#guitarist blade�� shivers (in a good way)

[neuvistar]

biker! blade? how about guitarist! blade who fucks u before stepping onto the stage and according to him, its a good luck ritual 🫶🫶🫶

oh lawd…. u got me thinking.. guitarist blade is good w his fingers u guys CANNOT tell me otherwise

guitarist!blade x fem!reader. cw. nsfw. semi public s3x, v4ginal fingering, squirting, one pussy slap, cunnilingus, use of nicknames, blade referred 2 as “yingxing” | minors dni | nsfw under the cut !

blade groaned deeply, reveling in the sight of his precious beloved’s pleasure-stricken face. your cries filled his changing room, echoing off the walls like a testament to the newfound connection between your drenched cunt and his fingers. each thrust of his digits brought you closer to heaven, but made you fear for the worst.. there were people around, the door wasn’t locked.. you knew someone could come in any moment now. but blade? aeons.. he just wanted to savour every single moan that left your lips, igniting the fire within his body. but yet, he knew this little intimacy wouldn’t last long because of his concert he had to preform. ugh.. such bad timing.

“bladie, please…” he heard you beg, his heart lurched at the little nickname, “yingxing.. you really need to go out there and preform.. we can do this alone later..” your soft murmurs were interrupted by the sudden curl of his fingers, a sharp gasp left your lips at the sensation as you could almost feel sweat dripping down your forehead, mingling with tears of anguish and elation. “this is good luck," he panted desperately, trying to ease his arousal as he rubbed himself against the couch. “don’t interrupt.. you know you enjoy this as much as i do, don’t you?”

he shoved a third digit inside, eliciting another whimper from his precious darling.. a low chuckle rumbled in his throat, marvelling at the warmth and tightness of your pussy around his slender fingers, you knew he was getting tired of using his fingers.. you knew from how lazy his pumps were getting, they were steady.. yes, but they were also slowing down by the second. a wave of relief washed through you when blade retracted his fingers from your drooling cunt. in his eyes, it was still begging for more. but in yours? you were absolutely exhausted! you grumbled, slowly trying to get up. ah, maybe he finally stopped, right?

you were more wrong than ever. that was just the beginning.

blade raised his freehand to land a quick yet painful slap to your cunt. “ouch..! hey!” you yelped, furrowing your eyebrows with a pout. “silly girl. did you think we were done? the good luck charm has not come onto me yet.”

“w—what? what do you mean it hasn’t “come onto” you yet?! do i look like tinkerbell to you—“ blade almost immediately delved into your wet heat, oh yeah. this was what he needed. his good luck charm of the day. his tongue stroked along your folds delicately at first, kissing your clit with his pretty lips as he tasted you. fuck, he needed this alright. his fingers played with your hole gently while his mouth continued its rhythm. he was determined to give you pleasure beyond measure, but yet he was also determined to give himself a reward for all the hard work throughout the day, and.. his good luck charm he was so desperate to get. your soft cries rang out loud yet wonderfully in his changing room, praying to the gods above that nobody would walk in. the male’s tongue darted playfully over your clit while he slowly slid two fingers inside you.

“blade..” your body arched off the couch when he dug his fingers knuckles deep within you, teasingly doing a scissoring motion as your cries filled the quiet room. the more he saw you moan, the more he saw you squirm.. the more he desired you. his wet muscle picked up the pace as he licked and sucked hungrily, eating you out like a starved man.. the sounds of slurping and licking were evident. each moan that escaped from your mouth sent waves of pleasure coursing through him; he wanted nothing more than your release. on his face.

before you could say anything, your hand flung onto your mouth as your eyes were sewn shut, squirting on his face with a sense of relief. “.. ah.. ah? oh my god.. i’m so sorry!” blade only scoffed at your apology, bringing his hand to wipe his face as he eagerly lapped up the remaining mess on your pussy, savouring your taste while watching you tremble underneath him. a satisfied grin spread wide across his face. “that’s what i was hoping for.”

“.. huh?”

“your release. your release on my face. my.. good luck charm for the performance today.”

ugh.. seriously, you really need to put a leash on this man, or he’ll eat you out every few minutes before his performances. well.. not like you’d mind anyway.

@ NEUVISTAR. do not plagiarize, claim my work as your own, translate or share my posts on any platform outside of tumblr.

[hoodoo12]

Private Lesson

Dewey Finn appreciation continues! Based on an rp with the always delightful, insanely talented @beetlebitchywitch. NSFW: Dewey/f!reader. Flirting, Dewey being oblivious, the light comes on, smut! Enjoy!

⁂

“You know, Dewey,” she said, “I'm not in a rock band. But I play piano, so I've got manual dexterity, and I play saxophone so I have pretty good breath control too. I wonder if either of those things interest you at all?”

As always when the discussion of music was even breathed near him, he brightened, “Oh, you looking to join a band? Mine’s kinda just made of kids, but I’m sure they’d love a jam session with you!”

She gave him a bit of a smile, and decided to play along for the moment.

“It'd have to be a jazz band, not rock,” she mused. “I kind of like the big band sound, and some of those male vocalists? Yeah. That’s my preference.”

“I bet you’d do great at that!” he enthused. “Jazz isn’t really my thing, but as long as you’re passionate about it, you’ll make great music.”

He was clueless and adorable. She decided to up the ante. “I think it'd be fun making some music with you, if you're interested . . .”

His brow furrowed. “ . . .wait.”

She raised her eyebrows and her smile widened.

“ . . . I think I get it,” he continued in her silence.

Did he, though? “No kids though. It'd have to be a private lesson.”

“You, uh. You talking about a . . .” He gulped. “ . . .  private lesson?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed.” I don't know anything about guitar, so you'd have to show me the fingerings. You know?

A blush began creeping up his cheeks. “I . . . I do know a thing or two about f-fingering . . .”

“I bet you do, Dewey.” she agreed, licking her lip just to make it shiny. “I know that lots of guitarists have calloused fingers too--I dated a bassist, once--but that's okay. Shows you're dedicated to what you like.”

He was getting more flustered, but instead of shutting down, he choked out, “Did you, uh . . . did you like the callouses?

“Sure did! It's an interesting contrast on . . . softer skin. And since the fingertips lose a little bit of feeling when those callouses are there, a little extra attention, like a little harder suction, is needed. Musicians hands always need some massaging and care.”

He was bright red at this point, gazing at her with wide eyes as if seeing her for the first time. “Would you, um . . . Christ, sorry, forget it . . . ”

“Would I what?” she prompted softly. “It's okay, Dewey. What were you going to ask?”

“Well, I . . . it’s just . . . I’dbetyou’dfeelreallysoft . . .”

His slurred words took a second to decipher, then she grinned. "Come here and feel?"

She held a hand out to him, palm up.

He approached her slowly, his cheeks pleasantly pink as he gazed at her hand.

“O-okay . . .”

He reached out and touched her hand, and oh god, he was right, her skin was so soft. He shuddered as he traced his calloused fingertips in light circles around her palm.

She let him rub circles into her palm, even though it tickled a little and he seemed shy about such innocent contact. Smiling at him, she asked, "Do I get to return the favor?"

His eyes flitted back up to hers and he nodded softly, mirroring her gesture with his palm faced up, his hands trembling slightly.

She took a second to rub her hands briskly, to warm them, then took his hand into hers. Using her thumbs, she pushed into his palm before dragging them out, and repeating the motion. She used more gentle pulling motions on each individual finger, adding minor twists to loosen any stiffness he might have in a joint. She paid special attention to his fingertips, like she'd mentioned, applying slightly harder pressure on the callouses he'd created with the strings of his guitar.

She laced her fingers with his and stretched everything backwards, again to loosen it all, and finished after another quickly rubbing her hand together again, for the heat. She squeezed his hands lightly, when she was done.

"That would've been better with some lotion," she told him sheepishly. "Maybe next time?"

He watched her intently as she massaged his hand, putting so much care into a simple action in a way that just did something to him. God, he felt so pathetic, getting so worked up over someone just touching his hand, but something about the way her soft fingers soothed the overworked muscles sent hot pleasure racing through him. He hated to admit it, but he was getting hard in his pants from the simplest of touches, this gentle, caring gesture that just made him want to fall to his knees and worship her where she stood.

“Y-yeah . . . ” he stammered, his mouth feeling utterly dry. “Next time . . .”

"Well, I'm sure other parts could use a little attention too. I bet you store a lot of tension in that shoulder where your guitar strap digs in, and everybody's back needs some rubbing too . . . of course, it'd be best if you didn't have a shirt on for that . . ."

“Yeah, no, I can do that!” he said hurriedly, fumbling with his shirt as he rushed to take it off. The thought of those soft, warm hands on his back . . . he tried to readjust himself discreetly, not wanting to embarrass himself.

She plucked the shirt out of his hand where he'd balled it up and folded it semi-neatly. Dragging her fingertips across his now bare shoulders, she smiled.

"This might be better if you're laying down," she advised, "but the only place that would be comfortable enough is the bed. Would that be okay?"

He shivered at the light tickle of her fingertips along his shoulder, and with a soft nod, he was laying out across the bed, thankfully on his stomach so to hide his growing arousal.

She hummed her satisfaction and crawled up beside him.

She focused on his left shoulder first. working out the kinks driven into the muscle by that guitar strap. She could feel the knots there, and used heavy pressure to try and loosen them. Worried she'd go overboard, however, she left it be and worked on his right shoulder, as well as his neck.

Quietly she asked him to cross his arms and rest his forehead on them, and when  he complied, she pressed her thumbs into the muscle near the back of his head, on either side of his neck.

Then she moved down the rest of his back, using sweeping motions and moderate pressure to relax him. His back was warm and soft under her hands, and she tried to make sure not to tickle him as she worked her way to his waist.

In his lower back, she traced around the dimples she found there a few times because they were cute, then she once again used moderate pressure on the area. Her fingers dipped under the waistband of his jeans--that was a mistake, she should have had him shed those too, no one could be comfortable getting a massage in jeans!--but she didn't make it awkward.

She finished it all with very light scratches, and impulsively, she pressed a kiss right between his shoulder blades.

Fuck. Her hands were heavenly, her touch just firm enough to loosen his tense muscles. She touched him slowly, softly, and Christ it was driving him fucking wild. When her touch grew slightly more adventurous, he perked up, feeling like there was electricity buzzing under his skin. But God, when she pressed that soft little kiss on his back, that was it. He let out a pathetic, reedy moan of her name, his entire body trembling underneath her.

She laughed a little, not unkindly, at his moan. Her hands tingled. "So you're feeling good, Dewey? Anything else I can do for you?"

Teasingly, she drew one finger down his back again.

“I-I . . . yes,” he sighed, arching up into the teasing touch with a soft moan. “Christ, I’ve been hard this whole fucking time, baby . . .”

Who needed shame when a hot woman was fucking massaging him?

"Oh! Well, that must not've been too comfortable! Why don't you lose those jeans, and I'll see what I can do to make you feel better in the front too."

He perked up, looking over his shoulder at her questioningly, as if to make sure she meant it. When he saw she did, he shuffled out of his jeans as quickly as he could, struggling for a moment before tossing them away. He was left in only his boxer briefs, his cock straining obviously against the fabric.

Her eyes took him in hungrily, and very lightly, she ran her palms up him, from thigh to chest. She grazed over the bulge at his crotch with the softest, most barely-there touch.

"Those have to be tight too . . ." she told him, nodding towards his underwear. "They should probably go."

He met her gaze, his shyness melting away to pure hunger.

“Then take them off,” he said softly.

Biting her lip but smiling through it at his boldness, her fingers hooked into the elastic at his waist. With a little tug to indicate he needed to lift his hips, she shimmied them over his ass, made sure not to get them caught on his cock, and pulled them down his legs in one determined movement. She wrangled one of his feet out, but left his underwear around the other ankle, to tease.

His cock slapped against his stomach, achingly hard and begging to be touched. He stared her down hungrily, his eyes roving her body.

“Shouldn’t I get to see some skin too, babe? I mean, I am naked for you...”

He smiled slyly, his eyes clearly lingering on her breasts.

"Yes, you certainly are," she agreed.

She couldn't help but scratch lightly down his sides, over his stomach. She'd have dragged her finger down the line of hair from his belly button to his pubic bone, but it was covered by his cock and she didn't want to touch him there just yet.

"That's fair. I have a tattoo and piercings. I hope that's okay," she told him, but pulled her t-shirt off over her head before he could agree or disagree. She let her shirt drop beside the bed, and her bra followed it.

“Okay? It’s hot as fuck, babe,” he groaned, finally getting to take in the sight of her without her shirt on. “Christ . . . you’re beautiful . . . ”

His voice and eyes grew soft, taking her in like she was a work of art.

That unsolicited praise made her blush.

She crawled a little further up the bed on her hands and knees. She watched him watch her, and it made her catch her breath.

"It's not really a standard massage move--more of an advanced one--" She chuckled to show it was a joke, "--but to be thorough, I should probably make sure your lips are relaxed too . . ."

She leaned over him, and softly pressed her mouth on his.

He moaned into her lips, wrapping his arms around her waist and spreading his hands out over her back. Christ, her skin was so soft, smooth and wonderful against his calloused fingers. He kissed her back softly, chuckling a bit at her comment.

“You can drop the whole massage shtick, you know,” he said, pulling away with a little wink. “I think we’re past that at this point, right babe?”

She laughed into his mouth, her eyes bright, looking at him in amusement. "Should I go back to calling it a private lesson?"

He laughed, his eyes twinkling with mirth and adoration for the woman above him.

“Let’s call it what it is,” he said softly, leaning in for an equally soft kiss. “Now . . . Christ, please touch me . . . ”

"I thought you'd never ask, lover," she replied, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Immediately she lay down beside him, hiked on an elbow, using one hand to scratch and massage down his torso. This time, when she neared his cock, she didn't bypass it.  Wrapping her hand around him, she gave him a tug, then another. She stopped watching her hand to glance at his face for his reaction.

His face crumpled as her hand moved up and down his cock. God, he was so sensitive, having been hard and waiting for so long. He bucked up into her hand with his mouth hung open, little whimpers spilling from his lips.

She liked that he jerked into her and his whimpers were sweet. That was all good, but it could be better. She stroked him with a little more intent, giving him a twist when she reached the head of his cock with each upward pull.

“F-fuck,” he moaned shakily, reaching out to brace his hand on her shoulder. Her hand was so soft, and she was using the perfect amount of pressure as she stroked him, it was driving him fucking crazy.

“Babe . . . fuck, c’mere.” He surged up, pushing her onto her back and moving to hover over her.

"Uh-uh, lover," she protested, and flipped him right back to where he'd been: on his back. "Maybe next time you get to be in charge."

To keep him in place, she quickly shed her pants and panties and then climbed up over him and sat on his upper thighs. She walked her fingers up his stomach to his chest, and she rolled his nipples.

He threw his head back with a desperate moan, bucking up into her touch as the little noises poured from his lips. This was not how he expected this to go, but honestly, he wasn’t complaining in the slightest.

She smiled down at him, loving the moans she dragged out of him. She pinched him again before stretching upward to kiss him, harder this time, slipping her tongue between his lips.

The position had moved her more onto his groin, but she held herself up for the moment. Her belly and chest on his, she wiggled against him, skin on skin.

“B-babe!” he cried out, holding tightly onto her hips as she ground down onto him. Christ, she felt so good, all warm and smooth skin under his hands.

"Mmm--that feels nice," she cooed, even as she sat up a little bit. She pried one of his hands off her hip and transferred it to her right tit. She closed his fingers over the captive bead piercing in her own nipple.

"Be nice," she said, in mock warning.

“Mmf, yes ma’am,” he groaned, kneading her breast in his hand.

He let his fingers play with the bar pierced through her nipple, pinching and twisting her nipple while gazing up at her in adoration.

"Oh, that's fucking good," she moaned.

The sharp pleasure Dewey created with his rough fingertips made her arch her back, which in turn dropped her pussy to his cock. It wasn't the perfect position, his shaft laying the length of her slit, but she ground down on him anyway, continuing to moan and giggle a little.

“Oh god,” he groaned gutturally, bucking his hips to grind the length of his cock along her pussy. Christ, she was fucking wet, all hot and slick against him and it was driving him fucking crazy. He continued playing with her nipple, loving the feeling of the metal inside it.

His movements down below made his cock rub along her clit, and she jerked like it'd been a live wire.

"Fuck--Dewey! Do that again!" she ordered, but it came out more like a plea.

He continued grinding up against her, throwing his head back with a reedy moan at the feeling of her slick warming his cock.

She dropped her head as he complied, and gave a little gaspy moan with each bump of the head of his cock on her clit.

Like before, it was good, but it could be better.

She leaned down again dislodging his hand from her now overstimulated nipple. She kissed him, then dragged her mouth along his jaw till she got to his ear. She nipped the lobe, and rasped.

"I wanna fuck you, Dewey Finn--right now!"

He kissed her back sweetly, burying his fingers in her hair. When she moved to nibble at his ear, he groaned, biting at his lower lip at the sound of her filthy words.

“Then fuck me,” he retorted.

She snorted--like what he'd said was some kind of challenge?--nipped him a little harder on his ear and sat back up. Dragging her fingernails down his chest and belly again, she reached between her legs and grasped his cock. She gave it a twisting pull, like before, then let him go and brought her hand back up to her mouth to lick it. She kept direct eye contact with the man below her as she did, then slipped her hand back down. One last time she wrapped her hand around him, this time wet, and held him steady while she rocked her hips and found exactly where she wanted him to be.

With a little resistance because yes, she'd been turned on while massaging and teasing him but with the exception of a bit of humping not much else had happened between her legs, she arched her back and pushed down onto him. Once he opened her up, her cunt took him fully, and she paused for a moment, seated at his pelvis for a moment, waves of pleasure making her moan long and low.

“Ohhhh fuck,” he groaned while she sank down onto him.

If he thought her just grinding on his cock was incredible, god, the feeling of her tight, wet pussy gripping him was almost too much to handle. He gazed up at her, and Christ was she hot, her tits just begging to be squeezed where they hung above her belly.

She sat upright on him and gently rolled her hips, keeping him deep inside her. She cupped her tits, and seeing him lick his lips as she did she leaned back down for a moment. The positioning wasn't perfect, so she asked him to sit up, and she bunched up and shoved the pillows behind him to keep him angled more upright. It was awkward for a moment, trying to balance with his cock inside her as he settled back, but once he had, her tits were closer to his mouth. She grinned and, tugging just a bit on her piercing to make the nipple stand up again, she cupped it and offered it to him with raised eyebrows.

He looked up at her for a second with eyes full of wonder before he latched on, rolling his tongue around the hardened bud and groaning against the cool metal of the piercing. He wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her as he thrusted up into her, craving the delicious slide of his cock in her pussy.

Like a circuit being completed, bliss arced through her. She wrapped her now free hand around his head, keeping him close. She'd have been happy to keep fucking him, but with his feet planted on the bed he pushed up into her, and it was divine. She cried out in time with his thrusts, his cock creating the most delicious friction even as her pussy grew wetter.

"D-Dewey!" she stuttered. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, please--bite harder, just a little harder, oh fuck fuck fuck--"

Christ, she was fucking incredible. He was in awe of her as she rode him, tits bouncing as he teased her nipple with his tongue before nipping at it, scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin. He pulled away, looking up at her with dark, wild eyes.

“That’s it, baby, Jesus you feel--mmf, fuck--you feel so good!”

"Fuck! You too, you too," she babbled.

Everything was building to a peak. He'd left off her tit but that didn't matter any more, the only thing that existed in the world right now was the man below her, his cock in her pussy, his hands so tight on her skin, his dirty praise. Her throat hurt from the sharp panting and moans he pulled from her, and then it all stilled. In the next moment, she came, hard, his name choked out, every bit of her clenching as euphoria rolled in waves over her. For a millisecond of eternity, it was sublime. It took a bit before she could open her eyes again, and her ears were ringing.

Oh god. Oh god. She was utterly divine, riding him within an inch of his life, hands scrabbling for purchase on his chest and pretty little noises spilling from her lips. And god, when she came, it was all too much. Her pussy clenched around him so fucking tightly and it was all over. He gripped her hips tightly and came with a loud moan, spilling into her as absolute sublime pleasure ripped through his body.

Although there were still residual tremors of pleasure, she wasn't so far gone that she couldn't enjoy the sights and sounds of Dewey coming undone below her.

"Good--oh baby, it's so fucking good--come inside me, oh fuck, Dewey--!" she praised as he tipped over the edge of ecstasy. His hands pinched her, but it was worth the small ache to watch his face as he lost himself.

When he relaxed, she relaxed too, folding over and laying on his chest, but not lifting her hips so he stayed buried in her pussy. With her cheek on his shoulder, she drew abstract designs in the hair on his chest.

He panted softly as he came down, the feeling of his cum dripping from her pussy practically making his head spin. She was so incredibly warm and wet around him, and the pleasurable feeling fizzled out slowly as she shifted to snuggle up to him.

“W-wow . . .”

"Wow yourself," she agreed. "Thanks for all that, Dewey. It was amazing."

“You don’t have to thank me,” he sighed happily, twirling a strand of her hair in his fingers. “The pleasure was all mine . . . well, all ours I suppose.”

She picked up her head to look at him.

"It was amazing," she repeated, and kissed him under the jaw, in his scruff. "I appreciate the private lesson. Maybe next time you could show me some of that fingering you mentioned?"

He grinned, pulling her down into a slow, sweet kiss.

“Anytime, babe,” he said. “Anytime.” fin!

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Texting & Tamarins

Cries of pain, the smell of a sickroom, the blank faces of the attendants, Jane’s cries of frantic agony, the helplessness, the fear-

  Joan’s eyes snapped open.

  No sickroom, no dying woman. Just her own cabin.

  She curled up into a ball and lay there, shivering.

  Instinctively, she reached for her phone.

  ‘R U awake?’

  Maggie teased her about using text speak but it was so much simpler when she was in a hurry. Such as now.

  The answer pinged back almost immediately: no.

  The response made her whole body sink with relief- Maggie was awake, it was all ok- and she was already starting to key in her response when she stopped herself. Maggie had said no, after all. And she HAD- very nicely- asked Joan to try to keep from texting her after midnight, in the interest of good sleep hygiene (or as she had phrased it- ‘I love you but it better be an emergency or I’m not going to have gotten enough sleep to not kill someone’.)

  Did this count as an emergency?

  True they hadn’t hashed out the finer details….but still, probably not.

  She pushed her phone back under her pillow and curled up again.

  It was fine. She’d just go to sleep and tell Maggie about the dream in the morning.

  Except.

  She just couldn’t switch off.

  The cabin felt….extra dark, somehow. More sinister. Usually, it was her bolthole from the sometimes chaotic and often crowded rest of the ship. Now though, it felt unfamiliar. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the absolutely ridiculous feeling that there was someone there with her- there, or just outside the door…

  She rolled herself into her blankets, which helped for about thirty seconds...but then she felt just as vulnerable as before. Vulnerable- and alone. The fear that there was someone creeping up on her was mixed somehow with the feeling that she was the only one awake on the entire ship, and even though logically she knew that wasn't true, the thought made her feel oddly lonely. She thought of the sleeping ship- and of the bleak empty ocean surrounding them- and her eyes stung with tears.

  Rolling onto her stomach, she started to cry very quietly into her pillow, hating herself at the same time for being so pathetic. Even the knowledge that she’d feel like an idiot in the morning didn’t help dissipate the horrible feeling of desolation building in the pit of her stomach.

  Alone….all alone….

  The quiet knock on the door made her freeze, heart suddenly pounding. Someone was outside, She lay there, too afraid to even breathe, straining her ears- would they try the next door, or would they stick to hers? She was suddenly seized with a terrible fear that she’d forgotten to lock her door behind her- they locked automatically, of course, but what if something had malfunctioned, what if it hadn’t closed properly, what if-

  ‘Joan?’

  It was Maggie.

  Relief flooded her at the familiar voice and she scrambled out of bed, stubbing her toe in her hurry to open the door.

  As she did, her previous fears felt especially foolish- the corridor was lit as it always was, she could even faintly hear the sounds of other people still moving around. 

She surreptitiously brushed her damp face with the sleeve of her pajama top, hoping Maggie wouldn’t notice anything amiss and she’d be able to escape with her dignity (such as it was) intact.

  ‘Why were you crying?’

  No such luck.

  ‘Um...I wasn’t?’

  Maggie raised an eyebrow and Joan felt her resolve crumbling- it was hard to obfuscate with someone as frustratingly blunt and straightforward as Maggie.

  ‘It’s stupid really, I just had a bit of a bad dream and when I woke up, I kept thinking that there was someone….there with me-’ It was ridiculous that even though she knew herself to be perfectly safe, actually verbalising it all made her throat ache and her eyes sting. ‘-like in the cabin or right outside, and I kept seeing, I kept seeing Jane, I kept seeing her screaming and I could smell the blood….and I was watching her die again….and it-’ A sob tore itself, unbidden, from her throat. ‘It was just really lonely and scary-’

  She was pathetic, she knew it- to be whining like a child, after nothing worse than a dream, bothering Maggie no less. She’d been speaking to her bare feet and she was reluctant to even look up and face the guitarist- she didn’t want to see Maggie’s blank inscrutable look, her distinctly-underwhelmed face, the one she showed to audience members who complained, to passers by who passed remarks on her height, to anyone who was dismissive of the importance of the band to the success of the whole show. 

  She didn’t want to see the unimpressed stare Maggie was surely greeting her teary rambling explanation with- so it was a surprise when instead of being questioned or scolded as she expected, she felt herself being pulled into Maggie’s warm arms.

  ‘Hey, it’s ok-’ Despite being several inches shorter, Maggie still managed to exude a surprisingly protective feel. Like she would tear the throat out of anyone who tried to get too close. ‘It’s all ok-’

  ‘I’m sorry-’

  ‘Don’t apologise, you’re fine-’

  She sniffled into the shoulder of Maggie’s hoody, feeling humiliated but also comforted. 

  ‘I’m sorry I woke you up, I know it’s late-’

  ‘That’s ok, it’s ok.’ Maggie pulled back enough to look her in the eye. ‘I did say you could call me in emergencies.’

  ‘I don’t think this counts as an emergency…’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘Hey, anything that makes you cry on me in a corridor is an emergency in my book, right? I’m glad you texted.’

  ‘I stopped texting because I felt bad about disturbing you-’

  ‘Well, I mean you’d already woken me up by that point-’

  Fresh tears welled in Joan’s eyes and Maggie squeezed her hand.

  ‘Joke. Honestly, you could have carried on texting, I wouldn't have minded.’

  ‘Sorry for getting you out of bed though-’

  ‘It’s really, really ok-’ Maggie pulled Joan back into her, gently rubbing circles up and down her back. ‘Anyway, you didn’t get me out of bed, I just got….concerned when you didn’t text back so I thought I’d check on you and…..well, I was right!’

  Joan gave a watery chuckle at Maggie’s (for her) exaggeratedly self-congratulatory tone and burrowed in closer.

  ‘Now-’ There was a (small) smile in Maggie’s voice too- it vibrated in her throat where Joan’s face was buried. ‘Let’s get you back to bed and warmed up a bit- you’re shivering-’

  Joan wasn’t entirely sure if the tremors were entirely due to the night chill of the corridor or not but she didn’t feel like arguing. The adrenalin of everything was starting to wear off; she stifled a yawn.

  Maggie nudged her back towards the half open cabin door. ‘Get your pillow first- I’m done with you stealing mine in the middle of the night like you usually do���. if I go to medical with a stiff neck again, they’re going to think I’ve got an actual problem-’

  Pillow in hand, Joan joined Maggie in the corridor again.

   Maggie looked at her without speaking.

  ‘What?’

  She kept staring.

  ‘What?’

  Maggie sighed. ‘God, you’re actually going to make me say it, aren’t you? Go get your monkey thing or whatever it is. And there I was trying to be all tactful and shit-’

  ‘......she’s a tamarin.’

  There was no point trying to deny anything, after all; face burning slightly, Joan reentered the cabin with as much poise as she could muster and scooped up the slightly worn creature from where it had fallen to the floor, hiding it behind the pillow in her arms so it wouldn’t be seen in the corridor.

  ‘You don’t need to be all weird about it-’ Maggie went on as they started down the hall to her cabin. ‘As if I care that you have a stuffed marmoset or whatever- it’s not like you’re the only one-’

  Hope flared in her chest. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, Bessie sleeps with a flick knife under her pillow-’

  ‘That’s….not really the same thing….Also she’s a tamarin….’

  ‘Meh, flick knife, marmoset. Marmoset, tamarin, Potato, potahto-’

  Maggie swiped open the door of her cabin- the faint smell of (strictly forbidden) incense and (even more strictly forbidden) cigarettes enveloped them.

  Other cast members had complained about the permanence of the aroma of both contraband items but to Joan, the cabin smelled of safety.

  ‘Get comfy. And hands off my pillow, remember.’

  Maggie pulled back at the covers and motioned for Joan to get in first before climbing in after her. It was a tight squeeze but, with the wall on one side and the warm shape of Maggie next to her, Joan felt safer than she had all night. There was just no way anyone- even the most determined intruder- would be able to get past Maggie.

  Maggie’s thoughts were obviously running in the same direction. Clicking off the light, she wrapped an arm around Joan’s stomach and pulled her in close. Her breath tickled the back of her neck.

  ‘You’re ok now. I’ve got you.’

  ‘I know.’ She yawned again. Somehow in Maggie’s cabin, the dark and quiet felt soothing rather than threatening. ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

  ‘You don’t have to say thank you, you know.’

  ‘I know but-’ She struggled to find the words. ‘You came and you didn’t have to, I woke you and disturbed you, and it wasn’t even for a good reason and-’ She could feel herself getting worked up again.

  ‘Shhh.’ Maggie pressed closer to her; her hand found Joan’s in the dark and squeezed it gently. ‘It’s ok. Go to sleep. Dream some nice dreams. Dream about tamarins or some shit.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Shhh.’ A kiss was pressed between her shoulder blades. ‘It’s all ok. I love you. Just rest.’ There was a pause. ‘Slight addendum to that- it’s all still ok and I still love you but if you don’t move your monkey thing to your side of the bed, it’s going on the floor-’

  ‘....it’s a tamarin.’

  Joan drifted to sleep to the sound of Maggie’s quiet laughter.

[rogermeddowstaylorr]

done! @queen-puppycophine​ has corrected it with all her kindness, and i have to thank her a lot :) so here’s your ask sweet queen 🧡 I’ve done a moodboard ( my girl has made one too, check hers !!!!)

“Roger, Freddie is going to kill you!” you said, walking behind your lover. He was holding your wrist, a big smile on his pretty face. “No, really I don’t want to be in his way when he finds out that you’re not here for the recording.” you added.

Roger didn’t mind that at all. He had another idea in his little head. His golden locks were bouncing in the hot summer air. He intertwined his fingers with yours, walking in the field next to Ridge Farm, where they were working. They were recording their new album, apart from the world in the countryside, normally supposed to be far from all distractions. When Roger knew you were coming too, everybody was aware he wouldn’t focus a lot.

It had been two years now, that the two of you were dating. You met in a bar, being Brian’s uni fellow, studying astrophysics with him. The tall guitarist had introduced you to Roger: you were lonely, not searching for something serious, and he was pretty and cocky. You liked it. After a small talk, nothing too special, you got along pretty well, fucking in the bathroom in the same night. What you thought would be a one-night-stand, started to become a regular thing . Every week you were seeing Roger, fucking each other mercilessly and then, you usually watched a movie or ate something. It was when he asked you on a date that things changed, welcoming the possibility of love, even though, the “I love you” stuff was not present at all. It was more of an we’re officially fucking each other relationship, than a boyfriend-girlfriend one.

As Roger stopped his pace you nearly ran into him. You punched his arm as he looked around him, pilot sunglasses -too big for him- resting on his round nose. The blonde tightened his grip on your hand as you gazed at him, confused.

“Too close by the studio.” he finally said, beginning to walk again, not telling you anything more. Your sighed, following him.

“I don’t understand you, Taylor,” you mumbled. “I don’t even have the right shoes to go hiking if that is what you want!” As those words escaped your plump lips, your foot hit a rock. What an irony! You yelped in pain, letting his hand go, and crouched to see how big the wound was. It was more spectacular than painful, though blood was covering your leather sandals.

“Ow shit,” he whispered, stopping his walk and looking at your bleeding foot. He rolled his eyes, coming closer. “I’ll clean that at the studio, I promise,” the blonde said, putting a hand under your knees and on your waist to hold you. Your eyes drifted from the red drops on your skin to his face, as your arms surrounded his neck.

“That better be good, because if not, you would pay the prize,” you said in a deep voice which earned you a loud laugh from him.

“Oh yep, you’re going to like it.” a teasing smirk was on his lips as he continued his walk. You crossed an entire field, being further and further away from Ridge Farm.

Both facing a little spot of the field after long minutes of walk, he put you on the grass with delicacy. You looked around, not knowing why he had brought you here, so far from the studio. The place was surrounded by huge trees, shielding you from the burning sun You could hear the light lapping of a trickle of water behind you and the singing birds hidden in the vegetation. You laid in the grass, you eyes falling on the smug grin pinned on his face. He smiled, sitting near you, looking around once again.

“Are you afraid people will find us?” you asked, laughing. “Boy, it’s not as if we’ll….” you stopped, understanding why he had brought you here. “Oh, Roger. You are that desesperate?” you sighed, standing up on your elbows to take off his glasses. You wanted him to look at you. “You know there are bugs and everything, huh? Not a good place to fuck your girlfriend,” you said quickly, throwing his sunglasses in the grass next to you. His cheeks reddened and he lowered his sight on his own hands, toying with some blade of grass.

“But I wanted you, and the others were always there!” he said, annoyed. You laughed a bit more, letting your hand brush his cheek.

“Oh… Baby boy…” you whispered leaning to kiss him. A smile appeared on his lips as you said that nickname. He loved it, but never admitted it.

He answered the kiss, tasting your lips with patience and gentleness. His fingers came in your hair, petting it softly as his tongue slid in your mouth. You both closed your eyes, savouring the sweet kiss you were sharing. He hummed, pulling back a bit to talk to you.

“So, you’re okay?” he asked, his big blue eyes rising at you with hope. You couldn’t resist, even though, you were afraid Freddie would be totally mad later. You nodded and straddled his hips, softly.

The flowery dress he had offered you last month was rising up a bit, revealing your thighs to his sight. He grinned a bit, pulling you in again for a kiss, and let his hand rest on your waist. Your chaste kisses went quickly heated. You were biting his lips, he was diving his tongue in your mouth, kissing you as if there were no tomorrow. You were both fighting for dominance. You whined a bit in the kiss, when his fingers started to massage your scalp, softening your kisses. He parted his lips from yours another time, looking at you.

“God, you’re so pretty. Prettier than Queen Elizabeth,” he said, half moaning it. The laugh you offered him created a burning pit in his abdomen.

His hand ran down your cheek and stopped on your lips. Two fingers gently entered your plump mouth and you bobbed your head up and down, as he rolled his hips against yours.

The feeling of his hardening cock against your white cotton panties made you shiver. Your eyes fell on his, as he watched you suck his fingers eagerly, lips parted with admiration. Suddenly, the objects of your desire fell off your mouth in a clear "plop" and brushed the skin of your leg, coming up to your clothed core. You bit your lips, your gaze not leaving  his deep blue eyes.  He pushed the material of your panties aside and entered the two lubricated fingers in you. You moaned silently, clenching your teeth.

He was describing your face. How good you were looking over him. Your eyes were closed, and your brows furrowed with pleasure. Your lips slightly parted and your unsteady breath coming in and out. Your body lightly advanced toward him. The straps of your flowery summer dress falling lazily on your tanned shoulders. He felt blessed.

His fingers froze when your hands squeezed his arm, the way to tell the other to stop, since the beginning of your relationship. You offered him a groggy smile and leaned in to kiss his confused pout.

“I want to suck you,” you said, between two kisses. His cock twitched in his tight bell bottoms. “You’re way too hot,” your lips let escape a light giggle, lifting your hips up to free yourself from his attractive fingers.

He was amazed by your beauty and, with his mouth in an “o” shape, he watched you kneel between his legs. You unbuttoned his trousers and lowered them. Lifting your head to look at him, you laughed suddenly.

“You went commando ?” you said, still giggling. Your hand slipped on his hard cock and stroked it softly.

“F...Fuck yeah.” he laughed nervously, breathing heavily. “It’s easier.” He winked quickly. His eyes were closing and opening, wanting to look at you, but also too deep into pleasure to maintain his sight.

You gave some kitten licks at the tip of his cock and took him between your lips, bobbing your head up and down. He groaned as his hand traveled over your head, fingers clenching in your hair. He smiled, seeing before closing his heavy eyelids, your pretty eyes looking at his pleased face. Sat on your heels, you were feeling your core dripping softly on the material of your light dress. You hummed against his cock as he gathered your hair in a tight ponytail, feeling the light pulling.

“You’re so hot!” he said, groaning loudly. “I’m glad you accepted. It... It was too much… One week without… Your pretty lips around my cock.” he said, panting, beginning to lose his words because of the absorbing pleasure you were giving to him.

You whined at his words and brought your thin fingers to his balls, brushing them softly. You were trying to relax the back of your throat, taking him deeper and deeper as you heard more groans and moans coming from his pretty lips.

“F...FUCK!” he nearly yelled, as he lightly pulled on your improvised ponytail, coming in your mouth.

Hot white stripes of cum were slowly running down your throat as you guided him through his orgasm. He was breathing heavily, his half clothed chest going up and down. You let his cock fall out of your mouth, as you swallowed all his cum. You smiled to him, a hand caressing his skin as you let him recover from his orgasm. You toyed a bit with his round necklace.

“I- I truly adore you,” he said, eyes closed as you brushed his skin. “In fact…I think I love you.” He opened his blue pearls to see your freezing face. You opened your mouth to say something but only leaned down to kiss him. Your hands caressing his cheeks, fingers diving into his sideburns, you let out a discreet hum.

“I love... I love you too Roger,” you said, against him, kissing his lips. One of his hand came in your hair, tightening the kiss, and the other rested on your waist.

You bit his lower lips, giggling happily. He. Loved. You. Your relation was becoming a normal one, in a way. He joined your happy laughs and kissed your nose, making you roll against the ground to be over you. You shivered a bit, as the kisses became  more heated, again. His fingers toyed with your hair and the two of you were humping against each other, moaning like animals.

He achieved to slide his cock in your core and you moaned, diving your nails into his shoulder blades. You closed your eyes trying to stop him as you surrounded his waist with your legs, blocking his movements.

“Oh...Oh my lord… wait a second... “ you panted as Roger slowly opened the lace of your décolleté. “Be gentle… It has been a long time…”

Roger kissed your cheek, nodding lazily. His golden locks were tickling your face and you met his lips, humming with pleasure as he moved a bit. Your fingers brushed his hair, devouring his delicious mouth. Little by little, his hips swayed comfortably against yours, slowly but with real control. You parted slightly your mouth needing air. Your breath was hitching in your throat, liking that way too much. You threw your head back and hummed louder, as he hit the special spot he knew too well. Roger pushed one cup of your bra down, taking your freed breast in his calloused hands. The sensation of his big rough experienced hands on your skin made you shiver wildly. You moaned loudly at his act, biting your own lips to calm yourself down.

You felt that his sways became weaker and sloppier. He was going to come. You opened your eyes, looking directly into his blue pearls. Breathing heavily, both bodies covered with sweat, you pulled him in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you. So much.” you moaned in his lips, feeling your own orgasm building. Roger groaned, now going in and out mercilessly.

“Fuck… me.... me too,” he said, mouthing at your neck.

He came quickly, letting his cum paint your clenching walls. You were whining against him, feeling the wave of a powerful orgasm hit you. His eyes were never leaving yours as he watched your face fall at that mind blowing orgasm he was giving you.

You rested against each other for a long time, breathing heavily in the hot summer breeze. You were brushing his hair, lazily talking about music for a long hour. He sat next to you, on the grass, dressing himself up back. You were smiling, still laying, toying with some blades of grass, mirroring his earlier act. With a hand under your chin to maintain your head, and elbows against the grass you looked at him, not listening to him anymore. His blonde locks were waving and curling in some place, now being more tangled than ever. His cheeks were a bit red due to your previous activity. He had his shirt wide open, a sweet veil of sweat covering it lightly, and his hands were lacing back mindlessly the décolleté of your dress, talking about the new album. But the more important thing was that he had put his glasses back -things he never did by your side. You smiled at that thought.

“Why are you smiling?” his raspy voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Your cheeks reddened a bit and you lowered your eyes.

“Nothing…” you were distracted, not there, not present. “I love you.” you finally said, almost mumbling it, focusing on the blades of grass. His finger lifted your chin up as he smiled. His lips met yours again, tenderly.

“I love you too. Forever.”

[nothingelsematterswrites]

I love your writing your very talented Poly!Queen- Roger, John and Freddie went to get food Brian told them he felt sick so he wanted to stay home while they get the food but in reality Brian has not been doing so well with his depression when they get back they walk in on Brian cutting his arm and run over to him to stop him and help the cuts on his arm after they make sure to promise that they will try to help him as best they can and have a cuddle to try and make him feel a little better

(WARNING: self-harm. My lovelies, if you feel unwell, if you feel the need to do something like this, please reach out for help. It’s no shameful thing to need help with this. Remember, you are loved.)

Sticking this one under a cut just in case.

As soon as the door closed, Brian pulled out the razor blade hidden in his textbook.

He hadn’t done it for years, at least not intentionally, though he often let broken guitar strings “accidentally” catch on his arms. He’d done that often enough that John had commented on it, jesting about Brian’s clumsiness and that he should be more careful.

(Brian had not seen the concerned expression of those grey-green eyes.)

He knew he had nothing to be depressed over. The band was starting to go somewhere, he had good grades, he had not just one, but three beautiful boyfriends who loved him. He should be happy.

But the darkness wouldn’t go away.

The first slice of the blade sent shivers racing all over Brian’s body, and a faint numbness in his brain, as though he’d poured anesthetic on it. He watched the bright red line well up on his skin as though entranced.

By the third line, he was so enchanted by the sight of blood, so numbed and disconnected that he didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t hear anything until Roger’s scream echoed in his ear.

“Bri! Bri, oh my god, oh my god, Freddie, grab the kit, Bri, what are you doing?”

Someone was trying to take away his blade. Brian struggled, but it was John’s strong hands that were on his wrist, removing the blade from his grip. Dimly, Brian became aware that Roger was knelt in front of him, pressing a tea-towel down on his arm, wiping the blood away. Freddie came running back in with the first aid kit.

“Are they deep, Rog?”

Roger pulled back the towel and began examining the cuts, dropping saline on them carefully. Brian hissed at the sting but realised he couldn’t fight much; John appeared to have shifted and had both arms wrapped around his chest, his breath warm on Brian’s neck.

“I don’t think so,” Roger said eventually. “I think we can take care of them here.”

“Good,” Freddie said firmly. “What do you need?”

There was silence in the apartment for fifteen minutes as Roger carefully cleaned and patched each cut, John holding onto Brian and Freddie dutifully doling out items from the first aid kit. Brian was watching Roger’s fingers in admiration. Their fiesty drummer might have a fiery temper, but no-one was calmer in a crisis.

Finally, Roger wrapped Brian’s whole forearm in a bandage and looked up, his big blue eyes almost drowning in tears.

“Why did you do it, Bri?”

Brian didn’t mean to cry. He really didn’t.

“I - don’t - I don’t know.”

“Oh, Bri.”

And suddenly he was being bundled up in warmth, three pairs of arms around him, three sets of lips dropping kisses on his skin. Before he could react, he’d been wrapped in a blanket and had all three of them curled around him.

Some of the numbness started to recede, and with it, some of the darkness, too.

“I love you,” he managed to say.

“We love you too,” Freddie replied, and he was being smothered with kisses again.

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about how we can help you more,” John murmured. His fingers were carding through Brian’s curls in a way he knew the guitarist found soothing. “But tonight we’re just going to remind you we love you. No matter what, we love you.”

[irwinsx]

I CANT VERIFY MY COMMENT!!! :( I’ll just write it here, is it okay? Can you do a jealous Luke imagine? Ending up with a lot of fluff but him being really possessive about the reader for whatever reason? Idk I love to imagine him as the jealous type bc he loves his gf :(

yes!! we love a protective boyfriend on THIS blog

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Mention of alcohol and intoxication

Story: Childhood boyfriend Luke doesn’t care for anyone around you besides him.

I’m taking requests!

The room was dimmed, the walls painted black with neon lights hammered to the drywall, flashing in iridecent contrast to the darkness. They screamed for attention to the crowds of people, begging to be noticed by the drunk, the sober, and the inbetween.

And in this case, both you and Luke were absolutely hammered. Your boyfriend since you were 17 was drunk on vodka shots and colorful cocktail mixes he spilled onto the floor, tapping his rings against the glass with the rings on his fingers to the beats of music.

Clink, clink, clink.

With his other hand he held onto your fingers, spinning you in this strangers basement, tangling you into the sounds that lingered in the air.

He spun you back around, his forehead resting on yours. And in a drunk, sloppy smile, he yelled to you over the music, “I am in love with you Y/N. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Now this, you thought, was absolute happiness.

You left Luke in the basement to go upstairs, shooting smiles at the world. You dodged lovers against walls in hallways, beaming love into the atmosphere, and dodged the drinks that swerved their way your chest as you crammed yourself into the first floor.

Your bee-line for the bathroom was halted fast when your waist was grasped, sending ice up your ribs and causing goosebumps to arise on the curve of your neck.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice sounded over the loud music. It was Ian, a guitarist from a new upcoming band. You had met before, spending a spontaneous night out in London while Luke had been busy working. You both had shared chinese food and whiskey together, walking around the city as friends and taking the occasional tourist picture.

“I got it, I got it!” Ian laughed, propping up your iPhone on the edge of a building. It began to count down from 5, and Ian sprinted back to you and wrapped his arms around your light coat. The heat of his hands had scared away the cold air as you posed together.

Another dozen photos were taken like this, in front of old pubs with neon lights, and across from Big Ben, in which Ian had commented it really wasn’t that big.

Frankly, Luke wasn’t happy seeing those pictures in the morning. You, however, enjoyed your night out.

“Ian!” you exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug. He lingered for a second too long, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and missed him. Your memories of fluorescent lights in old underground pubs had filled your chest, and the nostalgic smell of mildew filled your nostrils.

Ian handed you a solo cup, filled with liquid gold that shined in the palm of your hand. You took a large gulp as he began to yell over the music about his life, his new music and the old memories you had together.

“Yeah, I remember! We stood up all night!” you exclaimed.. He suddenly grabbed your hand, pulling you into a crowd of people. His grip was so tight you couldn’t dare pull away.

Shooting him a look of confusion at his sudden boldness, he only smiled and yelled over the music, “You look too good to just be standing there!”

You found yourself dancing and drinking despite his unorthodox comment, twisting along with the music that escaped from the confines of the stereo. It wrapped around you, pulling you in all different directions, bubbling your stomach with laughter that escaped your lips.

And when Ian curved around your hips like a venomous snake, you didn’t fight it. You just danced along, feeling the music more than him.

In fact, you forgot he was there. You forgot anyone was there besides the curling of sound in your hair and on your neck, bursting your skin with shades of fluorescent pink that illuminated the room.

Suddenly, you were pushed to the side by a large pair of hands. You jolted into reality; Luke was towering over Ian, anger flushed over his face. He was yelling over the music and stepping forward. Luke was harshly pointing at Ian’s chest as he cursed, pushing him back farther and farther until Ian had smacked the wall. In a rushed panic, you got between them and pushed Luke back, his broad shoulders towering over you.

“What the hell do you think this is?!” He yelled, gritting his teeth.

He didn’t notice you until you screamed his name, and his blue eyes shifted from anger to remorse.

“Let’s go,” you shouted, taking Luke’s forearm and dragging him away. Luke relentlessly followed you outside, running his hands through his thick curls.

“Hey- stop!” you shouted. Luke had stormed a block away form the house party. His shoes crashed into pavement with each step, echoing through the night sky in waves and into the clouds.

“Stop?!” He beckoned, halting and turning towards you. His hands were now shoved into the pockets of his jean jacket, curly hair disheveled and beaming against the streetlights that hovered above him like a limelight. It shined down on him, reflecting his blonde hair back into the stars.

“He was all over you! Touching your body and putting his hands on you,” he scoffed, “Y/N, I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that, you understand?”

Luke stepped towards you, his eyes dark and full of jealousy. The thought– let alone the sight– of another guy on you made his skin broil and glow red, burning his skin so bad you swore it could erupt in flames.

“He’s just a friend, Luke! You always get like this when I talk to any guy. He doesn’t mean anything to me,” you replied. Luke responded by rolling his eyes and beginning his rebuttal.

“He isn’t trying to be your friend, Y/N. You’re too beautiful to just be friends. How do you not see that?!” He insisted. You scoffed, looking past him and into the rows of cars parked on the street, soon to wake in the morning and roar to life. 

It wasn’t the first time you’ve heard that.

“You’re alway so paranoid. You know I love you, I always have. And–�� Y/N was interrupted in attempt to prove her point.

“You’ve always been like this since we were kids– always oblivious to all the guys who thought you were gorgeous. Don’t you realize, Y/N? I don’t want to lose you to them. I can’t lose you to them,” he interrupted, running both his palms through his hair with worry.

You stepped towards him, grasping his wrists from his face and taking his palms into yours. His eyes planted flowers into yours. They were full of unsaid sorrys and care, outshining the stars in the sky. They shined brighter than anything, erupting like fireworks and raining down on the pair.

Suddenly, the drunk that once lingered in both your stomachs had flown up your chests, passed through your throats and escaped from each others lips.

“Luke, you are the only person I care about,” you explained, “you have been since I was 17. There is no one else in the world I would rather call mine.”

Luke had given you a small smile, resting his forehead against yours again. His beating heart began to relax, resting in his chest. The world erupted with the light that radiated of you both, expanding into the sky.

It was so bright, it made the stars jealous enough to hide behind the moon, and fireflies had been so envious their backs, resembling mini torches, went out in jealousy. Luke’s large hands rested behind your neck, the metal on his rings causing shivers to swim across your shoulder blades.

And then Luke kissed you, tilting your head towards the sky so the stars could witness the light that shined from his lips. They cooed with admiration, singing a hymn that blanketed over the world and engulfed the two of you together.

“I really am in love with you,” Luke whispered.

“I’ll never forget it, babe,” you smiled, tugging at his jacket one final time.