#fic: kaleidoscope of chaos

[ja3yun]

pour it | p.sh

bartender!sunghoon x bartender!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, cum plugging, choking, slight nipple play, pls never fuck your co-workers (saying from experience), mentions of alcohol ofc, not proof read, anything else lmk!

w.c: 3.5k

REQ: Imagine Sunghoon and you are bartenders for a club and all shifts you guys are always stealing glances at eachother or having lingering touches while you make drinks one day u need to go get more supplies from the back and the tension is so thick he can’t take it anymore and takes you on the boxes of supplies with messy alcohol pouring sex

a/n: hi! it's me and my inability to write a small drabble and turning it into a semi-fic. hope you don't mind, anonnie! i had a lot of fun with this but as someone who used to bartend during uni, you can imagine the flashbacks going through my mind (i also spilt the keg on me like this so, personal experience and some aj lore for you). hope you enjoy!

The club is alive with the throbbing beat of the latest hits, a kaleidoscope of coloured lights dancing over the crowd packed tightly onto the dance floor. The air is thick with the mingled scents of perfume, sweat, and the unmistakable tang of alcohol. Behind the bar, it's a different world, a fast-paced rhythm of cocktail shakers, clinking glasses, and the endless chatter of patrons.

You’re in your element, expertly mixing drinks, the repetitive motions are almost second nature by now. But tonight, there's an added layer of tension simmering beneath the surface. Sunghoon, your coworker, has been brushing past you intentionally for the nth time tonight.

The bar is small, and with Freshers Friday in full swing, it’s a given that there’s going to be constant cross-overs between staff, clambering for ice and lemon wedges. But does he have to hold your waist as he passes, fingers lingering just a moment too long, or reach behind you for a glass when there are plenty on his end? Each touch sends a spark of electricity through your body, your pulse quickening despite your best efforts to ignore it.

You steal a glance at Sunghoon. He’s busy pouring a drink, his jaw set in concentration, but there’s a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing. His dark eyes flick to yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks. You turn away quickly, focusing on the drink order in front of you.

The club's atmosphere is a mix of chaos and thrill. Neon lights flicker and pulse in time with the music, casting a surreal glow over the sea of bodies moving in sync. The bass reverberates through the floor, through your bones, creating an almost tangible sense of energy.

“Excuse me,” Sunghoon’s voice is low, just above a whisper, as he leans in to reach for a bottle of vodka on the shelf behind you. His chest brushes against your back, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body. You grit your teeth, trying to focus on the cocktail you’re mixing, but it’s no use. Every nerve in your body is attuned to his presence.

“Do you mind?” you snap, but your voice lacks the bite you intended. It comes out breathy, more of a plea than a command.

Sunghoon chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Sorry, Y/N. It’s just so crowded back here.” His hand trails down your arm as he pulls away, and you shudder involuntarily.

You know he’s teasing you, pushing boundaries, testing your reactions. And damn it, it’s working. You can feel the tension between you two building, a palpable thing that hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

It’s been like this since he started working here a few months ago. Training him up was harder than anticipated, not because he wasn’t good at it or couldn’t follow instructions, but because it took everything in your willpower not to pounce on him. Once, you showed him how to make the bar’s signature Long Island Iced Tea. While he was pouring the Triple Sec into the mixer, the veins on his arms and hands strained, the muscles flexing with each precise movement. It was the moment you realized you had a hand kink.

Nothing could stop your imagination since then, constantly thinking about his hands on your throat, the way they would feel gripping you, controlling you. Every time he reached past you or brushed against you, those thoughts flared to life, vivid and consuming.

The club is a frenzy of movement and sound, but all you can focus on is Sunghoon. He’s making his way back to your end of the bar, and you can feel your heart rate spike in anticipation. He stops beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat emanating from his body.

“Need help with that?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as he reaches for a wine glass on the rack above your head. His arm brushes against you, and the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’ve got it,” you reply, but your voice betrays you, coming out softer, almost breathless. He smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. He is nothing if not cocky and you do nothing but fuel it.

“Sure you do,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. His fingers trail lightly across your waist as he steps back, a fleeting touch that leaves you craving more. His cologne isn’t helping either, the dark musk of Sauvage engulfing your nostrils and filtering its way straight to your core.

You bite your lip, trying to regain your composure, but it’s no use. Your mind is racing, filled with images of his hands on you, the way they would feel exploring your body, holding you down. You can’t stop thinking about the power he seems to have over you, how easily he can make you lose focus.

Your manager comes up behind you both, pointing between you. “I need you both to change the Guinness keg. A whole team of Celtic fans just came in and they’ll bleed us dry in a minute,” he explains.

He doesn’t know that the innocent, very much part of your job request makes your heart stop for a moment. The charged energy between you and Sunghoon is so strong tonight that being alone with him, even for a second, could lead to losing all your inhibitions. You don’t mind fucking your co-workers, god knows you’ve had your fair share of fun with Jay and Heeseung in the past, but this feels different.

As soon as Sunghoon bites those teeth into you, figuratively and physically, you have a sneaking suspicion that there is no going back.

“I can handle it myself,” you say quickly, trying to avoid the inevitable. “It’s only a one-person job.”

But Sunghoon is already stepping forward, his hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the stockroom. “Come on, Y/N. It’ll go faster with two,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument, waving the manager off.

His touch is subtle but it feels heavy, and you curse inwardly at how easily he affects you. You let him lead you through the throng of staff, your body hyper-aware of every point of contact. This is bad, very bad.

As you enter the dimly lit back room, the noise of the club fades slightly, leaving the sound of your and Sunghoon’s footsteps and breaths as the only chorus to the quiet song of the corridor. The corridor always gives you the creeps, the lime-green walls and chipped floor make you feel sick, sicker than you already are.

It’s not even that big of a deal, so what are you panicking for? Just go in, change the keg, and get back to serving duties. Plain and simple, easy as pie.

But as you reach the keg room, your hands are trembling slightly. You push open the door and step inside, the cold air hitting you like a slap. The room is filled with the metallic scent of beer and the cool hum of the refrigeration system. Sunghoon steps in behind you, the door closing with a soft thud.

He moves to grab a keg from the stack in the corner, and you can’t help but watch, mesmerized by the way his muscles ripple under his white t-shirt. The fabric clings to him, highlighting every contour, every flex. His biceps bulge as he lifts the heavy keg effortlessly, and you swallow hard, feeling a fresh wave of heat course through you.

Focus, you scold yourself. You turn to the valve, reaching up to shut it off. Your fingers fumble slightly, the cold metal biting into your skin. You can’t stop glancing at Sunghoon, at the way his forearms strain, veins standing out in sharp relief. It’s distracting, and you’re not paying enough attention to what you’re doing.

You step forward to disconnect the old keg, but you don’t leave enough time for the pipe to empty. As you twist the connector, there’s a sudden, forceful spray of beer, catching you off guard. You yelp, trying to dodge the spray, but it’s too late.

Sunghoon is at your side in an instant, his hands covering yours as he twists the valve shut. But not before both of you are thoroughly soaked. The cold beer soaks through your clothes, making you shiver.

“Damn it,” you mutter, looking down at the mess. Your shirt clings to you, and you can feel the liquid dripping from your hair. You glance up at Sunghoon, and despite the situation, you can’t help but laugh at the sight of him drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead.

“Nice going,” he says with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You always this clumsy?”

“I usually know what I’m doing,” you retort, but there’s no heat in your words. You’re too distracted by the way his wet shirt clings to his body, outlining every muscle and defined bump of his toned stomach. 

Sunghoon steps closer, his eyes dark and intense. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low with a hint of seduction, the rasp in his voice turning you dizzy.

“Yeah, just...wet,” you reply, shivering slightly. The cold beer and the cool air of the keg room are a stark contrast to the heat building between you two. You probably should have chosen a better sentence to utter into existence, knowing how it could be taken.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “You know, this wasn’t exactly how I imagined getting you wet,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Your breath catches at his words, and you know you should leave it at that, laugh it off, and walk away. But with his close proximity and his breath fanning your face, you’re almost under his spell. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, tinged with curiosity and something darker.

Sunghoon steps forward, and you instinctively step back, making your back press against the cold wall of the keg room. He eyes you up and down, licking his lips as though he was a lion hunting his prey. “You know what I mean, Y/N.”

The beat of your heart skips, and you nod, agreeing. You aren’t stupid, you’re just horny.

Leaning down to ghost his lips over yours, his eyes grow hungry as they hood over, boring into yours intensely. “I want to bend you over and fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “I want to make you gasp for air, to hear you scream my name until your throat is raw. I want to leave marks all over your body so everyone knows what I did to you.”

You're quivering now, and every syllable sends a zap of electricity into you. His hand moves down your arm, fingertips brushing your skin and leaving a path of fire in its wake.

“I really thought I was going to lose it up there and bend you over the bar and fuck you in front of all those punters,” he continues, his lips so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath. H

A whimper escapes your lips, unbidden, and his eyes widen in surprise and delight. “Oh? You like it when others watch? You want me to drag you up there and give everyone a show?” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement and arousal.

You shake your head in a daze, lust taking over because all you can breathe in is his presence. “No...not there.”  Exhibitionism isn’t really up there in your list of kinks, not really for your own dignity, you couldn’t care less about who sees you naked or fucked out, but you hate the idea of anyone seeing Sunghoon and getting ideas.

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion you thought you possessed until he started at the bar. The other bartenders flirting with him in the breakroom or customers asking for his number over the bar quaked your heart a little, injecting a tiny speck of green into your bloodstream. You might have been apprehensive to start anything with Sunghoon, but that doesn’t mean others get a chance to shoot their shot.

“Oh? So what I’m hearing is you do want me to fuck you?” he presses, his voice a husky whisper. His cockiness is showing once again, tongue roaming over his sharp canine lazily as his eyes drink you in.

“Yes,” you breathe out, unable to hold back any longer. The need in your voice is unmistakable, and it only seems to fuel his desire.

Rolling his eyes in relief, he undoes your apron from the front and lets it fall to the floor. “Finally,” he mutters, his demeanour switching from teasing to something darker, more intense. In a flash, he has your black trousers unbuttoned and fully off your body, your panties following, leaving you bare with only your soaked white work t-shirt covering you.

He grabs your waist and hoists you up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. With one hand, he reaches and undoes the button of his own trousers, shimmying them down slightly and whipping out his cock.

As it springs to attention, you feel it graze your folds, so close to where you desperately need it. The heat and hardness of him against your wetness make you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Sunghoon smirks, positioning himself right at your entrance. “You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his breath brushing against your skin. “Watching you, wanting you...you kept me waiting too fucking long.”

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I need you.”

His eyes darken with lust at your plea, and without another word, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness makes you cry out, your head falling back against the wall. He’s big, stretching you in ways that have your toes curling. You can feel every inch of him, thick and pulsing, as he fills you completely. It’s overwhelming, the way he pushes your walls apart, making you see colours you didn’t know existed.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, starting to move. His pace is relentless, each thrust hard and deep, driving you up the wall with every stroke. Your moans mix with his grunts, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small room. You’re thankful that the room is isolated in the middle of the basement or else you’re convinced everyone upstairs could hear you.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he pounds into you. You can feel the power and control in his movements, the way he takes what he wants, and it drives you wild. “You like this, don’t you?” he pants, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and erratic. “You like being taken so hard you forget everything else?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper against the overwhelming stimulation. “Yes, Sunghoon, don’t stop.”

You bring one of his hands up to your throat, a silent plea for him to fulfil your fantasy. His eyes widen for a moment, and then a dark smile spreads across his face. “You want it?” he asks, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You want me to choke you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

Sunghoon’s grip tightens around your throat, the pressure just enough to make your head spin, adding a delicious haze to your already overwhelming pleasure. Each of his thrusts feels like a shockwave of ecstasy, stretching you and filling you in ways that make your entire body tingle with need. His cock throbs inside you, the thick, hard length gliding in and out with a relentless rhythm.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls, his voice a guttural mix of pleasure and dominance. His free hand slides up your body, brushing over your sensitive skin, and his fingers tease at your nipples through the soaked fabric of your t-shirt, making you grateful that you wore a mesh bra today rather than your usual beat-up t-shirt. The contact sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core, heightening the sensations.

Your nails dig into his back as you cling to him to stay against the wall, leaving marks that make him hiss and drive his thrusts even harder. Every push, every pull, feels like it’s unravelling you completely. The pressure around your throat makes your breathing shallow, and the world outside this small room seems to blur into insignificance. All that exists is the raw, primal connection between you and Sunghoon.

Clamping your walls down on him, you mewl out as the tip of his cock reaches a depth no other man has been able to reach, kissing your cervix with intimacy and urgency as you suck him in with each clench of your core.

Hissing, Sunghoon’s head burrows into your neck, his palm now pressed against your jugular in a beautifully punishing manner. “Fuck, Y/N, your cunt is so greedy for it.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and your moans become more desperate, more pleading. You arch your back, pushing yourself further onto him, needing him deeper, harder. “Sunghoon, I’m so close,” you whimper, your voice breaking with the intensity.

He responds with a fierce, primal growl, increasing the pace of his thrusts. Each movement is forceful, almost punishing, but it’s exactly what you need. “Cum,” he commands, his voice rough and demanding. “I want to feel you cream all over me.”

With that final command, the pressure around your throat and the relentless pounding of his cock push you over the edge. Your body trembles violently, and you cry out his name as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you. Your orgasm is all-encompassing, a dizzying mix of pleasure and release that leaves you gasping for breath, clinging to him.

Sunghoon’s own release follows almost immediately, his body tensing as he buries himself deep inside you, groaning your name with a raw intensity. His cock pulses with each spurt, filling you completely. The heat of his climax mixes with the remnants of your orgasm, creating a deliciously overwhelming sensation.

He holds you tightly, his breath ragged against your neck, as both of you ride out the aftershocks of your climaxes. Slowly, he eases his grip on your throat and pulls back slightly, his eyes still dark with desire but now softened with a trace of concern.

Sunghoon’s gaze softens as he looks at you, his breath still coming in short, ragged bursts. He brushes the damp strands of hair from your face, his touch tender against your flushed skin. “You okay?” he asks, his voice a gentle murmur, filled with concern and dissipating lust.

You nod, a satisfied smile on your lips despite the trembling of your voice. “More than okay,” you breathe out, your body still trembling from the intensity of the climax.

Sunghoon’s eyes hold a mix of tenderness and desire. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The contrast between the gentleness of the kiss and the fierceness of what had just transpired sends a shiver through you. “Good,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and soothing. “Because we’re far from done.”

He slowly lowers you to the ground, his hands steady and careful. As he kneels before you, a look of wonder crosses your face, mixed with a lingering haze of desire. His fingers, still slick with your combined release, gently part your folds, teasing and exploring.

You gasp as his fingers find their way to your sensitive entrance, carefully stuffing his dripping cum back into you. The sensation is both intense and oddly comforting, a reminder of the connection you’ve shared. Your breath hitches as you feel the warmth and slickness inside you.

“Sunghoon-” you start, but his gaze, both commanding and affectionate, cuts you off.

“Keep that there until our shift is over,” he instructs, his voice firm but laced with an underlying promise of more. “I don’t want a drop of it out of you.”

His words send a fresh thrill through you, a combination of pleasure and anticipation. “When we clock out, you’re coming back to mine, end of story,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument.

You look up at him, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and eagerness. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice steadying despite the rush of emotions.

“Great,” he smiles innocently, as if he didn’t just fuck you so good you thought you saw Jesus marking you off the gates VIP list. “Now help me with this keg.”

_____

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazz

[starrylanex]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

PAIRING - bucky barnes x reader

SUMMARY - bucky cant help but get jealous at stark’s party as he watches you interact with the others, because all he wants to do is kiss you then and there

WC - 1,1k

EXTRA - one use of y/n, bucky being jealous and overprotective, stark being a smartass,

NOTES - hi angels, if i made a patreon where i would update regularly with longer fics and answer your asks quicker, would anyone support me there too?

PS. - english isn’t my first language so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes please don’t hesitate to point them out:))

—

the rhythmic pulse of music filled the opulent halls of stark tower, the vibrant lights casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the dance floor. tony stark's parties were legendary, a whirlwind of glamour, extravagance, and hedonism. yet amidst the glittering throng of guests, bucky barnes found himself feeling distinctly out of place.

clad in a sleek suit that hugged his muscular frame, bucky stood at the edge of the room, his steel-blue eyes scanning the crowd with a mix of wariness and apprehension. his grip tightened around the crystal tumbler in his hand as he watched the scene unfold before him.

amidst the sea of revelers, his gaze inevitably found its way to you, the object of his affection and the reason for his unease. you moved with effortless grace, your laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the voices.

bucky's heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched you interact with the other guests, a swarm of admirers vying for your attention. he knew he had no right to feel this way—no claim over you—but the sight of other men hovering around you like vultures sent a surge of possessiveness coursing through his veins.

"hey there, buckaroo," a voice interrupted his thoughts, and bucky turned to see tony stark himself sauntering up to him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"enjoying the party?" tony asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief and sipping on his own glass of champagne.

bucky forced a tight smile, the tension in his jaw betraying his true feelings. "yeah, it's a real blast," he replied tersely, his gaze flickering back to where you were standing across the room.

tony followed his line of sight and chuckled knowingly. "ah, i see. keeping an eye on y/n, are we?" he teased, nudging bucky playfully.

bucky bristled at the implication, his jaw clenching in frustration. "she's just a friend," he muttered through gritted teeth, though the words felt hollow even to his own ears.

tony raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mock disbelief. "right, just a friend," he echoed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "tell me, barnes, do you always look at your friends like you want to devour them whole?"

bucky's cheeks flushed crimson at the implication, a surge of guilt mingling with the simmering jealousy in his chest. he opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, a commotion erupted across the room.

a group of boisterous guests had gathered around you, their laughter ringing out like a chorus of bells. bucky's heart plummeted as he watched a particularly persistent admirer step too close for comfort, his hand lingering on your lower back.

without a second thought, bucky was striding across the room, his jaw set in a steely resolve. he reached you in a matter of seconds, his presence looming over the other man like a thundercloud.

"is there a problem here?" bucky's voice was low and dangerous, a warning laced with thinly veiled menace. winter soldier coming through for a second.

the other man recoiled at the sudden intrusion, his eyes widening in surprise. "n-no, no problem at all," he stammered, taking a hasty step back.

bucky's gaze never wavered from yours as he gently took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "come on," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos of the party. "let's get out of here."

you nodded wordlessly, your heart pounding in your chest as bucky led you away from the crowd, his protective presence a shield against the world outside.

as you slipped away into the quiet solitude of the night, the tangled web of jealousy and desire that had ensnared you both seemed to unravel, leaving only the fragile threads of something deeper—a connection that transcended words and boundaries, binding you together in ways neither of you could fully comprehend.

the cool night air greeted bucky and you as the two of you stepped out onto the balcony, the cacophony of the party fading into the distance behind you. bucky's grip on your hand remained firm but gentle, a silent reassurance in the darkness.

"i'm sorry," you murmured, breaking the tense silence that hung between them. "i didn't mean to cause a scene back there."

bucky shook his head, his expression softening as he turned to face you. "you didn't do anything wrong, angel," he replied earnestly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "i just couldn't stand seeing you surrounded by those assholes."

a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips, gratitude warming your heart at his words. "thank you, bucky," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "for always looking out for me.

bucky's heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in your eyes, a rush of warmth flooding his chest. "always," he vowed, his voice filled with quiet determination.

for a long moment, the two of you stood together in comfortable silence, the only sound the gentle rustle of the wind against the city skyline and faded music coming from the party. the weight of unspoken emotions hung heavy in the air.

then, without warning, something came over him, and bucky's hand cupped your cheek, his touch tender yet possessive as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. time seemed to stand still as you gazed into each other's eyes, the world around you fading into obscurity.

he waited patiently for you to move away form him, to give him a sign that this wasn’t what you wanted, but you stayed still, waiting for him to finish what he started.

and then, with a soft exhale, bucky closed the distance between you two, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss that spoke of promises yet to be fulfilled. it was a moment of pure vulnerability, a silent confession of the feelings that had long simmered beneath the surface.

as you finally pulled away, not because you wanted to, but because you had to take a breath, the world seemed to shift on its axis, the weight of uncertainty replaced by a newfound sense of clarity. in each other's arms, the two of you found solace amidst the chaos, a beacon of light guiding them through the darkness.

"i don't ever want to lose you, precious," bucky whispered, his voice barely audible above the whisper of the wind.

you smiled softly, your heart overflowing with emotion as you pressed closer to him, seeking refuge in his embrace. "you won't," you promised, the words a vow etched in the depths of your soul. "i'm right here, bucky. Always. and i dont plan on going anywhere anytime soon."

and as you stood together beneath the starlit sky, your intertwined hands a symbol of the unbreakable bond that bound you two together, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together, hand in hand, hearts entwined in a love that defied all odds.

[hwaightme]

Safe and San

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR MOUNT'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🟡 pairing: san x afab!reader 🟡 genre: smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship 🟡 summary: in the coolness of an early morning, choi san reveals to you what it means to love in a quiet timelessness, where all that exists is you, him, and the sunrise. 🟡 wordcount: 5.3k 🟡 warnings/tags: fiance san, falling asleep in the living room reading together, sharing hoodies, just loving each other, summer season - yes it is spring but now it is summer because san said so, hoodie san, cuddles, hugs and kisses, sort of edited sort of not (lmk if there is intense chaos anywhere) 🟡 taglist: @doom-fics @legohwa @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven 🟡 a/n: seriously idk where this came from, all I know is that I have been occasionally mindblanking and... here we are. Much love and all reblogs, comments, notes welcome <3

🟡 nsfw taglist: the petname content is intense in this one (sun, moon, stars, summer, honey, darling, love... nicknames...), all the praise, lazy sex, no protection (wrap before tap c'mon), cum inside, cockwarming, sex while in a state of semi-dress, fingering, the softest dom san, basically a service dom

The early morning haze entranced you. An ever-changing palette, the walls of your living room appeared to take on a different hue every time you languidly blinked, still fighting the heavy remnants of sleep. After having forgotten to completely draw the curtains, the luminescence of the cheerful, expectant sun crept across the cold wooden floor in a shy line, barely caressing the cream wall on the other side of the room, centimetres away from producing a kaleidoscopic scene by hitting the glass inserts of the shelving unit. The soft cushions that lined the l-shaped couch, and the woollen throw that hid you from the chill, were a cloud suspended in a tranquil bliss. You studied the familiar, adored surroundings as they metamorphosed from a lilac wonder to a glowing mandarin masterpiece, the brushstrokes of a pastel pink, coating the awakening sky, peeking from the other side of the window, capturing your bleary attention.

Not a sound, except for the level breathing of the man beside you. The man who had your love so fully, so deeply that you were not sure if the slow thudding in your chest was real, or was simply an echo, a comfortable illusion that you had agreed to settle for just so that you could give the heart away for him to keep. He would most definitely keep it safe. Find a neat little box for it, and, if you were lucky, find a place for it somewhere between the books and the video game DVDs, and admire it whenever he would walk past. Or perhaps he would be crafty enough to find a way of putting it in his pocket and carrying it around with him wherever he went – that way, you could miss him less than you normally did when you were apart. Shame you only had one heart, because you would give Choi San the universe if you could.

Your fiancé was like the grand starry expanse in the night, paving the way for explorers, lovers, and mystical creatures alike, and the radiant manifestation of Apollo in the day, bestowing upon the earth a hope, a heavenly brilliance, a magic the secret to which only he knew. With each moment that passed, you had come to understand that there was always more to San. Be it hidden in a sigh, in an enchanting glimmer in his eyes or in a simple gesture, he was an ethereal enigma that you were shocked, and infinitely grateful, existed.

Careful to not disturb him, which was a challenge in its own right considering that you had used his broad chest as your pillow, you lifted the throw ever so slightly and rose into a seated position. You gingerly adjusted the material back, and twisted yourself to be seated on the edge, and facing the literal sleeping beauty before you. You let your eyes travel across his resting face. From his forehead that was obscured by adorably ruffled onyx locks that poured out from underneath his grey hoodie. To his eyelids and lashes that showed the tiniest movement, making the soft light occupying the room land onto the little hairs and turn them to white gold. Down to the perfect line of his nose, the tip of which you liked to plant a quick peck on when you wanted to see your fiancé get flustered. And to his alluring lips which were parted ever so slightly. In the somnolent daze there was an angelic quality to him, a peace that you wanted to sink into and never depart from.

This was one of the first mornings in a while, that you had all the time in the world to keep on staring. For the most part, it was either you or San, or both of you having to get up and rush out of the door for work after having snoozed the alarm a ‘healthy’ number of times. Which is why it was surprising that you were even awake – five o’clock was not exactly your usual territory, and if not for the summer season blessing you with longer hours of sunshine, it was likely that you would not have distinguished between dream and reality, and dozed off lulled by the rise and fall that came with San’s every breath. But your wakefulness had its beauty: there was no stress spurring you on, and the sight of your love beside you, serenity written across his features, made you grateful for the surprising perkiness. For this short while, your personal heaven could be committed to memory, and serve as a transformation for every future when you would need to ‘rise and shine’.

You spotted San’s reading glasses lying, discarded, between his body and the back of the couch, inches from being squashed, while the books you and him had been reading were lying in awkward positions on the floor, much to your amusement. Careful not to damage the pages any more than they had been, you reached to pick the novels up, momentarily studying the covers before marking the pages with what turned out to be a folded receipt and a post-it with the glue segment torn off, and placing them on the coffee table. You settled back into a seated position, tucking one of your legs under you and pulling down the base of your oversized tee. A shiver passed down your back, reminding you of the fact that the air conditioner, your saving grace after the summer heat kicked in, rendering natural ventilation impossible if you wanted fresh air not laden with pollution and unbearable humidity, had been running at full power all night. Only now that you have removed yourself from the human radiator that was your fiancé did you realise this, and began to construct an escape plan that, hopefully, would not break San's peaceful slumber. If you were lucky, perhaps you could snatch and save his glasses.

These small troubles, trivialities of daily life were what brought a smile to your face. Endearing dilemmas that left you confident that what you were experiencing was a continuous blessing. Tongue between your teeth, poking ever so slightly out of your mouth, you concentrated on stalking towards the spectacles. Having stood up from the sofa, you were in a half crouch, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet, with only the rumble of the air conditioner to accompany you. When you were already hovering above San's chest, arm out reached to fish out your target, your breath hitched as he shifted and smacked his lips, following the adorable gesture by placing his arm, which previously was your only line of defence against falling off the sofa, over his abdomen, which in turn made the glasses fall a little deeper, just out of your reach. You mouthed a 'now what', contemplating your next course of action - you were getting cold, but too stubborn to accept a so-called defeat in this miniature game of capture the metaphorical flag.

The only way out was to summon the powers of feline agility and hope that San decided to be a deep sleeper today. Knee sinking into the edge of the pillow, the stitching digging into your skin as you inched forward while trying to keep a toe still on the ground, a peculiar source of security for the case that a quick retreat might be needed. Fingers flittering across the material, reminiscent of the pitter patter of rain - every effort to blend into the dormant landscape, an accidental echo of a season recently culminated. Closer and closer, your leg was a mere few centimetres away from San's torso, and you were arched over him, checking for any sudden changes in his position. But he was still. Almost too still. You narrowed your eyes and scanned his face, but could not detect any difference, aside from his mouth now being pressed together, however he did that in his sleep on occasion, so you paid it no mind. Suppressing a shiver, what used to be careful manoeuvring turned into risk as you took one final look at what you determined to be the sleeping form beneath you, and made a reach for the glasses, quietly hissing out a congratulations to yourself as soon as you felt your fingers touch the frame. Just a little more and you would be able to go get a sweater. Or turn the air conditioning off. Perhaps, since you were still occasionally blinking away the remnants of dreamland, you would get a cup of morning brew ready, and properly greet the sunrise by lounging on the tiny, but nevertheless welcoming terrace encased in shimmering glass. Or so you had hoped, until, as you were making your so-called journey back, a strong pair of arms snaked around your waist, and sharply pulled you in, so you now found yourself pressed flush against your sleepyhead love.

“Hmm… where are you going?” San mumbled, voice deep and groggy, resonating right above you as you wiggled to nuzzle into his neck, triumphantly holding onto his specs with one hand, pleased with yourself for having accomplished your initial task.

“‘s cold, so I need something warm.” It always took some time for him to register what you would say to him as he was waking up – on a number of occasions, he had not been able to recollect a single thing. So you kept your words simple, but even that made him give an exasperated whine as he hugged you tighter and rubbed the side of his face against your head, resulting in his hood being pushed back to reveal more of the heavily ruffled locks of jet black hair.

“But you have me… Y/N…” while answering you, San had managed to kick away the blanket fully, so that it now formed a dark grey heap at the other end of the sofa.

“I didn’t want to wake you, love,” you whispered back, shutting your eyes and relishing in the sensation, “you looked so cute and so peaceful.”

“What?” the sudden question made you raise your head momentarily, only to find San squinting right at you, “Nah… no.”

“No? My Sannie isn’t cute?” you asked, voice tinged with playful disappointment as you let your head fall back down, and took a deep breath.

Much like the early morning light, the mixture of cotton and San’s cologne was unequivocally captivating. It was the scent of the lazy days, the moments when you would allow yourselves to fall asleep, much like today, on the living room couch, legs intertwined after having spent the entire evening reading. An aroma of an embrace, a slow dance and a humming of a tune that only you knew, the notes that carried with themselves the melody of sweetest memories. The interplay of hemlock and bergamot, accompanied by heliotrope and mimosa – when you had pestered San enough times, he had read the profile out for you, the brief paragraph now forever imprinted in your mind in his timeless timbre.

A hand travelled underneath your t-shirt, trailing up and down your spine a couple of times before settling on tracing random patterns on the small of your back. You stifled a gasp as your fiancé took to toying with the waistband of your tracksuit bottoms, and, still laden with sleep, grunted and uttered his short, gruff retort.

“Not when I’ve read what I’ve read… ‘m surprised I even fell asleep.”

“Oh? And what was it you read?” a soft grin settled on your face as you sank into the feeling of San’s hands moulding you to his heart’s content. Unable to settle for one place, they roamed your body, worshipping every curve.

“Mm… too sleepy to explain…” he leaned into you, and upon nudging you to lie down a little bit higher, trailed a series of kisses down from your jawline to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, “…but I could show you.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m more than interested.”

“Wake me up a little bit more and I’ll give you a spoiler.” One of his hands travelled to meet your chin, and tilt it forwards so that his dark, glowing pools of adoration could meet yours, pupils trained on every micro expression despite being cradled in a blur, contained by relaxed lids and wispy eyelashes.

“Such a tease, Sannie.” You whispered, and gave into San’s guidance towards his soft lips, closing the space between you.

The infinite gradient of the sky’s spectacular hues exploded in your vision, as love’s intimate caress ignited a radiance within. With every passing moment, just as the cherry blossoms twirled to the ground in a muted waltz, giving way to flamboyant hydrangeas and mystical lilies, you too, fell deeper and deeper only to bloom once again with a new evolved adoration. A love that grew day in, day out. A love that motivated you to go on until tomorrow, for you knew that you would love even more then, and come to understand the naïve emptiness that you had trusted to be infatuation in the past. Fuller and fuller the soul became. The fuelled up inner fire that contained and protected your safe haven and your eternal paradise. While lilac skies and lavender fields blended into a heavenly unity only for a season, gifting natural beauty for a fleeting appreciation of its temporary existence, the reality that you and San had crafted was evergreen. It was, of course, expected to waver, much like any flowers that were meant to bloom, but together, you would sway and intertwine, two lifetimes turned to one harmonious duet in an everchanging landscape.

New leaves and blossoms replacing those that wilted, but to inexperienced eyes, devoid of recognising the impeccable, intricate details of time, it meant continuity. It meant immortality and a youthfulness that did not know time. This was how life with San had been and will continue to be forevermore. Each tender gaze and caress, the sweetest sigh into your ear was a rekindling of something greater, and left you in an ecstatic daze. The invisible paths of his strong hands exploring every inch of skin left behind a budding desire as you thought back to the transforming garden of hues outside the apartment, now turned to a colourful prologue for the beginning of your hazy summer day.

“Tease… I’m very polite, I’ll have you know.” You giggled as San broke away from the kiss, revealing his lovable pout. Unable to resist, you pushed your free arm up and cupped one side of his face, running your thumb over the cheek, poking his nose with your own as you broke into a wide grin. The action had an effect on San as he moved and tightened his grip to your hips, not once breaking his gaze, while the expression changed entirely.

Like a traveller who had finally found their oasis after an eternity of roaming the scalding hot sands, persevering through madness, he revered you. An unfiltered, unabashed, quiet love that could only be felt amidst total tranquility emanated from him as he resisted the urge to never let go, instead relishing in the beautiful, fleeting instances that you could spend together. Timeliness had taught him to treat each moment with special attention, but with you, he need not try. You were the moment. You were the one who shared his rhythm. You were the meandering river that he would forever prefer and worship over a roaring, cacophonic ocean. Elegance, grace – an identity that could never be replicated. In the rolling tides of strangers, he would always search for where the river met the sea, and would marvel at just how quickly he gravitated towards you. His priceless love and life, the one with whom he wanted to see every sunrise and sunset.

“Well then, gentleman, care to warm me up? Since I have been so politely intercepted.” The attempt at a joke flew over San’s head, but nonetheless, your wish was rapidly granted as he propped up his left leg so it was bent at the knee and his foot was steadily positioned on the couch. Arms still wrapped around you, he gave you another peck and inquired, voice low:

“Y/N, may I… roll you over?”

“Yes, you may. See? Such a sweetheart.” Words of praise always found their way into your responses when it came to your fiancé. Sometimes to obtain his shyness – a breath of spring, or relief – to last the autumn and the biting winter, or, like now, to lie down, impressed at the evoking of the blazing, sultry summer.

He encouraged you to give up any balance you had, and with impressive care switched you places, so that you were now the one resting on a fabric pillow, enveloped between the echoes of San’s body heat on the material, and the man himself, who had one arm on either side of you, and a goofy, proud smile adorning his features. Unable to contain yourself under his intense scrutiny, you raised the glasses you had been securely keeping, and unfolded them to try place a barrier between San and you. But to no avail. Reading your intentions, what used to be a pure cheekiness suddenly gained a darker colour, that of an intimate dusk, and lifting a hand, he hooked the spectacles right out of your outstretched hands, and raised an eyebrow.

“I can see you pretty well, darling. I am more than awake and focused now.”

He tossed the glasses onto the coffee table, sighing in relief as he saw them stop their sliding journey right before the far edge, which earned him a rolling of the eyes from you.

“All these efforts to get them, and you are ready to throw them into oblivion, yeah?”

“No idea what you mean, all I see is that everything is how it’s meant to be.”

The strength of his glances as he brushed your hair out of your face was reminiscent of the sun at its zenith, while the kisses he peppered on your forehead, flushed cheeks and longing lips were the rays of sunshine that would trickle down from the skies through cloudy barriers. The contrast in his light touches and their intentions as he slid a hand under your t-shirt and found your bare breast was immersing you in your personal summer. Your head fell further back, and you let out a satisfied sigh as San took the opportunity immediately, searching for the sensitive spot on your neck.

Taking his time, San nipped at it, while sending your mind into a disarray once his hand pinched your nipple and began to rub languid circles over its very tip, sending an electrifying shock to your core. One kiss after another, he was soon sucking on the sweet flesh, proudly giving life to a garden of unbridled lust spurred by a desire to show closeness. San wanted to melt into you. Melt with you. No embrace was close enough when souls could be together, and so through intimacy and the approach of ‘a small death’ did he strive to express his adamantine devotion to you. Any evidence of your harmony was nothing but heavenly music for him, and it was with pride that he claimed you, and was elated when you claimed him, be it in gratitude, in bliss or in frustration for your yet to be released high.

Your hands snaked themselves around San's perfectly sculpted torso, pulling the hoodie and the black tee underneath, higher and higher, until you could slip beneath, and your cooler skin touched his. The action made San stop his teasing and chuckle against your neck, while his body reacted automatically to roll his hips against yours, member concealed by layers of clothing growing more prominent and pressing against the material of his bottoms.

"Cold." The comment, uttered hoarsely though holding nothing but excitement for what is to come encouraged you to tilt your head and kiss San’s jaw, preparing to return his little, colourful favour.

"Told you."

"Mm, I know a way to fix that." Alas, you were not fast enough, and he lifted himself off you, the loss of contact making you whine. To remind you of his proximity, one of his legs remained between your thighs, knee too close to your core for you to interpret his steps as unintentional, innocent, serene.

With one final smirk in your direction as he caught you eyeing his body voraciously, San took off his hoodie, and motioned for you to sit up – only for him to grab your hand, and cautiously pull you towards him, grinning once you understood his mission and raised your arms above your head. It did not matter – the design, the colour, the cut… any item of clothing that belonged to him, in his opinion, looked better on you for the simple reason that it could hug your form, be an extension of him if he was away and could not wrap you up in his arms. At times, when you were showering, he would purposefully replace your clothes with an item of his just so the scent of your favourite shampoo could linger, and your image would be even more easily imprinted in his mind. Not that it was much of a challenge in the first place, but having all of his senses being preoccupied only with perceiving you was a state he wished could turn into permanence.

“Ah, but there’s a catch, my love.”

“Come on…” you whined and fluttered your eyelashes.

“These,” he grabbed onto the waistband of your tracksuit pants, “off.”

“Yes sir.” As soon as you uttered the phrase you noticed a lustful darkness flash in your fiancé’s gaze, one which he, much to your surprise, suppressed and shook his head.

“Y/N don’t do this to me, or you will not get up ‘til sunset.”

“If that’s your plan, would I even be able to get up?”

“And that’s why I want to make love, Y/N. I want to love you quietly… lie down for me, darling?” he requested, interlacing his urge with the words of one of your favourite poets. A tenderness in his directing you, how he reduced the bottoms and panties he had hooked along with them to a mere accessory on the floor, and how he caressed your thighs, revering every detail, was leaving you breathless. But, just as he was approaching your exposed, aroused sex, you called out to him, reaching for the hand that was resting on your leg.

“Then look at me.”

“Hm?”

“I want to see your pretty face, love.”

The dimples that fell into his cheeks as he beamed at you, crawling up to be right by your side much like a cat would, and letting you roll over so that you were nose to nose, sharing hot breath, made you fall in love again. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say ‘rise’ in love, for when you were like this, vulnerable, and yet so totally safe, you felt like you were soaring.

San took no time in finding your lips, relishing in the stifled moan that escaped you as his fingers teased your moistened labia. A leg resting over his, you were enamoured with the gentleness of his worship of you. The tip of his tongue begged for entrance and elicited a muted sigh as it entered to explore you. With an approving hum, San curled his digits and let your walls clench around him, as he proceeded to set an unhurried pace, knowing you, knowing how to coax out every feeble mewl and build you up to an unforgettable ruin. You had the luxury of time, every worry replaced with the opportunity to connect and combine into one.

There was an added pleasure that came with the surpassing of the excitement of your relationship’s novelty. The intricate mapping of your fantasies had now taken on a new level of complexity, and the sequences transformed into a language only you and San shared. Delighted in the lewdness of sound that was produced by the relaxed pumping of his fingers into you, the gorgeous man further deepened your kiss by taking the strings of his hoodie, now adorning your frame, and drawing you in. Whatever illusion of space between was now entirely gone, and all that existed for you was San’s touch, San’s fragrance, San’s body heat, and the knot in your stomach that was getting tighter his thumb ran circles over your aroused clit.

There was no urgency in his movement as he unravelled you, even though, as you adjusted your positioning, you became aware his stiff erection. The sudden friction caused San to gasp, and, when you brushed your leg against his again, to test the waters, he pleaded, voice ragged and airy:

“Let me take care of you, honey.”

“But San-” you protested, hand palming his length, but denied as he kissed the response away from you.

“You’ll help me out with that later.”

“But I can get an early start.” A final attempt, only spurring San on to push his fingers deeper into you, massaging your pussy until he hit your most sensitive spot, earning a yelp and an approaching tender pulsation.

“Needy for this cock, huh?”

“Ah…What happened to… mfph… sentimental lover boy?” you joked through shallow breaths, choking out every word as you clung onto San’s t-shirt for support in your approaching high.

“I’m still here. Still here… You look beautiful, Y/N… taking my fingers so well, dressed up in my hoodie…” he praised, emphasising his role in your unwinding. Gazing at the love bites he had left on your soft skin through hooded, lust-filled fog, he was motivated to give you any satisfaction you could possibly desire.

“Sannie, please… ah that feels so good…”

“Please what, darling? Hm, tell me.”

Continuing to relentlessly abuse your g-spot, San sweetly took in your writhing form, enjoying the power that he had in this moment, while a ray of the morning sun crept across the floor towards you, traversing the territory of the living room like a foolishly courageous voyeur.

“Faster, please…”

“But it’s so early sweetheart, don’t you want to take it easy?” he inquired, knowing full well that you would not give him a well-structured response, intoxicated by the intensifying arousal, climbing closer and closer to a climax.

“Ah… please… Mm… I need…”

“Elaborate, or I cannot heed to your caprices.”

“I need you inside me.”

“Is that so? Well, I can’t deny you anything, my love.”

Reduced to a whimpering mess, you waited with bated breath as San shuffled to finally push down his trousers and reveal his throbbing member, now adorned with rivulets of pre-cum after having been left abandoned while his digits satisfied you. In a matter of seconds, you could feel its tip against your folds, gliding up and down the slick until you inadvertently bucked your hips towards him, unable to hold on for any longer without a stronger stimulation. Luckily, San was in a loving mood, and submitted to your silent begging. Soon enough, he began to drive into you, so agonisingly slow so as to not force how perfectly your pussy accepted him, and once his pelvis was flush against yours, embraced you. He strived to have you entirely, as if, even when you were with him, he missed you.

Overwhelmed by the fullness your head tilted forward, your forehead meeting San’s as he barely withdrew his cock, and re-entered you, mumbling fuzzy words of praise at how well you were taking him, and just how heavenly your soaked cunt was as he went deeper, rocking his hips upwards to drown himself in your heat.

The world on fire, skin lapping against skin like waves of a mountainous current, painting the landscape in the hues of a blazing sunrise, much like how hedonistic desire washed over you. It grew at an alarming speed until it was threatening to bloom, a crimson rose of undying attraction and adoration for the man who was offering himself to you as your cunt clamped around him. San was entranced by you, and wanted more than what ‘more’ could signify, lifting your leg and throwing it over his to bring you to your sensual demise. Your grasp of his tee tightened as the pounding became hungrier, and you dropped the act of being able to contain a portion of your moans, letting the salacious melodies go right by San’s ears, interlaced with expletives and your beloved’s name.

With every affirmation to roll off your tongue that he had only recently confronted with his own, he would grind harder into you with ease, now that you were propped up just how he wanted you. San could never get enough of your flushed cheeks as the ripples of pleasure ran through you, with his cock rendering you speechless, muscles tightening in anticipation of a crashing orgasm. Only feeble, high-pitched gasps bounced around the walls of the living room, blending into the warm ambiance as your climax hit you – a monsoon, the season controlled by none other than your fiancé, who kept up his flow, mumbling barely coherent phrases:

“So gorgeous, my love, that’s right. Come for me, come over my cock-”

It was not long after your orgasm that his thrusts lost their steadiness, San’s grip on your thigh grew unbelievably tight and he dived to find stability in the dip between your shoulder and neck, leaving feathery kisses and biting the area to suppress his low grunts, now turned to helpless moans that served to prolong your own high.

The erratic motions of his hips culminated in a series of deeper thrusts as he buried his dick as deep as he could inside you, groaning as ropes of cum painted your still-pulsating walls, that seemed to be pleading for more, greedily taking every drop. You rolled your lower half a couple of times, ecstatic from the dizzying fullness that his cock and thick release provided, causing some of the cum to ooze out, threatening to coat your inner thighs. San had no plans on moving, at least not until mist lifted from his consciousness, and he could conjure up at least one thought that did not relate to having you again.

While his dick twitched inside you, you attempted to remain as still as possible, regaining San’s attention by whispering his name. Through half-lidded eyes he gazed back, sending you a shy smile so endearing, and so much brighter than every star, contrasting the remnants of earlier intimacy in the form of a bead of sweat that concealed itself under the hair that fell over his face, and the reddened, plump lips.

“San?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d say I’m very warm now.” He chuckled, making you bashfully glance off to the side, catching the reflection of the sky in the coffee table. The simple ability to hear San’s husky voice as he drifted with you in post-coital bliss, an arm lazily resting on your waist, was a blessing.

“Anytime, my love.” He matched your lightheartedness and squeezed your side.

Your precious sun and moon. The one with whom your heart beat in unison, the one who had read you like a novel, front to back, back to front until he could recount every detail better than you ever could. Time stood still as you lied there, on the couch, sharing addictive nectar and basking in the afterglow. The day only beginning, the room decorated in a light gold hue. Unwilling to part just yet, you shared another kiss with San, in adoration for how the early morning haze entranced you.

[alyrasturnz]

i've only been seeing taylor and matt reqs so can u make a "wish u were sober" conan gray fic for chris? and a face reveal if u must 😏

WISH YOU WERE SOBER {{ chris sturniolo }}

summary — in a haze of intoxication, y/n gathered the courage to divulge her amorous feeling to chris. However, Chris, perceiving her proclamation as mere intoxicated rambling, dismissed her heartfelt confession, convinced that her words lacked genuine intent.

warnings :: mentions of alcohol

a/n ,, i literally just started writing on tumblr 😭 but i guess i could do a face reveal when i hit 100 followers? idk i dont really care

chris mutters under his breath, "this party is shit," his voice barely audible amidst the cacophony of forced laughter and clinking glasses.

the music thundered through the speakers, each beat resonating like a distant storm, while the kaleidoscope of lights assaulted his vision, rendering him momentarily blind.

chris' gaze averted to your figure, swaying rhythmically to the pulsating beat of the music, with a guy pressed intimately against your body.

chris rolls his eyes, sinking into the couch as he plops down, the cushions enveloping him like a weary traveler finding solace in a long-forgotten haven.

chris’ eyes wandered around the room, eventually settling on matt, who was engaged in an animated conversation with a girl, their interaction punctuated by laughter and subtle gestures.

nick had just left the vicinity ten minutes ago, disappearing into an unknown room with a random guy, their departure shrouded in an air of mystery.

and you were entwined with a guy, downing multiple cups as if they were elixirs of oblivion.

thus, it was solely him who remained untouched by the revelry, an island of solitude amidst a sea of merriment.

"hey," a disembodied voice intoned, its origin obscured as it looked down upon him.

chris lifted his gaze to meet the girl who was addressing him. she was blonde, with makeup smeared across her face, and she wore a short dress that hinted at the night's revelries.

"hey," chris mumbled, his voice a hollow echo, devoid of any emotion.

the blonde settled beside him, crossing her legs with a fluid grace as she leaned into him, her presence a whisper of intimacy amidst the chaos.

"what's your name?" she smirked, her breath heavy with the pungent scent of alcohol.

chris closed his eyes tightly. "chris," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"i'm natalie," she purred, her finger trailing a languid path across his chest, provoking a shiver that coursed through him—a shiver not of pleasure, but of a disquieting unease.

"alright, natalie!" chris said hastily, rising to his feet and looking down at her with a strained smile. "it's been... interesting, but i gotta bounce." he nodded awkwardly before turning on his heel and walking away, his steps quickening with each stride.

he made his way towards matt, who was still engrossed in conversation with a girl, their animated exchange punctuated by laughter and gestures.

"matt, can we ditch?" chris implored, his voice laced with a note of desperation.

matt regarded him with furrowed eyebrows, a look of irritation crossing his face. "no," he responded curtly, before taking hold of the girl's wrist and leading her away with a determined stride.

chris let out an audible groan, his frustration palpable, as he trudged towards the front door, pausing momentarily as if weighed down by an invisible burden.

a guy had a girl pressed firmly against the door, their tongues entwined in a fervent embrace, as chris grimaced, his discomfort evident.

chris shook his head in dismay, turning away and making his way to a nearby window, his steps aimless and his thoughts scattered.

he muttered a curse under his breath, swiftly unlatching the window and slipping out with an urgency that spoke of both desperation and determination.

"chris!" nick called out from the drink table, his voice cutting through the din, as an unfamiliar man stood beside him, their presence a stark contrast to the chaotic surroundings.

"gotta bounce!" chris yelled back with a chuckle, his laughter mingling with the ambient noise as he turned and walked away, his steps light but purposeful, leaving behind the murmurs of the gathering.

"this is definitely not my crowd," chris mumbled under his breath, his words barely audible as he distanced himself further from the throng, each step a silent testament to his growing discomfort.

"chris!" a slurred voice yelled, one that he knew all too well, its familiar timbre cutting through the haze of noise with an unsettling clarity.

chris’ eyes lit up with a sudden spark as he turned around, the flicker of recognition dancing in his gaze.

"hey, y/n," chris murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips, his voice carrying a gentle warmth that contrasted with the surrounding chaos.

you stumbled towards him, the empty cup in your hands oscillating precariously, each step an elaborate choreography of instability and resolve, as though the very earth beneath you schemed to undermine your advance.

"god, i despise this party," she slurred, her words heavy and muddled, as she tripped slightly, collapsing into chris' arms with a graceless thud.

"it doesn't appear so. you seemed like you were having the time of your life in there," chris chuckled softly, his voice a gentle murmur as he steadied her.

"appearances can be quite deceptive," you winked, your words slurring slightly as chris scoffed playfully, a bemused grin spreading across his face.

"you talk pretty fucking proud for someone with weak knees," chris jested, as you rolled your eyes in exasperation.

"whatever. i loathe this place," you murmured softly. "take me somewhere that isn't too loud."

chris chuckled, a resonant sound that seemed to echo in the air. "alright then," he said, extending his hand towards you, "let’s go,"

you clung onto his arm, entwining your arms around his robust limb, seeking comfort in his steadfast presence.

you would consistently engage in playful and flirtatious behavior towards him, allowing your interactions to be tinged with a subtle yet undeniable allure, all the while steadfastly asserting that your relationship remained within the bounds of mere friendship.

and with each instance, it rends his soul anew, leaving an indelible mark upon his heart.

as much as he reveled in the intoxicating sensation of being the center of your affection, basking in the warmth of feeling like your most cherished person, he simultaneously harbored a profound aversion to it, a dichotomy that gnawed at his very core.

the days when he yearns to envelop you in his embrace and shower your face with tender kisses are precisely the days when he is acutely aware that such gestures lie beyond the realm of friendship, a boundary he must not cross.

his mind was a tempest of conflicting thoughts, a maelstrom of emotions that swirled with relentless intensity.

he was ensnared by the profound depths of his love for you, a love so deep it seemed to anchor his very soul.

yet, the specter of rejection loomed large, casting a shadow over his heart and shackling his desires with chains of fear.

your flirtatious behavior ensnared him in a perpetual state of bewilderment, an intricate dance of uncertainty that left him perpetually adrift.

each playful remark, each lingering glance, ignited a tempest within his heart, a maelstrom of hope and doubt that warred incessantly.

he found himself incessantly replaying every conversation in his mind, scrutinizing each word and gesture with the fervor of a scholar poring over ancient texts, searching for hidden meanings that might reveal the true nature of your affections.

he yearned to lay bare the depths of his heart, yet the dread of unrequited affection paralyzed him.

the tormenting possibility that he might have misinterpreted your signals gnawed at his soul. what if your flirtations were mere gestures of camaraderie, devoid of the deeper sentiments he so desperately hoped for?

this relentless uncertainty wove a storm within him, a tumultuous sea of emotions that he struggled to navigate, leaving him adrift in a vast expanse of doubt and longing.

each step he took was imbued with the haunting echoes of your laughter and the radiant warmth of your smiles, rendering the solitude of the night an even more oppressive burden.

your presence was a soothing balm to his weary soul, yet the silence that stretched between you was a vast chasm he dared not traverse.

the fleeting touch of your hand, a mere brush against his own, lingered in his thoughts like an indelible mark, a sensation that persisted long after, weaving itself into the fabric of his yearning.

chris’s heart ached under the crushing weight of his unspoken love. he yearned for the day he could unveil his true feelings to you, but for now, he wandered, ensnared in the labyrinth of his own emotions.

the moonlight cast elongated shadows upon the path ahead, mirroring the profound shadows within his heart.

he pondered if you ever thought of him with the same intensity that consumed his thoughts of you, if you ever felt the same longing that kept him restless through the stillness of the night.

with each passing day, the desire to bridge the chasm between you grew ever more insistent. yet, the paralyzing fear of losing the fragile connection he cherished with you kept his lips sealed.

he treasured the moments you shared, ephemeral and tinged with uncertainty though they were.

for now, he would continue to tread this solitary path, nurturing the hope that one day, the courage to unveil his heart would find him, and the silence would be broken by the truth of his feelings.

»--•--«

the moment you crossed the threshold of your home, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over you.

without a second thought, you dashed toward the couch, your sanctuary, and let yourself collapse into its embrace, surrendering to the comfort it offered.

chris sighed, a heavy exhale of weariness escaping his lips, as he gently closed the door behind him.

with deliberate steps, he approached you, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and tenderness.

in one fluid motion, he scooped you up into his arms, cradling you in a bridal style embrace.

each step he took towards your room was measured and careful, as if he were carrying the most precious of treasures, ensuring your comfort and safety above all else.

chris gently places you on your bed, his movements meticulous and deliberate, as if handling something fragile and precious. he strides over to your closet, his fingers grazing the fabric of various garments, feeling the textures and weights of each piece.

after a moment of contemplation, he selects a few pieces of comfortable attire, ones he knows will wrap you in warmth and ease.

with a soft smile, he returns to your side, his eyes filled with a profound understanding and a silent promise of care.

he hands the clothes to you, his touch lingering for a moment, conveying a depth of emotion that words alone could not express.

he pivoted gracefully, his back now facing you, a silent gesture that conveyed his intent to grant you privacy.

the subtle shift in his posture, the way his shoulders relaxed, all spoke of a deep understanding and respect for your need for a moment of solitude.

without uttering a word, he ensured that his gaze would not intrude, offering you a sanctuary of personal space.

you exchanged your attire for something more comfortable, the soft fabric a welcome contrast against your skin.

as you settled back onto your bed, the cushions seemed to embrace you, offering a sanctuary of warmth and ease.

the act of changing clothes, though simple, felt like shedding the weight of the day, allowing you to sink into the comforting embrace of your bed with a sense of relief and tranquility.

chris pivoted with a fluid grace, his movements deliberate and assured.

he approached your vanity, his fingers deftly locating the makeup wipes amidst the array of beauty products.

the soft rustle of the packaging as he retrieved them added a subtle, almost ritualistic quality to the moment, underscoring his attentiveness and care.

"sit up," he whispers, his voice a gentle murmur that barely disturbs the stillness of the room. obediently, you rise, your eyes remaining closed, trusting him implicitly.

you hear the faint rustle as he extracts a sheet of wipes, the sound mingling with the quiet intimacy of the moment.

with a tenderness that speaks volumes, he begins to remove your makeup, his touch feather-light and meticulous.

each stroke of the wipe feels like a caress, as if he is not just cleansing your skin, but also erasing the weariness of the day.

the action is intimate, almost sacred, a silent testament to his care and devotion. the gentle pressure of his fingers, the cool sensation of the wipe gliding over your skin, all combine to create a moment of profound connection.

as he works, you can feel the layers of the day being lifted away, leaving behind a sense of purity and renewal.

the act, though simple, is imbued with a depth of emotion, transforming it into a gesture of profound love and respect.

you slowly flutter your eyes open, the world gradually coming into focus, and find yourself gazing deeply into his eyes.

they are windows to a soul filled with unspoken emotions, a silent dialogue unfolding between you.

the intensity of his gaze holds you captive, as if the very essence of his being is pouring into yours, creating an unbreakable bond that transcends mere words.

chris notices your gaze and a soft blush tinges his cheeks, a subtle bloom of color that speaks of vulnerability and affection.

"hi," he murmurs, his voice a gentle whisper that carries a world of unspoken sentiment. a tender smile graces his lips as he reaches for another wipe, his movements careful and deliberate.

with each stroke, he meticulously cleanses your face, his touch imbued with a delicate reverence, as if he is cherishing each moment of this intimate ritual.

without a moment's hesitation, you leaned in, your actions guided by an instinctive pull, and kissed him.

your lips brushed against his with the gentleness of a whisper, a fleeting yet profound connection that spoke volumes in its simplicity.

the kiss was a tender communion, a silent exchange of emotions that transcended words, leaving a lingering warmth in its wake.

the taste of alcohol danced on your lips, a heady mixture that seeped into the kiss, infusing it with a sense of intoxicating abandon.

as his heart surged, a swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm, he gently pulled away, the moment hanging in the air like a delicate thread, shimmering with unspoken possibilities.

you gazed at him with furrowed eyebrows, a tapestry of confusion and concern woven into your expression, as he shook his head.

his gesture was slow, deliberate, a silent negation that carried the weight of unspoken words, leaving a lingering sense of mystery and unease in its wake.

"real sweet, but i wish you were sober," his voice a soft murmur, each word a gentle caress that carried an undercurrent of longing and regret. the subtle intonation of his voice wrapped around you like a tender embrace, leaving a bittersweet echo in the stillness.

your eyes widened, a silent testament to the flood of emotions surging within you. words began tumbling over each other in a drunk confession of love, a cascade of unfiltered feelings pouring from your lips.

each syllable was imbued with raw vulnerability, creating a tapestry of heartfelt declarations that seemed to hang in the air, shimmering with the intensity of your emotions.

"i’ve loved you for so long, chris!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken emotions. "every moment we spend together, i feel it more and more. you mean everything to me." the words, laden with years of hidden affection, spilled forth like a river breaking through a dam, each one carrying the depth of your devotion and the intensity of your longing.

yet as he listened, a shadow of doubt clouded his mind.

he wanted to believe you, to accept your words as truth, but the haze of alcohol made him question the sincerity of your confession.

each word you spoke seemed to waver in the air, distorted by the fog of intoxication, leaving him torn between the desire to trust and the fear of being deceived.

"i don't know if i can trust what you're saying right now," he replied, his voice heavy with uncertainty. each word seemed to carry the weight of a thousand doubts, a palpable hesitation that echoed through the room, amplifying the fragile tension between belief and skepticism.

you reached out, your hand trembling as it made contact with his arm.

the slight quiver in your touch conveyed a silent plea, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm of doubt that had formed between you.

"please believe me," you pleaded, "this isn't just the alcohol talking. i've felt this way for so long, and i can't keep it inside any longer." your voice, tinged with desperation, wove through the air like a fragile thread, seeking to bind your heartfelt confession to his wavering trust.

"you're drunk," he said, bringing his hand up to your face. with a gentle yet firm motion, he wiped away the makeup with the wipes, each stroke revealing the raw vulnerability beneath, as if attempting to strip away the layers of doubt and uncover the truth hidden within your eyes.

he longed to believe you, but the doubt gnawed at him, leaving him torn between hope and skepticism. "let's talk about this when you're sober," he said softly, his voice a whisper of concern, hoping that clarity would come with the morning light and dispel the shadows of uncertainty that clouded his mind.

»--•--«

the morning light, delicate and golden, wove its way through the curtains, casting an ethereal glow that danced gracefully across the room, bathing it in a soft, almost otherworldly luminescence.

you awoke to the relentless throb of a pounding headache, the lingering echoes of last night's indulgences asserting their unwelcome presence, each pulse a stark reminder of the revelry that had transpired.

you glanced around, your gaze eventually settling on chris, who sat quietly at the edge of the bed, his presence a silent sentinel in the morning's stillness.

his expression was an intricate tapestry of concern and anticipation, each emotion subtly interwoven, creating a complex portrait of his inner turmoil.

"oh my god, did we... did we fuck?" you blurted out, your mind shrouded in a foggy haze, the words tumbling from your lips in a raw mixture of confusion and urgency.

chris' eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of shock dancing in their depths. "what? no!" he replied, shaking his head emphatically. "you don't remember anything that happened last night?"

you squinted, your mind laboriously sifting through the blurry fragments of the evening, attempting to weave them into a coherent tapestry of memory.

"ummm, wait, let me think," you murmured, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to coax clarity from the tangled threads of your thoughts.

slowly, the memories began to surface, each fragment emerging from the depths of your mind, causing your eyes to widen in dawning realization.

you looked up at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, the gravity of the moment sinking in as he nodded, a silent confirmation of your worst nightmare.

"oh god," you mumbled, burying your face into your palms as a wave of embarrassment washed over you, engulfing your senses and leaving you feeling utterly exposed.

chris’ gaze softened. “yeah,” he said softly, before crawling up to you and gently taking your hands in his. “but it’s okay. you were drunk and weren’t thinking. I know you didn’t mean it.”

your heart raced as you processed his words. "except i did mean it!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession.

you took a deep breath, feeling a turbulent mix of fear and determination swirling within you. “fuck- i meant every single word! i was drunk and i wasn't thinking, but i did mean it! i meant every word. i love the way you always listen to me, how you make me laugh even on my worst days, how you care so deeply about the people around you. i love the way you always know how to make me feel better, even when i don't want to admit that i need it. i love your smile, the way it lights up a room and makes everything seem okay, even when it's not. i love your eyes, how they see right through me and make me feel like i'm the only person in the world. i love the way you touch me, so gentle and yet so full of passion. i love the way you make me feel safe, like nothing can hurt me as long as i'm with you. i love the way you challenge me, push me to be better, to be more. i love every little thing about you, even the things that drive me crazy.

i love how you remember the smallest details about me, things that even i forget. i love how you always know what i need, even before i do. i love the way you support my dreams, no matter how crazy they might seem. i love the way you make me feel like i'm enough, just as i am. i love the way you hold me when i'm falling apart, how you never let go even when things get tough. i love the way you laugh, that deep, infectious sound that makes everything seem brighter. i love the way you look at me, like i'm the most important person in the world. i love the way you hug me, so tender and yet so passionate. i love the way you make me feel alive, like i'm living for the first time. i love the way you make me want to be a better person, to be worthy of your love.

i love the way you understand me, even when i don't understand myself. i love the way you never judge me, no matter how many mistakes i make. i love the way you believe in me, even when i don't believe in myself. i love the way you make me feel like i can do anything, as long as i'm with you. i love the way you inspire me, to be more, to do more. i love the way you make me feel like i'm home, no matter where we are. i love the way you make me feel like i'm part of something bigger, something beautiful. i love the way you make me feel like i'm not alone, like i have someone who will always be there for me. i love the way you make me feel like i'm loved, truly and deeply loved. i love you, chris. and i can't keep pretending that i don't because—“

before you could finish, chris leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, silencing your words.

the kiss was gentle yet imbued with a profound depth of emotion that made your heart soar, as though every unspoken sentiment was conveyed in that fleeting moment.

it was a tender embrace, layered with unspoken promises and hidden desires, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the connection you shared.

slowly, chris pulled away, his lips lingering for a moment as if reluctant to part, leaving behind a whisper of warmth that lingered on your skin.

"you have no idea how long i've waited to hear those words from you. every day, i hoped that you felt the same way, but i was too scared to ask, too scared to ruin what we have. but hearing you say all that... it feels like a dream." his eyes met with yours with a newfound intensity, a silent storm of emotions swirling within them, revealing depths of unspoken thoughts and feelings that seemed to bridge the space between your souls.

he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "i love you too. i love the way you light up a room with your presence, how your laughter is like music to my ears. i love your kindness, how you always put others before yourself. i love your strength, how you face every challenge with such courage and grace. i love the way you see the world, with such wonder and curiosity. i love the way you make me feel, like i'm the luckiest person alive just to know you."

"i love the way you challenge me, push me to be better, to see things from new perspectives. i love the way you care so deeply, how you pour your heart into everything you do. i love the way you listen, really listen, and make me feel heard and understood. i love the way you make me laugh, even when i'm having the worst day. i love the way you dream, so big and so fearlessly. i love the way you live, with such passion and joy."

"i love every little thing about you, even the things that drive me crazy. i love the way you make me feel like i'm home, no matter where we are. i love the way you make me feel like i'm part of something bigger, something beautiful. i love the way you make me feel like i'm not alone, like i have someone who will always be there for me. i love the way you make me feel like i'm loved, truly and deeply loved. and i can't believe that you feel the same way about me."

"i love you, and i want to be with you. i want to face every challenge, every joy, every moment with you. i want to build a life with you, to share my dreams with you, to grow old with you. i want to love you, every day, for the rest of my life."

you immediately cupped his face as you connected your lips once more, and in that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

the future, shrouded in a veil of uncertainty, was nonetheless illuminated by the promise of unvarnished honesty and the tantalizing possibility of something profoundly deeper.

it was as though the very air around you thickened with anticipation, each second stretching into an eternity, as a bond forged in the silent exchange of shared emotions began to take root, hinting at a tapestry of experiences yet to be woven.

[hynzsn]

★ STRAWBERRY KISSES ★

☆ choi soobin x male reader

-> sunshine baker!soobin x grumpy (secretly soft) farmer!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff, multi chapter fic, ongoing

contents: loosely inspired by strawberry shortcake (tv show), alternate universe - modern setting, m/m, romance, slow burn, happy ending, confessions, mutual pining, opposites attract, small town setting, baking, food porn, strawberries, summer festival, jealousy, first kiss, feel-good story, sweet moments, shared kitchen shenanigans

a/n: chapter one is out!!

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER ONE: BERRY BEST BEGINNING ꒱ ˚₊

meet soobin, the sunshine baker known for his award-winning pastries and infectious laugh. his bakery, "crumbs & co.," is the heart of your small town, especially during the annual summer berry festival. but disaster strikes – he's out of strawberries, his star ingredient! enter you, the gruff but handsome owner of "sun-kissed berries," known for your organic, mouthwatering produce. soobin, desperate and flustered, begs you for help. you, initially hesitant due to the last-minute request and your own demanding schedule, is charmed by soobin’s passion and agrees to help, setting the stage for a week of unexpected collaboration.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER TWO: FIELDS OF STRAWBERRY DREAMS ꒱ ˚₊

soobin is a fish out of water as you show him the ropes of berry farming. you navigate rows of vibrant strawberry plants, your banter a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity. soobin is captivated by your quiet confidence and connection to the land, while you find yourself drawn to soobin’s infectious enthusiasm and city-boy wonder. a playful competition erupts – who knows more about their respective crafts? the day ends with a shared picnic basket amidst the strawberry fields, a moment of quiet intimacy under the setting sun.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER THREE: SPRINKLES OF AFFECTION & MIDNIGHT SUGAR ꒱ ˚₊

back in the cozy chaos of soobin’s bakery, the real magic begins. you experiment with new recipes, flour dusting their aprons and laughter filling the air. you discover a hidden talent for pastry-making, your hands surprisingly adept at delicate tasks. soobin is mesmerized by your focused intensity, your arms brushing as they work side-by-side. as midnight approaches, a moment of charged silence hangs between you, broken only by the soft whir of the oven and the unspoken longing in their eyes. a near kiss, a stolen touch of fingertips, leaves you both breathless and wanting more.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FOUR: BERRY FESTIVAL JITTERS & A PINCH OF SOUR GRAPES ꒱ ˚₊

the day of the summer berry festival dawns bright and bustling. soobin is a whirlwind of nervous energy, putting the finishing touches on his berry creations. you, despite your usual composure, finds yourself inexplicably drawn to soobin’s side, wanting to ease his anxiety and bask in his radiant energy. but your budding connection is threatened by the arrival of beomgyu, a charming, flirtatious artist who sets his sights on you, much to soobin’s dismay. as the festival begins, soobin grapples with a confusing mix of jealousy and self-doubt, unsure if his feelings for you are reciprocated.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FIVE: STRAWBERRY KISSES & A BERRY SWEET FOREVER ꒱ ˚₊

the festival is in full swing, a kaleidoscope of color, music, and the intoxicating aroma of baked goods. soobin’s strawberry creations are a hit, but his heart feels heavy with uncertainty. you, sensing soobin’s turmoil, finds a quiet moment amidst the crowd to confess your feelings. you gently take soobin’s hand, your fingers intertwining, and with a look that speaks volumes, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss that tastes of strawberries and promises. the chapter (and the story) ends with a final scene at the festival, the ferris wheel twinkling above you, your laughter mingling with the sounds of summer night, your love story as bright and hopeful as the stars overhead.

[chronicowboy]

baby, how'd we end up here | 15k

The firehouse always feels otherworldly when the trucks aren't in the bay. It's just one of those things. The absence of three hulking, bright red vehicles is always going to draw the eye just as much as the unmissable rigs themselves. But it's an odd feeling to walk into the station and find it devoid of it's usual chaos. It feels unnervingly calm, the moment of stillness before a bolt of lightning or the split second upon waking from unconsciousness where the pain hasn't caught up yet. It feels like anticipation and foreboding.

Buck feels it a lot more than anyone, except maybe Bobby, always arriving to work much earlier than necessary because the station feels like home in a way the loft never has. He can't count the number of times he's arrived only to find B-shift out on a call, one of three people in the firehouse—B-shift's man behind tucked away somewhere, and Bobby squirrelled away in his office to prepare for the day. It never fails to unsettle him.

Head down, Buck changes into his uniform as quickly as he can, eager to join Johnson up in the kitchen and ask Bobby if he wants a cup of coffee to accompany his paperwork. Before he can run from the glaring absence, however, Eddie pushes into the locker room with a softly hesitant smile that makes Buck's stomach fill with a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies.

"Hey, Buck," Eddie murmurs, voice still rough with the slightest edge of sleep. It sends a thrill through him.

"Morning, Eddie." Buck smiles, pulling his foot up onto the edge of the bench he's sat on to tie his laces without taking his eyes off Eddie. "You're early, what gives?" And this he can do, focus on their easy banter rather than the warning trilling away in his chest.

"I'm not that bad," Eddie insists in a grumble, an echo of a familiar argument. Buck's smile grows into a grin, twitching beyond its limits until his cheeks ache with it. Eddie turns away from his locker with something shy and hopeful shining in the depths of his eyes. "If you must know, I..." He scrunches his face up and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot," Buck says, sounding a lot more casual than he feels.

The burning hot hand of hope clenches around his heart, searing it's mark into the muscle as it pounds a staccato rhythm against his ribs. A voice hisses all of his deepest desires out into the open, but Buck shakes them away. Eddie's probably just asking him if he wants to hang out with Christopher—except Eddie would never be so... serious about that.

(Unless he's going on another date, a crueller voice snarls in the confines of his mind.)

"Do you..." Eddie bites his lip, grip on the shirt in his hands turning his knuckles white as he frowns down at it. "Christopher has a sleepover tomorrow night," Eddie blurts out breathlessly, eyes a little wide and a lot imploring. Buck's heart races faster, the hope burns hotter, the butterflies swarm. "So, I was thinking we could get dinner." Eddie unsticks his eyes from his hands, slowly dragging them up to Buck's face, so tender and trusting that Buck aches. "Just the two of us. At that new Mexican place you wanted to try. Like..." Eddie takes a deep breath, and Buck loses all of his.

"Like a date?" Buck whispers for him

(OR: the safe haven baby fic)

@danielsousa @binickmiller @jamietarts @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @buddstiel @organizedstardust @theoneandonlypigeon @anatargmova @alyxmastershipper @buckley-diaz-rules @blazeturbo102 @panbuckley @slowlyfoggydestiny @thatnamewill-probably-change @compactdiscmp3 @batgrldes @scattered-winter @prince-buck-diaz

[bleachification]

⸻ CH. SIX; A HAVEN FOR ONE IS A HAVEN FOR NONE

pairing: dazai x f!reader (fantasy au)

warnings: mentions/themes of war and violence

chapter list: this is CHAPTER SIX of a multi-chapter fic series. PLEASE read the previous chapters before this one or you will be very lost!!

link to previous chapters: prologue

word count: 1.6k

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Dinner is interrupted by the screams of dying men. You are halfway through your second flute of champagne and getting increasingly irritated at Dazai’s tardiness when the world outside explodes in a kaleidoscope of smoke and flames. At first, you are unable to grasp the situation when the attacks strike, but as you slowly turn to the looming floor-to-ceiling windows sprawled across the wall to your left, you swiftly become all-too aware of the current reality. The glass panels act as a clear, unfiltered lens to the horrors unfolding. Each succeeding blast is powerful enough that their tremors breach the palace walls, splitting open the floor tiles. In just two minutes time, you count three in total. 

Dazai still has not arrived for dinner. 

BOOM!

Four in total. 

The city—no—the Kingdom is on fire, and terror spreads across the land. It is so dark, so palpable, you can feel its heavy weight in your veins. All you can do is sit and stare through the safety of the palace, nestled on a hilltop miles above the carnage ravaging its nation’s people. 

The servants gasp and shriek, panic blinding them to reason. Warning bells ring in cacophony. The explosions do not stop. 

Five. 

A gentle but firm hand grips your shoulder. “Your Highness, we must leave. It is dangerous–!” The butler never finishes his sentence. One moment he is urging you to action, the next he is frozen. The elderly man gasps, and it is the last thing he does before dropping to the floor. Dead. 

You shoot out of your seat, hands trembling. Blood seeps from a huge gaping wound in his chest. From it, a large hunk of metal juts out. A mere moment ago, the object had flown through the window so fast that if not for its size, you would have mistaken it for a hunting arrow. But an arrow it could never be. The horribly large instrument’s identity was clear to you. The butler had been killed by a stray fragment of shrapnel.

Blood-curdling screams echo across the room. The servants, faced with the corpse, all scramble out in fear and disgust. You are the only one left in the dining hall. Well. You and the dead man, together in the dining hall that no longer resembles its namesake. Glass litters the floor, rained down when the debris broke through. Meals and flutes of wine have found new homes on the ground, the latter mixing with the pungent iron puddle pooling around the butler. It is a disaster. Carnage. Violence in its rawest form.  

Six. 

You start to feel sick. 

The door bursts open, just another background noise in the midst of chaos. In a daze, you reach for a table corner to steady yourself, not bothering to check who had just rushed in. You don’t need to. The footsteps are all too familiar—Dazai has finally arrived. 

“[Name]. You’re alright. Thank god.” Dazai’s tone slightly wobbles, but the panic in his eyes subsides when he sees you. “Come with me. There is a safe passage–“

Dazai reaches out to you, a gentle hand resting on your shoulder, but you wrench yourself out of his grasp. 

“No.”

He shakes his head. “[Name], I have no time for any stubbornness you may–”

Again, you refute him. “I’m not being stubborn! How dare you accuse me of such a thing in this situation.”

“Then what will you call this?” He gestures to your stillness, unmoving even as Dazai gently tugs on your arm. “Just…orderly defiance? Disobedience? Pure and utter rebellion? Should I go on?!”

“I do not need nor want to enter whatever safe house you have conjured up for emergencies such as this,” you scoff. 

“Are you even hearing yourself? Yes, precisely! An emergency. Which means you have to evacuate somewhere safe!”

Safe? A man has just died in front of you while trying to help you. The earth is giving way to explosives; craters forming underneath fresh footprints and innocent flesh. There is nowhere safe. 

“Leave me be. Go attend to your people.”

Dazai falters. “Are you joking?” At your serious expression, he steps closer. Incredulity colours the sharp planes of his face. “Did you hit your head?”

“With what motive would I have to joke in these circumstances?”

“Then why are you asking for such a ridiculous thing? We must ensure your safety. I must.”

“My safety? Despite…” You wave your hand at the body on the floor. “This? My safety is not a priority. It should not even be a concern.”

“What on earth are you talking about? You are the throne’s–”

“I am one person! One. Meanwhile, hundreds of people are dying as we stand here and argue. Your people. I may despise you, but I won’t take that hatred out on civilians. I will not hide away in a corner while others are suffering. I refuse to.”

Dazai’s demeanor softens. Just a tad. “What exactly do you expect to do?”

“To investigate. To aid the injured and frightened. To help in any way possible and end this madness.” You run a hand through your hair, the sounds of assault has stopped, but the screams from the aftermath still echo the skies. Every moment stood arguing with Dazai is another moment lost. You itch to run. 

“That is beyond your capability and not your responsibility.”

You ignore the slight dig from the first part. “Then what is? Am I not one half of the crown? Partial to this nation’s leadership?”

“You are, but–”

“But what? What could possibly–”

“You are not one of us! You are…”

An outsider. 

You take a step back. “I never claimed to be one of you.” It is not something you’d ever desire either—to belong to a traitor's nation. 

“[Name]. That’s not what I meant.” Dazai reaches out, but freezes at your retreat. His arm lowers and he sighs defeatedly. 

“Is it not? You’re right. I’m not one of you. I am from the Empire—from enemy lands. An invader. Not even a polished crown and fancy title could erase that, could it?”

“That is… besides the point.” You both know it is not. “You cannot go out there.”

Your foot taps against the hardwood floor, impatient and driven by nerves. “And why not?”

“Who do you think is attacking us?”

“I…” you falter. A moment passes. “I don’t know.”

For almost a millennia, the Kingdom has had no enemies other than the Empire, but the nations had eventually come to a peace agreement. That was the entire point of your marriage to Dazai.

“The people here have lived under the cloak of war for decades. Years and years of devastation have turned them against the Empire. In their minds—even if it’s untrue—your nation is the perpetrator. As it always has been to them. Even if we are allies on paper, the victims of the past will not forget such brutalities. If you go out there…”

Shit. He’s right. 

You sigh, relenting. “I’ll likely be torn to shreds just for the blood running through my veins.”

He winces. “Unfortunately.”

You slump into a chair behind you, hands rubbing against your weary face in an attempt to weather away the fatigue. “Then if not my father, who is responsible? You must have a guess, at least.”

Dazai’s eyebrows scrunch together like they always do whenever he thinks. “I… yes. Yes, of course. It is most likely a rebellion group acting against the royal lineage. One of the four noble families’ doing. I will assign someone to investigate immediately.”

You swallow, unconvinced. There is no indication that Dazai is lying, but for whatever reason, doubt stirs unsettlingly in your gut. You push it down in favor of gaining more information. 

“The head houses of the nobility? They oppose the crown? I thought they were pillars of the monarchy—there to maintain your throne.”

Dazai lets out a sharp bark of laughter, humorless at best. “My father’s throne. Not mine.  These days, those vultures will do anything to pick away at my reign until there is nothing left. Then, they’ll swoop in, laying claim to the country and its fortunes.”

You shift uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond or react to his sincerity. So you decide to change the subject instead. 

“We’re wasting time. The attacks have stopped, but the people still require… your help.” 

Not mine, you think. They would sooner accept my death than my aid. 

Dazai opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but is interrupted by the frantic call of another. A short soldier with sullied armour rushes inside, chest heaving from exertion. 

“Sire!” The young man closes the distance with short but swift strides, straw blonde hair matted to his forehead from sweat and grime. 

“Kenji. Report.”

“Six devices. Each manually detonated.” The soldier salutes. 

The news falls upon you like a sack of stones. 

“You’re telling me…?” 

Kenji grimaces at the low snarl his liege makes, and perhaps at the fury in your eyes as well. “Yes, sire. The explosives were set off by suicide bombers. They were all in public, high-traffic, civilian areas.”

Oh god. Oh god!

“How many?” Dazai sounds murderous. 

Kenji looks down, the soldier seeming much younger in that instance. A child. One that has no business in battlefields and suits of armour. “Four-hundred and thirteen. That we know of.”

“Capture?”

“One. Tried to bite his pill, but we got him in time.”

“Cellar B?”

“Correct, sire.”

Dazai nods slowly. “Send Fukuzawa down to meet me there. Tell him it is High category.”

Without another word or glance to anyone, the king turns and walks out, leaving you to wade in a deep, numb tension that seems to want to engulf you in its misery. Kenji hurriedly scurries after him, and the moment you are alone, your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths turn into strangled heaves, and a familiar despair overwhelms you. 

With your head in your hands, for the first time since arriving, you let yourself weep.

—

˚ · . tags: @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007 @letsliveagaintoday @lacunanonymoused @bejeweledgirl @nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf

[girl-next-door-writes]

I Wanna Be Your Man

Characters: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary:  Amidst playful banter at a High School basketball game, Steve might just find his feelings for you aren’t as unrequited as he believed.

Word Count: 1066 word

Prompt: Sports Game. Wearing their hoodie. Seeing them with kids/baby. “Don’t You Dare.”

A/N: This is the final part of my Build-A-Festive-Fics and this one is a little birthday gift to myself. Thank you to all of you who have sent in prompts and to all who have read my ramblings. I hope you all have a very happy festive period.

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

The final game of the year, the high school gymnasium buzzed with infectious holiday spirit as a throng of enthusiastic attendees filled the space. The gymnasium, adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, emitted a warm glow that added a touch of magic to the atmosphere that heightened the anticipation in the air.

The bleachers were filled with excited spectators, donned in a kaleidoscope of red and green attire, while Santa hats and jingling bells added a playful touch to the crowd. The cheerleading squad energetically led the crowd in spirited cheers, their voices harmonizing with the gentle beats of holiday tunes playing softly in the background. The polished hardwood court shimmered under the brilliant glow of the arena lights, setting the stage for an exhilarating showdown. As both home and away players mentally prepared for the game, even the basketball itself seemed to radiate with a hint of festive enchantment, enhancing the overall sense of excitement and celebration in the gymnasium.

Your gaze swept across the lively crowd, and a gentle smile played on your lips as you identified your friends amidst the sea of faces. Ascending the steps toward them, the familiar sound of good-natured bickering reached your ears, a customary occurrence at these events. The intricate dance of negotiations to secure preferred seating arrangements unfolded before you, a complex strategy that often bordered on chaos, presided over by Steve Harrington. Even Dustin passionately defending his stance on avoiding the end of a row, did not diminish the buoyancy of your mood.

"For the last time, just plant yourself in a seat," Steve huffed, his patience wearing thin as he attempted to corral five spirited teenagers.

"I'll take the end, no big deal. You know I'm not picky about where I sit," you grinned, your arrival causing Steve's frustrated expression to morph into a charming smile.

"Absolutely not. I don't want you getting stuck on the steps when these goofballs start shoving each other," he yielded, stepping aside to let you claim the seat next to the end before finally settling down beside you.

"Hey there, hope these troublemakers haven't been giving you too much grief," you chuckled, playfully nudging your shoulder against his in the snug space.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Of course not, you're the best babysitter in Hawkins," you teased, prompting an eye roll from Steve.

"Hey, look! It's Lucas!" Max blurted out, enthusiastically pointing to her boyfriend on the court and waving with gusto.

The game started and you were caught up in the electrifying energy of the court. Meanwhile, Steve found himself captivated by you, pleasantly distracted by your presence. His gaze couldn't help but gravitate toward you, a tender, goofy smile dancing on his lips. His feelings for you had been simmering for quite some time, yet the shift from friendship to something more eluded him.

Lucas nailed a three-pointer, prompting the Hawkins High crowd to erupt into cheers, and everyone leapt to their feet in excitement. "That was an insane shot!" you exclaimed, turning to Steve, who had seemingly missed the spectacular basket, his attention wholly fixated on you.

"The kid's good," he acknowledged with a nod, making a deliberate effort to redirect his gaze towards the court.

The game raced on at a frantic pace, maintaining its intensity, and Hawkins High found themselves with a narrow lead as the halftime approached. As soon as the whistle blew, Dustin hurried off to the bathroom, while Mike and Will made a beeline for refreshments, leaving Elle and Max engrossed in animated conversation about Lucas's stellar performance.

As you and Steve rose to allow the others to pass, he observed you shivering. Despite the gymnasium's warmth, you had shed your thick winter coat and sat there in just a thin t-shirt.

"Here," he said softly, swiftly removing his hoodie and extending it toward you as the two of you settled back into your seats.

"Thanks. I thought I'd be okay, but there's a draft in here or something."

"Don't worry about it. I was getting hot anyway."

"Yeah, you were," you teased, injecting a hint of flirtation into your words. His cheeks warmed as he observed you slipping into his hoodie, the sight of you wearing his clothes sending his heart into a rapid rhythm.

He didn't get a chance to respond, though, as a small kid, no more than six years old, stumbled on the steps beside him, accidentally spilling his drink, which ended up partly on Steve and mostly on the floor.

"Shit." Steve sprang to his feet, the cold soda seeping into his jeans. Instead of immediately attending to his own predicament, he bent down to check on the kid. "You okay, buddy? No injuries? We can fix a spilled drink."

Observing this interaction and then witnessing Steve help the boy back to his parents stirred a warm feeling within you. His kindness shone through, and while other guys his age might have grumbled at the inconvenience, he made sure the child was okay.

"How are you single?" you asked playfully, handing him some tissues from your coat pocket as he returned to his seat.

"I guess I'm just not good at the whole 'dating' thing," he shrugged bashfully.

"I'm not buying that. I swear I saw at least three girls swoon when you took care of that kid."

"You did? Which ones? I should go talk to them," he grinned, showing no intention of leaving your side.

"Don't you dare," you chuckled, narrowing your eyes at him in mock warning.

Whatever he was about to say in response was lost as Dustin, Will, and Mike returned, prompting the two of you to once again rise to your feet to let them pass. Determined not to lose the connection that had been building between you, Steve smoothly slipped his arm around your waist, drawing you into his side. He purposefully avoided meeting your gaze, focusing on the game as it started up again. As he felt you subtly lean into him, it became clear that you weren't upset with his spontaneous move, causing his heart to race with a mix of nervous excitement and contentment.

Years from now, Steve couldn't recall the exact score of the game, but he certainly remembered every detail about you. It was a day etched in his memory, marking the moment he decided to seize the opportunity and finally ask you out.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 1 - The International

Summary: The year is 1969. The place, The International Hotel. Aspiring young singer Valerie Pedretti has a chance encounter with Elvis Presley in an elevator that will changer life forever, for both good and bad. Author's Notes: You guys, I am incorrigible. I know. Constantly going back to old fics to reread and retool them. I think I finally got it right this time. If you will indulge, please read from chapter 1 again. I think you'll like it.

To me, 1967-1971 EP is kind of peak Elvis, and so I wanted to write a fic with him smack dab in that time period. In the 1969-1970 period, especially, Elvis was probably the most handsome and alluring man in the galaxy.

Lots of anachronisms and historical inaccuracies in this one, but just roll with it because it's fun! For example: Elvis in real life did not eat seafood but in a later chapter, we find out not only does he eat it but he has an allergy to it. It's for the narrative, I promise. :-)

I based Valerie, in a sense, off of a mixture of Kathy Westmoreland - who I find immensely dry and boring IRL but who had a cool meeting story with Elvis, as well as Joyce Bova and Linda Thompson. Kathy met the real Elvis for the first time in an elevator, and that really inspired this work. Priscilla exists in this universe but she and Elvis get a divorce far earlier than in real life. Theirs, in some ways like real life, is a marriage of convenience and an "arrangement." Lisa Marie does not exist in this universe.

Vegas hit me like a slap in the face with a rhinestone glove. The kind of place that promises you the moon and delivers green cheese, but damn if you don't want to believe in it anyway. My cab rolled down the strip toward the International Hotel, and I pressed my forehead against the window like a kid at a candy store, watching the greatest show on earth scroll by in technicolor.

It was July 1969, just days after Neil Armstrong had bounced around on the moon, and the whole world still felt drunk on the idea that anything was possible. We cruised down the Strip, past Caesar's Palace with its Roman statues standing sentinel in the desert heat, past the Flamingo where Bugsy Siegel’s ghost still lingered, straight toward the International Hotel where my own small shot at glory waited.

I didn't know it yet, but I was about to have what my mother would call A Significant Moment. The kind that divides your life into Before and After, like a vinyl record with its A and B sides. But right then, all I knew was that I was tired, my clothes were a disaster, and I was woefully unprepared for tomorrow's audition.

The audition. Good lord, let's not even go there yet.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching sequined showgirls and sailors on shore leave blur past in a kaleidoscope of color. The radio was playing "In the Year 2525," and somewhere in the city, Frank Sinatra was preparing for another show. The same Frank Sinatra I'd be auditioning for tomorrow, assuming I didn't die of nerves first.

The cabbie jerked to the curb in front of the International. "That'll be four-fifty, miss." I handed him a wrinkled five and stepped out into air so hot it felt like opening an oven door. The scene that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks.

The place was absolute bedlam. Not your usual Vegas chaos either – this was something else entirely. The International Hotel lobby looked like Elvis Presley had exploded all over it. You know those old Bible pictures of saints with the beams of light shooting out of them? Picture that, but with pompadours and rhinestones. His face was everywhere - posters, cardboard cutouts, even pins that said "I ❤️ ELVIS" in letters that could probably be seen from space.

Crowds of women with hair teased higher than their hopes pressed against velvet ropes, many of them clutching signs that said things like "Elvis We Love You" and "Marry Me EP!" Some were crying. Actually crying, their mascara running in black rivers down their cheeks. Security guards with arms like Christmas hams tried to maintain order, while vendors worked the crowd selling everything from buttons to teddy bears to – I kid you not – little vials of water supposedly blessed by the man himself. 

That's when it hit me. This wasn't just any weekend at the International. This was the kickoff of Elvis Presley's big comeback residency. Ground zero for Elvis-mania.

"Well, shit," I muttered, suddenly feeling like the universe's favorite cosmic joke. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I had to walk into the one where the King was holding court.

The lobby was even worse. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and Aqua Net, and somewhere a speaker was playing "Love Me Tender" like it was heavenly muzak. I'd never quite understood the hysteria around Elvis. Sure, he was handsome in his own way, but what was it about him that made grown women act like teenagers?

I caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors and winced. My dark curls had gone feral in the desert heat, my mascara was smudged, and the coffee stain on my blouse looked even worse under the chandelier lights. I looked exactly like what I was – a girl who'd spent six hours trapped on a delayed flight from Chicago, stress-eating Oreos and reading the same magazine until the pages wore thin.

The blonde behind the check-in desk was reading Variety when I approached. Her name tag said BRENDA but her expression said DON'T BOTHER ME.

"Checking in?" she asked without looking up. "Name?"

"Reservation should be under Deena Lovelace."

That got her attention. Her penciled eyebrows shot up as she gave me a head-to-toe assessment that left frost on her glasses. "You're Deena? The one auditioning for Sinatra tomorrow? We spoke on the phone, remember?"

I gritted my teeth into what I hoped passed for a smile. "No, actually. I'm Valerie. Deena's friend. She's sick, so I'm filling in."

Brenda's look could have frozen hell over, but she handed me a key. "Room 2806. If you need anything, ask for Hector."

A bellhop materialized – Hector himself, I assumed – reaching for my bags. I waved him off with what turned out to be misplaced confidence. "I can manage."

The thing about the International Hotel was that it had been designed by someone who believed strongly in giving guests the full maze experience. Every corridor looked identical, with the same gold-flecked mirrors and deep crimson carpet. The crowds thinned out as I wandered deeper into the building's heart, the sounds of Elvis-mania fading to a distant hum.

My feet were screaming bloody murder in my go-go boots. My arms ached from dragging my overpacked suitcases. And my chances of actually finding room 2806 seemed about as likely as Elvis himself appearing to give me directions.

I ended up in a quiet hallway that felt different from the others. The carpet was thicker here, the lighting softer, the wood paneling probably worth more than my car. Even the air felt expensive. I should have realized I'd wandered into restricted territory, but by then my dogs were barking so loud I couldn't think straight.

The elevator, when I found it, was elegant in an understated way – all dark wood and soft lighting. No bright brass or mirrors like the tourist elevators. I was too tired to question my good fortune. I kicked off my boots, letting my screaming feet sink into that plush carpet, and started humming without thinking. It was an old lullaby my mother used to sing, the kind that lives in your bones and comes out when your guard is down.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. I dragged my bags inside and slumped against the wall, already dreaming of a hot bath and a soft bed. The doors started to close and I was finally alone. Or I thought I was. Then a hand shot out—a big hand with rings that could double as brass knuckles—and stopped the doors.

Remember what I said about Significant Moments? This was mine, walking into that elevator in a black suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary, with a pink silk scarf at his throat and eyes bluer than a Minnesota winter behind tinted glasses. They looked at me and saw everything.

Elvis Presley. The King himself.

Time seemed to slow down, the way it does in dreams or car crashes. The man who stepped into that elevator made the air change – made everything change. You know how people talk about electricity crackling between two people? I'd always thought that was just romance novel nonsense. I was wrong.

He wasn't alone—a redheaded man built like a brick wall stood beside him, hand resting on what I was pretty sure was a gun. But it was Elvis who filled that elevator like smoke from a Tennessee cigarette, making everything else fade into background noise.

You know how sometimes you think you understand something, but then you realize you didn't understand it at all? That's how it was with Elvis's fame. I'd never been one of those screaming fans, never understood what all the fuss was about. But standing there in that elevator, watching him smile at me like he had all the secrets to the universe tucked behind those perfect teeth, I got it. Boy, did I get it.

"You've had a long day, honey.” His voice was pure Memphis nightclub, smooth as whiskey and twice as intoxicating. It seemed to bypass my ears entirely and go straight to parts of my anatomy that had no business responding to a stranger's voice that way.

I said yes and no and then yes again. My heart was doing double time, and I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. Every nerve ending seemed suddenly, acutely aware of his presence.

He smiled then, and it was like watching the sun come up. My knees actually wobbled. I finally understood why they put velvet ropes between Elvis and his fans. That man was a lethal weapon.

"The beds here are good," he said. Even the way he leaned against the elevator wall was poetry, all controlled power and casual grace.

I looked at the ceiling because I could not look at him. My stomach moved in ways it should not move. The elevator felt smaller somehow, the air between us alive with possibility.

"Pardon my manners," he said, and even that slight motion sent another wave of his cologne my way. "I'm Elvis, and this here's my pal Red. Who might you be?"

"Valerie," I managed, my voice barely more than a whisper. I was achingly conscious of how close he was, how the silk of his suit caught the light when he moved.

"Val-e-rie." He drew out each syllable like he was tasting them, turning my plain-Jane name into something rich and strange. The way his mouth shaped the sounds made my stomach flip. "A pretty name for a pretty little songbird."

The pet name caught me off guard until I remembered – the humming. He'd heard me humming while I waited for the elevator. Heat crept up my neck. His eyes hadn't left my face, and I could feel that gaze like a physical touch.

"I got ears like a well-tuned radar dish," he said, as if reading my mind. Each word seemed to hover in the air between us. "In town for a show?"

"An audition," I admitted, trying to ignore how my skin tingled every time he shifted position. "For Sinatra's show. I'm... I'm filling in for a friend."

Something flickered in his expression. "That right?" His gaze swept over me again, slower this time, more deliberate. It felt like being touched by velvet. "And what will you be singing for Ol' Blue Eyes?"

I gave him my prepared answer about standards and medleys, trying not to let on that I barely knew the material. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but made my stomach drop like I'd missed a step going downstairs.

"A classic set list. You'll do great, honey."

The elevator slowed to a stop. Elvis moved past me toward the door, so close that the fabric of his suit jacket brushed my arm. That brief contact sent electricity skating across my skin. His cologne – something spicy and smoky – wrapped around me like an embrace. He paused in the doorway to look back at me and his eyes were dark and full of something I did not understand but wanted to.

"Knock ‘em dead, songbird."

Then he was gone, leaving nothing but that spicy scent and the memory of blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. I sagged against the elevator wall, my knees finally giving up the fight against gravity.

Now I understood. God help me, did I understand. All those screaming girls, all those tears and Elvis-induced hysteria – it made perfect sense. The real thing, in person, was like staring into the sun. No wonder women fainted.

I made it to my room on autopilot, barely registering the route. Inside, I face-planted onto the bed, my mind spinning like a 45 on a turntable. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him – the way he'd looked at me, the curve of his smile, the way he'd said my name like he was savoring it. The memory of his cologne lingered in my nose, and my arm still tingled where his jacket had brushed it.

I'd come to Vegas to audition for Sinatra. I'd come to maybe, finally, make something of myself. I hadn't come to get turned inside out by Elvis Presley in an elevator.

That night, I lay on the bed and thought about his eyes and his voice and the way he moved. I did not want to think about these things but they came anyway.

I knew then that Vegas would be different than I had planned. The elevator had changed everything. But that is how it is with elevators and beautiful men who wear rings and pink silk. They change things. And you can only ride up or down and see where they take you. Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone @eapep @elvispresleywife @that-hotdog @landlockedmermaid77 @sissylittlefeather @kawaiiwitchy

[canadianno]

💕Positivity prime time! Share five things you love about yourself, four things you're excited about, OR three people you care deeply about and why. Pass this along to someone else who makes you smile💕

Uhmmmmmm!!!! Uhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!

I have more than 3 people I care about . But also less of all the other things (well I could probably find 5 things but I don't want to)

So you're getting all the people I care about . Hell yeah

FIRST of all. I love my mom. I love my mom so so so much . Best mom ever!!! She has been through so much and I love her :] I love my mom so so much

SECOND of all. My best friend, Ambrose! If they had a tumblr account I'd @ them but I'm kind of glad they don't. They're so funny, and so smart. I promised them I'd play a game soon and I'm still saving up for it. 4 going on 5 years of complete and utter chaos baby!!

Now for the ppl actually on tumblr oh boy . I don't remember usernames for shit lets go

@bvnny-skvllz dragged me down into the COTL fandom. Beloved friend, aus' georg, I love clinking all of my characters against theirs like little dolls. They know all the warrior cats animation community drama and they talk about it with me :3

@sock-kaleidoscope beloved friend!!!!! The first COTL fic outside of TROD that I ever read. DM of the dnd campaign I'm in and they're fuckin PHENOMENAL at it!!! The absolute silliest little characters. Always have something fun to say.

@ditzyclown beloved friend:DDDDDD I love being on call with them and listening to their birds scream in the background. Phenomenal art btw?? Deserves more hype. I am Feannor supporter number one baby!

@amimuu beloved friend!!!! The sweetest person ever. Their art is so yummy. Their au was the third COTL fic I ever read I think. This isn't counting Bunnys oneshots btw,, but this one's about Ami . Ami is so cool. They also make amazing music??? Little game tunes that are incredible???

Alz - they don't have an account that I know of but they live in my inbox . Had a dream last night that I found their account by accident btw. My favorite asshole ever. They're so mean <3

@aniimoni beloved friend!!! The silliest art ever. They never run out of reaction images. It frightens me a little bit. They've eaten crickets before. I think that it's cool :3

There are so many more people I wish I could mention but I'm in class and this is hard enough. Shouout to Ouchie, Wolsal, Skippy, Zoph, Tyler, Corvus, Oddboi, Amir, Finley, Terb, Cowboy, Mamba, Squid, Cora, Kaili, Jack, Jason, Chloe and everyone else I forgot :]]]]

[steddieunderdogfics]

I feel weird about it but I'll rec my own fic for slow burn weekend 🫣😅

Cause there's no better love (that beckons above me) by citrusmuppet -

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48108277/chapters/121310824

Cause there's no better love (that beckons above me) by citrusmuppet

@soulsofstarsliveinyourveins

Rating: Mature

108,689 words, 19/30 chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Steddie but if they were cursed by the gods, Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Munson in the Upside Down, Eddie Munson awakens an old god with his music, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Vampire Eddie Munson, Dungeons & Dragons References, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Soulmates, Apollo Being an Asshole (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Vikings, Slow Burn, Eddie Munson as Kas the Betrayer (Dungeons & Dragons), Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Are Best Friends, druid Steve Harrington, Blood Drinking, Fix-It of Sorts, Virgin Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunninham had an eating disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Undeath, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Bisexual Carol Perkins, Bisexual Nancy Wheeler

Summary:

Her gaze caught Steve’s, “Apollo visited you already.” Every muscle in Steve’s body grew taut, “How-” He began, only to be cut off by a shriek of laughter from Eddie. “Apollo? The Greek God of the Sun?” Why would Eddie know about Apollo? “It wasn’t a dream, Steven. It was a memory. Apollo always offers you the same deal.” She intoned, and Steve’s mind was in a whirlwind of chaos at her statement. Because if that wasn’t a dream, if it was a memory then that would make…he swung his head around to look at Eddie and this time…this time he really looked because that would make him- Steve’s soulmate. Eddie should be dead right now. By all accounts, this was the end of the road for them. The kaleidoscopic feelings and memories began to fill in Steve’s mind and he knew. Knew that under other circumstances that what they’d had up to this point was all they usually got. OR Eddie awakens a sleeping goddess with his guitar in the Upside Down and changes the course of their fight with Vecna and the Mindflayer.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Slow Burn.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[saved-fanfiction]

Garazeb Orrelios x Reader

Note: Okay, so this is my first ever fanfic. I have one more I wrote but haven’t revised it so idk if id actually post it. I highly doubt I'll ever write again; I just couldn’t help it. There are like one or two Zeb x reader fics out there. It should be neutral reader and I had the idea to make it my OC but figured it would be more accessible to make it an x reader Anyway, plz go easy idk how I feel about it.

Word count: 925

The rhythmic thump of music reverberated through the crowded streets of Zeltron as Zeb strode purposefully alongside you. The vibrant colors of the diverse alien planet mingled in a kaleidoscope of celebration around them.

Zeb glanced over at you, his eyes studying your features before speaking. "You ready for this? These crowded places ain't exactly our usual scene."

You nodded, a small grin on your face. "I'm game, Zeb. Besides, it's a good change from our usual missions."

You maneuvered through the throng of partygoers, the aroma of exotic foods and the sounds of laughter filling the air. Zeb's eyes scanned the area, alert for any sign of trouble. He moves so his body walks closer with yours. "Stay close, this place might be lively, but it's easy to get lost in the chaos."

You nodded again as you glanced around at the alien revelers, fascinated by the diversity of species and customs. "It's incredible how different it is here. So many people celebrating together, all while the Empire rules the galaxy."

"Yeah, it's a melting pot, alright. But we're not here to party. We've got a job to do."

You followed his lead as he navigated through the maze of stalls and entertainers. Zeb's keen eyes darted around, ever watchful. "Keep your eyes peeled. Our contact could be anywhere in this chaos."

As you and Zeb made your way through, scanning faces for any sign of their contact, a figure caught your attention. A lithe and charismatic individual, waved you over.

"Over here, friends! I've been expecting you," the informant smiled widely. Zeb's furrowed brow betrayed a hint of unease as he kept a close eye on the interaction. He leads you both through a lounge, then to what looks like an office room. 

The informant stops at the door open and as you walk through he hovers his hand on the small of your back with his other arm extended to show you the way forward. "I must say, I'm pleased to have your company." 

It's much more quiet, there is a mirror wall behind the desk and shelves of trinkets litter the walls, almost like trophies. He takes a seat leaning back as far as he can with one elbow propped on the chair arm. He then motions for you both to sit across from him.

Zeb's fists tightened as he grumbled under his breath. "We're here for information, not to make friends."

You glance at Zeb, and also try to steer the conversation back to the mission. "Right. We need to know what you've heard about the Imperial shipments in this sector." 

His eyes look Zeb up and down, acknowledging his presence with a condescending smirk. "Ah the big, strong protector. I can see why you keep him around."

Zeb's patience wore thin but he maintained his composure, all while staring daggers at the man. "We don't have time for games. What do you know?" 

You understand he's a reliable informant for the rebellion so opting to not verbally degrade the slender man may be the better option. You decide to cross your arm and raise your brows expectantly.

The informant's previous demeanor diminished as he began relaying crucial details about Imperial activities in the sector. Zeb listened intently, his focus solely on the information being provided. As the conversation continued, Zeb's stance softened slightly, recognizing the value of the information despite his initial reservations about the man's behavior.

As you left the office, the atmosphere between you had shifted. While you were pleased to have secured valuable intel, you noticed Zeb's brooding silence.

"Zeb, everything alright?"

He grunted in response. "Just making sure we're not followed. Can't be too careful." But his gaze wasn’t too focused on the surroundings.

You aren’t satisfied with his response so you continue to pry. "But you seem a bit… off. Is something bothering you?"

Zeb's brow furrowed as he quickened his pace, trying to dismiss your concern. "Nothing's bothering me. Let's focus on getting back to the Ghost and log the intel."

As you both boarded the Ghost and settled in, Zeb sat on the curved cushions in the lounge busing himself with documenting the gathered intel on a holopad. His focus was intense, almost as if he was deliberately avoiding any and all conversation.

You thought it best to give him space and wait till he was finished. After some time the Lasat retreated into his quarters. You knock on the open doorway and lean against it.

"Zeb, seriously, what's going on?" you pressed gently. 

He sighed heavily while sitting up in his cot, his eyes meet yours briefly before finding the floor. "I... I just... wasn't too keen on the way that informant was behaving.” He sighs before admitting sharply, “I worry about you, okay.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. Zeb, known for his gruff exterior, rarely shared such sentiments openly. It was cute knowing he cared. "Zeb, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time." 

His arms are now crossed and his eyes find the poster on the wall very interesting. "I know, but... I can’t help but feel like it's my job to protect you. It’s stupid, I know you can take care of-” He didn’t notice you walking toward him, you silenced him by placing a hand on his arm. Your touch is warm and comforting. When he gathers the courage to look, you are kneeling in front of him with a soft smile. Your eyes look wide with admiration.

“It’s my job to protect you too.”

[tar-thelien]

Just finished it - anywayyy here is my Melkor x Nienna & Angbang fic I wrote on yesterday and today, I made it into a series as I want to explore it more in the future :)

Summary:

Mairon encounters Mbelekōre at a party, celebrating Mbelekōre return to Ilmarin following yet another of his exploits. They engage in a conversation about the concept of perfection, delving into its intricacies and philosophies while the Vala patiently anticipates the arrival of someone who holds a special place in his heart.

Words: 2799

Notes:

I tried to write Melkor as really selfish but still a simp around Neinna and I think I did it pretty well Also, Melkor is such a loser and I love it for him 😌 Translations at the end

Mairon strolled through the vibrant marble corridors of Ilmarin, his eyes scanning for a secluded chamber or even a balcony where he could retreat to gather his thoughts and distance himself from the bustling gathering. The exquisite hues of the marble walls reflected a kaleidoscope of colors, creating a mesmerizing environment around him as he sought solace from the festivities.

Mbelekore's return marked a significant event, prompting the celebration with a grand party. While he appreciated the joyous atmosphere of such gatherings and the opportunity to dress in finery, an opportunity he would never turn down, there were always other activities that captivated his interest to a higher degree. However, the return of Mbelekore, the mightiest among them all, it was only fitting to pay tribute to his stature and esteemed position within their community, he just wished Aȝūlēz could have taken another with him.

Mairon, while unfamiliar with the Vala, as he had never had the opportunity to be near him, had gathered knowledge about him through hearsay. Ilmarë once suggested that if there were a Vala known for joyous spirits and celebration, it would undoubtedly be Mbelekōre. Despite the chaos often trailing in his wake, Mbelekōre possessed a talent for injecting mirth into any gathering, eliciting smiles and laughter from those around him. His gatherings were said to outshine even the renowned Arǭmēz, though Mairon had never experienced them firsthand and thus refrained from offering personal judgment on the matter. But his Midu was the best, and now that Mairon had tasted it for the first time at this feast, he found himself inclined to believe the others - truly if a Vala could make better Midu than Arǭmēz, then he could make better feasts than Arǭmēz too.

It was at this feast, however, that Mairon saw Mbelekōre for the first time, although from a distance, hidden behind other Maiar.

As noted by Eönwë, who was known to never turn down the opportunity to criticize Mbelekōre, why would anyone seek the company of one who had strayed from Eru's ways? The question lingered in Mairon's mind: Why did Mbelekōre attract the attention of numerous Maiar? Why was the always someone constantly engaged with him? While Mairon suspected merely curiosity, his own curiosity was piqued, and during the early stages of the feast, he witnessed the spectacle himself. Mbelekōre stood out like a radiant white flame in his resplendent golden attire, evoking a desire in Mairon to approach and observe the robe closely to see how it was made and all the details he knew to be there. Seated in a relaxed manner, Mbelekōre conversed effortlessly with the assembled Maiar, as if he owned Taniquetil itself.

To make it short, Mairon had seen a glimpse of the Vala, and already decided he didn´t like him.

Why did all those Maiar find such an arrogant character intriguing? It's worth noting that Mbelekōre wasn't the sole arrogant Vala; in fact, the majority of them possessed that trait. However, unlike most Valar who primarily interacted amongst themselves, and themselves only, Mbelekōre appeared to exhibit a greater interest in the Maiar, more than that he showed to his own siblings.

Observing a smile on his lips as he suddenly noticed an ajar doorway that beckoned him into a dimly lit chamber he without hesitation hastened his pace and entered the dark empty room.

Upon entering he came across a couch placed directly across from a wide open window, and sitting on that couch was an enigmatic figure. The being didn´t sound off anything so Mairon had to use his mortal form to see them, as he could not hear who they were in their music, as non sounded from them. As he approached the mysterious person, a sense of curiosity mingled with a hint of apprehension, intensifying the anticipation of the impending revelation. 

The being was attired in a snug black top that extended up to cover their necks and down towards their hands, paired with form fitting leggings as well as intricate white and gold embroidery shoes, reminiscent of tiny serpents almost appearing to devour the leather they were on. Their long white hair was styled into five thick, loosely woven braids fastened with golden clasps at the ends, making it look like the hair fastened into flowing gold at the end, framing a pallid, elongated face, painted with gold, accentuated by striking crimson eyes hurt looking into.

It was strange for any Ainur to be silent, as the power of silence was typically associated with Eru and certain beings from the Void such as Ungoliant, as per popular belief. He was unaware that one of these enigmatic entities had been extended an invitation - perhaps Mbelekōre had established a connection with one during his searching for the sacred flame.

He apologetically muttered, averting his gaze towards the floor while subtly ensuring he maintained a visual on the silhouette before him, "I apologize for my oversight, I had no knowledge of your presence," he softly spoke, as he made to leave the room.

The creature asked, "it seems quite noisy outside, don't you think?" turning to glance out the window once more, "you are welcome to remain here, as long as you do not disturb me. I have grown weary of all the fuss."

“All what?” Mairon asked the being as he walked close, not yet sitting.

"Them. They behave as though everything is fine as if all has changed for the better, and they persistently surround me, refusing to give me any peace. It is overwhelmingly noisy.”

"I eagerly await the presence of Melā Kherī," the being said without specifying who they were waiting on, "she assured me that she would join me shortly; she is currently engaged in a conversation with Vê, but she said she came only for me. In her presence, I always find solace and calm, and indeed, who does not? She is the only blessing of father that matters.”

Mairon observed the gold and white robes placed next to the figure, each adorned with exquisite gems and intricate embroidery featuring snakes and winged lizards. The robes lying on the couch prompted a realization within him. Oh.

"My sole purpose in being present here today is to once more hear her, for I miss her more than mine own brother. The grace and allure she possesses are truly remarkable, and she truly possesses the skill to state it through her mortal form as well," Mbelekōre spoke without shifting his gaze, "do we share a past encounter? You sound as if I should know you."

“I- I go by the name Mairon," he attempted to articulate with a composed tone, "holding the position of chief smith of Árātō Aȝūlēz.”

Mbelekōre chuckled softly before speaking, "indeed, my brother has acquainted me with your achievements, and he holds you in high regard, Maira."

“Mairon. If it pleases Árātō.”

This time Mbelekōre directed his intense gaze towards Mairon with a frown, a sight seldom experienced when observing Ainur in their earthly manifestations. Reflecting on this unprecedented display of emotions, it dawned on Mairon that perhaps it was a conscious act from Mbelekōre side, "how does my satisfaction relate to your preferred designation? I have the liberty to address you both as Mairon or Maira without hindrance. It does not make a difference for me."

“You are most gracious Árātō,” Mairon said with a bow.

“Belegúr.”

“Árātō?”

“Belegúr. That is what they shall call me. Father´s pets that is,” he said with a slight smile.

“I- I am confused Árātō,” Mairon said as he walked closer to the smiling Vala.

"The Minnónar! Many names they will bestow upon me, yet Melkóre and Belegúr resound most pleasingly to my ears. But let us keep such knowledge from Mānawenūz, for he will only make sure they change it, as a joke that is. Mine brother would give me the lamps, should I make such a request, think no foul of him, though he does spike my temper at times," he chuckled, reclining comfortably on the sofa, "tell me, Maia, have you not once harbored the desire to behold them? To witness a realm beyond the confines of your own or Aȝūlēz's forge? Or that of the magnificent gardens of Palúrien! Do you not yearn to gaze upon the fruits of our collaborative efforts?"

Mairon let out a disdainful hiss. Arrogant indeed. The irony of the Vala before him being dubbed the wisest was not lost on him as he praised the "wonders" of Arda, all the while engaging in actions that threatened its very existence. With a sneer, he remarked, "you appear to lack any appreciation for Arda yourself, Árātō.”

Belegúr appeared puzzled as he gazed, "what we have made? love it," he said. However, Mairon, in contrast, shook his head disapprovingly and remarked, "yet, you were the one who attempted to dismantle it, more than once."

Belegúr firmly declared, "No, I would never contemplate such actions. I simply undertook what was essential. Arda cannot be confined to just valleys and seas; she craves the presence of mountains and rivers," he paused before shifting his gaze nervously towards Mairon and asked, "do you seek solace in a world devoid of chaos and conflict? Would you truly enjoy a peaceful world?”

What question was this? Of course, he would! If Mbelekōre had just left them alone all would have been perfect and he would never have had to talk to Eönwë or Olórin, or many of the others. Ever. It would have saved him a lot of headage and time.

"Yes," he muttered, attempting to reassure himself, while envisioning a scenario where Arda existed without the meddling influence of Mbelekōre. In this alternate reality, the landscape would be adorned with lush Palúrien flora and the calm waters of Ullubōz would stretch endlessly. Despite one's location within this imagined world, the scenery would remain consistent – a harmonious display of natural beauty. In his mind's eye, he painted a portrait of perfection, envisioning a realm untouched by external disturbances.

Mbelekōre huffed at that, “tell me Mīrĭ: What defines perfection? I am eager to know - the term 'perfect' has crossed my ears frequently, yet its essence eludes me."

“Perfection is- Perfection is anything flawless. It is where everything is exactly right.”

Mbelekōre pondered, gazing out of his window again, "perfection isn't innate, is it? Maybe it's about striving to perfect something with our actions. Do you believe that everything around us is flawless?"

No. He did not think that. His thoughts diverged from that notion. Aȝūlēz would often turn a blind eye to imperfections in the tasks of other Maiar, becoming irate when Mairon attempted to correct them. On the other hand, Mānawenūz, excelled in no particular area, exhibiting a tendency towards sloppiness and dependence on his fellow Valar for resolutions. However, these sentiments were left unspoken.

“I believe,” Belegúr remarked, “that perfection lies in the exchanges that occur between individuals, where friendships are forged alongside rivalries. In a utopia where everything is flawless, the necessity of engaging with others diminishes, leading to a swift escalation of hatred and conflict born out of sheer boredom.”   

“That would make you happy?” Mairon asked coldly.

“No. But it would be entertaining, I shall not lie about that, but no. I would like a perfect Arda too, but to have that you have to have chaos, to have a perfect Ëa everyone have to have a purpose, and no one has a purpose where there is no conflict,” Belegúr said with a shy look at something behind Mairon, “I would hate to see you without a purpose Melā, it would remove mine own I fear.”

"Ëa would not have been, if you had not been, Melā,” a soft voice murmured from behind, prompting Mairon to turn towards Núri who had appeared, clad in a white gown embellished with grey embroidery, accompanied by a brown cloak.

Surrounding her tear stained swollen eyes, the complexion displayed a rich dark brown hue that enveloped the black sclera and dark grey iris. Her cascading grey hair was intricately woven into a pair of modest braids that trailed down to her feet, gracefully framing her chest. A delicate silver circlet adorned with two earrings resembling glistening water droplets sat with opals elegantly held the edge of her hood in place.

With a measured pace, she approached Belegúr, extending her pale gray hand, notable for the additional weeping eye adorning its back. She tenderly brushed his white skin, her expression tinged with sadness. However, the true surprise came when she settled beside him, and he tiredly leaned into her touch, a faint smile gracing his features, revealing teeth akin to a feline’s. Their interaction unfolded in a quiet intimacy, as unspoken emotions played out between them. Despite the unconventional nature of their bond, a sense of mutual understanding and comfort seemed to envelop around them. 

In a mesmerizing display, he melodiously sang the word "Melā," and the enchanting sound resonated beautifully, leaving Mairon utterly spellbound. The captivating melody sparked an intriguing thought within him – how would his own name be heard when carried by a voice that possessed that mesmerizing quality that could potentially rival even that of Eru's own.

"Melā, how beautiful you are, Ithīr," he tenderly leaned towards her, expressing his admiration and awe. Núri gracefully allowed him to rest his head in her lap, gazing up at her with adoration, as if she was the most precious being in existence, a sight the Mairon had never witnessed before between anyone. Perhaps it looked a bit like the looks shared between Aȝūlēz and Palúrien, though even the renowned bond between Mānawenūz and Baradā did not quite match the profound look exchanged between Belegúr and Núri he was witnessing.

"You, Melā, are a creation of unparalleled beauty, a sight that delights me, the most pleasing that has been ever created, for me and for Ëa both,” Belegúr declared with sincerity, as he lifted his own hand to caress her hair.

"Do not succumb to those thoughts at this moment, Melā," Núri replied with what sounded like a laugh, although strained as if her thoughts were filled with sorrows and worries, "will you not remain by my side for some time?"

"I shall stay to remain by your side for as long as possible, solely for you, and I shall return with tales and laughs for you to feast upon.”

"And you shall not allow the spark of fury to ignite within you upon its arrival?"

“I shall only take the light to give it to you should you ever ask Melā Kherī.”

“I only ask you not to hurt thyself, for that would course me greater sorrow than all else.”

“... you are beautiful in thy sorrow, but if it displeases you I shall control myself where father permits it.”

“I shall leave you know Árātō, you mentioned being tired and I would not wish to bother you, and Kherī,” Mairon said with a gentle descent to his knees, Mairon bowed his head respectfully before promptly rising and taking his leave from the presence of both Valar.

“I shall see you again Mīrĭ?” Belegúr asked, and if he sounded desperate, it was only in Mairon´s mind.

Mairon hastened back to the gathering hastily, choosing not to answer. He had been oblivious to the fact that Belegúr and Núri shared a romantic relationship. While he was aware of their strong bond, it was a surprise to him, just as it would be to anyone else who did not know. But maybe it wasn´t that big of a surprise, the more he thought about it.

Núri consistently spoke on his behalf, and he never caused any harm to her belongings; in fact, the situation was quite the contrary. 

Mairon had received multiple reports from Olórin regarding Belegúr's whimsical actions of transforming her halls into gold, only for her to jestingly demand its restoration to its original state of grey stone, which Belegúr willingly obliged after a shared smile. It was said that Belegúr would adorn various locations with precious gems, strategically placing them where he anticipated her presence. It was rumored that, as per Olórin's reports, Belegúr had even converted her personal quarters within the halls into extravagant chambers of pure gold adorned with exquisite sapphires and opals and she had never asked him to change it for the joy it brought her. Allegedly, Belegúr had sought her approval for these lavish changes, presenting her with an abundance of jewelry as a gesture of liking whenever they met.

Perhaps they were destined to be together, it's possible that they were truly meant for each other. It wouldn't be uncommon among the Valar for marriages to occur later than that of Mānawenūz and Baradā after all.

---

Check it out on AO3 and leave me a comment if you liked it :)

Notes:

Melkor: I love Nienna, she is my lady love and she is the most beautiful creation of Eru ever - I would acutely stop destroying everything if she asked that of me bla bla bla also I´m so great bla bla bla Mairon: … I could make him worse. Melkoorrr she´s asking you not to destroy the laaammmppssss Melkor the Vala of chaos, alcohol (and cheese because rot), riches, and uncontrolled emotions :) I think Melkor can enchant his voice to sound however he wants - not all Ainur can do that, however - which is why I don´t describe his voice because it just depends on who he´s talking to and what he wants. - I do like to think here he sounds something between I Monster (note a band made out of Dean Honer & Jarrod Gosling) and Hozier, where Nienna sounds more like Mitski Melkor´s true (Valarian) name is never given by Tolkien - I have a lot of ideas about that - meaning that Melkor himself probably wanted to keep it a secret for some unknown reason and wanted others to use elvish names for him instead of his real one given by Eru, just like Mairon keeps a title as a name and we never get to hear his real one either. I really like Melkor and Aule´s relationship although nothing is said about it other than Aule didn´t want to fight Melkor out of fear of destroying Arda - makes me wonder why Melkor suddenly then decided to steal his Maiar when it should be in his interest to keep Aule of the mind to not fight him. Anyway, I am a firm believer that Melkor was Eru´s favorite and that Eru shared a glimpse of the future here and there with Melkor at least in the beginning, before he fell into madness. - I mean Eru really let him do whatever the hell he wanted with only a few verbal remarks, and those weren´t even rebukes to Melkor just advising that what he was doing maybe wasn´t the best idea. I know Tolkien didn´t use Primitive Elvish but I´m going to use it as a language cut between Valarian and Early Quenya, Early Quneya which I HC Eru gave to the Ainur saying that the Elvers would use it they did they also just completely remade it. Mairon = The Admirable: Quenya Ilmarin = Mansion of The High Airs: Quenya; Manwe and Varda´s mansion Mbelekōre = Might(y) Arising; Masculin Name: Primitive Elvish - a longer version of Melkō-r Arǭmēz = Oromë; Valarin Midu = Alcholo/Nector: Valarian Melā = Love: Primitive Elvish Kherī = Lady: Primitiv Elvish Vê = Death (early name for Namo): Early Quenya Árātō = Lord: Primitiv Elvish Aȝūlēz = Aule: Valarian Maira = Admirable/Excellent/Precious: Quenya Belegúr = He who arises in Might; Mighty Arising: Sindarin Melkóre = He who arises in Might; Mighty Arising: Quenya Minnónar = First borns/Elvers: Quenya Palúrien = Lady of the Wide Earth, Bosom of the Earth; Feminine Name: Early Quenya; Also the name of Friday (the day) Ullubōz = Ulmo: Valarian Mānawenūz = One (closest) in accord with Eru: Valarian Ëa = Everything/Be (existence?? Tolkien please explain your words better) Núri = To growl/Ask for mercy&/pity - coming for the word Nuru = growl/grumble (early name for Nienna): Early Quenya Ithīr = Light: Valarian Baradā = lofty/high with strength/size/majesty (early name for Varda): Primitiv Elvish - wasn´t sure to use that or the early Quenya name (Súlimi) but I think Baradā sounds better when thinking about it Mīrĭ = Precious thing: Primitive Elvish

[imari4444]

Hello I’m Imari, mostly made this account to save my artwork on my Ao3 fics but I am an unorganized mess anyway and everyone needs some chaos in life <3

My Ao3 if you want to judge my godawful writing ✨:

So… I am clearly ‘fresh meat’ ready to be eaten by the tumblr wolves… the natural cycle of the wild :)

Guess here’s some facts bout me: I’m an art/ film student, am a genshin addict, constantly crave drama, and aspire to one day… own a kaleidoscope,

Oh and I would also like to learn phycology to become a better writer (don’t ask idk,)

Oh and I’ll prob make up tags to organize my posts, so for example if I’m posting something solely for my fic then it will have the tag of that fics title-

[scrunglepaws]

Yellow! I use this account to post my (Sonic) art and writing! I try to keep my queue full so I have at least one doodle to post a day. Any writing I get done is a bonus. :D (My Ao3 is also scrunglepaws!) I love all of the Sonic characters, but mostly focus on my favorites + my aus. Once in a while I post fanart of other peoples' fanstuff if I get the gumption! owo

My absolute favorite lil guys: Kit, Tails, Mangey, Nine, Metal Sonic, Tails Doll, Eclipse, Silver

Other guys I really like: Mighty, Ray, Chaos Sonic, Tangle, Surge, Dr. Starline, Mimic, Barry, Omega, Shard, Mecha Tails (the silver one), Rusty Rose, Sails, Froggy (No Place), Dive, Tilly, Thunderbolt

Favorite Character Matchups (x=romo, +=platonic): Nine+Mangey, KitxTails, Kit+Tails, Tails+Metal, Shadow+Metal, Tails+Shadow, Nine+Sonic

Likes/Follows will come from my main, scrungleCLAWS, just a heads up. I use that account to reblog cool art and things with my silly commentary (read: gushing usually) in the tags. I also post music I like and occasional mumblings. You should follow it to see other peoples' pretty art! If you want! 'w'

🌽WARNING: CORN ALERT!!! :D🌽

I am all about spreading joy, creativity, and positivity. I care a lot about the things I make and I hope that my passion shines through to make others happy, or even inspire. I'm also horrendously corny (you were warned!), but that's okay. At worse I'll give off second-hand embarrassment (I’m so sorry! 8C), but at best I'll attract people that aren't afraid to be earnest and cool and fun around me. That is to say: leave that super long comment, send that ask, draw/write that thing, formally request friendship (!?)! And if you're ever feeling shy, embarrassed, or like you're "just too much"… Think of this paragraph some person named SCRUNGLEPAWS wrote on the internet. You cannot possibly be more corny than me. It might even be illegal. Anyway, check out my sick aus:

🌈Kaleidoscope // #kaleidoscope au Fics: [Act 1] [Act 2] [Act 3] [Mangey Remembers (prequel)]

A scifi/survival/mystery starring Tails, Nine, and Mangey with a heavy focus on introspection and platonic love between friends. There's a huge layer of angst, hurt/comfort, and trauma above all the funky worldbuilding that's slowly revealed as the story progresses. And somehow, a bunch of silliness inbetween. // Sort of accidentally became a slowburn friendship between Mangey+Nine xD

🌊Someplace // #someplace au Fics: [Aquarius] [A Drop in the Ocean (prequel)] [planned sequel 'w']

A dysfunctional and slightly homicidal, but ultimately heartfelt and sweet KitxSails story. They're both adults struggling with trauma that is buried so deep that SURELY it won't pop up and affect the cute shit going on in the fic… Surely…  // This tag also encompasses Kit and Sails' backstories, including the fun worldbuilding expansion I did for No Place. Hence the au's name.

💜CaveTails* // #cavetails au Fics: [wip!]

Kittails + 50's-ish setting + Journey to the Center of the Earth/Lost World vibes + werefox Tails = fic that I can’t think of a name for, so it’s still called "CaveTails." Closeted gay research assistant Kit falls into the arms of a MOOOONSTER on a perilous expedition. Can the rest of the research expedition (Surge+the hooligans) save him in time? // Sort of a MangeyxKit fic- Tails is kind of an amalgamation of Tails, Mangey, and a werefox, so? (Just need a Nine/Kit fic and I'll have a complete set xD)

🌿The Kelpie // #folklore au Fics: [wip!]

Fantasy setting where fae creatures and normal mobians are at odds with each other. Tails tries to use his magical prowess to craft something that will surely take care of the local kelpie problem. Well, either that or he'll be met with a grisly underwater death. // Gasp, another kittails fic, who woulda thunk?? This time Kit gets to be the monster, though. And it's not really all that romantic.

☣️No Heroes Zone // #nhz au Fics: [Broken Bond] [Takeout]

Au where the dynamics between the characters have shifted to make everyone more towards that middling grey area. Eggman isn't as villainous, Sonic isn't as heroic. No one really has a good time. It's… Really hard to summarize this au? xD; It's a collection of episodic stories with no real overarching plot. Mostly focuses on Tails and Metal. Lots and lots of angst from everyone, with fun bits sprinkled in. Like: Maria's still alive and shares an apartment with Shadow. That's nice. :3

Other Stories/Ideas I Might Expand Upon: - The Last Fox (x): Knuckles/Tails swap au - Nine's Shadow (x): The Grim did have variants, they’re just dead / Zombie Tails - Rascals (x): Shadow has to take care of the main cast who have all mysteriously turned into babies - BFF AU (x): Tails Doll makes a Kit Doll for a friend - Alien* (x): Silver is an alien that crash lands on Mobius

That’s all for now! Have a fruitful/cornful day! :D

[jennycalendar]

you know. i was fine. i was neutral about calendiles and jenny. then i saw one of ur fics on ao3 abt buffy and read it. and i liked it. so i read more. and then i read what you make because it looked interesting. and then i read a bunch of your metas. and now i'm NOT FINE ABOUT HER. she is BATSHIT INSANE and she and giles are RIDICULOUS CHAOS COUPLE. this is 100% Your Fault.

also eagerly awaiting more same coin, it's excellent, and you have The Best Takes.

<3 you! you're awesome!

oh my gosh, thank you so so much!!!! <333 i feel my fic stands as such a convincing argument re: Why People Should Care About Calendiles, and there is also just such an absolute wealth of fic that writes jenny with such playful love, even outside of mine!!! she's just so hard not to love, imo. she is such a kaleidoscope of a character. i like to think that everyone can see something a little different in her. :)