#the cavern club days

[pennylane-dreams]

The Beatles (with Pete Best) performing at the Cavern Club in July 1961.

[faebled-stories]

Turbulence

Kinkvember Day 16: Mile High Club

Nmixx Oh Haewon x Male reader

8.8k words

“Hello, everyone! Welcome back to WORKDOL!” Haewon’s voice rang out with a contagious spark of energy, her words riding the crisp autumn breeze that teased strands of her dark hair across her face. She tucked them back with a practiced flick of her fingers, her radiant smile lighting up the screen. The sunlight played across her features, a golden halo highlighting her natural charisma as she gestured toward the sleek entrance behind her.

“I’m your beautiful and loving host, Haewon, and today’s challenge is taking me to new heights—literally.” Her laughter carried an edge of anticipation, and her enthusiasm practically leaped through the camera lens. The airline training facility behind her loomed like a modern cathedral of glass and steel, its polished facade catching the sun in a dazzling display that mirrored both her energy and the grandeur of the setting. The gleaming reflection framed her figure, a dynamic blend of her bold personality and the facility’s imposing elegance.

Spinning back to face the entrance, her boots clicking smartly against the pavement, she spread her arms in an exuberant gesture. “I’ve done some pretty wild stuff on this show, but today, I’m stepping into the shoes of a flight attendant. And trust me, there’s a lot more to it than just handing out snacks at 30,000 feet.” Her grin widened as she took a confident step forward. “Safety, service, and smooth skies—I’m going to learn it all. Let’s see if I can keep up!”

The automatic glass doors slid open with a whisper, releasing a wave of cool, conditioned air that carried a faint hint of jet fuel and a clean, soapy freshness from the nearby uniforms. Pausing inside the cavernous lobby, Haewon drew a steadying breath, her chest rising and falling as she absorbed her surroundings. The space was vast yet orderly, sunlight pouring through towering windows onto sleek tiled floors. The low hum of conversations mixed with the soft beeping of security scanners, a quiet symphony of activity that spoke of precision and focus.

It was then that she saw you.

Standing near the check-in counter, your presence immediately commanded attention. Your tailored navy-blue uniform was impeccably pressed, each detail from the sharp creases of your slacks to the polished silver wings on your chest exuding professionalism. Yet, it was your demeanor that truly captured her focus—a calm, collected confidence that made the bustling environment seem to orbit around you. When your eyes met hers, there was something both grounding and electric in your gaze, a quiet assurance paired with a welcoming warmth.

“Welcome aboard, Haewon,” you said, your voice low and steady, carrying an effortless blend of authority and approachability. Extending a hand toward her, you added with a faint smirk, “Ready for a crash course in being a flight attendant?”

She took your hand, her grip firm yet lingering just a beat longer than necessary. “Oh, I think I’m ready,” she replied, her tone light with a teasing edge. A playful glance back at the camera crew underscored her words. “The question is—are you ready for me?”

The faintest flicker of amusement crossed your face, softening your otherwise composed expression. “I’ve trained a lot of people,” you said smoothly, your tone betraying nothing but cool professionalism. “But I have a feeling you’re going to be... different.”

Her laugh rang out, light and musical. “You have no idea.”

Falling into step beside you, Haewon matched your calm stride, her eyes occasionally flicking toward you as if trying to decipher the layers beneath your poised exterior. The hallway stretched ahead, its polished floors gleaming under the soft glow of overhead lights. The distant hum of simulators grew louder with each step, a low, almost hypnotic vibration that thrummed through the air.

“So,” she began, her voice playful, “do you always keep it this formal, or are you saving the charm for later?”

You glanced at her sidelong, the corner of your mouth twitching in the faintest smile. “Let’s focus on the basics first,” you replied, your tone both firm and teasing. “Charm might come later—if you earn it.”

She let out a soft laugh, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she shot you a challenging look. “Challenge accepted.”

When the training cabin came into view, Haewon slowed, her steps faltering ever so slightly as she took in the scene before her. The replica interior was a flawless facsimile of an airplane cabin, every detail meticulously crafted to mimic reality. Pristine rows of fabric seats stretched into the distance, their neatly aligned headrests giving an air of almost military precision.

Overhead compartments gleamed under the soft fluorescent lighting, their edges perfectly contoured. At the far end, emergency equipment was arranged with a precision that exuded both order and a subtle, sobering weight.

For the first time, Haewon felt the enormity of the task ahead. Her playful energy wavered just a touch, replaced by a flicker of trepidation. This wasn’t just another challenge for the cameras—this was about responsibility. Lives could depend on what she was about to learn.

“We’re starting with the safety demonstration,” you said, your voice calm but carrying a note of gravity that pulled her back into the moment. “Passengers rely on flight attendants to guide them in emergencies, so this is one of the most critical parts of the job. You’ll learn how to operate the oxygen masks, life jackets, and cabin doors.”

“No pressure, right?” she quipped, her grin returning, though there was an edge of nervousness beneath it.

You gave her a reassuring smile, stepping forward with practiced ease to open an overhead compartment. The soft click of the latch released the panel, and you retrieved a bright yellow oxygen mask. The tubing coiled slightly as you held it aloft, the rubberized surface gleaming under the lights.

“Step by step,” you said, offering the mask to her. Your hand brushed hers briefly, the contact fleeting yet charged enough to make her pause. Haewon quickly recovered, mimicking your demonstration as she secured the mask over her face. Her movements were careful, deliberate, though she couldn’t help but notice how your steady gaze stayed on her, assessing, encouraging.

“Not bad,” you remarked, a flicker of amusement in your eyes as she fumbled slightly with the straps. “You’re a quick study.”

“I’m great at learning... with the right teacher,” she replied, her smirk returning as her confidence steadied.

Your expression didn’t waver, though there was an unmistakable warmth in your tone as you handed her a life jacket next. “We’ll see if that holds true,” you said. “Let’s keep going.”

The training session continued with a steady rhythm, each task blending professionalism with an undercurrent of tension that simmered just below the surface. As you demonstrated how to secure the life jacket, Haewon’s focus wavered. Her attention was drawn to the way your hands moved—precise, confident, every gesture purposeful.

When you stepped closer to adjust the straps on her shoulders, your fingers brushed against her collarbone. The contact was fleeting but sent a ripple of heat through her skin, as if the touch carried an unspoken promise. Her breath caught for just a second, and a soft flush crept up her neck before she quickly composed herself, hiding her reaction behind a practiced, teasing grin.

“There,” you said, stepping back to assess your work. A faint smile played at the corners of your lips, a mix of satisfaction and subtle amusement. “Now you’re ready.”

“Think I’ll pass the test?” she asked, her tone light, though a slight waver betrayed her lingering nerves.

“You’re doing well so far,” you replied, your voice low and steady, the warmth in your tone an unspoken reassurance. The way your gaze lingered on hers for just a moment longer than necessary sent her pulse racing. Then, as if sensing the shift, you turned away smoothly, giving her the space to collect herself.

When the meal service portion of the training began, Haewon found herself walking a fine line between playful confidence and distraction. Carrying the serving tray through the narrow aisles of the mock cabin was surprisingly challenging, especially with you standing close. Your quiet observations, both grounding and unnerving, felt like a spotlight she couldn’t escape. She could feel your presence even when you weren’t speaking, your calm authority acting as both a guide and a silent challenge.

By the end of the ground training, Haewon was beaming with pride. Her earlier apprehension had melted into a palpable sense of accomplishment. She straightened her posture, adjusting the collar of her uniform as she turned to you. “Not bad for my first day, right?” she teased.

“You’ve done well,” you admitted, a hint of warmth softening your typically composed demeanor. But then your expression shifted, a spark of anticipation flashing in your eyes. “But we’re not done yet. In about an hour, you’ll put everything you’ve learned to the test—on a real flight.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, though excitement quickly replaced any hesitation. “An actual flight? Already?”

You nodded, your faint smirk returning. “No pressure.”

Her laugh was bright and full of confidence, though a nervous energy buzzed beneath the surface. “Bring it on.”

-----

The short break passed in a blur, and before Haewon knew it, she was standing in the aisle of an actual airplane, her hands clutching a laminated safety demonstration card. The hum of the engines filled the cabin, a low, steady vibration that thrummed through her feet and echoed in her chest. The lighting overhead cast a warm glow, softening the sharp lines of the space and lending it a strangely intimate atmosphere.

You stood nearby, your posture relaxed but your gaze sharp, watching her every move with quiet intensity. Despite the weight of your presence, Haewon felt a thread of camaraderie growing between you, a subtle shift in the dynamic that had begun during the ground training. She could see it in the way your gaze softened when she stumbled slightly, and in the faint curl of your lips when she recovered with a self-deprecating joke.

The flight was already underway, the cabin filled with the faint murmur of passengers chatting, flipping through magazines, and settling into their seats. The scent of coffee brewing in the galley mingled with the sterile metallic tang of the recycled air, creating a distinct atmosphere unique to being miles above the earth.

Haewon stood near the forward galley, her hand resting lightly on the counter. She adjusted her uniform self-consciously, keenly aware of your steady presence just a few steps away.

“Ready for service?” you asked, your tone calm, with just enough of a challenge to make her lift her chin confidently.

“Born ready,” she quipped, grabbing a tray from the counter with a playful flourish. Her confidence faltered slightly when the tray shifted awkwardly in her hands, but she recovered quickly, shooting you a grin. “No big deal—I’ve got this.”

Your lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. “Let’s hope the passengers feel the same.”

Haewon stepped into the aisle, her posture straightening as she approached her first task: offering drinks and snacks to the passengers. The tray was heavier than she anticipated, the weight testing her balance as she maneuvered through the narrow space. Her heart beat a little faster when she caught you watching her, your gaze steady, assessing, and just a touch amused.

As she handed a cup of coffee to an elderly passenger, she glanced over her shoulder. “See? Flawless,” she said lightly, her grin widening.

“Not bad,” you replied, following her at a measured pace. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

“I’m more than getting the hang of it,” she retorted, her voice playful as she breezed past you to the next row. “I’m a natural.”

The subtle challenge in her tone drew a soft chuckle from you, though your expression remained composed. The exchange felt like a dance, her energy bouncing off your calm reserve in a way that kept her sharp and on edge.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you said, your voice low enough that only she could hear. “The day’s not over yet.”

By the time the aisle service was complete, Haewon’s steps carried a bit more confidence. She returned to the galley, her tray empty, and set it down with a triumphant flourish. “Mission accomplished,” she declared, turning to face you.

“You’ve done well,” you acknowledged, a note of approval in your tone that made her pulse quicken. “But the real test is consistency.”

“Oh, I’m all about consistency,” she replied, tilting her head challengingly. “Care to test me?”

Your gaze lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary, the tension between you thickening with every second of silence. Just as the moment threatened to stretch into something unspoken, a chime from the cabin interrupted. You glanced away first, your professionalism snapping back into place like a shield.

“Passengers first,” you said, your tone lighter now, though the flicker of warmth in your eyes remained.

Haewon followed your lead for the rest of the flight, her confidence growing with every completed task. Yet, no matter how routine the work became, she couldn’t ignore the charged undercurrent in your interactions. Every time you brushed past her in the galley or caught her gaze across the cabin, her heart skipped a beat. The professionalism you maintained only heightened the tension, leaving her thoughts spinning and her pulse racing.

-----

As the plane leveled out and the hum of the engines steadied into a calm rhythm, the cabin lights softened, casting a warm, golden glow over the space. The passengers had settled into a quiet lull, the initial excitement of the flight giving way to a tranquil, almost meditative calm.

Haewon stood near the galley counter, her hands loosely gripping the edge as she exhaled, letting the whirlwind of the day finally catch up with her. Her body hummed with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, the tension of performing ebbing away to leave a buzz of satisfaction.

A few steps away, you leaned casually against the galley wall, your posture at ease but your gaze sharp, still assessing her as though the challenge hadn’t quite ended. The subtle intensity in your expression made her pulse quicken, though your silence carried no judgment—only a quiet, thoughtful admiration that sent her nerves fluttering.

“You did well,” you said finally, your voice low and steady, breaking the stillness like the first ripple in calm water. “Better than I expected.”

Her lips curved into a playful smile, the rare note of praise filling her with a quiet thrill. “Was there ever any doubt?” she teased, tilting her head as she leaned back slightly against the counter.

The faintest chuckle escaped you, soft and warm, like an echo of her own energy. “Maybe a little,” you admitted, the flicker of amusement in your expression lighting your features.

The honesty caught her off guard, her grin faltering for just a second before returning with a bolder edge. For a fleeting moment, the dynamic between you shifted, the playful air giving way to something deeper. Your expression softened, the lines of your usual composure blurring into something unguarded. The change drew her in, the hum of the plane fading into the background as the tension between you thickened—unspoken but palpable.

“You know,” she said, her voice light yet laced with teasing, “I think I’ve earned a little celebration for surviving my first day. Don’t you?”

Your brow arched slightly, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What kind of celebration are we talking about?”

Her response caught in her throat for a moment, and the faint heat that bloomed in her cheeks only added to the weight of her words when she finally spoke. “Something… exclusive,” she said, her voice steady but rich with a daring undertone.

The meaning behind her words hung in the air, unmistakable and electric. Your gaze deepened, amusement giving way to something more deliberate. You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a quiet murmur that seemed to wrap around her. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Her heart thundered against her ribs, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, closing the space between you with a confidence that surprised even her. The smile on her lips grew, soft yet determined, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’ve been ready all day.”

For a moment, the cabin around you seemed to fade. The muted golden light cast soft shadows across your face, highlighting the quiet intensity in your gaze as you studied her. Neither of you moved, the charged silence between you tightening like a drawn bowstring.

Then, with deliberate calm, you extended your hand toward her. Your touch was firm yet gentle, grounding as you guided her away from the galley. She followed without hesitation, her pulse racing as you led her toward the back of the plane.

At the rear, you pushed open the small lavatory door, the soft creak of its hinges cutting through the hush. Your hand lingered at the small of her back as she stepped inside, the warmth of your touch sending a shiver up her spine. When the door clicked shut behind you, the energy that had simmered between you all day finally erupted.

The confined space sharpened every sensation—the soft rustle of fabric as you turned to face her, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the sterile metallic air, the heat radiating from your bodies in the tight quarters. Her breath hitched as your eyes locked, the tension that had stretched between you snapping in an instant.

Your hands found her waist, pulling her to you as your lips claimed hers in a kiss that was both searing and deliberate. Her gasp was muffled against your mouth as her fingers threaded into your hair, drawing you closer. Her body arched into yours, every inch of her responding to the intensity of the moment.

Your lips trailed from hers to her neck, lingering along the sensitive skin as you placed slow, deliberate kisses. Each touch drew a shiver from her, her breath catching when your teeth grazed her pulse point. “Are you sure about this?” you murmured against her neck, your voice rough with restraint.

Her reply came shaky but resolute, her hands clutching your shoulders like an anchor. “I’ve never been more sure,” she whispered, her pulse hammering beneath your lips as she tilted her head to give you better access.

The cramped space seemed to vanish as the moment consumed you both, the world outside forgotten in the wake of the energy unleashed between you.

The space was impossibly small, the metallic walls almost brushing against your shoulders, and the occasional jolt of turbulence only heightened the intensity of the moment. The space smelled faintly of disinfectant, mingled with the subtle trace of Haewon’s perfume—a delicate floral scent that teased your senses.

As you leaned back slightly against the narrow counter, Haewon knelt before you, her movements deliberate, her gaze unwavering. Her eyes, dark and filled with a mix of longing and playful confidence, locked onto yours, and the weight of her focus sent a shiver down your spine. Her breath was steady but quickening, her lips parting slightly as she settled into position.

The rustle of fabric was almost deafening in the otherwise quiet space as you undid your belt, the metallic clink of the buckle punctuating the silence. Haewon’s hands moved lightly to your thighs, her touch sending an electric jolt through your skin. Her fingers curled slightly, their delicate pressure grounding you even as your pulse quickened.

Her lips parted with deliberate intent, her breath warm against your skin as she began, her tongue tracing the underside of your length in slow, purposeful strokes. The first touch sent a shiver through you, your breath catching as she took her time, savoring each movement. Her tongue flattened against you, the slick glide paired with soft, teasing flicks that made your pulse pound. The confined space seemed to amplify everything—the wet sound of her tongue, the low, needy hum vibrating in her throat, and the sharp inhale you couldn’t suppress as her mouth enveloped you.

She started with an almost agonizing slowness, her lips forming a tight seal as she slid over you, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucked with increasing intensity. Her tongue danced in deliberate patterns, tracing every vein and ridge as if committing them to memory. Each time she withdrew, she paused to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your length, her lips lingering as if savoring your taste. The contrast between the wet heat of her mouth and the cool air when she pulled away only heightened your sensitivity.

Her arousal became evident as she worked, her thighs pressing together as if seeking friction, a faint sheen of moisture beginning to darken the fabric at the apex of her legs. She shifted slightly, her hips grinding subtly against the floor as if responding to the growing heat building within her. A quiet, breathy moan escaped her lips as she took you deeper, the vibration against your skin sending a wave of pleasure surging through you.

Haewon’s movements became more confident, more urgent, her lips sliding over you with a rhythm that left no room for hesitation. She adjusted herself, her knees pressing firmly into the floor as her fingers dug into your thighs, holding you steady. Each time she took you into her throat, her muscles relaxed just enough to accommodate you, her moans growing louder as her arousal deepened. The faint scent of her arousal mixed with the confined air, a subtle but intoxicating reminder of how much she was enjoying this.

She pulled back slightly, her tongue flicking against your sensitive tip before she plunged forward again, her pace quickening. Her movements were fluid yet hungry, her cheeks flushed with exertion and desire. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple, catching the dim light, her effort and arousal written across every inch of her face. Her thighs shifted again, the friction of her movements drawing faint, involuntary gasps from her lips. You could see the way her body responded, her nipples pressing against her shirt, and the faint wetness between her legs growing more pronounced with each passing moment.

Reaching down, you tangled your fingers in her hair, guiding her rhythm as she moaned around you, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body. She glanced up, her eyes glassy with desire, locking with yours as her lips stretched around you. That single look—filled with submission, need, and the unmistakable hunger to please—nearly undid you. Her mouth worked with a relentless precision, her tongue swirling in ways that left you gasping, her moans becoming increasingly desperate as if her own pleasure was tied to yours.

Her free hand slid up her own thigh, disappearing beneath the fabric of her shorts. You could see the subtle movement as her fingers pressed against herself, her hips rolling slightly to meet her touch. The sight of her pleasuring herself while her mouth remained focused on you sent a fresh wave of heat surging through your core. Her moans grew louder, muffled by your length, the vibrations intensifying as she worked herself closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Haewon,” you groaned, your voice thick with desire. She responded by taking you deeper, her throat relaxing as she let out a low, guttural moan that sent your head spinning. The slick heat of her mouth combined with the knowledge of her growing arousal pushed you closer to your breaking point.

As you felt the tension cresting, you tugged her hair gently, guiding her upward. Her lips released you with a wet, lewd pop, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen and glistening, and her eyes dark with lust. Her thighs pressed tightly together, her arousal evident in the way her breath hitched, the damp spot on her shorts impossible to miss as she rose to her feet.

You tilted her chin upward, your thumb brushing along her jawline as you gazed into her eyes. “You’re fucking perfect,” you murmured, your voice thick with need. Her lips parted, her breath quick and shallow, as she leaned into you. The heat radiating from her skin matched your own as you claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, your hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her flush against you.

Haewon’s breaths came faster now, shallow and uneven, her flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips betraying the storm of emotions building within her. The vibrations of the plane beneath your feet, steady and unrelenting, seemed to mirror the pulse racing through her body, each tremor adding fuel to the fire already burning between you.

As you lifted her onto the counter, her body trembled beneath your touch. Her thighs pressed against your hips, her wet heat already evident even through the thin layers of clothing. The way her legs instinctively wrapped around your waist made your heart pound harder. Her hands gripped your shoulders for support, her fingertips digging into your skin as though anchoring herself to you. Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms, her breath catching with every soft, involuntary sound that escaped her lips.

Her arousal was undeniable in every movement, every soft gasp and whimper filling the small space. Her hips shifted forward to meet yours, the friction building with every press of her body against yours. The scent of her, faintly sweet and musky, mingled with the sterile air of the lavatory, creating a heady atmosphere that heightened your senses.

When your hand slid beneath her skirt, brushing against the damp heat of her panties, her body jolted at the contact. She let out a shaky moan, her hips arching instinctively to press herself closer to your touch. Her wetness had already soaked through the fabric, clinging to her folds, and as you slid the thin material aside, your fingers were met with slick, yielding warmth. “Please,” she gasped, her voice trembling, her thighs quivering around you as you teased her.

You lined yourself up, the heat of her body radiating against you as you pressed the tip of your length against her entrance. Her breath hitched sharply, her nails digging into your shoulders as she gazed into your eyes. There was a flicker of vulnerability in her expression, one that gave you pause, but when she nodded, her lips parting to whisper, “I want this,” it was all the reassurance you needed. Slowly, carefully, you began to press into her.

Her body was tight—almost unbearably so—and the resistance you felt made you move even slower, your hips advancing inch by inch. Haewon’s lips trembled as her hands clutched at your back, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. “You’re so tight,” you murmured, your voice soft as you paused, letting her adjust to the intrusion. She nodded faintly, her eyes fluttering closed as you sank a little deeper, her slick heat enveloping you inch by inch.

Just as you were making progress sheathing yourself inside her, the plane lurched violently, a sudden jolt of turbulence rocking the small room. The unexpected motion drove you completely into her, the force of it pushing past the last barrier. Haewon cried out sharply, her back arching as her hands flew to your shoulders, gripping you tightly. Her cry wasn’t just from pleasure but something deeper, more visceral. You froze immediately, your heart pounding as you registered the slight quiver in her body.

Something felt different—there was a heat, a tightness, an overwhelming sense of newness that struck you all at once. When you pulled back slightly, you caught a glimpse of a faint sheen of blood on yourself. Your eyes widened in shock, and you instinctively met her gaze. Tears shimmered in her eyes, from pain and something softer, more emotional. “Haewon…” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly. “Are you… were you a virgin?”

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed as she nodded, her thighs still trembling against you. “Yes,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But… It's okay. I wanted this. I wanted you.” Her words were firm despite the tears in her eyes, her expression filled with trust and desire. “I knew it would hurt a little, but I didn’t care. I wanted you to be my first.”

Her confession hit you like a wave, a mix of emotions flooding through you—pride, awe, and a deep, possessive protectiveness. “Are you sure?” you asked, brushing a hand along her cheek, your thumb wiping away a stray tear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiled faintly, her hands reaching up to cradle your face. “You’re not hurting me,” she said softly. “I’ve never wanted anything more. Please… don’t stop.”

Her reassurance steadied you, her soft, trusting smile anchoring you in the moment. You leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was slow but deeply charged, your tongue brushing against hers in a rhythm that matched the gentle rocking of her hips. Her breath hitched as you trailed kisses down her jawline, your lips mapping the contours of her skin with deliberate precision. When you reached her neck, you paused, your breath warm against her pulse point, feeling the rapid flutter beneath her skin.

Your teeth grazed the delicate flesh there, and she let out a soft, startled gasp, her hips pressing forward as though urging you on. You closed your lips around the spot, sucking gently, your tongue soothing the faint sting as your teeth pressed into her again, deeper this time. Her fingers tightened in your hair, her quiet whimper sending a jolt of heat straight through you. The small bruise that bloomed against her skin was a mark meant only for the two of you, a memory hidden in plain sight.

She shifted against you as your lips moved lower, trailing across the sensitive curve of her neck. Each press of your mouth drew a soft moan from her lips, her body responding instinctively to your touch. The marks you left were subtle but unmistakable, scattered along the line of her neck with care, the kind of marks that would be easy to conceal yet impossible to forget. She shivered beneath your touch, her skin warm and slightly damp, her arousal palpable in every movement.

“Hold me,” she gasped suddenly, her voice raw and trembling with need. Her arms wrapped tightly around your neck, pulling you closer as her fingers tangled in your hair, gripping you as though she couldn’t bear to let go. The way she clung to you, her nails digging gently into your scalp, sent a wave of possessive desire surging through you.

Her hips began to move with more urgency, grinding against you with an unrestrained eagerness that left you teetering on the edge of control. Each thrust drew her closer, her moans growing louder as the rhythm between you became chaotic, driven by both the unpredictable sway of the plane and the unrelenting heat building between you. Her breath mingled with yours, her cries becoming softer, more desperate, her body melting into yours as she surrendered to the moment completely.

The sensation of her trembling against you, the heat radiating from her skin, and the intimacy of the marks left on her neck—all of it combined to push the tension higher, until every movement felt like a tidal wave, crashing through both of you.

Just as her moans reached a fever pitch, a loud knock on the lavatory door broke through the haze. “Is everything alright in there?” came a muffled voice from outside.

The sudden interruption sent a shock through both of you, and Haewon’s eyes snapped open, wide with surprise. The tension in her body, already at its peak, pushed her over the edge. Her inner walls clenched around you violently, her body trembling as the rush of adrenaline mingled with the overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as her head fell back against the wall, her lips parting in a strangled cry.

Her release was sudden and explosive, her moans rising uncontrollably as her entire body shook. “I can’t… it’s too much,” she gasped, her nails raking down your back as her hips bucked against yours. The act of nearly being caught seemed to strip away the last of her restraint, her climax crashing over her with unrelenting intensity. Her wetness flooded over you, her thighs tightening around your waist as she rode out the waves of her release.

“Occupied!” you barked, your voice rough and commanding, echoing in the small space. The sound of it seemed to ripple through Haewon, her body jolting at the force of your tone. Her legs locked tighter around you, her inner walls fluttering as the vibrations of the plane and the moment’s urgency drove her deeper into ecstasy.

Her eyes met yours, glazed with pleasure and slightly dazed, her lips trembling as she tried to catch her breath. “I… I can’t,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. The sight of her—flushed, trembling, her neck marked with faint hickeys, her body still quaking with aftershocks—was enough to push you past the brink. Your thrusts became erratic, each movement driven by instinct as you chased your release. A guttural groan tore from your chest as you buried yourself deeply inside her, your climax hitting with a force that left you shaking.

The warmth of your release filled her, the intimacy of the moment heightened by the chaotic rhythm that had brought you both to this point. Your breaths mingled, the two of you clinging to each other in the aftermath, your bodies still pressed together as the world outside seemed to fade away.

The plane seemed to hum in harmony with the beating of your hearts as you held her close, your forehead resting against hers. The world outside the door ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in the aftermath of your passion. Haewon’s breathing was still uneven, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly swollen from the force of your kiss. Her hands slid up to cup your face, her eyes searching yours as a lazy, satisfied smile played on her lips.

You stayed like that for a moment, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of being completely wrapped up in each other. Outside, the distant murmur of passengers and the steady hum of the engines reminded you that the world hadn’t stopped for your moment, but inside the small lavatory, it felt like time had paused just for the two of you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies pressed tightly together as you caught your breath. The confined lavatory felt even smaller in the aftermath, the walls seeming to hum with the warmth of your shared passion. Slowly, you pulled back, your hands still resting on her waist as she leaned against the wall, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

Your eyes softened as you took her in—her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her lips swollen and glistening, and her hair slightly tousled. She looked utterly radiant, the glow of satisfaction mingling with a soft vulnerability in her expression.

“You okay?” you asked gently, your voice low and filled with concern, though the satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth betrayed your lingering exhilaration.

Haewon nodded, her lips curling into a lazy, blissful smile. “More than okay,” she whispered, her voice still breathless and soft, tinged with the lingering traces of pleasure. Her legs trembled slightly as she shifted, her body still adjusting to the aftermath of what had just transpired.

As her gaze dropped briefly, you reached up, your fingers gently brushing a few strands of her tousled hair away from her face. The gesture was soft and unhurried, your touch lingering as you tucked the wayward strands neatly behind her ear. Haewon’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when they opened again, they were filled with something deeper—an affectionate warmth that made her cheeks flush anew.

A small, shy smile tugged at her lips, and she couldn’t help but whisper, “You’re so gentle.” Her voice was soft, barely audible over the low hum of the plane’s engines.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering there as if to seal the quiet moment between you. “Only with you,” you murmured, your voice low and filled with meaning.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment longer, her hands resting lightly against your chest as she savored the intimacy of your touch. But as the seconds ticked by, her gaze flicked to the small mirror on the wall, and her expression shifted. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her hand flying to her neck as she caught sight of the faint bruises left by your lips. “Are those…?”

You followed her gaze, your eyes catching the small, dark marks scattered along the curve of her neck. Her cheeks turned crimson, and her hand trembled as she traced the marks. “People will see,” she muttered, her voice rising in a soft panic. “What am I going to do? I can’t—”

“Haewon,” you interrupted softly, your hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “It’s okay. Look at me.” She hesitated, her breathing uneven, but when her eyes met yours, the panic began to ebb. “I’ll fix it. Trust me.”

You glanced toward her flight attendant scarf, folded neatly on the small counter. Picking it up, you unfolded it carefully and turned back to her. “Here,” you said gently, moving to drape it around her neck. Her eyes widened slightly as your hands brushed against her skin, adjusting the fabric with deliberate care. You knotted it carefully, the silk falling into place perfectly.

“There,” you murmured, stepping back slightly. “No one will know.”

She turned toward the mirror, her fingers brushing against the scarf as she inspected it. The marks were completely hidden, and she let out a soft, relieved breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly, turning back to face you. Her voice was filled with gratitude, but there was still a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

You reached out, brushing your fingers along her jaw, your touch light and reassuring. “You don’t have to thank me,” you said softly, your voice warm but tinged with something more serious. “But, Haewon… earlier…” You hesitated for a moment, searching her gaze. “I didn’t know it was your first time.”

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing deeper as her eyes dropped briefly before meeting yours again. “I know,” she admitted softly. “I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t want it to change anything.” Her voice wavered for a moment, but she steadied herself, her gaze unwavering. “I wanted this. I wanted you.”

Her words hit you hard, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest—pride, awe, and an overwhelming protectiveness. “Are you sure?” you asked gently, your thumb brushing against the side of her face. “I just… I don’t want you to regret this. Not here, not like this.”

Her lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile as she shook her head. “I won’t,” she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute. “I knew what I was doing. I wanted this moment with you. And I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”

Her sincerity left you momentarily speechless, the weight of her words settling deep in your chest. You didn’t respond with words. Instead, you leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was tender and deliberate, lacking the earlier urgency but brimming with something far deeper. Her lips parted softly beneath yours, and when you pulled back, you rested your forehead against hers, your hands steadying her trembling frame.

Her brows furrowed suddenly, and she crouched slightly, glancing around the cramped lavatory. “Wait…” she muttered, her voice tinged with embarrassment as her hands brushed over the floor and edges of the counter. “Where are my panties?”

You leaned back against the door, crossing your arms with a teasing smirk. “How could you lose that?” you asked, your voice playful but low, watching her as she searched.

Haewon shot you a quick glare, her cheeks burning brighter. “They were here! They couldn’t have just disappeared!” Her tone was exasperated but softened by the lingering flush of earlier.

Her hands continued to skim over the limited space, but after another minute, it was clear they were gone—lost somewhere in the heat of your earlier passion. A nervous laugh bubbled up from her as she stood, smoothing her skirt down again. Her hands paused against the fabric as she realized there was no time to keep searching.

“I guess I’m going without them,” she admitted in a quiet voice, her cheeks glowing as she avoided your gaze. The mix of embarrassment and exhilaration in her expression made you grin.

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured her, your tone warm but teasing as you placed your hands on her arms. “Besides,” you added with a smirk, “it’ll be our little secret.”

Haewon rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. She adjusted her hair again with a shaky hand, though your earlier touch had already smoothed it into place. Her eyes flicked toward the door, her nervous energy returning as she cracked it open.

Just as she was about to step out, she hesitated, turning back toward you. Her cheeks flushed deeper, her lips curving into a shy, almost hesitant smile. You reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaning in to press a quick but tender kiss to her lips. It was brief, yet filled with warmth and reassurance, a silent promise that lingered as her lips parted slightly beneath yours.

When you pulled back, her eyes softened, the nervous energy in her frame easing slightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice quiet and filled with meaning.

“Always,” you replied just as softly, your hand brushing against her arm before she turned back toward the door.

She peeked out, glancing left and right to ensure the coast was clear, before stepping out into the aisle. Her stride was careful and measured, though her legs still trembled slightly beneath the polished professionalism of her steps. Her face was flushed, her hair still slightly a mess despite your attempts to fix it, and her lips retained the faint swelling of your kisses. Beneath her composed demeanor, the absence of her panties and the slickness between her thighs teased her with every step, a constant reminder of the intimacy you’d just shared.

You lingered for a moment, adjusting your cuffs and belt before stepping into the aisle yourself. Your gaze immediately sought Haewon, who was already walking ahead with a subtle confidence that belied the faint tremor in her legs. Her eyes met yours for the briefest of moments, a knowing spark passing between you that only deepened the warmth lingering in your chest.

As you resume your duties, the hum of the cabin returns to fill the air, but the quiet connection between you remains, a secret woven into the fabric of your stolen moment in the skies.

-----

After the plane had landed, Haewon moved to her place by the exit, ready to thank the passengers as they deplaned. It was a routine she had done countless times before—bowing, offering polite words, and smiling—but today, every movement carried an undercurrent of thrill. With each graceful bow, she became acutely aware of the warmth between her thighs, the undeniable sensation of your essence still inside her. Each slight pull of gravity as she bent forward sent a slick, teasing reminder of your earlier passion, and she fought to keep her expression neutral.

The sensation was impossible to ignore. As she straightened each time, she could feel it shift within her, threatening to escape, a subtle but constant tease that made her cheeks flush and her steps slightly more measured. The absence of her panties only heightened the awareness, the cool air beneath her skirt brushing against her skin, amplifying the delicious sense of exposure.

Each “thank you” and polite smile was laced with the secret she carried—the memory of your hands gripping her waist, your lips trailing over her neck, the way her body had clung to yours in the cramped lavatory. Her heart raced as the passengers filed past, oblivious to the intimate connection she now carried. The sensation of your lingering presence made her hyper-aware of every subtle shift in her body, each movement a vivid reminder of what had transpired.

Finally, the last passenger stepped off the plane, leaving the cabin quiet save for the soft shuffle of the crew tidying up. Haewon exhaled deeply, a faint sheen of sweat glistening at her brow as she leaned briefly against the wall to steady herself. Her knees still felt weak, her legs trembling slightly beneath her polished composure. She pressed her thighs together, trying in vain to quell the sensation that only seemed to grow stronger in the silence.

You approached her then, your expression calm and professional as always, though the teasing glint in your eyes spoke volumes. As you drew nearer, Haewon’s breath hitched slightly, her body betraying her despite her best efforts to appear composed. The memory of your touch, of the closeness you had shared, was written in every glance, every subtle tilt of your head.

“You did great,” you murmured, your voice pitched low, meant only for her. The rich timbre of it sent a fresh shiver coursing through her. “Though I couldn’t help but notice that extra sway in your step.”

She turned to you with a playful smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief despite the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “It’s a bit hard to focus,” she replied, her tone laced with sultry teasing, “when I’m walking around with a little… souvenir from my favorite instructor.”

Your grin deepened, the heat behind your gaze barely masked by your composure. Leaning in slightly, your breath ghosted over her ear, warm and intoxicating. “You’ll have to come back for more lessons sometime,” you whispered, your words curling through her like a spark igniting.

“Oh, I plan to,” she said smoothly, her voice steady despite the fluttering excitement in her chest. Turning away, her hips swayed ever so slightly, a calculated movement that let you know she was fully aware of your lingering gaze.

The conclusion of the episode approached, and Haewon effortlessly shifted back into her on-camera persona. Her radiant smile lit up the space as the crew positioned the camera for her signature closing moment. It was time for her to receive her payment for completing the challenge.

You stepped into frame, handing her a sleek black envelope. The thick paper was cool against her fingers, and as they brushed yours in a fleeting but electric touch, her pulse quickened. Your eyes locked with hers briefly, and the subtle curve of your lips—a barely-there smile—made her heart skip a beat. It was a silent reminder of the secret only the two of you shared.

Turning to the camera with her usual playful grin, Haewon slipped her fingers into the envelope, preparing to retrieve her reward. But as her hand delved inside, her breath caught for just a fraction of a second. Alongside the crisp weight of folded bills was something soft and unmistakable: her panties. Still damp, intimate, and undeniably deliberate.

As she pulled the panties slightly closer, the faint but unmistakable scent of the money mingled with hers, wafting subtly into her senses. The blend of clean linen bills and the warm, musky reminder of her own arousal sent a fresh wave of heat racing through her. Her eyes flicked briefly toward you, catching the faintest curve of your lips, the smallest glint of mischief in your gaze.

She noticed, stuck to the crotch of the fabric, a small sticky note that had absorbed some of her arousal. The faint ink of your handwriting was still visible, the note bearing nothing more than your phone number. Her cheeks flushed deeper, the intimate touch making her heart race, though her composure didn’t falter. With a practiced ease, she slipped the envelope—and its contents—into her pocket, her movements fluid and confident.

“Well, this was definitely the most fun I’ve ever had earning my paycheck,” she quipped to the camera, her voice steady even as her pulse raced.

The crew chuckled at her lighthearted remark, none the wiser to the true weight of her words. She turned back to the camera for her final moment, flashing a grin that was equal parts charm and mischief. “Looks like I’ve learned more than just safety procedures on this flight,” she said with a laugh, her delivery flawless, leaving the audience to wonder what secrets lay behind her words.

As the crew called a wrap, Haewon turned, stepping gracefully down the aisle and off the plane. Her pace was poised, her smile intact, but inside, her mind was a whirlwind. Every subtle movement reminded her of your hands, your breath, and the fire that had burned between you in the cramped lavatory.

Each step was a vivid reminder, the absence of her panties adding to the thrill as the sensation of your essence still inside her teased her with every bow and motion. She could feel it shift subtly, a lingering heat that made her cheeks burn and her chest tighten with the memory of your closeness.

As she descended the jet bridge, she slipped her hand into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric tucked alongside the envelope. Her fingertips grazed the sticky note, the faint smudges of her arousal making it more intimate than you likely intended. A rush of heat coursed through her at the tangible proof of your connection. She withdrew her hand, carefully adjusting her uniform as she glanced around to ensure no one was watching.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted you off-camera, leaning casually against the cabin doorway. Your calm demeanor belied the glint of mischief in your gaze. When her eyes met yours, you gave her a subtle wink—a fleeting gesture that sent her heart racing all over again.

Once she was alone in a quiet corner of the terminal, Haewon exhaled deeply, her thoughts still spinning from everything that had happened. She glanced around to ensure she had privacy before stepping into a staff lounge to change out of her uniform.

Peeling off the polished exterior of her flight attendant persona, she let the neatly pressed pieces fall away, leaving her bare under the soft light of the room. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye, her cheeks still flushed, her hair slightly tousled. As she stared at herself, a glimmer of boldness sparked in her mind, her heart pounding at the thought that took hold.

Her fingers brushed over the scarf that still hung around her neck, the same one you had adjusted for her earlier. Loosening it slightly, she let the ends drape down over her chest, framing her bare skin in a way that felt both daring and intimate. The soft fabric teased the curves of her breasts and the line of her hips. The undone scarf added an air of playful confidence, the perfect balance of teasing and boldness.

Reaching for her phone, she pulled out the sticky note with your number, her lips curving into a small smile. Entering the digits carefully, she paused for a moment, considering what to name the contact. After a brief flicker of thought, she added: ✈️🥵.

Lifting her phone, she angled herself in the mirror, capturing every detail. The undone scarf hung loosely on both sides of her neck, framing the faint marks you’d left on her delicate skin. Her bare shoulders, the curve of her waist, and the contours of her breasts and lower section were bathed in the soft light of the room. Her expression tied it all together—a sultry, mischievous smile, her gaze filled with an undeniable spark of boldness.

Her heart raced as she typed out a message.

See you soon

She hit send and let the thrill of what she’d done wash over her. With a deep breath, she reached for a soft hoodie from her bag. Pulling it over her head, she felt the fabric settle against her skin. Tugging the hood up, she let it fall around her face, a subtle shield for the marks on her neck.

Satisfied that her secret was safely hidden, she took one last look in the mirror. Her reflection, now casual and relaxed, masked the fire still smoldering beneath the surface.

As she stepped out of the lounge, her strides were steady, every step carrying a sense of empowerment. When she exited into the warm afternoon air, she smiled to herself. The message had been sent, the connection made. Whatever came next, she was ready.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Softer, Softest ♡

♡ Pairing: mafia!boss!san x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut/angst/fluff

♡ Summary: A fun night of stripping takes a turn when an encounter with a particularly unpleasant customer leaves you in tears, running to your boss seeking comfort and protection. Both things he’s more than willing to give.

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: explores themes of body insecurities, reader has her arm grabbed (nothing violent but brutal violence against the person who grabbed it), mentions of blood/injuries (not yours, babes), kissing, heavy body worship, san’s obsessed with you, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), clit sucking, nipple pinching, a lil manhandling, hair pulling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, low key mirror sex, pet names (baby, pretty).

♡ A/N: Hello my loves, I wrote this little fic for any of my chubby darlings out there who might not know or might need reminding that their bodies are gorgeous, worth loving, and desirable. I also really love myself a hot criminal and who better than San? K, let me shut up now. Just know I love you. Your body’s amazing. Never forget that ❤️

Midnight. Friday. The back alley of a strip club. The best in town. The strip club, not the alley. It’s a dark, starless night. The smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, the aftermath of a sudden downpour that left the ground slick with rain. Music from inside the club bleeds through the cracks of a heavy steel door. A neon red EXIT sign hangs overhead. The door creaks on its hinges as it swings open, sending the music blaring out into the night and with it comes a body. The blur of one at first, flying through the air, and then the weight of it. The heavy thud of bruised flesh and cracked bone colliding with the asphalt. 

The man on the ground is unremarkable, nothing about him worth noting except the mangled nose that gushes blood down his face, leaking into the cavernous gash that is his busted lip. He said the wrong thing to the wrong person and now he can’t speak at all, only mumble. A brushed leather Dolce and Gabbana shoe collides with his cheek. His blood splashes scarlet against the pitch black soles, a horrible crack emitting from his jaw as more pressure’s applied. Now this man? He’s remarkable. He’s muscular, defined in every way so that, even through his black dress shirt, you can read the broadness of his shoulders. His features are sharp and intense. The kind you either fall for or fall victim to. There’s no in between. He’s a handsome devil but a devil all the same. 

“You look like shit” San sighs, effortlessly kicking the man onto his back. He rolls his sleeves up, kneeling beside the man like a hunter inspecting its fallen prey. He stares down at him, emotionless, void of anything close to that thing we call remorse.  

The man heaves in a breath of air before coughing it back out. “Mmm s-s-sorry” he croaks, “I didn’t know she was anyone fucking special.” 

San grips the man’s face, grinning in a way that isn’t the least bit friendly. He squeezes tightly, forcing jagged teeth to press into the soft flesh of the man’s cheeks. “Well now you do.”

This is your boss and you, tucked away safe and warm in his office, are something special. But a part of you knew this already. You downplay it when the other girls point it out. You pretend not to notice the clear signs of favoritism but they’re there in even the smallest interaction between the two of you. Since day one San’s been your protector, your admirer. You’ve denied it a million times, convincing yourself you’re simply making more of things than what’s there. Still, after everything happened you couldn’t fathom running into the arms of anyone else. 

You were dancing like any other night—working your section and getting your tips—when some asshole grabbed you by the arm, demanding your presence in one of the private rooms. Usually you could count on security to drag him out but on weekends the club gets packed and things slip through the cracks. Sadly tonight you were one of them so, like a proper lady, you told him to kiss your ass and sent the tip of your stiletto crashing into his balls. You might be a stripper but that doesn’t mean you’re some thing that men can treat however they wish. It’s a lesson he had to learn the hard way and you were happy to teach it to him. Two shots past drunk and embarrassed by your rejection he snapped, spewing the most vile things you’ve ever heard about yourself—about your body. 

It isn’t news to you that you’re one of the bigger girls here. San says that’s what makes you special, why customers come in to blow a check on you and you alone. He’s right, your bank account says so. The customers love you, they eat up every inch of your plush body. By all means you should feel like the baddest bitch in this building, simply because you are, but in that moment his words had reduced you to nothing. A few seconds ago you were twirling around the pole like a goddess now you found yourself scurrying back to the dressing room with tears in your eyes. 

At least that’s where you intended to go. Somewhere along the way you changed course, riding the velvet lined elevator to the third floor where San’s office sits at the end of a long hallway. At the time you hadn’t considered how much this might escalate the situation because, quite honestly, you didn’t care. More than feeling hurt, you were pissed the fuck off. Your tears were of anger and, whether you felt it at the time or not, you wanted that motherfucker to pay for it. 

This place you work at. There’s more to it than what’s on the surface. It’s easy to get so distracted by the luxury and the lights and the pretty girls dancing that you miss the truth of it all. In fact, that’s the point, but you know a mafia front when you see one. You aren’t oblivious. You know what this is, who San is, and maybe that’s exactly why you were tapping at his door. A damsel in distress in black lace lingerie.

San’s heart dropped when he saw his favorite girl in tears. He stopped everything, sending his men away so he could place all of his focus on you. Resting his jacket over your shoulders, he gently cradled your cheeks, brushing the tears away to ask quite simply, “Who did it?” 

You explained everything, how that asshole grabbed you and the things he said, and San’s anger grew quietly, simmering beneath a surface of calm. He took a seat at his desk, setting you down comfortably in his lap, and pulled up the security cameras. “Tell me when you see him, okay, baby?” he instructed sweetly, his palm massaging the smoothness of your thigh.

You nodded, struggling to focus on the screen with his hand on your thigh and him calling you “baby”. San touching you wasn’t a rare occasion but it was always something light. A hand on the small of your back or fingertips grazing your arm. Never this purposeful—this intimate. You couldn’t help imagining how it might feel if he gripped a little harder, moved a little higher. You felt your heart begin to race, your temperature rising the longer you sat there in his lap.

“That’s him” you sniffled, spotting that familiar face on the screen. San studied the screen a moment before turning back to you. “I’ll take care of it” he promised, his hand riding your thigh and coming to rest at the gentle curve of your hip. “And no more crying, baby. You’re too pretty to cry.” Too pretty to cry? Oh, but you were crying, absolutely weeping, only between your thighs this time. 

San disappeared from the office, leaving you too lost in the lingering haze of his touch to even think about your insecurities, but that only lasted so long. Alone in the quiet of his office, the self doubt began to creep back in. You tried to distract yourself by exploring your surroundings—the impressive collection of vintage whiskey, the gorgeously framed art hanging from the walls—but nothing could distract you from how uncomfortable you’d become in your own skin. It didn’t help that the office was lined with mirrors, reflecting glimpses of your figure with every turn.

At last out of distractions, you turn to face the mirrored image of yourself, letting San’s jacket slip to the floor. You strike a pose, a half hearted copy of something cute you might do on stage, and watch the way the fat of your body squishes together here or there. You strike another then another then another but they’re there in every pose. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs. Your weight shows in all of them. Pinching your lower belly you think of how the other girls have had work done. Maybe if you got some done yourself…

“I left him out back. Clean him up before someone sees” San says, pushing through the door, his phone pressed to his ear. 

You jump a bit at his arrival, scrambling to grab the jacket, but San slips in behind you, closing his arms around your waist before you can retrieve your safety blanket. You tense at first but find yourself settling into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place for you to be. 

“So, what was that?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he inhales your perfume and the sweet scent of honey and jasmine fills his lungs. You smell as beautiful as you are, as beautiful as everything about you is. 

“How’d everything go?” you press, quick to change the subject. Noticing a series of tiny red scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand, you carefully take it into yours, assessing the damage. 

San shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It still stings but it’s far from the worst pain he’s ever felt. “I said I’d take care of it. It’s been taken care of.” 

You giggle at the contrast of something so menacing being spoken by someone so regal. “San, you make it sound like you killed him.” 

He leans into your neck, his lips grazing your skin on their way up to your ear. You shiver at the contact and his hold on you tightens, your bodies pressed flush against each other so that you can feel his bulge pressed into the plush of your ass. 

“Killed him? Almost” he whispers, “I answered your question so it’s only fair you answer mine, isn’t it? What were you doing? I came in and you were…” San pinches your belly, his fingertips planting adoration where there was once doubt. 

“I…uh…I was…” you stutter, searching your brain for a believable lie but you can’t find a single one.“There’s this doctor, a few of the girls have gone to him to get some work done, and I was just thinking, I don’t know, maybe...why am I even telling you this? You don’t care and anyway, it’s silly.”

“It is silly” he agrees, notes of that quiet, controlled anger you witnessed earlier resurfacing, “But you’re wrong to say that I don’t care. I care about how you feel about yourself, I care about you. You must know that.”

“I mean, I know you care about me. You care about all of the girls” you say, hesitant to accept this as a profession of anything in particular. 

San spins you around, pinning you between the warmth of his body and the cool mahogany of the desk. “I don’t care for any other woman the way I do you.” 

There it is, a profession of something very particular. He’d hoped that you’d seen it by now. He wonders if he didn’t do a good enough job of showing you. It’s been so long before you, years even, that he had feelings like this for anyone. The world he operates in doesn’t allow for soft spots. Soft spots are how you make mistakes and when mistakes are life or death you can’t afford to make them but he couldn’t help himself with you. You caught his eye the day you walked in for your audition and you’re all he’s been able to see since. You’re so delicate, so beautiful, a perfect contrast to the toughness of his life. It’s why he protects you—why he always will. 

“Your body…” he says, his palms racing up and down your curves, “It’s perfect. There’s nothing about it that needs fixing. If you let that doctor touch you I’ll break both of his hands.” San’s gaze is heavy with lust, months of longing just begging to be satisfied. It burns him up inside, sets fire to his very being, and being kissed by the flames of that need is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

“Is that the way you romance women? With threats of violence?” you tease, draping your arms across his shoulders.

“Sometimes but usually it’s like this” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue parts your lips, twining around yours to deepen the kiss. His movements are careful and deliberate. The kiss intoxicatingly slow. 

San grabs you by the hips, lifting you onto the desk and you let out a little squeak of surprise as he sets you down. “You’re so fucking cute” he grins, spreading your thighs to fit perfectly between them. 

“You think so?” you say so innocently it only makes him want to ravage you more. 

Tangling his fingers in your hair, he tilts your head to look back at the mirror, “Don’t you?” 

An unexpected wetness soaks the lace of your panties at the sight of your shared reflection. Nothing has changed about your body. It’s the same one you were picking apart, the same one you were doubting, and San loves everything about it. He praises it with his hands, with his fingertips, with whispered confessions of everything your body needs to hear. 

”I watch you sometimes when you’re dancing” he says, effortlessly doing away with your bra, “I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself when you look the way you do. It’s like you’ve put a spell on me. My little witch.”

San captures one of your breasts, kneading the plump flesh in the palm of his hand. He pinches your bud between his fingers, tugging at it just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

“But I don’t have any magic” you whimper, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. They pop open one by one, revealing a body that had to be sculpted by some divine feminine deity. You push the fabric away, your fingertips delighting in the perfection of her creation. 

San’s free hand reaches between you, stroking your clit through your panties. He groans at how soaked you are, your juices leaking through the lace to coat his fingers in your juices. “You do have magic, baby” he whispers, tucking your panties to the side, “It’s right here.”

“Aah, Sannie” you moan, your hands sliding down his abs as his fingers stretch you open. 

Your body falls back, a sharp chill coursing through you as your bare back hits the desk. San sinks his fingers deeper into your core, his cock stiffening at the sight of your body moving as hypnotically as it does on the pole. Only now it’s for him and only him. This is how San likes it, how he’s always wanted it to be. Him with his fingers buried deep into the warmth of your pussy, your walls greedily clenching around them, and you spread out across his desk, your gorgeous body on full display and your lips spilling out moans meant for his ears alone. 

Kneeling between your legs he pulls your panties aside harder this time, nearly tearing the fabric as he knots it in his fist. He brings his thumb to your clit, toying with it just to see how your body twitches with every touch. “How can a girl be this perfect?” he says, nearly salivating, “Even your pussy’s gorgeous.” There’s an audible wet sound, another sweet whimper escaping your throat, as his fingers slip out of your core and his tongue takes its place.

“San, wait…” you beg, grabbing at his hair, but you’re too late. Your attempt at pacing yourself is useless. His tongue’s already filling the space between your walls, wiggling and curling against your sweet spot. His dark hair knots around your fingers, your hips raising to ride every wave his tongue sends washing over you. 

San drags his tongue up through your petal soft folds, swirling it around your clit before diving into you again. He suckles at your clit, gently at first then faster, more ravenous. His gaze flicks up to you, taking in the way your belly jiggles and your breasts bounce. He’s drunk on your juices, already addicted to the way you coat his tongue. You taste like heaven and look like it too. It takes all of the self control he has to pry his mouth free of your pussy, snatching your panties down as he does. 

Standing back up, he grips your thighs, spreading you open to watch the arousal drip from your pussy, leaving pretty little drops on his desk. Your eyes are glued to him as he unzips his pants, letting his cock fall right between your legs. The swollen tip throbs against your lower belly, leaking precum, warm and sticky, on your skin. You rock your hips, clenching around air, craving friction from that deliciously veiny cock of his. 

“You want it, baby?” San teases, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. His length slips between your folds. They’re so smooth, so slick. Toying with your pussy’s like splashing in a lake. You’re wet enough to drown in.

“I want it, Sannie, aah, fuck…” you moan, your eyes widening at the realization that his tip’s pressed to your entrance now, stretching you the faintest bit. 

“Then tell me how perfect your body is. Tell me you love it.” He pushes in an inch more, stopping to leave your hole spread wide around his cock, still needy and deprived. 

The stretch has the room spinning, a single taste of him already making you want more. “My body’s, mmph, beautiful” you manage as he gradually feeds you more of him, “I love it.”

“Don’t stop. Keep telling me. Make me believe you” San demands, thrusting into you so hard that he bottoms out. 

You cry out at the force of the thrust, your lashes fluttering away tears, “I love, aah, my body. I love my body. It’s beautiful. It’s…it’s…”

Tucking his hands behind your knees, San pushes them to your chest, snapping his hips against you hard enough that your thighs jiggle around him. All of you does. Every stroke of his cock makes you tremble and he’s hardly able to keep still himself. You’re so tightly wound around his cock that he can feel all the finer details of your walls. They’re glued to him, sucking him in every time he even thinks about pulling back. 

Through heavy lids you watch the man you’ve only ever known to be a mountain crumble to pieces all because of you. San’s muscles are slick with sweat and a glossy haze dances over his eyes. His fingers are digging into your thighs, completely devouring them. He does what he can to swallow his moans but it’s impossible when you’re making him feel like his entire soul’s being snatched from his body. 

“You feel so fucking good” he grunts, planting breathless kisses up your leg, “Come here.”

San props your ankles up on his shoulders, hooking an arm around you and sitting you up so that you’re close enough to kiss. He grinds against your sweet spot, forcing his tongue down your throat so that every moan you set free echoes between his cheeks. Gripping the back of your neck, he slams into you, harder, faster, forcing your body to give into him. He fucks you until your eyes are rolling back, your mind too blank to recall anything that happened before this moment. There’s no thought of the incident, no thought of your insecurities. High on euphoria, your body feels beautiful, every inch of it. 

“S-San…” you whine, a familiar pressure building behind your belly. Your fingers begin to tingle as they cling to his muscles, searching for any stability they can reach. 

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he coos, not letting up on you, not even for a second.

Pulling his arm away he lets you fall back on the desk. With one hand cupping your breast and the other circling your clit, he watches you fall apart in the palms of his hands. For so long he’s had to watch you from afar, pretending that he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you, but now you’re all his. His pretty, moaning, teary eyed girl pouring your cum down his cock while you repeat his name like it’s the only word you know. He’s so singularly focused on watching you hit your high that his own takes him by surprise. 

Grabbing him by the wrist, you lock eyes, a weak smile forming on your lips. “Fill me up, Sannie” you whisper, your voice sexy even in its brokenness.

San’s body shudders and you feel a new fullness inside of you. The warmth pools deep within you at first, cascading down your walls the more he empties himself into you. “Fuck, baby” he pants, catching himself before his body doubles over. He came so hard his ears are ringing and holding onto you is all he can do not to fall. You sit up to stroke his cheek and he kisses your wrist lovingly. You stare into each other’s eyes for a minute that lasts an eternity, letting yourselves get lost in one another’s gaze. 

San breaks the trance with a kiss, holding you like one would the most precious thing they own. “Tell me, baby, how do you feel now?” 

You contemplate his question, your attention drifting back to the reflection in the mirror. It’s all there. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs, and San looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world. You turn back to him with a smile, “Beautiful.”

[eccentricallygothic]

| Jersey |

Going to a Classico in a Rodrygo jersey may not be as funny as you might think if you're having an illicit affair with Pedri…

Warning(s): Infidelity, fear kink, angry sex, unprotected p-in-v, meanie!Pedri, pinching, biting, choking, dacryphilia, jealousy, doggy style, painal, he's strict, Daddy kink, bondage-ish, degradation, Madrid x Barca rivalry, threatened forced indecent exposure, morally grey themes. MDNI.

MASTERLIST

“Think you're so funny, don't you, you little brat?” Pedri's voice is harsh and his tone menacing. You sob and shake your head from your position against the wall of the window perch that your form is twisted up on. “Maybe I should do a joke of my own and open these blinds here” he roughly leans forward to fumble with said blinds, the sudden change in his position causing for his thick cock to slide even deeper inside your hot and gushing cavern. “And let everyone see you for the dirty little slut that you are” he speaks over your weak little no Daddy pleads, his intimidating ire having no regard for your tears and sobs. 

You thought you were a genius for this… not.

Of course, if you had only worn the jersey that now hung above your head tangled up in your arms in support of your boyfriend, it wouldn't have been so offensive or earth shattering. You simply would have been a girlfriend showing her support. But it wasn't that simple and you weren't that innocent.

No.

Instead, you had smirked when your eyes had landed upon this season's Rodrygo home jersey that he had gotten you in your size. In your defense, you couldn't find anything to wear and this had seemed like a funny killing two birds with one stone solution back then when you were picking out a fit for the eventful day. Show your boyfriend your devotion to him and if you managed to catch the eye of your good friend while wearing the rival club's jersey, it'd make for a nice rile. That was the plan.

Except, you did more than catch said friend's eye. 

As your boyfriend always left way earlier on game days, it was usual for you to arrive a few minutes before the match at the arena by yourself. Sometimes it was like this, other times you were accompanied by the girlfriends and wives of his club mates. Today you were alone and were supposed to meet with your fellow girls on the stands reserved for the lot of you. Only, before you could even reach the bowl, someone had snatched you away and out of the crowd in the blink of an eye. Before you could let out any form of protest or even figure out what was going on, you had been pushed into a dark room and the person had locked the door before turning to hover over your form that he always managed to somehow tower over. 

Pedri.

And though the lighting in the room was scare -mere slits of the stadium lights cutting through the drawn blinds-, his unimpressed expression was bright as day. 

The male didn't speak much for he was in a hurry -you couldn't figure out how he even managed to slip away from his team at a time like this in the first place-, that did not stop him from bending you over and walking you to the window perch whilst one of his hands gave you a proper spanking and the other pushed your offensive jersey up until it served as a lock for your arms. 

“Don't move!” Pedri barks when you try to move from your uncomfortable position again but his order only makes you clench harder. “Slut” he grunts at the wanton moan you let out and he delivers a harsh spank to your blushing ass, the wild snapping of his hips causing for the most obscene sounds to form from the collision of his heavy sack with your sopping cunt. 

“Oh, oww, Daddy, fuck!” You rock back and forth on your side from how Pedri has you positioned under him. “OhmiGod!” Your lower leg is placed behind your upper leg -because you're lying on your hip- and Pedri keeps a firm hand under your elevated thigh to both prevent your legs from closing and also to fuck you as deep as his leaking cock can reach. “Please!” 

“Tell me,” your mouth falls open and your brows furrow in pain when he reaches for one of your nipples and gives the nub a firm pinch. “You act out on purpose, don't you? Think you're just so smart” he pushes your leg further upwards and your back arches as a result of his poking in your organs, the overwhelming sensation causing for your head to loll to one side of the wall. His thick tip menacingly grazes your cervix. “All this so Daddy can put you in your little girl place—”

“Ouchie, Daddy, it hurts!” You complain through your moans but the pain of his rough fucking of your guts only adds to the fiery ever-growing knot between your hips. 

“Good” Pedri's dark mop of short thick hair is already damp at the ends and a thick droplet of sweat runs down the tip of his nose. “It's supposed to, you brat” he is running out of time and that is only firing his anger up even more. “How will your bratty little ass learn otherwise, hm?” Your crumpled up Madrid jersey brings him some satisfaction whilst he fucks you dumb wearing his own but it is not enough. 

You're not sorry enough yet. 

He needs you to have you more pathetic than that.

Pedri doesn't care if the game will start in a few minutes now and he pushes the worry of explaining his disappearance to the side.

“Maybe I should make you parade yourself out to the bowl with your pretty tits hanging out after I am done with you” a pleading sob escapes you and pure terror flashes in your teary eyes. 

“No, please, Daddy, I am sorry!” You know him well enough to know that he is the kind of crazy to make you do it. And you've always been a helpless little fiddle to his whim, brat or not.

“No?” His dark eyebrows furrow in faux disbelief as he fucks you harder and harder, one hand reaching for your drenched cunt to tickle it. Your shoulders shake in response. “But you chose to wear this pathetic little jersey. Surely, you prepared yourself for the possible consequences before acting upon your genius plan” you vehemently shake your head, giving him your puppy eyes even though they never work on the intimidating male. “And I am not going to let you walk out there wearing that thing” he glares at the white material twisted around your arms like it is some kind of hazardous trash. “It's bad enough that I've to see you with limp dick.” Yes, that's his name for your boyfriend who definitely deserves better. 

“Please don't make me go out with my titties on display, Daddy, please!” Stars form in your vision when he slides in a particular direction and you can swear you feel his tip in the base of your stomach. 

“No?” He mocks you in a baby voice— an imitation of your whiny one. “But why not?” Your ass stings from the spanks he gives to your ass with every other thrust, the fuck messy and wild because the narrow time window you have. “If you're big enough to challenge Daddy like this, surely you can handle something like that” your legs try to kick when he picks a pinchful of one of your hips and wrenches your tender skin left and right in a depraved punishing manner. “Wearing nothing at all is definitely better than wearing that anyway.” He furiously spits somewhere over his shoulder in disgust. 

You open your mouth to try and beg your case but his rough taming of your pussy has suspended your thinking and speaking faculties and so you end up saying something completely different. “Oh, Daddy, just like that!” Your whole body tenses in anticipation and your muscles contract to welcome your nearing orgasm. “Oh!” Your back curves outwards and though he has your hips steeled in place, you begin to rock them along to his cock to the best of your ability. 

Pedri looks at you in disbelief for a second before he slowly chuckles. “Of course” one of his hands roughly reach for your throat and he pulls you towards him in an awkward position. “Only you would be dumb enough to think that you can get away with your stunt this easily” you shudder against his mouth that he seals with yours in a primal and hungry kiss, a low and reverberating growl heating up the mouth lock as well your loins even more. Pedri's hot tongue swipes along every inch of your mouth that he can reach in his hurried and greedy swipes, his hips bringing the two of you closer to your edges. “Silly girl” he pants out after pulling back and you cannot help but let out pained cries because of how his teeth cruelly sink into your bottom lip. 

“Pwea— ee!” You gasp and his savage bite on your mouth becomes the least of your worries when he suddenly pops his thick cock out of your stimulated cavern. “W- What—”

“Did you forget, vida?” Sarcasm laces the endearment and his unoccupied hand manhandles the upper half of your body into the wall so now you're face first against it. “This is a punishment… remember?” Your eyes widen when you feel him spread your legs and spit on your pucker that blinks up at him in shock. “How can you, when you're the one who was so eager to bring it upon yourself?” He gathers your juices on his tip by rubbing it against your drenched petals. You shudder because of how sensitive you are, your protestant pout pressing into the wall as you feel your orgasm slip from you. 

“P- Please, Daddy…” But you already know, he is nothing like your sweet boyfriend who gives into your every demand at one bat of your lashes. No. Daddy is strict and knows his way around brats. 

“No can do, little one” Pedri aligns himself atop your quivering asshole and begins to push, aware of the lack of time but stubborn and unwilling to let you off with this disrespect. “You brought it upon yourself” your mouth falls open and you cry loudly, hugging your head with your hoisted arms when your mostly virgin hole begins to stretch against his girth. “And you will take it with thanks” you feel his hands grip a thigh each and he wrenches you open for himself. “And when I am done with you, you will walk out of here with your slutty little ass stuffed full of my cum” the band of your butt squishes around his firm shaft and you hiss at the delicious pain, your needy pussy throbbing at how cruel he can get. “You will sit somewhere dark and alone in timeout and think about your actions and then you will write your sorry lines.” 

You are subdued and limp against the wall, unable to form a response as a line of drool leaks out the corner of your mouth. You feel your body tremble when he pulls almost all the way out to push in again. 

Pedri clicks his tongue and gives you a firm hit on your nether cheeks before grabbing a thick pinchful of the bruise that has formed on your spoilt ass because of his prior spanking.

“Is that clear?” His stern voice makes you shake in the sweet fear of his firm countenance that you're addicted to. He is so intimidating and always seems to know the right thing to do and say. Pedri is an expert at effortlessly handling you in a way you have secretly craved all your life and you can just never get enough of how small and handled he makes you feel when no one else has ever had it in them to do so.

“Y- Yes, sir” you obediently reply, brokenly whining when he pushes you back onto his cock with a beastly grip on your throat, the dominant action causing a thick blob of your arousal to patter on the perch underneath you. 

Though this is not exactly the outcome you had hoped for by doing what you had done, you know it just as well as you know that you would abandon your morality for Pedri all over again if you had to, that if you could redo today, this is exactly where you would still wound up.

. . .

This is so awful, oh my God. Also, I know I always sacrifice Rodrygo but that's because he's my RMA bofi and I live this dilemma everyday as a Madridista TT

[fictionandfixation]

Older Bachelor headcanons!

Older Bachelor stardew headcanons because I’ve been playing lots recently! All sfw, some mentions of smoking/alcohol 💕 also please bear in mind I am no SDV expert, so sorry if these go against canon occasionally!

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

• Secret smoking habit that he would rather die than tell anyone about. Not often, but during flu season when he’s stressed, you can find him cooped up in his room with an imported cigar or a Marlboro Gold, an espresso and an Agatha Christie.

• Plays classic soul, funk, golden oldies and jazz in the foyer of the clinic on an old-timey record player, and chooses every day from his large record collection. Frequently irritates Maru with the extent of his Doris Day enjoyment.

• Kind of wide-set - very broad shoulders, and quite tall.

• Packets of salted peanuts and cookies on the clinic foyer desk which he restocks every week.

• Goes to fetch you personally from the mines or Skull Cavern sometimes when you get knocked out. And he also keeps a vintage forest green car behind the clinic to pick you up in. He hopes one day you’ll wake up on the way back and compliment his tasteful vehicle choice or notice he’s bringing you home. You don’t.

• Best friends with Evelyn. Worst enemies with George.

• Tennis player. Plays with whoever will say yes in the mountains and always manages to punt the ball into the lake somehow. Also used to be in a rock climbing club at university, and has sort of sinewy forearms as a result.

• Outrageous flirt after a few glasses of Pinot Noir, mostly because I think he’s on the spectrum but also because I think it would help him stop being quite so nervous.

• Brown suspenders. Every. Single. Day.

• Gives Jas and Vincent candy after their checkup.

• “Sweetheart/honey” as a nickname for you.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

• Striped. Matching. Pajamas.

• Finds, forages and cooks mussels when he needs to impress someone. And on that note, very much a French cuisine enjoyer.

• If blue cheese has no fans Elliott is dead.

• Rizz master. Silver tongue. Read so much romance when he was a teenager that it has actively become a part of his personality to be a book boyfriend.

• Very willowy and slender. Metabolism of the gods. Puts away food like it’s nobody’s business.

• Can read several languages, but just can’t master an accent so never uses them in a spoken context. Definitely a student of Latin.

• English accent headcanon! Probably spent the first couple of decades of his life in somewhere high-income like Warwickshire, or (more likely) Cornwall or Exeter, on or near the coast. I am also envisioning him as having been to an old collegiate university like Durham, or maybe a college at Oxford (Merton I reckon).

• Writes and then burns poems about everyone he’s ever been in love with. Starts keeping them when he meets you.

• Chats fashion history with Emily and Haley.

• Religious about his collection of cravat-style ties because he’s seen the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice a few too many times.

• Frequent book club gatherings with Caroline, Marnie, Robin and Jodi (mostly because mothers love him, the main selling point here being that he has definitely read at least one Jodi Picoult book. He does not remember anything about it, he’s just glad to be invited).

“Dearest/my love” as a pet name.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

• Snores. Very quiet about it though.

• I know a lot of people HC Harvey as oldest but I reckon it’s Shane. He also acts the most like a bitter old man whereas I feel Harvey is just ‘mature’.

• Could be convinced to grow a beard. Maybe.

• Goes for a jog three times a week. Hates it. Refuses to stop and really isn’t even sure why he does it himself any more.

• Secret Lana Del Rey enjoyer. Mainly a fan of Midwest emo, classic rock, nu metal and sometimes country but the kind of country where they sing about killing people and getting away with it.

• Raised by heavily Christian parents in the Deep South. Yes this is a Southern accent headcanon. Yeehaw.

• Lets Jas put eyeshadow on him sometimes. Shaves properly only when she wants to put makeup on him.

• Craft beer’s number one opp. Wants an ice cold tap Budweiser only, and if there isn’t enough head on it he will be asking for a refund. Not that Gus would ever do that to him.

• Has muscle with padding. Very strong, very wide in stature, but not lean at all. Biceps wider than your neck that you could (and would) use as pillows.

• Makes the most insane hangover breakfast known to man. Bacon. Pancakes. Sausage. Home fries. Butter. Syrup. You’re putting on a bit of healthy relationship weight for sure with Shane as your partner.

• “Darlin’/baby” user. “Sweet cheeks” as a joke. Kind of a joke.

Hope you guys enjoyed these!! I am down irretrievable for Older Bachelor content because I love ✨older men✨

Please let me know if you’d like some more for these characters or the other bachelors and bachelorettes!

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

Do You Want To Know A Secret (Teen!George Harrison x Teen!Lennon!Reader)

A/N: Hello, Happy Easter! I'm posting another oneshot, because why not? I feel like it could have been a little better than what I wrote, but I was in a bit of a rush to get it out. Who doesn't love some George?

Summary: It's 1961. You're John's sister and he refuses to let you talk to anyone in his band (and vice versa) despite your house being their practice location. George scores some alone time with you one day, and sings you a little song he composed for you.

WARNINGS: SUGGESTIVE BEHAVIOUR; the reader is pretty confident in this oneshot. Mentions of sex, but nothing further than a heated make out session/ neck kissing really occurs in this. Swearing, probably, but I could be wrong. George starts out shy but he is not by the end. There are probably some typos as well oops.

This one is T rated, but just read at your own risk because as mentioned, sex is discussed

It was 1961, a relatively warm Friday evening after dinner, where an eighteen year old George Harrison was accompanied by a nineteen year-old Paul McCartney, on the way to the Lennon household.

Band practice was that night, the newly renamed "Beatles" preparing for their next gig at the Cavern Club just that following evening. George had his guitar case in hand, and Paul, his base, as they walked and talked.

John's house could be spotted from where the two were now, and George, who was talking in that moment, lost train of thought when he spotted someone just outside the front door.

That someone was you. John's little sister. Aged eighteen; like George.

George could feel his heart fluttering as he watched you move around the front garden, watering can in hand as you tended to the little flowers in the window planters.

"Don't stare," Paul lightly chided in a sing-song tone, wagging his finger at George when he came back down to earth, cheeks flush at the idea of having been caught looking.

"But look at her," George groaned, hand gesturing towards you haphazardly before dropping it down helplessly at his side. "Just look at how perfect--"

"And off limits," Paul added quickly.

"... she is," George sighed as he finished his sentence, a rather upsetting frown on his face. The boys had since halted walking, making sure to be far enough away that you weren't in earshot of their conversation.

"Look, Harry," Paul rested a hand on the younger boy's shoulder in comfort. "I know how you feel. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think she was a looker, y'know?"

Paul and George glanced over at you for a moment, before he continued.

"... but if I had a sister, and three lads who couldn't keep their eyes off her, I couldn't say I wouldn't be doing what Lenny's doing right now."

George knew that Paul was right. As much as he hated it, John loved you very much, and was cautious of any guy trying to be near you, especially now that you were a young adult, and not some child.

Every time the band gathered at John's house, everyone seemed to be under a microscope-- including you. The boys weren't allowed to talk to you, and you couldn't even look at anyone without your brother hollering at you to get upstairs, or to refocus back to your homework, or whatever task you had at hand.

But in moments like this, where the protective older brother wasn't around, George took every chance he could to greet you with a smile on his face.

And he wasn't going to stop now.

"I get it, mate. I just... there's something about her." That's the simplest George could have explained it to Paul. He wasn't about to disclose that he dreamt of you almost every night, or that he relished in the moments of excitement and anxiety of being able to see you, if only for five seconds out of his entire week.

And he certainly would not have told him about the songs he was composing; his muse being you, of course.

It was all just one giant secret, and as much as George wanted to tell you, all he thought of were downsides in result of revealing such a thing to you.

George thought that you, for starters, were leaps and bounds out of his league, he was scared of being laughed at, and he would have been absolutely horrified if John were to ever find out.

The negatives drastically outweighed the positives, so he was better to keep his mouth shut.

George and Paul continued their trek to the building, and when they finally made it to the walkway leading to the door, you turned your head, smiling gently and waving to them once you realized who it was.

"Good afternoon, lads," you greeted politely, and George nearly melted at the sound of your voice.

"Hello, Miss Lennon," the boys responded in unison. George cringed a little at that, pushing through the door with Paul following close behind. As much as he wanted to stick around, he knew it would have been too risky.

And thank God he made made that choice. John was waiting for them in the main foyer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't seem too happy, but he wasn't quite pissed off, either; almost as if he were in limbo of the two.

"'Bout time yous showed up. Me n' Pete've been waiting forever. C'mon, now." John waved his hand as he headed for the basement stairs, and the boys wordlessly continued on so they could begin their practice. George only looked over his shoulder once before descending the steps, hoping to have caught just one more glimpse of you, but to no avail.

"We have a show tomorrow, and you boys decided to be a quarter of an hour late!" John complained on as he threw his guitar strap over his shoulder. Pete was in the corner of the room on his drum set just shaking his head as he grabbed his drumsticks and tapped a little on his instrument. he must have been there for a while already.

Paul and George hurriedly grabbed out their instruments, apologizing so the older boy's complaints would cease. "As long as you're ready to play now, I don't care."

John always got sort of tense when the other three boys were over, hyper-focussed on keeping you away from them and vice versa. He was more or less worried about Paul trying to flirt with you, so a lot of John's poor behaviour stemmed from that.

Little did he know that it was actually George who'd fallen head over heels for you.

But that wasn't something to worry about in that moment. What was important was that practice began, and that they had to see improvement before their show just that following night.

Practice was going well. They had been at it for nearly an hour at that point, and the more they worked, the more pleased each boy was with the sound. They took a brief pause for some water, and John was rifling through his pile of lyrics sitting on a table in the corner of the room, trying to decide which one to practice next.

As George finished the last drop of water in his glass, John piped up, "I don't have all my songs here. Must've left them in my room."

"Which ones?" George asked, empty glass still in-hand. "I'm running up for a refill, might as well grab that for you as well."

"I think I left them on my desk at the side. You sure you don't want me running up?"

George swatted his hand as he started for the stairs. "Don't worry 'bout it. Be back in a jiff."

George hopped up the stairs, leaving his glass on the kitchen counter next to the sink before moving down the main foyer. He paused at the front door to peek out the window to see if you were still outside, but he didn't see you from where he was standing. He sighed gently before turning and making his way up to the second floor.

George made his way down to John's room at the end of the hallway. It was the only room with the door open, and before he even made it into the room, he could see the pile of lyrics on the desk, right where John said they'd be.

He picked up the pile, shuffling through them and counting the pages as he did so. He took one more brief glance around the room to make sure he wasn't missing anything else. When he decided this was all he needed, he turned on his heel and headed out to the hallway.

George was just about to make it to the stairs when he felt someone take hold of his arm, and swiftly tug him into one of the other rooms. The moment was a blur for him, and it took him a second to piece together what happened. He was standing in the middle of the room-- your room.

And you were only three feet away from him, back against the door, and cheeks glowing pink.

"Hello," you smiled gently, and George had no clue what to say, pages clutched tightly against his chest as his brain swirled with millions of thoughts.

"Hi," he squeaked, face burning in humiliation at his flustered state, but he was in your room, for Christ's sake. Your room! He had no clue what to say to you, mouth hanging open as he tried to search his brain for some other words.

"Look, I know we're not supposed to be doing this," you expressed, and George could feel his heart doing violent flips in his chest, especially when you pushed yourself off the door to take a step or two closer to him. This was the longest conversation he had with you, to date.

"Johnny would kill me if he knew I had a boy in my room, you know," you took a moment to pause, and all George could do was nod his head in agreement, intoxicated by the way you walked, and the way you talked. There was a hint of something in your voice... but the boy couldn't quite place what it was. Yearning? That couldn't be right... could it?

"But where's the fun in that, huh?" You asked, hands clasped behind your back, eyes staring right back into his, and George couldn't help but break his gaze first, utterly intimidated by your confidence. His eyes fixated to the dress you were wearing, and he could see a playful smile dancing on your lips in his peripheral.

"... You like what you see, Georgie?" You asked lowly after a moment, and his stare shot back up to your face again, certain his legs were numb. The nickname rolled off your tongue so effortlessly, so perfectly. The things it was doing to him...

"I..." he could barely speak, breaths ragged. Not one coherent thought was at the forefront of his brain, other than one simple word.

"Pretty." Your smile was a little more genuine now after he said that, and you reached a hand up to tuck a little strand of hair behind your ear.

"You think I'm pretty?"

George just nodded again. It was only now that he realized how much shorter you were compared to him, as you were only a foot away from him; the closest you'd ever been. He was looking down at you, but you were, in no way, intimidated by him. It was actually quite the opposite.

"You know, Georgie, you're pretty handsome, yourself," you professed, smiling wider as George's face burned even hotter.

He couldn't even thank you, scared of what would have happened if he tried to utter any kind of response to you. You reached out to rest a hand on his arm, and your smile faltered just a little.

"You're really tense... am I making you uncomfortable?" George's eyes widened, swallowing nervously as he shook his head 'no' as quickly as he could. He didn't want-- whatever this was-- to stop. The sincere upturn of your lips returned, and George couldn't help but flit his gaze down to your lips.

If only he had as much confidence as you, he might have just dipped down to have a taste...

"Look, I don't wanna keep you any longer. I know Johnny's gonna be looking for you soon." You thought for a moment before mentioning, "usually after you boys leave, he's down there for another hour or so practicing his own songs. Come back and see me after, yeah? Get to know each other a little more?" You raised an eyebrow expectantly, and George nodded his head again.

"Okay," he managed to whisper, resulting in you rising to your toes, and wordlessly pecking him on the cheek.

He felt like he was dreaming.

"Run along now, before they get suspicious!"

George's feet, though seemingly glued to the floor moments before, took off quickly, opening the door, and disappearing out into the hallway, shutting it closed behind him. As soon as he was on his own, he sighed heavily, the rush of oxygen in his lungs making him feel light-headed.

For someone who seemed so innocent in the open, around others, George could never have guessed how much of a minx you were behind closed doors. One part of him was still in denial that his interaction with you was even real, let alone meant to be flirtatious in any way...

But man, he would have been stupid not to take you up on your offer. It was just another hour he had to spend practicing, and he'd be right back in there, hopefully earning another kiss on the cheek from you.

George looked at the lyric papers in his hands one last time before sighing one more time, and going back downstairs. He passed his forgotten water glass in the kitchen, mind on an entirely different planet.

He returned to the basement, handing John the papers. He thanked the younger boy, pausing for a second to watch him move to grab his guitar.

"Where's your glass, Harry?"

George tensed when John asked that, hand on the neck of the guitar.

"... Left it upstairs,"  he responded.

"Thought you were grabbing a refill?" John's inquiries had George grasping for what to say next, but he was quick enough.

"Refilled the glass up there, drank it, and figured I'd be fine for the rest of practice."

His confession, though a lie, was believable enough for John, who just nodded his head slowly and drew his attention to the papers after a second, discussing which song they were going to practice next.

George just flew under the radar then, and he mentally cursed himself for being so careless. He look a quick glance at Paul, who was giving him a look; almost as if he knew something happened up there.

But he would never know the truth.

The shared glance fell apart when John advised everyone to get into position for playing, and they did just that.

The hour seemed to drag, George felt; but as time moved on, the more anxious he began to feel again. By the time everyone was packing up to leave, he was almost vibrating with anxiety.

He wanted to be close to you again so badly, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself as he had in the last interaction.

Pete, Paul, and George wished John a good night, and climbed the stairs to the main floor in that order, leaving John alone to continue practicing. Pete left Paul and George in the main hallway with a little wave, and a short "see yous tomorrow," before taking off out the front door.

Paul grabbed the door handle next and turned back to George, who stood in one spot a little too far away from the door.

"... Not walking home with me?" He asked in confusion, and when George didn't have a disposable answer, the pieces seemed to be finally clicking for the other boy.

He opened his mouth as if to lecture George on how bad of an idea sticking around would be, but instead, he tightened his jaw, shook his head, and waved to him.

"G'night Harry," he tossed a little wave out before taking off into the dusk.

He was alone now.

That could only mean one thing.

George eyed the stairs, knowing that if he turned on his heel and walked out right then, it'd be one of the biggest mistakes in his life. But he couldn't deny the fact that he was nervous; intimidated by you, and your assertive, rather sexy behaviour from earlier.

He took a deep breath, grabbing the railing, and hiking up the stairs slowly.

He stood outside your bedroom door much longer than he would have liked to admit, taking deep breaths and reciting words over and over again in his brain, as if this whole interaction were scripted-- as if he knew what was going to happen.

When he finally composed himself properly, he rapped on the door gently, hoping you would hear his presence on the other side. When you finally came around to open the door, his heart skipped a beat.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming back," you voiced softly, leaning against the doorframe, handle still in hand. You sounded a little relieved, almost, seeing the boy on the other side of the threshold.

You were in your pyjamas, a set that showed enough skin on your arms and legs that it made George, red-faced, shake his head to reactivate his brain, which pretty much short circuited.

"You goin' to bed?" His words left his mouth faster than he realized he was even saying them. Sure, it was getting late out, but would you have really changed if you were expecting company?

"Well, that depends. Will you be joining me?" You were so quick on your feet in response that it honestly impressed George, the heat returning to his face as he tried to think of what to say next, not daring to drop his line of sight below your chin.

"I'm only teasing you," you laughed after a moment of watching George squirm, pushing off the doorframe and allowing him to enter your bedroom again. As he passed you, he caught sight of you gazing up his body, shrugging and adding a little "... maybe," to the end of your sentence.

You were such a tease, and George set his guitar case off to the side, facing away from you, so he could hide just how giddy and flushed he was just being in there with you again. He rose to his feet and turned to face you. You were only a few feet away from him again, eyes on him intensely, smile still present.

"... I hope you know just how glad I am that you came back," you expressed again, honestly. George raised an eyebrow at that, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wanted to tear his gaze from yours so badly, but your face was just so gorgeous to look at, and he didn't want to be caught looking at your outfit again; he knew some more teasing would surely ensue if he was caught staring.

"Why wouldn't I come back?" George replied bashfully, shrugging his shoulders a little. "Wouldn't miss a chance to be here, with you, for the world."

Your stare softened at his words, beaming as your own cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. George wasn't sure you were really expecting something like that coming from him. "... You really mean that?"

George desperately wanted to elaborate a little further, but he just settled on giving you a little nod, smiling back shyly at your question.

"Maybe I thought I might've scared you off for being so forward earlier," you admitted timidly as you turned on your heel. You took a seat at the edge of your bed, and George surveyed your movements, eyebrows lifting a little when you reached out to pat the empty space next to you on the mattress after a moment.

"Care to take a seat?"

George accepted the invitation, and you felt the bed dip when he sat down. His eyes cast down to the floor, face still red at the idea of being in your presence; having your attention.

"You know, Georgie... my brother can be pretty stupid sometimes. But making this house the place for band practice, I think, was one of the best decisions he's ever made."

His eyes met yours again at your words, and you shrugged one of your shoulders.

"I'd be lying if I said I haven't been dying to talk to you. Or get to know you. You seem so kind, and you're so attractive, and John wants to keep you away from me, and I'm so sick of him deciding what's best for me."

Your eyes cast down between the both of you for a moment, and George could feel his heart trying to leap out of his chest. His fingertips felt numb, mouth hanging slack as you continued your profession.

"I knew the only way to get close and alone with you was to bring you in here. And I saw the way you were looking at me earlier, and I had to get you to come back."

It felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Was he really that obvious when he was in here last?

"It's thrilling... having a boy like you in my room, while John's clueless out there as to what we're doing. What we could be doing..."

George's mind was going places he was never expecting it to that evening, especially with the help of you voicing it aloud. He was in utter disbelief of what you were telling him, convinced he'd fallen asleep throughout the day, and he was caught in some blissful dream he wished would never end.

"I feel a little selfish, springing so much information on you at once... but every time I see you, I desperately want to be with you; and today, I had to jump to take that chance. I couldn't wait another week, another day."

You smiled sheepishly, not really expecting George to say anything after that. You were honestly just trying to get your thoughts off your chest, and now that you had, you felt a lot better. You were also pleased with the little look of shock on George's face. You liked doing that to him.

You decided to break his trance by nodding over to his guitar case sitting on the floor. "So... You have plans to serenade me, Georgie?"

Your question definitely brought him back down to earth, and he took a quick glance at the case before looking back to you. Your confession was still ringing clear in his head like a bell. He felt he didn't have the words to admit his feelings as clearly as you had right on the spot...

He did, however, have the words pre-planned as lyrics, in a multitude of original songs he wrote for you.

"... I do, actually," he agreed, standing up to open his case and retrieve his instrument. George was feeling a little more excited now, knowing any girl these days would swoon at the idea of having music written for them, and he just hoped you would too.

He returned to the bed, deciding against tossing the strap over his shoulder. He faced you so you could hear and see every little thing he did. He was at least glad he didn't get performance anxiety on the guitar.

He gently strummed out a few different notes, deciding in his head which song he wanted to perform for you. One in particular stuck out in his mind, and he couldn't deny that it was the perfect choice.

He was a little worried about how you'd feel about his playing, and the lyrics, but he wanted to show you that he could be confident about this, especially since he was nearly certain now that his feelings were reciprocated. But he had to play it cool.

"It is a work in progress. I've only half of it written, but I really think you'll like it," George explained to you before allowing the notes to fill the air around you both.

"Listen,

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not to tell?

Closer,

Let me whisper in your ear,

Say the words you long to hear,

I'm in love with you."

It was only then that you realized this was the first time you'd ever seen, or heard George play. This beautiful genius was being hidden away from you this whole time, and it was a blessing to see his work up close.

His left hand slid along the fretboard so easily, thumb and fingers on his right tickling the strings as if it were second nature to him. You couldn't decide which hand you wanted to look at. His digits were skillful on the instrument, and George made sure to almost exaggerate his movements to impress you.

He pretty much had you in a trance, now, daydreaming about what else those hands could do...

"I've known a secret for a week, or two,

Nobody knows, just we two,"

George had been worried the whole song about messing up the notes, eyes so focused on where his fingers were going... But he glanced up at you, realizing how hypnotized you were, like putty in his hands, and he decided there was nothing to worry about.

He decided to sing right to you now, soft eyes on your face, and when your field of view locked with his, he knew he wouldn't dare break the stare.

"Listen,"

This wasn't a song anymore.

"Do you want to know a secret?"

This was his confession.

"Do you promise not to tell?"

His way of showing you what you really meant to him.

"Closer,"

He wasn't clouded by any insecurities or doubt anymore.

"Let me whisper in your ear,"

Your gaze flitted down just enough to watch George's canines poke out from behind his lips as he sung, and your eyelashes lowered at the sight of his beautiful mouth.

"Say the words you long to hear,"

Your mind was absorbing the lyrics like a sponge in water, every single word eliciting a feeling so strong in your heart, you could hear it pumping in your ears.

"I'm in love with you."

George hummed away as he played the final notes, a little smile still on his lips when he let the last chord ring out into a room of silence.

When that stillness remained for a moment, George couldn't help but ask with a little bit of hesitation, "Well... what do you thi--"

He couldn't even get the rest of his question out before you darted at him, lips smashing into his as if he were about to disappear forever.

He let out a little surprised hum before he pulled the guitar out from between the both of you, and you took it as an opportunity to push your body closer to him, arms wrapping around his collarbone.

He blindly set the guitar down to lean it against your bed, and when he let go of the neck of the instrument, his hands went for your hips, squeezing your sides gently before pulling you right up into his lap. your actions bloomed a type of self-assurance within him he had no idea he could even possess.

It was your turn to squeal excitedly, but George's lips on yours muffled the sound. One of his hands snaked around to the small of your back before it slipped under your shirt, his palm dragging up your spine. His fingertips took note of each vertebrae it dipped up and down into, like the frets on his guitar.

This, George decided, was better than a dream. This whole situation unfolding around him made him feel as though he died and went to heaven.

He pulled his lips away from yours, free hand reaching up to grip your chin and directing you to tilt your head up. His lips suckled on the side of your neck, and the sound coming from your mouth was absolutely euphoric to him. But he removed his palm from your chin to cover your mouth, his other hand still feeling and memorizing every curve and dip in your back.

"You must be quiet, Love. Wouldn't want your brother knowing about all this fun we're having up here, eh?" Your eyes rolled back at his words, groaning into his hand as you felt George drag his teeth gently along the column of your throat.

Knowing you were enjoying this as much as he was only brought more confidence to his actions, and he let his tongue poke out to leave a large, wet kiss on your collarbone.

You were squirming in his lap, fingers sliding up into his hair and tugging so he knew he was doing everything right.

He groaned at the friction you were creating at the hips, and he pulled away from your neck to kiss your lips again after removing his hand and placing it on the back of your neck.

You swallowed his moans as you continued to grind in his lap, but both of your movements paused when you heard the guitar come crashing down to the carpeted floor. It wasn't as loud as it could have been, but it was loud enough.

You both kept an ear out, knowing that might have caught the attention of someone downstairs, and when you began to hear footsteps shuffling around, you began to panic a little, eyes wide and darting back to George, whose face was flushed from the assault of your kisses, and hair was a tangled mess from your fingers.

"You gotta hide," you rushed out quietly, and though you tried to climb out of George's lap, his hands kept you planted right where you were.

"What are you doing?!"

"... What if I didn't?" He challenged you a little, a daring smirk at his lips.

"Had you not been so naughty, with all that moving and teasing, the guitar wouldn't have fallen, eh? And we wouldn't be in this situation at all." The points of his canines were showing again, and you groaned at his words.

"George, I'd love to continue this, but John will kill you if we're caught, and we can't do this if you're dead!"

"Well then we just won't get caught," he responded simply. He was blinded by desire, his confidence seeping out of him like sap from a tree as he placed his mouth back on your neck.

The footsteps stopped outside your door, and you both heard a knock, George not showing any sign of stopping his actions.

"Don't come in, I'm-- I'm not wearing any clothes!!" It was the first thing you could blurt out to whoever was on the other side.

"Oh, baby, that'd be a sight to see," George mumbled against your skin, pulling your top down just enough so he could suck a dark spot just above your left breast so you could easily hide it away, and you sighed heavily at the contact, face burning red.

"Just heard a loud thud. Just making sure all is okay," it was John on the other side; completely oblivious to the actual scene occurring on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, a book from my shelf was knocked over! N-nothing to worry about!"

George grabbed your chin again when you were finished talking, shoving his tongue right into your mouth as you both heard John respond with, "oh, okay. Just making sure you're alright. Have a good night."

You listened closely as the footsteps quieted, and when there was no sign of anyone else on the second floor, let alone at the door, you pulled away from George's kiss.

"Well... how was that?"

"Risky," you replied, a rather unimpressed look on your face as you unraveled your arms from George's shoulders and crossed them over your chest.

"Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore, Love," he tried to give you another kiss, but you placed your fingers against his lips. It was your turn to smirk mischievously.

"You know what, Georgie... I think you've had enough action for tonight."

You could see the smug grin fall right off George's face as you removed your hand. Surely you had to have been joking. But when you pushed a little to get off him, his arms fell to his side, a little pout on his face.

"You're serious? Love, you got me all hot and bothered..."

"George, you really thought we were going to go all the way tonight with other people in the house?" You laughed out loud at that; and when you said it like that, he would have had to agree that it did sound ridiculous.

"Trust me, Georgie, I want to," you placed a hand on his cheek in comfort, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and he looked up at you as if he was the shy boy you interacted with just an hour before.

"But we both know doing that in an empty house would be far better than having to keep quiet about it, huh?"

All George could do was imagine that situation, eyes drifting shut, and tilting his head into your caressing hand.

"You're such a damn tease," he mumbled, eyes blinking back open after a moment.

"All good things come to those who wait," was all you said, leaving one, sweet kiss on his lips before pulling away, and nodding to his guitar. "We better pack you up and send you home."

You watched as George situated himself, placing his guitar back in the case, closing it and picking it up. You wrapped your arms around him gently, planting another kiss on his cheek.

"By the way... I think that song was beautiful," you whispered to him, and when you pulled away to see him smiling at you, you couldn't help but match the grin on your own lips.

"See you next week? Same time?"

"You don't even have to tell me twice," George responded with, and you just had to lean in for one more smooch on the lips, to which he eagerly reciprocated.

He then opened your window up, and took a step out. You watched as he climbed down the corner of the house slowly, and before he took off down the road, he blew you a kiss, to which you mimicked catching with your hand.

As George headed home, the sun now fallen over the horizon, those intimate moments he shared with you were at the very forefront of his mind. His hands could still feel your bare skin under his fingertips, and his mouth tingled as he remembered what it was like to have your lips on his.

He was just craving for the next moment he had alone with you.

______________________________________

A/A/N: And there we are! hope you all enjoy this, and I hope your Easter weekend was full of sun, and fun! Please let me know if you want to read more so I know it' worth it to post!

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[hellfirenacht]

Splash Zone

Summary: You and Eddie go to Gareth's Pool Party

Fluff and bullshit, no y/n, reader not described, I don't think I used any pronouns for reader actually, not beta'd, implied Eddie x Reader

1k words

Eddie knew that of all the members in Hellfire that Gareth was the most well off next to Jeff. Well, in theory he knew that since it was Gareth’s parents who allowed Corroded Coffin to play in the garage a few times a week for practice. Eddie had even been inside of the home once or twice to use the bathroom, and had only caught glimpses of the pool in the backyard. 

It was the hottest day of the year when Gareth invited everyone over to his place for his birthday. He grumbled that it was his parents that really wanted to throw him a huge bash for his 17th, but it’s not like the kid had any friends outside of Hellfire to come. So it was decided that after practice, Hellfire Club would spend the afternoon in the backyard eating cake and pizza and enjoying the freshly cleaned pool. 

You showed up an hour after practice ended, and made your way to the back yard where music was blasting out of a very nice looking boombox. You dropped your birthday present for Gereth off on the table and made your way over to where the boys were all lined up with their heels against the edge of the pool. Most of them were soaked, but Eddie was still bone dry, they all looked excited and nervous as Eddie paced the line, holding what looked like a small magazine in his hands.

“Gareth. You have entered the long corridor and there are two doors. One red, and one blue. Which door do you enter?” Eddie had a maniacal grin. 

You walked over beside Eddie, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re just playing a game.” Eddie said waving the magazine. ADVENTURELAND was written on the front with a picture of a dragon. “I’m running the game and every time they die or make a stupid decision, I push them in the pool.”

“Are you a fucking nerd or something?” you asked, stripping down to your swimsuit, and making your way to the line up. 

You had always known Eddie as a passionate DM, but seeing him now was next level. Everyone was taking the game seriously, but you just couldn’t. Normally you gave Eddie the respect he deserved as a dungeon master and rarely derailed on purpose but this was a special occasion. 

After a few rounds of staying dry, Eddie approached you with the magazine and read from it dramatically. “Adventurer, you have made it to the cavern and inside you see a sword, a golden apple, and a letter. What do you do?”

“I attack the darkness.” You said, crossing your arms. 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“Did I stutter?”

Eddie turns and sets the magazine down and the others take a step to the side away from you. You stood there with a smirk and crossed your arms as Eddie approached you. 

“Using your fire ball, you attack a dark corner of the room.” He says. “The spell lights up the walls for a brief moment, and the air grows hotter. Then.... nothing happens.” 

“Damn, I was sure that would do someth-THING!” Your response quickly turned into a squeal as he shoved you into the pool. You flailed as your back hit the cool water with an impressive splash. You stayed below the water for a moment before resurfacing with a laugh, wiping the water off your eyes. 

You darted over to the stairs and hurried back into your place in the line up, feeling better about the heat now that you were soaked as your friends laughed and rolled their eyes. 

This continued for the rest of the afternoon, as Eddie gave you all guidance and you all decided on what your shared character should do. With each misstep, one of you would be hurled into the pool by Eddie. 

By the end of the adventure about an hour later, you all were soaked to the bone but emerged victorious with the treasure and the day saved. In victory, everyone except Eddie jumped in the pool and started splashing each other. 

You looked over at Eddie with a raised eyebrow. “Not going to join them?” you asked. 

“Yeah, I don’t exactly have swim trunks.” He said, glancing down at his shirt and cut off jeans. 

“So?” you raised an eyebrow. “Oh shit, is that why you were playing? You didn’t want to get in without a swimsuit?” 

“It’s fine. No use buying one when you’re not exactly in the vicinity of any pools.” He shrugged. 

“Can you even swim?” you asked. 

He glared at you. “I can swim. I grew up swimming in Lovers Lake.” 

“Cool. Get in the pool.” you said. 

“Are you serious?” 

“It’s a pool party. Get in the pool.”

“Listen I-” He started backing up towards the pool as he saw the feral look in your eyes. 

“Can swim. You’re getting in, Munson.” You adjusted your stance, getting ready to pounce. 

“Hold on- shit I have- shit- wait!” Eddie reached into his pockets and frantically pulled out his lighter and wallet and threw them onto the table. 

You weren’t a monster, so you waited politely as Eddie removed anything that he didn’t want to get wet, including his shirt. There was no stopping the way your eyes raked over his torso and the ink on his chest. The site only made your heart beat faster. 

Once you decided it was all clear, you ran at Eddie, ready to push him into the pool. His arms wrapped around your waist and with a jump and a twist, the two of you toppled into the pool together as the rest of your friends cheered. 

Eddie’s fringe fell into his eyes as he emerged from the water with you. He shook his head like a wet dog and splashed you immediately. 

“Do you always have to make things harder on me?” he asked. 

“Only when it’s fun for me- HEY!” You sputtered as Eddie splashed you with the might of poseidon. 

You countered by jumping on his back and clinging to him like a tree. “I’ll remember this next time we’re alone.” You said quietly to him.

“Yeah? I look forward to it.” Eddie smirked and jumped backwards onto his back, taking you down with him once again. 

---

A/N: I'm trying to write more drabbles because I'm always writing and have very little to show for it. So expect more one shots and short fics between chapters <3

[thefab4archive]

The first and last photo of The Beatles together.

The first photo was taken at the Cavern Club on August 22, 1962. And the last time they were all photographed together was at Lennon’s home in Tittenhurst Park, also on August 22, 1969, two days after their last recording session together.

[prythianpages]

'Cause Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Lucien

summary: When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence (reader is trapped in a nightclub)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also was inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and a hint of Oscar Wilde ♥️ This takes place roughly before Amarantha's rule. If I'm going to be honest, I find Lucien hard a bit hard to write for (but this song really gave me lucien vibes) so I hope this doesn't come off a bit out of character for him. also why is it so hard to find pics that match Lucien's vibe on pinterest.

Trapped in the ceaseless rhythm of melancholic blues, you can’t help but feel sick and tired of everything. Days blur into nights. All you do is eat and sleep and sing. The weight of routine presses down on you, suffocating the spark that once fueled your passion. 

You wish every show to be your last.

That is, until you see him.

He emerges from the crowd like a radiant sun breaking through the darkest night. His presence is tall and striking with skin kissed by the sun and a cascade of red hair. Despite the length of scars that run down the left side of his face, there is an undeniable elegance and beauty that surrounds him. His eye holds you captive, drawing you in like a moth to a flame and your voice falters for a brief note. 

**

Lucien knows he should leave. Hewn city is not a welcoming one and his meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court did not go well. But against the warning bells ringing in his head, he decides to linger and wander around the dark city. With no clear destination in mind, his feet guide him through the labyrinthine alleys until, almost as if compelled by an unseen force, he stands before the entrance of a mysterious nightclub. Bathed in an eerie red light, the sign above reads The Rose. 

As he approaches, the entrance, despite being small, appears almost ethereal. Shadows dance upon the towering stone walls. The air is thick with an alluring blend of magic, pleasure and something darker. Inside is just as mysterious and intoxicating. He should leave and he turns around to do so when he a mesmerizing sound stops him and holds him in place.

“In the land of gods and monsters.” 

A beautiful and heavenly voice. It beckons him forward like a siren’s call and he allows the fae lights embedded in the cavern to guide him further. The corners of the nightclub harbor hidden alcoves, draped in luxurious silks and velvet.  

“I was an angel living in the garden of evil.”

Some high fae engage in secretive exchanges and gambles. Some are lost in the enigmatic allure of drinks and colorful powders that shimmer with enchantments. Some are engrossed in the pretty fae females and males on their laps. Others, like him, are captured by the hauntingly beautiful song.

“You got that medicine I need. Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.”

Where ancient stone meets polished wood, Lucien finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. He turns to face the stage in the center of the club, leaning against the bar. His mechanical eye emits a soft whir as his gaze travels to the owner of the voice. 

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.”

A silent awe washes over him as he takes in the sheer beauty before him. Dressed in a white gown that drapes over you like moonlit silk, you stand on the stage like an angel amidst the monsters that lurk in every corner of the place. The fabric mirrors your every movement as you sway to the rhythm of the song in small billowing waves.

“Me and the Mother, we don’t get along. So now I sing.”

It’s as if you sense his gaze on you because your siren eyes are searching the crowd. Mirroring the depths of a fathomless ocean, your eyes are pools of sadness and longing, yet there's a vulnerability that softens in them as they lock with his. Your voice slightly falters and for a heartbeat, time seems to stretch.

A tremor courses through you, fingers tightening their grip onto the microphone. Your eyes darken again and then you’re tearing your gaze away from Lucien. He follows it, curious eyes landing on a male who stands on the balcony facing the stage. Even from where Lucien stands, he can tell the male radiates power and money.

“No one’s gonna take my soul away.”

“They call her the Nightingale.” The bartender says to Lucien as he hands him his drink. Lucien’s gaze returns to you. “She’s off limits. I suggest finding another female to warm you for the night. There’s plenty to choose from here.”

Lucien says nothing in return. Those hadn’t been his intentions upon seeing you. He simply found himself struck by your presence. And as the enchanting notes of your song continue to soar, there’s a rising desire to learn more about you. The thought of extending his stay begins to take root, a subtle whisper tempting him to linger a while longer. He’ll write to Tamlin to reassure him and continue to negotiate with Rhysand further.

**

The gamble Lucien took to stay in Hewn city is a winning one with each passing night yielding more promising signs of Rhysand's willingness to compromise. It brings him relief as it gives him an excuse to visit the nightclub again. He returns the next night and then the following, noticing something new about you every time. 

On the second night, he realizes the male you had glared at the first night he saw you was the owner of the nightclub. Lucien learns that he was right in his first impression of him. Benedict is a wealthy man, both in money and in connections, and is not subtle about the power he holds over this part of the city. Everyone in the nightclub bows down to him but not you. There’s a look of defiance in your eyes every time you look Benedict’s way.

On the third night, your usually hauntingly melancholic voice takes on a different, lighter tone. It’s still just as beautiful but now, harbors a sense of hope. And your eyes find Lucien’s with ease. You don’t break eye contact with him throughout the entirety of your performance that night, as though your song is a serenade meant solely for him.

It’s on the fourth night that he finally gets to talk to you. 

Breaking from your routine of disappearing behind the stage curtains after performances, tonight, you grace the bar with your presence, drawing stares from some of the high fae. His grip tightens on his glass when he recognizes a dark hunger in most of them but even so, none dare to approach you.

“What will it be, lovely?” Lucien hears the bartender address you.

Taking the empty spot beside Lucien, your presence and proximity captivate him. His heartbeat falters momentarily as you graciously flip your hair, surrounding him with the divine scent of the sweetest rose.

“Just a water,” you reply and he hears the rustle of your dress as you turn to face him. “You’re not from here.”

Lucien’s lips twitch upwards. “What gave it away?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He finally turns to look at you, a strange warmth spreading through him. Ever since he lost his eye, he had battled with the scars tainting his skin, internalizing a sense of monstrousity. Yet, as you regard him, it feels as though you see an angel where he sees only imperfections.

His eye drinks you in, the mechanical one on the left whirring along. The corner of his lips lift up into a smirk when he catches you doing the same. 

“How do you know I’m not a monster?”

“There’s something different about you. Something good,” your eyes study him carefully and then, with a soft sigh, you add, “It’d do you well not to dwell in places like this. They’ll only dim your light.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucien asks, "And what about you?"

Your eyes widen, as though the question catches you off guard. "What about me?"

Despite the myriad thoughts swirling within him, he restrains himself and settles for, "You, too, don't seem to fit into this place.”

You fall into a thoughtful silence and your brow slightly furrows. Lucien keenly observes the subtle shift in your gaze as you scan the room before settling back on him. Leaning in as though sharing a secret, he instinctively leans closer. However, as he anticipates your words, you’re turning your back to him. Just as he's poised to speak, you sweep your hair aside, rendering him speechless as you show him instead. 

A delicate tattoo is etched onto the skin between your shoulders—a bird confined within a cage.

“I can’t leave,” he hears your murmur and the ink on your skin appears to shimmer like stars in confirmation. A bargain permanently marked upon flesh. Your flesh and he swallows thickly at what your words imply. 

You’re that bird, the nightingale, trapped in the cage.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly and your hair falls back into place, cascading down your back and concealing the telling tattoo. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t dwell in places like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” you reply with a wistful smile and Lucien hates the way you drop your gaze.

“But I think I will.”

His words prompt your head to lift, eyes meeting his in surprise. A rush of excitement flushes your skin, transforming the wistful smile into one that is lighter, more promising. A fluttering sensation stirs in Lucien's stomach, and he can't help but return your smile.

A couple more days in Hewn City wouldn’t hurt.

**

Ten days ago, you were stuck in an endless loop of exhaustion and despair, where every night weighed heavily upon you. However, a welcome shift has occurred since then. Sleeping, eating and singing still consume most of your days but a newfound presence has entered the scene. Lucien.

And as the curtains are drawn back, revealing your presence to the awaiting audience, you embrace yourself for the blinding super trouper beams. Unlike nights past where a tinge of melancholy enveloped you, tonight is different. 

You won’t feel blue, like you always do, because somewhere in the crowd there’s him.

Lucien’s presence is like a burst of brilliance, akin to the beaming lights that find you on the stage every night. When your eyes find his amongst the crowd, your pulse quickens and heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s like the sight of him proves to you that you're still alive. 

In his wake, the shadows that linger in the club cower and hide away. He shines like the sun and you find his brightness infectious. It chases away the gloom that had settled over your own light, reigniting the flames of enthusiasm that had long dimmed within you.

Each note you sang resonated with newfound energy, and every performance became an opportunity to embrace the warmth and vitality he brought into your world. As the final notes of your song hang in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of destiny. You were meant to meet Lucien.

After your performance, you sneak your way back to the bar where he waits for you.

“You came again,” you smile at him.

Lucien smiles back at you but it falters. “I’m afraid it’ll be the last time…for a while.”

The smile doesn’t waver off your face yet the glistening in your eyes reveals the threat of an emotional storm beginning to unfold. You refuse to dwell in it, not wanting to let the darkness that lingers over you like a gloomy cloud to consume you again.

“Okay,” you manage to breathe. You knew this day was coming. Lucien had to return back home, and you, regrettably, can’t go with him. “Let’s make the most of tonight, then. Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks and you follow his gaze to where Benedict stands, a top of the balcony as always. You feel a rush of relief when you see a pretty female wrapped around him. A distraction. Perfect.

Lucien watches you, taking in every shift in your expression as he awaits for your answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you. Gods, does he want to dance with you. Anything to be able to hold you close. To take you into his arms and hold you tight. 

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of the tight leash Benedict keeps you on. He doesn’t let you stray far from his sight. You’re not allowed anywhere near the private nooks lining the club or the rooms at the back where private exchanges occur. It’s for your own safety and Lucien can’t be mad at that. What unsettles him is the way Benedict regards you as his most prized object and Lucien doesn’t want you to face consequences over a dance.

“Yes,” you finally answer. 

There’s a strong certainty in your voice but also a subtle plea that tugs at his heartstrings. It brings forth a tightening in his chest. He suppresses the urge to frown. He plans to return to you but for now, it’s your last night together before he has to leave the Night Court. 

Lucien graces you with a smile instead. He offers his hand to you, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that mirrors the blood coursing through his veins. A delightful shiver travels up his spine as your hand wraps around his. Until now, you’d only share glances, lingering stares and the occasional brushing of skin. 

As the piano begins its enchanting melody, Lucien takes the lead, guiding you onto the dance floor. You’re so close you can feel the warmth of his body and all you want to do is melt into it. Melt into him. But you can’t.

So you bask in the warmth of his gaze instead. Up close, you can now appreciate the depth of his russet eye and you can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the golden mechanical eye on the left. His gaze never strays from yours throughout the dance and the tender connection between you begins to rise under the brilliance of his gaze, pulling your heart with it.

As he holds you tight, you surrender to the intimate embrace, shedding all inhibitions. Neither of you speak, your eyes speaking for you. It feels as though the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you swaying in harmony. Smiling, having fun, where each step becomes a silent declaration of the unspoken feelings that have blossomed between you.

The passage of time remains elusive as you share the dance, the minutes slipping away unnoticed until the pianist gracefully bows to the audience. Your dance comes to a dreadful stop. Lucien's grasp on you tightens, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable separation.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his promise carrying a tenderness that ignites a fervent flame within you. “I’ll find a way to help set you free, my sweet nightingale.”

He then pulls a pristine white rose, the same exact shade of white as the dress you wore when he first saw you, from the folds of his coat. He graces you with one last smile as he leans in, placing the rose carefully behind your ear. “Until then,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple and your eyes flutter shut.

“Until then,” you breathe and as Lucien walks away and the shadows inevitably return, you take delight in the way the darkness hesitates to claim you, leaving you untouched.

You can’t even bring yourself to care when Benedict corners you backstage, seething with anger. Of course, he noticed. You don’t even flinch when he throws his glass of whiskey toward the wall behind you, the shattered glass ricocheting. Some of them make their way to you, slicing your skin.

As you settle into the comfort of your small room, you retrieve the white rose from its perch behind your ear, cradling it delicately in your hand. A single drop of blood from one of your healing cuts taints the rose, painting one of the white petals red. Still, you cling onto the slender stem, gripping it as tightly as you grasp onto that fervent flame of hope burning within you. Your light will never dim again…

Because somewhere in Prythian, there’s him.

a/n: I'll admit this took an angstier turn than what I had intended but I hope you still enjoy this darker interpretation of ABBA's Super Trouper lol.

if you'd like to read more about these two, here's a part two.

tagging: @scooobies

[shy-taylorsversion]

Lie To Girls - Dean Winchester x Reader

summary- y/n always knew dean winchester would be the death of her.

warnings- language, violence, hurt, and absolutely zero comfort. this is very very not happy and extremely sad, that's all I'm saying.

a/n- inspired by this song by the wonderful sabrina carpenter i was listening to short n sweet and i couldn't not write this when i heard lie to girls. i apolgize in advance. (not beta read either, oops)

Dean Winchester was a good liar, a professional one at that. He could get anyone to believe anything if he just talked for long enough and flashed that smile.

But since the beginning, he’d never needed to lie to her.

Her life had gone to shit in a matter of a few days. Her best friend was found dead, ruled a robbery-homicide but it never made sense.

Nothing was stolen, then he’d shown up. Claiming to be her best friend’s cousin but she’d seen right through it. It wasn’t long before she’d pieced it together on her own, monsters were real and he hunted them.

He didn’t seem to realize that she liked him enough that he didn’t have to pretend with her, she’d just do it for him.

It never stopped him though, spouting one excuse after another. Swearing he’d see her soon and call even sooner. He’d promise he’d only had one drink that night, that he’d left alone and was just thinking about her. Guilt crept in and he’d text her, talking like old friends.

When he’d go weeks without calling, he’d apologize and say it wouldn’t happen again, an isolated incident. He’d show up at her apartment after months of silence with some vague story, she learned to not ask.

She’d take his excuses at face value, accept his apologies like she hadn’t already. She forgave him every time walked out the door. He didn’t have to lie to her. She’d rationalized his indiscretions before he’d committed the act. Knowing what he was doing but letting him anyway.

She’d cry at the door of her apartment as she watched him drive away, telling herself that he’d be back to stay one day. Every time he’d come back, all smiles and laughs at her door. She’d call the ache in her chest for butterflies but it was more like cardiac arrest.

It was all lies she’d made up in her head, delusional fantasies of a shitshow she’d turned into forever.

– – –

Years later he was still everywhere she went. She’d been acting like a stupid girl so hung up on a man who didn’t care but she didn’t how to stop. All she ever did was wonder where he was, what he was doing, or if she ever crossed his mind.

There was a cavern in her chest when an old rock song was playing or when a brown leather jacket caught her eye, he was top of her mind at all times. For Christ’s sake, she’d looked at a fork one night and thought of the first time they’d gone out to a diner. Forks are fucking everywhere, they don’t belong to Dean Winchester.

She reminded herself of her mother and how she ignored the nights her dad didn’t come home or of her sisters who spent countless nights crying over facts they’d sworn were incorrect. The girl outside the strip club, makeup smeared as tears ran down her face and tarot cards clutched to her chest.

All the women she’d ever known were clever enough to see through their lies but stupid enough to let them get away with it.

---

From the first grin, all green eyes, and flirty remarks, he’d been shameless and she’d caught herself laughing, enjoying life in the middle of a living hell

She’d known in that moment, Dean Winchester would be the death of her. She hadn’t realized how true the sentiment would be.

It hadn’t hit her what was happening until the woman had thrown her against the wall. Someone had screamed her name. She’d caught a glimpse of black eyes before blacking out.

The world was hazy when she woke up, her head was light and the room spinning. Something hot and wet was running down her stomach, she shifted to try to check but she was held back.

A hand found her shoulder, pushing her back down. They were saying something to her but her ears were ringing. She dragged her gaze up, blurry. Every movement left her exhausted like she’d run a mile. Green eyes met hers and she couldn’t breathe. He was back and he was here, with her. A sluggish smile spread across her face when his hand found her cheek, warm and rough. She let her eyes close for a second before she was shaken, just slightly.

“No, No, No, Sweetheart. Eyes open, eyes on me.” Dean’s voice was muffled and rushed but she peeled her eyes back open, mumbling about being sleepy. He nodded and said something she couldn’t hear.

Her eyes fell to slits, she tried to keep the open but everything was so heavy. A bone-deep chill was running through her now, all she wanted to do was curl into him and sleep. She could see his face still, his expression was all wrong though.

There wasn’t any boyish smirk or teasing grin. He was frantic, eyes wide and mouth still moving.

She understood when a smear of red down his wrist caught her attention when his other hand found her face, wet and sticky like her shirt.

She was dying and Dean Winchester was scared.

It explained the way she felt nothing, other than cold and tired. Bloodloss would do that, she couldn’t remember where she’d learned that from. It was probably him.

“You’re gonna be fine, ok?” His words were panic, running over the top of others. “Cas, he’ll be here soon-”

She cut him off, dragging hang up to his face. Her hand was covered in blood like everything else seemed to be. He covered his hand with hers and leaned into it.

“You’re gonna be ok. You’re fine. You have to be fine.” He was still rambling, she let her thumb run over his lips and he stopped.

She knew by the glint in his eye that she wasn’t making it out. But he was here, holding her and telling her she’d be okay so she did what she’d always done for him.

“I believe you.” It came out like a whisper, not having enough strength for more. Warm streams of tears fell from her eyes, she didn’t know when that started. He shook his head. She wiped his own tears away and smiled. "it’s ok I believe you. I’m gonna be ok.”

Her vision was vignette now, corners fading into black and all she could still make out was him. He was a hazy shadow, clutching onto her. Her hand had fallen from him, at least she thought.

The white-hot cold had consumed her. She was limp in his arms, suspended into nothingness.

The world was filled with green eyes.

Then nothing.

[heavenlyraindrops]

smut writing tips (TW: sexual stuff cause like. Cmon. It’s smut)

I did one for character so now I’m doing one for smut what’s wrong with smut huh so what if I’m writing tips on how to make smut so what SO WHAT HUH

Smut scenes aren’t that different from normal scenes. Probably because they’re normal scenes. Remember that.

Therefore, they should have dialogueeee because boy oh boy the amount of smut I have read where they are just dead silent is insane I could rebuild the wall of china with allat

so… dirty talk

BUT DONT MAKE IT TOO LONG! OR TOO WEIRD…

“Do you think they’d watch?” he asks. “Do you think they’d enjoy the sight of your naked flesh on display? Maybe they would get off on seeing your dripping pussy reflected back at them everywhere they look. Or the pretty flush on your chest when you come. I think they’d even enjoy watching your eyes roll to the back of your head when my cock fills you so fully, you can’t fit any more of me inside you.”

That’s from haunting Adeline… and… just.. no. NONONONO ITS DISGUSTING ITS GROSS…. WHO TF SAYS THAT BRO. Why is tHIS BOOK SO POPuLAR

more gross examples: “You want to know what I’d do?” he questions. “I would let them watch. I would let them watch me claim you as mine and own every inch of your body. They would watch my cock fill every one of your holes and then watch you cry because of how hard you came. And then I’d fucking kill them. My cock would still be wet from your cum as I’d slice their throats for even daring to look at what’s mine.”

dont write like that guys… like ew. Just ew

also.. epithets.. ok idk what they’re called because English = not my first language but

like

”his member” “sword” “love button” “seed” “her peaks/ nubs”

look my dude if you can read a smut scene like “he inserted his sword inside her cavern and spewed his seed inside her while fondling her mounds” then sure pop off I guess but tbh

no.

JUST USE COCK DICK AND PUSSY OR SOMETHING IDK WHY U GOTTA DO THIS TO ME I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO SEE CERTAIN THINGS THE SAME WAY EVER AGAIN

“his member” I’m sorry is his dick joining a club?

anywaysysystst

research human body stuff. Like, dicks need to recharge before they get hard again yk

“Recharge” idk bro yk what I mean

cumming more than once for women do be kinda painful unless there’s an amount of time in between the orgasms

like depends on the woman, can range from a couple of hours to at least a whole day

although this doesn’t apply to everyone and some people do just go for it a bunch of times in one session so it’s a very variable thing

so yeah! Make sure to educate urself on biology

spemd more time talking about how they feel physically and emotionally than what they are doing so that the scene actually does have some depth

consistency! I have read shit that goes along the lines of “he grabbed her waist then with his other hand stroked her cheek and then she wrapped her legs around his feet and he pressed his elbow againts her knee flipping her upside down while she nibbled on his ear” how am I supposed to imagine any of that

they keep sprouting a third arm

or do things that completely contradict the position that they are in.. he can’t slap ur ass if ur in the cowgirl position..well, not very comfortably

so. Consistency! :)

that’s all for now ermmmm so yah tell me if this was helpful guys

edit: this post is super old pls ignore its existence

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

by: Beck Levy

“Maybe now vocalists will finally start bringing their own mics,” I tweeted in the first days of March 2020. My virtual audience was mostly friends I met by participating in subcultures in and adjacent to the DIY tendency of hardcore punk rock. In those early days, we on the cultural fringes shared a sense that the pandemic, in its capacity as a social intervention, could meaningfully disrupt the oppressive ruling order.

When I booked and played shows before COVID-19 hit, I tried to harness energy and rally when crisis arose. Touring band is lost on the road? I was ready to DJ to keep people from leaving between sets. No one came to unlock the club? Let’s play in the parking lot. The last show I’d played, just weeks earlier during Mardi Gras, was on a trailer being pulled by a dump truck. We’re responsive to shifting circumstances, right?

I couldn’t get a clear look at the new terrain through the brutal haze of my first-wave infection. I was disoriented, waking up breathless, fevered, delirious from nightmares about drowning in my own blood. I could not fathom taking any action that would contribute to COVID-19 circulating, and my symptoms made me believe I would be a risk to my community. With home tests scarce, every flare had me conceiving of myself as though I might be a biological weapon.

Friends texted their fears to me frantically: “Is music over? Are shows done?” I thought back to informal and unconventional gigs, the freedom and potentiality those moments held, and reassured my friends, sequestered in our separate biomes. I said and believed: “Music always finds a way, youth culture always finds a way, underground culture always finds a way.”

Slowly, reimagined, remote, and socially-distanced events returned. In lieu of Jazz Fest, New Orleans radio station WWOZ charmed us with “festing in place” on the airwaves. I did a solo set in a virtual anniversary showcase for my old record label. Another friend live streamed a show from a cavernous church. I’d guessed performances mediated by technology might salt the wound, but desperate for connection, I treasured those experiences.

I watched my place in the world creep away from me. There were rumors of scandalous secret shows during lockdown. But the first real sign was pictures on Instagram of people traveling and touring again. Scroll to that last image: a row of COVID-19 tests, all negative, smug. Or positive, chagrined but only a little; a mismatch to the scale of: “For fun I traveled as a disease vector and personally participated in the proliferation of an airborne pathogen that can kill or maim.” Was it a character limit? A limitation of character?

The world passed me by, carouseling through normalization phases, like COVID-19 tests phasing their way out of tour posts. I watched scenes regroup from my new vantage point in biopolitical exile. Pandemic gloom catalyzed a spate of reunions, which is wholesome and beautiful except for the fact that at least one band knowingly toured with a member who tested positive.

Was I overreacting? While COVID-19 left me with an immune system that attacks my body, my mind attacked itself with this question. I’d traded amps for this mental feedback loop. The counterargument was implicit: people need unfettered access to music more than we need safety.

Live music came back. It just didn’t bring me with it.

I didn’t see a critical mass of bookers, venues, or bands advocating for COVID-19 safety with measures like outdoor shows, improved ventilation, livestream options, or just adding tests and masks to the earplug bin at the door. Some hand disinfectant; a little hygiene theater at conventional venues. The will just wasn’t there. I thought our deal was fuck the state, we’ll do it our way. I found myself slipping through the subcultural safety net that exists for outcasts who are slipping through the cracks of mass culture and late capitalism.

Of course, punk was already inaccessible to some. And I actually believe a certain amount of gatekeeping is necessary to protect punk from posers, jerks, and cops. But among the nebulous community clustered around shows, the sexism and racism people have experienced has always been very real, to the tune of entire zines, books, films about that exclusion. I monitored my heartbreak, critically. Resource-scarce, informal, and underground operations often exist at a quagmire of conflicting access needs. Was the sting of betrayal just this painful because it affected me, directly? Can the subaltern mosh?

There was a brief period where my baseline had plateaued, and I enjoyed medium-functionality between flares. Clinging to my modest recovery, a memorial service was my first congregant risk. That was the last time I tried to play guitar. I got the twisties, psychic vertigo from grief and from the contradiction of my setting and my experience, but the band played on, complete with a brass section. And at that otherwise beautiful event, I was ceremoniously reinfected by an asymptomatic tuba player. My health has been steadily deteriorating ever since.

Isolation is hard: it can feel like rejection, it can feel real personal. I struggled to adapt. I know I can have a persecution complex, but I also know I’m materially being made surplus. So what do I tell the complex? Are people being thoughtless, or do they explicitly not give a fuck about immunocompromised people like me?

Life is never totally safe, danger is often exciting, sometimes risk is the point. I know that. I’m not (just) a joyless scold. In the era of potentially deadly airborne pathogens, we’re playing with other lives when we make “individual” health decisions—I thought we’d learned that, but there was no such reckoning.

Punks accepted the sociological production of the end of the pandemic, moving in lockstep with the state, sacrificing medically vulnerable people on the altar of pleasure, just as the state had sacrificed us on the altar of capital. I thought our ingenuity would create new forms of shows. Instead, it exposed our limits under duress. To quote the band Allergic to Bullshit, “If this is what we’re for, this is what we’ll get.”

Maybe my shock seems naïve—after all, there’s a difference between “subculture” and “counterculture”—but there’s a reason I expected better. There are visionaries with love, passion, and fearlessness who organize shows in strip malls, caves, skateparks, churches, parking garages; shows with immediacy like distributing free Narcan, and conviction, like benefits toward Palestinian liberation. I await, with diminishing faith, the eruption of that tendency in the bioethical arena.

Since immune ableism is hegemonic, congregating is a question of building a realistic threat model, making decisions with people who are directly impacted by your actions, and taking all possible precautions. I’m encouraged by radical formations with accessibility modifications, particularly those connecting social abandonment, climate crisis, and genocide. I see this reflected in art book fairs that require masking, outdoor Shabbatot, test-first leftist reading groups. Queer and drag events are making adjustments. Mask blocs and clean air clubs collaborate, with limited resources, to make spaces more accessible. These are people who insist on collective health, demanding freedom to live and breathe clean air.

For those of us with severe Long COVID, exclusion from live music represents a profound loss of humanity. This disconnection feeds into my daily despair; in medical terms, my depersonalization/derealization. Having hoped this crisis would push us closer to communism than complacency, I feel whiplash, what Naomi Klein calls “political vertigo.” Millions of Americans with Long COVID have disappeared from the workforce. Data on the underground music scene are unavailable. It’s hard to count ghosts. I’ve wanted to ask: Have you noticed that some of us are gone? Do you ever miss us?

Four years later, I still can’t even make it to a well-filtered show. My last recreational outing ended in hospitalization from merely ascending a steep hill. I hear about shows from my roommate, the only person I see, who is also the only masked person at them. I tell myself I could try to go to an outdoor gig one day, maybe, if my governing health planets aligned. Instead of being an active musician, I pretend I’m like Jandek, a reclusive genius, but really I’m too clumsy and unfocused to play at home.

I do what I do with everything: act like I’m in a different world. It’s not difficult, because I am. The Well do their thing out there, I do mine in here. I moved across the country in search of better healthcare and, homebound, routinely forget I’m not still in New Orleans. Either way I am inside. I gave up and I don’t fight the world leaving me behind. I am back here, rolling the boulder of my body up steep hills.

In spite of everything, I’m glad shows continue. It’s bittersweet comfort knowing freaks are getting raucous in basements, with noise made by other freaks, sprayed with wet yells, aggressively jostling with teens; in a reprieve from control, experiencing music together. I’d die for your right to do that. And thanks to you, I just might.

[moonstruckme]

Knowing you write for steddie x reader changes everything for me. I love them and they deserve the world. Plus you do every character so much justice I love how you write them. Maybe reader and Steve supporting Eddie at one of his shows? Or Eddie and Reader helping Steve network at an event? Or Steve and Eddie taking care of a drunk Reader after having a "girls night" with Robin and Nancy?

Love your writing and hope you have an amazing Valentines day! 💝 🍫🎀🌹💐

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Hope your valentine's was amazing too <33

cw: effects of alcohol + weed

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

When Steve gets back home, you’re sitting on the floor of the kitchen drinking water out of a bowl with a half empty bag of bread beside you. 

“Jesus,” he says. “This looks kinda pathetic, don’t you think?” 

Eddie, sitting on the counter while he monitors you, shrugs. “All our cups are dirty.” 

“She didn’t want to sit on the couch or something?” 

“No, she said—”

“The floor’s really important right now,” you say gravely. 

Eddie nods. “I kind of get it.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, squatting beside you. “How’s it going, honey?” 

“M’not feeling fabulous,” you mumble, your voice echoing around the inside of the bowl. “Are Nancy and Robs okay?” 

“Yeah, they’re good,” he says. “They’re home safe.” He peers into the bowl when you lower it for a second. You’ve almost drained it. He has to hand it to Eddie; purposefully or not, his bowl scheme has gotten you to drink a good amount of water. “Neither of them would tell me what you guys got up to, though.” 

You’ve just raised the bowl to drink again, and you giggle into your little cavern. 

Eddie, feeling left out, hops down from the counter and takes up a position on your other side. “Ooh, that sounds like trouble.” He nudges your shoulder with his, squinting at you deviously. “What’d you do, huh?”

You set the bowl down, finished. “Nothing,” you say smugly. 

Eddie leans around you to shoot Steve a look, and he rolls his eyes at the showy intrigue in it. 

“Let me guess,” his boyfriend drawls. “You went to that biker bar downtown?”

You shake your head but realize your mistake halfway through, frowning at yourself. “M’not gonna say anything.” 

“That’s no fun! Come on, did you all get secret matching tattoos?” 

You press your lips together. Ignore the eyebrow Steve raises at you. 

“Did you go skinny dipping in the river? Go to a strip club?” Eddie gasps, expression morphing into one of scandal like your face has revealed anything more than a growing amusement at his theories. “Oh my god, you worked a strip club! Baby, you should’ve told us, Stevie and I would’ve tipped you good if we’d been invited.” 

“Quit it.” You go to pinch Eddie’s side. He stops you with a hand on your wrist and a delighted grin. “M’not telling you yes or no to anything, so don’t bother.” 

“Alright,” Steve says at the mischievous look in his boyfriend’s brown eyes, “you ready for bed?” 

Instantly, your good mood slips away. “No,” you say, almost pleading. “M’too dizzy, I can’t go to bed like this.” 

Eddie’s coo sounds how Steve feels. He stands while his boyfriend kisses sympathetically at your cheek, reaching down for you.

“That’s alright,” he promises. “Let’s just brush teeth for now, okay? We’ll give you some time to sober up.” 

It takes some help from Eddie on the floor to get you up, but soon Steve has his arm around your waist, keeping you pressed close to his side as he all but carries you to the bathroom. He hears Eddie moving around in the kitchen, cleaning up your small mess, and takes the opportunity to lean in to whisper, “Okay, are you really not going to tell me how you got like this?” 

You groan, head lolling onto his shoulder. “You’re gonna think it’s so uncool.” 

Steve laughs quietly. “C’mon, babe. You’ve got the D&D master in there, and then a guy who probably peaked in high school. Are you really worried about what we think is cool?” 

“Yes,” you mutter, but sigh in defeat as he leans you against the bathroom counter, getting your toothbrush ready for you. “Fine. We didn’t even go out. We just stayed in Nancy’s basement.” 

He feels his eyebrows go up. “I thought you guys were going to go to the bars.” 

“We were, but Robin brought us brownies to eat before we left, and…and she didn’t tell me what was in them until I’d already had two.” 

“Oh,” Steve realizes, “you’re high, huh?” 

“I had a bit to drink before that, too,” you say miserably. You take the toothbrush from him, all but shoving it into your mouth. 

“You’re crossed?” Steve gives a little laugh, scrubbing his hand up and down your arm sympathetically. Your skin is pleasantly warm, and you lean into his touch like his hands are molding you that way. “Shit, that sucks.” 

“We didn’t even get to go out because of me,” you lament around a mouthful of toothpaste. You’re starting to sound a bit teary. “And I threw up in Nancy’s bathroom.” 

Steve tries to look like he’s taking this seriously, but it’s hard to keep the amusement from his tone. “You couldn’t have known, you know?” He crosses his arms, watching as you scrub the inside of your mouth like you’re trying to rid yourself of this entire night. “Robs should have told you earlier. Christ, no wonder you seemed so much more fucked up than either of them.” 

“What’s going on?” Eddie leans against the doorway. 

“She’s crossed,” Steve says. 

“Steve!” You spit your toothpaste into the sink and look up at him, betrayed. “You’re such a narc!” 

“Aw, baby.” Steve really doesn’t know why you ever wanted to keep this a secret from Eddie. He’ll tease you more for it, sure, but he’ll also baby you way more than Steve ever would. And predictably, you eat it up, responding to his tone with a cute pout. “This is your first time being high, isn’t it?” 

You nod pitifully. “I didn’t even mean to,” you warble, eyes looking dangerously wet. “It was an accident.” 

Eddie crosses the distance to you in two long strides, wrapping his arms around your middle so your back is pressed to his front. “Poor thing,” he coos. “You were tricked, huh?” 

“She was,” Steve says, somewhat crossly. “Robin’s gonna hear it when I see her tomorrow, don’t worry.” 

“No, Steve!” Your boyfriend sticking up for you only seems to worsen your upset. You turn your glassy eyes on him, reaching for his hand. “You can’t tell, please! S’a girls’ night secret, you’re not supposed to know.” 

Steve softens. He can play tough, but he’s never been any match for you when you make your eyes all big and sad like that. He’ll give you anything you want. 

“I dunno,” Eddie says, “I think we should go egg her house.” 

Steve grins, but you blanch. 

“No,” you protest urgently, clearly missing the humor in Eddie's voice. 

“Alright, alright.” Steve tugs your hand toward him, soothing his palm up the inside of your wrist. “We won’t tell, honey.” Eddie rolls his eyes, but they’re full of fondness as he stamps a kiss on your cheek to show his agreement. “Do you want to sit in bed until you feel okay enough to go to sleep?” 

The worry clears from your expression, replaced by something almost approaching shyness. “Yes, please,” you say, sinking into Eddie’s hold. “You guys can go to sleep though, if you want.” 

“Oh, no way,” Eddie says, keeping you securely in his hold as he starts to walk you towards the bedroom. “It’s your first time being high, baby! I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” 

You grin like he’s silly, but when your unsteady gaze lands on Steve it’s tentative. 

“We’re not just gonna leave you awake by yourself,” he agrees. “We’ll stay up however long you need us to.” 

“Exactly,” Eddie says. “Okay, tell me everything going through your head right now. Do you kind of feel like you’re watching a TV show through your own eyes?”

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 4: Lost in history /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: The research for a way to send her back started, but they come to the conclusion that there's only one person that can help them now.

Word Count: 2,1K

Warnings: Just our babygirl Y/N being sad.

Notes: We have some Elriel content and i admit that it feels werid writing about them but soon things will change hehehehe

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

“This is all I have that mentions other worlds.” The red headed female from yesterday's training spoke, her red hair was covered by a blue hoodie, a stone resting peacefully against her forehead. Just like Petrah wore too. 

“Thank you..” She motioned for the female so she could tell her name.

“Gwyneth, but you can call me Gwyn.” She nodded. 

“Thanks, Gwyn.” The female smiled at her, before spinning on her heels and leaving her alone, walking away.

That morning, Rhysand had appeared again, she had to hold herself as she stared at those violet eyes, he wasn’t like Maeve, he already proved that. He had told her that they were already looking for answers, ways of getting her back to her world. She had asked him how she could help, and that’s how she ended down there.

The priestesses walked around in silence, their dresses rustling against the marble floors, books and more books adorned the walls, the smell of dust and parchment filled the cavernous space. Aelin Galathynius would love a library like that one. The two had discovered a common interest in books during the time she spent in Orynth. 

The dream of creating their own book club felt like a very distant memory now. She was rather fond of the Queen, Aelin was just amazing, and she saw her for what she truly was, a survivor, just like Y/N. So young having to deal with all of that, she admired her strength, the courage to wake up everyday and fight for the world she wanted.

She shook her head, thinking about it wouldn’t help, and she would just be sad, more than she already was. So she stuck her nose on the pages and read everything she could about other worlds. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

She closed the last book with an annoyed growl. Nothing. Absolutely nothing helpful on those pages. She wanted to bang her head against the nearest wall, the whole fucking day spent in theories, nothing concrete in how to access those said worlds. 

“Nothing?” A deep voice sounded, she turned her head, Cassian was standing there. “I won’t say we're having much more success than you.” She took a deep breath, getting up and stretching her muscles.

“I sat here for hours and not a single thing was useful. For a library that big, someone would think you have more information than that.” She started to follow the male. 

“Thank you, I've been saying that for centuries.” He led the way towards the endless stairs that would take them back to the surface.

“How old are you exactly?” His head turned to the side just enough so he could see her from his peripheral vision. 

“I’m 539 years old.” She stopped in her tracks. “I know it sounds old for such a young female like you.” He turned fully to her.

“How old do you think I am?” A smile danced on her lips.

“I don’t know, 22?” She then laughed, walking past him, starting to go upstairs to get out of that library. 

“Thank you, but I'm 105.” She explained and Cassian gasped loudly. 

“You’re not.” She nodded her head.

“I am. Witches tend to age very slowly.” She emphasised the world very, and Cassian found himself intrigued. Obviously they also aged slowly, but he didn't imagine the same happened in her world as well. 

The rest of the way was silent, as they made their way towards the House of Wind, as Nesta had introduced yesterday. The house responsible for her warm bath and fresh clothes this morning as well. She had thanked the house quietly, but Azriel had caught the faint whispers, so used to them, thinking it was very sweet of her. 

More people had joined the dinner, the smell of food lingered in the air, conversations floated around and she found herself surrounded by more strangers. A female holding a baby that looked like a younger version of Nesta. A black male with white hair, sitting by the side of a small female with silver eyes and short hair. 

She greeted all of them, introducing herself and waiting for them to do the same. The male was called Varian and Amren was by his side. Feyre and Nyx were High Lady and heir to the night court. They all looked at her with curiosity, everyone seemed to look at her like this lately, even when she was back at her home. 

“So you are the pretty female that the skies blessed us with.” Amren spoke. She reminded her of Lin, with her narrow eyes and deep black hair. 

“Amren, will you keep what I told you in secret, please?” Morrigan exclaimed, sipping on her wine. The smaller female just rolled her eyes, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Well, I guess so.” She poked a piece of lamb. Her goblet filled with wine but she craved something else. She craved blood. 

“Hopefully you had more success than us.” Feyre spoke, her sweet voice sounding like a fresh breeze. The baby slept clutched to her chest. Y/N knew she was staring at him, but she didn’t care, her memories drifting to a distant time, where a baby just as tiny as him never had the chance to live, and she paid a bitter price for her actions. 

“I.. hmm…” She cleared her throat, everyone was waiting for an answer, their eyes glued to her. Her scar throbbed with the attention and she had to hold back from flinching with the pain that pulsates on the skin. “No, I have found nothing useful.” She concluded, sipping on the wine, making a frown at the taste, blood tasted way better. 

“Not fond of wine?” Amren mocked, like she knew exactly what she wanted. 

“I just like something a little bit different, that’s all.” She didn’t want to disrespect them in their home, Asterin would be disappointed if she did so. So she downed the wine with the food, pretended to participate in their conversations and watched as the night progressed out of the window.

“We need to check Koschei.” Rhysand spoke, this caught her attention and she started to listen again. “It’s been weeks, we need to know what he’s been up to.” The name caused her blood to run cold, she didn’t know what, but something about this creature left her on alert.

“Who is Koschei?” She asked, their heads turning to her, Rhysand shared a look with his mate, like they were having a silent conversation before he spoke again. 

“He’s a powerful sorcerer bound to a lake.” He started. 

“For now.” Morrigan corrected. 

“Yes, for now. We want to defeat him before he becomes an even bigger problem than he already is.” She studied them, how the whole table felt tense with the conversation, like they were afraid of this thing, something told Y/N that she should feel afraid too. 

“Maybe he knows something.” Nesta started. “He’s from another world as well.”

“What? Do you want to go there and ask him how to open a portal to another world?” Amren mocked and Nesta gave her a hurtful look. 

“No, but maybe we can find a book about him, someone that knows his history or something like that.” She defended herself.

“Nesta is right.” Cassian spoke, hand squeezing her thigh under the table. “We’re already looking for a way to free Vassa, we can ask Lucien to try and help with this too.” 

“That is a great idea. I’ll send him a letter, it’s already time for him to visit us.” Feyre chimed in, her blue eyes sparking with happiness at the thought of seeing Lucien again, it’s been months since he left with the Band of Exiles. “You’re going to love Lucien.” She turned to Y/N.

“If you think so.” Meeting more people, she was so excited for that. With a loud yawn, she excused herself and retired to her room, she had to wake up early to go for a ride on Meraxes, she could hear the winds calling for her.  

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

“I swear there’s nothing going on.” Azriel promised, but Elain still refused to hear him. After their argument the day before, she had come looking for him in the training field, just to find her glued to his back, and Azriel allowing it as she claimed.

“What I saw yesterday would love to disagree with you.” She poked her untouched food, they were in a reserved table on a restaurant across the Rainbow, he just wanted that argument to be over. 

“It was just training, my flower.” He begged, rubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to calm himself, he didn’t know what else he could say to convince her. “You chose me and I chose you, despite everything, that female cannot change that.” 

If he only knew how wrong he was. She looked at him with that spark in her eyes, hands clutching his scarred ones and bringing to her pink lips in a sweet kiss.

“You are right, she’s not better than me and she never will.” His shadows moved as if they disagreed, they were always quiet in Elain’s presence and he never knew why. They didn’t darted towards her like they did with Y/N more times than he could count in the short period she was there.

“Yeah, let’s just eat and go home, please.” He begged and Elain nodded.

The rest of the dinner felt bitter against his lips, his head throbbed and when he rested his hands on her lower back to lead the way home, it felt wrong, so wrong. He swallowed the feelings and kept trying to convince himself that he chose this, this is what he wanted. Three sisters to three brothers or whatever. 

Elain’s hands cupped his cheek, and she lifted her body to the tip of her toes, kissing him lightly on the lips, saying her good night to him, disappearing into her room at the River House. 

He closed the door behind him, flying towards the House of Wind in a starless sky, dark clouds covering the beautiful night. When he landed on the balcony, he slowly stalked towards his room, but his shadows urged him away from it, towards the library. 

From the open arch on the stone wall, he could see her, a tiny nightgown covering her body, some strands falling loose from her braid. A book clutched in hands as she sat against a window, eyes glued to the sky. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He said, his voice hoarse. She turned to him, those beautiful eyes penetrating his soul. She closed her book.

“There’s a storm coming.” She raised her finger, pointing outside. 

“How do you know?” Stars still littered the sky from where he could see. 

“I can hear it's calling.” Azriel nodded. She had a defeated expression on her face, all he wanted to do was to soothe the furrowed eyebrows and tell her everything would be fine. “Do you think I'll ever find my way home?” Tears glistened in the moonlight, burning her eyes. 

“I don’t know.” He answered with honesty, he didn’t have the answer for that, and as much as he wanted to help her, something inside him didn’t want her to go back. He shushed that part of him, hiding them in the shadows of his heart. 

“I wonder if they miss me.” She looked outside again, ever since Asterin died, she felt like she lost her space in the world, like she didn’t belong anywhere, if she disappeared would anyone notice? Would they find a way to get her back? All those questions and self doubt weighed on her soul, crushing her until she couldn’t breathe. She blinked the tears away. 

“I’m sure they do.” She could hear the pity in his tone, and she hated that, she knew that if she looked at him he would have that look on his face, the one everyone had when they looked at her. Manon, Fenrys, Aelin, Shearah, Elide and all of them, the same pitiful glare reserved just for her. She didn’t want to face that here as well.

So she got up, leaving the book behind and walked past him, as fast as the winds, but his warm hand caught her arm, forcing her to stop. Her head whipped back, eyes locking with his golden ones. 

“I’m so sorry if I offended you.” His voice was gentle, calming.

“I don’t need your pity.” She barked in anger. 

“I wouldn’t dare.” He promised, and she just nodded, freeing herself from his grip, going to her room, locking the door and throwing herself under the blankets. The skin of her arm felt warm where he had touched. And that night, after tossing and tuning for what felt like an eternity, she dreamed about that male again.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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[ludmilachaibemachado]

July 28th 1968 - 'Mad Day Out' photoshoot. (Location 2 - Mercury Theatre)🍂🇬🇧🌴

The second location was at London's Mercury Theatre in Notting Hill. It was originally a church hall (1848). The Beatles parked outside Horbury Chapel (now Kensington Temple Church)🌸🇬🇧🥀

Don McCullin (photographer): "Someone brought a parrot. films in the as terras." and had to try hard to recharge the There was an old piano there, and they started fooling around on it🪷🎸🌼

Beatles and Cavern Club Photos🍀

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 11: Enemies to Lovers

Bad Education | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20,061 Main Tags/Warnings: Buttler!Castiel, CEO!Dean, enemies to lovers, boss/employee relationship, character development, comedy Summary: When a multimillionaire grandfather wants to give his grandson Dean Winchester a lesson, he will search for a desperate method by hiring Dean's worst nightmare to be his butler. Will the charismatic Castiel be able to educate the most egocentric, selfish and rebellious rich dude and turn him into a perfect CEO? Or will they kill each other before that happens?

Better Than You | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,950 Main Tags/Warnings: Light internalized homophobia, office au, coming out, rivals to lovers, childhood friends, fluff, angst, happy ending Summary: Dean has many goals in his life, but there's just one that bothers him to death: to defeat the perfect Castiel Novak at any cost. This is a self-discovering journey, in which Dean will try his best to win against Castiel and not to fall in love with him in the meantime.

Maybe not a comedy (according to Jack), but he likes the happy ending | @seidenapfel Rating: Mature Word Count: 67,602 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Canon-Typical Violence, Angels, Demons, Angel Wings, Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel's True Form (Supernatural), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mention of Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, possible Meg Masters/Charlie Bradbury, Additional Warnings In Author's Note Summary: Dean Winchester is dead. He died ten years ago, when he sold his soul to Demon Corp in order to save his brother’s life. He has lost everything, even his dignity. All that is left is a brutal tool to torture other lost souls on Inferno just like himself. Castiel’s orders are simple. Free one random soul from the pit on Inferno in order to bring it back to Angelus Associations’ headquarters on Paradiso. No one expects him to be successful, but, as a soldier, he never questions his orders. The moment Castiel lays eyes on the human overseer, everything changes. Castiel has found his mission, the man he needs to save. An adventure begins that takes Dean and Castiel from planet to planet, from Inferno to Purgatorio to Paradiso, and beyond. It’s a journey to find themselves and each other.

Vampirenatural: The Rebellion - Rogue | @Taymarpigeon Rating: Explicit Word Count: 225,822 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, World of Darkness, Human Dean Winchester, Detective Dean Winchester, Vampire Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Smut, Gallows Humor, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Human/Vampire Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood Sharing, sickness and injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Kiiiind of Mafia, Kiiiind of Murder Husbands, Russian Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Suicide, non-consensual biting, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Acts of War Summary: From clubs to underground caverns, seedy motels, haunted hotels and exclusive mansions, Los Angeles has it all. It's a place for the pretty and the hopeful, but beneath its star-spangled façade are shadowy corners harbouring the vagrant and the vagabond alike. It's a world of corruption, sex and violence, Detective Dean Winchester has learnt to navigate with ease. Eight years at Santa Monica PD could never have prepared him for the underbelly of this so-called City of Angels though. Dean knows the shadows, he knows them intimately, but is he prepared for the World of Darkness?