#I took the title from that one the pillows song but I was listening to the 'bran-new love song' instrumental that's also by them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daenysx · 1 year

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Hi, would you write a modern aemond where he's a virgin and quite shy? ♡ First time with his girlfriend he's a bit ashamed of his inexperience/has performance anxiety and he doesn't last very long, but she's super kind about it and makes him feel comfortable

thanks love ♡

hii! thank you for this request, i've never written aemond as a shy character before but i tried my best, i hope you like it!!

i always think that aemond would love receiving praises and he deserves to know how good he is. in my stories mostly he is the one giving praises but this time i wanted him to be the praised one. ♡

title's from suki waterhouse' lovely song 'good looking'

my masterlist

my good looking boy

you are the first person modern!aemond has sex with. nsfw.

aemond has no idea how good he looks right now.

not good, perfect. such a gorgeous man and he is with you. you know he doesn't usually believe in your words about how good looking he is, how kind and gentle, how perfect for you. he's gotten used to receiving problematic words from his family, he's never felt appreciated enough and you always intend to change his mind.

he should know how perfect he is.

he is just sitting on the couch with wearing nothing but his sweatpants, his back is against the comfy pillows and he has this book he's recently obsessed with in his hands. his pretty hands. he looks concentrated, unaware of your presence as you stand by the door. you take your time, watch him a little bit more and enjoy the sight in front of you.

he lifts his hand to push his hair from his face then reaches for his cup on the coffee table. he takes a sip and you watch how the muscles of his throat move with the act. as he puts the coffee cup back, he looks at the door and sees you.

he smiles so beautifully when he sees you standing there. you approach him, he puts his book aside and opens his arms for you. he always welcomes you with open arms and helps you lay on top of him. he knows you love the comfort you feel with him after a long day, just listening to his heartbeat to acknowledge his presence, feeling he is there for you.

your relationship has started a little while ago, you were just friends before you both realized your feelings for each other. aemond always told you how bad he thinks he is with feelings and relationships but that was okay. you were willing to be the brave one, the one who confessed first, the one who gave the first kiss, the one who first started a hug.

you lift your head enough to kiss him, he parts his lips enough to let your tongue in his mouth. he holds the back of your head securely in his big hand and you keep kissing him until you decide to move further.

you feel him smiling on your lips and you smile back. you've never done anything more, only these intense kisses and touching each other. it felt a bit awkward at first, thinking you were friends before and now that he is your boyfriend. you took your time, waited enough to feel comfortable for something more.

and now, you feel like you're on the edge with how gorgeous your man looks.

he can turn you on without doing anything spesific. fuck, he turns you on just by sitting shirtless and reading a book. you try to settle on his lap more comfortably and he holds your hips while you do that.

you press yourself to his hardness which is inevitable to feel right now and he makes a sound, clearly indicating he was not expecting this.

"sorry." you say, laughing slightly.

he smiles, "that's okay."

"i know we didn't really talked about this but- if it feels weird we can always try later. i just-"

he cuts your rushed words with a simple kiss. "nothing feels weird with you sweetheart. it's- i want to do this with you. but, i think you should know that i've- i've never done that before."

you are a little bit surprised but you don't say it. "that's fine. we can take all the time you want. just-anything you're okay with."

you see his cheeks turn pink and you love the color on him. you can't even describe how lovely he looks, how pretty for you. you give him a comforting smile.

"do you want to go to bed?" he asks, almost whispering.

you nod, take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. he sits on the bed while you stand and looks at you, unsure of what he's supposed to do.

you lean closer to give him a little kiss as you move your hands to take off your clothes. your shirt goes first, then your skirt. he watches you with a starved look on his face. you take off your bra and your panties as he can look at your face only. your clothes make a little pool on the floor and you kneel in front of him.

"can i take this off?" you ask with a smile, your forefinger points his sweatpants. he nods and lifts his hips to help you.

he doesn't wear any underwear.

and he looks gorgeous. the tip of his cock is slightly red, he is hard for you and you can't help but pressing a little kiss to the tip of him. he winces, closes his eye.

"we can do anything you want, however you want. just tell me, my love." you say with a reassuring smile.

"i'd like to be inside you first, but i'm not sure i can last long." he says.

"that's fine. we have all the time in the world. would you like to be on top?"

he thinks for a small moment. "no, i want you on top of me. you'd look so good on top of me."

for a man who never had sex, aemond targaryen surely knows what to say to make you fall for him.

he lays down on bed, extends his hand for you to reach. you sit on his abs, slowly moving on top of him and his cock presses against your backside. your wetness stains his abs and he loves the feeling. he loves the way you kiss his chest when you move, the way you bite his nipple playfully, the way he can hold onto the soft flesh of your thighs.

you are everything he has ever longed for and he is glad that he waited enough to have his first time with you.

"that feels- fuck, that's perfect but i want you, i want to be inside-" he says with an impatient voice.

"do you have any idea how good you look right now? no, you don't. you don't have a little clue about what you do to me just by looking like that. my good looking boy." you say, finally moving closer to his cock.

he moans deeply when you hold him in your hands, adjust yourself on top of him and take him inside you. he loves the feeling of your warmth, your tight muscles clenching around him, and it's perfect. such a lovely feeling, it makes him feel safe, totally unaware of the outside world right now.

you start riding him, taking his hand to stroke your clit at the same time. you guide him first but he is a fast learner, he starts doing it with his own pace now. you arch your waist like a purring cat and he says your name with a desperate voice.

"i'm- too close, i can't stop!"

you nod feverently, "don't stop. never stop."

he rubs your clit harder and your little kiss on his chest makes the final for him. he lifts his hips and comes inside you with a grunt.

you are mesmerised by the way he looks when he comes.

he takes quick breaths, tries to calm himself. your warmth still surrounds him and he realizes you're still waiting for your own peak.

"fuck, i'm sorry. i'm sorry, my love, i should've-"

you shush him as he sits on bed with you on his lap, put a finger on his lips and stop him from talking nonsense.

"that was perfect, aemond. it was supposed to be good for you and you- you don't know how pretty you look when you come. for me it was enough."

he kisses you, he is still inside and you can feel him getting hard. "thank you for being so kind. i love you."

"i love you, too."

"can you let me make it up to you, right now?"

you laugh at his words. "of course."

he smiles too, you lay on your back now as he stays on top, he pulls himself back. "i need you to tell me what you like. i want to learn how you like it, how to make it good for you."

you nod attentively, hold his face and kiss him. you guide his long fingers on your clit. "i like how you touch me here. like this."

he nods, trying to understand the basics of it. you let his hand move and he finds your entrance with his fingers. you guide them inside you. "there's a spot that feels- oh!"

it appears your good looking boy is successful at everything he does. his fingers find your g-spot with the little help from your hips and he presses there.

he moves his fingers inside you, his thumb stays on your clit. "mm-hmm, there. that's so beautiful. you are so good for me."

aemond loves when you praise him, your words are sincere and so sweet. he wants to make you feel good, he wants his touches to make you lose it for him.

he sucks your nipple, and then the other one. you push your body to him, wanting him to keep going.

"like that, just like that!"

it only takes three more thrusts for you to reach to that lovely state. you moan his name, not caring about how loud you are. he feels the pride deep in his heart, smiles broadly and kisses you. you grab his cock when your orgasm hits you and you move your hand fastly to make him come once more.

he pushes his cock to your fist and he is gone after a few moments.

he feels so good, so relaxed. he lays on bed with you on his chest and pulls the covers on you.

you are trying to catch your breath as he rubs circles on your back, your nipples press on his skin and his softened cock rests on his thigh.

you enjoy a few minutes of comfortable silence.

you leave the bed afterwards, go to the bathroom to clean yourself. you grab a towel for him, hand it to him when you go back to his side and let him clean himself.

he looks calm and grounded, his eye closing slowly and you know he wants to sleep with you in bed. you kiss his forehead affectionally, mumbling how perfect he is. you take the used towel from him and put it in washing machine.

you go to kitchen with quick steps after wearing one of his shirts and clean panties. you bring him a cool glass of water and sit on the edge of the bed on his side.

"come on, drink some water my love."

he slowly sips his water, grateful for the care you show him. you hold his hand when he finishes the water in the glass and put the glass on the nightstand.

he opens the covers for you and takes you in his arms. you kiss his neck, wrap your arms around him.

"thank you." he says, and his voice sounds a little shy it makes your heart clench.

"i want you to feel good with me. i like taking care of you, i like making you smile. you deserve all the sweetness i could ever offer."

"i feel the best when i'm with you. i just- i'm not used to it but i love it. pretty words and someone taking care of me." he says.

"that's okay. we have time, remember? you'll get used to all of it, baby."

he kisses you good night then, and you watch him fall asleep, holding you closer and closer.

your good looking boy.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #modern!aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond one eye #aemond × reader #aemond fluff #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut

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elysianeclipxe · 11 months

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gushing over the dark blood edits | enhypen

genre: fluff, bf & idol!enha x reader // warnings: none // wc: 1.5k // nets: @hyfenet

sidenote: this was requested by a lovely user, thank you!! first time actually making headcannons again and i really dont hate it... i had too much fun with this even tho it took a while. i should really write more things like this actually (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) enjoy reading, everyone <33

›› heeseung ⭒ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🦌

He notices immediately after he hears you squealing pretty loud. Is super curious about what you're doing so he tries to sneak close by and lean his head to look at what's on your screen. Imagine his surprise when he sees the fan made edits of him during dark blood. He tries to stay silent but he unintentionally giggles while looking at you. How could he not when you looked so adorable like that, gushing at the edits of him. Of course since it's Heeseung he uses this as an opportunity to be a little flirty with you. Will likely spend the rest of his time beside you just watching you with pure amusement rather than the videos of him. It's not everyday that he gets to see you go all hardcore fangirl, eyes wide and constant squeals. Ahhhh you are way more attractive in his eyes now.

"GOSH HEE, YOU LOOK SO GOOD IN THESE EDITS!!! UGHHH MY BOYFRIEND IS SO PRETTY AND HANDSOME AND HOT!!!" You squeal after seeing another edit of him and immediately pay attention to your phone.

"You're prettier, princess! So freaking cute as well when you're gushing about me like this." Kisses you on the cheek before going back to admiring you and your cute reactions.

›› jay ⭒ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🦅

He loves you and very much appreciates the fact that you are all over the place because of the edits on him but OMG JUST STOPPP. He was fine with it at the start but the more you kept gushing about him as if he wasn't there listening to you, the more embarrassed he got. It was endearing to be told how he looked like an actual vampire in those edits and he chuckled/laughed a lot at all the compliments you were throwing at him. But with every compliment comes a darker blush on his face, and by the time you squealed out wanting to be bitten his heart and mind could not take it anymore. Congrats, your boyfriend is officially the colour of a tomato.

"JAY YOU LOOK SO DAMN VAMPY!!! IF BITE ME IS THE TITLE SONG THEN DO AS IT SAYS AND BITE MEEEE!!!" Next thing you know Jay cradles your face with his hands and makes you face his very very red face, a shy expression on top of it as well.

"Sweetheart I love you, but please, enough with the compliments. I physically cannot handle it anymore. One more and my heartrate will start beating like crazy."

›› jake ⭒ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🐶

Once he hears any song from the album play on your phone you can bet that he is rushing over to see whatever it is you're watching. Now, no exaggeration, but he is a literal puppy about it. He is so excited and happy that you're watching the dark blood edits that engenes make + your fangirling over them (more specifically him). Is the absolute sweetest about this and super duper happy about your reactions. If the edit has an interesting part from dark blood he'll for sure tell you about the behind the scenes on it. Has the biggest smile ever omgggg and is just laughing in pure happiness at everything you say. Will definitely stay beside you the whole day to watch all the other dark blood edits that fans made. Guaranteed a very happy day for Jake, expect hugs and kisses in between each edit.

"JAKEY YOU ARE BLOWING ME AND ENGENES AWAY WITH HOW GORGEOUS YOU LOOK!! AND THE VOCAL PARTS THEY PUT IT, UNBELIEVABLY WOW!!" You lightly hit him many times with the pillows to show just how much he was affecting you. He grabs the pillow and tosses it before giving you a sweet kiss.

"Really?!! I'm so happy about that, baby! You won't believe how hard it was to film that scene." He pulls you into his arms and continues to play the video with a bright smile. "Let's watch some more of these edits, okay? I bet the other edits show us off really well too."

›› sunghoon ⭒ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🐧

When he heard you yell out his name and march over to him with this intense look in your eyes he was already racking his brain as to what he did wrong. Then you start shaking him and telling him about all the dark blood edits you found. Now he is more than confused. He'll let you drag him to show the videos and now that he's seen it, he's shy about it. Loves all your comments about it but if you keep going with all the gushing then the cockiness in him slowly starts to rise until he is so lovingly unbearable. You and engenes said he looked good and now he can see it for himself, and he does look great. Will not be able to wipe off the smile from his face, confident or not, he is so soft when it comes to your praise.

"MY MAN IS PARK SUNGHOON WITH THE FLUFF HAIR AND THE FANGS THAT FIT THIS COMEBACK ERA!!! NO ONE CAN COMPARE!!!"

He giggles in delight at your words and turns to you, "no one can compare, huh? I guess you're right, especially if I look that amazing in those edits. You must be so glad to have a boyfriend like me." Cocky words and yet such a happy soft smile.

›› sunoo ⭒ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🦊

When he sees you rolling around on the bed so excitedly he straight away looks at you weirdly with hints of curiosity. He only questions what you're squealing about once you yell at him with a big grin. Now, once he understands that you saw those edits, his reactions are gonna be so on and off about it. One minute he's really cheerful about and warm seeing you fangirl over him, and then next thing you know he's giving you a side eye as if you're the weird one — even though your reactions are perfectly normal behaviour!!! He'll act all proud and semi-judge you but both of you know that he's screaming in happiness inside, his touches get softer and he's now radiating with happy energy.

"SUNOO IS MINE!! THIS GLORIOUS AND ATTRACTIVE ANTAGONIST LOOKING VAMPIRE IS MINE!!! THE BLACK CROWN WITH HIS EYES AND LOW VOCALS ARE AHHHHHH!!"

"Why are you like this? Your reactions are so cute but so weird. I mean.. I guess I do look good in these edits." He leans closer to you and continues to act on and off whilst watching your reactions. He won't deny the fact that your reactions are amusing to listen to, I mean, he didn't know that his photos were that good.

›› jungwon ⭒ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🐱

He was in the room when you started to squeal and straight up just watched you go all over the place with heavy breathing before he asked if you were okay. He is so concerned about your reactions until you tell him that it's because of the dark blood edits. Eases up real quick before he starts to laugh, dimples showing off. Feels pleased that all their hard work for the comeback worked out well. Very smiley once he knows that fans (including you) are enjoying dark blood. He's gonna watch some edits with you for sure and will point out the other members in the video and compliment them. Definitely relaxes and gets very cuddly, will spend hours just sitting there listening to you go on and on about the edits.

"WON LOOK!! YOUR SCENE HERE IN THIS EDIT IS SO PRETTY AND YOU'RE JUST SO AMAZING!! I'M GONNA CRY!! IF YOU DIDN'T HAVE MY HEART BEFORE, YOU DO NOW!!!

"I'm glad that it turned out so well, but that doesn't mean you should cry, pretty." He lets out a sweet laugh and pulls you closer into his embrace, arms around your waist as he gently places his chin on your shoulder. "Keep watching, I'll just be here. I wanna listen to you some more."

›› niki ⭒ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🐆

The minute he catches you watching an edit of him whilst giggling to yourself and kicking your feet on the bed, you are officially doomed. He is never gonna let you live that down and will tease you nonstop about it. This is one of the best things he's witnessed so far and it would be a waste to not tease you with it. Will always have this cheeky smirk on his face and is absolutely going to poke your sides while he lovingly laughs at your reactions. Don't get so annoyed at him though, this is just how he shows his love and appreciation towards the support you're giving. Let him have this, feed his ego a little cause the compliments make him feel shy and content inside.

"UGHHH RIKI STOP TEASING ME!!! SUE ME FOR FANGIRLING OVER MY INCREDIBLY TALENTED BOYFRIEND!!! I CAN'T NOT SQUEAL WHEN THESE EDITS MAKE YOU LOOK ALL THE MUCH MORE INCREDIBLE!!!"

"It's my job to tease you over this especially since you're so amazed by me! You probably gush over us all the time, right? Come on, tell me the truth! I bet I'm right." You huff with a pout, feeling quite embarrassed about the current situation. A teasing grin is seen on his face when he sees you get all shy because of his questions, poking your sides and lightly pinching your cheeks to tease you even more.

Glad I freed my inner fangirl with this! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated ^^

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sweetsweetjellybean · 8 months

Text

In a city the size of Chicago, Eddie should be easy to avoid. Or maybe the city isn't as big as you thought?

Masterlist Listen to Sour Girl Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning.

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless."

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song.

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved.

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can.

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist, crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview.

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve walks into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights.

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck.

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?”

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door.

“See you tonight, okay?”

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.”

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket.

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths. Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper.

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting.

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up.

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone.

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back.

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife.

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed.

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge.

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet.

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head.

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention.

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload. The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards.

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label.

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday.

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet.

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond.

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday. He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.”

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.”

“How did you get so wise?” You ask.

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.”

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back.

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer.

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin.

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths.

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want.

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure.

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest.

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer.

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

Read Song 3 Here

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#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn #torn series #torn!eddie #Spotify

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the-midnight-blooms · 26 days

Text

Drunken Monologue

pairing: kim hongjoong x reader

AU: modern

word count: 3.7k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

masterlist

Trope: Friends to Lovers to Strangers

She watches as they walk out of their place with another woman slung around his arm. The woman he left for, she's so perfect she cannot help but agree with him when he declared he did not love her anymore. How could he? She was everything his first love was not- no more, no less. Yet, the place she once held in his heart? Gone, not even deserving of the title 'friend', displaced like the weakest metal in a chemical reaction.

She didn't mean to cross Hongjoong on the street anyway, on her way home from taxing day at work her feet took her to the one place that brought her more comfort than home. Second to bookshop, it was his arms. She was entitled to none of it now. Nights of endless scrolling over the internet for the next best cheapest place to buy novels but nothing came close to the bookshop she’d gone to in the duration of her childhood, the same bookshop that supported her through her academia.

The distant memory of them both scribbling away in books, endlessly typing on their computers for hours on end into the night gnawed at her. At times she felt like giving up, why, oh, why had she chosen such an academically challenging degree? For her parents’ validation of course, despite this Hongjoong supported her-pushed her to continue.

“I can’t be bothered anymore Joong.” She whined into her pillow, letting out a loud groan that made him scoff as he twirled the pencil between his fingers.

“Let’s make a deal, you get over 80 on that exam and I’ll buy you that plain vanilla ice cream you like.” Her eyes perked up at ‘vanilla ice cream’ she shook her head vigorously and then got to work sifting through pages of her notes and exam questions she had yet to do. Peering her eyes over the top of her screen, she gazed at her best friend hunched over in his seat punching numbers into a calculator, with furrowed brows, the concentrated look on his face making her heart melt. While they had been best friends for a long time, she had harboured feelings for the boy since college and even through their transgression into university, the feelings just never seemed to dissipate.

“Oh, and Hongjoong-nah? Vanilla ice cream is not plain.”

“Whatever you say, love.” The term of endearment making her heart flutter, she had yet to convince herself that he called everyone ‘love’, hence it was never really special when he said it to her. A week had passed and before she knew it, she sprinted down the university halls, clusters of students who were once engrossed in their own conversations turning to look at her. With a panting breath, she skidded at the end of the corridor shoving her sheet of paper in Hongjoong’s face, he himself was once invested in his conversation with Jongho.

“Look” she urged, and he took the paper from her hands his eyes scanning over it, fixating on the mark. 90.

“That’s amazing! Didn’t you say this was the hardest module too?” Shaking her head eagerly, she threw her head back in triumph. Hongjoong sought the way her hair fell down her shoulders, the sound of laughter like a melody he wanted to capture in a tune and play on repeat. “Well, I guess I owe you ice cream now.” Picking up his canvas bag from the floor, he bid Jongho goodbye and made his way to the exit.

“Do you want to come with us Jongho?” She offered, to which the younger boy declined sending Hongjoong a knowing smirk from across the corridor. Shaking his head, Hongjoong waited until she made her way to him then hand in hand, they ran to the ice cream parlour before it closed.

She didn’t like vanilla ice cream anymore. It wasn’t the plainness of it, like Hongjoong had always suggested. It was the memory of it, the association of it with him. Every book they read, song they listened to, food they ate, place they went to-she’d grown to have a distaste for. It seemed pathetic, and it was but every time their song played on the radio a pang settled into deepest pits of her heart.

Drunken men push past her on the same street, where now Hongjoong and her stand two metres apart. He senses familiarity in the air around him, head whipping around scouring his surroundings. He knows them. They shift around slowly, as if they are moving without conscience towards him. He wants to stumble to them, inebriated by their intimacy as he once was when he sauntered through his hallways, years ago heavily drunk from a work celebration party. Hongjoong's dragged away by his girlfriend, every nook and cranny of his heart filled with adoration for her yet long ago he was being dragged away by someone else.

With a heavy puff, she pushed Hongjoong onto his sofa a long groan released from his lips as he lazily outstretched his legs before him. So drawn by her beauty, he lifts his arm to caress her cheek. With a smile she gently brushes it away, moving his leg to sit on the remnants of the seat that is not covered by his body.

"The things I do for you." she muttered under his breath, he caught the whispers of it, a weary smile forms across his perfect features.

"And I love you for it. I love you more than sea loves the moon." A laugh escaped from her lips, could he get any more drunk?

"Just say thank you, Hongjoong. This isn't a poetry reading." shaking her head, she pats his head before getting up. The words strike a nerve, he grabs at her wrist to gnaw at her attention. Suddenly, he looks more attentive and alive as if he wasn't drinking to his hearts content to fill up the hole of solitude that swallowed him.

"I'm being serious." resting her hand his chest to feel the racing of his heart, "This only beats for you. I feel so lonely without you, incomplete." he breathed out, latching onto her hand as if she would disappear if he let her go.

"Hongjoong, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." A sharp prick of her throat throbbed, a tickle arising in her nose. Love was just a game to him, right?

"They say a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts."

"I wouldn't believe you, even if you were sober."

"Why not?" he inquired, he sat up this time not letting go of her hand her body gravitating towards him.

"Because- you know what, no you're too drunk for this conversation right now."

"No, I wanna know. Why don't you believe me?"

"Hongjoong, you've never wanted a relationship. You've never wanted to be someone else's. I always have, I want to belong to someone. I want to get married and have children, bicker with my husband, listen to my teenagers' tantrums. I want it all. You don't." She recounted from all the times he had dismissed notions of settling down and having a married life. He'd fraternised with many women, much to her dismay, but those relationships had held no true meaning. They were in his bed one hour and gone the next, replaced by another. Truthfully, Hongjoong never felt content with the 'relationships' he had but the slow sinking feeling he felt when he was devoid of completeness ate at him. He wanted to feel whole and he felt whole with her.

"What if it's because I've never wanted it with anyone but you?" Silence rooted in the warm air; she'd open his window before she left. Nothing but staring into each other’s eyes for minutes on end. Hongjoong awaited her response, it was all the alcohol that had riled so much energy within to confess his feelings to her. Those which he had felt since they were children, teasing each other in the playground to adults fixated over creating contented lives for themselves.

"Then tell me when you wake up. Tell me how much you've wanted me. Once I'm yours, I'm yours forever."

It seemed like it would be forever. Nights spent under the cover of the twinkling stars: talking until they were too sleep deprived to go to work, running through the park tearing out handfuls of grass whilst chucking them at each other. Just all the things they did as friends, but the moments much more intimate when they'd fall on top of each other faces barely inches away feeling their heated breath tickling their noses.

“I hope our kids aren’t that naughty.” She almost spat out the drink in her mouth, craning to give Hongjoong a shocked look paired with a sort of shy smile forming on her lips. They sat on the vast lush green field, sun beaming down on their figures- his figure illuminated like it was it was carved out of the sun itself.

“Our kids?” Hongjoong tore his gaze away from the children shooting their parents with water guns to her, nodding ever so casually.

“Four kids-,”

“Four? Mr Kim, will you be giving birth to these children? Will you be walking up in the middle of the night to change their nappies?” She interrupted, holding back a laugh.

“Yes, I’ll change all of their nappies. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night to rock them back to sleep. Take them to school anymore, brush our daughters’ hair. Oh! We have to have matching family outfits…” and so Hongjoong often rambled about the perfect family life, his lover staring at him as if he was an angel descended from the highest heavens. If he was an angel, how did wound himself on earth no less how did he wound up as hers? To have that thought again, to stare into his eyes and get intoxicated by the profundity of his sweet soul. His love so addicting she woke up with cold sweats, hands outstretched as if he would come to her in the cold dead of the night, encircling her into his arms again as if he never left.

“What should we name our daughter?” Hongjoong piped up one day, out of sheer curiosity. His head stuck through the doorway of the living room, watching his lover sat in front of the television but her attention attached to the book in her hands.

“Hmm, Kim…” she trailed off, thinking of all the girl names her friends had already taken up. “Kim Dahye.” She settled on, he slumped onto the seat next to her resting his head on her shoulder. "Because she'll be the kindest soul to exist. And if we have a boy, we'll name him Kim Suho, our guardian angel."

"Sounds like a plan Mrs Kim." A blush crept on her cheeks, her cheek resting on his head hands entwined as the hum of the machine bled into the comfortable silence of the room.

She couldn’t remember how it had happened. What great sin she had she committed that Hongjoong felt so repulsed by the sight of her? As if staying would have killed him. Despite the busy hours of both of their working days, the tiresome repetitive life of their schedules, for a while they found comfort in each other- they were each other’s escape from the dreaded conformity to society. How had it gone unnoticed the way he cancelled on her a number of times. Ignoring her calls, leaving her messages on read? The distance between them whenever they were together. Holding her hands but not looking at her. Looking at her as she spoke about her day but not listening to her. It was tolerance, really, she’d put up with all of his ignorance as long as she could say ‘he’s mine.’

“We need to talk.” His reticent voice drifting into her bedroom, she sat up from her slumped position. A soft smile painted on her lips, how long had it been since she had been the listener and he was the talker? He slumped down on the foot of her bed, gradually meeting her gaze. A breath hitched in his throat. He loved her once. He could not breath without her. Got drunk on her presence. Then he had met her, the other woman. She was a drug so addicting. Suddenly, his childhood love was a weak narcotic incapable of exhilarating him as she once did. "I don't love you anymore." He went straight for the punchline.

"I-what happened? Why?" she questioned, there was so much more to ask but the words clogged up her throat as her brain scrambled for traction trying to process the sudden declaration. His eyes shut close for a few moments, plucking up the courage to tell her.

"I found someone else. I thought it unfair to keep you here, next to me while I'm hooked to someone else." Tears blurred her vision, limbs shivering. Pressing her back up against her headboard, she hugged her legs, face dug between her knees.

"What happened to feeling incomplete without me? What happened to wanting to be married? What happened to having children?" she questioned, anger prescient. Fury overtook the despair that momentarily possessed her, was it all a fever dream? Was any part of their relationship sincere?

"Believe me when I say I wanted it all with you, but now I can't feel a thing between us. The bridge to you has collapsed-" He reached for hands to console her; she yanked them towards her gripping onto skin too reluctant to let go. Any moment now if she did let go, he would leave.

"So then find another way to me. Fight for us. Don't tell me this relationship was just a drunken mistake, or I was just used to fill that sorry hole in your heart." Perhaps I really was lonely and you were there for me, mistaking my gratitude for love. But Hongjoong was misinterpreting his emotions. It was love. He did love her. He had just been allured by someone else's physicality that he had forgotten that the one woman who loved him endlessly, flaws and all, was sat in front of him.

"Don't make this harder for me. You deserve someone else, someone who wants you as equally as you want them." Biting down on her lip, a tear slipped from her eyes snapping her head away from him as his hands left her weakened hold. Soundlessly, he left from the room. The soft shutting of the door had triggered her, she bawled as a part of her soul crippled away trailing after Hongjoong who ambled down the street to his next love.

Her body thudded against another on that busy street as the sun dipped beneath the sky, streetlights flickering every now and then. So lost in her yearning for the past, her spatial awareness had been decapitated.

"Oh God, I'm sorry." Her phone flung out of her grasp, clattering to the floor. Both figures reached down for the phone, fingers meeting as they did. Grabbing at her phone, she rose so did the other figure in sync. "I'm really sorry, I should have watched where I was going-" He called out her name, their eyes instantaneously meeting.

It was Wooyoung, a fellow classmate from her time at university. He did not look any different from the charismatic soul that had cheered her up after every difficult lecture that seemed incomprehensible. A dimpled smile manifested across his pink lips, the familiar excitement of seeing an old friend filling him.

"I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?" He began to bombard her with questions. Within seconds she was, too, dragged away by another in the opposite direction the strings between the old lovers, thinning as they transcended deeper into the own lives.

A high-pitched squeal infiltrated the park, a small body dashing through the familiar fields.

“I’m gonna get you.” She cooed, in an infantile like manner as the child attempted to sprint as fast as his little legs could carry him. At last, she swooped him up by the legs, twirling him around the cool wind assisting her. They shared a laugh before she attacked his face with kisses. His father approached behind, wide smile complacent slipping an arm around his son, cocooning him in his embrace. The boy squirmed in his father’s arms, begging to be let go. He let him go, the couple dawdling after his child as he ran to the slides accompanying the other children inhabiting it.

“The sentence, from Mrs Jung?” She contested. She recalled the horror in her friend’s voice on learning that both her husband and son were indulging in eating sweet delicacies every night before bed-not even bothering to brush their teeth at that.

“Death.” He joked back, they shared a comfortable laugh. “Joae’s coming back from Japan on Sunday. Thank you for helping take care of Gohyun.” She waved him off declaring it was the most she could do for a friend that was there when she needed someone the most.

At the other end of the park, two old friends walked down a cobbled path on their way to the play area where Hongjoong’s daughter persisted. Cups of warm coffee encased within their hands, conversations of the past enticing them. They both paused as they found his daughter, Kim Dayhe, playing with another boy around a similar age to her. The sight brought back a nostalgic memory of the girl he used to run around parks with as a child.

“Jung Gohyun!” A feminine voice called, a figure moved closer to the children, she sent a soft smile to the girl before kneeling down to tighten her loosening pigtails. Hongjoong moved forward, despite the woman’s pure intentions his protective instincts broke through-Jongho following hastily behind eyes widening as he recognised the woman.

“Thank you, Unnie-,”

“Dahye,” her head snapped up from the children, the acquaintance of the voice tearing the boundaries she’d built between them for years on end. The memories flooding back to her, she almost stumbled back at the sight of him; she clutched onto her Gohyun’s shoulder for strength. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out. Hongjoong’s own eyes widened. His childhood love.

“I haven’t seen you in years! How are you?” He questioned, as if the last time he spoke to her wasn’t in her bedroom, telling her he didn’t love her anymore. That his heart was tied down to another woman, who he felt more complete with then he had ever felt with her.

“I’m great! Is she your daughter?” Hongjoong nodded proudly.

“This is your son?” She froze, unable to speak. Eventually, she shook her head no.

“No, he's Wooyoung’s son actually. He’s here, somewhere...” Tearing her gaze away from Hongjoong, who was somewhat surprised at the revelation, she trailed off scanning the park for her companion, who was jogging over to the reunion-two tiny bodies respectively hiding behind their close adults.

“Long time no see.” Jongho quipped from behind Hongjoong. With a gasp, she rushed to Jongho embracing him into a warm hug whilst terrorising him with questions all the same- Hongjoong slightly gaping at them with, a brief unsettling feeling in his heart.

“Jung Wooyoung, you bastard! It’s been ages!" Her hands flung to her nephew's ears, as did Hongjoong’s, as the profanity shamelessly sprung out of Jongho’s mouth.

“I love you too!” The university friends reunited, Wooyoung encompassing both Hongjoong and Jongho. Sneakily, the children had taken the opportunity to crawl back to the slides. While Jongho and Wooyoung conversed with each other, Hongjoong sought his old childhood friend, looking down at her feet in contemplation.

"You named her Dahye." she exhaled; a whiff of distress reminiscent in her tone. He nodded, slowly.

"So, no children, no husband?" As always Hongjoong went straight for the punchline but there wasn't really any other way about it. If Gohyun was not her child, nor Wooyoung her husband then who did she have waiting for her at home?

"No. We're not all entitled to that kind of life."

"But it's all you've ever wanted." he pondered, the words blurting from his mouth before he could stop them. He was met with a hard stare but she returned her gaze back to her feet. "I mean, no one at all?" When the one I wanted left me, how could I seek another? It wasn't that she had not tried at all, she'd been on many dates with many men. Lots of Wooyoung's friends, Johae's friends, some guys on dating apps she'd installed for the thrill of it but none had the compassion that she desired or none had wanted to date for marriage. She'd be lying if she said she didn't at least look for the smallest trace of Hongjoong in them all.

“Just Dahye or?”

“A three-month year-old boy, Kim Suho.” Perhaps that was enough to break all the progress she had made over the years, the bridge of her nose tingled but she refused to be vulnerable in front of him again. The tight threads that had lazily sewed her heart together ripping, the misery she had once been suffering from breaking through again. The universe really had no remorse left for her.

“I’m proud of you, Hongjoong. You finally settled down and I’m sure you’re a great father.” She retorted. What else could she say? As much as she wanted to, she could not scream or cry. Or shout and swear. Tell him how much he had broken her and when he left her home, mercilessly on that solemn evening many years ago she had not been the same. She could not tell him how cruel it was that he named his children the same names that she had planned. How much it hurt her that she wasn’t the mother of his children, like he used to claim he wanted her to be. Or rather that she wasn’t the mother of any child since no man could love her in the ways she wanted to be loved. She called for Gohyun, the little boy tottering over to her. Clutching his small hand within hers, she brushed past Hongjoong to bid Jongho goodbye. Finally, across the park, she arched her neck to take a last look at Hongjoong. They marvelled at each other, before the universe could separate them once and for all.

I knew you once. I loved you once, held you in my arms and you promised you wouldn’t let me go. The memory of me so faint like there wasn’t a day that went by when you promised me that you would make me yours.

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: ahhh the second fic in the angst series! I’m a bit iffy on the ending but let me know what you guys think? good? bad? ugly? May edit later. thank you to my love @n0v4t33z for helping me decide regardless! The cold persists unfortunately, but so do I. I'll try to squeeze in another fic before I lock into exam mode but I think it's just best to let the ideas marinate at this point. Still gonna be active on tumblr so reach out to me!! Hope you enjoyed this fic!

#kim hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #kpop #ateez x reader #ateez

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spliffymae · 1 year

Text

TOUCH ME.

synopsis: dabi hates being touched—always has. he hates people touching him. he hates people in general. but there’s something about the cute doctor in his apartment building…who just so happens to be his ex.

⚠️exboyfriend!dabi, swearing, smut, dabi got a dick piercing, pet names (doll, babe, angel…), mentions of drug use, slight pain kink if you squint, aggressive sex, possessive!dabi, reader and dabi are toxic, reader has no backbone when it comes to dabi (sorry not sorry😭) MINORS DNI ! 18+

kio’s notes - i need to catch up on mha but it is so hard to watch anime after reading/writing fics 😭 i can’t watch it the same as i used to.

⊱ ──────── {.⋅ ✺ ⋅.}──────── ⊰

there was this annoying tune stuck in your head. you couldn’t tell from where but it was one of those tunes you couldn’t help but hum to yourself. the title of the song, who sung it, it’s significance—it all was a blur in your brain.

so as you rummaged in the cabinet under your sink, you hummed the soon to be dreadful tune as you searched for the white tin first aid kid you had.

you could hear the groans coming from your living room, but you drowned them out with the tune as you moved stuff around the cabinet to get the kit.

“doll! any time you want to join’ll be great!” you heard dabi cry from the other room, his voice strained. you rolled your eyes at his impatience. you literally stepped away from him for like two minutes. it wasn’t like he was dying.

“coming, coming.” you mumbled more to yourself than him. you were tired, it was late, and yet here you were getting ready to patch up one of your rudest and most annoying clients.

as your sock clad feet padded back to the living room, you could hear dabi’s winces and groans. “here’s what i don’t understand,” you started once you got in his eyesight, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. he was manspread on your couch, right hand putting pressure on his left shoulder. he had gotten a large gash on his shoulder, and had popped his staple stitches.

“there is a perfectly good, twenty-four-hour clinic for you villainous beings, and yet you come to me. even though i charge double what the clinic does.” you criticize, smacking his hand away so you can look at the wound. you had given him a cold rag and the instruction to apply pressure while you searched for the med kit.

the bleeding had calmed down, and allowed you to properly disinfect the wound. dabi had winced as you cleaned him, but it fell on deaf ears. “easy, doll. not like i’m invincible to the feeling.”

he grabbed your wrist to stop you. the cotton pad soaked in anti-bacteria liquid was now stained with his blood. you looked at him with tired eyes. you wanted to make this as quick and efficient as possible so he could leave.

“be gentle with me, pretty. took a big hit tonight.” he let out a grunt as he tried to straighten up his seat.

you shrugged, not caring, “your fault.” you mumbled, taking up a new cotton ball and soaking it in the liquid before cleaning his cut again. you pushed harder into the wound, getting dabi to groan and smack your hand away.

“fuck’s sake, (y/n). just because it’s purple doesn’t mean i lost feeling! the shit hurts!” he had narrowed his eyes at you, jaw clenched and pissed.

“listen, it’s late and you came in unannounced, without so much as a heads up. you got your blood on my carpet and couch pillow…so clearly we’re not having consideration for each other.” you were sarcastic, your tone indicating that he had pushed your patience to your limit in the couple minutes you had spent mending his wound.

“you are more than welcome to get out and go to your underground villain clinic.” you sat back to give him space, an indication you were one step away from just going back to sleep and leaving him to solve his problem on his own. you were already dressed the part—a black oversized tee with nothing but your panties underneath. orange knee high fuzzy socks and your all might bonnet. you were prepared to have a personal night-in.

frankly, had dabi been courteous enough to send you a text to see if you were even home, you would be a lot nicer. but polite was not dabi.

no, sliding your bedroom window up and coming into your room unannounced was dabi. he climbed the fire escape of your building until he got to your room, about two stories up from the ground. his shoes were muddy, but he didn’t care as he stepped onto your plush white rug, his crimson blood flowing down his arm and dropping at his fingers. the white of the faux fur was hues of red and pink now. your brown hardwood floors showed the trail he walked when leaving your room to the couch.

“bro, i have a friggin door!” you exclaimed. he had come in during your binge watching, interrupting the finale of the show you had put two months into watching. the giant bowl of popcorn you had now grew stale as it sat on your counter.

dabi didn’t say anything. he bit back the rude comment that lied on his tongue. he could’ve gone to the clinic. twice had offered to take him, but he declined. he wanted to come to you. wanted you to make him better.

“m’good right here, angel.” his lips formed a smirk. he was still breathing hard, still in pain—probably more now that the adrenaline he had died down. his way of letting you know he would ease up and take the pain without complaining.

you nodded and continued to clean. this time, to prevent him from speaking, you hummed the tune to distract yourself.

“fuck that song.” dabi groaned, throwing his head back.

your ears perked up. maybe now you could finally figure out the name of the song. “what’s it called again? s’been stuck in my head all day.” you asked him. if he was going to be taking up your night the least he could do is provide relief to you, having been stuck with the tune all day and night.

“some song by the weeknd. i think it’s called acquainted or some dumb name like that.”

you smiled, “didn’t take you for a weeknd listener.”

back when you two were dating, dabi’s music interest was rock, metal—what anyone who looked at him thought he listened to. he also had a few trap, hip hop and old school gangsta rap artists in his rotation, but stayed away from rnb.

you on the other hand, were like if erykah badu, jasmine sullivan, and jhene aiko had a baby. you were a soul child at heart and we’re always listening to “some rnb song” as dabi would call it. he really would only listen to rnb if he were with you. never on his own. so for him to know the song and it to be an rnb song, you were impressed.

dabi chuckled. you expected a cute comment to follow, you weren’t going to lie. maybe something like ‘you were always listening so i gave him a try’ or along those lines.

but what you got instead was completely uncalled for.

“fucked a girl to it a couple weeks ago. she had a solid playlist.” he laughed to himself with a smug smirk on his face.

and instantly, at the mention of him being with someone else, your mood changed. was it jealousy? was it anger? sadness?

whatever it was, it caused you to take up the anti-bacteria bottle and squeeze the liquid right into his wound. dabi jolted, the stinging sensation was strong and he swore he heard his body start to fizz at the reaction.

“motherfucker!” he groaned, jumping up from the couch. his eyes were closed shut and he hissed, clenching his jaw to grit through the pain. he was feeling dizzy from it, and his body started to get hot.

you were satisfied, on the outside. but on the inside you felt a crack in your heart. but you masked it. you stood up from the table, the tin that was on your lap now in your hand. you threw it on the couch lazily. “clean your fucking self up.” you mumbled.

the plan was to walk away from him. to go back to your room and retreat under the covers until you heard him slam your door as he left. that’s what you decided would happen, what you would do. but in typical dabi fashion, he did the opposite.

he grabbed your wrist with his good hand and spun you around to face him. “why the fuck would you do that?!”

“why the hell are you fucking other bitches?!” you spat back.

lord, it was two-thirty in the morning and you were yelling at a man who had his upper body’s skin basically torn open. the bleeding had stopped, but he still needed to be patched up. stitches replaced.

dabi snorted, “that’s what that was for? you’re jealous? c’mon babe,” he pulled you closer, “would it make you feel better if i said her pussy wasn’t as good as yours? didn’t make me cum as fast? didn’t suck me in just how i like? hmm?” he tapped your chin to further his patronizing.

you sucked your teeth, trying to move from his hold but he only gripped onto your jaw tighter. you weren’t stronger than him, and he knew this. so you just did what you knew how and that was pout and stay quiet.

“aww, not you pouting. what? want me to compare and contrast, doll?…you know i will.” he was having fun with you, with your envy and anger. he didn’t plan to tell you about the one night stand. it wasn’t anything serious to him, really. he had been drunk at a bar with you on his mind and the opportunity to release the sexual frustration he felt presented itself. you weren’t supposed to find out, but hey, shit gets out.

“get the fuck off me.” you spoke through gritted teeth, but he only laughed as a response.

“finish patching me back up and i’ll be out of your way. physically, at least.. that beautiful mind’ll always be thinking of me, unfortunately.” he was smug, he felt cocky. you could mask the anger in your face all you wanted, but he saw the glint in your eyes. the way all the light of opportunity seemed to leave them with his revelation. you were pissed, he knew.

“ask your other bitch to do it.”

“mm, nah, i rather you do it. tender touch, lover’s hand, s’all.” he shrugged. he was playing games with you, testing you. the question was how far was he going to take this. what was his end goal?

he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, smiling when you instinctively tilted your head upward. “c’mon doll, stitch me back up so i can show you my utmost appreciation…want you to touch me.”

the music did little to cover the noise in your living room.

“mhm, just what i thought. poor baby missed me.” dabi cooed into your ear with the slyest smirk on his lips as his tip pushed past your wet folds. he was speaking to your cunt, not you.

you gasped at the stretch. you haven’t felt him inside in so long, the feeling both familiar and strange. “dabi,” your voice cracked from above him, but he didn’t care.

you were foolish enough to continue with patching him up. giving him absorbable sutures and re-stapling his skin. dumb enough to hand him a glass of water and tylenol for the pain, and a rolled blunt to take his mind off it.

you should feel dumb. dumb for letting him back inside, your apartment and your body. but here you were, straddling his lap in only your oversized shirt, with your panties pushed to the side as he eased you onto his cock. you could feel all of him, the prominent vein on the underside, his bulbous head at your cervix. his jacobs ladder piercing aiding the pleasurable burn of your walls being stretched. it had been too long without him, but now in this position, you felt ecstasy.

“d-dabi.” you choked out. your bodies were pressed against one another, your hand in his hair and grabbing at the roots. he didn’t care, he was too high (off the feeling of you and the weed) to care.

your walls hugged him just as he remembered, sucking him in snug and tight like he loved. fuck, he missed your pussy like crazy.

“oh shit, doll. m‘feeling like cummin’ already and you didn’t even do shit. fuckin’ slut.” he bit his lip once he was fully bottomed out.

you took that as a sign to start, and began bouncing, on your tippy toes with your arms around the back of the sofa.

dabi smiled, satisfaction radiating off him, “look at you-hah—so pretty f’me baby. riding me so good, just how i like it. always taking care of me.” he only had one good hand, and used it to squeeze your waist as you bounced on him, channeling your inner megan thee stallion.

you were a choked up mess, moans and whimpers leaving your lips as you fucked yourself onto dabi’s cock. he was satisfied on being used by you. treating him like nothing just to get off. least you could do, really. after the many times he’s done you wrong.

he couldn’t explain it, the way fighting was always part of his plan to come back to you. what were you two if not a concoction of chaos and torment to one another? you wanted him to hear your name and roll his eyes in annoyance, but have his heart skip a beat with anticipation. he wanted the sight of his large frame towering over your own to leave a mess in your underwear and burn into your memory forever.

the word was toxic, and you both knew it, but didn’t read too much into it. wasn’t it enough to just acknowledge it?

dabi began to match his thrusts with your bounces. it brought him deeper inside of you. feeling like he was in your stomach. like you were full of him. he squeezed your neck, black painted nails digging into your skin.

“d-dabi.” you hit his shoulder as you struggle to catch your breath. he didn’t want to choke you unconscious, but he did want to limit your airway to maximize your pleasure.

he was so drunk off you, his moans growing louder against your ear, “fuck you, slut. so good for me. that’s what you wanna hear baby? huh? that this is all i need? you are all i need?”

when you were together, he struggled with intimate words. he loved you, he knew. he fucked you like it, you knew. but he couldn’t communicate his feelings outside of a sexual atmosphere. sex became his outlet—pain, anger, love…he gave it all to sex.

you threw your head back, eyes closed and mouth open but nothing came out. you had no words, no sound—nothing.

dabi squinted at the sight. he never truly could get over how precious you looked dumb off his cock. it had to be his top three favourite looks on your face. the other two being when you’re mad and after he tell you he loves you.

there was nothing in your head except him. all of him. his body, his voice, the way he touched you. his stitches grazing your skin and hands rough from fighting. there was a naturally smoky smell he carried—due to him using his quirk excessively. but you found over time it would mix with his cologne, and be the one scent to give you infinite comfort. dabi was in connection with all five of your senses, and in his mind, it was about time.

he brought your head back to face straight, forehead against his as his lips met yours in a sloppy kiss. there was no need to fight for dominance. he had it, you both knew.

you don’t know how you kept riding him this long. your thighs felt like they were on fire. they were burning. your grip on the back of the sofa tightened, using it to help you continue riding dabi to his orgasm.

“babe, i’m cumming. gonna come in this pussy, my pussy. fuckin ruin you for anyone else. y’hear me?” his grip went back to your jaw, his index finger and thumb keeping your mouth opened. it was a pain you found different, but one you were okay with.

you cut your eye at him, the hatred you had somehow swirling in the pits of your stomach alongside the butterflies he gave you.

“i-i” you tried to speak, but he taunted you by moving your jaw. you could feel the muscles in his stomach tighten as he edged himself, prolonging his end as to not come before you.

you didn’t want to cum until you said what you wanted to say, but he kept his hand in place, not budging when you grabbed his wrist to move it.

it was almost like a reflex, the way your right hand let go of the sofa and moved to his shoulder below, digging your nails into his stitched up wound. he screamed, the sudden feeling overwhelming his concentration and forcing his orgasm. his hand moved off your jaw, going to your back and pulling your body flush against him.

“i hate you.” you say just as you climax, dabi rubbing circles onto your clit. you two ride your highs out together, him leaving opened mouth kisses along your neck and leaving behind hickies. you tasted of salt, smelled of sex, but he didn’t care. you were delicious.

you looked up to the ceiling, eyes shut and mind racing with what just took place. there was this feeling in your chest. a feeling of regret, disappointment, but also…one of peace. contentment?

dabi pulled away from your neck and looked up at you. his pupils were blown and eyelids low. you hated him. you hated the way he looked so fucked out.

he took up your hand that was at your side and brought it to his cheek. you cupped it, feeling the duality of the smooth and rough skin. his hold on your wrist was warm, tight. he brought your red palm to his lips, stained by his dry blood, and kissed it.

you hated him. hated how he held you close so you wouldn’t get up. how he grabbed a blanket to throw over the two of you.

“i really fucking hate you.” you yawned. your eyes met once again. this time dabi smiling at you as he mumbled,

“love you too, pretty.”

#🌞🍃spliffymae #bnha·✘ ¨*:·.#dabi x black!reader #angst #bnha x reader #bhna smut #bhna #dabi smut #x black reader #touya todoroki #touya x black reader #dabi bnha

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bi-bard · 1 year

Text

As It Is Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Kaz Brekker - Kaz Brekker Imagine [Shadow & Bone]

Title: As It Is Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Kaz Brekker

Pairing: Kaz Brekker X Reader

Word Count: 2,608 words

Warning(s): touch aversion, mentions of nightmares/past trauma

Author's Note: Here's a cute little fact: I write for a lot of Taylor Swift and Hozier and dodie and stuff, but As It Is is my favorite band of all time. I hold their music very close to my heart. I could spend hours talking about how much I love their music.

**Not intentionally written in chronological order**

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

The Handwritten Letter

I need you when I'm bruised and broken It's all that keeps me here and hoping I'm tangled in your mind unwoven I need you when I'm bruised I need you when I'm broken

Ka would never accept that someone helped him for the sake of helping him. In his eyes, everyone had another agenda of some kind. Money, power, take your pick. That belief always made him cold and distant. I had long accepted that he would never admit to having someone around merely for the sake of having them around.

That would be a liability. He would never risk giving his enemies such an easy way to have power over him.

Maybe "never" was a strong word.

I was sitting at my small, listening to the sound of pencil scratching paper, only interrupted by pauses to either pull thoughts in order, make corrections, or flip to the next page. I would never thank Jesper enough for getting me a small leather-bound journal. He introduced me to the beautiful world of writing that I had never known before.

I must've been too focused on my scribbling to notice the world around me.

Kaz had to clear his throat for me to know that he had gotten into my apartment. I turned around in my seat so I could look at him.

"Hey," I said. I would have been worried about him getting in, but I was the one who gave him a key. "Sorry, I was writing. Didn't hear you come in."

"You should be resting." he didn't acknowledge my statement. "You hit your head. You need to be in bed."

He said it like a boss instructing an employee, but we both knew that there was more to it than that. Well, I liked to believe that.

"I'm fine," I insisted.

"You were unconscious," he argued.

"And now, I'm not-"

"Jesper had to carry you here!" he cut me off. "You could have easily died! I- We almost lost you. Now, get back into bed."

"Alright, alright," I mumbled. "Never knew that you cared so much."

He didn't respond to that. He merely watched as I climbed under my covers.

"I get it, you need to make sure that all of your tools are in working condition," I added, curling into my pillow.

There was this long pause.

Neither one of us moved. I was curled under my thin covers. He stood in the middle of my room. I couldn't see him. I wondered what his eyes were focused on. Was it just me or was it the mess around my home? Could he picture me living in my space or was my existence as much of an enigma to him as his was to me?

"I lied to you."

The quiet confession made me slowly push myself up. I held myself up on my hands, allowing my blanket to fall onto my lap. He was looking away from me. His eyes were fixed to my journal, staring at the words that I had scrawled into the paper before his visit.

"What do you mean," I asked.

The page sitting open was one that I should have been embarrassed by. Lines constructed to reflect a longing that I had only known with Kaz. Poetry about suffocating, yearning, burning, and begging. All of it boiled down to one thing: I needed Kaz as much as I needed air or water or food.

I should've been humiliated. But I wasn't. Because I knew that he had to be aware of my feelings. How could he not be when it so clearly filled my eyes when I looked at him?

"Kaz-"

"You were never merely a tool," he said, looking at me.

"Then what am I?" I muttered. "To you?"

He took a deep breath. When his eyes turned away from me again, it felt like my heart jumped into my throat. I just needed him to say something. Say what I had been desperate to hear for as long as I had known him.

"Kaz, please," I pulled myself over to the end of the bed, sitting on my knees. "Tell me."

"I care for you," he said. "More than I should. More than I want to."

He walked over, stopping right in front of me.

"I need to know that you're okay," he continued. "Always. I feel a need to be around you and protect you. You make me feel a safety that I haven't felt in years. If you were gone, I don't know what I would do. You... You are..."

He trailed off, looking as if the words were truly getting stuck in his throat. As if forcing out another word would bring him pain. I didn't want to be the source of that. He had already said so much more than I had ever wished for.

He looked down. I did the same. His hand was resting on my bedframe, just next to mine. I grinned and looked back at him.

"I... I'm not good at things like this," he mumbled.

"It's okay," I promised. "I'm patient."

He looked back at me. A grin started forming on his lips.

I felt safe calling it a good start.

Winter's Weather

Please see in me what I can’t see, I’m begging Please won’t you be the light I need so desperately

Physical affection was not something Kaz was used to.

He had made that abundantly clear to me.

I never pushed him. Or I never tried to. I let him take the lead most days, and if I ever did take the lead, then I would have no complaints if he pulled away. It was all meant to be understanding. Kindness.

It worked well for us. Even without any kind of touching, Kaz made it clear to me that I was not the same as everyone else. I caught his smiles. He would walk closer to me. I had free access to his office. He would mumble things to me that the others weren't meant to hear.

He had quiet ways of showing me that I meant so much to him.

I thought we were happy that way. For the time being, at least.

And then, Kaz showed me that maybe that wasn't the case.

He was standing by his mirror, tending to something. I was sitting on the chair opposite his desk, scanning my eyes over the pages of a book.

It took me a few moments to realize that he had moved to stand in the archway and watch me quietly. I grinned at him.

"You're staring, Brekker," I teased.

There was something both flattering and nerve-wracking about being the center of Kaz's attention. I had never been looked at with as much intensity as he looked at me. It felt as if he could stare into my soul as easily as he breathed. As if he knew every secret that I could ever think of keeping from him. It made my heart speed up and my face turn warm.

"Something's on your mind," I said, placing the book on his desk. "I can see it."

His eyes seemed to scan me for a moment longer before he spoke, "Am I wasting your time?"

"Never," I replied instantly. It was true. I wouldn't take back a moment that I spent with him. Ever. "Why are you asking?"

"Just something that I saw today," he tried to wave off the entire interaction.

I stood from my seat. I walked over to the archway, standing next to him in the entrance. "What is it, Kaz?"

"Have I ever once shown you that I care for you," he asked. "Ever?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"When?"

"Every day," I explained. "When you try to keep me safe or tell me that Inej brought me a new book or murmur something in my ear. You show me, Kaz. In your own special way. Please believe me when I say that I know it."

"You deserve more than this," he muttered. "You deserve a man who can touch you. A man that doesn't let his weakness stop him from being yours-"

"Stop it, Kaz," I cut him off. "I don't need more than what I have. I will decide what I deserve. It took me ages to convince myself that I deserved you. There isn't something better than you. Not for me. You are everything. The center of my world; the sky, the ground, and everything in between. I don't need to touch you or have you touch me to convince me."

He didn't respond.

Instead, he looked down for a moment. I took a deep breath, assuming that this was a losing fight. I was ready to let it go for the night, but Kaz stopped me before I could.

"I want you to touch me."

It was like the room filled with smoke. Tension so thick that I could hardly breathe. My mind couldn't process the sentence for a moment, and once it did, it didn't stop playing it over and over and over.

"Are you sure," I asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"You don't have to-"

"I want you to," he stopped me.

"Okay," I nodded. "Anything in particular."

He took a deep breath. "No."

I took a moment to study his face. "I... I'm going to just reach up and touch your face-"

"I'm not a scared dog."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

I slowly lifted my hand up and went to cup his cheek.

I saw him tense as soon as my hand touched his face. His breathing picked up and his eyes closed. I had never craved to be able to read someone's mind quite like I did then. Maybe then, I could offer him some peace through it.

I felt guilt sitting in my stomach. I felt like I was bringing him pain. As if my hand had been covered in small blades, each cutting into his skin one by one.

The guilt only grew as I recognized the warmth in my heart. I loved Kaz. I never doubted that. Being able to touch him, to show just one ounce of the love I held was a blessing. But I was feeling this love while he was in pain. I couldn't inflict that on him.

I went to move my hand away, unable to handle seeing him like this. "Kaz-"

"Don't," he instructed, opening his eyes to look at me. "Please."

It felt like he was seeing me. Not some ghost from a nightmare that he wouldn't explain to me. Some remnant of a life he wanted to bury so desperately that I had seen haunt him far too often.

I barely noticed that Kaz matched his breathing with mine.

Maybe he didn't mean to. Maybe he was just trying to calm himself down and it was the best choice he had.

"Will you kiss me," he asked quietly.

I paused for a moment. "Are you... Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I stepped forward and grinned at him nervously.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his.

It was only for a few seconds. A few seconds of my lips barely touching his. I wanted to be gentle and careful, but I had this pull in my chest to just show him how much I adored him. But regardless of what I wanted, I leaned back, pulling my hand back with it.

We both stood there for a few moments before I finally spoke up, "Are you alright?"

Kaz let out a heavy breath before looking at me again. "Yes. I'm alright."

I felt a smile stretch across my face.

It was a perfect enough moment for me.

The Truth I'll Never Tell

And I could tell you how I've really been But would you even want to know

I had somewhat expected Kaz to pull away after his final fight with Pekka Rollins.

It was a taxing venture. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I could see it. On his face, in his shoulder, in the way he spoke. I just wanted to be there for him, but I felt the same exhaustion that he did.

I understood his desire to be alone after it had all gone down.

However, there's a distinct difference between needing time alone to regroup after an intense experience and unhealthy isolation.

Maybe my urge to show up at his office that night were selfish than I would admit to. Maybe it was more of an attempt to soothe myself than him. Even if he shoved me away, then I could say that I tried and live without the guilt of not reaching out to him when he may have needed me.

Regardless of whatever subconscious reason there may have been, I went to Kaz's office.

He was sitting at his desk, clearly lost in thought in some way.

I walked over to stand next to the desk, taking a moment to scan my eyes across the side of his face. His wounds from his last meeting with Pekka were healing quite nicely, but they were still noticeable. And they broke my heart.

"You're staring," He mumbled, looking over at me.

I blinked a few times. "Sorry. I wanted to check on you."

"Why?"

"Because you're my partner and I care for you," I explained. "You've been avoiding me, Kaz."

He pulled his eyes away from me, instead choosing to focus on something on his desk.

"I understand that a lot has happened," I continued. "And I have no interest in forcing you to say or do anything, but I need you to know that I want to listen. I want to know what's going on-"

"What difference would that make exactly," he asked, cutting me off.

"Because bottling up your emotions all the time isn't healthy," I shrugged. "You deserve to have someone to talk to, Kaz."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Then, explain it."

There was a long pause. Tense. I watched Kaz's jaw clench for a moment. I crossed my arms over my chest. I refused to leave him. Not like this.

"I thought that they'd stop," he muttered.

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"The nightmares. The flashbacks. I thought that getting rid of Pekka Rollins would get rid of them."

"And they didn't."

"No," he whispered.

"I... I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes. He looked embarrassed. He never liked pity. I should have shown that my attempts at empathy may look very similar in his eyes. And the worst part was that I didn't know how to prove him wrong.

"Kaz," I mumbled, going to take a knee in front of him so our eyes would be closer to level when he eventually turned to me. "I... I can't fix what's already happened. I can't. Believe me, there is nothing more I want than to be able to offer you some kind of clean slate. But I... I can support you. If you let me."

I heard a sigh escape him.

"You once told me that I gave you a sense of safety that you hadn't felt in a long time," I said. "Let me make good on that expectation."

He finally looked at me again, eyes scanning my face. I wonder what he was looking for. Ruminants of my injuries or simply some sign that I was lying to him.

"Okay," I asked.

He took a deep breath before nodding. "Okay."

I felt a smile stretch across my face.

In that moment I knew that I was never going to be as in love with someone as I was with Kaz.

And I was perfectly content with that.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

#kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #imagine #fanfiction #x reader

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nanamikentoseyebags · 9 months

Text

in your sacred air i am full of light

it seemed that the long awaited dawn, with its bright colors and warm rays that peeked through your window, marked your defeat every morning.

pairing: suguru geto x gn!reader

content: the reader has trouble sleeping, geto returns just in time to help; a bit of angst, hurt-ish/comfort, fluff

a/n: wrote it for my precious friend @shamelessperfectionhideout! the title is from tamino's song - persephone, hope you enjoy 💛

It was long past midnight when the eerie shadows flooded the entire space, merging into a frightening inky-black mass, lurking in every corner of the bedroom. You thought you could hear those weightless, almost ghostly silhouettes transforming, distorting and turning into the very monsters you fought every night – your own thoughts. You were almost certain that beneath the bed where your frail figure now lay was their lair, the place where they waited for the darkness to come, the place from which their long, bony hands reached for you, the place they wanted to drag you down with them without the possibility of returning. You could swear you felt their icy touch and their stinking breath tickling your face. With each of your anxious breaths, you heard them winced, crawling right under your skin, clawing at your flesh, forcing you into the endlessly dark abyss of your fears.

It was like that almost every night. You barely slept a wink, tossing and turning, wrapping yourself deeper and deeper into the blanket, hoping that this thin material could be your lifeline for a little while. Attempting not to concentrate on the surrounding silence, you tried to immerse yourself in the music, making it unbearably loud to drown out the sound of their soon approaching footsteps. None of this worked. So you spent whole nights fighting a battle you had no chance of winning. And it seemed that the coming dawn, with its bright colors and warm rays that first peeked through your window every morning, marked your defeat, bringing no relief whatsoever.

And so you lay there, under the warm, soft blanket that was supposed to bring comfort, not feeling the least bit of it. With your hands shaking and your heart thudding against your ribcage, unarmed, you were losing another fight, once again finding yourself one-on-one with an enemy too strong for you, who had an arsenal of weapons shooting to kill. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the blood run cold in your veins from the images your nemesis – your subconscious – was painting for you. You pressed yourself harder into the pillow, fingers clutching the sheet so tightly that your knuckles turned white, the traitorous trickles of tears streaming down your cheeks, leaving an unpleasant tingle in their wake, while trying to wash away this dreading apparition rather than being the sign of your weakness.

Overwhelmed by the deafening white noise that rang in your ears with an unfathomable force, you didn't notice the bedroom door crack open, letting a small ray of light inside. Finally back from yet another mission, Suguru knew he would find you in such a state. Poking his head through the small opening, he listened, somewhere in the back of his mind harboring vague hopes that you had managed to fall asleep without waiting for him. His heart felt as if it had shattered, jumping off a cliff when your quiet sobs reached his ears. Carefully, swinging the door open a little wider so as not to startle you, he made his way towards the bed. With each step he took, more and more of the lanterns' rays filled the room, racing in from the hallway, they did battle with the darkness, dissolving it in their hot embrace. The bravest of them threw themselves under the bed, defeating in hand-to-hand combat all the monsters you feared, driving them out of their lair and protecting your peace.

The bed sagged slightly beneath you as Suguru lay down gently beside, his arm immediately enveloping your smaller figure, pulling gently against him. Yet the lump shaping in your throat felt like someone's gaunt hand on your neck, slowly but surely tightening its grip, making you choke on your sobs. Icy waves of fear swept over you from your feet, slamming over your head, leaving you breathless. And when you realized someone's strong arm found its place around your waist, you shuddered in terror, but not a sound escaped your lips except for the heavy, labored breathing that cut through the silence of the bedroom.

"Shhhh," he whispered into your hair, "it's me, I'm back, I'm right beside you," small reassuring kiss on your shoulder, his fingers snaking under the fabric of your t-shirt, beginning to trace whimsical patterns on your skin. No subtext, nothing intimate, just soothing movements to help you even out your breathing. You felt his raven-wing colored hair tickle the back your neck, a relieved exhale came out of your lips, your small hand instinctively covering his large palm. With your back pressed close to his broad chest and the pleasant warmth emanating from his body, you finally began to feel yourself returning from the frightening realm of dark thoughts to the pleasant reality of his luminous presence.

You allowed yourself to open your eyes, turning gently to face him and exposing your tired, weeping eyes, "you're back," you whispered softly, your sweet voice like music to his ears, your hot breath touching his neck, as he nodded, smiling lovingly, his thumb gently wiping away the remnants of your tears, tucking the loose strands behind your ear, soft lips leaving countless kisses on your blushing cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his torso, legs tangling together at the same second, just to keep as little distance between you as possible. His nose found its place in your hair. The floral scent of your shampoo filling his nostrils, smelling like home to his shelter-seeking soul. You nuzzle into his neck, a bit of sandalwood and the subtle scent of cigarettes, the smell of home for your shelter-seeking soul.

Your eyes flickered around the room, noticing that the thick darkness was gone, replaced by sparkling rays of light bouncing joyfully off the mirrored surfaces. You saw the table lamp, left on by the far-sighted Suguru, blinking softly in the kitchen. And you felt the warmth spreading throughout your body, pleasant thoughts taking over horrendous nightmares, knocking away any monsters hunting you. You gently stroke Suguru's back, listening to his steady breathing and the quiet confessions he whispered into the crown of your head. You saw his hair beginning to shimmer with different colors, his skin slowly taking on a honey hue. It was the morning sun peeking through your window to herald the arrival of a new day and your victory. The victory of light over the darkness, of his love over your fears. You felt your eyelids getting heavy with sleep as Suguru’s fingers kept doing their magic on the bare skin of your back. Noticing you visibly relaxing in his arms, he hummed approvingly, whispering the most genuine I love you that our old wondrous world had ever heard.

And so you fell asleep, deep and sweet, safe and sound, knowing that you didn't need to confront those monsters yourself, his mere presence was enough to make them disappear, dissolve into a luminous flow and forget the way to you. He was there, promising for every night to be like this – not fearsome but serene, for now you had your own source of light.

thank you so much for reading 💛 comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

tags for my friends: @shamelessperfectionhideout @pastelle-rabbit @rossithepixie @sukunassuka @strawberrystepmom @jazminetoad @sugurusgetou

#geto suguru x reader #geto jjk #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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harrytheehottie · 1 year

Text

SPINNING OUT: COACHELLA

rated: m word count: 6.6k masterlist

this is first part of a multi-part series. let me know what you think 💘 hope you enjoy!

It was your first big project at work, the upcoming release for Harry Styles’ third studio album. You had the pleasure of being invited to a playback a few weeks prior to the launch where you listened to the full album in a conference room filled with your peers. It had been your first playback experience and you were itching with excitement all day patiently waiting for it to be time to attend the playback.

When you entered the conference room, it didn’t feel like the dozens of rooms you had meetings in before. All of the chairs and tables were replaced with floor pillows and throw blankets. There were candles spread out along the TV where you would be projecting the album from, charcuterie plates and drinks to consume and a box to place your phones in upon entry. You took a seat close enough to the front so you would be able to listen to the album without any distractions. This was one of your most highly anticipated albums of the year which was something you kept to yourself due to the incessant teasing you would definitely receive from your coworkers.

You watched as your peers began to funnel into the room and take their seats. Your boss went through the routined speech on how everyone's phones should be placed in the box and there will be zero sharing of anything heard with anyone outside of this room. And just before they hit play on the first song, the door to the room opened one last time. This time it wasn’t your notoriously late coworker but none other than the man whose song you were about to listen to, Harry Styles. Everyone in the room turned their heads towards the door and it felt like something of a movie, all eyes were immediately on him. His chestnut hair was grown out and sat on the top of his head with a scrunchie, he had on a black label hoodie and sweats to match. It was definitely the most relaxed you had ever seen an artist rock up to your job but there was something kind of admirable about it. And you thought, maybe the ambiance of the room and the album title was the reason why he dressed so casually. He apologized for being late before taking a seat in the back corner. Something about him just felt so comfortable. You turned your attention back to the TV that was going to start playing the album and tried your hardest to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

The opening chords of the album began and you immediately wanted to get up and start dancing, something you knew you couldn’t do but what you could do was move side to side as inconspicuous as possible. The ad libs, scatting and overall randomness of the track has you feeling good. You weren’t sure where the album was going but you were already feeling good about it. The next track felt the same to you. It wasn’t until the third track where you actually felt the emotion and weight of the words he was singing back ‘there’s never been someone whose so perfect for me, but I got over it” was a brutal line and one that stuck out to you enough to write down in your journal when you got back to your desk.

You were feeling the music while trying to keep your outward appearance at bay. Something was telling you to turn back around and look at Harry. You had been pretty good at avoiding the thought of his presence but there was something pulling you in. The opening chords to the next song with the following lyrics “you got a new life, am I bothering you, do you wanna talk” came on and you were taken aback like a punch in the gut. His raw emotion on the track and the desperation in his voice in all of these songs was nothing like you had heard before. You looked behind you and caught the eyes of Harry who had already been looking your way. No, you weren’t going to allow yourself to go there.

You let yourself take in the rest of the album. Trying your hardest to repeat lyrics that were standing out to you to remember for later when you’d be hunched over your desk scribbling as many lines as you could remember until your journal eagerly waiting for the day you would be able to listen to the album on loop.

As the playback came to an end the entire room clapped as he shyly bowed his head down. You didn’t know him at all but the gesture was enough for you to make your first assumption. His inability to take in too much praise is probably what kept him grounded enough to be an artist at his caliber and attend a playback in tier B level music magazines offices. You had your run ins with a fair share of artists but there was something about him that was different and you could immediately feel it. And as if he could read your mind, right as they opened the door to the conference room to let everyone back to their work, Harry stood in the doorway, shaking the hands of your colleagues and giving them personal thank you’s on their way out.

Suddenly, those butterflies you felt in the pit of your stomach came flushing back. You counted the number of people in front of you and watched intently as they one by one had a moment with Harry, he must have done this all the time, it felt like an autoresponder was turned around the amount of ‘thank you mates’ and ‘lovely to meet you’ he was handing out.

You were growing more nervous as the line in front of you got smaller, now more aware of the fact that the only people left behind you were your boss and other higher ups. People who definitely weren’t as nervous and have some sort of working relationship with him. Fuck, you thought to yourself as your rubbed your sweaty palms against your jeans, okay the game plan had to be you shake hands, say nice to meet you, love the album and keep it moving or completely avoid shaking of hands because sweaty palms and just say nice to meet you, love the album and keeping it moving.

It was down to one person in front of you, Abby from the PR department and you watched as Harry looked her in the eyes deeply like whatever she was saying to him was the only important thing in the world. The cynical part of your brain was telling you of course he’s going to be that way to the employee who is the head of publicity. That's what this industry was about the give and take. Just as she said her final goodbyes and walked towards her desk it was your turn to go up to him.

You took a deep breath in and out before walking towards him with a smile and your right hand ready to shake his that was firmly placed in front of his body,

“Thank you so much for stopping by, I really loved the album. That song where you talked about drinking wine alone in the garden and the one that had that line about karma those two instantly spoke to me. It really feels like a cohesive body of work and you should really be proud of yourself for creating this and It’s really nice to meet you and” You spoke a mile a minute, unaware of how much was coming out of your mouth and how fast you were saying the words before being cut off by Harry

“Slow down love, only me.” Harry spoke up, the dimples on his face more present than you imagined them to be as he broke out into a soft chuckle, it wasn’t until now that you realized your right hand was still in his and his left was holding your right arm up.

“Oh,” You paused suddenly, aware of all the things happening around you. “Sorry, I just had this monologue ready and I guess the nerves got to me which is probably something I shouldn’t have just said.”

That same dimpled smile washed over his face and you thought back to his interactions with Abby and how it looked like she was the only person in the world when he was talking to her and suddenly, you were more aware of his eyes and how they’re so green and even under this awful office lighting you could see little bits of gold and blue.

“You’re quite funny,” Harry said, getting you out of your head. You had to get yourself out of the situation - he was still holding onto you. You looked around the room to your boss and other higher ups,

“I’m going to…” you removed your hand from his, giving him one more smile and you could have sworn you heard him ask your boss for your name but you made a beeline towards your desk thinking about the impression you’ve definitely made already.

You were tasked with all social media across all areas of the magazine. Highly anticipated release days meant you were on your phone constantly. And the release of As It Was was no different - if anything, it was harder. You had everything pre saved. The music video and single were both released on Friday, April 1. You had a feed post, a story question box and a reel all ready.

So, when it was midnight in the UK and 5pm for you at home and you were sitting in the everyday Sunset Boulevard traffic after work. Every stoplight meant you were constantly refreshing, posting, engaging and making sure everything was how it was supposed to be. You put a story box question to your followers with the question: BOP or FLOP? Every New Music Friday to get engagement from your audience and see what they’d like covered more in the future. It was routine.

The third red light was when the notification crossed your phone. You couldn’t believe it. There was no way, no one but the people that follow your magazine would ever interact with it.

Until now.

harrystyles has responded to your question box

Right there. One word. Three letters and a period. His black & white icon. The username with the verified blue check that you had to quadruple check.

Bop.

“Is this a joke?” You walked over to your bosses office and showed him the email that just came across your desk, a request for you to profile Harry Styles.

“Nope, it’s yours if you want it. I guess you left quite the impression last week.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” you rolled your eyes at the suggestion although you weren’t surprised.

“I’m not implying anything he specifically asked for you last week, had his manager call me to ask if it was in your job description.”

You were processing what he just said. Harry wanted you to profile him off two minute interaction that from your memory left you looking like a mess who couldn’t get her act together around him.

“Why?” You asked.

“Don’t know you could say no, I’m sure they’ll understand. They want it to be a profile over the next few months and your first assignment would be Coachella which begins in,” he took a pause looking at his iCalendar before continuing, “a little under two weeks. It could be kind of fun and honestly, would be amazing for your career.”

You knew this opportunity was something that you had been working towards. A profile on one of the biggest celebrities out there but there was some doubt that was creeping in not allowing you to fully accept this moment for what it was. “I’ll have an answer by tomorrow,” you told your boss and he agreed to let Harry’s team know.

You walked back to your desk and thought back to your interaction with him, reading the email back a few times, a profile that starts with his headlining set at Coachella as your first ever celebrity profile. It felt too good to be true.

But, you still said yes.

You didn’t want to go into this weekend too jaded. You knew that every profile has an angle but you were going to allow the conversation to lead you there. Harry Styles was having arguably the biggest year of his career. A headlining gig, a new album, a world tour, residencies in 4 cities across America and two movies. His career was one that you followed semi regularly, you worked in music journalism and he was the star of his former group and it was hard to miss. You spent days trying to figure out what you were going to ask about; the forced pause of lockdown, the relationship that everyone was eager to pick apart, the decision to continue to work through the lockdowns and come back to a highly successful tour in the US.

He was interesting and you were interested. The nerves that you felt would always creep in as you watched compilation videos of him on Youtube (you limited yourself after three) and read other journalists profiles on him which to your surprise there were only a few. He was guarded, protective but you had it in you to break down the walls and get a great piece.

You spent the week prior rummaging through your closet and a fair share of trips to the mall before packing all your belongings in your car and taking the two to five hour (depending on traffic) drive down to Palm Springs. The entire car ride was spent shuffling through music, podcasts and audiobooks and trying your hardest not to think too hard.

You were cruising down the highway when you saw the first glimpse of Harry’s billboard. A picture of me reading on a bed in a field, same outfit as the album cover with another casual jeans and a striped top. The image was inviting and right below it in yellow font read the words “Wherever you go, There you are.”

You pulled into the La Quinta resort that they put you up in and for the first time in a week you felt like you deserved to be there. As you settled in for the night rereading the email that Jeff had sent over along with Harry’s publicist about the parameters of the profile. You began curating starter questions based around the list of do’s and don’ts. You were ready for this.

You woke up fairly early that Friday morning, Harry’s manager sent you an email to let you know that all your credentials were ready to be picked up and your call time to start the interview was at 5. You got yourself dressed in a white dress with a denim jacket for when the weather dropped drastically as soon as the sun went down and headed towards the festival. Once you picked up your credentials, you spent a little bit of time roaming around the festival grounds. You watched as the lines for Harry’s merch stand kept growing longer and longer, friends taking group photos, strangers gathering to enjoy the music that brought them so much joy. You had your notebook with you that you used for all your assignments and just took notes of everything that you saw.

It was nearing closer to your call time and you knew you had to give yourself time to get something to eat. There was something very intimidating about crossing over to the VIP area even though you were allowed. You were still nervous of who you could run into but after seeing how obnoxiously long the lines were in the GA for food, decided to say fuck it and cross the barrier over to where they would hopefully be more food options and less people.

You were right about the food but the area was littered with artists and their teams everywhere. If you thought you were a fish out of water before this was next level. You found food and beeline for the first empty picnic table you could find. You had an hour to kill before you had to interview Harry so as you began to eat your meal you noticed the group of people having a very passionate conversation a few tables in front of you.

You were a journalist and a human being so of course naturally, you were going to eavesdrop.

You couldn’t see either of their faces. The one that was talking the most had his back facing towards you. You couldn’t really make out what they were saying at first. Until, they both got up from their tables and walked over to outside of the tent probably to get more privacy for their conversation. And that was when you noticed him, in a hoodie that you recognized from his merch stand, paired with tiny athletic shorts and very dirty sneakers that were probably once white and a blue surgical mask tucked underneath his chin. The man that he was with was his manager, Jeff that you met that day in playbacks and had been in constant communication with about the logistics of today.

You felt uneasy. You knew that you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping before but now more than ever you knew that you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t as bad because you couldn’t hear right?

Unti, you probably heard the most crucial part of the conversion.

“I’m done, I’m done with all of it.”

“H, man… the movie won't come out for another few months. You don’t have to be together but I don’t know how to deal with this?” His manager spoke up.

“My hearts not in it Jeffrey, I can’t pretend. You can figure it out no one has to know right away.” The two men began to walk towards Harry’s trailer that was conveniently parked adjacent to the tent.

You knew you heard something that you shouldn’t have. Harry’s relationship that brought on a lot of drama, headlines and gossip was now over. And it was definitely something you were explicitly asked not to discuss, in fact, it was the first thing his manager brought up in your brief.

Why the hell did you say yes to this?

Harry’s assistant found you at your table a little bit before your call time. He was nice and quiet and let you know the logistics of the day. You were going to interview Harry until he had to get into hair & makeup. You were invited into all areas of Harry’s day until he got on stage where then you would be able to watch the show from the side stage or the friends & family artists section. You thanked him for giving you all the information that you needed and then you were off to find Harry’s trailer.

Harry was sitting on the couch, relaxed, his legs spread, his left foot was up over his right knee. He had on a pair of black uggs and the same sweatshirt now paired with a sunflower hat that he was wearing when you awkwardly saw him talking with his manager. The nerves that you were ignoring suddenly simmering back up to the surface.

The trailer was temporary but homely. A similar feel to the aura your company tried to create during those playbacks. The couch that was a grayish color was brightened up by two Gucci pillows with a respective lion on it, similar to the lion ring that you noticed on his right pinky finger. There was a throw blanket, a gaming console with the latest FIFA on the tv he would later confess he was quite shit at it but some of the guys liked to play it on the road so he always had it handy, and the last personal touch was a framed family photo of one of the last times he saw his Grandfather.

“Hello,” Harry said as his eyes met yours.

“Hi, it’s nice to be here and for you to allow me into your space I’m just going to ask some general questions and then follow you along your routine and”

“You’re doing that again,” Harry said through a low chuckle as he placed his phone on the table in front of him.

“What thing?” You asked suddenly hyper aware of the fact that the assistant that was once there was now gone leaving you alone in this trailer the nerves that were simmering were fully at the surface now.

“You’re talking a mile a minute. S’only me, I asked for you to cover this weekend specifically and I’m glad you were able to make it. So, where do you want to start?” He said calmly, “Normal to be nervous but I promise I won’t be that interesting once you spend a weekend with me.” He laughed at his own joke and gained a little laugh from you.

He successfully broke the ice and you were ready to begin the interview taking a seat on the couch opposite him. You grabbed your phone out of your bag, opened the voice memo’s app and hit record trying your hardest to ignore that those nerves had turned into butterflies and you were on your way to being royally fucked.

Figuratively.

For now.

This is an excerpt from the profile:

Before you meet Harry Styles there are a lot of preconceived notions that can run through one’s head. He is one of the biggest stars in the world and it’s hard not to have an opinion on him. And if you’re me, you think about his time in One Direction first. Before the solo career, the film roles, the beauty company, you think about how a 16 year old boy auditioned for a singing competition show and is now 28 years old and headlining the first Friday back at Coachella after a two year break for the festival.

He’s excited but nervous. You wouldn’t be able to tell as he sits back in his Coachella exclusive yellow Pleasing hoodie and sweat shorts. He’s cool as a cucumber as you take out your recording device and begin to ask questions. His presence is warm, comforting like a hug from a friend that you haven’t seen in a long time but once you’re together it’s like no time has passed. It’s an hour before he has to get ready and you’re sitting in his trailer ready to begin your interrogation -- which was the first of many jokes he made that night.

An opening night of a Coachella spot must feel amazing? How do you take in these massive moments in your career?

It’s indescribable really, I try to take in as much of it as I can. Respecting the process, working with my creative director Molly on building out the set and my musical director Pauli on creating the setlist it’s in those moments of rehearsal where I can really take it in like look around and say, wow I’m really doing this. Obviously, tonight being on that stage with the people looking out at me, I still get nervous but I’m just excited that we get to all celebrate music together at this level.

It’s hard to believe that someone at your level still gets nervous? You’ve done crowds bigger than this before? Harry takes a beat before answering, his pointer finger and thumb rubbing against his chin something that he has done between every question along with the occasional picking at his cuticles - a nervous habit that he can’t seem to break.

It’s different. With the band, it’s like you’re up there with four other guys who everyone is also there for but with this. I was really nervous that first tour, nervous that I wouldn’t be able to see success in the same type of venues, nervous that I would be up there all on my lonesome. The band is a great addition and help but when it comes to the singing and interacting it’s all me. That first tour was special and it’s like this atmosphere where the fans give more to me than I could ever give to them. So even in moments like this where all I am thinking about is not fucking, sorry -- not messing up. I just have to remember that all that matters is that the people there are having fun.

You continued to chat as Styles’ team started their process of getting him ready for the night. You watched on as his hair and makeup team took over the space in the trailer. The dynamic between everyone on Harry’s various teams and him was relaxed. You could immediately tell that everyone got along, which was not surprising because there is not a single person who has a bad thing to say about Harry Styles which seems too good to be true until you meet him.

Harry was comfortable. He was going into tangents about his process, the one time he ordered tuna sandwiches for lunch for a week straight because he wrote one good song after eating it one day and thought it was his good luck charm. His guard was done and you were furiously writing notes down trying to get as much out of this conversation as you could’ve.

Your conversation was easy, your nerves about the profile were no longer there. There was something else lingering between the two of you but you weren’t going to allow yourself to go there. When Harry would turn a question around on you, you would give as little as possible. It wasn’t until he was getting ready for the stage and there were more of his team around that it became harder to disregard.

“How long have you been at your job?” Harry asked if he was facing away from you, his side profile was all you could see as his hairstyle worked on sprucing up his hair.

“About three years ago, it was my first internship in college and they liked me enough to hire me as a post grad.” You kept it short and to the point.

Harry took in your answer. The silence in the room was emphasized with the only noise being made from the low heat blow dryer and the clanging of skin prep and makeup materials. You were watching him get ready for one of the biggest nights of his career and he still wanted to get to know more about you.

“I read your piece on women in music” he said nonchalantly.

“Really?”

He was still looking at you from the side, eyes peeking over to you as his brows lifted and a slight smile, “Yes really, s’why I wanted to show my music to your magazine, it was important to me to not keep it to the same rotation that is guaranteed.”

“It’s not my magazine,” you laugh. You can’t believe Harry had read your piece on the music industry’s

“You’re the reason I knew about them.”

“Smooth.” Slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. Fuck. Did you really just say that out loud?

“Thank you.” He replied dryly. “Some of your stuff is really funny, the socials.”

He read your writing and thought you were really funny. Your brain was trying to wrap your brain around the dozens of articles and social media posts that you’d done for your company. You were flattered, blushing even and trying your hardest to play it cool.

“Thank you again, you don’t have to say that.” You were used to artists buttering you up in hopes of better reviews.

He looked over to you with genuine sincerity in his voice and face, “I know I don’t have to say anything,” he took a long pause and it was almost a whisper, you didn’t catch it the first time only back on the recording “I’m saying it because I mean it.”

This is an expert from the profile:

You were getting a front row view to the parts of Harry’s life that so many overlooked. The getting ready process. The time that was strategically carved out to curate the perfect artist on stage.

It started with hair and makeup. His hairdresser Ayae who has been on his team since the start of his solo career and Dotti who does his skin and light, emphasis on light, makeup so the lights on stage don’t wear him out.

I try not to go overboard with all the prep. It can be kind of overwhelming. Knowing my outfits beforehand really helps. I like to spend a lot of my time the day of a show to myself and wait till the last possible minute to do all the extra stuff.

So, what is a typical day before a show like for you?

I’d like to sleep in but my body only lets me push it to 9. I’ll have a slow morning, get coffee out and possibly a pastry if the display has anything I fancy. Last night, I ordered room service and had a whole spread sort of like a carb load you’d do before games when you were younger. Jeffrey, my manager, calls it a spaghetti dinner. I just eat as many carbs to keep the fuel for the show. I’ll work out a bit - a run or pilates usually, then we’ll have rehearsals. And then I just chill out. Listen to music, watch a bit of TV, shower, get pampered and dressed and then I’m out.

What’s your post show routine like?

Now that… you’ll have to wait for later.

The Coachella crowd was like nothing you had seen before thousands of people, a crowd that felt like it was going for miles and miles all anticipating the arrival of Harry. All your preconceived notions about him didn’t even begin to meet the reality of who he was. You were on a high and trying not to let it all go to your head. You were a woman in music and knew what it meant when someone was coming onto you, especially one that you were writing about but this… Harry, he was different. He was warm, kind, and comforting.

You were filled with adrenaline from your time with him as you made your way into the friends and family section.People were mingling about and you were going back and forth in your head about where you were going to stand. Would standing against the barricade be too eager? It would guarantee that you wouldn’t have to mingle with any of his friends which would cut all potential awkward situations. Or you could just blend in with the crowd. You stood in the middle of the open area trying to make a decision when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hi!” You said a little too enthusiastically as you put your hand out to greet him. He was wearing the same Coachella merch sweater that Harry had on but this time in pink.

“Hey, Jeffrey. Nice to meet again, how was your conversation with Harry today?”

“It was great really, I just left a bit ago to give him some space and snag myself a good spot.” You awkwardly chuckled. You wondered if Harry told him something about you that now you were going to get reprimanded for, a question that wasn’t approved, was your profile going to fall through?

“Harry had so many good things to say and we were wondering,” his phone began ringing, “sorry I gotta take this but I will find you later okay?” He said, you nodded reassuring him that you would remember to find him later as he weaved back through the crowd before disappearing into the abyss.

The screams were loud. Harry stood up above the stage. A giant black fur coat that you saw hanging in his trailer with a very low cut sequin jumpsuit on under it. He stood there taking all the screams in. His first show of 2022. His first show in 4 months. The show that was going to mark the start of his next album cycle. You watched from the barricade as he ran down the steps and straight to the microphone and sang the opening lines to As It Was.

You were mesmerized. The way he commanded the stage and became bigger than life. The same guy you were spending hours with listening to talk about his insecurities, therapy, work and relationships was now singing to thousands of people as they sang back. He was giving all his energy to the crowd and it was mesmerizing - his dedication to his craft was noticeable in every smile, wave, thumbs up and kiss to the crowd.

And just as you began to let loose and lose yourself in the music. Harry ran over to your side of the stage and began leaning over as far as he could looking for something in the crowd. You were perplexed. It couldn’t be. No. And just as the last chorus of the song was approaching, Harry’s eyes found yours, his mouth lifting up into a smile so big his dimples were lost in the smile.

He mouthed “Are you good?”

He wanted to make sure you were having fun.

You gave him a huge nod and a thumbs up reassuring him that you were fine.

The rest of the show was incredible. Harry brought out Shania Twain which he withheld from you during your talk and you were thankful for it. The sheer panic and joy as the opening chord to “Man I Feel Like A Woman'' played was something you were never going to forget.

And as the high from the show and the excitement all around you continued. Harry ran over to your side of the stage again, saying his thank you’s and blowing his kisses to the crowd, and right before he was going to run back to his microphone he waited for a beat. His brown curls blowing in the wind, the nails that were freshly painted in front of you hours before. He was taking it all in. The faces of the crowd, the screams that went on for miles and in one of the most important nights of his career, he was still searching for you.

His eyes lingered on yours this time. The most inviting warm green that you’ve ever encountered finding you in the crowd with ease. You smiled trying to conceal the rush of excitement that ran through your body. And just as the moment came and went you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder with the same chill Angeleno accent to follow.

Jeffrey found you again, you leaned in so he could speak directly into your ear, “Come to the after party, meet us at the gate” he pointed over to where he disappeared to earlier, “during the final song you can ride with us.”

Your ears were still buzzing from the night as you made your way towards the gate. You belonged here. Harry wanted you here.

You piled into a golf car and then into an escalator and then into a sprinter van and then you were at the location of the after party which after a bit of mingling were told was the house that Harry and his team were staying at.

The entire bottom floor was an open plan, the living room and kitchen filled with people, alcohol and food. The doors that lead out to the backyard and pool open for anyone. You were surrounded by people, some that you recognized from earlier in the day.

You found your way to the bathroom after some small talk with his styling team. You needed to be alone and wrap your head around this. The bathroom was sleek. It had black and white accents with tiny pops of color from the towels and bath math both a stand-in shower and an isolated bathtub across the wall. You never pictured what the bathroom of a house Harry Styles would stay at would look like but this was exactly it.

You walked out of the bathroom and ran into a body, big and broad and slightly wet. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly ajar “You came” Harry said with an almost confused tone like he wasn’t sure you would actually take him up on the after. He didn’t have a shirt on rather it was placed around his neck like he was saving to put it on later. It was either water or sweat but his body was on full display, almost glistening through the dim hallway. His broad shoulders that were slightly sunburnt from his time in the sun. Your eyes went from his laurels on his waist to the butterfly etched across his stomach and the swallows below his collar bone. He was watching you as your eyes inspected his body, a small smile on his lips.

“I’m here!” You exclaimed as you put your hands up and shrugged.

Harry’s arms were out and open for you inviting you in for a hug. “You were truly amazing out there you should be really proud of yourself” you said lingering a beat longer as your bodies merged together. You fully clothed and him sans shirt. Was this crossing a professional boundary? His way of loosening you up? That’s something you would think about later but right now, it felt good, safe even.

“Thank you, means a lot.” You caught a blush on his cheeks as he took in your compliment.

“Is this a part of your post-show routine?” You put your hands in front of you in an up and down motion around him.

“Ice bath… my post-show routine is an ice bath.”

You laughed at his admission, “What?” he said looking around trying to find the joke that he missed, “Nothing it’s just… when you didn’t tell me earlier I thought it was going to be something a lot more ‘rock n roll’ you said in air quotes than an ice bath.”

“Isn't rock and roll enough for you? Stick around and that’ll change.” He playfully winked. “Let’s go grab a drink?” Harry said as he made his way through the hallway while simultaneously putting on his shirt.

You made your way down the hall and back into the living room where the majority of the people were mingling amongst themselves. It wasn’t long before Harry got pulled in a different direction with someone who he hadn’t seen in ages. This gave you the perfect excuse to look at the food options you could learn a lot about someone based on the food they provide at a party. So, when you saw rows and rows of Shake Shack, you were in heaven.

You ate, drank and mingled. You listened to people’s Coachella disaster stories and one of Harry’s friends' husbands were telling you about all the people that texted him asking for extra Coachella passes mere hours before Harry was set to take the stage when Harry tapped you on the shoulder, “can you excuse us for a second?” and the husband was quickly gone.

It was just you and Harry standing in the space between the living room and the outdoor space. All the people around you but it felt like it was just the two of you in the room.

“I just want to say before any of this,” Harry gestures in the space between the two of you “gets… weird that.. I just don’t want to jeopardize anything.”

“Why would…”

“Harry?” You were interrupted by another voice. You and Harry both looked over. You immediately froze, your heart sinking at what was to come. Harry looked back at you his lips tightened together before mouthing a small sorry and quickly walking over to her.

Fuck.

#harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #spinning out #really really really excited to share this :D #please let me know your thoughts!!!

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artmunstudios · 8 months

Text

Your springs are reacting. You feel...embarassed.

I don't have the time to draw this out in a complete comic like I'd like to, so enjoy the drabble below in its stead! I was inspired from this scene from Hellboy. Also...a mild excuse just to write these two idiots at their peak dynamic. (to sum up: Pinocchio, a good influence on P? Questionable. A good brother from another reality? Perhaps. The Lampwick they are discussing is not the canon one, but @/wildartsstuff’s)

"Alright, let's see it," Pinocchio waved a hand out as he stepped into the room. "It is nothing," Pino had insisted yet again. His springs reacted to the lie, he thinks, but he was too distracted by the approaching puppet. “It is just a record.” “Nothing, huh?” Pinocchio pressed. “Yes. I enjoy listening to them?” “Yeah—and you always listen to them downstairs in the lobby, not in one of the furthest rooms away from where everyone else sleeps. You don’t even have Gemini on your belt.” “He is resting.” “Right.”

A long silence passed between them.

Wood was lighter than metal—that was just a simple fact. While Pino had become very light on his feet, the weight difference could not be ignored as he tried to keep the record album cover out of reach. Standing up only helped so much, despite the height difference. Instead, Pinocchio simply jumped on the bed, and without hesitation snatched the record album cover from Pino’s hand.

“…’Love Sonnets of Krat”…?” Pinocchio squinted as he read the title out loud. The two puppets exchanged looks. “Oh…buddy…” his brows raised as Pino shrunk back a little. “…don’t tell me this is about Lampwick.” At that, Pino finally slumped back to sit on the bed again. Pinocchio plopped down beside him. “He…makes me feel. He has been kind…and he teaches me things I never thought I would learn.” “You really need to get out more,” Pinocchio sighed as he lounged back. He grimaced. “Oh…fuck me, I’m starting to talk like Anthony.” He hung his head back with a groan. “Great…” Something about the look Pinocchio gave him made his springs and gears tighten. He assumed this was…irritation? “I really care about him.” They stared at each other. Pinocchio nodded, sympathetically. He pushed himself off the bed, and Pino watched the puppet rummage through the drawers and cupboards of the extravagant room. He made a satisfied sound at some point, pulling out a bottle of…if he recalled, the old woman by Venigni’s factory called it a ‘tipple’…?

He heard a popping sound, and Pinocchio walked back to sit beside him again.

“You’re in love,” Pinocchio concurred, and he held the bottle in his direction. “—have a drink.” Pino shook his head. “Can you drink?” “Yes—I can drink things, it’s the eating that I can’t really do.” “Do you wanna try?” His gaze shifted. “…I don’t think Father would approve,” “You have to go anywhere?” “Well…no, Venigni has to decode a—” “Just take a swig.”

He took the bottle, looking over the label before hesitantly raising the bottle to his lips. The flavor was strong, strong enough to make his joints jolt. He looked at the label again, quietly feeling a warmth fill his stomach. It felt somewhat similar to the warmth that would come when his springs would react to a lie, but…something told him this was different. “Good, yeah?” He stared at the bottle in wonder. “An old woman asked me to bring her some, once,” “She said that it was important for her to have.” Pinocchio snorted. “Oh yeah? “…Why not talk to your Geppetto about…what you’re feeling?” “…I…do not think Father would approve…” “Yeah? That a fact…” Pinocchio watched as he took another sip from the bottle before scooting back to lean against the pillows. Pino mimicked him, and the two sat side by side. “…Which song was it?” “The last one, I think.” Pinocchio flipped the album cover over in his hands, looking through the lists of songs. He looked up at Pino as though he were a sodding wet puppy lost in the storm that currently raged outside the hotel. “…’Aimer’…?” When he got a nod for an answer, Pinocchio heaved a long sigh. “Yeap, I’m gonna need a drink, too.” “It’s a nice song,” Pino insisted as he watched Pinocchio stand and walk over to the record player to place the needle at the beginning again. “I like it a lot.” “Ain’t that just the way,” Pinocchio sighed. “What way?” “It’s a metaphor, kid. Grimme that bottle.” Pino silently handed the bottle over to Pinocchio as he plopped back down on the bed. It surprised him, a little, that he could handle such a thing so palatable despite being a puppet. Wasn’t the feeling overwhelming?

The two sat in silence for a while, listening to the music that played while passing the bottle between each other.

By halfway through the second listen-through of the album, only a little less than a third was left. “Have you ever been in love…?” “Oh yeah,” Pinocchio scoffed loudly. “Lots’a times.” He took a long drink. “Fuckin’…fuckin’ sucks,” he said as he passed the bottle. “What did it feel like, for you?” “Like…like…you’re gonna throw up your insides,” Pinocchio gestured vaguely. “Your insides an’ butterflies an’ flowers…get all…warm ‘n fuzzy—just wanna curl in their arms all the time, feelin’ safe ‘n warm…” Pino was thoroughly confused, and he frowned. “But that doesn’t sound bad at all…” “You ever throw up before?” “No…I don’t think so,” Pinocchio was insulted. “Oh—oh he jus’ keeps on winnin, don’tcha?!” He said, snatching the bottle when it was held out to him. He glared into it. “Get to look all…human on the outside, like a…perfect pretty-boy,” he turned the bottle end upright when he drank. “—even the people tryin’a kill you think yer…all hot, an’ now he’s sayin’ he never even…puked on the sidewalk,” he slumped back in a huff, and considered. “Well…just wait ‘till mornin’—you’ll change your tune then. Probably, if you actually can,” Pinocchio grumbled, absently tugging at the necklace under his shirt. “‘Ssat…?” Pino asked, gingerly taking back the bottle. “Whus what?” “Ssat—“ Pino poked at Pinocchio’s chest. “Keep my ‘gagement ring on a necklace,” Pinocchio said, pulling on the chain to hold up the plain gold ring attached to it. “Lose it if I didn’t—doin all…flips an’ stuff fightin…” “Who is she?” Pinocchio snorted. “His name is Razel. Think you’re the only gay…puppet twink?” He waved Pino over. “Gimme that, ‘m gettin ‘nother sip,” Pino pouted as he handed Pinocchio the bottle. “Don’t gimme that look,” “You…don’t like me, do you.” It came out more like a statement than a question. And for what it was worth, it did catch Pinocchio off guard. He stared at the automation for a long while. Eventually, he sighed. “No, I…didn’ ever say that—I don’t…not like you?” “You get angry at me all the time…and…everything about my…being, seems to upset you,” Pinocchio hung his head with an even longer sigh. “No, I…fuck, okay, look,” he pacifyingly handed the wine to Pino. “—allathat…it’s…that all ‘cause’of my own problems, got nothing to do with you,” he watched as Pino took a tentative sip before glancing away. “Ah…I dunno…jus’…jealous of you, guess...even if it’s all gone to hell here, you’ve still got it somehow made here!” He gestured widely. “You live in this fancy five-star hotel, you’ve…got friends, and actually manage to keep ‘em, your papa actually seems to like you…you didn’t even really have to learn to fight, allathat came natural!” He grimaced at the ceiling. “Then…there’s me—stuck in this…block’a wood, just about every friend I came across as a kid pretty much died…an’…papa…my papa’s…gone. Not that he liked me much, anyway…” Pino looked around the extravagant bedroom, his gaze settling on the window. He stared quietly at the raindrops that slid down the glass. “…You…can feel things,” Pino said, his voice quiet. “You always could have…you never needed to learn. You…can get angry, frown, and smile,” “You can do that too, though,” “Not smile. Smiling is…difficult. It looks…’uncanny’, that’s what I heard.” Pino looked down at his legion arm, flexing his fingers. “Appearances only go so far…when people hear my gears…they usually turn. I’m…not a who—I’m a what.” "'...s'all stuff you can learn, though..." "You can cry." "Can't you?" "I don't think so—I don't think I have tear ducts." They looked at each other, something in that silence making the two sober up a little. Pinocchio glanced away. “Right…guess…there’s always gotta be somethin’,” he mumbled. “I don’t like killing things, all the time…” “Preachin’ to the choir,” Pinocchio said. “What do I do after this is done…?” “Fuck if I know that answer—I barely knew what I was doing when I was actually a human.” They both grew silent again, somehow feeling drunker in those few minutes than when they had gotten halfway through the wine bottle.

“Bah, that’s it—sober moment over. Where…where is your lover-boat, anyways?” Pinocchio snuck in an extra sip before Pino had clumsily taken the bottle. “He…he’s…he…” Pino struggled to finish the thought. “Treasure.” He decided on. Pinocchio hummed. “Right, yeah…s’a…thing here, yeah…” Pino peeked into the bottle, fascinated by the way the red liquid rolled inside. He swayed side to side. He looked at Pinocchio as though he had suddenly sprouted butterfly wings from his ears. “…Huh?” “I said—” Pinocchio stopped, briefly forgetting just what he had said. “I said—what kind of market does this place even have?” “Oh, it’s…it’s…it’s…” Pino’s brows furled as he absently drank from the bottle. He had downed half of what was left without even realizing he had done it, for he was too focused on thinking. “Hey, hey—” Pinocchio swatted at his hands, managing to pry the bottle away when they became unsteady. “—you gotta…gotta take it easy, you can’t jus’ go an’—” “…s’like…jus’ one…” Pinocchio squinted at Pino as if he had suddenly sprouted the ears of a jackass. “Huh?” “Only…really…see one…” Pino motioned vaguely. “’ryone’s…i’side—inside…houses,” he made a box shaped gesture. “Windows’all…shut…’cept for…sometimes,” “Like tipple lady,” Pinocchio concluded. “Yes,” “Yeah,” “Mmhm.” “Got it.” Pinocchio took a sip, and then another. “Okay so…treasure…guy…” “Lam’wick,” “Yeah, that guy,” Pinocchio passed the bottle back, and heaved a deep sigh. “I wish Anthony were here…he’d know what to do—what to tell ya. He’s’a cricket, so ya know he’s real smart an'all, an’ gives good advice an’ stuff…” “Cricket…” Pino said, moodily staring down the bottle. “…Glow.” “Nope, not mine,” “No glow?” “No glow. He’s…” Pinocchio gestured high above his head. “..s’all tall an’…an’ he’s a doctor, he's…doctor, so all extra-smart…” They both grew quiet. “…I don’t…think he’d…like me,” “Wick,” “Mm-mm. Doesn’t like…puppets. Calls Father an me…devil,” Pino frowned. “’M notta devil, m' a…puppet,” “Preachin’ to the choir,” Pinocchio chorused. “Cross a bingo, take a shot—nobody ever likes us wherever we are,” Pino turned the empty bottle upside down. “Fox…an’ cat,” “Oh you got a pair too, huh,” “Cat…called me…dumbass,” “’bout right.” “Wick wouldn’…want a dumbass,” “Fuck that cat,” Pinocchio slurred aggressively. “You’re not—you’re…smarter n’…probably any version of us out there,” he shook Pino, drawing his attention away when the automation tried to use the wine bottle like a telescope. “’Sides, bein’…bein’ kinda a dumbass is our personal brand’a specialty. If Wick don’t want that then…then…he can…stick…” he squinted, trying to concentrate. “…’m too drunk to think of a insult, but…but that’s what you should think if that’s how he gets,” Pinocchio concluded as he flopped onto his back. He waved a finger in the air, mumbling something, but Pino was having a hard time concentrating on much else, at this point. He blew into the bottle, the loud sound coming from it startling him.

Polendina knocked before entering the room, Gemini in hand. “Excuse me, but your lantern keeps requesting to be with you, and it is important to not leave your items unattended…” he stopped short, watching the pair of raven-haired puppets snooze away while slumped over one another. “What the heck happened here?!” Gemini cried as Polendina stepped around to get a closer look. “Ah.” He picked up the empty bottle, having long since been abandoned at the bedside. “Ohh, I don’t think Geppetto would like this one bit,” Gemini said. “There is no need to say anything,” Polendina concluded. He set the empty bottle on the dresser, and placed Gemini at the bedside table. “After all, there are seldom moments of rest.” “True…I’ll keep an eye on them, regardless.” “I shall come by later to check in.” Polendina said, leaving for the door. He stopped, thinking for a moment before closing it.

Perhaps he should prepare some hot towels for when they wake.

#artmuns drabbles #drabble #fanfiction #fanfic crossover #pvp drabble #pvp comic #lies of p #oc #pinocchio #sketch #pinocchio geppetto #no goodnights #original character #fanart #wilds lampwick #i don’t have a full out story #or really plan on making one #these are just fun snippets really

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ladytauria · 5 months

Note

genuinely can't remember what ships i've sent you already but WHO CARES. “You’d sound so good begging for it.” for jaysteph wahooo

i love jaysteph so much <3

this... came out a little different from my usual, i think? i blame the song i was listening to at the time <3 (which is also where i took the title from, altho. there's another line in there i want to use at some point xD)

anyway!!

i hope you like this <3

>> AO3 <<

They’re kissing again.

It’s almost routine at this point. Whatever they’re doing—sparring, casework, studying, watching a movie, playing games—it’s never very long before they end up making out. Even when they’re apart, Jason finds himself thinking about her, and the next time he’ll get to see her again.

It’s—

They're not dating. Haven't really talked about anything yet, either, but there's something—

His nose is filled with the scent of her perfume—violets and vanilla. He tastes strawberry chapstick and grape soda. His hands are on her waist, her shirt rucking up beneath his palms. She’s got one hand in his curls, the other on his chest, palming his pec.

This time... she invited him to study in her bedroom. He thinks, maybe—

Her hand slips from his hair. He barely has time to mourn before she’s shoving him backwards. He bounces a little on the mattress—he hears one of the pillows fall to the floor as he takes a breath, quick and sharp. Steph grabs his wrists, pinning his hands on either side of his head as her knees bracket his hips.

Her hair falls to frame his face; the soft strands tickling his skin, making him shiver.

Jason’s tongue darts out; swiping over his bottom lip. She tracks it with dark eyes—he draws it back into his mouth, and Steph chases it, kissing him again.. Her tongue traces the seam of his lips; he opens to it, moaning when she pushes in, licking into him, over his tongue, his teeth, exploring every crevice of his mouth.

It’s—

Jason’s head spins, wrists flexing under her grip, his stomach jumping.

He can’t help but chase her when her tongue leaves his mouth. He feels Steph’s mouth twitch—she nips him. He shudders, gasping, and her teeth catch his lip, rolling it between them.

Jason whimpers.

Steph stills. When she pulls back, her eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, lashes kissing her cheeks. “That was hot,” she breathes against his mouth. “Do it again.”

He—

He’s whimpering again before he even thinks about it.

Steph groans. She grinds down on him, her grip tightening on his wrists. He hopes— Somewhere in his mind, he hopes she leaves bruises.

A whine leaves him—a shaky, stuttery thing. He feels hot, hot, hot; the room suddenly burning, blazing.

“Fuck,” Steph swears. She kisses him again, hard and brief, pulling away to whisper. “Shit, baby. I bet you’d sound so good begging for it.”

“Please.” He’d been— He’d been hoping, maybe, that tonight they’d do something more than just kiss.

Steph shudders. “Fuck— Jason,” she says, the same desperation and want he feels plain in her voice. In the way she says his name. “If— Tell me. Tell me if you don’t want this,” she says, searching his face.

“Steph,” he says. “Stephanie— I want it. I want you. Please.”

She shudders again, and then her mouth crashes against his again. She squeezes his wrists again, like a warning, so when her hands slip down his arms, he leaves them there. She pulls his shirt up, skimming her fingers over his skin. It makes him shudder, shake.

Steph swallows his gasp as she palms both pecs in his hands, cupping and squeezing them. She nips his lip again; pulls back just enough to whisper, “Nn— Such pretty tits, honey.” Her thumbs swipe over his nipples. He shudders, sparks making his fingers tingle.

“S-sensitive,” he tells her. She groans. She slips down his body. Her lips wrap around one of his pecs—nipple and flesh engulfed in soft, wet heat. He throws his head back, groaning, arching up into her.

Her teeth scrape over his nipple right as she rakes her nails down his sides.

“A-ah—” His answering gasp is high and breathy.

His boxers are wet—he’s, he thinks it might be spreading into his jeans. He wants—

“Please.” He raises his hips, voice full of need.

Steph pulls off of his chest with a pop, swollen lips shining with spit. She cups him through his clothes, squeezing—the pressure is— His hands curl into fists, a breathy keen in his throat.

“Look at you,” she breathes. “Falling apart for me.”

There’s no room left for to blush; Jason’s face is already flushed and hot with desire. He whimpers instead, and she flashes a grin at him before popping open the button on his jeans one-handed. The zipper comes down easy, and he lifts his hips so she can work his jeans down. That takes both hands; Steph sitting back on his haunches to pull them down his thighs. His boxers follow, caught in the denim, and then his cock springs free between them.

Steph’s nails are painted a pale shade of lilac—she trails the tip of one finger down Jason’s cock. He jerks, whines, wanting more than just a ghost of a touch. Steph glances up at him. There’s only a thin sliver of blue in her eyes now; the black of her pupils has swallowed the rest of the color. He can see himself in her eyes, the mess he’s become under her attention.

It’s—

“Needy looks good on you,” Steph tells him, right before she claims his mouth again; her fist wrapping around the base of his cock. His arms twitch—aching to grab her, pull her close. But he— He leaves them where she puts them, and— She smiles against his mouth, a silent approval that makes something in him quiver.

“Steph,” he says, against her lips. “Steph— I want. Can I— Let me see you. Please.”

Steph nips his lip, and then eases off of him. “Finish stripping,” she orders, while reaching for the hem of her own shirt.

Jason has never been so quick to follow an instruction before. He pulls his shirt off, tossing it in the vague direction of Steph’s closet. At his jeans—Jason pauses, snagging the condom he’d tucked away, just in case. He doesn’t look at Steph when he sets it on the nightstand.

Then he goes back to his jeans. It takes a little more to get them off, at least until he gets them off the thickest part of his thigh. After that, it’s nothing to kick them and his boxers to the floor.

His socks come off last.

Steph takes her top and jeans off first, leaving her in matching purple panties and bra. Jason’s fingers itch to take them off, but he keeps his hands to himself. Instead, he watches her as she reaches around behind herself, pushing her breasts together as she undoes the band. She shrugs her shoulders, the straps falling down her shoulders before she pulls it off and tosses it.

Then her thumbs hook in the panties, pulling them off first one leg, and then the other; leaving her as bare as he is.

She straddles him again—his hands go back to resting on either side of his head, palms up.

Steph smiles approvingly. “Good,” she praises softly, skimming a nail down the line of his throat. Jason shivers, a breathy noise escaping him. It’s just as much from the slight scratch of it as it is the gentle praise.

She settles down onto his thighs—he can feel the dewy heat of her. He— He wants.

“Steph,” he says, pleads. “I want— Can I taste you? Please?”

Her eyes widen, mouth parting briefly in surprise. Then she smiles; sunny and pleased. “With those manners? Hell yeah, baby.” She goes to slide off of him. His hands jerk, rising a few inches before he remembers himself. Then he shakes his head.

“I— Sit on my face,” he blurts.

Steph stills again. She— She hesitates at that. “Are you sure, honey?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Her eyes flicker over his face. Whatever she sees there seems to settle her, because rather than climb off of him, she climbs up him. “You can use your hands,” she says, as her thighs bracket his head.

Her scent—

It makes Jason’s mouth water. Thick, musky, a little sharp. Her folds glisten; her clit already poking out of its hood. He wraps his hands around her thighs—they’re soft under his hands, but he can feel the cords of muscle under the fat. The power hidden below the softness. He pulls her down, licking a hot line between her outer lips; moaning as the taste of her blooms on his tongue.

She groans, hips rocking a little.

Jason licks again—and again, before bringing his thumbs around to spread her open, allowing him to lick deeper. He runs the flat of his tongue over her twitching, fluttering hole and all the way up to the underside of her clit.

“A-ah— Jason—”

He swipes his tongue over her clit again before circling her hole a few times and probing inside. The muscles flutter and clench around it; Steph gasps, high and pretty, rocking down against him, smearing her wetness against his face.

Jason pumps his tongue in and out a few times, and then goes back to licking over her lips. He traces letters—feels her thighs clench and quiver around him, and then—

Steph laughs breathily. “Your name?”

Jason doesn’t grin, but the corners of his eyes crinkle when he looks up at her. Y-E-S, he spells.

Steph laughs again. One of her hands tangles in his hair—the other is still braced against the wall. “Do it again,” she demands—

Jason does. Steph’s hips work, rotating in slow circles over his mouth. Steph is vocal above him—every sound she makes spurs Jason further. When he finishes the N, he noses his way back up to her clit, wrapping his lips around it. He’s gentle—circling it with his tongue, gauging her sensitivity.

Then—he sucks.

Steph shouts, thighs clamping tight around his head, grinding down onto his face. He encourages it, pulls her down harder, until she’s fucking his face. Slick rolls down his chin, his neck; she’s making an utter mess of him, and he loves it, moaning into her.

Jason lets go of her clit, going back to her lips and hole—switching between them all until, finally, Steph’s hand tightens painfully in his hair, hand smacking on the wall, her whole body shaking as she comes.

He licks her through it, until she’s easing off of him, her chest heaving as she pants. She glistens with sweat, her skin pink and flushed. She grabs his face in her hands, pulling him up onto his elbows so she can kiss him hard and fierce, seemingly uncaring of her slick smeared all over him.

When she pulls back, a thread of spit connects them. She sweeps her thumbs over his cheeks. “Think you can be still while I ride you?”

Jason moans, high and needy. “Yes.”

She flashes a smile at him. “Good,” she purrs. “Hands above your head, Jay.”

He raises them over his head, crossing them at the wrist. Steph hums her approval before kissing him briefly. She sits back on her haunches, snatching the condom from the bedside table. Jason groans as she rips it open with her teeth, trembling when she works it over his cock.

She grips the base of him—his hips twitch. It’s an effort to stay still, especially when she straddles him, lining the tip of his cock up with her entrance. She moves, back and forth, letting her slick smear on the latex.

Jason expects her to sink down slowly. Instead, she flashes him a brief smile; a quick flash of teeth and then—

Slams her hips down, burying him inside of her in one, quick thrust.

Both of them shout—Jason’s whole body jerks. He shakes with the effort to stay still, his breaths coming quick and sharp, chest heaving. He wishes he could feel the slickness of her, but— It’s enough to feel her molten heat, and the quiver of her muscles, the way she clenches around him like a vice.

Steph stays there for a moment, letting her breathing slow. She runs her hands up his sides, caressing his skin.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “You look so good spread out in my bed, Jason.”

Jason moans breathily in response, wishing his tongue didn’t feel so thick and clumsy. He wants to tell her how gorgeous she is, how good she feels, how much Jason wants her, and likes her—

Steph smiles at him. Her hands splay on his chest, using him to support her weight when she bends down and kisses him. Her hair falls like a curtain around them, tickling over his arms, his cheeks. “If you keep looking at me like that,” she whispers, “I’m going to have no choice but to make you mine.” She bites his jaw this time; the sharp pain of it making him whimper.

“Please,” he says. “Pleasepleaseplease—”

She groans; a low, guttural sound that sinks straight to his core. Her nails bite into his skin—he twitches, another, higher whimper tumbling from his mouth.

“Fuck,” she hisses.

She rises. Tosses her hair over her shoulders. Then, she grips onto his waist and starts to move.

The pace she sets is almost punishing. It drives every thought from his head; the only thing he can focus on the waves of pleasure crashing through his body. It drowns him. He can hear, faintly, the flood of noise coming from his mouth but it’s all distant, like his head is underwater.

He barely manages to stutter out a warning when his peak crests. “G-gonna—”

Steph rubs his sides. “Wanna feel you,” she demands—and he comes, muscles seizing, hips lifting, cock twitching as he spills inside of her.

“Fuck.” Steph swears, vehemently, above him. “You’re so fucking pretty, Jason—” She’s barely rising off of him now, focusing on gyrating her hips instead, rubbing her clit against his skin until, finally— She shudders, head to toe, everything draining from her as she comes a second time.

She slips off of him, collapsing down in the bed beside him. Jason sits up for a moment, just long enough to remove the condom, tying it off before dropping it in the bin. He lies down again after, and Steph doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his chest, one of her hands splaying over his stomach. Jason winds one arm around her shoulders, then settles his other hand over hers.

“Stay the night?” Steph whispers against his skin.

Jason exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

She hums. “We c’n— We c’n talk in the morning.” She turns her face more into his chest, and then whispers, “Meant what I said. Wanna— Wanna keep you.”

Jason shivers. He’s— He’s more than okay with that. “In the morning,” he says, his voice just as thick with fatigue as hers.

She makes a soft noise of agreement. “And a shower, in a minute.”

Yeah. That sounds pretty good too.

#jaysteph #stephjay #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #tauriawritessmut #asks and answers #paprikadotmp4

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ken-dom · 6 months

Text

What’s Left In Me

Lars Lindstrom x Bianca

2.2k words

Summary: Lars needs to make sure Bianca knows she belongs to him, and really, isn’t there only one way to do that?

Author’s notes: Goosecord made me do it (never mind that I wanted to shhh). Title is song lyrics from the Lars playlist as usual

Warnings/content: nsfw, possessive Lars, use of a sex doll, loss of virginity?, fingering, clothed sex, mention of oral sex, if you’re not aware Bianca is a sex doll but he doesn’t canonically use her for sex, I guess the dove isn’t dead but I would still be very weary of eating it, seriously please do not read this if you don’t like the idea of Lars getting frisky with Bianca — or if you think he never would (I don’t really disagree but I HAD to explore it, please forgive me and please skip this if it's not for you)

‘Talk to her, Lars,’ Karin soothed, rubbing at Lars’s back. ‘Go on.’

Lars ignored the slowly burning warmth where her hand massaged circles between his shoulder blades. He had enough layers on after all, and with a deep breath, he silently reminded himself that it wasn’t her fault she needed to touch people so much.

‘What if she’s mad at me,’ he uttered under his breath, body stuck somewhere between trembling and freezing up.

He did want to speak to Bianca though. He wanted… No. He was too scared to think it.

‘I’m sure if you explain how you’ve been feeling and hear her out, she won’t be mad at you. She loves you, Lars. More than anything.’

Lars nodded with a forced smile and stood so abruptly, Karin’s hand dropped to the sofa with a soft thud.

He turned back to her, lost for words, then forward forward again, flexing his fingers and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before heading toward the stairs.

Bianca had gone straight up to the pink room when she returned home. She didn’t even acknowledge Lars. And he couldn’t actually blame her when he thought about it.

He felt his heart hammering in his chest as he climbed. When he reached the top, Lars could see that the door of the pink room was ajar, and he took another deep, steadying breath as he approached it and knocked gently. A stark contrast to the energy with which he’d roared at her before she left.

‘Bianca,’ he whispered through the crack in the door, and to his relief she finally acknowledged him.

Lars entered slowly with his head hung low. He didn’t think she seemed put off by his presence, so he clicked the door shut behind him and pressed on.

Bianca was relaxing against the pillow, already in her pretty nightdress. He took a seat on the mattress by her feet, careful not to disturb her. She looked beautiful, he thought.

‘Bianca, I’m sorry,’ he started quietly, turning his body to face her properly and placing a gentle hand on her bare shin without thinking. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. It- it wasn’t really about Scrabble. I mean, I do love our Scrabble nights, but it was more about how I’ve been… feeling recently.’

Bianca listened intently as Lars felt the floodgates open. He had always loved how she listened. She had so many skills.

‘I… well, see, when you came here to be with me, I thought it would be just that; me and you. You know? That I’d have you all to myself. And now you’re so busy all the time, even busier than I am, and I have a lot of stuff to do – you should see how much wood I chopped tonight while you were out!’ Lars’s thumb had begun to massage slow, soothing shapes into Bianca’s leg. ‘You know what the thing is, though? Everybody wants a piece of you, but-’

Lars knew where he wanted that sentence to go, but something about it felt wrong, so he stopped himself. Bianca, of course, picked up on the sudden change of atmosphere, and as a result Lars whipped his hand away from her leg, realising he’d been caressing the flesh just below her knee the whole time he’d been talking.

Only… she hadn’t shied away from it. And neither had he. It actually felt pretty good.

‘Bianca…’

Hands trembling, he slowly reached back to her, pushing the hem of her nightgown up, above her knees.

‘Bianca… are you sure about this?’

She agreed, and before he knew it, his hand was firmly beneath the skirt of her nightdress, tenderly rubbing at her thigh.

‘What was I going to say? I suppose I should be honest with you, I owe you that much at least.’

Lars was talking with incredibly measured precision,watching his hand move hypnotically beneath the thin pink fabric. He could feel Bianca nodding her encouragement for him to go on.

Something snapped inside him. It wasn’t like earlier, when he’d needed to chop wood to calm himself. This was a different, urgent kind of need that his first instinct was to try and suppress.

‘I was going to say that, lately, everybody wants a piece of you,’ he breathed, his whispered voice trembling a little until he finally growled, ‘but you’re supposed to be mine.’

With both hands, he tugged Bianca downward on the bed, shifting to kneel between her legs. Two strong hands grabbed her thighs and spread them, getting her into a comfortable position.

He froze then, reality suddenly dawning on him.

He was in Gus and Karin’s house right now, and Karin was downstairs, so they’d need to be quiet. He and Bianca weren’t married, which for some reason made his cock twitch in his trousers despite the clench in his gut. And to top it off, Lars was a virgin.

He’d been too scared to ask Bianca, assuming that she was a virgin too. She must be. But he supposed that was about to change.

He’d never intended to do this. To defile her. Especially not before marriage. Especially not so soon after she arrived here, but he’d been curious, he couldn’t deny, and tonight the final straw was the spark he felt when he thought about how she was his and his only. How if he claimed her in a way no one else could, she would truly belong to him, even if she was out every night of the week.

Lars blinked furiously and then squeezed his eyes shut, fingers bruisingly rough on Bianca’s tender thighs.

He didn’t have any condoms. Why would he? He thought briefly about checking for some in Gus and Karin’s bathroom, but since Bianca couldn’t have children of her own, and they were both virgins, he thought better of interrupting. He did want to claim her after all, and what better way to do that than pump her full to the brim?

Strangely, Bianca had arrived complete with a pitifully small tube of lube included in the crate. Lars had dropped it into his pocket last minute when disposing of the packaging she’d arrived in, not wanting anyone to find it in his trash and think him some sort of deviant. No, better to keep it safe and out of sight.

He was wearing the same trousers tonight, as luck would have it. He fished it out of his pocket and held it up for Bianca to see.

‘See? It’ll help you feel more comfortable.’

He flashed her a big smile and removed the lid, squeezing half the contents into his palm and rubbing his hands together to warm it.

‘Let me help you…’

His hand disappeared up her nightgown again, fumbling with her underwear briefly before easily slipping a finger inside.

‘Oh, you’re already so prepared for me… does this feel good? You like my fingers?’ he cooed, massaging her folds with his thumb as his finger pumped carefully, coating her, inside and out, in the slippery fluid. ‘Shhh… remember we need to be quiet!’

Heat flooded his core as he watched her take his fingers, cock straining against the inside of his trousers now, and for the first time in his life he felt like he needed more. Like he needed to remove layers and feel touch and be closer.

He gently removed his hand from between Bianca’s thighs and hastily pulled his sweater over his head, tearing his shirt and tie away too, revealing the first of his two underlayers, long sleeves and unbuttoned at the neck.

He wouldn’t take off Bianca’s nightgown, though. Some things were just too sacred, and he could respect her enough to let her keep it on. Perhaps until they were married, at least, then he could undress her slowly and make every square inch of her shiver with anticipation for him.

Tonight he just needed to make her entirely his, and he knew that it was what she wanted – no, needed, too.

He crawled forward and hovered over her, eyes roaming her pretty face, lingering on her lips.

‘We’ll be married one day soon,’ he whispered through a crooked smile, ‘so it doesn’t matter really. You’re not worried about that, are you?’

Lars’s lips met Bianca’s in a desperate, hungry kiss, and when he pulled away a tear fell from his eye, dropping onto her flawless cheek.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he sniffled, ‘so beautiful… hey, don’t cry.’

He wiped his spilled tear from her cheek as if it were her own.

‘Do you really want this? With me?’

Lars breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Alright,’ he chuckled, ‘and don’t worry, ok? I’ll be gentle with you.’

With one hand he clumsily unfastened and pushed his trousers down enough to free his aching cock, guiding it to her entrance.

‘If it hurts, just tell me, alright? We can take it slow,’ he whispered, carefully pushing in and hissing at the sensation of her walls enveloping his length. ‘Ah! You’re so… so wet and… and tight…’

She felt so good, precum leaked steadily from his tip already despite not having moved yet.

He could feel her stretching around him, feel her pleasure-pain unfold as he stilled and let her adjust to his size.

‘I know, I know, you’ll get used to it, sweetheart. I’ll make it feel good, ok? Are you ready?’

His hips rolled slowly at first, increasing in speed with every impatient thrust. Bianca seemed to clench around him as he found his rhythm, and he managed to wrap one of her legs up and around his waist as he drove into her harder, a hand sneaking between their bodies to explore her folds again.

‘Y-you like that?’ he whispered breathlessly. ‘You gonna cum for me?’

With his other hand, he gripped her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him, her lips popping open as he squeezed.

‘You are gonna cum for me, aren’t you?’ he growled, pressing his forehead to hers, ‘Because you- are- mine. Say it. Say that you’re- mine.’

His words were punctuated with the snapping of his hips, and Bianca’s heel dug into his lower back in a silent plea for more, which he eagerly gave as he awaited her response.

The bed creaked beneath them as Lars went harder. Bianca didn’t seem to care about the noise, or the integrity of the furniture, when she was in the throes of passion with Lars. She must really have wanted him after all.

When Lars was satisfied that Bianca understood who she belonged to, he pressed his big, warm palm over her mouth, keeping any other noise she might make to a minimum. He could feel he was close to release and knew that she must be too by the way she was arching her back off the bed.

‘Oh… ohhh- mmh… you belong to me. You understand? No one else can- ugh!- do this to you. No one else can make you- ha!- feel like th- ohhhhnnggmmnn-’

Lars felt a burst of uncontrollable heat spread through every part of his body, his vision turning white as a thick creamy rope erupted from his tip and filled Bianca, who he could feel was mid-orgasm already. He continued to fuck erratically into her and eagerly massaging her clit until he felt his cock softening inside her walls, and collapsed in a heap on top of her.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, are you ok?’ Lars muttered breathlessly, pulling himself up to hover a mere inch from her face, her beautiful eyes sparkling up at him.

He kissed her sweetly. So sweetly you’d never guess he’d just filled her with his seed in a frenzied culmination of his deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings.

He shifted his hips to pull out, feeling a trickle of warm wetness follow.

‘Don’t worry about the mess, ok? I’ll clean us both up. Wait right there.’

And Bianca did just that while Lars, with hastily fastened trousers and hair in disarray, shuffled off down the hallway to the nearest bathroom to fetch a towel.

When he returned, he paused in the doorway to just look at her. She really was perfect.

Half an hour later, and after a hurried conversation with Karin during which Lars avoided eye contact and assured her he had firmly made up with Bianca and that he’d apologised thoroughly, he was laid in bed, struggling to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, about how he should be with her now, holding her in his arms and whispering sweet nothings about how good she was and how good she made him feel.

He had told her those things, of course, in great detail as he cleaned his seed from between her thighs and attempted to remove the stain on her nightgown and kissed her forehead. But he missed her so much now that he’d shared such intimacy with her, he hadn’t even bothered showering yet. He wanted to smell her on his skin.

He wondered if she would want to do it again, or if she really would want to wait until after marriage now that she’d had a small taste. Lars wasn’t sure he could wait very long before needing to chase those delicious sensations again, and he had a feeling Bianca would be ok with that.

Lars eventually fell asleep imagining what Bianca might taste like, and vaguely made the decision that tomorrow night, he would find out for himself.

#not s f w 💀#lars lindstrom #lars lindstrom smut #lars lindstrom fic #lars lindstrom x bianca #lars and the real girl fic #lars and the real girl #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling smut #ken-dom writes

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lostfirefly · 4 months

Text

Tell me what you want to hear, something that will light those ears, I'm sick of all the insincere, so I'm gonna give all my secrets away

You will be surprised but the idea for this fic came to me from a dream. In my dream Buggy and I were in the subway (on our way home) and were listening to the music through the headphones. In the second half of the dream someone beat me but that's another story :)

Description: Catherine came back home and found Buggy lying on the couch with the headphones.

Warnings: Fluff (as always), Buggy is little bit angry.

Words: 1580

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

The title is taken from "Secrets" by One Republic.

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @gingernut1314

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"My beloved clown, I'm back. I sent my sister a gift and a card from us. I hope she likes it. I walked around a bit and went to a couple of your favorite pastry shops. Sorry, I didn't find your donuts today. But I got you a double portion of churros, chocolate muffins and a bottle of good whiskey. I hope you're still alive and didn't die without me." Catherine came home from her short walk.

She put a paper bag on the pouf next to the front door and began to take off her sneakers. "Quiet? The only time our apartment can be quiet is when I'm here alone. Buggy, are you home?"

There was silence in response.

“It’s strange. He didn’t seem to be going anywhere.” She mumbled, shrugged, took the bag in her hands and went to the kitchen.

As she walked past the living room, she heard quiet sounds. Catherine went into the kitchen, placed paper bags on the table and tiptoed towards the sounds coming from the living room. She poked her head through the doorway and saw Buggy lying on the couch with his head on the pillow.

He seemed so cozy to Catherine. In home clothes, without makeup and with his hair down. It was one morning at the beginning of their life together when she accidentally saw him without makeup, and it was a real drama. She liked the fact that after a few months of living together, he began to be at home with a clean face more often.

Buggy's legs were bent. One feet stood on the couch. One leg lay on top of the other and moved slightly.

“What is he doing?” Catherine narrowed her eyes and looked closer. She saw a white wire from the headphones. "Headphones? What? Pinch me! Is he singing?!" She could hardly contain her laughter.

Catherine quietly walked over to the couch and bowed her head over Buggy. He lay with his eyes closed, continuing to twitch his leg to the rhythm of the music and singing silently. His fingers lightly hit the player, his head also slightly moved to the rhythm of the music. And he hummed. He hummed songs quietly. Buggy looked so relaxed and cute. Catherine didn't know whether to yank one earphone out of his ear or tap him on the shoulder. She smiled and gently ran her hand through his loose blue hair.

“Holy crap!! Geeez!" Buggy jumped in surprise so much that he split into pieces. "Are you completely crazy? Fuck! Why are you sneaking around like that? Who does that?" A flying head screamed at Catherine.

"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!!" She clutched her stomach laughing. “I came home, called you, you didn’t answer. I decided that you had gone out somewhere and then I found you here on the couch so calm... and singing!”

“Shit! You could have signaled your appearance somehow differently. And stop laughing, for god's sake!” He blushed with indignation.

“I'm not laughing. I just didn't know you could sing." Catherine sat down on the couch and wiped her eyes from tears. “My great and fearless Buggy the Clown is also a singer. Have you tried performing in bars? Maybe we can earn more money this way?” She fell on the back of the couch and couldn't stop giggling.

"Oh, fuck you!" The head, body with separate legs and hands flew into the bedroom.

"Come on, my Buggy Bear! I'm kidding!" She squeaked from the couch and continued chuckling.

"Fuck you! I'm not talking to you!" An offended voice came from the bedroom.

"Come on! You sang very well and it was very sweet. You just never did that in front of me and I was surprised." She tried to soften her laughter, but she didn't do a good job.

“I didn’t do a lot of things in front of you!” Buggy grumbled from the other room.

“Buggy, my love, please, forgive me! You have a pleasant voice.” Catherine got up from the couch and walked towards the bedroom. Buggy's body was sitting in a chair. His head and hands were on the bed. Feet stomped irritably in one corner.

"Why do you look like this, my little bear?” She pointed her finger at every part of his body. “Are you going to be mad at me in a disassembled state now?" She continued to giggle.

The head did not answer anything and only looked displeasedly at Catherine.

“Oh, my silly clown, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." Catherine looked at the head with round, sad eyes.

Buggy didn't answer. All his parts flew to the kitchen, taking the player and headphones with him.

“Come on! Buggy! Why are you so mad? I didn’t catch you doing something worse. You know what I mean, right? I would be surprised to see this. Because now you have me.” Catherine started laughing again.

“Fuck you!!”

"Why didn't you ever sing to me?" She followed him into the kitchen. “Buggy, honey!”

She opened the door to the kitchen with a guilty look. Buggy was still separated into pieces. “Are you going to fly back and forth around the apartment from me? You know I can follow you around all day and evening.”

She walked up to the floating head and gently touched the hair.

“Why are you so angry, my blue-haired boy?” Catherine leaned down to kiss the top of his head but his head flew on the table.

“Okay. Keep being offended. I can take your hands.” She grabbed one of the flying hands and glanced at Buggy. "Ha, I got you! At least one of your parts.” She began to tug gently on his fingers and tease him with her voice. "Who's the one who's so mean? Who's offended by his favorite cotton candy?"

Buggy looked at Catherine for a long time not taking his squinted eyes off her.

"I brought you churros. And chocolate muffins. Your favorite." Catherine tried to say this with gentle irony. With one hand she held Buggy's separated hand, with the other she took out his favorite dessert. "See how much I love you. I took you a double portion special for you. Only for you-u-u." She twirled the churros stick in her hands.

Buggy rolled his eyes and put all his pieces back together and sat down on the chair.

"Give it back." He said in a stern tone.

"What am I supposed to give you?"

“Hand. Give me my hand back.” There was slight irritation in his voice.

“What if I don’t give it back? Will Buggy the Singing Clown punish his beloved Cathie-pie?” She said playfully.

“I. Said. Give. It. Back.” He drilled her with his eyes.

“Wow. With no “cotton candy” or “baby”. You must be very angry at me.” Catherine sat down on a nearby chair and gave him his hand. She put her elbows on the table and put her chin on her hands. “Do you want churros? I bought them at your favorite store.”

"I don't want anything." He put the headphones in his ears and crossed his arms.

"Ok." She said softly.

Catherine got up from her chair, opened the kitchen cabinet, stood on her tiptoes and took out one whiskey glass and one wine glass. She poured whiskey into a glass and put three ice cubes in it.

Catherine took the drinks and put them on the table. "With ice. Just the way you like it." She said it as gently as possible.

She moved her chair a little closer to Buggy and gently touched his elbow. "My little Bear..."

His face did not change. His arms were still crossed and his face looked angry.

Catherine stood up again, took the churros, chocolate muffins and placed them on the table.

He took the whiskey, sweets and went to the bedroom without saying a word.

Catherine sat in the kitchen for about ten minutes, then got up, took the wine and went to the bedroom too.

She saw Buggy sitting on his side of the bed. He leaned his back against the headboard. She put her glass on the nightstand and climbed onto her side of the bed, covering them both with a blanket.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Your voice is so beautiful. And it's so calm. I'm sad that I've never heard you sing. But if you don't want to sing in front of me that's okay.”

Catherine gently touched his hand with the fingers of her right hand and asked quietly. “What are you listening to?” She looked up at him.

Buggy turned his head slightly towards her, sighed, put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. He pulled out one earphone and handed it to her. Catherine put the earphone in her ear and snuggled closer to Buggy. He took her right hand, kissed it and glanced at Catherine.

“Stop looking at me like that with your green eyes, my silly clown. I’m blushing.” She extended her left hand to the top of his head and began to gently run her hand through his hair.

Catherine saw a slight smile on his face and Buggy suddenly began to hum a song quietly and softly.

“Amazing. Thank you..” Catherine exhaled calmly, she settled under his armpit, placed her free hand on his chest and closed her eyes. “I love you so so much, my Buggy Bear.”

He squeezed her arm slightly, kissed it again and answered quietly, trying not to lose the beat of the melody. “I love you too, my cotton candy.”

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ponds-of-ink · 8 months

Text

MXES and Vanessa One-Shot: “Of Voice and Vision”

Took a bit of time, but I did remember to write this today! :D Here’s one of the Pre-Ruin scenarios I’ve had in my head for a few days now.

(don’t worry, the title will make sense in a minute)

It was the standard procedure today. Vanessa would take half-an-hour to set up equipment. MXES (or “Black Hare”, as he had been nicknamed in his data for a while) would use that time to review his previous lessons. And Gregory would be out with Freddy for a while– so long as he didn’t stir up any trouble.

What wasn’t standard was the eager smile Vanessa had. Even as she struggled to fix some last minute issues, she kept humming along to songs on her work playlist. “Just a couple more minutes, Mix,” she told the confused hare on a separate monitor. “Then we’ll be all set.”

MXES tilted his head. What was his creator so happy about? It wasn’t her birthday. Nor was it any of her companions’ or coworkers’. The nearest holiday was weeks away, last time his internal calendar checked.

Then again, any occasion could be a personal holiday to a human being. A vacation, a newborn, a romantic date… But, again, everything was standard. No such event had been entered into his software.

MXES continued to observe. Vanessa still hummed and typed away. The main computer whirred as final corrections travelled through its code. A sharp ding soon emitted from its speakers. Vanessa pumped her fist into the air before recomposing herself. “Well, Mix, are you ready for today’s ‘lesson’?” she asked, turning her attention back to the digital creature.

MXES’ ears raised. Oh. Maybe her happiness was related to the lesson. Odd.

However, that didn’t stop him from drawing himself up to full height and nodding proudly.

”Great,” Vanessa replied brightly, switching between tabs. “I’d say ‘Get ready’, but you look raring to go!”

MXES would have bowed, but now wasn’t the time. Bit by bit, his body faded from the secondary monitor. His world slowly shifted from this grid landscape to the very same room his maker was in. Soon, he was floating over her hastily-made bed.

“So how was the transfer?” Vanessa asked, inching her office chair towards the bed. “Was it slower than usual?”

MXES raised his hand, then lowered it until it looked flat. He tilted it left, then right.

“‘Only a little slower?’”

He nodded.

Vanessa’s eyes lit up, but her expression maintained its casual facade. She swiveled around to pick up a clipboard from her desk. “Everything feeling all right?” she inquired further, clicking her pen. “Any lagging or twitching?”

He shook his head. Nothing he was aware of.

Vanessa scribbled down some notes. Her eyes bounced between her listener and the paper before her. “Does anything look different to you?” she questioned. “Like a pillow being moved or a pencil not being in its cup holder?”

MXES tilted his head. Now why would she ask that question after he was “out” of the computer? He couldn’t really talk without assistance, after all.

Regardless, he looked around. The bed was a bit out-of-sorts, but everything on it was in their usual places. The pencils (save that one pen) were all in their spots. His creator was in the same chair she was always in… Except now she had rainbow-like streaks and a name floating above her head.

MXES bobbed his head, then frantically gestured to the text-like apparition. There was no way that was showing up on her end, was there??

Vanessa looked up in confusion, then shook her head. “Don’t worry, big guy,” she chuckled. “It’s just something only you can see.”

The hare slumped his shoulders. Phew. Crisis averted.

“What can you see though? Can you read it?”

MXES blinked. Obviously, he could. That was one of the lessons he had ages ago. Trying to convey it, however…

Well, he had to at least give it a shot.

He straightened himself up, readied that voicebank code, then activated it.

“Vvvvv…”

Wait. There was data here. New data.

He gauged Vanessa’s expression. That light in her eyes grew even brighter. He could practically register the excitement vibrating throughout her entire body.

Well, now he had to keep going. No use letting her bottle up all that emotion.

“Vvvv… aa.. nn.. V-ann…”

The syllable sorting was going to take some time, but at least he was getting close.

“Van…esss…uh?”

“Try finding the ‘vuh’ sound bite,” Vanessa suggested, her legs already shifting back and forth. “It should be in there.”

MXES nodded. Okay. Seemed easy enough.

“Vuhh.. nesss.. uhh.”

Now it was just the matter of putting them together. Just like reading.

“Vanessa”

Like someone on too much caffeine, Vanessa dropped her clipboard and laughed wildly. “It works!” she cried out joyfully, springing onto the bed. “The voice bank works! You said your first actual word!”

MXES’ ears raised. “Iiii… d-id?” he questioned slowly.

“Yeah!” Vanessa exclaimed back before grabbing a pillow and squealing into it. Then after a battle with self-regulation, she continued. “And that’s just the first layer of the iceberg,” she said, moving into a sitting position. “You know why you saw my name over my head?”

“Nnn.. oo. No.”

Vanessa stifled a laugh. “You know how you kinda had trouble with the facial recognition stuff sometimes?” she pressed on.

MXES just let out a “huff”. How could he forget?

“Well, I finally got an updated version of that software,” Vanessa explained, motioning a free arm towards the computer. “It’s almost the same as the Glamrocks’, but I’ve made a few tweaks— Stuff like you not having to deal with singing happy birthday out of nowhere or giving expired Fazbear discounts. You’ve even got your own database so you can keep an eye on repeat ‘visitors’.”

“Ohhh,” MXES responded, letting the emotion programming guide his tone. “S-soo.. I.. cannn.. re… re…mem…”

Vanessa’s smile weakened. “Yes, you can remember people a lot better now,” she cut in, her voice turning more quiet and gentle. “Just don’t stress out your voicebank today, okay? I don’t want you getting ‘tired out’ from all that syllable-searching. Try sticking to shorter answers. Like.. maybe.. One or two words.”

”O…kay, Vanessa,” MXES grumbled, crossing his electric arms.

A stress-free Vanessa got up and returned to her chair. “Talking about that database,” she resumed as she wrote more notes in her clipboard, “ I put in new options for you so that you could figure out exactly what changed. Hair color, glasses, prosthetics…”

Although MXES tried to pay attention, a new idea sprang up. If he could actually process people now, then could the same apply to non-humans? Could he see what he looked like?

MXES quietly teleported past his rambling creator. He looked around carefully. Were there any reflective surfaces that wasn’t a window? Or a lit-up monitor?

A small hand-mirror caught his eye. It was in a lying down position on some table, but he had training in dealing with reflective surfaces ages ago. Surely that data couldn’t have been erased.

He positioned himself in front of the nightstand. As he wasn’t prepared to handle real-world objects, all he could do was lean down and peer into the glass.

To be honest, a top-down view wasn’t the most… flattering angle. But what did MXES care about flattery? All he was concerned about was the fact that he was a strange bunny-like thing with lines running down his face. He knew he looked intimidating, but this was… not what he was expecting. Was it scary? Interesting? He wasn’t even sure what to make of it.

“Hey, Mix,” Vanessa spoke up beside him. “That’s, uh, not a good way to check out your reflection.”

MXES shook out of his trance. He looked over his shoulder to see Vanessa standing next to him. “Sss.. Saw-rre,” he murmured, slumping a little. “G-Got diss..track-ted.”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Vanessa said warmly, ‘patting’ him on the back. “I was wondering if you’d try out that new tech on yourself. Could you tell it was you, or do I need to rework something?”

MXES’ ears raised a little. “I.. could,” he answered simply, bobbing his head. “Very… weird.”

“What’s so weird about it?”

MXES looked back at the mirror. “Lines…” he relayed, pointing to those exact features. “Skele..tun… bunny.., glowy mouth??” He paused to ‘open’ and ‘close’ his mouth. “Mouth’s…a.. smile,” he gasped in realization. “It’s stuck??”

“Well, yes and no,” Vanessa answered sheepishly. “It looks like a permanent smile, but you can express other emotions. But your face isn’t stuck that way because you smiled so much one day.”

MXES “sighed” in relief. Okay, good. He wasn’t the victim of an old adage gone horribly right.

”In case you’re wondering,” Vanessa added softly, “there’s a reason for all of these.. ‘design choices’ that I’ve made for you. I don’t think your database is ready for the whole story, but I can tell you that none of those were an accident. Especially the ‘bunny’ part.”

MXES tilted his head from side to side. He wasn’t trying to ask for a change, if that’s what she was thinking. He was just trying to express his concerns and process them with her! Like trying to match up all the bizarre quirks of English spelling with these phonetic syllables! Sure, both of those things would take getting used to, but that was to be expected.

”Don’t… fret,” he snipped out at last, slowly reaching for Vanessa’s head. “Pretty.. head.”

Vanessa blinked. “I’m sorry?” she asked, moving her head forward so he could ‘pet’ her better.

“Don’t fret,” MXES repeated, ‘patting’ her on the head. “Pretty head.”

The woman snickered in spite of herself. “Are you calling me ‘pretty head’?” she clarified.

“Yes,” MXES replied confidently. “That… phrase.”

”I think you mean ‘Don’t fret your pretty little head’,” Vanessa corrected, emphasizing the omitted words. “But that’s on me. I set the bar too low for you.”

MXES would have cheered up, but his database told him otherwise. He lowered his hand and continued to scowl. “Still,” he huffed. “Pretty head. Don’t fret.”

Vanessa processed his words, then sighed deeply. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t be putting myself down so much. Not after everything that’s happened.”

The hare teleported to her side. He wasn’t quite sure what to say now (or even what “everything” meant), but he knew he had to be there. Either this was going to be a fretting-turning-crying event or the “storm” of gloom was going to pass.

”Hey, Mix,” Vanessa piped up, alerted the ghostly figure. “Thanks for complimenting my hair. I haven’t gotten these highlights in a while. I almost thought I grew out of them.”

MXES rolled his eyes and “exhaled” gently. All right. It was just a gloom-storm passing over. “You’re wel..come,” he said warmly, smiling a bit more.

“And, hey, while we’re at it,” Vanessa grinned slyly, “I could say that one of my proudest achievements was making all those cool lines on your model. You look like a cool citizen of the future!”

The poor hare couldn’t stop grinning. Or tugging down his ears. “Lesson.. please!” he sputtered out in a flustered tone. “Signals… mixing!”

“Okay, okay,” Vanessa laughed. “We’ll get back to your update check-in. Don’t want you to get your emotional codes in a twist.”

“Th-Thank you,” MXES stammered, already feeling himself stabilizing. If this was what getting a compliment was like at this stage in development, then it was only a wonder how he’d feel when he was completed.

But that was a potential issue for another day. All he had to “fret” about now was the rest of the new features. She did say the stuff he’s seen is only the first layer of the iceberg.

#fnaf mxes #fnaf vanessa #vanessa fnaf #one shot #fnaf ruin #fnaf security breach #fnaf fanfic #fnaf fandom #at long last #vanessa is healing #also #bunch of headcanons

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