#like matching your words to a good tune that fits the tone is a whole other skill than poetry! it's like magic to me

[aerithisms]

"taylor swift doesn't know what it's like to be a normal person so she'll never be able to write about certain experiences the way other artists can" is a fair critique of her as an artist but i will say i think if you think all she's trying to do is play pretend as a normal person and that she's never written anything profound about her specific life experiences you just don't know her discography. her songs ABOUT fame have produced some of her best lyricism because she understands fame in a particular way that very few people on this earth do. and while she has never been a normal adult she WAS a normal child/teen and i think the way she's able to write about that in retrospect now has also produced some of her best work. no she's not a groundbreaking unique poet but just as a lot of swifties overstate her poeticism i think a lot of people who don't like her do understate it

[frogtanii]

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

a quick glance to the boys at your sides notified you that they weren’t faring much better. atsumu kept fidgeting with his cufflinks, sakusa was so stiff you could knock him over with your pinky, kenma looked like he was about to pass out, bokuto was debating on squeezing under the table in front of you, kuroo was tapping a pattern on his pants (akeelah and the bee style), and akaashi kept reciting ominous poems under his breath.

the only people in the room who looked even remotely fine were osamu, oikawa, sugawara, daichi, and, surprisingly, yachi. osamu was munching on some peanuts that he pulled from... somewhere, while oikawa and sugawara were holding their own conversation by the window. daichi seemed to be minding his own business but you could never really get a proper read on him anyway.

well, you supposed yachi was okay because she knew what to expect. i mean, you were meeting her boss.

after you and kenma had posted your “exposing the hype(r) house” youtube video, an email had come to the both of you, inviting you to visit the “big boss” along with the rest of the crew.

you weren’t necessarily afraid of losing your job; the hype(r) house was already being dissolved and you were (finally!!!) getting to move in with makki and mattsun until you found your own place. you were genuinely excited to put the drama and literal hell behind you and begin to live your life again but...

that didn’t mean meeting the Man™ wasn’t terrifying. it was like being called into the principal’s office, complete with the existential dread and occasional bouts of gassiness.

the door opening made you flinch as you quickly moved out of the way to let the newcomers enter. while they walked past you, you couldn’t contain the shock that overtook your face, your jaw practically on the floor.

the man was massive.

built like a brick wall, the man who you assumed to be the “big boss,” had a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and massive fucking pecs, his white button up barely closing around them.

beside him stood a tall, lanky man who was dressed suspiciously un-office-like with a red buzz cut and wild eyes that seemed to cut into you as he took his place at the table.

the final man seemed a bit awkward in comparison to the other two, but he was trying to seem unaffected, his purple bowlcut, despite being rather juvenile, fitting perfectly with his slim but toned build and bright complexion.

yachi hurried to greet them, giving all three a blinding smile before motioning for everyone else to take a seat. you ended up between the redhead and atsumu, the former being way too entertained by just your general being. his eyes rarely, if ever, left your face sending shivers down your spine. the remaining members all hesitantly took their seats and “big boss” began.

“it is an honor to meet you all. i am ushijima wakatoshi but you can call me ushijima or wakatoshi or ushiwaka or toshijima or just ushi or just jima or just waka or just toshi.” for a moment you thought he was joking but his face never moved, not even with the awkward silence that followed. redhead seemed rather amused by the whole display and bowl cut looked like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

it took an uncomfortably long moment for ushijima to proceed but he did as though nothing had happened. “these are my associates, satori—” redhead gave you a mischievous grin “—and tsutomu.”

“goshiki,” bowl cut interrupted, his voice wavering but his eyes gleaming with righteous indignation as though he was challenging wakatoshi to say something in defiance. instead, ushijima just gave him a nod and he visibly deflated back into his seat.

“goshiki is the social media manager for imla and satori is... satori,” big boss continued, not a hint of emotion on his face. the rest of the table perked up at his comment but atsumu was the only one who apparently had the balls to say anything.

“so yer the one who wrote that shitty among us tweet?” goshiki flushed horribly and sunk further into his plush leather chair, his body language showing he must’ve already gotten an earful about it. “thought it was a good idea,” he muttered while averting his eyes, completely ignoring satori’s cackle from across the wood.

ushijima put up a (massive???) hand to calm the both of them and it instantly worked. satori quieted down though he never lost the mirth in his expression and goshiki straightened up, a new wave of determination crossing his features.

you sat up as well, feeling the shift of energy in the room but you were startled to realize the boss had decided to focus his energy on you, his deep baritone voice calling your full name. “i am extremely sorry. we have failed you as a management team and as men. i have failed you.”

he sounded remarkably remorseful, his brown irises conveying heavy emotion and guilt. you had no idea what to say but he wasn’t done.

“although i do not have full control of the decisions that have been made here, i should have fought harder for what i believed was right and for that, i will forever be sorry.” you shifted uncomfortably under his weighty gaze, not that he noticed because his attention was swiftly taken by kenma at the opposite end of the room.

“who is in charge then? aren’t you like the ceo or whatever?” he asked. ushijima took a moment before nodding very slowly, his attention clearly on something in his head.

thankfully, satori rapidly took over the thread of conversation before the room could fall in tense silence yet again. “there’s a board of old, stuffy guys who basically kicked miracle boy wakatoshi to the curb and make all their decisions without him.”

...miracle boy? what did he have to do to earn that kind of nickname? you shook your head and tuned back in, just as the ceo spoke up once again.

“because i have not succeeded in doing my job properly, i have something to give to you,” ushijima deadpanned, sliding a thick envelope towards you. you carefully grabbed it and opened it up to reveal a thick, thick, wad of cash.

a gasp caught in your throat, words not coming to you as you thumbed through the money. there had to be at least $60k in there, your eyes filling with tears while you took in his generosity. “thank you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

wakatoshi nodded at you before addressing the rest of the table about something but you weren’t even listening.

you were so overwhelmed. for the longest time, you’d hated whoever management was for ignoring your pleas for help and trying to placate you with nice dresses and fancy dinners so meeting ushijima was quite the welcomed surprise.

despite everything that occurred, you could tell he felt horrible for letting things slide even though it was technically out of his hands and you couldn’t even articulate how much that meant to you.

the fact that he had gone out of his way to pay you extra, assumingly without the permission of the board, was heartwarming, confusing, shocking, and staggering all at once.

i mean, you could probably describe the past few months as exactly that. so much had happened, so much had changed, and while you could do without some of the life adjustments (the nightmares, spare trauma, and fear of public bathrooms to start), you felt blessed with new friends and the experiences that helped shape you to the person you were now.

the boys didn’t hate you anymore (well, not all of them at least and none were actively antagonizing you), you were seeing dr yamada again, you were getting to move in with your two best friends, you were just given enough money to expand your channel drastically, and you were finally feeling good. better than good.

meiko was behind you and though you missed the person she once was, you were so glad she was out of your life in a way where she couldn’t harm you or the boys any longer.

a grin spread across your face, your cheeks nearly burning from the intensity of it. things were definitely looking up.

a soft call of your name jolted you from your thoughts, your eyes landing on all the boys already standing as they got ready to leave the room. you could sense their worry and you shot them a genuine, reassuring smile before standing yourself.

you waved goodbye to the three men at the table, thanking ushijima profusely for his kindness but he shook you off, insisting that he had just been doing what he should’ve done a long time ago.

what a nice guy.

as you followed the boys out of the building, you took a moment to observe them together with fondness written all over your expression. they were laughing and joking around, the happiest and most carefree you had ever seen any of them. bokuto was begging yachi to get them ice cream, the rest of them piling on until she gave in with a playful roll of her eyes, giggling at the cheer that went up from the group.

atsumu seemed to notice you lagging behind, falling back to join you. “ya okay angel?” he asked, eyes focused on your feet as he slowed down to match your pace.

you didn’t answer for a while, instead focusing on the sun warming your cheeks, the cool breeze messing up your hair, and the sounds of pure joy swirling above you.

“i’m absolutely perfect.” you replied and you actually meant it. “race you to the van?” you sent him an impish grin before taking off, his yells of indignation making you laugh freely as the rest of the boys joined in, right on your heels.

this is it, you thought. no matter what, i’ll have this moment and i’ll be okay.

you’d been through hell and back and you’d survived. you’d been cursed at, choked out, hospitalized, and been beaten at mario kart more times than you could count and you had still made it through. you were resilient and strong and you’d never given up, despite how badly you’d wanted to, multiple times over.

things weren’t perfect, they rarely are, but you knew that if you could make it through all that, you could get through practically anything, especially with the boys by your side.

yeah. i’ll be just fine.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

bonus!!

“told you it sounded stupid as hell.”

“gah, stop talking about it!!”

“you sounded sooooo old ‘shiki, what are you, 92?”

“AAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“satori...”

“what’s up miracle boy?”

“...what is ‘sus’?”

℗ poker face

i’ll be just fine

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - AND THATS A WRAP FOLKS 🥳 wowowow did the ending give me trouble but that’s ok SISJSK the endings will be coming shortly but they might not be daily just cs they may take more time, who knows lmfao i’ll let y’all know :3 AAAA ANYWAYS ILY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED KITH KITH don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[sinner-as-saint]

‘Till We Bleed Out - 2.

Vampire!bucky x reader AU

Part 2 of this series. 

Run-through: Your car breaks down on a deserted road on a rainy night. You have no other option but to seek shelter from the nearest house you could find; the mansion, which happened to be the talk of the town for its mysteriousness along with its equally mysterious owner, Mr. Barnes. The universe can be tricky sometimes but the fact that you found yourself at that mansion’s doorstep at that time was no simple coincidence. That one night changes everything forever - quite literally. True love, past lives and creatures from folklore; turns out it’s all real. 

Themes throughout the series: vampire!bucky, fluff, smut, angst 

You woke up realizing that you had surprisingly fallen soundly asleep last night, after the strange dream about the handsome man; who was kind enough to let you take shelter from the storm in his home. 

Speaking of the storm, you got out of bed and walked over to the window, pulling the curtain aside. You noticed that the weather was even worse than last night. Heavy rain, and nonstop thunder. Although, it seemed like a very cozy day to just stay inside. You sigh with a soft smile on, perhaps you’d get to know more about Bucky today. 

You turned back around and noticed something you hadn’t last night. Roses on the nightstand, as red as blood and just as hauntingly beautiful. Your smile grew; there was something enchanting about red roses. A bunch of it looked like the embodiment of poetry and there was no other way you could explain it. 

You approached the flowers and inhaled their fresh scent. Oh how you loved them! How come you didn’t notice they were on the nightstand? Anyways, you walked into the bathroom and brushed, showered and were about to change into another pair of sweatpants when you noticed more clothes in the closets. A sundress caught your eye and you decided to wear it. It fit you perfectly. You twirled in front of the mirror, checking yourself out when Wanda walked into the room. 

“I see you’re up, Miss.” she smiled at you. And you noticed she had the same look in her eyes, like Bucky did. That of sadness, or helplessness. But you tried ignoring it. 

“Good morning.” You gave her your best smile and noticed how she took in your appearance. 

“You look lovely. Anyways, I came to let you know that breakfast is ready. Mr. Barnes is waiting for you downstairs in the dining room. Come down whenever you’re ready.”  

Wanda left and the brief mention of Bucky brought back the memories of last night’s dream. It was definitely weird that you had such an explicit dream about him, but the weirdest thing was that you were not feeling the slightest bit guilty about it. 

You took a deep breath and stepped out of the room. You made your way downstairs, leisurely. Taking in more of the décor and the paintings on the wall. These must have cost a fortune, you thought. 

You found Bucky in the dining room, sitting at one of the ends of the large table. You had to admit, even the furniture in this house seemed pricey. Bucky set the newspaper down upon seeing you. He let his eyes roam your frame quickly and his smile broadened. “You look lovely,” he commented. 

You smiled, just a little shy and whispered a ‘thank you’. As you took a seat on his left, he spoke again. “The storm intensified. Looks like you’re not going home today.” he said with a genuine smile. You began to oppose naturally but he insisted. “You’ll be safe here.” 

You agreed. You picked a few food items from the large trays and took a few bites while Bucky got back to his newspaper. The silence was comfortable, the two of you seemed perfectly alright with sharing the space without feeling the need to fill the void with any conversation. It felt like this was part of your routine almost. 

You sipped on coffee and discreetly lifted your eyes to look at Bucky. He munched on a piece of fruit while focusing on some article in the papers. His body language made him look like an older man; eating while reading his newspaper. But his face didn’t look a day over 35. The contrast made you giggle and that caught his attention. 

He turned to face you with a raised eyebrow. “Something funny, miss?” he sounded like he was teasing you, politely. 

You shook your head and set your cup down, and upon doing so you noticed the red roses in a vase in front of you, again. The sudden urge to ask a question took over you, “Your wife, did she like red roses?” 

“They were her favorite.” He seemed unfazed by your sudden curiosity. 

“What was she like?” you asked again and the smitten smile on his face gave away how much he loved her. Love like this was rare, and you felt just a little envious of the late woman. She was so lucky, you hoped she knew. 

“Like the answer to all my prayers. Beautiful. Every little thing about her was so, so beautiful. She was kind, smart and funny, and fierce. She made me a better man. She was delightful.” You noticed he looked you right in the eyes as he spoke. His answer gave away that he worshipped that woman. 

“I hope she knew how much you love her.” 

He gave you that soft smile again. “I made sure to remind her every single day.” 

-

You never knew rainy days could be so lovely. After breakfast Bucky offered to show you his library because of course he owned one. And you had the time of your life just walking around and running your fingers over some of your favorite books. 

You noticed red roses on the coffee table as well, by the couches in his study room/library. While reaching for a copy of Pride and Prejudice, your hand brushed with his and your whole body felt like it was electrified. You pulled away sheepishly, but he held it up to you and you took it with a smile, admiring the front cover. 

“Your favorite?” he asked. 

You nodded, excitedly. He let out a little laugh. “You can have this one. I have plenty of other copies.” 

You smiled so big your cheeks hurt. “Thank you, Buck.” you were so excited that you walked past him, hungry to explore the other side of his library - without realizing what you just called him. 

Meanwhile Bucky was both surprised and elated. Buck… no one called him that except for-

“What’s in there?” he heard your voice and turned around immediately. You were pointing at the partially hidden door at the end of the room. “That’s where you hide all your secrets?” you teased, using the same tone he did this morning. 

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, you caught me.” 

You two shared a laugh and then he insisted that you should see the piano room. You agreed and just as everything else in the house, the grand room was equally as breathtaking. White couches, brown pillows, plants, full of light even with the stormy weather and a large balcony adjoined to it. Perfect. 

“It’s beautiful,” you said as you admired the room. You could hear the heavy rain hitting the window panes, it was comforting. You noticed the well-maintained piano right by the door which led to the balcony, “Do you play?” you asked and he gave you a dramatic look which gave away that you had just bruised his ego. 

“Miss Y/N, how dare you question my skills?” He answered with a smile on, then proceeded to play the most melodic tune you had ever heard. You weren’t much of a musical person, but you knew a melancholic tune when you heard one. It was, as most things in this house, hauntingly beautiful. Even the music carried a sense of nostalgia, and homesickness. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, getting lost in the music which filled the room effortlessly. Familiar, very familiar. Then it hit you - this was the same song being played at that ball in your dream. You opened your eyes immediately, baffled at the weird coincidences taking place lately. 

You found yourself gravitating towards the bench, and eventually you sat beside Bucky. He looked at you for a brief moment, then resumed playing somewhat of a softer tune. You smiled at him and suddenly it all felt like a déjà-vu. Like you’ve lived this exact moment a hundred times before. Sitting next to him, your elbows brushing, him looking at you lovingly, yet with sad eyes. His cologne, the slight gray in his eyes, the weather - it felt like a forgotten dream was coming back to you. 

You had to find something to say otherwise you felt like you were about to lose your mind. “You said you worked all day everyday. So is today your day off?” you tried to lighten the mood. 

He let out a little laugh. “Like I said, I rarely get visitors. I’m just making the most out of your company.” 

He was drop dead gorgeous, and he could make your heart race with just a few simple words. A dangerous combination really. 

He kept playing as you walked around the room, taking in every little detail. This was the only room in the house which had white roses in the vase, instead of dark red ones. Well, the white ones matched the interior better here. Your gaze fell upon something interesting next. 

“Vinyl records?” that seemed to catch his undivided attention as he stopped playing and turned to you. 

“Oh yes. It was one of my… old hobbies.” He answered. 

You giggled. “You say old hobbies like you are over a hundred years old.” 

He chuckled and got up from the bench. He walked over to where the records were kept, picked one out and carefully placed it down on the record player. A soothing tune filled the room again. Much lighter and happier than the piano earlier. A stark contrast to the gloomy weather but it still, somehow, fit perfectly. 

Bucky extended his arm out in front of you, out of nowhere. “Dance with me.” 

You didn’t hesitate for a single and took his hand immediately. Bucky held you close; his hand at your waist pressing your body to his gently. His other hand held yours delicately. Your arm placed over his shoulder as you stared into his deep, piercing eyes. And just like that, you two swayed slowly to the sweet, slow music. Effortlessly, gracefully and without any awkwardness or hesitation. Almost like you’ve danced a thousand times before. 

You giggled as he twirled you around and pulled you closer almost immediately. And when you looked back up into his eyes, it felt like a déjà-vu again. Only this time, you knew where you had experienced something similar to this - in your dream last night. The ballroom, the gown, the way you danced. Just like this. 

Your body tensed up and you weren’t blinking, Bucky caught the change in your behavior. “Don’t think about it.” he murmured. 

“About what?” you used a much softer tone as well. You and him were so close you could whisper and you were sure he would hear you perfectly. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking about.” He spoke as he swayed you gently. “You’re here, with me. I don’t want you to think about anything else.” It sounded more like a plea than a request. There was something else he was trying to say; inexplicable, hidden in between the lines. Somehow you caught it. 

You nodded. “I’m here.” You spoke without paying much attention to what you were saying or doing. “With you.” All that mattered in the world right now was that you were in his embrace. His ocean blue eyes were the only thing you could make sense of. 

You felt it then. The warmth, despite his cold hands. The sparks flying around, despite the dark and gloomy weather outside. He started leaning in and you met him halfway. 

His hand moved up to gently cup your face. His lips brushed against yours briefly as he paused and waited to see if you would pull away. Seeing you didn’t, he pressed his lips to yours. You shivered at how delicately he caressed your cheek with his thumb. Kissing him felt natural. Like a habit. His lips were soft and familiar. He tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you closer. 

Your hands instinctively slid into his hair, he moaned under his breath as you tugged on it gently.  Bucky tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss, nibbling on your lips and gently stroking your lower lip with his tongue. You felt giddy and warm. And safe. 

He pulled away just a second before Wanda stepped into the room. “Dinner’s ready.” 

Bucky told her you two would be downstairs in a minute and you caught that look on her face. A look of pure joy and satisfaction. You didn’t understand why. 

When Wanda left, you faced Bucky again, now just a little nervous. “I.. I didn’t-,” 

He silenced you by gently holding your chin in between his fingers. “Shh sweetheart.” His gaze spoke volumes; he was perfectly alright with this kiss. “We should go downstairs.” 

Dinner was perfect. Lovely conversation, lovely wine, the same stormy weather outside but inside Bucky’s home; all was well. He told you that you were more than welcome to use his library if you wished to do some light reading before bed. You agreed. 

You grabbed a book and curled up on one of the couches and he did the same, sitting right across you. You found yourself re-reading the same sentence over and over again because you couldn’t focus. Not when you could physically feel his eyes on you. You even caught him staring a few times and giggled whenever he seemed flustered after being caught. 

There was ease between you two. And the next two hours went by comfortably. 

“It’s late, I should go to bed.” You spoke as you stood up. He did as well, and when you looked into his eyes you began wishing that this storm outside lasts forever. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He whispered, leaning in and kissing you at the side of your mouth. 

“Goodnight.” 

-

You tossed and turned in bed. Somehow, falling asleep was a little harder today because you couldn’t help but think about how it felt when Bucky kissed you earlier. The sound of the harsh storm echoed inside the house, but it was still comforting. 

The loud roar of the thunder was the last thing you heard before drifting off to sleep; dreaming again, this time of red roses, blue eyes, balconies and paintings… 

Arms wrapped around you from behind, embracing you in a tight hug. “Do you like it, my love?” the silky smooth voice asked. You looked down and you smiled at the sight of the wedding band on his finger. 

“I love it.” You looked up at the frame hung on the wall. It was a painting of you and your husband, delivered to you that morning itself. “We’ll keep it here forever.” 

You heard a soft chuckle, then felt a pair of lips kissing your neck softly. “Even longer.” 

You turned around and came face to face with Bucky, with slightly longer hair, tied in a low, neat ponytail. Behind him was a very familiar door. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. “We should get going, else we’ll be late.” 

The surroundings faded, and you were now inside a dimly lit ballroom. The grand chandelier was mesmerizing, but not more than your husband’s eyes. He was gorgeous, your man; even with half his face covered by the masquerade mask he was still perfectly able to take your breath away. 

He smirked, as though able to read your thoughts. He leaned in, and the rest of your surroundings was suddenly a blur. “Do you wish for us to go somewhere more private, sweetheart?” He whispered in your ear. 

You bit your lip and nodded, only then realizing that you were wearing a mask as well. Bucky smiled, tugging on your hand and dragging you along to wherever it is he was taking you. 

The room around you morphed again and you found yourself running up a staircase with Bucky, giggling and holding onto each other for dear life until you finally made it to the top. You found yourself on a balcony. 

“Where are we?” you asked. 

Bucky stepped closer, pushing you gently against the balustrade. “Home.” He leaned in and kissed you. His mouth moved against yours gently, passionately. His hands were on either side of your waist as he pressed you further into him. Your hands instinctively went to his neck as you gently pulled him closer.

As you closed your eyes and cherished his touch, an image of the painting from earlier flashed in front of your eyes. But you forgot it just as quickly as it came because Bucky’s touch took over all your senses. His hand slipped under your dress, and went right to your wet core. 

You giggled into the kiss as his knuckles brushed faintly against your core and you moaned at his touch. He cupped you in between the legs and the palm of his hand pressed against your throbbing clit. His mere touch was driving you insane. His lips left yours and he kissed his way to your neck; sharp teeth nipping at your skin. At the feel of it, your own canines sharpened out of nowhere. 

Surprisingly, it didn’t feel like it was the first time that it happened. You seemed comfortable with the sudden change. 

Bucky kissed all the spots which made you weak in the knees; he knew your body by heart it seemed. While he kissed your skin, his fingers moved slightly against your dripping core. You moaned, tugging on his hair just a little. 

“Be quiet for me, sweetheart.” he mumbled against your skin as he slipped two fingers past your folds. He curled his fingers inside you immediately, and stroked your walls gently. You moved your hips against his hand as you chased your orgasm. His thumb rubbed your swollen clit furiously as you bit your lip to keep you from moaning. 

“Buck…” you were breathless, each nerve ending on fire as pleasure washed over you. 

“Shh sweetheart,” he quickened his actions and slipped his fingers in and out of you incessantly until he felt your walls clench around him. “Cum for me,” he whispered. You moaned, biting your lower lip as you came all over his hand. 

Once you recovered, he pulled your dress up, making it bunch around your waist as he stepped in between your legs again; kissing you like his life depended on it. He undid his pants and hoisted you up his own body. You wrapped your legs around his waist quickly for better balance and he leaned the two of you against the balustrade once again. 

You felt his hard cock pressing against your skin as he kissed you hungrily. His hand dipped in between the two of you and he guided the tip of his erected cock over to your dripping entrance. The brief friction caused you to moan into his mouth. 

“Be quiet for me, yes?” he spoke against your lips, almost as breathless as you were. You nodded frantically. And with that, he pushed himself inside you quickly. You felt all of him once he was completely buried in you. His cock twitched inside you and you bit your lip to prevent a moan from escaping your lips.

He held your hips, and your hands gripped his shoulders desperately as you tried to keep your voice down. You pushed your face into the crook of his neck, nibbling on his skin with your sharp fangs as he rocked in and out of you. You moaned quietly against his skin as his throbbing cock sped up into you. He pounded into you relentlessly, earning more and more moans and gasps out of you. 

He growled when he felt you clench around him. “Bucky…” you moaned and he immediately placed his lips on yours to stop you from making more noise. He loved how you lost control under his touch. He loved the sound of his name leaving your lips. 

“Shh, sweetheart. Quiet,” he mumbled against your lips as he felt your walls milking him perfectly. “We can’t get caught fucking in our own balcony while we were supposed to be hosting a party downstairs.” He ended with a chuckle. 

You whined. “Well if you weren’t so insatiable,” you teased. He scoffed, holding you at the curve of your ass, hands under your dress as he occasionally squeezed your butt cheeks, making you giggle and moan at the same time. 

“Says the one who lures me in like a seductress every moment of every day,” he sassed back. He slammed into you relentlessly while you tried your hardest to not to scream out loud. You felt a pressure building between your hips, and it seemed like he felt it as well because he dipped his head into the crook of your neck and swore under his breath as he sped up again. 

Your thoughts became cloudy, and all that you could focus on in that moment was the force of his thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you found yourself unable to form proper thoughts. Your clit rubbed against his pelvic bone each time he filled you up.

Your body moved along with his like a rag doll as you could no longer keep up with his thrust. Soon, you felt the warmth taking over. And a familiar tingle went down your spine as your walls clenched around him. You gushed out all over his cock with a loud moan… 

 You woke up gasping, shocked that you had dreamt such explicit dreams two nights in a row now. You looked around and realized that it was still night time. You could still replay the dream in your head like a vivid memory. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths. 

The painting. 

The painting seemed so real, so detailed. You wondered if- 

Wait, that door you dreamt of. You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? Large, dark wood with beautifully detailed carvings on it, golden doorknob… 

You gasped again. It was the door in the library. Your heart raced. Could it be… ? 

You didn’t think twice before getting out of bed, grabbing the robe Wanda had left you earlier you stepped out of the room. Your breaths got shallower and shallower as you reached the library. 

It could very well be just a weird dream, right? You jumped at the sound of the thunder, and realized that you were already inside the library. You stared at the door. This was the exact one you dreamt of. 

Fuck it. You walked towards it, blocking out any thoughts which told you to turn back around and get back in bed. You twisted the doorknob and it was unlocked. You pushed the door open, stepping inside you found a secret room. About the same size of the library, or maybe slightly more spacious. 

It looked like a more modern and luxurious version of a drawing room. With the usual, couches, carpets and… and paintings. For a moment you almost didn’t want to find it. You didn’t want to find that painting of you and Bucky; which you had just dreamt of because if or when you do, what then? 

You looked around, the light from the two chandeliers illuminating the room just right. There were regular paintings one would find in an expensive mansion like this one; views of countryside, mountains, rivers. There were some paintings of people you couldn’t recognize but you knew, deep inside, that they seemed familiar. 

You almost let out a sigh of relief when you didn’t find the painting from your dream. 

Almost. 

But then you saw it. The largest frame in the room. Right above the golden fireplace, mounted on the wall perfectly straight and right in the center of the room. 

It was the painting you dreamt of. The one of you and Bucky. 

“What the hell?” you whispered as you approached the fireplace, craning your head up to look at the oddly familiar painting. 

You two seemed so happy. You were in a rose gold gown, and Bucky was well-dressed in navy blue. A lovely moment in time, captured in a beautiful painting. You weren’t quite sure what to think as you looked at yourself in the painting. 

Your eyes instinctively trailed down to the bottom on the frame. And in cursive black painted were written the words which gave you goosebumps: ‘Mr. & Mrs. Barnes. 1872.’ 

“What the hell?” you repeated. 

This time you heard a voice speak up, from behind you. “You should be in bed, sweetheart.” He said softly. 

You turned around and found Bucky leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed and a look on his face which you couldn’t quite decipher. You turned to look back at the painting, and then back at him again. He hadn’t aged since 1872 it seemed. 

Your heart raced again. 

It couldn’t be… could it? 

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

The Hangover (Def Leppard x Reader)

(Happy birthday to my blog!! To celebrate 3 years of the place where I concentrate my insane Leppard obsession, I thought I’d celebrate by posting the FIRST Def Leppard fanfic I EVER wrote ((which I have NEVER posted anywhere before!)) I began writing this exactly 3 years ago today- the day I made this blog ((February 19th, 2018))- and officially finished it about a year later. This is not intended as a romantic/sexual fic, it’s simply just an x reader in which the reader is basically one of the guys. In other words, it’s on crack.)

((I am aware this is kind of cringe-worthy at times... but I still like a lot of things about it. While I revised it very slightly before queuing it,  I was still 16 when I started writing this, okay... gimme a break...))

(Illustration by @paper-sxn​)

Words: 8,684 Prompt: Dublin, 1984. You’re with the Leppards in their early pre-Hysteria era house. You all wake up with hangovers after a boozed-up night at home, and you each try to put the pieces of the previous night back together. Meanwhile, you’re praying that one particular piece won’t fit in anywhere... (partially inspired by the “Blitzgiving” and “The Pineapple Incident” episodes of How I Met Your Mother)

-----

Gently piercing white light made its way through the windows of the bedroom. It hit your eyelids, and it hit your brain, igniting a brief but killer headache. As your eyes clasped together more, you turned your face into the gloriously soft pillow. For a second you asked yourself why you would have a headache so early in the morning, but then…

You laughed quietly into the bed, recalling without warning some vague happenings from the night before. There wasn’t much you remembered, but you clearly saw the image of the guys flat out drunk at some point (you along with them). There were some blips of you all singing together, Sav hanging from a door frame, you chugging some scotch, Joe chugging some vodka, Steve’s hair being in pigtails, and you think Phil might’ve been giving you a lap dance... or vice versa. It was, all in all, hysterical (at least- that’s what you wanted to think).

 Other than those faint events, unfortunately, the night was gone. Still, you were thrilled that it happened. Crazy times with your boys were always good.

You rubbed your eyes, ready for more sleep to combat the pounding in your head. When you did, they opened a little, and you realized… this wasn't your room you were in. Squinting around, you noticed that you were sleeping in Phil’s room instead of yours.

Oh, it’s not that much of a problem, you mused, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. I’ve woken up to worse in this place.

You let your eyes close again easily, and you found peace as you began to fall under again. That is, until you felt someone move next to you.

When it happened, you became aware of the warmth coming from someone else in the bed. They only shifted in their sleep a little bit before going still again. Your eyes went wide, and you held your breath. You don’t remember getting into bed with someone (in fact, you don’t remember getting into bed at all). Turning your head, you looked to see what sort of stranger was in bed with you currently. Instead of a stranger, scraggly blonde hair over a kind and shy face met your sight, and you were instantly calmed upon realizing that it was just Steve. That was good, that was good, but why were you and Steve sleeping in Phil’s bed? You were sure you didn’t have sex last night- at least, not with Steve. This tiny moment of appeasement and confusion was cut short by the faint sound of guitar chords coming from downstairs. The music echoed to your ears, signaling that it had to be Phil, and that he was playing the opening to Bringin On the Heartbreak. Cautiously taking the covers off you- not wanting to wake Steve- you felt obliged to go to the other guitarist. When you stood up and began walking, you nearly fell forward from the sudden vertigo of your hangover. You had to hold onto the counter of Phil’s dresser for extra support, and that’s when your reflection in his mirror caught your eye. Not only that, but that’s when your outfit also caught your eye. One of the guys’ Union Jack tank tops had been slipped over you somehow, and two hand prints were on either side of your face in dried paint; one was blue, one was green. "What…?“ you whispered, touching your face and feeling the shirt on you. It seemed to fit you alright, which made you wonder whose it really was. You were also in black underwear, and nothing else. While eyeing yourself, you took notice of Steve in the reflection. You now saw a few big red lipstick stains on his face, untouched and unsmudged. It was pretty cute, you had to admit, but another thing that came to your attention was that it wasn’t you who was wearing the lipstick at the moment. So then who kissed Steve all over his face? You treaded carefully down the hallway, putting one foot in front of the other and dragging a hand on the wall for support. The melody of the distant guitar didn’t cease the whole time you trekked through the house to get to Phil. When the chords of the song dragged on to the part where the vocals should have begun, no vocals came. Everything in the house looked remarkably the same (despite everything you remember from last night). There were large, ripped pieces of cardboard in the middle of the hallway;  scattered out as if leaving a trail. Alongside that, there was a piece of paper labeled “pay 2 the orerr of Rick: one fuckin bendee straw” in what may have been Sav’s handwriting on top of the stairs, and blue paint smudged on the railing going downwards (guaranteeing that whoever did that eventually got to your face, too).

Step by step you descended as the scenery of the house teetered around you (a little too reminiscent of Me & My Wine, you would add). When you reached the bottom of the stairs and looked into the living room, sure enough, Phil was there, strumming away.

“But it’s easy come and easy go…” he hummed.

“You’re…” you mumbled, burped a little, and continued, “Awake. How?” He stopped playing and crossed his arms, quietly sassing you, “Ah, she rises again. You regrettin’ anything yet?” You blinked and rubbed your eyes, scratching a little bit of paint off of your face and inquiring in a scratchy, tired tone, “I guess so… but- how? You, how?” Phil took off his guitar and stood up with his hands in his pockets, “Because I barely drank at all last night, and I also sure as hell didn’t shag Steve in someone else’s bed!” “How do you mean- I didn’t- wait- and Steve- what?” you rubbed your head, getting dizzy, causing Phil to guide you to the couch. “I didn’t- I didn’t shag Steve last night,” you insisted. “Mm hmm,” the guitarist hummed disapprovingly, “Alright.” “What the hell are you on about?” Phil smirked evilly and laughed, “He carried you upstairs, we heard the door close, and then some rather happy noises were heard, so we all just assumed-!” “That’s not-” you swallowed and lay your head back on the couch, “-a valid assumption.” “Oh, you poor thing,” came the sarcastic remark, “You really don’t remember, do you?” “Well I figured if I ever fucked any one of you I would- you know- remember it!” you raised your voice at him, then rubbed your temples. “I’m touched, really. But I’ll fill you in a bit,” Phil yanked up his guitar he’d put down, placed himself next to you, and played the into to “Ballroom Blitz”. Then a bit of the night came back to you. “Oh... that’s what started it all, didn’t it?”

~The night before~ Rick began banging out a tune on his drum kit in the house with you, Sav, and Steve sitting close by, them being at the ready with their guitars. “You ready, Steve?” you mimicked the original lyrics. “Uh-huh,” he replied exactly like Steve Priest in the original song. “Savy?” you said next. “Yeah,” Sav bopped his head to the beat. “Rick?” “Okay.” “Alright, fellas,” you called out, “Let’s go!” The two guitarists let their instruments ring out around the house, playing the all-too-familar tune. As soon as they started this, the front door opened, and none other than Phil and Joe walked in. Joe was holding a bag that was weighed down by the mass inside it (a painfully obvious sign that there were a few bottles of booze). Although the two of them weren’t talking, they were physically hushed upon hearing the situation you and the others had created. “Oh life’s been getting so hard, living with the things you do to me…” you sang lowly and quietly along with the music being made, just to make sure the musicians knew their places. You noticed Phil run out of the room in excitement, and into the one where he keeps his guitars. Joe, on the other hand, stayed put and watched the rest of you from afar, fighting a smile. “My dreams are getting so strange, I’d like to tell you everything I see…” You stood up, and Joe began walking towards you when you called out the next line of the song, “Oh- I see a man in the back, as a matter of fact, his eyes are as red as a sun!” Joe chimed in without warning at the next line, putting an arm on your shoulder and pointing at you, “And the girl in the corner, let no one ignore her, ‘cos she thinks she’s the passionate one!” *** “It’s, it’s a ballroom blitz, it's, it's a ballroom blitz,” Phil sang the ending teasingly to you when he put his guitar back. It felt like he was rubbing his energy in your face (since you lacked it). Before Phil could continue, Joe suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Yeah! It’s a ballroom blitz!” he announced, throwing his arms into the air and taking a bow. He sounded a bit tipsy still. Joe was wearing his Union Jack shorts, but no shirt. Instead of a shirt, though, he had the words “PROPERTY OF DEF LEPPARD” sloppily painted across his chest in blue and green paint. Right over his nipples there were also two handprints, almost exactly matching the ones on your face. Joe stumbled in the doorway, falling to his knees and groaning in discomfort, “Ohh... probably should’ve stayed in bed.” Phil sluggishly trekked over to the singer and pulled him partially to his feet, yanking him towards the couch, “Oh yeah? And by ‘bed’, you mean-?” “Definitely not the bathtub.” Joe assured him, but winked at you. “No matter where you slept, it’s still not as bad as where she slept,” Phil pointed at you, “And what she did there.” “Why? What’d you do?” Joe’s tipsiness wore away in his sentence, making him sound genuinely concerned and curious. You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what Phil was going to say, “Phil, I-” “It’s not what she did, it’s who she did- she shagged Steve in my bed!” the guitarist accused you again while pointing a finger. Immediately Joe exclaimed, “Nice!” and held up a hand to high-five you. “Joe!” you scolded him, surprised that he took this as good news. “Oh-uh, not… nice?” he took away the offer of a high-five and scratched the back of his head awkwardly instead, “Also, is that my shirt?” You took a look down at the Union Jack tank top you were wearing and back at Joe’s torso. Then something clicked in your head. “Ohh…” you continued staring at Joe’s chest, feeling yourself blush as old memories unraveled in your head, “I think... I think I remember something else that happened last night.” *** You were all drunk; it was no lie. After your quick jam session, there was a booze-filled music fest going on in the house. Joe had even put on his Union Jack outfit, pretending he was getting ready for a show. At one particular point of this “festival” you'd all created, records were being played, and you ended up dancing in front of Joe to REO Speedwagon’s “Take It On the Run”. “You’re bringing up your white lines, you’re pullin’ on a bedroom eyes, you say you’re going home, but I won’t say when,” you sang the wrong lyrics as you swayed and drunkingly made flirty faces at Joe on the couch. Sav, meanwhile, was playing with some old craft paint off in the corner. The blue and green substances were all over his hands (but somehow, one color managed to stay on each hand). “Yeah, you dance for him, Y/N!” Rick cheered you on from the kitchen as Steve and Phil sat on the couch. Phil was perfectly sober, and Steve was giggling and laying with his head on Phil’s lap. You, on the other hand, were now moving closer to the singer, almost like you were giving him a lap dance. “You take it on the run, baby,” you sang along, slowly taking Joe’s Union Jack tank top off of him (with no objections from below), “If that’s the way you wanna, baby...” In return to Joe being shirtless, you slowly took off your own shirt (triggering wolf-whistles and cheers from the guys) to replace it with Joe’s tank. “Sav, mark him up!” you ordered the painted bassist in the corner as you tried to dress yourself. He happily made his way over to you and questioned, “What should I mark him with?” A single hazy idea came to you, and you eagerly whispered it into Sav’s ear. He giggled in response, and proceeded to move over to Joe, drawing something on his chest in the paint. To keep Joe from looking at what it was, you went behind the chair and covered his eyes, ordering coyly, “No peeking!” “All done!” Sav announced and retreated back to whatever he was doing in the corner. “Now, wait, Sav!” you sped over to him, lifted his hands up, and double high-fived him, getting the paint on your hands as well. To finish off what Sav had started, you ran back over to Joe on the chair, and slapped your hands on his chest, right over his nipples. Laughter erupted from everyone in the room (including Joe) and you repeated Sav’s words. “All done!” Joe gazed down at the words “PROPERTY OF DEF LEPPARD” on his chest as you continued to dance to the song playing. “You’re mine, now! You take it on the run, baby... if that’s the way you want it, baby...” Joe tried to tell you in a sexy voice, “Am I your baby now?” “If that’s the way you want it baby,” you repeated the words from the song to him, “Now I’m done dancing for you! Somebody dance for me!” Steve began pointing at everyone individually, childishly suggesting, “It should be, eenie, meenie, miney, Phil!” “Why me?” Phil laughed in objection as you took a seat across the room. “Because you’re not wasted,” his terror twin argued, poking him on the nose. The sober guitarist looked over at you with happy anticipation, awaiting a comment, while all you did was wiggle your fingers at him with a goofy grin. After that, you returned the gesture to the man on his lap, giving Steve a sexy wink. *** “Oh my god...” you put your head in your hands shamefully as Phil and Joe giggled at the memory of the previous night, “I can’t believe I did all that...” “That was a treat!” Phil laughed, hugging you from the side and pulling you closer to him in consolation, “It was funny! We never get to see that side of you!” “There’s a certain reason why you don’t...” you moaned with embarrassment, then asked out of guilty curiosity, “How many times did I grab your ass during that lap dance...?" Phil thought for a bit before telling you, “Four. Well- four and a half...” You gave a loud groan of protest as Joe laughed and slumped back into the couch. “Oh, you only did those things because you weren’t thinking!” Phil consoled you, swayed back and forth with you in his arms. Joe chimed in, “Yeah, and see what happens when you don’t think? You do! Most importantly, you do Steve!” “I didn't do Steve!” you shot your head up and yelled at Joe. You received only laughs and snorts from both men in reply. Suddenly, Sav appeared on the staircase and began singing “Squeeze Box” by The Who with a tired yet cheeky smirk, “Mama’s got a squeeze box she wears on her chest, and when Stephen comes home, he never gets no rest-” Joe and Phil joined into his song with, “Cos' she’s playin’ all night, and the music’s alright! Mama’s got a squeeze box, Stephen never sleeps at night!” You just put your head back in your hands, trying not to accept your fate of being teased. You didn’t want to think that you possibly shagged Steve. He always seemed so innocent to you in a way, and you feared that this would kill your friendship. If everything the boys said was true, you would never hear the end of it, and you don’t even know what Steve would think of you from now on. Was it possible that he remembered anything about the night before? “It didn’t happen, it didn’t happen...” you repeated to yourself in a whisper as Phil unwrapped his arms from you. Sav came all the way down the stairs; his body language making him look grumpy with the world, but his tired grin signaling that he was pleased with seeing you. “Oh, it happened, sunshine!” the frizzy-haired bassist laughed, but quickly regretted it and rubbed his head with his still-painted hands, “Ah- yep, it happened. You could probably hear you two up the whole damn street.” As Sav wearily joined you all on the couch, Joe complained, “Sounds like that was a treat; I wish I remembered it!” Phil was caught off guard at the comment. His head turned to Joe in the blink of an eye and gasped, “Wait, you don’t remember hearing them?!” “I wish I could say I do, but there’s nothing there,” Joe stood up after he spoke, and quickly held onto the wall nearby. His hand went over his stomach as he whined, “Oh... fuck, Y/N, why did you make me race you last night?" “'Race me'?” you squinted as you inquired, “Race you with what?” Joe didn’t answer, but slowly took steps into the kitchen, using the wall as his guide. His answer came when you, Sav, and Phil all heard him throw up into the sink. You sighed, resting your hands over your eyes, trying to remember the cause of Joe’s sickness, “Oh no, was that really my idea?” *** “Look what I found!” you trotted into the room tipsily, holding two bottles; one of scotch, one of vodka, “Only half full! Who wants em?” While you weren’t full-on drunk, it was no secret that the title wasn’t that far away. After your little Ballroom Blitz, it was one beer after the next, then it was digging into the fancy liquors that Phil and Joe had just brought home. Your judgment was impaired, no doubt about it, and so was the judgment of all the guys. Joe even changed into his normal live-show-only Union Jack tank top, claiming that he was gonna "put on a show." The only one who was still sane and sober was Phil, who seemed to be staying away from your poison. Upon registering your sacred offer of alcohol, Rick ran forward, chanting, “Me! Me!” You lifted the bottles away from him, commanding, “Uh-uh! I get the scotch.” “Oh, bollocks, then you can keep the vodka,” the young drummer grumbled and turned away from you. Just as Rick rejected your offering, Joe sprung up and eagerly trotted over while shouting happily, “I’ll take it!” “Sold!” you handed the bottle over to him, “Betcha can’t finish before me!” “Betcha I can!” he sneered back before taking the cap off his bottle. There was no official “ready, set, go” for the race; you both just kind of went for it without any saying. While your throat and stomach were already protesting your actions (and you could almost sense that Joe’s were doing the same), you didn’t stop once; neither of you did. You held up your bottle and announced, “Done!” Looking over, you saw Joe was also finished. “I finished first!” “Nuh-uh!” you insisted, “It had to be me! Tell him, guys!” The four others hadn’t been paying attention to you and Joe’s little competition; they were instead focused on a box that Sav had pulled out from a cupboard. From the box they pulled out bottles of paint and various types of used makeup.

Joe scolded them all in a more sober manner, “Oh come on, you lot weren’t even watching!” “Yeah, yeah, it was probably a tie, anyways,” Rick chuckled, pulling out more items from the box. “This box is much more interesting, too," Phil protested, holding up a stick of lipstick as Sav held up two bottles of paint, "This is a box of makeup that I had for me and the lads in Girl! Just look at it all! Think we can have some fun with this?" "Oh, piss off," you threw the empty bottle onto the couch, "We need some music." Joe had slumped down onto a chair, and you stumbled your way over to the shelf with all the records on it, flipping through and eyeing them all as carefully as your body would let you. After only a few seconds of searching, your eyes lit up at a discovery. "Here's a good one!" you exclaimed as you pulled out a copy of Hi Infidelityby REO Speedwagon, "Let's give it a spin!" ***

Joe wandered back into the room and fell onto the empty couch with a grumble. “Sorry, Joe...” you muttered over to him, realizing that you pressured him into more consumption of the booze. “It was probably gonna happen anyway...” he admitted, wiping his hands over his face, “It’s was my stupid choice to go through with it.” “Woah,” Phil pointed out out of nowhere, looking at you with great surprise, “What’s that on your neck?” You felt your heart drop into your stomach. “What!?” you shot up from where you sat (bringing on more dizziness), and rushed over to a mirror. Once your dizziness subsided, and you could finally see your reflection, the pink shape of a hickey on the side of your neck was now clearly conspicuous. You wondered how you hadn't noticed it before. Joe exclaimed with a smug and proud grin, “Is that from Steve!?” You groaned angrily, feeling yourself become more and more defeated. “I can’t believe it,” you gasped, slapping a hand over the mark, “Something did happen between us-!” “Y/N,” Phil pointed out again, “There’s lipstick on your thigh...” Looking down at your legs, you saw that he was right. There was a single red symbol on your right thigh that marked a kiss from the night before. Upon seeing this, what you saw when you woke up popped into your head. “Looks like Steve went to town down there,” Sav smirked at you, only wanting to rub it in more. “Guys,” you softly noted, “That wasn’t Steve... he has lipstick marks all over his face from someone else...” The three men all exchanged confused looks with each other. There was a dead end to the story of the previous night. None of them knew how to solve the mystery of the lipstick. Not even Phil, who was as good as sober 12 hours ago, didn’t have any input. Sav suddenly blurted out, “Wait a minute, I know what happened- I think...” No one said anything, but eagerly leaned forward, ready to hear the tale the bassist had to tell. “You lot remember how we found that box of old makeup last night?” he began, “Well, I walked into the bathroom with you afterwards, Y/N...” *** Rick looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, carefully applying the makeup to his lips, and being extra careful to not get it on the blazer he was wearing. The drummer put on his best suit just to see how it would look with the makeup he was putting on. He thought he was doing a good job for the most part; he didn’t look half bad at all! It was far easier than he expected it to be, and wondered if he was good enough to help you with your makeup at times. Thinking of you seemed to have made you appear in the doorway next to him. Both of your hands were still covered in paint. “Sink,” was all you commanded of the drummer. He moved without a word and you began to wash your hands. At the same instant, Sav appeared nearby. He grabbed the doorframe and began to swing from it, leaving conspicuous handprints afterwards. “Aren’t you gonna wash up, too?” Rick crossed his arms to sass him. “Nah, I want the colors, they’re makin’ me feel- colorful...” Sav grinned, walking over to you at the sink, requesting, “C’mere.” You looked up, only to have your face taken in Sav’s paint-covered hands. He softly giggled as you squared your vision in on him with a sneer. “Rude,” you teased, then went back to washing your hands; paint now all over your face. “What’s really rude,” Rick pulled back the shower curtain and taking a step into the tub, “Is you two interrupting my makeup time! Good night!” He sat himself down in the tub and laid himself down as if he was going to sleep.

Before he had the chance to catch some shut-eye, you marched over to the tub and objected, “Rick, if you’re gonna sleep, I want a goodnight kiss first.” Without another word, Rick sat up and planted a kiss on your thigh (since it was closest to him). There was now a bright red imprint of his lips on your leg. “Thank you.” you smiled down at him, “Now goodnight.” “Don’t leave the water on, you hear?” Sav nagged him, pointing a colored finger, “You’ll drown." Rick chuckled with his eyes closed, “I’ll drink myself out. I'm in a drinkin mood, anyways." “Oh yeah? You haven’t got a straw or anything,” the intoxicated bassist continued to argue with him. “Then don’t let me drown! Get one!" “I’ll get you one later. I’ll just-“ Sav burped, and continued, “I’ll write a note or something.” “Sounds good, mate,” Rick slumped further into the tub and pulled the curtain closed, “Now you gonna stay here all night?” “Actually,” you noted out loud to yourself, different alcoholic emotions boiling up inside you, “I wanna go downstairs- I just need to see Steve- like right now...!" You turned on your heels, speeding past Sav and flying back down the stairs. *** “So that explains the paint on my face, and the paper in the hallway, and the lipstick, but what happened after that?” you asked Sav, as you were now slumped on top of Phil’s arm again. “Beats me,” Sav ran his still-painted hands through his hair, “That’s all I’ve got.” “But wait, if you said that Rick fell asleep in the bathtub...” Phil began his sentence, only for you and the other two men to exchange knowing looks with each other. All four of you immediately sprung up and rushed (as much as you could) up the stairs and into the bathroom. Upon getting there, Phil flung back the shower curtain to reveal a partially awake Rick, dressed in a suit, and still wearing the lipstick from the night before. “Mornin’,” he groaned as he stretched, then winced, “Ah, fuck- sleeping in here wasn’t the best idea for me neck.” Sav looked back at the paint on the doorframe and asked the drummer, “So then why did you sleep in here?” “Oh,” Rick looked around the tub, stating as-a-matter-of-factly, “The porcelain keeps the suit from wrinkling. I guess drunk me was very careful last night.” “I’ll say,” Joe complemented, “The lipstick’s still holding up pretty well.” Phil halted the conversation, “Wait, so you were in here when I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night?” Rick chuckled, “Yeah, and let me tell you, for a smaller guy, you’ve got a big bladder.” “Wait,” you slowly turned and pointed at Joe, “I thought you said you slept in the bathtub-?” He gave you a cocky smirk in return, “I told you, ‘definitely not the bathtub’...” Rick sleepily laughed and pointed at you, “Ha- Y/N, you look like Joe!” “Why, just because of the shirt?” you inquired, pointing at Joe’s tank top on you. “And the paint!” Rick corrected you, “I can’t believe you guys didn’t wash it off yet!” In a second, you felt a rush of worry upon realizing that Rick hadn’t said anything about you and Steve yet. It made you suddenly come to the possible conclusion that he may not know about it all. “Wait,” Phil snapped his fingers, “So you do remember some stuff from last night?” “Yeah, a bit, I think. Why?” “Philip Kenneth Collen, don’t you fucking dare....” you growled at him in an almost pleading manner, rubbing your temples and grinding your teeth. “What do you remember?” Phil asked him, not giving any sort of reaction to your begging. Rick thought for a few seconds, clearly as hungover as the rest of you. It didn’t take him long to list off some brief happenings he recalled. “Well, I remember us singing Sweet, there was a lap dance, I remember- uh, being denied a bottle of scotch, there was, uh... there was lipstick... and did I try to ice-skate on pieces of cardboard down the hall...?” “Is that why there’s cardboard all down the hallway?” you motioned towards the door. Rick gave you a big proud smile and a nod in response. “So...” Joe looked around, definitely looking eager, “What’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep?” Rick rested his head back on the tub again, thinking as hard as his hungover mind would let him. You hoped to every god there was that he didn’t say anything about Steve. “Just Phil comin’ in here and having a long piss, that’s all.” came the verdict. “You sure you didn’t hear-“ Phil anxiously began to ask him, but got a hand slapped over his mouth by you. “No!” you yelled on impulse, sending more daggers through your burned-out head. All eyes were now on you, and silence fell. For a few tense seconds, you stared into Phil’s eyes, sending him visual messages of both threats and desperate requests. “...what the hell happened last night?” Rick broke the silence in a tone of utter confusion, knowing that something more serious than what he remembered had taken place. You pulled your hand back from Phil’s face, “Yuck, Phil, come on!” “You licked her hand, didn’t you?” asked Sav. “Yes,” Phil confirmed, and continued without missing a beat, “And I’m glad you asked that, Rick, cos' I know what happened after Y/N and Sav paid you a visit last night.” “Phil, if you love me in any way, shape, or form, you will not tell Rick what happened,” you begged to him as you began to walk out the bathroom door, heading back downstairs to wallow in more of your shameful hangover, “I refuse to believe it happened until there’s hard proof.” “Well what more proof do you want? A positive pregnancy test?” Phil shrugged, but suddenly slapped his own hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just said. You shot him an angry look. You were too tired to have it out with him, so you stumbled away. Right about now, you were ready to give up and accept the fact that you probably did shag Steve. Phil turned to Rick, gaping, and slowly began to speak again, "Right... so last night, after those two were in here, I think that’s when they came back downstairs..." *** "So why are you tying up my hair again?" a drunk Steve asked Phil, who was happily putting his hair into pigtails. "Because I knew you’d look pretty, and I knew you wouldn't object, either," the other guitarist laughed evilly as he finished tying the second bundle of golden locks together, "There, you're all done now." "Cool... I think," Steve tilted his head, staring at himself in the mirror on the wall as footsteps began pounding their way down the stairs. "I think you look pretty, Steve. Pretty, pretty, pretty," Joe giggled as he was flipped off by the pig-tailed guitarist. As this happened, you trampled the stairs in your descent, calling out, “Steve- Steve! Come here!” More than happy to be ripped away from Phil’s pigtailed plans, he let you run up to him as you belted out, “I’ve got an idea...!” He didn’t say anything, but he did let you whisper something in his ear. The second he heard your idea, his eyes lit up and an evil smirk crossed his face. Steve was always in the mood for causing terror. You pulled back and exchanged the same look of understanding with the guitarist. He stared at you with a sort of appreciation, and without another word, swept you off your feet, carrying you bridal style now. With a quick smooch to your lips, he began carrying you up the stairs as you giggled with some sort of glee. Phil’s jaw dropped, looking at Joe with astonishment in the process. The singer’s face mirrored the exact same expression. “I should’ve bloody known...” Phil gasped in astonishment, “She’s been eyeing him up real funny all night... I can’t fucking believe it!” Sav came down the stairs slowly, his life depending on the railing as he dragged his hand on it. He left a long streak of blue paint as he did so. “What’s gotten into their pants?” “Each other, apparently,” Joe scoffed, taking a sip of a beer he found, “Lord knows how the hell that happened.” *** You were all sitting back on the couches in the living room, all seemingly regretting the night before (you knew you most certainly were). Everyone knew that the end of Phil’s story was the true ending of the night. Now there was really a dead end to the whole tale. “I can’t believe it,” you whispered with sorrowful acceptance, “Me and Steve...? What happened next?” Joe scoffed, “Well that’s kind of a stupid question.” “That’s where it ends, Y/N. I went up to bed afterwards, only to hear-“ Phil cleared his throat to impersonate you and Steve, “‘Oh, Steve! Yes!’ coming from my room! So after an immense helping of disapproval, I slept in Rick’s room.” “No, no, that can’t be it!” you insisted, “Guys, what really happened next?” “Can’t say,” Joe mumbled, holding his head. “Sorry, mate,” Rick apologized. Sav remained silent, but looked apologetic. “That can’t be where it ends...!” you persisted, “Sav? Tell me I’m right!” Sav rolled in his lips, and darted his eyes away from you. You continued to stare at him suspiciously, but no one else thought anything of it. Phil tried to finalize your fate sympathetically, “Give it up, Y/N, at least it’s all over now.” “But it still happened! What am I gonna say to Steve when he wakes up? You know what- no. It didn’t happen, I refuse to believe that it did.” “How much more proof do you want?” Rick shrugged, pointing at Phil and Sav, trying to make you face the terrible truth, “They both heard ya, and Steve even gave you a hickey.” You hung your head, thinking you might just decide to cry out of shame. Yes, you loved Steve, just as you loved anyone else in the band, but you never had (or planned to have) any sort of sexual relationship with them. Even if you ever did, you were afraid it would ruin everything your friendship had stood for. “Sav, what’s wrong, mate?” Joe asked out of the blue. The bassist in question was still avoiding the conversation, staying eerily silent and weaving his hands together. At this point, you noticed that he was also blushing. “That wasn’t Steve.” he stated bluntly, still not looking at you. “What wasn’t Steve?” you asked as you stared at him dead on, your heart now pounding. “That hickey... that wasn’t Steve,” he paused, “That was me.” Immediately you gasped and slapped a hand over the mark on your neck. “What?!” the other three exclaimed. Joe and Rick immediately hissed at the searing pain their outbursts caused. “Sav, what the hell?!” you scolded him, finally happy that you weren’t the only one being called out for their mistakes. “Now before you say anything else,” he finally looked at you and held up a hand, “It was your idea.” Your face fell, softly asking him, “What do you mean?” “Well, after you and Steve-you know- and only Joe and I were downstairs, you actually came back down, too- wipe that smug look off your face, Joe. You’re not entirely innocent here, either.” *** You stumbled down the stairs, giggling to yourself. Your mission was now accomplished, and Steve was asleep upstairs. In a word, you were pleased. In two words, you were still drunk. Records were still being played when you returned to the living room, and Joe currently had his copy of Sheer Heart Attack on the turntable. “She Makes Me (Stormtrooper In Stilettos)”flowed softly from its speakers. “There’s our killer queen!” Joe cooed to you happily. He was now sprawled out on the couch, two empty beer bottles on the floor beside him. Sav wasn’t too far off. The paints on his hands were now dry, and he was reclined in a chair across the room, twiddling a bottle in his hand. They both looked ready for bed, and it made you wonder how they held out for this long. The singer slurred on with an interested smirk, “You two have fun?" Sav spoke up with a scoff-like laugh, “Sure sounded like it!" “Oh, you know it,” you gave them a wink, setting yourself down on the couch next to Joe, “Guess Phil finally ditched, huh?” “Yeah, the wanker went to bed- but you’ve lost your pants!” he gestured to your black underwear, made room for you to lay down with him, and took you in his arms like a teddy bear with a sigh of appeasement. You reached back and playfully poked at Joe’s dimple, “Steve's fault." “Well, that’s no good,” Sav objected, pushing the footrest of the chair in and returning to a sitting position. “What isn’t?” Joe asked him, "Steve gettin' into it with her?" “No, that cuddlin' you're doing- it’s boring. You stay like that, you’ll fall asleep on me!” He was certainly right about this. With you in Joe’s arms and his face nuzzling into your hair like some sort of animal, he was already falling asleep. “What do you want us to do?” you chuckled, thinking that Sav was only jealous of his friend. Joe mumbled happily into your hair, “How 'bout you just do me like Steve, and we’ll be good.” At this point, you noticed the feeling of something pressing lightly against the bottom of your back; a certain weight where Joe’s hips were, and a weight that wasn’t there at first. “Joe,” you whined at him, “You’re fucking gross.” He chuckled, then slowly moved his hips to lightly rub himself against you, a low quiet moan rising in his throat from the temporary pleasure it provided. “Ah- Joe!” you protested again, reaching back and hitting him as best as you could. You wiggled out of his embrace as he burst into giggles like he had just accomplished something. Sav, on the other hand, cringed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re even hornier than when you’re sober!” you grabbed a pillow and whacked Joe with it. “You’re one to talk! You just shagged Steve!” he smirked evilly, "Why not me?" “Ha! The only way I’ll do you is by some miracle, or at least a dare,” you threw yourself onto the other couch, picking up a nearly empty beer bottle and pouring whatever was left into your mouth. Sav’s eyes finally lit up, “That’s what we oughta do- truth or dare!” “Ooh, sounds like terrible fun,” you turned yourself so you were sitting upside-down on the couch, “Sav, truth or dare?” “How come he gets to go first?” asked Joe, “I wanna get down to business!” “Dare,” Sav declared, ignoring the singer’s objections. Immediately, your intoxicated mind thought of a scheme. Despite the plan you and Steve had executed ever so perfectly, you were still a child seeking more terror. You knew Joe wanted you, and it was no secret either, so how exactly would you use Sav to reign terror over him? You wanted something to rub in Joe’s face- something that would leave a mark on him. “I dare you to-" you clumsily pointed to your neck, "Gimme a hickey.” Joe's jaw dropped with offense and jealousy; exactly as you had expected. Sav began to laugh rather loudly at the request, and stood up, now understanding your true intention of making Joe jealous. “C’mere,” he motioned with his hand. More than happy to obey the command, you strutted over to him and paused, waiting for him to make the first move. He took a step so your bodies were practically pressing together, moved your hair out of the way on your neck, and dove right in. You smiled with glee, taking in the feeling of Sav’s mouth and tongue moving over your skin (as well as Joe’s groans of protest coming from a few feet away). As the bassist sucked on your neck without hesitation, it only made you think of one thing: “Wow, there’s definitely gonna be a mark after this.” *** Rick and Phil were staring at Sav with their mouths open in shock. You kept a hand over the mark he left on your neck to prevent everyone from looking any more than they already had. “So, wait, if it was you who gave me this, why didn’t you say anything before when we said it was Steve?” you asked Sav, more suspicious than outraged now. “I- ah, didn’t... wanna say anything...” he looked away, beginning to blush again, “I guess I was too embarrassed." “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is you, Joe,” Rick turned his attention back to the singer, “You fuckin dry humped her!” Joe exclaimed in his own defense, “Yeah, and I don’t even remember it! It’s not my fault- I was drunk and horny!” “See! Just like me and Steve! I don’t remember shagging him, either! So I guess we’re even.” “Even Stephen,” Phil scoffed. You slumped into the couch more, staring blankly ahead and realizing, “So I pretty much got to second base with all of you last night...?” “I think you made it all the way home with Steve,” Rick pointed out. “Thanks, Rick,” you kept your head hung, “I feel like a slut.” “You mean you’re not?” Phil joked, only to be hit in the arm by Sav.

Just then, you all heard the sound of movement upstairs. Your heart stopped and your blood ran cold; Steve was awake now. Everyone's jaws hit the floor, and for a second, you thought they were all afraid of what you were fearing. "He's awake..." Rick announced in a sing-song voice, teasing you. “Oh no...” you gasped quietly, “Oh no, oh no! Oh god, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna say to him?!” “Hate to break it to ya, but this isn’t necessarily our problem!” Joe shrugged in a panic, hearing Steve’s footsteps get closer. “But guys! You’ve gotta help me! You’re his best friends! What should I say to him?!” “Just act like it didn’t happen! Maybe he doesn’t remember-?” Sav proposed. Rick suggested, “Just straight up ask him if he remembers anything!” “Just get out of here!” Phil made a swatting motion towards the other room. “None of those are gonna do me any good! It still happened!” you yelled at them in a whisper, “I have to live that with that fact, even if neither of us have any memory of it to live with!” It was too late for any salvation; Steve was already at the top of the stairs. The band members held their breath, and- without words or warning- all scrambled out of the living room. “No!” you whispered, “Guys- wait!” You caught Rick by the wrist when he stood up. “Rick, c’mon, please don’t leave me here!” you begged. He yanked out of your grip and apologetically condemned you, “Sorry, Y/N, but this is your business.” As the four of them retreated, you tried to bolt after them. As soon as you hit the doorway, however, Phil turned around and pushed you back on the couch nearby as slowly as he could. It was so sudden that you were on your back before you knew it, and they were all gone. “Hey!” you called out after them, “Assholes!” Steve’s voice suddenly came to your ears (rather closely, too), “What’s their problem?” You jumped, “Ah- Steve!” He had a silent step, and made it down the stairs and across the room without making a sound. He also looked just as he did a little while ago when you first woke up; scraggly hair, lipstick stains all over his face, but no visible evidence of a hangover. “Hey, wow,” you forced an awkward chuckle at him, “Nice- uh, nice- lipstick...” Steve slumped down onto a chair and grumbled, “Thanks. Who even did this to me? Doesn’t look like it was you.” “That was, that was Rick- I’m assuming... I don’t remember that happening and I don’t think he does, either. He’s still got the lipstick on, too.” He played off the remark with a tired smile, “Oh, nice... last night really was something, wasn’t it?” Heat rushed to your face, and you tried to look away without being conspicuous. “Ha ha... yeah... really something!” you faked your amusement for him, now wondering if he was implying anything about the previous night. Steve leaned forward and asked, “Do you remember Sav and the paint? That was pretty funny, wasn’t it?” Still blushing, you darted your eyes around the room and nodded in agreement, “Mm hmm, yeah... he was like a toddler or something.” He sunk back into the chair again and closed his eyes, reminiscing about the events of the previous night. For a second you thought you were in the clear, and that maybe he didn’t remember the specific event that Phil and Sav did.

That illusion was shattered when his eyes snapped open, whispering “Wait a minute”, and sitting back up. Immediately, your heart dropped into your stomach.

“How did our plan go?” he questioned quietly, figuring that the others were still somewhere nearby and listening. “P-plan?” you stuttered, partially afraid of what he meant, but partially caught off guard, “What plan?” “You know-” he whispered again, thinking you remembered, “It was your idea. Did they believe it? We were convincing enough?" You darted your eyes down to the floor, confused, but also embarrassed. 'Convincing'? What did that mean? "Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t remember!” he smiled playfully. As you stared at him with fearful confusion in your eyes and redness on your cheeks, his smile was suddenly wiped away. He muttered under his breath as his face fell, "Oh... you don't remember... bloody hell, okay, this is gonna be hard to explain..." "Then explain it, because I'm really fucking confused..." your voice wavered with a sarcastic chuckle. Steve sighed and leaned forward, slowly weaving his hands together. He didn't know where to begin. "This is one of the few things I remember from last night..." he started off, "And there's no way to make this sound... good... in any way, but you came up with the idea of us pretending to shag- like making noises and shit like that- to trick the others into thinking we really did. For some reason I thought it was a great idea, and I'm pretty sure I carried you upstairs, too.” Instantly, a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. It wasn't real; you didn't shag Steve, and he could even tell the guys himself! You blew out a big sigh of relief, and slumped back into the couch, closing your eyes. "Oh, god," you slowly panted, "What a huge relief- I suppose we were really convincing, then." "Why d'you say that?" You laughed tiredly, now feeling rather thankful for your raging hangover, "The guys are all convinced that we fucked last night. Only Phil and Sav seem to remember it, though. They've been hounding me about it all morning. I kept telling them it couldn't be true- and I was right!" "What, would it be so bad if we actually did?" he teased you in a hushed voice. "Well, I've had to live my day so far under the impression it did happen. I was teased, ridiculed, embarrassed, and felt guilty about it. I was afraid it'd ruin our friendship if it was true... I was kinda hoping you didn't remember so we could just forget..." The red in your face returned all over again. Steve, however, didn't seem bothered. "If you really want to, we can keep pretending it happened and steer into the act; give em' what they want." "What? No!" you laughed out loud, standing up, "You're crazy, Clark! I think I better go tell the others the bad news. They'll be disappointed-ha!" You walked across the room to go find the others and disclose unto them the "bad news", giving Steve a pat on the shoulder when you passed him. Once you were gone and out of sight, Steve also blew out a big sigh of relief. "She didn't remember anything," he thought to himself, "That was a close one." While he knew you two didn't go all the way the previous night, he figured if you didn't remember it, then it was for the best you didn't find out. It was nothing serious; just a bit of fooling around, really. Just a bit of drunked-up teasing, and nothing more. The guys had no proof that anything actually happened between you two, and you were about to tell them the partial truth anyway, so why say something to reignite the suspicion? After all, they were all hungover to begin with, so there wasn't much memory of the whole affair, either. "Thank god for these hangovers,"Steve thought, "Thank god. I couldnt've asked for anything more." ~Epilogue~ When you got to the top of the stairs, Steve put you on your feet and spun you around. "You ready?" he whispered, childish excitement in his voice. You nodded with equal excitement, "Take me away, Clark." The two of you began eagerly walking hand-in-hand to whatever room you pleased, but before either of you had the chance to pick one, the bathroom door opened, Rick popped his head out and commanded, "Stop right there!" Both you and Steve froze and looked at him. He still had his lipstick and his suit on, and a kind of serious look overtaking his face. A finger was kept in a pointing position at you, a few large pieces of cardboard were underneath his other arm, and he slowly took steps down the hall to meet you. Neither of you moved, but both of you waited. When Rick got to you, he didn't say a word, but did take Steve's face in his hands (dropping the cardboard in the process), and proceeded to the kiss the man all over his face.

Steve remained silent, and let Rick have his way until he decided to stop. When he did, there were several lipstick stains on various parts of the blonde's face.

"Thanks, mate," Steve muttered sarcastically as Rick kicked some of the cardboard pieces in different directions. He then stepped on two of them, trying to slide down the hall on them as if they were ice skates. When he got back to the bathroom, he went back inside and shut the door again.

Without another word, you turned Steve's face toward you, gave him a peck on the cheek as Rick had done, and kicked open the door behind you (which just so happened to be Phil's bedroom). You both fell back into the room, giggling with makeshift lust in your eyes.

After all, you had to make this authentic, right?

[echo-three-one]

All in a day's work

A Frank Woods x Reader One Shot

NSFW warning ( Yes this means both Not Safe For Work and Naked Sexy Frank Woods)

Read at your own risk.

Summary : Frank comes home from a tiring trip and you decide to cook him his favorite dinner. Little did you know that he's craving a different menu than what you have planned.

Requested by @maximumpoetrygalaxy

⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫

The savory scent of roast turkey wafts across the kitchen as you transfer it from the baking tray to the plate, humming a tune of your favorite song.

Today is a very special day, because your man Frank Woods comes home from a three day work appointment across the country. You're sure he's going to be tired, so you prepared a feast fit for a king like him. He's never been a person who likes material gifts and you know full well that the best way to your man's heart is through his stomach. You set up the table, trying to make it as romantic as possible, with the hopes of sending a message. After all, you've been away from each other's grasp for quite a long time and you believe you both needed a moment together.

Glancing at the clock, you note that he could be here any minute, so you slowly dim the lights and light up the candles you've placed, sliding away your apron as you stand by the door wearing a beautiful red dress you wore when you first met.

Your heartbeat rises as you hear the revving of his car stop and heavy footsteps approach the door.

"Y/N! I'm home!" he roars, his voice is always that rough and tough, and it instantly turns you on when you hear him say your name.

"Welcome home, Frank!" You greet as soon as he pushes the door open. His eyes widened as he sees you in that dress, you also notice his jaw drop. He then quickly snaps back to his senses as he gives you a tight hug, dropping his bag on the floor. You could feel his warm length bulging from his jeans, making you stifle a moan as he pulls away.

"Hey, Y/N. I miss ya." his eyes stares at yours suggestively. You know this look, and you feel excited knowing that no matter how tired he was, he's still up to it.

You sway your hands across his muscular shoulders and slides it down to his arms, feeling the toughness by squeezing it softly using your thumbs. He might not say it, but he sure damn loves it when you appreciate his 'gains'.

"I miss you too..." You smile as your eyes never leaves his sight, it feels like you two have been sending mental images to each other, and those images happen to mean the same thing. Rough Sex.

He quickly swings his hand and slams the door shut as his hand gently squeeze your waist pushing you to the sofa. You giggle as you look at him unzip his leather jacket, and slowly take it off revealing a plain white t shirt underneath. You take your time and appreciate how the soft white fabric clings on to his shape, especially around the arms, eyes glinting reminding him of how much you miss his presence. A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he slowly crawls over you until his forehead rests against yours.

"Damn, you really made me feel welcome. I could smell my favorite food already." he hushes just inches from your face, his voice vibrates across your ears sending shivers across your body.

"I'll let you decide which to eat first." you whisper against his ear, blowing a tickling gust against it. He gets the idea as he immediately gives you a kiss. His lips hungrily crashed against yours as you respond with matching intensity, showing how much you hunger for his taste as well as his touch. Soft moans mixed with smooching sounds fill your ear as you slowly close your eyes and enjoy the magic of Frank's mouth, your hand clinging on to his hair as tight as you can, letting him know that he shouldn't stop doing it.

You both break the kiss as you gasp for air. Frank looks at you with a suggestive look, as his hands slowly slide off your dress.

"So, are you going to stop me or are you now allowing me to fuck you senseless on your couch?" he teases as the dress slides off you and he slides his fingers under your intimate apparel, which happens to be soaking wet at the moment.

"Only this time." you whimper as he slides his finger inside just as you start to reply. He likes it when his actions catch you off guard. It breaks your character but then again, you wanted him to break more than just that.

"What made you change your mind?" He asks in a very seductive tone, almost amused but still the same roughness, he does it while sliding your underwear down. You want to retaliate by undressing him, but your whole body feels weak and it shudders in excitement as his fingers are working its way down there. It was no match against yours, you've tried touching yourself while he was gone, but this feeling was way more different than what he's doing now. His fingers slid knowing what to do and each movement makes you whimper in excitement. And that's just two fingers.

"I needed you... now... badly..." your voice is as soft as a sigh, there's desperation in your voice and it brings a smile to his face. The kind of smile that boosts his ego. A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he holds on to your waist and rolls across the couch, that way, you're now on top of him.

"Suck me." he whispers as you hear him unbuckle his belt, you quickly turn your way around and sit on his face while you slowly massage his cock as is springs out of his underwear. Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you slowly jerk it up and down, grinning at his grunts while his tongue licks off your pussy, trying not to move much as his beard tickles your sensitive areas.

You slowly put your mouth on his length slowly as his tip makes it's way on your tongue, slowly pulling it back up again and then down, as his cock coats itself with your saliva. He then surprises you by thrusting himself up, making you choke a little.

"Fuck, that sounds good..." he looks at you with mischief as you get down from him while he sits up on the sofa, his legs spread open as he guides you to sit on his cock.

You didn't hesitate as you get on top of it and he slowly slides himself inside you, his warm tip gently punctures through your pussy. You breathe out a sigh of both pain and pleasure, as you feel them both simultaneously.

Frank lets out a soft grunt, he surely enjoys how eager yet careful you are, and he shows it by sliding his hands from your waist upward as his thumbs circle around your perkly nipples.

You moan at the sensations you've felt as another inch inserts you, Frank's eyes sparks with lust as you look at him, his mouth breathes out roughly as you let his cock dig further into you. Grunts getting louder as you rise and fall on him, feeling his every inch letting him feel welcome. Then you finally stopped, he's almost all the way in but your face looked like you can't take much more.

Frank notices this and let's out a soft smile as he gives you a kiss, which was quite quick as he didn't let you kiss back, moving quickly to your neck and shoulders. You want to complain but then you feel him slowly jerking a bit deeper, your walls clenched as it hugs his cock tight.

"Mmmh.." is all that you could muster as he thrusts softly inside you, your hand clenches on his shirt tight as he starts to pick up his pace as soon as you get accustomed to his size.

You can hear Frank grunt and groan as you bounce on top of him, smiling mischievously as he realizes that you're the one who's picking up the pace, you compose barely audible 'yeah's and 'fuck's while doing so, all of which brings amusement to him. You could feel insides flutter signaling your closeness to climax, Frank sees this in your eyes as he quickly halts and positions you on all fours across the sofa.

You turn back to him as he quickly takes off his shirt, revealing his well sculpted body, a sight you enjoy looking at most of the time. His erect cock sways sideways as he slides down his pants and takes off his socks and shoes.

He slaps your ass cheeks hard as you wince in pain, letting out a gasp as he hastily inserts his whole length inside you, you could feel how much he'd long for this to happen as he squeezes your ass cheeks while thrusting intimately with increasing speed, as evidenced by the loud sounds of your skin hitting against each other.

You didn't mind yelling out his name, you scream for it along with some words the dictionary couldn't describe, you scream for it even if he's just behind your neck, whispering words behind your ear, words that sends shivers across your whole body. Just as you thought you felt it all, he suddenly flips you again as he spread your legs, letting one rest on his shoulder, wrapping it with his arm. He continues to fuck you senseless, this time you could see him smiling at you, his eyes filled with the same lust earlier but this time, it's fixated on yours.

You whimper as you could see your breasts wiggle up and down on each of his thrusts, his free hand alternating between grabbing your breast and rubbing his thumb by your pussy, all those actions sending you to a flurry of incomprehensible yet ecstatic sexual desire.

"I'm coming." he breathes, his voice is raspy yet still sexy. You nod and whimper in approval, preparing yourself as he slams himself quickly on to you a few more times, sending you both on a very arousing finish. You can feel his warm load heat up your insides, as he slowly crashes his weight on you, giving you soft kisses while you finally retaliate with more tongue action. He seems to be surprised by this and he quickly kisses back as you feel him slowly getting hard once again.

[sinkix]

~ Haikyuu!! Boys baking with reader - Ft. Ushijima, Tendou, Oikawa, Hinata & Nishinoya ~

YO! SO UHHHH... I’M BACK??? I GUESS?? MAYBE??? After a little break I had this in my drafts for a while and realllyyy wanted to complete it since it’s such a cute concept. Honestly at this point my posting frequencies are so sporadic and random pls forgive me lmao.

@deathcab4daddy​ gave me the inspo to include Ushi and it was so funny coming up with ideas for him, he is no.1 country boi chef 

Dude I’m listening to the Mario Kart soundtrack ‘Coconut Mall’ while I continue writing this someone save me. Like u think I’m joking. UR WRONG.

Ushijima:

The most straightforward yet idiotic baker you will ever come across.

Before you even THINK about performing step 1, he will read the entire fucking leaflet like it’s a Shakesperean monologue.

INGREDIENTS INCLUDED.

LIKE SIS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW IT CONTAINS  MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE THANK YOU.

I’m surprised he doesn’t count every single particle in the brownie mix.

You bought him a frilly cupcake-printed apron stating ‘best wife’ not expecting him to actually wear it

But since he’s secretly a big softie and treasures anything you buy he wears it proudly.

His stoic and dignified disposition is a comical contrast to the words printed on the front lmao.

Ushi best wifey bro.

The tight fit of the apron is pretty hot since it outlines every ridge of his pecs and tightly toned torso.

Gotta resist groping your mans while stirring the brownie batter.

tbh he’s more likely to grope you, he can’t resist that a$$.

And let’s face it he’s def an ass/thigh kinda guy.

Can and will try to casually initiate some form of unholy activities by lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, goading you to slowly lick the spoon and locking gazes before pulling you in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the incomplete creation himself.

Ushi’s lips and brownie batter are a knock-out combo js.

Literally has the most serious face when he’s cracking the eggs into the bowl

The amount of concentration is equivalent to that of when he’s performing a serve at match-point.

HAS to set the temperature to the EXACT degree stated on the box

Everything is done by the book if you do one thing out of place he will pull you up on it lol.

“(Y/N) you were supposed to stir it for 5 minutes, not 7.”

When its done you feed him some and he can’t help but smile its so ADORBALE AHHH.

You end up eating most of it since Ushi doesn’t strike me as much of a chocolate/junk food lover.

STILL A VERY FUN BUT F R U S T R A T I N G EXPERIENCE.

Tendou:

The complete opposite of Ushi

Does everything wrong and the unconventional way.

Absolute disaster but doesn’t even sweat it since Tendou basically thrives in chaos and the disorderly.

To him instructions are purely equivocal, will read them for five seconds then toss them away.

Step aside Gordon Ramsey, Chef Tendou is here.

Despite doing everything the unorthodox way it still comes out amazing.

Like??? how???

Will cheekily place a dollop batter on your nose then lick it off fh3jkeffefds

Or if he’s feelin’ a lil freaky, he’ll swipe it off with his long ass finger and make you suck it clean, smirking at your submission as you coat his finger with your saliva.

oop-

Constantly cracking jokes and shitty food puns, pretending to drop the bowl to make you go into preemptive cardiac arrest before you can swat him with the spatula.

While you’re waiting for the timer to ping, Satori being the schemer he is will use this as an opportunity to pull some fuckery and tease you in any way he can.

u better be praying like bodhisattva TanaNoya rn because he is MERCILESS.

Suggestive comments, the brush of his fingers against your thigh, it’ll leave you A C H I N G in frustration by the end of it.

Unholy activities aside, once your baking session is completed you finish it off by feeding PHAT forkfuls of brownie to each other and giggling like dorks when it gets all over your mouth.

The jackass actually got a fingerful and SMEARED it over your cheek and forehead, drawing a little cross and snickering when the crumbs fall onto your nose.

Tendou was smart to draw a cross bc he gonna need jesus with the ATTACK you launch on him after that, which promptly leads to an all out food war in your kitchen that neither of you want to clean up after ward.

Don’t worry though it’s Tendou, he’ll somehow find a way to make such a mundane activity fun.

Nishinoya:

stirs WAY TOO VIOLENTLY

IT’S LIKE AN ELECTRIC WHISK ON OVERDRIVE.

IT WILL SPLATTER OVER THE COUNTER, CUPBOARDS AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR WITHIN A 1 MILE RADIUS.

You best believe he will try and eat some of the batter and you have to swat the spoon away from his mouth since he has NO REGARD FOR THE FACT HE COULD GET SALMONELLA.

Plus you know what Noya’s like once he starts eating something the whole thing will be gone in a matter of milliseconds.

He somehow managed to get Baking powder EVERYWHERE and even gave him self a little moustache with it.

The white substance kinda looked like something else but you didn’t really wanna say lmaooo.

could explain why he has so much energy all the time oK ILL STOP-

While you’re putting the mix on the tray he is SO extra and will do fancy lil swirls and over extend his arm like a swan to gracefully spread the batter

until he nearly fucking knocks it over.

During processing time since he is so excitable and impatient you best believe he’s gonna suggest a game of ping pong or something because my guy can well and truly never sit still.

ping pong match with the spatulas, kitchen island and a hard boiled egg.

Pls be careful he will rolling thunder that egg and pimp slap it so hard with the spatula it’ll damn near give you a concussion, not intentionally, but like protect your noggin. Wear a helmet.

For the remaining 5 minutes of baking time y’all just sit like kids in front of the oven and watching it rise like starved hyena’s observing it’s pray before demolishing it into sad particles of cocoa.

And lemme tell u, once the timer pings, that baking tray is free real estate for Noya. Half of your creation will be devoured before you can even put it on a plate and marvel at your handiwork. 

He kicked your ass at spatula ping pong btw I’m sorry sweaty but short kings stay winning.

Oikawa:

Such a dramatic bitch like he got the whole she-bang going on.

Strapped with a pink apron, a whisk at his side and standing proudly with both hands on his hips.He is prepared like a greek gladiator going into battle.

You better believe he gonna make some snarky remarks and tease your method of doing things. 

“Ah-ah-ahhh (Y/N)-chan you’re doing it all wrong, let me show you how a PRO does it.”

Proceeds to drop entire bowl on his foot and yelp like a little girl in pain.

Well and truly embarrassed with himself, you put a band-aid on his toe and he piped down after that.

Shattered big toe and mixing bowl aside, actually a really good baker??

He is a PRO at decorating, y’all decided on cupcakes since its literally his forte to make them look aesthetic and pretty.

You almost don’t wanna eat them from how good they look.

jk almost

You take it in turns breaking bits off and placing pieces into each others mouth with a loud “aaaaaahhh!”

Places a piece in your mouth, leans forward and locks lips with you in a soft, passionate kiss before pulling away and uttering the words “It tastes even better coming from your mouth ;)”

hnnnNNGGGGGGggGg.

You both whine and bicker over who cleans up after.

“You cleaaannnnn!”

“no Toru YOU clean!”

“but I made the cupcakes look pretty :(”

“not as pretty as you <3″

He did the cleaning after that.

Like just stroke his ego with some compliments and he’s whipped with a smug grin on his face for the next 30 minutes.

You decide to save the rest and bring them to his next practise.

Literally on the verge of tears when he sees you beaming and holding the platter of treats, Kiyotani mauls half of them in a matter of seconds to which Oiks gets salty over LMAO.

Hinata:

So excited oh my god he’s so precious please protect him I will CRY-

Has a little sunflower apron on and JBJKNDDDKDW IM SMILING JUST IMAGINING HIM FIDGETING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THE THOUGHT OF BAKING COOKIES.

Yes you decided on cookies bc he goes rabid for some choc chip biccies.

You have to guide him v carefully because of how easily confused and clumsy he is.

Cannot for the life of him crack the eggs without getting a quarter of the shell in the bowl so you have to do it instead.

Has a surprising amount of strength and forearm power bc holy shit boy can stir FAST.

Hums a little tune while he does it and bobs up and down with a wide grin on his face it’s so adorable, he has such a gentle singing voice I can’t-

Attempts different shapes with the batter when pouring it onto the tray but fails pretty miserably lol.

he tried ok???

Once they’re done he takes the tray out of the oven and since it was heavy, subconsciously propped it with his knee and nearly dropped the entire tray from the pain. (I’ve actually done this before when making chicken nuggets I do not advise being that brain dead)

Had to put some burn cream on the bbies knee :’((

When you decided to dig in, he handed you a cookie that looked like a crooked circle and said he tried to make that one a heart and insisted he feed it to you.

Blushed VERY hard at the moment of silence and intense eye contact while he fed it to you.

Nearly short circuited when his fingers brushed against your lips.

Moe moe x100000000000000000000000000000

You offer to do the cleaning after because he hurt himself and you didn’t wanna make him do any work, but he still offered to wipe the surfaces for you bc he’s an angel <333

literally just wanna marry him.

[paperpocalypse]

don’t trust your feelings.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 46. Giving them a back massage when they flop on the couch or bed.

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,291 words

Warning: Swearing

“Why the hell are you here?”

“Thought I’d drop by for a visit.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

You look at the knife and then at him, and your lips twitch. Whitney Houston – hell, you used to never shut up about her – sings from the unfamiliar record player on his dresser; Diego glances at it with narrowed eyes. So that’s where the music was coming from. You must have brought it with you. Why? So that he knows that it was you who broke into his room?

I know that album, he thinks bitterly, keeping the knife firmly in line with your face. It’s your favorite.

“Aw, c’mon, Diego.” You stand up, raising one hand in surrender while the other reaches for the knife in your shoulder. It makes a dry, scraping sound as you pull it out, like a spade leaving a sandpile, and you toss it onto the desk nearby. “Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me at least a little bit. It’s been eight years.”

Yeah, eight years. Fuck you. Diego keeps his breathing steady, ignoring the twinge in his side and the thumping in his chest as he makes his way down the stairs. “And whose fault is that?” he says.

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. You both know the answer, and he expects you to defend yourself with the same kind of shit you pulled when you were part of the academy. Go ahead, he thinks. Act like nothing’s wrong. Blame your uncle’s crackpot ideas.

Leave without warning. Who gives a shit anymore?

But you do none of those things. Instead, your gaze flicks away from the quiet venom in his voice, and you stay silent for a moment. His frown deepens.

“I was scared,” you eventually reply. “Ben died and I got scared, okay? So when Uncle said it was a sign we had to leave, I convinced myself that he was right again.” Your hands clasp behind your back, a familiar gesture that makes him think of times long past, and it gets to him more than he would like to show. “I’m sorry for not saying goodbye.”

You’re sorry. Diego holds your gaze for a moment longer, jaw tight, then lowers his knife. He thinks of the day he realized you weren’t coming back. Then he thinks of Ben’s funeral, and he puts his knife away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, less biting this time.

You smile derisively, but he can see the relief in it as well. “Uncle didn’t let me. You know how he was.”

“Was?”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.” He pauses in the middle of removing his tactical harness to glance at you. “… My condolences.”

You shrug. “It’s fine. I didn’t realize how much of a controlling bastard he was until he kicked the bucket,” you mutter, and he hears the record player stop as you lift the needle and turn it off. “And now I’m here.”

This time, Diego really pauses. The way you say it sounds like – “What, you’re moving back here or something?”

“Yep.” You lift your hands in a celebratory gesture. “Surprise.”

—

And just like that, you’re back in Diego’s life like you had never left.

It’s ridiculous, really, how quickly you slip into the cracks and crevices of his routine again. What’s worse, it feels natural. So he resists it at first – takes the back door when you have a match at the gym, throws his knives through the crack in the door whenever he comes back from patrol and hears a record playing. Talks to you with clipped tones and cold words.

But … he never tells you to leave. And you keep visiting. And by the time January rolls by, he realizes that the bitterness he’s tried to hold onto has become something else.

“Don’t you have a shift in a few hours?”

You’re nodding along to yet another Whitney vinyl when he walks in, lounging in the beat-up chair between his dresser and the desk with a newspaper in your lap. At the mention of work, you just sink deeper into the cushions and shrug.

“Yep,” you say.

The boiler room is a lot warmer than outside. He can already feel himself start to sweat. Diego removes his patrol gear and reaches back to pull one of his sweaters off, and his muscles ache in response. Goddamn it. It’s been like that the whole day, after that match with Sinclair the night before. He peels off the grimy article of clothing and rolls his shoulders.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you that pulling all-nighters isn’t healthy?” He tosses his sweater aside and heads to his bed, falling back onto the mattress with a grunt.

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Vigilante.” The chair squeaks, and he turns his head to see you approaching the bed. “Here, turn over.”

“Why?” Nevertheless, he does as you say.

“So I can massage your back.” You usher him closer to the wall and put one knee on the edge of the bed, hoisting yourself onto the mattress. He tenses when you lean over and press your hands into his shoulder blades. “Shit, man, I’m not gonna kill you. Relax.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” he mutters, then hisses when you knead a particularly sore muscle. That felt good.

You chuckle and move downwards. “Hey, I’d get a few hits in,” you retort as you work. “But you always were the better fighter, huh?”

“I had to be –” Your knuckles dig into his lower back – “unf. God. Not everyone’s a human punching bag like you, [Y/n].”

“The best offense is a good defense.”

“It’s ‘the best defense is a good offense.’”

“Your dad told you that, right? I remember.”

… Dad did tell him that. He’d forgotten. Diego scowls and doesn’t reply.

You put your whole weight into the base of your palms, swinging one leg over his lower back to kneel above him. “Uncle always told me the other one because of my powers. Guess we grew up with different philosophies.”

“Yeah, well, both of us got screwed over either way.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” His irritation fades a little bit when your voice softens.

You spend a few more minutes massaging his back. Diego closes his eyes and keeps his mouth shut, save for a relieved exhale here and there, listening to the ancient hum of the boiler and the upbeat tune of the next song on your record. He wonders how many times you’ve done this.

He wonders who you may have done it for.

But before he can think about it too much, the record player sputters, and whatever atmosphere that had begun blooming as soon as you had touched him disappears.

“Ah, shit,” you say wryly, moving off him. Diego groans as he props himself up onto his elbows, watching you turn the record player off. The sudden absence of music brings a frown to his lips. “I guess that’s a sign I should get going.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in signs.”

His words come out in a rasp – and in the midst of sliding the record back into its sleeve, you stop, a strange expression flitting across your face. “Shit, you’re right,” you remark after a second, perplexed. Then you chuckle. “I guess that was my uncle talking.”

Ignore the bastard, then. Diego shifts slowly, unwillingly, into a sitting position, and draws his eyes over the map of your face. You stare back. The record fits snugly underneath your arm. The boiler hums.

“What?”

He doesn’t think about it for another second.

“You can stay,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows. But then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face, and Diego commits it to memory.

“If you insist.”

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [01]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 2.7k a/n; after spending an entirety of june on this fic im proud to release it! this story is based on the prompt “I’m losing my mind!” for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! I hope you all enjoy this mini series and stay tuned for this wild ride

[01] [02] -> masterpost

“Just give it up!” Jungkook snaps, and you flinch at the sudden raise in voice level. Jungkook is a soft spoken person, only really having the audacity to speak up at the strength of his friends or when his body burns with attention after a performance. The fact that he chooses to use this tone around you, gets you seeing white hot. 

“How can I give up something that hasn’t even started?” you shoot back just as stubbornly. He won’t even let you in his room, and it pains you that he wants to fight out in the hallway where anyone could walk in and see. You glare at the heavy arms that bar your way inside, as if he’s creating a barrier for you, both emotionally and physically.

You hate this. For the past three months you’ve hated this version of yourself, manifested between the strained relationship of you and Jungkook. It pains you to see each other like this. Jungkook’s ears are tinged red with fever, simultaneously a little sick and a little annoyed at the fact that you wouldn’t let up. 

It wasn’t always mismatched stares and bouts of mixed signals whenever you two entered a room. There was a time when it being in each other’s presence was like a breath of fresh air, a bakery full of nothing but sweets and mouth-watering confections. That’s not to say that your relationship with Jungkook was, or is easy. After all, Jungkook chose a life that is never meant to be easy, no matter how far deep. 

But at the crux of everything, deep in your gut, you know that the both of you have that spark. 

“We can’t be together.” Jungkook states simply, pressing his coral lips together in a thin line. “My career! The traveling, the media, my crazy schedule, all of this, it doesn’t match.” 

It doesn’t match. Like the way a toddler puts a triangle block in a square space. In your opinion Jungkook is pointing out shallow, baseless reasons. You’ve gotten this far together, not quite addressing any officiality but leading to it. If all of his reasons really mattered, you wouldn’t be here right now. Unfortunately, Jungkook’s deciding to cut the line when the two of you have already sunk so deep. 

You’re both hurting, Jungkook doesn’t want to admit that. 

“But that doesn’t matter to me!” you reason, and you’re crumbling. Jungkook was once a fighter, too. Today, it feels like it’s just you who’s taking a stand, grappling on thin slices of thread that resemble what little confidence Jungkook has in the both of you. “I want to keep you grounded. I want to be the person you come home to.” 

Jungkook’s face reaches the final boss: a frustrating shade of scarlet, stunned at how shameless you are. You didn’t care, you know what you and Jungkook feel for each other is real. 

In a fit of emotion your hands reach for the crook of his elbow, grappling the black fabric between your fingers. It’s enough to ignite heat in your veins, starved of touch from so many nights apart and text messages that weren’t enough to convey how you truly felt. 

Jungkook’s eyes drag from your grip to your face, eyes glimmering. You look so small in the large hallway, empty and echoing between both your heaving breaths. There’s acute control in his expression, as if he’s grappling to reach both an inner and outer peace with himself. 

You bite your lip, sealing away your whimper of protest as he takes his hand in yours, untacking your grip. He’s not rough, but not gentle either as your hand pendulums to your lap. 

He turns his back to you, and for the first time you’re glad he looks away because the tears have already fallen. “Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.” Jungkook whispers, slamming the door to his studio. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Baby, it’s okay! You’ll find a new person to love!” The neverending flow of liquor and poetics is provided by none other than Sehlyung, a fellow employee you befriended after you got hired as a language teacher. 

You barely register Sehlyung’s hopeful smile through your misty eyes. Feeling bloated with liquid and far too tired to reply, you bob your head against the bar table. 

Sehlyung is the epitome of a fun time, and the first person you thought of to help quell your aching heart. A relationship that first started off as snide jokes and offhanded work qualms that eventually turned into a deep understanding and care for each other. After a long day of work she pulled through for you, showing up at the bar like a warrior in emerald green pencil slacks and an untucked blouse. At the edge of the bar she absentmindedly winds a lock of pale curly hair, sipping languidly from her electric blue beverage. 

“Listen, I get it. You think it’s the end of the world because Jungkook seems like the perfect catch—” the pretty blonde pauses when she notices your lip tremble, “but! He’s not that perfect, y’know. He—he sweats, sweats a lot, it’s like he’s freakin’ Niagara! It takes forever to get outfits on him in-between sets, it’s like clothing a wet noodle.” 

You choke back a laugh, shaking your head. “That is one flaw.” 

“A-and he’s very,” she starts waving her hands around, plucking the answer out of thin air, “competitive? Remember that one time Nabi said he couldn’t finish that whole loaf of milk bread? And then he accidentally ended up eating the parchment paper?” 

That has you in a fit of giggles, recalling how scared he was when his urge to make Nabi regret her words bit him right back in the butt. The hospital’s personal phone became number 8 on his speed dial shortly after. 

A fond, tentative smile melts on Sehlyung’s lips. At least you had it in in you to laugh, which Sehlyung knows is a good sign. She runs her fingers over your hair, forehead damp from your previous wallowing and overconsumption. ”You’re gonna find yourself a simple, wholesome partner! One who’s top-tier normie and will have all the time in the world for you!” 

You grimace at the thought, despite how uplifting that sounds. You once thought that was the only life for you, a nuclear family with two point five kids (the half point being a puppy, of course.) While you wouldn’t mind that kind of life, after meeting Jungkook you decided long ago that all you ever needed in a relationship was his company and combined happiness. 

“Time isn’t the issue,” you slur, voice warped from how your lips fall tiredly against your arm. “This issue is that he doesn’t want to try.” 

Sehlyung doesn’t say anything to that, but instead prefers to pour you another glass of liquid despair. Of course, she knew how Jungkook got. Sweet and caring, but headstrong, letting nothing get in the way of his music. 

Evidently, you’re one of those things. 

“Boys are dumb,” she says simply, swinging her head back. 

“I’ll be okay,” you murmur, “it just hurts. There’s no closure, y’know? I feel it, I feel so much love for him. And I know he feels, he feels something.” 

Sehlyung bites her lip, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I got you a gift.” 

That gets you to perk up, your head tipping a miniscule degree. She pulls out a glass, filled with a clear liquid. It’s small, almost vial-shaped, enough for barely two shots. Inside, there’s a young flower shaped like a bellsprout. 

“It’s angel wine,” she chirps, pulling your shot glass to give you a hearty pour. “The old lady was selling it when I was getting my mom her ginger wine.” 

“Hm, is it like ginseng?” you ask curiously, grabbing the now half-empty bottle where the wet flower sat. The bell shape, despite being bloated with residual wine, still clung vibrantly to the glass. The bumblebee yellow and sunset orange tint looking absolutely mesmerizing. However, you’ve never seen an infused liquor quite like this. 

“Think so,” Sehlyung shrugs, “I’m sure you’ll like it though! I told her about how you got dumped and she said you’d need this to cap off your night!” 

She snatches the bottle from your hands, making sure it’s sealed tight before slipping into your purse. “That wine’s special, baby,” she winks, “save it for yourself when you get home, alright?” 

“Gee, Lyungie,” you deadpan, swirling the fragrant liquid, “I’m so glad my boy drama is spreading to your wine dealer.” 

Your friend holds her own drink in a toast, urging you to drink up. You don’t need to be told twice, the floral liquid going down surprisingly smooth. It’s sweet, and your whole body tingles. It’s like the feeling of being outside, and the sun shines over your exposed skin like a warm kiss. For a brief moment, you feel like you’re seeing pink and orange, blissfully satiated. 

“Mm,” you hum, licking your lips in hopes the feeling will return to you, “that’s some good stuff, got anymore?” 

Sehlyung scoffs, only mildly jealous that you get that particular drink all to yourself. “I wish. An arm and a leg cost me that, my hometown is very far!” 

The rest of the night is a haze, a comfortable one. Sehlyung goes off about Namjoon and his countless wardrobe malfunctions, keeping her from going home on time one way too many nights. You talk about how you’re getting into real progress with Soobin’s English, and how he doesn’t complain his head hurts when he speaks in full sentences. Hopefully he isn’t too mad when you send him a pop quiz next Tuesday. 

Sehlyung’s cab drops you off first, and she bids you a hug and kiss goodbye. She tells you to come a little early before your first class, because she wants to redesign Seokjin’s blazer for a new shoot and she wants you to pick out the best crystals. 

You know she just wants to show off and that your opinion is minimal because most of the decisions are made weeks before, but the gesture is appreciated. From Sehlyung’s knowing gaze, you have a feeling that she’s also doing this because she wants to keep you at arm’s length for as long as possible. 

The cab zips away first, leaving you in front of your apartment complex. You’re teetering on your heels like an infant, and you’re surprised that you managed to fake-sober this far into the night. 

Speaking of. It’s beautiful outside. With a tired sigh, you wrap yourself further into your burgundy knitted scarf, begging for warmth. You feel a fresh bout of tears surfacing as you look onto the pale yellow moon, shrouded by thick ghosty clouds among the starless sky. You wonder if Jungkook is looking at the same moon, thinking the same thing. 

You shake your head and wipe your tears, absolving you of that romantic notion. Jungkook hasn’t had the time to look at the stars in so long. You imagine he’s probably either working or sleeping soundly in his bunk, completely oblivious of the semi-depressing night you’ve had. You don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that Jungkook doesn’t have the opportunity to dwell on feelings for too long. 

The midnight sky starts to flicker, as if night and day are competing for dominance. Either that, or it’s really late in the night and early in the day. Your vision starts to blur, and you wonder if the secretary at the front desk would be so kind as to help you up to your apartment. It’s embarrassing, but it’s better than you cracking your skull open in the middle of the hallway where anyone can find you. You clutch your head, bemoaning on how much alcohol must be running through your blood if you’re hallucinating this much. 

Wiping your bleary face, you dig into your purse for your keys. Upon pulling out the key your favorite lip balm rolls onto the street. A little part of you feels like leaving it behind so you can get to bed, but it’s your favorite one and you are so close to finishing it. Muttering a curse at the thought of bending down at the possibility of you vomiting in public, you quickly scramble to the ground. Your knees buck at the pavement, tiny stones digging into your skin. Focusing your gaze on the pink and blue plastic, you reach for the glittery tube. 

Unfortunately, you’re not quick enough to notice the moving truck swerve the corner and skid towards your body. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The first thing you notice is that it’s unbearably bright. Like when you vegetate in a dark classroom watching a movie, and the teacher suddenly flips the lights on without warning and your brain panics from the shock. 

You’re also painfully sober, as if you didn’t have a liquor-based dinner. Your bladder doesn’t feel like a small child is sitting on it, and you’re wide awake. 

Someone’s yelling at you, their voice shrill from emotion yet gravely from the early morning. Suddenly there’s a whip of hot air against your hair and a harsh skid as the smell of tire on gravel fills your nose. You’re on sensory overload, and you don’t have the capacity to care about your surroundings. 

This is probably the third time you have to mentally repeat to yourself that it’s daytime, the sun shining brightly on your fallen form. Your body is splayed out in a half-starfish position, and you quickly close your legs in fear of someone seeing up your skirt. You put up a hand to cover your face, and it’s instantly snatched up by a larger one. 

“Hey, hey! Are you okay? I know I turned the corner pretty fast, but you shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the street like that!” the person calling you sounds frantic, frustrated at your lack of response. 

Your eyes flicker to the small jet black cruiser strewn across the sidewalk, haphazardly parked. Fingers curling around the person’s hand, you look up at their face and scream. 

It’s now their turn to collapse on the floor, eyes wide and terrified. Their soft black hair is fluffy and sweaty from using their helmet, now rolling away from their grip. 

“What?” he screams back, as if there’s something on his face. His hand whips up to clutch his collar, undoing the top button because he’s starting to sweat profusely. “Are you really injured? Do I need to call an ambulance or something—” 

“Jungkook!” you cry, ripping the woolen scarf from your neck to wrap it around the top half of his face. You scramble between his legs, making sure his piercings, tattoos and any other identifiable part of his body is concealed. You don’t even think about your fight from last night, knowing that it’s miniscule in comparison to Jungkook being swarmed by PR. “Kook, what the fuck? It’s broad daylight, you can’t be out like this without a mask! Where on earth did you hide that bike? Why—are you wearing fucking pastel green? Since when have you added color to your wardrobe?” the boy noticeably pauses at the attention to his outfit, tensing under your ministrations. “Dispatch will have your ass and the devil Min Yoongi’ll kill you again for sneaking out—”

It’s then that Jungkook snaps, two strong arms pushing you away like paper. You don’t expect Jungkook to ever lay a hand on you, and with a surprised yelp you’re painfully shoved onto the pavement.  

“Get off of me!” he cries, and throws your scarf on your lap. “Who the hell are you and why do you know my name?” 

He’s scared, holding his helmet like you’ve burned him. His doe eyes are glistening and dewy, as if you’re someone he should be running away from. 

“Jungkook—” and as you hold out your hand to him, you realize. 

I’m losing my mind, you think, clutching your head to double-check no injury has come to your brain. His hair is much, much longer. It waves and falls into his eyes, as if he’s just gotten out of bed. He’s wearing a backpack, and you notice some crumpled post-its sticking out of the zipper. Clipped around his neck is a university ID. Heck, he isn’t even wearing an outfit you recognize. Gone are the cargos and oversized sweats, replaced with professionally tapered dress pants and a plain polo. 

Is...  is Jungkook wearing khakis? 

It’s daylight, you’re sober, and the Jungkook that’s standing in front of you is not your Jungkook. 

[snarwor]

moon and old stars - chapter 1

I blame @badwolfbadwolf for every single word of this. Din Djarin/Boba Fett Daddy Kink with a side of Emotional Hurt/Comfort? I’m fuckin AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA damn it I’m writing Star Wars fic again. What’s this ship name? Link to AO3 at the bottom. No warnings so far. Also: this is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr so if there’s formatting issues yolo

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He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t. He was practically forty cycles old and he knew better. Here he was, without a damn starship, without the kid, bereft of enough credits to make a difference, and he was spiraling out of control due to the residual guilt and shame which had come with taking his helmet off at the refinery on Morak. He’d compromised himself, his Creed, his people.

And the damn Fett wasn’t talking to him, to top it off. That’s just great.

It wasn’t much of a Way if you kept meandering vaguely off course, listing on just this side of heresy.

Cara and Fennec had gone off in search of food on some outpost near the Outer Rim, a few days’ travel behind Gideon, and therefore Grogu. Din was left alone in Slave I with Boba Fett, and he was practically crawling out of his skin.

He’d rehearsed the bad idea so many times in his head, but somewhere between his mind and his mouth the words changed from “Wanna go shoot something?” to “I need a distraction.”

The old bounty hunter was sitting at the console near the hyperdrive, sans helmet, as he was used to. Din’s hands were shaking in their gloves, but the gloves and his armor were sturdy enough to hide it from the common man’s eye.

Boba Fett was not a common man. He was a Mandalorian, if not by Creed then by race, and he knew exactly the deadly mix of poisons which had led Din to this point better than... kriff, better than anyone else in this blasted galaxy.

His eyes, so level and sure, so calculating and sharp it felt like there wasn’t any beskar between them, regarded him and his request. Din hadn’t asked, he was past the point of asking. He was desperate to get his mind off of the vicious circle of imagining what the kid was going through. Fett stood and straightened his back.

Din wasn’t a slight man, by anyone’s definition. He was strong enough to wield and wear the armor, to make it this long as a guild bounty hunter, to survive the training and the trauma that came from just living in the wild galaxy. But Boba Fett was a clone, he was created to be the most powerful kriffing bastard this side of the stars, and he was engineered smarter, faster, and stronger. He had a hand’s length on him in height, and Din was eager to know what that would feel like, without the armor, without the boots, without—

But Fett hadn’t spoken yet, he hadn’t even given anything away that Din could overthink about. He was sweating all over the inside of his helmet, worse than when he first put one on as a teenager. He swallowed roughly, and the vocoder picked it up, a soft crackle putting his nervousness on display.

“Come with me.”

It was three words, which were more than enough of an order for Din’s head to swim, and he followed like Fett had said to. He was led to a berthing at the far edge of the ship. The matter of fact way Fett had interpreted his request for a distraction as “I’m taking you to bed” made him swoon a little on his feet. “I don’t lay with armor. You’ll have to take it off.”

“But—”

“If I wanted to lay with a droid, I’d lay with a droid. It comes off.”

Again, Din was brought to heel by three short words. And really, what was there left of himself that he could hold tight to and pretend was honorable? How much of himself had he given up in just the last few months? What part of him actually still fit, hidden behind buckles and clasps and plates and signets?

He forced himself not to think about it. His need was great. Back on Morak, he’d felt the same need take control, blurring the line in his head that was at one point, uncrossable. Now, his whole mind was blurred, and he felt the air in his helmet was hot and stifling. Piece by piece, the armor around him came off, and with it, his cares and self-respect. He was willing to debase himself for one petty distraction.

In for a credit, and all.

The chest plate acted as sort of a holding dish for the rest, keeping it nice and tidy and out of Fett’s way as he bared every part of himself. Fett watched with an unreadable expression as pale skin was uncovered, as cloth-covered elbows and socked feet revealed itself to the room. The door was shut, there was some semblance of safety here, but the recklessness with which Din stripped himself gave the old man something to worry about.

Finally, in just his soft skin-layer clothes, all that was left was the damned helmet. Din felt his lips wobbling beneath it, and set his jaw. It’s just a distraction. It’s just enough to get me by. Then I can bottle the shame and find a way to repent for my actions. This is the Way.

The light in the room was dim, like Fett had known Din’s eyes needed to adjust. The helmet sat atop the rest of the armor with a soft thud, finality in its tone. Din let out a shuddering breath, and his eyes went to the floor, his head with it. He’s worn the helmet so long that he was unused to peripheral vision when he had it.

“Look at me.” Three-word sentences were a favorite of Fett’s, so it seemed. “You are not of a Creed you can disappoint while in here. The only truth is that you are mine.”

Din’s eyes flashed up, and his jaw dropped. That strange cadence to his voice, the accent, it was unfamiliar enough to his ears that it set the stage for what came next. “Yours?” he croaked, almost flinching at the new acoustic quality his voice had.

“Mine.” Fett sat on the edge of his bed, and made no motion for Din to follow, so he remained standing. “You are unfamiliar with this kind of activity. Good. There’s nothing you can do, or have done, that will change how I treat you here. We will start small. You will follow my orders. If you are confused about something, you will ask. If something is wrong, you will say ‘beskar’ and we will stop. No one else is allowed to know about this. I will not speak of it, and neither will you. This will not follow outside of here unless we speak of it. Do you have any questions?”

Millions.

“No.”

“Kneel here.” Fett pointed with a single, gnarled finger to a point on the ground by his feet. Din made a soft noise of resistance, but a firm look reminded him that he was to follow Fett’s orders. He slowly went to his knees, and walked forward on them, closer, to Fett’s side. He thought they were going to do this on the bed. “Get comfortable.”

He spoke like he’d rather be talking in a different language, but for Din he’d keep speaking in Common. Din adjusted his kneeling stance so his back wasn’t slouched. They often meditated in the cloister and learned to stay very still despite discomfort, but Fett had told him to get comfortable, so he did, though once he’d found it, he began to fidget.

“Put your head here.” Fett patted his lap. Surely there was an easier way for him to do this…? Din wasn’t sure he’d be able to reach Fett’s cock in this position. “Your mind is jumping several steps ahead. We are not moving past this now. Relax your mind.”

“I asked for a distraction, not a guided meditation,” Din grumbled, resisting and testing the waters a little. Fett seemed quick to temper despite his glacial expressions, but in here, he took the little barb like Din hadn’t even said anything.

“You will get what you need, and nothing more unless you follow what it is I’m saying. Put your head here. I won’t repeat myself again.”

Din gently rested his head against Fett’s thigh. It was a strange sensation, to feel warmth there not brought by engine heat or the flash-burn of a sonic shower, or his own body heat trapped in the helmet. The fabric over his thigh was a rough canvas, but not too thick that it hid the warmth from the man wearing them.

“Good. That’s good.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Fett put a hand on his head, not grabbing, just resting. He took deep breaths and calmed his heart down.

He’d spent so many months taking a sharp blade to his hair, thinning it down as soon as it was long enough to curl. He didn’t like to meet his own eyes in the mirror as he worked, only looked at his face enough to do a cursory, impersonal shave and haircut, and only when absolutely necessary. He felt he owed it to the Creed that he didn’t indulge in time spent out of the helmet, in things like vanity and pride.

But now, with Fett’s hand on his head, and his head on his thigh, kneeling at his feet because he’d been told to, he wished he’d spent a bit more time making sure it was at least even. Insecurity and shame bubbled inside of him, and it made damn sure Din knew how unworthy he was of a signet, of the helmet, of the gifts given by his people. Through many years and lonely nights, even after he met the kid, he’d found himself in moments of physical pain, but never enough to make him cry like a child.

This simple act, it seemed, was enough.

It started slow, a prickling spark behind his eyes, a flash of radiant embarrassment on his cheeks. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. His vision blurred with tears, and they fell, uninhibited, from his eyes. If Fett noticed, he didn’t speak about it, and didn’t move his hand back. His thigh and his hand were the only two points in the galaxy that could tether Din back to himself, and he was holding on tightly to that sensation.

Those fingers curled into unevenly-cut hair, a gentle scritch against a sensitive scalp, and Din cried harder. Under the sounds of his gasps and silent, shuddering sobs, he heard humming. It wasn’t a song he recognized, but the tune became familiar the more Fett repeated it, in a deep register that matched his entire demeanor.

Din’s hands came to wrap around Fett’s calf, holding on hesitantly, but tighter once the song interrupted with a “Hm,” of assent. Now he had four points of tethering, and it was easier for Din to let the tears carry away his shame and injuries to his pride.

He didn’t know how long he was down there, knelt by Fett’s feet, but when he felt fine enough to look up, he was surprised to meet Fett’s eyes. He somehow knew Fett hadn’t looked away even once in the whole time Din had knelt. “You were very good for me,” Fett said, a soft quality to his voice that made Din’s breath catch. The hand on his head shifted and cupped the back of his neck, and Din’s eyes fluttered shut. How long had it been…? Never, his mind said. You’ve never felt like this.

“What was that song?” Din asked, his voice terribly hoarse and small.

“It’s an old one, so old time forgot the words but not the sound and story. It told a tale about an old star shooting across the galaxy, and when it sailed past a moon made of crystals so clear it looked like starlight, it stopped, pulled into orbit by a thing so beautiful it was helpless against the laws of the universe. My father used to sing it to me, and now I sing it to you.”

Din didn’t know what to make of that, but said, “That sounds like a nice story. Will you teach me the song?”

“I will. But not now. The others will be back soon. You may want to clean up.”

Din noticed the uncomfortable feeling of tears dried on his face, and felt the wave of self-consciousness return, though it was greatly subdued.

“There’s a shower on board.”

“Thank you.” Din kept his eyes down, gathering up his things again, his pieces.

“You’re welcome, any time you need it.”

“What if I don’t need it?” Din said, trying to cover his vulnerability with...something else.

“Then you don’t need it,” Fett said, calm as anything. He stood.

Sure enough, those five inches Fett had on him were made starkly apparent when Din stood in none of his armor. Certain men carried a metaphorical weight with them when they walked, and others carried an imagined height that let them look down on others. Boba Fett was bigger in both senses, but did not use his power to belittle or condescend at Din. He exuded a presence of comfort and safety, a peace that Din had thought inaccessible for himself for so very long.

He felt held, though they stood apart.

“I’ll just. Shower.” Din said, awkwardness filling his lungs.

As soon as he was in the small ‘fresher, he closed the hatch and wondered what in the kriff just happened.

Read on AO3.

Chapter two.

[demonsonthemoon]

Standing on the Edge / We’re Already Falling

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton Word Count: 3499 Rating: M Summary: Clint doesn't do romantic relationships. Bucky doesn't do sex. But they do do something together. One night, Clint has a request. "Do you mind if I jerk off?" Featuring akoiromantic!Clint. Notes: If you are here expecting smut you might be disappointed because the smut I was planning to write disappeared in between whole paragraphs of introspection. STORY OF MY LIFE. This fic has been sitting in my draft for more than a year and I STILL had to rush it to post it in time for #AggressivelyArospecWeek, so apologies if it is super wonky and there are typos everywhere. This is vaguely inspired by personal experiences and fantasies, because relationships are fascinating and I like to self-reflect. Also please note that I'm allosexual and the perspective I have on asexuality is totally external. So if you have any comments about the way I wrote it that might further my understanding of asexuality and help me write it better, let me know! Content warnings: Bucky's asexuality in this is explored partly in relation to his history of abuse so if that sounds squicky or triggering to you, be careful!

Read it on AO3.

The feeling of Bucky's lips on his wasn't anything new to Clint. That didn't mean that the pleasure of it was wearing off, far from it. First kisses were never the best. No, the really good one only came after, when you knew what the other person liked and they knew your preferences as well. When you could play each other like finally tuned instruments to elicit your favorite sounds at will. Those were the best kisses.

The one they were sharing now was quite high-ranking on that scale, at least according to Clint's opinion. They were both freshly clean from a shower, and Clint was quickly letting go of all the tension from the mission he'd just come back from. He was finally reaching the good side of pent-up where sensations were pleasurably heightened but not making him paranoid. Then there was the fact that Bucky was softly biting on his lower lip and had a hand in Clint's hair. Yeah. It was a pretty good kiss.

“Fuck,” Clint whispered at they broke apart for hair. They didn't go far from one another, just hovering on that edge of kissing again. Clint had a hand on Bucky's face, softly running a thumb over his stubble, the other over his hip.

Bucky smiled, then kissed him again. It was funny. Clint swore his lips tasted different when he smiled. It was one of his favorite flavors.

This thing between them hadn't always been that easy. There had been a time when Bucky's only two moods were “shadow in the corner” and “murder glare,” which had not been conducive to much physical intimacy. (Not that Clint had been unwilling. Everyone who knew him was aware of his attraction to danger.) It had taken a while for Bucky to become comfortable, both with himself and with the people also living on the Avengers compound. Clint had understood that. The guy had been through a lot. He'd still barely remembered who he was when he'd turned himself in after a year of leading Steve and Sam around on a merry chase.

But he'd gotten around to it. The whole being a person thing. Being something other than a weapon.

Yes, Clint had been a little protective of him. Still was. He could relate to the guy. A few days of alien brainwashing was obviously different to a few decades of being Hydra's puppet, but it still gave them more common grounds than most of the other Avengers.

They'd started getting along, and then they had started getting along, and now Clint was shirtless and kissing Bucky in his bed and it all felt really nice.

Really really nice.

“Shit, fuck,” Clint whimpered against Bucky's mouth, drawing away slightly. “Wait a sex- sec. I have a question.”

The beginning of their relationship (Clint always made a face at the word, but he hadn't found any other one that fit) had involved a lot of awkward conversations about boundaries. Clint had been on the verge of e-mailing his therapist about it several times. She would have been so proud. Clint wasn't ready to admit that, but it had felt nice for once not to be the only one tiptoeing around a minefield. That's what it had felt like in a lot of his other relationships, and most of his other partners hadn't been subtle in letting him know it was his fault.

Bucky didn't make him feel like it was his fault. He had plenty of minefields of his own and seemed grateful to have Clint here to help him figure out their layouts.

It had almost been funny when they'd realized how little they matched one another.

Clint didn't do romance. He'd learned the hard way that however much he liked the person at first, and even continued to like them, in a way, he couldn't sustain romantic attraction for much more than a few weeks into a relationship. And the pressure of a romantic relationship was just too much for him to handle. After a series of self-sabotaged messes and a divorce, he'd been forced to admit that it wasn't worth trying anymore. He'd mostly resigned himself to one-night stands and the occasional cuddle with a friend. Wanting regular physical and emotional intimacy outside of a romantic relationship just wasn't something he figured he could get.

Bucky, on the other hand, was totally open to the pursuit of romance. At least as much as someone with such severe trust issues as he had could be. But he didn't really do sex. At least not for now.

It had been kind of funny to find all of that out, but also not at all. Clint was very happy that they'd decided to figure something out anyway. He'd been even happier when the something in question had turned out to involve having a close friend he could regularly make out with but who didn't pressure him into being with each other all the time, being wooed or going on dates.

Their relationship probably looked like weird and misshapen from any outside perspective, and sometimes even from Clint's, when his nerves were too raw or his mind was too numb and he looked at the universe and only saw the result of his failures. But it was theirs, and whenever Clint felt like his skin was his own again, he found he was willing to fight for it.

It was a weird yo-yo motion, with a string that threatened to snap every so often, but so far it was still turning.

Clint couldn't help himself, and he gave Bucky another peck on the lips. Just to erase the frown that had formed on his forehead as he'd pulled away from their kiss.. “Don't worry. There's no good or bad answer here.” He tried to keep his tone confident and casual. Spy training came in handy in these kinds of situation. Of course, the fact that Bucky was just as well trained meant he could usually read through Clint's bullshit, but well. One had to try.

Clint took a breath, and smiled. “Do you mind if I jerk off?”

Bucky froze against Clint's hands. His eyes widened just the slightest bit.

And then he looked down at Clint's crotch, and the blond bit down on his own lip to avoid letting out a thoroughly undignified squeak. The outline of his erection was clearly visible through the worn material of his post-shower sweatpants. Bucky somehow seemed surprised by it, even though there was no way he hadn't felt it rub against him at any point of the previous proceedings.

Clint felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He wasn't embarrassed about sex. He didn't think that was what it was. He was just very aware of the request he'd just made and the fact that Bucky's attention was still lingering on his cock.

“You don't have to say yes. I really don't mind if we just make out some more and cuddle. I just thought... Well. I just thought that if you didn't have to... participate, you might still like to watch?” The blood in his cheeks was quickly approaching boiling point. “Or not. I don't know. I just thought I'd ask.”

Clint forced himself to close his mouth and stop talking before he fell into a spell of ill-advised chatter. For a few excruciating seconds, Bucky stayed silent. At least he was looking into Clint's eyes again, instead of at his dick. Small mercies.

“Is that something that you would like? If I watched?”

“Um.” Clint swallowed. The fact that Bucky's gaze followed the movement of his Adam's apple was enough to force him to admit he didn't want to lie. “Yeah. Yeah. I'd... I think I'd like that a lot.”

Clint didn't know what reaction he'd expected at that. A joke perhaps. Or at least a raised eyebrow. He hadn't expected Bucky to move forward like a hunting animal jumping on his prey and kiss him. Clint opened his mouth and let the kiss deepen. He wasn't an idiot, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to get kissed passionately by Bucky just because he was confused. So he moved one arm over Bucky's shoulder, found a better angle and kissed back, giving as much as he got.

He hadn't lied when he'd said he could do just this for hours. Who cared if it made him feel like an awkward teenager again, one who was all too happy to agree to “no sex on the first date” because he didn't know how to tell his at the time girlfriend that he hadn't ever touched a condom in his life.

Clint wasn't frustrated. He jerked off a healthy amount, and in the time between he got to hang out with Bucky and get kissed senseless. There was really no drawback to this situation.

And sure, Clint had desires. Fantasies. There were many things he thought about while he jerked off, and quite a few of them inlvoved Bucky in different stages of nakedness and with various amounts of their naked skins touching. But he also had fantasies about a lot of people he had never had and would never have sex with, and that was fine. He was friends with Bucky, and his comfort whenever they spent time together was a lot more important than Clint's libido.

But he had wondered if maybe... If there could be a way to get more of what he wanted without pushing any of Bucky's boundaries. He already felt bad for not being able to give Bucky everything he wanted, everything that he deserved. Bucky should get to be with someone who would go on dates with him, who would kiss him in the rain and hold his hand it public, and whisper I am so glad that you're my boyfriend against his ear. After all the ways he'd been used and abused, Bucky deserved the certainty of someone who loved him in all ways, all the time.

And Clint wasn't that someone. Clint couldn't give himself to someone in that way without feeling trapped, without tainting the beauty of every gesture with his own fear of being controlled.

Asking for this, for this selfish thing that wasn't sex but was so so close, it was a dangerous thing. It felt like taking something more, and Clint had never felt like he deserved anything in his life, not most of the bad, but not really any of the good either, and he didn't want to be that person who just took and took from someone who had already lost so much, but Bucky had always told him to just ask and he had, and Bucky was still kissing him like there was no other way to say what he meant to say and-

“Okay,” Bucky panted when he finally pulled away far enough to form words. “I think I want to see that.”

And, fuck, this was definitely something that Clint had fantasized about before, that's why he brought it up, but his imagination paled before the real thing, before the livewire tension all across his body and the way Bucky looked hungry in a way he'd never had before, and then Clint was being pushed back against the pillows of the bed and Bucky was slowly peeling off his sweatpants to expose the boxers underneath and this was all too much already. Bucky looked so smug about it too, like this was a perfectly normal things for them to do, like anything below the belt wasn't an entirely new territory for them. Bucky settled cross-legged on the end of the bed opposite to Clint, and tilted his head in a sort of go-ahead gesture. There was such open curiosity in his eyes, and Clint hadn't known that that was something that did it for him, but it really, truly was.

In all of his fantasies, he hadn't had to think about how to jerk off, he'd already been doing it as he set the scene in his head. He had felt a certain thrill at the idea of being watched, but none of the nervousness that came from putting on a show. And that probably wasn't what Bucky even expected from him, but Clint still felt weird. It felt like the worst case of stage fright he'd had since his first performance in the circus when he'd been a teenager.

Clint took a deep breath. He looked up into Bucky's eyes, carefully trained on his, and slowly pulled his boxers off.

*****

Bucky could tell that Clint was nervous. He wanted to so something about it, but he had no idea how. Clint had been the one to offer this, to ask for this, and Bucky was just along for the ride. A ride he definitely thought he would enjoy, but he also couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to push Clint but didn't want to stay totally detached either and...

And Clint was now touching his dick, hand in a loose fist around it, going up and down, thumb brushing over the head to gather a few drops of precome. And he was staring at Bucky as he did all that, worrying his bottom lip and staring at Bucky like he held all of the answers in the world.

He was surprised at how big the urge to touch was. He wanted to put his mouth on Clint's and bite down, bite properly instead of whatever Clint was doing to deal with his nervousness. He wanted to put a hand in Clint's hair and lick along the side of his neck and then look down at where his hand was still moving on his cock.

But he didn't do any of that, even though he had before (except for the looking part), because if he did he might trip on his own boundaries, might trigger that trapwire inside himself that made him retreat.

So he just watched instead, held Clint's gaze when it met his.

This was a new things for the two of them, but at the same time... it wasn't. Not really. Because this wasn't about sex. Sex was something that Bucky felt totally detached from on a good day, and on a bad one it was something that made him nervous, made his stomach twist and weigh heavily.

He couldn't explain why, because he hadn't ever had a particularly bad experience with it. At least he didn't think so. (He hated that he still wasn't sure, couldn't be sure, because so many memories had been taken from him and he couldn't ever know if he had gotten all of them back.)

What he remembered, at least, wasn't bad, although it wasn't good. Bucky could see himself, another person in another time, lying in fresh grass with a girl, her perfume just heavy enough to make him slightly light-headed, to take the edge off the feeling of wrongness he was experiencing as he touched her, let her touch him. He could feel the purely physical pleasure of the act, perfunctory, but nothing else.

This thing right now with Clint was nothing like that, because it wasn't about the sex. It was about Clint and it was about pleasure, but physicality was only one tiny part of this equation.

Bucky watched Clint's hand run up hand down his cock, and he didn't wish that it was his instead, but that didn't stop him from being fascinated by the movement, by the way Clint's dick responded, hardening further, and by the quiet sounds that caught in his throat.

A thought crossed his mind, and Bucky stood up. The fact that Clint immediately stopped moving made him feel... something. It reminded him that, yeah, Clint was masturbating, but this thing still actively involved Bucky. And Bucky let himself be involved, since he ruffled through his nightstand and threw Clint a half bottle of lube. Clint's eyes widened even as he caught the bottle easily. A soldier's reflexes. “You-”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I don't have the same libido as you, but I've still got enough experience to know it's better when it doesn't chafe.”

“Right,” Clint replied, scratching the back of his head in an embarrassed gesture. The combination of that and his erection sticking out made him look completely ridiculous, but Bucky only smiled in endearment.

He settled back at the foot of the bed, crosses his legs and make a vague gesture with his hand.

“As you were,” he said with a smirk.

Clint stared, mouth agape. “You...” He chuckled. “You are such an asshole.”

Bucky didn't deny it, but he also noticed that Clint wasn't too bothered, pouring lube into his right hand and carefully warming it up. He looked slightly uncertain again, slowly touching his own dick. Bucky didn't say anything, but he watched. That's what Clint had asked for. That he watch.

Clint worried his lower lip and hummed in his throat as he worked up a rhythm again, and Bucky watched.

He liked Clint's hands, the calluses on his fingers, the various scars from knife fights and careless handling of arrows. He liked them for the stories they told, the one that had been erased from his own fingertips by serum and metal. It was something he kept to himself, unlike Clint who took great pleasure in telling Bucky how hot he looked and which pants he should keep wearing because they framed his thighs just right. Bucky didn't look at Clint's hands like Clint sometimes did his, with a far-away intensity in his eyes and his mouth just the slighest bit open. But that was okay.

Clint didn't look at him like he wanted to be what made Bucky happy, his everything, his forever, with a yearning to share as much of the other's life as he could. But Bucky...

Bucky looked up into Clint's eyes, scared of everything his own could say, but it felt like the other man could hardly see him, too caught up in the movement of his own hand and the sensations that ran through his body. It didn't make Bucky feel alone, though. Quite the opposite. Clint was including him in a moment that could so easily have been private and it was thrilling, it made Bucky feel powerful and wanting. Bucky could have touched, Clint probably would have liked him to touch him, and Bucky felt his arms strain towards the other man, but stayed still. This made the moment feel purer, safer, better somehow, and Bucky didn't get it, not really, but then again, there were so many things he didn't get about Clint and his relationship, this was just one more thing on the list.

Another fragile compromise, another precarious equilibrium, just like everything that had followed that fateful “Can I kiss you?” during a conversation that had felt half like a fight and also like the most comfortable Bucky had been in years, because Clint hadn't been scared of him and he hadn't been careful, and he had asked to kiss him and Bucky had said yes.

And barely seconds after their lips had touched, Clint had said “Okay, this doesn't have to go anywhere, but in case it goes anywhere, we need to set boundaries,” and Bucky had thought “I think I might love you.”

These days, he tried his best not to say it aloud, but he thought Clint still understood it sometimes, like right now when Bucky had finally reached out and kissed Clint one more, and the other man's hip had thrust up twice before he came, one hand grappling at Bucky's shoulder and gripping his shirt. He was panting into Bucky's mouth, eyes wide and a little scared, and Bucky kissed him again until Clint whined, louder than any sound he'd made as he orgasmed, and Bucky couldn't help but be selfishly pleased by that.

He felt warm and relaxed. For once, the arousal coiled in his gut didn't feel uncomfortable, there was no pressure for it to go anywhere.

He pulled away, and watched as Clint carefully got his breathing back to normal. “Thanks,” the blond said, a slightly pathetic attempt at filling the silence between them.

“You're welcome,” Bucky replied, too quiet and not snarky enough, but they both smile and pretended not to know what had been said behind the word. They didn't destroy the balance.

Clint looked at his hand and made a face, and Bucky pushed him out of bed with a laugh, telling him to clean up. He chucked off his own shirt, which was stained by Clint's come and oh, what a strange thought that was. And then he settled into bed.

He was pretty sure Clint would join him, tonight, though he didn't always. If he was lucky, they'd have breakfast the next day. He didn't expect to see much of Clint for the rest of the day after that though, but that was okay.

It was an equilibrium.

[ricksbowen]

one more time | pt. 6

IN WHICH: y/n goes out with ej, ricky’s feelings are too much to bear, y/n goes back to the root of her fear of love.

INSPIRATION: everything has changed — taylor swift ft. ed sheeran, atlantis — seafret

WARNING: this has implications of sex. this series is usually heated, but this part has no smut in it. but i will say that everyone here is 18+ and in their senior year.

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

i need help asap. come over

You sent Ricky that text an hour ago. Usually, he’d be at your house the moment he read it, willing to help out with whatever you needed help with. Usually, he read your texts with a hint of a smile gracing his lips, replying back with some stupid reaction meme he screenshotted off of Instagram.

But when Ricky read your text, his heart plummeted and his mood deflated.

He knew what you needed help with. You had told him everything about your date with Ej, from the time to the places he was bringing you. Dinner, then the movies, then to some of the rarest views in Utah. It sounded like a date that would’ve fallen out of a coming-of-age movie, and Ricky felt like the teenager who got screwed over in every corner.

He didn’t respond for an hour. Ricky kept his mind off of you by writing lyrics in his notebook, guitar in hand as he tried to sort his emotions out. He didn’t want to know what he was feeling, but he wasn’t stupid. Ricky wasn’t blind to the way his heart rate picked up when you laughed, or how an unstoppable smile lifted his lips when you told a terrible joke.

He wasn’t blind to the way he looked at you in a new way when you laid in front of him. You didn’t see it, thank God, but Ricky knew you were going to figure him out at some point.

Ricky prayed that when that day came around, you wouldn’t cut him out of your life.

It took an hour for him to finally drop his things and grab his skateboard. You didn’t live next door, but you lived in the same neighborhood as him. It was helpful for times like these, when one of you needed the other in times of toil ( though this was probably the opposite ).

Ricky walked up to your door, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He raised his fist, knocking at your door twice. He heard you cursing from inside, your footsteps loud at you practically tripped down the stairs. You threw open the door, and Ricky suddenly couldn’t breathe.

The black slip-on dress you wore fit you perfectly, gleaming against the setting sun from outside. Your hair was clipped back with two red clips, and the dangling earrings you wore matched the two necklaces that adorned your neck. Your face was only half done, the powder white against your cheeks as you gaped at him.

“Holy shit, what took you so long?” you asked with an exasperated look, unaware of his lovestruck expression. You reached for his hand, the simple action sending lightning running up and down his arms, and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him.

“I needed help with what I was gonna wear,” you explained nonchalantly, walking up your stairs. The lack of Ricky’s footsteps following yours made you turn to look at him with a frown. “Are you coming?” you asked, worry glazing over your eyes. “You’re being weird.”

The worried tone in your voice made him snap back into reality. He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he quickly kicked his shoes off and leaned his skateboard against the wall. “Right.” Ricky followed you up to your room, regret filling his stomach for even coming over in the first place.

“Anyway, I needed your help for what to wear,” you repeated, sitting in your chair and leaning forward to continue your makeup. Your room was a mess, with your clothes strewn every which way and shoes scattered on the colorful mess.

“Obviously,” Ricky murmured, observing the mess and making you snort.

“I found what I was gonna wear though,” you continued on, occasionally looking at him from your mirror. “But since I like you, lover boy, I’m letting you stay.” You grinned at him through the mirror, smile dropping at the disappointed look he had as he sat on your bed. Something was up; normally, he’d respond with his nickname for you, paired with a witty remark. But Ricky Bowen was being quiet, seemingly deep in thought as he stared at your floor.

“What you said that night when I called helped me out a lot.” Nothing. That didn’t get him to respond. “My parents don’t know I’m going out, so this night may be my last.” Nothing. “A girl asked me if you were single today and I said yes.”

Ricky frowned. But the girl wasn’t you.

You resorted to silence, your theories running wild in your head as you finished your makeup. You stood up, brushing off your dress and walking up to Ricky. Wordlessly, you took his hands into yours and held them. “Whatever is happening to you,” you started, making him look up at you. If you didn’t look beautiful before, you looked like a goddess now. “I hope you know that I love you. A whole fuckin’ lot.”

Not in the way he wanted you to.

“Really?” Ricky forced out past the dryness in his throat, the beaming smile you made making him turn into a puddle of feelings.

“Really. And you know I don’t like saying that, so,” you shrugged. “You must be pretty special.”

Ricky couldn’t help but chuckle at that, shaking his head to himself as he stood up. Your hands still held his, his warm ones clashing with your cold ones. “You’re something else, L/N.”

You shrugged yet again, the cheeky smile on your glossed lips bright. “I try. Hey—“

Your doorbell rang. You and Ricky sucked in a breath, both for terribly different reasons, and you pulled your hands away from his.

“Oh, God he’s here.” You rushed for your jean jacket, throwing it over your shoulders. “Fuck, I was so confident until I realized this is actually happening— can you get the door, please?” you asked, not looking up at you rummaged through your closet for your handbag.

The walk to your door felt like a walk straight into death, and Ricky found himself silently encouraging himself before he opened your door. Ej stood outside, a bouquet of crimson roses ( Ricky knew you preferred white ones ) in his hands and dressed in a simple white button-up and black jeans.

“You’re not Y/N,” Ej stated, making Ricky grin and shrug his shoulders

“No shit,” Ricky remarked, reluctantly opening the door wider for Ej. “She’s upstairs,” he said curtly, words short and cold as he let Ej in. Ricky shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it with a small sigh.

The sound of your bedroom door closing made both of the boys look up to your stairs. A grin appeared on Ej’s face at the sight of you walking down. Ricky only stared, mouth slightly agape. He saw you while you were getting ready, sure, but you still made him breathless. You had never radiated so much beauty, nerves, and excitement in your life.

“Wow,” Ej said, making you smile sheepishly as you pressed a small kiss to his lips. His arms snaked around your waist despite the flowers he had in his hands, smiling against your lips.

That hurt Ricky on a whole new level.

“Not too bad yourself,” you murmured, hiding your nervousness behind your confident comments. You looked at Ricky, smiling gratefully at him, yet not getting one back.

“I gotta go,” Ricky mumbled, words quick as he pulled his shoes on.

“Why?” you asked, still in Ej’s arms as you looked at him. “Ri, are you—“

“I’m fine,” Ricky snapped, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he grabbed his board. He saw the way your excited look dropped into hurt, but Ricky shoved off the guilt and opened your door. “Have a good time,” he forced out, slamming the door behind him.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧⠀.

The sight of your profile picture asking for FaceTime yet again made him gulp nervously.

Ricky knew his outburst would raise your suspicions. He regretted it the moment he left, the image of you kissing Ej replaying over and over in his head like a movie. He knew he had to pick up the phone; not picking up would only make you question him more.

He pressed the green button, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the screen. Your face came up, your makeup still on your face and your dress replaced by a sweater and sweatpants. The usual smile didn’t appear on your face like it usually did; you were staring at him with worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked, gazing at him through the screen. “You kinda left in a hurry, and I thought—“

“I’m fine,” Ricky interrupted, knowing fully well that he was the opposite. He couldn’t let you know. He knew the way you’d react, how you’d cut all ties with him in fear of getting hurt yet again. “How was the date?”

“Pretty good! It felt good being out there with him,” you said with a slight smile, and Ricky immediately knew what came next.

“But?”

“But,” you drawled, shaking your head to yourself. “We both agreed that we were better off as friends. It felt weird,” you scrunched your nose in slight disgust. “Like, we were siblings. It just felt wrong.”

It was almost ridiculous how regretful Ricky felt for feeling relieved.

“I guess I’m a little happy. I mean, if it went somewhere it’d probably just end up broken,” you rambled, eyes set on the sleeve of your sweater as you picked at it.

Ricky frowned. Was this how you thought of every relationship? He never saw you as the pessimistic type ( in his opinion, you were more of a realist ), yet hearing you say that every relationship went downhill surprised him. “You can’t think of every relationship as that.”

“I’m not wrong,” you protested, eyes snapping up to him. “It always goes that way. Someone either falls out of love, break up, or they..” your voice trailed off, eyes blanking out for a second as you went into a ‘stare.’

“Cheat?” Ricky finished softly, making you tune back into reality and nod.

“Yeah. Cheat.”

“Luka! I got take out!” You set the food on his kitchen counter, looking down at your phone and laughing softly at the texts from the theatre group chat that you were added to ( despite the fact that you didn’t join the musical ). Luke gave you a key to his house ‘just in case,’ and while you normally didn’t use it, you only used it for surprises like this one.

The silence that followed after your yell made you furrow your brows. Normally, he’d come down the stairs at your voice, saying something along the lines of, ‘Wow, I love you,’ that would make you blush like a schoolgirl. But there was nothing that followed, and you found yourself walking up the steps of his stairs to try and find him.

“Luka?” your voice was hesitant as you peeked into the rooms leading up to his. But as you neared his door with each step, you heard a sound that made your face contort in confusion.

Moaning.

“Dear God, if he’s watching porn,” you muttered to yourself, walking up to his room and slowly opening it. You expected better, the belief of Luka being the perfect boyfriend strong in your mind as you opened his door.

The sight of Luka kissing another girl, her blond hair splayed all over his pillow as his hips moved from under the sheets sent your idea of him crashing down. He didn’t even see you, too engrossed in the beautiful girl he was hovering over as his speed picked up. Her perfectly manicured hand ran through his black hair, the action making you feel sick to your stomach as you watched. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, disbelief, shame, sadness, and anger washing over you in hard waves.

Luka saw you when you gulped. The girl below him let out a loud yelp, her hands rushing at his sheets to cover herself while Luka stared at you.

Tears were rolling down your cheeks, your hands making no effort in trying to wipe them off. You didn’t even realize you were crying, your eyes dead set on Luka’s shirtless form. He didn’t even try and protest.

“I,” you forced out, swallowing down the lump in your throat as tears pressed hard against your eyes. It was all too much, the want to cry and scream and hit him too much to bear, yet there you stood. Frozen like a deer in the headlights. “I wish you the best,” you muttered past your tears, turning away from them and slamming the door behind you.

You drove to Ricky’s that night. You were sobbing, tears falling down your face like a never-ending stream. You hit your hand on your steering wheel angrily, the realization that he never loved you back hitting you over and over. It had to be a joke to him. The days you spent in bed with him and out, laughing and kissing and playing around as if you were both the perfect couple. Everyone else thought you were.

If only they could see you now.

You rang Ricky’s doorbell, the wind blowing hard against you as you stood outside. The sun had already set, 11 PM hitting the clock as Ricky opened the door. His smile dropped at your tearful eyes.

“Y/N?”

You didn’t say anything, only falling into his arms and letting out a sob. You were a mess of tears and cries, your face buried into Ricky’s shirt as you let your emotions out. Ricky brought you up to his room, laying down on his bed and letting you move into his side, your head on his chest and his hands running through your hair.

It was 12 when you calmed down, the tears still falling yet no sound leaving you other than your sniffles.

“He cheated,” you mumbled, sniffing yet again and feeling Ricky tense up. “I saw them and— and heard their moans and I can’t get them out of my head,” you whispered, voice breaking as you spoke. Your arms were wrapped around him, holding him close to you as if your life depended on it.

“What’d you do?” Ricky murmured, silently scheming a revenge plan in his head. He looked down at you, heart breaking at the hiccups and sniffled you emitted.

“Wished them the best,” you replied. “Trash belongs with trash.” You felt a chuckle rumble up in his chest, the sound making a ghost of a smile appear on your lips. Silence washed over you both, the only sound being your small sniffles until you broke the silence. “Is this what love is?”

You sounded so innocent, so heartbroken asking the question, and Ricky quickly shook his head as he leaned down to press a kiss onto your head. “No. Love doesn’t leave you like this.” He sounded so sure of himself despite his past, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to believe him.

You gazed ahead of you, sniffing again.

You changed that night. Your mindset on relationships, on feeling, on love changed that night with one broken relationship, and a new fear bloomed. You were never the same after that night.

Ricky knew that.

————————— 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ————————

TAGS: @tomshufflepuff​, @myrandom-fandomlife, @softpeteparker​, @sarcarstic-space-weirdo​, @particularcth​, @lifes-a-party-youre-a-boy, @paniniirae, @supersouthy​, @jointherebellion215, @gabyer0309​, @hannarudick​, @broken-from-fandoms​, @complete-trash-101, @ssprayberrythings​, @raven-waheda, @timelordtardis​, @chubby-cheek-calum, @nicole-lynne​, @loserr-likeme​, @whoseblogsthis​, @stxfxniexreads, @cherrydolan​, @allaroundaddict, @of-outerspace​, @blueevelvt, @kitykatnumber, @rocketdolans, @givemebooksorgivemedeath, @80sthottie, @lawstudentbydayfangirlbynight​, @cynthia060​, @hollandary, @kitykatnumber​, @hueycat2004

[barnesbabee]

Tonight You Belong To Me || K.H

Summary: Don’t fuck around where you shouldn’t be.

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Words: A fair share

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

⚠ cheating, violence, spanking, choking, over stimulating ⚠

A/N: Quick note! I know ‘Con Te Partiró’ is a song from the late 1900 and the Titanic happened in the early 1900, but I went on a cruise and every time the cruise docked that song played so I thought it was fitting. Enojy 💖

ᴄʀ: ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱʙᴀʙᴇᴇ

ꜱᴏɴɢ

It was the classical love story dispised by the socially imposed rules: two teenagers living in a hierarchy that obliged them to never date outside of their social circle. 

Hongjoong saw you the second you stepped in the docks. He watched you from the hatch of the bedroom he was staying in, all contorted and hunched over so he could take a better look at you. He could only dream from afar, however… He knew by way you were dressed in your tight, white, knee-length, button-up jacket and matching cartwheel hat that you would never settle for him, Hell, you would never even look at a lowlife like him… But he prayed that maybe you or your family would request a song, or maybe you’d want a special melody composed for you, and that’s where he’d come in. 

   When you stepped inside the ship and fell out of his line of vision his shoulders slumped and he sighed. The ship was enormous, odds are he wouldn’t be able to find you…

   Nevertheless, Hongjoong picked up his suit jacket and put it on for the departure ceremony. He played all of the concerts, it was tiring but once the owner of the ship had found a stupid kid that loved music and was in need of money he just extorted him as much as possible. Hongjoong didn’t mind, though… He got free food, a rent-free place and he played music as a job. His life would be perfect if it weren’t for the rich, snobby, stuck-up people who constantly looked down on him.

   He sighed and dusted off his old coat. It was the only one that he owned, but at least it was semi-fancy… It was good enough to decrease the nasty looks he was given at least.

    Whenever he left his room he never bothered to bother lock it, because what would anybody steal? A pen? 

   Hongjoong walked down the carpeted halls as he made his way to the main area of the cruise ship. It was a big dining hall, decorated in gold and red, with very dim lighting to set the mood. He looked around and inspected the people as he paced towards the shiny black piano that sat on the stage. He had always thought it was unfair that this room on a ship was more luxurious than any place he had ever owned…

  His fingers grazed along the black and white keyboard for a second, thinking of what to play. Hongjoong had never learned to read music sheets, he started playing songs by ear since he couldn’t afford to pay for a music teacher, and it was wonderful to see how he closed his eyes, found the desired keys, and played them beautifully solely by experience.

    ‘Con Té Partiro’ was a favorite of his to play as the ship departed. He felt like it was a fitting song for the occasion, even though most people didn’t know it. 

   The three hours of the ceremony passed by in the blink of an eye, and the fact that Hongjoong’s fingers were burning and his back was aching was unimportant, he always left the stage wishing he could play more.

   Hongjoong stood up and bowed to the crowd. Even though he was always ignored and never received any appreciation because everyone was too focused on their own affairs (or because they thought he was undeserving of their attention), he still made sure to bow, as a sign of thankfulness and respect every time. 

   This time around, however, he heard a faint clapping sound as he inclined his head. 

   He shot his body up immediately and followed the sound. He locked eyes with your glee-filled ones as you clapped your hands together. 

   The immediately smiled, filled with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. He felt like the luckiest man on earth, to have his talent recognized by such a beautiful woman... His face fell when a man grabbed your hands, to stop you from congratulating Hongjoong for the wonderful performance, and gave you a warning look. You just nodded along and lowered your head when the male told you to stop being extravagant.

    Hongjoong wished he could do something about the situation, he wished he could go up to you and thank you specifically for your attention, but he had to hurry out of the room so he could be ready in time for the next performance. His schedule was always packed, and he never seemed to mind. 

     That was, until music started sharing a place with you in his heart.

  There you were… Beautiful as ever, wearing a green Edwardian dress with lace appliques, twirling and swirling in all of your glory to the bassists’ songs. He should’ve gone up to the stage to prepare his piano, but he couldn’t, he had to hear your voice, he wanted to hear what you sounded like, and once he did, oh was he charmed. You were like a muse, enticing him with every word of yours. 

   He walked past every couple and every child aboard to get to you. Hongjoong very hesitantly reached out his hand to tap your shoulder. You turned around and immediately met his face. The two of you were lost in each other’s eyes for a long second, sharing a silent, intense moment. You knew who he was, you had just seen his performance after all, and you had to admit that he was strikingly beautiful. You couldn’t put your finger on it, maybe it was the hint of pureness and innocence his face had, or maybe it was the way he so naturally attracted you with his music, but you were certain of something: you were very much drawn to him.

    Hongjoong held his hand for you to take.

   “Could I interest you in a song?” 

   You took his hand and smiled, with a faint blush rising on your cheeks.

   You opened your mouth to reply but your hand was quickly snatched away, and you were pulled behind a tall figure.

    “You could interest my wife in leaving.”

    Hongjoong was visibly taken aback by the male, and by the new, saddening information.

 Any man would be discouraged by the fact, but not Hongjoong. Call him stupid or romantic, but he wasn’t willing to give you up (even though you weren’t even his) just because you were married.

  You looked up at him and mouthed a small ‘sorry’, and you were shocked to find him… smirking. Was this amusing to the stranger?

    Hongjoong nodded at the crude man and said nothing else, before heading to the stage. You watched him, confusedly.The bassists eyed him furiously, as they were supposed to have finished their act long ago, but Hongjoong didn’t care. He waited for them to clear the scene so he could sit on his piano. He’d usually have a routine all planned out, and that night was no different, except the idea for a last-second addition popped up in his head, and he just went with it.

   His fingers skimmed the keyboard for the second time that day, and he started playing the tune of ‘Tonight You Belong With Me’. He was hoping you recognized the tune, after all, he couldn’t steal a glance at you, afraid that he’d get knocked by your significant other.

    Never in a million years would he have had the courage to do such a thing, but after he realized that he had caught your attention, that the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen knew of his existence, he felt unstoppable.

Hongjoong was leaning on the handrail, looking at the waves crashing against the boat as he waited for his turn to join the stage. It was calm and silent until a voice echoed in the bow of the ship. Hongjoong closed his eyes, appreciating the familiar tune, thinking that it was the performer's voice singing from the salon. The beautiful voice got closer, however, and so he opened his eyes and looked around to find the owner.

"I know, that you belong to someone new, but tonight..."

His eyes landed on you, walking towards him slowly, in a seducing way, as if the whole world was yours. He smiled and kept listening and watching as you stepped closer and closer.

"... you belong to me."

You two were a mere centimeters apart, almost able to feel each other's breath.

"I see my song choice was of your liking." Hongjoong told you.

You chuckled at him and smiled.

"Very much so. You were very lucky my husband knew no such song, or else he'd have you dangling off the ship. I don't think he'd appreciate another man playing a love song for me on out honeymoon." You said to him, breaking out a smile.

"I'm glad he didn't recognize it then. Congratulations on your wedding Miss." Hongjoong congratulated, his voice's tone dropping a little.

You hummed.

"Arranged marriage. I love him as much as you do."

Your eyes traveled down to his lips, loving their beautiful shape and natural, vibrant colour. He noticed the fact and smirked. Hongjoong realized that it was either now or never. This encounter, the information you had just given him... It was no coincidence. The male placed a hand on your hip and lightly brought you closer.

"Certainly you won't mind me doing this then."

He placed his lips on top of yours, softly and quickly. It was enough for you to know that you wanted to repeat it. When you two pulled away, very slowly, eyes still glued on each other's lips, a faint blush spread on your cheeks, as well as on his.

"You surely are shameless..." You commented, in a shy whisper.

"Well, is my shamelessness of your liking?"

There was a couple seconds of silence, as you thought of how inappropriate your behaviour was, but you didn't care. You had done so much for others, it was now your turn.

"Very much so."

----------------

You giggled as Hongjoong pushed you against the wall of the small closet filled with the performers’ clothes. He pampered your face and neck with sloppy kisses.

   “Hongjoong!” You squealed when he bit down on your skin.

   The man placed a soft kiss on your lips and gripped your hips a little tighter.

    “We’re gonna get caught Y/N!” He whispered and giggled at your cute little squeal.

    The stage was rowdy and the show playing just on the outside of that door, covering any noise. 

    “I don’t care.” You told him.

    You grabbed his face and brought him closer to you, pressing your lips to his in a long kiss. Hongjoong smiled into the kiss before deepening it by inserting his tongue in your mouth, fighting with yours in a playful way.

   That night you wore a particularly tight dress, that had less layers than all your previous ones, and as a consequence, when you moved against his body, you felt his hard-on press against your hip.

   You squeezed your thighs closer together, as a new feeling of excitement spread through your body.

    Your little escapades had never gone past kissing, and some shy touching, but the ever growing tension between the two of you was ought to snap at some point.

    One of your hands hesitantly left his nape and travelled down his body, feeling the way his stomach tensed at your movements. Your fingers found their way onto Hongjoong's hard cock, trailing its curve softly.

   He pulled away from the kiss and looked at you.

   "Y/N, are you sure you want to do this?..." He asked quietly.

    You looked up at him, with big doe eyes, and nodded while biting your lip.

   The male mumbled a soft 'fuck' under his breath.

    He placed a kiss under your ear, then one to your cheek.

    Hongjoong looked around for a second, until his eyes landed on a dark cloak. He ripped the piece of clothing from its hanger and swung it over your shoulder and covered your head with the hood. The male grabbed your hand and walked out of the small room, hoping they wouldn't be seen, and took you to the place where he slept in.

     It wasn't much. It was barely anything really... But you didn't care. The moment you stepped in the room, you looked Hongjoong in the eye and started undoing the buttons of your dress.

    He watched you curiously, with a dirty yet loving smile on his face.

    The dress fell from your shoulders and pooled around your feet, leaving you only in your white corset and matching stockings.

    Hongjoong hummed and approached you slowly, placing btoh his hands on your waist and bringing you closer.

     "You're so fucking beautiful..."

     Hongjoong locked his lips with yours, as he focused on getting the troublesome corset away from your body.

    When he finally ripped all pieces of clothing obstructing his view from your body, he hurriedly removed his own. Hongjoong couldn't handle not having his hands on you.

    He couldn't get enough of you, he became high whenever you were with him.

    Once you were both down to skin only, he pushed you down onto his bed, and immediately attacked your chest.

    His husky, dominant voice brought a new wave of arousal upon you.

    Your fingers gripped onto his hair tighter and tighter when his lips met one of your nipples and sucked on it harshly. As his mouth focused on your breasts, his fingers parted your folds and played with you pussy. You tried to be quiet, as to not get Hongjoong in trouble, but you couldn't. He worked on your body as if he was an expert, and the little moans and whimpers were hard to contain.

    One of your hands found its way to his leaking length. Your finger swiped across his slit, and Hongjoong moaned against your skin.

    "Hongjoong, please..."

    Upon hearing your moany little beg, Hongjoong's personality shifted. He gripped your jaw and leveled his face with yours.

    "Tell me what you want baby girl."

    You sucked in a breath and bucked your hips against his finger. Hongjoong spanked your pussy as a way of punishment for being too eager.

    "Use your words doll, I want to hear you beg for my cock."

     "I need you to fuck me Hongjoong, please!"

     Hongjoong spread your legs for him and settled between them. He placed his tip at your entrance and pushed in, slowly, giving you time to adjust.

     Once he saw you were comfortable, he pulled out of you, and jerked his hips back into your body.

      Hongjoong ripped his hand away from your waist and wrapped it around your neck, giving it an experimental squeeze. Seeing the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head, Hongjoong squeezed your neck harder.

     "F-fuck Joong you f-feel so good!" You moaned.

    Your reaction was an incentive for him to slam harder into you.

    His filthy words nearly brought you to your edge.

     All you could hear was the filthy sounds of his seat body slapping against yours and his heavy breathing.

     "C-can your husband fuck you l-like this? Hm? Can he make you scream like this?"

    "Shit, no! You're so much better Hongjoong!"

    His hips thrust faster into you, and the speed he was fucking into you brought you to your climax. You arched your back and curled your feet as you called for his name, but Hongjoong didn't stop.

   You were squirming under him and your eyes were shut tightly.

   He grabbed your hips to keep you steady and kept on thrusting into you.

   "T-too much... Can't take it Joong..."

   "You can babygirl, cum for me again."

    Your writhing and moaning, your precious innocent stance was Hongjoong's kryptonite, and seeing you like that caused him to bury his cock deep in you. When you felt his cum hit your tight walls, a second orgasm hit you, and your legs started shaking as you cried his name.

   Hongjoong kissed your cheeks lightly as you both regained your breaths. He slowly pulled out of you and fell on the bed beside your body.

    "I'm sorry if it was too much..."

     You smiled and cuddled against his chest.

    "I loved it."

     Hongjoong smiled back, sleepily, and both of your eyelids felt heavy. Your breathings matched when you started to fall asleep, and Hongjoong drifted off wishing that he'd wake up beside you.

     But he never quite did wake up.

    Because the word got around, because your husband wasn’t stupid, because Hongjoong never bothers to lock his door.

[bubblywrites]

All Of The Good Things

Bruno Buccellati x Reader

Summary:

Y/n was the love of Bruno's life. When she died, Bruno became broken. He tries to push through the pain for their daughter Mari, but he ultimately struggles to make it through their day to day life. All he can do is reminisce on all the good moments he had with his wife.

Word Count: 5,248

A/n: The reader has curly hair, but you can ignore that detail if you don’t have that hair texture. The fic is based off of Jhene Aiko’s song Eternal Sunshine

Bruno was awoken by the warm kiss of sunlight and angelic humming. The tune held a sense of joy but had a hint of sadness. Bruno felt himself relax further as soft hands gently grasped his face to move him on to pillowly thighs. Slender fingers ran through his blue-tinted black locks with occasional soft tugs. Bruno let a smile creep onto his face as he sighed through his nose. The beautiful humming stopped.

“Did I wake you?” You asked with a faint chuckle. Bruno kept his eyes closed as he responded to your question. “I thought I could pretend to be asleep, so I could hear more of your humming.” He said in a groggy voice. “Well you failed at that.” You said. You gently pinched his cheek. Bruno let out a low laugh. “I did. Could you please continue?” Bruno asked. “No problem.” You responded.

You began to hum your song again. Light notes flowed out of you with grace. Words soon followed. Bruno snuggled further into your thighs as you sang.

“Is it strange for me to say that If I were to die today There's not a thing I would change I've lived well Maybe I have made mistakes and been through my fair share of pain But all in all, it's been okay, I've lived well And the more that I see, the more that I know I don't know anything, at all Like the more that I breath, and start to go slow Oh, one of many things, I can only recall All of the good things, good things All of the good things, good things Only the good, the good, the good Only the good, the good, the good” You stopped your song. Bruno kept his eyes closed but raised an eyebrow at your sudden silence. He felt light taps to his forehead.

“It’s time for you to go to work Bruno.” You said. Bruno scrunched his eyebrows at your statement. He reluctantly pulled himself from your thighs to sit up on the bed. He stretched his arms which created defined creases along the toned muscles of his back. A view he knew you enjoyed since he slept with no shirt on. He raked his fingers through his bed hair. He turned around to catch you in the middle of your.

“Do you enjoy the view cara?” Bruno joked. “I do every morning.” You said. Bruno chuckled at your response. “Do you know what I enjoy every morning?” Bruno asked. You crossed your arms over your chest and gave him a small smirk on your face. You blinked at him slowly. He loved when you gave him sass. It gave him a chance to wipe the smirk off your face and teach you lessen.

“What?” You questioned. Bruno scooted closer to you. He gently grasped your face and brought your forehead against his. He looked into your (e/c) eyes with an intense gaze. He had to stop his smirk when he saw light pink creep unto your face. Bruno tilted his head to press his lips against yours. The kiss started off chaste but became hungry. Bruno pulled you into his lap and snaked his arms around your waist. You rested your hands on his shoulders. Bruno licked your lower lip asking for entrance. You refused him.

“She’s still acting sassy.” Bruno thought to himself. Bruno used his right hand to pinch your peaked nipple through your pajama shirt. You opened your mouth to let out a squeak which allowed him to slide his tongue into your mouth. He engaged in a dance with your tongue. A dance that only the two of you knew. Your soft moan spurred Bruno on. He held you in a desperate embrace as if you would disappear. You two broke the kiss for air. Bruno held you against him as he laid back down on the bed. He peppered your face with kisses. Your giggles were music to his ears. Your singing, humming, laughter, moans, and cries were beautiful performances meant for his ears alone. You were his personal symphony. You stopped your giggle fit and cusped the side of Bruno’s face. He leaned into your touch to bask in your warmth.

“Its not like you to get side tracked Mr. Workaholic. But I won’t play into anymore of your affections. You need to get ready for the day. Plus you need to wake up Mari.” You said. Bruno’s face grew sullen. He grabbed the hand that held his face.

“When I wake up to get ready with Mari, you won’t be there.” He said in a broken voice. You two held on to each other tighter. You gave him a sad smile.

“I know Bruno, but you have to get ready for work. You have to get ready for Mari. You have to move on Bruno.” You said. Bruno’s eyes shot open at your words. How could he possibly move on? There was only one love of his life. There was only one woman who could be a mother to his precious Mari. There was only one woman who could bring him happiness. There was only one you.

“How could I move on from you amore mio? You and Mari are the only women who I can hold close to my heart.” He said. Bruno’s voice shook. Tears spilled from his eyes as he held a vice-grip on your hand and waist. He felt your warm fingers wipe away his tears. You moved closer to him to press a kiss against his forehead. “Bruno, amore mio, you have to get ready. You have to get Mari ready. You have to wake up.”

Loud buzzing rang through Bruno’s bedroom. Bruno turned to look at his alarm clock with pure malice. He slammed his hand on the device to turn it off. Bruno lifted his hand to wipe the grogginess away from his eyes. He stopped when he noticed the tears that streaked down his face. The sunlight streamed into his room to kiss his skin. But the kiss of the sun felt more like a cold grip on his body without your morning songs. Bruno moved to get out of bed. He did not dare look at the other side of the bed. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of your lack of presence. Bruno stared at the drawer next to his bed. Your perfume, charm bracelets, and makeup decorated the top of the drawer. They never moved spots since the day you passed. His head sunk low as his mind raced with memories of your morning routines.

“Why do you even wear makeup? You're pretty without it.” Bruno asked. “I don’t just wear it to feel prettier. I wear it because it’s fun. It's like I allow myself to become my own canvas. I am able to tell a story with my face.” You responded. Bruno grabbed your hand to kiss it. “Your bare face tells the best story of all.” Bruno said. You blushed at his words. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Bruno gripped his dark locks so tight his knuckles turned white. Before he could let his mind wander to more memories of you, a small knock came from his door. Bruno attempted to wipe the dread from his face before he answered. “Come in.” He said. The door creaked as a tiny body entered the room. Bruno stared at his three year old daughter, Mari. Mari had his blue-tinted black hair, but it was your curly hair texture. She had his eyes, but everything else came from you.

“Buon giorno, Daddy.” She said. “Buon giorno, Mari.” Bruno responded. He opened his arms wide with a smile. His smile was tired and felt strained, but Bruno wanted to try his hardest to look happy for his daughter. Mari ran into his arms. He embraced her as tight as he could. After a few seconds, he pulled away from the hug. Bruno rested his hand on the top of her head. He twirled her curls around his fingers. Mari did not look as tired as he did, but she had changed. Her childish laughter could no longer be heard through the halls of the house. She smiled less and slept more often. It made the house quieter and colder.

“Daddy!” Mari yelled. Bruno turned to see Mari turn the corner in a rush. She jumped at him. Although surprised, Bruno caught Mari with ease. “What's got you screaming and running through the house bambina?” Bruno asked with a smile. “Mommy is chasing me. You have to help me.” Mari said with giddiness. Before he could act, you entered the kitchen with your radiant smile. You looked at the two with an exaggerated maniacal face.

“She found me!” Mari yelled. Bruno pressed Mari closer to his chest. “I see I have two tickle victims now.” You said. You laughed like a villain in a child’s television show. Bruno put Mari down to step in front of her. He put his arm in front of her. Bruno cleared his throat.

“I will not let you harm my princess you villainess queen.” Bruno said. Bruno had to try hard to hold in his laugh. You jumped at Bruno, but he caught you with ease. He gave you a soft tackle to the floor and attacked your sides. You erupted into laughter. You tried to push him off of you, but Bruno only applied more pressure onto your body.

“Get her Daddy!” Mari said enthusiastically. Bruno turned to give Mari a heroic smile. Bruno didn’t notice you took advantage of his distracted state to grab Mari. You pulled her which caused Bruno to fall on top of you. Mari landed on top of Bruno’s back.

“You guys are heavy.” You whined. Bruno looked at you with a grin that stretched ear to ear. Mari giggled into Bruno’s back. The laughter and joy in the kitchen resonated through the whole house.

Bruno let out a sigh as he realized he will never have moments like that again. He picked Mari up to take her to her room. As he walked down the hallway, he tried hard not to look at the pictures that littered the wall. All of the pictures were filled with your smiles. A smile that once brought him so much joy now brings him pain and regret. He can’t look at your exquisite paintings because all he can think about is the happy look on your face when you made them.

When he entered Mari’s room, he stared at the intricate design of her room. The walls were painted with blue waves that crashed against each other along with an assortment of colorful fish to match. Beautiful seashells and conch shells hung from the ceiling. Mari’s bed sheets had cerulean and white stripes to match the eyes she got from her father as well as his favorite color. The carpet was seafoam green to match the sea aesthetic of the room.

“Your eyes have always reminded me of the sea. Since she has your eyes, she will be a child of the sea, so her room should match.” You said.

“How do you even come up with these conclusions.” Bruno said with a laugh.

Bruno blinked away the tears that resurfaced from his memories. “Daddy are you okay?” Mari asked. “I’m fine. Are you okay?” Bruno asked. “I miss Mommy.” Mari said. Her eyes started to water. Bruno held her close and rubbed her back.

“I miss Mommy too.” Bruno responded. Mari sniffled and wiped her eyes. She kicked her feet, a signal for Bruno to put her down. He obliged as he went to rummage through her drawers to find her comb and hair products. Once he found the items, he called Mari over. She crawled into his lap. Bruno attempted to comb through the mess of curls on Mari’s head, but the comb got caught in her hair multiple times. He yanked the comb in frustration which caused Mari to yelp in pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you bambina.” Bruno apologized. He kissed the top of her head. Mari turned around to kiss Bruno’s cheek. “It’s okay. Mommy said to comb at the ends and-” “To comb section by section while applying conditioner and curl cream. I remember, thank you.” Bruno said. Mari wiggled in his lap as she nodded her head. Bruno laughed and kissed her forehead. She settled back into his lap to let him continue.

“Bruno, I told you to pay attention while I do her hair. You're gonna have to do it on days I leave earlier than you.” You scolded.

“I’m watching (Y/n), I’m watching (Y/n).” Bruno said. “No you’re not. You’re staring at my butt.” You responded. “Are those new shorts?” Bruno asked, with a smile plastered onto his face. “Bruno!” You yelled.

Bruno smiled at the memory. He pulled Mari into a hug. She squeezed his arms back. “I should’ve paid more attention when your mother did your hair. All I could do was put into a ponytail.” Bruno said. He motioned to grab the baby blue mirror on the dresser to show Mari her hair. She moved side to side to get a good look at herself. There wasn’t much of an expression on her face. Bruno gulped.

“Do you like it?” He asked. “Yes.” She responded. Her voice was laced with confusion. “I don’t have to lick your face to know you're lying.” Bruno said. His face formed into a pout. Mari giggled.

“Its not ugly. Its just not as pretty as mommy’s.” Mari said with a hint of sadness. Bruno patted her head and said, “I know, but thank you for trying to like it.” “I don’t have to try. I do like it. Good job Daddy.” Mari said. She gave him two thumbs ups. Bruno chuckled before he thanked her for her honesty.

“Before we get dressed, we have to eat so you don’t mess up your dress. What do you want to eat?” Bruno asked. Mari bounced as she gave her response. “I wanna eat plantains and eggs.” Fried plantains and eggs were your favorite breakfast dish. It was strange to him at first but it grew on him. Mari on the other hand, took an immediate liking to the meal. Bruno put his index finger and thumb to his chin while he looked at the ceiling.

“The eggs I can do. I might burn the plantains though.” Bruno said. “Daddy, the kinda burnt ones are the best ones.” Mari responded. Bruno looked at Mari surprised. His surprise was short lived as he broke into laughter.

Bruno picked up Mari to go downstairs. He was greeted by a silent kitchen. Mornings were never quiet with you. The silence was dreadful and lonely. The cold floor tiles were cruel to his feet. The white marble counters looked dull without your vibrant dishes splayed on them. Bruno stared at the counter for a moment to admire your colorful knife set. The ones you bought to make the kitchen look more lively.

Loud upbeat music played as Bruno made his way downstairs. There you were, engaged in a dance as you prepared breakfast. Bruno leaned on the wall to take in the sight. You swayed your hips to the beat of the song and gave an occasional butt wiggle. Bruno tiptoed around the kitchen in hopes you would not see him. He was as graceful as a ninja. Once he got behind you, he grabbed your hips and pulled you close to him. You jumped, which made you let out a scream. You turned around in his grasp. You smacked his shoulder in a playful manner.

“You scared the life out of me Bruno.” You said with a smile. “What do you have to be scared of? Were the only ones here.” Bruno said with a chuckle.

Bruno sighed. He put Mari down so he could start his scavenge of the fridge. He put his hand to the side of his neck as he realized the fridge was empty. He looked to the counters, but all there were was leftover takeout boxes and one plantain. Bruno brought the fruit to his nose. He took a whiff and scrunched up his nose.

“This one’s been sitting on the counter for too long. Sorry Mari, I guess we’ll have to grab breakfast on the way. Your mother would scream if she saw the state of the kitchen right now.” Bruno said. Mari’s face became sullen. Her head sunk low while she twiddled her thumbs in her lap. Bruno frowned at her action.

“Its okay. I’m not very hungry anyway. We’re gonna eat later anyway.” Mari said. Bruno knew that if you were here, Mari would throw a fit that she could not have plantains and eggs for breakfast. She tried to be more behaved ever since you passed. Bruno sighed. He walked over to Mari so that he could grab her little hands.

“I’ll tell you what. We can pick up some plantains and eggs from the farmers market today. We can have them for dinner tonight.” Bruno said. “Okay.” Mari responded with a small smile.

Bruno picked up Mari to head back upstairs to her room. He opened her closet to pull out her small black dress. The dress was a simple short sleeve with little black frills at the bottom. Your sister picked it out for her. Bruno dressed Mari in little time.

“Stay here while I go get dressed.” Bruno said as he tapped her nose. “Make sure to comb your hair Daddy. Its been messy all morning.” Mari said. Bruno ran his fingers through his hair. It slipped his mind to fix it when he woke up. You probably would have reminded him. Bruno walked back to his room and closed the door behind him. Contrary to Mari’s room, you and his shared bedroom was rather simple. The walls were painted white, the bedsheets on the king sized bed were navy blue, and the carpet was a light beige. The only things that made the room standout were the paintbrushes that laid on the table and dressers and the curtains. The curtains were white with black spoon shaped polka dots. They were identical to his signature white suit.

Bruno opened the closet to take out his black suit. The suit was like his white one except the dots were white instead of black, the chest area was closed, and it lacked his golden zipper accessories. Bruno put on the suit in no time. He stood in the mirror to tie his tie but stopped. His eyes lacked their usual shine, darks circles and bags adorned his eyes. There were a few breakouts on his forehead and cheek. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Bruno grabbed his comb to run it through his hair. He sectioned off a large strand of hair to do his braid.

“Let me do your braid.” You asked. “Alright.” Bruno responded. He moved to sit on the bed. You stood between his legs and started to work in his hair. Bruno sighed as he let himself relax into your touch. He shifted closer to you to take in a deep whiff of your tropical scent.

Bruno finished up his braid. He took one last look in the mirror before he set out to leave. He glanced at the dresser and paused when he saw your tropical scented perfume. Bruno pondered for a moment. He contemplated on whether or not he should wear it. It was a scent he loved on you but thought it would be strange if he ever wore it. He shook his head and grabbed the bottle. Bruno sprayed the scented liquid onto himself three times before he exited his room.

“Mari, were leaving.” Bruno called out. Mari ran out from her room. She raised her hand towards Bruno to grab his hand. Bruno intertwined his fingers with hers. They put on their shoes and left for the church.

When Bruno and Mari arrived at the church, his gang was there. Your siblings were there as well. After you died, missed calls and unanswered text messages from them piled up in his phone. He declined any in person meetups with them. He couldn’t look them in the eyes or muster the courage to talk to them. The only one he talked to was (S/n), your sister. It was a one time conversation he had with her to ask her to pick out the funeral dress for Mari and to discuss the funeral details.

Everyone looked at him but said nothing. Their eyes were filled with sympathy. They all knew that anything they said would not lift Bruno’s spirits. As he went to take his seat with Mari, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see who it was. He was greeted by emerald green eyes and all to familiar golden hair.

“Giorno.” Bruno whispered. “May I speak to you?” Giorno asked. Bruno turned his head to Mari. She gave a small smile to Giorno. He smiled back at her with a small wave. “Buccellati, I’ll look after her.” Mista said. He popped up out of nowhere. Bruno almost did not recognize Mista without his hat. With his short brown hair out, Mista somehow looked more mature.

Bruno nodded at Mista. He made his way out of the church’s sanctuary with Giorno. Bruno admired the stained glass and red checkered flooring. The church was beautiful. It would always be beautiful to Bruno since this was the church where he married you. It was only appropriate that he had your funeral held here.

They stopped at the doors of the sanctuary to talk. “Buccellati, you look tired. When was the last time you slept properly?” Giorno asked. “The last time I slept properly, (Y/n) was in bed waiting for me.” Bruno responded. Giorno swallowed.

“I want you to know none of this was your fault. No one could have ever predicted the chauffeur would get into an accident.” Giorno said. Giorno looked Bruno in the eyes with intensity. His expression was soft but held a sense of dominance. It was like Giorno offered all his sympathies to Bruno but wanted to command his friend to care for himself. Bruno turned from Giorno’s gaze. His face was overcome with guilt.

“If I never suggested she take the chauffeur to her art show, she would still be here.” Bruno whispered.

You were not part of the gang. You were a civilian who made a successful art career for yourself. You and Bruno met when you two were thirteen. You were a girl left alone in this world to care for your three younger siblings. The owner of Libeccio, was a friend of your father’s who took you and your siblings in. Bruno met you there. At first you were a bother to him. He would answer in short sentences and one word phrases in an attempt not to be rude, but to let you know to back off. However, you were persistent. You bothered him constantly to try to talk. He wanted nothing to do with you since he was part of the mafia. However, one day Bruno yielded. He sat down and had a full conversation with you. The conversation was meant to be short, but Bruno found that he enjoyed his time with you. His talk with you allowed him to open up a little. It made him feel happy that someone sat down to really look at him. Someone truly wanted to know more about him without the urge to have something in return. He continued to talk to you at the restaurant, in your room, his house, and your secret hideout: a rooftop of an abandoned building. He knew the more time you spent with him could put you in danger, but he wanted to be selfish when it came to you. With you, he could be himself. With you, he had someone he could confide in. With you, he had a true friend that looked past his mafia ties to see the real him. With you, he fell in love. With you, he had a daughter. With you, came your death.

Your art show was about a month ago. The show was meant for you to promote some of your most recent pieces. You said you would be fine if you drove yourself, but Bruno insisted you take one of his chauffeurs. You took his offer. When the chauffeur arrived, you kissed his and Mari’s cheeks, excited to see them at your show. However, you never arrived at the show. Your car was hit by a drunk driver. You had a stand ability that could heal, but the crash caused you to fall unconscious. You were unable to heal yourself. Bruno did not find out about the accident until an hour after it happened. By that time, it was too late. The doctors could not save you. Giorno could not save. He could not save you.

Bruno clutched your hand as he stared into your lifeless face. He cried into your palm.

“Please, amore mio, don’t leave us. I can’t lose another person I love.” Bruno pleaded. You did not answer. You would never be able to answer him again.

Bruno turned to look at the sanctuary. The church staff had brought in your casket. Bruno gulped. “The ceremony will be starting soon.” Bruno said, in a voice no louder than whisper. Giorno said nothing as Bruno walked back to his seat next to Mari. Mista still sat with her. Mista gave Bruno a saddened face before he patted his shoulder and went back to his own seat.

The priest came out in his white robe to say his prayers. After the priest gave his piece, All of your siblings came up to give their sentiments. Bruno wished he could focus on what they had to say, but his eyes were glued to your casket. He did not get a good look at your face from his distance. In all honesty, he was scared to get a good look at you. He did not know how he would react if he got a second look at your dead body. Bruno’s was pulled out of his stupor when he saw it was his turn to speak about you. Bruno trudged up the stairs of the altar. He saw your face. It was peaceful, but you had a scar that ran diagonally on your right cheek. Bruno began to tremble. He bit his lip as he stared at your body. He slowly turned around to look at the guests. Your siblings and Marco, the owner of Libeccio, along with his son were sitting on the left side of the room. Narancia, Mista, Fugo, Abbacchio, Giorno, Mari and others who knew the two of you were on the right. Bruno gulped. He opened his mouth but found no words. How could he summarize his life with you? Where could he even begin to talk about how much you meant to him? Bruno used all his might to force some kind of words out.

“(Y/n), was the light of my life. She was my happiness, my joy, my everything. (Y/n) was my, uhm, my...ah.” Bruno stuttered. He could no longer form coherent sentences. He hung his head low so he would not cry. But he hung his head more so in shame that he could not say more about his beloved wife. Everyone poured their sympathies to Bruno with their eyes. They all understood that your death would hit Bruno the hardest. Unable to speak, Bruno slowly walked back to his seat. After some more words from other attendees, it was time for everyone to pay their respects to you. It broke Bruno when Mari started to cry and scream for her mother. It took everything Bruno had to not wail alongside her. He held Mari close to try and soothe her. He repeated to Mari over and over again everything would be okay. The repetition of the phrase was an attempt to try to convince himself that everything would be okay.

Everyone left the church to move to the burial site. Not many words were shared at the burial site. Everyone said what they had to share in the church. Bruno watched as men put your casket into the ground. Mari squeezed his hand as tight as she could as she continued to cry. Bruno held her hand with just as much force. Every small pile of dirt that landed on your casket tugged at Bruno’s heart strings. Soon the whole was filled. You were truly no longer of this world. People tried to give Bruno and Mari words of encouragement as they left, but Bruno drowned their words out. Marco came up to Bruno. He put his hand on his shoulder before he spoke.

“She really loved you Buccellati. Keep smiling for her and Mari. She needs you more than anyone right now. Also talk to them.” Marco said, as he pointed his thumb to your siblings. “(S/n) and the others don't blame you for their sister’s death. They're your family too. So am I.” Marco said. Bruno looked at Marco’s face ready to cry. Although his black hair was greyed and his brown eyes were adorned with crows feet, Marco still looked young for a fifty-five year old man. Marco became a second father to Bruno after he started his relationship with you. Marco was protective of you when it came to boys but never with Bruno. Marco trusted him. Bruno knew he would always have a special place in Marco’s heart and vice versa. Marco gave Bruno a strong squeeze and a smile. He let go of Bruno and ruffled Mari’s hair before he took his leave. All of his team members knew not to say anything to him. They knew he needed this time alone with his daughter. Everyone left one by one until him and Mari were the only ones at your grave. The two of them stood in silence as they stared at your tombstone. The silence was broken as Mari began to sing.

“Is is strange for me to say that If I were to die today There's not a thing I would change I've lived well Maybe I have made mistakes and been through my fair share of pain But all in all, it's been okay, I've lived well And the more that I see, the more that I know I don't know anything, at all Like the more that I breath, and start to go slow Oh, one of many things, I can only recall” Mari sang.

Bruno began to shake as Mari sang her song. It was the song you wrote and always sang around the house. It was the song you sang or hummed to him almost every morning. Bruno could no longer keep up his mental damn. He let his tears fall, but he smiled through them. He looked at Mari as she smiled back at him. They sang unison, “All of the good things, good things All of the good things, good things Only the good, the good, the good Only the good, the good, the good”

[pinknerdpanda]

Muddle Through Somehow

Word Count: 1,643 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Angst, Fluff, 2020 (even though I don’t say it specifically...you’ll see) Beta’d by: @princessmisery666 - I’d be lost without you. xoxo

A/N: Written For @arrowsandmixtapes for my Merry Manda’s Christmas “Drabbles”. I was so excited when I saw your request, Kansas. This is my favorite Christmas song and it couldn’t be more fitting for this year. I specifically reference the OG version by Judy Garland with the original lyrics, but if ya’ll haven’t seen the video of Adam Lambert singing this song, you need to. It made my ugly cry. But like...in a good way? (video is here) Hope you enjoy this lovely!

Muddle Through Somehow

It wasn’t necessarily the soft sound of footsteps approaching that startled y/n. It was the fact that said footsteps came from a person who usually made no sound at all. If she could hear him walking, it was because he was letting her.

Somehow that made the whole situation worse, which made y/n cry. Again. 

Y/n buried her face in her hands, shielding herself from view and trying to muffle the sound of her tears. It didn’t work. Instead, the sound of feet grew closer more quickly. A heavy, metallic hand landed on her shoulder, tugging her shoulder until she was facing him.

“Y/n?” Bucky’s voice sounded strained and rough - tired even. “What’s the matter doll?”

On a good night, Bucky got very little uninterrupted sleep. Judging by the creases in his right cheek, the squint of his eyes and the mussed hair on one side, tonight had been somewhat of a “good night.” Until she woke him up and robbed him of what little rest he had been enjoying. Y/n sobbed harder.

Bucky’s arms, one warm flesh and the other cool metal, wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her against him. The gentle vibrations of his soothing words tickled her cheek where it lay on his chest. Bucky’s fingers skimmed the length of her back as she held onto him like a life raft.

Eventually the tears dried, leaving y/n red-nosed and sniffing against Bucky, whose firm, reassuring grip on her never wavered.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her voice was hoarse and sounded painful as she mumbled the words into the cotton of his now tear-stained t-shirt.

Bucky pulled back then; only enough to look into her face while his hands found her waist.

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for.”

His stormy blue eyes searched hers as though he was trying to etch the sincerity of his words into her corneas. Even in the dim light, y/n could see the furrow of his brow and the concerned pinch of his lips as he regarded her. 

Before she could argue or respond, Bucky was guiding her into the kitchen. Pulling out one of the stools at the counter, he motioned for her to sit while he set about making them each a cup of tea. The silence that stretched on was comfortable despite the occasional punctuating sniffle. 

Turning, Bucky produced two steaming mugs and handed y/n the one with Snoopy dressed as Santa on the front. His own mug featured Woodstock donning an exceptionally long stocking cap. He took a sip and leaned across the counter, elbows resting against the cool granite surface.

“Now, you wanna tell me what’s the matter?” One corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched upward as he readjusted his grip on the mug. 

Y/n tapped her nails against the side of her mug, eyes trained on the steaming cup, as if she were concentrating on the tinkling tune against the ceramic. She screwed her mouth up to one side, trying to find the words to explain. 

The soft clink of ceramic on granite stirred her from her thoughts as Bucky placed a finger under her chin and nudged her gaze up toward him.

“Come on sweetheart. You can always talk to me.” 

His voice held a nearly undetectable tone of uncertainty; worry even. 

“I know. It’s not that. It’s just…” she sighed again, leaning into his touch as his hand slid to cup her cheek. “I’m just...sad. I feel like everything is upside down.”

Bucky frowned, his hand dropping from her face and she instantly felt a chill at the loss of his touch. Rounding the small counter between them, Bucky turned the stool she sat on to face him and held both of her hands in his.

“Have I…” Bucky inhaled sharply. “Did I do something?”

Y/n sighed, silently berating herself for making him think he’d done anything wrong. She squeezed his hands.

“No, baby. Not at all. You’re wonderful.” Y/n sniffed and pressed her forehead against his. “It’s just this damn year. It seems like everything that could go wrong has. I mean Christmas is what...a week away? We have the tree decorated, the stockings hung...everything looks so normal from the outside. But it’s not. It’s like all the things that bring me so much joy every year are just making me so infinitely sad.”

Y/n’s voice cracked on the last syllable and Bucky wrapped his arms around her again.

“I think it’s just really finally hit me that I’m not getting to spend Christmas with my family. And I get it; it’s safest to stay away, but it’s breaking my heart.”

“I know, doll.” He pressed a sweet kiss into her hair. “I know and I’m so sorry.”

Y/n pulled back and offered him a watery smile. “If I didn’t have you, Buck, I don’t know what I would do.”

Bucky pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and tilted her head up slightly. He returned her smile for just a second before kissing her gently. “I feel the same way, sweetheart. I’m the luckiest man alive. C’mere.”

Grabbing her hand, Bucky pulled y/n out of the kitchen and into the living room. Stooping down, he plugged in the tree and all at once the room shimmered with the warm lights meticulously wrapped around every branch. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat at the sight; just like it did every time. There must be some form of sorcery that went into Christmas lights that made them constantly emanate peace and joy no matter how sour her mood; y/n was sure of it.

Bucky then moved to the record player and dropped the needle, the faint scratch echoing softly as he returned to stand before her. 

“Dance with me?” Bucky held out his hand, eyebrow arched and a warm smile stretching across his face.

There was no hesitation as y/n moved easily into his arms and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. She breathed deeply, inhaling his warm scent just as Judy Garland began singing.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light Next year all our troubles will be out of sight

Tears burned at the back of y/n’s eyes and she clutched onto Bucky tightly as he led her in a slow circle.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas Make the yuletide gay Next year all our troubles will be miles away

“This is my favorite Christmas song,” y/n sniffed. Bucky hummed above her in agreement.

“Reminds me of being a kid,” Bucky chuckled.

Y/n looked up and found a dreamy, bittersweet look cross his face. 

“I thought this movie came out after the war?” 

There was a time when Y/n avoided asking questions about the war and Bucky’s life before HYDRA. She hated seeing the pain in his eyes at the memories such things brought back. But over their years of being together, they’d both realized that avoidance only made the inevitable remembering hurt more. It was important for Bucky to retain those memories, even when they were painful.

“Yeah I think it did, but I may or may not have had a little crush on Judy Garland back in my day.”

Y/n scoffed, her eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. “Really?”

Bucky grinned. “Yes, really. The Wizard of Oz was one of the first movies I ever saw. Dorothy from Kansas? She was a real looker. Those big doe eyes,” he whistled lowly and chuckled. Sobering quickly though, he leaned in, lips against her ear, and whispered. “But trust me, she ain’t got nothin’ on you, doll.”

Y/n shivered as he kissed her temple and pulled her in close again, continuing to lead her in a slow, graceful sway.

Someday soon we all will be together If the fates allow Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow So have yourself a merry little Christmas, now

As the song changed, the pair remained wrapped in each other’s arms, not caring if their steps matched the beat of the music. Between Bucky’s embrace, the warm glow of the lights and the soothing crackle of the record player, y/n began to feel the wealth of sadness that had been building inside her ebb away. 

Eventually the music faded completely, only the occasional scratch and groan from the record filling the air. Everything felt still and lovely and for the first time in a while, y/n felt whole.

Maybe this year has been nothing but trash heaped upon trash and the holidays wouldn’t be what they once were. But she had Bucky and the hope that someday soon things would go back to the way they were. And right now, that was all she needed.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For everything. You said before you were the luckiest man alive and I don’t know about that. But I know for a fact that I’m the luckiest woman in the world. If I’m gonna have to muddle through somehow, I’m glad I get to muddle through it with you.”

Bucky smiled as he leaned down to capture y/n’s lips in a slow, sweet kiss. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too, Buck.”

Their lips met again for a brief moment before a yawn overtook Bucky, forcing them apart. He grimmaced, sheepishly.

“Come on, old man. Let’s get you back to bed.” Y/n grinned and pecked Bucky’s lips once more before dragging him back toward their bedroom. 

“Old man, huh?” Bucky smacked her on the ass, making y/n jump and giggle. “I’ll get you for that, my pretty. And your little dog, too.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, Send me an ask with the list you’d like to be on. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

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@hannahindie @amanda-teaches @ellen-reincarnated1967 @feelmyroarrrr @masksandtruths @princessmisery666  @jamielea81 @foxyjwls007 @becs-bunker @super100012 @shy-violet-soul @emoryhemsworth @impandagrl @donnaintx​

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[that-rock-chick]

Love Bites

Love sucks. That's pretty much common knowledge. Combine that with addiction, money, fame, and childhood trauma and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Same shit, different fucking day.

Don't ask me how I'm balancing six days a week at my job and band practice three to four days a week, because I truly have no fucking idea. I tried college but once the band formed, I cut that out of my schedule completely.

It's been about a months since the argument with Gwen and Tiffany went down and our band hasn't practiced. I tried to be sympathetic for the longest time, but it's beyond ridiculous now. Veronica, Tiffany, and I have been wanting to do band stuff but Gwen refuses because she's mad that Tiffany is dating a man SHE broke up with. It's not like Tiffany did it intentionally, and the fact that she's letting her own personal stuff interfere with our band is really pissing me off.

We've all got shit going on, but Gwen loves being a drama queen. Veronica has suggested kicking her out of the band a few times and Tiffany has echoed the same sentiment, but I don't think my patience has thinned to that extent just yet.

But it's getting there.

Young musicans aren't hard to come by, but finding someone who fits the band's sound as perfectly as Gwen's adds on a large layer of difficulty that I'm not prepared for. We'd have to start all over, teach our new singer the songs, establish chemistry...it seems exhausting and more trouble than it's worth, at least for the time being.

"Hey Julie." Dylan greeted me as I walked past, something he does whenever we work together. Sometimes it ends up being the best part of my day.

As the day progresses, I find myself smiling a lot more than I usually do. Customers are easier to deal with and a large amount of them were actually friendly. It created a light-hearted atmosphere in the restaurant that we don't get too often, unfortunately. The time seemed to fly by.

"Good luck Dylan." I said goodbye and walked out of the front door. Dylan was always there a hour before I arrived, and an hour before I left. The rest of the staff is pretty cool, but Dylan is the only one I'd consider to be a friend of mine. He's essentially the less musically inclined male version of me.

I head to our rehearsal space for the second time this week. I've extended the invitation to Gwen, as if she needs an invitation to show up to her own fucking band's rehearsal. If she doesn't show up tonight, she's out. Our time is just as important as hers and we're all tired of it being wasted.

I'm usually the first person to show up, but some days that isn't the case, like today.

"Hey." Gwen says shyly.

I give her a blank stare and proceeded to put my things down on a table nearby.

"Nice of you to finally decided to show up." I stated plainly.

"Look, I know I've missed a lot of practice and I totally understand the three of you being pissed at me, but can you please take one second to see this from my perspective?"

I couldn't help but scoff at what was coming out of Gwen's mouth. Has she seriously taken an objective look at the situation and came to the conclusion that she has a leg to stand on.

"Okay fine. You broke up with a guy, he moved onto Tiffany, you were so jealous that he wasn't falling you around like a lost puppy, and you took it out on Tiffany."

Gwen rolled her eyes but before she could speak, Tiffany and Veronica entered the room. Anger was written all over Tiffany's face, while Veronica seemed to be as cool as a cucumber.

That's one thing I've always liked about Veronica. She can keep her cool in some pretty tough situations. That's not all there is to like about her, though. She's utterly gorgeous. Her dark skin and hair that was almost always styled in an afro were truly beautiful features that I couldn't help but admire. She's beautiful, smart, talented, and has an amazing personality. She's the full package.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tiffany wasted no time begining the screaming match we all knew was about to go down.

"We're in the same band." Gwen managed to maintain her regular tone of voice, but if I know Tiff like I think I do, and trust me, I do, she'll keep going until she sets Gwen off and then everything will go up in flames.

"Clearly the band hasn't been very high on your list of priorities for the past four weeks. Finally make time in your schedule for us, princess?" Tiffany was speaking with her genuine emotions, but part of her wanted to get a reaction out of Gwen. She knows how Gwen feels about being called "princess".

Gwen looks like she wants to say something to Tiffany that would no doubt escalate the situation even further, but she takes a deep breath and regains her composure.

"I'm sorry, okay? For everything. Julie was right, I should've maintained my professionalism above all else...and I shouldn't have put some guy over you and our friendship."

The three of us looked at Gwen semi-shocked. That girl never apologizes for anything. Instead of responding, Tiffany tells Veronica and I that she's stepping out for a smoke.

I'm not sure if we should discuss things further or let bygones be bygones, but it's not exactly my place to make that call.

Tiffany returns just as I finshed tuning my guitar and walked up to Gwen. If I didn't know Tiffany, I'd say she was going to punch Gwen in the face with the speed she was moving.

"That whole situation was fucked up, but I know how hard it is for you to apologize to people, so I forgive you." Tiffany pulls Gwen in for a hug and for the first time in awhile, things seem okay between the four of us.

"I would like to reiterate that Gwendolyn said I was right." I smiled proudly.

"Yeah, don't get used to hearing that from me."

It was nice while it lasted, at least.

Band practice turned out to be super productive, and it hasn't been that way in a long time. We got a lot of work done today and hopefully we can keep this up for awhile. We spent about 7 hours in our rehearsal space and it felt more like 5 minutes. Time really does fly when you're surrounded by positivity.

The girls and I said our goodbyes and parted ways for the night. Tiffany had mentioned that we haven't seen each other this past month like we usually do. Of course I feel bad about that, she's been my best friend for so long. But I've been spending a lot of time with the Guns N' Roses boys...Axl in particular can be a persuasive little shit when he wants to be. I've already told the guys that Tiffany's birthday is this weekend and they can't keep monopolizing my time. I need more feminine energy!

"Julie!" I hear someone call out. I recognize the voice as soon as it hits my ears.

"Hey Slash, what's up?"

Minus Izzy, I'm becoming pretty close with the members of Guns N' Roses. I just wish that man wasn't so goddamn illusive.

Slash and I walk and talk. Clearly he's decided we're hanging out tonight. I don't mind it much since Tiffany's going out with Victor tonight, Gwen is visiting her parents, and Veronica is doing god knows what, like always. So even if I wanted to make plans with someone, it's not like I had anyone else anyway.

"I don't think anyone's at the house, besides Izzy." From the way he phrased his sentence, it was a clear indication that Slash had no interest in staying at the "Hell House" with Izzy, he usually opted to spend his nights the same way he spent his days: completely wasted. It didn't matter if it was alcohol or heroin, if it got him high, he'd take it.

But this isn't about Slash. I want to see Izzy...I might have a slight obsession with a man who has never even said a single word to me, but I mean, he's absolutely gorgeous. There's something about him that keeps me drawn to him and I'm determined to figure out what it is. No matter how long it takes me.

"Then let's go to the house."

Before Slash can process what I said so he could say no, I grab him by the arm and run as fast as I possibly can while dragging a grown man behind me. It only takes about 15 seconds of running before I realized, Slash in tow or not, I'm very out of shape. I'm running out of breath, determined to get to the band's house. I'll be wheezing all the way down Sunset Boulevard and trying to convince myself it's worth it by the time we get there. But knowing me, it won't.

We enter the house and lo and behold...

Izzy isn't there. Despite me struggling to breathe, the look of defeat plasters my face and Slash starts laughing his ass off.

"Izzy's out working, I just wanted to see how you'd react. Sure didn't think you'd go runnin to our house, though." Slash manages to get out through his fit of hysterical laughter.

"Slash! Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I know you like him. I got the confirmation I needed. Just wait until I tell Duff!" Slash heads for the stairs, but I grab his arm before he starts his ascent.

"You cannot tell Duff." I tell him seriously.

"He can't tell Duff what?" Duff appears from the kitchen

"And why are you out of breath? And why are you holding Slash's arm?"

"She totally likes Izzy, dude. I told her that he was here and she dragged me through the streets. We almost got hit by like, 5 cars."

My shocked face slowly twists into a look of confusion as Duff rolls his eyes, pulls out his wallet, and hands Slash a 20 dollar bill.

"Dude, you guys bet on whether I liked Izzy or not?" I was part shocked, part confused, and part mortified that my crush on Izzy was that obvious. Izzy seems like a smart man, so I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of him knowing and not talking to me because I'm a weird chick who likes him without even knowing anything about him.

"Yeah, and now I'm out 20 bucks because you can't control your goddamn hormones." Duff says in mock frustration. I ignore his joke as the overthinking sets in further.

"Does...does he know?"

"Nah. The man's pretty oblivious, plus he doesn't pay much attention to anything except drugs, work, and music. It's fine." Duff reassures me.

Then Izzy walks in. The three of us get quiet when he shuts the door behind him. He looked at the guys then looks me up and down. He then looks back up at my face like he's done several times before, but this time he doesn't look away when our eyes meet, not immediately, at least. I feel my heart start beating a mile a minute at the momentary eye contact and feel myself longing for it again when it breaks.

He nods his head and walks up the stairs. I guess his first words to me will have to wait another day.

"What does Izzy do for work?" I ask, to no one in particular.

"He's a drug dealer." Duff replies nonchalantly.

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. Slash and Duff have their own conversation and I find myself wondering what kind of person Izzy is. I don't know what to think. All I know is he's a damn good musician, an equally gifted writer, and a drug dealer.

Who the hell is Izzy Stradlin?

[galaxycosplayart]

A Man on a Roof

A simply short story I wrote heavily inspired by a dream I had. I tried my best to do research on 1920's fashion and culture, as well as try to make the New Orleans theme authentic. Constructive criticism is appreciated! (There's also some lgbtqia+ representation in here since I'm basing this off my dream where I was the narrator and I am in fact LGBTQIA+) ---

The sound of jazz resonated throughout the rather extravagant hotel venue, loud and upbeat. People swung along: dancing to the sweet melodies like there was no tomorrow. The band’s performance was booming with energy, passion and life; the colourful music painting a perfect picture of the ‘20s in all of the attendee’s minds. The dance floor was packed of all different shapes, ages and sizes. This gathering was one you wouldn’t forget. The sights, the sounds, the feeling; this 1920s themed extravaganza surely did live up to that title. I would know. I was smackdab in the middle of it all.

I’m going to be honest: I don’t really like parties. Too populated, too loud, too obnoxious – but I can’t say no to some swing. This party really was worth coming to, and for once I have to say I had the time of my life. Something about the general aesthetic, the beaming faces of everyone there, the historical backstory, it just made me swell up with joy (and excitement!). I was on my own, my parents were probably off making friends with other adults. In my hand was a glass of non-alcoholic champagne. I am but 13-years-old, after all. I continued to sway, careful not to spill my drink, when I happened to notice a boy leaving the party. He caught my eye, not for attraction, but intrigue. He looked to be a young man, around 16 or 17, but he was somewhat tall and lanky. Unfortunately, I didn’t get enough time to take a proper gander. Fortunately, nothing stopped my compelled urge to follow.

---- He was going to the roof. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. No, he trotted nonchalantly to the elevator, his footsteps in sync with the music. He seemed to caper with the pleasant melodies coming from the venue. As he entered the elevator car, he lingered on to the tune with each step. The door closed before I could join him, and I watched the floor-level indicator above the gate gradually flicker to the roof of the building. Now, I know tailing people isn’t very polite, but I had taken a liking to the man’s... energy. Once taking a separate car up and searching a bit, I spotted the man near the edge of the flat roof. He continued to tap, now bathed under the glow of the full moon, illuminating his dancing figure. Since I could finally see his face, I can tell you he certainly was a rather attractive man. His warm amber skin basked splendidly under the moonlight; his eyelids shut. His low-ponytail of curly black hair swayed with him as he stepped, the music taking control of his body and mind. His outfit was truly vintage: a neat white dress shirt beneath some dark brown suspenders, the shirt tucked into his black dress pants. He also wore a dark chocolate-coloured bow tie and a light-grey longshoremen cap. Strong jazz could be heard, slightly muffled from the floors below, but that didn’t stop the young tapper from Charleston-ing his way around the roof.  Listen, I’m no professional dancer, but I like to have a bit of knowledge in any given topic. My little knowledge prompted a question in my head, “Aren’t you supposed to have a dancing partner for this particular swing?” I said nothing aloud though, for my focus was on observing this man’s joyous pep. I leaned against the wall, quietly enjoying the stranger’s strut, when the moment was cut short by the sound of giggles. He opened his eyes, revealing mahogany brown irises, only adding to his beautiful appearance. He and I both turned to see a group of young women, looking to be around his age, goggling the boy. I mean, you could say I was too, but I didn’t interrupt or jest at his actions; I merely gazed politely. The nearest girl walked up to him and began to chat, which ceased his dance. This disappointed me, he seemed to be enjoying himself and they decided to throw off his rhythm. He appeared uninterested in talking too, giving the girl a bored look and responding in short answers. From what I heard, she was clearly chatting him up, probably attempting to make a move on him. However, this encounter was also interrupted; for it was his turn to spot me. We made eye contact; his line of sight aimed downwards at my short figure. I immediately panic, thinking, “Crap. How am I supposed to explain why I’m here? ‘Hello sir, I followed you upstairs, I liked the vibes?’ Hell no.”  As I ran through all the possible excuses or justifications for why I decided to basically stalk this man up the hotel, I didn’t notice him making his way towards me. Nor did I sight the annoyed look of the girl he just left behind. He comes up to me, and soon realizing I was lost in frantic thought, gently places a hand on my shoulder. I snap out of my frenzied state, jumping at the touch and looking up once more to see him a lot closer than he was a couple of seconds ago. “Hey, you alright? You seemed frozen in time, dere,” he said with a gentle smile. His accent was faintly reminiscent of downtown New Orleans, which explained how his energy matched the parties so perfectly. It was smooth and peppy; an endearing tone. “Oh, yeah, of course,” I say quickly, still trying to find the right words. “I- uh- I liked your dancing,” was all that came out of my mouth, and I mentally facepalmed with the awkwardness that came with the broken statement. Instead of cringing at this display, however, he instead laughed. “Thank you, cher. And what are you doing, all alone on this here roof?” he asked kindly. “Just... exploring. I happened to notice you dancing when I got to the roof, so I kind of... watched for a bit,” I replied sheepishly. I mean, I wasn’t lying. I did explore the roof a bit before I found him, and I did spot his Charleston when I did. I just happened to omit the details of following him up the elevator car. And through the lobby. From the party. No biggie. “That so? Well then, can you dance?” he asked, extending a friendly hand and dishing out a genial grin. I panic again, but this time for a different, more trivial reason. “Oh, no, no I’m not that good at dancing-” “Really? Ya seemed to be enjoying it down there at tha’ party.” “...You saw me there?” “I watched you follow me, sha.” “...” Well, this was incredibly embarrassing. If I wasn’t already blushing from this whole ordeal (which I incredibly doubt – my face felt very hot), I most definitely was now. I should be thankful for his carefree attitude, because when my spluttered apology attempted to vocalize itself into comprehensible words, he simply waved it off and laughed once more. “Oh, it ain’t nothin’. Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he assured light-heartedly. “Still, I wouldn’t mind if you joined me. It’s fun to have a dancin’ partner, ya know?” “I- well... I guess a bit of dancing wouldn’t hurt,” I admitted. He extended his hand once more in invitation. I hesitantly accepted, and as soon as my palm fit into his, the grip strengthened as I was whirled to his side in the open area near the edge. As the next song started to play, and we couldn’t help but get lost in the music, I heard one phrase be exclaimed from the still-anonymous boy beside me, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!"  ---- I had easily resumed my cheerful demeanour by dancing with the man, enjoying our time to the fullest. Despite my lack of expertise in cutting a rug, we enjoyed ourselves quite a bit. It was more of feeling out the music and letting the rhythm take you, relishing a fun stranger’s presence. Sadly, this enjoyment was often interrupted by a third party, who continued to loiter around on the roof; each individual taking their turn in attempting to woo the boy. Louis, as I now knew him, also kept up his trend of giving the girls a cold shoulder, and we exchanged a cheeky grin each time one would storm off huffing. However, something did confuse me slightly. Well, the women were exceptionally beautiful. They also didn’t seem rude, or arrogant; they actually seemed rather kind and friendly. Some even referred to Louis by name, meaning he was probably familiar with the ladies. They simply were shooting their shot, and Louis would keep refusing one after the other. Obviously, he wasn’t obliged to humour any of their advances, but it’s like he didn’t even acknowledge the idea of dating them. I am a curious – and frankly, unfiltered – soul, so as the last dame trudge off to the group, I turn to my new friend and say,  “Hey, mind if I ask you something?” “Sure, what's on your mind, cher?” he replied smoothly, as we both watch the gaggle of women finally exit. “You know em’? The group there, I mean,” I clarify, though there wasn’t such a need for it anyway. I just have a bad habit of... shedding light on things that aren’t as dark, you feel me? “Yeah, they’re good friends of my brother’s. Why?” “Oh, well, they seem awfully interested in you.” “Yeah, they do that now and then. I’m used to it.” “Can’t take a hint, huh?” “Yeah, you right.” I decide to sit down as the current song begins to fade out, allowing myself a small break before the music resumed. Louis takes a seat beside me, sighing. I press further, while simultaneously pondering why I was so curious about his decision to dismiss these dates. Looking back on it, it was really none of my business, but something about the rejections just felt oddly... familiar. Still, I probably shouldn’t pry into other people’s matters. “May I ask why you constantly say no? I mean, they seem like lovely ladies. Are they just not your type?” He doesn’t reply at first, so I immediately jump to the conclusion that I upset him in some way. He’d be justified in feeling so, but I soon come to realize he was thinking of how to answer. After a few moments, I got the reply. “Sort of. I mean... in a way? They don’t know that though,” he says with a smile, to which I respond by giving him a quizzical look. What was that supposed to mean? I’m pretty embarrassed I didn’t realize it sooner when he sees my expression, and states, “Oh. I’m gay.” I stare at the boy for a few moments, blinking. I then burst out into laughter. What a heteronormative approach I took to my questioning. Me, of all people! He was amused with me, and we share a joyous laughing session to the realization.  “Ah... no wonder I related to your rejections,” I say with a cheerful grin. He quirks an eyebrow, and asks me with a curious twinkle in his eye,“Hm? What are you talking about sha?” “I’m bi. And non-binary. That’s partially why I found it so ironic that I didn’t get that sooner.” We chuckled once more, now aware of how hysterical the situation was when the final song of the evening began. He gets up first, helping me up, and we find ourselves dancing our way into the night.