#edge of tomorrow verse

[truly-quirkless]

@bakenochi asked:

Knocking on Fin's door, panting, Himiko was trembling. It's hard to stay on her feet.

"C'mon...Fin....please open the door-" Blood dripped to the ground, some hers, some not. The door opened, finally, and she almost cried in relief. "Your apartment was closer, I'm sorry-"

She stumbled, knife dropping from her hand, her body going down next.

[Unprompted. || Accepting!]

They'd just finished eating their own meal (yet another night of takeout), halfway through changing into night attire when they'd heard a knock on the door- then the bell- another knock. Prism took off at the bell, as did Fin- though in opposing directions. It didn't take more than a few seconds for them to barrel down the steps, the door opening- it's never hard to tell when something's an emergency. Not with the amount of banging and bell-ringing that had been going on, though the knocks had grown fainter with every iteration. A reason to practically run, tear through their own apartment until they'd flung the door open to ask just what was happening- and hazel eyes landed on that bloodied frame.

"Toga--?!" And she was falling. Thank God for fast reaction times- they'd already been trying to remember where their first aid kit was. Crimson painted their arms and shirt as they tried to hold the girl upright. Thank God for their boost. "--the Hell happened---? I- nevermind- just-" And they were trying to hold her, trying to help her practically stumble into their apartment without a second thought, the knife only barely on their mind. "---c'mon,- I'll get you cleaned up, dear." A fraction of that southern hospitality bleeding through.

Fin had seen plenty of beaten up bodies in their life- plenty of downed enemies and their own bruised and bloodied frame when they were younger- but to see someone they cared about in such a state,...it was nearly enough to make their blood boil. Whoever had done this to her,...they'd pay if they tried again, Fin was certain.

"I've got you." They wouldn't hear a word of protest- even if one was uttered, Fin didn't stop. They didn't care as crimson dribbled onto the wooden floorboards, as they attempted to get their friend up the steps. She was just a kid, she didn't deserve to endure this. They'd fight anyone on that point.

[quietlyblooms-gone]

sorry that my head was empty for a good chunk of the day, and then i suddenly spit out a huge hc about chiyo’s verse instead of replies. it’ll probably happen again 😔

[hxzelwallflower]

ooc.♡ˎˊ˗ Dreamlight Valley!Eileen spends a lot of her free time in Frosted Heights, mainly because of Olaf. She favors the cold over any season, sharing her favorite recipes and even offering the snowman a bowl of okra soup during her visits.

[truly-quirkless]

"I'm less afraid of you than I am of just...people." It wasn't the easiest thing in the world- not for someone who sometimes broke down in tears in open malls. Fin was by no means a social person- but that wouldn't stop them from trying to at least confirm to this place's rules. "It's pretty cool that your customers are willing to do that- though, I guess they wouldn't get their meals otherwise." A small chuckle at the thought- lighthearted, without a hint of mean intent.

"...people...need forms just to use their Quirks in their own place of business?" The mate didn't really keep up on Quirk laws- not much point to it. "...to a degree it makes sense, but also...oof." They couldn't imagine the legal nightmare it must be for some.

"It did take some time- but it was well worth the trouble." Yama hummed, eyes sliding for a moment towards Himiko. A faint smile on that face- or at least an attempt thereof, given the jaw injury. Once he had the order, he set about to working on it- attention jumping to the mirrors, to the kitchen.

"...th-....THANK YOU!"

Well. They'd be dying, now- Fin had tried to get their voice to a normal volume after barely a squeak of sound- but what resulted,...sounded more like it belonged on a stage without a mic. They could've died- would've preferred it, admittedly. Fin practically sank into their seat, feeling their cheeks color slightly.

They reached for a pair of chopsticks, taking them apart before picking up a bit of steak and taking a bite.- Oh. It was juicy and delicious, the flavor too much to ignore- and they were already aiming to kidnap the next slice.

"...sorry,- I,...anyway." No easy way around that blunder, in their own head. It'd be repeating tonight, where they would undoubtedly die of shame ten times over. "---this's really good." Well. That was a start. "What's th' name of this place, again?" Absolutely dragging Yagi here, sometime. No doubt in their mind.

And pulling out their phone- they had a number to exchange, after all.

"Well, some people are a bit too afraid of me. I'm the only one that works here constantly, so my customers have stepped up to help me, since I can't really come and get orders myself." Yama nodded, looking back up and away from the pair. People tended to be on the wary side of him, so he made do with what he could. Customers that helped him earned a small discount on their orders. It was a good deal for everyone, and seemed to draw in people who were curious about being allowed to 'yell across the restaurant at the chef'. The food itself kept people coming in. Some people just liked to watch him work, with his system of mirrors.

"Yeah! Yama-ojisan has been around for a while. He went through a lot to get a license to use his Quirk in his restaurant, 'cause of the laws." Himiko bounced in place, smiling happily at her Oji-san.

Once their food was ready, the girl ran over to get their tray of food, carefully taking it to their table after a light scolding from Yama.

"Enjoy your food, you two!" It seemed that Himiko had let him know that he needed to be louder, and the minotaur waved, before cleaning up a bit and attending to other customers. "Tanuki, don't try this time, okay?"

Himiko's steak was actually on the side, already cooked to how she wanted, cut into pieces for easy consumption. Fin's was cut up similarly, but already in their bowl.

[grapejuice32]

older!raf fingering florist!reader with daddy kink?

florist!reader x older!rafe

warnings: fingering, daddy kink (if you don't like it, don't read it)

word count: 1.2k + a/n: the daddy kink felt like the perfect move for florist and rafe, I hope you like it anon <3

You’d been pestering him all day, but it wasn’t your fault. The shop was closed for the day as you were waiting for more flowers and so Rafe said he would work from home to keep you company. It wasn’t your fault that you were feeling needy, and as your boyfriend, Rafe was supposed to give you attention and tend to you. Your head, fuzzy from the overwhelming ache in your core, wasn’t able to comprehend that he was busy and unable to give you attention. 

In a desperate act, you had gotten into your shared bed to take matter into your own hands. But no matter how much you rubbed your throbbing clit, you couldn’t bring yourself to the edge. It just didn’t feel as good as when Rafe touched you, even when you tried to mimic his actions from memory. You worked yourself to tears, still unable to cum and your clit just sore from your relentless rubbing. 

You got out of bed, clad only in a pair of cotton panties and one of his shirts that fell to the middle of your thighs. His door creaked open, and you stood in the doorway, face flushed and tears running down your cheeks. 

“Oh baby,” he looked up, brows furrowed in concern. He pushed his chair back from the desk to make room for you in his lap, “What’s goin’ on?” You couldn’t help the sob that came out of you as you climbed into his lap, straddling him and hiding your face in his neck. “Oh sweetheart, what happened?” He cooed, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, his other falling to your waist. 

“I can’t do it,” you whined, the skin of his neck becoming damp with your tears. 

He pressed a kiss to your temple, “Can’t do what, honey?” 

A frustrated sob ripped out of your throat as you spoke, “Can’t get myself off. Kept trying an’ trying but just can’t do it.” 

He hummed, rubbing your back soothingly. He rocked you back and forth in his lap, well versed in how to calm you down from your tears. “ ‘m gonna finish up and then I’ll help you out, okay?” 

“Want you to help now,” you countered, your breath still catching as you calmed from your sobs. 

But he only shook his head, much to your dismay. “I need to finish this, and then I’ll help you.” The words were firm now, and it had tears rising to your eyes again. 

Your bottom lip trembled, “Please, daddy?” 

Rafe’s heart stopped dead in his chest at the name. He pulled back to look at you properly, his blue eyes gazing into your wide, tear lined eyes. He reached up to smooth your furrowed brows with his thumb and sighed as he properly took in the desperation in your eyes, “Get in bed and I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” 

Eagerly, you nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek before climbing out of his lap, all but running to the bedroom. He took a moment to calm himself, running a hand over his head as he replayed what you’d said in his head. He delayed his meetings for the day until tomorrow and got out of the ones that he wasn’t urgently needed in before he followed you to the bedroom. 

He found you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes wide and hopeful as you looked up at him. He sat down in the middle of the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs spread. “C’mere,” he beckoned, gesturing to his lap. 

He didn’t have to tell you twice as you moved to sit on his lap, but he tutted and positioned you the way he wanted you sat, your back to his chest and your legs spread and resting against his. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” He murmured softly, kissing your cheek as pulled your ruined underwear down your legs and threw it to the side. 

His fingers slowly trailed up the inside of your thigh, one hand resting on your thigh as his other came into contact with your swollen clit. You jolted at the contact, “Oh, baby. Y’so sensitive.” He commented as he started to trace slow circles on your clit. You could only whine, the feeling of his hands finally on you was more overwhelming than you’d thought it would be. “Got yourself really worked up, didn’t you?” 

You only nodded, your body fully melting into his as your mind clouded over now that he was taking care of you. “Please,” you breathed.

“Please, what?” He tried, wanting to hear you say it again. You frowned, not quite grasping what he wanted from you. “Please, what?” He repeated. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling embarrassed that you’d even called him that in the first place. “I don’t know,” you whispered unconvincingly.

“Yes, you do.” He nodded, encouraging you gently. “Please, what?” He asked again as he put more pressure on your clit. 

Your breath hitched, “Please, daddy?” 

A groan of satisfaction ripped from his throat, and he dipped two of his fingers into your opening. He kissed your cheek again, “So smart, baby.” The praise warmed your chest, your blood singing. “You gonna be good f’daddy now?” 

You nodded, “Yes.”

He paused his movements, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy,” you moaned as he began to rub your clit again.

“Good girl,” he hummed, slipping two of his fingers inside you, your neglected cunt clenching around him desperately. Your hips bucked up slightly, back arching as he curled his fingers. He wrapped his free arm around your waist, keeping you pinned against him as he worked you towards the orgasm you so desperately needed at an alarming pace. 

You began to squirm in his hold, your hands wrapping around his wrist as he picked up the speed of his fingers. A cry left your lips, head thrown back onto his shoulder as you tried to get out of his hold, your oncoming orgasm leaving you overwhelmed. Rafe kept his hold on you, focused on the task at hand. “ ‘s okay baby, nearly there and you’re gonna feel better.” 

You could only nod, your toes curling as strings of moans fell from your parted lips. “Daddy, please, I’m –“ you were cut off as you moaned again, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his fingers curled inside of you. 

“I know baby, ‘s okay.” He said, eyes trained on the sight of you clenching around his fingers. “Gonna cum f’me, yeah?” You nodded, your nails digging into the skin of his wrist. “That’s my girl. C’mon, cum for daddy.” 

You cried out, the words alone throwing you over the edge, your legs shaking as your orgasm hit you at full force, filling your body with white hot pleasure. He worked you through it, his fingers moving at a slow pace as you came down from the high. “Too much,” you panted, pushing his hand away. 

He stilled, slowly withdrawing his hand from you, his fingers wet with your release. Rafe brought his fingers to his mouth, cleaning off your juices before speaking, “Feel better now?” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, breathing still heavy and eyes half-lidded. He only nodded, his hands running up and down your legs to help calm you. “You didn’t um, you didn’t think that it was weird? What I called you?”

He shook his head, “ ‘Course not, sweetheart. I liked it.” He assured, shifting his hips to get comfortable, his bulge brushing against your back to show just how much he liked it. 

[corkinavoid]

For @pinklotushere, to 'Die With a Smile' by Lady GaGa and Bruno Mars,

DPxDC Before Tomorrow

"I didn't know where else to go."

Danny looks up at the vigilante who is standing on the edge of the roof just a few feet away from him. He watches him fidget and roll his shoulders uncomfortably, then reach up and peel his domino mask off. He won't meet Danny's eyes, he notices absentmindedly.

"Your family, maybe?" He offers, and Tim's shoulders slump in relief.

They hadn't spoken to each other since that very heated discussion over a week ago. Okay, some might have even called it a fight, what with all the yelling, but hey, no one threw punches, so it was still pretty civil in Danny's book.

"They are still running around trying to stop it," Tim shrugs, the line of tension in his shoulders still barely there. Ah, the sole reason that discussion got so heated in the first place. The burden of heroism. Fighting till the very end, even if there's nothing you can do.

Danny turns away, his gaze firmly back on the pink, barely there line at the slowly brightening horizon - the only sign that the sunrise is almost here.

"And you're not?" He asks, not looking at Tim and trying to make the question sound easy and lighthearted. Like it's just another one of their long night talks, one that you can never remember in the morning because you didn't really talk about something in particular, you just talked.

There's a sound of footsteps coming closer, then a ruffle of Tim's cape behind his back, and a faint warmth of his shoulder brushing against Danny's. He sits down just beside, dangling his feet over the edge of the roof. Over the emptiness that is sixty stores between them and the ground.

"No," Tim shrugs, his eyes also on the brink of dawn, slowly creeping through the jagged skyline of Gotham. "I thought, hey, you know, if the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you," he says with a short laugh. Danny can't figure out if it's hysterical or just relieved. Maybe it's both.

"Like the song?" He asks, a smile tugging on his lips, "If the party was over, and our time on Earth was through?" He recites, turning to look at Tim.

He looks pretty - well, his boyfriend always looks pretty, that's not new - but this time, Danny looks closer, almost studying his face with a rapt attention of a scientist. Trying to engrave them in his memory: the line of his nose and the faint light of the not-yet-here sun, the chapped lips and the calm, almost serene blue in his eyes.

"Yeah, like the song," Tim chuckles and turns to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he appeared on the roof. "I'd wanna hold you just for a while," he murmurs, something soft in his voice, and Tim is not a great singer, but Danny loves him anyway. He loves everything about Tim. Including his stubborn decision to keep trying to do something, keep fighting when there's no way out, keep clawing his way through the ruthless circumstances that leave him no choice.

He doesn't finish the verse, and Danny gives him a crooked smile, doing it for him, "And die with a smile."

Tim's face doesn't change. He is still smiling, looking at Danny with a fondness he only likes to show behind the closed doors, and, with a short pang at his core, Danny realizes: He's dealt with it.

He's dealt with the unbending storm inside of him that pushed him to fight despite the consequences, he's came to terms with the promise of impending doom.

And he came here to sit beside Danny, dangling their feet over the edge of a skyscraper, and watch the last sunrise.

Danny feels so much love for his boyfriend that it almost hurts, his core thrumming in his chest, threatening to spill out.

The first rays of sunshine color Tim's cheek with gold, and Danny leans forward.

Tim's eyes flutter closed, but Danny doesn't kiss him, like he probably expected - and, in all fairness, like he probably should have. Instead, he only brushes his lips over the boy's cheek and leans closer to his ear.

There are thousands of things he can say, starting with the simple 'I love you' and all the way to 'I won't let you die, smile or not'.

But the one thing he says, a cheeky grin on his face, is,

"I lied. There is a way."

He did not, there isn't, but Tim takes a sharp breath in and grips his shoulder so tight it hurts, and Danny knows he will find it even if the better timeline will never come.

~•~•~•~

That song is a waltz, and waltzes always make me feel like writing heart-wrenching love stories, I'm sorry. No, I'm not, I lied.

The pure fucking devotion, people. Tim, who is okay with giving up just to spend the last minutes with Danny and Danny, who is okay with ruining the world just so he can make Tim happy. I'm in love with them.

[Also, my initial idea was to write a DarkHumor (Dick/Dan) spicy piece for this, but then Dead Tired took over my brain and ate it whole, so here we are]

[sacrificiallane]

KNIGHT .ᐟ PERCY ﹙ a place of worship ﹚

about ! a little further into your arrangement , Percy realizes that only the Gods can judge him now. So he lets them watch !

warning ! smut ! oral, female receiving. marking in the form of hickeys and bites. fingering. some religious themes , but it's mild. doing stuff in a chapel.

" Oh Gods ! "

Noises of pure sin were ringing out in the castle's grand chapel ― a holy place of equal devotion and transgression. And one royal knight was being the cause of it. His large and rough hands splayed over the soft and tender skin of the inner thighs of a princess , her eyes wide in wonder when his mouth decorated the skin with a variety of plum colored marks that would hopefully fade come tomorrow , and the faint outline of his teeth . . .

" The Gods aren't here , princess. " Percy Jackson found light amusement in the way you were still calling out to them , even with his fingers buried deep into your core. You were a clever girl , so you must know that the Gods were no longer with you. Your soul was tainted the very moment you had allowed your royal knight between your legs.

" Just me. " Not that he wouldn't mind you calling him your god. The young man was practically power tripping whenever he would get to make you feel good. He was privileged in that way , like you'd personally handed him the key to your pleasure.

( Percy was oblivious to the fact that he was that key to said pleasure. )

If a younger him were to see what kind of ownership a slightly older him was putting on his princess ( by leaving violent looking little marks ) , he was sure that a younger him would beg the Gods for forgiveness by praying in this very chapel. Percy was never excellent at praying , anyway. And in a way , he was still that boy. But instead of messily reciting verses he had no real belief in , he was relishing the pain in his knees while kneeling before you.

With skill , his finger prodded your spongy walls with such gentleness only a man in love would use to make his woman fall apart. His sea green eyes never left your face when he curved them deeper into your sensitive spots. Your knight was fixated on each of your expressions , and how your lips would part for him in heavy breaths. You were holding back your moans , and he allowed it only for the knowledge that your normally more vocal endeavors would probably wake the whole castle.

But your core ― fluttering around his digits , and oh so sticky ― was making up for the lack of noise.

Even in almost darkness , with the only light source being a bunch of candles and torches sparsely illuminating the both of you , he could see some of your wetness pool under you in a small puddle of pure sin.

Percy hoped it would completely seep into the wood and stay there forever . . .

Your eyes widened when he leaned forward and pushed your nightgown further up your legs , just to bury his head underneath. His tongue darted out to taste you , and a groan followed suit. You were lost in the pleasure of your knight eating you like his last meal . . . like he had never tasted anything sweeter than you. His fingers were still coaxing you closer and closer to the edge , but there was nothing harsh about it. Not even when he felt himself become hard. He was taking his sweet time with you , like a real lover should.

His warm mouth then enclosed your twitching clit with a soft hum , and you had to press your own hand over your lips to stifle a loud moan from spilling over them.

Your body jerked against the pew , your legs threatening to shut around him. Percy firmly kept you wide open for him. " It's okay , princess . . . " he looked up at you like your pleasure brought him pleasure. And it did ! His hips nudged against the floor for any kind of friction , he hoped you wouldn't notice.

" Percy I . . . I'm . . . " " Oh , i know. "

He sounded almost smug when he cooed at you to just let go.

" Just let go for me. " That alone had you seeing stars. And Percy thought you looked so pretty , allowing him to make you fall apart. His thumb was gently grazing the skin of your inner thighs to help you slowly come down , marked and left tender by his mouth.

And he kissed each spot like a silent apology.

[ramp-it-up]

Muse: Four

Muse Three | Muse Masterlist | Muse Five

Summary: This is the one. The one where decisions are made. Words are said. The end or the beginning of you and Ari.

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader

Word count: 3 K

A/N: Muse will be a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the second one. We’re gonna hear from them at least every week. 😏 . This AU is tangential to the Peach and Knock You Down verses. If this drabble makes you angry, let me know! I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Angst. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, dating app life, casual sex, Dominant Ari, Missed connections, yearning, the green eyed monster, late night confessions, oral (f recieving), fingering, hint of breeding kink, size kink, nipple obsession, nipple play, protected sex, the 'L' word (finally).

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

Two days later, you were shooting inside one of the most beautiful spaces you’d ever worked in. It was a gallery so beautiful it felt dangerous ot breathe. A curated reverence hung in the air, the kind that made you instinctively speak softer and move slower.

But you were on edge, because you hadn’t known the shoot would be here. 

No one had said Red Sea Gallery. The one owned by Ari Levinson. Just: White walls, natural light. Tribeca-adjacent. Minimal set.

When you put the address your agent sent you into your maps app and the name popped up, you were gobsmacked. You tried to prepare yourself in the two hours notice you had before the shoot, but you weren’t.

There were the standard issue floor-to-ceiling windows, along with the scent of clean wood, old paint, and history. What was unexpected was the way the afternoon light struck a sculpture in the corner, a piece too raw to be just decoration or inventory. 

It was too intimate not to notice.

You stared at it, knowing that he had chosen it, and how much more you understood about Ari because of it. There was something about the shape of the metal, the tension in the curve, the heat in the cold material. It was alive somehow.

It was you come undone.

Your stylist, Misty, snapped her fingers. 

“Hey. Earth to supermodel. Time to get into look number three.”

You nodded, throat dry. “Right. Sorry.”

But as you changed in the makeshift dressing area, pulling silk up over your hips, you couldn’t stop staring at the sculpture.

Couldn’t stop feeling him.

Ari had studied your face in the dark, and he’d whispered, “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Yeah. Well, you fucking knew now.

You posed for the camera like everything was fine. Hip cocked, chin high, face set to neutral.

But inside, everything churned.

And then, you saw a flicker out of the corner of your eye. You turned your head just in time to catch a shadow slipping past the far end of the gallery. The figure was tall and broad with a confident stride. 

Ari.

You didn’t need to see his face.

Your heart rate spiked, your skin prickled, and your body betrayed you all over again. But by the time you crossed the floor barefoot and barely covered, the hallway was empty.

He was gone, just a ghost of cologne in the air.

The photographer called your name.

You turned back slowly, with one last glance at the metal sculpture, gazing at the raw emotion rendered in steel.

You hadn’t spoken to Ari in days.

He hadn’t texted. You hadn’t called.

And still, the city kept folding you into each other’s orbits.

Near.

But not enough.

—----

Ari hadn’t meant to stay, it was going to just be a fifteen-minute walkthrough before tomorrow’s showing, nothing more. But the moment he heard the shutter snap and then heard your laugh, Ari stopped breathing.

He knew that you were here in his gallery and in his world. That world tilted a little bit.

His adrenaline spiked as he ducked into the shadows between exhibits, watching you from there. You were barefoot, bare-shouldered and bathed in golden light, wearing a gown that clung to your body like a second skin.

You were fucking good at your job, and Ari was witnessing first hand the work that went into producing those gorgeous pictures. You were professional and poised, but he knew the passion that lay underneath.

Ari’s fingers became fists at his sides because he had touched that fire, he’d tasted it. And now, all he could do was watch as he starved for you, every nerve stretched thin, every breath hard to take.

It had been days, not weeks or months, but he felt too long deprived of the sight of you. Even though he’d decided not to contact you again after that night that felt like war.

You turned slightly, your hips angled, one hand at your waist, and the light hit you just right. Like you’d been lit by God himself.

Those lips. That jaw. That hourglass silhouette that curved into him like a puzzle piece, you were amazing.

His hands had memorized every inch of that body, but at the moment he couldn’t move to touch you, couldn’t speak to you, couldn’t even fucking blink your image out of his brain.

The photographer said something about “more edge,” and you smirked, dropping your chin just enough to make mischief with your gaze.

It wasn’t meant for Ari. But fuck, he felt it. 

Ari stayed in the shadows just long enough to carve your image into his bloodstream.

Then he turned and left, silently bleeding for you.

—--

You weren’t trying to be on your phone, but it buzzed three drinks deep at some rooftop party, where the music was loud and the faces were blurred by flash and too much champagne. 

The second your screen lit up, you sensed it.

A DM. Then another. You tapped through. And there he was.

Ari Levinson. Black sweater. Cocky smile. Calm, cool, and collected.

A woman with mile-long legs and too much lip gloss draped herself over him, laughing into his shoulder in the boomerang video.

Made so you could watch it over and over again.

Ari didn’t touch her; he barely looked at her. But he didn’t move away either. 

And that was enough.

You locked your phone, shoved it under your thigh, forcing your lips into a smile when your friend slid another drink your way.

“You good?”

You lied. “Peachy.”

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t own him. You didn’t even call him yours.

But all you could see was him, the man who once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name.

The man who made you feel.

And now he was somewhere else and you were losing your mind in an Uber home, crafting and deleting half a dozen texts you’d never send.

you looked good tonight

Delete.

was she worth it?

Delete.

i can't stop thinking about your mouth

Delete. Delete. Delete.

—--

Ari left that rooftop party ten minutes after that girl posted him.

He didn’t even say goodbye because he hadn’t wanted to be there. He hadn’t wanted anyone but you. And when he saw your name light up his notifications, saw that you’d watched, well shit, it made him feel sick.

Because he knew what you’d think, and it wasn’t the truth. The truth was you were already under his skin; you were already it for him.

He didn't know why that was so important to him, but it was.

You were.

—-

The knock came at 1:42 a.m.

You were scared, because you knew it was someone who could hurt you.

You knew it was Ari.

You padded barefoot to the door, one hand trembling against the wood as you peeked through the peephole. Ari was there in a Tribeca Festival hoodie, his hands deep in his pockets and his jaw tight.

You opened the door and didn’t say a word. Neither did he. For a moment, the city noise poured in behind him and then you stepped back.

He walked in like he was home. And you let him.

—--

You didn’t speak.

Just closed the door behind him and walked into the kitchen like he hadn’t shown up at nearly two am with that whole brooding/penitent thing going on.

You opened the fridge, poured a glass of water and sipped. You should have been an actress.

Ari stayed where he was, near the door, hoodie pushed back, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving you.

You didn’t spare him a glance.

“Thought you were busy tonight,” you said evenly.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I was,” he said finally.

You set the glass down, still not looking at him.

“Saw the party,” you added. “Looked like fun.”

Nothing in your tone gave you away. Not the way your chest was tight, not the sting behind your eyes, not the taste of jealousy in your mouth.

"Didn’t stay long," he said finally.

The laugh that escaped you was bitter and broken.

"Long enough."

You turned, and there he was, suddenly in front of you, so close you could feel his heat.

"You were watching," he said quietly.

You glared up at him.

"Is that why you’re here? Because I saw?"

"I’m here because the second I saw your name on that story, I felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe."

You stared at him and saw that he wasn’t untouched. He wasn’t fine. He was fucking wrecked.

"You think you know what I’m feeling?" you said, voice cracking.

"I know exactly what you’re feeling," he said, "because it’s the same thing I’m feeling."

The words landed because they were true. Because he was the one person who saw through all your practiced detachment and soft cruelty. Even after so little time.

It was lightning in the bottle, finding the one who looked at you, read your bullshit and still wanted more. On a dating app no less.

Fuck your life.

You walked past him toward the couch, brushing too close on purpose. 

“You think you know me,” you said, sitting down and crossing your legs slowly.

“But I don’t own you Ari. You're free to do what you want. And she looked like a good time.”

You shrugged.

“You showing up somewhere with her is none of my business.”

Ari bristled.

“I didn’t show up with her. I went alone. I left alone.”

You blinked as he crouched in front of you, his hands on the edge of the cushion, one knee brushing your thigh.

“And I’m here now. With you. Because all I could think about was you sitting here, alone. Wondering what it meant. Wondering if I was fucking her. Wondering if I’d moved on.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He reached up, thumb brushing your jaw.

“I haven’t. I can’t. You’re in my fucking bloodstream," Ari said.

"And I can’t rip you out."

He bent and pressed his forehead to your knee and just breathed.

Your fingers hovered above his head for one breath. Then two. And then you gave in. They slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and his whole body tensed, like he hadn’t expected you to touch him, like he was braced for a shove instead of tenderness.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when your hand tightened, just slightly, he looked up.

Those eyes. God, those eyes. Those eyes gutted you the way they looked at you like you were the one who might disappear if he blinked.

You leaned in just enough to make him meet you halfway. And when his mouth met yours, it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t greedy.

It was devastating. You couldn't pretend any more.

You broke the kiss only to whisper, “I hated seeing you with her.”

His head dropped, breath ragged against your knee.

“I didn’t touch her,” he rasped. “I haven’t touched anyone.”

You tilted his chin up. “Why?”

His answer came without hesitation. 

“Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head. When I look, I can’t see anyone else but you. I don't want anyone else."

That was when you lost it. The dam broke. You grabbed his hair, dragging his mouth to yours. 

The kiss wasn't sweet. It was needy. It was desperate. Your teeth, hands, and mouths were ferocious, and still, it wasn’t enough; it would never be enough.

"Tell me you hate me," he whispered against your mouth.

You kissed him harder.

"Tell me you don’t feel this."

You gasped, "I can’t."

You kissed him again.

"I don’t want to feel anything.” 

“I know.”

“And I still fucking do.”

“I know that too.”

Ari groaned against your lips, the sound low and primal, and it shot straight through you. His hand found the hem of your tank top and found the warm skin underneath.

You shuddered and gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him closer and when the kiss broke and you gasped for air, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"You are so fucking stubborn," he whispered.

"I know," you rasped.

His hand slid up your ribcage and weighed your breast, thumb tracing your areola.

"Still want you," he said. "Even when it hurts."

He pinched your nipple to emphasize his point. You grabbed his jaw, palm dragging over his beard.

"Show me," you whispered.

Ari groaned and peeled your top over your head with shaking hands, tossing it somewhere neither of you cared about. You stripped his hoodie and t-shirt off too, tugging him closer by his broad shoulders, breathing him in, burying your face in his throat for one dizzying second.

Ari turned and sat on the couch, lifting you onto his lap. Your knees sunk into the cushions on beside his thighs and your bodies crashed together. He kissed down your throat, stopping at your pounding pulse to bite down gently. And when you felt the huge ridge of his cock through his jeans, you moaned helplessly.

"You drive me insane," he  whispered into your skin.

“Can’t fucking breathe without thinking about you."

You whimpered and arched into his touch while his thumbs circled your nipples until you were gasping in his lap.

"Ari," you moaned.

He kissed every inch of you he could reach.

"I’m here," he said. "I’m right here."

He carried you up to your bedroom, and the way he looked at you when he laid you on your bed made your heart ache. When he slid your panties down your legs, he kissed the inside of your ankle, then your calf, your knee, working his way up your body like he had all the time in the world.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and whimpered when he kissed between your thighs.

"Need to taste you," Ari stated. And then he did.

His tongue licked into you as his hands pinned your hips down when you tried to buck them up into his face, feeling like a desperate slut for him. Ari was an expert at making you feel good; his tongue was perfect on your clit and licking inside your folds, and his fingers fucked you open, lighting you up from the inside out, over and over, until you were a trembling, trembling, moaning mess under him.

You came hard, gasping his name, nails clawing at the sheets, and he didn’t stop tasting you until you came down. Then, he kissed up your body, planting open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, and your throat.

At this point you were beyond feral, and you yanked at his jeans, needing more, needing him. He stripped them off, pushed his boxers down, and there he was, thick, hard, beautiful, aching, and dripping for you.

"Condom," you panted.

"Fuck…. Okay, yeah."

He scrambled for his jeans, hands shaking, and you couldn’t help but smile; wild and wrecked looked good on him. He rolled it on, kissed you again and then he guided the broad tip of his cock to your snug, slippery entrance and eased inside you.

You both gasped. He was so fucking big. Ari destroyed you so good.

It wasn’t just physical. It was everything. All the denial. All the want. All the feelings. It all combined to have your cunt slowly pulsing around him already.

Once fully inside you, he stayed still, forehead pressed to yours, giving you, and himself, time.

"You good?" he whispered, his voice wavering as your cunt pulsed around him. He was so close already.

It had never been like this.

The question was strange. He'd never cared this much while he was fucking you. But this time, it wasn’t just fucking.

You nodded, eyes burning.

"Move," you said.

And he rocked into you slowly at first, like he was savoring every second. You clung to him, nails dragging down his back, thighs tightening around his waist, making involuntary whimpers and ragged gasps.

His fingers glided over your clit and the pleasure exploded in a rich, crazy rush.

"Ari," you sobbed.

"I know, Baby," he panted against your neck. "I know. Feels so damn good."

He kissed your jaw, your temple, and your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. You rode his thick cock as his fingers spun your climax higher and higher as you tipped over the precipice again, crying out, your cunt locking down around him.

He groaned and thrust harder, losing control. It was the quickest he would ever come with you.

"Can’t…fuck…can't hold on..." he gasped.

You grabbed his face, made him look at you.

"Come inside me," you whispered. "Please."

This wasn't about the condom. It was the sentiment.

Ari's brain blanked, his whole body shuddered, and he buried his face against your throat and let go, hips jerking, mouth open in a silent cry.

You held him through it. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just stayed pressed against you, still inside you, breathing hard.

"Don’t leave," you whispered into his hair.

He made a broken sound,  half a laugh, half a sob.

"I’m not going anywhere, Muse." he said.

"Not anymore."

—---

You woke tangled in Ari, your cheek pressed to his bare chest, his arm heavy across your waist, his breath steady against your hair. For a second, you just laid there, afraid to move. But then, his fingers moved up and down the curve of your spine.

You swallowed hard and shifted slightly, feeling him stir against you, realizing that he was hard again.

God, you were wrecked for him. Beyond reason. And beyond pride.

You tilted your head back to look at him, and saw that he was already awake, watching you. You opened your mouth to say something, something stupid. Something defensive. 

To make a joke. To make it light. To pretend it didn’t mean everything. But Ari beat you to it. 

His voice was rough with warning.

“Don’t run from me.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a plea. It was a command.

Your chest hurt because God, you wanted to run.

It would be safer. Easier. But you couldn’t run from him anymore.

You dragged your hand up his chest, feeling the rough patch of hair and the steady thump of his heart.

“You make it really fucking hard to breathe,” you whispered.

Ari smiled and kissed the corner of your mouth. Your cheekbone. Your eyelid.

And then he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, keeping you locked against him as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You buried your face in the curve of his neck, breathing him instead of air.

And then he said it, the words that split the world wide open.

“I’m in love with you.”

Like it was simple. Like you could just say shit like that.

You froze.

But he didn’t flinch, backpedal, or give you a single out. He just held you.

Like what he’d just said wasn’t terrifying.

And now you were crying, hot rivulets of your tears running down his neck.

You pulled back just enough to see his beautiful, stubborn, stupid face, and you gave him the only thing you had left.

You whispered it back, trembling and scared.

“I’m in love with you too.”

-----

oh. my. god. wbu?

Muse Five

[janeeyrewannabe]

are we rockin with simon paired up with a reader who cries a lot 🤥

big cryer big sobber

oh we are

not proofread sorry 😕

wc: <1000

as a crybaby myself this is very close to my heart. Maybe you’re crying about something insignificant or maybe something just feels off. It honestly doesn't take much to set you off. I don’t think simon has a problem with you expressing emotion, i think that he just doesn’t know how to react. The way your shoulders shake as you sob with your head in your hands doesn’t exactly bring out a pleasant feeling in him.

I think that as time goes on he handles it with more grace. He knows what makes you feel better and what will make things worse (he’s learned that one the hard way). Simon says shit just to say shit and it does not help anyone 99 percent of the time. You’ve never witnessed someone screw something up so badly and find all the right words in the same sentence.

This time you’re crying about some asshole at work. Simon’s well versed in the mechanics of your emotional turmoil at this point. He’ll cradle you in his arms and whisper saccharine words of support in your ear. The pressure of his strong hold around your body and your heart calm you down better than any substance ever could. With your head on his chest, the smooth thump of his heartbeat is interrupted by Simon's voice, “I’ll take care of it for you baby.”

You take it as a joke with a breathy laugh and snort following his statement, but the stern look on his face shows he’s dead serious. You won't be surprised if you see him tomorrow with bruised knuckles and a busted lip. It’s not the first time and it won't be the last.

The only time simon likes to see you cry is when you’re having sex. Lithe body beneath him, face contorted in pleasure. Mouth wide open with loud obscene moans tumbling out that would make a pornstar blush, eyes glossed over with exhaustion. You’re on round whatever at this point. The friction of the coarse hair above his cock against your clit makes it all even more painful. He sees your pained expression, red eyes and mascara covered cheeks. “what’s wrong baby, hmm?” condescending tone dripping with honey.

“Please simon” your words are barely audible but the way his name rolls off your tongue makes him drop his head and groan into your neck. He’s taking his sweet time tonight, languid strokes in a painstakingly constant rhythm, tip of his cock kissing your cervix. “come inside me please, I need you” you say with furrowed brows and desperation creeping in your voice as hot tears stream down your face. He won't admit the effect that this has on him though, not explicitly. You can see it anyways, the way his grunts become more frequent and his white knuckle grip on the sheets beside your head.

You’re so far gone you can't even form words anymore, only gasps and incoherent jumbles of vowels. Simon slips one of his hands between the two of you, thumbing your clit with the conviction of a madman. The new sensation of his firm touch is the final straw that “Oh, god, oh my god, im gonna-” You reach your peak convulsing under his body with your slick running down between the two of you and onto the bed sheets. The atmosphere in your shared space hot and heavy with lust.

“Please,” you whine as you angle your hips towards him and the new position sends him over the edge. His orgasm has him seeing white. He collapses on top of you and his body weight crushed you only a little bit. The feeling of your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck combined with a sniffle pulls Simon out of his delirious state.

“Feeling better?” he says with a familiar condescending tone.

sorry for not posting for like a month, every time I sit down to write I hate everything about it 😊 I have some more things cooking up don't worry. u guys know the drill, please comment and like and reblog!!!!! 🤍🤍🤍

[staargxzer]

𓂃　 ⁺ ₊ overdrive ˊ˗

chapter one ; psychopomp

⭒ synopsis ᵎ 〜 it was supposed to be just another late night in a garage that smelled like oil and rust. but then she showed up. car looking like hellfire, grimy tank top, eyes like she's been to places most don't come back from. ellie williams drags you into the underworld of street racing. she races like she's got a death wish. fast, reckless, and alone. you're the right person in the wrong seat and the only shot she's got left. ⭒ content ᵎ 〜 street racer!ellie x mechanic!reader . afab reader . modern au . brief mention of weed . whole lot of tension ⭒ word count ᵎ 〜 3.6k ⭒ notes ᵎ 〜 will have smut eventually. im still not entirely happy with this but i promised this chapter and im already late enough! will be working on chapter two as soon as i can!

It was a year of sunset-glazed rooftop gardens and broken air conditioning units — July of 2039. These warmer months brought along flowers and harvest, but they also dragged pollen and mosquitoes with them. No one’s ever grateful for the winter cold until allergies kick in, and the summer heat is never welcomed until you’re held up in the frozen snow, shivering violently in a downpour of ice. You were standing over a flashy Mazda MX-5, working to swap the engine with that of a Supra’s 2JZ. Chapped flecks of white paint were peeling onto your jeans, and you briefly wondered if car wrap services should be your next side hustle. The harsh smell of the garage was something you weren’t sure you’d ever grow accustomed to. It was greasy floors, flickering fluorescent lighting that threatened to fall from the sky at any minute, the tinge of burnt rubber. There wasn’t anyone left there with you, not at this time of night. They had all cleared out long ago, but you were never the type to discard a project you had already started. Especially when you knew you could finish it if you just gave it another hour.

You hear it before you see it, the sharp rattle of a ruined car sliding into your garage like it owned the entire world. Right then, only one of two things could occur: 1. the sun explodes in a bright white blasting fury across the entire earth and boils you dead, or 2. you’re forced to stay a whole lot later than you initially planned for. You’ve placed your bet on option two. A matte black Nissan 240SX, complete with a faded red stripe that wrapped around the midsection. It was full of makeshift repairs– duct tape holding up the front bumper, scrapes covered by black sharpie. The kind of thing you’d see on a first-time driver’s car. While you weren’t too well-versed in the street racing underworld, it certainly doesn’t take an idiot to see that this car has been in a race (or twenty). The left side sank down heavy to the floor, surely the cause of that incessant rattle and a definite sign of a shot suspension. You squinted into the deeply tinted windshield, searching for any sign of life beneath glass. You tried to imagine who could be driving such a thing: a tall, skinny man, dark brown hair that is just beginning to gray at the edges, ratty unkempt beard framing his chiseled jawline.

That’s not who comes out.

Instead, it’s her. Stained wife beater, jeans one size too big, converse that are falling apart at the seams, and sun-touched auburn hair cut back into a harsh mullet that framed the freckles dotting across her face.

“Hey,” she said, as if this was normal. As if she was always rolling up to random mechanics with her car sounding like judgement day had come.

You should’ve told her to leave. Should’ve said you were closed and to come back tomorrow. But something about the look in her eyes caught your attention, made you feel like you were the last chance she had. So, you scoffed right back. “Hey?”

“You fix cars or just stand there looking confused?” Her voice was deep and tired, but weirdly sharp. Everything about her screamed trouble. 

“Right now?” You glanced down at your watch. The neon green letters flashed tauntingly back at you: 11:27pm. Yeah, option two was looking real possible right now.

The girl merely shrugged, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her sagging jeans. “If not, I’ll find someone else.”

As much as you hated to admit it, her words lit a flicker of irritation in your chest. It felt like a challenge. Like she was saying you couldn’t do it. “I didn’t say no.”

The corner of her mouth twisted up into a smirk– quick, you couldn’t help but think that she didn't mean for you to catch it. “Didn’t sound like much of a yes either.”

You tossed the oily rag you kept in your waistband up onto the workbench, wiping your palms against your thighs one last time for good measure. “Depends how bad you screwed it up. Looks like you drive this thing like you hate it.”

“I get that a lot,” she said, not even blinking. “But it still runs. That’s gotta count for a little bit of brownie points, right?”

“We’ll see.” You shook your head, stepping around her to reach the wreck she called a car. You stole a glance into the open passenger side window as you sauntered around. The dash was cracked, the glove box hanging by hopes and dreams. You took note of the roll cage, the lack of backseats, the rather bare interior. Definitely a racer. A faded out sticker on the rearview mirror caught your eye: if you can read this, i’m already gone.

Outside, tires screeched and a woman screamed. Just background noise in this part of the city. The overhead lights buzzed like angry mosquitoes and you flicked on the beaten radio to drown out the uncomfortable background noise. Static, then a guitar riff, then the sound of a man’s voice. 

Well, come and get it now–

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here in a dingy garage so late at night?” Her voice was pure tease now.

“Flattery’s not gonna make me work faster,” you quipped, flashing her a glare over your shoulder.

“Didn’t say I was trying to be fast,” she said, trailing after you with her hands still deep in her pockets, lazily strolling along like she all of a sudden had all the time in the world. Like she didn’t just disturb your entire night.

You grinned, looking back over your shoulder again with a mischievous glint now dancing in your eyes. “Good. ‘Cause judging by your suspension, you’re not great at going fast anyway.”

She chuckled, low and rough and warm all at once. “Touché.”

You circled back around to the front of the car, crouching down to the concrete floor to get a better look at the sagging frame. She leaned against the matte black hood, arms crossed, watching you with a heat that roasted your skin. You fought to not stare at her arms. The muscle dragged you in, and some part of you longed to trace your fingers along her tattoo. 

“You never told me your name.”

“Williams. Ellie Williams.” Her tone was casual, short. It held a louche quality that hinted at depravity. You yearned to know more, but you held your tongue. “You?”

“___.”

There was something electric hanging in the air now, humming under the harsh buzz of the fluorescent garage lights. You wiped your hands on your jeans again, more to keep busy now than anything else.

“Suspension’s fucked,” you said finally, tapping the left side of the hood. “I’d bet you bottomed out hard. Frame’s probably cracked too… if you were lucky enough to hit a curb instead of some other racer.”

Ellie gave a low whistle. “Bottomed out hard, huh?” she repeated, pushing off her car slow and easy until she was standing just a little too close. Close enough that you could smell the vague scent of gasoline and something sharp-sweet on her. Leather, maybe, and smoke. “I’ve heard that before.”

A blush passed over your cheeks and your heart threatened to sink down into your stomach. You breathed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

She lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused at your fidgeting. You let the blush take over as you popped the hood, the overbearing smell of hot oil engulfing your senses almost immediately. Ellie moved to be at your side, her shoulders brushing yours as she leaned in for a look.

“Something wrong there too?” she asked.

“You sure you wanna know?” you were the one teasing now, giving her a sideways glance.

Ellie shrugged, accompanied with a lazy tilt of her head. “Already here. Might as well hear all the bad news.”

You rattled off a condensed list. Bent control arm, possible steering rack damage, probable oil leak. She just nodded along like you were reciting a grocery list and she was your incompetent husband.

“No big deal,” she sighed, her breathing ragged and uneven. ��How long will it take to fix?”

You stared at her, struggling to hide the dumbfounded look plastered across your face. “You’re either incredibly rich or incredibly stupid.”

She smirked. “Why not both?”

That pulled a breathy laugh out of you before you could stop it. A real one, not the hollow kind you gave old men trying to sweet-talk their way into a discount.

“Give me an hour to tear it down,” you said, stepping back and wiping the sweat that had accumulated on your brow. “See if it’s worth saving, then another to fix it.”

Ellie nodded, but it didn’t seem like she was really listening all too well. She leaned her hip against the workbench, freckled arms crossed over her grimy shirt, staring at you like you were the main event and it wasn’t at all a possibility that she could lose her car.

“You’re not gonna hover the whole time, are you?” you coughed, fake annoyance dripping from your teeth.

“Maybe,” She grinned fully this time. Lazy, cocky, dangerous even. “Unless you can’t handle a little pressure.”

You snorted under your breath and ducked your head back into the engine bay, hiding the stupid smile that was threatening to spread across your face.

“Trust me,” you muttered, “you’re not that scary.”

Ellie leaned down to meet you under the propped-up hood, hovering her lips just beside your ear. The feeling of her breath careening down your neck made you shiver.

“You haven’t seen me drive.”

The next two hours passed in a blur of wrenches, grease stains, and the sharp intensity of Ellie’s gaze burning into the back of your neck. She didn’t hover, not exactly, she lingered. She rarely spoke, just leaned against the bench or paced slow circles around the garage, an unlit joint dangling from her lips. Every time you turned to grab a tool, there she was, tossing it to you without a second thought. Each time your fingers would brush she’d smile like she had just won a point, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

At some point, you stopped pretending not to notice.

You slammed the hood closed, a lot harder than necessary, and tried to shake the uncomfortable heat prickling on the back of your neck.

“You’re good to go,” you said, tossing a rag onto the bench beside Ellie. “Mostly.”

Ellie shoved off the wall, sauntering over to you until she was all in your space again. Not that you moved away. “Mostly,” she repeated, that familiar grin spreading across her face. “That your professional opinion?”

“Professional opinions are extra,” you grinned back, taunting.

She chuckled low under her breath, eyes flickering over you in a way that made your entire body tense up. Slow, less like she was sizing you up and more like she wanted to memorize your every curve.

“Good thing I’m a generous tipper,” she said, her voice dipping a little lower.

“Treat it like glass,” you said, tugging at your shirt collar uncomfortably. “Or you’ll be back in a week and it’ll be a whole hell of a lot worse.”

“Good,” her eyes were suddenly serious, a dark look crossing her face in a way that made your pants almost fall clean off your hips. “Was planning on coming back anyway.”

You raised a brow. “Yeah? What else you need?”

She shrugged, a casual but deliberate movement. You could tell she was trying to seem cool. It was kind of cute. “A mechanic.”

“...You offering me a job?”

“Depends,” she spoke carefully, stepping in closer. The air between you crackled with electricity. “You any good at fixing more than busted suspensions?”

Before you could answer she had stepped back, grabbing a pen off of your bench and taking your hand in hers. Her touch made you buzz and you watched intensely as she messily scribbled her number onto your palm in dry black ink. She dotted the “i” in her name with a heart.

“Think about it,” she said, tossing her keys up and catching them one-handed, the metallic clink ringing out in the otherwise quiet garage. “Might be the best bad decision you ever make.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The air was thick with the smell of exhaust, burnt rubber, and pure, unabashed adrenaline. Neon lights glared off of chrome-polished fenders as nearly over a dozen cars lined the abandoned shipping yard, idling like predators waiting for prey. Engines revved and music blared from someone’s speakers. Half the crowd buzzed with pre-race excitement, the other half just buzzed.

Pulling your hoodie tighter around your face, you stepped into the crowd. You had left your own car further away like Ellie had instructed you. It was much less impressive among the racers’, a plush blue Volvo 240 Turbo. Understated, beat down to hell, but modded up to god and back. You grabbed the metal toolbox out of your passenger side, the cold handle grounding you in a way that felt anything but solid.

You had never attended a street race before. You’ve heard of them, sure, even modded a few cars for some, but never actually been to one. You didn’t dress for it, didn’t plan for it, just showed up. Ellie had texted you the location, didn’t say anything else about it– not that you asked.

A familiar rumble cut your thoughts short. It was a low, unapologetic grumble that definitely turned heads in the crowd. It seemed Ellie had a reputation. You turned just in time to see her car slide beside you, the engine purring a whole lot smoother than the last time you heard it. Your handiwork, still holding strong. Somehow.

Ellie stepped out like she owned the place, something you were starting to realize was a normal behaviour for her. She was donned in the same stained jeans as before, this time with a couple new oil smudges. A bright red cropped leather jacket was covering up her old stained wife beater, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her forearm muscles and faded tattoo. You watched closely as her eyes scanned the crowd before locking onto you. Something gleamed in her eyes. Relief, maybe. Moreso amusement.

“You showed up,” she said, strolling over with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets with a feigned air of no fucks given.

You shrugged lazily, trying not to smile. Trying not to give her that satisfaction. “You said you needed a mechanic.”

Ellie nodded slowly, lower lip twitching like she was fighting not to speak her mind. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well,” you responded, setting your toolbox down beside her front tire, “I guess I make a lot of bad decisions.”

She grinned, wide and reckless, a strand of her auburn hair falling in front of her eyes. “Perfect,” she drawled, “You’ll fit right in.”

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent, the music that thumped from someone’s trunk was shut off, and an air of competitiveness fogged your senses. Ellie leaned across the hood of her car, eyes glazed over with excitement and a hint of menace. “Flags drop in ten. You might want to hurry it up, little miss mechanic.”

You weren’t entirely sure what flags down meant, but you were sure that it wasn’t time to ask questions. You dropped to your knees, kneeling beside the front wheel. Your fingers brushed the brake rotor.

“These things are whispering their last words,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Ellie pulled a toothpick out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. You couldn’t help but think how she looked like a llama. “Then tell ‘em to scream louder.”

You shot her a look over your shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re about to be a nightmare to keep alive.”

She only grinned in response. That signature, stupidly charming Ellie grin. She continued to stare at you with an infuriatingly calm gaze as you popped the hood one last time, eyes scanning the turbo lines. Then, you wiped your hands clean on a rag you had tucked into your belt.

“Fluids topped, pressure’s solid, clutch might hate you by the end of it.” You slammed the hood shut with a smirk. “I’ll see you at the finish line.”

Ellie stepped towards you, still grinning wildly. “You always this sexy before a race?”

You raised a brow, feigning vexation. “You want sexy, go find someone that doesn’t know what a brake pad is.”

Her grin turned crooked, it somehow made her even more attractive. “Aw man, but none of them look half as good leaning over an engine.”

Before you even got a chance to fire back someone was yelling from across the lot. “Engine’s hot! You’ve got thirty seconds to line up, and don’t come crying to me when you get smoked!”

She turned to her car, toothpick now discarded on the asphalt, hands already gripping the door handle. “Next time, you ride with me.”

Then she was gone. You watched as she slid up to the starting line, your eyes transfixed on the smoke that pooled out underneath her car and evaporated into the air. The crowd was screaming now, voltaic above the war cries of the engines. The spotters hunched over the overpass began to shift. Your heartbeat reverberated off your eardrums and threatened to hop out of your chest entirely. You blinked, and they were gone. Ellie disappeared around a bend with her tail lights flickering like a cigarette in the dark. You’d never seen anyone drive like that before. All you could think to do was hold your breath.

At first, it was just one siren. Just one, thin and far off. The crowd shifts, anxiety rippling through the crowd and boiling the water around you.

Then the world exploded in red and blue. People screamed around you, but for an entirely different reason now. There’s movement all around you, folding chairs falling and people scrambling to climb chain link fences. You turn to run, but there’s nowhere to go. For a moment, you felt the sickening feeling of being trapped.

Then you hear it– tires drifting in the gravel. A black shape was barreling out of the smoke, angled right toward you. Before you could even think to move there was a passenger door flying open and a familiar face staring you down.

“In. Now.”

You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just dived in, half-falling into the passenger seat as the air behind you is completely swallowed by flashing lights.

Ellie was white-knuckled around the steering wheel as you shot forward and sliced through the night.

“You came back,” you say, breath coming out uneven and shaky.

City lights blurred past as the two of you skidded between two factory buildings, into an alley that was much too narrow for your comfort. The engine roared as she switched from third to fourth to third again, riding the clutch like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Behind you, someone’s bumper crunches into a brick wall.

“Couldn’t leave you.”

Her eyebrows pinched together as she tried to focus, eyes scanning for any possible exit. Any way to get you back to safety. Ellie was burning with recklessness now, she was in her element. You’re completely entranced as she maneuvers the car with such finesse that it almost scares you. Almost. She curses and yanks at the wheel, sending you slamming into the door and ricocheting off your seat. Ellie glances over at you, partly apologetically and mostly with arrogance. The emergency brake is dropped and the car is sent drifting between two green dumpsters. You clutch the handle above your head to avoid being sent tumbling around the car again.

Ellie shuts the car off with a harsh click and you finally let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. She drops her seat down, with you following suit in the movement. Smoke was pouring out of the hood now, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of you needing to do more repairs so soon.

It’s silent for a while, the two of you intently listening to the sound of the sirens disappearing into the city. Until, finally, Ellie’s voice tears through the tension.

“You shouldn’t go back to your car until tomorrow. Place’ll still be crawling with pigs.” She didn’t look at you when she said it, eyes still focused on the ceiling of her car. “You can crash at mine.”

You glance at her, blinking rapidly. Crash? At hers? You thought back to when you had first met Ellie in your garage. Back when you wouldn’t have ever expected to be running from police with a girl who looked like hell had sent her back.

“If you want,” she says after you’re quiet for too long, shyer this time.

You nod in response, still not trusting your voice to not break at the first syllable. The corner of her mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but on the edge of one. Neither of you speak as the engine hums to life and you peel out of the alley.

You can’t help but feel like you just crossed a line you won’t be able to uncross.

⭒ taglist ᵎ 〜 @mayanneaa

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Ok but remote control vibrators for public humiliation is like a top tier thing. Secret relationship Baby Billy and parishioner while he's on stage and reader is in the audience and he's just edging the reader through the whole service...

I hope I did this ask thing right. I'm never sure what the rules/expectations are.

YES~~

Baby Billy Freeman x Reader

CW: toy use, public humiliation, things happening in a church that should not be, kinda corruption kink??, edging, use of Bible quotes and religious imagery,

a/n: this was such a challenging piece to write in a good way, having to understand my limitations of using too specific of Bible verses and things. Thank you anon for such a new and challenging prompt for me!!

~~~

You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

Couldn’t believe he was doing this to you.

You nestled into the front row just like he had instructed. Making sure you were visible to him from any point on the stage. Cold wooden pew pressing against your thighs, faint cushion practically non-existent from years of use. Your ‘gift’ from Baby cautiously stowed away.

… Arms draped around your waist, nose tucked into your neck. Deep hazel eyes stared at you in the mirror before you. White hair and tinted glasses peaked over your shoulder. One of your hands rested on his against your lower half, other coming up to caress his face. Locked away in his dressing room in the basement of the church.

“I saw you with that boy,” Baby Billy’s deep tone vibrated against your skin.

Your throat tightened. Starting to question, but being interrupted by him.

“Giggling and shit. Saw the way your hand touched his arm. Thought you were my girl, now. Maybe I need to remind you of that,” his lips rested against your cheek with a kiss.

You furrowed your brows, mouth forming a question that could not escape. Firm hand held you against him, the other opening one of the drawers in front of you. Pulling out a little black box, white teeth forming a devious grin. Lips kissed along your face and neck as he sat the box on the counter in front of you.

“Go on,” Baby Billy encouraged.

Perplexed, you opened it. Your face immediately heated like someone had turned up the temperature. A hot pink vibrator. One of those ones you inserted and it rubbed against your clit. Still confused, you looked up at him in the reflection. He had a small remote in his hand. So tiny that you could hide it against your palm and no one would see it. Discretely black so it could be hidden. Clicking it and showing you exactly what it did. The box vibrated in front of you.

Your mind put the pieces together immediately. Cheeks flooding with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. Locking eyes with him once again.

“My pretty girl. Sometimes you just gotta be reminded, dontcha?” Baby’s lips pressed against your ear, “Now, tomorrow before you get all dolled up for church, you’re gonna put that little thing in that perfect pussy of yours. Baby’s gonna get the Holy Spirit flowing through you tomorrow. You understand?”

You coyly nodded at him. Body vibrating at the idea. Mouth running dry.

“If you play nice, I’ll make sure I fuck you real good afterward. Oh, and wear that dress I like,” Baby smiled at you…

And now here you were. Front pew of his sanctuary. Knees pressed together and hands folded in your lap. Hum of people filled the room. Smiling and waving. Greeting the usual crowd. Men tuning their instruments on the stage, casual conversation of the weekend and what they had cooked for Sunday dinner filled your ears.

Was it hotter in here than normal?

Someone must have turned on the heat for the first time. It was Winter. Your palms were shaky as you stared at the dampness that lathered them. Feeling your thighs shift smoothly with the perspiration. Hairs on the back of your neck stood up when one of your fellow congregation members sat down beside you.

“Hi, Y/N,” it was the same boy that Baby Billy had grown jealous of. The one who got you into this mess. Great. Like this would help. Baby was for sure not going easy on you now.

“Hi,” you shortly mumbled. Lifting your hand in a semi-wave. Lips pierced together in a smile. Attention going back to the front. The boy rambled on about the game the day before. Going on about how his fantasy league was performing worse than it ever had before. Ears ringing as you zoned out all the sound around you.

The room shifted.

Something in the air changed. You knew he was here. And his loud southern twang confirmed it. You looked over your shoulder. Watching as his bright white smile greeted each person as he shook their hand. Soft ‘mornin’s and ‘how’reya’s echoing. Then he walked up to where you sat. Your heart could have jumped out of your chest. Licking your lips as you attempted to speak to him.

“Mornin’ young man,” Baby completely ignored you. Extending his hand out to your unwanted guest. Lip twitching when his eyes darted over to you for a moment. Hazel eyes drowned out by the black hole of his pupils. Expanding as soon as your eyes met. A look that told you everything you needed to know.

You were in for it.

Church bells clanged. Signaling the band to begin their usual rhythm. The lights dimmed around the room, bright stage lights illuminating his face. People clapped along as Baby Billy stood silently at the pulpit. Smiling and tapping his hands against the podium. Eyes darting to you constantly, trying to hide how badly he wanted you. Deciding it was time.

His hand slid under the top of the lectern, discreetly clicking the button on the remote. Pulling out his Bible from the den underneath so no one was suspicious of what he was doing. There was a flutter in his chest. Denying himself the pleasure of being excited. Fighting the way his cock jumped when he clicked the first button. Trying to keep his stern exterior so you would view this as a punishment. A reminder of who you belonged to, even if it was in secret.

Your eyes sprung open. The soft and slow vibrations startled you. Hunching forward slightly in your surprise. The feeling of your clit being stimulated had your mouth running dry and hands gripping at your dress. Swallowing heavily as you attempting to pat your lap along to the rhythm. You could not let anyone know what was happening.

The music mellowed out. A hush falling over the room as Baby Billy adjusted the long, thin microphone. Smiling his famous pearly whites across the crowd, “Good mornin’, y’all.”

The crowd returned with a hushed “mornin’” before falling back into silence. Yours coming out unintentionally shaky. Pulling a small look from the boy beside you. Awkwardly smiling at him.

That was a mistake.

Baby Billy clicked the remote again. Having to keep his cool after seeing you smile at the boy. Obviously, his slow attempt at a reminder was not working. Lip twitching as he watched how the boy’s eyes scanned your body.

Your gaze shot back up to Baby Billy. Feeling the new setting vibrating inside you. Pushing your legs together in an attempt to relieve yourself. Face heating up silently.

“It’s so nice to see all your beautiful smiling faces today, church. Happy to have so many of ya here today. Now, everybody stand so we can fellowship. Share in that wonderful, warm love for Christ. It’s cold out there, but in here we are warm!” Baby Billy slapped the wood with his words. Sound of shifting seats in unison filling the room as the band strummed to a Hymn.

Baby Billy walked off the stage, completely ignoring your front row and going along to a different section. Shaking hands with his congregation. You softly smiled as you shook hands with all those around you. Palms sweaty and shaky. Silent, unable to return the casualties being shared with you.

Watching as Baby Billy finally looped back around to you. Shaking hands with the boy beside you first. Finally acknowledging your existence. Reaching his thick hand out to you, eyes locked in on yours. You held your anxious hand out to him, allowing him to scoop it into his. Hooded eyes scanned your face. Watching how you twitched trying to hide the pleasure you were feeling. “Hi, Baby,” you sighed out with a broken voice.

His member jumped at your tone. Hearing how disheveled he had gotten you already. Longing to hear you chant his name over and over again as he sheathed deep inside you. “Hi, doll,” Baby Billy whispered as he lingered on your handshake. You exchanged smiles. Secret only known between you.

Blinking himself out of the trance, he took his place back at the pulpit. Deciding you could handle another level up.

The toy vibrated quickly against your throbbing clit. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you began to sweat all over. Overwhelmed with pleasure, yet no finish. Having to keep wobbling legs steady as you all stood for the reading of the scripture. Some verse from 1st Corinthians 10, too lost in your own feelings to pay close enough attention. For sure that it had something to do with temptation and being faithful. To everyone else he was just spreading what God had put onto his heart, but you knew better. It was for you.

This was so wrong.

But you could not deny how much you enjoyed it. Knowing Baby Billy felt so much possession over you that even you casually talking to another man got him like this. Forcing you to partake in sinful activities during his own sermon.

Congregation finally instructed to take a seat. Biggest relief you had felt yet. Unable to complete your prayers as everyone else around you bowed their heads. Muttering their prayers in the House of the Lord. The only prayer you could think of was one for strength. The capability to make it through the Sunday service. Leaning forward causing your nub to press against the toy firmer, causing you to bite your lip in response.

Baby Billy peaked through his prayer at you. Watching how you squirmed for him, knowing he was consuming you. Taking any other thoughts out of your mind, but him. Having to heavily focus to remember what he had prepared for his preaching this morning. Not really caring what anyone else had to say. Only wanting you to a point of begging and clinging to him after all was said and done.

Everyone straightened back up with a wave of “Amen”s washing through the church. Sighing loudly as you directed yourself forward. Stomach tightening as the toy continued to push you towards your end. Fixating on Baby Billy’s slim build as he took his place back at the head. Longing to feel his thick fingers roam your body as cold rings pressed into your overheated skin. Smell of expensive cologne and cigarettes a strong memory in your memory.

You could feel your release reaching out to you, begging for you to give in. Until it all suddenly stopped, your lungs tightened in your chest.

He had turned the damned thing off.

Sudden loss of stimulation was infuriating. You pressed your thighs together searching for your release that was ripped from you. Feeling your heartbeat heaving in your chest. Shooting a look up at Baby Billy, seeing him smirking.

This was your real punishment.

The embarrassment and humiliation was one thing, but not allowing you to finish was another. You realized he was not going to force you into a quivering mess overstimulated by too many orgasms. Instead, he was going to have you teary eyed begging to finish. Having to rely on him to give it to you.

You choked awkwardly. Flattening your hands against your lap as you caught your breath. Unaware that you had been holding it. Sweat trickled down your back. Hooded eyes watching Baby Billy invite people up to sing their Sunday Morning songs. Staring at his waist, knowing he was fighting his own pleasure too. Not noticeable to anyone else, but you could see his cock. Knowing what was under those layers of clothes. Biting your lip at the idea of him fucking you.

Baby Billy caught your eyes in his view. Meeting your wanting gaze with soft expressions telling you he was thinking too. Cheeks burning with your arousal. His encouragement made this feel less like a punishment and more like a game. Both of you forcing your attention to the front when the music finally stopped.

His tall, thin figure rose and strutted back to his podium, Bible gripped tightly in his hand. Veins and bones popping out of his matured hands. Oh, how you adored those fingers. His hands knew your body just as well as they knew the Bible. Able to perfectly pleasure you and still have you wanting more by the end.

Softly, the leather bound book laid on the wood. Directly above where Baby Billy had his special remote hidden. Hand journeying into a dark hole to bring you back to life. Pressing it to the softest setting, really wanting you to ride along with it. Bright white smile greeting everyone once again. Instructing everyone to turn to a specific book and chapter. Too distracted by the return of pleasure.

Clumsy fingers turned to what you thought was the correct chapter. Refusing to look at the boy sitting beside you. Lost in how your heart raced against your ribs. Mouth running completely dry. Solely focusing on the sound of Baby Billy. His beautiful twang better than any singing you had heard.

Glossy orbs honed in on him. Locking in on any small motion that deviated from the norm. Noticing his arm slip away once more as the vibrations increased heavily. Sucking your lip between your teeth as your brow furrowed. Shoulders heaving in your state as sweat rolled down your entire body.

Baby Billy droned on about devotion to Christ. And how if you would allow it, God would take care of you forever. And how sometimes the Lord tests us. But all you had to do was show him your dedication and devotion was pure and only his. And that was God's way of showing us His love.

He thinks he's being slick.

His forehead was growing shiny as the stage lights beamed onto his skin. Fighting the feeling rising between his legs when he would see you hunch forward when the toy would hit a certain spot. This was becoming more of a punishment for him than you. Desire to take you away from everyone else filling his veins. Continuing the confess himself to you through the words of the Bible and his sermon. Knowing that you knew what he was meaning with the chosen words he used.

Familiarity dug its fingers into your insides. Constricting walls begging for an ending worth all this you were feeling. Your eyes fell shut for a moment as you took a deep breath. As badly as you wanted to give in, you could not disappoint Baby Billy. No matter the shame and embarrassment that sat so heavy on your shoulders. This was all for him. You would always give yourself to him.

Your lip softly quivered as shaky air fell from you. Hands laced together in your lap as knees bumped and prodded at each other. Everyone else in the room had disappeared as your vision blurred when tears begged to fall from your eyes. An overstimulation of arousal you had no idea you would ever experience.

Baby Billy instructed everyone to bow their heads. Turning off the machine as the room fell silent. Causing your sigh of frustration and relief to reverberate off the walls of the chapel. Heating up your face with embarrassment. Your panties were completely soaked, causing your thighs to stick together slightly. Infatuation for him apparent in your blown pupils and need to peak up and see him. Being greeted with his finger pressed to his lips as he silently mocked the loud puff that had escaped you. Unable to stop yourself from smiling at him.

He was such an ass.

Your fingertips pulsed as you finally relaxed your muscles. Nerves still on end. Raising your head to watch as Baby Billy dismissed everyone. That same hum inside you returning suddenly. Turned up to what you imagined was the highest setting. Causing you to cough as it took your breath away. Pulling a question from your pew-mate that you ignored. Done with any pleasantries you were willing to give. Having to focus every single inch of yourself into not finishing. Overwhelmed with how good it felt.

Baby Billy smiled as he watched people around you stand and share casual conversations. Refusing to leave at the rate the two of you begged. Your legs were shaking. Sweat drenched every single inch of you now. Unable to stop your eyes from forcing themselves shut and your face contorting in your pleasure.

You felt a sudden hand on your thigh. Fingertips edging up your dress.

"Sweetheart," his preacher voice urging you to look at him, almost like a question. Hooded eyes pried open. Meeting his black pupils as he smiled at you. Sweat decorated his face as he breathed heavy. Looking down to see a clear outline of his hard cock through his dress pants. Unknown to you, the room had cleared. Not even noticing that the boy sitting beside you had up and left.

"Ready for our meeting?" Baby Billy's voice was not above a whisper. You nodded vigorously. Knowing if you had to endure another moment of this you were going to be a shouting, squirming mess.

"Please."

~~~

[END//Part 1]

// Thank you so much for reading! I definitely plan on doing a follow up story for this one, if you are interested in being tagged please let me know!! I love writing Baby Billy, the new season of Righteous Gemstones cannot get here fast enough! //

{tags}

@boydcrowderapologist ~ @toogaytofunctiondangit ~ @megangovier ~ @iwmflbb ~ @its-in-the-woods ~ @dichromaniac ~ @manamania ~ @rose-blisse-blog ~ @b0bai ~ @dannymcbridelover ~ @ghoul-rider ~ @trashdoggy ~ @babbling-idiot ~ @beastofburdenxo ~

[aurossaga]

No Rush~ | Venti 2025 Birthday fic 🍃

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: ~1.2k

Warnings: Alcohol

Based on the new birthday letter! A picnic in the woods by the lake, made perfect by good company.

You notice the letter only because you were sure you shut that window just moments ago.

The breeze slips through now, light and perfumed with the early scent of summer blooms. You inch closer and find a folded piece of parchment sitting on the sill, sealed with a simple emerald green ribbon and the faint imprint of an anemo sigil pressed into teal wax. The ribbons flutter as if brought to life, tugged gently by the wind.

Curiously, you break the seal and unfold it.

"When you receive this letter, hold it in your hands and stand by the window."

You glance outwards, the parchment crinkling faintly between your fingers. Beyond Mondstadt's high walls, the sun hangs low and lazy in the sky, casting long golden sun rays over terracotta roofs and cobbled streets. The wind brushes your back, soft and persistent, and you swear you can almost hear a laugh carried on it. It’s a familiar sound to you.

Smiling, you reach for your cloak.

…

Outside, the city hums with life.

Down below the steps of your living quarters by the plaza, you pass by Sara at Good Hunter. She gives you a wave, midways through an order to a customer. The smell of seared meat and baked bread clings to the air, comforting and warm. Around the fountain plaza, kids chase pigeons, much to Timmie's dismay. Flora's flowers bloom bright and full in her shop, and she’s already organizing tomorrow’s bundles into neatly woven baskets.

You catch sight of Lawrence and Swan posted near the gate, alert despite the peaceful day. The two of them nod as you pass, though Swan’s eyes flick briefly toward the leaf that flutters ahead of you, light as a feather and drifting purposefully through the open archway.

The moment your feet touch the path outside Mondstadt’s gates, the wind tugs more eagerly..

The hum and buzz of the city fades, replaced by serene bird’s chattering and the low murmur of the wind as it weaves through trees and over hills. Cider Lake glistens around you as you cross the bridge, glassy and blue, and the familiar scent of dandelions, pine, and sun-warmed stone fills your lungs. Wildflowers sway beside the road. Dandelions, windwheel asters, and sweet mint nods along in the gentle wind.

The breeze pulls at your light cloak like an eager hand, encouraging but never rushing. You let it guide you through the crossroads, down a shaded path through the whispering woods, until the sound of your footsteps softens into grass.

And then you see it.

A checkered picnic blanket is spread beneath a sturdy tree by the lake’s edge, its canopy fluttering with green. A small basket sits at its center, half open, with the scent of sweet cider and sunsettias drifting lazily from within. There’s a lyre propped beside it.

And just a few steps away, you see him.

Venti turns at the sound of your approach, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun. His smile is instant, soft and charming.

“You came,” he says, like a verse finally finishing its line.

You let your steps carry you the last few feet, ignoring the way your heart beats just a tad louder.

“You sent the wind to fetch me. I couldn’t exactly ignore it.”

Venti laughs, and it’s a sound that fits the day perfectly. Light, bright, and just a little mischievous. “She does tend to be persuasive.”

You settle onto the blanket beside him. He tosses you a chilled bottle of apple cider and reclines beside you, arms tucked behind his head. His eyes are half-lidded as he gazes up at the sky, lashes catching the sunlight.

“I thought you might like this spot,” he murmurs. “It’s where the wind plays her softest songs.”

You pour the two of you a glass each before sipping the cider and glancing at him over the rim of your cup. “You mean it’s where you write yours.”

His eyes crinkle in a smile. “Well, maybe we work together on occasion.”

You both fall into a quiet rhythm then. The sound of the lake gently lapping the shore, birds chirping lazily from the trees, and Venti’s fingers idly plucking his lyre in between sips of cider and nibbles of sticky honey roast. A dandelion seed floats past, and he watches it go, humming under his breath.

You turn toward him. “You planned this just for me?”

“Of course,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “The wind told me you needed a day just like this. One where the city couldn’t find you. One with a lake and a song and… me.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then…

“And you?”

His voice softens. “I needed it, too.”

He rolls onto his side, propping himself up with one elbow. The breeze catches his hair, making the braids sway gently. His gaze holds yours, uncharacteristically steady, completely unguarded.

“I like when you follow the wind,” he says. “But I love it when you follow it to me.”

You don’t answer, not with words, at least. You shift closer, letting your hand find his. His fingers curl easily around yours, warm and familiar. A content sigh escapes him, and he leans in until your foreheads brush, eyes slipping closed.

The breeze hushes, as if holding its breath.

You can feel the soft rhythm of his breath, his forehead resting against yours. Venti’s hand tightens around yours just slightly. Not possessive, not urgent. Just… sure. Grounded. Like the whole world has settled into place just for a little while.

His voice is barely a whisper. 

“You know, sometimes I sing for crowds. Sometimes for the gods. But this… this song in me right now…? It’s only for you.”

You chuckle slightly, heart fluttering like the rustling leaves around you. “Then sing it,” you suggest, voice low and warm.

He smiles, that rare kind of smile that doesn’t dance or tease, the kind that lingers. And instead of reaching for his lyre, he leans closer, letting his nose brush against yours.

“No need,” he whispers. “You’re already hearing it.”

And then, he kisses you.

It’s gentle, feather-soft as expected. Like a note plucked in the silence after a long melody. There’s no rush, just the press of his lips, light and warm, like the sunlight filtered through the canopy above. The hand not holding yours comes up to cradle your cheek, fingers cool from the breeze but trembling just slightly, like he can hardly believe you’re real and here and choosing him.

He can act as composed and sure of himself as he wants… But you know how to make him buckle.

You lean into him, tilting your head, deepening the kiss just enough that he exhales, not from surprise, but relief. It feels like something you’ve both been circling around for a long time, and now you’ve finally landed in it, safe and sound.

When you part, your foreheads rest together again, the edges of your smiles touching like they never left.

“Don’t tell the wind,” Venti says, breathless and giddy, “but that felt better than flying.”

You laugh, eyes glimmering with mirth. “I won’t… if you promise not to write a whole ballad about it.”

He lifts a brow, already humming a few suspicious notes. “...Too late.”

You shove him playfully, and he tumbles back onto the blanket, laughing freely and joyfully and completely at peace. You follow, resting beside him once more, your fingers still laced in his.

And above you, the breeze swirls again, content, mischievous, and full of songs.

[valentine-cafe]

YEAHHHHHH REQUEST ARE OPEN GUYS!!! can I get a tiramisu? I CANT GET ENOUGH (amab reader hehehe boi)

sadly yo boy (and probably many others) are craving Alessio sprawled out on the bed (probably cuffed too cuz he can flip the script any second 😔) cuz he lost a bet to you and has to endure the hate fucking because DUH HE LOST!!!! dumbass would be spouting out SOOOO MANY THREATS but let's be fr he has no choice. He lost a bet 🥀

but even if that... ahem, affair happened, you'd surprise him with aftercare. I'm not talking bout half-hearted cuddles. I'm taking full on treating him like a prince as if we didn't fuck him silly earlier 😋😋 he'd probably be so perplexed LMFAO

— 🍓 (I might strangle myself later cuz this scenario was in my head for an UNHEALTHY amount of time)

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : tiramisu !! . . . bttm switch immortal ⊹ top dom m. reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 781 ꮽ  alessio arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a cocky, comedic and charismatic mercenary. immortal and inhuman, punkgoth

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... he lost a bet and is being a bit of a sore loser throughout the hatefuck the both of you commenced after ⊹ cw ٬٬ pinning ( alessio ) . whiney alessio <3 . smut . half-way male mating-press . squirting . edging . cum .

Ps: thank you strawberrynon, make him squirm, squirt, pant-

“You lost the bet, now stop squirming.” Your hissed demand forces a moan out of Alessio’s tight throat. Black locks sprawled across the pillow. While his emerald eyes are squeezed shut, black lashes shimmering with the sheen of sweat that rolls down his face.

Strong, veiny hands grip onto the small of your back in a weak attempt to bring thrust you down into him once more. To control the pace, the roughness.

What a sore loser. You think to yourself and take his hands to pin it up above his head. Slowing down your thrusts just a little more to watch him lose his orgasm in seconds. He was so close. Fuck, you're the meanest person he's ever had the pleasure to fuck.

You flex the arm of the hand that pins him to the bed, while the your other hand moves down to grab his weeping dick and squeeze away at it. While your legs shift him into a half-way mating press.

"F-Fuck—" He groans and lets out a pathetic whimper. He's on his third orgasm and fourth edge. The spite thickens every time he's made to comply with your wishes despite losing the bet. He may have lost, but that doesn't mean he's not going to go down with a fight.

. . .

That fight wasn't really going very well right now. He's crumbling as he's thinking of all the ways to somehow turn this around and make you fall flat onto him so he can fuck you instead.

"You're failing, Arias."

"F-mngh— callate. . ."

Your hand meets the sensitive surface of his scalp as you comb your fingers through his locks to yank hard at them. "That the way you speak to the one who won the game?"

How pathetic, he's cumming now? Without your permission too. Seems the yank was enough to send him straight to cloud nine where he'd previously looked at it from what felt like a long distance horizon.

Although you wanted to keep going, you could see he was starting to blank out slightly. Not because his stamina was going down, by any means. This man could fuck for days if he had to, you were sure of it. But. . . He definetely needed a break. Whether he'd whine about it or not.

The second you pulled out of him he gasped at the empty feeling. Legs twitching slightly. He expected you to flip him over and start rough fucking him from behind until he couldn't walk tomorrow. But instead you get off of the bed and leave him.

"What the fuck. . ." He murmurs to himself, moving his messy head of hair up from the pillows to stare blankly at the open door to his bedroom bathroom. What, did you have to piss?

He watches as you come out with a few wet towels in hand. You've cleaned yourself up?

"What, you tired?" He mocks, and shivers when he feels the lukewarm towel in your right hand touch his skin. As you start to clean him.

You barely give him a glance. Focused on gently cleaning up the mess he made of himself, abdomen and softening dick. Between his thighs and— "Could you flip over, please. Unless you want to clean yourself?"

He expected you to sound more stern than the softspoken words that left you. The words were kinder than what you usually spoke to him.

Emerald eyes flutter for a few moments as the words run around in his head over and over to process properly.

"Alessio." You call out to him quietly. "Do you need to clean yourself on your own?"

"No, no it's." The words of his response fade a little, until he turns on the bed, laying flat on his tummy to feel the towel moves down his back and back thighs. "I just didn't expect this."

It's hard to resist the little chuckle you let out. Sighing quietly to yourself. "I am not a monster. You know."

"Sometimes you act like one." He hums hoarsely. But enjoys your aftercare greatly. More than he'd like to admit through verbal actions.

Swatting him gently, you press a little kiss to his nape and massage his shoulders from the outer corners to inner and then make your way down his back. "Want anything to eat?" You ask. Letting out a hum as he groans in relief.

". . . I wouldn't mind some of that tiramisu in the fridge," he exhales, his weight dipping the bed a little more than before.

"You want some tapas plates too?"

"I can't say no to that."

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[lsunstreakerl]

Aged stone, quiet groves.

Search History Verse, future fic, 830 words, Charles POV.

Charles rolls the bottle between his palms, watching the slosh of the deep red in the glass. The car is parked, but he rests his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, eyes squeezed shut. He'll need to visit the Foundation while he's here, check in on operations and upkeep, make the rounds with the kids-

But this comes first.

He swallows, steeling himself as he steps out of the car, neck of the wine bottle grasped between his fingers.

People had offered to come with him- they always do, lately. Pierre, Daniel, Mick, the boys, Gianpiero, Lorenzo and Victoria...

Maybe one day Charles will take them up on their offers.

That day isn't today.

The grove is private, tucked away and secluded. It had become one of Max's favorite spots after he'd started spending more time in the Netherlands again, and Charles has had countless lunches with Max between the trees here.

Now he walks alone down the path, winding further into trees on a trail he knows by heart.

The first time Max had shown him- he'd been giggling, fingers laced with Charles', pulling him through the trees while Charles panicked about dirt on his white sneakers.

"It is of course just dirt, Charlie, it will wipe off."

"These are designer, Max- how did you even find this place, how far back are we going?"

"I had to chase one of the dogs back here a few weeks ago. You'll love it, I promise."

It had felt like they were teenagers again, sneaking away somewhere they shouldn't have, tripping over their feet.

Charles is wearing that same pair of sneakers now. They're beyond saving, not that he's ever tried. The dirt is important to him now- he'd dirty every pair of shoes he owns if it meant getting to hear Max laugh at him again.

The path ends here. It's a circular gap in the trees, a large smooth rock that's perfect for sitting, or using as a table. There's a memorial stone in the middle- it's surrounded by small trinkets and mementos, left behind by the various children of the Foundation who come through here.

Charles digs into his own pocket, pulls out a small cat charm. It's silver, and it had randomly caught his eye a few weeks ago when he was out shopping with Arthur.

He'd known immediately where it needed to go.

It settles nicely between the other gifts, resting against the memorial stone.

"It is from a local vendor, in Italy. I thought you would like it- I was out with Arthur."

Charles settles down onto the dirt next to the stone, back resting against the large rock behind him as his legs stretch out in front of him.

His joints are aching, and they'll be screaming at him whenever he tries to get up, but.

It's part of growing old.

"They are starting a clothing brand, I think. I told them not to make it ugly, but I have to be honest Max, I think I'm starting to lose touch with the trends."

He laughs softly, staring at the wine bottle between his hands.

"Ah, I am getting old. I got lunch with Gianpiero the other day, he is thinking of moving to Switzerland. He and Alice would like to be closer to their grandkids."

Charles worries about them both, living alone back in Bedford, so he'd been supportive of the idea.

"And I am visiting the Foundation tomorrow. Checking in on your kids, just like I said I would. One of your first ones is back, by the way. He is a lawyer, Max. He came back to work for the Foundation after it saved him, and I think-"

Charles cuts himself off, chest tight.

"I think you would have liked that, chéri. I told him that you would've been proud. I know you are."

He reaches out his fingers, brushing against the stone lightly. It's well maintained, by visiting family and friends, Foundation kids and workers alike.

He carefully sets the wine bottle down at the edge of the pile. It's fair game- someone else visiting can take it if they'd like. It's less of an offering or memento, and more of a personal need for Charles.

It's not about the wine, it's about bringing it.

"I don't drink anymore. The last time I saw someone with a gin and tonic at a party I had to leave."

It hadn't been Mason's fault. He couldn't have known, hadn't been thinking about it.

It had still made Charles feel like he was being stabbed in the heart anyways- taken the air out of his lungs, the grief slamming into him like an inescapable tidal wave.

It's starting to get dark, the sun dipping below the horizon, and Charles leans down, presses his lips over Max's name.

He used to stay out even when he could see the stars, but he's getting too old for that now, and it makes the boys worry. He'd promised Arthur he'd call when he got back to the flat.

"I miss you, Max."

There's no response. There hasn't been one for years.

"I love you."

[mrs-delaney]

Pursuit of Happiness | A Hide Short

Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (oc)

Word Count: 3.2k and some change

Author's Note: This is barely edited and I wrote it because I couldn't stop thinking about Lissie's cover of "Pursuit of Happiness" (linked above) and how Riley would absolutely pull something like this.

3000 words later and here we are. Hope you like it! I got one more I'm working on in this same vein.

Start here: my full masterlist

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Riley sat cross-legged on the couch in their rehearsal space, her Telecaster balanced across her knees, picking at random chord progressions while the guys debated their SiriusXM setlist.

"What about 'Flowers'?" Andy suggested, adjusting his guitar strap. "That's been everywhere lately."

"Everyone's covering that one," Daniel said from behind his kit.

Pete looked up from tuning his bass. "What about 'Kill Bill'? Could be cool stripped down."

"Or 'Vampire,'" Andy added, grinning. "Feels appropriate."

Riley let her fingers find a different progression, shifting away from what they'd been throwing around. "What if we did something older? Like... 'Pursuit of Happiness'?"

The room went quiet for a second.

Pete's eyebrows shot up first. "Kid Cudi? Isn't that—"

"Joe's favorite artist?" Andy finished, his grin turning absolutely wicked.

Riley kept playing, not looking up from her fretboard. "Maybe."

Daniel laughed, a low rumble from behind the drums. "Oh, you know exactly what you're doing."

"And honestly?" Pete said, walking over to plug in his bass, "I live for the messiness. Let's do it."

Andy looked up from his guitar. "So are we stripping this down? How do you want to play it?"

"Not stripped down," Riley said, finally looking up with that spark in her eyes they all knew meant trouble. "Big. Strip out all the electronic stuff, build it around guitar instead."

She played the progression again, this time with more bite. "Very guitar-driven, but keep that mood from the original."

Daniel started a simple kick pattern, feeling out the rhythm. Pete found a bassline that walked between moody and driving. Andy layered in rhythm guitar, and suddenly they were creating something completely new—taking Cudi's electronic soundscape and rebuilding it as rock.

"That's it," Riley said, her voice cutting over the instruments. She started singing the first verse, her voice carrying that rough edge her fans loved. The melody followed Cudi's original but became something entirely theirs.

They played through it twice before anyone spoke.

"This is going to break the internet," Pete said, unplugging his bass.

"Good," Riley replied, setting her guitar in its stand. "Let's work on it tomorrow. Really dial it in."

Andy shook his head, still grinning. "You're absolutely unhinged."

"And you love it," Riley shot back.

"We all do," Daniel said from behind the kit.

* * *

The SiriusXM studios buzzed with that familiar pre-show energy Riley loved. They followed Kasey down the hallway.

"So we've got you set up in here," Sarah was saying, badge bouncing as she walked. "You'll do the performance first, then we'll move into the interview portion with Madison."

"Sounds perfect," Pete said.

They'd been riding high since the album dropped. Salvage was doing numbers they'd only dreamed about, and every performance felt like a celebration. Riley could feel that good energy humming through all of them as they entered the studio.

Madison, their host from Alt Nation, was already in the studio adjusting her headphones, and she stood up with a grin when they walked in.

"Hey guys! Good to see you again." She hugged each of them. "I've been spinning Salvage non-stop. That album is incredible."

"Thanks," Riley said, settling into the familiar space. "Always good to be back."

They moved into sound check mode, each of them finding their spots. Riley plugged in her Telecaster, Andy settled in with his guitar, Pete got comfortable with his bass, and Daniel adjusted his kit.

"So what cover are you doing for us today?" Madison asked as the engineers worked.

"'Pursuit of Happiness,'" Pete answered easily, plucking a few bass notes. "We love the song."

Riley nodded, running through a quick chord progression. "Plus it's fun to take something people know and flip it completely."

"Can't wait to hear it," Madison said. "Ready when you are."

The engineer gave them a thumbs up from the booth. Riley looked around at her bandmates, caught Andy's excited grin, saw Daniel spinning his sticks in that way that meant he was ready to tear into something. Pete nodded at her.

"One, two, three, four," she counted off.

The first chord hit clean and sharp from Riley's Telecaster. Daniel's kick drum followed, steady and driving, while Pete's bass found the pocket underneath. This wasn't Kid Cudi's dreamy electronic landscape—this was rock and roll, built from the ground up.

Riley stepped closer to the mic, her fingers finding the progression they'd worked out in rehearsal. Andy joined in on rhythm guitar, adding texture and weight to the sound. She could feel Madison watching from behind the glass, could sense the engineers leaning forward in their chairs.

Riley started with the opening lines, her voice carrying that rough edge that made people stop whatever they were doing. The melody followed Cudi's original but felt entirely different in her mouth—more urgent, more personal.

Crush a bit, little bit

Roll it up, take a hit

Feeling lit, feeling right

Two AM, summer night, I don't care

Riley closed her eyes during the pre-chorus, letting herself sink into the words.

If I fall if I die

Know I lived it to the fullest

If I fall if I die

Know I lived and missed some bullets

Each line felt like it was pulling something from deep in her chest. When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't looking at Madison or the engineers—she was somewhere else entirely.

The chorus hit with full force, Riley's guitar driving the melody while her voice soared over the top. 

I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know

Everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold, hey

I'll be fine once I get it, yeah, I'll be good

Daniel's drums built underneath, adding fills that weren't in the original but felt necessary, like the song had always been meant to sound this way.

Riley closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the words about night terrors and cold sweats. Each line felt like it was pulling something from deep in her chest. When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't looking at Madison or the engineers—she was somewhere else entirely.

Halfway through the second verse, Riley caught Andy's eye and nodded. He stepped back, giving her space for a guitar break that wasn't in any version they'd heard before. Her fingers found notes that cut straight through, bending strings until they sang with the kind of longing that couldn't be faked.

The bridge stripped down to just Riley's voice and guitar, intimate and raw.

Hands on the wheel, uh-huh, fuck that

Hands on the wheel, kick drum, hi-hat

Hands on the wheel, uh-huh, fuck that

Hands on the wheel

Her voice cracked slightly on 'gone,' just enough to remind everyone listening that this wasn't just a performance—this was confession.

When the full band came back in for the final chorus, the energy had shifted. Daniel was hitting harder, Pete's bass was more pronounced, and Andy's guitar work had gained an edge that hadn't been there before. Riley's voice climbed higher, pushing against the limits of what the song had been, turning it into something that belonged entirely to them.

The final chord rang out, sustaining longer than necessary before fading into silence. Riley kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, feeling the last vibrations die away in the studio.When she finally looked up, Madison was shaking her head with something like amazement.

"That was incredible," she said through the talkback. "Just... wow."

Riley exchanged glances with her bandmates, all of them breathing a little harder than usual. Pete was nodding, his bass still humming faintly. Andy had that satisfied grin he got when they nailed something special. Daniel spun his sticks once before setting them down.

Riley laughed, stepping back from the mic. "We definitely didn't rehearse it like that."

* * *

"That was absolutely incredible," Madison said as they settled in for the interview portion. "You guys completely transformed that song."

"Thanks," Riley said, still feeling the adrenaline from the performance. "It's fun to take something and make it yours, you know?"

Madison leaned forward in her chair. "Salvage has been doing amazing numbers. How does it feel to see the response?"

"Surreal," Pete answered. "We put everything into that album, so seeing people connect with it the way they have... it's everything we hoped for."

"We're about to start touring too," Andy added. "Can't wait to get these songs out there live."

They talked about the writing process, about recording at SLB, the studio they built, about the difference between playing festivals and intimate venues. Riley found herself relaxing into the conversation, the familiar rhythm of talking about their music.

"So we've got time for one more song," Madison said after about fifteen minutes. "What are you thinking?"

Riley looked at the guys. "Ego?"

Daniel nodded from behind the kit. "Let's do it."

"Ego it is," Madison said. "This is one of my favorites from the album."

They moved back into performance mode, Riley's fingers finding the opening riff of "Ego" - darker, heavier than the cover they'd just done. This was pure Rambles, the kind of song that reminded everyone why Salvage had connected with so many people.

Riley's voice cut through the mix with an edge that was all hers, Pete's bass holding down the low end while Andy's guitar work painted textures around the melody. Daniel's drums hit with the kind of precision that came from months on the road together.

When they finished, Madison was grinning. "The Rambles, everyone. Salvage is out now, and these guys are touring through the fall."

"Thanks for having us," Riley said, unplugging her guitar.

"Always a pleasure," Madison replied. "That cover is going to be all over social media in about five minutes."

Riley exchanged a look with Pete, who just shrugged with a small smile. They all knew exactly what she meant.

* * *

Joe was halfway through his post-workout stretch when his phone buzzed against the PT table. His therapist was working with another patient across the room, giving him a rare moment to check messages.

Riley's name lit up his screen with a video attachment.

I did a thing for you hope you love it

Joe glanced around the facility. A few other patients were scattered across the main floor, but no one was paying attention to him. He slipped his earbuds in and hit play.

The video opened on Riley in what looked like a SiriusXM studio, her Telecaster slung across her body. The angle was slightly off-center, clearly someone's phone propped up to catch the performance. She counted off, and the first chord hit.

Joe's breath caught. He knew those opening notes, had heard them thousands of times, but not like this. Not with Riley's voice cutting through, not with her guitar transforming Kid Cudi's electronic landscape into something raw and immediate.

By the time she hit the chorus, Joe had forgotten where he was. This wasn't just a cover - this was Riley taking a song by his favorite artist and making it hers, taking something that meant so much to him and pouring herself into it. Her voice cracked slightly on certain words, her guitar work was different from anything he'd heard from her before, more desperate somehow.

When she got to the dreaming section, Joe felt something twist in his chest. Her voice carried a weight that hadn't been there in her other songs, something raw and honest that made the familiar lyrics feel completely new.

The final chord rang out and Joe sat there staring at his phone screen, his chest tight.

She had done this for him. Chosen his favorite artist, learned the song, transformed it completely, and recorded it to send to him first. Before anyone else heard it, before it went public, she wanted him to know - this was for him.

"Joe?" His therapist's voice cut through his thoughts. "You good, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Joe pulled out his earbuds, his phone still warm in his hands. "Yeah, I'm... yeah."

But he wasn't good. He was overwhelmed and grateful and terrified all at once. Because Riley had just told him she loved him in front of a room full of people, disguised it as a casual cover song, and somehow made it feel even more intimate than "Daylight" - the song she'd written about him that only he knew about.

Joe typed and deleted half a dozen responses before finally settling on something simple:

Incredible. Thank you.

It wasn't enough. Not even close. But it was all he could manage right now, sitting in a physical therapy clinic with his chest full of feelings he didn't have words for.

His phone was still in his hand, the video paused on Riley's face as she stepped back from the mic, that satisfied smile he knew so well.

For now, this was just theirs. But soon everyone would be talking about it.

* * *

Riley was back at her house, curled up on her couch, when her phone rang. Joe's name lit up her screen and she felt her stomach flip.

"Hey," she answered, trying to sound casual.

"Hey. Sorry I was in PT when you sent that video." Joe's voice was warm, more relaxed than his quick text had suggested. "I couldn't really talk."

"That's okay." Riley curled up on her couch, guitar forgotten. "I just wanted you to see it before it went live."

"I'm glad you did." There was a pause, and she could picture him choosing his words carefully. "Riley, that was... I don't even know what to say."

"It's just a cover," she said, but her voice betrayed her with that slight smile he'd probably hear right through.

"No, it's not." His voice was quiet but certain. "You took something that means a lot to me and made it yours. Made it ours."

Riley felt her chest tighten. "Did you like it?

"I couldn't stop thinking about it." Joe's voice was quiet. "Had to watch it again when I got home."

"I was nervous," Riley admitted. "I know everyone's going to know why I picked that song."

"Yeah, that's a thing now." His voice was resigned but not unhappy about it. "Everyone's going to know."

Riley pulled her knees up to her chest. "Joe..."

"I love you. And I'm okay with this." His voice was steady. "I know you were probably nervous about my reaction too."

She was quiet for a moment, absorbing the words she'd been wanting to hear him say so directly. "I missed you. I wanted to do something that would make you smile."

"It did more than that." She could hear the emotion in his voice now. "It reminded me why I fell for you in the first place. You're fearless, Riley. Even when you're scared."

"I'm not fearless. I'm terrified most of the time."

"But you do it anyway. That's what fearless means."

Riley laughed, feeling some of the nervous energy leave her body. "So you're really okay with everyone knowing I did that for you?"

"Baby, I'm proud of it," Joe said, and her heart skipped at the endearment. "You just told the world you love me using Kid Cudi. How could I not be proud of that?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds kind of ridiculous."

"It sounds like you." His voice was soft. "It sounds perfect."

They stayed on the phone for another twenty minutes, talking about everything and nothing, until Joe had to go to another appointment. But before he hung up, he said, "Thank you. For the song, for sending it to me first, for all of it."

"Thank you for getting it," Riley replied.

After they hung up, Riley sat on her couch with her phone still warm in her hand, smiling at the ceiling. In a few hours, the video would be everywhere and everyone would have opinions about what she'd done.

But right now, Joe loved her and he wasn't hiding it anymore. Everything else was just noise.

* * *

The video went live on SiriusXM's social accounts at 6 PM, and by 6:15, Riley's phone was buzzing non-stop.

X:

@RamblesUpdates: "RILEY JUST COVERED KID CUDI ON SIRIUS... EVERYONE KNOWS THAT'S JOE'S FAVORITE ARTIST I'M SCREAMING 😭😭😭"

@NFLTakes: "Joe Burrow's girlfriend covering his favorite artist is either the cutest thing ever or the most calculated move in sports girlfriend history. No in between."

@musicstan47: "okay but why does Riley's version of Pursuit of Happiness hit different though 🔥🔥🔥"

@BengalsFan2024: "She really said 'let me tell my boyfriend I love him on national radio but make it subtle' LMAOOO"

@CudiDaily: "Riley Carter just did what we've all been wanting to do... turn a Cudi song into a rock anthem"

Quote tweet from @SportsCenter's post: "The Rambles cover Kid Cudi's 'Pursuit of Happiness' on @SiriusXM" @FootballWife23: "We all see what you did there Riley 👀"

@SportsHot: "Riley Carter really turned a SiriusXM session into a Joe Burrow thirst trap. We see you girl 👀"

Instagram:

@theshaderoom posted the video with the caption: "Riley Carter of The Rambles covering Kid Cudi... y'all know Joe Burrow's favorite artist is Kid Cudi right? 👀 Thoughts?"

Top comments: "She said I love you in rock and roll 🎸" "This is actually fire though" "Girl really thought she was slick 💀" "The way she looks at the camera during the chorus... she KNOWS" "When your gf is more romantic than half these dudes out here"

@bengalsfanclub posted a split screen of Joe talking about Kid Cudi in an old interview next to Riley's cover: "THE PARALLELS. THE INTENTION. THE LOVE."

TikTok:

@musicgeek19 posted: "Breaking down why Riley Carter's Kid Cudi cover is actually genius" with 2.3M views already

@relationships_tok: "POV: your gf covers your favorite artist's song on national radio to tell you she loves you" - 890K likes

@dramaclub_: "Riley Carter really said 'I'm gonna be obvious but not TOO obvious' and honestly... respect"

The sound bite of Riley singing "I'm on the pursuit of happiness" was already being used in hundreds of videos.

Reddit:

r/nfl thread: "Riley Carter covers Joe Burrow's favorite artist - thoughts?"

Top comment: "Look I get that it's sweet but can we talk about how she absolutely killed that cover? Like genuinely good music regardless of the Joe connection."

Reply: "Right? Everyone's focused on the relationship angle but The Rambles just proved they can take any genre and make it their own."

Controversial comment: "Am I the only one who thinks this is kinda cringe? Like we get it, you're dating him." └ "You sound bitter. Let people be in love." └ "There's being in love and then there's performing it for clicks."

r/Music: "The Rambles - Pursuit of Happiness (Kid Cudi Cover) - Live at SiriusXM"

"This is actually fire. Never thought I needed a rock version of this song but here we are."

"Riley's voice on this hits different. The way she made it sound desperate and hopeful at the same time."

"Plot twist: what if she just genuinely loves the song and y'all are reading too much into it?"

And then the ultimate validation:

@KidCudi posted the video to his Instagram story with: "Yo this is incredible 🔥 Best cover I've ever heard. @rileycarter killed this"

He also tweeted: "Just heard @TheRambles cover of Pursuit of Happiness and I'm blown away. This is how you reimagine a song. Respect 🙏"

@RamblesUpdates: "CUDI HIMSELF JUST COSIGNED RILEY'S COVER IM DECEASED 😭😭😭"

@musicstan47: "When the original artist says your cover is the best he's ever heard... that's it. That's the tweet."

@BengalsFan2024: "Riley really got blessed by Cudi himself. Joe's probably losing his mind rn

[chelseaknoo]

hey girl i love ur writing 🩷🩷

i'd love to request a modern marshall with a younger rapper like doechii or megan thee stallion?? you can do whatever i just love that dynamic! ok!

love you, keep doing amazing and i hope you had a happy holidays! 🥰

Eminem x young rapper!reader

Note:Thanks! My holiday was semi-decent. My family barely spent any time with me and my sister, which was disappointing. On top of that, the internet was SO slow, I could hardly get any writing done.I also did Secret Santa for the first time. I gave a girl some Victoria’s Secret perfume and lotion, and in return, I got Crayola markers… She said she picked them for me because I like art.First time doing Secret Santa—and definitely the last!

Since you were young, rap has always been your passion. It wasn’t just the rhythm or the flow; it was the raw emotion and power behind the words that drew you in. You grew up listening to Eminem, idolizing his honesty and unfiltered style. While others may have looked up to artists like Nicki Minaj, you felt a deeper connection to Marshall’s music, his story, and the way he could use words to paint a picture so vividly.

At just nine years old, you found yourself on Dance Moms, juggling dance routines with a fire for something more. Despite the pressure of the spotlight and the competitive environment, you always felt like something was missing. It wasn’t until you were older, that the pull of rap grew too strong to ignore, pushing you to make music of your own. The stage lights of Dance Moms had been your introduction to performing, but the microphone and the verses? That’s where you truly belonged.

-

You sat in your small apartment, anxiously tapping your fingers against the edge of the coffee table. The email confirming Shady Records had received your demo had been sitting in your inbox for weeks. You had poured your soul into that song—a raw blend of your personal struggles, triumphs, and a beat that you prayed would catch someone’s attention.

Then it happened.

Your phone buzzed one evening, breaking your thoughts. You glanced at the screen and froze. The caller ID simply read: "Shady Records."

“Hello?” you answered cautiously, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of your voice.

“Hi, this is Paul Rosenberg from Shady Records. Is this [Y/N]?”

Your breath hitched. *Paul Rosenberg? THE Paul Rosenberg?* “Y-yeah, this is me.”

“We’ve been listening to your demo, and we’re impressed. Eminem’s heard it too, and he’d like to meet you in the studio tomorrow. Are you available?”

You barely registered the rest of the conversation after the mention of *Eminem*. The Eminem. Not only had he listened to your song, but he wanted to meet you. You somehow managed to give a coherent answer before the call ended.

The next morning, you stood outside the studio, dressed in your best casual-but-professional outfit. A fitted pair of jeans and a cropped hoodie that hugged your curves, paired with sleek sneakers. You weren’t going to show up looking like you hadn’t put thought into it, but you also wanted to be comfortable.

When you walked inside, the receptionist directed you to Studio A. You hesitated outside the door, your nerves threatening to get the best of you.

"Deep breath," you muttered to yourself, before pushing it open.

The room smelled faintly of coffee and leather. Behind the soundboard stood none other than Marshall Mathers himself, headphones around his neck, scribbling into a notebook. He glanced up at the sound of the door.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth but with a touch of curiosity. “You must be [Y/N].”

You nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “That’s me. Uh… hi.”

He smirked at your nervousness, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected. “I’ve been listening to your track. It’s dope.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly with disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the console. “Your flow’s clean, your wordplay’s sharp, and you’ve got this… edge to you. It’s rare for someone to come in with that kind of energy.”

“Thank you,” you replied, the words feeling inadequate for how much that compliment meant coming from *him*.

Marshall tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You’re young, right? Twenty-four?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve got this kind of sound already?” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Shit, I was still finding my footing at your age.”

You smiled nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flicked downward for a brief second, lingering on your figure before darting back up to meet your gaze.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “what got you into this? Dance Moms, right? Paul told me.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s me. I was on it for two seasons. But even then, I knew I wanted to rap. Dancing was fun, but music… music was everything.”

“That’s dope,” he said again, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I can tell you’ve been through some shit, though. You write like someone who’s seen some life.”

“Guess that’s one way to put it,” you replied softly.

Marshall nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good. People connect to the real shit.”

As the conversation continued, you noticed how he seemed to pay close attention to everything you said. He asked questions about your process, your influences, your upbringing. But there was also a subtle, lingering tension in the air. His gaze would occasionally flick to your lips or your figure before he’d quickly refocus on the conversation.

“So,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair, “you ready to spit some verses in the booth? I want to see what you’re like in action.”

“Now?” you asked, slightly surprised.

“Hell yeah,” he replied, flashing you a quick grin. “No better time.”

You stepped into the booth, your heart pounding. As the beat from your demo began to play, you took a deep breath and let the words flow. It was a familiar feeling—like stepping into a zone where nothing else mattered. When you finished, you glanced through the glass to see Marshall staring at you, an impressed grin spreading across his face.

“Damn,” he said through the intercom. “That was fire.”

You stepped out of the booth, your cheeks warm from the praise. “Thanks.”

He stood as you approached, towering slightly over you. His expression was serious, but his eyes held a flicker of something else. “You’re good,” he said, his voice low. “Like… really good.”

“Coming from you, that means everything,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He smirked, his gaze sweeping over you again. “I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other, [Y/N].”

And just like that, your journey with Shady Records—and Marshall Mathers—began.

-

Working on your debut album under Shady Records was everything you had dreamed of—and more. The long hours in the studio, the back-and-forth about beats and lyrics, and the energy of being surrounded by some of the best in the game—it was exhausting but electrifying. And then there was Marshall.

From the moment you stepped into the studio, you felt his eyes on you. Not just in the way a mentor watches over a rising artist, but in a way that made your skin heat under his gaze. At first, you brushed it off. You weren’t blind; you knew the photoshoots you had been doing for the album’s visuals weren’t exactly *modest*. But then you started noticing it more. The way his gaze would linger, the way his jaw would tighten slightly before he forced himself to look away, the way he suddenly got a little quieter whenever you walked into the room after a shoot.

Today was no different.

You were in the middle of a shoot for the album cover, the dimly lit set giving off a sultry, moody vibe. Your outfit? A black leather bodysuit that clung to every inch of your body, cut low in the front to show off just enough cleavage without being *too* much. The sides were laced up, showing off hints of skin along your waist and hips, leading down to thigh-high leather boots with a sharp heel. Your hair was styled to perfection, and your makeup was bold—smoky eyes, glossy lips, the works.

Marshall had been in the studio all day, working on mixes, but the second he walked onto the set, you *felt* it. The shift in the air.

You were mid-pose, one knee bent slightly, hands resting on your hips when you caught sight of him standing just outside the lights. He had his hoodie up, arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes—his sharp, blue eyes—were locked on you. And not in a *casual observation* way.

You smirked to yourself. *Busted.*

The photographer called out another pose, and you turned, arching your back just a little, pushing out your hips. A subtle move, but one that had an *effect*.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Marshall shift, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. You bit back a grin.

After the shoot wrapped, you grabbed a robe and walked over to where he stood, pretending like you hadn’t noticed his lingering stares all day.

“You good, Em?” you asked, sipping from your water bottle.

“Huh?” He blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he had been in.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been real quiet over there.”

He scoffed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Nah, I’m just… watchin’. The shoot. You’re really leanin’ into the image, huh?”

You tilted your head. “You mean *sexy*? Yeah, I am. You don’t like it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “Didn’t say that.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh. You sure? ‘Cause you looked like you were about to combust over there.”

That earned you a *look*. “Man, shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head, but there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting back a grin.

You stepped a little closer, tilting your head up at him. “I get it, though. You’re used to being surrounded by dudes. You probably haven’t been around this much ass in a while.”

He huffed out a laugh, running a hand over his face. “Yo, stop.”

“Stop what?” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Marshall glanced down at you, his eyes flicking briefly to the way your robe was still slightly open, giving just a peek of the bodysuit underneath. You caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Man, whatever,” he muttered, shaking his head before turning toward the exit. “Go put some damn clothes on before we gotta fight.”

You laughed, calling after him, “Why? Afraid you’ll get distracted?”

He didn’t turn around, but you swore you saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he disappeared down the hall.

-

The day your debut album dropped, everything changed.

The moment it hit streaming platforms, social media exploded. Fans were dissecting every lyric, every beat, and every track. Your name was trending worldwide within hours. Critics raved about your wordplay, your delivery, and the *fire* you brought to every song. And, of course, having Eminem feature on two tracks didn’t hurt. Those songs? Instant classics. The kind of records people played on repeat, trying to memorize every bar.

You knew the album was going to do well, but *this*? This was beyond anything you had ever imagined.

You were sitting in the studio lounge, scrolling through your phone, trying to keep up with the thousands of notifications flooding in. Every time you refreshed Twitter, there were more posts.

“[Y/N] just dropped the best debut album of the decade. This girl is NOT playing!”

“Eminem and [Y/N] on a track together? Yeah, hip-hop won today.”

“She’s got bars, presence, and a whole lot of ASS. No wonder Em was looking at her like that in the behind-the-scenes footage.”

You choked on your drink at that last tweet. *Damn, people really don’t miss anything, huh?*

As if on cue, the studio door opened, and Marshall walked in, his hoodie pulled up, but you could still see the smirk tugging at his lips. “Saw the numbers yet?”

You grinned, holding up your phone. “Oh, you mean how my album is number one everywhere? Yeah, I *might* have noticed.”

He chuckled, plopping down onto the couch across from you. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘You got this. You’re dope. People are gonna love it.’” You mimicked his voice with a smirk.

He smirked right back. “Damn, I sound sexy as hell.”

You snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

There was a moment of silence, just the two of you sitting there, letting it all sink in. You had worked your ass off for this, and now it was happening.

Marshall leaned back, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You proud of yourself?”

You met his gaze, suddenly serious. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

He nodded slowly, a small smile forming. “Good. You should be.”

A beat passed before he stretched his arms over his head and smirked. “Just don’t let this go to your head. I don’t need you startin’ to act all Hollywood on me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I could have a billion streams, and I’d still talk shit to you.”

His grin widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

-

### **A Celebration to Remember**

Marshall wasn’t usually the type to throw parties—not really. He never cared for industry events or massive gatherings, but tonight was different.

Tonight was about *you*.

Your debut album was a massive success, and he knew how hard you had worked on it. So, despite his usual reservations, he decided to celebrate properly—with an exclusive party at one of his favorite low-key venues. Nothing crazy, just the Shady Records team, a few producers, and a couple of close friends. It was intimate, comfortable, and filled with the people who had been there for every late-night session, every rewrite, and every breakthrough moment.

You walked in wearing a fitted, short red dress that hugged every curve just right, paired with sleek heels that added to your height. Your makeup was flawless, your hair cascading down your shoulders effortlessly. You weren’t about to downplay your success—you had worked for this, and you were going to *look* the part.

The second you stepped into the venue, you felt eyes on you. More specifically, *his* eyes.

Marshall was already there, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, deep in conversation with Paul and a couple of producers. But the second he saw you, his words slowed, and his blue eyes dragged over your figure, taking in every detail before snapping back to your face.

You smirked. *Busted—again.*

“Damn,” Royce muttered from beside him, nudging Marshall with a grin. “She cleanin’ up nice, huh?”

Marshall rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. He just took a sip of his drink and muttered, “She always looks like that.”

Royce laughed. “Man, shut up.”

The party itself was smooth. Drinks were poured, music blasted through the speakers, and everyone was in high spirits. You spent the night bouncing between conversations, laughing with the crew, and soaking in every moment. Marshall? He was his usual self—watching from the sidelines, engaging when needed, but mostly keeping a low profile.

But that didn’t stop the lingering looks.

Every time you caught him staring, he’d look away a second too late. Every time you passed by him, you swore his eyes dipped to your curves before snapping back up. It was subtle, but it was *there*.

And you weren’t going to let it slide.

-

Toward the end of the night, the crowd thinned out. Most people had already left, leaving only a few stragglers and, of course, *him*.

You found him sitting on one of the leather couches in the lounge area, nursing a drink, scrolling through his phone. You took the opportunity and slid into the seat next to him, close enough that your knees brushed.

“Tired already, old man?” you teased.

Marshall huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “First of all, fuck you. Second, I ain’t tired. Just chillin’.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, he just *looked* at you. Like he was trying to figure something out. You leaned in slightly, resting your arm on the back of the couch.

“You know,” you mused, “I’ve been noticing something lately.”

He raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You licked your lips before saying, “You stare at me a lot.”

Marshall froze for a split second. It was brief—so brief that if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed it. But you *were* paying attention.

He scoffed, playing it off. “Man, you full of yourself.”

You grinned. “Am I?”

“Yes.” He took a slow sip of his drink, but you could see the way he shifted slightly in his seat.

You leaned in a little more, your voice dropping just enough to make it *dangerous*. “So, you’re saying you *haven’t* been looking at me?”

Marshall exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down. “I’m sayin’—” He paused, then shook his head. “Look, don’t start.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile. “Start what?”

He gave you a *look*. “You know what.”

You laughed softly, letting a moment of silence stretch between you before saying, “You’re kinda fun to mess with.”

Marshall sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I *bet* I am.”

Another pause. His eyes flicked to your legs, just for a second, before he looked back up.

You tilted your head, deciding to push just a little more. “You scared or something?”

He chuckled, rubbing his jaw. “Ain’t *nobody* scared.”

“Then why are you acting all cautious?”

Marshall sighed, leaning back. “Because.”

“Because *what*?”

He exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally admitting, “Because there’s an age gap, and I ain’t tryna be that dude.”

You raised a brow. “*That* dude?”

“You know what I mean.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trail along the rim of your glass. “So, it’s not that you *don’t* want to…”

He didn’t say anything.

And that silence? That *pause*? That was an answer in itself.

You leaned in just a little more, lowering your voice. “Marshall.”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking to your lips before forcing himself to look back into your eyes.

“Hmm?”

You smiled. “Relax. I’m not gonna jump on you.”

That made him chuckle. “Good. ‘Cause I’d like to make it outta this party alive.”

You grinned. “Fair enough.”

For now, you let the conversation settle, leaning back into the couch. But the tension? The chemistry? That wasn’t going anywhere.

And you both knew it.

-

The night had been long, and after the party, everyone had dispersed—leaving just you and Marshall in the quiet of your hotel suite. The music, the chatter, the laughter were all behind you now, and the silence between you two felt strangely intimate.

You hadn’t expected things to turn this way. Marshall had always been careful—keeping his distance, always professional. But now, in the privacy of this room, you could feel the weight of the tension between you.

The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the window, casting a faint light across the room. Marshall had changed into a plain black tee and sweatpants, looking more relaxed than he had all night. You, on the other hand, had opted for something more comfortable too: a silk robe over your slip dress. You knew it wasn’t much, but it felt right for the moment.

You sat on the edge of the bed, looking out at the skyline. Your thoughts raced—too many questions, too many unspoken things hanging in the air. Marshall was leaning against the dresser, sipping from his drink, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, breaking the silence.

He chuckled, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “Well, I’m not just gonna leave you alone after a night like that, am I?”

You shrugged, turning your gaze toward him. “I guess not.”

The air between you thickened, and even though the conversation was casual, you both knew there was more beneath the surface.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Marshall took a step toward you. “So… you good?”

You nodded, but there was a slight tremor in your voice when you spoke. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He took another step, his eyes not leaving yours, his lips curling into that familiar, yet soft, smile. “You sure about that?”

You hesitated, your pulse quickening as his proximity increased. Something about the way he was looking at you made your heart race, and you could tell that he felt it too.

Before you could respond, Marshall reached for his drink, his hand brushing against yours. His touch was brief, but it left a spark. “You know, I’m not usually the type to be all... forward. But with you?” He paused, taking another sip, his eyes scanning your face. “I’m startin’ to wonder if I’ve been too careful.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t talking about being cautious professionally. It was more personal than that.

“You think so?” you asked softly, leaning back on your hands.

Marshall’s gaze never wavered. “Yeah. I mean, I’m just sayin’, you’ve been on my mind all night, and it’s hard not to notice the way you—” He stopped mid-sentence, as if weighing the consequences of saying too much.

You smiled to yourself, leaning in slightly. “What, Marshall?”

He set his drink down on the bedside table, his fingers brushing the edge of your robe, his expression suddenly serious. “You know I don’t want to mess this up. But every time I look at you…”

You felt your breath catch in your throat as his words trailed off, his hand now resting lightly on your knee. The tension between you two was palpable, both of you clearly holding back, but neither of you willing to walk away.

“I get it,” you whispered, your voice low and soft, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

Marshall’s eyes softened, his hand moving from your knee to your thigh, slowly, almost as if testing the waters. He looked at you for a moment longer, as if trying to read you, before finally taking the plunge.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, almost as if he was waiting for you to pull away. But when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space between you two.

You responded instantly, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Every inch of his body against yours sent a wave of warmth through you, and before you knew it, your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging him closer.

Marshall groaned softly, his hands now firmly on your hips, guiding you backward onto the bed as he hovered over you. The air between you two crackled with something undeniable.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I didn’t want to make things weird.”

You looked up at him, your chest rising and falling with every breath. “You didn’t, Marshall. You didn’t.”

And that was all the reassurance he needed.

As the night stretched on, the only sounds in the room were the soft whispers and the quiet sighs as you and Marshall gave into the moment. The world outside ceased to exist as everything you both had been holding back fell away.

The room felt like it was closing in, the atmosphere thick with the weight of everything unspoken between you and Marshall. His hand rested on your waist, firm but gentle, as he hovered over you, lips moving with purpose but not urgency. There was a sense of exploration, of unraveling something long held back. He paused, just inches from your face, as if waiting for a signal—an indication that this was what you both wanted.

“Are you sure about this?” Marshall’s voice was low, almost a growl, the words barely a whisper in the quiet room.

You could feel the raw vulnerability in his tone, like a man who’d spent so long protecting himself from getting hurt. But this—*you*—this felt different. You could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just looking at you anymore; he was *seeing* you.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back, lifting your hand to gently stroke his jaw. His stubble scratched your palm lightly, the sensation sending a thrill through you.

Marshall let out a breath, and in one swift motion, his lips were on yours again, harder this time, more desperate as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. He moved, shifting his weight and pressing closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, matching his urgency.

His hands explored your body, hesitant at first, but as your touch urged him on, his fingers moved with more confidence. He traced the outline of your dress, his thumbs slipping under the fabric, sending shivers down your spine. The way he touched you felt different—like he was both careful and eager, wanting to savor each moment.

You gasped when his lips moved down your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Damn, you don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured against your skin, his hands inching higher, brushing the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

You shivered at the way he spoke, feeling every word as if they were meant for you. “Then stop thinking,” you said, your voice breathless. “And start acting.”

Marshall chuckled softly, a dark edge to his amusement. “You sure you can handle me?”

You met his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ve been handling you all night.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Marshall moved in, kissing you with a renewed intensity. You could feel the pulse of desire in every movement, every soft caress. His hand slid down your body, reaching for the hem of your dress and pulling it up slowly. The fabric felt almost like a barrier between you two, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of urgency.

You tangled your hands in his shirt, pulling it over his head, feeling the hard lines of his muscles under your fingertips. Marshall’s lips left yours for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath. He looked down at you, eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips, as if debating something internally.

"Is this… too much?" he asked, his voice rough.

You reached up, cupping his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you. “No. It’s not too much. It’s exactly what I want.”

There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with something else—something deeper, more raw. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warned softly, his lips brushing against your ear.

You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “I think I do.”

Marshall didn’t waste any more time. His lips found yours again, more demanding now, and you responded in kind, meeting his intensity. The world outside the hotel room ceased to exist as the two of you lost yourselves in the moment.

His hands roamed freely now, lifting your body against his, and you could feel the heat radiating between you both. He moved with purpose, a mixture of tenderness and passion in every touch. The barrier between you—your clothes—vanished with a few swift movements, and soon, it was just the two of you, skin against skin.

As the night stretched on, time seemed to lose its meaning. Everything faded into the background except for the feeling of Marshall’s body against yours, the warmth of his breath, the soft whispers between kisses. Each touch was a promise, each kiss a question, and neither of you seemed ready to stop finding the answers.

This wasn’t just about the music, about the fame, about everything else that had brought you here. This was something deeper, something more real than either of you had expected.

But for now, all that mattered was the moment. And in this moment, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

-

The fluorescent lights of the recording studio cast a warm glow on everything, but it felt different now that you and Marshall were officially together. There was a new energy in the air, something between you two that hadn’t been there before. The work was still the same—people moving around, adjusting equipment, going over tracks—but it was harder to focus when Marshall was right next to you, his presence magnetic in a way you hadn’t expected.

You were sitting on the couch in the corner of the studio, legs crossed, working on some lyrics for the next track. Marshall was sitting across from you, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the surface of a nearby desk, eyes glued to his phone. Despite the steady pace of the workday, the space between you two felt full of unspoken things—things that went beyond the music.

"How’s the writing going?" he asked, glancing over at you from behind his phone, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You looked up from your notebook, feeling a flush on your cheeks from the way his eyes lingered on you. "It’s good. Just working through some ideas," you replied, trying to keep your focus. But you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of it, and it made your heart race.

"You sure?" He tilted his head, as if he could sense the distraction. "You seem a little... off."

You smiled, biting your lip. “Maybe I’m just distracted by you.”

Marshall’s eyes darkened for a split second, a spark of amusement flashing across his face. “Oh, really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning back into the couch, trying to act casual even though every fiber of your being was aware of the way he was looking at you. “You’re kind of hard to ignore these days.”

His smirk grew, and he stood up, moving toward you with that same cocky yet confident stride that always made your stomach flutter. "I’m hard to ignore, huh?" His voice was low, almost teasing as he stood in front of you, looking down at you with that familiar intensity.

You looked up at him, heart thumping in your chest. “You’re *definitely* hard to ignore.”

Marshall’s lips curled into a smile, but this time, there was something different about it—a softness that hadn’t been there before. He bent down slightly, just enough to be closer to you, his face hovering inches from yours. “You know what else is hard to ignore?” he whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your ear. “What’s that?” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his lips hover by your ear for just a second longer before pulling back and looking you straight in the eyes. “This.”

He leaned down again, this time kissing you gently, almost like he was testing the waters. It wasn’t hurried or aggressive—it was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the moment. When you kissed him back, your hands instinctively reached for his shirt, tugging him closer, the electricity between you two undeniable.

You pulled away slightly, trying to regain some composure. “We’re at the studio, Marshall,” you murmured, your voice a little breathless.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “Yeah, I know. But who says we can’t have a little fun in between sessions?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful grin creeping onto your face. “Isn’t that a little unprofessional?”

Marshall gave you that signature smirk of his, leaning back just enough to look down at you. “Maybe. But I’m not exactly known for being the most professional guy, am I?”

You laughed softly, knowing that was true. His rebellious streak was one of the things that made him... *him*. And somehow, it made you even more drawn to him.

Just then, someone from the team walked by the room, momentarily breaking the tension. Marshall straightened up, giving you a wink before walking over to the mixing board to check in with the sound engineer.

You watched him, still trying to shake the warmth his kiss had left on your lips. You were officially dating Marshall, and yet, the chemistry between you two was so palpable it was hard to believe it wasn’t some kind of dream.

As Marshall worked on a few adjustments to the track, you stayed on the couch, jotting down some more lyrics. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing over at you, a look of something deeper than admiration on his face.

You could feel it now, the shift from business partners to something far more personal. And despite all the layers of fame, the industry, and the people in your lives, it felt like this—right here—was the most real thing either of you had.

"Ready to lay down your verse?" Marshall asked, his voice suddenly breaking your train of thought as he returned to you, his hand reaching out for your notebook.

You nodded, standing up and moving toward the booth. As you stepped into the soundproof room, Marshall followed, his presence close behind you.

“Let’s make some magic, huh?”

You grinned at him, feeling more confident than ever. “Let’s do it.”

And as the beat dropped and you stepped up to the mic, you knew that this was just the beginning—both for your music and for your relationship with Marshall.