#they were all on stage (i assume after bowing to the crowd or something) and gundham starts just filming himself like a selfie?

[apollorobin]

part of a behind the scenes video of the sdr2 stage play!! no english subs on this, sorry, but: hajime, gundham, fuyuhiko, nagito and imposter having a lil pep talk before the show starts or something (i think)!!! I LOVE THEM

[wreckedandpolemic]

regret me - matty healy

(mdni) in which an enmity with a certain infuriating singer turns mutually beneficial. 11775 words.

warnings: oral (f and m receiving), semi-public sex, mild exhibitionism, praise, degradation, switch!matty

Entering Battle of the Bands at your local had started off as a joke. Mostly. Your bassist Sabrina had pointed out the poster last time you were there for drinks, and you’d signed your name. It’d be a laugh, you’d reasoned, a good way to get into playing live shows and meet some other local bands. Plus, a hundred quid cash prize couldn’t hurt.

But that was before you met Drive Like I Do. Or, more specifically, their insufferable little twerp of a lead singer, Matty.

He meets your eyes across the bar, smirking like he likes what he sees, and, honestly, he doesn’t hurt to look at, so you lift your drink in his direction and beckon him over. “Hi,” he grins. “I’m Matty. Are you staying for the show?” You nod, but he interrupts you before you can elaborate. “We’re on last, so you might have to sit through some right shit before it gets good. Have you seen some of the names on the lineup? I mean, True Romance? I bet they just named it that ‘cause it sounds pretty. Probably haven’t even seen the film.”

You glower, and it’s obviously not the reaction he expects, his face screwing up in confusion. “That’s my band. And True Romance is one of my favourite films, not that it fucking matters.” You get up from the table, scowling at him. “And I have a name, thank you so much for asking.”

Annoyingly, Matty’s right; most of the bands on the lineup are shit. But you figure that means you’ll wipe the floor with them, having actually rehearsed and learned your own songs that aren’t covers.

You look out at the crowd, adrenaline pumping in your veins as Grace tunes her guitar. This is probably the most people you’ve ever played for, you realise with a jolt, swallowing around the lump in your throat and stepping up to the mic. “Hello, everybody! How’s everyone feeling tonight? You feelin’ good? Yeah?” The crowd cheers back at you, and you grin blissfully. “Alright, I’m not here to dick about, I’m here to play some fuckin’ songs! We’re True Romance and this is Dream Girl.”

You throw yourself into the set, your hair sticking to your forehead as you sweat under the lights. Your gaze keeps wandering to Matty, sat in a booth with who you assume are his bandmates, nodding along and watching you with intrigue. He quirks an eyebrow at you and you tear your eyes away, grateful for the heat that hides the flush in your cheeks. The crowd is practically frenetic, cheering wildly as the final note whines out of the speakers, and you join hands with your bandmates and bow.

You blow a kiss to the audience and step off stage, passing Matty as he and his band take their positions. Checking the lineup, you scoff when you read the name of the band playing directly after you. Drive Like I Do? And he had the audacity to call your band’s name shit? But you quickly realise they could have the longest, most nonsensical name in the world, and it wouldn’t matter; they’re really fucking good. Matty looks like he was born for the stage, soaking up the crowd’s attention and magnifying their energy tenfold. It doesn’t even matter what they’re singing about (as far as you can tell, a video game) — every girl in the bar is screaming her head off, giggling to her friends when one of the boys so much as looks at her.

Okay, so maybe you’re a little smug that Matty won’t stop looking at you. You’re not blind, after all. Doesn’t make him not a cocky little prick. He comes straight over to you when his set finishes and you roll your eyes. “What, are you expecting me to fall at your feet ‘cause you can hit a few notes behind a mic stand?” you scoff, and he laughs.

“Oh, come on, love. No need for the only two good bands in here to be fighting. Promise I’ll buy you a drink after I win.” You scowl. “Oh, and she’s even prettier when she’s angry. Was it something I said?” he smirks.

“Fuck off and die,” you say with a saccharine smile.

Sabrina slides into the seat Matty just vacated. “He’s into you,” she says, passing you your pint with a slight wrinkle of her nose. You give her a look, and she scoffs, the pair of you so attuned to each other by now that you can communicate without words. “Oh, don’t be all you about it. He’s hot,” she laughs. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Be my guest. He’s a dick.”

She snorts into her Sex on the Beach. “The way he’s eye-fucking you? Tenner says he goes home alone tonight.” She leans in, smirking conspiratorially. “Or with you.”

You roll your eyes. Betting on a stranger’s sex life is… strangely on brand, for the two of you. “I’ll take that bet. Look at the state of him.” You wave a hand in his general direction, a pint glass in one hand and some girl’s ass in the other, her skirt hiked inappropriately high in plain view. She’s pouting, though, his attention clearly not on her even as he paws at her ass, gaze locked on you instead.

Sticking your middle finger up, you turn resolutely away as the other two members of your band wander up to the table. You lose yourself in the conversation, still wild with adrenaline from playing a proper show, and for a moment you forget why you were playing in the first place. When you’re announced as the second place holders, though, you remember, scowling openly because you know there’s only one band who could possibly be winning.

Matty extricates himself from the girls clinging onto him as the cheers start to die down and strolls over, setting a drink in front of you. “Here. Told you I’d get you a drink when I won,” he smirks, and you accept it grudgingly. Look, you’re not about to turn down a free drink, alright? “Don’t sulk, love. We…” He waves a hand, indicating both your band and his. “Collectively, wiped the floor with every other fuckin’ person in here. C’mon, don’t be a sore loser. Let me get you drunk, you won’t pay a penny, I swear.”

And as much as you want to punch his smug little face in, pour your drink over his vintage band tee, one you recognise as being horribly expensive, you’re tempted by the offer of getting smashed on Matty’s tab. Plus, Grace is giving Drive Like I Do’s bassist the eyes, so she’ll be fucking off over there either way.

So you take him up on it, downing vodka cokes until you can barely see straight, screaming in Matty’s face that Blur is obviously better than Oasis, come on! You don’t know how it happens, but you find yourself dancing with them and not hating it? Spinning breathlessly between Ross and George (who are actually pretty sound, in all honesty), you grab Grace and Sabrina by the hands and let them pull Alice, your drummer, into a circle, kicking your legs and laughing wildly.

Lost in sticky floors, thumping bass and a spirit-fuelled haze, you don’t push Matty away when his hands find your hips. You grind your hips back against him, let him press damp kisses to your neck, licking the sweat off your skin. A shudder runs down your spine, faint threads of desire creeping under your skin. “Stopped bein’ a sore loser yet?” he taunts, and your good mood vanishes like a snuffed-out candle.

You turn, slinging your arms around his neck and leaning in close. Matty’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips distractingly, the skin plush and soft. You have a sudden craving to bite down on the skin there, feel it tear beneath your teeth, taste blood in your mouth. You want him, and you want him wrecked. “You,” you say, low voice carrying all the intimacy of a kiss. “Are the most self-absorbed, insufferable piece of shit I’ve ever met. Bathroom. Five minutes.” Matty’s face splits in a wicked grin, leaning so close he could kiss you. You stay like that for a moment, sharing oxygen, the feeling of breathing him in intoxicating, like you’re drunk all over again.

The sticky air of the pub feels impossibly cold as you break away, Matty’s gaze burning into your back until you’re swallowed into the crowd, weaving your way into the bathroom. Matty clicks the door open a few moments later, glancing around furtively before slipping inside. All the air rushes from his lungs as you slam him against the door, one arm braced against his chest and the other tensed beside his head. A gratifying flash of fear crosses his face and you smirk at him, leaning close to speak against his lips. “Am I scaring you, baby?” He swallows thickly. “Good,” you breathe, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss.

Matty moans into your mouth, the taste of gin spilling from his tongue as you devour him. You kiss to hurt, to injure, to bruise, biting down on his lower lip and licking over the wound. He whimpers a little, from pain or arousal you can’t tell, but you have a sneaking suspicion it’s both. “Fuck, you kiss like an animal,” he gasps, chest already heaving.

You grin viciously. “Only when I hate you. C’mon, on your knees. I haven’t got all night.” Matty pouts a little. “Oh, what, did you think I was gonna let you fuck me? I don't know where you’ve been, you fucking whore.” His eyes widen, liquid desire pooling in his irises. “I’m waiting,” you hiss, and he obeys unthinkingly.

His hands come greedily up to your waist, fumbling with the chain looped through your jeans. Finally, he pulls it free, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down your thighs. Seemingly unable to resist, he presses a kiss just above the waistband of your panties, and you clench your jaw against the shudder that runs through you at the contact. “God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Matty groans, tipping his head forward so his curls brush against your lower stomach.

“Get on with it,” you growl, shoving your panties as far down your legs as they’ll go. Matty stares unabashedly at your cunt, slick with the only evidence of your desire you can’t suppress. You gasp as his fingers find your clit deftly, rough and calloused over your swollen nerves.

Without warning, Matty grabs your hips and pulls you towards him, so forcefully that you stumble on your feet. His tongue swipes through your folds, a pitiful whimper falling from your lips, and he smirks up at you. “Taste so sweet, darling. Like a fucking peach.”

You roll your eyes, gripping his hair and dragging him back to your cunt, his tongue lapping deliciously over your clit. “Use that pretty mouth for something better than talking,” you snap, moaning softly as he obliges. Matty’s fingers dig into your hips, nails biting crescents of frantic desire into your skin. He laps at you starvingly, tongue-fucking you deep and fast, the punishing rhythm making you dizzy. Heart rolls up your spine, his name poison-sweet on your tongue as you grind your hips down against his mouth.

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging sharply, Matty’s answering moan reverberating through you. “God, you are a fucking slut,” you groan, pleasure swirling low in your belly. “Like that I’m hurting you, hm?”

“Uh-huh,” he moans, indistinct and muffled as the sound vibrates through you. Liquid desire drips down your spine, pooling between your legs and melting on Matty’s tongue, hungry and sure as he buries it deep inside you. He pulls away to suck on your clit, your legs turning jelly-like as a pulse of blinding ecstasy washes over you. You aren’t sure if the bare bulb in the dingy little bathroom is flickering or if your vision is going dim, lost in mind-wiping desire as Matty braces your hips to press his tongue even deeper into you.

Whining, you clench your cunt around his tongue, holding him in place as his fingers come up to play with your clit. You’re barrelling towards an earth-shattering end, twined with the intoxicating power of having Matty whimpering on his knees. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh?” you murmur. “This is where you belong, on your fuckin’ knees for me.” He clings to you like you’re a mirage, like you’ll dissipate and leave him if he lets go, hard and begging and alone with your taste lingering on his tongue.

He draws sloppy figure-eights on your clit, euphoria spreading in your limbs, burning up your blood as you moan his name into the liquor-laced air. Your fingers scramble for purchase against the poster-plastered walls, losing your grip on reality, your impending orgasm stealing the breath from your lungs. A string of honey-slick moans fall from your lips, one hand buried in Matty’s curls as you roll your hips down against his mouth. He makes out with your cunt messily, wantonly, like he’s been starved.

“I’m so close, Jesus fuck—” you cry, slapping a palm over your mouth to keep from screaming as Matty bites down gently on your clit, the flash of pain enough to tip you over the edge. You tumble into oblivion, pleasure burning so hot in your veins that you aren’t sure you have any blood left. Matty licks at you, sucks on your clit, fucks you with his tongue as your cunt flutters around him, swallowing every drop of your arousal as you come undone on his mouth.

Matty’s eager, fucked-out grin is the first thing you see when you come back to Earth, legs weak and skull throbbing. Mustering up your dignity, you sneer down at him like he hasn’t just given you probably the best orgasm of your life in a cramped, dirty bar bathroom. “Just because I let you eat me out, you think that means I’m just gonna put your filthy fucking dick in my mouth?” you scoff. Casually swinging a leg, the tip of your boot meets Matty’s clothed cock, not quite a kick, but not much of anything else either. A helpless little moan tumbles from his lips and you laugh condescendingly, tilting his chin up so he’s looking in your eyes.

He grinds down against your boot, power thrumming heady in your veins. “Baby, please,” he whimpers, the sound dizzying and gratifying. 

“Pathetic,” you say, low and sweet. “Getting off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal. Bet you’d let me do whatever I wanted, huh?” He nods frantically, desperate to please, his jaw coming compliantly open when you pull down. A thrill steals up your spine as a wad of spit lands on his tongue, chased by a bolt of desire when he swallows obediently. “Don’t come back out until you can fucking control yourself.”

You dress yourself, Matty still panting at your feet, his chin slick with your arousal, and slip back out of the bathroom. Like you’d predicted, your friends are too hammered to question your absence much, accepting your excuse of having gone for a smoke without question. The four of you laugh and sing and dance the rest of the night, Grace slipping away with Ross at a tasteful two a.m., you and Sabrina exchanging a knowing look at her lack of subtlety. At some point, Matty had joined you again, throwing you looks so venomous you’re a little scared.

Just as you’re calling it a night, you scrawl your number on a damp napkin and shove it into his pocket. “In case you’re ever after a rematch,” you say, low enough not to be overheard, and his answering smirk is wicked.

Sabrina sighs dramatically at his retreating back. “Hate to see ‘em go, love to watch ‘em leave.” You snort, shoving her playfully. “Alright, pay up. What did I say? Alone, or with you.”

Groaning, you dig in your wallet and slap a ten-pound note in her outstretched palm. “Alice, have I ever told you you’re my favourite?” Giggling, the three of you stumble out to the taxi rank, the sting of your loss almost forgotten against the heat still tingling between your thighs.

Matty doesn’t text you until the next evening, and you’ll take the grin that split your face at the sight of his message to your grave.

So about that rematch?

Don’t beg it’s pathetic

Had enough of that last night

You know where to find me when you’re ready to put up a real fight

You don’t hear from him for a little while after that, but something tells you the pair of you aren’t done yet. Or maybe that’s just his voice in your head while you bury your hand between your thighs.

Sabrina throws a house party for her twenty-first, because she’s still barred from every good club within ten miles for underage drinking. You’re a little tipsy, a little high, singing along to the CD spinning in the player and sipping a cocktail while you wait for everyone to arrive. The house is a sweaty, heaving mass of bodies by eleven, screaming drunk as you stumble onto the patio. You’re alone except for one other boy with his back to you, his silhouette blurred in the dark as you fish for your cigarettes, alcohol making your body uncoordinated and slow to obey direction.

Sliding one between your lips, you call out, “Have you got a light?” The boy turns, and your heart skips a painfully embarrassing beat. Matty smirks back at you, annoyingly gorgeous with a cigarette dangling from his lips, clad in a floral shirt and a worn leather jacket.

“Long time no see, darling,” he grins. “Was wonderin’ if I’d run into you.” It’s a fight to rein in your thoughts, running wild as want licks up your spine. It’s fucking Pavlovian, you tell yourself, getting off to the thought of him setting off some instinctual reaction to his presence.

“Been thinking about me a lot?” you tease, privately curious as to the answer.

He steps closer, and you try not to flinch. “Oh, I’ve been pulling the absolute cock off myself thinking about how you kicked me in the dick and left me on the fucking ground. Kind of scenario wet dreams are made of,” he snaps.

You laugh like he’s recalling a fond memory to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks at the image of him touching himself. “Oh, don’t be a baby. Shouldn’t have made it so satisfying to kick you in the dick, then.”

Matty flashes his teeth. “You were plenty satisfied already, if memory serves. Jesus fuck, I’m cumming, oh, God, Matty, fuck,” he taunts, putting on a high, breathy affect of your voice, taking another predatory step towards you. He breathes smoke out over your face, the grey cloud curling in front of your eyes, blurring the planes of his face and casting him in a hazy glow.

“You’re making me want to kick you in the dick again,” you threaten, but it lacks any edge, all the fight draining out of you as Matty lifts your hand to slip your forgotten cig between your lips. The touch sparks under your skin, stacked kindling waiting to catch alight, burn you up in the blaze.

“Breathe in,” Matty says quietly, leaning in to press the end of his cigarette against yours, the flame passing between you in a shared breath, smoke burning in your lungs as you draw the moment as long as possible, pulling it like elastic between your hands.

You blow out your smoke, twin exhales staining the air between you. “Kiss me,” you murmur, a breathy plea delivered from chapped lips, blackened lungs, through cold air into unreadable honey-brown eyes.

Matty takes a deep drag on his cigarette and flicks it away, taking your jaw in both hands while the smoke sits in his mouth. You try not to envy that it curls on his tongue, your lips parting instinctively for him as it pours from his mouth into yours. Your inhale is quick, perfunctory, an aside to what comes after you blow it out. His lips are soft, your bite mark healed now, moving against yours with what you could almost mistake as tenderness. His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing gently and pulling you flush against him.

When he slides his tongue into your mouth, you can’t help your relieved little moan, something cool and sharp and dangerous lodging itself in your ribcage. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “Missed me, have you?”

“If I say yes, will you fucking touch me?” you snap.

“So needy,” he croons, fingers skirting just below the hem of your skirt. “Wanna stay out here where anyone could see how needy you are for me?”

You stamp on his foot childishly. “If anyone ever finds out I let you touch me, I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat familiar on your tongue, a fraction of your control reigned back in.

Matty laughs. “You’d miss me too much.” You scoff. “Alright, let’s find somewhere to keep this secret, then.”

You practically drag him to Sabrina’s bedroom, and he raises an eyebrow. “If I tried shagging in one of my boys’ rooms, I wouldn’t live long enough for you to kill me,” he remarks.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first guy I’ve ever fucked in here?” You don’t miss the way his grip tightens around your wrist, stiffening slightly. You don’t want to examine what that means.

He sits on the edge of her bed, legs spread and face expectant. “Your turn, love. On your knees, yeah?” You pause, and he laughs darkly. “Oh, you thought you were gonna get fucked?” he taunts, the words a mocking echo of your own, and you feel them like ice thawing in your spine. “Love, the first time I fuck you isn’t going to be in someone else’s bed at a house party. I wanna take my time with you, tear you to fucking pieces.” Your cunt pulses desperately, forcing you into obeisance even as you wear your disgust plainly on your face. “Oh, you want it bad, huh?” Matty murmurs, low and cruel as you unbuckle his belt and pull his cock free from his jeans. “Fuckin’ gagging for it, aren’t you? Go on, darling, get me hard.”

Your jaw falls open, saliva dripping from your tongue and trailing down his cock. You wrap a hand around him, his hips jolting at the contact. Pumping him slowly, his cock fills in your palm, precum sticky on your fingers when you dig your nail into his slit. You lean down, kitten-licking over the head, and he bucks his hips up with a gasp. “Someone’s eager,” you smirk, pushing his hips down with a smirk.

“Shut up before I shut you up,” he says, darkly threatening in a way that makes you believe him, arousal pooling between your legs.

Matty gathers your hair into a crude ponytail in one fist and you look up at him through your lashes. “If you push my head down, I’m biting your dick off,” you warn, lowering your head and wrapping your lips around his tip.

He moans, fighting not to thrust into the warmth of your mouth as your lips creep down his cock. “That’s it, baby. Go on, take it all. Take this filthy fucking dick. Good girl,” Matty croons, moaning as his cock bumps the back of your throat and you swallow a gag. You bob your head, inhaling deeply through your nose and trying to take all of him. Your nose meets his skin and you grin victoriously around his cock, sugary praise falling from his lips and his eyes fixed on you. “Look so pretty on your knees, baby. If you keep being good, I’ll let you swallow my cum,” he adds, and a bolt of lust strikes your core, tinged acrid with shame at letting him hold power over you.

You jam a hand between your legs, rutting wantonly against it, the friction hot as your clit grinds against the seam of your jeans through your panties. A moan spills out around Matty’s cock, the salt of him filling your mouth as he bucks his hips a little. Pulling up, you swallow around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth. Matty moans your name, the sound so sweet in your ears that you want to press it into a vinyl, layer it in the back of a song you can listen to over and over. A string of spit connects your skin as you pull away from him, sitting back on your knees to look in his eyes. “I changed my mind,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them, an unbidden admission from a hazy head and swollen lips. “Fuck my mouth.”

Groaning, Matty lets go of your hair and brushes it out of your face when it falls. “Fuck, love, are you sure?”

You smirk up at him, holding his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, Healy, you know you want to. Fucking ruin me, wreck my voice, make me cry,” you say. It’s a demand, not a plea, and he knows it. Knows that he’ll be giving you what you want, conceding territory in your battle, letting you knock a piece off the chessboard. But he wants. His hand tangles in your hair, his eyes closing as he moves like he doesn’t want to see himself capitulate. The sting in your scalp feels like victory, the ache in your jaw a triumph. Matty fucks your mouth with abandon, dragging your head and thrusting up to meet the back of your throat, moaning as you gag around him.

You’re helpless, your panties soaked with arousal and your cunt clenching around nothing. Pure, unadulterated need rises in you, needy whines slipping out around his cock while he fucks your face like a toy. “You getting off on being used like this?” he taunts, eyes lidded and face flushed. “Little slut. Not so fuckin’ mouthy now, huh? Such a fuckin’ bitch until you’re on your knees gaggin’ on my cock.” Lewd, wet sounds fill the room, his words pushing you to the precipice of submission threatening to overwhelm. You grind pathetically against your palm, desperate for more than the feeble embers flickering in your belly. “You wanna cum, darling?” he murmurs, lifting you off him, your breaths coming hard and heavy and impossibly loud in the sudden quiet.

“Please,” you whine, past the point of caring for your fractured dignity. “M’so wet, Matty, I need it so bad.”

“I shouldn’t let you,” he says musingly. “Not after what you pulled last time.” He grins, knocking your knees apart with one booted foot. “But I’m a gentleman. These, off,” he orders, kicking at your thigh to indicate your jeans. You scramble awkwardly out of them, kicking them into a pile of Sabrina’s clothes that you’re definitely going to pick up a new shirt from later. Matty presses his boot between your thigh, the pressure on your clit so glorious you swear you almost cum, a wave of pleasure knocking the breath from your lungs. “Go on, baby. Get off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal,” he growls, your stolen words hitting you like a shock of ice water.

You hate yourself just a little as your hips roll, taking his cock in your mouth and moaning as he takes up his punishing rhythm. The lace of your panties is rough and scraping over your clit, pain and pleasure mingling in your belly and dripping on Matty’s shoe. Tension winds tight in your belly, a fist clenched so tight it almost breaks skin. Matty fucks your mouth messy and frenzied, his hand tight in your hair and your name sticking to his lips. It sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer — is there a difference, if God doesn’t exist?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna cum, darling, don’t stop,” Matty groans, head thrown back in rapture. You pull out every trick, swallowing and humming around him, swirling your tongue across his skin until he’s spilling in your mouth with a broken groan. “Fuck, yes, good girl, take it all,” he says. “My little cumdump,” he adds, the words striking at your core, pouring liquid heat directly over your nerves, achingly hot.

You pull off his cock with an obscene pop, opening your mouth to show off your painted-white tongue. A string of cum drips from your mouth, landing over his wet cock. You lap it up eagerly, Matty hissing at the contact to his sensitive skin. Your hips grind faster, cunt throbbing with need. With your mouth now freed, you whine out filthy pleas, tasting burning shame in the back of your throat. “Matty, please, I can’t—” you whimper, cut off when he grips your chin and forces your jaw shut, smirking meanly.

“You can, and you will. M’not gonna help you, baby. Can get off on my boot or not at all.” His cool, impassive tone is belayed by his flushed face, lips parted and eyes wide as he watches you grind pathetically against him. Pleasure coils under your skin, tangling with the burn of humiliation, your head thrown back and incoherent whines falling from your lips. “Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ wet dream,” Matty moans out, dragging you by the hair so your gaze falls back on him. “Pretty girl. Can’t wait to make you fall apart on my cock, shit.”

Your cunt throbs near-painfully, molten ecstasy turning your organs to liquid, your climax sweet and hot on the tip of your tongue. “M’so close,” you whimper, pleading little gasps stumbling from your lips. You grind your clit harshly against the tough leather of Matty’s shoe, fucking debasing yourself as you chase your orgasm. Digging your nails into his calf, you moan helplessly, gripping him like a lifeline as your head starts to float clear of your body. His eyes glitter triumphantly, holding all the power while reducing you to a pathetic, pleading mess grinding against his shoe.

Ecstasy swirls in your belly, dizzying. It’s thick in your lungs, stoppering your thoughts until all you know is Matty’s cruel little smirk, his lust-blown eyes, his shoe pressed against your cunt. Your final, last-ditch act of rebellion comes when the thread tethering you to your sanity finally snaps. You might have sunk low, lower than you ever thought you could, but you will not plead to cum on his shoe. That final thought circles as pleasure knocks you breathless, a keening wail ripping from your throat as your cunt pulses. Matty’s hand tightens in your hair as you cum, aching bliss coursing through your bloodstream. “Fuck,” you mumble, your legs weak as you crumple to the floor.

“That feel good?” Matty asks, flashing teeth.

“Fuck you,” you snap, painfully conscious of how little effect your words have when you’re on the floor below him, your cunt still pulsing with aftershocks.

“I will,” he says sweetly, and you groan.

Trying not to stagger, you get to your feet. “This,” you gesture in the air between you. “Means nothing, alright? As far as everyone we know is concerned, we can’t stand each other. In fact, I can’t stand you.”

“S’that why you got on your knees so fast?” Matty smirks, still leaning insouciantly on Sabrina’s bed. You scoff, disgusted with yourself, and turn to leave. “Might wanna clean yourself up, love,” he calls as you shove the door open. “You look like you just sucked a dick.”

You don’t realise that leaving was a concession until the door clicks shut and you catch his smirk before he disappears from view. Slipping into the miraculously empty bathroom, you realise he’s right; you do look like you’ve just sucked a dick. Your hair is wild, raked through and tangled, mascara running down your face and your lipstick smeared over your chin. The matching ring that must sit around the base of Matty’s cock makes you smirk to yourself, a tangible reminder of the encounter that he’ll have to work to remove.

You manage to tame your appearance and wander back downstairs, finding Sabrina and Alice deep in conversation with Matty and George. “There you are!” Sabrina gasps, loud enough to be heard over the screaming music and loud background chatter. “Thought you’d fucked off home. Was just telling the boys about our gig,” she grins. Oh, right. Your actual fucking gig, where you have to play your songs to a crowd of fans there for somebody else, and somehow hold their attention for an entire set. And you’d just stopped feeling fucking nauseous about it.

“Love, why didn’t you tell me?” Matty says, mocking in a way that only you can sense, prodding at a wound only he can see.

“Oh, please.” You pour yourself a strong drink and take a long sip before you continue. “I’d rather not spew over the front row seeing your ugly fucking mug in the crowd.” George snorts and Sabrina swats your arm.

“Don’t be a cowbag, it’s my birthday,” she scolds, eyes lighting up as they land on an undrunk bottle of tequila. “I know how to loosen you up a bit,” she grins, brandishing the bottle and digging in the fridge for a net bag of limes. “Body shots!” She spins around, wiggling her eyebrows, and you tip your head back with a groan.

She grabs a knife from the kitchen drawer and wobbles over to the counter to start chopping the limes, forcing you to your feet before she lands herself in A&E. “Calm down there, Ghostface,” you laugh, grabbing the knife before she can do any damage. Slicing the limes into neat wedges with bartender-practised ease, you grin at Sabrina and clamp a slice between your teeth. She brushes salt across the top of your tit, her tongue hot over your skin when she licks it up. The shot glass slams on the counter before you even register that she’s picked it up, her lips ghosting against yours as she bites into the flesh of the fruit, the juice spilling across your mouths.

You spit the rind to the floor and cup her jaw, melting into a passionate kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Licking the taste of lime out of her mouth, one of your hands threads in her hair, and Ross whistles. “Fucking hell, are we interrupting something?”

Sabrina snorts. “If that’s got you blushing, the things we’ve done to each other would make your head spin, pretty boy.”

You risk a glance at Matty, rooted to the spot with eyes as wide as saucers, like he can’t believe what he just saw. Interesting. “Who’s next?” you crow, delivering the words as a deliberate taunt to him. “I’ll even take my top off, give you some more space to work with,” you grin, peeling off your top and gratuitously squeezing a tit. 

“Do we get a snog, too?” George smirks, getting to his feet.

Sweeping your hair off your neck, you tilt your head and smile tantalisingly. “Only if you’re good.” Matty’s jaw clenches. Very interesting. Salt scrapes over your skin as George licks you clean, something molten and dangerous pooling in your core at Matty’s intense eye contact. George bites the lime out of your mouth and spits it to the floor, his lips finding yours waiting.

He’s a good kisser, his mouth sure and firm against yours, tongue brushing against your lips as he cups your jaw. Parting your lips for him, the sharp taste of lime lands on your tongue once again, George tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and smiling slightly when he pulls away. Matty looks at you like you’re a future regret, like the narrative is written and he’s only stepping into his role when he comes towards you.

Ever overdramatic and impaired by liquor, you drape yourself over the table, lifting your head to grin up at him. Matty reaches for a shot glass, and you chide him, meeting his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, it’s called a body shot, after all,” you goad, and he swallows, gripping the neck of the tequila like a lifeline.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. The liquor is cold as he pours it into your belly button, splashing from his trembling hands. The muscles of your stomach twitch, contradictory heat pooling in your core as anticipation creeps under your skin. Salt pours between the valley of your tits, Matty cleaning it off eagerly as you fight not to squirm. You swallow a gasp as Matty sucks and licks the alcohol from your body, the feeling of his tongue swirling gratuitously against you falling straight to your cunt.

With a grimace, Matty straightens, leaning down to grip the lime between his teeth, sharp tartness soaking your bruised lips once again. You savour the sting, Matty’s eyes wide with desire as he leans in. The kiss is messy, all top lip and tongue as you lick the tequila out of his mouth, slowly sitting up and slinging your arms around his neck.

One of his hands tangles in your hair, the rest of the world melting away the longer you lose yourself in his kiss, reality tunnelling down to Matty’s skin on yours. He exhales regret against your lips, pulling away slowly and thumbing over your swollen lip. Fuck, that stings. Matty smirks like he can read your thoughts, like your pain is sweet on his lips.

“Jesus, get a room!” Sabrina scoffs, chucking a lime at your head that you don’t have the facilities to dodge. Matty goes red, wrenching his gaze away from you and fumbling for a cigarette before stumbling out of the room. Sabrina squints at the space he vacated. “Like, will the two of you just fuck already? Instead of subjecting us to whatever that was?”

You glare, folding your arms and screwing up your face as if you can’t think of anything worse. “Don’t be gross.”

Sabrina gets up, turning to face the room at large. “Right, show of hands. Who thinks she just needs to fuck Matty and get it over with.” Six hands go up, and you scowl. Okay, maybe you do want to fuck him, but does everybody need to know about it?

“Please,” groans George. “He’s insufferable when he gets like this about a girl.” He puts on a high effect of Matty’s voice, and you snort. “‘Oh, do you think she’s gonna be there? Will she like this shirt? Does my hair look pretty?’” You roll your eyes, praying the heat in your cheeks is indistinguishable from the flush of the alcohol.

“Ugh,” you say, forcing a shudder. “Get me checked for a brain tumour if I ever fall for that.” You grab the discarded bottle. “Anyway, I’m done being a shot glass. Someone else’s turn.”

Your head spins as you take shot after shot, licking salt from Sabrina’s neck, Ross’ chest, George’s belly. The passage of time slips from your grasp, and before you know it, the party’s mostly over. The last few stragglers are drifting out, Sabrina nowhere to be seen, having slipped upstairs with a girl you vaguely recognise from high school about half an hour ago. Probably shouldn’t tell her that she’s not gonna be the first (or even second) person to get off in her room tonight.

You end up crashing out on the couch, stripping out of your tight jeans and leaving them crumpled next to you — your shirt is long gone. Not a big deal, you can nab one of Sabrina’s in the morning. By some miracle, your headache in the morning is only mild, easily quelled with a glass of water and some painkillers. The house is still, the previous night lingering in sticky floors and plastic cups littering every surface.

One of Sabrina’s guitars is propped against the wall, and picking it up unlocks a vague memory of picking the beginnings of your first song on it, before you had one of your own. You smile fondly, lifting it into your lap and kicking one leg over the arm of the sofa. Your fingers move instinctively, coaxing out the melody you’ve been working on, repeating it over and over and groaning when the next notes just won’t come.

“You’re really good.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re still here?”

Matty shrugs, sloping into the chair next to you, seemingly indifferent to your matching states of undress. “Hann was designated driver, and he fucked off somewhere between the body shots and the karaoke,” he snorts. “Brina said I could stay.”

“Don’t call her Brina,” you snap. “You’re lucky she’s so nice. If it was up to me, you’d be in a ditch somewhere right now. Or flattened on the motorway. Wouldn’t that be nice…” you say, wistful as if you’re daydreaming about his viscera splattered across tarmac.

“You’re such a bitch.” It’s a compliment, you can tell, despite his derisive expression.

Not dignifying him with a response, your fingers creep across the strings, plucking out a familiar riff that you can’t quite place. Matty’s smug little grin flashes you back to the day you met, and you realise with disgust that you’re playing the first four notes of Robbers over and over. Your scowl silences the taunt on Matty’s lips. “Shut the fuck up and stop looking at me like that before I make you.”

Matty shudders, shifting in his chair. “You’re so mean. Who hurt you?”

“This conversation is hurting me. Talking to you feels like voluntarily hitting my own head with a brick.” Matty just smirks at you, conspicuously dropping his hands into his lap. “Oh, my god. Is this getting you hard?” you scoff.

An infuriating smirk creeps across Matty’s face “I can’t help it,” he says. “You’re hot when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m always fuckin’ mad at you.”

“Exactly.” His grin is filthy, legs spread wide as your eyes trail down to where his cock is straining against his boxers.

Still plucking idly at the guitar, you speak without looking at him. “Touch yourself for me,” you say, snorting as Matty chokes on his inhale.

He makes a spluttering little sound, and you don’t look up from the guitar in your lap. “Are you being serious? Here? Now?”

You shrug. “You don’t have to. But don’t pretend you don’t want to. Go on, give me a show. S’just about the only thing you’re good for.”

Matty moans, the resolve in his face visibly crumbling as you lift your gaze to meet his. His cock is flushed and dripping as he frees it from his boxers, throwing his head back with a groan. Heat creeps across your cheeks, the display of him obscene. Arousal clenches in your belly as your name spills involuntarily from his lips, cock disappearing into his fist as he strokes himself.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that,” you murmur, breathing slow and deep to keep yourself controlled. Matty’s moans are sweet and syrupy in your ear, low and melodic against your skin. Almost without your knowledge, your fingers dance across the guitar strings, pulling the next notes of your broken melody free instinctively as you watch him. “So pretty like this, baby. Know you can be louder than that. Let me hear you, yeah?”

Slick sounds fill the room, tangling with his moans flowing freely from his lips. Your cunt is dripping in your panties, pleading for attention as Matty fucks his fist, the guitar finally abandoned in your lap. Your hips shift needily against the sofa, the tiniest pulse of pleasure humming through you. “Come here,” he groans, the dominance in his tone sudden and intense.

“What did you just say?” you say, tone carrying a low threat that you don’t even think he notices.

“Can’t make a mess, can I? C’mere, come finish me off. Can see how fuckin’ needy you are from here, love.”

Carefully sliding the guitar off your lap, you stand so you’re towering over him. He gazes openly at your tits, cupped together in your bra, breath hot against your skin. “Who,” you say, voice gentle but full of steel, sliding a hand into his curls. “Do you think you’re talking to?” you demand, fisting your hand and dragging Matty’s eyes up to meet yours, his little pained whimper falling straight to your cunt. “You fucking piece of shit,” you scoff, lowering yourself into his lap. “Get your hands off.” He obeys with a whimper, and you laugh scornfully. God, he’s too fucking easy. “You fucking disgust me,” you murmur against his lips, low and reverent like you’re pouring praise against his mouth. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talkin’ to me like that?”

You tuck him back into his boxers, rolling your hips down and tipping your head back as pleasure runs through you. “M’sorry,I—” You press two fingers against his lips to silence him.

“Gonna let you get off like this. That way you’re only making a mess of yourself, yeah? Say thank you, baby.” Matty ruts his hips up against yours, hungry lips meeting your neck and greedy hands tangling in your hair.

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, breath shaky against your neck. Want pulses sickly in your belly, rising into your chest and squeezing hard as Matty bucks his hips. It doesn’t take long until your name pours free from his lips, tangled in moans and expletives, and he goes limp under you.

Despite your desperate cunt screaming out in protest, you climb off his lap and smile patronisingly down at him. “Fucking filthy,” you say, staring down at his soaked boxers and committing the sight of him to memory, chest flushed and heaving. “You can get dressed and get the fuck out, now. Hope nobody points out the cum stain.”

Matty gives you a look that’s pure loathing, tinged with needy lust, and you jerk your head at him as if to say go on. “Just you wait,” he mutters darkly. “Just you fucking wait. I’ll fucking wreck you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

You don’t see Matty face-to-face for a little while after that, but that doesn’t mean he stops plaguing you. A concerning number of your nights are spent with your phone on your pillow, listening to him moan in your ear as you fuck yourself on your fingers. You have to bite down on his name when you’re fucking other guys, the word bitter as you swallow it back down, longing to spill free. It only makes you hate him more.

You hadn’t thought he’d actually come see you play, but George and Ross’ silhouettes are unmistakeable in the crowd of fans screaming for the band you’re opening for. As is the head of dark curls next to them. Your heart catches in your throat, bleeding over your tongue as you step up to the mic stand. The lights shine into your eyes, adrenaline pumping and nerves jangling. You introduce yourself, introduce the band, the few scattered whoops not even making a dent against the unimpressed faces of the front row. George shoots you an encouraging grin, clapping over his head to make sure you see, and it soothes you a little; enough that your body loosens and you can coax your fingers into strumming on your guitar.

By the third song, you’ve relaxed into it, instinctive. Your hair is plastered to your forehead, jewellery tangled around your neck, sweating into your shirt. The crowd has warmed up a little, nodding their heads and swaying, even a few people singing your choruses back at you. You feel electric, a current zapping through you and echoing out of the speakers. Matty is transfixed, you can just about see — his gaze hasn’t left you for more than two seconds at a time since your set started. His thoughts are so plain on his face that you can practically hear them, filth pouring from him and pooling around you, warming your core and… Jesus. Focus.

Mentally dousing yourself in ice water, you lean close to the mic and catch Matty’s eyes. “This next song… I feel like it’s a story every girl knows. You’re at a bar, you’ve had a few drinks, and you’re lookin’ for a bit of fun, right? And you meet a boy and you think he could be the one, at least for tonight. Then he opens his mouth,” you pause as everyone laughs. “And he just won’t. Stop. Talking!” You launch into the song, unable to keep the grin off your face as Matty recognises the melody, the one you played while you watched him get himself off. The memory heats you from the inside out, identical film reels flickering in both your and Matty’s heads as your insides burn with desire.

Apparently, the song resonates with more than a few, the crowd and the cheers wilder with every song now you’ve finally attracted their attention. Disappointment twinges in your gut as you realise you’re onto the last song. “You guys have been fucking phenomenal tonight. You looking forward to the main event?” Obviously, the crowd cheers louder than they have for you all night. You try not to take it to heart, though. “Thank you guys so much for having us, seriously. You up for one more song? Yeah? Let’s fuckin’ go!” Adrenaline rushing to your head and inflating your ego, you grip the hem of your shirt and tug it up to your neck, soaking in the cheer that goes up as you show off your bare tits.

There’s only one reaction you care about, though, Matty’s jaw going slack and his gaze hot and heavy against your skin. The room melts away, the tension stringing between you a living thing that roots you to the spot. The fuse is lit and you know it, can’t stamp it out. All that’s left is to find out which of you ignites first.

You slip into the back of the crowd just before the main act starts, and immediately get suckered into a sweaty, congratulatory group hug from the boys. You don’t even push Matty off when he smacks a kiss at your temple, his low good fucking girl murmured in your ear making you shudder.

The band you opened for are a little stuck-up, but nice enough, so you take them up on their offer to celebrate after. Their frontman’s grin when he tells you to bring some friends, if you like tells you that he’s going to be very fucking disappointed, though, when the friends you bring are four blokes from a well-known local band instead of the girls he’s clearly imagining. His face falls when he sees them, pushing off to chat up a group of girls hovering around the bar.

Which leaves the eight of you in the now-familiar position of being crammed into a too-small booth, with you once again half on Matty’s lap. “Can’t believe you wrote a song about me. You’re too sweet, darling, you shouldn’t have.” he remarks, and you swing your heel back and laugh at his hiss when it connects with his shin.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first good-looking asshole I’ve ever met in a bar? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You think I'm good-looking?” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, too comfortable pushing your buttons in public. You need to grind him beneath your heel, put him back in his fucking place.

You drop your hand under the table, tracing circles in his thigh and feeling the muscles tense under your touch. “And he’s got selective hearing, too. Who's surprised?”

His hips shift needily against your hand, squirming as he tries to force you into giving him what he wants. “Oh, come on, darling. We both know this only ends one way.” He’s full of shit, false bravado layered deliberately in his voice that you can see through like he’s wrapped in cellophane. 

“In your dreams,” you bite out, pressing your hand against his cock in the same moment, kneading softly and watching blood rush into his cheeks as he swallows down a moan.

“Oh, every night, darling.”

Sabrina gags, breaking the two of you out of the bubble you’d been in, the hazy edges of your reality suddenly back in sharp focus. “Can you two stop being gross for two fucking seconds, please? For all our sakes?”

Rolling your eyes, you set your drink down on the table, dangerously close to the edge. “Oh, it’s my fault he’s fucking obsessed with me?” you scoff. “Read my fucking lips, Healy. Never. Gonna. Happen.”

You focus back into the conversation, relishing in the way Matty’s responses fall shorter and shorter as you tease, his voice going weak and breathy with barely-concealed need. With your free hand, you pull your phone out to type him a text.

i was fucking incredible on that stage today

hope youre ready for a long fucking night

not gonna stop unless you beg me.

Matty’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly as his gaze flickers across the screen, staring resolutely forward even as his hips shift and his cock fills under your palm. You slide your other hand under Matty’s jeans and boxers a moment later, his cock twitching needily in your palm. His knee jolts at the feeling of your hand against his bare skin, sending your full glass toppling over him, covering him in a sticky combination of soda and alcohol.

Withdrawing your hand, you gasp, turning and pretending to fuss over him. “Fuck’s sake, Matty, you- Oh, my God!” You give a spluttering laugh. Matty’s eyes go wide with fear, pleading with you as he correctly predicts your next words. “Do you have a boner?” you demand incredulously, pulling away from him in fake disgust. The table erupts into laughter, Matty’s face fire-engine red as his hands fall to his lap in a desperate attempt to preserve what’s left of his dignity. Oh, God, he looks so fucking good embarrassed like this, and it makes you squirm a little in your seat to know the humiliation is just turning him on more.

“He totally fucking does!” crows Sabrina, cackling and craning her neck for a better look.

“What’s got you all worked up, mate?” George taunts. “Been so long since you got your dick wet that you’re popping one from being next to a hot girl?”

“No,” Matty snaps. “I mean– I get my dick wet plenty, thank you very much. And I don’t have a boner,” he adds, attempting to push past you and escape. “I just— not feelin’ well. I should go.”

You elbow him harshly, and he winces, biting his tongue around a whine. “Aw, George, you think I’m– give me a second, sex pest, I’m having a conversation– you think I’m hot?”

He grins. “I think you’re a knockout, love. Hey, are you free tonight?”

You snort. “Not for you,” you shoot back, George holding his hand to his chest, mock-affronted. You finally take pity on Matty and let him out of the booth, surreptitiously sliding your hand into his pocket and dropping your spare key. Dramatic? Yes. A bit much? Maybe. But you’ve never claimed to be anything less. “I know it’s gonna be tough, but try not to stick your dick in anything that’ll cause permanent damage on the way home!” you can’t resist shouting at his retreating back. When he’s gone, you pull out your phone to text him your address.

go and wait for me, sit on your hands if you have to, but do not fucking touch yourself

if you’re good, i *might* let you cum tonight

do u want me to break in or something

check ur pocket

you’re insane

ill be home in an hour

can u behave until then?

He doesn’t answer, and you’re looking forward to finding out what that means. You stay for another two rounds, anticipation thrilling in your belly at the prospect of what (or rather, who) is waiting for you at home. Walking into your bedroom, you find Matty face-down on your bed and grinding desperately against your sheets, still fully-clothed as needy little whines slip from his lips. “God, you are just fucking pathetic, huh?” you murmur, your thighs clenching at the pretty picture he makes.

Matty gasps. “M’not touchin’, m’not touchin’,” he promises frantically, and you click your tongue.

“I know, baby. But that doesn’t look much like sitting on your hands, either,” you murmur, peeling out of your shirt and kicking off your jeans. “Couldn’t even be a good boy for me for an hour? Worthless little slut,” you scoff, and he whimpers in response. “Least you kept that pretty dick hard for me. Does that feel good? Grinding on my sheets like a little fucking whore?”

He whimpers, still face-down but not moving, like he won’t be able to control himself if he lays eyes on you. “Yes. M’sorry, feels good. Not as good as you. Didn’t mean to be bad, m’sorry,” he babbles, his desperation obvious.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” you order. Matty obeys instantly, a punched-out groan slipping from his lips as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes glued to the silver barbells glinting teasingly in your nipples. You snap the waistband of your panties against your waist, the action beckoning his gaze down your body. “D'you think I look pretty?” He nods furiously, but you cut him off before he can start lavishing you with praise, rolling your eyes condescendingly. “Didn’t wear it for you, before you start. Thought maybe I’d finally find some hot guy to take me home and fuck me like I deserve,” you hiss, climbing onto the bed next to him. Taking his jaw in your hand, you brush his curls out of his face. Matty shudders under your touch, pliant and needy as he melts into your palms. “Do you think you can fuck me like I deserve, Matty?”

His pride wars openly with desire in his face, eyes glassy as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips. “No,” he says finally, the admission ghosting feebly against your lips. He succumbs so sweetly that you press your lips against his, licking the taste of sugary surrender from his mouth.

“That’s what I thought. I could be getting fucked right now, you know. Could’ve had any man I wanted. But no. I get your whining, pathetic ass in my bed instead, fuckin’ rubbing yourself off on my sheets like a disgusting animal. S’bad enough that you’re making me do all the fucking work, least you could do is behave,” you snap, and Matty squirms, your cruel words rooting in his brain, digging claws tearing his every coherent thought to shreds.

“Can make you feel good, promise,” he whimpers. “Let me make you feel good, let me make it up to you, please,” Matty begs, reaching out to tug at the elastic of your waistband.

You slap his hand away, and he whines. “Behave. So greedy,”  you chide. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“N-no.”

“Do you think you deserve to touch me?”

“I— no.” You grin, wide and predatory, and tug his shirt off over his head, running your hand down his slim, toned chest. Unbuckling his belt, you help him out of his jeans, the sticky, wet spot near the waistband of his boxers evident and growing.

You thumb over it gently, pressing the digit into Matty’s mouth as he moans and accepts it eagerly, swirling his tongue pornographically. “So fucking wet,” you murmur. “Needy little whore soaking his pants for me,” you tease. “Come here,” you order, sliding your panties down your legs, cool air kissing at your wet cunt. Matty scrambles to obey, laying between your legs and gazing up at you adoringly, seemingly unsure where to look as his eyes dart between your face, your nipple piercings catching the light, and your glistening cunt inches from his lips. “Go on. Beg for it. Beg for the privilege of touching me, of tasting me, of making me cum.”

“Fuck- fuck. Please let me get you off, sweetheart. Let me taste your pretty pussy, let me make you feel good, make you forget everything. Please just fuckin’ use me, I want— mmph!” You cut him off, pulling his face into your cunt by his hair, his pained little whimper spiralling deliciously through your body.

“Forgot how fucking annoying the sound of your voice is,” you groan, rolling your hips up against Matty’s face as he licks at your cunt like melting ice cream. “Put that mouth of yours to better use, hm?” You take his wrist in a punishing grip as he attempts to slide it up your thigh. “God, it’s like you don’t even want to cum. I never said you could touch me. Can make me cum with just your mouth or you can get up and walk out of here with nothing but that little problem between your legs, okay?”

Matty mumbles something that sounds vaguely agreeing into your cunt, pleasure coiling in your veins as Matty makes out with your hole sloppily. “Thank you s’much for lettin’ me… taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans, whining pitifully when you tug harshly on his curls.

“Don’t talk.” Your grip in his hair is punishing as he whimpers into your cunt, sucking and licking like a man starved. “God, such a fuckin’ slut, baby. You like it when I hurt you, hm?” His muffled moan of yes, fuckin’ love it vibrates through you, shivering pleasure ricocheting through every corner of your body. Matty sucks greedily on your clit, your hips bucking and legs kicking in the air.

It would be a lie to say knowing he’s getting off on the degradation doesn’t turn you on beyond belief. Your cunt pulses against his mouth, his tongue starving and wild over your clit. Matty tongue-fucks you, ravenous, his moans vibrating through your body deliciously. “Fuck,” you moan out, pulling hard on his curls to grind his face harder into your cunt. Heat thrums under your skin, biting your lip so hard you taste blood to swallow your moans. You must be suffocating him, his tongue buried deep in your cunt, but he just keeps going. A moan tears free, low and shameful, and he redoubles his efforts, swirling his tongue over your clit. You’re writhing under his attentions, dripping in his mouth as he starts tongue-fucking you at a dizzying pace. Tension pulls tight in your belly, close and electric under your skin as you clench around his tongue, Matty’s name spilling free from your mouth in a crazed entreaty, tugging on his hair just to feel his answering moan spiral through you. 

His teeth scrape over your clit, the flash of pain finally tearing you loose from your body, ecstasy cascading over you as your cunt pulses against Matty’s mouth. He laps at your dripping cunt, bliss flooding against his tongue as your body wracks with sensation. “That’s right,” you groan, desire pulsing through you, leaking into the corners of your body with every thud of your wild, insistent heartbeat. “Fuckin’ swallow my cum. All of it. Yeah, just like that. Good boy.” The words only spur him on, cleaning you up with helpless enthusiasm, essentially locking himself into an impossible task. Every swipe of his tongue only serves to make you wetter, his moans stirring arousal that pools in his mouth. You pull him off you by his hair, tugging him up to meet you.

Matty grins, already hazy and fucked-out, his lips and chin soaking wet. You commit the sight to memory for a second, bruised lips and lidded eyes, your own personal, yielding little doll. “Thank you,” he says without prompting, and you grin. All it takes is a few sugared words, and he’s putty in your hands.

“Been such a good boy,” you croon, swiping your thumb across his mouth and sucking your own taste off your skin. “You wanna fuck me?”

A flash of something dances across his face, some aborted desire he’s not brave enough to voice dying on his tongue. “Yeah. I– yeah. I want that. Really bad. But… I might not… last, uh, very long. M’so fuckin’ hard, I just want–”

You prise open his jaw, silencing him as his eyes go wide. “Don’t push your luck. I’m letting you cum, ‘cause you’ve been such a good boy for me. Cum without my permission and I’ll make you wish you weren’t born,” you threaten lowly, spitting in his open mouth to seal your words.

He swallows eagerly, nodding hard. “Okay. Uh-huh, okay. M’sorry. Won’t cum, I swear.” You push him onto his back, staring impassively down at him as you straddle his waist. “Can you– I want– please,” he stammers, words tripping over themselves to escape his mouth as you laugh meanly down at him. 

You dig your nails into his chest, anchoring yourself and scraping a mark into his skin. You start to trace your first initial, something droning and possessive buzzing in your ears, then think better of it. Slowly, you circle your hips, teasing the tip of his cock at your dripping hole. “You want me? Want me to fuck you like this?” Matty grasps needily at your hips, whimpering uncontrollable pleas into the thick, lust-drenched air of your room. He cries out as you slam your hips down, unable to stopper the moan that falls from your lips as your cunt stretches wide around him.

Grinding your clit against his stomach, you gasp as Matty thrusts up into you, fucking you impossibly deep. “Shit, Matty,” you hiss, pleasure pulsing under your skin. His gaze is fixed on your tits as you bounce on his cock, timed with his thrusts so he fills you as deep as possible. Running a hand up your body, you squeeze one of your tits, twisting the barbell just enough that it smarts a little, a pained gasp weaving effortlessly between your moans. You whine as Matty’s calloused fingers come up to circle roughly over your clit; sloppy like he can barely control his limbs. “Fuck, baby. You tryin’ to get me off faster so I don’t notice how quick you cum?” You grab his jaw so he can’t look away. “Pathetic.”

Matty doesn’t even speak, just moans helplessly as you ride him, rolling your hips and bouncing on him. Liquid heat pools in your veins, your thighs starting to burn and your heart pumping ecstasy into every nerve of your body. The slick sounds of your hips meeting echo off the walls, tangling with heavy breaths and wanton moans in a lurid melody you wish you could press to vinyl. Your nails dig into his shoulders so hard you break skin, leaving a tangible, lasting mark in the unblemished marble of his skin.

You circle your hips, head swimming with desire. Matty’s desperate little moans only turn you on more, his hips stuttering as he gets closer. Pleasure hums under your skin, a soft throb in the back of your skull and the base of your spine. Your thighs are beginning to burn with the effort, but you barely feel it as you fuck him harder, chasing your own release as it hangs tantalisingly out of reach. “You feel so good,” Matty whines, breathless and needy as he fucks up into you with abandon. His blunt nails dig into your hips, pulling you down to drive deeper into you. White spots dance in your vision, everything in your world going hazy but the point where Matty’s skin meets yours. 

Pleasure courses up your spine in a sweet, sparkling arc, moans flowing freely as Matty’s fingers tease back over your swollen clit. “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good,” you gasp. “Doin’ so well, baby. Gonna make me cum all over your cock, yeah?” He moans, rubbing tight, frantic circles at your clit. Tension coils tightly in your belly, the thread pulling taut until it finally snaps, arousal burning up your veins and flooding out against his skin, moaning helplessly as he keeps fucking into you. Dizzy, you fall forward, bracing your arms over Matty’s head and cunt pulsing around his cock. Matty’s lips close around your nipple, licking and sucking feverishly as you ride out your orgasm. “Shit,” you mutter, his other hand twisting your piercing as he groans, every motion tinged maniacal with need. “Did so well, Matty. You gonna cum for me? Go on, baby. Fuckin’ fill me up, yeah?”

Your words tip him over the edge, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, moaning your name around your tit. He gasps and whines, writhing helplessly under you. “God, feels so fuckin’ good,” he moans. “Thank you s’much,” he adds, smiling dopily up at you as you climb off him and test your weight on your feet before you stand. When you come back from cleaning yourself up, Matty’s dressed again, looking so miserable that you can’t help but take pity on him. “I’m goin’, don’t worry.”

You scoff. “Come back here.” Matty freezes, spinning on his heel so comically slowly that you stifle a giggle. “Jesus. I’m not evil. S’fucking freezing out there, I’m not making you trek back to fucking Wilmslow after that.” Matty just stares, and you roll your eyes. “Come back before I change my mind.”

Matty strips to his boxers embarrassingly fast, but you kind of don’t have it in you to tease when he slots himself sweetly into your arms. It’s almost… nice. Blech. “Did I do good?” he murmurs, his voice soft and sleep-thick.

You scratch your nails over his head and he hums happily. “Yeah, did so good, baby. Dunno what happened to all that shit you were talking about wrecking me, though. Kinda seemed like the other way around…” you tease.

He laughs softly. “I’ll get another chance. Gonna look so pretty crying on my cock, love.”

“Promises, promises,” you say, the muscles of his stomach tensing as you trace idle patterns in his skin. “Are you gonna keep them?”

“Piss me off enough and you’ll find out.”

Excitement thrills in your belly, the words sealing the two of you into some kind of promise, a brutal, delicious game of chess that you honestly couldn’t predict the winner in. “You know I will.”

[atzaurora]

Can I request an Ateez Yeosang where the reader is at the concert and after send off Yeosang notices a blood stain on her skirt and pull her to the side and take her to his hotel. As they get to his room her cramps are unbearable so he fingers her and then fucks her until she feels better?

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] crimson nights

❥ 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓: Yeosang

➤ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: fem!fan!reader x idol!yeosang

➤ 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆: imagine (smut)

➤ 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑: strangers to ?, idol x fan

.ᐟ.ᐟ𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.ᐟ.ᐟ: 18+/smut/suggestive content, MDNI!!!

➤ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Who knew that her period during a concert would actually be something positive? As Yeosang takes her back to his hotel room due to the visible stain on her skirt, the atmosphere quickly shifts and leads to something far more exciting...

➤ 𝒘/𝒄: 3.0k

➤ 𝒂/𝒏: I have a few open requests and I'm trying to get them all done!! so in case you have requested something, it is being worked on <3 always feel free to leave requests, I love writing them ! enjoyyy

if you have any ideas or wishes let me know, requests are open

here's my [𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕]!

[𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕] here!

[about me] + [guidelines]!

In the throbbing heart of the stadium, the electric air buzzed with the excitement of thousands of fans, their energy almost tangible. The concert’s final notes resonated through the space, a sweet symphony of voices and instruments that seemed to hang in the atmosphere, lingering in every corner of the vast venue. As the lights dimmed, the cheers rose to a deafening crescendo, and the eight figures on stage took their final bows, sweat glistening on their faces like stardust under the glow of the stage lights. Amid the sea of waving lightsticks and reaching hands, you stood with your heart pounding, the thrill of the music still pulsing through your veins.

As the sea of fans began to disperse, you caught fleeting glimpses of ATEEZ as they made their way toward the exit, waving and smiling at the devoted crowd. Your eyes locked with Yeosang’s for a brief, electrifying moment, and his smile grew a notch wider as he heard your cheering from the mass of people. You called out to them, expressing your admiration and telling them how much you enjoyed the performance. Being so close to them felt surreal—like a dream—but the energy between you and Yeosang made it feel incredibly real.

When the send-off concluded, the crowd slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind only echoes of excitement and the harsh lights of reality. You lingered at the edge of the stadium, allowing the rush of people to fade before you followed. Organizing your belongings, you made sure everything was accounted for, taking your time before heading out. The stadium grew quieter as the majority of Atinys made their way home, leaving a hushed atmosphere in their wake. You were about to join them when you felt a soft touch on your shoulder.

Startled, you turned quickly, your heart skipping a beat as you faced the person before you. Your breath caught in your throat—it was Yeosang. Your bias, standing right in front of you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. "Yeosang? What—" Words failed you as your mind raced to catch up with the situation. "Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you," he apologized, pulling his hand away with a soft, reassuring smile.

"Oh, no, it’s fine," you quickly reassured him, trying to steady your nerves.

His smile deepened, and he continued, "I just wanted to let you know that you have a blood stain on your skirt. I assume it’s... you know, that time of the month?" He chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you were grateful for his honesty. "Oh my God, thank you for telling me. Yeah, I’ve been on my period since yesterday," you admitted, quickly wrapping your hoodie around your waist to cover the stain.

Yeosang’s expression remained kind and understanding, and he didn’t shy away from the conversation. Ever the gentleman, he offered a solution that made your heart skip a beat. "I’m staying at a hotel nearby," he said. "If you’d like, I could take you there so you can freshen up a bit." His tone was casual, but the offer felt incredibly personal.

You nodded without hesitation, still not fully believing this was happening. "Yes, that would be great," you agreed, your voice laced with excitement and disbelief.

The car ride to the hotel was a blur of nerves and awkward laughter, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. You sat there, acutely aware of the fabric of your skirt sticking to your skin, your mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. Yeosang, ever considerate, made sure to help you out of the car while keeping your skirt discreetly covered, shielding you from any potential embarrassment. He walked beside you, guiding you from the car, through the hotel’s entrance, and into the elevator that would take you to his room.

The hotel suite was a stunning contrast to the chaos of the stadium—vast, luxurious, and filled with a quiet elegance that put you at ease. As Yeosang led you inside, his eyes met yours with a silent question, his concern for you palpable. He gently guided you to the bathroom, his hand resting lightly on your back, offering comfort as you battled the sharp cramps that had been a constant, dull throb throughout the concert. You bit your lip, trying to mask the pain, but Yeosang noticed immediately, his gaze darkening with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine care. You nodded, attempting to downplay the pain, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Without another word, Yeosang scooped you into his arms, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. Your heart raced, both from the pain and the surreal nature of the situation. He carried you to the bed, laying you down with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. His hands smoothed over your stomach, warm and comforting, as he whispered, "You’re in pain."

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes, the overwhelming combination of pain and his kindness making you emotional. Yeosang didn’t hesitate—he disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a glass of water and painkillers. You took them gratefully, your eyes following his every move as he tended to you with a quiet efficiency that spoke volumes about his character.

As the medication began to take the edge off your cramps, the tension in the room shifted, growing thick with unspoken emotions. Yeosang sat beside you, his eyes dark and intense as he reached out, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. "I can help," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You looked at him in surprise, but before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss.

The pain of your cramps momentarily faded into the background as he claimed you, his tongue dancing with yours in a passionate exchange that left you breathless. Yeosang pulled away just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours as he reached for the hem of your skirt. You lifted your hips in silent agreement, allowing him to slide the fabric down your legs, the material whispering against your skin.

He paused for a moment, his gaze darkening as he took in the sight of your underwear, stained with crimson. But instead of pulling away, his expression grew more heated, and you felt a thrill of desire coil low in your belly. He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he began to press soft kisses along your inner thigh, his hands sliding up to cup you with gentle reverence. "You’re so brave," he murmured, his voice a sweet balm to your nerves. "So strong."

His lips hovered just above the stain, and with a soft, sensual kiss, he pressed his mouth against the fabric, his tongue swirling around the cloth in a gesture that made you gasp, your hips jerking upwards involuntarily. Taking this as an invitation, Yeosang moved higher, trailing kisses along your thighs, slowly working his way toward your most sensitive areas. When he reached your clit, he circled it with his thumb, watching your face intently as you squirmed beneath his touch.

"Does this feel good?" he asked, his voice rich with desire.

You could only nod in response, your breaths coming in short, shallow pants as the pain in your abdomen receded, replaced by a different, more intoxicating ache. Yeosang’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your underwear, his touch cool against your heated flesh. He teased you, sliding his fingers in and out in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you clutching at the bedsheets, your body arching into his touch.

"Yeosang," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. He responded by sucking on your neck, leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that you knew would linger for days.

As your orgasm built, he added another finger, his touch becoming more demanding, rougher in a way that only heightened your pleasure. You could feel yourself tightening around him, the pressure in your belly growing, twisting into a knot of pure ecstasy. He kissed you again, hard and deep, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hand. With a cry that was a mixture of pleasure and pain, you shattered in his arms, your body convulsing as your orgasm tore through you.

The tension in your muscles finally broke, leaving you trembling and breathless as the room filled with the sound of your ragged breathing. Yeosang pulled back slightly, his fingers still buried inside you, his eyes watching you intently. "Is the pain still there?" he asked, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure that clouded your mind.

You nodded slowly, your body still tingling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. "It’s a little better, but it still hurts," you admitted, your voice worn out from the intensity of the moment.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Yeosang’s lips as he curled his fingers inside you, making you groan with satisfaction. "Mhm, in that case, we might need another round," he teased, his voice low and sultry as he began to move his hand again.

Your abdomen, which had been tight with pain, began to loosen under his ministrations, the cramps giving way to a different kind of tension. Yeosang’s eyes remained locked on yours, watching the way your body responded to his touch, seeing how close you were to the edge once more.

"Come on, let it out, baby," he urged, his voice both commanding and encouraging. The intensity of his touch, the way his fingers expertly curled and pressed against your sweet spot, sent you spiraling toward another climax. The tension within you snapped like a tightly wound coil, and you came with a cry, your body convulsing around his hand as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Yeosang watched with a look of deep satisfaction as you fell apart under his touch, his own breathing heavy as he maintained his focus on you. "Better?," he asked, his voice a husky whisper as he slowly withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling achingly empty.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, but the answer was clear in the way your body relaxed, the pain of your cramps nearly forgotten. He took this as his cue, stripping off his own clothes with deliberate precision, each movement revealing more of his toned, muscular body. He was a sight to behold, his skin glowing in the soft light of the room, every muscle defined and rippling as he moved.

As he positioned himself between your legs, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The anticipation built, your body humming with a renewed sense of desire. When he finally slid into you, filling you completely, you gasped at the sensation, your body stretching to accommodate him. The fullness of him inside you was overwhelming, pushing all thoughts of pain far from your mind.

Yeosang set a rhythm that was both slow and deliberate, each thrust deep and measured as if he were savoring every moment, every sensation. The earlier urgency was replaced by a languid intensity that only heightened the connection between you. He kissed along your neck, his lips leaving a trail of heated marks on your skin, his teeth grazing your flesh just enough to send shivers down your spine.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, eliciting a deep groan from him as his hips snapped forward, meeting yours with each thrust. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you with a powerful rhythm that had you arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders.

With every thrust, you felt yourself climbing higher, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within you until it was all-consuming. His words, low and breathless, were a constant stream of praises and sweet nothings whispered in your ear, each one sending you further over the edge. You were lost in the sensation, the world around you narrowing down to the feel of his body moving against yours, the sound of his voice, and the intense pleasure that radiated through you.

As you neared your climax, the tension within you became almost unbearable, your body tightening around him as the pressure built. Yeosang, sensing how close you were, increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he too approached his peak. "You’re so tight," he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "I’m going to come."

And with those words, he did, his body tensing as he released deep inside you, filling you with his warmth. The sensation triggered your own orgasm, and you cried out, your body shaking with the force of it as you clenched around him, milking him for every last drop. The two of you stayed locked together for a moment, breathing heavily as the intensity of the moment slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a deep sense of satisfaction.

Yeosang eventually pulled out, leaving you with a sense of loss, but before you could even begin to protest, he was moving between your legs again. This time, his mouth replaced his cock, and you cried out at the overwhelming sensation. Your body was still sensitive from the previous orgasms, and the feeling of his tongue teasing your swollen clit was almost too much to bear.

He licked and sucked with a focused intensity, his eyes never leaving yours, watching every reaction, every tremor that passed through you. Your body bucked against his mouth, your nails digging into the sheets as you tried to hold on to the last threads of your sanity. "Yeosang, oh my God," you breathed, your voice hoarse from crying out his name.

He chuckled against your clit, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made your toes curl. His hand gripped your thigh, holding you firmly in place as he continued his assault on your senses. The pleasure was overwhelming, almost painful in its intensity, and before you knew it, you were coming again, this time even harder than before. Your body convulsed under him, your cries filling the room as you were pushed over the edge once more.

Yeosang didn’t stop until you were completely spent, your body trembling and sensitive, every nerve ending alive with the aftershocks of your release. When he finally slid back up your body, he kissed you deeply, sharing the taste of yourself with you. The kiss was slow, sensual, and filled with a level of intimacy that made your heart flutter.

You could feel his hardness pressing against your thigh, and instinctively, your hand reached down to stroke him, wanting to give him the same pleasure he had given you. But he stopped you, placing his hand over yours with a gentle but firm pressure. "Let me," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

You nodded, your eyes locked on his as he positioned himself at your entrance once more. This time, when he entered you, it was slower, more deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second, every sensation. He stared into your eyes as he filled you, his gaze unwavering, and you could see the depth of his desire mirrored in his dark eyes.

The rhythm he set was slow and deep, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your already sensitive body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to connect with him on every possible level. He kissed you, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his thrusts.

The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of warmth and pleasure. The slow, deliberate pace allowed you to feel every inch of him, every movement, and it wasn’t long before you felt another orgasm building, this one slow and powerful, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.

Yeosang’s breathing grew more labored, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he neared his release. "You’re so tight," he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "I’m close."

His words pushed you over the edge, and with a final, deep thrust, he sent you spiraling into another orgasm, your body clenching around him, milking his cock as he came with a low, guttural groan. His seed spilled inside you, filling you with a warmth that spread through your entire body, leaving you both utterly spent.

Yeosang collapsed onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re amazing," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with genuine admiration. You felt your cheeks heat up, a blush creeping up your neck at his words.

"Thank you," you murmured back, your voice shaky but filled with contentment. He kissed the top of your head, his hand stroking your hair gently as you both lay there, basking in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

After a moment, Yeosang shifted, his hand trailing down your back as he suggested, "Let’s get you cleaned up." He helped you to the bathroom, his touch always gentle, always considerate.

The warm water of the shower washed away the evidence of your time together, but the memories remained vivid in your mind. As he held you under the spray, his hands moving tenderly over your body, you felt a connection with him that went beyond the physical. This wasn’t just a fantasy come to life—it was something deeper, something real.

You stepped out of the shower, feeling more alive than you had in months. Yeosang handed you a towel, his eyes lingering on your naked body. You dressed in the clean clothes he'd laid out for you, feeling like Cinderella after the ball. But this wasn't a fairy tale; it was real. And as he walked you to the door, the promise in his eyes was all too clear. This wouldn't be the last time you'd be in his room, feeling his touch, hearing his praises.

[auncyen]

(this is slightly morbid but nothing bad actually happens. If that makes sense.)

-

"Oh, cruel whimsy," Siffrin whispers right of Odile.

"Oh, cruel whimsy!" Siffrin wails from below as he lies, sprawled dramatically, dying.

Odile's seat vibrates because of how excited Siffrin is next to her. "Now leave me, light--" they continue.

"--let all shade come upon me--"

"--and with this last Change--"

"--I end this sordid tale, and pray my next be humorous enough to remedy."

The Siffrin on stage finally dies several minutes after he should have passed out from blood loss. The curtain falls. The Siffrin next to Odile claps wildly, shouting along with the crowd. "Bravo! Bravo!!!"

Mirabelle, on Odile's left, is still crying from the play's tragedy, but has recovered enough to comment, "that's another liberty they took. We don't all believe in reincarnation. It's mostly the Houses in Brisseau."

"And that's fine?" Odile asks, raising her voice just enough to cut through the applause around them.

Mirabelle shrugs, dabbing at her eyes. "The Change religion doesn't focus too much on what happens after death anyway, so it's not really that big a deal, I guess?"

"I don't think the Poterians are worried about accuracy anyway," Odile says, casting an eye around them before focusing on Siffrin--their Siffrin, not the actor who is back on their feet now that the curtain has risen again and taking a bow.

She cannot believe this is the first play Siffrin wanted to see. They'd loved plays, yes, but then those two strange days in Dormont happened, and the first time Isabeau suggested watching a play as a way to take their minds off things for a bit, Siffrin had gotten the strangest look on his face before saying he wasn't really in the mood and maybe they could just look around the market instead. They'd left the topic there for the day, but slowly, with a joint effort, they'd gotten Siffrin to talk about how he'd come to think of life as a play during the loops. They were supposed to say these things to Isabeau, or Odile, or Mirabelle or Boniface, and then the others would always say the same lines, and sometimes deviating from the script was good and created a better script and sometimes it resulted in something so awful that they immediately messed up the next loop and then spent the next six strictly following the better script and making everyone smile, over and over again, so that that "bad loops" wouldn't count anymore. Which was completely illogical, but Odile had to assume whatever had happened--Siffrin had yet to talk about whatever that was--had been traumatizing enough to make Siffrin cling to the safety of repetition even as it was driving them insane.

Needless to say, plays had been taboo for some time. Mirabelle hadn't even been sure at first if she could talk about her books, if any fiction might make Siffrin uneasy, but Siffrin had taken her not reading books by them as her not having any and had dragged Odile on a Secret Quest to procure some, so books were clearly safe.

The taboo on plays was broken today, when Boniface noticed Siffrin's name on a flier and immediately called it out, making everyone notice it. It hadn't taken very long for awkwardness to settle in as they all read further and realized "Siffrin" was the titular character of a play, but before Isabeau or Mirabelle could find a distraction, Siffrin had lit up. "...My name! I named myself after the hero! I love this--that is--" His cheeks shaded with fluster as he realized just how enthusiastic he'd gotten. "...can we go see it?"

It had been a unanimous yes, of course. If Siffrin was rediscovering an interest the loops had taken from them, good. Of course they'd watch it, both to make sure Siffrin enjoyed themself and because they were all a little curious what Siffrin had seen in this play to name himself after it.

Well.

Well.

"...Wait, where's Bonnie and Nille?" Siffrin was asking. With the play over, he was finally regaining awareness of his surroundings and noticing the other seats in the aisle, already empty. "Isa?"

"...Boniface went out with Petronille because they were uncomfortable with how dark it was getting--we all warned them it was a tragedy, please don't feel guilty, Siffrin," Odile says when Siffrin's face falls. "They knew they might be uncomfortable, they still wanted to try, and they left with their sister when they realized they might get upset. I'm sure Boniface is fine."

"Okay...Isa...?"

Odile is certain Isabeau walked out because he'd overthought the connection between Siffrin naming himself after a character who was from the start of the play almost certain to die at the end of it. She's certain, because she's overthinking it herself. "I'm not sure," she says instead, because he didn't actually tell her that and she'd rather not put words in anyone's mouth with a topic this delicate. "So why did you name yourself after the hero?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Siffrin asks.

She doesn't like the answer that seems obvious. "I'd like to hear your own thought process, though."

Siffrin bounces on their feet. "That monologue in act four--and his banter with Gaston! I can't believe I remember so much of it!"

It is impressive how good their memory is with plays, and Odile wonders if it's because plays, while inspired by the real world, very much take place in their own little worlds, far from memory-erasing islands.

"And, well..." Siffrin sobers. "He loses everything in the play. And I--I guess--I don't really remember if I tried telling people or not, about my past, but I don't think I felt like anyone would have believed me...so...it's not the same, he still remembers, but he felt that sad and everyone feels bad for him, so... it felt like a relief that way?" He shrugs, awkwardly.

"Oh," Mirabelle says, clapping her hands together as she stands up. "Now I get why you like these plays! It's the catharsis!"

Siffrin brightens with a smile at Mirabelle. "That's it! The catharsis."

"I see," Odile says, hoping the relief isn't too obvious in her voice. Yes, she and Isabeau definitely overthought this.

[emjiroki]

Vampire Cult Leader Geto Suguru x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: sacrifice, blood drinking, hypnosis, predator/prey dynamics, death (not reader or geto), venom as an aphrodisiac, pet names with a little degradation (pet, little lamb), dubcon (it will be tagged appropriately multiple times)

A/N: Happy Halloween Ghouls and Goblins! What's more perfect to celebrate wrapping up this spooky season than with a Vampire Geto fic? I hope everyone enjoys and has a safe holiday!

Likes, comments, reblogs, and tags are appreciated and treasured

‘Why is it so cold? Where are they taking me? Why am I in only a thin sheet?’ all of these questions swarmed through your mind as whoever it was had their freezing hands around your wrists just over the leather they had used to tie them. They kept growling to “Keep moving”, your feet shuffling cautiously across the cold concrete. 

You couldn't see who they were due to the cloth tied across your vision but they would shove you if you stopped moving or stumbled, sending you to the ground before dragging you back up harshly from the floor. With the adrenaline coursing through you, it felt as if your blood should be cold; not hot as it oozed from the scrapes across your knees. 

A rush of air from an opening door greeted you before you were dragged forward again, forced to your knees in a kneeling position, a cold hand pushing your head down before yanking the blindfold off. You squinted even in the low light of the massive room, flickering candles in massive standing candelabras lined the room and cast dancing shadows across the stone walls; shadows that seemed to mock you. 

It seemed to be a jumble of senses as you tried to figure out just where the hell you were; the temperature of the room, the smell of incense permeating the air, the rough feeling of stone beneath your knees and toes, the sensation of light cloth against your skin from a white gown like dress you had never seen before, and the massive door being the only way in or out lined with guards in black robes. 

There were other captives kneeling next to you in a line, a few of them crying softly and the others with their heads down and their eyes closed, lips mumbling words you couldn't quite hear but you assumed they were a prayer. All dressed in identical gowns to yours.

 You turned your head slightly to try and get a look at the people behind you, all of them in robes of various shades of red, a symbol carved into the flesh below their collarbones. The guard behind you turned your head back to face the stage again, his eyes a feral shade of orangey yellow as he bared his teeth. Fangs, not teeth, you realize, your body begins to shake. What was going on here? A sharp cry echoed through the room as a woman down the line was bashed across the back of the head with a wooden pole after seemingly trying to get up, her sobs only seemed to grow as they began poking and prodding her, laughing at her anguish and fear.

“Now now we know better than to play with our food don’t we?” a deep voice rang out from the front of the stage, one light turning on to showcase exactly who was talking. The room erupted in applause as the dark-haired man bowed, smiling as he motioned for the crowd to settle, “What is rule number three?”.

“Pain ruins the blood” the crowd answered together.

“That’s right” He commended, seemingly pleased for the moment until he turned his gaze to the two offenders who had been pushing the woman around. 

With a wave of his hand, they were turned to mist, blood spraying across the ground and walls as they turned to wet atoms. Your jaw dropped, stomach twisting. What the hell was going on?

“And we have no room for anyone who can’t follow my simple rules, correct?”

“Yes Master Suguru” the crowd chanted back. 

“Help us!” one man cried, his head raised to stare at the master with pleading eyes. Suguru laughed, something airy and almost gleeful.

“But I am helping you,” He replied, “Helping you reach your potential, true enlightenment”. The crowd erupted in applause again, their clapping unnerving you. He continued to speak once the group died down again, explaining their cult mission in a voice that seemed as if he was speaking directly into your brain, whispering in your ear; the words curling around your brainstem and invading your nervous system. Despite the urge to flee, the primal need to get as far away as possible screaming, you couldn’t move. Frozen to the floor watching him gliding across the stone stage, back and forth in his long robes the color of garnet stone. 

“Don't you see? You are but simple nourishment, akin to cattle for the slaughter, it's your true purpose". 

Fresh adrenaline flared when the icy hand of the guard standing behind you wrapped around the back of your neck, the shrill scream that left your mouth didn't sound human; feral and desperate. The strap they had used to tie your hands dug deeply into your wrists as you thrashed, managing to throw the guard off balance enough to shoulder his thigh and send him to the floor before forcing yourself to your feet. The cult was swarming now, circling like a pack of wolves waiting for their prey to make the wrong move, their unnatural eyes bright with bloodlust.

“Enough” The dark voice of their leader brought them to a halt. 

Like scolded dogs, they moved away from you, the guy you had knocked to the floor staring like he wanted to break your neck. Your knees throb from kneeling as you stand on unsteady feet, suppressing every urge not to shake as their leader approaches you in his unnerving gliding stride. 

“Well well, a strong one aren’t you?” He asked in a seemingly pleased tone, drawing so close to you it felt like he was enveloping you, so close that you could see the delicate gleam of hunger in his carnelian eyes. The moment you looked into his gaze it felt as if your body had frozen, like prey in a trap. His pointed nails dragged smoothly across your cheek, riddling your skin with goosebumps. 

The longer his cold fingers lingered the more it felt as if he was invading your body through every nerve ending, every pulse of your blood seemed to be at his will like he was pumping your heart manually.  

Your mouth felt iron-locked, eyes unable to tear away from his as one hand held your jaw, keeping you steady as he reached behind you and easily sliced through the leather, the sound of the strap falling to the floor barely audible over the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

‘Why can’t I feel the floor? Am I… floating?’ all of these questioning thoughts ran through your mind as you focused on the feeling of what seemed like your entire body was balancing in the palm of his hand. 

“See? So easily subdued, such a good pet”. 

It felt as if your heart should be pounding, adrenaline and cortisol spiking through your blood as a vague primal panic tensed every muscle to flee. But it wasn’t and nothing was happening except a boneless calm. Glass water in a lake. He leaned in close, his nose grazing the line of your pulse as his dark eyes flickered closed for a moment, a deep inhale drifting his warm exhale against your flesh as the energy buzzing around you reflected the restraint he was exuding to keep his lips from your throat. 

“On your knees” He murmured, his hand releasing your jaw the second your legs gave out under you as he turned away, beginning to walk back with merely a glance down at you.

“Crawl”. 

Your limbs weren’t your own as you dropped to your hands, your knees throbbing as the scrapes met the floor and shuffled across it; your head up with your eyes still trained on him and watching every fluid movement of his steps. You grit your teeth against the pain of the cuts opening again but are unable to stop trailing behind him, parading yourself for his power move. But as long as you weren’t being swarmed by these bloodsuckers you’d stay on your knees all night. 

He ascended the stairs silent as a ghost, no sound reached your ears other than the whimpering of the others held captive cutting the pin-drop silence. He reached the stone landing three stairs before you did, two of his henchmen struggling but quickly moving a chair in for him that should be described as a throne, all dark wood and deep obsidian velvet cushions. They bowed graciously to him before skirring away as you moved to his feet. 

“Look at you, come closer”. You shuffled forward until you were between his parted thighs, his hand cold as he traced the back of his fingers against your cheek, “So warm and supple”. You felt air invade your lungs again, the fog in your brain lifting, if only momentarily, and you finally move on your own accord. You rubbed your wrists where the strap had been cutting in, your white gown pooling around your legs now. A soft, unsatisfied noise escaped him as his dark eyes followed your brief glance down to your clothing, a sharp clawing-like nail pricking just under your chin to drag you up again. The room's cool air had fresh goosebumps erupting across your skin as he raised his hands to your shoulders before pushing the gown down and off to settle at your feet. You stayed still as he observed you in your bare form, your heart hammering in nervousness, fear taking the back burner for now. It felt like he was analyzing you. Not an inch of skin or cell in your body unseen as he regarded you with a sort of… interest. 

“No need to be so nervous pet,” He said, leaning back comfortably, “You’re in capable hands now”.

“Who-Who are you?” You stuttered, your voice breaking as you lifted your arms to cover yourself. The chuckle surprised you.

“I am Geto Suguru, Master of this cult of… well animals, bloodsuckers, the discarded scraps I suppose” 

“Why are you doing this?”. Another almost unnerving chuckle.

"Feeding them, and myself, so we don't get too restless, tends to cause more chaos when hungry" He mused, glancing behind you once and waving his hand dismissively before training his predatory gaze back to you. "but I must say I don't think I've ever had a meal as pretty as you". 

You fight the shamed redness from your cheeks, your spine chilling as a shrill scream shattered the near quiet; the ravenous sounds of the bloodsuckers descending upon those sacrificed to their feral appetites had your stomach tied in knots. 

"No no, eyes on me" Geto murmured, a strange tingling behind your eyes prompting you to face forward again, to ignore the carnage behind you unsuccessfully. The sickening sounds of teeth popping flesh had your stomach churning, skin crawling, and saliva pooling against your tongue as you forced the vomit down at the images your brain was conjuring up at the sucking wet sounds. You were so focused on not throwing up that you didn’t notice the cool hand wrapping around your wrist, Geto pulling you forward until you were stumbling into his lap. He settled your knees on either side of his lap, effectively straddling him in the chair and baring everything to his wandering gaze. Your body began to shake, afraid to put your hands anywhere but clutched to your chest, every alarm bell ringing loudly but your muscles froze. 

“Geto I-” You stammered past your trembling jaw, only for one of his slender fingers to press against your lips.

“Master” He corrected in a hushed tone, “you’ll address me as Master while under my care”, He leaned forward slightly to draw his nose along your throat again, “at least for now”.

“M-Master”, the name foreign to your tongue and making something stir in your guts, “I’m-”.

“Scared, I know, Your blood is practically burning” He hummed, a soft smile on his lips that revealed his fangs, “purely divine”.

It felt wrong to be aroused at the feeling of this deadly man running his hands along your sides, his claw-like nails on one hand running tantalizing lines along your ribs. The other was planted flat on the small of your back, almost encouraging you to lean closer into him.

You squeaked at the feeling of his lips meeting your collarbone, his tongue slipping against the skin, tasting you, reveling in the sound of your heart beating like a racing horse. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You asked, finally putting your hands against his shoulders to keep balanced. His dark eyes flicked up to you, flames from the surrounding candlelight dancing in those black pools.

“I truly despise repeating myself,” He said, a more stern edge to his voice as he moved his hand up to thread in your hair, arching your neck back a little to expose your throat. 

“It’ll only hurt for a moment, take a deep breath”.

You could do nothing but follow his instructions, air filling your lungs for a moment before a sharp stinging pain erupted across your throat, bringing tears to your eyes as you let the breath escape in a shaky whimper, your hands shoving against his shoulders in a futile effort to move him. 

His hold was unbreakable. Pinning you to his lap and barely allowing any movement. The pain radiated through your body, a flash burn that made every nerve under your skin ignite. But suddenly there was nothing. No pain. No fear. Just a blooming euphoric feeling. 

Were you dying? No no that couldn’t be this. Nothing could be this. 

You felt a soft chuckling growl tremor against your throat as sagged a little against Geto’s chest, the hand against your moving for his arm to encircle you and keep you steady.

“It’s the venom” He murmured into your skin, answering your silent question. It was then you noticed all other sounds past this were numbed. Muffled like someone had filled your ears with cotton. It was as if you were in a bubble, the only feeling being Geto beneath you. The feeling of his lips on your throat, his cool hands caressing your skin, the softness of his robes. Like all the nerve endings in your body were firing at once. Your hips bucked against him as he dragged his nails softly down your spine, releasing your hair to make you shiver. The stimulation of your heat had a choked moan escaping, bucking your hips involuntarily again and feeling a prominent bulge forming. 

“Easy now pet” He hissed, his hands going to your hips as rocked against him again and again, the stimulation buzzing through your body like you were touching a live wire. You couldn’t help how wet you were, the stickiness of your thighs drawing a burning heat to your face. Your gasp echoed around you when Geto unlatched himself from your throat, his lips red and shining in the dim candlelight, beckoning you in to steal a sinful kiss. As if reading your mind he leaned forward, one hand softly against the back of your next pulling you to meet him halfway and taste yourself against his lips. It should have been gross, downright revolting to have your blood smearing against your lips and swallowed against your tongue, but you let him devour you. Panting with a soft moan as his tongue slid against your lower lip, his sharp canines nicking against the soft flesh and drawing fresh blood into both of your mouths. 

“You want it that bad?” He questioned and you realized your hips hadn’t stopped moving, the wetness leaking against the material of his robes. With the way this dizzying need consumed your brain and body, you couldn’t say no. Wouldn’t say no. Not when you were balancing on a precipice this steep. If all you needed to do was give yourself to him, blood and body, then it was much preferable over anything that would have happened with those fiendish goons still devouring on the floor behind you. You gasped as he lifted you up slightly, hands against your hips as he shifted the front of his robes open. The groan that tumbled from his lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock sent a shiver through you, his dark eyes peering up at you through heavy lids as his sensitive head grazed across your wet heat. You tried to sink down and take him all at once but his sharp nails dug into your hips and ass the moment he breached your entrance.

“Ah ah, go slow” He instructed, squeezing your flesh and pulling you down an inch at a time, your head swimming as he stretched you so well, stuffing himself right up against the soft spot inside of you. A sharp hiss escaped you as he roughly prodded your cervix.

“It’s- too much” You whined, shifting your hips uncomfortably. 

“You’ll learn to take it” He murmured, his lips grazing your chest as he panted out a heavy groan, “So tight”. Another sharp pain against the side of your breast and suddenly you were buzzing again, that euphoria leaking back into your bloodstream. You could feel him drawing your blood in against his tongue, drinking you down greedily like he was a dehydrated man receiving water, his hands beginning to guide you along his length. It felt like he was dissolving into you, your warmth gripping him and filling his stomach at the same time as you began to bounce, your clit smashing into the hair at his pelvis as moans crumbled passed your lips more freely. 

“That’s right, fall apart for me,” Geto encouraged as he broke from your skin, the side of your breast slick with blood as it rolled down your stomach, his tongue tracing the line to clean up his spill. Your climax was edging embarrassingly fast, your wetness leaking out and staining the material of his robes as you panted and whimpered wantonly, completely disregarding anyone who could be watching at that moment. You could feel eyes on you, burning into your back with hunger but you ignored it, sparks popping behind your tightly closed eyes as Geto began thrusting up into your body. 

“M-Master I’m-” You tried to tell him how close you were as his hand moved up to squeeze your cheeks, prompting you to open your eyes for him. Looking into his gaze had you under his spell again, like a mouse about to be consumed whole by a snake. You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, a surprised hum bubbling from his chest as he pulled you in closer and began hammering against the soft sensitive spot deep inside and dragging you closer to your end. 

“Cum for me” He whispered against your lips, the prick of his nails in your flesh sending you careening over the edge. Your arousal soaked your thighs and dripped from his balls to the chair as you shrieked, never having had an orgasm this intense before in your life. He chuckled darkly as he moved his thumb down to your clit, pressing in tight circles and sending you spiraling again, your hips moving without any rhythm as your second release crashed through you and further soaked his lap. You sagged against him as if boneless, your breath escaping in heavy pants and your heart thumping so loudly it sounded like it was leaking from your ears. 

“Look at the mess you made, little lamb” He commented, his thumb going down to run across your folds and bring your juices to his lips, “you’ll have to do your part and clean me up with that exploring tongue of yours”.

A weak groan was all you were able to manage, not able to even move your arms. You felt so weak. 

“But that will come later, need to have you in top shape to take my seed and produce my strong little spawns”.

You weakly raised your head to look at him, feeling the surprise on your face before he mentioned it. 

“Don’t look so surprised little lamb, you’ve proven yourself a worthy vessel and an even worthier snack”  He dipped his lips down to your ear, nipping lightly but drawing no blood as you twitched against him, “think I’ll keep you, make you my bloodsucking bride and give you true purpose, to be mine. Forever”.

[randomfandomblabdom]

I have so many issues with the Anastasia musical...

It seems to me that the writers put certain moments in the musical simply because moments like that happened in the movie but instead of comprehending why those moments worked in the first place, they made what they most likely assumed would be small insignificant changes that only ended up fucking with the narrative as a whole.

One of the best examples of this is Dimitri and Anya's dance lesson during Learn to Do It. This takes place far too early in the show for it to mean anything substantial. The dance lesson happens at a very specific point in the film and has an equally specific purpose narratively. It is only after a time jump montage during Learn to Do It where it's implied Anya, Dimitri, and Vlad spend anywhere from several days to several weeks traveling together, that Dimitri and Anya's dynamic naturally shifts into something warmer than what it was several scenes ago. You, as the audience, do not question this shift because you know, subconsciously, that they've been spending a lot of time together and have developed a deeper relationship and possible romantic feelings for each other as a result. It's given its due time to make sure you as well as the characters understand that. The musical has no deeper meaning or realization attached to it as the two characters haven't spent a substantial amount of time together where those subconscious blanks would be filled in for you. Trust me, I understand that time jumps can be difficult to do convincingly in a stage production but this is live theater, you need to get creative about these things... or move Learn to Do It further back in the show. Yes, there's a line of dialogue that implies that it's been at least a couple of days but that's harder to grasp when there are no visuals to support it. It feels like Learn to Do It happens over the course of several hours. Instead of two people who have been traveling together for implied days/weeks and have become friends realizing their feelings towards each other may have shifted into more romantic territory, it feels like acquaintances realizing they merely find the other person attractive or perhaps not as bad as they thought. The musical takes all of the build-up and context and mashes it into one number that doesn't end up working the way I think the writers thought it would. I wouldn't mind the dance being so early on if Dimitri and Anya were given any other moment of realization that was allowed to breathe. And don't say In a Crowd of Thousands...

Speaking of, I love that song. It's gorgeous. It's become one of my favorite Broadway love songs of all time, I've been listening to it non-stop for the past week. Does that mean I'm peachy about the changes that were made just because it's connected to a pretty song? Hell no. I have sooooo many problems with that scene as a whole. I'm not gonna waste my time talking about the changed backstory, I'm sure that and how it completely diluted the story has been discussed at length and I'm fully aware that changes must be made when transferring media from one medium to another - animated movie musical to live stage production in this case - but these changes are just absurd to me. Dimitri literally just told Anya to essentially make up her side of his story as if she truly was the princess Anastasia riding by in that parade all those years ago. His bowing could very easily be something she just made up on the spot and convinced herself it was a real memory, Dimitri's reaction to it would be enough to tell her it was. They've been trying to convince her she is Anastasia, she may be just convincing herself things she learned actually happened to her at this point. Not to mention, yes, Dimitri didn't tell her that detail of the story but of course, a commoner would bow to royalty, how does that prove anything to him? It doesn't help that he just told her his side of the story which could easily influence her line of thinking. In the film, not only is Anya's memory of the boy opening a wall something she couldn't have guessed or made up even if she tried, proving beyond all doubt to Dimitri that she's the real deal but the subject of the princess's possible survival is not something that has come up before as evidenced by Vlad and Dimitri's nervous reactions when Sophie (Lily) asks that question. Nothing is influencing her thinking there. The whole interaction in the stage production makes it seem like Dimitri just suddenly falls in love with her because he just found out she's the princess when the film makes it abundantly clear that he is so far gone for her long before that information comes to light, their romantic tension fuels the dramatic tension once that's revealed. Both adaptations have an almost kiss and unfortunately, only one of these adaptations puts it before that revelation. In the film, it follows the dance lesson sequence. In the musical, it’s placed directly after that big revelation and it just feels… kinda wrong.

I think I'm gonna stop there. I have so many thoughts written out that I could probably write a multi-page essay on this and maybe I'll make a full post on it but I needed to get at least some of my thoughts out before my head exploded and those are some of the things that were most prominently sitting on the tip of my tongue. I could go on for hours about how the music box was entirely misused, the total misunderstanding of the song Once Upon a December, how the Empress's choice given to Anya towards the end is almost explicitly about Dimitri instead of how it's explicitly about her granddaughter's happiness in the film, and don't even get me started on how Anya realizing she's Anastasia at the same time as Dimitri kinda fucks with the last 15-30 minutes of the story...

It's all so disappointing honestly because this musical had all the groundwork to become a phenomenal show - good songs, a good story, a good romantic duo, fans who grew up with the film - and, in the right hands, I truly think it could've become a Best Musical winner but instead, it turned out to feel like an amateur production on a Broadway stage with two really likable lead actors that had really good chemistry together and ended up doing most of the legwork for getting people to look over the fact that it wasn't nearly as good as it could've been. In all honesty, I did not realize how tightly written the film is until I started picking apart the musical and now I think the film is one of the best-written animated films in Western media.

This isn't meant to bash anyone who enjoys the musical. You don't have to agree with me. I do genuinely enjoy parts of the show and think it did certain things well. Christy Altomare and Derek Klena were absolutely perfect casting, I like some of the added songs, Journey to the Past happening when they get to Paris and Meant to Be happening before the ballet are outstanding placements for both songs, the costume design was more or less gorgeous, and I do think excluding all of the supernatural aspects was the right call...etc. but those are just some of my scrambled thoughts on why I have such an issue with the writing in this show.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

The darkness of the theater is a blessing.

It soothes the growing ache in your skull, the distant scratching of a migraine becoming less insistent as you find a darkened corner to hide in, your head between your knees, breath as shaky as your hands.

"Rough day?" Says a voice that Isn't a voice, it's a purr, a meow, a growl and something deeply deeply ancient all at once.

You look up and catch sight of a tall figure with a black cat's head and deeply purple eyes, the figure smiles at you, their shape bleeding at the edges like ink on wet paper, their horrible bouquet of tentacle tails wriggling with what you assume is amusement.

"...did they invite you too Nyarl?"

Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, Stalker Among the Stars, God of a Thousand Forms smiles and laughs the way something that very much isn't human would, "Nah, but what are they gonna do about it? I heard they woke up old Anpu for this mess, so I had to tag along."

Nyarl offers you a wretched paw-hand-thing and hauls you to your feet with practiced ease. They dust you off and look you in the eyes, holding your head steady so you can't pull away. It feels like Nyarl is digging their bare dirty fingers into your open skull and guts simultaneously for what has to be the longest second of your life before the headache and queasy feelings vanish entirely. Nyarl smacks their lips and sighs the way one might after a refreshing drink.

"There now, can't have you passing out on me before this whole thing gets to the good part." Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, Stalker Among the Stars, God of a Thousand Forms pats you very firmly on the shoulder the way dads always firmly pat large dogs, as if testing their structural integrity. "You know how to Call me if you need me, yes?"

You nod weakly, suddenly standing in a comfy balcony seat high above the rest of the theater, looking down at the stage swaddled in darkness and bloody red velvet curtains.

Your family is there, seated and similarly confused, some of them are holding snacks and drinks from the concession stand out front and seem vaguely disgusted by it.

Zeb is gone.

Your hearts drop.

Nyarlathotep's paw squeezes your shoulder with a gentleness you did think they could manage. "All the players must take their places before the show can start, you know how this goes."

You don't relax, but you let the Old One guide you into a seat between two of your spouses without a word. Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, Stalker Among the Stars, God of a Thousand Forms bows very deeply and take their leave, melting into the shadows until there's no sign they were ever here at all.

A hush swallows the crowd beneath you, spotlights blaze to burning life. Someone chucks the carcass of a large animal into the orchestra pit and the musicians leap forward to feast on it, their starving growls sounding like the plaintive whining of instruments being tuned to perfection.

The curtains shudder like leaves in the breeze and slowly start to part.

[hyunjinswife-01]

Han Soulmate AU: Writing on skin

Originally wrote by me on Wattpad

The last thing Han expected when waking up the morning before a concert at an awards show was the giant smoky dragon tattoo running up his arm. He visibly paled at the sight of it in the mirror, knowing that the higher ups of the company will not be happy. The idols were not allowed to have tattoos whatsoever, but poor Han didn't know the policy if your soulmate got one. He looked around for a pen and wrote a quick message to his soulmate right under the dragon.

I'm assuming you had fun last night?

His leg bounced up and down as he waited for a reply.

Yes! How'd you guess?

Han sighed, his cheeks puffing out.

Well seeing as I too now have a dragon tattoo I could simply assume....

~

In another city a h/c girl sat at her desk writing to her soulmate and rubbing aquaphor onto her new tattoo. She saw the message and dropped her pen.

"Oh no." Y/N whispered, fear creeping up her back. She picked up her pen again and scribbled an apology.

I'm so sorry was that not ok? I should've asked you first.

She tapped her pen against the desk as she waited for the reply to come in.

No stress I'll figure it out.... Just ask next time if you don't mind?

Embarrassment flooded her, making her cheeks flush bright red.

I'm sorry! I'll ask next time.

All good, I've got to go now. Gonna be busy the rest of the day but I'll talk to you later?

Ok bye! I'm going to a concert tonight so we'll see if you're still awake when I get back home.

Y/N smiled and put the pen down, excited to see her favorite kpop band in person finally.

Han, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking about if the concert she was going to was his. He sighed and walked out the door after changing into a long sleeve shirt. Chan greeted him at the breakfast nook.

"Why are you wearing a long sleeve? It's summer?" Chan asked, genuinely confused and a little concerned. Han let out a sigh for the 100th time that day already.

"It's... complicated. Do you know where any of the staff are?" Han asked, grabbing a piece of toast. The older boy looked at him for a little before finally giving in. "Downstairs."

Han thanked him and rushed down the stairs, jittery as hell. The staff were chatting and packing up for the day. He went up to the lead and instantly the man knew something was wrong with the idol. He pulled Han into a room.

"Tell me what's wrong."

~

Later that night, the award show had begun. Y/N was seated a few rows back in the center, so excited to watch her favorite bands play. The crowd around roared as stray kids was announced coming on next. Her and her friend waved their lights jumping up and down excitedly. However, the color drained from Y/Ns face when they came on stage and one of them had a brand new smoky dragon tattoo up their arm. Her friend turned to her with her jaw on the floor.

"Why does Han have the same tattoo as you... in the same spot..??" She asked. Y/Ns eyes never left the idol, who was smiling, singing to their song Case 143.

"Y/N??" Her friend shook her. Y/N blinked and looked over at her friend.

"Oh my god he's my soulmate."

Her friend squealed, disturbing the people around them. After a few bows and apologies the two girl put their heads together.

"We need to get him to notice you. And your arm." Her friend said. Y/N looked down at her arm that was covered with a long sleeve.

"Yes but-"

"Trade me shirts"

Y/N looked at the very revealing top her friend had on and sighed.

"I'm not comfortable wearing a tube top though..." Y/N whined. Her friend looked at her with an unimpressed look.

"We're going to the bathroom right now and changing tops."

The girls quickly ran to the restroom and did just that, rushing back out to their seats once they finished. Y/N was visibly shaking, nervous but excited that she was about to introduce herself to her soulmate. Once the boys song was over, Y/Ns friend started pushing her forward, yelling.

"Han!!! Right here! Your soulmate!"

Over the roar of the crowd it was hard to hear, but the disturbance of people being shoved didn't go unnoticed. Chan saw the girl pushing her friend forward and noticed the dragon tattoo. Looking to his right he realized it matched Han's. Chan grabbed Han's shoulders and started pushing him towards the girl.

"Chan what are you doing?" Han asked as they neared the end of the stage. Y/N made eye contact with the idol as she reached the stage. Han looked side to side before bending down to talk to her.

"Hi." He smiled, unsure of what was going on, until his eyes drifted over her arm and the unusual tattoo. His eyes lit up in realization and he hopped off the stage and hugged Y/N.

"Oh my god hi!" She smiled.

"You're my soulmate!!" Han exclaimed, pulling back from the hug a little. Y/N nodded.

"Can I get your number?" Han asked. Y/N patted her pockets for her phone and realized she didn't have it. She turned behind her and her friend had it in her hands.

"Thank you..." Y/N whispered. Han and her switched phone numbers and the crowd cheered as they hugged again.

"I'll text you later, I still have to perform." Han chuckled, embarrassed.

"No worries, go finish your stuff. I'll be right here." Y/N smiled, glad she had found the one she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

-

992 words so bit of a shorter one this time 🤷🏻‍♀️

[jay-avian]

Reference Short Story

Prompt: write a story based around an old pop culture reference (I technically added two)

Title - Davie Dakota

Max was walking past a crowd of high schoolers gathered around a bulletin board in the hall. They were all chatting over something that seemed to be getting them excited. As Max walked by, most of their words jumbled together, but the words “talent show" caught his attention. He stopped to get a look, trying to peer his head over the shoulders of other students. As some of the students left, an opening appeared. On the board looked to be a promotional poster. "Ridgeview High Talent Show: sign-up with Mr. Richards in room 206."

"You interested in that thing?" asked Jacob. Max’s shoulders scrunched as he looked over. “It’d be sick if we could show off our gaming skills, but apparently that’s not considered ‘talent’,” Jacob made air quotes with his fingers.

Max gave him a short smile and kept walking to class. It wasn’t video games he was wanting to play; it was the piano. But his friends would never let him hear the end of it if he played in front of them. They’d call him “dainty”, “posh”, “outright ridiculous”, Max just knew it. There’s no way he could play for the show. He sulked as he walked down the hallway. As he walked, he bumped into a girl going the opposite way. She scoffed and kept going. Max turned to apologize, but paused. He noticed the girl had a Hannah Montana backpack.

“That’s it!” Max thought to himself. “Maybe I won’t go as Max. I’ll go as…”

“Davie Dakota,” a stagehand said. “You’ll be up after this next act, so be ready to go on in 3, okay?”

“Yes sir,” Max said. The night of the show was here. Max, or rather Davie, was dressed in a red flannel shirt, blue jeans, a cowboy hat too big for his head, and a bandana covering half his face. He felt stupid, but for what he had in his closet, it turned out okay.

He stood on the stage behind the curtains. There was a girl his age sitting at a keyboard playing some beautiful song Max assumed was classical. He never learned anything like that. All he knew were songs from game and movie soundtracks. There’s no way he could top what this girl was doing. But he wasn’t here to win. He was here to play his heart out.

The song that played came to a close and the audience began to cheer. The girl stood from the bench and bowed. As she walked away to the opposite side of the stage, a hand patted Max’s shoulder. He looked up at the stagehand nodding towards the stage. Max straightened up, took in a deep breath, and walked across the stage. He tried to scan the audience for his friends, but everyone looked like shadows against the lights. Sitting on the bench, he lifted his hands over the keys. “Alright… Davie. You got this.”

The first notes echoed loud and triumphant, startling everyone in their seats. The song softened as the main melody started to play. As the song went on, the notes seemed to rise and rise. His favorite song, “Gusty Garden Galaxy”, always made his heart feel so much lighter. It seemed to boost Max with confidence. As the chords progressed, the song got louder and louder until the key changed and filled the air with resounding energy. The song ended with a sudden chord. Max didn’t get the chance to look up before the audience started cheering. He saw them standing row by row. Once or twice, he heard someone shout “Go Davie!”

He smiled under his bandana. He didn’t think this was possible. “Maybe it’s true,” he thought. “Maybe I can have the best of both worlds.”

[sleepanonymous]

I need to update this post with my experience from Phoenix and Albuquerque.

TLDR: Giving presents to the Sleep Token's Crew (they wear black shirts with runes spelling "crew") while they're working Sleep Token's merch table is 100% the best way to get a gift or letter to the band during the Teeth of God tour.

In Phoenix, my friend planned on giving a lyric book she hand-bound to Vessel. My group lined up at 5:30 in the morning, and ended up being 4-10th in line over all, guaranteeing us a barricade spot. We were early enough that we saw Sleep Token's and Empire State Bastard's busses roll up but never saw any crew (specifically recognizable crew like Adam, Thom, or Sam) despite making regular trips around the venue.

After soundcheck, around 4pm, we did spot three crew members standing near the line chatting with each other. I pointed them out to my friend, and recognized one but didn't know his name. Thinking we still had 2ish hours, she decided to wait, but we didn't see crew after that.

Inside the venue, while waiting to get into the pit section (people who bought a Fast Pass were let in half an hour early to the merch/concession area) we once again saw two of the three same crew members that were spotted outside a few hours prior, but my friend was nervous about trying to talk to them and leaving the line at the doors leading to the pit area.

She waited until after the set, after the last song, deciding to try to hand the book to Vessel directly, since all of us were right in front of his mic stand. We called out for him, but after bowing he started to walk away and we assumed he just didn't see or thought it was a sign and not a gift for him (he was having slight vision problems all night, so no salt towards him).

Then we spotted Adam at the back of the stage so we all called out for him and he stopped and looked, if I remember correctly he even did a double-take and pointed at himself. When we pointed out the book, trying to ask him to take it he gave us the saddest eyes ever and apologized before walking backstage. Sam was still out, so we tried him next, but he was either hardcore ignoring us or had something going on in his in-ears (most likely the later, he was working after all).

The venue's head of security said they couldn't hand anything off (which was expected) but he suggested that we head around toward the busses and wait there to see if we could catch any of Sleep Token's crew, so that's what we did next. We didn't have a lot of time, plus we had all been awake since before 4 in the morning, so that was also a bust.

The next night, at Albuquerque, I was alone. Another friend asked if I could get her a shirt, so my gameplan was to buy merch then stand near the back for Sleep Token and try to get a good view of II (since the new mic stand is my arch nemesis and was constantly hiding him from view for the first 2 rituals). While waiting in the merch line I saw one of the same crew guys from Phoenix working the merch table, along with two other crew members I was unfamiliar with. I was lucky enough to be helped by the crew guy I did recognize.

While waiting in line I gathered the courage to ask him why the band wasn't accepting gifts, expecting a brief "for their security" answer or something similar. Instead, he told me that if I had a letter or present for Sleep Token he could take it, as long as it wasn't food/edible. I mentioned that a friend had tried giving the band something in Phoenix the previous night. I think he thought I meant directly to the merch booth crew, and told me they weren't working merch that venue. I don't remember who was working the table, just that it was insanely crowded in Phoenix, but I think they were in white shirts, not black. But I can confirm that this specific Crew guy was not working the merch table in Phoenix because I saw him elsewhere.

I mentioned bringing something to Red Rocks (my next and last ritual) but he said Sleep Token crew working merch at that ritual was iffy, just like at Phoenix. I brought up pop-ups as well and he said they're already looking into places for Denver and New York, but that's iffy as well (locations being difficult to find).

Regardless, he was 100% willing to take a gift for the band and I wish I had his name or Instagram handle or something for you all. A basic description is he's tall (over six feet easily), has short brunet hair, a nose ring, and tattoos including one or two on his face. He's literally one of the nicest guys ever, so if you spot him don't be nervous and ask him to hand off your letter/gift. Also, ask for his name because I'm dying trying to find it lol.

This is my guess as to what happened in Phoenix: If we had gone up and asked the guys in the black Crew shirts we would have definitely gotten the lyric book to Vessel. After the ritual Vessel simply didn't see us, and both Adam and Sam were incredibly busy after the ritual.

Do you know what's the best way to get a letter or something of the sort to the guys? Try to hand it to someone during one of their concerts or is there some other (better) way?

Hello Anon, ty for the ask 🖤 I do know of a couple ways to get a letter or item to Sleep Token, yeah. Letter-wise, this might be your best bet. It's a fanmade compilation of letters to Vessel specifically, that a couple of really awesome fans are creating. The link to that post has an FAQ about what is allowed and how to submit to the project, and you can also follow the #thelovevesselneedsbook tag here on Tumblr.

Another option, especially if it's a letter for one of the other band members or a gift, would be to seek out one of the tour crew. If you're going to one of the Australian or UK rituals, then you can try handing the item off to the band's photographer Adamross. He's been fairly chatty with fans in the past and I'm sure he's been asked to give the band notes and gifts before. His Instagram handle is @adamrosssi (but I think he's more active on his TikTok).

If you'll be attending the Teeth of God tour this May, you're in luck because the band's touring MUA, Shevy Marie, has been vocal about wanting to meet fans as well as offering to accept and hand off gifts and letters to the band. Aside from stage costumes and makeup, she helps run the merchandise booths, so you can find her there. Her Instagram handle is @shevyymariee if you want to give her a follow. She's typically vocal while on your and posts to her stories, but you might also be able to chat with her on one of her lives and ask her directly about handing off a letter or gift.

If you don't happen to run into either Adam or Shevy, you can still try to give the letter/item to whoever is working the merch booth for Sleep Token, just be aware that they are working and there's most likely going to be a long and impatient line behind you.

The last way that you might be able to get a letter or more specifically a gift, to Sleep Token would be by handing it to them directly while they're on stage. Obviously, this will only work if you're on the barricade or trust the crowd around you enough to pass whatever you're gifting up to the front. I can also almost guarantee that the security/bouncers between the barricade and stage will not accept and hand off gifts from fans unless specifically asked by the band or crew. I don't recommend this option, since it would be such a high-variable situation, but this is how fans have gotten things such as notes/letters/signs, stuffed animals, silly hats, and jewelry to the guys (but also, for the love of god, please do not throw things on stage, especially directly at one of the band members or their crew).

One last thing (and I know this wasn't part of the question at all but I'm seizing the opportunity to go off on this tangent): Whatever you give to the band, remember that they have to travel home with it. They're essentially living out of a tour bus and hotel rooms while on tour, and already have limited luggage space. On top of that, they'd have to pack the gift and get whatever it is through customs when they get back home to the UK.

[padawansubscription]

Bucket List | Watch Eddie Play

Pairing: eddie x f!reader

Summary: Eddie regretted calling your music taste shit after seeing a flicker of hurt on your face. But it’s too late. He missed his chance to apologize and can only hope that you show up to see him play. Part of the “Glimpses of Us” (chapter one) but can be read separately!

Word Count: 1k

Warning: language

Themes: pure friendship?? but there’s something more???

A/N: should i be working on my script application? yes. did i write this drabble instead? yes. do i hate myself? yes. please enjoy.

He said your music taste was shit. It was a joke, another off-hand comment as he watched you make your first mixtape. Because c'mon. You were adding 'You Make My Dreams (Come True) by Daryl Hall & John Oates to the tape. How can he not poke fun at you? But the genuine hurt on your face made his heart plummet and the regret was instant. He tried to apologize but you quickly schooled your face to a neutral expression before talking about the latest gossip at school. He should've apologized then and there. Music was subjective. He, of all people, should have remembered that. He was Eddie the Freak, after all. He knew what it was like to be mocked, yet he did it to you. Unintentional or not.

He owed you another night of Top Gun for the fiftieth time because fuck, you were obsessed with that movie. He suspected it had something to do with the beach scene despite your blatant lie about being interested in the Navy because "it's such a different world, you know?"

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath as he shouldered his guitar on the stage of The Hideout.

"You good, dude?" Gareth asked as he assumed his place behind the drums.

"Yeah, just peachy." His eyes roamed the crowd. It was his usual Tuesday group, plus a couple of stragglers.

"Whoo! Eddie, let's go!" Someone shouted.

Eddie whipped his head to the entrance, finding Steve, Nancy, and Robin. No you. Shit. He must've royally pissed you off. He gave a small wave to the group as they walked up to the bar, and for a second, just for a second, he thought he saw you. But it was just another metalhead girl with whom Steve shamelessly struck up a conversation. Of course, he would.

The show went on and the band played their favorites from Deos, Anthrax, Metallica, and a few new songs from Metal Church's latest drop. He was covered in sweat, fingers strumming along his guitar. He felt alive, he was in the zone. Yet, every time he opened his eyes, he couldn't help but look over the crowd and feel disappointed all over again.

The set was done and he packed up his gear when Steve and the others approached. "Honestly, man," Steve shook his head, "I don't know what that was, but I have to give it to you. You were good."

"Yeah, that was...um, something" Nancy added on.

"What's that? The approval of the king and queen?" He bowed dramatically, "thank you, my lady!"

Steve and Nancy blushed at the sudden attention they were attracting. "God, you're so annoying," Steve muttered.

"How do you not go deaf after that?" Robin asked. "Because, like, my ear's still ringing?" She patted her ears. "Seriously, you guys don't hear that?"

"Who knows? Maybe he's deaf." 

Eddie turned to the familiar voice. He had to do a double-take because holy fuck. You were covered in black from top to bottom; an oversized Metallica shirt clung to your figure, tucked under a pair of leather pants. And were those chains on your hips and neck? Fuuuuuuuck. It's as if the air was gutted out of him. And you even put on eyeshadow! You! Makeup! And your hair was mussed with wax.

"You came," he swallowed.

"Well, duh" you sipped on your coke. "It's one of my bucket lists, remember?" You grinned and tugged at your shirt. "What do you think? Think I can fool the others?"

And it just hit Eddie that you were the girl Steve was talking to at the bar.

"Where'd you get that shirt?" he pointed.

"It's Gareth's!" you grinned, waving at the drummer behind him. "Wanted to surprise you. Because, you know, you already think I'm lame."

A pang of jealousy coursed through Eddie. You could've asked him. He had plenty of shirts you could've worn, but your last comment grounded him immediately and he knew better than to feel anything but guilty.

"You," he cleared his throat, "uh, you guys want to check out the green room?" He jerked his thumb to the back where his bandmates were already headed to.

"What's a green room?" Steve asked, brows furrowing.

"Oh, Steve." Eddie clapped his back. "There's so much you need to learn, young padawan. C'mon. You can meet the others."

"Pada-what?" Steve turned to Robin, "you know what a green room is?"

She shrugged. "It's green. So maybe it's, you know, got pot?"

Steve widened his eyes and the three continued their conversation, allowing Eddie to casually step back and walk with you.

"Hey, I'm really glad you came."

"Aw, you going to cry, Munson?" You had your usual shit-eating grin.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm serious," he said. "And, sorry. About, you know, saying your music taste was shit." He scrunched his nose at his choice of word. "It's not shit. it's just..." he searched for the word, "not my scene? Didn't mean to be a dick about it."

"Yeah, that was pretty dickish. But I do know how you can make it up to me!"

"Already ahead of you." He mirrored your grin, "Top Gun. Your place. Tomorrow after school."

You laughed. "Holy shit! We've been hanging out too much because that was pretty close. But no, it's something else."

Oh no. He knew that look.

"I want to request a song." You played with your hair, feigning innocence behind mischievous eyes.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Just one song. Next Tuesday. By a certain Kenny Loggins."

"No, no, no! Don't you dare!"

"I want you to play Danger Zone."

"Really? Kenny Loggins isn't metal! You know that, right?" He frowned.

You inspected your black manicure and shrugged. "Up to you, Munson. But just so you know, this friendship is on its own, how should I say it?" You tutted, "danger zone."

"Oh, fuck off!" He laughed at your lame threat.

You gave him a lopsided smile. "Your choice."

He dropped his head back and groaned. "Either kill this friendship or my reputation, huh? Is that it? Fine. whatever. Just this once. Once!"

You nodded vigorously.

"Now," he leaned over, invading your personal space, "how'd you like the band?"

[artnerd1123]

Paradice

Ch2: Loud

*slams drink down* ANOTHER! 

The thunk of the interview room’s door brought a huff of relief. Beast stood out in the pink halls again, the glare of lights and cameras behind her. ‘Good riddance,’ she thought ruefully, ‘bring on the fuckin action.’

Glancing about, her eyes caught on the usual flow of stage staff. Or, she assumed it was usual. It hadn’t changed at all since she’d gotten here. Their voices were so soft, footsteps near nonexistent. Her ears flicked up, trying to catch something coherent, but to no avail. It was like listening to bumblebees in someone’s backyard- constant, a buzz, but nothing more than background noise. She couldn’t even pick out words. ‘… huh. That’s weird,’ she thought haltingly. Part of her was glad- less input after all that light and the loud interviewer's voice was a godsdamned relief.

But the fur along her spine still prickled up warily.

There was just something… unnatural about the lack of conversation. It was as if she stood inside a clock tower rather than a crowded hallway. It was eerie. Samey. Nothing but pink walls, soft white and yellow lights, and an endless line of maroon doors. ‘How the hell do these people find their way around?!’

‘… how the hell do I find my way around?’

Beast’s thoughts snapped back to reality as the flux of stage staff shifted slightly. Barely noticeable, but for her sharp eyes there was clearly a path. Like a deer trail in the brush. But… more exact. ‘Like a slot for a coin,’ she thought. And, as she watched, the staff member who’d led her around earlier slid cleanly through the new space. ‘… this place is a well oiled machine.’

As the staff member approached, her stance shifted into one of annoyance- the familiarity may have smoothed the fur on her spine, but she wasn’t about to let her guard all the way down. They slipped out of the crowd and stopped neatly before her, hands folded just so, standing ramrod straight.

“About time,” she grumbled, the staff member giving a quick bow in apology. “Right this way, ma’am- the Lady awaits you onstage,” they said meekly. Now that perked beast up. She’d heard much about the “Lady Luck,” Her dazzling stage presence, and how She’d been running this show for a while. Beast even caught a glimpse of Her on people’s TVs before she’d come here. But it wasn’t until recently that she’d given Her- or luck in general- much thought. ‘Luck certainly hasn’t been on my side in the past,’ a piece of her hissed.

Maybe she could get that to change.

After all, she’d be meeting Her face to face.

“Fine. Lets get moving,” beast huffed.

~~~

Back again, before the double doors. The hallway arches lights flashed in quiet unity, a perfect slide between yellow and white, yellow and white, yellow and white…

Beast shook her head, mane catching on her horns. She swatted it down irritably. She needed to pay attention, she’d be onstage in just a moment. The stage crew hovered silently by the doors. Waiting. Watching. Like she should be. She tilted her head to the side, wondering what was awaiting her. The Lady, for sure, but… what was that sound? Beyond the double doors she could hear some sort of muffled roar. Her best guess was waterfall, but what in the world would this place have an indoor waterfall for? She flinched just a tad as a booming, jovial voice sounded off over the roar. She could make out all their words through the thick wood- what kind of lungs did they have?!

“Welcome back to… DICEEEEEEEEY DUUUUNGEOOOOOONS!” The voice declared, “The only game show where YOU- yes you~! Could win your heart’s GREATEST desire!”

The roar swelled louder, a sound like a stampede cascading against the double doors. Beast took a step back, teeth baring. What the hell was out there?

“But will you fulfill your dreams, or your nightmares~?” The voice crooned. Glancing behind her, beast felt her whole body tense- the stage crew had assembled silently behind her. An impenetrable wall. No… a funnel forward. There’s nowhere to flee now.

“Lets find out with our host for this evening- and for eternity-“

The roaring swirled about the air like a flock of vultures, pressing closer in time with the stage crew. Beast’s pulse stuttered, her breathing hitching just a bit. ‘Eternity?’ her mind hissed, clawing for her attention above the noise, ‘for- a real eternity? They were being seriou-’

“It’s LADY LUCK!”

It was as if lightning struck just outside the door, a thunderclap of noise crashing against the wood and the floor and slamming against her chest. Beast couldn’t help but let out a yowl, claws clapping against her ears as her eyes screwed shut. Distantly, she felt hands on her- the sensation tore a strangled snarl from her throat. And yet, she  couldn’t move to slash them away. She couldn’t- she couldn’t do much more than grimace, it was too much too much too much too much-

“Thank you, thank you all my dears and darlings~” A voice- no, a purr, clear as day and smooth as silk, managed to cut through the rest. For the first time since the rumble started, it seemed to muffle. But the difference gave her no relief. Beast felt shivers stroking up her spine. Oh. “And welcome back to my labyrinth of endless terror!” It was Her.

“We’ve seen five of our six new hapless contestants,” The Lady continued to croon, tones dancing on the edge of a knife. “Shall we see if our final fool is up to snuff~?”

The roaring surged again, wrenching another vicious yowl from Beast. The crew is touching her- touching her- and she can’t stop them from willing her forward. “I think that’s a resounding yes, my Lady~!” the announcer- ‘gods, thats who that has to be,’ she realized dully- chirped back. Her tail lashed, or tried to, but it’s only met with hands and legs and people-

“Well well, let’s not disappoint~” The Lady hummed. Beast’s hot breath hissed back at her as she was pressed up against the door. Her voice is so commanding, so hypnotic- “Let’s find out as we meet…”

And suddenly, the world shrinks to the beat of her heart. Distantly, Beast knows someone’s shoved her forward. The door has vanished. She’s falling forward through air, breath caught in her throat and claws slipping from her ears. Silence rings like a dog whistle.

But only for a moment.

“The BEAST!”

Just like that, everything comes crashing back. The screams of the crowd- it was a crowd- slams Beast like a sledgehammer. Music- she can just barely  make out music- thrums like a pulse. Light brighter than the sun assails her eyes, muzzle drawing back into a painful snarl as her eyes squeeze shut again. A roar was clawing its way out of her throat, past her teeth, and she couldn’t stop it. So she didn’t try. She howled back at the crowd, baring fangs and claws that glisten like knives in the harsh stagelight, fur bristling and tail lashing like the cornered animal she is. The crowd just screamed louder. Their cruel delight had her cringing back. As she did, a deep chuckle rolled along behind her. If her fur weren’t already on end, it would have risen- as it was, the line along her spine pressed roughly against her armor. She whirled around to face her opponent-

Only to meet face to face with the most imposing figure she’d ever laid eyes on.

Lady Luck stood across from the Beast onstage. At first, all she could see was Her eyes- a brilliant, earthy brown- which seemed to shine scarlet as She tilted her head, slitted pupils just barely visible- or was it a trick of the light? A languishing, confident grin of pristine pearly whites framed Her gaze just so. A cascade of pink curls swayed like a curtain behind Her, a cape full of galaxies flaring out from Her shoulders. Her showman’s garb was pristine, maroon and white and shimmering in the stage lights. Her dark heels clicked slowly against the stage as She approached, the extra hight unneeded with how She absolutely towered over the contestant before Her.

Beast could do naught but stand frozen in the harshness of the lights.

“Well, aren’t you an eager one~” The Lady hummed, one hand rising up to tap against Her chin. “Though you may want to save your screams for the arena, my dear.”

“I- you-” Beast sputtered for a moment, scrambling for her voice among all the chaos in and around her. She let out a growl, shaking her head. She wasn’t about to let this- this place, this environment, this Lady- knock her off kilter. She was here for a gods damned reason. She planted her feet, standing up tall. “There’s more than enough where that came from,” she snarled back.

“Ah, just what we love to see! Let’s hope that enthusiasm takes you far,” The Lady laughed. The sound drove a shiver of defiance down Beast’s spine. “It will,” she snapped back, trying to ignore the ‘oohs’ from the crowd, “just you watch.” Setting a hand on her hip, the Lady cocked her head slightly. Silent amusement danced in Her eyes. Beast matched Her gaze with a smoldering glare.

“Just what are you playing for, to risk trapping such passionate fire in my dungeons?” the Lady mused.

“A home,” Beast growled evenly. “A place I belong, safe from everyone who wishes me harm.” A whistle of mock fascination from stage left had her head whipping to the side, muzzle drawn up in an accusing snarl. The stage lights prevented her from seeing more than a hazy silhouette- someone sitting up on one of the stage pillars. It looked as if they were wearing some sort of fool’s costume - or at least the hat and shoes. When they moved their head, she could just make out the distant jingle of bells. A hum from the Lady brought beast’s eyes back down.

“What a noble goal,” the Lady simpered, “and one you’ve clearly been striving towards for awhile.” She flicked Her hand toward stage right, a flash of brilliant pink sparks flying towards another set of double doors. As Beast watched, they creaked open slowly, more lights and music beckoning her forward. In the shadows, she could barely make out a couple stage crew members waving her on. She looked back to the Lady. She was grinning down at her, something dark glinting in her gaze. She gave a slight nod, hand flicking toward the door again. Seems she was meant to head out now. Beast’s lips curled back slightly as she turned away, feeling the Lady’s gaze burn cooly against her back. Those eyes. There was something hungry in those eyes.

Just as she reached the door, She spoke up one last time.

“I hope you’re ready for your dreams to meet doom against destiny,” the Lady crooned, “there’s nowhere to flee now~”

The thunk of the double doors had never been so fatefully loud.

[hangovercurse]

For the Past Four Years

You and Colson have been friends forever, but when you start getting lessons from a certain drummer, he gets a bit jealous.

Request: Sooo I was just wondering if a jealous!coulson whose your friend would be something you’d like to write? Maybe y/n and yungblud or rook or someone is getting a little too friendly and it makes him angry either fluff or smut would work tbh

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

A/N I am so sorry this took so long! This is the one I was talking about when I said I got to the end and wasn’t feeling it so I rewrote it.

Word Count: 2019

You hated being the only one in the crew who couldn’t go on tour. The travel interfered with your job too much, so you were left alone for months out of the year. But that made it all the better when you could join the tour. You were grateful for the two weeks off you were given while Colson was on the Hotel Diablo tour.

You flew out to their show in Phoenix and planned to stay on the tour bus with them until they got back to LA. The boys were ecstatic to have you around, having known you for almost 4 years. Colson was probably the most excited to see you again, seeing as he had known you the longest.

You were in the green room for the fifth show since you’d join the tour, the energy through the roof. Colson was busy talking with Ashleigh about the show, so you found entertainment in Rook, who was currently tapping away on his practice kit. “Ok, guess this one.”

You were currently trying to figure out what songs he was playing, and you were doing pretty good. He started playing the intro to “You Could Be Mine” by Guns N’ Roses, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. ”Really? It’s like you’re trying to make this easy for me.”

“It’s not my fault you know literally every song ever made.”

“Yeah, but Guns N’ Roses? Obviously, I’m gonna know it.” You smirked and he squinted at you.

“Fine. You’re so good, why don’t you play something and make me guess.” He held out his drumsticks for you to take.

You pouted, “Rookie you know I don’t know how to play drums.”

“I can teach you.” He offered, making your eyes light up.

“Wait, actually?” He nodded, standing up and grabbing another stool.

“C’mere.” He led you around the kit and sat you down, sitting on the stool behind you. He put the drumsticks in your palms and then moved to hold the outside of your hand. “We’ll start with the basics.”

When Colson came back into the room, he saw you and Rook laughing. You were looking back at Rook as his hands were wrapped around yours, a smile on your face. He couldn’t help his heart sinking, and he tried his best to maintain his composure. Luckily, he only had to endure a few more minutes of you guys obviously flirting before everyone had to move to side stage.

You noticed Colson slumped on one of the couches across the room and you sent him a smile. “Rook is teaching me how to play.” You mouthed to him, and he nodded sarcastically.

“Good for you.” He mouthed back, obviously uninterested and upset about something. You raised your eyebrow and tilted your head, silently asking what was wrong. He just shook his head.

“Alright guys, backstage.” Ashleigh announced, and all the boys jumped up.

Rook stood up and you followed, handing him his drumsticks. “We shall continue this later, young grasshopper.” He joked, bowing dramatically. You rolled your eyes and pushed him towards the door of the green room.

“Don’t suck too much.” You smiled, and he turned back to stick his tongue out at you. Colson watched the interaction and it looked like steam would start blowing out of his ears. You bounded over to where he had just stood up. “Good luck hug?” You asked sweetly, a tradition you had started the first time you went backstage before a show.

Instead of answering, he walked right past you, leaving the room. You stared after him, confusion present on your face. You wanted to talk to him about it, but decided it was best to leave it for after the show.

 Colson seemed to be in a better mood on stage and after the show, insisting on partying on the bus. You had no complaints; you loved the endless party that was touring with MGK. Once you got on the bus, however, his mood seemed to drop all over again. You didn’t really notice it at first, a bit distracted by the loud music and the other guys. You loved spending time with them, they were as much your family as Colson. But your good time was spoiled by Colson sitting on one of the couches scrolling through his phone with a drink in his hand.

You didn’t want to have fun without him, he was your best friend, after all. So, you walked over to him, reaching your hand out. “Come dance with me.” You smiled, which he did not return.

In fact, he barely looked at you, just took a sip of his drink and said, “why don’t you go dance with Rook since you like him so much.”

You were taken aback by his comment. “Umm, what?”

“You heard me. If you like Rook so much why don’t you go dance with him? Why don’t you just sleep with him while you’re at it?”

You took a step back, offended. “I don’t know what your problem is right now, but either talk to me like a grown up or get over it.”

Colson sighed, standing up and grabbing your hand to drag you to the back of the bus, away from the crowd. He opened the door that separated the bunks from the rest of the bus, leading you in and closing it behind you. You waited for an explanation from him, but he just stood there, glaring at you.

“Okay, what the fuck is your problem, Colson? I’ve been here for all of a week so I don’t exactly know what I could’ve done.” You tried to keep your voice quiet, but your tone was still sharp.

Colson’s tone stung just as bad. “Oh right, because you haven’t been flirting with Rook ever since you got here. I mean seriously could you make it any more obvious?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Okay, one, I’m not fucking flirting with anyone, much less Rook. Two, even if I was flirting with him, or anyone for that matter, it’s none of your fucking business.” Colson had a habit of doing this; anytime you started talking to a guy, or even just dancing with one at a club, he made sure it stopped immediately and you were fed up with it.

“It is my business. He’s my bandmate and you’re my best friend. If you two hook up or do anything, guess who’s caught in the middle? Me.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, and I suppose that’s why you’ve run off every other guy I’ve tried to do anything with?”

He stepped towards you, eyes getting darker. “So you were trying to get with Rook?”

“Oh my god Colson, no!” You let out an exasperated groan, “I’m just saying you have a pattern of getting in between me and literally any member of the male species. Rook and I are just friends, you know that. And I would never put you in a situation like that.”

He stepped closer to you, standing over you now. "Maybe I just don’t think they’re good enough for you.” His voice got quieter, but you weren’t backing down.

“You’re supposed to think that. That’s what friends are for. But that doesn’t mean you get to get in the way of every potential relationship I have.”

“Stop saying that fucking word.” His voice got deeper, darker.

You furrowed your brows, confused and a bit nervous at his tone. “What word.” Your voice came out quieter than you expected it to.

Colson sighed and hung his head, backing away from you, “forget it.”

He turned so his back was facing you, running a hand through his hair. You watched him carefully, studying him. “What word, Colson?” You pushed him.

He rubbed his face with his hands, letting out another heavy sigh. “Did you ever stop to think about why I didn’t want you to get anywhere with those guys?” Your heart seemed to stop beating for a second, and your shoulders fell slightly.

“N-no.” You stuttered, walking towards the man, who was still turned away from you. “Colson, I’m really confused right now.” Your voice was soft. You reached out to touch his arm, but he spun around before you could.

His hand reached out to tilt your jaw up, so you were looking into his eyes. You expected him to be angry, but there was something else instead. His face was really close to yours, enough that you could feel his breath on your nose when he spoke. “There’s a reason I don’t want you to flirt with Rook, or with any other guy for that matter.” You had a feeling you knew where this was going, and you took a sharp breath as your heart fluttered.

“Colson-“ You started, but he cut you off.

“Just let me finish, please. I have to say this or I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.” You stayed silent, your eyes begging him to continue. “I don’t want you to be with anyone else. Fuck, Y/N, it hurts like hell to see you flirting with other people because I want you to be flirting with me.”

You smile, trying not to giggle. “And I realized when I left for tour that I’m kind of really in love with you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips onto yours. His hands wrapped around your waist as his lips moved against yours. When you pulled away, he placed his forehead against yours, eyes closed. “I’ve kind of been flirting with you for the past 4 years, loser.”

His eyes flew open, head moving away from yours. “What?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I’ve kind of been really in love with you for a long time.” You mimicked his earlier words. “You never said anything about it so I just assumed you didn’t feel the same way.”

He let out a breath through his nose, “God I’m so dumb.” You giggled, shaking your head and pressing your lips against his.

“You are not, you’re just a little oblivious.” He rolled his eyes, pulling your hips closer to him and kissing you again, longer this time. He started leading you backwards, so your back pressed against the wall of bunks lightly. One of your hands moved to rest on his cheek and the other played with the hair at the base of his neck.

The kiss deepened, his tongue swiping against your lips. You granted him entrance, his tongue slowly exploring your mouth. His hands began to move down your waist. They were about to reach your butt when the door opened and Dre walked in. “Oh shit,” He paused, looking between you two and slowly smiling. “About time you fuckers got it on.”

You buried your head into Colson’s chest, a blush on your face. “Duuuude.” Colson groaned, his head falling backwards. “Get out.”

Dre chuckled, hands in surrender. “In my defense, you guys are the one making out in a tour bus full of people in the bunk room.”

If looks could kill, Dre would have been murdered by Colson by now. “Okay, I’m leaving. But just know I’m telling everyone about this.” He smiled, quickly leaving, and closing the door behind him before Colson could hurt him.

You laughed, pulling the man back to you and connecting your lips to his, a smile on your face. “I’m gonna kill him.” Colson mumbled against your lips.

You rolled your eyes, “As hot as that would be, society generally frowns upon killing your friends.” He chuckled and pressed another kiss to your lips, his hands reaching up to cup your face.

“Wait, would you still like me if I was a murderer?”

You giggled, “Depends on who you kill, but probably.”

He pecked your lips, “What if I killed Rook?” You glared at him, and he smiled. “What? I’m just asking in case it happens.”

“You’re not allowed to kill your band members.”

“So if I kicked him out of the band and then killed him, it would be okay?”

“Colson Baker!”

“Kidding!”

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

can you write something about the reader being a singer and harry’s family going to see her live for the first time ?

you’re so golden || h. styles

warnings: famous!reader, no covid

word count: 1.3k

summary: you’ve never been as nervous to perform as you were when your boyfriend’s family was in the audience...

This was your second time performing at the O2 Arena in London. The first time was on your second tour and you were sure you’d never felt nerves like it. But the show had gone wonderfully. It was two hours of pure serotonin. Having fans scream lyrics you’d written back to you was one of the most exhilarating feelings you’d ever felt coursing through your veins. And after your first show at the O2, you assumed the second would be a walk in the park. Your nerves for the show had died down immensely. That was until your darling boyfriend, Harry, informed you that his mum and sister had purchased tickets. Now you were even more nervous than you had been for the first show. 

You and Harry first met in 2018 at the BRITs. He’d won the British Video award, whilst you had snagged the British Album award for your second album. Mutual congratulations were exchanged after your managers introduced the two of you. It was only at the end of 2018, after your world tour had finished, that you became something more than friends. And when your fans began to notice lyrical parallels in both yours and his songs towards the end of 2019 when Fine Line was released, they were sure the two of you were dating after seeing so many paparazzi pictures of you on dinner dates and hanging out in the streets. What really pushed it over the line though, was when they connected a sweater you were wearing in a picture you’d taken with a fan to a picture of Harry in 2016, coming to the conclusion that you were wearing his sweater. And, finally, when you were listed in the writing credits of She and Falling, they were sure the two of you were an item. Neither of you had necessarily confirmed it, but you hadn’t made the effort to deny it. 

With the added pressure of Harry’s family seeing you perform live for the first time, it was also the first show of your entire tour. You’d start in London and finish in Tokyo. Your third album had been well received, the fans adored it. And, as soon as the promo and press stuff was out the way, you were on the road again. Which brought you here, sat backstage at the O2, waiting for your cue to go on stage. Your show had sold out, meaning 20,000 people were watching you perform. When you heard your name being called, you got up to head onto the stage. 

The screams of your name lit something up inside of you, a large smile working its way into your features. Your bassist, Delilah, smirked at you. You loved your band, they were your best friends. “Good evening, London,” you grinned, standing in front of the microphone in the centre of the stage. “How are we all feeling tonight?”

You were met with screams from your fans. You smiled, something they never failed to make you do. You introduced your first song as your band began the intro to the song. As you were singing, stopping occasionally to let your fans sing the lyrics without you, you couldn’t help but skim across the sea of screaming people in an attempt to spot Harry and his family. And finally, as the first song came to close, your eyes landed on Harry, Anne and Gemma in the crowd. Harry was busy talking to a fan who was sat beside him. Gemma cheered loudly as you made eye contact with her, forcing an amused grin onto your face.  

As the evening progressed, you couldn’t help but get lost in the electric atmosphere. Joking around on stage with your band and interacting with the audience was one of the many lights of your life. You were eternally grateful that you’d made it; you were doing what you adored as a career. “Now, before we wrap it up, I have one final song to perform. It’s a song I wrote in 2018 after I met someone very special. So, if you know the words, sing along. This is February,” you said, beginning to pluck the strings on your guitar. 

The crowd screamed so loudly, perhaps the loudest of the evening. This was definitely a fan favourite. It was common knowledge that this song was about Harry, having met him in February of 2018. Amongst themselves on Twitter, had made a rule to stay silent during the chorus of the song, isolating your voice across the arena. Something about Y/N and only Y/N singing to Harry. It was sweet really and you loved how much your fans banded together on social media to pull off little things like that. And as soon as they figured out that Harry was attending your show, they were all the more determined to make it happen. And, as you began the chorus, the arena went deathly silent. Your amplified voice rang across it and you couldn’t help but look to Harry as you sang. Like you were singing to him. 

The rest of the world, it felt, just slowly drained away and all that mattered to you was Harry. He stared back, his eyes full of what could only be described as such immense pride. It was only when the song finished you were pulled back down to the present. “Thank you to every single one of you for being so perfect tonight! I love you all so much!” you yelled, blowing kisses to the cheering crowd.

You took a bow, your band following suit. The lights faded and you vanished into the blackness, the fans still screaming. Even when you left the stage, still sweaty from some of the livelier songs, the buzz did leave your body. It took about five minutes for Harry to meet you backstage. “You were so incredible,” he whispered, kissing your forehead as he wrapped you in his arms. 

You grinned up at him, your eyes full of admiration for the taller man. Shortly afterwards, Gemma and Anne emerged. This only left you to be swept up into another hug by the two women, who had become somewhat of a second family to you. “Is tomorrow’s show sold out?” Anne asked. 

You nodded. Your next show was also at the 02. Your tour management team added an extra day due to the tickets selling out so quickly. “That’s a shame. I want to see you do it all over again!” she grinned. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Oh, thanks, Mum,” Harry said, though he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. 

“You ought to take some notes from Y/N,” Gemma added, smirking. 

“Wow,” he laughed. “All my life I’ve known you… betrayal hurts, guys. I’m human too, you know?”

The three of you laughed at his pout. It slowly moulded into a smile, “You were amazing though, love.”

You smiled gratefully at them, “And you weren’t underwhelmed or anything?”

That was your main worry. Harry had been talking about how brilliant your shows were, so Anne had told you. The night before the show, when she’d been round at yours and Harry’s flat for dinner, she was explaining how excited she was to see you live after all of the footage she’d seen of you performing. And you’d been worried for the 24 hours that followed that conversation that she had her hopes up too high for your show. “Underwhelmed? Of course not! You were wonderful, Y/N,” Anne assured you, squeezing your arm. 

“You were so golden on stage,” Gemma grinned, glancing between you and her brother.

He rolled his eyes at her, “Okay, well now you’re just stealing my lyrics.”

[goonification]

yungi smut

[18+] Mingi gets hard before stages and has no idea why. Neither does Yunho but he’s happy to help.

The fast-paced voice of a MC echoed through the hallways over a loudspeaker to introduce the lineup for the night’s show. No one was listening too carefully though to the tinny voice, as the livestream usually only acted as a reminder that, in the same building, the Music Bank stage was soon to be lively with performances for the next 90 minutes. It wasn’t uncommon for the muffled sounds of the host to be overshadowed by the busy chatter of stressed out staff and excited idols, donning various elaborate and colourful outfits. 

It was less than an hour until Ateez were supposed to be rounded up and ushered to the wings of the stage, prepared to give the nth performance of their most recent comeback.

While most idols we’re counting down the minutes to their upcoming stages, Mingi was rushing back to his group’s green room, hoping to god it was empty.

He scuttled through the crowds, politely bowing at passing staff and tucking behind ongoing interviews to not draw attention to himself. A lanky, 6ft man with a hand on his crotch lumbering through the background of someone’s acrostic poem segment would be bound to draw the wrong kind of online attention.

Hand grasping the doorknob of their assigned green room with relief, the sounds of the hallways were snuffed with the thick door shutting behind him. 

He gave the space a quick once-over, falling at ease when he found it seemingly empty. With the room barren of members or staff, Mingi pressed his back to the door as a makeshift lock and shamelessly dropped his pants below his waist.

This wasn’t an uncommon scenario.

There are plenty of different ways that the human body can react to a stressful situation. Some people overthink to the point of a headache. Others have physical reactions, like shaking or sweating. Some people even feel faint or collapse.

However, Song Mingi got boners. Plain and simple. He doesn’t know why it happens. Often, he doesn’t even know when it’ll happen. 

The regularity of stage fright had faded away to a fear of the past. With the exception of the occasional special stage, Mingi typically didn’t get stressed out over every individual performance but, for some godforsaken reason, his body seemed to know what a pre-show countdown sounded like and reacted regardless. 

Nervous or not, popping a semi backstage was a shamefully familiar feeling for Mingi. He was well aware that there had been a couple of fancams where his half-hard cock made far more of an appearance than he wanted and, determined to not repeat history if he could help it, intended to try de-escalating his problem before stepping foot on stage this time.

Mingi looked down at his dick, standing fully upright.

It was mocking him.

Frustrated at his situation, Mingi furrowed his brow, scowling at his penis before feeling grateful that no one saw him do that. Nothing like a healthy dose of random horniness to cloud every crevice of his brain with a layer of fog, stopping him from thinking rationally. 

He collected his composure with a deep breath, using his knees to pinning his pants at his mid-thigh in case someone entered unexpectedly, and got to work.

A large hand wrapped around the proportionately large shaft and began to pump, so quickly in fact that his whole body lurched forward at the sudden relief. It wasn’t long before his knees instinctively spread and baggy pants fell to his ankles. There was no use picking them back up. Not a minute could be wasted. The door behind him could open at any second. With his very noticeable presence missing, someone was bound to be looking for him to reunite him with his members.

Mingi didn’t know how much time he had. A few drops of spit and a dab of precum was all he could gather as lube, forcing him to slow down his pace to avoid discomfort. Mingi whined. He knew this wouldn’t take long at all if he was back in the dorms with his usual creamy lotion or the constant flow of a soapy shower to keep his length slick.

He could practically hear the threat of a ticking clock in his head. The bustling sounds of people on the other side of the door weren’t helping. The MC’s voice echoed again, saying something about a commercial break, probably the first of several. He was desperate to fix his problem fast and would need to try something different.

A shaky second hand joined the first, holding it steady as his hips took on the task instead. The closed tunnel of his fist stopped the air from drying away his precious moisture, allowing for a more comfortable friction than before.

“Ah-” Mingi couldn’t stop the escape of a single low moan as he fucked his hand, balls slapping against his curled fingers and stretched wrist with each thrust.

It felt good, definitely better. But he was still too distracted. While his new technique was undoubtedly more successful than the first, his brain was still going a mile a minute with the looming reminder of the risk he was taking. His hands were shaking, needing to readjust their grip every few seconds. 

Mingi didn’t want to cry; he had just had his makeup done. Yet, still, every shaky slip of his hands was contributing to a growing frustration. 

It was becoming more difficult to keep quiet. Mingi was being assaulted with the buildup of both dull pleasure and throbbing pain and needed some way to express it. Small grunts were turning into breathy moans, low and long, to try to keep the sounds contained in the room.

Suddenly, even through welling tears, his eyes caught sight of a slight movement caught in one of the dressing room mirrors. What Mingi assumed were just piles of jackets on a couch began to shift, before he noticed the pant legs of a stage outfit, matching the one Mingi was currently “wearing”, donned on a long set of legs. A pair of large boots stuck upright off the end of the couch.

“You’re terrible at staying quiet.” Yunho’s familiar voice spoke out from under the pile before he threw a heavy jacket off of his head, exposing his tired face in the reflection of the mirror. He was basically eye-level with Mingi’s cock.

“Ah, what the fuck!” Mingi shouted, trying and failing to pull up his pants. In that moment, he silently cursed the stylists for always putting him in the baggiest outfits. He repeated his expletive of choice. “What the fuck were you doing under there?”

Yunho squinted tightly, shaking his head as his eyesight adjusted to the harsh fluorescent light of the room. “I had a headache and couldn’t find the light switch.”

“Oh.” Mingi stood dumbfounded and beet-red. Yunho was as giant as he was and it wasn’t like he was exactly hidden. He mentally scolded himself for not checking the room better before fully exposing himself, accidentally baring his entire cock and balls to his friend.

“I knew you were horny earlier!” Yunho exclaimed, like it was his own personal victory for guessing correctly. “You were all bouncy and quiet during stage rehearsal. Kinda like before you take your extra long showers. Always before the stages too, huh? Why is that?”

Mingi shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. He especially didn’t know that Yunho was so attentive to his behaviour. It made him think back to every time he busted what he thought was a secret nut but maybe he wasn’t so private after all.

It was a lot of information to take in with his pants around his ankles. He had so many questions. Mingi started with an easy one. “Why didn’t you say anything when I came in here? I would’ve stopped.”

“Honestly, I thought you were here to get me.” Yunho was fixing his hair at the mirror, composing himself while stealing occasional glances of Mingi’s cock in the reflection. “At least, until I heard you all -” He mocked the deep timbre of Mingi’s voice and moaned comically. Painfully to Mingi, even the unflattering imitation made his exposed dick twitch. He hoped to god Yunho was too busy laughing at him to tell.

Noticing the shift in posture, Yunho offered some comfort, not wanting his friend to feel too embarrassed. “I didn’t mind. Really.”

“But why did you scare me like that?” Mingi’s embarrassment shifted to anger. Yunho’s logic wasn’t making any sense and Mingi still didn’t have a plan for how he was going to get his dick down.

Yunho avoided the question. “How long until we go on?”

“Huh?” Without context, the request went right over Mingi’s head.

“Fine, I’ll look for myself.” Yunho raised an eyebrow before checking a nearby phone. “Forty seven minutes until our stage? That’s tons of time.” 

The tension on Mingi’s face unwravled with a small ounce of relief. The events of what felt like hours of pure frustration likely took place over a mere thirty seconds. He just needed to be reminded.

Still, the reality was that Mingi was rock hard and not as alone as he thought. As one problem disappeared, another became even more prominent. Yunho made his way towards Mingi and the door, hopefully to leave the room, and pretend he saw nothing. 

Even in that best case scenario, Mingi wasn’t sure if he could ever recover from the mortification of what just happened.

Wanting to drop the hint and give Yunho better access to the door, Mingi shifted to the side, movement restricted from the pants still pooled around his legs and too ashamed to pick them up.

However, Yunho didn’t turn towards the door. He instead turned his attention towards Mingi, who had backed himself into a corner. They were uncomfortably close considering the fact that Mingi’s lower half was fully nude.

Yunho smiled stupidly as though the confusion on Mingi’s face was unwarranted. “What? You were struggling to get off, right?”

“Yes...” Mingi admitted, still confused over what exactly his friend was doing. “It was that obvious?”

“Believe me, I know what it sounds like when you’re getting off. What I just heard sounded like a struggle to me.” Yunho never broke eye contact with Mingi. There was a glint of joy in his eyes as he explained his thought process, while never actually revealing his intentions.

Everything he said only raised even more questions. So many that Mingi didn’t have the brain capacity to sort through. Right now, he was more curious why Yunho had him cornered in their dressing room. 

“Mingi,” Yunho uttered his name as though he was scolding him with endearment. Telling him off for being so apparently stupid even thought Mingi thought his confusion was very much justified. “Do you want me to help you?”

Yunho wanted to jerk him off? Mingi thought he had heard wrong.

On first thought, it would fix both problems at once and still leave time to spare, even if the idea of his friend touching his dick would leave Mingi with a whole new slew of questions to plague him until they got back to their dorms. That is, if Yunho would even want to talk about it.

Mingi was getting ahead of himself. He needed to answer the question first.

He kept thinking, pushing through his stress and arousal to conduct a clear thought. Yunho was handsome. He was always clean and smelled good, and liked holding hands with Mingi. Though his qualifications were sparse, Mingi was almost surprised at just how unopposed he was to the idea of Yunho helping him cum. After all, that’s all it would be, right? A friend helping out a friend.

“C’mon, you’ll feel so much better afterwards. I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Yunho pouted as he got closer to Mingi’s face. He was being sweet. Buttering the other boy up without knowing that it wouldn’t even take any convincing to get him to agree.

If only Mingi could answer the damn question. All he could muster up was the confidence for a moment of warm eye contact and a gentle nod.

It was signal enough for Yunho, who leaned in for a hesitant kiss. Mingi’s puffy lips were already parted and set to lock with his own. As they brushed against each other, Yunho’s tongue peaked out, sliding over Mingi’s bottom lip and making him shudder before dipping inside his gaped mouth. 

The gap between them closed even further when the fabric of Yunho’s pant leg accidentally brushed over Mingi’s hard cock, which was poking out and occupying most of the space between them. Mingi moaned into Yunho’s mouth, a gentle reminder that they had a goal to achieve.

“Mmm. No more,” Yunho sighed with regret. He pulled back as Mingi stupidly chased his lips in a daze. “We need to be quick, remember?” 

“But you don’t need to see your hands to jerk me off.” Mingi pouted comically, trying to convince him to return to their greedy kiss. He didn’t expect to enjoy kissing Yunho that much and was wondering if it could turn into a hobby of theirs.

Yunho simply chuckled, obviously knowing more than Mingi about his plans for his mouth. After a breathy “huh?” Yunho took the cue to drop to the floor.

Mingi froze. He was expecting a steady hand to help jerk him to completion at the most but this was so much more. The sight of Yunho on his knees, locked upright so he could keep his face raised inches from Mingi’s cock was making his head throb in more ways than one.

He watched as Yunho’s eyes darted around, carefully examining every inch of him as fast as possible. If he knew Yunho was going to be that close and personal with his junk, Mingi would have shaved that morning. 

“I knew you were big but, damn.” Yunho’s vision stayed locked on to Mingi’s shaft. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted. He looked just as needy as he felt.

“I mean, you don’t have to go d-” Mingi couldn’t even provide an alternative, let alone finish his sentence before Yunho’s tongue was curling itself around his head, soaking his cock with a sudden warmth. Mingi’s hand flew to the wall, then his thigh and, finally, Yunho's hair, needing to grab a fistful of something to keep him steady.

Yunho tilted his chin, relaxing into Mingi’s touch and exposing the length of his neck towards the ceiling. Still, he stayed connected via his tongue. Mingi gulped loudly at the sight of Yunho’s throat swallowing, which was suddenly looking very empty to him.

The soft stimulation prompted beads of creamy white to escape from Mingi’s cock, directly onto the flat surface of Yunho’s tongue. He moaned at the taste and vibrations surrounded Mingi’s stirring cock head. Embarrassingly and against his will, Mingi pushed forward a bit, cock sliding across Yunho’s tongue and spreading the pre-cum all over the wet muscle.

“Sorry.” Mingi sheepishly apologized as he returned his hips to where they were before but, to his surprise, Yunho bobbed his head. He artificially repeated the motion over and over until the entirety of the cock’s head was trapped inside Yunho’s mouth. His tongue was running indulgent laps as it circled the pulsing tip.

Mingi was a panting mess. He wasn’t sure if he should speak. Should he tell Yunho how it felt? Would that be too much?

It was then that Yunho’s gaze flickered up to make eye contact with Mingi. His eyes were glossy as though he was stuck in that moment. Mingi’s stomach did a flip at the sight. He was waiting for Mingi’s approval.

“It feels good, you know?” Mingi whispered as the fist in Yunho’s hair released to scratch at his scalp. Mingi didn’t exactly sound confident but Yunho could tell the words were genuine considering how the other boy was falling apart above him. The upper half of Yunho’s face lit up with a would-be smile at the praise.

Meanwhile, his mouth stayed open wide, lips surrounding Mingi’s cock with a gentle suction, before pushing forward slowly. Yunho didn’t look away, not even once, as Mingi watched his cock disappear inch by inch inside his friend's mouth.

“Jesus, Yunho...” He hissed as more of his shaft was coated with the slippery friction from Yunho’s spit.

Yunho was only two inches from fully swallowing Mingi’s cock before he came to a halt. As he paused, he shifted with discomfort on his knees. The breathing from his nose became more erratic, puffs of warm air bouncing off of Mingi’s pelvis. It was clear he had reached his limit. Even while he couldn’t get Mingi’s dick all the way down, his determination was admirable. Cute, even. It was especially impressive considering Mingi presumed it was Yunho’s first time doing this. 

Mingi dropped his hand to fall behind Yunho’s ear, rubbing his neck with a long thumb. Not experienced with dominant dirty talk, he merely offered a simple smile to let him know it was okay to retreat.

When Yunho began to pull back, Mingi caught sight of a bulge in his throat deflating as his dick reappeared. The thought of being that deep inside any of Yunho’s holes made him shudder with excitement.

Less than a second of the cold dressing room air had cruelly returned before Mingi’s dick was throbbing with need again. The shaft was a reddened, slobbery mess as Yunho cupped him against his hands before returning his mouth to the leaking tip.

Now, when Yunho bobbed down on the cock, his movements were more confident, knowing his limits and puffing up with pride over his abilities. Once he reached the checkpoint, he twisted two slippery hands over the base to make up the difference, fully covering Mingi’s large cock in one way or another.

This time, when Yunho pulled back, he tried sucking in his cheeks. He was so concentrated on making Mingi feel good, eyebrows furrowed in a way Mingi would’ve thought was adorable had the air not been just knocked out of his lungs by the new sensation of suction inside Yunho’s mouth.

Yunho never let the tip leave his lips before taking the entire shaft deep into his mouth again, producing extra spit only to suck it up again when he pulled back. It was clear he was enjoying himself discovering his newfound talent. 

Not as much as Mingi was enjoying himself.

The feeling was unlike anything Mingi had ever experienced. Yunho’s mouth was like being surrounded by an always-moving, sopping-wet warmth. The boy on his knees took the term ‘sucking’ dick very literally. Wet and sloppy sounds echoed through the tiny room as Yunho slurped at his cock. 

Mingi was fully collapsed against the wall at this point, fighting gravity to keep himself standing. His moans were deep, guttural and spurring Yunho to move even faster, knowing that Mingi must be close. 

He was. Mingi was seconds away from cumming and already panicking over where he was going to finish. As pretty as he would be covered in streaks of white, Yunho was already in his stage clothes and makeup, ruling out that option. Alternatively, it wasn’t like Mingi could just leave a puddle of his release on the green room floor. The clock was ticking and Mingi didn’t have any alternatives left.

Yunho, more intuitive than Mingi was aware of, must’ve sensed his panic. He looked up at Mingi as though he was trying to tell him something, eventually slowing his neck’s momentum to a standstill and grabbed his attention.

As Mingi’s eyes were full of panic, Yunho eased his fears with a small nod of approval, motions mostly restricted by his throat accommodating the deep curve of Mingi’s cock. Yunho’s eyes were glistening with tears but dark with determination. He was ready to let Mingi take over.

Mingi whimpered, clawing at the wall as he realized what Yunho was telling him. 

“In your mouth? Are you sure?”

A gurgle escaped from the back of Yunho’s throat as he pushed his limits even further, allowing the cock to sit the deepest it had been. Despite his gagging, his actions were entirely permissive, knowing he wouldn’t have to endure the pain for long before Mingi would finish.

Dormant hips sprung into motion, sliding back at first and dragging his cock along the inside of Yunho’s mouth. Strings of thick saliva followed the path, dripping from Yunho’s bruised lips. Carelessly, Mingi’s ass hit the wall with a thud with how roughly he fucked backwards, making Yunho wince in preparation for him to return.

When his hips snapped forward, it wasn’t as bad as Yunho expected. Sure, Mingi was rough in his desperation but the slickness of collected spit gave the cock a smooth re-entrance past Yunho’s lips, into his mouth, and down into his raw throat. Yunho couldn’t help but moan as he felt himself loosen up to accommodate, hoping that the sound got concealed beneath the low sounds of Mingi’s own pleasure.

Mingi fucked his willing mouth again and again, inching just a little deeper each time whether he knew it or not.

“Yunho. Feels good.” Mingi grunted out, unable to conceive proper sentences as his vision was flashing white with fast growing pleasure. “So good. Fuck.”

With the added motion of Mingi’s thrusts, those final two inches that he couldn’t quite conquer seemed like a task from forever ago, Yunho’s throat gladly opening itself up to accommodate until Mingi’s cock was buried completely. It wasn’t long until his nose was bumping against a set of abs.

Ready to be emptied, Mingi’s heavy balls smacked against Yunho’s chin with each greedy snap of his hips. It should’ve been humiliating but Yunho found himself arching into the motions. It felt good to have Mingi use him.

Yunho kept his needy gaze up at Mingi, watching the way his mouth fell agape and the muscles in his jaw clenched. His chest was heaving as he got closer and closer to completion. The sight inspired Yunho to work through the increasing soreness to help Mingi succumb to his pleasure.

“Ah!” Mingi yelled loudly and abruptly, followed by several softer stutters. His hips suddenly began to jerk in a rhythmless pattern he couldn’t quite control and then the first hot spurt of cum splashed against the back of Yunho’s throat. The second erupted into the cavern of his mouth as Mingi fell back further, shaking with pleasure.

Yunho hollowed his cheeks, not allowing Mingi to retreat any more and trapping the twitching cock inside his mouth. He sucked deeply and used the rest of his energy to relax the entire length of his throat and milk Mingi’s shaft until he was empty.

Mingi’s head fell back in awe as Yunho’s tongue lapped every last drop of cum that emerged from the hole on his tip. He was going above and beyond at this point, the aftershocks of Mingi’s orgasm already starting to subside.

“You can stop if you want.” Mingi’s voice was shaky, hoping Yunho wouldn’t take him up on the offer. The gentle warmth felt nice against his softening cock, easing him back to reality gradually instead of all at once.

“Mm, I probably should, shouldn’t I?” Yunho croaked out against his dick, giving the tip one final kiss before letting it fall limp against Mingi’s thigh.

They paused for a brief moment to catch their breath. Mingi dropped a hand to Yunho’s shoulder, giving it a soft massage as a thanks. “Are you okay?” 

Yunho tried to answer but, at first, the words got caught on their way out. Clearing his throat, Yunho choked out a laugh at the discovery of how raw his throat was. “It’s a good thing I didn’t plan to sing live tonight.”

Mingi giggled at the half-joke before yanking up his oversized pants, needing both hands to hold the flowy fabric up so they wouldn’t fall again. Kindly, Yunho helped him tuck the now satisfied cock away before zipping up his fly.

“You know you might have less of a problem if you just wore underwear?” Yunho poked roughly at the downsized but still prominent bulge in Mingi’s pants.

“But it’s uncomfy.” Mingi whined, clearly more willing to go the lengths of jerking off before a performance rather than just wear another layer. Tired and needing to conserve his energy, Yunho rolled his eyes and found another spare phone to check the time. He clicked on the homescreen with little care for the fact that one of their fellow member’s phones was currently being contaminated with Mingi’s dick particles.

“Was that really only ten minutes?” Yunho’s eyes widened at the screen and Mingi went red in the cheeks. “Guess I’m pretty good at that, huh?”

“Yeah. You could say that…” Mingi nodded, getting shy again as the realization set in that his best friend’s lips were just around his cock and they were already back to business as usual. That is, if they didn’t count how disheveled they both looked from the aftermath. Mingi ruffled his hair back to look as close as possible to how the stylists left it.

Not having too much time to dwell on what their new experience meant for their friendship, a loud knock on the door made both boys jump out of their skin. The knock was only a warning as the hinges creaked and the door swung wide, trapping Mingi behind it.

Panicked and then relieved, Mingi stumbled against a plastic knob on the wall, the room falling into darkness just in time for someone to enter the doorway.

“Yunho, are you in here?” Hongjoong’s voice carried through the small room until he saw Yunho by the mirror, hopefully only looking like he woke up from the best nap of his life and nothing else. Definitely nothing else…

“Hey, what are you doing in the dark?”  Luckily, he couldn’t see Mingi. His voice continued. “And why are you on my phone?”

Mingi cringed when Hongjoong snatched the phone back and placed it on the counter. He thankfully had no idea where Yunho’s hands had just been and he would probably never find out.

“Just checking the time.” Yunho replied nonchalantly, rubbing at his jaw.

“Yes, we’re on soon!” Hongjoong sounded excited. Enthusiastic about even the task of coraling up his fellow members for their performance. He seemed too distracted to notice Yunho dabbing away at his lips to clean himself off.

He patted Yunho on the back for encouragement before turning to leave out the open door. “Can you find Mingi on your way back too? We don’t know where he is.”

“Sure thing, Hyung!” Yunho did a goofy salute, playing the clueless role with ease as he bid Hongjoong farewell out of the room. The door slammed shut, leaving both Yunho and Mingi in the pitch dark.

“Hey Yunho,” Mingi whispered loudly, as though the darkness would make it harder to hear.

“Hm?” Yunho’s boots squeaked as he turned to face the voice.

“I think I found the light switch.”

.

.

.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

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

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”