#its definitely worth mentioning though

[murdockmeta]

A Human Fly: The Importance of Daredevils Before Daredevil

I've recently watched a video on "human flies", a social phenomenon that peaked in the 1920s-30s, where people would go out and do death-defying tricks literally just because they wanted to. (At first. Money became involved later, of course.) They were called human flies (sometimes human spiders, human lizards, etc.) for their ability to climb up the walls of buildings so easily. They weren't just called human flies, though. They were also called daredevils.

The video I watched talked about how this phenomenon was so popular because of the role it played in displaying masculinity. Most of these daredevils were men, and at the time being seen doing these death-defying stunts was the height of manliness. And suddenly, while learning all this new information, all I could wonder is if that at all was related to Stan Lee's motivation behind the creation of Matt Murdock. Anyway, here we go.

Okay, so, gender roles and how they functioned in society around the first half of the 20th century are similar but also different from what they are now. There were stiffly set rules to what it meant to be a man that was entirely unrelated to genitals. These same standards are echoed in the modern day. I don't think it's a coincidence that Matt falls outside of those rules.

Obviously, Matt's blind. Disabled. And, as a fictional character, that had really heavy (negative) implications before the disability rights movement became more popular. You even see that reflected in the comics themselves. There's the implication that Matt is expected to live out his life unhappy, unmarried (which extends to not having children), and is helpless to such a fate. That is the complete opposite of what being a man in US American culture was in the 1950s and 60s. Matt exemplified what it was to not be a man.

Stan Lee, when co-creating this character, takes these concepts that absolutely oppose one another and he smashes them together. It feels like spitting in the face of standards and expectations. He says, "Oh, look, a blind man. A man that can't be a man. I'm going to take him and I'm going to turn him into something that is undeniably manly." Lee does this through this phenomenon that links back to human flies.

Being a human fly was about proving to the people around you that you were a man among men. That you were capable of physical feats that others only could wish to accomplish. And Lee grew up in a time when he was surrounded by these types of people as a child. Most of these people would travel to New York City, where Lee grew up, just to perform these stunts.

How masculinity was defined in that age was rigid. You had to be strong, you had to be capable, you had to have the ability to provide for your family. There were certain elements that also took away from your masculinity. You couldn't be too smart or bookish, you couldn't be too skinny, you couldn't be disabled. And being able to fit into these standards wasn't just about pride, it was about social status.

These human flies were often referred to as daredevils by newspapers. It doesn't seem like much of a reach for me to think that they could've possibly related to Lee's creation of Daredevil.

This strip is from the second issue of volume one.

It was revolutionary* (asterisk), to an extent, what Lee was implying with his creation of Matt's character. That you could be disabled and still be fully capable of accomplishing what society has deemed impossible for you or deemed you unworthy of. That you could represent the peak of masculinity (meaning you could be perceived as an equal to those around you) while having supposed qualities that strike you from it.

I'm not saying that that's a goal that every disabled/blind person has or should have. In fact, under a modern lens, I think it's very counterproductive. But, I think the social and cultural context surrounding the character's creation is important to understand. I think it's important to know why implying those things at the time was important to disabled representation.

Many people don't like or struggle to read older comics due to them aging badly. While I don't blame them, I think there would be less resistance if people stopped trying to interpret those comics through a modern lens.

Context is important. History is important.

(asterisk) *This is in relation to the time-specific era of disabled representation. This is not to ignore the problems with the representation of Matt as a blind man. I'm not saying or implying that there's nothing wrong with the original comics, in fact, they are incredibly ableist. I am simply focusing on the importance of that representation at the time of the issues being published.

Thanks for reading.

[verflares]

weird kind of emotion going into the comment section of a fic and seeing ppl recommending the one u wrote even though i havent updated in a year.... sniffl sniffles

[aeide-thea]

so i went to reblog some fanart earlier and started to tag it #oh this is. incredible actually, and then paused and thought, @‍self why the 'actually.' what is that adverb conveying. and i contemplated it for a bit, and finally concluded: well, shit. it's reflexive deprecation.

the thing is, deprecation is my starting position pretty much always, and that's a problem in itself, but mostly my problem; but when you're talking abt somebody else's work, and you start backing defensively away from imagined negativity before anyone's even actually voiced any? you may think you're playing bodyguard, but in reality you're the vanguard of the assault, opening a wedge for enemy forces to strike.

i was talking a couple of weeks ago abt seeing ppl tag that kristin sue lucas name-multiplied-by-one post with tags like 'this is art To Me' vel sim., and honestly i think it's a similar sort of reflex—i think exposure to the tumblr vernacular often leads people (very much including me!) to produce turns of phrase like this, that ultimately serve to convey roughly

'i, a clever girlblogger,¹ am, yeah, engaging with this frivolous hai pollai²-coded material; but my relationship to it, unlike that of most she-ple, is Intellectual and Analytical and Examined! and to make that clear, i'll be dropping in these little verbal particles from time to time, in order to distinguish my own, elevated examination of the subject from the state of risible naivete³ i'm implicitly ascribing to the other, more ordinary audience members i'm conjuring up only to instantly put down—but like, it's fine, i'm a free-and-easy girlblogger(TM), so you can't think i'd ever deliberately propagate establishmentarian prejudices! never mind the effect my rhetoric might subconsciously be having, on me or on anyone else…'

and i think this framing is worth squinting at, and worth attempting to excise from one's speech and from one's mindset, because when you get right down to it? it's just yet another insidious manifestation of respectability politics, that's gotten people to adopt it via the cuckoo-chick strategy of positioning itself as cutesy tumblr idiolect.

and like, circling back around to that fanart i mentioned at the outset: yeah, the tag did feel weirdly prosodically truncated to me without that 'actually'! but this way, if the artist ends up seeing my discussion of their work in their notes, they won't be getting slapped in the face with a wet dead fish first, so like. what's more important, you know?

⸻ ¹ ""(gender neutral)"" ² https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoi_polloi in the feminine, if i haven't totally fumbled my declensions… ³ phrasing nicked from a comment of @‍proudheron's.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.

[xianzhoualliance]

also i havent finished s5 yet but i really like melanie i think because she has such a strong resolve, ive seen people say she has strong morals and such but i think its more her resolve than morals specifically… shes extremely stubborn ESPECIALLY when it comes to jon

[moon-ttokki-x]

protective!maknae line skz x maknae!9th member reader

pairing: protective!ot8!skz x maknae!9th member reader

summary: how skz would be protective of their maknae (that's you!)

genre: idol!au, 9th member!au, maknae line being super sweet and supportive, mentions of acne, scars, uhh spiders? bugs in general, seungmin villain era, felix is passive aggressive (there's a valid reason i promise)

a/n: divider by @mikeykuns . also taglist is open for anyone who wants to join !

skz masterlist | hyung line

Han who watches out of the corner of his eye as your stylist sits you down in your usual chair before the show, and begins sticking stickers all over your face. When you bat their hand away, they tell you it's because of your scars and acne that's been happening recently, and Han can't fight the sudden, unexpected anger that rises up inside of his chest as he watches you sink down into the chair and go silent. Definitely gets up and puts a few of the same stickers on his own face so as not to draw attention to yours, and gently peels off a few of them on your face, telling you that you look stunning whether there are blemishes on your face or not. Spends the rest of pre-concert prep sticking stickers onto the members' butts to try and cheer you up (it works).

Felix who goes live after you received hate for your outfit at their latest concert, passive-aggressively mentioning the event and glaring through the camera. Comments flood the screen but he couldn't care less; he just doesn't see the point of hating on someone so unnecessarily for something that wasn't even their fault. Doesn't look up as you appear at the door, silently watching him chide the 'Stays' who threw hateful comments at you as you left the venue after the performance. Bravely sticks up for you despite the many repercussions it could have, and lets you sit under his desk while he changes the subject, talking to Stay through the camera about various other things. Strokes your hair and lets you rest your head on his knee, relishing his comforting warmth.

Seungmin who talks far more than usual during a certain episode of a variety show; he's watching you being pushed towards a small container, with some sort of spider or bug inside. You've mentioned to him before that that sort of thing really freaks you out, and he can see the visible distress on your face as you're forced to pick the insect up, flinching and tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Tries to draw the hosts' attention away from you so you can put the unpleasant insect down, and messes about and knocks things over to keep them occupied while you collect yourself. And, if he's feeling particularly mean (which he is) the hosts might find themselves dealing with a few creepy crawlies in their dressing room later. But it's nothing to do with him, he didn't do anything.... (yes he did).

Jeongin who quickly covers you during a performance when your voice cracks or goes unstable, not even looking at you so people don't catch onto the mistake. Even adds a few notes onto the song to draw attention away from you, and winks at you as he slides into his position for the second part of the routine, effortlessly covering the part you've missed due to the slip-up. He knows how it feels, to feel like you ruined a performance for the whole group, so he sticks with you after the show as well, holding your hand, and talking to you constantly and quietly to keep your mind off of the mistake. Even messes about with his hyungs to make you laugh (though he's terrified of what Minho might do to him later), but it's worth it to see you smile, always.

a/n: yayy second part . just keeping you guys fed <3 keep an eye out for the second part of 'stupidly perfect' (chan x reader)!

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585

send a dm, comment under the taglist post, or send an ask to be added !

[burreauxoxo]

people magazines new hollywood dads! - joe burrow

dad!joe x fem!reader

summary: in which, joe is featured in people magazines “new hollywood dads” section of the upcoming issue. take a look at how you two are handling bringing her home, the newborn stage, and the initial announcement!

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, babies, joe being a girl dad

word count: 2.9k

authors note: this is lightly inspired by the “hollywood dads” or even “hollywood moms” section in US Weekly’s magazine. i am not sure which issue i seen it in or if its a regular coverage topic, i just wanted to do my own twist on it which explains why i chose people magazine because it has a better ring to it haha.

let me know if you want the readers version for “hollywood moms” or even more about you two with baby girl!

divider below and pictures above are not mine! all credits go to the rightful owners!

~

your guys’ baby girl sat in her swing next to you as it made figure-eight motions to keep her asleep. she was the perfect bundle of joy and she sat at just two weeks old. she was fragile like the porcelain that sat in the cabinets, tiny like the football her father threw for a living, and just as cute as the angel everyone called her. she was the definition of perfect in your eyes.

“people magazine wants to feature the baby and i this month. are we ready for that?” joe asks you over a cup of coffee as you two sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and admiring your baby while doing so.

she eats good, she sleeps like her father (for long durations), and her little smile she does in her sleep is worth melting over.

these tiny, personal details weighed against the idea of releasing her to the public eye.

this magazine would be in an archive for someone to look at over one hundred years from now. she very well could be a part of history. this magazine could sit in a random doctor’s office for years, maybe even taken home by a patient. her debut in a magazine was coming a lot sooner than you and joe both had anticipated.

“i think… as long as we keep her face out of the public eye for a while, you should be okay.” you suggest.

“it’s for their ‘new hollywood dads’ section so that’s their explanation for contacting us so early.” joe adds and you nod your head.

“maybe we should post something about her on instagram so we aren’t hard-launching her through a magazine.” you reason.

“we shouldn’t have to launch her at all. i wonder if we would have been able to pull off having her without saying anything.” joe shrugs.

“i don’t want her to grow up and think we wanted her to be a secret though.”

“yeah, it’s her privacy and safety. that’s all.”

“you know, i adore that you are respecting that and take it as a priority. you are already such a great father, so it doesn’t surprise me.” you say as joe stands up and walks around the table.

he stops right in front of her swing and squats down to be at her level; even though she’s sleeping.

“her cheeks are growing.” joe points out.

he runs his finger over her chubby cheek, letting the soft baby skin fulfill his touch.

“the more i feed her, the faster she is going to get all chunky.” you say and it makes joe laugh.

“at her rate, she’s going to have croissants for legs in no time.”

eventually, joe submitted one photo to the publisher. it was a simple one. baby girl was dressed in a plain white onesie and joe had her on his knee as he burped her.

he was also going to post the photo on instagram. even though joe was reluctant, he decided to share the moment.

~

view all 323 comments…

lahjay_10 making it big time man. much love 💪❤️

↳ joeyb_9 thanks man ❤️

teehiggins someone’s been busy…

↳ joeyb_9 and someone has too much time on their hands…

y/n.burrow baby daddy is baby daddy-ing 😩

↳ joeyb_9 relax…

fanpage.one WHAT

fanpage.two SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

user.five didn’t even know he was married, let alone a father. congrats burrow!

gkittle sending our love to you! congrats dude!

↳ joeyb_9 thanks man, stay healthy this season!

justinherbert congratulations man!

user.four now go win a ring to complete the collection!

~

it’s been a dream for joe to be able to see not only your progress throughout this journey, but his mental progress as well.

you had your baby girl during the off season which you thanked any lord above for. the last thing you wanted as soon as you seen those two pink lines was for joe to be gone, leading to this possibility of him missing the whole labor and delivery process. but he was with you for the last couple weeks of pregnancy and the moment you realized you were in labor.

no emergency calls to anyone while he was out playing on the field, indicating that he needed to put the ball in the backup quarterbacks hands as he flew home as fast as he could. it would have been a race to see who got there first; joe or the baby.

none of that needed to happen though. he was there to line newborn sized diapers into the babies changing table that stood proudly in her nursery. he sat in the living room with you as you watched movies and folded baby clothes, each of you holding up various outfits and saying “i can’t wait for her to wear this!” throughout these last couple weeks, a major revelation was unfolding in joe’s head.

this wasn’t something small you two were preparing for. yeah, baby girl was small weight and height wise. but in the grand scheme of things, she was about to become his whole world; and that took some preparation.

as soon as he heard her first cry, his tears started flowing. as he sat there, holding her skin-to-skin while you took your first nap after many hours of labor, he felt a love he had never felt before. it made his chest tighten and he was unable to explain just how happy he was.

when he helped you load her into her car seat, a little bundle all scrunched up in a big mechanism compared to her size, he realized just how fragile she was. yeah, he was petrified the first time he changed her diaper, but there was something different. this car seat was going to instill her safety while they were in the car; everything needed to be placed and clicked-in correctly.

as you were discharged from the hospital, you were dressed in a black button-down pajama set, joe was wearing his blue seinfeld pants with a white hoodie, and baby girl was wearing a pink, knitted onesie with her name sewn on the front of it. she also wore some white, knitted socks to match.

you were ready to go home as you were sick of the hospital setting. you were excited to be bringing her home, you knew being home was where everyone was meant to be.

jim and robin were there to greet you. it was a bit later in the day and robin knew you were going to be hungry after the events of the last couple days. with that being said, she had dinner ready and set out. she had gotten a text from her son saying that they were getting ready to be discharged from the hospital and would be on their way home soon. as soon as robin got the text, she put all the food in the oven or on the stove to heat up.

she had also placed a small basket of necessities for a new mom on the couch where she knew you would be during parts of your resting period.

joe was quick to shut the car off and circle around the car to help you out. you sat in the back with the new baby. as you grabbed one of his hands, his other hand went to your back to help stabilize you.

“you want to grab her?” you ask.

“yeah, i’ll get her.”

joe had the most practice with the car seat and you were drained, you didn’t feel like fighting with it at that exact moment.

the door was already unlocked when you approached it. as soon as you opened it, the most delicious smell filled the air. joe was right behind you, car seat with baby girl sleeping in it in hand.

“hi, you two!” robin says kind of quietly.

you met robin with a hug.

“i’m so proud of you! you did it!” she says and kisses your forehead. you were the daughter she never had and she was like your second mom; even before you and joe got married. while your parents were states away, she was there to temporarily fill that missing place in your heart and she loved doing so.

joe then steps in and turns the car seat so his parents could take their first looks at the baby.

“oh my gosh, she looks just like you.” robin says as she looks up to her son.

“her features will change and that was a whole topic we discussed in the hospital.” joe says as he looks over at you.

“i was a little sad because she really looks like i had no part in making her but, i’ve come to terms with the fact that her and her father are just perfect so how could i be mad?” you say and robin laughs.

“let’s get you to the couch and we will plate you up some dinner.” jim says as he helps guide you to the living room.

joe walks with you to the living room, setting the car seat on the ottoman that sat in front of you. he reaches in and carefully clicks the button to release the straps that were holding your daughter in. really slowly and extremely careful, he took her out of the car seat and handed her to you.

“feeding time, right?” he asks and you look at your watch.

“right on time.” you smile up at your husband.

“let me run out and get your bags and pillows, i’ll be back.” joe says and jogs back to the car.

“so, how are you feeling?” robin asks as she sits a couple spots down on the couch.

“a bit tired, sore of course. otherwise, i think really good.” you say and she smiles.

“was he a good help for you while you were in labor? i know he isn’t exactly the best in fast and serious situations like that. on the field, yes. otherwise, maybe not.” robin jokes about her son.

“he was great. he was there if i needed water or a hand to squeeze. i couldn’t have asked for a better person to go through this with.” you say and robin smiles.

“what was her weight? she’s so tiny.” jim asks.

“seven pounds, nine ounces and she’s eighteen inches long.” you say as joe comes back into the house.

“she’s a tiny thing, isn’t she?” joe says.

“she’s not even a ten pound weight!” jim says.

once baby girl had eaten, you tested out her swing for the first time while you two ate. you knew that you had a couple minutes between feedings and diaper changes to eat so you took advantage of it.

but the second joe noticed that she was squirming, sticking her tongue out, and slowly blinking her eyes, she was awake and awaiting a change. he wanted her in something warmer now so he let you eat while he took her up to her nursery for the first time to change her.

“here you are baby girl, this is your room.” he whispers to her as he tries his best to show her around. her eyes are trying to take in everything as they slowly open and close. she was making a squeaky, grunting noise as joe talked to her. whether she was making a mess of her diaper or she was just making noises, joe knew she was still the cutest little thing he’d ever seen.

joe lies her down on the changing table and makes sure she is okay on it. he leans down to grab a diaper and a pack of wipes, cracking open a brand new pack.

while taking off her onesie, he is careful of her slowly shriveling umbilical cord.

“you’re going to be cold for a second but i’ll warm you back up as soon as i can, i promise.” joe says as he is focusing on being as careful as possible.

his suspicions on her noises earlier were correct. that’s what happens when you feed a baby though.

eventually, joe cleans her up perfectly and gets her dressed in a pink, long-sleeved onesie that had tiny purple flowers covering it. he grabbed a tiny pair of purple pants to match and he slides them on her. stepping over to a different section on the changing table, he grabs a swaddle and swaddles her.

he admired the work he has officially done all on his own for the first time and smiles.

“all done my little girl.” joe says and picks her up and holds her close to him.

he turns the light off and closes the door behind him. making his way down stairs, his mom was there to check on him.

“everything go okay?” she asks.

“couldn’t have been better.” joe says with a smile.

“she hasn’t cried once since being home.” robin says as she watches her son as he slowly descends the stairs.

“i think we’ve only heard her cry like four times these last couple days.” you say and robin looks in your direction.

“were you an easy baby? this one here cried any chance he got, even if he was just bored.” jim says.

“i’m not too sure. i never heard much of me being trouble but hey, you never know.” you say and he laughs.

“can i hold her?” robin finally asks as joe was now on flat ground and not paranoid of flying down the stairs with a newborn in his arms.

“of course. all i ask is for anyone who holds her, is to wash their hands before they touch her.” you say and robin immediately agrees.

“got it.” robin says and goes to the kitchen to wash her hands.

she was there for a good second, thoroughly washing her hands. behind her stood jim who was also ready to wash his hands.

this was how the next couple days went. lots of handwashing, lots of cuddling, plenty of naps, and tons of help from joe’s parents.

“we did the same when the other grand-babies were born, it’s only right to continue the tradition.” jim says as they were packing up their things to let the new parents enjoy themselves.

reality really hit when baby girl was experiencing her first bout of gas. you and joe came to conclusion that her burping sessions needed to be longer and if that wasn’t helping, then they needed to speak to her pediatrician. they had an appointment coming up soon anyways.

but when joe had pulled a tip from one of the many books he read, they started feeding her at a different angle and thoroughly burping her, then massaging her stomach. the gas worries soon slipped away and she was relaxed any time either one of you did the routine with her.

~

view all 265 comments…

bengals what size does she want her jersey in?

↳ joeyb_9 0-3 months is her go to. she might want it baggy though so maybe 3-6

↳ bengals new baby jerseys on the way 🫡

y/n.burrow baby fingers! 🥲

user.nine is that lyrics from “little bird” 😭

↳user.twelve OMG I THINK IT IS

lahjay_10 i think she should be our team captain the way she screams at certain plays

↳ joeyb_9 you’re right, i’m booking an appointment with the front office right now

~

GIRL TALK!

>>> With this being his first born, Joe Burrow, Quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, was even more excited to welcome in the new family member once him and his wife found out they were having a little girl.

Burrow’s wife, Y/N Burrow, was the first one to announce the news through an Instagram post of the two holding up a miniature version of her husbands jersey. She captioned the post, ‘The Cincinnati Bengals select… Baby Girl Burrow, due in 2026, Newborn University.”

We sat down with Burrow himself to ask him some adorable questions about their new addition!

Q: What is your favorite memory from the last few weeks?

A: “Probably bringing her home. It made the whole journey feel real. The feeling of having her home is very special and the joy between all three of us is immense.”

Q: How has the team adapted to you bringing on a new member?

A: “They all love her and I am so thankful that she has the chance to experience such a unique type of love from them. She is definitely a key to our motivation and a special type of thanks to those who find her screaming cute- she’s definitely a talkative baby.”

Q: Would you want her playing sports like you did growing up? If so, which sport would best suit her?

A: “Maybe. Only if she wants to. I think the social aspect would be good for her as it is for anyone else. I see her playing some basketball. if she picks up my height and her mom’s precision, we might just have a star on our hands. even if she doesn’t play any sports, she’s still a star in our eyes.”

Q: Lastly, if you were in need of a babysitter so you and your wife could go baby-free for the night, who would you call first?

A: “Probably Ja’Marr. He has that instinct and experience. If he’s busy or even going out with us, then probably Mike or Trey. If we need to, I’d call Tee and they can “Three Men and a Baby” it for the night.”

i feel like joe would be way more self kept when it comes to big things like having a baby so this is way out of the norm lol. i still thought the idea was cute and if you want a part two for the readers version, just let me know :)

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. five

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐘𝐎𝐔.

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⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: The biggest night of the year. The Grammys. Cameras flash, reporters push for answers, and the world holds its breath as you and Ellie step onto the red carpet—together. But the night doesn’t end there. Somewhere between the champagne, the piled-up tension, and the magnetic pull drawing you closer, the inevitable finally happens. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 19,4k 𖥔 ݁ ˖ (i swear its worth it pls read😩)

⭒ content: smut, fluff, LOTS of tension, switch!ellie, switch! reader, strap-on sex (r!receiving), oral sex (ellie!receiving), praise, pet names, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, cursing, violence, afab!reader, MEN AND MINORS DNI, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

You took another breath. Then another.

It didn't help.

The mirror reflected back a version of you that barely felt you.

Hair sculpted to perfection—every strand smoothed, intentional, calculated. The makeup was flawless, airbrushed into looking almost surreal, every sharp line and soft curve enhanced just enough to look effortless.

But it wasn’t effortless. None of this was. It had taken hours. Layers of foundation, contour, highlight, hairspray, a meticulous blend of artistry and illusion. The kind of beauty designed to be captured in flashing lights, immortalized in high definition, scrutinized by millions.

You looked unreal. A vision. A spectacle crafted for the cameras.

And then, there was the dress.

It hung in the corner of the suite like an omen, untouched and shimmering under the golden glow of the vanity bulbs. Versace, custom-made, one of one. It was breathtaking—cinched at the waist, sculpting you like you’d stepped out of some dream, the fabric cascading like liquid metal. The kind of dress that would be studied, analyzed, labeled as iconic before the night was even over.

Because tonight wasn’t just a night.

Tonight was the night.

The moment you had fought for, bled for, lost sleep over.

Your first Grammys. Your first time stepping onto the biggest stage of your career, standing shoulder to shoulder with legends, breathing the same air as the voices you grew up idolizing.

And you weren’t just attending—you were nominated.

Five times.

Best New Artist. Best Pop Vocal Album. Record of the Year. Song of the Year. And the one that had made your hands tremble when you first saw the announcement—

Best Duo/Group Performance.

For She.

Your breath hitched just thinking about it. Thinking about how that song—the one you weren’t even sure if you wanted to record—had exploded into something bigger than either of you had ever anticipated.

And now, the Grammys were acknowledging it. The industry was acknowledging it.

But surprisingly, the thing that had you trembling with anxiety the most wasn't that.

No.

It was Ellie.

Ellie, standing next to you. Watching. Listening. Performing. Feeling.

Because Ellie wasn’t just Ellie.

She wasn’t just your fake girlfriend. She wasn’t just your partner in this beautifully reckless, industry-shattering lie the two of you had built.

She was Ellie.

And you were in love with her.

The kind of love that settled deep, burrowed under your ribs and made a home there, quiet and aching. The kind of love that swallowed you whole when she so much as looked at you.

And worst of all? It was one-sided.

The realization hit like a gut punch, sharp and breath-stealing, even though it had already settled into your bones weeks ago. Maybe longer. Maybe you had always known, in some small, unspoken way.

But knowing didn’t mean accepting. And accepting didn’t make it any easier.

This was it—the first official public appearance. The moment that would cement everything. The final nail in the coffin. The inescapable, undeniable proof of your relationship.

Your fake relationship.

Your hands clenched against the vanity, perfectly fresh manicured nails pressing into the polished wood as if anchoring yourself.

You had never been more terrified in your life.

"Breathe," Rachel’s voice cut through your quiet chaos, unimpressed but not unkind. "You’re gripping that vanity like it personally offended your family."

You forced yourself to loosen your grip. Barely.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the couch. "Alright, what’s going on in that scary little brain of yours?"

"I think I’m gonna pass out."

"Please don’t. At least not before the performance." She grinned, poking your arm. "Want me to slap you?"

"Not helpful."

Rachel ignored that, gesturing towards the dress"You do realize Ellie’s about to see you in that, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "Totally forgot, thanks."

"Like, in less than an hour, she’s gonna turn her stupid little rockstar head and see you. In that dress. And she’s gonna fucking die."

Your heart pounded. Because Ellie wasn’t subtle. She never had been.

Rachel smirked. "I told you this would happen."

"What?"

"You. Her. This absolute circus you two created." She grinned. "You were always gonna take over the industry."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"You should be thanking me. I manifested this."

You groaned. "This is so fucking stupid."

"No, what’s stupid is you acting like it wasn’t inevitable."

You glared. "Still not helping."

"I’m just saying! If it were me about to own the night, win a bunch of Grammys, looking like the hottest person in the room, performing next to the girl I was secretly in love with—"

"Rachel."

"—I’d be excited. Not terrified."

"Well, but that's certainly not my case. I'm fucking terrified."

Rachel ignored that. Instead, she wandered over to the dress, brushing her fingers over the fabric like it was something sacred. Her expression softened. “You don’t even see it, do you?”

You frowned. “See what?”

She turned back to you, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “You’ve already won.”

Your stomach flipped. “What are you talking about?”

“The headlines. The industry. The world.” She paused. “Ellie.”

Your breath caught.

Rachel took a step closer. "Tonight isn’t just about the Grammys. It’s about you. About how you’re standing at the top of the fucking world, and no one can touch you."

She grinned, eyes sharp, like she was reading your future. “And you know what’s even crazier?”

“…What?”

“You’re not even at your peak yet.”

Your pulse stuttered.

Rachel winked, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. “Now put the damn dress on. You have history to make.”

Ellie Williams was going to die.

Not from anxiety. Not from the pressure of attending the biggest music event of the year. Not even from the seven Grammy nominations under her belt.

She was going to die because Dina wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Bro, you’re actually panicking.”

Ellie shot a glare at her, who was sprawled across the hotel couch like she didn’t have a single worry in the world. Meanwhile, she had spent the last hour pacing the length of the suite like a lunatic.

"For god's fucking sake Dina, I’m not fucking panicking!" Ellie snapped, running a hand through her hair before immediately regretting it, because of course her stylist had spent forty goddamn minutes making it look effortlessly messy instead of actually messy.

"Then why do you look like you’re about to projectile vomit?" Dina didn’t even glance up from her phone. "And don’t you dare raise your damn tone at me."

Ellie exhaled sharply, trying to calm herself down before speaking again. "I’m fine."

Dina finally looked at her, unimpressed. "Yeah. You sound real convincing."

Jesse, who had been watching the whole thing unfold from the armchair, finally sighed and set down his drink. “Dude. You haven’t even put your suit on yet.”

Ellie froze.

She looked towards the garment bag hanging by the closet. It was just sitting there, taunting her. The custom Dior was nothing short of perfect—sharp, impossibly tailored, stupidly expensive. Designed to make her look like she belonged. Like she owned the room before even stepping into it.

She hadn’t touched it. She hadn’t even unzipped the damn thing.

Jesse smirked. “You’re scared of the suit.”

She scowled. “I’m not scared of a suit.”

“You’re definitely scared of the suit.”

Dina whistled lowly, shaking her head. “Damn, didn’t realize fake-dating the hottest pop star on the planet was so hard.”

Ellie threw her a look. “Eat shit.”

“Els, I’m thriving. I'm attending the fucking Grammys. You’re the only one spiraling here.”

Ellie threw her arms up. “I hate both of you.”

Jesse clapped his hands together. “Sick. Now, put on the damn suit. Your girlfriend is waiting.”

Ellie’s entire body locked up.

Because that was the part that completely shattered whatever fragile grip she had on reality.

It was fake. The relationship was fake. But none of that mattered when she had to step out there—stand next to you, sit next to you, perform with you—while the entire world watched.

And the worst part?

She wanted it.

Wanted the cameras, the flashing lights, the screaming fans—to not be watching some carefully curated story, but something real.

But that wasn’t the deal.

Yeah.

She had never been more terrified in her life.

The elevator doors open.

And the air inside the lobby shifts.

Not just a slight change, not just a ripple—but a full, undeniable shift, like something unseen had just taken a deep breath and held it. The static hum of conversation, the controlled chaos of stylists, assistants, managers screaming into phones—it all dulled in an instant.

The cause? Ellie stepped out of the elevator.

And fuck—there was no preparing for that.

Rachel’s fingers tightened around your wrist, her breath catching. Jesse’s quiet holy shit barely registered, lost under the way the world seemed to still. Dina, for once in her life, was silent. And you—

You just froze.

The black Dior suit was a masterpiece—razor-sharp in its tailoring, draped over her lean frame like it had been stitched onto her skin. The blazer hung open just enough to catch the glint of a silver chain resting against her collarbone, a teasing flicker of warmth against the crisp fabric. Ink curled along her forearms, peeking through the rolled-up sleeves—an effortless rebellion against the suit’s precision, a contrast so sharp it sent a pulse straight through you.

Ellie carried it the way only she could—shoulders back, hands in her pockets, that faraway look in her eyes. A quiet storm wrapped in nonchalance, as if she wasn’t setting the entire room off its axis just by standing there. As if she didn’t look like she belonged on a goddamn movie screen.

But it wasn’t just the suit. It wasn’t even how she wore it. It was her.

The way her hair fell in perfect disarray, strands slipping messily over sharp cheekbones. The way the warm glow of the hotel lights cut shadows along her jaw, sculpting it almost criminally sharp. The way she walked—unbothered, gaze cast downwards, completely unaware of what she was doing to the room.

And then she looked up.

And saw you.

Ellie Williams—gritty, untouchable, rockstar Ellie Williams—stopped mid-step. The air around her shifted, something flickering behind her eyes, breaking.

And suddenly, she wasn’t a rockstar. Wasn’t untouchable.

She was just a girl.

The elevator shut behind her, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, barely even breathed. Her gaze locked onto you like she had just walked into a wall.

Her gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, like a match dragged against phosphorus. She traced every detail—the way the fabric hugged your curves, the daring slit that teased against your thigh, the way the shimmer caught the light and set you glowing. She looked at you like she was trying to commit you to memory, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to stare so much but was powerless to stop.

You finally decided to make the first move, taking a single step forward.

“Hey there, rockstar...” Your voice calm and measured, carefully testing the waters between you as you tilted your head. “Took you long enough.”

It was a bullet, hitting its mark with perfect precision.

Ellie blinked, lips parting slightly, like she had just been yanked out of a daze.

Jesse, amused as ever, let out a sharp laugh. “Oh my god! Say something Williams!”

Ellie dragged a hand down her face, muttering under her breath, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

She inhaled sharply, rolled her shoulders back, and just like that—the hesitation was gone. Whatever flicker of vulnerability had been there vanished in a second, smothered under that signature grin that sent the industry into a tailspin every time she flashed it.

She stepped forward, erasing the last of space between you in a few strides, her voice dropping lower.

“Damn... and here I thought I was supposed to be the showstopper.”

It landed deep in your chest, twisting something warm and volatile inside you. Your smirk faltered—just a fraction, just enough.

Her gaze flickered downward, briefly, catching the quick rise and fall of your chest before she looked back up, smirking like she had already won.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, fighting the way your stomach twisted, fighting the way her voice curled around your ribs and settled there, heavy and unfair. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Ellie leaned in just a little, enough that her scent—expensive, strong, devastating—wrapped around you like a second skin. Her voice dropped impossibly lower, just for you.

“You started it.”

Rachel, always the voice of reason, groaned loudly, shattering the moment like glass.

“Jesus Christ, can you two save the eye-fucking for later? We’re on a schedule.”

You blinked, stepping back as if physically reminded that there were other people in the room. Ellie exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her expression neutral but her pupils still blown wide, still telling.

Dina, meanwhile, looked utterly feral as she whispered to Jesse. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

You turned to Ellie, lifting an eyebrow, your voice smooth despite the warmth still buzzing beneath your skin. “You ready?”

She exhaled, flexing her fingers, shaking out her shoulders, grinning like she already knew exactly how the night was going to end.

“Let’s give ‘em a show.”

The limousine slowed to a crawl, and suddenly, the flashes of cameras outside the tinted windows became relentless—bright bursts of white light searing through the darkness.

You could hear them, muffled yet frantic, a chaotic symphony of voices and shutter clicks all bleeding together into one deafening roar. Your stomach twisted in response.

This was it.

Ellie inhaled deeply beside you, rolling her shoulders back one last time, exhaling slow as she turned her head towards you.

"You ready?"

Your breath came out unsteady. You swallowed once. Twice.

"No."

She grinned. Not the sharp, cocky grin she usually wore in front of cameras, but something quieter, something just for you. She leaned in—too close, her breath warm where it brushed against your jaw, sending a sharp thrill down your spine.

"Relax, babe" she murmured, voice soft. "I’ve got you."

The door swung open abruptly before you could even process her words.

The second an inch of your face was visible, the screams hit like a tidal wave, piercing and relentless. The flashing lights turned into a blinding, disorienting storm, a sea of white-hot bursts swallowing every movement. And in the middle of it all—you, suddenly the center of the universe.

Your designer heels met the pavement as you stand up. A mess of voices crashed over you all at once, a frantic mix of admiration and desperation.

"Over here! Look this way!"

"Who are you wearing tonight?!"

"Are you and Ellie actually dating?!"

As if summoned by that last question, Ellie stepped out behind you.

And everyone present officially lost. their. minds.

You didn’t need to turn to know the effect you both were having. You felt it. The sharp inhale of breath from fans pressed against the barricades, the stunned pause before the photographers remembered to press the shutter. The slight tremor in the reporters' voices as they called your names, eager and breathless. Desperate.

Desperate to capture you. Desperate to capture her.

Desperate to capture both of you arriving together.

The second Ellie stepped forward to pose beside you, the volume spiked—voices climbing over each other, cameras firing in rapid succession, flashes intensifying like lightning in a summer storm, rapid-fire.

You shifted, tilting your chin just right, your body angled perfectly for the cameras, letting the dress do half the work. The slit caught the light, the fabric clung in all the right places, and you heard the reactions—sharp whistles, murmured damns, the rapid clicking of shutters as they tried to capture every second.

Ellie leaned in, fingers pressing firmly against your waist, the space between you reduced to a breath. The cameras flashed, but they weren’t what sent heat crawling up your spine—it was her. Still, you held your perfect composure, even as your pulse betrayed you.

Ellie, however, wasn’t media-trained like you.

You caught it in the way she exhaled a beat too hard, the restless flick of her fingers against her cuff—an old habit you knew too well. So you turned, offering her a small, knowing smile. Just enough to steady her without a word.

And when she smiled back, her gaze dipping—lingering at your waist, at the high slit of your dress—you saw the exact moment she tried to stop herself.

Tried.

Because it was already too late.

You caught it.

And so did the cameras.

Just as the moment threatened to spiral into something neither of you were prepared for, a voice cut through the chaos—

"Ellie! Some shots with The Fireflies?"

You took a few steps away for your solo shots, moving with practiced ease—but not before glancing back at Ellie. You met her gaze, and, just to push your luck, tossed her a wink.

Ellie huffed out a breath, shaking her head with a smirk—half exasperation, half something else. But then, effortlessly, she brought two fingers to her lips and blew you a kiss.

Casual. Smooth. She didn’t even have to think about it.

The cameras exploded.

Before you could turn away, movement in your periphery caught your attention—Jesse and Dina closing in on Ellie. They both looked unfairly good.

Jesse was all sleek confidence in an all-black suit, sharp and effortless. Dina, wrapped in emerald silk that shimmered under the flashing lights, looked radiant—her curls framing her smirk as she nudged Ellie’s side.

“Didn’t take you for the PDA type, rockstar” she teased, just loud enough for Ellie to hear over the chaos.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but the pink dusting her ears gave her away.

“Over here!”

The cameras ate up the sight of the three of them standing side by side—the infamous Fireflies, rock’s favorite rebels, draped in luxury but still looking like they belonged on a stage rather than a red carpet.

“Jesse! How does it feel to be here tonight?”

Jesse grinned, reaching up to adjust his sunglasses despite the fact that the sun had set hours ago. "It’s surreal, man. We’re just some idiots making music, and now we’re here? Wild."

Dina snorted before flashing the cameras a dazzling smile. "Speak for yourself. I knew we’d be here eventually."

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd.

"Seven nominations this year! That’s huge. How are y'all feeling?"

Ellie shifted her weight, rolling her shoulders back, letting the reckless persona slip fully into place. "Feeling good. Feeling grateful. It’s crazy, you know? We put everything into this album, and to see people connect so much with it—it’s the best feeling in the world."

"Any category you’re hoping to take home?"

Jesse chimed in before Ellie could, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, we all know she wants album of the year. She won’t say it, but we know."

Ellie groaned, shoving him off. "Shut up."

Dina smirked. "He’s not wrong, though."

Ellie sighed dramatically, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Listen, if we win anything, I’ll be happy. But yeah—album of the year would be pretty fucking cool."

"Dina, you co-wrote a few songs on the album. Any personal favorite?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Oh, definitely 'Ghost Town.' That one’s special."

Jesse scoffed. "It’s because she knows that song makes people cry."

"Is that true, Dina?"

She grinned mischievously. "I mean… I’m not trying to make people cry. But if it happens, it happens."

More laughter. More cameras flashing. The Fireflies had a way of making these events feel less rigid, less scripted—something about the way they didn’t take themselves too seriously, even when the world was watching.

"Over here! One for Vogue!"

You turned, giving them the shot. A slight tilt of your chin. A slow blink, just enough to let the moment linger before moving on.

"Five Grammy nominations! How does it feel to be one of the most celebrated artists this year?"

You smiled, measured—but genuine. "It’s unreal. Truly. I still don’t think it’s sunk in yet, but I’m beyond grateful. Every single nomination is an honor, especially alongside so many incredible artists."

"Which nomination means the most to you?"

You let out a soft laugh. "That’s like picking your favorite child—you just can’t do it. But… Best New Artist? That one truly means a lot."

"And if you win it tonight?"

Your gaze flickered to the side for just a second—to Ellie. She was responding to the reporter's questions with her band, one hand raised to the back of her neck, lips pressed together like she was holding back a smirk.

"Then I guess I’ll have to celebrate properly" you teased.

"Speaking of celebrating, is Ellie your good luck charm?"

The question hit as if they had been waiting for it.

Your smile didn’t waver. You turned slightly, gaze drifting again towards the woman in question, standing a few feet away, all angles and ease and damn suit.

"I mean... she’s definitely something" you said smoothly.

A ripple of laughter, cameras flashing faster.

"Ellie, any speech prepared if you win?"

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck, a dead giveaway of her discomfort. "God, no. I don’t plan that shit. I’ll probably just black out and hope for the best."

Jesse clapped a hand on her back, grinning. "Or she’ll get all emotional. It could go either way."

Ellie shot him a glare, but her mouth twitched, fighting a grin.

"Is there someone special you'll be celebrating with if you win tonight?"

Her eyes flickered to you—just for a second. And that was long enough.

"I think we all know the answer to that."

And just like that, the internet went up in flames.

"Final question—What do you think of her dress?"

The question came loud, eager. Jesse and Dina tensed, bracing for her usual deflection. But Ellie didn’t dodge. She turned toward the cameras, that infuriating smirk curling at the edges of her lips. And then, without hesitation—

“Gorgeous.” A pause. A flick of her tongue over her bottom lip. “But a problem.”

A frenzy. Shutters clicking, voices overlapping, the question fired back at her from all directions.

"A problem? What do you mean?"

Ellie exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve, the corner of her mouth lifting like she knew exactly what she was doing.

"No further comments."

The press erupted. If the energy had been electric before, it was nothing short of combustible now.

Ellie barely seemed to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care.

Because her eyes found you again, this time with no attempt to hide her ogling—taking in every inch of you. In just a second, you felt her fingers flexing against your waist. It was just a twitch, like she needed something to hold on to, something to keep herself grounded.

She leaned in. Close enough that you felt the heat of her breath against your skin, close enough that the world outside this moment didn’t seem to exist.

“Missed you, pretty girl.”

The words licked through you like a live wire, igniting something low in your stomach.

And oh, fuck her.

Yeah... fuck her...

You barely had time to collect those thoughts before you spotted Jesse and Dina waiting by the entrance. Jesse looked like he was one second away from losing it. Dina wasn’t even pretending to hold back.

The moment you reached them, she grabbed Ellie by the shoulders and shook her, dramatic as ever. "You fucking menace."

She groaned, shoving her off. "Jesus Christ, Dina—"

"Did you have to say that?!" she wheezed between cackles. "‘Her dress is a problem’?! Ellie, you’re the damn problem!"

You raised a brow, unimpressed. "You really just said that?"

Ellie scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What else was I supposed to say? It’s the truth."

Jesse slung an arm around Ellie’s shoulders, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. "You do realize you just handed them six months’ worth of headlines, right?"

Dina wiped an imaginary tear from her eye, still grinning. "No, Jesse, she might as well have just proposed."

Ellie groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

You bit back a laugh, tilting your head at her. "You should focus, Williams."

Ellie’s tongue flicked against her cheek, a telltale sign she was biting back something reckless. "Right. Focus. That’s exactly what I’m doing."

The look she gave you said otherwise.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged her toward the entrance. "Come on, before they shove another mic in your face."

Ellie muttered something under her breath—still pink around the ears—but she followed.

The second you stepped into the arena, the energy slammed into you.

The flashing lights, the deafening roar of the crowd, the electric tension of the biggest names in the industry all packed under one roof—it was overwhelming in the best way.

By the time you reached your table, the show was minutes from starting. The stage loomed ahead, glowing under colorful lights, and the weight of it all finally started to sink in.

Ellie pulled out your chair like it was second nature before settling into her own. She stretched an arm over the back of your seat, leaning in just enough—like she belonged there. Like this was normal. Like you weren’t about to perform together in front of millions of people in just a few hours.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to focus.

The ceremony erupted to life—blinding lights, deafening applause, an opening act that shook the arena to its core. You clapped along, laughed when you were supposed to, tried to focus on the performances, but the night moved in a blur—too fast, too loud, too big.

Every so often, Ellie leaned in—just close enough for you to feel her there, to murmur some dry remark about the show, to let you catch the faintest trace of that infuriatingly expensive cologne.

It was criminal.

She had no business smelling that good, looking that good—especially when the cameras had made it their personal mission to capture every single interaction between you.

Then she looked at you again. But this time she didn’t just look, she stared.

That sharp, cutting kind of gaze that made it really fucking hard to breathe. The kind that peeled back layers, left you bare, made your stomach flip in ways you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your chair. “Stop staring at me like that."

Ellie smirked. Lips moving just enough for anyone watching to read them perfectly.

"Nah. You look too fucking hot right now."

And before you could even glance at her, the entire place detonated in wolf whistles.

Rachel choked on her drink. Jesse and Dina damn near lost their minds.

And that's how you realized those 5 seconds of interaction were aired live. Broadcasted on the giant screens above the stage. Beamed straight into the homes of millions.

Your heart stopped. Ellie just grinned, slow and lazy.

You barely swallowed down a groan, heat rushing up your face as you leaned in, voice low and sharp. "You did that on purpose."

Ellie tilted her head, eyes glinting with pure mischief. "No clue what you’re talking about, babe."

It was ridiculous. You weren’t even trying to give them anything, but every glance, every flicker of tension, every barely-there smirk on Ellie’s lips sent the crowd spiraling into another round of shrieks and whispers.

Rachel, seated beside you, was thriving.

"You two are a headline machine" she snorted between rounds of applause.

The night raged on—but no matter how many Grammys changed hands, the energy never settled. The internet was already a crime scene. Tweets flying, reaction lives multiplying, people analyzing every frame of a broadcasted thirst scandal like their lives depended on it.

And then, it happened.

One of the hosts, a comedian notorious for dragging celebrities for sport, strutted onto the stage for a mid-show bit. The crowd buzzed, half-focused, half-drunk on the night’s chaos. But the second he spoke, the place got quiet.

“So, listen. I know we’re here to celebrate music—” He made air quotes, grinning, “—but let’s be honest, half of you are only watching for the drama.”

Scattered laughter. Some knowing applause.

The host smirked, tapping the mic. “There’s been a lot of big moments already. But I think we all know the biggest.”

You already felt it coming. That sharp prickle at the back of your neck, the one that always crept in right before you were about to be publicly dragged. Next to you, Ellie straightened like she smelled blood in the water.

A pause. A slow, menacing turn towards the camera.

“I mean, damn, Ellie Williams, way to keep it subtle.”

The arena got as loud as it could get. Laughter, cheers, people fully losing their minds.

The cameras caught Ellie letting out a slow breath, masking it with a shameless smirk—while you groaned, dropping your head into your hands in utter defeat.

The host grinned. “Oh, don’t get shy now! We all saw it.”

And then, without mercy—

The clip replayed.

Ellie, smirking, gaze trailing over you like she was seconds away from bending you across the table and ruining you beyond repair. Not even a second later, she mouthed the words—slow, crystal clear—"You look too fucking hot right now."

Screams. Someone banged their fist on a table. The most famous artists of the world clapping along like it was the national anthem.

Ellie dragged a hand down her face. You felt your soul ascend to the astral plane.

“Now, I don’t know about you guys, but that didn’t sound like a casual compliment to me. That sounded like someone five seconds away from violating FCC guidelines.”

Rachel choked on her drink. Jesse was doubled over. Dina smacked his arm so hard he yelped.

The camera darted in the moment Ellie finally cracked, shaking her head as she lifted her glass. She called dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re sooo funny!”

"I know right?" The host sighed, utterly delighted, milking the moment like this was the best material he’d ever been handed. “Listen. This isn’t just a relationship. This is cinema. This is a public service. So, on behalf of the people—”

A smirk. “Keep being messy. We love it.”

"And the Grammy for Best New Artist goes to…"

The presenter let the moment stretch, his pause winding the tension impossibly tight. You swore you could hear your own heartbeat over the silence. Every muscle in your body coiled, bracing for impact.

"Y/N!"

Your jaw dropped.

The world blurred.

Earlier, you had already stood twice on the stage, had already felt the weight of gold in your hands when they announced you had won Best Pop Vocal Album and Song of the Year.

Those moments had been surreal enough—standing there, overwhelmed, trying to string words together while your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

And yet—this felt different.

This wasn’t just an album or a song win. This was you. Your career being cemented in history, branded with a title that only a handful of artists had ever held before.

It hit you all at once—the deafening roar, the rush of movement around you, the sheer weight of what just happened. Rachel’s hands were on your shoulders, shaking you with unfiltered joy, her voice an unintelligible blur of triumph in your ears. Jesse and Dina were yelling, clapping, cheering like you had just won the Super Bowl.

And Ellie—

Ellie was right there, standing beside you, her expression unreadable for a second before it cracked into a grin.

"Congrats, babe," Her hand found the small of your back, her lips brushing just close enough to your ear to send something hot racing down your spine. "Knew you'd win."

Her voice was low, smooth, laced with something that wasn't just confidence—it was certainty. Like she'd seen this coming before you ever could.

Your breath caught, but there was no time to process it. You rose to your feet, hands trembling, legs carrying you up the stage like you weren’t entirely sure this was real.

The Grammy was placed into your hands. Solid. Heavy. Yours.

You could barely breathe, barely think. All you could feel was the rush—that dizzying, overwhelming realization that you had just won the biggest award of your career. Somewhere in the madness, you swore you could hear Rachel screaming your name like she was personally responsible for your victory.

You stepped up to the mic, fingers tightening around the Grammy like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away. You took a deep breath, exhaled, the music starting to lower.

"I—" Your voice cracked before you could even start. A breathless, disbelieving laugh slipped out, and the crowd responded with warm applause.

You swallowed. Steady.

"I don’t even know how to put this into words." Another pause. Another shake of your head. "God." You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at the golden award in your hands. 

Your eyes flicked back up to the sea of people, searching for something—someone.

Ellie.

Still standing. Still watching.

Amusement still played at the corner of her lips, but her eyes held something else entirely. Deeper, almost reverent, like she wasn’t just looking at you now but at every version of you that had fought to stand here.

And if you weren’t so utterly oblivious, you might’ve caught it—the way her gaze lingered, soft and unguarded, completely giving her away. Hopelessly, undeniably enamored.

"...I started this journey with nothing but a voice and a dream. And for a long time, that felt like all I had. There were moments where I thought—maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe I wasn’t enough. There were nights I played to empty rooms, days I poured everything into songs no one would ever hear. I wrote lyrics on the backs of receipts, on napkins, in the notes app at three in the morning because I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted this. How much I needed it.”

A hush settled over the room, the kind that only happens when people are truly listening.

You swallowed, steadying yourself. "I wrote in tiny apartments, on shitty couches, in the back of tour buses running on fumes. I lost sleep. I lost myself, sometimes. And I thought, if this never happens for me, at least I’ll know I tried. At least I’ll know I gave everything I had.”

You let out a shaky breath, a small, self-conscious laugh escaping. 

“And now—now I’m here.”

The applause was thunderous. A few cheers rang out. You blinked hard, feeling the burn behind your eyes.

God, you were really going to cry.

"This album—this album was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was terrifying. I put my entire soul into it, ripped myself open, laid every piece of me bare for the world to see. And you guys—” Your voice cracked. “You listened. You understood. And that means more to me than I will ever be able to say."

The cameras panned to the crowd—to fans wiping their eyes, to artists who got it, who knew exactly what this moment felt like.

You took a breath, a real, deep one, grounding yourself. "I have to thank my team—the people who held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. The ones who fought for me, believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. My incredible producers, my friends, my family, and especially Rachel, my manager, who I love very deeply and deserves every award ever for putting up me.”

The cameras cut to Rachel, who threw her hands up dramatically and mouthed, You’re a nightmare, but I love you too! The crowd erupted into laughter as she shook her head, pretending to wipe away a tear.

You let out a real laugh, rolling your eyes as the applause swelled. “And my fans. God, my fans. You are the reason I’m standing here right now. You built this with me. You made me feel like my voice mattered when I wasn’t sure if it did.”

"And to everyone who inspired this album…"

The shift was instant. The room seemed to inhale all at once, thousands of people leaning in, waiting, hanging onto your words like they were the only thing in the world.

You let the silence stretch as your eyes found Ellie’s again.

And there it was.

That look. Soft. Steady. A gleam of something warm, knowing, impossibly fond.

A smirk threatened the corner of your lips before you murmured.

"You know who you are."

She exhaled a quiet chuckle, teeth biting her bottom lip like she was actively holding herself back. Like she was resisting the urge to make things worse.

But then—

The camera darted to her as she mouthed something. Loud and clear, every syllable unmistakable.

"Say my name next time, babe."

The entire place detonated. Someone—probably Rachel—screamed so loud you swore the walls shook.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead, fighting back a laugh. “Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head.

Ellie just leaned back, grinning, completely unbothered, looking far too pleased with herself. And, because she was insufferable, she raised her glass in a taunting toast.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. Tried to collect yourself, to focus, to push past the way your heart was damn near sprinting out of your chest. 

“Alright, before this completely spirals out of control—” A knowing chuckle rippled through the crowd.

“Thank you to the Academy for this incredible honor. For giving me a seat at the table. For giving me this unforgettable moment. I'll never take it for granted.”

A standing ovation, a hurricane of applause, waves crashing over you, unrelenting. You let yourself feel it, let it sink into your bones, let it root itself deep inside the part of you that never thought you'd get here.

You swallowed hard, pressing the Grammy to your chest.

“Thank you.” you said one last time, voice thick with emotion.

Backstage was chaos. The kind that crackled in the air, thick with heat and adrenaline, pressing in from every angle. Crew members rushed past, earpieces buzzing, boots thudding against the concrete.

But it was the moment that solidified everything, the confirmation of what the world already knew, what still lingered in the air.

She had won the Grammy for Best Duo/Group Performance earlier that night, a victory so deafening, so inevitable, that when your names were called the entire place erupted before you even stood up.

The footage was already looping across every major network, social media imploding under the weight of it—Ellie’s stunned, breathless laugh, the way she’d grabbed your hand without thinking, the way you’d both held onto each other like you were afraid to let go.

The rest of the speech blurred in a mix of gratitude and disbelief, lost in the rush of emotions, the sheer, unreal magnitude of the moment. Even as you left the stage, Grammys in hand, cameras flashing, the words wouldn’t stop looping in your head.

But it was offstage, away from the world for just a second, were Ellie’s fingers brushed your wrist. She leaned in, breath warm against your skin, murmuring,

"We fucking won, love."

The way she said it.

The way love sat in her mouth, heavy, real, certain.

That was the moment that made your heart skip a beat.

And now, an hour later, standing under the blistering heat of the backstage lights, about to perform that song for the first time in front of the world, the weight of it settled between you.

This was history. 

And somehow, it still felt like just the beginning.

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down your black leather bodysuit—sleek, form-fitting, sculpted to your frame like a second skin. Silver zippers running along the sides, glinting under the dressing room lights. Fingerless gloves hugged your hands, the worn leather creaking as you flexed your fingers.

Your hair was a masterpiece of controlled chaos. Styled in tousled waves, effortlessly messy, strands falling just right to frame your face. A few loose pieces skimmed your cheekbones, adding to the sharp, untouchable edge of your look.

Your reflection stared back at you—calm, composed—but your pulse told a different story.

Ellie stood across from you, rolling her shoulders, fingers flexing over her guitar. But her eyes—her eyes were on you.

"You good?" Her voice was low, edged carefully.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. "I think so. You?"

Her lips twitched between a smirk and a promise. A fleeting brush of fingers. “Always.”

A tech shoved an earpiece into your hand. “One minute.”

Jesse and Dina flanked the stage, all sharp focus, no laughter now. The whole thing was a message wrapped in spectacle, and you all were at the center of it.

“Hey” Ellie dipped her head, voice softer. “You’re gonna be incredible.”

Your breath hitched.

The countdown buzzed in your earpiece. Three. Two. One.

A final squeeze of your hand, then the lights dropped, plunging the arena into darkness.

A breath. A heartbeat. A single second of silence stretched impossibly thin—then shattered.

A lone, drawn-out note curled through the speakers, slithering into the dark. The crowd inhaled all at once, their anticipation a living, breathing thing.

A spotlight.

It hit Ellie first.

She stood center stage, shoulders squared, guitar slung low, head bowed just enough for strands of auburn hair to shield her eyes. The soft glow of the lights carved sharp edges into her silhouette—her presence commanding, electric.

She wore a fitted black leather vest, the worn material unzipped. Underneath, a dark, sleeveless shirt clung to her frame, fabric stretched taut over lean muscle. The vest’s open sides exposed the sculpted lines of her arms—sinewy, strong, ink curling up her biceps, disappearing beneath the fabric. Her jeans, dark and low-slung, sat comfortably on her hips, belt hanging loose, silver buckle glinting under the stage lights.

She strummed once.

The note rumbled through the floor, through your lungs, through every goddamn inch of the arena, rich and deep enough to sink into your ribs.

Then came the drums—Jesse’s steady, pounding heartbeat behind it all. Dina followed, her bass humming low, sticky and intoxicating curling through the air.

The second spotlight ignited.

You.

A sharp inhale from the crowd. A deafening roar that barely registered because you weren’t looking at them.

You were looking at her.

Ellie’s head lifted, her gaze finding yours through the dim haze of stage smoke, and it felt like a click into place. Like a gun being cocked.

A slow smirk curled at the edge of your lips as you reached for the mic. The metal was cool beneath your fingertips, grounding you, anchoring you against the whirlwind of sound swelling around you.

Then—your voice.

Soft at first. A whisper, stretching into the space between you.

“Nine in the morning, the man drops his kid off at school...”

Ellie exhaled, barely audible, but you heard it. Saw it. The way her grip on the guitar tightened. The way her lips parted like she was trying to breathe through something thick, weighty.

“And he's thinking of you… Like all of us do…”

Your voice dipped, teasing, stretching each syllable like elastic.

Ellie's pupils where blew wide, her fingers moving with almost violent precision, wrenching every note from the strings like they owed her money. Her jaw clenched, her body taut with restraint, like she was holding back.

The second chorus slammed into place faster than you expected it.

Ellie took a step forward.

You mirrored it.

Closer.

Closer.

Until the heat of the stage lights wasn’t the only thing licking up your skin.

Your breath hitched when she leaned in—not enough to touch, not yet, but enough that the space between you felt razor-thin, stretched tight.

Her lips parted. And she whispered.

"Sing it for me."

Not a request.

A dare.

Your fingers curled tighter around the mic, knuckles white, pulse hammering beneath your skin.

Staring straight into her, you sang with your voice steady, resounding stronger now.

“She... she's lives in daydreams with me…”

The bridge erupted, scorching through the speakers, and with it—Ellie’s solo.

She played like she was setting the world on fire.

Head tilted back, throat exposed, the column of her neck glowing with sweat. Her fingers tore up the frets, raw, unrelenting, a force of pure instinct. The way her body moved, hips shifting with each brutal strum—was hypnotic. 

And fuck, you had to get closer.

You pressed in behind her, your back flush against hers, bodies fitting together like a perfectly tuned chord. You lifted your leg slightly, letting the weight of your head tilt fully and rest against her shoulder, the heat between you palpable, searing.

From the side, the camera caught everything—the way your bodies aligned, the sharp contrast of her dark outfit against your exposed skin, the slow drag of your breath against her neck.

The scent of sweat, leather, and something distinctly Ellie flooded your senses. Intoxicating, overwhelming.

And you felt it—the sharp hitch in her inhale, the way her fingers trembled over the strings, her solo faltering for the briefest, nearly imperceptible second. No one else would have noticed.

But you did.

And she did too.

Still, she kept playing. Hands moving with lethal precision, veins standing stark beneath inked skin as she willed herself to stay focused.

Your breath ghosted along the side of her neck—just enough to make her shiver, just enough to make the fine hairs at her nape stand on end. Your lips hovered a fraction closer, as if you might close the distance, and hell, you wanted to.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, tormenting, teasing, giving her just enough to feel it everywhere.

And then—your hand. A slow, burning trail down her side, fingers grazing the hem of her vest, skating over the sharp line of her hipbone. Taunting. Dragging just beneath the thin fabric of her shirt where the heat of her skin burned against your palm.

You felt it there. Her heartbeat. Not just fast. Not just erratic.

Pounding.

Together, you were a collision of power and sensuality, raw and unrelenting. Every movement between you carried an electric tension, so thick the air itself seemed to hum, as if the very stage couldn't contain that kind of charge.

On your own, each of you commanded the stage—Ellie with her wild, untamed energy and you with the fierce, magnetic intensity of your presence.

But together?

The force you unleashed was almost unbearable, so overwhelming no one in the audience could look away, not even for a second.

Ellie’s fingers danced over the guitar, every note slicing through the air like it was meant just for you. Your movements synced in dangerous harmony, bodies aligned with ruthless precision, each touch building a storm that was impossible to resist.

The crowd was losing themselves in the performance, screams and chants rising in deafening waves, as if the entire room was pulsing with the same energy. The air crackled with raw power, each note vibrating through every soul present.

But you could feel it—the moment Ellie was teetering on the edge. Her eyes flickered with something dangerous, a storm brewing just beneath the surface, and the crowd, blissfully unaware, was urging her to let it all go.

You held her there, turning to face her and stare right into her darkened eyes, your energy pushing back like an undeniable force of nature.

The final note struck.

A breathless, stretched-out second. Suspended. Waiting.

The silence held still. The entire world watching held still.

And Ellie finally snapped.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, grip firm—possessive, like she was anchoring herself to you, like letting go wasn’t an option.

And then—

Her lips crashed against yours, shattering the space between you in an instant.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was fierce, breath-stealing—like a match to gasoline, like every second leading up to this had been waiting to ignite.

The world outside collapsed into static—flashing lights, deafening screams, history fracturing in real-time. Millions, no, billions watched, but none of them mattered.

Not here.

Here, there was only the heat of her lips, the tremor in her hands, the breathless inevitability of it all. Nothing else existed in this moment, in this single, suspended second, where Ellie Williams was kissing you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Like every lyric, every chord, every goddamn heartbeat had been leading her here. To you.

Nothing about it was controlled. It wasn’t measured, wasn’t practiced, wasn’t meant for anyone else. 

It was rough, frantic, a collision neither of you could contain any longer. Your gasp vanished into her mouth, her teeth grazing your lower lip before she deepened it, before she took more. A push and pull, a battle neither of you were trying to win.

Your fingers found her hair, twisting, tugging, needing. Ellie groaned—low, wrecked, lost to it. Her grip on your hair tightened, her body pressing harder against yours, the strap of her guitar caught between you, digging into her shoulder as if it was the only thing holding her to reality.

The kiss wasn’t that long.

But It didn’t have to be.

Because in those reckless, unscripted seconds, everything else ceased to matter.

The lights dimmed, the edges of the world dissolving into darkness. The deafening screams of the audience blurred into white noise. Still, neither of you moved. Neither of you even dared to breathe.

Ellie lingered, forehead pressed against yours, her breath mixing with yours—uneven, ragged. Her fingers didn’t leave your hair. Your hand fisted the collar of her shirt, holding her there, refusing to let go.

Then, with maddening slowness, her lips brushed yours again. Just once. Just enough to send a fresh wave of heat through your body.

And then—

She bit down her bottom lip, smirking, eyes half-lidded, ruined.

The screen behind you cut to black.

A sea of voices drowned the arena, the sheer force of them shaking the ground beneath your feet. Artists at nearby tables howled, clapped, banged their hands on the table like they were watching history unfold. Because they were.

It was chaos, hysteria, the internet already imploding, the moment already immortalized in the camera of the biggest stage in music.

But you weren’t thinking about that.

Because Ellie was still looking at you.

And you were still burning.

The performance had left the world in ruins.

The stage still pulsed with the aftershock, smoke curling in lazy ribbons toward the rafters, echoes of the storm you’d just created. Ellie’s skin still glistened with sweat, fingers twitching, as though the strings of her guitar had burned into them.

You hadn’t even spoken since. You’d both just gone backstage, mechanically peeling off the layers of the performance—Ellie changing back into her suit, you changing back to your gown, both gazes distant.

There was no triumph in the air between you, just an unspoken weight that neither of you was ready to acknowledge.

Sitting in the table, Jesse kept cracking his knuckles, each pop a reminder of the nerves winding tighter around all of you. Dina had kept her distance, eyes darting between the two of you, a knowing smirk playing at the edges of her lips.

Rachel, ever the instigator, shot a teasing comment your way. “Well, that was an interesting little moment, wasn’t it?” she’d muttered, though you didn’t even look her way. You couldn’t. Not when the only thing on your mind was Ellie.

She continued to make jokes, though no one was really listening. Jesse and Dina exchanged glances every second, but it was clear that nothing was really being said about what had just happened—what the fuck was actually happening between you and Ellie.

At least not yet.

But somehow, that moment wasn’t even the peak of the night.

This was it. The most important award. The one that meant everything.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the final award of the night... Album of the Year.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the presenter slowly opened the envelope. Every second stretched longer than it should, and you felt the weight of it bearing down, thick and suffocating.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

She dragged it out, eyes skimming over the sealed envelope, making everyone in the room lean forward in anticipation. Finally, the words everyone was waiting to hear came crashing through the silence.

“Louder Than Fate—The Fireflies!”

For a second, Ellie didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Her brain short-circuited, thoughts crumbling before they could form. The roaring applause, the screaming, the flashing lights—it all blurred into a deafening wave of static.

Then your hands were on her. Tugging her up, shoving her happily towards the stage. But she didn’t let go. Instead, Ellie grabbed you, pulling you into her arms with a force that nearly knocked you off balance. 

Her arms locked around you, face buried in your shoulder, and you felt it—her breath, shaking, the way her heart was slamming against her ribs.

“We fucking won!” she choked, half laughing, half gasping. “We won!”

“You won Els!" You grinned, squeezing her back with pure joy. She deserved this more than anyone. "Now go! Get that fucking Grammy!”

She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze—eyes wild, cheeks flushed, looking more alive than ever. And in that moment, you felt something tight in your chest. It wasn't just being proud of her. It wasn't just admiration.

It was sharp, deep and inescapable.

It was love.

But before either of you could fully grasp the warmth spreading between you, she pressed a quick, burning kiss to your temple.

And then she was gone, practically sprinting towards the stage, Jesse and Dina right behind her.

This wasn’t just another Grammy. This was the Grammy. The one that cemented legends.

Joel sat in the leather armchair of his mansion, the soft glow of the television screen casting flickers of light across his weathered face. He had a whiskey in hand, untouched for the moment, his eyes glued to the screen. The Fireflies had just won the Grammy for Album of the Year. His daughter’s name—Ellie’s name—echoed in the air like a bittersweet symphony.

It had been a year since they’d truly spoken, their relationship frayed by time and distance, the kind of tension only a father and daughter could understand. He wasn’t sure when it had all fallen apart, but now, sitting there in the quiet of his home, he felt a pang in his chest. Ellie had always been something extraordinary, even from the first time he’d heard her sing. The way she commanded a stage, the way her music bled raw emotion—it was all her, and yet, he felt like he had missed so much.

He’d won that same award long time ago, before his life had taken a turn. But watching her now, so alive with success, it felt like he had lost something more precious than an award. The distant ache of their fractured bond settled deep in his bones, but there was something else too. Tender, almost imperceptible. Pride.

Watching her up there, winning it all, made him realize he had underestimated her—hadn’t really seen the depth of the woman she’d become. And in that moment, Joel let himself feel it. Just for a second, he allowed himself to believe she was still his little girl, the one with the wild dreams, the one who made him proud.

He swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat as the camera panned to the group rising to the stage. Ellie’s face—elusive, yet radiant—flashed across the screen, and he finally brought the glass to his lips, taking a long sip, trying to drown the swell of emotions that had quietly crept up on him.

Jesse grabbed the mic first, running a hand over his face like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a fever dream. “Holy shit.”

Laughter rippled through the audience. Dina shook her head, eyes already tearing up as she pressed her hands together.

“I swear, I blacked out for a second. This is—God, this is unreal. Six out of seven? We—” She exhaled a shaky laugh, pressing a hand to her chest. “We grew up watching this. Watching our heroes stand here. And now we’re here. With this.” She lifted the golden award, her voice trembling.

Ellie shifted, her fingers white-knuckled around the mic. She looked out at the thousands of faces staring back at them, the flashing lights, the cameras—the weight of it all pressing into her ribs. Her voice came slow, measured, but full of something real.

“We made our first album in Jesse’s garage,” she said, shaking her head. “We had a shit drum kit, a borrowed mic, and no idea what the hell we were doing. We fought for everything. We didn't receive handouts. We almost quit. More than once.” A small chuckle escaped her lips. “And somehow… somehow, we didn’t.”

Jesse nudged her. “Somehow.”

“It’s funny how some people think everything comes easy. Like success just lands in your lap because of… I don’t know, circumstance.” She shrugged casually, the corner of her mouth lifting in a subtle smirk. “But no, we did it the hard way. Built this from the ground up with no silver spoon involved, believe it or not.”

Her gaze wandered for a moment, distant, as the weight of the words sank in. All those times people had talked shit about her, calling her a nepo baby because of her dad, because of Joel. She could almost hear their voices now, the constant judgment, the assumption that she’d only made it because of who she was related to.

Ellie’s jaw tightened as the thought lingered. She’d proven them all wrong, of course.

But even now, in the midst of everything, part of her couldn’t help but miss him. The man who had shaped her, the one who’d once believed in her in ways no one else did. She wished he was here—just for a second, just to see her now. To see that it wasn’t about him, not anymore. It was about her.

But that was the way of things, wasn’t it?

There was always more left unsaid than spoken.

She shook the thought off with a breath, a smile tugging at her lips once more, focusing on the crowd again, ready to move forward.

“We just had a dream, a shit ton of hard work, and a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears. That’s it. We kept going, even when it was hard. Even when the industry told us there wasn’t space for a band like us. Even when it felt like we were screaming into the void. We kept going.”

She exhaled sharply, blinking at the crowd.

“And now we’re here. And it still doesn’t feel fucking real.”

The applause rumbled through the room, crashing over them like a wave. Ellie hesitated, her fingers tapping absently against the mic stand, as if searching for her next words.

And as Ellie spoke, all you could do was watch her, your chest swelling with so much love it almost hurt. It was overwhelming—this ache that crept up on you, filling every part of you until it felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

You couldn’t focus on the lies, the half-truths, not in this moment. All that mattered was the way she stood there, alive with passion, her eyes scanning the crowd, completely unaware of the effect she had on you.

For just a few seconds, you let yourself sink into that love, letting it fill you up as you watched her from a distance, knowing that this was the closest you'd been to the truth in a long time.

Then, her gaze shifted, locking eyes with you. The instant it happened, everything around you seemed to blur. Ellie’s focus softened, just for a moment, and you could see her breath hitch in her chest, her expression flickering between surprise and something else—deeper.

You were watching her, eyes wide, shiny with unshed emotion.

And without even noticing, it was a reflection of everything you felt but couldn’t say.

“But before Jesse and Dina get into the thank-yous, there’s something I need to say,” Ellie spoke, her tone now softer, eyes still locked on yours. For a moment, it was like she wasn’t speaking to the crowd at all, but to you alone.

“There are people you meet who change you. Who rip you apart and put you back together in ways you never saw coming.” She paused, her lips curling just slightly. “And even when they drive you crazy, you know, deep down, you’d be lost without them.”

Her words hit you harder than expected. The weight of them pressed into your chest. Your breath caught in your throat as the room seemed to shrink, the noise from the audience fading into a distant hum. Ellie’s gaze didn’t waver.

“And you’re that person for me.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. The cameras darted between you and Ellie's face, your shocked expression and glinting eyes displayed in the big screen.

Ellie's grip on the award was tight, knuckles white, but there was a tremor in her hand—a barely perceptible shake. She swallowed hard, a flicker of something in her eyes before she steadied herself again.

“You inspire me,” she continued, voice now steady, almost intimate. “You inspire me every damn day. Hell, you inspired this whole album... and I just wanted to say that…”

The floor beneath you seemed to slip away. The room felt smaller. The world felt smaller. You were frozen in place, watching her, feeling the weight of her eyes on you like she was unraveling something deep inside you.

And then the words came, quiet yet impossible to ignore. Her voice wavered, just barely, but she didn’t look away. And when she spoke, it was like everything she had just built up finally fell into place.

A confession wrapped in certainty.

“…That I love you.”

The room surged with cheering and screams again, but this time, you didn’t hear it. You didn’t even feel it. You were trapped in a quiet storm, the impact of her speech unraveling the last threads of control you’d been desperately holding onto.

You wanted to move, to do something, but everything was frozen. And as Ellie stood there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just changed everything.

The afterparty was a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, pulsing bass, and bodies moving in a haze of champagne and sweat. It was loud. Chaotic. The kind of place where reality blurred at the edges, where the night stretched endlessly, threatening to swallow you whole.

Somewhere between the high of winning and the rush of being pulled from one congratulatory hug to the next, you had changed. The gown was gone, replaced by another custom made Versace dress that clung to you like a second skin, the short silky fabric skimming over your curves with every movement. It was dangerously low at the back, exposing the smooth line of your spine.

Rachel dragged you in with the momentum of celebration, her excitement infectious, but your mind was splintered elsewhere—fractured between the weight of what had just happened on that stage, the burn of alcohol as you downed another drink.

The Fireflies had just won six Grammys. You had four in your name. The entire room revolved around you, shifting in waves of congratulations, camera flashes, and clinking glasses. Industry giants, celebrities, people you barely knew but whose faces were familiar from screens and headlines—they all gravitated towards you, drawn in by the sheer magnetism of victory.

People stopped you every step, hands on your shoulder, flashing smiles, toasting to your success. Someone handed you a drink. You took it. Someone else pulled you into a picture. You smiled. It was autopilot at this point, the buzz of alcohol smoothing the sharp edges of your thoughts, but not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Because Ellie was there. Somewhere.

Your chest was still a war zone, torn between the weight of her words and the gnawing doubt that followed.

You hadn’t spoken since the speech. You hadn’t even had the chance to. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Ellie hadn’t acted any different after stepping off that stage. No grand follow-up, no explanation.

So you drowned it in alcohol.

But some minutes after, you felt her before you saw her, an electric current crawling under your skin, an awareness that set every nerve ending on edge. When your eyes finally found her, she was leaning against the bar, whiskey in hand, gaze flickering over the crowd but never quite landing on you. Not directly.

But she was aware of you.

You could tell in the way she shifted, restless. The way her grip tightened around the glass when someone got too close to you. How her jaw clenched every time you threw back another shot, like she was silently daring you to stop.

She had changed too. The suit jacket from earlier had been abandoned in favor of a dark button-up, the sleeves rolled up –as always– to reveal the ink on her forearms. The fabric stretched across her shoulders in a way that made something inside you tighten. She had swapped the slacks for black jeans that sat low on her hips, her belt loosely fastened, like she couldn’t be bothered to care.

That outfit was nearly identical to the one she wore the night you first met—so much so that the sight of it sent a shiver through you, your insides twisting, almost unbearable. A rush of memory, of déjà vu, of the moment all of this disaster began.

Pulling you out of your thoughts, Jesse chuckled beside you, draping an arm over your shoulder. “Alright, pop princess. You’re celebrating a little hard, don’t cha think?”

Rachel smirked, tipping back her own drink. “Nah, let her. She just got love-bombed on international television. If I were her, I’d be drinking too.”

The words were meant to be playful, but they sank their teeth deeply into your feelings.

Love. 

What the fuck even was that?

That made the next shot go down easier than the last.

The crowd shifted, bodies pressing closer as the music swelled, bass rattling through the floor. People were dancing now, energy buzzing through the air, and before you could process it, hands were pulling at you—Dina, Jesse, Rachel—dragging you into the current of movement.

Your pulse stuttered when Ellie moved too. Not towards you, but close enough. A phantom touch in a sea of strangers. Your body moved on instinct, swaying with the beat, the vodka humming through your veins, but your mind was still stuck on her.

And then—her hands.

Light at first. A graze at your hip as she passed. Fingertips at the small of your back, testing.

Then firmer.

A hand splaying against your waist as she leaned in, the scent of whiskey and that something so distinctly her curling around your senses. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn. Didn’t face her.

Couldn’t face her.

“You tryna drink yourself unconscious?” Her voice was low, rough. Close enough that you felt the words more than heard them.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because what the fuck were you supposed to say?

No, I’m trying to forget the way you looked at me on that stage?

No, I’m trying to figure out if you actually meant that ‘I love you’ and everything else that came before?

No, I’m trying to stop loving you?

Instead, you laughed, sarcastic and bitter.

“Yeah. Guess I have a lot to celebrate.”

Ellie hummed, a quiet sound lost beneath the music. But she didn’t move away.

The room pulsed around you, neon lights catching on the sweat-slick skin of bodies pressed too close. Jesse and Dina had lost all semblance of control. Jesse had taken to spinning in slow circles with his arms out, eyes shut like he was ascending to another plane of existence. His drink sloshed wildly with every rotation, soaking his sleeve, but he didn’t seem to care. Dina, meanwhile, had climbed onto Rachel's back at some point, shrieking in laughter as she staggered under her weight.

You couldn't help but wonder…

When did my manager, Rachel, become so close with the Fireflies? Maybe she was undercover and didn’t tell me.

Ellie exhaled, shaking her head at the sight of them. "They’re gone."

You hummed, lips quirking. "They’re celebrating."

Ellie’s fingers flexed against your waist. "And you?"

You turned to her then, properly turned, and the shift in air between you was immediate. Her gaze dropped to your lips long enough to make your breath catch.

"I’m celebrating too." you said, voice heavier.

How much time had passed? 

Seconds? Minutes? Hours? 

You didn’t know what the hell was happening anymore.

More drinks pressed into your hand.

Whiskey, tequila, champagne, something that burned but went down too smooth. The world tilted, blurred at the edges. The pulse of the music, the flicker of lights, the heat of bodies moving—it all felt distant, hazy, unreal.

Every time you lifted a glass, it was like the world slowed down just enough for the chaos to settle into a haze, a blur of flashing lights and slurred speech.

Except for Ellie.

Somewhere in the same room, her presence was the only thing keeping you from slipping under.

Jesse had become a blur of limbs, his laughter ricocheting off the walls as he wobbled towards Rachel, trying—and failing—to lift her into a ridiculous dip. Dina, still draped across Rachel, was far too gone to notice. Every time she tried to speak, her words came out in a string of nonsensical giggles.

But you were beyond them now.

Your feet barely knew where the floor was, your body swaying alone with the pulse of the room. The shots had come in quick succession, the tequila numbing whatever had been left of you, blurring everything that happened—what Ellie said, what Ellie did. What the hell you were doing.

You hadn’t even realized how close she was until she was right next to you again, her shoulder brushing yours as she caught her breath. Her hair messy, few strands sticking to her cheek as she wiped a hand across her face. She was drunk.

But so were you.

The world tilted once more as you tried to steady yourself on her, your arm reaching out for balance, but her body was already against yours, both of you teetering on the edge.

She turned her head slowly, locking eyes with you. There was something in her gaze—a hazy, distant look that wasn’t quite her usual sharpness. It was like she was still here, but not really here, lost somewhere between the alcohol and the weight of everything unsaid.

“You’re... still here.” you mumbled, the words slurring slightly as they slipped out, your mind struggling to keep up.

“You really thought you could get rid of me that easily?” she asked, her voice low, thicker than usual. There was more behind her tone—frustration mixed with something else you couldn’t quite name.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your brain, but it only made things more blurry. “We’re both a fucking mess.”

She let out a laugh, but it came out too harsh, too wry. “Aren’t we all?” she muttered, her eyes flickering away from you for a moment, as if she was trying to hide from your gaze.

The alcohol was starting to hit you harder now. Everything around you felt like it was spinning, but you couldn’t stop drinking. You couldn’t stop focusing on her—the way she was so close, the way her presence anchored you in a way you didn’t understand. The words from earlier were still in your head, cutting through the fog.

What had she meant by them? What had you meant?

Ellie’s voice was at your ear again, low and teasing. “Why aren’t you joining them? Thought you wanted to celebrate.”

You squinted, trying to focus on her face, but everything was softening at the edges. “I—yeah, I do,” you slurred, struggling to keep your voice steady. “But you—”

“I know,” she interrupted, cutting you off with a soft chuckle. "I get it."

Her words hit you, hard. The way she said it—like she understood, like she knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn’t know it yourself.

Her hand brushed the small of your back, warm against your skin, and before you could pull away, her arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You inhaled sharply, the air thick between you as your pulse quickened.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the side of your cheek, her breath hot against your skin. “We don’t have to talk about it, but... we can drink about it.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out hollow, filled with bitterness. “Is this your big plan? To just forget it all with more whiskey?”

Ellie’s laugh was reckless. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said, her voice dropping to something more serious.

“Because, you know... it’s working.”

She took another long sip from her glass, her fingers tightening on your waist as she pulled you even closer. Her touch was daring now, almost possessive, and it was too much. You shouldn’t have let it happen. You shouldn’t have let yourself get lost in the heat of the moment. But you did.

And for a moment, all that mattered was the way she held you.

Until the music changed, the beat dropping low, heavy. Bodies around you surged forward, people dancing even more recklessly now. Ellie pulled you with her, a tight grip on your wrist, and before you could even catch your breath, she was dancing with you—bodies pressed together, moving, swaying, too close.

She was intoxicating.

She was a disaster.

But so were you.

Jesse and Dina had collapsed onto a couch, giggling hysterically at some private joke only the alcohol could explain. Rachel was still upright, her face a mix of amusement and disbelief. They were far beyond drunk now.

And you and Ellie? You both were spiraling together, floating in that heady space where nothing mattered except the feel of the other’s body, the rhythm of the dance, the pull of the alcohol.

Neither of you were talking about what had happened earlier, about the weight of those words, about the things you both wanted to forget.

Instead, you drowned in each other, desperate to escape the weight of reality.

And yet, even as the night wore on and everything blurred into a mess of laughter, touches, and sweat, that feeling—that unbearable tension between you both—lingered. Unspoken. Waiting.

The last thing you remembered was the cold night air biting at your skin as Ellie steered you out of the club. Her hand was firm against your back, guiding you through the crowd with a force that felt almost possessive. You were stumbling, barely keeping your feet under you, the world spinning around you like a dizzying blur.

Then, before you could even register what was happening, her arms were around you, lifting you with ease as she tossed you over her shoulder. Your body felt weightless, and though everything seemed slow and dreamlike, her grip on you was steady.

You mumbled, too drunk to care about the mess of words. “Ellie... what are we doing? Where... where are we going?”

Her voice cut through the haze, rough and unsteady. “Shh... Just let me get you to the room, okay? You need to rest.”

But even in your fog, you couldn’t let go of the questions gnawing at your mind. “I don’t... I don’t get you, Ellie. You act like you don’t care, but then... then you do stuff like... like this," you slurred, trying to lift your head enough to look at her.

Her grip tightened slightly, a grunt escaping her as she adjusted you. “Don’t start with that now, okay? You're drunk as hell.” There was an edge to her voice, one that made you feel like you’d crossed some invisible line.

“No... no, I’m serious,” you murmured, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t get it. You don’t... you don’t say things, but you do them. And then you just... leave me hanging.”

Ellie paused for a moment, her pace slowing. You could feel her tension, like she was trying to work through something herself, her body shifting uncomfortably.

She muttered. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. Let’s not... Let’s just not do this right now.”

Your head lolled against her shoulder as she carried you towards the elevator. The motion of the lift made your stomach turn, and for a split second, you felt the world tilt beneath you.

Ellie adjusted you again, tightening her grip, almost like she didn’t want to let go, but there was still something distant about her. Like she was trying to hold you close but keep herself guarded at the same time.

You tried to speak again, but the words came out jumbled, not quite fitting together.

“Just sleep it off, alright?” Her voice softened, but there was something else beneath it—Frustration? Guilt?. You couldn’t place it, but it made your chest ache, made everything feel even more confusing.

You blinked slowly, the alcohol in your system starting to wear off as your mind began to swirl with thoughts, anger bubbling up from the pit of your stomach.

Did she think you were stupid?

You were no longer floating in a hazy blur.

You were sharp, aware, and pissed.

The elevator door slid open with a soft ding, and Ellie stepped forward, carrying you towards the hotel room. She was trying to keep everything under control, to keep things quiet, but the tension in her movements was palpable. It told you everything you needed to know.

You were both walking on eggshells now.

As she pushed the door open, the soft click of it closing behind you felt like a weight crashing down, marking the threshold of everything that had been left unsaid. The room was heavy with silence, and you could feel the gap between you both stretching farther.

You were awake now—more awake than you’d been in hours—and everything that had been foggy just moments ago was now painfully clear.

Ellie walked you further into the room, but before she could adjust her grip to steady you again, you yanked yourself away from her. The move was harsh, almost frantic, and the shock of it hit both of you. You didn’t care if you stumbled or if your legs barely held you—there was too much rising inside you.

The alcohol had faded enough to let your frustration burn bright, and you couldn’t take the way she held you anymore, like you were a problem she needed to fix. 

You needed space. You needed answers.

Your feet hit the ground with a solid thud, but it was nothing compared to the force of your emotions crashing against you. The distance felt impossibly more wide as you took a few steps away from her.

“Why do you do this to me?” 

The question left you before you could stop it, your voice trembling with frustration as you broke silence. You clenched your fists at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.

Everything inside you was breaking, and you couldn’t keep it in. Not anymore.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She froze, her body stiffening as her gaze met yours. For a moment, you saw something in her eyes—raw and vulnerable—but it quickly disappeared, replaced by that cold, distant mask she always wore. 

She sighed, voice low and defensive. “Don’t start with that now. I’m not having this conversation like this.”

But you couldn’t let it go. Not now, not ever. Not when it felt like everything was unraveling in front of you. 

"No, Ellie," you bit back, voice harsher than you intended. "I can't fucking take it anymore. We need to talk. And we need to do it now."

Ellie’s gaze shifted then. A quick flash of annoyance, then that cool, detached mask slipped into place as she crossed her arms.

"Fine, you wanna talk about it? Then we’ll fucking talk about it," she snapped, voice biting with cold frustration. 

"You think I don’t know what this is? You think I don’t get it?" Her tone was venomous, each word like a lash across your chest. "We both agreed from the start—this was nothing but a PR strategy. No feelings. No strings attached. And don’t pretend we didn’t set up those rules together."

Her words were like a slap in the face, and it made the anger inside you swell even more. 

She still hadn’t answered your question.

She hadn’t said anything real, anything that would make sense of this mess you were in. So, you pushed again. You had to. You couldn’t let her off the hook. 

"So that’s it? It was all just a game to you?" You growled, the bitterness lacing every word, the anger and hurt burning through you. "Just for the cameras, and none of it ever meant a damn thing?"

“Don’t twist it and act like you didn’t play along," she shot back, her voice tight with frustration. "We both knew what we were getting into. It wasn’t just me."

She wasn't answering any of your questions.

"Yeah, we did," you shot back, stepping closer, the space between you suffocating. "But I need to know if you ever felt anything."

Ellie’s eyes flickered. She seemed to hesitate for just a second, her fingers twitching by her side like she wanted to reach for something—anything—but she stayed frozen. 

"I already told you," she muttered, fire draining from her tone. "This was never supposed to get so complicated."

The words hung there between you, thick with everything you couldn’t say out loud.

You weren’t sure if you were ready to face whatever truth was buried under Ellie's defenses, but it didn’t matter anymore. You weren’t backing down.

"Then why the hell did you kiss me on that stage?" The question tore through you like fire, your voice breaking at the end. "Why did you make it feel real when we’ve both agreed it wasn’t?"

"It’s not like I wanted to—"

"Then why the hell did you say all that?" you interrupted, voice rising again.

The memories of the speech, the way she had looked at you, the weight of her words in front of everyone—it was all too much to swallow. 

"You said you loved me, Ellie! Right there, in front of the whole damn world! Don’t pretend like that was a mistake. Don’t pretend it didn’t mean anything."

She shouted, her voice sharp with panic now. "You were down there, looking at me like that, and I didn’t know what the hell else to say! I-"

Ellie’s face twitched, and for a brief moment, it looked like she might crack. But instead, she took a step back, as if she was trying to pull away from the weight of her own emotions. 

"So instead, you keep me at arm's length and make me feel like I don’t matter. You kiss me on stage, say you love me, act like you care, and then you pull away before things actually get real. What the hell is that, Ellie? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

You could feel the rage inside you growing, but now it was a mix of anger and heartbreak, and you could barely breathe with how tight your chest felt. 

Her eyes softened for a split second before they hardened again, and she rubbed the back of her neck, frustration spilling over.

"You wanna know the truth? The truth is I didn't want to hurt you," she snapped, but her tone was shaky. "I didn’t want to drag you into something messy, because I knew I was already in too deep."

You felt the tears prick at the back of your eyes, the weight of her words crushing you as the confusion tore through you like a hurricane. 

"So why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why didn’t you just say something? Anything!"

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, she was completely exposed. All the walls she had built between you were crumbling, and you could see the rawness in her—tangled with guilt and frustration. 

She was trembling now, and not just from anger.

"I didn’t know what the hell I was doing," Ellie finally whispered, her voice breaking as she took a shaky step closer to you. "I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to care this much. I kept telling myself it was just chemistry, just... just a game, but every time you looked at me like that, I—I couldn’t stop it." Her voice cracked, and you saw her lips tremble.

You were almost afraid to breathe as she closed the distance between you. 

"You—you’ve always been more than I could handle. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting you," she murmured, voice breaking as her eyes searched for yours desperately. "But I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to admit it."

"Then admit it now." You gasped, the question escaping in a broken breath, the weight of it all crashing down on you. "What you said back there—was it true?"

Ellie’s breath hitched as if your words had shaken something deep inside her she had been trying to bury. Her eyes searched yours, as if trying to see past the hurt and confusion she had caused.

“All of it was true." 

She whispered, her voice ragged and thick with emotion. Her words cracked with vulnerability, the kind of honesty she’d been holding back for far too long. 

"Everything I said, everything I did—it was real. Every goddamn thing, even when I pretended it wasn’t. I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t say it sooner."

She stumbled over her own words, the panic and guilt so evident in her voice, but you couldn’t focus on that. Your heart was beating too loud, the air in your lungs suddenly scarce.

The world felt too heavy, too full of things you had never been able to say—things that had been buried deep inside both of you for far too long. Your chest tightened, a lump rising in your throat, and just as the overwhelming emotions started to consume you, you finally broke. 

"Ellie, I love you too" 

You whispered, the words trembling on your lips. The weight of your confession settled in the space between you, raw and honest, and you could feel the shift in the air, like everything was about to change.

Before you could process it, before you could even understand the force of what had just happened, her lips collided against yours. 

This kiss was different from any kiss you had ever shared. It was raw, hungry, and everything you've been craving but were too afraid to ask for. She was kissing you like it was the only thing that mattered in the world, like she was trying to pour every single feeling into the kiss—everything she had hidden from you for so long.

You melted into her, your hands moving on instinct, sliding up to wrap around her neck, pulling her closer. Her lips were demanding, insistent, and as her tongue brushed against yours, you gasped, feeling her heart race in time with your own. 

There was no pretense now—no walls, no doubts. Just Ellie, just you, tangled together in the most chaotic, beautiful mess you had ever known. 

The kiss turned desperate, raw, like neither of you could stand the space between breaths. Ellie’s hands gripped your waist, rough and unyielding, her lips tracing a burning path from your jaw to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a hickey. You gasped, head tilting back, offering her more, needing more.

“God,” she rasped against your skin, voice wrecked and needy. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her back just enough to meet her gaze. You didn’t have to say it back; she saw the answer in your eyes before you crashed into her again, mouths crashing, desperate, starved.

Ellie’s hands slid beneath your dress, fingers skimming over your thighs, your stomach, tracing the soft curves. The dress rode higher, bunched around your hips, and then she was pushing it up and over your head, tossing it aside like it was nothing. 

You barely had time to shiver from the rush of cool air before she was on you again, her touch hot, reverent. She pulled back just enough, eyes raking over you, like she wanted to memorize every inch of you all over again.

Like this was your real first time together.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, fingers tracing along your side. “You’re—” She stopped, shaking her head like words didn’t stand a chance.

You smirked, dragging your hands up her arms before curling them into her hair, giving a slight tug just to hear her breath stutter. “Speechless?”

Ellie let out a shaky laugh, but her gaze softened. “Something like that.”

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders, and fuck—she was unreal. The way her breath hitched, the way her perky nipples hardened, the way her chest rose and fell, the freckles dusting her skin, her lips swollen and parted, ready.

Then, with a whispered curse, Ellie grabbed you, lifting you with ease, her hands firm and sure. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the sheets, her body flush against yours—warm, solid, hers.

She loomed over you, her breath warm against your skin, her touch slow—too slow. Her fingers skated over your ribs, your waist, teasing, like she was savoring the feeling of you beneath her. Like she wanted to take her time.

"You have no idea what you do to me," she rasped, lips grazing your jaw.

A shiver ran through you, heat pooling low, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough when it came to her.

You arched into her, nails digging into her bare shoulders. "Then stop fucking teasing," you whispered, half-command, half-plea.

Ellie let out a breathy laugh, her hands gripping your thighs, pushing you further into the mattress. Her eyes flickered down, starving, a smirk tugging at her lips. 

"Needy," she murmured, almost to herself. "That’s cute."

Your frustration only made her hungrier. She surged forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth, swallowing the soft whimper that escaped you. 

And then, just as suddenly, you flipped her over, pressing her back into the mattress.

Ellie barely had time to react, her pupils blown wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. She looked wrecked already, and you hadn’t even done anything yet.

That sent a sharp pulse through you.

She swallowed hard, fingers twitching against your hips. "What?" she rasped, voice rougher than before, like she was trying to catch up to the shift in energy.

You just smiled as you traced your fingers down the line of her toned stomach, manicured nails ghosting over her skin.

“Just thinking,.." you murmured, pressing a teasing kiss just below her jaw, "That an album of the year winner deserves a proper celebration."

Ellie blinked, eyes flickering between disbelief and hunger. "Oh—"

You didn’t give her a chance to finish. Instead, you pinned her down completely, pressing your weight into her, reveling in the way her breath hitched. Her hands gripped at your sides like she wasn’t sure whether to stop you or pull you closer.

"You good?" you asked, voice softer now, even as your hands moved with strong intent.

Ellie let out a shaky exhale, her lips curving between a smirk and a dazed expression. "Didn’t think you’d—fuck—take over like this."

You grinned against her skin, kissing your way southbound, taking your time.

"Better get used to it, rockstar."

Ellie let out a breathy chuckle, but it melted into something deeper when you pressed another kiss lower, trailing down her stomach with a kind of unhurried confidence that made her body tense beneath you.

"Shit…" she muttered, voice caught somewhere between surprise and anticipation.

You smirked against her skin, hands gripping her thighs as you settled between them. "Relax, baby" you murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the inside of her knee. "Just let me take care of you."

"I'm just… not used to this," she admitted, quiet. 

You glanced up, meeting her gaze as your lips grazed just above the waistband of her pants, breath warm against skin. Your voice barely above a whisper, but settling deep into her bones.

“Then just feel, Els.”

You don’t give her time to think, pulling them down her boxers and pants in a quick move. A sharp inhale punches from her lungs as cool air kisses the heat between her legs, making her jolt. 

She exhales shakily, thighs bracketing your head, warm and freckled—constellations scattered across skin you want to map out with your hands, your mouth, your entire being.

If you were in a different headspace, you’d trace each one like a star chart, but right now, the only thing you can focus on is her—trembling above you, caught between restraint and surrender.

But the real sound—the one that sets your pulse hammering—is the gasp she lets out when you spit, a slick warmth against her aching clit.

“F-fuck…” she breathes, brows knitting together, voice unsteady.

You glance up at her, fingers flexing against her thighs. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Her jaw tightens, a mix of frustration and need flashing behind her darkened eyes. “Nothing.” It’s a lie, and you both know it. She’s unraveling, and she’s impatient.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you let your fingers drift, tracing lazy patterns up her waist, feeling the way her stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“Tell me...” you tease, voice smooth, coaxing. “Use your words.”

Her body betrays her, arching ever so slightly towards you, silently pleading for more.

Then, finally, she gives in.

“Just—” Her voice cracks as she shifts, movements becoming more desperate. “God, just— please.”

Holy. Shit.

Ellie motherfucking Williams—flushed, wrecked, and now begging like she needs you more than her next breath—is a sight so devastatingly hot, it short-circuits every thought that was left on your head. 

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t on your bingo card.

The way she’s unraveling beneath you is something you’ll never forget. And if the raw, desperate way she’s looking at you is any indication, it’s an ego boost you’ll be riding for the rest of your life.

You smirk as her breath stutters when you drag your fingers lower, sliding through the warmth of pussy, slick and ready from both you and her own burning need. 

It’s intoxicating—the way she reacts, the way she shudders at the slightest touch. You don’t hesitate, don’t waste a second before lowering your mouth to her, claiming her like it’s the only thing you were made to do.

The moment your tongue finds her, she keens—a sharp, needy sound punched from the depths of her chest before she could stop it. And just as she starts to adjust, just as her body begins to find some semblance of rhythm, you push deeper, tongue slipping inside, filling every soft, sensitive place that has her thighs trembling.

Ellie chokes on a moan, hands flying to your hair, fingers tangling, pulling, her grip desperate and unsteady as her hips jerk upward, chasing the friction. 

“J-Jesus Christ, babe,” she gasps, voice wrecked.

You hum against her, the vibrations pulling another strangled sound from her lips. Her thighs twitch, threatening to close around your head, but your hands tighten against her hips, holding her steady, guiding her through every wave of pleasure that crashes over her.

Your own clit pulses, desperate for attention, but it’s the last thing on your mind. Not when your face is buried between the thighs of the woman you can finally love freely— and that just happens to be the most famous rockstar in the world at the moment.

"You're—fuck—you’re insane," she pants, voice breathy, desperate. But she doesn’t push you away. She never does.

And God, she never wants to.

Her fingers flex against the sheets as your other hand drags down her stomach, dropping to trace fast circles on her clit, her breath catching at the sensation.

Your grip tightens, grounding her as she chases it—hips rolling, breath shattering, body tightening like a bowstring drawn too tight. Every sound she makes is addictive, every gasp, every bitten-off whimper, every choked-out curse. 

She’s using your face like her own personal masturbation pillow, grinding down like she was made for this, and you swear—if this is how you go out, you’d die the happiest person alive.

“Holy shit– I-I’m gonna–”

And then—she falters.

You feel her orgasm before it fully takes hold—the way she twitches, the way she clenches around your tongue, her entire body locking up as the tension inside her snaps. Then, the release floods your senses, warm and intoxicating, dripping down your chin. It’s sweet. Best thing you’ve ever tasted.

But you don’t stop.

You keep going, your fingers still drawing slow patterns on her clit, your mouth still drinking up every last drop until she’s shuddering, gasping, her fingers weakly tugging at your hair in protest.

Only when she whimpers—spent, trembling— you finally relent, pressing one final kiss to her ruined cunt before using your tongue to clean her up with reverent care.

Her chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths, and a final shudder runs through her as she tries—fails—to gather herself.

Silence lingers, thick and electric, the only sound between you the sharp pull of ragged breaths.

Then Ellie mutters, voice rough, wrecked, “You’re so fucking—”

A slow, satisfied grin tugs at your lips as you press a lazy, lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Incredible? Talented? The best you’ve ever had?”

Ellie groans, throwing an arm over her face with an exasperated huff. “Yeah. That—and insufferable.”

You chuckle, fingers tracing idle patterns along the warm skin of her hip, reveling in the way she shivers under your touch.

She peeks at you through the mess of auburn hair, cheeks still flushed, lips still parted, eyes heavy with something you recognize all too well.

She looks fucked out. She looks beautiful.

And then, to your surprise, she smirks.

“But I hope you’re ready for payback.”

And yeah.

You know you’re screwed when Ellie buckles up her dark purple strap—the one you know way too well by now. When her fingers work the straps, tightening them with practiced ease, she rolls her shoulders like she’s getting ready for something intense. 

But more than anything, it’s the way she looks at you—like she’s already imagining you undone beneath her, like she’s savoring every second before she ruins you.

There’s heat in her gaze, yes, but there’s something softer too, something intimate in the way her hands settle on your hips, grounding you, claiming you.

Her index finger slowly traces the curve of your spine, touch featherlight as she guides you forward, nudging you onto your hands and knees. You shiver under her touch, your body hypersensitive, still buzzing from the way she fingered you minutes before.

“Fuck,” she murmurs as she kneels behind you. Her hands trace along your waist, slow and steady. “You look so fucking pretty like this.”

Your breath catches when she presses closer, her chest warm against your back, the silicone nudging against your entrance. 

She takes her time, dragging it along your slick heat, teasing, making you feel every inch before she even pushes in. Her lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, deliberate nibbles and kisses there, a contrast to the overwhelming need that thrums between you.

“Tell me you want it”

You exhale, arching your back against her, craving the connection, the feeling of being completely filled by her. 

“I want it,” you breathe, tilting your head just enough to catch her gaze over your shoulder, eyes soft, pleading—the doe-eyed look you know she loves. “I need you, Ellie.”

A quiet curse slips from her lips—almost reverent.

She has never been good at restraint.

So with one steady thrust, she gives you exactly what you need.

Ellie groans as she sinks into you, her fingers tightening around your hips, like she’s trying to hold herself back, to ease you into it, to savor the moment. But you both know better.

Patience has never been her strong suit—especially not when it comes to you.

“Shittt” she mutters under her breath, rolling her hips forward, filling you inch by inch. You can feel how tense she is, how hard she’s gripping you, like she’s trying to stop herself from losing control too soon.

Your arms tremble beneath you, a loud moan leaving your lips as she sets a slow, deliberate rhythm, dragging every inch of her strap against your sensitive walls. The stretch is perfect, the pressure just enough to make your toes curl, to make your breath hitch in your throat.

Ellie leans in, her chest flush against your back, her breath warm as it fans over your shoulder. 

“You take me so damn well…” she murmurs, her voice rough but tender, like she’s not just saying it to tease—but because she means it. “Always so good f’me.”

A sharp, breathy moan spills from your lips as your forehead presses into the pillow, your body caught in the push and pull of pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable.

Ellie feels it. The way you tense, the way you tremble. She hears it in the way your breathing turns ragged, in the way you press back against her, desperate for more.

She breathes, her voice thick, possessive. “That’s my girl.”

The words send a whole new wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening, teetering right on the edge. You can feel it, that overwhelming, dizzying pleasure building, threatening to pull you under.

But just when you think she’s going to push you over, she slows.

Your whole body jerks, a desperate whimper escaping you as she pulls out completely, leaving you empty, aching.

“What the hell?” you pant, your voice rough with need as you glance back at her with half-lidded, dazed eyes.

Ellie just smirks, looking entirely too pleased with herself as she settles back on her heels, her hands smoothing over your hips. Her green eyes are dark, intense—but there’s something warm there, too.

“Ya know what?” she murmurs, voice soft but certain. “I wanna try something new. C’mere”

She tugs you gently, guiding you up, and you let her. Your legs are shaky as you shift, turning to face her, straddling her lap. The toy presses between you, warm where it’s caught between your bodies, but all you can focus on is Ellie—on the way her hands settle on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh teasingly.

“That’s better,” she murmurs. “Wanted to see that gorgeous face when you fall apart for me.”

And that’s when you know exactly what she wants—to watch you take control, to watch you break her in the best possible way.

So you don’t give her the chance to tease, to taunt. Instead, you reach down without a word, wrap your fingers around the base of the strap, and sink onto it in one slow, deliberate motion.

Ellie curses under her breath, her fingers gripping your ass tighther as she tilts her head back, watching—completely mesmerized, completely wrecked.

She lets you set the pace, lets you take what you need, and the way she looks at you under the dim light—like you’re something holy, untouchable—sends a fresh wave of heat straight through you.

“Fuckkk,” she rasps, the base of the strap bumping perfectly against her aching clit. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smirk, breathless, rolling your hips just to watch her shiver beneath you. Then you cup her jaw, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?” you murmur, voice dripping, dangerously sweet. You drag your thumb along her bottom lip, watching her shudder. “Then I hope you’re ready to go out like this.”

Ellie groans, and you swallow the sound as you kiss her, deep and slow, letting her feel exactly what she’s done to you.

Your body moves like it was made for this—for her. Every slow, deliberate roll of your hips has Ellie sinking deeper into the mattress, her hands gripping your hips and ass with a desperation that only makes you want to push her further.

She breathes, eyes flickering between where your bodies meet and your face. “Look at you… riding me like you own me.”

You smirk, dragging your nails down her stomach before bracing your hands on her chest, using her body for leverage as you start to move faster, harder. Ellie groans beneath you, her head tipping back, auburn hair splaying across the pillow as she lets you take control.

“S-so deep,” you murmur, voice breathy, teasing.

Ellie’s fingers twitch against your skin, her pupils blown wide as she watches you move. “Yeah?” she rasps, voice rough, wrecked, barely holding herself together.

She swears she’s never seen anything more perfect.

The way your body moves—hips rolling, muscles tensing, sweat-dampened skin glowing under the dim light—it’s enough to ruin her. Her hands roam over you like she doesn’t know what to grab onto first—your waist, your thighs, the soft curve of your ass.

Fuck.

Your tits.

The way they bounce with every sharp snap of your hips, the way your nipples harden as she rolls and pinchs them in her fingers, the way your chest rises and falls with every shuddering breath—it’s mesmerizing.

And your face, flushed and blissed out, lips parted on gasping little moans that are just for her.

She swears she could die like this, buried so deep inside you she doesn’t know where she ends and you begin, wrapped up in you so completely she could stay here forever.

Her jaw clenches, her own pleasure building fast, unbearable, threatening to pull her under right along with you. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” she babbles, completely lost.

And that when she finally loses control.

She sits up, arms locking around you, pulling you down until there’s not a breath of space left between you. She thrusts her hips up to meet yours, matching your rhythm. Your slick bodies press together, burning hot, every frantic rise and fall of your chests syncing as she slams into you, deeper, harder.

The new angle knocks the air from your lungs, your mouth falling open on a strangled gasp.

Ellie holds you tight, so tight it feels like she’s afraid you’ll slip away—like if she lets go, even for a second, she might wake up and find you were never here at all.

“Jesus fucking christ…” she murmurs, hands roaming over you like she can’t decide where to touch first. Every inch of you belongs to her, and she’s claiming you with every pass of her palms, every hungry grip of her fingers. “Taking everything I give you—fuck– you’re so good f'me.”

You whimper, thighs trembling as you grind down, chasing the pressure, the fullness, the fire curling low in your stomach.

Ellie groans, the sound reverberating through you as she buries her face in your neck, her lips dragging over your pulse, over sweat-slicked skin.

“You were made for this,” she breathes, voice wrecked, reverent. “Made for me.”

Your moan catches in your throat, fingers tangling in her hair, tugging just enough to drag a low, broken hiss from her lips. “Ellie—”

She cuts you off with her mouth, swallowing your gasps, your pleas, kissing you so deep it steals what little breath you have left.

“Say it,” she murmurs, voice rough, cracking at the edges. “Say you’re mine.”

And you do—because you are.

“I-I’m yours, Ellie!”

A sound rips from her chest—low, guttural, wrecked—like the words just undid something deep inside her. Her grip tightens, arms locking around you as if she could pull you into her, fuse you together, make you hers in every possible way.

Then her fingers move—slow at first, teasing—before pressing down just right against your clit, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through you.

“Come on, baby,” she urges, her free hand splaying across your back, pressing you closer, until you’re nearly one, until your forehead is against hers, your breath mixing with hers. “Let me have it.”

And you do.

Your whole body jolts like a live wire, a choked gasp breaking free as the tension inside you snaps too fast, your release drenching her lower stomach. Your thighs tighten around her, fingers clutching at her back, at her shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as heat builds, swells, consumes you.

You can’t think, can’t speak—you can only feel. Ellie beneath you, inside you, around you, anchoring you even as she pushes you to the brink, holding you steady as you come undone.

She swears she’s never seen anything more beautiful.

Her own release follows fast and hard, a deep groan rumbling through her chest as her hips jerk up into yours one last time. Her arms tighten around you as she buries her face in your neck, her breath hot and uneven against your sweat-damp skin.

For a long moment, you just hold each other—panting, trembling, completely spent.

Her fingers trail over your spine, slow and steady, tracing mindless patterns against your sweat-slicked skin. She presses a lingering kiss to your temple, whispering something too soft for you to catch, but you don’t need to hear it. You feel it.

When she finally pulls back enough to meet your eyes, she looks completely wrecked—but softer now, vulnerability flickering beneath the haze of pleasure.

“You okay, love?” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you whisper, pressing closer. “More than okay.”

She huffs a quiet laugh against your skin, fingers trailing lazily down your spine. “Kinda wrecked you, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing lilt in her voice makes you smile. “Shut up. That was a team effort.”

Ellie grins, but then she pulls back just enough to see your face, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. Her touch is so gentle, so careful, like she’s still grounding you, making sure you’re okay.

“No, really,” she says, softer now. “You good?”

The tenderness in her voice makes your chest tighten. You cup her cheek, thumb brushing over the freckles beneath her eye.

“I promise,” you murmur. “I feel perfect.”

She studies you for a second longer, then nods, satisfied. “Yeah. You look perfect.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as Ellie shifts, exhaling softly as she reaches down to undo the harness still strapped around her hips. Her fingers work it off with practiced ease, the leather slipping away before she tosses it aside like an afterthought. Only then does she move, slipping away just long enough to grab a warm, damp cloth.

She cleans you up with that same effortless care—gentle, thorough, her eyes flicking up to yours every so often, like she’s making sure you’re still right here with her. When she’s done, she tosses the cloth aside, and she pulls you into her arms again, tucking you against her chest like she never wants to let go.

Ellie’s fingers stroke your arm, slow and soothing, tracing patterns only she knows. Her touch is grounding, familiar, safe.

Then, softly, like a truth that has always existed between you, she says it again.

But now it's not in a panicked confession. Not in a speech meant for the world to hear.

But here. Now. After the most intimate, most vulnerable moment two people can share.

“Love you.”

It’s not hesitant or uncertain. There’s no grand declaration, no embellishment—just those two words, simple and solid, like she’s always known them to be true. Like saying them is the easiest thing in the world.

Your breath catches. For a second, the world seems to still around you. When you glance up, she’s already watching, waiting—not nervously, not fearfully, but open. Bare. Like she’s laying her heart right there between you, trusting you to hold it, to keep it safe.

You don’t hesitate.

A tender smile spreads across your lips as you press your forehead to hers, closing the small space that still remains. 

“Love you too,” you whisper, the words slipping out like they’ve been waiting forever to be said again. “So fucking much.”

Ellie tilts her head, kissing you slow, savoring, like she has all the time in the world. Her fingers lace with yours, holding on like she never wants to let go. You feel her heartbeat under your palm—steady, real. Yours.

She swallows, voice softer now, full of something fragile and new. “Can’t believe we can finally say that to each other now.”

You blink up at her, your own chest tightening at the weight of it.

“I know,” you admit. “Feels unreal, doesn’t it?”

The past months settle between you—every stolen glance, every touch that lingered too long, every moment spent pretending not to be hopelessly, helplessly in love with each other.

Ellie exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “We spent so much time pretending,” she murmurs, her fingers tightening slightly around yours. “So much time making it look real for everyone else.” She pauses, searching your face, like she needs to make sure you understand. “And it was real. This whole time.”

You nod, brushing a hand down her arm, grounding her just as much as she’s grounding you. “Yeah. We’ve been real stupid.”

She hesitates, lips parting like she wants to say more, but something holds her back. You don’t push. Instead, you press a soft kiss to her jaw, reassuring, anchoring.

“But we’re here now,” you whisper. “We have this. No more pretending.”

Ellie’s eyes soften, and you watch the last of her walls crumble. “Yeah,” she breathes, voice steady, sure. “No more pretending.”

Her arms stay wrapped around you, bodies pressed together, bare skin against bare skin, as if letting even a sliver of space between you might shatter the fragile, beautiful truth of this moment. As if, after everything, neither of you can bear the thought of slipping away now that you’ve finally found your way back to each other.

Then, almost so quiet you barely hear it, she says it.

“…Be my girlfriend.”

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. You shift just enough to meet her gaze, and what you see there makes your chest ache—hope, something that you’ve never seen in her eyes before.

“For real this time,” she continues, voice steadier now. “No more PR, no more rules. No more of that fake bullshit.” Her thumb brushes your knuckles like she’s afraid you’ll slip away. “Just us.”

The moment hangs between you, charged, heavy with everything you’ve been waiting for.

And it’s terrifying, how easy it is to say yes.

You cup her face, running your thumb over the curve of her cheekbone, memorizing every freckle, every tiny detail. 

“Ellie,” you whisper, searching her gaze, letting her see everything—every quiet yearning, every moment you spent wishing for this. 

“I’ve always been yours.”

Her breath stutters, something breaking open in her expression. She looks at you like she’s seeing the world for the first time, like she can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, almost disbelieving.

You nod, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “Yeah.”

A slow, relieved smile spreads across her lips, and when she kisses you again, it’s different—it’s certain, deep, filled with a quiet promise.

When you finally pull away, her arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. And for the first time, there’s no distance between you. No barriers, no walls—just the two of you, completely and utterly tangled together.

“Just you and me,” Ellie murmurs against your skin, her voice like a vow. “Finally.”

And as your bodies press closer, as your hearts collide, you know—this is where you were always meant to be.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑟 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 → taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaii @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982 @shady-lemur @jubileexoxo

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OMFG GUYS. THIS CHAPTER IS THE LONGEST THING I HAVE EVER WROTE IN MY LIFE, so TYSM IF YOU READ IT ALL. I did like 100 FUCKING PROOFREADS, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[myownwholewildworld]

DARKEST DESIRES ― a Boston QZ!Joel oneshot

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader. summary: you promised Joel something he's been thirsting after for a while ― your ass. so you decide to make good on said promise. a/n: am i sick? probably. undoubtedly, really. this is a sequel to A Dark Summon, but it can totally be read independently. this was prompted by this kind ask (love you, nonnie). also, do you remember that post about frankie morales saying "big stretch"? WELL, YEAH (sorry, meant to tag it but i lost it!). anyways, please heed the warnings! comments and reblogs appreciated to keep the thots thotting <3 take care! x warnings: 18+, mdni. sexual roleplay (cnc). mind the hefty age gap (reader is 19, joel is 56, oopsie). pet names (kiddo, daddy's girl, little girl, etc). sir/daddy kink. dom!joel, sub!reader (possibly some ddlg dynamics). slut shaming. unprotected piv. squirting. sleepy blowjob (consensual somno). breath play. sex toys (dildo, butt plug). mention of rimming. joel (the birthday boy) fucks your virginal ass, anal sex (faked painal). reader is a blank slate with no backstory, has hair. dual pov. no use of y/n. w/c: ~5.4k. divider by @\cafekitsune

You were so nervous, your hands were shaking with excitement.

Living in Boston’s QZ was not easy, and trading was even worse. Because you were young―just turned nineteen a couple of months ago―dealers tried to take advantage of you, asking for more than they would to other people. But you were smart and the moment you learnt that dropping Joel’s name in conversation would actually give you a discount, you used that tactic frequently.

Most people in Boston were too preoccupied with life to be gossiping about the age difference between Joel and you, but there were some that would scan you from head to toe several times with disdain. Some with jealousy, others with horror.

“She’s too young, could be his daughter.”

“He’s too old, bet he can’t keep up with her.”

“She’s too young, it’s indecent.”

“He’s too old, I’m sure that little girl can’t satisfy him like I would.”

“She’s too young, no wonder why she’s always cheating on him.”

“He’s too old, I don’t know what he’s seen in her.”

You had heard it all. And you couldn’t care less. Joel, on the other hand, was a bit more sensitive when people criticized you ― like a guard dog protecting its prey. The relationship between the two of you was private, except for the times that you would hook up with a random guy in an alley with Joel attentively spying on you from the shadows.

He liked to watch, and you liked being watched. In your eyes, it was a match made in heaven. It never went further than a hand job, and you never let them touch your pussy ― Joel was extremely possessive of her. He enjoyed the look on their stupid faces whenever you pulled away, leaving them dumbfounded in the brink of an orgasm, and you would run to him, all giddy and ready to finish him off right there and then.

It was lewd, obscene, but you loved it. And so did he. Joel had shown you a whole new world when he took your virginity almost a year ago. Since then, you had been insatiable, too eager to be fucked stupid by your old man. Your daddy.

Every day you would sneak out and come over to his place to be pumped full of his cum, to have him drill you until you forgot your name and your legs wouldn’t keep you upright. And then you would go back home, spent yet satisfied, with your pussy full to the brim and your panties drenched with your mixed arousal.

Today though you were planning on spending the night here. It was Joel’s birthday and you had planned a special surprise for him. One that had cost you, but the price was definitely worth it.

You knew how avid Joel was about fucking your ass ― he almost reminded you daily. He had been preparing you for when the time came, some mild anal play to get you going. Last night, as Joel ate your asshole out, you promised to yourself that you wouldn’t postpone it anymore and today would be the day. What better present for Joel than your virginal ass?

So here you were, all naked and squeaky clean for him. You had draped a red ribbon around your waist. A big, scarlet bow laid low on the small of your back, making it obvious what his gift was. You also had a smaller parcel, all wrapped up with some old newspapers.

The moment you heard the front door creak, your heart jolted with anticipation and your stomach flipped. Turning around to face away from him, you dropped to your knees and leaned forward until your forehead rested on the floor and your knees touched your chest ― your ass on full display for him.

“Kiddo?” he called.

Joel’s brows furrowed deeper when he didn’t hear a reply. He knew you were here, your recognisable scent betraying your presence. Confused, he walked the small hallway and entered the living room.

His eyes immediately fell to where you were positioned, and a rush of hot blood coursed through his veins like liquid fire, all the way down to his groin. You had knelt and bent over, your perky ass up in the air for him to admire. A red bow topped your ass cheeks, the meaning of all this becoming instantly clear.

With a sly grin, Joel rubbed his palms together, taking a step forward.

“You’ve not forgotten about my birthday, have you, sugar?” he croaked, raspy and hoarse.

“No, sir, I haven’t,” you murmured, wiggling your ass a bit for him.

Joel groaned, the tension in his pants growing tighter, while he knelt behind you. The offer was irresistible, the way your flesh jiggled commended him to smack both of your buttocks. You whimpered, your back arching some more and your crack pulling further apart.

His fingers twitched with need, grabbing a handful of your meat. Joel was mesmerised by the view ― your puckered entrance so very inviting, and your beautiful seam glistening with slick right below.

Unable to refrain himself, his index dipped in the warmth of your damp pussy, tracing it entirely until the pad caught on your beating clit. You sighed heavily, melting under his digit.

“Why are you all wet already? Have you been playing with yourself?” he questioned, voice laced with lustful anger.

“Yes, sorry, sir. I was thinking about you, about what is gonna happen tonight, and… mhmm…” you hiccupped when he flicked your clit, “I did finger myself, but I didn’t come, I promise.”

Joel’s chest rumbled, frustrated. His orders were clear ― no touching yourself, nothing at all, even if you were horny. He wanted you needy and ready to take his cock when he came home from a rough day of patrol.

“How many fingers?” he barked, pinching your hooded clit between his index and middle fingers. You wailed in mild pain, your hips bucking up and away from his touch, but Joel didn’t release your thudding button.

“Just the one. Just the pinky, I swear. I know you like my pussy tight and unstretched, sir,” your sob transformed into a moan when his thumb found your trapped clit.

“Attagirl,” Joel rasped. “I don’t want your cunt all used and loose, you’re too young to feel like an old hag around my cock.” His thumb pressed tight circles on your pebbled nub before he removed his hand from your pussy. “I will let it slide. This one time.”

The warning in his tone made you nod vehemently, as you looked over your shoulder to him. Your bottom lip was trembling, your doe eyes pleading.

“Do you forgive me, sir?”

Joel gave you a stern look before he slapped your ass cheek, and you winced in response.

“I’ll think about it, kiddo,” he already had, but wouldn’t tell you yet.

“What can I do to help you make up your mind, sir?” a single tear skidded through your cheek, bottom lip still quivering.

Joel loved how easy you would tear up, you were a natural when it came to acting.

“There’s this one thing I have in mind,” Joel muttered, his thumb ghosting your butthole. “So clean, sugar. Can’t fucking wait to dive in.”

“I washed myself really well for you, sir. I used an enema too,” you whispered, averting your eyes shyly.

“So no messy sex?” Joel almost sounded disappointed, but he was just toying with you.

“No, I couldn’t, sir,” you bit down your bottom lip, eyes shut and the apples of your face burning with shame, when the pad of his thumb gently pressed the tight ring in your crack. “Oh…”

“You like that, don’t you? All this time denying me my right to fuck your ass, and now look at ya, begging to have your butthole impaled. Did rimming your tight ass yesterday change your mind?”

You shook your head yes eagerly and pushed your hips backwards until your ass was resting on his lap, thumb still stroking you right where you needed. You rubbed your buttocks against his jeans, your weeping seam sliding on his zipper.

“I-I loved it. I’m s-so ready now, sir,” you stuttered, pouting when he stood up.

“You poor little thing. Let’s break this seal then, shall we? But I need you to work me hard first.”

Joel moved towards the couch, and you followed him, walking on all fours behind him as if you were his little doggy. Next time, he would get you a collar and a leash, he thought as he sat down, and the old cushion gave way under him.

He coaxed his legs apart to make room for you between his thighs. You didn’t need any further instructions: you were already unbuckling his belt, your tiny hand dipping in his underwear to release his flaccid cock. His dick was still soft, just started to harden a few minutes ago.

Leaning forward, you pulled back the skin on his shaft and kissed the reddened tip. Then your tongue twirled around his cockhead, slurping sloppily as you bobbed your head down his length. Joel felt his dick growing harder, bigger in your warm mouth, and he groaned with satisfaction.

You loved how Joel’s soft cock would slowly stiffen between your lips, how his weight would grow heavier on your tongue as you sucked him off. Although you played to be submissive to him, this was a reminder of the actual power you held over him. Not only a reminder to yourself, but also to him. Despite being fifty-six, you were able to work Joel hard in a couple of minutes with the brush of your tongue and the seal of your plump lips. You were proud of it.

“What’s all this?” Joel asked as he leaned over, his chest pushing your throat further down on his now throbbing cock.

Your partner grabbed the box you had wrapped from the coffee table, along with the ashtray and a cigar you almost had to sell your soul for.

“Your other present, sir,” you managed to mumble, mouth full of his hard erection.

Your saliva skidded down his veiny shaft, pooling on the thick, dark curls at the base of his cock.

“I didn’t say stop. Keep sucking, kiddo,” his reproach scolded you, and quickly resumed your job.

You heard him lighting the cigar and then tearing the newspaper apart, while you took in as many inches as you could. Now that you had felt a few cocks on the palm of your hand, Joel’s had no rival. He was so gifted, and you felt lucky you were the one getting it all for yourself.

He’d been training you to swallow him whole, and practice made perfect. So after a couple more dives, your lips reached the base as the underside of his cock dragged easily along your tongue.

Your eyes welled up due to the strain and you suppressed the gag reflex, the fluttering of your throat around his girth making Joel moan. His left hand landed on the back of your head, pushing you down.

“Your mouth was made for me, sugar,” he praised you and you revelled in his compliment, swaying your hips sideways.

He placed the box on your back and opened it. You couldn’t see him but knew his face expression would light up with a sinful smirk.

Joel cackled and smacked one of your round globes, careful of not messing up the cute bow.

“Oh, you dirty slut.”

Joel pulled you off his erection by tugging at your hair. By the way his brown eyes took you in, you had to be a pretty picture ― messy hair and makeup, swollen lips, your skin glistening from your nose down to your chin with his precum and your spit.

One of his hands was holding a small butt plug. It was made of black silicone, pointier and ridged. It had four inches of insertable length, and the diameter was one inch thick.

Joel let out a whistle.

“You traded for this?” you nodded, batting your eyelashes at him. “Good fucking girl.”

He leaned forward to kiss you, his lips demanding and fierce. Your tangled tongues fought with each other, but Joel always won, subduing you quickly.

Both his hands roamed your bare body, rough calloused palms caressing your cold skin, which bristled under his touch. Joel traced your underboob, then suddenly pinched both of your taut nipples and pulled.

You flinched, a thunder of pain radiating from your tits all the way down to your pussy. Wet, sticky heat pooled between your thighs, clit pulsing and hole clenching around nothing. How could pain turn you on so fucking much?

“Move your pretty ass to the bedroom, kiddo,” Joel commanded.

Springing to your feet, you obeyed, leading the way to his bed. The room was dark and bare, with no personal items anywhere to be seen. Joel kept to himself, sharing little snippets of his life when he felt like it. You never pushed for information, knowing that he would open up at his own pace.

Putting on your best innocent gaze, you turned around to face him once you were at the foot of the bed.

“Can we play rough… daddy, please?” the term slipped from your tongue accidentally.

You covered your mouth at the realisation ― you’d never called him daddy, not out loud. In your mind you had done so several times, but you were not able to gauge how Joel would react if you did.

You were about to find out.

Joel growled at you, one broad hand wrapping around your throat ― his fingers dug on the sides of your neck. Tilting your chin up, you gasped, your hips lurching forward until they pressed against his erect dick.

“Who’s your daddy, kiddo?” Joel groaned, grazing your chin with his teeth.

“Y-you, daddy,” you replied, slowly understanding that despite his aggressive reaction, he actually liked it. “Joel Miller is my daddy.”

“Damn right I am,” he snarled like an animal. He hovered the anal plug over your mouth, “Open.” Joel slotted it between your lips. “Suck on it, daddy’s girl needs her pacifier for what’s to come. Don’t want the neighbours coming over to check if I’ve killed someone.”

When he turned you around and pushed you towards the bed, you knew the game was on. Your shins hit the metal bedframe; with another push from Joel on your shoulders, you fell face first on the unkempt bed.

“No, daddy, please, no,” you began whimpering around the plug, squirming as he sank a knee into the mattress.

Joel grabbed both of your wrists with the span of one broad hand and pressed them onto the small of your back. He tilted forward, his weeping glans gliding on your sticky slit a few times. He tapped your clit four times with his cockhead, the last tap harsher than the others, and then he stabbed your clenching hole.

You writhed under him, audibly crying now, when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. You forced tears to fall down your cheeks and mouthed a scream around the butt plug in your mouth.

“It hurts!” you feigned a painful wail, when in reality your pussy was fluttering around his gifted circumference with delight.

Joel groaned above you, buried down to the hilt, and placed his free hand on the back of your head. Then he pushed your skull down into the mattress, almost smothering you as you tried to gasp for air.

“Shut up, you bitch. Take it,” his hips snapped back, cock almost sliding out of your cunt, and then forced his way into your pussy again.

Your old man picked up a relentless pace, the nasty, sucking sound of your wetness reverberating in the room as Joel fucked you stupid, drilling you into the bed like a man possessed.

Joel freed your wrists for his left thumb to find your empty rimmed hole. He started stroking it slowly again, and you squeezed your sphincter at the touch. Unhurriedly, he worked your butthole until your muscles relaxed, then took the opportunity to ploddingly insert the first phalange in your ass.

Seeing stars behind your eyes, your hips involuntarily jerked up, swallowing the second phalange of his thumb. When Joel began pumping your tight ass with his digit, your pussy palpitated around his cock.

“You like that, don’tcha? Nasty, stupid little girl,” Joel groaned, his thrusts unforgiving whilst his thick finger twirled inside you.

You hummed loudly around the butt plug, feeling lightheaded and dizzy due to the lack of oxygen, but also to the intense pleasure, one you had not felt before.

“Mhm-mm-mhmmm-mhmmmmm,” the crescendo in your mumbling plea peaked, your lungs now burning.

Then Joel released his purchase on your hair, and your neck snapped back as you mouthed for air. Your heartrate spiked, even feeling it in your gums. Joel’s unabating shoves along with his devilish thumb finally sent you over the edge and you jumped off the cliff of your pleasure blindly. Your throbbing pussy clamped around his cock like a vice, the wave of your climax drowning you as Joel fucked you through it.

With toes curling, eyes glassy and drool falling off the corners of your busy mouth, all your muscles went suddenly limp. Your spent cunt still quivered around Joel’s dick, who hadn’t stopped jackhammering into you with renewed vigour.

Hastily, Joel pulled back and out of the heat of your tight pussy, digging up his thumb in the process too. One more second and he would have spilt inside. While he was sure he could have another erection, even at fifty-six, he rather not risk it.

His rough hand wrapped around his cockhead, reining in the need to come.

“Fuck, you almost got me there, sugar,” he cackled, running his hand down his face.

You didn’t reply. You were sprawled across his bedsheets like a fuck toy, your thighs still trembling with the aftershock of your orgasm. Joel was sure that even without the butt plug in your mouth, you would not have been able to string two coherent words together.

His lustful eyes lingered on the red bow crowning the swell of your buttocks. He was dying to untie it, to unwrap his most precious present and make good use of it. But first he needed you ready.

“Gimme that,” he uncurled his hand in front of your mouth, and you spat out the butt plug.

Standing firm behind you, he teased your pursed hole with the silicone tip. You stirred at the touch but were so out of tune with your own body, you didn’t fight him. He twisted the plug around, circling in your orifice. Slowly it went in, and when it bottomed out, your eyes snapped open, and you grizzled.

“Stay put,” he ordered you, stepping back.

Joel admired how the handle stuck out, peeking between your round globes. With a huff, he stroked his length as he walked towards the nightstand. Opened the drawer and pulled out your favourite pink dildo. It was slim and slightly curved ― you loved how the tip always hit the right spot inside your pussy.

He retraced his steps back to the foot of the bed and slid the toy between your clammy flaps, wetting it with your juices. You squirmed at the cold touch but relaxed when you realised what it was.

“Gonna have both holes full to the fucking brim, babydoll,” he mocked you sneeringly, wedging the dildo in your crying pussy until it snugly sat inside. “She’s so greedy.”

“Daddy, please, I can’t. I’m hurting,” you pleaded, sobbed even.

“I don’t fucking care. I’ll fuck your ass through the pain. A gift is a gift, kiddo,” he mumbled darkly.

Joel followed along and would not stop unless you said, “you piece of shit.” That was the agreement, the safe words you would use if you really started feeling insufferable pain. So far, you hadn’t spoken the words, giving him free rein to do with you as he pleased.

Looking at you with your perky ass up with the satin bow on top, a dildo in your weeping cunt and the butt plug poking out of your asshole, he knew himself a lucky bastard. How you fully trusted him, giving in to his darkest desires and coming up with your own. The last year had been a revelation for both of you ― you matched his freak so well.

To hell with what people thought, you were everything he had been looking for.

Fisting the base of his thudding cock, he slowly removed the anal plug, the pop sound enticing. Joel watched your open hole squeezing again until it puckered in your fold. He was mesmerised imagining how your walls would feel around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting down his bottom lip.

Hypnotised, Joel pushed the plug back in your butt, slowly and steadily, watching eagerly how your rimmed entrance swallowed the beads.

“No, daddy, it hurts. Please, take it out,” you begged him with a small, breathless voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” he warned you.

With one hand he pumped the dildo, dragging the pointy tip along your anterior wall to hit the spongy spot of your pleasure, and the other performed similar motions with the butt plug.

You mewled like a kitten, your passion ringing in his ears like he was high on drugs. Seeing you like this, all pliable and surrendered, had him on the brink of coming ― teetering on the edge, precum sliding down his shaft.

When you started humping the bedsheets, causing friction in your unattended clit, Joel knew you were close to another climax. Feeling considerate, he let you chase your own high, both of his hands working the sex toys in your holes.

“I― Good fucking lord, I’m… com… I’m coming, daddy. C-can I…?” you asked for his permission, his chest swelling at your request.

“Yeah, kiddo. Come for daddy,” he rasped, feeling drunk on your ecstasy.

You finally let go again, your whole body quivering like a leaf falling off a tree. He saw your inner labia squeezing the dildo and for a second Joel regretted it wasn’t his cock ― how good it would feel to have your fluttering pussy hug him tight.

But he had to persevere. The gift was worth it.

As your body still adjusted to the aftermath, Joel pulled out the butt plug carefully. The toy slid out easily, and he watched again how your hole stretched back to its normal size.

Throwing the plug to one side on the bed, Joel untied the red, satin bow on your lower back with steady fingers, taking in the moment. He felt like a mayor inaugurating a new building, presenting it to the press. This building was only his to dilapidate. The ribbon fell through his fingers.

Joel slipped one hand between your thighs, caressing around the dildo to gather some of your slick and gently buttering it into your rimmed opening. You said nothing ― eyes shut and mouth agape, it was almost as if you were peacefully sleeping.

He repeated the process a few times, but felt it wasn’t enough. Bending down, he spat in your ass until his mouth was dry. Then positioned his weeping cock right in the fold of your ass and pressed your buttocks together to hump your butt crack. Again, you didn’t react, your drool pooling on the bedsheets.

“What a fucking sight,” he said under his breath, the tip of his girthy dick finally hitching in your asshole.

Slowly he pushed the glans in, then back out, then back in, testing the waters. You squirmed a little, your brows furrowing innocently and your nose scrunching.

“Biiiiig stretch, kiddo,” he managed to groan between gritted teeth, jaw painfully clenched as his cock finally burrowed in your puckered entrance.

That was when your glassy eyes snapped open, and both your hands fisted the bedsheets.

“DADDY!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

It was hot and tight inside, very soft too, sweat gathering on his brow in concentration. Your sphincter crushed his hard cock and Joel felt like losing control over his own actions.

Another piercing shriek from you brought him back, his hips slowly working your hole with his length. He was only halfway in, you still had a few inches to take.

“You pie― Ohhhh, ah, mhmm…” his hand was quick to find the pebbled nub in your slit, petting it gently, pressing tight circles.

The distraction worked, because soon enough his dick was fully sitting in your ass. Joel pulled back, then back in, guiding your movements by pressing his free hand on your belly, holding your waist up and moving you with him. His right ring and middle fingers stroked your pearly clit relentlessly ― you were melting again.

This was heaven. Fucking heaven, he thought. How the muscles in your ass contracted around him, making him feel woozy. How you keened. How he just knew your pussy was fluttering around your pink dildo. How your clit was extremely wet, his fingers almost slipping on your velvety skin, almost unable to catch on your button.

It wasn’t painful, it was extremely overwhelming. Your mind felt like a spongy cloud, completely blissed out. Your soul had literally left your body, that was how empty your brain was. You were so full ― the dildo cozily inside you, Joel’s girthy cock blasting your entrails without a pause. Having him fully seated in your asshole was the most euphoric experience you had ever lived ― your pulse adjusted to his, two hearts beating as one.

It was too much, but it could be even more. Slithering one hand between your body and the bed, you found the dildo. Slowly you rocked it in and out of your damp pussy ― when Joel pulled out, you pushed in.

Elated, little, pathetic sobs escaped your mouth ― real, blissful tears wetting your cheeks, whimpering as your puffy lips wolfed down the pink toy. Your clit felt on fucking fire, Joel’s fingers fondling it to a point where you thought you might actually die.

You were coming again ― Joel could fucking feel it in his bones. Only this time, you squirted all over him, the warm liquid running down his thighs like a cascade whilst your whole body quaked uncontrollably.

“Oh my! Daddy! DADDY!” you wailed as he fucked you through it, hips almost stuttering now. “I can feel you in my guts! OH, FUCKING HELL!”

That was fucking it. With a guttural groan, Joel finally came, thick, sticky ropes spilling in your ass, painting your walls white. For a minute, he kept on filling you with his cum, cock maddingly twitching inside you. He closed his eyes and heavily sighed, as if the biggest weight had been taken off his shoulders.

By the time he was done, Joel was heaving, his chest rising in quick succession. That had been the best sex he’d ever had, and he was no novice like you. God, even his legs were trembling with effort.

Joel smacked both your ass cheeks as you plummeted onto the bed, a stupid grin curling the corners of your sinful mouth. You rolled to your side to look at him ― a fucked-out expression, your eyes hazy, sweaty hair sticking to your face.

The way you lazily smiled at him made his heart skip a beat.

“That was… something else,” you whispered, half asleep, totally spent.

Joel couldn’t help but chortle.

“I told you, kiddo,” he said, manoeuvring you back onto your belly so he could watch his semen gushing out your ass. “Squeeze your butthole for me, babydoll. Get it all out.”

You obeyed, all his cum slowly trickling out until your ass was empty.

“Good girl,” he praised you.

He admired the view for a hot minute ― you were a dewy mess, tangled in his bedsheets, with the pink dildo still poking out your sweet pussy. So tight, he thought, your slick cunt wouldn’t release it even when he gently tugged at it. Joel didn’t have the heart to take such comfort away from you yet, so he left the dildo in.

Joel disappeared into the bathroom after that to shower quickly. Then grabbed some wet towels and went back to the bedroom, naked as you were, to find you soundly asleep in an odd position.

He cleaned you up ― first your sweaty face, then your upper body. Joel coaxed your legs apart and couldn’t resist the urge to bow down and press a sweet kiss to your clit, slowly extracting the dildo from your pussy.

You hummed in your sleep, jaw slack and snoring lightly.

“The best daddy’s girl one could ask for,” he purred before resuming the task of rubbing your cunt and your ass clean. Joel was extremely diligent with your hygiene and care.

There was a big puddle on his bedsheets, right where your pussy had been leaking all along. He’d deal with that in the morning, didn’t want to wake you up now ― you needed the rest.

Joel sauntered towards the living room, seizing the forgotten cigar and the ashtray. Then returned to bed, and dragged your body up the bed until your head was resting on his lap. You unconsciously nuzzled his soft dick, your hot breath fanning the thick curls at the base.

Joel raked his fingers through your hair as he took a puff, the cigar crackling.

“You’re gonna be the end of me, kiddo.”

In your sleep, you stirred ― your plump, cherry lips caressing his base. Joel’s head slacked back against the headboard as he smoked.

“Fuck,” he cursed himself, feeling his dick harden again.

You were giving him no option ― there was nothing worse than going to bed with a hard-on. Joel knew you wouldn’t want that for him.

His fingers left your scalp, took one more puff and placed the cigar down on the ashtray. Joel cupped your chin, tilting your head up and back, while his other hand guided the slick tip of his cock to your lips. The moment your mouth was in contact with his dick, instinctually you suckled on his pearly glans.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Joel gritted, voice gravelly. “That’s it, be a good little girl for daddy.”

Joel gently rocked his hips under you, only the tip disappearing between your sinful lips ― he didn’t want to wake you, not when you looked like an angel right now.

This was a recurrent dream of yours. Most nights, you found yourself drifting away and thinking about your old man’s beautiful dick. It was soothing when you latched onto his glans, just like you were doing right now ― unbeknownst to you.

In your dream, your tongue pressed against the slit on his throbbing cockhead while your lips would seal around it to suck on it. Then his underside would slide along your tongue, kissing your palate gently. Sometimes you would stop, glans sitting warmly in your mouth, and the hand resting on his thigh would find the soft balls underneath to massage them delicately. Then your tongue would resume its petting.

Heat peaked inside your mouth, and that made you scowled slightly. Smacking your lips together, sleepily, you realised that there was something warm and sticky pooling in your mouth.

Your eyes fluttered open, still drowsy, and found Joel’s darkened ones. Your head was resting on his lap, the palm of his hand caressing your cheek while his thumb stroked your chin. Sluggishly, you smiled at him, rubbing one eye with the back of your hand.

“Sorry to wake you,” he apologised before he took a drag of the cigar. “Swallow daddy’s gift, sugar.”

His words made you realise that what you had in your mouth was his cum. Your grin grew wider as the tasty seed of Joel slid down your throat. You liked it when he took what was his without asking.

“Attagirl. Now back to sleep, kiddo. It’s past your bedtime,” he commended you, and you nodded absentmindedly.

Nudging his dick and tucking your hands under his thigh, you pressed a soft kiss on his cockhead, then closed your eyes.

“Thank you,” you sighed contently, to both Joel and his dick.

[ortegahaze]

bleeding heart

pairing: Wednesday Addams x gn!reader

synopsis: determined to impress your girlfriend, Wednesday Addams, on Halloween, you gift her a vial of your own blood. A fainting mishap turns the gesture chaotic, but Wednesday’s amused rescue reveals she might just share your dark affection.

warnings: mentions of blood and needle, fluff, humor.

a/n: happy halloween to those who celebrate! i wanted to share something themed, and what better choice than wednesday addams? i’m also close to finishing a requested katie torres story, as well as the second part of anyone but you.

word count: 1,6k

—

You’ve been dating Wednesday Addams for three intense, darkly enchanting months, and you’ve learned that choosing the right gift for her is no easy task. She finds most gifts either pointless or painfully sentimental. But it’s Halloween—the one night of the year when the world aligns with her tastes: mysterious, morbid, and a little dangerous. So, you decide it’s worth the risk.

After much thought—and far more of Enid’s “enthusiastic” help than you planned for—you settle on a gift you’re certain will impress Wednesday: a heart-shaped vial filled with a drop of your own blood. It’s unique, bold, and deeply personal. If there’s anything that might move her, it’s this.

Which is how you find yourself seated in Yoko’s dorm, nervously sweating on her sleek black couch as she holds up a butterfly needle and tourniquet. As a werewolf, you’re used to scrapes and bruises, but there’s something about needles that makes you feel faint. And with Enid’s wolfish grin and Yoko’s vampire fangs glinting in the dim light, you’re starting to question your “brilliant” idea.

“You know,” Yoko says, tightening the tourniquet around your arm with a wry smile, “most people would back out by now.”

“I’m not backing out,” you insist, though your voice wavers more than you’d like. You glance down at the tiny heart-shaped vial waiting beside you, its delicate glass ready to be filled and transformed into a pendant for Wednesday. If you can survive this needle-induced haze without fainting again, maybe Wednesday will recognize the depth of the gesture.

Enid pats your shoulder. “Think about how much Wednesday’s gonna love this! She won’t say it, but I bet she’ll be super impressed.”

“Oh, she’ll definitely be impressed,” Yoko grins. “You’re practically giving her your heart, you know?”

You laugh weakly, imagining Wednesday’s reaction, hoping she’ll see this gesture for what it is. That thought alone steadies you enough to hold out your arm. But as soon as the needle touches your skin and the blood begins to run through the tiny tube, the room starts to spin faster, and as Enid’s voice fades to a distant echo, your last thought is: Totally worth it if Wednesday approves.

When you come to, you’re lying back on Yoko’s couch with both her and Enid leaning over you, faces somewhere between amused and concerned.

“Alright,” The vampire says, holding up the half-filled vial with a smirk, “maybe you’re not exactly cut out for this.”

You groan, embarrassed. “I… I wanted it to be perfect.”

Enid pats your shoulder a little too enthusiastically. “It’s fine! We’ll just call Wednesday over. She’ll probably think it’s extra romantic that you fainted for her.”

“No way!” you protest, trying to sit up, but your head spins, and Enid gently pushes you back down.

Yoko is already tapping away on her phone. “Too late. She’s on her way to rescue her tragic, fainting puppy.”

Moments later, the door creaks open, and Wednesday steps inside, her gaze sweeping over the scene. She takes in your helpless sprawl on the couch, Yoko with the half-filled vial, and Enid’s barely-contained grin.

Her arms cross, and she raises a single eyebrow. “Would anyone care to explain?”

Yoko gestures toward you, barely hiding her amusement. “Your valiant partner here attempted the ultimate DIY tribute. We nearly lost them to their own romantic ambitions.”

Wednesday’s expression remains stoic, but there’s an unmistakable glint in her eye—a glint you can’t quite decipher, yet can’t resist either. “I see. And you thought it wise to assist them?”

Enid shrugs. “It was pretty romantic—until the fainting part.”

Ignoring Enid, Wednesday strides over and reaches down to help you up. “We’re going to your room,” she says firmly, grabbing the half-full vial and the equipment Yoko left behind.

You blush, both embarrassed and grateful. “I can walk, you know,” you mumble, though you sway a bit as you stand, and Wednesday’s hand stays firm on your arm.

Her lips quirk slightly. “Yes. You’ve demonstrated impressive physical prowess so far.”

You groan, leaning on her slightly as she leads you through the hallways, surrounded by the eerie glow of Halloween decorations. The school is draped in webs and flickering lights, shadows cast by paper bats hanging from the ceiling, and jack-o’-lanterns grinning from dark corners. Faint echoes of spooky music and the occasional laugh drift through the halls as students celebrate the holiday.

After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. “I know this was… a bit dramatic. I just thought it would be meaningful, you know? Like… giving you something uniquely personal.”

Wednesday glances up at you, her dark eyes slightly softer than usual. “There are any number of ways you could have shown that without requiring an emergency rescue.”

“I guess,” you admit, sheepish. “But it wouldn’t have been the same. You… make me want to do things that are a little foolish.”

A faint smile pulls at the corner of her mouth, though she doesn’t respond. She simply walks beside you until you reach your dorm. Once inside, she sits you down at your desk, still holding the vial and the needle. Setting the vial aside, she loops the tourniquet around your arm with practiced precision.

“If you’re still determined to finish this… gift,” she says, giving you a challenging look, “then I’ll do it myself. Unless, of course, you’d rather faint a second time.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, like I’d ever pass out with you around.”

Wednesday raises an eyebrow. “Are you certain? The track record doesn’t favor you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but your breath catches as she lifts the butterfly needle, her gaze steady and calm. Without thinking, you reach for her free hand, gripping it tightly as she begins drawing the blood.

She glances down at your hand in hers, a slight flicker of surprise in her expression. “I suppose bravery is easier when you’re clinging to someone else.”

You smirk, tightening your grip just a little. “Bravery is in short supply around needles, okay? Consider yourself lucky I’m still conscious.”

A faint, amused breath escapes her, and she continues filling the vial, her voice low as she recounts her day’s events: her latest experiments, the endless irritations of her classmates, her determination to ignore them all. You find yourself relaxing as she talks in the calm, steady way she only does when it’s just the two of you. Before long, the vial is filled, and she carefully removes the needle and tourniquet. She disappears briefly to fetch a band-aid, returning to press it gently against the tiny wound.

When she holds up the completed vial, her eyes glint with something almost… reverent. Her fingers, cool to the touch, linger over the vial, and for just a moment, she holds it up to the moonlight as if it were a priceless relic. She’s silent, but the pendant’s soft glow says what she won’t.

“You’ve successfully turned me into my parents,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of irritation and faint amusement.

You can’t help a smirk. “Do you really hate it?”

She narrows her eyes, though there’s warmth in them. “Less than I expected.”

Taking a steadying breath, you reach for the pendant. “Let me put it on you?” The question comes out quieter than you’d planned, but Wednesday doesn’t pull back; she inclines her head slightly, turning so her braids falls to one side.

You fumble only slightly with the clasp before placing the chain gently around her neck, the tiny vial resting just above her collarbone. Your fingers brush her skin as you fasten the clasp, and you feel her shiver, though her expression remains impassive, save for the faintest glint in her eyes. She holds your gaze, her usual dark intensity softened ever so slightly.

Stepping back, you can’t help the small surge of pride at seeing her wear it. “Look at that—I survived. Guess I’m ready for something far more daring. Like… a tattoo.”

She arches an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Your confidence is admirable, if poorly placed.”

“Hey, with you there to hold my hand, I could handle anything,” you say, meeting her gaze.

Her eyes soften just slightly, and she doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she traces her fingers over the tiny heart-shaped vial, now sealed and resting against her skin. “Then I suppose I’ll consider it my duty.”

You grin, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re really making it hard not to faint all over again, you know that?”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t let go of your hand. “Let’s get something for you to eat,” she says, her voice quiet yet surprisingly tender.

Later that night, you and Wednesday are seated at the far end of the quad, away from the Halloween festivities echoing through the courtyard. She’s wearing the pendant, the blood-filled vial catching the moonlight as she glances over at you.

“By the way,” she says, her voice a soft murmur in the night, “if you ever think to attempt something like this again, do inform me beforehand.”

You chuckle, leaning back on the bench beside her. “Oh, you’re so eager to torture me, aren’t you?”

She meets your gaze, her lips twitching in a barely-there smile. “Precisely.”

As silence settles between you, her hand brushes against yours with quiet familiarity. Sitting together under the expansive night, fingers entwined, you realize that with Wednesday, every gesture is equal parts peril and promise—and that, you know, is exactly why it feels so right.

[earthrealsvn]

taking care of you when you're drunk

in which the Haikyuu!! pretty setter squad take care of you during/after a night of drinking.

category: post time-skip!!! (except Suga bc that’s a college!au), fluff, crack

warning(s): mentions/use of alcohol, vomiting in Akaashi’s, perhaps Suga’s and Kageyama’s could be seen as suggestive at parts but i promise they’re not meant to be

w.c: 3.5k all together

a/n: hello! i haven't posted in forever but don't perceive that. most of these are based off of things i’ve said and/or done, except i didn’t have a partner to care for me during or afterwards. as stated above, this is post time skip, aside from Suga’s which is a college!au, so all the boys are a legal age to drink. anyways, enjoy the boys taking care of a drunk reader!

—

Sugawara Koshi

you laugh as you nearly tip over on your way to the bathroom, the sound of your friends cheering behind you ringing in your ears. you had all just started your last year of college and decided that it was worth celebrating. so, you offered up your apartment for the night, fully intent on having a good time before stress came to kick your ass.

another laugh bubbles in your throat as you misstep, landing on what was thankfully your bed. though now, your predicament is how you were to get back up. you give it two attempts and whine when you’re unsuccessful. it shouldn’t be that hard to stand, you do it all the time! planting your feet on the floor, another try is made, but you’re still incapable. tears spring into your eyes despite the fading rational part of you knowing it’s really not something to cry over. the drunken majority of you, though, is ready to throw a full-on fit.

but before you can even make a sound, someone’s taking your hands in theirs and gently pulling you to your feet. a stupid grin makes its way onto your face when you realize it’s your boyfriend, Sugawara Koshi.

“Ko!” you squeal, throwing your arms around his torso and squeezing. his laugh is as gentle as his return of the hug, but the teasing undertone is obvious. “didn’t think you’d show.” the words are muffled due to your cheek being squished into his chest.

“i got off early enough, so i figured i’d come see what my baby is up to.” his lips press themselves to the crown of your head to lay a brief kiss before he’s pulling away. “why were you on your bed instead of having fun, hm?”

you gasp when your original quest is remembered. “had to pee.” you begin a definitely not straight line towards your bathroom, laughing. you nearly slammed your hip into your nightstand along the way, but Suga’s hands placed themselves on your waist, guiding you the rest of the way to your destination.

there’s a brief fumble for the lightswitch until your bathroom light turns on, Suga having pressed it before you. he closes the door to give some privacy whilst you take care of your business, and you appreciate it until you come across a hurdle.

“hey Ko?” he hums from the other side of the door. “i can’t unbutton my pants.”

he can’t stop his laugh, and it only increases at your impatient whine. he steps through the doorway and tugs you closer, deft fingers unbuttoning your pants for you. he steps out again afterwards, letting you relieve your bladder in peace.

“can you button them by yourself?” he asks once the sound of the sink goes off and you groan at his teasing. he gets his answer once you open the door, pants already taken care of. “good job, sweetheart.” he coos, cupping your face and squishing your cheeks.

“shut,” you don’t even finish the rest of your sentence as you pull away and toddle back to the living room. he follows behind, hands hovering above your hips just in case drunk you decides to take another tumble.

“hey, Y/N, we’re taking shots!” your friend shouts from the kitchen and you squeak in delight. the silver-haired male walks into the kitchen with you to find your friends gathered at the counter with the shot glasses in front of them. “you want your favorite?” you nod in response, leaning against Suga in order to have some support.

as the shots are being poured, a noise of realization leaves you. “oh, Ko, you should take some too!” your head tilts back to look at your boyfriend, a drunken grin on your face.

“alright, but not too many.” he agrees, pecking your forehead.

“lame,” you laugh and an endearing smile plays on his lips as he stares down at you.

“well, someone has to make sure you don’t die,” a hand comes up to pinch your cheek and you shriek, trying to pull it off. you’re unsuccessful, obviously; you don’t have much strength when drunk and Suga still has all of his slight muscles from high school volleyball and working out regularly.

you still accept the shot glass he gives you, though, and a friend gives a half-assed toast and a countdown before everyone knocks their shots back, the familiar tingle of alcohol sliding down your throat. you also don’t protest the water Suga raises to your lips afterwards either, taking a few sips to help neutralize the taste.

it’s midnight but Suga knows the party’s just begun.

—

Oikawa Tooru

“i’m on the floor,” you mutter out once more, head falling against the wood of the island. “‘m drunk ‘n on the floor.”

“yes, you are drunk and on the floor, sweetie.” the familiar hands of Oikawa Tooru, your boyfriend, settle in your hair and massage at your scalp. a happy hum leaves your throat and you raise your heavy head to smile at what you think is his direction.

“‘s’all blurry,” drunken laughter laces your words and Oikawa can only shake his head endearingly. “wanna nap.”

he barely manages to catch you as you topple over sideways, body desperately trying to meet the ground. the rest of your friends laugh at your antics and Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a shit-eating grin. everyone knows you’ve drank too much too fast, but your week leading up to the New Year’s party had been stressful and you wanted to forget. so now, here you were, collapsed in your boyfriends’ arms, too intoxicated to do much.

“do you wanna move to the couch, sweetie?” your boyfriend asks, hand rubbing your side. he has to lean in to catch your mumbled response, but he’s able to detect the agreement. “okay, i’m gonna lift you now, alright?”

“uh-huh.”

he lifts you up into a princess carry and makes his way to the couch. as soon as your back meets the cushions and Oikawa’s arms move, you snuggle yourself onto your side, barely able to remember that laying on your back drunk could kill you if you start puking. your boyfriend settles himself onto the floor in front of you and pulls out his phone. he starts to scroll through social media but is quickly distracted by the incessant poking at his shoulder your fingers are doing.

“can i help you?” he raises a brow as he turns to face you, holding back a coo at the sight of your squished face.

“wanna watch—” the rest of your sentence is mumbled but Oikawa figures you’re wanting to watch your favorite show. he decides it’s better to entertain you than have a drunken partner complaining at him for however long. so he obliges, switching to the streaming service and holding the phone where you can see it comfortably.

a delighted laugh slips out of your mouth and the hand that was poking him falls limp onto his arm, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his sweater.

as you watch the show, he watches you, internally hoping you don’t throw up on him you’re sober enough for a New Year’s kiss.

—

Kenma Kozume

your panicked yells cause Kenma’s eyes to leave his game and travel up to you, the spike of concern diminishing as soon as he realized why you were making said noises. in your current round of Just Dance, you’re barely able to keep up with the moves showing on the screen, body tilting dangerously to the right. the friend that’s joining you is doing better in terms of score, but they’re practically in your space, nearly punching you every time they move their arm.

the cat-like boy shakes his head with a sigh and returns to his game, determined to finally beat the boss that’s been killing him all month. he’s so focused on the battle that he doesn’t realize your round is done until someone drapes their body over his, distracting him enough to lose. eye twitching, he turns to yell at them only to see a large, stupid grin on your face.

“Kyanma, come dance with me!” you exclaim through hiccups.

“i don’t want to. i’m trying to beat this—” he starts to turn back to his handheld but stops at the sound of your voice.

“you— don’t you love me?” tears spring to your eyes and Kenma whips his head back around to look at you again. “i love you Kenma, i want you to dance with me!” you’re wailing now and Kenma panics, setting his handheld down so he can pat your head. it doesn’t quite work, however, and the sound of your cries are drawing attention.

“Y/N,” Kenma sighs and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “i’ll dance with you after this boss, okay puddin’?”

sniffling, you quiet down before hiccuping again, “promise?”

“promise,” he agrees, pulling your face closer in order to press a kiss to your forehead. “just give me a few minutes.”

he lifts his handheld back up and returns to his last save before the boss, once again determined to win. from beside him, you wipe your nose on your sleeve (something you can only stand to do when you’re drunk, he’s noticed) and fit yourself into his side to watch. just before entering the battle zone, Kenma glances around to see if anyone’s watching before tucking you under his arms and into his chest, ignoring your giggle of delight.

as the battle goes on, he lets you babble drunken advice, laughing quietly if he finds it funny. you cheer when he lands hits and gasp when his character takes damage, hands clinging to his sleeves in excitement. although he’s ultimately focused more on the game, he still gives you fleeting kisses on your head.

when he finally wins, you applaud him before bouncing up, tugging on his arm to get him to stand. he makes sure he saves before turning the device off and stands up to follow you to the center of the living room. you hand him a controller with a beam while your friend bounces up to join. just before you select the song, Kenma silently sighs to himself.

he hates doing too much physical activity, especially things he doesn’t enjoy doing, but he loves you too much to say no.

—

Tobio Kageyama

a sigh and a “oi, stop squirming!” echoes in your ears as Kageyama tries to help you change. he’s been trying to get you into pajamas for the past three minutes, but you’re making it difficult by moving every time he reaches out to remove your clothes.

“but Tobio, it tickles!” a whine is laced into your words, feet kicking lightly.

“grin and bear it then, idiot. you can’t wear this to bed.”

“watch me you a—” you don’t get to finish your sentence as Kageyama lightly pins you down, forcing your clothes off you and tugging on your pajamas right after. “Tobio!”

he grunts in response, tossing your clothes into the laundry basket. you continue to pout and whine as he lifts you off the bed so he can carry you to the bathroom, setting you on the counter. he prepares your toothbrush and turns back to you, offering a ‘open’ as he holds it to your lips. although a part of you wants to refuse, you’re starting to get sleepy, so you oblige, letting him gently brush your teeth, spitting out the toothpaste when told.

you fall in and out of sleep as he goes through your night routine, and the next time you fully come to, he’s lifting you again to bring you to bed. you hum contentedly, grinning at him when he places you back onto your bed. he returns it with a rare smile that he reserves for you and gets under the covers on his side. he lets you find a position that won’t be uncomfortable for your drunk self before he lays with you. it’s quiet for a while, the two of you taking in the comfortable silence until you speak up.

“i’m gonna be so fucking hungover tomorrow.”

beside you, Kageyama snorts, “yeah, you had way too much,” his hand pats your head, “but i’ll take care of you, i suppose. make you some eggs or avocado toast or something.”

“you can barely cook. you burnt water.”

“that was one damn time!” he snapped, giving you a squeeze, “you distracted me!”

“whatever. jus’ don’t mess up my breakfast,”

“i won’t, dumbass. i love you,” you feel his lips on the top of your head and you finally succumb to sleep.

—

Akaashi Keiji

you dart up from your comfortable position on the couch, hand clamping over your mouth. everything is still blurry and your head is pounding, but the need to throw up is fast approaching in your throat.

“Keiji! Keiji i need—” you pause to breathe, hearing rushed footsteps as your boyfriend pops into view from the kitchen.

“darling? what’s wrong?”

“bucket,” you mutter, hand returning to your mouth. thankfully, Akaashi is a quick thinker, and he realizes what’s going on. turning back to the kitchen, he cringes when he realizes the only thing large enough is the freshly washed popcorn bowl. biting his lip, he tries to find something else, anything else, but your whine has him snatching the bowl and running to you.

he gets there in the nick of time, and you lean over the bowl as everything you’ve just ate and drank came out. he rubs your back in comfort but ultimately isn’t too surprised — you drank a lot without the ideal amount of food in your body.

“ew,” you lift your head and Akaashi moves the bowl to the ottoman in front of you in case it’s needed again. “Keiji, why does alcohol tase funny?”

“i don’t know, love,” he sits next to you as he replies, letting your body fall onto his lap. he knows it probably won’t do much, but he places his hand on your stomach and gives it little rubs, hoping it can at least supply comfort.

your friend rounds the corner and lets out a whistle upon seeing the bowl. you hiss and flip them off tiredly, trying to sleep it off.

“how long do you think they’ll be like this?” your friend asks.

“i’m hoping it’s just for two to three hours, any more and i’ll be concerned.”

“well… they really went for it so i’m just hoping they don’t die.”

a huff of agreement comes from Akaashi. before he can say anything else, you’re launching yourself back up and hunching over the bowl. your friend audibly cringes and returns to the party in the kitchen whilst Akaashi resumes rubbing your back. both of you know that this is the last thing either of you want to be doing at a birthday party, especially the one for a specific owl lookalike.

thinking back to how smashed Bokuto is, though, Akaashi doesn’t think he’ll mind if the two of you are missing for a few hours while you spill your guts into your popcorn bowl.

“i think… i think i want a… a new popcorn bowl Keiji,” you pant as you settle back onto his lap. he feels bad, but he can’t help the grin on his face at how small you look and act right now.

“yeah?”

“mhm. don’t wanna think of puke whenever i eat some.”

“understandable,” Akaashi leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. when he sits up fully again, he mentally prepares himself for the next few hours of your misery.

when you next sit up to vomit, Akaashi is there to rub your back. he’s thinking it might not be so bad until a shout from the kitchen has him groaning.

“hey hey HEY, Akaashi! i threw up, man!”

—

Atsumu Miya

you stared blankly at Atsumu as he doubled over laughing, slapping his thigh repeatedly. on the other hand, you had no idea what he found funny enough to cry over.

“why are you laughing? it’s true!” you give his side a gentle kick while carefully trying to avoid spilling your alcoholic beverage.

“yeah, but yer so honest ‘bout it, babe,” he chuckles and grins at you, “yer gonna make me choke or something.”

“good.” you grumble before chugging the rest of your drink. “but really, it’s not my fault they’ve been annoying me recently.” and before Atsumu can laugh again, you whip your head around to glare at your friend.

it takes Atsumu a moment to realize you’ve said the last part loudly, and your friend definitely overheard. they stare back at you, equally as drunk and aggravated, and the blonde panics. it’s true that you and the friend you’re staring down have been on rocky terms with each other the past week or so, but doing something while drunk is the last thing your boyfriend wants you to do. there’s no chance of a physical altercation (neither you nor your friend can move correctly enough for that), but it doesn’t mean words won’t be said.

“oh, c’mon babe, ya don’t mean that.” Atsumu’s laughter is now uneasy as he takes your shoulders in his grasp, trying to turn you away.

“i’m pretty sure i do mean it, Tsumu.” he winces as you swat his hands away.

“what? that i’m annoying? please,” your friend scoffs, “what about you? you’re the annoying one!”

almost immediately, a shouting match ensues. a desperate Atsumu is trying to stop you from drinking more as your friend berates you, and the rest of your friends are trying to calm the one down.

“i wouldn’t be surprised if Miya breaks up with you because you’re so damn needy!”

“HAH?” he sees it in your eyes, and before Atsumu can hold you down, you’re staggering towards your friend. everyone is launched into a full-blown panic as your friend stands up too.

it’s a good thing you’re both drunk, Atsumu decides, because it’s much easier to catch up with you and stop anything from happening. your friends are dragging the one out, thanking you both for a good time, and Atsumu’s arms are caging you against his chest, ignoring the weak punches to his arms you’re doing.

“babe! what were ya thinking?! ya can’t just start something when you’re drunk, it—” he stops when he realizes you’re now crying, gripping his arms as you struggle to stand. “h-hey… Y/N? baby, what’s wrong?” Atsumu sits the both of you down, pulling you into his lap so you can comfortably bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“you—you won’t actually break up with me, right? you don’t… don’t think i’m needy… do you?” his heart breaks. he knows this subject is a sore spot and as much as he tries to show you otherwise, it still plagues your mind from time to time.

“i don’t think you’re needy, Y/N. i check in on ya when i can because i want to, not because i think ya need me to. if they think you’re needy and annoying for wanting to talk to someone when it’ll help, they’re not a good friend.” you sniffle as his fingers rub at your temples. he presses kiss after kiss to the crown of your head, and soon enough, you’re calm.

and when you pull away from the embrace, the genuinely appreciative face you give him sets his heart aflame.

—

Semi Eita

your water bottle in hand, Semi entered the kitchen to refill your water when he noticed his phone light up in his peripherals. he makes sure he finishes his task of getting you more water before moving to where his phone is charging on the island. he hopes it’s not important — the party you’re throwing at your shared apartment is too loud for a phone call. he’s surprised, however, to see a text from you. you, who’s currently smashed and curled on the couch with your drink.

setting your water down, he pulls up his messaging app only to see something that tugs a soft smile onto his face.

my muse

eita where are u :( ily

the silver-haired male looks up and towards the couch where he can see you pouting at your phone. he watches you type and turns his attention back to his phone.

my muse

i can c ur reeding theis coward

ah yes, your drunk spelling. a laugh bubbles in Semi’s throat as he grabs your water bottle and makes his way back to the couch, sitting next to you.

“what’re you doing?” he asks teasingly, passing you your now refilled water.

“texting my boyfriend,” you say as you take the bottle, taking a few sips. “he’s reading the texts but he won’t respond.” he watches you type again.

my muse

eeeitaaaaaaa :(

a grin appears on his face as he finally replies to you.

Semi

yes, my muse?

he hears your squeal of delight from beside him and you perk up. it’s almost as if subconsciously you know he’s right next to you because you stretch your legs over his and settle against his shoulder. while you have no qualms with showing affection to your friends, you’ve never full-on cuddled up to them like this, and Semi can’t hold back his laugh.

his phone buzzes with more misspelled texts from you, and he makes sure to respond so you can keep looking all joyfully cute whenever he does.

[corasexigence]

Intox Play Primer

Vet for high risk play. If you don't have the utmost trust in someone, control what you're putting in your own body and know where it all came from.

Check for interactions. Yes, this means sharing complete information about whatever medications the person getting drugged is on. No, the interactions are not always intuitive. Yes, this includes things like alcohol. Ideally, ask your doctor about interactions with whatever you're about to play with- they're trained in spotting interactions, you're probably not. (ETA- @vekarin-striae mentioned that pharmacists are often cheaper, more specialized, and less invasive to talk to about drug interactions.)

If you've checked the interactions yourself, assume you might have missed something. Even if you've gotten your doctor to check, be aware they might have missed something. I once caught a potassium deficiency issue in someone's existing medication that their doctor prescribed them.

ROUND 1- Use it for its own sake before you play with it. Spend the time together and set yourself up for success: easy access to food, water, comfort media, and comfortable places to sit and lie down. Know how long it should last. Get someone who's used it before to tripsit if you can. Don't give yourself any tasks that involve new skills. Be ready to offer yourself or your partner a redirect from negative or anxious trains of thought.

Know what a good time on your drug physically looks and feels like. This is crucial, because things might go sideways in a way you're not expecting. Don't just be watching for specific signs of an overdose (though those are worth keeping in mind too)- if something seems wrong, get help. Seconds matter and you're probably not a professional.

Similarly: if the drug is at all sedative, or a downer, or long-lasting, and they're unconscious before it's out of their system, check for breathing and check for pulse. Also, your risk profile is your own, but I don't fuck around with hard sedatives- there's too fine a line between which body systems they shut down.

Start with a low-to-standard dose, and adjust doses for any relevant interactions (e.g. estradiol approximately halves liver tolerance [alcohol, weed, diphenhydramine]).

In order to avoid dependence issues, I wait a default of two weeks between recreational uses of any drug. (I only count caffeine here if I'm having more than two cups of tea in a day.)

ROUND 2- Play with it scripted and above board before you play with it in an explicitly cnc way. Your communication and mental state will have shifted, and you'll need to learn to accommodate that; make sure you try things out without added communication barriers first. Also, make sure to talk about how everything went afterwards when you're both sober!

If you're going to adjust doses, do it slowly and carefully. Most easily accessible recreational drugs can be incremented by half the standard dose. Some drugs are incredibly sensitive to fine adjustments; this is why Fentanyl, for example, is so dangerous and not recommended to use.

ROUND 3- Don't get comfortable. Try to have as peaceful and relaxed an experience as you want, and keep an eye on things as you play with different emotional states- but DEFINITELY continue to keep an eye on safety. It doesn't stop being a concern because you've done it once and everything went fine.

ETA- Mind how drugs affect things like pain tolerance! You might miss important signals from your body. Also, pay attention to overlap with your neurotype when planning and risk profiling. You might desire or achieve different effects depending on your own specific brain.

[milkloafy]

HYDRO DRAGON, HYDRO DRAGON, DON’T CRY — WRIOTHESLEY

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which wriothesley finally asks you out on a first date and neuvillette ruins it by crying over his pet goldfish. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, “ruined” first dates, hydro dragon is crying :c, mentions of sick pet fish trigger warning, gn!reader but they are wearing a sundress and makeup!!  ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.3k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: so on vacation i was out for a nice dinner in a dress and heels and then on the way back to the hotel, it started to storm. and it was windy so no umbrellas helped. and no cars there, only walking. and the roads were flooded so my feet were submerged in like dirt puddles and i was tripping over rocks i couldn’t see in high heels hahaah i was going thru it… but at least it spawned this idea ;-; pls enjoy !! also give neuvi a hug for me ok and me too we both need it t-t

Fontaine was a peculiar place to live in.

Most regions in Teyvat succumbed to the whims of the archons and elemental dragons, but in your experience, none were quite as inconvenient as the region of the hydro dragon.

The Iudex was a sensible and level-headed individual, but he had his moments like everyone else. But unlike everyone else, his sad moments impacted the whole area of Fontaine. 

Unluckily for you, one of Neuvillette’s sad moments happened to be when you were running late for your first date with Wriothesley. 

Wriothesley had messaged you saying he was at the restaurant already, and you were running down the streets of Fontaine to make sure you were too late for the reservation. It wasn’t your intention to be late, but the pressure of a first date set your nerves aflame and you ended up trying on your entire closet until you found the perfect outfit. You didn’t even want to think of the mess that awaited you when you returned home. 

Still, the hassle was worth it. In your eyes, at least. Your hair was styled to perfection, makeup touched up to look effortlessly pretty even though you spent over an hour on it, and the sundress you wore hugged your body in a way that showed your curves yet left the gaze wanting more. 

You were certain that once Wriothesley saw you, he definitely wouldn’t mind that you were a couple minutes late. 

As you turned the corner and saw the restaurant at the end of the street, you immediately perked up, tucking your hair behind your ear and preparing yourself for this date. You skipped on over to the store, but within a few steps of the way, the clouds turned an alarming shade of gray and an immediate downpour began. 

The water droplets were huge, leaving stains of tears on the pavement. The rain was indiscriminate, landing on both the buildings on the street, and the individuals walking around there. 

You blinked as you felt particularly large droplets land on your face, instantly knowing the makeup you worked so hard on would begin to wash off and smear in the rain. The water landed on your hair ruined how each strand was placed to perfection and your dress looked soggy and almost translucent. 

As if possessed, you sprinted to the restaurant and entered to take cover from the showers outside. The restaurant was dimly lit with chandeliers and candles on the tables, the tablecloths adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and empty wine glasses at the ready.

In other words, the place was much too fancy for your current state. 

Your eyes landed on Wriothesley, who immediately jumped out of his seat at the sight of you. He rushed over with a concerned look on his face, promptly removing his outerwear and draping it over your shoulders without second thought.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said meekly, feeling a shiver run down your spine as a cold breeze made its way into the restaurant. 

He shook his head, brushing your cold hair out of your face and grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “That’s the least of our concerns right now. Are you okay? It seems you are completely drenched.”

“I’m okay,” you sniffled, accepting his handkerchief and dabbing the water droplets off your face and neck. “It was just nice and sunny one minute, then gloomy and pouring the next.” 

A look of understanding crossed Wriothesley’s face as a dry chuckle escaped him. “The Iudex’s work, most likely.”

You nodded in agreement. “First, he encourages me to go on a date with you, then when it finally happens, he cries and ruins it all.” You sighed, but after a moment’s thought said, “I hope Neuvillette is alright. The rain seemed really bad with no build up or warning… I hate to use devices during a date, but is it okay if I message him to check in?” 

“Of course,” said Wriothesley, waving off any concerns you might have. As you got your communication device out from your purse, he placed his hand on the small of your back and guided you to the table. 

Y/N: neuvillette… why are you crying??? 

Y/N: is everything okay?

Neuvillette: Frederick wasn’t eating and seems to be floating up instead of swimming.

Neuvillette: I am concerned. 

Y/N: oh no!! :((( not your goldfish… do you want to ask sigewinne if she can help disgnose and cure him??

Neuvillette: I do, but I am too worried about leaving Frederick alone right now. 

Y/N: hmm…

Y/N: i’m supposed to be on a date with wriothesley right now :’( but i don’t want frederick to grow ill. 

Y/N: i’ll ask wriothesley to take me to the fortress of meropide and inform sigewinne!!

Neuvillette: During your date? You should be enjoying each other’s company. Frederick and I will be fine. 

Just then, you heard the downpour from outside grow even louder. You sighed, looking at Wriothesley apologetically. To his credit, he seemed to have the patience of a saint as he simply smiled encouragingly at you. 

Y/N: i’m sure neither wriothesley nor i could enjoy a date knowing our friend is in this much distress.

Y/N: we will go. don’t worry, neuvillette 

Neuvillette: I am sorry for the intrusion, but thank you. I appreciate it. As does Frederick. 

Clutching the handkerchief in your hands, you looked up at Wriothesley with concern etched on your face. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. 

“No,” you shook your head. “Neuvillette is worried about his goldfish, Frederick, being sick.”

Wriothesley frowned, his brows crinkling. “That is terrible.”

“I know! So, I may have offered that we go to Sigewinne and ask if she can help Frederick somehow,” you said sheepishly. “I know this isn’t how I expected our first date to be, but it seems urgent. I promise, I’ll make it up to you!” 

Standing up from his seat, he patted the top of your wet hair and shook his head. “Helping friends is important. Neither of us could have known Frederick would have complications right now— There is nothing you need to make up.” 

You nodded, but a guilty look still flooded your face. It wasn’t enough for you to be late to your first date with Wriothesley. Instead, you also showed up looking like a hot mess, and immediately cancelled the date within five minutes of being there. Fiddling with the buttons on the coat Wriothesley gave you, worry gnawed at your stomach. You were looking forward to going on a date with your long-time crush, and you would be devastated if this ruined all your chances. 

As if sensing your concerns, Wriothesley smiled and offered you his hand. Startled you looked up at him, slowly sliding yours into his. It was warm and dry, a stark contrast to your cold and damp ones. The heat enveloped you and you immediately felt your worries melting away. 

“I, for one, find it incredibly selfless of you to offer to help Neuvillette like this,” he said in admiration. “Your looks are not only beautiful, but your heart as well. So please, do not feel guilty at the change of plans. Let’s make the most of it. We can always have a fancy dinner date another night.” 

Your eyes widened, cheeks flushed at his compliments. “So, you’re saying I have a chance at another date?” 

Wriothesley chuckled, brushing the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. “It’s a guarantee, if you’ll have me, that is.”

“I’ll have you for as long as you’re offering!” you said in excitement, too happy to pay attention to the bashfulness creeping in at your words. 

“For you, I’ll always be offering,” said Wriothesley with a smile as he led you out of the restaurant and apologizing to the staff for the sudden cancellation. “Now, let’s go save Frederick.”

“Let’s do it!” 

[etherealperrie]

Anywhere With You

Chapter 1: "it's time to go"

Coriolanus (Coryo) Snow x Reader Word count: 2.4k Contains: pre-hunger games Coryo | longtime friends to lovers | Coriolanus being soft for the one he loves | mentions of minor tbosas characters | immense amounts of fluff and comfort | slight tbosas spoilers (but not really)

Want More? Chapter 2

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“The Plinth Prize is no longer.” Dean Highbottom’s voice echoes through the stadium of students, the weight of his words settling amongst the first three rows of Academy standouts. Gasps and whispers fill the crowd, the hair on the back of your neck standing at attention, the buzz of others’ words sending chills down your spine. You don’t dare look at Coriolanus, instead letting your eyes fall shut.

“You’ll face one more test to prove your worth,” the Dean continues, making his way up to the podium at the front of the hall. “After all, you are our most promising students. This is in your DNA.”

Swallowing hard, you force your eyes open, a sick feeling reeling in your stomach. This was supposed to be the end. This was supposed to be the start of your summer with Coriolanus – the time before University. The day that was supposed to change both of your lives for the better.

Murmurs fill the quiet space in between Dean Highbottom’s dramatic pause, stopping not only to drag out this horrific explanation but to soothe himself with a bottle of morphling. You’d never once wished to try the drug, but today, with your vision of the future thinning before your eyes, you’d gladly share the vile with him.

The feeling of skin brushing against yours turns your attention from the front of the room to the chair next to you. Coriolanus. You can’t hold back anymore. You didn’t care who saw, or what they thought. You watch his jaw twitch, his eyes still facing forward as his hand grasps yours, his thumb pressing slow, gentle circles into your skin. He’s holding it in. Another hurdle yet for him to surpass. When you squeeze his hand in return, an involuntary response, he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering to you for only a moment.

Coryo.

Not Coriolanus Snow. Just your Coryo for that moment.

The eyes of your fellow classmates burn at the back of your neck. They all knew Coriolanus was meant for that prize. Top student with stellar marks, after all. Only you knew, though, how badly he needed it. How badly Tigris needed it. The Grandma’am. You, too. This day was supposed to change everything.

Indeed it had.

“On this day of the 10th annual Reaping for the Hunger Games, you all are no longer students, but mentors.” Dean Highbottom continues speaking, pulling you from your own head. Coriolanus shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his free hand tugging at the collar of his shirt. A shirt he’d nearly outgrown, even with Tigris’ adjustments. His other hand never releases yours, his thumb continuing to trace up and down your skin, working to calm you. In any other circumstance it might have worked.

“Each of you will be paired with a tribute from the districts and act their mentor leading up to and throughout the Games.”

“For what purpose?” you ask. The question leaves your lips before you have a chance to even think. Before you have a chance to consider the consequences. What harm could an innocent question have? It was innocent, of course. A student simply inquiring about the new assignment. Certainly nothing more. Most definitely not an imposition of the justness of withholding the Plinth Prize and meddling in “game” that was nearing its natural end. No one in the Capitol had watched the games in years, they were savage. Inhumane. Disconnected from the current state of affairs; the war had been over for years.

Deep, dark laughter fills the room, an unfamiliar voice echoing off the walls. Chills crawl up your spine, a shive running through your body. Everyone's heads whip around, a tall figure entering the auditorium. She slithers down the aisle towards the podium, stopping just in front of your chair. You slip your hand out of Coriolanus’, but he refuses to let go now more than ever. His grasp tightens on you and you notice him shift forward in his seat. It’s now your turn to soothe him, running your thumb over his.

“For what purpose?” the woman before you mimics. You swallow, noting her duochromatic eyes. Her makeup is severe, her hair frazzled, her hands draped in bright red latex gloves. The faint sound of hissing grows louder as she takes another step forward. A snake is wrapped delicately around her wrist, flicking its tongue, slithering over the shiny material. “My dear, remind me. What are the Hunger Games for?” She speaks softly, but in the silent room, her words are clear to all.

“I– well, they’re to –”

The woman shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “You see? We’ve already forgotten.” She turns to Coriolanus, a smile spreading over her lips. “Mr. Snow,” she says. “Why don’t you remind your –” her gaze drops to your intertwined hands, “classmate what the Hunger Games are for.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, looking at you then back to the woman. You weren’t sure who she was, but she knew Coryo. But then again, that came with the territory of being a Snow. He could never escape the history and prowess of his father, no matter how hard he tried. And believe you, he’d tried.

“You tell us they’re to punish the districts for the war.”

“Precisely, Mr. Snow. We all seem to have forgotten what this all is for. And that is where each of you come in.”

“Ah, Dr. Gaul, thank you for providing that insight,” Dean Highbottom interrupts, turning the attention back to the center of the room where the woman – Dr. Gaul – sulks away to join him. Coriolanus leans back in his seat, his breathing heavy. He releases your hand and leans in to place his hand on your thigh. The feeling of his warm palm through the fabric of your uniform lets you take your first deep breath since arriving.

He’s with you.

The remainder of the day goes by in a blur. When you emerge from the Academy, the afternoon sun is beginning to set. You, Coriolanus, and your classmates had each been assigned a tribute. A tribute to make a spectacle of. A tribute to use then sacrifice into the slaughter in order to obtain some prize. It made your stomach turn, the idea of being forced to take the small boy you’d been ‘given’ and parade him around only to send him to his death. A small boy no more than thirteen. A boy you were meant to despise simply because he’s district. But this boy, nor any of the tributes – especially the small girl assigned to Coriolanus – had seen the war, they hadn’t caused it. They were collateral in the Capitol’s game of control. Control they garnered with false promises of the prize. A prize that neither you nor Coryo thought actually existed.

“Who’s to say they don’t dangle it in front of us again?” you ask later that night, standing beside Coryo at the sink while he washed out the pot of potatoes and cabbage Tigris cooked. “That they don’t give us another assignment – another hurdle – to obtain the prize. Just to use us for their bidding?”

You slide behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sighs, setting down the pot and turning to be face to face with you. His hands wander around your waist, pulling you tighter to him.

“Those poor kids are going to die for nothing, Coryo. And we’re to blame,” you cry, resting your head on his chest. He takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to the top of your head. You fit into him so perfectly. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart in your ears grounds you, tethering you to the moment.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “Dr. Gaul is clearly mad. The way she taunted you?” He pauses, sucking in a breath. There’s a few beats of silence before he speaks again. “I don’t know what she’s capable of, but if she’d have laid a hand on you, I-”

You lift your head to look up at him and lift your hands to place one on each side of his face. His eyes, a blue so clear you can see right into his soul, meet yours.

“I know, Coryo, I know.”

“We have to get out of here,” Coriolanus says. His gaze still holds yours, his demeanor serious.

Your brow furrows. “Get out of where? The Capitol? Coryo, where would we go?”

“Sejanus talks of a place up North, somewhere off the grid where nomads persist.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, letting your hands fall from his face.

You wanted out. You’d heard rumors of this place up North too, but assumed it was fictitious – maybe a story the districts orchestrated to provide some hope after the war. You’d been taught to be grateful for a life in the Capitol, after all, your name would never be reaped. But the longer you spent here and the older you grew, the more the story of the Capitol and its protection seemed to fall apart. Today had been further proof. Putting the lives of district children in the hands of Capitol children for the sick purpose of entertainment and control.

Coryo turns his head to look out the floor to ceiling windows of the Snow penthouse. Coriolanus had many thoughts about his home, not all of them poignant and kind. He hated the way his home had crumbled throughout the war. Sure, it wasn’t as luxurious as it had once been, but you had an unspoken appreciation for it, knowing that everything within these walls shaped him into the Coryo you loved.

“If we go back to the Academy tomorrow, we’ll never escape. I have a sinking feeling about this game, love. I don’t want Gaul and her creatures hurting you and who’s Dean Highbottom to miss either of us? The miserable bastard will be three morphlings gone by the time the games begin.”

“What about Tigris? The Grandma’am? What about my family?”

Coriolanus sighs. “I’ll make arrangements with Pluribus tonight, he’s always done well to take care of us before.” Coryo reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, taking a pause to caress the side of your face. “And I’ll go wherever you go. If you want to stay, I’ll remain here with you. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there to protect you. This,” he whispers, running his thumb over your bottom lip, “is the most important thing to me.”

When your eyes meet his, the defense falls away. He sometimes wished you didn’t have such an effect on him. He never struggles keeping things in, or keeping the world out of his head. But with you – those eyes – he couldn’t hide. He’s grateful for it, really, before you he’d never had a soft place to land. But now, with your hands caressing him, he knows he’s found it.

You could imagine it. The thing you’ve always wanted, a life with Coryo. A life without the influence and ever-looming threat of the Capitol. Of their control, of the stress of finding a way to the top. Coryo wanted the same thing, a life with you. A life where you two were free to be whomever you wanted; a simple life where you could eat what you wanted, when you wanted, and spend your days lying with one another and living amongst others peacefully the way you imagined you would when the war first ended.

“I can’t go back there, Coryo.”

“Then tomorrow morning, we’ll go.” He says it so matter of factly. As if it’s all going to be okay. You choose to believe him and sink into the strength of his chest, wrapping yourself around him tightly. He chuckles, bringing some levity to the decision the two of you just made. “Why don’t we bask in one last hot shower, hm?”

You follow him down the hallway to the bathroom, his foot kicking the door shut in one swift movement. He reaches into the deep green tiled shower and turns on the water, running his hand under to test the temperature. You’re out of your clothes within seconds, eager to shed the identity of the Academy. Coryo does the same, eyeing you with a grin as you step past him and into the shower. He’s so himself here, stripped before you, not carrying the weight of the day, letting it all wash away from him as he ducks beneath the water, dampening his curls.

Without thought, your hand is in his hair, pushing the light blonde strands away from his face, those piercing blue eyes wandering every inch of you. He breathes into your touch, his hands following his gaze, mapping every inch of your body as if committing it further to memory. They say it’s the things we love most that destroy us and – god – he was certain you destroyed the parts of himself that he sometimes feared. With you, he was just Coryo. Your Coryo. And starting tomorrow you could be each others forever.

The warmth of the water combined with the feeling of his skin pressed against yours is heavenly. The steam rises, fogging up the glass as you tip your head back to dampen your hair. Your eyes fall shut, letting the water run down your body. Your body awakens when Coryo’s lips meet your neck, peppering kisses up your jawline until eventually, his hands are tangled in the ends of your hair, lifting your head back to meet him. Sighing, your body alight with warmth and desire, Coryo presses his lips to yours. There’s a quiet moan that you can’t make out as distinctly his or yours, but a shared expression of your feelings.

Something about this being the last night with life as you’d known it changes the kiss. There’s no hesitation, but no urgency either, your bodies intertwining in a way they haven’t before. As if there was nothing and nowhere else that mattered. You’re typically both so consumed with academy assignments, or house work, or recovering from whatever the day brought you. But tonight, with tomorrow on the horizon, it was simply you and Coryo.

[shrimpalbuspotter]

so for someone who has never read albus severus potter/scorpious malfoy fics, what would you recommend? i really trust your recs they always eat

Thank you for the trust, anon!!! Im sure not all of these are beginner friendly but they are the ones I started with and I love them dearly!!

The It's Tea Time series is a very good start! It's probably one that most people will recommend, so I'd definitely check it out.

Then, ofcourse, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (in novel form). Completely canon compliant besides the fact its endgame Scorbus, and adds extra things we miss out on. Just amazing, I reread it all the time.

The Cursed Second Child is so good, unfinished but still updating! Deals with Dark!Albus if your interested in that at all. I am ;)

Ofcourse I have to mention Building up like waves which was the fic that really got me into Scorbus. I'm sure I cried atleast once even though its such a sweet fic. I recommend it any time I can

As The Others See it COMING OUT FIC!!! Honestly, it's wonderful, it's cc compliant, I squealed reading it every update. I was so inlove with this fic I'd read it the moment I got the notification it uploaded no matter where I was.

Sneaking this in... something worth taking the time isn't exactly Scorbus, but it's about them both, and it's honest to god my favourite CC fanfic. It's time travel with Mentor Severus and codependent Scorpius/Albus and also Albus having beef with everyone he meets. Perfect characterisation. I strongly recommend reading it.

If anyone has anything to add on PLEASE do, for someone who loves the ship so much I really don't read alot of Scorbus. THANKS FOR THE ASK AND I APPRECIATE THE COMPLIMENT ALOT I try my best when I make recs

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 CHANEL GIRLFRIENDS kim minji x fem!reader

🎸★ ͘ ⴰ yn of lesserafim and minji of new jeans, both are ambassadors of the worldwide known luxury brand chanel, they’re also known as the chanel girlfriends.

a series of short oneshots and compilations that convinced the world that the “chanel girlfriends” are definitely not just two girls who are friends.

PARING — kim minji x lsrfm!reader

minji pulling a reverse card on yn for five minutes 987k views

previous. masterlist. next

🎸★ ͘ ⴰ clip one

"I honestly don't know why filming tiktoks is taken so seriously," yn remarked to the camera as she strolled through the bustling halls of hybe. "filming behind-the-scenes for it seems a bit dramatic, don't you think?" she chuckled, her playful demeanor momentarily halted when her manager shot her a scolding glare

"I think you guys will be happy with who I'm doing this trend with," yn continued, her tone laced with mischief. "on weverse, I mentioned seeing natty and julie from kiss of life do this, and I wanted to try it too, but not with my boring members," she teased, fully aware that her bandmates would likely come for her for the comment later. "so, I asked who you wanted me to do this with, and I'm fulfilling your wishes."

as yn continued her walk, the oldest member of new jeans came into view, waiting for her with a warm smile. yn reciprocated the smile as she introduced minji to the camera, the latter waving in acknowledgment.

“minji will be doing this with me.” yn smiles as the girl waved at the camera.

"this might take a while since I fluster minji a lot," yn remarked to the camera, earning a playful scowl from minji. "anything I do, she will mess up."

“what are you even talking about.” she says yn’s pushing yn’s shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes when yn dramatically throws herself back, “that’s not true.”

after bickering, the girls set up the phone before filming, the audio of the song played and they start, minji points her fingers towards yn keeping her gaze on the girl waiting for her to dance but all yn does is turn away.

“don’t look at me!” she says covering her face and walking away only to be pulled back by minji, “why were you looking so intensely?!”

"I have to look at you, I need to face you, that's part of the trend," minji explained, trying to coax yn’s hands away from her face, chuckling at yn’s visible fluster as she backed away.

"I need to go on a walk," yn declared, feeling overwhelmed by the situation as she dramatically tried to exit.

“what?! no come on let’s do this.”

it took them five times to get in right all thanks to yn, but hey it was worth it in the end the fans loved the video.

🎸★ ͘ ⴰ clip two

yn, completely immersed in the music and the interaction with her fans, spun around in her chair with enthusiasm, belting out the lyrics, the room echoed with her joyous singing as she twirled, lost in the moment.

unbeknownst to her, the door creaked open, revealing minji's arrival. With a mischievous grin, minji grabbed the arm of yn’s spinning chair, abruptly halting its motion and causing yn to let out an unexpected scream of surprise.

"you scared me!" yn exclaimed, hand pressed against her chest as she shot minji a playful glare, though her heart was still racing from the sudden interruption.

minji chuckled at yn’s reaction, unfazed by the accusation. "all I did was stop your chair," she retorted casually, shrugging off yn’s accusation of sneaking up on her.

"no, you snuck up on me!" yn insisted, turning back to face her live audience, who were now buzzing with excitement at minji's unexpected appearance. "she's so obsessed with me that she couldn't wait until after the live to see me."

a blush crept onto minji's cheeks momentarily before she scoffed in disbelief. "what are you even saying at this point?"

"I'm saying you're obsessed," yn teased, continuing to ramble and poke fun at minji, who tried her best to maintain her composure despite the girl's relentless banter. with a sigh, minji glanced at the comments scrolling by, standing behind yn’s chair and wrapping her arms around yn’s shoulders from behind, resting her chin on yn’s head.

"why'd you stop talking?" minji asked, unable to see yn’s face directly since she was now positioned behind her.see.

"you're being touchy,"yn responded, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she tried to regain her focus, flustered by minji's unexpected affectionate gesture.

🎸★ ͘ ⴰ clip three

minji smiled when yn sat beside her waving to the live, “I came to visit!” yn exclaims.

“it’s been a while since yn has been with me on live right?” minji says while the fans on live comment about how long they’ve been waiting for yn and minji to do a live again.

“you guys better be grateful I’m here.” yn says pointing at the live, “chaewon unnie almost didn’t let me go because it’s our day off.” in reality that wasn’t the reason chaewon almost forced yn home at all, as soon as she heard that yn was going to hang out with a certain new jeans member she flipped, especially after last time.

minji sent yn and alarmed look before reading the comments, “yn tell us about meeting jennie in paris.”

yn’s face lit up and she immediately got into the details of meeting the blackpink member and like always once you get yn to talk about something it’s hard to stop her.

minji, fully engrossed in yn’s storytelling, suddenly noticed how the girl was slightly not in the frame. without missing a beat, she smoothly adjusted, tugging YN's chair closer with a casual, nonchalant gesture, ensuring the girl was perfectly within the frame.

yn paused for a second, obviously feeling slightly flustered by the action.

"what?" minji inquired innocently, her gaze fixed on yn, unwavering and intense.

all yn did was shake her head and get back into her story, while yn was talking to the live, it was like she could feel minji’s gaze on her causing yn to fidget uncomfortably in her seat. finally, unable to ignore the scrutiny, yn turned to meet minji's gaze, only to find the other girl still staring back with slight intensity.

the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks, yn quickly averted her gaze, focusing once again on the live broadcast. "stop that!" she blurted out, hoping to distract herself from the overwhelming feeling of minji’s stare.