#its like new boot smell in a bottle which if you know me

[dufrau]

Current fragrance obsession is Corpus Equus by Naomi Goodsir. It's a leather scent, but despite what the name implies I don't get anything animalic or barnyardy off of it. Instead it smells like walking into a leather goods store. Not oily black sex shop leather but more like rugged brown work leather or even something as delicate as like the fancy handbag section of a department store. Fragrantica has it skewing very masculine but I'd argue it's only as masculine as you want it to be. Sometimes I think it makes me smell like a cowboy and sometimes it smells like the inside of somebody's bag where they keep half empty packs of cigarettes, but it's sexy either way. It's not a big projector, people have to get fairly close to smell it, which I like, especially because it is definitely not Pretty. It feels very fall/spring appropriate, outdoorsy or dive-bar or almost anywhere you might find yourself drinking whiskey. I wouldnt wear it on an airplane.

[blingblong55]

Some comfort -141

Based on a request:

This just popped into my head, s/o reader who hates perfume, so they sometimes steal the boys' cologne :3 --- F!Reader, fluff, established!relationship ---

You never liked the smell of any perfume, tried to love at least one but none of them felt like they would be your signature smell, that and the smell was always so strong. All your friends had one, they would try and persuade you into buying one but never did you feel like one belonged to you. Your boyfriend knew this, he knew that he wouldn't have some of your perfume all over his clothes and he was fine with it. Your lipstick stain on his neck or the red hue on his lips was enough for him to parade around. He fell in love with the girl who left those beautiful lipstick stains.

As he was away once more for his job, you roamed his flat, wore his clothes when you were cold or when you missed him in the dark of night, his clothes were there. All for you to take, he promised. That was his goal, for his pretty lady to wear anything he wore, you'd after all have a piece of him in the way you dress. That is the dream life for him. A simple compliment to himself and you, he is yours as much as you are his. Equals in love, except the silly arguement in who loves who more. Although he crowned himself as the ultime lover of you and no, you can't win him. "I love you more, more, more, more," each 'more' kept getting mumbled with each kiss he gave your pouty lips.

Price: He came home late, his boots kicked off and as he noticed that you were in fact staying in his flat, he smiled. A new hoodie, all black, no pockets, hm, that's new. No perfume but cologne as its smell. Then it struck him, it was his cologne. But the hoodie wasn't his and before he could form a theory, you came out of the bathroom, wrapped around a towel. His cologne's aroma spread around. Ah, so that's new. His pretty girl found not a perfume but a cologne, his cologne. He walked to you, soft skin kissed by his lips. "My love," he whispers and kisses your neck. "I could've picked you up, you know." Your hands take off the dusty hat.

"No need. Smell good, my pretty girl," he kisses your lips before picking you up and carrying you to bed. As you chuckled, he made a mental note, to leave small bottles of his cologne around your and his flat for when he was gone. When asked, you answered, "I never knew the smell of cologne would bring me home." He held back the blush and happy tears. All this time, in search of your signature perfume, his cologne brought a sense of familiarity, a sense of belonging. He belongs to you as you to him.

Gaz:

You were there at base, comfortable clothes on as you waited for him. Looking in the sea of soldiers and then, there they all were. His buddies and him, he was telling some joke when he made eye contact. Had to look twice and when your eyes and his met, he patted his mate's back and ran to you. You open your arms and as he held you like the most important being on this planet, he smelt it. The cologne he wore every day. The little sniffs you would take and how he pretended to not notice. His angel was wearing it. Something so small that he knew you hated to do but did it because of him. The scent he first wore to meet you, the one he held your hand when you cried, the one in which he asked your father for permission to marry his little girl.

A smell, a scent, so simple but so special. One thing you hated but now it adorned your body, wrapped you like a hug when he was away. Something you did on accident one day but couldn't stop do it. "Oh my R/N," he smells his cologne on you again. The kisses around your lips increased and his mates shook their heads with a smile. An arm around your shoulder, a proud smile that his girl walked around smelling like him and in return, he wore that lipstick stain.

Soap:

It wasn't soon that he noticed the smell, took some minutes but then as you passed him in the kitchen, the smell of food disappeared with the smell of his cologne. That couldn't be, he just took a shower and forgot to apply it-you. His bonnie, his pretty little bonnie. His arms immediately pulled you to his chest. Nose dragged around you like a hound. "My sweet girl," the biggest smile on him. You had completely forgotten about it, it was a routine. Wake up, change, spray some of his cologne and out the door. Three months away from him, that's how fast you adapted his scent on you. It was the only way to keep him there as he fought some other war.

"Aren't ya the cutest," he boops your nose and you chuckle. It was cute, the girl who swore no perfume was good and the scent was so disgusting, was now drowned in his cologne. That rich smell kept him home whilst away. The jumper, and the shirt, were all covered in his cologne. It feels right, you told yourself. I know it's right, he told himself. Pretty princess, his pretty princess. And now, on each trip to the store, he passes by the place where he bought his cologne, and buys one extra one, small-sized for the pretty purse you love to use.

Ghost:

As you eagerly waited by the door like a kid and his arms wrapped around the open good thing the world gave him in return, he knew the smell. "My love-" a sentence that would question the smell, only to be interrupted by your kiss. A much-awaited kiss. It's love, he remembers the first time he blushed when you kissed his scars. It's love, the way you now wear his cologne after the silly argument on why all perfumes were shit. There are two things that make up Simon Riley, his past and his future, which he knows he'll spend with you. There are two things that make up Ghost, the will to fight like the monster he is out there and the man who knows he fights like a monster so his love and he can only worry about their grandkids at old age.

"You...why..my love why are you-" Once more you interrupt, "I don't like the sweet smell of perfumes for many reasons but I love the smell of the one man I have found love and happiness with." Words that to this day he holds onto. So what if Soap makes a comment on why his mask has a lipstick stain? His best girl made it, its what keeps Simon and Ghost together on the field. No perfume on his packed clothes but the girl who walks into the coffee shop smells like the tall man who asks for Earl-grey tea and that makes him smile.

Tags: @actuallyhiswife @kkaaaagt

[rebrandedbard]

Good morning, I had an idea and I wanted to share (could be a prompt if you want): So, Jaskier definitely, absolutely wants to learn Geralts potions and which to give when. But they aren't labelled at all and you've got to discern by shapes and colours. I firmly believe Jaskier writes a little ditty for that and maybe it spreads or maybe Geralt wakes up after a hunt with vague memories of that song after Jaskier saved him...

Jessi you know exactly what to say to get a fic out of me. Invoke my musicality! Just for you, not one, but two songs Jaskier uses for Geralt's potions!

-

Witcher's Brew

wc - 2476

Geralt wakes up after a hunt gone wrong and finds himself patched up in bed. He waits for Jaskier to arrive and overhears him singing a strange song to himself as he fusses with Geralt's potion supplies.

-

Rabbit stew, warm and fresh from the pot. It was the first thing Geralt could remember upon waking. They’d had rabbit stew at midday, just before the hunt. He almost imagined he could taste it on his dry, cut lip, but the lingering bitter taste of White Raffard’s Decoction chased the last of the memory away. He could not recall taking any potions. In fact, he had trouble remembering what it was he’d been fighting. His head was vague, all the details swirling at the edges in a haze. Someone had been speaking to him, he thought. Was it the chanting of a kitchen maid, timing her baking with a prayer? Or was it a song?

A song.

Geralt sat up with a grunt. “Jaskier,” he called, voice rough and catching in his throat. He looked around the darkness of the room, but he was alone. He scented the air. Jaskier had been near in the last hour or so, his smell not yet faded. It tasted bitter on his tongue, like the decoction: bitter like the musk of fear. The tang of salt hung in the air as well. Tears. But there was more. From the table at his side came an earthy scent and he discovered a bowl of mushrooms upon it. Sewant mushrooms.

That’s right. They’d been in the caves. The vision of the beast rose to the forefront of his mind and he remembered that they’d been fighting not a wyvern as hired, but a slyzard. It had been a deadly miscalculation, for the beast could breathe fire over a great distance. Geralt felt the fresh burns on the back of his neck, smelled the poultice pasted there. He remembered pulling Jaskier behind cover. He’d not had the chance to see whether he’d been burned as well. There had been too much to distract him; he did not even know if he’d slain the beast.

There had been mushrooms in the cave. Someone had to have brought them. Jaskier would be foolish enough to return to the caves, even if the beast still lived. But for mushrooms? Geralt could not imagine why.

“Sewant from the sewer caves, crows’ eyes, fang of beasts; blood from all the nasty things, and myrtle pure as priests.”

Geralt turned to the sound of Jaskier’s singing beyond the door. It cracked open and there the bard stood, arms hidden beneath a mass of white flowers. He had, too, a leather pouch dangling from around his wrist. Unloading his burden upon the table, he flipped through the open bestiary, still singing under his breath. It was not his usual kind of song; it was lifeless, simple rhyme and meter without passion. He did not even glance Geralt’s way as he set to work, grinding ingredients together in a mortar.

“Mistletoe and mutagen, aloe leaf of wolf; green mold, han, and celandine, then in the flame engulf.”

Jaskier poured the concoction into a potion bottle and hurried to the fire. He bent to light it, cursing as the matches failed beneath his shaking hand. He cursed louder, his hand slipping again. His voice began to shake as he continued his chant.

“Remember Raffard’s recipe and count it by this rhyme; be ye neither quick nor slow to measure out the time. Once the brew has bubbled and its color turns to red, let cool and cork then brew again to raise him from—”

Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he failed to light the match once more. He gripped the potion bottle in his hand and wiped at his eyes, unable to finish the line. “To raise him—”

“From the dead,” Geralt concluded.

Jaskier whirled around, dropping the bottle upon the floor. It shattered, spilling its contents into the hearth and over his boots. But he didn’t pay it any mind. He ran to Geralt’s side and knelt before the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, prodding gently, examining him.

“Geralt,” he breathed. Then everything came out in one great rush, each new thought interrupting the last. “Oh fuck, I was—! You weren’t moving. You just dropped to the ground the minute your sword—! I had to carry you back, and you only had one vial left. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make more before …”

“One vial is enough,” Geralt said. He nodded toward the supplies on the table. “Is that White Raffard’s?” he asked, knowing it could be nothing else.

Jaskier nodded, silent.

“What was that song just now?”

Jaskier bit his lip, looking guilty. “I … didn’t meant to pry,” he murmured. “I promise never to share trade secrets but … I had to know how it was made. It’s one of your most important potions. If you couldn’t make one, and if we were ever in a situation where we couldn’t find a healer, I needed to know that I could save you. So I watched, and I wrote it to remember.”

“You wrote a song to remember how to brew a potion?” Geralt asked. He looked at the ingredients. They were all correct, and well-measured from the look of it. Jaskier had prepared three bottles, two still sat empty on the table. Before them, their ingredients lay in even piles, waiting to be ground in the mortar.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, pressing his forehead to it. “I can brew Raffard’s, White Honey, and Swallow. I know you need Swallow with Raffard’s, for the toxicity. And … if I ever brewed a faulty potion, I would have the Honey.”

“You know what potions to take,” Geralt said. It was less of a question, more an expression of awe. He’d never taught Jaskier about the potions, merely asking for them as needed if Jaskier were in reach to fetch them. And from that, Jaskier had learned what was needed when.

“I wrote a song for that, too. All of them: what they’re for, the ones to take before a battle, and the ones to take after.”

Geralt blinked.

“All of them?” he asked.

Jaskier looked up. He once more turned his head away in shame. Witchers’ potions were not for men to know, let alone theirs to brew. But he nodded. There was no denying it now.

“Sing it to me.”

The look on Jaskier’s face was nothing short of complete and total astonishment. Geralt never requested songs. “You … right now? You want me to sing the song?” Jaskier faltered.

When Geralt gestured toward the lute, Jaskier smiled.

“It hasn’t got music,” Jaskier said. “It isn’t meant to be sung, really. Not in that way at least.”

“But you could put it to music, I bet.”

Jaskier flushed. There was a bit of praise in there somewhere—an admission of skill. At Geralt’s request, he stood and fetched the lute. “You seem to be doing much better,” he said, sitting at his side on the bed.

“Raffard,” Geralt replied. “Are you in tune?”

Jaskier strummed the lute slowly, emphasizing each open note with pride. “Always am.”

“Sing, then.”

It only took a minute of experimental plucking before Jaskier had a set of chords prepared. He strummed them twice in succession, then began his song:

Before one fights vampiric beasts

Drink Black Blood down to spoil their feasts

And if there’s acid on the rise

First taking Bindweed would be wise

When fighting something swift and cruel

Down Blizzard quick before the duel

And if the brawl takes place at night

Take Cat to see in dimmest light

Geralt watched with open admiration as he listened. Jaskier had learned it all on his own. He’d made a careful study of the potions without any help, and what Geralt heard was thus far correct. There were trainees who’d not kept such simple things in order, even with proper instruction.

When fighting wraiths one cannot spy

De Vries’ Extract evolves the eye

And wolves will howl in perfect tune

When given life by the Full Moon

At the play on wolves, Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he was impressed. He’d only encountered two wraiths with Jaskier at his side. He would’ve had to pay very close attention to remember De Vries’ Extract’s purpose.

The bit about the wolves did not escape his notice either. There was a little crook in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth as he sang the words. Of course the potion made for jokes among the witchers of the school of the wolf, but they weren’t the only ones who used them.

But if one’s poisoned first, let’s say

Oriole takes the sting away

And when one bleeds, to stop the aches

A simple Kiss is all it takes

If long the task you must endure

Then take a dose of Maribor

And if one’s signs aren’t up to snuff

Then Petri’s Philter is the stuff

If one cannot avoid a hit

The vengeful Shrike takes care of it

And if you’ve time while under cover

Swallow aids a slow recover

If the battle leaves you tired

Tawny Owl may be required

And while weak one cannot parry

Thunderbolt will make foes wary

When hope is lost and at its end

White Raffard’s revives your friend

And if while brawling stunned you be

Then Willow is the remedy

For power in your every blow

Take Wolf to strike against your foe

And though it makes one wobble blind

With Wolverine their fate is signed

Remember this what else you do

White Gull is base for every brew

And when the potions start to strain

White Honey lets you start again

“You ended with White Honey,” Geralt remarked.

Jaskier lay a hand over the strings of his lute, quieting them. “It lets you start again, does it not? Once you swallow a dose of White Honey, it nullifies the effects of all potions,” he said in his most academic voice. “I thought it would be fitting to end the song there; it certainly helps to remember the purpose.”

“And you know how to brew it.”

“I find it ironic that there’s not a trace of honey in it whatsoever. In fact, far too many of your potions involve the use of vinegar, the very opposite of honey. Would it ruin the potions beyond use if I were to add a bit? A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, they say.”

Geralt smiled. He waved his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “I think whatever potions you brew for me in the future will be made sweet enough by that sentiment,” he said. “So don’t fuck up my recipes, bard.”

Jaskier stammered, then laughed and batted Geralt’s face. “You cheeky thing! For a moment, I thought you actually intended to compliment me.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Geralt asked. “I did.”

“Not a compliment if you insult my cooking right after. Or—well, eh—brewing, as it were.”

“Alchemy.”

“Oh, yes, that’s much more flattering. Assistant Alchemist! I do like the sound of it.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re my assistant now, are you?”

“But of course,” Jaskier replied, waving a dramatic arm in the air. “Always have been. I only needed a proper title.

“Then tell me, assistant: what became of the slyzard?”

Jaskier grinned and leaned over to grab the leather pouch from the table. He tossed it for show and caught it with one hand before emptying its contents. A collection of sharp, bloody teeth fell onto the sheets, some with bits of pink gum still attached to the yellow base.

“I believe Raffard’s called for fang of beasts in the list of ingredients,” he said. “And there was no other beast nearby to take from. Your sword was still lodged in its back; all I had to do was give it one last thrust through the heart.”

Jaskier winked and produced another bag from his doublet, heavy with coin. “Needed proof anyway,” he said, setting it alongside the teeth. “I needed some distraction while you were out, so I checked off the list: put you on the mend, finish the hunt, get the pay, replenish supplies.”

For a moment, his cocky expression faltered. “I was just finishing up when I got a little …” he trailed, bundling up the teeth once more. “Well, it’s easier to get lost in worrisome thoughts when doing quiet tasks like foraging. But you woke up, and now there’s nothing left to fear. I’ll have a new set of potions ready for you by the time you’re well enough to get out of bed.”

“… You … killed the slyzard?” Geralt said.

“You did most of it. I just gave it the last push. It barely twitched. Honestly, its innards made more of a fuss when I went to bottle them. I think you’ll be well stocked for some time.”

Jaskier killed the slyzard. He stooped to rummaging in its bleeding corpse for the most vile and disgusting of ingredients. For his potions. Which Jaskier brewed. Which he knew how to brew by merely observing, putting it all together in simple songs to remember. And still he’d found time to collect his pay.

“Fuck me,” Geralt said in wonder.

“Maybe once you’re healed,” Jaskier laughed, ears a touch pink.

“Then kiss me,” Geralt amended. He lay his hand over Jaskier’s arm, leaning forward, enraptured. It was a simple revelation and he wondered just how long the idea had been bubbling in the back of his brain. “Kiss me,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier blinked twice, his cheeks flushing as he took in the seriousness of Geralt’s tone. “Did … you put too much White Gull in that last batch of Raffard’s?”

Geralt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Will you kiss me?” he asked again.

“I …”

“You killed a slyzard for me.”

“Yes.”

“And you memorized my potions. In case I needed them.”

Jaskier nodded.

“You love me,” Geralt concluded. His heart gave a leap at the notion. Yes. Yes, this was something he never knew he wanted. No, not wanted—this was something he needed. If all that didn’t add up to love, he didn’t know what would. It was such a simple thing, and he was a very simple man in every meaning of the word.

“Love me, Jaskier,” he said. “Love me and kiss me, please.”

But Jaskier already did. And before the final plea could escape Geralt’s lips, Jaskier did.

I’m going to take care of you, Geralt thought. He would take care of Jaskier just as Jaskier had always taken care of him. Good care.

“I do love you,” Geralt corrected.

Jaskier chuckled. “Don’t need to think about it?”

“I don’t think I ever really did.”

[voxmortuus]

I'm Sorry

Pairing: Cpt. Syverson x F!Reader

Universe: Sand Castle

Words: 2k

Warning: There is a lot of wordy substance before you get to the good stuff. I didn't want to jump right into the smut of things. I wanted to build to that.

Summary: You and Sy had a small argument and he left for work, not realizing the timing of things. He had forgotten your anniversary and didn't realize how he had made you feel because let's face it sometimes he doesn't always pay attention to how he talks to people. He realizes his wrongs and comes home and showers you with affirmation that you have done nothing wrong.

TW: Abandonment fear | Feeling of wrongdoing | Mild Language | Angst | Fluff | He Bathes you | Oral (Female Receiving | Passionate/makeup Smut | Unprotected Vaginal Penetration | Body Fluids | Internal Vaginal Ejaculation | Slight primal Sy | Cuddles

Prompt: None, random headcanon

Image Credit: Google

My Masterlist | Taglist | REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN

It didn't happen every year, but this year, this year was unique. The many ups and downs you two have had always made you feel panicked and usually worrying that maybe this was it, was he done? He didn't come home last night, and he didn't bother to call. It was a diminutive fight, and you felt horrible, like you had really wronged him in such a small way this whole thing ate at you. Spending the night crying on the couch with a pint of Ben & Jerry's at your side, you kept the living room dark while occasionally taking a sip of your last bottle of red wine. Looking at your phone waiting for him to text you, to even call it was agonizing.

Waking up, you think to yourself that this is a new day, a brand new start. Looking out the window, you watch as the neighbor children get off the bus for school. Letting out a breath, you make your way to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of coffee and realize you've slept over half the day away You think to yourself, 'Today will be okay.' but in the back of your mind, you're still freaking out over the other night. Beating yourself up all over again, you place your coffee on the counter; and make your way back to the living room, curling up on the couch; and crying some more.

Meanwhile, Sy is on the training grounds training some new idiots how to do their job. He looks at his watch and lets out a heavy breath, and shakes his head. Walking around, he looks behind him a moment to see someone heading his way.

"Captain, did you forget what yesterday was?"

"Huh?" He asks with a slight arch to his lip and brow.

"Sir! It was your anniversary!" they all yell.

Looking back down at his watch and checking his phone, Sy growls. "Fuck!" He hands the cup off to someone else and heads out. "Fall out!" He yells over his shoulder and heads inside to grab the keys to his truck. Looking in the passenger seat and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, baby." He says aloud and starts the vehicle heading home.

You've fallen asleep crying had knocked you back out. You didn't bother picking up your empty items from the night before, and you hadn't showered in two days, and you were a complete mess. You weren't expecting him to ever come back, and if he did, it would be when you weren't home to get his things. You didn't understand you only wanted to spend the rest of your life with this man meant the world to you maybe, that wasn't what he wanted.

Pulling up to the house, he turned off the truck and got out, grabbing the gift bag in the passenger seat. Sy tries to quietly head inside the house. The lights were off, but he could see that you were still home. The shadow of your hand was under the couch as he made his way inside. He walked softly after he undid his boots, leaving them at the door.

As he made his way into the living room, he noticed the empty bottle, the day-old wine glass, the barren Ben & Jerry's, and piles of tissues. Shaking his head, he beat himself up. He quietly made his way up the stairs and started the bath. Putting your favorite bath bomb in the water and some bubble bath, the bathroom started to smell like lavender and cedar. Admittingly, he loved those damn bath bombs. Lighting the candles and setting various things out for you that had come out of the gift bag, he placed the gift bag on the toilet. There were two extra things in there.

After turning the lights off and turning off the water, he made his way downstairs. Looking at you, he let out a small breath.

"Baby, wake up." He spoke softly, lifting your head to sit on the couch.

You look up the feeling of being moved and jolt awake. Looking up at Sy, you begin to cry all over again and wrap yourself around him. You hated how this all went, and you hated yourself.

"Baby, don't cry. It's okay. I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't have left the way I did. I don't know what I was thinking. I've got something for you." He doesn't say anymore. He picks you up and carries you up the stairs. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury yourself into him.

When he opens the bathroom door, you look at everything he had done. You start crying more. It was beautiful, and it was thoughtful, and it was adorable. Looking back at him after he set you down, you wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face into his chest.

"I was so afraid you weren't coming home." you mumble into his chest.

"I'd be stupid not to." He tells you with a finger under your chin to look up at him. Sy leans down and kisses you softly. You deepen the kiss and grip at his shirt. His heavy hands move under your shirt and caress the small of your back. He looks down at you. "How about I help you get those clothes off, and I help you into the bath?" He smiles.

Nodding your head, he slips your shirt off and slowly pulls off your shorts, and looks at you smiling. "I could look at you for days." He smirks. Your hands move to undo his pants, he stops you. "Let me take care of you." He smiles a bit. Biting your lip, you nod slowly as he lifts you and places you into a bath of perfect water temperature.

You sit there and look at him. He grabs the loofa and your favorite body wash and washes you. Taking his time and not missing an inch of you, he takes a cup that you use for your baths and rinses off the soap. With the same cup, he pours some water on your head and starts slowly washing your hair. Looking down at you, he watches you slowly cry, and that's when he had enough. Rinsing your hair out, he stands up, strips down, and gets into the bathtub with you, not thinking about the water overflowing.

He wraps his arms around you and holds you close. "It's okay. Baby, I'm sorry. I am so sorry." He repeats as he kisses your wet head.

"It's not that. I was so afraid, Sy. I was horrified you wouldn't come home. I... I don't know what I would have done." You sob softly with your face in your hands.

"It's okay. It's okay. I understand. I was an asshole, I didn't think. I was late for work, there was no communication, and I just... Baby, I'm sorry." He repeats.

Leaning in, he kisses your neck. Sniffling you, bite your lip, and your breath jagged.

"Let me show you that I would never leave you. Let me make this up to you." He whispers into your ear. All you can do is nod slowly.

Holding his hands in yours a moment before he moves his hands down your stomach to your hips and lifts you onto his lap, before standing you up, he takes a towel and wraps it around you before standing up himself and carries you to the bedroom, leaving behind wet footprints.

He places you on the bed, and hovers over you, and unwraps the towel. Looking over you, he licks his bottom lip and leans in, and kisses you softly, but with such a need behind the action. He kisses your neck and your collarbones. Taking a breast in one hand and taking your nipple into his mouth, he suckles a bit while gently squeezing the other breast.

Slowly he works his way down and looks up at you as he kisses your hips and then hovers, his breath warm against your now swollen and sensitive bud. Kissing you between the legs, he spreads your legs, lifting them over his shoulders, his strong arms wrap around your legs as he sucks softly on your clit. Your breathing hikes and shakes as you grip the towel at your sides.

His eyes gaze up at you. His blue eyes watch as you react to his gesture. He begins to gently move his fingers to spread your lower lips and licks your now wet core, tasting you. Sy lets off a small groan against your body which only causes you to moan a soft moan. He becomes more hungry in his actions as his tongue works its magic against your pussy, driving your senses into overdrive. He moves back up to pay attention to your clit as his hands grip at your legs, his fingers digging into your fleshy legs.

As his tongue swirls around your clit, your legs press against his head, but he pulls them back. Your hips move against his mouth as he groans again, only causing you to moan louder. Your hands move to his head, placing them on the top of his shaved head as he groans again and moves faster. Growing in his own excitement, he grinds his hips against the bed triggering him to get stiffer. The friction and sensation to himself as he pleased you, he needed you.

"Oh Sy." You moan softly. He picks up speed causing your legs to shake and your hips to buckle.

Biting you softly, you buckle again. Sy takes your thigh into his mouth, biting your leg leaving little hickies, almost like marking what's his. You moan again as he works his way back up to your lips, kissing you with such need he pushes himself into you, your back arches, your breath hitches, and your hands grip at his back, your nails digging into his skin. Your legs wrap around him as he slowly starts to thrust into you.

As you moan, he moans as he thrusts your hips move to meet his. Your bodies close and heated at this moment. Your hands slide down his strong arms, and he intertwines your fingers holding them above your head as he thrusts deeper into you. The more he keeps up with this pace, your back arches into him as you kiss him with such a fiery passion. Your heels dig into his ass as if helping him thrust deeper into you.

"You're so wet, so tight, you feel so good." He whispers against your lips.

"I love how you fill me." you whisper back. "You know just how I like it."

"I love you, Y/N." He moans into your mouth as he kisses you deeply.

Thrusting harder and a little faster, picking up the speed, you moan into his mouth, causing him to go into overdrive. His thrusts pick up, his grunts paced, your breathing is a steady pant mixed with moans. The sounds of your body colliding fill the room. As he starts to pound into you, your hips rise, and you dig your nails into his back, scraping.

"FUCK!" You moan loudly.

"Cum for me, Baby." He tells you.

"Don't pull out." you tell him.

"Beg for it." He snarls, now a primal beast.

"Cum in me, Sy. Please. Don't pull out." you moan as both of you climax at the same time. Your body shakes, your pussy quivers your floor muscles pulsating and massaging his cock as if pulling every last drop in.

"Fuck." He moans softly against your ear. "That was amazing." He chuckles.

You look over his face and smile softly. "I love you. More than you will ever understand." You whisper.

He kisses you softly and slowly pulls out, causing you both to moan softly as he falls next to you. Turning on your side, you cuddle up to him, your fingernails raking over his chest. His hand moves along your back, his fingers against your spine.

"Happy anniversary... I'm sorry I forgot." He smiles softly.

"That's okay. How about I order us some pizza, we can have the bottle you brought, I can bring out your whiskey, and we can have a night of... well... this." You chuckle.

"That sounds perfect." He smiles, holding you close.

Cpt. Syverson Taglist: @1960memories

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 01

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

SUMMARY: she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and a misunderstanding dooms her to a life as an ascendance card under the watch of the executer.

A/N: i’m so excited to go back to my mob writing roots with this one. there’s a bit of a few twists and changes to the traditional mob writing i’ve done before and i am really excited to be sharing chapter one with you. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER 

The ambience was dark, badly lit by the yellow flickering lights in the halls with echoes of the buzzing of the hot old light bulbs. There was no sound but that buzz and the heavy sound of his boots hitting the rotting wood floor boards. The scent in the air was putrid, a mix of what seemed like life meeting its end stage, cheap cider and weed. It was definitely different and he didn’t trust it. 

At the end of the corridor there it was. 107. The 107th flat in purgatory with the door slightly opened. He pushed the door open, the smell getting more intense and his boots sticky with the liquor spilled on the floor. 

     - What did you do? - each word was punctuated with intense disbelief, as if this was all a nightmare. 

     - Bucky, help me!

PRESENT

The wind brushed and pulled her hair into different directions as she stepped off the train’s step. She rushed through the streets of New York, hair pin stuck in the middle of her teeth as she fought the winds to try and set her hair into an appropriate hair do while running down the street at the same time. The chattering people and the sun peaking through the clouds was hopeful as she grabbed her coffee from the same vendor off the side street as her eyes gazed upon the Metropolitan Opera House which had been gracing the New York landscape for longer than she had been on this earth and now she was part of it, she was a small speck in an almost 60 year long history. 

Her smiled widened as her sneakers hit the pavement, eyes gazing over the fountain and the flags of the production coming down from the opera house’s arches. The same production she was part off. Sure, she was a chorus girl but the mere thought of singing on that stage, of watching that public in those red velvet seats under the chandelier just made it all more exciting. She walked inside the theatre through the stage door, meeting the manager at the door. 

     - Hi. - she leaned her hands against the desk where the manager was surrounded by attendance and cast sheets as well as a big laptop shining a blue light onto her face. The woman didn’t even look up, instead putting up a board with the names of all people in the production in front of her. - Do you need to see my ID? 

     - Just sign in front of your name. 

Y/N giddily looked at the list of names, hers closer to the bottom but there, written in bold Arial font. She signed her name in front of her printed one with the barely working pen, before pinning it over the board and handing it over to the manager who pointed inside the opera theatre. She held onto her gym bag harshly, padding the sublime floors and looking around with such wonder one would believe she’d never been here. She’d been here before, she was here every month to watch a performance but now she was not guest, she was not just another person walking in with a ticket, she was part of it, she was part of the show. After years of doing community plays, workshops and failed auditions, she had gotten here and suddenly all those days spent in bed feeling miserable in bed after getting rejected yet again didn’t matter anymore she was here.

Her eyes glanced at every tiny little ornament in the opera house until she entered the theatre room. Her heart filled with joy and happy nostalgia as the red and golden tones of the room involved her. There wasn’t anyone in the theatre yet except for a few musicians from the instrumental pit and some cleaners so she was free to roam around. Her fingers traced the suede velvet of the red seats, finding a few missing binoculars on the grounds but not really caring. 

     - You! - she whipped her head towards the voice which came from a woman, probably in her mid 40s all dressed in black with a gold name tag slightly above her left breast. 

     - Hi. - Y/N smiled, extending her hand towards the woman. - I’m Y/N, I’m the new ...

    - I don’t care, we need silk ribbons, now. 

    - Oh, I ... I’m new, I don’t know where I’d get silk ribbons, m’am.

    - The costume room? Go, stop looking at me as if you were Bambi and go.

    - Oh, okay. 

She made her way hastily out of the theatre room wondering how she was going to find silk ribbons, where she was going to find them and why she had to find them. Maybe it was a hazing ritual for new people, after all, she had been into various hazings during her career, including downing a whole bottle of honey which she couldn’t even finish, only eating one fourth of it before becoming nauseous. 

She stopped in the middle of the hall, wondering where the costume room could be. It couldn’t be on the top floor, that was usually where the bars and common rooms were so if the building followed regular construction protocols for opera houses, it was probably on the underground section of the house where the dressing rooms used to be. Y/N ventured into the lift, pressing the lowest number on the number chart of the panel until she reached the underground floor. Y/N looked around, people running in and out yet no one stopped whenever she tried to question where the costume room was. She had managed to find the costume shop but no luck finding the costume room until she was pretty much pressed against a dark door with those exact words by the passing crowd. 

She twisted the knob of the costume room door, tumbling onto the dark room as a result. The room was filled to the brim with costumes on each side of the room, a plexiglass divider between the two sides which stopped every meter or so and also appeared to be divided onto female and male costumes with the ensemble costumes at the back. She padded across the concrete floors, looking through dresses and accessories for ribbons but no successful attempt. The ruffling from the other side of the room had her turning around, forehead furrowed as she walked towards the plexiglass divider. 

     - Hello? - she questioned, wondering if there was someone in this room who could help her find silk ribbons. Great, she had barely joined the company and was already screwing up. Great, Y/N. Way to go, Y/N. 

She saw someone all dressed in black just like the women before, yet there seemed to be something which didn’t match up; black jeans, black shirt and black leathe jacket as well as a pair of also black boots, scruffed and probably entirely too old to still be holding up together. Her eyes caught his which despite the low almost non existent light of the costume room, were light, a sort of greyish blue like the calm sea before of storm. His gaze pulled hers in, like gravity and she couldn’t help but clutch the jacket next to her as a bad feeling along with something she’d never felt before settled in her stomach. 

His hair was mostly pushed back yet the ones which framed his face fell like dominos. She moved along the side where she was to one of the plexiglass gaps and he did the same still maintaining eye contact with her, until the two reached the gap. She didn’t notice she was holding her breathe in until she breathed out.

    - Hi. - her own hand gripped her wrist, shoe grinding against the floors. - Uhm, I’m new here and this lady sent me down to find some silk ribbons but I can’t find any. Do you ...

    - I... uh ... I don’t know where they are. - he faltered for a few seconds before regaining his posture.

    - Oh, I thought since you were here, you might be one of the stage managers. 

    - I’m not. - his tone was monotonous, almost as if he had the answer to her question before she even made it. 

    - Oh ... - she rubbed her neck. - Are you also looking for silk ribbons?

    - I’m looking for the dressing rooms, actually.

    - They’re down the hall. -  she pointed at the door as if it was the “down the hall”. - Hum ... Are you new here too?

    - Yeah. Thanks. - he walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out before catching her gaze once again. 

Y/N remained in the middle of the room as if she were in a transe and maybe she was. It felt like she was falling yet she was firm on her feet and she did not like that feeling. She did not like that feeling of falling, it wasn’t feeling, it was hopeless falling and she wondered why looking at a man who looked like an 80′s glam rock reject made her feel like that, so lost. Maybe it was the respect he appeared to command by merely looking at her or maybe it was the nerves about being new and not being able to find some goddamn silk ribbons. Damn it. 

    - Call for 30 minutes before dress rehearsal. - the voice came from the intercom and immediately her mind dropped the idea of finding silk ribbons and moved to finding the ensemble dressing room and get dressed and ready. Damn it, this was going well. 

She rushed down the hall, bag almost slipping off her shoulder until she saw the door with the ensemble plaque on it. The young woman peaked inside the room where pretty much everyone with a role on the ensemble were already sat down. She shyly walked in the middle row until she found her own little corner, her name written on a sticker on the mirror along with photos of how the makeup should be done as well as how to get the costume in correctly. The same goofy smile returned as she sat down and saw her name above her. It was fine, she was here, she was part of a company.

    - Hey you’re new. - the girl next to her twirled her chair to face her. She already had her makeup on and hair pinned curled up and ready to put a wig cap on. - I’m Elliot but people call me Elle.

    - Y/N, I’m the new chorus girl. First day. 

    - Aw, welcome. - she had a bright smile, inviting and almost as exciting as the whole experience of being there. - Do you want help pincurling your hair? I can get it done while you do your makeup. 

    - Yes, please. - she pulled out a big box from her bag which had all her makeup and pins. 

Elle started pin curling her hair up while she put an inappropriate amount of blush on which was just appropriate to get on stage under the bright yellow lights. Turns out half the practice for opera is learning to do your makeup under bright yellow lights and then learning to sing. 10 minutes to rehearsal start, she was along with Elle going down and up to the main stage where most dancers were warming up. Elle left her to do so, leaving Y/N once again to just stand there, looking around like a little sheep in the middle of wolves. 

    - I’ve never seen you around. - her shoulders almost went up as he turned to see one of the principal sopranos, if not the principal soprano. She had seen all of her shows ever since she was a teenager and she had even wrote an essay for university on her for a module. Catherine Vargas, the best New York could offer, if not the best the world could offer. - I didn’t know they were still casting dancers.

    - Oh, I’m a chorus girl, Mrs Vargas. 

    - A chorus girl? - she furrowed her brows at her, looking her up and down. - What type?

    - The type who ... is in the back with the ensemble. - her voice lowered at least a few volumes down, back curved as if she were bowing. 

    - I know what chorus girls do. I asked what vocal type. 

    - Lyric soprano, m’am.

    - A lyric soprano in the chorus. Interesting. Where did you train?

    - Julliard, m’am.

    - Julliard? - she looked her up and down again. - That is a great school. What is a Julliard graduate doing in the chorus line?

    - Everyone starts somewhere. - she laughed nervously, scratching her arm as she did so.

    - Not a lyric soprano from Julliard. Composers sure do love an ingenue, don’t they? Don’t worry, a few months with me and you’ll be supporting. 

    - That’s ... that’s really kind, Mrs. Vargas. Thank you.

    - Don’t thank me. Could you get me some honey from my dressing room? I’m feeling a bit strained. 

    - It’s 5 minutes until rehearsal starts.

    - It’s okay, chorus normally doesn’t do much during rehearsal. Can you get it?

    - Yeah, I think so.

She straightened her crinkled skirt, looking behind her back before going down the stairs which led down to the dressing rooms. This was good, right? Getting into one of the main star’s good graces besides she was right, the chorus didn’t really get much attention during rehearsals, at least not as much as the main characters. It’s easier to get away with screwing up in the back than in the front, her teacher would tell her which would always earn a few laughs from her colleagues. Yet, Y/N hated to make any mistakes. She would stay up all night in front of a cheap piano she had bought from a charity shop, playing and singing the same 5 note progression until her flatmate yelled at her to shut up. For her, if it wasn’t perfect and if she didn’t get any criticism while performing it, she hadn’t done it right. It didn’t matter at the end of the day but what did matter was to climb up the ladder. She didn’t want to be a star, all she wanted was to be able to be on that stage forever with the spotlight shining on her and she knew there was only one way to climb up. Actually there were two, extreme luck and connections. Now, she didn’t have the best of luck so her major choice was to make connections and reach that status. 

She made her way into the principal dressing room. It was probably one of the biggest she had ever seen, with expensive decor and various flowers covering it. She wondered how many flowers she received on opening nights if that was the number she had on regular days. Y/N made her way to the desk, opening drawers and more drawers to find honey until she found it on the lowest drawn. She went down on her knees to grab it, mindless and careless to everything that was happening until she felt a sharp pain on the side of her her.

Then everything went dark. 

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically​ 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The vampire could smell blood coming from the bathroom - and there was a rescue in there, the new rescue with dark eyes and an angry voice and scars on his face, the one who Chris thought might like the pain.

Athena, I've tried to write this one and it didn't cooperate, but I know you like my angry boy soooooo here is what I have for you! Just a teeny thing... but still, vampire!Jameson!

-

CW: Vampire whumpee, forced blood drinking, dehumanization, Robert's gross and creepy, sadism, captivity

"Wake up, fangs." Robert kicks the edge of the cage with his boot, and the metal clank startles into wakefulness the vampire curled into a ball inside it.

The creature's eyes open as it jerks back instinctively from the sound and the rattling vibration along the bars. Its slightly slitted pupils widen, briefly shimmering like a cat's in the dark as they lock onto Robert's gaze.

There's a look to them that suggests the stupid thing might be snarling, not that it matters with the heavy leather muzzle strapped onto his face to keep those dangerous teeth safely locked away.

"Aw, don't like livin' in daylight, now do you? Too bad about that, but my friend in the back room's a little under the weather, and he needs some help. I know you're hungry, I haven't fed you in two weeks."

The vampire hisses softly, shaking its head and pushing itself back into the far corner, as if it could ever avoid being put to good use if Robert wants it.

"Don't give me that bullshit, fangs. We both know you're hard up for fresh blood." He unlocks the door to the cage, dropping the rusty old padlock onto the floor.

When he gestures for the vampire to come out, it just stares at him. Its hair, mussed-up from sleep, sticks up every which way around the leather straps of the muzzle, making it look young and oddly childlike, in some ways.

Fucking monsters have a way of looking harmless, Robert thinks, and then giggles to himself, a rasping, hoarse sound after decades of smoking a pack a day and drinking enough whiskey to line the mantel over the fireplace with empty bottles.

Of course, the vampire isn't the only monster in this house, now is he?

"Fine, you little shit, we'll do this the hard way." Robert reaches in to grab the vampire by the heavy, wide leather collar it wears around its neck. Even as the vampire shakes its head, he grips onto the ring and yanks with all his strength, forcing it forward in fits and bursts until finally it's on the carpet, on its hands and knees.

The cuffs locked around wrists and thighs and chained together are special-ordered, and they sure cost a pretty penny or three, but Robert considers it a good fucking investment. Between the cuffs that keep it crawling like a dog and the leather over his hands keeping his fingers curled into fists, it can't punch, can't grab, can't fight.

And with the muzzle, it can't bite a damn thing unless Robert wants it to, either.

"Come on, there we go." He lets go and gives it a kick, and after a second the creature moves where he herds it, shoulders hunched up around its ears as if trying to protect itself. Robert doesn't hold back, using vicious strength and hearing ribs snap under his boots, bones breaking that heal back together rapidly.

There's no sound of hitched breath, of wheezing pain. The damn thing doesn't have to breathe.

It takes some of the fun out of it, really.

He gets the vampire down the hallway, listening to the mitts it wears stick to the dirty carpeting there. There are old, dried brown stains smeared along the walls, evidence of a near-escape that could have ended badly, if Robert hadn't beaten the unfortunate son of a bitch who tried to get away from him to death before he made it to the door.

The current occupant of the guest room doesn't even look at the vampire when they come into the room - only at Robert.

Just how he likes it.

The young man lies on his side on the floor, hands tied behind his back and ankles tied together, duct tape plastered over his mouth to keep him nice and quiet for now. He's barely conscious, his eyes moving slowly, hazily, to look up at Robert - then away.

Robert watches with greedy interest, drinking in the details. A dirty gray tshirt, jeans with grass stains on the knees. A flash of pale stomach covered in purpling bruises showing up along the side, a bit of the flat part of the hip peeking out over a hint of red-and-black plaid boxers. Brown hair falling into the young man's eyes. Stubble growing in, unshaven, along jaw and chin.

"Brought you a little painkiller," Robert says cheerfully, kicking the vampire to get it moving again. It hisses softly, eyes narrowed to tiny shimmering dots in its face, but it moves.

It always does what he wants, in the end.

Robert leans over the two of them, running a hand back through the sweat, dirty brown hair of his living captive. The young man's eyes clench shut as tightly as they can, and he begins, with shaking shoulders, to cry.

Robert inhales sharply. "Listen to you," He says, with quiet affection. Then he makes a fist and punches the young man across the face.

He lets out a hoarse scream muffled by duct tape, his head snapping back and smacking into the ground. Robert grins, punching him again, and again, until his muffled cries slowly quiet into soft grunts that wouldn't even be audible in the kitchen, let alone outside the house.

"Oh, I bet that hurts," Robert whispers, grabbing the young man's hair and jerking his head back even as he tries to hide it against his shoulder. Bright red marks are already beginning to swell. There'll be a nice black eye by morning. A split along the man's cheekbone is already bleeding, and Robert swipes a thumb over the blood, smearing it.

The young man whimpers, looking up at Robert again, eyes wide and pleading.

Robert holds up his free hand to show him his bloody thumb, and then he turns to the vampire, holding it under the monster's nose. He watches its nostrils flare as it takes in the scent, the way its pupils suddenly go wide, nearly obliterating the iris, in sudden instinctive interest.

"There you go. Hungry little fucker. You want a bite? Hm? Little drink to start your day?"

The vampire looks at him, and Robert smears blood under its nose like a perverse moustache, giggling to himself at the image. It can't get away from the smell now, and it grunts, begging in its own way, ducking its head to rub the muzzle against Robert's thigh.

"Oh, you want that silly thing off so you can eat, hm?" He ruffles the vampire's hair, and it rubs its muzzle along his thigh again, eyes closed. It would flush in humiliation if it had enough blood to do it, he thinks.

He moves behind the monster, setting a leg on either side of it and leaning down. Keeping one hand on the collar to control it, with the other he undoes one of the sets of leather buckles. One small panel at the front of the muzzle comes free when he does, hanging to the side, showcasing its already bared fangs and the way they shine with its saliva.

"Hungry boy," Robert whispers. He grins at the dazed trepidation and fear on the young man's face as he stares down the vampire about to feed. "He likes you, Alex, don't you think? Hm? Don't you think he likes you?"

The captive shakes his head, but it's too late now.

Robert shoves the vampire's face into Alex's neck, and the monster bites down immediately, burying its fangs into soft bruised skin already marked from a half-dozen other feedings, wounds Robert never allows the vampire to fully heal.

The young man lets out a startled grunt, then goes limp as venom floods his system, wiping out pain, and fear - leaving only obliteration and ecstasy behind. Robert keeps a tight hold on the vampire's collar and its hair, feeling a soft vibration through his fingers as it starts to purr as it feeds, snuffling into the nape of Alex's neck, blond hairs tickling its nose.

Robert counts to twenty in his mind, slowly, like he might have as a kid. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...

Once he hits twenty, he yanks back as hard as he can, pulling the vampire off his meal. The thing thrashes, wanting only to go back to mindlessly killing, but Robert drags him halfway across the room even as it paws at him, gnashing bloodied fangs. He pulls the muzzle back over its mouth, buckles it even as it tries to shake its head free of his grip, and finally collapses at his feet.

Robert listens to the heavy, labored breathing of his captive, looking up at the young man. Alex's eyes are open, but he sees nothing - he's long gone, lost in the venom high. Robert could slit his throat right here and now he'd do nothing but experience his own death in perfect euphoria.

But Robert's not ready for that, yet.

He and Alex aren't done yet.

Alex isn't ready to join the others in the basement. There's just a few more things that need done. Robert has a system, he has a routine, he has a plan - and he never deviates.

Well... He deviated once, when he found the vampire.

But not anymore.

There's a sound, and he looks down to see the vampire's eyes are red, welling up with pink, bloodied tears. He gives the thing a kick, listens to it whimper. "Go on. I think the news is on the radio, and I don't want to miss it."

The vampire hisses, eyes narrowed in pure and perfect hatred...

And then it crawls, obediently, back into the hallway.

"What a beautiful goddamn morning," Robert says, serene and blissful, as he locks his captive into the guest bedroom and leads the vampire to the living room to be locked back into its cage.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @raigash @whump-tr0pes @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @thefancydoughnut @outofangband @justabitofwhump @downriver914 @newandfiguringitout @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @oops-its-whump @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @burtlederp @hackles-up @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @wingedwhump @writingbackwards @butwhatifyouwrite @wildfaewhump @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[kakejiszka]

Studio Fun

This is my first Jake smut, hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: contains lots of smut, you have been warned.

After changing at least six times, you still hadn't chosen among the three set of clothes that were lying on your bed, surrounded by several other pieces of clothing that together created a mess in your entire room, that smelled like citrus, makeup and despair.

You couldn't help but tremble with anxiety at the sight of yourself in your lingerie in the mirror, after all, the occasion you were dressing for was unprecedented. Should you wear a fancy dress? A slutty short skirt? A rocker leather jacket?

You had hit the jackpot: after a few weeks going out with Jake, he had finally invited you to meet the studio where he and his band rehearsed every week. And furthermore, you would meet his brother Josh and Sam and their friend Danny for the first time. You were nervous, as shit was starting to get serious.

Jake was living rent free in your head. Since the first time you saw him, your standards for men had never been the same, after all, no one could surpass his beauty, talent and charisma. To top it all, he was so romantic: on the three times you went out together, he managed to surprise you even with the simplest things. On your first date, you had coffee together, but he gifted you white roses. On the second date, you two took a walk around the town and he held your hand the entire time. On the third date, where it's socially acceptable to have sex, he took you to a super fancy restaurant with wonderful food. You even wore a beatiful black dress and made sure to wear your best lingerie. But, despite taking you home and kissing you by the door (for the first time), that was it. Maybe he was shy, maybe he wasn't ready, but you couldn't help but feeling a bit disappointed for not spending the night with him.

You chose the skirt. If there was even the smallest chance of you seducing him that day, you were willing to try. You finished the look with a black tank top, which was so tight you didn't feel the need to wear a bra, an oversized jeans jacket and black boots. You applied some eyeliner and mascara.

You called an Uber to the address Jake had texted you and quickly you arrived. Your phone vibrated in your jacket's pocket. "Be there in 15" his text said. You felt your legs tremble during the whole time you spent waiting for him, which seemed like an eternity. Despite all his qualities, it wasn't new to you that Jake Kizka's worst flaw was that he was always late.

You noticed the studio: it was very big and it seemed like a place full of quality equipment. The street where it was located was full of different records and musical instruments stores, what made you realize you were in a part in town where you could find everything that was music-related. As you waited for him, all the thoughts in the world were crossing your mind: what if he's not so into me? What if his brothers don't like me? What am I doing here? What kind of idea was this? Do I still have time to go back home?

"Hey!" you were surprised by a familiar voice behind you.

"Jake!" you said, nervousness resonating in your voice.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, giggling.

"No, I'm okay, it's just that..." you didn't even have to finish what you were saying so that he could understarnd the situation.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, they will love to meet you."

Jake gave you his hand and you held it, now feeling much safer and calmer than before.

You two entered the studio and followed through a long dark hallway. The walls were painted black and were full of band posters and stickers. There were other rooms there and you could hear other bands rehearsing inside them. Jake guided you to the end of the hallway where a small set of stairs took you to the second floor.

For your surprise, there weren't other rooms on the second floor like there were on the first floor. It was a single room entirely, where you could find everything: a big couch, a frigo, technical equipment for recording, vending machines, snooker table, a mini bar, all sorts of things...

A section of the room was isolated by a thick glass wall. Inside it, the walls were covered in acoustic panels and the room was filled with many amplifiers, pedals, instruments and a bunch of other things you didn't know what were called were there.

Lying on the couch were Danny, Sam and Josh, waiting for Jake.

"Goddamnit, finally!" Josh shouted "we waited for like an hour!"

"I was getting ready for her" Jake answered, smirking and pulling you close to him by your waist. You couldn't hide the embarassment on your face.

"What a fancy studio!" you said, trying to change the subject "I didn't know you rehearsed in such a cool place."

"It wasn't always like this, ya know" Josh said while standing up and putting his hands in his pockets "we started playing at our house, but it was starting to get too noisy for miss Karen" he laughed.

"It's true, we had to look for cheap studios, but it was hard to find anything in a small town like Frankenmuth" Sam said.

You all talked a bit and, fortunately, the boys were all very nice. You felt very welcomed by Josh's sense of humor, Sam's big smile and Danny's kindness.

After you got to know them, they entered the acoustic room and started rehearsing. You sat on the couch to watch them and, although you were scared to feel bored, you had a lot of fun with the private show they were performing for you.

You couldn't take your eyes off Jake. What he did to the guitar was phenomenal, sexy and even pornographic. The way he slowly slid his hand over the guitar's neck while sweat drops fell on his forehead were making you cross your legs a bit too hard over the couch.

He noticed you were staring at him and smiled at you through the glass, making you cover your face with your hands out of embarassment. You must have been making a funny face, because he giggled at the sight of you.

After two or three hours of rehearsal, they were done. Although the air-conditioning was making you shiver, they left the room all sweaty. Josh, Sam and Danny went to the frigo to get some beer. Jake went there as well, but he made sure to get one for you too.

"Did you like to watch the rehearsal?" Jake asked, offering you an already open Corona bottle.

"I loved it!" you said, getting the bottle from his hand and taking a sip.

"I was scared you would get bored" he said while he sat by your side on the couch and opened his bottle.

"How could I? I felt very special for watching such an exclusive show!" you said, making him laugh.

For the first time, you noticed what he was wearing: a dark purple silk shirt with the buttons opened showing his chest, as he always wore them. He had tight black cuffed pants and brown boots. On his neck, some long necklaces that reached the middle of his bare chest, and on his wrists a few bracelets. His style was casual and attractive, but goddamn, he looked so fucking hot.

The rest of the day was very fun. You two drank together and talked a lot, what got you even closer to each other. Josh, Sam and Danny played snooker and drank a lot, until they decided to leave.

There were only you and Jake, that were now a bit tipsy and still had a lot to talk about. You noticed that, although you two had already went out before, this was the first time you talked this much. When you realized, you were physically very close: your legs were resting over Jake's left leg and his hand was caressing the back of your head. Your index finger was circling around Jake's bare chest. He looked so great in that shirt.

"Do you wanna see something?" he excitedly asked. You, curious as you were, immediately answered:

"Sure."

Jake stood up and walked towards the platform where there was a panel with a billion different buttons you had no idea were for. After pressing and regulating some of them, he made a sign with his fingers invinting you to join him.

"What does that thing do?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Everything" he playfully answered.

"Everything what?" you asked again, laughing impatiently.

"This is the sound mixer, where we can control everything inside the acoustic room. Bass, treble, autotune, tuning, echo, volume... and so on" while he patiently explained to you, you admired him. He would get so excited when talking about music.

"Wow" you responded, without taking your eyes off his.

"Wanna try it out?" he asked.

"What? Are you serious?" you almost spit the liquid of the forth or fifth beer bottle you were having that day.

"Very serious" he said, looking deep in your eyes.

"Okay then..."

"Put this on" he said, grabbing the two headphones thar were lying on the table over the mixer and handing one over to you.

You did as he said and Jake left you responsible for the sound mixer and ran inside the acoustic room, almost tripping due to his light state of inebriation.

"What is he doing?" you quietly asked yourself.

He shut the door of the acoustic room and got one of the 6 or 7 guitars that were inside. After that, he put on the headphones that he brought with him to the room, turned on the microphone that was resting over a tripod and said:

"Can you hear me?"

The sound came out so loud in your headphones that you got scared and jumped, almost turning deaf. After that, you laughed a lot and so did he.

"How do I turn this thing down?" you asked him, screaming so he could hear you through the glass wall.

"Slide the red button down, on your right. Oh, and you don't have to scream, on your left there's a microphone that's meant for you to talk to me while I'm inside, just hold its button down."

You did as he told you to and laughed at yourself, feeling silly for not knowing how to use those things.

"There. Can I do what I want here?"

"Yeah!" he answered.

Jake started playing a random melody and you played with the sounds, having fun like a child. Distorting, increasing and decreasing the echoes, you two laughing like fools.

When you had enough fun, Jake spoke on the microphone again.

"Did you know this room has an almost perfect acoustic insulation?"

"Almost perfect? Like, no one can hear from the outside?" you said while pressing the mic's button and arching a brow, without believing him.

"Exactly" he said, putting his guitar away "I can scream as loud as I want here, no one will listen. Wanna try it?"

"How do I do that?" you asked, searching for the function among the million buttons on the sound mixer panel.

"Just turn the volume down, all of it."

And so you did. As you turned the volume down, it was getting harder and harder to hear what he said, until you couldn't hear a word. He only realized you couldn't hear him when he saw the surprise on your face, caused by the magic of the acoustic room. You could tell by his facial expression that he was laughing, and you laughed as well.

He made a gesture with his hand, like he asked you if you could hear him. You answered through the mic:

"I can't hear anything! This is amazing!"

He smiled and made another gesture, as if he was inviting you to the acoustic room. You quickly removed your earphones and walked to the door, thinking it would be your turn to stay there as he played with the sound.

When you opened the door, Jake immediately pulled you inside and shut the door with both of you inside. Then, he pressed you against the wall, pinning both of your wrists against it over your head.

You couldn't help but feeling surprised, after all, Jake had never acted like this before. He had always been romantic and careful, so you were pretty curious about his sudden dominating attitude.

He approached his face to yours, whispering close to your ear:

"Wanna test the acoustic of the room's acoustics?"

His tone was everything but innocent. You finally understood where he was getting to, so you decided to play his game.

"How can we test it?" you answered, faking innocence, and he smiled at your acting. So he put his leg in the middle of yours, gently rubbing his thigh against your groin and pressing you even harder agains the foamy wall.

"We can try it the best way possible."

After he said it, he kissed you deeply. His hands let go of your wrists and slowly slid down your arms, all the way to your neck. One of his hands held the back of your head and the other choked you slightly, but strong enough to make breathing a little harder. Your arms, now free of his grip, curled arould his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

The kiss was getting hotter. You felt the hand that held your neck go down to your waist, and the hand on the back of your head gently pull your hair, bringing your head back and making you moan softly. Jake stopped kissing you and smirked, watching your pleasure face.

"They might see us through the glass!" you said, but he didn't pay much attention as he immediately returned to kiss your lips.

"I don't care" he answered, and although it was a bit scary, the fear of getting caught was also thrilling and exciting.

Your neck was completely exposed now, inviting Jake's silky lips which left soft kisses on your skin, making their way to your ear lobes where he gently nibbled. It sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps on your skin, something Jake noticed and made sure to show he enjoyed.

"You like this, huh?" he whispered in your ear. You nodded with a small moan, still a little overwhelmed by the situation, but certainly enjoying it.

Jake went back to kissing your neck, now a little faster. The tiny threads of growing beard on his jaw scratched your face, the sensation was even more arousing. You were so focused on that that only later you realized that his hand wasn't on your waist anymore, but was grabbing your ass.

Your body was warm, but you had chills. The mix of sensations Jake was causing on you gave you so much pleasure, but at the same time it was torturous. It wasn't enough, you wanted more and he knew that, but he wanted to keep you waiting.

Jake put both on his hands on your ass, squeezing it hard and making you moan softly. But after a short period, you felt his hands leave the place, which surprised you. Only then you realized he was taking off your jeans jacket and tossing in on the floor. The black tank top you were wearing left your collarbone and your shoulders exposed, which was exactly what Jake's lips were looking for. But before he went back to what he was doing, he took a good look at your newly exposed body part. His eyes traveled from your face to your breasts and there they stood, what got you a little embarassed.

"You're so hot, did you know that?" he whispered, staring even harder at your cleavage and then at your eyes. You smiled and blushed. The way he said those things made you feel a way no other man had ever managed to do to you. "You don't have to feel ashamed..." he said, smirking at your reaction.

His lips met yours again, but only for a short period of time. They quickly moved to your collarbone. His hands were now were wandering around your whole body, moving from your neck to your shoulders, back, waist and ass, as if he was desperate to feel you. Which was amazing, because you were eager to feel his hands all over you.

You also wanted to feel him, so you did as he did: you took one of your hands to the back of his hand and slightly pulled back some of his long brown hair, what made him moan and smile in response. Your other hand traveled through his chest, gently dragging your nails around the small part of exposed skin. My god, he looked so hot in that purple jacket. The only way he could look hotter than that would be without it.

You started to slowly unbutton the shirt, which made him stop kissing you and look at you with a naughty smirk.

"So much hurry!" he giggled.

"You take mine off, I take yours, that's how it works" you answered, winking at him.

He helped you take off his shirt and toss it on the floor, next to your jacket. You enjoyed the view of his shirtless body, staring at it just like he did to you before, sliding your nails and digging them on his torso. He held your hand over his chest, looking deep into your eyes. you were expecting him to say something nasty, but instead he just went back to kissing you, now even more intensely.

He embraced your waist and pulled you closer to him, as if it were possible. Then, his hands slowly moved upwards, passing through your waist and reaching your breasts. He squeezed them softly, making you moan. Your skin, that was already shivered, got even more chills under his touch. You weren't wearing a bra, which made your nipples appear through your shirt. Jake noticed and liked it, since he touched and tweaked them over the thin cloth. At this moment, you were already wet and impacient, but you were only getting a small portion of Jake's sexual expertise.

"Jake..." you moaned in agony between his kisses, suffering with his touches over your clothes. Although it was very hot, the throbbing sensation in your groin was starting to feel unbearable and painful.

"I know, babe" he answered, resting his forehead on yours, without ceasing to fondle your breasts "you're eager, but I'm only getting started."

Hearing that made the situation of your arousal even worse, to the point where if he decided to just lift your skirt and fuck you at that moment you wouldn't even feel pain, so horny and ready you were. He went back to kissing you, never letting your breasts go. But suddenly, you felt him pull your shirt up and reveal your stomach.

He kept on pulling it, enough that your breasts dropped down from your top, due to how tight it was. He watched that pornographic scene without blinking, dazzled. Rapidly he went back to fondling your breasts, only now he took his lips to one of your nipples.

He sucked it gently, making you let go a pleasurable moan. Glad with your reaction, he kept on sucking it, sometimes licking, nibbling and kissing. He moved to the right breast, but without stopping to give attention to the left one, playing with the nipple with his thumb. The saliva he left on the thin skin of your nipple in contact with the air made you feel a little bit cold, but it gave you pleasure.

Jake took his time there, enjoying the sensation he was causing you. You, on the other hand, dig your nails a bit deeper all over his back, feeling his skin also get goosebumps.

Jake finishing sucking your nipples and went back to kissing your lips. He took off your top with a bit of hurry, tossing it on the floor and then pulling you closer to him by your waist. His hands were now back on your ass, but now he started to lift your skirt.

"This short skirt of yours... I spent the whole day thinking about lifting it and fucking you" he said, holding the cloth with the tip of his fingers and raising it slowly. The fingers that lifted the fabric softly scratched your thighs and your hip, making you shiver.

Jake saying those things made your legs tremble with pleasure. You didn't know how good it felt to hear that dirty-talk until it was Jake whispering it to you.

"I wore it thinking about it" you answered, what made him smile in a sexy and predatory way at the same time.

When he lifted your skirt high enough, he slid his right hand over your thigh. He gently slid back and forth towards your groin, torturing you with the desire of his touch. He looked you deep in the eyes with a serious expression, like he was in control of the situation. When you couldn't stand the teasing anymore, he caressed your pussy over your panties.

"Wow, you're soaking wet... I didn't know it was that easy to make you horny, baby."

You looked at him, almost not believing what you had just heard. After half an hour of teasing, he thought it was easy?

"Jake, please..." you moaned in desperation as he now rubbed your clit over the thin lacy fabric.

"I know, love, I'll give you what you want."

Jake pulled your panties down and slid his index finger between your fold, reaching your clit. You were so wet it was slippery inside you, making his job even easier. He then started to rub your clit in slow and circle motions.

You let go a fairly loud moan and, out of embarassment, you covered your mouth with your hand. He took your hand out of your mouth and pinned it against the wall behind you.

"Moan all you want, no one's gonna hear us. Moan loud for me."

And so you did. The harder he rub your clit, the more pleasure you felt and the more you moaned in his ear. He, who was also feeling pleasure, had his lips parted, watching you squirm against the wall.

Jake increased the speed with which he masturbated you, driving you insane. But you also wanted to torture him. Therefore, catching him by surprise, you took your hand to the huge bulge in his pants. He wasn't expecting that, but he enjoyed it.

You stroked his cock, that was very enhanced outside his pants. You were surprised with its lenght.

"You did this to me" he said, grabbing your hand and rubbing it harder against his dick.

But you didn't last for too long, since Jake's expertise in masturbating you was making your legs shake so you couldn't concentrate in anything but your own pleasure. You kept on moaning ach time louder until your orgasm finally hit. The pulsation made you almost scream.

You couldn't help but feel a little embarassed, but the look on his face comforted you and made you realize there was nothing to be ashamed of, since the man was clearly enjoying it.

He removed his fingers from your pussy and licked them. what made you feel another throb of pleasure. Next, he deeply kissed you.

"Fuck, your moans are so hot" he whispered in your ear. You couldn't answer him, since you were still recovering your breath.

Although you didn't say a word, you went back to stroking his erection. Gladly, he let you masturbate him over his clothes, torturing him as he had done to you.

"It's your turn to suffer" you said, and he smirked in response.

"This is nothing, I've been suffering since I first saw you in those tight clothes, your tits almost bursting out of that small top of yours. It was hard to hide how hard I was" he answered, gently pulling your hair behind your back so he could delight himself again with the sight of your naked breasts.

You rolled your eyes, giggling. He always had an answer on the tip of his tongue. But the fact that he said he got an erection only by looking at your cleavage made you feel powerful and sexy.

You kept masturbating him over the thick fabric of his pants, watching him twitch out of pleasure. After a few minutes, you removed his leather belt, tossing it on the floor together with the rest of your clothes. Next, he unzipped his pants himselft and lowered it a little, just enough so that you could see the bulge on his boxers. You could see the tip of his cock, since it had scaped the prison of its tight black fabric, which was already wet with his precum.

You licked your lips at the sight of his rigid cock. You wanted to suck it, but you would make him wait, just like he did to you. You stroked it over his underwear, which was way thinner and allowed you to move up and down much more easily. Jake was panting, anticipation taking over both of your bodies.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he grabbed your hand and put it inside his underwear, surprising you.

"Couldn't handle it?" you laughed.

"I need to feel you" he murmured, almost out of breath.

So you masturbated him, now inside his underwear. You started off slowly, gently touching the tip of his cock with your thumb. It was wet with eagerness. You then started to move more quickly, but the fabric of his underwear was making the job a little difficult, so you impaciently pulled it down, completely revealing his penis. Now that you could see it completely, you masturbated him even faster.

You looked at his face saw the expression of pure pleasure, small groans escaping from his mouth. You smirked and he smirked back, pleased with how much fun you were having while touching him so intimately. You then looked back at his cock and realized you couldn't take it any longer: you had to suck him off.

When he noticed you were getting down on your knees, his eyes widened up in anticipation. Knowing what was about to happen, he helped you take off his pants and underwear and took off his shoes, tossing it all on the floor. Then, he grabbed all of your hair and held it tightly in the back of your head, not letting any strand of it get in the way of you doing your job, but at the same time being able to mildly control your movements.

You slowly licked his entire shaft from the base to the tip, making him shiver and moan. Next, you placed your lips around its head, gently sliding his whole cock inside your mouth. When it reached your throat you gagged, but you kept going. Starting off with slow movements and then increasing the speed, sometimes licking, sometimes kissing, sometimes harder, sometimes easier, sometimes just masturbating it while you gathered some air. With one hand you stimulated it, with the other you grabbed his butt. You looked him in the eyes, knowing he was enjoying it. His pleasure facial expression was incredible, only making you want to suck him even more.

You kept going, so eagerly you reached a very high speed, but it didn't last long. He gently pushed your head away from his cock and pulled you up, asking you to stand up.

"If you keep going like that, I won't stand for long, babygirl..." he murmured, catching some air.

"Sorry, I guess I got carried away..." you said while wiping your lips with your hand, making him giggle.

"Don't ever apologize for giving me the best head I've ever got."

Jake gave you a deep and sloppy kiss. Next, he is the one who went on his knees.

Jake laid kisses on your chin, neck, the middle of your breasts, your tummy and, after taking off your skirt and your boots and throwing them on the floor, he kissed your groin. Your body shivered in anticipation, nervous with what was about to happen.

Jake lifted one of your legs up and laid it over his shoulder, in a way he could be face-to-face to your entrance.

Before he got started, he looked up deep into your eyes, grinned and held your hip firmly with one of his hands, while the other squeezed the thigh that laid on his shoulder so tightly you had marks of it the day after.

Jake touched his tongue gently on your entrance, spreading your lips allowing his to explore your pussy. His hot and wet tongue in contact with your soaking folds sent shivers through your whole body, and several others followed it when he started to lick your clit.

The sensation was even better than the one he caused you with his fingers. Which was surprising, since he was a guitar player, you always thought he would be better with his hands. Turns out Jake Kiszka was god with incredible with string instruments and even more skilled in pleasing a lady.

He kept licking your clit, now harder. You, who were already having trouble standing on one leg while getting your pussy eaten like that, reached a tripod that stood nearby, dropping the microphone from it. Your other hand grabbed his light brown hair tightly between your fingers, trying to hold up to something and not lose grip from reality. You two were making a mess in the studio but you didn't mind, for he continued to go down on you and you kept moaning as loud as you could.

But it didn't stop there.

Jake slowly inserted his index finger inside you. You felt your walls clench around his finger as he moved it up and down, hitting your g-spot so easily you regretted not doing this earlier. The mix of sensations his tongue on your clit and his finger inside you were causing on you combined drove you insane. At this point, you were moaning so loudly you completely forgot where you two were. Your eyes were closed and all you could say was Jake's name between groans and breaths.

Jake inserted another finger and started to estimulate you really rapidly, as fast as he was sucking on your clit. Your pleasure had become unbearable and your second orgasm hit like a tsunami, wetting even more your folds and Jake's tongue. Although you had shown him he could stop so you two could move on, he didn't want to. He didn't stop, never allowing your orgasm to reach its end and making your legs shake uncontrollably.

When he thought he had enough he started to slow his movements down, for your relief. When he finally stopped, he laid a soft kiss on your wet entrance as a demonstration of affection and stood up, immediately kissing your lips making you taste your own bitter juices.

"You taste so delicious" he whispered between your lips "I can't get enough of it."

You two kissed once more, now more romanticaly and tenderly. When you two finally caught some breath, you looked at each other and smiled, excited with what was about to happen next.

He then grabbed your hair very firmly, bringing goosebumps to your skin. Next, he whispered in your ear:

"Are you sure you want it?" he asked, you thought it was sweet of him to ask for verbal consent.

"Yeah" you answered, embarassingly anxious.

"Then ask for it."

As he said it, he turned you over, making you face and lean against the wall, your back completely exposed to him. He still had his hand holding your hair very tightly. You moan at his dominance.

He bent you over in a way your ass was tilted up for him. He enjoyed the sight of it, caressing and squeezing it really hard. Next, he rubbed his hard cock over your entrance. You arched your back even more, feeling exposed like that felt hot and thrilling. The sensation of his entire lenght rubbing against your wet folds was torturous.

"Ask for it" he repeated impaciently.

"F-fuck me" you stuttered, nervously enjoying him telling you what to do.

"I can't hear you" he rubbed his cock against you even harder.

"Fuck me, goddamnit!" you shouted, feeling obligated to put all shame aside to please that wonderful bossy man.

"Good" he said in a husky voice, seeming pleased.

Jake finally put the tip of his cock inside you, slowly so your walls could adjust to his size. It wasn't necessary to wait for too long, since you were so horny and ready that he slipped right in. When his entire lenght slid inside you, you felt chills run from your neck to your back. Finally feeling Jake inside you was incredible.

Jake started to fuck you, increasing the speed bit by bit. You impaciently start to move your hips in his direction, showing him he could go faster.

"Oh, you want more, you slut?" he asked, squeezing and then slapping your ass, what would leave a red mark on the next day.

"Yeah..." you moan.

Jake then did as you asked, increasing the speed. You were now fucking really hard, his cock moving in and out of you at a rapid pace. The pressure of his shaft hitting deep into you gave you so much pleasure your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, and your moans had become screams.

Jake slapped your ass again. The pain was intense but extremely hot. He, looking for more pleasure, pulled your hair back even more while his other hand reached one of your breasts, which shook due to the harsh movements you were making. Jake's groans were low, but vibrant and rough. He moaned your name while gasping for air.

"Your pussy feels so tight, so good."

Then, for your surprise, he got out of you. You turned over to him to see what was going on, but he pulled you to the floor before you could say anything. He lied on the floor and placed you on top of him, then putting his arms under his head and laying down, enjoying the view of your completely naked body on top of his.

"Ride me" he commanded, and you obeyed without question.

You began to ride him, getting used to the position before doing it faster. As soon as you managed to find balance, you started to ride him really quickly. That position hit different a different spot inside you, and you could see by Jake's expression that it hit different for him too.

You were fucking him so hard Jake was cursing between his breaths. He put one of his hands on your butt to guide the movements as he wanted to and the other hand on your right breast, holding it and squeezing it. You two kept that position for a while, looking deep in each other's eyes, chills running through your spines.

Jake wanted to change positions again, laying you under him. For the first time you could feel how harsh the carpet felt under your soft skin, only then remembering the place the two of you were. But that didn't matter. Jake leaned on his knees and pulled one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder and going back to fuck you again.

That position was taking you to heaven, what seemed impossible. To make it even better, Jake began to estimulate your clit with his thumb while he slid his cock in and out of you. At that moment, any drop of sanity that you still had disappeared.

"Yes!" you moaned, biting your lower lip.

"Fuck!" he hissed, sweat running down his beautiful face.

He kept fucking you in that position, which didn't take long to make you come for the third time in a row. Your orgasm made you scream and moan his name for the millionth time that afternoon, and that was driving him insane.

"I'm gonna cum" he said, increasing the speed with which he fucked you, not allowing your orgasm to end. The noise your hips crashing against each other was so loud it filled the room.

Jake reached his limit, letting his fluids fill you up inside. You, still experiencing your multiple orgasms, enjoyed the sensation the hot liquid mixed with the bliss caused you. The two of you began to slow the pace, until you fully stopped. Jake laid over you, without pulling out. You two were dripping in sweat, his hair all messy and glued to his forehead.

The both of you stood there for a while, catching your breath. He caressed your hair and you stroked his back. When you could finally breathe again, Jake looked you in the eye and you both giggled in complicity.

Jake pulled out and lied next to you on the carpet while holding your hand.

"This was..." he said.

"Wow..." you said.

You two laughed for having spoken at the same time. You two stood there for a long time, staring each other in the eyes. His dark brown eyes sparkled with joy and both of you were enjoying the serotonin the intimate moment you two had just shared produced, cuddling.

"I think I'm falling for you" Jake said, breaking the silence.

You couldn't hide your surprise in hearing that declaration, but you gave him a big smile in response.

"Me too" you said, unable to contain the huge smile on your face.

"Phew!" he said, laughing "This means we will be able to do this more often."

"Obviously. But can we do it in a more comfortable place next time? This carpet is so rough!"

"You didn't like the studio? But we can make as much noise as we want in here!" he said, comically offended by your preference of having sex somewhere else.

"It has its advantages, yes, but I bet it can't be better than Egyptian silk sheets on a king-sized bed" you said, convinced you knew better than him.

"Okay, you've got a point. But I can't promise I'll be able to provide the Egyptian silk sheets and a king-sized bed by tonight."

You hit his arm and laughed, glad for having found such an amazing partner.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Forgive, But First Fun - Nandor x f(vampire) reader

Summary: After getting left behind to fight off a pack of werewolves on your own, now mad at Nandor, you and Nadja have decided a little night out couldn’t hurt.

Warning: slight angst, fluff, fun times, and a tiny smut mention

Masterlist

Trudging angrily through the manors wooden doors, face stern and almost scary enough to put the fear of God into anyone. Your boots stomp into the large opening and onto the wooden floor boards as Gullimero, Nandor, and the documentary crew follow you in.

Your cloak is ripped and dirty as it lays in a pathetic black heap of cloth in Gullimero’s arms, your hair not looking any better, not to mention your face and arms that have various cuts paired with grass smudge marks adoring your skin. All in all you look like a hot mess.

“What the fuck happened to you lot? You’ve been gone all night.” Questions Laszlo as he walks into view from out of one of the hallways, his eyes scanning over a perfectly clean and handsome Nandor, then over to the dirty crew and disheveled Guillermo who’s got some leaves stuck to his hair.

“I don’t know.” You snap sarcastically, “How about you ask Mr. Dodgy-shit-stick over there.” Referring to Nandor who’s looking anywhere but you, keeping as silent as ever.

Gullimero looks between you and Nandor, then back at a confused Laszlo. “Oh, um they’re not speaking to each other right now.”

“And why the fuck not?”

Guillermo sighs before leaning towards Laszlo, “Nandor wanted to graffiti where the werewolves live and Y/N said he’d get caught and then Nandor said no I won’t and then he did.”

Laszlo raises a curious brow, “That’s it?”

“Oh, um....” Guillermo awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, suddenly pulling off a green leaf, “then they chased us to the park and when the pack closed in on us Nandor turned into a bat and left us behind so Y/N had to fight one of them off so we could escape and now we’re here.”

“Well that sounds rather exciting.”

“Not at the time.” Whispers Guillermo to no one in particular as he glances over at the camera.

“Huh,” Mutters Laszlo thoughtfully, scratching his beard as he thinks of how to help this situation, “well if you two dingbats aren’t talking to one another I believe Nadja needs you Y/N. Something about....well actually I’m not entirely sure.”

Perking up ever so slightly at this positive news, you cross your arms over your chest defiantly, “Well since someone does, I’ll be going then.” You grumble with a low growl at your Nandor who’s refusing to make eye contact while he stares frustrated at the floor.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Laszlo watches you stomp angrily up the steps before turning his head over to Nandor who’s now watching you leave with big sad eyes.

“Alright why’d you do it?” Interrogates Laszlo with a raised brow.

“Do whaaat?” Replies Nandor defensively, his once high and mighty aurora reappearing in an instant.

Rolling his eyes, Laszlo sets a hand on his hip sassily, “Well I sure as hell don’t want an angry Y/N wandering around this old place for the next however the fuck it takes you both to make up....in however fashion that may be. So I ask again, why’d you puss out and flee like a mangy opossum?”

Pursing his lips together in apprehensive embarrassment, Nandor mutters to himself before finally crossing his arms over his broad chest and sighing, “Because......I....I don’t know I panicked!” Exclaims the large vampire, causing Laszlo to start laughing. “Why are you laughing?”

Wiping a fake tear from his eye, Laszlo lets out a few more chuckles before finally composing himself, “My good man that is the second saddest thing I’ve ever heard. The first being when one of my many victims offered me one of their rare and exclusive Poki-muns card which I still have no idea what the fuck they were on about. Anyways, doesn’t matter, all I’ll tell is that you better make it up to her.”

“But she’s scary when she’s angryyy.” Whines Nandor with a frown.

“That’s all women my young pup, but since your lovely lady is a vampire she’s more dangerous.” He says while giving Nandor a kind pat on the back, “So uh, stay safe out there.” Adds Laszlo before turning and walking down the hallway leaving Nandor with his thoughts, Gullimero, and the documentary’s camera crew.

“What are you all looking at!” Snaps Nandor to the rest of the room.

——

“Oh my goodnessess that’s awful, my poor dark angel.” Soothes Nadja as you take a moment from your long and needed rant about the adventures in the park and Nandor’s cowardly stupidity. “That big hairy rhino doesn’t deserve you Y/N.” She reasons honestly, doing her best to make you feel better, knowing all to well the level of competent decision making skills of the other two vampires in the house.

“I know.” You mutter in agreement, your body tense and agitated as you pace back and forth in front of her as she sits in a chair, “Fucking beautiful idiot prick horse-fart of a husband. Urgghhh!” You proclaim loudly while throwing your hands into the air angrily, causing the furniture in the room to screech backwards across the old flooring at your outburst of vampiric energy. Nadja’s long obsidian hair blowing backwards as you do so while she keeps seated, unflinching.

Face softening, she gives you a sympathetic smile, “Oh my lovely fierce lioness, I know exactly what will make that sad little frown turn into a happy one.” Beams Nadja with an excited clap of her hands.

Hugging your sides, you let out a frustrated huff before giving your old friend a shrug, “What do you have in mind?”

——

“So we’re at the carnival!” Claps Nadja in delight as she smiles at the camera, “This will hopefully relieve Y/N’s pent up angers and keep her mind off of Nandor.....for now.” She adds a bit uncertainly.

“HA HA take that fuckers!” You shout joyfully from behind her, the camera panning over to you at the ball toss where you’ve been knocking down plastic bottles with a rubber ball. The stall owner cowering in the corner as he shields himself with a stuffed zebra.

The camera focuses back on Nadja, “I think it’s going really well so far.” She confirms with a convincing grin. “Relieving all that..uh....rage.” 

After winning a stuffed snake taller then you and deciding to wear it as a strange fashionable scarf, you and Nadja are wandering the carnivals streets while people watching to pass the time.

“So that’s why I never walk on the roof after 3am when I’ve had homeless man’s blood.” Rambles Nadja as your thoughts about Nandor come trickling down into your brain and nose. Huh, strange, must be cause you’re still wearing a thin red scarf of his.

No, stop thinking about him.

“Good lesson learned then,” You add with the flash of a smile before nudging her shoulder gently, “hey you wanna watch me win you something cool?”

Perking up in an instant, Nadja smiles a devilish fangy grin as she stops to eye up the multiple game stalls, “Why I would be delighted my dear Y/N, how about....um, oooh I want that giant tropical fishy with the long whiskers over there.” Points Nadja as your eyes travel over to the game stall with the large prizes.

It’s a game that requires the individual to shoot an arrow directly on three different sized bullseye’s stationed at various heights. Smiling like an idiot, you nudge your vampiric acquaintance in agreement, the both of you quickly swaggering over to the carnival game and it’s plush flashy prizes just screaming to be won.

“Hello good sir, my skilled roommate Y/N here is going to win me that fish.” Beams Nadja proudly as the teenager jumps off his chair to greet the two of you.

He smells like weed but surprisingly looks decent all things considered, “Uh yeah alright, two bucks for three arrows, hit every target directly on the middle red mark and if you make it on the bonus poster on the far back wall then you’ll have a chance to win that fish, good luck.” Mumbles the kid unenthusiastically as you slide him the cash.

Picking up the shitty yet still functional carnival bow, you give Nadja a wink before fitting an arrow in the nock and pulling back, lining up the shot and releasing directly into the first target to the left. Smirking to yourself you quickly draw again, hitting your second mark just as intended. Pays to be a skilled archer huh.

“Damn that’s pretty good aim.” Nods the teen as he watches in awe as you fit another arrow, releasing and punching a hole in the middle of the third target.

Nadja claps in excitement from behind you, “Yes! Win me that colorful fat bitch my feisty lioness!”

Standing like a warrior ready for battle with your bow in hand and wind blowing in your face, the kid almost drops the arrow he hands you for the winning shot as he practically swoons.

“Get those scissors ready, that fish is mine.” You growl in determination while picturing Nandor’s head as the final target, drawing back, you let the arrow fly straight into the bonus target. Winning Nadja her giant fish plushy.

“Yessss!” Shouts Nadja in delight as you drop the bow onto the table like a bad bitch before eyeing up the kid with a raised brow, “We’ll be taking the fish now.”

Wide eyed he almost falls off his chair, “Wait um, that’s the last one...I didn’t think, uh, my boss doesn’t want me to give away those ones.” He stutters out.

“What!” Snaps Nadja, “Then why are they just hanging there? You lied to us you little shit!”

“I’m sorry.” He pleads apologetically, “That’s what my boss told me. And no one ever wins the big prizes anyway so I didn’t think...”

“Well your boss he can eat a big horse turd cause I’m taking that fish.” You growl before jumping up and unhooking the fish from its perch above your heads, handing it to a practically glowing with joy Nadja who immediately hugs the thing.

Sticking your tongue out at the teen, you and Nadja turn to leave before a boney hand is suddenly on your shoulder, twisting around in an agitated instant, your face is mere inches from the wide eyed boy as he attempts to look even a tad bit threatening.

“No.” Is the only thing that slips from your tongue before your hand shoves him back, his whole body going air bound into the back of the carnival tent while the kid lets out a panicked scream.

“Ooooh Y/N that was very sexy of you.” Smirks Nadja while wiggling her dark brows, “Too bad a certain cowardly lion wasn’t here to see it.”

Petting the stuffed toy snake around your neck absentmindedly, you smile back a fangy grin, “Yes. Too bad.”

Continuing on your late night stroll through the carnival you both pass by random strangers, families, elders, children, and lovers all minding their sweet business completely unawares to the dark supernatural world walking right past them.

Although you’re quite enjoying this time spent with your best friend in the whole wide world, a low dull feeling of emptiness can’t help but creep into your undead being the more you catch sight of new and old couples walking together.

Sensing your growing sadness, Nadja nudges your shoulder playfully to gain your distracted attention, “Hello in there my black rose, what is on your mind?”

Holding the snake close to your body, a small smile creeps its way onto your face knowing she’s looking out for you, though it’s gone soon enough, “Oh you know....uh....blood.” You mutter unenthusiastically, trying to keep your thoughts away from Nandor and how much you miss him right now.

“Blood is it? But we just fed before attending the carnival.” Inquires Nadja in confusion as she keeps a normal pace at your side while the two of you follow the sidewalk past various shops and restaurants. “What is actually plaguing your mind my dear one?” She wonders with a frown, not keen on seeing you upset and in a grey mood.

Biting your lip anxiously, though not hard enough to draw blood, you walk past a couple more people before your eyes catch the sight of a small black bat disappearing behind a corner building just up ahead.

Squinting your eyes, your nose suddenly catches the scent of someone very familiar, “Nandor?”

Turning her head to face you, Nadja’s brows furrow in puzzlement, “What? No my sweet hurricane, forget that mangy old bear he’s not important right now.” Urges Nadja as she looks forward, suddenly surprised to catch a glimpse of someone who looks a lot like Guillermo racing behind the same corner you saw the bat fly behind. “Okay um what the fuck? Did you see that too?”

Glancing at Nadja you nod before quickening your steps as she does the same, her skirts flowing as she tries to catch up with you, though you’re much faster and with lack of annoying dress material, “Wait! You’re too fast.” Yelps Nadja.

Ignoring her protests you book it down the sidewalk like a maniac, almost running into a jogger before skidding round the corner of the brick building and coming face to face with a wide eyed Guillermo who gasps in surprise. Nudging him to the side, your eyes immediately fall upon the nervous fangy grin of your Nandor.

He gives you a shy little wave before shuffling awkwardly in place, awaiting your rampage of verbal and possibly physical assault that he’s certain is in the near future.

Taking a deep breath, you cross your arms over your chest defensively, “Were you following me?”

“Um, well.....I might have been....but only to make sure you were okay.” Mutters Nandor honestly, eyes shifting from you to the ground nervously as he awaits your wrath.

Pursing your lips together in thought, you shake your head before taking off the stuffed toy snake and holding it firmly in your hands. With a low growl do you grasp the snake in your right hand and hold it back like you might swing at any moment.

“You’re a fucking nincompoop you know that right?” Slips from your mouth without an once of anger lacing your words, instead do you hand the snake to Gullimero as Nandor watches in puzzled fear.

Taking a swift step forward, you point a finger into his strong chest while looking sternly up at him, “Racing off and leaving me too fight that angry bitch all by myself, and now following me when I needed a break from you! Nandor....... you’re something else.” You add with a shake of your head.

“Yes I know, and I’m sorry my love.” Smiles Nandor with saddened eyes, “I promise to keep you save from now on and fight off any werewolf who tries to hurt you....even if I am scared.”

Taking a step back, you can’t help the smirk that forms onto your face at his sweet words of forgiveness and sincerity. You know how much he fears werewolves and that he fled the scene thinking you were planning on following too, not realizing that you might actually give a shit about Gullimero’s and the crew’s lives.

“Oh my dear puff dragon,” You declare softly with a small smile, reaching both hands out to grasp his own, “I forgive you.”

Nandor’s face breaks out into the biggest and happiest grin you’ve seen since his last birthday when he walked into your shared crypt only to find you naked and holding a bushel of red roses while seated seductively on his coffin.

“Oh that’s fantastic because I was really missing you.” Reveals Nandor with a gentle squeeze of your hands. “Laszlo and Guillermo can’t make me laugh nearly as much as you can, they’re honestly rather boring.” He says before leaning in closer to whisper, “and not very attractive to look at either.” Causing you to crack another grin and your undead heart to fill with butterflies. 

Chuckling you reach up with one hand to pull his collar closer to you and a second later do your lips clash sweetly against one another in a heated moment of passion. He smiles into the kiss before moving to pull you in closer with both of his hands, one slipping low to cheekily pinch your round bottom.

Feeling him against you once again has to be the best sensation in the whole entirety of the world even if you’ve only been separated for a couple of hours. You absolutely love the way his fingers dig into your back and bum with an animalistic eagerness that’s slowly starting to drive you insane. Oh, the things he does to you.

Especially how his tongue slips into your mouth with ease while you tug at his hair long dark locks. “Y/N!” Suddenly shouts Nadja.

“Nandor!”

Begrudgingly pulling away, you turn around to face the confused lady vampire while Nandor hugs you from behind, happily smirking at her, knowing she can’t do anything to hurt him now. “Yes Nadja.” You answer.

With the fish plushy hung over her shoulder, her brows furrow in confusion, “What the fuck are you doing? I thought you were mad at him?”

“Yeah well, I was starting to really miss him and also I’m kind of horny now so.” You reply with a shrug as Nandor hugs you tighter, resting his bearded chin against your head while Nadja huffs in defeat.

“Alright. See you at home then.” Adds Nadja before turning towards Guillermo and shoving the giant carnival fish into his arms, “Hold this Gizmo I’m going home.” Then just like that she’s gone in a black wispy poof, flying away in bat form towards the vampire resistance on Staten Island.

“Okay then.” Mutters Gullimero as he looks up at the dark sky.

Feeling a wet kiss on the side of your face and neck you smile before turning around to face your dear husband, “Shall we take flight to seek out our bed chambers?” You speak slyly in a soft yet seductive voice.

“Yes.” Grins Nandor with a flash of lust and excitement before turning his attention over to Guillermo, “Hey Guillermo I’m leaving to make passionate love to my wife so don’t bother us or I will have a rat shit in your pillowcase. Okay?”

You giggle to yourself as Gullimero’s cheeks redden while he side eyes the camera, “Understood master. Have fun.” Squeaks out the loyal familiar as he stands there awkwardly with his hands full of two carnival prizes.

Nandor sneakily squeezes your bottom once more as he gives Gullimero a knowing smirk, “Oh, we will.” Then a second later you two are flying high above the city in bat form, ready to make love to your sweet Nandor for probably the twentieth time that week.

Down below the camera pans over to Gullimero as he blinks, “Well uh, I have these things now..” He says, holding up the fish, “and I am so not looking forward to cleaning up their mess.......again.”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

IUI - Pepperoni Delight

I had shitty frozen pizza for dinner and felt the need to do a thing. I missed my inked up idiots, what can I say? also im two weeks from the end of my AA and angrily throwing pencils at a sketchpad bc why the fuck do i need to take art classes for my fucking degree

Warnings: lol swearing? possible second hand embarrassment? idk yall its pretty chill

_________________

Geralt called Jaskier for the third time that night, opening with yet another apology when his new boyfriend picked up, “I’m so sorry. I just left the bar. Fucking bridal parties.”

A sweet peal of laughter rang in his ear as he fumbled with the keys to the bar, waving his fellow employees to their cars, “Geralt, I told you, it’s fine. I rescheduled the reservation. Just come over on your way home if you’re up for it.”

“I am! I’ll be twenty minutes tops.”

“I’ll start the pizza then,” Jaskier chimed.

Geralt did his best to fix his messy hair as he drove. When he parked in Jaskier’s lot he changed from his shirt that smelled of sour beer and acrid liquor to a sweatshirt that he’d made sure to spray some cologne on that morning. It passed the sniff test so he hopped out of his car and prayed he hadn’t spilled anything too horrible on his jeans or boots. 

He was worried Jaskier wouldn’t hear his knock over the music practically shaking the door, but almost as soon as he stepped back and shoved his hands in his pocket it died and the door swung open. 

Jaskier leaned on the doorjamb, giving Geralt an exaggerated once over, “Hey there good lookin.”

All Geralt could do was snort, a fond smile spreading on his face.

“I know, I know,” Jaskier giggled, reaching out his hand which Geralt took without thinking, “You look like you need a beer.”

“Mhm,” Geralt couldn’t help the way he melted, completely pliable for the chatterbox of a tattoo artist. He’d been smitten from the word ‘go’, but it only got worse the more time they spent together. In the last two weeks they’d spent all their free time together and it was already unimaginable to go back to the way he was living before. Jaskier set him at ease, he had such a carefree air about him that swept Geralt up and away from his day’s worries. By now in a relationship, he would usually be scrambling for a way to distance himself, but he found he was leaning in.

He only realized he’d been zoning out when Jaskier grabbed his hand and closed it around the cold bottle with an affectionate smile, “Bridal parties are that tiring?”

“Fucking exhausting,” Geralt sighed before taking a long pull from his beer, “and it was a big one.”

Jaskier pecked his cheek, “Good thing you’re all mine now.”

“Oh? What do you have planned?”

“Planned? Have you met me?”

Geralt smirked and shook his head, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and settling his chin on his shoulder while he dug around in a kitchen drawer, “Hmmm”

-

Hours and two frozen pizzas later, they were entangled on Jaskier’s couch making comments on Wipeout that were more delirious giggles than actual opinions. 

Jaskier lifted his head from where it was lying against Geralt’s chest, “Feeling better?”

Blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes, Geralt croaked out a small, “Yep. You and shitty pizza did the trick.”

The fog of impending sleep left his body immediately as he stared wide eyed down at Jaskier. For a moment he expected to be chewed out, maybe to have Jaskier scramble out of his arms to sit at the other end of the couch, but his boyfriend just raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. 

“I mean- fuck- the- good shitty. Not fancy,” Jaskier wrinkled his nose and Geralt couldn’t tell if it was affection or annoyance, “Just a.. Uh… lazy night in. With you. And not shitty pizza. Nice… nice pizza.”

It didn’t feel satisfactory but it was all Geralt could manage as an explanation.

“Nice pizza? Like a dog?” Jaskier licked his lips and Geralt didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous before in his life.

“N-no?”

Jaskier’s mouth twitched in what could have been anger for one terrifying moment before he burst out laughing, burying his face in Geralt’s chest as he shook with giggles, “You’re so fucking cute.”

“I’m glad you think so…?” Geralt let out a hesitant laugh as Jaskier shimmied up his torso so they were eye to eye. 

“I’m not insulted by your take on Great Value frozen Pepperoni Delight. If anything it’s quite endearing,” Jaskier assured him, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

Relief flooded Geralt as he kissed Jaskier back, “Mmm… Thank fuck.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Bones 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness, unwanted touches

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: We got another part and I hope you love biker!Thor as much as I do. It’s lots of fun.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: Better butter your cue finger up

The bottle of wine sat on your counter and you hid away the vodka in your freezer as you resisted the temptation of both. The library made hangovers even worse with its bright lights and tedious nothingness. So you tried to ignore the tapping at your shoulder, the persistent tug of your paranoia, and pretended that nothing had changed. In Birch, nothing did change, right?

The click of your mouse and the loud tapping of keys filled the silence of the library. Colin snored with eyes wide open. It was hard to tell when the old man was awake or sleeping. You weren’t sure there was a line left between the two for him. He spent most of his working hours in the back on the other side of the windowed wall although what exactly he did there remained a mystery.

There wasn’t very much to do there outside the occasional school visits in which students walked down to complete some research project or the teacher’s held a crafting circle. You liked those days as often you could join in and help wrangle in the pupils as they explored the sterile shelves.

Melissa stood and her chair rolled back with a grumble. She stretched and bent to grab her purse from under the desk.

“I’m going down to Bab’s. You want anything?”

“Hmm,” you tapped your chin as you leaned back. “I wouldn’t mind a latte. Oh, and I think they have the banana loaf today. A slice of that too.”

You peeked under the desk and sat forward to grab your bag from the cubby beside your PC tower. “Nope,” Mel stopped you, “it’s on me today. I need a breath of fresh air anyway. Even if it is cold as hell.”

“Oh, thanks, Mel,” you smiled and grabbed a pen to click in your monotony. “We should dig out the Christmas decorations soon. It might actually give us something to do.”

“Maybe for an hour or two,” she pulled her jacket from the rack that stood against the wall between the front counter and the back room, “We could try something new this year. I saw these lights online, you can program them with your phone.”

“You think Colin could handle that?”

“Like he would even notice.” She laughed and pulled on her coat and grabbed her purse. “Latte, banana bread.” She recited. “I’ll be back.”

You watched her go then stretched your legs out as you arched in the chair. You fell back limp and closed your eyes. You could fall asleep right there. You really couldn’t blame Colin for his waking trance. This place made your ears buzz and your head spin.

You heard the whoosh of the automatic doors and sat up. You were surprised at your visitor but not disappointed. Melissa’s daughter approached the desk as she swung her bag in her hand. You could tell by the little wrinkle between her eyebrows that she wasn’t happy.

“Your mom’s just gone to Bab’s,” you rolled closer to the desk. “You must’ve seen her.”

“I saw her.” She said tersely. She stilled her fidgeting and planted her dangling purse on the desk. She sighed and crossed her arms. “I’m here to talk to you.”

“Is something the matter?”

You were nervous. You knew her as well as her mother and you got along. You shared an interest in old Hollywood and a taste for dry history and humour. You liked her, envied her even for having a mother like Melissa.

“I hate doing this. I hate when he makes me do this.” She dropped her arms and instead gripped her hips. “You want to come down to the Asp tonight? For a drink?”

You chuckled and clicked the pen. “It’s Wednesday. I have to open tomorrow and--”

“Hrgh,” she huffed. “I’m sorry but it’s… not a question.”

You put the pen down and clamped your lips together. She shook her head and looked away.

“It’s an order. From Bucky.” She tapped her toe on the carpet. “I tried to tell him that you wouldn’t want to come so late. That you know, you work. He just doesn’t listen and--” She heaved and threw up her hands in exasperation, “I tried.”

“But… me? I don’t even know any of those… people. It’s not really my scene.” You swallowed and dug your nail into your thumb. 

“I’ll be there. Same with Steve’s girl from the bakery. She’s nice. And…” her eyes were dull but irritated, “look, if you don’t show up, Bucky will go and find you. Everyone in town reports to him. You don’t have to be in his club, he owns Birch.” She grabbed the thin strap of her small purse and drew it from the desk, “you don’t want to learn that the hard way like I did.”

You knew it wasn’t Bucky who wanted you there, you suspected that big blond brute who had chased you down the street. Her anxiety fed yours and made you uneasy. If she were that afraid, how scared should you be?

“I think you know my answer considering I’ve been given little choice.” You said firmly. “What time?”

“Seven. I got him to budge on at least that. You won’t be out too late.” She gave a weak smile and twisted the strap of her bag. “Stay close to me and I’ll do what I can. You know, with Steve’s girl, I really tried…” She looked away and rolled her as they turned glossy. “Sometimes, Bucky listens to me and I’m figuring out how to make him.”

“Why are you with him?” You whispered. “Why--”

“You think it’s a choice I made.” She blinked and sniffed. “No, it was made for me when I was born in this god forsaken pit.” She thrust her purse over her shoulder and shrugged. “I don’t know why anyone would make up their mind to come here.”

“I can’t say I’m happy with the decision.” You returned.

She sent you a pitying look before she spun away. She marched back to the doors as her mother nearly collided with her. They spoke for a few minutes before the younger left and Melissa came over to plop her goodies on the desk.

“New latte flavour, candy cane. I figured we might get a bit festive.” She announced.

💀

You stood outside the Asp and stared up at the snow-covered marquee. The powder began to fall just after noon and collected along the small ledge below the image of Cleopatra.  You wore a bright pink toque with an oversized pom-pom and tucked your chin down against the matching scarf tucked down the front of your cherry-coloured coat. You stuck out among the grey of Birch.

You didn’t put much effort into getting ready. You kept on the same polka-dot blouse from work and traded your trousers for faded jeans and a pair of knee-high boots. You took a breath and stepped through the doors, barely avoided the rush of snow that fell down behind you.

The bar smelled of beer and a stale but pungent dinginess. You looked around in the low din. The bartender, a woman named Lucy, dried several glasses and stacked them on a shelf and every man in the place wore leather. 

You found Melissa’s daughter next to Bucky as he squinted at his closest accomplice, Steve. The shy girl from the bakery was tucked under his arm as she picked at the hem of her short skirt. You cleared your throat as you pondered leaving.

A figure on Bucky’s other side stood and you frowned as that man, Thor, smiled at you like a puppy. You fixed your mouth into a straight line as Bucky’s girl rose and waved you over.

“Hey, you made it,” she said. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh.

“Yeah,” you said flatly as you rounded the table.

“Kitten,” Thor greeted as he pulled out the chair next to him in a flourish. “I’ve a seat just for you.”

You looked from the chair to his face. You made no move to sit.

“If that’s not to your tastes, you can sit in my lap.” He taunted.

Your lips parted in disgust and you grabbed the back of the chair. You wrenched it away from him and backed up steadily as you dragged it around the table. You stopped it next to Steve’s girl and unzipped your jacket. You sat and shrugged out of the coat then crossed your arms. You tore your eyes from the large man and smiled at the baker girl.

“The banana loaf was good,” you said. “Sorry I didn’t make it down.”

“Oh, it’s ugly out there,” she turned in Steve’s hold and his arm slipped down around her waist. 

You could feel Thor’s constant gaze as you humoured the girl about the weather and listened to her story about how Mrs. Deeton sent back a blueberry scone for not having any blackberries. You did your best to blot out the rest of the bar.

“Kitten, you want a drink?” He interrupted and you peered over at him. You glanced from him to Lucy as she stood and awaited an order.

“Do you have ginger ale?” You asked her directly.

“We have club soda or iced tea right now.” She said with venom.

“Iced tea, thank you.” You fished through your purse for a fiver.

“Put it on my tab,” Thor insisted.

“No, it’s fine, I--”

You held out the bill and he reached across to snatch it from your hand. “On my tab.” He repeated and the barmaid stomped away. He tossed the five back to you and smirked. “Keep it, kitten.”

You swiped it up and turned back to Steve’s girl. She looked frightened as she stared at the blonde man and slowly returned her attention to you.

“Um, so, I was going to tell you the secret ingredient to Bab’s banana bread but you have to promise not to tell.”

“Sure,” you leaned in and she whispered it in your ear and giggled. 

“I’m not supposed to tell.” She uttered as she touched her cheeks guiltily.

“I’ve been telling her she don’t need to worry about rules,” Steve intoned as his fingers danced on her hip.

“My mother made the best banana cream pie,” Thor interrupted. “She handed the recipe down to me. My sister was never much into sweets.”

“Oh?” Steve’s girl turned to Thor. “We don’t serve that at Bab’s but we have lemon meringue.”

“Mother made that too. She showed me the trick to perfect peaks. I could show you.”

Steve growled and pulled his girl closer. She looked at him as he sent a heated glare at Thor. She touched his chest and cooed at him to relax. Lucy returned with your iced tea and you took it eagerly as the tension burned at your face.

“So, kitten,” Thor scooted his chair around the table as you set your glass down, “what trouble did you get into today?”

“I work at a library.” You uttered dryly.

“And did you enjoy your wine last night? I always heard it’s better with company.”

You jutted out your jaw in annoyance and looked at him. He was painfully persistent.

“Excuse me.” You stood and nearly gave him a face full of your chest. You looked to Bucky’s girl as she listened to his incessant grumbles. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Just down there,” she pointed along the far side of the bar.

“I could show you,” Thor offered and you waved him off.

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“Yes, you are,” he purred and you backed up as his eyes grazed your hips.

You were all too eager to hide in the bathroom and closed yourself in a stall as you tried not to scream. You had dealt with perverts before. Often you were the butt of some joke. The wingman settled for the chubby girl so his pal could get laid. Those types thought you were desperate and had no qualms with getting handsy on the dance floor. But college was long ago and Birch wasn’t known for its nightlife.

After a moment, you were able to steady yourself and you left the stall. You stood by the grungy sink and stared at the mirror. Why you? Why was this idiot bugging you?

You went back out with reluctant steps. You passed a drunk man at the bar talking about some feat of machismo in his foregone youth. As you neared the table, you froze in the spot as you listened.

“...she’s fat anyway.” Steve snarled and laughed meanly.

His chortle was curtailed as a chair scraped on the floor and the baker girl cried out. Thor forced Steve to his feet but the front of his tee shirt. He pulled him past his girl and brought him close as he growled down at him through flaring nostrils.

“I like you, Rogers, but your mouth makes it real hard.” Thor sneered.

“What the fuck?” Steve struggled against him, “let me go.”

“I’m not sitting here shit-talking your woman, eh. You might have little respect for them, but I do.”

“Jesus Christ!” Steve was on tip-toes as he was held up by the other man.

“Apologize.” Thor demanded.

“Wha--”

“Dammit, Steve, say sorry.” Bucky snapped.

“S-sorry, dude.” Steve stuttered.

“Not to me,” Thor turned and to your surprise, he thrust Steve around to face you. “To her.”

You stared in shock as Steve straightened his shirt. He was like a petulant child as he looked you in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“For…” Thor prodded.

“I’m sorry I called you fat.” Steve looked away.

“I…” you didn’t know what to do or say as you glanced past him to the other girls. “Well, I am so it’s fine.”

Thor shoved Steve back and his thick brows drew together. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “I like a little extra.”

“Hey,” Bucky’s girl interrupted as she stood suddenly, “the table’s free. How about I get Wanda and we can play some doubles, just us girls.” She touched Bucky’s shoulders, “leave the men to their business.”

Thor’s shoulders fell and he shook his head. He grinned at you even as his disappointment shone through.

“Sure,” you answered as you stepped around him. “Sounds fun.”

💀

You focused on the felt. It didn’t help block out the blazing heat of Thor’s leer. You refused to look over at him and instead pretended to be enthralled with the game of solids and stripes. 

When you were a kid, you went to the youth centre and played with the rest of the kids desperate for a distraction. In uni, you enjoyed your plastic cups of cheap sambuca and coke at the campus bar and chalked up the cues. You were no expert but you could hit a good shot now and again. Your mother used to recount tales of her hustler father. Maybe it was his blood that kept your hand steady.

The other girls played as a pair as you handed off to Wanda. She wore the cut of the Birch’s club and her dark lipstick was the same shade as the leather. You saw her now and again with the men. She smoked her cigarettes out front and watched the town with indifference.

Wanda took her shot and clicked her tongue as she scratched. You shook your head as Steve’s girl scrunched her nose at the table. You were even; three stripes and three solids. She went around the far corner and awkwardly positioned herself over the side. She reached back to tug down her short skirt, she was clearly uncomfortable in the revealing outfit.

She sunk her mark but her next stopped short of the pocket. She shook her head and apologized to Steve’s girl who assured her with a pat on the shoulder. You took the cue from Wanda and walked around the table. You walked back and wondered if you could sink two in one. It was a possible angle but could you hit it?

You tilted your head and sighed. You bent and brought your foot back as you squinted and carefully positioned the cue. You couldn’t decide whether you should try to spin it to the right or hit it straight on. You knew the power you needed but you couldn’t afford to hit a stripe.

You almost tapped the cue ball as you felt a warmth over you and suddenly a hard torso was against your back. You went rigid as Thor bent over you and put his hands over your as he adjusted your aim. His hot breath wrapped around your neck.

“Almost, kitten,” he pushed his crotch against your ass.

You pulled the cue back so that it hit his ribs and he grunted as his hands fell to the edge of the table. You took the shot and pushed out of his grasp. His hand dragged over your ass as he stood straight and touched his side with a wince. 

“I got it.” You said as both balls rolled and dropped into opposite pockets.

He chuckled and bit his lip. It was almost a snarl as he watched you across the table and you sensed the bated breaths of the other women.

“I like a woman with a firm grip,” he winked, “And confidence.”

You looked back to the table as he loomed on the other side. You sunk the last solid and lined up for the eight ball. A straight, easy shot that even the most amateur could get. You ended the game and Wanda clapped as the other girls grumbled their congratulations.

“Best out of three?” Steve’s girl asked.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but I have to work early.” You leaned the cue on the table. “I showed up and now I’m done. It was fun, girls, but I’m gonna turn in.”

You smiled at each of them and your face fell as you passed them and went to grab your coat from the chair where it still hung. Thor was less than subtle as he followed you to the table and watched you zip up your coat over your chest. You slung your purse over your arm and pulled your hat on as you braced for the chill that awaited you.

“You shouldn’t walk alone.” Thor intoned.

“It’s a small town. I’m fine.” You spun away and again, he followed.

At the door, you turned back and crossed your arms. “Look, I can handle myself, buddy. Now leave me alone.”

“I’m just being nice.”

“You’re being a pest.”

“You love it.”

You huffed and closed your eyes to keep them from rolling back into your skull. You looked at him again and bit down on your words. “Do you ever give up?”

“On you, never.” He grinned.

“Well, be a good dog and stay.” You jabbed your finger in the air. “Stay!” You repeated as if he was a hyper dog. “Good.”

You quickly slipped through the door and booked it across the street. The door didn’t hit the frame but was instead caught as his boots scuffed out behind you. You peered back as you reached the other side and kept up your steady jog. He watched you but did not give chase.

“I’ll sniff you out one day, kitten,” he called out. “Pussy, pussy, pussy.”

[bruhstories]

Personal Demon

Summary: Because of a mistake, you're assigned a devil instead of an angel. Pairing: Demon!Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader Warnings & Conent: oh boy, here we go - language, mentions of suicide, mentions of self harm, mentions of rape, fingering, unprotexted sex, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of reader in an asylum, sliiiiight dumbification of reader, slight corruption of reader, Eren's a little shit Word Count: 3.9 k

A/N: So I wrote this in, like, 3-4 days because I felt like it's pretty bad but not bad enough not to post it. I hope you still enjoy it, though!

You always felt it — breathing in your nape, moving in the corner of your room at night, whispering things you shouldn't dare think about. Your own personal demon. Most of the time you did a good job at ignoring it. Most of the time you abused substances to make it go away, at least for a minute. With the puff of weed or a bottle of alcohol, it stayed away, only watching from afar and never involving itself with you. Most of the time.

Keys clung in your hands, door shutting behind as you walked into your apartment, fingers wrapped around your grocery bags. Yet another night of drinking the voice away.

"Not today, Satan." You hummed, popping open a bottle of gin, nose scrunching at the bitter taste.

"I keep telling you, the easiest way to get rid of me would be to kill yourself." It spoke, this time outside of your head.

"And I keep telling you to stay the fuck away from me." You growled back.

"We both know that's not possible."

Another sip and you put the bottle down, hands digging inside the bag for a snack.

"You're gonna need something stronger than that."

There it was, the bar of chocolate you so eagerly starved for. The TV suddenly turned on. It was craving entertainment.

"Anything unusual happened today?"

No, it was craving attention and you were not about to give it any. You put the groceries inside the fridge and grabbed the bottle, plopping on the couch.

"How long are you going to pretend I'm not here?"

"As long as I need." You snapped back, eyes glued to the TV.

"Well, that didn't last long." It laughed. "Come on, Y/N, we've been together for, what, 24 years?"

"Can you just shut up? Disappear? Crawl back to Hell?"

"Nope. Waaaaait, I know why you've got your panties in a twist. It's because that Jean guy you like hooked up with Mikasa, right?"

It was impossible to deal with. Every single second, it was there. Since you've been born, it was there, always watching, always following you, always. You tried to go to a priest, a monk, anything, but nothing helped. The angel that was supposed to guide you happened to be a demon and there was nothing you could do about it. But you were not going to give it the satisfaction of ending your pathetic life, no matter how much you wanted to, because despite being a demon, it still had to keep you alive until your time came. It, however, did like to push you over the edge, push you until you grabbed a knife and slit your wrists, only for the knife to get shoved by some invisible force before you could finish the job. It tormented you and it loved it.

"I told you, not today, Satan."

"Ugh, my name's-"

"I don't care." Your head snapped into the direction of the voice, only to be met with a wall. "Let's face it, we shouldn't have been in this situation, so why don't you shut your mouth up and let me get on with my life?"

"What life?" It laughed and you could already picture the sneer on its face, flashing you fangs and a forked tongue. "That's not even what I look like."

"Get out of my head!" You screamed before grabbing the bottle and emptying half of its contents.

"Careful, Y/N, the neighbours might call the police and you don't want to end up like last time, do you?"

Last time... you were but a child, throwing plates at the wall only to make it stop talking when your parents admitted you to an asylum. You had to live with it for half a year before they let you out.

"Please, please stay out of my head." Tears pooled at your eyes as you clutched the bottle at your chest.

"Now why would I stay out when it's just so much fun in you?"

"God, I hate you so much!"

"Me or beardy up there? I couldn't quite get it." It laughed again, laughing at your damn misery as you got up from the couch and left the apartment.

The alcohol already made its way to your brain when you reached the ground floor of the building. Rain poured outside but you didn't care, you just ran as far away from it as possible and for the first time in years, it didn't follow you. Grateful and content, you slowed down, admiring the beauty of the city which you ignored because of the voice inside of your head. The smell of rain, the colourful buildings, the empty streets, everything felt new and refreshing, and you took it all in. Time seemed to slow down without itconstantly nagging in the back of your mind and you realised you were pretty far away from your home, an area unknown to you. Still, you knew how to get back, you hoped, but when you turned around, a man pushed you into an alleyway.

"Satan?" You whispered, dizzy from the lingering gin and smell of rain. The man pinned you to a wall and finally you were beginning to realise what was happening.

"Call me whatever you want, baby, just keep that pretty voice down." His hand moved up your thigh and panic seeped through your veins. "We don't want to draw any attention, now, do we?" He kissed your neck and you froze on the spot, eyes widening in fear and body shivering.

"L-let go of me!" You managed, the alcohol numbing your arms, rendering you unable to push the stranger away.

"Shhh, don't fight it." The man squeezed your arms, his fingers bruising the soft skin. Anger, sadness and pain coiled together in your chest and you couldn't breathe anymore. Oh, how you wished you never left your flat, how you wished you stayed back and listened to itconstantly yapping, like a maggot crawling into your brain. "Aren't you a pretty one?" He cooed, his hand travelling lower, lower, to the point where tears started rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the snot and rain on your face.

And then it happened — in the blink of an eye, your assailant was thrown against the other wall by the too familiar invisible force as you sank to the ground, eyes puffy and red, legs trembling.

"The fuck? What are you?" The man hissed at you, his hands holding his abdomen.

"I'm the devil." It spoke, voice inhuman and perilous, and you could only sneer at him. For the first time you were happy it was there. Sick, twisted thoughts invaded your mind and you wanted to watch him suffer, and itknew. It knew, because the devil was always in your head.

"You crazy bitch!" The assailant, now helpless and overpowered, did not know about your own personal demon, and he tried to get up, tried to leap forward at you and strangle the last bit of air out of your lungs, but he couldn't. Somethingwas holding him back.

"You want him dead?" It asked, but you know the devil took more pleasure in inflicting pain rather than swiftly killing.

"No." You grinned, eyes dark and dangerous. "I want him to suffer."

"That's my girl."

Blood-curling screams echoed in the alleyway. You didn't know what it was doing to him, but you knew for a fact that you were enjoying the sounds that came out of your attacker. His wrists contorted in a way you didn't think was possible, and the melody of broken bones reminded you that what was happening was wrong. For a moment, your brain was rational, telling you that it should stop, that you should both just leave and forget this ever happened. But... it also felt good, it felt like you've just been reborn, discovering a deeply buried part of you that ached to be exposed. Then, his legs twisted and the man winced in pain, so much pain, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

"More?" It asked and you nodded.

"More."

His arms looped, like a deformed puppet loosely strung, and it made him dance in the rain until his body gave up from fatigue.

"Aw, I was really hoping he'd be a feisty one." It mused, and you also clicked your tongue in disappointment. Before you left, you gave your assailant a good kick in the stomach, your boot stomping on his face with so much anger and force that what remained was unrecognisable.

Wet clothes piled on the floor, you wrapped your naked body in a blanket to warm yourself up. What just happened? What did you do? Why did you allow it to happen and more importantly, why did you love every minute of it? The questions jogged in your fuzzy brain, as you slowly sobered up.

"Why did I enjoy it, Satan?" You asked, lips quivering.

"I told you, my name's not Satan, it's-"

"Eren, I know. I remember." You could feel it quirk a brow, surprised and impressed by its name rolling down your tongue so naturally. "Why did I enjoy it? It's wrong and disgusting."

"Do you remember what happens when you say my name?" It sounded almost concerned.

"You physically manifest, I know. Now answer my fuckingquestion."

"What do you want me to say?" Itasked, fragments of muscle, skin and silk pulling together from thin air. First, its legs. Then, its upper body, draped in a charcoal-black robe. "That you're as sadistic as I am? Maybe it wasn't a mistake that you have a demon, not an angel." And finally, its face materialised in front of you — long dark brown hair falling down his shoulders and eyes so green, it felt like a forest was in them. It looked almost human, the hooked nose, the elongated ears, the deeply sunken emeralds and jagged mouth betraying its true nature.

"I thought you'd have fangs." Was your only response at the scene unfolding in front of you, blanket clutched at your chest. Any normal person would shudder at the demonic sight of Eren appearing in front of them, but to you, it felt comforting to finally assign a face to the voice you so desperately tried to ignore.

"And I thought you wanted to get rid of me." It scoffed, its facial features changing, becoming softer and resembling a human man, but those eyes didn't change an ounce.

"I don't know what I want anymore. If it weren't for you, I would've been raped and dead, probably."

"Just embrace it, Y/N. Just let go of that annoying voice in your head that tells you it's wrong." He encouraged. "There's no such thing as good or bad, right or wrong. It's just surviving, adapting or dying."

Eren looked unbelievably human and incredibly handsome in the dim light of your living room lamp. Maybe it was the alcohol that hasn't left your body yet, or maybe it was the fact that he saved you, again, but the truth was that the devil in your house was making you feel something you couldn't even feel for Jean — and you thought you were in love with Jean.

"Alright, let's pretend for a moment that I give into temptation." Your eyes found his and you felt hypnotised, the rational part of your brain slowly overshadowed by your instincts and feelings. "What then? Do you leave me alone? Do you go back to hell? Do Igo to hell?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call it hell. More like a demonic paradise." He shrugged, eyes bored and blank, devout of any emotion. You leaned forward trying to search for something in his darkened orbs.

"Why are you being nice to me? You're supposed to save me from death, not rape."

He clicked his tongue, your question drilling into his brain, repeating itself over and over again. Why did he save you? It's not like he cared, he only did his job, right? Right?

Wrong.

The demon you grew up with, the demon who tormented you, the demon who tried so desperately to ruin your life did, in fact, give two shits about you and your pathetic existence. Just not in the way you thought.

"Let's just say no one gets to touch you but me." Eren closed the gap between you two, his nose almost grazing over yours. He was absolutely intoxicating and you always fought with the constant need to let him control you. After all, he was always with you, he saw you hit your lowest points, he saw the best of you, he saw your naked body, he saw everything, ergo you were his. Your head quickly turned to the side before you leaned back, exhaustion written all over your face as Eren clicked his tongue. The thing about demons was that they couldn't physically interfere without their human's consent, only using invisible force to stop you from dying and he was just so close.

"Ah, but you can't touch me, though." You trailed off, brow quirked at his narrowed eyes. You've done your homework, you knew what he needed, but still, that side of you tried to prevail over the side that craved his touch.

"Yet." Eren snapped back before your drifted to sleep.

Once again you dreamt of it him, his cock buried deep inside your needy cunt as you screamed his name over and over again while you came undone. When you jolted up from your sleep, he was there, watching you, like a predator stalking its prey. Normally he wouldn't be there, but since you called his name, Eren was glaring down at your helpless body, famished for something only you could give him.

"What's the time?" You groaned, fingers rubbing your eyelids.

"Three in the morning." He answered, eyes glued to you. "Bad dream?" The demon sneered. You knew he'd been in your head again, you knew those dreams existed for a reason.

"They wouldn't be bad if you'd just stay the fuck out of my mind." You hummed with a fake smile.

"Alright then, look me in the eye and tell me, reallytell me you want me to leave you alone." But you couldn't and he knew it. "Stop fighting it, Y/N. For two decades you kept trying. Maybe you should stop being stubborn and just give in." Eren shrugged, his voice tempting and you only wondered if that's how Eve felt when the snake tempted her. You weren't a Christian by any means, but you knew the story well enough to figure out the consequences.

"I have work tomorrow. Please let me sleep." You got up from the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

And that's when Eren reached his limits. He followed you into your bedroom, something knocking the wind out of you as you fell on the mattress. Somethingpulling the blanket off of you. Somethingtravelling down your arms, goosebumps dotting your skin as he stood in the doorway.

"I can't touch you, but I can do so many things to you." He inched closer, his figure imposing and dangerous and you could feel your core burning. "I can smell your arousal, Y/N. I know you want it. You just have to say it." Eren demanded and you hated that he was right. Slowly but surely, the battle in your heart and mind was coming to an end the more he got closer to the bed. "Say it."

You whined and writhed in pain and pleasure, and in the blink of an eye your life flashed before your eyes as you came to the conclusion that you've tried so hard to stay away from the demon, but either he was too persistent, or you were too weak. Or you just simply wanted him to ravage you and you were okay with that. Your hands stopped moving, your body stopped fighting.

"Do it..." You half-begged, judgement clouded, vision blurry. "Please, do it! Touch me, break me, fuck me, please! I need you, need to feel you..."

Like some sort of spell had just been lifted, Eren felt relieved. The sight of your sprawled body, combined with the lustful look in your lidded eyes only fed his hunger and he was famished. Calloused fingertips grazed over your knees, up your thighs, sending chills down your spine as you arched your back, pulling the demon closer to your face.

"Kiss me?" You asked, voice sweet and needy and he crushed his lips onto yours. They were surprisingly soft, tasting of whiskey and honey and the flavour lingered on your lips after he pulled away. Your body quivered under his touch, yearning for more, hands tugging at his silken robe to expose the chiselled chest. Eren pressed his forehead onto yours, hot breath tickling your cheeks.

"I'm going to ruin you, Y/N." He dug his teeth into your shoulder, the imprint burning into your skin, all the pent-up frustration slowly being released with each movement. He dragged one hand over your breasts before settling on one nipple, fingers pinching it to earn a reaction out of you. A whimper escaped from your lips as you pushed your chest upwards, wanting him closer than the laws of physics would allow. Your slender hands tangled in his locks as Eren left a trail of purple marks and bites all over your neck and shoulder.

"Fill me up, please..."

"Patience." He mused. "I've waited so many years for this, you can wait a few more minutes." Head buried between your tits, his hand travelled lower until it found your wet cunt. Fingers grazed over your folds before he drove his index into your soaked pussy and that's when you knew just how much you craved him. Your silken walls clenched around his curled-up finger and your neediness made him add another one, moans drilling through his eardrums, into his brain. "Fuck, you're so wet..." Eren hummed, vibrations tickling your skin. You couldn't form a coherent sentence even if your life counted on it. All you could think about was that if his fingers stretched you, his cock would tear your cunt apart — and you reallywanted to feel that. Fingernails dug into his back and he hissed, his tongue flicking your nipple and all the build-up was too much for you.

"Eren, please..." You mewled, your chest rising and falling with each breath, with each touch, each lick.

"You want me to fuck you? Want me to tear you apart?" The demon growled. His sudden change in tone only further added fuel to the fire inside your core and you eagerly nodded.

"Yes, God — yes! But Eren, I want to see you, not this pretty face you put on." You pleaded, eyes teary and demanding.

"No." He simply answered and that instantly made you jolt up, forcefully pushing him off of you.

"Are you trying to screw with my mind again? You've literally been with me for 24 years!" You shouted, and even Eren was slightly confused. "You tormented me for two decades, put me in an asylum, constantly stopped me from killing myself and now I can't even see the real you?" You threw your hands at him and he caught your wrists with ease. "You owe me at least that, Satan." Tears freely rolled down your face and you could feel his hot tongue lick the salty drops from your cheek. Your pain was his pleasure, he was a demon after all, the embodiment of all evil, but he decided you were corruptedenough to at least see his true colours, which you only managed to glance at.

"You're right, Y/N," Eren kissed your forehead and you couldn't even notice the manipulative hints in his voice, "you deserve at least this." He pulled back, and slowly his face distorted, allowing you to look at his disfigured mouth, elongated ears and abnormally long tongue.

"Thank you, thank you!" You beamed with bright eyes.

The woman who battled her demon? Gone.

In her place stood only a shell of a person, whose sole purpose was to get fucked by the demon in front of her. You feverishly parted his lips with your tongue, touch-starved and desperate, and Eren threw you onto the bed, robe pooled on the floor. And you were right, his cock wouldtear you apart by the looks of it. Before he could do anything, you spread your legs for him, like a good little slut, mouth agape and nothing but lust in your eyes. The sneer on his face was unlike anything you've seen before, and it both terrified and aroused you.

"Eager to please, aren't you?" He climbed onto the bed, the velvety tip of his cock barely touching your wet slit.

"I'm begging you, Eren, please fuck me!"

The demon scoffed at your pathetic words, but he couldn't deny how much he loved to hear your needy voice. You wouldn't have to know that, of course. He ever so slowly pushed the tip in between your folds, your cunt greedily taking it all in while you whimpered at the foreign sensation.

"Shhh," Eren cooed at you mockingly, "you love it, don't you?"

"Y-yes, please, d-deeper..."

Was it really you speaking or was this another one of his demonic tricks? And more importantly, did it even matter that he made you say those things when his cock felt just so good inside of you? Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you as Eren thrusts became harder. Your tits bounced with every move, pleasure engulfing both of you and you never knew demons fucked so raw.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He hissed into your ear, the compliment only making you clench your walls around his impossibly hard cock. "Such a good girl." Eren praised you, knowing perfectly well how much you lacked appreciation from your parents, knowing perfectly well how your childhood traumas and frustration only aided him. He was your demon, after all. When your only response was to roll your eyes at the back of your head like a possessed woman, Eren picked up the pace, his abnormal tongue licking at your collarbone.

"D-do you l-like it?" You asked, concerned that he might not be satisfied with you. He wouldn't be fucking you so hard if he didn't, but you were so brainwashed that nothing made sense anymore.

"I do, doll, now be a good whore and rub that clit, will you?" The demon urged and with a shaky hand you complied, the friction mixed with his thrusts sending you into a frenzy. You were close and he knew it.

"Oh, f-fuck! Eren!"

His cock hit that sweet spot and you were done for, your legs loosened around his waist, falling onto the bed, but he kept on fucking you.

"My turn." Eren growled, his hands lifting your hips like you were some sort of ragdoll between his fingers. Your vision blurred, every word you tried to utter lost in your throat the more he buried himself into you, yet somehow you still managed to clench your walls. With one final thrust you felt him spill his hot seed, cum dripping out of your sore cunt as he pulled out.

Eren plopped next to you and you curled up in a ball, head on his chest. You were craving his attention, his care, but he responded by bringing his hands behind his head, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. He wanted to hold you tightly, he wanted to pet your head, but he couldn’t. And you were alright with that, because you knew that, no matter what, you would always have your own personal demon at your side.

[fic-for-fic-sake]

A Happy Accident

A/N: The other day I found out that Chris Evans may possibly have a sex dungeon? I don’t write real people fics but I knew I HAD to write a Steve Rogers fic about this because I mean...c’mon. Also the text conversation in the fic is indeed a real conversation between my friend and I. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, dom/sub, flogging, being tied up, penetrative sex, honorifics, praise kink

Word Count: 5.4k

You knew there was trouble before you even reached the meeting room, it was like a palpable tension you could sense coming from the conference room. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever was to come as you walked in and took your usual spot next to Natasha. 

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” You questioned her, murmuring under your breath since nobody seemed keen to speak above a whisper for the time being. 

“Some kind of security breach, we don’t know how bad yet, we have to wait for Stark.” She explained, speaking in clipped tones. She seemed nervous, which was understandable given the circumstances. A security breach could mean a number of things, none of them good. Anything from weapons tech to secret identities could’ve been revealed in the breach. 

The tension seemed to come to a head when Tony and Steve walked into the room. Everyone erupted into a flurry of activity, peppering the two men with so many questions it was hard to make out what came from who. 

“What was taken?” Someone asked. 

“Was it anything serious?” Someone else wondered. 

“Do we need to scrap the new suit designs?” You asked, adding your voice to the babble. 

“Okay everyone settle down and give Tony some room to think.” Steve urged all of you, forming a one man barrier around Stark. Which you had to admit was rather effective. Once everyone reseated themselves and Steve gave Tony a nod, Tony cleared his throat. 

“By now you all have obviously heard that there’s been a security breach. We don’t know who is behind the breach but so far all that was leaked was text conversations of the following Avengers; Wanda, Sam, Bucky, and Y/N.” 

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You were a target in the security breach. But why? Why you specifically and why just your text conversations? It seemed rather harmless considering everything else they could’ve taken. 

“Luckily Wanda doesn’t really text anyone because everyone she knows is here. As far as Sam, Bucky, and Y/N are concerned they only leaked conversations from your work phones, meaning your personal phone security isn’t in question.” Tony reassured you all. Well, it reassured Sam and Bucky at least. 

“Um, what do you mean ‘work phone’?” You asked, looking around with a puzzled expression on your face. 

“You do have a burner phone for personal use, right?” Nat asked from beside you. Now your heart was located somewhere in your feet. 

“I didn’t know I needed one.” You whispered, barely contained horror edging its way into your voice. 

“Well, I mean what’s the worst that could be there?” Sam asked, trying to reassure you. Luckily, or unluckily enough, you didn’t have to answer that question because within the coming days they would all find out. 

After the meeting you tried to go about your normal routine and ignore the security breach as best as you could. That got considerably harder the following morning, when the hacker released your private conversations with your friends for all the world to see. They went something like this: 

Sarah: Do you think Steve Rogers is good in bed? 

You: Obviously, dumb question. 

Sarah: Do you think he’s kinky though? 

You: Oh 100%, no way he doesn’t have a secret sex dungeon or something. 

Sarah: Since you’re an Avenger now you should try to find out. 

You: HAHAHAHAHA that’s hilarious and something I’ll never do, in reality. But in theory PUT ME IN COACH! I bet he would probably make me sign an NDA and I would totally be down for that. 

Sarah: I’ll sign a DNR

You: HAA, I would sign the NDA but also have to tell you what’s happening and then I would make you sign an NDA. 

Sarah: Then you’re breaking the NDA??

You: Not if you don’t tell anyone goddamn be cool. 

Sarah: It’s the principle of the thing

You: ...I wonder what kind of dom he is

Sarah: Idk if he’s a daddy. He feels like a Sir or Master. I also think he doesn’t have soft limits, only hard limits. 

You: as much as I would like to think he’s a pleasure dom I don’t think that’s true

Sarah: I agree

You: Maybe a brat tamer? 

Sarah: That feels too tame for him. 

You: Okay so then just a no holds bard whipping dom. I would wait all day in his sex dungeon just to lick his boots when he came home. Does that make me depraved? Probably. 

Sarah: Possibly, I also think he’d degrade the shit out of you, like kinda pet play shit. I also think he has a spreader bar collection. Aaaand an overstimulation kink. 

You: Oh agreed, that and edging. I feel like he would edge you for hours and then leave to go on a mission or something and you’re not allowed to touch yourself and then he comes back hours later and you’re just aching for release. And then only after you’re BEGGING he would let you come. 

Sarah: Oof. How much do you wanna bet his dungeon is like a sensory deprivation thing? Think about it, hours upon hours of not having any form of relief, after begging nonstop, no real form of your senses and then BAM normal orgasm but heightened to the absolute max. 

You: YEP! I bet he’s like the king of aftercare though, like 1000/10 so sweet. Like Steve Rogers is legit such a nice human being so I assume aftercare is the same. 

Sarah: AYO SIR LEMME BE YOUR SUB

You: GOD FORREAL!

Needless to say, you did not leave your room that day. The next day you tried to get away with not leaving your room again but Nat was having none of that. 

“Come on Y/N, I promise it’s not that bad, I’ve said much worse.” She assured you as she practically dragged you out of your room and into the elevator. 

You buried your head in your hands and let out a frustrated scream. “He’s a coworker, Nat, and I totally objectified him and basically said all the filthy things I wanted him to do to me.” 

“And I bet he’s real flattered about it! The man needs a good ego boost every now and then.” She replied with a laugh. To which you responded with another frustrated scream and a kick to the elevator doors as they opened. “I bet he didn’t even read it, I doubt anyone on the team did.” She said, sounding certain in her own thinking. She half convinced you until you walked into the training room and every pair of eyes turned to you, including Steve’s baby blues. Fuck. 

“Okay we’re working in a group today people, focusing on enhanced individuals with external powers. Wanda and Y/N against Sam, Bucky, and Steve.” Nat announced, opening the door to the special training facility. So you and Wanda wouldn’t trash too much of Stark’s equipment with your powers. 

“Hey Y/N, you been to any good sex dungeouns recently? I’m looking for one.” Sam quipped as you made your way to the starting point. Before you could even think about what you were doing the smell of ozone was ripe in the air and you sent a bolt of lightning hurtling towards Sam who was barely able to dodge it in time. 

“Sorry...hand slipped.” You mock apologized, making it clear that you would have another ‘hand slip’ if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. He got the point well enough but the damage was already done. The tension was worse now than when you first found out about the breach, everyone trying not to bring up the elephant in the room. 

Nat cleared her throat and started her countdown and then the training began in earnest. After an hour you were all panting and sweating, utterly spent from your session. Steve passed everyone a water bottle and you took it gratefully, chugging the cool liquid in earnest. It was then that another comment was made, this time by Bucky. 

“Thanks for the aftercare daddy.” He mocked as he opened his own water bottle. Once again the smell of ozone was in the air but you didn’t have a chance to meet your target before Steve had Bucky pressed against the wall, his forearm digging into the other man’s throat. 

“That’s enough.” He growled through his teeth. Everyone was silent for a minute and you almost felt sorry for the deer in the headlights look Bucky was now wearing on his face, almost. A shower of frustrated sparks extinguished all the lights in the room as you stormed from the room, embarrassment trailing after you. 

That had been four hours ago and you hadn’t left your room, despite Natasha banging on the other side of your door. You had asked FRIDAY not to open it for anyone unless given your express permission. It seemed even the AI knew what kind of a mess you had landed yourself into, as she was immediately understanding of such a request. You were in the process of ordering a burner phone off of Amazon when there was a knock at your door. 

“Nat, I don’t care how many books you offer to buy me, I’m NOT coming out of this room.” You yelled into the empty space of your room. 

“Noted, but uh, it’s Steve. Can we talk?” You were at the door before he finished his sentence. You opened it no more than a crack, not courageous enough to do more. 

“I don’t wanna talk to you, I’m mortified.” You mumbled, looking down at your feet instead of the imposing figure outside of your door. Steve gently pushed on the door with his hand and you let him open it the rest of the way. He brought gentle fingers to your chin and tilted your head back so you were looking into his eyes. 

“There’s nothing to be mortified about, sweetheart. I just wanna talk.” He replied beseechingly. And maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the way he looked at you, but you relented and let him in, closing the door softly behind you. 

“Listen, I’m really sorry for what I said. I obviously never thought it would see the light of day but that’s not an excuse and doesn’t make it okay. Fuck, Steve I’m so sorry. I can get reassigned if you want, have SHIELD put me somewhere else.” You rattled off apologies and half baked plans before you felt his hands gently clasp your shoulders and once again you were forced to look up into his eyes which had gone saucer wide. 

“Doll what are you talking about? You don’t need to be reassigned, it's not that big of a deal.” He said, in an attempt to comfort you. 

“Not a big deal? I practically accused you of having a sex dungeon and being a mega dom.” You blurted out, mortification making your voice rise half an octave. 

He let out a soft sigh before he sat down on the edge of your bed, “It’s not like you were completely in the wrong.” He replied, and that’s when your brain short circuited. 

“What? You have a sex dungeon?” 

“Well, it’s not a dungeon, it's just my bedroom, but yes I do, partake in those types of things you described.” He explained, his voice as even and calm as if he were discussing the weather. 

“Oh.” Was all you could really bring yourself to say. 

“Oh? That’s all? I have to say you were much more articulate in your texts.” He teased, his voice suddenly becoming deeper and taking on an air of authority that wasn’t there a second ago. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

And again, maybe it was because of his tone or because of the absurdity of the situation you found yourself in but you answered him honestly. “I’m thinking I’m absolutely mortified that my coworker found out how badly I want him to fuck me.” 

“What else?” He prompted. You couldn’t breathe properly, he was taking all the air from the room and the intensity in his gaze pinned you to the spot, like an unsuspecting doe finding itself at the barrel of a gun. 

“I’m wondering how correct my predictions were. What kind of a dom you are.” 

“Would you like to find out?” 

“Yes.” You answered before you could think better of it. The second the word left your mouth your eyes went wide at the confession. Because you did want to find out, God did you want to find out what kind of shit Steve Rogers, the golden boy, was into. 

“Then we have ourselves a deal. You want to find out what I’m into and I want to show you.” 

“Right now?” You asked, breathless. You could feel your core ache at the suggestion, the want plain as day. 

He chuckled before he moved to stand before you. “No pretty girl, not yet.” He whispered, bringing his right hand up to cup your cheek and stroke his thumb across the expanse of your lips. “First we have to talk about a few things.” 

“Like what?” You questioned, completely enraptured by this man, finding yourself willing to submit to whatever he wanted you to. You were terrified by how much the prospect excited you. 

“Like exactly what you want me to do to you. Your texts were very...explicit. But, that may have just been talk. I need to know specifics if this is going to work.” Steve explained, backing you up until you hit your dresser. Without a word he lifted you on top of it and stood between your legs, one of his hands tracing absent minded patterns on your thigh. 

It was hard to think with him in such close proximity but you tried to clear your mind because you really wanted this, your mouth went dry at the thought. “I want...I want to be tied up. And I want to be blindfolded. And whipped.” It felt weird to lay your desires out plain before you like this. It made you feel exposed, but it was also oddly empowering. 

Steve nodded his head at your requests. “You mentioned something to your friend about edging and orgasm denial, is that something you still wanted to try?” 

“Yes, but not, not yet. I’ve never um, I haven’t- I’ve never been kinky with a partner.” You explained to him, feeling an embarrassing heat creeping up your face. 

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, we all start somewhere.” Steve insisted, bringing his hands up to settle on your hips. “Anything else?” After you shook your head he gave you a nod in reassurance. “Okay, I’ll be in touch.” He said as he stepped away from you. 

That was three days ago and you hadn’t heard anything from him on the matter since. You had trained with him, went for a run with him, had the usual team meetings and exchanged the usual pleasantries but nothing out of the ordinary. You had even gone far enough in your wandering mind to think that maybe you imagined the whole interaction. 

On Friday, you were told that Steve had gone away on a mission and by that point the team was done teasing you about the leaked conversation, already having moved on to the next thing. You had made plans to go out with them that night to a community outreach thing in Manhattan. You had just gotten your jeans on when a piece of paper slid across your floor from the door. 

You walked over to it, thinking someone had just dropped their paper, when you saw what was written on the other side of it.

Text an excuse to Stark for the outreach and then come to my room. -SR 

Your heartbeat sped up to a gallop as you read the message through two more times, just to be certain. This was it, it was happening. With shaky fingers you texted Tony a flimsy excuse about draft reports you needed to finish before you put your phone back on your desk and calmly made your way to Steve’s room. 

You went to knock but found the door slightly ajar. Taking that as your cue you stepped into Steve Rogers room. While it wasn’t the first time you had been here, it was certainly a circumstance that you weren’t used to. Everything seemed...different somehow. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from dim overhead lighting. There was a faint scent of jasmine that you assumed came from a candle or incense burner you couldn’t see somewhere. On the bed, the sheets had been changed to something that looked like silk and resting on top was an eye mask and two long chords of rope. Which seemed innocuous enough, current circumstances notwithstanding. 

“Shut the door and lock it please.” A voice commanded from a shadow in the corner of the room. As soon as you locked the door Steve Rogers emerged from the shadows in an all black version of his Captain America suit. You had never seen him in such a suit before and the sight of him in it made your mouth water and your knees buckle. This was really happening. 

“I have to admit, when I read your text conversation I was surprised to say the least. I didn’t know how many dirty thoughts resided in that head of yours but you did not disappoint, did you sweetheart?” He questioned as he made his way over to where you stood, rooted to your spot by the door. He gently pressed against your shoulder and you followed his lead, letting him back you against the door, his strong hands landing on either side of your head, arms caging you in. “And then when we spoke, you were /very/ specific in what you wanted and I am nothing if not obliging, you’ll find.” He whispered into your ear and you couldn’t help the small moan that escaped your mouth at the implication behind his words. 

“Are you ready to be my good girl? Hmm sweetheart?” 

“Yes Steve.” You whispered, your mind not being able to form anything other than those words. 

He made a slight tsking sound. “In here, don’t call me Steve. It’s Captain. Got it?” 

“Yes Captain.” You replied obediently. 

“Good girl, now get undressed for me.” He commanded, stepping back to give you room to complete his task. With nervous fingers you lifted your shirt above your head and undid the clasp on your bra. You watched as Steve’s eyes took in your exposed top half, he licked his lips which made you shiver in turn. Confidence growing by his visible excitement you unbuttoned your jeans and slipped them down your legs along with your panties, until you were gloriously naked before him. 

“God, you're so beautiful sweetheart. I’m already getting hard and all you’ve done is get undressed.” He praised you as he palmed himself through his tac pants. “Come here pretty girl.” He insisted as he picked up the blindfold. 

You walked over to him and turned around as he secured the blindfold against your eyes and tied it for you. “Now, we’re gonna use a color system, okay? Green means you’re okay to keep going, Yellow means to slow down, and Red means stop. Can you remember that doll?” 

“Yes Captain.” You murmured as you adjusted to not being able to see. You tuned into your other senses to rely on what was happening. You felt Steve take your hand and walk you over until you reached the side of the bed. He helped you up before asking you to lay down on your back. 

“Okay pretty girl I’m gonna tie you up now.” He told you as you felt both of his hands take your left arm and maneuver it above your head before securing your wrist in place with rope. He pressed a gentle kiss to the spot before repeating the process with your other arm. “How do you feel sweetheart?” 

“Good Captain, I feel good.” You told him as your heartbeat kicked up another notch. You felt him take your left leg with gentle fingers and tie your ankle to the baseboard of the bed. You gasped as he secured your right ankle, knowing you were now naked and spread bare before him. You felt the bed dip as he kneeled over you and brought his mouth down to whisper in your ear. 

“What’s your color baby?” 

“Green.” You replied. Almost immediately you felt his lips press against yours, desperate and hungry for you. You kissed back with a fervor you didn’t know you possessed. It was a strange sensation, kissing someone you couldn’t touch let alone see, but that didn’t make it unpleasant. You felt blissfully detached from your body and the need raced down to your pussy until you had the sudden urge to close your legs and hide your arousal. 

Steve chuckled against your mouth as his left hand snaked down to see what you were trying in vain to hide. “So eager for me and we’ve hardly started” He lazily swiped his fingers along your folds to feel the wetness that gathered there. He then brought the same hand up to your breast and worked your juices around your nipple, making you groan at the sheer wantonness of it all. Steve happily swallowed your groan with his mouth, his tongue taking the opportunity to pass your lips. 

You fervently kissed him back as his ministrations against your nipple continued. His lips left yours and left a trail of hot kisses down your throat and over to your neglected right nipple. You felt him blow cold air on it and your back bowed against the bed, your arms straining against the restraints. He scraped his teeth against your sensitive bud and you couldn’t help the noises that escaped your mouth. 

“Oh fuck, Captain.” You let out as he took your nipple into his mouth. You could feel his left hand leave your nipple and you let out a whine of protest. He only laughed against your skin before you heard the faint opening of a drawer. Your ears picked up the sound of him rummaging around for something but you couldn’t focus too much on that as the rest of your body was alight with fire as he continued to work on your nipple with his mouth. He finally found what he was looking for in the drawer and he released your nipple with a wet popping sound before you felt his weight shift and he removed himself from you. 

“You mentioned something about being whipped.” He teased, and you could hear that his own arousal had made his voice hoarse. Your cunt throbbed in response. “Do you know what a flogger is pretty girl?” 

“Yes Captain.” You replied from your position on the bed. Your mouth went dry at the mental image you had of Steve in his black tac suit with a flogger in hand. How would he use it on you? Would it hurt? Be pleasant? The anticipation was eating you up in the best of ways. 

“Good girl. We’re gonna do some counting. Since this is your first time we won’t do too many, just ten. But you have to count them pretty girl. If you forget, or lose count, we start over. Do you understand?” 

Oh fuck. “Yes Captain.” You heard him chuckle from somewhere above you before you heard the whoosh of the flogger and the sensation on your skin. You gasped as the leather straps came down hard against your left nipple. “One.” The second one came down against your right nipple and you found that your pussy clenched around nothing. “Two.” 

Numbers three, four, and five were placed on your nipples and your stomach.

“Halfway there pretty girl, you’re doing so well.” Steve’s voice came from somewhere around you. A thin layer of sweat had broken out over your skin and your arousal was through the roof. You found yourself panting in anticipation of the next strike. It came, the leather striking against your dripping center and you let out a gasp as your back arched off of the silk sheets. “Six” 

“Oh you liked that one didn’t you sweetheart?” Steve teased. 

“Yes Captain.” You replied breathlessly. Number seven came in the same spot and another lewd sound left your mouth as the flogger found its spot. Numbers eight and nine he placed on the sensitive insides of your thighs. 

“Last one pretty girl. You’ve taken it so well I’ll let you decide where this last one goes.” 

“Hit my pussy again, please, I want it so bad Captain.” You practically pleaded. Under any other circumstances you would’ve been ashamed at how pathetic you sounded but you didn’t care. Steve Rogers was doing depraved things to you and you couldn’t think straight. You just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing, to take all of you, every tiny nook and cranny of your being until he knew your pleasures like the back of his hand. 

“Such a needy girl, maybe after the flogger I’ll give you a reward.” He replied, sounding pleased with you, before he placed the tenth and final flog against your aching core. “God you look so sexy like this, blindfolded and tied to my bed, maybe I should leave you here as my own personal fucktoy, would you like that baby?” He asked as he inserted two fingers into your mouth. 

You mumbled your response against the digits, your pussy getting wetter at the thought of him using you like that. You were only half kidding when you had texted your friend about it but now, with your arousal so strong, it sounded more and more enticing. Steve removed his fingers from your mouth and brought them down to your sensitive center, rubbing them up and down your slit before inserting them into your slick heat. You gasped at the intrusion and felt your hips buck up in response to being filled. 

Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he began to pump them at a leisurely pace. You felt him make his way down your body to nestle himself between your spread legs and then his hot breath was fanning out over your cunt as his fingers continued to fuck you. “You look so good, pretty girl. Spread open for me like my own personal feast. God you’re so wet. I guess you like to be flogged.” He spoke, the filthy words that left his lips making you wetter than you already were. Without warning he brought his tongue to you and kitten licked your clit, sending a shockwave through your system. 

He took your clit in his mouth and sucked as he continued to work you with his fingers. You fruitlessly tugged against your restraints and bucked your hips in an attempt to get the friction you so desperately needed. 

“God sweetheart you taste better than I imagined.” Steve commented as his tongue lapped up your juices. “I bet I’ll be able to taste you on my tongue for a week.” 

“Fuck, Captain, please can I cum?” You begged, tears wetting the inside of your mask from the intensity of your session. 

“Come for me baby, let me feel you come on my fingers.” Steve commanded and that was your undoing. The knot that had been building inside of you was finally released and you came loudy around his fingers. You felt him lick you through the aftershocks. 

“Talk to me, pretty girl, how are you feeling?” Steve questioned, voice hot once again by your ear. His suit gently pressing against your overstimulated skin. “Give me a color.” He asked, pressing a gentle kiss to your jawline. 

“I’m good Captain, still Green.” You responded, coming down from your orgasm. 

“Such a good girl for your Captain. You’re doin’ so well pretty girl.” He said as he left the bed. You weren’t sure where he went until you felt his dexterous fingers undoing the ropes on your left leg. “I’m undoing the leg ropes first. And then I’m going to fuck you senseless like I’ve been wanting to do since I saw those damn text messages.” Your spent cunt clenched around nothing, as you eagerly waited for him to undo the other leg restraint. You could hear him undo the many zippers and clasps on his tac suit until the bed dipped and he was once again between your legs. 

This time skin met skin as you felt his upper thighs press between yours as he brought himself closer to you still. You felt the tip of his cock slide between your wet folds before slipping inside. The breath was stolen from your lungs at the feel of him sinking into your waiting cunt. A low moan left your mouth as you felt every perfect inch of him spreading you until he bottomed out and his hips nestled perfectly against your own. 

You felt his forehead press against your own. “Fuck you feel perfect, you know that pretty girl? My perfect little pussy.” He breathed against your mouth as he let you adjust to him. He retracted himself from you fully before swiftly filling you up again. Any noise you may have made was swallowed as he kissed you with a hunger you didn’t think was possible. What started as a slow rhythm quickly changed until he was snapping into you with a fervor akin to a madman. 

Your hips eagerly met his thrusts and soon your combined pants and skin slapping filled the room. Still blindfolded, you felt the moment his hand wrapped around your neck and squeezed just so. That had your walls flutter around him and your hips stuttered. 

“Oh you like that don’t you? You like when I choke you huh pretty girl?” He asked eagerly, his voice husky from moaning. 

“Yes, fuck, please Captain, fuck me.” You rasped out. You grunted as he brought his other hand down to press your hips into the mattress before he slammed into you at a relentless pace. Eventually, his hand left your throat to play with your bundle of nerves. 

“Come on pretty girl. Come for me.” He ordered and you were only too happy to comply. You came hard around him, enough that you saw stars behind the blindfold and Steve let out a string of curses and praises for you as he pulled out of you and you felt his cum paint your stomach. 

You had a moment to catch your breath as you heard Steve pad over to what you assumed was the bathroom. He came back and placed a warm washcloth against your skin, cleaning up the combined mess you both made. Then you felt his hands move up to untie the blindfold around your eyes. You squinted into the low light of the room and were shocked to see Steve bare chested and glistening with sweat before you. 

“Hi.” You murmured shyly, finding that some of your confidence had left you along with the blindfold. Seeing him like this, because of you, because of what you had done, somehow cemented this moment in reality. There was no turning back now. 

“Hi yourself, how do you feel?” He asked as he undid the ropes around your wrists. 

“I um wow, I feel great.” You said and realized it was true. In the afterglow of the scene you felt amazing. Sexy and empowered and utterly spent but undeniably amazing. 

“You did great.” Steve assured you as he took lotion into his hands and massaged the areas on your wrists and ankles where the ropes had been. He placed a gentle kiss on each palm when he was done and went to get you a glass of water. “Drink all of this.” 

You took the glass from his hands and drank deep. Appreciating the cool feeling of the water as it slid down the column of your throat, you didn’t realize how thirsty you had become. You finished the glass and handed it back to Steve, who placed it on one of his bedside tables. 

“Good girl.” He praised and you felt yourself blush in response. He noticed. “Do you like being praised, sweetheart?” 

“Yes Captain.” You nodded. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied as he helped you into one of his shirts and placed you underneath the covers. He rested beside you and wrapped you in his strong arms. “You did so well today for your first time. It wasn’t too much for you was it?” 

“No, I really liked it.” You reassured him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead with a promise to discuss it more after you slept some.

[blahblahwritings]

Thank You, Frankie.

A/N:  Yeah shut up I know I haven’t been around in about a year. This was a cute little anonymous request that I thought would be nice to ease me back into writing things that aren’t my dissertation.

Words: 1075. If only my diss was this easy to write.

Warnings: None really, just some period comfort.

There was a knock at your fire-escape window. You didn’t budge, knowing exactly who it was. A moment passes before you hear the scrape of wood as the window is slid open. Booted footsteps make their way to your bedroom and then stop at the bottom of your bed. A blanket covered you as you lay in the fetal position, head buried in the pillows. There was a miserable look painted on your face.

The apartment was dark, all the curtains closed to block out the midday sun. Clothes littered the bedroom, take-out boxes and empty ice cream tubs were scattered around the living room. He took a breath as if to say something but quickly thought better of it, instead turning toward the kitchen silently. He knew exactly what was wrong.

On his journey to the fridge, he collected all the dirty laundry, throwing it toward the washing machine and tossed any garbage he found in an old bag of takeout from the Chinese place down the street. He kept the window he entered through open to let out the stale air. Once he got to the kitchen he heated up some water, filling your favourite fluffy hot water bottle and made you both a cup of coffee. He rummaged around the fridge, grabbing some chips and dip and a bar of chocolate. He brought you your cup with a couple of painkillers, setting them on your bedside cabinet before bringing his own along with the snacks. 

The smell of coffee reached your nose and you made what Frank could only assume was a thankful sound before he left the room again. Sitting up, you wrapped the blankets around your head and shoulders, reaching an arm out towards the steaming hot mug. There were a few more noises from the kitchen but you couldn’t see exactly what he was doing until the familiar beep of your washing machine sounded. Was he tidying your apartment?

You leant over, peeking through the doorway from your bed and saw him return with the hot water bottle. He handed it to you and you unceremoniously shoved it into the waistband of your sleep shorts, feeling the cramps ease slightly. Your eyes fluttered closed and a groan left you as you took the first sip of your coffee with the meds. The bed dipped as he sat on his side, kicking his legs up with a chuckle at the image of you hunched over the mug. Only your face and hands were exposed.

The crinkling of a wrapper made you whip around to face him, your tired eyes finding the source immediately. He broke off a square of chocolate, giving you the rest of the bar which you dipped into your coffee, sucking the melted stick of sugary goodness and smiling lightly. 

As Frank chewed the treat, he watched you with a soft gaze and rubbed small circles with his free hand over your covered back. Gulping down his drink out of habit, he set the cup aside and pulled you into his chest, his giant frame enveloping your own easily in a hug. A sigh of contentment rose from your chest, your overall mood improving tenfold as you relaxed into him.

“Thank you, Frankie.” You hummed. His head came to rest on your shoulder, taking in the quiet as you continued to sip your drink. Turning your head to look at him, you saw a new cut across the bridge of his nose. His eyes stared deep into yours. “I’m fine, sweetheart, let me just take care of you this time.” His gravelly voice replied to the unspoken question on your face. He placed a sweet kiss on your forehead and gently stood from the bed. 

You moaned in protest at the loss of contact which made him chuckle. He moved across your room and into the bathroom where you heard the squeaking of your taps, then a gush of water. A citrus-y scent was wafted toward you as he returned. Kneeling on the floor, he grabbed your legs and dragged your blanketed body towards him before he started to peel away the layers, revealing you in your pyjamas. 

“I feel like a naked hermit crab.” That made him snort. You put down the now empty mug and he scooped you up resulting in a small yelp of surprise from you. “I can still walk big guy.” You smirked, the feel of his strong muscles making you feel a certain way. You ignored those thoughts as he sat you onto the side of the bath, tugging off your fluffy socks. He reached for your shirt, which you let him pull from your body. Then his hands moved to your shorts, pulling the hot water bottle out and then shimmying the clothes down your legs. 

Standing again, he fetched you some clean sweatpants and one of his shirts, placing them on the nearby counter. You had slid into the bubbles, the heat instantly working its magic on your muscles. Frank took the time to open all the curtains in the apartment, letting in the sunlight before coming back and plopping himself on the floor by the tub. His hands began massaging some shampoo into your scalp, light hums and moans leaving your mouth. He washed it off before doing the same for the conditioner. 

You opened your eyes to look at him once he was finished. 

“Who knew Frank Castle, The Punisher, could be so soft?” You teased. His head dipped as he laughed. You grabbed his chin, guiding it back up so you could kiss him. His lips danced with yours before you both parted for air. “So are you gonna join me in here or…?” Your eyes found his. 

“You want me in there with you?” He questioned, a single brow raised. A smirk was slowly forming. “Well the water is splendid, it would be a waste.” You replied. Something mischievous flashed across his dark eyes. Many different scenarios of where this could go played in your minds eye, but Frank had other ideas.

He stood, kicking off only his boots before climbing into the small tub with you. You screamed in protest in between fits of laughter. Water sloshed over the sides and onto the tiled floor but you couldn’t care, he was beaming at you as his still clothed abdomen shook with amusement. 

It was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen.

[dropsofletters]

avenue of tears

— summary: listening to the latest album of the living daydream that is the drummer jeon wonwoo isn’t quite the best idea when, supposedly, it’s written about an ex. missing him to bits, she decides to plug in her earphones, and get lost in the words written by him, for her, perfectly put together to describe what was once broken…but can now be healed.

— title: avenue of tears — pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader — genre: drummer!au ; podcast host!au ; friends to exes to strangers to lovers!au — type: fluff ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive ; romance — word count: 19,796

For the first time in her life, she can say she is happy while having a sore-throat.

Well, there have been other good times in her life that have included such a symptom—the after-effects of a concert, the times in which she really believed the vocalists of the bands she loved would end up looking at her and falling in love, or when she screamed out of joy, whether on amusement park rides or from pure happiness. Having a voice is enough of a gift; saying and speaking out our thoughts, the most divine of talents that one can possess. Using that voice for the first time in her own podcast is a blessing.

Though, no amount of throat-clearing can get the staff backstage to open up some space for her to walk in. In some parts of her life, being talkative does not compare to being loud, and this is one of those moments she wishes her throat wasn’t dry and in the need for tea, simply to shout to the slow walker in front of her just so she can get to her boyfriend faster. Perhaps, feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips rub against her palm when they hold hands, and he gives her one of those lazy smiles that beg for her to give him a kiss.

The room has gray walls, and around four bands have gathered in the same space. She smells everyone’s deodorants mingling together, and she doesn’t know if the stench is favorable or she’d rather not smell anyone at all, even if it’s not an unpleasant smell. Masculinity exudes from every band, lacking the female character that should exist in rock by now, but someone’s bleached blonde strands of hair, long enough to reach that person’s waist, remind her that there is a representative of female power in this giant gig for small bands.

The vocalist of Wonwoo’s band.

The chopped strands of her hair are, thankfully, long enough to welcome the rotten pair of scissors she uses before every show, not standing split ends, and also not standing the way she calls out her real name. You see, one year ago, the vocalist would’ve been called Eunkyung, with pretty straight hair in chocolate brown, curves covered in small sprinkles of ink, sporting a little black dress of a nice day, but that’s far from the case. Now, Eunkyung has taken up the name Love, an ode to what she hates the most, cutting her hair like she cuts the men out of her life, sporting leather pants and chains falling from her shoulders, cheeks hollowed in absolute distaste of the place she finds herself in, but quite enjoying the bottle of beer she brings up to her mouth.

“Eunkyung!” She calls out again, waving her hand in the air but not getting a reaction. Instead, she stops on her tracks, the sole of her boots barely lifting from the ground as her eyes scan the room. Eunkyung stands out because of her hair, but it’d be difficult to find Wonwoo’s dark head of hair. “Love!”

With the bottle of beer perched up between her rosy lips, Love lifts her hand in the air to greet her, trying to call her over only to stop her ministrations. The little ounces of oxygen left in her lungs ask to remain on her chest before she passes out, her white boots probably dusty by the amount of people who have stepped on her.

Love moves in between the groups of people, pushing people away with a force that could barely be contained in her tall body, never once letting a single droplet of beer fall on the floor. Just when she reaches her, Love wraps her fingertips around her wrist, tutting her name out in a raspy tone, perfect for the edgy tune in the new band. “Shit, what are you doing just standing there? Could’ve gotten your shit stolen.”

Her hand absentmindedly cradles the back pocket of her jeans. Her phone is still there, thankfully. “Sorry, didn’t know I was dealing with prisoners and not with rock enthusiasts.”

Love chuckles at that, now much different from the person she used to be, tattooed up to her neck, flowers blooming on the thin skin. If she looks from close enough, she believes her jugular palpitates against the dark ink. “Here, they’re about the same.”

Once they reach the corner the band had taken up, she finally gets a glimpse of people she has met. In Wonwoo’s apartment last year, for example, when a list of names had been written on a whiteboard and each sounded worst than the last. A man with a burgundy and green beanie sits with his bass on his lap, thin legs parted and yet, seemingly thicker because of his baggy pants. His head is thrown back, as if the chatter around him doesn’t distract him from his thoughts, looking ahead at the ceiling as if there’s something interesting on there. She really does look up, just in case Hansol has found the secret to life in that damned white ceiling.

The bassist doesn’t seem to be paying attention when she directs the question towards Love. “What did he smoke?”

Love finishes her beer in one go, patting her hand against Hansol’s leg before taking a seat on it. The two childhood friends had been the ones to start this whole band ordeal—and to be quite honest, it’s all thanks to them that Wonwoo got the guts to be in a band. Love’s Midnight may not be doing quite well right now, but it will someday. “Vernon didn’t smoke a thing. If anything, I’m the one looking for a smoke.”

“Weed’s bad.” Hansol, or by his stage name Vernon, says from his spot as he finally concentrates on the conversation at hand. His brown eyes seem gentle, even when his dark eyebrows join in a frown. “You’re gonna fuck up your voice.”

“So what?” Love asks.

“We don’t have a vocalist, then.” Hansol continues, pushing her off his lap to put his bass back inside its case, rubbing his sweaty palms against his black pants. “And we don’t have anyone to back you up. My singing is not as good. Andy’s singing is shit and Wonwoo sounds mysterious when he sings, but put him on the front of the stage and he’s going to black out.”

At the mention of her boyfriend, she can’t help but feel a smile creep up her face. Wonwoo was supposed to only be her little cousin’s drum teacher, a little part-time job he had to keep the dream alive, but one of those times her aunt couldn’t make it, she was asked to drive the little boy to class. There, Wonwoo captured her attention, and just before she left with regrets, she had slipped a paper with her number onto his palm.

And he had called.

And now, seven months later, they’re there. Coexisting in the same world, uniting their loose threads, and living out of it.

Well, he’s not there.

“Where’s Wonwoo?” She asks, resting her hands inside the pockets of her jeans, and a little grin appears on Hansol’s face at the mention of his name.

“He’s—”

Hansol’s deep and tranquil voice cuts short when an interruption comes through in the shape of the shortest of the band, purple hair done a mess and yet, matching with the hickeys trailing up his neck, doing his best to conceal it with the thick choker around his neck. Andy, the band’s guitarist, whose innocent features bring him just about any lover to his side, thinking he understands them, listens to them…but he’s a player.

And a damn good one, too. “Twenty bucks and I’ll tell you where he is.”

“Twenty bucks and you shut up.” Her tongue is witty enough to reply, and the sound of familiar laughter stirs her heart alive. When her hands spread on top of Andy’s shoulders, pushing him to the side to look for Wonwoo, she sees him nearing them, perhaps accompanying Andy in the process, black hair falling upon his forehead in sweaty strands, framing his elongated face, rounded ears, enigmatic eyes and tender, thin lips.

He gets closer, enough to wrap an arm around her and make her feel the coldness of the chains on his leather jacket, as dark as the rest of his outfit, but she knows the red shirt underneath is the tank top she bought him not too long ago. “Don’t give him your money. He’s a scam.”

“Girls don’t say that.” Andy shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and gently rubbing the hickeys on his neck.

“I doubt they get to tell you anything at all.” She answers, twirling on Wonwoo’s arms until he’s hugging her completely, his taut chest breathing in and out, meeting hers in the middle. “There’s only so much you can know about someone while having sex.”

“Listen—”

Love stands up from her spot to wrap her arm entirely around Andy’s shoulder, smiling wickedly at the people in front of her. “Instead of arguing with our two lovebirds and the reason why our love songs are good, why don’t we look for a blunt?”

“Be careful out there.” Wonwoo conquers, lifting one of his eyebrows as if to question Love’s actions. The woman simply chuckles, already dragging Andy away for her.

“The only difference between a cigarette and a blunt is social norms, Wonwoo.” Love complies, clearly talking about the smell of cigarettes that breathes out in the aftertaste of the cologne and mint in him. He picked it up not too long ago, and hasn’t been able to get away from nicotine since then.

Hansol, once again too lost in his own world, doesn’t seem to notice—or mind—when her lips meet his in one of those brief dances of excitement, a smile barely able to conceal itself on her face when she looks into his glistening eyes. “How was the gig?”

“Tiring.” He answers, tugging at the collar of his leather jacket. “Love insists we have to look edgy, but this make me sweat buckets.”

“It makes you look hot.”

A tinge of pink creeps up his ears, smiling widely when he moves her from side to side. “What’s with all the love today? You’re awfully happy.”

How not to be so when she’s with him? Awakening to the sound of his fingers pattering against the counter of his kitchen, mumbling out the lyrics of the songs he is always writing. Wonwoo is not only a dreamer but a dream, a sight to look at and a potion inside her stomach. If she could, she’d throw up hearts at the mere mention of him, but the impossibility only further explains her infatuation for him. Love, love is this.

“Well…” She trails her voice, just at the same time that her hands take place by his abdomen, toying with the fabric there. “Did you listen to the podcast today? First episode early in the morning. Not a lot of people tuned in, but twenty is more than nothing, right?”

His black hair covers the darkness that looms over his eyes, lips faltering that smile to instead part delicately. Even his body moves away at the mention of the podcast, little droplets of sweat intensifying on his neck. “T-The podcast was today?”

A sigh leaves her before she could stop it. Forgetfulness is not his thing, but it seems to be today. “Yeah. I told you today before you went out to practice.”

“Shit, sorry.” Wonwoo lets his hand hover on her cheek, lips leaning forward to join hers, but she can’t even purse her own to meet him, leaving him with her blank expression instead. “I went to the gym after practice, and then I was too busy to actually listen—”

“You decided to go to the gym instead of listening to the podcast I have been working so hard on?” Nights spent listening to her favorite albums, preparing topics and asking Minghao to help her achieve the best quality in sound. Publicity done just about everywhere, asking her close friends and family to listen. Twenty people had listened, and none of them was Wonwoo. Her boyfriend.

“It was a mistake.” He whispers, like the boyfriend he is, not forgetting to pour all his emotions out in the pout of his lips. Giving her another kiss, she wants to stay angry, let the pits of hell stay inside her, but his eyes glimmer as if he means it when he promises: “Maybe, next time I will listen, okay?”

Maybe. A relationship should not be gray; it’s either black or white, it’s yes or no, never an in-between. Never a maybe.

But she takes it, because Wonwoo is just the type to say things without thinking. His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘certainly’.

His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘I’m sorry’.

Or it just is meaningless. Not ‘maybe’ at all.

###

Pen to paper. Cigarettes to lips. A mess done person, or a person done a mess.

The press has met the man that she has loved for over eleven months, and yet, she feels like each article that gets out about Love’s Midnight just makes her know the people in the band a lot less. This thought crosses her as her feet come in contact with empty bottles of soda, thrown across the floor of the hotel room they rented for their first real gig. Wonwoo’s cigarettes have been his lover for the night, as well as his lyricism notebook, but Andy seems to be having other ideas in the cheap room next door. It may be just some hooker, but something in her gut tells her that the lack of Love on the afterparty gives her an indicator of who it may be…

The reaction is long gone when she closes the door behind her, sporting her best dress—the one Wonwoo always talked about, the one that had his eyes lingering on her legs a lot longer than necessary, unable to keep his hands off her waist whenever she used it. The attention from him was well received, and yet, it was lacking tonight. The lonesome yellow of the lightbulb in front of them flickers, her heels click against the tiles on the floor, and he doesn’t even pull away from his notebook, humming out the notes to the song he is writing. At least, he’s not the one with the hooker.

But, what kind of thought is that?

It’s not the kind of idea she’d normally have about Wonwoo. Her Wonwoo, all rock songs but soft heartened words. Yet, with each passing month of his newfound stardom, she sees him less. Feels him less. Talks to him in ways that feels as though he is a stranger, and not the kind that wants to meet her. Definitely not the interested strangers they were in the past, the reason as to why they fell in love.

The lighter in between his fingers basks the cream walls in a faint light, the first smoke of the cigarettes leaving his lips and then, he keeps his hand up, a little bit twisted to keep the ashes away from his notebook. She moves closer, the back of her thighs meeting the edge of the bed when she calls out his name. Nothing. Wonwoo feels like nothing these days.

There, in a pretty dress, and yet not of his liking, pushing the pink fabric to fit more of her body, like a woman in her honeymoon. Insecurity latches to each portion of her uncovered skin, clearing her throat to catch his attention as she rests her extended palm on his back.

The toned muscles seem to welcome her touch, but his face remains stoic, hair standing out in various spots, dark eyes packing worries inside his heart. “Wonwoo?”

“Baby, I’m busy.” Annoyance exists in his tone, though it’s almost imperceptible. These days, all his feelings seem to be this way—happiness is the same as sadness, as annoyance and worry. Wonwoo is just a blank canvas, and she can’t seem to paint him. “Can’t seem to finish writing this song.”

“Maybe, it’s just not a good song.” The words don’t come out in the way that normally would. He has been talking about this song for three days, maybe it’s about time he drops it. Maybe, it’s time for them to drop this strange silent treatment between them—

“What?” Finally, he looks over his shoulder, his lips barely wrapping around the cigarette before each blow of smoke is thrown her way with his words. “What do you mean the song is not good? You haven’t even heard it.”

“If you can’t write it, it’s because you’re not inspired for it.”

His eyebrows raise up at that, taking his notebook in between his finger and stomping his cigarette against the bedside table, perhaps leaving it for later. He turns on his back, on the verge of becoming silent again, when he stops tapping his pen against the notebook. “What do you know about music anyways? It’s not that easy to write a song.”

A laugh escapes her nose, because she’s not half happy at the man in front of her. “The podcast I have, the one you don’t listen to, talks about music and I have a minor in something music-related. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I listen to your podcast.” Wonwoo defends, letting the notebook rest on his taut abdomen as he lifts his hands to rub at his eyes. “I just don’t have enough time to listen to you talk for more than an hour—”

Her legs can’t seem to stay still then, standing up from her spot on the bed and making sure to pull her dress as far as possible. Somehow, being looked at by Wonwoo at this moment feels absolutely horrendous. Earlier this afternoon, she would’ve loved to have his hands all over her, his lips mouthing the things he loves the most about her. Right now, he’s impossible. “Isn’t that what a boyfriend should do? Listen to his motherfucking girlfriend?”

“I listen to you, oh my God!” He throws his head back, covering his face with his hands before sighing. “Babe, you’re being irrational. You come in here and tell me my song sucks, and now you’re making this about our relationship?”

“Well, you were the one that told me I didn’t know anything about music.”

Wonwoo stops for a moment, uncovering his face to look at her with what seems to be despair. “Then, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her heels click harshly with each step she takes towards him. “You can’t just say sorry like you’re bored. Saying sorry has to be meaningful.”

“That’s just how my voice sounds.” But she knows that’s not the case. Deep, tranquil, that’s his voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful. That doesn’t mean he can talk to her in a way that feels as though he has never loved her.

“No, that’s not how your voice sounds—”

“Babe—”

“Wonwoo.” She closes her eyes tightly, kneeling to take the empty bottles of soda in between her hands. “Who are you and what did you do to the man I fell in love with?” The question is rhetorical and not meant to be answered as she continues: “You’re messy and uninterested, this is not—”

“Maybe, if you let me speak, I’d be able to tell you what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, so there’s really something wrong?” Far too entranced in her anger, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is it me? Am I the wrong thing in your life?”

“When you get like this, maybe.” Wonwoo conquers, standing up and taking the resting empty bottles of soda before sighing. “Hey—”

“No. Repeat that.”

“Give me a break.”

She takes him by his arms, then, his tank top moving with the motion as she makes him turn towards her. Tired eyes to tired soul. One for him. One for her. “You really want me to give you a break? Because I could totally leave you if that means you being happy.”

Wonwoo has always been a selectively silent man. His lips don’t part unless necessary. He loves being a listener, not a talker. She wishes he would’ve stayed silent that night, but he didn’t, instead frowning deeply as he pushed his body away from her. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t listen to me. So, maybe, it’s better if we give each other a break, don’t you think?”

She has to scoff, pulling her dress further down her thighs as it had ridden up, yet not once breaking eye contact with him. “Why call it a break? Why don’t we just break up and that’s it? Call it fucking quits so you can go fuck some other chick that actually listens to you, baby boy?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He answers, shoulders rising and falling as he gets closer to her. “Don’t talk to me at all if you’re going to be like that.”

“Well, tough luck. That’s just how I am.” Her voice drops a few octaves, pushing at his chest to get him away from her. His eyes seem to change, then, ever so present in his feelings, burning through him when he calls his name and tries to reach for her, but she is halfway through the room when his skin barely grazes her.

“Baby—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me. Don’t you talk to me. Don’t look for me. Don’t…” Her voice breaks then, breathing out slowly when her hand comes in contact with the handle of the door. “Don’t, Wonwoo. Just don’t.”

“Hey, sorry, you know I love y—”

“Don’t.” She whispers, loud enough for him to hear when she opens the door. Why is that, even when the air in the corridor feels fresher than the one basked in cigarettes in this room, she feels more suffocated when she leaves?

Right, because she never listened to him.

And he never got to talk honestly to her.

###

“Listen, you’re a podcast host. I think you should really leave the coffee aside and go for tea and honey.”

One of the biggest wonders in this world is how in hell Minghao’s blonde strands of hair seem to be soft even when he dyes it continuously. The other wonder is how such a sweet voice like his seems to have the pointiest of remarks just at the tip of his tongue. Perhaps, that’s why Minghao is the tech of her podcast, and not a host to be exact. He’d be far too honest about the newest releases in music. What she’d call ‘something different yet not tasteful’, he’d call it ‘absolute garbage taken out of the trash, eaten by a dog, and then thrown up onto the floor’.

But hey, that’s just Xu Minghao.

Twirling on his chair, he writes something down on their shared document for this week’s podcast, two years on the run and yet, doing better than ever. Thousands of listeners check up each week, either on YouTube or on Spotify, to tune in and talk about the newest music dropped into the world. Mostly rock, but she doesn’t forget some other genres if they catch her attention enough.

He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back on his seat and parting his jean cladded legs, fixing the plain yet expensive t-shirt resting on his slender body before she responds. “Get on with your life, Hao. If I don’t drink coffee, I could totally die.”

“Stubborn as ever, I see.” Minghao tuts, lifting his cat-like eyes from the screen just as he clears his throat. “Your kidneys are the ones dying.”

“As long as it’s not my vocal cords, we’re fine.”

“You’re not going to die because of lack of caffeine. That’s just stupid.” Yet, his eyes keep concentrating on the screen, organizing both good and bad albums to talk about, maybe a sprinkle of singles here and there as not to make the podcast too long. However, just as the straw of her iced coffee meets her lips, Minghao’s face stands out in their office setup, widening his eyes at what he sees on the screen. “You’re going to die because of this, though.”

Exaggerations are not his thing. That’s why he is so poised even when the audio cuts off, or when her voice breaks. Nothing impresses him, nothing leaves an imprint on him, so her body moves to his side before he could completely finish his sentence. “Why? Why? Why? Why would I die?”

Minghao doesn’t let her look at the screen of his laptop, instead reading out the title of the article he read online for her. “Love’s Midnight has released a new album after their one-year hiatus. The drummer, Jeon Wonwoo, surprises with his songwriting skills in their new project: Valentine. The release date is next week and…” Minghao turns to her then, eyebrows lifted as he inspects her features. “Apparently, it’s an ode to a past lover.”

It’s been two years since she opted to never hear those names again. Love’s Midnight. Jeon Wonwoo. Even Eunkyung, Hansol and Andy had been completely eradicated from her thoughts.

Valentine, perhaps because they had gotten together on February, but what are the odds of Wonwoo actually writing a song about her? An album, at that? He had never reached out, not by hand, not by text, not by a single call. Wonwoo had dissipated after a few missed calls, as if he had given up, and it was for a cause.

“Well, we’re not talking about their album next week.”

Minghao shakes his head harshly enough for a few strands of his hair to jump at the motion. “We have to. Love’s Midnight has been huge for the past two years,” The lack of her in their lives must have been the reason of their success. All friends of hers, now nothing in comparison. “And with the departure of Andy and the entrance of lady-killer Hoshi into the team, we better have all the fangirls tuning in for our podcast.”

Andy. The innocent features, short height, the banter in between them. She had not even gotten to know he had left. “Why did Andy leave?”

“Ooh, messy stuff.” Minghao conquers, not one for gossip, but one for knowing it all. “Love and Andy were dating since the start, right?” Now, that’s not the story she knows—Andy and Love were pals for lust, but they were never really a serious thing. “They broke up. Andy departed because of how difficult it was to be around her, and that was it for them. That’s why the hiatus happened, but now Hoshi joined them.”

“Who’s that Hoshi dude?”

The tech turns to his laptop, writing down the name quickly on the search before an image popped up in front of them. Pierced ears, rounded cheeks and sharp eyes, all highlighted by makeup on his cheeks to make him glisten like the sun, the thick eyeliner matching his leather jacket and his pushed back hair full of gel. He seems to be blonde in that picture, but in the one next to it, his hair is darker, playing guitar on stage with Love, who’s singing in the microphone. Skinnier than ever, with her eyes hollowed out and yet, the smile never leaves her face.

“I see,” She starts, pushing her body away when she sees a glimpse of Wonwoo with his hands up in the air in the back, ready to smack his drums again. “We’re not talking about them, though. I don’t care about anything Jeon Wonwoo can write.”

But her heart picks up just at the mere sight of him. Would he be alright? His health, fine? His lungs still working perfectly or is he still in the way to addiction to nicotine? Does the loneliness still haunt him at times in the middle of the night, or has he found someone else already?

“Don’t be like that,” Minghao states, rolling his eyes at her. “It’s just an album, and you haven’t listened to their music in a while. It was two years ago, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“What if it is about me?”

The question haunts her, makes her feel insecure in a way that she hasn’t felt in a while. Maybe, she fears to know what he really wanted to say—the regrets or the acceptance, the things he felt. If it made him happier or sadder. If he, to this day, hasn’t been able to love someone equally as much as her, because she knows she can’t. No man can compare to the fluttering feeling that came with him. “It’s just a few songs. I think not all of them are about you. Besides, it can be any past lover…and I’m sure you weren’t Wonwoo’s first girlfriend.”

Not his first love, and definitely not his last. A sigh leaves her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. If she spoke about his album, maybe she’d prove to herself that he was wrong. Music exists in her blood, she acknowledges it as part of her, and he can’t tell her that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about anymore.

“I’ll give it a listen once it drops out.”

With a dizzy smile on his features, Minghao claps his hands in excitement. “Well, look who made you agree to something for the first time in his life.” Sending his two thumbs his way, he chuckles. “This guy.”

###

Being the center of attention has never been of his liking. It’s not the thing Jeon Wonwoo is known for, but it’s the thing their publicist wants him to do.

Flashing lights end up all over him, makeup-less and yet, not caring that he is showing every imperfection on his skin. He cares about what he has to say, though, to take out the buried memories of a past love just for the sake of an album, or for healing. The documentary they’re doing about Love’s Midnight, however, is another ordeal he can’t seem to understand. Not quite feeling connected to the camera in front of him, the white background, the staff that gather as if they want to listen to him. They don’t.

Hansol is somewhere by the corner, getting his makeup taken off for his own interview—people want it to be realistic, or so they say. Somewhere around the room, Love is singing at the top of her lungs—not reaching those notes that had once been the point of her knowledge, but still sounding like an angel sent from heaven. Hoshi is the only one nearby, seated with his legs crossed, looking at Wonwoo in understanding. Not equally as introverted, but somehow capturing the essence of dread in Wonwoo’s soul.

He shrinks into himself, each curvature of his muscles hidden by his posture, though the tank top on him does nothing to conceal what he knows will get him compliments, but never too meaningful. He sends a smile to one of the staff members that passes by him, fixing the lights one last time and asking him to take off his glasses. He does, never the type to say no.

“So, Wonwoo…” The cameraman says from his spot, learning his questions like the palm of his hand, and no amount of preparation and knowledge could’ve prepared him for the question thrown his way. His mind knew it was going to happen, but much like a teenage student in high school, he didn’t prepare. “What’s this album about?”

Her.

It’s not a ‘what’, it’s a ‘who’.

It’s his February 21st, his little memory in a pink dress, his ode to the drums, the reason why he sometimes touches the piano in hopes of composing a song. The only smile he can’t seem to remember perfectly, from the shade of her lipstick to the way her lips felt against his. The little smile she gave him after their first kiss, the way she called out his name, the only ode he has been able to give to the world…his memories of her.

“It’s about love, heartbreak, healing. All of the like.” He says, clearing his throat soon after, only to watch the cameraman move his hands, instructing him to say more. His eyes close for a second, letting out a breath that mingles with an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s about someone I loved dearly. Someone I don’t want to forget.”

“What did you love about them?”

“Pardon?”

“What did you love about them?” The cameraman asks, and Wonwoo has to lean back on his seat to capture the gasp that was about to leave his lips. He was never one to say it much—those three words that would have otherwise made her feel better. She’s talkative, he’s not.

What did he love about her?

Was it the love that she made him feel? Was it the movement of her hips, the shape of her lips, the way she spoke about her issues as if the world was falling down on her? Was it her enthusiasm, her happiness—?

“That everything about her made me want to be a better person.” His head nods once, twice, trying to further convince himself that it’s okay that he doesn’t have her. She’ll always exist in his music, in his rhymes, in his handwriting as he gives another poem to her—another melody to cherish her. “She was the only woman I ever imagined myself loving for a long time.”

Yet, he can’t clean up the mess they made. Can’t return to the avenue they left abandoned because it had taken too long to get to their goal. With one last breath, he hears another question:

“Care to explain some songs to us?”

But the words never come to him. They didn’t back then, they don’t now.

###

Okay, an album. She has listened to thousands of those, maybe even millions. It shouldn’t be an issue for her to sit down in front of her computer, plug in her earphones, and just let the melody of Love’s Midnight songs fill her eardrums with absolute bullshit. Cheesy love bullshit that never happens.

But this is not yet another album.

This is an album about her.

Minghao could be right, though. What are the odds of Wonwoo actually remembering her, much more in the form of lyricism? This thought is what has her pushing her earphones inside the laptop, sighing deeply as she presses play. The introduction shouldn’t be that difficult to listen to, and the artwork is simplistic, something of the like of a sunset merging into artwork in its abstract form. It feels romantic, but it isn’t about her.

The first song changes it all.

The first track of nine has Love’s strong vocals, reaching her high notes like they are part of her voice, slow and steady with that edge of slow rock, a plea for a lover to trust them even when they don’t seem to be showcasing their truest intention. A fool, the song speaks about over and over again, blaming themselves for not being able to point out their realest feelings to their lover.

The bass is heavy on the second track, and Hansol—Vernon, in this case—hasn’t lost a single ounce of his talent to fame. Metaphors speak about Wonwoo’s growing love for literature, grieving the end of a relationship and cladding it in pride. A man who can’t seem to understand the finalization of his relationship, covering it with more wrongdoings, and yet, begging for another yesterday, another chance. Something that has her tightening her hand against her heart, listening to Love’s voice dragging feelings through the pits of hell.

The third track is the one she likes the least, and it’s the one that seems to be the most about her. Talking about smiles, laughter, reminiscent of times much happier and yet, mixing a sound that she would’ve never imagined from Wonwoo’s band. It feels like she is walking on the streets of Madrid, waiting for a lover, letting the Spanish guitar pull her in only to dizzy her. Far too happy. Far too difficult to understand with their bitter ending.

The fourth track feels like him, enough for her fingers to hover over the space bar to pause it a few times. Slow, steady, and the pain of the break-up is felt through every single note. Loneliness haunting, drowning and drowning him into this pit of nonexistence. Love’s voice seems to fit every feeling, and she wonders if it’s just her amazing way of portraying sentiments, or it’s common for people to go through so much pain.

Fifth track, and the echo of it makes her feel even lonelier in her room, leaning back on her gray bed and fluffy pillows to close her eyes lightly. Drunken feelings, it speaks about, a man in the middle of a party with the smell of smoke clinging to him, speaking his feelings into the microphone as if they come directly from his heart, remembering how his life seemed to be easier, much easier when it was simpler. The minimalistic whisper coming from Love’s voice indicating: “I’m good, what about you?” in such a broken tone has her sending a weak smile to the air.

She’s not half as good as he is.

Insecurities seep through the sixth track, and her back cracks by the time she moves again, wanting to hear this from up close. This past lover comes haunt him in his dreams, and he only wonders if they’re happy. The sixth track is far more commercial than the rest, reason as to why it doesn’t surprise her it’s the one, they dropped with a music video she has yet to see. The allegories indicate that this lover, maybe, has found someone else, and the thought alone makes them sleepless. Insomniac. Saddened.

Huh, wouldn’t even surprise her if Wonwoo was the one that found someone else. Each of her dates have ended in her going home without a single kiss, not wanting to have anyone but him.

The seventh track shows Wonwoo’s talent by the drums perfectly, upbeat and coming directly from the 80’s, Love doing her best to portray the meeting of two lovers and the immediate chemistry between the two. A pink dress is mentioned, and the only thing she can do is purse her lips together.

Fuck Xu Minghao.

Fuck him for making her listen to this motherfucking album.

Fuck that pink dress that she keeps in her closet.

The piano on the eighth track takes her breath away, far more heartfelt than anything they have ever done—far more mature than anything she would have imagined from Wonwoo’s little band. The fear of losing someone, one last goodbye, the speech through a break-up. It speaks about turning and twisting, about running out of things to say and saying the worst ones. Tears gather by her vision when she hears that female voice speaking all the pain, she has gathered in her heart for only four minutes. It feels like a lifetime.

Getting Wonwoo to sing for her was difficult. It’d have to come after long conversations, when he was really tired, or when she couldn’t sleep. His voice in the last track was unexpected, so much that she wouldn’t even be able to recognize his voice if only she had not listened to it for almost a year of her life, every single day. His deep tone breathes out words of wanting someone back, but not knowing if he should trust his heart or his brain. Starting slow and then building up to a pop beat, it’s a nice song to snap fingers to, yet, she can’t bring herself to do anything but stare at the screen.

He’d still try for her, he says. In some point of his life, or when he wrote this song, he wanted her back.

He’ll always want her back with him.

And it’s with that thought that she closes her laptop, breathing out harshly at the same time that she texts Minghao.

To: Hao.

I hate you for making me listen to this album.

Track number three sucks ass.

Yet, her fingers hover over the search bar, letting the line tickle the write surface with its glow before she is writing down his name. Jeon Wonwoo, but with an addition—girlfriend, she wants to know who this could be about if it’s not about her—

The first pictures that pop out break her heart in a million pieces only to deliver it across the world as a souvenir. Wonwoo is getting out of a party with some model by his side, long dark hair cascading down her back, a little black dress cladding her elongated body, shiny legs in display as a shy smile creeps up her red lips.

Want you back my ass.

Maybe, it’s this model he is missing.

###

Blue lights bathe his skin in its sinful glow, seated by the entrance of a bar. Their usual spot packs people as if they’re the box of cigarettes on his coat’s pocket, one long stick of nicotine dangling from his lips only to be lit up by someone else. Some of the people gathering around him, perhaps, or the femme voice that has been asking him personal questions for the past hour. Short answers have escaped him, but seeing how risqué they are getting and how uncomfortable he is, he can’t bring himself to care.

Tonight, he’s supposed to celebrate the release of Valentine, his newest album. The happiest night of his life, it must be, but it’s far from that. Droplets of champagne pour from the ceiling, cheers being heard as yet another electronic song plays in the background. Eunkyung is lost in God-knows-where, Hansol has embarked in a conversation about the universe with a group of college students, and Soonyoung is dancing as if he doesn’t have a care in this world. He probably doesn’t, and that’s the dream.

It feels weird. Earning money and success from his sentiments should make him feel better—narcissistic in a way that fuels his ego, but only makes him feel as though the headlines are eating him alive. With each person that nears him, he feels more faux. A product, nothing more, nothing less, enough to be dismissed when he stands up from his spot, blowing out smoke into the condensed air. Some bump his side, staining the expensive leather of his coat, but the conceptualization passes him by quickly. At least, he gets to feel something.

Footsteps are heard beside him by the time he opens the door to the bar. If he’s lucky, he may get to go to his apartment, smoke another cigarette, and head to bed quickly. However, just when the black, sleek door slides from his fingertips to close it down, the flashes of cameras attack his features. Each regret is highlighted by yet another paparazzi throwing themselves at him as they ask the same old questions. The only thing that people seem to wonder about him.

“Who was Valentine about? Please, tell us the details!” One of them screams directly to his face, the microphone grazing his bottom lip and making him stumble back. He tries to smile, but the beam falls down by his fakeness.

“Wonwoo, over here!” One of the shortest interviewers says, waving his hand in the air to capture his attention. “Was it about Eunji?”

Right, Eunji. His publicist would love if he simply said it was about her.

The woman comes in the shape of a goddess, and the tremor of her voice brought a distraction for one night. A distraction, compliments that are void, words that did not have to have meaning, and the frustration of not being able to move on. Eunji said she understood—she, too, had been going through some kind of heartbreak and the relief was needed, but each text that came after said events went directly through his head and towards the deleted pile. One night was enough.

Blowing the air of his cigarette in the air, his mind desires to give the paparazzi what they want. Be the good boy he has always been in a band of people who have stood out for their unique qualities, but tonight, when it’s about her and the success tastes like blood and iron on his tongue, he doesn’t want to be who he used to be.

Jeon Wonwoo, did everything to be one of the most well-known drummers of the year, and ended up alone in the process.

“It’s just for someone, let me be.” He whispers, pushing through the seas of people with his bodyguard trailing right behind him. One good thing comes from fame, but just as he is getting away from the bar, the clicking of cameras still following along with the words from the paparazzi, he hears a lively voice cut through the air with worry.

“Wonwoo, what do you think you’re doing? That’s bad publicity.” Soonyoung speaks quickly, brushing his blonde hair away from his face to showcase his reddened face. The honesty must come from being a bit tipsy.

“Sorry.” It’s the only thing he can bring himself to say, because he knows it’s bad publicity, but isn’t it bad enough that people have been speculating about the muse behind his album? And none of the suppositions are right.

“Stop smoking and look at me for once.” Soonyoung indicates, and Wonwoo parts the cigarette from his lips for a second, quirking one of his eyebrows as they walk together. “What is going on with you?”

“I’m about to become a million seller by exploiting my past relationship and I’ve been getting more attention than usual in the process.” The night seems to swallow each and every single one of his worries, leaving him with a sigh. “I think I’ve just had enough.”

“That’s what happens, dude!” Soonyoung conquers, as if trying to make him feel better. His arm wraps around his shoulder, moving him from side to side. “You’ve done something great for our band, and you’ve been able to let go of all those pent feelings.”

Ha. That’s something he hasn’t done at all. How stupid does he have to be to be in love with her when it all ended so wrongly? Besides, it’s not like she would’ve waited for him—he was a dick, and she has all the reasons to find someone much better. The thought has him putting the cigarette up to his lips again.

“I suppose.” He shrugs, watching a limousine pull up not too far away from them. Since when did he forget about the existence of taxis and started to be too rich for his own good?

“The publicists are going to be so mad at you.”

Wonwoo stops at that, looking ahead and back, ahead and back, not knowing if he should move forward and drag himself to the past. Was it easier when no one cared? Is it easier now that he has all he ever wanted?

Was this all he ever wanted at all?

“Soonyoung…” He says those words into the air, playing a smile into his features as if he feels it. He doesn’t. “Can’t we just get in the car and not talk about this for a second? Let’s talk about any other band but Love’s Midnight.”

Something in the blonde man switches, opening the door to the limousine as he nods with uncertainty. He doesn’t like being looked at like that—as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life…

Because it’s damn right.

But hey, at least he’s almost a million copies seller, right?

###

“Huh, I listened to an album this week,” Her voice drags with the continuation of her sentence, eyes trailing up until she meets Minghao’s, far too concentrated on the sound of her microphone, on stopping the echoes and making sure that those who tune in live do get to hear her properly. She has to muffle a laugh. Nervousness makes her sound stupid. “Well, duh, of course, I always talk about music and listen to albums…but I listened to a weekly favorite just last week.”

Each day has been worse than the last. The headache doesn’t leave her, finding herself humming the tunes to Love’s Midnight songs—that one song, the last track, keeps playing in her head as if she had been the one who composed it. Whatever. It happens. I’m sure most of the women in music who had songs written about them felt the same way. Maybe, Courtney Love felt like this. Could’ve been worse, at least Wonwoo didn’t pull a Lennon and wrote a song along the lines of “Dear Yoko”.

She fixes the beanie on her head, staring forward at the white doors of her office, the coldness seeping through her sweater, a shiver going down her spine. “It’s Love’s Midnight latest album, Valentine. You guys were recommending it a lot this week, wanted me to talk about it and all…” Her fingers start to play with the straw of her drink, trying her hardest not to take too many pauses. The podcast is live for some, after all. “And it’s here. I’ll talk about it.”

With the last ounce of sanity left inside her body, she takes a long sip of her drink, smacks her lips and starts pouring out her thoughts into professionalism.

“Track number three sucks. Sorry to anyone who is a fan, but track number three is the corniest, stupidest thing I’ve ever heard from them. No hate, just truth.” She lifts her hands in the air, watching Minghao lift his gaze to mouth something to her. Don’t, he says, and she remembers that was the last word she told Wonwoo. Fuck. “In all honesty, though, I liked the conceptualization of the album. I think that…uh…they could’ve added some spice here and there. Everything felt like a pile of heartbreak—”

The screen by her side lights up, showing up the live chat and the viewers speaking about the album.

Jeon Wonwoo wrote it for a past lover. He must be heartbroken.

Track number three is the best, though.

Finally, you’re talking about Love’s Midnight. Favorite band.

“But yeah, Love did amazingly with her vocals, contrary to what one would believe. She went to high highs and low lows, exquisite in her vibratos, that raspy tone of hers still captures everyone who listens.” Looking up at the ceiling, she swallows thickly. So much to say about nine tracks about her, and still the words don’t come out. “H—Vernon, he’s very good with the bass. You know, maybe our tech Minghao will agree with me on this, but Vernon is the one who makes the songs feel profitable, like it can be heard in a club, can be heard in the car, both adults and teens can like his sound. Definitely one of the pillars of the band, I think.”

Minghao nods his head from the booth, and she feels a little bit of warmth in the room. She’s not alone—if she fucks up, she’s not alone.

“Hoshi. Didn’t even know Hoshi was in the band until our tech told me, haven’t been really up to date with Love’s Midnight…” Because watching him play would only bring back the memories of the first time they met, the feeling of his skin tattered in tattoos under the weight of her hands, the tremble of his voice, the tender way he held her. Like she meant something. Like her words meant something. Until they didn’t. “God, his solos? He’s—I think in this era, in this generation of musicians, it’s impossible to stand out as a guitarist because there’s hundreds, thousands, millions of good guitarists. Haven’t seen Hoshi live, but I’m looking forward for the acoustic sets with his talent. Just from listening to him, I feel like he has real talent.”

Her eyes divert towards the screen, shaking a bit when she reads a question on her opinion about Wonwoo’s songwriting skills. There, she can imagine him sprawled on his bed, his notebook covering most of his face as he looks at her from the corner of his eye, sending a shy smile her way before venturing into a new world, writing her in it as if he cared.

Did he ever care?

“Ah…what I think about Jeon Wonwoo’s songwriting skills?” Saying his name out loud has her scrunching up her features. If she closes her eyes, he’s there, so she keeps them wide open. His voice calls her out—baby, baby, I didn’t forget you. “I think they could be better.”

It’s at this time that Minghao scoffs from his spot, shaking his head as he places his hands behind it. Liar, his pretty lips mouth at her.

“Wonwoo, whoever this album is about,” Me, she thinks, it’s about me and my stupid dumb smile when around him. My insecurities. My world. “I don’t know, it feels fake. Maybe, it’s just me…” Her voice trails for a second, shaking her thoughts out before sighing. “They’re good, they’re just not…you know, they’re not ‘album of the year’ worthy. He seems to be stuck in the same topic and I can’t judge his range if he’s only written about…one thing…you know, like—” Shit, she’s really digging her own grave right here. What is she supposed to say? That she liked it? “Like, yeah, we get it, you’re heartbroken…but, I mean, judging from what he has written in the album…he fucked up, too, you know?”

Maybe, she should just read some comments. Reassure herself that she’s not sounding like the one who had an entire album written about her.

Emo boy energy, doesn’t surprise me. Very Jeon Wonwoo-esque. One of them writes.

The drums were sick, though. Say hi to me, host!

People say it’s about Song Eunji.

Song Eunji. Model. Wonwoo’s latest known lover. The pictures flash before her eyes as she thinks about it. Maybe, it’s really about Eunji and not about her…

Why does the thought make her sadder?

“So, yeah, I’d give it an eight point seven out of ten. Favorite track is track number nine. Hoshi is the backbone of this band to me now. That’s it.”

Regret clings to her like a leech. Song Eunji. Jeon Wonwoo. An album. Failed dates. A broken relationship. Why is love always extra difficult for her?

###

“Come on, babe, lighten up.”

With rosy cheeks, her friend, Jade, speaks those words like there is enough space in this party for her to feel free. There isn’t, quite clearly, but Jade is on the brink of her youth, ready to mess up her long hair, get on some tables and drunkenly sing to the world, albeit a bit messily. Her family, all consisting of enormous classic musicians, rooted from the most intricate and exclusive of schools, would shake their heads at the sight of Jade, already rid of her shirt and practically dragging her body towards her to wrap an arm around her shoulder and keep herself steady. The bottle of champagne Jade had been drinking from is brought up to her lips, and she has to take a sip if she doesn’t want Jade to start whining in a high tone, able to break through the bass-boosted music in this club.

It’s Jade’s birthday, and Minghao is nowhere to be seen. He probably left early—her fault for trying to play matchmaker between Jade and Minghao over a year ago, but her apologies had never been enough for the awkward blind date she had set up for the two of them. If there’s one thing Minghao can’t stand is lying, and much more if it’s about his romantic life.

To be quite honest, she thought it’d be a match. Stylishly rich guitarist of a local band, Jade, and stylishly average tech of her podcast, Minghao.

Maybe, she was wrong.

“Shit, Jade—” She’s already taking off her jacket from her shoulders to drape it across Jade’s chest, who simply looks down at the fabric with a scrunch of her nose. “You’re on your bra.”

Jade chuckles sweetly, because inherently, she’s dulcet. The kind of girl that wipes your tears after a break up, lends you some powder after you throw up in a bar’s bathroom, and the one that just wants everyone to have a good time. Everyone including her. “Babe, it’s Victoria’s Secret. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Everyone is going to see your nipples.”

“You know, it’s better for me to have two very healthy nipples than not have them at all. So, whoever wants to see, can see.” With that, her jacket is given once again to her, staring at Jade who brings up the bottle of champagne up to her lips, the pink liquid trailing down her cheeks and her chin. “Why are you here all alone?”

Because the music is shitty, Minghao is nowhere to be in sight, and Jade was playing a game of body shots not too long ago. College has been long dead for her since a while ago—and she doesn’t think she’d be confident enough to have someone drinking directly from her body.

Props to Jade, of course.

“Ah, maybe because I wanted to leave soon?” She asks, rubbing the back of her head to play with her messy ponytail. It had been sleek once, but being around this amount of people, dancing against one another, and trying to move through them while also avoiding anyone getting too close to her, was a difficult task that ended up getting her a bit riled up.

“Shut up!” Jade screeches, wrapping her arm around her once again and resting her cheek against hers. “Shut up, babe! You’re not leaving…anywhere…no.”

That’s the drag of her voice, the clear sign that Jade will be too drunk tomorrow, drunk enough for her not to remember if she leaves her alone here—

But shit, she can’t leave Jade alone. She’s shirtless, meaning that her Versace shirt must be somewhere on the floor, or covered in vomit, and she’s drunk. God knows what could happen if she leaves her alone.

“I’m not leaving you, don’t worry.”

“Yay!”

“But I should clean you up, you’re all sticky from the alcohol, Jade.” She replies, already making her way through the masses of people to find the bathroom. It must be by one of the corners, but she’s not too sure in this club. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Because—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just because.”

When the bathroom’s door is only a few meters away, she sees him. The song that is playing in the background is too robotic for anyone’s taste, but the one that plays inside her head is the one she mumbled to him before they fell asleep once.

‘Love of my Life’ by Queen.

Because if there’s someone that she loved in this world, in this hellish world that they dare call real life, it’s Jeon Wonwoo.

Closed eyes, head tilted back enough for his Adam’s apple to bob when he takes another drag of his cigarette. Nicotine is his lover for the night, while Love seems to tell him something angrily, fingers threading through her bleached blonde hair, dying at the number of products she puts on it, fried at this point. Wonwoo looks like himself, but he also doesn’t. She knows those black strands of hair, and how they curled against her fingertips when she tightened her hold on them after a kiss. Her mind recognizes those lips, now pink yet chapped, but when they wrap into an answer that blows the smoke into the air, he doesn’t seem like her Wonwoo. His eyes open, he stares at Love as he speaks to her, but Love’s eyes are already looking at someone else.

Eunkyung is calling out her name and there is nothing that seems to stop her as she stumbles away from her seat.

It’s at nights like these that she wishes to be forgotten. Get on a car, preferably old, drive until her feet hurt or until the gas runs low, wearing a thin jacket as she listens to classics. She’s tired of this new version of her life that she can’t seem to get used to. People that she thought she knew seem to be far too different now, with Eunkyung not existing when she reaches her and Jade. This is Love, the vocalist of Wonwoo’s band, with eyes so hollow she almost feels dead, and a mouth that wraps up in a smile that begs for a second chance.

Because everyone wants to go back.

But no one can.

“It’s been so long since I last saw you!” Love’s arms wrap around her to take her away from Jade, but her friend doesn’t seem to mind as she giggles mindlessly. Love’s hold is strong, calloused hands meeting her spine as she cages her face on her shoulder. There are tears there, an unspoken word, perhaps the need to feel like herself again. This is not Eunkyung. “Where have you been?”

“Somewhere. Always here.” She replies, pulling away and yet, capturing Wonwoo’s gaze in a single second. His eyes are already on her, twinkling heavenly in the pits of hell, and she has to give a step back to deny the gravity in between the two.

“Wonwoo’s over there. Let me call him over—!”

Little by little, she loved him.

And little by little, she shall erase the memory of him.

“No, sorry. Me and my friend are going back home.” She replies, wrapping her hand around Jade’s wrist, pulling farther and farther away from the people she had known the most. Yet, she doesn’t know them now. These people on world tours, selling millions of copies of their albums, making money out of their past…those are not people she had known.

And she doesn’t want to know them again.

Her feet bring her out of the club, and she swears she feels someone behind her, but with rushed steps the feeling becomes barely a ghost. Then, nonexistent. Finally, in the car she starts to think about it.

May the stars only know if it was him going after her.

###

With him, it always feels like one of both said something wrong. Or, rather, didn’t say anything at all.

What’s with her, this feeling of talking too much and saying too little? What’s the regret that overtakes her when her head leans back on her seat, listening to the song Minghao has put on per her request, played for their viewers and yet, not quite admitting to her most intricate of desires even on a verse? Her eyes stare at the ceiling, imagine him in front of his drums—imagine him calling her beautiful, holding her head, longing for her. All things she wants now, all equally as impossible.

A week since she last saw him, and she likes to believe Wonwoo went trailing after her. It’s the only thing that keeps her up at night—the questioning of reality and a dream. Maybe, he was never behind her—it could’ve been one of the partygoers, one of those drunken people that don’t know where to step, or it could’ve been him. Why does she feel her lungs relax against its own confines when she imagines him?

Because this is Wonwoo. The one who writes songs about her. The only man that she can’t seem to get over. Memories that come back all the time, because he’s in every single one of them. Wonwoo’s name spill from her tongue without knowing, his songs come to her in the shower without meaning to, and his scent is felt on every portion of her bed. He hasn’t been there in years, but it’s almost like he left only yesterday.

It was two years ago.

Two years, and she really should get over him.

Her eyes divert towards her computer screen, watching the messages pop in slowly before she sees a collection of digits. It’s a date—the date in which everything ended, continued by a text that has her mouth drying up.

I want to see you again.

It has to be a coincidence; it really has to be so. It could be that someone’s important date was two years ago, in that night in which everything ended. She sighs deeply, clearing her throat when the song finishes itself and she has to talk again.

“Well, now we have to talk about that album—”

Another message pops up, but it’s impossible. Wonwoo rarely listened to her podcast, and when he did, he never said anything.

Love’s Midnight album is about who you think it is about.

Please, let me see you again.

She wants to see him again, too. It’s that feeling that keeps her up at night—knowing he could be close, but never close enough.

“Ah, in case anyone comes across a bunch of messages in the chat about seeing me again. It’s just some ex.” She tries to chuckle, but her voice has long gone left for something duller, stranger, as if she can’t get used to talking when it’s about him. “Already seeing someone dude, sorry.”

Seeing who?!

Minghao lifts his gaze, his hat doing nothing to conceal the disappointment on his face. What can she do? Admit that she feels jealous whenever she hears those rumors about who the album is about? That she has looked at pictures of his possible lovers and yet, the feeling never quite settles well with her?

The last man she saw was a man of wealth—son of a record label owner, very much into music, yet not quite in a band or participating anywhere as a solo artist. Mingyu was a nice date; the kind that made her laugh, ate a lot with her, drank a good glass of burgundy colored wine with her…but he wasn’t a forever. Wasn’t even a kiss. Mingyu became a friend after, and then, she didn’t want to date again.

But it’s what she has to do. If Wonwoo can go date some Eunji, and possibly write one or two songs about her, she can date whoever…

Right?

Right?!

###

The documentary didn’t show exactly how Love’s Midnight came to be what they are today.

People love a good story. Movies are a profitable job because of that, and books keep on fueling fantasies for those who can’t live in a better world for the same reason. What happens is, if something is boring, people don’t care. There has to be sentimentalism; enough to move anyone to tears, or make them feel inspired. Everyone who has been legendary has gone through a story of pain, only to reach their best spot. There’s a downfall in between, but the point of union always brings the grand finale to life.

In reality, Love’s Midnight happened because of Hansol. Eunkyung, who now can’t seem to stand anyone calling her that name instead of Love, worked part-time in some bar downtown. The place was ratchet, with hidden call-people expecting someone to capture them for the night, some drunkards that got a little bit too loud, and the owner, who’d always thank Eunkyung’s presence, calling it Love’s Midnight whenever clients gathered around…because her drinks were that good.

Hansol said, as he happened to be sitting down in Wonwoo’s couch, that it sounded like a band’s name. Andy was there, too, partly rubbing the skin of his arm after getting his first tattoo, and also hardly listening—but it seemed to be fitting for him, to join their forces and make a group. Originally, Eunkyung was supposed to be a guitarist, but Wonwoo would not even dare step in front of masses of people to sing a goddamned song about love.

What did people who watched the documentary believe now? That it was because of Andy’s nickname to Eunkyung. Love, when they were lovers, and the midnights they spent together. It earns them more money, yes, but it’s also heavily exaggerated to have people asking for more. Andy and Love were one of the biggest couples years ago, after all, and people thirsted more and more for their little interactions, even if they were nonexistent at this point.

Luckily, Hoshi is now with them.

But people are now even more interested in the band, and the arenas for the concerts of their world tours have been selling like hot bread. The problem is that being in a van with his three bandmates gets more tiring with each and every day that they spend pretending to be people they are not. They have to be cool, edgy, attend parties when they are told to, drink alcohol like it’s water, talk like they think of themselves as the most mysterious in this world. He can’t even call Hansol his real fucking name without having one of their managers tug him by the arm and correct him to Vernon.

The news outlet displays itself on the television screen. Hoshi keeps strumming on his guitar, and Vernon doesn’t seem to mind as he lays sleepily on his bed, ready to knock off. Love is somewhere in the back with someone she met in the afterparty of the concert—some groupie that she can’t seem to get her hands off of. The worst part is that he can’t seem to continue writing this song for the next album, because a picture of him is displayed on the screen.

“Who do you think Valentine is about, Rose?” One of the hosts asks, moving her short hair away from her sturdy shoulders to look at her taller counterpart.

Rose plays with the strands of her bubblegum pink hair, smacking her lips together before she speaks up. “People say it’s about Eunji Song, but I think there’s a line of girls that say it’s about her.”

“Wonwoo’s totally a womanizer.” Another host says, fashionable in the way he dresses, one leg crossed over the other. “We have fourteen idols who have been linked with him, three models, one entrepreneur and all in the last two years. We don’t even know who could’ve slipped the public eye.”

Rose takes a sharp breath, her teeth clattering in a way that has Wonwoo closing his eyes tightly. Two models, and that was about it. Neither lasting more than a week. Neither meant to be more to him. Just two people that he happened to come across with, and helped him forget. Well, tried to, at least. “He has even more lovers than Vernon!”

“Vernon’s been with the same girl for a while. Maybe, he could learn a thing or two about a committed relationship.”

The first host chuckles at their words, shaking her head in the process. “Everyone’s into drummers. I think he just likes the attention.”

The lonesome tune of Hoshi’s old guitar stops playing in the background, and Vernon’s soft snores mix with the cars passing by. His fingers reach for the remote, turning off the TV before those words stain his heart even further.

“Want to talk about it?” The bleached blonde man in the room asks, resting his cheek against his guitar to pay his utmost attention to him. “Vernon knows. Love does, too. But you’ve never told me what happened with your Valentine.”

Maybe, Hoshi seems like the kind who doesn’t take anything seriously—but he does. His eyes glaze over as he quietly speaks into the night, but Wonwoo can only stand up from his seat, eager to lock himself in his own room and think of what exactly happened. He doesn’t know what’s going on inside his head. “It’s nothing special,” But it is. Wonwoo believed in a lot of things—that Van Gogh was the best artist of his generation, that knowledge is the best form of revenge, and that she was his person. The only individual in this world that could see him for who he was and still, gauged him to be better. “Just what happens to everyone.” He fixes his jeans then, hanging low on his hips when Hoshi scoffs.

“What happens to everyone?”

“…Just, falling in love and never being able to make it work.”

“That’s not your fault.”

He stops in front of the door that leads to his room, and he wants to believe what Hoshi says. Maybe, if she had understood him as an artist, they’d be together. Perhaps, if he had just listened to her, he wouldn’t have written an entire album about heartbreak. It was not inherently his fault, but partly, like DNA that splits in two and creates the atrocity of what they were. The beauty in the fallout. “I’m heading to sleep.”

A hand wraps around his thigh, caging him in his spot when Hoshi, with a widened gaze, asks: “Who is it about?” The gossip must’ve gotten to him, too. Secrecy at its finest made an entire festival for the world to enjoy. “Like, who out of all the women they say it’s about…the album is actually written for.”

“None of them.” Wonwoo conquers, pushing his body away from him with a dizzied smile on his face. “…And that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wonwoo—!”

“I’m not saying who it is about.”

“…Damn it.” Hoshi adds, finally leaning back on his seat and returning to his guitar, soon after playing a tune with a few invented lyrics: “Jeon Wonwoo has a stick up his ass…”

The door closes behind him with a swoosh, all thoughts of rationality building themselves down out of pure impotence. The room is far too tiny, and Hoshi will join him sooner than later when he finishes his little guitar rendezvous, but that’s far from the point now. With each step he takes towards his bed, the more he notices his phone. Changed it like four times in the past two years because of crazy groupies, obsessed people sending him threats and just because he could do so. He wanted change so much that he doesn’t need it anymore.

The bed welcomes his weight as if he had never left, molding to his every curve, bouncing at his mere presence. His fingers subtly reach for his phone, lurking through his contacts like a man searching for answers.

His past lover is taken, and he’s stupid enough to press down on her contact even when he’s not drunk. Not an ounce of alcohol clads his vision, his stance, and that only makes it more pathetic.

But, how could she be taken? If love’s not as easy to get rid of for him, it should be difficult for her, too.

The ringing stops, and someone picks up, though the voice that welcomes him is old, a femme to be exact, but definitely over her sixties. “Hello?” She asks on the voice, and Wonwoo closes his eyes tightly out of embarrassment. “Who is calling this late?”

Right, a sixty-something-year-old woman is probably not used to two in the morning calls.

But who is, actually?

Out of embarrassment, his thumb presses down on the red button and he’s once again left with his silence. This has to mean that he should stop—calling his ex-girlfriend, who said was taken, is not the worst thing he has done, but it’s outright pathetic. For a second, he thinks of texting someone else—a friend, a model, a singer, someone who clearly wants to pay attention to him, who wouldn’t mind having the star of the year talking to them about anything and everything but her.

Yet, his mind can only think about an old friend, and it’s not even a friend to start with. Calling him would earn him a few insults, so he opts to text the only direct line he has to what he wants to get back. The thread that could move him closer to getting an answer.

To: Xu Minghao.

Hello, Minghao. This is Wonwoo.

Jeon Wonwoo from Love’s Midnight.

Minghao probably recognizes him more as his friend’s ex-boyfriend, but hey, he doesn’t know what to say.

Still, he mentions her name.

To: Xu Minghao.

Do you have her number?

I really need to talk to her.

For a few seconds, he wishes he could dissipate. Of course, Xu Minghao probably has made his life, twirled in his bedsheets and perhaps, with a lover that fits him better than he ever fit his ex. He’ll probably get insulted nonetheless, knowing just how protective he is over the podcast host. It’s two in the fucking morning, Wonwoo’s not drunk, but he really wishes he was so he could have an excuse for being…

Stupid.

A dick.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you planning on getting drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

Her number is linked soon after, not without forgetting to add something else.

From: Xu Minghao.

Anything you say can and will be held against you.

I’ll know if you do something stupid.

Don’t fuck it up, dude.

The thing is that Wonwoo is a thinker. Immature at times, or most of the time, but really an overthinker. His dad always told him that going through life as if he’s in a game of chess would help him make right decisions. Count every movement as a step forward, but also a step closer to either winning or losing. Each and every action could cause the fallout of others, of himself, or absolute success. He doesn’t know where he stands as the phone rings and he awaits her response.

“Hello?”

That groggy tone, he has heard before. Whenever someone wakes her up from a nap or a deep night of sleep, her voice seems to be eerily quiet. It’s the only time he has heard her something far from perfect, not as knowledgeable as she is. Love-filled confessions were given at the peak of the night, when Wonwoo’s fingers would ghost over the delicate spot on her waist and she’d grasp his hand with her warm ones and say: I love you.

Muffled, silent, followed by sleep, and yet so meaningful.

“What do you mean you’re taken?” Wonwoo wants to say a million things. Say hi, and indicate that her podcast has only gotten better. That he’s sorry for not believing in her, or rather, not knowing how to show it. However, his mind is clouded with the image of her, holding hands with someone else, kissing someone else, being in absolute love with someone that is not him—and making it work. Egotistic as it can be, he is.

The bed ruffles, and for a moment, she’s silent. Too unlike her until she breathes out, much more awake now, surprised even. “Wonwoo, why are you calling me?”

The only time he has heard that surprised tone was after their first kiss. One would think that someone as beautiful as her would’ve kissed him with little to no reaction after, but his collarbones can almost feel the weight of her face at the memory. Her features hid away from him, the dumbest of smiles accompanied with a few giggles of her own. It was as if she had been waiting for him, and he had taken too long.

It’s not that different now.

“I—Uh, I needed to hear you. Hear from you.” Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, straightening up his position on the bed and taking his pillow to slot his fingertips against the fabric. “I told you what I really felt and what I did, and all you do is ignore me.”

“I’m not friends with my exes, sorry.” She replies, and Wonwoo is about to retaliate, but the words have come back to her. Angry. Burning. Scalding. “And why in all the fucking hell would I have to tell you why I’m taken?”

“Because—” He wants to be honest for the first time in a while. With himself and with her. “Because we used to be friends before we were lovers, and I still care about the kind of person you’re seeing—”

“Do you really care?” The scoff that leaves her lips brings a frown to his face. “Go ask one of your models, or Song Eunji, about who they’re seeing and what they’re doing with their romantic lives. You don’t need to protect me from anything.”

Oh, so she knew about Eunji. “I’m not with any of them.”

“And you’re not with me, either.”

Wonwoo has to run his fingers through his messy black hair in order to grasp onto something else, or organize his thoughts before he goes absolutely insane. “I’m not.”

Silence. “So, why are you calling?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you loving someone else.” He breathes out, and before she could interrupt him with one of her pointy, correct, honest speeches, he bares his heart and soul. “…I’ve only been yours, I’m still yours. I want to know who it is that made you not want to be mine again.”

Again must not be in her vocabulary, and if he listens close enough, he can hear the change in her breathing, as if she starts to live life slower. “So, you date some model and I’m supposed to stay single?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t date her.”

“Then, you slept with her. Or various women, I don’t know.”

He can only stay silent.

“I know we broke up, and it’s totally okay for you to do that, but why would you ask me to stay waiting for you, when you didn’t wait for me either?”

“Okay, shit, sorry.” Wonwoo tries to reorganize his thoughts. He’s stupid. She wasn’t wrong when she said most men are stupid in the past, and now he has entered the spectrum. “I did it because it just…I just…I needed to get you out of my head.”

“By sleeping with other women?”

“Two.”

“Oh, two.” She releases, sarcasm thick in her voice. “What would you do if I said I have had more than two?”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, imagining her going on dates or perhaps, simply looking for someone in a bar. For men to sweeten her lips with a taste of their own, before treating her like less than what she deserves. It’s not what he wants for her, but it’s the same medicine he took. “It’d suck, but it’d be acceptable. We are not together.”

“Exactly.”

“…But who is it?”

“Who?”

“Who is the person you’re seeing right now? Out of your repertoire of people.”

She remains silent for a few seconds, as if she’s thinking too deeply, and yet, Wonwoo can’t keep his mouth from running. For the first time in his life, he wants to say a lot instead of saying nothing at all.

“No one.” She whispers into the dark night, the lullaby of his dreams coming directly from his lips. He wants to call it a second chance, but it just means solitude. “…Because unlike you, I wasn’t able to move on as easily.”

“I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t move on.” Wonwoo replies, laying on his stomach as he hides his face on the sheets. “I was just stupid. I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Do so or I’ll hang up. Last chance to hear my voice—”

“I wanted to get over you, and I thought I’d do what most rockstars do. I’d just sleep with someone and feel powerful, like I don’t care…” His voice trails, eyes glistening when he lifts his gaze. “But I do care. I care about you.”

“…I don’t know if I should trust you.” The insecurity is palpable through her voice, as if she’s a star in this sky and she’s only getting farther away from him. Tiny, miniscule for her; big and bright for him. “Wonwoo, we didn’t understand each other then, when we were barely starting to be the people we wanted to be. How would we understand each other now that my podcast is doing the best it has ever done, and you have about every woman in this damned country wanting to throw their wet panties at you?”

Looking up at the ceiling, Wonwoo wants to say the truth. What he has always regret not telling her. “I’ll always try my hardest for you. I didn’t do it then, but I’d go back and do it differently if I could.”

The line cuts short after she hangs up, leaving him with no more than a sharp intake of breath.  

###

The chocolate on the man’s ice-cream cracks under the force of his teeth, sliced nuts meeting the white substance in between—vanilla ice-cream, most likely, with a few lines of caramel. She had forgotten just how much Mingyu seemed to enjoy life, lips forever petrified in a smile as he looked around in the ice cream shop. Her delight has disappeared into the depths of her stomach, but Mingyu is on his second ice cream. Not a care in this world. Not a single wrinkle on his face to indicate he is feeling the weather a little bit strongly. He’s just eating, living, existing, breathing.

Jade tagged along, because something about her being in his father’s label and Mingyu absolutely needing guitar classes means that they had to ask her to come to their little ‘not a date’. Judging by the way Jade’s cheeks stain pink, and how she continuously play with the strands of hair, becoming a shy version of herself she had rarely gotten to see—unless they went to a concert and got to meet the artists backstage—, she thinks there is a reason why everything felt so inherently wrong with Mingyu, and with her setting up date for Minghao and Jade.

The young woman’s eyes glaze over when Mingyu smiles at her, and her fingertips reach for his lips to rub the chocolate away. Those stares, in between shyness and comfort, in the stage of not knowing what to say and yet, doing everything all at once—she lived that with Wonwoo, and she knows they’re probably less than a month away from calling it the truth.

So, she stands up, because if she can do something right in this life it’s making two people get together, even if she has to fake a few actions in the process. “I’m getting another ice cream. Want one, Jade?”

“We’ll share.” Mingyu adds, already putting his newly bitten chocolate ice cream up to Jade’s lips, and he barely ignores Jade’s widened eyes as she wraps her lips around the sweet and bites on the chocolate.

“Okay…” She whispers, lifting her hands in the air with her phone dinging in between her fingertips. “I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t miss the way that Jade whispers ‘take your time’, before Mingyu joins her with sweet laughter.

Ugh, love.

It’s so motherfucking annoying when you don’t have it.

But, let’s admit it—it’s cute in its early stages.

To: Hao.

So, when I set you up with Jade…

From: Hao.

You mean: Worst idea you’ve ever had?

To: Hao.

Yeah.

Did you hate me for it because Jade’s not your type, or because you knew she’d be a better match for Mingyu?

From: Hao.

Jade denies it, but she’s always had a thing for Mingyu.

To: Hao.

Oh, tea?

From: Hao.

I guess.

She drunkenly admitted it to me once.

Well, initially she said she wanted Mingyu to tie her to a ceiling fan and make her spin.

But I continued to talk her out of it and she admitted that she thought he was cute.

And I’ve been working on building up her crush on him for a year straight.

To: Hao.

Trust Xu Minghao on finding the love of your life.

Upon approaching the counter to order her ice cream, she hears someone softly calling out her name. It’s a delicate voice, definitely not used a lot, as if the air could take away the words in one single swish. Locking her phone as she turns to the side, she sees a smaller young woman by her side. Probably on her teens, with black hair and red highlights, a band t-shirt representing the pinnacle of her youth. Long ago, before Jeon Wonwoo even existed in her life, she may have looked like this.

“It’s you.”

But she wouldn’t have said that to a complete stranger, lowering her voice to a deep whisper as she clings onto her backpack. The pins read Love’s Midnight name and logo, making her swallow harshly.

“Sorry, I don’t know you—”

The teen fan gets her phone out of her pocket, lurking through her pictures as she speaks. “You’re the woman Valentine was written about,” The lisp on her tone is ever-present, clinging to her every syllable as she shows the device to her, pictures with Wonwoo displayed one by one, moved by her finger to show even more proof. Her face behind important pictures of their first few gigs, a few messages in social media that she was sure she deleted before— “Fans have been going crazy trying to find who it was about, but I saw you in the pictures and decided to look you up.”

She has to take a step back. Fear overtakes her. A young fan could do anything they wanted with this information, and if she was able to find all that…this is not the normal kind of fan. With shaking fingertips, she clasps her phone against her chest. “Did you follow me here, kid?”

“No. This is dad’s ice cream shop.” A smack of her bubblegum fills the air, twirling her finger against the straps of her backpack. “…I just saw you here and I thought it was destiny.”

“It’s not destiny.” She speaks, curt and clear. “And also, I’m not the woman you’re looking for. Sorry.”

“You’re in all his pictures from the past—”

“We were friends.” And she doesn’t know why she’s explaining this to a teenager, instead of actually calling her father and telling him that her daughter is batshit crazy. “And it’s none of your business, ain’t it? If you really like a celebrity, you need to learn how to respect their privacy.”

“Everyone is looking for his Valentine, and if I am right with my assumptions, we’ll finally get to know—”

“What do you earn from it?” Turning around, she spares one glance at Mingyu and Jade, with Mingyu looking at them with a frown on their features. Confusion, definitely. “Whoever it is, that’s the drummer’s issue.”

“It’s you! It’s so you!” The teenager says, a smile on her face as she jumps on her spot. “The blog’s so gonna love this!”

Grasping her hand with force on top of the teenager’s, she sighs deeply. “Don’t do that. That’s wrong.” She starts, eyes raking over the room before clearing her throat. “One day, you’re going to be older, and you’re going to realize those people you look up to are as normal as you are. You don’t need to make them more important than they already are, for you or for anyone. Don’t let being a fan of someone take over your life.”

The teen looks down at their joined hands, eyelashes fluttering with the heavy mascara, chest going up and down with each breath she takes, deeper than the last. “Okay, sorry…” She whispers, pulling away from her. “I must’ve gotten it wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I was also a fan of some people in my time.” She shrugs, returning her gaze to her friends to give them a tight smile. Everything’s alright. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The problem is that only that night when she gets home, Minghao links her straight to an article, written fresh from the oven and reading:

Forty Women (+1 Unexpected Guest) That Can Be The Inspiration Behind Love’s Midnight’s Valentine!

Scrolling down with shaking fingertips, she prays to the heaven for her to not be in that list—for it to be another rumor, another person that has been wanting to be thought of by Jeon Wonwoo, but once she reaches spot number forty-one, her heart feels like it has fallen out of her chest.

Her name is on the forty-first spot.

41. Podcast Host, Communication Major, Music Minor: This one is the most unexpected, yet the newest guess. Fans were able to compile pictures of two or three years ago of Jeon Wonwoo and this podcast host. Not only that, but she seemed to be close friends with Vernon, Love and Andy! Ouch!

Personal pictures were attached under the small paragraph, tugging at her heart strings.

Isn’t that the pink dress Wonwoo always talked about? Or could it be Song Eunji’s favorite color?

As if things couldn’t get any harder…

###

This is Eunkyung’s little dream. Her tea party filled with reporters, cameras, flashes, cigarettes and bodyguards. Everyone says that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger—and he feels like he has become a weightlifter with how much he has coped with, leaning back on his seat as the reporters in front of them beg to eat them alive. Each question pointier than the other, each silence dragging on for longer than the last. The center of attention is not the album, not Hoshi’s guitar solos or Vernon’s enigmatic bass skills. The center of attention is that Jeon Wonwoo had fallen in love, and couldn’t seem to get his old lover back.

His friends are different, and so is he. It should make him feel better that the evolution is ever-present in their lives, but it isn’t. The man he sees projected on the glass of water in front of him is exactly who he would’ve never thought he’d become. His black hair is pushed away, forehead is full display, not a single imperfection left for the world to see as he’s covered in makeup. The red leather jacket makes him sweaty, but he still wears it. It’s a gift from Versace and there’s only two of them in the entire world; he just has to wear it, according to his stylist.

One of the reporters stands up from his seat, fixing the blue sweater atop his toned body. The long strands of his black hair give him a bohemian look, but the preppy outfit and the glasses make him look somewhat nerdy. He could definitely be a reporter in music, but Wonwoo doesn’t really give a shit, does he?

“Wonwoo, excuse me—” The man starts, voice as nasal as ever as he brings his recorder up to his lips. “Forty-one women have been linked to be your muse for the latest album, but only one of them stands out.” He already knows the answer. Song Eunji. If rolling his eyes was an option, he’d do it, but he’s been staring at the cameras flashing for too long and his eyes feel like they may give up on him at any moment.

“Sorry, uh, we said no questions about that.” Wonwoo leans forward on his microphone, offering a brief smile in order to keep it at peace. The least he wants is drama for being an absolute diva.

The reporter doesn’t listen, calling out her name as if he knew her. As if they had shared cups of coffee, mornings where conversations merged into memories, nights in which her tears couldn’t be stopped with memories of either really good or really bad times. “…Podcast host and communication graduate, whose connection with you was clarified by your fans after finding pictures from two years ago, seemingly in a relationship with you.”

Fuck.

Where was his publicist when he needed her the most?

He didn’t know that his fans were able to find such things. Each trace of his past with her had been deleted—for the sake of his band, and for the sake of forgetting her. “I won’t make any statements.”

“So, you do admit that you were in a relationship with her?”

“I said,” He presses his lips to the microphone, lifting his eyebrows in the process. “No statements. Meaning, no comment.”

“Ignoring my question is a confirmation, Wonwoo.”

This time around, Vernon is the one who takes place in the interview. “Ignoring his complaints about not wanting to answer is a confirmation of your lack of knowledge in reporting, sir.”

The masses in front of them go crazy, each asking questions louder than the last, penetrating his ears with absolute hatred. Wonwoo stumbles backwards by the time his body leaves his seat, shaking his head when his manager tries to reach out for him, make him sit down before he absolutely ruins his career. Yet, the only person he can think about is her. His fans had found her, the reporters knew about her, too. A life void of privacy simply because of him.

Once backstage, his shoulders tense, cradling his phone in between his hands and bringing it up to his ear. The phone rings a few times, but she always hangs up. Each and every call is ignored exactly in its beginning.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I didn’t tell anyone about us.

Tell me you’re alright, please.

Please, answer the phone.

Are you okay?

Why aren’t you answering?

I’m sorry for everything.

Regret bites at him, slices him to bits as he sits down on the sofa, hearing the commotion outside and yet, doing nothing to conceal it. Love would hate him for this, tension rising between them ever since he became the center of attention—but he never asked for this. If he could take it back to the time in which he had her, and Love’s Midnight only played small gigs in some bars downtown, he would.

And he’s been meaning to.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I know you didn’t tell anyone.

I’m alright.

I just need time to think of what I’m going to do.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I could book a hotel for you so you feel safer.

Paparazzi are going to look for you.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’m staying at Minghao’s, don’t worry.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Fine, but take care of yourself.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo?

He can imagine her, calling out his name softly as if she had never left him, as if everything was alright—

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Tell me.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I need you to take care, as well.

I don’t want you to stress out over this.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’ll take care, baby.

Before he could regret what he said last, she left him on read. As if she had heard him too, but decided not to listen.

###  

The only beverage Minghao’s going to give her while staying at his place is lukewarm tea with honey. No matter how hard she tries to get him to give her coffee, it doesn’t happen.

The cars pass by the windows, stuffed by her breath that fans upon the clear glass. Her heart can’t stay still, much like her hands, fiddling against the other, waiting for the bad news. They have arrived—the world knows her, and past the comfort of Minghao’s place, she knows there are cameras flashing in front of her house. They had captured her before she got here, and after endless twists from Minghao, they managed to get to his apartment safe, sound and unnoticed.

Each and every insecurity is highlighted by the cameras. The fact that there had been someone else after her mocks her—tells her that people are just going to end up comparing her to those after her, or even before her. Ghosts that never existed in Wonwoo’s life, too. Some may be taller, some more petite. Some may have a clearer tone of voice, others may be unable to speak in anything other than profanities. Some may kill it on the guitar, and some may kill for a guitar. Everyone in Wonwoo’s life has been so different and yet, she’s the only one with an entire album written about her.

It’s winning the feeling of feeling unique that makes her feel less like shit. Wonwoo cared enough about her to write a million apologies in the form of notes, for him to pour his entire heart out in a guitar, a set of drums, a piano, a voice, the bass—all inspired by her, they rotate around her like the constellations around the universe. The smile she misses had dissipated with the memories of them, and she wants to bring them back. Fuck two years, more than six hundred days, because time is just a concept we don’t understand.

“Hey,” Minghao’s hair is not disheveled, put-together like he’s about to go over the runway with the newest pajama collection from, probably, Louis Vuitton. His body leans against the doorframe, wood against his soft skin, looking at her with worry as she sits on the bed of the room in Minghao’s apartment that he doesn’t use. “There has to be some good to this.”

“Yeah?” She asks, tilting her head far enough for her forehead to rest against the window. “Tell me what it is.”

The tech moves closer until he is in front of her, delicately kneeling in front of her before patting her leg. “This could bring potential listeners to our podcast—”

“Or girls that will hate me because I’m dating their rocker fantasy. Minghao, get real.” Her voice isn’t meant to sound so sharp, but it does. Her world shatters while Minghao can only see from up close, first row, even.

“Don’t think about them. Think about you.”

“What am I supposed to think about?”

“What you want out of this. If this is only a sign from the world to just get in contact with Wonwoo and clear things up. His career, yours, your relationship—” Minghao is speaking too fast, fingers fiddling with his own hair before sighing. “And if you’re not going to do it, I am. I can’t keep seeing you haltering your life because a relationship didn’t work. You are the one that needs to get real.”

She pushes his hand away then, crossing her arms over her chest to shelter herself. “Well, hear me out, you haven’t been in love, but I have. It’s damn fucking annoying when it doesn’t work, and you think that’s the only man that will ever get you, know you, feel you like he does. It’s not the same when you imagined your entire life with a man and he’s suddenly taken away from you. He changes. Twists. He’s not the same anymore, but you know that deep within him, there’s that man you love.” Her chest shakes with every breath she takes, and Minghao takes this time to step away from her. “And you wait for him. Wait for the day he realizes that you never meant to make him feel bad, and hope that he never meant to say the words he said to you. You don’t know what regret is, but I do—”

“Just mend it.”

She wishes it could be that easy. “And then, what?”

“Why do you always have to think about the future?” Her eyes inspect Minghao’s features, as if pulling away every thread of his enigma.

“Because the future is always happier than the present, ain’t it?”

His hand hovers over her shoulder, as if he wants to touch her, shelter her, but he doesn’t. Instead, Minghao smacks his hand against his side, looking for his phone before speaking up. “It’s up to us to make our present happy, too.”

The only response he gets is the sound of her sipping on her tea. Bland tea that Minghao loves, but doesn’t keep him in the room as he closes the door behind him with a thud.

For some moments, she can only look ahead. The cameras follow her, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she closes her eyes, only to awaken to the world trying to get information about her—a picture where something sags in her body, or her pimples are visible, or the stress marks around her face become wrinkles. However, even sleep seems to be out of town today, and she can’t do much but watch some movies on TV. Let the world decide for her again. The Notebook. Then, she couldn’t quite look at the screen without tears on her face.

When sleep welcomes her, it doesn’t stay for long.

It’s like the culprit that opens the door to the room, closing it behind him with an accidental bang—like the way he left. When her eyes can finally clearly see the outline of him in the dark, Wonwoo becomes a living being after years of trying to erase him. Dark hair pushed away from his face thanks to the droplets of rain that had coated both his leather jacket and his black t-shirt. His boots squeak against the flooring when he moves, stopping whatever force brings him closer to her. Eddie The Eagle plays in the background, but no star has ever been as bright as him. As the twinkle in his eyes when he breathes out his name as if he had never forgotten the lullaby in it. As if, for some reason, she’d always have a taste of that tongue and those lips, even when they are nowhere near or over hers.

Proof that love exists beneath him, over him, in him, is when he asks: “Are you alright?”

She could say no, or even just confirm it. Her words could turn into lies or truths, but they decide to stay in between. With him, saying too little or too much is granted to be a loss. “…I could be worse.”

Wonwoo lets the jacket fall on the floor with a thud, and before he could part his lips to say anything else as he nears her, she asks:

“How did you get in?”

“I was hiding in some hotel downtown, when I realized I just couldn’t leave you alone through this.” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper when the wind keeps blowing on the windows, rain pattering like droplets of paint. “So, I called Minghao, and he told me he’d leave the door open and I just could get in.”

“No one followed you, right?” Worry piles in her expression when mirrored in his starry eyes. The music of their love has lulled to a weak piano tune. They fell, lifted themselves up, only to be pushed to the ground again.

“I made sure no one did.” And the weight of him falls on the edge of the bed, the gray bedsheets wrinkling under his wet presence, leaving an imprint of him. A memory as strong as the ones she holds of him. “I’m sorry this is the way we ended up meeting again.”

Chances, figures in percentages that we don’t expect. We hope for them, and rarely get them. The chance of meeting Wonwoo again was lost thanks to his lack of privacy, but it would a lie if she said she hadn’t been worrying about him all night. In the edge of the bed, biting at her nails, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him.

Who loves you now, Wonwoo?

Who loves you more than I do?

Is it the world? Your fans? Your bandmates? Is it someone else?

Have you been loved at all while I have been gone?

“It had to happen someday,” She whispers into the night, bringing her knees up her chest, taking her coat off and tossing it his way. The cotton material meets his hands quickly, draping it over his body as if the tears that had been dropped in the same garment manage to warm him up. “Not the way I expected it to happen—”

His lips quirk up in a shy smile, shivering with happiness and glee, or perhaps from the coldness of the room. “You expected it to happen?”

It’s her time to shut her mouth for a second, thinking of the next step. “…It’s one of those vague daydreams I have. What would happen if we met again?”

“And what did you think was going to happen?”

“…That I’d try to run away.” She replies, and his smile falls at that moment. Yet, she doesn’t want to lie to him. “But if you got close enough, I’d start thinking of your hands around my waist, or the little kisses you used to press to my hands when you held them, and I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away from you.”

Wonwoo gets closer, like a wanderer trying to land on his preferred island. Swimming through their insecurities, the issues that pulled them away— “I like that.”

“You do?” She asks. “I think I sound stupid.”

“…Love’s like that.” He shrugs. “I took the stupid decision to write an entire album about you, but here’s the thing: I don’t regret it.” His words condense every single bit of coldness inside her chest, letting the tremble of his voice awaken the senses that never left her, loving him to death. “If writing a song about you is a sin, take me to hell.”

Kicking him softly on the leg, she chuckles. “Metaphorical as ever.”

“I like to read.”

“I know, you liked reading more than talking to me.” There, one of the issues of their relationship arises.

“And you don’t know how many books I have wished to un-read just to hear you talking again.” He replies, sighing soon after as he plays with one of the threads of the blanket. “But that’s life. I make bad decisions, they bite me in the ass, and then, I try to mend it.”

“And how are you planning to mend it?”

His arms extend at that moment, taut muscles contracting against the wet shirt. “I offer a hug for the night, if that’s alright.”

She wants to say no, but her body welcomes his embrace, feeling his strong chest pressed against hers, the curve of his spine, the way his scent always seems to be there—so warm, so his, so memorable, and yet, unable to feel as strong as a perfume. It is as though the scent of him drenched in rain makes her feel better, not quite as cold as in that bed alone, even when her skin clads itself in goosebumps. Her heart thumps with so much force that he probably feels it against his waist, in the way he leans back and cocoons her into place. She can’t look at him, just because she knows herself, and she’s one centimeter away from falling.

“It’s what I need.”

“Good.”

Zero point five centimeters away from falling.

Then, his breathing becomes tranquil, and his lips rest atop her hair.

Zero point twenty-five centimeters away from falling…

Zero point seventeen…

Fallen.

###

She knows he is still in that apartment when she hears his fingertips drumming against the counter.

You know, that’s also one of the issues of their relationship…the one they had two years ago. Waking up to the sound of Wonwoo playing whatever ACDC song on their kitchen counter wasn’t a pleasant noise in the past. When she’d go to the bathroom, phone perched in between her fingertips, she’d feel the rhythm thrumming through the tiles, interrupting her precious time of privacy. He’d do it before going to sleep, when bored, when watching a show but on her legs. It’s one of those things she’d ask him to stop doing, but as her eyes open and she comes face to face with the opened door, she feels safe.

Because Wonwoo is there, and that’s more than she could ask at this moment where her name is imprinted in every magazine. Her hand looks for her phone, and for a moment, she wants to stop. God knows what most of the pages she follows on her Instagram page must have written about her—gossip sites that she is not proud of following, but does it to have topics to talk about in her podcast. Whatever. She’s a nobody, there is surely one or two things about her—

But when the light of her phone casts down on her with horrid pictures of her going through the seas of paparazzi to get out of there as soon as possible, she feels shallow.

She’s not a podcast host.

Not Wonwoo’s ex-girlfriend.

But Song Eunji’s rival.

Comparisons, one after the other, from physical appearance to the ultimate statement coming directly from Eunji. Some messages that could be understood as a simple song lyric, if it wasn’t from Wonwoo’s song itself, displayed on a throwback picture of the two of them. Finished, with of course, as much class as the model can have on an apparent drunken night, when she writes down on her caption—

Shout out to the man who writes an entire album about me and yet, can’t last more than four minutes in bed. Love you, Woo.

The laughing emojis after surely don’t settle well in her stomach.

She has to put the phone to the side to think about what bothers her—Wonwoo being with Eunji could be it, but it could also be Eunji taking the spotlight that does it. Maybe, it’s just the fact that she’s involved in all of this, covers thrown away from her body as she goes towards the kitchen, only to watch her best friend and ex-boyfriend seated face to face. Minghao, peacefully drinking from a cup of warm tea, and Wonwoo making conversation as he plays whatever difficult song he can’t seem to get out of his head.

It’s the fact that she hates it—this feeling that tells her she’s proud of being his muse, but in secret. It’s the fact that, all this time, she’d rather have him than anyone else—words be forgotten, actions be damned, only at this moment when his eyes meet hers again, and he dares say:

“Good morning. Slept well?”

How not to think of the fact that, after pushing him to the bathroom to get him to change into warmer, drier clothes from Minghao’s closet, she ended up falling sleep on his arms? That being in silence felt comfortable when around him? That healing is not quite complete when she can’t have him?

“Better than I expected.” She whispers, moving over until she is closer to him, inspecting his features before breathing out softly. “Eunji said the album is about her. People are going crazy over it.”

Wonwoo’s features soften for a second, head thrown back when a groan escapes his lips. “It’s not—”

“I need you to tell me why you wrote an entire album about me.” Her eyes don’t close, honesty overtaking her when her hands ball to her sides, breathing controlled, world stopping just for her to listen to him.

Wonwoo’s brown eyes shake, looking over to Minghao as the dullest shade of pink takes over his face, bathing him in an enchanting glow. “To forget about you,” He says, though he laughs at his antics a bit soon after. ���Didn’t work out.”

“Why did you want to forget about me?”

“I thought you’d never come back.”

“And did you want me to come back?”

“From the moment you left that hotel room.”

“Why?”

“…I’m going to leave.” Minghao announces softly, already parting ways to go to his room with his mug of tea, but she can’t keep her eyes away from Wonwoo much longer. The question lingers in the air, just in time for him to connect his hands with hers.

“Why, Wonwoo? Why write about me, think about me, when you could’ve just let go?”

“It’s not that easy when it’s about you.” He says, a small smile playing on his features when he pulls her closer, not all at once but step by step. Slowly, she falls in between his legs, looks into his eyes when he lets sincerity live within his words. “I got everything I could ever wish for, and I still wanted you.”

“…Oh, God.” Her smile can’t hide itself when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, head resting on his chest as she chuckles. “Why do I like that so much?”

“Maybe, because you wanted me back, too?” The hope lingers on his voice, and she has to pull away for a second, looking up and down his features as she licks his lips.

“Let’s fix this entire mess first.”

“I’ll deny you are my album’s muse if that makes you feel better.”

For a moment, she feels the weight falling off her shoulders, but instead, she perks up, spine straightening when she says: “And why not confirm it instead?”

“Would you want to? This world I live in, it’s not good—”

“If I have to confirm a past relationship just to have you again, I will. I would.”

“…I won’t do that to you.” Wonwoo whispers, lips pressing to her knuckles like they used to at the earliest stages of their relationship. “You know what I want to do? Mend the lost time with you. Think and heal together. Talk to each other. I don’t want anyone else but us having a say on what we are…not stardom, not the band, not anyone.”

When she looks into his eyes, it feels like the old Wonwoo is back. Not the rockstar drummer that everyone has fallen for, but Jeon Wonwoo who’d laugh at the idea of ever being famous.

And it’s nice to think the world is different today, that they’re alone and there are not a thousand pictures of her online.

“Let them talk,” He finishes. “The only person I want to listen to is you, anyways.”

An avenue of tears has welcomed a sweet lake, and when she has seen her reflection in the water, she captures Wonwoo’s figure beside her. Maybe, they can get through this together. Perhaps, music united them, separated them, and now it has brought them back together again.

That’s the magic of love, isn’t it? Trusting again.

“…And you’ll hear me talk a lot about the past two years, Jeon Wonwoo.”

With a smile, he answers. “And I’ll gladly listen.”

Though, the only sound she gets to hear is the small intake of breath from his lips when she leans forward and tastes the early morning cigarettes in him. Everything she has ever wanted exists in him, so imperfect and yet, so fitting for her.

[musette22]

Burning For You

Title: Burning For You Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan) Rating: Teen and up Word count: 3.1k A/N: Written for Evanstan Week day 6, a late fill for the Alternate Universe prompt. This silly piece of fluff is entirely inspired by the wonder that is the Mountain Lodge candle from the Yankee Candle Company. Yes, the one that inspired this iconic Tumblr post. The one that smells like Chris Evans. 

I was lucky enough to receive one as a gift from the wonderful @howdoyousleep3 and my life hasn't been the same since I smelled it for the first time. Thank you for introducing me to such delights baby K, ilyyy 💖 Also BIG thank you to the @evanstanweek​ team and to my beautiful beta @rainbowsandcoconut who came up with the outline for this fic when I told her my idea! Love you, boo 😘

Summary: Evanstan AU. Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

Read on AO3

“Listen, D. You’ve gotta smell this candle.” Sebastian leans in closer, nearly knocking over his - third - glass of red. “You know I’m not usually a scented candle kinda guy, but this one…” He closes his eyes and tips back his head, an expression of pure bliss on his face. “Incredible. Glorious. Magnificent.”

“You look like you’re about to pull a Meg Ryan in When Harry met Sally over there, Seb.”

Sebastian straightens, giving Deirdre a meaningful look across the table at the low-key SoHo bar they’re having drinks at. “You kid, but I’m this close. It’s that good, not even exaggerating.”

“Sure you’re not,” Deirdre huffs, lifting her glass and taking a sizeable gulp of her Cosmopolitan.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Sebastian shrugs. “You know, I pity you for not having experienced the delights of the Mountain Lodge candle, really. If you knew what it smelled like, you’d be singing its praises too, believe me.”

Deirdre rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Fine, I’ll bite. What does it smell like, Sebastian, pray tell.”

Sebastian sits up eagerly. “It smells…” he starts, “like an evening in that lodge in the Green Mountains we rented with the others a couple of years ago. Remember that? How it felt to relax by the fire after a long day of hiking, the scent of cedarwood and toasted marshmallows in the air?”

“Hmmm,” Deirdre agrees. “That was nice, yeah. But hardly worth busting a nut over, I’d say.”

Sebastian holds up a single finger. “I'm not done. Because this candle doesn’t just smell like the lodge, it also smells like the lumberjack living at the lodge.”

Deirdre frowns. “There was no lumberjack living at the –”

“The metaphorical lumberjack, D, god. Work with me here a little.”

“Oh right, okay. Gotcha.”

“It smells,” Sebastian continues, undeterred, “like soft, worn flannel. Like beard oil and a hint of clean sweat. It smells like a big, strong, gorgeous man who just got done hewing a ginormous tree with his massive axe and cutting it down into firewood, which he’s now using to light the very fireplace in front of which he’ll make sweet, sweet love to you, on the rug that’s actually the skin of a bear that attacked his rescue dog and which this man fought off and killed with his own bare hands.”

“Whooofffff,” Deirdre says, fanning herself with a napkin. “Fine, I’m starting to see the attraction.”

“It smells…” Sebastian goes on, pausing for dramatic effect before delivering his clincher, “like Chris Evans.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Deirdre groans loudly, sagging back in her chair. “Ughh, shoulda known this was coming. For chrissake, Sebastian, you literally cannot go even one night without bringing up Chris Evans, can you?”

“I totally can,” Sebastian protests, like the mature, professional, Times-employed literary critic he is. “But you don’t understand, D. This candle, it’s actually like they bottled the very essence of Chris Evans and then infused a candle with it. It’s life-changing.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have a permanent boner for Chris Evans, you wanna marry him and have his little bearded babies, tell me something I don’t know,” Deirdre sighs, draining the last of her drink and immediately starting to look around for the waiter to order a new one. Distantly, Sebastian notices the song playing in the background changing to The Smith’s ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want'. Ah, if only.

“Listen to me,” Sebastian insists, unconsciously starting to speak louder, like he’s some small-town preacher trying to make his ignorant clergy see the light. “Deirdre, darling, you’re one of my oldest friends. I wouldn’t lie to you. I swear, when you smell this candle, you too will feel like you’re being engulfed in the embrace of the brilliant, spectacular, totally unique smokeshow that goes by the name of Chris Evans. It’s as if the man himself is wrapping those huge, muscled arms of his around you, crushing you to his wide chest as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while his beard brushes your temple and you inhale his masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat, I swear to god – D, are you even listening?”

At some point during the last part of Sebastian’s homily, Deirdre’s eyes drifted to a point over his right shoulder and got stuck there.

“Did you just- zone out?” Sebastian asks indignantly, waving a hand in front of her face. She doesn’t even blink. “Hello? Earth to Deirdre.”

“Seb,” Deirdre says, still not looking at Sebastian.

“Oh, I see,” Sebastian barrels on. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, telling you I found a candle that smells exactly like the man of my dreams and you’re just… What are you doing, actually? Are you okay?”

At this point, Deirdre’s eyes have gone comically round, mouth hanging open just a little. “Sebastian,” she repeats, more urgently now – and just as he’s turning his head to find out what put that dumbfounded look on her face, someone nearby clears their throat.

Sebastian startles, looking up at the man who’s appeared next to their table.

“Hi,” the man says in a deep, rich voice.

A deep, rich voice that Sebastian knows all too well. A deep, rich voice that belongs to none other than Chris Evans, Hollywood heartthrob and actual smokeshow, himself.

Oh.

Sebastian gapes while Chris, dressed in dark wash jeans, a red flannel shirt and a brown shearling jacket, smiles at him patiently. He’s all soft-looking beard and strong nose and bulging biceps and long, lean legs, and Sebastian has died and gone to heaven.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Chris says, “but was just sitting a table over and I couldn’t help but overhear.”

And from one moment to the next, Sebastian crashes forcefully back to earth. His whole body goes cold, the blood draining from his face so quickly he feels dizzy with it.

Fuck. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. There is no way this is actually happening.

Except it is.

Sebastian had just been extremely, loudly and publicly horny about the very guy that’s standing next to him right now. The guy who is no doubt about to give Sebastian a piece of his mind at best, and a right hook to the jaw at worst. And honestly, he’d deserve it.

Since Sebastian wouldn’t even know where to begin apologizing, he says nothing. Just keeps staring at Chris in ever-growing horror, his pulse pounding in his ears so loudly it almost drowns out the miserable sound of Morrissey still pleading in the background.

Chris clears his throat. “So,” he says, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “This candle smells like me, huh?”

Sebastian groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- Oh my god, please, please, please just forget you heard any of that.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Puzzled, Sebastian chances a glance at Chris from between his fingers. He’s partly still covering his face out of embarrassment, and partly because Chris is so gorgeous in real life that Sebastian isn’t sure he could look at him directly without spontaneously combusting. It’s like staring at the fucking sun. He doesn’t seem too angry, though, thank god. In fact, there’s an amused twinkle in his blue eyes that makes Sebastian’s shoulders relax infinitesimally.

“Because it was incredibly inappropriate?” Sebastian suggests, honestly a bit confused about having to explain this to him.

“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs. “It sounded pretty great. Kinda want to smell it for myself now.”

For some unfathomable reason – probably because unexpectedly seeing his long-time celebrity crush in the flesh broke his brain, Sebastian blurts out, “Oh, I don’t have it with me. It’s back at my apartment.”

Slowly, Chris raises a single eyebrow. The look sends a shiver straight down Sebastian’s spine, from the crown of his head right down to his toes. “Is it now?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replies breathlessly.

Chris’s gaze drops down to Sebastian’s brown leather boots before slowly travelling back up to his face. “I gotta say, normally someone would at least have to buy me dinner first, but…” He trails off, looking Sebastian straight in the eye before finishing, “I am really curious about this candle.”

“You are?” Sebastian says dumbly, and then “Ow!” when Deirdre delivers an impressively precise kick to his shin under the table. He turns to give her a betrayed look, but when he meets her eyes, with which she’s clearly trying very hard to communicate something to him, he finally catches on. “Oh!” Sebastian whips back around to Chris, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I- you- you mean like…” He swallows hard. “You wanna come back to my place to, uh, smell the candle?”

Although Chris’s expression remains amused, there’s a hint of trepidation there as well. “Sure,” he says, smiling crookedly. “If… that’s something you’re up for?”

Sebastian’s mind races. The way he sees it, there are two possibilities. Either Chris Evans is actually standing here in the flesh, propositioning him, or Sebastian hit his head in the bathroom earlier and is actually just lying on the dirty tile floor, hallucinating as a result of severe head trauma. The second option seems by far the most likely, but then, his shin does hurt like a sonuvabitch.

Well, fuck.

Sebastian clears his throat and sits up straighter, running a hand through his longish hair. “I mean, yeah, that’s- wow. That. That would be okay with me, uh huh. You mean like, now?”

“If that works for you?”

Without thinking, Sebastian says, “Well, I’m here with Deirdre –” before letting out another sharp yelp as said Deirdre crushes his toes under her heel. “Jesus, D!”

Deirdre ignores him. “Ohhh, would you look at the time,” she exclaims, holding up her wrist which very much doesn’t have a watch on it. “Boy, it’s much later than I thought. I really oughta get going, early start tomorrow.” She yawns theatrically, then grabs her purse and throws down two twenties on the table. “It was lovely seeing you, Sebastian, Chris… Evans,” she adds, with a wooden nod in Chris’s direction. “Hope you two have a lovely evening, bye now!”

And she’s gone.

They both stare after her for a second, and then Chris chuckles – a low sound that reverberates pleasantly in Sebastian’s chest. “Well,” Chris says, turning back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Chris.”

Sebastian stands, taking Chris’s hand, which is warm and big and ever so slightly calloused, and exactly like Sebastian always imagined. “Yeah, I know,” he says, because he’s cool like that. And then, in a show of bravura that surprises even himself, Sebastian holds Chris’s gaze, tilts his head a fraction, and says, “So uh, my place?”

Chris smiles, casually dropping a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover their drinks, before taking a step to the side to let Sebastian pass. “Lead the way,” he says, lightly resting his hand on the small of Sebastian’s back as they make their way towards the exit.

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

It’s only once they’re outside and the cold February night air manages to cool down Sebastian’s overheated brain somewhat that it occurs to him to ask if Chris wasn’t at the bar with anyone.

“I met a friend for drinks but he just left,” Chris explains. “I was just waiting for the bill when I overheard you guys.”

“And you’re sure you don’t have any other plans?” Sebastian asks, because he’s nothing if not a self-sabotaging idiot.

They’re still standing outside the bar, the golden light radiating from a nearby lamppost decorated with a cluster of luminous orbs making Chris look softer, somehow. Still a Hollywood heartthrob, but also charmingly human. Unfortunately, it does absolutely nothing to make Sebastian any less infatuated. If anything, it only endears Chris to him more, which he really didn’t think was possible.

“Not really, no,” Chris replies, amusement in his tone. “I was just gonna go back to my hotel and read for a bit.”

Sebastian perks up at the mention of his area of expertise. “Oh, yeah? What’re you reading?”

“I haven’t started it yet, but it’s this history of space travel? I read a great review of it in the Times the other day, so I thought I’d give it a go.” With a self-deprecating smile, Chris adds, “I’m kind of a space nerd.”

Sebastian blinks. “Not ‘To Infinity and Beyond’, by any chance?”

“That’s the one,” Chris confirms. “You know it?”

“I wrote the review.”

Chris’s eyes go round. “You did not.”

In lieu of replying, Sebastian digs up his wallet from his pocket, takes out his Times-employee card and holds it up for Chris’s inspection.

“Huh,” Chris says, studying the card. “What are the odds.” When his eyes turn back to Sebastian’s, he suddenly breaks out into a grin, wide and boyish. “Well, I guess that explains a thing or two.”

“How do you mean?” Sebastian frowns.

“I mean, that review was brilliantly written so you clearly have a way with words.” With a sly look, Chris goes on, “which explains your colorful descriptions of that candle earlier. The masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat was especially vivid.”

Sebastian groans, dragging a hand down over his face. “Jesus Christ, this is so embarrassing.”

Chris eyes shine with genuine mirth as he laughs, “Hey, come on, don’t worry about it.” He takes a step closer, ducking his head to try and catch Sebastian’s eyes, which are now firmly fixed on the pavement in an attempt to conjure up a hole to swallow him. “Call me a narcissist, but I didn’t exactly hate overhearing a gorgeous guy describing me as the man of his dreams.”

“Oh god,” Sebastian mutters, feeling himself turn a fetching shade of crimson. Trying to hide his blush, he turns around abruptly and nearly walks into the lamppost.

Chris, his savior, his knight in shining armor, manages to grab him by the back of his coat just in time to avoid the imminent collision. Sebastian still stumbles, but strong, capable arms wrapping securely around his waist keep him upright.

Carefully, Sebastian turns in Chris’s embrace so they’re facing each other, though he can’t quite make himself look Chris in the eye yet. “I’m guessing you caught on to this by now,” Sebastian tells the St Christopher pendant resting on Chris’s sternum, “but I’m kind of a disaster.”

Chris just hums, lifting a hand to tilt up Sebastian’s chin with his index finger, a small smile playing on his lips. “A beautiful one, though,” he whispers into the negligible space between them, before he closes that space and presses soft, full lips to Sebastian’s own.

Sebastian can’t suppress the small sound that escapes him when their lips meet, eyes closing on instinct as he lets himself sink into the kiss. Lets Chris take charge and coax open Sebastian’s mouth by running the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips. Sebastian doesn’t think twice about letting him in. When their tongues touch, sweet and soft and languid, he trembles, pressing closer. Chris tastes a little like beer, and while Sebastian’s never been overly fond of beer, it takes approximately two seconds of being kissed by the hottest man on the planet for it to magically turn into Sebastian’s new favorite taste. Ever.

The kiss starts off slow; a little cautious maybe, as if Chris still isn’t entirely sure it’s welcomed. But then Sebastian’s hands find their way to Chris’s waist, fingers gripping tightly, and Chris slides a hand into Sebastian’s hair, angling his head gently to the left to deepen the kiss – and suddenly, Sebastian’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. He moans, relishing the feel of Chris's soft beard scratching at his clean-shaven cheeks, and way Chris takes control of the kiss, like something right out of every embarrassing fantasy he's ever had.

When Chris hums against his lips, as if he’s enjoying this just as much as Sebastian is, Sebastian’s knees go all weak and useless. It’s a good thing that Chris is there, tightening his left arm around his waist and pulling him more securely against the hard lines of his own body – which actually doesn’t do a thing to help Sebastian’s current knee situation. He whimpers, curling his hands into the fabric of Chris’s coat to anchor himself.

When Chris finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far. His breathing has deepened, warm puffs of air caressing Sebastian’s tingling, wet lips. Sebastian exhales shakily. The way his head is spinning might be partially due to the wine, but it's definitely mostly because of Chris sweeping him off his feet with his smooth, movie star ways.

Needing a moment to gain his composure before he speaks, Sebastian buries his face in the crook of Chris’s neck, taking a deep, steadying breath –

Oh.

“I fucking knew it,” he groans.

Sebastian feels rather than hears Chris’s quiet laugh; feels the vibrations of it shake his broad chest under Sebastian’s palms. “Yeah? Do I really smell like your candle?”

“Better,” Sebastian mutters. On instinct, he presses his lips against Chris’s exposed neck, eliciting a shiver from him.

“You know,” Chris rumbles into Sebastian’s ear. “I still think I need to smell this magical thing for myself. Make sure you’re not just flattering me to get into my pants, y'know?”

Christ.

“Yeah,” Sebastian nods. “Definitely, good thinking. Empirical evidence is paramount. In fact, it’s totally possible I’m just mixing things up right now because my brain’s all” – he makes a poof motion with his hands, trusting Chris will get his drift – “so I think maybe I’ll need to do some comparative research.”

Chris tilts his head in though. “Hands-on research?”

“I think that’s best, yes,” Sebastian concurs.

“Right. Well, out of the two of us, you’re definitely the higher educated one, so I’m just gonna take your word for that.” After a beat, Chris adds, “as long as I get to test a theory or two of my own.”

“Oh?” Sebastian licks his lips. “Such as?”

The wicked glint in Chris’s eyes is the only warning he gets before Chris is sliding his hand back into Sebastian’s hair and giving it a firm, experimental tug.

“Ah,” Sebastian breathes, his eyelids fluttering, the blood rushing south so fast he feels dizzy – again.

Chris grins smugly. “Such as that.”

“Okay,” Sebastian croaks. “Yeah, that seems fair.” Wasting no more time, he reaches out to grab Chris’s free hand and starts to pull him along the pavement in the direction of his apartment.

Chris, laughing as he squeezes Sebastian’s hand, follows closely behind.  

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

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[ghost-of-winters-past]

can’t blame me for falling (when you look at me like that)

summary: On the road to see your old childhood friends with Bucky, you found yourself wishing you’d never reach your destination. Oh, the line between friendship and love could be so thin, especially when Bucky kept looking at you like that.

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

warnings/synopsis: AU, mutual pining, swear words, another friends to lovers because honestly we love to see it. Requested by the wonderful @barnesbabyy​ You have no idea how much fun I had writing this! Feel free to request again whenever! (4.3k words) Also, I have a smutty part 2. Raise your hands if you want it.

"Fucking hell." The black duffel bag stuffed to the brim with clothes, toiletries and a few bags of chips hit the ground with a heavy thud. The zipper had only closed halfway so that the football tricot you had thrown in last was still sticking out of it. Waving your arms in the air like some kind of flightless bird, you tried to get back control of your body while your feet were busy sliding over the iced patch on the New York sidewalk. "You okay over there?" Bucky sent you a bemused look, his tousled, brown hair sticking into every direction due to just waking up. "No. I almost just died!" you shot back with a dark look after finally managing to not smack face-first onto the street. Muttering a few obscene swear words, you took Bucky’s offered hand and let him help you off the slippery ice. "Yeah, looked pretty bad. Was already planning which headstone I was gonna buy you." "Haha, really funny." "Admit it, you would miss me," you then added and watched Bucky picking up your bag from the pavement. "Jesus Christ, woman. What’s in this thing?" he groaned and still hauled it into the car trunk as if it weighed absolutely nothing. Show-off. "Just some essentials," you shrugged and went to round the car so you could finally get on the road when Bucky suddenly opened the bag and started to dig through its contents. "Hey! Get your filthy paws out of my stuff!" "What the hell do you need five king-sized packs of Reese’s Cups for?" he asked with a raised brow and an amused smirk tugging on his pink lips. "You know we’re only gone for like five days, right?" With flaring nostrils, you ripped the sweets from his grasp. "One for every day! And now you’re not gonna get any of these, congratulations!" you huffed, pushed him to the side with your elbow and stuffed the candy back into your bag. Beside you, you could hear Bucky laughing, a deep rumbling belly laugh that made something flutter in your stomach. Maybe you had caught his flu after he kept annoying you to take care of him last week, insisting he couldn’t leave the bed and needed someone to make him soup and bring him lemon tee every two hours. Normally you would have just told him to suck it up and quit being a baby like he always did when you were sick, but when he had looked at you like that with his stupid big blue ocean eyes you just couldn’t say no.

"Can we leave now? There’s supposed to be a lot of traffic and I wanna at least get to North Carolina before sundown." You didn’t even wait for his answer and just slid into the passenger seat where you had already bunkered some water bottles and salty pretzels. Just in case you or Bucky would get car sick. You were already buckling up and hoisting your socked feet up onto the dashboard after kicking off your boots. With a little sigh, Bucky got into the driver's seat. A groan rolled over his lips when he saw your propped-up feet. "Get your smelly feet off my dashboard." "My feet don’t smell, asshat," you said, stretching to reach the radio to try to connect your phone cable. From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky shaking his head before starting the engine and mumbling something along the lines of being rude to the person chauffeuring you along half of the American east coast under his breath. Miley Cyrus' deep voice started to blare through the speakers and you could hear Bucky’s annoyed sigh, but chose to ignore it. Everybody knew the person in the passenger seat had the power over the music. "Let’s go!" you yelled and put on your sunglasses as Bucky expertly wove into traffic. There were at least nine hours of road ahead of you for today and you couldn’t wait to get going. The sooner you left, the sooner you could finally see Sam and Steve again.

"Hey, let’s play a game!" you excitedly suggested after about thirty minutes of driving. Bucky chuckled. "If that means you turn off the music, I’m in." You turned the music down. "Okay. Fuck, marry, kill." Bucky threw his head back, groaning annoyed. "That’s not the driving game I was thinking of," he said. You shrugged. "Don’t care. You start. Sam, Steve and me. Go." Giggling when he threw his head back again and let out an even louder groan, you turned around to face him and crossed your legs on the seat. "First of all: Kill Sam. That’s not even a question." Agreeing, you nodded your head. "I really don’t wanna answer the rest." "Oh come on!" you yelled and playfully shook his shoulder. "No!" he yelled back, a laugh rolling over his lips right after. "Bucky!" "Okay, okay!" Grinning, you watched him think about his answer for a while. His eyes wandered over to you for a few seconds, his cheeks reddening a little. "Say it!" "I refuse!" "Bucky, say it!" "Don’t force me to do this!" "Say it!" "Fuck and marry you, dammit!" It was dead silent. You were confused. "That’s not-" "I’m not gonna do shit with Steve! I’m either gonna fuck and marry you or nobody at all!" Slapping your hand over your mouth, you tried to hold in your laugh. "That’s not what I meant," he mumbled, embarrassed. "You love me," you started to tease him, dragging out the love in a high voice. "No. In fact, I’m gonna throw you outta the car right now." Bucky started violently pushing at your upper arm. "Get your fucking eyes back on the road!" you yelled and slapped his hands away, trying to catch your breath from laughing so hard that your eyes had teared up.

You had been sitting in the car for just over three hours when you had to make your first pit stop to get gas. Passing through most of Pennsylvania with just a few complications due to traffic, you were now just about half an hour away from crossing the border to Maryland. You were currently filling up the tank while Bucky escaped to the toilet. He had complained about needing to pee for at least 45 minutes, and you had just blown him off by reminding him that he should have gone before you left New York this morning. He was like a little child, telling you that he didn’t need to pee this morning so he didn’t go and when you had noticed the almost empty tank, you had let him wobble off while taking care of getting gas. "You want me to drive for a while?" you asked as you saw him coming back towards the car, a content look on his face. "Nah, I’m still good. You can drive tomorrow." "Okay, I’m just gonna pay real quick and then we can hit the road again," you said, putting the tank cap back into place and grabbing your wallet from the passenger seat.

Waiting in line to pay, your gaze wandered out of the big shop windows onto Bucky. He was standing in front of the open car door, languidly stretching his arms above his head so that the hem of his blue shirt kept riding up. Even from the distance, your breath hitched a little as you saw the toned sliver of skin that was now exposed to the cold February air. You had seen him without a shirt many times, and every time you had to suppress the need to run your hands over his defined muscles. Constantly you had to remind yourself that friends usually didn’t do that. The veins in his arms were almost bulging out, and you could have kept watching him for ages if the cashier wouldn’t have cleared his throat at that moment and ripped you from your observations. You put a bar of chocolate and a bottle of coke on the counter and proceeded to pay before heading back to Bucky. He was now sitting in the car again, his feet dangling out the open door and typing away on his phone. He quickly put it away when he saw you approaching.

"Can you gimme the chocolate?" he asked after getting back on the highway. "Not when you’re driving, you’re gonna kill us!" He sighed exasperated, knowing you were referring to the one time the two of you were driving upstate and he almost swerved off the street trying to open a bag of skittles. "It was one time, get over it!" You let out a little scream as he tried to reach for the chocolate in your hands, the car immediately swaying a little to the right. "Okay! I’m gonna give you a piece when you put both hands back on the wheel. Ten and two o’clock, mister!" Bucky let out a little huff, opening his mouth to complain when you held a piece of chocolate in front of his mouth. Not taking his eyes off the road, he gently closed his lips around it. The pillowy skin grazed your fingertips, sending an electrocuting tingle up your arm and then down your spine. You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest as you slowly lowered your arm. Clearing your throat, you got back to stuffing your own and suddenly very hot feeling face with chocolate.

You had been watching fields and trees passing you by with your arm propped up on the car window. After your little gas stop, it had been silent between you two. When Bucky had looked over to you after another hour of driving, he found you sound asleep with your head resting on the cold window. A small smile spread on his lips when he heard your quiet snoring. Careful, he first slipped one arm out of the sleeve of his brown jacket, then the other one before placing it over you as a makeshift blanket, not even taking his gaze off the road once. From the corner of his eye, he could see you pulling the jacket up to your chin in your sleep, a content sigh escaping your pretty lips. His eyes flickered over to your thigh, fingers itching to reach out and place his hand on the soft fabric of your sweat pants. But he didn’t know if you would be okay with it, even though you’d probably not notice. So he restrained himself and gripped onto the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road again.

You didn’t know how much time exactly had passed, but when you woke up, it was already getting dark outside. Yawning, you stretched your arms above your head, promptly bumping into the car ceiling. In the process, the jacket slipped down your torso. Confused, you looked over to Bucky. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said and sent a warm smile in your direction. "Hey," you grumbled back, your voice still thick with sleep and yawned again. You could feel the cold seeping through to you, so you decided to slip into Bucky’s jacket. The smell of mint and his aftershave, something woodsy and warm, surrounded you, and you couldn’t help but take a deep breath. How did he always smell so good? "Where are we?" "Just a few miles outside of North Carolina," he said. "You hungry? I saw a sign for a 24-hour diner a few minutes ago," he then added. "I could go for a burger." "You got it, doll." Warmth spread through your chest when you heard the nickname he usually just reserved for women he tried to pick up at your local bar. You just hoped he didn't hear your heart beating in your chest. Clearing your throat, you let your gaze wander out of the window again, letting Bucky's delicious smell fill your nose, almost lulling you back to sleep.

There were just two other cars parked in front of the retro diner when Bucky killed the engine. It was dark now, the cold air filling the car as soon as you opened the door. Burying your hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, you followed him to the entrance. "Thanks." Bucky noticed the red hue that was spreading on your cheeks when he held the door open for you, his heart doing a little jump when he saw how cute you looked in his jacket. It was a good few numbers too big on you, the sleeves bunching up around your wrists and its length covering up your butt. His head shot back up immediately when he realized he was checking out your ass, something he usually didn’t do. I mean, he had noticed you had a nice ass. Many times. And yes, admittedly, he had caught his hand reaching out to give it a good hard slap every now and then, but that’s just what best friends did, right? Right? That didn’t mean he was actually checking you out. He was just…observing.

A waitress motioned you over to a free booth at a window. She handed you two menus as you sat down and quickly took your drink order before leaving you to decide on food. "I need something greasy," you stated with a longing look at the cheese fries that were displayed on the plastic-wrapped cards. When Bucky didn’t say anything, you lifted your eyes from the menu and found him staring at you with a thoughtful look, his tongue running over his plump lips. "What?" "You just look so damn good in my clothes," he said, his voice a few octaves deeper than usual. Goosebumps spread over your arms when you watched him biting his bottom lip. Then he suddenly seemed to snap out of it, eyes widening a little before clearing his throat and hiding his face behind the menu. Even if you had known what to say, you physically couldn't bring yourself to even utter a word. Your throat was suddenly so dry that you greedily took a big gulp of the water the waitress had just placed in front of you. Awkward silence took over after ordering your food. "So, are we gonna stop for a motel soon?" "Let’s just take the first one we see, yeah?" Nodding your agreement, you started to play with the sleeve of his jacket. Then it was silent once again. Thankfully it didn’t take too long for your food to arrive, and once you started to dig in, Bucky’s comment from earlier was long forgotten.

"Shit, this is amazing," you said in between bites, an appreciative moan leaving your lips when you bit into the juicy burger. "You have a little something. Right there." Bucky motioned to your mouth, a little laugh tumbling from his lips when you tried to reach the cheesy spot with the tip of your tongue. "Wait. Let me." Reaching out over the table, his thumb moved to the corner of your lips. You could feel your heart stop for a second as you looked up into his wide blown eyes. Something was different. You didn’t just see it in the blue of his eyes, you could feel it in the air. Bucky’s thumb stilled, pulling down your bottom lip as his eyes settled on the sight of his thumb resting on the delicate skin of your lips. Without even a second thought, your tongue shot out, licking the cheese from his fingertip. "Fuck," you heard him curse quietly, a shaky breath escaping his mouth. Your eyes widened in shock and a weird feeling settled deep in your stomach. "I need to pee."

Jumping from your seat, his hand fell from your face. You could feel his stare on you as you ran off to the restroom, inwardly cringing at your own words. A hand came to rest on the spot he had touched after you had locked yourself in one of the stalls. Staring at the beige tile, you could not believe what had just happened. It was almost as if your brain had short-circuited. You didn’t even realize what you were doing until you had already tasted the salt of his fries on his fingertip. Convinced that you had just ruined your friendship, you sat down on the closed toilet seat, burying your head in your hands. You still had to spend at least ten more hours crammed in the car with him, and you could already imagine the awkwardness. Why? Why did you have to act this weird? It’s not like you had confidently decided to suck his finger into your mouth, your body had just acted on its own. He must have been thinking you’re a freak now. I mean, who did this kind of thing?Realizing that things would only get weirder the longer you hid from him, you tried to calm your nerves and slow down your breath. You were almost sure you were close to the brink of a panic attack, but maybe you were just overreacting.

Bucky was staring out of the big window next to the table, absently playing with his fingers. He could still feel your tongue running over his fingertip. Groaning, he shifted in his seat and pressed his eyes together. But all that came to his mind was the way you had looked up to him through your lashes while your tongue had been wrapped around his thumb. "Fuck," he muttered again, knowing he couldn’t just forget what it had felt like. Where did this suddenly come from? Initially, all he wanted to do was wipe the melted cheese from the corner of your mouth, but it was as if his own body had betrayed him. He hadn’t even realized what he had done until he could feel the warmth of your mouth. His eyes shot open again and he found your approaching reflection in the mirror. He could already see the uncomfortable look on your face. Immediately he felt guilty. You didn’t say anything when you sat down, just reaching for your burger and calmly starting to eat again. So he did the same, his eyes glued to the silver table and an awkward silence between you two.

Bucky wordlessly paid for dinner and silently followed you back to the car. You didn’t even dare to argue with him about paying for you. Hell, you didn’t even look at him anymore. He was almost 100% sure he had ruined your friendship. You drove about another twenty minutes before finding a decent motel and booking two rooms for the night. "Well, night then," you said with a timid smile, not really meeting his eyes, once you were stood outside of your room. "Good night," he responded and let out a sigh when you shut the door. It was not even nine o’clock, usually the two of you would hang out a little longer, but he could understand that you didn’t want to see him. He felt horrible for backing you into the corner like that. He had been laying on the bed for what felt like an eternity, his thoughts jumping between the fact that you were childhood friends and literally had seen each other in diapers, and the feeling you had evoked when you had looked at him like that. He could not deny the tingle in his bones when he had felt the warmth of your tongue. And it really shouldn’t affect him like this. After all, he had done way more intimate things with women, but when he now thought about it, he realized that he hadn’t brought one home in a long while. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he picked up a pretty girl from the club or the bar. He would rather leave with you, getting a coffee at midnight or playing video games at your apartment until the sun would rise. You just gave him this feeling he couldn’t even put into words. But he had never felt like this with anybody else. Even now, when there was a thin motel wall separating you two, he could feel your presence. It was as if his mind was desperately trying to reach out to yours, craving to intertwine itself with you. Bucky shot up when he realized it. Fuck it, he decided. He was out the door in seconds.

You were sitting on the bed absently playing with your phone, your chin propped up on the palm of your hand. The beige wallpaper suddenly seemed extremely interesting. You groaned as you tossed your phone aside and let yourself fall back into the mattress. The hungry look in Bucky’s eyes had imprinted itself on the back of your mind, making itself comfortable there. You didn’t think you could ever forget the way he had looked at you, the way he had tasted. Letting out a quiet scream into your hands you threw your head from left to right. No, this was a bad idea, you decided. But what if- You didn’t even allow yourself to complete that thought. There’s just no way he had felt the air change around you back in that diner too. There’s just no way his heart had been beating like crazy too ever since. But what if it had? You didn’t know what to think, you just knew one thing. If you didn’t get off your ass and ask him, you would never know. And probably go crazy. You clumsily stumbled over your bag that was lying in front of the bed on your way to the door. You were almost completely sure of what you were about to do, but you didn’t have any more time to think about it, because when you pulled the door open, Bucky was already standing there.

It was as if you both finally stopped thinking altogether. Your bodies were gravitating towards each other as if you had never done anything else in your life. You could feel his warm lips pressing onto yours with the same desperation you felt. Eyes closed, your hands buried in his short locks, you pulled him as close to you as possible, and shamelessly pushed your body into his, the two of you moulding together perfectly. A shiver ran up your spine when you felt his tongue slipping into your mouth, a little sigh escaping your lips. It was as if all the tension left your limbs as soon as you tasted him on your tongue. Hurriedly you led him back into your room, not daring to let off his lips for even a second. The door slammed shut behind you before Bucky’s hands gripped onto your waist. You could feel his lips spelling out your name against yours, his beard pleasantly scratching at your skin, a quiet moan following when you tugged at his hair. His hands wandered down to your hips, pulling your lower half into his, and you obediently melted into him. "Should we talk about-" he mumbled against your lips. "Stop. Just-just stop talking," you groaned out, the kiss too amazing to ruin it with a serious conversation. He happily obliged, pushing you deeper into the room until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you tumbled onto the sheets in a giggly mess of tangled limbs. For tonight you agreed to stop thinking about what could possibly happen after this and gave into what your bodies and minds so desperately craved for.

"There you are! Oh man, I’ve missed you guys! Come, give me a hug!" Sam had a huge smile plastered on his face as he pulled Bucky and you into a greeting hug. "It’s been ages!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Looking good, Sam!" you complimented him smiling and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Guys! Look at you!" A grin tugged at Buckys lips as he pulled Steve into a brotherly hug, slapping his back lightly. "You ready to watch the big game?" you asked the tall blonde and found him showing you his blinding teeth. "Hell yeah. It’s not every day that the Giants play in the Super Bowl!" "Do you need help with your stuff?" Sam asked, but before you could say anything, Bucky shook his head. "We’re good. You wouldn’t be able to lift her bag anyway," he teased him and just earned himself a light smack on the back of his head from you. Even in the setting sunlight, his eyes twinkled a little as he fondly looked down at you. Sam and Steve were already making their way back inside the house while the two of you started to unload the trunk.

"Here, let me." Bucky gently took the bag from you and shouldered it. "What a gentleman," you grinned up at him, almost getting lost in the sweet look in his baby blue eyes. "For you, always." He slowly leaned down to you, as you gently placed your palm over his chest, right where his heart was beating in an elevated, steady rhythm. "Now I just need to kill Sam and marry you to complete my list," he joked, referencing your driving game from yesterday. Immediately your face felt like it was on fire. "And there we go, back to being a pig." "Come on, you love it." Yeah, you did. You had never seen the type of smile now displayed on his face before. His eyes roamed over your entire face as if he tried to commit it all to memory, right hand resting low on your back, just over the swell of your ass. "Say it again," you then whispered, your face only inches away from his. "Don’t know what you mean, doll." Clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth, you smacked his chest. "Say it. Need to hear it again." A lazy grin took over his handsome features. Bucky lowered his lips onto yours, but before you could kiss him properly, he moved them over your cheek, down to your neck and then back up again, where he found that place right under your ear. He placed a quick, loving kiss onto the spot he had already marked repeatedly last night, your trembling legs almost giving out under you. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, making you shiver excitedly as he whispered the words he had traced and mumbled into your skin at least a million times the night before. "I love you."