#ghost is very happy with its violin

[anakahaia]

Inktober 2024

Day 30: Violin

[musicalmoritz]

Nene’s Music Taste

I was trying to learn more about Nene’s canon taste in music, which she describes as “enka songs about cursing your ex-lover.” Most fans seem to think she’d either enjoy pop or goth music and, while she could certainly enjoy more than one genre, I wanted to figure out what songs she would realistically be listening to. Here is what I learned (Nene enjoyers, get your pens out)

Enka is a Japanese music genre that dates back to the 1950s. It somewhat existed before that in violin music and later with guitar, but the 50s was when the style really came into its own. It maintains elements from traditional Japanese music and is often used in karaoke. The themes are similar to American blues music, lots of talk about heartache and the struggles of life. Alcohol, love, death, and the weather are frequent subjects of enka songs. It declined a bit around the 90s due to younger audiences not being able to relate to the lyrics but it had a revival in the early 2000s (which is the period I suspect Nene would enjoy, as that is the music she would’ve likely heard growing up). Music artists tend to get creative with this genre, there are many enka songs that involve rap as well as elements of tango and jazz

Unfortunately I wasn’t able to find many sources that gave lyrics translations for the songs recommendations I found, due to the genre not being popular in America (I hate us😒) but I did find an article that had a goldmine of song recs!! “Japan’s Top 50 Bestselling Enka Songs” by Daniel Morales, if anyone wants to check it out

I was trying to find some songs to add to my Aoinene playlist but sadly I didn’t have a lot of luck. If there happen to be any enka music fans reading this who also like Aoinene I would love your recommendations. Here’s what I did find though (all of these are from the list cited above):

“Tearful Love” by Yashiro Aki. Yes, I did mostly pick this one because of the name but it is an angsty love song, very much Nene levels of dramatics

“Crimson Karma” by Segawa Eiko. A star-crossed lovers song, Aoinene certified levels of angst

“But It Would Be Nice If You Came Near” by Toshi Itō and Happy and Blue. The singer in the song blames themself for their bad luck in love, more Nene vibes

“Solo Journey to Michinoku” by Yamamoto Jōji. A song about a person wishing they could’ve died with their deceased lover. Could be Aoinene in the Ghost Hotel au or during the Severance arc. Orrrrr by the end of the manga if Nene doesn’t survive

I would also recommend Saburo Kitajima, I can’t remember if he made it onto the article or not (I found his name through Wikipedia, along with the history and qualities of enka music I described before), but I listened to one of his songs on Spotify and ya’ll…my ears have been blessed. Will definitely be checking out more of this genre

[desmorotu]

lasko’s playlist ⭐️ (a glimpse)

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ for @morgansplace !!!

☆ lovesong - adele (lasko, despite already having a partner and is able to express how he feels freely to them, is still a hopeless romantic. he often feels a pit in his stomach when thinking about love, and this song conveys precisely how he can feel. he enjoys humming the melody and tapping his foot to the beat + has cried to this song just because 💀)

☆ i’m not okay - JVKE (he loves the piano!! he is a sucker for a good, heart aching melody that can bring goosebumps to his skin. he doesn’t particularly relate to the song per se, but he does agree with the message that it is okay to not be okay.)

☆ life eternal - ghost (he thinks about his partner when this song plays :p. he really enjoys the choral elements to it! damien’s been introducing him to different kinds of music and lasko is experimenting with ghost currently. he bobs his head to the beat and enjoys dramatically staring out the window when it’s nighttime. he’s witnessed damien screaming these lyrics at the top of his lungs.)

☆ closer - nine inch nails (gavin showed him this song LMAO. despite being shy about the lyrics when listening around other people, when he is alone he is definitely jammin’. he actually enjoys the suggestive lyrics a lot, but he will never admit it to the others. he lip syncs and looks in the mirror while he does it to make sure he looks “attractive enough.” not even his partner knows he does this yet.)

☆ singularity - bts (after having looked up the english translation, he feels a deeper ache when listening to it. he relates deeply to these lyrics, acknowledging that he oftentimes puts others way before himself and, just as in the song, “buries his voice” in fear of rejection. he loves taehyung’s deep vocals and prefers listening while driving because he seeks the vibration of the bass.)

☆ like crazy - jimin (lasko may or may not have gone down a bts rabbit hole at some point—but this song hits him to his core. it’s in a way that he can’t explain, but goosebumps take over his skin and he has to stop whatever he’s doing at the moment to listen and appreciate in its entirety. he was very happy when his partner told him that it was on their playlist after listening to it with them :3)

☆ sure know something - kiss (lasko’s an avid kiss enjoyer��i won’t be hearing any protests. he likes listening to this one with his partner and breaking out of his shell for a moment to dance along with them :). he likes the bass and paul stanley’s voice could “bring a grown man—yes, that grown man is me—to his knees.”)

☆ you know me too well - nothing but thieves (he heard this from another person’s car radio while stopped in traffic and he shazamed that shit. he loves the sensual vibe and, if he ever decides to make a sex playlist, will probably be putting this song on there.)

☆ sway - michael bublé (he fuckin LOVES the entirety of this song. he dances with his partner to it and often enjoys watching them dance to it by themselves. his mouth is always agape, eyes wide and looking desperately in awe. he loves spinning them around and seeing the mischievous glint in their eye. he regrets not ever picking up an instrument, but he would pick up a trombone or violin in a heartbeat if given the chance.)

☆ dancing queen - ABBA (this motherfucker IS the dancing queen even though he is no longer seventeen. he always smiles his biggest when he recognizes the familiar melody and lets himself dance to it even if there are people around. even in the most subtle of ways like walking to the beat or swaying his body, he cannot stay still with this song on. his partner likes to play it when they’re walking through the doorway as an “intro song.”)

refer to lasko’s playlist cover at the bottom!!

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

okay omg i hope you like it 💔 more songs from my playlist that give lasko vibes this time. these are just my opinions + headcanons ! i tried really hard with this but sometimes i’m really bad at words so i’m sorry if the descriptions are repetitive :(. again, if you want to see more, let me know!! i personally love content like this and i’ve was actually really inspired by morgan’s OC icon post :3 it was SO COOL

k bye 💟

[tetsunabouquet]

Can you write a headacanons of Carstairs Fam? Where they have one more child beside Mina and Kit? 🤍

-Considering Mina as kidnapped when she was young, I imagine Jem would be even more vigilant when they have their third child. -Which is also why shortly after their third child as born, they adopted a puppy of a big breed so it could grow up into their guard dog. -Their guard dog acts like the dorky side-kick to Irene whenever Ty is coming over. It was very amusing to watch Irene teach their dog some basic hunting skills with an expression that seemed to say, 'Just how stupid are you?' -Kit remains protective older brother towards the two. Precisely because his father failed him, Kit's fearful of all things that could go wrong and just wants them to grow up happy. -Their third child is obviously yet another nod to the people they lost. They decided that it would be named Henry if it were a boy, and Charlotte if it were a girl because they really were like parents to Will, Tessa and Jem. -Both Kit and Jem have allowed Mina to do their hair and paint their nails, with Tessa just watching on incredibly amused. If there is one perk about the advancement of beauty products and hair accesoires in the modern era, its certainly this if you ask Tessa. She made plenty of pictures to ensure she remembers these moments forever. -Tessa became quite the photo-taker. Because her first family already died of old age, she knows the heartbreak what's going to await her once they died of old age, so she tries very hard to enjoy the moments whilst they last and prepare herself for once Jem and the kids are gone. -With Kit being a Herondale, he ended up being recruited for his school's soccer team even though he doesn't really cares for the sport. He honestly sees it as a way to have more time to socialize and learn how to be more like a British teenager. Somewhere, a certain Ashdown boy is incredibly jealous, but Kit remains unaware. -Kit always plays soccer with the Lightwood-Bane boys whenever they're coming over. -Mina as an older sister and middle child would generally be the one to explain what Kit, Tessa and Jem think whenever they try to tiptoe around their fears temming from their various traumas in a language the little one can understand. She really takes after Tessa's mature and wise nature and understands why they can sometimes act overprotective or seem to fear things like interacting with the Fair folk. -Because Mina was so young, she doesn't remember being kidnapped and has no reaction outside for the strange urge to start crying when someone brings it up. Kit is very grateful that she doesn't remember it. -Speaking of memories, something Kit would frankly like to forget are the lyrics to Baby Shark. He had to sing it so often to Mina and the baby, that he can sing the entire song even years later. He really hopes Jem was right that all children's songs blurr together through the sands of time. -Whilst Kit and their youngest isn't too musically inclined, Jem was happy to take notice that Mina enjoyed listening to the violin, and learnt her to play when she was old enough. -The Herongraystairs family have attended many a violin performance at the local music theater showcases where young talent would perform. One time, Jem could have sworn he saw the fleeting ghost of Will watching Mina's performance from the back of the theater. -Obviously that wasn't the only time where Will's spirit has been spying on the Herongraystairs family, as he watches over them all the time.

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c.10 preview.

simon riley x original character

abstract: hey this is Jude. you doing alright? you'd never guess who I saw! anyways, I'm almost happy in this chapter and then I'm angry again. I've been angry my whole life guys I swear. also, had a special someone with me that night, can you guess who my passenger princess was?

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Come a little closer, Cage the elephant.

Her eyes lingered on 'The Pilgrimage' which she kept as a souvenir from her Sherlock CIA experience with the Arash case. She fished out a lighter from her bag and opened the book in front of her. She liked reading it, she enjoyed it. She had never been much of a religious person, though she was raised catholic. She respected the idea of faith, how it guided people, how it made you feel less alone. She had a thought. A tiny one. A sneaky suspicion. The little urge to lurk. It was a little lightbulb moment, a cinematic sequence in which the music stopped and then violins started playing as she began to think.

'Hop in? I need to talk to you'. Her eyes were even a prettier colour in this light. They looked translucent. Her skin was shining and golden under the sunlight. 'Can it wait?' He tried to avoid getting in the car with her. Deeply unprofessional. Where did she want to take him anyway, couldn't they talk in his office? What was it she wanted to tell him. 'I'll take you back here when we're done, just a little ride’. She wasn't giving up. Am I being fucking kidnapped by you, Jude? Most guys wouldn't really complain to be honest, but still…

She turned towards him before he had a chance to open the door. 'I'm very sorry you had to witness that, I truly am.' She blinked a few times trying to hide her embarrassment. She messed up all her chances to get him to listen to what she had found now. 'It's fine', he said. His voice was soft. His hand was on the door handle but he wouldn't open the door yet. 'Okay… I'm sorry either way I shouldn't have… done all this.'

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb: Middle school is hard—add a deadly embarrassing family and a huge secret, and it's nearly impossible. An Addams-esque family faces a perilous plot in this energetic, spooky middle grade mystery. Molly Dade has big problems. She's got an important violin audition coming up, she's been paired with her nemesis for a group project, and she's struggling to hide a life-or-death secret from...well, from everyone. It wasn't long ago that the Dades were just a regular Maine family living in their reportedly haunted house in the local cemetery. But then Molly's mom and twin brother Marty were killed in a freak accident. And Molly, her older brother Timothy, and her father became the town's newest bereaved family. Except Mom and Marty are still very much present. No one knows why, but Mom is now a ghost and Marty is a poltergeist. Oh, and there's also Molly's younger sister Dyandra, who is a zombie. Keeping all this supernatural stuff a secret from everyone is hard work, especially when the dead (undead?) members of the family still want to participate in things like the Parent Teacher Association meetings or come to the (very public, very potentially embarrassing) school concert. When Dad's new cemetery assistant seems to know the Dade family secret, Molly and Marty worry about the future of their family. And when Marty begins to regain his memories of the explosion that killed him and Mom, the twins realize that the situation might be even more grave than they thought. Someone might be after the Dade family—but who? And why?

Review:

Getting through middle school is hard enough but having a very strange family is definitely going to make it harder. Molly Dade loves her family but its not like other families, her mom and twin brother Marty were killed in an accident and are now ghosts, her older brother Tim and Dad and her are all regular humans... but then Molly’s younger sister Dyandra is now a zombie and to throw in the mix, they have a new spooky assistant to the family who may or may not be a vampire (yet to be proven) named Mr. Bones. Strange things begin to happy to Molly when she is paired up with her nemesis for a group project on top of her important violin audition.... and things begin to get dangerous as something or someone is after her trying to get her. Molly and her family have to figure out who is after them and stop them before it’s too late. This was such a fun middlegrade Addam’s Family-esque read featuring a fun cast and it really was a cute read. As a fan of the Addam’s family and fun quirky books, this one definitely hit the spot for me. Molly’s got a lot on her plate, from auditioning for a spot she wants, working on school projects, and trying to keep her family safe despite the fact that something else might definitely be going on with her, she has to find a way to work it all out before it’s too late. Overall, I would definitely recommend this book for fans of quirky families and fun mysteries!

*Thank you Disney Hyperion and Melissa de la Cruz studio for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[waiting-on-a-dream]

𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝙷𝚊𝚔𝚞 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗)

"A second interrogation?" Haku asks calmly from his seat, hands laid out flat on the table non-threateningly.

With the other prisoners, Haruto is always secretly on edge, as if they might attack him at any moment. But with Haku, he somehow knows the boy isn't interested in resorting to violence. Or maybe Haku just wants him to think that. Being a guard is exhausting.

"I watched your music video, and now I have more questions for you."

"Ask away."

"Have I ever told you how much I love your cooperation?" Haruto sighs in relief, throwing his head back until it rests against his chair.

"Is that one of your questions?" Haku asks blankly.

"Nope. I'm just voicing my gratitude," Haruto chuckles.

Haku doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, as he stays quiet.

"Question 1, tell me about your brother."

"That's not a question," Haku pipes up. Because he's so smart.

"Just answer," Haruto sighs again in defeat.

"He's talented. He plays the violin very well."

"And you play the piano?"

Haku nods. "Yes."

"Did you and your brother play duets a lot?"

"I enjoy practicing with him, so yes."

That explains the duet in his music video then. "What else can you tell me about him?"

"He's weird," Haku looks down at that.

"How so?" Haruto perks up, interested.

"Well, he isn't very good with people. He doesn't know how to talk to them. Though they're often approaching him because of his talent."

"Does he rely on you to talk to them for him?" Haruto tilts his head, still curious.

"He usually runs away and waits for me to apologize on his behalf for being unsociable," Haku replies without blinking an eye.

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really. I just don't want him to be uncomfortable."

"You really care for him a lot, huh?" Haruto chuckles.

"He's my precious little brother after all," Haku's face remains impassive. But his words say a lot in of itself.

"That's good to know. Tell me about the school you attended before this. It was a prestigious music school if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes, its called Maestoso Music Academy. I'm taking a course for a piano degree there."

"Your brother studies there as well, I assume?"

"Yes, he's taking a course for the violin."

"Ah. What's the environment like?"

"It's...competitive. Everyone is good at what they do, whether through hard work or a natural-born talent, or both."

"Did you make any friends there?" Haruto pauses. He can't imagine Haku befriending anyone besides the brother he dotes on so much.

Haku pauses as well, as if he needs a moment to recall. "Yes. I made two friends in my class. We would often study together."

"Were they friends with your brother as well?"

"He had his own friends from his course."

So they aren't (so) co-dependent as Haruto thought. Wait. "Were any of them too competitive with him? A bad influence on him perhaps?"

"Not that I know of," Haku blinks.

Haruto decides he can rule out Haku's brother's friends as potential victims. Maybe. "Alright, last question. If the world were to end tomorrow, what would you do?"

Haku contemplates the question for a moment. "I'd attempt to play a really difficult piano piece."

"That makes sense. And if you get it right?"

"That would be impossible to achieve within one day. But hypothetically, I'd die happy," Haku blinks, a ghost of a smile on his face. Is he smiling just thinking about it?

"Life goals, am I right?" Haruto grins.

"..I guess so," Haku's blank expression returns.

Haku has the same expression all the time. Its no fun.

"Thanks for answering my questions. Your interrogation is done."

[twinhood-2dot0]

More J-Pop :P

Yep, doing this again. I've discovered so many more songs that I wanna share.

Yorushika/ヨルシカ

Yorushika has become my favourite band in the past few... months? idk when my last post was. The vocalist is awesome and I really love their guitar and piano instrumentals.

Parade/パレード - I discovered this song yesterday so I haven't had the time to look into the lyrics yet. Will update when I do. I really love the instrumentals though. The violin is just awesome, and like in every other song, the piano is perfection. This is from the album That's Why I Gave Up On Music though, so it's sure to have deep lyrics, since the whole album is telling a story

Algernon/アルジャーノン - The music video doesn't have translations :(, so I didn't look into the meaning of this song either, but the music video looks awesome.

The next few songs I don't have too much to remark upon. (yet)

Say It./ヨルシカ- Okay I haven't looked into the meaning to most of these lmao. Gotta get on that. Has great guitars though.

Ghost In A Flower/花に亡霊- Awesome piano and guitar.

Setting Sun/斜陽

Spring Thief/春泥棒

That's Why I Gave Up On Music/だから僕は音楽を辞めた- Title track from the album. The album tells a story (that I haven't read yet) that concludes with this track. I especially love the piano-guitar duet after the opening verse, it's just, wow. Suis (the vocalist) did an exceptional job on this track, and lyrics are also just so good. The music video is just too good and you should read the lyrics so I'm dropping the youtube link for this one.

Also an English translated version by Rachie because she did a great job on it.

Minami/美波

Another artist I've come to adore very recently.

DROP - Just sounds really good. Will update if I look into meanings later, goes for every song I don't remark upon here.

Waiting For Rain/アメヲマツ- Words cannot express how much I love this song. One thing I really love about Minami is how expressive their voice is, and that is exemplified in this song. She explained that she did intend for this song to be conveyed through feelings and emotions more than words, and I think she succeeded in that. The lyrics are also awesome, the music video is awesome, the instrumentals are eargasmic. Music video for english translation and awesome animation.

Crying For Rain/カワキヲアメク- The first song I heard by Minami. It also does the same, being very expressive. It's the opening for an anime called uh Domestic Girlfriend. Not gonna be watching it purely for how weird the name itself is, but the song is awesome. As far as I can tell, no relation with Waiting for Rain.

Lilac/ライラック- The depressed gamer in me is in love the lyrics of this song, and the music lover in me loves the instrumentals. Seriously, just read these lyrics.

"Life's rough, Life's tough, It would be great if life could be as simple as a video game. There are even futures that I would like to bet on by pressing the A/B buttons."

yikes that's ugly, not doing that again.

"Life's rough, Life's tough, Genuinely, staying alive would be easier if life's a video gameThen a life where you can change the course of your future using A,B keys would exist."

The instrumentals are deceptively happy.

Monogatari series

It's an anime series I've heard good things about but haven't watched yet. Looks pretty long, but the songs are tantalizing. These songs are uh very cutesy and upbeat in a way I can't explain why I like it.

Chainsaw Man

One of my favourite anime as you already know. The S1 of the anime has 12 episodes, and it also has 12 ending songs. Anime usually have 1 for each season but they went above and beyond. I dislike metal, but I do like insanity so, despite that, I still love most of the tracks here for the sheer insanity. But Time Left by ZUTOMAYO and Chainsaw Blood are still my favourites tho. And can't forget KICK BACK, it's such a banger OP and the opening animatic itself is awesome with its foreshadowing and cinematic references. You can read more about what I think of KICK BACK at Alia's Corner.

Heh I just realised how ridiculous Chainsaw Man looks with chainsaws sprouting out of his hands and head and... a formal shirt and pants and a tie.

Song from Your Lie In April. Just sounds really good.

A jem from Attack On Titan that I somehow overlooked.

I hit the audio limit, damn you Tumblr, why you gotta make this so hard?

Anyways, you can sort by newest and see my newer favourites. Some particular standouts are 色彩/Color by yama, 三時のキス/idfk by Rokudenashi/ロクデナシ, again by YUI, 君のことじゃないよ by ZUTOMAYO, NIGHT DANCER by imase, Massarana Daichi by Higuchi Ai, from the same album as Akuma No Ko, the ED song for AoT Final Season Part 1, the two Natori songs, Overdose especially, Asphyxia, Kyouran Hey Kids!! by THE ORAL CIGARETTES and No Title by Reol.

Watching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood now, you can read what I think of it in my page, and also updated my AoT thoughts.

[serzhantkris]

Haunted- 7

Summary: He knew, from the moment he found her there, bathed in the glow of fire, that she would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Damon x Reader

Masterlist

Taglist Open

Word Count: 2344

Violin music wafted softly through the air, weaving between Caroline’s voice, booming from the microphone, as she introduced the pageant contestants, and the polite applause that followed each. Elena squinted against the sun, frowning as she scanned the crowd.

“Have you seen Jeremy?”

She turned, finding Matt at her elbow, looking defeated. “He's probably up there with the escorts,” she said. “Have you seen Stefan?”

“No,” Matt said, resting his hands at his hips, dejected. “Caroline told me to find the escorts but he isn’t here.”

Elena frowned and dug her phone out of her purse. Matt licked his lips and scanned the crowd. “I take it he hasn’t told you about his nightmares? Where he, uh, kills you?”

“What?” Elena nearly dropped her phone as she tapped out Jeremy’s phone number. Matt turned his back, hustling to the stage to take Jeremy’s place as Caroline descended the steps.

“What the hell? Where are Jeremy and Stefan?”

Elena shook her head, the phone pressed against her ear.

Caroline closed her eyes, taking a breath, and when she opened them, was startled to see Damon marching his way toward them. “Uh-oh,” she said, tapping Elena on the shoulder. “Trouble at ten o’clock.”

He was breathing, hard, through his nose, his tie disheveled. One hand pushed through his hair, and he kept looking around the expanse of guests around them.

“What happened to you?” Caroline crossed her arms, peering at him with suspicion. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I did,” he bit back, not bothering to look at her.

“Jeremy isn’t answering. Matt said Jeremy’s been having nightmares about killing vampires, and he’s been hiding it from me.” Elena sighed, dropping the phone from her ear. “I should call Stefan-“

“Don’t bother,” Damon was already pulling out his phone, taking steps back from the girls. “I’m on it.”

“I have a bad feeling,” Elena said.

“I said I’m on it.”

Elena and Caroline exchanged glances as Damon wove back through the crowd, towards the lower landing.

“Please don't tell me that you've roped Jeremy into a world of crazy.”

He could hear noise on the other end of the line. “Like I had a choice?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, switching the phone to his other ear. “Curing your girlfriend so she can have babies and grow old and die. By the way, I was just wondering, you haven’t happened to see Y/N lately, have you?”

Stefan sighed. “You saw her.”

“No,” Damon snapped, his free hand pressing against a tree, holding him up. “I ran into her. Yes, I saw her! She’s here, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I thought it was better if you found out on your own.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted. Finding out Y/N is alive wasn’t good enough, finding out she’s here, in Mystic Falls, where- in case you forgot- Jeremy Gilbert is actively slaughtering vampires and you’re helping him-”

Stefan paused. “He won’t hurt her.”

“You’re damn right he won’t.” The wood groaned under the weight of Damon’s grip. “If he goes anywhere near Y/N-“

“Relax, Damon. The girls are keeping an eye on her, too.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They don’t trust her. I don’t know if I do either.”

“Really?” Damon snorted, rolling his eyes. “She’s not a threat-“

“We don’t know that,” Stefan said. “Why do you think she’s here, Damon? A happy reunion? Who do you think told her about the cure?”

Damon swallowed, not answering.

“I’m almost done here. I gotta go.”

***

The mansion windows muffled the sound of celebration outside. The music, the cheerful voices, the happy laughter, was all lost to this side of the glass panes.

It was a beautiful house. Whoever lived here did so well- everything was pristine and white, not a speck of dust to be found, so immaculate that it could very well be the case that no one lived there at all. From the top of the stairs, you could see the foyer, with its tiles shining in the sun; that is, you could have seen it, if your face weren’t buried in your palms.

The red silk of your dress trailed over the top step like blood, pooling at your bare feet. Your shoulders shook, and it was a feat to remain sitting at all.

“Seems Cinderella has lost both her shoes.”

You looked up, feebly trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Your shoes dangled in front of your face, and the smiling man at the other end of them stepped carefully around the pool of your dress to sit beside you on the steps.

He sat the shoes down somewhere behind you, resting his elbows on his knees. “Never took you for much of a cryer, love.”

“Typically not,” you said, leaning back to get a better look at him. “Nice suit. You clean up well.”

“We both know I always look this good,” he said. “I take it you saw Damon.”

“I did.”

“And it didn’t go well?”

“It didn’t go at all, really.” He hummed low in his throat, and rested a hand on your knee. “I- ran away.”

“And Elena?”

“She’s here. With Caroline. I take it Stefan and Jeremy didn’t show?”

“They’re otherwise occupied,” he said.

“Why aren’t you with Caroline?”

“Thought I’d check in first,” he said. “Make sure my favorite undead drama queen was doing her job.”

A dry laugh filled your chest. “Klaus, you flatter me. I’m your ‘favorite undead drama queen?’ I should tell Rebekah on you.”

Klaus grinned, standing up and extending his hand to you. “Don’t waste your whole day, love. Plenty of dances to be had, and vampires to be… protecting.”

You nodded as Klaus pulled you to your feet. “Thinly veiled threat noted.”

“See, that right there,” Klaus pointed his finger in your face, still smiling. “Is why you’re my favorite.”

***

It only took a few minutes to find them once you’d collected yourself. The crowd was spread out, thinner, most of them on the dance floor, others in little groups at tables or lingering on the grass. They occupied the stairs, the lower landing by the pond- Caroline was walking with Klaus, and you tore your eyes away from them to look for Elena.

Damon stood up from his chair, frowning, as Tyler approached. He was watching Shane, as the professor sat beside the werewolf- Hayley? Tyler fixed his jacket, following Damon’s eye.

“How do those two know each other?”

“They don’t. Paranoid much?”

Damon frowned. “The Council just got burnt to a crisp. Some mysterious Hunter just blew through town and this guy just happens to know everything about everything. Yes, paranoid.”

Elena was standing near the dance floor, talking to a guest. You wove through the crowd toward her, gently side-stepping any and all moving figures, not touching a soul as you passed, as though you weren’t there at all.

“Hey,” Elena turned toward you as you approached, seemingly thankful for your presence. “I thought you left, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, smiling, but Elena’s expression of concern remained. “I’m great. Needed to, uh, use the girl’s room. That house is huge-”

“You saw Damon,” she said. Your smile vanished.

“That obvious?”

“I saw him, too. You haven’t seen Stefan, have you? I’m getting worried.”

“What? Oh, no, sorry. I take it you called?”

“Damon did,” she said, crossing her arms. “Jeremy isn’t here or answering either. You think maybe something happened?”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” you said, shrugging. “Sometimes we have to remember that not everything is a crisis, you know?”

“Yeah,” A nervous chuckle passed through her, and she scratched idly where her braid met the back of her head. “You’re probably right.”

“Elena?”

“Yeah?”

You paused, looking toward the pond where you had seen Caroline and Klaus. “I like you. You’re really nice.”

“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.”

“I’d like us to be friends. Maybe once we find the guys and everything sort of settles down, we can, I dunno. Hang out?”

She nodded, her smile turning genuine. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Damon strode out of the mansion, determination in his step. He’d found out what he needed to know, had gotten his hand on Professor Shane just enough to squeeze a drop of information out of him.

It came down to Bonnie. They needed a spell to get the cure, once they found it, one that only a Bennet witch could perform, and only Professor Shane could help Bonnie get her magic juiced up.

Go figures.

Damon scowled as he descended the stairs toward the stage. He spotted Caroline, walking back toward the stage to announce the winner of the pageant- and you and Elena, exchanging enthusiastic words. He faltered, only for a second, and started pushing his way through the crowd.

“And then, get this, he jumped in the lake, with all his clothes on and everything-” Elena stopped mid-sentence as a hand rested gently between your shoulder blades, causing you to jump.

“Excuse me, ladies,” the voice in your ear made your blood run cold, and your back stiffened, despite the gentle, calming fingertips laid carefully on your spine. “May I borrow her for a moment?”

You spun, intending to push him away once more, but Damon caught your hand and held it, tightly, a serious expression on his face. Something dropped the wicked words in your throat, as Damon guided you carefully toward the dance floor.

“Damon-”

“Shh,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips. “We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You made that pretty clear,” he said, wrapping your hand in his. The other pressed lightly against the small of your back as he started swaying. “It’s more of an ‘I talk, you listen’ situation, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“And you made that clear, more than once.” There was nothing to rescue you from this. If you hit him, pushed him, called him names or slapped him across the face, it would make a scene, and then there would be a messy clean-up afterward. “What do you want?”

“Stefan said you’re looking for the cure.”

His words startled you. You had been expecting some sort of heart-filled apology, some sort of silver tongued attempt to gain your forgiveness, but he had jumped right over the huge elephant in the room and gone straight for your gills. “What if I am?”

“How did you hear about it? ‘Cause, see, the only person I know who also knows about it, who isn’t myself or my brother, is a little hybrid named Klaus. Sound familiar? About ye’ tall, British accent, huge tool?” his eyes flickered sideways and you followed his gaze to where Klaus was standing near the tables, idly sipping at a glass. “And, sweetheart, that is not the safe way to go.”

“And you are? You’re safe?”

Damon was quiet for a moment, his lips pressed in a thin line. “I know you don’t trust me,” he said, his eyes dropping to the space between your feet. He turned you in a circle, pulling you closer to him. “And you have every right not to.”

“You’re damn right I do,” you said, pushing against him just enough to put space between your bodies. “I don’t trust Klaus, either.”

“So why are you helping him?”

You stopped dancing, stepping out of Damon’s arms. He didn’t try reaching for you. Didn’t try to stop you from moving away. “Because I can’t help you.”

You turned your back on him, moving toward where Elena-

Was gone. She had vanished from the spot. You cursed under your breath, looking through the crowd for her, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Where’d she go?”

Damon was beside you, hands in his pockets. Truth be told, he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you when you were this close- but other things were more pressing, more important, more urgent.

“We need to find her,” Damon said, glancing sideways at you. “Quickly.”

You wasted no time with words, scouring the crowd as it began to thin out, nearly tripping on your heels. You tore them off- for the second time that day- and shoved them at Damon, moving as quickly as you could without moving at an unnatural speed.

You found her, beyond the house, standing with Stefan. They were facing each other, his hands roaming over her face and shoulders as though searching for injury. The smell of blood grew stronger as you made your way down toward them, and when Elena turned toward you, you could see the gauze patch on her neck.

“What the hell happened?”

You slowed to a stop as she peeled the gauze away. “Jeremy happened,” she said. “He attacked me.”

“He’s getting stronger,” Stefan said. “Killing vampires, it makes the compulsion to kill them even stronger.”

“Tell me Jeremy hasn’t been with you this entire time,” Elena whipped her head toward him. Damon had made his way down the hill after you, watching from a distance, still holding your shoes, and exchanged a look with his brother. “Tell me that you haven't been making him kill vampires, Stefan.”

“We need the map to get the cure.”

A wounded expression slammed onto Elena’s face, and she took a step away from Stefan. “If getting my humanity back means stripping Jeremy of his, then I don't want the cure.”

You looked away, your eyes inadvertently landing on Damon. He was watching the ground, giving them a moment of peace, but he felt your eyes on him.

“Elena can stay with me,” you offered, once more trying to keep Damon out of your eyesight. “Until we get this under control. She’ll be safe, you guys can, uh, can come and go, you know, whenever. Keep tabs.”

Stefan raised his chin, considering it, and Elena looked to him as though she were going to ask permission, but didn’t. She simply nodded, picking at the bloody gauze in her hands. “I’ll pack my things.”

@navs-bhat @allinhishands @suspiciousmuffin @lordofthunderthr

[arisuinhell]

Halloween special 👻

Putting this up a day early!

Happy Halloween! Let's see what some of the AiB crew are up to!

Characters: Arisu, Chota, Karube, Niragi, Last Boss

Warnings: None

Arisu 🎃

He spends the day trying some new DLC on a zombie game until it's time to go and see the guys.

He forgot to get a costume, he had the intent but.. yea. So he panics and manages to find some weird mask he got from a convention and an old tshirt with holes in it.

Spends the rest of the night getting roasted by Karube for his lack of effort, but he has fun anyway.

With you, its probably horror movies and pizza. If you're feeling adventurous you might go to the arcade but the bed is comfortable and its busy outside.. If you got really bored you'd probably paint little ghosts on his face whilst he's engrossed in a game. He doesn't care as long as you're happy.

Trick or Treat?

"..what's the trick?.. I just wanna see first before I commit.. "

Karube 🎃

Of course this big kid has gone all out and is throwing a party at the bar. It basically looks like a haunted house with the amount of decorations he put up. No costume? No entry! You think he'd go through this effort, including a special drinks menu just for people to turn up in casual clothing? (Looking at you Arisu..).

He thought for a long time about his outfit, eventually settling on being the devil. It's gonna take a very long shower to get that red paint off.

If it's just the two of you, you can bet he's planned an extravagant date night. Horror themed resturant, scare maze.. You want to stop by that bakery and get all the Halloween donuts? Sure thing, anything for you!

Trick or Treat?

"Trick 😈"

Chota 🎃

This poor guy cannot catch a break. He has to sit and listen whilst his mother explains the horrors of Halloween, how it's a gateway to hell and how he absolutely should not participate in anything glorifying the day.

He smiles like the good son he is and walks with her to the church, declining her offer to spend the evening praying for sinners.

He turns up at the bar without a costume but don't worry, Karube had planned for this so he's presented with three costumes to choose from and settles for some Kamen Rider get-up.

Spending halloween with you would just be at home carving pumpkins and watching spooky cartoons. All soft and cute activities.

Trick or treat?

Treat, please!

Chishiya 🎃

Not participating. What do you think he is, a child? He has better things to do with his time, and that time is currently being wasted by treating the idiots who got too drunk at parties and (his personal favourite) a guy that got stabbed though the hand whilst carving a pumpkin. He had to try really hard to not tell him that's exactly what he deserved.

If you were important to him and he wasn't working, he might tolerate one or two decorations in the house providing they are gone by the morning, and if you insist in baking spooky cookies for him, fine, he'll have one. Just don't expect much more than that.

And don't even think about putting those cat ears on him. Seriously, put them down.. Stop it. He will scratch.

Trick or Treat?

"Is the treat you leaving me alone?"

Niragi 🎃

Why wouldn't he love Halloween? 1000's of girls in Shibuya dressed as nurses?? Absolute dream. He'll spend an hour drinking on the street with some friends before heading to some high-class bar in Kabukicho where lonely, rich housewives in rabbit and cat costumes will more than welcome his advances.

His costume? Just fangs. That's all he needs ;)

Halloween together? If you dress up, he will too, he's a sucker for couples costumes. Just don't wear anything too skimpy, that's for Niragi to enjoy only.

You'll spend the evening at a club, unless that isn't your sort of thing, in which case you can spend the night at home eating candy and maybe later you can show off that outfit~

Trick or treat?

Do you really have to ask? 🔪

Last Boss 🎃

Get out your tiny violins because this guy is spending it alone. He doesn't actually mind because it gives him a chance to catch up on some reading. He'll probably pick some kind of short story collection, or maybe Poe..

He liked halloween as a kid when he'd dress up with his friends but it stopped being fun when they moved away and he became quite shy.

What if he wasn't alone? You're spending the night watching true crime documentaries, because what's more horrifying than the atrocities caused by the human race? You sit quietly and carve pumpkins, his being the best, and then just sit in blankets and talk about anything that comes to mind. Cute & wholesome.

Trick or treat?

..treat?

[pa-panda-heroes]

Gimmie (a man after midnight)

Dabi x Female!Reader [NSFW] Songfic

Song: Abba - Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie!

Aha, I had a lot of fun writing this but it’s not quite what i envisioned, so I hope it turned out okay! :’>

Minors, DNI! Go. Away.

Warnings: alcohol, hookups, slight degradation, choking—Dabi’s belt, anyone? ;), unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, spanking, fairly rough sex ig?

Words: 2,739

Half past twelve And I’m watching the late show in my flat all alone How I hate to spend the evening on my own

You groaned, sprawled out across your sofa and terribly bored. You worked your ass off all week just to go out and have some fun with your girls over the weekend. But alas, they canceled on you, saying they were “busy” doing “adult things” and having “responsibilities.” Bleh! What the hell! You even text a few others not initially involved in your plans, but they let you down, too. That was fair, though. Your invitation was definitely last minute, so you couldn’t blame anyone.

Your eyes dart to the clock. It was still pretty early in the night, half past midnight. Your eyes narrow. You’re an adult, you’re fully capable of going out on your own, right? You wouldn’t look like a poor soul with no friends... right? Fuck it. You’ll leave your apartment all alone and gloomy, but who’s to say you won’t come back not alone?

You bolt off the couch so quickly you nearly lose yourself and slam into the floor, but you recover and make a run for your closet. You had your outfit planned out three days ago, so the agony of looking for what to wear and trying on who knows how many outfits and discerning what paired with what was already over with. You dress quickly and throw on your preferred method of makeup before doing your hair as you pleased for the occasion. You hum at yourself in your success and head out, heading to your previously chosen club.

Autumn winds Blowing outside my window as I look around the room And it makes me so depressed to see the gloom

As soon as you walk in, the air is dense and brimming with smoke and moisture. It’s darker than you expected, although the neon purple, blue, and red lights flashing all around you stood out more this way, looking more pleasing to the eye as a result. The music thrums loudly in your ears, the bass kicked up nearly to a teeth-chattering degree. The violin you could hear through it all sounded intense and emotional, the entirety of the song upbeat and fast and so adrenaline-inducing for your current emotional state.

The mixture that was your boredom and gloom followed you as though it were your shadow itself, trailing behind you with every intention to lunge out and strangle you as you passed through dancing and grinding bodies. One couple was more than happy to let you join between them. For a smooth, lascivious moment you did, letting the male stranger grab onto your waist and grind against you, his (apparent) girlfriend following suit at your front, but you decided alcohol would be a good start first.

There's not a soul out there No one to hear my prayer

Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie a man after midnight

On your way to the bar you just happen to glance through the crowd and meet the gaze of mesmerizing turquoise hues, captivating eyes which stood out like iridescent glimmers in a sea of pitch black after the sun hid itself away. Your step slows as you hold your gaze firm, your own smirk a clear contrast to the stoic features of his own. Bland and non-contorted as his face may be, you tell by the dark, predatory glimmer to his eyes that you’ve caught his attention.

Your favourite drink is ordered and fully downed in no time before you slither back into the cluster of sweat and saliva in favour of dancing your worries away.

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie a man after midnight

You bounce and move your hips with the music all by your little lonesome in the crowd, others in a situation similar to yours. Try and find those turquoise masters of your captivation as you might, the fiery enigma you saw earlier was nowhere to be seen.

You bite your lip and pout as you carry on your merry way. What a bore you think this night has ungraciously become, your hopes of finding a good time dwindling away like dust in the wind! You almost consider going back to your previous “dance buddies,” but before you can even stop dancing, hands slither onto your hips and torrid breath teases your ear.

“Lookin’ for me, doll?” you hear a smoky, smooth voice purr, and immediately you’re weak in the knees.

You jut your ass out against him, closing the already bare-minimum space between the two of you, courtesy of the stranger himself. “You tell me,” you tease, grinding against him and realizing he’s wearing a massive belt, and your mouth waters. “I’m just lookin’ for a good time.”

Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

A chuckle erupts from behind you, slow and sure, one of the hands on your hip slithering up your waist to ghost over your tit. “I think you’ve found it,” he whispers to you, a call for sex and detachment as his hand - much larger, lither, and bonier than you anticipated - roams your chest freely. He’s careful not to catch the staples holding together the flesh of his hand catch on your clothes where applicable.

It’s clear he’s not playing around, though it doesn’t matter, because neither are you.

You giggle and reach back around for his hair as he moves in sexual tandem with you, while your fingers glissade through strands of pure abyssal silk and latch on. “Do tell,” you taunt, grinding particularly slowly against him and trying to reach for his thigh with your free hand. You can’t help the bratty smirk that parts your lips.

“Here? Really?” he asks, though it’s clearly rhetorical. “You want other people to hear me tell you how I’m gonna pin you against a wall and fuck that tight pussy ‘til you can’t walk, do you?” His voice is deep and low, haunting, and appearances be damned. You’d fuck him just to hear his voice alone.

A shiver wracks your body, much to his pleasure.

Movie stars Find the end of the rainbow with a fortune to win It's so different from the world I'm living in

The stranger’s hand dips down and finds its way up your skirt, giving your asscheek a tight squeeze. “Wonder what they’d say if they heard me tell you I’m gonna wrap my belt around that pretty little neck so tight, I won’t even have to touch you to make you cum.”

“Oh, fuck.” The hiss that comes out of you is laced with a clear moan, and you bite your lip, the growing wetness devouring your lacy panties making itself fully known to you when your cunt clenches around nothing. “Hey, you got a name, stranger?” you breathe, resisting the urge to clench your teeth when his lips find your neck.

“Just Dabi,” you hear him mumble into your skin.

Oh, like the Dabi? The villain Dabi? The Dabi who could very well burn the place to the ground in a matter of minutes and laugh it off like he saw some corny joke graffiti’d on a sleazy bathroom stall?

Oh. Well, alright then. You’re not bothered by it. Seems like he actually just wanted a good fuck and who were you to blame him for it?

Tired of TV I open the window and I gaze into the night But there's nothing there to see no one in sight

“I’m y/n, but feel free to call me whatever the fuck you want.” You sigh, leaning back against him.

Dabi chuckles at you, finding what comes off as a willingness to please quite delicious, if he were being honest. “Let’s head out, then.”

“Patience is not your virtue, is it, Dabi?” you jive at him, the clear pinch on your ass telling you the comment was not appreciated. You giggle at that. “Alright, follow me?”

You grab his hand and drag him through the other patrons, walking by a particularly heated makeout session on the way out. You’re pretty certain the exit you take is supposed to be an emergency exit, but you don’t much care, and it’s not like going through the door set any alarms off or anything.

As soon as you’re out into the cold air he spins you around, quite aggressively stealing away your lips in a loveless kiss and feeling you up like his life depends on it. Your squeak is swallowed right up and you latch onto the lapels of his jacket. It’s now you realise his upper lip is too soft to even be legal, the scarred and marred lower lip, held together by hot staples, is so rough and hot. Fuck, what you wouldn’t do to feel the conflicting textures between your legs.

There's not a soul out there

Your tongue toys with his - rather, your tongue is toyed with - as his hips grind against your pelvis, the clear outline of his hard cock prominent against your clothed cunt, bringing you enough friction to moan unabashedly into his mouth. Dabi’s hand grabs onto of your hair and tugs your head back to break your lip lock with him so that he could plant hot, slow open-mouthed kisses and sucks all along your neck. Oh, the hickeys you’d have to cover up for work.

You sigh and bite your lip. Ignoring the hard concrete clawing away at your back while you fumble with unclasping his belt (you hoped his talk from earlier was bite and not bark), you try to free his dick from its denim confines, only for your hands to be swatted away.

“Hey,” he growls at you. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

“Who said I needed permission?” you sass, egging him on. Oh, you should’ve known better. Your mouth always got you in trouble no matter what aspect of life.

No one to hear my prayer

You hear him click his tongue at you before he spins you again, this time shoving the front of your body against the wall. One of his hands grabs the belt do your skirt and yanks your ass toward him, the other hand pushing forcefully at your neck, your cheek against whatever building lies in front of you. “Who said you could do whatever the fuck you want, brat?” Dabi snarls at you, and you gulp. The villain is quick to unfasten his belt and unzip his jeans to let his cock spring free, before your skirt is thrown over your hips to expose your favourite lacy panties, and Dabi lets out a low whistle, pulling them to the side and exposing your dripping cunt to him. “Not bad, y/n.”

Biting back sass, you instead jut your ass out against him.

“And you said I was impatient,” Dabi goads. “Here you are, drooling and ready for me to fuck you into next week, eh?”

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away

Your resistance dies as you try to glare at him. “Shut your trap and fuck me already!” you hiss. “...or are you all bark and no bite, Dabi?”

A hard slap smacks into your asscheek and you yelp, though the soft kneading of the flesh pulls a whine out of you.

“Keep this up and you won’t cum, doll.”

“Hey-“

Dabi plunged his cock into you without warning, sheathing himself straight to the hilt in one push of his hips, and you gasp, not having the opportunity to adjust to his size or the piercings adorning his dick.

“Dabi, fuuuck.” Your fingernails claw at the concrete, sure to scratch them up and end up in plenty of tears down the line, but you don’t care. The barbells of his piercings and the utter girth of his cock fill you up so full you almost feel like you’re going to split in half. “So big...!”

“Real fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you?” Dabi slowly draws his hips back and quickly fucks into you again, drawing a gasp from you as he then sets a steady pace thrusting into you. “And tight-“

You keen as his hips piston into yours repeatedly, one of his hands firmly grasping your hip enough to leave bruises, and you hear an unknown metal jingling about, though you realise exactly what he’s done when you feel tough, cool leather wrap around your throat. Your cunt clenches at the implication his belt brings. Dabi is quick to notice and leans down toward your ear to utter a single, gravelly word: “Slut.” He thrusts into you especially hard and fast as if to prove his point, and you cry out when he hits that spongey spot, your throat dry. You can hear the lewd squelching and erotic song of skin slapping against skin.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

The belt tightens around your neck so much that it deprives of you enough oxygen to reach utter bliss as he pounds into your cunt, your cheek getting scraped up from the friction of the concrete wall. Any attempt you make at saying anything amounts to nothing as you begin to feel lightheaded and filled with pure ecstasy, your eyes trying to roll back into your head and drool creeping out the corner of your mouth.

A choked gasp comes out of you when his hand smacks at your ass cheek again, then again, then again, slow kneading of the flesh following thereafter and lulling the sting away. You moan loudly at his ministrations, nearing the height of bliss. “What, are you a painslut, too?” he jabs, though you can’t respond, and so he does it again, coaxing a cry of pleasure and pain out of you and tears into your eyelids, threatening to overflow and stain your cheeks. Another slap has you cumming on his clock with little warning, Dabi’s groan behind you mixing with your mewls and squeals. “Fuck!” you hear him curse, and he doesn’t stop fucking your poor pussy even after you came down, throwing you into a state of whiny oversensitivity.

“Too mu-uuch!” is all you can manage through the hazy fog of bliss.

Dabi doesn’t seem to care and keeps pounding into you anyway, though he does go for a change in scenery as he pulls you upright by tugging back on the belt around your neck, pulling your back to his chest and giving him room to slip his hands to your cunt. You cry out and squirm when his digits begin rubbing fast circles on your clit, your fingers instinctively flying toward the belt and clawing at the leather as you gasp and keen away. Squirm and wiggle as you want, he holds you tight. Tears run down your cheeks and pressure in your abdomen builds, threatening to break away like a damn and letting the flood crash through. You cry out his name, though it only seems to egg him on and he pounds into you faster, fingers still abusing your puffy clit. Head foggy and mind hazy, you orgasm again already, and your cunt squeezes his cock again, clenching repeatedly as if to milk him for all he’s worth and coating him in your juices.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away

Dabi lets out a string of curses and loses the rhythm of his hips, his grunts fucking music to your ears. Begs and pleas filter out of you for no apparent reason as his hips keep slapping against yours, your sobs and moans filling the alleyway and reverberating off the walls.

“Fuck! Shit, shit, shit!”

Your clenching cunt hugging onto him like it does sends Dabi over the edge, and he cums inside of you, milky hot cum coating your fleshy walls, eliciting a blissed-out sigh from you as he finally stops fucking into you.

The pressure on your neck is alleviated and you fall back against him, legs weak and head spinning. Dabi nuzzles your ear with his nose, one hand still cupping your pussy and the other gripping your tit.

“Whaddya say we head back to my place, y/n?” he croons.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

[anotherghoul666]

Ok, but why does the Turisas Rasputin cover slap so much? I might have to add them to the playlist of bands to look into when I finish my hyperfixation

Because Turisas are one of the greatest, most fun folk metal bands that have ever existed. When you combine their vibe with 70s disco, and you let Mr. Olli Vänskä unhinged-violinist-extraordinaire serve you with a violin riff straight out of a 70s porno, you get PURE GOLD. Legit, this song live turns even the hardest metalhead into a disco-head for 4 minutes. It turns the moshpit into a folk dancing / russian dancing pit, and it's some of the absolute most fun I've had in my lenghty career as a concert goer. I will never forget that pit and it's been almost 10 years since. #core memory!

If you do want to get into Turisas next, if I may serve as a guide since these guys were one of my early 2010s hyperfixation (and yall see how hard I can go in my hyperfications with Ghost, now imagine that but with way less adult responsibilities. I street-teamed for these guys, I hung out with them multiple times, I attended their clinics, I attended some of the recording of an album, I have a tattoo, like. Yeah I used to go way harder when I was younger XD) : - they released music between 2004 and 2013 and it sounds very much "of its time" in terms of the late 2000s to early 2010s folk metal boom, if that's something that even matters to you. I say this cause metalheads will know exactly what Turisas sounds like before they even have to listen when I say this, I don't know what your music taste is like tho so it might mean nothing? xD

- I advise doing the discography in order, which would be: 2004's Battle Metal, 2007's The Varangian Way, 2011's Stand Up And Fight and leave 2013's Turisas2013 for last. People often have the reflex to go for the latest release of a band; DO NOT DO THAT WITH TURISAS, it'll make you dislike the band. 2013 was very weird, it's a strange project with some good but mostly a whole lotta Bad and some more What The Fuck Was That. Stick to the first three and only if you're really in love and crave more material, try 2013, otherwise, leave it alone.

- if you can't commit to 4 albums, the one album that's essential listen is The Varangian Way. Take an hour of your day, have the lyrics out, and prepare to Feel Shit. It's a concept album about the Varangian Guard (if you like history like I do this might tickle you hard) and it follows a band of vikings and their descent from the north down to Byzantine. This album is a cornerstone of the folk metal genre which shaped it going forward and spawned a million and one immitations who never came close to this. It's grandiose and theatrical and I have both laughed out loud and sobbed to this album. Please do the entire album in one go, don't fragment it into singles and playlists, it's a concept and it flows and it needs to be whole. The other albums you may pick out singles for a playlist a bit more but Varangian deserves to be heard the way it was designed.

Happy exploration, if you do listen to them eventually please come back and let me know what you think! :D

[noblehcart]

drabble: Nina Ivanov in Po.T.O

"but mama-"

"its time for us to go now, ma cher."

"-but mama."

it was then that liesel knew there would be no peace under her roof if she didn't heed the small girl's plea. her feet were aching, back sore and she was quite ready for supper and to retire for the evening now that the work was done. mostly. there was a stack of costumes in need of mending on her hip and yet still her child begged for a few more minutes to stay in the opera auditorium. in utter fairness she couldn't blame nina for the desire because she in many ways wanted to linger, but it was late, she was tired and they didn't belong there at that hour. the last thing she wanted was for the managers to think she stole from the establishment with the late hours and lack of overseer. however it was always difficult to argue with nina when she became set on something. tonight's something was a few more lingering minutes.

"alright. i am going to walk very slowly towards the side door and you can run to catch up, but that is all. we'll be back tomorrow to discuss with Monsieur François about violin lessons." something she knew might be futile, but she had to at least try for nina's sake as she had seen how her little one stared in a frozen rapture watching him play.

even still she couldn't deny the swell of warmth at seeing her daughter light up at the prospect before nodding with a 'yes mama' before darting up the rows of auditorium seating with uncontained excitement. perhaps she should just be happy that nina found delight in every new and unexpected thing with an incredible amount of bravery she could only assume was the sole inheritance from her father. because from the moment liesel had begun work at the opera garnier little nina ivanov was enchanted with the building and more so of the phantom that reportedly haunted it. she had ran into her mother's legs with breathless excitement from what the ballet rats had told her and all her mother had to tell her was to be respectful of spirits. liesel for as much as she did believe in spirits didn't believe it was actually haunted and assumed the theater staff was odd in that it typical for people of their work. however it didn't take long of working there to learn that the opera was fundamentally eccentric in every way and her daughter was thrilled by it at every turn; more than once did liesel find nina chattering to the open air.

"and who are you talking to?" she'd ask little nina who just smiled and sigh.

"monsieur le fantome, mama."

she could only entertain her little fantasy of course. she wouldn't be the one to deny her daughter the imagination of a friend in this rumor. "what had he to say today?"

"nothing. he never speaks to me." nina's shoulders would slump slightly before she chirped up again with surprising confidence. "perhaps he'll show himself again soon. the girls in the ballet said he hasn't been seen in quite sometime."

liesel could only laugh softly at the notion with a small smile. "perhaps he is an old ghost, ma cherie. supposedly he's as old as the building. he might tire with all these appearances. perhaps he's taken some days away for rest?"

"perhaps." nina murmured now lost in thought staring up at the boxes where the wealthy patrons would watch performances from in their glitter and splendor. sometimes liesel feared that she would damage her dear little girl by letting her spend her days in the opera amongst all the grandeur she could not herself offer her. but what else was she to do with the girl, but take her with her to work? the worry still lingered however as she took in the dreamy look in her daughter's eyes.

"remember your manners, mon lapin. even the spirits deserve respect. hello, goodbye and please & thank you. hm?" she gently nudged the distracted girl to draw her back from her imaginings which succeeded in its purpose as nina giggled quietly then nodded before running off. even now as liesel stood at the edge of the auditorium at the close of day as nina scampered up the aisle, stopping at the orchestra pit before sweeping into a curtsey, that she didn't know how her daughter had learned, before promptly addressing the open air in her soft voice now having forgotten her mother entirely.

"monsieur fantome?" was the soft sweet curious voice sounding out. "mama and i must go now. adieu. i shall leave my gift here on the seat for you, monsieur. it is my favorite book and i think you might like it as well...."

[britishchick09]

this day in rewrite history - may 18th

erik plays a song for christine on the organ while she goes on a trip down memory lane... ♥

Erik crossed his ankles as he set his fingers on the keys. “I mostly use the organ to compose, but I play other songs as well, ones that aren’t apt for the piano. Here’s one of my favorites- Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.”

It sounds so spooky! Christine thought, shivering as Erik played the iconic opening of the song. It’s certainly fitting for The Opera Ghost!

The last part of the opening was a D major chord, which consisted of six notes at the same time. Christine jumped at its immense volume and a scream faintly echoed from somewhere up above.

“That naughty little cockroach is infesting the auditorium again!” Erik muttered, making Christine laugh. “Did you enjoy that?” he asked her.

“Oui, it was very exciting!” Christine replied. “And a bit sinister.”

Erik shielded below his eyes with his cape as he said in his Opera Ghost voice, “Would you expect The Phantom of the Opera to play anything else?” He tossed the side of his cape over the seat and switched to his regular voice. “Granted, I play more than just Gothic pieces, just as I read more than Gothic literature. Would you like me to go on?”

Christine nodded. “Please do.”

“Good. I love this part coming up.” Erik said before continuing onward.

His long, slender fingers flew across the organ keys with ease as he played the fast notes of the song. When it came time for another D major chord, he made it soft so it barely made an echo.

“This part tickles me,” Erik said after repeating the fast notes and the chord. “It’s called an arpeggio.”

Christine giggled, feeling a tickling sensation at the high notes as they flew around the room.

A couple minutes into the song, Erik said, “Oh, this part is amazing,” He let the lower notes speed by for a bit and laughed. “Talk about tickling! I love playing fast like this. It gives me such a rush!”

“It sounds like it!” Christine said. “I’m glad you have something that makes you so happy.”

“That’s why this is such a special place. It’s where music truly soars.”

A minute later, the arpeggio slowed down and became higher like the tickling notes. Christine imagined herself at church, hearing the organist play hymns as she sang from the hymn book. She looked at little Raoul (who always mouthed the words), then up at her father. He smiled at her and she blinked the apparition away, seeing the dimly lit opera props instead of the light church.

“What were you saying about this being sinister?” Erik asked, still effortlessly playing away.

When Christine didn’t answer, he glanced behind to see her gazing at the wall. He figured she was enjoying the melody and looked back the organ.

The music grew twinkly and bright. Christine had been transported back to the past. She was running through the countryside with Raoul and Daddy Daaé. A breeze tickled her hair as her papa picked her up. She breathed in his comforting tobacco scent before he set her down. Then she and Raoul were racing down the hill, her father’s laughter echoing in her ears.

When the notes suddenly became wave-like, a teen-aged Christine was singing and dancing around the parlor of the Valerius’ mansion. Madame Valerius, Professor Valerius and Daddy Daaé applauded as she did a dramatic curtsy. Then she and her father took a stroll through the backyard garden.

The notes grew lower as the vibrant green garden faded into the brown walls of the cottage. Daddy Daaé wiggled his fingers as he told of the Nattmara, whose sandy form slithered around young Christine and Raoul. When the notes started to grow quiet, elves and fairies danced together in a mist tinted with rainbows. The vittra and the nøkk joined the kinder legends, all moving harmoniously alongside the Nattmara.

As light notes sailed by, a teen-aged Christine and her father sang and played the violin. Random music notes fell down like rain, bouncing off the violin strings and jumping into Christine. She felt a strong surge of confidence that she had only known with Erik and Daddy Daaé looked at her with a proud beam.

Suddenly, the notes grew dark and long. Christine found herself in the darkness. The lost, lonely feeling she had felt in the early days of her father’s passing crept through her. She ran through the dark before bumped into someone holding a long lavender candle.

It was Daddy Daaé!

Christine’s father wrapped an arm around her, keeping her close. Even though he didn’t speak, Christine heard him whisper, “You’ve made me proud, my angel.”

A final long note snapped Christine out of the vision. She still felt her father’s comforting touch as the music echoed throughout the room.

“What just happened?” she whispered to Erik.

“I played the best Toccata and Fugue I’ve ever heard! Didn’t know I had that in me.” Erik replied.

“And I didn’t know I had that in me.”

“You were secretly playing along?”

Christine chuckled and shook her head. “No, I… I saw so many things. I wasn’t in this room, I was in a different place entirely. The visions seemed so real!”

“Music is like that sometimes. It can take you on a journey to a strange new world-”

“No, it wasn’t strange at all. It was old and familiar,” Christine sighed. “I was with Papa.”

Erik blinked sadly, his fingers slowly slipping from the organ keys. He got up and stood in front of Christine, “I- I- I’m so sorry for playing-”

“It’s fine! It wasn’t sad at all. It was nice to think of Papa. Yes, my heart aches a little, but…” Christine smiled. “I feel happy.”

Erik smiled back. “See? You’re healing.”

“Oui. I definitely feel it.” Christine said before thinking, And I’m so glad to know that you’re proud of me, Papa!

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 04

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation 

words: 10.3k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04. 

start from the beginning?

You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame. 

24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing. 

The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music. 

Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi? 

It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now. 

At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class. 

It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead. 

It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you. 

Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.  

It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.  

Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard? 

Why do I care so much? 

The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions. 

You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that. 

Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic. 

The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way. 

So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before. 

“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt. 

“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet. 

Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers. 

“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?” 

You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else? 

“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer. 

Is this really happening right now? 

He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now. 

Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious? 

His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs. 

“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it. 

“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again. 

“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same. 

He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?” 

“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you. 

“What kind of favor?” 

“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift. 

So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer. 

There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings. 

Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted? 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time. 

You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool. 

He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer. 

“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.” 

“Don’t you need the space?” 

“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again. 

It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past. 

You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.  

“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that. 

“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know. 

“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy. 

You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again. 

You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened. 

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming. 

Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?” 

“Yeah. Go ahead.” 

Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play. 

He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago. 

You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder. 

Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?

He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel. 

He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay. 

When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before. 

“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again. 

There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence. 

“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away. 

You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real. 

But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.

It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself. 

You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you. 

It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.

But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot. 

You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize. 

He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe. 

You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming. 

“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?” 

“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.” 

You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh. 

You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.) 

As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative. 

You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer. 

~

Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back. 

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily. 

The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm. 

Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh. 

That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest. 

You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you? 

How had the two of you come so far? 

 And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry? 

Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his? 

He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least. 

But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.

How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward? 

The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet. 

Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach. 

And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise. 

Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now. 

He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that. 

  And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room? 

And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts. 

Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me? 

So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know? 

~

You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon 

 The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard. 

Fuck… what have I done. 

 You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay? 

 You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?  

 Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah 

Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing 

Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone  

Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then 

Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you? 

 You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.  

Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough. 

Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you. 

The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair. 

You want to take him apart. 

“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective. 

Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long. 

There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup. 

“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it. 

“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you. 

“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.  

“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup. 

Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time. 

“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”  

“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now. 

He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out. 

You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed. 

“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out. 

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” 

“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…” 

Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?” 

Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave. 

“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.” 

Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in. 

“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.” 

He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.” 

“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.” 

Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.  

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more. 

“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful. 

“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.” 

You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter. 

Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there. 

“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”

All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart. 

“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours. 

The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else. 

And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide? 

“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–” 

“Serendipity?”  

“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now. 

You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer. 

“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.” 

“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now. 

He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep. 

“I like you… I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft. 

“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand. 

Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.” 

“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy. 

You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock. 

“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes. 

“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?” 

You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi. 

~

This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward. 

Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice . 

The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap. 

Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi. 

In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated. 

After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing. 

“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words. 

“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen. 

“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.  

And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before. 

You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening. 

The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless. 

 “Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot. 

Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper. 

“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore. 

You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes. 

All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon. 

You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.” 

You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification. 

You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow. 

And again, and again, and again. 

“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again. 

God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench. 

Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are. 

You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?” 

“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works. 

Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him. 

In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips. 

“Tell me, why are you provoking me?” 

“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you’re finally getting what you want. What you both want. 

He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?”  He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?” 

You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are. 

He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards. 

“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again. 

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite. 

He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point. 

You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button. 

“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy. 

Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control. 

“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.” 

Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take? 

“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on. 

“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely. 

Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask. 

He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.” 

The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him. 

“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.” 

“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand. 

“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you? 

He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him. 

You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase. 

“Fuck, Yoongi…” 

“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger. 

“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes. 

“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.  

“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?” 

You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much. 

“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.” 

“Why?” 

“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck. 

You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.” 

“Forgive you for what?” 

“For being needy…” You say, sweetly. 

“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact. 

You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room. 

The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit. 

You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants. 

Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi. 

“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.” 

Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.” 

The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.” 

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel. 

You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost. 

“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.” 

Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture. 

“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to. 

He stops in his fucking tracks. Again. 

“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…” 

“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder. 

God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring. 

You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.” 

“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need. 

“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job. 

“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again. 

“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again. 

You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission. 

“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”  

“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care. 

You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to. 

He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further. 

You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly. 

“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers. 

“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised. 

“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg. 

Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night. 

Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach. 

It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed. 

Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break. 

Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable. 

You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.  

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room. 

It’s… Jungkook?  

Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook? 

Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do. 

His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk. 

“Hyung, who’s that?”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello Steph 😊 Do you have any BAMF Molly or just some good fics that feature Molly? I need some Molly love at the moment because I just read a fic where she "turns to the drak side" so to speak, and my heart 😭😭😭

Hey Nonny!

Ah I did a few comm. recs lists recently with Molly, but here are what I can offer you from memory, LOL. PLEASE add your fave Molly fics, guys! PLEASE NOTE these are fics I’ve read, and please check the sub-headings for a TONNE of stuff I haven’t read!! Big title so I can find it later LOL.

MOLLY PLAYS A ROLE

See also:

COMM RECS: Coming Out To Molly

COMM RECS: Molly with Women

COMM RECS: Molly and Greg Push John and Sherlock Together

COMM RECS: Molly as a Villain

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.

Thirty Three Hours Without John Watson by Bookaholic, mybrotherharry (M, 6,232 w. || First Kiss / Time, Pining Idiots, BG Mystrade, Crackish) – Sherlock can SO TOTALLY survive without John Watson. It should be a piece of cake. AKA the time when Sherlock braved grocery store lines for milk, purchased and gave away a box of tampons and figured out what the X-Factor is. Greg and Mycroft didn’t sign up for this shit. Next time, they are going to the Bahamas.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

Insanity in the Middle by DotyTakeThisDown (E, 28,010 w., 8 Ch. || Equestrian Sports AU || Alternate First Meeting, POV John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Clueless Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Passionate Kisses, Hand Holding, Caught Making Out, Bed Sharing, Spooning, Blow Job) – John is a world-class eventing rider with a gold medal and several four-star wins to his credit, but he's never won at Rolex. Sherlock is an up-and-coming rider taking the sport by storm.

Love or What You Will by miss_frankenstein (T, 31,987 w., 11 Ch. || College/Uni AU || Professor John, Ph.D Student Sherlock, Pining John, Poetry, Falling in Love / Slow Burn, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – John is an English professor who specializes in War and Post-War Literature and Sherlock is the brilliant yet impossible Ph.D. student assigned to be his TA because no one in the Chemistry Department is willing to put up with him. And - somewhere between Waugh and Plath, e-mails and takeaway, novels and villanelles - they fall in love.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, Molly/  John [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon...or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn't know what Molly's up to...but he knows he doesn't like it.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most. An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete. (This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w., 15 Ch. || Notting Hill AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

This Thing All Things Devours by cypress_tree (E, 63,844 w., 15 Ch. || In Time AU || Science Fiction, Dystopian Universe, First Meetings, Action / Adventure, Romance) – In 2169, time is money—literally. Humans are genetically engineered to stop aging at 25, when the numbers on their arm start counting down from one year. When that time is up, they die. The only way to get more time is to earn it, borrow it, or steal it.John Watson lives day-to-day in the crowded slums of Zone 13. He never imagined living any differently—until he meets the practically-immortal Sherlock, and helps him on a case to track a local time-thief...

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Stars Move Still by BeautifulFiction (E, 96,022 w., 5 Ch. || Magical Realism, Demons, Slash to Pre-Slash, AU, Happy Ending, Souls) – "What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?”

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles, Girl’s Night, Texting, Virgin Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Background Mollstrade, Hair Petting, Laying on Lap) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles (T, 107,998 w., 215 Ch. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w., 13 Ch. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place