Danny laughs and lets his head fall back with a fake exasperated groan,” Why would you say that to me. It's not supposed to be cute.”

He pulls back the shower curtain and motions for her to get in, once he steps inside she wraps her arms around him moving into the hot spray of the water. Resting her head on his chest they stand like that for a few moments. Quietly Danny speaks,” You wanna stay? I want you to stay. I had a lot of fun, and I checked the schedule and I know we're both off tomorrow.”

She smiles, maneuvering away from him and pumping some of his body wash into her hands to start cleaning herself up,” I'd love to stay. I had a really good time too. Can we do it again?”

Danny smiles, grabbing a palm full of body wash before sudsing up his own body,” I'd really like to do it again. Maybe it could even be a regular thing.”

She watches his hands caress his body, washing his chest and stomach, sliding down to clean his package, being especially cautious around his piercings.

Her eyes flick to his, already wide and dilated at the thought,” I'm on birth control so next time you could… could you cum in me?”

Danny's hands stop moving for a moment as her words sink in, and he smiles,” Sure sweetheart, I can do that.”

They giggle and exchange kisses and soft touches under the spray of water until their eyes begin to grow heavy, then Danny shuts the water off and grabs each of them a towel. He wraps her in hers before securing his own around his waist, then pulls a pack of makeup wipes out of the cabinet for both of them to cleanse their faces before bed.

Leading her back into his bedroom, he finds a well worn, baggy tshirt from his closet and passes it to her to slip on while he pulls on a pair of boxers and lightly towels off his dripping curls.

Once both towels are deposited in the laundry basket to be dealt with later, Danny pulls back the covers and lets her get situated in the bed, making his way to the kitchen to retrieve two bottles of water. He hands her hers and climbs into bed next to her, taking a big swig from the bottle before depositing it onto the nightstand. Once she’s finished with her own bottle, he pulls her into his chest, cool water droplets dripping from the ends of her hair onto his skin raising goosebumps.

Her head resting in the crook of his neck, she places a soft kiss there, nuzzling her nose into his skin. His warm hands stroke up and down her spine, slowly coaxing her to sleep in his arms as his own eyes flutter closed.

The next morning she wakes with a thin layer of sweat on her forehead, realizing she’s blanketed in both Danny’s burning heat and his thick, fluffy comforter. She tries to squirm away just enough to let some air flow to cool her heated skin but his arms tighten around her waist, locking her in place against him.

She can feel his hardened cock, pressing hot and heavy into her ass as his hips subconsciously rock into hers. She bites her lip, unable to stop herself from grinding back against him, eyes still sleepy but her every cell is burning with need for him.

She feels his muscles jerk in his sleep, his lips parted, feels him twitch against her as a breathy moan leaves his lips. Turning her head she can see his cheeks are flushed pink with sleep and arousal, his eyes slowly fluttering open.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” The sleepy tone of his voice rumbles in his chest, she feels the vibrations in her own. She reaches her hand between their bodies to slip under his waistband, grasping his thick cock and giving him a few slow tugs. He hums happily, leaning over her body his lips finding hers in a deep kiss laced with desire and the remnants of sleep still clinging to them.

Breaking the kiss, she pulls his tshirt off over her head before tugging his boxers down to his mid thigh, letting him kick them the rest of the way off.

Both fully bare, she grinds her wet pussy against him, the friction of his pierced tip against her hypersensitive clit making her shiver. Danny’s hand grips himself at his base, lining himself up with her dripping entrance before slowly pushing inside.

His thick length stretching her again, the cool metal bar brushing her insides, his weight firm against her back, everything is so delicious.

“Danny.” She gasps, her eyes rolling feeling him fully buried in her once more.

“You take me so well, sweetheart. Feels so good.” He groans, tattooed fingers inching up her torso to knead and massage her pretty pierced tits, steadily rocking his hips into her ass. One hand slides down to grip her thigh, bending her knee up for a better angle allowing him to hit the perfect spot inside of her with every roll of his hips.

“F-fuck, Danny!” She cries as his hand slides up her leg to her center, his skilled fingers rolling over her clit expertly. He can feel the smooth surface of her piercing under his fingertips, feel her walls fluttering around his throbbing cock as he coaxes her closer and closer to her end. She feels every ridge and vein perfectly as he moves within her, swearing she’ll never get used to the feeling of his pierced head caressing her insides. She knows she’ll never grow tired of the feeling of him filling her so perfectly.

“Need you to cum for me, baby. Gotta feel you soaking my cock so I can fill you up.” Danny whispers in her ear, his voice husky and deep as he holds himself back.

A loud whine leaves her at his words, just knowing he’s about to fill her up is enough to get her close. “W-with you, need to cum with you. Please Danny, give it to me, need to feel your cum so deep inside.” She pants out, her hips bucking wildly, torn between pushing back on his cock and forward towards the delicious pressure of his fingers swirling around her swollen clit.

“You want it inside? Fuck, baby, here you go.” He groans, hips losing their rhythm as he gives a few more shallow thrusts before falling apart, hot ropes of his release spurting deep inside of her. The feeling of him filling her until it starts leaking out around his cock still moving shallowly inside of her walls sends her crashing over the edge, clenching like a vice around him, milking every last drop of his release as he shudders.

“Fuck Danny feels so good!” She groans out in the morning quietness of his bedroom,” So full.”

His hands unclench around her waist, choosing to rub soothing circles instead and he places gentle kisses against her shoulder as he softens inside of her.

Danny's hand, covered in black ink, trails down to her lower stomach,”Are you satisfied just cumming once this time? I can keep going if you're not-”

“Once? We have the whole rest of the day Danny. We're just getting started.”

Danny cradles her head in his hand leaning over her body placing a fiery kiss to her lip, his tongue slipping out colliding with hers.

Gruffly he responds,” Want me to make you breakfast? I can fuck you on the countertop while it's in the oven.”

She smiles, her teeth white and sparkly,” Lead the way baby.”

Taglist ❤️ @sanguinebats @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @grassmowersstuff @iluvjoshkiszka @lightsofthe-living-gvf @musicislove3389 @losfacedevil

[harufluff]

things enhypen say

warnings - minor cursing

genre - fluff, enhypen x gn!reader, established relationship au

wc - about 100 words per member.

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

bolded is reader - txt version

yang jungwon

"y'know, i feel happier when i'm with you."

"i like how your eyes twinkle." "twinkle?" "mhm, they shine like stars."

"what was your favorite part of the day?" "all of it with you."

"YOII" "what?" "nothing..."

"i'm just gonna steal these...thank you..."

"you're like my pillow. nice and soft."

"i think my parents will like you." "really?" "uhmm alrigh- OW"

lee heeseung

"wanna come play with me and the boys?"

"why do you look so emo?" "what? i always dress like this." "yea. emo." "you're the one dating an emo then."

"you're stupid." "yea i know." "well now i feel bad. ok you're really smart, and cute"

"it's time to wake up, the earth says hello"

"you can go to bed if you want? no?? ok then, you can stay here."

"your finger is so cute." "what the heck hee." "what!! its true!!"

park jay

"crap i'm in love." "my ramyeon is good, right?" "with you." "..." "*chuckles*"

"is my brain playing tricks on me, or are you actually this pretty?" "you're so cheesy...i am this pretty"

"gold or silver wedding band. what do you think?"

"let's move in together"

"if i die, what would you do?" "die." "NO"

"thank you for not making fun of me like the boys do."

sim jake

"c'mon smile, or don't whatever you want. youre pretty anyway."

"why are you looking at me?" "it's impossible to look away."

"don't be a stranger, ok?"

"is that my shirt?!" "uhm, yea?" "wait no!- just keep it."

"pinky swear you'll stay?"

"cmere, you!! give me a damn kiss already!!"

park sunghoon

"i think im different with you than with the boys..." "oh really?" "mhm. its like i'm a rock with them, and i'm cotton candy with you."

"feels like the first time."

"thank you." "for what?" "just for being here"

"stop that, you're making me blush. i look weird when my face is red" "you look adorable when your face is red" "shut up"

"cuddle attack!!" "oh fuck"

"why aren't we dating?" "WERE NOT DATING???!!" "no we are i was just wondering why we didn't before, cause i was head over heels for you since day one."

"i love you." "i love me too."

kim sunoo

"there it is!! there's my favorite smile!!"

"wake up sleepyhead. its time for a new day with your lovely boyfriend"

"i feel comfortable with you." "why is that?" "because i can be myself. i don't have to act a certain way or anything. i'm just me."

"i like your pj's" "thanks!! they're yours..." "well not anymore. now they're yours."

"mint chocolate or me." "mint chocolate." "thats what I thought." "WAIT WHAT- YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OFFENDED AND I COMFORT YOU WITH HUGS AND KISSES"

"let's make a fort, the watch movies together, and then eat ice cream."

nishimura riki

"hugs" "hugs what?" "hugs please"

"your voice is like music to me." "that's so cheesy." "i know, jake hyung told me to say it to you."

"c'mon it'll be fun!!"

"lets go get bungeoppang together." "can we hold hands?" "that was a given."

"were literally a cliche. nerd in love with popular." "I'M NOT A NERD" "i never said you were the nerd." “ohhhhhhh…that’s sweet, my nerd”

"stay for a while. it hasn't been that long." "it's been 5 hours" "not long enough."

©Harufluff 2023 | Do not copy, repost, or claim any of my works.

[enbysiriusblack]

marauders' average outfit- modern/muggle au version:

sirius- black ripped jeans with a silver chain, black docs, rock band tshirt, leather jacket, friendship bracelet, several silver earrings, silver rings

james- grey joggers, running trainers, football shirt, hoodie of a band he doesn't know that he stole from sirius, friendship bracelet, small gold hoop earring

remus- beige corduroy trousers, brown converse, yellow shirt, green knitted jumper with elbow patches he made himself, friendship bracelet, tweed flat cap

peter- blue jeans with a carabiner for his keys, black boots that used to be his mums, pop culture related tshirt, black bomber jacket, friendship bracelet

lily- long skirt, doc marten shoes, baby tee with some kind of slogan, corduroy jacket, lots of random thrifted necklaces, bracelets, and rings, old brown leather watch that her dad gave her