#my inbox gets flooded every day with them LOL

[meltypen]

Do you take comms? I ask because you drawing asks all the time and I feel bad for asking 😭

nah, i do not. also, there's no need to feel bad because i actually reject the majority of requests i receive. i just draw the ones i think would be fun. :^)

[dolcecherub]

off the record ‧͙⁺˚*･☾

♡ pairing: oscar piastri x media manager!reader

♡ tags: social media manager reader, lowkey tension, deadpan oscar, pining oscar, frustrated reader lol, happy ending, fluff

♡ yap: this was inspired by this fic here by the lovely @papayainsectorone, they wrote this dynamic so well and the smut is *chefs kiss* i was craving more build up so here's my take on it :) honestly wasn't expecting to have another fic out so soon but i'm in the writing mood, so expect maybe some smut soon lol

♡ word count: 4.6k

Being Oscar Piastri’s social media manager sounded a hell of a lot cooler on paper.

The reality? A full-time position in pure damage control and editing. 

It wasn’t that Oscar was a bad guy, quite the opposite actually. He was annoyingly likable. But in an industry of personalities so polished you could see your reflections in them, Oscar was… well, Oscar. Dry-humoured, mostly straight-faced, foreign with emojis aside from the simple smiley face. Not even a golden retriever puppy in a McLaren hoodie could crack a big smile from the man.

You had tried everything and it was quite easy to say that the last few months had been hell. 

You wrote him fun captions, you scheduled posts, and briefed him before interviews. And yet he would still deadpan his way through as many interactions as he possibly could, switching up your pre-written captions for three-word ones. If you were lucky, maybe he’d add a song to it. 

Once, in a fatal attempt, you had practically begged Oscar to do a TikTok trend. His response?

“I’d rather crash into a barrier and get stuck in a gravel trap.”

Still, you kept at it. You filtered photos, crafted witty tweets and captions, and edited videos for TikTok, so he at least looked 20% more charming and 100% engaged. But Oscar remained the same, calm, collected, and chronically unbothered. 

It drove you crazy, and some part of you was convinced Oscar found joy in riling you up, the tension spiralling between you two. 

Until one day, you just…stopped.

It was after an interview in which Oscar said, “Yeah, the car was good,” followed by a few simple remarks about the overall race and the car, even though you had specifically coached him on how to highlight the team’s efforts and the new upgrades. You sat there, watching the video on your laptop, the PR director sending you questioning looks. Something in you just gave up.

If Oscar didn’t care, why should you?

This time, instead of doubling down and trying harder to fix it, you shifted gears. 

You kept running the socials, kept building out the calendar, kept coordinating cross-posts with sponsors. You threw yourself into season promos for some rookies, drafted killer captions for Lando (who did, in fact, appreciate them, often adding his own flair as well). Hell, you even helped restructure the entire engagement strategy for McLaren’s YouTube account. Your inbox was still flooded, deadlines still to be met. You were still good at your job, just focusing your attention elsewhere rather than bending over backwards for Oscar. 

You still gave him the essentials. Posted his podium shots with a simple caption fit for him, uploaded interview clips without the usual fun editing. You stopped chasing him for quotes and thoughts, and generally stopped fighting for moments he didn’t want to give.

And weirdly enough, it all kept going. 

Oscar didn’t change, of course, the fans still adored him, his dry wit, his blank expressions, the accidental charisma of someone who didn’t try at all, or didn’t have to. People enjoyed his slightly sarcastic comments post-race, and so what if his metrics slightly dipped? It’s not like he necessarily noticed it. 

You still saw him every day, still worked around him, still made space for him on the schedule, but not in your head. Not in that quiet, careful way you used to. Perhaps you had gotten too close, you reeled. No more last-minute efforts to make him sound polished, no more staying late to re-edit his posts, not when you had better things to do for people who truly cared. 

And if he noticed the shift, the quiet space you left where your effort used to live, he didn’t say a word. Which, somehow, was more than enough. 

✧༺♥༻∞

It was a Thursday morning, and everything had been off.

You were running late, which, truthfully, rarely happened. A sponsor call had run longer than it should’ve, your usual transportation route taking a detour you were unaware of, and your badge wouldn’t scan at the main paddock gate. By the time you finally walked through the McLaren hospitality, your hair had been haphazardly clipped up, your phone was at 3%, and your brain was somewhere between caffeine withdrawal and a full-on system crash. 

You exhaled sharply, finally getting a moment to catch your breath. You pulled open the media schedule to hopefully catch up before the day truly began, your head slightly spinning as you barely noticed the figure leaning against the wall. 

Oscar.

He was dressed in team gear, the orange always sitting well with his skin tone as he had a basic black ball cap on and some shorts, his bag slung over his shoulder with a hand in his pocket. He looked casual, calm. 

As per usual. 

His other hand held out something to you as he walked closer. A coffee cup.

You looked up at him curiously, head tilting slightly as you lowered your tablet. “What’s this?” 

“Coffee,” he said simply. “Obviously.” 

You eyed it, seeing your name written on the side as your jaw twitched at his tone.

“...What kind of coffee?” You asked, his eyes roaming your face.

“Extra hot. Two sugars. Oat milk and a shot of caramel.” He said like it was nothing, as if he hadn’t just recited your exact order back to you, heart stammering against your chest. 

You brought your hand up, taking it from him, fingers brushing his slightly. Your jaw nearly dropped with shock. Why hadn’t he listened like this during pre-interview briefings? 

It was still warm to hold, still fresh. The lid was secured the way you always preferred, double cups, the lid pressed down tight with no drips at the seam.

You searched his face for expressions, “You got this for me?” You asked, albeit a silly question.

Oscar shrugged, arms crossing against his chest, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes straying from yours. “You’re usually here earlier. Figured you didn’t have time to stop for one.” He said as if it meant nothing.

A beat passed, your heart skipping that exact beat. 

You swallowed. “I didn’t.”

Another pause, your face flushing slightly. 

“Thank you,” You said finally, voice far quieter than before. 

He nodded, not smug, just acknowledging, as if that was the end of it. As if he hadn’t just undone a week’s worth of you convincing yourself that he didn’t notice you slipping away. 

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and added, “I wasn’t sure if it was oat or almond. Figured it was oat, you seem like it.”

You blinked, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “Why?”

He gave you the faintest smirk, “Almond milk people always have something to prove.” He joked. 

You huffed, surprised by the small, shaky breath of laughter it pulled out of you. Perhaps you did understand the population’s obsession with him. 

Oscar turned to leave, no further acknowledgement, no comment on your attire or the lack of polish to your appearance this morning, no follow-up. Just the quietest moment between you two, the coffee in your hand warming your palm cozily, his smirk setting your pulse to quicken. 

He didn’t look back. 

Although it didn’t matter, because you were already watching him go, heart quietly pounding.

So he did notice. 

Even when you thought he didn’t. 

✧༺♥༻∞

A few weeks had passed, and you were getting yourself ready for the following race weekend. The past few weeks had been the same, doing more for others to keep yourself while keeping Oscar entertained with the bare minimum. 

Now, it started with a headache.

Then came the chills, the sore throat, the kind of fatigue that sank into your bones like wet cement, weighing you down impossibly. You told yourself it was nothing, stress maybe, but by the time the race weekend rolled around, you couldn’t even sit up without your head spinning. 

You did what you had to. You called in sick, feeling bad, although you had not done so before while working with the team.

Just one day, you told yourself. Just one race day. The team could surely handle it, you had pre-scheduled most of the posts anyway, as well as sending over any notes and ideas you had to the rest of the team to follow. And it wasn’t like Oscar would notice. He barely spoke to you when you were there anyway. 

So you stayed in your hotel room, curtains drawn, laptop closed, and haphazardly thrown onto the armchair next to the bed. You had wrapped yourself in two blankets, your body settled with a chill that wouldn’t leave. You drifted in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of your phone buzzing a few times, your body far too sleepy to pay attention, let alone respond. 

Around 6 p.m., there was a knock on the door. 

You blinked, trying to figure out if it was in your room or a distant noise in the hall. You felt your stomach clench, mostly empty aside from a few pieces of toast from earlier in the afternoon and water. 

Another knock sounded on the door. Firmer this time, followed by silence. 

You dragged yourself up, wincing as the floor spun. You brushed your hair down slightly and wiped away any sleep from your eyes, your body shivering from the sudden chill after emerging from your blankets. You cracked the door open slowly, expecting the hotel staff, perhaps with a message from the team or even room service. 

It was neither.

Oscar stood in front of you, simply dressed in a quarter zip and some jeans, his hair slightly tousled. He still looked calm, a medium sized brown paper bag in one hand and a plastic container in the other. You froze, so did he, though only for a second, just enough to make you think he hadn’t expected you to actually open the door. 

“Hi,” you croaked, your throat aching and sore, raw from not speaking all day. 

“You’ve sure seen better days, hm?,” he asked rhetorically, face deadpan.

You raised a brow, now feeling slightly embarrassed at the state he was seeing you in as you shamefully brushed your messy hair down as well as possible. “Thanks…”

“I meant it in a supportive way.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the doorway, suddenly feeling fairly light headed again, simply too tired to question what the hell was going on. “Why are you here?”

He shifted the bag in his hand, fixing his grip, eyes not meeting yours. “You didn’t show up today. You don’t not show up.”

You swallowed sorely, “I texted the team, told them I was sick.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone quiet, “but you didn’t text me.” 

That shut you up.

Oscar cleared his throat, holding out the plastic container filled with soup. “It’s the one you always get when it’s cold, the one from the random organic store down the street. You know, the one with the weird green logo.” 

Your chest tightened, his eyes trailing back up to yours. 

“And I brought some ginger tea bags. And the gummy vitamins you always hoard in the media van.” 

You stared at the bag in his hand, and then back up at him, his eyes dark, cheeks slightly pink, surely from being in the sun all day. “You walked across the paddock to get those?” 

“They deliver. I’m not that heroic.” He joked. You knew as a matter of fact that they didn’t deliver, you had most definitely asked more than once before, but you supposed Oscar didn’t want to admit that he had done that for you.

You exhaled a half-laugh, quiet, slightly painful and unsteady. 

Oscar looked at you, no smirk, no blank stare. Just something softer, eyes relaxed, something he could barely hold back. 

“Can I come in?” he asked after a pause, “Just to make sure you don’t choke on soup or something.” He teased.

You stepped aside, far too tired to joke and too tired to pretend like you didn’t want to be taken care of. 

He stepped in, toeing off his shoes, then settling the soup and the bag on the table tucked in the hotel corner. You crawled back into bed, body immediately collapsing into the fluffed sheets as you sniffled. 

He walked around filling the room’s small kettle with some water before putting it to boil and opening up the soup container before bringing it and a spoon to the bedside table. You sleepily watched him quietly move around the room with a sense of ease, your heart aching at his actions. Hearing the kettle click, he grabbed a mug, opened up the tea bag case and popped one in before pouring in some water. Settling that beside you on the table, too, he finally glanced at you. 

“Come on, sit up. At least eat some of the soup before you fall asleep,” Oscar spoke, voice soft and convincing as he settled down into the armchair next to the bed, making sure to move your laptop before sitting. 

Pushing yourself up, you sat against the headboard, head spinning again. He passed you the soup, simply watching you eat as much as you could without feeling sick. Neither of you said anything, Oscar simply ensuring you were okay, passing you a napkin whenever you needed it.

Placing the empty container down on the bedside table, you wiped your sleeve across your mouth before sliding back down into bed. Oscar stood up, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders when you shifted with a wince as your eyes fluttered shut. His fingers brushed over your arm as he did, then simply brushing a few hairs off your forehead, your body shivering, not from the chill this time but rather from his touch. 

“I’m fine,” you spoke, voice extremely rough but quiet. 

He didn’t say anything. Just sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, hands now folded in his lap, his eyes flickering between you and the headboard as if he was doing anything to stop himself from looking at you for too long. 

You were the one to break the silence, eyes still shut. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” he said. You felt your breath catch for a second, mind drifting slowly to sleep.

“Thank you, Osc.” You mumbled quietly, words slurring from fatigue. 

He hadn’t said anything after that. And so what if his gaze lingered a bit too long before he left that night? You would be none the wiser, head misty with sleep.

✧༺♥༻∞

Weeks later, at the start of a triple header, everything felt back to normal. Too normal. It grated your nerves more than ever.

Oscar was back to his usual self, low-effort captions, brushing off most interview questions with short answers, and ignoring half of your content ideas. After you had thought you’d made at least some progress, you found yourself rubbing your temple in frustration after he refused to film a “Pre-race ritual” TikTok a few sponsors had requested. 

You found him in the garage, talking to a mechanic, most likely about race strats. If only he spoke to the media with such enthusiasm. You walked towards him angrily, your tablet hanging at your fingertips, face flushed with anger. 

“Oscar, may I speak with you, please?” You asked, tone stern and straight to the point. 

His brows knitted together with confusion, the mechanic patting his arm twice before walking away. He tilted his head, following behind you as you led him to a meeting room. You closed the door, setting the tablet down on the desk before turning back to face Oscar, arms crossing angrily against your chest. You leaned back against the desk, staring him down momentarily before speaking.

“Why do you make this so hard?” You huffed, voice cracking slightly. You hate that it cracked.

“Make what hard?” He asked, mirroring your body language.

“This!” You said waving your arms around for emphasis. “Your image, your career. I bust my ass trying to make you look even remotely engaged in sponsorships and media day, and yet you act like you’re allergic to enthusiasm.” You ramble exasperatedly, catching your breath before you continue. “And then- then you go and do these little things, like buying me coffee or taking care of me when I’m sick. I’m not stupid Oscar, I know you’re not oblivious. You notice things, you care. But you pretend like you don’t and it’s… infuriating.”

He was quiet, not blinking, eyes still holding your gaze. He walked closer, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face before returning to his crossed-arm position, just now closer to you. Your heart pounded at his proximity. 

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating almost. 

“I don’t let people see it because once they do, they expect more. They expect a reaction every time a little blip happens. And I’m not good at more.”

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly. 

“I didn’t grow up under the impression of needing to be liked.” He spoke, eyes searching yours. “I wanted to drive. I wanted to win. But now, I’ve got people picking apart every expression, every quote, hell everything I don’t say. And you-you come into my life like this force to be reckoned with. You clean up my messes, making me look far better than I am. And it terrifies me.” He admitted truthfully.

He exhaled as though he hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it was too late now. 

“You make me want to try. Even though I don’t know how. And I hate that I let you do everything alone, I’m sorry I don’t cooperate more. I hate that I don’t say thank you when I should. I hate that I barely show what I feel because I’m scared that once I do, it’ll matter too much. That people will always want that, and I won’t be able to deliver.” Oscar spoke frantically.

Your breath caught, heart aching for being mean to him originally. “Oscar…” 

He continued, “I noticed when you stopped trying so hard,” He admitted, voice softer as he took a step closer. “And it scared the shit out of me because I thought that meant you were done. That I had pushed you too far. And if I lost you…I don’t know what I’d do.” 

And for the first time, you felt as though Oscar hadn’t just meant in terms of work. 

You stood still, heart hammering against your ribs. 

He stepped forward once more, practically caging you against the desk and himself. 

“I brought you coffee because I know you can barely function without it in the morning. I remember your order because you complained about the barista using a shot of vanilla instead of caramel once. I remember you like it extra hot because it keeps your hands warm while you’re out. I brought you soup because I know you hate being alone when you’re sick. I pay attention, even if I don’t always know what to say, but I do care, okay? Far more than I’ve let on.” He expressed, eyes fluttering across your face. “Maybe more than I should.” He confessed quietly, cheeks lightly flushing.

You stared at him, awestruck. The boy who never flinched on track, now looking completely exposed. 

You reached a hand towards him, pulling them away from his chest and placing them next to you on the desk, his body leaning slightly forward. 

And in a quiet, breaking voice, you said, “Then say it, tell me.” You plead.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. 

“I care about you,” his voice hoarse with emotion. “Not just because you make my life easier, even if I don’t make yours any easier,” he joked with a sarcastic huff before continuing. “Not just because you’re brilliant at your job. Because I care about you. And I think I’ve been falling for you since the day you yelled at me for skipping media day.” 

The silence returned, your body flushing at the confession and your breath hitched slightly. 

“You make me want to be better. Not just for the press. For you. Because when you’re around, I don’t feel like some machine for the media to chew up and spit out. I feel like maybe I’m someone worth showing up for.” He confessed, arms encaging you against the desk as his head leaned down slightly. 

Then quieter, “I know I’ve been difficult. I don’t say enough, but I’m saying it now. I care, I care about you. I want you here. Not because you fix things, but because I love having you around.” He reiterated, you felt as though you hadn’t spoken in ages, none of the right words coming to mind.

Your throat tightened. 

And suddenly, the frustration, the exhaustion, the weeks worth of wondering if he even noticed you slipping away, all cracked away and spilled into something else. 

A knock on the door interrupted your moment as you broke away. He took a step back, head whipping towards the door as your breath caught up to you. 

Work awaited you. 

✧༺♥༻∞

Days had passed, the paddock was winding down for the night.

You had migrated from your desk to one of the couches in the corner of the hospitality unit, half-heartedly editing clips from Oscar’s earlier media rounds to hopefully post the following morning. Your headphones sat around your neck, untouched. The screen glowed, but your eyes glazed over somewhere between the third and fourth timestamp. 

You hadn’t talked about the confession since it happened, but your mind kept drifting back to him. The look on his face and the way his voice sounded. 

You’d both gone back to work like professionals. He gave more thoughtful answers during interviews. You polished his media presence like always, job slightly easier nowadays. But under every interaction with him sat this new charged silence, one that said something happened and neither of you had figured out what it meant yet. 

Then came a quiet knock from the doorframe. 

Oscar.

He wasn’t in race gear anymore, not even team gear, just a hoodie, slightly damp at the sleeves, his hair tousled from his post-session shower. He looked…normal, cozy if you would. Not a headline, or a race statistic, or a social media puzzle for people to pick apart.

Just him. 

“You busy?” He asked, walking closer anyway.

“A little,” you blinked, watching him intently. 

He stepped closer, sitting on the couch across from you, silent for a moment, before wordlessly placing a bag on the table between you, sliding it towards you.

Your brows furrowed curiously, “What is this?”

“Some takeout, I figured you hadn’t eaten in a while since most places on the track are closed by now. It’s the fried rice you like and some of those weird seaweed chips you eat when you’re stressed.” He explained, cheeks flushing slightly pink.

You paused, still in awe of the fact that he noticed. “You remembered.” you spoke, leaning forward to untie the bag and pulling out the bag of chips, a soft smile crossing your face.

He didn’t look at you, eyes wandering the room. “It wasn’t hard.” 

Your chest tightened. 

You pushed your laptop aside, slowly looking at him. There was something in the way his shoulders tensed, the slight crease in his brow. As though he was trying to say something without saying it too fast, or too wrong. 

“Oscar-”

“I keep thinking about what you said. About how you care and how I didn’t give you anything back.” He swallowed thickly. Your breath caught but you stayed quiet. 

He looked up at you then, and for once he didn’t look guarded or sarcastic. He looked nervous. 

“I kept thinking if I acted like I didn’t need anyone, I couldn’t lose anything. But I think maybe I lost a little bit of you already, and fuck, I don’t want to keep doing that.” 

You felt your eyes sting unexpectedly as you blinked quickly. 

“I don’t expect you to fix me up or stay just because I suddenly decided to show up. But I meant it all. I care. About all of it, about you. I was worried if I said the wrong thing, I’d ruin the only good thing I actually gave a shit about.” 

“I’ve been trying to show it,” he went on, voice tighter now. “In the ways I can, but I don’t know if it’s enough. And it’s driving me fucking insane wondering if I’ve missed my chance” 

Your heart beat a little too loudly in your chest.

He ran a stressed hand through his hair, “I keep thinking about how close I could’ve been to losing you. It’s not just about work, it never has been.” His eyes met yours, raw and serious. “It’s you. I don’t want to go through another race weekend without knowing if you’re mine. If this thing between us is real or if I’ve just been imagining it.”

The room went still.

You stood slowly, every nerve in your body on fire, the air between you wound so tight it could snap. 

“You didn’t miss your chance,” you said, your voice barely a breath. You walked towards him, now standing next to him sat on the couch, within arm’s reach.

A pause, his jaw clenching as though something had finally broken. 

He reached for you, pulling you closer with a hand on your waist as he stood up. Oscar towered over you now, arms snaking around you comfortably as your hands came up to rest on his chest.

He leaned down, breath fanning your face as his nose nudged yours. Then, he kissed you. Lips landing on yours like they had waited months. 

Tension bled out of both of you like a flood. His mouth was warm and searching, far too much restraint pent up as his teeth gnashed teasingly against your bottom lip. You stood slightly on your tiptoes to reach him better, a hand sliding up from his chest into his hair, tugging lightly as he groaned. 

It was far from perfect, you stumbled slightly unbalanced as his hands shook against your hip, but it was real. Honest and a little desperate. You slid your tongue against Oscar’s lip, his own poking out to meet yours. He licked into your mouth, hand tightening against your hip as you whined. 

You pulled back slightly, nose still pressed against his breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since my second week on the job,” You admitted, lips curling into a smile. 

He huffed a soft laugh. “Took me that long to stop pretending I didn’t”

You smiled, brushing your fingers along the curve of his neck, lightly scratching the hair at the nape of his neck as he shivered. “So what now?”

“Now I stop pretending, full stop.” He spoke, no hesitation. “And I get to flirt with my media manager.” He joked, a small smirk settling on his face. 

You giggled softly, feeling the weight of that promise, simple and sincere, You leaned into him, body warming at his words. 

“Let me take you home,” He spoke softly, mouth near your ear as he whispered as if trying to keep it a secret between you two. 

You shuddered at his words, biting your lip before facing him again. You nodded slowly at him, eyes lighting with excitement. He smiled at you sweetly, placing another small kiss on your lips before letting you go to pack up. 

Everything seemed to be exactly where it was meant to be, and you felt your heart settle happily at how the night turned out.

✧༺♥༻∞

[rafesangelita]

♡ RAFEANGELITA’S 11k CELEBRATION

i’ll keep this very short and simple because if not i know i could go on forever lol. but wow!! i can’t believe we’ve made it this far. if someone told me that i’d have a blog that reached heights like this when i was only a reader, i would’ve never believed them. i’ve gone through so much on and off of this site but talking to my mooties @nemesyaaa and @rafesheaven along with seeing the endless amounts of support and love on my work has truly made me so happy. the good outweighs the bad on here, and for that i’m so thankful. please know that i don’t take any of you for granted, and i appreciate every single one of you immensely. i hope all of you can take this celebration and perceive it as a token of my appreciation <3 keep reading below for further details!

NOTE : this celebration officially starts on may 1st, and ends may 31st. you can send in your requests starting now up until the end date! i will most likely be posting multiple times a day so that i could try my best in getting out everyone’s requests. please keep in mind that my inbox will most likely be flooded, so while i will try my absolute best to answer every request, i might miss a few so all i ask is that you have patience with me as i do this. my celebration posts might extend past the end date period, but only to get out the last bit of requests!

RULES : while i am comfortable writing dark content, the only thing i will not write is incest. it’s a very controversial topic and i would much rather write my content peacefully than getting backlash and/or hate! i also do not write anything having to do with scat and vomit so please keep that in mind as well <3

GUIDELINES : you can send multiple requests! when you send in a request please be sure to follow the layout guide i provided in the ‘example’ section underneath each option you could choose from! and please send in the corresponding emoji so i know what kind of request you’re making! please know that rafe, john b, pope, and jj are all eligible for your requests!

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍡┊request any obx boy + kink

[ example : frat!rafe + daddy kink ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🐇┊ request an au with an obx boy and !reader of your choice (the !reader you request could be a new !reader and not one that i have an introduction for already)

[ example : criminal!rafe x spoiledgf!reader au ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍥┊send in a prompt of your choice and which au or pairing of mine you want me to write the fic for (and please specify if you want it to be smutty, fluffy, or angsty)

[ example : “we aren’t supposed to be doing this.” + bbf!rafe + smut ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍵┊media! request a moodboard for any !reader, au, or any visualization you may be curious about! (this could be a week of outfits, ootd’s, what the !readers would be if they were ___ )

[ examples : bitchy!kook!reader moodboard, sheriff!rafe x farmer’s!daughter!reader moodboard, what is pogue!sweetheart!reader wearing today?, a week of outfits for bambi!reader, what would the !readers be if they were foods/desserts? ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🥞┊send in a p!link and i’ll write a drabble for it (only x links please, i will not be opening any third party porn sites, thank you! also please specify which obx boy you want me to write the drabble for)

[ example: *link* + bsf!rafe ]

[d1s1ntegrated]

bae i’m BEGGING for more nasty freak dabi, shits got me acting up i swearrrr! honestly i’m not in ask box often so i don’t have anything in mind for you- but i’m in love with how you write his character!!! 🪐🪐

ykw hell yeah. thank u for the ask 🪐!

love bites- dabi (t. todoroki)

4.6k words; crossposted to ao3

aka- five times dabi got off on blood, and one time he didn't.

cw: not beta read, apologies :,) ** afab reader, language, blood, s&m (mostly masochism), graphic depictions of wounds/violence, blood kink, gross stuff, menstruation/period sex, angst, hurt/comfort, awful medical practices lol, slight trigger warning for the last one im sorry.

**speaking of, if anyone wants to be a beta reader, do lmk. ---> also, message or inbox me to be added to a taglist!

~ inspo from this post ! and my previous insatiable dabi post :) ~

as always- nsfw 18+; MDNI <3

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

one: staples

"does that hurt?"

"it's fine, sweetheart, just a scratch." dabi wipes the blood from his chin as it trickles from the seam near his mouth. he looks at the blood staining his thumb with a disinterested shrug before dragging his tongue against it. he cracks a half-smile as you stare at him, eyes with concern. he brushes his long fingers against his seam again, finding the loose staple and yanking it from his skin with a small snap, causing you to flinch with a churning stomach.

"ack, fuck, warning next time please" you exclaim as you turn your back, feeling a bit squeamish from the visceral act.

his response is a tight laugh, and you turn back as he flicks the staple onto the floor. it lands with a soft "tink" near the door, you can still see the metal shine against the dingy wood of the bar.

his face drips blood steadily, leaving soft drops on his worn jeans. it creates the smallest little wet spot on his thigh, the color barely visible with the flickering bulb above you. he wipes his face again with a "tch", and stands up slowly, kicking the stool behind him.

"where are you going?" you follow behind him, and he turns into the bathroom and smacks his hand against the switch to turn the light on. he hums along with the old fluorescent as he rifles through the medicine cabinet, grabbing iodine and his stapler with an irritated huff as he shoves a new strip into the little gun. he sits on the toilet seat and nods to you, "gimme that". you grab the little bottle and open it, hissing under your breath as if this was hurting you more than him. it might've, actually, considering his reaction was nothing more than slightly inconvenienced.

the little dropper floods the nauseating orange liquid into his separated skin, and he breathily chuckles at your furrowed brows and grimacing mouth. he stands up, taking the bottle from you curtly as he examines the rest of the staples in the mirror.

"fuck, they're all fucked up," he drags his finger against the next two staples, moving them around. "see how they're loose?" he explains, looking at you in the mirror, "they gotta come out or they'll get infected too. like having too big of a piercing in a healed hole, more room for bacteria 'nd shit". he's actually really patient about explaining all of this to you, considering his typical short-nature and "ill do it myself" attitude.

you frown with uneasiness as he grabs the clamp from the cabinet and hands them to you. "you wanna do it for me this time?"

its not every day your boyfriend offers you to rip his face open, but it is sometimes. and it still never, ever gets easier. in a way, it's sweet. in a really off-putting, creepy, masochistic way. you've watched him fix them before, but you've never done it yourself. you take the clamp and he sits back down, placing a warm hand on your waist as you grab his face.

your own blood wasn't an issue. hell, most blood wasn't an issue. but this?

pressing the clamp against the first staple, you shake and squeeze your lips together. he reaches and steadies your hand with his own, laughing to himself. "easy now, don't fuck up or i'll lose this nice smile".

"yeah, like that's so reassuring. shut up and let me try". you take a deep breath, and with a quick grip, the staple bends and you're able to slide it out. the skin opens a bit more and your chest tightens, biting your tongue as you clamp the last one and snap it out quicker, trying to ignore the blood beginning to seep through the epidermis and into his cauterized scars. he doesn't even twitch at the sensation, and instead hands the iodine back to you.

"hey, not so bad. easy part's over" he exhales as you drop the antiseptic into the now-gushing hole in his cheek.

"don't make me staple your face, please" you laugh nervously as you wipe up the blood with a cotton pad, and he shrugs.

"get used to it, this happens a lot and you know it. consider it a sweet perk of dating a guy who really, really likes piercings."

"fuck you" you drag out the words as you pick up the stapler. you breathe in deeply as you press the small gun up to the loose skin.

"no, like i showed you, pinch the skin" he reminds you, and you groan again- this is the price you pay for fucking the hot emo.

"what a sick joke," you lightheartedly complain as you replay the many times you've watched him do this. pinch, press, snap.

as you clamp the first new piercing into his face, he lets out a soft hiss. you stop, but he shakes his head, "keep going".

the second staple leads him to grab onto your waist again, digging his fingers into your soft skin. "fuck" he whispers out, his eyes fluttering shut. looking down at him like this, you'd think he was getting the best head of his life.

the third staple reaps the most reward, as you clamp down for the last time, he moans out, his mouth falling slightly agape at the pinching sensation. you don't have time to put the stapler down as he pulls you into his lap, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip through a messy kiss.

"mmf, dabs, what the hell?" you ask through crazed kisses, and he tangles his fingers into your hair. "might just pull a few more out so you can patch me back up," he whispers hotly against your rising chest.

whatever had gotten into him that night was just the start of probably the best sex you'd ever have.

two: bar fight

"man, FUCK you," dabi spits at tomura's feet, he had gone too far. the rest of the league was silent now- and dabi's rising fury was palpable.

the two had gotten a little too drunk, a little too lippy with each other, and a little too excited about being drunk and lippy. it was a common occurrence as of late, what with the stress of the war on heroes just beginning to take flight, constantly being forced to hide, fight, and strategize. needless to say, the drinks were needed.

so when tomura said just the right thing at just the right time, dabi was quick to respond.

"fuck ME? fuck YOU, you two-toned, half-life, COD-zombie reject!"

it wasn't even the insult that got dabi to sink his fist into tomura's rosy cheek. it was the snickering from twice, sitting in the corner of the room.

tomura stumbles back a bit before recoiling and smashing his gloved fist into dabi's nose with a resounding cracking noise, sending the taller man back. he snaps back with a shake of his head, wiping the gushing blood from his face.

"boss or not, i'm gonna nuke your loser ass." dabi laughs before sprining himself onto tomura, the both of them falling to the floor in an array of punches and shouts.

this also wasn't an uncommon thing- they fought like brothers almost, complete with the awkward "making up" phase where one would nod to the other at the end and that'd be the best apology either could muster. but this fight was different, bloodier, more aggressive than normal. both were too shitfaced to even feel the pain, and neither of them were registering the damage they were inflicting. so you, tugging on twice's t-shirt, stood up and dragged the blond with you to break them up. twice, between panicking and cheering, managed to get a grip on tomura, yanking the spindly man off off dabi, who was laid out on the ground with a wide grin, blood staining his teeth and lips.

"cmon dabi," you pull him by his arms, stumbling a bit from his unsteadiness. you manage to drag him to your bedroom, kicking the door behind you before he collapses onto the bed, wiping his blood onto your duvet.

"oh fucks sake, i just washed those." you complain, holding a towel in your hands that you were gonna give to him. no need for that, i guess.

he returns your complaint with a hiccuping smile, a shit-eating grin that screams victory- you let him have it. though, honestly, no one really won.

"that little cumsock broke my nose" he says nasally as he pinches the bridge of his, yes, very crooked nose.

shaking you head, you pick the towel back up and hand it to him.

"bite this," you instruct, as you pinch his nose bridge. since the whole "stapling his face" incident, coupled with the various times you'd dealt with the rest of the league's wounds, sicknesses, etcetera, this was a breath in the wind for you. he bites into the fabric, giggling, and you count down. on one, you snap the bones back into place with a hilted inhale, and he moans gutturally through the towel. he gags on the thick material in his mouth and spits it out, and you take a clean corner to wipe up the blood.

"fuck me, come here" he says with a growl to his words as he yanks your shirt above your head. you could still smell and taste the blood on him, but as he mashes his lips on yours, it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

three: tattoo

"christ, you're digging into my skin" dabi sucks air in through his teeth. spinner curls his top lip in, his nostrils flaring as he takes his foot from the pedal of the machine.

"sorry," spinner dips the needle back into the ink cap while starting the machine back up. it's a shoddy little setup, found outside a parlor. there were originally no needles or ink, just the machine with the little case- it took months to scrounge up the money to finally buy ink and needles that weren't expired or deemed too unsafe by spinner to use for tattooing. for a few months, he'd been practicing on various citrus fruits and even himself, but the pigment of the ink wasn't right for his scales, and now he was on another search entirely.

other than that, spinner's artwork looked good. he had already tattooed jin a few times, here and there, with little scratchers on his forearms and ankles. but he needed more practice, and more canvases. tomura had agreed only on the condition that it was exactly what he designed- which was way out of spinner's league right now. some extravagant line work of tomura's well-loved family hands, complete with smoke shading. toga was told she would have to wait to turn 18, cause she wanted little chibi portraits of ochacko and izuku- not exactly a choice any of the league approved of. atsuhiro didn't want to "ruin his complexion" just yet. so many canvases, so little opportunity.

dabi, on the other hand- what bare skin he had left, he loved covering in ink. he already had a few self-given stick n' pokes, but when that machine came in, it was like heaven in metal form. dabi had decided, after night one, that there would be no more "normal" skin to deal with. bugs, symbols, words, you name it, and it had a place on his body. so when he asked shuichi to tattoo your initial on the left side of his chest, shuichi was elated.

the sting of the needle was nothing compared to the fire he felt burning for you.

he didn't tell you anything, so when you got back and dabi's laid out on the couch, shirtless, a shaky gecko hanging over him with a giant tattoo machine buzzing into your boyfriend's skin, safe to say you were at least curious. and when it was all said and done, and the raised skin beat with his heart, the initial of your name stood in a striking print.

"it's gonna bleed a bit, just don't bump it-" spinner starts, and dabi nods with a grin. "i know, lizard, ive got about a hundred already. looks good". his teeth shine, and much to spinner's chagrin, he nods and begins to clean, sparing dabi from the aftercare speech. the blood trickles down from the irritation, only about an inch down his chest. you reach forward, swiping it away with your thumb as he grins widely.

he reaches and pulls you forward, falling back onto the couch with you straddling him. he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each of your fingers and lapping the blood off your thumb gently. "you like it, baby?" he looks back down at the tattoo as it bleeds slowly, thanking spinner in that moment for having a nervous hand still.

he doesn't give you time to respond as his fingers coil into your hair, pressing warm lips to yours. "mm, mhm-" you nod through kisses, his tongue curling against yours. he grabs at your thighs, sliding his hands to your ass as he stands back up, carrying you down the hall.

he doesn't stop kissing you until your laid on his bed, the scent of cigarettes and his cologne puffing out of the mattress. through giggles and heavy breaths, he slips your shirt over your head and drags his tongue from your navel, to your chest, all the way to your jawline. he places himself between your legs, grinding into you with a shaky exhale.

he settles himself back onto his knees, reaching for the button of his jeans. as he undoes them, he palms at his cock through his clothes, all while watching you beneath him with full eyes.

the tattoo catches your eye again as you watch the little bead of blood again. you reach up and swipe at it again, placing your finger directly to your tongue as he watches. his breath hitches as he fights his jeans, yanking them down quickly to reveal himself, already throbbing and leaking.

you wrap a leg behind his back, pulling him into you to kiss him, his cock pressing against your belly. his kisses grow more sloppy and rough as he nips at your lips, getting off on the taste of his blood on them.

"you, you..." he bites your ear, tongue swirling just under the lobe against your neck, "beautiful," he grabs at your chest and thumbs at the hardened bud under your bra. "i love you, i love you," he mumbles as you pull your pants down, and he shoves them completely off and pulls your underwear to the side. "beautiful girl," he thrusts into his hand, rubbing at your clit with his tip. "that's why it's your name," he presses into you slowly, throwing his head back as you clench around him already. "no one else's—fuck". he bottoms out as he fills you completely, your body pulling him in.

you whimper as he begins thrusting in quick short movements. he pulls completely out, rubbing at your clit again with his tip, "need my pretty girls' cum all over me". he sucks on your collar as your head turns to the side, completely overtaken by the rushed heat coiling inside of you. he pulls your bra down, and bites down gently on your nipples as he continues to tease you. as you begin to tremble, he smiles euphorically, feeling your hips buck up. "c'mon, baby, cum for me" his voice rises a bit in desperation, and your eyes flutter closed as he brings you closer.

"dabi, 'm so close,"

he continues working his hand around his cock, making sure it doesn't lose contact with your overly-sensitive clit as you near break.

"i, fuck, dabi" you plead as your hands reach for him, nails dragging down his arm. he moans, a shiver coursing through him as you begin to whimper and whine.

as the tension finally snaps, and your body floods with the ripple of your orgasm, he shoves himself back into you without pause, completely filling you as your walls tighten around him, sending him over the edge. his cock sputters and the warmth coats inside of you as he throbs and twitches, the both of you shaking.

the next night, he found the tattoo of his first initial, a secret he shared with only you, on the inside of your wrist, freshly done by shuichi earlier that morning.

four: bite

"fuuuuck, yeah," dabi sucks in a breath through his teeth as you sink yours into his neck. "again, harder," he begs with his eyes rolled back.

"dabs, i dont want to hurt you-"

"i don't give a shit, you wanna bite me, babe? then make it mean somethin'".

the scarred man throws his head back with ecstasy, anticipating the pain. he coils warm fingers into your hair, holding your head close against him as he pumps slowly inside of you from below. the stretching pain has yet to subside, which is what led to the first bite. but now, dabi was insatiable- the sharp pinch of his skin between your canines had him twitching and moaning desperately into your hair.

you nip at him again, right against his jawline. his scars feel different against your tongue, but not at all bad, as you lick against his bone and taut, stapled skin.

he growls in your ear as you pull your mouth away from him, promptly yanking you into a rough kiss. he grabs at either side of your hips, nestling himself deeper inside of you now. between kisses, he pants, "i said, harder. you got softer".

you moan softly at his complaint, but shake your head with what little composure you had left. "m' teeth are sharp, dabi- hah- i don't wanna break skin,"

he licks against your earlobe and ruts into you again. "fucking do it then, break skin-" another thrust, increasing in force. "make me bleed. you wanna bite my staples, baby?" he offers to you with a curled, sadistic smile, "you wanna rip them out with your teeth?"

your lack of an answer isn't well-received, as he digs his nails into your thighs and grinds against your sopping core. your head feels so heavy, you have no choice to rest it on his shoulder as he gets faster.

as his speed increases, so does his breathing- and be begins to lose control inside of you, unable to pace himself against your already-sensitive walls.

he thrusts hard once, his hips jerking up with a snap. his tip shoves against your cervix, sending a shooting pain through your womb, up through your stomach. you shout with a squeak, and sink your teeth right above his clavicle, directly into his trapezius. you feel the pop of skin tearing in your mouth, blood flooding into your mouth. you had managed to get past scar tissue, leaving a couple of staples loose. he groans out loudly, and you feel his sticky seed as his fluttering moans match the tempo of his erratic ruts.

"fuck, fuck, oh my god, sweetheart, fuck, i can't stop," he borderline cries into your ear as you let the blood drip down your chin and into the back of your throat. you clench around him as he chokes out sobs, soaking his nearly-spent cock, whining out his name as you pull your mouth from him.

he grabs your face with a free hand as he keeps bouncing you, letting you ride out the euphoric feeling, and licks his blood from your mouth with a guttural moan.

"my fucking god, you're a freak," he sucks on your bottom lip before glancing to his shoulder. "you really fucked me up, baby". his words don't hurt, though- because you can feel him hardening inside of you again.

your face pales as you watch the blood drip down his arm, but he redirects your face to meet his.

"i'm fine. pain receptors are basically fried. it feels good," he kisses your nose gently as he holds you.

"do that again though, and i might make you have my babies".

five: cycle

his favorite week was here. you were clingier than usual, begging him to warm your abdomen with his hands, staying put through most of the night with his arms around you when you usually tossed and turned. you even had more of that bite he loved so much, that attitude that entranced him in the first place. and when you weren't basically on top of him, you were under him, as he fucked you slower than usual, softer.

he loved when you were on your period.

"let me fuck the pain away, baby," he coos in your ear as you step out of the shower with him, head spinning.

you let him take your hand, guiding you to his bed, where he had already neatly laid a towel down.

he picks you up and sets you down kindly, his wet hair dripping down his face. it was longer like this, the choppy layers set against his forehead. this was when he looked most beautiful, you thought, he seemed the most gentle this way.

he spreads your legs, tossing his towel to the floor. his cock slaps his tummy, with soft white curls trailing down to his shaft. his piercings glint in the dimmed streetlamps, the shitty blinds doing little to filter light.

he gets on his knees on the floor, positioning himself between your legs. he can smell the iron in your core, and his mouth waters at the mere idea.

you try to pull him away, face flushing with a deep red across your cheeks as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. "no, you don't have to, i'm bleeding, that's not-"

he responds by pressing his tongue against your clit, sliding it in between your folds, until he can bury it inside of you. the tip of his nose brushes your clit, and your head falls back with an exasperated gasp. your fingers coil into his black hair, his tongue working slowly as it flits inside of you.

he moans against your heat from the the drops of blood on his tongue, swallowing thankfully as his licks get more rapid, his tongue sharpening to a point against your sensitive clit.

he eats like a starved dog, lapping up every bit of you he can with a shaky grin and weak breaths. he loses all self control, as he fists his neglected cock with a rough hand, pumping it wildly as he drinks you like wine.

every flick of his tongue drives you closer and closer, and he tastes the arousal coating his bloodied tongue with a panting moan.

your hand clenches in his hair, and he speeds up, grazing his teeth and sucking at the bundle of nerves until you spill out into his willing mouth. he moans against your skin again, vibrating your twitching core, as he paints his hand in a thick layer of pearly cum, soft "ah"s falling from his pretty lips.

he stands slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"still cramping, love?" he asks with a smirk, and you can't respond coherently, your legs shaking like a cheap massage chair.

"tsk, tsk. i'll have to do more, hmm?" he lines himself up with your puffy lips and slips inside the warmth with a bloody grin.

six: rebirth

you hated when the league went out without you. although you had begged time and time again, touya would never let you leave. his excuse was that he needed someone to patch him up afterwards- but you knew it was more than that. he kept you safe, doing his best to not worry you too much.

tonight was different, though. you could feel it. when tomura disappeared for months, you could feel it, too. the league fell apart and came back together, patched up like quilts- nothing made sense, but it was still them. touya was still him, for the most part. but you knew it wouldn't last long.

the first sign was how much gentler he was with you. how slowly and passionately he'd kiss you, his usual hunger and brevity seemingly replaced with tenderness and prayer.

and sometimes late at night, when it was just you two awake, sprawled on a ratty mattress in the new hideout, he'd whisper everything he loved about you. he'd kiss your head, rub your back, and promise you that you would always be okay.

he came home later and later now, eyes sunken in and frame thinning out even more as the league in its entirety evolved. you'd catch him drinking and leaving a shot out for jin, and magne. you would wake up to find him crying, blood seeping from his scarred eyes in silence, placing an curse eternal on keigo, who had betrayed them all. his voice was angrier when he spoke with tomura. he was shorter with everyone but you.

everything was quieter, and you forced yourself to accept it with the knowledge that it would never be loud again.

touya came home as the sun began to rise, face stony and eyes a muted, pale blue. without a word, you follow him to the bathroom of the dingy base, med kit in hand.

he doesn't speak as you wipe the blood from his cheeks. he doesn't even hum as you re-align his skin and staple it.

he pulls his shirt from his skin, mouth pulled into a thin line as he has to tear it off his chest, the sticky, dried blood melding the material to his peeling skin.

"what happened?" you pour iodine over the wound, and he lolls his head back.

"don't worry about it". he keeps his words short, and you refill the medical stapler. you counted the missing ones- at least fourteen, leaving the underside of his chest separated, the subcutaneous layer showing boldly and viscerally. you peel the gloves back onto your hands as you hand him a towel to bite. he takes it slowly, but still makes no sound as you pinch the skin together.

you'd gotten used to nights like this one, too. nights where he'd go out without a whisper and return to you like a corpse, mutilated and broken. but he made not a single noise, not a grunt nor moan, as the last of the staples re-pierced his flesh with "cl-tck"s.

he presses a kiss to your lips slowly, and if feels like the end.

"i'm sorry", he whispers to you when its all said and done. "i'm sorry, and i love you. thank you for putting up with me all the time".

you brush his dirty hair out of his face and hold him close against you, blood staining the front of you, but you don't care. his warmth seeps under your cold skin and your eyes burn like his hands.

"how much longer do we have"? you choke out, your head tucked into his neck. he takes a slow breath.

"don't worry about that now. it's all good, baby. just us right now. nothing else. look at me," he keeps his breathing steady, and you do your best to maintain eye-contact through swollen, blurry blinks.

"no matter who i become, or what happens from here, i'll be yours," he taps his chest, the healed tattoo on his upper pec still dark and sharp. his lips curl softly, a weak attempt at genuineness. "i love you. i love you, and i didn't think i could love. i'll always love you, okay?"

the news stations the next day are littered with photos and clips of dabi, now touya to the whole world, his beautiful blue eyes burning bright with the same passion he looked at you with. and you wait for him to come home again, and every night after that.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[jarofstyles]

I don’t mean this as mean at all miss jars bc you’re my favorite fic author! But how come you don’t really interact as much anymore? I miss seeing posts every day 😔

Hi my sweet duckling

This made me sad 🥹 but I would say honestly, part of it is being busy and the other half is unfortunately that people have been fucking brutal.

It started a lot last year but having really rude asks (which we don’t post bc we have the power to delete them lol) but also people being extremely demanding. I’m not talking about ‘hey when are we getting an update for ___?’ I’m talking ‘you’re a shit person for not updating’ or literal floods of spam messages of what I assume to be the same person/people demanding updates of series. It makes me not want to write when people do that so I decided to take a little step back from interacting as much.

It isn’t because I am not grateful for every single person who reads because I am! I’m so happy that years later we have such amazing readers. But I felt like the more I talked to people the more people were being mean 🥲 and to be transparent my mental health has sucked. So if I can remove some of the pressure AKA people being mean over free writing (on here and I’m not referring to the patreon babies) and simply enjoy writing without it, I was gonna do that.

I’ve been trying to dip my toe back in and see how I feel. I know I post and dip and tbh I have considered stopping using tumblr and just doing patron and posting here once in a blue moon but I feel like providing for my readers who can’t afford it is more important than a few hate messages- I simply don’t open my inbox if I’m in a weird mood now. Sometimes that’s days or weeks.

This was a long winded answer but long story short, be nice to the authors on here and you will get results.

I’m sorry if it’s disappointing to you my lovebug, I love you endlessly

[foundnthestars]

UWAGH I FOUND YOUR ACCOUNT AGAIN!!!!!! YES!!!

Hi. Hello. Your fic is the fucking BEST. I read it earlier today and I'm definitely gonna go back and leave comments when I have more time to come up with proper words, but I wanted to come squeal about it sooner than that so! Here I am!

You write the conflict AMAZINGLY. Each and every chapter I was absolutely blown away by how *real* it felt. I especially loved the panic attack with Dipper and Stan, and how Stan was so out of his element but did his best anyway. I also just LOVE that Ford didn't want to restart the portal- and dismantled it instead. And the guilt, catching up to him in his nightmares like that, with him trying to come up with different ways to get them back while still tearing the portal apart.... it's so wonderfully done. All of it is so wonderfully done!!!!! Not to mention that brief glimpse of Mabel at home with her parents. I hope Ford doesn't send her back, but I've got a feeling that they're probably not going to give him a choice on the matter, lol.

I'm sorry for rambling AAAA I love your fic so much have an amazing day/night!!!!!!!!!!

HI! HELLO THERE! I'M SUPER GLAD YOU FOUND MY ACCOUNT TOO CAUSE YOU'RE MY FIRST EVER ASK!! :) fair warning, this might get long...

first off, wow, THANK YOU, this response made me smile and kick my feet — i just love that you love this fic. the response i've gotten on here in the past few days alone has been amazing and i love nothing more than talking about this thing with you guys. feel free to flood my inbox with asks or just come and ramble, seriously, you NEVER have to apologize for that i appreciate every word!

this au is conflict on top of conflict on top of conflict for the pineses. reverse drifting stars is really every member of the pines family stuck directly in their own personal nightmare scenario, and the uncertainty they all feel is bound to be at an all time high. i'm glad you think i'm portraying it well and that it feels realistic!

the panic attack scene was something i knew was coming the second i sat down and started writing. i'm a sucker for post-sock opera h/c fics, and i really wanted to explore dipper's post-possession trauma with stan as a witness. the kids really left him in the dark for a lot of things in canon, bill included, but a lot of dipper's walls will have to come down in ttwl. not just because of the lack of privacy when you're traveling tandem on unfamiliar planets, but because he doesn't have mabel by his side to help him through these things anymore. he's had his sister with him for every terrible thing that's happened since he was a baby, and now that support is just gone. that's where stan comes in, and they'll have to be that for each other. their bond once dipper starts trusting him and he loses some of that angst he's carrying around right now will be STRONG. super excited to continue exploring their dynamic.

(and, yeah, stan is extremely out of his element in that scene, but i imagine he's had some experience with panic attacks either from a younger ford or himself even, though i doubt he'd call it that if he was experiencing one.)

i'm also glad ford disassembling the portal felt accurate to the story. i struggled a bit with that decision, but i think ultimately it would play out like this, with ford battling with logic and emotion and his all-consuming desire to have a family and to belong. his nightmares are supposed to be the love he has for his brother rearing up and trying to tell him "hey! you're being incredibly selfish and stupid," but it really takes seeing mabel and seeing the true consequences of his actions reflected in her life for him to reconsider. though, without the oracle's foresight i think this would still be difficult for him. in ttwl, ford is banking on the fact that she's implied he will be the one to kill bill. his ego is very much still at play here.

and ohhh... the parents. i can do a whole post on them, and i probably will at some point. i've always wondered why people don't include them in drifting stars, though i understand it because they are a difficult work around. more on their reactions later, they'll be back! they handled things about as horribly as they could've but they love their kids very much and want what's best for them, and uh... let's just say the piedmont pines home isn't the greatest of places for a grieving child at the moment.

[brawnsleloenigmadoublesonic]

Sentinel freak here, feeling romantical so here you go <33

Sentinel who just HAS to be touching someone, a hand in their lower back, their shoulder, cradling their skull ect

He’d be slung around Optimus and Elita’s waists and shoulders, leaning on them and locking their hands together, swaying

In the Elite Guard he’s constantly holding or picking up the jettwins, absently rubbing bass’s shoulders and back in soothing motions, leaning closer and closer to ultra Magnus, giving Longarm a head/neck rub (it’s the same thing for poor shockwave’s disguise lmao)

1st thing Sentinel does when he meets Optimus again and Ultra Magnus ends all the formalities is hug that bitch - mechanics creaking, plating popping, pedes off the ground, hugging for minutes on end, rubbing their helms together like cats and interlocking servos, swaying closer together while Optimus’s team watches confused as fuck

Sentinel is captured by Decepticons and rapidly degrades without any physical touch - getting progressively more paranoid and jumpy, twitching at every sound, even if it’s his own engine running. It only comes to a stop after Megatron realizes what could be causing the issue and deciding to try it as a possible interrogation technique

Unlucky for Megatron, he only figured it out after Sentinel essentially when rabid - escaping after tearing megaton’s faceplates off, denting and damaging his chassis, and rapidly driving the fuck outta town

When Sentinel is found again, he’s blank behind his optics (near white with an abundance of anxious charge) and has to be forcefully held down and cuddled for his processor to reactivate

Maybe I’m a little touch starved. The only person who’s not disgusted at the idea of touching me/not too busy to hug me is ironically, busy. Maybe my mother left me with a few more issues then previously thought. Anyways, hope you’re doing well brawn, and that I’m not flooding you’re inbox beyond repair

I can stop, if need be. Don’t want to get annoying lol

Thank you for feeling romantical youee invited to the cuddle session next week at eventually when I say so mwah okay great love seeing you have good day more please maybe? Thanks head hurts

[pudding-parade]

No one sent me any sunflowers. YOU ALL SUCK!

..........That out of the way, to be completely clear: I am absolutely, positively joking. I just thought it would be funny to say that no one loves me. LOL Please do not flood my inbox with sunflowers. Seriously. That would stress me out because then I'd have to stress about answering them, publicly or privately, and having to worry about hurting other people's fee-fees if I answer publicly because I got something they didn't, and...ugh. Sometimes, I just get really tired of delicately tip-toeing around other people's fee-fees online.

That said, I am going to punish you all with Planet Zoo pics instead of Sims pics. Because I can, but mostly because that's what I've been playing lately. Like, obsessively. Like, spending many, many hours building a couple goddamn barns and neither of them is done yet. Not to mention prettying up the habitats, which also isn't near done. I bought the two newest DLCs that I didn't have yet and thought I'd build a zoo with the new Oceania maps and tiki scenery items and stuff...and I end up building a zoo in a snowy biome. Yeah. That's me. At least I'm going to put the new Tasmanian devils in the snowy zoo!

Though I do need to prepare some random legacy posts because my queue is just about done even though I've only been letting it post every other day or so. So, I probably need to play that save more, too, because I don't have many pics in the backlog, either.

My "work" is never done, apparently. LOL

[everyday-kinito]

Hello, and welcome to Everyday Kinito!

Basically exactly what it says on the tin. I post a new Kinito doodle every day (we'll see if I can hold myself to that, lol). Most of them will ideally be mine, but I also plan to reblog things I like.

You can just call me Mod, or The Mod, I don't really care. My pronouns are he/she.

Tags

Not Kinito - not a doodle of Kinito

Inbox - asks

The Fridge - reblogs

Kinitopet - sometimes I put this on drawings, but not a lot so I don't flood the tag

All of my own original art is free to use for noncommercial reasons without credit. Get permission from OP if it's a reblogged piece.

I hope you find my presence acceptable!

[creepys-things]

30: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don't want anyone to find:

31: Weirdest sexual act some has performed [or tried to perform] on/with you:

60: If you were the other sex for a day, what are five things you would do?

And! Bonus, are you into pet play? If so, would you prefer a puppy, kitty, or would you not care?

(I tried to check if these were asked, but I couldn't find them, lol)

-🫎

30: There really is not too much I am hiding. I am pretty open, and almost impossible to embarrass. I don’t have it any more but I did have a strap on my wife would use every now and then. That certainly lead to some awkward conversations.

31: I don’t know if this really counts too much but I one time had a FWB who liked when I stuffed her panties into her. She would want me to push them in and fuck her while stuffed, certainly a different one for sure.

60:

1.) Masturbate

2.) Find someone to rail me.

3.) Go lingerie shopping and have a naughty photo shoot.

4.) Make a tumblr and post a selfie and get the female experience of men flooding my inbox.

5.) Play with my boobs all the time.

Bonus: I do like pet play, and I very much prefer puppies over kitties. I dunno cats just don’t do it the same for me.

[strang3lov3]

A brief note on my inbox -

Because of the dark and taboo kinks I write about, a lot of people feel most comfortable engaging through anon. But it does mean my inbox gets flooded, oftentimes with hundreds of messages at a time. As I am writing this (4/13/25) it’s sitting at 360.

I read every single ask I get. I try, but I can't respond to all of them - and whether I answer something or not can depend on a lot (timing, emotional bandwidth, whether it's something I feel okay discussing publicly at that time or at all, etc). Sometimes I’m thinking about how to answer or I simply forget. Please don't take it personally if yours doesn't get a reply. It doesn’t mean I didn’t see it or that I don’t value it.

Also important! when you're on anon, I can't answer you privately. So what might feel like a one on one convo or a casual DM-esque chitchat is actually a public post, and I have to be mindful of tone, content, and boundaries because it’s not just you and I engaging. Sometimes I just don’t feel up to discussing certain things in that space.

Basically: keep sending stuff if you want to, bc I love hearing from you. Just don’t stress if it takes a while or if I don't respond 🩵 there are hundreds of you and one of me.

More inbox guidelines below. Please read.

Rules/Info:

When anons are on, I appreciate if you use an emoji identifier. This creates familiarity and makes me feel like I have friendly faces in my inbox. If anons are on, check my pinned post for taken emojis.

Please remember that I am human. A person. I’m not a machine, and I can’t pump out my writing at machine-pace. It’s not kind to immediately demand I write more of a character or a part two to a fic. I have a life outside of this. Remember that I’m human when you comment, reblog, message me, or hop in my inbox. I hate being treated like a vending machine or like I’m not a person with thoughts, feelings, responsibilities, and a life outside of this blog.

I’m open to pretty much all kinky requests, but my hard no’s are race play/hate speech, shit, underage, animals, and gore.

This blog is sex and kink positive - everything is on the table here, including noncon/incest and all other taboo kinks/pairings. I don’t believe in policing what kind of fiction people consume. If you’re not about this, my blog is not for you.

I block any and all negative discourse, bullying, kink shaming, slut shaming, fat shaming, hate, and general shittiness that I see. That can include the OP of a crappy post as well as those that have liked/rb’d it.

Frequently Asked Questions:

Why didn’t you answer my ask? - My inbox went from 30-200 in about the span of two weeks. That is a lot lol. It takes me time to comb the them all and answer each one thoughtfully, plus I need to space posting so I don’t clog up your dash.

Or, you likely sent an anon ask that mentioned something specific I didn’t feel comfortable displaying on my blog for whatever reason. And usually, it is not because I found your ask rude or offensive or anything like that. If I didn’t jive with it, I didn’t post it. It’s not personal at all.

Or tumblr ate the ask. I have a lot of inbox trouble. Or, if it was a request, I may just be saving it there for a rainy day. Or maybe I won’t get to it.

I’m sorry. I’m also a busy person with many things going on in my life and sometimes asks get lost to time. In a perfect world, I have all the time to answer each and every ask in a timely manner or fulfill every request I get but it’s not how it works for right now. I’m trying to figure out a better system for getting through them quickly.

If you want, you’re more than welcome to send a second ask. “Hey, just making sure you received my ask about ‘x’” or “I’m ‘x’ anon, did you see what I sent?” And I can keep you updated about whatever you sent :)

What should I send asks about? - My inbox is open for q&a’s, thots, requests, or if you just wanna tell me about something hot and horny. I love when you ask me things about my fics, when you tell me how they made you feel, or if you saw something that made you think of it. That stuff is priceless.

What shouldn’t I send you asks about? Complaints. Nagging, asking me when something is gonna get done. Insecurity/trauma dumping. I am flattered that I am a safe place for you to land, but emotionally it is a lot to be dumped on by somebody I don’t know - I also have my own shit I’m trying to work out and I cannot fix your problems. Dumping also puts me in a weird spot and I just don’t know how to respond to you.

Don’t demand I write something specific with no please or thank you or even an acknowledgment of my work. It makes me feel like a vending machine. Don’t come to my inbox to shit on other writers or works of fiction, either.

Do you take requests? - Depends! I’m more inclined to take requests from regular readers. If you read my work, you know what I like to write - age gap, power dynamics, dubcon, taboo kinks, masturbation, etc. A request that falls in line with that stuff is more likely to be written.

Personal hard no’s: race play/any hate speech or symbolism. Animals. Underage. Shit. Gore, most of the time. I’m working on being less squeamish about blood, but it’s a process. If you send a request I don’t fuck with, I don’t name and shame, I just delete and move on in that case. No hard feelings. We don’t all like the same things.

I’m unlikely to write full length fics you’ve requested, but I welcome ideas and concepts and stuff like that. Basically, if you send a super detailed ask essentially outlining the exact way you want me to write something, it won’t happen. I can’t riff with that. You know your vision more than I do.

Can you write a fic for ‘x’ body type/physical feature? - generally no. My readers will always remain physically undescribed so that all of my readers can see themselves in my work and nobody feels excluded. If I write something specific, it’ll be for me and it’ll be tagged appropriately. Because at the end of the day, even though take requests, I am writing for me and I share that writing with you.

What fics do you read? - check out my #strang3lov3 recs and #turbo rec tags!

Can you read my fic? - drop the link bby. Send an ask or message me.

On being inspired by my work - I think it’s great if my work inspired you, and I don’t necessarily need you to tag me in that case. You can if you want.

But please, do not write and post something based off of my specific fic (ex. my stepdaddy!roman or my dad!joel), especially without talking to me first. Those stories are personal to me and I want to be the one to write them.

This is not me saying don’t write stepdad, dad, dbf, etc - I don’t own those tropes, nor would I ever claim to. Write them if you want! I just want my versions of these characters to remain mine. Thank you for respecting this.

When will ___ fic be written? - No clue. I write for whatever motivates me at any given moment. I’m also a busy person with a life and responsibilities outside of this hobby.

Can you write a part two? - I’ll make it clear if a fic is part of a series but generally no, my one shots will not have follow ups. I appreciate the interest though.

What writing advice do you have? - Writing advice masterlist

What will happen in ___ fic? - I can’t tell you, but I’m happy you’re excited! Before writing, I outline my fics, one shots and series both, but a lot of times my ideas change.

Why aren’t you as active in ‘x’ fandom anymore?/Why don’t you write for this character as much? - I dunno. I might’ve grown out of it. I might’ve gotten tired of the culture surrounding it. Maybe the fandom itself isn’t active anymore.

Why am I blocked? - because I saw you posting or positively engaging with a post with a bad take, usually. These posts are usually policing or judging what I or others post, kink shaming, being hateful, etc. It doesn’t matter how it’s posted - whether it’s a comment left on my post or another blog’s, a like, someone being hateful in an inbox, mine or another’s: you’re gonna be blocked.

And - if you are engaging with any post on any confessions blog, I will block you. By engaging with these blogs, which are made to circumvent writers filtering out hate on their own blogs, spread rumors, and *hurt* people - yes, real fucking people - you are telling me that you do not respect me or any writer or a peaceful fandom space, and so you are not welcome here.

Long story short, if you rub me wrong, you’re blocked.

Why do you post pics of black cats at the bottom of your fics? - Those are my babies and I wanna share them with you! You can’t always tell unless they’re together in the same pic but yes, there’s two. I talk a lot about them. If you look at the tags #gizmo , #jojo , and #gizmo and jojo you can learn all about the little guys.

How do you tell your cats apart? - it’s not always evident in photos but they are totally different sizes. Gizmo is chunky and big, Jojo is scrawny. Behavior wise, they act completely different from each other. Jojo is very timid, gentle, and patient, but Gizmo is kind of a disaster of a cat. Very clumsy, very noisy, very troublesome. But he’s a lover. They both are.

[selfcarecap]

Hii !! Yes I have many more tests. I probably won’t update every time bc the amount I have, your inbox would be flooded. Good luck on the editing of your paper !! I’m getting the vibes that you’re gonna get 110% on it for sure. I really need to get my ass to the theater. I know everything that happens in Deadpool bc of spoilers and family members explaining it, but I have to see it myself 🙈. And it’s Labor Day tomorrow, I’m from the US. I’m pretty positive it’s a national holiday so almost everyone has the day off on Monday (thank god) 😭. I’ll talk to you again soooon 💗

<3

Wth sorry I thought I replied to this😭 yes lmao dw you don’t have to update me every time but just know i’m wishing you good luck for all of them😌 and thank youu I forgot to do it yesterday ngl but I’ll submit it today lol. And yesss you have to watch it😩 I’m watching it again w a friend idk if I said that already but I’m so excited for it, I really don’t remember the last time I watched a film three times at the cinema. Hope you had a good holiday <3333

[m1ckeyb3rry]

DHSHSH sorry if it seems like I’m blowing up your inbox I fr just have shit memory…the way that I forget to add my anti-forgetting measure smh…I always end up leaving my notes open and then when I go back to use it to jot down something else it’s left on what I last wrote and I saw the ask and was like “wait a minute….” LMAO but omg the Mira rizz at it again…I’m glad you’re okay though??? That sounds really crazy LMAO DHSJSH bfb Karasu would’ve come in clutch but hope you’re feeling better now!! Manifesting some better party moments for you….bfb Karasu moment soon….

I’m not that into it either but I remember my feed being FLOODED at some point and all I could think was “god these guys have such atrocious haircuts…!!”

Omg wait snuffy getting aiku a girl…knowing snuffy I can imagine her being almost aikus opposite in terms of dating scene personality (?? I wish I could describe this better) and aikus like haha no way I’d ever actually like her…and then he gets the “oh shit” moment LMAO

SHDHSJS OHHHHH ok thank you for telling me I’ve only ever seen it used within goat LOL some abbreviations/acronyms also just fly over my head…I remember when I first saw you use “icl” I had to look it up LMAOOO but agreed though!!! HAHA RIN STEALING THE IDEA so real…Karasu and Otoya pull up to a reunion/friend meetup and see Hiori looking at a house blueprint and ask why he needs another house and he’s like “I’m trying to profess my undying love”

No because him being in all the nerdy classes is so real…him not realizing his own potential reminds me of the part in the egoist bible where he got confessed to with whiskey bon bons and he can’t tell if it was a prank or not (I wanna know more about that story too omg)

FR id never really thought about aiku period before your idea like…he was kinda just there playing a role in Ubers and the u20 match but tbh i didn’t really pay much attention to him before LOL

- Karasu anon

HAHA NO IT’S OKAY i love when my inbox is full it makes me feel very acknowledged 🤩 so never fear it’s like impossible for me to get annoyed by stuff like that…HAHA mira rizz back at it again but unintentional as always 😓 no fr it was lowkey scary looking back 😳 like in the moment we were way too drunk to be anything but like vaguely confused about why this guy had like flipped a switch and started threatening to call the cops on us (??) but in hindsight we’re probably lucky it didn’t escalate further 😭 it was so stupid too because he was genuinely mad at nothing but yeah what can you do 😫 no because i went to sleep in my makeup too and i woke up the next day like “wow karasu would NEVER let that slide” LMAOAO luckily i am much improved and will try to make up for my lack of writing now 😵 tbh it will probably take a lot for my friends to convince me to go out w them again i honestly don’t enjoy it THAT much i just feel bad always saying no yk plus then i get lowkey emo sitting at home while everyone is out and about

LMAOO no i agree they def have some interesting hairdos in bsd JFKSKS somebody tell kaiser and ness to pack it up and move fandoms 😭 their calling is clearly in whatever is going on in bsd…tbh i have no idea what the plot is because every time someone posts abt it it’s completely different but i’m sure kaiser will find his niche and thrive 💖

NO LITERALLY like snuffy introduces aiku to this quiet girl who’s never had a bf because she’s focusing on herself and wants to wait for “the right person” and aiku is like “LMAOOO LOSER ALERT 😂” and then one day he’s lying in bed about to fall asleep and he’s like “oh shit 😰”…calls an emergency conference with barou lorenzo aryu and sendou (the dream team) and is all “guys what do i do i feel all nervous around her and i don’t think other girls are hot anymore and i think about her before bed and and and—” and barou’s just like “you fucking donkey you have a crush on her 😒😐” HAHAH cue like a month of confused pining on aiku’s part meanwhile the dream team is just like done w his bullshit and snuffy is secretly cackling because it’s all going according to plan…meanwhile the reader is only dating aiku as a favor to snuffy so she doesn’t gaf but slowly he starts winning her over 🤔��️ maybe this will be the final entry in oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls like now HE’S the one getting the girl ykwim and there’s just random advice from various blue lockers thrown in there every now and again that mirrors how he helped them in their own universe (like he facetimes sae at one point and sae is like “STFU bro you’re in love w her” and hangs up w zero explanation or he meets up w tabieita and otoya is like “yo if you want to keep her maybe you should try to match her energy” HAHAHA) honestly i’m seeing the vision…i don’t even care about aiku like that he truly was a background character to me but it would be such a good way to wrap up the series even though all of the chapters take place in different universes (the OAEU — oliver aiku extended universe)

i am an abbreviation warrior but if you ever need me to explain one then lmk 😫 i find all of mine on tik tok/by being chronically online but there’s def a lot of times when i need urban dictionary assistance in explaining what i’m looking at LMAO 😭 and YESSSS hiori has like architectural plans laid out in front of him which makes tabieita be like WTF…and technically white butterfly could take place in the cherry tree/seabird universe so theoretically rin and hiori could’ve plotted together on how to “most efficiently” pine for their respective girls 😰 can you imagine like “okay i’m going to hang out on her university campus for an entire week until i see her again” “that COOKS bro i’m going to build her dream house in our hometown and hope she hears about it and comes to visit” “fire idea man 🔥”

omg yeahhh didn’t he get like six diff valentines that were just whiskey bonbons?? lowkey i would consider that a prank too especially as a teenage boy 😭 it’s like confusing to me which characters are and aren’t good looking in canon…like isagi pulled zero bitches pre-bllk and same with bachira and nagi BUT according to nagi’s ln girls do think he’s cute/attractive he’s just REALLY fucking weird so they stay away?? so whenever people are like “nagi’s canonically ugly” i’m like nooo he’s good looking just a freak 💔 and then i think rin is supposed to have gotten a lot of valentines but he rejected all of them…and fucking RAICHI got like 10 valentines ⁉️ wdym raichi got more than KARASU 🤔

100% aiku was just there to show up say random bullshit and then leave 😭 but he may have just made his mark on the miraverse LFGNDKSK honestly top ten greatest comebacks of all time if i end up writing the series

[stylesunchained]

I love your responses. Somehow you always make sense. I only hate that I’m getting her name back on Harry’s pages - it’s a good motivation to stay away from social media for some time tho. I’m sure people stop talking about it in few days.

Because I can be objective about these things when people often aren’t. And I’m glad you enjoy them LOL it’s hard for me to keep my temper down sometimes cause my inbox is flooded every time but I really try. And yeah it’s annoying me, too. But also: we all know she would’ve found a way go get this out if he had indeed tattooed her name. It isn’t her name, simple as that.

[ki-yomii]

hit it/forget it | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 6.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!jk, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), enemies to lovers, orgasm control/denial, drinking, slight college au ig??➥ summary | finally able to unwind for the first time in forever, you go to a friend’s party. only somewhere along the way you find yourself in bed with someone you swore you’d never sleep with. it’s too bad he’s not in any hurry to let you hit it, and forget it. ➥ notes | i’m v new to this fandom, and it has started to consume me lol ✌️🥲 ❤️ series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 ❤️

... Shit, what time is it?

Beams of sunlight pour in through the crooked blinds, stretching across the cluttered floor to flood the rumpled bed with golden light.

It’s so bright it hurts, your eyes watering with the effort it takes to open them as you roll onto your back with a quiet hiss.

Sore and still buzzed, it takes you several minutes to process your unfamiliar surroundings. Your mouth is stale and arid, the unpleasant taste of dehydration heavy on your tongue.

Needle sharp pain lances through your skull, and it’s hard to think let alone focus when it feels like someone’s shoving an icepick through your brain every time you so much as breathe wrong.

So much for a relaxing night hanging out with the guys, you think bitterly, pinching the bridge of your nose. There goes my last day off.

Spent curled up in bed fighting back nausea instead of out enjoying the last little bit of freedom your PTO offered.

If only the rest of the night had gone as well as the beginning...

Most of the group were camped around a game of beer pong when you arrived, already blitzed off their faces from pre-gaming while a few randos loitered around.

You didn’t pay them too much mind, more focused on catching up with your boys. It had been forever and a day since you’d talked to them, let alone seen them in person.

For a blissful moment it was just like old times; the floor sticky with spilled beer, wrestling matches followed by good-natured ribbing, and rowdy trash talk.

It reminded you so much of the shitty college parties they’d throw, you almost cried from the nostalgia alone.

The happiest you’d been in weeks.

Now you had adult bills and an adult life. Your schedules didn’t align like this very often. Getting to catch up and hang out with everyone again was a precious gift, one you didn’t realize how much you needed until you sunk back into the oversized couch, and took what felt like your first breath in months.

Your head was swimming, your heart bursting for fondness - only to choke on your tongue not even five minutes later when the front door slammed open to a round of hyped up chants, “JK, JK, JK!”

All the tranquility evaporated as Jeon Jungkook - the bane of your existence - waltzed over the threshold without a care in the world.

Meanwhile your heart was in your throat as he stood there in all his stupidly attractive glory while the rest of the gang surged forth. They swarmed him with friendly slaps on the back, a 12 pack of beer in one hand, and a bottle of tequila in the other.

He wasn’t supposed to be here - they said... He was supposed to be out of town for the weekend. If you’d have known -- fuck.

You wouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. And now you were stuck with him for however long it took you to sober up.

God, you hated him.

Not that you knew why, really.

There was just something about him that got under your skin. Maybe it was the cocky way he held himself, his confidence sometimes bordering on arrogance.

Or maybe it was the constant teasing. (You refused to admit it might be because of how attractive you found him, and how angry that made you.)

Whatever the case, ever since he met you all those years ago, Jungkook’s made it his life’s mission to be as insufferable as possible. Always waiting in the wings with a flirty comment and that self-satisfied smirk of his.

Dealing with him was like dealing with an overgrown - competitive - toddler. It got exhausting after a while.

Far easier to avoid him altogether, even though that mentality came at the expense of your friendships.

You stopped going to events if you knew he’d be there, ducking out of get togethers last minute if you so much as caught a glimpse of his car. Eventually, your absence became accepted - expected even - which further fueled your inherent dislike of him.

As if all the reasons you don’t like him weren’t enough, you were tipsy, and that was always a recipe for disaster. Without your inhibitions halting your tongue, you had no qualms about calling him out on all his petty bullshit.

The particulars are too fuzzy to remember, but you’d been avoiding him by hiding out in the kitchen when he decided to come bother you.

One thing led to another, and he must have said something insulting enough because the next thing you knew, you’d crowded him against the counter.

He smirked while you snarled with distaste, a shot in one hand with the other balled in the open collar of his fancy button up. You thought about how nice it would be to smack that look off his face, and thoughtlessly agreed to a one v one drink off - winner takes all - just to one up him.

Damnit.

You should have left as soon as his ass showed up. And you should never have agreed to his stupid little competition in the first place. You know better than to fall prey to his schemes... yet here you are, so joke’s on you.

This has to be some kind of divine punishment.

All you wanted was to knock him down a peg (or ten). Then his stupidly handsome face, and low, mocking voice egged you on past your limits. Now, you’re in someone else’s bed, naked and sticky, nursing a hangover from hell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

God, you hope it’s not Jin.

Any of the others aren’t much better, but he’s your bro at heart, and there are some things you can’t ever come back from. If only last night wasn’t a hazy, distant fever dream pockmarked with fitful moments of clarity...

Memories curl through your mind like tendrils of smoke, opaque and sinister. The harder you grasp at them, the more confusing they become; coalescing into a tangled blur of swollen lips, and naked, sweat-slick skin.

Salty-sweet bursting across your tongue as the burning stretch of a fat cock sinks deep, a whiskey rough voice groaning low and heavy in your ear, “Fuck, you’ve always been such a little cock tease, haven’t you, baby? Mm, yeah, just like that. Knew you always wanted me, wanted this. Hhng, shit, I’ve wanted to do this for-fuckin-ever, princess…”

Goddamn Jeon Jungkook, and whatever horse he rode in on.

Of course, you’d get laid after a dry spell, and the only thing you have to show for it is the tender ache of your thighs, the tacky sensation of dried cum clinging to the swollen lips of your pussy, and the vaguest daydream of toe-curling pleasure.

At least the sheets are soft, the mattress plush, the bedspread muted, dark colours; altogether masculine but chic.

The fluffy pillows are to die for, something like expensive cologne threaded through the fabric; citrusy and bright with notes of mellow sweetness that fill your lungs, and cloud your senses with every deep inhale.

A familiar thread in an otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Whoever it is certainly has impeccable taste... which doesn’t help narrow down your list of suspects, at all. They’re all stupidly fashionable in everything they do, meanwhile you feel like a half-decent hobgoblin half the time.

You can’t decide what’s worse: the fact you slept with someone who’s a friend of yours - not many people outside of the core group came last night - or that you can’t remember who it is.

No lie, the temptation to slip out before they wake is hard to resist. But it’ll only delay the inevitable, and you honestly don’t want to do that to someone you care about.

It’s better to face the situation head-on, no matter how much you’re dreading it.

Over and done, quick and easy like a Band-Aid.

The conversation’s going to be awkward as hell but it was a drunken mistake. You’re adults and in a few years’ time, who knows, maybe you’ll be able to look back and laugh. No reason to let it ruin years of hard-earned friendship.

“Aah,” you groan mid-stretch, “...what a fucking mess.”

“Look who’s finally awake.”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

The world screeches to an almighty halt, crashing and burning as all the breath in your lungs catches in your chest. Your heavy eyes pop open so fast you see stars, a field of grey sheets filling your line of sight.

A wave of disbelief threatens to drown you, hysteria following in the aftermath as your mind stutters to a stop.

Stomach turning, your heart slams into your ribs so hard you’re convinced you’ll break a bone. The thought of sleeping with a friend is bad enough, but the truth? So much worse. You wish the bed would swallow you whole. 

Why, you lament, why him?

That low, sleep rough tone dripping with arrogance.

It raises your hackles, sets your teeth on edge until you shake with the urge to punt his ass across the room. Never in a million years would you expect to hear that voice beside you in bed.

You wish with everything there is that it’s just a hallucination - but there’s no mistaking who that voice belongs to.

The knowledge sits bitterly in the back of your throat.

“This is a nightmare.”

No fucking way you’re turning around.

You inch to the edge of the mattress, grateful for the distance. The very idea of touching him repulses, repels.

You’re already too aware of how the bed dips beneath his weight, the shared space warmed by the sleep soft heat radiating from his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jungkook scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

A hot palm, rough with callouses, grabs your shoulder. The steel grip tugs you close, unyielding as it guides you onto your back.

As soon as you glimpse the sunlight caught in the tangled briar of his hair, your eyes slam shut.

If you can’t see him, you can pretend he’s not there and if he’s not there, well then you won’t have to face your colossal mistake.

It might be petty and childish but all things considered, you think you’re allowed to be. Waking up next to Jeon Jungkook is earth-shattering. And altogether mortifying when you consider all the thoughts you had before you knew you fucked him.

Of all the people…

He’s made passes for years, and you always blew them off. Now? You groan. They’re never going to let you live this down. You take back every kind thought. This asshole doesn’t deserve your praise.

Before you tell him where to shove it, fingertips skim the jut of your cheekbone. The action effectively shuts you up, your brain stuttering to a resounding halt. Soft and light like butterfly kisses, they trace over the sweep of your flickering eyelashes.

It’s a ticklish reminder that you’re not alone.

You jerk away.

The click he makes with his teeth does N-O-T make you throb. Neither does his persistence, the effort to force you into acknowledging his presence redoubled. He’s stubborn, and altogether not unlike a boy pulling pigtails.

The comparison unbidden and unwelcome, you bat him away with a sharp, “Quit it.”

His voice is far too smug for your liking when he says, “Why don’t you try to make me.”

“Oh, my god.”

This asshole…

Your fingers claw into the sheets instead of his chest, nails cutting into your palms as rage lurks just beneath the surface of your skin. Your breath shoves from your lungs fast and hard. It’s a struggle to reign in the urge to pummel him bloody.

Meanwhile, Jungkook redirects his attention, his hand dipping down to dance over the front of your throat. A rough thumb maps the curve of your jaw, a shiver rolling through your body at the touch.

His low chuckle is the only warning you get before he’s leaning over, the shift in position causing the hard, compact muscles of his torso to brush your side. The fission of awareness that follows in its wake crackles down your spine, steals your breath.

Senses fixated on the sensual glide of skin on skin while pulses of arousal kindle to life behind your navel. Slick gushes from between your folds, wetting the insides of your thighs. Heart in your throat, you steady your voice long enough to say, “Seriously, just leave me alone so I can wallow in peace.”

Warm breath tickles the side of your face, the cool metal of Jungkook’s lip piercing brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs the syllables of your name. “Come on,” he says, “I dare you.”

The hell, is he being serious right now? What does he think this is?

“What are you,” you ask. “Five?”

“Would you stop being so dramatic?”

The first hint of genuine annoyance threads through the words growled against your cheek. His tone low, a warning buried in its depths. Fire and smoke, grit and gravel. You hate how you clench at the sound. Hate how confused he’s making you.

Why is he acting like this is a normal occurrence? You expect him to lord it over you, not act so...playful?

The uncertainty rankles, and your shoulders hike up around your ears. If he thinks he can jerk you around like this, he better step up and out because you’re out of fucks to give.

This is humiliating enough, and you’re not about to relinquish what’s left of your pride. 

“Do you ever stop talking,” you continue, ignoring the pulse between your thighs, the crack in your voice, “Or do you like the sound of your own voice that much?”

Your heart pounds in the ensuing silence, Jungkook all but ignoring you as he sinks his nose into your hair. The pleased rumble that vibrates from his chest into yours follows a deep inhale.

“Mm, you smell,” his lips tickle the side of your neck, “really good.”

A whimper works its way up your throat, your teeth barely catching it in time. Fissions of sensation shoot down to your stomach, hot and shivery.

“Shut up. Just stop - stop talking.”

It’s not what you mean to say - you have full intentions of cussing him out, reaching out to touch smack him - but by then, it’s too late. He’s already on the move, a mocking chuckle falling from his lips.

The sound shoots through you, stokes your rage and desire in equal measure until you’re shaking.

He tugs at the plush, tender flesh of your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Y’know,” he muses, “I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you. You might not like what happens.”

Surrounded as you are, it’s getting harder to think.

To breathe.

To be.

Sweat and sex cling to Jungkook, the scent filling your lungs with ash and burning through your bloodstream until he’s all that remains. Surrounding, smothering, swallowing you whole. “Look at me.”

Shit, he’s close - too close.

There’s a scant amount of space between your bodies, pressed stem to stern. Your tits crush against the hard plane of his chest, nipples stiffening with every drag of his skin, every shift of his body against yours.

His half-hard cock digs into the softness of your abdomen, wet and sticky as it drools into the dip of your belly button which shouldn’t get you as hot as it does. This is so not good.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.”

I can’t.

This is unacceptable. 

Fucking him once is bad enough, the only saving grace is that you barely remember the taste of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into yours, the stretch of him filling you to the brim.

If you give in now, even if it’s only an inch…

Well, he’ll take a mile and you don’t have an excuse for why you’ll let him. You’re already struggling with the urge to succumb, to inch closer. There’s no telling what’ll happen if you actually look into those burning eyes of his.

Of course, he doesn’t accept your refusal.

You never expected him to.

“I said look at me.” The thumb that was gently stroking along your face hooks around your jaw, digging into the soft spot on the underside. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You grit your teeth, channel the rising lust into rage. Anything to put some much-needed distance between you before you do something you’ll regret. Like, sleep with him a second time while stone-cold sober.

“Just fuck off, Jeon. This is embarrassing enough, you don’t need to rub it in. You won, okay? Congratulations.”

You refuse to let him have his cake and eat it too. Damned if he gets to hold this over your head. That drinking competition was all his idea, anyway. The victory blooming in your chest is short-lived, thoroughly blown to pieces.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Fast as lightning, the hand on your jaw disappears only to reappear between your thighs to shove your legs open. He doesn’t waste time, runs his knuckles along the length of your slit without hesitation.

Teasing, testing, humming in approval at what he finds.

The sudden rough touch has you jumping, gasping, eyes snapping open, fixating on his blown pupils. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth is more a snarl, downright predatory. The metal of his lip ring glints in the light, his teeth bared while he spears you with a hooded, hungry stare.

“That’s it, show me those pretty eyes of yours.” 

Breathless, your hips twitch and you clench at the praise, liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

Traitor.

“Jeon - Jungkook, knock it off.”

But you know he’s not going to stop. The ravenous look in his eyes says everything his mouth doesn’t.

“See,” he says conversationally, pausing long enough to thrust two fingers deep into you without warning. Pain sparks, flickers down your spine only to melt into a warm flush of pleasure as he twists his wrist. “That mouth of yours says one thing, but this pussy’s soaked. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?”

“I-”

Any response you have breaks off into a wounded moan, your brows furrowing as he flicks the tip of his finger against your g-spot.

“S-Shit!”

“Hm, what was that?”

A sharp smack stings across your wrist when you reach down to pull his hand away.

“Jeon - I - please…”

“Come on, use your words like a good little slut.”

“I - I can’t - shit!”

It’s impossible to think, let alone form sentences when the heel of his palm grinds against your swollen clit like that. Thick fingers curl deep, stroke, stretch until you mewl.

Every skilled thrust drives you higher, wrings pleasure from you so expertly you’ve half a mind to be pissed. Now you can see why all those girls were tripping over themselves to get with him back in college. As much as it pains you to admit it, he’s got game.

But even then, it shouldn’t be this easy to get you going.

To get your thighs clamping around his flexing forearm while uncontrollable shudders wrack your frame, finger fucked stupid by the sworn enemy.

“Hah.”

If you weren’t half out of your mind, you’d be more offended by the condescending smirk. All you do is half-heartedly smack his side, his free hand darting up to cover yours and keep it pressed against his skin.

You clench down with a whine at the feel of rippling muscle, the sight of his tatted fingers resting over your hand so delicately.

“Looks like I’m doing something right. Fuck, can you hear that, baby?” His movements slow to a crawl, the thrust of his fingers languid and deep. “Listen to how wet your tight little pussy is for me.”

Warmth creeps up your neck and sinks into the apples of your cheeks. It’s as mortifying as it is a turn on, the sloppy sounds of your needy cunt echoing back at you. Sticky arousal coats your puffy folds, every slick, squelching slide heard over stilted moans.

Without a doubt, you’re making a mess of his sheets. Judging by the husky growl of his voice, anything less wouldn’t satisfy him. “Gotta make up your mind, baby.”

He couldn’t sound any more indifferent, but the rough thrust of his fingers, the burning heat smouldering in the depths of his eyes says he’s anything but unaffected.

You whine, writhe, arch your hips to grind down on the hand working between your thighs.

It’s no use.

You get him right where you want him, only for him to flash a devilish grin and pull away. The desperation to get off builds and builds and builds until you’re half mad with it.

This asshole’s gotten you to the edge of cumming several times, only to watch with sick delight as he yanks you back, dangling you over the edge without letting you fall. You don’t even want to think about what this is doing for his already over-inflated sense of ego.

“You’ve been sending me all kinds of mixed signals for years.” He nips the tip of your nose, spreading his fingers wide open where they’re buried inside of you just to hear you squeal. “So what’s it gonna be?”

He’s playing dirty, and he knows it. It’s infuriating that smug looks so good on him. Are you really going to do this?

Ghosting his lips over yours in the barest of kisses, he whispers, slow and purposeful, “All you gotta do is say it. Be a good girl for me, and say: ‘Jungkook, please fuck me.’”

... Yes, yes, you are. But you’re never, ever going to admit that you want him.

Not when there’s nothing you can blame the impatient rise of your hips on, the grind against his palm, the unwavering eye contact that pins you in place. As unbelievable as this is, it all comes down to how horny you are and how good he looks above you.

You admit that he’s an asshole, but jesus, he’s attractive.

Jungkook chuckles, rolls his eyes. “So you’re gonna keep being a brat.”

He doesn’t look put out in the least. In fact, he’s downright feral with the anticipation of breaking you down and fucking you back together.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you begging for my cock one way or another.”

The you wish dissolves into thin air, all your focus narrowing on the flex and shift of muscle as he crawls down the length of your body. Shouldering his way between your thighs, he settles on his belly and rubs his hands along your hips. 

Flinching at the first touch of his broad palms, you watch with rapt attention as his strong fingers inch closer and closer to your heat.

Every touch, every slide of skin calculated. Precise. Intent on getting your blood pumping and your pussy throbbing until you’re squirming against the sheets.

That ferocious stare, glittering like onyx in the light, tracks every movement, every twitch; catalogues what strokes get you mewling, what drag of fingers has you shuddering, shivering until you’re a downright mess.

Longtime lovers never paid half as much attention to what got you going, and a one-off mistake is doing a better job than all of them combined. Shit, he hasn’t even really done anything yet.

Jungkook’s as focused between your thighs as he is during training, a singular intent that’s intense and overwhelming. Frankly, it’s unnerving being so seen by someone you’ve considered an enemy for the longest time.

When did he start paying so much attention to you - and how did you miss it?

“Just…” you say, voice a quiet thing that sits in the space between your bodies, “Just get on with it already.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Jungkook uses his fingers to spread open your sticky folds. Cool air dances across your core, teasing at your swollen clit as every bit of your pussy is exposed to him.

There’s no hiding the embarrassing amount of slick wetting your thighs or how you pulse and twitch in desire.

He hums in approval at what he sees, your thighs trembling around his shoulders. “Thanks for the meal,” he says, brushing his thumb across the hood of your clit before he ducks down with his tongue out.

The firm, full contact lick has supernovas bursting behind your eyelids. He groans at the taste of you, grinds his face deeper into the apex of your thighs. The sound rumbles through your sensitive flesh, your thighs clenching around his ears.

A sigh escapes your throat, and you rest a hand on the top of his head.

Oh yes, a much better use for that mouth of his.

Your fingers delve into the thickness of his hair, inky black wrapped around your knuckles. For a moment you lose yourself in the sensation, senses so high. Every swipe of his tongue, every roll of cool metal along your heated slit as his lips pull at your folds sets you aflame.

The peace doesn’t last, overtaken by the smouldering antagonism that simmers beneath every one of your interactions. A ticking time bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.

His face between your thighs inspires a dizzying mix of disgust and desire, that he’s even in this position pisses you off beyond belief.

In retaliation for every wrong he’s ever done (the specifics hazy when he sucks on your clit hard enough to curl your toes, the barest hint of teeth), you yank on his hair with as much strength as you’re able to muster.

His neck wrenches back, and he winces. You luxuriate in the petty revenge of it all as spite blooms warm in your chest. Serves him right. Though you gotta hand it to him, he sure knows how to use his tongue.

“You bitch,” Jungkook groans, smothering the vibrations in your slick folds. You keen, bow your back so far you’re afraid you’ll slip a disc. “That hurt.”

For all his complaining, he doesn’t stop.

Quite the opposite.

He dips his head, so you tug at the roots harder while his hands wrap around your thighs, pinning your hips to the bed while his tongue flicks and teases, licks and fucks you open slowly.

The messy sounds of your cunt as Jungkook eats you out to within an inch of your life broken by soft sighs, moans of pleasure, and the occasional masculine grunt. Previous partners have gone down on you before but never seemed to care for it.

Jungkook on the other hand? He’s loving it, eating you out with single-minded ferocity, seeking his own relief by rutting against the bed.

It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen; the wild briar of his hair in utter disarray, sweat slick strands falling over his forehead while he buries his face in you, the muscles of his back bunching and releasing with every slow rock of his hips, his quiet, muffled moans of satisfaction, the ripple of tattoos as he pets at your flank.

He’s not shy - not that you expected him to be in this regard. You’ve heard all the stories about his prowess in bed from classmates and strangers alike.

All his movements are rough and desperate, wet and messy. The careful, slow teasing from before disappearing within the blink of an eye as he becomes consumed with a frantic desire to feel you cum on his face.

It’s not surprising that you don’t last long, orgasming embarrassingly fast, stuffed full of his tongue and fingers.

“Jungkook,” you choke out his name, a broken sound that fades into open-mouthed silence.

The ball of heat in your belly bursts, rushes over you like a tidal wave. You shake apart, pussy clenching so hard your womb aches as a gush of fluid dribbles out of you, soaking the lower half of your body and the bed.

Stars dance in the darkness behind your lids. You’re strung out and weak, incapable of movement, of thought, of anything besides the actual possibility that your bones dissolved when you came.

“Shit, that’s hot.”

Jungkook shifts.

Your lashes flutter. Breathing is difficult. You can’t feel your hands, the tips of your fingers tingling.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, cum soaking the lower half of his face. His lips red and swollen, his eyes hooded, dark and lusting. Pupils blown so wide the iris is nothing more than a thin ring of brown.

His cock juts from his body in a proud line, curved towards his belly. Smears of pre-cum glitter along the valley of his abs, and you have the strangest urge to lick him clean.

Seeing him look so debauched shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you want to kick your own ass for thinking about Jungkook like this.

Fucking him is one thing, actively appreciating him something else.

But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the sight of him kneeling and lusting is a sucker punch to the gut. Breathless and yearning, you’re at war with yourself, contemplating round three when he opens mouth.

Again.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

The jut of his chest, the arrogance in his gaze ruins everything. Anyone halfway decent with their tongue who knows what a clit is can get a woman off. Jungkook’s nothing special - contrary to all those co-ed’s.

Just another run-of-the-mill asshole who thinks he’s a god. You’re reminded of this now that you’re not cum-dumb, brain dribbling out your ears. And just when you forgot why you dislike him.

“You know what, Jeon?”

If you could move, you’d shove him off the bed and get out of dodge. As it is, you’re in no such position; knees weak, thighs shaky as phantom waves of pleasure shoot from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes.

You settle for a nasty scowl. Half as satisfying, but getting your point across all the same. “I’m still not fucking impressed.”

His expression drops into a bitchy sneer.

You want to smack him, wipe that look off his face with your palm. It would be like all your birthdays rolled into one.

“The fuck you mean?” Jungkook asks, brimming with gruff impatience. Good. Arrogant prick. “I made you squirt.”

Ignoring the pounding of your heart, you scoff and dismiss his words, no matter how true they ring. He doesn’t need to know you’ve NEVER done that before. “So? Even I can do that, you’re no better than my vibrator.”

The muscles in his jaw clench, bunching and releasing as his stormy gaze sears you to the bone. For the first time since he started this little - whatever it is - he seems genuinely pissed, shoulders tense and mouth a thin line.

You swoon, the empty ache inside of you pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“I’ll fucking show you who’s better.”

“Sure you will,” you simper with a nasty grin, tone dripping with sarcasm.

As soon as you prop yourself up on an elbow with full intentions of hopping out of bed, a set of large hands stops you in your tracks. Panic shoots through you, and any residual anger you harbored fizzles away.

He can’t expect you to — oh, but of course, he does.

“No, not like this,” you say while you squirm, attempting to roll onto your belly. “I can’t.”

Fucking face to face is too intimate.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so, baby,” he croons, tone a mocking lilt as he cages you beneath him. “I wanna see your pretty little face when you cream all over my cock.”

Any response gets lost in a weak moan when he rubs himself against your slick folds, the fat head catching on the hood of your abused clit. You whimper, a sharp spike of arousal slicing through you, almost painful when it follows so swiftly on the tail end of your last orgasm.

You try one last time, voice reedy and thin when you say, “Jeon, please, I can’t - fuck.”

The tip slides into you without preamble, just far enough to feel it but not deep enough to get you off. The smug bastard thrusts gently, your tender, swollen walls suckling his cockhead, trying to pull him deeper.

Pure torture.

Mind wiped clean, embarrassment and protests all but forgotten, all your focus narrows down on how to get him inside you as soon as possible.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks. “Got something to say? You’re squeezing down so hard. Want me deeper, don’t you? What a needy little slut you are for me.”

“Shit, Jeon, come on.” You pant, biting down on a whine. “Just put it in already.”

“Whatever you say.”

He keeps it slow, languidly works his cock deeper into you, inch by agonizing inch. Your muscles flutter, milk his thick shaft. It takes forever and a day before he bottoms out.

And then your eyes roll into the back of your head, hands flying up to anchor your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

He’s right there, cockhead snug against your crevice. Every ridge, every throb; it stokes the embers of your desire higher and higher, stretched so wide around him you ache; he’s the biggest you’ve had. You’ve never felt so stuffed full of cock before, it’s almost scary how good it is.

The taut skin of his belly grinds against your clit when he gets as deep as possible, pelvis flush with yours. “F-Fuck, Jeon.”

Above you, he shoots a cocky albeit weak grin.

You can’t decide if you want to slap him or have him fuck you into the mattress. Probably a bit of both. He boils your blood, but you’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Fucking hell.

“See, what’d I say? I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

You groan, breathing deep and slow. “Are you always such a prick?”

He hasn’t moved, but you’re on the edge, and far from ready for this to be over. The asshole hasn’t delivered. You haven’t been fucked raw, and you’re not leaving this bed until he gives it up. Now if only he could shut his mouth long enough to get the show on the road.

“Bitch.” He rolls his eyes, his broad palms firm on your hips while he shifts until your thighs rest over his. “Ready?”

You snort, shoot a comment about his dick not being that special and more than ready to tack on another scathing retort when he decides he’s had enough of your lip, pulling back and snapping his hips forward in one smooth movement.

It punches the air from your lungs.

Your mouth drops open in a near-silent gasp when the head nudges the spongy tissue of your g-spot. The sudden flood of warmth spreads out to all your limbs, pussy throbbing around him.

Your voice is shaky, spread thin, “A-Ah!”

Jungkook isn’t faring any better.

Hot palms tremble against your skin, the furrow to his brow pulling at his piercing, his mouth slack and glossy. His abdominal muscles tense with every stutter of his hips, flexing and resisting the urge to plow into you at max speed.

“Shit, baby, I forgot how tight and soft you are.”

Incapable of speech, reduced to mindless rutting. His broken moan shatters something between the two of you, and then it’s nothing but bruising kisses, sharp keens, rough hands, and frantic fucking.

He slams into you so hard the bed rattles against the wall, punctuating his filthy murmur of, “Perfect fucking fit, just like I knew you’d be.”

You appreciate his rippling muscles with your hands, caressing the firm lines of his body as you do your best to keep pace. Every other thrust has his cock slamming into your g-spot, your toes curling in the sheets.

It’s too much and not enough.

“Jungkook, I’m - I’m,” you sound wrecked, unable to even finish your sentence. “Please.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he growls, voice full of gravel and hips never missing a beat, “I got you. Now do it, cum, wanna feel you squirt on my cock.”

A fingertip finds your clit.

Rubs once, twice, three times, and then you see galaxies.

Crying out, you clutch him close as the bubbling pool of heat overflows, crashes into you like a tsunami. Helpless against the rushing tide. Your body spasms, your cunt gushing around Jungkook’s pistoning cock.

The slick slap of your skin almost as obscene as his groan, low and lewd, when you clench and clamp down on his shaft. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

Boneless and panting, you sink back into the pillows and stare up at Jungkook with glassy eyes. The early afternoon light highlights the lines of his body, the curves of his muscles, the splashes of color etched into his skin. Tremors wrack your body as you lay there while he chases after his own pleasure.

“Shit, I’m gonna — fffu-ck!”

One last thrust buries him to the hilt, his cum flooding, filling you to the brim. Face slack with pleasure, his head drops into the cradle of your shoulder. He pets your sides with gentle hands, his breath puffing across the sensitive skin of your neck while his body twitches with aftershocks.

The both of you are weak, fucked out.

You lay under him for a long time, silent except for your shuddering breaths. Your bodies coming down from unimaginable heights. When your arms aren’t so useless anymore, you push at his chest and grunt.

“Get off.”

A flood of cum follows his swift exit, thick seed dribbling down your folds and pooling on the sheets beneath your ass. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, a primal sort of appreciation curling through your belly.

Well, that’s new. And something you refuse to unpack now.

Flopping down beside you, Jungkook stretches, his expression far too self-satisfied for your liking. “For being such a bitch, you’re a good lay.”

Leave it to him and his goddamn mouth to ruin the afterglow.

You shoot him a sour look, dragging yourself to your feet.

There’s a moment where you almost fall, wobbly and off-kilter, before you regain your balance. You clean yourself gingerly with a towel hanging half out of the hamper.

Sore, tender, and vindictively pleased to see the white streak of his cum stain the dark terrycloth.

The asshole laughs at your disgruntled look, lounging on the bed like a lazy jungle cat. His thick arms cross behind his head and he watches you with dark eyes as you bend to get your panties.

Try as you might, you can’t help sneaking peeks at his barred chest. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s noticed the covert looks. You scowl. The smug bastard.

“Don’t be like that, baby. We had a great time.”

Scoffing, you refuse to dignify that with a response, and tug your shirt over your head.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

He ignores your sarcasm and continues, nonplussed, “I think you’ve never cum so hard in your life. I think you’re gagging for another ride.”

You pick something up off the floor, chuck it at his head and pivot on your heel. Anger pulses, white-hot and only partially satisfied by the pained groan from behind you as the object makes contact.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You know what that was for. God, are you always such a fucking dickhead?”

“I think you like it,” he says. “I think you like me - I think you’ve always liked me.”

You ignore the burn of your cheeks, and scoff.

The man’s ego is big enough without you adding fuel to the fire. He doesn’t need to know that was the best sex you’ve ever had. That you came so hard your toes curled, and your hands went numb.

“In your dreams, Jeon.”

Keeping your back to him, you’re about to put on your pants when an iron grip shackles itself around your wrist. You tug, testing the hold. He’s unyielding, spearing you with an intense, depthless look.

“...Jeon?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You blink, swallow and flounder for a response. “Um, I - home?”

He frowns, and tugs you back towards the bed with a huffy sneer, “Get back in bed.”

Wait, what.

You blink, and blink again at the blush stealing its way across his face, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks a soft pink, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours. Can’t help asking, “...What?”

“S-Shut up!”

“I didn’t even-”

“Just come back to bed.”

Still in disbelief of what’s happening, you let Jungkook rearrange you to his liking. You find yourself tucked into the curve of his chest, your nose pressed against his collarbone with his buried in your hair. His lips rest against your forehead, dropping the faintest of kisses to your brow.

“...We’ll talk when you wake up.”

You can’t tell if you’re curious or horrified, but for now, getting a few more hours of sleep sounds like an excellent idea. And, you suppose, it could be worse.

Shacking up with Jungkook isn’t all that bad, so long as he keeps his mouth shut. 

[auspicious-manner]

heyy!! a request for graham dunne where you’re in a secret relationship and you tell everyone that you’re together by kissing on stage 😈😈😈 please and thanks no pressure 😽😽

THE WAY I YELPED WHEN I SAW THIS IN MY INBOX IM SO EXCITED AHH looks like my tags found the right audience! i have a few more djats prompts other people sent in thank you all sm 🤭

also this ended up WAY longer than i wanted it to be oops, hope y’all like slightly longer stories

also i glossed over a lot of big events within the show because i just wanted to get to the point lol.

fem reader x graham dunne

warnings: some substance abuse

Crazy For You

•

before there was daisy jones and the six, there was just the six. before daisy jones was the leading lady of the band, it was you.

way back in the pittsburgh days, you never knew what was going to come your way when you moved into the empty house right next to the dunne brothers. you knew they caused a racket every time they decided to host a band rehearsal, and it took every ounce of patience left in you to not storm over there and demand them to clean up their sound.

then on one fateful day, your world changed forever. as you were taking the garbage out, you sang at last by etta james to yourself, not thinking anything of it. you got lost in your own voice.

then, your trance was broken when you heard a scuffle of feet coming from your left. your head whipped to the side, and you saw one of the dunne brothers in his driveway listening to you with a smile.

“oh god, that’s embarrassing,” you said, turning your head the opposite direction.

you heard a laugh come from him, but you kept your eyes away from him in embarrassment.

“you have a lovely voice,” he said. you braved looking at him once more, and he was smiling at you. the boy looked to be about your age.

“thanks, but it’s really nothing. i’m not trained or anything,” you replied sheepishly.

“i’m Y/N, by the way,” you said, walking over to him with your hand extended.

he met you in the middle, reaching out and taking your hand. “i’m graham. graham dunne.”

you blushed a bit when he held onto your hand for longer. “nice to meet you graham dunne.”

he nodded, and your hands released. there was a pause in the conversation before graham began again. “do you like rock and roll?”

you smiled. “yeah, i do. i play some guitar. why do you ask?”

graham was now gently blushing. “i-i’m in a rock band, and i play guitar too. maybe sometime you can stop by and watch us rehearse.”

you bit your lip slightly. “i know you’re in a band.”

he looked taken aback, and you realized how insane that sounded. you quickly backtracked, looking down. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just knew you were in a band because i’ve heard you before. like, rehearsing from my house.”

he smiled understandingly. “did you like our sound?” graham asked. he was wringing his hands nervously.

you decided to mess with him. “yeah, you sounded okay,” you said jokingly.

graham rolled his eyes. “maybe if you stop by someday i’ll play better just for you.”

the blush in your cheeks creeped back into place. “will do.”

*

graham gave you his phone number, and only a day later, invited you to a rehearsal at their bandmate’s house.

after your interaction with graham the previous day, your mind was flooded with little thoughts of him. the way his hand lingered on yours. the way he blushed when you talked. the way he smiled lightly when you blushed. something about graham dunne made your heart race, and you barely even knew the guy.

you felt the need to dress nicely for this. you wanted graham to be impressed. you put on a pair of jean shorts paired with a halter top and a jacket.

you met at a boy named chuck’s house. the band was already setting up in his garage, and graham smiled when you arrived.

“hey, you made it!” he said excitedly, running over to greet you.

you grinned. “i’m glad to be here. where should i sit?”

“let me introduce you to the band first.” graham gently placed his hand on your lower back, walking with you further into the garage. you hoped he didn’t feel the shiver going up your spine under his touch.

“guys, this is Y/N. she’s billy and i’s new neighbor. Y/N, this is warren, chuck, eddie, and my brother billy,” he said, pointing to each of the members. you took note of how warren, chuck, and eddie seemed to be yours and graham’s age, around sixteen. billy, however, was older. without even knowing the band, it was clear he was the one in charge. he seemed to be the most experienced.

the band smiled at you. billy stepped forward slightly. “it’s good to meet you. i hope you like what we play.”

graham placed you slightly off to the side of the band, and you sat down on a box in the garage. the band finished setting up their equipment, and discussed billy’s new song he had just written for the band to play.

as the group figured out their chords, your eyes were locked on graham. you watched the way he effortlessly played his guitar, and how clean and crisp his notes were. to you, nothing was more attractive than a man who could play guitar.

after running through the song multiple times, the band knew something wasn’t working. “maybe it’s just the song. i think we should just-” eddie had started before being interrupted by billy.

“there’s nothing wrong with the damn song. i know what i’m doing. graham, try speeding up the chorus a bit, and warren, lengthen your fills just a bit more, see what that does. let’s run it again.”

everyone seemed to roll their eyes at billy’s orders before warren counted them in to begin again. once again, it was a failure; it just didn’t sound right. it was missing something.

“eddie, man, what are you doing back there? you’re changing chords and everything,” billy said, frustrated.”

“i’m doing nothing wrong! this is your song, you should know how to fix it!” eddie exclaimed back. the entire band was now arguing, and before you could even think about it, you were standing up and speaking.

“it needs a harmony.”

the commotion stopped, and all eyes were on you. your face grew hot due to the intense gazes falling onto you. you gulped nervously.

“what?” billy asked.

“it needs a high harmony in the chorus. to, you know, go with billy’s voice,” you said timidly.

billy scoffed. “what would you know?”

graham stepped up to billy. “Y/N’s got a great voice, i’ve heard it. she could do the harmonies.”

billy raised an eyebrow at you. you looked between all the band members before speaking again. “i don’t want to intrude-”

warren spoke up. “i think it’s worth a shot. we’re desperate for something to work at this point.” he pointed at you with his drum stick. “you know the song?”

you nodded. graham set up another microphone stand next to billy’s, and you stood behind the mic. you suddenly regretted speaking up at all on matters that didn’t ever pertain to you.

warren counted it in again. billy got through the first verse, and you focused on your breathing. don’t mess up in front of graham.

he got to the chorus, and you added a layer of your light voice on top of billy’s. you saw out of the corner of your eye billy turning to you, a look of amazement in his eyes. it was working. it sounded phenomenal. although you couldn’t see it, graham was watching in awe. he got chills watching you from behind. before you even knew it, the song ended, and the band erupted into wide grins and loud cheers.

and just like that, you were in the band.

billy didn’t like sharing the spotlight, and quite frankly, you weren’t a fan of it either. however, billy put up with it because he found your harmonies necessary to certain songs and you were close friends with his brother. you stuck to mainly harmonies and, when chuck left and eddie took over bass, you took control of rhythm guitar.

throughout the band’s beginnings in pittsburgh, graham quickly became your best friend. you spent most of your time with him, and he spent most of his time with you. despite being friends, he still gave you butterflies any time he glanced at you. you always wanted to impress him. however, there was a very real possibility that he didn’t get those same butterflies.

the band found more and more gigs in the area, and billy’s girlfriend camila was now traveling with the pack. you two quickly got to know each other and became fast friends.

things began moving in a blur when warren bought a van and the band decided to move out to california. for you, deciding to move was an easy choice; the only part of pittsburgh that brought you any sort of joy was this band. you wouldn’t be caught dead staying in that city without them. and, as the cherry on top of the cake, camila was coming too.

the van arrived in front of your house and billy and graham’s. rain was endlessly pouring, and you only noticed this after you had dragged all of your belongings out the door onto your front porch. your one and only jacket was tucked away into one of your suitcases.

graham looked back at you from the van, his curly hair flattened under the rain. he saw you eyeing the downpour, and ran up to your door.

“what are you doing?” you asked.

he took his jacket and held it above your head for you to take. as soon as you did, he took your suitcases and began walking to the van. you smiled wide at his manners.

you stayed dry under graham’s jacket, and you were encompassed by it’s smell. it smelled like him.

you watched as graham tied your bags to the top of the van. “do you need help?” you asked.

“nope. go get dry in the van.”

“are you sure?” you asked.

he laughed. “Y/N, yes, i’m positive.”

unbeknownst to you, graham would do anything to keep his girl safe and dry, even from just a bit of rain.

graham wasn’t great with expressing his true feelings. it was easier to tuck it away and forget about it rather than exploring it. that’s how he felt about you. he had some complex thoughts about you, ones he was hesitant to call a crush. he tried his hardest to keep these feelings at bay, but it was getting increasingly harder for him to control.

*

after many long nights on the road, sleeping next to graham in the van and totally swooning over him at every second, you arrived in sunny california.

the band’s new house barely deserved to be called a home. but, given the circumstances, it did it’s job. you took the room that the boys claimed was haunted, even though it wasn’t.

not long after settling into california, a keyboardist named karen sirko joined the band. she also quickly became a close friend to you. camila, karen, and you became your own girl group.

over the next months, you had gigs on the strip, and you felt like you were finally making it. you started drinking and smoking more than ever before, and performing on stage gave you a rush. and, not to mention, performing alongside graham was pretty great too.

then one night, while on the infamous first tour, you and graham got wasted at a party with the band.

with all the alcohol and other drugs in your system, you felt bold enough to speak your mind.

“graham, can i ask you something?” you said, trying not to slur your words. the other guys and karen were talking up girls and having their own side conversations through the blaring music.

he turned to you. “what’s that?”

you took a deep breath. “am i crazy?”

graham paused before giggling. “what is that supposed to mean?”

you couldn’t help but laugh too. “do we have something? or am i just imagining it and i’m out of my fucking mind?”

graham’s smile dropped. his eyes squinted as he stared at you. he was thinking hard. “wait…what?”

you rolled your eyes. “for god’s sake graham, i like you. i don’t know if you like me, but i need to know if you feel the same way or if this is all in my head.”

he looked away and nodded. you expected the worst. when he remained silent, you knew you had just messed up probably the greatest friendship in your life.

without saying a word, graham looked around the room and took your wrist, walking away and dragging you with him.

“graham, what the hell?” you asked. you tried not to stumble as he walked. he took you outside behind the building. “look graham, i’m sorry i said that. i should have known you didn’t feel the same, and i-”

before you could finish your sentence, graham spun you so your back was against the wall and his lips were on yours. his hands slowly moved to the sides of your face.

you both pulled away. “woah,” you whispered.

you began making out again, only rougher this time. graham pulled his lips away, resting his forehead on yours. “let’s take this back to my room.”

*

the next morning, you woke up in a different room than your own, the bright sunlight shining through the window. you felt disoriented. you groaned, a splitting headache causing your body to freeze.

you rolled over, seeing graham sleeping next to you in bed. you quickly sat up, instantly regretting it due to the increased pain in your head.

not only that, but you looked down to see your bare breasts out. then, you noticed you had no underwear on.

“holy shit!” you exclaimed loudly before clasping a hand over your mouth, realizing graham was still sleeping. he rolled over, not waking.

you remained frozen where you sat. i just banged graham, you thought.

you took your shirt that laid disheveled on the floor and put it on, along with your underwear. however, when you got to your pants, the room began to spin due to your hangover and you tripped, falling to the floor with a loud thud.

graham sat up. “what the hell was- holy shit,” graham said, stopping what he was saying as you stood up from the ground.

you sighed. “i said the same thing.”

“what are you-” he began before widening his eyes. “oh my god i remember.”

“did we really sleep together?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

graham nodded. “i think we did it more than once.”

you thought about it. “actually, i think you’re right. was it two times?”

graham contemplated again. “no, it was three.”

“was it…?” you trailed off. then, it hit you. “oh my god you’re right. it was definitely three.”

graham slipped on some boxers under the blankets. “well, what does this mean? for us?”

you sighed. you walked over to the bed, facing him. “i don’t know. i know what i want, but what about you?”

he began to speak, but stopped. then a small smile appeared on his lips. “if i’m being totally honest, Y/N,” your heart raced at the sound of your name. “i’ve liked you from the moment i heard you singing in your driveway that one day. you’ve had a hold on me ever since.”

your heart felt like it skipped a beat. you couldn’t help but laugh like a middle school girl with her first crush. “i feel the same way about you.”

graham blushed. “everything about you is attractive to me,” he started. “your voice, your guitar, your body, your spirit, everything. i’ve kept these feelings about you private, even to myself, from the moment i met you. but now i know that what i feel is real.”

you smiled, slowly leaning in. you placed your lips onto his, and you gently rested your hands on his neck. you pulled away, your faces still remaining close to each other. you giggled. “i was okay with our friendship, but this is so much better.”

*

collectively, you both decided to keep this information from the band. they didn’t need to know. and more importantly, you didn’t need rumors to get out to the press about your relationship. you knew that you’d be framed as the tag along of the group, only there because of graham. so, it stayed a secret.

and you played the secret very well. no one suspected a thing besides a close friendship. even then, both of you agreed to tone down being near each other around the band in order to keep suspicions low. after the devastating first tour, karen and camila had even tried to ask you about your friendship with graham and why it seemed to be dissipating.

your answer? you just weren’t as close as you used to be. in reality, you were much much closer.

you were sleeping together at every opportunity. in one of your rooms back at the house, in bathrooms at the studio, everywhere you could.

but there was substance to it too. it wasn’t all sex. you had your deepest moments with graham. you would stay wide awake into the late hours of the night just talking about anything and everything. with your head laying on his bare chest and his arm slung around your shoulders, everything felt perfect despite the rough patch the band was in.

then daisy came along.

teddy believed the band needed a strong female vocalist to lead the band alongside billy, and that wasn’t you. you didn’t take offense to it, you knew your voice was better suited for harmonies and softer songs rather than belting out rock songs.

with the addition of a new person in the band, your spot at the mic next to billy was taken, and you were moved next to graham with a mic. secretly, you were happy because this meant that you could exchange meaningful looks even more than before.

your first time playing live with the new setup was in hawaii, and you took your place next to graham. graham leaned into your ear while on stage. “you look beautiful today.”

warren began the drum beat of look at us now. you tried to contain your smile. “you’re distracting.”

as the song built into the guitar solo, you watched as graham went mad on the strings. the sound rang clearly, and you realized how much you had been missing when you were standing next to billy on stage. you glanced around the stage. all of them were gleaming and playing their hearts out. it was beautiful to see for the first time and you proudly smiled to yourself.

graham finished the guitar solo, and he looked up at you when he finished almost as if to see your reaction to what he did, and get your approval. you nodded at him, a proud look in your eyes. you felt yourself falling in love with this boy more and more every day.

you went back to the hotel after the electrifying performance, and you heard a knock at your door. upon opening it, you found a smiling graham.

“so, how’d i do?” he asked.

you couldn’t help but grin, and your eyes flashed to his lips before tugging him into your room by his shirt and crashing your lips against his. graham felt taken aback, but not unwilling. he found his footing before pulling away briefly to lock the door, going right back into it. he led you to the bed, where you laid down on your back as graham towered over you.

you began unbuttoning his shirt, and he began to lift yours off. when he had just slid your shirt off, a pounding knock came from your door.

the two of you quickly pulled away, and graham grabbed his shirt before scooting away from you to the other side of the bed.

“uh-coming! give me-um… a few seconds!” you shouted, putting your clothes back on. you turned on the tv, so it looked like you and graham were doing nothing more than watching shows together.

“no worries!” daisy’s voice rang out from the other side.

you looked at graham, eyes squinting. “daisy?” you mouthed to him. he shrugged, knowing nothing more than you. you were just surprised to hear her voice, since you hadn’t had all that much time to talk one on one.

you finally felt relatively put together and unlocked the door, revealing daisy.

“hi, come in,” you awkwardly told her, opening the door wider for her to step in.

“thanks Y/N,” she stopped partially in the room. “oh, hey graham.”

graham waved happily. you rolled your eyes at his cuteness.

“so, i have a proposition for you,” daisy asked, looking at you with intention. “let me know what you think.”

you sat down at the edge of the bed. “sure, let me hear it.”

“i feel weird taking your role as the female vocalist of the group. i know you said you really didn’t mind, but i want to offer you a song on the upcoming album.”

your eyes widened. it was a sweet offer, but practically impossible. “that’s very nice of you daisy, but i can’t write songs.”

she smiled. “that’s why i’m here.” she looked at graham behind you before continuing. “even graham could help with the musical arrangements. if you’re down for that, of course,” she said to him.

“yeah, i’d love to.”

“but wait,” you started. “there’s no way in hell billy will allow this.”

daisy smiled again, more mischievous this time. “we can deal with him,” she said, motioning to herself and graham. “if we write a damn good song, he’ll have no choice but to add it to the album.”

it would be nice to hear your voice on a record without billy’s overpowering voice drowning yours out. the offer was tempting.

“what the hell, let’s do it.”

daisy got her song book out, and graham left while you two came up with the words.

“so, you and graham?” daisy asked with a smirk.

your face went white. “us? no, we’re just friends. nothing more.”

daisy huffed, not believing it. “right.”

you laughed. “daisy, i’m being serious. there’s nothing going on.”

“okay, sure. so you opening the door looking completely a mess only to find graham looking equally as guilty on your bed meant absolutely nothing?”

you looked down, biting your lip. “don’t tell anyone.”

she laughed. “i knew it.”

after discussing what the song was going to be about, you decided you wanted it to be a love song. about graham. you wanted the song to have the feeling of being on top of the world, floating on a high like you feel with graham. eventually, you two came upon a name: clouds.

daisy began writing ideas for lyrics while you tested out new melodies. after about two hours, you had an acoustic version of your own song. you didn’t think you’d be this excited about it.

the song started off light and soft, with only piano and vocals at the beginning. as the song progressed, the energy built representing the excitement of being with him, and there was a guitar solo reserved for graham in the middle.

“Y/N, this is a damn good song,” daisy told you.

upon arriving back in california, graham asked you about the song as you were walking into the studio. “it’s coming along,” you answered, not wanting to give too much away.

“that’s all?” he asked.

“yeah.”

he stepped in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. graham looked down at you, searching your eyes for answers.

“you’re not telling me everything.”

you giggled. you stepped closer to him, putting a hand on his chest. “you’ll see,” you said quietly, almost seductively, walking past him. although you couldn’t see it, graham got flustered. you always knew how to rile him up.

going into the studio, daisy met up with you first.

“you ready?” she asked, referring to proposing the song to billy.

you nodded, following daisy to where billy was sat.

“we have a song for you,” daisy bluntly said to billy.

he looked between both of you. “what?”

“we have a song that we wrote together that we want on the album,” daisy told him.

billy scoffed. “no. we write all the songs, and besides, Y/N just does harmonies. i’d like to keep it that way.”

he began to get up. “it doesn’t have to be,” you said. “it’s just one song. let us at least play it for you and the band, see what you think.”

he paused. if it were just daisy, he would have denied the song again. but, billy had a soft spot for you. “fine. make it quick.”

the band gathered around you and daisy, who was on the piano. you shot graham a wink, and he lightly blushed.

“this song is called clouds,” you said into the microphone. you noticed teddy watching from behind the rest of the band.

daisy began playing the piano and you began to song. your light, airy voice filled the room as you tried to not focus on the harsh pairs of eyes staring you down. the song was almost psychedelic, sending everyone in the room into a trance. you got lost in your own voice.

as you approached the chorus, you began playing the guitar, picking up the pace of the song. you happened to glance over at graham, who was beaming from ear to ear. he knew the song was about him.

you left an open slot in the music for graham’s future guitar solo, and you gestured to him to make it clear. the song wrapped up, and you looked up from your guitar. the band stood looking at each other, in awe. the only sound was a disembodied round of applause coming from teddy as he walked towards the band. they all turned to look at him.

“let’s get that song recorded.”

as the studio crew set up all the necessary equipment needed to record, you took a walk through the halls of the studio. as you passed the door to the storage room, a hand grabbed yours and pulled you in. you didn’t even have to look at who it was; you knew it was graham.

he closed the door and placed a long, sweet kiss on your lips. when he pulled away, his hands brushed away your hair on the sides of your head and fell lightly on either sides of your jawline.

“you are fucking incredible. i’m so proud of you,” he said, wrapping you in a hug. you giggle and hug back.

“i can’t wait for the world to see that you’re more than just a harmony.”

you pulled away, and his hands rested on your hips. “i have something to tell you.” you said quietly.

his smile fell just a bit. “yeah sure, what is it?”

you bit your lip. “if it wasn’t obvious in the song… i love you.”

he paused before he kissed you again, more passionately this time. he rested his forehead on yours, his hands still on your cheeks. “i love you too, darling.”

*

during the aurora sessions, you and graham continued to date in secrecy. while the rest of the band was recording their parts, you two would sneak off and do other things together. sometimes those other things involved unprompted sex, other times it was just sitting and talking, with your arms wrapped around each other. either way, every time you’d come back, daisy would nudge your arm playfully and knowingly.

daisy was a good friend to have. she kept your secret locked away, and showed no signs of revealing it to the world. you appreciated her help and guidance.

you and the band recorded all the songs on aurora, and even had your own cover shoot. it felt surreal to finally make it big, after all the trials and tribulations of your band’s early years.

then, when the album released, it was instantly a massive hit. you were on radios, tv, billboards, everything all at once. hearing clouds come on the radio for the first time almost made you cry tears of joy. that was your song, for your graham.

then, it was time for another tour. a bigger, more controlled one than last time. you all knew to not screw this one up like you did the last time. this one was too important to waste.

then, the morning of your first performance on tour, you and graham got into your biggest disagreement yet. you had a few arguments before, but this was so much more intense . this hurt more.

that morning, you were walking through the halls of the hotel, on a mission to find graham before the big night. when you approached his room and saw his door partially cracked with voices coming from it, you walked over to it to see who was there with him. it was warren and eddie, smoking a joint with graham talking about clouds.

“that’s a killer song she wrote with daisy, who do you think it’s about?” warren asked, removing the joint from his lips.

eddie spoke up. “she’s never talked about being in love before. maybe it’s not that deep, and it’s just a song.”

“or maybe it’s about you, guitar boy,” warren said while laughing, hitting graham’s arm.

“i don’t think so. there’s nothing going on between us.”

good cover graham.

“well, you two are good friends, right?” eddie asked him.

graham tilted his head. “sort of. we used to be pretty close in the early days, but not so much anymore. she’s a little clingy. i mostly talk to her when i have no one else to talk with. we’re friends, but not all that close. at least, not like we once were. if that song is about me, i don’t feel the same way.”

what he said didn’t feel like a cover like his previous statement did. that felt real. and it cut deep. he called you clingy? he said you weren’t very close? a cover for your relationship is one thing, but he blatantly denied a real friendship in front of the boys and made you seem like a fool for falling for a boy that didn’t like you back. tears built in your eyes, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to run and hide or face him.

before you even thought about what you were doing, you pushed the door open with a creak as all three of them turned to face you, a singular tear falling to the floor.

“ah shit,” warren mumbled.

“Y/N, i-what are you doing?” graham asked. he instantly knew you heard everything.

you began to speak, but couldn’t find words. you just shook your head and ran down the hall, back to the safety of your room. you locked the door behind you and leaned your back against it, more tears spilling out as you heard footsteps approaching the door.

“Y/N, i’m sorry, let me in. i need to explain,” graham said from the other side.

“you can’t take back what you said, graham. i heard it, it’s out there, and now i look like the idiot. does that make you happy?” you replied.

“no it doesn’t. you make me happy. i said those things so they would get off my case. i was covering us up. i-”

you opened the door, face to face with him. his heart seemed to shatter at the sight of the tears still stuck to your cheeks.

“that didn’t sound like a cover, graham. it’s one thing to deny our romance, but another to deny our friendship all together and paint me to be the naive, pesky one. you made me look stupid, and now those boys are going to tell the rest of the band what you said.”

graham frowned. he knew he messed up. he looked down, avoiding your harsh gaze.

you sniffled. “and you can’t even look me in the eye.”

you shut the door again. you eyed the alcohol sitting on the desk in your room, and opened a bottle of beer. you downed it, preparing to open another one.

leading up to the performance, you avoided all your bandmates in efforts to save yourself from the embarrassment that graham caused. the word was probably out to all of them now about what graham said; warren can’t keep secrets for the life of him.

you drank a few more beers and took a few pills to get you through the day and night. they took away the pain graham had caused. looking at yourself in the mirror, you had a full denim jumpsuit on that came up around your neck into a halter top. you left your hair down and wavy and added dramatic grey eye makeup.

backstage shortly before you went on, graham came up behind you. “can we talk?”

you made no eye contact. “about what?”

“…about earlier.”

“what is there to say? it seems like you said everything you needed to say to warren and eddie.”

he rested his hand on your bare shoulder. his touch gave you the chills like it always had. “i’m so sorry, Y/N. i genuinely didn’t mean to hurt you like that. i didn’t even think about what i was saying, i just said it. i didn’t think about the consequences like i should have. what can i do to make you not angry at me?”

you paused. every ounce of your body wanted to take him back and hug him, but your mind said otherwise.

you finally turned around to meet his glossy eyes. “prove to everyone that you want this.”

the band ran onto the stage, beginning their first ever setlist on their new and improved tour. despite the still sour mood you were in, the adrenaline with the crowd and the traces of drugs running through your veins made you smile. you felt like a goddess. throughout the show, you felt graham’s gaze periodically fall onto you, and you tried your hardest to ignore it. you were living in the moment and didn’t need him as a distraction.

then, your time came. it was time to sing clouds in front of a full auditorium of people. luckily, your adrenaline was stronger than your nerves.

daisy spoke into the mic. “up next, i would like to introduce the backbone of this group, the glue that holds us together, and one of my very best friends. she adds the most beautiful harmonies to all of our songs, here is Y/N L/N.”

daisy bowed down, shuffling to the back to give you the mic. before you reached the mic, she gave you a quick but supportive hug.

you handed billy your guitar, and stepped up to the mic as the applause died. seeing the faces in the dim crowd made you more nervous. you felt graham’s eyes burning into your back.

“hello, everyone,” you said slowly. you talked methodically. “this song is for anyone who is in love.” you thought about your own experience with love, and the overwhelming love you still felt for graham.

as karen started the piano, your mind was brought back to graham once again. you just wanted everything to be okay like it used to be. but you knew you had to see the effort from his part. he needed to somehow dispel the image he created of you being the clingy, lonely girl of the band who was helplessly pining over the guitarist. it was up to him now.

you rvoice started, crackly at first, but soon finding the rhythm of the music. your vision for this song was to make who ever heard it feel like they were high in the sky, laying upon the soft clouds. to hear it all coming together live on stage was ethereal. you knew it was working.

the song picked up, and the drums, guitar, and bass sounded behind you. it sounded magical, but maybe it was just the drugs and alcohol.

you glanced behind you to see daisy playing the tambourine next to graham, who kept his eyes on you throughout his entire guitar solo. the crowd roared, but all you saw and heard was graham. you lightly smiled at him, and he smiled back. he was all that mattered in that moment.

the song finished, and you stepped to the side of the mic, taking a large bow. before you could turn to get your guitar from billy, footsteps sounded behind you and a hand was on your shoulder, turning you around. it was graham.

“graham, what-”

before you could say anything, graham took your face in his hands and tilted your head up. “i’m going to prove it to you and everyone else.” as you began to speak again, he leaned down, laying a long kiss on your lips. the crowd went wild. although you couldn’t see it, the jaws of everyone in the band besides daisy dropped, who had a proud smirk on her face.

when you two pulled away, his hands fell to your waist and you held his forearms.

“are you crazy?” you asked playfully.

he smiled. it felt like only you two up on the stage. all you saw was him and his bright eyes and curly hair. “crazy for you.”