#oh neat a song figure

[miss-floral-thief]

@hiyari8

[ursachaotic]

my hyperfixation right now is violently going back and forth between gravity falls and arcane and i'm also working on my original story so i just. MY FOCUS RIGHT NOW IS JUST SOUP THERE IS NO FOCUS I CAN'T DECIDE WHAT TO DRAW ASDHFOASDIH HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DRAW THINGS IN THIS ECONOMY LMAO

(anyway hi i'm trying to get back into drawing lmao i want to draw more original stuff again and i'm kind offfffff working on a design update to my oc trevor so yippee)

[keeps-ache]

brrrba pa pa da de do ♩

[vcrnons]

Top 5 favourite Vernon eras?

ask me my top five anything !

( @ikigaisvt asked me the same thing [ wondering about your top five vernon era 🤲-sammy <3 ] whehjgrghsdjg i love u guys. i am smushing these together just so i don't post the same thing twice <33 ) ( all of this is retroactive becauseee fml was my first svt cb so i wasn't around for any of these but i have consumed an ungodly amount of content so i can reasonably confidently make this decision )

FEAR.

home;run

don't wanna cry (look. blond vernon can just be so deeply personal, okay)

black eye

hot

[norikuna]

BORN TO DIE — Geto Suguru minors dni!

prologue. → it's been three years since suguru left all you had ever known, crumbling it into the fine dust of the earth. a suspiciously timed mission from gojo leads you right into the arms of the man you swore to kill. well, fuck him right?

pairing. geto suguru x afab!reader

warnings+. implied/mild gojo x reader, lovers to enemies, or enemies to lovers, past relationship, injuries, mentions of blood, reader is lowkey violent, some establishing plot idk, geto is kind a jerk (well he's a cult leader so) but hes also down bad, making out, doing it raw and desparate (wrap it before yall tap it!), creámpie etc, minor mentions of infidelity, ríde him until he sees stars trope, minor implied stsg, suguru lowkey a messy slút for this <3 🩵

word count. 4.5k song inspiration. born to die — lana del rey

a/n. heehee

mp3.. my heart it breaks every step that i take, but i'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine

ask to be added to a taglist! likes and reblogs appreciated <3

fuck suguru geto.

literally.

it had been days of you tracking down a mere rumour of curses that haunted this side of the mountain, and you know you're close — close enough to feel the cold prickling along your skin, ripe with cursed energy with that taste of something unnatural and spectral in the air.

gojo had delegated this mission to you, claiming that you had a natural born talent for hunting curses, but you knew the truth was that he had laid on the flattery thick, so that he could kiss you chastely on the cheek, go take a day off, and let you handle this one on your own.

but just as you raise your hand to cast a light, a flash of movement catches your, a fleeting gleam, drawing you off the trail before you even realise where you're going.

you round the grove, and the sight ahead steals the breath from you. through the night's shadows, a pale blue light pulses, illuminating a tall figure whose outstretched hand has already grasped the curse, right into a neat orb.

it would take only a heartbeat to recognise the sorcerer, but you feel as though your heart has leapt into your throat, your blood pulsing under the thin skin, with such dizzying shock. your chest has tightened, and each breath is laced with something sharp and electric — not sadness, nor grief.

anger.

suguru geto.

you swallow against the burning in your throat, his features are half-lit by the eerie glow of his cursed technique, and yet they are sharper than you remembered, refined and all the more hauntingly familiar.

but he's turned, with his raven hair spilling over his shoulders, and violet eyes meet your own, and you scowl as his lips curl up, voice smooth as he speaks.

"hey. it's been a while."

"you...you — fuck you!"

ugh, now it's just embarrassing. you had spent three years, pondering and wondering what cutting words you'd deliver upon suguru geto when you saw him again. and now you can barely get a sputter out without your eyes wandering over him.

geto raises a singularly arched brow, "don't you think we should catch up first?"

"i should kill you," you wonder if your fractured voice betrays how quite literally unravelled you feel right now, like the earth has fallen out beneath you, and you're not sure if you're moving towards him, or taking a step back, "oh my god, i should actually just kill you."

you wonder how you should do it. draw a blade and let it kiss his skin, to see red split out from his throat. or if you just forgo a weapon and push the air from him until his creamy skin is red and bruised.

but he's beautiful, he's so beautiful and it leaves you wondering if this is how orpheus felt when he turned around in that tunnel, and saw eurydice again. if he was also planted in the ground, unable to move at the sight of what his heart most wanted.

the boy who once broke your heart is now a man, draped in robes of deep purple and green, and gold. a man with ghostly eyes that leave you unsure on whether you're furious, or wanting.

still wanting to wrap your hands around his throat, perhaps. you tamp down any other traitorous thought.

"what's your business here?" you manage, and you wonder if he can hear a tremor, and a crack where all that hurt was buried when you were seventeen years old.

but geto just smiles, "you don't think i'd notice the presence of a curse on my own estate? or a jujutsu sorcerer? you've come a long way, haven't you?"

"huh - your estate?"

ah, it hits you, as you follow your line of sight behind geto's head, past the thick trees that you've been wandering in, to where silver rods strike up, out into the dark sky — the roof of what's clearly an important building, the time vessel association.

you cross your arms, "you mean your bullshit cult?" you wonder how quick you can pull out a knife, one of several that you must have taken with you on your missions.

now it's his turn to scowl at you, and a petulant expression dances across his face, but geto doesn't address your barb, "you've come a long way, did satoru send you here?"

you bark out a laugh, "that's gojo to you now."

now he’s right in front of you, and you force yourself not to swallow or betray even a flicker of nerves.

you hold his gaze, determined and unwavering but geto has always been tall, his frame deceptively broad beneath the layers of his robes, but standing this close, you catch the heady scent of allspice and sandalwood, maybe even some ceremonial incense.

"oh, i'm sorry. only you get to call him satoru now, is that right?"

you're not stupid, you know that there's an undertone of a question in his snarky tone, well fuck him. you don't owe him an answer of what your life has been like in the past three years (nor what gojo's has been like, for that matter).

he watches you for an answer, with a face as elegent as an idol in an ancient shrine, pale and luminous against the moon-lit sky. you briefly wonder how a tall, beautiful boy who floated around campus with headphones around his neck, and an obscure band-tee, had managed to peel off his skin and carve himself into something more holy, like a heian-era deity.

"suguru," you finally breathe, and your head feels jumbled and aching. he tilts his head, lips parted, as if he's been waiting for his name to fall from your lips, and he's savouring it.

"come with me," he says simply, gesturing to the shadowed building behind him, and his hand lingers in the air, as his pale, slender fingers reach towards your own, "just this once, you don't have to tell him, y'know."

yes, you know. you should refuse, fuck, you should have been grinding his blood into the earth, for the night has no time for traitors. and if you were to take his hand, it would make you one as well.

oh, how easily suguru geto has always been able to unravel you, and all you've ever known or believed in.

suguru's fingers are like ice as they close around your wrist, with a firm but unhurried grip, pulling you along that makes resistance feel almost laughable.

you try to twist free, but he only glances back, with a teasing smile over his face, "still as defiant as ever," he murmurs, and you're not sure whether your cheeks are flushed from how he's drinking the sight of you in.

"i wouldn't be if you weren't dragging me through this place like some prisoner."

suguru laughs, "is that what you are?" and a dangerous, dormant merriment glints in his violet eyes, "i thought you'd come with me willingly."

his voice is maddeningly calm, as if this was some routine rendezvous, as if he hadn’t walked out of your life three years ago and left nothing but emptiness behind. suguru leads you down a long hallway lined with tall, flickering candles, their dim glow casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. it's so quiet you can hear your own breathing, each inhale tinged with the scent of incense that lingers on his robes.

you give another half-hearted tug against his grip, but his hold only tightens, but he stops, looking down at you, his gaze softening, almost pitying. "save your strength. we’re nearly there. and i need you to behave, and be quiet."

you hate the way your heart races at his touch, at his command, at the intimacy of this shadowed corridor that seems to belong to no one but the two of you.

"and where exactly are you taking me, suguru?" you ask, voice brittle.

"patience. you'll see soon enough."

he leads you forward again, each step echoing through the silence until he finally stops at a large, dark-stained wooden door. his fingers slide away from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling in their absence, and your own fingers curl outwards wanting to reach for his again before you tuck your hand away shamefully.

you can see his smile out of the corner of his eye. he knows this, and more.

but now suguru glances back, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "you came all this way," he says, voice low. "i thought you wanted to catch up."

yeah. catch up.

that's exactly what you'd call it when you barrel through the doors alongside him, and push your mouth against his, hearing the satisfying breath that he draws before he's moving against you too.

you lean into suguru, feeling the heat radiate from his broad body as every nerve in your skin awakens as his lips crash against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. it's been three long years since you last felt this, anything, like this and you fight back whatever demon lurches within you — an ode to bittersweet rage, longing and want.

you can taste him in your mouth, a mix of mint and even something sweeter, and it stings you, pricks at every cut he must be leaving over you. but suguru's hands grip your waist, and you wonder if he feels just as you do. but he must, for his arms have pulled you in, anchoring you onto his chest, as if he's afraid you might slip away (just as he had, from you).

you don't know where the tears came from, but salt runs down your cheeks, mingling in with your kisses, and you take a moment to pull away from him, and trace his face with shaking fingers.

"i should hate you," you breathe out, but how can you when he stares down at you as if you've reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. a killer, a traitor, a murderer. but it's still him all the same.

but his lips are now on your face, as his tongue runs over the streaked sorrow, licking it right up, "don't," and now his tone is pleading, suguru geto is pleading above you, "i can't live with you hating me. just let me do this."

he leans into your more deeply and your hands move instinctively, slipping beneath the soft fabric of his robes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. you explore the contours of his muscles, tracing the lines of his body, every touch igniting a spark that sends shivers through you, makes your own core feel heavy.

it's delicious how his breath hitches as you slide your hand even lower, past the waistband of his pants, right where the hard evidence of his desire is plain, and there's a satisfying rush of power that courses through you at his response, at the breath of air suguru rushes through his teeth in a low keen as he separates yourself from your panting mouth, to trail his soft lips on the sensitive skin lower.

his teeth briefly sink into the juncture of your neck, and you jolt at the brief pain before he runs his tongue over the fresh marks, soothing, hot.

his large hands are both under your top now, moving over the expanse of your stomach and up, up until they cup both your breasts, pinching, and twirling and leaving you slick with the arousal that has gathered at the apex of your thighs.

"so pretty, ah! so - pretty," suguru breathes, and you quirk your lips up as he lowers you slowly to the mat. he'd let you to quite a bare room, with nought in it save for the floor and the walls, but you're honestly content with him having his way with you like this.

you should feel guilty, you should be seeing blue eyes peering up at you from between your thighs, white hair plastered with the sweat of exertion.

but instead, all you see is the twilight sky, brushstrokes of black and dusky violet as suguru takes his place on his chiselled stomach, as you feel the mat press into your shoulder blades while you lay flat on your back.

"stay with me, gorgeous," he murmurs, his breath warm against the skin of your thighs. his plush lips brush against your mound, and you squirm and shake from the need, the need to feel his mouth lower and you cannot help but just arch into him, mewling as he starts drifting his fingers down.

"oh my god, oh!," you're almost embarrassed to be put in this position, moaning like a wanton whore, but you can't just bring yourself to stop, "fuck, suguru. can you please -"

and you're bucking your hips up towards his mouth, begging him to get a hint, and give you a hit of the pleasure that you're so craving.

but suguru stares at you flatly, and then in between your legs almost methodically, like he's waiting for something, and the flat of his palm rests heavy over your clothed cunt.

"i don't think so," he mutters, "tell me something first," and he's playing with the elastic band of your underwear, pulling it to the side before snapping it back, thwack!

"tell me you don't hate me. i need to hear you say it, that you never hated me," and you can feel a new bruise bloom on the inner corner of your thigh from his teeth's ministrations.

"i don't hate you! please, suguru, i could never, ah! -" and you don't get the chance to even finish your sentence before the man is pressing his tongue straight to the damp, translucent patch of fabric that's been soaked with your slick.

his teeth have caught on the fabric deliberately, and he's pulling the fabric, up and up, and the sight makes you so incredibly delirious that you wonder how on earth you're going to recover after this.

and to your credit, his eyes have gone wide, and hazy even — and you enjoy watching him swallow, adam's apple bobbing as suguru seems so entirely pussydrunk, just from you alone.

oh, now you have an idea, and so you pull yourself up and onto him, and he lets you push him down so your positions are reversed. he looks so beautiful like this, dark hair splayed out and falling over his flushed face, as you straddle his thighs, lewdly dripping over his robes as you try to gain some friction from the fabric.

"you're so desparate, baby. didn't think you'd be so — mmph! fuck!" it seems that all it takes to shut suguru geto up is a well-intentioned roll of your hips against his groin, and his hands shoot up to find their place on your waist, rubbing small circles over your hipbones.

you let out a shaky laugh, leaning down to press your lips to his again, "yeah, that's what i thought," and you kiss him, quick and almost outstandingly chaste, and you grin in satisfaction as he leans up again to chase your lips as soon as you separate.

as moonlight spills into the room, you decide to make short work of his robes, reaching underneath the silk to part the fastening, revealing the smooth ripple of muscle underneath, illuminated like godly marble in the silver light. suguru's gaze is fixed on you, his breath shaky and quickening, as he lets you trace your nails lightly over his abdomen.

taking a quick breath, your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his pants once more, and you relish at how suguru's entire body tenses at your touch, his breath hitching, "oh, fuck! right there," as your hands make contact with his cock, feeling the soft skin and the steel underneath. it's large, and heavy in your hands and you gulp, and realise now he's enjoying your reactions.

"there you go, you've had your fun," he breathes out, before shifting your hips back till you're situated right over his cock, "now, let me handle this."

you're barely given a few seconds to catch your breath before he sheathes himself, gliding straight into you thanks to the obscene amount of arousal practically weeping from your cunt, and you keen up at the sky, writhing from the delicious stretch of his wide cock that's made its home in your gummy walls.

"oh, ahh - suguru! wait, let me -," and you shift yourself, groaning as you feel his cock right in the sweetest spots, so you're in his embrace and he gladly envelops his arms around you, bringing you closer and planting desparate, hot kisses on your skin as your nails create crescents in his smooth skin.

suguru seems just as whipped as you are, gone from this mortal plane of the earth and onto a higher level of existence, just from your pretty, tight pussy that's holding him together, "keep doing that, pretty, look how. good. you. take. me."

and each word is punctuated by suguru's hips bullying into yours, pushing his cock deeper and further than you thought you could ever handle, as his mouth pants under yours, "taking it like a fuckin' champ. missed this, missed this so much."

you missed it too, chasing after the feeling of threading your fingers through his soft black locks, feeling him shudder as you scraped your nails down the back of his head,

"yeah, that's it," oh, suguru's always been mouthier like this, when you're sucking up him so deliciously, ramming his hips and angling them in a way that has your abdomen tingling, and has your eyes (and his) seeing stars and the heavens.

he taps his shoulders, where his dark robes have slipped off, revealing the smooth expanse of toned muscle and hot skin, "hands here, baby. keep you steady, yeah?"

and you plant your hands on his chest, determined to swivel your hips in a way that has you gasping for air, and glancing down right where - fuck, where you can quite literally see his bulge through your skin.

"oh, suguru! ah, keep doing that!" you desperately hope that these premises were vacated, for your unrestrained moans must have been rippling through the thin walls, strained and throaty as they bounced off wood.

and you just couldn't pull your eyes away from the sight of him, intoxicating as he was. suguru under you, broad chest heaving as he caught his breath with every rock of your hips — with a flush painting his creamy skin, framed by dark strands of hair that fanned messily around his face, falling in careless waves over his forehead and brushing against his cheekbones.

you couldn't help yourself, curling your fingers in the unruly halo and drawing him up, closer to your face as his crimson-bitten lips parted slightly, clacking around a deep groan.

his mauve eyes lifted away from the swell of your chest once more, hazy with exhaustion, but they softened as they met your own gaze with an almost reverent, quiet awe. even lying there, while you quite literally rode him to hell and back, cunt pulsing against his cock in a way that left you both breathless, he looked at you as if you were some vision, and his rosy-bruised mouth curled again.

"always thought you - hah - looked like a dream," he murmured, his gaze tracing your face as if he were committing every detail to memory, "i used to think that i had forgotten, or tried to forget how beautiful you were, are."

"but now," and he bucks his hips into a steady tempo, a constant allegro, "seeing you here, like this as if you were made for fuckin' me, how could i ever forget?"

his fingers are still under your top, brushing against your spine and you mewl, pressed close enough to him so your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest.

"stay a little longer, yeah?" he whispers, "just let me look at you, fuck! don't think i'd ever be able to stop lookin' at you anyway. can't get enough of you," and he reaches a hand in between your thighs, finding your swollen clit and beginning to run soft circles around it with the pads of his fingers, "don't think i'll ever get enough."

it's becoming too much, the harsh smack of his skin against yours, the feeling of your throbbing clit being showered with white-hot attention from his quick hands, the counter of his dense shaft gliding down your pliable walls, spanning them out until you can feel him so deep within you, "fuck, it's too good - mmph, way too good, i can't -"

you're practically tangled in his arms, in the arms of a man who should have been an enemy, a traitor, one who crumbled all that you held once dear. but his chest rises and falls erratically against yours, and you can feel him heartbeat jump, grounding you in the most unbearable way,

his fingers are now bruising your hips, leaving marks that you're sure (in the back of your mind, somewhere that's still rational) satoru would easily be able to recognise but you can't bring yourself to care.

you can't tell whose tears are staining the fabric of his robes between you, his or yours. the line between the two of you blurs as much as the fog in your mind from the way his cock has driven into you, made its imprint in a way that you'll never forget.

"suguru -" you're wondering if your poor, torn heart will just simply give out now, why is it so hard to breathe? each press of his fingers against your clit has you moaning over the shell of his ear, "i'm close, hah, i'm so close, suguru."

he chuckles weakly, bubbling from him and mingled in with a grunt, "yeah, i fuckin' know. i know." and his soaked fingers are still drawing circles in your sticky arousal that's leaking from you, over his cock, over his robes, dampening the dark trail of hair that coats his groin.

"always been mine." and as he bites your neck, teeth sinking into you, you feel the coil in your abdomen snap! and god, you don't think you could ever go back. not like this.

you can't even imagine the picture you must paint now, lips parted and open as you feel yourself being rocked through your orgasm in a way that leaves you untethered from the earth. how the spasm of your walls must finally trigger his own release, and suddenly he's stiffened too as thick, creamy ropes of his seed find their home in you, "see, mine. always mine, don't go soft on me now, pretty. oh my god, fuck!"

all you can truly do is let him handle you now, let his arms tighten and pull you in as close as possible, so his teeth are tugging on your lips, kissing right into your mouth as you ride out the stars of your own release, tears springing to your eyes once more from the overstimulation, hands digging into the woven mat under him.

later, you lie in suguru's arms, wrapped up entirely in the exhausation (and guilt, oh fuck, the guilt of what you've done) of the world, and everything else feels hazy and irrelevant. the steady rhythm of his breath in small puffs is the only thing grounding you, the warmth of his chest rising and falling against yours. he's tracing soft lines across your back, like he's trying to memorise the feel of you.

"suguru," you whisper, your voice breaking once more on his name, lips close to the damp skin of his neck. you're not sure if you're still crying, or if this is the quietest, most intimate form of surrender that has replaced the weathered storm.

he doesn't speak for a long moment, but his grip has tightened on you, as though he's trying to draw you even closer, like your soul will meld into his, "don't," and his voice is ragged raw, "you don't have to leave just yet."

the quiet desperation in his words cracks your heart, and for the first time in three years, the distance between the man who had become a shadow, and the boy you once knew feels almost unrecognisable.

his face turns toward yours, his eyes searching yours, as if he’s looking for something to anchor him, something to give him the assurance that all the destruction he’s caused, all the distance between you, can still be undone.

but you’re not sure if it’s possible.

you want to say something, anything, but the words lodge in your throat, too heavy and too tangled to escape. you let your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, matching the pace of your own.

"i don’t know if i can stay, suguru," you say, "how can we go back to what we were?"

"then let me make it up to you," he says softly, his voice shaking with a quiet urgency, as though this is the last chance he’ll ever have. "let me show you what i've built here. that you don’t have to leave."

if you stay, you risk losing yourself. you risk losing the anger that you had cherished, and treasured, nurtured and held onto. the anger that had guided you through the world. still, as you meet his gaze, something inside of you shifts. maybe it’s the way his hands slide gently up your back, steady and sure.

"please," he breathes again, his forehead resting gently against yours. "don’t leave. do not do to me, what i should never have done to you."

the moonlight spills through the cracks of the window, and it brings to mind the flicker of bright blue eyes, six eyes, alongside their warmth and steady presence, and you wonder if the earth will swallow you whole for what you've done.

you should never have come here. you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get caught up in suguru's gravity again, shouldn’t have let him pull you back into this mess of old feelings and broken promises.

suguru's low, tired laugh pulls you from your thoughts, his breath warm against your skin. he pulls back slightly, his dusky eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place — a spark of surprise, maybe amusement, even a little mockery, but there is no lie in his eyes.

"satoru?" he says, the name slipping from his lips with a touch of disbelief. "you really think he hasn’t visited me in the past three years either?"

[poistura]

HE WAS A PUNK, SHE DID BALLET

pairings. nonidol!hyungline x fem!reader in which. reader’s perfect and calm life has been completely turned upside down since she met her boyfriend wc. 1.5K warnings. enha are basically troublemakers lol, climbing a window in hee’s one, jake’s one is HEAVILY inspired by a gilmore girls episode, mentions of fights and bruises, not proofread genre. fluff ( link to masterlist )

author’s note wrote this while listening to sk8er boy by avril lavigne and i love her that’s it, jay’s one is a bit short i’m sorry 💔 also!! maknae line’s one is coming soon 🫧

𝐋. heeseung

you were seated at your desk in your room, so engrossed on studying your books, that the sound of tapping on the window almost made you flinch.

turning around to the place the sound came from, you see him. he smirks slyly, causing you to sigh and get up, opening the window “you know, you could’ve used the front door”, heeseung climbs in “i figured your parents wouldn’t be really pleased to see me” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“plus, this is way more charming than using the front door, is it?” that sentence made you chuckle “oh sure, prince charming. i really want to watch you climb down from my window now”. heeseung gulps “well, i’ll worry about it after i get to cuddle you, angel” he says with a smile before attacking your face with soft pecks, making you giggle.

it was really true that heeseung was soft and caring on the inside, but you seemed to make him melt way more often than he was used to, not like he was complaining about it anyways.

“what are you studying?” “biology” heeseung scoffs “you really have to spend your night studying something as dull as biology?” you roll your eyes playfully “at least i do study, i suggest you to try it, that would be good for you” he just simply shrugs playfully and pinches your waist, making you let out a soft giggle.

despite claiming that studying is the most monotonous thing you could ever do on a thursday night, heeseung finds himself sitting with you, listening to you revise the subject, but both of you know he’s not even paying attention to anything you’re saying, he doesn’t care at all. what he’s paying attention to, is the way your eyes look up while thinking of a term, the way your hands move to emphasize your speech and the soft hums you let out while thinking of the material you studied earlier.

actually, maybe heeseung was wrong, maybe this was the best way he could spend his thursday night.

𝐏. jongseong

you watched as your boyfriend played you his self-written songs on his guitar, feeling happy to be in his presence and to be the only girl who could have the pleasure to listen to those sweet songs he wrote for you. “what do you think?”, you smile softly “it’s really great; i love it”.

the faint blush on your boyfriend’s cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you. “hey, can i try too?” you ask him and he looks at you surprised “the great violinist wants to play something as edgy as the electric guitar?” you roll your eyes playfully “worried i’ll be better than you?”.

jay grins and pats the empty space between his legs, handing you the guitar and guiding you through the notes “put your finger here, here and here” he says as he gently moves your fingers on the strings. your heartbeat started to quicken as he was impossibly close to you and touched your fingers delicately “give it a try, chopin” he teases as you try to play the new instrument.

after a few tries, you manage to let out a few neat notes from the instrument, eliciting a proud smile from your boyfriend “wow chopin”, you chuckle “jay, chopin is a pianist” “same thing”. you both let out a few giggles before he pecks your temple and smiles softly at you “if you learn how to play the guitar, i can’t surprise you with my serenades anymore”, you chuckle softly “well, i think my mom would be glad to not hear you play at 1am, but maybe i could serenade you too sometimes”.

jay smiles and softly pecks your lips “yea, i’d like some classical operas being played for me at 1am”

𝐒. jaeyun

you would’ve never thought to see your boyfriend all dolled up to take you to your highschool’s dance for a charity event. you insisted that it wasn’t a big deal, and you weren’t even enthusiastic about going to that dance, but your boyfriend insisted on being a good boyfriend (aka, showing you off to everyone) and decided it was important for you to attend since you were one of the top students at the school.

you arrived at the dance with jake, and calling it boring would be an understatement.

you two were sitting by a table, “jake we can leave if you’re not having fun” you said, as you knew your boyfriend wasn’t used to these boring formal events.

“don’t worry baby, i enjoy spending time with you nonetheless. plus, the food is great!” you let out a chuckle at his statement.

“i’ll go get us something to drink, how about that?” you smile at your boyfriend’s idea “alright, don’t take too long”.

he smiled before he got up and headed to get you something to drink. as you were waiting for him, a boy from your biology class approached you, teasing you like he always does.

“where’s your little boyfriend, uh? don’t tell me you came by yourself” he grins and you roll your eyes “getting me a drink, if you really want to know”. the boy looks slightly surprised at your statement “oh really? i bet he’s a punk, you could’ve said yes when i asked you to come with me, at least you would’ve been seen with someone relevant”.

just like clock work, your boyfriend arrived and wrapped an arm around your waist. the guy eyes him up and down “you must be the punk boyfriend”, jake grits his teeth and turns to you “is he bothering you, babe?” “pfft, she’s delighted by my presence”. jake raises an eyebrow and turns his gaze back to the boy “uh, really?”.

you were already preparing yourself as you knew your boyfriend, and you knew things would’ve escalated quickly. by the end of the night, you were sitting in jake’s car, treating the wounds and scars he got on his face after a not-so-friendly conversation with that boy.

“i’m sorry i got carried away”you give him a small smile “it’s alright, i’m glad you punched him. he’s annoying” “i figured you weren’t really delighted to talk to him”, you both let out a chuckle.

“hey, are you up for a frozen yogurt?” he asks, you reply with a huge smile “of course! but… maybe it’s better if you stay in the car and i go get them”. he lets out a chuckle “alright boss”

𝐏. sunghoon

“babe! what’s taking you so long?” you yell from your room, sunghoon is in the bathroom, getting ready for a dinner you insisted on having with your parents to prove them he’s perfectly fine for you. he was nervous, he probably hasn’t felt more nervous in his life, what if they ask him about his life? he can’t tell them how reckless he is, they would’ve never thought he could be perfect for you. he finally sighs before taking a last glance at the mirror “i’m coming!”.

the dinner was silent to say the least, your mother cleared her throat to escape from the awkward moment “so sunghoon, do you have any hobbies?”. sunghoon gulps “uhm… i like working out, you know, to keep myself healthy”, her mother hums, her expression unreadable.

in the meantime, you were crossing your fingers under the table, hoping the dinner would go smoothly and your parents would approve of him, considering how they’ve always considered you as a perfect child in every field.

your father asks the question both of you hoped he’d never ask, “do you study? or work?”. sunghoon starts sweating “i… i don’t work yet, sir. but, i’m looking for a job”. your father slightly scoffs and tears his gaze away from the boy, looking back at his plate and mumbling something under his breath.

the dinner luckily comes to an end, and neither you nor sunghoon were proud of how it went out.

he noticed your disappointed face, and before you two could leave and greet goodbye to your parents, he turned to them one last time “uhm… i’m sorry if i’m not exactly how you hoped i’d be, i know i might be far from the kind of person you wanted your daughter to be with, but i love her. i might not be the best and i might not provide her with everything she needs, but i love her and… and i’m here for her everytime she needs me. i want to support her in everything she does, even though i know i could never be enough for her”. his words made your heart melt, and your parents’ expression slightly shifted.

as you were getting ready to leave, your mother spoke up “we hope to see you again, sunghoon”, his eyes immediately lit up “i hope so too, mrs y/l/n. thank you”. your father gives him a nod of approval before you two left, hand in hand, and extremely proud of how the dinner turned out.

© POISTURA 🐋

[heytheredelulu]

Simple

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Imagine

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 1k (It’s a quickie)

C/W: It’s all smut. It’s literally nothing but cock sucking, okay?

Bucky Barnes enjoyed the simple pleasures in life.

A heaping stack of warm, buttery pancakes drizzled in maple syrup.

A glass of oaky, barrel aged bourbon, neat.

The sultry, nostalgic, slow jazz of the 40’s playing over the speakers he still couldn’t quite figure out how to connect his Bluetooth to.

His copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit”, worn and weathered from all the times he’d read it cover to cover while lounged lazily in his oversized armchair.

But perhaps the greatest pleasure he enjoyed was the feeling of his pretty baby’s pink, swollen lips wrapped around his thick and needy cock.

He’d had plenty of blowjobs before, many hot, wet mouths gagging on the impressive length of him but none, none of those encounters could ever compare to your ministrations.

He was smitten with you long before you’d knelt before him but it wasn’t until the first time you sucked the very soul from his body through his throbbing cock that he was fucking done for.

You were his, forever.

There was just something so beautiful about the way your soft hums of contentment vibrated through his shaft like you were singing him the chorus to the sweetest song ever composed.

The way your eyes fixed on him half lidded, attentive and responsive to his every twitch and pulse against your tongue. It wasn’t just the sheer skill of pleasing him that you possessed but the level at which you so clearly enjoyed the act itself.

Your eager wiggle on your knees while you suckled at his frenulum, your hand wrapped firmly around the girth of him as you traced the sensitive, velvet flesh of his cockhead against your soft, plump lips.

Oh God, the wanton groan that rose from your throat when you teased the tip of your tongue to his slit, lavishing the salty flavor of his precum on your taste buds.

And you hadn’t even put him in your slutty little mouth yet.

He’d always let you lead, slowly descending on him with your hands splayed on his muscular thighs, batting your lashes at him once he brushed the back of your throat as if waiting for him to cup your jaw and stroke your cheek affectionately with the calloused pad of his thumb like he always did while you ‘took a moment’ to adjust to his size. Part of him wondered if you really needed to adjust or if you just wanted to savor the look in his eyes as he committed the lewd image of you to memory.

You’d breathe heavily through your nostrils- the exhale blowing gently against the soft, dark curls at the base of his cock and the inhale shuddering like you were basking in the scent of him.

The first time you’d lapped at the seam of his sack with your tongue while he was seated to the hilt down your throat his toes curled as he gripped the arm of the chair with white knuckles, hissing out a string of curses.

Always so responsive to his body, you slowly eased off him, your hand stroking languidly along his thick shaft, applying firm pressure to the tip as you dipped down to gently draw his heavy balls into your mouth. The whine that erupted from his chest was a sound he’d never made before but then again, he’d never had a woman show much- if any attention to his sack during a blowjob, let alone roll them around in her mouth like they were a goddamn delicacy.

Lord have mercy when you descended on him again, your cheeks hollowed, your tongue flicking and swirling along his length, one of your dainty hands holding him firm at the base as you cupped and fondled his saliva-slicked balls with the other.

Somehow you even made gagging look seductive, inhaling sharply through your nose while your eyes watered and drool dripped down your chin, trailing across the hollow of your throat and leaving a wet sheen across your pretty tits.

Oh yeah, you absolutely had your tits out. Hell, you loved to be naked on your knees for him. It only made it that much easier for you to snake a free hand between your thighs, rubbing slow, gentle circles over your aching clit with the sweet arousal that wept from your cunt with how utterly turned on you were by sucking his cock.

You’d lose your fucking mind when he twisted your hair around his fist, shameless moans bubbling up from your chest as he bucked his hips, fucking himself down your throat. As soon as he’d pick up that merciless rhythm you’d slip two, sometimes three fingers into yourself, frantically pumping them to mirror his tempo until you came with a strangled cry, tears pricking at the corners of your lust-hazed eyes.

Holy hell that’d be his tipping point.

He’d hold your head firmly in place, his massive hand flexing against the back of your skull, his cock pulsing as he throws his head back, a deep and primal moan ripping through his chest as he comes hard enough to make his fucking ears ring.

Words of praise would fall from his lips in a breathless whisper as he caressed your cheek, lazily rutting his hips forward while you greedily swallowed down every last drop like it was your well deserved reward for your tantalizing efforts.

“Such a good girl.”

“So fucking pretty when you choke on my dick.”

“Oh baby, yes. Fuck, swallow it.”

“Shit, you’re so goddamn perfect.”

Sometimes when you were feeling extra submissive you’d sit back on your heels and open your mouth, proudly showing him the pearlescent fruits of your labors, pooled on your tongue.

You’d wait patiently, drooling unabashedly with a slack jaw as he tucked his spent cock away, zipping up his jeans and slowly buckling his belt while he kept you naked on your knees awaiting his order.

He’d pinch your cheeks in his large hand and dip down to press a kiss to your forehead, his chest swelling with pride at the power you allowed him to hold over you.

All the while, you’d stare up at him obediently with smoldering eyes until he’d nod, his lips twitching up into a crooked smirk before he’d finally speak his command in a low, gruff voice.

“Swallow.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@badbunnybabygirl01 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe @ihavetwoholesforareason @km-ffluv @shortnloud @mrs-katelyn-barnes @somnorvos @22rhianna2006 @misshale21 @angelbaby99 @deans-spinster-witch @kezibear @acornacreacure @buckys-wintersoldier @terry2227 @wintrsoldrluvr

A/N: Yeah, idk where this came from-

I was feeling feral again.😅

💋Sj

[chiiyuuvv]

FOR CHERRY!! ★

boyfriend!jaehyun 0.8k

notes! very hurt/comfort! reader and jaehyun like jungkook bc i said they do so tempted to put &t but i was like nahh some kissing at the end happy birthday @cherrycolaberry !! you are very much loved and appreciated, and i hope you enjoy your day and this story <3 listen to the song!! (link is in 'notes!')

▸ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺?

“..maybe we could cuddle and watch a movie?” you suggest to your boyfriend, closing the front door with one hand while the other stays intertwined with jaehyun’s, your head tilting in question as you glance at him. your puppy of a boyfriend nearly cried at the thought of separating after your date. fortunately, your house was closer to your previous location as you planned to spend the rest of the day together. 

“I don’t really care as long as I'm with you,” he says in that lovesick voice of his, his thumb rubbing the back of your palm. you playfully rolled your eyes at his sappy comment to hide your flustered reaction. he couldn’t know your heart skipped a beat at his flirtatious words. 

“shut up,” you mumble, a grin tugging at jaehyun’s lips as you drag him to your room. his lips open to say something, but they widen in shock once you unlock your bedroom door, revealing your room. your room was fairly neat, the only thing catching his eye being the amount of posters pinned on your walls. some were your favorite kpop groups posing coolly for the camera. the others being cute characters doing silly things, or random drawings that enhanced the color of your room.

“that’s.. a lot of posters,” jaehyun says out of breath, observing every tall piece of paper presented. he says it in a tone you’ve never heard before, making you subconsciously let go of his hand to awkwardly stand in the corner closest to you to play with your fingers. you’ve never thought the decoration of your room was a problem, but maybe it was one today.

“oh yeah, I uh- just kind of-”

“you like jungkook too?!” jaehyun says, unbeknownst to your antsy behavior. as he points to the poster of the idol, he hops in place, almost like he was offered free candy. “how come you’ve never told me?” he spins in disbelief, but when his eyes find your figure his heart almost breaks. “are you okay?” he slowly inches toward you, worry painted on his face when he sees your anxious expression. 

you try to nod your feelings away, but your lips betray you. “I thought you didn’t like my room therefore didn’t like me and I-” you rambles were cut off by jaehyun’s soft shush, his lips pressing a reassuring kiss on your nose as his hands found yours to hold.

“how could I dislike something that makes you, you?” he hums, carefully lifting your chin so your eyes met his, his actions treating you like glass. “I love it when you’re you, no matter how silly you become,” a soft smile appears on jaehyun’s face when he hears a small giggle. he continues his words. “even if I had no clue who jungkook was – or any of your interests in that matter – i would still want to learn more about him and why your pretty self loves him so much. and if I didn’t like jungkook as much as you, I would still respect your enjoyments. my point is, it shouldn’t matter what i like, as i would never push my own beliefs onto you.”

your eyes twinkle at your boyfriend's words as he tugs at your hands, making you stand in front of his knees as he sits on the edge of your bed. “I’m sorry I made you think anything other than what I said,” he whispers, looking up at you as you look down at him, your hands brought to rest on his shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” you smile, before silence engulfs you, getting lost in each other's eyes. jaehyun leans forward to press a peck on your chin, his hands grabbing your waist to slowly bring you to your knees. as he does so, he litters small kisses along your face, covering your cheeks, lips, nose, eyelids, and more with his love. he finally stops when your eye level, pressing a final kiss on your forehead before cupping your cheeks. “I love you,” his hands cup your cheeks, cradling your face. 

“I love you too, jae,” jaehyun can’t help but kiss the precious smile off your face. he kisses you with passion, his lips furrowed together to convey the adoration he has for you. words will never be enough when he’s around you, his lips pressing against yours until you lose breath. 

he lets go of your figure to scoot back on your bed, his back hitting the backrest as he opens his arms invitingly. your head nuzzles into his neck as his hands find their way back around your waist. “what movie are we going to watch?” he whispers, his hands rubbing your back in small circles. pressing a kiss against your head, he knew he wasn’t going to be paying attention to the tv screen. nope, not when his beautiful girl was next to him.

︴bonus! reminder that you should feel free from judgement when liking something different from your peers. if they can't respect that, drop them have a nice conversation and state your boundaries and if they still can't respect it, thatssss when you drop them <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHERRY MWAHHHHHH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DJNOURAHJBIE

▸ taglist 📬 @cherrycolaberry ,, open! use the link to fill the form out

🎬 navi

@chiiyuuvv on tumblr . do not steal works/headers/line dividers

[shuahoonie]

unspoken words | jeon wonwoo

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo (svt) x fem!reader

notes: office!au (kinda?), fluff, suggestive jokes, swearing, idiots 2 lovers. alcohol consumption, jeonghan the matchmaker. the one where reader and wonwoo’s paths kept missing each other until they didn’t. loosely based on the song unspoken words by mxmtoon.

word count: 5.1k

summary: you and wonwoo always had a complicated relationship— no matter how hard you two tried, your lives had a funny way of getting intertwined.

and stubborn may you both be, wonwoo will always admit his feat when it comes to you.

part of the to x, with love mini series

shuahoonie's masterlist | to x, with love masterlist

“i never asked you to stay,” wonwoo muttered as you helped him clean up after the info session that your work had conducted for a group of students.

“this is ridiculous,” you sighed more so to yourself “there’s no way you could’ve done this by yourself.” you said while you held the blue recycling bin, gathering all of the leftover flyers and other papers that had writing on them. you also had a separate bin for the coffee lids and cup sleeves to put in the recycling as well.

“you could’ve just left,” wonwoo was watching you the entire time, making a mental note that you were serious about putting away your trash. “i know seokmin is waiting for you in the lobby.”

“it’s okay.” you replied, not even bothering to look him in the eye. instead, you gathered everything in a neat pile.

“you shouldn’t keep him waiting,” the words came out so harsh when he said it. even wonwoo was surprised, he wasn’t usually like this.

“he’ll be fine,” you said dismissively, not really in the mood to argue with him.

“yn,” wonwoo calls your name as if he hated doing it. “go.”

it took everything within you to stop yourself from yelling at him. “your anger will mean nothing,” seokmin’s words would ring in your ear. so you took a deep breath, dropped what you were doing and left without another word.

“oh, seok, i was ready to pounce him.” you grumbled, stabbing the lettuce on your salad a little too aggressively.

"what, like sexually?" seokmin realized it was a bad joke. the way you were practically throwing daggers at him made it painfully obvious that you were not in the mood to kid around. "i'm sorry, yn, but you really need to lighten up."

"if there's anyone who needs to lighten up, it's him," you argued, munching on your greens. "in fact, maybe i should light him up."

"i still don't understand how you two got off on the wrong foot," seokmin points out, hoping a proper explanation will emit from you.

you shrugged because you didn’t know what to tell your friend. the first time you properly met wonwoo was at your workplace. you even thought he was cute— quiet, had the nicest smile. your other coworkers were even raving about how polite and kind he was.

imagine your surprise when the ‘polite’ cutie from the editorial floor practically threw daggers at you as soon as you stepped into the office with the cerulean blue folders. this threw off wonwoo as he did the preparation for the meeting.

“in my defence, i saved both our asses when i replaced the folders during that important meeting with the new york office,” you grumbled.

unbeknownst to you, wonwoo kept a close track of your encounters. the first time wonwoo met you was through university.

you were the president of the school’s undergraduate publication journal and you were only in your second year. wonwoo was one of the new student recruits, he was a third year. he actually thought you were cute until you had assigned him to deal with international relations— wonwoo had applied for the editorial layout section. wonwoo was not happy.

you probably don’t remember him, wonwoo knew it. how could you? you were running around, trying to figure out the logistics, gather and have people review these submissions, edit and have it all printed before the next term starts. meanwhile, wonwoo was stuck somewhere, trying to solve things on his end. you only left notes on his work, you two barely met during meetings. you two had no direct contact.

once you were in your third year, you had to step down as president and become a casual editor instead. wonwoo became the publication journal’s president that year. you two still had no direct contact.

you unintentionally beat him for that librarian assistant position that wonwoo was gunning for as it'll boost his resume.

somehow, for wonwoo, you were always one step ahead of him and he doesn't like that one bit.

so the day you pranced into the office with your signature bright smile, wonwoo felt territorial over a place where he felt like he finally was one step ahead of you.

wonwoo didn't even like that seungcheol served you the last chocolate cake the day he stopped by at heaven's cloud cafe.

"how could you, cheol?" wonwoo huffed, his arms crossed, as cheol placed the iced americano and a slice of strawberry cake on wonwoo's table.

"it's just a slice, dude," seungcheol looked at him weirdly. "and you don't even like chocolate.”

“yeah, but i wanted a chocolate cake today.”

“jeon wonwoo, quit being weird and eat your cake,” jun comments as he appears behind seungcheol, dropping his things on the floor and sitting on the opposite of wonwoo.

while jun waits for his order to arrive, he worked on the monthly report that his boss has been pressuring him to do. as jun went on rambling about how much he hates his job, wonwoo is occupied with the idea of you. how you were always a step ahead of him.

from then, jeon wonwoo declared a one-sided competition against you.

your idea of jeon wonwoo was simple— he was the cute guy from the editorial team who hates your guts. why? surely, you don’t know.

one rainy afternoon, seokmin made sure to tell you that he won’t be able to give you a ride home, so he gave you the spare umbrella that he had.

“please be kind, ynnie, and let someone stand under your umbrella if they don’t have theirs,” seok reminded you.

“you know damn well i’m always kind,” you huffed with a pout— in which seok just gave you a pointed look before he handed you an umbrella and your lunch.

it seemed that your words had come to haunt you because here you were, walking under the rain using seok’s tiny umbrella, passing by wonwoo who was waiting in front of the office building— probably waiting for the rain to stop as he had no umbrella.

“he’d be waiting all night,” you thought to yourself. you had a long internal battle whether you’d just ignore him but seok’s words were ringing in your ear.

taking a deep breath, you asked “do you want to share an umbrella?”

wonwoo’s startled eyes looked at you and your umbrella. “i’m calling a cab,” he answered. wonwoo wasn’t exactly lying, he’s been trying to get one but the rain has made it extremely difficult to find one.

“well, you’d be calling all night. cabs are extremely hard to find especially at times like these,” you answered. wonwoo hated that you were right. again, always one step ahead of him. “subways are still running, do you want to walk together?”

wonwoo stared at you for what felt like an eternity before you rolled your eyes and pulled him under your umbrella. “we’re walking, stop overthinking it.”

you two were walking quietly in the rain. you’ve been coworkers for almost a year now and you can’t remember the time you and wonwoo had a proper conversation— one that you two didn’t end up bickering about senseless things. you didn’t even know why you two were always butting heads when you two were always working closely together. 

as you tried to squeeze the two of you under seok’s tiny umbrella, you noticed that his shoulder was practically soaking wet. of all the umbrellas that he’d give you, he had to choose the tiniest one he owned. this prompted you to hover the umbrella more on his side, allowing the rain to soak your exposed shoulder instead. 

wonwoo noticed how you moved the umbrella towards him, making him raise an eyebrow. you were wonwoo’s greatest puzzle— he can’t guess your next move and what’s worse is that you’re always one step ahead of him. “what are you doing?” he asked with furrowed brows. 

you looked up at him, suddenly aware of how tall he is. no wonder your arms were getting tired from holding that damn umbrella up. “what do you mean?” you asked, confused by his question.

wonwoo grabbed the umbrella from you— your hands touching for a brief moment. you ignored whatever was forming in the pit of your stomach. maybe you’re just hungry? wonwoo hovered the umbrella closer to you, fully aware of the fact that his shoulder was getting wet from the rain. “you’re getting soaked,” wonwoo replied curtly. 

“so are you,” you pointed out as you held the umbrella and tried to move it closer to him. however, wonwoo resisted it. 

“i’m fine,” he says. 

“whatever you say,” you huffed “it’s not like you intended to have annoyingly broad shoulders anyway,” you grumbled more to yourself, hoping he didn’t hear it. however, wonwoo heard your frustration over his shoulders and he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. 

it was the first time he could openly admit to himself that you made him smile. it was also the first time you caught him smiling.

“oh, how adorable,” mingyu grinned upon hearing the umbrella-sharing story from wonwoo. “and you said you weren’t one for office romances,” he teased earning a glare from wonwoo. 

"because i'm not," wonwoo rolled his eyes "and i don't like her," he said almost defensively.

mingyu snorted "yeah, as if i haven't heard that line before." he said while setting up the living room for a movie night between him, wonu, jun, and chan. jun and ichan were running a little late as they were buying drinks.

"well, it's true," wonwoo crossed his arms "there's something about her that makes me feel like..." wonwoo trailed off, finding the right words to say.

"like?" mingyu sat on the couch, turning towards wonwoo— clearly invested.

"like... fuck, i don't know..."

mingyu lets out a dramatic gasp. "dude," he stares at wonwoo in complete awe. "you swore..."

"and?"

"you never swear unless you're completely frustrated," mingyu pointed out, a teasing look glimmering in his eyes. "you like yn, huh?!"

before wonwoo could even answer, mingyu's doorbell rang. saved by the bell, wonwoo thought.

"oh, this is not over, jeon wonwoo." mingyu said with a smirk, making wonwoo groan.

"seok, quit looking at me like that," you whined as you hugged the pillow tighter, placing your chin on top of the pillow.

"what?" seok grinned "it's nice to know that your beef with your coworker is slowly coming to an end."

"he was probably thinking how ridiculous i sounded for mentioning his shoulders," you grumbled. "why did i even mention his shoulders?!" you groaned.

seokmin couldn't help but laugh at how adorable you were being. "oh my sweet, ynnie," he cooed, ruffling your hair.

"here you go, yn," vernon said as he handed you a pint of ice cream. you were hosting a sleepover with seok, vern, and kwan. you three were waiting for seungkwan to arrive with the rest of the snacks.

you initially thought that you'd have the ice cream later but vernon thought that you might need it sooner than later. "thanks, nonie," you smiled at him.

"for what it's worth ynnie, he finally smiled at what you said." vernon said before taking a bite of his ice cream.

"and now yn is acting up because she thought he was cute," seokmin said teasingly, making vernon laugh.

wonwoo believes that the universe is out to get him. he kept complaining that you were always one step ahead of him and now, the universe is starting to retaliate.

"take yn," his manager tells him, making wonwoo clutch tighter on his notebook.

"sir?" wonwoo must be hearing things. there's no way that his manager actually asked him to take yn, right?

"take yn ln," his manager stresses your name. "didn't you two work on the last summit?"

"yes, but sir—"

"then it's final," his manager dismisses wonwoo "you two did a wonderful job with the last summit, i'd like you two to work on this year's professional development sessions."

"you two make a wonderful team," was the final thing that his manager said. without another word, wonwoo left the office feeling defeated. how can wonwoo be one step ahead of you if the universe is making him walk alongside you?

it was no surprise that wonwoo was everyone's office crush in the editorial department. people would often turn their heads whenever he walked by. this time was no exception.

the people on your floor knew the budding tension between you two. so when wonwoo was walking towards your desk with two coffees and a bag of dessert in hand, heads definitely turned and people were bound to talk.

"here," wonwoo hands you an iced americano and a bag of what you assumed was a slice of chocolate cake, catching you off-guard. your desk computer was showing the available job listings in the other departments. "are you thinking of transferring?" he asked as he leaned closer to your monitor— closer to you. his cologne was easily filling your nostrils. you hate that he smells good. how are you supposed to despise a man who smells good?! you thought. wow, the bar is literally on the floor.

"i'm keeping my options open," you answered as you crossed your arms, snapping yourself to reality. "it's not like you're making my life any easier here," you muttered the latter sentence, though you did hope that he heard it.

it's been a month since you and wonwoo started working on the company's professional development sessions. it's also been a month of torture. you've gotten frequent migraines that you started looking up if taking tylenol frequently will kill you. you didn't like the results.

wonwoo heard the latter sentence. while the month has been torture for you, wonwoo didn't mind your company at all. sure you were butting heads most of the time, but he noticed how much you were willing to compromise just to settle a conclusion between you two. wonwoo liked pushing your buttons. he found you cute even if you wanted to bite his head off.

"is this a peace offering?" you motioned to the coffee and the cake that was sitting on your desk.

"for what?" wonwoo smirked, playing coy. "you agreed to the after-session event, fair and square."

"bitch?!" you stared at him as if he's gone mad "if anything, you made it your life's mission to annoy me into agreeing that going to an escape room is what we need after overloading our brains from the sessions."

"yn ln, you know i can go to HR because you cursed at me, right?"

"jeon wonwoo, you know we're banned from that floor unless there's a serious allegation," you said, massaging your temples. "now humour me, what's with the coffee and cake?"

"oh, i stopped by at heaven's cloud café earlier and jeonghan practically insisted that you have these," wonwoo said casually, looking away.

you stared at him suspiciously, "thanks, i guess." you haven't spoken to jeonghan in a while since you've always been swamped with work. but maybe that's why you got free coffee and desserts?

before you could even ask wonwoo another question, he quickly left without even looking back at you. deciding to ignore it, you snapped a quick picture of the coffee and the cake, shooting jeonghan a quick text, "thanks for the coffee & cake, hannie! miss u! ♡"

"jeon wonwoo, is there a reason why yn sent me a text earlier, thanking me for the coffee and cake that i didn't give her?" jeonghan asked wonwoo, who was busy typing away on his laptop. wonwoo stopped at jeonghan's place after work as their other friends will be dropping by later as well.

"i don't know what you're talking about," wonwoo mumbled, not looking at han in the eye.

jeonghan was having none of it. "i'm texting yn that you gave those things to her," he threatened, pulling out his phone.

knowing jeonghan is probably going to commit to it, wonwoo sighed and threw his hands in defeat. "fine."

“and so the plot thickens,” jeonghan smirked, crossing his arms. “so is there a reason why?"

"she was having a rough day," wonwoo explained, closing his laptop. that report will be dealt with tomorrow. "i felt bad."

jeonghan raised an eyebrow at him. "i thought you didn't like her?"

"i don't."

"funny, because that's an odd way of expressing how you dislike her," jeonghan said, making wonwoo roll his eyes.

“i can at least recognize all the work she’s been doing in planning the pd session,” wonwoo replied, defensive.

jeonghan smirked because he knew. he knew that wonwoo was walking on a thin line. in fact, jeonghan was 100% sure that his friend has gone soft for you. “okay, whatever you say.”

“ynnie!” seungcheol calls your name as he spots you, busy choosing what kind of juice you are going to buy. you decided to stop by at the grocery to grab a couple of things for the fridge.

you gave him a small wave, smiling. seungcheol, however, was eager to give you a hug. you, cheol, and han shared a couple of classes back when you three were in university. you were always supportive of their endeavours that’s why cheol & han always had a soft spot for you— they considered you like a little sister that they always had to take care of.

“how was the cake from earlier? you know i’ve been taking a lot of baking lessons recently,” cheol said with a proud smile.

“oh, it was great, cheol!” you said sincerely “i sent jeonghan a text earlier, saying thanks.”

“thanks for what?”

“for the cake…?” you trailed off, a bit off-guard by the confusion plastered on seungcheol’s face.

“why would you thank jeonghan?” seungcheol asked, even more confused.

“jeonghan wasn’t there?”

cheol shook his head no. “unless jeonghan told wonwoo, but i assumed wonwoo bought it for you. i was teasing him about it too, since he doesn’t like chocolate that much.”

“ah,” was all you could say as you felt your cheeks burning, surprised by cheol’s sudden information. is that why jeonghan hasn't replied to your text at all?

cheol suddenly felt like he just triggered a bomb. oh, he fucked up. as if on cue, his phone started ringing. mingyu was calling. "okay, i'm heading off, ynnie."

you just nodded and waved goodbye, feeling confused. it was a good thing that you won't be seeing wonwoo during the weekend otherwise you would've gone mad.

heaven's cloud café was buzzing with people when you came in.

you spent a lot of time debating if you had to improvise how you would spend your sunday morning. you would usually stop by the heaven's cloud café and spend a good chunk of your time there— reading or chatting with jeonghan and seungcheol.

however, knowing that wonwoo might stop by at the cafe, it left you questioning if you wanted to derail your usual sunday routine.

and yet, your pride got the best of you. no matter how much you didn't want to see wonwoo, you weren't going to derail your sunday routine especially if it involved coffee.

although the café was usually busy on the weekends, today was unusually busy— you wondered if there was a special promotion taking place. jeonghan hasn't even acknowledged your presence yet as han is busy manning the till while also preparing the drinks. cheol is probably in the kitchen, preparing food.

you settled on the last empty table at the very back— dropping off your things, deciding to order a bit later once the line from the till calms down.

while you were busy scrolling on your phone, someone placed a tall glass of iced americano and a slice of strawberry cake on your table.

"you should try this, it's a house favourite," someone with a deep voice said. you looked up and saw jeon wonwoo with slightly messy hair, wearing your favourite black specs and a white button-up, smiling at you. fuck, he looks good. is hell officially frozen?

"are you perhaps a twin of jeon wonwoo?" you asked, completely boggled.

"yn, what the hell?" wonwoo laughs at your incredulous take, making you even more confused. why is this wonwoo variant laughing and smiling at you? most of all, why are they bringing you food when you haven't even ordered?! "what made you say that?"

you reached out your hand and poked his cheek, making him laugh. "are you really wonwoo from sector17 press?"

"yn, seriously, what makes you think that it's not me?"

"why are you so smiley all of a sudden," you cried, weirded out. "and why are you serving me food?"

"my, do you like it when i give you a hard time?" wonwoo said, teasingly "is that a kink of yours?"

"you're fucking weird, jeon wonwoo," you smacked his arm. "i've never met the weekend version of wonwoo and i don't think i like it," you cried quietly to yourself.

"cute," wonwoo says quietly, still smiling at you. "i'll talk to you later, okay? i'm helping cheol and han for the day and i feel like they'll beat my ass if they see me slacking off." wonwoo gently ruffled your hair and walked away, leaving you flabbergasted.

you felt that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. oh god, what the fuck just happened?

the friday night that jeonghan found out that wonwoo used jeonghan’s good name to protect his image, was the same night that seungcheol bumped into you at the grocery store.

drinks were getting passed rather at a rapid speed. for them, this night was a gem among other nights. most of jeonghan’s friends were at his place, enjoying the night away.

“ya, wonwoo,” cheol suddenly calls wonwoo, who was barely drinking— as per cheol’s opinion. “i thought tonight was the night that you were going to get loose.”

wonwoo chuckled, “i’m pacing myself.”

jeonghan snorted. “cheol, you’re talking to the guy who still cannot admit his high school crush on our ynnie.”

this earned a couple of laughs from the group, mainly from mingyu and jun.

“yoon jeonghan, just because you’re in a happy relationship—” wonwoo threw a balled up napkin at him, obviously not knowing how to reply.

“oh, wons, that reminds me…” cheol started rubbing the back of his head “i told yn that it was you who gave her the food and not jeonghan.”

as soon as the words left cheol’s mouth, it’s as if wonwoo felt annoyingly sober. he downed the tall shot of bacardi that was supposed to be mingyu’s shot.

“i don’t get why you’re tiptoeing around your feelings for her,” mingyu pointed out, filling the shot glass again. “it’s not like there’s a company policy against dating your coworkers.”

“isn’t there?” joshua asked. wonwoo shook his head no. “lucky bastard.” shua muttered, taking mingyu’s shot.

“you guys, what’s the point of doing rounds when you’re taking the shots as you please?” mingyu whines.

“i thought you didn’t like yn?” jun asked wonwoo, taking a bite of the kimchi jeon. “or is that like a weird defence mechanism against your feelings?”

"oh please," mingyu rolled his eyes "wonwoo had a huge crush on yn ever since our uni days," he pointed out, prompting wonwoo to hit him.

"weren't you two in like a school publication together?" jeonghan asked, taking the shot from mingyu.

"oh, right! you had like a one-sided beef with yn," jun's eyes lit up briefly, then proceeded to smirk at wonwoo, "ya! is that how you show your affection?"

"obviously not," cheol grins "our wonwoo is the type to show his affection through actions, not words."

"what are the chances that they'd end up working under the same company though," joshua commented with a fond smile.

"and in the same department too," jeonghan added.

wonwoo groans, before taking a shot, "i hate all of you."

"you two have a deep history, have you two never talked?" joshua asked, now invested.

wonwoo shakes his head, "we only talk about work."

"if they talk about work," mingyu laughs, "all they do is argue."

"how do you know all of this, gyu?" cheol asked in disbelief, laughing, "you work at a different company."

"i work with seokmin," mingyu replied "and seok likes to tell stories about yn."

"ya, didn't we invite him tonight?" cheol suddenly remembers, looking at his phone to check his message thread with seok.

"he's probably with yn," wonwoo muttered before taking another shot. this gets attention from the rest of the group— a series of teasing smirks and playful looks being exchanged.

like a kid on christmas morning, a bright smile appears on mingyu's face. "won, are you perhaps jealous?" he teased, with the new-found information.

wonwoo scoffed but didn't answer the question. wonwoo swore he wasn't the jealous type. but for some reason, he can't get over the fact that his friend was closer to you.

wonwoo knew that there was nothing going on with you and seok.

however, seok was your person, wonwoo would always think. you felt happier around seok. if wonwoo didn't know any better, he would assume that you liked seok. maybe she does, wonwoo can't help but think.

"you know they're just friends, right?" mingyu reminded wonwoo.

wonwoo doesn't say anything. he was just waiting for his friends to butt into the conversation. wonwoo's eyes caught jeonghan's. jeonghan smiles, that mischievous smile of his, leaving wonwoo confused.

"won, do you wanna know who she likes?" jeonghan instigates, leaning forward.

wonwoo waits, does he really wanna know?

jeonghan smiles, then says "you."

wonwoo didn't believe in signs— for him, every little decision a person makes is pulled by the desired outcome. however, you were his only exception.

"if ynnie stops by at the café on sunday, will you finally talk to her like civilized beings?" jeonghan's words rang loudly in wonwoo's ear.

"i don't believe in signs," wonwoo states simply.

"and you can't make an exception for yn?" jeonghan knew how to play the game. he's just waiting for wonwoo to swallow his pride and address his suppressed feelings.

"maybe." wonwoo answers, making jeonghan smile mischievously. and so, it begins, jeonghan thinks.

it was ridiculous— waiting for something to happen when he could've just started a conversation with you. but it's so hard when it's you. god, it's so hard for wonwoo when it's you because you make him feel things that he thought were only exaggerated by films.

wonwoo didn't know if jeonghan's revelation about you was a lie, but he'd be lying if he said that it didn't affect him— because it did. it felt like he was back in high school and he's not sure if that's something he liked.

jeonghan and seungcheol were very much aware of your routine. every now and then, you would visit the café every sunday— even during the morning rush. they were most definitely aware of what's waiting for you and wonwoo.

the two owners had tasked wonwoo to help with serving the orders as more people flooded the café. "make yourself useful while you wait for your girlfriend!" was all jeonghan said as he handed wonwoo an apron.

and so when you entered the café, wonwoo gathered all his strength to talk to you casually, even if it sent him through an overdrive.

while you were walking towards the washroom, you bumped into jeonghan who was grinning at you. you knew that man long enough to know that he's hiding something when he's smiling like that.

"ya," you pulled jeonghan to the side. "what are you hiding?"

"what do you mean?" han answers, blinking at you innocently.

"why is wonwoo being nice and smiley," you asked him with a huff, crossing your arms. wonwoo being smiley was something you didn't know would affect you this bad. "he's being too cute for my liking," you muttered the latter part.

jeonghan laughs at your dilemma. "isn't that what you wanted?"

"what do you mean—" you were confused with jeonghan's comment until it dawned on you. you remembered the time you went out for drinks with jeonghan and seungkwan. "yoon jeonghan!" you slapped his arm, making him yelp but he was still laughing.

"what?" he looks at you, acting confused as he rubs his arm. "i'm being supportive here!"

"you promised me you wouldn't tell him," you pouted.

"oh please, he was jealous of seok, i had to throw him something."

"so you told wonwoo about the time i got drunk with you and professed my undying feelings for him instead?!"

"no," jeonghan replies. his eyes moved past yours, looking past your shoulders, and smiled. "but i think you already did." jeonghan says, patting your shoulder before he left.

wonwoo was sitting across from you with a smile on his face. you've never seen this man smile at you this much, it was starting to freak you out.

"don't look at me like that," you grumbled, glaring at wonwoo.

"i can't help it," he looks at you almost tenderly. "you look adorable even when you're sulking like that."

you felt the familiar sensation in your stomach. how can jeon wonwoo just say things like these to you? does he not care about your well-being?! how you'd feel?

"that was a long time ago, by the way," you said in defence— as if the damage hadn't been done. wonwoo waits for you to continue your sentence. "you know, me having a crush on you," you continued, your tone getting quieter after each word.

"i'm sorry, what was that?" wonwoo leans closer, as if he didn't hear what you just said. you knew he was just teasing you as you noticed that he was trying to fight off a smirk.

"i don't like you, jeon wonwoo," you whispered, prompting wonwoo to only focus on your lips.

"that's too bad because," wonwoo paused briefly and leaned even more, "i like you."

his face was dangerously close to yours— wonwoo didn't care if half of his body was practically hovering over the table. he wanted to lean closer to you.

you felt frozen in your place. a part of you wanted to lean back and smack him, but there's also a part of you that just wanted to grab his stupid face and kiss it.

"ya!" jeonghan suddenly appeared beside your table "if you two are going to make out in my café, can you move to cheol's office? i'm planning to keep this place family-friendly," jeonghan snickered.

maybe you should just kiss wonwoo and smack jeonghan instead.

hello hello friends! i wrote this while i was sick in bed & was high on buckley's flu meds, so this is v cheesy. i hope you are all well & healthy! ♡

[ashwhowrites]

Eddie Munson x cheerleader! Reader, what if Eddie starts receiving some secret admirer letters that don't have any signature on them, only some red lipstick kiss on it and he's curious about who can that be, only when he's on a deal with Cheerleader! Reader, that she's starts to apply some red lipstick on that he connects the dots and he just jumps in excitement saying IT'S YOU! and reader is like Idk what are you talking about (just pretending not to know) but then when Eddie sits again she just starts to talk again and she gest closer to him and then kisses him?

-🩷

Thank you for requesting! I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it <3

Red lipstick

Eddie Munson wasn't a guy that girls fawned over. He wasn't a guy girls chase around and try to win over. More like, they ran from him. If he ever had a crush, it was nearly impossible it would be responded to nicely.

He also wasn't friends with girls. He barely talked to any, unless it was on a deal. So imagine the confusion he had when he randomly started to receive little notes. Almost like a secret admirer note. The notes didn't say much, a few words that complimented him in some way. Some talked about his clothes, hair, rings, smile, or his laugh. Which meant this person constantly saw him and was close enough to notice small details.

He had a good feeling it was his friends playing a joke, but he wasn't sure if they'd be that mean. He had a feeling it was a girl based on the neat handwriting, oh! And the fact that every note had a lipstick kiss on it. A deep red, a red that would stain lips. He had to admit, he weirdly stared at his friend's lips lately, trying to see if any smudge of red was still there.

He always received them at the end of each day, in his locker. Well, he assumed, when the notes first started he never went to his locker. One day he needed a random book and tons of notes scattered on the floor by his boots. The excitement of reading the notes brought him back to check his locker every single day. And whenever he checked, there it was. Folded neatly, his name was written on the top with the red kiss mark.

He had no idea who it could be. He didn't talk to any girl one on one unless it was during a deal. And the girls he met with were cheerleaders....no way in hell would a cheerleader be into him.

~~~

Eddie kept the collection of notes in his backpack, not like anything else was in there.

His friends teased him about it all the time. To a point, he believes they aren't part of it.

"Miss lover girl write another one? "

"I bet you kiss the notes at night."

"does it smell like perfume?"

"Are we sure it's not Jason in drag?"

But right now he had to put the mystery aside and work on a deal.

He hummed a song as he sat on the bench, waiting patiently for his next customer. With the extra time, he dug into a few of the notes, his head pounding as he tried to figure out who the hell it was. It's been weeks and weeks. And he still came up with nothing.

"Whatcha got there?" A voice came from behind him. He jumped and quickly hid the notes. He zipped up his backpack as Y/N walked around the table and sat down.

"Nothing!" He squeaked out. She eyed him carefully but moved on. Her movements seemed a little nervous.

He did the deal as usual, but with Y/N they tend to talk about random shit to pass the time. The weed was placed in her backpack, but yet they talked for over an hour.

Her lips were over her water bottle as she sipped the rest of it. She groaned as she noticed there wasn't a lipstick mark, knowing her lips must have been uncoated for a while.

She dug into her backpack, scratching for the small black tube. She smiled once she grabbed it. She grabbed her small compact mirror and opened it.

Eddie watched mindlessly, letting her do her thing as he took in her features. He knew she was beautiful and he knew that she knew it too. The way her lips puckered out as she applied the red stick to her lips. WAIT! RED!

Eddie snatched the lipstick from her hand.

"Eddie what the fuck!"

He ignored her, he smeared the stick against his wrist, the red soaking his skin. The color was familiar and the texture of it was the same.

He smiled excitedly, he figured it out.

He couldn't handle his outburst. He jumped from his seat, disbelief on his face.

"ITS YOU!" He couldn't believe it. A cheerleader, no! Y/N! was writing him love notes.

"Huh?"

"THE NOTES!"

Y/N felt her face heat up, but denied.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" She snatched back her lipstick. She quickly threw it in her backpack but Eddie already had the stain on his skin.

He dug out the notes, flipping one over. The blank side faced him as he slid it over to her.

"Kiss it." He said he didn't care how crazy he sounded. This has been driving him crazy for weeks.

"I'm not kissing a piece of paper." She argued

"Just DO IT!"

She slouched and grabbed the paper. Embarrassed she pressed her lips against the paper. Something she's done countless times, but now in front of him feels so stupid. Why did she think this was a good idea?

Eddie sat down, more calm as he grabbed the paper and matched it with the others.

"It's you."

"Yeah! You've said that!" Y/N snapped. She was panicking. He hasn't said anything but "it's you!" Over and over. Was he happy it was her? Mad? Disappointed? She couldn't tell and it was making her nervous.

"But why?" He asked. The confusion was clear on his face.

"What do you mean why? Why do people send love notes, Munson." She said in a duh tone. She didn't like being played with.

"Well if you like someone! But that's not the case here, so why?" Now that he knew who it was, he couldn't help but feel stung. It was a cheerleader, and he stands by no cheerleader liking him. It must have been a joke with the team or a joke with Jason.

He was hurt by it. He thought they had a small friendship. He liked talking to her and it seemed like she enjoyed being around him too. She didn't run away after the deal, she didn't look over her shoulder in a panic if anyone saw.

Y/N sighed and decided to make another move. She got up and moved to sit next to him. She was nervous, but he probably was even worse.

"I do like you." She admitted quietly, she wasn't sure if he heard it. She barely heard it herself.

"We talk every week...why did you never say anything?" He asked

"I was scared!" She laughed, "I didn't want you to laugh in my face. I know you hate the popular kids and you hate my friends. I was scared you hated me too."

He moved his hand down to his lap, her hand inches away on the bench. He took a deep breath and slowly slid his hand over. His pinky hits hers.

"I like you too. I mean it's hard for me to believe you do like me and this isn't a prank. But I also feel like that's not something you'd do." He explained. "I'm really happy it was you."

He could feel her body perch up, a big smile on her face as she turned her head to look at him.

"Really? Happy?" She asked, he turned his head to match her.

"Mhhm! I always thought you were beautiful. But I don't recall you ever wearing red lipstick on our deals so I didn't exactly expect it to be you."

"I didn't. I barely wear it, only when I usually do the notes. But I guess I was hoping if I slipped up, you'd notice." She admitted

They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. That's when she noticed how close they were. His pinky was still against hers, their shoulders practically touching.

"Can I kiss you, Eddie Munson?" She asked, her heart pounding.

Eddie has never heard those words in his life. He had a first kiss, but it was on a dare and the girl ran away after. He still remembers how sad he was. But now he had a gorgeous girl wanting to kiss him.

"Yes" he breathed, his heart raced as she leaned in. His cheek burned as her hand held it softly. He's never had someone touch him so delicately. Like he was something special you'd be careful with.

Time froze when her lips touched his. He wasn't sure what to do at first, his hand slowly moved to her thigh, resting his palm against her bare skin as he tried to kiss back. He's seen it in movies, and he's heard his friends talk about it. But he's never heard anyone talk about how amazing he felt. He'd never heard anyone talk about the way his body tingled, the way he felt like he wanted to giggle and scream. He's never heard anyone talk about the pure feeling of happiness and desire running through their body.

But maybe that's because no one kissed her

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

[piratefishmama]

I Wish | Part 6

It was a clean sweep, the guys called it quick enough, which was disappointing for Eddie since he’d never come across a monster quite like the beast he had to play with, but no amount of quick thinking from his band mates could save them from the untimely demise of their characters.

They didn’t have enough spell slots, hit points were straggling, their potions mysteriously vanished, the weaponry they were sure they had in reserves had been used, and only one real lucky saving throw wasn’t enough to save them the following turn.

The False Hydra lurking in the cliffside caves of Rainwund snatching sailors, their ships, townsfolk, and livestock got them. Each and every one of them.

They knew what it was too early though, with Eddie’s flippant dismissal of characters his bandmates were supposed to know, his adamant insistence that no, the town was always that quiet the hell are you talking about, Gare?

Jeff made a spot on educated guess.

It still hadn’t saved them in the end, Dougie’s character lost first with a frankly dreadful saving throw, followed by Gareth’s own little gnome who lasted one full turn longer than he should have, and then finally Jeff himself, but he’d called it. Eddie knew his own friends back home wouldn’t be so quick to catch on, which was the only saving grace for this short jaunt into futuristic DND possibilities.

He could completely blindside his friends.

Probably for the best given this whole thing was meant to fit into a neat little segment on a talk show. Not to span across hours and hours of gameplay, they were already cutting it close to too long.

So, Eddie wrapped it up. With Jeff’s demise, Eddie rose to his feet, arms extending in a great sweeping arc “You fought bravely, oh daring soldiers of ill-fate, however upon this sorrowful day, the town of Rainwund was lost to the song of the False Hydra, it, and it’s victims, would be forgotten by the world and all who walk upon it. Perhaps one day, one fateful day, a new team of would-be heroes will find and defeat this deadly foe, but until then… I humbly bid you fallen soldiers, a peaceful journey to the great beyond.”

The lights dimmed, and for a moment, there was silence while set personnel found their places, then the lights overhead relit with the cameras refocused on the desk and chairs, where Jimmy had relocated.

“Everyone give a big hand to the members of Corroded Coffin!” Applause and cheers rang through the studio, over which he made quick work of reiterating album release dates for them, followed by a quick request of, “stay tuned after the break we’re joined by the cast of MARVEL’s new—” Eddie tuned him out for the rest of it, they were being guided off by stage crew, their segment was over, it was done.

The bubble of imagination popped, the activity giving Eddie a modicum of comfort was over and done with, and maybe he’d stretched it on just a little longer than necessary with peppered suspense, but he couldn’t hold off whatever came after anymore.

Steve met them behind the curtain, beyond the veil of stage lights and TV magic, he gifted the boys little Tupperware containers which they plucked from him as they walked by full of snacks he’d apparently pilfered from the catering tables, Eddie however, he gently manoeuvred Eddie into a side room out of the way with a chirped little “and you’re coming with me, hotshot.”

The room which was dressed up like some kind of fancy dungeon, had curtains pinned to the walls, fake candles flickering on tables, and in the middle, surrounded by chairs, was a table topped by a haphazardly drawn dungeon map and a few mini figs, it looked a little bit like a discount version of his drama room domain in high school.

“What’s goin on?”

“Jimmy wants to do a little opener introduction thing with you as the frontman of the band, it should have been filmed before but you were a little in your own head, so to make you feel better they figured it’d be best to do it afterwards. It’s nothing scary, it’s to go with your little DND thing out there, he wants to basically ‘walk in’ on you as a dungeon master, scheming with a few of your mini figurine things. Maybe throw in a little maniacal laugh for him to walk in on. Is that okay?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, okay, yeah that’s fine, I can do that” one last thing to do, not that it mattered much, but it was part of the experience! But then… thinking about it, “is there any point to that though?” Steve raised a single brow in question “I mean, I’m going home right?” The second brow joined the first and Eddie couldn’t help but panic a little. “I am, right?” He couldn’t imagine going through all that without the assurance that he was going home after it all.

What a wild thought, considering fame and fortune had been the goal for so long, just one interview and he was ready to throw in the towel, and it wasn’t even a bad interview. He just… didn’t feel the happiness he thought he would.

He felt… lonely.

His band were off with their snacks, hadn’t even looked back as he was guided away from them, his ‘partner’ had ditched him before the whole thing, he’d ‘blocked’ him, whatever that meant, and even the fun opener with the host wasn’t a whole band thing, just him. On his own.

All alone.

“If you want to, sure, just say the word. Didn’t you wanna experience this first though?”

“I guess…” Steve took one prolonged look at him, then snapped his fingers, the flickering faux candlelight froze, the sound from outside the room stopped, everything just. Ceased, and Steve dropped the mirage of normalcy he’d adopted to blend into the masses, returning to the damn near ethereal looks he’d had when he’d first appeared “Steve?”

“I’m not going to force you to experience something you’re emotionally done with, Eddie.” Steve stepped closer to him, just close enough to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. His hands were warm, big… comforting… fingers smooth but they tingled against his skin, as if the digits themselves were wrapped in a magical field of energy. They probably were. They were an instant balm to his drooping mood in any case “If you’re done with this… if you’re tired, you can opt out, leaving this time behind wont hurt anyone here, you can go back home, and we can do something else.”

Gods there was just something so dangerous about Steve, not in the literal sense, although probably yes, in the literal sense too, but he was so… everything. He was everything. His eyes alone, the worlds most valuable golden trinkets couldn’t compare to the shimmer in those eyes of his, as subtle as it may have been, there were flecks of gold in that hazel-green hue. Eddie could have probably lost every single minute, second, millisecond of his available lifetime, just looking at him.

How did he ever think this man was just a random homeless stranger wandering in from the cold? Better question, how was he going to manage being even remotely normal around him going forward?

“I feel like, if I stay… I’m going to walk directly into like, the worst possible thing an it’s gonna make me feel like shit, what’s the odds of that?”

“Mmmnn” he squinted an almost pained expression, tilting his head just a little as he thought about it “ninety percent chance of a bullshit experience.”

Eddie took one more look around the room, then down to his aged and weathered hands clasped within Steve’s own, nodded in self-affirmation, and then met Steve’s eyes once more. “Steve… I wish we were home.”

With a twinkle of the golden flecks in his eye, a warm smile on his lips, and a snap of his fingers, the makeshift dungeon room melted away out of existence. He hadn’t witnessed this the first time around, getting to that time had been a black out, and then he’d woken up to it all. This time, Eddie got to watch.

He got to watch as the world reshaped, formed around them, he got to watch his hands de-age, the wrinkles of time worn into his skin disappearing before his very eyes, tattoos that’d marked his arms vanished until only the ones he recognised remained. His clothes returned, his body regained its youth and all the aches and pains that’d lingered in the back of his mind as a rockstar faded away.

And just like that, the trailer materialised around them. It was dark outside, as if nothing had changed. As if no time had passed. The smells, musty cigarette smoke, the faint scent of coffee, the pitter-patter of rain hitting the roof and gravel outside. He was home.

And Steve was still there, smiling at warmly him, as if he hadn’t just reshaped reality around them, as if everything was normal.

“Better?” His voice even sounded warm, like a heated blanket on a cold day, instant all enveloping comfort.

He wanted to say yes. Wanted to at the very least nod his head, but everything all at once was so very too much, everything he’d been working towards, that they’d been working towards, the band practices in Dougie’s garage, the ‘gigs’ at the Hideout, all the talk, the plans, the promises to themselves that they were gonna make it, they were gonna do something with their talents.

He’d hated it. He’d hated everything about it. He couldn’t even recall if Wayne had been mentioned during the whole ordeal. Was Wayne still around? Was he present? In his life at all? Had he just abandoned his uncle for deeply unfulfilling fame and fortune?

His next exhale came with a sob he couldn’t hold back, and instantly he found himself drawn into two broad arms and a strong embrace. “Oh, Eddie… hey, no it’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay, you’re okay” words uttered so softly into his hair, close enough to his ear that he didn’t have to strain to hear them over the opened floodgates that were his sobs.

He’d tried so hard, for so long with that one goal in mind. And he’d hated it. He couldn’t even stick around for a whole day without the promise that he could get the fuck out of there at any point, and even WITH that promise, he’d bailed early. He couldn’t handle it. He didn’t want it. After all that planning, all those promises to himself, to the band… he didn’t want it.

He was already too far into his life to plan for anything else. He wasn’t getting into college, he struggled to hold down normal jobs, not that he could even get one with his family name hanging over his head, with Al and his bullshit haunting him around every goddamn corner. People wouldn’t even hide their damn sneers, probably wouldn’t even interview him even if he did wanna work there, which he probably didn’t.

His life was one big dead end. How would he even face his friends? How would he even explain it to them? That he couldn’t, that fame wasn’t meant for him? That the cards of life would hand him the shittiest of deals if he stuck around for that draw?

He only vaguely registered Steve moving him as he spiralled, as he sobbed into the Genie’s shirt. The gentle guidance that took him from the living room where they’d rematerialised, to the chaos that was his own bedroom, and then onto his bed, ever so gentle in his manoeuvring that Eddie only realised they’d switched locations when Steve actually wrapped him in his own blanket, always with one arm around him. Never letting him go. Ever so attentive to his charge. Eddie chanced a look at him, his eyes wet, red rimmed, Steve looked perfect.

Of course he looked perfect. Not a hair out of place, his skin shimmering gold in the light. Perfect and entirely too soft in his attention on him.

“I—” Steve shook his head, his smile lacking in pity but drenched in sympathy.

“It’s okay, Eddie… I get it. This is a lot, what you’ve seen, witnessed, what you now understand about that life it’s a lot to take in. You’re going to hurt for a while, but you’ll be okay.”

“W-what do I even—even do now? I—I was gonna—the plan was always—I don’t have anything else, Steve… what am I gonna do?” His friends would be fine. They’d always be fine. They had options, parents who forced them to think of what ifs, of back ups for if the fame and fortune didn’t work out. Funny how it wasn’t because it wouldn’t happen, but because it would, and that it’d suck.

Eddie hadn’t even let Wayne try and make him think of back ups. Fame was it, stardom was the end goal, they’d be famous, and everything would be perfect. How naïve he’d been.

“Whatever you want, Eddie, you have a genuine Genie right here” he even motioned to himself, smile widening a little in a kind tease, before it softened once more just for him “but right now, I think you should sleep, we can go through the rules of Genie ownership in the morning.”

“Rules?” Eddie sniffled, lifting a blanket covered hand to wipe at his face, it was fine, his blanket had seen worse. God he was so tired all of a sudden. Probably the meltdown.

“Genies come with rules, Eddie, we come with guidelines. You kinda ploughed through with that big one right from the jump, didn’t really give me a chance to give you the run down, no harm no foul though, you’re safe, and you’re wiser. We can go through everything in the morning when we’re less frazzled.”

“Okay… but wait, my uncle, he’ll be home in the morning, he doesn’t—doesn’t know you’re here, where are you even gonna go?”

“Crone used to say that like the Fae—” Eddie wasn’t going to bring that up but he clocked it, the word snagged in his tired brain like a fish in a net, Fae, there were Fae? Fae were real? Steve continued undeterred “—‘my surroundings adapt to my presence’, like how she just blends into wherever she pops up, it’s weird, but it’ll be like I’ve always been here to him. He won’t even notice the difference. Nobody will. Just don’t send me back to my bottle, don’t tell me to go into my bottle. Don’t do that.”

“… Why?” Not that he would if Steve didn’t want to be in the bottle, but didn’t Genies just… stay in their bottles? Wasn’t that like, their homes?

“Cause you’ll lose me, I’ll lose you. I told you this already but…it's been a long day. Listen... sending me back to the bottle is equivalent to banishing me and you’ll never get me back again.” Maybe not home then, Eddie’s eyes widened, suddenly sobered by the idea of Steve just vanishing because he’d said something stupid. “I had a master last half an hour once because he told me to get back into the bottle to hide from his wife. I’m here, nobody will know what I am, nobody will think anything is wrong with me being here, won't even question it, don’t send me back… please?” Steve took his hands into his own, holding them tight in his warm, tingling grip “I—I don’t wanna go back.”

It was the least composed he’d seen the Genie since he’d met him what felt like weeks ago. It’d been a few hours. A few hours, and that was in another timeline, time didn’t even seem to have passed in his own.

He looked… desperate. Eyes wide, pleading. A smarter man might have questioned him, checked for loopholes, traps, anything nefarious a Genie might hide in plain sight, they were supposed to be tricksters after all.

But Eddie was not a smart man, he was also completely gone over those eyes. Tragic, really.

He sniffled once more, but nodded his head, eyes drooping, exhaustion catching up to him after his almost cathartic meltdown. “Okay… but where are you going to sleep?” If Genies even slept, it wasn’t like there were many options in the single bedroom trailer. Wayne had to sleep on a fold out cot in the living room for crying out loud.

“I’ll sleep with you, that’s fine right?” Oh.

A smarter man, would also probably just use his unlimited wishes to wish for a second bed, but again. Eddie was not a smart man.

“Yeah okay, that’s uh—that’s okay.” Eddie was in fact the least smartest man he knew.

Steve smiled brighter than the goddamn sun, and Gods both young and old, Eddie was so very fucked.

[tossawary]

For a while, I kept periodically thinking about F/M Wangxian (Male Wei Wuxian and Female Lan Wangji) without being able to figure out why I kept being distracted by F/M Wangxian. I mean, I think different genderbending AU situations are fun to think about in fanfiction, especially in worlds where gender roles are a problem. M/M, F/M, M/F, and F/F Wangxian all change the story slightly and I think it's neat to explore why and how.

And obviously, F!LWJ would be a total babe, that's nice to think about, but why still M!WWX and not F!WWX? F!WWX would also be a total babe, though of a different type, especially as the Yiling Patriarch. But my brain kept insisting that M!WWX was still crucial somehow and I couldn't figure out why that setup.

I mean, it is funny to think about how M!WWX's unchanged flirty behavior in their teenage years would suddenly set off every single alarm bell in the Cloud Recesses due to people being able to SEE IT thanks to heteronormativity goggles. WWX with a degree of societal permission to be romantically interested in Lan Wangji? Intolerable levels of annoying. Unbearable to witness. Singing love songs under her balcony type bullshit like he wants her to start another fight under the moonlight. He's writing her poetry (clever "joke" poems bordering on innuendo and actual romantic poems) and has the gall to be good at it. Lan Qiren is barely resisting the urge to beat WWX off with a broomstick. Lan Xichen doesn't know whether to be horrified or delighted (LWJ is bluuuuushing).

I do also like the idea of WWX coming back from the dead and finding out that the common people have decided in the past decade (thanks to the heteronormativity goggles) that the noble female cultivator LWJ had a Tragic Romance with the Evil Yiling Patriarch. Poor woman! WWX: "Who had a what now?" (I do also like the idea of Wangxian actually having a Tragic Romance during and after the war. And mutually stated romantic interest and affection still didn't fix anything for them. But it's funny to think about WWX getting completely blindsided by this EPIC LOVE STORY if there was no actual relationship.)

(Sizhui is still adopted here! Noble and pure-hearted LWJ adopted a war orphan because she longed to be a mother but swore never to love again after the Yiling Patriarch broke her heart, obviously! WWX, listening to this gossip: "She what? I mean, Lan Zhan would make an amazing mom, good for her, lucky kid, and no one is good enough for her if she doesn't want to get married, but seriously, I cannot stress this enough, what the fuck. She didn't like me back! Aiyah, I bet she's still so mad at me for ruining her reputation like this.")

Eventually, I realized that the key piece of this AU that I was missing was that I wanted to write F/M Wangxian that turned into F/F Wangxian. Because I think Transfem Wei Wuxian would display (and I mean this affectionately) the most ridiculous trans egg behavior imaginable, especially because it would lean more towards one of those "I was mostly fine living as a guy, but I'm so much happier as a girl" situations. Absurd amounts of queer foreshadowing.

So, Wei Wuxian gets resurrected into a female MXY's body or something and obliviously goes, "Oh! This is nice! I've always wanted to try being a woman! Yes, I can roll with this." And eventually Wei Wuxian has to actually examine the fact that she really likes being a woman and doesn't want to "go back" to being a man in any way, but not before putting Lan Wangji through an incredible amount of new "joke" flirtation. And people who knew WWX before are like... "Hmm. Some things are making sense now."

Things like: 1) As a teenager, WWX insisted that LWJ was such a strong woman that, if they got married, LWJ could be "the husband" and "he" would happily be "the wife". There were lots and lots of "I want to live as Jiejie's spoiled wife" jokes. Consequently, at the Cloud Recesses, at least one outrageously inappropriate joke was made by WWX about LWJ knocking "him" up, because WWX's breeding kink is still very much a thing. WWX didn't know about her breeding kink when she made that joke; both she and LWJ learned something about themselves that day.

2) Wei Wuxian would frequently pull crossdressing-related pranks saying: "Wow, this is crazy. I can't believe you guys are forcing me to put on a dress and all this makeup for this prank! You guys are wild!" And Jiang Cheng would reply: "No one is forcing you to do this. No one dared you. You suddenly volunteered to crossdress for a prank that does not require crossdressing AGAIN. Also, give me that brush, I'll do your makeup because you suck ass at it."

3) WWX would frequently go on rants about how women are so much more beautiful than men, which flew under the radar as a "normal behavior for a lustful young man", but there was always something a little off about it. Like, WWX might say that women are so beautiful and perfect that everyone would choose to be one if allowed to pick before being born just to admire the gorgeous view, and JC might say, "I don't think that's quite right...?" But WWX would just say something like (like an obnoxious teenage sibling), "That's because you know that you'd make an ugly woman!" or, "Are you saying that women aren't perfect? Also, are you saying Shijie isn't the best person in the world?" And JC would have to be like, "I didn't say that! And I'd make a beautiful woman, fuck you! Also, how is that relevant to your point?"

By the end of this AU, there is at least one public love confession that is horribly embarrassing for everyone else to witness, in which Wei Wuxian has finally realized that LWJ used to be in love with "him" and that she loves LWJ back, but tearfully apologizes because she can't be the handsome man that LWJ loved anymore. Even if she could be a man again, she still doesn't want to stop being a woman, even if she's not very good at it yet. She can't perform the required husbandly duties like provide a good home for LWJ! She can't father LWJ's children anymore!

(Jiang Cheng: "Do you have to do this now?! Stop being indecent! There are children here. Also, we're all being held hostage.")

But it's all cool! Because shortly after realizing WWX was back and determined to live as a woman, LWJ speedran a sexuality crisis, flipped a mental switch, and essentially went, "I'm a lesbian now." (Or maybe LWJ was really confused about being attracted to WWX when they first met, because LWJ had only been physically attracted to her fellow female disciples up until then, so WWX seemed like the "exception", until WWX comes back from the dead as a woman and then it's like, "Ah. Not an exception after all.")

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 9: Flamenco

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 5.4k

Chapter 9/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Exciting stuff

Song for this chapter https://open.spotify.com/track/3B7EZgquNKHrSIo2tEc8mK?si=2ce2f0ac782f484c

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Having a type-A personality has its perks. When you're not procrastinating or hiding from the world under your covers, you're girlbossing it hard. Like most mornings, you woke up at the second strike of your 6 AM alarm. No snooze, no excuses. The world didn’t wait for you; frankly, you weren’t about to let it get ahead.

Your private Pilates instructor was already on her way to destroy your body (figuratively, of course) in the garage studio. You shuffled into your kitchen, still half-asleep, and sipped on your lemon water while mentally preparing yourself for the torture—sorry, workout. The thought of the inevitable soreness made you groan, but you reminded yourself it was worth it. Your Type-A brain thrived on the discipline, and it felt good to start the day strong.

When the instructor arrived, you were dressed in sleek athleisure, hair tied back in a low ponytail, ready to pretend you enjoyed every second of it. You even entertained Luxe when she motivated you through what could be considered hate speech. You would never admit it, but you appreciated the encouragement, regardless of its content.

One hour later, you were showered and ready for work. Your skin glowed, and you felt great despite your muscles burning. It was time to get Isabella awake. You shuffled into her bedroom, snorting at how neat it was, as you moved to sit on her bed.

You rested a hand on what you could assume was her back, gently calling for her to wake up.

"Bella, come on, time for school,"

Isabella stirred under her blankets, her tiny body shifting closer to the pillow as if she could burrow away from the morning. A muffled groan escaped her, followed by a sleepy, "Five more minutes, Mama."

You chuckled, smoothing a hand over the soft fabric covering her back. "Five more minutes turns into fifteen, and then we're running late. Come on, Bella. Up and at 'em."

She peeked out from under the blanket, her curly hair sticking up in all directions. Her face was adorably pouty, and her eyes were barely open. "Do I have to?" she mumbled.

"Yes, you do. Education is important, remember?" you teased, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "And besides, you love school. You told me last night you couldn’t wait to show Ms. Thompson your drawing."

That jogged her memory. Isabella sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning loudly. "Oh yeah," she said, her voice still thick with sleep. "Okay, I'm getting up."

"Good girl," you praised, patting her back as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast, okay?"

Isabella nodded, her small frame shuffling off to the bathroom. You smiled as you headed back to the kitchen, already planning the quick breakfast lineup. Multitasking was your superpower, and mornings like this reminded you why you thrived in the chaos.

Your phone buzzed on the counter as you packed her lunch and brewed your first cup of coffee. Monica's name lit up the screen.

“Hey, good morning. Will you pick up a coffee?"

"Yes, please,"

You switched the contacts to Natasha and sent her a cute message for whenever she woke up.

"Hope you have a good morning, baby. I'll be thinking about you. See you later x."

As you set Isabella’s lunchbox aside and sipped your coffee, you heard the soft shuffle of her footsteps approaching. She appeared in the doorway, her curls now somewhat tamed and her little face freshly washed. Isabella stood there for a moment, rubbing her eyes before making her way over to you.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her head against your side. You glanced down at her, your heart swelling at the gesture. Setting your coffee on the counter, you opened your arms wider, pulling her into a proper hug.

"Good morning again, munchkin," you said softly, smoothing stray hairs from her face.

"Morning, Mama," she murmured, leaning into the embrace like it was the safest place in the world.

You held her tighter, savoring the warmth and love she gave so freely. Moments like this weren’t uncommon, but they always reminded you how lucky you were. Isabella had always been affectionate, kind, and thoughtful—a reflection of what you and Sam had worked hard to instill in her.

"You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?" you whispered, kissing the top of her head.

Isabella smiled, her arms tightening around you. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true," you replied, pulling back just enough to look into her big, expressive eyes. "You’re the best part of my mornings, Bella. Always. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," She shrugged as she began to grab the fresh toast from the toaster. She spread a generous amount of Nutella on her toast before taking some of the fruit you'd sliced.

"So," you began, leaning back against the counter and sipping your coffee, "are you excited for school today?"

"Yeah," she nodded, a streak of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. "Ms. Thompson said we could watch a movie in class, and we're gonna get our new math books today."

"That's great," you smiled.

"Are you still going to the studio with Natasha later?" She inquired.

"Yeah, I am. We have a full schedule today. But I'll be home early. We'll have time to make dinner together. Sound good?"

Isabella sighed. "I really wanted to go to the studio with you. I want a chance to hang with the guys."

"I know," You checked your calendar today. "You probably won't be available for the beginning, but how about I have Reagan bring you to the studio? You can sit with us for a little while. Though, I think it's not an environment for a little girl."

"That would be awesome, Mama." She grinned.

You grabbed the lunch box and held it out to her. Isabella took it and slipped it into her backpack, then slung it over her shoulder.

"Alright, you got everything?" You asked, grabbing your coffee and keys and heading for the door.

Isabella nodded. "Mhm, all set."

"Perfect, let's go. And don't forget your headphones."

You walked out the front door, locking it behind you, and headed toward the car. The sun was rising; the sky was filled with shades of orange and pink. As the two of you buckled in, you looked over at Isabella. It was a perfect morning for the both of you.

The morning rush was well underway when you dropped Isabella off at school. The streets were filled with activity, but you managed to weave through traffic like a seasoned pro. As soon as you parked at the office, your phone buzzed in your bag.

The ringtone alone was enough to make you sigh. Work started early, and the day was already throwing curveballs.

"Hi, Karen," you greeted as you stepped into the building, heels clicking against the polished floors. "What’s going on?"

Karen’s voice was sharp on the other end. "We’ve got a situation with one of our clients. They posted something... let’s just say, off-brand, and now the comments section is an absolute war zone. "

"Great," you muttered, offering a quick wave to Monica, who was waiting for you near the elevator. She stepped beside you and handed you your coffee. You balanced your cup, handbag, and phone all at once. It was either something political or something to do with her ex?

"Both," Karen replied. "And I need you here. Stat. We have a crisis management meeting, and we need to act fast. Can you come in right away?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm in the lobby. I'll see you in twenty."

You ended the call, and a heavy sigh escaped your lips. Monica looked over, sympathy written all over her features.

"What was that all about?" she asked, following you onto the elevator.

"We have a client situation," you explained, tapping your foot impatiently as the elevator climbed. "Karen needs me in her office. ASAP."

Monica hummed, taking a sip of her drink. "Well, hopefully, it's not too bad."

"It's a bad thing we need a new PR thing by the end of the day," you shook your head. "I'll know more once I check it out. I've been staying off of social media for a while."

"Oh, you mean it's not normal to gain two hundred thousand followers in four months?" She teased.

"No, actually," You shook your head. "They all just want glimpses of Natasha and me. Which I'm fine with for the most part."

"And how are things with her?" Monica asked, tilting her head curiously.

You smiled, a blush coloring your cheeks. "Amazing. It's... it's everything I could have hoped for. We've been spending a lot of time together. Getting to know each other. But also getting to know our dynamic, y'know?"

"It sounds like she's the real deal, huh?" Monica guessed. She followed you to your office and stood in the doorway.

"Yeah? I mean, I guess?" You dropped your things onto your desk. "It's so interesting, to be quite honest. After Sam and I divorced, everyone I dated didn't seem to fit. With Natasha, it feels natural. It just feels like this is what was supposed to happen."

"Wow, I didn't know it was that deep," Monica joked.

"I guess it's just because she makes me feel good. When I'm with her, it's like I can be myself without worrying about anything. Like I don't have to put on a mask." You shrugged.

"Aww, you're in love."

"I know."

"Have you told her yet?" Monica pressed.

You paused, your mind reverting to the moments you shared with her. There was no denying how deeply you cared about her. It wasn't just infatuation.

"Yeah," you breathed, your chest swelling. "Yeah, I did."

"What did she say?"

"Well, technically, she said it first." you shrugged.

Monica's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in exaggerated shock. "She said it first? Oh my God, this is serious!"

You couldn't help but laugh at her reaction as you moved around your desk, straightening a few papers and powering your computer. "I guess it is," you admitted, the blush on your cheeks deepening. "But honestly, it felt so right. We were just... in the moment. I didn’t even have to think about it."

Monica leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. "I love this for you. You deserve it, after everything with Sam. Speaking of, does Isabella know how serious things are between you two?"

"Not yet," you replied, pulling your chair out and settling in. "I mean, she knows Natasha’s important to me, and she adores her. But I’m still trying to take it slow, y’know? I don’t want to rush anything. It’s a big change for all of us."

"Smart move," Monica agreed. "You’re handling this really well, honestly. I can’t say I’d be this level-headed if I were in your shoes."

You chuckled, grabbing your planner to skim through your schedule for the day. "Trust me, it’s a balancing act. Between work, Isabella, and this relationship... it’s a lot. But it’s worth it."

Monica pushed off the doorway, giving you a soft smile. "Well, I’m rooting for you guys. Natasha seems like she really gets you, and that’s rare."

"Thanks, Monica. That means a lot," you said sincerely.

"Anytime. Now," she gestured to the stack of papers in her arms, "Are you still going to meet Karen upstairs?"

"Oh, shit, I almost forgot." You shook your head.

And the day began.

****

The morning light barely filtered through the blackout curtains of Natasha’s bedroom as she groaned at the sound of voices coming from somewhere in the hallway. It’s 9:00 AM, far too early for her usual standards, but last night’s recording session had dragged well into the early hours. Her body felt like it was weighed down by bricks as she blindly groped for her phone on the nightstand.

The screen lights up:

y/n: Good morning, rockstar. Don’t forget Mitch at 10:30.

Natasha smirked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She typed back quickly:

I remember. Barely. Coffee first. I love you.

Rolling out of bed, she grabbed a hoodie from the floor and pulled it over her tank top before shuffling out into the hallway, her hair a mess of waves from sleep.

Her mind was still foggy when she nearly collided with someone—a brunette woman wearing her robe.

“Whoa there, sleepyhead,” the woman drawled, holding her coffee mug steady as she stepped back.

Natasha blinked at her, momentarily disoriented. She recognized the woman immediately: Agatha Harkness, a veteran actress known for her sharp wit and even sharper tongue. When another voice entered the scene, Natasha didn't even have time to process why Agatha was in her apartment.

“Nat, I’m so sorry,” Wanda appears in the guest room doorway, looking frazzled but still managing to radiate calm. “Agatha stayed the night. I should’ve told you.”

"When did you even have time for her to stay the night? We got home at like four am," Natasha frowned.

"Can't say no to a late-night booty call," Agatha grinned. She glanced down at Natasha's Spiderman underwear and chuckled.

"Hey, why don't you go and wait for me in the bedroom," Wanda suggested. They shared a kiss that made Natasha pretend to gag. Not because Agatha wasn't hot. Because she was, and it was annoying.

"See you, rockstar," Agatha quipped before stepping back into the bedroom.

"Do we need to think about getting our own places?" Natasha questioned as she walked towards the kitchen.

"No, of course not, I love living with you," Wanda said.

Natasha nodded. "Good. Because I wouldn't want to live anywhere else." Natasha glanced at the clock again and began to pour herself a bowl of fruit loops. "I have a meeting at ten with Mitch. Wanna come?"

Wanda's face scrunched up. "Hmm, that's so early."

"You don't have to come." Natasha shrugged.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna anyway," Wanda insisted, leaning against the counter.

"So, you and Agatha?" Natasha began. "When did this start?"

"It's casual," Wanda waved off.

"Uh huh," Natasha hummed, finishing the rest of her breakfast.

Wanda smirked. "Don't get all judgy, it's fun. Nothing serious, I swear. It's not like I'm seeing her exclusively or anything."

"You can have fun and have a relationship, y'know?"

"Oh, and settle down like you?" Wanda laughed.

"No," Natasha frowned, grabbing her dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. "That's not what I meant. Also, I'd hardly say I'm settled down."

Wanda scoffed, her face twisted in amusement. "Are you kidding me? You've been seeing this woman for almost five months. And you haven't brought anyone else home since. Not to mention how much you've been talking about her lately. It's almost sickening."

"Shut up, I have not," Natasha grumbled, moving to her room to get dressed.

Wanda followed behind her, plopping onto her bed. "You have. You're practically a Stepford wife."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Okay, sure, but it's not like that's a bad thing. I'm happy, and she makes me happy."

Wanda watched her closely, a knowing look in her eyes. "I think you're more than happy, Nat."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Natasha asked, pausing midway through, grabbing a new robe. Wanda owed her one.

"I think you're falling in love," Wanda teased, grinning up at her.

"That's ridiculous." Natasha deadpanned, continuing to rummage through her closet.

"It's not. I've never seen you so hung up on someone before." Wanda pointed out. "Well, since Carol."

"Hmm," Natasha acknowledged. There was something in her expression that made Wanda wonder if she had a little secret.

"What is it? Come on, tell me," Wanda demanded, sitting up and leaning toward her.

"It's nothing," Natasha assured.

"Nope, I can tell. There's something different about you," Wanda pressed.

"It's stupid, honestly."

"Spit it out, Romanoff."

"I told y/n I love her," Natasha said. "And she said she loved me back."

"WHAT? You said it first? Oh, Nat, that's so cute. You're in love. It's happening," Wanda gasped.

"It's not happening; it's not a thing. We just said it."

"So you love her, but it's not a thing?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying," Natasha defended. She walked in and out of her closet as she tried to find something appropriate to wear to the meeting with Mitch. "I don't want it to be this big whirlwind relationship. I want to continue getting to know each other."

"I'd say you two know each other pretty well from these texts she's sent you," Wanda's eyes widened as she scrolled through Natasha’s phone. "You guys sext each other?"

"Wanda, give me my phone," Natasha snatched it from her. "That's a complete lack of privacy."

"Hey, I didn't see anything bad," Wanda chuckled. "What's that thing with your tongue she's raving about? Can you teach me? I think Agatha would really love it."

Natasha's cheeks burned as she shook her head. "This is why we don't share. Now please, can you leave me alone? I have to get dressed and meet with Mitch. I don't have time for your nonsense."

"Fine," Wanda huffed, standing from the bed. "But just so you know, I'm super happy for you."

"Thanks," Natasha mumbled.

As Wanda headed for the door, she looked over her shoulder and smirked. "I hope I'm the maid of honor at your wedding."

Natasha groaned, tossing her dirty laundry in the hamper.

"Don't even joke about that. That's a whole can of worms I'm not ready to open."

"Fine," Wanda laughed.

**************

Natasha slipped into the studio’s meeting room, with Wanda trailing behind her, clutching coffee cups like lifelines. Mitch was already there, papers and a tablet spread out in front of her, her usual no-nonsense expression in place.

“Morning, Romanoff, Maximoff,” Mitch greeted, gesturing to the seats across from her. “Glad you two could finally join us.”

“It’s barely 10:30,” Natasha muttered, sinking into her chair. “Some of us had a late night.”

“And some of us have a band to manage,” Mitch shot back, her tone sharp but playful. “Speaking of which, we’ve got a lot to cover today, so let’s get to it.”

Natasha waved a hand as if to give her the floor.

“At a minimum, I’m your booking agent—venues, show dates, contracts, all that boring stuff. But we’re aiming for more here,” Mitch began, swiping on her tablet. “The plans for this next tour are ambitious. Bigger venues, bigger cities, and—if we play this right—bigger press coverage.”

“That sounds… overwhelming,” Wanda admitted, her brows furrowing.

“It is,” Mitch agreed, not missing a beat. “But it’s also what’s going to put you on the map. The album is shaping up nicely. Ten tracks total. Seven are already written and recorded, but we need to nail down those final three.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “What’s the timeline?”

“Studio time’s booked for the next month. Your duet with Y/N is one of the final tracks, and we’ll position it as a crossover single. Something to expand your audience a little. Y/N’s name alone will give it traction,” Mitch explained. "With your relationship being the hottest new thing out, I think it's time we crank it up a notch."

"I'm not using my relationship as PR," Natasha denied.

"Your girlfriend's a publicist and didn't play that angle out for you?" Mitch raised a brow.

"She mentioned it once or twice, but she's also very much against it," Natasha answered.

Mitch sighed. "That's a shame. I'm sure the press would love it. They're practically salivating over the two of you. And the song you wrote is beautiful."

Natasha nodded. "It's personal. It's about the moment I knew I loved her."

"So, you don't have a problem writing a song and singing about it publicly?"

"No, I don't," Natasha shrugged. "We're together. And people know that."

"Well, that's a good sign," Mitch smirked, sipping her drink. "This band. Your band. You guys blew up overnight. Everyone has been talking about Velvet Rebellion for the past year. Good or bad. Why not shift to something better?"

"That's not the only reason why we're in this. We're trying to do something great with our music." Natasha defended.

"I know," Mitch replied. "I know the kind of talent you have. I've been around for a long time. And trust me, the best thing you can do is play this up."

"Play what up?" Wanda questioned.

"Your image. Your brand. All of it. We could spin this into the most romantic tour the world has ever seen. It'd be the story of the decade."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, now you think she should come on tour with us? Am I hearing this correctly?"

"I'm not saying that she should. I'm just saying it's a possibility. You're the biggest thing since Taylor Swift and her boy band," Mitch pointed out. "The world is eating this up. And you know what sells the best? Love. Romance. Sex."

Natasha groaned. "Can we talk about this some other time?"

"Sure," Mitch shrugged. "I'm just letting you know all of our angles."

"Thanks," Natasha deadpanned.

"Now, let's move on to the next subject. You guys are scheduled to do an interview with Rolling Stone magazine," Mitch informed. "They're doing a piece on your success. A full-page spread. They want a photo shoot."

"Ooh, that sounds fun," Wanda grinned.

"Great."

Natasha leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair as Mitch continued rattling off details about the Rolling Stone feature. A full-page spread, photoshoot, interviews—everything they’d ever wanted as a band. It was the kind of coverage that could cement their place in music history, a step toward being known not just as another band with catchy songs but as real artists with something to say.

Still, her mind lingered on Mitch’s earlier comment. The suggestion that you could come on tour with them as some kind of PR angle made Natasha’s stomach twist.

Sure, her relationship with you was public enough, but only on your terms. It was the casual paparazzi shots, the glimpses of you at coffee shops or strolling hand in hand after a late-night studio session. Nothing orchestrated. Nothing overly intrusive. And Natasha intended to keep it that way.

Her fingers tapped against the table as she considered Mitch’s words. You weren't just her girlfriend; you were her collaborator, her muse, her safe space. Bringing you on tour might make the fans swoon and the tabloids buzz, but was it worth the risk?

She didn’t want her relationship with you to become just another headline, something for the world to pick apart and toss aside.

But at the same time, she wondered if it was possible to strike a balance. Their next album wasn’t just about love songs. It was about life—raw, messy, and real. Songs that spoke to the heart of what it meant to live and feel deeply. Would it be hypocritical to shy away from the love that inspired some of those tracks?

******

Studio time was one of Natasha's favorites. It was the electrifying moments the band got together and simply created. They'd let all of their ideas run amuck. Nothing was too crazy or bodacious when it came to their music-writing process. The studio was filled with a relaxed energy. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, pristine environment some people might imagine when they thought of a high-tech recording studio. Instead, it was alive, warm with conversation and the scent of takeout boxes scattered across the long wooden table in the corner.

Your dad hadn’t spared any expense on the place—state-of-the-art equipment lined the walls, from mixing consoles with glowing buttons to racks of sleek guitars and keyboards. The acoustics in the room were perfect. It was everything they needed to finish off the album.

A haze of cigarette smoke lingered in the air near the door where a couple of crew members leaned, chatting lazily. Shawn McCall, the producer the band swore by, sat behind the massive soundboard, a pair of headphones perched around his neck. He looked completely at ease, sipping his energy drink as he quickly adjusted to the levels, occasionally glancing toward you and Natasha.

Natasha stood near the center of the live room, a guitar slung over her shoulder. She strummed it absentmindedly, her sharp green eyes flickering toward you, who was sitting on a stool by the mic. The band was scattered around the control room—Wanda leaned against the back wall, twirling her hair, while Bucky and Steve hovered near Shawn, chatting over the latest changes to the track.

“Alright,” Natasha’s voice cut through the room, smooth and confident. “Let’s rerun it from the top. Y/N, just breathe through that first verse. Your voice will blend so well with Wanda's melodies. You’ve got this.”

You nodded, flashing her a quick thumbs up as you adjusted the mic.

The lights dimmed, and the music began to flow from the speakers. Natasha closed her eyes, leaning into the song as she picked up the first chords. In your ears, you and Wanda sang together, the melody intertwining, creating something new and breathtaking.

It was one of the most difficult tracks on the album, as it was so different from what the band was used to. Though you thought it fit quite well. It was a powerful statement for the album. You ran through the first verse several times. You allowed yourself to watch Natasha as she nodded along with your singing. Finally, you relaxed your shoulders.

"That was good," Natasha stepped closer to you. She didn't care that there were other people in the room.

"Really?" you smiled.

"Yeah," she said. "You sound beautiful."

"Thanks," you blushed. "It's really hard to focus on my vocals and your guitar. You're just so good at playing, y'know."

"I have a good teacher," Natasha winked.

"You're ridiculous," you laughed.

"Okay, ladies, how about we take five?" Shawn suggested. This caught both of you off guard, and you looked at him and nodded.

Just as you were about to ask Natasha about what you could get into in the five minutes you had, Isabella entered the studio with her nanny, Reagan, in tow.

As soon as Isabella entered the room, everything changed. The casual atmosphere that had permeated the studio just moments ago vanished. The haze of cigarette smoke seemed to evaporate into thin air, and suddenly, the counters were cleared of food boxes and discarded cups. People stood a little straighter, voices lowered, and the usual easy curse-filled banter was replaced with murmurs.

Reagan walked in behind her, offering a polite nod to the group as she stayed near the door, watching the little girl. Looking every bit like a miniature version of you, Isabella skipped forward into the room with a beaming smile, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. She went straight to you, arms open wide for a hug.

"Mom!" Isabella exclaimed, wrapping her arms around your waist. "Thanks for letting me come. This is so cool.

"Hey, sweet girl," You said, your voice softening immediately. You kissed Isabella on the cheek.

"You've never been in a studio? Do you mind if I show you around?" Natasha suggested.

Isabella glanced up at her, and her grin widened.

"Yes! Can we do that now, please?" She tugged on your hand.

"Go ahead," you chuckled.

Natasha smiled. "We'll be back soon."

"Take your time," You assured.

Reagan and the rest of the studio staff watched as Natasha guided the little girl across the room, explaining each piece of equipment in detail. You followed them out into the control room, where you took out your phone and recorded them. You kept Isabella's face concealed as she listened to Natasha explain what things did. She asked questions about the soundboard and the different switches and dials, her eyes excitedly bright. You added the post to your Instagram story.

"Are you guys almost done recording?" Isabella questioned.

"Not quite. We have a few more songs to record. But then the album will be ready for us to put out," Natasha answered.

"Do you write all the songs by yourself?"

"No, some of them are written with partners like Wanda." Natasha gestured behind her.

"Hey, Bucky, can you show me how to play something on your guitar?" Isabella requested. The usually quiet guitarist nodded.

"Sure, kiddo," Bucky replied, standing from his seat.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Wanda quipped.

"She's not going to break anything," Bucky insisted. "Here, you see where my fingers are. This is the A chord."

Another Instagrammable moment for you. Isabella listened aptly as Bucky showed her how to strum a few chords. When they finished, you could practically hear the gears in Isabella's head turning.

"This is gonna be our last song before we're done for the night," Natasha noted, mainly to the rest of the room. "We should probably get back in there. Are you going to stick around and watch?"

"Can I?" Isabella asked.

"Sure," You agreed. "You can go hang out with Wanda; she can tell you what we're doing."

"Sounds good," Natasha smirked. "Alright, let's wrap this up. It's getting late."

The studio session moved more quickly than usual. No one wanted to work late hours with a child in the studio. Not that seven p.m. was late in any of your books. You left the studio session feeling exhilarated. It had been too long since you recorded music or played with anything. Regan had gone home shortly after dropping Isabella off. So it was just the three of you walking to your car. Isabella insisted on holding Natasha's hand as you walked out.

You'd check your Instagram, not realizing how much traction you'd get, but sure enough, both stories you'd posted had gotten well over fifty thousand views in just two hours.

You'd also received an influx of comments from Natasha and Velvet Rebellion fans.

@stardust_in_her_eyes: I want Natasha to be my mom. Honestly, this is what we all need—pure love and talent in one package! #familygoals

@therealjuliaa: Is it just me, or do they look like the perfect stepmother-daughter duo?? This is giving me all the feels 🙌

and more of…

@lilrocker_babe: This is EVERYTHING! Bucky teaching Isabella the guitar, and you can see how much she’s absorbing! 🤘🎸

@onfire88: Bucky's a total softie, LOL. But seriously, that A chord is iconic now 😆

@softlyguitar: Can we get a full version of this?? Are Bucky and Isabella performing a duet someday? YES PLEASE!!

@paulcasual: Not sure who’s cuter here: Bucky or Isabella. But for real, this is such a wholesome moment! 👏

You didn't feel as nervous as you once did about posting. Sure, you'd continue valuing that privacy, but letting people in with small glimpses wasn't bad. As you drove home, Natasha leaned back in her seat, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. The adrenaline of the studio session still buzzed in her veins, her mind replaying the sounds of the music and the moments with you. She could almost feel the spark of something bigger than just an album—this was her life, her music, and it felt like everything was coming together.

Isabella had fallen asleep in the backseat, her soft breathing the only sound in the car, leaving you and Natasha to share a quiet moment.

Natasha’s phone buzzed on the cup holder, the screen lighting up with a new notification. She glanced down, her thumb hovering over the message. You could see the brief moment of hesitation before she unlocked her phone.

"Everything okay?" you asked, noticing her change in demeanor.

"Yeah," Natasha replied quickly, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she read the message. You were at a stoplight way longer than necessary. "It's... just from Steve."

You didn’t press her, but you could sense something shifting in the air.

“I just—” Natasha stopped, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. The words didn’t come out quickly. She cleared her throat, glancing over at you. “Carol’s in the hospital.”

Your stomach dropped, the warmth of the car and the night air suddenly feeling distant. “What happened?”

“She… relapsed,” Natasha said quietly, the weight of the words settling over her. Her usual confidence seemed to crack for a moment. “I don’t even know what to say. Steve’s saying she’s in stable condition, but... I don’t know.”

You could tell immediately that the mood had shifted.

"Go to her," You said.

"What? Are you sure?" Natasha bit her lip nervously.

"I'm positive," You nodded.

You could only hope this was the right choice to make. 

(we're getting a backstory, we're getting love story, we're getting tragedy, we're getting rockstars trashing hotel rooms, Tony getting arrested again, and broken hearts all coming up soon)

---> next part

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 3

johnny davis x gn!reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 4k words, 3 of ? part one | part two a/n: if anyone's curious, the fics named after the song white room by cream, which was both relevant enough, and playing on spotify at the time, to be chosen for such reasons skskssk gif credit to @hausofmamadas mi amor

Friday, well, that one turns out to be a movie. Not in the romantic feeling kind of way, but in the real movie theatre with a bucket of popcorn and everything else kind of way, and you would’a never expected that from a guy like Johnny. 

Really surprised you at first, caught you so off guard that you made him say it twice when he picked you up, but then he said besides riding and racing, movies are his favourite way to spend an hour or two, which really warmed you up to the idea. And you know, he wasn’t lying, neither. Everyone likes movies in some sort of way, sure, but Johnny? He loves them. Really really. His eyes lit all the way up when he told you which one he’d picked out for you, and you didn’t mind anywhere near enough to complain or choose something else, so that’s what you ended up doing.

And on the way there, he asks what your favourite thing is, for passing time and stuff, and you tell him, well, you suppose that’d be writing. So he says, books? And you says, yeah, stories. Adventures. 

“You ever think about writing a movie script?” he asks.

And you shrug, cause you ain’t never thought about it really. “I could do.”

“Bout some guy who starts a bike club?”

“Yeah, and he thinks he’s the coolest guy around, til he meets someone cooler, that is.” 

He smiles. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, someone they call Lips.”

Then he’s laughing, and not looking at all where he’s going, eyes all sticky to yours, but the road's straight, so you figure it’s alright for a little while. “It’s good,” he says, “but, ah, I don’t think it’ll make it. Won’t get the audience, you know?”

“Sucks,” you tell him, “I had a real good feeling bout that one.”

Oh, and he picked you up in his car this time too, which you ain’t never seen before. With the bikes and the trucks, you thought you had his wheels all covered, but then he pulls up in this thing—real neat looking, all black and low to the ground, but not too showy, like something he could still put his girls in, when it’s his turn or something. And you know as much about cars as you do about bikes, which is nearly fuckin’ nothin, so you couldn’t tell him anything about it, other than it looks nice, and that he was in a real surprising mood today. Keeping you on your toes, you said. 

His reason was something about not wanting to leave his bike someplace he can’t get to in a pinch, and apparently that’s the movie theatre. So, you’re sitting next to him this time, instead of clinging on like a second jacket, and talking all that crap about movie scripts while he drives you there.

You figured you’d be feeling a sort of way about the car thing, cause you were getting real used to having him in front of you, really enjoying it, you know, but side by side? Well, that’s a whole other drug. Spent the whole ride so far just looking at him. At his face, his hands. His thighs in those washed out jeans of his—cause he sits the same in a car as he does on a bike, would you believe it, his knees all spread out like that. And sure, maybe it’s not polite to eat him up so much with your eyes, but you’re listening too, and talking when he needs something from you. 

Plus, you only caught him a couple times, but he’s been looking at you as much as you’re looking at him. At your jeans and thighs as well, you reckon. Between the both of you, you’ve made the car feel like one of those Swedish sauna things on wheels, or maybe it’s just you thinking that way, but your neck is hot, real world hot, and even your brow’s a little damp too. God, if he notices the sweat on you, you’ll be opening that door and rolling out onto the road before he can shout at you to stop. 

At one point, he says, “You like the bike or the car more?”

And you say back, “Well, whichever one you like driving, Johnny,” cause the real answer is that one makes you dizzy and the other makes you act like you ain’t never seen a man before. You’re not precious neither, about what he thinks of you, but you’re not gonna go and say something that’ll make you sound like that now, are you?

By the time you’re finally getting out of that thing, you’re thinking thank God, cause you don’t know how much longer you could’ve survived without taking one of his hands off that steering wheel just to feel some part of him. Not in a freaky way, you know, just something to stop you thinking all crazy like. Some little bit of him to hold on to, like you have on the bike. 

Who would’a known that was the lesser evil of the two, right? At least when you’re pressed up against him like that he can’t look at you, all hungry and curious like he has been doing—and you can’t look at him neither, but you can feel him. All big and strong and warm. Then you don’t gotta sit and wonder like you were just then, going all crazy thinking about how it would be, how it would, well, you know. With his hands and his face and his lips and stuff. Thinking bout that, you know. 

So you get out the car, and for a few minutes you’re free, feeling normal, and he buys the tickets and the candy, and the soda that you need dowsing with, and you think, yeah, sure, you can play nice. You’re chatting and laughing just like last time. And he’s letting you go in first, cause he’s a gentleman with things like that, so it’s easy to feel like you’re a respectable person still. 

But then you’re sitting next to him again, and this time it’s in the dark, and his knees are touching yours, actually touching, cause your seats are closer in the theatre and he’s still spread out like he’s got a damn engine under him. 

Like, fuck, you feel altogether insane by the time the movie’s going. 

No other man’s ever got you like this, right? Sure feels that way at least, like you’re fifteen again, and letting the kid next door take you out for the very first time. All heart hammering and sweating like you ain’t never kept a guy’s company before. 

Johnny don’t notice of course. He’s watching the movie with both hands on his lil’ pouch of M&Ms, and every time he laughs, he’s no idea that his knee’s rubbing up on yours or that his elbow’s bouncing right into your arm. You don’t tell him though, cause these are perfectly normal things to happen on a date, right, and you wouldn’t want him to stop, you only want your brain to quit thinking all these things you ain’t got the right to know yet. 

Like how his lips are so big and pretty looking. Like they’re made for kissing, carved out just for that one thing, but they don’t make his face any less handsome, right, and you certainly wouldn’t call him pretty allover. Just, rugged, you know. Good to look at. And, Jeez, you can’t even go five minutes without something like that. Wondering what his lips are really like to kiss, or whether he’s got any more tattoos any place you can’t see. 

It’s a good thing you ain’t supposed to talk in here, cause the way this is going, something might slip out that you really shouldn’t say. So you just keep looking forward and watching the movie that you’re already losing track of. 

_____

Turns out, biting your tongue is worth it sometimes, cause about half way in you get the answer to one of those crazy questions of yours.

Only a little something, but it gets your heart going all over again. Out of nowhere, his hand goes right there on the arm rest between you, and it’s not just resting, it’s inviting, cause the palms up, you know, waiting for you. And when you don’t move, like you might not’ve seen him do it, he reaches and puts his fingers through yours until, yeah, you’re holding hands, and he’s sitting them both in the middle right where he wanted them.

Before, you’d been wondering if his hands were as rough as they looked like, and well, now you know. And they are. But that bird tattoo, that swallow by his thumb? That’s smooth as anything, and once you start feeling it, you can’t stop. Running your own thumb all over it like you’re in love or something. But his hands are a little cool, you know, compared to yours, and you guess you got some habit you can’t help, about warming things up by rubbing them all sweet like that. 

You guess you’re also feeling like he’s sort of familiar already, and that’s what you do when you hold a hand and it’s one you’re used to, right?

But how’s he got you feeling that way after doing so little? Like he’s got you holding hands and tracing swallows and thinking about his thigh against yours, when really, you’ve seen him three times and that’s it. Which is next to nothing, you know? You haven’t even kissed him properly yet. The other night, when he dropped you home, you got a peck on the cheek and a mouthful of cologne and that was that. Which you’re not complaining about, course not, it sent your heart scattering like a mouse across the kitchen floor, but normally you got a real hold of yourself at a point like this. 

Instead, here you are, acting like you know who he is and what he looks like under all the layers. Acting like maybe you wouldn’t mind so much to one day marry a sort of guy like him—if you were to marry anyone at all, that is. You figure one like Johnny wouldn’t be too bad. Quiet when he needs to be, rough looking, but nice still. Someone you couldn’t bring to your mother but would bring to an office party. It could work, you know, if you were ever really wanting something like that to work. 

Boy, you’re almost making yourself sick thinking about it. You barely know the guy and you got no interest in marrying, not any time soon, and God knows Johnny ain’t wanting that either, so what does it matter to you? You’re just thinking all sorts of things for the sake of thinking them—just to avoid thinking about all the other things that you’re trying not to think about and, yeah, you’re really going round in circles about it. If he could hear you now, he’d be leaving you right there in the dark. 

Then he breathes by your ear, and he’s whispering about the girl on screen looking like his Aunt Tina in a hair piece, and you laugh so loud the people in front turn round to shoot you with their eyes—until they see Johnny, that is. Cause then it’s right back to the screen again like they didn’t see nothing. Even in the dark, when all you can make out is what the light off the screen gives you, that jacket of his means something. One look at the leather and the patches and, whoosh. Suddenly nobody’s got the guts to say anything about it.

And the worst part? That all makes you feel even more like you’d marry him. Or someone like him, if it came up, of course. You’re even squeezing his hand a little afterwards, like you’re thanking him for it even though he didn’t do nothin. Just sat there looking mean, you know. 

But maybe you want someone sitting there looking mean. Maybe you don’t wanna be doing it for yourself no more, and are perfectly happy to let someone like Johnny do it for you.

Who knows, but you really should be watching the movie now anyhow, cause he’s gonna ask you all about it, you’re sure, and you don’t even know any of their names yet.  

_____

“So you like it?” he says after, just like you knew he would, when you’re walking back over the lot to that four wheel surprise of his. 

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What, you only think you like it?” He throws you one of them big, crumply, frowns, with a cigarette bouncing in his mouth already. “How can you not know if you liked it or not?”

“I’m still deciding,” you tell him, cause you are, cause you were distracted for most of it. But that part you’re not telling. “I know I prefer things where I can talk to you, though. Face to face and stuff.”

He don’t smile but his eyes do, and you know before he says anything, that he’s gonna say something in a real sort of a way, just to get a rise outta you. “There I was,” he says, “thinking I was doing something good, you know. Giving you a break from all that talking, Lips.”

“No way.” There it is. “That’s not stickin, Johnny.”

“Yeah…” He nods in a sorry looking way. “I kinda think it already has.” 

“And I kinda think three dates is enough. How’s that for thinkin?”

“Oh, calling it then, are you?”

“Yeah, I am.” But neither of you are pretending like you believe it, not even for a bit of a game to play; like it’s a given that you’re lying, you know, three dates and he and you both know you’re sticking around for more. No question. “You ever gonna light that thing?” you ask, pointing to the long smoke dangling over his chin. You’re at the car now and he still ain’t touched it, acting like he’s not even thought about it since he put it there.

“Was getting round to it,” he says, making no move to do anything other than standing there looking at you.   

And you’re looking right back. 

It’s dark out already, cause that movie was longer than you thought it’d be, but there’s enough street lights round here that nothin’s really hurting by it. He’s just got a little orange on him, shoulders glowing like you’re sitting with a campfire or something. 

So you lean back against his car, right on the driver’s side, and ask him what he thought of the movie, cause you can tell he’s thinking a lot on something or other, so you figure it’s probably that. And he sets off talking like you’re right, going on about one of them cowboys in particular, but you gotta admit, you're not listening to a word of it.

Real bad manners it is, really awful of you to get a guy talking and not even hear one thing he says, but Jeez, you’re just watching those lips and that cigarette and not helping yourself in any sort of way at all. You just agree and shake your head when it feels like the right thing to do—and you know you’re making it obvious, may as well be screaming kiss me, Johnny, kiss me, but he just keeps going. Talking more than you ever heard him talk about anything. 

And right when you think he might ask you something, or call you up on that look you’re giving him, he takes the smoke from his mouth and tosses it. Never even lit, clean as the day they made it, and he throws it right into that grimy little puddle there with no warning at all. He could’a kept it you know, put it back in the box and had it later, if he didn’t want it no more.

“What d’you do that for?” you ask him.

He says, “You wanna go?” 

It’s the way his voice sounds when he asks, it makes you frown a little. Like he’s upset or something. Or maybe, and most likely, he saw how rude you were being and got worked up about it, instead of going the other way. And you wanna tell him it’s not that at all, and you’re sorry, yeah, you’ll listen better now, but all you can do is shake your head at him. 

No, you don’t wanna go. What you want is—well, you’re trying to be good about it, cause he said before that you’re the first person he’s looked at in any real sort of way since Betty left, and that’s a whole load of weird, every step of the way for him, you know—but, God, what you really wanna do is kiss him. You want to kiss him. 

Guess he’s used to you by now, cause you’ve been so quiet that he notices something off about it. Then he don’t look upset, or mad, he just looks confused when he asks, “You okay?”

 Well, then you figure, screw being nice, just for a little bit. 

“I’m thinking it’s getting real hard to look and not touch,” you say.

Slips right out of you, gone without stopping, but you said it in a dazed kind of way, so it came out sort of nice, you guess. Honest without being crazy about it. And he says nothin, no surprise right, but you do catch something—yeah, right there, he goes and does it again—his eyes drop from looking at yours, to looking down at your mouth. Bingo. He’s thinking about it too. All you can do is wait it out.

After a second that feels like a minute that feels like an hour, his head shakes halfway and he says, “I don’t,” but that’s all he says, I don’t. Then he goes and pulls you into him. 

Just like that.

Two hands, either side of your face, scratchy on your cheek and cool feeling cause you got hot real fast, and then he’s kissing you. Not quick like some other guy might, but slow and careful like a man really thinking about it. Kissing you like. Well. Like nobody’s ever been kissing you before. 

You feel yourself curling in, right up close to him, and grabbing onto the edges of his jacket a little. Letting him kiss you, not the other way around, but doing all you can to keep it going, you know, cause you can tell by his lips, by the way he’s moving, he’s still sort of worrying about it. Like he knows how to but can’t remember yet, or doesn’t know if he likes your mouth enough to forget about the last one he was used to. 

And you’re not caring about anything to do with any of that, you’re just making sure you remember every bit of this, incase he decides he don’t like it after all.

But he keeps going still, and your mouth starts tasting like his mouth, which is like a load of ash and candy, cause he’s a sweet tooth, you know, who knew, and he was tossing them back like water in there. Which you’re glad of, cause somehow it’s all adding up to taste like the best sort of thing you’ve ever had, and you don’t think he’d get that title if it was just the cigarettes on his tongue.

When he pulls back—and God, you fight him on it—you make a noise like he hurt you. Embarrassing, right? A little whimper like an animal, or something, and that makes him keep you real close for a sec, just to be sure he didn’t actually hurt you somehow. Then you’re both saying “sorry” at the same time, for some reason. Sorry, you know, over nothin. 

And that’s dumb enough that you laugh right up against his lips, and he breathes in a lazy sort of way, all heavy like he’s not had his fill yet. 

Well, you’re already standing straight again and letting go of his jacket, cause it seems impolite to be tugging on him like that now he’s waiting a little, and one of his hands moves to your neck like he’s trying to leave but can’t make his body listen to his head. 

Course, you don’t mind either way. He could have another, or he could shove his hands in his pockets and rush you into the car, and you wouldn’t complain one bit because now you know. You know what it’s like. 

You’re smiling still too, while he looks at you all hungry like, and you know it’s in your mouth and your eyes and the way you find yourself saying to him,

“Take me home?”

Which is the wrong fuckin’ thing to say apparently, because his hands drop off you so quick it almost stings. Like you were never hot, he was, and now he ain’t there holding you the cold is real sharp feeling. Then he steps back a bit, and he’s clearing his throat and rubbing his nose with his knuckles, and you figure you’ve scared all of that right back out of him again.

“You know,” he says, like it really hurts him to say it, “I—I can’t. I mean. I don’t wanna rush into nothin with us, you know?” 

“I know,” you tell him. “Who’s rushing anything?”

You watch him scratch the back of his neck—always itching when he’s trying to get outta something, yeah, you seen him do it enough times already—and he’s screwing his face up like you ain’t getting it, and he can’t think of any way to put it that'll help. “We should probably, I mean.”

“You gonna tell me you don’t wanna date me no more?” you ask him.

Which is funny, cause you said that before he kissed you, and neither of you meant it then, but now there’s a little sour guy in your gut saying maybe, just maybe, you know. 

“No, no.” He shakes his head, voice all whiny like it actually is hurting. 

“Well what is it then?”

“I know how you get, yeah…you, when it gets like that. Taking you home, staying over. I mean," and then he says, "I can’t give you a life, you know?”

You stare at him real hard. “Did I ask you to?”

“Not yet, but,” he shrugs, “I’ve done all that before.”

A part of you is thinking, God, worrying about all that already? This guy’s a real piece of work. But the sensible part thinks, yeah, you too, even if you weren’t really thinking in any serious kinda way—plus he’s got a divorce two steps behind him, so why wouldn’t he be worrying about it? He’s figuring all this out like it’s brand fuckin’ new, and all the while trying to make sure you’re not getting cut up in the process. A little early on, sure, but that’s what you gotta do, right? Clear the gutter out before the rain comes.

So you tell him, “I only wanna spend time with you, Johnny.”

And he thinks on that, looking like he don’t believe anyone could ever say it and mean it, then he says, “S’pose that’s alright then, if that’s what it is.”

And you say, “Yeah, that’s what it is.” 

And when he drives you home, he’s got one hand on the wheel, and the other on his thigh, and you put your pinky round his like you’re scared of holding it proper. Scared of touching him like you’re used to doing it, and scared of him dropping you off without saying nothing else at all. Just your pinky and his pinky, and the radio on quiet like you’re dreaming, or something. 

But then it comes to it, and you get another taste of candy and ash right under your porch light.

It’s short and a little polite, like Mrs Saccone might be watching, but that don’t matter, cause you figure it means he’s decided you’re alright spending time with him still. Not rushing into nothing, yeah? 

He’s half-way down the steps again when he says, “See you tomorrow, Lips,” and he don’t even know if you’re free for him or not. Which you guess means you haven't scared him off at all, if that’s what it is. 

_________________

part four >>>>>>>

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[blakeswritingimagines]

The Devil's Knockin' At My Door (Kinktober)

Word Count: 3.4k

Logan, a tall, muscular man with unruly brown hair and piercing blue eyes, smirked as he watched you, walking ahead of him. Your figure was silhouetted in the light, calling to him like a siren’s song. He couldn’t help but appreciate how your hips swayed as you walked. He sauntered up behind you, his voice low as he spoke. “Hey, doll. You’re looking good today.” You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating just a little faster at the familiar voice behind you. You turned around to see Logan standing there, his smirk making your stomach flutter. You pushed back a stray lock of hair behind her ear, trying to seem nonchalant. "Well, aren't you charming?" you teased, a playful smile on your lips. "You're not so bad yourself, cowboy." Logan chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as they roamed over your face and down your body appreciatively. He stepped closer until only a breath separated you. The scent of his cologne mingled with the earthy aroma of leather from his jacket. "Aw, shucks," he drawled, tipping an imaginary hat. "I reckon I'm just tryin' to keep up with the prettiest gal in town." His hand found the small of your back, fingers grazing the fabric of your shirt as he guided you towards the bar. "Now, why don't we get ourselves a drink and catch up proper-like?"

A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers grazed against your back. You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his touch. "As if you need to try," you teased, following him towards the bar. As you both took a seat, the dim lighting of the bar cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the angles of his jawline and the sharp features of his eyes. You felt your pulse quicken and fought against the urge to swoon. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arm brushing against yours under the guise of reaching for a menu. His gaze never left your face, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed it. "So, tell me what's been going on with you," he said, his voice low and inviting. "Been missing that pretty face of yours." He ordered himself a whiskey neat while giving the bartender a wink, a clear indication of their familiarity. His words send a flutter through your heart. You tried to play it cool, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, you know, the usual," you replied, trying to ignore how your heart beat a little faster each time he looked at you. "Work, hanging out with friends, nothing too exciting." You looked down at the menu, pretending to scan the options, but your mind was elsewhere. Feeling his arm brush against yours under the table sent a jolt of electricity through your body. Logan watched you closely, a knowing grin playing on his lips. He knew exactly how to push your buttons without seeming too obvious about it. "Nothing too exciting? That doesn't sound like you," he commented, his tone teasing yet sincere. When the drinks arrived, he slid one across the counter towards you. "Here, this might help liven things up a bit." His eyes locked onto yours, daring you to meet his challenge head-on.

You chuckled, taking the drink from his hand and trying not to let your fingers linger too long against his. The subtle brush of his skin against yours sent a shiver up your arm. You took a small sip of your drink, the liquid burning its way down your throat. "Is this your idea of livening things up?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Because if it is, you're going to have to try harder than that, cowboy." He pulled away slightly, his eyes roaming over your face before settling on your lips. "But first, why don't you tell me what you've been up to? I wanna hear all about it." He settled back into his chair, his posture relaxed yet attentive, ready to listen intently to whatever you had to say. Logan listened attentively, nodding along as though genuinely interested in your day-to-day life. But when the drinks arrived, he set aside the pretense and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Let's cut to the chase here," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours. "I've missed our late-night talks, the way your hair falls across your shoulders… And most importantly," he paused, leaning even closer, "the way your lips part when you whisper my name." Your heart hammered in your chest as he leaned closer, his words sending a wave of heat through your body. You tried to keep a cool exterior, but his eyes, fixed on yours with such unwavering intensity, made it hard to keep your composure. "You know, you always know how to get under my skin," you said, taking another sip of your drink to hide the shiver that ran down your spine. "And I didn't realize you were paying that close attention to the way I whisper your name," you added, a hint of tease in your voice.

He chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the air between them. "Oh, doll, you'd be surprised at how much I pay attention," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. He reached out, tracing a finger down the side of your arm, watching the goosebumps rise in response. "It's been far too long since we've had some real fun together," he continued, his voice dropping lower still. "How 'bout we skip the chit-chat and move right along to the good stuff?" Your breath hitched as his finger traced down your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The sound of his voice, low and sultry, sent a shiver down your spine and ignited a flame within you. You felt your resolve weakening, but you still tried to play coy. "The good stuff, huh? And what exactly do you have in mind?" you asked, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. He leaned back, letting his gaze roam over your curves once more before locking back onto your eyes. "I think you already know," he said, his smirk returning. "But let's make it interesting," he suggested a wicked gleam in his eye. "Winner gets to call the shots." He raised his glass, clinking it lightly against yours. "Your move, doll." You swallowed hard, your breath coming a little quicker. The idea of a little game piqued your interest, and despite your best efforts to appear unaffected, your body hummed in anticipation. You lifted your glass, tapping it gently against his, meeting his gaze with a mix of challenge and desire. "You're on," you said, your voice a mix of feigned casualness and underlying excitement. "Bring it on."

Logan's lips curled into a triumphant smile as he caught sight of the spark in your eyes. "That's the spirit," he praised, his voice warm with approval. With a fluid motion, he downed his drink in one swift gulp, setting the empty glass down with a decisive thud. He looked back at you expectantly, waiting to see if you could match his pace. You couldn't help but chuckle at his display, his confidence adding fuel to the fire burning inside of you. Despite feeling a bit of trepidation, you matched his move, downing your drink in a single gulp. The liquid burned your throat as it went down, sending a pleasant wave of heat through your body. You placed the empty glass down firmly, meeting his gaze with a determined look. "Don't underestimate me, cowboy," you warned, a hint of challenge in your tone. Logan's eyes widened slightly in surprise at your bold move, but quickly recovered, a newfound respect shining in his gaze. "Damn, doll, you've got some grit," he complimented, his voice tinged with admiration. He signaled the bartender for another round, his expression turning mischievous. "Alright then, let's see if you can keep up," he challenged, downing his second drink just as swiftly as the first. He set the glass down with a smirk, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your turn, sweetheart." You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at his reaction, a sly smile forming on your lips. However, the alcohol was starting to take effect, leaving you feeling a little more daring than usual. You downed your next drink with a confidence that surprised even you, the liquid's warmth spreading through your body like a comforting blanket. Your eyes flickered to Logan, locking onto his gaze with a mixture of defiance and attraction. "You sure you can handle me?" you taunted, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

Logan's eyes darkened at your challenge, his own bravado rising to meet yours. "Handle you?" he repeated, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Darlin', I'm not just handling you—I'm about to show you a night you won't forget." He signaled for another round, his movements deliberate and sure. As he drained his third drink, he glanced over at you, his expression smoldering. "Your move," he dared, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the room. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the alcohol and his intense gaze making your head spin. Despite feeling a little dizzy, you didn't back down. You reached for your glass, a flicker of determination in your eyes. The liquid slid down your throat easily now, the warm buzz in your head growing stronger. You set the glass back down with more force than necessary, a slight heat growing after each drink. "You talk a big game, cowboy," you countered, a hint of breathlessness in your voice. "But let's see if you can back it up." Logan's eyes flashed with excitement at your words, his breathing growing heavier. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. In two long strides, he closed the distance between you, his tall frame looming over yours. "Oh, I plan to back it up, sweetheart," he promised, his voice a husky whisper. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending sparks dancing across your skin. "In fact, I'm gonna show you just how well I can handle you." His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Care to find out?"

Your heart beat faster in your chest, his proximity and the heat of his body drawing you in. His touch sent electricity coursing through your veins, and his words left you a breathless mess. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure even as the alcohol and his presence were clouding your thoughts. "I…I think you should," you managed to utter, your voice shaky. The room felt hot, the air between you charged with tension. But instead of feeling intimidated, you found yourself eagerly anticipating what he would do next. Logan's grin grew wider at your admission, his hands moving to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. "Glad to hear it," he murmured, his mouth hovering just inches from yours. He could taste the desire on your lips, the sweet scent of your arousal filling his senses. "Let's not waste any more time talking," he breathed out, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss that left no doubt about his intentions as his hand moved up your thigh closer to where you needed him most. You melted against him, your body fitting perfectly against his as he pulled you closer. Your fingers clutched his shirt, seeking an anchor as your mind grew fuzzy with desire. The taste of his lips and the feel of his hands on your body sent jolts of pleasure through you, making it hard to think clearly. You responded to his kiss with equal fervor, your lips moving against his hungrily. Your breaths mingled in the heated space between you, and your hips involuntarily rocked against his hand.

Logan groaned into the kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. His hand slipped higher, cupping your sex through the fabric of your dress. He could feel the damp heat emanating from you, and it only fueled his hunger. Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," he rasped, his fingers dipping beneath the edge of your panties to stroke your slick folds. "I've barely touched you, and you're dripping." His thumb found your clit, circling the swollen bud with increasing pressure like you both weren't still sitting down inside a bar. "Tell me you want this, baby. Tell me you need my cock inside you." His words and actions had you panting, your body writhing against his touch. The sensation of his fingers exploring your most intimate areas made your legs tremble, and you bit back a moan. "Yes," you gasped out, your voice barely above a whisper. "God, yes, I want it. I need it," you confessed, your resolve crumbling under the weight of your desire. You gripped his wrist, guiding his hand against you, desperate for more contact. Logan's eyes darkened with lust at your confession, his fingers slipping deeper into your wet heat. "That's it, baby," he coaxed, his voice rough with desire. "Let me make you feel good." He pumped his fingers slowly at first, letting you adjust to the intrusion before picking up speed. His thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, circling and pressing until you were squirming against his hand. "So fucking tight," he groaned, his own arousal straining against his jeans. "Can't wait to feel this pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." He captured your lips again, swallowing your moans as he finger-fucked you right there in the middle of the crowded bar.

Your mind blanked out completely, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. Logan's fingers plunged in and out of you, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. The combination of his skilled touch and the liquor in your system pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your hips bucked slowly against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. You broke the kiss, your breath coming in ragged pants. "Please," you whimpered, your nails digging into his arm. "I need more. I need you inside me." Logan pulled his fingers free from your drenched pussy with a wet sound, leaving you aching for more. He grinned wickedly at your plea, standing up to tower over you. "As you wish," he said, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease. He unzipped his jeans, freeing his throbbing member. "Come sit down on my lap, darlin'," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. "It's time I gave you what you're begging for, just be quiet and don't make it obvious." Your body trembled with anticipation, the thought of having him fill you completely sending waves of pleasure through you. You shifted off the stool, swaying slightly as you tried to maintain your balance. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, the cool air hitting your exposed flesh. You lowered yourself onto his cock, taking him in inch by glorious inch. A soft moan escaped your lips despite your best efforts to stay silent, but the pleasure was too much to bear.

Logan's hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as you took all of him. "Fuck, yeah," he groaned, his eyes locked on the sight of you impaled on his dick. He thrust upwards gently, allowing you to adjust to his size. "Ride me, baby," he urged, his voice laced with raw need. "Show me how much you love my cock." He leaned forward, his lips finding the tender skin of your neck once more, nibbling and kissing along the sensitive area. Your inner walls clenched around him instinctively, your body welcoming his girth. You began to move, rocking your hips slowly at first, savoring the fullness. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, and you couldn't help but let out another soft moan. You buried your face in his shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds escaping your lips. "Logan," you whispered, your voice filled with longing. "Feels so good." Logan's control snapped at your whispered praise, The sound of your voice saying his name was music to Logan's ears, spurring him on. He tilted his head back, exposing the column of his throat, silently inviting you to mark him. "That's it, baby," he praised, his hands gripping your ass, massaging the flesh as he guided you on top of him slowly. "You're so fucking tight and warm," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "I could fuck you all night. Shit, you feel incredible," he growled, his hands sliding up to grasp your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. He squeezed them roughly, pinching and rolling the hardened buds as he pounded up into you. "Take it all, baby. Milk my cock with that perfect cunt." His lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as he fucked you harder, the force of his thrusts causing your breasts to bounce enticingly.

The pleasure was overwhelming, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Logan's hands on your body, his words in your ear, everything about him was designed to push you further. You arched your back, pressing your breasts into his palms, the sensation of his fingers on your nipples sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core. You met his thrusts with equal vigor, grinding down on him with abandon. "Logan!" you cried out, unable to hold back any longer. "I'm gonna…" Logan felt your walls fluttering around his shaft, signaling your impending release. He redoubled his efforts, pounding into you with wild abandon. "That's it, baby," he urged, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own climax. "Cum for me. Let everyone see how good I make you feel." He reached between your bodies, finding your clit with his thumb. He rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight circles, pushing you over the edge. "Fuck, I can feel you tightening," he groaned, his hips stuttering as he neared his own peak. "Shit, I'm gonna cum. You want my load, baby? Want me to fill this greedy little pussy?" Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of intense pleasure consumed you. "Oh god, yes!" you screamed, not caring who heard you. Your inner muscles clamped down around Logan's cock, milking him for all he was worth. The knowledge that people were watching only heightened your pleasure, adding an element of danger and excitement to the whole experience. "Fill me up," you begged, your voice hoarse from screaming. "Give me every last drop." You rocked your hips frantically, desperate to prolong your high and bring him to completion.

Logan's control shattered at your desperate pleas, his hips snapping up to meet yours in a frenzied rhythm. "Fucking take it," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bar. He drove into you one final time, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside your spasming cunt. "Shit, shit, shit," he chanted, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he emptied his balls into you. He held you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "Damn, that was incredible," he murmured, his chest heaving with exertion. "We may have drawn some attention, and as much as I wouldn't change a thing let's get out of here." He nuzzled your hair, already planning their next illicit encounter. As the haze of pleasure began to clear, you realized that indeed, quite a crowd had gathered around you two, whispering and pointing. Embarrassment crept up your spine, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of smug satisfaction. After all, you'd just experienced one of the most intense orgasms of your life, and Logan had made it happen. You smiled up at him, still feeling the warmth of his seed deep inside you. "Definitely time to go," you agreed, reluctantly dismounting his lap. You smoothed down your rumpled dress, trying to look presentable despite the evidence of your recent activities. As you walked out of the bar together, you glanced back at the curious onlookers, a mischievous glint in your eye. This was just the beginning of many more secret trysts with Logan.

[icarusthecryptid]

Keath's storytelling through their art is amazing.

Like, look at these characters, these concepts, these pictures. Every bit of media used to convey a story. It's honestly brilliant!

I've got so much to say about it so let me ramble about the Harkers today!

Each of these represent something, which is very neat. But the way each character is dressed, is designed, looks even, it tells you something! It's brilliant. The personalities out of clothing and designs.

The Storyteller, their entire design is a story. Every accessory, every detail, every layer. It tells you so much about them! The hat that covers eyes, which I think is a fun way to show how the past doesn't look forward. Uncovered mouth, because historically stories/legends/history was passed by word of mouth because most people couldn't read. Also most of the time it was through songs too! That's so cool. There's so much going on in the Storyteller's design and clothing, the feather accessories, the plants, the straws, the clothes and dress like attachments. The shoes! There's a million details, and each says something without actually saying anything at all. For a mysterious figure, I believe the storyteller has the most that's actually being told purely from a visual perspective. There is a mystery, but the past illuminates (get it? Storyteller has a lamp hehe). Visually, the Storyteller lives up to its name so well! This is a being you'd find at the side of the road, along the crowd, on a stage, to sing of a past, to tell a story. A forgettable but unforgettable being. Too many details that will overwhelm you with implications, too many stories, but not extravagant, still rooted in the past, the basics if you will. Straws are important here, fields, the outside, nature. Straws in the past have been used for so much, bedding, isolation, food for cattle, to soften places, and clothing like hats. Multi-purpose and helpful.

Okay, next the Storyteller's significant other, the Bell-Ringer or also known as Yarrow. Who represents the future! A goat like being who wears Bell's and expensive clothing. If the future is commonly associated with good fortune, this is exactly how it should be conveyed! Not too simple and not too extravagant, there's a lot of details, but they're still rich in its simplicity. Ruffles, straight lines, horns and branches. Bell-Ringer is tall (but not the tallest), imposing, regal, a crown of golden really. Stitched patches on their cheeks, which convey a doll-like being, even as a goat. Their eyes are unique, like all goats, horizontal. To me their eyes are a way to have a unique play on future insight. And the patches on the cheeks can convey that these are untold. Yarrow is colorful, bright, imposing and even knowing. A representation of the future in such a beautiful way. Bell's also!!! Bell's are so important, Bell's have been commonly used to announce big news, important events and presently more for the time. Ringing Bells on a street corner for news, ringing Bells to herd cattle, ringing Bells to celebrate. A bell for attention, now more to great people too. It's important here, and it can have a lot of implications. Does the bell ringing mean that something important happens where the Yarrow is? The future is the sound of bells.

The last two Harkers are a bit harder for me as I'm not super sure I have seen all their details. So I'm hoping I'm getting it right and not misinterpreting what I'm seeing.

Okay! Third, let's go with the Enkindled. The Enkindled is the shortest. Its name can mean several things, like set on fire or to inspire (emotions). With a tree like being that is messy, that is wooden but small, pretty simple and not too extravagant. I believe the Enkindled has the least amount of detailing, oh there's a lot of it don't get me wrong, but clothing and accessory wise, there isn't much. But it represents a tree like being, so that makes sense. The wood that branches is detailed enough. Trees are mesmerizing enough. A truly rooted figure that doesn't need much, but still can inspire. The smallest of things can give the most ideas. A single tree can tell a story, a forest tells more. Again, I still don't know much, but what I know is that there is heart in this being, contrary to what you glean from a first glance maybe. But trees have represented so much, like family trees. But also strength, individuality and expression, calmness, growth and the interconnectedness of everything. It's the heart of it, the beginning maybe. They represent order(?) and that's reflected in their design! Trees might look chaotic, but they're ordered in a way that makes sense. Branches serve a purpose, the way they form is the most ideal path for a tree. The order in which a tree grows, withers, lives or dies.

Lastly the Croon, the tallest and most imposing looking. It has feathers and matches the design of a bird, the skull is bird-like. It's body looks like a bird's. But that's not the only animal trait, moose antlers, a crown of spikes and claw-like hands. The Croon looks the most intimidating. And its name can be interpreted as a tone of voice, crooning, sentimental humming/singing/speaking. The croon represents entropy, entropy can mean the end or decay of things. With a skull representing their head I feel that that's really well conveyed. There's a chaos to their design, but it all makes sense still especially with the concept of entropy. Where things fall into disarray or decline. The Croon looks dosserayed.

I love the way that the Harkers are themed after story aspects. The Storyteller as a name tells a story, respecting the past as most stories are retellings. The Bell-Ringer, the future, every story has one, what comes after. The Enkindled, the heart, the idea of a story, that what motivates, but also the order of it, there is a way to tell a story that makes sense of the chaos within these events that are linked. The Croon represents entropy, the chaos in a story or the ending of it, the challenge or the struggle that simply is.

If I got anything wrong please don't get angry! I'm very much still learning about the lore and details, unfortunately my brain is far more focused towards details in art than all the smart stuff everyone else seems to get 😭 and please do correct me if I'm wrong on anything!

End of the day, I just really love the amount of attention and visual storytelling that was put into Yaelokre, the art was addmitably what got me so into this all. It was the first thing that really caught my attention. The songs and the story I love them too!

Thanks for reading :D (if you're still here) and I hope if anyone else wants to share their thoughts on designs and stuff they will! I can't wait to ramble about the lark too, but my brains too tired to talk any more so I'll leave this here for now :D

Have a doodle page as compensation for sitting through this!