#Strum & Thrum

[bandcampsnoop]

11/12/24.

About once a month I run across a release like The Vines "Walk The Floor" - a band who released an album decades ago who now are posting the album on Bandcamp.

The Vines (Montclair, New Jersey) originally released "Walk The Floor" back in 1988 and it definitely has a 1980s jangle reminiscent of R.E.M or Let's Active. But there were so many other bands from the era that jangled comparably yet have been forgotten. We've covered a few over the years - The Wilmas, and The Wind, come to mind. Add The Vines to that list.

This also jangles like Downy Mildew or any number of bands on the Strum & Thrum compilation. The Vines played at Maxwell's (Hoboken) during the same era as fellow Hobokenites The Feelies and Yo La Tengo (who also jangled back in the 1980s). Best of all, this was produced by Mitch Easter. This was originally released by Hoboken based label Aquablue Records.

[kryllia]

Strings of Obsession

Yanndere guitarist x reader

art from pinterest

The spotlight bathed the stage in a warm glow, illuminating the band as they launched into their opening number. My eyes were drawn to the lead guitarist, his fingers dancing across the fretboard with effortless grace. He was a whirlwind of energy, his grin infectious as he poured his heart into every note. When his eyes met mine across the crowd, he faltered—just for a moment. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before his smile grew sharper, almost predatory.

His name was Eli. After the set, he approached me with a mix of boyish enthusiasm and something darker. “Did you like it? Did you have a favorite part?” he asked, his golden eyes locking onto mine like a hunter cornering prey. There was a magnetic pull to him, and I felt myself nodding along, unable to look away.

Over the next few months, Eli wove himself into my life with deliberate precision. He invited me to every gig, insisting I sit front and center. He’d send me voice memos of riffs he wrote “just for me” and pouted if I took too long to reply to his texts. It was flattering… but it was intense.

One evening, after a performance that left the room thrumming with energy, Eli dragged me to their cramped rehearsal space. The air was thick with the smell of old amps and cigarette smoke, and I perched on a sagging couch as they played. Every time Eli nailed a solo, he’d glance at me, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Did you hear that? All for you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with unspoken meaning.

His bandmates – Liam on bass and Noah on drums – teased him relentlessly. “Dude, you’re gonna write her a whole album,” Liam snorted, strumming his bass absentmindedly.

Eli didn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes glinted as he looked at me. “Maybe I already have.”

"Oh good maybe it will be new hit dude. Maybe I can add some my own love songs." Noah thinks about new album and watching you.

Later that night, as he walked me home, his arm draped possessively around my shoulders, a group of guys passed us on the sidewalk. One of them lingered a moment too long, his gaze sliding over me appreciatively. Eli’s grip tightened, his knuckles brushing against my arm in a silent warning.

“You’re cold,” he said abruptly, slipping his jacket over my shoulders. His voice was low, almost tender, “You look better in this than I do,” he murmured, but his eyes stayed locked on the group until they disappeared around the corner.

From then on, Eli’s possessiveness deepened. If someone at a gig so much as smiled at me, he’d appear at my side, his arm around my waist, announcing himself as “her boyfriend” in a tone that left no room for debate. He’d kiss my temple, murmur how much I meant to him, and shoot venomous glares at anyone who dared linger.

One night, after a particularly packed show, Liam offered me a ride home while Eli packed his gear. As I started to follow Liam out, Eli appeared in my path, his expression dark.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice low and taut.

“Liam offered me a ride,” I said, confused by his sudden tension.

“I’ll take you home,” he said flatly. His hand clamped around mine with a strength that made my heart stutter. Liam raised his eyebrows but didn’t protest, leaving me alone with Eli’s smoldering presence.

The walk was tense, Eli unusually quiet. When we reached my doorstep, he turned to me, his expression raw with emotion. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” His voice was low, trembling. “Promise me you’ll always stay with me.”

The words didn’t feel like a plea—they felt like a threat.

Days later, Eli invited me to his apartment. It was cluttered but cozy, an intimate window into his chaotic world. But when he led me into his bedroom, my breath caught. The walls weren’t just covered in posters of bands—they were covered in pictures of me.

Photos I didn’t remember posing for. Photos from angles I couldn’t have noticed. Some were printed from my social media, but others… others were taken when I wasn’t looking.

“I wanted to keep you close,” he said, his voice soft but laced with something unyielding. He stepped closer, cupping my face with calloused hands. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Say you’re mine.”

I stammered something, my mind racing for an escape. His grip tightened—not painful, but firm enough to send a shiver down my spine.

Over the following weeks, Eli became omnipresent. He’d appear at places I hadn’t told him I’d be. His texts came in waves—affectionate, frantic, demanding. His gifts became lavish: jewelry, custom-written songs, a notebook filled with sketches of me.

Then came the darker moments. His frustration when I spent time with others. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he saw me with Liam.

The breaking point came one night at a café. Liam and I were discussing a project when Eli walked in. His presence was like a shadow overtaking the room. He slid into a chair uninvited, his gaze fixed on Liam with quiet menace.

Liam left quickly, leaving me alone with Eli’s simmering anger. “Why him?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

“We were just working—”

“You could’ve asked me to help,” he interrupted, leaning closer. His hand found mine, his grip vice-like. “I don’t like sharing you.”

When I tried to pull away, his fingers tightened. “Eli, you’re hurting me,” I whispered.

His face crumpled in remorse, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I just… I love you so much. Too much, maybe.”

That night, I received a text from him: “You’re mine. I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

The next morning, I woke to find my apartment filled with roses. Hundreds of them. My phone buzzed with another message: “You deserve the world. And I’ll give it to you—even if it kills me.”

A knock sounded at the door. My heart raced as I approached, but I knew who it would be.

Eli stood there, a bouquet in one hand and a knife in the other. His smile was heartbreakingly tender, his eyes glowing with devotion.

“Let’s make it official,” he said, stepping inside.

[superficialdomina]

Down Under - Part 5

Word count: 2.6k

Part 5 Warnings: 18+; minors DNI. SMUT! So much smut. Smut and nothing but. Seriously. You could literally replace the next 2500 words with the sentence "they had sex" and you would achieve the same level of plot.

Fingering (F receiving), oral sex (M + F receiving). Orgasms (M + F). PiV. Effects of sex-infection (and the inherent dub-con).

Part 4

Series masterlist

(A little note: thank you so much to everyone who has commented, liked and shared this series!! You have all been so brilliant and I have loved interacting with you all!)

Part 5

He waded to shore with you slumped against him, then laid you back onto the grass beside the diminished embers of the campfire. You were barely aware that you were still naked.

“Fuck…” you muttered, covering your face with your hand. “Fuck, Loki, I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I should never have let you… You’re – and  I’m…”

“Shhh.” A flask appeared at your lips. “It is nothing. Drink”.

It was flowery, and slightly sweet, and the most refreshing thing you had ever tasted. You gave a lewd, involuntary groan as you sucked it down.

“Elderflower cordial,” he said, as he vanished the flask back into the ether. He magicked two of his little light-globes to bob about in the air around you, coating your small clearing in a dreamy glow. “So that I can more easily keep an eye on you,” he added.

You looked away from him. He was being so… chivalrous? Was that it? Was he genuinely concerned for you, or was there something else? “Are… Are you…?”

“Seemingly not. As Banner suspected, it appears I am immune.”

You swallowed. You could feel the now-familiar thrum again rising between your thighs, and you pressed them together, trying to stave off the inevitable. Your skin, no longer cooled by the water, tingled and burned, and you shifted uncomfortably.

“Is there anything else you require? Are you hungry? Cold?”

Cold?! Your skin felt like it might be on fire. Oh God, I’m going to have to tell him…

“Thank you,” you began. “But I don’t need… Loki, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to… Fuck, this is so humiliating—”

Before you could complete the thought, his hands were at your face, gently lifting your chin so that he could meet your eyes.

“There is no reason for you to be embarrassed.” His face was still shadowed with concern – but there was something else, too. “I am here to keep you safe. And ,” he added throatily, eyes sultry, “comfortable.”

Fuck. Were you delirious with lust, or did he just offer to… to…?

His hands on your face were cool; so delightfully, soothingly cool. “I’m… hot. My skin feels like… Like I’m sunburnt. The water was cool, but -

And once again, before you could even finish speaking, his hands were moving, and you marvelled at the instant relief at his touch. His fingertips ran over the lines and ridges of your neck and collarbone; tracing the outer curve of your breast; pausing at your ribcage. His palms flattened, spreading their coolness over the skin of your belly, then your thighs.

“Just a trick,” he murmured.

“That’s… perfect,” you gasped.

But in truth, now you were only more aware of the places he wasn’t touching you; your cunt pulsed demandingly, your clit tingling with the need to be strummed and thumbed and kissed and sucked. You writhed under his hands, silently urging him to move closer to those forbidden places.

“Use your words, darling.” His voice was low and gritty in a way that you had never heard from him before.  He’s teasing me, you thought. But you didn’t care.

“Please, Loki. I need to come again. Please,” you said hoarsely, and a new wave of arousal hit you at how utterly filthy it was to be begging him so.

He remained poised above you as he slowly stroked up your inner thigh, and your knees fell away of their own accord, exposing you fully to him. He paused, a fingertip delicately tracing the swollen lips, then dipped just inside you, groaning at generous dose of slippery wetness gathered there. His touch was utter bliss.

His fingers moved again, slathering your own arousal over your clit, the soft pads making large, slow circles. You whimpered, the pleasure spreading over you, deepening, curling tightly into your pelvis where it settled like a taut string.

His circles became tighter, faster, firmer; the coil inside you grew tighter and tighter, and it was almost, almost too much—

And then his long, elegant fingers were inside you, and you had never felt anything so exquisite.

“Yes – oh God, yes; fuck, Loki, that’s so good, it’s so good—"

He finger-fucked you with the expertise of a thousand years; pumping and flexing and twisting and curling in the depths of your dripping cunt. You bucked your hips to meet his hand, whimpering and moaning in pathetic, wretched pleasure. He lowered his mouth to kiss and tongue your clit, swirling and sucking the swollen bud, and his fingers continued to make wet, filthy sounds as they worked that perfect spot inside you.

“Uuuuhng, fuck,” you cried, “fuck, Loki, I’m going to come—”

And you did, arching your back as you gushed all over his beautiful face.

You fell back to the grass, eyes closed and breathing heavily, in what you knew would be temporary relief.

“Loki, I… Thank you.”

“No need,” he said shortly. He sounded flustered; you glanced over at him.  He had rolled away from you, and now lay on his back, eyes closed and breathing measured. You ran your gaze down his body to see that he was generously tenting his boxers.

As soon as you really looked at him, you could see it written all over him - not just his erection (fucking hell, it was enticing), but everywhere. His pale skin was flushed, even in the low light, and a sheen of sweat graced his forehead; his hands clenched and unclenched, trying to distract himself from the urge to palm himself over the wet satin. To reach under the waistband and fist himself, rough and fast, to relieve the building ache that you knew he must be experiencing. You felt the heat in your own skin building again.

“Loki? Loki, are you…?” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I don’t know,” he said with a grunt. “But I do seem to be having difficulty,”  he gave another raspy groan, “controlling myself.”

“It’s OK if you – if you need to—"

He interrupted with a roar. You watched, enthralled, as he freed his straining hard-on and began stroking himself in long, decadent movements. He was big even in his own large hand, which moved silkily back and forth along his full length, pausing at the tip as though teasing himself. You couldn’t help it – the desire to grasp it in your hands, feel it fill your mouth - you needed it.

“Can I… Would you like my help?”

He opened his eyes, and for the first time in hours, he was not looking at you with pity or concern, but with unmistakeable lust. Your blood ran hot as his hand fell back, his long thighs parting invitingly.

You moved to kneel between them and hungrily wrapped a hand around his manhood. In your lust-addled state, your mouth watered at his size. Even in your wildest imaginings… Loki gasped at your touch, chiselled abdominals clenching, palms pressing into the ground as though seeking a holdfast.

“Yessss…” he said again, his tightly controlled affect slipping.

You slid furtively along the velvet skin, as though you were trespassing on outlawed lands. Your fingers ran up and over the head, avidly tracing the secret ridges and valleys; finding the spots that made him tremble and moan, made his pulse hammer in thick, perfectly raised veins. Through it all, he didn’t take his eyes off you.

Your free hand trailed patterns up his inner thigh, and he gasped. You felt drunk on the haze of lust and the power of kneeling over him. The god of mischief. He was so vulnerable like this; laid back in the grass, legs spread for you, his cock in your hand, delicious sounds spilling uncontrolled from his lips. So far from the cold, ostentatious image you had held of him. You eased a drop of precum from the slit with your thumb. Taste it, your sex-clouded brain demanded.

You lowered your mouth, running the full width of your tongue over the flat of the head; using it to trace his frenulum; swirling over and around the tip. He gave another filthy groan, and there was a soft thud as his head fell back.

He was rock hard, and yet his skin was a soft as satin. You closed your lips around him, stretching your mouth wide to accommodate his size. At first, you could only manage the tip; but as you began to relax, you found yourself sliding down his length, taking more of him than you would have believed possible, until the head pressed against the back of your throat. You sucked, swallowed; he growled at the pressure, wet and hot, and you felt his hands wind in your hair.

“Norns…Uunh, f-fuck, yesss… Take - me…”

Nothing could have been more arousing in that moment than the sounds of Loki approaching climax. Your cunt pulsed and clenched emptiness, and you pressed your thighs together, writhing, desperate for some friction, for anything to alleviate the need to be filled and fucked and taken apart. You sucked his perfect cock with a fervour that you barely recognised as your own, ignoring the gagging and the drip of saliva down your chin, desperate only to feel the forbidden pulse of his cum down your throat…

You moaned, the sound vibrating down the length of his shaft, and you felt his grip tighten in your hair.

“Fuck… Aaaghn, I’m going to—”

He stiffened, every muscle in his body tightening, and then his cum filled your mouth – hot, rich, velvet-smooth, spilling from the corners of your lips as he emptied into you in a powerful, uninhibited orgasm.

You pulled back from him, sitting back on your calves and self-consciously wiping your mouth on your shoulder. He watched you, a sex-weary smirk flirting across his mouth. Then he sat up.

Your entire body was alight with arousal.

When he reached towards you, you were certain he was going to kiss you; instead, he ran his thumb across your lips, collecting the dribble of his seed that had spilled there. His smouldering gaze never left yours as he brought it to his own lips, sucking it clean.

You whimpered. It was all you could do.

Then he broke.

His hands came up fast. You barely registered their movement before he was gripping your arms, roughly lifting you and throwing you backwards, your back slamming hard into the ground; and him above you, his arms caging you, his hair cascading down towards you, his eyes meeting yours filled with pure, reckless lust.

He licked his lips, only inches from your face. “I have to have you,” he growled.

“I know,” you managed to pant out, mirroring his desperation.

Loki was greedy; his lips met yours voraciously, violently, exploring your mouth with a zeal you had never experienced. He shifted his weight to one side, freeing his hand to ghost over your body, leaving electric sparks everywhere he touched. He flattened his palm on your breast, cupping and squeezing, pinching the tightly peaked areola, and you wanted to scream - with exhilaration, with frustration, you weren’t sure – but his tongue filled your mouth, and the most you could do was moan in the beautiful agony of wanting him.

His long legs intertwined with yours to pry them open, shifting his hips to guide himself to wait at your wet, throbbing entrance. His boxers had vanished, evaporated in a fresh sizzle of seiðr, and your hands grabbed at his naked hips, trying urgently to pull him towards you, into you. You had never needed anything more.

Then, abruptly, he lifted his head to see your face, and his eyes flashed with hubris at the perfect “o” shape of your mouth as he slid inside you in one rough, deep thrust.

You cried out at his entry, for no matter how much you had wanted him, needed him, no matter how wet and aching and desperate you were, his size was more than you had ever taken. More than you had ever dreamt of taking. He paused for you; the effort it took was evident in his tortured, panting breath.

“Please don’t stop,” you groaned, and your voice was garbled, “please fuck me. Please fuck me, Loki—”

He relented, rolling his hips to sink into you, and you found yourself pressing your own pelvis up to meet him. Divine, you thought hazily, watching the flex of his firm, sculpted torso as he drove into you. His hair hung in dishevelled tendrils around his beautiful face, his head thrown back, his lower lip between his teeth. Moans, whimpers, shallow pants floated around you, and it was impossible to tell if they were yours or his.

With every perfect drag of his cock, you surrendered your pleasure to him. He sank into you again and again, bottoming out with each wave, every thrust as smooth as the sheathing of a sword, and you wondered if the desire might drown you; if you would ever be the same once you were done. His name fell from your lips over and over, a nonsensical prayer to the only god who mattered now; the one who hissed above you with each whispered syllable.

Your eyes found his; he was gazing down over his flawless cheekbones, watching your face.

He’s watching me fall apart, you realised. He’s going to watch as I… As I…

The thought pushed you over the edge, and you came. Your cunt pulsed and shuddered and clenched around him, your face contorting, and you cried out again; only this time it was guttural, primal, and he didn’t slow for you as he had before. Instead, his movements quickened, his rhythm growing wild and ragged and filthy.

“Fuck, yesss,” he groaned again, panting, never taking his eyes from you. “Norns, f-fuck—"

And for the first time, he called your name into the darkness - and he came, pressing you into the ground, body frozen as he unloaded his godly seed deep inside you.  

He lowered his head, gently kissing the hollow of your shoulder as he withdrew from you. He was breathing hard, and you felt the little puffs of air as he moved his mouth across your skin.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting back to appraise you.

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m… OK. I think. For now.”

“Drink,” he said, and pressed his reappeared flask of cordial into your hands. “It will be on us again soon.”

“Loki,” you began cautiously, “where does this end? What will happen to us?”

He smiled at you, and the romantic in you imagined there was affection in his face. “They will find us,” he said. He glanced over your head at the locator beacon waiting on the rocks; the one that you had set off the previous evening. “I need only keep you alive until then.”

You felt your sex begin to prickle. God, not again. I can’t take any more.

But when you looked up to find Loki kneeling before you, luxuriously fisting his stiffening cock, the blood in your veins ran instantly hot.

He fucked you there again, on the grass; and again, spinning you over and taking you from behind; and again, and again, and when you needed a break from fucking, you laid beside each other in the dark and masturbated together, barely touching, but there for each other all the same, before you climbed atop him and took him inside you once more. Until finally, blissfully, as he emptied into you and you cried his name into the dawn light one last time, you passed out cold.

Epilogue (coming soon)

Tags in comments! xx

[velarisdusk]

and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

word count: 1.7k author's note: listen.. i may write but i am no songwriter. i dont wanna hear shit abt these lyrics, i drove myself to madness for HOURS trying to come up with them ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The studio smelled faintly of old coffee and cedar, the latter courtesy of Cassian’s obsession with “ambience candles.” Their flickering glow did little to cut through the dim light of the room, but that was how they worked best—shadows stretching long across the walls, a backdrop of soft atmospheric music mingling with the faint hum of amplifiers. 

Cassian was seated cross-legged on the worn couch, his drum pad balanced precariously on one knee. Rhys sat opposite, his guitar cradled loosely in his lap as his fingers absentmindedly picked out a melody that might, one day, become something. 

Azriel lounged across the arm of a chair, his legs draped over one side, notebook in hand. He’d been silent most of the night, pretending to be engrossed in writing, but he hadn’t added a word in over an hour. His pulse thrummed low and steady, though it felt like it was trying to climb into his throat. 

He cleared it instead. “I, uh…” His voice broke the lull, and both heads turned to him, expectant. “I’ve been working on something,” he added, tone clipped, casual—too casual. “Thought I’d see what you think.”

Rhys’s guitar fell silent, and Cassian stilled his restless tapping. “Let’s hear it,” Rhys said.

Az’s fingers curled around the edge of his sacred notebook, the slight crinkle of paper betraying his tension. Still, he began to read. 

“Got a taste of sin, it’s dripping off your skin, Lost in your fire, pull me in, Your body’s a drug, and I’m high on the feel, Push me to the edge, make me kneel”

Cassian’s mouth fell open, and Rhys slowly set his guitar down, leaning forward as Az kept going:

“Whisper my name, and I’m already there, Fingers gripping tight, pulling through your hair. Take me in deep, make me lose control, I’m yours to break, body and soul.”

When he finished, the studio was dead silent, save for the faint buzz of the amp. Cassian stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. 

“Holy shit.” Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Az, I don’t know who did this to you, but she must’ve been a damn good lay.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. “It’s just a concept.”

Rhys arched a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Sure it is.” He didn’t press, though, only added, “It’s good. Uncomfortably horny, but good. Way different from our usual stuff.”

Cassian grabbed his sticks, tapping out a beat on the drum pad with a lecherous grin. “Let’s lean in, boys. This is the kind of trashy filth that gets crowds throwing bras at us.”

Rhys’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he picked up his guitar again, plucking out something slinky, the kind of riff that felt like it belonged in a smoky, neon-lit club. “It’s dark,” he said, nodding to himself. “Sultry. Needs that dirty edge, though. Cass?”

Cassian’s grin widened as he began hammering out a beat—deliberate, aggressive, a rhythm that hit like a pounding pulse. “You’re singing this, Az.”

Azriel froze, shooting him a glare. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand chuckled, pointing at him with his pick between two fingers. “You’re the one who wrote this filth, so you’re singing it, lover boy.”

“It’s just a concept,” Az repeated, gritting his teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Cassian retorted, his grin feral. “Then why does it sound like you’re confessing to something you did last night?”

Az opened his mouth to respond, but Rhys interrupted, strumming a riff so suggestive it could’ve been banned on public radio. “Alright, focus, idiots. Let’s make this worth the headache.”

For the next hour, the song began to take shape. Rhys layered intricate licks over Cassian’s primal rhythm, the combination dripping with heat and tension. Azriel’s lyrics were sharpened, punctuated with pauses that hit like clenched fists, every word landing like a whisper pressed against the shell of your ear.

Cassian couldn’t help himself. “‘Tie me down, tear me apart,’” he sang mockingly into the mic, voice exaggeratedly gravelly. “Az, I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

Az snatched the mic out of his hand, deadpan. “Learn to shut the hell up.”

Cassian laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool. “This one’ll wreck them. Absolute filth.”

Rhys leaned back, smiling lazily. “Filthy sells. And Az?” He tilted his head, studying his brother like a puzzle. “Next time you’re uh, inspired, maybe don’t hold back. This is… enlightening.”

Azriel only shook his head, flipping his notebook closed as Cassian howled with laughter, already promising to slap the song on the album. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Midnight wrapped around you like a blanket, the world outside still and quiet. The soft glow of your laptop lit your room as you settled further into bed, earbuds in place, ready for this moment. You’d been counting down for weeks, your excitement bubbling just beneath your skin. Finally, their newest album was here. 

It’d been months since the concert—months since you’d stood in that dark, electric space, his voice carving through the air like a blade. You could still feel the vibrations of the bass in your chest, the heat of the crowd, the way his eyes had found yours for just a second too long.

You hit play, and let the first track wash over you, a rush of gritty guitars and smooth vocals pulling you in instantly. The familiar sound of Rhysand’s honeyed voice wrapped around you, rich and magnetic, while Cassian’s drums hit like a thunderstorm. But it was the deeper, shadowed harmony threading through the background that made your breath catch. 

Azriel. 

Hearing him again sent a shiver through you, unbidden memories tugging at the edges of your mind. You’d spent one unforgettable night with him, his low, dark voice murmuring filthy things in your ear—words that had set your skin on fire and lingered long after the moment ended. His presence had been like gravity, drawing you closer, holding you there, even when you weren’t sure you could take it. 

And now, hearing that same voice woven through the music, backing Rhysand’s lead, was enough to make your pulse race. You didn’t know if you wanted to rewind the track or keep going, chasing that sound, that pull. 

You let it play. Each song unfolded like a gift—raw emotion, sharp edges. You found yourself nodding along, your fingers drumming softly against the blanket as you let the music consume you. But you couldn’t ignore the way Azriel’s harmonies caught your ear, his voice dipping into the pockets of the melody, haunting and magnetic. 

The opening notes slinked through your ears, unhurried but charged, the tempo slow enough to make your breath hitch. This was different. Azriel’s voice took the lead, a rare spotlight for him on a track, with Rhysand providing backup vocals—a reversal of their usual dynamic. It was striking, intimate, and laced with something that felt far too personal.

“Past the greenroom, whispers low, ‘No one’ll see, now don’t let go.’ Your nails, your teeth, the sting, the scrape— Pull me under, I’ll beg, I’ll break.”

You froze.

The blanket bunched in your fists as your mind caught up to what you were hearing. 

No.

Your thumb hovered over the pause button, but you couldn’t press it. The way Azriel sang it—low, raw, and dripping with heat—made it impossible to think straight. His voice wrapped around the lyrics like a confession he hadn’t meant to give, and Rhysand’s smoother backing vocals added a dangerous edge, amplifying every word. 

You yanked one earbud out, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a moment, you just stared at the ceiling, the words looping in your mind like a broken record. But the harder you tried to dismiss it the more the connections gnawed at you. His mouth at your ear, his breath hot against your skin, murmuring reassurance as his hands slid under your shirt. You’d laughed, breathless, trying to quiet yourself as his lips pressed to your neck, but he’d just chuckled, low and dark, “No one’ll see. Just let me feel you.”

And “now don’t let go”—your stomach flipped at the memory. His voice, husky and commanding, echoing through his dressing room as he hauled you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. His teeth grazing your jaw, his hand gripping your thigh. “Now don’t let go, sweetheart,” he’d rasped, right before pressing you into the wall and wrecking you. 

Your breath came shallow, heart racing as the memories sharpened, aligning too perfectly with every word. The song ended, and silence pressed heavy against your ears. Before you could think, your thumb hit replay. 

Your knees tucked up against your chest as the opening notes filled the air again. You closed your eyes, the melody threading through you, every word lodging itself deeper. Was it just your imagination? Or was there something unmistakable in his voice—a heat, a pull, that felt like it was meant for you?

Your chest tightened as the song finished, leaving you breathless and stunned. “No way. No way,” you muttered, shaking your head, but your hands were trembling as you pressed play again. 

You got up, pacing your room with restless energy, the song still blasting through one earbud. Each time you heard it, new details jumped out at you—an inflection here, an ad-lib there. It wasn’t coincidence. It couldn’t be. 

The realization hit you all at once, like a weight in your chest. The lyrics weren’t just abstract poetry. They were something real. They were yours. 

You needed to see them perform this live. You needed to hear Azriel sing those words like looking out at a crowd, to watch the way he carried himself under the stage lights. Would he meet your gaze if you were there? Would he falter, even for a second, knowing you’d heard every word and recognized yourself in them?

And more than anything, you needed to talk to him. To get his attention again, to hear the truth from his lips. 

[ghast1yghosts]

i wanna see old musician wayne. someone eddie always thought was cool (when he still had all his hair) growing up. someone who ended up with this sad little kid who needed an outlet and teaching him the basics. the kid falling in love with music.

watching him be something he never could’ve done, he wasn’t good enough, but his boy is good enough, his boy is going places. be it music or otherwise, his boy has a passion he knows it special.

then spring break happens. and his boy’s spark is dimmed, flickering, hanging on by some miracle.

wayne notices. he sees it not just eddie’s aching body, bandaged gashes and sore stitches. he sees it’s not just injuries. his boy doesn’t want to play, not just because he can’t.

he gets a flinch in reply to a question about a guitar. he gets brushed off when he asks if he’s itching to play. he gets sudden distant eyes, and a static reaction when he sets up his record player.

his boy doesn’t heal as fast he should. his boy avoids going out. his boy struggles to get his feet under him, let alone to stand back up.

watching his boy become a husk in front of his eyes. monotone and vacant, he seems checked out without the narcotics.

once brazen and defiant, he’s watching it get snuffed out. and by god if he’s going to stand idle any more. he’s not letting his boy give up on himself like he did.

he avoids the more typical eddie style, and sits down with his acoustic. wayne snagged it when that harrington boy dragged him out of the house the other day, eddie didn’t even notice it’s absence.

it’s been years, far too long, having let eddie take the reins of tight strings over frets all those years ago. he plays something mellow, something by ear, something by heart, something eddie will know.

he’s only playing for a maybe a minute before a curious head peaks out from around the corner, and then a whole body leaning against the wall.

“can’t believe you still know how to play.”

“sound that bad, huh?” eddie snorts, shaking his head slightly, uncrossing his arms and making his way to join on the couch across from wayne.

he starts again from the beginning, playing the old tune from his favorite album, the last one his sister listened to—the last one eddie’s mom listened to.

making room for eddie to join him, he doesn’t hum along, just plays the melody.

the first few seconds go by quiet, just the two of them listening to the gentle strums. eddie starts to mutter the words, tapping his knee to the beat, like he’s unable to kept himself away from the lull of music.

steady rhythm, eddie closes his eyes, bashfulness at softly singing or falling right into wayne’s obvious trap it doesn’t really matter. his boy starts to bounce his foot, body thrumming with the noise.

“but listen carefully to the sound,

of your loneliness,”

he looks at home, a nice picture to the empty shell he seems to be. he’s still there, just hiding himself, feeling far too exposed, to open. it’s not the first time wayne’s had to crack the shell he locks himself away in.

a bit rusty and corse, wayne joins him.

and for what it’s worth—the small smile that breaks across his face—it’s worth millions to him.

“thunder only happens when it's rainin'”

he’ll keep playing if his boy can’t. he’ll keep playing for his boy. till his fingers bleed, till he’s at deaths door, it doesn’t matter.

and whether eddie adds more kindle to his flame or not, wayne isn’t letting it get smothered any time soon.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 26

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Monday's are for pain.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"More wine," Queen Jazlene demands. 

You stand at her shoulder, awaiting her every command. The familiarity of your duty feels safe though you cannot deny the peril all around. You move forward cautiously, sending a glance to king. 

King Geralt has not said or done much. He's hardly even touched his plate. For the first time that night, to your surprise as much as your relief, he looks at you. You pause, hand hovering before the ewer. 

"Another cup won't fare you well on the morrow," he girds. 

Jazlene huffs, "what else am I to do in this dull place but drink?" 

His lashes lower and he sits back. He props his elbow on the straight arm of the chair and gazes out at the boards full of bawdy voices and steps. He tilts his head as his pale sight skewers the chamber. 

"It is a banquet," he utters flatly. You remain close to Jazlene but retract your hand. 

"It is, husband, what do you propose?" She's breathy, almost hopeful. She peers out across the plucking of strings, "a dance?" 

"I know some steps," he extends his fingers, "suppose... there won't be much dancing on the road and Lord Vesemir did go to all this effort." 

"Truly? A dance?" She squals and grabs his forearm, "husband, is this not some cruel jape?" 

His jaw squares and he looks at her without humour, "only a suggestion. We are... married. The people should like to see king and queen together." 

You step back, as surprised as the daughter of Debray. The king himself hardly seems eager but he is ever aloof. You wonder if it is genuine. His refusal to look at you has you uncertain. Does he regret his missteps or are you once assuming too kindly of him? He has taught you those last few days to be skeptical. You are less than grateful for the lesson.  

"I would very much love to dance," Jazlene seizes his large hand and he winces, "thank you, thank you, thank you." She chants in excitement as she rises and the king steels himself as he does the same.  You're not so sure her glee is specific to her partner, but rather the act.

You can’t help but pity the queen. It’s clear she’s desperate for excitement. It would explain her flirtations and her tantrums and all her behaviour. Still, the isn’t the little girl flitting around her father’s castle anymore; she is the queen and her misdeeds will have consequences should she carry on. 

Your eyes drift out as a lull ripples over the chamber followed quickly by a tide of murmurs. The king and queen emerge from behind the royal table as curiosity thrums all around. The troupe continues to strum as Jazlene can hardly contain her elation despite the king’s stoic propriety. They begin the steps; hers jouncy, his flat and formal. She hardly notices her partner’s nonchalance. 

The other partners give breadth to the royal couple as others pause to watch. Whispers and cheers, some whistles encourage the king and queen. It is the first that any have seen the royal couple as one. 

You watch but hardly take in the scene. Your mind wanders to the chamber in the tower, then to the queen’s rooms; you hear only Geralt’s gritting frustration and the queen’s shrill defiance. They play their parts but you are not convinced. 

You peer around and your eyes catch on a shock of rusty orange. Gilles stands by the doors, amid as cluster of other guards. Where his fellow soldiers drink ale and grumble, he stares at the royal pair, bound by the sight of the queen on the king’s arm.  

You follow his gaze and meet King Geralt’s golden irises. His brow twitches and he quickly draws his attention back to his queen. You are confounded by him. You cannot figure if he truly has reconsidered his intent or he is merely hiding. He’s shown you before that he can feign whatever role suits his means; gallant king, pensive man, troubled soul. In the end, his only concern is his own will. 

Your chest rents deeper amidst your doom-laden thoughts. When did you grow so cynical? It’s these Hinterlands; their chill invades even the soul. Your lips tug down and you put your eyes to the stone wall. You need only see the night through. The road will keep all too busy for recklessness. 

As you stand there, you sense a shift, and turn to look over your shoulder. Lord Vesemir waves in your direction, bidding you to him with a pointed finger. You squint and peer back at the queen and king. You cannot disobey the host even if you are bound to a higher title. 

You sidle along behind the tables and stop behind the white-haired lord. He pushes his chair out, leaning into the straight wooden back. He looks up at you, cheeks ruddy with drink. 

“Little dove,” he grits, “how amusing, isn’t it, to see the king afoot on the boards.” 

“My lord,” you agree evenly. 

“I must say he never took so happily to the dance lessons as he did the sword,” Vesemir chuckles, “though he is graceful in both. My own feet do not listen to each other.” 

You bow your head, signaling your attention. You tilt your ear to him and stare at the table. 

“If any knew to watch for it, they would see he does prefer another partner,” the lord sighs, “alas, it would not be wise, as I’ve told him. A king cannot so quickly descend into folly. How many times did I say the same to his own father?” 

You lower your lashes.  

“I believe he has heeded my foreboding,” Vesemir reaches for his goblet and grunts as he finds it empty, tilting it to show his disappointment. You move forward to grab the jug of ale and pour him a new cup. He thanks you as he watches you. “And you. You had a restful night? You were provided the promised chamber? A bed?” 

“Yes, my lord, thank you,” you say, “it is rather much for a maid.” 

“We both know you are not any maid,” he pauses to gulp, “tell me, dove, do you find my halls too cold?” 

You set the jug down and step back on your heels. You fold your hands and consider his question as a riddle. You know not how to untangle the words of nobles so you will not try. 

“Cold, yes, but not intolerable, my lord,” you answer. 

“Hm, yes, but you may line your wool a bit thicker,” he reaches to pinch the cuff of your sleeve, “you would not shiver so much.” He rescinds his touch and looks into his cup, swirling the ale, “and your former castle, what was that like? Suppose the Duke of Debray is a rather busy lord, the way he scurries around like rat.” 

You hesitate. You cannot tell if he refers to Lord Dustan’s betrayal. 

“There’s always work for servants in a castle,” you say, “summer or winter. We were kept busy though not many ventured to Debray. It was always the lord that traveled.” 

“Mm, yes, you would not guess it but this vulture’s nest is rarely so lively as this. You’ve only seen it invaded by the king and his horde. When the winter is falling, it is so quiet. The snows drown out the noise below and the ice sparkles as diamonds...” he describes dreamily, “it is calm, peaceful. Not as life is at court. I prefer it. I was never one for that farce.” 

You look at him, listening intently. You think of the cave, of the moths, the desolation nestled within those icy walls. This place is beautiful despite its frosted bite. You might’ve seen clearer sooner were it not for the shroud cast on it by crowded halls. 

“It is safer here,” he continues, “and even as peace is declared, times will grow no less turbulent. Wars do not end so cleanly.” 

You furrow your brow and watch the lord, trying to unfold his words into their true meaning. He chuckles and empties his goblet once more. He sets it down and stands. 

“Perhaps this old man does ramble in his cups,” he shakes his head, “I thank you, dove, for your ear. Loyal as you are, gentle too. You could not know what spell you cast.” 

You retreat as Lord Vesemir angles his broad figure around his chair. He beckons as he turns and for a moment, you think he gestures at you. Instead, the maid, Ezme, appears from the shadows and meets him at the end of the table. He speaks to her as you back up against the wall. He walks with her from the hall as you stare after them. 

His words echo in your head.

What did he mean to say all he did? Another warning of what you already dread? A suggestion that you simply could never heed? Does he suggest escape even as he denotes your futility? Or does he simple speak for nothing more than his own voice? 

You look back to the king and queen. A new pitch picks up as the music swells with the stomping feet on the boards and the japes and jeers. Amid the revelry, the king remains as staunch as always, and once more, your eyes meet. 

Lord Vesemir is not mistaken. There is only turmoil ahead. 

⚔️

The night ends in a march along the corridors. You keep a distance from the king and queen as they walk ahead. Jazlene leans on her husband as she drunkenly babbles. Despite his discouragement, she kept to her wine. Ahead, Gilles walks with his hand on his sword. 

The guard opens the queen’s doors and the king escorts his wife through. You tarry in the archway as the ginger-headed man takes his post but cannot restrain from peeking within. Jazlene falls onto her mattress and sighs, giggling into a chattering shiver. 

“Oh, it is so cold,” she hugs herself, rubbing her arms. 

“You should not wear satin,” the king remands. 

“Rats to that!” She sneers and pushes herself up on her elbows, “I was plenty warm on the boards...” she looks at him coyly and grins, “with you, husband.” 

“And the wine in your belly does convince you of warmth,” he tuts. “I’ve known many men who drank themselves to death thinking it could cure the cold.” 

“Ugh, you are so dour,” she chides shrilly and sits up, reaching for him, “husband, we have a long road ahead. Will you not make use of our last night in the castle?” 

He huffs, “you are drunk and I must see Lord Vesemir about our travel-” 

“It is late. You might see to it in the morn,” she whines. 

He exhales again. He looks down at his boots and tilts his head to his side, but does not raises his eyes. He flicks his fingers in your direction, “close the door. I will see my wife abed.” 

Jazlene falls back and purrs. You can tell by the loll in her head that the wine will see her unconscious shortly. The king puts his hands to his hips and watches her as you back out and Gilles pulls shut the doors, not without undue force. 

“Go then, maid,” he snarls as he steps back against the wall. 

You obey. You are not certain whether to return to the chamber you shared with Ezme or to search out the servants’ quarters. You make no determination before you’re stopped the same slender shadow as the night previous. 

It is Ezme, as if she was summoned by the very thought of her. She is silent as she nods and turns to lead you onward. You follow without bidding. Your stomach churns as you already know she is not taking you to sleep. Something is amiss. 

You stop before a set of doors marked by iron vultures’ heads. She knocks and enters, letting you in after her. Within, Lord Vesemir sits before a fire, the glow flickering over him as he watches the flame. His shirt is untucked, his jacket disposed, and his hair hangs around his bullish face. 

“Dove, your wings cannot weather these winter winds,” he declares sonorously. 

You’re silent. Ezme closes the doors as you remain close to them. You peer around warily. She goes to the lord of the castle and he reaches to squeeze her hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses it. You blink as you stare at them. They are... 

“Please, sit down,” Vesemir insists, “I suppose we will be waiting some time for our king.” 

You don’t understand. Lord Vesemir and Ezme? A noble and a servant. Yet he warns King Geralt against the same with you. It is their manner, you suppose, to do what they would tell others not to. 

You don’t move. You crane to look at the doors then back to the maid and her master. It seems both Geralt and Vesemir agreed upon his attendance there that night but what place do you have there? You are not so brazen as to ask. 

You relent and come further into the chamber. You sit upon the wooden stool close to the wall as Ezme lights another lamp and sets it on the table. You wring your hands in your lap as you wait in silence. The lord lowers his head, patient as he closes his eyes. Or perhaps, fatigued as you are. 

Time sifts through the air like sand through a sieve. Slow and grinding. You stare at your skirts as the other maid drifts like a wraith and the lord sits as a statue. The longer you wait, the deeper the pit grows in your gut. You are owed no explanation but you long for one. 

Finally, there is a tap at the doors. Just the one. Hard but not violent. Ezme moves to open the door. You stand out of habit and a large shadow enters. It is the king. His golden eyes catch the lantern light as he sees the Lord sat before his hearth. 

“Vesemir, I have much to do before the sun.” 

“Aye, don’t I know,” the lord says calmly, “so you best listen and not waste time or breath.” 

The king angles his head, both curious and skeptical. You shift on your feet and the movement draws his attention. He winces as he sees you and his shoulders tense. He peers back at the lord in the light of the fire. He clears his throat. 

“Vesemir, what is your meaning here?” The king demands. 

[familyvideostevie]

come care about me

joel miller x reader a quiet evening at your house in Jackson with the man you call home | implied but unspecified age gap, domesticity, jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip [2.2k] a/n: my first attempt at joel! hope it's alright. read part 2 here! part 3 here! series masterlist here.

Jackson is quiet at this hour. The whole world is pretty quiet these days and sometimes it's more suffocating than peaceful. The white noise of life is so different -- you remember how car horns and humming power lines and the thrum of planes overhead used to remind you that you weren't alone. Now, most of the time, you're hoping you're alone. The snap of a twig or click of a safety or a muffled cough are signs of danger. But this town is safe. You know it, you feel it, but sometimes it catches up to you: how tiring it is to be on guard all the time. This is just how it is.

You hear little but your own footsteps as you head for home, hands tucked into your pockets and book wedged under your arm. The warmth of an evening spent at the town book club is still in your veins -- well, that and the finger of whiskey -- and it chases away your melancholy musings for the moment. Even better is the promise of what awaits you.

The porch light is on when you round the corner. You half expect Joel to be strumming away in his chair but there's no sign of him. Not unusual, not really, given that there's a chill in the air and Ellie was meant to come over for a movie night. Maybe she's still here and they're inside watching some shitty action flick on the couch. One or both of them always doze off before it's over. Regardless, you know he won't head to bed until you're home.

You ease open the door. The hallway smells like Ellie's favorite tea and slightly burnt bread but there's no splash of light from the TV, no clash of swords or quiet laughter.

It's dark in the house but that's not unusual either. "Took a few years to stop flicking light switches," Joel once told you. "Reckon it'll take a few more to get used to it again." He's the kind of man who would rather sit in the dark than chance disappointment.

"Joel?" you call. Your jacket goes on the hook next to his and you sit on the bench you dragged in last month for unlacing your boots, which will go next to his spare pair. He's undoubedlty still got his on, wherever he is. The tell-tale trail of belongings that often indicate the presence of a teenager is absent.

Your name echoes down the staircase followed by heavy, slightly uneven footsteps. Joel emerges into the hallway, guitar in hand. His hair is mussed like he's just thrown on the sweater he now wears and his expression softens at the sight of you, an ever-so-slight ease of his jaw and upturn of his mouth. It took you a while to learn how to spot it.

There are nights when you'll make a joke, tease him a little to try to get him to laugh. It's easier than it used to be but he likes to make you work for it. But tonight you're just glad to be home and you want to tell him so. He leans the guitar against the wall and beats you to it.

"Was gonna wait for you on the porch," he says. "Bit early to be back already." He's right. The after-discussion drinks will be going for at least another hour, thought the sun has been down for ages. You just shrug, fingers a little clumsy from the whiskey and the cold as you undo your laces.

"Wanted to come home," you say. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he crosses his arms, shoulder pressing into the wall above the guitar. Joel rarely takes, rarely reaches for what's in front of him even if he wants it, even if it's already his. It's a patience, a self discipline painfully constructed from years of survival and two rounds as a father mixed with the deep guilt he'll never allow himself to be rid of.

Point is, he'll wait for you to touch him. But that's okay. You've worked on your patience, too, and you've been doing this dance for a few years now. His arms will be open once you finish getting your damn shoes off.

"Ellie still here?" you ask. Joel's words are heavy with his drawl, heavier since being around Tommy, if Ellie is to be believed, his sentences clipped of unnecessary words and syllables. It seems that you've adopted some of his speech pattern. He'll never admit it but you think he likes it.

"You just missed her."

"I think she'd like this." You nudge the book on the bench beside you with your thigh. "I'll drop it by tomorrow. Movie night go good?"

Joel dips his chin, eyes on the floor. He shows you so much but there are some things he can't. The scabbing over wound between him and Ellie is often one of those things. "Was nice," he allows. "She n'Dina will be at dinner this weekend, she said."

You finally get your boots off and sigh, tossing them into the corner. The thud is loud enough to make you wince. "About time those girls graced us with their presence." You reach your arms above your head and stretch, joins popping and muscles sore from the sheer exertion of existing after the end of the world. Joel watches you.

"Alright," he says. He pushes off the wall with a groan. "C'mere."

It's the easiest thing in the world to walk into his embrace, socked feet soundless on the hardwood. You love Ellie like she's your own but her absence means that Joel will touch you more. He's a private man, reserved around people he knows and downright stony around those he doesn't even though the years in Jackson have softened him a great deal. He'll squeeze your hand, your shoulder, hover his palm on the small of your back as he moves around you, but that's it. He worries constantly that you'll wise up and realize he's too old, too boring, too mean, that people in town whisper the same behind your backs. Funny how in a time where you fight against fungus-powered flesh eaters, gossip still makes its rounds.

Still, you feel Joel's eyes on you in every room and you'd rather he worry about things like that than life and death beyond the walls. It's like your cells know he's near, a compass needle magnetized to the set of his shoulders and smell of wood glue and gunpowder. The rasp of his voice and his rough hands and the lines on his face. In the privacy of your home he's all yours.

"Hello," you say into his sweater. It's a new find, different from the threadbare button-ups and flannels he wears into the ground. His beard scratches against your skin and you sink into him, arms around his waist. He cradles the back of your head in one warm palm and holds you steady with the other on your back.

"Howdy," he mutters because he knows it'll make you laugh. It does. You match your inhales to his and any remaining tension from the day leaks out of both of you. "Do y'wanna to sit on the porch or go to bed? You hungry?"

His knuckles trace your spine as you shake your head. "Astrid had Seth make sandwiches. So, bed. Too cold to be on the porch."

"S'not that cold," he retorts. You roll your eyes and pull away from his embrace to look at him. His hair could do with a trim, the silver strands falling into his eyes. Your own hair has greys here and there by now, a byproduct of the times. Nearly everyone born Before has some. It's damn stressful to be alive. Joel often grumbles that you're too young for that kind of shit, not far enough from twenty for such visible signs of age.

"I've got gossip for you." That gets his eyebrows to raise.

"Do you now?" He releases you and grabs the guitar, gesturing for you to head upstairs first. "Should'a led with that."

Joel Miller is a lot of things, some of them better than others, but one of your favorites is that he's become a gossip. Maybe he was Before, too. Small-town life and safety and a teenager of his own and you have turned his eye back towards the business of other folks. Information gatherin', he calls it. Important to know what's going on.

But really he's just nosy. Good thing you are, too. It's basically the only reason you go to book club. If you actually wanted to talk about books you'd do it with the teenager living out back -- and you do -- since she's a bigger reader and miles smarter than anyone else in town.

The stairs creak like they always do. Joel has put away the laundry that you finished this morning and despite his inclination towards darkness, has left on the lamp in the bedroom. He sets the guitar back in its stand and sits in the armchair to unlace his boots, grunting a bit as he goes.

"Jesse's mother brought a new batch of whiskey for after the discussion. Caused some loose lips, I think. I hope she did it on purpose because it was worth it."

You eye the book on Joel's side of the bed. Something about...woodworking? Typical.

"Whiskey, huh?" he drawls from behind you. "Could smell it on your breath," he says. You look up and he startles you a bit by appearing in your space and tilting your chin up with two fingers. Joel presses his lips to yours firmly, tongue dipping into your exhale for just a moment before he pulls back. "Can taste it, too."

He's gone before you can lean into him. You sit down heavily on the bed. Whiskey aside, Joel's touch, his kiss, his attention always make you feel a little overwhelmed. And he knows it. You hadn't even heard him creep over to you.

"Asshole," you mutter.

"Say somethin'?" He's wandered to the closet to shuck off his jeans and sweater.

"Remember Scott?" you ask instead. "Short, got that scar across his face."

"I might be old but my memory is fine," he grumbles. "Patrolled with him last month."

"Well, he's been with Duy, that guy who works the gardens, for almost half a year, right? But according to Wendy, as of yesterday, Scott's not living in the house on Spring Street anymore. She saw him moving into a split level on Crescent."

Joel whistles through his teeth. You watch him slide into flannel pants, catch flashes of his tanned skin and your palms ache to touch him.

"You think it has to do with...what was his name? The other guy Scott's with sometimes? Phil? Peter?"

"Patrick. Yeah, that's what I thought too. Something must've been happening there." You tuck one leg under you on the bed. "What was that about a fine memory?"

He ignores you. "Never did like him much," he says. "He talks a lot." He reappears from the closet in his pants that belonged to some other man long dead, his chest bare despite the cool evening. He's a furnace, this man. You barely need layers to sleep in as the seasons change so long as he's next to you, all solid warmth and muscle. He tosses you the shirt you like to sleep in. It smells like what passes for detergent these days.

"You don't like anyone much," you tease as you unfurl your leg. It's not true, not really. Joel likes a few people a great deal and tolerates everyone else just fine. He's respected not only for being Maria's brother-in-law but for the way he can fix things, for his calm head on patrol. Children in town adore him and Ellie's friends used to revere him like a god, or so she tells you. You didn't know him before Jackson but you know enough about what happened twenty years ago, four years ago, and everything in between. You know that it made him hard but hollow. You know that that dear girl in the back shed brought him back to life and now that they're on the mend, you can see even more pieces of who he was.

You know that you've helped, too.

"I like you plenty," he says. He stands between your knees and frames your face with his hands. The callused pad of his thumb drags over your lower lip as you just stare at each other for a few moments. You press your palm to his stomach, nails sliding through the thatch of hair that leads down under the band of his pants. His abdomen contracts and his nostrils flare.

You give him a grin. "I like you plenty, too, Joel Miller." There isn't much more to it. He's probably your favorite person on this god-forsaken planet.

"Get outta these damn clothes," he grumbles around a small smile of his own. He tugs at the shirt in your hand.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him. "Oh, so we can f--"

Joel steps back and heads for the bathroom, leaving you behind with a dramatic sigh. "So we can go to sleep."

Laughter spills out of you as you head for the closet. "Whatever you say."

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

The end of the world isn't so bad.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here

[sootspritesivy]

iris - han jisung

word count - 1k+ pairing - han jisung x reader warnings - none, just immense softness author’s note: *clears throat, taps mic* is this thing working? anyway, hi y’all i am VERY new to stayblr and to writing on stayblr. this is my first work ever on here. it was born out of my head full of han jisung’s cover of i love you so and my carnal, visceral, insatiable need for him to cover iris by the goo goo dolls... i can picture it already grrrrrr. anyway, hope you guys like this soft little hannie writeup like i did. show it some love if you can xx and i’d be very happy to hear ur thoughts on it <3 

The rain pours outside and the pattering against the window creates a soothing thrum in the confines of your room. The lamp by your bed casts a warm glow. The strong earthy scent of the cups of coffee that you had brewed wafts in as you push open the door with your leg. Your boyfriend who lay on your bed, scrolling through his phone let out an appreciative hum and a deep sniff.

You slowly settle down into the mess of blankets and your boyfriend’s limbs. “Here you go, Hannie.”

“Thank you, baby,” he murmurs as he sits up, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. He grabs a cup from your hand and throws the blanket over your knees as you cuddle up into his side. His phone now lay discarded by the bedside table and his attention was focused on you.

“I feel like every single thing that weighed down on me just fell away as soon as I stepped in here.”

A gentle smile makes its way onto your lips. “Yeah?”

“I missed you so much. I love work, but I missed you so much. It gets so hard sometimes. Somedays I’m tired to my bones and I want to fall apart. I don’t want to face the world or go on stage…Just wanna crawl into your arms and lock us away like this.”

You reach out to him, hands sweeping beneath the hood of his cozy sweatshirt, fingers weaving into his hair. “I know, baby. And you still went out there every night and put on the performance of your life. And now you have hours and hours to be in my arms, just like you want.”

Han looks down at you, eyes glimmering with a fondness that leaves them a little glazed. He leans over, lips finding yours in a soft press of flesh. He kisses you once, twice before he pulls back and away. His coffee mug joins his phone on the bedside table before he fumbles out of the bed, walking away.

“Be right back,” he calls out behind him.

You sip on your coffee revelling in the bittersweet taste of it while wondering where Jisung had suddenly disappeared. You looked at the window, the raindrops merging into one another in a glistening array of oranges and blues reflected on the glass.

A few minutes later, Jisung walks in with his guitar in his arms.

“Oh, are we getting some music to keep us company?”

He flashes you a wide smile as he joins you again. He settles back against the headboard, guitar resting over his thighs. “I have a song for you. Makes me think of you.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. Jisung always makes your heart flutter - as if he was still just a crush. Like your fingers just brushed against each other’s. Like you were sneaking glances and caught the other already looking. Like the first press of his lips against your cheek. Or your trembling fingers as they held his for the first time. Like the tremble of his breath in your ear that first night. “For me? Which one is it?”

He only smiles in response as his eyes focus on settling his finger over the right chords before he begins strumming.

“I’d give up forever to touch you, cause I know that you feel me somehow.”

As you register the words and recognise the song, there’s an immediate sting at the back of your nose building up. Your eyes quickly water as Han’s mellow voice bleeds through the room, reverberating around you, embracing you whole as it makes its way right into your heart, your soul.

He’s a vision, right there in your bed. His hood over his head, hair messy, in a pair of raggedy, old sweatpants. The lamp crowns him with a balmy halo as he gazes right at you while singing. He looks so at ease like he’s exactly where he needs to be, exactly where he belongs. He’s right there looking like the love of your life.

“And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand.”

A stray tear finally escapes your glistening eyes, running down your cheek. Somehow, if it was possible, Han’s eyes only grew fonder.

“When everything’s made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.”

You sniff quietly, wiping away the tear as quickly as it came. You weren’t sad, no. How could you be, with the man of your dreams sitting in front of you, in your little haven of a room, singing to you like you were the only one who needed to listen to his voice like this.

As the last chords of the song die out, Jisung sits there for a few seconds, his pretty doe eyes watching you carefully.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You whisper, voice still a little watery.

Han’s lips curve into a tender smile. “I’m going to marry you.”

Your breath hitches. “Hannie…”

“I know it. There’s a lot of things I’m unsure of. But this is not one of them. I’m going to marry you one day.”

He quickly puts away his guitar when you surge towards him, finding himself with a lap full of you. Your hands cup his face as you lean your forehead against his. “You mean that?”

“Of course, baby. I mean it.”

You kiss him deeply, the taste of coffee on your tongue drawing out a hum out of him. You pull away only to pepper kisses all over his face - on his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids, his ears. His laughter fills the air and his hands squeeze your waist affectionately.

“It seems you like the idea of it,” he mumbles, chasing your lips again.

You huff out a breathless giggle as he pushes you off his lap and into the mattress. “Well yeah, I am gonna marry you too, Han Jisung.”

A wide grin blooms on his face as he hovers over you. He’s tugging off his hoodie and leaning down towards you, as he whispers. “Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way.”

[ghcstpyre]

PINKIE SWEAR.

*•.¸♡ ted "theodore" logan x f!reader

PART ONE. ted is still a virgin. you offer to change that.

contents: virgin!ted, afab!reader, a bit of fluff, angst if you squint, post-excellent adventure, pre-bogus journey, drug use (weed), fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), slight praise kink, unprotected p in v sex. MINORS BEGONE!

word count: 7.5k

a/n: after sitting in my drafts for 2 months, it's finally here! i'm so excited to get this one out of my brain and into writing and i really hope you enjoy reading it as much as i've enjoyed/am going to enjoy writing it! :)

taglist: @scarlettspectra

The thick smell of weed hung heavy in the air of Bill and Ted's apartment, its source pinched between your index and middle finger. You'd perched yourself atop the kitchen countertop in one of the few un-cluttered spaces, lazily toking from the joint in your hand.

It was evening in the middle of July and the colours of the sunset shone through the little window opposite you, bathing the messy kitchen in a gold and orange glow. You and Ted had forgotten to crack open a window before you lit up, but by the time either of you had realised you were both too baked to care and the damage had already been done.

Ted was sat on the sofa, his old acoustic guitar in his hands, fingers plucking away an unknown tune. Or maybe it was a tune you should know, but the fingers on the strings were too inexperienced for you to be able to tell what it was. His guitar playing skills had improved somewhat since the History Report fiasco, but not by a huge margin.

You thought that having a literal princess as a girlfriend to impress would help spur him on, and for a time it had done, but you'd noticed Ted becoming more withdrawn since his relationship with Elizabeth had ended. He 'd been pretty torn up over it at the time, but it had been over a month now since they ended things on friendly terms and you'd picked up on his change in demeanor.

It felt cruel, but you couldn't say you were too heartbroken for Ted when he broke the bad news to you. The thick, green worm of jealousy had wriggled its way under your skin and buried itself within your chest the moment Ted introduced Elizabeth to you as his girlfriend. It had been festering there ever since, making its nest within your heart.

Of course, it was your own fault for realising your feelings for Ted a little too late. Everyone always said 'better late than never', but you didn't think you could apply it to the crappy situation you found yourself in.

But now Ted was single again. It seemed the universe had decided to give you another chance.

Slowly, you tilted your head to the side, dragging your gaze away from the view of the sunset to look at the object of your affection. He'd gone from plucking the strings to strumming them listlessly, clearly a million miles away.

Your whole body thrummed with the buzz of your high, a faint ringing in your ears. You knew you were high as hell - it felt like your skull had been stuffed full of cotton wool and your eyes were heavy, sclera tinted red and lids droopy.

As heavy as your eyes felt, you managed to drag your gaze across Ted's form. His mop-like, dark brown hair had fallen into his face like it usually did, but the blazing glow of the sunset shining through the living-room window cast an orange halo around his head, making him look almost angelic. The usual chocolate hues of his eyes were glittering hazel as he sat with the guitar in his hands, basking in the warmth of the setting sun.

Your eyes followed the movements his large hands made on the strings and fretboard of the beat-up guitar. There were a few stickers littered around the front of its body, faded and torn with age, and scratch marks where someone had obviously tried to peel stickers off with little to no success.

For a brief moment, like you'd done so many times in the past, you imagined what it'd be like to have Ted's hands on your body, his fingertips rough and hardened from the strings of his guitars. That familiar and inevitable heat sparked in your core and you squeezed your thighs together against the slight pulsing between your legs.

"Hey," Your voice was mellow and slow as you tried to get Ted's attention. "You gonna help me smoke this or what?" You asked, holding the joint out in his direction.

Ted was promptly pulled away from his thoughts at the sound of your voice, hands ceasing their movements on the acoustic guitar as he looked over at you, and then at the smoke pinched between your fingers. A lopsided grin tugged at his lips. "Oh, yeah."

He set the guitar down next to him and pushed himself up from the dingy green sofa, the old springs within it groaning in protest at the sudden shift in weight. The soles of his white sneakers squeaked on the tiles of the kitchen as he eagerly stumbled his way from the living room, still feeling the effects of your last spliff.

His long fingers took the joint from your own and he settled opposite you, leaning up against the counter next to the sink, just in front of the fish bowl. He lifted it to his pink lips and took a nice, long drag, the cherry on the end burning as orange as the sunset. After a few beats of holding it in, Ted released the smoke in one long exhale, filling the space between you with a thick, pungent cloud.

The red basketball shorts Ted wore hung low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers poking out above them and concealing just below the bottom of his dark snail trail. You had to do your best to drag your eyes away from the mouth-watering view and instead focused your gaze on his chest. It wasn't any less tantalizing - his old San Dimas High School tank top was a little too small for him now and clung to his torso in all the right places, giving you a wonderful view of the slight muscle definition on his body and arms that he usually hid behind baggy t-shirts and jackets.

It wasn't until he'd said your name for a third time that you realised Ted was trying to get your attention. "You okay there dude?" He asked, genuine concern in his eyes, sclera just as bloodshot as yours and lids just as heavy.

You swallowed hard as you composed yourself, offering him a reassuring smile and hoping he hadn't caught you checking him out. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just really stoned."

Ted gave you an amused smirk in return, flashing you with a bright, toothy grin as he brought the joint to his lips once again. "Excellent."

You muffled a snort against your hand. The way Ted and Bill spoke was something you'd always found equal parts amusing and endearing. It was goofy, but somehow you felt it added to Ted's strange charm.

A soft padding could be heard below you as you lightly swung your legs back and forth, your heels knocking against the cupboard door as you watched Ted pull from the spliff. His features took on a somber edge and his eyes glazed over slightly, clearly miles away once again.

"Hey, Ted? Are you okay?" Your voice was soft, cautious almost, as you got his attention. "You've been kind of distant lately. I know breaking up with Elizabeth must've been tough but...do you wanna talk about it?"

He regarded you silently, pursing his lips a little with a slight furrow in his brow. Ted's gaze fell to his feet and he tapped the tips of his sneakers together. Eventually, he nodded. "...Yeah, " His voice was hoarse, almost like the word was a struggle for him to get out. "I think talking might do me some good."

It hurt seeing Ted so visibly deflated like this, but you were glad he was willing to finally open up about things - even if it did mean you had to listen to him pine over his ex. Still, more than anything you just wanted to be there for your friend, as a friend.

Ted offered you a grateful smile, the corners of his full lips quirking upwards beautifully. He reached out to pass you the joint and tingles ran up your arm as your fingers brushed his before taking the joint from him. He swallowed thickly, trying to figure out where and how to begin while he watched you fumble with the lighter, sparking the smoke up again and breathing new life into the cherry on the end.

"It's just...bogus, y'know?" He started, running a hand through his glossy hair. "Elizabeth was my first proper girlfriend - she, Bill, Joanna and I basically did everything together. Being with them was always a most excellent time."

You nodded along as he spoke, toking from the joint and turning your head away slightly to blow the smoke out, away from Ted's face. The green worm coiled around your heart squeezed.

"But now it's just the three of us and I'm a total third wheel all the time. Or - or it's the three of them, without me. Elizabeth said we're still friends but that she needs some time - which is perfectly okay, I mean, I'm not about to force things like a dickweed or something, but..." A long, frustrated sigh left his lips.

Ted already felt like a complete jackass for feeling this way about his friends, and even more so for complaining about them in the open like this. Friends weren't supposed to talk smack about each other behind their backs. He looked at you from beneath his long, dark lashes, almost like he was seeking your approval. He'd always had a nasty habit of second guessing himself - undoubtedly put there by his asshole of a father - but this was uncharted territory for him and he felt like a fish out of water.

Sensing his need for guidance, you tilted your head and offered him a sympathetic smile. "You miss your friends." You finished for him.

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders he didn't even realise was there beginning to ease. "Yeah, exactly." He looked up at you properly, meeting your gaze. "It's why I'm most grateful for you offering to hang out so often since Elizabeth and I split. It's been a totally lonely time, but seeing you has made it a bit easier."

Your chest tightened and your heart stuttered. Of course you'd wanted to be there for Ted as he dealt with his first breakup, but you couldn't deny that there were selfish motivations lurking beneath your good intentions. Guilt mingled with the fluttering of your heart.

"I'm always gonna be there for you during your hours of need, dude." You smiled.

Ted watched as you puffed from the joint again and blew out the thick cloud through your plush lips. The smoke rising from the glowing cherry swirled as it hung in the air, twisting around you lazily like a living thing, high off its own fumes and glowing in the light of the sunset. His chocolate brown gaze dropped to the KISS logo plastered over the chest of the t-shirt you wore - his t-shirt that you'd stolen some time ago now.

Elizabeth always told him it was strange that he let you wear his clothes sometimes, but he never thought anything of it. It was only now, however, that he noticed just how much he liked it when you did.

Is that weird? Ted thought to himself. Since when did she get so...bodacious?

He'd always thought you were pretty, but there was something different about you that he'd started to notice. Ted found his gaze lingering on you longer than it should, sometimes on places he definitely shouldn't be looking at. Especially now with the light of the sunset setting the colour of your hair ablaze, his t-shit hanging comfortably on your body, and your summer short-shorts clinging to your upper thighs.

His eyes dropped a little lower as the comfortable silence you found yourself in stretched on a bit longer. He noticed the way the flesh of your thighs spread out on the countertop, the bare skin below your shorts sticking to the marble in the summer heat. Ted swallowed thickly before looking you in the eye once again.

You noticed the way his eyes trailed over your body but decided not to comment, despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. "Plus, I guess this makes band practice difficult. That's gotta be frustrating."

"Yes! God, yeah, it is most vexing." Ted looked at you like you'd just put everything he'd been feeling over the last few months into words. If he'd known how liberating it would be to vent his frustrations, he would've come to you to talk sooner. You always had a knack for finding the words to describe how he felt. "How is Wyld Stallyns gonna be the most triumphant rock band in history if we can't even practice?"

A giggle slipped past your lips, glad that he seemed to have perked up a little. Wyld Stallyns were terrible, but you'd supported them unconditionally no matter how bad they sounded. "Just give it more time, Ted. I promise you she'll come round and you guys will be able to practice and hang out again just like you used to. You're doing really well, just have a little more patience."

The idea of Elizabeth and Ted spending time together again didn't exactly fill you with glee, but you doubted they'd get back together - at least, not immediately. You hoped.

His eyes dropped to your thighs again as you passed the joint back to him, the tip of his tongue poking out to wet his lips. "There's...kinda something else that's been bugging me, but I don't know if I should..." Ted trailed off, a light pink hue rising to his cheeks.

"Go on," You urged, nodding at him to continue. If there was more weighing on him, you wanted to coax it out of him.

He avoided your gaze, eyes sliding off to the right. "Okay...y'know how Bill and I explained that the princesses are...chaste?" You nodded and hummed in understanding. "Well, it took me eighteen years to finally get a girlfriend. Now I'm twenty-three, single and there are things that most guys have done by now that I still haven't experienced." The embarrassment was evident on his face; he couldn't meet your gaze at all.

You simply blinked at him, processing his words. Then, the penny dropped. "You're a virgin?" Your mouth was blurting the words before you could stop them.

Ted's cheeks flushed crimson and he let out a frustrated groan. Although he completely respected Elizabeth's boundaries and was more than happy to have waited until marriage to finally experience the intimacy he craved, he couldn't deny that it had been a ball-ache - metaphorically and in some cases, physically. Bill had cracked a joke about their right hands being their second girlfriends; at the time Ted had found it funny, but now it just depressed and frustrated the hell out of him.

"No-!" He raised his voice slightly in defense, almost offended by the 'V' word. He shook his head. "-I mean yes? I mean-" The hand that wasn't holding the spliff reached up to drag his palm over his face as he visibly deflated. "It just sucks, dude. I feel super lame." He let out another long sigh, defeated.

Ted brought the joint to his lips, taking one final, long drag before stubbing it out in one of the nearby dirty mugs in the sink. He looked back down at his shoes again, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

"Teddy, hey," The nickname caught his attention, but he didn't have the courage to meet your gaze just yet. You unstuck your thighs from the kitchen counter and hopped down, stepping forward to close the distance between the two of you. When he still refused to acknowledge you, you brought your hands up to rest on the sides of his exposed biceps and squeezed gently. "Teddy, look at me."

He hesitated for a moment before lifting his head to look at you and your sweet smile.

"You're not lame. Like, at all." You reassured him, your thumbs rubbing slow, comforting circles on his skin. "In fact, I think it's totally chivalrous of you to have waited for Elizabeth."

Ted tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. "...You think so?"

Cute. You thought.

"Of course!" You smiled brightly at him, having to tilt your head up to look him in the eye. "Not many guys would do that. Most would just get bored and dump their girlfriend after a few weeks so they could go and get some."

His face soured at the notion. "Heinous."

You giggled and his expression immediately brightened as the sweet sound filled the kitchen, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he dipped his head down and chuckled. That was one thing he always liked about you - your laugh. Especially when he was the reason for it.

You retracted your hands from his arms and he mourned the loss of contact, his skin tingling where your thumbs had been circling.

"Besides, there's nothing bad about it. Everyone experiences things at different paces. Like, you smoked weed before I did." Your words had a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Do what you wanna do at your own pace and don't care about what anyone else thinks. Just because you haven't had sex yet doesn't make you any less of a catch."

He lifted his head to look at you again. "Thanks, babe. I really do appreciate it."

The bright expression on his face was the sign you needed to know you'd made him feel better, at least for the time being. The two of you stood there for a few moments, dissolving into stoned giggling. Ted's cheeks were flushed and his eyes shimmered with mirth, the sight being enough to make you swoon internally.

With the orange glow behind him, Ted looked like a dream. A dream you wanted to be a part of.

Hold on a moment. Did Ted call you babe?

An idea popped into your baked mind, head still hazy from the joint you'd just smoked. You weren't really sure if it was a good idea, but you figured if it all blew up in your face you could just blame it on the weed. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin the friendship you had with Ted, especially since his others were currently rocky, but you were high and you wanted him.

"Hey..." You started, your heartbeat picking up the pace. "...If you're still worried about that kind of stuff, I could help out."

Ted's giggles died down and he cocked his head at you in confusion once again. "Huh? What d'you mean?"

Of course he had to pick now to be dense. "Well, y'know..." You tilted you head forward and looked up at him from beneath your lashes, hoping he'd get the message.

His brows raised in recognition and he formed an 'o' with his lips before breaking out into a grin. "Ooohh, you wanna be my wingman?"

You scrunched your face up. "What? No."

"Then whaddya mean?"

"You know what I mean!"

"Babe, I have no idea what you're saying."

"Do you wanna have sex with me?"

The smoke still swirling between you seemed to freeze in place, your words hanging heavy between the two of you. You could feel how hot your cheeks were and you could hear your pulse thumping in your ears, but you were determined to hold his startled gaze.

Ted simply blinked at you, completely dumbstruck, the gears in his head whirring as he tried to process what you'd just said. He was struggling to comprehend if he had actually heard you correctly or not.

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on the soft flesh nervously and your eyes were trained on his every movement like a hawk. His silence didn't comfort you and although it only lasted for a few moments, to you it felt like an age before he finally responded.

"I...uh...huh?"

Anxiety simmered in your stomach, threatening to bubble over into frustration. You were already embarrassed enough as is and Ted's utter confusion didn't help your hammering heart.

You breathed in slowly, trying to calm your nerves. "Do you wanna hook up?" A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "With me?"

Ted's heart thumped rapidly beneath his tank top and your eyes followed his Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down. His hands trembled slightly within his pockets - equal parts nerves and desire. Ted was usually one to articulate himself using large, goofy hand gestures, but right now he was glad his hands were tucked away so you couldn't see how much his hands shook.

"Are you - are you serious?" He asked, his deep voice cracking adorably.

A few strands of hair fell into your face as you nodded, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt. "Y-Yeah. I mean, we're both high, we're friends-" You swallowed thickly and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. Ted's eyes followed the movement and you took a small step forward, "-You're cute...plus, it'll mean you'll have one less thing to worry about, right?"

His eyes flicked up to your eyes, down to your lips, then back to meet your gaze again. It didn't go unnoticed.

One of Ted's hands retracted from his pocket to reach out and gently brush away those fallen strands of hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear. You were sure then, if it could've done, your heart would've leapt right out of your chest and into his hand. Your breath hitched and your smile turned from shy to hopeful.

"I...yeah, I guess that makes sense." Heat rose to Ted's cheeks and his smile matched your own before faltering slightly. "But, won't it make things, like, totally weird between us?"

You shook your head. "Nah. I promise we'll still be friends afterwards." Lifting a hand, you wiggled your pinkie finger in front of him. "Pinkie Swear."

With a small, amused huff, Ted linked his little finger with yours and held it for a few beats before pulling you towards him using your pinkie. The hand that had remained inside his pocket moved to rest on the curve of your hip, his thumb rubbing your soft skin over the material of your top. Your own free hand came to tentatively rest on his chest.

Now that your hips were almost flush against his, and thanks to his loose-fitting shorts, you could feel his length pressed against your thigh. He was already a bit hard.

"Is that a yes?" Your voice was breathless as you asked, not expecting the sudden surge in confidence after his initial confusion and bashfulness.

Ted's voice was low and husky when he responded, his tone immediately causing heat to pool between your legs. He leaned in, plush pink lips only an inch away from yours.

"Hell yes."

Finally, Ted's lips captured yours in a kiss that, for you at least, felt like a long time coming. The nervous simmering in your tummy exploded in the form of happy fireworks as his lips moved slow and tender over your own, giddiness and lust threatening to take you over.

This was Ted's first time so you were determined to keep your own desires in check - to go at his pace.

His pinkie finger released yours in favour of snaking his hand around your neck to cradle the back of your head as he towered over you, lips still connected to yours. Your own hand lingered in place for a second before joining the other on his broad chest, savoring the feeling of his excited heartbeat against your palms.

You pulled away from each other for a moment to catch your breath. Ted's pupils were blown wide with desire, his deep brown eyes looking like inky black pools. Combined with the crimson hue blooming across his cheeks, your best friend looked absolutely delicious.

Neither you nor Ted could believe this was actually happening.

"Whoa..." A big, toothy grin spread across his freshly kissed lips.

You didn't even get a chance to respond before Ted's mouth descended upon yours again, this time with a little more urgency. The hand that gripped your hip circled around your waist to hold you tightly against him while his other threaded his fingers through your hair. You practically melted into him, raising onto the balls of your feet to wrap your arms around his neck and push him back against the counter behind him.

The ache between your legs urged you on. You traced your tongue along Ted's bottom lip, desperate for more. He was more than happy to oblige, parting his lips for you and letting out a soft groan as your tongue slid against his.

You were sure that that little sound was enough to send you to heaven. Or at the very least, would be living in your head rent free for the next...well, forever.

The inside of your mouth tasted like weed, smoke and the chocolate you'd snacked on earlier when the munchies hit, and Ted briefly wondered if there was any part of you in that moment that he didn't find completely intoxicating. Every kiss, every touch, every swipe of your tongue had his cock throbbing inside his shorts, straining against the fabric and aching for attention.

Without even realising it, Ted began grinding his rigid length against your thigh, pulling a little gasp from your lips. The friction paired with your tongue in his mouth was almost enough to make his toes curl in his sneakers.

Ted could count on one hand the number of girls he'd kissed, but this was by far the best kiss he'd ever had.

Why hadn't he done this with you sooner?

Sensing his need, you slid the palms of your hands down his torso to the waistband of his boxers. His breath hitched in his throat and his dick twitched with anticipation as you smiled against his plush lips, your fingers dipping just below the elastic to toy with the waistband.

"Can I touch you?" You breathed against his mouth, desperate to feel the size of him in your hands, in your mouth, and buried deep inside you.

Ted's eyes fluttered open and he nodded, letting out a shaky breath. "Y-Yeah."

In one swift motion you pushed down his boxers and shorts, letting them pool around his ankles as you sunk down to your knees. His cock sprung free, long with a thick vein running up the underside and a lovely pink head, a bead of precum already forming at the tip.

He was absolutely gorgeous. If you weren't wet before, you were surely soaking through your panties by now.

You reached your hands up to run your fingers down his flat stomach, trailing them over his cute snail trail and through the dark thatch of curls sitting above where you wanted to be most. He watched you the whole time through heavily-lidded eyes, his bottom lip caught between his pearly white teeth.

The sight of you on your knees before him was the hottest thing he'd ever seen and you hadn't even touched him yet.

Ted's whole body jolted as you wrapped a hand around his shaft, your other hand resting on his thigh. You gave his cock a few slow, long strokes, looking up and drinking in the sight of him as he gripped onto the edge of the kitchen counter and gazed down at the most excellent view of you with his dick in your hand.

The whimpers that escaped him were all the encouragement you needed. Without warning you leaned in to lick a hot, wet stripe up the underside of his shaft and press a kiss to his wet tip. Ted practically keeled over, inhaling sharply.

"You okay?" You asked, concern swimming with the lust in your eyes as you pulled back a little.

Ted nodded, the corners of his lips quirking upwards in a small, sheepish smile. "Y-Yeah, I'm good. Just wasn't, uh, expecting that."

You squeezed his thighs affectionately. "Want me to carry on?"

"God yes."

Having the go-ahead, you leaned in again and took the head of his throbbing cock into your mouth.

"Oh fuck."

Ted managed to release the vice grip he had on the countertop to thread his fingers through the hair on the top of your pretty head as you began bobbing your head, the other hand still gripping onto the counter for dear life. You took a little more of him into your mouth with each motion, swirling your tongue around the swollen head when you pulled back.

"Fuck babe, that feels so good."

The salty taste of his precum on your tongue sent bolts of heat straight to your core, now hyper aware of the aching need between your legs. Unable to handle it anymore, your spread your thighs apart and slid one of your hands into your shorts to rub slow circles on your clit through the damp fabric of your panties.

It was taking all of Ted's willpower and restraint to not buck his hips forward into the warm, wet heat of your mouth. The sight of you touching yourself as you sucked his dick was almost too much for him to handle and he had to clap the hand that white-knuckled the counter over his mouth to muffle the loud moan that slipped out.

His moan was like music to your ears. You needed to hear more. Steeling yourself, you pulled your wet lips off his cock with a pop, inhaled deeply, and then took his entire length down your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut as the coarse curls of his dark pubes tickled your nose and you moaned around his girth as your fingers worked on your sensitive bud.

"Oh shit," Ted practically yelled, throwing his head back and letting out a long, low groan of pleasure. His fingers tightened in your hair and his toes curled in his shoes as he desperately fought against the urge to cum down your throat there and then.

He pulled on your hair, gentle enough to not hurt you, but hard enough to get you to drag your mouth from his dick.

"Fuck babe - I almost came." Ted panted, completely breathless as you gazed up at him, tears pricking at the corners of your glassy eyes and your lips were red, swollen and shiny with spit.

He unthreaded his fingers from your hair to help you up to your feet and immediately pull you in for another kiss, each press of his lips harder and hungrier than the last. His hands were quick to find your hips and you gasped against his mouth as he squeezed them tight and kicked his boxers and shorts from around his ankles.

Ted began pushing you backwards until your lower back hit the edge of the counter. His irises were completely engulfed by his inky black pupils and his large hands slid up underneath your t-shirt, savouring the feeling of your soft skin beneath his palms as they travelled up your waist to your ribs.

His burning desire was swallowing him whole and he was acting purely on impulse. Ted had been worried he'd fumble this with his lack of experience, but judging by the way you responded to his advances and touches, it seemed that just letting go was working in his favour.

Before you could say anything Ted's lips were on yours again, his kisses absolutely feverous and starting to make your head spin. Just as you pulled away to catch your breath, his hands cupped your breasts and squeezed gently. Your head lolled back and you pushed your chest forward into the sensation, seeking more attention. Ted was more than happy to oblige, kneading the soft flesh of your tits beneath your top with his large hands.

You twitched and let out a needy whine when one of Ted's thumbs grazed over your nipple, his mouth swallowing that sweet sound. He pulled his lips away from yours to repeat the motion again, this time circling both his thumbs over your hard, sensitive nubs. Wonder swam in his jet black eyes as he watched you arch your back into his touch and gasp, unconsciously canting your hips into his and gripping onto his broad shoulders.

Your fantasies could never have prepared you for the real thing. The pads of his fingertips were hard and rough from the hours upon hours he'd spent almost every day pouring over his beloved Gibson, and they felt heavenly on your soft skin as they trailed down from your breasts to your hips once again.

"Can I...?"

Ted's voice was hoarse as he mumbled against your lips, his fingers toying with the button of your denim shorts as he pulled back slightly to meet your heavy gaze. He knew he'd need guidance for what came next and he prayed to the gods of music (Oh great god of metal, Mr Osbourne, dude...please don't let me fuck this up!) that you would be willing to help him out without too much judgement.

If you were to laugh at him, he was sure he'd shrivel up and die on the spot.

You blinked up at him and smiled, giving him the go-ahead with a confident nod. Despite the way his hands trembled, Ted popped open the button on your shorts and shimmied them down over your hips and thighs, taking your panties with them.

Rather than letting you step out of the material, Ted lifted you up to place you back in the space on the kitchen counter you'd been sat in before. The bright, toothy grin on your face told him that that was definitely the right move. He had a feeling that all those evenings spent watching raunchy rom-coms with Bill, Joanna and Elizabeth were going to come in handy.

Ted paused, his shoulders tensing. Wait, no. He shouldn't be thinking about Elizabeth right now.

He was promptly pulled from his thoughts by your legs hooking around his hips and pulling him into the space between your parted thighs, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders once again.

"You okay?" You asked, sensing his hesitation.

It was incredibly difficult to ignore the press of his erection against your inner thigh, but you wanted to make sure he was still okay with what was happening between you before you went any further.

He nodded, albeit stiffly, and the tips of his ears burned hot. "Y-Yeah, just...I, uh, might need some help with this part."

The sweet smile that you gave him had his heart doing flips within his ribcage. "That's cool," You said, your fingers twirling in the incredibly soft, dark hair at the base of his skull as your voice took on a lighter tone. "I happen to be intimately familiar with myself so I'm really gonna be the best teacher you'll get right now."

Your words drew an amused huff from Ted and the tension in his shoulders eased off. "Awesome. So, um, how do you like to be touched?"

It was such an innocent question but it made your pussy throb something fierce.

You took one of his hands into your own and brought his thumb to your lips. Ted's eyes zeroed in on your mouth and he inhaled sharply as you sucked on it. You coated the appendage with spit before guiding it down to your clit, his head dipping as he followed your movements.

"Here," You shuddered as his callused pad pressed against your little bundle of nerves. "Start with slow circles."

Ted did as he was told and began moving his thumb in slow, steady circles over your clit, mesmerized by the sight and sensation of your sensitive flesh beneath his touch. The soft sighs of satisfaction coming from you spurred him on and he picked up the pace. His other hand moved back underneath your top to gently pinch your nipple.

You gasped and spread your legs further, scooting to the edge of the counter and seeking more of that delicious friction.

"Want your fingers in me, Ted."

Uncertainty and lust swam in his eyes as they snapped back to yours, his cheeks flushed a wonderful shade of pink.

"Don't worry," You comforted. "I'll guide you."

Doing his best to steady the tremble in his hand, Ted dragged his middle finger over your slick folds to gently rub at your entrance. The corners of his plush lips quirked upwards - you were so wet. Not just wet, you were soaked.

"Whoa, babe. You're totally dripping wet right now." Ted grinned, flashing you with a bright, toothy smile filled with pride.

Giddiness bubbled in your chest, delight rushing throughout your body and you curled your toes. You matched his grin. "Duh; my hot best friend is about to fuck me. Of course I'm wet."

He blinked at you owlishly and his cock twitched against your inner thigh. "...You think I'm hot?"

You hesitated before nodding. "I...have done for a while-"

Your confession was cut off by a gasp as Ted slid his finger inside you without warning. The walls of your pussy instinctively squeezed his long digit as he slowly pumped it in and out of you experimentally, his eyes on your face the whole time to check for any signs of discomfort.

"That's it," You breathed. "Now add another finger."

Ted savoured your praise did as he was told, pulling his hand back to push both his middle and ring finger into you. You moaned softly this time and lifted your knees to give him better access and a better angle, the slight stretch filling you will a little more satisfaction.

You'd gotten so used to the feeling of your own touch you'd almost forgotten what it felt like with someone else. God, you missed this.

"Ah!" Pleasure shot through your nerves when his long digits brushed against that sweet spot deep inside you. "There, Teddy - curl your fingers right there."

He pushed his fingers into you to the knuckles and curled them as you said, his calloused fingertips rubbing against your g-spot and pulling more delightful sounds from your lips as he fingered you. Ted could feel the way your walls clenched around his digits and the wet sounds of your soaking cunt taking his fingers so easily had him so hard it almost hurt.

Judging by your reactions he was pretty damn sure he was making you feel good, but he wanted to hear you say it - no, he needed you to tell him.

"Is that good?"

The doe-eyed look on his face paired with his fingers working you like magic was enough to make you whimper. He may not have been able to play the guitar that well, but he was playing your pussy well enough to have you singing.

"Y-Yes," You nodded as your thighs began to tremble. "Feels so fuckin' good, Teddy."

Ted couldn't hold on any longer. Retracting his slick digits from you, he dipped down to press a quick, searing kiss to your lips and then rest his forehead against yours.

"Babe, I gotta fuck you now."

"Please," You panted, hooking your legs around his hips once more as he reached down to line himself up with your entrance.

Ted looked into your eyes as if waiting for permission to go past the point of no return. You nodded in confirmation, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as your whole body buzzed with anticipation.

Slowly, Ted pushed his throbbing length inside you, inching in bit by bit as the wet walls of your pussy accommodated his size. Your fingernails left little crescent moon marks on his smooth skin as you gripped onto his broad shoulders, closing your eyes and doing your best to relax as he inched further in.

The low, loud grown from Ted made the sensation of his cock stretching you out all the sweeter. Your hot breaths mingled as Ted bottomed out, his hips flush against the soft skin of your inner thighs and his hands moved to rest on your hips.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, holding each other and unmoving. You expected Ted to begin thrusting not long after pushing all the way in, but he was as still as a statue for long enough that it had you concerned.

"Teddy?" You opened your eyes to look at him. "You good?"

There was clear concentration on his flushed face, mixed with something akin to frustration. His dark brows were furrowed with a deep crease etched between them and his ears burned hot with embarrassment.

"Ted? Are-"

"I'll bust if I move." He blurted, voice cracking.

You had to bite back against a laugh, thoroughly amused by his choice of words. How was it possible for Ted to still be adorable during a moment like this?

Ted inhaled deeply, trying to steady the rapid thumping of his heart. "Just - just gimme a sec."

It was incredibly hard to not think about the fact that he was balls deep inside you. The thought alone was enough to have Ted teetering on the edge. Your pussy was warm and wet and tight and unlike anything he'd felt around his dick before. Quite frankly he was amazed he'd even lasted this long.

After what felt like an age, Ted let out a shuddering breath and pulled his hips back slowly before pushing into you again. You sighed, relief and pleasure flowing through your veins as he finally gave you that much needed friction your body craved so desperately.

His large hands gripped your hips tight as he thrusted in and out of you, keeping the pace slow and steady - mostly for his own sake - while his confidence gradually increased with each little pleasured sound that fell from your lips.

"Fuuuuck Ted, that's it," You praised him as he picked up the pace, the two of you becoming lost in your combined pleasure. "That's it, you're fucking me so good - Ah!"

Ted's hips suddenly snapped forwards, slamming the full length of his cock into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your wet walls throbbed around him as the head hit that wonderful little spot inside you and your fingers gripped at the soft hair on the back of his head.

"Shit, sorry-"

Your mouth swallowed his apology in a hot, open mouthed kiss. Ted was quick to reciprocate, groaning as you nipped and sucked on his bottom lip.

"Do that again."

That was all he needed to hear. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin bounced off the kitchen walls as Ted pumped his dick in and out of you, the sensitive skin glistening with your slick arousal. He did his best to angle his thrusts so that he was hitting that spot that had you clawing at his back and moaning his name, desperately wanting to make you feel good as he chased his own release.

"God babe - ngh - pussy's so fuckin' tight," One of his hands relinquished the vice grip it had on your hip to slide back under your t-shirt and grab your breast and squeeze. "Feels too good, fuckin' excellent, m'gonna - mmnh - gonna cum soon."

You reached a hand down between your spread legs to rub your swollen clit, aching for attention as that familiar heat began to coil in your abdomen, tighter and tighter as you neared your peak.

"Me too Ted, m'so close - so fucking close-"

The coil inside you snapped.

"Teddy!"

Your body shook and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your orgasm hit you, pleasure coursing through your veins in heavy waves. Ted's thrusts became sloppy while he fucked you through your climax, the feeling of your pussy clenching around him as you came on his cock being too much for him to handle.

"Shit babe, gonna cum-"

With a low, loud groan, Ted pulled out of you and gripped his throbbing length. After a few quick pumps of his fist, he spilled his cum over your skin, coating the soft swell of your lower tummy and the hem of your top in pearly white ropes.

The two of you stayed silent as you caught your breath, chests heaving. You let your legs drop and Ted placed his large hands on your thighs, steadying himself as his own legs threatened to give out from under him as he came down from his high.

Nervous bubbles began to simmer in your stomach as you watched Ted through lidded eyes. How would Ted feel about you now? Would this change things between you? And most importantly: Would he regret it?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a small smile tugged at the corners of Ted's kiss-swollen lips.

"Now that," He met your gaze. "was most excellent."

A bright smile broke out across your face and your heart did flips, giddiness shooting right down to the tips of your toes. "Agreed. You feel a bit better now?"

You watched Ted closely as he took a step back and bent down to shimmy his boxers and basketball shorts back up his long legs, before retrieving your own shorts and panties from the kitchen tiles and holding them out to you with a smile that shone with earnestness.

"Definitely."

[bandcampsnoop]

11/27/23.

"Mirtils (Catalonia, Spain) sound a bit like a band out of time. I hears the sounds I associate with Strum & Thrum era 1980s jangle rock (listen to "So Weary" or "Needless"). "

They also sound like some great mashup of Stars on Fire, Former Bullies and Versus. I'm looking at their Bandcamp page, and they just don't have much traffic. How can this be with music this good?

They must worship at the altar of Big Star - there's a cover of "I'm In Love With A Girl" as well as a single that uses the cover of #1 Record as its artwork.

This appears to be self-released. Mirtils also has a new album, Fall Off, due in January. They have a great offer for both of their records for only $20 euros + shipping.

[starhrtz]

       (,,>ヮ<,,)! 💬 ᶻz ◜ LOVE COUNTDOWN ◞ 𖦹

ᗂ 　 ᛝ 　﹒ 𓆩❝ tell me do you wanna be my lover? are you ready to be mine. ❞𓆪 ᶻ𝗓 𐰁 ︵︵

◞◟ ⦂ #pairings ₎₎ ❝ robin x fem!reader

◞◟ ⦂ #content ₎₎ ❝ fluff, tgswiiwagaa!au, 890 wc, not proofread!

˖ ⠀#synopsis ⠀ ୭ৎ　in which... do you even know she isn't even a guy at all? 𓈒 ’

˖ ⠀#notes⠀ ୭ৎ　i love wuh luh wuh and new writing style too ig... might make a part 2𓈒 ’

⌣ 🪽 ❝ The record store was glowing vaguely in the dim light. Its warm light looked as if an amber wine glass had stumbled out of someone’s hands and shattered onto the street. You had always loved that tiny shop with its walls embellished with vinyls and CD’s that seemed to tell a story of the past. It was just like the other nights, except for the relentless thrum or flutter within you that began the moment “he” caught your eye a few weeks ago.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ The Cashier was just your type, a fusion of elegance and secrecy, a stranger that felt like “he” has sculpted out of my most loved guitar riffs. Robin as the name tag suggested, had a great sense of style which always caused your cheeks to have a red hue. You would often spot lovely hands that were sorting through stacks of records or brushing silver-blue bangs away from sharp narrowed eyes.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ You were supposed to be looking through the CDs, probably on the hunt for the latest from an Independent band but instead, your gaze remained fixed at “him,” similar to how a needle would get glued to the record. “He” was intriguing, the humming sound caused you to be fascinated with “him.” Watching him move on the floor like music with an underlying pattern. Each step of his was measured to the strum quiver of a guitar string.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ There is something nearly criminal about this admiration full of silence. Your heart makes a tune of its own which is quite different from the soft music currently playing in the store. In your head you repeated that you had come here for the music and not for… this, whatever it is. But then, the sheer magnetism of Robin’s presence made such concentration impossible.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Not today, though! You resolved that today would be different. You will talk. It will not be those brief and shy talks which had developed into your daily routine, but it will be a conversation. A real conversation.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ While you daydreamed, someone walked into the store and the soft bell twinkled on the door making you snap out of it. You shook your head realizing that you were staring in what looked like a lovelorn daze. Clearing your throat you focused on the CDs and absentmindedly touched the shiny cases to appear engaged.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ “Do you have something specific you’re looking for?”

⌣ 🪽 ❝ It was a voice that was deep and smooth and held the edge of laughter as Robin approached you which caught you slightly off guard. Robin was just a few feet away from you and was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and the corners of “his” lips curved into a small smile.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Your heart almost jumped out of my mouth, “Umm..” I quickly looked around for something to say in order to avoid embarrassment “I am just browsing the store, particularly the indie section. ” The way “he” spoke was intoxicating... smooth, like the warm crackle of vinyl, each word measured yet unassuming. You nodded quickly, hoping the warmth crawling up your neck wasn’t as visible as it felt.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ As Robin slid back to the counter, you let out a sigh you did not know you were holding on to. Your fingers mindlessly rummaged through the CDs, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Why did “he” feel so magnetic? Like some inscribed string had been struck deep within making it vibrate at a frequency you couldn’t quite make sense of. It wasn’t only “his” appearance although the silver blue hair along with sharp defined features certainly did not do you any favors in maintaining composure. No, it was more than that. The very fact of how “he” held himself as if every movement and every word was a song perfectly delineated. There was a distinct quality in “him” a symphonic and harmonic one that you desperately wanted to comprehend.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ After all, there was one album you had finally managed to pick up, quite random if I must say, and headed towards the desk. As you got closer, Robin glanced up with the slightest recognition in her eyes softening “his” stare after which went on to say that, “Good choice” “he” said while scanning the CD with an ease that that was like it was rehearsed. “They have quite a unique sound. A bit more heavy but meaningful at the same time. You should enjoy it.”

⌣ 🪽 ❝Before you could ask, Robin handed you the CD, “his” fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. The contact was brief, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless.You blinked. How did “he” know that was exactly the type of music you were drawn to? Before you could ask, Robin handed you the CD, “his” fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. The contact was brief, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. “Thanks,” you mumbled, gripping the CD tighter than necessary as you turned to leave. “Wait,” Robin’s voice stopped you just as you reached the door. You turned, heart pounding, to find “him” leaning casually against the counter, an air of hesitance about “him.”

⌣ 🪽 ❝ “If you’re into this band,” “he” said, nodding toward the CD in your hands, “you might like the open mic night we’re hosting here next week. Local artists, mostly indie stuff. It’s... worth checking out and I'll be performing too...” Your eyes widened. Was Robin inviting you? Or was it just a casual suggestion? Either way, your heart felt like it was on fire. “I’ll... think about it,” you managed, offering a small smile before ducking out of the store rather quickly.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Robin exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she'd been holding, leaning against the counter for support. Her fingers curled around its edge, knuckles white. That brief exchange… your shy smile, the way your fingers had brushed against hers when she handed you the CD was enough to make her carefully built façade tremble ever so slightly. After all you always looked at her like she was someone else, this enigmatic “guy” who effortlessly exuded cool. She didn’t mean for it to happen.. Though it was the way you gazed at her, like she was someone worth noticing. Someone worth admiring.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ She gently pulled off the beanie, letting her hair cascaded down past her shoulders in loose waves. The weight of her silver strands felt grounding, a reminder of who she really was beneath the guise… The quiet girl who doodled in her notebook during class, invisible to almost everyone except, somehow, to you.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Eventually she'll tell you the truth… Right?

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | part six

“I’m sad again, don’t tell my girlfriend”

A/N: fun fact about the little black cat in the moodboard! It’s actually my friend’s cat Artemis 🥺 love that little fur baby to the moon and back! Don’t let the title fool y’all…it’s a little sad of a chapter but don’t worry!! Everything is going to be fine!! I pinky promise 💗

~word count: 4.0k~

Summary: Joel opens up to you about his past at Brazzers and before he met you

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, established relationship, discussions of toxic societal norms, the adult film industry, past relationships, grief, intimacy, communication, unconditional love, unprotected piv, cock warming, mentions of alcohol, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Calloused fingertips gently pluck wire guitar strings that once were coated in a fine layer of dust. Muscle memory takes over with each gentle thrum of the chords. He hasn’t played in years, the temptation arising, but never fulfilled. He used to play for Sarah, unable to say no when she’d curl up in his lap and watch him lightly pluck the strings. Carmen would watch from the kitchen, a soft smile etched on her face seeing Joel and her daughter bonding so soon.

Whad’ya wanna hear tonight, babygirl? Should we play your ma’s favorite?

Sarah curled up with her cheek pressed against Joel’s chest, his chin came to rest along the top of her head of curls as her small fingers reached out to pluck one of the strings, the baby song, Joelie! She giggled softly, and Joel’s heart melted into a puddle.

I love you, baby

And if it's quite alright

I need you, baby

To warm the lonely night

I love you, baby…

He can never say no to you, not when you look at him with those eyes, and in a honeyed tone asking him to play you a song while you’re sitting side by side, the comforting crackle and pops from the fire pit, a light quilt draped across your thighs, and Artemis curled up in your lap, purring happily.

“Whad’ya wanna hear, baby love?” He rasps, turning his head to the side, resting his chin along his shoulder as he looks over at you.

“Something that makes you feel, Joel.”

He swallowed the growing lump rising in his throat, glancing downwards towards his fingers lightly plucking the strings, “Somethin’ that makes me…feel?” His throat felt parched, brows furrowed inwards. “Okay.” He said softly, inhaling a lungful of air, clearing his airways. “I’m shit at singin’, jus’ so you know, baby love.”

“Don’t care, Joel. I wanna hear you.” You said softly, knee brushing against his as you rested your cheek against the cushion, a gentle expression on your face, eyes soft and holding adoration.

His fingers trembled under the soft glow from the fire as he began to strum the chords, To Make You Feel My Love. He was a bit rusty at first, missing a few notes here and there, till he fell back into a comfortable familiarity.

When the rain's blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case, I would offer you a warm embrace, to make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear, and there is no one to dry your tears, I could hold you for a million years, to make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong, I've known it from the moment that we met, there’s no doubt in my mind where you belong

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue, I'd go crawling down the avenue, there ain't nothing that I wouldn't do, to make you feel my love, mm…

His voice was warm, raspy and lulling. It held a gentle timbre that sent a warm tingle down your spine, tugging on your heartstrings in tandem.

He stumbled over the next verse, voice cracking and fingers losing their grip on the strings. He didn’t realize he was crying, hot wet tears streaming down his cheeks until he felt your gentle palm on his jaw.

Storms— are raging on a rolling sea, down the highway of regret—

“Joel.” You said softly, thumb brushing across his cheekbone, brushing away his tears that were flowing like a river, “Joel, hey. Look at me, baby. Look at me.”

“I—I’m sorry.” He choked, “I-I’m jus’ a bit rusty is all, baby love. S’been years since I’ve played this old thing.” He sniffled, jaw clenching and unclenching as you smoothed your thumb back and forth across his damp skin.

“Joel.” You reiterated soft, yet firm.

“I don’t even understand why I’m cryin’. Where did those tears come from? They weren’t there before. Must jus’ have somethin’ in my eye. Maybe it’s the smoke from the fire—” he rambled on.

“Joel Miller.”

That seemed to catch his attention as he met your gaze, blinking a few times with dark lashes wet and glistening. His lower lip wobbled and you had never seen him like this before, never this vulnerable, never this scared. Never this afraid of judgement that would never fall upon his shoulders, because you loved him unconditionally. No amount of fat tears, or stuttered speech would deter you from loving him.

“C’mere.” You said in understanding, gently prying the guitar from his grasp and coaxed him into your awaiting arms.

He wordlessly wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly with his face buried against your neck. His hands slipped under the back of your hoodie, feeling desperate for skin to skin contact to further soothe his emotions. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, hot breath fanning your neck, tears soaking into the neckline of your hoodie.

“Joel, what are you sorry for? Because of your emotions?…baby, it’s OK. You don’t have to apologize for being emotional. That is nothing to be sorry for.” You said softly, letting one hand rest at the back of his head, gently scratching his scalp with your nails while the other was rubbing circles against his back.

“I know—I jus’, I got caught up in the moment s’all. It really has been years since I last played…” he trailed off.

“Do you want to talk about it?…”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, fingers gently flexing along your lower back. “I do—I jus’ need a minute.”

“It’s okay, Joel. I understand, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” You reassured him.

She loves me, for me. She’s holding me, and wiping my tears. She sees me, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than here in her arms.

“I know.” He whispered, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere either, baby love.”

You nodded in understanding, gently brushing away a loose curl that fell across his forehead. “For all your pretty, and all of your ugly, I’m here.”

He took a few minutes to compose himself, racking through memories in his brain that were flashing like images on a silver screen. When he and Tommy went back home to Austin, Joel had reentered the dating culture expecting success, and was met with the complete opposite. Women in Texas had opposing values compared to the women he encountered in LA. It had gotten to the point where he was beginning to truly believe that he wasn’t deserving of love or partnership.

“If you want women to like you, I suggest that you seriously consider finding a new career that doesn’t exploit women for their bodies. You didn’t actually think that you’d get a free pass, did you?” His date sitting across from him laughed and reached for her purse in a haste.

He felt defeated and beaten down as he sunk further against the the back of the chair, “If you would just let me explain why I chose this career, and that I am not exploiting women for their bodies—”

“You fuck for a living, Joel. It’s disgusting. Good luck to you, cause you’re gonna need it.” She said unkindly, slinging her purse over her shoulder and walked off.

He ground his jaw back and forth, clenching his teeth together as he felt the bitter sting of rejection pierce his heart out that was laid out on his sleeve. He reached for his wallet, suddenly feeling a dozen pairs of eyes on him in the intimate restaurant. Heat spread from his neck to his face in a bright flush of embarrassment and shame.

He paid the bill, apologizing profusely to the waitress both verbally and with a handsome tip. He gathered up his feelings, tucking them back away into a box as he swiped his thumb across the side of his nose, feeling tears begin to prick and pool.

“Joel, you just haven’t met the right one yet.” Tommy tried to explain to him over a couple beers in Joel’s backyard. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Ain’t worth it.”

Joel scoffed under his breath, taking a swig from the beer bottle as he shook his head, “Tommy, you don’t understand. Women like you. They think you’re charming and barely bat an eye when you tell them about your job, but me? As soon as the words ‘adult film industry’’, or ‘pornstar’ come out, the narrative flips. And I am apparently not a feminist, I’m a disgusting person who exploits women for their bodies and I’m a pervert.” He laughed bitterly, feeling angry tears threatening to spill over,

“How is anyone going to see my heart if they’re not willing to look past what I do for a living?” He sniffled, “I jus’ have so much fuckin’ love to give, and no one wants it, Tommy. No one.”

Tommy shakes his head, dejected, devastated for his big brother. "I don't know, Joel. But if anyone is meant for love, real, true love, it's you. So I have to hold out hope."

-

You continued to gently pet his hair and while he silently worked through gathering his thoughts. You would sit out there with him for hours if he needed more time.

“Do you ever…have memories that jus’ pop up outta nowhere? Like, you’re jus’ goin’ about your day, and you just stop because you remembered something, or a memory pops up?” He suddenly said, eyes flickering to your gaze.

“More often than I’d like to admit.” You confirmed, encouraging him to continue.

“I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I haven’t played guitar in a long time. We’re talkin’ years. I’ve lost track if I’m bein’ honest. Anyway, memories of my past just creep in every now and then, and I want you—to know those pieces of me.”

“And playing guitar brought those memories to the surface? That’s understandable, Joel.”

He nodded, confirming your assumptions. “Yeah, exactly that. Anyway, I don’t know where to start I guess?”

“Wherever you feel most comfortable?” You suggested.

“Well, remember how I told you that I quit Brazzers on my 30th birthday? I did more than just quit. I pulled a complete 180 on my life in a matter of hours.” He started, taking a deep breath before he continued, “I was in a serious relationship at the time with someone who I had seriously considered spending the rest of my life with, y’know?”

“I understand, Joel.” You said softly.

“My girlfriend, Carmen and I were together for a few years. I met her on my 27th birthday at some bar close to the apartment Tommy and I were living in at the time. It started off casual if I’m being honest. I was apprehensive of telling her about my job because I knew that it probably would be poorly received. We just—we clicked. I felt like I could be myself around her and vice versa. We started getting serious at some point, and I finally told her that I was a pornstar. She initially took it a lot better than I expected, but she had a secret of her own to tell me.”

You couldn’t help the smile that was slowly tugging on the corner of your lips as you listened to Joel recounting memories from his past before he met you.

“That secret happened to be her 6 year old daughter, Sarah. She was the sweetest kid, baby love. She was a little shy at first, but I took the possibility of being her stepfather in stride.” He glanced downwards, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was going to smile. “I loved that little girl like she was my own. And I truly wanted Carmen and I to work out, but she never accepted me for who I was. She resented the fact that I was a pornstar, and that ultimately led to me breaking up with her. I didn’t want to fight for someone who wasn’t going to fight for me, y’know?”

“I think it’s completely understandable why you broke up with her, Joel. I think one of the bare minimum expectations in a relationship is acceptance of who you are from your partner. I could see if you were doing something harmful to either yourself or her or others, but she had no right to judge you for the choices you made in your life.” You reached for his hand, interlocking your fingers through his hand gave it a gentle squeeze. “Isn’t that what we all want in life? Is acceptance for who we are?”

“I think it was also only a matter of time before one of us was going to cut the cord. And I truly believe if I didn’t quit Brazzers that day, her and I would have still been together, but I imagine it was inevitable for us to break up. I wasn’t even mad at her for it either. I was…disappointed because I loved her unconditionally. I would have gone to the ends of the earth for her, and I just had to accept that she wouldn’t do the same for me.” He sighed, brushing his thumb across the outside of your hand in a gentle sweep.

“Did you end up telling her that you quit working at Brazzers?”

He shook his head, lips curving downwards into a frown as he met your gaze once more, “no. I never told her that I quit because she would have believed that I quit for her when that wasn’t the case. I didn’t want to compromise who I was just to appease her. And I have a feeling that if I did tell her I quit, we wouldn’t have broken up, and that would have benefited no one. It fuckin’ hurt like hell afterwards though. I jus’ remember Tommy coming back from his smoke break and he found me on my knees outside on the patio just this blubbering fuckin’ mess.” He stifled a chuckle.

“You realized that you deserved better, Joel. Not everyone comes to that realization, but you did. Life’s too short to be with someone who won’t be there for you the way that you were for them. But of course it hurt, and I can only imagine the pain that you felt after the fact because you thought that this person was your endgame. You already had the mindset of fully settling down with her, and then you had to make the tough decision with both her feelings in mind and your own. And you know what? I’m proud of you.”

He had an incredulous look plastered on his face when you said that you were proud of him. “You’re…what? I don’t understand. Why—why are you proud of me for that?”

“Because instead of staying in a relationship that was never going to work out, no matter how hard you tried, you pulled the plug and told yourself that you deserved better. And you do, Joel. It’s no one’s business to know why you chose the career path that you did. To shame and judge you for something that they’ll never understand because society views sex work as something to feel shamed for. It goes against the ideal norms that have been instilled in us since birth. People don’t like that, Joel. And that’s not to say that Carmen wasn’t good to you in some capacity, but the resentment was there and nothing was going to change that.”

“Yeah, and the person who I do deserve is sitting right across from me. I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t pull the plug when I did. Maybe I would have never quit Brazzers and moved back to Austin to start Miller-Co. Maybe you and I…would have never met. Because you? You—fuckin’ get me. From the second that you and I met, I just got this feeling in my chest that you were going to have a major impact on my life, baby love. And as cliche as it’s gonna fuckin’ sound, I believe that everything happens for a reason.” He breathed out, big brown eyes glassy, his nose twitching as he let out a soft sniffle.

“Alright, who’s cutting the onions now? Is it you, or is it Artie?” You softly giggled, fighting through your own brewing tears because you had never loved someone so deeply till you met Joel. It was surreal to feel an instant connection to someone, but he made things easy in the sense that you could be yourself around him. You found that you could speak your mind, you could be passionate, sad, angry, happy, and he never made you feel small for your larger than life feelings. Never made you feel like you were too much, or too little. His love for you was effortless, unconditional.

“I mean it, baby love. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve never laughed more with another person than I do with you. I’ve never felt more honest with myself and my feelings till you walked into my life. I tried dating here and there shortly after I ended things with Carmen because I just wanted to feel something again, y’know? I just didn’t realize how judgemental people could be till I left LA. It got to the point where I felt like maybe all the women telling me that I should be ashamed, and I’m this disgusting pervert were right. Maybe a man like me isn’t deserving of love. Tommy reassured me that I just hadn’t met the right one, and he was right. I hadn’t met you yet.”

Ring. Ring. Ring. I need a fucking ring. He thought to himself.

This is going to be the man I’m going to marry, right? Please tell me he’s the one. I don’t want to do this all over again with someone else. He’s my person. I know he is. You thought.

Neither of you were sure who leaned in first, or if it was just a gravitational pull between your bodies that drew you both in, but suddenly you felt his hot breath fanning your lips, and those dark espresso colored eyes reflecting the warm glow from the crackling fire staring directly into your soul. If only you had known that he wished at that moment that he had a ring.

And when your lips met, slotting together like two puzzle pieces, it was brief due to a soft meow from your lap and Artemis had crawled her way between you and Joel, swatting playfully at one of the strings on his hoodie. He detached his lips from yours, looking down at his little fur baby with adoration as a warm chuckle slipped past his lips. “You, Missy, are a real cock blocker, y’know that?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and gathered her up in his arms. “I’ll be right back, ‘kay? You want anything to drink? I was gonna open up a nice bottle of Chardonnay? You in, baby love?”

“Oh, a glass of Chardonnay would be lovely, baby. But hurry back, okay? I’m not finished with you yet.” You leaned over the cushion, brushing your lips against the corner of his jaw before settling back into a comfortable position.

“Oh, I ain’t finished with you either, baby love. And that’s a fact.” He winked suggestively and stood up, cradling Artemis against his chest and you watched as he headed back towards the house, and disappeared through the back door.

You let out a content sigh, gazing up at the millions of stars visible on this crystal clear night. Your thoughts consisted of Joel, and how he made you feel like you were always the only person in the room. And how your love for one another was a two way street. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d meet someone like him. And when you heard the back door open and close, and his footsteps approaching, your heart skipped a beat.

You watched as he slowly sank down against the cushion, two wine glass stems held securely in one large palm, and in the other a bottle of Chardonnay.

He looked over at you as he worked the bottle opener corkscrew into the cork, twisting it slowly with the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up over his forearms that were lightly flexing with each twist. Before he could finish opening the bottle, however, you were crawling into his lap, situating your thighs on either side of his hips as you straddled him.

He leaned his back against the cushion, pausing his movements of opening the bottle, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as you looped your arms around his neck, fingers gently playing with the curls at the base of his hairline.

“What’re you doin’, baby love?” He rasped softly.

“Can I sit on it while you finish opening that?”

“You wanna sit on my cock while I pour us a couple glasses of wine? Mmm…I had a feelin’ that’s what you were gonna ask me, baby love.” He chuckled.

“Yeah…I just want to feel you, baby. Do you want that?”

“Of course I want that, baby love. Lucky for you, I went with no underwear this evening.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully as you giggled, peppering kisses across his jawline and just below his ear.

“Is that so?” You nipped playfully at his earlobe, scraping your teeth against his skin gently.

“Mhmmm.” He rumbled out a response, feeling his cock stir to life in the loose confines of his cotton sweats. “Anytime you want, baby, all of me s'yours.” He confirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

You reached between your bodies, gently palming him through the fabric as he lifted his hips upwards so you could pull his cock free. He used his freehand to help you pull your own sweats down just enough that they were over your hips, and he used his thumb to pull your panties to the side, assisting you as you grasped the base of his cock and slowly seated yourself on him.

He let out a low grunt as you shifted your hips to get more comfortable while he finished uncorking the bottle of wine with a soft pop. You felt him grow harder inside of you, the girth of his cock stretching you open as your body accommodated to his size: a perfect fit.

“Feels nice.” You both said in unison letting the feeling of being connected mind, body, and soul, wash between you.

He reached for the two glasses, somehow managing to steadily pour the wine into both and set the bottle down so it wouldn’t tip over. He handed you your glass, clinking them together gently before you both took a sip.

“Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah, baby love?” He had his head tilted back against the cushion, eyes staying locked on yours as he brought the rim of the glass to his lips and took another sip. You felt your walls clench around him just from that simple action alone.

“I think for the next video we film…I want it to be with you and Tommy.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, letting his freehand drop down and grab onto your exposed hip, pressing you in further to him as his cock twitched inside of you, “I think we can arrange that, baby love.”

You let out a soft gasp that was replaced with his warm lips kissing you, tasting the tang and sweetness from the wine on your tongue. And even though you were just sitting on him, enjoying the intertwined feeling of being connected, he dropped his hand from your hip, moving it between your bodies till he found your clit and began to rub the sensitive bud in gentle, orgasm-inducing circles till you were gushing around his cock from the stimulation alone.

He drank down your soft moans, whispering praises and sweet nothings that were only meant for your ears. And even as the fire began to die, and your glasses were empty, wine warming your bellies, you stayed like this, connected as one.

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Ghosting

SatoSugu x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Instant teleportation can certainly come in handy on the battlefield. But when old tethers you're unable to disconnect form your technique suddenly decide to activate of their own accord, how will things pan out when it turns out to be an old lover behind it?

Warnings: Blood, cutting (it’s not like THAT you’re using a cursed technique), betrayal, yelling, js all around angst.

You felt the slice of something cut through you, and your heart sunk. Satoru could barely register how your face paled and your body grew taunt before he knew exactly what was happening. He couldn’t even stutter out a word before your form vanished from in front of him, and a pang of terror shot through him.

-

You stood in front of Suguru, breathing ragged and form shaky as you watched the blood drip from his hand. You tried to calm down your breaths upon seeing his hand sliced open, a wave of relief washing through you when you realized he was alive. Still here, breathing. He’d noticed your presence, his head tilting up as he nodded in acknowledgement. “You came.” Was all he stated, and those two words had your heart stuttering. You mentally slapped yourself for the way your body reacted to his voice, his tone noticeably lower since you had last seen each other. Your jaw clenched as you looked him over, his hair had grown considerably longer, and he seemed oddly calm considering his predicament.

You took in the knife sitting on the floor beside him, and deduced that he was the one that had sliced his hand open. Perhaps in an act of desperation, or dare you say love, but you couldn’t bear to think that there was any trace of love for you left. “You knew I would.” You said, your tone cold as you looked down at him, he looked up at you as if you were his savior. “Still as smart as always.” He spoke softly, and your eyebrows knitted together at his tone. You let the silence linger as you felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. “You had no right.” You shook your head, breaths stuttering as you felt tears begin to brim your waterline.

You bent down steadily to wrap his hand with the bandages he had deliberately prepared before he decided to use your technique against you. You could feel the thrum of cursed energy pulse through you in accordance to his wound throbbing. “I wanted to see you.” He whispered, not daring to make his voice any louder in an effort to not scare you away.

A rush of anger surged through you, and your hands slammed against his chest in a fit of rage at his comment. “You wanted to see me?! Really Suguru?!” Your voice raised, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you wiped them away furiously. “You could have seen me every damn day! You could have been with me and Satoru and it would’ve all been FINE.” You hiccupped, a heavy sob leaving you as a hand came up to your chest, trying and failing to sooth the insurmountable ache strumming through you.

He watched the tears run down your cheeks with a grimace, his mind switching between the crushing guilt of leaving you two behind and his newfound ideals he’d stop at nothing to pursue. “You know I couldn’-“

“Couldn’t what?!” You yelled, looking him dead in the eye as you waited for his response, but continued when he stayed silent. “Couldn’t find the strength to stay for us? To talk to us? To think we cared at all?!” Your face contorted into a look of betrayal, tearing your eyes away from him as your tried to take a few deep breaths. “We were all struggling.” You said flatly, wiping away the remanence of your sorrow. “But me and Satoru didn’t decide to massacre a village because of it.”  You found the strength to look up at him again, the shine of his tears reflecting in the candlelight.

“So the next time you want to ‘see me’, or Satoru.” You got up, grabbing the knife from beside him. He made a move to stop you but you flinched away from him, shaking your head. “Remember that you chose this life. You chose it over Jujutsu, you chose it over your old life, and you chose it over us.” You looked down at the knife, the blade glinting in the light as you ran your fingers along it, feeling the sharp edge just barely grazing your skin. “Theres a lot of things I don’t regret about the time I spent with you and Satoru, but I do have two.”

You sighed, not daring to look up at him as you said your last piece. “One, that I ever allowed you to have a bond with my cursed energy. Maybe I’d have been able to avoid situations like this.” You shuffled; heart heavy as your lips downturned. “And two, that despite everything; I still love you.” You glanced up at him, finally bringing the blade to your palm as you have him a curt smile. “Goodbye Suguru.”

You pulled the knife back, slashing it down the center of your palm as you dropped the knife quickly. You felt the warmth of your blood beginning to drip down your hand, not paying it any mind as you tried to burn Geto’s features into your memory. Despite it all, you were still acutely conscious that this may be your last chance to ever see him again, and you hated it. He snapped up, seemingly realizing something as he called out to you. “WA-“

But you had already vanished, leaving him with only a few drops of your blood on the floorboards, and the phantom graze of your touch against his bandaged hand.

-

When you appeared in front of Satoru, he let out a gasp of relief, gripping your shoulders as he brushed some hair out of your face, looking you over for any injuries besides the gash in your palm. “Are you okay??” He asked frantically, if he was asking about your physical or mental state, you couldn’t tell, and to be quite honest you couldn’t care at the moment.

You stared down at the ground, willing, praying, hoping that the agony in your chest would disappear, but all it did was sink deeper into your gut like a boulder was weighing it down. You wrapped your arms around Gojos shoulders, the man bending down to accommodate your height difference as he wrapped his arms around your waist without hesitation, holding you against him as if you’d vanish again. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, a wail leaving you, and all to soon the tears came back, along with a flood of memories that you would never be able to relive or add to.

[kiestrokes]

Day 17: Yuta Nakamoto | NSFW

▸ Idol: Yuta Nakamoto AND Huang Renjun of NCT ▸ Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: hard hours, smut, skater NCT AU. ▸ Vibe: just two Yuta imagines for you, both revolving around exhibitionism because he gives that vibe. ▸ Warnings: language, club scene, dancing.

Sexually Explicit Content: exhibitionism/voyeurism, public sex, kissing, clit stim, some nipple stim, Yuta seems like an ear guy (just go with it), sexual intercourse (penis in vagina), both positions are from behind, multiple orgasms (both), unprotected sex (no condom), alludes to future threesome.

🗝️ Note: Has not beta-ed by me or anyone else. I had two ideas, but decided to just give you both since I didn't get anyway up yesterday. Happy Wipmas 😉

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

IMAGINE 1: Yuta showing you how to dirty dance in the club. The strobing neon lights. The thrum of the speakers. His smile and laugh when you get into it, on beat with him. Until he turns your back against his front, nestling your ass against his gyrating pelvis. His hand slipping into the pocket of your romper to cup you intimately. Giving you a wicked grin at finding you without panties. Chiding you when you stutter off beat. Sucking on your earlobe. Kissing down your neck. Other hand briefly squeezing your breast before resting against your ribs. Rubbing into you from behind fluidly, as his fingers strum your clit through the pocket. Fabric damp. You bury your face in his neck, teething at his neck as you come. He groans and turns his face to kiss you. Tongue stroking into your mouth urgently to drink down your cries, holding you to him as you come apart. Lapping gently as you shake, his fingers slowly stroking you through the aftershocks. Your eyes find his, bright in the ever changing club lights. He takes your hand, dragging you off to a fire escape. Where he strips you nude. You present your ass to him, and Yuta wastes no time as he thrusts into you from behind. You cry out in pleasure. He ruts you into the railing. Hip bones biting into the cold metal. Yuta sets a brutal pace. Loud slaps as people hoot and holler from below. Yuta yells back at them as you moan. His fingers reach around to stroke you off again. Groaning as you clench his leaking cock. Fucking you harder. His breathing growing labored as you start to actually scream. Yuta's wraps his fingers around your throat. Slowing his thrusts to rub against the sensitve ridges that have you convulsing. Then he’s pinning you to the rail again, spreading the cheeks of your ass and groaning about how he wants to split you open. You’re chanting his name. You feel his movements tighten and his thighs stiffen against the back of yours as he strokes relentlessly in and out of your cunt. You beg with his name as you feel yourself leaking arousal down your thighs. Lewd sounds coming from behind. He teases you, stuttering himself as he fights his release. Until Yuta is folded over your body, abs slick in both of your sweats, he bites your shoulder as he releases into your seizing insides.

IMAGINE 2: A friend movie night with the other skaters from the park. Yuta and you had been sexting for months, but never able to do more. So you’re both restless. So much so that you choose to sit on the other side of Renjun, away from Yuta, avoiding temptation. That gets thwarted when Renjun gets in the floor between Mark and Jeno, five minutes into the movie. Yuta tugs you between his legs with the guise of using your blanket. Halfway into the Ghibli movie soft snores fill the room. The majority of your friends asleep after a long day of adult jobs and an afternoon skate session. Yuta's wandering hands finally touch skin after teasing you over your clothes all night. His hand covering your gasp as his teeth capture your earlobe. You rub your ass back into his hips, done with the edging. Yuta laughs softly taking the hint, he helps you pull your cargos down to your knees moving to his pants next. Until you feel the hot flesh of his thighs on the backs of yours. His erection sliding against the cleft of your ass. "You have to be quiet, can you do that?" Yuta's breath fans across your cheek and you turn to meet his gaze with an eager nod. Yuta lifts your thigh to rest back on top of his, collecting your arousal with a perfectly timed groan in the movie and smearing it over the head of his dick. Before thrusting into you with some readjusting until he's halfway in, you lower your leg and he grips your hips to sheath himself with his hiss through clenched teeth. You squirm, nerve endings on edge as you adjust to his size. "Shhh." Yuta warns, a low whine escaping you as he pulls away before snapping back in. His hand moves between your legs, "want to feel you come around me." Yuta strums ruthlessly at your clit as you bounce quietly on his cock. Muted whimpers escaping you, drowned out by the suround sound of the movie. "Fuck, you're so wet," Yuta hisses into your ear as your legs straighten against his, holding off your orgasm. "Yuta," you clutch at his arm thats between your legs as your body starts to shake. Yuta starts to push into you from behind, "cross your ankles." You obey, teeth biting into your bottom lip as you feel the ceiling of your orgasm barreling toward you. Yuta moans as you tighten around him, his fingers almost bruising your clit as you shake uncontrollably against him. Yuta's other hand is covering your mouth again, as he bites down on your shoulder from behind as you reach your ends together. Yuta doesn't stop stroking, his tongue lapping at the indents his teeth left in your flesh as he steadily shoots into your insides. You groan, in a way that can easily be taken as human exhaustion as he ruts to a stop, pelvis flush against your ass. Renjun sleepily lifts his head. “Junie,” you startle, trying to control your rapid breathing. “Give her a kiss.” Yuta rumbles a whisper, subtly pressing you forward from behind. You and Renjun come together softly, nuzzling each other’s cheeks, the kiss is slow and you clench around Yuta who groans. “Hyung stop moaning," Mark waves a tired hand in the air. Haechan obliviously lifts his head from the other futon where he's holding a dozing Jaemin and Jungwoo to throw a pillow at Mark, “you’re one to talk hyung.” You and Yuta make room for Renjun on the futon, tucking him under the blankets with you. “Did you leave me on purpose?” Renjun smiles, “I saw the photos you sent Hyung on accident.” You groan, rubbing your nose to his. “What do you say, another round?” Yuta's tongue strokes into your ear, you moan. “Renjun is ready to go, and you’re nice and wet from me.” Yuta palms his way from your hip, up the softness of your stomach, to stroke your nipple. “Junie?” You gasp as Yuta presses your palm into the bulge on his thigh. “Yes,” he chokes, hiding his face in your neck as you and Yuta squeeze him over his clothes. “Hyung, I wanna go to the bedroom.” Yuta nods, his hair tickling the back of your neck, quickly removing his hands. Tugging your pants up to catch anything that threatens to spill as he pulls out. And carefully the three of you sneak away for round two.

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 44

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part II

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Please share your screams in my ask or a reblog!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Laufeyson returns with a second drink. You still have your first, nursing it as you find your head spinning with the activity all around. As more guests stream through, raucous as they meet others they know, the stage hums and the speakers crackle to life. 

Bragi begins his set, a brief tidings for the event before he strums into a tune. You wiggle your foot to the beat, peering over at the full band behind the lead. It's all so big and bright.

You turn back, reaching for your glass, as Laufeyson draws from his own. He watches you over the brim, eyes traveling down your body, focusing on the movement of your foot. You still it and uncross your legs, setting your soles flat.

He puts his drink down, half-finished. You sit back and fold your hands in your lap, peering around evasively. He probably saw you slouching or was annoyed by your fidgeting. You blow out between your lips as the party blooms around you.

Voices thrum in ripples beneath the steady rhythms of the stage, hollers go up now and then, piquing your interest as you look over to see a group cluster. They stand around smaller tables framed by two chairs each. You can barely see those sitting at them moving small pieces around the board.

“Hnefatafl!” The cry goes up as Thor stands and the pieces scatter on the table before him. You quickly look away as his head pops up above his audience.

“An old game,” Laufeyson explains, “rather dry for an event like this.”

You raise your brows curiously. You’re almost tempted to ask him more but think better of it. He hardly seems interested. Distant thunks bring another roar from a crowd further down. You twist in your chair to see across the field large round boards set up. A man with blond hair hurls an axe towards the wood, embedding it. You flinch and face the table again.

“Chaos,” Laufeyson mutters.

“Yes,” you agree, your toe tapping on the grass until you stop it again.

You sink into a silence which exists only between you and him. The furor of the party crackles around you, circling you in a whirlwind. There in the eye of the storm, there is no sound. It is deafeningly hollow.

“Ahem,” the clearing of a throat and tap on your shoulder brings you around. Laufeyson looks over your head, fixing his posture as you face Odin, “hiding in the corner?”

“Not exactly, father,” Laufeyson says, once more taking up his drink.

“There is much to enjoy. Your mother’s put in so much effort, I’d for her to see you glowering like this,” Odin reproaches.

“I do not glower,” his son snips.

“Mm, yes, well, you are more than welcome to wallow alone,” Odin replies flippantly, “but you needn’t cast a cloud over others…” he shifts to face you, opening a hand to you, “might I be so humbled as to request a dance from the lovely lady?”

You look up at him and your mouth falls open, “dance? I don’t know… how.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I must take it slow,” Odin insists, “it isn’t so hard to learn.”

Laufeyson sighs and drains the last of his whiskey. He stands abruptly, “I need to top up.”

Odin eyes him tensely but doesn’t remark. He looks back to you, “you don’t need to sit in his shadow all night. One dance, fair maiden of Walpurgisnacht, I see you can barely contain yourself.”

You look down as his gaze falls to your foot, once more wiggling. You still it and accept his hand. You hope Laufeyson isn’t too upset. It is only his father after all, he can’t be too put out.

“Thank you,” you stand and let him lead you away.

Odin brings you amid the other dancers, on a flat white floor laid out over the grass. He guides you to face him and helps you place your hands before he hooks an arm around you. He’s gentle but firm in leading you, counting with the rhythm between directing you how to move your feet.

“That’s it, dear, you’re a natural,” he praises as you let the music guide you, “and a beauty. That dress is very becoming, though it pales on you. You look immaculate…” he continues to sway with you, “my son is a fool not to say it himself.”

“Odin,” you look past him sheepishly.

“It is the truth. You are glowing and he is playing the troll, secreting you away from the light,” he tuts and shakes his head.

“It isn’t my party,” you utter.

“You belong here,” he insists, “don’t you think otherwise.”

“I am the house manager–” you rebuff.

“You aren’t,” he says, “my son didn’t get his senselessness from me. No, that is bred of mistrust. Fear, truly.”

“Odin, it’s true–”

“If he says it, it cannot be,” he counters, “when he looks at you, he is not looking at a house manager. He will claim I do not know him but he is my son. I see through him, it is only a pity he looks in the mirror and cannot do the same.”

You stare at the button of his vest. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to. You’re too afraid to think it could ever be true. Yet how can you tell him the truth? That would be humiliating. You are only half-right, your son wants more of me but only to sate his worst urges. It isn’t sentiment, it is convenience.

“Pardon,” a voice has you tripping over your own feet but Odin keeps you balanced, turning you as another figure stands close, “father, may I… take over?”

“Ah, but we are having such fun,” Odin taunts and twists you away from Laufeyson again.

“Yes, it seems so,” Laufeyson says thickly, “perhaps the next song…”

“Oh, don���t be so mopey,” Odin stops you as he chuckles, “I was only trying to pep you up, yes? It’s a party.” Odin raises your hand and kisses it gently, “thank you, dear, for humouring an old man.”

He stands straight and lets you go. He faces his son but you cannot see his expression, only the way Laufeyson’s eyes gleam back dangerously. Odin departs and Laufeyson’s attention flits onto you. He takes a step forward, once more looking you up and down.

The music ebbs and a new song begins. The soft plucking begins, then the reedy tone of a flute. Mr. Laufeyson offers his hand and you accept it, awkwardly coming closer as he sweeps his arm around you, his hand stretched over your lower back. He looks down to place his feet with yours before he begins. He is lithe and graceful, you feel otherwise.

“This is your song,” he says as the melody comes clearer.

You tweak an ear as you follow it, then lyrics begin.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…” 

Your heart pulses in recognition. You smile towards the stage. You didn’t expect him to truly do it but it’s wonderful.

“I like it,” Laufeyson says, “it is very… whimsical.”

You turn your head straight, focusing on your footwork, careful not to trod his feet, “it is.”

He’s silent as you feel his gaze upon you, bearing down. He must be annoyed by how you follow his lead, uncertain in your body. How pathetic; never had a birthday cake, never had a dance. You look up and gulp shakily.

You almost stop dead in your heels as you see something less than agitated in his expression. He is fixated on you without a trace of chagrin. His hand shifts on your back, his other on your hip as you hold his shoulder and his upper arm. He is handsome in the dimming approach of the evening.

“When I said before that you look nice,” he begins, “I was remiss. You look… beyond anything I could ever put into words. You are magnificent, pet.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you stutter, “well, you look very handsome as well.”

“I am not looking for compliments,” he dismisses, “and I think I owe you more than that.”

You don’t know what to say. Is it an apology? You don’t know entirely what he means. He’s had three glasses of whiskey, just like that night, and in the morning, he was just the same as before. You won’t count on the kindness he finds at the bottom of a bottle.

A sudden flash makes you squeak. You look over as Yvonne smiles over the large lens. You give a nervous giggle and brace Laufeyson tighter. He sweeps you away from the camera.

“Tomorrow, we will talk,” he avows, “but we can enjoy tonight. It is Walpurgisnacht and it is a new beginning.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He winces and exhales, “can I be Loki for tonight?”

“Loki,” you echo, “yes.”

As the song ends, the heat speckling in your skin licks to flames. You don’t know if it’s being so close or his constant gaze or the thought of tomorrow and whatever you might talk about. You’re sweating and you're uncomfortable and you need a breath.

“Excuse me, um, I need the bathroom,” you gently pull away. 

He reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering on your hip as he points, “there, in the tents, I believe mother had facilities put up.”

“Thanks,” you offer a weak grin and step away from his grasp.

“I’ll be here,” he promises as you go.

You try not to hurry. You don’t want him to see how desperate you are to be away. It isn’t him, it’s you. This is all too much for you. It isn’t you. You’re not one of these people but they treat you like one. You’re just a poor girl born of cigarette ash.

You find your way to the tent housing the stalls. You take your time and try to collect yourself. Your nerves are tingling in your fingertips and where he held you; just along your lower back and your hip. It’s that urge that worries you, the one that made you think of resting your head on his shoulder.

You emerge and use the outdoor sinks set up in front of the stalls. You dry off and measure your breaths. You can do this. You go back down towards the fervour and as the night sets in, the large lights come to life and light the crowd.

You search the clusters of bodies. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? As you inch along the threshold, a shadow shifts to your right. You glance over but the figure disappears. You shake off the eerie sensation creeping down your spine and march forward into the tide of people.

You weave around bodies and tables, dizzy from the flurry all around you. You stagger as you’re nearly stampeded by a rowdy group of guests and you spin around to face a table in the far corner. There you find a scene that makes your heart plummet into your stomach.

You can’t stop yourself as you near the pair. Laufeyson, Loki, sits in a chair, two drinks on the table; his whiskey and another bright purple concoction. But beside him is Sif. She leans forward, her wrist clutched in his grasp as she whispers through the curve in her delicate lips. He stares back at her, eyes fiery, jaw locked.

“Loki, we had something good…” you hear her slither as you get closer. Her blue eyes dance over to you and her lips curl, “I still love you.”

She looks at him again and smashes her lips into his. He winces and turns his head, his gaze finding you as you stop, paralysed as you watch helplessly. You blink and swallow, wetting your lips as you bring your hand up to your sickened stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turn and race away on clacking heels. You don’t look back as you elbow through bodies, running without direction, without escape. You just need to be away from it. All of it.

You find the pathway into the garden, plunging into the brush as your heels wobble with each step. You stumble and grunt in frustration. You stop and bend to unbuckle the shoes, tossing them away before you hurry on.

You find the stone gazebo, lit only by moonlight, and throw yourself inside. You land on a stone bench and hang your head in the frame of an arched window. You deflate as you hunch over, trembling so much it hurts.

You won’t cry. Why would you do that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Mr. Laufeyson only said you looked magnificent then turned around to kiss his ex-wife. And why wouldn’t she? She’s much more than you’ll ever be. She fits neatly into their puzzle.

“Ah, little maid,” the gazebo darkens as the moonlight disappears as if a clouds passed over the nocturnal guardian, “what is the matter?”

You sit up and shudder as Thor’s burly silhouette limns in silver. You brace the edge of the bench and stand.

“N-nothing, I was only… having a break, I should head back–”

“It is peaceful out here,” he says, unmoving as you gesture around him. He fills the entire doorway.

“Yeah, but er, I should–”

“How do you like Walpurgisnacht? Are you having fun?” He asks, propping and elbow against the stone.

“Sure, I guess.”

“And did you play any games?” he sneers.

You falter and lean back on one heel. You have a bad feeling. You wring your hands as the air breezes in, a shiver rattling you.

“No…”

“That is too bad. This is a day of fun! Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“Please, Thor, I have to get back–”

“Let’s play a game,” he ignores your protest and steps into the gazebo, “I know a special game.”

“Thor,” you croak as you glance towards the windows. You see the lights above the trees and hear the muted noise of the partygoers and Bragi’s tunes. You look back to him as he takes another step towards you.

“You can be the mouse…” he says, “and I shall be the cat.”

“No, please, I don’t want–”

“You best be nimble, mouse. for the cat is hungry,” he growls as he looms closer, “and ready to pounce!”

He lunges and you jump back. Your shoulder hits the wall and you cry out. You turn and feel around, nearly falling through the opposite doorway as your feet slip over the stone steps. You stumble at the bottom, slipping in the grass as twigs and stones poke into your bare soles.

You hear him behind you, laughing as he makes a steady but easy pursuit. You sprint across the small field towards the row of brush, skirt catching on bramble as you dive into the wilderness. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away.

Your feet slip on moss as dirty sticks to your skin. You puff as you pump your arms, glancing back over your shoulder frantically. He isn’t running, but he is coming. You can hear him laughing.

You swerve around, towards the noise of the party. You just need to get back there. You need to find a path. You don’t know where you are, the further you go, the more lost you are. The noises fade further and further. Oh god, wrong way!

Suddenly, your toe hits something hard and you nosedive forward. You don’t have time to get your hands up as your face crunches into a thick trunk and you collapse to the ground. You roll over as you taste iron on your tongue. Ow.

You sit up and touch your throbbing nose. As you plant your feet to stand, you hear a rustle and suddenly, you’re pushed flat to your back. Thor snickers as he holds you down by your shoulders, straddling you beneath him as he huffs.

“Ah, I’ve caught you, mouse,” he taunts as you squirm and whimper, “now the cat must feast.”

[coeurify]

dom!ellie trying to teach reader how to play guitar while touching her down there and every time she fails ellell stops period!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ under the cut.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: tried my best to describe but i havent played guitar in years heh.

“Ellie,” your voice is shaky, fingers slipping slightly from their place on the neck of the guitar. “I can’t focus.” The hum of your heart feels like its reaching your ears, filling it with a noise much louder than the soft screech of rough strings beneath you.

You press into Ellie’s back, looking for comfort in the rise and fall of her chest against you. Grasping at the straws of solace you usually find in her body heat, hoping it will wrap around the shaking form of your own frame that had gone cold. That comfort is lost when her hand stills. The hand that Ellie had slipped under the body of the soft tan colored guitar and into your own lap that rested against hers. It happened about half way into the promised guitar lesson, the damned thing finding its way under your dress easily, making this lesson very hard to focus on.

Ellie didn’t seem to mind the way your breaths had turned from gentle inhales to ragged squeezes from your chest. What she did mind was your hand falling from its place. “Of course you can,” Ellie hums, free hand reaching to twist one of the pegs slightly. “Play the G chord again,” Ellie commands.

Your shaky fingertips have a mind of their own, one quick to bend to the will of your girlfriend, hoping to find some reward for listening so well on the other side of her request. The pad of your ring finger presses down on the first string, index and middle digits following quickly to find their spot on the other strings needed. They searched for the place under the frets that Ellie had attempted to commit to your— slightly hazy at this point, memory.

The theory was proved right when her thumb began circling your clit again, your heavy mind forcing your head back against her with a small whine. The guitar moved with you, but your fingers stayed pressed tightly against the strings. “Good job baby,” Ellie praises, words reverberating against your closely pressed bodies, the growing thrum of energy poking at your shoulder blades. “Try strumming, should be tuned right now.”

It irritated you how normal she was acting like all of this was, like her hand wasn’t creating a heat in your belly that was becoming too hard to distract yourself from with the guitar. But Ellie always had this air of nonchalance to her when teasing you. She knew just what threads to tug in order to make you fall apart under her, knew what words pressed against the shell of your ear had you shivering, what touches had you playing like an instrument of your own..all while staying completely unaffected. Or, seeming so at least.

Your other hand reached slightly lower on the guitar, trembling fingers trying their best to pluck. It creates a sound that appears almost right, which Ellie rewards with a harsher press to your clit, words following the action, “Good girl, now try the chords we went over earlier.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, attempting to ignore the pooling you feel in your center, the rough skin of your fingers falling into a more practiced stance of the C chord. The way Ellie’s lips had rasped out the praise had you moving a little faster, a little more carelessly as your heartbeat grew stronger, playing the notes of your chest with every small huff of air sucked into your lungs. The sound came out all wrong when you strummed due to your sloppiness, causing the evil hand placed between your shaking thighs to pause.

“El,” you whimper, spine arching at the loss of contact.

“Try again.”